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seijorhi · 12 days

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Oleander

Oikawa Tooru x female reader x Iwaizumi Hajime w.c 8.6k tw: yandere, mentions of child abuse and neglect, references to underage kissing, murder, horror themes, pseudo-cest (foster siblings), blanket dub/non-con vibes for a good portion of this

The patisserie smells of sugar, vanilla and freshly baked croissants. In a word; delicious.

For several minutes now, your brother’s been standing bent at the waist, studying the display case stacked full of cakes and desserts with an intense kind of focus. Considering. Deliberating. Inadvertently placing himself, and by extension you, as an obstacle for other people trying to do the same.

“Alright, the crepe cake or the fancy looking chocolate one, the…” Heisuke squints at the display case, trying to decipher the label, “gateaux? Or should we go for the red one with the strawberry mousse thing?”

Bingo. You hold back a smile.

“Go the strawberry one.” Nobody loves strawberries like your mom loves strawberries.

“Ok, great. We’ll grab that, a bottle of nice wine, hit the florist and I think that should do it.” He nods to himself, satisfied. “She’ll be over the moon.”

He’s not wrong. The woman you’ve called a mother for the past ten years would fall over herself for something as simple as a birthday card, regardless of the fact that your dad insists on going all out every year.

“She’s already over the moon; you’re home for the week.” The admission’s soft, hesitant – poking a little too close to an open wound for you to feel entirely comfortable voicing it. Hei gives you an odd look, but it mellows into something more genuine when he realises you’re not taking a stab at him.

Baby steps.

Finally, Heisuke steps up to the counter to order. Within minutes the cake’s boxed up, with little ice-packs slipped in to keep it cool, and paid for, and the two of you head out, you holding the door open for Hei to carefully maneuver his way out without jostling the precious, expensive cargo.

“You’re good at this stuff, y’know,” he says as the two of you fall into step together.

“At… picking cakes?”

He snorts, “No. I meant the whole… I don’t know. You’re good at remembering stuff, the cakes mom likes, dad’s weird habits. You probably already know what flowers we’re going to pick for her, don’t you?”

This time you don’t bother hiding your smile – peonies, pink ones.

You go to tell him as much when a loud voice calls out your name. On instinct, you both spin to the source, and when you meet those piercing, olive green eyes, bearing down at you from the other side of the street, your heart leaps into your throat.

A ghost.

You can’t breathe. For a moment you can’t even think. Your hand stretches out, blindly seeking Heisuke, an anchor, anything–

Before your fingers can brush his sleeve, a hard, lean body collides with yours, sweeping you up into a crushing hug. Not Iwaizumi, though.

Oikawa, taller, broader than the last time you saw him, smelling of citrus, summer and salt lets out a breathy noise, halfway between amazement and disbelief.

“There you are,” he beams, setting you back on unsteady legs.

Found you, the glint in his eyes seems to say.

Rather than let you go, step back and give you some much needed space to breathe, his palm instead slides to rest on your hip, taking your chin between the index finger and thumb of his other hand in order to look at you properly, dark eyes poring over you for signs of anything amiss – bruises, tear-tracks, red eyes, swollen, split lips.

Your mouth goes dry.

On one side, there’s your brother, bewildered, arm half outstretched as if he can’t make his mind up whether he should be intervening or not. Iwa’s already jogging across the street, snarling at a driver who lays on his horn.

The weight of Oikawa’s appraisal is as familiar to you as it is oppressive, and while his touch is delicate, featherlight, it burns to the marrow. Suddenly you’re fourteen again, trying to duck past him before he can notice the state of you.

‘It’s nothing, Tooru, don’t worry about it!’

And just like back then, there’s a knot in your chest that doesn’t loosen until satisfaction melts the too sharp edge to his grin – right as Iwa joins you two. Three, you suppose, because while Heisuke remains in stunned silence, eyes darting between you and Oikawa, he’s still party to this, still a witness, and the thought makes you want to curl up into a ball and disappear forever.

(You shove down the fleeting rush of warmth at the relief you find there, the voice in your head that coos that he still cares enough to check. You don’t want him to care.)

“Holy fuck,” Iwa laughs, and Oikawa’s shoved aside, both of you ignoring the indignant grumbling as your rigid body’s pulled into his chest, his hand finding its way to the back of your head. He breathes in slow. Deep.

He still smells the same, earthy and masculine, the faintest tinge of his last cigarette still clinging to his jacket. Back then, he used to steal them from your foster father. You imagine that now, he probably has the money to go off and buy his own.

“I’m sorry, who are you? What– can you let her go, please?”

If it wasn’t them, the sheer absurdity of the moment might’ve made you giggle. Heisuke’s ears are bright red, a flush that extends down his neck. He doesn’t look angry per se, uncomfortable, absolutely, but from the pinched expression on his face, it’s clear he’s fighting the urge to bite out something far less polite.

None of this, least of all the way they’re tugging you between them like a rag-doll, feels very polite to begin with.

As it is, Heisuke’s interruption has the intended effect. The fingers wound in your hair twitch, the cage of his arms drawing you closer. You almost expect the baring of teeth, a possessive snarl, yet it’s a small, almost imperceptible thing. He retreats – reluctantly – turning to glance at your brother, Oikawa by his side.

Judging from the stony, almost bored expression he levels at Hei, he’s not impressed.

“Friend of yours, imouto?” Oikawa’s purr skitters down your spine like ice. Unlike Iwa, there’s nothing less than friendly curiosity on the surface. He’s even smiling.

Tongue darting out to wet your lips, you find your voice.

“Hei, this is Iwaizumi and Oikawa,” you say, gesturing at each respectively. “We were in the same foster home for a while.” Sparing the two of them half a glance, you continue, “We’re actually right in the middle of something, if you’ll excuse us.”

The explicit dismissal’s bolder than you feel, but you’re proud that your voice doesn’t waver. You can’t say the same for your hand when you reach for Heisuke’s spare one, uttering the words that’ll only damn you further, “C’mon, nii-san. Mom and dad are waiting.”

Heisuke doesn’t blink. His hand slips into yours, the two of you sidestepping the pair and walking off towards the car without a backwards glance.

Neither one of you speaks until you’re buckled into the passenger seat, Heisuke adjusting the rear-view mirror, the cake safely stashed away in the back. Until you’re pulling out onto the main road and there’s distance between you and them.

If only the gnawing, unsettling feeling in your stomach would go with it.

“Sorry,” you mumble, blankly staring out the window at the passing scenery. At the clouds hanging overhead, dark and threatening. Funny, that. Fitting. The skies were clear when you left home this morning. “About the nii-san thing, and grabbing your hand,” you clarify, because whether it was rude or not, you’ll be damned before you apologise for brushing them off.

That’s not your relationship with Hei. It’s never been that.

He eyes you for a beat. “You know, I never understood why mom wanted to adopt so bad. Dad too, but mom was always the one pushing for it. We were happy, the three of us. I wasn’t a screw up, their marriage was solid. I couldn’t understand the need to bring someone else in. Our family was fine, perfect the way it was.”

His thumb taps against the steering wheel, his shoulders loose and relaxed. You can’t quite pin the mood he’s in, where he’s going with this.

“Oh,” you say, mostly because it feels like he’s waiting for you to acknowledge it.

None of what he’s saying is news to you. None of it’s anything you haven’t wondered yourself a thousand times over. It’s just that Heisuke… you’ve never talked about this. Your adoption, your relationship with him, none of it. This sort of honesty is brand new territory for you both.

You’re not so sure you’re loving the development.

“When they committed to it, I thought they’d bring home a baby, a kid, not some weird, skittish fourteen year old who wanted nothing to do with me.”

Ah.

Your cheeks heat, and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere but here. If Heisuke notices how you shift in your seat, the small tightening of your expression, he plows on regardless.

“You wouldn’t look at me, would barely talk to me. Hell, you acted like I had the plague most of the time. You didn’t hate me, I don’t think, you just… didn’t want to be anywhere near me, and it bugged the hell out of me. I couldn’t figure it out; who wouldn’t want an older brother to look out for them?” His next words hit you like a sledgehammer, cracking at something vital in your chest. It hurts before he opens his mouth.

“It was them, wasn’t it? The reason you steered clear ‘til I moved out of home.”

“Heis–”

He cuts you off with a look. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he demands.

“Can we just– it doesn’t matter, alright? Can we move on?”

From the unhappy set of his jaw – the first true sign of discontent he’s expressed since getting in the car with you – it’s obvious there’s more he wants to say. You can’t blame him for that, curiosity’s only human.

But you’re still too raw. It’s too soon.

You’ve spent too long burying those secrets deep to rip yourself apart to bring them to light.

“Please, Hei. Let’s focus on mom’s birthday.” You force a smile, tiny and wrong, “The florist is next, yeah?”

You get a grunt of acknowledgement and not much more than that, your brother’s attention pulling back to the drive. The silence that settles in the car should bring some relief. It’s what you wanted, and yet, amongst the churning feeling in your guts, the prickling at the back of your neck that hasn’t left you since you first spotted Iwa across the road, there’s a sense of discomfort that has nothing to do with crossing paths with your past life.

Like a slap in the face, it hits you that you’re floundering for something to say, something – anything – to bridge the sudden, stark divide between you. Something that won’t sound hollow and meaningless.

This thing you have with Heisuke. It took years, and maybe it’s skin deep and miles from what it should be, but the thought of losing it leaves you feeling oddly panicked.

It’ll… hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, because it’s about all you can give him right now, a tried and true method of soothing egos and hurt.

Heisuke doesn’t say anything for the remainder of the drive, and you resign yourself to the very real possibility that in the course of a single conversation, you’ve managed to fracture this fragile thing between you two.

Until you go for the door, and a hand on your wrist stops you. “Hey. I’m glad they did.”

—

When you startle awake a little after midnight, it’s because he’s yelling again.

Mr. Furukawa had been in fine form at dinner, already three beers deep. You can only begin to imagine what’s set him off now, hours after lights out. His wife, probably. Although it’s equally possible he’s caught the oldest sneaking back in from seeing his girlfriend, or the twins trying to break into the pantry for a midnight snack. Or he tripped and stubbed his toe, or thought someone stole the rest of his beer when in reality he’d already swallowed it down.

The reasons don’t really matter when he’s been drinking like that, in the same way that the initial target of his ire doesn’t matter. Once his voice reaches that slurred, furious pitch, anyone’s fair game.

There’s a pair of headphones in the top drawer, you have every intention of yanking them out and putting on one of your sleep playlists, drowning out the noise of your foster father’s drunken raging until he wears himself out or you fall back to sleep when you hear the thumping of his feet on the staircase.

“Where’s that fucking bitch?”

Eyes wide in the darkness, clutching at the comforter, your pulse jumps.

Again, it’s possible he’s talking about Mrs. Furukawa, or one of your foster sisters – the older one hunched over in the bed opposite yours, watching you shrewdly.

“Well go on then,” she sneers. “Run to your big brothers.”

You don’t bother to respond, any hesitation you might’ve had over leaving her to fend for herself shrivelling up under the mocking bitterness she’s sending your way. Fine, whatever. You don’t care what she thinks, scrambling from the warmth of your bed and hurrying for the door.

He’s halfway up the staircase when you reach their room. You’d knock – it’s the polite thing to do – except you definitely don’t want to be out in plain view when your foster father hits the landing.

“Hajime?” you whisper into the darkness, slipping inside and shutting the door behind you, “Tooru?”

“Shit, c’mere.” At Hajime’s voice, the calloused, rough hands that guide you onto his mattress, the vice around your chest loosens. He won’t come in here, not after Hajime socked him in the face after catching sight of the raised, discoloured flesh of your cheek from your last run in. You’ve gotten better at using make-up to conceal the marks since then, but there’s also been less of a need for it.

“Can I stay for a bit?” you ask. Until he calms down and passes out. Until the sun rises and you can sneak back into your room. Until you feel safe again. It’s kind of a pointless question, considering how many times you’ve done this before and how many times they’ve let you. You ask it anyway.

The scoff that sounds moments before the mattress dips on your other side is answer enough. “You should probably just move in at this point. We’ll kick Iwa out, he can go sleep in bitch-face’s room.”

Although you know you shouldn’t, a not-so-nice grin tugs at your lips, nestling into Tooru’s side under the arm he offers, “She’d drive him homicidal in a week.”

“Doesn’t she already?” Hajime mutters. “And fuck off, if anyone’s moving out it’s you.”

“You’d miss me too much.”

Absentmindedly, he rubs at your arm like it’s second nature. “In your dreams, Shitty-kawa.”

You can still hear Mr. Furukawa stomping around outside, snarling and snapping at no-one and nothing. Your pulse skitters, an inbuilt panic response. But the lights are off, you’re not being too noisy, and he’s wary of the other two.

He won’t come in here.

“Relax, we’ve got you,” Tooru breathes, his nose nudging at your temple. “Where were you this afternoon?” His voice is so soft, a soothing rumble that it takes you a second to register what he’s said.

“This afternoon?”

“Mm. You didn’t come home when you were supposed to. We were worried.”

He’s pouting, you can tell. Which– he can’t be genuinely bothered by it, it was only a few hours, and the Furukawas don’t care where you are or what you do so long as you’re back before curfew. You were.

A distraction then?

“I went out with some friends. We hung out at the arcade for a bit,” your expression brightens, thinking of the lights and the laughter, your feet blurring as you hit the sensors on Dance Dance Revolution… poorly. “It was actually pretty fun!”

Tooru hums again, “Which friends?” at the same time that Hajime says, “You didn’t tell us you were going out.”

“I didn’t realise I had to check in.” And because the slightly bitter and very defensive edge to your tone catches even you by surprise, you sigh, softening. “I’m allowed to have friends, aren’t I? A social life?”

You’ve been in this home for a few months now, and this is the first time any of your classmates have invited you anywhere.

This time it’s Tooru who sighs. He coaxes your face upwards with a hand on your cheek, peering through the dim light at you, “I’m not saying this to be cruel or hurt you, but… I need you to be more careful, okay?”

You frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His thumb glides across your cheek bone, hesitating on whatever it is he wants to say– at least until Hajime huffs and mutters, “Just tell her, dude. You’re the one that brought it up.”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re a foster kid,” he reminds you, as if this is vital information that’s somehow slipped your mind. “That’s all they see when they look at us, all they’ll ever see. No money, no family, nothing worth wasting their time on. We’re charity cases at best, at worst…” he trails off, the sentence dangling in the air.

He thinks it’s a trick, you realise. He thinks they’re setting you up in an elaborate joke where you’re the punchline.

Bright blue eyes and a crooked grin flash in your head. Cheeks dusted pink and the warmth of his hand in yours.

“That’s not true,” you defend, though the words sound weak even to your ears.

Now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, the gentle, pitying expression on his face twists at your insides like a knife. You hardly notice Hajime scooching closer, shifting the blankets so they cover you both, too busy staring at your foster brother with wide eyes and parted lips, a thick lump of emotion lodging itself in your throat. Tears prickle in the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back.

You won’t cry in front of them over this. You refuse.

“No? You’ve been here for months now. If they wanted to be your friend, truly, genuinely wanted that, why haven’t they made an effort before now? I’m not trying to be a dick,” he murmurs when your breathing hitches, “The kids in this town, they’re assholes. I just can’t bear the thought of someone hurting you.”

Hajime nods. “We only wanna protect you, imouto.”

But you don’t need to be protected. Omori isn’t like that. His friends aren’t either.

—

When the last bell rings for the day, you walk down to the gates to find Hajime there, leaning against the brickwork with a pilfered cigarette dangling between his fingers.

That in and of itself isn’t a surprise. Lately they’ve taken up the habit of ditching their last period to make the half mile trek to your school in order to walk back home with you. Most days, you don’t mind. Today, however–

“I sent you a message at lunch, you didn’t need to come all the way down here, I’m going to a friend’s place to study. Sorry, I thought you would’ve seen it before you left.”

He drops the cherry red remnants of his cigarette to the ground and grinds the butt under his heel, eyeing you slowly from head to toe. “Which friend?”

“When did you become so nosey?” you laugh, a touch uneasily. “It’s only for an hour or so, I’ll be back before dinner, promise. I’m all yours after that.” The last part’s meant to lighten the mood a little, yet something flashes in his eyes, a twitch in his jaw, and you get the sense that he doesn’t find it all that funny.

“Which friend? That slimy piece of shit you were hanging out with last weekend?”

Omori? How does he–

You frown, “We went to the movies, Hajime, it’s not illegal. And he’s not slimy or a little shit, he’s my friend.” A friend who sets butterflies loose in your stomach and makes you weak at the knees, but Hajime doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh, I’m sure he wants to be your friend,” he mutters darkly.

Your cheeks burn hotly, “Why are you being like this? He’s a nice guy. Besides, it’s not him. I’m going to Masako’s to work on a group presentation we’ve got due in a few days. I didn’t think you’d make such a big deal out of it!”

“Your mistake,” he says, as if you’re the one being unreasonable here, and before you can spit out a retort, his hand is curled around your bicep, tugging you down the road. “C’mon, we’re going home. Tell your little friend you can work on your project tomorrow at lunch.”

“Ha-Hajime!” His too tight grip on you doesn’t relent, his stride doesn’t falter. Nervously, you dart a glance around, half hoping that someone will intercede, all the while praying that no one’s actually noticed him dragging you off like a misbehaving toddler.

As always, you’re not that lucky. The sight of your classmates pointing your way, giggling behind their hands sends a hot pulse of shame flooding through you.

“You know you’re not my actual brother, I don’t need your permission!”

That does stop him, turning back around to throw a scowl at you, “No? Because I don’t see anyone else lining up to stop you from spreading your legs for the first asshole who comes sniffing around. Jesus Christ, weren’t you listening the other day?”

“I’m fourteen!” you shriek, ripping your arm away from him. “Stop being gross and leave me alone, I already told you I’m going to Masako’s. We have a project. For school!”

In an instant, he closes the gap between you. Hajime isn’t as tall as Tooru, but at two years older, he still towers over you, all broad shouldered and intense, and while he’s always cut an intimidating figure, it strikes you that this is the first time you’ve ever looked at him and felt afraid.

A split second later, and he exhales with a mumbled curse, the tension deflating from his body like a pin’s been pulled. In a quieter voice, hooking an arm over your neck to press a fleeting kiss to your hair, he says, “Sometimes it feels like I’m losing my damn mind trying to keep us all safe and sane and fucking together.”

It’s not exactly an apology. Still…you shift on your feet, nibbling at your bottom lip. “I’m sorry for snapping,” you mumble – an olive branch, even if you’re not feeling particularly charitable right now. The problem is, you do understand where he’s coming from. In two years, they’ll both age out, free to go and do whatever the hell they want. There’s a not insignificant part of you that’s terrified that when that time comes, they’re not gonna hang around another two years waiting for you.

You’re not sure you can hold them to that promise.

And that’s if nothing happens before then. Foster kids in group homes get shuffled all the time, there’s no guarantee all three of you will still be with the Furukawas come their 18th birthdays.

Of course he’s over-protective. Of course he’s being a little nuts about it.

Hajime nods, pats you on the head and gives you a rare smile, “Good. Now get your ass moving, we gotta get home.”

“Wait, but I thought–” you’d apologised, he’d admitted he was overreacting… sort of. Isn’t that enough?

“Social worker’s coming by this afternoon. Furukawa wants us to play happy families ‘til they’re gone. Your friend’s gonna have to wait.”

And that’s that.

Dejection washes over you, trudging back home with Hajime – trying not to be childish and petty and hold it against him.

The social worker never shows, but there’s a message waiting on your phone when you finally manage to pry yourself away from Hajime and Tooru.

Your brother’s a dick. Raincheck? ;)

Butterflies erupt.

—

You’ve been biting your lip again.

The raw, chapped evidence stares back at you in the mirror.

A few days ago, they were a little swollen, rough and reddened. The sight of it sent a giddy sort of thrill through you, a physical – if not sore – reminder of your afternoon spent kissing a cute boy with very pretty blue eyes.

Now, the state of your lips is the least of your worries. You’ll bite your lips, gnaw on your fingernails right down to the quick, pace and think and pace and think, fingers tap, tap tapping at your side.

“You look tired.”

The arms that loop around your shoulders, dragging you back into a loose hug don’t bring the sense of comfort they usually do. Things have been weird between you. Off.

Ever since Tooru caught sight of your face that day, saw the messages on your phone.

‘I never took you for a liar, imouto.’

The resultant argument left you choking on sobs, heart-broken and beaten down in a way that you haven’t felt since you found out your parents died.

It’s a strange, alienating thing to be cut so viciously by the only people who give a damn about you.

At first, you had Omori there to help pick up the pieces. He wasn’t allowed over, of course, and even if he were, you doubt it’d do anything but throw a whole gallon of kerosene on the fire. Still, being able to message and vent to him felt like a lifeline.

And then he simply… stopped replying. Your last message sitting there for two days on read.

You tried not to feel hurt. Maybe this whole thing was too intense, too quick. My god, you weren’t even dating officially, he was just, you were–

It was fine. Not everyone’s tied to their phone, and he doesn’t owe you anything. Maybe something came up, maybe his phone died.

But then, come Monday, he wasn’t in school.

On Tuesday morning, sitting in first period maths, a grim-faced man in a dull suit informs your class that Omori’s been missing since Saturday morning. You’re passed a business card with the detective’s name and phone number printed in crisp, black font and encouraged to contact him if there’s anything you can think of that might help them.

Uneasy looks are shared. No one says a word.

Which brings you to today, to the hug Tooru’s drawn you into and his voice murmuring at your ear.

“Aren’t you still mad at me?”

His laugh rumbles at your back, “Maybe I miss you too much.”

You should tell him to shove it. Whether you’re in the right or the wrong, it’s not fair of him to play hot and cold with you like this. Being at odds with your brothers is painful enough on its own, dealing with that on top of everything with Omori – it’s too much. You’ll drown under the weight of it.

And so you turn, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying yourself against him. “I don’t wanna fight anymore. I’m sorry.”

While he doesn’t say anything back, he does squeeze you that little bit tighter. You’re content with that, soaking up the affection and comfort you’ve sorely been without. It’s an apology, yes. It’s also forgiveness.

“Where’s Hajime?” you ask after a little while. They aren’t inseparable by any means, but you don’t think you’ve seen him this afternoon at all.

Rather than answering you, the brunet pulls back enough to meet your gaze, a twinkle in his eyes, “We’re going out tonight.”

The words bring you up short. “But–”

“Furukawa won’t know a thing. It’ll be fun, pinky promise.” He holds out said pinky, the grin on his face infectious enough that you offer a tiny one of your own, locking your finger around his.

He winks.

—

“Sweetheart, shall we open the wine?”

She hasn’t stopped beaming all afternoon, delighted at the flowers and the gifts, your dad humming away in the kitchen, cooking enough to feed a small army.

Heisuke’s already plucking a bottle from the fridge, glasses set out on the counter. He lifts a questioning brow in your direction and you nod with as much of a smile as you can muster. Nothing sounds more appealing to you right now than a drink.

Several of them, actually. You’ll start with one.

“Thanks,” you murmur when he passes it to you.

Quietly enough that your parents won’t hear, he asks, “You good?”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, lying through your teeth. His knuckles knock against yours, and when you glance up, there’s a wordless promise that the two of you aren’t done with this.

He’s been watching you ever since you got home. Not in the predatory, possessive way they used to, just… you very reluctantly gave him crumbs – not even that much – yet he’s staring at you like you’re a piece of a puzzle he’s desperate to solve. He’s looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you don’t know how to deal with it.

It makes you nervous.

“Did something happen between you two?” The quiet voice at your side startles you – perhaps you’re more on edge than you’d like to admit, because your whole body flinches, the wine in your glass sloshing up over the rim, just barely avoiding your dress and the edge of the couch.

You hadn’t even noticed your mom had sat down.

Cursing under your breath, you jump up before she can, snatching some paper towels from the kitchen, paying no mind the slight, disapproving tilt to your father’s mein (the one which, to his credit, he does try to hide) to mop up the mess on the floor.

“Sorry,” you throw out, both for the spill and for swearing, because that too is something neither of your parents are fond of, but your mom’s quick to wave it away.

“Nonsense. You’re fine, sweet girl. Come, sit!” She pats the seat you’ve vacated. “Relax.”

Your dad’s in the kitchen, laughing with Hei. Your mom’s still happy – it’s slowly leaching from her eyes the longer she looks at you, the more she sees. Relax.

Today’s supposed to be a happy day.

Relax.

You can’t.

They know some of your past. Bits and pieces.

In ten years, you’ve never uttered a single word about them. Not to anyone.

The more you shove it down, the more it fights back, bubbling away inside of you like the tempest of a storm. You can feel yourself cracking, unshed tears burning at your eyes.

You can’t.

“… Mom–”

A knock cuts through the rising tide of emotion battering through you, and all four of you start.

Your dad moves first, drying his hands and striding on over to answer it. On his way, he glances to where you and your mom are sitting – instinctively. Unthinkingly. He glances her way a thousand times a day – to check in, to see what she’s doing, to catch those little expressions she makes, only this time he isn’t met with the picture of a happy wife and daughter. You see it when it hits him, the tension, your wrought expression, the hand your mom’s slipped you in the seconds since, holding you tight and keeping you tethered.

You see it when he does a double take, sharp surprise quickly overtaken by alarm.

Another knock at the door. Louder.

His head snaps back towards the door, glaring at it like it’s personally wronged him. “One sec,” he mutters to no one in particular, and your mom squeezes your hand as he yanks it open with a touch more force than necessary.

“Yes?”

The air punches out of your lungs.

From where you’re sitting, the door cracked ajar, your dad’s frame blocking the gap, you can’t see who’s there. Not until he peeks over your dad’s shoulder, his charming grin widening into something shark-like and predatory when he spots you, delighted.

An elevator careening out of control, your stomach plummets.

Ignoring your dad – your family as a whole – entirely, Oikawa addresses you. “You dropped this this morning. Clumsy girl.”

Iwa passes him something, your wallet, you realise when he holds it out to you, waving it like a dog treat.

Your wallet with your ID, this address, tucked away inside.

The wallet you absolutely, in no way dropped.

Primarily on instinct, shaking like a newborn foal, you start to rise, to stumble forward and take it from him, only it’s Heisuke who moves first. Angrier than you think you’ve ever seen him, he plants himself between you, one arm outstretched as if to keep you back, his withering gaze fixed on the duo.

“Thank you for returning it,” he bites out. “You can leave now.”

For your parents, already on edge, suspicious by their familiarity and your reaction to it, it’s enough to set their hackles up. Gone is any semblance of politeness when your father snatches your wallet from Oikawa’s fingers, “Go.”

Up until now, Oikawa’s paid them all the attention one would a gnat, an annoyance maybe, but one hardly worth acknowledging. That changes as his head tilts, dark eyes appraising your father.

“What’s the rush?” he asks, reaching behind him. You can’t see it, what with your dad and now Heisuke standing between you, but there’s movement, your dad lets out a sudden, choked off gurgle, lurching back inside.

Your eyes widen, a bone chilling horror taking hold of you as you spy the sleek black handle of a knife sticking out his gut, a slow stain of red seeping out around it.

“We’ve still got so much catching up to do.”

—

You’ve never been this far into the woods before.

Stars glitter overhead, condensation from your breath puffing out with every exhale. It’s cold out. The path you’re walking isn’t one of the trails they lay for hikers and tourists, and you’ve been walking for a while.

Still, Tooru’s hand is warm entwined with yours, and there’s that wicked thrill in your belly that comes from breaking the rules, doing secret, exciting things in the dead of night.

“Is Hajime waiting for us?” you ask, when you can hold the question back no longer.

“Always Hajime with you, isn’t it,” he teases. “Y’know, a guy could develop a complex with all this favouritism being thrown around.”

You’re pulled closer into his side even as he says it, and you go happily. You’ve got your brothers back – tonight you’re only thinking good thoughts.

Tonight he promised you fun.

A giddy bounce in your step, you follow where your big brother leads until you spot a glow in the trees ahead, smell the smoke on the mid-autumn breeze.

Tooru grins in the dark, “Have you ever been to a bonfire?”

You shake your head.

It takes another few minutes before you can see the fire in all its grandeur, Hajime standing off to the side, warming his hands against the flames. They dance through the clearing, bright and high and hot, hot enough that you briefly consider shedding the jacket Tooru swaddled you up in before you left.

A bonfire?

They built this for you?

You look incredulously to Tooru, “This is where he’s been all day?”

“More or less.”

“Do you like it, pretty girl?” Hajime calls out when you’re closer. Your hand slips from Tooru’s as you leap forward, allowing him to catch you in his arms and tug you against him, and like earlier with Tooru, it eases some of the hurt weighing you down. He’s here, he’s not angry anymore, you can fight and argue like siblings but they aren’t going anywhere.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, smoothing down your hair. “It’s pretty cool,” you tell him with a decisive nod, making him chuckle.

“Maybe we should add more accelerant,” Tooru says, eyeing the flames with a considering look. “I don’t know if it’s hot enough.”

Hajime scoffs, “We don’t need any more accelerant.”

“But–”

“It’s fine, dumbass. Leave it.”

Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Tooru takes the space on your other side. In the Western movies you’ve seen, these bonfire things usually have more of a party-like vibe. There’s music and dancing. Drinking. This is something wholly different.

You don’t mind the quiet, though, sitting between your brothers on the fallen log they dragged over. Listening to the crackle of the fire. Watching red embers spark and fly off into the night.

You’ve missed this. Them.

In the hypnosis of the fire, the heat that covers you like a blanket – burning strongly enough, despite what Tooru thinks, that down to a tee-shirt, leaning into Hajime’s side, Tooru playing with your fingers, you feel you could so easily drift off to sleep, sated and content.

“You love us, don’t you?” Tooru says it so quietly, so off-handedly, that for a moment you don’t hear the stinging accusation beneath the words.

When it does, whatever fleeting contentment you’d managed to wrap yourself up in is ripped away, leaving you cold and exposed.

A slap in the face might’ve stung less.

You gape at him. At the both of them. “How can you ask me that?”

Tooru shrugs, casual and cruel, “I dunno. You lied to us. Multiple times.”

“Snuck around behind our backs,” Hajime adds.

“Kept things from us. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the new lock on your phone, imouto. Doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“I– I’ve already apologised.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but with every word that pours out of you, the faster your heart beats and the more distress leaks into your tone. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I lied, I’m sorry I went behind your backs, I’m sorry I kissed him! I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t know how to fix this!”

Hot tears spring to your eyes, stinging as you ferociously blink them back.

If you start crying now, they’ll probably just mock you. That, or they’ll claim that you’re trying to manipulate them into feeling bad with crocodile tears and hiccuping sniffles.

In a tiny voice, you say, “I didn’t do any of it to hurt you. Please,” you beg helplessly. “You can’t keep holding it over my head and punishing me for it.”

“You think we’re punishing you?” Tooru asks, still in that cold, flat tone that makes you want to sob.

Aren’t they? Sure feels like it.

Hajime lets out a heavy exhale, shaking his head and staring up at the night sky. “You still don’t fucking get it.”

Hands slip under your armpits and without warning you find yourself hoisted onto Tooru’s lap. It’s whiplash, especially when he curls around you, those lithe arms caging you in, and presses a kiss to your burning cheek. “Iwa, brute that he is, is right. You’re not listening to us. This isn’t punishment. You can pretend to hate us, cry, yell, fight. You can try to shut us out if that’s what you feel you need, but this,” his chin juts out at the bonfire crackling merrily a few feet away, “this is love.” He shivers as he says it, voice like honey. “We did it for you, and I’d do so much more.”

Your head’s still spinning, reeling from being yanked from one extreme to another. Hot and cold. Spiteful to affectionate. You stare at the fire, but you don’t understand.

“Yeah, like you didn’t enjoy the hell out of it,” Hajime snorts, which makes even less sense.

“…You mean the– the bonfire?”

Tooru laughs. His nose skims along the shell of your ear, earning him a shiver of your own. “Hm, almost.”

So you peer at the fire like it’s supposed to give you the answers you need. There’s nothing. It’s a fire, there’s nothing special about…

Oh.

You learn forward – as much as the cage of his embrace will allow, at any rate – squinting a little. Nestled beneath the stacked logs and kindling, there’s an oddly shaped lump, black and gnarled, with ridges and a scooped out hollow that kinda looks like–

Your blood runs cold.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he croons. “You’ve been so sad all week, wondering where your friend up and disappeared to. Aren’t you glad to see him again?”

“No.” Whisper soft, the noise lost to the crackling of the fire. You shake your head, “This– you’re being cruel. Stop it, it’s not funny.”

But the tears you’ve so valiantly held back are falling, your breath coming in short, panicky gasps. The skull in the fire doesn’t look fake, and if this is a prank, it’s gone beyond too far.

Your head grows light and all too heavy at the same time, “That isn’t– you didn’t– you… you– you wouldn’t–”

“No?” the voice at your ear questions, low and dangerous. “You think I wouldn’t stab the little fuck after you kissed him?”

“Stop it,” you tearfully beg, squeezing your eyes shut. The skull’s still there, burned into the back of your eyelids.

No, no, no. Omori isn’t dead.

Omori isn’t dead.

Your heart slams against your ribs, a violent chorus to the swell of sick dread and fear you’re desperately trying to tamp down. Omori isn’t dead!

“STOP IT!”

They wouldn’t kill him.

The crunch of footsteps sounds, and you don’t need your vision to know that Hajime’s now crouching in front of you. When rough fingers seize your jaw, holding you in place, and he leans in close, almost nose to nose, they fly open regardless.

“You ever try that shit again, and next time we’ll drag you by the fucking hair and do it in front of you,” he promises, calm despite the fury that rages in his eyes.

Caged between them, Hajime appraises you, taking in your hysteria, the tears dripping down your face, your bottom lip quivering – as though he’s committing the sight to memory. His eyes dart to Tooru’s for a brief second, the latter squeezing your side, before he speaks. “If you’d listened to us in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened. Don’t make us into monsters, sweetheart.”

Your fault is what you hear.

There’s a loud pop from the fire, and you lose it entirely.

You explode. Elbows flying, kicking, clawing. A wild, terrified, desperate thing, and it takes them by surprise – enough to catch Tooru in the gut, loosening his grip. Enough to knock Hajime back onto his ass. A gap, however small, for you to scramble to your knees, violently kicking back when a hand snatches at your ankle, and flee through the woods in the dark, away from the furious shouts, the raging footsteps chasing after you.

You run and your lungs burn, heaving for every breath.

The light of the bonfire disappears behind you, plunging the forest into an inky black, and the shouts and yells turn into calls of your name, then coaxing pleas, almost sounding worried. Eventually, those grow distant too, and fade away altogether.

You keep running, uncertain of where you’re going. No, blind to it entirely. All that matters is keeping out of their reach. You’ll run to the ends of the earth if you have to.

And so you push until your legs scream for a reprieve, until you taste iron on your tongue and when your body can keep the pace no longer, you stumble through the underbrush, tripping over roots and branches instead, pausing every once in a while to lean against a tree and catch your breath.

As your adrenaline fades and the sweat dampening your clothes cools, the cold night air bites like needles at your skin, you start to shiver, rubbing at your exposed arms in an effort to generate a little warmth. Bitterly, you remember that the jacket that you’d brought, the one Tooru had all but forced on you before you’d left, is back at the bonfire, slung over a nearby log. Useless to you now.

But the shivers that wrack your body aren’t solely from the dropping temperature.

Every snapping branch, hoot of an owl, rustle of leaves sends a fresh wave of terror spiking through you. You think of Tooru’s cruel smirk and Hajime’s bruising grip, of Omori’s skull staring back at you from the fire, flesh melted to the bone, black and twisted, and a ragged, distraught sob brings you to your knees.

Hopelessly lost, cold, frightened and alone, you curl into the dirt and cry.

—

Hikers find you at dawn.

Emergency services are called – an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital to be poked and prodded, police to question why a fourteen year old girl was wandering the woods alone at night.

They treat you for dehydration and mild hypothermia, a few small cuts and scrapes, and when a soft spoken nurse pulls the curtain around your bed and gently asks if you’d like them to perform a rape kit, you blanch and shake your head. Eventually, they allow the detective into the room. In his late forties, bespectacled, a smattering of grey dusted throughout his close cropped black hair, he pulls up a chair beside the bed and patiently asks how you’re feeling.

If you were a better person, you’d tell him everything. The Furukawas’ abuse, your foster brothers’ increasingly overprotective behaviour, sneaking behind their back to see Omori and the fight that followed that nearly ripped you apart.

The bonfire.

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

Omori deserves that much. His parents should know what happened to their son.

Your jacket lying forgotten by his bones.

“Please don’t take me back there,” you mumble, tears shining in your eyes.

Back to the woods, or the Furukawas. Back to the boys you’d loved who’d murdered for you.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter that that’s all they can get out of you. A traumatised teenager found miles from home without a single soul raising the alarm would be one thing. When that traumatised teenager’s a girl supposedly under the care of government approved guardians, it raises red flags not even they can ignore.

By lunch, they’ve arranged for you to be placed back in an all-girl orphanage until a more suitable, long term solution can be found.

—

Some nights you dream that you’re back there, in their bedroom at the Furukawas’. It’s dark and cozy, there’s an arm slung over your waist and you find yourself drifting off to the steady beat of the heart behind you, soft snores by your ear.

They’re nice dreams. You feel safe, loved.

Tucked away in your subconscious, nothing exists but the sanctuary of them, and when you inevitably feel that tug of awareness coaxing you awake, you sink your fingers in and cling to it for dear life.

Just another minute. Another few seconds. Please.

Right now, you’d give anything to wake up and have this be nothing more than a nightmare you can banish.

But there’s no escaping this one. Your dad’s on the living room floor by the couch, hunkered over, pale and sweaty, pressing what was once a clean dish towel to the wound in his stomach. The coffee table’s been pushed to the side, Heisuke and your mom sat on the chairs Oikawa dragged into its place, ankles zip-tied to the legs, wrists bound, duct tape slapped across both of their mouths. Between the knife Oikawa idly toys with, still wet with blood, the handgun held loosely in Iwa’s palm and your dad slowly bleeding out on the floor, they’ve been compliant.

Much like you have, although you’re neither bound nor gagged, sitting in the armchair Iwa ushered you to, arms looped around your knees with the man himself perched against the backrest.

The only one of you making any kind of noise at all is your dad, his voice a slurring mumble, words near intelligible. He’s begging, you can tell that much. Pleading through gritted teeth for them to let you go, not to hurt you, your mom, Hei.

You desperately wanna tell him to save his breath, but you can’t even look at him – at any of them – without wanting to throw up.

“Do you still love us, imouto?”

Your eyes track Oikawa as he leans over the two chairs, the edge of his knife carelessly poised above Heisuke’s shoulder. From your periphery you see him flinch and stiffen, the sharp uptick of his breath smothered by duct tape, but you don’t dare shift your attention from the brunet smiling genially back at you.

Your heart squeezes, clenched by an invisible fist. Buried deep beneath the guilt and the paralysing dread, a slightly hysterical part of you almost wants to laugh.

“Do you think I could ever stop?”

Surprise flashes in his eyes and his grin widens. “You ran,” he accuses.

“You ran again this morning,” Iwa adds, sounding far less amused.

“I was scared.”

“Of us?” Iwa slides off the back of the couch, straightening up. In an instant, his hand’s wrapped around your throat, the broad pad of his thumb forcing your jaw upwards. “You think we’d ever fucking hurt you?” he growls, looking genuinely angry.

Distantly you register the sound of Heisuke’s muffled indignation, another gasping wheeze from your dad, but all that fades to the background as Iwa’s mouth crashes against yours.

He doesn’t kiss you sweetly. It’s invasive, rough. His hand flexes around your throat, forcing a gasp to drive his tongue between your lips, and you can feel every ounce of possession, of pent up need and frustration as he drags it on despite the awkward angle.

When he does break away, eyes darkened and simmering, he holds your gaze, ignoring the pointed throat clearing from the other side of the room. “Never,” he swears, waiting for you to nod before finally relaxing his grip. “Good girl.” To Oikawa, watching you both with a barely constrained hunger, he says, “Enough screwing around. Do it and let’s go.”

Oikawa huffs, rolling his eyes, “Fine. Should’ve known you’d get all impatient after you had a taste.”

“Like you’re not?”

There’s not enough air in the room, your heart’s doing somersaults in your chest, your pulse hammering through your veins. Oikawa stares at you, head tilted, the corner of his lip slowly curling up as you start to tremble, shaking your head, tears beading at your lashes, “I guess we could hurry it along.”

“No, please–”

“Shh, sweet girl. It’s okay.” You try to stand up, but Iwa takes a hold of your shoulder and forces you back down. “Me and Iwa, we were gonna give you a choice. Let you pick. If you could kill one of them, we’d let the other two go.”

A strangled sob rips its way free, your whole body shuddering with the force of it.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. We’re not gonna make you do that,” he comforts, side-stepping your now thrashing brother to make his way over towards you. “Cause the thing is, they kept you from us. Lied to you. Manipulated you. Whether they meant to or not, they hurt you. I don’t think they deserve that kind of mercy, do you?”

“No, no, no, please! Please don’t, please don’t hurt them–”

Abandoning his knife, he drops to a crouch in front of you, “We’re gonna make it right, and then we’ll go home, okay? We’ll take care of it.”

“Please, Tooru! I’ll do anything!”

There’s a kiss pressed to the crown of your head, the cushion behind your back being tugged free. “You don’t need to do anything,” Iwa says, the cold cocking of his gun echoing like a death knell.

“We love you. This one’s on us.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere iwaizumi hajime #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere iwaizumi x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon

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angel1ic · 2 months

Note

here’s a lil request !

jjk men(whichever men you perfer!) peeling an orange or cutting some fruit for reader? 👀

𐙚

PEELING FRUIT- with jjk men

content: fluff, reader is called ‘brat’ twice by sukuna, slightly suggestive? , proofread to an extent !!

featuring: g. satoru , g. suguru , k. namani , t. fushigoro , s. ryomen , c. kamo

note: teehee i love this !! sorry this took forever to get out, but m’ clearing out my drafts so expect more from me !! xoxo

- SATORU ⠀ ⭒ ݁ . ⠀ ⠀

ㅤㅤㅤ𝓲. Could find a way to turn you on while peeling the orange. You weren’t sure how, but somehow he made the mundane act…lewd.

𝓲𝓲. He’d would do it on purpose, deliberately making sure he had your full attention while peeling the orange with long skillful fingers. You swore he was fingering the thing, making nimble circles around the core of the orange and stroking it. Then, he’d hand the violated fruit back to you with a sly knowing grin while your jaw hung open dumbly.

“is something the matter angel?” He’d ask with a faux innocence, watching the way you tried to repress the wanton images that flashed through your head.

You groaned exasperatedly while snatching the orange from his pale palm. “Fuck you toru!”

“Okay, when?” He quipped, and that orange came hurling back to his face.

- GETO ⠀ ⭒ ݁ . ⠀ ⠀

𝓲. would notice your arousal, but be more discreet with it.

𝓲𝓲. caught your attention while diligently working the orange peel. Long black bangs covered his face while thick fingers practically caressed the citrus. When he was done he’d look back at you with the orange nicely peeled and that stupid sweet smile on his face. Meanwhile your cheeks were heated and your panties appropriately dampen.

“here you go baby.” He said, placing the orange back in front of you.

….“how do you make peeling an orange erotic?” You asked incredulously, trying to to show any of the fluster you currently felt.

“I don’t know what you’re taking about” Suguru lied, still with the soft smile on his face.

He did very much know exactly what you were talking about.

ㅤㅤ- TOJI ⠀ ⭒ ݁ . ⠀ ⠀

𝓲. finally agreed to peel your orange, but not after teasing you about not being able to do it yourself. Making fun of you for being the spoiled little girl you were, as if it wasn’t his fault as well.

“guess ya can’t do much with those princess paw huh? never did a day of work in y’er life.”

“tojiiii…” You’d pout while watching him peel your fruit.

𝓲𝓲. he’d hand the fruit back to you, only for it to bruised from the man’s brusque fingerwork. Clearly, he wasn’t anymore capable than you were.

Juice from the bruised orange flesh dripped down your finders. “toji, you ruined it!”

“Seems fine t’me. If ya’ don’t want it, I’ll take it.” He shrugged.

- SUKUNA ⠀ ⭒ ݁ . ⠀ ⠀

𝓲. Did not wanna peel your orange, and only gave in cus of your insistence and your whining. He quickly regarded the peel, only for your poor fruit to return back to your hands completely and utterly mutilated. It honestly resembled more like orange juice than the actual fruit itself.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this for you brat.” He muttered. What he was doing wasn’t as normal or ordinary as peeling, he was practically skinning the orange

When he hands you back your fruit, your jaw drops in shock. “Kuna..look at it! You destroyed it.”

“And? It’s still edible. Beggars can’t be choosers” he retorted, waving his hand in dismissal.

𝓲𝓲. he’d eventually peel another orange after you whined and cried about how he’s a monster who can’t even peel an orange without destroying it, which was far from being a lie, but it still irked him in some way.

“There..are you happy now?” He asked begrudgingly.

“Very.” You’d giggle, kicking your feet while popping juicy orange slices into your mouth.

“Fucking brat.” He’d grumbled, but found himself hiding a smirking that tugged at his cheeks.

- NANAMIN ⠀ ⭒ ݁ . ⠀ ⠀

𝓲. He would already have the orange prepared. The fruit was peeled and sliced just for you as a healthy afternoon treat, alongside with spicy seasoning because he knew you had a preference for them that way.

“here you go darling.” He’d say, placing the small plate in front of you.

Nanami took note of the puzzled smile you gave him. “Aww..Ken.” You cooed, picking up the fruit between your fingers. “You didn’t have you y’know?”

He smiled a little. “Yeah, I know. Just wanted to treat my wife to a nice snack.”

You grinned back, beckoning him to come join you. He sat beside you, and you pressed a small kiss to the side of his sharp, cold cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

- CHOSO ⠀ ⭒ ݁ . ⠀ ⠀

𝓲. noticed you unpeeling the orange fruit and decided to help with the big brother, knight in shining armor instincts that he had instilled inside him, even if you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

“Here baby, lemme do that for you.”

A small laugh leaves your mouth. “Thank you but I got it Cho-.” You started, but it was too late. He’d already took the orange out of your hand and went to work on unpeeling the citrus fruit.

You sat there awkwardly as you watched him practically dissect the orange. He took off all skin with ease, and now he went to removing the white strings that attached itself to flesh of the fruit. He was completely enamored with the orange, making sure it was nothing less of perfection for you.

By the time you got the orange back, you were pretty much starving, but in awe of his handiwork.

“Thank you cho! You’re the best.” You exclaim, peppering several light kisses against his cheek. He smiled and blushed hard before pressing a kiss to you warm cheek as well.

#ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 ⠂°⠄#jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #fluff #kento x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #geto x reader #choso x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #toji x reader

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etfrin · 6 months

Text

→ ❝Lipstick Stains and Love Bites | Ethan Landry❞´ˎ-

Warning - NSFW | blowjob, making out, | lmk if I forgot anything.

Ethan Landry x afab! Reader

| masterlist | bc: @cafekitsune

A/N: this was my first time writing a blowjob, help, was it good?

Summary - you mark his neck with pretty love bites and his dick with your favorite lipstick shade!

Being on Ethan's lap was a huge comfort for you after a tiring day. Your head is on his shoulder, softly breathing onto his skin as he wraps his arm around you to hold you.

Neither of you was talking, but basking in each other's comfort. His body heat is reassuring, and how his chest rises with each breath calms you down. Making you melt into him.

This was mundane. This was everything.

Taking in his scent, citrus, and something woody. You decided to press your lips onto his neck. Something seemingly innocent. You wanted to pepper kiss him all over because of love.

He doesn't say anything but lets out a sigh, his body relaxing even more beneath you as he feels your lips. He tilts his head to give you more access and that was all the permission you needed.

You start slowly, your lips pecking his skin in innocent kisses until your mouth finds a spot it particularly likes. And without even realizing you started to suck. It was soft, nothing to form a hickey over.

But you felt his breath hitch from the action. He made a sound that was filled with need. A small, deep groan escaped him.

It makes you suck the spot harder. Your teeth now meet the skin for a soft bite. He groans louder. Your lips get faster, the skin turning into a pretty shade of red. Your teeth again meet the flesh to bite. You lick around the mark to soothe the pain. The first love bite of the day.

What started as just mere cuddling now turned into something more. You made sure not a single inch of his skin escaped the assault of your lips. Meanwhile, all Ethan did was let out encouraging groans and squeeze your hip with his hand urging you to continue. His erection poked your thigh but you were too busy painting this boy's bruises to give it much-needed attention.

You lean back, breathless from your actions of the past minute to admire the art you made on his skin. All red and the beginning of purple forming on his neck at various places with various sizes. Poor boy would have to wear a turtleneck for a week after this.

You bite your lower lip, feeling yourself getting needy but you want to make this about him. So, ignoring your pleasure for the moment you decided to reward your boyfriend for how good he is.

Remembering the lipstick he gave you last week gave you a filthy idea you wanted to play out. You got out of bed which made Ethan whine, “Babe, where are you-” You shot him a look, reassuring him that it wasn’t over just yet. Looking through your drawers, you finally found the lipstick he bought you last week. It was a sudden gift, you remembered all the blushing and fumbling he did as he had handed you the gift saying you would look so beautiful with this shade on your lips.

Now, it’s time to find out if this shade of red would look pretty smeared all over his cock.

You apply the lipstick, enjoying the confusion on his face. His eyes glossed with pleasure and lust, His brown curls were a mess with how much your finger ran through, and his body was flushed with a shade lighter than the lipstick you were wearing right now. You find your way back to his lap.

“How do I look?” you asked him, your tone teasing. “Beautiful,” he whispers, breathless and rough, “But, baby, I need you-”

You find yourself interrupting his sentence by saying with a smile of a siren, “How do you think this shade will look smeared on your cock?”

It took him a moment to realize what you meant. You knew you would always remember the way his eyebrow furrowed in question and the click of his brain as his eyes widened and he finally got what you meant by that. Oh, he was so adorable. He lets out a deep groan, “Please, love, please..” He pulls you into a sudden kiss. A yelp escaping your lips at the suddenness of his soft lips meeting with yours. He tasted the donuts you shared with him earlier today. He tasted heavenly. He kissed you like a man starving. As if his kiss were a form of worship. You moan into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intensity he was showing.

The kiss breaks, leaving both of you breathless. ”Please,” he whispers, the lipstick staining his lips. After pressing another soft kiss on his lips, you go down and unzip his pants.

You find yourself stroking his cock in that tight grip he likes, a breathless whine leaving his mouth as his eyes shut close from feeling the softness of your palm around his girth. His hips jerk, fucking your fist at a sensual pace.

His angry red tip forms beads of pre-cum that you lean forward to lick. The salty taste of his cum makes you whine softly, his hips jerking a bit faster as he feels your tongue glide across his cockslit. He groans, "Please, stop teasing."

You chuckle as he continues to plead. Your lips move down on his length, kissing his dick so the lipstick would be smeared while your tongue would trace the pulsing veins of his cock. You could feel it twitch. 'Cute' you think before deciding to put the boy out of his misery.

You start taking his length into your mouth slowly, making sure to cover your teeth. Maybe it was desperation, maybe it was needed but Ethan's hip bucked into your mouth, the tip of his dick hitting your throat.

His eyes widen when you choke around his cock, saliva coating your lower chin. Neither of you move as you get used to his length. "I- I am sorry-" Ethan whines, "You feel so good…"

Ignoring his apology, knowing that you'll get him back later for this. You start to suck, your tongue swirling around his cockhead and the veins. You close your eyes and let yourself indulge. You start slow, bobbing your head up and down.

You hold Ethan's hand and place it in your hair. You felt him stroke through his hair as he began to shallowly thrust into your mouth, making sure not to gag you. "This feels so good, you feel so perfect," he whimpers, "Ah… your mouth is so warm, fuck, love."

When he sees you, your mouth stretches to accommodate his thick length, your drool rolling down your chin, and lipstick smeared on your face. He was done. The hand that was stroking your hair, gripped your locks tightly, keeping your head in place. You open your eyes in question, you take in the sight of a debauched Ethan. "Sorry," he whispered, "I'll cum soon, so just take it… alright."

With that warning, he begins to thrust into your mouth without care whether you choke or gag. He moans, "You look so beautiful like this, I couldn't control myself. You're so pretty. You were born to suck my cock, right? I am sorry- I am sorry for being so rough."

He whines as he continues to thrust into the wet heat of your mouth, you moaning around his length, the vibration of the sound making this so much better.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed as he kept bucking his hips into your mouth. He moans out your name as thick ropes of cum fill your mouth, some spilling and painting your chin because you couldn't swallow it all.

He takes his cock out of your mouth and wipes the drool and his cum off your face. When he opens his mouth to apologize yet again, you shush him by saying, "I'll get you back for it, E. Sometimes you keep forgetting that you're just a toy. Now lay down, pretty boy, I am not done yet."

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 1 year

Text

(3) TENDER LIKE A BRUISE ─── ethan landry 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “Let me hold your tenderness for a moment, Forgetting all pains that the tenderness has caused….” — Luffina Lourduraj

pairing. spiderman!ethan landry x reader

warnings. heavy swearing, mention of blood+death, alcohol

summary. ethan calls during a patrol, frantic, and you have no choice but to find and save him. (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n. another bit of the spiderman!ethan landry universe. i'm being pretty carefree about the timeline atm, so basically you and ethan have been fake-dating for a few months already. also, do tell if the relationship progression is too fast or too slow!

iii.

Your fake-dating label has stuck, following you everywhere.

From having an awkward dinner with Ethan’s parents (which would have been one with his entire family, but Quinn could not keep a straight face and had to leave), having double-dates with Annika and Mindy, Ethan having to ward off weirdos hitting on you at parties (which, was actually rather welcome), and the like.

Sometimes, entirely to keep your cover straight, you and Ethan have to engage in some… physical contact. Mostly, it’s hand holding, or wiping something off his cheek, him tucking your hair back behind your ear, fixing his shirt collar, him tying your shoes — all the little intimate things that make your fake relationship seem so much more real.

It’s kind of sweet, actually, how in-tune you guys are becoming with each other. Like, Ethan knows how you like your coffee, and you know what shirts he likes to keep at your place more than the others. You can trust the boy to pick an amazing place to order food from, and he can trust you to wash his Spidersuit like no-one else. (Seriously, he is shocked at how you can clean it in forty minutes and he can spend four hours in his sink without doing much at all.)

However, once, you and Ethan had to kiss. Well, “kiss”. It was drunk couple stuff, trying to fly under everyone's radar.

Your friends were beginning to think it was a little odd you had never done anything while drunk together, because everyone did. Sure, you two could be very private considering PDA, but everyone saw how sweet you were in front of others, so it was getting suspicious.

To void these pesky suspicions, during a low-key drunk night between friends at Chad and Ethans place, you downed a full shot of gin, let it burn in your throat, and pulled yourself onto the equally drunk Ethan.

You had climbed atop his lap, his fatigued head thrown back against the leather couch. Your hands graced the sides of his face, and through your alcohol stained lips you whispered close in Ethan’s ear.

“I’m going to kiss you, Ethan. Fake, though,” You said simply, your mind addled with that familiar alcohol fog.

You waited for his familiar hum of acknowledgment, the one he voiced when he was brushing his teeth, or drinking something, all his little sounds you’d grown to know.

When he did, you leaned your head at just the right angle that to everyone, it looked like you were going to town on Ethan, when in reality you were pecking the side of his lip.

Your hands had carded through Ethan’s soft, curly locks, tugging slightly and repositioning yourself on his lap, his own hands settling nervously on your waist. You moved onto hovering around his neck, sending shivers down his spine with your hot breath on his skin.

Ethan could taste the citrus stains you left on the side of his mouth, and he was beginning to feel feverish. His entire body was incredibly warm, either from the alcohol, or how close you were to him now.

He gulped, watching you on his lap, pretending to do everything he had exactly zero experience in. You - this, made him so incredibly nervous, he was losing his mind over your touch.

And as soon as it started, it was over, and you pulled yourself off the flustered boy. Chad whistled at the intensity of the action, a “proud dad” moment of sorts.

Ignoring it, your hands itched towards another shot of alcohol. Through the corner of your eye, you saw Ethan, breathing heavily, eyes coursing over you.

His gaze, low and deep, made your heart skip a tender beat, beginning to thump louder in your ears—

You downed another shot, and let it wash those thoughts away. Perhaps it is denial, or perhaps you don’t want to lose him.

(Somewhere deep in you, you’re terrified of losing him. Literally and figuratively, you could lose Ethan in so many ways it's beginning to hurt.

One of those ways comes far too soon for your comfort.)

It’s Halloween.

You’re stuck in someone's house, and a drunk girl you don’t know the name of is regaling you on her outfit choices for the night.

Quinn and Mindy are fighting over who's the better superhero, Spiderman or Iron-Man (and when Quinn heatedly declares Spiderman is some friendless, familyless freak, you snort), Tara and Chad are… doing whatever their newly blossomed situationship requires to make even more tense, and Annika is passed out on Mindy’s shoulder.

Ethan is on patrol tonight, after he left you alone in the middle of the party. Apparently, it had something to do with candy and costumes making criminals more “devious” (whatever that meant).

Sometimes, you really wish trick-or-treating wasn’t just for kids.

You slip away from the drunk girl, whose friend group has since found her, and sneak into the very same bathroom Ethan had jumped out of earlier. In the mirror, you finnicked with the costume you were wearing.

“I couldn’t exactly find anything similar, so I made it myself.” Ethan had said a few hours ago, holding up the costume. It was an odd black-and-white version of his Spidersuit, with a white hood and pink underarms.

“It’s made of a mix of spandex and a flexible carbon-fiber I stole from the evidence locker at the NYPD - the same stuff as my suit. And, I know, not morally great, but whatever, I’ll make up for it by catching the criminals who owned that stuff.” Ethan continued, stretching the fabric.

You raised a brow, taking the slim piece of fabric off his hands. “And why exactly do I have to be some Spiderman dupe tonight?”

Ethan scratched his cheek, gaze veering from yours. “If I’m wearing this, you’ve gotta wear that. To keep the cover, obviously.”

You two were sitting on your bed, Ethan already decked out in his own well made Spiderman “costume”. Everyone else was dressed, too, just waiting for you to finish.

“So,” You leaned in closer to Ethan, “this is just a matching couple costume… for the cover.”

Ethan nodded rapidly, still avoiding your eyes.

You surveyed him for a moment: his brown eyes were coursing across the whole room, on anything except you, lips bitten between his teeth, hair askew, slight blush blazing across his face.

Something about that look of his just got to you, and the sound of the blood rushing to your face was positively deafening.

You pulled back, trying to ease your stuttering heart. “Isn’t this a bad idea? Wearing the suit and all, aren’t you scared of someone finding out?”

“I think it’s ironic.” Ethan said under his breath, a small smile gracing his face. “And it’s the opposite. If I pretend to be some superfan, people won’t think I’m him.”

You puffed up your cheeks, blowing the air out. “Okay, fine. I’ll wear your couples costume. Just don’t, and I mean it, Ethan, do not leave me alone at the party to go on patrol.”

“[Name]. You know I can’t promise you anything, I mean, what if there's a dog or something getting stolen out of an apartment—“

Without thinking, you stopped his rambling by pulling him close to you, hands gripping lightly at his arms. The two of you held still for a moment, staring deep into eachothers eyes.

You would have been ready to say anything, but the heartfelt words you had thought of, the feelings you knew were burning in your heart, about to burst at any moment, died in the sudden hesitance you felt from Ethan.

Unknowingly, your face contorted into one of hurt. “I know. I know, I’m sorry, I - I know that's selfish of me to ask, I just…” You let go of him, “there will never be enough time in the world for you to be both Ethan and Spiderman. Which one - which life, relationships - do you value more?” you turned away, whispering under your breath.

And if Ethan had heard you, he didn’t say anything. Tension settled in the room, with a terribly miserable air of regret.

Suddenly, Mindy had called out from the living room that you’d all be late to the party if you didn’t hurry up. Ethan exited your room quietly, and you didn’t see him look back at your door with so much guilt it was choking him.

Remembering that bitter start to the night, you sighed, patting down your spandex suit.

Then, someone on the other side of the bathroom door started banging it, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying under the blaring music reverberating throughout the entire house.

“Wait a minute!” You shouted, straining your throat. You began to continue in the loud tone, but the familiar buzz of your phone interrupted you.

Quickly, you fished out the device from a sleek thigh pocket you were thoroughly impressed with Ethan for designing, and clicked it on.

“Speak of the devil,” You mumbled to yourself, seeing the ever-present contact name of ETHAN LANDRY buzzing atop your phone screen.

You answered, pressed the phone to your ear. However, before you could get a word out, Ethan began frantically shouting into the phone.

“[Name]! Goddam—it, okay, I need you to - to - I left my backpack at your place, and I can’t do this without—“

“Ethan! Ethan, Eth— slow down, I can’t—“

“Get my bag, please, and don’t find me, just— leave it at Blackmore, near the fountain, I’ll swing by— and— oh, for fuc—“

And then he hung up. Or, more precisely, probably broke his phone swinging away from whatever was causing him to act like that.

You felt your heart drop, finally registering the intensity of Ethan’s voice. The boy was often lighthearted and dorky, extremely endearing in his polite awkwardness, so hearing how alarmed he was now was sending you for a loop.

You shook your head, storing such feelings away for later. You made a mental note of Ethan’s requests: bag at your apartment, leave at Blackmore fountain.

Nervously, you cranked open the window in the bathroom, eyeing the slingers attached to your wrists. You’d found out entirely by accident after sticking to a beer bottle that Ethan hadn’t merely created a fake pair of web slingers for the costume — he’d supplied you with a functional pair of his own.

Ethan had done a full run-down of his suit once, entirely fascinated with the thing. He was so proud of his own creation, rambling about how the web-fluid took ages to perfect, and about the one time his father got in trouble for “forgetting” to keep track of evidence from the NYPD locker.

This identity was entirely Ethan’s own, and he was so incredibly happy with it. You realized then how selfish your comment had been, how it must have stung him so.

You bit your lip, and pushed yourself back on track, slipping on the matching mask the costume had. Surprisingly, the vision in it wasn’t terrible, and it was merely a little foggy.

Then, at the window, you decided you needed to use the web slingers. You knew this could go extremely wrong, seeing as you obviously hadn’t been bit by a radioactive spider, so your agility, physical build, and pain tolerance were at an all time low in comparison to Ethans, but you remembered how frenzied the boy-hero was— and swung out the window. Time was of essence.

You finnicked with the webs, feeling the cool night chill bite your face, and tried desperately to replicate how Ethan so easily thwipped building to building. You just barely made it into an alley a few blocks away from the party-house, and almost hit your head on a lamp post on the way there, so you knew after this incident you’d never even approach the web-slinger cuffs.

You ran the rest of the way to your apartment, climbed up your fire escape, and shimmied the small gap for Ethan in the glass window open with your foot. After a moment of scanning, you nicked Ethan’s characteristic green canvas bag, and braced yourself to swing once more.

Your web made a slippery connection with the building in front of you - Danny’s apartment - and you swore you saw your life flash before your eyes when you almost fell.

After several moments of climbing down the wall with webs, a situation which closely resembled rock climbing with a rope, you broke into another run, heading to Blackmore University.

You would have felt dead tired by now if not for the adrenaline pumping through you, your anxiety for Ethan up to your ears. That, and maybe the amateur web-slinging that almost killed you, were the only things keeping you upright as you ran around New York.

However, as you made quick shortcuts through other alleys, you heard a familiar cry come out from an approaching block.

“Fucking—“ You heard the boy cry out, heaving, alongside the sounds of an intense scuffle.

Without any acknowledgment of doing so, your body pulled itself to the dimly lit backstreet lane, and you found yourself watching Ethan, partially unmasked, fighting a group of several masked people, weapons and duffle bags of money thrown on the ground. In the distance, you could vaguely hear an alarm — perhaps a banks — beeping on and off.

“E—“ You stopped yourself mid sentence, breath catching in your throat, and when one of the men threatened to grab the pistol lying haphazardly to Ethan’s side, you shot a web at the gun, bringing it to you.

Quickly, you slid the offending weapon away, and did as much as you could to help the still-fighting Ethan. From throwing measly punches of your own, tossing weapons away, or pinning the burglars to the wall with webs, you did it all, until it was just you and Ethan, sitting on the cobblestone, breathing heavily.

He slipped his mask fully back on, and turned to say something to you, obviously seeing your own mask on, as well as your use of his web slingers.

But, then replacing the bank's alarm in your ears, several police sirens could be heard making their way down to the backstreet lane you were occupying.

“We have to go. Can you swing?” you said to Ethan between gasping for air.

“I’m out of web fluid. It - it’ll take too long to refill,” he pointed lazily to the long-forgotten backpack.

“I’ll do it, then,” You said, trying not to show your hesitancy. Before Ethan could voice his own surprise and fear, you wrapped an arm (and several webs, as you knew you could not fully support his built body) around him and shot a thick string of webs at the closest tall building.

“You’re—“ Ethan’s eyes were wide open, “doing it wrong! We’ll— fall!”

“Just—“ you swung to the next building, completely unaware of how terrifying your technique was to an expert, “bare with it! I promise not to - kill us!”

“I’m unsure how - trustworthy - your - words are!”

“Stop - distracting me!” You said, making a close call on a parked garbage truck, before making your last swing to the fire escape window at your apartment.

Thank god the bank was not all the way across the world to your apartment, for you didn’t know how long your poor swinging skills and decent luck would last.

You two entered your room, and you immediately ripped off the white hooded mask you were wearing, taking in fresh bouts of air like a fish entering water. You felt extremely relieved that you two had made it back safe, alive — but Ethan clearly felt differently.

He tore his mask off, rapidly turning to face you. “I thought I told you to leave the bag at Blackmore!” Ethan’s finger was pointed accusingly, “I told you not to find me, for fucks sakes, [Name]!”

“Excuse me?” You said, in shock. “If I hadn’t found you — and I was going to Blackmore, I was taking fucking shortcuts, Landry — if I hadn’t found you, alright, you could be dead right now. You said it yourself, you were out of web-fluid!”

“Not then! I would’ve made it out fine!”

“Is this fine to you?” You gestured to his bloodied state, beaten up and bruised. “What? Were you gonna drag your broken bones up my fire escape, ask me to fix you up again?”

Ethan’s eyebrows creased. He had no answer for your words. “Just— I fucking told you not to fucking find me!”

“Jesus christ, Landry, you are fucking stubborn. I did find you, okay, but not on purpose— I fucking stumbled upon you. So don’t get all up on me for something you did.”

“You didn’t have to help either,” he said viciously, “I have escaped worse situations without your help. I have done this for years without you, okay?”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my god, are you serious right now? I wouldn’t have to help you if you didn’t call me, if you didn’t forget your web fluid, and if you just fucking listened to me and didn’t go on patrol tonight.”

Ethan went silent, digesting your words.

“You know this is your fucking fault, right?”

And as soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You wanted to catch the air and stuff it right back down your throat, undo your harshness, realize how increasingly broken Ethan’s tone was.

Realize how he stared at your cuts and limp, realize how guilty he looked as he asked why you went to find him.

Why you put yourself in danger.

Ethan’s mouth opened and closed, unsure of how to tread further, his anger falling off him in waves, revealing the pain he held underneath.

“Fuck, Ethan, I’m sorry, I—“ you started, but stopped when Ethan looked you in the eye.

“You could’ve died,” he whispered, “and you were - you were swinging and fighting armed men, [Name], I—“

“Ethan, I wanted to. I wanted to help you, it was my own goddamn choice. My own stupid choice.”

“No - no, you were right. I should’ve never called you, I have done this all before, in worse moments, all by myself—“

“That does not mean you should, Ethan. Being alone in this kind of danger is not smart.”

“I’d rather be alone than endanger you.”

“Ethan, I’d rather be endangered than have to lose you.”

You stared deep into eachothers eyes, not unlike the way you did at the beginning of the night. Except this time something had changed, perhaps the way you unearthed your hearts to one another now made it so much easier to breathe, to feel, to do.

But there was still hesitation there. Untread territory and past regrets making things - this - so much harder to make real.

You and Ethan wanted to do so much more, to do all the things you pretended to do, but instead, you wrapped your arms around his broad back and hugged him like there was no tomorrow, like you were the last people on earth before a meteor struck. His arms snaked around your waist similarly, longingly, and terribly grievous.

It felt like connecting broken pieces of a heart together, and though you did not kiss, you felt so equally joined to him like you had. The hug was long and intimate, so close you could smell the dull impression of his cheap cologne from earlier, the lonely heat of your bodies joining to warm you both so completely.

You felt so at home in his touch. You could only wish he felt the same.

(And Ethan did. He melted into you, the only thoughts in his mind being that this felt right.

Somewhere, deep in his mind, where he kept his guilt hidden, he felt he was just going to lose another thing he loved. That this love was futile, fading, the loss inevitable.

But today Ethan wanted to be selfish, breathe you in, and be at peace, even for a second.)

a/n2: no kiss, and not quite to the official relationship yet, folks! but we’re getting there, slowly but surely. have these lovely crumbs for now. though, big milestone: the acknowledgment of mutual love!

taglist: @iloveneilperry @backtotheshitshow @hazehepburn @powowowy @ifilwtmfc @oscarisdaddy69 @al1v3cvp1d2 @bloodyeverything @diamondci1ty @l5bryinth @gojosbucket @volturi-girl-imagines @sflame15-blog @thatoneembarrasingmoment @bajadotcom @cerealzzz @elynka @theapulidooo @solaceinwriting-blog1

(strikethrough: wouldn’t allow me to tag!)

#ethan landry x reader #jack champion #ethan landry #spiderman!ethan landry #jack champion x reader #spiderman x reader #scream 6 #scream vi #marvel #spiderman

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jo6hny · 2 months

Text

Graham - Hazel Callahan

Pairing: College! Hazel Callahan x College! Reader

Contains: FLUFF, idiots in love, but i'm a cheerleader references, friends to lovers

Word Count: 2.16K

Summary: based off this request.

A/N: I kinda don't like this omg. anon please forgive me i tried my best :< i might revisit this fic if i get motivated sooo

────────────────────────────────────────────

The atmosphere of Hazel’s dorm room was cozy. Not because it was small, but because it was home to all of her crazy and wonderful belongings. From your line of sight, you could see her skateboard propped against her drawer which was filled to the brim. Hazel’s room was a reflection of who she was. You could determine what kind of person she is just by looking at the state of her room. The thought made you giggle.

“What are you thinking of?” Hazel asks as she untangles her hold from you. Both of you were laying down on her bed, arms and legs previously tangled.

You shake your head. “It was nothing, really.”

“Tell me.” She muttered, poking your belly over and over again. This elicits laughter from you as the ticklish sensation takes over your senses.

“Alright, okay!” You exclaimed, catching your breath. “I was just thinking about your dorm room.”

She raises her eyebrows at you.

“And what about it?”

“Well,” You start, waving your hands around. “It’s very you.”

Hazel frowns at your admission. She didn’t quite get what you meant by that. You admire her as she contemplates on what to say next. You notice the freckles on her face, how it only appeared in the sunlight. How her hands were bruised. From fixing her skateboard, probably. How her hair looked like it had a life of its own whenever she laid down.

“Anyway,” You interrupt her train of thought. “I have to go.”

The brunette pouts and envelopes you into another hug. She smelled good. Like clean soap and laundry. She wasn’t wearing her signature citrus scented perfume today. This made you appreciate the hug more. You could feel your heart pound against your chest at the feeling of your best friend nuzzling her nose on the crook of your neck.

“Hazel.” You whined, though you weren’t doing anything to let go of her.

The brunette whines in retaliation.

“Fine.” She huffs, loosely letting you go.

You turn to her and envelope her face in your hands.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You ask, your tone of voice sweet and caring.

She nods, her eyes still full of sorrow at your departure.

“Yeah.” She replies, sitting up so that you two were level. “Okay, I lo-”

The brunette stops herself from finishing the sentence. Hazel bites her tongue and feels her heart pounding. She almost slipped up.

“What?” You interrupt, eyebrows furrowing and pulse thumping.

“I’ll text you.” She blurts out, avoiding your gaze. “That’s what I meant.”

You nod, seemingly speechless.

“Okay.”

Hazel gets out of bed and takes your hand to escort you out of her room but not before giving you a hug again.

“Bye, pretty. Text me when you get to your dorms, ‘kay?” She mumbles, nuzzling her nose on the crook of your shoulder as to memorize your scent.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Back at your dorm room, your mind was occupied at Hazel’s almost admittance of her love for you. Well, at least that's what you thought you heard. I mean, how many sentences sound as close to “I love you” anyway? The thought made you feel crazy. It wasn’t like it would be the first time you’ve admitted your love for each other, anyway. Though the declarations of love you two shared was strictly platonic. That is until you both got closer to each other, when the both of you started playing between the lines of friends and lovers.

Nowadays, neither of you uttered the L word. Not when the both of you had feelings on the line. And you weren’t delusional either. You knew that Hazel felt as much for you as you did her. She wasn’t as touchy or as sweet to her other friends as she was with you. No, only you knew about her and saw her at her most vulnerable. This to you was an admittance of her attraction to you. She didn’t need to say it, at least not now. You didn’t want to rush the girl either. It was better that she’d admitted it on her own.

You do admit though, that you’d like to take control of the narrative sometimes. Just confess and have things over with. You dream of what it would be like to stop tiptoeing between the lines. You dream of tasting her lips and you wonder how well they’d fit with yours. You dream of molding your being with hers and finally feeling complete for once in your life. But you respected Hazel’s boundaries. Especially since PJ broke her heart. For now, you could only dream and be satisfied with what you had because something was better than nothing.

Just then, your phone dings and reveals a message from Hazel herself.

Girl Oppenheimer: i miss u already :<

You: I lit rally just left, haze.

Girl Oppenheimer: can’t a girl miss her bestfriend who’s also her almost girl?

Your heart jumps at Hazel’s last message. She was teasing, something that she did often. Both of you would call each other girlfriends and wives but never fully face the exterior of your feelings with each other.

You: no <33

You: now stop bothering me pls i’m busy studying

You weren’t. But you couldn’t keep on talking to her right now. Especially after she called you her girl. It affected you more than it usually would have. Probably because you were deep in your feelings a couple of minutes ago.

Girl Oppenheimer: meanie :< we’re still on for tom tho ryt?

You: ofc!

Girl Oppenheimer: yay!!! see u <33

Throwing your phone across your bed, you sigh. There was no doubt that your heart harbored love for the brunette. Love that was bigger than your heart and deeper than your soul. The desire to be with Hazel was strong and it’s gotten to the point that you’ve tried all sorts of hijinks just for things to get faster. Manifesting, praying, you name it. But at the end of the day, you respect her even if she frustrates the shit out of you sometimes.

The next day went by smoothly, much to your delight. You’d thought that the day would have been difficult seeing as how you felt lethargic after all the overthinking last night. Lucky for you though, the day was too busy and you didn’t have the time to think about yours and Hazel’s complicated relationship. That is until the time for you two to meet came. It’s supposed to be just a regular hangout. Nothing special. Well, it was special to you because it meant hanging around your “lover”. You and Hazel have this thing where you pick out the dumbest and campiest movies on whatever streaming platform and spend the day just laughing. It was a simple movie night shared between good friends.

Tonight, the both of you settled on watching “But I’m A Cheerleader”, a lesbian cult classic. The both of you watched this movie countless times before but never got tired of it. Safe to say that it’s a shared favorite between the two of you. Aside from this, you also loved teasing Hazel and how she looked a lot like Clea Duvall’s character, Graham. Except that Graham was way cooler than Hazel.

“I'm Graham, and I like girls, a lot.”

“Hey, it’s you.” You teased Hazel as Graham appeared on the screen.

“I do not look like her!” She protested, bumping her shoulder against yours. The two of you were huddled on her tiny dorm bed, with her laptop on your laps. Snacks were already eaten before the movie even started. This was how it usually went between you two. It was like a tradition.

“Hey. Clea Duvall is hot. Why are you so offended?” You reply, bumping her back. Hazel looks at you with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Do you think I'm hot?” She retaliates, moving her face closer to yours. She didn’t know where she got the confidence to do such a thing but watching Graham’s character be all confident and cocky had her thinking that if she acted the same, things would progress better between the two of you.

Hazel blames herself for many things. Fucking her relationship up with PJ (not that she wanted her back), crashing her car on a tree, and being such a slowpoke when it came to your relationship. It wasn’t like she didn’t want you. She did, badly. But she’d made the mistake of telling you all about how hard it was to move on from her ex and it scared you away. On top of that, she also hates how awkward and dorky she can get whenever she senses you making a move on her. Which is why she’s decided that tonight was the night. No more dancing around. Tonight she wasn’t Hazel Callahan, she was Graham and she would make her yours. Or at least try to.

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, suddenly feeling flustered.

Hazel took this as an opportunity to wrap her arms around you and pull you closer to her.

The brunette shrugs. “Nothing, I just..wanted to know if you found me hot?”

You scoff.

“Of course I do.” You mumble, barely audible.

“I-I find you hot too.” Hazel stutters. She wanted the ground to eat her up right then and there. That was so uncool of her.

You giggle at her failed attempt at being Graham-like.

“You know I don’t mean it when I say that you’re like Graham, right?”

The blue eyed girl shrugs. Her cheeks are heating up as she feels your hand fiddling with your hair. This was something you did when you were deep in thought.

“Okay,” You add, wrapping your arms around Hazel as well so that both of you were in a hug. “Well, I think you’re cooler than her and I like you better.”

“You like me?”

Giving her a smile, you reply. “Of course I do.”

“No, like..” She interjects, trying to make her point across. “Like like”

“Like like?” You answer, heart beating louder than usual. This was it. The both of you are being forced to face the music. Lesbian romcom in the background ignored.

The brunette nods. Mouth unable to conjure up words. The last of her confidence was long gone, but she wanted you more than ever. She was tired of feeling so scared. She was tired of not loving you with her whole heart. She wanted to be able to scream out how much she loved you without shame. Hazel knew in her heart that she’s fully capable of loving you now more than ever.

You smile at your lover and scoot closer as you plant a soft kiss on her cheek.

“I love you.” You whisper, staring into her blue eyes. There was no turning back from this. The friendship you cultivated for years is gone as you bare your heart.

One breath and then two breaths and then three. Your words seemed to hang in the air around the both of you.

“You don’t have to say it back, though!” You exclaim, flailing your arms around. Fearing that a mistake has been made, you scoot away from Hazel which made her scoot closer to you.

“No!” She interjects, pulling you closer. “I love you too!”

“What?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed. “No you don’t. What?”

“What?”

You shake your head as if to restart your mind and rid it of the jumbled words forming.

“I mean, you do? I just can’t believe it is all.”

Hazel nods, she seemed lost in whatever was happening. You felt the need to clear things up but you were lost too. This wasn’t how you envisioned things to be. Not in her dorm room, not with a stupid movie in the background playing, and certainly not with all the awkwardness. You’d envisioned things to have been more romantic; put together. But then again, the situation perfectly encapsulates Hazel and you. Awkward, weird, but ultimately charming.

“I do.” She replies, hugging you tighter. “And I’m sure of it. Just in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t…but thanks?” You wrap your arms back around her. The two of you are closer than ever and it feels just right.

“It’s just,” She starts, racking her brain for what to say. “I know we’ve been having this weird situation and I wanted you to know that I’m completely over my ex and that I’m not stringing you along or anything like that and that my feeling for you is-”

You cut her off, lips on hers. She tasted sweet, like the candy she ate before the movie started. And her lips were soft and plush. You couldn’t get enough and it seemed like she didn’t either. The movie was long forgotten as the both of you exchanged the enthusiasm of liplocking.

“I love you.” Hazel said for extra measure.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “I love you too, Haze.”

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tags: @academiareid @fictionalgap

#can you tell that i'm a pjhazel hater #no i will not elaborate #bottoms 2023 #hazel bottoms #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #bottoms imagine #bottoms movie #hazel callahan fanfiction #hazel callahan imagine #fanfic #lgbtq

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luveline · 2 years

Text

losers and the supernatural | steve harrington x reader

summary Steve has a theory about Hawkins being divided into two subsets. You try to work out where you fit within that. [4.5k]

warnings fluff, getting together, confessions, first kiss, mutual pining, pre-s4, no major s4 plot spoilers, gn!reader, shy!reader

Steve isn't how you remember.

In school you'd thought he was a bit of a jerk. A hot jerk with stupid nice hair, but a jerk. It's a surprise to see him uninjured for once, remembering the bruise that had covered his face during your last year of school, a bouquet of yellows and purples, and another surprise to see him at all behind the desk at Family Video.

"Hey," he says, at first sounding hesitant and then with a little more of his familiar bravado, "Y/N, how's it going?"

He leans over the desk on his elbows. You flounder – you hadn't expected to see him.

"Hi." You pull your strappy bag closer to your chest.

"What are you looking for?"

You can feel the heat rising in your cheek, distracted by him. He's more attractive than you remember, his big hand scrubbing over the bottom of his face as he waits patiently for your answer. You've never been good with people, with anyone housing a drop of popularity. You'd depended on weird Keith being here to get through a human interaction without sweating.

"Do you guys have Dressed to Kill?" you ask quietly.

"Sure thing. You want me to get it?"

You nod, chancing a glance at him. He's watching your hands where they abuse the hem of your shirt. You let them fall to your sides.

Steve rounds the desk and starts to where the tape must be hiding, stopping a foot away and making a small motion with his hand for you to follow so you do, the distance between you closing fast.

He smells of a musky cologne, bergamot and citrus hiding under a heavier smell, like sage or lavender, maybe both. It's distracting. You're still breathing him in when he pulls the movie down from its shelf and offers it to you.

The box has a pair of long legs and red heels. It looks pretty provocative. Your hands tremble as you take it from him, your embarrassment rising.

"That the one?"

"I- yeah. Thank you."

"You're welcome." A small silence. "You didn't start college in the fall?"

"No. S'expensive. I'm not, uh, scholarship smart."

He snorts. "Me neither. I haven't seen you around, I thought for sure you would've ditched Hawkins 'soon as school let up."

You tilt your head to the side and smile at him in reflex, confused. "Really?"

"Hundred percent. Are you kidding? Hawkins is full of losers." He shifts and you try desperately to maintain friendly eye contact, only he's crossed his arms and you can see the line of his forearm, the curve of muscle. "Losers and, like, the supernatural." He seems to have said something he didn't want to say, a nervous, lopsided small stretching over his lips. He scratches his cheek. "I'm pretty sure I saw a vampire last week but Robin won't hear it, she says it's just Keith lingering after his shift."

A laugh bubbles out of you, startled at his sense of humour. Keith does look like a vampire. Steve laughs too and smiles at you, something you don't know in the way his eyes darken and his lashes kiss in the corners.

"And Robin, is that your girlfriend?" you ask. Purely conversational, of course.

"No," he says quickly, taking a small step away from you as he shakes his head. "She's my best friend. She works here, when she's not sick."

"Oh. Sorry."

"C'mon, don't be. Do you have a boyfriend?" And, at your giggling, "What, is that funny?" His voice is warm with a light amusement.

"No, I’m not dating anyone."

"Thank god," he says.

You flush from head to toe.

He's smiling and suddenly not, hands flinching towards you. "Not like that- I mean, not not like that- what I meant was, uh, what I said. Losers and the supernatural, you know?"

You don't have a clue what he means and don't know if he's flirting or socially inept as you are, but you know what it's like to bumble around awkwardly and hope the other person will save you.

"Losers and the supernatural," you agree. "Which one are you?"

"A loser," he says, with a huge smile. "Definitely."

You'd paid for the movie and Steve had chatted with you a little bit more, kind and awkward but still undeniably Steve Harrington. He'd spoken offhandedly, said, "You'll have to tell me how the movie is," as you'd been leaving.

It followed you all week. You'd gone home and watched Dressed to Kill that night, then spent days agonising over how to summarise it in a way he would find cool. You knew it was stupid, it was literally his job to be friendly, but you really wanted to impress him.

That in itself felt weird to you. You never expected to feel like this but you knew the feelings you were experiencing marked the beginning of a crush. You couldn't help thinking about the sound of his voice, the earnestness of it. Worse, you were plagued with memories of his shirt sleeves, how they stretched over his bicep as he filled your details into the computer at the front desk, shifting muscle under tan skin.

You hesitated outside of Family Video to check your hair in the window. Through it, you could see that the desk was empty.

You edged open the door slowly and slipped inside making your way to the desk and peering around. Nobody was there, though you heard voices a second later.

Steve, undeniably. "If you could have, like, a modicum of compassion for me, that would be-"

"Modicum. What, have you been reading the fucking dictionary?"

"Says you! You realise normal people don't use the word capricious in everyday chitchat, right? Tell me you know that, Robs."

"And what use is compassion? You're a sinking ship. Crying about it doesn't unsink the Titanic."

"One, that was a tragedy, so get some class. Two, it's not sunk. I fumbled the ball a bit, but it's hardly time to call it quits." A crashing sound and a groan that sets you alight. "Oh, fuck."

Robin laughs very loudly. You could imagine her pointing at him as she does, the sound condescending. "Idiot."

"You're a bad friend."

"Steve," Robin sighs, "maybe the Titanic wasn't the best analogy. And I do feel sorry for you, you're pathetic-"

"Thanks so much."

"-but that doesn't mean it's over. They live in Hawkins. Their options are pretty limited."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence," he says, monotone.

You think maybe it's too late to pretend you aren't here and definitely too late to announce yourself so you don't do either. You pull your headphones from your bag and click play on your cassette and when the Family Video employees finally emerge you take them off like you've been listening to music the whole time.

"Y/N," Steve says, sounding antsy. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Not long," you say. You're being too quiet.

Steve doesn't seem to care. Robin smiles at you, looking almost as deer-in-the-headlights as her colleague but hiding it better.

"I'm gonna go… finish… that thing we were doing. Yep," she says, fleeing to the back room.

Your headphones around your neck, the metallic sounds of Tears for Fears' Songs from the Big Chair, you give the King of Hawkins High a cautious but honest smile. You worry you might pass out when he returns it.

"So? Did you like the movie?" he asks.

You turn to your bag and pull the tape out where it had fit rather snugly. "It was okay. I don't know, I-" you wince. "I wanted to say something cool but, I'm not very good with movies." Your voice rises in pitch as you go.

You hold the tape out. Steve takes it but doesn't take it, both of you with one hand on the box. You almost feel like you've been shocked, staring down at his fingers, his knuckles and his class ring.

"I'm not great with movies, either," he confides. "I know what you're thinking – this jagoff works at Family Video but doesn't know what makes a movie good? What are they paying him for?" he acts out dramatically, a smirk playing on his handsome features as he accepts your tape.

You laugh and he fails to hide a smile as he logs your return.

"What do they pay you for, then?" you ask.

"What do you think? My good looks and charm, duh."

"Here I thought it was for the hair."

His eyes light up. "They should be! You know how much hairspray it takes to style this thing?"

"I can't imagine," you joke with him.

"You don't want to. I'm gonna have to remortgage the house if this carries on."

You hum under your breath and lean across the desk just as the tape switches. Head over Heels plays loudly, your hands inching towards his unthinkingly.

"What are you listening to?" he asks, nodding his head to your headphones.

They're a cheap set with orange foam pads. You pull them over your head and offer them to him bashfully. He's much more confident as he accepts them, pushing them over his hair. You delight in his enthusiasm, at odds with Steve from three years ago, who would've died rather than ruin his immaculate updo, who might not have even looked your way.

He bobs his head along to the song, looking to you as the chorus builds. His lips form a satisfied 'o' and he leans backwards. "Hey," he says, too loud, "this is awesome. What's this song called?"

"Head over Heels," you say, hoping he can read your lips if he can't hear you.

He peels the headset from his ears and gives them back to you, fingertips brushing yours. Pinpricks of heat crawl over your skin.

"Head over Heels?" You nod. "You might not know movies but your music taste is pretty stellar."

"Thanks," you murmur, shy at his praise.

"You ever been upto Indianapolis? They have a lot of live music there."

You rush to answer. "Yes, yeah! Freshman year, AC/DC played the Market Square arena, it was amazing. I've never seen so many people in one place. It felt like all of Hawkins could've fit in there."

"AC/DC? You like rock music?"

If he'd asked a different way you might've lied. He didn't sound judgemental or surprised, only interested.

Your shoulders hike anyway as you answer. "Yeah, I do. More when I was in High School."

"You're cool, Y/N L/N," he says, palms braced on the desk.

You squeeze the headphones in your hands and try not to show how affected you are. "I'm not."

"You are. Too cool for Hawkins."

"Losers and the supernatural," you recall.

His grin is dizzying. "Exactly."

You can't take the intensity of it, of how bright his smile is and how it makes you nervous. You look away from him, eyes scanning the shelves, some half-stocked.

"You caught us on a Monday. Quietest day, so we're rearranging. Or, we should be."

"I'm sorry! Am I keeping you?" You turn back to him quickly.

Steve crosses his arms. "No way. Like I said, quietest day. You're the best part of my week."

He probably doesn't mean it the way you think he does, or if he does he's only joking, you argue with yourself.

He's watching you. "You want help finding another movie?"

He's around the desk and at your side before you can say yes, smelling strongly of that bergamot musk. You sink a little bit further, reckoning that Robin's Titanic analogy was spot on.

Six visits to Family Video later, you're thinking about returning a movie Steve has picked out for you – Sixteen Candles, which you've already seen but lied about so you can listen to him sell it – when you run into him at Bradley's Big Buy.

A cart full of groceries, you feel shocked and then silly. Of course he buys groceries. Everybody buys groceries, and it's imperative that you hide from him in your own grocery outfit - jeans and a paint speckled t-shirt from your Hawkins High days, a gym shirt with your name written across the front in teenage handwriting.

You're so busy hiding you don't hear him approach.

"Hey, Y/N," he says.

You bring your basket to your chest in hopes of hiding your shirt. It doesn't work.

"Nice shirt."

You grimace, about to explain how it's wash day and you don't always dress like an idiot, you swear, but he starts to pull up his hoodie.

You go a bit blind at first, eyes searching the expanse of midriff he exposes greedily moments before he finds the hem of his shirt and pulls it down for you to see. A Hawkins High gym shirt.

"Oh my god," you say.

"Funny coincidence," he says, dropping his hoodie back down. "It looks better on you."

You can't look at him, shy again from his flirting remarks. Your eyes are drawn to his groceries. It's funny how stereotypical it is, TV dinners and chips, ice cream, moon cakes. You raise your brows at him and laugh. His eyes go wide as saucers.

"We're having a movie night. Me and Robin. I swear, I eat like a normal dude. Mostly. Some of the time."

"No, I, I'm not judging. I'm not much better," you say, brandishing your basket at him. Slightly healthier but with a similar abundance of chips.

You go to talk at the same time, eager.

"What movie are you watching?"

"We're renting Alien."

He chuckles and you scratch at your collar.

"You ever seen it?" he asks.

"No, I can't watch scary movies by myself."

"It's… do you maybe wanna come?"

You end up in the passenger seat of Steve's 733i, abashed because you're badly dressed and because he invited you. Heart racing, you take the opportunity to admire his face when he can't see you, his eyes on the road as he drives from Bradley's. It's getting dark, the asphalt slowly blending with the sky as kilometres disappear under the BMW's tyres

"You're sure Robin won't mind?" you ask.

Steve glances at you. "Sure. She gets, like, acute verbal diarrhea around new people but she's the nicest girl I've ever met."

"She wasn't in our classes, was she?"

"No. Robin's still a senior. We met working at Starcourt."

Starcourt is a hard topic to navigate. People died. You decide to manoeuvre around it. "It's lucky you can work together again."

"It's not luck. She made me take a movie crash course before we applied, and when Keith didn't seem so taken with me she convinced him."

"She must really like you, Harrington."

He looks very thoughtful, inclining his head towards you though he doesn't turn, eyes on the road diligently. "She's a really good friend. I liked her…" he grasps for words, "as more than a friend. But she didn't like me back."

"I'm sorry," you say.

You can't mistake the look he gives you when he does turn, quick but undeniable. "Don't be," he says seriously, his eyes searching as they take in your face. "It never would've worked between us."

You smile at your knees. "No?"

"Nope," he confirms.

You infer something ridiculous; that it couldn't have worked because he seems to like you.

You pull up outside his house and find Robin waiting on the stoop.

"Where have you been? It's about two degrees from the ninth circle out here! I'm at risk of pneumonia."

"The ninth circle?" you ask Steve quietly, trudging down the driveway besides him.

"It's from that book, Dante's Inferno?" he tells you gently. "Slow your roll, Buckley! I was getting the goods."

Robin sees you, looks between you and Steve with wide eyes, and gifts you an uneasy smile, enigmatic in its awkwardness.

"Hi."

"Hi," you say back, wishing you'd worn a jacket.

"When you say goods, I trust you mean candy, right? Not just your- L/N," she finishes, cringing.

You don't know what she meant to say. Steve reaches between you in what you know is the first time he's ever touched you to squeeze your arm lightly before he pulls his keys from his pocket to unlock the door.

"Yeah, I got your candy. You're eating me out of house and home," he scolds.

Your ears are roaring so loud you almost miss her reply. "I'd need to eat more than a bowl of chips to do that, Steve. You live in a mansion, in case you forgot."

He scoffs. "Shut up."

The door opens. Steve dumps the bag of groceries swinging from the crook of his arm at the threshold to toe out of his shoes and jacket and you follow suit, embarrassed further by your mismatched ankle socks.

Robin gives you a look that says, get a load of this guy. "We're not all living it large. Some of us have, like, a wardrobe for a bedroom."

"Buckley."

She holds her hands up in surrender. "Just saying. I don't think your enabling of my sweet tooth is gonna put you out."

Steve gives you a look of his own as you follow Robin into the Harrington living room. He rolls his eyes good naturedly at her and you press your lips together to stop from laughing as he flicks on the lights and puts the tape in the TV. You stand awkwardly in the doorway as Robin throws herself down onto the sofa, a pint of melting ice cream in her hand.

"Steve, get the spoons?" she asks hopefully.

Steve sighs, a noise only the long-suffering can make.

"Hey," he says as he walks past, shoulder almost touching yours, the gap filled with a white hot electricity you're sure he must feel too. "Go sit down, make yourself comfortable."

You sit at the opposite end from Robin. She's already wriggling down onto her back, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table in a practised routine.

She turns her head slowly, like she can feel your gaze, and scrambles to fill the silence.

"Steve really likes you, you know?" she says, then something goes dead behind her eyes. She mumbles to herself, then grimaces at you with two rows of perfect teeth. "He thinks you're cool. I think you're cool too, obviously, too cool for Steve."

"Steve is cool," you deny without any real heat.

"Are you kidding? Steve is the opposite of cool. He cries at the end of every movie, he keeps his Scoops uniform at the bottom of his closet. He wears a shower cap."

You shake your head at her. Those are the kind of things that make him cool.

She rolls her head forward and shrugs, slinking down even further with the ice cream balanced on her chest. The movie previews can't be far from over as Steve returns with two spoons, passing one to Robin and one to you.

"It's your loss," Robin says as Steve sits in the middle of the couch and passes you the second pint of ice cream. She says it softly, like she knows it's not a loss at all.

"Steve, what about-" you, you try to say.

"You have it. I don't like rocky road," he interrupts encouragingly.

You peek at Robin and she's shaking her head vehemently, as if to say, that's not true. When Steve turns to her she acts as if nothing happened.

The movie plays. Robin makes quick work of her ice cream, an entire bag of chips and upwards of three moon cakes. You're in awe, your attention captured by her rather than the film. Steve has slowly deflated next to you, his arm brushing yours, the fabric of his hoodie soft against your bare skin.

You flinch as the alien baby bursts from Kane's chest on screen, edging closer to Steve without meaning to. He pushes his shoulder into yours, chin dipping back. "Oh, gross," he says excitedly.

"How do they make the corn syrup blood look so real?" you ask quietly.

"They must dye it with something. The chunks of his chest, that's disgusting."

Robin agrees, evidently, because she throws a hand over her mouth and leaps to her feet. You and Steve hear the firm click of the bathroom door and the awful echo of her retching as she loses her snack feast.

"Fuck, I'll go check on her. Pause the movie?" he asks. You nod. He clasps your shoulder thankfully and leaves the room.

Steve returns a little while later. You're ramrod straight on the edge of his couch, hand on your shoulder trying to feel where he'd just touched you, though you quickly stop. He throws himself down next to you roughly, his thigh to your thigh and sinking down. You lean over him.

"What happened?"

"She ate too much and Kane's explosion messed her up. Gonna sleep it off upstairs."

"But she's okay?" you ask, concerned.

He raises a hand like he's going to touch your face but thinks better of it. It falls to his chest. "She's fine. Don't worry, I set her up with a bucket and Rocky Horror."

"You have a TV in your room?"

Steve chuckles. "That's what you got from all that?"

"Robin's right. You're loaded."

"I'm not loaded. My dad's pretty comfortable." He pouts just slightly. "You wanna finish the movie?"

"Yeah."

You pass him the remote and he dutifully unpauses. It plays for only a few minutes before you want to talk to him again.

"Would you kill the baby alien?" you ask.

"Definitely."

"It's a baby." .

He looks at you skeptically. "A baby that's gonna grow up. Trust me, it might look cute when it's not eating through your diaphragm, but that's what it wants you to think. Soon enough it'll be the size of a city rat and murdering your house pets."

"You sound like you have experience with this."

You think it's cute, how passionate he sounds, his enthused hypothetical. Steve ruffles his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly, his watch strap tugging at soft strands. He hisses and you reach forward to untangle a piece of hair from the clasp, holding very still as you do, your fingers methodical. You flatten his hair, combing the mess back into place.

"Thanks," he says slowly, his eyes on your lips.

You lower your trembling hand. "Don't mention it."

The two of you turn resolutely to the TV. Your face burns, your chest burns worse, and you demean yourself for thinking that Steve might kiss you.

"Robin said-" you start.

"I was wondering-" Steve tries simultaneously.

"You go," you tell him.

He narrows his eyes.

"What did Robin tell you?" Steve asks. You bite your lips until he sighs, faux forlorn. "I was only wondering… I mean. This might be a bad time to ask, but I wanted to ask you out on a date."

"A date?" you repeat, looking for a response and coming up empty.

"Right, like. Dinner? Enzo's." Your eyes blow wide and he scrambles, "Or not! We can go anywhere. Fucking McDonald's, if you wanted."

"Robin said you liked me," you say, breathless.

"Yeah, well she's a snake," he says snarkily.

"You like me?" you ask. Maybe it's not tasteful to beg for a confession, but you need to know.

"I did just ask you on a date."

You sit back and Steve gets up from his slouching.

"You're, like, the coolest person I've ever met. You're adorable, and you have a killer taste in music."

You've forgotten how to speak. Steve takes this the wrong way, brown hair falling into his eyes, the light from the TV painting his skin a pale green, then blown white like a photograph with the exposure too high.

"I get it, if you don't want to. I work at Family Video, I flunked school. I couldn't get into community college, so I-" he presses his lips together, his tone light, "I'm a total loser," he says, "oh my god. And I'm still talking."

"Steve," you say, pressing your palm into his thigh to gather his attention. "You're not a loser."

"I'm not the supernatural," he says.

"I don't know. You could be a vampire," you tease. "And anyways, this mould you've built for Hawkins is insane. Loser, supernatural. Which one would I be?" you ask curiously, fingers flexing over his thigh.

He covers your hand with his. You both look down to watch as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, then wraps his fingers around yours.

"Supernatural," he says, too smug, you know he's about to say something corny. "There's something supernatural about those eyes, baby."

You laugh so hard it catches you off guard, choking on them. "What! Steve, how long have you been holding onto that one?"

"I just thought of it," he says.

"I can tell! That was awful, you really-"

"Can I kiss you?"

Your giggles fade. Your heart rockets in your chest. Steve's free hand finds your arm, teasing the hem of your sleeve, his eyes watching you carefully. They're so brown his pupils melt into the irises.

"Please?" he asks.

You nod without saying anything.

His long fingers push under your sleeve, spread out across your skin. He warms where he touches, squeezing the dough of your arm gently as he pulls you closer. His now familiar cologne hits you all at once and you're filled with a want to be closer, ducking in as he closes the gap between you and kisses you sweetly.

You steal your hand from under his to reach for him, hands smoothing over the hill and curve of his shoulders to meet behind his neck, brushing through his downy soft hair.

Steve covets your face, lips lifting away to realign and reignite a wave of firecrackers under your skin, firm as his lips part ever so slightly. He tastes like soda. It makes you giggle, a huff against his smiling lips.

He pulls away, the bottom of his palm touching your jaw but his fingers hovering over your skin, stroking the skin under your eye with the tip of his index finger so lightly it tickles.

Your eyes drift closed as he brushes against your eyelashes.

"You're really pretty," he murmurs.

He takes your face in both hands and kisses the well under your eye. You hold your breath, tummy churning with butterflies at the feeling of his warm lips on your delicate skin.

When he pulls away you're quick to take back your hands. He's less so, one big palm cupping your neck and the other rubbing a line down your arm until he finds your fingers, twining them together with his as he gives you what must be a cheek-aching smile.

"I think I'd like to go to Enzo's," you say shyly.

"Yeah?" he asks, leaning back in.

"Yeah," you say, your response quickly smothered by his lips.

You can feel his smile.

You were right about Steve being a vampire – you find out soon enough that he likes to bite. Your lips, gently, and your neck, less so.

thanks for reading! | my masterlist | my requests are open

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve and robin best duo

6K notes · View notes

romanoffsbish · 8 months

Text

Tension

Natasha Romanoff x afab Reader (no gendered pronouns used) | WC: 1,429

Mutual pining amongst besties is lame, you should fuck them senseless instead.

Smut: Accidental-NonCon Thigh Riding (N) | Oral — 69-ing | Fingering (R) | Promised Overstimulation.

A whimper fell from your lips along with your bag from your shoulder, it caught the attention of a particular redhead and piqued her interest over to the grand front door where you stood.

"What's wrong moya lyubov'?" Natasha, your best friend—who was madly in love with you—immediately asked as she walked up to you with nothing short of concern written in the creases of her downturned face. Her hands fell on your shoulder and her spoken question was wordlessly answered. "Oh, aren't you tense..."

——

Natasha saw the exhaustion in your eyes, you pursed your lips to speak, likely something sarcastic to combat her tease, but all you could muster was another pitiful whimper that brushed the puff of air across her face.

The redhead nodded her understanding then pulled your body against hers from the side so that she could guide you to her readied room. Of course she knew you were back today, it's why she was sat in the compounds living area.

What happened next was a well practiced dance, you undressed in privacy as she got whatever oil you wanted, today you chose the citrus one—you knew it was her favorite.

The redhead sent you a warm smile as you laid down, allowing the sheet around your waist to fall and give Natasha a glimpse of your side boob, just enough to distract her momentarily. Then she’s back to the task at hand, assessing the damage, then offering her special massage.

"Oh honey..." Natasha coo'd in sympathy as she took in the battered expanse of your back. New superficial cuts and bruises provided obstacles for her promised ministration's. The redhead placed friendly kisses to each one like she did every time. Once you'd asked her why, and she giggled to cover up her apprehension to speak. She'd joked that it was a protective layer so that her kneading hands didn't hurt you.

It had oddly worked. Natasha teased it as the placebo effect, but you knew it was because her lips made your entire body tingle with desire.

With just as clueless as you were to her infatuation with you, she was not fairing any better with her lack of sight of the mutuality.

Every longing glance you sent her way went unseen as she tried not to stare at you for the millionth time that morning. The way you clung to her during your weekly movie nights that always ended in accidental sleepovers went unfelt as she slept soundly beside you.

Each time you woke up first and reluctantly let her go so as to not upset her with clinginess, and every time you did you missed the frown on her face as she woke up all alone again.

Unspoken desires were all you two shared, and that cloaked all of your sweetest moments.

Natasha wanted you in every sense, her mind lost in the hope of it all, and it remained in the dreamy headspace as she began to mend you.

With each stretch of her upper body, as she slid her firm hands up and down your back with the entire use of her abs, her cunt would beat as it pressed against the smooth skin of your thigh. It was a shock you didn’t feel her slick seeping through her shorts, she didn’t feel it either.

Not at first anyways, Natasha did her best to keep her breath even as she realized, but then you moaned in thanks for her skilled hands kneading and she came in her thin bottoms.

It was mindless—completely unintentional; Natasha hadn't realized until it was too late.

You felt her hot, steamy breath shudder against the side of your neck and the relieved tension in your body manifested itself once more. It was only then that you could feel a warmth on the back of your thigh, and you gasped softly.

"Natasha..." Your voice a soft squeak as you couldn't contain your shock. "I-I'm sorry."

Natasha could feel your body tense against hers and she felt tears brim her eyes as she pictured just how disgusted with her you likely were. Her body got lost in sinful desires, and ran way too far ahead of itself, and now's likely ruined everything. In a flash she was shimmying off of your body and a loud thump followed as she not so gracefully fell onto the hardwood floor.

You watched in horror as she moved to leave.

"Wait!" You slid to the end of the bed and put a hand on her shoulder, spinning her to face you. Natasha's cheeks burned red from not only her sobbing but the sight of your bareness up close. "Please Y/N, I-I'm sorry, but I can't face this."

"You don't run from anything," you sadly sighed, "So why are you running away from me?" You pointed at your chest, then to hers. "From this?" Natasha gulped dryly, "This?"

You nodded and smiled unsurely. "Yes. Us."

With a surge of confidence Natasha pressed her clothed chest to your bareness. Her plump lips merely a breath away as she whispered: "Can I kiss you like I've wanted to for years?"

"You can do more than that," you whispered with a deep, sultry grin that she felt spread against her cheeks. "You can make me yours."

Natasha's lips immediately suctioned to the skin of your neck as she needed to mark you. You'd huffed angrily as she'd left you hanging, she tauntingly smirked against your skin and you rolled your eyes before your knees buckled as she hungrily bit into the skin of your breasts.

"Ride my face," you croaked out suddenly, her sultry tongue had just stopped at the hem of your panties, she was a lick away from making you hers officially by having you screaming and writhing. Then you were interrupting her as she'd breathed you in. "Please Natasha, I want to taste you too, don't leave me with nothing."

Natasha scoffed, as if the mind blowing orgasm she was about to give you was not enough. Still, she complied as she rid her body of any article before she ripped your remaining panties to shreds. Then she teasingly shook her plump ass in front of you, you groaned in need just as she dropped her slicked lips onto your tongue.

The vibrations perfectly rumbled against her cunt in it's entirety, her raised body shivered and you were rewarded as her arousal dripped onto your face, her essence filling your nostrils as your nose prodded at her entrance. Natasha fell forward and into your cunt as your tongue swirled over her clit before you shifted her up and pressed your tongue deep within her heat.

With her neck craned, and hands gripping the skin of your thighs for balance, as well as to keep you spread open, her tongue slid up and down your slit in a hurried motion. Natasha was instantly hooked on your taste, if not for the pleasure she was deriving from your own tongue she'd already be buried within you.

Instead she continued to gyrate her hips back, fucking your face without regard for your need to breathe as two of her slender fingers slid into your welcoming heat, rapidly thrusting in and out of you, combining perfectly with her tongues attempts to finish off your suffocation.

Natasha was going to be the cause of your death, you were sure of it as your heart beat in your ears as all the oxygen in your lungs fled. You moaned the last of you against her clit and she drowned your face and filled your mouth with her sweet as can be arousal. Your figure shook beneath hers as your orgasm raced throughout your body. Lighting your every nerve on fire as you gushed around her fingers.

Natasha rolled off of your figure acrobatically, her fingers never left you as she contorted her body to be facing your cunt from the end of the bed. You'd felt her fingers swirl and prod at your sensitive walls but you simply laid there perplexed on how she'd managed to do it.

The widow winked up at you, then held deep eye contact with you as she replaced her fingers with her tongue. Slurping her reward down directly from its glorious source, preventing it from seeping into her sheets instead as she happily worked your body up even further.

Honestly, you'd be lucky if she'd ever let you see the daylight again. The orphan had finally found a home, and it was between your thighs.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #gxg #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha x you #natasha x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfiction

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ddejavvu · 9 months

Note

god that weird crossover episode with the beyond borders spinoff,,, when hotch is chasing that guy through the crowded markets can you imagine being an extra and having thomas gibson grab your arm to stable himself as he runs past you i'd pass away

sorry i know you weren't requesting this and of course this isn't about thomas it's a hotch blurb but i literally could not resist writing it so here you go lovey you are so right i'd have toppled over <3333

You think it's rather rude that the man rushing through the marketplace uses you to stabilize himself as he turns a sharp corner. His arm juts out quickly to push against your shoulder, giving himself your side to lean on, but it means that the bag of fruit you'd been gathering to pay for hits the side of the table as you sway into it, and the paper tears at the sharp intrusion. Your bag splits, and you watch defeatedly as all of the produce you'd gathered tumbles to the dirty ground.

You're nothing but astounded, well aware that the police chase should have you more on edge, but completely bewildered and shock-stricken. All you can do is lift your head to watch the man run off, and he notices the damage he'd caused as he turns to throw a haphazard 'sorry!' over his shoulder at you.

He's still running but he staggers a step, torn between the chase he's engaged in and helping you. The business side of his brain starts working first, and he dashes away with barely a second's hesitation, but you'd seen guilt in his eyes that almost made up for your fallen fruit.

The crowd is keen on dispersing as the chase continues beyond you, but you don't care. They're not coming back, it would be foolish of the criminal they're after to circle back, and you kneel to collect the produce you'd lost in the chaos.

You hear the roar of engines as you try collecting the mangoes you'd dropped, now bruised and grimy. A nearby fruit stand had collapsed, the next on your list to shop at, and it's difficult to tell what's what as the fruit rolls and mingles together.

The shopkeepers congregate to join your cause, but where you're gathering the fruit in the front of your skirt, they're scooping it back into crates that had tipped wayward. You've got shorts beneath your flowy skirt that mean you can use it as an apron instead, and before long you're nearly finished re-shopping through the mess on the ground.

"Here," A deep voice comes from above you, and you jerk your head to the side to find the man that had bumped into you only seconds before. Evidently, the chase was over, but you're not sure the outcome. He's panting, chest heaving hard from running as much as he did, but he's holding out a jacket towards you, one that he's tied into a makeshift satchel.

"I'm sorry," He pants, kneeling beside you on the concrete to help scoop produce into the jacket, "I didn't mean to ruin your bag. I had to catch that man, I'm sorry I couldn't stop to help."

"It's alright," You try to keep sourness out of your voice even if you are handling citrus fruits, begrudging towards the man for nearly knocking you down but grateful that he's stopped by to fix things, "I suppose police chases are always that chaotic.

"Yeah," He breathes, still exhaling heavily as he cracks a smile at you. His hairline is beaded with sweat, and it's really rather distracting, so you try averting your eyes lest your mind wander.

"I'll buy you a new bag," He helps you stand, hauling the fruit from his tied jacket onto the righted table and motioning at another stall across the way, "They sell them, I'll be right back. Color?"

"Oh, I-" You stammer, seizing up on the spot, "Um- anything's fine."

"Alright," He's rushing off to the stall while pulling his wallet out without further hesitation, and you wonder if he always moves this fast.

You ring up the produce you want to buy with the cashier, who's quick on her feet to recover from the shock of the chase. Other vendors aren't as lucky, but you're done with your shopping after this.

"Here," The man comes back, still panting slightly, as he extends a white tote bag made just across the way.

"It matches your skirt," He smiles kindly at you, and okay, you might forgive the guy.

"Thank you," You gush, taking the bag from him and nodding when the woman tells you your total. You focus on the fruit first, scooping it gently into your new bag, and the man takes it as an opportunity to pull out his wallet again.

"Here-" He starts, but you catch him before he can pay for your food.

"It's alright!"

"No, I insist," He succeeds in handing his cash to the woman, who doesn't really look like she cares how she gets paid, just that she does, "I almost tackled you, the least I can do is pay for the fruit I knocked all over the floor."

"Thank you," You grin at him when the transaction is complete, and the stall owner flocks to help another across the way. You're alone now, though still in the middle of the fairly crowded marketplace, and you admire the polo shirt that the man in front of you has stretched over his surprisingly toned chest.

"I'm sorry, again." He smiles bashfully, reaching out to cup the back of your bent arm as he gestures away from the black vans gathered at one end of the marketplace.

"You'll have to leave through there, but you should be careful. Do you need a ride?"

"No, I'm okay." You shake your head, "I rode my bike here, and it's parked over there anyways."

"Alright. Okay, uh- stay safe." He urges, his kind smile fading slightly as someone in black sunglasses barks information at him. He nods, squinting slightly because of the sun, "Goodbye. Enjoy your fruit, and I'm sorry again."

"It's alright," You laugh, finally over your temporary grudge, "Sir?"

"Yes?" His brows raise, and you think for a moment he might be expecting you to ask for a ride anyways.

"I'm going that way," You gesture towards the road you'll take home, and you relish the bashful beam that overtakes his face when he laughs at your words, "If you guys drive through there, try not to hit me again."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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star-writes-sometimes · 1 year

Text

blue christmas

dad!tangerine x mum!reader

words: 1.8k

cw: angst to fluff, tangerine is a huge softie

a/n: readers nickname is cherry and they call their daughter peach idk if its a nickname or her real name you decide

---—---

you were going to kill him.

tangerine had said that he would be gone for two days and that he would be completely safe. one last job before the holidays.

the job ended up being more difficult than anticipated so now here he was on his way back two days later than he originally said, covered with cuts and bruises. lemon was in the passenger seat of the car with his left hand bandaged up.

“she’s going to kill you.”

“believe me i am well aware.” tangerine gripped the steering wheel tighter making his knuckles turn white.

it was close to midnight when they finally pulled up at the house. some lights were still on inside, so he knew you were still awake. lemon reached back with his good arm to grab his bag.

tangerine got out first and walked up to the door with lemon following slightly behind him. he unlocked the door and carefully entered taking off his coat, hanging it on the rack and slipping off his shoes. lemon copied his actions to the best of his ability with one arm and dropped his bag on the floor.

the pair entered the living room and the sight that greets them makes tangerine’s guilt double. you were sitting on the couch with your daughter asleep on your lap, her face illuminated by the television playing the end of nightmare before christmas. she was bundled inside a throw blanket decorated with citrus fruits that lemon got her for her birthday.

when he entered the room you simply glanced in his direction not even bothering to look at him properly before you turned your attention back to the movie ignoring him completely.

“hi, love.” he tried, looking between his sleeping daughter holding onto your christmas sweater and you running your fingers through her hair. lemon stood beside him shifting around anxiously.

you continued to ignore them instead focusing on the girl snoring lightly on your lap. lemon and tangerine glanced at each. lemon made a motion for tangerine to walk over so he carefully walked towards you until he got in front of you.

he glanced back at lemon who just shrugged. tangerine knelt down and smiled at his daughter before trying to meet your eye. you refused to look at him keeping your gaze firmly on your daughter.

“i’m sorry.” tangerine said softly in that voice he only used with you. you stopped ranking your fingers through your daughter’s hair, “i’m so so sorry darling.”

you finally looked up at him and immediately started frowning at the cuts on his cheek and hairline. “what happened?” you asked.

he smiled, “job went to shit.” he looked down at the sleeping girl, “i missed you both.”

“she missed you.” you stroked the curve of her nose, “but don’t wake her, she hasn’t been sleeping well.” you grabbed a pillow from the middle of the couch and slowly slid her off your lap and onto the pillow instead. you stood up and brushed past him heading straight for the kitchen where you kept the first aid equipment for when the boys came home injured.

“hey cherry.” lemon said quietly giving a small wave with his injured hand.

you didn’t respond and instead started pulling out the equipment, “who’s got what injuries?”

“i uh fractured my thumb.” lemon said sheepishly. you motioned for him to sit on one of the kitchen barstools at your kitchen island. you inspected the shoddy bandaging job someone (probably tangerine) did and started unwrapping it to see his thumb properly.

“yeah it’s definitely fractured.” you grabbed some of the heavier duty bandages and started wrapping his thumb properly, “any other injuries i should know about?”

“no.” lemon watched you finish look after his thumb, “thank you.”

“of course.” you’d always take care of them no matter how much they pissed you off. you looked up at lemon and saw how exhausted he looked, “go get some sleep.”

he nods slightly, “yeah goodnight cherry.”

“‘night lemon.” you throw away the old used bandages. you could feel tangerine behind you watching without having to turn around, “what about you?”

“i’m sorry.”

“yeah, you said that. sit.” you said firmly. he listened and sat in the same seat lemon did. “what about you?” you hand came up to the cut on his cheek and traced over it lightly.

“just the cuts and some bruised ribs.” he knew better than to lie as much as he didn’t want to worry you, “i’m fine sweetheart.”

you pulled out some alcohol wipes and small band aids and started cleaning the cuts on his face. “you said you’d be gone two days.”

“i know-”

“you said you’d be safe.”

“i know love-”

“what was i meant to say to peach?”

he flinched slightly and you couldn’t tell if it was your words or the alcohol wipes you were rubbing over the cut on his hairline. he glanced over to peach, still asleep on the couch. “i’m so sorry.”

you went back to ignoring him and instead started to unbutton his vest and shirt to get a look at his ribs. once his shirt was open you saw the red and purple bruises on his left side and winced slightly at the sight. you moved to the freezer to grab an ice pack. you wrapped it in a tea towel and gave it to him wordlessly to hold on to his ribs while you moved to grab him a glass of water and painkillers.

once he had taken the medication and was firmly holding the ice pack to his ribs you finally looked him in the eyes. “you promised.”

“i know i know i’m so sorry love.” he apologised so sincerely you almost forgave him, but you weren’t giving up that easily.

“i was worried. so was peach, she didn’t sleep at all last night and neither could i.” you started tearing up, the stress of the last few days had finally caught up, “you could’ve been dead for all i knew-” tangerine cut you off by standing up and pulling you into a hug.

you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close, being careful around his ribs. he held you tightly and you two just stood together. “i missed you so much.”

“i missed you too.” you leaned back slightly and reached up to hold his face, “no more jobs for a month.”

“three months,” he whispered back and leaned down to kiss you.

the kiss started off soft but slowly turned deep and passionate. he kissed you like he hadn’t seen you in year - it felt like he hadn’t. his hands slipped down from your waist to your hips pulling you impossibly closer to him and deepening the kiss.

you pulled away much too soon in tangerines opinion.

“are you okay? no other injuries?” worry filled your eyes as you scanned him from head to toe.

“stop doing that, i’m fine, i’m back with you.” he smiled.

you leant up to peck his lips again before moving to pack away the first aid equipment. he watched you closely seemingly making up for not seeing you for half week. as soon as everything was packed away you reached up to his neck and pulled him into another kiss.

“can we go to bed? please?”

he didn’t respond, he just picked you up, holding you onto his good side and started walking towards your shared bedroom, ignoring your small protests. once he reached the foot of your bed, he put you down gently onto the bed and started taking off his pants before joining you.

he laid down next to you and pulled you close, he held you tightly and ran his arm up and down your side while he placed small kisses on your forehead, “i’m sorry.”

“if you apologise one more time i’ll bruise the rest of your ribs.” you looked up at him with a playful glare.

“okay love, i’ll stop.” he grinned into your hair, knowing you had forgiven him at least for now.

—

tangerine woke up first and gazed down at your sleeping figure. he shifted so one of his arms was free to brush stray hairs out of your face. he moved his hand to stroke your cheek and smiled at your soft snores.

his focus was interrupted by small footsteps entering the room.

“dad?” peach asked, she had the blanket she slept with wrapped around her shoulders.

“hi baby.” he sits up slightly and smiles at his daughter.

at the conformation that he was really there and she wasn’t imagining it she dropped her blanket and ran to climb up the bed and launch herself into his arms. “you’re back.”

“yeah, sweetheart i’m here.” he sat up completely and pulled her into his lap and hugged her close. she held onto him by his neck and squeezed tightly. they sat like that for a few moments before peach mumbled something into his neck that he couldn’t make out. “what’s that dear?”

“are you leaving again?” she asked quietly and just like that all the guilt he felt last night came rushing back.

“no, peach i’m not leaving. i promise.” he kissed her cheek and adjusted her in his lap, so her side was against his chest and she was facing you. “i missed you and mum so much.”

“we missed you too.” peach lent into his chest.

you had started to wake up and caught the end of their conversation and were grinning up at your family. “good morning.”

they both turned to look at you. “good morning mum.” peach chirped happily.

you sat up and tangerine threw his free arm over your shoulder and pulled you close, “good morning darling.” he gave you a quick kiss knowing how grossed out peach got at your affection, “can i apologise one more time without the risk of dv?”

you roll your eyes, “fine. last one though.”

he kissed your temple, “i am so sorry, to both of you and i will spend the rest of holidays making it up to you.” he kissed peach on the cheek, “what do you want to do today?”

“we are making cookies today.” peach said firmly.

“really?” tangerine raised an eyebrow.

“yeah, it’s christmas eve we have to make cookies for santa.”

“can i make you both breakfast first?”

she dramatically tapped her chin in thought, “hmmm okay but you have to make chocolate chip pancakes.”

“of course anything for my princess.” he kissed her hand, “and of course my queen.” he turned and kissed your hand too then stood up taking peach with him and started carrying her out of the room, “okay pancakes anything else?”

“fruit.” peach replied.

tangerine snorted at that, “fruit? like peaches, cherries, tangerines and lemons.”

“yeah, the best fruits!” she squealed.

they disappeared down the hallway and out of earshot, presumably still discussing breakfast, leaving you to relax in bed for a few minutes longer.

you could kill him next christmas instead.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #bullet train #bullet train x reader #tangerine x you #bullet train x you #dad!tangerine #bullet train 2022 #tangerine bullet train #tangerine

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shadowdaddies · 6 months

Note

Could I request a smutty Rhys x reader? Reader and him have had a stressful week and they haven’t been able to have time to each other where it didn’t involve work and he finds reader taking a bath at the moonstone palace and he joins her? Just gentle bath sex with softdom! Rhys🫡🫡

I’m very sad we didn’t see a lot of the moonstone palace in the books. I fucking loved that place. I have to many smutty ideas involving that palace and I might send them through to you eventually lol 🫡

the Moonstone Palace is probably where I'd want to live in acotar tbh, like quiet with beautiful views and magicked to stay warm? yes please. thanks for the request, love💜

Mountain Views

Rhys x Reader smut

Warnings: smut below the cut, oral f!receving, overstimulation, praise kink (holla), p in v sex, minors dni, not proofread

With a content exhale, you settled into the warm water of the tub. It was your first opportunity to relax in weeks, and you made the most of it, lighting candles and filling the bathwater with rose petals and scented oils. The only way that the moment could be better is if your mate was there to relax with you. The most comfort you could find in your life was when Rhysand was by your side, providing a warmth that went beyond physical.

You leaned over the edge of the pool-sized bathtub, admiring the view of the snowcapped mountains while you sipped on a glass of wine. The Moonstone Palace was the perfect place to get away when you were in need of peace and quiet, its openness allowing you to feel at one with nature while the magic kept you warm inside. You smiled to yourself as you gazed at the stars, so visible from your secluded haven.

The sound of a door clicking open inside brought you out of your daze, the faint smell of citrus and rain filling your senses as you heard the soft footfalls of your mate approaching. You turned away from the view of the mountains to find a better one - Rhysand stood before you, biting his lip as he took in your naked form as he removed his own shirt. You set your glass of wine to the side, leaning against the far edge of the bath as you lifted yourself slightly from the water, giving Rhys a better view of your chest dripping with water. You winked at him as you purred, “care to join me, my love?”

Rhys let out a soft laugh, already removing his pants and stepping into the water. “Oh darling, I have plans for what I’d like to do to you.” He stood in front of you, taking your glass of wine to drink from it himself as he stared at you appreciatively, trailing his other hand slowly up your waist, over your breast, stopping to lightly hold your throat as he tilted your chin up with his thumb. He polished off the wine, setting it down to bring his hand to your waist, pulling you fully against him where you could feel his hard arousal against you.

Rhys leaned down to kiss you, grinding his length against you to elicit a gasp from you that allowed him to slip his tongue through your lips, rolling it in tandem with his hips. He pulled away, moving his hand from your throat to wrap around your hair as he moved his other hand to pat your leg, urging you jump. You obeyed, wrapping your legs around him as Rhys brought his lips to your neck. “Good girl,” he murmured against your skin, kissing and sucking your neck, leaving a bruising mark on your pulse point as he walked the two of you to the side of the bath, lifting you out of the water to sit on the edge.

Taking your wrists in his hands, Rhys lifted them above your head. “Keep those up there,” he purred, gently pushing you to lay down against the tile floor. The contrast of the cool tile to the heat of the water made you gasp, writhing against Rhys’s hold as he spread your legs open. Rhys tutted, “stay still, darling, if you want to be rewarded.” You quickly righted yourself, biting your lip as you gave your best effort to stay how he’d positioned you.

Rhys chuckled darkly, “good girl.” He traced his fingertips along your inner thighs, causing you to clench, gasping as you struggled to stay still underneath him. Rhys lowered his head, pressing a soft kiss against your clit, earning a whimper from you. “Rhys, love, please touch me,” you whispered, slightly wiggling your hips in his hold. He kissed your clit again, this time latching on to suck softly as you mewled at the touch. “As my mate wishes,” he purred before diving in. Rhys sucked and licked your clit with fervor, pinning your hips to the tile as he dipped his tongue inside of you, his nose brushing against your bud as he did so. You were a moaning mess beneath him when he finally moved his mouth back to your clit, bringing up two fingers to curl inside you as he worked you at a brutal pace. You reached your high quickly, screaming his name as he continued his abuse on your pussy. Your legs were shaking as you came down from your high, Rhys still sucking your clit as he added a third finger.

You gasped, trying to push his hands away. “Fuck, Rhys, it’s too much,” you gasped at the overstimulation. Rhys didn’t let up, instead murmuring against your clit, “I told you to keep those hands above your head, darling. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.” He curled his fingers against your walls as he licked your clit, tongue flicking back and forth in a wicked way that had you convulsing beneath him as you reached your second orgasm of the night. Rhys allowed you to rest a moment, murmuring praises to you as he kissed every part of your body that he could reach.

You caught your breath just as Rhys’s hands travelled to your waist. “Are you ready for me, darling?” You nodded, sitting up as Rhys helped you back into the water, your legs wrapped around his waist as he moved the two of you back over to the edge of the bath and turned you around. You were again taking in the beautiful view of the mountains when Rhys bent you over the edge of the water. “Hold on tight, darling,” he whispered, kissing behind your ear as he slid into you. You both moaned at the sensation, Rhys waiting only a moment before he began thrusting into you. You could tell he was holding back, and the both of you needed more after the stressful weeks you’d had. You gripped the edge of the bath as you pleaded, “harder, Rhys, please.”

He complied immediately, thrusting into you at a pace that had you falling limp in his hold, chanting his name like a prayer as he hit the perfect spot every time. When Rhys brought his hand down to your clit, you immediately unraveled for the third time that evening, screaming for no one but you and the mountains to hear as you fluttered around him. Your orgasm sent Rhys over the edge behind you, moaning your name as he came inside you.

He pulled you against his chest, littering kisses to your neck and shoulder as he pulled you to the bench in the water where you sat in his lap. You laid your head against his chest, the two of you admiring the view as Rhys kissed your head, the two of you basking in the peaceful moment with each other.

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meownotgood · 2 years

Text

cherry waves / hayakawa aki

Aki is undeniably, wholeheartedly in love with you, and there's nowhere he tells you he loves you more than right here, in his bed, when you're under him.

cherry waves - deftones

all my love to @kentoangel for giving me the inspiration to make this fic!!!! ilysmmmmm!!!!!!!!!! 💗

pairing: hayakawa aki x fem!reader

word count: 6.1k

tags: 18+, smut, fluff, fingering, cunnilingus, tender sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, smoking, established relationship, lots and lots of i love you's, soft dom aki

this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.

Aki is undeniably, wholeheartedly in love with you.

He tells you every single day. Before he goes to work, he leaves a note on the fridge: There's cash on the coffee table if you want to go out and treat yourself. Have a good day baby. I love you. :) His handwriting is neat, sleek, and formal, like him personified with pen, but when he gets to the I love you, the letters seem to become a bit messier. He scribbles them nervously, as if he feels a little embarrassed about writing it, about seeing the words on the paper, tangible and real. Regardless, you pluck the note off the fridge and keep it in your drawer, alongside the hundreds of others he's written for you.

With his voice, he asserts it even more. When he manages to get a break at work, he steps aside to call you for as long as he can, even if it's only for a few minutes. He tells you he loves you before he hangs up the phone, says how much he misses you while admiring the polaroid of you in his wallet. I think about you every second that I'm here. I can't wait to come home to you.

He'll profess his love in the late hours of the night, limbs tangled with yours under the sheets, while he holds you close to his chest. He litters your forehead with the lightest, most delicate of kisses, as though you're made of porcelain beneath his lips. The words are uttered drowsily, like they're heavy in his throat, and he whispers them over and over again, as if his fondness is spilling over, uncontained. You're already fast asleep in his arms by now, so his I love you's fade into the darkness, but perhaps you'll end up hearing them in your dreams.

It slips off of his tongue again when he shares lunch with you. He takes an orange from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, peels it, pulls the pieces clean apart. There's an odd number of slices. He gives you the extra one. The citrus tastes sweet on his tongue, just as sweet as what falls from his lips. God, I love you so much, you know that? It catches you a bit off guard when he says it out of no-where, but before you can ask him where his sudden remark came from, he's shutting you up with a kiss that tastes sugar-coated.

He's just lucky to have you. Lucky and oh-so grateful to share both his life and his love. This quiet scene, shared between only the two of you: it's simple, but he's never felt more alive. Aki is finally able to live how he's always wanted, enjoying the most mundane of moments with the one he genuinely loves, who loves him just as much.

If he is the moon — cold, monochrome, and stormy — then you're definitely the sun, shining like rays of daybreak light and eternally warm like a summer's heatwave. In a world of devils, of heartache and the bitter taste of blood, you would be his idea of an angel.

He's still not sure if he even deserves this, nor does he understand how someone like him got so damn fortunate. And it's cheesy, but he wouldn't trade this life for any other, or for anything in the universe. He just wishes he got the chance to meet you, to cherish you and this life, so, so much sooner.

All he can do now is make the most of it, tell you he's in love with you in as many sentences as he can possibly fit it into, kiss you until his lips are bruising, promise you, I'll stay with you, for as long as this world will allow. Cross my heart and hope to die, my love.

There's nowhere else he belongs but here. His arms belong wrapped around you, his lips belong on yours, he longs to be as intertwined with you as possible. There's nothing he wants to say more than your name and infinite chants of I love you, I love you, I love you.

And there's nowhere Aki tells you he loves you more than right here, in his bed, when you're under him. The phrase is whispered in your ear, warm and true, the slightest bit shaky. "You're beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I'm so in love with you." He says the words softly, but in your chest, they feel like the intense blaze and explosion of a sky filled with fireworks.

A vinyl spins and spins in the humble record player, and the speakers play a song. The low music resounds in harmony with the soft pitter-patter of rain. Droplets blanket the tin roof above and then tap gently against the window. Silk curtains are pulled slightly ajar, and blurry, fluorescent lights from the city shine through fogged up glass, illuminating the dim room.

His clothes and yours lie in a heap on the floor. He slipped off his oxfords at the door, shed his suit jacket over the couch. You loosened his tie and tossed it aside, popped each button on his dress shirt, unfastened his belt and his zipper to pull down his slacks. You reached into his hair and tugged on his hairtie until it came free from the topknot and the dark strands fell around his face.

He pulled your pants down and off of your legs, then hooked his fingers around the waistband of your underwear. He kissed you through the fabric, grinning when your legs shivered, before taking them off, leaving you in only the shirt you were wearing.

The album playing is one Aki picked out. The music itself is a bit grungy, maybe even a little out-of-style, but it's one of your favorite bands, and since it's your favorite, it became his too. He plays the cassette you gave him in the car when he drives, listens to the record on loop when you're gone because it always reminds him of you.

Strands of his hair tickle your face when he places a tender kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, your jaw, and finally your lips, where he grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger to drag you in closer. He doesn't want to pull away, and so he lingers for far longer than necessary, kissing you softly, effortlessly.

Your arms wrap around him, and you hold the back of his head with one hand, trail your fingers down his back with the other, and trace the scars that are littered between his shoulder blades. His hands find your thighs and he grips them carefully, slowly spreading them apart.

He pulls away to pepper your neck with kisses and playful nibbles of his teeth, his lips unable to stay off of you. His fingers trail up, under your shirt, and on your chest, below your ribcage, his fingertips trace shapes onto your skin. It tingles when he draws circles, hearts, spells out the letters of his name with a feather-light touch, wishing he could engrave them in. If he could, he'd cover every last inch of you with his own being, until there's unmistakable proof that he was there, that he's in love with you. For now, the hickeys he's leaving on your nape will have to do.

"So gorgeous," He mutters against your skin, words muffled, breath hot. "God, I just adore you." His voice is deep, quiet, as smooth as the velvet sheets and as familiar as the guitar riff you've long since memorized in this song.

When Aki leans back, there's a faint grin on his face, and the kindest look in his eyes. Just looking into them makes you feel like you're drowning in warmth. It's hard to recall when you first met him, it feels like forever ago. His gaze was so cold and frigid then, but now, it's taken on a much softer hue.

Aki dotes on the fact that you're wearing nothing but his own shirt. It's one of his old t-shirts that you dug out from his dresser, and it's a baggy fit, but it looks beautiful on you, he thinks. His palms glide under it, caressing your bare skin. From this view, you look stunning. The way you're laid back on his pillow, arms sprawled out with hands upturned, you look absolutely darling, like a dose of fathomable heaven.

Your senses are filled with the smell of his sheets, his clothing, and his laundry detergent. His cigarettes, his room, just the smell of him, it makes your head spin, and you melt into the comfort and familiarity of it all. You reach up to tuck his messy hair behind his ears, fiddling with the piercings on his lobes as his hands travel down. The glint in his earrings capture the hazy glow of the city lights.

His hands reach your hips and he holds them tight, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles on your skin. He lifts them, aligns you, takes a deep breath. His heart pounds with anticipation, but he looks to you, asks if you're ready first, and only when you nod does he continue. With a hard swallow that makes his Adam's apple bob in his throat, then a fragile gasp and whine, he steadily presses inside you.

You're so wet from the hours Aki spent teasing you before this, and so messy from the countless times you've came already for him. The inside of your thighs are shiny and glistening, covered with the love bites and pretty bruises he left there.

It's on nights like these where Aki not only tells you how much he loves you, but shows you. He pleasures you all night long, until you've cum over and over again for him. Until morning light starts to seep through the blinds, and you're too tired to continue, falling asleep in his arms after the waves of pleasure subside.

Earlier, he made you cum on his fingers, one hand holding his cigarette, the other nestled between your legs. He takes a drag in from the cig, tilting his head to exhale the smoke away from you, all while his middle finger runs up and down your pussy. He gets it wet with your slick before slowly pressing it inside, all the way to the knuckle. He drags it in and out, in and out, and when you buck your hips to meet his hand, he adds another.

His ring finger stretches you out deliciously, and once it's all the way in, you can feel the cool metal of his promise ring pressed up against your entrance.

It rests on the base of his finger: a modest, silver band. You wear a similar one, but yours is adorned with a bright, glittering diamond. He saved all his paychecks for months, surprising you with the matching set on your anniversary. Since then, he never takes it off, his promise to be yours anchored to him wherever he goes.

He'll replace them someday; he's going to ask you to marry him in the future, and he's already convinced himself of it. He hopes you'll take his last name. There's no-one in the world he trusts more with the Hayakawa surname than you, and no-one else he'd rather pass it on to. Giving you that piece of himself would be a blessing.

Aki's hands are so large and so pretty, big enough to eclipse your own when he holds them, or to cup your entire face with his palm like it's what he was meant to do. And his fingers are perfect; they're so long and slender, and they feel so good as he fucks you with them. You gasp when he curls them upwards, and his lips can't help but form a smile around his cigarette.

You're always so receptive to his touch. You still giggle every time he kisses the back of your hand or the tip of your nose. Your heart still pounds when he embraces you, when his eyes lock with yours for too long. You fall apart for him every time, just as easily as the first.

He finds it endearing, and he can't help but want to please you more and more, give you all of his affection. He stamps his cigarette out into the ashtray resting on the nightstand, abandoning it to put his full attention on you, whispering the most divine words into your ear.

Listen to how wet you are. It feels good, right? Tell me it feels good.

He pumps his fingers in and out to a careful, tender rhythm. He makes sure to press them in enough so that each time, you feel the cold edges of his ring.

Oh, baby, are you close? Don't hold back, I want you to cum for me.

Aki can feel you tightening around his fingers. He notices your breathing picking up and your body starting to tense. He drags his fingers out and brings them to your clit, where he rubs tight circles, just how you like, in the way that always brings you to the edge for him time and time again.

That's it. You're so beautiful when you cum, sweetheart. You make me want you so bad.

Your thighs are sore, and your whole body is trembling, but Aki holds you close while you come down. You can go one more time for me, can't you, baby? Of course, when he asks you that, the answer is always going to be yes.

He's dying to taste you, and so he makes you cum again, on his tongue this time. He plants open-mouthed kisses on your stomach, your hips, your thighs, onto every bone, mole, and soft spot his lips can find. Raise your hips a little for me, He instructs, sliding his arms under your thighs when you do so, There you go. Can you spread your legs a bit more for me too?

He laps up the mess, presses his tongue in, fucks you with it. The rich flavor of his cigarettes still lingers in the back of his throat, and your sweet taste combined with it makes him feel delirious.

He buries his face between your legs, his nose nudging at your clit, and he groans into your cunt when you run your fingers through his hair and pull him in. He kisses your clit with soft lips, licks it with the flat length of his tongue, takes it into his mouth and sucks on it hard. You're so pretty, he mumbles, but you hardly hear it. Your legs wrap around his head, and he doesn't stop until you're cumming for him again.

Making you cum, listening to your pretty moans, watching you fall apart to his touch, it gets him so hard. His dick aches, throbs ceaselessly in his briefs, leaks out where it rests thick and heavy against his thigh. His mind goes foggy with lust, and he can feel the pure and utter want for you burning in his veins, settling in the cavity of his chest.

There's something about you that always makes him want more, makes him crave you, and causes him to desire everything you're willing to let him have. It's insatiable. He wants to be inside you so bad he can hardly stand it, but honestly, he could get off on just this alone.

He could do this all night, surely. He always puts your pleasure above his own, and he would worship your body forever, make each curve and dip into his form of a prayer, if you'd only let him. He'll make you cum as many times as you can take, and as many times as you want. Whatever you want him to do, he'll do it for you. However much you want him to give, he'll give you even more. At your request, he'd give you every last part of himself.

But on nights like this, even when your eyelids are heavy and threatening to shut, you need more of him. You want to be closer, so even when you're spent, you always end up begging him please, Please, Aki. I want you to fuck me. He wants it just as badly, if not more, and when you ask him like that, how can he resist? He'll always give you exactly what you ask for.

His cock is thick and so fucking pretty, a perfect stretch when he fills you up. Aki takes his time, eases into you slowly, and you savor every single inch of him. The sight of his dick pressing inside you is damn near intoxicating, and he wouldn't be able to tear his gaze away if he tried. His pupils are blown, eyes glazed over, and his lips are slightly parted, quivering.

When he's finally all the way in, you can feel his dick in your stomach, and he groans, pulling you in even closer by your waist. He hasn't even moved yet, and his head is already spinning. He waited so long for this, ended up teasing himself just as much as he teased you, and you're so tight around his cock, the feeling might consume him. He doesn't think he'll be able to last long, but he'll try.

"Oh, fu-uck, baby-" Aki's voice cracks into a moan as he starts to fuck you, echoing a wet sound when he rolls his hips out, then presses back in deeply. He mumbles, "You feel so amazing, I love you. God, I love you."

Before you can tell him you love him too, his lips come crashing onto yours. He kisses you slowly, at first, but he can't help himself from wanting to indulge in you further. Your lips feel like all he could ever need as they mesh with his. Then, he's kissing you deeply, breathlessly, like he can't get enough. He sucks on your tongue, sighing when he thrusts into you. He buries his cock in deeper just to feel you moan more into his mouth. Your hands thread through his hair, holding it back, keeping it out of his face.

Honestly, the feeling itself isn't what turns you on the most. It's knowing that he is the one fucking you, Aki's dick is inside you. Aki, whose cold exterior you broke past, whose heartache you managed to cure. Aki, who deserves so much more than what the world has given him, who is nothing like what people say about him.

Aki, who keeps his arm linked with yours while he makes dinner, trying out new recipes to find which one you like the best. Who wipes the tears from under your eyes with his thumbs, who gives you his jacket when it's cold outside, who still blushes when your knee bumps his in public, who makes you feel completely and utterly safe with him. Aki, who kisses you just like this, like the world is going to end.

The way Aki loves is intense, but tender. It's exhilarating, but sincere. It never fails to take your breath away, yet still feels like a home you can return to. The kind of love that grounds you, but not without allowing you to fall for him more and more. The kind of love that's purposeful in everything, because in every possible instance, you're the one he wants, and the one he needs. You, and only you.

When he draws away from you, his lips are ghosting on yours, and he whispers it again, "I love you," voice just barely audible over the music and the downpour. He pulls back further, reaches a hand into his messy hair to brush it out of his face, then cups your cheek. You lean into his warmth, his touch. You can feel the outline of his ring, and he has a stupid grin on his face when he mumbles, "Look at you. So beautiful, and you're all mine. How did I get so lucky?" It's true, but really, he's all yours — so hopelessly addicted to you.

Aki makes love to you softly, almost lazily. It's sweet and passionate, and gives you a chance to enjoy the atmosphere and every little detail of it all. Aki's cheeks are flushed, his eyelashes flutter, and his chest heaves with every ragged breath he takes in. His moans are loud and needy, each roll of his hips deliberate, never too hard, because he knows how to make you cum without the need to be rough.

Every time he shoves his cock in, it sends blood rushing to his head, and with each drag out, he whines from the pressure. He's sweating, and he grabs your shirt to hastily tug it up. Not enough to take it off, just enough to expose your chest to him.

The storm is picking up now, and the rain has grown to a loud, universal drum as it pours from the sky. The record player is still going, vinyl spinning idly as it plays the next song on the album. Aki fucks you through it, nearly to the rhythm, but he isn't paying attention to the music. He's just focused on you. The ambience is drowned out by the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and Aki's voice in your ear.

"So good," Aki slurs, and one of his hands grips your waist, while the other finds yours to hold it tightly, your fingers interlaced with his. "You take my cock so well."

"Aki… I..." You stammer out, unable to say much more than that.

"Yeah?" Aki stops completely, giving you a second to breathe. He leans in a little closer, studies your face, and quietly asks, "What is it, baby? What do you want?"

"Want you deeper, I want you to fuck me more, please-"

"Shit," Aki sighs, clearly losing his composure for a second. He already had an idea of what you were going to ask for, but he still absolutely loves when you beg for him. He exhales a shaky breath, "Okay, baby, okay."

Aki's pace quickens a little, and he presses his body closer to yours, desperate to get himself even deeper inside. He's gasping, finding it difficult to breathe as he fucks into you harder, with less of his deliberate movements, and more of his own desperation. He's losing control, little by little, with each thrust and each noise he pulls out of you. You wrap your arms around him, and it's like he's falling into you.

All it took was that little bit of extra speed, shoving his cock in deeper, harder, and your heavenly moans and cries into his ear for him to be just barely hanging onto the edge. You feel good, way too good. Too perfect, and he's too vulnerable, linked inseparably with you.

"Oh my God, I c-can't, you feel so- fuck, fucking amazing," He stammers, barely able to get the words out, moaning after every unsteady thrust into you as he begins to lose his rhythm. His high-pitched whines are a perfect contrast to the deep vibrato of his voice. "I can't, baby, I'm so close, I'm gonna cum-"

He's trying so much to hold out, but he's so needy, and it's made evident by his moans and the love-drunk expression on his face when he leans back to look at you. His eyebrows are knitted, his lips are parted, and he's flushed red, all the way to the tips of his ears. Despite how badly he wants it, he thinks he might be able to keep going for a little while longer, but when you start begging for him to let go, to cum for you, he's done for.

He gives you a couple more desperate thrusts before he pulls out, panting hard, and his dick throbs in his hand as he jerks it. He whines your name as his cum spills out all over your pussy, your stomach, and your thighs. All over his own trembling fingers and down his knuckles, making his hand sticky and messy.

Aki takes a moment to catch his breath. Strands of hair stick to his forehead from his sweat and he does his best to brush them away. He glides two fingers through the mess on your stomach, then collects what drips down your thighs, before bringing them to your mouth. You open before he has to tell you to, and he smears his cum all over your tongue. You suck on his slender fingers and twirl your tongue around his whole hand, licking up every last drop.

"That's it," Aki praises, exhaling a shaky sigh, "Such a good girl for me. You made me feel so fucking good, baby."

You hum around his fingers in response.

He's close to collapsing, his whole body covered in a blanket of exhaustion, but his focus is on you. He's still so damn hard, already dribbling pre-cum out all over your soft stomach. And he's still so eager to please you, still so desperate to have you. Watching you take his fingers just reignited that feeling.

Aki takes his fingers out, and they're wet with your own saliva when he grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks. He swallows, and the way his normally resolute voice wavers implies that he's the slightest bit nervous when he admits, "I still need you."

"I need you too. Please."

The tip of his dick is sensitive, to the point where just pressing it to your entrance makes him whine and briefly falter. He strokes up the length, trying to get himself used to the stimulation, swiping his palm over the tip to smear the shaft with his pre-cum. He doesn't want to make you wait for too long, so he brings it back to your pussy, dragging it over, getting it messy with your slick and his cum before he slowly eases back in.

"Oh, God," Aki's head falls, and you wrap your legs around his back, tangling your fingers in his hair. You run them through close to the scalp, gently holding the back of his head, and he stammers, "S-So… It's so…"

It's so sloppy, so wet. So overwhelming, and all too much. His cock slides in and out with ease, and he fucks into you as much as he can possibly handle without falling apart at the seams. Your thighs are soaked, his dick is unbelievably messy, and the wet sound echoed each time he shoves himself in is so damn loud.

"Babydoll, I'm-" Aki mumbles, but he's unable to finish his sentence, breaking into a string of pathetic whimpers. He feverishly gives your neck open-mouthed kisses as a way to shut himself up.

The overstimulation is already starting to get to him. His legs are weak and shaky, threatening to buckle under the weight of each thrust into you. His dick is so goddamn sensitive that he can hardly handle this, and yet, he can't stop. The only thing running through his brain, through every nerve in his body is that he needs you, he needs this. He grabs your face with his hand and you hook your arms around his neck to pull him in, your lips clumsily connecting with his.

Aki moans into your mouth as he kisses you, and mutters an I love you that slurs off of his tongue when yours swirls around his. The taste of himself on your mouth has him reeling, and he can't stop himself from rutting his hips into you hard. When he pulls away, there's drool dripping down his chin, and he wipes it hastily with the back of his hand.

With his head in such a blur, he ends up telling you every little thought that enters into his mind. "Feels so g-good… So warm… Really w-wet, ah-"

God, you just love him when he's like this. So fucked out and drunk on you he can hardly speak, his head so cloudy all he can think about is how you're making him feel. It's a side of him only you get to see; he's cold and serious with everyone else, but he's got a soft spot for you. The truth is, even when it seems like he's the one in control, you're the one who's held all the power over him from the start. You always have.

You can leave hickeys on his neck that all his co-workers will see, scratch up his back with your fingernails until they leave red streaks across his skin, touch him anywhere and everywhere you please because he's yours to touch. Play with his pretty cock all you want, until he's pleading with you to let him cum, to give him more because he needs it. You can stuff his own tie in his mouth to keep him quiet, wrap your hands around his throat while you ride him. And he'll love every second of it, pure devotion reflected in the gaze he can't seem to keep off of you.

He'll let you do anything you want to him, and he'll give you anything you ask for. Especially when he's this overwhelmed, drowning in his own pleasure. And if there's anything you want right now, it's to watch him lose his mind for you.

So when you tell him to fuck you deeper, harder, pleading, Don't you dare stop, not even for a second, he'll do just that. When you tell him to kiss you, bite you, he does, placing hurried pecks over every inch of your face, leaving impressions of his teeth on your neck and shoulders. And when you tell him to keep talking to you, praise you, I want to hear your voice, his words are incoherent and breathless, but he stammers them all the same, and without a second thought.

"Love you… I… A-Ah, it's-" Aki manages, trying to form something complete, but failing every time. His breaths are quickened and his chest is heaving when he begs, "Please," although he's not sure what he's even begging for. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and beads of sweat drip down his forehead. It's too much, but he needs you so badly he can't quit. He's desperate to feel you cum on his cock.

Your legs are still wrapped around him, secured at the ankles. You glide your hands up his chest, then to where his collarbones jut out. Over his shoulders, up to his jawline, then down again to squeeze his arms. He's pretty, so pretty, the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

He can feel you tightening around him, and can tell your moans are picking up as he fucks you. His thrusts are shallow; he needs the friction, but also longs to stay deep inside you. He's dizzy, seeing stars, and even though he's so overwhelmed that he's not sure if he can handle cumming again, a familiar knot starts forming in his gut. He chokes out, "C-Close."

"Me too," You reply, "Want you to cum for me, fill me up, please, Aki-"

There's no way, absolutely no way he can resist that. Between you begging for him and the way you say his name, he's done for. He'll always give you just what you want.

The tension snaps, and Aki grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him, fucking you through his orgasm, filling you with his cum. He cums so hard, so loud, so desperately, his muscles tightening, his dick throbbing in your stomach, all while he whines your name and a mix of disjointed, endless I love you's.

His thrusts become messy, unrelenting, and he doesn't stop, not when it sounds like he can hardly breathe, or when his whole body is trembling. Before he collapses onto you, he wedges a hand between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. The feeling is one of utter euphoria, and it's enough to bring you to the edge. You slur his name over and over again as you finish, saying it in ways that make his heart flutter and swell in his chest.

He slows when you're finally spent, his voice in your ear hoarse, but gentle, words spoken under his breath. "That's it, cum on me, baby. Just like that... Oh my God...."

The record has long since stopped by now, and the rain still falls, but nowhere near as hard as before. It creates an air of silence, and you're suddenly aware of your own heart in your ears, and Aki's heavy breaths, his swallows and meager gasps for air. His weight pins you to the mattress, and he pulls out incredibly slow, wrapping his arms around you to hold you even closer to himself. He smells of sex and sweat, of lingering smoke and a cozy familiarity.

"You okay?" He asks, finally managing to catch his breath, whispering into the shell of your ear.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm okay."

"I love you so much. More than I could ever find a way to express," Aki sighs, taking your hand into his own, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

You give a little half-hearted chuckle, and then you reply, "I love you too. So much."

Aki pushes himself up a little to meet your gaze. His cheeks are covered in a rosy blush, and when your free hand comes to cup his cheek, he holds it there, his fingers tenderly rubbing circles into your knuckles, brushing over the curve of your ring.

He smiles, softly, warm enough to melt fresh snow, and the bridge of his nose crinkles ever-so slightly. After a moment of hesitation, he asks, "You tired, baby?"

You nod, eyelids heavy, your whole body weak and weary. Aki leans in, and you can feel his smile against your lips when he kisses you. He holds it, keeping his lips on yours for far longer than he needs to, like he always does. When he pulls back, he whispers, "Let's get you ready for bed."

Aki gives you as much time as you need to rest, and when you're ready, he tugs your shirt over your head and carries you to the bathroom. He showers with you, lets you lean on him while he washes your hair, and kisses every inch of your skin while you both relax under the hot water. He dries you off, helps you get dressed, kisses the tip of your nose, asks if you're hungry. You say that you're not, but he offers to make you something anyways, and for his cooking, you can't refuse.

When the two of you finally sink back into bed, Aki holds you close. His shape fits to yours perfectly, like two halves of the same whole. You can feel the metronome of his heartbeat thrumming in his chest. His hand grabs yours, absentmindedly, like the way magnets are pulled together, destined to find one another.

"I have the day off tomorrow, what would you like to do, baby?" He asks as he plays with your hair, twirling strands around his fingers.

"Mmm…" You feign thinking, but really, you're just trying to fight off your ever-growing sleepiness. "Can we go shopping?"

"We can go wherever you'd like. You wanna go out to eat, too? We haven't in a while."

It's because your cooking is so good, You think, but you answer with a nod so light you're hardly sure if he even noticed. He places a kiss on the crown of your head and replies, "Alright, we'll go somewhere nice."

In your head, you imagine how the day with him tomorrow will go. Aki will slip out of bed to make breakfast as silently as possible, careful to avoid stepping on the spots that make the floor creak. You'll wake up to the smell of coffee brewing, to breakfast in bed. Aki will take you to the stores he knows you love, the ones that have the clothes you always say you feel the best in. He'll take you out to the restaurant you never ask for, because you know it's too expensive, but he secretly knows it's your favorite. And of course, he'll pay for everything.

You begin to fall asleep as the scenes play out in your mind, melting into the lull of his soft breathing and the warmth of his arms.

Aki's voice is drowsy when he asks, "You still awake?"

There's no response, so he pulls you closer, holds you safely, presses your head to his heart, and tells you one last, I love you.

And when he drifts off as well, he'll love you still, wholeheartedly. Even in his dreams, then until he breathes his last, and when he does, he's sure he'll continue to love you in the lifetime after this one.

I'll love you as much as my heart can take. Cross my heart and hope to die.

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa smut #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man smut #aki hayakawa #aki x reader

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