#stop complaining over something so inconsequential | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imahinatjon · 4 months

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Can you write something about a reader who only focuses on what they did wrong. Like for example, they had a mission that they succeeded flawlessly in, and they know that. But they only focus on the small mistakes and how to perfect them. And after some time, Fyodor, who has started to fall in love with them, grows irritated at their unhealthy habit and decides to teach them a lesson, by overstimulating them. No worries if you don't want to write something like this

It has been WAYYY too long. I am so sorry for not getting to this sooner. But hey! Its done now. Been a busy month and my hands are killing me lol.

Anyway, here it is. Overstimulation with fyodor. Maybe out of character.

How much more?

Fyodor x Reader 18+ 💋

This was... oh THIS was irritating. Fyodor didn't send you out often, in his opinion you were too good for the lowly, mediocre jobs, so he'd wait for a better and more Important mission to send you on- he trusted you'd get the job done.

Not that he'd ever told you that.

So of course, you assume your kept behind so often because your not good enough to go on missions - without even realising that the ones you DO get assigned are the more important ones.

But how were you to know that they were important to him? You'd never seen a 'normal' job.

No normal person would ever be caught complaining to Fyodor in such a way. The only person who spoke to him so familiarly was you.

And it was ovbious he had some sort of feeling towards you, to everyone but yourself. Your colleagues weren't sure if they should worry for you or be glad you'd be somewhat protected.

Aha! But, none of that is the point, not really. The focus of this is what your doing right now - complaining again to Fyodor. Telling him all about your last mission. An astounding success it was! But... well, that one guard? He managed to spot you and alert a few other guys of your infiltration, all because you were a little too loud. I mean, you did take them down, but you have a rather nasty scratch on your arm. Only a scratch, but it hurt, and hindered the rest of your mission. Maybe if not for that first mistake. It would have gone a little more smoothly.

Fyodor really didn't care. You did the job, and you made sure it was a success, all the little details were inconsequential.

But he listened to you. Patting your head as your frowned deeply when you sat beside him.

He wanted to fix the problem. Somehow. Your constant complaining DID get annoying at times. Besides, you were seriously underselling yourself on a regular basis.

Then he had an idea.

In hindsight, a stupid idea which didn't make much sense, and wouldn't do anything to fix things in the long run, but it'd be a temporary fix.

...

That and he just really wanted to eat you out.

This little thought of his, an impulse he'd never have acted on if he wasn't already a little ticked is what landed you on your back, sprawled over a sofa, fyodor gently massaging your genitalia, ghosting gently over all your most sensitive parts with his cold hands.

Occasionally he'd hit that one spot, making you flinch with a cold shiver up your spine and your hips twitch.

You sighed quietly, he was slow, and it was relaxing, blissful, and then you felt something warm fan over you.

Opening your eyes you spied his mouth closing in on you, ready to take in your essence.

"W-wait!" You yelped

Fyodor stopped and looked up, expectantly, he wanted an explanation

"Its not... I'm... what if it doesn't... it won't taste... Good?" You weren't sure hoe exactly it should he said. You were sure whatever he wanted to do would feel heavenly, and you desperately wanted him to continue, but doubts persisted.

He sighed.

"Any more complaining and I'm not letting you come"

'What?' You thought to yourself. He was harsh, and you were sure he would stick to his word should you complain again, but, his hand squeezed yor thight gently. A subtle message 'its okay'

And he was soon back between your legs, tongue working wonders, one hand over your stomach, arm keeping you still, the other toying where his mouth was absent.

He moved around a lot, switching his attention to various parts of your body, bringing you closer and closer to an edge you would soon reach.

You felt your muscles tighten, his hair run between your fingers, and you were sure you must have called his name at some point as your mouth was open and throat a little dry.

You needed some water.

But something was stopping you after your climax. A sensation that slightly ached, made you wince and look down. Fyodor was still going. He has to know you've already come right? Surely...?

Of course he knew.

But you hadn't much time to entertain his intentions as your next orgasm was ready to crash down upon you like a tidle wave, more intense than the previous.

He shifted, leaning up over you.

"Think you can come again..."

You wanted to shake your head no...

But... the I

Thoughts of what he could do to you... this was a change you didn't get everyday.

All you could do was weakly nod. Even if all your insides all felt tight, even if it ached slightly, even if you grew tired... you wanted to take everything he would give to you.

Just like another mission. How much could you take?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good?

#imagine #fanfic #bungou stray dogs #x reader #lemon #smut #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 1 year

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Baby, It's Cold Outside | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! I am aware that I am not the first person to think or write about this topic 😂 But I wrote this and I hope you like it ❄️

Warnings: anxiety / PTSD, Hydra memories

“Baby, I never thought I’d say this… but can you please go put on some more clothes?” Bucky sat on the couch huddled under a mountain of blankets, eyeing the scant outfit you wore. He donned multiple pairs of sweats when your building’s heat went out, adding more layers each day. But you didn’t follow suit. “Just a few more layers? Please? You’ve gotta be freezing.”

With a shrug, you gave your ensemble a quick once over: one of Bucky’s henleys, a pair of sweatpants, and some knit socks. It wasn’t enough to beat the cold, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed the crisp air. And your lack of warmth seemed to bother Bucky more than it bothered you.

“I’m fine, Buck- I like the cold!” you assured him, handing him a mug of hot tea. “I didn’t grow up with real winters- it never got colder than fifty degrees back home. So, I like to experience the chill,” you said with a laugh. “It’s way better than sweating year-round.”

“But this isn’t a ‘chill’, doll. We’re in the dead of a New York winter and our heat is out.” Bucky opened his blanket fortress, sacrificing a few moments of warmth to allow you inside. “If you’re not gonna put on more layers, at least come in here with me.”

The cold raced up his spine, sending him into a sharp shiver. How you shrugged off the freezing temperatures and lack of heating astounded him. And his instinct to take care of and protect you refused to relent.

An over the top, incredulous gasp filled your lungs, “You’re just trying to steal my body heat!”

Bucky gave you a laugh and a sly smile, “Yeah? So, what if I am, huh? What are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?”

With a roll of your eyes, you crawled into his warm embrace- as though you could ever say no to such an offer. He situated you in his lap and pulled you into his body with a satisfied sigh, “Finally. Sam had the right idea when he moved to Louisiana… we should’ve gone with him”.

Bucky was always taking such good care of you. Whether he was stitching you up after a mission or holding you while you cried over Titanic for the millionth time, all he ever wanted to do was help. So, if he was cold and in search of your body heat, returning the favor was the least you could do. And you’d never complain about getting up close and personal with him.

He was always warm, always smelled like leather and sandalwood. And the way he held you had you convinced that nothing could ever hurt you. His embrace was tight yet gentle, always perfectly toeing the line between cuddling and suffocating. He just loved you so deeply- he couldn’t stop himself. Not when he had the chance to hold the love of his life. He wasn’t sure how many of those chances he’d get, and he wasn’t going to take them for granted.

But Bucky’s behavior had been strange over the last few days. Nearly everything he did threw red flags into the air, warning you of trouble beneath his surface. “Woah, woah, slow down-” You watched Bucky down his tea in greedy gulps, “it’s hot, Buck. I just pulled the kettle off the stove. You’re gonna burn yourself.”

Bucky finished his drink with a pained grimace, the tea scalding his mouth and throat. “Don’t care. Too cold.” He set his mug on the sofa table and snaked his arm back under the blankets, pulling you closer to his body. You’d never seen him so bothered by something as inconsequential as weather.

“Well, I care,” you said, freeing your hands from the blankets and placing them on his cheeks, “I’m gonna need that mouth later…”

Bucky’s loud guffaw resounded through your small apartment. It wasn’t the polite laugh he put on in public- no, you pulled deep, loud belly laughs from him with ease. He’d never been so comfortable with anyone; not until you.

“Well, I’m a super soldier, doll. I’ll be healed and ready to go by the time you’re in the mood.” He pressed a deep kiss to your lips before removing your hands from his face and gently placing them back under the blanket. “But for now, I gotta keep you warm.”

“And I gotta do the same for you,” you threw him a wink. Truthfully, you’d use any excuse to get close to Bucky. The broken heater was an inconvenience, yes, but you secretly welcomed it. Regardless of your love for the cold, nothing could ever beat cozying up to Bucky under a metric ton of blankets.

“You know, I think I’m surprised that the cold affects you so much.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve got the serum,” you said. “I guess I didn’t think you’d be so vulnerable to weather.”

“Oh, right. Well, it’s really more of a…” he shrugged, “a preference. I mean, if you and I went out in a blizzard- which we will not be doing-

“Lame-”

Bucky gave you an affection eye roll, “I know, I’m sorry, I just ruined your afternoon plans. Anyway, I wouldn’t get hypothermia or frost bite, but you would- well you wouldn’t, cause I wouldn’t let you. But you know what I mean.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Now that’s chivalry. Real men don’t let their partners get hypothermia-”

“Or frostbite,” Bucky added.

“Oh, my bad- real men don’t let their partners get hypothermia or frostbite.”

He gave you a satisfied nod. “So, it’s a preference. I just don’t like the cold.”

You once again freed your hands from the blankets, too excited by the frigid temperatures to keep yourself contained. The cold seeped in immediately. It found its way through Bucky’s layers and layers of clothing, and wiggled it’s way into his bones.

“But the cold is so fun! Crisp air, winter holidays, snow, ice skating, SOUP! It’s soup weather, Buck!”

“I think you can eat soup year-round, sweetheart” Bucky teased.

“Yeah, but it’s just not the same. I don’t wanna down a bowl of soup after a day at the beach, that’s just wrong.”

Bucky’s head fell back in a laugh. You were so passionate about the things you loved. Whether it was Bucky, your favorite tv show- or soup- you were all in. “Okay, I guess that’s fair,” he shrugged. “But not having heat when it’s only nineteen degrees out is a nightmare- no matter how much soup we eat.” He frowned at your exposed hands and tucked them back into the blanket before reaching for his phone. “I’m gonna call the landlord again, this is ridiculous. He’s so-”

“Buck, I just called like fifteen minutes ago. He said he won’t know anything till Monday.”

Bucky let out a groan, “that’s five days from now.” He ditched his phone and pulled his hand back under the blankets with a shiver. “I guess we’re just gonna sit here till it gets fixed.”

You threw an eyeroll his way, “right, like we’re not leaving the couch until Monday.”

Bucky shrugged.

“How about we go do something?” you said, your tone chipper. “We may not have heat here, but we could go somewhere that does! We could hit the museum or a movie theater- Oh! Or that Barcade on forty-second street! I’ve heard it’s really fun.”

Bucky flashed you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t warm his face or lift his features. It was forced. Cold. “Yeah… um, we could do that. I’ll do anything you want, sweetheart. You know that.”

His performance was less than convincing.

You pulled your hands from the blankets and rested them on Bucky’s cold cheeks. “Baby, we don’t have to. I just want you to be a little more comfortable- you’re clearly not happy here. I thought we could just escape to somewhere a little warmer for a while.”

Bucky nodded, “No, I know. I- that’s smart. And really thoughtful. But I just- I don’t…” he paused. Every time he told you about one of his phobias or issues or anxieties, it added to his shame. He had so many problems, so many fears and worries. He always felt like such a high-maintenance partner. There were so many things he couldn’t do, things he prevented you from partaking in because of his PTSD.

And while he never ever barred you from doing the things you wanted, he knew you held back for him. He saw the way you canceled or changed your plans based on him and his baggage. And he hated it.

You could see him digging a deep, dark tunnel in his mind. He often vanished in his own psyche, thinking and overthinking until he got lost. But you brought him back to reality with a squeeze of his hand. “Hey, what’s going on with you?” You only ever wanted to help. But in order to give Bucky what he needed, you needed the truth.

Bucky rolled his eyes at himself, “I hate the cold. And even though it’s freezing in here and going somewhere with heat is a great idea, I don’t wanna leave.” He let out a sigh, one of frustration- not sadness. “I don’t wanna go outside- not even for a minute.”

“Okay, Buck, that’s fine,” you shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. We don’t have to- just know the offer is on the table in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” He was certain. Firm.

“Okay…” You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “are you sure you’re alright? It’s like, ever since the heat went out you’ve been extra tense.”

You didn’t plan on bringing it up. Asking Bucky about his taught muscles or clenched jaw only ever made him self-conscious. He preferred to come to you himself instead of having his anxious tendencies put in the spotlight. And he’d gotten so good at asking for help. He was working on himself, learning that he didn’t have to handle things alone. He’d made more progress than he thought possible.

But ever since the heating in your building failed, he was on edge. Every day, he seemed more uneasy. More uncomfortable. And every day, you waited for him to tell you why. But his grace period was over; you needed to know what had him so upset.

Again, he let out a huff, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Convincing.”

Bucky let a small laugh rumble out of his chest. He shot you a smile and found your hands with his under the pile of blankets. “Yeah, I know… I’m not exactly hiding it.”

“And you don’t have to,” you told him. “Just talk to me, baby.”

He wanted to be honest. But doing so required going back almost eighty years to the worst day of his life. It was a lot of mental and emotional effort that he wasn’t sure he had the energy for. Maintaining a mostly-sane façade over the last few days took more out of him than he thought. But he wanted to do his best to appear normal, to avoid adding yet another thing to the list of his issues. He wondered what would be the last straw for you. He feared that, any day now, you’d grow fed up with his countless problems.

As though you could read his mind, you spoke up. “Whatever it is- whatever’s going on in that brain of yours- you know I’m not gonna judge you. I’m not gonna think you’re high maintenance. I’ll never think you’re too much. Ever.”

It wasn’t fair of him to ever assume that you’d see him differently. That you’d think less of him for his issues. And truthfully, he didn’t believe those thoughts when they tried to poison his mind. But blaming his secrecy on fear that maybe- just maybe- your perception of him might change was easier than admitting the truth; the truth that he was simply embarrassed. He was a grown man afraid of the cold- what could be more humiliating?

“Well, like I said, I hate the cold… but it’s not necessarily a preference, like I told you earlier,” he said. “It’s more of a- a fear. Or, not a fear. It’s a…” He took pause, “it’s almost like a Pavlovian response, I guess.”

You simply nodded along and gave his hands a squeeze, assuring him that you were in this together.

“I didn’t always dislike the cold, but… I don’t know how long I laid in the snow after the um-”he cleared his throat, “the train.”

A shudder rocketed up your spine. The train- you hated the train. Bucky didn’t talk about it often. You tried not to think about it. That story always hurt in a deep, hopeless recess of your soul. Thinking about Bucky scared, alone, and bleeding made you want to die. He had nightmares about it sometimes. He’d wake up sobbing, talking about the red snow. The sharp wind. It gutted you every time.

“I thought I was gonna freeze to death,” he said. “I was there for… days. I think. Or maybe it just felt like days. I don’t know. But it hurt- and not just cause of my arm. I was so cold that it actually hurt.”

You never thought about it that way. And suddenly, you felt terrible for ever praising the winter weather. His right hand shook in yours, but no amount of warmth seemed to stop the tremors.

“And from then on- for eighty years- I was cold. I mean, they kept me in Siberia…” His eyes took on a hollow quality. “Everything was concrete. And metal. Nothing gave even the illusion of warmth. And my body tried to get used to being that cold- but I never did. I remember shivering. Constantly. My system was trying to stabilize, to regulate itself.”

“Oh, Buck…” You were already as close as physically possible but did everything in your power to give him any and every extra bit of your body heat. You tugged the blankets tighter around him, rubbed your hands against his chest to generate friction. Anything to make him more comfortable.

“And then they put me under cryo for the first time. And if I thought I was cold before, I was wrong.” He shook his head just slightly, trying to dispel the memories. “It always felt like it took way too long for me to go under, you know? Like I was just hoping to fall unconscious so I didn’t have to feel that cold anymore. But I just waited and waited- while ice crystalized on everything around me. It grew on my skin- I swore it formed inside my lungs. Breathing became painful. Impossible. And then they’d thaw me out the next time they needed me.”

He shrugged, “but it was never warm. Or comfortable. And it didn’t matter where they sent me- they never had to worry about me dying from exposure or hypothermia, you know? So, I never got anything to protect me from the elements, like a coat. Or a blanket.” He laughed at the thought of Hydra doing something kind for him, at the image of Pierce or Rumlow giving him a blanket.

“If I came back from a mission covered in blood, they’d hose me down with freezing water. If they decided to keep me out of cryo for a few back-to-back missions, they kept me in a cold cell. I mean, bitter. Subzero.” He took a deep breath, “Anyway, my point is… the cold elicits this weird response inside me. It gives me this sense of- I guess you could call it impending doom. It sets me on edge. Gives me anxiety. Like I’m waiting for something awful to happen. I start to expect pain.”

“Buck, baby, I’m-” you weren’t sure what to say. “I’m so sorry. We don’t have to go anywhere or do anything- how can I help?”

He didn’t give you an answer. He simply shot an apologetic look your way, “I know that it’s yet another thing you enjoy that I’ve ruined with my backstory. It seems like I have a real talent for making things dark, so I-”

You rested your forehead against his, silencing him. “You haven’t ruined anything for me. Knowing these things about you is important- thank you for telling me.” Once again, you did your best to get closer to Bucky. But nothing you did made him any warmer.

“Well, I appreciate you listening- I know it’s a little ridiculous. I mean, I know nothing bad is gonna happen. I know that I’m safe. But I can’t shake the dread, you know?”

You nodded. “It’s not ridiculous. Your body is reacting based on what it’s experienced- it’s just trying to protect you.”

Bucky shrugged, “regardless, thank you for being so understanding- I know you’re probably getting a little stir crazy.” He dotted a kiss to your nose, “And thanks for letting me steal all your body heat.”

You laughed, “I’m trying to give you more, I just can’t- Oh, I have an idea.” Much to Bucky’s dismay, you snaked a hand out of the blankets. He watched your fingers fly across your screen and wondered who you could be texting with such a determined look on your face. Only a few seconds passed until your phone buzzed with a reply and turned your look of determination to one of triumph.

“Nat borrowed my heating pad last month and hasn’t given it back- so I told her to bring it over ASAP. It gets really hot- you’re gonna love it,” you said. “She’s also gonna bring us soup from the place on Twelfth Street.”

Bucky pressed his lips to yours in a kiss so intense you forgot how to breathe. “Thank you, doll, that’s perfect. Now, if she could just get our landlord to do something about the heat-”

Your head fell back in a laugh that echoed against the walls. “Oh, if you think for a second that I didn’t sic her on his ass, you’re crazy.”

Bucky stared at you in disbelief, “wait, did you really?”

“Of course! He raises our rent every five seconds and refuses to fix anything in this shithole. He deserves to have a Black Widow scare him in the right direction!”

Once again, Bucky stole your breath with a kiss. “You’re an evil genius,” he laughed, “my evil genius.”

You gave him your most menacing laugh, “anything for you, Buck. Just want you to be comfortable.”

Your words eclipsed his joking mood. He softened suddenly and grew dead serious. “Really though, this means a lot to me. I can never thank you enough. I’m so grateful- not just because you listen to all my problems and get Nat to threaten the landlord. You’re just so… you’re understanding. You don’t judge, you don’t criticize. You’re so warm. So good.”

“Buck, this is just what you do people you love. No thanks necessary, okay? You don’t-”

The ringing of your phone stopped you in your tracks. And after only ten seconds, you hung up with a devious smile.

“That was Nat,” you said, “the heat will be back on tomorrow.”

———————————

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guilty-pleasures21 · 5 months

Text

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!! You SUCK!

As promised! New chapter!

0. The slow burn

Part 1 - the meet cute

Part 2 - the coffee mug

Part 3 - the spicy song

Part 4 - the absence

Part 5 - the watch/the sweet song

Part 6 - the backrub

Warnings: None. Just fluff.

----------------------------------------------------------

He sighed and reached for his cup of coffee, his hand grasping at the air above the desk. Where … He looked down, finding an empty space where his mug usually sat. He raised an eyebrow, confused, then remembered that X wasn’t here today. Not that he needed her to babysit him or anything. He hit the switch to lower the platform, then stepped off and began making his way over to the pantry. And that was where one of the Peter’s found him, banging around in the cupboards.

“Hey, boss,” he began cautiously, leaning over the other side of the island. “What’cha lookin’ for?” Miguel stopped what he was doing, straightening up and placing his hands on his hips. He stared at the cupboard for a minute longer. Then, when he still couldn’t find what he was looking for, he sighed and shut the doors before turning around to face Peter.

“Do you know where my cup is?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in thought. “The green one?” Peter raised an eyebrow, thinking about it. Then he snapped his fingers, eyes going wide with recognition.

“Oh! The one with the little dinosaurs that change colours?” he asked. Miguel stifled a groan, rolling his eyes and pursing his lips in annoyance instead.

“Yes,” he mumbled, avoiding Peter’s gaze. He didn’t have to have the cup, it wasn’t an absolute necessity … but he found himself getting more and more irritated at the thought of drinking coffee out of anything else. Especially one of those generic white mugs he’d had the cupboard filled with for the other Spiders. Peter considered the question.

“Uh, I think X took it. She usually keeps it with her in case anyone tries to use it,” Peter informed him. Miguel’s brows came together in a frown.

“What … Why would she care if someone else used it?” Peter raised an eyebrow, as if it should have been obvious.

“Because she bought it for you?” he revealed. That was a surprise. He hadn’t known that she’d bought it for him: that she’d seen it and thought of him and then brought it to him just so he could have something that belonged to him, something that was all his own.

“Oh.” He stood there for a second, a number of different emotions flooding through him; emotions that he wasn’t ready to confront right now. He shook the thoughts away, returning his attention to the coffee machine. He grabbed a random mug lying on the rack, then shoved it under the nozzle before punching in his usual order. He removed the cup once it was done, adding his usual amount of sugar and milk before raising it to his lips and taking a sip. He almost spit it out immediately, the hot liquid scalding his sensitive tongue and taking him by surprise. “¡Ay, coño! Why is it so hot?!”

“Uh, it’s always hot?” Peter replied, confused. Miguel frowned, getting more and more frustrated by the conversation.

“But this … this is boiling!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the cup as if it had intentionally offended him somehow. Peter thought about it for a moment, then snapped his fingers suddenly, remembering something.

“Oh! Yeah! X always adds an ice cube at the end. To cool it down? She said something about not wanting to shock your super senses or something?” he supplied. Miguel gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he tried to maintain his temper. Could he seriously not even make his own cup of coffee without X around to do it for him?! He huffed and grabbed the cup, retreating back to the control room without another word.

The next problem presented itself when people would not stop showing up in front of him, all of them complaining about some inconsequential problem they really didn’t need his help for. It was starting to prevent him from getting any actual work done, not to mention surpassing the quota of social interactions he was able to handle in one day.

“Why does everyone seem to be having a problem today of all days?!” he ground out, fingers clenching into fists on his desk. Lyla popped up next to him, studying her nails detachedly.

“Actually, I’ve run the numbers and we’re experiencing the average number of problems today.” Miguel raised his head immediately, turning to Lyla with a scowl on his face. Not possible. There was no way this many people encountered this many problems on a daily basis. He’d definitely have noticed if it was true.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Lyla confirmed, turning her attention to him now, “you just never notice because X takes care of it for you. I think she likes you …” He clenched his fists at that, at yet another reminder of how much he’d let himself come to depend on her. Never mind the fact that his heart fluttered at the very suggestion of her having feelings for him.

“Lyla,” he growled, his tone threatening - a warning to not bring the subject up again.

“Oh, no,” Jess agreed, coming up behind him. “She’s definitely got it bad for you. Have you seen the way she looks at you?” He should have locked the door to the control room. He stayed frozen in position, refusing to turn around and entertain either of them, what with their ridiculous ideas about him and X.

“Oh my god,” Lyla flickered over to Jess’s side, grinning with delight. “So. Cute. Literal hearts in her eyes.” He frowned, hating how his curiosity continued to rise with every mention of her.

“Especially when you guys have your nerd talk going on,” Jess continued, refusing to let the subject go. “It’s like you guys are speaking this whole other language, but I swear that’s the only time I’ve ever seen you smile.” Lyla placed her hands on her cheeks, her eyes widening as she let out a concurring gasp.

“Oh my gosh! You noticed it too?!” She turned back to Miguel then, a smirk plastered over her holographic features as she waited for his response. He gripped his hips, trying so hard to be irritated, to stop his scowl from twisting up into a smile - the very smile that took over his features every time they had one of their ‘nerd talks’. He cleared his throat and turned around to look at Jess.

“Is there an actual reason that you’re here right now?” She rolled her eyes at his tone.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I thought I’d give you a debriefing on our mission earlier, but if you’re not interested …” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. How did everything always turn into his fault? If only X had been here, then she’d- He stopped his thoughts in their tracks, his frustration building up again as he tried to get rid of the rapidly rising desire to have her back by his side. He looked up at Jess and waved a hand for her to continue, his tension easing slightly when she shared how successful the mission had been - another anomaly wrangled and another canon event proceeding as intended.

“Great,” he replied, his tone dismissive as he turned back around to his computers. “Thanks, Jess. Go get some rest.” He hesitated before saying the last part, unsure as to whether he was in any position to give her such advice. But he’d become softer recently, no guesses as to who had provoked such a change in him.

“Will do, boss,” Jess assured him, a teasing tone in her voice - she’d noticed his gradual change in demeanour as well, it would seem. “Call me if you need anything!” And with that, she left.

The final straw came not long after, when Ben strolled into the room asking where the cashews - the p*nche cashew nuts - were. As if he’d know where the hell the f*cking cashew nuts were. Who even ate cashews anyway? Why not peanuts or almonds or something remotely normal?! Why couldn’t one variant in the entire maldito multiverse be normal?! Just one! Was that too much to ask?!

“Has he been like this the whole day?” Peter murmured to the holograph taking cover behind his shoulder. She flickered to his other shoulder as Miguel switched to Spanish, continuing his rant without pausing to take a breath.

“He hasn’t even had lunch yet,” she confessed. Something shattered and another slew of what Peter could only guess were curses fell from Miguel’s lips. He clapped his hands together, determined to resolve the situation.

“Okay,” he began, webbing up to the platform and placing a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t we get some food, huh, Miguel?” Thankfully, the big man let himself be led away, his muttered curses tapering off as they neared the cafeteria. He pressed a button on his watch to activate his eye protectors, shielding his sensitive vision from the artificial lights around them. He took a seat at an empty table as Peter went to get some food, his threatening aura warning away anyone who might have been tempted to approach him. Peter slid the tray of food in front of him, then took the seat beside him.

“So,” he began cautiously, wondering how to broach the subject, “do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Miguel grunted, a little calmer now that he’d gotten some food into him. Peter shifted in his seat to face him fully.

“Well, it seems like something’s bothering you,” he pointed out gently. “Do you … want to get it off your chest?” Miguel paused his eating and began fiddling with his fork instead, his lips pursed in thought as he considered the question. How could he get it off his chest when he didn’t even know what ‘it’ was?

“I’m just …” he hesitated, looking around for an excuse. His eyes landed on his food. “I’m probably just hungry.” He dug into his meal, filling his mouth so he wouldn’t be able to talk anymore. But it wasn’t that, he knew. Food wouldn’t be enough to fill the uncomfortable ache currently throbbing in his chest. He hunched over, signalling an end to the conversation and Peter sat back in his seat, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of him, but not wanting to leave his friend alone either - not in this state.

“Oh! Where’s X?” Peter asked suddenly. “I haven’t seen her around today.” It was a Saturday, so she should have arrived in the morning, then spent the day bouncing between the biology lab and wherever Miguel was in the building. It was pretty obvious to everyone that she liked him - and Peter was glad to find that Miguel seemed to enjoy her company too. He always seemed more … at ease whenever she was around. More relaxed and less … agitated.

He clenched his jaw at the mention of her name, his leg beginning to shake beneath the table as the knot in his chest tightened. “She’s busy. She’s not coming in today.”

His response was brusque, the words almost a growl as they came out of his mouth. He sounded defensive, unexpectedly so, and it only made Peter all the more desperate to push the topic. He leaned forward, trying to sneak a peek at his friend’s reaction. But Miguel turned his head away quickly, hiding his expression from view. “Well, when is she going to be back?”

“Wednesday.” He winced, hating how immediate his response had been - hating how it sounded like he’d just been counting down the days until she returned. Which he most definitely hadn’t been. It was only for a few days, after all, could he not survive just a handful of days without seeing her face? Her … cute little smile and her … pretty eyes … and the way she’d always listen to him, nodding in understanding even when he wasn’t making any sense at all. He held his head in his hands and groaned, frustrated with himself. Then he stiffened, suddenly remembering that Peter was still sitting right beside him. “Uh, I mean … That was a … completely unrelated … issue that I was … that’s bothering me.”

“Riiiiiight …” Peter nodded, completely unconvinced. But he let the subject drop anyway, the two of them settling into a comfortable silence as Miguel went back to his food.

“Hey, Miguel!” X began cheerfully, walking into the control room. “I got your coffee!” She set the mug down in front of him - his mug, the one she’d gotten just for him - and smiled up at him cheerfully. Like nothing had ever happened. Like it had had no effect on her, not seeing him for a whole five days. Like she didn’t even care enough to miss him. He huffed and turned away from her, the corners of his lips twisting down in irritation.

“I can get it myself,” he told her, his tone harsh. She froze, taken aback by his response. He’d never snapped at her like that before - he only ever pretended to get exasperated with her, that amused snort escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes and shook his head at something she’d said. She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, trying to calm her racing thoughts. There must have been something else bothering him; something else that had him lashing out at her without him even realising it. She set her glass down on the desk, then curled herself up in the chair - her chair, the one he’d brought out just for her - and studied him carefully.

“I know,” she replied softly, still waiting for him to turn around and look at her. “But …” ‘I like getting it for you. I like making it for you. I like looking after you, like … like we mean something to each other.’ But that would only end up pushing him away, she knew, because he was afraid. He was afraid of letting someone else look after him - of letting someone else in enough to depend on them. Just like her.

“Wait!” she exclaimed suddenly, causing him to startle and finally turn to her. She untangled her limbs, sitting up straight and pointing a finger in the air. “I do that too!” His brows furrowed in confusion as he waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t. He folded his arms across his chest and looked away, forcing the question out of his mouth.

“Do what?” he asked reluctantly. She smiled.

“Get mad at people for caring about me?” She paused, waiting for his reaction. She leaned back in her seat when he didn’t respond. “It’s terrifying right? Letting someone in enough to depend on them? ‘Cause people like to leave?” Her voice softened as she said the last part - like she knew exactly how it felt; to be left behind. He held her gaze, stunned by how easily she’d called him out, how quickly she’d understood the real reason behind his sudden hostility.

“But don’t worry!” she continued, brightening up again. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m kind of obsessive-possessive. I’m never going to leave you. Not by choice, anyway.” She added the last part as an afterthought, as if remembering that the choice might not always be hers. But when it was hers - when the decision was hers alone - she’d never choose to leave him; never choose to abandon him. His chest warmed at the thought.

“Uh, I …” He turned away again, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Because what could he say? What could he say when she’d been so patient and understanding and he’d been so … so unkind? He cleared his throat and tried again. “Careful, arañita - you’re starting to veer into villain territory.”

He was joking - actually joking with her! She felt a delighted warmth spread through her body at his attempt at humour - at his apology. She grinned. “Is that my origin story? The path to evil is paved with good intentions?”

He snickered at her response, the sound escaping from his lips before he’d even realised. His eyes widened in embarrassment and he glanced over at her, pulling his gaze away again when he saw the pleased smile on her face. He cleared his throat, trying not to think about what it meant, her pride at having been able to put a smile on his face.

“No, don’t do that, arañita,” he told her gently. “I don’t want to have to hunt you down.” He slid his gaze over to her, his eyes narrowing in anticipation of her response. She tilted her head as she considered his argument.

“Mmm, that’s kind of sexy though.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she met his gaze and his stomach flipped at the sight. And then, Dios, then she bit her lip, and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest as she trailed her gaze over him, his body heating up wherever her eyes landed. She licked her lips and pulled her gaze back up to his, that devious expression still written all over her face. Sexy? She’d called him sexy? Or, well, she’d called the situation sexy. But the way she’d looked at him after saying it … He swallowed hard and turned away, trying to come up with an appropriate response, anything that would diffuse the sudden tension that had fallen over them.

Tags: @leahnicole1219

“Uh, how’s your research, arañita?” he inquired, staunchly refusing to meet her gaze. “Any progress on the … the samples from Earth-742?” Her eyes lit up - as they always did when she started discussing her progress in the lab - and then everything was back to normal again. Everything except his heart, that is, which continued to flutter in chest everytime he glanced over at the smile on her face.

#fanfic #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel fanfic #miguel x oc #miguel smut #atsv fanfiction #spiderman atsv #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel fluff

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winters8child · 1 month

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It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 3

Nothing could have prepared me for the life I would eventually lead. I was supposed to be ordinary, inconsequential even. Go to school, be a good girl and eventually become a good wife to a simple man. He did not have to love me or even like me, as long as I did not complain and bore children, life was good. At least thats what I had been told. I was getting older and life was becoming more serious. On my 16th birthday my mother took me aside and told me "You are a woman now, so act accordingly or no man will want you." I did not know what accordingly meant, but I did not like the sound of it. "You cant keep hanging out with those boys anymore if you want to find a good husband" She looked kinda sad saying this but I knew she meant it. "I have seen the way you run down the stairs whenever they come by, but he is not the right fit for you, that James. Dont get me started on that Steve boy, how can he ever think of protecting you, looking frail like that". But I was not having it, I turned around and stormed out of the house.

I ran to the one place I always hung out at, when everything around me was beeing too much. I called it my quit spot. It was a low wall where I could sit, looking out to the river. It was a gorgeous day, the sun was shining and I could hear children play and laugh outside. I dont know when I stopped beeing one of those children but today it felt like it was over for good. Those careless days, behind me forever. I did not know how long I had been sitting there, when I heard steps behind me. "Hey, I was at your place but your mom said you were out. She seemed distressed. Everything alright?", Steve asked while sitting down next to me.

"Im getting old, Steve. My mother expects me to get married anyday now, it feels like. I dont even know if I want to get married, but that is what is expected of me. Get married to a man I dont care about and have a ton of kids." Steve was taken aback by that and was struggling for words. "Maybe you will find someone that you like or even love?", he finally said. "But maybe I want someone that loves me back? Or is that too much to ask for?" He took my hand and said: "Any man would be happy to have you, believe me. And if all fails, Ill marry you." I did not know what to say to that, so I just stared at him.

"You know we cant do that. You deserve to marry someone you love, Steve. Not a marriage of convenience.", I stated. He let go of my hand and looked out at the river without a word. He seemed sad all of a sudden. After a couple of minutes passed in silence, he got up and took something out of his pocket and handed it to me. "Happy birthday, I hope you like it and if you dont I can find something else but I thought..." Before he could finish his sentence, I opened the little box. It was a pin shaped like a ladybug. The colours were so vibrant and it glimmered in the sun. "The day you moved here, something changed. Like my life would finally go into the right direction. Just out of pure luck, the most darling and sweet girl moved into my neighbourhood. So when I saw that pin, I had to think of you. I hope thats alright."

I was lost for words, no one had ever made me such a thoughtful gift. Steve crouched down to me "May I?" I handed him the pin and he carefully put it on my collar. He smiled at me and I leaned forward and gave him a tentative kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, its gorgous." He blushed and it was so sweet that I blushed in return. We sat there until the sun went down and we ran out of things to talk about.

#marvel #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #sebastian stan #steve rogers #the avengers #fanfiction

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cardcaptorsakura96 · 2 months

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About Last Night-Chapter 6

Fandom: Supergirl

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lillian Luthor, Lena Luthor, Andrea Rojas, Lionel Luthor, Lex Luthor, Clark Kent, Alex Danvers, Eve Teschmacher, Jess, Bruce Wayne, Diana Prince, Winn Schott

Summary: Lillian Luthor is eagerly wanting to get to her daughter's destination wedding. However, a couple of detours with the docile Kara Danvers changes her life in a big way.

Rating: Mature

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Lillian sighed as she hung up the phone.

“That’s a relief. Bruce and Diana were way more understanding than I thought they would be.”

Kara leaned back in her seat, sighed, and said, “I am just glad that they were so forgiving. Still not sure how I am going to look them in the eye when we see them again.”

Lillian gave a small smile while gently grabbing Kara’s hand and rubbing small circles across it causing Kara to look up at her startled.

“It is like they said. They don’t hold anything against us this weekend especially since this was a disgruntled employee’s fault. The only thing we can do now is focus on what is ahead of us.”

Kara smiled and said, “You’re right. Thanks for that.”

Lillian gave a soft smile and said, “No problem.” Lillian stretched while looking out the limo window and said, “Besides, there are other more pressing things that we need to be conce…”

Kara looked up quizzically at Lillian noticing that she stopped in mid-sentence and asked, “Is there something wrong?”

Lillian frowned while looking out the window and murmured, “Possibly.”

Lillian turned to Jess curiously and asked, “Did something change with our flight plans? I noticed that we are on the tarmac instead of going to the traditional loading gate.”

Jess nodded and said, “Decisions were made that after yesterday’s…events, it may be better to use the jet that Bruce Wayne provided for us instead of taking a commercial flight out.”

“Oh,” said Lillian slightly flustered. “It would have been nice to be made aware of such changes.”

Jess nodded and said, “I am sorry about not saying anything sooner, but honestly given everything that has happened, this was the least worrisome of the damage control that I had to try to be ahead of the last twenty-four hours.”

Lillian winced at that statement. She leaned back in her seat and sighed.

It is stupid of me to get upset over something minuscule like that. Change in flight plans is a minor blimp in comparison to the shit show that has been my life the last day or so.

Lillian looked up towards Jess with an apologetic smile and said, “I am sorry for snapping Jess. You have gone above and beyond the call of duty this weekend. Not knowing about the flight change is inconsequential compared to everything else. I shouldn’t even have complained to begin with because the private jet is definitely an upgrade. At least I don’t have to worry if I am sitting next to a creep like I was last time.”

Jess laughed nervously and said, “It is not a problem. I am just glad that things will be running more smoothly from here.”

Jess rubbed the back of her neck.

One can only hope at this point.

As Jess was guided to her seat on the jet, she noticed there was a manilla folder on top of it.

Must be the plan that Lex wanted me to follow.

Jess quickly grabbed the folder and sat down at her seat to peruse its content. She frowned at some of its content and went to her phone to double verify some of the claims it made inside. After verifying everything, she stared at the file baffled.

It is true what they say. A good ruse is one that has morsels of truth sprinkled throughout it. Hopefully, Lillian and Kara will go along with it.

Jess looked up to see Kara fluffing up her neck pillow and taking out an eye mask to go to sleep and Lillian was busy typing away at her computer.

Jess cleared her throat to get the women’s attention. They looked up at her startled.

“I wanted to go over the itinerary about our flight and destination before everyone gets comfortable.”

Lillian frowned and asked, “Other than we are going to Ireland and will probably sleep during a good portion of the flight, is there really anything else that we need to know?”

Jess nodded and said, “Well, it is going to take us longer to get to Ireland than originally planned.”

Lillian looked at her hesitantly and asked, “Why?”

“We chose the jet route because we honestly weren’t sure what type of state that you would be in when you guys woke up….”

“That’s understandable….” said Lillian warily.

“However, this particular jet is not equipped to make long flights overseas. For that reason, we will be making a layover on Mr. Wayne’s private island to refuel and also to change flight staff since the ones with us are currently working overtime to accommodate our schedule.”

Lillian looked at Jess hesitantly and asked, “Okay, how much downtime are we looking at?”

Jess laughed nervously and said, “One day. Possibly two if the tropical storm that they are tracking veers and hits the island.”

Lillian leaned back, groaned, and said, “It may have been better if we had actually taken commercial. I know that a lot of this was planned out so we could have discretion, but…”

Jess raised up her hand which caused Lillian to stop.

“I understand wanting to get out as quickly as possible, but if we had tried to take commercial, it would have taken us longer to get there.”

Kara raised an eyebrow and asked, “How is that even possible?”

Read the rest on AO3

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leportraitducadavre · 8 months

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Hi! First, I wanna thank you for writing and categorising your analysis for the Naruto fandom. It’s been an eye-opening experience reading your take on the manga. I read the series when I was younger, and I can’t believe now how much of what the manga was trying to convey had escaped me e.g. Hyuuga clan’s slavery and state-sanctioned genocide, and the deconstruction of Hinata — I’ve usually written her off or ignored her but realising her role in the endorsing her clan’s slavery system had really smacked me wide-awake. So thanks for that. I’m rereading the manga with fresher, more critical eyes.

I do have a question though, if you have the time. With everything on the table, what would you think would’ve been a good direction to take from the Chuunin exams, after Naruto and Neji’s fight, to improve the Hyuuga? Or to improve the Hyuuga in general?

Would having Hinata branded with the curse seal after Hiashi passed her over for Hanabi change the narrative? 🤔 Would having Neji interact more with others from the branch family open his eyes to the superficial change in the Hyuuga Hiashi made after his fight?

After reading your analysis, it does make my brain itch for, for change to have taken place, how would it have been brought about? Like what could have been done?

@ melting-puppets

Sorry I never replied to this, honestly speaking, I’m not a fan of “what if” or “how would this be fixed” scenarios as those go beyond what I usually like to do and are mostly irrelevant to the manga in itself.

Hinata getting the seal isn’t what I consider would be a “good conclusion” to the Hyüga narrative –me pointing out her lack of seal isn’t to complain about “how she doesn’t have it” but about pointing out the inconsistencies within the Hyüga system as it’s a slavery-based structure that presents itself under the premises of “order” (division between castes) and the “protection of the Byakugan”. According to what is presented to us by Neji in the Chünin Exams, Hinata once demoted from being the heir should have gotten the seal, yet she didn’t, as Hiashi decided to spare his daughter from a life of servitude, something he didn’t extend to his own nephew. This contradiction is unjust because the ideology on which it rests is unjust and paradoxical from its very core structure. At some point, someone within the clan secluded a position of power for themselves and decided that those they considered important should be protected by those they considered lesser members of their family, guaranteeing an unwavering loyalty and obedience for themselves through the use of force.

About what could have been done, realistically speaking? Nothing. Neji was a character whose relevance rested in his position as a counterweight to his family’s structure; he was relevant as he opposed the Hyüga oppression, but once he stopped antagonizing such practices, he became inconsequential to the narrative itself, and he was mostly used as a secondary device to move the plot forward without being consequential to it (like when he and Team Gai helped Naruto and Team 7 to open the cave Deidara and Sasori had Gaara in).

“Would having Neji interact more with others from the branch family open his eyes to the superficial change in the Hyuuga Hiashi made after his fight?”

There was not a single change brought by Hiashi, not a single panel proofs otherwise, the only thing we saw was Neji and Hinata fighting together during the war, and that was a very specific case were all shinobi were told to join forces (minus the heir, as Hanabi wasn’t present). Their behaviour during a warlike conflict can’t be translated to the new norm in between the branches, as there’s not a single indication of something changing within the family during non-armed conflicts of such scale.

“How to improve the Hyüga in general?”

I mean, to put it simply: stop branding childs with the Cage-bird Seal. It’s as easy as that, all clans have a system of inheritance of the leader title, so the structure itself can be maintained as Hanabi is told to be the strongest fighter amongst them (sans Neji, who is a weird occurrence).

#anti hyuga clan #anti hyuuga clan #anti hiashi hyuga #anti hinata hyuga #anti hinata #anti shinobi system

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foolish-sparrow · 1 year

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Hello, I hope that you're doing well! May I please request SNSD's reaction to realizing they are in love with reader?

A/N: You know I wasn't expecting to get an snsd ask so soon after putting them on my list, but I certainly ain't complaining.

Warnings: Swearing

Maybe it was the small things you did; taking care of her while sick, or just remembering her favorite snack when she's not having a particularly good day.

What ever it was, she loved you for it, and the day she realizes it will be one she will never forget.

It was a quiet realization for Taeyeon

She was just kind of staring at you while zoning out, and her thoughts were about this and that until it came to a small, almost inconsequential things you had done that day for her

And then her thoughts just kind of spiraled into the other things you have done for her over the time you had known each other

And then it progressed to what that made her feel

A small smile coming to her face once she figures out just how much you mean to her

For Sunny, it would definitely be an "oh shit" moment

Like, this woman is usually very sure of herself, but since the emotion was a gradual thing, she didn't realize until you said the words first

And then it was like, "actually, that makes sense"

You were her favorite person, the first one she will go to no matter what

The only change would that there would be deeper meaning when speaking her love

Tiffany is the type of person to say she loves her friends at every moment possible

And you were used to hearing that from her, that obviously didn't stop it from meaning something to you

But the moment she realizes that she was in love with you, the way she said it changed

It was like you were physically hit with the words, like the tender way she looked at you whenever she said them struck deep

Tiffany would figure out the shift in emotions pretty early on

Would not know what to do or go about it

Do... do people talk about these things?? Does she need to sit you down and have a conversation about it??

Her struggle may lead her to become somewhat distant and elusive

And she hates that it happens, but she wants to figure out what is going on with herself before she approaches you about it

Is an awkward mess when coming clean, but you would have it no other way

Just kind of... accepts it after figuring it out??

Like she would take you places, and in her mind they're dates but she doesn't actually specify??

Doesn't tell you she loves you that often, as she prefers showing you physically, but when she does say it, it's with the brightest smile

Didn't take extremely long when deciphering what she felt for you

And once she knew it wasn't like a "big thing" more just casual acceptance

Realizes it at the best of times... while drunk

You're both having a nice meal out one evening, and after a few glasses she just turns to you with wide eyes after you've finished laughing at something she's said

"what?"

"I'm in love with you"

Safe to say, while the ending of that night went in a direction you could never dare hope to dream, it was still one of the best

She's not reserved about it per se, but she doesn't jump to tell you either

At first she wants to see if there is anything that lets her know that you may feel the same, because opening your heart to something you don't think shares the same sentiment sounds like torture

She's not quite sure what it ends up being in the end, perhaps it was your never-ending supply of affection and consideration

But she tells you

And it's one of the best moments of your life

Logic is definitely fighting with emotion

To the point where she begins questioning why you do the things you do

Taking care of her if she's sick, asking if she's taking care of herself ect

In fact it's her listing off all the considerate things you do that leads her into realizing that she was indeed in love with you

And so she tells you, in a quiet place where you both feel safe

#snsd reactions #snsd scenarios #snsd imagines

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onceuponastory · 11 months

Note

Him or him to steal you away for a summer getaway?

Can I not say both? Hahahaha. But. I'll say Mickey. He may be a bit of a mess, but he's fun. And thank you for the inspo, love! @holacia3 <3

Take Your Mind Off

Plot: When an argument between your friends looks like it'll spoil your holiday fun, Mickey is a welcome relief. Pairing: Mickey Henry x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and being drunk. If I miss any triggers, please let me know!

Perching on the beach bar stool, Y/N takes a sip of the fruity cocktail in front of her. As soon as the alcohol hits her senses, she sighs happily. After the eventful morning she's had, this is a welcome relief.

Things didn't start out so badly. Quite the opposite, actually. She and two of her friends are on holiday together, taking some time off from their busy working lives to relax on the beach and get away from it all for a while. And for the most part, they've had a great time together. Despite being drunk for most of it.

Unfortunately, it seems the heat and late nights have got to both of her friends, resulting in a huge argument between them both this morning. Honestly, Y/N doesn't even know what started it, probably some stupid, inconsequential thing. But now, neither of them are speaking to each another, and it's ruining the rest of the day. Y/N attempted to keep the peace without choosing a side, but the snide comments and hostile glares had become too much. There's only so much you can take before you want to rip your hair out.

And Y/N crossed that line a long time ago.

So, she told them both to stop being so childish, and that she was going to enjoy herself alone until they've calmed down... whenever the hell that is.

And now, here she is. Sitting alone, nursing a cocktail at a beach bar. It may be lonely, but at least she's not being pulled into any more arguments, and she doesn't feel like she's walking on eggshells anymore. Hopefully, she can start enjoying herself again now.

"Mind if I sit?" a voice asks, pulling her out of her daydream. When she turns, she meets the blue eyes of the DJ she and her friends saw last night. Completely unaware of the storm that was coming the next morning, the trio had a lot of fun and danced the night away. She wasn't expecting the same DJ to be standing beside her now. The first time she saw him, she thought he was insanely cute. Although she was pretty drunk by that point.

He looks even cuter now, up close, when she's more sober.

"Oh, yeah, sure!" Giving him a polite smile, she scoots over, letting him sit on the stool beside her. As he does, she notices the other seats surrounding the bar are empty. For a moment, her brow furrows. "There's so many places for him to sit... and yet, he chooses beside me?"

But she's not complaining.

"Something wrong?" He asks.

"Not at all." The man doesn't look like he believes her words, but thankfully doesn't press her.

"A beer for me, thanks, and another drink for the lady." He slides some money over to the bartender, before leaning back in his seat with a grin.

"Thanks for that." She roots around in her bag for some cash to pay him back, but he shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it. Can't let a pretty lady like you pay for her drink now, can I?" The heat on Y/N's cheeks deepens, and she stammers a thank you. Somehow, his presence is already starting to make her feel better.

"My friends and I saw your set last night." She tells him. "You were amazing." She holds herself back, trying not to sound too much like a crazy fangirl and scare him away before she gets to know him better. But the man simply chuckles.

"Thank you very much." He grins. "I'm glad to be of service." He holds out a hand. "I'm Mickey."

"Y/N." She smiles, shaking his hand.

He looks around, raising a brow. "So, if you don't mind me asking... where are your friends? Did they leave you on your own?"

"No. They wouldn't stop arguing, and I was getting fed up with it. So I gave them some space to cool down." Mickey nods. "We planned a day trip today, but obviously that's not happening." She sighs.

"Hey! Don't say that!" he insists. "Your day doesn't have to be ruined just because they want to spoil the fun. How about...." He grins, trailing off. "You come spend the day with me?"

His question stuns her into surprised silence for a moment, before she breaks into laughter. There's no way he can be serious. Surely he has better things to do than cheer her up.

But... would spending time with the cute DJ really be so bad? It's a lot better than the alternative, anyway.

"What?! I'm not joking! I live here, so I know the best places to go. And you deserve some fun today."

"Really? You wanna spend time with me? Surely there's more fun people than me you can hang out with."

"Doubt it. Besides, I enjoy spending time with you Y/N." She's not fully convinced, especially since they only met a few minutes ago, but her stomach still flutters all the same. And like she said, it's a lot better than hanging out here alone, waiting for her friends to make up.

"Okay." She nods. "Let's do it."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Please follow my library blog @onceuponastory-library and turn on notifications to be notified when I next post!

#holacia3 #mickey henry #mickey henry x reader #mickey henry x female reader #fanfiction #fanfic #monday sebastian stan

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virtie333 · 1 year

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One Year Ago

I almost didn't post this. I wrote it for catharsis, but a friend said I should post it as it may help others. I can count on one hand the number of people who know about this. I don't know, maybe I'll delete it....

One year ago today, while cleaning Chester’s paddock, I made plans.

A few days earlier, I had received an email from my brother-in-law that involved some very hurtful and offensive accusations. My sister responded a few days after that, but not with an apology. She defended him, and added her own opinions.

When someone you have loved and trusted your whole life essentially says you are worthless, then it must be true.

So, the next day, I made plans.

I would have to complete my will, first. I would have to make sure Chester went to a local rescue. He wasn’t ridable and though I know a friend might take him as a ‘pasture pet,’ if push comes to shove and they ran short on money, he would be the first to go. The rescue would care for him, and I would make sure that if ever they could no longer do so, they would euthanize him.

My brother would get the other animals and all my belongings. He could sell my truck, trailer, etc. and use the funds to care for my dog Jackson, my cat Rodney, and Stache, the barn cat I had just brought home from work a month earlier. He would take care and love them.

It would have to look like an accident so my life insurance would pay out. God forbid my sister would have to pay for my funeral! I am an avid hiker, and there are trails very close that follow the canyon rim, with a 60 to 100 foot drop straight down. I usually hike with Jackson, but I could say I was leaving him home because he was sore. It would be very easy to slip while checking out the view. It’s happened before up there.

Could I actually do it? Was I brave enough? It was the only way. And I needed to do it soon.

That was my plan.

But wait. I can’t do it right away. Moon Knight just started, and I waited so long for this show and it’s even better than I had hoped and only two episodes have aired so far. I really want to see the rest. It takes my mind off the pain. I’ll wait.

Then I started posting a new story I had written. I didn’t think it would be very popular, as it was very different from my last, popular one, but I have loyal readers. I can’t just leave it unfinished, and have them wondering what happened to me. And I can’t post it all at once, because that will give away the fact that it was planned. So, I’ll wait.

An acquaintance that hated Moon Knight complained and criticized it over and over and I finally broke. I said things. I don’t regret them, because they were the truth, but I immediately became the villain to the rest of the group. Once more, I was reminded that I was unimportant, that my thoughts and feelings were inconsequential. How could I tell them? How could I explain this show literally kept me alive?

So, I waited.

A spark of hope. My brother and I worked toward a future we could both live with. I prayed, and found that I began to believe again for the first time in a long time. The story I was posting, the one I thought would not do well, became my greatest hit. Not only did its success thrill me, but once again, I had something to thank for keeping me alive.

Though low on funds, I made a trip west, to California, to meet up with my best friends in the world. They were the only people I told about my plans. They made sure to let me know how grateful they were I hadn’t followed through. I loved every minute of Galaxy’s Edge and I continued to hope for a better future. And I waited.

The hope was realized just before Christmas. My future wasn’t as dark and scary as it had been. Unfortunately, the loss of Rodney just before New Years kept me down. I was still depressed and full of non-stop anxiety, and on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I once more started falling into that darkness. I left a group I cared a great deal about because I realized a lot of my anxiety was coming from there; it’s hard caring more about people than they do about you. I bawled my eyes out while I clicked that ‘leave’ button, but I don’t regret it. It’s been over two months and only two people have even noticed I left. That says something right there.

Now, for the first time since Tariq got very sick in November 2020, I actually have the desire to do things. I’m not working and writing just to keep sane. I’m reading again. I’m playing with Chester. I’m taking Jackson on walks. I’m going back to mass, not because I have to but because I want to. I still resent my brother-in-law, and I’m still waiting for an apology from my sister, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m still alone. I’m still uncertain of my worth. But I have my animals, including two new cats, and my home. I have plans. New plans. Better plans.

One year ago today, while cleaning Chester’s paddock, I made plans.

But today I’m alive. And I’m happy. All because I waited.

Don’t give up. Things WILL get better.

#suicide awareness #tw: suicide #depression #anxiety #worthlessnesses #family issues #loneliness #hope #fanfiction #moon knight

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pharahsgf · 1 year

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That post about younger jiang cheng supposedly following wei wuxian around being silly and copying him and worshipping him as a big brother is very funny bc I am rewatching the show with my friend (who has never seen it) and literally all the jc and wwx interactions are like: 1. wwx does something mischievous or clever or creative or brave. 2. jc complains, threatens, scoffs, or tries to stop him. Literally what is the person who wrote that post talking about. Me and my friend were even joking that the bit where jc tells wwx that he shouldn't snuggle the rabbits was jc hittin wwx with the Toxic Masculinity ("only FRUITS would HOLD RABBITS" lmao). there is absolutely no Big Brother Worship going on there

i'm crying people have pushed this argument multiple times while we're out here looking like hansel and gretel, tracking bread crumbs to find any worship or admiration or base respect shown from jiang cheng to wei wuxian... he doesn't even treat him like an older brother leave alone an 'idol' so i really would like to know where these people are getting this from! as in, i'm serious, jiang cheng stans hatereading this blog please explain how young jiang cheng's attitude towards wei wuxian can in any capacity be qualified as hero worship, my askbox is open

that bunny scene really is so funny but also like jiang cheng so clearly has no issue reprimanding wei wuxian over the smallest most inconsequential things 😭 what r people on

#replies #pariaritzia

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eisforeidolon · 2 years

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Trying to navigate the spn fandom with the Jared and Jensen hate has not been easy. I have decided just to enjoy the projects they do I'm interested in and ignore the rest. How have you managed to keep so level headed with the constant craziness and infighting amongst the various fan groups? I always appreciate your thorough replies to asks.

Thanks, anon! Although I'm not always as level-headed as I'd like to be, there are a couple of things that I try to do and remember to keep from getting too wound up about anything that goes on in the various factions.

First, I try to remember that it's just fandom and sometimes fandom is pretty fucking blinkered or just straight up dumb. Especially when we're talking about the opinion of some random blog in their own space, what does it really matter? Opinions, assholes, etc. And that's when it's even a take you can actually consider seriously. Some of the shit like complaining about the way Jensen poses for pictures or Jared sits on chairs is just so inconsequential, absurdly petty, and childish? I really do just find it more funny than anything. Like, you're so determined at that point to fixate on hating an actor you've resorted to analyzing that for something to be buttmad about? LOL, okay.

It's a lot harder to not steam over the crap that gets sent directly to the actors - like the creepy fetishistic RPF posted on the SM of Jensen and his business/projects, the suicide bait/death threats to Jared, and the attempts to slander both Js with faux social justice bullshit. Which, first, mostly come from hellers who we have years of knowing are Like That (a lot of what made the aftermath of prequelgate so hard was the seemingly sudden schism of it). For that stuff, I generally figure J2 are probably not personally regularly wading through the sewer that is their SM, so hopefully a lot of it goes unseen. I also figure that they're mature enough and have good enough support to see that fandom has some unhinged people in it who are acting out for attention and it's not really about them. Furthermore, outsiders with a working brain are going to see it for exactly what it is - butthurt, entitled fans that need to get a fucking grip. That doesn't make it not creepy, not hurtful, or remotely fucking okay, but knowing most of it probably isn't hitting its mark and won't generally move beyond the fandom does help a bit. Especially in the context of knowing that you can't actually stop it because twitter really is for trolls and assholes. They can always make more accounts.

Second, when I really can't get something out of my head, because I keep seeing it over and over again, or one thing or another just sticks in my craw for some reason? I post about it. Sitting down and organizing my thoughts "on paper" seems like it helps me feel like I've dealt with it, in a way? I can't stop bad takes, but I can make it clear that there are obvious other takes which exist and make my best case for why my take is better - or at least a reasonable alternative. That's actually what lead me to make a blog way way back in the beginning, just constant annoyance at really bad takes analyzing the show. I knew then I wasn't going to change the minds of detestiel truthers and I know now I'm not going to change the minds of hardcore J haters, but there are a lot more people in fandom than just the extremists and it can help to see that you're not alone in disagreeing with opinions that can seem overly ubiquitous.

Third, when I still can't get away from something, or even one of the petty things hits particularly hard on an already bad day? I walk away for a bit. Stay only on blogs I know don't play into the drama. Do something else that takes enough of my focus to keep me off tumblr for at least a few hours/days - read or work on fanfic, play the sims, rewatch a canon. Come back after I've had a chance to cool off and remember that it really is just fandumb.

#askboxery #anonymous #anti actor stans #long post

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shibaraki · 2 years

Text

LOVING ME, LOVING YOU ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, mention of injuries, tending and dressing wounds (blood), hand feeding, finger sucking, fluff, soft smut, dry humping, coming in pants, established relationship

wc: 2.1k

"Let's get you into some dry clothes,” Satoru murmurs, kicking the door closed behind him, though it feels more that he’s speaking to himself than to you. He hadn’t let your feet touch the ground since he first lifted you from the pavement, held firmly against his chest in an uncomfortable but familiar grip.

“I can walk,” you complain, the words catching against your dry throat, an embarrassed grimace twisting into your features as he sits you on the edge of the bathtub.

You're uninjured, aside from the shallow wound on your bicep, welts of blood smearing into the material of your shirt. Satoru tears the sleeve wordlessly, lifting a cloth and an unlabelled bottle of liquid from the cabinet beneath the sink.

“What’s that?” you ask quietly, mere curiosity rather than distrust. He covers the bottle opening, tipping it sideways and soaking the cloth, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air.

“S’the good stuff,” the corner of his mouth lifts into a conspiratorial smirk, “stole it from Shoko”.

“I can’t believe he got me,” your voice is barely above a whisper and dipped in shame. All it took was a mere moment for you to go from being a partner to being a hindrance, only for the simple fact that you’d gotten too comfortable around Satoru. It’d been a mistake to think curse users were rational thinkers – the fact that Gojo was known for being untouchable presented a challenge in and of itself.

“Happens to the best of us,” he chimes, a faux air of light-heartedness about him that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. The damp cloth is wiped gently over your arm and you hiss at the sting, forcing your body still as he dresses the weeping wound.

His face is wet, covered in specks of dust, his hair laid flat over his blindfold from the rain. There’s a spot of blood on the front of his white shirt where he’d held you, and you can still feel the warmth of his arms like a phantom around your shoulders.

“Thank you for stepping in,” you say, casting your eyes to the bathroom tiles when his head lifts in faint surprise, “though I’m pretty sure you broke a few laws back there”.

He laughs, the sound is hollow as he stands up straight, throwing the cloth into the sink and curving his hand around the swell of your cheek.

“Do you truly believe that something as inconsequential as the law could have stopped me from protecting you?” he smirks, stroking your skin with the pad of his thumb and bending to press a chaste kiss to your hairline.

You exhale shakily, both with exasperation and fondness. “You’re incorrigible,” your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth, “have you ever behaved a day in your life?”

“Not one,” he grins.

The clothes he hands to you are thick, undeniably soft and oversized. They smell like him and you resist the urge to tuck your face beneath the collar while he’s still standing in the room. You’re thankful that they’re hanging loosely on your frame and not disturbing your bandages, though the pants are a little more ridiculous, having to be tied with a hair band to your hip so they won’t pool at your feet.

“You could always take them off,” he suggests playfully, receiving a light kick to the shin in response.

“Out!”

While you finished changing, Satoru seemed to have busied himself with cutting up what fruit he has in his kitchen into bite-size pieces, apples carved into the clumsy shape of a bunny and melon into jagged stars.

And an orange, peeled terribly, split into slices.

The blindfold is gone, his hair messily pushed back away from his eyes, now wearing a comfortable set of clothes much like your own. Cuffed grey sweatpants and a loose scoop neck shirt, his glasses teetering on the bridge of his nose.

Satoru makes his way to the couch carrying a ceramic plate, beckoning you over with a nod of his head. He sets the plate where you aim to sit, and instead pats the space in his lap twice.

Your knees sink into the cushions either side of his hips, settling yourself back onto his thighs, his left arm rising to circle the small of your back.

“Open up,” he says, an orange slice dwarfed between his fingers, pressing your lips tightly together as he leans forward to press the fruit against your mouth. You shake your head in feigned disbelief, grabbing his wrist and giving a futile attempt at pushing him away.

“I can feed myself, you know”.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he pouts, “just humor me”.

So you give in to him as you always do, because you know that despite his excuses, this was actually to make himself feel better. To placate the guilt that, though minor, you got hurt. With lips parted he slips the orange slice into your mouth, frowning when your tongue meets the texture of the pith, the flavour bursting into your mouth as your teeth sink into it.

Satoru already looks considerably lighter, pleased from the simple act of feeding you by hand. He presents you with another and again you take it into your mouth, the pad of his finger catching against your tongue.

He repeats this until the fruit is gone, all the remains is the poorly peeled skin, and your eyes linger on the sheen of citrus coating his fingers.

He notices, of course, tracing the shape of your lips with his wet thumb in blatant amusement. He taps your lower lip, wordlessly asking that you open them, and your glare only seeks to amuse him more.

“C’mon, you have to lick the plate clean”. Hardly a plate, you think, hot flickers of arousal spreading through your stomach.

You part your lips for him and he hooks his thumb into your mouth, tracing the grooves of your teeth. Quiet wet sounds of your spit pooling into your cheeks cut through the silence of the apartment as he pulls his hand back to replace it with his index and middle fingers, smoothing them over the flat of your tongue.

The sharp taste of apple and orange tangs across your palate, lips shaping around his second knuckles as you begin to suck. You roll your tongue around and between each finger, peering up at him through your lashes while he stares at the hollow of your cheeks.

You pull back with a soft wet pop, his fingers slick with your spit, followed by strings of saliva that wear thin and snap. He shifts in his seat, legs moving to spread a little wider, the outline of his cock obvious against the material of his sweatpants.

Innocently you roll your hips forward, and warmth blooms to the tips of his ears when you exhale a soft breath of laughter at his startled hiss.

“So easy,” you mumble, his chest rising to meet yours. He pulls your full weight against him, your hands lifting to gently push the frame of his glasses up his nose and over his forehead, nestling them into his hair. He smiles knowingly, turning his cheek to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“Only for you,” he breathes, toeing the line between teasing and sincerity, shifting his hips in search of friction, “you like me that way”.

When you kiss him it’s one of many, yet still as good as the last. His lips are soft, balmy, the faint scent of strawberry from his favourite chapstick. You thread your fingers into his hair to anchor yourself, still slightly dampened from the rain, and grind yourself onto his cock.

For a few precious moments, everything around you slows to a stop, your boyfriend content only to grope at the softness of your hips and guide you in rocking against him. It’s languid, and entirely indulgent. In the safety of his embrace, warm and fed, you feel the tension bleed from your body. You revered being able to touch him so intimately now, knowing as soon as the work day came there would be infinity between the two of you.

“Think you can cum like this? In your pants, like a teenager?” He punctuates the question with a thrust, a little breathless, the shadow of white lashes fanning across his cheeks as he watches you with a heavy lidded stare.

A lazy grin pulls at the corners of your mouth, slipping your hands down the front of his torso as your body rises and falls above him with each roll of your hips.

You hook your hands into the hem of his shirt and his abdomen clenches when your nails graze against the fine hair on his stomach. Slowly you pull the material up to his chest, leaning yourself back just enough to look between your bodies, revealing the growing damp spot on his sweats.

“I know you can,” you murmur.

He groans and tilts his head back over the lip of the couch, dark tinted glasses slipping from his head and hitting the floor. He curls his fingers into the thick of your thighs, dimpling the skin and rutting your hips forward, your breath catching in your throat at the friction. The relief is almost palpable, his shirt still tightly fisted in your grip as you rock down harder at the same angle.

“Shit,” he exhales shakily, pushing up onto the balls of his feet for more leverage. The jolt of his hips throws you against his chest, his arms circling your waist securely so you are unable to move.

“Cum for me,” you reassure him, gaze caught on the pink blooming up his neck. Disjointed praises fall from his lips as his hips stutter, clutching you to his front, the distant scrape of the couch shifting across the floor beneath the movement.

You feel yourself throb at the drawn out, wanton sound that is pulled from his throat, like a man sinking into warmth after days in the cold. The thin clothing between your bodies darkens as he cums, the material soaked and sticking to your inner thigh.

Despite your discomfort you let him swaddle you, nose tucked into the underside of his jaw where you leave the odd chaste kiss to his pulse point while he calms down. He hums, satiated, the sound reverberating through his chest like a purr, and nuzzles his cheek against the crown of your head as he traces shapes into the skin of your back.

“I’m sorry our date got interrupted,” is the first thing he says once he has his breath back.

“Comes with the territory,” you reply quietly, not yet wanting to break the soothing atmosphere that had blanketed the two of you. Your answer gives him pause, his finger stilling at the dip of your spine.

“You’re allowed to be angry, you know,” he mutters, and your expression twists into one of confusion.

“Do you want me to be mad?” You ask, finally sitting upright and letting his arms slip loosely from your waist. He looks contemplative, a little conflicted, a tightness in his smile that wasn’t there before.

“I never want you genuinely upset with me,” he sighs. The tone is all wrong, you think as you take his face into your hands once more, letting him lean into your touch.

“Just know you’re allowed to want better for yourself”.

You smother the exasperation that comes with his words, with his needless apology. Satoru didn’t often let insecurities eat at him, and it was a rarity for him to show this much vulnerability with you. He didn’t need frustration, just reassurance.

“I have what I want,” you say, purposefully gentle and firm, pressing your foreheads together as if to embed the sentiment into his brain.

“I can’t be angry at you for things out of your control, and I would tell you if I were”.

Comfortable silence permeates the room, his fingers having returned to writing words with characters you cannot recognise onto the small of your back. His eyes bore into yours, frighteningly blue, slowly softening into something fond.

“You’re so good to me,” he eventually murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice and his smile genuine, “be careful or I might think you like me”.

You snort, overwhelmed with affection for him, and resist the urge to pinch him as punishment.

“Maybe insufferable suits you better”.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold

character: gojou satoru

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end

notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

words: 3.1k

synopsis:

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.

He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.

It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.

Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.

Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.

But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.

You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”

Well, you guess he has a point.

And he snaps.

It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.

Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.

Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.

“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”

The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”

His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.

“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.

“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”

“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”

And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.

“You’re being a meanie,”

“That’s twelve,” he growls.

“I don’t care!”

“Thirteen.”

“So what?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s nothing,”

“Twenty-five.”

And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.

“I-I can handle that,”

“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.

Thirty it is.

The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.

You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.

He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.

“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”

It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.

And that first blow never counts.

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.

There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.

You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.

The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.

Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.

“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.

“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.

The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.

It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.

The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.

The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.

“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”

Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.

But he’s a bad Daddy.

And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.

Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.

“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”

“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”

“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.

And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.

Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.

Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.

Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.

But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.

Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.

And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.

You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.

“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”

Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.

“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”

It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”

You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?

He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.

“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.

He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.

“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.

“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.

“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”

A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.

It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.

“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”

“‘N then food?”

He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.

“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #OKAY I'M GOING TO BEEEED NOW #IT'S LIKE FOUR THIRTY IN THE MORNING #tw daddy kink #tw noncon

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gothbusterz · 3 years

Text

Obey - Dom!Gi-Hun x Brat!Reader

Sometimes, a spoilt little brat needs a wake up call.

Warnings - Rough sex, light degradation, choking, spitting (I need Jesus HELP ME)

Word count - 2.1k

Requested 💚

His eyes rolled, irritation flooding his veins as he half listened to her ramblings of how someone had mildly inconvenienced her. The way she spat her words as if someone had seriously wronged her rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t really care anymore; she’d been bitching for so long now. The inconsequential matter she was so pressed about was so pointless in the grand scheme of things.

Maybe it was his own fault. He’d lavished her with the finest. She wanted for nothing but she still found a way to complain. It bothered him. Plain and simple. He’d gone through absolute hell to get the money he used to spoil her, and she’d never had to work a day in her life, and she never would. Her wealthy family had kept her secluded from the real world for her whole life, controlling who she saw and who she spoke to. Her family loved him; wealthy and handsome - perfect for their most precious daughter.

Her father was a banker, and knew Gi-Hun well. He knew he had spectacular wealth, and it was then he decided that Gi-Hun would be the man for his only child. Gi-Hun was hesitant at first, but the woman he met wasn’t who he was expecting. She paid for her own drinks, and demanded that they split the bill at the most high class restaurants. She seemed down to earth and smart. She made him laugh and she laughed at his jokes. He fell in love with her that night, but as time progressed, her true colours began to show. She was still beautiful and smart, but she was nowhere even close to grounded. She was spoilt, and he saw that as soon as something didn’t go her way.

Most of the time, she was the light of his life. She was appreciative of him, at least. She always said her pleases and thank yous, always waited her turn. But to her family and the rest of the world, she was a materialistic brat. She expected the lifestyle she’d been raised with; never appreciating the shining silver spoon that had been in her mouth since birth.

He zoned back in, and she was still going on. A frustrated sigh left his lips before something snapped, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her close to his face. “For once, shut the fuck up.”

His lips aggressively captured hers, finding solace in the small moan she released as he tugged at her hair. He just needed her to stop and he was going to shut her up the best way he knew how. Roughly pulling her to her feet, his large frame towered over hers. Pulling away, his eyes were dark with lust and annoyance. “Bedroom. Strip and sit on the bed. Wait for the me.”

His voice was a low growl, dripping with venom. She knew when he was like this that she had no choice but to obey, or be severely punished. For the first time all day, she was in stunned silence. His eyes narrowed at her delay, and he raised a large hand. It made heavy contact with her cheek, his fingers gently stroking the skin he had just slapped. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

She swallowed thickly and nodded, turning her back and heading towards their shared bedroom. Jesus, if her father saw this he’d drop dead on the spot. The perfect, kind man he’d chosen for his little girl was secretly a dark, demanding lover when irritated; and, oh, was she irritating.

He waited a few seconds before strolling his way into the kitchen and taking a swig straight out of a whiskey bottle. He grunted as the straight liquor spread a cold feeling over his tongue and throat. Taking a deep breath, he very slowly made his way up the stairs. He wanted her waiting. He wanted to give her enough time to follow his instructions, lest he have to punish her even more. He took each step one at a time, leisurely strolling down the hallway before turning into the open door of their bedroom.

She laid there on the bed, naked and waiting. Exactly how he’d wanted her. A dark smirk took over his lips. “Such a good girl… keep that up and I might let you cum this time.”

A small groan left her lips as her mind was cast back to the last time she’d disobeyed his orders; shackled to the bed by her hands and feet, spread open and trapped as he sat in his desk chair, watching her writhe with a smirk as he sipped at his whiskey from a fine crystal class. Each time she’d back settle down, he’d place his drink down on the expensive wooden desk, lick his lips and bring her back to the edge with his skilled tongue before withdrawing and sitting back down right before she could cum. It seemed as though his patience rivalled no one else. He could sit and watch her for hours as she begged and pleaded to be fucked. He ignored her, tutting as he reminded her with a smirk that he was the one in charge, not her.

Pushing her back as she sat up, he crawled over her, his hands running the course of her body and leaving goosebumps in his wake. She shivered under his touch, trying to bring her lips to his only to be met with a strong hand gripping her hair again and pulling her head back. She had no power, as he’d made it abundantly clear. She was to be a toy for him to use.

His thumb parted her lips, dragging her mouth open by her jaw before he spat into her open, awaiting mouth. He firmly pushed her back onto the bed, lifting his old tshirt excruciatingly slowly. Her eyes scanned his skin as more and more became visible. He was a beauty of a man; toned and strong. A work of sheer erotic art. She breathed deep as he pushed the shirt over his strong shoulders down his arms, letting it fall to the carpet.

“Can you manage to be a good girl this time or do I need to tie you up again? Hm?”

She whimpered and nodded, sitting up on her knees obediently; desperately not wanting to be tied up again as she knew he wouldn’t let her cum if he had to do that. He hummed in satisfaction, his fingers gently holding her chin with his left hand while his right made quick work of his loose sweatpants and boxers. Getting rid of them, standing as naked as she was, he brought her forward to sit on her knees. His right hand lazily stroked himself, watching her every move before staring down into her innocent eyes with an insatiable lust.

The left hand gently holding her chin swiftly moved down, gripping her throat firmly. She gasped for air, locking eyes with him as her lips parted. She looked so delicious and fragile; ready to be absolutely shattered. Her hand met his around her throat, squeezing and staring up at him with pleading eyes. His grip tightened with her blessing.

Stepping forward, he pulled her so she was face to face with his hard cock. He tapped at her lips, staring down at her with intensity. Parting her plump lips, he didn’t give her a chance to adjust before he bunched her hair in a ponytail and pulled her forward to take him all the way into her mouth. She choked, hands bracing on his thighs as her nails dug in. He let out a wild groan, her throat constricting around him as she gagged. Beginning to thrust, he fucked her face with a consistent speed, withdrawing only to shove back in with more and more power. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall as she tried to hold her composure with his cock ramming at her throat. He chucked darkly, slowing down and bringing his finger to tenderly wipe away a tear. “Fuck you’re being such a good girl. Keep going and I’ll reward- mm - I’ll reward you”

His breath caught in his throat as his words rasped through his lips. He wasn’t going to admit that he was getting close to just cumming down her throat after the couple of minutes she’d had him. He’d never admit that everything she did drove him absolutely wild. She was so intoxicating to him, he could cum with just a touch from her. He’d never had that before with a woman, and he wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon.

He pulled back swiftly, and she caught her breath as a trail of saliva fell from the corner of her lips. Her eyes were still wet with tears as she panted, her throat recovering from the intrusion. His thumb wiped the spit from her chin and he pressed a very gently kiss to her swollen lips - a moment of tenderness as an intermission between his harshness. She melted, her arms finding their way around his neck.

As soon as it came, the moment of tenderness was gone as he grabbed the wrists sitting loosely on his shoulders in one large hand, squeezing tightly and pushing her onto her back further up the bed as his body caged hers into the sheets beneath her.

“You really think you deserve to touch me yet?” He tutted before engulfing her lips in a passionate embrace, tongue forcing his way past her lips to dance with hers.

She let out a shameless moan into his mouth, grinding upward to desperately try to find some friction with the knee bent between her thighs. He wanted to keep teasing her. He wanted her to suffer; but seeing her so desperate, writhing for any kind of friction between her thighs, just did something to him. In one swift motion, he let go of her wrists and flipped her over to have her kneeling with her cheek pressed into the sheets and ass in the air; on display for him. His hand roughly met the sensitive skin of her ass in a harsh slap, leaving a bright red imprint of him. His hand pressed into the side of her head that was facing him, covering her ear and pushing her down with force as he roughly pushed himself inside her from behind.

He couldn’t stifle the animistic growl that left his lips as he bottomed out inside her without giving her a chance to adjust. She was so warm and tight that it made his head spin. His hips stuttered as he almost blew it right then and there, but he took a deep breath and bit his lip, fighting it before giving in and thrusting his hips roughly. Skin smacked against skin as he bent over her, her back pressed flush against his chest as he gripped at her hair again to pull her head back. She squealed, her head rolling to the side to meet his eyes under his grip on her hair. His fingers dug into the flesh of her ass as he used it as leverage to thrust harder, faster and deeper, pulling pornographic moans from her lips each time he collided with that one spot deep inside of her.

She felt herself clench around him as she took in the sight before, well, behind her. He was a stunning specimen of a man at any time, but when he was like this it was something else entirely. His hair laid slick against his forehead as his head lulled back in ecstasy, eyes squeezed closed. Small huffs left his lips as he got closer and closer to his release. His eyes opened and he caught her staring back at him, pants and ragged breaths passing through a devilish smirk.

“You’re so tight, baby. F-fuck!” He grunted breathily, the rest of his sentence whispered so low that it couldn’t be heard. She felt his rhythm falter into uneven, rough jerks. His fingertips turned white from how hard he gripped at her skin, leaving red indents in their place. A few more thrusts and his head fell back, a string of grunted curses falling from his perfect lips as she felt warmth spilling out deep inside her. He thrusted slowly a couple more times, falling forward against her back with his head resting in the crook of her neck, placing tiny kisses as he came down from his high. His breath fanned against her sweat-tinted skin, cooling it as he panted out a strained whisper.

“Such a good girl… my good little girl…”

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flashyfucker · 2 years

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i will talk dads best friend!Jamie with you for ages!! You kept that thought going so well i swear it was like you were inside my brain!!

But continuing with these thoughts…hearing Jamie’s truck pull into your driveway was nothing new at this point, but you were still getting used to hearing it pull up when the rest of your family wasn’t home. The first few times it happened you immediately hit him with “my dad isn’t home.” thinking he was here to work on some project or fix some appliance you hadn’t even know was broken. But an easy laugh had rolled off his tongue and he lifted up a bag filled with your favorite things, so you stepped aside and let him in. He was gone before your parents got home, his (and your) ice cream spoon had been cleaned and put away, your pajamas had been switched out any lingering trace of Jamie had been expunged. And in a way, this had become a new routine for the both of you. So when weekly family night rolled around, you excused yourself from it blaming your absence on “too much homework, I’ll never get everything done in time if I go with you guys.” No one blinked an eye, wishing you good luck before heading out of the door. And before long, the familiar rumble was heard down the street, growing louder until it cut off in your driveway. You were opening the door before Jamie was even out of his truck, inviting him in and shutting the door before any of the other neighbors could spare a second glance. And everything was tame for the most part, Jamie was fun to have around - cracking perfectly timed jokes, and giving you the latest gossip he’d heard. Everything was tame…until it wasn’t. The both of you had migrated into the kitchen, Jamie had wanted a glass of water, you had wanted more ice cream and it was after you had bent down to grab the ice cream, that you noticed the contents of the freezer had slightly melted. “Jamie can you come look at the freezer, I think something’s wrong” slips out of your mouth and suddenly there he was; body pressed against you from behind, one hand gripping the edge of the freezer and the other finding purchase on your hip as he peered into the freezer. But before either of you could say anything, the front door was unlocking, and voices were calling out to you and asking if that was Jamie’s truck in the driveway. Jamie lingered for a second, squeezing your hip before pulling away and greeting your mother and chirping your father about him broken freezer - leaving you grasping onto the freezer still and breathing unsteadily

UGH oh my god your mind. i love it. i could do this for forever MORE DBF!JAMIE | gimme ur thoughts/questions! x

in a similar vein, your parents go on vacation for a week for their anniversary or whatever and you're left home alone, and obviously you're a big girl, you can handle the house by yourself, but they've asked jamie to check in on you and god, you're not complaining, it’s jamie, you know?

after the freezer incident he’d only stuck around long enough to pass along the number of a guy who could fix the fridge, leaving you flustered in the kitchen with a knowing smile and a bashful “See you later, kid,”, and you’d lied easily to your parents about how you’d apparently called jamie over to save interrupting family night, and that was the end of that (at least like, until you find yourself alone in your bed with the memory of the weight of him pressed into you.).

his checking in is pretty inconsequential, at first. he knows you’re an adult and don’t really need him, despite how your parents worry a little. likewise, despite the honey-thick tension between you, jamie doesn’t make a move, neither of you do. it feels a little like he’s at your house on business, so deeply entrusted by your parents to look out for you.

so, the first night you’re alone, he stops by on his way home from work (he’s like a handyman, freelance carpenter or something in this AU in my head lmao), only for a minute or two to make sure you’re all good, the freezer hasn’t died again, to give you his number so you can call if you actually need him. maybe he skips stopping by altogether the second night. instead he texts everything good over there?, and he tries really hard not to read into the little heart emoji you tack onto the end of the quick alive and well you send back.

on the third night, though, he’s already getting takeout for himself, and he barely thinks before he gets extra to drop off for you and he’s not sure exactly what you like so he gets extra extra so there’s more chance you like at least one of the dishes (this is a kindness he doesn’t think twice about— just does it, like it’s the obvious thing to do). when you open the door and he’s holding two fat bags of food, you invite him in: he weakly objects for self control’s sake, but a casual “I don’t wanna eat alone,” turns him quickly, because he doesn’t fully know it yet but god, he’d do anything he could to give you what you want.

it’s not until after dinner is eaten and the throwaway ‘how was your day?’ conversation ends, that you both feel it, how you’ve got all night together, no interruptions or sense of impending end. you’ve got all week, if you want it. you’re on opposite ends of the couch and he looks so big, leaning back with his thighs spread, hands balled up in his lap. you’re spit balling questions playfully when it comes from you, maybe out of left field but you have to know, “What would’ve happened if my parents hadn’t gotten home when they did the other night?” and he goes a bit quiet, smiles shyly and he looks at the TV while he says “I probably would’ve bent you over the counter, honestly. would’a made you my girl right there.” and ugh you’re a goner

#this au is my everything rn ugh #thoughts/contributions/questions welcome cos god knows it's all im thinking about :)#jamie oleksiak #jamie oleksiak imagine #dbf!jamie #ff.asks #long post #ff.doc

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