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cupid-styles · 7 months

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silk and rope 3

the final part of ddlg harry and little/submissive y/n!!!!

in which harry is a dummy, y/n gets a little too drunk, and thanksgiving is finally good for something.

word count: 8k

content warnings: daddy dom and little/submissive relationship, alcohol, a little bit of angst, SMUT!!! (anal play, squirting, dirty talk, breeding kink, public sub drop, public play if you squint, dumbification, tiny bit of pet play.. if I missed something pls lmk lol). as stated in the first two parts, I tried to make this as accurate as possible but there are likely some things that aren't correct!! im just a girl and im sorry if something isn't portrayed right!!!!!!

thank you for reading and loving these two, while this is the last formal part of their story I will definitely be writing check-ins and blurbs for them in the future!!! enjoy :)

masterlist | talk to me

part one | part two

. . .

It doesn't take Y/N very long to realize Harry's acting weird.

Well, maybe not weird, but different. He's acting differently than he has been for the past two months, and it's giving her a bit of whiplash. She notices that it started the day after she slipped when he dropped her off at home, when he latched a collar around her neck.

Her memory of that day is a little bit hazy; the events are more so glued together in blurry snapshots of pleasure and lust, but she does know that she had fallen into her little space while he was gone. He'd punished her for the whole butt plug incident, fucked her into oblivion, and then soaked in the tub with her before falling asleep next to her.

And really, it wasn't that different from their usual scenes. The dynamic was the same, as far as Y/N can remember, it may have just been a little bit more intense.

So why is Harry acting like this?

Instead of stopping by nearly every day to make sure she's eaten and rested, he'll just text her. If she hasn't eaten lunch or dinner yet, he'll order her food to her house instead of bringing her a homemade meal or stopping somewhere on the way. When he does come over, it seems like he's always in a hurry to leave — yesterday, he picked her up from a closing shift at the bakery and barely spoke to her in the car. He came inside, quickly cooked her a dinner, and left before she'd even finished eating, mumbling out some excuse about having to feed his sister's cat.

Worst of all, they haven't slept together in a week.

It's all overwhelming for Y/N, but this time, it's in the worst way possible. She feels incredibly down as the days go on, and she spirals and wonders what she did wrong to make him act this way. She can feel the breakup coming from a mile away, but she assumes that because it's Harry, he'll bake her a cake and buy her a kitten just because he doesn't want to be too mean about it.

She hates to admit it, but she's grown attached to Harry. And she really, really doesn't want to let him go.

It's what led her to asking Naomi to grab lunch on her day off. Naomi hasn't reached out too much lately so it's been awhile since they'd seen one another, but she's known Harry far longer than she has.

(And yeah, Y/N feels kind of shitty about making plans with Naomi only to ask about Harry, but she has a nagging feeling that she's only kept her around because she feels bad she doesn't have friends outside of them.)

"I'm sorry, you and Harry are what?"

(She supposes she should have expected this type of response.)

"We're sleeping together," Y/N answers in a pathetic attempt to sound casual, keeping her eyes glued to the turkey sandwich on her plate, "But he's been acting kind of off lately, and I wasn't sure if you guys knew something I didn't."

"Well no one knew that," Naomi mutters, stabbing her fork into her salad and stuffing some lettuce into her mouth. "But to address your concerns, no, I don't know anything. Harry's notoriously private about his love life."

She clears her throat and nods. "I think he's gonna end things soon."

"Hmm, yeah," Naomi hums through a mouthful of food, "I don't think he does the whole friends with benefits thing. Lea tried once and he rejected her, it was kind of a mess. She couldn't stand to be in a room with him for like, two months."

"We're not sleeping with other people," Y/N quickly adds. "It's sort of an exclusive arrangement."

Still, Naomi shrugs her shoulders, and it doesn't soothe any of Y/N's worries.

"He may have told you that, but I honestly doubt it, babe. I'm sorry he broke your heart. He can be kind of an asshole in that way."

If anything, Y/N feels even worse now. The gears in her brain are turning too fast and she's starting to feel nauseous, putting the puzzle pieces together and envisioning what her life will be like without Harry after she's gotten so used to him taking care of her.

"Anyway, Bria is having a party this weekend," Naomi says, breaking her out of his spiraling thoughts, "You should come. It'll get your mind off things and you can find someone new to fuck."

She winces at her crude terminology, not because she's offended by it but because she thinks what she and Harry are doing is more than just fucking.

Aren't they?

Forcing down a sip of her Diet Coke, Y/N nods. "Yeah, I'll be there."

. . .

From: H

Can I come over tonight?

Y/N bites her lip as she reads Harry's text for the fourth time. Since getting home from lunch with Naomi, she's been stewing in a series of emotions: First, sadness, followed by frustration and anger, then sadness again, then acceptance. She's managed to occupy herself with some re-runs of Jeopardy, even if it reminds her of him.

She doesn't know what the right thing to do is. What if he wants to come over because he's ready to end things? She supposes she's just putting off the inevitable, but she's been broken up with enough times and she knows how much more painful this one will be. She's not prepared for that, even if she wants to be.

Sighing, she finally makes a decision, tapping her thumbs quickly against the screen.

Y/N: hey sorry i can't do tonight. think im coming down w something, i don't feel that well

H: Do you need anything? I can bring soup and medicine, whatever you need.

Y/N: no im ok, thank you tho

H: Let me know if you think of anything.

H: Maybe later this week if you're feeling better?

Y/N: yea maybe

Tears are already clouding her vision as she locks her phone and tosses it across her couch. Desperately, she wonders why the guy she's fallen for just can't like her back.

. . .

Harry knows he's fucking up.

He wants to smack himself across the face and tell himself to pull it together, but he can't. Every single cell and bone in his body is begging him to go over to Y/N's house and make it all better, and instead, he just sits on the couch, replaying those words over in his brain. Her swollen parted lips and eyes fluttered closed, the way it sounded so effortless falling from her mouth. I love you.

He wanted to say it back. But that wasn't part of the arrangement.

She wanted someone to dominate her, to take care of her. Who would be if he took advantage of something she said after nearly two hours of play, when she'd been in her little space all day? It wasn't something he felt morally right about, but he knows he wasn't being any better. He couldn't hold himself to high standards when he was pushing her away.

It's why he's so down and out on Saturday night. Normally, he'd be snuggled up with Y/N, watching some movie or TV show, usually after or before an intense scene. Sometimes it served as a precursor to foreplay with the way he'd stroke over her thighs and play with her hair, watching as she became increasingly restless. Other times, it's what they did to unwind, a form of aftercare for both parties.

But tonight, he's not doing that. He's at home alone, confused, because Bria just texted him that she's having a party tonight and everyone's there — including Y/N.

He doesn't like that she singles her out like that. He knows that some of the girls in the group don't particularly like her because she's quiet and shy and rather reserved about her personal life. (He understands why she's that way now.) He doesn't even think Naomi is a good friend to her, but he would never go out of his way to tell her that — ultimately, she's capable of making her own decisions. However, she'd sent him some excuse about not being able to hang out a few days ago, claiming that she was sick and yet, tonight she was at a party?

Harry couldn't live with that.

So he fires off a text to Bria, telling her that he'll be there soon, dressing quickly and throwing himself together. When he's driving over to Bria's place, he makes a mental promise to himself, pledging that as long as Y/N doesn't hate him, he won't return home without her.

. . .

Y/N is drunk, and she hates being drunk.

The last time she consumed a fraction of this amount of alcohol was the night she spilled her guts to Harry. Tonight, she's downed every shot that's been passed her way. She's not sure what she's looking to achieve — she doesn't want to go home with anyway and the only person she really wants to be with is Harry — and it makes her sad. So, so helplessly sad.

Despite being deep underwater, Y/N is cognizant enough to know that no one at this party really cares for her wellbeing. They were eager to get her drunk, but once she started swaying on her feet with hazy eyes, they stopped caring. Games of beer pong and flip cup were ongoing as she sat in the kitchen, propped up on the counter with her head against the cabinets.

She feels so stupid, it makes her want to cry.

. . .

Harry attempts to play it cool when he arrives at Bria's house.

Everyone welcomes him, excited that he made it, but they have no idea that his presence has nothing to do with wanting to party. He's here for the girl who begs him to snap a collar around her neck and push a plug into her ass. The girl he happens to be very in love with.

Naomi bats her eyelashes at him and hands him a glass of wine; an attempt to schmooze him when she tells him she picked out this bottle just for him. He smiles politely.

"Have you seen Y/N? Bria mentioned she was here."

Naomi's eyebrows raise, a defensive look crossing onto her face. "Why are you looking for her?"

"We just need to talk about something," he replies dismissively, uninterested in revealing any details to her, "So, is she here? Or did she leave already?"

She crosses her arms over her chest. "She got pretty fucked up when she got here. She's kind of a mess, y'know? I don't even know if she's here or not."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks, concern and worry bubbling in his stomach, "She doesn't like to drink."

"Well, she sure liked all the shots everyone was giving her."

He closes his hands into tight fists, stunned at how careless these people could be. He couldn't believe he considered them friends at a certain point.

"Where did you see her last?" he eventually questions, pushing past the anger growing in his chest.

Naomi thinks for a moment. "I think Ren may have passed her in the kitchen. Not sure, though."

She's apparently finished with this conversation, clearly annoyed that she didn't get what she wants (Harry knows she's been trying to recreate that one night they made out years ago, but he's never been especially interested). He huffs and pushes past everyone else standing around in the living room, ignoring anyone who tries to start a conversation. When he walks into the kitchen, his eyes immediately find her defeated posture, her shoulders slumped over with eyes half-shut.

"Y/N," he says, rushing over to her. He's not sure if she's even conscious, so he gently pats at her cheek. "Baby, are you alright?"

Her eyes flutter open, a look of confusion immediately taking over. "Harry?"

"Are you okay, Y/N? What happened?"

"Nothing," she mumbles through red-stained lips, "Why're you here?"

She's slurring her words and he swallows harshly, taking in her rough composure. She looks so tired and it breaks his heart to think that he could have caused this.

"Heard you were here and I wanted to make sure you were okay." he murmurs out, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, "Are you having a fun time?"

He already knows the answer when she shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowed. "No. Hate being drunk."

"I know, baby," Harry coos, "Would you be okay with me taking you home? Get you all cozy in your bed?"

If she's angry with him, her level of drunkenness has made her forget about those feelings because she nods, making grabby hands at him. He chuckles and helps her down from the countertop, immediately wrapping a supportive arm around her waist.

"My car's just parked outside. Do you think you can make it there?"

"Mhm."

With a gentle smile on his lips, he tugs her out of the kitchen and guides her to the front door. He can feel eyes on them and he assumes Naomi is likely leading the pack, but he doesn't care. Frankly, he's fine if this is the last time he sees most of these people — he doesn't think he wants to continue friendships with anyone who'd want to hurt Y/N.

She's quiet as he helps her into the car, buckling her seatbelt for her and closing the passenger side door once she's safe. He's quick to do the same for himself, churning the ignition and flicking the heat on to shield her from the chilly autumn air.

"Do you feel sick at all?" Harry asks as he pulls out of his parking spot. She shakes her head. "Okay, lemme know if that changes, lovebug."

They don't exchange any more words on the way to Y/N's place. Once he's parked, he turns to look over, only to find her slumped in her seat with closed eyes, steady puffs of air coming from her nose. His heart twitches — he wishes they were coming home from a date or something romantic, but he's reminded quite quickly of her drunken state.

He leaves her in the car for a moment to use his spare key to unlock her front door. When he returns, he gently scoops her body up and out of the car. Her eyes flicker open and he hushes her, kicking the door closed.

"Can walk," she mutters out, and he nods, letting her down once they're safely in her home.

"I didn't wanna wake you up, that's all."

Y/N shrugs and kicks her shoes off, though she loses her balance and sways, Harry quickly coming to her side to steady her by the elbow.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

He looks down at the doe-eyed girl in front of him, sniffling as the words float from her lips. His stomach flutters with anxiety as he watches her eyes get watery, immediately using his thumb to wipe away the moisture from spilling over.

"Why would you ask that?" he murmurs, placing a hand to her hip.

"You don't like me," Y/N answers matter-of-factly. "And you've been avoiding me."

He sighs. He knows this isn't the right time to talk things through, especially because she's only saying these things given her swimming mindset. He hates that her mind even floated to such places, but if he's being honest, he isn't surprised — he thinks he would assume similarly if their roles were swapped.

"Can we talk about this in the morning?" Harry asks softly.

She shrugs her shoulders, letting her gaze fall to her feet. "You can just do it now. I don't wanna remember anything you have to say if that's the case."

"Y/N, stop it," he says with a shake of his head, attempting to guide her up the stairs. He's slightly impressed that despite her wobbly legs, she stays put. "I'm not ending things."

"Why wouldn't you?" she fires back, looking back up at him with a defiant look in her eyes, "You promised me you'd take care of me and— and for the past week or so, you've done anything but. You've just stressed me out and made me feel bad."

Harry swallows as guilt begins to crawl its way back up his spine. He knows she's right. She has every right to be upset.

"I know," he mumbles, nodding his head, "I know. I haven't been a good dominant. I'm sorry."

"That's a shit excuse. I've heard that so many times before from guys who didn't treat me right from the start. You're different, Harry."

"Y/N..." he's getting frustrated now, disgruntled by how stubborn she apparently gets when she's drunk, "You're right about everything, but this isn't the time to talk this through. I want to do it when you're sober."

She rolls her eyes and if things were normal, Harry knows he would've grabbed her by the hips and leaned her over the steps to spank her. Instead, he lets out a breath and nudges her in the direction of her bedroom.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed."

Y/N's protests cease after that and Harry's secretly grateful for it. She's sobered up enough to take her makeup off and change into her pajamas as he fetches her a glass of water and some Advil to take. He places them on her nightstand as she crawls into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

"Your apartment's still freezing," he murmurs, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "I'll call a repair guy tomorrow."

"Are you staying then?" she asks softly, letting her eyes close the second she smushes her cheek into the pillow.

"I will if you'd like me to."

"Okay," she mumbles, "I hope you don't break up with me tomorrow."

He lets out what feels like the thousandth sigh that evening. "Stop saying that. I'm not going to."

Y/N simply shrugs.

. . .

The next morning, Y/N wakes up with a throbbing headache. Before she even opens her eyes, she can feel embarrassment warming every cell of her body, but she can't place a finger on why. She knows something happened last night but things get a little... blurry at a certain point; her last solid memory taking shots with Naomi and Lea. From there, she has a small inkling of what happened, mainly just recalling her sitting in the kitchen by herself when she started feeling woozy and tired.

When she finally blinks her mascara-crusted eyes open (she thought she took her makeup off last night, but maybe she did a shit job of it), she nearly jumps when she realizes there's someone laying next to her.

That someone being Harry.

He has his reading glasses on and he's scrolling on his phone. Through squinted eyes, she reads the words heat repair guy best ratings in his Google search. When he realizes that she's awake, he locks his phone and clears his throat.

"Hey," he says, licking his lips, "How are you feeling?"

"Confused," she croaks out, lifting her head slightly to look up at him, only to be met with a pounding ache in her temples.

"Here, be careful," he mumbles, leaning over to his side to grab something from the nightstand. He hands here two pieces of toast and two Advil. "You should eat this before you take anything. You were pretty wasted last night, I figured your hangover would be rough."

She hums in appreciation and takes a bite of the toast, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "What are you doing here?"

He's not surprised that the details are hazy for her, so he flips onto his side to face her. "Bria told me about the party and mentioned you were there. I wanted to see you so I went, but you were, um, drunk and... by yourself. I took you home, that's all."

"Hm," Y/N nods, "Yeah, I remember getting drunk with everyone. I don't remember you being there except for us arguing here."

"We didn't really argue. You were just being... stubborn."

"About what?"

Harry sighs. "You wanted to talk about the state of our relationship and were convinced I was going to break up with you."

A beat. And then, "Oh."

"That was never my plan, by the way," he replies, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers, "I was never going to end things."

She shrugs her shoulders and places her empty plate on the floor, tossing back the Advil.

"I know I haven't been the best to you lately. I've been having a hard time trying to figure out how to approach things."

"Approach what?" she bites, laying back down. "I— all I know is that one day things were fine, and the next they weren't. You weren't being the same and I didn't know what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong," he shakes his head, "Just... you said something. When you were in your little space."

"I say a lot of things when I'm in my little space."

"Yeah, but this was... like, different."

"How, different?"

"More serious, I guess."

"Harry," she huffs, fisting the comforter in her hands, "I can't guess something I said when I wasn't being myself."

"You told you love me."

Y/N's head whips to the side and she immediately winces, shutting her eyes. He cringes and reaches out to touch her temples, gently applying a bit of pressure and rubbing them. It's silent for a moment as he massages her head.

"I'm sorry," she eventually mumbles, "You were probably freaked out. I'm sure I didn't mean to say it."

"Don't be sorry. I would never hold your emotions against you."

Still, she wants to hide her face in the blankets. She's embarrassed, that much is obvious. She doesn't even know if she actually loves Harry; a lot things come out when she's in her little space, some of which she means and some of which she doesn't. She supposes it's fair that he seems so freaked over it.

"I wish you told me sooner. I could've... explained myself. Maybe."

"Explained yourself?"

Y/N shrugs and lays back against the pillows. Harry follows her lead, tilting his neck so he can look at her.

"I can't say for certain that I love you or not, I've never been in love," she explains quietly, feeling her cheeks warm at the unexpected vulnerability spilling out of her, "Don't you think you could say things when you're dominating me that you don't necessarily mean? You degrade me sometimes and I know those things aren't true."

Harry thinks for a moment, pinching his lip between his fingers. "I guess, yeah."

"I would tell if you if I knew for sure, Harry. But I don't."

He nods and rolls onto his back. He doesn't know why but he feels... sad? Let down, maybe? He'd been under the impression that she loved him and, well... maybe he was okay with that.

"I'm sorry." she repeats softly. He shakes his head and reaches out for her hand, grasping it gently and giving it a small squeeze.

"Don't be. It was stupid. I overreacted."

"Thank you for rescuing me last night," Y/N murmurs, squeezing his hand back.

He pushes down the feelings of disappointment and forces a small smile on his lips.

"Anytime."

. . .

Harry tries to go back to normal after that.

He stops being so avoidant, which makes a big difference. He and Y/N are back to their near-daily hangouts, and it's easy to fall back into the routine they established before any of this happened. They're even having sex again, with Y/N readily falling into her little space every time he ties her to the bed, overstimulates her until she's crying, and fucks her open with his cock until he comes deep inside her. They never use condoms anymore, either, and the added layer of intimacy only contributes to what Harry realize shortly after that morning in Y/N's bed: he's in love with her.

He guesses he's known it for awhile, he just didn't want to admit it to himself. But when she explained why she said it, he felt so bummed that it only made sense. He'd wanted her to love him.

But Y/N is Y/N, shy and oblivious and rarely the first to bring up her feelings, so he leaves it at that. He can't think of a worse fate than them actually ending things for good this time, so he keeps his emotions to himself, locked up tight for no one to ever know.

This is a good method, he decides.

Until they're in Y/N's favorite bookshop, perusing through the section titled "BookTok" (he doesn't know what that means, but she clearly does since she has a stack of four books in her hand) and he sees it.

The familiar moony-eyed gaze, batted eyelashes, spit swollen lips. Tugging at his hand, latching onto his arm every second she can, when the word falls from her lips.

"Daddy."

He looks down with wide eyes. She never calls him that when they're in public, but now she's blinking owlishly, nibbling on the fingernails of the hand that isn't attached to Harry's arm.

"Are you alright, baby?" he asks quietly, brushing a piece of her hair out of her eyes.

"Mhm," she nods, grinning up at him, "Feeling little. 's that okay?"

He smiles gently, loving this side of her, but concerned that it's happening when they're out and about. He's never experienced a sudden sub drop before, but he knows that he doesn't want to make her feel unwanted, as if she's doing anything wrong.

"Of course, bunny," he murmurs. "Can daddy take you home, then?"

"Yes, please. Startin' to ache."

With raised eyebrows, he nods quickly, lightly tugging her head in the direction of the register. He buys her books for her, grateful that she's decided to occupy herself with the sticker display before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her to his car. He buckles her in to make sure she's safe, her books piled neatly in her lap, and gets in on the other side.

She's quiet as she flips through one of her new novels while Harry periodically glances over at her to make sure she's doing alright. It's only when she starts squirming in her seat that he puts a hand over her thigh, squeezing gently.

"We'll be home soon, baby. Just hang in there for me."

"Hurts," she pouts, and Harry's heart jumps, "Please— can I— will you?"

He swallows, quickly looking over as she wiggles around. In any other situation, he'd say no — they have a pretty firm no-touching-herself rule when he's not there, but he's never seen her drop into her little space so suddenly before. Hesitantly, he nods, stopped at a red light as he reaches up to pluck at the waistband of her leggings.

"Does my baby just need to cum?" he asks as she quickly shimmies the material down.

"Need you to touch me." she whines, hooking her thumbs under her panties and sliding them to the middle of her thighs.

"Okay, okay," he murmurs. The light turns green and he presses on the gas, moving his hand up to hover over her core. Even with the distance between them, he can see how much she's glistening. "Did you make a mess for daddy? Just walking around, having a nice day, and your little pussy got all wet for me?"

"Yes," she gasps, spreading her pussy lips with his fingers.

He begins to thumb at her clit, pressing small circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. She's already whimpering in her seat, eyes falling closed as she wraps her own hand around his wrist, pulling him closer.

"F-feels so good," Y/N mewls, grinding her hips down in time with his hand.

"Such a good girl for daddy," he tries to ignore the straining in his pants as her arousal readily coats his fingers just from a few swirls around her clit. "Cum for me whenever you're ready, bunny. Show me how good you are."

Thankfully, he's turning onto his street as the knot in her core unravels, breathy whimpers and broken calls of his honorific a clear indicator that she's reached her peak. He groans as he feels her pussy contracting, back arched against the leather of the seat.

"Fuck," he mutters, pulling into the driveway, "You're so fucking beautiful."

She barely has a second to breathe before he throws the car in park and unbuckles her seatbelt. He grabs her face between his hands and smushes their lips together, a surprised squeak sounding from her mouth.

"D-daddy," she gasps, her lips curling into a smile as he squeezes her hip.

"My good girl, yeah?" he grins, breaking apart to press their foreheads to one another. "You make daddy so happy."

Y/N giggles. She's still in her floaty headspace but with one orgasm in, it's less desperate and more bubbly. A reminder of how much she adores Harry, even with the rose-tinted glasses of her little space.

"Need more," Y/N breathes, leaning back in to peck his lips, "Please? Want your cock, want you to— to cum deep inside me."

"I know, bunny." he coos, ignoring the way his length twitches in his pants at her needy tone. He reaches up to press a kiss to her forehead. "C'mon, let's go inside. Wanna take you properly."

As soon as she nods, Harry clamors out of the car and winds around to the other side to open the door for her. With her pile of books in her hand and her flushed cheeks, evident of a recent orgasm, he intertwines their fingers together and helps her to the front door, quickly unlocking it.

Harry's no psychiatrist or expert on the manner, but one of the most interesting parts of Y/N being in her little space is that she doesn't even necessarily realize what she's doing. They've spoken about it before and she's revealed that there have times where she's been so deep under, she doesn't have all of her memories. It's a scary thought, but in a stroke of complete and utter honesty, she's explained to him that she trusts him implicitly — to take care of her when her brain is fuzzy, to never take advantage of her or push her beyond her limits.

Truthfully, Harry should've known then that he was in love with her.

And when she waltzes into his apartment, placing her books on the entryway table like she lives here, he's immediately wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, until her back is pressed up against his chest. She giggles out his honorific and it makes him smile into her hair — god, he loves her so much it might make him sick — before he mumbles out instructions to go upstairs to get undressed for him.

As always, she does as she's asked, ever keen on pleasing him. He gives her a moment as he stands at the bottom of the stairs, taking a deep breath and running his hand over his face. He's never felt so gone over a girl before, and he's managed to keep it together with Y/N this far — but seeing the way she slipped today and knowing it's just another way of showcasing how deeply she trusts their relationship... it's almost too much.

When he does go upstairs, he's instantly reminded of how uncomfortably hard he is. His eyes wander over her naked body, sprawled out across his bed, her feet flat on the bedding with her legs arched at the knee. She's being good — there have been times where he's found her already toying with her clit or sinking the tip of her finger in, but her hands are at her sides today.

"Good girl," Harry murmurs out as he undoes his belt, the leather falling to the floor. "Tell daddy what you want."

She hums, likely unused to getting a say in the foreplay of their scenes. He realizes that she may not know how to answer, so he attempts to help her along.

"Do you wanna be plugged in your bum? Tied up? Edged?" he asks, clad only in his briefs as he places a knee on the bed and wraps a hand around her ankle. "Tell me why daddy's girl needs."

"Want a plug, please," she says softly, allowing him to stretch her legs out, "Just... just wanna be filled."

"Filled, hm?" he teases lightly, reaching under the bed to rifle through the small box of sex toys. She had a bit of a collection of plugs at home, so she'd brought over a few to keep at his place a month or so back (that had been an interesting day, when he thought she had books or extra clothes in her tote bag only to be met with toys). He pulls out the smallest one since, if he's being honest, the need to be inside her is overwhelming, and he doesn't know how long he can play with her ass before he loses his mind.

"Flip onto your tummy, angel girl." he instructs as he pulls his tee and sweatshirt off. She silently does as she's told, pressing her cheek into one of Harry's pillows. She's instantly flooded with scents of his shampoo and cologne, woody and musky and intensely comforting, and it makes her squeeze her thighs together.

Everything about him makes her warm and gooey inside, as if she's coming to the one place — or person — that always feels like home, no matter how awful of a day she's had. Akin to struggling through a snowstorm, the chill pinging through her body and down to her bones; when she's with Harry, it's like being served her favorite bowl of warm soup and being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket fresh out of the dryer.

Harry is her home.

She's floating through this revelation when he pushes her ass cheeks apart, a soft gasp sounding from her mouth when he runs a lubed fingertip around the ring of muscles.

"Such a pretty hole," he murmurs, and she whimpers when she feels him spit, the saliva landing on her asshole, "Love filling you up, you know that? Every last one of these gorgeous holes."

She moans when he fits his finger inside, pushing it all the way to the knuckle. He knows she's experienced with anal so he doesn't feel like he has to be as precious about the process, knowing that she adores the sensation.

"Too bad daddy'll never share you with anyone though. No one will ever get to see how your ass and pussy squeeze around me... that's just for daddy, isn't it?"

Y/N muffles through a moan and he tuts as he pushes a second finger in.

"That's not an answer, bunny. Try again."

She shutters out a sigh and slowly blinks her eyes open, trying her to best not to be overwhelmed by him stretching her out.

"'s just for you, daddy."

"What is, angel?"

"My holes, daddy."

"Good girl," he mumbles, withdrawing his fingers. His cock twitches as he watches her ass gape ever so slightly, the loss of anything inside instantly making her feel empty. It's quickly over, though, because he's rubbing the tip of the lubed plug over her hole. "Deep breath, sweetheart, you know the drill."

Despite doing this numerous times, the stretch never quite gets old for Y/N. (Admittedly, Harry never tires of the view, either.) When her muscles swallow up the thick of the plug, revealing the pink bejeweled end, he groans, tapping it lightly.

"Does that feel better, baby?"

"Uh-huh."

"What do you say?"

"Thank you, daddy."

He smirks and gently pats the backs of her thighs, a wordless gesture to flip back over. She does, her eyelashes fluttering at the feeling of the plug slightly wiggling inside of her, pressing deep against her walls.

She leans up onto her elbows, watching as he palms his length through the material of his underwear. With wide eyes, she looks up at him, trying to ignore the way she can feel her arousal dripping down the inside of her thighs, making a sticky mess.

"What, bunny? Why are you looking at me like you're expecting something?"

Y/N pouts and Harry has to try not to smirk down at her.

"Use your words, angel."

Her pout deepens. They both know what she wants — her pussy is all but screaming for attention — and it's embarrassing to have to admit it. She adores the way he knows her body, but he's clearly feeling just a little meaner tonight by making her verbalize all of the filthy things running through her brain.

"Want you here, daddy." She mumbles cutely, bucking her hips up slightly. He hums and uses a finger to stroke over her mound, down to her crease where her juices are steadily collecting.

"Here?" He asks mockingly, teasing her folds with light movements. It's not enough for her to receive any pleasure, instead just causing her to wiggle around as she attempts to guide him to her pulsating hole.

"Inside," she all but huffs, and he chuckles, removing his touch altogether.

"Ah, where'd my good girl go?" He smirks, "You know that's not how you ask. Plus, if you keep squirming around like this, I'll have to tie you up."

Her stomach clenches at the thought; he's always more keen on edging her until she's crying when he ties her up. She's not in the mood for that tonight — she already feels like he's been edging her by refusing to give into her — so she puffs out a breath, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

"Want you in my pussy, please."

"That's all you had to say, baby," Harry murmurs. She wants to roll her eyes but she knows she'll only get spanked for it, so she nods, reveling in the sensation of his hands back on her as he separates her lips, a cooing sound forming from the back of his throat at his eyes gaze over her swollen pussy. "You have a filthy little pussy. Did you know that, bunny?"

She shakes her head.

"Don't lie to daddy," he utters, delivering a swift slap to her clit. It makes her gasp, the quick sting that's gone just as quickly as it came. "You wouldn't be begging for my cock all the time if you didn't."

Some form of an "uh huh" leaves her mouth and he chuckles. Slowly, his fingertip trails down her crease and to the place she needs him most, circling her hole once before pushing in. Her back arches and her eyes squeeze closed, immediately grateful to finally receive something.

"You'll take anything I give you, won't you?" Harry continues as he pumps his finger, "My fingers, my tongue. My cock, of course. Even my cum — made you daddy's little cumslut, didn't I?"

She moans loudly and nods her head, her hair forming messy knots at the friction.

"L-love it," she stutters, the knot in her stomach winding up tightly, "Love feeling your cum inside me, daddy."

"I know you do." He purrs, pushing another finger in. "Bet you'd let me get you all swollen with it if I wanted. Carrying my baby around like the little slut you are."

They're both too wound up to even realize what he's said. They've never breached this territory before, never even considered if a future was in the cards for them. But Y/N's already whining over it before Harry has a chance to second guess himself, her pussy squeezing his fingers rapidly; a telltale sign that her peak is but a few moments away.

"I would, I would," she chants as she pants loudly, "Fuck— fuck, I'm yours, daddy, I—"

Her words are cut off by the throaty moan that parts her lips, the rope in her core finally splitting. It's so much, so good, her muscles contracting around his fingers as he works her through it, never ceasing his praises.

"There's my girl."

"So fucking beautiful for me."

"God, I got so lucky with you. Fuck."

Her pussy is drooling over his hand now, leaking down to the plug still firmly inside of her. He bites his lip at the visual, her hole still throbbing in haphazard pulses as he frees his cock from the confides of his underwear, desperate to feel her.

With fluttering eyes, she blinks her eyelashes open as she watches him, her mind filled with fuzzy static. She doesn't even realize she's leaked spit out of her mouth until he smiles gently, using soft fingertips to wipe it away.

"Already cock dumb, sweetheart?"

She nods.

"Can you take more, or are you done? Squeeze my hand if you want to be done."

She doesn't — although her mind is bleary and struggling to string together coherent thoughts, the idea of not having Harry inside of her seems terrible. She can tell he looks concerned (his eyebrows are knit together ever so slightly as he strokes up and down her arm, waiting for her to say her safe word), but she has no plans of breaking now.

"More," her mouth finally forms around the syllables, pushing it out hoarsely, "Can do it."

"Yeah?" he asks through raised eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

Again, she nods. Hesitantly, he shimmies up the length of her body, knees pressed into the comforter with his length hot and heavy in his palm.

"You know what to do if it's too much. Safe word or squeeze my hand three times."

And then finally — finally — after what seems like hours of teasing and edging (and, quite frankly, it could have been hours; Y/N's too foggy to know), he pushes his cock inside of her and everything feels right. So right, so good, so perfect.

Her jaw drops open and she leans her head against the crook of his neck, his own groans filling the otherwise quiet room. They're not typically this silent, especially when he first enters her — she's usually whimpering and he's teasing her, calling her a dog in heat or something along those lines — but it's just so... fulfilling, and satisfying, that she can't even put it into words.

When he builds up to a steady pace, mewls begin to break free from her throat, her eyes rolling back as she lays down against the pillows again. He leans back onto his heels and pushes her thighs up against her knees, looping his arms around them to keep her there. He's far deeper that way — they can both feel it — and he gets the prettiest views of her fucked out face and plugged up ass.

"Shit — you're so good, my fuckin' girl."

Too hazy to answer, she just nods, echoing his words. "Your girl."

"Yeah? Gonna take my cum, sweetheart? Want me to fuck it deep into you?"

"P-please," she babbles, reaching down between their bodies to play with her clit, "Want— want your babies, wanna be yours, please daddy."

"My sweet girl wants to be a mama?" he's clenching down his teeth so harshly he's nervous he may break something, "I'll give you anything, baby, pump my cum so deep in your womb you won't even remember your fuckin' name."

Chants of please, please, please are all that can leave her at this point, deft fingers rolling over her clit as she feels her third orgasm rapidly approaching. He knows it, too, and he groans at the sensation of her pussy clenching over his cock.

"Cum for me one more time and I'll do it. My fertile little pussy, hm? Pretty fucking girl gonna be the prettiest mama."

That's all it takes for her to explode around him, this time gushing out clear bursts of liquid. He groans and curses, the sight instantly sending him to his own edge. In the back of his mind, he knows that squirting all over his torso and legs will put her to the final brink of exhaustion, and he's internally grateful that he can let go and make good on his promise to her.

So, he does. He finishes deep inside her, pushing his hips all the way up against her bum as his balls throb and empty, fucking his cum as far as it'll go. They're a mess of liquids and sweat and they both know it's gross, but there's not a single place either one of them would rather be.

When her eyelashes flitter open and she looks up at him, an exhausted smile forming on her lips, he swears he's never seen anything more beautiful.

. . .

"What are your plans for the holidays?"

Harry raises his eyebrows as he spoons some more miso soup into his mouth. It's a gloomy Saturday evening, with the temperatures finally dropping down to appropriate autumnal climates. Y/N came over this morning to pick up a book he recommended for her, but — as if either one hadn't expected it — ended up staying all day, basking in the cozy glory of Harry's apartment. They snuggled up on the couch, watching Jeopardy reruns, taking turns napping and retrieving snacks and drinks for the other.

"Well," he clears his throat, "I'm not American so I don't really celebrate Thanksgiving. And Christmas is a bit far away, so I'm not sure. Why?"

She shrugs, pulling her knees up to her chest. "My sister was asking if I'm coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Ah. Are you?"

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"Why? Isn't it coming up?"

She nods her head, occupying her fingers with a loose thread at the end of Harry's tee shirt that she had thrown over her body.

"Yeah. I just... I don't know if it's stupid, but I was curious about what you were doing. Before I made any decisions."

Harry's heart thumps in his chest, his entire body warming at her taking his plans into consideration.

"That's sweet of you, baby. Hadn't really thought about it, though."

Again, she nods, and he thinks that may be the end of the conversation. He doesn't want to impose, especially since he thinks he's been doing particularly well with the whole not-confessing-his-love thing, so he unmutes the TV and directs his attention back to the screen.

"Wait!" she blurts out, and he mutes it again through furrowed brows, "What if you... like, came with me?"

"For Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah," she bites her lip, nerves apparent on her face, "It's no pressure, my sister's hosting just 'cos she just bought a house with her girlfriend and they have two dogs that are really cute, and my dad might be there but he's not one of those weird hover-y dads that care about who I bring around, not that he wouldn't care but it would be weird to have to explain how we met, and my mom is probably spending it with my step-dad so it'll be pretty low-key, and—"

"Y/N." Harry cuts her off with a smirk before setting his bowl of soup down on the table. "Breathe. You're gonna pass out, I've never heard you talk so fast."

She takes a deep breath and he smiles, murmuring out a good as he turns to face her.

"I would love to come and celebrate Thanksgiving with you. That sounds really nice. Thank you for inviting me."

"Really?"

"Of course," he replies easily. "I love any time we spend together."

Her cheeks warm and she nods, as if she's convincing herself he's being truthful.

"Um... so, like, how should I introduce you?" she asks, and there are so many butterflies swarming Harry's stomach that he doesn't know if he can get any words out.

"Well... how would you like to introduce me?"

She shrugs her shoulders and rolls her lips into her mouth. "I mean, I don't know... maybe, like..."

And then she mumbles something, but it's so low that he can't hear a thing.

"I didn't hear that."

She repeats it, and Harry lets out a laugh when he still doesn't understand her.

"Baby, speak up. I can't hear you."

"WhatifIsaidyouweremyboyfriend."

"What?"

"WhatifIsaidyouweremyBOYFRIEND."

"Y/N, seriously, I don't know—"

"Boyfriend!" she exclaims, "What if I said you were my boyfriend?"

He can't fight the grin that breaks out onto his face, especially given her wide, exasperated eyes. He doesn't think he'll ever tire of teasing her.

"Is this you asking me to be your boyfriend?"

She groans and goes to rise from the couch, only to be quickly brought back down by Harry. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her towards him as his chest vibrates with laughter.

"Ask me properly."

She huffs, twisting in his lap. Swallowing nervously, she looks down, and he intertwines their fingers together.

"Harry... would you want to be my boyfriend?" she peers up at him through her eyelashes and he smiles that big, dimpled smile that she loves, and realizes she has nothing to worry about.

"I would love nothing more than to be your boyfriend."

He decides to save the I-love-you confession for another day, because he wants nothing more than to do things properly with her.

But when a matching toothy grin appears on her face, he mentally amends the one thing he got wrong about her: This is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

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beatteez · 9 months

Text

new - c.jh

최 종호

idolboyfriend!jongho x afab!reader

genre: fluff, smut (smut below the cut)

warnings: riding, fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving), softdom!jongho, curious!reader

you sat on your couch watching a show when the main character does something to remind you of your boyfriend. you decided to text him, now missing him.

'i miss you'

you set your phone down resuming the show knowing it would be awhile before he would answer since he's at the company. your phone buzzes almost as soon as you hit play, surprising you.

'i miss you more.'

you smile at your phone and text back.

'when will you be home love?'

as soon as you send it, it shows read.

'ill finish up my live, then i'll be heading home. sound good honey?'

'mhm'

you smile and figure you'd watch his live thinking it might take away your feelings of being jongho deprived. as you open it you see him smiling at his phone then shutting it off. he talks with atiny for a bit longer then says he has to go rest, ending the live.

you feel yourself getting excited to see your boyfriend you haven't seen in years. (its been 8 hours)

you resumed your show again in hopes it would make the time go by faster.

after an hour or so the door opens and jongho walks in.

"hi baby" you forget about your show jumping up to embrace your boyfriend, who's making his way over to you, his arms wrap around your waist slightly lifting you up as your arms wrap around his neck.

"how was your day" he mumbles against your neck giving it a soft kiss.

"was good, how was yours?" he pulls back to look at you his hands staying on your hips.

"tiring" he replies causing you to coo at him and he lets out a chuckle. "im gonna shower, then be back so we can cuddle" you give him a shocked look.

"jongho..cuddling?"

"never mind" he turns around making his way to the bathroom.

"no! im sorry" your hands grab onto his arm stopping him. "please" you pout up at him as he looks down at you with a blank expression.

"i'll think about it" you smile at him and let go of his arm making your way back to the couch resuming your show once again.

after awhile jongho comes into living room with grey sweat shorts on and a white t-shirt. he grabs your legs lifting them up and sits down placing them on his lap.

you look over at him and his wet messy red hair admiring his features smiling to yourself.

"what did you want to watch" he ask seeing your show finish. he looks over at you a small smile on his lips.

"you." you mumble still staring at him. he chuckles and picks something to put on. his hands massaging your legs and gently running his fingers against them.

you readjust your legs so they are crossing over each other, your legs accidentally pressing against his surprisingly hard cock. this brought your attention to his posture, his legs spread apart as he's slightly slouched down against the couch. your thighs press together as your mind wonders.

"jongho" he hums in response and you sit up. "can we try something"

he raises an eyebrow "like what" he questions.

you move your leg across his lap straddling him. "i want to ride you"

the look he's giving you is telling you no, but the way his hands run from your sides down to your ass lifting it up slightly squeezing it which causes you to fall against him was telling you yes.

"what makes you want to do that" his hands moving down your thighs then back up, sneaking into your shorts giving your ass another squeeze.

a whimper escapes from your throat as you shrug your shoulders. his hands slide out from your shorts and up to your sides griping them slightly moving your hips back and forth. your cheeks heat up and you lean forward leaning your head against his shoulder.

"is this what you want honey" he whispers lowly in your ear continuing your movements with his hands. you whimper out a 'yes' feeling his cock grow harder underneath you.

he stops moving your hips, a whine coming from you.

"shh, don't be needy" he says lifting your ass up with one hand messing with his shorts with the other. he sets you back down and you can feel his cock more prominently against you.

"get down" he says tapping your thigh. you get down on your knees in front of him staring at his leaking cock in front of you. "earn what you want"

it took you only a second to wrap your hand around the base of his cock bringing it to your lips, placing a kiss on his tip, then licking the precum off your lips. your eyes lookup at jongho, his head leans back against the couch his eyes closed. your lips wrap around the tip sucking on it, you start moving your head down and back up slowly. his head comes up looking down at you, his hand reaching down holding your face pulling you up.

"fuck, stand up" you do as told and he turns you around pushing your torso down. he wraps his fingers under your waist band pulling your shorts down slowly, your panties slightly sticking to your slick. "you're perfect y/n..fuck" his fingers push at your entrance sliding in, a moan falling from your lips.

"jongho" you moan looking back at him, starting to feel embarrassed being so exposed. he pulls his fingers out and grabs your arm turning you back towards him pulling you on his lap.

"open" he says pushing his fingers against your lips. your tongue pushes out past your lips and he presses his fingers onto your tongue. you wrap your lips around his fingers, cleaning them off, tasting yourself .

his hand comes under your ass again lifting it up angling his cock at your entrance.

"ready honey?" his thumb rubs your ass in small circles.

you wrap your arms around his neck holding onto him tightly, hiding your face in his neck. "mhm" you whimper out.

the feeling of sinking down in his cock draws out a loud, low, groan from you. your walls clenching around him, his grip on your ass tightening.

"just like that baby..shit" jongho holds you still, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"can i move" you ask looking at him. he nods and moves his hands to rest on your hips. you lift your hips up and then back down. the feeling of him filling you up this way is more than anything you've done together.

you move your hips in a circle slowly as your head leans back. jongho's hands reach up under your shirt tweaking your nipples between his pointer finger and thumb.

you place your hands on his knees leaning back some and start moving your hips up and down. you look at him and he's watching you so intensely.

"you're so fucking pretty" he mumbles reaching his hand to the back of your neck and pulling your head to lean on his shoulder. you continue your movements and hold onto him tightly "so perfect for me" he mumbles kissing your neck, his hands moving to your ass.

he pulls your ass up and down to help with your movements.

"jjong..fuck, im close baby" you whimper out. he looks at you and smiles.

"cum" he says softly his hand reach down in between your bodies to rub your clit.

you pushing your self down on him and still your movements, your pussy pulsing around his cock. he groans and quickly lifts you off of him, his release hitting your back. he groans a few times and kisses you softly.

"did you like that" he ask in a teasing tone.

"shut up" you mumble hitting his chest softly.

masterlist

#beatteez #ateez imagines #kpop smut #ateez drabbles #ateez smut #smut #ateez #choi jongho #choi jongho drabble #choi jongho smut #choi jongho imagine #jongho smut #jongho imagines #jongho drabble #18+ content #jongho 18+#18+#jongho #ateez jongho

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heartssatoru · 1 year

Note

Heyyyy! I was thinking of the fact I can be a slightly clingy GF and was wondering if you could do HCs on how the JJK boys would be with a slightly clingy GF. Megumi, Gojo, Itadori and Toge!!! Oh and Sukuna because I know you love him!

AHH THANK YOU!! I do infact love sukuna hehe🙏 but yeah of course! Thank you for the request!

megumi

Megumi secretly likes it.

But he's scared. Especially when you always try to be with him. Especially during missions, he doesn't wanna lose you.

If you also are the type to literally drown him in affection:

He'll push your hand away whenever you try to do anything. He's just awkward like that, n shy

If you stop he forces you to go back to doing what you were gonna do

He just gets really red cause he doesn't know how to respond

He acts like your clingeness is annoying but deep down he really does like it

Saw him smile slightly while you were playing with his hair? No you didn't.

He himself gets kinda clingy whenever he has a bad day, but he doesn't notice that.

Tease him about it and he'll face the other way, ignoring you. His face is extremely red.

Gojo

If your clingy, that's fine. Hes clingy too.

But like megumi. Does not want you getting hurt. He takes on missions that could result in you being killed.

So he has his reasons, however

He always teases you about it, saying how you can't resist him n stuff

Love's how you both be smothering eachother in kisses

Everytime he comes back from missions n stuff he always gets you something, especially if you get sad that he's not home.

(Everytime he comes home your arms are already wrapped around his waist)

And since he's so busy he gets you plushies of him, and only him.

"Since I know you love me so much hehe"

Itadori

Itadori enjoys it so much, he's not very clingy. But is at the same time.

Just uh.. sometimes it really gets to him and he starts crying a little

"Yuji are crying?" "Nuh uh! It's just my allergies" said in a shaky voice

Someone actually wants his company? Wow!!

Everytime hes home late he always apologizes and hugs you so tight.

You can't breath cause of it but aww! Hes suffocating you (with affection)

sometimes he'll be a little mean and tease you about it though.

gets so confused when he isn't welcomed with you smothering him in kisses as soon as he gets back

But when you do he starts giggling all happily. "Your so mean"

Toge

"Salmon"

Likes how you always cling onto him as soon as he's home. And finds it cute when you whine about him being gone for so long

He appreciates it a lot, and doesn't even move an inch whenever you're drowning him in affection

Mostly also cause he's kinda awkward, but not too much. (Not as much as megumi)

He always wants to be with you. But missions stop him from doing so.

Hes not really used being welcomed back with you and your affection, like the rest.

He doesn't mind it though, and he himself can be clingy too, like the rest (too lol)

He doesn't even know his cheeks are slightly red with everything you do

I can picture him being kinda clingy in certain situations too. But its kinda rare

Over all he's a little cutie, loves your clingyness and you.

Sukuna

Mocks you and makes fun of you, but thats no suprise.

Thats just how he is. He wont admit it if he likes it. But im being real here he'd probably use it as an insult

Even though he likes it, he wont admit it. He'll bully you about it😭

If you actually get upset he'll stay quiet cause he feels awkward. Won't bully you, as much.

However if you just ignore him he'll keep going. He just wants to get on ur nerves tbh

But still since he knows you love him so much he'll be like "of course your so needy for me"

Or something like that. He's clingy in certain situations, but thats extremely extremely rare.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Working on:

"Okay since you do write for Megumi I was thinking of a scenario where fem reader(if you do that) and Megumi have been together for awhile and new sorcerer starts at Jujutsu High and immediately develops a crush on him and reader gets insecure about it. How that would play out and how he would react! "

"can you write some headcanons for when the jjk boys lose their s/o in a large crowd? ^^"

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader fluff #sukuna x reader #gojo x reader fluff #megumi x reader #sukuna x reader fluff #satoru x reader fluff #itadori yuji x reader fluff #megumi fushiguro x reader fluff #toge x reader #inumaki x reader #Toge inumaki x reader #Toge x reader fluff #Inumaki x reader fluff #Toge inumaki x reader fluff #So many tags lol

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no-m4gic · 1 year

Note

Hi! I'm the anom who asked for the autistic reader and I loved your writing! So may I request the same THH characters but with a reader who's try to be the sunshine in their lives (example: help Chihiro to be himself), but is secretly depressed and hide It from them cause reader doesn't want to seem fragile?

Sorry If Is complex XD thx!

i have limited free time so i know im probably never gonna complete (another) request(s) today. also i discovered i have no idea how to write for hifumi and yasuhiro, so i'm gonna blacklist them and replace them with mukuro. felt like this request seemed like a good prompt for nagito and also i feel like i could replace ishimaru's one with komaeda's as an apology.

sorry if you wanted the girls too, i'll get on them as soon as i finish my work- i didn't have enough time to write for them. i'll write for ishimaru, too. sorry for missing a lot of characters!

p.s thanks guys for your support !! i appreciate it sm <33

that's a long title 😨

the tags are such a PAIN

~ mod sitaya

THH CHARACTERS W/ AN S/O WHO IS THEIR SUNSHINE BUT IS SECRETLY DEPRESSED

BYAKUYA TOGAMI

"damnit s/o, why didn't you tell me earlier? you know i wouldn't judge you."

money = happiness to him, so he wouldn't fully understand your pain. he'll still support you though, if you need anything he'll send one of his workers to get it for you.

i mean if you were gone, yeah, he'd definitely be upset, so whenever he couldn't understand, he'll just imagine how he'll be like if you died or something.

he'll hire a personal therapist for you, unless you want him to be your therapist... which trust me, he is not good at.

bro can't even comfort anyone without making them cry more.

since he can't comfort someone psychologically, he'll comfort them physically, though he'll only show displays of affection at home or when you guys are alone, n e v e r in public.

honestly at this point, he won't give a shit if you stain his rich people clothes with your tears, he can buy the same new clothes again.

he's not that desperate, but can you imagine byakuya singing his s/o a lullaby?

not really, but he'll tuck you into bed himself personally if you fall asleep while sobbing your eyes out.

if you don't, he'll ask if you wanna fly out of japan for awhile, on his rich people private jet.

it's the least he could do to repay you for helping him during his dark times.

MAKOTO NAEGI

"s/o. how could you hide this from me? did you think i was going to criticize you...?"

he wouldn't ask the million questions running through his head first, he'd hold you first.

you come before anything.

he'll hold you for as long as you'd like, letting you cry in his shoulder while he rubs your back and pats your head.

since you helped him show the others he isn't an 'omega male' and also chased everyone who bullied him away, he'll return the favor.

he'll tell the teacher that you weren't feeling well and needed some time to rest in your room.

also he'll bring you your homework so you don't have to get it yourself and do tons of paperwork at once after coming back.

you don't need a therapist, you have naegi tell them as your therapist.

he'll listen to you go on for the entire day, and if you need to break down, you can jump into his arms and break down, using his shirt as a handkerchief.

MONDO OOWADA

"damnit... who did this s/o?!"

honestly he might just break down too.

but then he'll tell himself he's gotta be a man, with balls in front of his s/o.

he'll put his coat around you and hug you, telling you that it's alright and you can let everything out.

you can take that in any way.

he feels really guilty whenever he has to leave you for training or a competition.

but he'll always come back with a gift and your favorite takeout.

if you ever wanna cuddle, go find him. he'll be more than happy to have a reason to hold you.

daily compliments whenever you two meet up.

CHIHIRO FUJISAKI

"s/o, it's okay. you're not hopeless, you're filled with hope, you still have so much more potential,"

he'll offer to accompany you to do some activities to keep your mind distracted and also to cheer you up.

something maybe like styling your hair and making it look ridiculous by putting tons of bright, glittery accessories on your hair.

he'd ask if sharing his own insecurities would help, maybe just so you know he has other countless insecurities than just him fearing showing the others he's a guy.

if making your hair look worse than junko's didn't cheer you up, chihiro would make up some stupid games like hop like a bunny into mondo's room or sing one of sayaka's songs outside makoto's room while he's showering.

speaking of sayaka's songs, he'll blast all her upbeat pop songs in the room and you two can dance your heart out.

LEON KUWATA

"i figured. now come here i'm gonna cuddle your sadness away!"

leon would definitely try to remain positive

the only good side would be that he could skip his daily weekday baseball training, since y'know he likes hates baseball.

but no, really, he'd have NO idea on how to comfort someone properly.

he'd ask what he could do to make you feel better.

as well as bring you out to get ice cream.

while you guys are out you may or may not encounter celestia's cat wandering around aimlessly... and bring it back to leon's room.

obviously you guys return her, maybe style her a little, watch leon get scratched by her and so on.

overall at least you recovered quickly and now everyone can see you smile again <3

BONUS ;; NAGITO KOMAEDA

NAGITO KOMAEDA

"oh s/o. you didn't have to hide it from me, hopeless trash like me don't have the right to judge hopeful people like you,"

well now it was his turn to have his clothes stained with tears.

countless outfits of yours have been stained with his tears, because whenever you'd return late (which was always) he'd think you left him or something, and the closest thing he has to you are your clothes.

he's clingy.

and he'll become clingier.

everywhere you go he'll follow you like a lost puppy.

lost puppy literally. he won't just follow you, he'll beg for your attention.

anyway... back to you, once you even mention you were upset he'd pull you into a tight hug.

imagine how long that tight hug would be with depressed.

verrrrrry verrry long.

he'd wish he didn't have to let go of you.

and he wouldn't. you'd have to literally wait for him to fall asleep just to work your way out his arms.

he'll shower you in compliments and bless you with encouragements.

if you wanted he could ask gundham for a cat or dog or something, or he'd blackmail gundham just to "borrow" the four dark devas of destruction for like 10 minutes before giving them back even though nagito would lie and say they'd forever be gone.

you want, he buy. literally, you just have to say "i want this" and you'll have it.

no more despair only hope.

IM SORRY ITS MISSING SO MANY CHARACTERS ANON 😭

#byakuya togami x reader #byakuya x reader #togami x reader #makoto naegi x reader #makoto x reader #ishimaru x reader #mondo owada x reader #mondo x reader #chihiro fujisaki x reader #chihiro x reader #leon kuwata x reader #kuwata x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #komaeda x reader

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vintagexherry · 9 months

Text

One Hell of an Actor

Ghostface!Miguel O'Hara x Reader

//NSFW,Smut, Dacryphilia,Blood, Dub-Con, glove kink, fear kink, slight gore, murder, slight chasing, stalking, implied yandere, implied panty stealing, home invasion, Minor character death, bit of lore

A/N: I never watched Scream since I never liked horror a kid so im gonna put my own twist.

Requested by: @sukioyakio

----

Miguel was your best partner in crime.

You both met as interns in Alchemax. Although you two didn't get along at first, as time went on, you set differences aside and bonded greatly.

As years went by, both of you quickly climbed to the top and became known geneticists around the science world.

And right now both of you were relaxing on your couch watching the news.

"Creepy, that's a lot for just two weeks." You commented, seeing a person being interviewed about the crime scene. You turned to Miguel, who was resting his face on a closed fist, looking bored. "Do you think it targets specific people?".

Miguel turned to you and smirked.

"Why? You wanna be next?"

You scoffed at him and shook your head lightly. You feel bad about the families that had to endure seeing their love once get brutally murdered.

You suddenly hear your phone ring next to you, you flinced from the loud volume and picked it up, ignoring Miguel's chuckles.

As you see the caller ID, you smiled. It was your boyfriend who was living in another state for awhile due to his job.

Miguel noticed your smile and fought the urge to crush or throw your phone agaist the wall, he recognizes that smile, you never smiled like that to him, you do smile of course but not in the way he wished you'd do.

You stood up from the couch, notifying Miguel that it's your boyfriend and went straight to your bedroom for some privacy.

Miguel knows he's not normal for doing this. He knows he's not normal ever since as a kid. He's been to several therapists about his abnormal behaviour. His aggressiveness always noted to be too much to handle, especially since he beat up several kids in school.

By the age of fifteen, he finally stopped going to those damn therapist, finally deemed as safe and sane.

But little do they know he's one hell of a actor.

Ever since then, he has tried to find multiple outlets for his endless rising anger, he didn't want to go back to those bland and emotionaless buildings, so instead he bought stress toys, but with his strength he always breaks them, He tried punching bags, It lasted longer than stress toys, but with his roughness it would always end up beaten beyond recognition, he tried sex but the people he slept with always complained that he's too rough or it hurts too much.

Finally, he tried murder at the age of twenty.

"Tried." isn't really the right word. In his defence, the guy was an idiot thinking he could rob him when he was just minding his business by walking in the middle of the night.

After another day in college, he wanted to walk home wanting some fresh air. He then felt someone following him, and as he shifted to an alley, he could still hear their footsteps.

The next thing he knows, the guy pulled out a pocket knife and tried to stabbed him, but he dodged in time and punched him in the gut.

The punch seemed to do the trick, but for Miguel, it wasn't enough.

He punched again and again until he heard bones cracking, wet coughs, and warm blood being splattered on him.

He doesn't know how long it has been, but the time he stopped punching the guy was on his knees, sporting multiple bruises, begging him to stop, and started sprouting apologies, or what he could make out of apologies with blood spitting out every word.

But it still wasn't enough.

He saw a glimmer of metal thanks to the moonlight. He realized it was the man's pocket knife who must have dropped during punching spree.

He picked up the knife and chuckled when he noticed how blunt and cheap the knife seemed to be.

The man kneeling on the hard concrete floor started to realize what was about to happen, upon realizing he started to crawl away as fast as he can, trying to ignore the cry of pain of his body and broken bones.

Miguel took his focus away from the knife and glaced at the man, pathetically trying to escape his fate.

Not only is he an idiot who tried to rob him, but he even thinks that he can escape him.

Miguel stepped on the man's ankle, successfully stopping him. Before the man could utter a shout for help, he quickly crouched down and slashed the neck of the man.

Blood splattered everywhere, spraying the floor like spray paint, and painting his hands crimson.

As the man kept withering in place like a worm, his eyes rolled at the back of his head and finally he stopped moving.

Miguel stood up to full height, taking a moment to take in the events that transpired.

He spent a good minute thinking, but nothing came up in his head.

As if on instinct, he dragged the body on the nearby trash bin and threw in it among the other trash.

As he left, he double checked his surroundings for any passerbys, after knowing no one was coming, he pocketed the knife and took off his shoes to avoid leaving footprints and risked his feet to walk on cold concrete.

He's thankful that he was wearing black tonight.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

As he arrived home, he automatically removed his blood-stained clothes, and hopped into the shower.

There,his mind went rampant.

He killed a man.

Murdered him.

Punch his guts till they were mushed into smoothie.

Slashed his neck as if filleting a fish.

He killed a man.

As water and blood drips from his hands to the shower floor, he tries to find in his head any form of guilt.

Nothing

He felt nothing

Nothing but happiness

He never felt this way before, sure his punching bags did the job but not this good.

He felt as if he was Atlas and someone or something finally took off the weight of the world off of him.

He reminisces the sound of breaking bones and squelching blood, and he never heard anything better, even better than those girls he sleeps with when he isn't feeling the punching bag.

After finalizing that his clean of sweat and blood, he dries himself and wraps the towel around his waist.

He suddenly heard his phone ringing from the bedroom.

Once he arrived in the dimly-lit room, the ringing stopped, and in its place was a voicemail.

A voicemail by you.

Ah yes, You.

You both started as interns as much as he remembers.

And he remembers how much of a people pleaser you are.

How annoying it is to watch you say yes with no hesitation when a higher up wanted you to take place of his work station for a minute, you stayed there for hours since he never came back.

But you never complained.

And that annoyed him greatly.

You're too good for your own good.

"Hey, it's me,Y/N L/N, I apologize if I woke up you up or something, I just want to notify you that, surprise! Our research thesis got approved! The higher ups want us to be present by friday evening. He said something about a fancy gala and we both need to dress the best we can, also we can bring a plus one. Im gonna send you the location of the venue, since that's out of the way, I won't bother you anymore and see you soon. Goodnight and congrats again."

He took his phone and played the voicemail while he unwraps himself of his towel and started dressing.

The voicemail ended with a click, and Miguel couldn't help but be tranced by your voice. Sure, you were nothing but a goody two shoes, but you're smart, and he's glad both your hard work paid off. He'll try finding a suit for the said gala.

With that, he turned off his phone and light, heading to bed with a satisfied mind.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Miguel was snap out of his thoughts when you re-enter the living room.

"Guess what! He's coming back next week!" You excitedly informed smiling widely.

"uh huh" Miguel replied his eyes still focusing on the news in front of him.

You scoffed at his reaction, Miguel has never onced show any other emotions other than a scowl or a sarcastic smirk on his face. But he could atleast show something about the news, he knew of your relationship with your boyfriend for several years and he knows how important it is to you that he's finally coming back.

"Is there no hooray or im so happy for you?" You asked, putting your hands on your hips as if your a mother scolding their child.

Miguel rolled his and faced you.

"hooorayyyy, im happy for you." He replied monotonously and went back watching the news.

You sighed, giving up on making him show a bit of emotion but who cares, your boyfriend is coming and you couldn't be anymore excited, you went back to your bedroom, planning to talk to him more, leaving Miguel on his own thoughts again.

Miguel knows for a fact he never liked that pathetic of an excuse you call your boyfriend.

The day of the gala, you bought your boyfriend with you, Miguel didn't bring anyone.

After you and Miguel recieved your awards, Your boyfriend told you his gonna go to the bathroom for a while, You nodded and decided to wait for him while you eat some appetizers on the table.

But Miguel felt suspicious, and it grew seeing your "boyfriend" went to a deserted area of the venue with another woman. Next thing he finds is both of them coming out giggling and panting out of breath.

Disgusting

What do you even see in that guy?

He made eye contact with your boyfriend and all he did was press a finger agaist his lips.

He decided "yea fuck that."

After the gala, you and Miguel went seperate ways to go home and after a few hours he told you of what he saw.

You're smart he can admit that but you can be stupid as fuck in the same time.

You didn't believe a word he said and after you telling him to cut it out, he held himself back from throwing his phone agaist the wall and decided to go out and killed some random drunk lady outside a club who was trying to flirt with him.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

"Miguel? Miguellllll, are you there?"

Miguel once again snapped out of his thoughts.

He sigh as he stood up straighter.

"What is it now?"

"I was just gonna go to the grocery since Im missing a few ingredients for dinner, and I was wondering if you could come with me."

Miguel nodded and you thanked him for it.

He kinda wishes he could be alone in your house so he could dig through your dirty laundry again.

But he relented since you once told him that you feel someone is watching you.

Both you and Miguel arrived in the grocery. You're thinking of making some simple Carbonara for dinner. All your missing is cream cheese, garlic, and pepper.

While you're looking for garlic, Miguel opted to carry the basket.

He admits this scenario seems domestic, maybe too domestic, especially when you ask him for his opinions.

After shopping, you paid for your ingredients and went back home.

You wanted to let Miguel stay for dinner since it's the least you could do in return for him coming with you.

There you go again.

Being a goody two shoes.

A good girl, perhaps.

Dinner passed by quickly, and you bid Miguel stay safe as he drove of the night.

You closed and locked your door after saying goodbye, and you double-checked the windows.

After washing the dishes, you head to the bathroom adjacent to your bedroom and prepare to sleep.

You were putting your pyjamas on until you heard a scratching and glass tapping downstairs.

You froze, checking if it was your imagination, thinking maybe it was just stray cats outside.

Silence

...

Fuck!

What that your window breaking!?

In a state of panic, you grab your phone and a taser hidden in your drawer and run to hide in your closet.

You hear movement downstairs continue, and with shaky hands, your fingers automatically find Miguel's number and quickly dialed it.

Your heart beats faster the more it rang, and you fear that he's already asleep.

You're surprised the intruder hasn't come upstairs, but you didn't get enough time to dwell on it since Miguel finally awnsered.

Without waiting for his awnser, you quickly spoke with shaking breaths, trying not to be loud but also trying to hold back tears.

"M-Miguel? Please come back fast! I-I-I.....There's someone! in my house!"

"Y/N?" Miguel answered his voice, which seemed to be muffled as if hidden under fabric. You think that he's probably under his blanket.

"Wherever you are, just stay there. I'm coming." Miguel said urgently.

The call ended, and you clutched your taser tighter, hugging your frame, hoping the intruder won't come find you.

After some time you finally heard a familiar voice.

"Y/N! Where are you!" Miguel called from downstairs.

You found the courage to open the closet door. Just in time, Miguel seemed to rush into your room.

"Y/N! Are you ok?" He said as he crouched down to your level, softly placing his hands on both your cheeks.

You didn't know what to say. You're still clutching on the taser and your body is still shivering from fear.

Miguel notice this

"Don't worry, Mi Vida, once I arrived, their already gone."

You could only weakly breath a thank you before resting your forehead on Miguel's shoulder.

And Miguel let you.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

A week has passed since that incident.

Your window got fixed and and you installed a new lock since your previous one got broken down.

Miguel seemed more keen to stay with you more late than ever, he admits he like it, love it even.

You tried denying him, but he insisted, saying that he wants to keep an eye on you.

He kept doing this till you feel sleepy and took that as cue to leave.

One day, your "boyfriend" finally arrived, and you were nothing but ecstatic, hugging and kissing him all over the face.

But he bets another woman did it, too. He bets he enjoyed that job outside the state, but he enjoyed the women there, too.

Since your boyfriend's arrival, he stopped staying late at your place, although he visits from time to time whether you're aware of it or not.

And you feel it.

After that incident weeks ago, you still can't help but feel like as if your being watched.

You told your boyfriend about it and he just kissed your forehead saying it's just your imagination.

You wish it was.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

Several weeks pass, and you slowly but surely forget about the breaking and entering.

Right now, your boyfriend has been to his company since he got called in late at night.

You wanted to wait, but he insisted you should get some sleep since you still have work tomorrow.

You finally relented since he was right.

After covering his supposed dinner in the fridge, you triple check every lock, the doors, the windows, everything.

You finally go upstairs to get some shut eye, but as you go up stairs you screamed.

By the balcony, someone wearing full-on black with a mask enters your bedroom, seemingly unborthered by your shout.

He stood there as if taking in your fearful expression, more so enjoying it.

You wanted to call your boyfriend or get the taser, but it's all in your drawer that you can't reach due to the guy who can snap you like a twig is just standing at.

"Oh, were you looking for this?"

You got snapped out of your thoughts when you hear his deep, muffled voice.

in his hands he holds a cellphone, not just any cellphone.

Your boyfriend's cellphone....Splattered with what seems to be blood.

If you weren't scared a while ago, you're petrified now.

Without thinking, you rushed downstairs, heading for the door to shout for help.

But he was fast.

Maybe too fast.

You heard his heavy footsteps too late until you were carried like you were weightless and placed upon his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

You're really panicking now.

You screamed and shouted for help, hoping neighbours would hear you while you flailed your legs and beat at his back with all your strength, especially since blood is rushing to your head.

smack!

You yelp from the stinging pain on your ass.

Before you could complain, your were thrown agaist your own bed.

Ohgod is he gonna kill you here?

Leave your body to rot until the police finds it?

Be another victim for people to see on the news?

You tried to crawl away, but he just grabbed your ankle and pulled you back as he started climbing over you.

Nononono.

He can't possibly!

"You know..."

His muffled deep voice startled you again.

"Fear looks good on you.." he finished

You tried processing what he said but didn't have enough time till his large gloved hands ripped away your only protection against him.

The sound of fabric tearing just brings more tears to your face.

"P-p-pplease don't," you pleaded as you tried covering yourself.

He didn't say anything but removed your arms, which left you exposed for him to see.

He gathered your arms and held it above your head with one hand.

His other hand started trailing down and forced your legs open, making space for him in between.

Heavy tears were now streaming down on you, but that didn't seem to bother him. In fact, it probably made him more excited since you felt a bulge nudging your folds.

"Nonono, please no."

You pleaded again

He ignored again

You look down, and he wasted no time sliding a gloved finger into you, putting it on a slow pace.

"Mierda, look at yourself. You're perfect."

You couldn't say anything, your voice can't be trusted, and all you could do was choke on your tears.

The more his gloved finger moves, the more he seems to hit certain spots.

You try to deny it, but he seemed to be an expert at what he's doing.

He added more fingers

He added speed to his pace

You tried holding your whimpers, but it was deemed useless.

The man only seemed to chuckle at your attempt.

"Hide all you want, I know how to get it out of you."

Before you could process what he said, he curled his finger upward, sucessfully hitting that spot that made you moan loudly.

He laughed.

"Told you so."

The faster his fingers go, the more you're reaching your climax, and you hate yourself for it.

But before you did, he took his gloved fingers out and started unbuckling his pants.

If he isn't the monster, the thing between his legs definitely is.

You gulp at the sheer size of it.

"Nonono please, it-it won't fit!"

Yet again, your pleas are ignored

"Shut up and take it." he snarled and you cowered in fear.

He didn't bother wasting his time as he shoved his entire length in one go.

You screamed, he really was too big and it hurt. The man above did nothing pleasurely groan out.

"FUCK Y/N THAT'S IT!" His shout muffled by the mask.

He didn't waste any more time and started a rough and fast pace, making the bed creak from the strength.

You couldn't hold back your moans anymore and continued to spill whimpers and gasps.

The man continued his fast pace again and again.

Until you feel it, you started to tighten and your legs began to shake.

"I-Im gonn-a AH!" without warning you came, creaming around the man's cock.

It didn't seem to bother him since he tightened his hold on your hands, and his hips started to stutter.

"Come on ugh- that's it-"

Your body feels more and more sensitive as he goes, drool, sweat, and tears cover your face

Finally, his hips stop as warm fluid fills you from the inside.

Both of you panted and tried to catch your breath, but in a moment of clarity, you panic since he didn't wear any protection.

But before you could say anything, his hand finally let go of your wrists above your head. He moved to remove his mask, and you froze when you saw who it was.

"Mi....Miguel?" you hoarse voice called.

"bu-but, wh-"

You were interrupted when a strong pair of lips covered your own in a passionate kiss. More drool slipped out of you.

Miguel let go of your lips leaving you breathless.

"Im just one hell of an actor baby."

The End

352 notes · View notes

itonashi · 1 year

Text

SCENARIOS

[ part 2 ]

older sister reader ! !

warning: multiple timeline, lowercase intended.mentioned of reo mikage, itoshi sae.

note: i literally suck at bowling what in the actual fuck is this... my sec time bowling was so ass it was worse than the first one.....

"nee-san, did you see my phone."

"what's that on your hand?"

nagi looked at his hands and saw his phone.

"oh."

sometimes you don't understand yourself either how you can handle nagi seishiro or understand him. lots of the auntie neighbors pity you for having a lazy little brother. who are they to judge him. sometimes you feel like bashing their heads onto the walls.

"you're very different from your brother."

that's what they all said. saying you were different from your brother. they're blind. in fact, you're very similar to nagi.

"nagi, can you tell me more about your sister?"

looking up to reo, nagi looked at him like he was an alien (he is). side eyeing reo, nagi sigh. it was all too familiar with him. ppl going to him just to ask him about his own sister. nagi thinks it's a hassle to talk about you.

"why don't you talk to her yourself. im lazy."

"erh, if you say so. then, want to come with me to talk to you sister?"

"my sister is not in this school. she already graduated two years ago."

"then i want to go to your house."

"side eye."

cooking as a child was hard. why does your parents always have to go overseas? you rarely see them. do they think this is easy as a child. dumb parents.

ever since you were a child, you tried cooking until you make it. your hand was full of cuts from the knife. some of it even turned permanent scars. why did you start to cook? to feed your little brother ofc.

"sei... wake up. lunch is ready." you smiled upon seeing nagi sleeping. you didn't mind it at all that nagi was lazy. with the right patience, you could handle nagi seishiro. he's your precious little brother after all.

nagi slurred in his sleep and slowly open his eyes. still sleepy, he stayed there for awhile to gather his thoughts. feeling a pat on his head, he knew that it was his sister.

"mmm.. awake."

"im going to pour water on you."

the boy sat up immediately.

one thing nagi knew about his sister. she is never joking.

[referring to this]

seeing the text that nagi send. you swore you almost drop your phone. nagi seishiro? playing football? a sport? kicking ball? him???? your little brother who never play any sports in his life at all? suddenly playing...?

it was all a shock to you.

"what the hell" you mumbled. you were just too shock. you could even die happily.

"im home."

seeing nagi entered the home bringing reo aka his slave. you stared at them for too long without any thoughts in your brain that you didn't even noticed they open the tv to watch some football matches.

"who is that?"

"itoshi sae."

perking up at the name. you finally realized you zoned out too long. too shock. looking at the tv, you saw the itoshi sae on it. you almost tsk.

it's not that you hate football or anything. you definitely like basketball more tho. you won't deny that itoshi guy is pretty. getting up from the couch, you pat nagi head and went straight up to your room.

searching up itoshi sae instagram, you look at his photo. not alot of post.. probably someone who only think about football, boring.

but other than that, you thought to yourself that he seems quite familiar to you..

"i don't want this."

"stop being picky. eat your food!"

"erghhh.."

tbh, you cooked nagi least favorite food because you didn't want him to be picky. he had always been picky. if he doesn't eat it, you're gonna make him eat natto for the rest of the week.

nagi was grumpily munching his LEAST favorite food.

#itomlist!!✧#itoworks!!✧#blue lock x reader #blue lock #you #bllk #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage

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bluetoraa · 2 years

Note

uehehehehehehehe saiki with a reader who loves to bake sweets?? Romantic or platonic is fine!! Take ur time <3333

SAIKI K X BAKER!READER

!warnings!

GN!reader

after science class, the teacher announced a test would be coming up soon.

you went up to saiki asking begging to help you study since you are struggling in the subject.

saiki found you less annoying then the rest of the students at PK, so none the less, he agreed.

you said you’d meet him at his house around, 5PM. not immediately after school but way later since school ended.

when saiki agreed you smiled and said, “i’ll surprise you with something since i know you don’t like having people around, take it as my thanks saiki!”

when he heard you think ‘mh, he likes sweet stuff right? maybe strawberry cake’ll do it! god, i hope he likes it.’

yeah, saiki knew he was gonna love having you over.

when he got home, even though saiki can hear everyones thoughts, was lazer focused onto yours.

‘i gotta taste the batter, what if it’s too bitter? nevermind, i think it tastes good!’

‘i just gotta pack these slices then it’ll be good! im so excited to see him, gosh what if his family’s there?!’

oh yeah. he didn’t tell his parents he’s gonna have you over.

“ah, hi ku! is everything alright?”

“kusou! your father needs some help with somethi-”

“no. and i’m going to have someone here in awhile. so please, do not be weird and swarm them with questions.”

the two of them looked like they were gonna cry.

they were shouting stuff like “our baby ku is making more friends than we though?!” and “oh my! we MUST make dinner to greet them, gosh i hope they like the food!!!”

this is what he didn’t want to happen, but it was too late to stop them because a bell rang at the door.

how did he miss you? he would’ve prepared sooner!!!!

“i’ll get it! ah, im so happy for you ku!”

suddenly saiki’s father appeared behind his mother tearing up in excitement.

“i’ll just open the door.”

“too late kusou, your mothers already opened the door and is obsessing over them and- OH MY GOD IS THAT STRAWBERRY CAKE?”

saiki just stood awkwardly in the back as he watched his parents force you to sit onto their dinner table as you three ate the cake you brought.

“me and y/n have to STUDY. please leave us alone.”

“c’mon ku! eat this delicious cake with us, your friend worked extra hard for this!”

saiki sighed and sat down in the wooden chair beside you as you passed him a slice of your cake.

“i hope you like it saiki, i made it with you in mind. we can study later!”

he grabbed his fork and stabbed a piece of the fluffy cake and put it in his mouth.

when the cake touched his taste buds his aura totally changed!

he had a cutesy, happy aura around him instead of that cold feeling that surrounds him at all times.

he’s smiling while going for the last bite of the cake but suddenly drops the smile as it hits him thats that is the last bite of his slice.

“well, we better get studying huh? should we stay here or go to your room saiki?”

“my room.”

the two of you studied until you physically, mentally and spiritually could not.

when you were getting ready to leave saiki asked you,

“do you know how to make coffee jelly?”

“absolutely i do! my nephew loves it so i make it for him all the time!”

“could you make it for me tomorrow for lunch? its fine if you can’t..”

“awe, of course i can saiki! but i gotta get going, my moms gonna freak if i don’t get home soon.”

before you could even open the door his mom’s rushing to you thanking you for coming and how you’re so good looking!

oh ku must be so lucky if your his friend, maybe you guys should—

alright thats enough!

saiki rushed you out of the door and wished you well and quickly teleported to his room to avoid the questions he knows he’s gonna get drowned in.

in the blink of an eye saiki was in bed ready to sleep but he couldn’t.

not because of the incoming thoughts from others 24/7, because he was fantasizing about that coffee jelly he was gonna eat tomorrow.

saiki may be an all powerful being with no weakness, but your treats made him feel normal.

he really really likes your baking and you. <3

AUTHOR NOTES!

haha…hi guys.

pls dont be mad😭😭 i just lowkey forgot that i post fics…!

but i’m gettinh ready to post another fic today! i swear! maybe tomorrow.

december 3rd, 2022. 6:42.

#bluetoraa #kusuo saiki #saiki k x reader #kusou saiki x reader #saiki x reader #baker!reader #the disasterous life of saiki k #xoxo!<3

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her-favorite · 1 year

Note

Hi love, saw your post and sending you a lot of good vibes ❤️

Please do hurt/comfort for Tate! I mean when Tate is the one who crying and the reader comforts him. I think maybe it’s the moment when Tate finds out that Kurt Cobain is dead? I’ve never seen imagines about that, but it is so obvious, Tate was a huge fan of him

thank you sweetheart! more shit went down, but i confronted them all and they’re all out of my life now, so we’re good!!

Tate Langdon x F!Reader

Summary: When Tate told you the bad news, all you needed was to hold each other

Warnings: mentions of kurt cobains death :(, more so pre-death tate (even though they both passed in 1994), short- im sorry!

a/n: i fucking LOVE kurt and Nirvana so, as sad as this request is, im really happy to be able to add Kurt to something (especially with tate!)

You laid on your bed, your eyes scanning over each word that was painted on your page. Your book had captivated you for awhile now, having spent most of your day laying down and reading, occasionally putting on a song in the background.

You jumped when you heard a quiet knock at your door, looking up to it. “Come in!” You yell, not breaking eye contact with the door until it started to creak open. A head of blonde curls welcomed itself inside, making a smile break out on your face. “Hey, baby. What’s up?” You fold the corner of your page down, closing your book and setting it on the bedside table.

You were home alone and you always told Tate that we was always welcome. He quickly took that promise and always surprised you with his entrance every now and then. But today something felt off.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, moving slightly, ready to walk over to him. Before you could get up to walk to him, he let out a sob and walked fast over towards you and your bed. His sweater covered half of his palms, but his hands were hiding his face behind them. He laid down beside you, immediately shoving his face into your stomach. Your shirt was soft against his red cheek, but quickly soaked up the tears that left his eyes. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, sobbing into you.

“Tate, babe, what’s wrong?” You were surprised by his outburst, but put a reassuring hand on his back and the other went for his hair. You hand combed through it, leaning down to press a kiss to the mess of knots.

“He’s dead.” His hiccups showed his hurt, but you were still as confused as ever. His fingers dug into your skin, definitely leaving a mark.

“Sh, baby, take a deep breath.” You whisper, your hand brushing the hair away from his eyes. He looked up at you, his eyes and nose red and his tears wet against his cheeks. “Who’s dead?” Your heart was racing for the answer, scared and worried to find out who it was since it was causing your boyfriend so much pain.

“Kurt.” He shoved his face back into your shirt.

You froze, your hand stilling in his hair. “What? Cobain?” You ask, begging for him to deny. But he didn’t. All he did was nod. Your shoulders dropped and your heart felt like it was melting.

You and Tate had always shared the love for Kurt Cobain. Him and his band were your favorite artists. The first time you met him, your first topic was Nirvana. As soon as each of you found out that you both loved them, it was a quick click between the both of you.

“Oh my god.” You whispered, your hand tightening in his hair. You felt the wet tears roll down your cheeks, hugging Tate’s body closer to yours. “Oh, baby,” You sob, resting your forehead on his head. You pressed kisses against his hair, rubbing one of your hands down his back. You noticed when he walked in that he was wearing a Nirvana shirt under his dark cardigan.

You heard his sniffles against your stomach, quickly rubbing the tears away from your cheeks to hold his. He looked at you, his eyes watering again when he saw your state.

“It’s okay, Tate. It’s gonna be okay.” You rested your forehead against his, both of your hands cupping the back of his head. You felt his subtle nod against you, not sure if he believed you or not, but he sure as hell wanted to.

You both sat there for a little while longer, waiting for you guys to calm down. Once you felt your tears dry and Tate’s as well, you took a deep breath and rubbed your thumb over his cheekbone. He moved up to lay his head in your neck, pressing a couple kisses against your skin and collarbone.

You rubbed his back, your other hand reaching up to play with his curls again. “It’s gonna be okay.” You kissed his head. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

#evan peters #evan peters smut #evan peters x reader #tate langdon x you #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon smut #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x you #evan peters imagine #evan peters fluff #tate langdon #tate ahs #ahs murder house #kit walker x reader #american horror story

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gwilymz · 2 years

Text

with bated breath--steve harrington x afab!reader

Synopsis: Rumors fly after you attend Steve Harrington’s party one weekend in September. Thinking they were his doing, you do everything in your power to avoid him, which proves easier said than done.

Warnings/Notes: Both Steve and reader are 18; smut, unprotected sex, slow burn, angst, degradation, name calling, spit, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, confessing feelings, etc. etc.

Word Count: 7,250

A/N: this is my very first stranger things/steve harrington fic so i really hope you enjoy! i’ve poured my energy into this for awhile so im so excited she’s finally ready to share with the world :-)

Read on AO3

Friday, September 7, 1984

“I’m not gonna say you have to go,” Jennifer told you. Slinky blond curls framed her face, as swirls of an all-too-pink peony blush flushed her cheeks with false coloring. She pulled it off, though. Lashes coated in cakey mascara, dark brown, ‘cause black was too much. That was rule number one.

But, this was too much. Your first week at Hawkins was over; five days of classes, homework, begging for a companion–someone–and now you were somewhat there, at someone’s house. A powder blue suburban accolade, a white latticed sanctuary of conformity in suburban Indiana.

You didn’t really click in the way you had with your friends back home, but she would suffice. A filler friend, there for the time being. Jennifer back-combed her under-swept, feathery bangs, crunchy from the aerosol glue that held her appearance together like art drowned beneath a toxic pool of resin, a product stuck in place forever.

You rested your elbows on your knees, leaning forward on Jennifer’s bed. Frilly pink with white lace trim and tattered teddy bears with matted paws where her fingers dented the evenness of their cotton-candy insides. Mementos of a childhood suspended in time were juxtaposed with posters of movie stars in tight Levi’s, the corners faded and ripped from where the tape eroded at the glossy paper.

You were nervous to go to this party. You hadn’t really talked to anybody all week, opting instead to scribble in the margins of your homework, rushing home as the clock struck three to call your friends--the real ones. The ones who played hopscotch with you five days a week and re-etched the uneven blocks as soon as the August rain dried up and your perpetual canvas was anew.

Everyone in Hawkins was just–stuck, it seemed. They had their friends, their interests, an opaque black box marked in red, permanent ink with COMFORT ZONE. And it seemed like nobody had room for a new friend. Like the quotas had been met, exceeded.

You hummed in response to her statement. It had been a few minutes; she was now sponging a cool blue shimmer on her eyelids, pink and smooth, tinged with purple veiny tendrils, extending to the bottoms of her freshly plucked brows. You sort of wished you were her. Careless in the way that was cool, open, confident. She had seen you wandering on your first day at Hawkins, lunch tray in hands, tears poking the backs of your eyes like a pin prick bathed in flames.

“Are you okay?” She asked, smoothing her houndstooth skirt over her knees. “You don’t have to go, but I think it would be good, you know, to put yourself out there?”

You nodded, both as an agreement and as a yes. You were okay, you just predicted where the night would go. Pools of sweaty teenagers, clung to each other in loosely tied cohorts. You would try, weakly, to make a friend, enter a group and likely be met with tight-lipped smiles and answers that were long-winded but never quite got to the point.

“I’ll go,” You said. “I just don’t know what to expect.” You lied.

Jennifer shrugged, pulling a cable knit sweater over her torso. It wasn’t too cold outside, but a slight breeze whistled through the vents, and the early September air was just enough to nip at your shoulders. “I think that’s the fun of it.” She pulled her purse over her shoulder, motioning for you to follow behind her.

–

The walk to the party was short, but brisk. As cute as Jennifer’s kitten heels were, you were glad you had opted for tennis shoes. The uneven sidewalks of Hawkins were hard to walk on; tufts of dead grass and clovers tickled your ankles as you knocked on the door. The house was a behemoth, wrapped in veins of green vines, curling and climbing up exposed brick siding. There was a tall oak door and a clean trimmed lawn, peppered with a littering of beer cans and a stepping stone path of discarded shirts leading to the pool in the backyard.

That’s where the boy who answered the door led you to. Tight jeans in light wash and a salmon crew neck, crisp white collar tucked neatly underneath. His hair was floppy and long and chestnut brown, big and voluminous like the smile that creased his eyes and etched the divots by his mouth. He was charismatic already, with the only words you had heard teeter from the wet slope of his lower lip, a slurred, “Come out back.”

You listened; it was easy when the speckled saddle brown of his big eyes were swallowed by the entirety of his pupils, wild black orbs shielded by fluttery eyelashes and much-too-heavy eyelids. He held an empty beer bottle in his left hand, an unopened one in his right. Tossing the empty one over his shoulder into the plush chartreuse of the deadened grass beneath his tattered reeboks, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his snug back pocket, a lighter from his front.

He stumbled forward, tripping over crumpled jeans; black and silver belts slithered along the ground like serpents.

“Fuck,” He rolled his thumb over the ridged raw metal of his lighter, white and chipped, its plastic sheath peeled from the body.

The cigarette bobbed between puckered lips, eyes deep, entranced. It seemed like most of the girls there were watching him, the concentration in his boyish eyebrows, darker than the hair on his head, still blonded from the edge of summer.

Maybe you were supposed to know who he was. Maybe it would be smarter if you didn’t.

The sun was setting; it was early for a party. Much too cold to wade in the pool, where soggy, wine colored leaves clustered in heaps at the corner, by the stairs where couples groped onto raisiny skin and kissed purpled lips.

There was no more room in the pool, and your legs were cold, arms freckled with goosebumps that climbed over your collarbones. You went inside, where it was much warmer, and nets of people leaned against the kitchen island. You found an unopened beer, warm. Pebbles of condensation made the counter slick as your elbow leaned on the marbled linoleum, scratched and greasy from the sea of fingertips overlapped upon each other.

You opened it, catching the fizz over your tongue. It soaked your cupid’s bow and tasted bad, yeasty. Spotting a free spot on the taut leather couch in the living room, you walked over there, fingers tight around the can.

“Hey, Tommy, keg is here. Help me–” The boy from earlier was walking backwards, hand carding through his hair, shoes untied. His legs were wobbling; he was clearly tipsy, and he ran into you. Amber liquid stained your shirt, deepening the navy blue of the fabric and the hue of your cheeks. Your jeans were soaked; even your shoelaces puffed up, swollen from being steeped in the stale beer.

“Fuck!” You shook your hands; acidic droplets of the cheap beer clung to your fingertips like icicles.

“Oh my god, I’m–so sorry.” He clasped his hands down on your shoulders, one ankle giving out as he rolled it, tripping over the tangle of shoelaces, the slippery wooden floor sheathed in alcohol and pool water.

And then he fell, slipping onto his knees. Patches of wetness stained his jeans; his crew neck was damp like the corners of his eyes, pretty and brown and oh so big. They looked like they were saying sorry in the softest of voices, like pleading hands. Like they always got whatever it is they wanted.

“I’m sorry,” He repeated. He was obviously drunk. Ringlets of hair framed his square jaw, tickling the edge of his bitten lips. “If it makes you,” He gulped. “Feel better, my clothes are kinda ruined too.” He giggled. “Can you help me up? I could–get you something new to borrow.”

You sighed, reaching your hand out. Everyone was staring; new girl and drunken popular pretty-boy in a spat. Who wouldn’t be. A few girls with shades of purple painted onto prissy lips were rubbing his shoulders like he was some sort of monarch. Frankly, it embarrassed you.

Ignoring the syrupy coos echoing off the shell of his reddened ears, he took your hand, standing back up.

“‘M okay!” He swigged the last of his beer, already empty. “I’m okay. The party goes on!”

And then, as if everyone else's conduct was dependent on the orchestration of his cordial permission, they resumed. Drinking, leaning into half-remembered kisses and tongues wrapped in seedy marijuana smoke.

He looked into your eyes and you sort of understood the single-file line of your peers begging for his attention, a quarter of a glance, the whisper of their name. He was easy to look at, easy to listen to.

“I can get you some,” He sighed, swallowing. “New clothes to borrow. ‘M sorry.”

You shook your head, peeling his sticky hand off the slope of your shoulder, sore from his pressure, dead and drunk. “It’s alright. Probably my cue to leave anyway.”

His shoulders sunk, eyes cartoonish with despondency, the reflection of the deep yellow lighting making them look wet–or maybe he was actually upset.

“Leaving already?” He pouted. “You just got here! Didn’t even catch your name.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and you felt a daggering of black-lined eyes and knees dressed in flimsy pantyhose pointed at you.

“I’m Y/N.” You said. “And yours?”

You could tell he had never been asked that before. Like people came into his life as know-it-alls about himself, his past–-full to the brim with preconceived notions and curdled rumors, piggybacked off one another.

“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.” His eyes were dopey and downturned, and you loved to look in them.

So this was Steve. You had heard about him at every pass through the hall, tangled on the tongue of every girl as they twirled their hair and puckered their lips in desperate hopes that he would notice for once. Finally.

But Steve seemed happy to have the chance to introduce himself to someone for once, hand outstretched and teeth a glittery white.

You could stay for a little longer.

“I guess I could stay. My shirt’s a little–”

“Wet?” He gestured to his own. “Yeah mine too.” He guided you to the stairs, hand over the small of your back; it felt hot, anxiety-inducing, but he was just hovering. An almost-touch felt scarier than the real thing. “But listen, I can let you borrow something. I gotta change anyway.”

You nodded, entranced by the depth of his eyes, how his mouth hung open, perpetually equipped with something else to say to you, so easily. He rolled his sleeves up; his forearms were strong, still tan from trips to the lake in late July.

His room was dark; the only visibility you had came from the backyard, the turquoise glint of chlorine and body heat catching the light of the waxing moon, hung crooked in the sky.

He stumbled turning his light on, closing the door but leaving it open, just a crack. He was getting drunker, freckle adorned skin the salmon of his crew neck, all from the beers well-settled in his system.

“I’m really sorry for that–I usually don’t really get too drunk at these things, but y’know,” He shrugged, pulling his collared shirt over his head. “God, it’s so hot in here.”

You quickly turned back around. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Oh–” Steve covered his chest, lightly hairy and moderately muscular. “‘M sorry. I didn’t even think.”

He threw on a flimsy grey t-shirt and kept his jeans on, bending down to rummage through his dresser. He was more organized than you expected of him; each drawer full of neatly folded polos, old hoodies with peach, bleach stains dotted on the wrists. Heaps of nice Levi’s,--a tie die of navy and cobalt-- filled the drawer by his foot.

“You can pick, like, any of these. And feel free to change in the bathroom.” You expected him to tend to his party downstairs, the groupies flocked at the landing of the wooden stairs, chestnut like the belt Steve was unbuckling, throwing on his bed, taut with plaid sheets. But he just turned around, flopping forward onto his comforter, giggling with the same cadence of the innocent little boy he once was. “Just gonna lay here.”

You picked a loose red crew neck embroidered in cream with Indiana, in thick blocky letters, and changed quickly. Steve’s face was buried in his pillows, his hands shoved over closed eyes as an extra promise to you. I won’t look.

His breathing was jagged, and you would have thought he was asleep if not for his feet kicking at his loosened shoes, trying to pry them off.

You grabbed his ankle, pulling them off for him.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He said, voice muffled by drool-coated pillow cases.

“Are you alright?”

Steve had turned around; he was lying on his back, eyes still screwed shut, straining. His lips were chapped from the cold outside, the constant moisture of a new beer. “‘M fine.” He held his stomach, eyebrows arching. “On second thought,”

He shot up, dizzied, as he ran to the bathroom connected to his room, hunched in two.

“Are you gonna-”

Steve threw up, hands tight against the peach-colored porcelain. His shirt was soaked in a film of sweat.

“It’s so hot in here,” Steve grumbled.

You weren’t sure what to do. Still hunched over the toilet, he unbuttoned his jeans.

“Is it ‘kay if I take these off. Underwear stays on, obviously. ‘M so sweaty.”

You nodded, before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, Steve, that’s fine. But hey, if you want me to go–”

He shook his head, body lurching forward as he vomited again. “No,” His voice was high-pitched, nervous sounding, different from the saccharine self-assurance he usually wore proudly. “Stay, please. Don’t feel good.”

You kneeled down, rubbing his back gingerly, smoothing his hair down. It smelled like lavender, like Jennifer’s hairspray, like fleeing adolescence and the simultaneous desire to hold onto eighteen forever.

“Alright.” You whispered. “Are you done?”

He shook his head. “Think there’s one more–” He was right.

“Do you want some water?”

Steve sat up, leaning against the sink, head tilted back. His adam’s apple bobbed with discomfort and the citrusy tang of acidic residue. “Yes, please. Sorry again.”

You shrugged, plucking the empty glass toppled on his bedside table. “No need to apologize. It’s all okay.” Bringing the glass to the sink, you filled it with cold water and sat down next to Steve, who drank it quickly. Some water dribbled down his chin; you tried not to look at his grey briefs, thin and tight around his thighs.

“Thank you so much,” He sat the glass down on the linoleum, blinking up at you as he laid down on the cold floor, his hair fanned out behind him. Freckles lined the tuft of hair on his chest, dewy with a sheen of sweat. “This isn’t typical for me, just so you know.”

You raised your eyebrows, lips tugged between your teeth. “Alright, Steve.”

“What?!” He sat up, resting on his elbows. The wooden cabinets slammed against the expanse of his back. “It isn’t. Just drank too much this time around.”

“Looks like this isn’t the first party you’ve thrown.” You could hear the subtle bass of Tainted Love, sharp splashes of water, the pattering of wet feet on cold cement.

“You’d be correct.” He turned towards you, eyes flitting over your lips, almost quick enough for you not to notice. Almost. “Hosting is hard work,” He clutched his chest, sliding his jeans over his lower half, covering himself.

You turned away, laughing. “Seems tiring. Wher’re your parents anyway?”

Steve parroted your laugh; his was louder. “Who fuckin’ knows.”

You sat there for some time, wrapped in a cocoon of comfortable silence. Eventually, your head had migrated to Steve’s shoulder, strong and warm and unwilling to move once your hair feathered against his cheek. He vowed not to move; his shoulders were cramped and the bite of dormant nausea ate at the pit of his stomach, but you looked peaceful, comfortable. And really, really pretty.

–

You woke up before him; the sallow light of the bathroom was still on and Steve was toppled over, you tucked under his bicep, strong, dotted with a stippling of moles. His upper arms were paler than the rest of him. Somehow, one of his socks was stripped off, slunk on the rug by the running toilet.

He held you tight; your arm had fallen asleep, but you could still feel the warmth emanating from his chest, hugged by heather grey cotton. Drool puddled by his mouth, hung slightly ajar like the door itself.

“Steve,” You shook him lightly, and he moaned, turning slightly. He had granted freedom to your arm, and you slipped out from his own. “Steeeve.” You singsonged.

He shot up, cheek etched with the imprint of woven tendrils matching the shag rug under his head. One side of his hair was matted, the other making up for the sudden lack of volume.

“Oh fuck,” He wiped his eyes. “What time is it?” He checked his watch, eyes squinted. It was nearing five in the morning; beyond the bay window by Steve’s bed was just obscurity, and the obnoxious silence of a party evaporated.

“Is everyone gone?” You mirrored his movements, standing up to look at your reflection.

“Hope so,” Steve ran a hand through his hair, a taste of trepidation in his tone. “I hope I didn’t ruin your night last night.” He tucked his knees into his chest.

You looked down, meeting his eyes. “No, no. You didn’t. There was quite literally nothing happening. If anything, you made it more interesting.”

“Embarrassed you had to take care of me–not that you had to. But I appreciated it, you know.”

Steve stood up, going back to his room to search for some sweatpants; he had forgotten he had taken his jeans off.

“No worries at all,” You didn’t know what to say. It was hard to think–to focus–with him there, like that. Illuminated by the moon and the artificiality of the outdoor lights refracting off of the stillness of the pool.

“I can take you home, if you need a ride. I’m obviously sober now.” He offered. His toothbrush hung from his mouth. “Just need to get the nasty taste out of my mouth first.”

“What about the mess?” You looked out the window. The glass back door was wide open; discarded cans and soggy potato chips swam in polluted pool water. Everybody was long gone, but the evidence of their stay was symbolized by the parts of them they discarded for Steve to pick up.

“Oh, that?” He spat in the sink, rinsing his mouth out with cold water. “I’ll clean it up. I got ‘til tomorrow night.”

You felt bad. He had this sullen look about him, like he was mad at himself, at his loneliness, at the fact that he needed some sort of offering for people to stay with him, even if just for one night. A pleading with his classmates that saw him as nothing more than crinkled eyes and a forced joke. A party, booze bought with his dad’s credit card. Steve was handsome, and he had money and status–but stripped down, he was a performance piece for their laughter and ogling and obsession, ankles stuck on the top rung of a social hierarchy he didn’t create. He just perpetuated it, needed to be on top of it–or else his loneliness would tear at his skin and gnaw at him to the bone and leave him where he was now, with a pretty girl wanting to go home and a cold, empty house, the door wide open but no one daring to step foot inside, left alone with all the parts that nobody wanted.

You offered to help him, but he shook his head vehemently, lighting a cigarette and flashing a pseudo-smile, gummy and white.

“C’mon.” He opened his bedroom door; it was much colder in the hallway. A torn piece of notebook paper fell from in between the door and the frame, bleeding through with red ink.

Week 1 and already a whore?

Steve plucked the unlit cigarette from his mouth.

“What’s that?” You asked.

Steve crumpled it up, tossing it across the hallway, toward his parents’ room, the door shut like it always had been.

“Nothing, just people trashing the place.” His voice was hollow.

Steve took you home and didn’t say a word about his sweatshirt still snug on your body. He sort of thought it belonged there, with you. And you both said goodbye awkwardly, with bitten-lipped smiles and a listless wave goodbye, maybe so neither of you seemed so enthusiastic.

And maybe Steve was jumping out of his skin when the door shut behind you, when he was alone with his thoughts and the pang of an empty stomach. For the first time, a girl hadn’t pulled at his collar and adorned him with a cherry-red kiss on the corner of his mouth, crossing her fingers he would reel over it on repeat until his fingers were dialing her number by memory.

He hadn’t even gotten your number.

–

Monday, September 10, 1984

Going to school on Monday felt good, comfortable. Nothing had changed between the weekend and now, except for your pulsating, headache of a crush on Steve. How his voice had crept into your skull like a parasite, a slithering tapeworm indoctrinating you with cyclical thoughts of those lips, the tautness of his bicep. Handsome and wrapped tightly in blue stripes and menthol smoke. He sat in his BMW, eyes on you like yours were on him. He wondered if you knew yet.

School was a flock of pigeons, searching for scraps, discarded and unwanted–and you were right there. At your locker, where the rounded page of a composition notebook was pasted to the door, anointed with SLUT and a sad face, a makeshift pity. You tore it down, but it was four-and-a-half minutes to first period, and the careening ears of your tight-lipped peers made it clear they had already seen it. Heard all about it.

What it was, you didn’t know.

Jennifer scoffed at your desperation for communication, her bubble gum a stale, dirty pink against the red of her tongue.

She leaned against your locker, uncrumpling the paper clutched in your hand.

“Week two and your reputation seems to be set on easy. I’m sure Harrington appreciates the new notch on his belt.” Jennifer threw the paper away, not that it fixed anything. Floating down on the dirt-caked linoleum, speckled in the pastels of putty chewing gum, it was stomped on, pressed into the ground, a truth, symbolic of those words that preceded you.

Y/N Y/L/N: easy, whore, slut.

You were livid because you trusted Steve. Multiplied tenfold because you liked him. And now he was leaned against exposed brick, the brooding yet exceedingly impossible-to-hate protagonist of a John Hughes film. Girls flocked to him like lint, hard to pluck off but so easy to see, so bothersome. And the coyness of his smile pissed you off, how he entertained them, teasing them from beneath a bomber jacket, behind brand-new Ray Bans and slicked back hair and cheap fabrications, made at your expense.

Steve looked at you, though, through the fog of a September morning and the lens of longing for something that wasn’t so easy to grasp for once.

But you slammed your locker shut and faced first period without care for the whispers that stung like darts on your back. You only had to survive one more year, and maybe making friends wasn’t even worth it, with college applications peeking over the cloudless horizon.

You slumped in your seat; an ugly tan desk tethered to plastic blue, a chair etched with profanities: cunt, slut, bitch. Hearts and arrows and initials crossed out, replaced with suitable successors, forgotten, but still there.

A note flopped on your desk; you pushed it off, not wanting any more insults. You’d almost rather they be flung at you through words and venomous spit than the permanency of pen ink and exclamation marks. But it was Steve, playing footsie with you from behind you, his handwriting boyish and scrawled in lead.

It wasn’t me.

Three words that meant nothing. Where was the context?

You pulled the cap off your pen with your teeth, watching to make sure Mister Anderson wasn’t looking, but the desperate, dry scratch of chalk confirmed your suspicions. He wasn’t

Then why do you look so guilty?

You dropped the note back on Steve’s desk; he audibly sighed. You had never heard an eye-roll so clearly.

He stood up, chair screeching, muttering a half-assed ‘I don’t feel good’ and slamming the classroom door. The note had found itself back in your hands.

Boys bathroom. The one by Mrs. Ringer’s room.

He couldn’t be serious. Maybe you were easy; you excused yourself not a minute later.

The bathroom he was in was as empty as it was dirty, and soiled paper towels made a makeshift rug on cobalt blue tiles, caked in muck.

“Are you fucking crazy, Steve?”

Steve held a finger to his lips. “Quiet. Sound travels.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the door.

“This bathroom has a lock. That’s why I chose it. Nobody else is here.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, because we need more people making assumptions.”

“You chose to come in here.” Steve deadpanned, watching you twist the hair tie on your wrist.

“Don’t have much to lose, now, do I?”

He laced the room with unease and a rotten, oozing tension that felt sticky around you. Overgrown and teetering on parasitic, even though it was not even three days old.

“I just wanted you to know that,” He said, quietly. “--that I didn’t say those things.”

His sleeves were bunched up, wrists freckled and strong and twined with fine, little hairs as he leaned against the door you found yourself at.

“I’m supposed to believe that? That–I’m not just some joke to you? A way to show how your game is so slick you could even fuck a girl within fifteen minutes of getting her name?” You whispered the second part.

Steve’s eyes read your lips like a book, rereading the same line over and over and over because he didn’t quite catch it the first time. And paying attention was hard. Oh, so hard when you could smell the cherry wood musk of his cologne and the sharp cut of aftershave tickling your nose.

“I’m assuming they think what they do because we went upstairs together.” He straightened his collar, and the wind of spearmint toothpaste and menthol cigarettes on his breath was gone.

“Nothing happened.”

“I know that. I’m not sure what you want me to do–I–I can tell them that it didn’t happen, but I don’t think they’d believe–”

“Why do you care so much? Shouldn’t you be out there, off the bench, courting some other girl you find pathetic?”

Steve scoffed. “I care because I don’t want you to hate me. And I don’t fucking find you pathetic. Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.”

You watched his. The pout of warm pink, the peppering of stubble you could only see if you were allowed so close to him. King Steve. What a stupid fucking nickname. Self-indulgent. Cocky.

You didn’t hate him, but you felt like you should just wave the white flag and join the club of sad, little girls who were once Steve’s little plaything, but who now have vaporized from the glossary of names in his dynamic tour de force of a short-term memory.

“I don’t hate you,” You looked away from him; he refused to.

“Could’ve fooled me.” His smile was evil, impossible to say no to. So you left before he could ask.

Wednesday, September 12, 1984

Avoiding Steve was hard, as hard as he was to miss. Hair adding at least four inches to his height, the static buzzing that followed him like a swarm. He had tried to communicate through kicks under your desk in first period. And then fourth, and then fifth. Whispers in your ear at lunch, offering you a ride the second school let out, with a fat pout and eyes that had a physical reaction to the word no.

But today he drove by you, slamming on the brakes and shutting the radio off with a determination that was new.

“Just let me talk to you!” He pleaded, eyebrows straight across with worry. “I can take you home.”

You shook your head, continuing to walk as Steve’s BMW trailed next to you, so warm and enticing and his.

“I can walk. It’s not too far.”

“It’s about to rain!” He gestured at the sky, at the belly of a fat cloud.

“I said no.”

“What if I told you I know who started the rumor?”

You stopped at the outskirts of school property, stuck between freedom and those dopey brown eyes.

“Knew that would get your attention.”

You tugged your lip between your teeth, leaning into Steve’s window. He kept eye contact with you, firm and unwavering–even though your shirt hung so loosely around the swell of your chest.

“Okay, so tell me.”

“Get in the car and I will.”

“I’ll get in the car if you tell me.”

Steve rolled his sleeves up, checking the subtle click of his wristwatch. “Got places to be.”

He was flirting, shamelessly. Coconut lip balm sheathed on that mouth and chewing gum lazy on his tongue like your name.

“Then you’d better get there, Stevie.” You batted your eyelashes and Steve hit his head against his headrest before leaning over to unlock the door.

“Just–get in.”

You faked a pout. “Pretty boy can’t stand being denied.”

“You don’t wanna know? S’fine by me.” And he drove away, but not without a few glances in the rearview mirror, one, two, three.

Friday, September 14, 1984

One week of invisibility and a big fat target on your back and Steve’s relentlessness was almost over. Almost.

Lunch was the worst; an amalgamation of every type of peer with one glaringly clear common ground: a distinct unwillingness to come close to you. A select few’s distaste metastasizing and ballooning until you were left by your lonesome, swirling peas around a spoon and jumping out of your seat when Steve Harrington sat next to you, chair squeaking, jeans tight around his hips.

“Shouldn’t you be avoiding me?” You deadpanned, opting not to look at him.

Steve scooted even closer to you, whispering in your ear. “Let them look.”

“You’re not the one being called a whore and a slut and easy.”

“If you’re easy, I’m easy.” He took a bite of a turkey sandwich, stray lettuce flaccid around the edge. “Plus, you never even heard who started it.”

You looked at him quizzically. His hair was messier; he hadn’t shaved in a few days.

“The rumor. It was Jennifer.”

You plastered on an insincere smile. “Yeah, no shit.”

“You knew?” Steve tilted his bag of Lays toward you. “Eat some.”

You felt the sting of eyes on your back, saw the heartbreak on the pouted strawberry lips of girls Steve would never give the time of day.

“She’s obsessed with you. Kind of been pining over you since freshman year, as she told me. Makes sense why she’s a little butt hurt about me seeing your room so soon, you know? When we fucked?”

Steve choked on his water, spewing it over the speckled ivory of the table. “I talked to her for, like, three days. Boring as fucking rocks.” He ignored the latter part of your statement.

“Oh, and I’m more interesting? Because you can fix me?”

Steve crumpled his napkin and tossed it on your tray, scooting back on the metal legs of his chair.

He leaned in. “No, because I actually have a crush on you.”

–

You walked to Steve’s house by memory that night with a monologue in your head and his crew neck tucked under your arm.

Words that all fell dead and dormant on your tongue as you rapped on his door. He had mentioned in passing his parents would be gone again, and you half expected a party and pretty girls hung on his hip. But the house was unrelenting in its silence, and you could see Steve’s light was on, his car idle in the driveway, pebbled with the rain you hadn’t noticed until now.

And then it was pouring, and Steve opened the door in running shorts and his basketball t-shirt, and the scowl on his face lifted into a smile of surprise.

“Y/N. Wanna come in?” He left a space for you to enter; your head shook involuntarily. “It’s fucking pouring, please--just come in.”

“I’m just returning this.” You held out his crew neck, splotchy and darkened from rain.

“Okay, well, if you’re just gonna go back home, let me drive you.” He plunged his hands in his pockets; his shorts were exceptionally small. “Sorry, I had to throw something on.”

The rain was soaking your hair into a tangled mess, and beads of water fell from the slope of your nose. But Steve looked at you with a boyish longing, defeat, a curiosity of why he suddenly wasn’t good enough.

“Will you just come in?” He flung the door open all the way and then stepped outside, the rain pouring over his half-matted hair, making the thin white cotton of his shirt cling to the contours of his torso, the tense expanse of his back.

“Steve, just go back inside.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’re gonna leave, just leave! You’re standing here in the fucking rain, acting so intent on going, but here you fucking are!”

“You’re in the rain too!”

“I know, and I’m freezing my ass off, and I know you are too, and my house is right there, but apparently I’m so miserable to be around that this–” he gestured to himself. “Is preferable.” His arms slung down, heavy from defeat, the pattering of sideways showers against his ear.

“I have a crush on you, too.” You admitted. Your voice was small, and Steve would not have caught it if he wasn’t reading the shape of your lips with such distinct fervor.

Steve trapped you against the door frame, his hands cradling your head as he kissed you. His lips were freezing, but the inside of his mouth, the curling of his tongue against yours was oh so warm, inviting. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled him closer; your noses slid against each other as he moaned into you, one of his hands trailing down to your waist. He tasted sweet, like a honey cough drop and the longing he held in his mouth like a breath mint, flipping it over and over like a wish. She wants me, she wants me not.

He was manly enough to hold your hips and guide you inside, but still boyish in the way his cheeks flushed and eyelashes tickled against your cheek as he used you to slam the door behind your back.

Everything was squeaky; pants echoed from high ceilings, off the wooden floors of the open foyer, sterile, empty, all for you. Steve squeezed your ass, one of his hands coming up to pull on your hair, enough to gain access to your throat, where he left open-mouthed kisses.

“You’ve fuckin’ played hard to get enough.” He said, in a low voice.”Definitely not easy.”

You whimpered, yanking on the hem of his wet shirt, stuck to him like papier-mâché. He pulled it off, and you admired him in the momentary glow of the lightning nearby, punctuating like an exclamation mark the smoothness of his bicep as he wrapped his arms around you. His kisses were possessive and fluttered against your pulse point as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

He unbuttoned your jeans, eyes flitted upwards for your approval, peeling them from your legs. You nodded so quickly, you got dizzy. Your knees buckled as Steve kissed your navel, the pads of his fingers dragging across the hem of your panties assuredly. He cupped your cunt and his thumb rubbed over your clit in slow circles before the cotton was pushed aside and Steve was groaning against your mound, eyes huge with wonder and lust–the same drunkenness he was adorned with the night you met.

His fingers slid over your slit, and he reveled in your wetness like it was a prize; it was. He dug his fingers into the globes of your ass as he buried his face into your pussy, nose resting over your clit as he licked and sucked and spat–and you clutched onto his wrists behind you, desperate for purchase as he devoured you.

“I fucking need you,” He said. You could see his bulge growing from beneath forest green polyester.

He pushed a finger inside your cunt, and you gasped, knees giving out. Steve was messy, all over the place, wanting to do everything and be everywhere at once. But he caught you as you fell, laying you down against the oriental rug that cost more than all of his birthday presents combined–and he spat on your clit. Pulling moans and expletives from the back of your throat like the remnants of a cold that Steve was more than willing to share with you.

He rubbed globs of his spit over your cunt and ogled at how you clenched for him, how pliable you were with his middle finger knuckle deep in your hole.

“So tight.” He rubbed at your clit with his thumb as he fucked his finger into you, moving up to kiss you again. You pulled him into you, and he laughed against your neck. “I’m worried I won’t fit.”

You huffed as his spit and your arousal coated your tongue, his cock twitching against your center. “Stop teasing me.”

Steve grabbed your jaw, squeezing your cheeks. “All you’ve done is tease me.”

You untangled your fingers from the dampness of his hair, cupping his cock through his shorts; you could tell he was wearing nothing underneath. His kisses got less calculated and sloppier as you palmed him, soft mewls and whimpers, voiceless begs permeating the air like sticky humidity.

“Cocky are we? Saying you won’t fit.”

He pulled away, a string of saliva a temporary tightrope between your mouths. “Might not.” He smiled innocently.

You untied his shorts and spit in your palm, stroking his length and thumbing his thick, mushroom head as he sprang free. Holy shit.

“God, Steve.” You admired his cock, veiny and thick and his. “Your cock is so big.” You relished in how he twitched at your words.

He all but growled, rocking his hips to fuck your fist, mouth hung open as he hovered over your half-naked body.

“Please–take your shirt off.” Your nipples peaked through the sopping material, but he wanted more. Wanted them in his mouth.

You obliged, and he sucked on your nipples with hollowed cheeks, drooling around the buds. It was filthy and wet in more ways than one, touching each other like this, raw on the Harringtons’ ruined rug. No time to go to Steve’s room or ask sweetly for a kiss with bated breath and crossed fingers.

The need for each other was palpable, and Steve’s hips jerked, his mouth falling open against yours, drooling over your bottom lip.

“I wanna fuck you.” He grabbed your jaw and pressed your foreheads together as he lined himself up with your soaked cunt, teasing your entrance with the thick head of his cock.

“Please–” You nodded, and Steve pushed in, slowly, agonizingly slowly, yet all at once simultaneously. He stretched you, and you were his, at least for now. Completely at his mercy, legs shaking with the torment of pain and pleasure, teetering on top of each other like a jenga tower, crumbling to the ground.

He fucked into you with faster strokes, falling to rest on his elbows as he hiked your legs around his waist. Cradling you like a porcelain doll, fucking you like the whore they all thought you were.

“God–you feel so fucking good.” His head fell forward and he felt weak, unable to handle the feeling of your lips against his neck, your bodies overlapping, a jigsaw puzzle of limbs and neediness.

All your breaths filled his lungs, and his filled yours, a terrarium of the lust settled in your throat, your stomachs, your limbs that felt one another with certainty, as if this had all happened before, as if you were fitted just for each other’s pleasure.

Steve’s thrusts were languid as he held your face, shakily planting kisses in your mouth and licking and biting your bottom lip.

“I can’t– believe,” Steve moaned, nibbling your ear. He grabbed your jaw and forced your head to face him. “That you thought I started the rumor.”

Your back arched as he punctuated his sentence by pulling out just to slam into you again--and he took that as a sign to fuck you harder.

“Fuck Steve–” Your heels dug into his lower back, sheathed in sweat.

His thumb pulled on your bottom lip. “Maybe they’re true.” His voice was breathy as you opened your mouth for him, allowing a string of spit to fall on your tongue. “Maybe you’re my little slut.”

Your moans grew more desperate at his words, at how he was in complete control over your body, your pleasure, your feelings.

Steve was testing the waters, seeing how much you wanted him--if it could even compare to how he writhed for you. He swore could have come just from kissing you, from the smell of your shampoo, triggered by the rain.

“‘M all yours, Steve.” Your kiss was wet as you claimed him with the thrash of your tongue against him, twisting and braiding you together as Steve felt himself finishing at your words.

He pulled out quickly, painting your navel and chest in thick ropes of his cum, his head thrown back. Your name an avalanche tumbling through his teeth.

“Fuck, Y/N–” He regained his composure as you lost yours, the pumping of his fingers in your soaking cunt enough for you to finish, hands grasping at Steve’s strong wrist as it flexed from his movements.

“Steve–” You sat up on your elbows as he rested on your chest, relaxed by the proximity of your heartbeat.

“Mhm?” He nuzzled into your neck. Groggily, he said: “I don’t think you’re a slut, like, actually–”

“Yeah, I know.” Your laugh vibrated his head. “I just wondered if you actually wanted me to, you know?”

“Be mine?” Steve opened his eyes, mouth agape as he blinked at you. “Well, that I do actually want.”

“I do too.”

“Are you just saying that because I made you cum?”

“No, Steve.”

“I have to tell you something, just to start things off on the right foot, though.”

You craned your neck down to look at him; the fanning of his breath was warm, and you liked the patterns of freckles that cascaded down the length of his neck and his Adams apple when he swallowed with anticipation, his eyelashes kissing your shoulder.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“I spilled my drink on you at my party on purpose.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot

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sakannaz · 2 years

Note

Hey! I have a request for Vance hopper if that’s ok! So the reader is the niece of the grabber and max so she living there for a while but what they don’t know is she can see ghosts after a while she learns what is happening and tries to help maybe the grabber kills her or something but the reader gets very close with ghost Vance. Thank you don’t feel like you have to do this request if you don’t like it :)

𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Yes! I can definitely do this! I’m still watching a bit of the movie since I don’t know much but I do know who the grabber and max are! Thank you so much for the request!

(Update): I watched the rest of the movie and I enjoyed it!

GUYS IM SO SORRY I FORGOT BRUCE

Warning(s): Cussing, violence, and death.

Spoilers below for the blackphone(?)

Btw I changed it up with just the reader living with the grabber, hope you don’t mind! I’m sorry it this took long.

Note ! : Albert Shaw is the grabber’s real name.

You’ve been living with the grabber for awhile now. You’re clueless about the cruel things he’s done, you wonder why he cause himself ‘the grabber’, what for exactly?

He doesn’t like you going outside. But for what? There has to be a reason why he doesn’t want you going outside..you swore you heard a kid screaming downstairs the other night.

Tonight is where you had to go to sleep early, you didn’t want to see him again. You were his niece and you didn’t know what he was doing, as you were thinking you heard something drop from in the corner of your room, you stood up and walked over to it.

The lights went out, you grew scared as you looked around, why’d the lights just go out?

Once the lights came back on, you saw a figure in the corner of the room, you let out a little scream, you noticed their was blood on his face and he had blond curly hair.

Who was this?

“H-Hello? How’d you get in here?” Was your first question, The male titled his head to the side and looked you up and down, “You’re his niece, aren’t you?” The male asked.

“Yeah, I am, why? Who are you?” You questioned, The male walked forward and revealed himself, “I’m vance. Vance hopper. And you?” Vance asked, “I’m..(Y/n).” You answered.

He turned to the door, why was he looking there for? Did he need something?

“Tomorrow night. You need to go down there tomorrow night. You’ll finally find out about him. And you know exactly who I’m talking about.” Vance whispered to you before disappearing, ‘What’s down in the basement?’ You just decided to go to sleep that night.

…

So, you woke up that day. Determined to go downstairs, maybe uncle Albert wouldn’t be home today.

Oh. But you were wrong. So wrong.

You walked downstairs and into the basement, and what your seeing now is a lot at the moment. You don’t know what to say.

Finney Shaw, what was he doing here? In The basement? Why was he here? There was a reason why Vance told you to go down there.

“F-Finney?” You said, his head perked up when you called his name, “(Y/n)?” He replied, You ran towards him and pulled him into a hug. How long has he been down here? Has he even ate anything?

Then, Finney’s eyes widen when he saw the grabber behind you, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you out of here, ‘kay? I promise. He won’t hurt you anymore.” You explained, Then, you saw him point behind you.

“(Y/n), you need to run.” Finney said, but instead or listening you ignored him and slowly turned towards Uncle Albert, you weren’t scared of him.

Not anymore.

“What? You gonna kill me like you did your other victims?” Yeah, that’s exactly what he was about to do. Cause next thing you know, he had wrapped a phone cord around your throat and started strangling you to death.

…

Everything felt dark. Why was it so dark? You felt someone carrying you and placing you softly on the bed. Once your eyes opened you checked your surroundings.

You were still in that nasty ass basement.

But…with some unfamiliar people. No- no, you recognized them. You knew who they were.

Billy, griffin, robin, and vance. Plus Bruce.

You would be the 6th victim. And you were his niece. He didn’t seem to care who he killed, long as they didn’t know what he was up too.

“Guess you joined us now.” Billy said, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall, you couldn’t process what you were seeing at the moment. Everything just felt…blurry. You couldn’t remember who you were but you knew these people. You couldn’t remember your name.

“Who- who am I?” You asked, over the past few months the bond you’ve created with Vance, he felt kind of bad for you. You didn’t know any better, you were just trying to help.

So, now it would be his turn to help you.

“Here, take my hand.” He said, you stared at him for a minute before taking his hand, he helped you up and told you all about what happened, something about someone named the grabber? Who was he?

You lost your memories. You didn’t know who he was talking about.

Since he couldn’t protect himself…now he would have to protect you.

Cause you deserved better.

And you deserved to live.

And so did the others.

#the black phone #Vance hopper x reader #vance hopper x you

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seldomscilence16 · 8 months

Text

Whumptober Day 3:

"Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon."

Journal | solitary confinement | "make it stop."

Fandom: Voltron

Prompt used: All

Soooo this ones a little intense- at least to me as I write this. Its never specified but Lance is alone for awhile, so tread carefully just in case. I think I may do a continuation on one of the other days for this one so keep a look out if you like this one.

TW for self harm, and Torture

...

There was little light in the room. He'd tried to figure out where it was coming from, scratched at the lips in the walls until his nails were broken and bleeding. He'd decided they simply glowed.

There was no window, and the door disapeared- no it blended in, it had to be there still it had to, it could just be gone that made no sense- after that first day. That first day when he'd woken up, confused and in pain, and had a strange alien come in and speak to him. He couldnt tell you everything they said, broken translator glitching every couple words or other sentence. But it was an experiment, and a punishment.

Lance wanted to go home.

"Journal entry uh… whatever. The water and bread like stuff appeared when I passed out again, I dont remember falling asleep… It tastes weird, but they got angry when I didnt consume it before… the walls are still glowing… or maybe it is dark and Im going crazy… how many days has it been journal? Why… what did I… its not like your gonna answer anyway…"

His head hits the wall with a solid thump, the sound better than when all he can hear is bodily functions, so he does it again. And again, until his ears ring and his head aches, and the noise has blended in too much to be different and he stops. His heart and head beat to the same toon, he holds his breath to stop hearing the inflation of his lungs only for the beating to get louder. Frustrated tears come to his eyes as he releases the breath in a shout, which turns into an angry yell as he turns and pounds his tender fists into the wall.

Its not the first time, there are smears of blood- old and new- from his many little moments. He thinks hes allowed such moments after all, locked up for who knows how long with no interaction. He cant even talk to Blue, the thin connection in his soul the only thing telling him shes okay. In the beginning, he equated his moments to Keith, when he went ham on the training gladiatiors. But now… staring at his ruined fists, and wall still intact besides the smears, he feels as pathetic as ever.

He knows for a fact the rest of the team would have found a way out by now. Pidge's curiousity and spite always leads her to solutions of some kind. Hunk would have found out how this box worked and rebuilt it ten times over. Keith would have samuraied his way out of course, and Shiro would probably find this childs play. But really the main difference… is they arent him. Lance did something wrong. Lance was stupid and weak and easily caught. Lance hasnt been able to find a way out. Lance- is referring to himself in third person. Again.

He deserves to be here. The team hasnt found him yet, blue is out of range, and Lance is being punished for something. He wouldnt want any of them in his situation anyway, theyre probably off saving the universe still, probably relieved hes gone. He… he hopes theyre getting enough sleep. That Pidge isnt stuck with her face in a screen, refusing to sleep. That Hunk isnt spreading himself thin, and bottling things up. That Allura is recharging her quintessence, and taking care of herself and not pushing too hard on her own mind and the teams. That Coran isnt lonely and doing everything by himself. That Shiro is remembering to laugh and relax and chill. That Keith isnt isolating himself and training to death and…

He misses them.

Lance thought that… even if he never saw Earth again, never saw his parents again, thatd at least, the last thing he saw would be his friends- his space family- safe and alive. Not some creepy alien, or the four same walls, but the people he cares about. He knows… he knows he wasnt their first choice. That Blue deserves better, the team deserves better. But… he still loves them so much. He just wanted to know they were okay.

A stinging sensation disrupts the static ache hes fallen into, his motions drag like paper through water and he looks down at his arms. His nails, brittle and broken and cracked, have still managed to drag angry red lines across his arms. Blood and that watery fluid have bubbled to the surface in some areas, and he feels a detached sort of dissapointment. His nose whistles.

The not bread and the ucky water have appeared again. Hes on his side, he doesnt remember falling asleep, from how tired he feels, hes not even sure he can call it that. He knows they get mad when he ignores the susstenance, but he can only stare at it blankly. What was the point anyway? If he was just gonna keep waking up here, he didnt want to anymore.

He thinks he counts for moment, to determine how long it takes them to get mad, but when he tunes back in to his own brain hes simply repeated the same line of lyrics over and over. He cant recall the song, or any other lyrics, and all its really doing is annoying him, but he cant find the energy to yell at his brain to stop.

'One. I can count to one. Two. I can count to two. Three. I can count to three. Four. I cant count no more. I can only count to four, I can only count to four, I can only count fooouuuurrrr-'

The room brightens and Lance tenses as a noise fills the room. But the noise was always there, a ringing in his ears, but it grows louder and higher until everything is screaming. He hold his hands over his ears, finds a warm wetness with undertones of crusty, his mouth is open his throat feels shredded, hes curled up as much as his ribs will allow- they poke out, he can see where theyre wrong, they warp as the noise increases. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, tears streak his face, he cant see anything, theres red in his blurred vision before it whites out completely, a warmth below his nose. Shivers wrack his tense body as the cold he'd been trying to ignore sets in bone deep.

"P'ease…m…m-make it… st…stop…"

He doesnt know when he went limp, eyes open but seeing nothing, the ringing is everywhere, the feeling of liquid drying on his skin makes him itch, but he cant even twitch.

"M'ke it st…stop. Make eh stop… make it stop." A sob from deep in his chest, voice hoarse, everything hurts. "Make it stop please."

He couldnt even tell you if he'd actually spoken, or if wordless noise escaped a ruined throat. The pounding of his heart, the ringing of his ears, nothing seemed to exist past that.

Warmth on his cheek, he must be crying again…

Pressure on his back, his shoulder thanks him for rolling over, he cant recall doing it.

Something touches his neck.

He flinches violently, surprising himself and whoevers touching him. He throws his arms up, his back now against the stupidly familiar walls.

"Make it stop! I dont want to anymore! Just kill me already, Make it stopmakeitstopmaKEITSTOP!!"

Something rumbles in his mind, loud enough to block all the stupid noises, filled instead with crashing waves and warm sand, foreign yet familair.

"Lance." He flinches, he can only half hear what was said, head in a fishbowl of water and one ear clogged, but it was definetly his name…

"Leandro, please look at me hermano."

Tears bubble in his eyes as he realizes what this is.

Hes lost it completely.

Hes halucinating now. Maybe it really is finally the end-

"Lance please." It sounds so broken, she should never sound like that-

He looks up.

The door. It did exist, lying in sparking pieces as it is. Shiro is in the doorway, face drawn in concern, galra arm still smoking from whatever he used it for. Behind him Keith is glaring down his sword at something Lance cant see. Infront of him however, curled up in the too small room, knees an inch from his own, back bowed so his head wont hit the ceiling, arm brushing the smaller one next to him. Two sets of warm eyes, wet with tears and dark with bags, look at him with mournful sadness and yet, tentative hope, relief.

The tears spill over, his lips wobble as he sobs,

"Make it stop please. I cant handle it if youre not really here. Please."

"We're here buddy. Hermano, we're here. Give me your hand Lance, I promise we're real." Hunks voice wavers with emotion, Lance knows he's seconds from breaking down.

"We're late, but we're here Lance. Please." Pidges voice is small, hand held out beside Hunks, both tremble.

Lance is going to regret it. He is. He's gonna regret it.

His hands- cold, achey, maybe broken, filthy- meet the warm calloused palms of his friends. He slumps forward like his string have been cut, but the two dutifully catch him. Warmth. Not from blood or tears, but from real people. Lances eyes slipped closed, feeling safe for a moment, if he wakes up alone… at least he got to see their faces one last time…

>>next

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