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dearharriet · 4 months

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American Honey; Steve Harrington ⛱️

summary: it’s summer, and you’re in love with your boyfriend, steve.

word count: 2K

warnings: implied fem!r, drinking, lots of pet names (honey, baby, pretty, beautiful), lord of the rings references (+ fellowship spoilers!!), tickling, suggestive language

authors note: rly missing summer after writing this one 😭 also I made a mental yarn map between st and lotr while writing this that i can’t unmake I fear

Steve Harrington is an American Treasure.

Fresh out of the pool, he strides toward you, a limber hand reaching out for the beer he entrusted you with. It made you feel special, and Steve certainly entertained the notion. He’s always calling you sweet things—baby, pretty, beautiful, or your favorite—

“Honey.” His shining body is enveloped in shade as he steps under the umbrella you’re using.

He’s an American treasure. Patriotic the way that Colonel Sanders or Bruce Springsteen are. Spangled with freckles and moles like stars, stripes of hot skin on display. Red-shouldered from the sun, blue-lipped from a rocket ice pop, but his teeth remain pearly white.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his warm fingers dampening yours as you hand the can off to him.

“‘Course,” you reply, breathless.

“You sure you won’t swim with me?”

You liked that. He never pretended he had the interest of the whole group in mind. Steve wanted you all for himself, and he wasn’t shy about it.

Smiling up at him, you shake your head.

“I don’t wanna get burnt,” you say. “And anyways, who’s gonna look after your drink if I get in?”

Steve steps closer to pet your hair. It’s a little awkward with his hands still being wet, but you accept it nonetheless.

“Lucky for you, I don’t really care about the drink. I only asked you to hold it ‘cause you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

A smile creeps onto your face, which has turned red—sunblock be damned.

That’s another thing you like about Steve. He’s not really coaxing you into the pool. He knows you burn easy, and further, he’s trying his hardest not to touch your face. He’d watched you meticulously rub sunscreen over it just thirty minutes ago, and he’s sweet enough to remember now.

Worst of all, he knows your anxiety about burning stretches beyond just you, so he ordered the kids to sunscreen up just to put you at ease. It has you thinking undeniably fond, hungry, and binding things about him.

Steve is none the wiser, setting his beer down and rubbing a pruny palm down his chest.

“Could you get my shoulders again, babe? Think the chlorine washed it all off.”

You both know damn well it didn’t, but neither complains as Steve perches himself on the edge of your lounger and you rub sunblock into his broad shoulders.

It’s hard not to love everything about him. Not that you’re trying to stop, but you haven’t admitted to it yet, so maybe you are. Everything is terribly simple and domestic with Steve, easily imaginable as a forever kind of thing, and you’re desperately trying not to jump the gun.

What’s stuck with you time and again—like now—is your contentment in committing unselfish acts, as long as Steve is happy. Everything you do for him is sublimely fulfilling, and you can’t help but imagine that he thinks the same about you. Why else would he happily swim alone and bake away in layers of sunblock, if not because you’re happy first?

Feeling intimidated by all of the commotion around, you amalgamate all of these big feelings into a subdued kiss on Steve’s sticky shoulder. Your lips come away tangy with sunblock, but it’s worth it.

Taking it as a sign that you’re done, Steve turns around and gives you exactly what you want, leaning over your bare legs to kiss your waiting mouth. You think it’s a thank-you kiss, but then he’s leaning in for another, and another, his hand holding steady to your ankle.

When he pulls away he’s like a concentrated UV beam. His shoulder is hot where you draw shapes into it.

“Y’still having fun? We could go inside.”

Your legs press together.

“I know why you want to go inside,” you tease, poking his cheek, “and it’s going to have to wait.”

“Who says,” he challenges, pouting, “s’my house.”

Your eyes leave his face to watch the action in the pool. The kids are reenacting a Tolkien-related battle very loudly and dramatically, with Eddie as Aragorn.

“Everyone is here,” you remind him, nodding at the pool just as Will flays an imaginary Orc. Steve doesn’t even glance behind himself.

“So?” He mumbles, kissing your bottom lip. “I’ll tell them to leave.”

He’s so hard to resist like this, all gushy and lovesick. You push your fingers into the hair at his neck to pull him away and he hums happily.

“You’re terrible,” you chide, but you’re smiling, anyhow.

“Is it a crime to love your girlfriend?” A shock zips through you, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice what he's admitted.

“Steve!” Lucas—who is using his recent growth spurt to play Legolas—calls over, saving you from responding.

“Stop sucking face and get over here! It’s time for you to die.”

“Uh-oh,” you laugh, patting Steve on the back. “Sounds serious.”

“How come they always make me play Boring-mir,” he complains, turning back to you. He doesn’t seem very motivated to get up at all, practically lazing beside your legs despite the gang of nerds waiting on him.

“He’s not so bad, from what I’ve read,” you argue, glancing at the closed book by your side. “Though I think they should let you take a crack at Aragorn.”

Grinning, Steve stretches up to kiss you.

“Honey, I think you’re the only one who believes in me,” he whispers sarcastically, and then presses in again.

“Steve!”The kids all throw their hands up. Eddie continues to swing a pool noodle like a sword.

“Coming!” Steve gives you the kiss they interrupted, though it's missing the sensuality it began with. “Jesus, you guys, you see what I’m leaving behind?” Steve gestures to you, and you swat at his arm.

“Steve, stop.”

“No! It’s an impossible task,” he declares, arms out, loud enough so the kids can still hear him. Then, quieter, “you’re too damn gorgeous, gorgeous.”

“Resist temptation, brother,” Eddie calls. “The power of the ring cannot be wielded!”

Steve waves him off as he gives you one final, lingering kiss. Then he's up, trekking back into the sun.

“Don’t think you’ll kill me so easily this time, brats. I’m fighting for Mordor!”

“You’re fighting for Gondor, thick head,” Dustin snips, but screeches when Steve tackles him.

Smiling from your shady oasis, you leave your book forgotten at your side. Steve puts on a good show, taking imaginary hits for Merry-Erica and Pip-Dustin, cutting off forgotten lines with groans and tears.

You shake your head ruefully as the kids cheer and applaud his passing, not sure they understand the sacrifice made. Steve just smiles and bows, and you think maybe he doesn’t, either.

When he finally slumps down next to you again—dripping and warm and happy to be discharged—you curl into him and throw your legs between his.

“Tired?” You lean your head against the springy elastic slats and look at him softly. He nods and pulls you closer, his free hand and his thigh working together to open a new can of beer. He takes a swig and hands it to you.

“I don’t know how they can keep going. I feel like I need an IV.”

You laugh around the rim of the can.

“Maybe I can get you a glass of water, then, and keep this to myself.” You swirl the heavy can in front of him. Steve shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t dare. Beer is, like, basically water, I’m pretty sure.” You raise a skeptical brow, but hand it back to him. “It is! It’s sterile, baby.”

“I love it when you talk sexy.”

Steve throws his head back laughing, nearly dumping the can into both of your laps. You never take your eyes off of him, chest light with the high of encouraging a sound so sweet.

“Where did you even hear that?” You trace his collarbone as you ask, and then his adams apple. Steve’s eyes are still squeezed shut as he attempts to talk through his giggling.

“E—hedd—d-iehee.”

Surely it wasn’t that funny, you think, watching him go red in the face. He’s working himself up more than anything, now. You don’t care. You add fuel to the fire, pinching under his ribs to watch him squirm and howl.

Steve practically throws the can onto the ground, writhing away from your menacing fingers.

“Baby—stop!” You’re laughing with him now, infected by his hiccuping voice. “Honey—honey, please——time-out, time-out!”

You stop, and he snags your hand to hold it away from him. Panting, Steve twists around to pin you on the chair, his free hand creeping towards your bare side.

“Payback…,” he whispers threateningly.

“No…Steve—“It’s too late, Steve’s hands are already working into your sides cruelly, and his mouth is blowing raspberries into your neck. You kick your feet wildly, pushing at his shoulder with your connected hands.

At your shrieking, everyone looks over, faces forming into a hash of reactions. Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—no one intervenes. The boys boo at you, but it’s only as long-lived as the tickling itself.

“Sto-ho-ho-hoppp—“ you plead, and Steve yields, a satisfied smile on his face.

When you finally relax back into the chair again, chest rising and falling rapidly, Steve takes your hand into his and holds it over his torso.

“Hate you,” he puffs out, and then picks up the beer that started it all.

“Hmph,” you complain, and hold your hand out until he passes it over.

“I love you.”

You’re aiming for casual, but you miss the mark obscenely. It sticks in your throat and you end up saying every letter.

Steve is eerily silent, watching as you take a nervous gulp of PBR. When you try to pass it back, his receiving hand floats up to your face to wipe over your bottom lip instead.

“What was that?” It’s not a question so much as an encouragement, a request. You can’t even look him in the eyes, curling into his shoulder shamefully.

“Please don’t laugh,” you whine, mortified. How had he made it look so easy?

Steve snakes an arm behind you and rubs your back comfortingly.

“‘M’not, honey. Just wanna make sure I heard you right.”

“You heard me,” you confirm grumpily.

He hums a warm laugh.

Smushing your face into his bicep, you laugh, too. Like magic, the ease flows through your body again, as if it never left. Like the water in the pool, your conversations always slip and slide from childish to heart-pounding and back again. So far, the scariest parts of being with Steve have been the anxieties you invented along the way, and he’s never been unprepared for them.

Propping your chin on his peck, you cuddle closer to him, the warm day slipping into evening chill. Steve waits, patient as a Saint, fiddling with your hair and your top and your mind.

“You knew, didn’t you,” you whisper, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. The near-empty can is still wedged between your bodies, cool against your ribs.

“Sure,” Steve admits. “But thinking it and saying it are different things.”

“True.” You swallow. “Were you waiting on me?”

“Mm, I guess.” He shrugs. “I know it doesn’t change anything if you don’t, but I think I wanted to hear you say it back. Yknow, when I told you.”

Nodding, you kiss the closest patch of skin you can find. Steve continues.

“And then I realized I’d never know if you’d say it back, so I thought I’d wait for you to say it first, which is dumb—“

“S’not dumb,” you assure him, “that’s what I was doing, too.”

Locking eyes, you both peel into laughter at the same time.

“That’s why it’s dumb,” Steve emphasizes. You crawl closer still, giving him the can to put down so you can close the last gap between your bodies. Steve sighs as your nose presses into his neck. “What am I gonna do with you, honey?”

“Terrible, awful, horrible things, I hope.”

You can feel him smiling, sense it.

“Nuh-uh, we’re in love now. Only love-making from here on out.”

You look out towards the pool, at the kids drying off and getting hungry.

You could hardly wait.

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff

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loversatthegreatdivide · 9 days

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Heavy Lies the Heart - Part 1

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: (eventual) canon death Summary: Two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance. Can they find purpose in each other, or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: This starts at the beginning of season 3, but some timeline things are a bit different here than in the series. Also I'm changing history--it's fine, it's basically in an alternate universe anyway.

A new season had begun, and it was with an all too familiar sense of annoyance that Benedict Bridgerton found himself arriving once again at the Danbury ball. If not for his mother's insistence and his desire to support Francesca in her first season out, he may not have come at all.

Benedict certainly had no desire to join the mart, and he found society and it's rules disingenuous at best, insufferable at worst. It was another season. Another ball. Another night of counting down the minutes while avoiding the attentions of the more emboldened debutantes and their scheming mamas.

Then again, what else had he to do? With his exit from the academy and Anthony's return, he felt rather unmoored. Adrift with no real purpose or goal. A second son with no role to fill or any steadfast ambitions. Even his younger brother Colin seemed to have truly found himself in his time abroad.

What would it take for Benedict to feel so secure?

The ball had barely begun, yet already Benedict found himself hounded by the attentions of the young ladies of the marriage mart. He suspected this was due, in no small part, to the transformation of his younger brother. Colin seemed to rather enjoy the attention, but Benedict found he did not feel the same. At the first opportunity, he made a quick exit, escaping to the safety of the garden. He stood alone, close enough to hear the music inside but far enough to feel the weight of expectation lift. He took in a deep breath of the crisp night air, and sighed in relief.

As he enjoyed his moment of peace, he heard a commotion from inside. Given the excitement of the guests inside, he could only imagine that the queen was finally in attendance. Always the most anticipated guest, yet always the last to arrive. He thought to avoid the fanfare, sipping the lemonade in his hand as he enjoyed the night's sky.

Benedict spend some time just appreciating the silence, but knew he would have to return soon. With things inside having quieted somewhat, he supposed it was a good of a time as any. He was also aware that certain members of his family would likely be cross with him if he disappeared for too long. He sighed, downing the last of his drink before turning to enter the fray once more.

He set his empty glass on a nearby table as he ventured through the crowd. He looked across the room, making eye contact with both Anthony and his mother. At the very least they would know he hadn't fled the grounds altogether.

He scanned the crowd, thinking he ought to at least check in on his three remaining siblings. Instead, his eyes landed on a young woman.

She was lovely.

Her golden hair was tied up simply, with a few stray curls falling to frame a heart shaped face. Brown eyes sat below worried, upturned brows as her full, rosy lips held a nervous smile.

She stood in a crowd of young men, the lot gathering around her like circling wolves as they vied for the attentions of their pray. The young woman looked anxious as she attempted to hold fast to decorum, her smile wavered but never completely disappeared. Benedict thought perhaps he should rescue the poor girl, but as more stragglers joined the crowd, he wondered if that would do any good.

Before making up his mind, he saw her address the crowd with a quick word, before turning and, as quickly as was proper, escaping into a group of debutantes. The men seem to argue with each other as they each tried to follow. But by the time they turned to do so, they had already lost sight of her.

But Benedict hadn't, his gaze following her as she weaved her way through the crowds.

She smoothly slipped between different clusters of people, clearly trying to avoid anyone's notice. Many did catch sight of her, but she swiftly moved on before they could entrap her in a conversation. Soon she made it to the wall, which she followed until she had disappeared into the same door Benedict had only just entered from. It seemed he wasn't the only one who desired the calm of the garden.

He debated for a moment if he should follow. She was clearly overwhelmed, and likely didn't want another man pestering her--not to mention unchaperoned. He came up with a few shaky reasons that were in favor of it, but he knew they weren't honest ones. In truth, it was simply that his curiosity had been peaked, and he was attempting to rationalize why it was that he should follow.

Curiosity won out in the end, and Benedict once again made his way back out into the night.

He saw her sitting on a stone bench near the door, her lilac dress flowing out around her. It wasn't one that ladies would consider currently in fashion; having an hourglass shape and a full skirt rather than the more simple, straight shape of the dresses most of the ladies inside were wearing. Still, he thought it quite suited her.

She looked like she had jumped straight out of a painting. Her face draped in moonlight as she stared up at the sky. A tear slid down her cheek, sparkling in the pale light, and Benedict suddenly felt quite ashamed of himself. He realized he had been selfish, planning to disturb the time she clearly needed to herself. He turned, intent to leave her to her thoughts. However, the scuff of his shoes was enough to get her attention and she turned suddenly. Her eyes caught his, and for a moment he stood frozen in her gaze.

Finally, he came to his senses and addressed her, his tone apologetic.

"Forgive me, miss. I did not mean to disturb you," he said quickly. She looked confused, but soon composed herself as she turned to wipe the tears from her face.

"No need to apologize sir," she began, turning to face him with a small, reassuring smile, "I was just getting some air."

Benedict took a few, small steps forward. He waited for her to object, but when she said nothing he took a few steps more. They were shoulder to shoulder, though he left a healthy amount of space between them.

"It's all rather stifling, isn't it?" he asked. He returned her smile, and she quickly turned her gaze down, running a gloved finger over the embroidered vines that decorated the bottom of her dress.

"Certainly more so than I had expected."

"Am I correct in thinking this is your first year? I don’t recall seeing you at one of these," he gestured vaguely at the manor, "before."

She looked back up at him, searching his face for a moment. Whatever she was looking for, she apparently found it. She smiled with a degree more enthusiasm.

"That's quite a skill, recalling the face of every young lady to grace such a grand event," she joked.

"I could say it was well practiced, but the truth is I would simply be unable to forget a face as lovely as yours," he replied. He could see her cheeks flush through the cool moonlight illuminating her face.

"You give compliments with such ease. Is that skill also well practiced?" she asked as she began to regain her composure.

"I may be prone to the occasionally bit of flattery, but in this case I am quite sincere." She looked away in clear embarrassment, and Benedict had to look down briefly to hide the grin forming on his face. "But I have made you uncomfortable, forgive me; I shall say no more about it." Her eyes moved back to him, "I certainly wouldn't blame you for being apprehensive under such circumstances--given what I saw in the ballroom, I imagine you've had quite enough of men and their compliments."

She looked back up at him, "You mean those gentlemen who were speaking to me earlier?"

"The same. They all seemed rather...frenzied to gain your favor."

"Yes, I suppose," she agreed, looking forlorn, "though I believe their intentions were quite different than yours."

Benedict raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" He thought a moment, "If it was not your looks that drew them, was it perhaps the allure of a large dowry? Or possibly some grand title to be inherited?" She actually laughed at that, albeit more to herself than as a sign of amusement.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," she agreed, "though they may be disappointed; they would certainly be settling for second best. It is my elder sister's family who will inevitably inherit my father's title, and sadly for those gentlemen she has already married."

Benedict was quiet for a moment, looking over her self-effacing expression with understanding and, in spite of himself, a measured degree of affection.

He smirked, "I thought there must be some reason we get on so well; I myself happen to be a second son. Maddening, isn't it? Always feeling like the spare?"

She looked at him in surprise, before relaxing into a grateful smile.

"It certainly can be," she agreed. She hesitated a moment, before deciding to continue, "I often feel as if I don't know what to do with myself. I have always existed to be my sister's replacement, should the worst happen. Now that she is married and with child, a replacement is no longer needed. So what am I, now that I'm no longer what I was born to be?"

Benedict had to think on that for a moment. He was hardly one to advise someone in the exact predicament he found himself in. Still, he hoped he could give her some degree of comfort.

"You're free," he finally answered. She looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment until at last she looked away.

"If only that were true," she said softly to herself.

At that moment, the sounds from inside grew louder. The young woman looked back into the light of the ballroom. She sighed, then looked at him with a soft smile.

"I suppose I should return; I'm sure at this point I'm quite missed," she stood, smoothing out the silken fabric of her dress. "It was a pleasure to meet you, mister…?"

"Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton," he said, his back straightening ever so slightly.

"Mister Bridgerton," she repeated, "Well Mister Bridgerton, I do look forward to speaking with you again sometime."

With that she made her way towards the door. Just as she reached the threshold, she stopped. She quickly turned back to him, "Oh, and perhaps you should wait before returning indoors--it would be unfortunate if anyone came to the wrong conclusion."

She was certainly right about that. As she turned back, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Wait a moment--" Benedict called out suddenly, his hand raised to stop her. But it was too late, she had already disappeared into the warm light of the ballroom. "--what's your name?" He asked to no one, sighing as he turned.

He wandered over and sat on the bench she had been on only moments before. Resting his palms on the cool stone and leaning back on his arms, he couldn't help but grin. He turned his face up to the moon, hoping to meet the curious young woman again soon.

---

Benedict eventually made his way inside, thinking more than enough time had past. As he walk through the ballroom, he searched the crowd. With her nowhere in sight, he accepted that she must have already gone. With nothing else to keep his interest, he eventually wandered over to where his mother, Anthony, and Kate stood.

"And just where were you?" his mother asked, annoyance clear in her voice.

"We were quite sure you had run off," Anthony added, smirking. Benedict smiled, turning his face out to the dance floor.

"Not at all brother--I was simply enjoying the ball," he replied. Anthony and his mother shared a perplexed look, but Benedict didn't notice. His thoughts were otherwise occupied.

---

The young woman took the gloved hand that was offered as she carefully stepped into the opulent, golden carriage. She delicately adjusted her skirts as the queen looked her over.

"It was certainly different than what I had expected--but I did enjoy it very much," the young woman smiled, looking back at the queen, "Thank you for agreeing to bring me along, grandmama."

"So Beatrice, tell me--did you enjoy the ball? Was it everything you had imagined?" The queen asked, amused.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x oc #heavy lies the heart #my writing #loversatthegreatdivide

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system-to-the-madness · 2 months

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Cherry Blossom Confessions 🌸 Okkotsu Yūta x Reader

Pairing: Okkotsu Yūta x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1 423 Summary: Yūta spills a well-kept secret Prompt: accidental confession A/N: Firs time writing for Yūta! Also, I wanted to post these stories in time with the local cherry blossom, but it keeps delaying because the weather was too cold (on Wednesday it snowed even). I’m just gonna start posting and hope the cherry blossom will eventually catch up with me.

Sakura Festival Masterlist - Masterlist

Pink petals drifted through the air, looking like snowflakes in the warm afternoon light. It was only late March, but the sun had already gained back a lot of its power after the colder winter months, making you smile contently to yourself as you closed your eyes and held your face into the sun, trying not to let yourself be distracted by the person at your side.

Yūta was, for once, out of his school uniform, and instead dressed in an oversized shirt and some wide jeans which made his slim figure seem to drown in fabric. But it looked good, unfairly good even. You could tell he was fiddling around with his necklace, even without looking at him, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he seemed nervous.

“What’s wrong,” you asked eventually, unable to take his fidgeting any longer.

You had known him for a good while, and his behaviour now was more like he had been when you had first met him. Back then he had been jumpy and shy, always expecting the worst of people. But as he had settled more into the life at Jujutsu High, the shy and easily scared boy had turned into the open-hearted, funny, and fiercely loyal friend you had gotten so attached to.

“Nothing,” Yūta’s answer came almost too quickly, making you raise your brows before you blinked open your eyes and turned to look at him.

He had cut his hair a little since winter, the formerly long strands having been trimmed into a new haircut, which made him look gentler than the rather harsh look he had been sporting before. His grey eyes met yours defiantly, as if he was challenging you to question his reply, but you didn’t do him the favour. Instead, you continued watching his face.

Recently he had started getting cute freckles over his nose that now started to turn a darker shade as he blushed under your inquisitive gaze. You wondered if he could tell your own cheeks were heating up, too.

“Anyway,” you shrugged, tearing your gaze away from him and focusing back on the pink petals of the cherry trees you were sitting under.

Silence engulfed you for a while, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was the good or the bad kind. You also didn’t know what you were supposed to say. Which was weird, considering you never had any problems of engaging in conversation with Yūta. You always found things to talk about, to joke about, even if it was only Gojo-sensei’s latest shenanigans. But somehow it suddenly felt as if this silence was important, as if it were the preparation for whatever was to come next. What a strange sentiment…

“You’re beautiful.”

Confused you turned to Yūta, who was still watching you, his eyes widening as you met his surprised. He had never said anything like that before, usually his compliments were limited to your fighting in training or during missions.

Quickly you looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

“Uhm, thanks…” you trailed off. Certainly he had to pick up on your embarrassment now, right? Your warm cheeks, the way you subconsciously had started playing with a blade of grass underneath your hand… you quickly pulled your hand away and intertwined it with the fingers of your other hand to stop the motion.

“Did I say that out loud,” Yūta wondered, a hint of amusement, but also embarrassment in his voice.

“Yeah, …”

He chuckled, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. He had averted his eyes, and instead was staring up at the branches over you as he was chewing on his lip, clearly thinking hard about something. Suddenly he snapped his head back at you, almost startling you with the sudden motion, but it was obvious he had come to the conclusion of whatever he had thought over.

“I don’t tell you enough. Actually, I think I’ve never told you, but I always think you’re beautiful,” he confessed, his voice lacking any of the embarrassment from before and instead sounding determined now.

“Careful,” you chuckled nervously, “what will Rika think?”

Rika. Probably the biggest reason why you had never dared thinking of Yūta as anything other than a friend. You didn’t exactly feel like getting into a fight with a special grade curse over your classmate.

“Oh, she knows I think you’re beautiful,” Yūta shrugged, his voice returning to the more relaxed tone you usually knew from him.

“Does she?

“Yes, of course she does. I talk to her about you all the time.”

You furrowed your brows and turned back to look at Yūta. He had leant back, hands propped behind him against the grass, eyes closed. Black lashes rested against his pale, lightly freckled skin, and shadows of the cherry blossom danced softly over his features. He looked like an angel, you thought, or like the protagonist in some rom-com.

“You talk to her about me?” You hated how small your voice suddenly sounded.

“It’s not so strange, is it,” Yūta asked, his eyes still closed as he let the shadows slip over his face. “I have to talk to someone who won’t judge me. And Inumaki just keeps insisting I should finally confess to you. I can’t hear it anymore.”

You blinked, once, twice, wondering if Yūta was aware of what he had just said. And then you wondered if what he had just said meant what you think it meant.

“Confess what?”

The way Yūta tensed up revealed that he had not been aware of what he had just said. His eyes snapped open and quickly he sat up.

“I-”

The way he looked at you now, with widened eyes, and clearly insecure reminded you painfully much of the way he had looked at you in the first weeks of knowing you, always scared he had or was about to say something wrong, always worried you’d laugh at him, attack him, make fun of him or were out to hurt him.

“I- I didn’t…” His eyes kept skipping over your face as if the words he was supposed to reply with were writing in your features. After a few moments of stuttering around, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Confess that I like you,” he blurted out. “And have liked you for a long time. I didn’t want to tell you because I don’t want to put you in the weird position of rejecting someone who-”

“Yūta, Yūta!”

You interrupted the ramble he was picking up, instinctively bringing your hand up to his cheek. He still had his eyes closed, but instantly relaxed into your palm.

“Relax, it’s okay,” you assured him. “I like you, too.”

It took him a moment, but then the rest of the tension in his body fell away, and he blinked his eyes open.

“You do?”

The hope in his voice tucked at your heart and you nodded with a gentle smile.

“Yes, I do, you idiot. How couldn’t I?”

Yūta blinked at you, clearly surprised by your answer and uncertain what to do next. It took a few moments before the confused expression in his eyes melted away and was replaced by the joyous glimmer you loved seeing in his eyes so much.

“Then go out with me,” he demanded, a smile beginning to tuck at his lips, which turned into a proper grin as you nodded in agreement.

You were about to pull your hand away from his face, but he caught it in his, and keeping your eyes fixed on yours, he lifted your hand to his lips to place a delicate but lingering kiss on your knuckles, never breaking eye contact. The action drove heat into your cheeks, which only seemed to raise his confidence as he carefully lowered your hand and scooted closer to you.

“How about,” he leant in, his face right in front of yours now, “how about I take you out for dinner after this.”

You smiled at his suggestion and nodded. “I’d love that.”

“Perfect,” Yūta nodded to himself.

Then he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and gently pulled you backwards until you were laying in the grass, squeezed against him, looking up at the blue sky above you through the pink petals of the cherry tree. Suddenly he groaned, making you raise your eyebrows at him again even though you knew he couldn’t see it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Inumaki will be so pissed that he didn’t get to come up the ultimate confession-plan.”

@delzinrowe

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goldsbitch · 4 months

Text

I gave so many signs

summary: First unrequited love is not the one to ever leave your mind. Y/N looks back at her missed connection with Charles Leclerc from the time they were just teenagers and regrets having him slip away.

song fic (disclaimer: rights belong to the respectable owners)

exile - Taylor Swift Lie to me - 5 Seconds of Summer (feat. Julia Michaels) Worst of you - Maisie Peters

warning: Present time, the past

Coming back home to Monaco always brought a sour smile to her face. She loved growing up in this strange small town where everyone knew each other and celebrities came to show off and then went back to wherever, to tell stories of Monte Carlo.

They say that you get to experience three very different real loves in your lifetime - and only if you're lucky, it would be with the same person. Her first love was Charles Leclerc.

I saw you lookin' brand new overnight I caught you lookin' too, but you didn't look twice

Visiting family was the reason why she always came back, but going out with the few girls from high school who stayed there was a treat she dared not to miss. There is just something about hanging out with those people who helped one buy the first eyeshadow and with whom she pregamed at one of their step dad's dermatology office before going on trying to get into any club that would allow minors in. So there she was once again, at the old time spot, having a harder time to hold her alcohol since she'd passed the magic non hangover years. And to her luck, he walked in only a bare half an hour later than her.

Whenever she saw him, even after those years, it was like everyone else had dissapeared from the room. He seemed to age like wine.

It's 3 AM and the moonlight's testing me I know that you've been holding on to someone else And now I can't sleep

"Come here to me," she teased, moving closer to him. He tried to stop her and playfully pushed himself the furthest away possible the couch would allow. "Charlie, let me see!" she insisted and sat on top of him. She had to act quickly, there would be no way for her to keep the upper hand. He was just turning eighteen soon and the time in gym was starting to bring back results. "I do not have any hairline, Y/N," he gasped, annoyed. His tone changed. Back then she interpreted it as just him being done with her shit. Looking at it now, there probably was a different reason why he became more stiff. She sat on him, going through his hair and taking few photos, blissfully unaware. "I'll show this to you in a few years and we'll see! Ha!" Charles eyes were shooting arrows in her direction. She looked back at him, curious and not grasping the moment in the same way as he did. "What?" she asked simply. "Nothing..."

I can see you standing, honey With his arms around your body Laughin', but the joke's not funny at all

She laughed a bit at that memory as she sipped her drink and tried her best to avoid keeping looking back at him as he sat with his current friends and an absolute gorgeous girl laughing at his joke. She knew who she was. Sometimes she peaked at his socials and then blocked him again right away. She certainly knew he had her blocked.

They went to different schools and Charles had his racing activities anyway. So they'd spent a lot of time texting. A lot.

It was just one of the horrifically long school days where she doubted the point of her existence. Life had to be more than sitting in a pointless computer science class. She wanted to be a big lawyer girl boss one day, so why would she ever care about programming. There she was, staring at the assignment from the teacher who was stuck in 20th century anyway, having little to no clue what to do. As she'd usually do, she texted Charles. Bombed him with twenty texts demanding attention, before he finally responded. "OMG i thought someone had died" "i am dying charles" "no your not" "*you're" "i can go back to my race simulator if you keep being a little shit" "nooo, please dont go. you're my only hope. sorry, your. i get it, you got out of the school too early." "that's it, i'm gone" "noo, please stay, I'll be nice and say nice things about you" "i'm staying, go on" "you are absolutely gorgeous" "yes, agree. more" "you are soo funny, amazing, future heart breaker and your passion for racing is so inspiring" "i like this. more"

Second, third, and hundredth chances Balancin' on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury

They were inseparable, yet nobody knew. Always meeting alone, because they did not need anyone and their social circles didn't really meet together. Whenever he was back in town, the two of them would hit up their favorite café or hang out at his house and then go for a walk. The two of them walked around Monte Carlo as if they were suppose to be the cartographers creating the first map of that area ever. Those were the good old days that came to end very unexpectedly.

We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (Didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

His hands were shaking when he sent the email. But he just could not take it anymore. He was over the moon in love with her and didn't know how to contain it.

"there is no easy way to say this. i love you. sorry. i'm stupid and i know we're just friends. but i basically live only for racing and seeing you. i'm terrified of seeing you with someone else. if there is at least a cell in your body that feels the same, please let's meet up and talk about it. if not, do not reply and i will never mention this again and deal with it. i love you."

She was seventeen when she got his message out of the blue. A scared little girl who was petrified of feelings and anything relationship related. So she never replied to his email.

All this time I never learned to read your mind I couldn't turn things around (I couldn't turn things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (You never gave a warning sign)

Charles had a very little hope that she'd feel the same - why would she, such an amazing person, kind, fun and totally glorified in his eyes, so he could not even imagine him being worthy of her. But what if? What if he was enough? With every day when she did not respond to his email, his heart sank lower. Still, the pain of the first rejection is a hard one to take, because it's usually from a scared unexperienced heart to another and the clumsiness causes great deal of accidental collateral damage one remembers until the end of their life.

You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out

She texted him from school few days after that - a normal text, as if nothing happened. Both of them were too chicken to address the situation openly. So he opted for buring his feeling and she for playing like she had no idea. Deep down, she always knew, even before he emailed her. They texted, continued to meet up. But it was never the same again.

Flashing back to New York City I was done, but you undid me Classic me to run when it feels right

It was hard to get closure for her. After all that had happened and the mess the two made for each other was a hard lesson she remembered vividly. She glanced at your first love again - and finally she met his look, after almost two years of managing to missing each other while they were both back in Monaco. She'd daydreamed about bumping into him, the two chatting and smiling again. The world stopped again for few moments. He shot her an unsure quick half smile that said it all. She knew him too well for that.

And now I wish we never met 'Cause you're too hard to forget While I'm cleaning up your mess I know he's taking off your dress

It was her prom night and she could not be more excited. All her friends were here, family, even Charles managed to get in town to watch her dance and drink all night. She had the night of her life, perfect end to end this chapter of life. The excitement her eyes held was contagious. She spent the first half of her evening with the family and Charles, sharing few dances and laughs. If felt like the good old days. But one shot of tequila led to another and there she was, drunk as pirate and unhinged like a teenage girl. Charles did his best to keep her parents at bay, keep them occupied while he got one of his friends to take care of her. He was worried she might do something stupid, like walk up to the stage and fall down breaking all of her bones. Finally, her parents decided to leave without having to saying goodbye to her after Charles spent a good half an hour convincing them she was just in the back stage and that he'd get her home safe. When they were gone, he began to search for her, only to finally find her sitting on the stairs, making out with the friend he assigned to keep an eye on her.

So take me to every party and just talk to your friends Why don't you let me down, I'll let you do it again Go on and walk all over me, just don't walk away Give me the worst of you 'Cause I want you anyway

It was like being cut open alive and having people watch. There was nothing even remotely graceful about her actions, she was literally sitting on the floor having a battle of tongues with another drunk teenager while people had to walk pass her. It was embarrassing. Charles didn't know what to do. He wanted to run away and never come back, but he couldn't leave her there alone. He couldn't bring himself to stop the two of his friends, because he was just too sad and heartbroken to do so. He just stayed nearby and kept an eye on them. It was one of the longest nights in his life.

She couldn't remember the second half of her prom night and Charles would never speak of it, even though she begged him many times. He always became stiff and started to leave the room. She only kept asking, because it marked one of the biggest shifts in their friendships. He became cold, unresponsive and after few weeks, he stopped communicating completely.

You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before

Funny how people's faces change with years, but the eyes stay the same. The eyes and the look. Charles looked at her the second time this evening. It was like staring back at the eighteen year old boy who was drowning in his feeling.

It was one of her last nights in Monaco before leaving for university. Finally, her dreams were coming true. She was more than ready to get our to show the world she was a force to be reckoned with. She sent Charles countless messages before her final departure, at that moment, she was sure she'll never ever get back to Monaco and wanted to at least understand why he became distant. One evening, he finally agreed to meet up and talk. She was over the moon. Knowing that she could always turn Charles over, she left feeling confident - he was one the very few people she was sure shared the same soul as her. It was as if they'd never stopped talking. Jokes flying everywhere, the two of them strolling around, having no idea this would be the last time (and maybe, that was better for her at the time). There was so much to share, the two kept talking over each other for hours. Charles was happy when she finally stopped to take a breath for a moment. She looked him in the eye and saw a look she'd seen countless of times on his face. There was a shift in her mind and out of nowhere, she was kissing the boy she'd been unknowingly in love for years. She'd realize that she loved him only once she started dating a random guy from her college, expecting the same feeling Charles gave her. But it never came. Had she known, she'd have stayed with him. He tried to convince her to start dating him. Almost begged her to try it with him long distance. But there was a whole world for you to discover, places to be and versions of her that needed discovering. She had kissed only once. But it was a kiss of a lifetime. He blocked her on all socials after she rejected him again.

I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) So many signs, so many signs You didn't even see the signs

The girls were laughing at some joke she missed while digging in her memory for traces of her first love. Charles Leclerc. He was sitting few tables away from her. This time, her heart sank as he kissed his girlfriend on the cheek as they walked away from the bar. She wanted to run to him, to talk to him again after all those years. To tell him the same thing he once emailed her. To explain that she was just too young to notice she had the love of her life right next to you. But she knew all too well what his answer would be. And just like he had back then, she never wanted to hear it out loud.

And I know that you don't, but if I ask you if you love me I hope you lie, lie, lie, lie, lie to me

part 2

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joesheistyy · 1 year

Text

nobody gets me

first off can we talk about how hot this pic is??????? anyway, I've literally not stopped listening to SOS by SZA and I had this idea a while ago so its time to give it a go !!

----

The Bengals were in Baltimore for a football game. They had been gone for a few days already. Unfortunately, Joe left for the game on not so great terms with you. Everything had been building up over the last few weeks between his injuries, your family issues, his mental block, and you feeling lonely when he was gone.

It was hard having Joe gone and barely hearing from him. You knew space was good, but you couldn’t help but fear for the worst. As game day rolled around, you made sure to text him encouraging messages, I love yous, and so much more. The most you’d get in response would be a love reaction to a message or a love you back.

Although Joe wasn’t talking to you much, you had reached out to Sam and Ja’marr to see if Joe was acting like he usually does. With them being close with Joe, you figured they’d be able to notice if he was off. They weren’t able to tell you much. Joe didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like you did.

After a good win against the Ravens, you had hoped Joe would be in a better mood when he got home. All your thoughts had been eating you up inside about how he might act or what he might say when he arrived home.

You took time to occupy yourself in the kitchen until Joe’s arrival home. You decided to clean out the fridge, knowing that task was way overdue. You had lit your favorite Bath and Body Works candle and some other small ones, wanting to avoid turning on the big light. Your speaker was playing SZA’s album SOS. As you continued to empty out the old produce, you heard the garage door open. Your heart sunk a little bit, nerves beginning to engulf your body and mind. Joe was sometimes unpredictable, and this was certainly one of those times.

He walked in through the connecting door from the garage to the kitchen, making sure to shut it loud enough in case you weren’t close by. The fridge door was blocking his view of you.

“Hi, y/n,” he said, causing your attention to leave the fridge and go straight to gauge Joe’s attitude. He didn’t seem as bad as you had expected, but that could always change.

“Hi, Joey. How was your trip?” you asked hesitantly, hoping for a good response.

“It was alright, I just wish you went with us. It would’ve been more fun with you there,” he said as he walked away to go drop off his bag in the bedroom. This puzzled you for many reasons, but mainly because of the lack of communication while he was gone.

You continued your work in the kitchen. It wasn’t in the best state, and it certainly reflected your mental state while Joe was gone. Hearing the shower start, you worked to load the dishwasher and hand wash your special dishes.

Joe came down after his shower in gym shorts and with no shirt on. You didn’t notice his arrival until you heard the fridge door open, objects falling all over the floor. With all the emotions that built up over the past few days, that was what sent you over the edge. Joe groaned as he saw the contents of the fridge on the floor.

“I’ll get it Joe, it’s my fault,” you sniffled, trying to hide the fact that this accident is what send you over the edge.

“Hey hey hey, why are you crying?” Joe snapped out of his irritated state, immediately tending to you.

“I don’t know Joe. Everything has just been building up for God knows how long and,” you gasped for air as Joe pulled you into a hug.

“Baby, take a deep breath. Everything is okay,” he reassured you, rubbing your back. You continued to cry into his chest. He rested his head on the top of your head, laying a delicate kiss to your hair.

“Joe I just can’t handle much anymore. I don’t wanna lose you,” you sobbed. Joe was slightly shocked at what you said, he didn’t think things had gotten to that point.

“Y/n, why would you think that I’d leave you?” He questioned, lifting your chin up to look at him.

“I just feel like things haven’t been the same lately,” you said, trying to see his face through your tears.

“No matter what happens y/n, I’m not leaving you. You’re the most important thing to me,” Joe said, pulling you back into a hug, this time holding your head tight to his chest. He knew you probably just needed to cry it out, life had been difficult for the both of you lately. Joe hated to see you cry, but he was grateful that it was in his company. He knew you hated to cry alone because it was so difficult to stop.

“I just feel like no one understands me the way you do and not talking to you for so long was hard and when you left and we were mad at each other I thought it was the end,” you rambled on, still in an obviously panicked voice. Joe just hugged you harder, breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

The speaker was still playing music, and the song Nobody Gets Me came on. Talk about timing.

Joe held you close and tight to him, his chest absorbing your tears that hesitated to fall as time went on. Your arms wrapped around his back while his arms were wrapped around your waist, his head still resting on top of yours. Talking had stopped as the song continued on. Your panicked breathing slowed as the two of you swayed back and forth to the song.

Joe would periodically rub your back and lay a kiss on the top of your head. You continued to take deep breaths while your head rested on his chest. The smell of his body wash slowing calming you. The song faded but the two of you held your embrace strong. The candle light soothed your eyes as they restored to their normal vision, Joe brushing some of your hair behind your ear.

“Everything is okay baby, we’re fine. I promise I won’t leave you in the dust like that again. I’m sorry I put you through that,” Joe apologized, leaning to kiss your forehead.

“I just feel like nobody gets me like you do. Promise we’re okay?” you asked, pulling an arm away from his back to extend your pinky to his in search of a pinky promise.

“I promise y/n. Everything will be okay,” Joe wrapped your small pinky in his long one, then quickly pulled you into another hug. “Nobody gets me like you,” he whispered into your hair, laying another kiss on your head.

The embrace in the kitchen seemed to last for 20 minutes. But that was exactly what you both needed.

----

see I used to have ideas for this and they all disappeared when I wanted to write this urghhhhh anyway I hope y'all still enjoyed some of it <3

#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #joe burrow imagine #joe sheisty #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow oneshot #joey b #bengals quarterback #bengals #cincinatti bengals #nfl #nfl imagine #god I love Joe burrow #joe burrow x reader

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lowkeychenle · 11 months

Text

모래성 [LMH] (M)

Description: You and Mark have had a friends with benefits relationship for almost a year now. He's in love with you, addicted to you, but you don't feel the same. You're his poison.

Genre: Smut

(This new song is SO good I had to write this literally immediately it has been on my mind all day)

Content Warnings: Explicit unprotected sex (Don't Do This LOL), rough Mark, kind of uncaring Mark?, bad bitch mark what else can I say

Word Count: 1,327

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Juliet's Masterlist

When you and Mark first agreed to your arrangement, neither of you expected it to come this far. He certainly didn’t expect for you to stay with him, not that he was complaining. After almost a year of it, the only thing that changed for him was his feelings.

He’s in love with you, and even though you don’t feel the same way, it sure as hell seems like you do sometimes.

Like the way you’re lying in his bed right now, clothed only with his comforter. Your head rests on his shoulder as you trace shapes on his arm. Friends with benefits isn’t ever supposed to go past the friend stage, but for Mark, he had always known it was only a matter of time.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, staring at you. With his back against his headboard, all sorts of things swirl through his mind when you look up at him.

“Do you ever…” You pause, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I just feel like I could do this for a long time.”

His heart stutters in his chest. The moon is the only thing lighting you up, shining against your skin in a way that has him craving you all over again.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on.” You nudge him. “Don’t make me say it. You’re saying you don’t want to stay in this bed with me forever?”

But it’s different this time. He dreams about you. Craves you. Loves you. Even then, he can’t do it anymore. Your embrace no longer provides him comfort. If anything, it spreads poison deep into his heart, where it pulses and spreads throughout his body with every beat. You’re killing him slowly. Destroying him and breaking him apart with no remorse.

“Mark?” You sit up, tilting your head. “Are you alright?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He knows he shouldn’t. That he needs to put a stop to this before anything else happens. No matter how much you hurt him—knowingly—he could never do the same to you. He’s addicted to you in the worst ways. Every time he gets his hopes up in those tiny moments of dreaming that you love him too, he falls and crashes harder into the ground than the last time.

At that moment, he decides it’ll only be one more time. He’ll have you one more time, and then he has to be done.

The thought of leaving you tears him to pieces, but he has to stop letting you walk all over him. He needs love—real love, the kind that lasts longer than the duration of time you’re in his bed.

“I can’t fucking breathe around you,” he groans out, tangling his fingers in your hair and tugging you closer to him.

His lips find yours, mouths, teeth, and tongues clashing messily. You’re taken by surprise, but find your body molding into his anyway.

He wastes no time in sliding his fingers inside you, finding you wet and ready for him. Pumping his hand, he swallows your moans, letting out a few of his own at the way you feel around him.

Fucking addicting. Dangerous. Terrifying.

You wonder what’s gotten into him, but you don’t question it. His thumb presses against your clit, sending a jolt through your body. You cling onto his shoulders for dear life, not used to this side of Mark. He wasn’t necessarily gentle by any means, but he’d never been so blatantly rough with you before.

“Mark,” you whimper, grinding down on his hand.

“What?” he hisses, speeding up.

You reach down and find him hard and aching, ready to be buried inside you. His pace stutters a bit as you jerk him off slowly.

“Fuck me,” you demand, resting your forehead on his. “Give it to me.”

But you both know he’s already given you everything he could.

“God, all you fucking do is take.” He pulls his fingers out of you, finding his place between your legs and lining up with your entrance.

When he slams inside of you, you dig your nails into him and scream, the stretch taking a moment to adjust to.

“You’re so good at taking things from me,” he mutters, nipping down your neck. “So good at taking my cock.”

Your entire body flutters at his words and you arch into him, pulling him back down to your lips. The heat between you two is undeniable, the sweat already dampening his skin. You can barely catch your breath with how fast he’s thrusting inside you. Lifting your hips, you try your best to aid him, but your body can’t keep up with his.

“Who makes you feel like this?” he growls lowly, slamming into you. “Who fucks you ‘til you drool?”

“Mark,” you call out his name, scratching down his back.

As soon as his finger comes in contact with your clit, you shatter around him, not holding back any of your sounds as you spasm below him. He curses loudly, the lewd sounds of his skin slapping yours making you dizzy.

You wrap your legs around his waist. The new angle has your head spinning, and he’s able to get a little deeper than before. Everything about him is intoxicating, down to the way he fucks you through your orgasm.

His voice cracks when he moans and spills deep inside you, dropping his head on your neck. He only gives himself a moment there, one last second to breathe you in and remember what it feels like to be inside you.

He won’t do it again. He can’t.

“Holy shit, Mark.” You run your fingers through his hair, chuckling. “Where the hell did that come from?”

The last thing he wants to do is separate himself from you. He’s in love with you. He’d stay buried inside you all day if only you loved him, too.

He curses, pulling out of you and getting up from the bed to grab some clothes.

“Mark?” You frown, but he doesn’t look at you.

He knows if he gives you a chance to convince him, he’ll fall back into your trap. If he looks at you, he’ll remember he’s in love with you. It costs too much to keep you around—physically and emotionally fucking taxing.

“I’m gonna shower.” He stops in the door frame of the bathroom, clenching his jaw to stop it from quivering. “You shouldn’t be here when I get out.”

“What the hell?” You recoil in surprise, throwing the sheets off of you and standing up. Grabbing his T-shirt from the ground, you slide it over your head and approach him.

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. Keep the shirt as a parting gift.”

He hears you yelling at him through the door, but he masks the sound with the stream of water. Stepping under it, he’s determined to wash the last traces of you from him. He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, but it’s no use.

You’ll forever be ingrained in him, no matter how hard he tries to get rid of you.

By the time he gets out of the shower, all traces of you are gone. You even made his bed, for fuck’s sake. He runs his fingers through his damp hair, sitting on the edge of the mattress and contemplating what the hell he’ll do next.

You’re poison. Everything about you is deadly, and he’s better off without you.

His heart pounds in his chest at the thought. He knows he is. That’s absolutely the truth, yet the tiny voice in the back of his mind tells him he’s making a huge mistake. That he’ll never find someone like you again.

Good, he thinks to himself. I don’t want anyone else like her.

And for a while, he does well. But just like every other time before this one, he’s too weak to escape you.

He calls you before the fucking week is through.

#mark lee #nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream smut #nct scenarios #mark lee smut #mark lee scenario #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagine #poison

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ghouljams · 11 months

Note

You are fueling something in me. You call that demon Reader Fetch and all I can think of is König saying Good Girl and patting her head when she does, indeed, fetch (I’m gonna go bath in holy water now, I am so sorry)

König doesn't know how obsessed with him Fetch is, but it's really his fault because he does do that!! He doesn't know how to act around her, he's never had a universe assigned girlfriend before...

You think König's back might be sore from carrying his team through missions. Just one demon's opinion, but you sort of wonder if anyone here would get anything done without him. He, well both of you, are on loan from KorTac to some nothing mercenary group that you didn't even bother learning the name of. They all avoided him like the plague.

"You don't think that might be your fault?" He asks, arms crossed in faux ease while he leg bounces nervously. You pull yourself from his shadow on the plane wall, just enough to rest your elbows on his broad shoulders.

"Why would it be my fault?" König doesn't look at you, you pick at the edges of his hood, making sure they're in the right place. You like how big he is, he hardly seems to feel the weight of his sins, even when they're literally sitting on him.

"You're joking." He says it like a fact, but you think it might have been meant as a question. You grin and wiggle your fingers in greeting at the soldier sitting across from König. He refuses to look at you.

"You think I'm spooky Colonel?" You ask low in his ear, leaning more against his back to feel his heart jump. You know he likes when you call him that, remind him he's got a position over the other men that isn't just your presence.

"You shouldn't scare the other soldiers," He tells you, reaching over his shoulder to grab the back of your shirt and pull you the rest of the way out of the shadow, "it's bad for morale."

You settle more comfortable against his back, or try to around all the tac gear. You hum, resting your cheek against his shoulder, trying your best to look very not spooky. That doesn't mean you don't conjure some nice shadowy bat wings behind your charge, they're just as scared of him anyway.

König threads his fingers through your hair, scratching gently, something to occupy his nervous hands. You like it when he touches you like this, without thinking about it, it makes you feel like he's really gotten used to you. In record time too.

"Enemies closing fast," a voice crackles over König's radio. You pass him another round, happily following in his shadow as he moves.

"Fetch," König summons, you hum in assent waiting for your orders, "time to target?"

You zip through the shadows, tripping enemy combatants as you leverage their shadows for a path. You let your connection to König pull you back. "At current speed with engagement, maybe 20 minutes?"

König hums, and you see the cold excitement of death in his eyes, "And without engagement?"

"Five."

"Good," He nods, "Let's retrieve livers this time, I'm interested to see how long it takes them to die without one."

"I'll clear the path, don't keep me waiting." You grin and disappear.

König jogs towards point, it's certainly been enlightening having you around. Your manual was comprehensive, but not as precise as your actual practice. Location and Retrieval had sounded... useful but not exactly needed when he'd first read it, but now? Now he walks over the bodies of men with holes punched through their stomachs, clawing at the dirt as they bleed out, and he thinks the uses might actually have been understated in the manual.

He's been testing the limits of your abilities, and you're proving yourself to be quite handy. Not to mention saving him a lot of time on intelligence missions. Those are tedious, he's never liked them, but with you he gets to skip the worst parts. He watches you hold a man by the back of the neck as you sink your hand into him like a knife, extracting his bleeding liver with pinpoint accuracy.

König thinks of the story of Loki and the dwarves, how they couldn't determine where the neck ended and the head started, thus delaying the God's beheading. He doesn't think you'd have that problem, as you hold the liver out triumphantly and let the man fall into a heap. Not a vein or tendon remains attached to the organ, the platonic ideal of a liver, like you'd pulled a model of it from the man instead of actual living tissue. He doesn't know how you do it, retrieving only and exactly what's asked.

"Good girl," He settles a hand on your head when he reaches you, enjoying the way you light up at the praise. It makes something squirm in his chest. He's still getting used to that part, the affection you seem to inspire in him, how giving you orders feels so much different from ordering a soldier around. "Braves Mädchen," he mumbles, feeling you press against his hand for more attention.

What had the manual said? Tendencies towards the flesh? He could do that.

#demon!darling au #könig modern warfare #könig x you #könig x reader #oc: fetch #fetch trying not to jump this man's bones at every opportunity #König: wow she really seems to like being called a good girl but we all like a little praise for a job well done #the manual: these demons will want to fuck you do not engage in physical affections if this is not what you want #that sign wont stop König because he cant read

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bcyhoods · 1 year

Note

LOVEFOOL 💌 — “you feel like home to me” with tasm!peter PUH-LEASE I ALREADY KNOW IM GONNA GET EMOTIONAL

muah ha ha. angsty spidey is my favorite spidey, how did you know | 0.9k

warnings: injuries, brief mention of reader being used as leverage but no explicit/graphic detail

“I don’t know if I can do this, Peter.”

Your hand hovers over the scrape on his cheek when your gaze drops to the mask that’s clenched in his hand. He sits on the edge of your bed, looking up at you as you stand in between his legs.

He’s bathed in the dull, orange glow of your lamp. It highlights every welt, every cut, every matted strand of hair that sticks to the damp skin of his forehead. It makes your eyes sting.

“What do you mean? You’re a natural,” he says. His hand settles on your hip to give it a gentle squeeze. The gesture makes you believe for a second that he’s genuinely clueless.

But his eyes refuse to meet yours. The smile that he wears is uneasy as he wrings his mask.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He hangs his head low. Guilt tightens its grip on his throat making it hard to breathe.

You were already well aware of his secret identity before you’d started dating. He warned you of the risks and used them to try scaring you away before you could break his heart. But you stayed. You stayed and, god, he was so glad you did.

Though, he blames his adoration for what happened to you.

He would keep a close eye on you to make sure you were safe. His routine neighborhood watch would consist of making sure you got to and from work safely, occasionally dropping by on your lunch breaks to check on you. He was careless, but he didn’t anticipate things would go south so quickly.

The guy wasn’t a super villain, nor was he anything special by any means, but he was observant. And why would Spiderman be visiting some random bodega cashier so often unless you meant something to him?

It was practically over as quick as it started. The guy couldn’t even finish demanding his ransom before Peter had arrived to web him to the ceiling. You escaped with a few injuries, the worst being a palm-shaped bruise on your wrist. But Peter was fuming.

You were used as bait. You were leverage against Spiderman because he’d been so reckless. You got hurt because of him. You were lucky this time, but there was no telling if that luck would run out and the thought terrified him. Despite your gentle words of reassurance, he had made up his mind.

He would never forgive himself if he lost you. So he broke it off.

“I know.”

It would’ve been easier if you didn’t see each other after that. You think you’d feel differently if you weren’t frequently in his presence, nursing him back to health. Maybe if you didn’t exchange longing gazes and soft touches that were reserved for people that are more than friends. If he didn’t look at you like you held his heart in your hands, maybe you’d be stronger.

“Why do you keep coming back here?” He feels his chest tighten at the crack in your voice, even more so when you push his hand away.

“You leave your window open,” he whispers.

A scoff falls from your lips and you turn your back to him to wipe away the rogue tears that run down your face. He stares at your figure with a frown and hands that ache to reach out for you.

Peter Parker then decides he doesn’t want to be a hero. Heroes can’t afford to be selfish and put their own happiness above the wellbeing of others. Being with you would jeopardize your safety. It’d be selfish of him. He could never be with you like he wanted, craved, so long as he wore that suit. Can’t he have both?

He’s exhibited enough altruism to last him a lifetime, anyway. Certainly it was enough to hold you just for one night.

“I just needed to see you,” he sighs, voice meek.

“Peter, I think you should—”

“There’s never a day that I don’t think about you,” he interjects. He doesn’t exactly know when he started to cry. Suddenly his eyesight was blurry and he couldn’t breathe through his nose.

“Please.” The word pushes out like a sob. Your hand shoots to clamp over your mouth to hush the whimpers, but he can hear them.

“I’m serious, I…” He stands and moves to put his hands on your shoulders. His mask is forgotten on the floor. “Being away from you, it makes me feel crazy. Like I can’t breathe.”

“Don’t say that.” You turn in his hold to shrug his hands off, but you don’t try too hard. A sob racks through your chest once more when you see his pained expression. His nose is red and his cheeks are wet and his brows are sewed together. “Don’t tell me that, just go home,” you plead.

“You feel like home to me!” There’s a humorless laugh that accompanies the confession, it’s one of frustration. But the softness in his glassy eyes is unmistakable and it makes you melt under his stare.

“Please don’t cry,” he begs with a deep frown. He reaches to hold your face in his hands as he wipes the tears from under your eyes. The material of his gloves is rough and pulls at your skin uncomfortably, but you can’t help leaning into his touch.

He crowds your being. He towers over you so closely that you can feel his bated breath fanning your skin. You reach to hold onto his forearms, letting your eyes close to revel in the closeness. Peter presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, then to each of your cheeks, then your nose. He stops short of your lips.

“Say the word and I’ll leave. You know I will.”

“Don’t go,” you concede.

You’re not really sure what repercussions this will have tomorrow morning. You can’t really bring yourself to care when he kisses you.

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5cookiekitty · 1 year

Note

Could you do a fanfic with you demon slayer fanfic idea with reader having the same personality as daki but worst and visiting them and was attacked by a hashira and had to call one of her siblings

*『koku-nii』

Yandere uppermoon {kokushibo} × little sister reader

Fanfic idea

'This is to easy.' The hashira avoided the array of pin like crystal that came flying towards him with a slash of his breathing. 'Somthing isn't right here.' He could feel it in his bones a she watched uppermoon zero send out more crystal's from the ground in which he weaved and dodge once more. The crystal's on her face that formed in the middle of head in the shape of a butterfly glowed allowing for crystal like butterfly to fly through the air.

"I can you feel you getting weaker and slower! Your a hashira right! If I kill you here I will certainly expect some praise!" The demons voice was sickenly gleeful on such a beautiful face. Her Kimono , that split open to show a leg that wore geta sandals and a ankle long white sock , fluttered in the wind like falling angel wings. Maybe she was one.

The hashira stared at the demon who was taunting him much like how a child would. ‘Something isn't right here.’ he thought as he easily deflected away another array of crystals coming his way. ‘There's no way it should be this easy right.’ this was an uppermoon of course but even he was getting bored with this battle. ‘Doesn't matter anyway…’ he activated his breathing as he slashed forward in an instant and behind the demon. “Cause your through”

The demon was quick to try to snap her head around with the anger on her beautiful face clear as day. “What did you just say to me you li-” and then suddenly the world was upside down and spinning as she collapsed like a marionette without its strings attached as her head gently rolled on the ground as her body slumped to the ground on its side. “Huh?”

“Do you mind telling me where your little demon friend is hiding.” he watched those e/c eyes glare at him from the floor. “Since you're too weak to be the one who killed all those slayers.” he got an angry screech in response. “What is that supposed to mean! I really am an uppermoon ,I am! I'll kill you for your insolence!” he looked down at the demon on the floor with confused eyes. “Can't kill me if you're dead.” His voice was flat and deadpanned.

“It's not over yet , You just caught me off guard! If I put my head back on, I'll show you! You wont get me a second time”

“You're right I won't get you a second time cause there isnt going to be a second time.”

“But-”

“Stop it , it's over. You're over so why don't you just go ahead and die already. Your reign of terror is over.” he was about ready to stop entertaining this soon-to-be-dead demon when suddenly he felt something. ‘What the-’ all the hairs on his body stood to attention as he narrowly avoided a thin crystal needle coming at him. ‘Hold on, wait a minute, why isn't she disintegrating.’

“How dare you!How dare you! How dare you!” the shrill voice on the angry demon renovated throughout the forest as she sat up onto her hands and knees, head forgotten in favor of slamming the ground down in anger. “DIE! DIE! DIE! all of you slayers can die!” the demon continued her babbling angry rant as the hashira stared on in growing confusion. “I'm an upper moon!i'm strong and i'm getting stronger everyday! I'm better than you!I'm better than you, you hear me!” The woman now had angry frustrated tears streaming down her face looking and acting too much like a child in dire need of comfort.

“My head got cut off! It got cut off! He cut it off!”

‘Wait hold on , who is she complaining to-’

And suddenly with a hand raised in the air that once more slammed onto the ground she released what felt like death itself.

“KOKU-NIIIIIIIIIIII”

And before the hashira could comprehend what was happening there was a sudden burst of unimaginable bloodlust throughout the area as something started to emerge from the female demon's back. Suddenly he was swinging forward as every instinct in his body since becoming a demon slayer activated in a sudden urge and need to kill the literal death-bringing-thing coming out from where it was hidden with his katana. And yet as soon as he neared the thing , inches away , his katana cut through nothing.

And then he heard sniffling and a whine and his head quickly snapped behind him to see the demoness , crying softly into a hand that cupped the side of her face gently as she tried in vain to whip away her rapidly falling tears. Head now attached to her body with a person crouched in front of her. “Y-you saw what he did right.” Her voice was soft and shaky , reminding the slayer of a crying child and not of a heartless demon that he knew she was. “I wasn't doing anything and yet-” she sounded like another slot of tears was going to come out as the last of her sentence wobbled out.

The slayer stood to the back , uncertain of what to do. Even for someone like him the back to back abnormalities were coming quickly and he felt as though he needed some time to rest.readying himself he quickly zipped across the room only to jump back when his face came too close to being sliced in half by a sword. ‘Shit.’ He could feel blood begin to dribble down from his head as his eyes finally found the new occupant in the room. ‘Double shit.’ cause staring back at him were six eyes , the middle pair having kanji written in it.

Uppermoon 1

“I knew something was off.” the slayer mumbled as he looked the upper moon up and down. ‘This is bad. I can feel it in my bones.’ He watched as the girl, not a woman , never to grow up and be one continued to cry to herself in the background. ‘Not to mention that one aint exited from the land of the living yet. What the absolute hell is going on here.’ he stepped back , a bit nervously , when uppermoon took a stance that blocked most of his view of the woman.

“You must be a hashira.” The demon talked slowly, giving his tone that of a gravitas one. ‘His whole aura screams unnerving tranquility.as if he's in control of everything.’ The hashira got into a stance , hands on the handle of his katana ready to strike at a moment's notice. “Yes I am.” he watched as the demon brought down his katana also into a stance ready to fight. “Good.” he said. “Maybe you'll last longer…than the others.” and with a swing of the katanas and the swirl of crystals the fight was on.

hours later y/n would give kokushibo her gift she meant to give him before she attacked in the midst of a bloody massacre. A hand carved comb with little dragons painted onto it to with white crystals. It would the next night when y/n had combined herself with him that he would genly touched the comb hidden away in his kimono as he stared up at the moon.

#platonic yandere #platonic #yandere #yandere kny #yandere kny x reader #yandere demon slayer #yandere uppermoons #yandere uppermoons x reader #yandere kokushibo #yandere kokushibo x reader

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emlovslennon · 4 months

Note

omgg last night I dreamed about supeeer cute soft dom george being very affectionate and giving making love to reader making her forget all her insecurities whispering in her ear a lot of worship, it's my first request and don't speak English very well but I'm here hehe love ya!

GUYS IM ALIVE HOLY FUCK BALLS !!! Anyway HEHEHHEHE evil laughter back to my mischievousness (mental illness). Also I LOVE YOU TOO

Era: 1965 cuz i feel like it

Audible moan.

You had been feeling extremely insecure ever since you got back from the opening of the the Beatles new movie, “Help!” You saw how in the newspapers they were saying incredibly cruel things about you, especially about how tight your black dress was when you wore it to the premiere. It was, “Name the Beatles wife with the worst taste?” Or “That dress certainly doesn’t look flattering on her!” Like it was some joke. You felt tears brim your eyes just thinking about it. You’d constantly look in the mirror and pinch at your stomach and thighs, you just couldn’t understand why you couldn’t be as beautiful as Jane or Maureen or Cynthia.

“Love, I’m back! Love? What’s wrong?” George said, he had just gotten back from a meeting about an upcoming album, so he unfortunately couldn’t take you along since it was a private meeting, not a public one. You were laying on your shared bed crying, with a newspaper at your side. The one that completely wrecked your self esteem. George caught on and picked up, in complete anger, he ripped the newspaper up and threw it in the trash.

“Absolute bloody rubbish! I hate those damn newspapers, y/n, come ‘ere love.” He said, quite angry, but gentle once he called your name. He couldn’t believe someone could say that about his wife. He thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. How could anyone not agree? They must be blind.

“Love, don’t listen to those bloody bastards, you are the most beautiful and lovely woman I ever laid eyes and have ever met. If they don’t believe that, then they must not have eyes.” He whispers in your ear, playing with your hair. Your tears at this point subsided and you looked up at him, he gave you a grin and kissed your forehead. You know this probably wasn’t the best timing, but you just couldn’t resist when he looks at you with nothing but pure love in his eyes.

“George, could you maybe show me how beautiful I am?” You say quietly, George winks at you in a joking manner and wiggles his eyebrows which make you giggle. George slowly positioned you to get you to lay on your back while he slowly got on top of you.

“I mean it when I say you look stunning in anything.” He whispers, playing with the hem of your black night gown, it was short and only went down to almost the end of your inner thighs. He looked at you for permission and you nodded, as he slowly lifted up your night gown, leaving completely exposed. You usually didn’t bother with under garments when you were going to sleep, you just didn’t feel the need for it.

“You amaze me every time, y’know that?” He praised, as his hands went to your breasts as he pulled you into a passionate kiss, leaving you breathless. George lifted himself up to take off his black long sleeve shirt and the pair of black pants he wore with it, as he went back down to kiss your neck, he hand slowly wandered down to your core, lightly rubbing causing you to whimper. George grinned at the sound, George loved nothing more than when you made noises for him, he doesn’t even really care when it comes to him getting off it’s just as long as you do he’s good.

“Can I?” He asks, his fingers nearing and circling your hole, you nod frantically as he giggles at your reaction, he slowly inserts two fingers into you. You bite your lip and throw your head back into the pillows with the intrusion. But you couldn’t lie, his fingers do wonders. He slowly thrusts them in and out as he watches you whimper and moan, he usually never goes fast unless you tell him to, he’s just never really been that kind of person. Whereas someone like John is the complete opposite.

“F-faster, George!” You moan out, causing George to kiss and suck on your neck harder than he did before as he went faster, your juices starting to seep down to the sheets as the noises coming from your core begin to echo through out the room. You felt the tightness and heat in your belly about to burst and you knew that only meant one thing.

“George-I’m-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence as you felt as if you were sitting stars as your orgasm hit. George never wanted to admit it, but he absolutely adored when you orgasm your a shaking and moaning mess for him, you look absolutely wrecked just from his fingers.

“Are you ready? Do you need a minute?” He asks, one thing to note about George, is that he is huge on consent, he would never, ever, do something that you didn’t like or something that he thought could hurt you. It would break him into a million pieces if that happened.

“Yes, please!” You say shakily, George nods as he kissed your forehead, slowly lining himself up and entering you.

“You’re always so good for me, always. No one could ever compare.” He whispers lovingly, kissing your earlobe as he slowly thrusts in and out of you.

“Your noises are to die for, you are to die for, i can’t get enough of you.” George loved praising you during sex, he always took pride in doing so.

“G-George, please.” You whisper, George looks up at you, with a questioning face.

“Please, faster! Please!” You moaned out, George gave you a smile and kissed your cheek as he went faster, but not too fast, just slightly faster than the pace he was going. You moan out as he brings his fingers down to your clit and rubs circles round it, making your legs shake. You could feel your orgasm getting closer and creeping up on you like it was the grim reaper.

“George! Im gonna cum, please!” You cried out, all the worry, sadness, and insecurities you were experiencing early had completely disappeared. They were nowhere to be found. George always managed to make your worries and fears go away, it’s like he was magic. But to be fair, he pretty much was.

“Aw, come on pretty girl, cum on me, go on.” George groaned, feeling his own orgasm creep up on him, and before you know it, it wasn’t before too long both of you came together. You were shaking and moaning for quite a bit even after he pulled out and kissed your face all over. George laid on his side and brought the covers over both of you.

“Did that make you feel any better?” George asked, his hand holding yours, you look up at him with a smile.

“What was I upset about again?”

THIS WAS KINDA CHEESY BUT WOOOOAH I LOVED IT

#classic rock #classic rock imagines #george harrison #john lennon #paul mccartney #ringo starr #the beatles #the beatles x reader #60s #george harrison x reader #george harrison smut

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kitthepurplepotato · 7 months

Text

Chapter 9 - A bubbly experience 🫧

Summary: Katsuki acts like a good fucking husband. That’s the summary.

Warnings: swear words, Reader and Katsuki are sharing a bath naked, mentions of being aroused but no smut at all. They only kiss. Pinky promise.

16+ but let’s make it 18+ for safety.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Ahh. The sun is up already. You really fucking hate existing right now. Being in this condition is already bad enough, but the mornings are the worst of it all; waking up feels like coming back from hell after going through 300 different kinds of torture.

“Just end my suffering.” You mumble to yourself, completely forgetting that you are not alone.

“It’s five fucking AM, shut the fuck up.” Comes the sweet answer from your side; Katsuki’s hair tickles the back of your neck as he snuggles into you as much as he can, probably trying to cancel out the light and the noise at the same time. His arms tighten around your middle possessively, pulling you as close as humanly possible, absolutely ignoring the fact that there are some parts of him that you weren’t completely ready to feel at “five fucking AM” in the morning as Katsuki would say. “You need somethin’? Water? Toilet? Anythin’?” He mumbles after his mind caught up with the situation. People can say whatever they want about Katsuki being a terrible boyfriend material, but those people don’t fucking see him all soft and mushy and caring and affectionate….

“Nah, I have everything I need right here.” You stroke his hands sitting on your belly with a lovesick smile on your face.

“That was so fucking cheesy.” Katsuki GIGGLES and takes a deep breath, his nose deep in your hair. “You smell like shit.” He snorts, but you can feel that he’s still smiling.

“Stop smelling me then, weirdo.”

“Nah, I love it.” Katsuki grins. Your heart skips a beat.

Honestly. This man is something else. You kinda want to go on a gossip site and leave an anonymous message about Dynamight’s soft side. The fan girls would eat that shit up for sure.

“You will be the death of me.” You mumble into your sheets with a red face.

“I’m literally keeping you alive right now.” Katsuki retorts proudly. “Now shut up and sleep, I’m not ready for this shit.”

“What shit?” You ask, confused.

“Living.”

Fair deal.

Early morning conversations with Katsuki are certainly your new favorite things in the whole world.

~•💥•~

“Wake up, you lazy shit.” Katsuki grumbles, clearly annoyed. The lovely scent of freshly brewed coffee hits your nose and that’s enough for you to have the energy to open your eyes and lean towards the lovely scent; you kinda resemble those dogs smelling bacon while they sleep in those funny videos on YouTube but you can’t be bothered to be ashamed of yourself right now; being in this condition is already enough of an embarrassment anyway. “I brought your breakfast in today but I hate when people eat in bed so this is the last time, got it?”

“Yes, boss!” You take the coffee from Katsuki’s hands automatically, but he takes it away with a disappointed look on his face.

“Did you really forget why I’m bringing you breakfast to bed?”

“Because you love me?” You answer self-deprecatingly.

Katsuki only sighs.

“What’s the time?” He mumbles. Well, that’s a really stupid question to ask right now, but okay; you reach towards the nightstand to check your phone. Surprisingly, the device stays in your hand for quite a long time before your arms give in and the phone falls into your lap.

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that for a second.”

You are such an idiot sometimes, honestly. Being in love really makes you stupid.

“How are you feelin’?” Katsuki mumbles as he slowly sits down next to you with the tray of food. It looks phenomenal, just like everything Katsuki makes.

“You worry too much, Kats.” You smile at the hero but he only rolls his eyes at that.

“I ain’t worried, you would even survive the fucking plague. I just don’t want a coffee stain on my mattress, that’s all.”

“Sure.” You giggle to yourself while Katsuki slowly feeds you the pancakes even thought you are quite sure your arms work just enough to take the fork and feed yourself, even if it would be a bit slow.

For some weird reason, Katsuki looks content. He cuts the pancake into small pieces, prolonging the whole thing like he wants to enjoy this for longer than it’s needed, he tilts the coffee mug gently and slowly as he lets you drink the super sweet caramel coffee he made just for you and when the food is gone he makes sure there isn’t a single stain on your face by wiping your lips with a napkin but the touch feels so gentle, it feels like a caress; Katsuki acts the opposite of his usual self but somehow, it feels more genuine than his angry grumbles. After breakfast, Katsuki asks you to stay in bed while cleans up the mess; he comes back a few minutes later, his face determined; whatever he’s about to say the only acceptable answer is YES.

To be fair, that’s fine. It’s not like there is anything you wouldn’t do for this man…

“Your smelly ass is gonna have a bath and I’ll help.”

… Nevermind. Scratch that.

“Fuck no.”

Wait, wait, wait. You haven’t even seen each other naked yet. You haven’t even… well… you haven’t done the deed or anything like that, the most intimate thing between you two was when you touched the hem of his boxers at his parent’s house and he absolutely hated it. You are still not completely over the fact that he hated it, by the way. You understand why, but it still hurts like a bitch! There is no way you can get naked in front of him and…

“Fuck yes.” Katsuki retorts. “The bath is ready and it’s super bubbly, so I won’t see shit. Come on.”

The blonde acts like a stubborn dad, his arms already under your armpits to pull you up.

“Katsuki, put me down, I need a moment.” You yelp as he puts you on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, barely listening to your anxious retorts.

“The more you think about it the worst it’s gonna be. Let’s get over with this. You trust me, don’t you?”

That was a fucking low-blow. Emotional manipulation, that is. Fuck’s sake.

You know you are freaking out over nothing; you are both adults and both heroes, full of scars that will never fade. He knows how you look like under all the oversized clothing; fuck, Katsuki have kissed most of your scars in his room right before you two made your way to meet Katsuki’s parents. It’s just…

This is not how you wanted him to see you for the first time. You are not a romantic person and you definitely had a hunch Katsuki isn’t either so you kinda imagined your first time to happen out of the blue, hands wondering a bit too far, unable to stop and then things just happen… you thought the first time he sees you naked will be the time you two decide to take the next step; when you are too busy and too excited to really take in the sight. Somehow, this whole situation makes you feel so fragile and insecure, it actually clouds your mind enough you almost make the blonde stumble as you reach out for the door frame to make him stop.

Coming here was a mistake. A big fucking one at that.

Katsuki sighs but he doesn’t let go yet; he strokes your back soothingly, silent for a moment then slowly takes a step forward until your arms give in and hands falls, your whole body giving in to the fatigue. A sweet scent fills your lungs when you take a deep breath; cinnamon, caramelized sugar with a citrusy undertone; it smells like Katsuki but not really; the scent is more fresh than Katsuki’s usual scent and it’s much stronger.

“If you really don’t want to, I’ll put you back to bed.” Katsuki’s confidence clearly wavers as he puts you down on the toilet seat. He hands you your toothbrush, not even trying to force you to do anything anymore; the guy looks heartbroken to be honest, and you absolutely hate seeing him like this and you hate the fact that YOU made him feel like this even more. You quickly wash your teeth while Katsuki stands by the door, clearly in his own little world, probably deciding between leaving or staying. He takes one step forward and one step back, just how he did yesterday when he wasn’t sure if sleeping together was okay or not.

For you, it was so obvious that it’s okay yet he still managed to waver and overthink the whole situation; Bakugou Katsuki might look like an over-confident asshole but deep inside he’s just as uncertain as you are.

You spit out the toothpaste and Katsuki appears by your side right away; he takes the toothbrush from you, cleans your mess up without a single retort and he’s just about to leave the room when your mind finally clears out enough to see how stupid you are being right now.

“Can you stay? I want you to stay.” You mumble into the awkward silence; your cheeks feel burning hot so you are quite sure your whole face is as red as a tomato, but it doesn’t really matter right now. “I want to try and get in alone. I feel like I’m not as weak as I thought I’ll be, which is a good sign but I want to be sure. Will you catch me if I fall?”

“Of course, you idiot.” Katsuki mumbles but he doesn’t roll his eyes this time. He turns away and closes his eyes, probably listening to his surroundings so he can catch you without even looking; his face is determined like he’s about to fight the final boss blind and seeing him like this makes you feel so many things at once; adoration, gratitude, pure love and trust towards the person who’s willing to do all of this for his girlfriend of a few weeks without a single nasty retort. Bakugou Katsuki is not a person who wills to shape himself to fit anyone’s expectations, not even All Might’s, yet here he is, soft and pliant, only an arms length away, listening, understating and trying his best to do what makes you feel the most comfortable in this fucked up situation. You are sure this is not how he wanted this to go either; he also had to have his own daydreams about the day you two tear down another wall between you, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t say a word, just goes with the flow and let’s you take over, even if it kills him inside.

If you didn’t know Katsuki’s words were true before, you definitely know the truth now; he wouldn’t do any of this if he wouldn’t love you as much as you love him. The realization hits you like a truck and butterflies erupt in your chest as you slowly take your shirt off, then your pajama pants until you shakily stand, completely naked, right next to the bath tub. You sit down on the rim, take in the sight of the thick layer of bubbles, one of your hands playing around with them while the other hides your breasts. You take another deep breath and move your leg into the tub, followed by the other; the bath is a little too hot but at least it burns away the remaining of your anxiety.

“Fuck, I made it in. Alone. On the first day.” You mumble excitedly while you try to make a little wall in front you with the bubbles in the bath. “This is huge, Katsuki. I might be able to be a hero again.” You don’t even realize you started crying in the middle of your sentence until Katsuki mumbles “fuck” under his nose and makes his way to sit on the side of the bathtub with you. He leans in to put your foreheads together and takes a deep breath; the action makes you blush like a teenage schoolgirl, way too aware of the fact that you are laying in a massive bathtub, naked.

“I told you, you are a fucking tank. You’ll kick your weakness in the ass and come back twice as strong. I fucking knew it. Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”

There are butterflies everywhere now; in your chest, in your tummy, in your heart, right in the middle; Katsuki’s natural scent fits so perfectly with the scent of the bubble bath, sweet but spicy; you are rendered utterly speechless when Katsuki moves away just so he can look into your eyes, his gaze deep and so-so fond it makes your stomach squirm. You swear your heart explodes under the pressure and puts itself back together at the same time when Katsuki leans back in to leave an agonizingly slow and deep kiss on your lips while he pushes his shirt up and pulls it through his head in one swift move, not even giving you enough time to understand the situation before he barges back in for another one. He still fiddles with something but you are too content to let your mind wander about what the heck is happening; in the next few seconds, something heavy plops into the bath tub, right next to you. You open your eyes and your breath hitches; Katsuki is in his underwear, his legs already in the water, slowly moving towards your other side until he sits down right next to you, skin touching skin when he snakes his arms around your middle. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a few chaste kisses there, his body tense and anxious but he doesn’t give in to the tension; he takes a deep breath and tries to relax, but he’s clearly not as chill about this as he tries to make it look like.

“I heard that having a bath together helps people who struggle with the whole intimacy thing. I thought I might try it. Should have asked first though.” He mutters into your neck apologetically.

“You don’t need to ask.” You answer with a heavy blush. “Can I put my arm behind you? Is that okay?”

Katsuki squirms for a second but he takes another deep breath to relax himself.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready.” He says and you can’t help but giggle at that.

“Katsuki, you make it sound like I’m asking you to let me pinch your nipples! You are doing okay. You are okay. You can also say no. It’s fine.”

Katsuki’s face contorts into a frown and you start to get a bit anxious about his behavior; maybe this was a bit too much for him, maybe you should just ask him to leave and have a breather… he’s done so well already there is no reason to push himself.

“Can I.. clean you up instead? I want to wash your back. I think.” He mutters shyly. Bakugou Katsuki is being shy. Oh damn, what did you do to deserve this shit?! You nod silently, not wanting to ruin the intimate mood; Katsuki takes a brand new bottle of shower gel in his hand which has his own logo on the front and pours some into a shower puff. “I made this deal with this cool natural cosmetic shop from England. They wanted to do a collab with the top 10 heroes. This is the first prototype.” He mutters under his nose and slowly leans forward with the puff in his hands. “Deku made a bath bomb and the shower gel, they smell like pine and something sweet. It’s quite weird but whatever. Todoroki couldn’t decide what scent to go for so he has two shower gels, one peppermint and one spicy one. The spicy one is really nice.”

You are not sure if you are supposed to say anything or not; it seems like Katsuki is mostly muttering to himself, probably trying to calm down by filling the silence with random words so the situation doesn’t feel that intimate. Katsuki is struggling but the more he moves the puff around, the more content he gets. He stops abruptly when he gets to your breasts; he stops right where the skin starts to bounce and stays there, frozen. Instead of words, you decide to give him consent with an action; your hand comes up to cover his, slowly moving his hands around your chest while you leave tiny kisses on his shoulders to reassure him.

“I… well… My shower gel…” Katsuki stutters, his eyes big as saucers. If this wouldn’t be so hard for him you would definitely make a virgin joke. “Do you remember when you said you like the smell of my pillow?” Katsuki’s hand moves down to your belly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, trying your best not to get too excited from his touches. It’s not going well.

“I told them I want my shower gel to smell like my sweat. It sounds disgusting now that I said it out loud but I wanted to make it… for you… but whatever. It’s not important. Just… fuck off, don’t look at me like that!” Katsuki moves away with a grumpy pout on his face.

Needless to say, you are five seconds away from crying.

“When… when did you start working on this?” You ask, voice wavering. You won’t cry. You will fucking push through this without a single tear drop. You can do this.

“Six… months ago.” Katsuki’s face is the color of Midoriya’s sneakers and so are his ears. You make a tiny little squeaky noise. “Yes, months before we actually… became a thing, shut the fuck up now and gimme your legs.”

“Fucking marry me, Katsuki. Right now.”

Katsuki can make explosions under water. In case you wondered. They also die right away for obvious reasons and something bubbles up to the surface, so it ends up looking like he just farted underwater. It’s quite hilarious.

“We need to live together for at least a few months before we marry to make sure we can share a space without killing each each other.” Katsuki says like he’s reading it from the news paper. He grabs your leg under the water and yanks it up aggressively; you yelp and laugh at the same time when he rubs your skin with the same aggression; finally, Katsuki feels more like himself.

“Did you Google that before?” You giggle as he swaps your legs over. Katsuki only grunts, his cute little ears on fire.

“Fuck off. You look really nice from this point of view by the way.” Katsuki gives you the biggest shit eating grin when his words finally sink in; he clearly enjoys your misery as his grin grows bigger and bigger as he crawls over you, his hands on the rim of the bath tub.

This might be a really inappropriate thought when you can’t even move your arms properly but Bakugou Katsuki is the definition of sexiness as the water drips down on his abs, the droplets cold on your shoulders when they plop on your skin. Hell, you wouldn’t even think twice about pushing him back into the water and crawl all l over him if you wouldn’t be in this condition.

Hm, maybe this water needs to be cooled down a bit. It’s way too hot in here.

You do your best to move your arm and touch his sides at least; you crave the feeling of him, you crave it so much it actually hurts but maybe that’s just the fatigue; your hand finds the hem of his underwear at his back and you decide to try your luck; you slowly pull down the fabric, making sure you don’t touch anything too inappropriate and keep an eye contact the whole time. Katsuki’s eyes darken for a moment, his chest rigid and unmoving as though he forgot how to breathe; he bites his lips and takes another deep breath, his body slowly moving away from you to sit back to his original place. Okay, that was too much. Roger that. Let’s take a deep breath; you definitely need it.

If you thought Katsuki can’t surprise you any more, well… you were wrong; he removes his underwear under the water in one swift move, and throws it on the floor.

“You happy now?” He moves towards you to give you a chaste kiss on the lips, then another, and another.

“Are you?” You retort, genuinely confused by the sudden change in Katsuki’s behavior. Is he really okay with this? Are you okay with this?! Why does it feel so natural? Alright, it definitely does not feel natural as your heart is about to explode and run away to Narnia through Katsuki’s bathroom cupboard but…

“I think I like sharing a bath with you. I want to do this every fucking day.” Katsuki grins. He looks so happy and content in this position, cuddling into you from the side… you feel the urge to tangle your legs together but you try your best not to act on that urge; there is no way you can avoid touching his private parts in that position.

Not like you would mind…

Oh damn.

You need to take another deep breath then drink a lot of water when you get out. You seem to be a bit thirsty.

“Okay, let me wash myself and let’s get out before I combust.” Katsuki grumbles as he pours a bunch of shower gel on the puff again.

“Can I not help?” You pout at the blonde.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He WINKS and finishes as quick as it’s humanly possible while you gawk at him with mouth half open.

Yes. This man will certainly be the death of you.

… next chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Sorry for the long wait, I swear I’m trying 😭 My new work schedule is kicking me in the ass. Hopefully, I’ll get used to it eventually, I’m already making some progress!

- I hope you liked this chapter, I had this idea in my head for ages and I couldn’t wait to finally write it down! I love this version of Katsuki so much.

Likes, comments and reblogs are more than appreciated! Send me your thoughts about the chapter in the comments 💜💥

TL:

@sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugo x you #shenanigansbypurplepotato #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #soft bakugou #pro hero dynamight x reader #dynamight x reader #dynamight

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thewritetofreespeech · 9 months

Note

hello! could you do some scenarios for quicy boys? like jugram haschwalth, uyrru, ryuuken ishida, and bazz b with a reader with long hair? maybe finding out they have long hair because they always have it up?

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you felt the start of a class 1 headache budding behind your eyes. A symptom of being around the Bambie's for too long.

You loved all your Quincy ‘sisters’ equally. There were so few of you these days that they must be cherished and protected, even if you weren’t part of the group. But like most sisters they could get on your nerves and be almost impossible to deal with. Sometimes you needed a break.

Quickly making your way out of ear shot of the squabbling through the many secret corridors of the palace, you heave out a heavy sigh at the sound of peace & quiet and let your hair down. Relaxing for the first time in what felt like months now.

“What are you doing?”

You jump at being startled by another voice coming from another secret corridor, this part of the castle really just a maze, and feel your face heat up. “I was…just trying to be alone.”

Standing up straight and trying to right yourself in front of the Quincy Grand Master, you feel very uneasy being out of uniform like this. It was undignified, and unworthy of your station. “This portion of the castle is usually abandoned.”

“I know. That’s why I come here.” Jugram replied. Much to your surprise. “They’re quite loud aren’t they?”

“The Bambie's?”

“All of them.”

He then walked closer to you. Your breath catching in your throat as you thought he was going to scold you for being out of uniform. Instead, Jugram reached out and grabbed a lock of your hair. “I didn’t know your hair was this long.”

Your face felt incredibly hot as you looked up at him. Having to turn away from those green eyes before you faint. “I…I keep it up usually. It’s more presentable that way.”

Jugram smiled softly at you, and you thought your knees might buckle right then. “That’s what I admire about you. You always think of your actions in how they will affect the Sternritter and His Majesty.” You were surprised. You thought that Jugram never thought of you at all.

The blonde released your hair and took a step back. “Try not to wander off too far.” He then told you. “Can’t have you getting lost. Try to be back before last call.”

“I..I will!” He gave you a single nod and then went on his way. Leaving you a bit confused, as you stroked your hair.

“Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” You turn around at the loud sound of Bazz-B barking. Able to hear him more than see him with the helmet on your head. “I’m the only hot head around here! You can’t just be running off like that!”

“But isn’t that supposed to be what an infantry member does?” You tell him as you pulled off your helmet. “Go in first and clear the way so the rest of you can come in and finish them off?”

Bazz-B seemed startled for a moment, but it certainly couldn’t have been by your logic. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing at you.

“What? What’s what?”

“That!” He repeated. Just pointing with more emphasis at your head like it he made it more obvious you’d get it. “What’s going on with your head?”

“My head?” You asked. Touching it and feeling for a wound. You don’t feel any and suddenly realize he was talking about your hair. He’d never seen it down before. “I couldn’t fit my helmet on with it up the usual way, so I had to just bunch it up under there. Why? Does it look bad?” You probably had the worst helmet hair.

The senior Quincy didn’t say anything. He just turned his head away. His face as pink as his mohawk. “No! I mean…it looks fine. I just didn’t know your hair was that long. It’s…nice.”

“Do you like people with long hair Bazz-B?”

“No!” He snapped at you, but seemed to immediately want to take it back as he turned away again. “It’s whatever. Hair is dumb anyway. It just gets in the way.”

“Do you think I should cut it then? So it fits under my helmet better?”

“No!!” That was the loudest one yet, and you smirk. “I mean…do whatever you want! What do I care what your hair looks like?!”

Bazz-B literally waved you off as he marched off. Seeming done with the conversation. You don’t cut it, but any time he annoyed you from then on you would comment on Liltotto, or some other short hair cut you saw, and how cute it would look on you.

“Hmmm….I’m never going to get this….” Something about math was just beyond your grasp. Words you were fine with. Pictures, descriptions. But math? You must have missed the line when you were supposed to queue up and get that skill that day.

“Don’t be so discouraged.” Uryuu told you, trying to be encouraging. “You’re getting better.”

“You’re just saying that because we’ve been at it for over an hour.” Time did not seem to be playing a factor in your skills at all.

It was that time of year when all the students buckled down and started cramming for their university finals. This would be the test that decided their future, and they had to be perfect. Funny how you’ve faced literal monsters and nearly the end of the world, but a stupid test was what kept you up at night worrying.

“Let’s just call it quits and help me pick an easier university. Or a job in retail.” You tell him as you pull your braid bun down.

“Don’t say that! You really are getting it. You just need too…..” Uryuu’s pep talk stopped as you started to take your braid apart. “What are you doing?”

“It’s too tight. I need to give it a minute to breathe.”

“I just…I’ve never seen you like that. With your hair down before.”

You thought about it for a moment and you supposed he was right. Since it was so long, you usually kept it up & braided for ease. You never really thought about wearing it another way. “I’d wear it down, but it just seems like a hassle.”

“You should….maybe try it some time….”

You turn to look at Uryuu, who was pushing up his glasses as he continued to write notes, “do you like long hair Uryuu?” He didn’t answer you, but his face turned pink as he started at his notes. His pen pressing into the paper harder.

You might not be good at math, but you could see what this was adding up to. “Maybe I’ll leave it down more.”

Surgery had been very loud. 6 hours working on your patient, but you were confident he was going to pull through. You were dead tired. You needed a shower to get the smell of blood and disinfectant off you, followed by a very long nap.

“Good work in there.” You look up to see Ryuuken following behind you. Pulling off his mask and surgical cap.

“Thanks. You too.” You told him, pulling off your own cap. “I was worried when they put the Director in for my surgery. All that time behind the desk, I thought you’d lost your touch.” You click on the water the wash up some and, when you don’t hear anything from behind you, you look back at Ryuuken. “What? I hurt your feelings?”

“Your hair is long.”

You blink a few times at the older man, then reach up to touch your hair. It was down. Like completely down. Your hair tie must have snapped when you were taking your cap off, but you were too tired to notice. “Damnit,” you curse quietly. Now what were you going to do? “I keep it up because it’s a little hard to practice medicine with it flying around. Why? You got a problem with it?”

“No,” he told you matter-of-factly. Also making his way over to the wash sink. “Actually, it suits you.”

You were a little taken a back by his compliment. Two in the last half hour no less. As far as you knew, that was more complimenting than Director Ishida did in a year. “Well, thanks.”

“Are you on call?” He then asked. To which you sort of shrug in response.

“I guess. I can’t leave until my patient wakes up.”

“Come by my office then.” Another surprise. “I want to go over the surgery notes when you’re done.”

You weren’t sure why, but it felt like surgery notes were the last thing he wanted to go over. Maybe you were just tired. In any case: shower, nap, check on patient, go see Ryuuken. Somewhere in there you had to find a new hair tie, but that could wait til later.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#jugram haschwalth #bleach jugram #jugram haschwalth x reader #jugram x reader #bazz b #bazz b x reader #uryu ishida #ishida uryuu #uryuu ishida #uryu x reader #uryu ishida x reader #ryuken ishida #ryuken ishida x reader #ryuken x reader #bleach scenarios #bleach imagines #bleach #bleach tybw

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glassrowboat · 3 months

Text

Lounge Music. Gallagher.

Summary: A bar singer, that's all she was supposed to be, but instead, the girl became a right pain in his ass with every passing day as Gallagher only grows fonder and fonder of her.

Word count: 1600+

Written pre-release.

The plan, originally anyhow, was to improve the atmosphere. The bar has its regulars, the patrons that always come crawling back, but being able to draw more people on with something new has its benefits. That's what Gallagher was thinking anyway as he posted a ‘we're hiring’ sign right out front for a singer willing to work in a bar.

At first he was expecting wide eyed young ladies coming through hoping to get any shot at being on stage, to have their voice heard, and admittedly that is what he got in a way. Only two applicants showed up. A bubbly little thing who was excitedly talking about using this to make her big break and the other girl who’s first impression was to sit down and tell him he will hire her.

Well, it certainly left an impression. Enough of one to tell Gallagher that she would be a pain in his behind if he did hire her, and oh boy was he right.

○He does not appreciate your constant teasing about him looking like the type of guy to call a girl dame, especially as you pretend to hold a cigarette up to your lips to take a long drag to really sell the bit. Worst part is when he went home that night, hand ruffling through his hair in pure exhaustion as he closed the front door right behind him only to be met by his tired and worn expression and Gallagher couldn't even deny you had a point. Dammit.

○Though on that note the bar used to be a smoke where you want place as he didn't see the point in knocking that behavior out of his customers when Gallagher is guilty of such behavior himself, but that changed after you were hired. A smoking section specifically being set up in the part of the bar furthest from the stage, the sign something he taps out now when he sees a customer pull out a lighter. Did he do this because you wouldn't stop pretending to cough every time he lit a cigarette for himself? Maybe. At least it gets you to stop being so dramatic every five seconds.

○You've introduced him to more music and artists than not. Gallagher had gotten so used to the radio playing the same few songs again and again on repeat that he'd be sick of them, so when you came in with something new ( that you're playing on his phone for some reason rather than your own) it was more like a godsend than anything. Finally, some variety.

○Gallagher will always make sure you have a glass of water right beside you in case you ever need it. He's not sure how much of a strain singing all night would even put on you, but it's definitely something, right? Especially when you have to do exercises before even going out there.

○He won't make a remark about how your voice sounds a little hoarse after each night, not even once, but if your voice cracks one time while you're singing it's going to be held over your head for weeks. Payback is a bitch and you have to deal with it. Not like it will stop your teasing though.

○Gal will not entertain your requests to sing with you, not even as you try to drag him on stage. Funny that you thought it'd even work, but good on you for having goals. Any time you ask it's always met with an “I hired you for a reason.”

○He does not keep up with trends at all so if you decide to sing a tik tok song it will fly right over this man's head. Use this information as you will.

○You're allowed to hide behind the bar if you ever feel the need to. He'll even keep an eye on you between the drinks he makes and customers coming up with orders to make sure no one is bothering you. At first he only did this as he tried to figure out how people would respond to this change, trying to see if they liked the live music or not, but somehow it just became second nature over time. Well, maybe not ‘somehow.’ More like when he noticed you cussing someone who was clearly a few drinks too many in pestering you.

○He has never heard a woman call another person a bitch in heat that needs to go fuck a lamppost so the can leave her alone until that day and he still finds himself laughing about it on a rare occasion.

○But yeah, anytime you want you're free to come hide behind the bar with him. It's more common than not on days when there's less people coming in, just a few faces that stick to their seats with a drink in hand as you pester him over something. Again. On one such day Gallagher took one of the drink shakers and tried to teach you a trick or two, the simplest ones he knows just to waste time. It shouldn't be that hard, right? Well that was apparently wrong as the shaker slipped out of your grasp and landed right on your head.

○It was a good thing he thought ahead and chose not to fill it with anything.

○”You're a real clutz, aren't you?”

○And yes, Gallagher has spotted you tripping over the wire attached to the microphone more than once.

○Would walk you back to your car every night after cleaning up. It has led to you running around wiping off tables because you want to catch up on some drama you've been watching. He can't honestly keep up with the details of this show either. What do you mean this girl just ate poison and walked it off like it was nothing? Where's the context, (Y/n)?

○He never gets that context in the end.

○You get free drinks. He's more than happy to pull out a glass or mix something he's been testing out together for you even if Gallagher claims this will come out of your paycheck. It never does.

○Now when Gallagher hears a new song a part of him can't help but wonder what it would sound like in your voice. It's worse on the days you're off, having to go back to the radio just to fill the air a bit more than just the chatter of customers and the sound of glass on wood as people set their drinks down a bit too harshly as the alcohol starts to flood into their systems.

○Somehow, in some way, the days you're not there have just grown to feel wrong.

Which is why it's all the better as you're back the next day, your same habit of swaying along with the beat the same as ever. Maybe he'd call you out for it later if you decided to say something weird again, but for now Gallagher simply leaned against the counter, hand raising up in a wave as someone walks through the door. Bell attached to the top of the doorframe swaying back and forth as it rings. Somehow it doesn't come across as melodic as it once did but it still draws his attention well enough. It serves its purpose, so no point getting rid of it.

“Welcome in,” he calls out, voice already getting a bit gruff from having to talk so late into the night.

In turn a familiar face greets Gallagher, an old regular that stopped dropping by sitting down in a stool before him as Gal wipes the surface off to make sure it wasn't sticky from any spilled drinks. “Been a while, hasn't it?”

“That it has. Come back here cause of another fight with the wife, James?” Something else you make fun of him for, acting as the good old fashioned bartender people come to to spill their woes. But hey, it pays the bills on his end and it's cheaper than therapy to buy a beer or two to come whining to him about what's going on.

“You can say that again.”

“The usual?” Even as he asks that Gallagher is already grabbing a beer, James preferred brand as the familiar label flashes across His eye while popping off the bottle cap.

“Why ask if you already know?” Even with his need to roll his eyes, James picked the bottle up, bringing it up to his lips for a quick chug. “It's clearly been a while since I've been here. The woman up on the stage is new.”

“(Y/n).”

“Okay, (Y/n) is new.” James leaned back into his chair to look at the woman, watching as you toyed with the cable attached to the mic between your fingers, letting it go round and round in circles between each word sung. “It's an improvement I'd say. Makes this old place a bit more lively.”

“She's certainly become a bit of a fan favorite.”

“One you can't take your eyes off of.”

Gallagher could barely help the sigh falling from his lips at that, not exactly enjoying being called out so blatantly. Maybe a smoke would be nice, get his mind off this stuff just like he's been doing these past few weeks whenever that mischievous smile sneaks its way into his mind. “Just drink.”

He can decide what this all means later, but for now Gallagher can sit back and listen to your voice flooding over the bar and just like always, as this place shuts down for the night, he'll walk you back to your car and pretend he doesn't want to do more than tell you to get home safe.

“Can I still tell you about what bull my wife said this time?”

“Yeah, yeah, man. Just go ahead.”

#gallagher x reader #gallagher #gallagher hsr #honkai star rail #hoyoverse #x reader #fem reader #headcanons #banner by cafekitsune

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cloudwhisper23 · 4 months

Text

“Cassidy,” Charlie said with the same tired strain she always had. “He’s already dead. You’ve already gotten your revenge.”

“No. It’ll never be enough.”

“It has to be.”

“Why?” Cassidy glowered at the other girl.

“Mike refuses to go until you do,” Charlie confessed finally. “And if I can’t get you two to move on, we’ll all fade.”

“Then just go. Drag him along.”

“If I could, I would.” Charlie shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Go without him then.” Cassidy felt delight curl in her stomach as Chica made her way into the office.

“I can’t.” Charlie’s voice broke. “Cassidy, please.”

“Why does Mike matter so much to you anyway?” Why do I matter to him? Cassidy shook the thought away as she reset the night.

“He’s a friend. He tried to help me fix things.”

“Fat load of good that did us.”

“Cassidy…”

And it went on like this. After a while, Charlie’s bracelet no longer seemed as bright. Cassidy’s striped shirt seemed more grey than black or white. Her animatronics and pizzeria had more transparency as well.

But Cassidy never noticed. Even when Charlie started to appear with a strangled sob in her throat and more pleading. She was too focused on the man in the security office and his glowing purple eyes.

Not a hair out of place, she thought to herself with renewed anger.

“Cassidy,” Charlie said wearily. “We need to leave.”

“I won’t do that.”

“I’m not asking this time. If we don’t go now, we won’t get the chance.”

“Then go. I’m staying.”

“We won’t leave without you.” A new voice said, firmly. It stirred Cassidy’s memory. A nightguard, surely.

“You must be Mike then. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m staying.” Cassidy crossed her arms stubbornly.

“We can stay long enough for one more death, but you need to go with us, Cassidy.” Charlie’s voice seemed smaller.

Cassidy looked over, assessing the nuisance who’d decided she wasn’t getting left behind. Scar-tissue wrapped all over his body. Definitely familiar. But the set of his mouth was firm. She’d never defeated this nightguard.

Curiosity stirred in her gut, her death-game forgotten for a moment. She remembered him. The name may not have been familiar, but the appearance certainly had.

The amount of times she’d come after Mike Schmidt, hoping to finally break him, or, when that failed to work, kill him was more than she could count. It had been impossible to get into his security office.

He’d be her worst enemy if he’d killed her. Distantly, she heard crunching bone, certain that Mangle had won out.

Unnecessary gasps broke out from both Charlie and Mike. The man even had the gall to look horrified. Seriously? Cassidy scowled. Everything she’d tried, and his weakness was the Mangle?

Hiiiiiiiii..... I know I haven't been writing much lately, but look! New AU concepts! And this is actually inspired by @pillowspace (meaning I'll be continuously mentioning them because of this post)

#cloud writes #yeah new au time #yippee #cassidy fnaf #charlie fnaf #mike schmidt #michael afton #five nights at freddys #we'll see if I end up posting this one eh?

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romione-trope-fest · 3 months

Text

One Bed

Fic Title: One Bed

Author Name: smjl/voldemorts-tap-shoes

Selected Trope: only one bed

Brief Summary: The horrors that the three of them—two of them more so than the other, though that’s neither here nor there at the moment—have faced so far on the horcrux hunt have been beyond Hermione’s wildest nightmares. The sight currently facing her is the worst yet.

One. Single. Bed.

Word Count: 2725

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

The horrors that the three of them—two of them more so than the other, though that’s neither here nor there at the moment—have faced so far on the horcrux hunt have been beyond Hermione’s wildest nightmares. The sight currently facing her is the worst yet.

One. Single. Bed.

She’s only been in the loo for a few minutes. Just long enough to brush her teeth and change into pajamas. When she went in, there were three beds: a set of stacked bunks and a single, the same as they’ve had for months. Ron was outside, already on watch, and Harry was preparing to go out and relieve him. Already she was dreading the awkwardness of being alone in the tent with Ron. Not that he’s done hardly anything but look at her since he’s been back—damn him and that look, the look that says ‘I just poured my heart out to you in front of Harry and you haven’t even heard the half of it yet’—but one could cut the tension between them with a slicing charm.

And now this? Where are they supposed to sleep? Because that’s the only thing to do, really, since she’s certainly not ready to talk to him yet, and though she might be ready to do other things with him—in theory, anyway—her heart has put a firm Impedimenta on those thoughts too.

She finally notices Harry leaning against the kitchen island sipping on a mug of tea, his eyebrows raised in amusement over the rim of the cup. “What the hell is this?” Hermione demands, gesturing wildly at the space where their perfectly acceptable sleeping area used to be.

Harry continues to drink his tea with an infuriating degree of slowness, and Hermione thinks that she might just serve him up to Voldemort if he doesn’t explain himself soon. “This,” Harry says, setting the mug down with a dull thud, “is me getting the two of you to talk to each other.”

“You have no right to—”

“To what?” Harry interjects. “Make sure my best friends don’t kill each other? You haven’t left me much choice.”

Hermione stalks across the room, her hair crackling with fury. Harry circles the island, dodging her attempts to get her hands on him and wring his neck. “Harry James Potter, this is not funny!” she exclaims, finally surrendering to the fact that he’s faster than her. “You put it back right now!”

The tent flap rustles behind her, followed by Ron’s confused voice. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Hermione snaps without looking at him.

“Er…what happened to the bunks?”

“Nothing,” she says again, gritting her teeth as she fumbles for her wand.

Hexing Harry with it is tempting, but the more pressing matter is fixing the bed situation. Hermione brushes past Ron and points her wand at the offending furniture. “Finite.” Nothing happens. She takes a breath and tries again. “Finite incantatem.” Still nothing. She tries Geminio, Engorgio, everything she can think of, but the single tiny bunk remains resolutely unchanged, mocking her with its narrowness. She lets out a groan and turns back to Harry, ignoring Ron’s continued presence. “What did you do to this thing?”

Harry offers only a smirk in answer, clapping Ron on the shoulder as he passes him. “See you two in the morning.”

Hermione clenches her wand so tightly she’s surprised it doesn’t snap in her hand. Ron, against what must be his better judgment, gently pries her fingers from around the wood and sets it on the counter beside her. Under normal circumstances—even what was normal before he left and turned her entire world inside out—she would have given him an earful for taking her wand from her, no matter how good his intentions might have been. At the moment, though, she’s too distracted by the fiendfyre his touch has sent racing up her arm, threatening to consume her.

“It’s not a big deal,” Ron says, already moving away from her, blissfully unaware of the effect he has on her as she remains frozen. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He has his boots kicked off and his jumper tugged over his head to fling across the arm of the sofa before Hermione manages to recover. “I suppose you think you’re very clever, getting Harry to do your dirty work for you,” she snarls at him. Anything to distract herself from the glimpse of his pale skin that she got a moment ago when his t-shirt stuck to his sweater as he pulled it off, revealing a smattering of freckles and a trail of ginger hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his joggers. She needs to think of anything but that.

Ron merely quirks an eyebrow at her before flopping onto the lumpy cushions of the sofa, his legs dangling off the end almost from the knee down. Before, he would have gone toe-to-toe with her, told her she was barking mad, and they’d have had a row that set her heart racing in more ways than one. Now, he doesn’t rise to the bait; it feels wrong. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, Hermione.”

His pale lashes brush his cheeks as he closes his eyes, signaling the conversation closed even as he shifts and squirms on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. Hermione allows herself a final huff of annoyance as she crosses to the single bed and extinguishes the lights in the tent.

Whatever spell Harry put on the bed, he neglected to do anything similar to the bedding, leaving Hermione no choice but to sleep under Ron’s blanket, her head on Ron’s pillow. Despite her anger, she can’t help but drink in his scent, that familiar woodsy, spicy aroma with just a hint of something sweet, as if he’s always got a Chocolate Frog in his pocket.

The bed is more comfortable than it was before, too—some sort of cushioning charm, maybe, that Hermione wishes she’d thought of herself when they first landed in the woods—and she feels a pang of guilt at the sound of Ron still fidgeting on the sofa.

You didn’t do this. It’s not your job to fix it.

She’s thinking about the bed, of course, but the same could be said of her relationship with Ron. They had formally declared exactly nothing about their feelings for each other before he left, but it was there. She knew it was. It was infused in every innocent brush of their fingers as they studied maps and books together, in the way he said her name, in the way he looked at her. Different than the look he gives her now, but equally weighted with emotion and things unsaid.

But then he left. Gone, in an instant, without a second thought or backwards glance at her. In her more clear headed moments throughout those interminable weeks, she thought it mustn’t have been about her. He’d rowed with Harry that night; he was tired, hungry, worried about his family. Not that that was an excuse—they all were feeling all of those things—but she tried to tell herself that his feelings for her were a separate issue.

Are they? She doesn’t know. He nearly said as much the night he came back—damn if his story about the deluminator wasn’t the most romantic thing she’d ever heard—but she’s been too hurt to hear more. And besides, they’re still on the mission that spawned their hesitation in the first place. If there were no Voldemort, she thinks they’d have been properly sorted last summer, enjoying their seventh year at Hogwarts, maybe as Head Boy and Girl. Their own living quarters with plenty of privacy for—no, don’t go there.

Instead they’re here: Hermione wide awake staring at the canvas ceiling of the tent; Ron tossing and turning on the sofa across the room. She wonders if the lumpy cushions are the only reason he can’t sleep, or if perhaps his brain is torturing him with this same line of thought—or worse. He’s hinted at something more with the locket, some particular brand of malice that the cursed necklace saved just for him.

But she hasn’t been ready to hear more about that either. It’s a waiting game, like always. Waiting for her heart to give her permission to let him back in, or for Ron’s newfound patience with her to give out and for him to force his way back in. She thinks she’d be okay with either, honestly; on a fundamental level, she appreciates the space he’s given her since he’s been back, but it also feels like a hollow shell of their relationship. It doesn’t feel like them.

“Ron?” she calls tentatively. She doesn’t want to rouse him if he’s actually fallen asleep, though she’s fairly certain from the sound of his breathing that he hasn’t, and his answer comes without missing a beat.

“Yeah?” She hears the hope in his tone, and it twists her stomach into knots. Only once or twice has she addressed him directly since his return, and she knows they’re both wondering if maybe the ice is beginning to thaw.

“Whatever Harry did to the bed…it’s more comfortable now.”

A soft snort comes from Ron’s direction. “That’s nice for you.”

“Do you want to share?”

There’s a moment of loaded silence before Ron asks, “Share what?”

She could only possibly mean one thing given the context, but she doesn’t blame him for asking because it’s such a wildly ludicrous suggestion that she also can’t possibly mean that. “The bed.”

The tent is so quiet that she’s sure Ron can hear her heart pounding, hear the way her breath hitches when his blankets rustle and his feet touch the floor. His steps are slow and methodical as he approaches the bed, full of hesitation. He stops at the edge of the mattress, and suddenly his wand is in her face, though there’s humor in his voice when he asks, “Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione Granger?”

Hermione swats at his wand and rolls her eyes. “Very funny,” she retorts, injecting her voice with as much sarcasm as she can muster. Her heart is leaping in her chest, screaming at her—This! This is what we’ve been missing!—but she’s determined to let sensibility win. She hasn’t forgiven him, and she frames the suggestion to share the bed as a matter of logistics. “You’re no good to anyone if you don’t get some sleep, and this bed is still plenty big for the two of us.”

Plenty big is a gross exaggeration, but it’s big enough. Hermione slides all the way to the inside edge of the mattress and turns on her side, away from Ron. It takes several long minutes for Ron to follow, sliding under the covers beside her inch by inch, as if he thinks at any moment she’s going to roll back over and hex him. That’s probably a fair assumption, considering their history, but it’s not something he has to worry about tonight.

Once settled, Ron lays stiff as a board at the other edge of the mattress. She’s slept on the bunk beneath him for long enough now to know that he is a deep but restless sleeper, always unconsciously moving or rolling over or kicking the blankets off or pulling them back up through a ceaseless chorus of snores. Tonight, there is none of that. He is still not sleeping.

Neither is she, of course. The palpable tension building in the small space between them is almost unbearable. This was a stupid idea she had. So naturally, she blames Ron.

“Will you relax?” she hisses over her shoulder at him, as if his sleeping in the bed beside her is a perfectly normal occurrence that shouldn’t have either of them so wound up.

“If you want me to be comfortable, then you need to relax,” Ron fires back. “This was your idea.”

“Well, if you’re not comfortable, then you might as well just go back and sleep on the couch.” Hermione flops over onto her back and gives Ron a hard shove in the arm to move him in that direction. He’s so close to the edge of the bed that he almost tumbles off it, but he catches himself and rebounds back toward her, his eyes flashing with irritation.

“Hermione, what the fu—”

The swear dies on his lips as he realizes the position they’re now in, one of his hands on either side of her face as his body hovers above hers. Her palm lands feebly against his chest, a ghost of the initial impulse to push him away, and she feels his heart thundering against his ribs. Neither of them moves, too terrified that the next decision they make is going to be the wrong one, and a different but familiar tension settles over them.

Ron seems to be even more frozen than she is; the only movement is his eyes flickering across her face, searching for an answer, and Hermione knows that she has to be the one to decide where this goes next. She could still push him away, and he would go without a fight.

She doesn’t want to push him away.

Her fingers curl into a fist, pulling the fabric of his t-shirt into her grasp. “I’m still mad at you,” she says breathlessly. She would hate how desperate her voice sounds if she had any brain cells left functioning to care about such things. As it is, they’ve all abandoned their posts to focus on the way Ron’s eyes seem to darken with every passing moment and the attempt to catalog the exact shade of pink of his tongue as it darts out to wet his lips.

Ron gives a tiny nod in answer. “I know.”

“And this is not why I asked you to share the bed.”

His laughter vibrates against her hand. “I know that, too.”

“But I missed you,” she admits in a whisper. Ron’s expression softens, and the way he breathes out her name, his husky voice caressing every syllable, pushes her over the edge.

Hermione tugs firmly at his shirt to pull him down to her, and any lingering hesitation between them vanishes as their lips crash together. It’s impossible to doubt Ron’s feelings for her when his mouth is on hers, hungry and insistent after so much time spent holding back. She notes with some amusement as his tongue seeks hers that he tastes a bit like chocolate too, which should be impossible since there hasn’t been any in the tent for weeks but doesn’t totally surprise her.

She meets every move he makes and matches it with equal fervor, letting her hand drift up past the stubble on his cheek to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer. Ron groans softly as he drops his weight to his elbows, engulfing her. Now that they’ve started, Hermione never wants to stop kissing him, but her lungs are beginning to protest, and she forces her lips away from his with a deep gasp for air.

The rapid rise and fall of Ron’s chest tells her he has the same need, but he doesn’t pull away from her completely, alternating his breaths with soft kisses to her cheek and then her neck. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he murmurs, pressing the words into her skin. “I’m so, so sorry.”

His apology puts a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes. She knows he’s sorry for leaving—she does, she knows—but it doesn’t make the pain go away. Still, she takes a deep breath and tugs his face back to hers to look him in the eye when she replies, “I know you are.” It’s the best she can do right now. She’ll forgive him eventually—she’s probably further along that path than she wants to admit, already—but it’s going to take time.

Ron seems to understand, his nose brushing against hers as he nods and leans in for one more gentle kiss before rolling off to his side. “Reckon we should put the beds back?”

Even if Hermione knew how to, she’d rather not. At least, not for tonight. She shakes her head and snuggles up against Ron’s side. He settles the blanket over them both, letting his arm curl around her shoulders as she whispers, “In the morning.”

#submission

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