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joonberriess · 5 months

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⊹₊ ⋆ “i just been fantasizin', and we got a lotta time, baby, come throw the pipe, gotta know what it's like,”

TAGS — vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pussy eating, light degradation, slight dirty talk, jk’s possessive here, oc’s a cute bean, daddy kinks, some nipple play, public sex, unrealistic sex to me bc how tf did no one see???, pimp!jk, stripper!oc, oc needs to know, WAP WAP WAP, this is for my birthday babes, praise kink(?), happy birthday @hyunjinswifeee this is late sorry :((

WORD COUNT — 3.3 k

Wanna know what it's like, baby, show me what it's like, I don't really got no type, I just wanna fuck all night,

The crowd becomes completely immersed in your smooth hip gyrations and body rolls, they holler and catcall while endless money falls at your feet. Tonight’s a special night, you figured why not spend it at work getting money rained on you. All you really had to do was dance because your oh so lovely boss prohibited you from being requested by the club patrons.

Speaking of your boss, he too was in the crowd just right above you in his private balcony. He was watching with those dark onyx eyes of his, filled with desire and hunger. Each time you looked up he was staring right back down. Jungkook looked so fucking good sprawled out like that over the velvet couch with one hand nursing a glass of whiskey, his hair wild and unkept. Just the display of dominance and power had you weak in the knees.

You bit your bottom lip and slowly ran your hands down your body before reaching back to grip the pole tightly and slowly walking around it. You wanted him to know that you were very much on the same page. The cheers from everyone spurred you on as you spun high on the pole with your head thrown back, the screams grew louder and the crowd wilder as they fought each other to get a better view.

I just been fantasizin', and we got a lotta time, baby, come throw the pipe, gotta know what it's like,

You hold your breath and slowly slide down as your eyes flicker back up to Jungkook who is now standing leaned over the balcony. He stares at you through half-lidded eyes, tongue poking the inside of his cheek and a lit cigar sitting in his hand. You decide to kick it up a notch. Just a tiny bit.

The lights suddenly go out and your shadow is illuminated by fuschia pink LED lights all around you. No one can see a thing but your silhouette as you reach behind you to unclip your bra. The club goers lose it as you dangle the item teasingly in the air before tossing it into the crowd wishing it was Jungkook you were throwing it at.

“More, more, more,” they chant as you move sensually. Luckily another bouncer comes to hand you another bra top to put on just before the lights around you snap back on.

You're exciting, boy, come find me, your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me" fuck that feeling both us fighting, could he try me? Mmm, most likely,

You mouth along to the song while staring right at Jungkook, a tiny smile adorning your lips as you spin around once more on the pole. You don’t look over for the rest of the dance because you’re too nervous to face the outcome. This was the first time you’ve pulled a move other than looking at him and giving Jungkook “fuck me” eyes.

When the show ends you’re pulled to the side by a squealing Soyeon and a giggling Soojin. “Did you not fucking see the look he gave you when you did that?!” Soyeon gasps, “He literally looked so fuckin’ pissed—in a good way though—like he did that thing he does with his tongue and cheek and then he pulled one of his guys to the side!”

“He wants you for real.” Soojin smirks as she pokes your side, “Looks like the birthday girl is gonna get some dick tonight.” She coos in your ear while cupping your tits in her hands, “So what’s your plan, hmm?” She lays her chin over your shoulder, Soyeon nods too and waits for your response.

You contemplate for a second but quickly make up your mind, “I think you guys already know,” you lean back into Soojin with a playful little smile, “who wouldn’t?”

“True,” Soyeon nods, “but you have to tell us the details okay? You gotta tell me if that thing he’s carrying is like nine inches or something.” She looks pretty serious and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat as you reply ‘then why don’t you find out?’ She gives you an almost offended look, “Girl that’s your man first of all, secondly I got my own.” She winks.

The three of you chat a little more until Namjoon, one of Jungkook’s closest bodyguards, comes through the door searching the room. When he makes eye contact with you he strides over with a friendly demeanor, “y/n, right?” He tilts his head a little to the side, “Jungkook’s asking for you, said if you could meet him up in the balcony?”

You nod in a heartbeat, “I’m just gonna clean up a little, ‘m a little sweaty ‘n stuff.” You softly reply as Soojin gets to quickly re-touching your makeup. He nods understandingly and murmurs a low “Come up when you’re ready.” After he leaves, Soojin and Soyeon slowly turn to you with little smirks on their faces and brushes in their hands.

When you reach the balcony you come across Jungkook sprawled out on the sofa with both arms stretched out. He looks a hot mess with the way his tie is hazardously tossed to the side and his white button-up sits messily undone over his chest. “Seems like we’ve finally met.” He hums.

“Hello Mr Jeon,” you softly greet like the polite little thing you are. Your eyes flicker down to the gold cross hanging over his chest, not missing the way his eyes flashed when you said ‘Mr Jeon’. It’s nerve wracking looking into his eyes because Jungkook always held eye-contact and you hated how he made you cower in delight, “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be requested by patrons.”

Jungkook chuckles quietly and brings the cigar up to his lips taking a long drag from it, “Oh? And does that include me too sweetheart?” A pleasant little shiver runs down your spine when the pet name rolls off his tongue so smoothly. You find yourself craving for more.

“I don’t know,” you softly say while inching closer, you come to a stop in front of him, “does my boss consider himself to be included..?” You teasingly run your finger over his shoulder and slowly lower yourself on his thigh, “Does he?” Jungkook’s nostrils flare as he blows the smoke to the side, dropping the cigar on to the ashtray below.

“You wanna give me a dance, is that it sweetheart?” Jungkook drawls out lazily. His eyes inch downwards as he admires the pretty little “outfit” you got on. It reminds him of the little show you put on out there.

Your breath hitches when he grabs the hanging garter string between two fingers and twirls it around in his hold. “...is a dance what you want?” You reply breathily.

Jungkook lays his hand flat on your thigh and strokes over it slowly, idly rubbing his hand up and down over the soft skin. “You offering me more sweetheart?” He licks his lips, “You gonna be a good girl and put on a show like out there—give me a private show just for little ol’ me?” He leans closer to you with his hot breath fanning over your chin and lips.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, “ ‘s not fair.”

He grins and noses along your jawline towards your slender neck, “Not fair? How so sweet girl?” He whispers as his thumb rubs soothing circles on your inner thigh, “Hm?” He blows in your ear causing goosebumps to form all over your body.

You tilt your head to look at him, “Because, it’s my birthday.” Your eyes drop down to his lips as you unconsciously lick your own, “Aren’t you gonna wish me happy birthday?” You whisper.

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook looks up at you in amusement as he leans closer, “Happy birthday sweetheart.”

Jungkook gently slips his lips against yours, barely moving as he inched his hand upward between your thighs. You’re so lost in the taste of him as you let your thighs fall open invitingly, and your hands came up to rest over his shoulders. Jungkook grunts under his breath, he moves his lips sensually over yours causing wet smacking noises to fill the space between you two. You softly whine as your lips become glossy and kissed raw from Jungkook’s little bites and harsh kisses.

“Why don’t you lay back, hm? Gonna show you what birthday girls get from me,” he presses a chaste kiss to your neck as he slowly guides you on your back, “there you go, just like that baby—yea..spread ‘em for me.” He watches you in pure delight over how well you’re following his instructions.

You stare up at him with a dazed look, “Do you give every birthday girl this?” You purse your lips in annoyance just thinking about all the other girls who have probably been under him like this.

Jungkook toys with the strap of your bra, “No, just ones that like to tease me on stage.” He smirks as he hooks his finger under the middle of the bra, he tugs it downward until both tits spill out from the cups, “Will you look at that..” He murmurs appreciatively when he sees your pretty pebbled nipples, “I wonder if you’re pretty everywhere else too.”

Your lips part to say something but Jungkook leans down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples. You sigh quietly and enjoy the feeling of his wet hot tongue circling and licking over your nipple. He moves his other hand to your other tit and gently wraps his hand around the doughy flesh. Jungkook pulls away and leaves a small trail of spit over your hard nub, as he rolls and kneads your tit in his other hand.

A surprised little “oh!” escapes your lips when he dives down to suck on the other nipple. “Mm–wait,” you throw your head back when his other hand dips low between your thighs, pressing two fingers over your drenched pussy. He teases your clit through your panties as he presses the soaked material against your slicked up cunt.

He hums to himself and pulls away to trail kisses down the middle of your body. His other hand slides down your side until he’s resting it against your hip where the waistband of your panties sits. “Been dreaming bout this day n night sweetheart, you don’t even know how fuckin’ crazy you drive me.” He hooks two fingers under the waistband, “You make it so hard for a man sometimes, you got me fiending like a dog for you.” He growls.

You look down at him and slip your hands over his, “Then make me yours,” you breathily whisper, “ ‘s all yours,” you dreamily smile while hooking your thighs over his shoulders.

Jungkook all but tears your panties off with a loud riiip. He leaves open mouthed kisses trailing down until his mouth’s hovering over your pussy, he wastes no time in letting his tongue dip between your folds. He laps at your messy folds and lays his tongue flat against your clit as he flicks it back and forth teasingly. You quickly become a whimpering mess under him.

He uses his grip to bring your cunt closer to his face, his hands slip under your ass cheeks and he grips both cheeks in his palms. Your eyes flutter shut as you slip your hands into his hair, you wonder if anyone was watching right now. The balcony itself had a thick siding but the thought of them watching Jungkook and you sent delicious little tremors down your spine. “Mm–like that,” you whisper softly while lifting your hips more for him.

It feels like he’s making out with your pussy with the way he’s licking and sucking at your chubby folds, taking a lip into his mouth as he sucks on it teasingly before dipping back in to tease your clit. A choked up moan escapes when his tongue slips lower and pokes at your winking hole, “Please, please,” you tearfully whine, “want more.”

Jungkook leaves a gentle little smooch on your pussy before he goes back to business. His hot tongue slips right into you pushing past your tight rim. Your lips fall open in a small ‘o’ as you shudder, he’s flicking his tongue upwards against your g-spot repeatedly. You scramble to get a hold of him with your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Mmm,” you push his head against you and sigh when his nose accidentally bumps into your clit, “...daddy—” You cry out when the pleasure gets too much and you curl into yourself from the sensitivity.

Jungkook freezes under you, he pulls away and climbs over you with your legs falling from his shoulders. “What did you say?” His eyes narrow, they’re dark with hunger and lust. You look up at him through bleary eyes and giggle instead of answering. Jungkook wraps his hand around your throat, relishing in the moan that bubbles out of your throat, “Oh you like that don’t you baby?” He chuckles breathily, “Go on then, tell me what you just said now.” He squeezes gently and runs his thumb over your lips, it’s nothing too drastic but it serves as a reminder.

Your tongue darts out to run over your upper lip seductively, “Would you rather I called you sir? Or Mr Jeon?” You breathily giggle, “Does it turn you on laying me out here in the open for everyone to see?” You whisper as your lips wrap around his thumb, you suck with a low lewd moan.

Jungkook cusses under his breath, “Fuckin’ hell.. Nothing but a straight demon, look at you, jesus.” He bites his lip and pops his wet thumb out of your mouth, “They can look all they want but this pussy’s mine,” he cups your cunt with his free hand, “daddy’s gonna have you all dolled up with a little collar so people know who you belong to.” He smirks.

You mewl at the thought of him putting you in a collar as you eagerly paw at his slacks, “Please daddy,” you slur out, “ ‘m so wet for you. Aren’t you gonna be nice and give me what I want? Or do I have to find someone to do the job for you?” You grin deviously.

Jungkook’s cock is out within seconds after hearing that, he slaps the wet tip over your clit in soft taps. He listens to the wet squelching your cunt makes, it’s like music to his ears hearing how soaked you are. You let your legs slip open wider as he crowds you while slipping his cock between your folds. The tip catches on to your hole and prods at you, “Please,” you whine softly, “wan’ it in,” you buck your hips so more of his cock pops into you.

“Shit, relax for me baby.” He sighs as he slips his cock inch for inch slowly. His cock fits snug in your tight little cunt, you struggle a bit to house the rest of his cock inside of you but eventually he bottoms out with a small smack. “There you go,” he moans in bliss, “doin’ so good for me.”

You shudder at the praise and stare up at him with puppy eyes, “Don’t want it soft and nice daddy—want it fast n hard.” You hook your arms around his shoulders and bring him down for a sweet gentle peck, “You’ll give me what I want, right daddy?” You bat your lashes at him.

Jungkook groans shakily, “Fuck yes—I’ll give you everything you want baby.” He pumps his cock in and out of you, “Gonna have you dripping in diamonds.” He gasps as his hips roll forward with each time being a little more rougher than the last.

His movements cause you to lightly bounce in place under him, you can only moan and whimper as he drives his cock in and out of you. Your pussy hugs his cock tight when backstrokes making it a bit hard to fuck into you. He shoves his hand between the two of you and presses down on your clit with his thumb causing a loud cry to escape your lips.

“Harder..!” You rasp out and throw your head back. Jungkook wastes no time in diving in to bury his face between your shoulder and neck, leaving a mess of hickeys and love bites in his wake.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he gasps, “ ‘s like this slutty little pussy was made for me.” He fucks into your rougher and makes sure to press in deep each time he bottoms out.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, you dig your nails into his shoulder and curl your legs around his waist tightly. “S-So good,” you gasp. His fat cock fills you up just nicely and rubs up against every sensitive spot inside your cunt. You can feel every throb and vein on his cock as he fucks away mindlessly.

Jungkook tilts his face to messily slot his lips against your own, he slams his hips upwards rather harshly. Each punishing thrust leaves you shaking and mewling for more, you weakly hold on to him for dear life and try not loosen your grip on him. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites teasingly as a low whine escapes your lips.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you baby? Got myself a little painslut don’t I?” He purrs low while circling his hips and letting you feel every inch of his cock.

You hiss softly and hide your face in the soft cushioning of the couch, you’ve long blocked out the music in favor of focusing on two things: Jungkook and the wet noises your cunt made. You could feel dollops of slick run down your taint and between your ass cheeks. His cock was drenched in your wetness, everytime he pushed back in a loud squelch was followed shortly after.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum on this cock baby? Gonna make it nice n messy for me?” He huskily whispers, “C’mon baby, answer me.” He lightly slaps your cheek forcing you to look at him.

“Y-Yes,” you softly gasp, back arching when he strikes your g-spot repeatedly.

“Yes what?” He licks his lips.

“Yes daddy.” You whimper out. Jungkook captures your lips in a heated kiss and then proceeds to slam his cock in and out of your battered pussy.

You hug him tightly while messily kissing back as his cock slips in and out of your gaping cunt. He pulls out to the very tip before slamming back in and repeating the process over and over. Loud wet smacks are heard but you’re too cock drunk to see (or care) if anyone is looking. Before you even realize it, your cunt squeezes tightly around him and you cum with a loud cry. Your pussy absolutely gushes around him.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, he comes to a halt and simply grinds his cock into you. He feels more slick coat his cock until he’s covered in slick. He throbs at the sight of your trembling thighs and presses his cock in, letting his creamy cum fill your pussy up. You both slump into each other, he pants heavily and just lays there with his body covering your own.

“Got all night baby,” he murmurs in your ear while kissing the side of your head, “why don’t we get a little more comfortable in my bed, yeah?” He whispers.

You turn to press your lips to his, “Mmhm,” you pull away as a string of spit follows, “gonna give you a REAL show daddy.” You softly say.

Jungkook chuckles quietly, “I’m sure you are.”

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut

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saturnsorbits · 10 days

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Thirst Trap: Caught Desperate

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Prone Bone, Spanking, Pictures - Consensual. Word Count: 4k.

Summary: Read the Intro -> Here.

A/N: Idek what the fuck this is. I've genuinely forgotten how to write - smut especially apparently.

-> Part of the 'Thirst Trap' Collab.

Make sure to check out the other incredibly talented authors through the link above and don’t forget to leave a nice comment and reblog if you liked their work!

The first thing he feels is panic.

His phone won't stop. It vibrates against his palm, stirring up a numbness that radiates through his callouses as the screen flickers. The near constant updates create a blur he can't follow, the dull flashes summoning a sharp edge to the headache that has already started to press at the sides of his skull.

Fuck. He sighs, digs a knuckle into the corner of his eye and brackets his hand across his forehead. His PR team might actually murder him for this one.

Prodding at his screen, he manages to slow the endless roll of his feed. The replies are positive, mostly. His fanbase isn't exactly small and, according to the last PR meeting he was forced to attend, they were also predominately women. Although, looking at his phone now, he'd say the divide was probably about 50:50.

Curiosity getting the best of him, he scrolls...

The first few replies he sees are simple enough: suggestive emoji's, notes of amusement, the odd heckle about the size of his cock. Then, there are the more fun ones: the ones calling him a slut, asking to give him more than just head or being up front with their solicitations.

Huffing out a breath, he unfurls, spreading out on the bed and stretching an arm up behind his head. His pants are still unbuckled and pulled to the broadest point of his hips, a casualty of his drunken state. Underneath, his cock presses against the denim – twitching with every mention of the things his fans plead to do to him.

He shouldn't.

He knows its wrong.

Knows that he shouldn't indulge himself.

He shouldn't be thinking about fucking his fist to the thought of an anonymous stranger drooling down his balls, his cock bulging from their cheek, holes stretched out around him as he rolls his hips searching for the thing inside of them that'll make them scream.

His hand cups his pec, broad palm circling gently until he can catch his nipple with each slow pass. It's surprising how quickly his cock catches on. He can feel it leaking, soaking through patches of his underwear as it begs to be released. Letting his hand slip down his body, he feels the tension shake in his abdomen. He's wound tight, muscles shivering even under his own touch as he sinks his hand into his jeans and finally, squeezes his cotton-clothed cock.

He should stop.

Fuck, he should just delete the tweet and get a glass of water.

… And maybe a cold shower.

Licking over his teeth, he's reluctant when he slips his hand back out of his jeans and slams it, somewhat sticky, against his sheets. His cock protests, throbbing with the new lack of friction after being granted so little. It makes it hard to focus, the rolling pit in his stomach, the pulsing of his body – even without his alcohol impairing his judgement, his desire pleads a strong case for him to simply submit.

Bakugo swallows and moves to swipe away from the possibly career-changing tweet on his screen, but the feed is faster than he is.

It isn't the message that catches his eye, not at first anyway. No. It's the username. Your username.

He clenches his jaw.

Immediately, you fill his senses. It had barely been a few hours since you'd had your arms wrapped around his neck, your bodies pressed together as you swayed on the dance floor. If he tried, he swears he'd still be able to feel the soft skin of your thigh grazing against his fingertips as his hand had found its way under the edge of your dress. Your perfume had been intoxicating. A subtle mix of vanilla bean, sandalwood and your sweat had drifted from your collarbones and infested his senses, luring him right to the edge of what he'd known would get him into a whole heap of shit.

That was before he'd made that fucking post, of course.

Now, he was starting to wonder if taking you home would have been the right move all along.

His promises be damned.

Chewing at his lip, he lifts his thumb, revealing the message attached to your name. 'Thought you said you weren't that desperate, huh.' His stomach lurches.

The memories come quick then, fighting through the fog of too many whiskey's and regret.

He'd meant it as a joke, he really had, something to give him some pace, to make you think twice, think of the consequences – but he's never been good at managing his tone and at almost midnight even his belligerence had felt semi-formal. You'd been too close, too pretty, with the promise of a night he wouldn't be able to forget laced between your teeth and he'd... Well, he'd done what he does best.

He'd pushed you away.

Your eyes shine in the dull lights outside of the club, the yellowing tinge spilling from the surrounding lamps doing nothing to diminish how stunning you look. The alcohol has blown out your eyes, swallowing your iris' almost whole – although, he'd like to think he had a hand in how truly taken you look right now. His hand is on your waist, equal amounts keeping you close and at bay as you bat your eyelashes prettily at him and pout.

'C'mon...' You press close, hand searching the expanse of his chest. His heart thunders underneath, picking up whenever you near his pecs, so you slip a had over his shoulder and use his height to ease yourself up onto your tip-toes. 'You've practically had your hand up my skirt all night, what's stopping you now?' You chuckle, clicking your tongue against your back teeth.

Bakugo's snarl twists his features before he can stop it. He can feel the barb, feel the world curl on the back of his tongue before he can do anything to stop it. It tumbles from his mouth, but even despite his attempt to spit it out softly – hoping it won't hurt too much, your nose wrinkles.

'You really think I'm that desperate?'

It's like you've been slapped.

Your hands tense on his shoulders, feet falling back flat to the floor. Part of you knows he's just trying to get a rise out of you, but you're beyond sick of the back and forth. It's been months of this, of you getting close enough to taste him only for him to retreat at the last moment, usually with a snarled comment he doesn't mean, or some silly excuse to protect that softly-beating heart everyone swears he doesn't have. Sighing, you step back – the tap of your heels like gunshots on the pavement as you raise your bag from the crook of your arm and back onto your shoulder. 'Obviously not.'

Your distance reads like rejection, burns a hole in his pride and makes him prickle. He shakes his head and slips his phone from his pocket intent on ordering his own taxi, despite the fact he can barely make out the squiggles he hopes are words. 'Fuckin' knew I shouldn't have let Red bring you-.'

After that the memories grow hazy.

He remembers how you'd somehow smoothed over the hiccup in the conversation, laughing it off in all probability, but even then, you'd never quite come as close to him as before. He remembers your laugh. Remembers how the melody of it had ricocheted around his brain in the taxi ride home. He remembers missing your warmth. He remembers the flash of guilt, his half-hard cock and drunken brain at war. He remembers his phone, the screen a pale blue, glowing. He remembers, he remembers his thumb hovering over your name.

He remembers chickening out...

Fuck.

Evidently, he hadn't chickened out hard enough.

Clicking onto your page, he checks your replies to make sure he hasn't hallucinated your response, but before he can even begin to obsess over it – his phone pings in his hand.

It's a message. A real one. Not something filtered in through his socials. With shaking hands, he opens it and pauses.

He has your number saved under your first name.

Just your first name.

Not 'Sidekick''. Not your full title. Or what department you work in. You don't even have a stupid moniker. For fucks sake, he's called Kirishima 'Shitty Hair' in every single phone he's had since high school, and Todoroki has remained solely Todoroki – even despite the fact, both him and his father share the title.

He doesn't dwell on the reasoning.

Instead, he opens the message and is immediately confronted with a screenshot of his tweet. He cringes. Your reply is underneath it, racking up too many likes for his taste, and underneath that is your text.

You: 'You really are fucking desperate, aren't you?'

He waits, palms sweating, watching as three little dot appear and disappear and then, reappear again.

You: 'Can't even reply to me?'

You: 'You could at least turn your read receipts off. I can see you reading the messages.'

You: 'For fucks sake, Bakugo?'

His pulse quickens, thrumming strong and rhythmic under his skin as if to remind him what it is to be near you. The joints in his fingers have frozen, despite the energy rushing through his body demanding movement. Through the haze of his vision he sees you typing again.

You: 'Can we stop doing this now?'

Yes. Bakugo thinks. God, yes. The room spins as he cranes his neck down at his phone, eyes unfocused... His heart and cock war on, but now, the alcohol makes it far too easy for the tide to sway. Flexing his thumbs, he taps back a message before he can think better of it, before the noise of his life and expectation and the world outside can eat away at him again.

Bakugo: 'Please.'

Your reply takes a second this time, forcing the air in his lungs to crystallize; but before he can drum up too many doubts, there's your name again lighting up his screen.

You: Is that the great Dynamight saying please?

Bakugo: Fuck off.

You: Fuck off, or fuck you?

Bakugo's cock twitches in his jeans. He's so hard it's almost painful now, causing an ache to spread up the deep lines of his hips and radiating through his pelvis. Reaching down, he palms at himself again feeling the heft of his desire in his palm. He types back, one handed, the other already occupied.

Bakugo: Don't play with me. You know he'll kill the both of us.

You: I never did get to give you your birthday present.

Furrowing his brow, Bakugo is taps out a series of question marks – unimpressed with the idea of birthday cake when he had come to expect something a whole lot different, but before the thought can fully depress him – another message comes through.

It's a screenshot. The one this entire conversation began with – his own message glowing from his screen. Except this time, underneath is a message that makes his breath catch in a whole new way.

You: 'This offer for everyone, or just everyone who isn't me?'

Bakugo: You.

Bakugo: It was just for you.

Bakugo stills, his breath jammed in the back of his throat as his brain catches up with his fingers.

Fuck.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He should of just had a wank to all of the filth being sent from his fans. Even that would get him in less trouble than this. Part of him wants to back out, wants to claim a hack or come up with some other equally unbelievable and shitty lie so he can turn tail and run, but there's no way back now. He knows that much. His cock is hard and heavy between his thighs, his drunken mind too far from sober for him to see reason.

He types back.

You don't bother changing. You'd dressed to impress after all. Instead, you snatch a condom from your brothers stash tuck it into your bra and order a taxi, checking the address Bakugo had sent you three times before finally confirming the ride.

The journey is short and sweet, filled with anticipation and the soft jazz that trickles through the radio of the car. You've been waiting for this, grown tired of the will they won't they that had lead to this moment, but now it's here, you find yourself: nervous.

The car mounts the curb, almost sending you sprawling, then a tenner and a lift ride later, you're at his door.

He opens it before you knock looking a little more together, but still drunk. You can feel it too, the alcohol still flooding your system and making everything just a little easier. Still, nothing is as easy as coming together. You mouth drops open, an unspoken question lingering on your tongue and then, Bakugo is on you.

'C'mere.' Using one hand, he hooks it around your waist and tugs at you to him. Your bodies collide, palms coming up to rest against his chest as you peer up at him. He doesn't know how he's resisted you for so long, how he's kept true and stopped this. After all, looking at you now cradled in his arms, it is obvious this was nothing, but inevitable.

Your lips come together easily. The kiss is harsh, full of pent up tension and a longing that has broken you both. He nips at your bottom lip before you flick your tongue against his teeth, tasting him properly as he lets you in.

'Holy shit.' Panting, you claw at him – your hands are everywhere: at his buttons, his chest, wrapped in the chain circling his neck. He pays you back in kind grabbing at your hips, taking handfuls of you with an eagerness that radiates through his entire body.

With an unceremonious grunt, he bends at the knees, slipping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up against his waist. He pulls back a slither, blinking at you, his shoulders straining at he takes your entire weight with ease and presses you into the wall of his hallway. A wicked grin takes his lips as you squeak, arms and legs wrapping around him to cling on. 'Hang on.'

He kisses you again then, pressed to the wall, but before you can catch you're breath he's off. You make a stop at a small counter where he presses his clothed cock to your cunt, letting you feel just what you're getting yourself into and again at the wall outside of his bedroom. There he almost leaves your neck raw, biting and sucking, but never enough to leave too much of a mark.

You stumble into his bedroom still cradled in Bakugo's arms. There's sure to be bruises on your elbows, a symptom of attempting to peel him from his shirt while he careened through the doorway, but as your back hitting the bed and Bakugo hovering over you, you find it hard to care. Reaching into your bra, you slip out the condom with two fingers and present it to him by waving it under his nose.

Taking it with his teeth, he grins as you let out a sigh that settles in his bones. Beneath him, you look insatiable. Your eyes have blown out, the black of your iris' banishing whatever colour had once been there. The dress he'd been so anxious to get under all night is rumpled, the slit cast aside exposing the thickness of your thighs and a slither of cunt covered by a pair of soft-looking red lace. The bodice is low, the heaving of your chest apparent – your tits held high, pressed together and begging for his hands. Slipping a hand up your thigh, he brushes his fingers across the flesh and earns himself the most pretty of moans.

'I knew you'd break.' Lifting your leg, you kick out at him softly – the ball of your heel connecting with his shoulder. You perch on your elbows, eyes swollen, the pulse of your cunt matching the beating of your heart. It's been rough until now, a clash of teeth and nails, but its hard not to notice the bare desire you see splayed out in his eyes. It's mixed with carmine, a colour that barely covers what, if nurtured, could become love. 'Knew I'd have you.'

He grabs your ankle and pulls on reflex, yanking you down the bed. 'Did you?' Under his skin he feels feral. Something that's only made worse when you lick your lips and nod.

His restraint snaps. Grabbing at your hips, he kneads the fat there before flipping you over. You bounce, a scream escaping your throat, but he quickly transforms the sound into a moan with a harsh slap against your ass.

'Thought you wanted head?' You laugh, feeling your skin prickle under him. There's a rustle behind you, the tell tale sound of him shucking down his jeans and then, his fingers are pulling your underwear away from your cunt and exposing you to the air.

'You always this much of a brat?'

You wriggle and lift up your hips. 'You always this hard for me? Oh wait...' You chuckle. 'You are.'

A growl rumbles in his throat, but it's not anger he's feeling. Taking his cock in his hand, he gives himself a cursory pass – the stickiness of his own pre cum making it easy. His head rocks back on his shoulders. With a bottle of whiskey still coursing through his vein's he's more than sensitive, the simple passes of his hand having him ready to blow – God only knows what the feel of your cunt will do to him.

'C'mon... Fuck me, forget the condom – just -.' Reaching behind you, you attempt to grab at him – to pull him close, get him to touch, to taste.

Chuckling to himself, he bats your hand away easily. 'Nah-ah-ah. Don't think you deserve me raw, sweetheart. Only good girls get that.' He squeezes the base of his cock, stopping a premature end as he tears through the tinfoil of the condom and slips it on.

You go to whine, to kick your feet and protest him not giving into you, but you're not even given the chance.

The first thing you feel is impossibly full. The next is overwhelming pleasure. Bakugo hadn't wasted time prepping you and to be honest, you hadn't needed it. You're soaking, cunt dribbling greedily onto his mattress – like you haven't been waiting forever for this moment. You arc your back, one hand fisting his bed sheets as the other curls around the wrist he plants beside your head. The pace he's set is brutal, each thrust pushing deeper inside of you, taking you as he pleases as you cling on and submit to it.

'Where's the cheek now, huh?' He pants. Honestly, he's surprised he's not cum already. Your cunt milks him, squeezing him so deliciously that he doesn't think he'll ever find anyone better.

Then again, he know what they say about forbidden fruit.

''m sorry.' You moan, back curling as he fucks you harder. It's pathetic how he's barely given you anything and yet, you're already creaming around him. Your body begs for release, teetering you on the precipice of ecstasy as he uses you relentlessly.

'No your not...' Bakugo chokes out, teeth bared as he clings to the last threads of his control. Your tight now, too tight to not be close and if the way you're moaning and almost drooling onto his bed is anything to go by – he's not wrong. Leaning over you, he licks a thick stripe up between your shoulder blades before resting his lips by your ear. When he speaks is a growl, a command that comes from deep within his chest. 'Touch yourself... C'mon, show me how pretty you cum.'

You don't need telling twice. Forcing your arm beneath you, you draw quick, awkward circles on your clit and have to remind yourself to breathe. Your orgasm hits you like a train. Every muscle in your body tenses, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the high continues to roll through your body. It feels like a millennia until you come back again, until your limbs begin to feel under your own control and you become aware of Bakugo still frantically prolonging your high.

'Shit, shit, shit...' Pulling out, he ignores your protests before quickly rolling off the condom. It takes a singular pass of his fist before he cums, a grunt thrown from his chest as he releases himself over your ass. His mess is sticky, a pearlescent sheen that drips between your cheeks and onto your raw cunt – your clit still twitching.

In a moment of madness, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of the scene. In it, only the edge of your dress can be seen, coupled with the most distant droplets of his spend as it decorates the skin of your thighs.

'Post it.' Craning over your shoulder, you hiss at the new soreness in your limbs as you roll onto your back. You tilt your head, signature mischief returning to your cheeks. 'Got to let those fan girls know you've already being taken care of...' You flash a smile. 'And I'd really hate to see your DM's right now.'

Against his better judgement, he tosses you his phone. 'Knock yourself out.'

It's almost six in the morning when you finally settle for bed. You'd gone another three rounds. Once in shower, over the vanity in the hallway and then, again in his bed and each time had seen both of you aching and sore and more than pleased with yourselves. You'd posted the picture and Bakugo's phone hadn't been quiet since – not that you minded. It wasn't like anyone could really tell what it was. The lighting was awful, the image blurred and you'd cropped it so there was no chance of anyone figuring out who you were.

Still, the idea of it stirs up something hot and heavy in your stomach.

You'd laid your claim now.

'I will never know how you're such a demon when you're brother's a God damn golden boy.' Bakugo's breathing has just about leveled out, you hand rising and falling in a more subtle rhythm where it lays on the center of his chest.

You wrinkle your nose. 'Can we not talk about my brother while I can still feel your cum dripping down my ass, please.'

Bakugo chufs, but relents. His thumb rubs soft circles in the skin of your shoulder, a gentle beckoning to sleep as both of you watch the sun rise and fill his bedroom window with a brilliant orange. 'Stay?' He kisses your forehead. 'I'll make you breakfast.'

Nuzzling into him, you're about to agree – mind already reeling at the possibilities of Bakugo's cooking and another round at a more respectable hour – but, all thoughts cease when Bakugo's phone pings with a message.

'If this is my fucking publicist you can explain yourself.' Bakugo tuts, but there's still a warmth in his smile that betrays his annoyance.

You giggle. 'Happy to.'

Flipping over his phone in his hand, Bakugo's mouth drops open when the screen glows to light his face.

There's only one message on the screen.

And it isn't from his publicist.

Shitty Hair: 'Really dude, my fucking sister?'

#bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #mha smut #saturnsorbits #saturnscribbles

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missmeinyourbones · 2 months

Text

AURORA BOREALIS GREEN

cw: non sorcerer au, college au, enemies to lovers (?) neighbors to lovers, miscommunication trope if you squint (I AM SORRY), reader e to as she/her once, reader wears heels, some light sexual content (dry humping nation rise)

wc: 10k+

There's something wrong with your upstairs neighbors.

You've never met them, not face to face at least, but between the times you've hit your ceiling with the end of your broom and the audacity they have to continue to be as rowdy as they are, something isn't right with them. You're sure of it.

And you're not naive to the fact that your apartment building is filled with young people, either currently in college or just freshly graduated. You're no prude to the dulled sound of late-night party playlists or squeaky bed frames muffled by plaster.

But your neighbors aren't guilty of these typical noise complaints. No, they're borderline much worse.

The majority of their crimes take place in the day, believe it or not, which makes it all the more frustrating when you actually have shit to do. When it's not boyish yells of victory and frustration, it's footsteps that sound like a herd of elephants (how many people can live in an apartment floor plan for two?). They're relentless upstairs neighbors to have, and though you couldn't pick their faces out of a crowd if you tried, you're sure their lack of etiquette spans across other areas of their lives.

The tiny clock at the top of your computer blinks a mocking 11:38 AM as you try to study through the sounds of excited stomping and rowdy gibberish.

You don't know what makes today so different, whether it's the burnt coffee beans you can taste lingering in your usual order from the cafe across the street or the organic chemistry study guide practically laughing at you as you review your hieroglyphic notes for tomorrow's test.

Whatever is in the water has you feeling braver than usual, and instead of reaching for the conveniently placed broom in the corner of your kitchen, you find yourself stomping your way down the hall and up the staircase.

The sixth floor is identical to the fifth — you don't know why it wouldn't be, but you've never put much thought into it — so it's no surprise that your feet find no trouble in naturally bringing you to a door equivalent to yours just a floor below.

Your knuckles wrap against the wood with three unfriendly knocks, and the joyous buzzing from inside the apartment instantly comes to a lull. You think you hear panicked whispers from the other side, almost as if the culprits are debating on answering or not. You take their choice away when you knock three more times.

After a moment, you hear the clicking of the lock and the fiddling of the doorknob. You take a deep breath to ground yourself, put on your best customer service voice, and prepare to calmly tell these entitled frat boys to shut the fuck up when—

You're ironically met with the prettiest green eyes you think you've ever seen.

A tall brunette stands before you, about your age, and wearing a look that's both confused and embarrassed. Your eyes quickly flicker across his face in the span of mere seconds, logical thoughts going out the window and now replaced with amazement at how stupidly attractive he is.

Though you knocked on his door, he speaks first.

"Hi...?" He clears his throat, looking behind you in the hallway, almost as if you have the wrong room.

His confusion annoys you, and you suddenly remember why you're here in the first place.

"Look, I really don't wanna be a bitch," you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose, "but what could you possibly be doing in this apartment that sounds like an actual full-out brawl on a Wednesday morning?"

Obliviously handsome neighbor's face goes a bit pink and his jaw slacks as he stutters, looking for either a shitty excuse or a polite explanation of the truth.

He opens the door a bit more, gesturing to the living room behind him. You spare a glance to where another guilty suspect stares back at you with big brown eyes and a smirk. There's some video game paused on the screen, ridden with animated blood and a scoped weapon's perspective.

Your attention is brought back to the one holding the door when he mumbles, "I think it's our game."

A bit dumbfounded at his lame answer, you blankly stare at him.

"Your... game?"

Brown Eyes yells from the couch, "Call of Duty!"

As if on instinct, Green Eyes closes the door a bit, shielding you from his roommate and shaking his head in exasperation. He clears his throat awkwardly, "Sorry, are you—?"

You're suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you've been staring at how long his fucking eyelashes are. He's anything but sore on the eyes, but again, you try to remind yourself that he and his roommate make your life difficult at least five out of seven days of the week.

"I live below you," you huff behind a swallow, "and you really don't make it easy."

He nods dumbly, finally realizing the connection behind your visit. "Oh, right."

You scoff and nod your head. For someone as pretty as him, he's a bit thick in the head.

Biting your cheek, you begin to walk away from the door without completely ending the conversation. As you're turning to leave, he hears you call out from down the corridor.

"If you could just — not play video games like eleven-year-old boys," your tone is filled with annoyance, "that'd be great."

You don't need to turn around to know that the stranger at the door is apologetic and nodding in compliance. Before he can fully shut the door, you hear a quip from his counterpart on the couch.

"She told you, bro."

As the door shuts, you hear the muffled hiss from the other. "You're the one making noise, dipshi—"

…..

Your threatening conversation must have worked to some degree, because it's been almost two days without any sort of annoyance from your upstairs neighbors. You think you almost take it for granted, the way you can study without headphones and enjoy a movie in the living room rather than in your bed with the speaker on high.

The walk back from your class is usually about twenty minutes, but it's closer to fifteen today as you're quicker when it comes to getting out of the cold.

Your chemistry test went alright — maybe not your best work but okay enough that you passed. And that's all you care about as you make your way back to your apartment, intending to crash in your bed and not move for the next few hours.

The winter air leaves a chill up your spine as you swipe into your building and press the elevator button. Your nose runs a bit from the cold as it sits against your knit scarf. Bag on your arm and half-consumed coffee, you can't wait to enjoy a day or two without thinking about covalent bonds and isomers.

You close your eyes and release a sigh as the elevator door begins to close, but before it gets the chance to do so successfully, quick footsteps and a hand jammed between the closing space prompt the doors to reopen.

Not really paying attention to the stranger joining your 30-second elevator ride, you simply step to the side to make more room for them.

It's not until they make eye contact with you that you realize it's your neighbor, the same one you'd borderline terrorized a few days ago for being irritating.

He's out of breath from catching the lift last minute, lungs still adjusting from the crisp air from outside. His jacket is zipped all the way up to his collar and his hair pokes out in spiky tuffs from beneath his hat.

He mumbles out a weak "sorry" before his eyes find the floor and the rickety door shuts, leaving the two of you alone in the suddenly very small space.

You'd cuss beneath your breath if you weren't close enough for him to hear it.

What's the acceptable thing to do in this scenario? You mentally weigh out your options. Sit in an awkward silence? Introduce yourself as if your encounter never even happened? Address the fact that you banged on his door a few days ago and insulted him as a first impression?

You choose the silence. If anything, you silently pray that behind your winter apparel and the lack of eye contact, he doesn't even recognize you.

But that thought goes to shit when you see that he's already pressed the fifth-floor button for you.

You swear the ride to your floor has never been this slow. Seconds feel like hours as you watch the digital number rise like paint drying on a wall. The elevator almost laughs at you as it stops on the third floor and opens itself to find no one there; you curse whoever decided to press the button before changing their mind and taking the stairs.

After what seems like forever, your floor finally flashes on the pixelated screen, and as you feel the elevator come to a stop—

The doors don't open.

You think it's just your dramatic prolonged sense of time until it's been about ten seconds and still, nothing. Just the two of you in a stopped elevator with doors that won't unlock.

You've never been one to believe in karma, but you can't help but think this is the universe punishing you for standing up for yourself. You are quite literally on your floor, a mere sliding door away from the embarrassing situation you got yourself in, but still, nothing happens.

He presses the button meant to prompt open the doors a few times with slight force.

"It does this, sometimes," he weakly coughs out in an attempt to make conversation. "It's uh—a shitty building."

You try pressing the button for yourself, "It's never done this for me."

Green Eyes sighs, slouching against his side of the wall and letting his head fall to rest on his shoulder, "Consider yourself lucky."

You huff, giving up on the button and turning to face him.

Your eyes didn't deceive you the first time you saw him — he is just as pretty as you'd initially thought. Not a great conversationalist, but nice to look at. He avoids eye contact until you speak up.

"It's happened to you before?" you gesture to the doors that won't open.

He catches your eye before nodding defeatedly, "This is the fourth time."

You can't help but bitterly laugh at the situation you're in.

"Maybe it's just you, then," you joke, looking up at the digital five mocking you in the corner.

Though you don't catch it, his eyes soften a bit as they fall on you. The corner of his mouth slightly quirks up when he chimes, "Could be."

You let yourself count another ten seconds before tossing your hands by your sides in aggravation and sighing, "So, what now? Hit the help button or—"

And like a blessing, or maybe a curse, you can't decide, the elevator chimes, signaling its arrival. The doors open swiftly as if there was nothing wrong with them in the first place, revealing your destination floor to you.

You whip your head to your upstairs neighbor, confused and almost asking for his permission to exit the elevator. You don't know why you do so, and you don't know why you only depart after he nods his head and waves his hand for you to continue.

Next time you leave your apartment, you find yourself taking the stairs to be safe.

…..

Your peaceful living is unsurprisingly short-lived. After a few enjoyable days, you'd given your neighbors too much credit as they now return to their usual noisiness. You find yourself rapping on their door once again.

This time, Brown Eyes answers.

Even before opening his mouth, he's instantly friendlier than his counterpart based on body language alone, completely opening the door all the way wide and leaning against the frame in his palm.

He's taller than you, but not as tall as the former who greeted you last time. With light rose-colored hair, he's all smiles and giggles. You'd think he were high if you could smell anything on him.

Oh, he's also shirtless.

"Hey, it's our friend again," he smiles at you before craning his neck backward, and you can make an educated guess on who exactly he's talking to.

You're quick to steer clear, "We aren't friends."

He laughs at your words, completely unfazed by the unwelcoming attitude. He casually sips on an energy drink that looks borderline lethal when he asks, "Were we being loud? You comin' to yell at us again?"

His lack of care for the situation surprisingly doesn't rub you the wrong way. Inconvenient? Yes, but not necessarily malicious, from what you can tell.

"I wouldn't be here for any other reason."

"Sorry," he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "We don't really have inside voices around here."

You can't help but roll your eyes at the childish excuse. "You should find some."

"Will do," he nods like a child being reprimanded in class, "sorry again."

He salutes you with a metal can in his left hand. Before you can turn your back to him and towards the elevator, you hear the same voice call out to you.

"Hey—!"

You stop midstride, slowly turning around to face the door again. He stands in the same position, leaning against the door frame as he points out the obvious.

"We didn't get your name last time."

You blink at him a few times, not caring enough to connect the dots and extend the nicety, but the friendly one persists. He places a palm on his (bare) chest as he gestures to himself, "I'm Itadori."

You nod with raised brows, "And I'm calling our landlord if you piss me off again."

You hear a soft chuckle from the inside of the apartment. The two of you turn at the sound of the noise, where Green Eyes hides his smile behind the strings of his sweatshirt and quickly returns his attention to his phone.

Itadori, apparently, looks back at you and nods to his friend, "That's Fushiguro."

You breathe out your own name and quickly make your way back towards your apartment. On the ride down to your floor, you find yourself repeating the name — Fushiguro. It tastes weird on your lips, and you hate the way you don't hate it.

..…

His name is Megumi.

You learn this when a letter shows up at your door addressed to a Fushiguro Megumi. Mail mix-ups are common in the apartment complex, but you can't help but laugh at the coincidence - his name but your apartment number clearly displayed in black ink.

You examine the piece of paper closely. The cream-colored envelope covered in poorly drawn hearts and tacky puppy stickers placed randomly across its front found itself wedged into your door's mailbox. Flipping it over, the return address is a mere surname of Gojo underlined with a smiley face.

A love letter, you realize. You're not sure why the shift in narrative suddenly fills your stomach with an uneasy weight of disappointment.

You're going out anyways, you tell yourself as you slip on your scarf and shimmy into your shoes. Between stopping at the grocery store for a few small things and dropping off overdue assignments at your professor's office, it's not like you're going out of your way to return the letter to its intended recipient. You're doing the right thing, being a good samaritan, your mind repeats.

The single flight up the stairs is easy enough and a good excuse for exercise. Approaching the door that mimics your own floor below, the same one you've already visited two times too many, you feel weirdly nervous. Just slide it beneath his door and call it a day.

As you bend to slip the paper beneath the door, it swings open.

You quickly stand up straight and back away from the opening, as the shadow in your peripheral startles from your presence and does the same.

"Shit, sorry—"

Looking up, you lock eyes with the one and only whose letter lies in your hand. Fuck.

He hesitates a bit when he realizes it's you, doing a double take and immediately assuming he's in trouble again.

"We—" Megumi, you now know him to be, turns his back to you, quickly surveying his empty apartment to show you, "aren't playing? Yuuji's not even home, so—”

You're not sure why you're the slightest bit hurt by his more than reasonable accusation. The only two times you've been at his door were to reprimand him, so of course he's not wrong to assume this time was no different. Still, it has you feeling guilty as you dryly swallow and raise your arm.

"I was sticking this under your door," you sigh, handing him the ridiculous-looking envelope. "Got sent to my place accidentally."

His eyes flicker to your extended hand, and when he sees the writing on the envelope between your fingers, his body instantly goes hot with embarrassment.

"Of course it did," he groans beneath his breath, almost annoyed.

A bit abruptly, he grabs the letter from you and places his hand behind his back, telling himself that if it's out of sight, you'll forget it ever happened entirely.

His uneasiness and slight frustration have you taking a small step back as he snatches the envelope. He senses your hesitation and immediately mourns how he acted out of instinct, sighing and slowly moving the letter from behind him to rest by his side.

He softens and clears his scratchy throat, something you've come to notice he does a lot. "Thanks."

Feeling a bit brave, you raise your eyebrows, amused at his odd behavior. Your words are taunting yet friendly when you nod to the note at his arm.

"You should probably tell your girlfriend that you're in #603, not #503."

Megumi's face is often stoic and downturned, aside from a slight pull of a smile that can rarely be seen on occasion. But at these words, you watch in regret as Megumi's expression mimics one of disgust mixed with pure mortification.

"Oh, this—" his eyes fall to the envelope he thinks might be the cause of his death, "this isn't from a girlfriend. It's actually a lot worse than that."

"Worse?" you push.

"It's... from a family friend," he weakly reveals. "Kinda like a dad, I guess."

You find yourself smiling at the meek yet sweet confession, nodding along and biting back a good-hearted laugh at his timidness.

"Right, I just assumed with the hearts and the cute stickers that—" you trail off, gesturing to the letter that clearly presents itself as something else.

He laughs a bit humorlessly and itches the back of his neck shyly.

"That would make a lot more sense and be a lot less humiliating, yeah."

You take a moment to take in his shyness. He's harmless, you decide at that very moment. You make a mental note to remind yourself to weigh the sides of the subject at hand.

Cons: awkward, obvlvious, bad neighbor, a tad unfriendly at times

Pros: annoyingly attractive, nice enough in actual conversation, respectful in passing, girlfriend-less

You shake those points from your head, taking a breath and slowly moving towards the elevator. "It could've been worse. The stickers could've been puppies and kittens," you tease.

You expect that to be all, because that's all it should be, right? An awkward yet friendly coincidence between two strangers who got off on the wrong foot. You're locked in on entering the elevator when you hear his voice from behind you.

"Sorry—" he shortly blurts out.

You turn, expecting him to elaborate on the outburst. The look on his face almost reads as if he wasn't planning to until seeing your reaction, where he explains, "That we're loud sometimes. I really do try to tell Yuuji to shut up, but he's just... a lot."

You don't know why your heart swells at the apology.

"It's fine," you nod softly. Turning your back, you call out to him as you enter the elevator. "You've actually been pretty tolerable this week, but don't let that go to your head."

As the elevator closes, you see Megumi smile before returning inside and closing his door. This time, you don't stop the thoughts that flow through your head.

Pro: cute

.….

You suppose it was only a matter of time before the tables you'd set managed to turn on you, but you just didn't expect it so soon. Because the next time you run into your neighbors, it's them knocking on your door for a change.

The sharp winter wind shakes the sides of your building with rage — the kind that results in creaky panels and systems outages in certain sectors of your building.

After waking to take a shower early this morning and being greeted with piercing cold water that refused to warm up, no matter how long you ran the faucet, you knew today would be a long one.

Clad in layers of fuzzy socks and bulky hoodies, you rise from the couch to answer the banging outside. After opening the door to see who's on the other side, it takes less than a second for the visitor to make himself at home.

"You out of hot water, too?" Yuuji casually brushes past you, walking into your home and stopping in the center of the living room. He looks around the space in awe — as if his own place just a singular level above doesn't mimic the exact same floor plan.

Still in the hallway but keeping an eye on his friend's questionable behavior, Megumi waits in the hallway. He's on the phone with someone, his cell wedged between his elbow and ear. When he begins asking about the building's backup generator, you mentally thank him for being the only proactive one here.

You sigh and turn to Yuuji, who's admiring your wall art and the fact that you have an actual television stand, "I'm out of heat in general."

"Damn," he blurts out without a thought, "that sucks."

You overhear Megumi wrapping up his conversation in the background when your lips are pulled downward in confusion.

"Are you guys not?"

"Oh no, we are," Yuuji continues admiring your apartment with a child-like curiosity, "but we have a space heater that's doing the job for now. How are you so good at decorating?"

You ignore his question, turning to Megumi who now stands on the threshold of your doorway. He makes a face, one of tight lips and sympathy, almost as if he's wordlessly apologizing for both the unfortunate scenario and his roommate's lack of social etiquette.

You further wrap yourself in your own little warmth, crossing your arms inwards. "That's actually really smart of you guys," you manage to croak out.

"You can come up and chill if you want," Yuuji mindlessly offers, eyes scanning over the magnets on your fridge. He can't stop himself from fiddling with a cherry-shaped one that holds up a baby picture of you from kindergarten.

The shock on your face must be obvious because you swear you hear Megumi swallow a chuckle at your reaction.

"You came down here… to ask me to chill?" Your voice octaves up towards the end, almost as if repeating the offer will reveal itself to be a track or joke.

While Yuuji nods eagerly, you can hear Megumi muttering from behind the neckline of his sweatshirt.

"Sue us for extending a neighborly olive branch."

As Yuuji continues to outwardly snoop around your kitchen, his eyes land on your oven-top clock and he whines.

"I actually have class in twenty and need to catch the shuttle to campus, but you're welcome to not freeze to death with Fushiguro, if you want."

You check your phone, confirming the time when you question, "Didn't the last shuttle of the hour leave already?"

You watch the gears turn in Itadori's mind for a second before he smacks a palm to his head, quickly brushing past you and out the door.

"Fuck me, see you guys later then—" he hurries, the only sound following him being the swishing of his winter coat and clunky booted footsteps jostling down the stairs.

And with Megumi still standing in your doorway and the sound of the main staircase gate slamming behind Yuuji's path, you could hear a pin drop between the two of you if it weren't for the howling wind outside (which you find yourself suddenly grateful for rather than loathing it).

Megumi shifts his weight on the balls of his feet as he stands. He clears his throat in a way he hopes is subtle.

"You can still come up," he gestures to the hallway with a nod of his head, before cautiously adding, "if you want."

Instinctively, you feel your body curl further in on itself. Megumi must notice it too, as his eyes quickly flicker to your raw hands tucked beneath your arms.

"It's not that bad in here," you weakly dismiss.

He deadpans, "I can almost see your breath."

A sigh leaves your chilled body and you look up at Megumi. Now it's your turn to silently communicate with him — eyebrows raising and wavering between your options, you chew on your cheek in thought.

"You don't have to," he softly adds, hands burrowing themselves in the pocket of his hoodie. "Just wanted to see if you needed anything, I guess."

"What did the landlord say?" your words are muffled from your teeth in your cheek.

Megumi's eyes light up a bit before they find his scuffed Converse again.

"He's sending his guys over, but it's gonna take an hour, at least."

After another minute that feels like twenty, you softly speak up.

"…Do you really have a space heater?"

As he fights off a smile, Megumi gently nods.

.….

You'll admit, the apartment looks better than you'd imagined. Not that your standards weren't too high to begin with, but you're pleasantly surprised.

Megumi unlocks the front door, gesturing for you to enter as he slowly closes it behind him, shivering a bit from the draft weaving through the hallway.

It's clean, relatively. The design of the rooms and open areas are identical to your layout below, but between the decor (or lack thereof) and the overhanging presence of the space, it feels so different.

Their television, the one you know to be responsible for their rowdiness, balances on what looks to be a bedside table. Far too small for the proportions of the TV but just enough to carry the width of the screen's base, it looks silly but does the job.

"You can just…" Megumi waves his hand to the living room, awkwardly trailing off as he insists. "Sit. Wherever you want."

Your seating choices include a felt futon in scrappy condition, two lopsided beanbags, and a busted recliner. You take your chances with the futon.

Surveying the apartment, it's not terrible — truthfully, you'd been expecting worse from college guys. You give them props; aside from a few half-drank plastic water bottles and withering plants on their window sill, there's nothing that outwardly goes against any health violations or suitable living standards. No empty beer cans or pizza boxes, no trashy flags or posters hung on the walls. It's decent.

And the space heater working overtime in the corner outlet is a major plus. Feeling the angle of its warmth blasting on your legs, you exhale at the heat and rub your fuzzy slippers together on instinct.

"Do you want anything?" Megumi stands a few feet away, nervous for someone in the comfort of his own home, "Water or a drink, or something?"

It's sweet how respectful he's being — you think back to whoever sent him that letter, imagining they raised him right.

You shake your head curtly, "I don't take drinks from strange men."

His face drops instantly.

"Oh—right," he swallows harshly, fumbling with his sparse words. "I didn't mean it like that or anything, but that makes sense. I just meant—”

The stoic expression you were attempting to upkeep fails and you can't fight off the smile that pulls at your cheeks. Exhaling a laugh and looking over at him, you apologize, "I'm just kidding, Megumi."

He feels his stomach instantly solidify like cement at your words — Megumi. He doesn't recall you ever referring to him by any name, let alone his first. He feels a wandering heat itching up his neck when he coughs up a chuckle.

He shakes his head, sitting on the opposite end of the futon and leaving the middle cushion between the two of you unoccupied.

"Fuck off," he scratches his jaw to busy his shaky hands. In doing so, you catch a glimpse of a few silver rings wrapping around his knuckles.

As the warmth of the space heater (solely the space heater, you remind yourself) gradually dissolves the chill that's been stuck up your spine for the last few hours, you slightly settle further into your seat.

"So this is the scene of the crime, huh?" you motion to the gaming console propped up on the floor beside the makeshift television stand.

Megumi amuses an exhale through his nose and nods along, "Yeah. I mean, you've kinda seen it from the hallway before."

"Yeah, but this is the real thing, first-person point of view. It's just missing me downstairs hitting the ceiling with my broom twenty times."

The next few minutes are stolen by a whole lot of small talk that holds no weight. Beginning to panic at how the hell you're gonna make it through this entire hour with little to talk about, your eyes fall on the television once more.

"So," you curl into the futon. "Show me something worth screaming over."

Without warning, Megumi chokes on his own saliva as he swallows.

"Huh?"

"A game," you quickly correct, not realizing how your words sounded and nodding to the television before you. "I meant, show me a game that justifies how loud you two get."

The game is fine, nothing revolutionary but admit that you could see how it could be entertaining for some. A standard battle royal concept, Megumi hands you his second controller and walks you through the instructions on how to play.

You mimic the way his fingers hold the controller, how they flex and bend to hit certain buttons for special uses. Throughout the tutorial of trial and error, the two of you naturally close the gap of the middle cushion, now much closer as you copy his movements and use his hands for reference. He even goes as far as reaching over to point out certain buttons to you, skimming your fingers hesitantly as he pulls away.

It's safe to say you don't win, don't even come close, but he's a good sport all the same. He laughs when you're hit by enemies and revives you with little to no mocking. He whispers an encouraging "there you go" whenever you manage to land a hit on someone, followed by an "I got you" when he's covering for your character. It's fun — you freeze a bit when you realize that you like spending time with him, even doing the very thing that caused this entire debacle in the first place.

You don't realize how much time has passed until Megumi's phone vibrates from the coffee table. His eyes quickly glance over the unsaved number, almost as if recognizes the contact and is debating on answering or not.

Your eyes narrow teasingly when you taunt, "You gonna take that?"

Snapped out of his thoughts, Megumi nods, swipes his screen, and holds his phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

The conversation is short, maybe thirty seconds in total. Though you can't make out any specific words, you can hear the rumbling of another deep voice on the other end of the call. Megumi listens half-heartedly, nodding along and chiming in here and there to acknowledge the caller.

"Hey, yeah. That was me. Right, okay. Okay, nice. Thanks, appreciate it."

The call ends and Megumi puts his phone down on the coffee table once more. You swear you can hear a small sense of disappointment in his voice when he breathes.

"That was the maintenance guy," he breathes softly. "Heat's back on."

You feel your own body getting sour with misfortune. Why are you so bitter about the thought of going back downstairs to your own apartment?

Nodding at his words, you slowly stand and do your best to sound relieved. "Thank god," you joke, "I was beginning to think I might have to sleep on this gross futon."

Megumi sneers, rolling his eyes and rising to walk you to the door. Before you step into the hallway, you turn to face him.

"Thanks," your tone is spineless, one he's unable to recognize from you before you elaborate, "for letting me leech off of your heat."

"No problem," he shoots you a genuine look. "Consider it reparations for all of the times we've annoyed you."

"All of the times?" you shoot him a harmless glare.

Unlike most who cower and scowl at your sarcastic quips, Megumi seems to bloom beneath your daggered attempts at pushing him away.

"Fine," he exaggerates a groan, "maybe not all. But it's a start, right?"

A start. The insinuation tickles all air out of your lungs like a feather. Though you pretend to be annoyed and kiss your teeth at his words, you nod all the same.

Leaving his door, Megumi seems lighter than he did when you first entered.

"Sorry you just kinda watched me play video games for almost two hours," he calls out to you as you depart, hands returning to his pockets.

"Don't be," you honestly tell him as your head cranes back to look at him. "It was nice to be up here for reasons other than wanting to strangle you."

.….

A day and a half later when the universe has realigned itself and it's you knocking on their door again, they half expect you to be followed by your stuffy landlord holding an eviction notice.

Much to their surprise, you're alone, rather skittish — and holding a tupperware container of… cookies?

It's Megumi who opens the door initially, but Yuuji is quick to squeeze his way into the opening at the sight of your familiar face and mysterious delivery in hand.

"Ooooooh, what are these?" he inquires, unashamed as he pokes his nose into your space in an attempt to get a better look at the baked goods.

Pulling a bit away from his antics, you swallow back any potential wisecracks.

"Thank you for being neighborly and not letting me die of hypothermia cookies," you keep your voice neutral.

"Are they poisoned?" Megumi pipes in.

You shoot him a scowl, one he's learned is innocent enough, and his eyes crinkle in amusement.

"Shit, can't remember if I added vanilla or vitriol?" your head cocks to the side in faux thought.

Your eyes flicker to him as he chews on his cheek in a half-assed attempt to cover up his entertainment at your quickness.

Yuuji, focused on nothing but having a minimum of five cookies for good measure, snatches the container from your hands and carries it to the kitchen counter.

He's already opening the dish and helping himself as he chews, "I don't even know what that is, so I'm gonna take my chances."

Megumi gives a quick thank you for the cookies, and Yuuji chimes in behind a satiated mouth and crumby lips. You brush off their graces, reminding them it's just you returning the favor for the heating situation.

Just as you're about to see yourself out of their entryway, you hear an authentic offer from the kitchen.

"Hey," Yuuji wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and something about it feels oddly youthful to you, "wanna come over this weekend?"

You look at the two of them for a moment, waiting to see if there's a punchline to come, before carefully treading, "Why?"

"We're havin' some friends over," Yuuji reveals casually before going to take another large bite, "and I guess you're funny enough to hang out with us."

The hesitation in your response must be more apparent than you think because he's quick to chuckle and elaborate on the offer.

"It's not an orgy," he teases at your stiffness before grabbing at another cookie and shrugging. "We get take out, chill, drink a little, kick ass in Mario Kart."

You nod as you listen to his words. He's kind, they both are, and you know the offer to be a genuine one. Still, the situation makes your stomach ache with uncertainty at the thought of mingling with strangers for the sake of your mere — acquaintances? Neighbors? Friends?

"As fun as that sounds," you breathe, clearly trying but failing to convince them of your apologetic tone, "I don't really wanna intrude on you and your friends.

"It's not intruding if you're invited," Megumi interjects for the first time in the conversation.

Looking at where he stands against the counter, his eyes are on you. They're careful, but hopeful in a gentle kind of way. He wants you to say yes — but he'd rather swallow a knife than his own pride and admit it himself.

Your words are unconvincing when you sigh, "Not really in the hangout mood. Next time, okay?"

The two men deflate a bit, one more dramatic and obvious than the other, but they nod at your rejection. Wiping his hands off on his shorts, Yuuji walks you to the door, thanking you again for the sweets and joking about you getting home safe on your long journey back downstairs.

You can't help but giggle at his theatrics, insisting that, "If you need me this weekend, I'll be rotting away on my couch with a bottle of wine and a week's worth of Love Island to catch up on."

Yuuji laughs wholeheartedly, "Your loss, see ya."

Megumi weakly waves as his best friend swings the door shut. Once closed, Yuuji turns to him with a cheeky smile he knows can mean nothing good.

Megumi grimaces at his enthusiasm, "What?"

Yuuji nods to the door, a toothy grin spreading across his face. "Think I'm gonna ask her out."

Megumi's quick to react poorly.

"What?" he borderline knocks over the water bottle next to him on the counter. He catches it, embarrassed by his obvious care for the situation as he tries to cover it up with a nonchalant scoff, "Why?"

Yuuji stares at him for a minute in disbelief before stating what he believes to be the obvious.

"'Cause she's hot and yells at us all the time?"

Megumi scoffs in distaste again. He fiddles with the rings on his right hand, pretending to be careless about a situation he's anything but careful about.

Sensing his roommate's off response, Itadori's quick to add. "Unless you wanna call dibs before I do?"

"Dibs?" Megumi groans.

"Yeah, like claiming—"

"I know what dibs means," he interrupts before Yuuji can dig his own grave any further. He slumps into the palm of his hand as his elbow rests atop the kitchen counter, "I just think that's shitty."

Yuuji, knowing Megumi well enough to sense that he's hit a sour spot, nods and backs off. He joins him at the counter again, oblivious as he grabs another cookie to chomp on. With cautious eyes and a mouth filled with chocolate, he speaks up.

"…So you don't wanna call dibs?"

.….

It's Saturday, almost Sunday, according to the cat clock on your wall.

You'd kept your word. Beneath a few blankets and practically one with your couch cushions, you're spending your weekend doing exactly what you'd anticipated.

The television continues to play the stream of episodes you're catching up on. With your second glass of red in hand, you tune in and out of the segments when the good parts catch your attention. It feels good to relax, to do nothing and to be nothing behind tipsy and fatigued eyes.

A sudden knock on your door puts a minor wedge in your plans. Sitting up with a groan, you whimper beneath your breath but move to answer it regardless.

Maybe you forgot to tip your delivery driver when he dropped off your takeout a few hours ago and he's back for revenge. Maybe it's your drunk friends, showing up to ruin your night and attempting to persuade you to join them on their foolish escapades. Maybe it's someone with the wrong address.

Locking eyes with the visitor at your door, it's Megumi. Maybe you're drunker than you thought.

His delicate eyes match yours when he scarcely smiles, "Hi."

Your eyes go to the items in his hands — a few beer bottles, a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels, and a deck of cards.

Giggling to yourself, you stare at him, "I think you got off a floor too early."

Megumi laughs, and when you're able to get a good look at him, you can tell he's a bit tipsy, too. His shoulders aren't as tense as they usually are, he's still broad, but a lot looser now. His eyes are glossed over with a haze you're sure yours mimic. He scratches his nose awkwardly before opening his mouth.

"I—" he cuts himself off, eyes darting to the items in his arms before returning to you, "wanted to see you."

"Me?" you're unable to stop yourself from nearly gawking.

He laughs again, not obnoxiously but easy and natural. "Yes, you. Does someone else live here?"

"Don't you have plans with your friends?" you question, still not letting him inside.

"They're upstairs," he nods, "and no, I'm not here to force you to come up."

At his words, he can see your visible relief. Opening the door fully and letting him come inside, you relish in reassurance, "Good, I really didn't wanna be fake nice right now."

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth as he sets his belongings on your coffee table. "Fake nice?" he prompts.

"I mean, not that it's fake, it's just like—customer servicey. Y'know? Being kind to people in a way that's not ingenuine but—"

"Exhausting?" he finishes for you, and he's weirdly more talkative with a bit of alcohol in his veins. "Yeah, I feel that."

You sprawl onto your couch and he takes the seat next to you but refrains from leaning back as far. He watches you graze on your glass of wine, your legs crossed childishly as you gaze up at him.

"Are you like that with me?" he puts on a brave face. "Fake nice?"

He releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding when you shake your head. After a hearty sip from your drink, you talk dramatically with your hands.

"Am I even real nice to you? I've kinda been a bitch since the day I banged on your door."

Megumi shakes his head as he laughs, which in return allows you to do the same. He relaxes a bit further into the warmth of your cushions, lolling his head to look at you as he opens himself a beer.

"I don't think so," he shrugs. "You're not wrong for complaining about us being understandably annoying."

Things lighten up as time passes. The night gets a bit blurry but it's fun, carefree. The two of you sit on your tiny couch, passing a bag of pretzels back and forth, and playing stupid card games that bring out your competitive sides and don't have real rules.

Minutes bleed into hours and you're not sure what time it is when it's late enough for Megumi to start yawning. Enjoying a comfortable silence between the two of you, his voice is temperate when he asks.

"Why didn't you want to hang out with us?"

He almost seems mournful, and a part of you feels guilty as his eyes blink heavily down on you. You exhale, readjusting your legs and throwing your head back.

"Seemed like a friend group thing," is what eventually crawls up from your throat. "Felt weird being the only one who didn't know everyone, y'know?"

He considers before nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. But I would've been with you."

His stare feels sharp, like he can see right through your facade and into parts of you you've buried deep a long time ago. You hate it and love it, want to drown yourself in it and voluntarily inhale until your own demise.

Unable to hold his stare, you look into your almost empty glass, swishing around the bleeding wine and ice that remains at the bottom.

"Well, you're here with me now, anyway."

Megumi continues to admire you without words. Pointing an accusatory finger back at him, you nudge his leg with your foot. "So, why aren't you up there?"

"Cause you didn't show up," he doesn't hesitate to respond. Almost as if he regrets his eagerness but still stands by the sentiment, he clears his throat before adding, "Was weirdly hoping you would, but—"

He doesn't finish his sentence, trailing off with a lame shrug.

His eyes look greener when they're a bit more watery. Fuck it.

Slowly, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time to assess his reactions, you move to crawl into his lap. You sense a difference in his breathing pattern, but other than that, he makes no move to pull away from you. He lets you carefully straddle his legs before getting comfortable atop him, when he places his hands on the plush between your hips and thighs.

Leaning in, giving him any chance to reject you, stop you, hate you, you continue to keep his eye as your lips just barely brush against his. He does the same, refusing to look away from you as if he'll never get this opportunity again. As if he wants to take a picture and relish it forever.

"Stop me," you bite through a hushed whisper, daring him to put an end to this before it begins.

His breath is lulled against your own when he whispers, "No."

You kiss him, and he kisses you back. It starts simple, like you're learning all about one another's creases and folds. Between shaky inhales and nervous hands, you lean into one another's touch, savoring every taste and sound you can manage.

Megumi feels brave, and on one particular gasp from you, he prudently skims his tongue across your lower lip before slipping it inside. Rubbing against your own with a fervent need, you open your jaw further for him to have whatever he wants. Between your increased breathing, soft moans, and greedy hands, the two of you slowly become messy and desperate for one another.

Hips wantonly moving against his thighs, he flexes instinctually as you begin to grind yourself down on him. He meets your movements, half hard as he presses into you, both of you whimpering at the new-found friction. The two of you reduce to whiney teenagers, practically swallowing one another whole and dry-humping fully clothed before you open your eyes to look at him.

Megumi, eyes shut and whimpering into your neck, is too good for this — deserves more than this. He's kind, respectful, funny (though you'd never tell him that to his face), and you're both drunk. It feels so fucking good, but it isn't right. It's not supposed to happen like this.

Slowing your movements, you pull back to see his face. Dazed, he opens his pretty green eyes to look up at you like you hold the stars and sun in your hands.

"We shouldn't," you pant, brushing your bangs back and catching your breath. "We should stop."

Megumi, confused and hurt, but instantly moving you off of his lap with a gentle hold, nods in agreement. "Right, right, we're — we're drunk," he whispers, almost ashamed of everything that just happened.

Before you can say anything, he's readjusting himself and standing up. A bit more sober than he was a few minutes ago, he's straightening himself out and making his way to your door.

"Sorry—" he keeps repeating himself, "I'm… I'm so sorry."

He's gone before you can reassure him that there's nothing to apologize for.

.....

You don't hear from him the next morning — or afternoon.

When night falls, you've given up that there's any hope of saving whatever it was the two of you had going.

Wanting to drown yourself in your own sorrows, you stare at the text from your friend before you and weigh your options.

Stay in, cry yourself to a babbling mess, and finish your show

Answer their text and agree to go to this party with them

Thinking back to last night and how badly you fucked that one up, you decide the first choice is off-limits. Hoping you don't regret your decision, it's not long before you're looking decent enough to lock your door behind you and start the commute to your friends.

The walk isn't terrible, being ten minutes to your friend's place and an additional fifteen to whoever's party you're attending. On the west side of campus, you can hear the muffled music and drunken squeals of the attendees from down the street.

The party itself is fine, nothing special. The lime seltzer in your hand is still half full when you stray away from your friends in search of the bathroom.

There's a line formed down the hallway of drunk girls laughing, couples swallowing one another's faces, and a single guy slumped against the wall in his own world. Taking a second glance at the end of the line, you recognize the lone drunk as Yuuji.

Gently tapping his shoulder, his eyes blink open and he's nearly crushing you to death when wrapping his arms around you in excitement. He lets his animation get the best of him, lifting you in the air and spinning you once before he realizes he can't handle another. Leaning on the wall to steady both you and him, you're smiling at his sloppy yet endearing enthusiasm.

"What are you doing here!?" he beams, swaying back and forth and reeking of cheap booze.

"My friends dragged me out of the house," you tease before noticing truly how incoherent he is. Your nose crinkles with worry, "You fucked up?"

He can barely stand up straight, eyes unable to focus in one spot for too long as he blearily looks at you before skimming his body against the wall again. He's talking in slow gibberish, something about having one too many and wanting to talk to this pretty girl from his linguistics lecture before she leaves.

"Hey," you gently grab his jaw to steady his gaze. "Did you come here alone?"

Yuuji doesn't answer, or rather he does but it's nonsensical and impossible to go off of. You sigh, quickly scanning the suddenly overwhelming crowd around you before grabbing his arm and speaking kindly, yet reflective of a mother.

"Let me take you back to our building, okay?" you prompt him to stand up straight and follow your lead. "I'm going back anyways, I'll walk with you."

Yuuji's eyes light up with excitement at the thought of a journey with his neighbor friend, and it's not long before he's dragging his feet over one another and using your hand as a guide to the door.

On your walk home, you ache for the comfort of your warm bed, the feeling of taking these god-forsaken heels off, and Megumi's forgiveness. You wonder if you'll see him when dropping off Yuuji at his door — you pathetically hope so.

However, Yuuji didn't show up to this party alone.

Megumi, who had been grabbing him a drink and caught a glimpse of you two, saw the entire thing without context — Yuuji's hands around your waist, you caressing his jaw, the two of you leaving abruptly together.

He downs both his and Yuuji's drinks with ease.

..…

Megumi wasn't home.

Disappointed but relieved to see Yuuji safe in the comfort of his apartment, you help him collapse on his couch.

Turning him on his side and making him drink at least two cups of water before throwing a blanket over him and leaving a note, you close the door behind you with a heavy heart.

A few minutes later, you're a bit more at ease. Feet now ridden of silly high heels and skin against the soft cotton of your bed, you find yourself flooded with thoughts of Megumi.

You wake up to a constant thud on your front door. Picking up your phone, it's almost two in the morning and you're not even sure you're not dreaming when you're feet carry you to the blistering noise of a fist on your door.

Swinging it open with half-closed eyes, you're more than prepared to fight a murder charge to get whoever the hell this is to leave you alone. But before you can curse them with everything in you, you realize it's Megumi.

"Hi," he whispers. It's a start contrast from the violent banging on your door he was responsible for two seconds ago, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

"Hi," you respond, suddenly more than awake and just as breathless. "You okay?"

"Are you sleeping with Yuuji?"

Your heart skips exactly two beats before you can accurately comprehend his question. It's then when you notice that he's drunk, disgustingly so. You're not sure how it wasn't the first thing you noticed - but looking at his green eyes again, you give yourself some grace.

"… What?" is all you can pathetically muster.

"Itadori," he slurs. His face is pale with hurt and the collar of his shirt is all wrinkled.

You can't help but roll your eyes, "Yeah, I know who Yuuji is, but why the hell are you asking me that?"

"Because you shouldn't be," he declares through a heavy tongue and spinning head. You think you hear his voice crack with emotion when he continues, "I don't want you to sleep with him."

You're sure you're still dreaming as you take in his words. Since the moment you knocked on the door one floor above you, sleeping with Yuuji has never crossed your mind. You've been far too busy focusing on thinking about the man in front of you, who's wasted beyond belief and accusing you of something that not only doesn't make sense but hurts a bit.

He fumbles on his words, swallowing dryly and spiraling.

"You shouldn't sleep with him just because he walks around shirtless and invites you to hang out with us."

Your eyebrows pull downwards with what Megumi knows is hurt. He can't stop himself from talking or spewing nonsensical things just because he can.

Your voice is shaky when you plea, "Megumi, what?"

"I mean—he's my best friend, he's great," he throws his hands up to surrender the truth. "But we played video games and—and we kissed. And you're always looking at me with those eyes and—"

"Megumi," your voice comes tired now, cold. "You're drunk."

"You left with him. And you were whispering in his ear and touching his arm." He frowns, feeling sick just thinking about it again. He shakes the nightmare from his head when repeating his prior question.

"Are you sleeping with him?" he asks again, more accusatory this time around.

He watches your eyes fill with water, but it's not long-lived before you're blinking away any sign of weakness and cementing your walls up again.

"If you didn't notice," you spit with venom, "your friend is drunk off of his ass. I walked him home since he could barely stand on his own."

As if you're speaking another language, Megumi dumbly gapes at your confession.

"You—what?"

You press with ice in your words, "Walked him home. He's passed out on your couch right now."

"Oh." Megumi hadn't returned to his apartment before coming to yours. He'd walked home from the shitty party with one destination in mind, immediately talking the elevator to the fifth floor and finding your familiar floor.

He feels stupid, nauseous with guilt, and god, does his head hurt. His heart hurts too when you scoff and cross your arms in defense.

"Wanna go back to the part where you were practically calling me a slut?"

He cringes, "No, no god no, that's not what I was trying to—"

You don't give him the luxury of explaining himself. Turning your back and slamming the door, you take away his chance of redemption.

You sound unrecognizable when you tell him, "Go to fucking bed, Fushiguro."

.….

The birds outside of your window remind you that it's Sunday, and the open book on your desk reminds you that not only do you have class tomorrow, but you have an assignment due before midnight.

Memories of last night's conversation — if you could even call it that — with Megumi make you feel queazy. Nothing happened in the way you'd wanted. It all just spiraled out of control, like water slipping through a cracked ceiling, you'd just watched it leak without remorse.

The continued chirping outside reminds you that it's quiet, something you should use to your advantage. A light in this mess of a pathetic story.

You'll study, you decide. You'll grab a quick coffee from the cafe across the street and get some actual work done. Something you should've done a long time ago, something you’d ignored that ended up with this this heartbreak.

Not even ten minutes later, you're decent enough to slide your shoes on and grab your house keys. Opening the door into the hallway, you're met with familiar eyes.

Megumi looks disheveled, sitting with his knees up against the wall of your hallway. At your abrupt opening of the front door, he's quick to stand up and dust his pants off from the grime of the hallway carpet. You notice he has a paper bouquet of pinks and blues in his hand and an exhausted frown on his face.

When he looks at you, he can almost feel the air leaving your lungs as your stomach drops.

The first words you say to him are softer than he expects, than he thinks he deserves, but still carried by a look of disapproval.

"Were you here all night?" your lip turns with disgust.

"No—" he spews too quickly. Seeing your expression that clearly reads disbelief, he slows himself down. Taking a deep breath, he repeats himself with a bit more certainty. "No, I've been here since like, seven maybe?"

"Why?"

His hand trembles in a way he hopes you have the respect to ignore as he moves to give you the bouquet. "Because I'm sorry," his voice is steady, like he's been practicing in the mirror.

Choosing to make him work for it, your eyes flicker to the flowers unimpressed before finding his face again.

"For?" you cruelly push him further.

But Megumi's determined to meet your forces just as equally. His voice gains confidence as he speaks clearly, "For panicking and assuming the worst last night. I was drunk, but that's not an excuse. It was a douchebag thing to do."

Admiring how your face softens at his apology but still carries creased lines of worry, Megumi half expects your response.

"And?"

This is the part he's a bit unprepared for.

"And for leaving that night," his volume dips with the confession, eyes wanting to find comfort in the floor so badly but refusing to leave your own as he tries and tries and tries to fix this, "I..."

His lips move before he can think twice about his words, "I thought it was what you wanted."

His confession cracks something inside of you, like nails digging crescents into raw skin. Slowly, you gesture for him to come inside. He hesitates but follows when you move towards the couch, the same couch you'd straddled him on two nights prior. It looks different in the daylight.

Megumi's careful with each step, as if he's walking on eggshells, when he slowly sits beside you on the couch. Placing the bouquet on your table, he moves as if you're a predator, as if he'll make one wrong move and you'll snap, lurching at him and sinking your talons into his neck. You hate how it makes you feel.

Your words surprise the both of you when they eventually come. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. I wanted you to stay I just—felt bad."

Felt bad? Megumi's mind goes numb at the realization. Felt bad for him? Like when you do a good deed to cancel out a bad one? Did you kiss him that night because you pitied him?

Before his mind runs itself further into the worst-case scenario, he's brought back to reality as you continue.

"We were drunk, and I didn't want that to be how it happened y'know?"

He starts at you blankly, "It?" He lamely asks.

This time, it's your voice that weakens with shame. He watches you fiddle with your fingers, the same ones he remembers feeling in his hair and on his skin. The ones he wants to feel again.

"Felt like I was coming onto you, and you deserved better than that," you eventually reveal softly, correcting yourself with certainty. "Deserve better than that."

And he feels stupid. God, does Megumi feel stupid. All this time, he'd been thinking you regretted the why of the situation, kissing him like you did. He'd never stopped to think about the fact of how you did it. Never thought you'd be so inclined to consider his wishes.

You think he regrets it, and that is the last thing he wants you to believe.

Taking a risk, Megumi lays a gentle palm on your thigh. He does so slowly, giving you a chance to revolt and bite his hand clean off the bone. You don't so he relaxes his hand.

It's not sexual, not desperate and needy like how it was the other night. It's calm. comforting. Another way for him to say I'm still here, aren't I?

"I'm not great with words," he starts, "but I was very much into it. I need you to know that. You didn't—do anything I didn't want."

Softly and ignoring the criticism from the voice in your head for once, you nod.

You recognize the familiar pull of his lips when he softly grins. "Think it's pretty obvious now, but in case it's not," he leans into this whole communicating thing, "I really like being around you."

He thinks his heart grows a size when you weakly smile back at him, "You like being around me?"

He shrugs, laughing at your sarcasm. "Around you, with you. I guess I just like you, really."

You raise your eyebrows, challenging his statement, "Are you still drunk?"

"Fuck no."

You hum shortly. "Hungover?"

"Disgustingly so," he grimaces at the reminder of how nauseous he is.

"Thinking clearly?"

"Never really around you, but clear as I can be."

It's soft and sweet, and this is how you wanted it to be. Naturally, as if you're both magnets being pulled to one another, Megumi is carefully guiding you into his lap as you're naturally making yourself at home in his hold.

The position almost exactly mimics the one you'd found yourself in on Friday night, but this time, it's different. It feels different — golden instead of red and light with a newfound meaning.

With gentle eyes and slight nods from each of you, you kiss once more. His mouth moves the same, eager yet graceful as he leans into you. No wandering hands or drunken hiccups, you feel one another smile into the kiss until it is all giggles and teeth.

"Y'know, if you wanted to ask me out," you pull away from him, accusatory with an underlying teasing, "you should've just asked like a normal person instead of accusing me of sleeping with your friend."

Megumi groans in embarrassment, hiding his face in your neck. You feel the heat of his cheeks when he sighs.

"Yeah, that wasn't my finest moment."

Kisses are stolen and silence is shared until he yawns you remember how awful he must still feel from drinking so much. Crawling off of his lap, you ignore the butterflies in your stomach whines he whines at the loss of your weight.

"Want anything?" you call out as you walk towards the kitchenette. "I have Advil and a bagel with your name on it."

Megumi hums at the thought, not confirming or denying the offer, as his eyes remain locked in on you in a blissful comfort.

Your voice becomes more distant as you turn the corner, "I'll even give you those eyes I know you like so much."

A muffled sound of humiliation can be heard from the couch, "God, please forget I said that."

Putting the bagel in the toaster and reaching up to the medicine cabinet, you laugh carelessly.

"Never."

…..

Yuuji wakes up with a throbbing headache and an acidic burning in the back of his throat.

He groans, turning on his side before realizing that — he's not in his bed. With blurry vision and sweaty hands fumbling to survey the environment around him, he feels for his phone. The screen is far too bright and completely overridden of missed calls and texts, reading a mocking 2:14 PM when he groans.

When yelling Megumi's name a handful of times doesn't work (it usually does), he opens his Find My Friends app and tracks his roommate. Seeing his icon appear right next to his own while ironically hearing your echoing laughter ring from upstairs, he laughs.

Before he closes his eyes again and deals with a hangover from hell, he sends Megumi a text before tossing his phone across the room.

Ur welcome for not actually calling dibs.

#ive looked at this too long and need it out of my face #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fic #megumi fushiguro fic #jjk megumi #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi smut #megumi fushiguro smut

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dotster001 · 1 year

Text

For Tuna; Snack Break

Summary: A series of vignettes taking place while Grim is making his final choice. The time will soon arrive....

Part One Part Two Choose your ending....

"I have detention everyday for three weeks," Grim pouted as you gave him his tuna pancake breakfast.

"What did you do this time?"

"I-" he cut himself off, his eyes nervously flicking to yours, then back to his plate.

"Crowley's an ass that's why. No other reasons, don't dig into it henchhuman."

"Am I going to get a bill for it?"

"No."

"Then I don't have the energy to care," you said with a sigh, thinking of all the maintenance you had to do on Ramshackle today.

Grim looked at the time, shoved what was left of his pancake into his mouth, then scampered out the door, passing Ruggie on his way out.

"Hey Y/N, I found a tool kit, ready to do some fixing?"

You nodded, ready to renovate Ramshackle with your favorite hyena for a couple hours.

….

Grim stepped into the mirror chamber, and made sure to use his toe beans as much as possible. He silently made his way to the headmage's mirror. He had almost made it when he was scooped up, and squeezed firmly in a pair of strong arms.

"Thought you could hide from me forever, didn't you sealio?" Floyd said in a growl.

He brought Grim up to face level, a nasty scowl on his face.

"Let's see if this jogs your memory. I gave you a month's worth of free lobsters. In exchange, you promised I would make it through to the second wave of interviews. Starting to sound familiar?"

Grim quickly nodded.

"Cool, then why did I have to find out from Jade I wasn't chosen to participate, and Azul was?"

Grim whimpered.

"I warned you, right? People who cross my family have a tendency to disappear. It won't be today, it won't be tomorrow, but watch your back, cause one day I'll have Y/N, and you'll-"

"Mister Leech. Unless you want to join Grim in detention, please let him go," Crowley said, crossing his arms in a pout.

"Sounds boring," Floyd pouted, dropping Grim like a hot iron. Unfortunately for Riddle, he happened to choose that moment to step through the Heartslaybul portal.

"Oh! Goldfishie! Let's play tag!"

And now Floyd was running after Riddle, who was practically begging the headmage to save him.

But the headmage conveniently couldn't hear as he escorted Grim to detention.

….

"Idia-"

"Shit! How did you get in here?" Idia screamed at Silver who was patiently sitting on his bed waiting for him.

"I let him in!" Ortho said excitedly. "It is better for your mental health to have friends!"

Idia fought back a glare, before pulling out his iPad, and hastily typing.

"Why are you here?"

"My father said you could answer a question I had. What is "babygirl"?"

Idia stared at Silver for a moment as the tips of his hair slightly flickered pink.

"Damn. I have to choose between the otaku urge to participate in an irl otome cut scene, and my love of Y/N, the greatest character to ever spawn in my save file."

He chewed his lip, and Silver continued sitting patiently.

"Fuck it, this is too epic to pass up. Babygirl means Y/N thinks you're just a little guy."

"I still don't understand."

Idia groaned.

"Um, okay, so Y/N thinks you're a total cutie and would be happy to have you on their arm as a trophy husband."

Silver's cheeks turned a light pink.

"Oh…"

"Like, they prob. think you're submissive and-"

"Babygirl is like a princess! You're Y/N's princess!" Ortho cut in excitedly.

"I'm Y/N's princess…" Silver whispered, a slight smile on his face.

"Not exactly! It means Y/N wouldn't mind if you were their princess. Nothing is set in stone. I have a lot of bbg's, but I wouldn't necessarily settle down with any of them."

"I like the idea of being Y/N's princess…"

"Damn it, why am I rooting for this? It's too cute!" Idia groaned.

"Hee hee, big brother also wants to be Y/N's princess…"

Idia's hair turned a bright red and he went catatonic.

….

"So that's why you booked out the kitchen this morning."

Ace stiffened, and turned from the Ramshackle door to "greet" Trey. He was startled to see Trey holding a tart.

"I had the kitchen all morning! When did you make that?" Ace asked in horror and despair.

Trey shrugged. "I always have a spare tart lying around, in case we have company. What's under the tin?" He nodded towards the dessert tin Ace was holding.

"My masterpiece," Ace grinned. The grin quickly fell. "Wait! Why are you here? You stole my idea!"

"The idea to bring food to a hungry prefect at lunchtime? While it's such an original idea for you to have, I didn't steal it from you," Trey sighed in irritation, attempting to step around Ace to the door. Ace blocked him.

"No. I was here first. I get to give Y/N treats."

"Ace, I beg you to reconsider."

"No!" Ace got in a defensive position that he used when playing basketball, then swatted the tart out of Trey's hands.

"What the hell!"

"There. I'm the only one with treats. As the Seven intended." Ace turned the door knob, but Trey started shoving him, and reaching for the door knob himself.

"I tried to be nice, but you've completely blown it."

"It's not nice to steal someone's idea!"

"It is literally 12:30. Everyone is eating right now. It's not an original idea!"

In the midst of the shoving back and forth, the door opened, revealing a very amused Ruggie.

"Shihihi, you both just saved me a trip."

He snatched the dessert tray and shut the door behind him. Both men froze in shock, and heard Ruggie yell,

"Y/N! I got us a treat!"

Ace elbowed Trey.

"Nice going, dumbass."

Trey raised an eyebrow and stared at Ace, who only at that moment remembered who he was talking to.

"I mean, that sucked, didn't it, Mister Vice Housewarden, sir?" He laughed nervously.

"Don't worry too much about it. I doodle suited it when he took it from you. Whatever it was will taste like sardines."

Trey walked away calmly as Ace stared in mixed awe and horror.

….

You and Kalim were walking to class together, when you noticed some scribbles on his hand.

"What's that?" You asked.

"Oh! It's a new thing I'm trying. You know how I'm trying to be more independent from Jamil, but I have a terrible memory? I'm just writing everything on my hand and arm!"

"Can you even read that? It looks all smudged!"

"Sure I can!" Kalim pulled up his sleeve, pointing to each word as he read aloud.

"Party, present, Grim, books, botany, secret, and snack."

"How is that helpful? What does any of that even mean?"

"Well party is, I'm throwing a party soon. Or I want to. Present and Grim, is because I want to give Grim a present at the party, because I heard he really likes presents. Books is so that I don't forget my textbooks, botany is because I have botany in an hour, and snack is because I'm hungry and might forget to eat!"

"Wow, okay, I guess that does help. But what is "secret" supposed to mean?"

"Oh! Right! Thanks for reminding me!" Kalim smiled happily. "There's something Jamil and I know that I'm not supposed to tell you."

"Oh?" Your curiosity definitely peaked. "And what aren't you supposed to tell me?"

"Let me double check," Kalim looked at his arm smudges, before gasping and laughing. "Nice try, it's a secret!" He said, pointing to secret on his arm.

You gave your best attempt at a flirty pout. "Couldn't you just tell me? I won't tell Jamil you told me. It can be our secret."

Kalim tilted his head thoughtfully, before nodding.

"Okay! So Grim has been-"

In moments, Jamil had body slammed Kalim to the ground.

"Kalim! I'm so sorry, I thought I saw an attacker."

"It's okay! It was an honest mistake,"Kalim smiled despite groaning in pain.

"We should go back to your room, just in case," Jamil said firmly, yanking Kalim to his feet, and away from you.

Jamil then turned to Kalim. "How many times do I have to explain this? You're lucky Grim is still even considering you, since you failed to show up to the interview. But you'll completely blow it if you tell Y/N! You'll never get another chance at Grim choosing you!"

"Right, I'm so sorry, I forgot," Kalim facepalmed. "Thanks for stopping me back there, Jamil."

"Anytime," Jamil smiled sweetly, "After all, I just want what's best for you."

….

Deep in the recesses of the Octavinelle Dorm, two random Octavinelle students are expressing their distaste…

"It's not fair! I'm Prince Rielle's first cousin! And Y/N's lab partner in Alchemy! We've actually gone on a date! Where does that cat monster get off not even considering me?"

"You think you got it bad?" The other student was tying his bow tie in the mirror, his anger evident on his face. "Y/N and I are in the newspaper club together. And I was about to ask them to be my significant other, when Grim showed up out of nowhere and told Y/N he "desperately needed their help with something." It's pathetic! The whole reason he chose us to sit in for those two other bachelors is because he knew how upset we were!"

"Absolutely disgusting. You know what?" The first student stood up. "The rat is in detention more often than not. He can't stop me from asking Y/N out!"

"Me too!" The other student stood up as well, before giving a flirty smirk to his roommate. "This is going to be our best anniversary yet."

"Agreed," they grabbed each other's hands and opened the door, both startled to see Jade standing there with an eerie smile.

"Excellent timing. You both need to work an emergency shift in the lounge."

"Damn it"

"Fuck."

….

"Monsieur Fuzzball! I have arrived with a new batch of conditioner specially formulated for your luxurious fur!"

"Much obliged," Grim smirked as he took the goodie bag from Rook.

"And I have Roi du posion and my financial statements, as requested," he handed Grim a manila envelope.

"Thanks, I'll let you know once I've looked over everybody's."

Grim moved to leave, but Rook picked him up by the scruff of his neck.

"I would like to make something clear though. I am le chasseur d'amour. I will hunt after the love of my life, whether I have your blessing or not," his eyes glittered with unbridled glee. "And should anyone stand in my way, I care not who they are. I shall act in a way that I see as fitting."

Grim's fur prickled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rook laughed lightly. "Who's to say?"

He pressed a kiss to the top of Grim's head, then set him down.

"Sleep well, Monsieur Fuzzball!"

And with a flourish he left Grim alone.

….

Jack, Epel, and Deuce were on a run together. As they rounded a bend, they came up on Leona taking a nap.

"Housewarden," Jack greeted.

Leona opened a single eye, and groaned.

"You three look remarkably calm for people whose best friend is set to be betrothed soon."

All three of them stiffened.

Jack rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and looked off into the distance.

"Y/N doesn't care about money. Whoever Grim picks, I have no doubt that Y/N will turn down the relationship, unless they truly see a future with them, in which case, what will be will be."

Deuce bit his lip. "I'm not in the place for a relationship anyway…I want to get my degree and start my career before I try to support someone else."

"It's just dumb as hell, and Y/N's not gonna put up with it. And when it all comes to light, they'll turn to the only people who don't see them as an object to be purchased. An' I'll be there to scoop them into my arms and pick up the pieces," Epel said with a smirk.

Deuce and Jack stared at him.

"Oh please. You both were thinkin' it. I'm just the only one brave enough to say it!"

Leona smirked. "Well I hope that works out for you boys. Just know you won't even get the chance if I'm the one chosen. I know how to treat Y/N right."

He lounged back with a triumphant smile, and quickly fell back asleep, leaving the boys with torn expressions.

….

"Your majesty! It is always an honor for the queen of Pomefiore to pay us a visit. How many I be of service?" Azul asked Vil, who was gracefully seated in the chair across from his desk in the VIP room.

"I have already drawn up the contract, it just requires your signature," Vil hummed, pulling out a scroll that already had his signature on it.

"Simply put, I am asking you to step down from the running for Y/N's future husband, and to clear the way for my victory. You will notice," Vil pointed to a blank space in the contract, "the payment spot is blank. Upon completion of the contract you are able to fill in whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Money, product, fame, anything you can think of is yours."

Azul thoughtfully tapped his chin.

"I could have Vil Schoenheit as an unpaid spokesperson for my future restaurant chain for an undisclosed amount of time. The capital that would bring in would be unmatched."

Azul picked up the contract, and Vil smirked. Until Azul tore it into pieces.

"The name of the game is confidence, and insecurity is not a good look on you, my queen."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Vil snapped.

"You think I haven't noticed the fact that your hair is half a shade darker since that monster told you you might grow old?"

"You've misseen it, I assure you. My hair has always been this shade of blond," Vil hissed.

"It's very possible I have misseen," Azul pushed his glasses up his nose triumphantly, "but it would be impossible to "missee" the fact that we have had to up production on your facial moisturizer, because you are using it in higher quantities."

"I am not, I'm just stocking up!" Vil slammed the table as he stood.

"Let's face it, Schoenheit, I know what it looks like when someone has lost. One of us here has crumbled under the pressure, and I'll give you a hint. It's not me."

Vil glared at Azul heatedly, before turning on his heels and leaving the VIP room, slamming the door on his way out.

….

You had been reading a book on the couch, while Grim sorted through some papers. You were hoping, in your heart of hearts, that he was studying or doing his homework. Deep down, you knew that wasn't the case.

After some final rustling of papers, Grim said, "Alright, I've made my choice."

"For what?"

"Nothing, mwahahahahaha!"

"Then why are you-"

"No reason!" He shouted. Then below his breath you heard, "mwahahaha…"

You sighed heavily.

"Am I going to get a bill for it?"

"No."

"Then I don't care."

Below his breath, he released another, "mwahahaha…"

....

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic @supertmntgirl @cxsmicdustdreams @aethermostbeloved @krystalkiller25 @asmallbean3 @theneurodivergentdummy @candlewitch-cryptic @smilingfox22-blog @phantomgaming1920 @the-dumber-scaramouche @a-small-tyrant @noidonothavetimeforthis @bontensbabygirl

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #ruggie bucchi #twst grim #floyd leech #twst silver #idia shroud #ace trapolla #trey clover #kalim al asim #jamil viper #jade leech #rook hunt #jack howl #leona kingscholar #epel felmier #deuce spade #vil schoenheit #azul ashengrotto

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alwaysmicado · 5 months

Text

keep you warm

1.3k | Joel Miller x f!reader | one-shot

post-outbreak, established relationship, pregnancy Summary: You reveal to Joel that you are carrying his child. He vows to keep you both safe and warm, always. A/N: This fic is a bit different from the things I've posted so far and it was so much fun to write. I put my heart (and tears) in it and I hope it will bring you as much comfort as it did me. 🤍 masterlist

There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights. - Bram Stoker, Dracula

The car engine growls softly as it cruises down the winding road, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of autumnal hues.

Joel has his hands placed firmly on the wheel as he glances over at your sleeping form, your silhouette painted in the warm glow of the sunset. The air inside the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the weight of your continued journey hanging in the atmosphere.

As you navigate through the autumn landscape, daylight begins to fade, casting long shadows that sway with the curves of the road. Joel steals a glance in the rearview mirror, squinting against the diminishing light. The forest on either side of the road stands like a wall of rust and amber, a silent observer to your passage.

You stir in your sleep, a soft moan escaping your lips. Joel reaches, caressing your cheek gently, tracing a promise with tenderness he thought long gone.

Until he met you.

A few miles ahead, Joel spots a fitting spot by the edge of the forest. He eases the car to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The engine hums into silence, leaving only the rustling of leaves and the fading whispers of the day.

“We’re here, darlin’.”

Your eyes flutter open to Joel’s soft touch, his hand brushing away the remnants of sleep. You both step out, the cool evening air enveloping you like a gentle embrace.

Setting up camp unfolds as a familiar routine. Joel sparks a small fire, the flames dancing in the encroaching darkness. The scent of burning wood mixes with the crisp fall air, creating an ambiance that is both comforting and hauntingly beautiful. You arrange your sleeping bags near the fire, a makeshift sanctuary in the wilderness.

As you sit by the fire, the warmth casting a soft glow on your faces, Joel pulls out two cans of beans and some beef sticks. You eat in companionable silence, the crackling of the fire punctuating the stillness.

Yet, Joel can’t help but notice the subtle changes in you—grimaces and absent-minded belly rubs.

He sets his half-eaten bowl down, a subtle tension settling into the contours of his expression as he watches you closely. “You ain’t lookin’ too good, honey,” he notes, his voice laced with concern, slicing through the ambient crackling that reverberates in the air. “Somethin’ not sittin’ right?”

Gazing at Joel across the fire-lit expanse, his weathered face bathed in the flickering glow of the dancing flames, your heart swells with love—and dread.

You clutch your belly as you double over, a sudden, strong wave of nausea overcoming you. Startled, Joel’s eyes widen, but he reacts instinctively, abandoning all else to rush to your side.

With a tender urgency, he crouches beside you as you vomit, his hands moving intuitively to cradle your back. His voice, usually rugged and steady, softens into a soothing cadence. “Easy now, darlin’,” he murmurs, rubbing comforting circles on your back. “I’m right here.”

Your body tenses with each convulsion, tears mingling with the involuntary heaves, but Joel’s steady hands and reassuring words calm you.

As the waves of nausea subside, he eases you back, offering a makeshift cloth to wipe your mouth. His gaze holds a blend of worry and tenderness, the firelight flickering in the depths of his eyes.

“Thanks,” you manage, your voice still shaky.

“That’s alright, darlin’,” he replies, a crooked half-smile playing on his lips. “We look out for each other, remember?”

Nestling closer to the warmth of the fire, Joel wraps a comforting arm around you. The quiet forest listens, an unspoken witness to the vulnerability shared beneath the starlit sky.

“You gonna tell me what’s been goin’ on?” Joel asks, his voice a gentle yet firm prompt.

You swallow hard and nod weakly, lifting your head up from his shoulder to meet his gaze. His brow is furrowed as he searches your watery eyes for answers. “What happened, darlin’?” he asks, wiping away the lone tear that is tracing a delicate path down your cheek.

The unspoken secret sits heavy within you, a silent burden that has been shaping every whispered conversation and stolen glance over the past few weeks. Each passing day deepens the weight, a constant companion in your shared journey.

The fear of Joel’s reaction, the uncertainty of the world you are living in, and the vulnerability of bringing innocence into chaos weave a complex tapestry of emotions, a heavy cloak draped over the anticipation of a new life.

You have never been more terrified.

“Joel, I–” your voice is shaky and you need to gather all your strength to not break down into a million pieces. “I think I might be pregnant.”

The revelation hangs in the air, momentarily freezing time. Joel’s eyes widen, a mosaic of emotions crossing his face—shock, concern, disbelief, and then a surprising warmth.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Pregnant?” he repeats, his voice softer now, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Mhm,” you sniffle, your vulnerability echoing in the quiet night. “I swear I wanted to tell you before, I just–” you hiccup and wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m so fucking scared, Joel.” You look into his warm eyes for reassurance, your lip quivering, your whole body trembling with anxiety.

Joel’s expression softens further, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he puts his hands on your arms, his eyes boring into you. “It’s gonna be alright, darlin’.” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, the firelight casting a comforting glow around you.

“We’ll figure it out together.”

As Joel’s reassuring words wash over you, a tangible weight lifts from your shoulders, carried away by the currents of relief. You allow yourself to breathe out a heavy sigh and let your tears run freely as you cling to the man who has saved you in more ways than he will ever know.

In this moment, beneath the vast canvas of the starlit sky, you find solace in each other—a fragile yet resilient hope kindling in the midst of your endless journey.

Later, as you settle into your sleeping bags, Joel’s arm draped protectively over you, you feel a surge of gratitude. The warmth of Joel’s body pressed against yours creates a safe haven, momentarily replacing your fears with the undeniable comfort you both find in each other’s arms.

“Sarah always wanted a little brother or sister,” Joel breaks the silence with a murmur, his warm breath ghosting your neck. “I wish she could be here to experience it.”

“I’m sure she’s going to look after her little sibling,” you whisper with a soft smile on your lips, tears silently pooling in the fabric of your sleeping bag. “Just like she’s been looking after you all this time.”

“I’ll do everything to keep you and our child safe and warm, my love. I promise.”

In the quiet cradle of the night, you drift into sleep, the rustling leaves and the forest’s whispers weaving a lullaby for your dreams.

Joel tenderly places his hand on your small bump, whispering promises to the precious life growing within, his words a secret shared with the quietude of the night.

He lifts his head to look at your face, a soft smile gracing his lips as he cherishes the serenity painted across your features.

“You are the light of my life.”

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chrollohearttags · 9 months

Text

writing silly prompts with my OTP so you don’t have to • part one

content warning: exactly as it says, voyeurism, exhibitionism, reverse cowgirl, squirting

📝: I cannot explain this even if I wanted to. Sometimes, I have a lightbulb in my head, constantly flickering and other times, it’s nothing more than wind and baked beans up here so I need help jogging my brain muscles and reviving my creative spark. Don’t get me wrong, I love you guys’ asks and I’ll get to them, as well as the commissions, I swear but I need to get my juices flowing again 🫶🏾

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Ahh! Shit…mmphm. Gonna make me come..”

“Go ahead, princess. Nut on this dick..better keep quiet though. You don’t want us to get caught..”

another peaceful Sunday stroll down South Beach’s Design District turned to a rather eventful outing. Of course, that was nothing out of the ordinary for the infamous couple. It wasn’t rare for the two of you to spend your very limited free time enjoying relaxing walks through the various shops in the heart of downtown..where you may have frequented your favorite stores and restaurants as a bit of routine in your very chaotic and ever changing schedules. It was the one constant that you could bet on in your hectic lives. However..as soothing as the mundane was sometimes…you both still craved that thrill. The excitement that came with doing something you had no business. That rush only grew tenfold when you considered the fact that you weren’t exactly inconspicuous..everyone in Miami and the world at this point knew EJ the Don and (y/n) (l/n). Everyone was looking for an excuse to photograph you two. So it was insane that you were so casually perched atop your man’s dick at a popular lounge on Ocean Drive; enjoying some semblance of privacy as you had rented out the rooftop area for yourselves but even so, if caught, you’d find yourselves front page on somebody’s blog. Right now, you just couldn’t be vexed to give a fuck. Instead…

“Fuck! I don’t care who sees, I just wanna keep—“

your words trailed off into a high pitched yelp as that tip poked the inner corner of your sensitive core. Being fucked up into like a jackhammer into concrete. A tattooed hand on your clothed tummy and inked fingers stroking your clit. All of this because you just had to wear..it. A regular, run of the mill sundress that you had probably gotten as part of PR from Fashion Nova or Shein a year ago and just decided to throw it on to combat this horrendous heat. And yet, it was getting your pussy pounded! Strutting around without so much as a thong on underneath, just in case the mood struck you. Of course, it didn’t take long for your husband to follow suit when saw the fat of that ass swaying from behind the clingy material and watched you bend over to retrieve something when that hem raised and that plump little cunt became visible..from there, neither of you could contain yourselves. Up and down with your legs propped onto the pool chair you went..rutting your hips in slow circular motions as you performed tricks on that dick. Smacking, wet noises filling the summer air. You were certain some attendee or waiter was lurking in the shadows, possibly jerking off or even filming you two but it didn’t even matter. Your only concern was coming all over him! That deep voice growling in your ear as he held you close to his chest and let you ride out your orgasm. Even shortly after, bending you over again so that he could see that ass moving against him. Shouting off expletives at each other..

“Give it to me! Fuck this pussy, daddy. Right there!..”

“Hold still, baby..gonna nut all in this shit!—“

before he could do so, you were already reaching a climatic high..clamping down on his shaft before springing up and spraying him with those sweet, divine juices. Groping one of your tits, Eren would cackle as he watched you come undone for him. Squirming all over the place with uncontrollable trembling from that powerful peak. You were still shooting out tiny streams of that squirt afterwards. Having been fucked so roughly with such impact but of course, it couldn’t be helped..

“Sorry, princess. You know what happens when you wear that shit around me. Can’t help myself..”

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lovedazai · 4 months

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01. ACROSS THE UNIVERSE . . . while reminiscing, dazai finds you again.

ft. beast!dazai + f!reader, pm boss!dazai, civilian!reader, dazai is a little bit manipulative, spoilers for beast light novel & manga, 1.7k w.c.

SERIES MASTERLIST

dazai knows this coffee shop.

it didn’t matter that he’d never set foot inside the building. it was all burned into his mind: the counters lined with expensive equipment and machines, perfectly washed white mugs next to paper ones with lids, the small tulip dining tables peppered around the floor and circled by wooden chairs, the scent of ground beans and homemade dough, freshly baked cookies and croissants enclosed by glass; most importantly, he remembered the ghost of your face, smiling at him from across the table.

he makes a point for his driver to go past it every day, even if it makes the route to headquarters take a few minutes longer, just to catch a glimpse of the white exterior and the fabric awning ruffling in the wind.

he never dared to go inside, until today.

he feels like an imposter as soon as he steps through the door, even more so when he takes his seat at the same table you would sit at together. the smooth bottom of the chair beneath him felt sacred. it’s the one by the window, and he can recall the soft expression on your face as you watched the people walking past in the afternoon, your knowing smile as you teased him about any dogs that trotted by. in the evening, you sought it out after a hard day’s work, tugging him with you so you could admire the way the sun’s dying rays coated his features in dripping gold.

he could see why you found such a place so comforting, the atmosphere nothing but warm and inviting. he didn’t feel like he belonged, destined to dwell in the shadows of the city.

the coffee tastes the same as he remembered, pleasantly fragrant as he brings the mug up to his lips and smooth against his throat as he swallows it down. the pastry he can still recall wiping off your cheek is plated in front of him, barely touched. it isn’t nearly as sweet without you smiling across from him, intertwined ankles swinging beneath the table, the flavor of vanilla glaze on his tongue as he kisses away the crumbs on the corner of your mouth.

he takes another sip, licking the remnants of frothed milk off his lips. his one visible eye glances to the door when he hears the tinny jingle of a bell as it opens. his mug nearly slips from his hand, tiny curved handle squeezed between his fingers desperately when he realizes who’s arrived.

it’s you.

his fantasy of you was nothing compared to how you truly looked. you’re the kind of gorgeous that steals the air from his lungs and makes it impossible not to stare. it’s in the way your hair falls down your back, his nails digging into his palm as he imagines how the strands would feel between his fingers. the smooth curve of your neck, his mouth watering as he imagines the feeling of your fluttering pulse against his lips. the cute puff of your cheeks as you politely smile at the barista welcoming you inside.

he’d only seen you in haunting memories, the lingering image of your face in his mind when he wakes up and feels for a body that isn’t actually there. he spends his time yearning for someone who he’d never had, or even known, yet here you are, within his reach.

this wasn’t manifestation; he knew that you’d be here, that’s why he came inside, after all. seeing you with his own eyes should’ve been enough to satisfy him, as if he didn’t already know everything about you, inside and out.

his gaze follows your figure as you walk to the counter when a dark something catches in the corner of his eye. it feels almost painful to look away from you, but he’s so grateful he does because that’s when he sees it: your wallet, lying pitifully on the tiled floor, right next to him. he thinks this must be some kind of a glitch, an error.

his eyes flicker back to you. seeing you may have been enough for anyone else, but he’s always been a greedy man.

the trap practically sets itself. he extends his leg, discreetly sliding your wallet over to his side with the sole of his shoe. he bends down and picks it up, safely placing it in his coat pocket, eyes never leaving you.

“oh no,” your lips curl into the prettiest pout, hand deep in your bag as you rustle through it. his legs are already carrying him towards you. “i must’ve left my wallet at home. i swore i had it. i’m so sorry, i’ll just come back later andー”

“excuse me,” when you turn to look at him, it’s like everything has fallen into place. your eyes are even prettier than he remembered, wide and blinking, eyeing his bandages curiously. he smiles, a big, genuine one that curls without his permission. “if it’s alright, i’ll cover it.”

he pulls a sleek, black credit card out, holding it between two fingers as the barista takes it silently. he doesn’t even spare her a glance, completely enamored by the girl in front of him.

it’s like the walls of the cafe are made of paper, crumbling and peeling away, the mindless chatter of the other customers fading into static. it’s just you and him, nothing else exists. how long has he waited for this moment? gathering bits and pieces of your life into a mosaic of knowledge to ensure your safety, all while he spent his days existing within the black void of loneliness that covered him like a sheet he’d pulled over his head, it was all to find his way back to you. it isn’t until the barista clears her throat, holding the card back out for him to take, that he comes back down to earth.

“thank you,” you smile at him, and his heart stalls in his chest. “i don’t know how i would’ve gotten through my day without my coffee.”

he hums. “i feel the same about something a little stronger.”

you giggle, and his face lights up in pride. he steps the slightest bit closer, smiling hopefully.

“it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“it has?” you tilt your head, eyes scanning over his face. “i don’t remember meeting you before. i’m sorry.”

“my mistake, you’re right,” he presses his lips together, smile turning bitter. “of course you’re right. we haven’t met before. my name is dazai.”

he frowns as you’re interrupted by the barista calling your name. he watches the way your fingers curl around your cup delicately, trying not to burn your hand. the realization that your conversation is already about to end makes panic settle in his stomach, unfamiliar and heavy beneath his ribs.

you’re searching around the café aimlessly now; nearly every table is occupied by another patron. he pulls the seat from his own table out, offering you the one across from him, just like he remembered. he looks at you expectantly, tilting his head.

“are you sure?” you run your finger around the rim of your mug, looking down at your drink shyly. “i don’t want to bother you.”

“i insist,” he tries to smile genuinely, but he feels the way his lips quiver at the thought of losing you when you’re so close to him. “i’d love to have the company of a pretty lady.”

he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when you sit down. his knuckles brush against your back as he pushes you in until your waist is level with the edge of the table. this close, he can smell the warm undertones of your perfume, and suddenly, he recalls the ghost of your fingers brushing his hair away, kissing his skin. it stirs something in his stomach akin to homesickness.

“that’s my favorite, too,” you nod to the pastry, still abandoned on the table.

“you can have some if you’d like,” he slides the plate towards you. he sits back in his seat, crossing his legs. he’s careful not to bump his knees on the underside of the table.

you take a small bite, out of politeness, he assumes. he regrets that he can’t feed it to you himself.

“do you come here often?” you ask, mug halfway to your lips. he watches as your lip gloss leaves a stain on the edge, and feels envy curl like thorned vines in his stomach.

“no,” he folds his hands together beneath his chin. “this is my first time.”

“it’s my favorite café,” you sigh dreamily, turning your head and looking out the window. “it’s nice, right? i love the view.”

you look ethereal with the morning sun peeking through panes, emitting an angelic glow around your profile. spots of light project onto your skin, and it catches on your eyes, saturating the color of your pupils. “me too.”

it’s quiet, the kind of natural lull in a conversation that would happen between two strangers, and you’re nearly done with your coffee. he reaches into his coat, fingers wrapping around the smooth fabric of your wallet as he extracts it from his pocket. “i have something for you.”

“my wallet!” he waits for you to grow angry, but all you do is smile, eyes glistening with gratitude. “buying my coffee for me and finding this…you must be my guardian angel today.”

he blinks. his mouth goes dry, but he forces his words out anyway. “do i really look like such a nice person?”

“yes,” you answer it like it’s obvious, and for the second time that day, he feels his heart stall in his chest. “i can’t thank you enough. is there anything i can do? without you, i would’ve been miserable all day.”

“that’s…” exactly what he wanted. “not necessary.”

“please?” you pout. “at least let me repay you for the coffee.”

he has the memory of big bouquets, sugarcoated words, and flustered giggles, but looking at you face to face, all of the apparent suaveness he’d once possessed is gone.

“if you insist,” his smile wobbles. “would it be too forward of me to ask such a pretty girl out to dinner?”

BSD MASTERLIST

taglist . . . @avocate-assia-dazai @annoyingpainterprincess @kentopedia @walking-simp @anqelically @seimpathyopera @pinky-99 @s1eepybunny @little-miss-chaoss @h4wkz @auraxins @chososbbg @pussydrunkfyodor @getoso @ruanais @osaemu @liliavalentine @cyndaquels @doonifox @its-vante @amnda-ft-fyodor @x-whyareyoureadingthis-x

#💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖#dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x you #dazai imagines #dazai x y/n #bsd x you #bsd fluff #dazai fluff #bsd x y/n

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shitpostroundhouse · 1 year

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That's why he's called "Bean."

We feel like chicken tonight!

Bean feels like chicken tonight...

"Jumping the bean."

#mr bean if you know what I mean #that's why they call him Mr. bean #finger linkin' good #chicken and beans- know what I mean?#we feel like chicken tonight!#terrible humour #bad homours #hashtag relatable #shitposting #relatable memes #shitpost #relatable quotes #flicking beans #flicker

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rosequarzo · 3 months

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whiskers of change.

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა • ! boyfriend! rafayel + fem! reader established relationship not related to the plotline rafayel being jealous over a cat yes ☆ warning not proofread . . . !? & 806 — catalogue

notes. i still hate this man i swear with my entire heart. but when i got to the chapter when he made a fuss about a cat got me laughing tbh... tagging @rninies, here you go.

When you mentioned that you were running late as you had encountered something, Rafayel didn’t think much about it. He had assumed you were held back by someone; much to his annoyance and continued touching up on his painting.

The artist was almost done when his ears picked up the familiar pair of approaching footsteps, followed by his door swung open from outside. The man dropped whatever he was holding, turning with a bright grin on his face, only for it to drop when his eyes landed on his worst nightmare.

“Rafayel, hello? Are you still there?” You called out to him, one hand closing the door while the other was cradling a cat in your arms.

Huffing, Rafayel got off his stool and approached you. He scowled and his eyes narrowed as he glared down at the annoying feline creature. His fingers twitched; the temptation of kicking the cat out of his home getting more tempting by the second. But he restrained himself. The last thing he wants is for you to be disappointed with him and he doesn’t like to see you sad, not when the cause was him.

“You…” His voice trailed off, eyes focused on the cat as he watched it purring in content when it leans into your touch, its tail swaying side to side.

“Me?” You echoed, bemused.

“You didn’t tell me you had adopted a… c… cat,” he forced himself to finish speaking, using his entire strength to tear his eyes away from the creature.

You hummed, eyes flickering up to his face before returning to the purring cat. “It was abandoned and I couldn’t bear to leave it alone. Plus, it looked like it was going to rain soon and it didn’t have any home, so I brought it with me.”

“And you didn’t think of dropping it off at the nearest animal shelter?” He arched an eyebrow.

“They were already closed. I’ll drop it off tomorrow morning, before I head for work. So just for tonight-”

“No.”

You sighed, knowing your partner will react like this. You were fully aware of his unspoken dislike for cats and until now, you didn’t know the reason why. But you were patient, choosing to wait for him to spill the beans. A part of you finds his current self rather adorable, with how he was fuming over how the cat was stealing your attention from him. And who were you to not tease him?

“Rafayel, don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you teased, lips curling upwards in a mischievous grin.

“Jealous? Me?” He shots you a bewildered look and barks out a laugh, turning away from you. “Who says I’m jealous? Why would I be jealous over a cat?”

You chuckled, deciding to drop the subject and let him be. “Sure, Rafayel. Whatever makes you happy.”

Currently, you were in the kitchen preparing dinner for the two of you. You had left the cat in the living room, hoping your partner could get to know the cat and hopefully, it might change his opinion on cats as well. Rafayel sat in the corner of the couch, purposely stretching his long legs out so his entire body was occupying the couch, not giving any space for the cat.

But the creature wasn’t bothered. In fact, it merely jumped up and made itself comfortable on his stomach.

Thankfully, you weren’t there to witness him visibly flinching when he felt a weight on his stomach. Rafayel had nearly flung the cat to the nearest wall but managed to catch himself at the last minute. He remained as still as a statue, watching warily as the cat curled folded its paws to hide it underneath its body, turning into a cute loaf.

He slowly reached out his hand, unsure of what he should do, only for the cat to make the choice for him.

It leans into his palm, eyes closing in content and he swore he can hear faint purring from its small body. Rafayel was speechless, taken aback by how the cat had readily shown its affection to him; a complete stranger. He tried to copy your movement from before, awkwardly stroking its head and he knew he had got it right when the purring didn’t stop.

Huh, perhaps cats aren’t so bad.

“Dinner’s ready,” you called out once you finished setting the table.

You headed to the living room when you were greeted with nothing but silence. The sight before you made you paused and it took all of your might to not squeal in delight. You quickly whipped out your phone, ensuring it was on silent mode and took multiple pictures of the heart-melting sight before you.

Satisfied with the pictures, you leave, not wanting to interrupt the peaceful moment of your partner sleeping with the cat resting on his stomach.

#୨୧ magazine articles #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel imagines #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n

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catharusustulatus · 4 months

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Steve has never actually kissed anyone on New Year’s Eve before. After he and Nancy reconciled post-Demogorgon showdown in 83 they’d gotten close, but Mike had interrupted them on the Wheeler’s front porch, the little shit. And after Nancy, well, he’d been alone in 84. In 85, he and Robin built a blanket fort in his living room and drank themselves sick on root beer until the ball dropped, and he’d held her hand while they drifted asleep, kissing out of the question; he loved her in a different, deeper way.

And now…now it’s 86, about to be 87, and Eddie is alive, miraculously, and all of them are gathered in the new Hopper-Byers house, and Eddie has been flirting with him ever since Steve manhandled his mangled body to the hospital, Steve’s an idiot but he’s not stupid, and here’s Eddie looking at him like Steve is alive, too. Eddie looks at him and something awakens. There’s an electricity in the air, the kind he told Dustin about once upon a time in the woods.

So when he knows no one is watching, he looks Eddie deep in the eye and says “share a smoke?” And they leave the room together for the quiet cold of the backyard, still mostly weeds and the dark of winter and Steve can see Eddie’s breath. Can see how alive he is. He’s been worried about him all year, intrigued by him, pulled toward. And now here they are. The dim patio bulb flickers and before Steve can get out a cig, can say another word, before he can say “happy new year Eddie I can’t stop thinking about you and I know you’ve been flirting with me for months and I want you I want you just as bad will you kiss me?” Eddie is already kissing him.

And it’s soft. It’s so soft, because Eddie is smiling against his mouth in a kiss, his left hand coming up to hold Steve’s chin. And then it’s hotter, their breath mixing as they both open their mouths wider, kissing deeper, feeling their lips move together and Steve can’t believe it can’t think can’t hear the screen door open can’t stop kissing Eddie until he feels Eddie pull away, removing his hands from his hair, hears Robin say “uh, earth to dingus one and two, hello!?”

Steve just stares at Eddie, blushing and smiling. He doesn’t turn to her, can’t look away when he says “hi Rob.” Eddie won’t look away either. Eddie won’t look away from him, does the opposite, grabs Steve’s hand. Steve feels like he’s floating.

“Oh my god, lover boys. It’s only” Steve sees her lift her wrist in his peripheral vision, “ten thirty. It’s only ten thirty and you’re already kissing!” He can hear her exasperation, but beneath he knows, he can feel her approval. He can’t help it, he’s relieved. He’s happy. He starts to giggle.

Eddie starts to laugh too, pulling Steve closer. Steve finally looks over to see Robin rolling her eyes, but she’s also beaming, her face lit by the single bulb, and they pull her down to them, hug her, kiss her on the cheeks. “Ah, my freckled friend. You won’t spill the beans, will you?” Eddie asks.

Robin pinches Eddie’s cheek. “Your secret’s safe with me, hotshot.” Steve knows down to his bones it’s true. Knows she’ll cover for them. This makes him feel even giddier. “I’ll, uh. Let you two get back to it” she says, and then she’s gone, and it’s just Eddie looking at him again, staring at Steve like he’s a second moon, a pretty thing.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, until they slide out of the grass and out the back gate and kiss their way back to Steve’s car, into his house and bed and heart and it’s already a good year.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #whoops I love them and am putting them in scenarios #happy new year!#they’re in love #steddie fanfiction

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 7 months

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Reign down on me - Part 2

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt

A/N: This is a bit of a short update, but I wanted to get something out for the people that were asking for it! Enjoy 💕

-🐺-

You were embarrassed as soon as the realisation hit you, but by the time you’d had a decent rest and something to eat, you were feeling a lot more even footed. You were standing at the precipice of your new posting with anticipation, ready and waiting at the front door of Ghost’s house, eagerly listening out for him to come out of his room and take you to the new base.

Ghost had knocked on your door earlier that morning just a little while after the sun had risen. He was still donning his skull balaclava and dressed similarly to the night before, though he had seemed to have changed sine. His eyes widened a fraction once he looked in and saw you, a flicker of surprise crossing what little you saw of his features when he saw you sitting awake on your freshly made bed.

“Earlier riser. Not a nest builder then?” he’d noted.

You struggled to remember the last time you’d made a blanket nest, you could barely recall how to build one. That was one of the first things that’d been beaten straight out of you after being left at the barracks, leaving your ‘bed’ in any other state than bare with folded up sheets was an immediate punishment.

“I’m not a child,” you muttered.

You were determined not to get emotional that day. Set against becoming the mushy tempered little pup you’d been the day before and instead behave like the soldier you were. That way, you figured, he might treat you the way he was supposed to as well. No more surprises, just business as usual.

However you were met with shock again when he’d led you away from bed and pointed at the table you’d sat at the night before. At what was apparently now your seat, there was a steaming styrofoam box with bacon, eggs, toast and beans cooked to perfection and ready for you to eat. The scent was rolling through the air and rushing into your system, overwhelming you as you took an unsure stoop into your chair.

“For me?” you asked, making sure to confirm before picking up the fork and knife laid out.

“Yeah, Price ordered out for us. You’ve got a big day ahead, and he wants you on top form. And apparently I can’t be trusted to sort breakfast,” he said, scoffing at that last part. “Eat up and get ready. I’ll get you at the door in an hour.”

You breathed out a sigh, already not sure what to make of getting such a lavish breakfast, but there was nothing for it. If your new Captain had specifically requested you eat the feast in front of you, then you’d scarf down every last bit of it. Your stomach baulked at the idea of having so much in the morning when you were used to very little, but you ate it all while Ghost busied himself with the dishes from the night before behind you. Apparently he was intent on filling the air with a clattering clanging orchestra.

By the end of your meal, you’d figured that breakfast had to be one of the best you’d ever had, but with good food comes a heavy stomach and it turned you sluggish. It made for a struggle to find your motivation to go to the bathroom and get ready. However you bullied yourself into getting through it, your mental drill sergeant forcing you along until you ended up at the door fully dressed and in your usual black cargos and white T-shirt, tail swishing in anticipation for Ghost.

Your boots were still a bit damp from being in the rain all day before, but you were sure that with whatever Price had planned they’d be smelling like old cheese either way. It didn’t stop your nose wrinkling any less though.

“Do you not have another pair of boots?” Ghost groused, looking you up and down while his heavy steps came thudding up to the door.

He was all wrapped up in his big black jacket. He looked a lot warmer than you did standing there holding off the shakes, but you knew better than to complain. Plus your belly was full of meat and carbs so it helped your body fend off the morning chill.

“We only get issued one set,” you said, looking down at your sodden feet, “I can try to clean them off a bit more, but I figured it would just waste time and make them wetter.”

“Well that’s changing today. You can’t walk around in wet shoes like that, we’re not in world war one,” he grunted. “What else do you need?”

You frowned at him, tilting your head at the question. Why would you need anything else?

“What else would I need?” you asked earnestly, hoping he wouldn’t get annoyed at the stupid question.

“Your bag wasn’t very big and those clothes you were wearing last night were falling to bits. You��ve clearly been sewing them a lot, and not very well,” he laughed. “Tell me what you need and I’ll send for it.”

“I…” you tried to think of something, anything just to avoid looking like an idiot, but you couldn’t. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I have all the things I’m required to have.”

Your ears folded down, your body was bracing and ready for him to shout at you, instincts winning over your pride. It was bad enough you weren’t able to answer his question, but you’d pretty much disagreed with him as well just by saying you had what you needed. A rookie move, you thought as you admonished yourself.

“Can I see what you brought with you?” Ghost asked, his voice so quiet under the muffling of his mask material.

You bit your lip and nodded, still waiting for the roaring thunder of shouts to begin and start beating against the walls. Instead he just moved his body to the side and motioned for you to go back to your room. You were forced to pass by him, shrugging your shoulders into your neck in anticipation of a grab. Every little creak across the wood felt like a prelude to some larger sound or maybe even a smack, but you were shocked to find that none of what you imagined came to pass.

Once you’d reached your little chest of drawers, you were worked up to hell. There was blood rushing fast in your ears, a river running through your head and you were having to hold your breath just to keep your chest from convulsing. Ghost wouldn’t have noticed your breathing anyway though, while you panicked and waited for him to finally show his anger, he opened your drawers and revealed the barren interiors inside, closing each one with a heavy thunk and a dissatisfied tisk.

“Really, pup, is this all you have?” Ghost sighed, ending his search at the last drawer.

It contained two other pairs of black cargos and your sweats that you’d been wearing the night before. You looked down at it with glassy eyes and then back at Ghost, still waiting for your scolding. Waiting for him to rise up from his crouch and tower over you again.

“Three pairs of trousers, five T-shirts, underwear for the week, and a set of bedclothes,” you listed, trying to keep a hold of yourself. “Plus a sewing kit. That’s what the rules say we need to have. Is there a different regulation here, sir?”

Ghost put his head in his hands for a moment and you pursed your lips, readying yourself for an explosion. Your toes curled and your claws dug into your palms, every fibre of your body was poised for an attack that you had to let happen. There was no way you were going to start the morning off badly with defying your handler on your first official day afterall.

“You should have more than this,” Ghost finally said, his voice an even rumble as always. “You’ve served for a long time, you should have some personal things, darlin’.”

Your fear was now turning to frustration. Now you were at a loss, you didn’t understand what he wanted. Why was he wasting so much time on this clothes issue when you were supposed to go meet Price? The last thing you wanted was for Price to be mad at your late arrival because Ghost was getting caught up on your clothes.

“Have you been wearing your work clothes on day trips?” Ghost asked.

“On…what?”

“When you go off base,” he prodded, now standing up to his full height again. “What do you wear in your downtime?”

“I’ve only ever been off base for missions and off-site training,” you murmured, looking down at your dirty boots. “It’s just hybrids with permanent handlers that get taken out at Branhaven and no one ever wanted to have me until you and Price. Everything I have is in those drawers…apart from some bathroom stuff I put away in the sink cupboard, I made sure I kept it all out of the way of your things though.”

Ghost looked dumbstruck. It was a funny thing, even though you couldn’t see his face you could still tell so much about his expression through his eyes and body. And in that moment his eyes looked lost and his fists were clenched at his sides. You couldn’t figure out why that sentence was what he seemed the most angry at since that whole segue had started, but you couldn’t deny that there was something like a glint of murder in his face.

“Can we just go now, sir?” you asked, looking past his shoulder and hoping you could entice him to drop the whole stupid subject. “Won’t Captain Price be mad if I’m late?”

Ghost untensed his muscles and dropped his hands.

“He won’t be mad, it’ll be fine,” he assured, putting a hand on your shoulder and making you jump. “Woah, easy darlin’. It’s ok. Don’t worry about all this, alright? I’ll talk to you about all this later, but for now you’re right, we should get heading. C’mon.”

You huffed out a sigh of relief when he turned and clutched at your chest for a second, thanking whatever spirit was around that you gave him an effective distraction. Though you dreaded to think the subject was going to be revisited. You were still going to be equally as clueless as to why he was so upset that you didn’t have more…stuff.

You had no idea what that stuff was supposed to be or what you’d need it for when you had perfectly sufficient things that you could always repair whenever that was required. Anything else was just stupid, you were just a hybrid. What would you do with personal items or civilian clothes? It’s not like you were bursting with photos to frame or had any events to look nice for.

It was all so stupid! You put it out your mind and compartmentalised, following silently at Ghost's big back as he took wide strides across the smooth paving and over to his car. You never were good with remembering makes or what logos were what, but what you did know was that It was huge and black and practically gleaming it was so clean. It was clearly something that he took pride in.

It made you purse your lips once inside, entirely mindful of how spotless his matching black leather interior was. It didn’t seem very conducive with wolf fur so you opted to grab your tail and hold it round your front once you were seated, hoping you could stop yourself from shedding all over the place and creating another uncomfortable conversation. Even though the angle hurt and needled at your old injury, you muscled through with gritted teeth, summoning all your strength for whatever lay ahead.

Besides, you thought as the engine roared to life, the pain almost made up for the lack of punishment before. It put your head back into order.

…

“Well well, look who finally decided to show up.”

You’d already gotten out of Ghost’s car with your heart in your throat after seeing you were ten minutes later than he’d said you needed to be. Now standing at the foot of the office, Price’s words had you wincing. You panicked and looked from the Captain sitting at his shaky old desk and then back up at Ghost in the doorway, internally cursing him for taking up your precious time with all of his nonsense about clothes.

“Somethin’ came up,” Ghost shrugged, settling one of his hands across your back and on your shoulder. “Fair warning - this one’ll have a heart attack if you pretend to get mad, so consider your next words carefully.”

Price raised his brows and looked straight at you then, smiling with that signature crinkly eyed grin of his. You remembered his face well, you’d always been thrown by how kind it looked when you’d gone away with him. You weren’t used to Captain’s like him, not accustomed to anyone giving you smiles and encouraging praise.

At the start of the mission he’d made sure to emphasise he’d be looking out for you through his scope and had Gaz ready with a rifle if anyone had tried to intercept your tracking. Then after you’d returned home he’d made a point of taking you for a burger before he took you back to your base, even letting you sit in his warm truck and enjoy it properly.

“Well we don’t want that, do we? C’mon, love, take a seat and we’ll go over some things before you go see the other two,” Price said, pointing to one of the chairs in front of him.

You complied immediately, forgetting about your rush of memories, racing to sit down to a point you were almost sprinting to the chair. Price kept the smile on his face while Ghost sat beside you, both men sharing a look while you anxiously waited to hear what Price was going to say. You couldn’t help but fidget with your tail, digging your fingers deep into the wiry top layer of fur and into the soft tufts underneath.

“Ghost filled me in on what happened yesterday,” Price said, brows lifting as he tilted his head down at you. “And we want you to know that’s not how we wanted to manage the transfer. So first off, I just want to make sure you’re doing ok. How do you feel about the new arrangement?”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. As much as you liked the Captian, you still didn’t expect him to mirror Ghost’s strange behaviour and ask about your feelings. He hadn’t said much to you before when you’d gone away with him, there weren’t any good markers to see if this was normal behaviour.

It all made you wonder if you’d been taken away to some kind of opposite land where hybrids seemed to mean something. Then again, you thought bitterly, perhaps this was all a test, just to see how you’d respond.

“Fine, sir,” you answered, fingers threading tighter through your tail.

Ghost and Price shared another look. Price’s mouth quirked as if he had gathered something from the stare that Ghost gave him.

“Ok…well that’s good. Do you have any questions for us?

“No, sir. I’ll do whatever you ask of me, I’m ready,” you said, giving a little nod for emphasis.

Price chuckled, but the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. You were sure you’d said something wrong, but if pressed to answer what that was…you wouldn’t know what to say.

“I’m glad that you’re keen to get started, that’s a good sign. I’m not looking for you to dive right into working though, I want you to have questions and ask us things, so go ahead. You must have something you want to know.”

You sighed and looked down at your tail again, stomach feeling all the heavier after that breakfast. There were a lot of questions floating around your head, but every little piece of you was crying out to just shut up.

Hybrids don’t ask questions, they follow orders.

You had been told to ask your questions though. It would surely make him angrier to be denied, you reasoned to yourself.

“Why me, sir?” You asked, looking up from your lap.

“Why’d we want you on the team? I liked working with ya, you were quiet, efficient, had a keen focus as well. Simple as that really. We needed a hybrid and I thought you’d be a good fit with us.”

“A good fit, sir? Why?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Everyone on the taskforce is someone that I can count on. I’ve worked with each one of ‘em at various times in my career and I know that they’ll deliver every time I ask them to go out on the field. You did well on that mission you joined us on, and

when looked over your record after, I was impressed with your results to say the least. Makes you a great candidate for the 141.”

“I’ve never had anyone mention anything good about my record before you both,” you muttered. “Are you sure they didn’t mix up the file handover, Captain?”

Price shook his head and reached his hand across the table, warm skin enclosing over yours as he held his palm over the back of your hand. You felt your ears perk up in surprise. He was…touching you? And not for corrective reasons either!

“I can assure you it was the right one, love. There wasn’t anything I saw on there that made me think you couldn’t do this job,” he said, giving your hand a quick pat before withdrawing again. “It ain’t all about staying out of trouble.”

You looked up at him and said nothing then, completely silenced by his thoughtful gesture. You’d gotten in plenty of trouble, that was for sure, but you only ever acted like a little shit with the assholes back on your base. Things were different now. You didn’t know how to orient yourself, didn’t know how to behave in your new circumstances.

Instinct said to ignore all the fluffy behaviour and just get through the day doing what you were told, but there was a tiny part of you that really wanted to believe that maybe the men in that room had your best interests at heart - maybe, just maybe this was the break you’d always secretly hoped for. Not that you gave that part of yourself much credence, its voice was too similar to that of the young pup that said that maybe your family would come back for you one day. Maybe they’d realise they made a mistake dropping you off and they’d let you come home again. Stupid stupid little wolf that you were to ever even have a notion like that.

“Well, I’ll do my best regardless, Sir,” you smiled, hoping he’d move on and get the day going.

“Good to hear. Do you have anything else you’d like to know before we get stuck in?”

“No, sir,” you said a little too eagerly.

He laughed at that. His chuckling low, deep and earthy as the cigar scent that permeated around him. There was something so naturally easy about Price, something that had you relaxing even while you wondered if you were going to get in trouble for not being interested enough to ask more.

“Well, first things first, welcome to the 141. As you’re the first hybrid member, I expect there will be a learning curve for us all, so we’re going to be training hard over the next few weeks while we get used to each other. Ghost is the only one of us fully trained in hybrid handling, so all of us will be taking his lead while we learn to work properly together out on the field. You’ll be with Ghost for your first few missions, but after that initial few weeks pass you can be sent out with any of the team at any time. You’re not just getting sent on assignment anymore and you’re not dealing with the likes of your old base, you’re dealing with very intense work,” Price said, taking a sharp intake of breath as his tone changed. “You’re going to be out with us in all manner of terrains and situations, and oftentimes under heavy fire. We can be sent anywhere at anytime, and when a target is discovered we need to act quick. We deal with very prolific HVT’s and even in high stress, they need to be brought in safely for interrogation. All this is to say, you’re not expected to act like a mutt anymore, I don’t need that on my team. I want you to be sharp and take initiative, I will need you to communicate with us and to share your thoughts rather than blindly follow orders even when you know they’ll lead to trouble. Your perspective is valuable, you can hear better and sniff out danger that we can’t, so if you flag something then tell us. Do you think you can do that?”

You raised your brows, head heating in malfunction, not at all ready for the big speech your new captain had imparted on you. Learning to act like a ‘mutt’ was the only thing that had ever been drilled into you. It was the reason you’d been met with so much trouble at the beginning of your career, the main reason your original handlers had encouraged the others to beat you that little bit harder and to make your life more miserable than the rest. You’d been shoved into submission all your life and told to shut the fuck up and do as you were told, you’d never ever been told your perspective was valuable.

You weren’t even given a mic to communicate with out on the field when you started, you were just supposed to follow orders as they came to you. You’d learned ever since then not to speak unless asked.

“Not to question you, but…just to clarify. You’re telling me you want me to go against orders, sir?”

“Well for example… I tell you to walk into a building and you can smell that it’s riddled with explosives, then yes. I expect you to raise the alarm when the situation calls for it. I don’t need a hybrid that’s going to go out and get themselves killed just to please me, I need someone that can get the job done and help get everyone back safe. Lives and mission success are more important than ego to me everytime, you will never be punished for acting in the interest of the team, which now includes you. Understand?”

“So just to get this clear, you’re giving me blanket permission to talk on comms - to give my opinion to you whenever I have one?” you asked incredulously.

“Precisely. This should help with that,” he smiled, pulling something from out of the groaning top drawer of his desk and sliding it across to you.

You reached out and accepted it, holding the strip of dark leather between your fingers and admiring how smooth and thick it felt, how high quality it was. Not missing the numbers 141, that were stamped into its side. It was a new collar. Outfitted with a built in mic and specialised remote lock, one that could be unlocked if it became snagged or got you into trouble in a fight. You were pretty sure it had a longer tracking range than standard collars too, and even came with a shiny D ring for tags. This was the kind of thing that hybrids wore when they were prized by their teams, owned by the sort of people that actually cared if you came back to them.

“Is this really for me?” you asked sceptically, taking a hand off of the new collar and touching the one already round your neck, sliding a finger over the bruised skin at its rough sides.

“Course it is. We can have it changed or altered if you’re not happy with it,” Price noted, watching your reaction carefully.

“It’s perfect as is, best bit of kit I’ve ever gotten” you said quickly, running your fingers all the way down the bumpy stitching. “Thank you, sir.”

“Shall we get this thing off then?” Ghost said, speaking up from his place next to you.

You looked over at him and followed his eyeline realising what he meant, touching your old collar once again. You didn’t need convincing. You nodded and tipped your head forward, letting him access the buckle at the back before unclipping and letting it loose, leaving you unmarked to the world for a minute, just another hybrid without a claim.

It was weird being bared like that, honestly you felt like he’d taken off your shirt or your trousers. You always wore your collar, and now that it was off you felt little better than a worm on a bait hook, wriggling uncomfortably at the sensation of air on your bare flesh.

Order was restored when Ghost took your new collar and wrapped it around you, clicking it into place with a cheerful clink from the new locking mechanism. You sighed and let out the tension in your muscles, closing your eyes a second before straightening up and looking at Price and Ghost, checking over their satisfied faces.

“Good to have you officially on the team, pup,” Ghost said with what was surely a grin. “Just need to put your tags on.”

He took your ID tag from your old collar and slotted it on to the D ring at the front of your neck, then produced a handler tag from his pocket, letting you see it while he fiddled with the tag already round your neck. You took it in your hands and thumbed over the bumpy metal letters and rubber edges, tilting your head as you looked it over.

LT Ghost

#09-2022

141

You’d always had the base information on your team tag, or had to wear a temporary one when you were sent on long deployments assigned to work with other teams. Even then you’d always get a building ID or some other number that would link you back with some office somewhere. You'd never worn someone else's name around your neck before, but now you were going to be linked to Ghost for the rest of your days. If anyone found you and reported your handler’s number to the relevant authorities they’d get a direct line to him.

For a man that hadn’t even revealed his face to you, he was incredibly willing to hang such a big responsibility around your neck. You bit your lip and watched as he took the tag from you, fixing it in place behind your ID tag. His heavy breaths were escaping from behind his balaclava for a moment, he was in deep concentration trying to manouver the little tag with his huge hands. You grinned when you heard him swear at it.

“There, you’re stuck with me now,” he said matter of factly, giving the tags a playful tug when he was done. “How’s the collar feel? Not too tight?”

“It’s good, sir,” you shrugged, still marvelling that he was willing to take you on. “Feels a lot better than the old one.”

“That’s cause this,” he grunted, throwing your old collar into Price’s wastebin. “Was a piece of shit.”

You snorted out a laugh and watched as it disappeared into a mass of paper, going deep down to its crinkly death. You couldn’t disagree. It had been rough and frayed either age for far too long and they’d used it to grab you and haul you around like a hay bale for even longer. This new collar, was much smoother an….

d far more pleasant on your neck.

“It suits you,” Price smiled. “I know you’ll be a great addition to the team…that said, are you ready to go meet Gaz and Soap?”

#simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader #reign down on me

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