#i get distracted a lot by wanting to do other things and do other wips preventing me from finishing the current project i was supposed to do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 7 months

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the things you do for love ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru begs you to wear the frilly maid dress he bought. against your better judgement, you indulge him.

word count; 7.0k (this was supposed to be short but i miss him terribly)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly sweet, literally just satoru being down horrendous, lots and lots of petnames (he is embarrassing), he’s ur biggest hypeman, entirely sfw!! (i feel like i have to specify that…), reader is a lil grumpy, satoru gojo is the most insufferable man on earth <3

a/n; this is just a silly lil wip i found in my drafts…. i dont remember what possessed me to write this i just think satoru would cry and fall to his knees and throw up blood if he saw u in a frilly dress

”— no.”

the word rolls off your tongue, instantaneous, with a decisive kind of sterness. leaving no room for hesitation, doubt or indecision; not a single gap for his argument to fit through, no loophole he could take advantage of to persuade you into giving in.

but despite all that, satoru just won’t back down.

”come on, baby, please?” he pleads, voice coaxing and sugary sweet. you can almost see those puppy dog eyes of his from behind the black glass of his shades. ”i already bought it and everything!”

”i don’t care,” you spit. a halfhearted attempt at appearing annoyed, in hopes it’ll distract him from the strawberry flush of your cheeks. ”i’m not wearing it. you shouldn’t have bought it, in the first place.”

”but sweetheart,” he drawls, tinged with a sadness he knows tugs at your heartstrings. ”it’s so cute. you’ll look so adorable.”

”not happening.”

”but —”

”— no. i’m seriously not wearing it, satoru.”

and it’s harsh, the flow of your words, sharp and firm; but that’s your only option when he gets like this. your only slim chance at survival, being almost painfully direct. that doesn’t stop your resolve from weakening pitifully when satoru’s posture wilts, though, obviously exaggerated but still somehow effective. you debase yourself for being so weak for him.

but giving in just isn’t an option, this time.

under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t take too long for him to persuade you. satoru can be annoying, extremely so — but when he’s being so stubborn about something, there’s usually a good reason for it, even if it’s just that whatever he wants you to do will make him happy. to you, it’ll do.

(his happiness is your priority, after all.)

but in this case, there’s just no way. absolutely no way in hell.

he’s still holding that thing up, like he genuinely thinks it’ll support his argument, swaying it lightly side to side. it really, really doesn’t. it does the complete opposite, in fact.

”but angel,” he tries, again. you wonder if he’s eventually going to run out of petnames, or if he’ll just keep cycling through them until he runs out of air to breathe. ”don’t you wanna see how it’ll look on you?”

a sharp scoff flows from your lips.

he can’t be serious.

you really, really, really don’t. if anything, you want everything in the world except for that. you’d rather smash a glass bottle into little pieces and eat them one by one. you’d rather sit on satoru’s lap in a room full of other people. you’d rather jump in front of a moving train with explosives tied to your back.

— it’s so frilly.

you almost couldn’t believe it, yourself. when he barged into the room, cardboard box in hand, fresh from the mail; all while wearing an excited grin, foreboding, but you were too mesmerized by it to even notice.

it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so you didn’t think much of it. satoru buying you gifts is not in any way unusual, even and especially if you tell him not to — and usually, it’d be a sweet occasion. the kind of moment you can soak in, drink up, and then recall fondly for the rest of the week.

every single detail is worth cherishing. how excitedly he always opens it up, eager for your reaction, and how you always thank him, no matter what it is. sincerely, because satoru can be awkward with his affection, but his love bleeds through in moments like these.

from expensive, well-kept bouquets to little flowers on the side of the road; from thought-out gifts to little trinkets; no matter what it is, the sentiment remains the same.

(this made me think of you. i want you to have it.

i remembered you mentioning this brand. i love you.)

a way for satoru to show his love, without overwhelming himself or you. a way of easing him into it, when everything is still just so new to him.

buying you whatever catches his eye is the perfect solution, according to satoru. and it exasperates you, sometimes, when you come home to five amazon packages right outside your doorstep — but deep down you know it’s more for him than you. because it makes him happy, to be able to, allowed to show his love for you in ways like this. in normal ways, easy ways, that say more than his words ever could.

(being granted the luxury of making you happy. of loving you, even if satoru doesn’t think he’s very good at that, just yet. but he is good at impulse buying things he knows you’d like; so that’ll have to do, for now.)

which is why you couldn’t help but let his infectious joy seep into your bloodstream, trickling its way through your veins with a sweet kind of fervour. couldn’t help but smile, a tender curl of your lips, in tandem with his cute little grin. couldn’t help but grow a little bit excited, as he opened the package —

to reveal a cutesy, frilly, maid outfit.

— and then your mind screeched to a halt.

the look on your face must have been something special, horrified and flustered in equal measure. almost in disbelief, as he immediately began to gush about the outfit in his hands. look at the bows, isn’t it cute? god, you’re going to look so pretty. i mean, you always do, obviously, but —

you weren’t really listening. all your mind could do was spin in circles, trying to get some read on the situation, but it was just no good. he genuinely, thoroughly, truly and sincerely expected you to put on a goddamn maid outfit.

if he had bought it for himself, then maybe you would've been at least a little bit excited. you’re sure he'd look good in it; with those big blue eyes of his, that cute, happy grin. so good that your heart would probably combust, a little. melt through the floorboards.

but no — he wanted you to wear it.

and despite your instant, firm protests, he just will not give it up. your boyfriend is a stubborn man, so it’s no surprise, but it’s still enough to irk you.

”satoru, for real. no! i’m not wearing it!”

”but you’d look so good,” he whines, loud and grating as he inches closer to you. still holding the dress up like a prize; you back away, instinctively, like it’ll burn if you touch it.

”i don’t care! it’s a maid outfit! why the hell would i ever wear it?”

sunglasses seated at the bridge of his nose, satoru allows you to catch a glimmer of his eyes — an effective method of persuasion. he definitely knows their power, and he’s definitely flaunting them for the sole purpose of making you falter. that manipulative scumbag.

the fact that it actually works makes you even angrier, though.

a sharp turn of your head, and your gaze falls on the windowpane, lingering there as you grumble under your breath. he’s so annoying. you’re growing more and more flustered by the minute, too.

”— because you love me?”

satoru tilts his head, white locks of hair following the movement. soft and silky, nice to run your fingers through, but you chase the thought away as soon as it enters your subconscious. he looks almost hypnotizing under the sunlight, with the golden rays illuminating his features, smoothing over the contours of his face — as if the sun was made solely to shine on his skin.

and ah, you think, there we go. satoru’s classic tactic; using your love for him as a bargaining chip, pouting down at you like a kicked puppy. you like to picture his eyes all watery and glassy, everytime he tries it, as if he’s some rejected cartoon-mascot. so silly.

valiantly, you fight off the temptation to smile, gracing him with another little scoff instead. shooting him an unimpressed look, a tiny raise of your eyebrow. ”that won’t work on me.”

”aww, come on,” he almost coos, inching closer still. ”don’t you love me? my sweetiepie? my cute lil’ mochi?”

(he’s getting bolder with the petnames, you note. as if that’d change anything. they’re so cheesy it makes you recoil.)

”obviously.” you deadpan, trying your best not to let affection seep into the words. but you see satoru’s lips curl up, anyway. ”i’m still not wearing it, though. sorry.”

satoru sighs. heavy, exasperated — dare you say defeated? for a second, you delude yourself into thinking he might actually give in, for once, spare you both the trouble —

until he falls to the floor, knees hitting the soft flooring with a loud thud. awfully dramatic. he clasps his hands together as if to beg and plead, a starved dog at your feet, and gazes up at you with newfound determination.

”please, baby — i’m begging you,” he groans, voice sad and pained, agonized, like you just threatened to break up with him. silly, silly man.

”don’t grovel.” a sigh drops from your lips as the pads of your fingers go to massage your temples. soothing what you’re almost sure is an incoming headache.

and he makes a certain noise, almost a whimper, like you just kicked him in the gut. you glance down at him as if to signal really? with your eyes, lips parting to speak —

but your breath only hitches in your throat, and no sound comes out.

satoru’s eyes are almost teary. peeking out from behind his shades, big and glassy, eyelashes dewy with what you know are just crocodile tears. he’s far too skilled at it for his own good, though — maybe you should be supporting his acting career, instead of the weird teacher-slash-sorcerer thing he’s got going on.

and you’re weak, you realize, terribly so. because something deep within your chest constricts, at those sad eyes, heart squeezed painfully, and when you speak you note that your voice sounds a lot softer.

”satoru,” you sigh, again; more resigned this time, a little fatigued. missing the way his eyes glint at the sound, as if sensing an opportunity. ”really. i’m sorry i wasted your money, but it’s just… not happening. okay?”

attempting to sound delicate, your voice settles on a soothing tilt, like an adult speaking to a tantrum-throwing child. hoping it’ll be enough to make him falter even slightly.

it isn’t, of course; if anything, his determination only grows.

”even just for a short while?” he tries, voice sweet and pliant. all daisies and sunbeams, tailormade to tug at your heartstrings. ”just an hour or so! then i’ll be satisfied.”

”an hour? no way!” you scoff.

and this time, you don’t miss it. from behind those shades, a certain glimmer of something flickers through his irises — something keen and observant. a certain dread crawls its way down your spine.

”so it’s fine if it’s less?” he grins, changing tactics, smooth and decisive. ”half an hour. that’s as low as i’ll go.”

”oh my god.” an exhale, drawn out and exhausted, from the very depths of your chest. ”satoru. toru. no. i’m not wearing it at all. this isn’t an auction.”

”but it could be,” he purrs, still on his knees. it makes him look a little bit disturbed. ”c’mon. why are you getting so shy? guess what — i’ll even settle for twenty minutes. just for you.”

oh, he’s just awful. you want so badly to be mad at him, and that teasing, smug, shit-eating little smirk of his — but you can’t.

not when he looks so effortlessly pretty, bathed in the light of the sun, surrounded by a mellow glow so tender it makes him look something like an angel. not when he’s acting so characteristically himself, so stubborn and infuriating and entirely impossible not to love.

another sigh. you’re a little surprised you have enough air left in your lungs to breathe it out, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re beginning to grow just a bit tired of the back and forth. ”i’m not shy,” you huff. ”i just don’t want to. it won’t look good on me, anyway.”

satoru blinks. genuine surprise shines in his eyes, for a second, like you caught him off guard. ”huh? of course it will. why wouldn’t it?”

a pause. gnawing at your bottom lip, you avert your gaze, trying to find the words. ”it’s just… tacky,” you settle on. ”it’ll look weird.”

”it won’t! you’ll look so cute!”

another huff, as your dispassionate, bored gaze meets his. ”and how do you know that?”

satoru's answer is instantaneous. ”you always look cute. just wanna see how you look in this,” he chirps, brandishing the outfit with barely contained excitement. thoroughly giddy. ”when i saw it, i knew it’d look adorable on you. and i’m never wrong!”

a soft pout plays at your lips, in the wake of his eager sincerity. barely noticeable, just a little embarrassed, but it’s there. and satoru’s seen it, finally — the road to victory. he knows he can win this, if he’s smart about it.

”i just wanna see you in it. just for a second. please? pretty please?” he tilts his head, tantalizing, showing off the blue of his eyes and the curl of his lips. ”then i’ll never ask you for anything again. promise!”

”okay, that’s a lie and we both know it.”

the grin that blooms on your lips is a mistake, you quickly realize, because satoru interprets any sign of joy on your face as positive approval. his determination grows.

”yeah, yeah… but i mean it! i won’t bother you if you just wear it once. just once!” he puts a single finger up, to emphasize the point. ”just wanna see my precious baby all frilly and cute. won’t you indulge me, oh my dearest?”

he’s grinning, now, all soft and teasing. it’s more breathtaking than he’ll ever understand. he’ll never even come close to understanding how gorgeous he is, like this — when there’s no one around to perform for, when he can just be himself. when it’s just you, and satoru, and the feeling of having all the time in the world.

(even if you don’t.)

and you know your face must be flushed, a soft cherry red, as your gaze falls to the floor. the heat on your cheeks and neck, the pitter patter of your heartbeat; you feel it all.

and it’s embarrassing, to find yourself so fervently twisted around someone’s finger — to find that you don’t even really mind. being wrapped around satoru’s finger isn’t so awful, all things considered. it’s a scary thought, for sure, but he’d never abuse the privilege. probably.

— a sigh.

you still don’t want to wear it. you really don’t. it’s just awful. tacky, and embarrassing, and overall unpleasant.

… but if it’ll get him to stop nagging you like this…

and if it’s just for a short while…

silence, only silence, spilling into the sunkissed air. outside your apartment, the sky melts into a buttery orange hue. an intense contemplation is etched into your eyes, and satoru takes note of it; opting to put the final nail in the coffin. his very last bid.

”fifteen minutes. then you’re —”

”ten minutes,” you cut him off. sounding just a tad exhausted — resigned to your fate.

and satoru doesn’t even bother trying to hide his excitement. suddenly beaming, he shoots up to his feet, and it causes you to jolt. ”perfect,” he grins, holding the dress out toward you. a little too eager for your liking.

”— but seriously. i’m only wearing it once. never again,” you tilt your head. ”got it?” satoru just nods, happily, so excited he’s practically jumping up and down — and despite everything, you still can’t find it in you to be angry.

he looks so earnestly giddy.

eyes brimming with suspicion and weariness, your hands reach out to take it into your arms; the puffy dress, the frilly headwear, and the black thigh highs. you’re surprised he didn’t invest in a pair of shoes, while he was at it. just to complete the set.

(you decide not to comment on it, knowing he’d have some poor, overworked shoemaker on the phone within seconds.)

”need my help putting it on?” he purrs, face suddenly very close to yours — and the sudden stutter of your heartbeat sparks a hitch of your throat. desperate to cover it up, you shoot him a hefty glare.

”oh, shut up,” you hiss, but satoru only grins wider. soft little giggles flowing from his lips, like a schoolgirl teasing her upperclassman. silly.

a heavy hesitance rests on your features, as you give the outfit another chance. judgemental eyes trailing over the bows and frills, giving it a thorough look, until your lips curl down into a soft frown. it’s not that bad, but…

”it’s kinda ugly,” you lie, decisively.

”really? i think it’s cute, though.”

”yeah, ’cause you have no taste.” a click of your tongue. ”what’s so great about maid outfits, anyway? i don’t see the appeal.”

satoru smiles. carefree, amused — still very much teasing. ”well, we’re about to find out,” he chirps.

you give him a look, eventually giving way to a soft exhale. ”fine — but only ten minutes. at most.” a pause, as you stop to think. what else? ”oh, and no taking pictures.”

”— i’m taking pictures.”

…

the exasperated look you send his way doesn’t seem to phase satoru even in the slightest. he continues to smile at you, unbothered, soft around the edges, and you know you’re not winning this one either.

”… fine,” you sigh. ”but — not too many, okay? and you aren’t allowed to show anyone, either.”

”of course not,” he scoffs, almost offended. ”as if i’d let anyone else see you like that.”

stuck between feeling relieved and put off, you settle on simply letting it go. and satoru continues to speak, reassuringly, glossy lips shining in the sunlight as they part.

”rest assured, baby,” he hums, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. ”this stays between us. i swear on my honour.”

you snort. ”like you’ve got any of that.”

”mean. anyway — c’mon. i can’t wait any longer.” before you can think to protest, he’s ushering you away in the direction of the bathroom, big hands heavy on your shoulders as they push you. still hesitant, you make no move to resist.

(what have you gotten yourself into?)

with one final sigh, your fingers curl around the doorknob, outfit hanging off your arm. not before sending one final glance back at satoru, reinstating your conditions. ”just this once. then you’re selling it. or burning it.”

”yes, yes — you have my word,” he promises. before you can narrow your eyes, he pushes you forward, gently; bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. ”go on, i’m waiting!”

”yeah, yeah…”

the door closes behind you with a soft thud, and the reality of the situation begins to finally dawn on you. the maid outfit weighs heavy on your heart, but light in your arms — you gaze down at it with pure contempt. it’s not like you have a choice, though. satoru won’t let you wriggle away from this one. and maybe, just maybe, a part of you wants to indulge him, after all.

(his smile shone so brightly, in the light of the sun.)

and it’s almost cautious, the way you begin to dress yourself; first the thigh highs, black and silky, then the outfit itself. pulling it over your head, your arms sneaking through the openings.

it’s a perfect fit.

a second passes. you stop to think, brows furrowing in suspicion — did the little bastard measure you? just to make sure he got it exactly right? he has been rummaging through your closet more than usual, recently, but you didn’t think much of it. over the years, you’ve conditioned yourself not to question the things that he does. that sneaky, sneaky man.

after putting on the headwear, you finally lift your gaze, tentative and slow — to take a peek at your own reflection. the flush on your face stands out, a contrast to the black and white colour scheme of the outfit.

and you can’t help but exhale, a little exasperated.

it’s so… frilly. there are frills on the sleeves, on the shoulderpads, on the skirt, on the hems… everywhere. little bows litter the surface of the smooth fabric, a big one attached to the collar, and several smaller ones across the sleeves.

and as much as you loath to admit it — it is kind of cute.

still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re only embarrassing yourself. it’s hard not to think, when a maid outfit is staring into your soul through the mirror — and you just so happen to be wearing it.

(what the hell are you even doing?)

a low groan slips from your lips, and you crouch down, to bury your face in your knees. the flush of your cheeks is beginning to spread towards the tips of your ears, growing hotter by the minute. satoru’s about to see you like this, of all people. how on earth will he react?

(what if he thinks it looks weird, too?)

”i’m still waiting!” a voice suddenly exclaims, sing-songy and sweet, and closer than you realized. has he just been standing there and waiting in silence, this whole time? of course he has.

”just —” you croak out, words a little strangled. ”just… give me a minute.”

satoru lets out a high-pitched whine, cheek pressed against the cold wood of the door. ”but i’ve been waiting so long already!” he complains, pouting, the urge to see you growing unbearable. impatience tugging at his heart, so excited he can barely pull himself together.

(all he can think of is you, you, you.)

curling up into a little ball, you attempt to swallow the bundle of nerves in the back of your throat — but that jittery, feather-light feeling of your heartbeat just won’t go away. it makes you feel a little paralyzed.

you're actually, genuinely, sincerely about to go show off a goddamn maid outfit. what the hell.

when you finally grasp control over your vocal cords and part your lips to speak, the voice that spills out into the air sounds more than a little meek. but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, overcome by a heart-tingling nervosity and the heat of your skin.

”… i don’t want to.”

satoru pauses.

he can picture you, in his mind’s eye; the way you must look, right now. clad in frills and a cute little skirt, face flushed red and embarrassed, as you shift from foot to foot. and it takes concentrated effort, to bite back the coo that threatens to crawl up his throat — but he knows it’s still not too late for you to change your mind. if he wants to see you, he needs to be careful. so he tactfully opts not to tease you.

”come on, angel,” he soothes, instead. voice smooth like honey, like coffee with cream and too much sweetener. ”don’t be embarrassed.”

you stay silent, still attempting to suffocate the tinge of humiliation in the depths of your chest. so satoru continues. ”just come on out, hm? might as well get it over with. then you won’t have to think of it again.”

a moment passes.

”… do i have to?”

the corners of his lips curl up.

ah, you’re so cute. all embarrassed, almost childish, in the way you’re still trying to be difficult; and satoru just indulges you, all too eager to get you to show yourself to him. ”yes, you do,” he coos. ”be good f' me and come on out, okay?”

a couple moments pass. eerily silent, growing second by second. the only sound that fills the air is that of satoru’s soft breathing, the distant whirring of the ceiling fan.

until finally, he hears the squeak of the bathroom floor. you stand up, turning to glance at your reflection in the mirror one last time, before hesitantly reaching for the doorknob.

it’s slow, the way you open the door, agonizingly so — pushing at it slightly and dragging the movement out. and you can feel satoru’s presence, right behind it, as he takes a step back to give you space. when you finally step over the threshold, you adamantly refuse to meet his gaze.

(satoru’s breath hitches in his throat.)

there you stand, gaze stubbornly averted, expression flustered and mildly annoyed. cheeks dusted a dark cherry-red, that crawls towards the tips of your ears as you fidget with your frilly, oversized sleeves. they’re dressed in little bows, awfully cute, and so is the skirt — short, but not enough to expose the skin of your thighs above the thigh highs. you still squirm a little, thighs pressed together.

and then, of course, the big bow on your collar to complete the look. pink in colour, a stark contrast to the whites and blacks of the remaining outfit.

after a moment passes with nothing but pure silence, your lips part to speak. doing anything you can to stop yourself from looking over at the man in front of you, afraid of what you’ll see. ”i don’t think it suits me,” is muttered, a tiny huff. ”… and i still don’t see the appeal, by the way.”

— but satoru doesn’t answer.

he just stares. uncharacteristically silent, in a way you’re wholly unaccustomed to. enough so that you find yourself gnawing at your bottom lip, fidgeting with the hem of the skirt, hoping the smooth texture will soothe your nerves a little. the beating of your heart resounds in your ears, sending blood flowing through your veins with excited pumps.

the silence festers, and all you can do is let it grow, your nervosity thickening with it — until it’s just too much to bear.

(ahh, you knew it. it really does look weird, doesn’t it? that’s to be expected.

still, you can’t help but feel just slightly dejected.)

”… why aren’t you saying anything?”

the little mumble comes out sounding embarrassed, and maybe just a little defeated, too. but satoru doesn’t hear it. as your gaze falls on the man in question, slowly, you take in his expression with a frown on your face — and realize that he isn’t just keeping quiet.

he’s completely stunned.

no matter how hard you stare, you can’t seem to get a good read on his expression. he’s just standing there, face completely blank, eyes entirely obscured by the black of his shades. the light streaming in through the glass of the windows has shifted its course, falling away from the two of you — but you still see the vague, red tinge crawling up his neck.

and as soon as you spot it, satoru begins his descent.

crouching down to the floor, silently, he brings his hands up to cover his face. feet against the ground with his knees folded, pressed against his chest, stilling as he inhales sharply. shades seated on top of his head, pushed up by his hands when he buried his face in them. a groan drops from his lips, muffled by the skin of his palms — but you can hear it clear as day.

”hold on, just… give me a minute…” he finally croaks out, words somehow tiny. almost shy.

upon closer inspection, you realize your eyes weren’t deceiving you — there really is a red hue to his neck, one you aren’t used to seeing on him. strawberry-tinged dust, staining his smooth skin, the tips of his burning ears. satoru actually looks flustered, for once. and your heart can’t help but flutter.

— he thinks he might actually, genuinely die.

it’s a wonder, he thinks, that he managed not to fall to his knees the very moment he laid eyes on you. all dolled up; frilly and cute, in his own words, though they don’t come even close to properly describing how adorable you look right now. with your flushed face, shy eyes, and all those little frills and bows adorning your dress. rendering him speechless, clogging up his throat with pure unbridled love. a mouthful of honey, too sweet for even him to swallow.

god. god. he really, really needs to pull himself together.

crouched down like this, face hidden behind his hands, he can physically feel himself grow more and more flustered. senses invaded by the sound of his heartbeat, deep and visceral, until it’s all he can hear — he knew you were going to look cute, obviously, but he was seriously underestimating you. your cuteness is lethal.

even just the sight makes him weak in the knees. even just the thought of you makes him feel a little like his heart is attempting to break out of his chest. hurling itself at his ribcage with ferocious resolve, like he could keel over and die of heart failure at any given moment. he’s pleasantly surprised that he’s managed to suppress the loud squeal his body keeps trying to let out, honestly.

and while satoru struggles with his deep, internal turmoil, all you can do is watch. looking down at him with wide eyes, as his skin flushes a bright pink, like little chrysanthemums blooming from his neck up to his ears.

yeah, you think, there’s no doubt about it. satoru is flustered. it’s not a side of him you get to see very often, so you can’t help but be just slightly caught off guard. staring at him silently, until you snap out of it, eyes simmering with something soft and delighted.

he’s so cute.

(and maybe, just maybe — it makes you want to tease him, a little bit.)

so you crouch down, facing him with your knees against your chest, jaw resting on your crossed forearms as you gaze at him. he’s still not looking at you, face hidden behind his palms, shying away from your view.

and then you sigh. the sound catches his attention, soft — and just a little bit dejected.

”… you’re the one who wanted me to wear it,” your lips curl down into a pout, ”and now you won’t even look at me?”

satoru stiffens.

(you sound sad. you sound disappointed.)

slowly, he parts his fingers, desperate to soothe you — blue eyes peeking out through the gaps, as if the sight of you could blind him. he then proceeds to move his hands, tentative, laboured, like he’s dragging heavy weights off his body. like it’s a struggle.

with his face finally exposed, all flushed and pretty, bright azure eyes stare at you; brimming with pure adoration.

satoru exhales, almost shaky. he has to take another moment to simply look at you, as if drinking in every inch of your expression. memorizing every corner of the face he’s grown to love so much.

a moment passes. then two.

then, he practically pounces on you — engulfing you like a tidal wave, trapping you in his big arms as they go to curl around your waist. shades falling off at the impact, hitting the floor with a soft thunk.

”you’re killing me,” he whines, loud and right by your ear. nuzzling into you, squeezing you like he’s a puppy with a chew toy. ”you’re so, so, so cute. d’you want me to have a heart attack?”

a hitch of your breath. that’s all you can manage, utterly failing to keep up with him as he presses you up against his chest. rocking you back and forth in his embrace, smearing open mouthed kisses across your skin; whining and murmuring about how adorable you look.

a flurry of warmth, of love, of something a little too precious for words. something distinctly satoru, that makes you forget about everything else — as if the world stops spinning somewhere outside of his arms. as if that’s where you belong.

all you can do is indulge him. maybe you’re spoiling him a little too much, but it feels nice; letting him drown you in his overwhelming affection. the thought of creasing the dress doesn’t even seem to cross his mind, as he squeezes the life out of you.

evidently, satoru suffers from an acute case of cuteness aggression.

”so adorable,” he murmurs, leaving wet kisses on your cheeks. his exaggerated mwahs make you feel just a tad shy. ”my little sweetheart. all dressed up for me.”

squirming in his hold, he only brings you closer, smothering you in his warm embrace. the slightly erratic beating of his heart is all you can hear, with your cheek squished against his chest. arms keeping you nice and still, lips lingering over that one ticklish spot behind your ear.

a little giggle slips from your lips, and satoru feels himself smile; wide and giddy, boyish and adoring. nuzzling into the comfort of your chest, soft fabric brushing against his skin, a low whine escapes his throat. ”can't take it. wanna put you in my pocket.”

”your pocket?” a grin blooms on your lips, words dripping with honeyed amusement. satoru grins right back.

”my pocket,” he hums, approvingly. ”you’re just so cute and small. gotta keep you close, so i don’t lose you.”

a huff, lighthearted.

suddenly, the grip around your midriff tightens — and you’re hoisted up, stumbling a little as satoru lets go of you. still holding onto you by your wrists, softly, delicately, as if you’re made of glass. when you lift your head, all you can see is his satisfied little grin, and the twinkle of his eyes.

your heart flutters.

satoru gazes at you, silently, still drinking you in. every second spent staring into the brightness of your eyes fills his heart up just a little more; colourful, heart-shaped candies, scooped up and poured into the hole in his chest. patching it right back up, so effortlessly sweet that it makes him want to pluck every star from the sky and offer them at your feet.

”alright,” he breathes, taking a step back. breaking the delicate silence, a little dance between him and time. fingers still curled around your wrist. ”do a twirl for me.”

a humoured scoff. ”hell no.”

”aw, come on! you gotta pose for the photo, baby.”

before you know it, satoru’s got his phone out — and it’s aimed right at you. by the time you notice it, you’re fairly certain he’s already managed to snap a couple pictures. so all you can do is sigh, in faux exasperation.

”c’mon, c’mon,” he coos. ”give me a smile, pretty.”

a roll of your eyes, as you bite your lip to muffle a soft bout of laughter. it doesn’t really work. ”i’m good.”

satoru seems unaffected by your words, pulling back from your touch reluctantly; just so he can make a show out of playing the cameraman, switching between elaborate positions and taking pictures from angle after angle. somehow, you get the feeling he’s forgotten your request to keep the pictures to a minimum.

(he looks like he’s having fun, though. so you let it slide. just this once.)

”god. you’re way too cute for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, leaning down to take another picture. and it flusters you, how smoothly the words slip from his lips, how it seems like he barely even has to think about them at all.

it’s a little embarrassing, in a heart-fluttering kind of way. but you do your best to hide it.

”you’re a sap,” is all you say, soft smile playing at your lips.

”and you’re adorable,” satoru grins.

then he slips his phone into his back pocket, satisfied with the collection, and grabs your hand.

his fingers curl around yours, softly — and then he lifts it up. bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin.

(as if he’s whispering psalms under his breath. as if he’s worshipping you.)

then he tilts his head, eyes gazing at you sweetly. sweeter than fresh mandarin slices, splotches of marmalade, his favorite caramel fudge. and his eyes crinkle, crow’s feet and dimples peeking out as he smiles, an easygoing kind of joy blooming on that pretty face of his — youthful, boyish. it suits him more than anything.

his voice comes out smooth, awfully coaxing. so very easy to give in to, paired with that breathtaking grin.

”one tiny twirl?” he asks, politely.

he’s so annoying.

(but you’re far too in love to say no.)

so with a single roll of your eyes, and a soft little scoff, you relent. indulging him once more, just one more time. just one little twirl.

satoru feels his heart squeeze painfully, deep within his chest, as he watches you spin around. skirt and frills ruffled by the movement. just once, a soft little twirl with your fingers intertwined. far too precious for his heart to take.

when you stop, just a tiny bit dizzy, he leans in, and the kiss he leaves on your forehead is soft. chaste, but it still pulls a blissful sigh from the back of your throat. satoru’s lips curl up against your skin, before he pulls back — eyes almost overflowing with affection.

”cutie.”

you blink.

averting your gaze, flustering a little under the weight of his love-filled eyes, all you can do is emit a soft little huff. embarrassed, as it flows from your lips. but it only makes satoru’s smile grow further.

”okay, okay. you’ve had your fun.” you clear your throat. ”time’s up.”

suddenly, satoru’s eyes fill with something akin to dread — nose crinkling, just barely, a sign of his displeasure. ”noooo,” he whines, draping his arms around you. tugging you close. ”just a little more? please? pretty please?”

”nope! we said ten minutes. no take backs.”

”can’t i have an extension? since i’m your favorite?” satoru pouts, puppy dog eyes in full force. only this time, they don’t work as well as he’d hoped.

”nope,” you repeat, popping the p. ”sorry.” another whine buzzes right by your ear, and you smile.

”and then we’re burning it.”

”noooo!”

”sorry, but it’s gotta go.” you bite back a soft grin. satoru sounds agonized, voice dripping with grief, and it makes your heart dance with barely contained laughter.

”but then you can’t wear it anymore, baby…”

”that’s kinda the point, toru.”

”but you’re so cute in it,” he pouts, bringing you closer still. squeezing at your waist and rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. ”it’d be such a waste if you never wore it again, don’tcha think?”

he’s trying his best, you can tell — attempting to make you falter, coax you into wearing it just a little longer. but for today, you’re done indulging him.

”well, too bad.” nuzzling into his neck, your tone settles on a firm tilt; decisive, as you nip at his skin. just a little teasing. ”i said i’d never wear it again, and i meant it.”

a moment passes. maybe it’s the warmth of your lips on his skin, or maybe he can tell you aren’t budging — whatever the case, satoru finally seems to relent. an exhale tumbles from his tongue, deep and drawn out. ”fineee,” he drawls. ”i’ll just buy you a new one.”

”i won’t wear it. i’ll just get angry.”

”at lil’ old me? really?”

”really really,” you click your tongue. ”if you love maid outfits so much, why don’t you wear one yourself?” a beat. ”it’d look good on you.”

satoru perks up, suddenly. pulling away so his eyes can meet yours, bright and teasing, glazed over with something excited. ”oh?” he purrs. ”you wanna see me in one, huh? so bold, baby.”

a scoff slips from your lips, sharp but tinged with laughter. ”well, it’s only fair, right?” grinning up at him, your hand reaches out to smooth away his bangs. fingertips trailing across the expanse of skin, touch so very tender that his eyes flutter shut. ”i think you’d pull it off better than i ever could, anyway.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly; a dance with him and time. an attempt to prolong the softness of the moment.

”hmm… well, i’ll consider it.” just barely holding back a smile, he leans into your touch. ”you gotta wear it with me, though. we can buy a matching set!”

”that makes no sense,” you huff, with a raise of your brow. ”i’ve already worn it once, so next time, it’s gotta be all you.”

”sorry, baby, but you need to do it too.” he cradles you close, smoothing a palm down your spine, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. chest rumbling with the smooth timbre of his voice, words rich with teasing fondness. ”i’m too shy to do it by myself.”

and you really, really wish you could be angry with him — but it’s just impossible.

satoru is just way too lovable, smile far too sunny and warm for you not to melt under. and his caress says more than words ever could, light and doting, careful and loving; like how a believer cups a handful of holy water. as if you could slip from his grasp at any moment, so he has to keep you extra close.

in the end, all protests and complaints die on your tongue. you only laugh, soft and breathy, filling the air with a fondness so palpable you can almost taste it. bordering on something close to a scoff, but never quite getting there.

eventually, satoru does — begrudgingly — let you change out of the outfit. whining a little, sulking a tad, before brightening right back up again. like clockwork, the sun peeking out after a rain shower, the calm after the storm. always that same happy smile, wrapping you around his little finger.

satoru, in all his glory; your very own pocket of sunshine. annoying, stubborn, thoughtful —

and yours, wholly and thoroughly.

(while you’re busy gazing at him adoringly, satoru grumbles under his breath. contemplation painted on his features, as his mind spins in circles. frills, bows, lace…

what kind of design would make him look the prettiest for you?)

#satoru ”my girl look so good today im abt to scream and moan and throw up” gojo #he is so husband coded to me. so unbelievably babygirl #he would absolutely wear a maid dress if u asked him to btw. and he would rock that shit so hard.#just……. gojo in a dress………….. breathe if u agree #im a firm believer in flustered satoru also…..#it wouldnt happen often but if u act cute enough i just think smth in his brain stops working #and he grins rly wide and tries to cover his face w his hands so you wont see how much hes blushing. if u tease him more he squeaks #who said that.#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo fluff #jjk fluff

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stevieschrodinger · 5 months

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So what if like the thing that makes Alpha and Omega pairs, true mates or whatever, is like a detectable thing that they can test for. And like, everyone has their little blood test at birth and then on say, their 18th birthday, the Alpha gets informed as to who their omega is.

Obviously it's a bit of a sexist deal and lots of Omega and their supporters are trying to get it changed so that both parties are informed, to make it fair, and that is getting some traction but right now, the Alpha gets told and the Omega has to wait for them to show up.

Except when Eddie, fucking excited as all hell to meet his Omega finally, opens his envelope to find Steve Harrington's name starring back at him and Eddie just. He just can't. Steve's one of the biggest bitches at Hawkins high. And even if Eddie can, sort of, get past that, Steve's a snob. He lives in a fucking mansion and has a nice car and preppy clothes and yeah...Eddie is going to get rejected stone cold and that would be fair because he doesn't have a single thing to offer and Omega like Harrington.

Eddie burns the envelope.

And yeah, he can't help but watch Steve a little more now that he like, Knows, but he does his best to put it behind him.

And Steve gets into a fight with Nancy wheelers new Omega, when Nancy gets her envelope, and it's not Steve's name inside and it looks like Jonathan came out on top and Steve...well, he looks beaten and sad and that nearly makes Eddie cave but...no. no.

Right up until he has Steve under his hands, pinned to a boathouse wall with a bottle to his throat and Eddie's been thinking of Steve has his Omega for so long it just kind of slips out. Eddie whispers it, 'Omega' and the bottle drops to the floor and shatters more.

And Eddie has to watch it play out from close range on Steve's face, dawning realisation. Deep hurt. And then anger. An angry shield that comes down as he pushes Eddie off.

"Dustin explain to Munson what's up, I'll be outside a minute.". And Steve just stomps out and there's fuck all Eddie can do about it.

And then he kinda gets distracted by hell dimension stuff. For a bit. And Steve's clearly fucking angry with him and Eddie, well, what the fuck is Steve expecting Eddie to do, right? Steve would never have wanted him in the first place. So Eddie is fucking angry. And it comes out spiteful, calling Steve 'big boy' like he knows it'll rile Steve up. Throwing his jacket at Steve so he will cover up, because he can't bare to look at all the skin Steve is showing, especially with fucking Wheeler hanging around. And if it got something of Eddie's on Steve, well then, it doesn't fucking matter does it? Doesn't mean anything.

And it's not until it's all done, and Eddie wakes up fucking high as a kite on pain meds, with non other than Harrington sitting by his bedside that it all slips out, "what are you doing here?"

Steve shrugs, won't look at him, "waiting to see if my Alpha dies, I guess."

And he just sounds so...bereft. so broken.

"Steve, I just...look-"

"Doesn't matter. You've made it clear. It's fine. And you're going to live I guess so I'll just-" and he's standing, turning to leave.

And Eddie knows Steve now. Sees him with the sheep. Knows he isn't a bitch. Knows he's just...a good guy. Knows he isn't any of the things Eddie thought he was.

"You grew up in a fucking castle." Steve pauses, sitting back in the chair to frown at Eddie.

"What has that go to do with-"

Eddie clears his throat, it's dry and scratchy and hurts but he has to do this. "You grew up in a castle. Nice car. Both parents. Preppy clothes, fucking, shitty fucking jock friends. Steve, you would have rejected me in a heartbeat. I live in a fucking trailer and sling drugs on the side I'm not- I couldn't do that to you."

And Steve just, he just starts crying. He nods, wipes his eyes, "I might have," he admits finally, "I don't know what I would have said...but I needed you. Since then I needed you so much and," he sniffles, wipes his pink nose .

"And I didn't know. I couldn't have and I am so sorry but could we just, now, can we just-" and it hurts like fuck but Eddie bites it down because Steve is half clambered into the bed next to him and yeah. Yeah, that's perfect.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #world building #ficlet #i write

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Three for One 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: The ho-lidays are the daddies and the baddies.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You bob around to the tinkling of carols as they waft over the store. Unlike your coworkers, you enjoy the repetitive tunes. They are so fun and bright and help the time pass between customers and stocking. Not that there isn't more than enough to keep you busy.

In the rare moment where you aren't distracted, you let yourself browse the colourful lipsticks and shining perfume bottles all around. You don't have anyone to shop for, not even yourself. You have your dollar store glosses and discount nail polishes. You don't see the need to spend too much on those things. Or maybe you just prefer what you know. Simple and cheap.

Around lunchtime, traffic really picks up. Several customers ignore your approach and brush by you before you can entice them into buying some Chanel. You've already hit your sales targets but you never really think of numbers.

A woman stops you and asks for a very specific palette. You know just the one. You think it's cute, it looks like a cupcake, and while you adore the aesthetic, it isn't worth the price tag. It's just powder!

You show her where it is and Luanne comes over to take the reins. She's the makeup genius, her flawless contour is proof enough. You turn to float back to your zone and see a man watching you. You recognise him! Vaguely. You see a lot of people in a day.

"Good afternoon," you sing as you near him, "anything I can help you with?"

His throat bobs as he cheek ticks, "uh, yeah, er..." he pushes back his gray jacket, tucking his hands in his pants pockets, "you remember me?"

You smile as you try not to show your cluelessness, "I think..."

"I came in last week," he says.

You think, scrunching up your face as you tap your chin, "yes! You bought Liz Taylor for you mother."

"Mother-in-law," he corrects you, not unkindly.

"Yes, that's it," you jab your finger upwards, "you complimented my sweater."

"Yeah, that was me," He finally smiles, "anyway, I was thinking of getting a gift for my wife. Just a little stocking stuffer."

"Oh, that sounds so cute," you nearly squee. You get so excited to help people shop for a loved one. At the same time, you feel that void. Maybe one day you'll have a husband thinking of you. "We have some great gift sets, actually. They come with different scents so you're wife can figure out which one she likes best." You direct him over to a shelf, "oh, and if she has a favourite, you can get her a full bottle for Valentine's!"

He gives you a look. His eyes narrow just a bit and his cheeks round, "that's a good idea."

He glances over the shelf and you wait patiently. He turns back to you, his eyes flitting over your name tag as he reads it out, "do you have a suggestion?"

"Me?" You perk up, "well, I actually like the Coach. It's not too expensive and it's nice and subtle."

"Is that what you wear?" He asks.

"I don't... I use some cherry blossom body spray but I usually smell like the whole store by the end of the day," you shrug.

"Cherry blossom," he nods, "oh, by the way, I'm Andy."

He offers his hand in an overly formal way. You giggle but take it nonetheless. You don't really get that often.

"Sorry," he squeezes your hand firmly before letting go, "lawyer, habit."

"No, it's fine," you assure him, "I'm just a perfume salesman, is all."

"Well, you're really good at your job," he praises.

"How do you know?" You say.

"You're friendly and helpful. I have no complaints," he reaches past you and claims the Coach pack, "she's going to love this. I owe you."

"No problem. Do you need me to ring you up?"

"Actually," he sighs, "she has this idea. Christmas card. I'm supposed to find a sweater. So, I need to look around some more."

"Oh, that's so cool. A Christmas card? The sweaters are just over in the men's, right near the east entrance," you point, "they have some really cute Charlie Brown ones."

"Charlie Brown," he repeats.

"Anyway, I'll let you go," you clutch your hands together, "I hope your wife likes the perfume."

"I'm sure she will," he agrees, hesitantly clapping the kit between his hands, "uh, thanks. Again." He leans back on his heel, "oh and, that's a really nice colour on you."

"Uh," you look down at your gem green blouse, "thank you, sir."

"Andy," he insists, walking backwards, "again, you're a life saver."

You grin proudly and he spins on his heel, nearly knocking into Luanne as she comes over. He apologises as he side steps her and continues on. She gives you a strange look.

"Geez," she grumbles, "people. This time of year makes everyone so crazy."

"Well, he was nice," you say.

"Kinda cute, too," she intones.

"He was shopping for his wife."

"Lucky lady," she scoffs, "so, you wanna go on lunch first? I'm dying for a latte."

"You can go, I don't mind," you say, "I'm not very hungry."

"Deal," she winks, "I'll get you a hot chocolate for your trouble."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to, I want to, sweetie," she preens.

"Fine, fine, I accept your coerced hot chocolate.”

🎀

Another day close to complete. It's like checking off items on a list. Each evening seems to darken sooner than the last, every morning rising too soon.

You yawn at the empty fragrance section as it’s only you left for the last hour. There isn't much to do except balance the till. Your headset keeps you entertained as electronics calls out possible shrink and home goods argue about their numbers.

“We need a body at returns,” Lucille cuts through the chatter. “Now.”

No answer comes and you slowly slide your hand up the wire. Before you can hit the button, your name is snarled from the other end. You're ordered up to cash to assist with the hordes.

You leave the ghost town that is beauty and as good as skip up to the front. You calm your step as you see Lucille sneering at you from behind a machine. You give a tiny smile and claim the extra screen behind returns.

“I can help the next person,” you call and wave your hand in the air.

You stand back and wait for your first customer. A man comes up and throws a torn open package on the counter, the item bouncing out of the plastic. You flinch and barely catch it before it can slide off the other edge.

“Hello, sir,” you bat your lashes, “how are you today?”

“Not fucking well,” the man snarls. His mustache tickles your memory; do you know him? “It’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, okay,” you look down at the trimmer and examine it, “you’d like to do a return?”

“Yes, I’d like to do a return,” he snaps, “are you dim?”

“Of course, sir,” you punch in your ID and passcode, “I’ll just get you going. Do you have your receipt?”

“A receipt? I bought the damn thing here, look it up.”

“Ah, alright, when did you buy it?”

“You don’t remember, little trigger finger,” he sneers.

“What do you mean?”

“Pfft, right, you think spraying people with skunk spray is fun?”

“Um, no?” Your cheeks tremor as you withhold a frown; you think you know him now as you’re hit by a sudden wave of Gucci cologne, the scent of a memory. “Did you have the card you purchased this with?”

“You don’t think I have money?”

Everything he says is aggressive. Your questions bounce off him like accusations. You don’t know what to say that won’t agitate him further, He huffs and kicks a foot out, leaning on his back heel as he reaches in his back pocket.

He flicks a black card onto the counter, “put it back on this.”

You nod and take the card, examining the nameless front. You turn it over and swipe it in the machine instead to search the number. He scoffs, “bet you never seen one of those up close.”

“Sir,” you smile bigger, letting the insult ping off of you. All the money in the world and he has no manners.

You find the purchase with the same sku and put his card back on the counter. He snatches it up as you start the return. You scan the barcode and continue on to the next screen, “what’s your name, sir?”

“Lloyd,” he answers curtly. You type, waiting, then look up at him, “Hansen.” He finishes sharply, “with an E, got it?”

“Yes, sir, and the reason for return?”

He rolls his eyes, “it doesn’t fucking work.”

“Alright. So it doesn’t cut the hair or–”

“It won’t turn on,” he growls.

“Right,” you take the trimmer and turn it over. It looks fine enough, even after he threw it. You slip the door of the battery compartment off. It’s empty, “and you had double As in it?”

“Double As?” He repeats.

“It needs batteries, sir.”

He pauses, eyes flaring, nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m stupid? That I don’t fucking know that? You’re not getting free fucking batteries from me.”

“Of course, sir, of course,” you rarely feel this addled, even this time of year, “I’ll get you your money back on a gift card–”

“Gift card? I want my money,” he holds up his card between two fingers.

“Yes, sir, I understand. As per our return policy, personal care items, once opened, are only eligible for a store credit return. Or you can exchange for another item. Would you like to look at our other trimmers? I can put this aside while–”

“What? How would I know that?” He hisses.

“It says on the receipt, sir.”

“I don’t have the goddamn receipt,” he barks.

“I know, sir, sorry. I can only refund this amount on a gift card. I can’t override the option.”

“I want a manager. NOW!” He demands as you jump in your shoes.

“I… I’ll see if she’s avail–”

Lucille has you jumping even more as she appears beside you, no doubt drawn by the raging man in front of you. She elbows you out of the way, not even acknowledging you as she puts on her mask. She leans on the counter just slightly.

“Sir, is there something I can help with? I’m the manager,” she says.

“I want my money,” he echoes once more. “I bought a defective product and I don’t want store credit. I drove out here twice for this bullshit.”

“Oh, certainly sir,” she brushes you with her hip, further edging you out, “right back on that black card, right?”

She scans her keycard, overriding the safeguard, and proceeds to the refund screen.

“Yes, exactly,” he snorts, “not like I don’t have even more money to spend here. Even if the customer service is lacking.”

You back away, unsure what to do. Do you just stand there for the transaction or do you go back to your department? You twiddle your fingers and bob on your heels.

Your eyes meet that man’s and he smirks smugly, wiggly his credit card at you. It’s fine, you won’t let him ruin your day. He’s already ruined his own getting so worked up.

🎀

It’s another busy shift. Your hot chocolate has gone cold from your neglect and you long to sneak away and shove it in the break room microwave. You can’t mourn the lukewarm drink as the line before you stretches on. You’re only a week from Christmas.

You finish wrapping the Prada bottle and hand it over the iron-haired woman with her cute curls. You wish her a good day as she waddles off. The next customer comes up, slamming down a cup so hard, the foam of the drink spits through the slot in the lid.

“Hello, sir,” you croon, “how are you today?”

“Here for a pickup,” he ignores your question.

“Right, can I get a name?”

“Why?” He challenges.

“For… for the package,” you sputter.

“Oh, uh, Drysdale,” he sniffs.

“I saw that earlier. I’m the one who called,” you brighten up.

“So you’re the annoying songbird,” he grabs his drink again, “took you fucking long enough. Line’s a mile long.”

“It’s very busy, yes. Everyone’s catching up on their Christmas shopping,” you bounce, “are you almost done yours?”

“Yeah, I bought myself cologne. So, chop chop, sweetheart.”

You nod and quickly spin. People get so impatient. You go into the small back room housed behind the shelves of lockup and you search the shelves. Drysdale. You pluck up the box and hurry back out.

“Right here,” you announce, “I have good news, too.”

“Tell me you’re gonna stop yammering,” he snickers.

“Um, no, the uh… the cologne is currently on markdown so I can do a price match and give you your money back.”

“Why would you do that?” He asks.

“Er, because… it’s policy?”

“You think I can’t afford it?”

“N-no, I didn’t say–”

“Look, I don’t need some department store busy bee to judge me, got it? This scarf costs more than your whole wardrobe,” he touches the patterned scarf around his neck.

“It’s a very nice scarf,” you agree.

He narrows his eyes, “you’re mocking me.”

You shake your head, “no, sir, I like the colours–”

“Give my goddamn package," he reaches and rips the box out of your hands, “and a tip, shut up and do your job. Maybe then you won’t have half the city waiting to get their shit.”

“Thanks,” you swallow down his anger. “Have a great day, sir.”

He doesn’t reply as he takes his cologne and storms away. You watch him and notice his cup still beside your till. It’s too late to call him back. You’ll just put it aside, you’re sure he’ll come back for it.

You move it to the other end of the counter and face the next customer, “hello, how are you?”

“Good,” the blonde woman answers with a gentle smile, “some people…” she tuts, “don’t let the grinches get to you, honey.”

“Thanks,” you feel the ice melt away, “I won’t.”

“Adorable cardigan,” she adds, “I really love the collar.”

“Oh, thank you,” you trill, “is this everything for today?” You gesture to the bottle of Calvin Klein on the counter.

“That will be it. And I’d love to have it gift-wrapped, thank you, hon.”

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ridestomars · 9 months

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GIRL U WANT – S. HARRINGTON

𖥻 summary: steve harrington is in love with his coworker, y/n, and max mayfield can't stand how annoying a lovesick steve is. 𖥻 pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader 𖥻 warnings: y/n is used!! it's kinda told from max's point of view. idiots in love (obv), max and steve have a little sister-older brother relationship. bad grammar ig. not proofread (yk the deal). 3k-ish words.

💭 liv's thoughts: look at me rewriting my wip list works. this is another one that has been sitting on my docs page for ages, and i finally got the courage to fulfill it. i hope you guys like it!

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

“Look at you with your mouth watering, look at you with your mind spinnin'. Why don't we just admit it's all over? She's just the girl you want”.

People say patience is a virtue, but Maxine Mayfield begs to differ.

She doesn't believe in that "good things come for those who wait" crap, because nothing nice ever came her way for just standing there until something happened. The only thing she got from waiting around was a terrible yearning sensation of what could have been if she wasn't such a wimp. That is why Max doesn't exercise the righteous quality of patience, preferring her natural impulsiveness instead. Her restlessness is just too precious not to be used – Seventeen magazine insists on telling her that it's just a thing Aries girls do.

Her effort usually pays off, but when it doesn't, there is nothing better than a "fuck you" to tend the wounds. Rejection is always a possibility, but being disappointed because of it isn't, and with time, you learn how to deal with the negative responses… despite that, Max likes to consider herself too persuasive to ever be declined.

But she has to admit that her intrinsic sense of fearlessness can make her a little insensitive when it comes to people's fear of rejection because, to her, it's just all so simple. Though she tries to be understanding, others' stupidity can become a bit too much for her to handle, and she almost always finds herself on the verge of scolding them for their inability to be bold. It was like when she first started dating Lucas: she had a very serious talk with him about his embarrassment to complain about his wrong orders to the servers because he fears being met with a rude attitude – she still walks up to the workers to point out that his order came with pickles when he didn't want any, but just because it's him.

For some time now, Max found herself in an annoying situation. Over her boring vacation evenings, she began visiting Family Video a lot, and began picking up on something that grew to be infuriating: Steve's and Y/N's constant bullshit. Their (initial) quiet pining was cute, at first, because it made her feel like she was watching a real-life rom-com, with an exciting "will they or won't they?" plot line… reminiscent of the late-nights where she would pretend to be asleep on the living room couch to catch the new Cheers episode, to see if Diane and Sam would finally get together. Yet, as the days passed and their never-ending coyness appeared to only grow stronger, her hopes started to falter. In fact, the situation began to get so obvious that it started to get on her nerves. Big time.

She was an observer, and easily noticed the lingering looks as they talked, one getting distracted by the other's lips, or the way their brows furrowed when attempting to flirt. Or the jealous blush that dusted over Steve's cheeks whenever he saw you talking to a good-looking customer. And then, whenever you weren't at work, she hears his grumpy huffs that turn into infatuated sighs as soon as you walk through the door, apologizing for being late. It wasn't hard to miss your affectionate words about him when he wasn't around, as if talking about your co-worker would make his absence more tolerable.

What was sweet, quickly turned into tiresome when the instances of you two almost kissing turn into a daily thing. She can't count the times when she caught Steve leaning his face closer to yours, taking the courage to make his move, but right at the last second… the plan totally backfires. You either bump heads (Max physically cringes whenever she remembers the scene) or too distracted, ended up turning away from the other. Either option brought a burning ache to the chest.

The blatant crush you have on each other followed Max everywhere she goes as if she was doomed to hear about it until the end of times. Steve was never necessarily reserved about his infatuation – although it seemed like everyone knew about it, except the one person that should –, and since he gives her rides everywhere, she found herself listening to him babble about the gorgeous gleam in your eyes and your shiny hair. The guy sees you as something sacred, and yet… he never admits that he actually likes you, despite the fact that you are all he ever talks about.

To him, you are a piece of heaven on Earth, the person who understands him the most and makes him feel good about himself, among other incredibly elaborate platonic compliments.

Max knows Steve is pretty much the most idiotic guy to ever exist, but he isn't stupid. It's obvious that he just doesn't want to admit his feelings because, if he does, he will have to do something about it, and being blind to the fact that you feel the same, he doesn't want to risk it. If things went wrong, his heart wouldn't be able to take it.

The only question roaming Max's head is: he is secure, but at what price?

It all makes days like today even more unbearable.

They have been sitting inside Steve's burgundy BMW for almost five minutes now, with the clear window closed, the A/C turned up to maximum speed, and Madonna's 'True Blue' playing on the radio. After their arrival at Family Video's parking lot, Max had asked for a minute, just one fucking minute, to fix her shoelaces and Steve used it as an opportunity to daydream as he stared out the windshield. His eyes were set ahead, and she didn't need to look to know who he was staring at.

This was starting to get depressing.

"Steve," Max calls, as harsh as ever. "Stop".

As if he had just been electrocuted, Steve turns his head to stare at the fifteen-year-old. Eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared, he defends himself, "But I'm not doing anything".

"Exactly, you moron," she grumbles. "You gotta tell her".

'No more sadness, I kiss it goodbye. The sun is burs-', Max interrupts Madonna by turning off the radio, stopping any possible distractions.

It's clear that Steve doesn't like where this is going, because his face contorts into that sour annoyed look that makes her take a deep breath. This is going to be difficult.

"Tell what to who?" pretending to be clueless, he purses his lips, but his eyes don't lie, quickly drifting back to Y/N's figure. There was no escape now, not with Max's sharp gaze bearing down on him.

"You're so full of shit".

"Hey! Language, Maxine," he reprimands, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about".

"You're in love with her," she motions to his co-worker who was still blissfully unaware of the car parked outside.

And her words rang as an absurdity to him.

"Max, for the love of-," his protest is interrupted by the girl and the know-it-all tone he hates so much.

"Steve, you're so into her it's ridiculous," her blue eyes narrow at him, hardening her expression. He scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks in the other direction, trying not to give too much away.

They stay like that for a few seconds, with him staring out the window, refusing to take part in the discussion, and Max glaring at his blushing, conflicted face.

But then, he breaks.

"Fine," Steve breathes out, "I mean, I'd make out with her… like, platonically, you know?"

The word comes out as if he had just remembered it existed, and Max doesn't buy it for a second, "You can't make out with someone platonically, Steve".

He takes her harsh delivery with a contemplating face, letting it all sink in. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it did break his argument, and he finds himself agreeing with what she had said… and he gets a grip.

"Why am I listening to a thirteen-year-old?" he mutters, in disbelief. Huffing, Steve turns back at her, already gripping the door handle, "You know what, smarty-pants? I gotta work".

"I'm fifteen, Harrington! And we're not done!"

Max trails behind him as he gets out of the car in a hurry, stepping heavily into the pavement. As Steve bursts through the glass door with the girl in tow, they catch the attention of everyone inside Family Video. He gives you and Robin an embarrassed smile, stepping onto a random aisle, trying to hide from the curious stares.

From the corner of his eye, Steve realizes that he still hasn't gotten rid of the stubborn girl, so he gathers the cluttered tapes and organizes them, in a failed attempt to avoid Max's inquisitive look. Moving the Pretty in Pink tapes around, the redhead crosses her arms, still staring.

"You should learn a thing or two about that movie, you know?" she says with a quiet voice.

"What are you talking about, Mayfield?" he asks with a defeated sigh, clearly getting annoyed by her.

"Duckie didn't do anything about his crush on Andie, and had to settle for being her best friend in the end," she spells it out for him, "While she got to make out with Andrew McCarthy. Arguably more good-looking and charming than Jon Cryer".

Steve rolls his eyes, but the situation does ring out an alarm at the back of his mind. What if… no, let's not go there. "What are you trying to say, wise-ass?"

"I'm saying," she continues, not willing to let him take a breath, "Are you truly willing to miss your shot? Stop being such a coward and go for it!".

"You talk as if I actually have a chance".

There it is.

This was what she wanted to hear.

"Steve, the girl is almost putting up a bright sign saying 'Go for it! Ask me out, you idiot!'".

Drifting his eyes away from the tapes he was organizing, Steve watches as you laugh at something Robin had said. His gaze softens as he contemplates the scene, his hesitancy quavering every time the sound of your laughter reached his ears. This time, seeing the longing look in his eyes made a gentle, sympathetic feeling grow inside Max's chest, so different than the impatient annoyance she was so used to.

"Look, Steve," her green eyes droop with friendly warmth. Though she might say that this is such a rare sight, that is what he sees every day when he talks to her. "I'm just saying what I noticed, and even if I'm wrong, which I'm not, by the way, you gotta take this off your chest. This is your chance!".

Staring down at her, he can only blink. Her encouraging words are settling in his mind, screeching as they do so, and he wonders… the gears inside his head spinning out of control, smoking everything so bad he almost can't see anything. Steve feels a bit out of breath.

But, impatient as always, Max keeps going as if she hasn't just collapsed all of his plans to stay in your friendship's comfort zone. With the wisdom that few possess, she continues, "I know you're still hung up on your Nancy-heartbreak and everything, but you're standing in your own way on this one, Steve. I can't tell you what the future holds, but I'm sure that you'll feel a lot better after you tell her about it".

His intentions to continue ignoring it all are crumbling to dust inside him right now and her words make him feel defenseless, too vulnerable to continue disregarding his own fear of possible rejection.

"That doesn't make sense," he scoffs, though his voice is soft and quiet, "Why would I want to do something like that if I don't know what the outcome is? She might just turn me down, and I don't think I could…"

Eyes drifting back to your breathtaking figure behind the counter, he stops himself before finishing the sentence. His face lit up with an astonishing expression of realization. Steve lets out another defeated sigh… maybe Max was right.

With a knowing smile, she tells him, "Because you know she's worth it".

xxx

Steve has had his head in the clouds ever since his little chat with Max earlier and could barely concentrate on having any work done throughout the rest of his shift. It didn't help that he also couldn't escape the sight of you from any corner of Family Video, and had to take several breaks until closing hours to avoid his head from exploding.

Pacing back and forth inside the employee's break room instead of helping you put everything away (not exactly the top priority on his list right now), Steve tries to muster up even the slightest string of courage to talk to you about his feelings.

Now, on top of being an absolute wimp, he can also add useless when thinking to his list.

He takes a big breath as he replays what Max had said, and almost unconsciously, snippets of Billy Joel's 'Tell Her About It' start echoing with it. The combination was able to help him make an outline of everything he'd like to say to you.

"I like you. I don't want the chance to slip away. It's okay if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to say something before it's too late", he mutters to himself, still walking in circles. "If yes, then, ba-ba-bam, charm her up. If heartbreak, retreat. I'll be fine. Fine. Just fine. A-okay".

Steve feels the same rush as he felt before going to his High School basketball matches, and he can only hope that the results will be far more positive. He takes another deep breath, shaking his arms before he walks over to the door. His fingers touch the door handle, cool under his fingertips. This is his chance. The store was closing, there were no customers around, and Robin had left early for band practice.

Let's do it, he thinks to himself.

Determined and possessed by a sense of overconfidence, Steve snaps the door open, letting it hit the wall with a loud noise. The sudden movement turns your attention on him, and he can feel his cheeks burning bright under your gaze, his faux bravado trembling below the warmth of your eyes. The quizzical look you gave made him question his own ability for the dramatics.

"It, uh, got stuck", he offers an embarrassed smile.

Good. Already starting with a lie.

"Yeah," your expression turns into amusement, "it gets jammed all the time".

The kindness in your voice makes him feel a little better about himself, maybe he wasn't being such a fool in front of you. His heart started to thump inside his chest, blood pumping in his ears like thunder as he walked closer to where you stood, just behind the big counter. With an intense gaze set on your face, he watched as your eyebrows furrow in his direction again.

"Is there something on my face?" you lift your hand up to your cheek, wiping it off in a hurry.

"No! It's just-," he interrupts himself, suddenly realizing that this script wasn't supposed to go this way. What is he meant to say now? Under your expectant gaze, it's not like he can think of anything intelligible. "It's not that".

"Oh, okay," breathing out, seeming relieved by the information, you bring your hand down. With a voice that dripped with curiosity, you ask, "Why we-were you staring, then?"

Steve feels so stupid now that he can only blink down at you, his head getting fuzzy by that cute look in your eyes and the way your lips quirked up, stifling a smile. Yeah, he's a goner.

Before he could actually think about what he was saying, he hears the sound of his voice echoing through the empty video rental store, "I don't wanna be a Duckie".

"What are you talking about?" you laugh out loud, though it's clear that you're not laughing at him. His words took you both by surprise, and he couldn't expect any other reaction.

"Sorry," Steve apologizes, chuckling along, "I didn't mean to say that. What I wanted to say was… well, by the look on your face I think you already know".

Again, he just blurted it out without reflecting on it first. But it was justified.

For the first time, he saw something different in the way you looked up at him. Maybe it was just him being impacted by Max's words, but Steve swears that he has never seen that mellow tenderness gleaming in the color of your eyes before… or at least, he had never noticed it like this. He feels like an even bigger idiot now for not realizing it sooner.

"Know what?" your question comes as a sign of your unawareness of his new understanding, and it makes a sweet smile grow on his face.

"I like you".

The three words come out in a far more relaxed way than he had originally imagined his confession to be. Clearly, his realization made a wave of true confidence wash over his body, putting him back in his element of ease. And to say it out loud was a relief like no other.

But when he was met with no answer, just that shocked look on your face, his smile faltered.

"It's alright if you don't feel the same," he reassures, "I just… I didn't want to keep waiting around, wasting more opportunities by never telling you how I feel, because if you feel the same, I really don't want you to get away just like that. And uh- I don't want to be just your friend, but it's fine if you-"

"I like you too", you talk a bit louder than him, interrupting his train of thought, without any remorse. "I, uh- never said anything because I thought you didn't like me back".

He is still, like a statue in front of you, processing the information.

And it seems like an eternity before he cups your face, the palms of his hands resting warmly over your cheeks. His long fingers graze against your temples, and just the feeling is enough to ease your hammering heart, but as he leans closer to your face, you can feel your own breath ricocheting against his lips.

Steve stares at you through half-lidded eyes, as if he is waiting for your go-ahead. And it's only when you softly nod up at him that he presses his mouth against yours, letting his lips wrap around your bottom lip in a soft, loving peck. His mind was misty with increasing thoughts of you, your candy-flavored lips, and the smooth texture of your cheeks, along with the feel of the roots of your hair on his fingertips. You were breathing in each other in your kiss, and your breath came faltering against the other cheek. It was truly world-shattering, something you had never felt before in your life.

As you slowly, and almost reluctantly so, pull apart, Steve feels a small chuckle bubbling up in his throat. Seeing your amused expression, he smiles.

"We have so much time to make up for".

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! steve masterlist | main masterlist | navigation ── hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep. currently accepting requests for steve and eddie.

𖤐 taglist: @oncasette if you want to be added to my taglist, just click here.

#liv talks about stevie #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

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pharawee · 6 months

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Welcome to the second part of my Pit Babe novel commentary aka "hey this isn't so ba---wait where's Babe's sudden daddy kink even coming from??"

And I try (oh my god do I try). 🤡

I'm now at chapter 10, trying to pace myself because the (auto-translated) translation I'm reading is apparently a WIP. I'm on the edge of my seat. The plot is beginning to thicken.

Previously, Charlie was being sus and Babe was catching feelings, but most importantly there was a lot of pwp and very little racing.

Now there's more racing. Babe even brings Charlie (he still has to wear a mask and a hat) but gets too distracted by his presence (he's apparently addicting enough to kiss through the mask) and promptly forgets to check his car before the race (even though Charlie warns him against it but such is the power of scent - or lack of scent in this case. I don't even know anymore - neither does Babe but at some point Charlie states that's he's now in an alpha rut which I suppose means exactly what it says on the tin).

But, oh no! Babe runs into trouble during the race. He loses the lead and his car gets increasingly difficult to control until it crashes and bursts into flames. But it's okay, Babe jumps out of the driving car just in the nick of time (have you ever seen a supercar outfitted for racing? It's difficult enough to climb into one - funny how I'm apparently okay with omegaverse shenanigans but I draw the line at wonky motorsports physics 🤣).

Anyway, the track marshals are doing a really shit job because somehow they 1. let Charlie on the track to singlehandedly try and rescue Babe and 2. they also completely miss that Babe has literally jumped ship car and is lying on the track. He ends up with a broken wrist and a sprained knee (or was it the other way around? anyway, he's wearing several casts) which means he won't be able to finish the season and lose the title of King (all because he was too horny to check his car... but yeah also apparently it was sabotage ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ).

So much for the racing part.

Babe needs weeks to heal so naturally he needs Charlie to pamper and feed him and dick him down several times a day but what else is new. No offence to the the dicking down part but ugh I hate this trope. Maybe it's just because I dislike the dynamics but I don't like the way Babe is taking on more and more cliché omega traits. If I have to read one more time about how much smaller he is (or about his "rounded" hips... are you ok google translate?)...

Oh, and btw. There are omegas in this! Charlie gets flirted at by one (which Babe absolutely hates) and he does have a scent and all. Later, when Charlie is busy being extremely sus again he meets up with a childhood friend, Jeff (Pon's character in the series is called Jeff - oh. oh no...), and if I'm not mistaken he's an omega as well. Jeff cautions Charlie against being with Babe and displeasing his father (which also seems to be Jeff's father? Dude sure has a lots of adoptive kids...) but Charlie argues that he knows what he's doing and he doesn't want to stop anyway.

Later on he tells the exact same thing to his (adoptive?) father, and why do I get the feeling that this might be the same father Babe mentioned earlier when he was telling a feverish Charlie a story to get him to sleep:

In his story, Babe mentions how when he was very small he used to go hungry every day because his mum was out of the picture and his father didn't even make enough money bring food to the table. One day the hunger was so bad that he passed out and woke up in the hospital where a stranger told him he'd be his new family. With little choice in the matter, Babe accepted and went on to spend the rest of his childhood well-cared for and in elite schools etc. That is, until he turned (presumably...) 18 and discovered that his father didn't adopt him out of the kindness of his heart but for ulterior motives that Babe doesn't explain any further because at that point Charlie has fallen asleep.

So yeah, what are the odds that Babe's "father" and Charlie's father are the same person (no spoilers, please)? Because if so then... that's disturbing, especially since Charlie's father seems to want Charlie to lure Babe back home. I mean, Charlie seems to have his own plans but it's not like his father throws him out after their secret meeting. Sus, very sus.

Meanwhile, Babe is slowly losing his heightened senses (the novel doesn't mention it yet but I'm pretty sure this is Charlie's doing) but he doesn't seem to mind because he's too busy falling in love. There's a lovely scene where Charlie and he spend the night stargazing, and this is when Babe realises that something's different because usually his heart only beats this fast when he thinks about racing (lmao).

Cue to them not having sex for a week because Babe feels like he's going crazy.

Meanwhile, it's been decided that Charlie will finish Babe's racing season for him because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and I'm sure he'll win the title too because he's Charlie, alphaest of alphas. Or something.

So one night Babe officially introduces him to the rest of team X-Hunter (and curiously Sonic and North seem to be racers in the novel as well) but things go awry when Babe is too busy fooling around with Way (no you cannot be affectionate with a male friend in a BL novel it is forbidden!!). Charlie and Babe argue and proceed to ignore each other for the rest of the night until they make up (and out) during the official X-Hunter sleepover (with Way and another poor dude sleeping in the same room).

They're polite enough to seek out the indoor pool (this isn't even their house - have you no shame?) and talk it out. And by talk it out I mean there's an inappropriate amount of daddy-calling and Little Mermaid jokes. This is where Charlie claims Babe. Yes, there's knotting (I think? like I said, I'm not axactly an expert and auto-translate is a bit vague, bless its little AI heart). Charlie threatens (I'm sure it's all meant very lovingly 🤡) to impregnate Babe if there's no other way to show others that he's his. To which Babe replies that that's impossible anway.

It's impossible, right? Right??

#pit babe the series #pit babe spoilers #pit babe #jane watches stuff #(in a way)#pit babe meta #bl meta #i wrote this is the middle of the night because i can't sleep #but this feels like a fever dream anyway so #to everyone reading this:#you have my thanks but also sry for subjecting you to this lmao 🙏

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she-who-fights-and-writes · 8 months

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How to Get Inspired to Write and Regain Creativity

The muses are fickle, especially when it comes to writers. Sometimes inspiration strikes at the worst of times—while working, in the middle of the night, etc.—and other times it refuses to strike at all. How do you get inspired to start a project, especially when you haven’t written in a very long time?

Here are some tips and tricks that may help you get back into the writing groove.

1. Is It Writer’s Block You’re Worried About?

This post is meant to be a resource for people who don’t have any current projects or haven’t written/worked on their current projects in a very long time due to lack of inspiration and motivation.

In contrast, “writer’s block” is usually used in reference to having a load of inspiration and motivation to write but struggling with a mental “block” that prevents you from doing so.

These two overlap a lot, though, so if nothing on this post is working, you can find my post on combatting writer's block here!

For some extra help to get the ball rolling once you've regained inspiration, also check out the "Getting Started" section of my FAQ!

2. Set Aside Time to Be Creative

Oftentimes, creativity and inspiration can be lost due to a busy schedule. Life happens! Work, school, and a variety of other things could be restricting your ability to write or do creative things consistently. All it takes is one busy week, or month, or year, and now you feel like you’ve been thrown off of the carousel of creativity and can’t find your way back on again!

The key to combatting this is blocking out an hour or two (every day or every week) that you can use to spend time writing. Set a timer or alarm and put your phone aside (it is your enemy! It can and WILL distract you!) and sit down with the intent to write. Even if you get nothing done, getting in a creative headspace is still incredibly helpful! Baby steps!!!

By blocking out a specific length of time and putting it in your calendar, you can mentally prep to be creative and also can assure that you have ample time to get the juices flowing without worrying about being interrupted.

3. Check Out Some Writing Prompts

Sometimes, it can be easier to start writing if you’re told what to write. A lot of writers find prompts helpful as warm-up exercises, and use them for projects on the side when they’re taking a rest from their current WIP.

It could be helpful to find a couple of prompts and see what cool things you can come up with! Even if they don’t seem like something you’d want to work on long-term, the very act of writing in and of itself will wake your “writing muscles” back up and get them in the groove of being creative again.

You can check out #writing prompts on my blog, or check out these amazing prompt blogs:

@writing-prompt-s

@creativepromptsforwriting

@promptsforthestrugglingauthor

@daily-prompts

@promptsonpaper

4. Write Fanfiction (If you’re just struggling with original works)

Fanfiction is a great way to get back into being creative because all of the hardest parts about getting started (character creation, setting, lore, etc.) have already been done for you. You don’t have to post your fanfiction or even complete your fic, just write a short scene or story about two characters with pre-established backstories, personalities, and dynamics. It’ll get you back into the basics of describing setting and writing dialogue.

5. Make a Fun Playlist or Pinterest Board

Making fun playlists or Pinterest boards based on a certain genre, character, or piece of media you like can really get the creative juices flowing! After all, having a playlist to listen to that perfectly encapsulates the mood, tone, and pacing of your scene or story can really get you inspired! And with a Pinterest board for visual references to back you up, descriptions can come a whole lot easier!

I don't really use Pinterest except for art references, but if you don’t want to make your own writing playlist, feel free to borrow some of mine! Just a note: I find words in music very distracting when I write, so all of these are instrumental. Sorry if it’s not your cup of tea!

Here’s a link to my master list of instrumental playlists.

6. Read!

I know. It’s hard. And I can’t even talk; I haven’t read a proper book in a year, probably. For me, the hardest part is starting; I drag my feet for months before finally picking up a book, whip through a good chunk of it in one or two sittings, but once I put it down, I never return to it. But reading is an excellent way to get inspired as a writer, and to improve your way of writing!

By learning and getting inspiration from fellow writers, you not only get an idea of the creative possibilities, but also learn how different writers work their process. Fanfiction counts, too!

7. Get a Writing Buddy!

Sometimes, creative things such as writing can be hard because they’re traditionally a “solo sport” so to speak.

But having a writing buddy, someone to just be in the room or on call with you while you both be creative together, can do loads for your inspiration. Sure, there’s a chance that you’ll just distract each other and fool around, but if you really work to hold each other accountable, even getting into the creative headspace is a great way to start.

Also, you have a partner to bounce ideas off of!

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

#long post #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #inspo #writing inspo #writing ref #writing reference #writing inspiration #inspiration #writeblr #booklr

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writingquestionsanswered · 7 months

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I've had ideas for stories I want to write, I write down a bullet point outline, but then I struggle with the actual writing bit. I can think and imagine a full scale plot with hooks, twists, etc but there's a block.

I've always struggled with getting my thoughts put into words that make sense for how I see it. Or just putting thoughts into words in general.

Do you have any advice that may help?

Plot Fleshed Out, Can't Write

When you understand plot and story structure, have the plot fleshed out and outlined, but still can't write, it's almost certainly because you're lacking one or more of the following:

1 - Inspiration - Your story's outline is sort of like the wooden studs, struts, joists, and beams that serve as the underlying structure of a house. You can have detailed instructions for how to build the actual house, but if you don't have ideas for what materials to use to build the walls, the kind of roof to put up, what type of floors to put in, what color to paint the walls, and how to decorate everything, you'll only ever have a structure. That's why one of the most important things you can do as a writer is make sure you have a full creative well at all times. If you're struggling to take a detailed outline and turn it into an actual story, it's probably because your creative well is dry. You have the structure, you just don't have ideas for what to do with it. So, spend some time Filling Your Creative Well and you'll find that ideas for what to actually write come pouring in.

2 - Motivation - Believe it or not, you can have a detailed outline and a full creative well providing you with lots of ideas for what to write, and you can still be unable to actually write anything. All kinds of things can hamper our motivation to write, from self-doubt and distraction to not feeling well or life getting in the way. My posts: Feeling Unmotivated with WIP, Worried About Writing Style, Delaying Writing Out of Fear, Writing and Depression, Would Rather Be Doing Other Things can help with some of the common motivation zappers.

3 - Excitement - Even with a detailed outline, a great story idea, tons of great ideas, and plenty of motivation to write, if you're not excited about your idea--about the characters, setting, plot details, all of it--you may find yourself struggling to actually write. My posts: Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write, Getting Excited About Your Story Again, and

4 - Practice - Knowing how stories work and being able to actually write one are two completely different things. Kind of like you can know how to read sheet music and understand how to play a piano, but that doesn't mean you can just sit down and play a beautiful, flawless concerto. Writing requires practice, and practice means you have to spend a lot of time writing not-so-great stuff before you can write great stuff. But if you never take the time to write the not-so-great stuff, or if you never start writing because you feel like what you write has to be immediately perfect, you'll never get the practice you need. So, just start writing. Do writing prompts. Write fan-fiction. Journal. Any kind of writing will exercise your writing muscles and get them into shape.

5- Energy - Having the physical and mental energy to write is just as important as everything above. If you're lacking in energy, you're not going to feel like writing when you sit down and try to write. So, self-care is super important when you're going to be writing. Make sure you're getting enough sleep, exercising, and eating right. Try to avoid doing things that sap your physical and mental energy if you know you're planning to write later. Take some time to figure out the time of day that works best for you energy-wise and try to schedule your writing time then.

Happy writing!

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honeydjarin · 11 months

Text

KISS IT BETTER

REX X READER

Rex’s feelings for you have been steadily growing for a while now, but he believes they’re his own burden to bear. When he gets injured, he thinks you might feel the same. When you get injured, he knows for certain.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: blood and injury

word count: 2,600

a/n: this wip has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I finally got around to finishing it. I’m excited to be writing again!

Rex’s affection is a slow, steady thing. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, not when he leads the rest of his life with such level headed strength, but it does. He doesn’t notice the way it settles into the cradle of his ribs, the way it blinks into existence. It falls into place like the stars after a sunset, small bursts of light piercing the dark a handful at a time until there is no question that the sky is full—near bursting.

The sun seems to set quicker each time Rex sees you, the stars in his heart brighter with every passing day. If it weren’t for his practiced composure and unwavering respect for your position on the Resolute, that affection just might spill out of him, tearing him apart at the seams, his body alone no longer enough to contain his feelings.

But his emotions are his own, and you haven’t asked, nor offered, to help bear them.

You’re a medic on the Resolute, one of the few faces onboard that doesn’t match all the others on the Star Destroyer. That distinction alone was enough to spark gossip among the men when you were first assigned to work alongside the 501st.

Rex didn’t think much of it at the time. Gossip rarely holds weight, and he’s never put any stock in it. A new medic, nat-born or clone, is simply something the 501st was in need of. He didn’t think much of the matter beyond the benefit of having additional hands in the medbay. Maybe he would have paid more attention to the gossip if he had met you before the talk died down. It wasn’t until later, after a particularly rough skirmish that left more men than he felt comfortable with on bed rest, that Rex finally met you.

You were bouncing around between beds, checking in with the men still on bed rest, when he first saw you. Easy smile, mellow mannered, kind—these are the things about you that stood out to Rex.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Captain,” you greeted as you stepped by him. Of course you already knew of him. His position on the Resolute made it near impossible to not be involved in at least some rumors, just as your status as a non clone made you stand out.

“Likewise,” he said, the word feeling oddly heavy on his tongue. He had no way of knowing at the time that the first seeds of attraction were already starting to take root. Admiration and attraction can feel a lot alike in their early stages. Maybe it was a mix of both that caused words to fail him.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” you asked, pausing what you were doing to give Rex your full attention, gaze boring into him with an unexpected weight—like a tractor beam pulling him into your eyes. The steady hold of your gaze was nearly too much to handle. Rex dragged his own eyes away from you then, choosing instead to take in the scene around him, needing a distraction. Most of the beds were full, but enough time had passed since the skirmish that all of the men still in the medbay were stable, and many almost ready to leave.

“I just wanted to check in on them,” Rex said, nodding at the beds behind you.

“Of course.” You smiled.

The interaction was brief. You had things to do, and Rex wasn’t in the medbay just to see you—that would come later. But, despite the brevity of the meeting, it was enough for him to get a sense of who you are, enough for you to wiggle your way into his heart—just a little.

Rex’s affection is a slow, steady thing. By the time he finally realizes just how much of him you really hold, it is too late to change course.

—♡—

The blood spills from his side slowly. Ever-slipping time allowed the wound to begin clotting, but it’s too big, too deep to heal fully on its own. The blood sticks to his blacks, the still wet stain difficult to see on the already dark colored cloth.

He was hit by a piece of shrapnel during the last battle. An exploding tank sent pieces of the vehicle and broken droids his way. For the most part, he managed to escape injury, but something managed to nick his side in one of the places his armor fails to cover. Only his now ruined blacks stood between the shrapnel and his skin.

It will hurt to pull the fraying fabric from torn flesh, but when the time comes, he will grit his teeth and bear it. Rex has been through worse, no doubt, and he surely will again in the future. It’s why he waited to seek out treatment. There are others who need it more, those who might not survive without immediate attention. He doesn’t want to be a hindrance when doing so could harm others.

Instead of seeking out a medic, he distracts himself. He focuses on what can be done, takes steps that will result in the closest thing to a positive outcome after a battle. He doesn’t expect a medic to seek him out, especially not you.

You walk over to him without hesitation, like you’re singularly focused on reaching him, and Rex wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. The scowl tugging at the corner of your lip and creasing your brow, an unfamiliar expression on your usually smiling face, is aimed directly at him. He has never seen you angry like this before. Even with the harsh look that will inevitably be accompanied by a scolding when you reach him, the sight of you sends his world spinning.

Maybe he lost more blood than he thought.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You speak as you approach.

“My job,” he responds. This whole conversation seems wrong. While your question was delivered with a tone that made the words sound more like a scolding, his own statement, which should have held an assurance fitting for a Captain, sounds unsure.

“Kix mentioned you might be injured,” you say. Rex’s hand raises to his side in reflex, cradling the air above his injury but not making contact with the laceration beneath. You hum knowingly, stepping closer to get a better look.

You swat Rex’s hand aside as you bend down, taking in the injury without actually touching the wound. It’s difficult to see the full extent of what happened with Rex’s blacks still in the way, but the still wet blood soaking into the fabric tells you plenty.

“I wish you had come to me,” you admonish, pulling out a medkit from your pack. The supplies are reduced from when the battle started—Rex tries not to linger on the implications of that reduction.

“I had things that needed to get done, just as I’m sure you did.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.” You pause what you're doing, looking him in the eye while you talk, as if doing so can make your words sink in. There’s a pained look in your eyes as you speak, like the thought of him being injured makes you hurt with him. It's a look you hide well, but Rex still catches the way you seem to bite your tongue to keep from saying something more.

You turn your focus back to the injury, setting out to do what you can to ensure it heals as thoroughly and efficiently as possible. If you were petty, you just might tug a little harder than necessary while pulling the fabric of his ruined blacks from the wound. You might use more force than needed to eject the stim into his system, or press the bacta patch onto his skin a little firmer than the adhesive calls for. You would remind him of why it’s important to seek out medical treatment as soon as possible. Maybe next time he would come see you sooner.

Instead, you’re gentle with the gash.

You may be unhappy about the fact that Rex got injured, but you’re disinclined to make him hurt anymore than he already does. You can understand why he avoided seeking medical attention, that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it—not when, of all people, Rex is the one who is hurting.

“Please try to be careful,” you say as you finish. You stand up, looking him in the eye once more. Your next words slip out before you can stop them. It’s a quiet, almost confession. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

Before Rex can respond, you step away, off to hunt down others who tried their best to avoid medical attention. Rex is left to wonder if your words were said as a medic, or as something from the heart, something personal. His cheeks warm at the thought.

Is it wrong for him to hope for more?

—♡—

“KARK!” The expletive is followed by a series of quieter grumbles and moans. You pull your hand from the drawer to cradle near your chest, eyes burning with unshed tears as you attempt to take in the damage.

Blood bubbles up from your palm, welling for just a moment before spilling over. It drips down your wrist and onto the once sterile floor below.

“Who in Sith Hells keeps a vibroblade with the notepads?” You grumble.

“Surely not a medic.” You startle despite the familiarity of the voice, turning around to see who has entered the medbay. Rex is taking your hand in his own before you fully process who is standing beside you. His touch is gentle against the delicate skin, his calloused hand nearly as warm as the now throbbing wound on yours. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say. “Nothing a little bacta and a bandage can’t fix.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you, his frown deepening as you brush off the cut like it’s nothing. Despite the guilt that settles in your gut for being the cause of his displeasure, your cheeks warm at the thought of his concern.

“Can I help you? Will you let me?” He is already herding you towards one of the beds, guiding you to sit on the edge so that he can gather the necessary supplies. You sigh, not wanting to trouble him any more than you already have, but concede.

“Fine. But clean your hands,” you demand before telling him where the necessary supplies are kept.

Rex does as you say without a fuss.

“Are you sure you don’t need stitches?” he asks, brows furrowing as he takes in the wound. He doesn't shy away, used to seeing much worse on a regular basis. It makes your heart sink to think about how much he has seen—how much he has lost.

“Yes, fortunately. The bacta will be enough.”

Rex works silently, apologizing when you hiss at the touch of bacta to the wound but not breaking his concentration from the task at hand. He works with the diligence of a soldier. With his attention directed solely on your injured hand, you are given a chance to admire him.

It’s a habit that started the first time you met him and has only gotten worse with time. You had heard about the Captain of the 501st. His loyalty unwavering, his mind steady and well balanced while his General is so fond of taking risks. You didn’t expect the softened look in his brown eyes. Falling for him was easy.

“Hey Rex, did you need something from the medbay?” you ask, needing something to distract yourself from his steady hands, from the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, from his singular focus on you—even if it is just because you’re injured.

“Hmm?” He looks up for the first time since he started treating the wound. It’s fully bandaged now, and the pain has all but subsided thanks to the soothing cool of bacta. “Kix said you were in here.”

His eyes flick away from yours and he clears his throat. It’s not the first time he’s sought you out in the medbay for the simple reason of enjoying your company, but still the decision seems to leave him embarrassed.

He switches the topic before you can respond.

“You need to be careful. How can you patch me up if you don’t have any hands to work with?” Rex jokes, a small smile stretching across his lips, eyes gleaming.

“You know I’m always careful. Of the two of us, you’re the reckless one.”

You reach out to shove his shoulder, laughing as you do. There isn’t any strength behind it, it’s just a teasing gesture, but you reach out with your injured hand. The aching sting of a cut sets your nerves alight immediately, and you hiss as you pull the hand back to your chest. The bandage holds strong, no blood leaking through, but that doesn’t stop the pain.

Rex pulls the hand back to him, his grip feather light as he traces the edges of the bandage. His brow furrows in concern and it takes an effort not to reach out and smooth the evidence of his worry. You can’t help but think: It’s the perfect spot to place a kiss.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He asks, growing serious again.

“Just a little.” The thought of kissing Rex must still be stuck in your brain because, before you can stop the words from slipping out, you add, “Maybe you can kiss it better?”

Rex’s eyes go comically wide, lips parting but no words coming out. Your words surprised him, more than either of you thought possible. You go to pull away, to come up with some excuse about why he doesn’t have to. You try to think of a way to tell him that you didn’t mean it like that (you did), and that he can just forget about it. It was a joke (it wasn’t). The two of you could laugh it off. But Rex’s mind catches up with your request before you can brush it away.

He takes your hand, still cradled gently in his own, and presses his lips to a spot on your palm that wasn’t sliced open by the vibroblade. They linger there for just a moment before he pulls back, keeping your hand by his heart.

You haven’t offered to help bear the weight of Rex’s feelings for you, but your question is a request for him to see your own, and a hope that he might reciprocate. He can hardly believe it to be true.

He needs to be sure.

Rex brings a hand up to your cheek, his fingers barely brushing against the skin there, and it's your turn to be left in shock. Eyes wide, lips parted, a mirror of Rex just moments ago.

“Does it feel better?” he asks. He leans in closer, merely waiting for permission to kiss you properly.

“I don’t know. I think you should try it again.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s all the answer he needs.

Rex’s hand finds a proper place against your cheek, and then he kisses you. His lips are soft against your own, and any worries either of you might have had slip away.

The kiss is short and sweet, merely testing the waters, but it’s enough to leave you in a daze. You’ve wanted to kiss him for a long time. You wonder if he has wanted it for just as long (you think, maybe, he has).

You hum, a smile growing wide across your lips, and say, “I’m definitely feeling better now.”

#rex x reader #rex x you #rex x y/n #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #rex x gn!reader #the clone wars fanfiction #tcw fanfiction

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hongcherry · 1 year

Text

Stolen Kisses || khj

"Balancing work and his personal life wasn't easy, but Hongjoong made do by stealing kisses from you when he could."

💋 Pairing: boyfriend!idol!Hongjoong x Reader (cis f)

💋 Rating/Genres/AUs: NC-17; 100% fluff; Idol au, established relationship

💋 Warnings: They shower together but nothing sexual occurs, reader is referred to as girlfriend/girl, lots of kithes hehe, reader is a foreigner, usage of pet names (baby), a cringy nickname for Hongjoong lol (let me know if there's anything else!)

💋 Word Count: 4.6k

💋 Author's Note: I've had this sitting in my WIPs for months since July but I always got distracted while editing it. However, I finally sat down and looked it over thanks Syd if you see this lol. This is my first of many Hongjoong fics, which I'm excited about! This live got me feeling warm and bubbly, so I hope you all enjoy the fluff with me (:

Key: English | Korean

ateez masterlist | main masterlist

A heavy sigh left your lips as you strolled through the narrow hotel corridor. It had been a long week dealing with picky clients—each wanting things created to the “T” according to their visions. Some just didn’t understand that no, you couldn’t put white text on a pastel pink background as it would be difficult to read with the lack of contrast.

You shook your head, hoping to rid the memory of the clients from your brain. At least for now. You just wanted to snuggle against your boyfriend until the responsibility of both your schedules forced you apart. You had flown out after work one day to visit Hongjoong while he was on tour. While Hongjoong had his own schedule to attend to today, you decided to explore the city.

As you approached the room you shared with Hongjoong, you could hear a faint voice inside. You recalled he had texted you earlier to let you know he had planned to do a livestream with his fans tonight. They were usually scheduled beforehand so you didn’t accidentally interrupt him or any of the other members. That must be what he’s doing now, you thought to yourself.

You kept that in mind as you carefully unlocked the door and pushed it open. You tried not to make a sound, so it wasn’t heard in the stream.

Hongjoong and you were lucky to have your own room, but the fans may get suspicious if they heard the door opening if he were to be alone. Sure, they may think it’s one of the members or staff, but you knew Hongjoong didn’t want to risk it. Understandably so because you felt the same.

The streams were normally conducted with a staff member in the room so they could monitor the member(s). Despite this, they made an exception tonight and monitored the stream in another room. If anything were to arise, they would contact Hongjoong via text.

It’s no surprise your relationship with the famous idol was a secret. You didn’t want to bring any drama to his career. You both figured if you were still together in the future–hopefully, you would be–then you may consider disclosing your relationship to the public. Though, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Hongjoong quickly glanced up mid-sentence when he heard the soft click of the door opening. From where the entrance was located, you couldn’t see each other. You made sure the door was locked before peeping your head around the corner to show yourself. You gave him a little wave in greeting as you took off your shoes.

When Hongjoong saw you, his lips instantly curled in a small smile. However, the smile was quickly directed to the camera to act like the grin was for his fans—not his girlfriend.

“Yeah, it’s spicy,” Hongjoong said to the phone that was propped up as he sat back against his chair. He set his chopsticks to the side of his empty noodle bowl.

You soundlessly made your way further into the room and set down your purse before making your way to the closet.

“Yeah, definitely spicy,” Hongjoong continued. He quickly licked the corner of his lips to rid any remnants of the spicy noodles he had just consumed. His eyes stole a glance upward to see you starting to remove your clothes.

He’s seen your body multiple times throughout your two-year-long relationship. Seeing you change was normal for him now, yet, he could still feel his body tingle at the sight of your figure. Perhaps it was because he loved your body, but another part of him was just so enamored with the reminder that you were his. That this domestic life with you was something he could really have, even with his hectic schedule.

“I need some water. Just a moment,” Hongjoong quickly told his fans and left the chair.

You were finishing changing into more comfortable clothes when you felt warm hands grab your hips.

You snapped your head up in surprise to see Hongjoong behind you.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered in your ear before pressing a soft kiss against your temple, trying to keep the sound inaudible to the stream. “I’ll be done soon, okay?”

“It’s fine,” you reassured and turned in his grasp. You placed a gentle hand against his cheek as you pecked his lips, wishing you could indulge in his affection longer, but you knew his fans were waiting for him to return.

Reluctantly, he let you go and went to the mini fridge in the room. He retrieved drinks for both of you and handed you one.

“Thanks,” you murmured and grabbed it. After giving you one last kiss, he went back to his chair.

It wasn’t the first time you had been in the same room as him while he did a live stream. Although you had to stay silent during them, you got used to them over time and ended up doing your own activities.

You quietly broke the seal of the water bottle, sat on the bed, and took a sip. Your eyes wandered to your boyfriend in the corner of the room.

His two-toned hair was slicked back to expose his forehead. Some pieces fell into his eyes, but the look just made him more attractive. He donned a plaid button-down shirt that appeared a little too big, but you knew he didn’t mind the oversized fit. Hongjoong has always been handsome, but today he just shone more than usual. You could probably sit there and admire him until the sun rose.

“Ah, I brought soda, but I don’t think I can drink this right now,” Hongjoong said after a while of reading the comments. “One moment.”

Hongjoong took the chance to be near you again.

“Was that an excuse?” you giggled softly and peered up at him when he neared the bed.

He smiled and shook his head, leaning down to give you yet another kiss. He didn’t care if he was being excessive with the kisses. He missed you too much to care. Plus, he would be unable to feel your lips due to his schedule, so he was being greedy while he could.

“No,” he said after the short kiss. “But I might as well steal a few kisses while I can, right?”

As if to be true to his word, he gave you another one.

You laughed quietly and grabbed his hand, shaking it gently to show your own affection. You would have done more, but you didn’t have time.

Hongjoong understood and grabbed a juice from the fridge before going back to his chair. And no, he didn’t forget to give you a kiss, but this time on the top of your head.

You sat for a few more minutes watching him interact with his fans. A small smile formed on your lips involuntarily. You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled at how he composed himself.

“I’ll work hard to prepare with confidence,” Hongjoong continued his talk.

Despite wanting to watch him, you tore your gaze from him and pulled out the book you brought with you. Though, it was hard to focus. You stared at the words on the pages, yet you weren’t really reading. Your attention kept drifting off to the man in the corner of the room. His calming voice lured your attention to him.

Hongjoong was the third member you met of ATEEZ.

You were hired to contract for the company three years ago to help with graphics for their promotions. You ran into Yunho and Wooyoung on your first day. Ironically, you had met them down the block from the company building but didn’t recognize them at the time. It was your first time going to the building and being a foreigner, so you had a little trouble with directions. You had enough knowledge of Korean to live by, but some words or phrases still had you puzzled. Nevertheless, you found the building with their help.

Two weeks later and you met Hongjoong during a briefing meeting. You didn’t see him after a while and every meeting was nothing spectacular. What made the difference was that you and Hongjoong often got to the meetings early and made small talk. He didn’t mind which language you decided to speak, as long as you were comfortable. He even encouraged you to speak English since it helped him learn and retain it better. Likewise, it helped when he spoke Korean to you constantly. You were learning from each other, and it was a lot more beneficial than learning from a textbook.

You both tried to keep things professional despite the growing feelings toward one another. For some time you sat at opposite ends of the table to increase the distance—hoping the farther away you were, the more your feelings would disappear. However, it was to no avail. Like two teenagers in love, you both snuck off after meetings to exchange forbidden kisses in abandoned rooms.

You and Hongjoong knew your contract with KQ was coming to an end after the promotions, so you made a deal that you wouldn’t continue whatever you two had any further until your contract ended. Although there wasn’t a dating ban, you still wanted to remain professional. You were always told it wasn’t good to be in a relationship with a coworker—conflict of interests and such.

Once the contract was finished, Hongjoong asked you for a proper date.

It was easy to fall for Kim Hongjoong. He was hardworking, thoughtful, open-minded, and of course beyond attractive. You always felt happier around him and the feeling intensified when he became yours.

“‘Will you go watch the Minions 2’?” Hongjoong read aloud the comment. He gave a small smile. “I’ll try.”

A few more seconds passed as he read the comments.

“Yep! So… ‘Go to sleep!’ Noo!” Hongjoong paused with a chuckle but then relented. “Okay.”

You glanced up from your book at the sound, catching a glimpse of a smile on his lips. Your body was growing tired as the minutes passed, but you forced yourself to stay awake. You wanted to spend some time with Hongjoong before you went to sleep.

“I have to wash my face and body and hair and all that,” he continued and gestured to the parts he was listing.

You smiled hearing him speak in English. Even though he wasn’t able to study lately, he still tried to have conversations with you in English to remember the words he did know. You knew he wanted to work diligently in any way he could.

“I’ll get going now,” Hongjoong began to sign off, a hand waving to the camera. “Have a good day, and have a good night. Bye bye! Bye!”

Hongjoong fiddled with the phone for a second before quickly repeating a bye and turning off the live.

He waited a moment to be sure the live ended then got up and walked toward you.

“Sorry,” he said as he sat next to you on the bed. He wrapped his arms around your body and hauled you into his lap.

“Don’t apologize, Joongie,” you replied and snaked your arms around his shoulders. You nestled your head in the crook of his neck. His body was warm and he still smelled faintly of his cologne. “You need to talk to Atiny. They love seeing you.”

Although you did want more time with him, you knew it was important for him to build that connection with his fans. He wanted to talk to them, too, just felt bad that he couldn’t do both—talk to them and hang out with you. There weren’t enough hours in the day.

“But I love seeing you too,” Hongjoong whined softly and squeezed your body tighter.

You giggled and nodded, showing that you loved seeing him in return.

“You look really handsome today,” you complimented and pulled away to look at him.

He grinned, teeth on display while his eyes stared at you fondly.

“Thank you, baby,” he said and leaned forward. You met him halfway.

You smiled into the kiss, your heart still fluttering after years of constant smooches. You weren’t sure if you would ever get over the way he made you feel.

Hongjoong massaged your sides as he deepened the kiss. His tongue found yours and you giggled lightly when you tasted the lingering spice from his noodles. At the sound, he squeezed your sides playfully. Your hands trailed up to his hair; your fingers tangled in his locks. Although they weren’t as soft as usual due to the hairspray, you still liked the way it felt between your fingers.

When you were both out of breath, you pulled away. His eyes were shining under the lights.

Carefully, you leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the makeup remover wipes. You freed one from the package and slowly began to wipe the makeup off Hongjoong’s face.

Hongjoong’s lips twisted up in a small smile at the action. His eyes fluttered closed while he continued to trace random patterns on your sides.

None of you spoke a word, but that didn’t matter. You just wanted to feel him against you. To be in his presence.

After you wiped away his eye makeup, he opened his eyes and slid his hands to your back.

Hongjoong lazily rubbed your lower back as he watched you. He started to hum a random tune while he did so. Your head was tilted as you concentrated on not being too rough on his skin.

“Come join me in the shower,” he spoke as you finished removing the last of the makeup.

You tossed the wipe in the trash and put the package back on the nightstand.

“But I’m too tired for sexy time,” you confessed with a small whine, already feeling your eyes getting heavy.

Hongjoong smiled at you chastely. “We don’t need to have sexy time. I just wanna spend more time with you.”

Your eyes squinted while you hummed in disbelief.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he begged, lower lip sticking out in a childish pout. “Please?”

Your eyes remained on his face for a moment. His eyes were round as he silently pleaded for you to agree. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you caved in.

Hongjoong grinned and patted your butt to indicate to move. You followed his silent order and climbed off his lap.

Hongjoong started to unbutton his shirt, revealing more of his honey skin a button at a time.

“You’re staring,” he teased when he noticed your eyes glued to the way his fingers worked to unfasten the fabric.

“Yes I am,” you boldly replied and flickered your gaze to his.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened slightly, and he ducked his head when he felt his cheeks redden. You supposed he wasn’t expecting that response.

You laughed and raised his chin to see his face. “You’re cute when you’re shy.”

“I’m not cute or shy,” he huffed and finished undoing his shirt. He stood in front of you, blue jeans on and shirt hanging open to show his defined torso. If he weren’t being pouty, you would’ve found him sexy in his fit. You just thought he was more adorable right now.

You placed your hands on his chest, and he shivered at your cool touch.

“Yes you are, and I love you because of it,” you said and pressed your lips against his pouty ones.

During the kiss, you pushed his shirt off his shoulders. You helped him pull his arms out, clothed chest pressed against his.

Hongjoong’s hands trailed up your hips to your waist. He grabbed the hem of your shirt and gently peeled it from your body. Because you had dressed comfortably, you had opted out of wearing your bra.

“You’re cold,” he said when he felt your chilled body against his warm one. “Let’s get you under warm water,” he instructed.

Hongjoong quickly removed his pants and took off his watch so he was only in his underwear. He grabbed your hand and led you to the bathroom.

After adjusting the temperature, he pulled off his remaining clothing. You followed suit and wrapped your arms around your body—the cool room causing goosebumps to form quickly.

Hongjoong stepped inside first to ensure the temperature was fine then held out a hand for you. You put your hand in his without hesitation.

A sigh left your lips when the hot water hit your body.

Hongjoong held you close to his figure to help warm you faster. You rested your head against his chest, letting the water fall over both your forms for a while.

“Better?” Hongjoong asked while he rubbed your back.

You nodded.

“Good,” he said and reached for the shampoo. “How was your day?”

You turned around when Hongjoong gestured for you and closed your eyes when you felt him put the liquid on your hair. He began to gently massage your scalp.

“Just some more annoying clients. They wanted a dark… Uh,” you paused when the word in Korean escaped you. You’ve heard it, even used it before, but for some reason, you couldn’t remember at the moment. Hongjoong paused in his movements to give you more of his attention.

“Gradient,” you said, glancing at your boyfriend over your shoulder.

His eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he tried to understand you. He didn’t know that word in English.

“When the color fades from one color to another,” you tried to explain. You could see the imaginary cogs turning in his head, trying to guess the word you were attempting to describe.

“Ahh!” he exclaimed when he recalled the word. “Gradient.”

Of course.

“Gradient,” you repeated sheepishly, though Hongjoong didn’t mind that you had forgotten. He gave you a reassuring smile and grabbed the shower hose. He rinsed your hair, careful to ensure no soap got on your face.

You closed your eyes again and continued, “They wanted a dark gradient with similar shade text. I tried to explain that it wouldn't look as nice but they insisted.”

Hongjoong listened carefully as he washed his own hair quickly. You felt bad that he helped you without you asking, so you stopped his movements and replaced his hands with yours.

“Maybe they’ll change their mind when they see it in its final version,” Hongjoong tried to comfort.

“I hope so,” you replied. You helped him rinse his hair then you each put in your own conditioner. “If they don’t, I don’t want to put my name on the work.”

Hongjoong was used to you switching between languages. Although it took him a little longer to understand what you had said, he never complained as it always helped him with his own English.

“It’ll just show how you’re able to adapt to others' requests,” he assured and reached for the soap bar. You let him glide the soap across your body, enjoying the feel of it and his fingertips against you.

Hongjoong hadn’t been a fan of skin ship initially. During the first few kisses you had, his touches were light. You could barely feel him on your clothed waist. Even his kisses were gentle to the point you felt you were simply brushing lips rather than actually kissing. He gradually became accustomed to your touches, but he still limited a few of them because he wasn’t used to such affectionate actions. Although he did receive love from his members—whether voluntarily or not—it felt different when the touches were from you.

Eventually, he was used to feeling your skin against his. Even started craving it so much that it was hard to even go to the bathroom without him clinging onto you like a koala. It was rather cute. Now, he only gets that way if he hasn’t seen you in a long time. Though, you are never upset with it. You like needy Hongjoong.

“That’s nice of you to say,” you replied and grabbed the bar.

“You’re talented, baby,” Hongjoong said.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Hongjoong let out a small sigh at the feel of the soap rubbing against his skin. His head lolled back, and you took the time to admire his fit figure. His muscles were not as defined as some of his members, but they were still easily visible. Although you didn’t care either way, you had to admit it was a nice plus.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Hongjoong answered softly after a few seconds. He tilted his head downward in time to see you rinsing the bar, a habit of yours, before setting it down.

He stepped under the water and let the soap run off his body.

“I have a lot to thank you for,” you said.

Hongjoong grabbed your hips and swung you around to be under the water. You laughed and wiped the water from your face, but it was useless as more water kept coming.

“Like what?” he whispered and captured your lips with his before you could answer. Water raced down both your faces, but neither of you minded. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he smiled into the kiss at the feel of your body flush against his.

You pulled away and adjusted your bodies so he was more under the water. You reached up to tilt his head back as you rinsed the conditioner from his hair. He closed his eyes and kept his hands on your waist.

“Like how thankful I am to be able to be the only one who gets to kiss you,” you answered belatedly.

“Or how thankful I am to have a boyfriend as amazing as you,” you paused when you noticed Hongjoong’s lips twitching upward. It was as if he was trying hard not to smile. Wanting to see his full grin, you continued.

“Thank you for being so good to me… For making my heart do all sorts of cartwheels.”

“Cartwheels?” he asked and opened his eyes as he moved from the water. He stared down at you confused, not understanding what you meant.

“Cartwheels,” you explained. His mouth opened slightly in a silent “ah” as he understood, nodding slowly. However, his expression quickly turned bashful as he averted his eyes briefly. The words had finally sunk in and he felt his heart thud faster.

“Y-you still don’t need to thank me,” he mumbled and returned the favor of helping you rinse your hair.

“Maybe not,” you said even though you truly believed you did. Hongjoong was such a blessing in your life; you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. “But I want to.”

Hongjoong bit his lip at your words. He could run in circles with you about this all night long. Instead, he shut the water off and went to grab a towel for you.

He enclosed the towel around your body before he quickly dried off his chest and hair with his own towel. He wrapped the material around his waist and secured it. As he did so, you dried off and fixed your towel around your body.

You both did your night-time routine hastily then climbed into bed together.

“I hope you have a better day at work tomorrow,” Hongjoong said once you were both settled under the covers. You were facing each other, legs tangled under the sheets. Hongjoong had a hand placed on your side, rubbing his thumb against your warm skin absentmindedly. He spoke slower than usual as he focused on using the correct words in the correct order; yet, you were patient as always. Switching languages wasn’t easy and you admired that he still tried to use your native language even if he wasn’t totally confident in speaking it.

“Me too,” you replied with a smile.

“So, I have a question,” he said. You hummed to show your curiosity.

“Will you go watch the Minions 2 with me?”

You giggled. “Of course, my Minioong.”

Hongjoong sighed at the nickname, acting as if he disliked the pet name you had given him when you first learned about his love for Minions. Though, deep down you knew he liked it. Even if it was cringy and sounded a little funky, it came from you.

“I’m not going to share my popcorn with you now,” he huffed. Playfully, you stuck out a tongue at him. This earned a teasing poke from your boyfriend to which you whined in response.

“My silly girl,” Hongjoong said fondly and moved his hand back to your waist.

The softness of the mattress and the comforting feel of his hand on your bare skin had your eyes drooping. You blinked rapidly when you caught yourself dozing off.

Hongjoong chuckled softly at you trying to fight off the sleep. He pulled your body against him so your head was tucked in his chest. He rubbed your back and closed his eyes, basking in the feel of you engulfed in his embrace.

“Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said and pressed a soothing kiss against your head.

“Are we still going to breakfast?” you wondered quietly, still not wanting to rest just yet.

Hongjoong hummed in affirmation. “You still okay with the members joining us?”

“As long as I get to sit next to you, yes,” you teased as you recalled the time Wooyoung rushed to occupy the only seat by Hongjoong. It forced you to sit away from him, which isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. However, your time with your boyfriend in person was limited, and you just wanted to cling to him until you couldn’t anymore.

“I’ll make sure of it. You’re not leaving my side tomorrow,” he replied with a smile.

“Only tomorrow?” you asked softly and peered up at him.

Hongjoong caught your gaze, carefully raising your face more so he could plant a chaste kiss on your lips. “Forever, baby.”

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” you confessed glumly. Your trip to see Hongjoong was ending soon. Once their concert ended tomorrow, he was taking you straight to the airport so you could catch your flight. Despite being sad you weren’t able to spend your last few hours with him directly, you were still happy to see him on stage—doing what he loved for the people he loved. He was meant to be a performer, and you loved seeing his passion shine brightly under the stage lights.

“I don’t want you to either,” he sighed, tugging you against his body and resting his head against yours. “’m going to miss you too much.”

There was silence as your mind ran, sprinting from one sad thought to another. You wanted to stay with Hongjoong longer.

“Don’t be sad, pretty girl,” Hongjoong mumbled. “It’ll be okay.”

“I love you, Joongie,” you replied softly, eyes closing as you let Hongjoong hold you. He squeezed you tenderly before lifting one of your hands to plant a lazy kiss.

“I love you more,” he answered.

Knowing Hongjoong was too tired to argue with you, as he usually did when you said this, you answered, “I love you more.”

“Just this once,” he said with an airy chuckle. “Now, go to sleep, baby.”

“’kay,” you mumbled softly and closed your eyes, a triumphant smile on your face. You felt him adjust a little before settling down. He kept you close as you drifted off to sleep. Instead of dreading tomorrow, you focused on being with Hongjoong now.

It was difficult to be in a relationship with an idol. You knew it would be from the moment you fell for one, but actually living through it pained you more than you realized. However, feeling Hongjoong’s warm body flushed against yours—hearing his heart beat steadily as sleep slowly consumed him—made you remember why you risked it all. Why you overcame the lonely nights, the three-in-the-morning facetimes, and the virtual dates.

He was worth it all.

A/N: For my "shy/silent" readers, I've created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY. Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#ateez fluff #hongjoong fluff #ateez idol au #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong idol au #atz fluff #hongjoong #ateezlovenet #kdiarynet #ateez fic #atz fic #ateez fanfic #atz fanfic #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong fic #mimikookie writes

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ivymarquis · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday

A bit of a character study/me skipping ahead/dynamic fun stuff etc?

This is so far down the line for the price x single!mom verse it's not even funny, but I wanted to write it out and see how I feel about it when we actually get to this point in the fic. John goes a wee bit off the fucking deep end :)

Y'all know the drill! No pressure, feel free to post a snippet of something you're working on.

“You won’t always be around, you know.” Michael has apparently decided he’s not partial to being above ground anymore.

The smoke from John’s cigar coils in him before he exhales slowly. Realistically he knows that Love is a sore spot for him and he’s willing to do anything for her, and yet he’s still caught off guard by the depth of the rage that washes over him in an all consuming fire.

“Would you like to clarify that for me?” Wouldn’t want to go flying off the handle after all if this is simply a misunderstanding.

“You talk a lot of shit for a guy who fucks off the second your phone rings. That clarify things for you? I don’t know what you or the blonde did to fuck with those results, but I know Sam is my fucking kid and I’ll be damned if you twats are going to get in my way.”

As Michael throws down his inane gauntlet, John exhales his now-final drag on the cigar, eyes flicking across his surroundings to gauge who is looking.

The man sure has a knack for picking the worst fucking spot to threaten the family of a man whose job is to work outside the constraints of red tape. They’re just secluded enough that Kate can see them if she looks but no one else can. And Kate certainly won’t give a fuck about what John’s about to do.

Without doubt, John knows that Michael expects to buffalo his way through this conversation and stalk off feeling he’s done something. Because the average citizen cannot do what John is about to- wouldn’t even consider it.

It’s the sheer confidence that John won’t put his hands on Michael that lets him snatch the other man up by his collar and shove him further out of sight from any prying eyes.

He opens his mouth to protest John’s grip on him, the perfect opportunity for him to shove the smoldering end of his cigar into the man’s mouth.

John has just enough impulse control to not extinguish the damn thing on the back of his throat, settling for the knowledge that the flurry of movement has knocked the ash loose into the other man’s throat.

“I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page before we have this little talk,” John snarls. “I can be on the other side of the world and it doesn’t fucking matter, am I clear? If I catch wind of you sniffing around when you think I’m distracted, you’re going to find out exactly what I am capable of for a guy who fucks off the second his phone rings.”

John pulls out the cigar and shoves the other man away from him. “If we have to have this conversation again, I’ll be shoving the barrel of my service weapon in your mouth next and painting the fucking walls, understood? There will be a point where I decide you’re more hassle alive than dead.”

He’s not mollified in the slightest by the way Michael’s legs shake and he suddenly can’t look John in the eye- all the bravado sucked out of him with the realization that John is not beholden to the same rules he is.

“You’re fucking insane,” he sputters, hunching over and trying to cough up the ash.

“If you’ve got any sense to you, you’ll stay off my shit list.” John advises before tossing the remains of the cigar in the bin.

“Now if you’ll excuse me- I’m taking the missus and the rugrat out for lunch.”

@direwombat @gaqalesqua @strangefable @glossysoap @kneelingshadowsalome @deadbranch @bunnyreaper @mortuarywriting @391780 @divine--serenity @la-grosse-patate @g0dspeeed @luminousbeings-crudematter @ceilidho

#wip wednesday #single!mom #single!mom verse #john price x reader #one day imma make a note of my mutuals and make an actual list rather than just tagging off the top of my head lmao #IF WE ARE MOOTS AND YOU WANNA DO THE THING THIS IS ALSO YOUR TAG <3

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midnightsun-if · 6 months

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I don’t know if this has been asked but do you play any text based, or any really, interactive games? And if so, what kind?

Also I hope your day is going great!

Good luck on the writing too!

I just took a really nice nap after eating a huge omelette. So I’m pretty sure I’m gonna stay up late tonight, sadly 😅.

I’ve played a couple! I mainly try to keep to my own corner when it comes to the community at large though— I’m a bit shy, if you haven’t been able to tell (unless it comes to all of you). I’ve also been trying to not get too distracted by other things because I want to get some more content out for Midnight Sun.

I sort of go all over when it comes to genre— if I like the plot then I don’t truly care about the genre. Fantasy typically pulls me in, but I truly enjoy anything.

When it comes to CoG/Hosted Games, I’ve played most of the usual games— Wayhaven, Fallen Hero (a little bit), Soul Stone Wars, The Keeper Series, etc… As for WIPs? I’ve sort of stayed in my corner, once again, so I don’t get too distracted, but I’m interested in a couple! @ramonag-if // @loveandleases // @within-your-eyes-if // @kalorphic // @doriana-gray-games // @greatprotector-if // @whatlovelybones-if, to name a few! I think there are a lot of wonderfully talented writers within the community and I wish them all the best! I hope they all get what they’re striving for when it comes to their stories, their characters, and everything else.

I hope your day is going great too! And I hope you’ll be able to get some sleep at a manageable time for, I hate whenever I can’t get enough sleep during the night (always makes me out of sorts during the day). ❤️

#midnight sun #asks #itmbz

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 3 months

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WIP Wednesday Thursday

I swear, I'm always a day late for this...but that's ok because I was busy working on several things. 😏 First up, I FINALLY got chapter 29 of Destiny & Deliverance started. I admit, I was stalling because I do not want it to end, but I think I have gotten my mojo back. Yesterday, some things happened in my brain that caused plans to change a bit with this chapter...among other things (I'll get to the other things in a minute). No ETA on when it will be done, but just know I am working on it. Since we have had a bit of a D & D drought, I offer a snippet to hold you over:

I was humming along with the radio that was just barely audible through the speakers in the living room and tucking socks into a drawer when a piece of clothing landed on my head. I sighed, pulling it from my face as I turned toward the door. I narrowed my eyes at Dieter, who was standing there in nothing but his black jeans with his arm leaned against the door frame above his head. He eyed me with a flirty smirk on his face. I scoffed, “What am I now, your dirty laundry basket?” I turned to throw his shirt into the hamper as he made his way over to me with a chuckle. His hands immediately snaked around my waist, pulling me tightly against him while his mouth searched out the spot behind my ear that always got me going. Instinctively, my fingers tangled into his hair. My humming turned into a heavy sigh as my skin broke out in goosebumps from his touch. This felt like a distraction. I managed to gather my thoughts well enough to focus on the news I had anxiously been waiting for. I tightened my grip on his hair, “How did the…ugh…meeting go?” He groaned, “Eso no es importante en este momento.” Taking a minute to translate that to the best of my ability, I pulled away slightly, tilting his head by his hair to make him look at me. “Por qué?”

These two...are going to be too much. Just sayin...🥰😏 Anyone want to take a stab at guessing what the meeting was about and why he is avoiding talking about it? Ok, so on to the other things...I know some of you caught it already when I posted yesterday, but I did want to share more details. So, I had planned to just do random outtakes for D & D from Dieter's POV as extras. Within about an hours' time, that all changed and now we have this. It will actually be a companion series called Light in the Darkness. It will be from Dieter's POV covering the events that take place in D & D. I already have the outline done and the chapter titles posted. Now, the question is, how well can I channel my inner emotionally unstable man and write his breakdown from his POV. That remains to be seen. I plan to work on this while I work on Closed Position. I figure it may be good to have something less dark to work on at the same time. Otherwise, I may melt into an emotional mess. You will probably notice, the images for the header of this fic (below) contrast from D & D. We are going to get a lot of insight on Dieter's feelings when it comes to Talia. The intimacy and connection between them is something that is on his mind... A LOT. Not necessarily in regard to sex either. It's something he has never experienced, and it is ultimately what changes him. It should be interesting to explore his side of things and see what he was going through when he wasn't with Talia.

Tag List: @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @annieispunk @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @copperhalfcent @bunniboo0015 @indiegirlunited

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #Destiny & Deliverance Series #Light in the Darkness Series #destiny & deliverance teaser #light in the darkness teaser

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kirythestitchwitch · 3 months

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Klaroline WIP Wed - Waffle House AU - Kol Drinks Coffee (questionable)

Part One here Part Two here Part Three here Part Four here Part Five here

“Order your own,” she glared.

“How can I when—”

“Oh sorry, Caroline!” Short June scooted up next to the table, pulling her pad and a pen from her apron. “Didn’t see you had company, and Marcy’s in the back.” She shook her short black bob out of her face and smiled at Kol. “What can I get you?”

Kol leaned one arm on the table and propped his head up on his hand. “Hello darling. What can you get me?” His smile was all charm.

Caroline kicked him under the table.

“Oh.” His smile bounced off June like a rubber ball. She pointed at the menus stacked behind the condiments at the end of the table by the window. “Menus are right there, I can come back after you’ve had a chance to look them over. Do you know what you want to drink?”

Caroline was having this horrible moment of kinship with Caroline Bingley in Pride and Prejudice—the 2005 version, her favorite—when she asked if they are soon to be beset by every Bennet in the countryside: was every Mikaelson in the area going to show up and personally annoy her?

“Oh, he’s not stay—” she started.

“Coffee would be excellent.” Kol’s smile followed June as she left, and then he turned back to Caroline. “That hurt, you know,” he pouted.

She ignored that. “So fine, you’re alive. Congrats! What are you doing here?” Déjà vu.

“Well for starters, I’m—oh marvelous, darling,” he said, as June stopped by with another mug, a dish of creamers, filled his cup up, and left.

“For starters,” he continued, “I’m having coffee in what the internet informs me is a staple of Southern Americana.”

“You googled Waffle House?” Caroline asked, momentarily distracted by that detail.

Kol began opening creamers and dumping them into his coffee until it was an astonishingly light color. “I google everything. It’s the only way to catch up after being in a box for—” he lifted a hand, silently counted a few fingers, “—ninety-six years.” Pulling six sugars out of the sweetener caddy, he ripped them open and dumped the lot in. Stirring his concoction with a spoon, he said, “I love YouTube. Learned how to drive from that.”

Caroline winced as he took a sip from his cup. Good thing vampires couldn’t get cavities. “Okay so your no doubt stellar driving aside, what are you doing here, bothering me? We’ve literally never said two words to each other.”

He smirked at her over the rim of his mug. “Is Rebekah the only one who’s allowed to visit now? My, that will twist Nik’s knickers.” He snickered at the alliteration.

She leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms. “Your evil sister—”

“She’s my only sister, the evil part is implied.” Picking up the menu, he perused his choices.

“—wasn’t visiting, she was interrupting my late night study session. The way you’re doing.” She glanced pointedly at her notebooks.

“Didn’t look much like studying.” Kol smiled now, with teeth. “Looked like hunting.”

#klaroline wip wed #klaroline #klaroline for ts #tvd for ts #kololine bffs is my jam okay #i just want them to harass each other forever #waffle house au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

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All the Good Girls Go To Hell 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: this week has been a week!

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You steer along to Naomi's directions, hesitant as she has you turn towards the mall. You're pretty sure this isn't the right way but you have no idea. You just assumed they all lived in the same suburbs.

"Um, Nay?" You roll slowly between the rows of cars, "is this a shortcut or something?"

"Pfft, nope! We're going shopping. We need something cute to wear to the party."

"Shopping?" You frown, "I don't... have money."

"I do," she wiggles her phone, "the miracle of technology. I still have all the cards on my cell."

"Oh, do you think that's a good idea?"

"Look, we can't show up looking like this," she whines, "besides, it'll be fun. Girls' day!"

"Mmm, well, I'm fine in what I'm wearing," you shrug as you look for a spot.

Her phone lights up and she quickly reads the screen, blacking it out and rolling her eyes. She flips down the visor and checks herself in the mirror as you strain to see around her. You turn into an empty spot and roll up the windows.

"You have to get something extra cute. It's not about the boys, alright? It's about us."

"Sure," you say, letting your seat belt repel as you stare across the lot.

You still can't believe it. You're effectively homeless and Naomi doesn't seem to care. Well, she's used to the uncertainty by now, you can understand now how it made her so erratic.

You exhale. What else can you do? Wallow in reality. The distraction might do you well. No wonder she's always up to something. Anything. It's not pointless when the important things are so scary.

"Come on," she nudges you, "I wanna dress you up!"

You peek at her and give in with a nod. You grab your purse and fix your glasses. Anything to waste time, not that you're looking forward to anything.

She leads the way down the aisle of cars, almost skipping. You can't decide if she's compartmentalizing well or hopelessly optimistic. You drag your soles up the tarmac as she rushes ahead to the mall doors.

Inside, the crowd makes you want to turn around. Something about seeing the families clustered together and the teenagers hanging off each other makes you feel even more out of place. They all have somewhere to go after this. Ugh, how quickly it all dimmed to gray.

"Alright," Naomi hooks her arm through yours, "let's find the shortest dresses in this damn place."

"Nay," you huff.

"You're gonna rock it. Trust," she giggles, "you always look so sexy." She leans into you, "and tonight, we're gonna get lit."

☀️

Hours spent traversing the mall and your feet thrum. The day is far from over. As you drive down the cul de sac you dread the finish to the long day. A party. You're not a party person and the last one you went to…

Yikes.

Naomi has her seat belt off before you even stop. You shift into park as she reaches over to hit the horn, honking up at the large house. She trills and gets out, grabbing the bags out of the back as she watches the door expectantly.

You climb out on your side, lingering nervously as she heads towards the winding little walkway to the steps. The door opens as she gets to the bottom. Harry greets her with a smirk and a wink, opening his arms.

"Kitty cat," he purrs, "funny seeing you here."

"Whatever, Harry," she chirps, "don't act like you weren't waiting for me."

"Mm," his eyes flit towards you, "didn't tell me you were bringing a friend."

"Two for the price of one," she lets him kiss her lips, "you know how… he is. Fucking nightmare. We need to let loose."

"Bring any goodies?" He looks at the bags in her hand curiously.

"No drinks," she pouts, "sorry, baby."

You slowly make your way up the walkway and hide behind her. You feel like an intruder. You wouldn't have let her bring you if you knew you weren't invited.

"It's fine," Harry says as he backs up, "Peter'll be here. Him and Gwen are on the outs again."

“Boo. So… can we come in or what? We gotta get all thotty for the party.”

He scoffs and waves her inside. You trail a few paces back and give a sheepish smile. He hardly seems concerned with you as he watches Naomi’s ass. Right, you’re not expecting much tonight. Really, you don’t know what to expect.

“Come on, sweetie,” Naomi looks over her shoulder as she struts on, “let’s get you dolled up.”

☀️

The lilac sheath overlaid in indigo and silver sequins is much to scant to your liking. When you tried it on in the store, you swore you'd put it back. Naomi insisted and put it in the basket before you could argue.

The dress is even skimpier than you remember, or maybe it’s Naomi’s insistence that you skip the bra. She didn’t like how the straps peeked out under the narrow purple ones. You’ll be spending most of this occasion with your arms crossed.

You hear voices as you follow her down the hall. You feel ridiculous. She spent too much time prettying you up and it doesn’t feel like long enough. The one thing she couldn’t convince you of is to leave your glasses behind. The last thing you need is to be stumbling into strangers.

“Harry,” she squeals as she takes you through the open sliding door into the backyard. There’s a folding table lined with colourful shot glasses and a cooler underneath. There are several guests already milling about and gabbing noisily. “There you are.”

She saunters forward and you stay stuck to the ground as you watch her sling her arms around Harry. He lets her and puts his hand on her lower back. They kiss, long and sloppy. You knew it wouldn’t be pretty with Naomi sipping vodka while she got dressed.

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming,” a voice shakes you from your worry.

You look over as Peter steps up. A reddish curl hangs down his forehead as he grins at you. He wears a striped short-sleeve button up and teal shorts. His muscled chest peeks out the top as he holds a red solo cup.

“How about a drink?” He offers.

“I don’t know–”

“Sort of the whole deal here, to have some fun,” he says, “she sure will be.”

He glances across the yard as Naomi hangs off of Harry, his hand now firmly on her ass. Oh, yeah, you don’t know why you’re disappointed. You cross your arms and turn back to Peter. You catch his eyes flick up from your chest. Great.

“Uh, sure, why not, I’ll have a soda.”

“Soda and…” he tilts his head coyly.

Your furrow your brows, “come on, specs, live a little,” he grabs your hand and you teeter as he tugs on you. You give in if only to keep from tripping over your own toes. He takes you to the long table and grabs two of the shot glasses, presenting the neon jello shots with a devilish grin.

“Let’s start with the appetizer.”

You accept the orange one. You examine it. You’ve never had one before. It jiggles as you move the glass.

“Go on,” he clacks his glass against yours and raises it, swiftly dumping it in his mouth.

You sigh and do the same. One shot won’t hurt. It’s sweet enough and mostly cool. You can taste the alcohol for sure but it’s not awful. You put down the empty cup and gulp down the melting gelatin.

“Mmm,” you hum through your full mouth.

“Alright, so what’s next? You want a cooler? You a beer girl?” He bends and flips open the cooler.

“Really, that’s good for me–”

“Raspberry lemon twist,” he pulls out a bright pink can, “that seems like a you drink.”

He holds it out. You stare at it. He still has his red cup in his other hand. You reluctantly take the can. He looks at you until you crack the tab open.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He winks and takes a drink from his cup, “better catch up,” he pulls the brim back, “oh, and before I get obnoxious, I should tell you how good you look.”

“Uh, thank you,” you take a tentative sip. It’s not bad, stringent but palatable.

“You seem… grim,” his smile falls, “what’s up?”

“Nothing,” you lie.

“Look, I’m not looking for a therapy session but there’s obviously something going on–”

“Really, it’s nothing,” you crane and look for Naomi as you hear her giggle.

“Ah, yeah, trouble follows her around,” he says, “she can take care of herself. It’s a party. You need to let loose. You’re wound so tight, I’m sure you could use it.”

You turn back to him, “not to be rude but what do you care?”

“Well, I’m going through a break up. Again,” he looks into his cup and swishes around the contents, “and I need to get a little bit loose myself. So, you and me, we’re sticking together. Think you’re the only one here who doesn’t know Gwen so, yeah.”

“Ah, got it,” you say dryly.

“No, get it,” he insists as he pokes the bottom of your can, “let’s go, sunshine. Get messy.”

You let your eyes fall back to the top of the can. What is the point in staying sober in a sea of drunk idiots? You’re done being the wallflower and you’re done tiptoeing around. It’s one night and you’re not going to spend it thinking about Steve or your mom.

You lift the can and gulp from the top, stopping before you can choke. You cover your mouth and swallow painfully, holding back a bubbly belch. Peter chuckles and empties his cup.

“There we go,” he encourages you, “I knew you had it in you.”

☀️

The world is slanted. You feel light and heavy at the same time. Your vision is hazy at the corners and each step is uneven. You have your arms slightly out as you make your way across the room.

You fall onto the sofa next to Naomi as Harry talks loudly beside her. As usual, she’s in the middle of the crowd, enjoying the limelight. She looks over as you jostle her and she slumps towards you.

“Heyyyyyyy, you’re here,” she says as if she forgot.

“Mmm,” you withhold a hiccup, “yeah…”

She smiles and reaches up to pet your cheek, “are you drunk?”

“Little,” you admit as she caresses your face.

“She’s blitzed,” Peter perches on the armrest on your other side, “told her not to keep pace with me.”

“Whatever,” you blather, your tongue clumsy as his chirping piques your irritation. “You’re the one… giving me drinks.”

“Aw, babe, you’re silly,” Naomi preens as her hand tickles down your neck, “Pete, Pete,” she hisses as she waves in his direction, leaning over you, “doesn’t she look fucking hot?”

You grab the hem of your dress, remembering how short it is. She flutters her fingers down the strap and gropes your chest. You swat her away and squeal.

“You should see what’s underneath,” Naomi slurs.

“Nay,” you catch her hand as she tries to grab you again.

“What? Why are you being like this?” She snips, “she sleeps in my bed and now she’s acting like a little prude.”

“Naomi,” you exclaim.

“I made her cum, you know? She was whining and whimpering–”

“Naomi, stop,” you beg as her other hand crawls back up along your cheek, “shut up.”

“Why, baby? I’m being nice,” she looks at you with her glassy eyes. She’s so drunk her head wobbles. “You like it when I’m nice, don’t you?”

She leans in as you hear Peter snicker. Before you can stop her, her lips are on yours. You wriggle helplessly and push on her shoulder. She slips her hand behind your head, keeping you pinned between her and the couch as her other hand creeps along your thigh. You hear others oohing and awing at her scene.

You whine and shove her as hard as you can. She recoils with a gasp as she wipes the slobber from her lips. You can’t believe what she just did. You know she’s drunk, and you are too, but you don’t understand why she’d do that.

“Ah, come on, that was fucking hot,” Peter growls.

“Yeah, that was sexy,” Harry agrees, “go on, girls, let’s get the full show–”

You grunt as you shove yourself up to your feet. It’s difficult to get them under you as your head swims dizzily. You feel Naomi try to latch on but you swipe her away. Peter pinches your ass and you yipe as you stumble and hurry away. What’s going on?

You stagger across the room without looking back. Are they following you? Where’s your phone? You have to call your mom. You’re scared.

You find your cell outside and find your mother’s number. You stop from pressing down on the screen. You can’t call her, she hates you.

You clasp your cell tight and wade through the shadows around the house. You sidle through the tight space between the fence and the siding and come out to the front lawn. Your car is blocked in by a bunch of others. It doesn’t even matter, you can’t see straight, let alone drive.

Your phone flashes suddenly and you answer without checking the screen.

“Hello?” You garble as you walk aimlessly along the driveway.

“Hey, sweetie, you okay?”

“Dad?” You utter as the deep voice surprises you.

“No, honey, it’s me. Bucky. I’ve been calling you–”

“Bucky…” you mope, “no. I want… I want my mom. I want my dad, please.”

“Doll, where are you?”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I know what you did,” you close your eyes and push your lip out.

“Sweetheart, where’s Naomi?”

“Naomi?” You repeat, “she– please help me.”

Your legs fold and you sit in the gravel. You can’t move. You don’t want to. Moving means you need to think and you’re all out of thoughts. You don’t know where to go or what to do. You’re trapped here in this suburban hellscape. Drunk and dumb and desperate.

“Are you with Naomi?” He asks as you hear a jingle on his end.

“She’s here,” you admit as you hang your head.

“Alright, sweetie, stay on the phone,” he says calmly. The even keel of his timbre comforts you, despite everything, despite his lies, his certainty eases the swell of nerves, “how are you feeling? Why don’t you look around and tell me something. Find something red for me.”

“Red?” You sniffle.

“Yeah, like I Spy,” he says, “find something red. Make me guess.”

“Um, uh,” you stutter and look around, “alright…” you hear rustling, a soft click, and footsteps. He’s moving but you don’t know what he’s doing, “I see… something red,” you focus on the lawn gnome’s cap, the round-bellied figurine standing in the garden.

“Alright, is it something… big?” He asks.

You squint and focus on his question. Hm, it’s not very big but compared to the flowers, it is. Ugh, you don’t know. You’re too drunk.

“Doll,” Bucky urges, “stay with me. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

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