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snail-squasher · 1 month

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Stars-Aligning

'boys suck, and girls I've never tried' - chappell roan

word ct. - 1113

warnings - a small panic attack(?), mostly fluff, fem!reader is implied but anyone can read :)

You've never been one to have crushes. Sleepover gossip times would always make you pick at your skin for 5 minutes trying to remember all the boys in your grade so you can blurt a name out when asked who you like. But when you got into college something changed. Something that goes by the name of Kiyoko Shimizu. You first heard about her when in a group project with Yachi, she had suggested that Kiyoko tag along to the cafe meet up that you guys had planned - a simple 3rd person to keep conversation flowing so there’s no random awkward silence.

Wrong; you were incredibly wrong. In the entire 2 hours you guys were there, you got 2 things done: writing your name and finding out Kiyoko was the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen and that the way her lips move when she talks is mesmerizing; maybe that’s why everything she said you completely agreed with - is this what your friends talk about at sleepovers? Is this what movie scenes are made from? Is this normal?

Obviously you know what being gay meant, you’ve seen gay couples in movies and even around campus, so why was this the worst whiplash you’ve ever experienced? And why are you getting so nervous and sweating when she asks for your number? Why do you only let out a shaky - mousy - ‘yeah’

The only information you absorbed is that the prettiest girl you've ever seen is in your contacts and that she likes peaches and ice cream. There’s only one reasonable response to this information - type out 4 draft messages asking her to the local ice cream parlor. Who would know better how to ask her out on a completely platonic and friendly ice cream date? Yachi.

You’ve never felt more awkward in your entire life; you could smell the tension before the conversion even started. “Well… I say just ask in the friendliest way possible… this one right there,” she points to the 2nd message, “seems like you're rambling a lot, and the one below that sounds like you're demanding she go.” Yachi explains - a little concerned by how concentrated you are after explaining how this is a ‘totally friendly and chill meet up because she seems cool’ for about 10 minutes. “Okay…so like… the last one? Or are the emojis too much?” “The last one is perfect, she actually texts with a lot of emojis too.” “Okay perfect…” both of you sit in silence for 20 seconds before you blurt “can you please send the message for me.”

It was set, you're very casual friend hangout, was the next day at 2pm. Although the state of your room said that you were evacuating by 2pm tomorrow; clothes thrown from your closet had basically made it out of your room, forgotten t-shirts now seeing the light of day, even pants that you’ve been meaning to return to a friend had found its way onto the outfit roster. But after what felt like the zombie apocalypse, you put together an outfit that had one inspiration - Kiyoko Shimizu.

It was just to seem cool right? To hope that she'll want to be good friends right? And maybe kiss? Do good friends do that?

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea you’ve ever had. Gripping the steering wheel so hard you make a mental reminder to call a mechanic and breathing so hard you reach for a non-existent inhaler. You’ve never had a worse timed star- aligning ever. You can see her in the window, occasionally glancing out the window waiting for any sign of you, but you’re too busy having second doubts because your gay awakening is waiting for a obviously, for sure, ‘no wonder Yachi was awkward’ date. You try to quickly regain yourself after seeing Kiyoko start to look down at her watch every 6 seconds. Checking your face in the mirror and fixing your hair in the shop’s window reflection, you finally open the doors and come face-to-face with the most attractive cause for your midlife crisis. You're not even 25.

“Hey, sorry I’m a little late, I was picking up my room a little and lost track of time,” well that's not a complete lie, you had folded about 4 shirts and then rethought your entire outfit and started from scratch. And then she did the smile, the little lift up that makes her beauty mark move 3 cm from its resting place, “It’s really no problem, just glad I wasn’t stood up.” Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god. Being stood up means a date. This is for sure a date. You're glad you didn’t over analyze but also panicking because you just processed what a lesbian is in the car you’ve had since 17.

“Yeah, sorry again, I didn’t mean to leave someone like you waiting,” are you actually stupid. ‘Someone like you?’ You’ve been homosexual for 5 minutes and already messed up. “Hope that’s a good thing,” she says sarcastically before walking up to order. “I’ll get the peach please, and what would you want?” She looks at you. She focuses on you. “I’ll just get the same thing” a smile. She smiles at you. “Sounds good, do you want to find a table while I pay?” “Oh you don’t have to pay f-” “No no, it’s okay.” You're starting to understand why your friends freak out when a guy offers to pay.

“Okay- so- wait. He asked you to marry him after only seeing you?” you ask holding back a laugh, “Yes! I still give him a hard time for it too,” Kiyo - she insisted you call her that - was laughing telling you about her time in high school, while checking her watch, “Oh! It’s already late! Sorry for non-stop talking, I feel like that’s all I did.” You quickly try to recover as you both stand up and throw your trash away, “oh no it’s okay, I loved hearing about you.” After making it through the front doors, she turns to you and smiles before leaning in and giving a small kiss, “Well maybe you can tell me about you next time.” “Yeah! Of course,” you reply too quickly for you not to cringe when thinking about it later. She does the smile again, the same smile, “Make sure you text me when you get home… I’ll see you soon.” “Yeah of course, have a goodnight…” You watch as she walks away to her car before slowly sitting getting into your own. You're surprised the shop owners didn’t come running out after the excited scream you let out.

I hope you guys like it!!! the divider(s) is from @cafekitsune

STREAM CHAPPELL ROAN!!!!

#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #kiyoko shimizu #kiyoko x reader #hq kiyoko #wlw post #fem!reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu oneshot #oneshot

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shokuto · 3 months

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District Zero / The Boys and the Keg

“Why’d you say Spider-Man was gonna be there?!” Miles asks sharply once he and Ganke are walking through the parking lot.

He shrugs, not even looking at him. “We were losing her; we needed a hook.”

“If partying in a big ass house nobody lives in isn’t enough of a hook, why bother? It’s only one girl.”

“It’s not one girl, it’s Amala Macendale!” Ganke reasons. “It’s her, her friends, and her friends’ friends. That’s huge!”

Miles rolls his eyes. His friend’s starting to sound like a club promoter. “I don’t think she has friends.”

“Of course she does, she’s like, student body president. How’d she get voted in if she doesn’t have—“

When they finally hit the minivan, Ganke freezes; there’s a liquor store across the street, and near the front door is a scuffed up metal case bearing a steel tap at the top. He quickly taps Miles’ shoulder with the hand not holding a plastic bag before he points at it.

“Dude, that’s a keg,” he gasps in astonishment.

Miles pauses before he can enter the car, blankly looking over the hood. “Of beer?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“…So what now?”

There’s a second where they both just stand there, gawking across the street. That’s when Ganke taps his shoulder again. “You gotta go grab it.”

Miles sighs again, already exasperated with the sudden turn of events. “Dude, no—”

“You’re the only one who can carry it!”

“That’s stealing,” he says firmly.

“So?” Ganke sets his hands on his shoulders with the urgency of a man begging a fireman to save his baby. “If we don’t have any beer at this thing, we’re gonna be losers forever! It’s one keg! They probably have a hundred more in the back and it’s only a matter of time before they bring it in!”

Miles exhales in annoyance, but considers Ganke’s warning more than he’d like. He’s split firmly between the selfish teenager his friend desperately appeals to, and the little boy inside him who’s internalized every repeated warning to not get into trouble, to follow every rule as closely as possible because there’d always be a book waiting to be thrown at him around every corner. He eyes the keg, then through the window of the store, the guy inside who presumably has to bring it in eventually.

And it is stealing.

But…

They’re throwing something big…and they’re not kids anymore. People their age going to parties don’t go to relax; they go to get fucked up. It’s all he hears and it’s all he sees in the movies.

They even got the red cups and everything now! Plastic cups Miles only now realizes were never gonna be filled with soda.

“It’s either this or we’re cooked,” Ganke pleads.

Quietly, Miles contemplates the lunch periods they’ve spent alone growing up. Every inside joke passed around set cliques that they weren’t a part of, and every classmate who ever took a shot at them or made their friendship out to be something weird ‘cause it was funny. ‘Cause guys like them were easy targets.

Some of those same people would probably be milling about the house Ganke’s mom had just closed the deal on, piss drunk on beer they brought and laughing madly beneath flashing lights they put up. There’s dozens of little jabs they’ve collected over the years, jabs that taught them it was better to keep to themselves lest they add up to even more down the line if nothing changed.

But he could practically see it all evaporate tonight, over music so loud they felt it in their bones and chants so spirited they could summon specters.

He even pictures himself sharing the tap with the pretty girl from homecoming, the one with a voice like silk and a rasp to it that reminded him of a bass string. However heartbroken he may be over Katie, he’s still embarrassingly weak for an easy smile. He’s still a guy.

A minute later, Miles is hefting a metal keg over his shoulder and bolting for the car like a fireman carrying an invalid to safety. His first ever five finger discount.

“Start it up, start it up!” He shouts.

The engine of the shabby old minivan growls to life just as Miles barrels into the backseat, immediately closing the door behind him.

Then they’re off.

“Holy shit,” Ganke gasps behind the wheel, breathing heavy like he was the one doing the running.

And despite himself, Miles feels himself joining in too. He can’t be bothered to drum up any possible theft charges, any tidbits from the stern talking to from his dad would give him if he saw. Instead, he visualizes the gated community of District Zero, lit up like Disneyland.

“This shit’s gonna be crazy,” He mutters warmly.

#my writing

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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3 hearts broken

I did an angst thing again oops also not proof read double oops

summary: an argument between you and tom, except it takes him hurting someone else for you to loose it

warnings: alot of swearing (im British sorry not sorry) idk anything else except commitment issues?

////////////////////////////////////////////

It was an argument you and your boyfriend regularly had. In fact, it was the only argument the two of you ever had. And especially recently, one that Tom seemed to want to have every day. It didn’t matter where you were on set; in the rental home; out for dinner. Or like now… in the airport lounge.

You were sitting across from each other in a semi-private booth. Tom in his joggers and a burgundy hoodie, you in your black leggings and an oversized tee that actually belonged to your boyfriend. The rest of the place was almost deserted, given the late-night time of the flight. It was probably why Tom felt so comfortable bringing up this touchy subject in a public place.

You were both way past overtired too, owing to the end of a gruelling shoot. All you wanted was to get back to London and get into your own bed. Without an unnecessary fight with Tom.

Unfortunately for you, when you had naively said those exact words, Tom’s overtired brain skipped straight to it being a personal attack.

“I don’t see why you can’t commit to moving in Y/n! We practically live together for filming anyway so-“

“I love you Tom, more than I could ever express. I just… I can’t do this yet. I need… more-“

“More time, I know.” He grumbled, already standing and slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder - as the flight’s gate was announced by the intercom. Had he not already turned his back and started heading along the hallway, you would’ve tried to protest and calm him down. But thanks to his urgency to get away from you… all you could do was sigh. Slumping back against the seat before hauling yourself up and grabbing the bags - that he had helped you with on the way in.

No doubt this would be a long flight.

That it was. Tom had been maturely giving you the silent treatment at the gate, as you were boarding, and finding you seats. You were both in first class, so you had adjacent little pods with a little partition in the middle. It’s standard position was to be lowered however, before you’d even been able to settle into your window seat, Tom had already switched to button to have it slowly slide up.

Real fucking mature.

Thinking he just needed some time to cool off, you rolled your eyes but let him be. Even though you were such a frequent flier, you were terrible at getting any sleep on them. Tom knew this, knew how much you disliked the idea of being hurtling through the air in a tin can. Usually, he’d be holding your hand, entertaining you by watching a movie and providing a shit commentary over the top. Sometimes, when you were both as exhausted as right now, he’d even slide into your chair, having you perch on top of him so you could fall asleep listening to his heartbeat in his chest. Now though? He refused to acknowledge your existence.

Tom never had such issues flying, he was like a switch that could just choose to fall asleep at any and every point. Which is perhaps why it shocked you to see him still wide awake, staring angrily at the corner of his pod when you went to the loo, hours later. Thinking it was time for a peace offering, on the return to your seat you made eye contact and began to smile softly at him. However, that plan lasted for all of two seconds, since as soon as he realised you had seen him staring, Tom instantly shut his eyes - playing asleep.

He really was being particularly stubborn tonight.

By the time the plane landed, he’d still refused to say anything - and it was starting to really piss you off too. You’d tried to be mature, tried to offer the metaphorical olive branch and he had quite literally thrown it back in your face. So by the time you were being escorted off the plane (first because you were first class), you hung back from your boyfriend, wanting to have your own space.

Which was exactly why you didn’t want to give up your own apartment yet!

The two of you walked across the bridge into the terminal with a good 8 metres between each other. Tom didn’t bother to turn round and check on you, taking purposeful steps as though he wanted to get away.

Thankfully the terminal was quiet, probably due to the ungodly hour in the morning you’d landed at. The halls echoed only with your and Toms footsteps, the echo exaggerating just how far away you felt from him at this point. Still, Tom hadn’t acknowledged your existence, or anyone elses for that matter - the pair of you almost got to baggage reclaim before seeing any other humans.

And that is where it all went wrong.

It was typical, an otherwise empty airport except for you, Tom and a family with 2 girls. 2 teenage girls. 2 teen girls whose eyes widened to almost comical levels at the sight of your boyfriend. You’d seen them from a mile away, but from Tom’s reaction to them - he clearly hadn’t.

In fact, you were such a distance away you couldn’t exactly hear the exchange. But what you saw, had your heart in your mouth.

The girls ran over from the seats their whole family were sitting in, squealing at Tom with that overcited little jump you’d seen so often. Instead of Tom turning to them and entertaining them with small talk and a photo or two - he did the opposite. If anything, he quickened his cadence, looked as though he waved the girls off without muttering two words.

And maybe there was a reason. Maybe they had shouted something really rude at him - but fuck, the chances were slim. One looked ten, and one looked a couple of years older - as you approached, you saw the dejected and shocked faces melt into ones of intense disappointment. The eldest turned and hugged the younger, whose chest appeared to be shaking in a way that meant only one thing. Tom had made her cry.

Just as both the mother and father stood up to rush to the girls, you matched their hurried steps - getting their first.

“Hi, excuse me… “

You felt really awkward but knew you had to do something for these poor girls. And quite possibly for Toms career too. “Are you guys okay?” It took a second or two, but the girls clearly both recognised you too (thank god), throwing nervous looks at each other.

“Are yo-you Y/n?” The younger one asked, bright eyes glazed in tears which broke your heart to see.

“Yeh-yeh I am, what are your names?” You knelt, smiling warmly at the girls, who seemed to chirp up a bit.

“I’m Tima” The eldest spoke first before nudging the other to speak. You waited patiently till the little girl had wiped her eyes before replying.

“I’m Azara.”

“Wow, you’ve both got very beautiful names. Where are you both headin-“

“Can I ask you a question!?” Litte Azara burst out, interrupting you, but in the cutest and sweetest way. You just laughed and said of course, as she twiddled with her thumbs nervously.

“How big is the biggest T-rex?” Her little eyes were so curious and you had to suppress a giggle, seeing how serious it was.

Of course, the T-Rexs in Jurassic world (one of your movies) were all CGI. But Azara didn’t have to know that.

“Oh, they are bigger thanthan the tallest trees you’ve ever seen!”

You carried on your little chat with the girls for five or so minutes, laughing with them and exchanging soft nods with their parents too - who seemed appreciative of your time. Eventually, though, it was the dad who pulled time on the exchange, signalling that the girls had taken up enough of your time. As you stood up, Tima spoke up - after being relatively withdrawn from the conversation.

“You’re friends with Tom Holland right?” You nodded, subconsciously biting your lip to see what she would say. “Can you tell him sorry for bothering him, it’s just Azara was excited, we only wanted to say hi.”

Yeh, there was absolutely no way these incredibly sweet girls did anything to Tom. He was just being a knob.

“Hey, it’s not your fault at all. We’ve just had a really, really long flight, and he’s in a bit of a mood at me - I’m so sorry that he let it out on you.”

That explanation seemed to satisfy Tima with a nod, and with some final hugs you bid the girls both farewell. By this point, the rest of your plane had caught up along the corridors, so it was busier, and you had to fight against the small crowd to get through the airport as quickly as possible. Because you were seething with rage for Tom and could not wait to tell him exactly what those poor girls thought of him.

Unsurprisingly Tom had chosen not to wait for you in the airport at all, instead already hiding inside the blacked-out windows of the 4x4 waiting at the collection point. You marched up to that car angry to the point you thought the whole airport would notice. Yanking the door so hard you were surprised you did no damage to it, you threw your bags in - momentarily ignoring the sight of Tom huddled into a corner, staring at his phone with AirPods in.

But once you slammed the door shut and the driver started the car, you let yourself go.

“Who the fuck do you think you are!”

“Y/n can we just leave it for- “

“You made 2 girls cry!!! You were so self-absorbed in your temper tantrum that you made 2 teenage girls cry. You proud of yourself?”

This time he did look at you, eyes wide and confused - clearly not understanding. So you continued - laying it out for him.

“Those two girls you waved off because you were so busy running away from me? Well the youngest one cried and then the eldest didn’t speak and when she did it was only to ask me to apologise to you. You’re a fucking dickhead!”

“I didn’t mean-“

“Oh god, that makes it all better. You didn’t mean to make them cry on purpose, so it’s fine! God if you’d only said I’d-“

“Fuck off Y/n you’re not being fair, cut the sarcasm.”

“I’m not being fair?!? Because I’m the bad person in this situation, right? I just saved you from a very, very bad headline tomorrow morning because you were too busy giving me the silent treatment.”

“Yeah, well, your the one who doesn’t seem to give a damn about me!”

You scoffed hard at his words, air trapped in your throat that now felt completely stuck. How could he say that? How could he even think that?

As much as you hated showing it, you felt your eyes well up with tears. Because who the fuck did he think he was.

“Now that, that is so unfair. You know exactly my history and why I don’t want to move in yet AND you know just how much I fucking love you. So don’t you dare.”

“You're not convincing anyone.” He spoke quieter, but the venom behind his tone was still there. As the first tear escaped over your bottom lashes, you knocked on the partition to the driver and asked him, in no uncertain terms, to pull over.

“Congrats Tom. That’s three women you’ve broken the hearts of in 20 minutes. Must be some sort of a record.”

And with that you slammed the door shut, abandoned on the side of the road somewhere within Heathrow.

?a part 2? idk where id go from here aha

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala

#tom x reader #tom holland fic #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #famous!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader

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ahloveisboo · 3 years

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game on (m)

pairing: gamer!jeon wonwoo x fem!reader (soonyoung makes an appearance)

genre: smut (18+), established relationship, cock warming but make it soft, comfort sex, unprotected sex, swearing, implied auditory voyeurism if that is A Thing but it doesn’t have to be if you’re not into that.

wc: 2.1k

summary: it’s been a shitty day and all you want to do is be close to wonwoo.

a/n: i literally finished writing this last night and this morning i stumbled onto THIS. which i had COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN ABOUT and i want you to know that is exactly how i pictured him and i’m in l*ve with him and i would give him my left arm if he ever needed it

"I can't fucking do this anymore."

You puff the hair out of your eyes as your bag clatters to the floor, your jacket aggressively thrown onto a chair even though you and Wonwoo had agreed to not let clothes linger around the house.

The love of your life is lounging on the sofa—clad in a simple t-shirt and shorts, a headset on top of his unkempt hair, and a PlayStation controller in his hand. There are a few empty cans of soda littered around the furniture, and a scented candle burning on the coffee table to his right.

"Wonwoo," you whine, a dramatic pout etched on your lips. You're irritated, to say the least, and it weighs down on your limbs as you shuffle closer to the sofa. With each step though, your annoyance miraculously fades, and the final remnants of any unease melt away when your lover reaches a hand out to you, beckoning you closer.

"Oh hey, sweet cheeks," he greets you, his eyebrows shooting up in pleasant surprise. "I didn't expect you home so early."

You know you should've given him a heads-up. "I took the afternoon off," you explain as you come up to straddle his lap, cupping both cheeks with your palms before planting a firm kiss on his lips. It crooks the glasses on top of his nose a little, but he doesn't seem to mind. You feel the corners of his mouth perk up, and you can't help but follow suit. Leaning back a little, you brush his choppy fringe out of his face, letting your hand rest at the nape of his neck. "I couldn't handle one more second of old men assuming they can do my job better than me."

"Dude, stop feeling up your girlfriend, I need cover," a voice comes over the mic, blaring straight into his headphones. Wonwoo clicks his tongue.

"If your point was to sound bitter about having to nut into your own fist every night, you succeeded," Wonwoo retorts before easily picking off an enemy right behind on-screen Soonyoung. You make yourself smaller, so he gets a full view of the tv. "You're welcome," he adds, and Soonyoung's laughter can be heard coming from the other side of the voice chat.

"Touché."

"You're so cool," you murmur against the skin of his collarbones, neatly settling further onto his lap. "And such a nerd. But like, the hot kind." At this, he barks out a laugh; the sound like music to your ears.

It takes a little squirming and trying to make yourself fit into his embrace without interrupting the game too much, and you sigh in content when you find the perfect position. Wonwoo's hips buck up on instinct as you move around, and he shoots you an apologetic smile when you brush your lips against his jaw in response.

"It was just…. A really shitty day, you know," you say in tiny, the words barely a whisper as you lazily rock against him. Wonwoo instantly picks up the hint, already hardening underneath you.

He pushes his mic up, muting it in one swift motion so Soonyoung doesn't overhear. “Do you want to fuck?”

You nuzzle into his neck, lazily nipping at the skin. “I just want to feel you, I think.”

Wonwoo manages a soft chuckle and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Give me a second to end the game."

"It's okay," you say, as his hand moves to unmute his mic. "You can continue playing if you want."

The look he gives you in response is almost comical. "I'll sit still, I promise." You give him a quick peck on the lips, and Wonwoo's reluctance dissolves in an instant.

Shifting uncomfortably, you take off your jeans as Wonwoo pulls down his shorts, cock visibly strained against his briefs now. He curtly speaks into his mic, taking note of something Soonyoung's character just did on-screen behind you.

A few seconds pass before you move, taking in all of Wonwoo before you first. He's always been handsome—his sharp features turning more than a few heads. He's bulked up since you first got together (which made him even sexier if that was possible), with his shoulders now broader and his arms toned to perfection, but your favourite part of him has always been his eyes. There's something inherently gentle about them; a warm brown colour that shines whenever he laughs, or darkens whenever he glances up at you from between your legs.

Something clenches in your chest when Wonwoo turns to meet your gaze, a smile on his lips. Something similar happens in your gut when he reaches out to touch you over your panties. The gesture isn't demanding or lustful, and you sigh into the feeling.

Wonwoo slips past your folds, two fingers checking if you're slick enough to take him without extra help. The corner of his mouth tugs into a smirk, but he swallows the words on the tip of his tongue, knowing they don't fit the mood you're after.

As soon as he fills you up, your form slacks against his chest. It's comforting in having him this close, being this intimate with the man that makes your heart burst in the best way possible. Your arms snake around his waist, your cheek now resting against his shoulder.

"Can you move forward just a tiny bit so I can koala-wrap myself around you?" you mumble against the fabric of his shirt, and there's a sharp intake of breath from him when he lifts his hips to comply, his cock moving inside you.

Soonyoung mistakes it for a disappointed reaction to his failed offence, and you can hear his voice through the headphones over Wonwoo's ears. Wonwoo is quick to reply, his low tone reverberating through his chest and vibrating against your cheek.

Another thing you love about him, that voice of his. You could listen to him talk for hours. Which you hope he does, and is the reason you told him to keep playing in the first place.

There's no sound but the dull clicking of Wonwoo's controller and machine-gun fire coming from his headphones for a while, and you can feel your body begin to relax—all the tension previously stored between your shoulder blades now slipping off you, like raindrops sliding down a window.

Wonwoo's a decent size; not too big to sting when he first fucks you, but big enough to always make you feel so full, so satisfied. It's something you're not afraid to reiterate every so often, which he appreciates in the right context (you once let it slip at movie night when you were beyond horny, and Wonwoo had to excuse himself ten minutes later because he had no idea your mouth could be so foul, and he didn't want his friends to see the obvious problem in his pants).

He lasts longer than you thought he would—too caught up in his game to notice how every little move he makes in reaction to whatever is unfolding on screen is starting to affect you. It's subtle, the way he moves inside you, but the thrusts are sharp and clean as he moves the controller to one side and back, his body jolting forward when Soonyoung fails to cover him and his screen flashes red. It isn't until you clench around him, that he stills.

As your fingers tangle into his hair at the base of his neck, you tilt your head, waiting for a quiet moment to lift his headphones just enough to tell him, "Okay, now I want to fuck."

To accentuate the words, you gently lift your hips, sinking back down just as slowly, only to repeat the action once more. Wonwoo groans in response, his hand gripping your waist to stop you, and you lean back to watch his face for any signs that he might not want this. You interpret his actions as rejecting your advances, but soon he's pushing up your t-shirt to grope at your breasts, and you moan when he thumbs over one of your sensitive nubs.

"I heard that," Soonyoung's voice comes over the headset, and you're already too worked up to care. Wonwoo smiles when you roll your hips, grinding onto his cock in slow motions. He licks his lips, gaze trained on yours as he drops the controller onto the floor.

"Goodbye, Soonyoung," he says into the mic before taking off the headset, not even bothering to mute it.

You half expect him to be rough. To pin you down on the sofa and rail you into oblivion. Instead, he kisses you. The kind of kiss that makes your head spin—slow and hot, his tongue lapping against yours languidly. There are little, sweet pecks in between. One on your nose, one on your cheek, one on your eyelids, and you giggle into the kiss when he pulls you back in for what seems the nth time. His cock is still buried inside of you, snug and warm, unmoving, until you buck your hips to meet his and he groans.

“Quit stalling, Jeon,” you sigh into his mouth. Your teeth graze along his lower lip before stopping at the corner of his mouth, kissing the edge of his smile. “If you don’t touch me this instant, I’m going to spontaneously combust.”

He glances between you, to where your bodies meet, and gently lifts his hips to move out of you. “I bet I could make you cum untouched right now,” he says, tentatively swiping a finger between your folds again. You quiver in his arms, already too sensitive from having him inside you for so long, and you hate how he’s probably right.

“Maybe so, but where’s the fun in that?”

“I get to use my dirty talk voice,” he offers, already lowering his tone to make a point. “Tell you all the things I would do if I were to touch you.” You clench around nothing, suddenly feeling too empty to your liking. “You can blow me after.”

Every nerve in your body is on edge, skin crawling in anticipation, and you desperately want to say no. But Wonwoo’s eyes are sparkling as he hovers over you, and god, he’s so fucking hot. At this point, you are positively soaked, pussy throbbing and aching for his touch, anything he’d be willing to offer, and he’s still smiling at you.

“Fuck me now and I’ll still blow you after.”

Wonwoo pouts, but instinctively lowers himself to kiss you when you hook your ankles behind his back, pulling him closer to you again. When he pushes back in, you’re scared you won’t last long. You tell him as much, and he shakes his head in feigned disbelief. “Quelle surprise,” he mocks, and he jerks his pelvis forward, easily bottoming out before pulling back out, repeating to build up a steady rhythm. It’s agonisingly slow, his cock curving just the right way to hit the spot over and over again, and your breath hitches with every thrust. “Want me to go faster?” he asks, tongue lapping at the abused skin right below your collarbone, where his mouth just successfully marked you as his. You shake your head no, unable to speak.

As tension builds in your abdomen, your eyes fall shut, your eyebrows knit together, and your lips shape into a silent O. Wonwoo feels his heart rate increase when your breath starts to shudder with every exhale. He can tell you’re trying to hold back your moans and he really wishes you wouldn't. “Use your words, baby,” he says, his voice cracking as he pushes into you again. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want- hnnng, fuck,” you manage, right when his thumb presses down on your clit, and your back arches off the sofa. “Keep going. I’mhhmmmmm- almost there.”

A few more trusts have you toppling over the edge, your orgasm washing over you like a tsunami. Wonwoo presses his lips to yours, swallowing the moans that finally push their way out of your throat. Your thighs shake as he ploughs into you a few more times, finally picking up speed to chase his own climax.

It's not long until Wonwoo half collapses on top of you, chest to chest, and he chuckles as both of you struggle to catch your breath.

"Still want me to suck you off?" you ask, half in jest, but you did promise.

He pushes a stray lock of hair from your sweaty forehead, his hand stopping to rest against your cheek. "Maybe later." You beam at him and suddenly the room falls quiet, now that your breathing has levelled out. There's a faint rattle of gunfire coming from behind the sofa, and you exchange glances as something dawns on you both.

"Did you mute your—"

“Oh shit, Soonyoung—“

#caratwritersclub #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo scenario #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenario #wonwoo x reader #i had to get this one out of my system thanks #the more i read it the more i doubt it so i'm just going to. PRESS POST.

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chaotic-major · 3 years

Text

MPAU Part 1

For @min-play I hope you like it! This will be following Min-Play’s Movie Possession AU. Enjoy part 1!

Lloyd liked to consider himself a fairly normal person. Sure, his dad whom he’s never actually met in person attacks the city every other day but besides that, everything in his life is normal. The bullies can be a bit much, considering it's basically the entire population of the city, but his mom doesn't need to worry about anything more than her job. Lloyd can handle it, he’s fifteen.

He fixes his hood as he walks down the street, avoiding eye contact with anyone but the ground. He’s memorized the route home by now. As the city falls into dusk, Lloyd takes a moment to gaze at a fountain in a small plaza. He doesn’t dare enter of course, but it’s nice to take in the beauty of the city once and awhile, especially if it doesn’t always last too long.

The clouds overhead rumble as a light rain starts to fall. Lloyd sighs and watches all the people gather their things and head into their homes or find buildings to seek shelter from the rain in. He starts to continue his walk back when a dark vortex opens in the sky. Lloyd stares at it, puzzled. Is his dad somehow orchastairing this? He wouldn’t put it past him, honestly. But as soon as it opened, it closed and the rain abruptly stopped. As confused as Lloyd was, he had no energy to question it at this point. He sighed before turning on his heel and going home.

Morro realized he wasn’t entirely in the right. Holding the realm crystal in one hand and his sensei’s in the other, Morro realized it was up to him. Save himself, or save the ninja. When he looked behind master Wu to see the ninja’s scared and angry faces, he knew what choice he had to make. Putting the realm crystal in Wu’s hand and ignoring his pleas to save himself Morro looked at his sensei and let go, a sad smile on his face.

“You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.” He says as the Preeminent grasps onto him and pulls him down, closer and closer to his watery doom. Lloyd lunges forward suddenly and smacks the realm crystal, opening a portal below Morro. The Preeminent lets go and Morro is pulled down into the portal, Lloyd’s last words to him ringing in his ears.

“I forgive you, and I’m sorry.”

Morro fell through the void as if he had any weight, a force of gravity pulling him down through the opening on the other side. When Morro opened his eyes, he was floating in front of a large city, with buildings that seemed to touch the sky and with lights that glowed brighter than most others he’d seen in the past few weeks. He floated through the streets, glaring at every person who walked through him and paid him no mind regardless.

“Hello!?” He shouted, flying above the crowd. “Can any of you fools hear me?” No one gave any response. He looked around, almost frantically, wanting to be heard.

“H-holy shit. You’re a gh-ghost.” A meek voice said from below him. Morro turned and flew down, inspecting the person who spoke. He seemed to be a young teen in a green hoodie, the hood up and covering his hair. It was blond and strands were falling over his face. His eyes were an emerald green, a colour he’d seen in someone else before…

The realization struck Morro in an instant. This was… Lloyd? He seemed nothing like the green ninja Morro had grown familiar with. This one seemed shy and scared, so much so he didn’t ever seem to take off his hood. The Lloyd Morro possessed was confident and strong, the green ninja. This Lloyd didn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

“I am. So who are you?” Morro asked, not wanting to look like a fool if he was wrong.

The boy shifted on his feet. “I’m Lloyd. What’s your name?”

Huh. This kid really knew nothing. “I’m Morro. Master of Wind.” He looked Lloyd in the eye. “And you’re the green ninja.” That made Lloyd drop his expression of fear and trade it for confusion.

“The green ninja? What’s that?” Lloyd inquired. Morro looked like he was about to tear his hair out. What god forsaken universe did Lloyd send him to?! Death a second time would’ve been better than this! Morro groaned.

“It doesn’t matter.” Morro said before promptly possessing Lloyd. The teen screamed as a spectral projection of him was produced, taking Morro’s spot. Morro glared at him until Lloyd realized he was basically fine. He stared at Morro, shock and confusion apparent on his face.

“Wh- what are you going to do? Now that you’ve possessed me?” Lloyd asks the specter in his body. Morro scoffed and walked away, knowing that Lloyd would be pulled after him if he got too far from the body.

Morro walked through the streets, watching as people parted around him. He tried to ask for directions to the museum multiple times, all a fruitless effort as people either scoffed at him or threatened him away. Morro was more than agitated at this point. Everything was so bright and loud, so much space in the street and yet so little. The buildings were too tall and he felt much too small. Morro caught sight of an alley and ducked into it, breathing out a gentle sigh of relief as he escaped the loud and towering street.

“What’s wrong with these people…” Morro mutters, walking farther into the alley. Lloyd’s small voice piped up from behind Morro.

“Um… H- hey, it’s getting pretty dark… I really shouldn’t be down here this late. We should go back.” Lloyd suggests. Morro lets out a laugh that chills Lloyd to the core.

“Wow. That’s adorable.” Morro says in a mocking tone. An apparition of himself appears before Lloyd.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not in control here. So shut up and stay put.” Morro demands. Lloyd looks down before looking back to Morro.

“C- can I at least call my mom? She’ll be worried.” Morro raises a finger and opens his mouth to reply before he was thrown from the mindscape and back into Lloyd’s body. Suddenly, Morro was up against the wall, a knife to his neck.

“Make a sound and I’ll slit your throat,” The man said in a low tone. “Garmadon.” Morro grew more emranged, if that were possible. He blasted the man off of himself, kicked his legs out and pulled the man to the ground, hand in his hoodie, holding him to the ground.

“Let’s make this crystal clear.” Morro said, holding the knife to the man’s throat, hair now a jet black in contrast to the sunny blond it had been seconds ago. “ I am not Lloyd Garmadon.” He announced. “I and Morro. Master of Wind. And I will be the Green nin--” Morro was cut off as Lloyd managed to grasp hold of control.

“STOP!” Lloyd shouted. He glanced at the knife in his hands before screeching and dropping the knife before dashing out of the alley. Lloyd broke into a sprint, managing to make it three and a half blocks before breaking down. Morro let himself into spirit form, rebounding Lloyd against a wall.

“What was THAT?” Morro shouted at the teen. “I had that! Why did you get in the way!?” Lloyd stood his ground.

“You- you were going to kill him!” Lloyd shouted back, scared and concerned. Morro digested Lloyd’s words a moment.

“..No.” Morro said. “NO!” He exclaimed angrily. He pointed his finger at Lloyd’s throat. “HE was going to kill YOU.” Lloyd’s eyes widened. Morro was right, as much as he hated to admit it. Lloyd looked back from where he ran, stewing on Morro’s statement. He pulled his hood over his head, desperate to ignore what had just taken place. He felt his hands shake, ready to have a good cry.

“Can… can I please call my mom and let her know I’m ok?” Lloyd asked in a small voice. “Please? I’ll help you find the museum after.” Morro smacks his hands in his face and gives a long groan, letting his hands fall off his face, contemplating the suggestion. He sighs and nods silently, watching as Lloyd walks over to a “payphone”. He inserts a coin before pressing the numbers on the small pad in an order, obviously committed to muscle memory.

“Hey, mom.” Lloyd answers after a few seconds. Morro floats behind Lloyd, back turned to the boy. “Y- yeah I’m ok.” Lloyd says after a second or two of silence on Morro’s end. “I’m sorry.” He hears Lloyd apologize. Morro feels something bubble up in his chest, squeezing his nonexistent heart. He sighs and allows Lloyd to end the call and return home without stopping at the museum.

It would’ve been closed at this hour anyways. Morro reasons with himself. As Lloyd settles into bed on the fateful Friday night, whether either of them liked it or not, they were stuck together, for better or worse. Morro looked out Lloyd’s window all night, watching the city slow down and speed up as the sun rose. Maybe… maybe he could still get what he wanted. He turned and looked at the blond, finally looking at peace for the first time Morro had seen. He turns back to the city. Just maybe.

#nose #morro ninjago #lloyd garmadon #Did I do good?#I love this AU #lego ninjago #lego ninjago movie #lego ninjago morro #lego ninjago lloyd #Give Min-Play some love

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raggaraddy · 3 years

Text

Intruders.

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Another long one. This one doesn't have so much of the worried reaction, cause I wrote it to fit the Mafia! Jungkook character. It's still fun though ^-^ Thanks again for the request. 💜💜💜

If anyone else wants to request, you can here.

Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Jimin

Taehyung

Summary: When a loose end breaks into Jungkooks house with guns drawn, you get a first-hand lesson that maybe Jungkook isn't as invulnerable as you had thought.

Trigger Warnings: Graphic violence, gun usage, blood, murder.

Jungkook

Mafia! Jungkook

Fighting to get free, you're kicking your legs. Squirming. Squealing as you shove your hands against Jungkook's chest, pushing him back as hard as you can. Tears starting to fill your eye line.

"Stop, stop, stop," you shout, with no effect. Struggling harder.

"Admit it!" He yells back, a smile on his face.

"Never," You scream. Not able to hold it back anymore. Your screech morphs into forceful laughter as Jungkook continues to tickle you. Your cheeks aching from how widely you're smiling. Your sides hurting as you keep thrashing for release.

"Admit I could beat up the Hulk, and I'll let you go." He insists again, pressing you down with a massive grin.

"Okay, okay!" You squeal, finally conceding. Groaning in relief, when his fingers stop tickling your stomach. Your limbs dropping down to rest. "You could totally kick the Hulk's ass." You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

"Damn right I could!" He bursts into laughter also. Easing back with a sigh now that he no longer has to hold you still. Neither of you phased by the movie that started the debate still blaring in the background.

Roughly you punch your fist into his chest, intentionally knocking the air out of him. Taking advantage while he is caught off guard to push him flat onto the carpet beside you. Straddling his lap, you lean over him pinning his arms to the floor before he has a chance to argue. Not that you think he would. The fun-filled smile doesn't leave his face for a moment. Completely amused by you, while you try your best to put on an intimidating act. Trying to stop yourself from smiling again.

"Jeon Jungkook. You cheated." You playfully scold, "And if you can't have a grown-up discussion, then you can't do other grown-up things either." You accentuate your point by grinding down. Feeling his hips push up as you tease him. Lifting up right away, shaking your head as you remove the contact. "Nah uh. Cheaters don't get that." You smirk.

"Don't be mean just cause I won." He runs his tongue inside his cheek. His gaze showing desire and a want for you to continue. But you're not done toying with him.

"You didn't win." You poke your tongue out, rocking your hips a single time more, "Confessions under duress are not admissible anyway."

"No, but it's good leverage to have." He answers a little too honestly and without thinking. Not entirely talking about your play fight anymore.

Chuckling awkwardly, you shake off the train of thought that wants to evaluate what he just said. Not wanting to let your mind remember that part of him right now. Trying instead, to return to your spirited banter. But he gets in before you.

"Nope," He easily breaks out and overpowers your hold wrapping his arm around your waist, carrying you as he stands up. "you admitted I'm stronger than the Hulk, and I'm never gonna let that go." Bending down, he throws you over his shoulder, slapping your ass to tease you back.

His shoulder digging into your gut stops you from taking a full breath or making a snippy comeback. So you slap his ass in retaliation instead.

"Come on Kitten, you have to give me a prize for winning." He purs suggestively, carrying you out of the living room into the foyer.

He's going to take you upstairs, but you don't make it to them before both of your heads snap towards the entrance. A flurry of gunshots exploding just beyond the front door. The commotion silencing as quickly as it started.

Jungkook slings you off his shoulder. Becoming another person in an instant. Purely focused. Opening the coat closet, he pulls a Glock from his jacket.

"Get upstairs, now." He barks.

You don't have to be asked twice, running to the stairs. Gasping as the garage door next to the steps opens, two hooded men storming in with guns drawn. Jungkook reacts quickly, firing past you. Shooting one of them, missing the second who ducks instead of firing back.

At the same time, blowing open to the left of you, the front door is kicked in. Swinging wide, four more masked men rush the house. Firing rapidly and wildly. Scarcely missing Jungkook who is moving preemptively and is 3 steps ahead. Running forward he shoots the second man in front of you. Grabbing your arm, dragging you over their dead bodies into the garage with him.

Shutting you in just as bullets explode through the wood door at your back.

Jungkook forces you to keep up, throwing you behind the car. The automatic shots continuing to decimate. The four-wheel-drive being the only thing that keeps either of you from getting shot.

Panting and on the verge of tears, you're crouched beside Jungkook. Watching him, waiting to react to anything he says. Knowing he is all that stands between you and death. But also knowing that with him in this mindset he could do just as much damage to you as one of those other men might.

The gunfire stops. Distorted voices shouting behind the door's remains. Jungkook cautiously raises up, leaning over the hood. He lines up a shot as the door opens warily, taking down another of them. Slouching behind the car as a new wave of bullets comes in response.

In front of you, the shelves covered in storage boxes and the workbench full of tools is ripped to shreds. Things erupting in every direction. Covering you in debris.

Pulling his phone from his pocket he shoves it in your lap.

"Call the first number!"

Your brain is stalling, your hands are shaking, but you follow the order as best as you can. The way your fingers are vibrating making it so much harder.

"What's up Boss?" You can hear the faint sound of his first lieutenant, as the firing ceasing again. Jungkook snatches the phone, speaking lowly and calmly.

"My house is breached and we're under fire. At least 3 guys. Semi-autos. We're held up in the garage and I've got maybe 15 rounds left." He passes the information over precisely. Remaining organized and in control.

"We're 10 out," the first confirms back, yelling orders to people on his end of the phone.

Your head jolts towards the garage door as it heavily clunks, starting to lift along the tracks. Exposing you on two sides.

"Fuck," Jungkook exclaims. "We don't have 10 minutes."

He stands, staying low. Opening the car door, tossing the phone in, followed by you. Your limbs hitting everything as you try to keep up with his pace. Making it onto the seat in an awkward heap.

"Stay down," he growls, slamming it, sealing you in. You're ahead of him this time, already kneeling under the steering wheel. Pressing your chest and head into the seat as flat as possible.

Inside the car, you can only hear the sounds of blasts for a few moments. Heavy things being thrown in every direction amid tense silences.

Outside the car, Jungkook fires off 3 shots, aiming for the legs he sees as the garage opens. The angle is wrong, and he doesn't hit them. Having to retreat back. Throwing the workbench down, using it as a meagre form of barricade. Blocking himself into the corner, hunched behind it. It's barely wide enough to protect him at the front and on the side. The height of the desk only just covering his head. He aims over the bench, hoping to keep the front two from coming in with suppression fire.

However, his attempt is unsuccessful. As he raises up, a bullet wings his right arm. Involuntarily dropping his gun, he shouts in pain. The Glock falling on the wrong side of the table.

It only takes him a second to compose himself, lunging over to pick up the weapon. But it's a second too late.

One of the men charges from inside the house. Booting the table into Jungkook, throwing him off balance. Holding him at gunpoint as he hits the floor.

Briefly, you see the other two men through the window as they pass the car. You're too terrified to move. Your hand cupped over your mouth, muffling the panicked breathes and whimpers that you can't hold in.

Working as a unit, one of the men clears the table out of the way, another picks up Jungkook's gun, while the third ushers him out of the corner and onto his feet, keeping the sights tightly fixed on him.

Getting in his face, the lead man removes his balaclava. Seething hate filling his expression. "You remember me?"

While he isn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, Jungkook is certainly perturbed by the reveal.

It was nearly 5 months ago that he had ordered this man and his family killed. It drew far too much attention when he refused a deal Jungkook made him. So an example has to be set. The man's wife, two children and his visiting brother were murdered in the gruesome display. And Jungkook was told that the man standing in front of him now was also killed. But it seems the men charged with the hit got complacent. They didn't confirm the kill.

Mentally, Jungkook was already recalling the four men on task. If he made it out of this they were going to suffer greatly for their mistake.

Seeming infuriated by Jungkook's lack of fear and stoic glowering, the unmasked man slams his fist into the Mafia King's face. Shouting as he does.

Methodically, the three intruders begin to tear Jungkook apart. He put's up a fight as best as he can, but the men are trained and three against one isn't fair odds in this situation. Knocking him between them, they strike with their knees, fists, feet, hurting him in any way they can manage. Beating him into the ground. Pulling him back onto his knees whenever he drops back or falls forward.

Biting your palm you're trying to stop yourself from crying out as you sob into your hand. You can hear the hits. The thumps from him being tossed around. His groans of pain. The slough of abuse they spit at him while they work him over. Cursing him. Mocking him.

Suddenly, the car door jerks open. One of the masked men dragging you out by your hair. Making you produce an ear-shattering scream. One he silences with a fist to the face. Your body collapsing, slapping into the concrete.

Groaning in pain, your sobs can no longer be restrained. Loudly bawling, tear stream your face, hardly able to breathe as you panic.

Your heart aching as you see Jungkook across from you. Hunched over on his knees, he's gushing blood. It's running down his face. Matting his hair to his forehead with the sheer volume of it. He's splitting it up, his mouth dripping with it. His shirt soaked in it. Flowing down his arm from the bullet wound also.

You'd never have thought you would see your Boyfriend in such a state. You've witnessed first-hand the power he has when he's the one responsible for this kind of damage. In your mind, you saw him as invincible. Unbeatable. A cruel monster driven by hubris that could never be stopped.

The times you'd seen him beat people like this, the times he hit you like this, you had privately desired for him to suffer the same fate one day. For karma to return everything he had dished out.

But now that he was, now that he was the one being treated without mercy, even with it being justified, you can't feel anything but fear and sadness. Regretting ever having wished this upon him.

"Jungkook," you gently call.

He's disoriented. Too many headshots having made him dizzy and unfocused. But your soft voice cuts through all of that. Looking up from the ground to you, his eyes go wide seeing you in harm's way again.

"Y/-" he starts to get up, only to be interrupted and held down. The unmasked man's hand coming down on his shoulder. The barrel of Jungkook's own gun being aimed at his chest as the man hovers over him.

"You know, your guys didn't kill my wife right away." He digs the gun tip into the bullet wound on his arm. Twisting and stabbing into the raw flesh making him grit his teeth to bear the pain. "They shot her where he knew it wouldn't kill her. Then they let her bleed out. While I could only watch. While my kids watched." The pure rage in the man's voice is finally softened. Instead, sounding horribly grieved and agonized over the memory. "Someone like you, you're probably not capable of love," he spits, pushing off Jungkook to stand straight. "But whether you love her or not, I still want you to watch her die."

The words register, but you can't absorb them. You can't react.

"Wait. Wait!" Jungkook yells after him.

Your body is throbbing in terror. Watching him advance on you. Watching him raise the gun at you.

The shot hits you in the stomach.

"No!" Jungkook howls. The two men punting him back down as he climbs to his feet. Extending the barrage of hits to impress upon him that he shouldn't try to get up again.

In shock, you delicately dab at the hole in your side. Blood pulsing out of you. The pain is more than you could have imagined. You can't pull in a full breath. Short gasps are all you can manage. Doubling over onto your hands and knees, you weakly shriek unable to deliver a solid scream.

They drag you by your arm, hurling you at Jungkook, your torso landing in his lap. He clings to you, drawing you in tight. His face twisted in anger.

"Y/n." He growls. "Don't you dare-" he can't bring himself to finish that thought.

"Don't worry darling. It won't take long." The leader says above you, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "You though," he redirects, snarling at Jungkook. "you're gonna die slow."

Not able to breathe and the blood loss is making your head light. The room feels like it's spinning. Your eyes rolling back as they close. The reprieve of rest calling you into unconsciousness. And you can't resist.

With his hand held to your heart and his chest tight, Jungkook feels for a beat. The irregular rhythm assuring him you're still alive at least.

"I hope you really did love her. Like how I loved my girl and my boy. My wife. I hope you can feel that type of pain."

Jungkook is shaking. Unfiltered loathing ravaging his thoughts. A murderous expression concealing his heartache as he feels your pulse gradually start to slow.

Moving begrudgingly like it's his duty, the leader pulls one of the few remaining tools from its place on the wall. Wringing the handle of a large Philips Head screwdriver.

Working together, the three of them rip your unconscious body apart from Jungkook. His efforts to keep you close having little impact. Numerous injuries having sapped his strength.

Stretching him out, holding him down, they pin him with their weight. One of them securing his legs. Another holding his arm and torso, the majority of his heft used to force Jungkook's face into the cement. The leader kneeling all of his weight on his left arm to keep it flat.

As the tip of the screwdriver is pressed into his palm, Jungkook grapples to keep his hand closed to no avail. The shank piercing the meat of his palm. Screaming as the length is stabbed in and yanked out. Hissing through his teeth while the sharp point trails up. Reaching about halfway up his forearm it digs into the muscle. The blade slowly forcing its way into the skin, causing him to roar again.

All at once, a shot rings out. One of the intruders taking a bullet in the back. An assault of gunfire spreading across the height of the garage, sending the other two into a panic. Scrambling for their guns. Releasing Jungkook in the frenzy, who cradles his wounded hand for a moment before jumping on the attack. Finally having sufficient reinforcement to fight back.

Picking up the screwdriver with his good hand, he lunges at the surviving masked man. Dragging him off balance. Straddling his side. Stabbing down and around to drive the tool into his chest over and over. Burying the metal in the man's throat as a final strike. His damaged hand slamming down on the top of the screwdriver, forcing it through the other side of the man's neck.

Some of Jungkook's rage having been vented, he falls away panting watching the man, satisfied as he quickly bleeds to death.

The leader of the assailants, the source of all of this woe, is completely unmatched by the dozen men who suddenly surround him. They don't grant him the opportunity to even raise his weapon, shooting him in the shoulder, knocking him down. Incapacitating him and restraining him swiftly as he tries desperately to get loose.

There are a few seconds when the dust settles, where everything is quiet again. Only the sounds of wheezed breathing and footsteps taking any space.

Apart from the few men busy with securing the house and the area, all of them are at attention looking to assist their battered leader. Wanting to help. Waiting on an order.

"Her," he signals in your direction. "Get her to a hospital."

"You too, Boss." His second lieutenant leans down, helping Jungkook stand. Getting him to solid footing.

"I'm not dying in the next 20 minutes. Let's wrap this shit up first." He dismisses the gesture. Shirking off the pain at risk of appearing weak.

"And this one?" His first aims a gun at the intruders head.

"Patch him up. He's gonna die slowly," Jungkook's voice deepens as he repeats the man's own threat back at him.

His eyes following as he gets picked up and thrown into the trunk of one of the cars. The Mafia leader in him already, concocting ruthless plans in specific detail over all the ways he is going to torture him. And how he's going to silence any doubts about his strength that this attack may have caused.

Carried in another man's arms, you're taken to the back seat of a car. The movement string you awake. The pain keeping you immobilized and dazed.

Jungkook limping slightly follows after you. He presses his hand to your chest again, relieved as he feels your heart still beating, as he sees your eyes fluttering.

Your head laying on the seat, he leans over resting his forehead upside down on yours. "I'm so sorry baby." He whispers. His hands bunch tightly around your arms, pulling at your skin. The war of both sides of him crashing together. His eyes going cold, his breath becoming ragged.

Struggling to remain conscious, your eyes close again. Jungkook's bloody hand slapping down on your face, shocking your eyes back open. Tears instantly returning to your cheeks.

"Don't you dare die!" He hisses. His hand curls around your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks. "I'm not going to let other people think they can come at me. Take my things. Try to hurt me." He growls, speaking just loud enough for only you and him. "So you're gonna keep living Y/n. Cause until I give you permission, you don't have the right to die."

#bts fan fiction #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts jung jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #mafia jungkook #yandere jungkook #yandere bts #yandere bangtan #bts #bangtan #bangtan fanfic #yandere #jungkook

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thunderheadfred · 3 years

Text

🦅Hawks HC’s🦅

This is SO unnecessarily long. Some NSFW. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

Has zero social life or hobbies outside of work. He knows it’s unhealthy, but like, who has the time?? Oh? Lots of people do?? Haha what are healthy work/home boundaries? He desperately wants to retire and always talks about a world without heroes, but the truth is he would have no idea what to do with himself if he got his way. Take him to a park at midnight and watch him turn into a giant repressed child on a swing. He’ll do a standing-360 and it will be terrifying.

Listens to music way too loud in his headphones to drown out wind noise. Probably half deaf at this point. His musical taste is wild; listening history all over the fucking place. Algorithms have no idea what to do with him.

That visor? It’s prescription. Wow is he far-sighted. He wears glasses. He’s not blind without them (rather the opposite) but they help him see things directly in front of him without massive eye strain. Yeah, he looks really hot in glasses.

Prefers communicating via text. Sometimes it’s a lot of dumb memes, but mostly it’s sincere. He can say what he means when he doesn’t have to put on a public front.

Smokes like a chimney. Self medicates with stimulants. Coffee, tobacco, sugar. Fidgety, likes things in his mouth or hands. Gnashes on toothpicks and popsicle sticks. He really should go back to therapy, huh? His teeth are sparkling white for the cameras but his breath could use some work. Chews gum a lot to compensate, and always does it really loudly with a big shit-eating grin.

Impatient as fuuuuuck. Rude about it. If you take too long doing anything, you’re going to hear a foot tapping. He’ll smile and laugh it off, never ever directly criticize you about it. But lord, the dramatic sighs. He WILL nudge you out of the way and take over in order to finish a task faster, and it’s truly fucking annoying.

LOVES food. Has the metabolism of an actual bird. Will seize upon any excuse to eat. No need to be self-conscious about eating in front of him; he wants you to enjoy it. Steals bites from you and talks with his mouth full. Prefers street food and take-out, usually eats while walking or flying. Sit-down restaurants are an invitation for gawkers.

He’s one of those celebrities that looks way taller on TV. In real life, he’s small and compact. So you’re surprised the first time you see him in person. He has a big head. Literally.

If you’re taller or bigger than him, he does Not Care. He treats everyone like they’re four feet tall, even Endeavor. Everything you do is cute. If you’re actually short, he’s going to carry you around all the time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Collects big chunky overpriced watches. All the better to tell you you’re late.

Half his clothes are brand fucking new. Sometimes he forgets to take off the tags. (Don’t look at the prices, do NOT) He never seems to wear the same thing twice. He also never seems to go shopping. Brands just give him stuff, and he shrugs and goes “yeah okay.”

The other half of his clothes are old, faded, and patched up. Every item he acquires for himself has deep sentimental value. If you tell him to throw away that nasty ten-year-old pair of frayed cargo pants, be prepared to find out how wrong and evil you are for even suggesting it.

He doesn’t snore; he coos. Loudly. Like a fucking pigeon trapped in a megaphone.

- - - - -

Dating

Gift-giving is his love language. Bringing your favorite snacks. Leaving novelty magnets on your fridge. He found a copy of that book/game/movie you mentioned like a month ago, don’t you remember? If he has to go out of town on a job, he’ll bring back the ugliest possible souvenir, just to annoy you.

He likes gifting jewelry especially. Covering you in shiny baubles, little golden things. Not expensive, but unusual. Antiques or handmade, even bizarre vending machine crap. Gets really handsy if you wear or show off his gifts.

Since you’re the first person who has given him The Feels, if you are resistant to his advances (like, say, because he’s way too famous and you’re terrified he’s gonna break your heart) he’s going to go fucking nuts trying to woo you. Doesn’t have a single patient bone in his body but will wait as long as it takes for you to come around. He’ll act like he’s cool with just being friends at first, just hanging out, haha. Oh you’re busy today? That’s cool. Inside he’s shrieking like a tea kettle. Go ahead, make him wait.

Don’t bother giving him a key to your place. He’s coming in through the bedroom window or patio door. Just put out a damn welcome mat on your balcony... or a bird feeder.

A bit of a voyeur. He likes to watch you do your normal routine without interruption. He can see from miles away so if you’ve got your lights on at night, he’ll creep for a while before he comes in. It comforts him immensely, seeing a little slice of the world that isn’t constantly in need of saving.

Is super talkative and funny but a terrible communicator. Makes more jokes the worse he feels. Will almost never tell you what he needs. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know. You will learn to read between the lines and gradually notice his tiny unconscious cries for help. Back rubs make him emotional.

He shows up at your place at the weirdest times. All hours. You’re never ready. At first it was infuriating, because you wanted to look your best and have time to prepare, but you figure out pretty quickly that seeing you in your natural state is his favorite thing. He never gets to be around normal people, doing normal things. A boring, lazy afternoon is his idea of paradise.

He’ll pick through your things and ask a world of invasive questions. A medicine cabinet raider. He wants to know every fucking tiny thing about you, live vicariously through you.

He actually lives in a top floor penthouse. Because I mean, where else? Never spends any time there; mostly he seems to roost on the balcony. He has used the front door maybe once. He much prefers your place, and will only take you back to his after months of dating. It’ll take like, an entire emergency. You’ll end up in his bed by mistake.

Because when you finally come over, he’s embarrassed. Its sparse. White. Things in boxes. A new furniture smell. Like he’s not done moving in, though he’s lived there for years. He wants you to move in So Bad but doesn’t want to be pushy. If you don’t start leaving your stuff there, he’ll steal things from your apartment. Where the hell is your favorite t-shirt? Or that pillowcase you like? Dammit Keigo.

He’s a decent cook, a habit he made himself pick up because he thought it might make him feel more normal. It... didn’t. He never actually cooks until you give him an excuse. He’ll bring you breakfast in bed and watch you eat every bite with big hungry eyes.

He’s got a separate wardrobe for his hero costume and all his feathers. Yeah. His feathers. Because he can detach and control his feathers at will, when he’s alone at home he kind of just... shucks off his wings. The first time you see him do it, your eyes fall out of your head. He walks around in a tee shirt and boxers with these ugly little stumps covered in brownish, blood-red down. It actually looks kind of gnarly, like he got mauled by a bear.

He’s never dated until you. No one has ever been in his apartment until you. No one has called him Keigo until you. He has some bigass intimacy issues. Because. Y’know. The trauma. But god, he wants you in his life so bad, even if he has no idea how to make time for your relationship.

He’ll want to keep you to himself for a while. Once you go public he’s going to have an arm around your shoulders at all times. Publicly Displays his Affection way more than is socially acceptable in Japan, and gives precisely -100,000 fucks.

His fans either love you or hate you. There is no in between. He will immediately take your phone and threaten to drop it from a great height if he catches you reading shitty gossip about the two of you. Does NOT care about his public image anymore, doesn’t want YOU to care about it either. He’s gonna retire soon anyway, remember? That’s a lie.

Being a charming motherfucker is the core of his public persona, so you will get jealous. A lot. He will flirt shamelessly without realizing it. He will get photographed in compromising positions with gorgeous people.

Once you accept that he’s basically an actor 80% of the time and that Hawks and Keigo are separate identities, you’ll both feel better. When he comes home (to YOU) and falls over exhausted and stops being Hawks(tm), when he scratches his ass or burps in front of you, when he yells to you from the bathroom, when he groans childishly about his shitty day while laying face-down in your lap, you’ll know you have nothing to worry about. Keigo is all yours.

Boundaries? Never heard of ‘em. He’s either a million lightyears away or he’s glued to your hip. The whiplash is astounding.

Absolutely says “I love you” wayyyyyy to soon. It thrills you but scares you off at the same time, because there’s no way Hawks - The Hawks - can actually mean it, right? (He does)

Rings? Nah. When things get serious, he will make a necklace out of a feather for you, and if you ever take it off, you better be asleep or in the shower. Even then you’re on thin fuckin ice. If you’re not wearing it he knows. He’s never mean about making you put it back on, it just makes him nervous if he can’t feel your heartbeat.

- - - - -

SPICY CHICKEN NUGGETS

High sex drive. Horny like 25/7. Probably a symptom of having way too much pent up stress.

Often takes care of it himself when he doesn’t have the emotional resources for anyone else, even his S.O. Figures you don’t want him coming on to you as often as he would like to, but he’s too stupid to talk to you about it first. Morning masturbator.

Yes he’s fucked around a lot but he’s not exactly a playboy either. People have always thrown themselves at him, and before he met you he let them do it. Especially when out of town and staying in a hotel. Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, etc.

He’d never be unfaithful to you though; his loyalty and dedication are frankly a little unsettling. Sometimes you feel like the only thing in his life other than hero work. Teach this man to knit. Make him join a book club. Christ. Anything.

Does in fact have seasonal mating patterns and it’s super embarrassing.

An underwear-sniffing perv. He’ll definitely hump your pillow.

Gets a sick thrill out of breaking in and startling you. Coming up behind you in the dark, sneaking into your bed. It’s probably his worst habit, and even he hates that he does it. If you get better at detecting him he’ll be so proud. Land a slap on him and he’ll be a horny mess.

Dog-whistles at you. Often from rooftops, and you have no idea where he is but you know he’s leering.

He will call you a lot of really stupid pet names. He likes the way you blush when he finds a newer, stupider one. Calls you angel when he’s really far gone.

Likes to scratch you with his stubble until your skin turns raw and sensitive. If it annoys you or hurts a little? Even better. Making you squirm is his new favorite thing. Especially when going down on you. Your inner thighs are always exfoliated.

His cock is average in every respect. This is not a bad thing. He knows how to please you with every totally normal inch of that cock. He has some kind of homing beacon installed on your sensitive spots.

Goes absolutely insane for blowjobs. Any time, any place.

Likes to bend you around in all kinds of positions with an assist from his feathers to hold up an ankle here, an arm there. Get used to floating mid-coitus. It just seems to happen.

Spanky.

His number one priority is making you feel adored and at home in his bed. Ohhhhh he likes to make you smile. But if you encourage him to get pushy and dominant with you, you will have a good, good time.

He’s switchy, and will lose his shit if you initiate or take control. Again, he’s always horny for you, because he can finally let go. Breathe in his direction and he’s hard.

Doesn’t moan much, but Babe, he’s a dirty talker. He’s not smooth or deliberate about it, it’s more like he can’t fucking believe you let him do whatever he wants to you. You like that huh? Like he’s in stages of shock. He’s singing your praises to high Heaven and muttering oh shit oh shit oh shittttttt and laugh-crying as he cums. He never talks about his feelings; he fucks about them.

After. Care. King. He loves pampering and clucking over you anyway, this is simply another excuse to do it. He knows exactly how much water you drink in a day. Can’t take care of himself for shit, but you? You’ll never have a need he won’t try to fill. What’s all that hero work for if not this? Yeah, soak it up. You deserve it.

#hawks #takami keigo #hawks headcanons #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #gender neutral #smut #bnha #mha #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha fanfiction #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fred writes #no idea why I’m writing these #guess I’m just in a Mood

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tipsydipsydo · 3 years

Text

The laundry hamper [M]

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut

AU: College AU!; Roommates2Lovers AU!; Friends2Lovers! AU

Warnings: Dirty Language + slight Dirty Talk; sweet and shy but naughty Jungkookie; Mentions of Masturbation in the shower; Scent/Smelling-Kink; Panty-Sniffing; Masturbation; slight Voyeurism; Teasing; Petnames; soft sub! Jungkook & dom! Reader undertones; Mentions of mutual Masturbation; Mentions of 69-Position

Summary: Jungkook has a crush on you since you moved together for college but the poor boy is way too shy to confess his feelings to you... rather he would search through your laundry hamper to get a shirt which smells after your very personal scent and tries to calm his racing heart... and other nerves. He didn’t thought to get catched by the person who already stole his whole heart in the most embarrassing situation...

A/N: Happy first year friendship anniversary with my dearest @borathae!! I love you to death my sweetheart and I thought today would be the perfect occasion to finally finish this Oneshot I started 10 months ago and waited to get finished until today on my IPad... especially because you was the person who gave me the inspiration to write this idea... I hope you like it!!

Status: halfway edited bc I was stressed I wouldn’t finish it on right time-

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

He knows it's bad and that he shouldn't do it. Well... honestly, already before this thought, which is haunting him since two weeks, he wasn't any kind of "well mannered" anymore. ...before you apologized for taking so much space with your shower untensils in the shower basket and then decided, to take your Shampoo, Conditioner and Bodylotion to your room.

The thing you didn't know was that you took with this decision, Jungkook's one and only opportunity to properly jerk off, with you.

Why?

God, just when the poor boy thinks about it... the thought alone gives him a rosy-red blush all over his cheeks, which almost reachs his ears and leave him completely flustered and ashamed.

How to explain it... your quiet, adorably awkward and super shy roommate, who has a crush on you since two years (or even longer!) tend to use your hair shampoo as a little "fantasy kick". How could he resist the opportunity to smell something so familiar which reminds him of you, so close?

How he used it you ask yourself?

While he was showering, he sniffed on the opened lid of the shampoo bottle like a fucking dog in his rut and jerked off to the smell of English Wild Roses. Yeah, even Jungkook himself is absolutely sure that he reached a whole new level of freakiness. Who else jack themself off while sniffing on a damn hair shampoo bottle?!

Jungkook has simply a thing for scents... especially for everything that smells like you. Whenever something of you comes in contact with his nostrils, he immediately pops a boner.

Really, it's not funny anymore when you feel that your dick is going hard just from getting a whiff of your crush's parfum when they're passing by.

Anyway, not your parfum or shower utensils are giving Jungkook a problem now, it's much more your laundry hamper which suddenly developts a really strong seductive affect on him.

Both of you having a seperate laundry hamper in the shared bathroom and also a laudry bag in your room. It's easier to have these two opportunities to put your laundry than walking always with an arm full of dirty clothes through the whole apartement.

Especially when friends of the other person are over and a pair of Kook's boxer briefs or one of your bra's found their way to the floor, unnoticed. Okay, 'unnoticed' as long as one of your friends are yelling that there is dirty underwear in the hallway. Of course not without dropping some stupid and teasing comments.

Yeah, it's really better for Jungkook's and your own peace to have a laundry bag in your room and a laundry hamper in the bathroom. Even when Kookie wouldn't mind it at all to be the one who would've found your lingerie...

...and that's the point. Since this one incidence with your dessous, Jungkook is haunted by countless absolutely filthy and indecent thoughts. At first he was still able to control them and to shove them away into the last corner of his mind. But after you took your shower stuff with you to your room, these fantasies returned really, really fast and his interest in your laundry hamper grew endlessly.

It absolutely didn't help that he pretty aware of the fact that you showered just a half an hour ago.

You made yourself ready to go to the movies with some of your friends. That means, he would be completely alone for the next few hours with the clothes you've worn before and are now own your very personal scent. How the hell should he survive this silently for him screaming seduction?!

Okay, okay, even when he'd took something off your hamper... just as a hypothetisch thought... it would be definitely only something completely innocent, like a shirt or something else. Really, he just loves to smell your wonderful personal scent. It's calming his wild racing heart... and in some way his unsatisfied desires as well.

Once again he takes a glimpse through the slightly opened bathroom door into the hallway which leads to the front door. Everything is silent, he is indeed completely alone in the apartement.

Now or never. Maybe he should take one of your worn out T-Shirts you always wear for house chores and isn't one of your favourite piece of clothing anymore. Maybe then you wouldn't notice that's even gone... for a longer time.

He shouldn't debate any longer before he reverses his opinion and pull back... he would slap himself if he'd let such an opportunity slip through his fingers unused...

As soon as he opens the lid of your laundry hamper, all his 'good and pure resolutions' are thrown out of the next bathroom window. Hebshould have guessed it, he should have known it... that your underwear is the last thing you take of your body before showering. Well, in conclusion, your panties are the first piece of cloth which is greeting Jungkook's eyes.

He's gulping harshly. Fuck, his brain knows that what he's doing here is bad and dirty, that he shouldn't do it... but his body and especially his dick is literally screaming and begging him to reach out for exactly this piece of lingerie.

Those tiny little wheels starts turning in Jungkook's head when he scans through your latest outfit. He remembers which Sweater and Sweatpants you wore. How could he forget those cute socks with this adorable avocado print on them.

...but no Bra.

Fuck... Jungkook can't explain himself why he finds the thought of you, being so comfortable in your shared apartement and around him, that you decided to not wear a bra underneath and let your tits bounce around freely, so god damn attractive...

Before he even realized it, his greedy hand took your used panties already out of the laundry hamper and lets the soft fabric slip through his fingertips.

It's a plain black cotton panty with a lacey border which has a beautiful flower pattern. Others would say it's boring, unspectacular underwear but for Jungkook it's already beautiful and beyond belief sexy lingerie. To imagine that you walk casually around in those panties everyday... Jungkook feels how his dick is already leaking precum in his boxer briefs.

With every second he holds this pair of panties in his hands, his poor, needy cocks hardens even more in his grey sweats. He gulps again. He shouldn't do it... but your panties are tempting him and his short patience.

Before he can control what he's doing, his nose is already buried in this piece of cloth and takes a deep breath.

If his other hand wouldn't already disappeared beneath his waist band and squeezed the base of his cock, he would've already blown his load right here in his sweats.

He's panting, his breath fast and ragged, trying to take as much as possible of your intoxicating scent into his lungs when he yanks his sweatpants down to his knees and lays his hand in a firm grip around his red, swollen and angrily leaking cock. He's literally dripping, so it doesn't take long until his whole palm is lubed thoroughly with his own precum.

Jungkook's mind is clouded, he can't built any proper thought anymore, your delicious smell makes him salivating and he knows, he feels it in every fiber of his body, that he already got addicted to the smell of your panties... your pussy.

He can't believe that you smell so good, like that fucking good that he almost blew his load already in his pants. Untouched.

His mind is spiralling, dirty thoughts get exceeded by even more filthier ones, every secret and forbidden fantasies which he hold under control for so, so long are crashing down on him.

God, what would he do to be the lucky person who gets you on top of him, queening him, his whole face buried into your pussy, your juices smearing all over his chin and cheeks and getting a good whiff of your perfect cunt first hand. He would happily die between your legs, suffocated by your thighs which you would've squeeze so tightly around his head that it would literally crushed him. He would die as the happiest man in the whole universe.

To imagine how you'd whine, whimper and growl at him... praising him for doing so good, pleasuring you so well, tugging at his locks because you can barely handle the pleasure you receive from his tongue and lips...

His fist goes faster and faster, his wrist will hurt so bad in the exam tomorrow... but that's Jungkook tiniest problem right now, he needs to cum so fucking bad, his balls are already hard and tight, feeling like they would burst if he wouldn't cum and time soon.

"Tz, tz, tz... what do we have here? I didn't thought you'd be such a naughty boy as someone who's so sweet and shy, Jungkook... sniffing your roommates panties and jerking off to them...", you snicker and smirk, even though bis back is still facing you. The later flinchs noticeably and lets a surprised and equally terrified yelp out, almost jumping around to you.

He's trying to save to situation and his pride, throwing your panties back into your open laundry hamper and pulling his pants up as quick as possible.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, I am so, so, so, so sorry, it will never happen again, I am so sorry that you have such a disgusting roommate like me, I am so sorry, I didn't knew you'd come back so early again- oh fuck... I am so sorry, I am a disaster", Jungkook chokes out in a trembling voice and glassy eyes, a tiny little sob leaves him as well. He is truly ashamed and mortified to death.

Your heart breaks when you look at him, he looks so sorry and embarrassed, he couldn't look at himself in the mirror again. Slowly you start to shake your head 'no'.

"Oh Jungkookie, I didn't mean to shame you... I... I just was a little surprised to catch you here in the bathroom... having a little fun time with yourself... I realized halfway to the cinema that I forgot my wallet and I came back to get it... then I saw you and just wanted to tease you a little bit... ah shit- I think I just messed the things up as well... okay okay, stupid question from a stupid person who has a big, fat crush on you since months, if not even years... wouldyoumindmetohelpyoutocum?", you ramble nervously, now are your cheeks equally beet-red.

Jungkook's eyes shoot up to your face, your red cheeks, your big, questioning eyes and your lip biting is sending a new rush of exitement down to his softening cock, making him harden all over again.

"W-What? ...what?? You- you too? I-I am crushing on you since we moved in together and now you're telling me that you- ...oh my god, yes... yes... yes please... please help me. I am so needy and horny right now and your pant- you always smelled so good and it's driving me crazy... I am so horny for you, Y/N."

Jungkook couldn't control his blabbering mouth anymore, everything is just blurting out of him with such a force like the Niagara Waterfall.

You sigh in relieve and a bright smile is forming on your lips as you walk over to your crush and lay both of your hands on his cute and round cheeks, so you can look each other into the eyes.

"Jungkook, I would like to ask you if you're comfortable with the thought of me kissing you before I will... devour you?"

Just to hear the two words 'devour you' out of your mouth made his knees almost buckle. His head is moving by itself, nodding vehemently. But to his confusion you're shaking your head no.

"Babyboy, I need your verbal confirmation. Consent is key, alright?", you say in a gently yet firm voice.

Oh God, you'll be his death... calling him 'Babyboy' alone made a whimper slips past his lips which is why you hum very appreciately.

"Oh God, yes, yes, yes... please... please kiss me and devour me, Mistress- ugh, s-sorry, I- I didn't mean to say that", Jungkook coughs out all flustered again, don't dare to look you in the face.

Such a good, perfect babyboy he is already for you.

"Don't be shy, Baby... I like the title you gave me. When you like it, you can continue to address me with 'Mistress'. ...what about we change our location to your or my bedroom? I'd love to let you smell and taste my pussy... not just through worn fabric. I would take great care of your aching cock... I saw how swollen, red and leaking it was already. What about you eat me out while I take your cock into my mouth and jerk you off with the panties I wear right now. Hm, sounds good?

Jungkook's head is already spinning again when your lips finally meet, your mouth and tongue already taking the control over him and devouring him.

Yes, you'll be definitely the death for him.

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prettytoxicrevolver · 3 years

Text

The Four Times it Rained with Anthony Beauvillier and The One Time it Didn't

Requested? Absolutely not

Warnings? It's really long with like no dialogue LMAO

Summary: The rain has always brought good things to you and Tito but what happens when it's actually sunny out?

Word Count: 4k

It's really mf long but I promise it's worth it and I'm super proud of it so enjoy! :)

One

When you awoke to the sound of rain pounding steadily on your rooftop your heart filled with glee like a little kid in a candy store. Nothing made you happier than when it rained outside. You loved having the opportunity to sit inside and work all day with the patter of rain smacking the rooftop.

However, today was even better. You had no work and nowhere to be, your all-time favorite kind of rainy day. You always took these days to finish up your favorite books, watch the movies you’ve been holding off on for ages, revel in the ending of your favorite tv shows that have been put off, order in food, and just enjoy the sound of the rain.

It was a cliche, of course, most of your favorite things typically were. It didn’t make you love them any less, in fact, it made you love them a little more. Thinking about how you and however many other people were absolutely content with the fact that it was pouring outside.

And to make things better? Tito had the day off too.

You were a bit surprised when you woke up to the rain and not your best friend either calling, knocking on the door, or just barging straight in like he owned the place. He practically did, always coming over and spending more time at your apartment than he did his own. He certainly wasn’t unwelcome, you loved every moment you got to spend with the left-wing Islander.

Just as you sit up in bed, running a hand through your hair you hear a knock on the door. Knowing it’s no doubt, Tito, at the source, you shoot him a text telling him to come in using his spare key. You listen to the quiet sounds of the rain against the window as your best friend lets himself inside your apartment.

You fall back in bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin, and snuggle deep into the warmth. You hear a quiet knock on your bedroom door before Tito lets himself in. Your head turns, a tiny smile at the sight of your best friend and he reflects it. He makes his way over to you, climbing in bed and slipping an arm around your waist. He pulls you into his chest, pressing his face into your hair and you both sigh in content at the feeling.

You try to ignore the way his hands feel like fire against your skin and how your heart’s steady tempo has slowly increased at the mere thought of him. Gentle warmth floods your body when Tito presses a kiss to the back of your neck, the action causing your heart to act as an elevator, rising and falling without rhyme or reason.

You both fall asleep for a while, the rain lulling you into a tired state and soaking up the rest you both had been sorely lacking after your busy weeks. You awoke for the second time that day to Tito’s hands lazily tracing patterns on your arms.

“Hi,” you murmur, turning in his embrace.

“Hey,” he greets back his tiny smile growing wider. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Getting bored laying here?” you ask.

“Never,” he says, throwing a wink at you that has your stomach doing backflips.

Tito has to turn away from you as his cheeks burn red at your sleep-ridden state. His heart mimics the rain outside a steady patter fast against the rooftop just like his heart against his ribcage. He stands, holding a hand out to you which you take and you let him pull you up and out of bed, leading you towards the living room.

You both fall onto the couch, Tito pulls your legs over his and slips an arm back around your waist. He hated being away from your touch for too long. Your head falls comfortable onto his chest and you’re certain your eyes may flutter shut once more.

Tito peruses the movies before him and ultimately decides on a random marvel one that he’s never seen before but you most definitely have. He watches as your eyes light up at the sight of your favorite superhero on screen, and you launch into the explanation of the plot for him.

He can barely focus, only thinking about how easy it would be to release the three simple words that would change everything. Or press a kiss to your soft-looking lips in an attempt to hush you so he can actually watch and listen to the movie. Unfortunately fear captures his heart a little tighter than the love he has for you.

You turn back to look at your best friend, expecting at least a hum in response, and when you notice his eyes have been on you the entire explanation your cheeks flush. You wondered what he was thinking about, and hoped it was the same thing you were.

“You okay?” you ask, pulling him back to reality.

“Yeah,” he reassures. “All good.”

You nod, a tiny smile on your lips as you look back at the TV. Tito tries to focus for you but he can only think about how much he loves you.

Two

It was a bad habit for you to leave all of your shopping to one day a week. You always ended up running out of something you desperately needed but were too lazy to go out and buy.

However, today seemed to be turning out equal parts bad and equal parts good. The good thing was that you were able to convince Tito to come with you shopping and carry some (he would argue most) of your groceries home. The somewhat bad? It looked like it might rain.

You tried to make your way through the store as quickly as possible, the impending storm looming in the back of your head as you shop. However, your best friend is of no help to you.

"Tito" you call for the billionth time. "Put it back."

The older boy pouts, reaching into your cart to pull out the fruit snacks he just threw in. You smile widely at him, and before you can move the cart once more, Tito climbs onto the front of it.

“Onward!” he yells pointing in the opposite direction and you giggle while pushing the cart slowly along as to not hit anyone or anything.

The rest of the shopping goes just as smoothly, your heart filling up with air similar to a balloon that doesn’t know when it’s going to pop. Sometimes looking at your best friend was too much and you became scared you’d let the feelings spill out all over the floor.

Tito would do anything to see you smile or laugh. It was nothing short of embarrassing himself or nearly killing himself in the middle of a grocery store aisle where he could easily be recognized in the small area of Long Island. As long as your head was thrown back in laughter, a wide smile stretched across your lips, and the promise of a sometimes yelled “Tito!” or “beau!” expelled from you was there, it was worth it.

After checking out, you two split up the bags and start to make the trek back to your apartment. You were beyond glad you had brought Tito along with you, making the trip much easier on you and providing plenty of entertainment along the way. As you walk, the clouds start to rumble and you cast a nervous glance over to the tall brunette. Tito grins back at you, just enjoying your presence, not a care for the impending weather.

A crack of thunder rolls in causing you to jump and pick up your speed. You were about two blocks from your house but the world had other plans for you. Just as you were rounding a block away, it starts to pour.

“Fuck!” you yell pausing in the street.

You look over and Tito is grinning like a maniac, the smile on his lips shooting straight to your heart. You can’t help but reflect it, he looks beautiful rain-soaked and his blue eyes lit up at the wonder of it all.

Tito had always been grateful for the rain. It had always brought good things to him and the world. Right now it easily brought him his favorite thing he’s ever witnessed. Your hair is soaked, plastering messily against your face as you whip around to look at him. A smile bigger than he had ever seen sits perfectly on your lips and that sound that he loves more than anything in the world is there, the laugh that makes his heart rise to the top of the empire state building and teeter over the side with nerves.

God, he loved you.

Without a second thought, he intertwines your hands, grabbing your bags out of your other hand and hauling them into his own. He starts tugging you along, trying to push down the fact that your hands feel like they’re made specifically for him and that he never wants to let go.

You make it back to your apartment, your heart pounding for a different reason for once. When you get inside, Tito drops the groceries by the door and you both turn to each other still giggling quietly. Tito’s hand is still interlocked with yours, his calluses rubbing against your palm and sending shockwaves through your veins.

He pulls you in, his other hand coming to wrap around your waist. Your soaked bodies inch closer until they’re flush and you’re staring into his mesmerizing blue eyes. Your free hand wraps around the back of his neck, your fingers trailing the buzz-cut hair on the back of his neck.

Tito was pretty sure you might be the death of him. Looking down at your soaked state, peering up at him and the movement of your hands, he’s surprised his heart hadn’t stopped yet. He wants to lean down, finally meet his lips to yours, and fall headfirst into a relationship with you without considering any of the consequences.

You were hoping that one of you was finally going to build the nerve to change everything. Your heart is tipping on the edge of wishing and hoping. Just as your noses brush, a loud crack of thunder sounds, and you both jump, the possibility scaring you along with the noise.

Three

Today was not turning out to be a good day. Besides the prospect of rain later, you had barely gotten any work done, your finals were coming up soon, and you hadn’t seen Tito in weeks.

So the last one is slightly exaggerated. You had seen Tito, mostly through facetime calls and the occasional quick stop by but he was mostly on the road and you were sorely missing your best friend. You’d kill to have him here, even if it was for longer than an hour, you’d do anything to have him next to you.

You knew it was somewhat selfish, but you needed him here. Needed his encouraging words, his soft touches, his sweet smiles, just his presence. You knew his schedule though, understood his job and what came with it and you knew he’d never trade it for the world, you never wanted him to.

Tito was homesick. Not particularly for his apartment, or even the island itself, he was desperate to see you. He missed your laugh, and holding your hand, cuddling together late at night, waking up early to your sleeping state, forehead kisses, and his favorite: your laugh. He was desperate for it, the physical version of it.

However, when he heard the Isles were headed home for a quick weekend stint he knew he wasn’t close to heading back to his apartment. He headed straight towards you, his other half even if it was unbeknownst to you. He had decided a while ago that even if you never reciprocate his feelings, you were still his twin flame, his platonic soulmate forever and always.

He headed to your apartment with excitement, checking your location on his phone to see that you were there. In the cab on the way, it starts to rain and Tito can’t help but smile. He had always loved the rain but he was almost certain it had slowly started to become a beacon of good things especially surrounding you.

A wave of calm flows through him when he reaches your front door, he feels like a little kid receiving the Christmas present that they had been asking for all year. He hadn’t even seen you yet and the thought occurs to him that he always wants to come home to you after long weeks away.

You sit in your apartment, flipping aimlessly through your textbook in an attempt to get some work done. The rain plinks softly against your apartment window and the noise soothes you as you try to focus. However, just as you start to, a knock on your door sounds. You’re wary at first but make your way over to it swinging it open without a second thought.

“Anthony-” you breath out, your best friend’s first name foreign on your tongue.

Tito barges in, wrapping his arms around your waist and you instantly slip yours around his neck. You relish in the feeling of him being here and back in your arms. You almost let out a whine when he pulls away from you but his hands trail from your waist to your hands and interlock them.

“Come on,” he says with a mischievous smile on his lips.

“Where-” you start but Tito shakes his head, pulling you out of the apartment and dragging you along.

You’re so caught up in the fact that Tito is here, and his hand has slipped back into yours that all you can do is take in his appearance. Whenever he’s gone for a long time he always seems different but more and more like home to you. When he comes back it’s like your last puzzle piece is put in place and you’re whole again.

You both make your way down the floors of your apartment building until you’re outside. Tito lets go of your hand, stepping out onto the sidewalk and letting the rain fall over him. You watch as a loving smile falls onto your lips, the rain cascades over him, his hair falling flat against his forehead, and an unknowing smile pressed on his face.

“Come here,” he tells you and at first you shake your head no.

Beau was definitely not taking that answer today. He makes his way over to you, slipping an arm around your waist and lifting you into his arms and out into the rain. You shriek as the cold raindrops fall over you and you tuck your face into Tito’s neck.

He sets you down but doesn’t let go, his hand still circling your waist. He nudges your arms until they slide around his neck again, your fingers interlocking at the nape. He grins wildly down at you and your heart fills and fills at the sight. He slowly sways the two of you back and forth, dancing to music only known between you two.

“I missed you,” he says after a few quiet beats.

“I missed you too beau.”

Your swaying moves to a dull rocking back and forth, the two of you focused more on each other than anything else in the world. Neither of you realized it, but when the other was around the whole world seemed to fall away in an instant. There was no use trying to get between the two of you.

Beau leans down, your foreheads bumping lightly and your breath shortens at the proximity of the two of you. He leans forward, his nose brushing yours and for once you’re begging for his lips to meet yours, not caring about what might change between the two of you after.

“Hey! Get out of the street!”

You and Tito pull apart heads whipping in the direction of a car driving right at you. You both laugh at the ridiculousness of it all before heading back inside, the rain only picking up harder.

Four

“One more exam. Just one more final exam.”

You chanted the words over and over again in your head hoping they would somehow motivate you into finishing your work and studying for the last exam you had for the school year. You even went as far as going to the library, deciding to hole yourself up there the entire day to try and get something done.

Tito would text you occasionally, mostly offering words of encouragement as you worked and every time your phone buzzed an unconscious smile reached your lips. Tito had always been your cheerleader and vice versa. You were always there for each other and pushing each other forward whenever you needed it.

Your corner of the library was cozy, you sat, your legs tucked up in the loveseat next to the window. The rain fell slowly down the side of the building and you watched two raindrops drip down, an unknown race there.

Your eyes fall back to the textbook in front of you, flipping through the pages trying to absorb more information than you already have all day. As you work, suddenly a hand appears in front of you, a cup of coffee being placed down on the table in front of you. Your eyes trail up and you find a grinning Tito standing before you.

“Thought you might need an energy boost,” he says sitting down in front of you.

Your heart practically bursts at the sight. Tito had known you hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep recently and was worried about you. However, he also knew you were easily the most stubborn person in his life. If he couldn’t beat you, he might as well support your caffeine addiction in hopes that by the end of finals you’ll finally get some rest.

“Have I mentioned recently you’re my favorite person in the world?”

Tito grins dropping his head down shyly and you take the opportunity to grab the coffee and take a sip of it. You hum at the taste, a soft smile appearing on your lips when you realize that Tito has memorized your coffee order, something no one else has had the energy to do.

“I also wanted to make sure you get home okay,” he says nodding to the ever-growing rainstorm outside.

Your whole body warms at the words, a blush dusting your cheeks. Tito was nothing if not a gentleman and every time a display like this showed, your heart fell further and further into his hands. You place the cup down in front of you, leaning forward to place a hand on Tito’s knee.

“Thank you, darling,” you say and you swear you see a blush on Tito’s cheeks.

Your eyes search his as the only noise in the library is the sound of the rain against the building and the soft sounds of the workers meandering around. You swear gravity pulls you towards each other, Tito’s hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes softly against your skin, the contact making your heart freeze and speed up all at once.

“Excuse me loves, the library is closing.”

You and Tito smile and nod at the sweet woman, breaking apart slowly before gathering your things and heading out together.

And One

The sun shines high in the sky, easily one of the nicest days on long island in months. Spring was melting away into summer and the warm air had you dying to get out and visit the ocean even if it was just for a little bit.

While Tito knew of your love for the rain, the breakthrough of sun was welcomed by the two of you. It was unspoken that when the sun had risen, and the temperature broke seventy, you wanted to spend a little time at the beach together.

You disliked the beach normally, not liking the sand that gets everywhere, the obnoxious teens yelling loudly, kids running around without parents, it just bothered you. But you loved the feeling of warm wind running through your hair as you drive, windows down, and the smell of the ocean air.

Tito shows up on your doorstep, and without a word, you two are out the door and heading towards your car. You climb in, hands immediately rolling down your windows and sunroof while Tito picks the music. You had an unspoken communication to go to the beach today and you were beyond excited.

Tito always looked gorgeous to you. In the sun? His blue eyes shine a bit brighter, his smile seeming to reflect the warmth that the sun brought you inside and out. He was breathtaking.

You were a work of art to Tito. Your hair blew back from your face, whipping around the small space. A light smile had been present since he showed up on your doorstep. Your (y/e/c) lit up from the sun and him. From head to toe, he would never grow tired of looking at you.

When you got to the beach, you parked in a spot overlooking the water. The two of you get out of the car, and Tito gestures to the hood. He stands before you, hands placed gently on your hips, and lifts you onto your car with ease, his hockey training coming in handy.

He hops up next to you, settling down on the hood and overlooking the beautiful ocean. His leg touches yours, starting at your feet and following through to your hips. The contact drives you crazy, making it feel like it’s ten degrees hotter as your nerves spike. It’s surprisingly quiet, the ocean rushing in and out before you, a light wind pushing your hair back effortlessly.

Your hands sit in your lap, nervously fiddling together. Tito glances at you constantly, his eyes trailing to your hands and he builds the courage to slip his fingers into yours. At the contact, you squeeze his hand lightly and that gives Tito all he needs.

“Hey,” he says, making you turn to look at him.

His other hand comes up to cup your cheek and you lean into the touch instinctively. His head ducks to meet yours, your noses brushing and your breath catches in your throat. You watch Tito’s eyes flicker back and forth before pushing forward. His lips meet yours and you sigh at the feeling of his lips on yours. Your free hand comes to grip the side of his shirt and pull him as close as possible.

Your breathless the entire kiss, the thought that the older hockey player liking you back finally smacking you full force. His touch lights you up from head to toe and you never want him to break away.

Tito grew more and more confident within the kiss, and his heart continued to balloon in his chest bigger and bigger at your closeness, you were finally right where you were supposed to be.

You pull apart when there’s no breath left in your lungs but stay close. Tito chases your lips pressing another light kiss to them. You giggle at him and he smiles sheepishly, biting his lip slightly and gazing at you with those eyes that had you since you first met. Tito was still on cloud nine at the thought of you loving him back.

“I really really like you,” he whispers and you giggle. He could have said absolutely nothing, he could have kissed you again, or simply kept holding your hand but the words said out loud made your heart do backflips like it was an olympian training for the gold medal.

“I like you too.”

“And I really wanna kiss you again.”

You smile lovingly at him before pressing your lips to his, something that would never fail to make your heart stop.

#anthony beauvillier imagine #nhl imagine #tito beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier x reader #anthony beauvillier x y/n #tito beauvillier fic #tito beauvillier x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nhl x y/n #nhl islanders fic #imagine #fic #x reader #x y/n

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kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

homestretch of the hard times | g.t.

summary: the eve days of your potential death kinda spurns things to move forward: for takemura, it means confessions. for you, it means making exceptions. and drinks. ‘cause takemura’s the pickiest fucking eater you’ve ever met.

WARNINGS: small spoilers for act 1 of cyberpunk 2077 and references to non-spoiler texts between takemura and v, just fluff, small angst, swearing, idk what else is going on so if there are actual spoilers thats completely coincedental ndlnskfsldnf pairing: goro takemura x fem!street-kid!v word count: 2.6k

a/n: so cdpr did us dirty for not allowing us to romance him (to my knowledge) but he has my mind, heart and everything else so :) listened to the bones by maren morris w/ hozier

part of the tales of a two-bit thief series

It starts with something straight out of a romance movie: A car crash, saving each other’s lives (well, him more than you) and “Wait, V, I need you.”

You don’t know how you got here, to be precise. There were a chain of events, some absolutely stand up fucking moments on your part, and just… fuckery. So much fuckery and life went to shit.

All you know is the ticking time bomb’s only ticking louder and at this point, the only thing that can silence it at all is the man beside you. Not even the meds Misty gave you can help you now.

You’re sitting in his car because you called him and he had answered and now… now they’re on one of the off ramps looking over Night City like they own the fucking place.

Maybe you did, once. Ha, maybe back when everything seemed more job to job and not life to life. For a moment, maybe you were in the big leagues.

Takemura doesn’t say anything, even though you can tell he wants to. His hair still pulled into that man bun, collared shirt with not a single wrinkle in sight. Weird how he never looks out of place, not really. Not even with the car crash. Shit, he always looked good.

You think you’re actually gonna miss that. That one semblance of someone being put together that gave you the hope that maybe you could stick it too.

You think you’re gonna miss a lot of things about him—from his stupid complaints about the food here, to his stupid random philosophy texts in the day, to the fact that he eats the ramen you buy anyway without complaint, even though it’ll never compare to what he has in Japan.

The thought that counts.

They don’t even have the radio on, just the dim lights of the car, a window rolled down. You don’t smoke but you feel like you should be tapping a cig either way. You haven’t had the time to just fucking breathe—not with Silverhand breathing down your neck, corpo rats swarming you on all sides.

Everyone wants a piece of you, it feels like.

You look at Takemura.

Almost everyone.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, with difficulty. It’s hard to get through your words without thinking Silverhand’s behind your back, mocking you. You’re so fucking tired. “It hasn’t been easy.”

He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy looking at one of the cars nearly collide with a pedestrian. You could’ve laughed. You used to make fun of the shitty drivers in Night City, knowing full well you’re one of them.

You get chased by a couple of cops, rules start to bend.

You used to wonder why you never left.

Then, you actually left, and you realized that hell, you can take the person out of Night City—can’t take the Night City out of a person.

Atlanta fucking sucked, but maybe you should’ve stayed there.

But then, a tiny voice whispers as you look out the window to the fresh night wind. You never would’ve met him.

It’s funny, you think. To come back and get a brain tumour in the shape of a rocker who can’t fucking touch anyone who loves him, who he loved, only for you to fall in love with a corpo you can’t fucking touch at all because… because there is no time left. It just isn’t fair.

“I used to be a corpo kid,” you confess, looking at him with a wry smile again. That catches his attention. He looks at you with those eyes that scrutinize you, interrogate you, peel you apart to your bare essentials and you have to look away before you can’t control your face anymore. God fucking damn it. “Not when it mattered, obviously, but… I remember what it was like. Grew up hating every single on of them.”

“Your parents were Arasaka?”

“Mhm. Security division.” It’s like your eyes are magnetic to his because when you blink, you find yourself regarding him again. Your fingers play at your lips. “Counterintelligence. I was supposed to go into that, too. Big dreams.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, then my parents were tried for treason and murdered, so I got thrown out. That’s it.” Your hand falls away. You pick at the chipped nail polish on your thumb. “Never told anyone that. ‘Cept…” Jackie. Well, he’s fucking dead, now. “‘Cept you, now, I guess. Guess some corpos aren’t so bad.”

The corner of his mouth pinches up like he’s flattered and you can’t help the pleased warmth spreading through your chest.

“Should I be honoured I am one of the few exceptions you have made?”

“Well, I don’t make exceptions often, so…” You grin slyly. He looks away just as you catch a flash of his smile growing. It’s a nice smile. You wish you saw it more often before the end of the road. Maybe it’s one of the regrets you have, too. “Yeah, maybe you should feel special.”

“Hm.”

“C’mon, Takemura. Humour the walking dead, yeah?” You stretch against the leather of his car seat with a pleased sound. “I’m spending what time I have left with who I want to. Can’t ask for much better than that.” A quiet hangs in the air as you melt against the black leather and you look at Takemura who’s staring at the wheel with an intensity you don’t often see. It makes your gut squirm.

“And I? I am one of those people?”

You lean on one hip and look at him, bending a knee and resting an ankle on your thigh. He looks at you with an uncertainty—an uncertainty you’re sure echoes in your eyes.

It was business, then it wasn’t. Maybe it never was.

“Yeah. You’re one of the few on the short list.”

“Exceptions again.”

You laugh. “Yeah. You’re an exception to most things, I think. Weird, that.”

“How so?”

“Ah, I don’t know. I’ve had family—still do, ones that matter, you know. Just… no one ever like you, Takemura. Drives me crazy.”

“The feeling is mutual. Your mocking brings you onto thin ice, V.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. The engine’s off so it seems more fidgety than anything. Weird. You never noticed he fidgeted before. Maybe he’s nervous?

About what?

“I must ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“If you have a future, what do you see for yourself?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. You frown and pick at your flecking nail polish even more, looking at your hand and focusing more on that so you don’t have to answer your question. His eyes burn into you and you swallow, trying not to act like you haven’t thought, in regret, at night, about a hundred million fucking times the possibilities they could’ve had together.

You’re not about to say all that.

Instead: “Settling down with the family. Mama Welles, people at the Coyote.” You blatantly don’t look at him when you add, “Others. This has been enough action for a lifetime.” You rest your hands on your lap and chance a glimpse at him. He’s looking away from you, out the window on his side, and you shift in your seat. “How about you? You must’ve… had dreams. Before all this shit went down. You make it out of here and then what?”

When he looks at you, your heart nearly cracks at the sadness in his eyes. He smiles, but there is no strength, and his eyes are darker than the night surrounding them.

“I would go to the countryside, just as I’ve always wanted. Leave this, all of this, behind. Rural Japan is beautiful, so a small town would suffice where everyone knows everyone. We do favours for one another. It is community. Nothing like here.” His lips pull into a tiny frown. “When I was a younger man, I wanted a daughter,” is all he says. “I believe I could have been a great father, so perhaps… perhaps one day.”

“A daughter? Not a son?” you ask curiously, and he almost chuckles. You can’t help the faint smile on your face.

“If my daughter grew up anything like her mother,” he explains with a slight glance towards you, “I would have more hope than a son who was like me.”

You frown. “You’re not a bad man, Takemura. Any son like you—with your code of honour, your shitty selfie skills—no one’s gotta a chance.”

He merely scoffs in response. Again, with the you mocking him. It’s a wonder he lets you.

“But really, that sounds… nice. A daughter, a wife.” You drum your fingers against your knee and his eyes dart to yours, click like they were always destined to meet, and your lips part. Words stall on your tongue and you want to speak but in the dim lights, you are lost in the darkness of his eyes. Something comes, something goes, and you barely croak out, “Whoever marries you will have to deal with so much of your shit that the kids have to turn out alright. The complaining, for one. Picky eater for another.”

This time, he does chuckle and you swallow a breath at the sound. “Dealing with it comes with practice, V.”

“Is that so?”

“Shouldn’t you know?”

“I—“ For once, no funny retort, no witty quip shoots out of your mouth, and you realize that there is an implication—an intricate dance where they’re struggling not to step on each other’s toes and nearly failing at every turn, yet somehow, it works because they’re dancing, and it’s quiet, and it’s… it’s peaceful.

Shit, you’re getting a load of this. When’d you become a poet?

“I guess I should know,” you finally say. “Never understood why I got so giddy whenever I saw your texts, you know, seein’ your name flash on my phone.” You laugh bitterly. “Guess I know why, now.” He’s silent and you don’t look at him. You look at the dashboard where you’ve kicked your feet up a dozen times, the glove compartment that still has your sunglasses inside.

Shit.

“Thank you for everything. Shit’s a little… more bearable, I guess. When you’re around, that is.” The words come out stilted, awkward, but your heart is so heavy in your throat you feel like you’re going to choke. You look into your lap, your whole body incinerating under what you’re sure is the most judgemental glare of your life and you just hope to fucking God this man says something, does something.

Holy shit. You’re going to die of embarrassment. Didn’t even think that was possible.

Then, a loud sigh. A sigh you’ve heard often enough beside you right before a gunfight or when he has to eat the food you ordered for him or even the nights when they’re exhausted, bruised, and just plain tired right before going to sleep where they lay on the floor.

It’s exasperated, a how on earth did we get here, a very annoyed again, you’re so fucking stupid, and you’re still running through your list on what this particular sigh can mean before a hand gently takes hold of yours. Your eyes dart to his, blinking and he stares at you like you’ve just stabbed him. Your heart is fucking racing in your chest, pounding like thunder. His fingers fold over and you realize, as you interlace fingers, that his skin is burning at your touch.

Or maybe, it’s the other way around.

They sit there in silence, not looking at one another, looking out windows, parts of the car, everything but each other, and when he squeezes your hand, you close your eyes and swallow your heart.

It’s over.

“V,” he murmurs, voice so deathly quiet and raspy in your ears that your gut clenches. You turn to watch him. “Tell me that you will not stop fighting.” You swallow your breath as his eyes flicker from your own to your parted lips. He inhales quietly and you swear you can feel his heartbeat pulsing in his fingers in your grip. “That this is not all for nothing.”

“It isn’t.“

“Then I was right.” His eyes flutter back to your gaze and he tilts his head. Wisps of fine hair escaping his manbun brush over his nose and you reach up on your own accord, swiping it behind your ear. You lean over the console, your elbow digging into the leather and, tentatively, you trail your fingers down his jaw, hold his face in your hand. “I am… what is that phrase you use so often?”

“SNAFU?”

“No.”

“Assblasted.”

“No.”

“Royally fucked?”

“We need to expand your vocabulary.” You smile nefariously as his other hand reaches for your chin. He pinches it lightly, thumb stretching up to brush over your lips and your face freezes at his touch. “But yes. Royally fucked. I wasn’t wrong when I said I needed you.”

“I think that meant a whole something else back then,” you whisper rawly and he smiles sombrely. His thumb leaves your mouth to brush your cheek, his eyes fixing on you as if he’s trying to memorize aspects of your face: the arch of your nose, the bow of your smile, the way your brow wrinkles. “Meant more business-like.”

“I did. And now, I believe the terms have changed.” He arches an eyebrow. “Are we at a mutual understanding, V?”

“Yes.” And I hate that we are. Your hand along his jaw lifts to wrap around his wrist. “Consider that feeling mutual, yeah? It goes both ways.”

“I will.” Another small smile graces his lips. It makes him look younger every time and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand.

“Do you wanna grab something to eat before you drive me back home for some shuteye?”

“The choices here are atrocious, V.”

“Then, drinks,” you propose, letting go of his wrist. He lets go of your chin, and turning to face the front, you kick up your feet on his dash. He stares at you for a moment then sighs because there really isn’t anything he can do about it. Nor, do you think, he wants to. You squeeze his hand and send him a silly smile. “How about drinks? I wasn’t hungry anyway.”

“Are you paying?”

You eye him incredulously. “Who do you take me for? You?”

He snorts and the engine roars to life with a flick of his wrist. He grabs the wheel dominantly and you swallow at the way his fingers wrap around the handle. “The Afterlife, then?”

“Or, we could make it rustic.” You pull his hand into your lap playfully and run a thumb over his knuckles. His eyes flit over and you send him a smirk. “I know Mama Welles doesn’t like you, but the Coyote’s serving cheap. Happen to like me there.” He begins to pull out of their little overhang and he nudges their joined hands into your abdomen, silently telling you to buckle in. Rolling your eyes, you mumble out a ‘boomer’ underneath your breath before letting go of him and following orders.

He settles a hand on your thigh and squeezes. You hang an arm out the window.

The wind’s running through the car, he has the radio on low, and they’re easing through onto the highway.

Your chest is lighter than a feather, mind’s quieter than a ghost.

You’ve seen scarier deaths, dealt a lot more. You know that silence is a bigger killer than most bullets.

But here you are now…

“I’m changing this,” Takemura says. “This music is terrible.”

…Shit, maybe life isn’t so bad, ending the way it is.

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silversatoru · 3 years

Text

birthdays don’t have to suck

fushiguro megumi x f!reader (elli)

synopsis: you get really sick on your birthday, but megumi makes sure that you still have a good day :))

t/w: fluff, reader is sick, vomiting, medicine (tylenol lol), some details pertain specifically to elli

wc: 2.2k

a/n: a small birthday present for the love of my life @megumifushi who never sleeps enough and is always sick,, i love u and i hope ur days not too bad <3

you stared into your dimly lit laptop, red eyes squinting at the black text that sped across the screen as your fingers scrambled against the keys. you weren’t even sure that what you were writing was comprehensible at this point, but your essay that was due tomorrow morning wasn’t gonna write itself. at this point it just needed to get done, concerns of quality were thrown out the window hours ago.

aside from the burning and stinging in your eyes, your entire body ached, and you were ridden with chills and goosebumps. seemed like a fever was coming on, but you didn’t have the time or capacity to care about that right now. you’d pop a few tylenol and crawl into bed in a couple hours, and everything would be better tomorrow.

what time was it anyway? it couldn’t possibly be that late yet, right?

you glanced to the corner of the screen, eyes falling on a bright 3:56am that made your heart sink and your eyes widen. you had a terrible habit of losing track of time and staying up into ungodly hours of the night — a habit that your wonderful boyfriend was trying so terribly hard to break.

you glanced to your left and took in his sleeping form, his lips parted ever so slightly as he took small breaths of air. he’d be disappointed and upset with you if he knew how horrid your sleep schedule had been lately, and he’d probably blame your chills and headaches on your lack of sleep as well — which in all fairness was probably pretty accurate.

“i’ll just finish this up real quick and then i promise i’ll sleep, ‘kay gumi?” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his soft, spiky hair.

he was undisturbable, his mind off somewhere in a dreamland that was quite the distance from your small bedroom. and that was probably for the better, because him nagging at you to go to sleep would be too distracting for you to get your work done.

your hands moved rapidly against the keyboard for about another hour, words spilling onto the screen until you finally hit the page requirement for your paper. it was probably terrible, most likely had a few words spelled wrong, and honestly you were pretty certain you’d repeated yourself several times, but fuck it — submit. you were typically an excellent student, so one bad paper wouldn’t kill you, and you were too tired and achy to care right now.

you got up and placed your laptop onto your desk, plugging it in and letting a heavy sigh fall from your lips as you made your way back over to the bed. the soft blankets were therapeutically warm on your chilly skin as you crawled in against megumi’s back, effectively turning him into the little spoon and pressing your nose to the back of his neck. thankfully, sleep found you shortly after, your eyes fluttering shut as you drifted off into a much needed slumber.

babe

wake up

babe

you woke up to small finger pokes to your cheek from megumi, his face laced with concern as your vision finally focused on his features. he bent over and pressed his lips to your forehead, pausing there for a fraction of a second and then standing back up.

“i think you have a fever. i noticed when i woke up and you felt like a fucking space heater,” he frowned, confirming your initial suspicions from last night, “i’ll go get some medicine”.

you groggily nodded your head, shivers coursing through your body and dotting your extremities with goosebumps. your condition had definitely deteriorated overnight, your eyes stinging and a horrible nausea creeping up your throat.

by the time he returned with the medicine you had yourself propped up against the pillows, thick blankets pulled up to your chin in an attempt to minimize the icy feeling in your body. he handed two small tylenol tablets to you with a disappointed look on his face — a look that said: i’m gonna kick your ass for not getting enough sleep again.

“i’ll let everyone know you’re not feeling well enough to go out tonight,” he hummed as he handed you a glass of water, your brain filling with thick fog as you tried to decipher why he would need to let anyone know you were sick.

the look of pure confusion signaled to him that you had no idea what he was talking about, megumi shaking his head before he spoke up again, “it’s your birthday, dumbass, we were supposed to get food and stuff with yuuji, inumaki, and nobara and maki”.

birthday

forgetting about that was another habit you continued to succumb to every year.

“mm, shit,” you sighed after drinking back the pills, “i forgot”.

“figured you would,” megumi clicked his tongue, “but i didn’t, because i’m a good boyfriend. can you drag yourself out to the kitchen? you should eat”.

“don’t think so,” you mumbled, attempting to disappear back under the blankets before he could coerce you to follow him outside of the bedroom.

but megumi is impossibly even more stubborn than you are, wrapping his arms under your body and lifting you to his chest, “guess i’ll just have to carry you then”.

“fine,” you let out a long groan — was it a bit dramatic? maybe. but in your defense you felt like you’d been hit with a train.

he peppered your face with kisses as he carried you out of the bedroom, lovingly setting you down on one of the high bar stools around your kitchen table. he instructed you to stay in the chair, abruptly returning to the bedroom to bring out a couple blankets to wrap around your shoulders. you were grateful for the extra heat, you body still shaking and shivering as the medications worked to cure your fever.

megumi was a man of few words, preferring to display his love for you through acts of service than grand confessions, and this was very eminent when he wordlessly grabbed a couple pots and began cooking for you. you let your face fall onto your arms, resting your chin as you watched him silently shuffle between the stove and the pantry. the silence was comfortable, and you weren't going to complain about watching your muscular boyfriend walk around the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose, plaid pajama pants.

a few minutes later he was placing a steaming bowl of soup and a couple slices of baked bread in front of you, a savory scent flooding your nostrils.

“red lentil,” he spoke as he handed you a spoon, “it’s your favorite, so you better eat it”.

“yes, sir,” you gave him a small smile, dipping the cool metal into the hot liquid and scooping a spoonful into your mouth.

“all of it”

“yes, megumi, i will try”

to no surprise, the soup went down pretty fucking horribly, your head hanging low over the toilet while megumi held your hair out of the way. your throat was practically raw by the time you were done heaving and vomiting up the meal, your eyes brimming with hot tears.

megumi tied your hair up in a neat bun so he could step away, filling up a glass with water and carefully helping you to take small sips and rinse out your mouth. he was tedious with the clean up, washing your face and helping you brush your teeth — ensuring that you felt the best you could given the situation. he then scooped you back into his arms, carrying you back to bed and profusely apologizing for making you eat the soup — but he was just trying to make you feel better, he really was doing his best.

you were ready to add today to your long list of terrible birthdays, chalking it up as another failed attempt, but megumi was not about to let that happen. he knew you had a rough history with birthdays, but now that he was here? you’d have a bad birthday over his dead body.

he scoured the back of your fridge for ginger ale, gatorade, jello, and whatever else he could find to make you the perfect sick-person platter. and he made sure he was logged into every streaming service that the two of you collectively owned, preparing netflix, hulu, and crunchy roll so that he could easily access every single one of your favorite shows and movies. and so you spent the majority of your day tucked safely against megumi’s chest, forcing down small sips of ginger ale and watching an assortment of tv.

your phone rang at some point — a facetime call from all of your friends who had gotten together so they could all wish you a collective happy birthday. megumi stuck a singular candle into a cup of blue-raspberry jello and ignited it with a small flame; and then they all sang the most terrible rendition of “happy birthday” that you’d ever heard, yuuji’s voice a little louder and little more out-of-tune than everyone else's.

you mustered enough energy to blow out the flame, everyone cheering while megumi shoveled a scoop of the blue jelly into your mouth. you swallowed it with a smile, praying it stayed down while everyone sent you off with an assortment of “feel better!”, “we love you!”, and “wish you were here!”

your night got pretty quiet after that, you and megumi climbing back under the covers to watch a few more episodes of your new favorite anime. it wasn’t until well into the night that he finally asked you if he could give you the presents he’d gotten for you. reluctantly, you said yes. you hated receiving gifts (it was just one of the many reasons you hated your birthday) but you knew that megumi wasn’t going to take no for answer.

he was obviously nervous, palms sweaty as he handed you a couple neatly wrapped packages in plain, solid colored paper. they were very megumi, perfect folds with not a single crease, the paper simple yet elegant and adorned with a singular bow on top.

you hesitantly peeled the paper off the smaller of the two, revealing a tiny box that contained a classic looking silver locket. you felt your heart pinch in your chest as you clicked the locket open and revealed two small pictures of each of the two of you. you weren’t particularly sentimental, but on top of your lack of sleep and not feeling very well, the simple gift caused few tears to well up in your eyes. but he was quick to wipe them away, insisting that you had to open the second gift first, and that birthdays weren’t meant for crying.

you followed his instructions, ripping open the second package and revealing a larger box that contained a series of envelopes. each one was decorated with tiny doodles of you and megumi, his demon dogs, hearts, etc. they were sickeningly cute, and you immediately reached for the first one before megumi reached out and stopped you.

“they’re not for now; they’re for when i’m gone, you know, on missions and stuff,” he could barely even maintain eye contact, his eyes dipping low as yours filled back up with tears.

despite your lack of energy and the fever that was starting to return, you showered him in hugs and kisses after that, thanking him over and over for the most perfect gifts, and for making your day as wonderful as it could have been.

all things aside, you were coming around to the idea that birthday’s don’t have to suck.

bonus: the first letter:

to y/n:

i know im not great at telling you what i have to say through words, actually, i’m kind of really bad at it. but i thought writing these might be a nice way to try and get better? i’m not sure. anyway, i guess i’ll start by saying that you mean a lot to me, and i probably miss you a lot right now (even though ill be too afraid to reach out and say it). not sure how long i’ll be gone for at the time but it’s probably a few days at least. gonna work hard so i can hurry back to see you.

i hope you’re sleeping enough, but i know you’re not. you never do, especially when i’m not there to yell at you. i hope you’re eating enough too. but you’re probably also not doing that. you’re like taking care of a stubborn child, you know that? but this is supposed to be a love letter so i’ll try to refrain from scolding you too much. but do try to take care of yourself. ill see you soon.

megumi

#jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fluff #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro fluff #silvers mutuals <3 #megumifushi

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bugsbucky · 4 years

Text

Wrong Side of The Bed

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Platonic)

Request: Could I request one where Bucky is in a bad mood and accidentally snaps at reader who is very shy and timid and she spends the day in her room and won't even come out for dinner? Fluffy ending if possible?

Warnings: language, Bucky snaps under pressure, angst, fluff :)

Word Count: 1,438

Authors Notes: thank you so much for the request anon!!! Hope this exceeds your imagine :) thank you very much for reading.

Requested by: Anonymous

The compound was very quiet as you took light steps towards the common room, nibbling your thumb nail on the journey. It was around 8am and still early, most of the team were away on missions or still asleep. There were just a few left at the compound to house sit; you, Bucky, Tony and Bruce. They spent most of their time in the lab working on some unnamed scientific projects so you were more often than not left to your own devices around the home.

As you stepped into the open kitchen, you froze in your place. Bucky was leaning on the counter with his head propped up in his hand, spooning big mouthfuls of cereal in his mouth, milk dripping off the spoon and disappearing into his beard. You tried to make yourself invisible and as quiet as possible as you walked around the counter and poured some coffee.

“What, you’re not even gonna say good morning?” Bucky scoffed from his seat. With glossy eyes, you turned to look at him, astonished he would speak to you like that because he never has in the past.

“Go- good morning Sergeant Barnes.” your voice was cracked and quiet as you spoke. A shy and timid young individual not used to being called out like that. You could tell today wasn’t going to be a good day just by the scowl etched on Bucky’s face. He had deep bags under his eyes and you were wondering if he was okay.

“Good morning peeps!” Tony sighed walking in and seeing the thunderous look on Bucky’s face. “Good morning to you grump.”

“Fuck off Tony.” your heart thudded painfully in your chest by his tone. This was definitely a different side to Bucky, one you have not seen yet. Tony left with his coffee and walked into the common room to fiddle with the large TV mounted on the wall.

“Um Bucky, would you like some more coffee?” you asked quietly, the liquid splashing inside the pot from your shaking hands.

“NO!” his voice boomed through the quiet kitchen. “Does it look like I’m an incapable old man who can’t make his own coffee?”

“Of course not, I just thought I would offer to-”

"JUST DROP IT Y/N! I'm so sick of you acting like my fuckin' caretaker, always following me around like some weird... you know what. Forget it." Bucky roared inches from your face. Throwing his cup against the tiled wall behind you, shattering the porcelain into pieces.

You flinched by his sudden outburst, covering your face. You didn’t mean to make him angry. But your question had somehow triggered him and now you were leaning against the cupboard fiddling with the hem of your shirt awkwardly. Tears already spilling.

You were shy by nature. So being screamed at by the man you most respected caused you to turn to mush. Your legs were jelly and your chin wobbled when Tony rushed in to see what was going on. Eyes widened in shock from the mess on the floor and the state of you.

"Y/N? Are you okay? Did he- did he hurt you?" Tony asked reluctantly. Knowing full well that Bucky would never, ever hurt you. But by your trembling state he had to make sure.

"Fine." Your voice cracked. Blinking harshly to will away the tears wanting to overflow. "I'm just..." You pushed away from the unit, pointing towards the door. Your wobbly legs carried you back to your room. Your mind clouded in a thick fog. You knew you were walking but it felt like you were floating.

***

Bucky regretted his outburst. You were one of the sweetest and most angelic people on the team, you weren’t rowdy like the others. He was laying on his back in his bed staring up at the ceiling with his hands under his head. He woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, no sleep last night from the realistic nightmare that plagued his dreams. Bucky was tired and exhausted, physically and mentally.

To calm himself down, Bucky decided to take a hot shower. They always made him feel a little bit better, he would certainly need to change his ugly mood before he could apologize to you. He walked into his conjoined bathroom and turned the shower on, stripping himself of his clothes and standing under the raining shower head, letting the hot water trickle down over his face and down his chest. Droplets racing against each other, his hands ran through his damp locks as he shook your distressed state from his mind. *** You spent the day huddled up on your bed, skipping dinner and cuddling your large teddy bear Bucky had bought you for your birthday. The bears were a comfort since you were scared of thunderstorms. Your eyes were red from crying and your cheeks were still wet as you made no effort to wipe them. The rain pelted against the window panes and the sky was dark with rain clouds. You gently placed your bear on the floor and got up to close your blinds, slipping into your most comfortable pair of pyjamas and dimmed the lights, you climbed under the duvet and looked for something to watch on Netflix.

You’re not sure what time it was, or how much time had passed when a knock on your door jolted you awake suddenly. The netflix logo screen staring back at you from afar.

“Come in.” you croaked, your voice tired from sleep and crying yourself to death earlier. Bucky’s hulking figure walked in, a guilty and puppy dog look on his face. You took a second to marvel at his incredible physique. A tight white shirt pulled across his chest, showcasing his incredible pecs that you often found yourself blushing at every time you saw them, matched perfectly with his grey sweatpants and white socks.

This was not the time Y/N. He yelled at you, remember?

“Hey doll. Can I talk to you?” Bucky asked sheepishly. He looked tired, but calmer.

“Of course.” you patted the empty spot next to you on the bed and Bucky smiled, taking a few strides over towards your bed and making himself comfortable. You sat up, crossing your legs and faced him. His shower gel permeated your room, overtaking the vanilla scented candle on your nightstand.

“I uh…” he shook his head and clicked his tongue. His tongue poking through his dry lips to wet them. “I’m really really sorry for what I said to you today. I hope you know I meant none of it. I was and am just so tired, no sleep.” he explained and you worried your lip with your teeth, taking bits of skin off from the surface. Bucky became worried when you didn’t speak but instead acting anxious and nervous around him. He knew he scared you earlier but he needed you to know he would never hurt you.

“I’m really sorry I scared you earlier doll. I promise I didn’t mean to, it really did just get on top of me and I promise I’ll never do that again. I’m the biggest idiot.” a lopsided smile appeared on his face and you couldn’t help but mimic the action.

“I’m really sorry that I made you angry.” you said in barely a whisper, dipping your head in shame. Bucky sat up and pulled you into his lap, your head resting against his chest above his heart as his fingers trailed through your hair.

“I want to make something clear…” his chest vibrated against your face as he spoke. “You did NOT make me angry. You did nothing but show your kindness towards me and you did not deserve those words thrown at you doll and I am seriously so sorry. You’re such an angel and I couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole day.” You craned your neck upwards and smiled. Bucky sought confidence and kissed your forehead as a blush petted your cheeks adorably. “Why are you such a sweetheart, doll? You should kick my ass.”

You giggled and Bucky hugged you tighter. “I accept your apology.” Bucky smiled at that, and pressed another kiss to your forehead, this time his lips lingered a little longer.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Do you wanna watch a movie?” you nodded your head enthusiastically and went to move off his lap when his arms tightened, eliciting a giggle from you. “I’m gonna go grab us some snacks and drinks and then I’m gonna cradle you in my arms.”

Your adorable shy giggle pulled at his heart strings and he would keep his promise and absolutely make it up to you in whatever way he could.

Tags: @jobean12-blog @marvelgirl7 @godofplumsandthunder @hawksmagnolia @deanthedemon @crushedbyhyperbole @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @littleredstarfish

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selfawarejester · 3 years

Text

It's The Vanilla And Spice That Does You In (Cora Hale x Reader)

Hey, Kit! Thanks for the first request dearest 🥰🥰! (I remembered that you wanted more Derek, so here you go!)

pairing: Cora Hale x Reader

rating: nothing saucy, they just sleep in the same bed.

You and Cora were never the closest people in the pack.

As a human, you gravitated to Stiles and Lydia — even though the strawberry blonde was a banshee, she was still more on your side of the scales than the others’. Scott was someone you’d spent many an evening with, third-and-fourth wheeling to whatever crazy theory Stiles had been plotting up in his room, which eventually led to you being accepted into the nerdtastic duo… and you don’t regret any of it.

Allison was a tad too serious, and you’d only really become friends with her after she broke up with Scott, which yeesh, but she still offered to help you learn how to defend yourself which you appreciated immensely. Similarly, Isaac was a friend, but you weren’t that close.

The Hales were a whole different can of beans. Derek used to be this terrifying entity that made you have a heart attack every interaction you had, but now was just a bitter, deeply flawed man that you used to crush on when you were a kid. Peter was the creepiest of all creepers, and you gave him a wide berth in every way possible.

Cora… well, she was nice enough. It was a distant kind of politeness, the kind that made you think it was just out of routine and not because she actually cared about being nice to you — the same way she opened doors for Lydia, or unscrewed jars for Stiles (though she did make fun of him mercilessly for it), or offered to walk with you and Isaac to Biology.

So, it happens during a pack meeting; or we’ll, right after one. You’re talking about implementing patrols, just to come out ahead of whichever serial killer was coming after all of you next. Stiles and Isaac had ended up arguing, of course — “Maybe this is just you being paranoid, Buzzfeed Unsolved.” “Hey, that is a great show, and it’s not my fault if you wanna be lazy, Lahey!” “Ha, big words from the guy who won’t be doing any legwork!”

And slowly, sides started to form, at which point Derek interceded and suggested that everyone go home for the evening and sleep it off. Stiles, Scott and Lydia took the chance and ditched everyone, eager to get away from the tension and finally introduce the girl to Star Wars.

Allison rolled her eyes, and leaned over to you. “Stiles is gonna regret it when she starts pointing out the scientific inaccuracies.” And you have to laugh, remembering the torturous night that she decimated Total Recall. But what shocked you was the chuckle that came from the other end of the couch, and the quirk of Cora’s lips as she browsed through her phone. You brushed it off, assuming that it was a meme or something.

“So. Do you need a ride home? It’s on my way.” Allison asks, and you refuse, citing that you wanted to help Isaac with biology.

“Oh, why didn’t you ask Lydia-?”

“Nope!” Isaac calls out from the kitchen, puttering in with arms stacked high full of snacks. “She’s mean.”

Allison… has to agree and leaves you to your studying.

Unfortunately, y’all are bad at it.

After a good thirty minutes of rage-quitting, Cora finally gives in with a loud groan that startled both of you. You hadn’t noticed that she was still there.

“Move over, dimwits, I’ll help.”

So, maybe you were ignorant or she was just great at hiding it, but she was great at Biology. Not Lydia level, but she understood the concepts well enough that she was able to tailor the explanation differently for you and Isaac. By the end of it, you were grinning widely, feeling like you actually understood something.

You thank her, saying as much, and there’s this underlying fondness to her smile — a very rare, pretty thing that you found yourself wanting more and more of — and jostles your shoulder with hers. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, what’s going on here??” You all groan in unison, and ignore Peter leaning over the back of the couch to gaze intently on his niece… who’s sidled up to you pretty close. “You know, Ms. L/N, we have strict rules for our little girl.”

“Shut up, Peter.” Cora growls, throwing a venomous glare that you can’t help but try (and fail) to mirror. “Yeah, don’t you have other teenage girls to perv on?” Isaac chimes in, backing you up. Peter holds up his hands in mock surrender, before returning to his usual schmooze of I know better than you.

“All I wanted to do was tell you that the storm is getting really bad.” All of your heads’ snap to the window— god, it was really coming down. You had to walk back in that?? You’d die of hypothermia, if you didn’t slip or get in an accident.

“Sorry, Y/N, my music was turned up too high.” Cora says quietly, right next to your ear. A shiver goes down your spine, and you convince yourself it’s the cold, and shake your head. “Hey, it’s okay. You couldn’t focus, I get it.” And then you turn back, frowning at the lightning that lights up the loft for a moment. “But there’s no way I can go home tonight.”

“You can stay here.” You whip your head to Cora, wide-eyed but genuine behind you. You’re too thrown off-guard by her proposition to notice how quick it came, but Peter and Isaac do, sharing a sly glance before the teenage wolf realizes who he’s doing it with and grimaces, shaking his head. “Yeah, you can bunk with Cora.”

“Oh, I don’t wanna impose… I can sleep in Isaac’s.” You offer. You don’t want to impose, but you recognize the burgeoning bundle of emotion in your chest, and it won’t be helped by sleeping the same room as the gorgeous Hale. Cora shakes her head, pushing herself to her feet. “Won’t work, Isaac’s room is messy as hell-“ “hey!”

Peter slinks forward. “I would offer, but considering my history…” He turns his sharp look onto his niece, who’s scowling at him again.

“It’ll be easier this way. C’mon.”

She holds out a hand, and you take an embarrassingly long moment staring at it, before taking it and letting her haul you up. She urges you up the stairs to her room, shrugging off her jacket and kicking off her shoes with no hesitation, while you’re standing next to the doorway like a statue. She slants an elegant eyebrow, and your heart flutters because oh my god-

“Are you coming?” She asks slowly, before dropping onto the bed. You gape, pulling off your jacket and ditching your boots with no little trepidation. You sit on the bed with shaky moves. “Okay, why are you so anxious? I’m not going to make fun of your movie, I swear.” “W-what?” “The… movie? I asked you in the hall?”

Oh, she had? Okay. Okay, yeah, you could do a movie! You picked something funny, cheesy, a little kitschy — you wouldn’t be offended if she decided to tear it to shreds. But she doesn’t, just sits there and laughs at the jokes, and raises an eyebrow at the bits that don’t land. But she watches it seriously, much seriously than you, and when you bring it up, laughing and drunk off of Sprite, she just levels you with a serious look and says in a voice that sends shivers up your spine again. “It was important to you, why would I make fun of it?”

Now you know which of the Hales is the one with the game. Further proof is how Derek immediately barges in and glares at both of you. “That’s enough.” He bites out. “Sleep.”

You’re glad for the interruption, but Cora mutters something in Spanish under her breath, and you’re almost positive it was a curse.

You clamber down to the floor, pulling the extra pillow with you when Cora grabs your hand. “Whoa, whoa, where are you going?” You blink, and point downwards. “…to sleep?” And she laughs, pulling you back up. “Do you have any idea how much colder the concrete’s gonna get overnight? You’ll freeze. Just sleep here, I don’t mind.”

You should know better, you really should, but she’s so sweet that you relent and slip in beside her.

You usually can't sleep well in other people's homes - it took you months before you could even nap on Stiles' couch - but you don't even remember falling asleep.

All you can recall is the morning sun slipping through the slit in the curtains, falling on the wall opposite you thankfully and causing you to stir.

There's a delicate arm around you, but you know Cora's much stronger than her frame gives away. Her face is buried in your hair, which doesn't seem comfortable, but you can her breathing evenly. She smells great, like vanilla and spice... just as alluring and mysterious as the woman herself. Your cheeks color as she makes a content sound and cuddles into you closer. Her eyelashes are really long, closed and brushing across rosy apples cheeks. She never needed make-up, and it was obvious now, with her freckles in full display, with petal-like full lips that you gravitate towards...

You flinch when the door slams open again, a panting shirtless Derek glaring at you again.

"Rain's gone. Bye."

"Go away, Derek." Cora says, voice much too crisp and clear for someone still sleeping.

"Stop putting the moves on someone three feet from my room, and I will." He hisses, making Cora lift her head and give him an impassive look that sends him stalking off.

"He's got a point, you know." She says, shifting to sit up against the headboard, brushing silky chestnut locks away from her face. "How about breakfast at the little diner down the street?"

You grin as you realize what she's been playing at, very carefully poking at your boundaries and checking out your reaction, since yesterday.

"I'd love that."

#this got way longer than i expected #i hope you like it kit!#cora hale x reader #derek hale #peter hale #isaac lahey #teen wolf #cora hale #stiles stilinski #lydia martin #scott mccall #allison argent #teen wolf fanfiction

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h2bakugou · 3 years

Note

Can I request a Bakugo x reader who’s good at dancing headcanon?👀

a/n: yes!! dance has always been so fucking cool to me, it’s so beautiful bro-

headcanon: them with a s/o who’s good at dancing

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, parties, like one teeny tiny dirty joke but not really

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Let’s just start out by saying Bakugou would be forced to go to whatever dance/get-together that ended up revealing your talent of dancing.

Kaminari would’ve asked Kirishima to persuade Bakugou into coming to this party thrown by some students. It was not his scene, especially well past his early bedtime.

But that was beside the point when he saw you. Dancing. Your body moving to the music almost like you were the one controlling its beat and rhythm.

He was completely and utterly mesmerized by you. It all made sense now, how you were able to move so quickly and efficiently on the field, and explain how you’d managed to dodge some of Bakugou’s rather extreme attacks.

Bakugou’s a little conflicted by the way you hadn’t been the one to invite him. So he marched right on over to you, pulling you out of the crowd of other dancing teens.

“Katsu’! You came?!” You were excited to see your boyfriend here, considering it was nearly eleven at night.

“I was forced. But what are you doing here?” Bakugou asked, admiring the way your eyes twinkled under the bright lights of the common room the party was held in.

“I wanted to check it out, kinda not my scene though.” You chuckled. Bakugou nodded, glancing back to where you had been dancing.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” Bakugou admitted, clenching the red cup in his hands, promptly full of some kind of tangy juice, most likely cranberry.

“Oh, that? That was nothing. I can’t believe you’d call that dancing.” You feel embarrassed knowing your boyfriend caught you haphazardly swaying your body, probably looking like an inflatable tube man.

“It wasn’t nothing idiot, it was good. Better than whatever the fuck they’re doin’.” Bakugou poked fun at the other students dancing. He’d much rather watch you crawl on the ground like an inch-worm than sit and stare at them sway off-beat.

“If you’d like me to show you a real dance, we can get outta here.” You don’t intend for your words to mean anything more than what had been said. Absolutely nothing was happening at this secondary location besides literal dancing.

And so you were off with your boyfriend, hand in hand, walking back to your dorm room.

It was way too late for you to be up together in the same dorm, and in fear of the other students that hadn’t gone finding you, you tried to be as quiet as possible.

“Okay so here, follow my lead, hand right here.” You instructed Bakugou to place his hands on you.

“Tch, I know how to slow dance.” Bakugou’s grip on your waist was firm. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his brashness. You shook your head and swapped places, placing your hand on his waist, and insisting that his hands sat on your shoulders.

You did the usual dance, swaying and stepping lightly, but in a matter of seconds, you dipped Bakugou, watching as his cheeks burned bright red. Holding him in your arms as he was still near to the ground, you smiled down at him.

“This is what it felt like at that coronation dance thing you took me to. I thought you were going to drop me.”

You pulled Bakugou back up and he just shook his head, ignoring the heat on his cheeks.

“We should head to bed.” Bakugou mentioned the time, now a few minutes after midnight.

He left you with a gentle kiss to your forehead, a soft ‘goodnight’ on his lips as he pulled away.

Dance lessons.

Please give him dance lessons, even if they’re short, even if they’re little trends, just show them to him, he loves it.

He loves dancing with you. It’s so simple yet complex. And he’s very into competitive dancing.

Like if there’s some sort of talent show, even if he’s a bit against the idea at first, he will get up on that stage with you and you will walk away with first place.

Dancing with Bakugou feels like you’re watching those romance movies. The ones where there’s always an elegant dance scene at some lavish party or something.

He’s surprisingly really good, and a quick learner.

Dancing with Bakugou can also be aggravating.

“Those are my toes.” You wince as Bakugou quickly takes a few steps back.

“You got it all right just slow it down some.”

You don’t have to correct his movements, but most of the time, his problems come from either going too fast or too slow, or he’s going too hard.

There is no need for a slow dance to feel like you’re on a rollercoaster. Why is he dipping you so harshly that you now have whiplash?

But after some pointers and plenty of little mishaps here and there, Bakugou’s an excellent dancer.

But Bakugou doesn’t dance often, no he enjoys watching you dance.

At recitals, competitions, or just while you’re hanging out, he’ll look at you with such adoration in his eyes.

You’re so talented, Bakugou can’t really wrap his head around it. You move so effortlessly and make every little move look like a cakewalk.

He knows how hard it is, but you throw logic out the window. He doesn’t want to question it. He just wants to enjoy your grace. He’s so infatuated with every part of it.

Please don’t let Kirishima or Kaminari catch Bakugou dancing or they will tease him about it until they’re forced to do like one of the hardest couples dances together and then perform in front of the class.

»»————-　★　————-««

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blinder-secrets · 4 years

Text

Your John, Your Home

In which you’re the girl they picked to marry John, and he’s the one you found your home in.

4,373 words. fluff, some angst, sickly-sweet love, very mild nsfw

ao3 link

It’s Tommy’s wedding day, something you thought would never come, and John is yet to finish dressing. Running late as he always does, despite him hounding after you to be ready on time.

You’re sat by the vanity, watching him loop his tie over and over, fingers clumsy and directionless. He’s still not learnt how to do them properly, but you’re too caught up in staring at him to offer any help. There’s something about formal suits that make him mesmerising. You’re used to his every-day attire, the waistcoats, the tweed jackets, but the crisp pinstripes running down his trouser legs make you feel like a woman in a movie. Like you’re the sweetheart and he’s the hero, like you’ve been through everything that you have, just for him, and now you’ve won. You’ve got your prize.

Sighing, he swears under his breath and lets the tie fall open around his neck. ‘Will you do this bloody thing?’ he asks, darting a look in your direction. He reaches for the suit-jacket and begins pulling it onto his shoulders. When you don’t answer him, he glances again and says, ‘What is it?’ like he might be in trouble.

‘Do you think you would’ve liked me if we met normally?’ you ask, slouching in the chair as you pool your thoughts into the room. ‘Like, if you weren’t forced to marry me?’

His hands still, brows scrunching over the bridge of his nose. ‘Are you kidding?’

You shake your head, almost embarrassed to say that part out loud; yes, I’m really asking that, John. Yes, I worry. There wasn’t a day that had passed without you considering it. Was he just making do with what he had? Would he have chosen you, if he’d had the chance to choose at all? You know what your answer would be.

He crosses the room in three steps and takes your face between his palms. He looks serious, and he never looks serious about anything really. ‘I won the fucking lottery with you,’ he says, accent thick and strong like it is when he speaks from the heart. ‘If I could go back in time, I’d pick you again, and again, and a-fucking-gain, alright?’

‘Even if I was just some girl in the Garrison?’

‘Even if you were a fucking witch in the forrest,’ he answers quickly, certainly. His thumbs rub up and across your cheekbones. ‘You’re mine, yeah, you’re perfect.’ Bending, he pushes a kiss into your forehead and mutters, ‘Was fucking fate when they put us together.’ And for him, that’s poetry. That’s the softness he only gives when you’re alone, when you need it. It’s touchable love, crafted and trickled into your ears, poured over you like he’s full of it.

‘Thank-you,’ you tell him, smiling easily. ‘I’ll only ask again in a month, but that’ll do me for now.’

He snorts through his nose and straightens, running a palm over your hair. ‘You just like seeing me soft, don’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, only for you, yeah?’ He tilts down again for a kiss and you stretch to meet him in the middle. ‘No-one else has me speaking like a fucking Eton boy,’ he says, quietly, into the soft of your cheek.

You laugh, kissing him again before you reply. ‘You couldn’t if you tried, J.’ He’s too rough for it, too shaped by the smog and the fighting. ‘I wouldn’t like you so much if you were an Eton boy.’

When you were first married, you had barely known what to do with yourself. After the drama of Ada’s birth, and John’s frantic attempt to catch you up with everything that had passed, you hadn’t had time to discuss the ceremony. Or the arrangement. Or even consummate the damn thing. He’d told you everything, all the family intricacies he could, by the lamplight in his little room, and then he’d passed out on your lap like a dog before the fire. Too tired and full of beer to give you anything more than secrets.

You hadn’t minded though, not really, it had given you time to think. To breathe. You’d sat and taken in every detail of his face, every freckle along his nose, every nick of scar tissue on his skin, his cheeks, his shoulders. You’d looked and looked and looked, until you felt so comfortable with him, and so entranced by the sight of him, quiet and peaceful, that you had almost convinced yourself you’d known him for years. He felt familiar without even doing anything. You’d ran your finger across his brows and down the line of his nose, and when he’d whined and pulled into you, putting his arms around your waist, you’d felt like you were coming home. Or that he was coming home, finding it in you. It was the gin, you thought, it was the length of the day and the ache from dancing that had made your brain think things that weren’t true.

But then you’d woken up in the morning, and it had still felt like you were home and that he was the key. And it kept feeling like that, over and over. It had felt like that the first time you’d fucked, the first time you sat with him at breakfast, and made him tea, and food for his children. It had felt like that every time you saw him smile, every time he laughed. It had felt that way because he was, somehow, he was. He was home and he’d been handed to you over an upturned milk crate, knelt in front of your father’s caravan. It was a truce, yes, a deal between families, but it had been a hand out in the cold, a light in the distance. You had never realised you were always wandering, looking for a way back, until you had felt the pull of John beside you. The call of home at last.

‘Oi,’ he says, tapping his finger on your chin. ‘Where’ve you gone?’

‘Nowhere.’ You smile and look up at him like he’s gold in a river-sieve. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Not ’til you’ve sorted this fucking thing.’ He dangles the end of the tie in front of you and then, thinking better of it, pulls it from under his collar and puts it onto your lap. ‘Do it in the car, we’re gonna be late.’

You’re sitting with the tie knotted, and hanging around your neck, when he pulls the car into the road by the church. There’s guests already gathering, but not a lot which is a good sign. It means you aren’t late, not in trouble, not yet. Polly will be inside somewhere, wrangling the kids so you don’t have to. God bless her. She’d offered to watch them before hand, willing, but begrudging all the same, and you couldn’t help but feel glad of the time it’d given you and John. It’d been months since you had any peace, had the freedom to go about your morning slowly and intimately. It’d made everything feel even more special. It wasn’t your day, no, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be an occasion for the two of you.

You let your gaze draw from the flowers by the entrance to settle on John, who’s craning his neck out the window to see himself in the wing-mirror.

‘Is my hair alright?’ he asks, pawing at the parting he’s given himself.

‘Yes,’ you answer, grinning though you want to roll your eyes. ‘Christ, John, it’s not you going up the aisle, y’know?’

He tuts. ‘I won’t look like shit with the fucking cavalry there.’

‘You don’t look like shit.’

‘You sure?’ He pulls back into his seat to look at you.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ You lift the tie over your head and onto his, settling it under his collar. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a very nice soldier to-‘

‘Alright,’ he drawls, ‘very funny.’

You laugh and push the knot tight to his neck. ‘Seriously,’ you say, ‘stop fretting. They’re gonna look like a bunch of unlit matches standing there in their uniforms.’

‘Bunch of fucking pricks more like,’ he grumbles, eyes flitting over your face. ‘Have I said you look beautiful yet?’

‘No, not yet.’ You hang onto his tie, dragging him forward until you’re kissing and he’s speaking into your mouth between pecks.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘you look. Fucking.’ You bite his lip; he swallows once before trying again. ‘You look…’

‘Hm?’

‘Stunning.’

‘Thank-you,’ you purr, breaking away and leaving him to gawk. His mouth’s red from meeting with your lipstick. ‘I was waiting for you to say something.’

His hand goes to your face, to your hair, it sweeps it behind your ear, gentle enough to not disturb the main structure of its styling, and then drops so that his fingers can run down your neck. ‘Can I marry you again?’ he asks through the corner of a smirk. ‘Is that a thing?’

You pout, humming as if you’re considering it. ‘You’d have to divorce me first, I think.’

‘Nope, no way.’

‘Well then, you’ll have to settle for just the once.’

He groans and turns to open the door on his side. ‘You can’t have it all,’ he says, stepping out and away from you. You watch him cross in front of the bonnet, around the car, until he’s by you on the pavement. He pulls the door open and offers his hand, which he does every time he drives you anywhere. You don’t think you’ve opened your own door once since you’d met him. ‘Come on, Polly will have your tits if we’re late.’

You take his palm and step down, holding the fur of your shawl in place with the other hand. ‘No,’ you laugh, ‘she likes me. It’ll be your balls on the line.’

‘Yeah, and you’d miss them too much, wouldn’t you?’

‘John!’ You smack his arm lightly and move out the way so he can lock the car behind you. ‘This is a church, you know? It’s right there.’

A very ungodly grin is thrown over his shoulder at you. ‘And which one of us brought up my bollocks, ay?’

You laugh because you can’t do anything else, because he coaxes it from you like he’s been trained to, like he’s an expert in making your cheeks hurt from grinning. He was put on Earth specifically, you think, to make you laugh in the ugliest way possible: loud and uneven. He’s annoyingly good at it, desperately, desperately annoying.

‘Stop it,’ you tell him, stifling the giggles. When he comes back to you, ready to link his arm with yours, you nod to his face and say, ‘You might want to…’ You point at his mouth, gesturing around its shape, following the smudge of lipstick above his cupid’s bow. ‘From the kissing,’ you explain.

In one second, his eyebrows pinch and then crumple down in annoyance. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, babe.’ He turns quickly, bending to look in the mirror closest. ‘I look like a fucking clown,’ he moans. He scrubs at his lips, licking his fingers once, then again, to wash the red-stain away. It comes off easily, but his frantic rubbing will only leave more of a mark.

‘You don’t need to rub that hard,’ you say.

‘Am not going in there with fucking lipstick on. S’not funny.’

But it is, and you laugh again, because he’s just so John, and so silly, and everything he does makes your heart dip into the same sickly ambrosia.

You put your hands out for him. Wave him forward like you’re consoling a child. ‘Come here, let me see.’

After they took Epsom, John had come home with his tail between his legs. Cap off, shoulders slack, he’d walked through the front door like they’d lost, not won. Like something had gone wrong. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen and cleared his throat once, like he had something to say, and then he’d looked from you, to Katie and the baby, and said nothing at all. It was the only time he’d ever looked like a stranger in the house he’d bought for you.

‘What’s happened?’ you’d asked, standing from the table as soon as you’d seen him. ‘Katie, take your brother upstairs.’

‘We got it,’ John had started. ‘Epsom. It’s ours.’

‘Okay?’ You walked toward him; slow, like snowfall pulling down from the sky, drifting until it found something to cling to, something to wrap around. ‘So, what’s wrong?’ You put your hands to his biceps, ran them up until you were looped around the back of his neck. He looked tired. Weary but not damaged, not hurt. A few scuffs that wouldn’t last past the next day. ‘You look worried, John,’ you said, prompting him to tell you more.

‘It’s Tommy,’ he forced out, looking between you, his gaze aiming for the floor. ‘They took him,’ he said, ‘some coppers. We haven’t.’ He stopped mid-sentence and you finished for him because you knew nothing else would come, he wouldn’t push any words that didn’t fall easily.

‘He’ll be fine,’ you told him, out of comfort rather than certainty. ‘Tommy always has a plan.’

‘This wasn’t fuckin’ part of it.’

‘I know.’ You rubbed your thumbs into the shortest part of his hair. ‘He’ll turn up, he always does.’

And he did, of course he did, but it took you twenty minutes to wind John down, to get him sitting and somewhat comfortable. It was only after the call from Pol, telling you that Tommy was fine, that he let you make him something to eat. Let you look after him properly. You sat at the table and watched him take slow forkfuls of food, lagging with each bite.

‘He’s alright,’ you said to him, leaning on your palm. ‘Why do you still look stressed?’

‘I’m not.’ He lowered his fork until it was flat on the plate; he looked at it like it had done it all by itself.

‘John.’

‘It’s nothing.’

You sighed and the sound itched life under his skin, animating his features with a burst of agitation.

‘I felt fucking invincible,’ he said. ‘Then it went bad and, I don’t know, feels fucking stupid, doesn’t it?’

You sat upright, reached a hand for his, but he ignored it. ‘What does?’ you asked.

‘All of it,’ he spat, his face reddening. It twisted up until he was scowling, throwing words into the woodgrain. ‘What’s the point in having fuckin’ Epsom, if they can just, just, put you in the back of a van and fucking cart you away?’

He’d flung his hand out then, catching the plate and sending it across the table to you. It rattled against the top as he continued.

‘We can go as fucking high as we like,’ he said, ‘and they’ll still treat us like dogs. Like fuckin’ mutts.’

You’d set your jaw, wound your fingers through his and put both of your hands down to still the fidgeting. ‘Then we go high enough that we’re the ones doing the carting, John.’ You’d ducked your head to make sure he saw your look, your promise. ‘We’re no-ones bloody dogs, alright? Not now, not ever.’

He’d scoffed and recoiled bitterly. ‘It’s not like we have a fucking say, is it?’

‘Course we do,’ you’d told him. Of course we do.

The wedding ceremony is over, and now the party’s been taken to Arrow House; the rooms are stocked with guests, the ceiling pushed high with noises, with music, with chatter. Your head’s spinning and it’s only a fraction to do with the alcohol.

‘I don’t think I’ll last til dinner at this rate,’ you say to John, who’s got you leaning against him in the largest room. How they’d managed to clear enough furniture away to make it feel like a dancehall, you’ve no idea, but it’s convincing enough that you hardly believe you’re in a home at all. ‘Who the fuck are these people anyway?’ you ask. 'I don’t recognise any of them.’

His hold tightens over you, pulling your back flat to his chest. He’s got his arms across you like bandoliers. ‘Grace’s lot mostly,’ he says into your ear, chin on your shoulder. ‘Lot of fucking rich boys in suits too big for them.’

You snort. 'You’re a rich boy too now, J. They’re probably looking at you and thinking the same.’

‘Nah, they can’t even fucking look at me, see.’ He nods forward, to a man in a red uniform opposite. ‘Y’alright?’ he booms; you can hear the smirk without turning to look. The soldier lifts his gaze, catching the pair of you for a moment, before looking away quickly. Like he’d caught sight of something indecent. ‘See?’ John boasts. ‘We’re like fucking ghosts to them.’

‘You’re enjoying that too much,’ you quip, though your own grin betrays your words. It still feels nice to be on the Peaky side. The side with power, danger. The ones people were afraid of. ‘If I ask you to dance, will you say no and break my heart?’ you ask, twisting your head away from his in order to flash him your best pout, to trap him with your eyes.

He smirks, squeezing you in response. ‘I’d be mad to tell you no. Come on.’

He peels himself off you, but leaves a hand dragging, cloying, snaking down your arm until he has his palm locked tight around yours. He tugs you into the centre of the room, melting the two of you into the crowd.

‘I still think ours was better,’ he says, smugly, once he’s picked a rhythm and stuck to it. ‘Our wedding.’

‘Yeah?’ You let him spin you. ‘Wouldn’t do it differently now we have the money?’

He shakes his head; the rose in his breast pocket teeters on the edge. ‘No way. Too fucking poncy for us.’

You agree with him, nodding, and laugh as he dips you half-way to the ground. ‘You drop me and I’ll fucking cut you, J.’

‘Do I look like I’m gonna drop you?’ he replies, grinning wildly. Your mad man, you think, your wonderful bucket of frogs. He pulls you up again and you fall against him with the force of it, chests held tight to each other as he pours all the wonder and drunken giddiness from his eyes, into yours. ‘This wedding’s done something to my head,’ he pants, looking bewildered.

You’re smiling before he’s even said why. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I can’t stop thinking about how much I fuckin’ love you,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna explode with it.’

‘Alright,’ you laugh. ‘Explode then, I’ll do it with you.’

When you’d been married a month, just a month, you’d accidentally told him that you thought you loved him. It had fallen out of your mouth and onto the foot of the bed like a woollen blanket. A sock. A piece of clothing kicked off in the night without care, without thinking.

‘What?’ he’d said, quicker than you’d hoped, head snapping up from where he sat. You had wanted him to miss it entirely. You were married, yes, but it wasn’t like other marriages. You were working backwards, unpicking the puzzle after it had been made. ‘What did you say?’

‘Can’t I say it?’ you’d asked back, stalling time for your head, for your heart, to decide if it had really meant it.

He was on the edge of the bed, undoing his boots, but then he’d stopped. The ends of his laces clicked against the floorboards. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I don’t know if I heard you right.’

‘Then don’t worry about it.’

You tried to brush it away, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to stand in front of him.

‘Say it again,’ he told you and, if it wasn’t for that slight smirk on his lips, that tiny curl of enjoyment, of wishful thinking, you would’ve bolted. You would’ve told him to stop being so bloody annoying for once. But he sat there, looking up at you, with an almost-grin behind his features, and you’d thought, alright. Alright, sure, why not.

‘I think I love you,’ you’d said quickly, and it bounced right off his pretty face, back into your stomach, back to mingle with the butterflies.

‘You think?’

You nodded. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

His grin settled, flourished. Grew wide and made home in his cheeks. ‘I think you have,’ he said, ‘I think you do.’

‘If you think so much, then why do I need to?’ You stepped forward and his arms had gone up to your waist like it was choreographed, like his hands knew their target without an invite. He held you steady and you found yourself toying with his hair, looking down at him fondly, so fondly. ‘I shouldn’t have to say it if you know so well,’ you’d mused.

He turned his head and kissed your forearm. ‘Just wanna hear it, from the boss herself.’

You’d snorted at the nickname, the false title he’d adopted to make you feel appreciated, valued. It only came out when he was being playful.

‘Okay,’ you’d said, ‘I love you, then,’ and he’d answered, ‘Okay, well I love you back.’

John, for all his goodness, for all his charm and well-meant nature, could be a devil walking when he wanted to be. Right now, right in the middle of a dinner party, in the middle of a fucking wedding reception, he’s being the very fire-scorched man himself. He’s got you bundled in his arms again, coaxing you from the party, tempting you with kisses and words, and touches in places he knows will break you down into nothing more than a woman; a woman who wants a man, her man, his touch, his heat. He’s tugging you out of Arrow House, away from the smokers, across the gravel. Spinning and twisting until you’re dizzy with him, lost entirely.

‘John,’ you laugh, pushing against him weakly, falsely, ‘someones going to see us.’

He drags his lips up your neck. ‘They’ll look away if they know what’s good for ‘em.’

You meet his mouth as he offers it, kissing him like you’re coal and he’s fire and that’s the spark, there it goes, up it comes. ‘You’re taking me to the car, aren’t you?’ you ask, pulling back to look at him. He’s foggy, eyes glazed with lust, desperate with need. Beautiful in the most boyish way.

‘You read my mind,’ he says. He drops his lips to your hand, or maybe your hand goes to his lips, eager like ships to lighthouses, willing to be peppered, wanting to be looked for. He takes hold of it and pulls you after him into the dark, away from the noise of the party.

You stumble along, tripping your heels through the stones, letting him guide you to where he’d parked it. Once you’re there he has you against the door, the low-cut of your dress leaving your back to meet the cold metal, the fresh steel. You gasp as your skin goes flush to it.

‘Wanted this all bloody day,’ he says into your throat, in such a throw away manner that it could’ve been a thought, one that had escaped without him realising. He nips the skin between your breasts, then comes up for a moment to say, ‘Get in.’

You laugh and it bubbles above him, pulls him to the surface. He straightens in front of you with an eyebrow raised and waiting. ‘You’re being very bossy, J,’ you tell him.

He sighs. His hands grip the dress at your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish. ‘Please,’ he whines, needy without the shame of it, head sinking into one shoulder with the plea. ‘Please get in the car so I can fuck you.’

The smile you’re wearing might as well fly off your face and up into the stars. It’s too big to stay down, too light to not be free.

How you landed someone so perfect was beyond you. He’s every element, every angle, every part of him was made to compliment your own. So similar, that even your arguments make sense. Even your disagreements are clockwork. Ornamental. You took a gamble, you played the cards, and you’d taken the prize. You won the pot. He was yours, all yours, standing there in all his daft, gorgeous glory, loving you more and more each day. Wanting you every morning, every night. Craving you like you crave him.

‘Why’re you smirking like that?’ he asks, frowning.

‘Because,’ you drawl sweetly, ‘when have I ever held my own door open, John Shelby?’

He groans but then matches your grin, leaning around you to pop the door open, to hold it back for you to climb in. ‘After you,’ he says, playing the part.

‘Thank-you.’ You give a half-curtsey, one led by drunken humour, and duck into the back seat, feeling him follow after you keenly.

You’re flipped onto your back and then his lips are on you again, kissing the love into your mouth. He swirls his tongue with yours, tastes that part of you and leaves his own in return, and then pulls back, hands pawing at the silk of your gown.

‘John,’ you scold, ‘I swear to God, if you rip this dress.’

‘I’ll buy you another,’ he pants. He pushes it up to your hips, freezing at the sound of snagging tights, of stockings tearing and losing their purpose. ‘Sorry,’ he says, though he doesn’t mean it. ‘New ones of those too.’

You hum and reach for his collar, his neck. Your nails drag down the heated skin and his eyes roll with the feeling of it. ‘Just as long as I have something to wear afterwards,’ you warn.

He folds over you again, pressing kisses and marks into your chest. ‘Anything you want, Mrs. Shelby. Say the fuckin’ word and it’s yours.’

It flashes across your mind, white-hot fire in the dark, sweet, lasting tenderness. It strikes onto your tongue like lightening. ‘You,’ you say. ‘I want you.’

#John Shelby #john shelby x reader #john x reader #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #sorry but have i been shot by cupid lately why am i writing love so :( <3 #anyway enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!#let me know what you think as always because i live off of feedback #i feel like i never write john so immediately im like bet its terrible !

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