#I had to Google that I only had the stupid sound in my head but not the word

[littletrashpile]

Can I just say I’m really proud of myself for being totally honest even though it hurts. My throat hurts a lot, but I feel very… free. I’m finding relief in this honesty, this full expression of myself in a place that’s all my own. I’m not, what’s it called, censoring myself and limiting my words, wants, and wemotions. Hehe I made myself laugh.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hard Launching ∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summary: lando and y/n wanted to hard launch their relationship after dating secretly for a while. lando finds the perfect way to do so.

☘ ln x reader ✧˖*°࿐

☘ fluff + humour ✧˖*°࿐

masterlist ☾☼

lando and y/n had been discussing for a while about hard launching their relationship. they had managed to keep it out of the media for an entire season, but the media liked to paint lando as a villain, in more ways than one. not only were they attacking his skills on track, they began collecting pictures of lando with women, no matter how many years ago, and publishing them with articles about him being a womanizer.

the funniest ones were the pictures of lando and her sister out on some bonding time. reading those articles always made y/n laughed, and she would be lying if she said that she didn’t have them bookmarked in her browser for a pick me up when she was having a bad day.

at first, they had thought of doing a simple post with a cheesy caption. enough to let the fans knows that he was off the market again. but, it also felt kind of boring, and that was not lando or y/n’s style.

they discussed it for weeks, looking at different social media websites for inspiration, until it struck lando. scrolling through instagram, he’d found the perfect way to hard launch his relationship with his girlfriend.

when y/n asked him, he said, “you’ll just have to wait like the rest of the world, my love. but, i know you’re going to love it.”

y/n waited, just like he had told her to. she waited for two months, until one day, in the middle of her work, she received the instagram notification of lando posting and tagging her. this was the moment, y/n thought.

opening instagram, she found a reel, instead of a post or a story like she assumed. quickly, wearing her airpods, y/n clicked on the reel, increasing the volume in the background.

the reel opened with someone recording lando as he walked, head down and concentrated. the person recording said, “excuse me, what are you listening to right now?”

lando took out one of his airpods, and said, “my girlfriend yapping,” and then walked away.

the reel immediately cut to different instances of y/n talking and lando patiently listening. they were all sped up videos, and y/n watched her animated hands as she ranted, and lando listening, changing his position every so often. the music in the background was a lively, jaunty sound, and it fit so well with the reel.

there were a series of videos, from their home, from the paddock, from conference rooms where they were waiting for zak, or even from the gym where lando worked out, and y/n basically followed him, still talking his ear off. there were multiple videos of them on facetime as well, or screenshots of their hour - hour and half long conversations.

y/n laughed. it truly was the perfect way for lando to hard launch their relationship. it described them perfectly, if she did say so herself.

scrolling through the comments, she saw a lot of fans crying that he was a taken man now. she saw some saying things like, “this is the realest representation of a relationship.” there were some hate comments too, but they were stupid, so she ignored them.

she commented on the post as well, typing, “wait till i send you a 20 minute voice note on my lunch break” to which lando immediately responded with, “can’t wait, i got my airpods and my phone fully charged”

y/n laughed again, opening her text messaging app, and sending a quick “i love you this was perfect” to her boyfriend.

·̩̩̥͙＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊·̩̩̥͙

hi! i hope you guys enjoyed this! it came to me while i was driving to college! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Theodore Nott talking dirty in Italian to fem reader who doesn’t know Italian but finds it super hot, with a smutty ending?

Yes! I love this idea. I think he'd love it a lot if you didn't speak Italian, just so he could tease you more. Also, I used google translate, so idk how accurate it is, but hopefully it works.

Dirty Talking

Theodore Nott x F!Reader

Warnings: Oral(Male receiving), cussing, unprotected sex, creampie.

18+ Minors DNI!

You always loved when your boyfriend would talk in Italian. Something about the way it sounded and rolled off of his tongue just did something to you. He could be saying anything in Italian and you’d want him to just take you right there as he kept talking.

And Theo noticed. He wasn’t stupid. He saw the way you would blush ever so slightly and press your thighs together. He just never said anything because he liked watching your reactions and he knew you’d try to stop your reactions if he mentioned them.

But when he was arguing with Draco about the quidditch practice as you all were heading back up to the castle, he slipped into Italian as he cursed him out. You suddenly got flustered and blushed. Theo noticed this, forgetting about the argument with Draco as he waved him off, dragging you away into a broom closet. He was frustrated and needed a release and he could tell you were turned on.

“Theo, what are you doing?” You asked as he closed the door behind you two.

“Ti scoperò.” He said into your ear as he pushed you against the wall, pressing kisses down your neck.

“Wait, what?” You asked, your brain trying to catch up with his actions as he spoke Italian.

“Ti scoperò. Sii buono con me.” He said before kissing you. It was rough, a hand in your hair and another on your waist. He pulled back and pushed you onto your knees, undoing his pants. “Così bello.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You said, but you could feel how wet you were becoming.

“You love it, though, don’t you, cara mia.” He smiled down at you as he pulled out his cock. “Aprire.” He said as he tapped his tip on your lips as he grabbed your hair.

You had no idea what he was saying, but you opened your mouth and he pushed your head down his cock until you gagged. He let out such a hot moan before guiding your head up and down his cock, tears building in your eyes as you held onto his thighs.

“Così dannatamente sporco. Look at what you do to me, principessa.” He moaned. “Mi prendi così bene.”

God, his fucking deep voice with those words. You didn’t even care what he was saying, it just sounded so good, so filthy to you.

“Merda. You’re so fucking good to me.” He said before pulling out of your mouth and up off the floor. He pushed down your panties before turning you around to press your front against the wall. “You’re so fucking wet from me talking in Italian, huh?” He slipped his fingers through your folds, feeling how soaked you were.

“Yes, fuck! Yes, it’s so good.” You moaned.

“Così sporco.” He said before removing his fingers and teasing your folds with his cock. “You want me to fill you up, mi amore?”

“Yes, please!”

“Who knew a little Italian would get you all slutty for my cock.” He teased before thrusting into you. He covered your mouth before you could make a sound. “Stai zitto. You want everyone to hear?”

He started thrusting, using his free hand to wrap around your front, holding you closer to him. You were moaning and crying out into his hand, your hands holding onto the wall for support.

“Così buono. You’re taking me so well.” He said quietly in your ear before kissing your neck. His chest was pressed against your back, trapping you against the wall as he kept fucking into you. “Do you wanna cum, principessa?”

You nodded against his hand, moans only getting louder as he angled his hips slightly to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

“Sei così avido. Sei così sporco. Lo adoro.” He said, moving his hand that’s wrapped around you to play with your clit. The combination of his dick inside you, him playing with your clit, and the Italian were enough to have you cumming in mere moments, trembling and crying out into his hand. “Brava ragazza. Good fucking girl.” He praised, helping you ride out your orgasm. “You gonna be a good girl and let me cum in you?” He asked as his thrusts sped up, chasing his own orgasm. You nodded against his hand again, whining and whimpering as he overstimulated you. He cussed as he came, slipped between English and Italian as he moaned in your ear, filling your pussy with his cum. He removed his hand from your mouth and pulled out, slipping your panties back up with a smile as he kissed your cheek. “Guess I found another weakness, huh, cara mia?” He teased.

[p1astr81]

stay done -cl16

in which: You just can’t walk away from Charles, no matter what he does.

pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

warnings: angst, mentions of potential cheating, google translated French, Charles is a complete dick, reader is stupid as hell, mentions of vomit, not proofread I fear, lmk if there’s any more!

based on “stay done” by tate mcrae

‧‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The both of you sat on opposite ends of the sofa, and somehow the topic of Lewis joining the team next year came up. Stupidly, you commented, “yeah, it’s going to be incredible if you beat him.” Of course, it wasn’t a dig at your boyfriends abilities, but rather a recognition of the past achievements of the 7 time world champion.

Charles looked to you with furrowed brows. He assessed your expression before scoffing. He stood abruptly, moving with haste. “Charles, I didn’t mean it like that.” You chased after him down the hallway of his Monaco apartment. “I’m sorry,” you tried again after you received no response or acknowledgment from the man. “Fuck off.” He muttered, stepping into your shared bedroom and slamming the door in your face. You tried to twist the handle.

Locked.

“Babe, come on.” Your fist softly collided with the door once. “You’re an incredible driver, I just meant with his achievements and whatnot…” you trailed off, realizing your words weren’t making the situation much better.

Hate that I’m always gonna have a side to me / That’s still in awe when you’re mad at me / You can’t do it wrong in my eyes

“It was a stupid thing to say. I take it back, I’m sorry.” The only thing your apology granted was the sound of broken glass from somewhere inside the room. You took a shaky breath, and hesitantly tapped your knuckles against the wooden barrier. “Charlie? You okay?” You called out hesitantly.

The door was thrown open seconds later. Charles’s green eyes were a few shades darker as he glared down at you. His gaze pierced through you, and somehow caused the rise and fall of your chest to cease. “Fine.” He grumbled, stepping by you. He was sure bump your shoulder with such force it turned you a full ninety degrees. You watched as he plucked his keys from the counter. “Where are you-“ he shut the front door, abruptly cutting off the rest of your inquiry.

Your attention turned to the sound of shattered glass from earlier, and you took a cautious step into the room to investigate it’s source. Your heart dropped to your stomach when you saw the picture frame. On the floor. Upside-down. Surrounded in glass.

You were cautious of the scattered glass, stepping on your tip-toes to avoid it. You retrieved the frame by its stand. Once it was in your grasp, you stepped away from the glass. The picture was a favorite among the both of you. Taken by joris at the amusement park, after Charles just succeeded in winning you a giant plush. You had your arms stretched above your head, your lips spread into an open smile, probably cheering loudly at the time it was taken. The picture caught Charles as he was dipping down to grab you around your hips and hoist you into a close hug. He was a little blurry, but the love in his eyes was clear as day.

A tear ran down your face. You made no attempt to wipe it away. More followed as your feet carried you to the living room. You gently placed what was left of the frame on the coffee table, and sat on the sofa in front of it.

I hate it that you gotta break something / To realize we’re at rock bottom

Four days passed. You both agreed to forget the past incident, and he replaced the picture frame.

You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the both of you. You’d plated it up nicely, and placed the two dishes on the table at your respective spots. “Now, Leo, stay away from the table.” You redirected the cute little dog to the living room. He never jumped on the table to steal food, but he was a troublemaker in many other ways, which always had you worried.

You descended down the hallway to the room dedicated to his sim, and knocked on the door lightly before entering. “Foods done,” you inform him, your voice light with hope, but cautious. “Just bring it here.” He instructed, his eyes on the screen. You let out a small sigh as the bit of hope you held onto fizzled into nothingness. “Charlie, it’s been a week since you last came to eat with me.” You said, your voice small as you felt pathetic begging your boyfriend to just eat with you.

“What do you want from me?” He fired back, spinning around to face you. His eyes were narrowed, daring you to give a snappy reply back. “Just twenty minutes.” Your voice was hardly a whisper, broken as you bargained for an ounce of his attention. He sighed—though the sound was more of a huff—and gestured to the monitor stating, “I’m working. Isn’t that what you want? So you can leech off of my money some more?”

That one hit hard. While you owned the day care down the street, you didn’t make nearly as much as Charles did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting back the pricking sting of tears. “I’ll be back with your plate.”

But kill me again cause the high’s twice as high / Wish this bullshit would end, but we’re back here again

Charles was away for another race, in Vegas this time around. “Baby, I saw this one dress and I thought you would like it so I took a picture,” he quipped over your FaceTime call, a text from him sending soon after. It was a really cute dress, but you could just make out the price tag. $5,000. “You know me well, cause that is a really cute dress.” You laughed. Charles smiled. “Ah, perfect. I’ll buy it tomorrow before the sessions.”

Your stomach twisted, your head reeling with his words from a couple of weeks ago, ‘So you can leech off of my money some more’. Since that night, you’d purchased everything yourself, turning down his offers or blocking him so he couldn’t swipe his own card. You turned down every transaction from his account. You had to adjust a little, as buying whatever you pleased was no longer an option with your new budget.

You shook your head quickly. “No, that’s alright I think I have plenty of dresses.” You turned down the offer as politely as you could without raising any red flags. Charles’s expression twisted, his brows pinching together and creasing the space between them. “What is it with you lately? You’ve been acting like my wallet has a disease.” You gave a forced laugh at his joke. “Nothing, just… independence is nice, I suppose.” You tried to reassure him with a smile. He gave you a skeptical look, piecing the puzzle together all on his own. “is this about what a said the other week?” You didn’t answer, your gaze drifting to a far-off place. “Come on, you know I didn’t mean that.” His voice was soft, an apology lying just beneath his words that never surfaced.

“No, yeah.” You agreed quietly, a small nod of your head confirming it double. “Charlie it’s getting pretty late here, I think I’m going to head to bed.”

“Oh, chérie. Why didn’t you say something earlier. It’s like—what is it,” he calculated the time difference in his head quickly, “two in the morning there.” He gave you a look of pity, or maybe it’s guilt. “I just miss you, is all.” You smiled softly. “Wish you were still here with me.”

Charles chuckled lowly. “I miss you, too. But I’ll see you next week in Brazil, yeah?” You nodded to confirm, though he already knew. “Can’t wait. Goodnight bébé.”

Yeah, I know we should break up / But I just can’t stay done with you / When I take off my makeup / Go to bed wanna wake up with you

You were meant to be flying into Brazil tomorrow, but a picture surfaced after Las Vegas that had you cancelling your flight.

You send a screenshot of the photo to Charles, demanding, “what is this?” he won in Vegas, and evidently celebrated in the infamous ‘sin city’. The picture taken during that night caught him red handed. A pretty blonde girl sat on his lap, hardly covered by her mini, skin tight, dress.

The guys were trying to be funny by calling a few of the escorts over. Nothing serious.

Honestly, a part of you wanted to laugh at his response. “Nothing serious”??? Was he kidding?? Her ass was pressed up against his dick and he thinks it’s “nothing serious”???

Fuck you and your excuses, Leclerc. Don’t expect me to be in Brazil tomorrow, ‘cause I’m not showing up.

We're best friends and enemies / We're good 'til you're dead to me, yeah / I told you goodbye like / Hundred million times

His messages came poring in quickly.

Ma chérie, please. Im sorry.

Don’t take this so harsh, it was only a bit of fun.

I didn’t do anything with her

I give you my life on that promise.

Please don’t leave us like this.

The sheer audacity of this man had you stumbling over your own thoughts, but somehow the ones that translated through the keyboard were,

I’m not ending us. I just need a bit of space right now.

I know I sound so dumb / But I just can't stay done with you / I just can't stay done with you

A few days went by, and you went out with your friends to momentarily forget about Charles. You drank. A lot. And alcohol—being a depressant and all—did it’s job exactly. Your plan to use the liquid to forget about him backfired, as the end of the night left you on the bathroom floor of your friend’s flat, crying as you scrolled through old photos of the two of you.

So when he called, you couldn’t resist picking up this time, even though you’d ignored all his calls previous.

“I miss you so much,” you started, choking on your own sobs. “Charles, please.”

You were entirely unsure of what you were pleading for. Another apology? For his presence? There wasn’t a true answer.

“Oh, Chérie,” he cooed. “I’ll pick you up, yeah? Are you at your friends?” He was gentle with his words and his tone of voice, as if any other tone would inflict physical pain upon you. This was the Charles you fell in love with. The caring, gentle, loving one.

After receiving confirmation that you were in fact at your friend’s residence, he raced over to pick you up and comforted you as soon as you set a foot in his car.

“I’m so sorry. So, so, so sorry.” And with his arms wrapped so tightly around you, whispering sweetly in your ear, how could you not think his apology was sincere?

So you gave in, accepting his apology after days of stubborn silence. “I know.” You sobbed into his shoulder. The never ending tears soaked through his thick hoodie, causing it to plaster to his skin.

Two hands cradling your face, he pulled you away from his shoulder gently. Your hands clung to the ends of your hoodie as he pushed the stray hairs from your face. “I love you.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment before he pulled away. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You nodded, leaning back into your seat. He was sure to keep a hand in yours the whole way there.

I hate it that I'm tryna call you up / When you're the thing that I'm running from / The one-way street I can't get off, oh yeah

You walked into the small pizza place across the street from Charles’s apartment building. A friend of a friend was very adamant about meeting you for lunch today, and when she offered to pay, who were you to say no?

Giving her a short greeting, you sat in the booth across from her. The atmosphere was awkward, but you chalked it up to not knowing her all that well.

Until halfway through your meal, she reluctantly slid her phone across the table to you. A very short conversation lit up the screen.

hey

hi?

wyd?

nothing rn

wanna come over?

can’t, I’ve got plans later.

At first, you were confused as to why she would show you the interaction, but then your eyes scanned over the name.

Charles Leclerc

“I met him at a club not to long ago.” She explained. “I had no idea he had a girlfriend until I did some digging and when I found out it was you… I’m really sorry.”

As if a small sorry would do anything to fix the tremendous ache in your heart.

“Have you…” you swallowed your fear. “done anything before? Hooked up?”You feared the answer, praying to whoever would listen that she spoke out a no.

“No. But he was really flirty when we met.” You couldn’t meet her eyes. The pity in them making you want to scream like a mad woman. “Send me a screenshot of that?” You requested, your voice strained from the effort of holding back your tears.

She nodded. “‘Course.”

“Thanks for lunch.” You muttered quickly, grabbing your stuff and nearly sprinting out of the place.

Charles tried to greet you as you stepped into the flat, but you shoved past him and locked yourself in the bathroom.

The door handle jiggled, but the lock did it’s job. Charles tapped his knuckles against the wooden door. “Chérie?” The nickname had an anger bubbling inside you. “Are you alright in there?” With your newly acquired information, you wondered how he could sound so genuinely concerned.

“Uh, just feeling sick.” You answered shakily. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You were feeling extremely sick to your stomach. Something nasty swirled from within and it had you leaned up against the wall with your legs drawn to your chest.

“I’ll get you some water.”

The bathroom tiles reverberated from a buzz of your phone. When you opened the message to see the screenshot, the lunch you just ingested crawled back up your throat and forced itself out of your body. The contents dumped into the toilet bowl.

A foreign body pressed closely toward yours, holding your hair from your face and rubbing your back.

How the hell did he get in? You asked yourself, then remembered the key he kept on top of the doorframe.

It didn’t matter, cause the feeling of him so close to you had you spilling everything your body could offer into the bowl.

“Go away,” you manage to mumble.

“What?”

“Go away.” You repeated more clearly, attempting to push him away but given you were head first in the toilet, it was a little challenging.

Charles laugh is laced with concern. “Why would I do that? I know this isn’t-“

“Because I saw the texts.” You lift your head, pushing away from him and taking up your spot against the wall once more. You wiped your face with a piece of bath tissue while he looked to you with furrowed brows, shaking his head in confusion. “I don’t understand. What texts?”

You threw your phone at him, screen displaying the conversation. “Those texts.”

You watched as he read through the conversation. Guilt manipulated each of his facial features and weighed heavy on his body, forcing him to his bottom and his back up against the bathroom vanity for support. His position mirrored yours. Back straight and knees bent to meet your chest.

Sat across from you, his forehead fell to rest on his patellas. “I’m sorry, bébé.” He muttered.

You sniffled, whipping your nose with the back of your hand. “Coming from you, those words don’t mean much anymore.” You mumbled, playing with you hands in your lap.

He exhaled a sigh from deep in his chest. His eyes found your figure, a pained look painting his expression. “I know. I know.” He shook his head. Desperation filled him, a burning desire to reach out to you but he held himself back. “I have no excuse this time.” He carefully placed your phone on the tiled floor beside you.

You said nothing, your eyes still on your hands as you twisted your fingers between each other. Ideas of how to respond and repercussions swam around in your mind. You considered breaking it off with him and leaving for good. But at the end of the day this was your Charles and it was nothing more than a text. A text sent when you asked him for space. Perhaps he thought you were on a break.

So, you being you, you cut him some slack. “I think I’ll be sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight.” Your voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper, and you still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

Charles felt a little lighter at your words. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t breaking up with him. Hell, you’d still be under the same roof, just a few meters from Charles. He smiled softly. “Okay.” He nodded.

I've been nothing less than cordial / But if we're really talking morals / Why'd you have to hit her up like that? / You should know it isn't normal

A generous amount of make-up remover soaked the cloth in your hand. Gentle swipes took off the top layer of your makeup, coating the light colored cloth in an ugly shade of brown. The cleansing balm took off whatever the makeup remover failed to, and you washed your face to be sure it was all off.

Charles had avoided the bathroom, but when you came out, he couldn’t resist giving you a small, “goodnight.” He received no response from you, but did not blame you for ignoring him.

You slipped into the guest bed, the mattress was hardly used and therefore not as broken in as yours and Charles’s.

You tossed and turned for an hour. Your brain couldn’t shut off. It constantly found a new thing to complain about every five minutes. The bed is too stiff, or it’s too cold in here, and then when you got another blanket, now it’s too hot.

But the most notable complaint, I miss Charles.

You whispered out a curse to the empty room, trying your hardest to push that thought far away from your brain. But it was persistent. It was the devil on your shoulder, telling you Charles could fix the ache in your heart—even if he was the cause of it.

You should be mad at him. You shouldn’t be the one longing for his presence beside you. You should be repulsed at the mere thought of him.

You couldn’t find it in you to stay mad at him. He was an irresistible force, constantly drawing you into him even when he wasn’t trying to.

And eventually, after an hour of trying to talk yourself out of it, it drew you right back to his side. As you slid into the sheets next to him, you tried your best to stay quiet and not to wake him. But when a warm hand was placed on your hip, you knew you’d failed to do so.

“I love you.” He tiredly spoke. You said nothing. Instead, you laced your fingers with his.

I just can’t stay done with you.

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.4 | END)

W/C 7.2k #NSFW, male!reader, top!reader, bottom!sukuna, ABO elements, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, unhealthy relationships, questionable relationships, power imbalance, ABO elements, gojo/megumi/yuuji/nobara cameos, yuuji/megu/nobara are early 20s, sukuna is controlling/possessive/obsessive, rough sex, not edited enough (oh well) Note: It's finally over (dies like Noctis)

tags: @kamote-kuneho @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

“Google says kitsune are usually attuned to one of the thirteen elements,” Nobara prattled, scrolling through the random Japanese mythology website on her phone. “Itadori, what's his element, huh?” 

Yuuji pursed his lips, face growing deadpan as he thought and quickly realized he had no clue.

“Uh…” 

Nobara grimaced. “Useless.” 

“Hey, I didn't know they were all, y'know, elemental-y, okay?! Jeeze!” 

Megumi sighed and shook his head. “We're supposed to be keeping an eye on him, not arguing about garbage you found online.” 

The two country bumpkins followed Megumi's gaze to where you snoozed under a tree. It felt a little strange seeing you donned in one of college's spare uniforms, but you seemed quite pleased by the modern take on fashion and aesthetic. Yuuji wondered if you'd take to modifying the plain, black clothes the way you'd done so in the past.

“Oi, kyuubi!” Nobara called as she wandered in your direction, much to the chagrin of Megumi. “I got a question for ya.”

You spared her a sleepy glance before sitting up and stretching with a wide, toothy yawn. It almost took the three aback, seeing how sharp and distinctly not-human your teeth were.

“You and everyone else, evidently.” You hummed and combed your tail with your fingers. “Speak.”

“Is it true that your kind are, like, elemental or something?” 

Megumi sighed as he rolled up beside her. “She means to ask if kitsune are elementally-attuned, whether it be to fire, water, earth–that sort of thing.” 

“I literally just said that!” Nobara hissed as she smacked Megumi's arm. The raven didn't react in the slightest. 

“Yeah!” Yuuji piped up. His face grew red as soon as your lazy stare flicked to him. “I-I, uh–like, y'know, fire. Or…you talked about fire?” 

“You are so tactless. It's starting to get sad.” 

“Can it, Kugisaki!” 

You smiled. “It's true, more or less. I was taught my sort usually falls into one of the thirteen elements: celestial, wind, spirit, darkness, fire, earth, river, ocean, forest, mountain, thunder, sound, and time.

“Then, there are the broadly ‘bad’ sort, nogitsune, and the ‘good’ sort, zenko. Most say only zenko reach total divinity, but that's not always the case.” 

“Yikes, so the bad kitsune can be gods too?” Yuuji asked as he sat down with you and pulled at the grass idly. “Isn't that, y'know, bad?”

“Gods are all inherently bad, as far as I'm concerned,” you said.

“Gojo-sensei mentioned you were one,” Megumi offered as he and Nobara sat, too. “A god. The people revered you.” 

You snorted and covered your mouth the way you might have if you had the long sleeves of a kimono to aid you.

“They didn't mind me. I don't think they particularly liked me, considering what company I kept.” You hummed and straightened out your sleeve. 

“Yeah, but…you're not him, so what's the point in hating you?” Yuuji asked, and you couldn't help but feel more weight and worry behind the words. 

“I don't care what they thought of me. I only cared about what the palace residents thought. They were my family, in a sense.” 

“Even Sukuna?” Megumi asked. 

“That's such a stupid question, oh my god. Boys are so stupid,” Nobara said with a deadpan.

You smiled, though, and kindly still answered. 

“Especially Sukuna.” 

“Hey, hey! Sorry for the wait!” Gojo called across the field as he made a show of sauntering on over before teleporting in the blink of an eye. “So? Are we all–oooh, are we gossiping?”

“What, no?!”

“No.”

“No.” 

Gojo pouted. “My students always leave me out. Thankfully, my sweet, pious, precious (Name) is nice to me!”

“You're late, Satoru,” you sighed as you stood, tying back your chopped hair into the tiniest of ponytails. “What is the reason?”

Gojo whined and trotted up to you, rubbing and petting your ears to bring you back to his side of the issue.

“It's not my fault! All the higher-ups are sooo annoying and yap sooo much!” He shuffled behind you and played with your three lush tails much like a toddler would. “Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy that's not gonna get mad at the Gojo Satoru?” 

You sighed and flicked your ear, thwacking him in the forehead with it. “Let's not waste any more time, cretin.

“What're we even doing, Sensei?” Yuuji asked, rubbing the back of his head after raising his hand like he was in class. “You didn't really tell us anythin’.” 

“Yeah, I thought we were just watching the fox until he had to go back in his cage,” Nobara said, arms crossed and expression sour. “Seems kinda stupid. He's not even a threat.” But Yuuji knew there was little truth to that statement.

“I'm guessing the meeting was about relocating (Name).” Megumi looked at Gojo. “So what's the plan?” 

��

The five of you walked endlessly through the vast forest surrounding the college. Your gaze traveled up sky-scraping trees, admiring the ancient song of life only you could hear through the soil and air. Wind danced across the verdant canopy above, scattering beams of molten sunlight across the forest floor and dappling the shoulders of the sorcerers before you with golden kisses–a sight you so sorely missed from your tenure at the palace. 

The land was not crying here. You'd heard the distant sound from the concrete jungle resting far below the rise of the college, and it shrouded you with jaded confusion and contempt for what had been done to the world in your stead; if you'd been smarter, wiser to the plans of one, could you have prevented this? Or were humans simply inevitable with their evolution? Perhaps it was up to the Earth to find the yang after the yin.

“Okay, this is it!” Gojo called, snapping you from your rampant thoughts. 

You looked to where he gestured, and found a simple building. It was reminiscent of the college in its design–modern, but clearly inspired by traditional architecture–and it looked fairly new. A bell attached to a rope stood at the forefront, as did a well for mortals to throw their offerings before ringing the aforementioned chime. Beyond that, the shrine lacked character and decoration. It was a clean slate. 

You blinked owlishly, and tilted your head. “This is…?”

“A shrine! For our new on-campus god! How fun is that, huh?” Gojo smiled, proud for a reason you couldn't decipher. “You get to make it home!” 

The younger three all deadpanned, looking between each other, trying to parse if their teacher was delusional or just being a menace to society and doing this behind the council’s back. Honestly, it was up in the air. 

“I–is that even–” Megumi tried, but gave up and rubbed his face instead. 

“So…(Name)’s gonna be, like, our resident god, or something?” Yuuji wondered, feeling his heart pitter patter just a little faster. 

“Haha! Sure, if you want to think of it that way.” Gojo smiled and looked toward the blank canvas of a shrine. “In exchange for divine favour, we grant sanctuary. Home. A place to call your own.” 

You didn't say much, but your tails swished and flowed as you stared at the humble abode–your humble abode–and inhaled shakily. 

“I suppose this will do,” you conceded, still too unwilling to give Gojo the satisfaction of knowing he'd touched your heart. “It's a bit stingy, however.”

“STINGY?” 

“Indeed. Now, begone–I have work to do.” 

– 

Sukuna reached for you when he dreamed. He didn't need to sleep, he had no use for it as he was now, but he convinced himself into the realm of the unconscious regardless, searching for the doorway leading to your mind. 

And he tried night after night, day after day, searching and sitting outside the palace of your inner realm once he found the entrance. The door was the same as the one leading to your chambers in your shared home; a simple, sliding door of wood and paper. Beautiful. Comforting. 

He knew the door wouldn't open for him, not yet; he deduced what may have happened, and what that would have meant for you all and himself as a result. He'd have to be patient. Wait for you to let him in to confront him, or seek his comfort. 

But he didn't expect the door to open so suddenly behind him, sending him rolling onto his back and staring upside down at the most magnificent sight he'd ever beheld–a kyuubi, sitting poised across the room, dressed in a haori several sizes too big, waiting with his back turned as candlelight flickered and lulled the room into a lazy, sleepy haze.

Sukuna righted himself and stood, spirit flailing and tearing itself apart in his uncontrollable want for you, for a desire to return back to the simplicity of this time. But he couldn't go back. Maybe he could recreate it. 

“Fox,” Sukuna murmured, excitement igniting the small, human body he'd been forced to mold his soul into. It felt so much worse in this form, his want being so much more fucking unbearable and burning a hole in his damn chest and skull. 

You shifted, head turning the slightest toward him yet refusing to give way entirely. But, then you stood, and Sukuna suddenly understood how you felt in the presence of his overwhelming power. 

You stood tall. Proud. Powerful. Your ears pointed towards the heavens while your tails fanned against the gates of hell when you turned to face that lover of the past, the one you held so dear for decades. 

Sukuna almost felt weak in the knees (or was that somehow Yuuji interrupting his delusions?) when bright red markings caught the light, shimmering in divine sparks of orange and teal in the firelight–and your eyes. Your eyes. They burned with higher purpose. With unreadable certainty and alien understanding. You made Sukuna's gut coil with need. 

“My Sukuna,” you whispered to the room. You took a step forward, and Sukuna eagerly met you the rest of the way. “You look so…small.” 

He looked up at you–yes, up--and admired your face and godly stature and just how fucking tall and unearthly and powerful you were looming over him. 

“Stuck looking like this fucking runt while I'm in his body,” Sukuna explained bitterly. He reached a hand up while he spoke, and you graciously leaned down to let his skin touch yours. 

An ache curled under Sukuna's skin, flushing his complexion with heat and suffocating him in those unbearable sorcerer uniform garbs. His pants strained too tight, his jacket and hoodie made his core swelter and his mind grow fuzzy. It was torture. 

“He looks so much like you,” you drawled, holding Sukuna's face in kind. You hummed with sympathy when he moaned and leaned into your touch, only abandoning his own rediscovery of your features to hold your palms against him, to indulge in everything so wholly you. 

“Forgot what I look like, huh,” Sukuna huffed. “This brat looks like a beaten monkey.” 

“So did you.”

“Hey.” 

“But I adored you anyway, did I not?” 

Sukuna scanned over your face slowly, methodically, wondering. 

“Adore. You mean ‘adore’.” 

“Perhaps.” You smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone. “It's been some time.” 

“You chose me. You belong to me.” Sukuna's lip curled as he growled and forced your hands into his skin firmer as though to leave scars. “Mine. Only mine.” 

Your lips quirked upwards and Sukuna pulled you down to kiss you. His voice reverberated between your linked bodies as your tongue licked into his mouth far enough to nearly make him choke. You kindly pulled him flush against you, wrenching more pleased, needy noises out of him with no effort at all. 

“You're as starved as Yuuji,” you whispered as his hands fumbled with your ornate clothes, yanking and pulling at them with reckless abandon. 

“Shut up.” His grumbling lessened just a bit when you eased your robes open, exposing your perfect skin to him once again. 

“I believe it'd displease you if I stopped talking, no?” You tore the clothing off the other's body as he pulled you down to the floor with him, suddenly so eager to submit. 

Sukuna scoffed. “I–just touch me, fox.” 

It was your turn to purr and keen, basking in the soft tremble of anticipation the all-powerful choked on as he spread himself bare beneath you, your garbs cascading all around him like a waterfall–only you would get to see him, chest heaving, eyes swirling with lust and need, hidden behind a curtain of embroidered flames.

“Poor thing.” You dug your nails into his hips and dragged him toward you, prodding your aching length against his unprepared heat. “You've been so long without touch. Without love. Do you still think it's meaningless?” 

The curse snarled, and you caught him by the throat, pinning him in place and jamming your other hand's fingers down his throat before he could bark back at you. And just that simple torture had the king's hips twitching and bucking, slowly falling into time with the rhythm of your digits slipping in and out of his bratty mouth. 

“F-fuck you,” he gasped once his mouth fell empty. 

You chuckled smoothly. “It's simply food for thought.” You pressed two fingers into him and worked inside with ease despite the crushing heat clamping down around you. You didn't know if his sweet, little body wanted you to stay put or fill him faster. 

“Fuckin'--annoying, shithead, bratty fox–” he cut off with a ragged moan as you pressed against his prostate and rubbed against it slowly, firmly, deliciously. His eyes fell shut and his brows twitched up, a vivid look of desperation and concentration making him look far too vulnerable and breedable for his own good. 

“It's strange,” you hummed, working him a little faster and jamming your fingers against his sweet spot over and over. “I never thought you'd willingly submit.” 

“I need it,” Sukuna growled, fisting his hand around his weeping length and stroking to the beat of your fingers. His hips bucked forward and back, unsure of what searing pleasure to lean into more; luckily for him, you were keen to up the ante. 

Your fingers slipped out and Sukuna snarled, crimson eyes snapping open to brand you with frustration. You felt the whip of desperate commands about to crack off Sukuna's tongue, so you wasted no time filling him back up, stuffing him beyond his limits. 

The man almost gasped, though it could have just been the force of your cock punching the air out of his lungs. You pulled him against you, seating him to the base with a little effort and brute force. You knew he liked the pain. Pleasure was closely acquainted with it, after all. 

“This is what you wanted,” you murmured as you rocked into him. 

The curse didn't know if you beckoned an answer from him, or simply stated the facts. So, he didn't answer you. He instead gripped onto your shoulders to keep himself steady while you effortlessly drilled into his core with each and every thoughtful roll of your hips. 

And it felt good. An uncomfortable, searing stretch accompanied the deep plunges filling him beat after beat. His body tightened and clamped down around you, forcing your length to rub against the weakest, most sensitive spots inside of him–places no one would ever dream of hitting inside the unruly king. None besides you, of course. You were different. Better than the rest. Fit to fuck and fill him if Sukuna so desired it. 

“(Name),” he groaned when you changed up the angle, aiming to rub up against the ceiling of his insides with every thrust. You tortured his weak spot, and made a casual show of forcing his stomach to bulge and distend whenever you bottomed out entirely, and Sukuna reveled in it. He wanted to be yours. Just yours. 

“You're so sweet when you submit,” you cooed, leaning down and nuzzling against his neck as you fucked into him harder and faster. “You should have done so sooner.”

Sukuna should have clapped Back, but he couldn't; he was too busy trying to angle himself to somehow get you deeper. He was too busy trying to pull you closer, to graft his thick thighs to your scar-riddled sides like a branch on a tree. He couldn't spare a single braincell on your arrogant Teasing when all he could think was, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me–

“Now he's lost his voice,” you sighed. “Such a pity.” Your hips hit particularly hard to punctuate, and Sukuna grunted. 

“Again,” he choked out. “Fuck me like that.” 

You branded a smile into his skin with a hum. “Are you sure? I won't stop if it's too much.” 

Sukuna opened his bleary eyes and spied your nine tails fanned out, cloaking the ceiling from sight. It felt like staring death in the face. Maybe he'd been in its clutches this entire time. Maybe he wanted–needed–you to be the end of him.

Your hand found his throat again, and Sukuna nodded as best he could, too overwhelmed and overstimulated to get words out of his open mouth–but grunts and groans had no issue bursting through as you left mercy by the wayside and destroyed him as thoroughly as he requested. You were, after all, a selfless god.

Sukuna's eyes rolled back as his head tilted in kind, mouth left agape as you burned him alive; every push of your body into his lit new fires, and every second you stayed connected, more of his soul exhausted itself before rising from ashes once again. The tightness coiling in his stomach grew unbearable and insatiable, hungering for more and more and more until–

“There's no shame in coming undone,” you cooed, your lips and fangs replacing the hand in his throat and peppering apologetic kisses. “Unravel for me, my love.” 

My love. My love. My love.

“Fuck,” Sukuna gasped. He clung to you, and you raised your head to kiss him, swallowing his strained noises to keep them a secret from the outside world and himself. 

He grabbed at your shoulders and arms as his head tilted back and a hoarse cry left him–just as his body clamped down and sent him over the edge, he realized pushing in and out had become more taxing. Perhaps because of his cumming, or perhaps because of the ungodly thing swelling at your base and ripping him open. 

You worked him through his high, never thinking of pulling away from him when he needed you most. Because this was bound to end. He was bound to wake up and feel cold where your hands now touched. He was stuck in the body of another with no hope of reaching you unless he somehow, some way turned the tables on all those weak sorcerers and broke free. 

But he would. He'd claim his vessel and walk amongst the new world, autonomous and untouchable. It was only a matter of time. 

–

Though Sukuna was selfish in chasing his own pleasure, he soon found immense satisfaction in yours.

The number of times he'd trap you against a wall and finger you until your legs gave out and your voice ran hoarse was too great to count. He couldn't help himself; that bewildered, wide-eyed look you gave him every time you were let go to fix your robes and catch your voice screamed, what was that for? And boosted Sukuna’s ego. He reveled in the glory of being the only one to do this to you, to being the one who forced you to lose composure. 

In his chamber, he indulged further. He'd work thick fingers deep inside of you while his other hands roamed and touched, stroking, pinching and rubbing wherever he deemed needed attention. And you were putty in his hands, absolutely melting into everything he did to you, even if accompanied by a shock of pain. 

Because you were a creature who only knew sex for the sake of bearing children. Beyond that clan using you in an attempt to create half-breed sorcerers, your primal nature influenced you to only seek out a mate for the purpose of bearing children, and not necessarily for pleasure. 

But Sukuna was the opposite. He never thought of siring children. He only thought of pleasure of another's body and the thrill of total domination over them, never the idea he'd suffer the consequences of an heir; he had those women drink a special tea to prevent that for a reason, especially when a handful had come to him, offering their bodies in return for fame and perceived power. 

With you, he could entertain the idea, however. 

Yes, the mere idea of watching you walk around the gardens, properly swollen with his children, with physical proof of his ownership and coupling with you, sparked something akin to greed in his chest. Though it was a little warmer than just that, admittedly.

–

Yuuji liked you. There was no escaping it, no denying it–he liked being around you. He liked your smile. Your tails. Your ears. The way you scared the shit out of him the first time you properly met. You were just…weird. Interesting. Kind of like Yuuji himself. 

But you were kind, too. The times he wandered out to meet you at your shrine to “check up on things,” or because he was bored, he always found you tending to your gardens, talking to the passerby wildlife, dozing at the entrance, and his heart would do something funny in his chest. 

Then his mind would rot until all he could see was you sprawled beneath Sukuna, singing the king’s praises while he fucked you into the tatami and bred you. 

It wouldn't stop there. Sukuna would taunt him, poisoning him with sinful thoughts and diabolic urges:

You think that fox'll give you the time of day? You, a petulant runt with not a shred of experience beyond your hand? Hah. 

Consider it a blessing--you'd probably cum too fast to enjoy him properly. You'd embarrass yourself to death.

I know you think about him when your hand's around your cock. You wish he'd warm it, no? Wish you got to watch his ass take you in? 

Go on, why don't you just try? Fulfill your fantasies! Maybe he'll act the part of a pious, pitying god and throw you a bone. 

Yuuji, for as airheaded as he could be, knew Sukuna wanted to indulge in you through his vessel. Or, he truly believed Yuuji wouldn't be able to hook up with you and live to remember it. Maybe he was right. 

But the young man thought you had a soft spot for him; he wasn't great at reading people by any means, but he thought you always gravitated to him before the others. You always held more warmth in your eyes when they fell upon him, and your preening touch constantly found him, your hands always smoothing out the creases of his uniform while deft fingers fixed his hair and pleated his hood into more attractive folds. 

Maybe your touchy-ness toward him was a culmination of your need to parent something. Yuuji didn't fully understand it, but Gojo mentioned something about you wanting children, but you couldn't have them. Not anymore. And so those urges manifested in other ways. 

But the young sorcerer wasn't so sure anymore.

“My Yuuji,” you cooed when he came to visit. “You're back again so soon. Is everything alright?”

Yuuji smiled and braced for impact, bowing his head the slightest bit to let you bonk yours against his in greeting. It really reminded him of the way cats would welcome each other. Thankfully, you didn't seem too eager to mark him with a dose of spittle, though. 

“Yeah, everything's cool. Just–dunno. Wanted to come see what you were doing, I guess.” The sorcerer shrugged and pocketed his hands after you'd finished lovingly headbutting him.

“Mmh. Well, I certainly don't mind the company.” You smoothed back his hair and fixed the wild flare of one of his eyebrows before stepping away and meandering back towards your shrine. “It feels like something's going to happen soon.”

Yuuji's stomach flipped. “Yeah? You think so?” He followed you, watching the hypnotic swaying of your tails and hips and ass–wait, wait, wait, no, no, no–

What? Am I wrong? Sukuna's voice purred. Looks downright breedable, doesn't he? He said it more like a want than a taunt, this time, like if he were in Yuuji's shoes, he'd jump on you and pick up where you left off. 

Shut up, shut up, shut up, Yuuji chanted, trying to calm down. Don't ruin this!

Ruin what? Your sad attempt at courtship, brat? 

Yuuji said nothing. Sukuna howled with laughter. 

“Natural disasters cannot always be predicted,” you murmured, bringing Yuuji back to the present. “And they can never be stopped.”

The younger frowned and rubbed the back of his neck as he followed you inside. “Eh, I mean…we can stop a lot with sorcery, can't we?”

“And if that disaster is born of sorcery? What then?” You snapped your fingers, and every candle in the room ignited with amber flame.

“Uh…I mean…” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I still think we can stop it. We'll figure out a way!”

You sure about that, brat? 

You laughed, soft and kind, bringing a smile to Yuuji instead of a ticked off frown. You had a way of settling his nerves and relieving the tension from tightly wound muscles. Is this the effect you had on Sukuna? Is that why he cherished you so much? 

“I admire your optimism, Yuuji. Perhaps I should aspire to be like you,” you said. 

Yuuji's face flushed. “E-eh? Wh–no! You're awesome the way you are! And, uh, you're–y’know. You're good!” Smooth. Eloquent. Exceptional.

You hummed and wandered further into the back rooms, allowing Yuuji to follow you to your chambers to relax. “Well, I'll trust your opinion, then.” 

“Okay. Yeah. Cool.” The sorcerer cleared his throat and messed with his hood as he followed your lead, admiring the tidy, comfy space you welcomed him into. Pillows and blankets were plentiful and all bunched together on a futon, so much like the nests Yuuji often saw in his dreams. It felt a bit…intrusive to see it in person. 

“Hey, uh,” Yuuji started, “I–can I ask something?” 

You seated yourself down across the small, simple kotatsu, and gestured for the younger to join you. “Of course.”

The sorcerer sat down across from you. “You and Sukuna. Were you guys–did you ever…y'know.” 

You tilted your head, curious. “Go on.”

“Were you, like, in love? Or something?” Yuuji's face burned red at the words. Talking about love was so damn awkward for some reason, especially when it had to do with Sukuna and the fox Yuuji himself pined for.

“Ah.” You tilted your head the opposite direction, and hummed. “I was in love, yes.”

Yuuji's chest ached. “Even now?” 

“Eternally.” 

“Do you want him back?” 

You didn't answer right away, and the festering pain spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers; of course you wanted him back. Of course you wanted your ancient, all-powerful lover back. Why would you ever accept Yuuji in his place? A weak, mortal being?

Before Yuuji could retract the question, you'd shuffled around to his side of the table and held one of his hands in both of yours. The younger couldn't bear to look at your face, and so kept his eyes trained on your elegant fingers smoothing over his rough, scarred knuckles. 

“I would not trade a soul that walks amongst the living for a soul that has already lived its life,” you said. “Sukuna has lived. And he has died. He may rise once more, but I do not seek to aid it; he chose to die in hopes of living forever. He must accept what his decision brings, as must I.” 

The storm inside of the sorcerer calmed the slightest bit. Sails no longer whipped and frayed; they caught wind and led his heart back to placid waters, though the depths of the oceans could always threaten future treachery. For now, however, Yuuji found safety.

“Man, you really are like Yoda,” He laughed, filling the room with renewed brightness.

You blinked owlishly. “Yoda? What that is, I do not know.” 

Yuuji laughed harder and clasped his hands around yours. “Nah, don't worry about it. It's a good thing, though. From one of the movies Gojo-sensei made me watch.”

“I would strongly advise against taking lessons from that man, Yuuji.” Your brow creased as your hands clutched his in a death grip. “He’s not normal.”

Yuuji grinned, then, and held your hands just as tightly. “Yeah, he's weird. But he's smart, too! One of the strongest guys alive, y'know?” 

“Even the strongest can make mistakes,” you said. “Even the strongest can lose, Yuuji. Always be careful, even if victory is assured.” Your careful touch graced the curve of his cheek. “I would hate for your visits to stop.”

The sorcerer's heart beat in double-time. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

–

The leaves crinkled and rustled, flashing shades of amber and ruby in the dwindling daylight. Gone was the warmth of Summer's smile; now, the cold, fierce nip of Autumn cut through the air, whispering secrets about the first frost and what it would do to devastate the green around you.

But you were a god. A creature of fertility and good luck. And so, the grass did not die, and the forest did not wither under the coming winter's threats. 

It seemed your gifts could not reach into the depths of your soul, however. Perhaps you weren't to indulge in the privilege of what you brought the world--the mortal things around you could make use of a blessing from the divine, but could the divine themselves? Could you bring yourself a remedy to your loneliness the way you brought life unto the ground beneath your feet? 

You didn't know.

–

The end of October came, and the world trembled with the force of thousands of lives ending in misery and terror. You beheld it from your home, the sight of the clouds turning orange and red as hellfire devoured all. 

Bless me ‘n wish me luck! Gojo had said last time he swung by. Definitely don't need it, but you're my favourite cheerleader, y'know?

That was not too long ago, perhaps a day prior. Maybe it'd only been twelve hours ago since you last saw him. Three hours ago since you last felt his celestial presence upon the earth. 

“I would hate for your visits to stop,” you murmured, and your chest froze with the cold. 

–

Winter brought with it snow and darkness. Kuraokami had his ways of slipping his icy presence through the slivered cracks of wood grain no matter the time or place; the great dragon would be heard and seen if it was his final act upon the earth. 

Not even you could keep him out, the lesser deity you were. But you didn't mind the company; the cold breaths against your skin woke you from nightmares and empty blankness when you dozed and dazed, feeling the days slip by and blur together into one grey smear of solitary existence. 

Something had happened. Ever since the sky lit ablaze in a familiar scene of ungodly strength, you felt a shift in the state of existence. In your relevance in the grand scheme of the college and history. 

Your sorcerers lost their way to you, you realized. The cushions around the kotatsu stayed fluffed and untouched save for one. Five of the six clay tea cups gathered dust as they waited, hopeful, like you. 

–

You woke to the feeling of hollowness. It jostled you to consciousness, in fact; those two little unborn lives swirled and stirred, clawing at your stomach before vanishing in an instant. 

Maybe they'd grown too sick and weary of the loneliness and snow, too.

–

Sukuna had walked down this path too many times. And too many times he'd been unable to move, unable to claw his way out of the prison of his vessel to get back to you–but things were different now. 

He held a bundle of blankets close as he wandered toward a speck of verdant green amidst the snowy whiteness blanketing the forest, and remembered a distant past he yearned to return to:

Sukuna was a restless creature. He often distracted himself with challenges, duels, leafing through stolen knowledge of other clans–but, on rare occasions, none of that would appeal to his tumultuous mind. 

You always appealed to him, however. You, with your lavish tails, your exquisite appearance, your superior poise and prose, you always enthralled him, made him wonder and stare. 

Maybe it was because you were always doing something. If you weren't tending to his women, you were meandering around the palace, admiring trophies earned in whatever form they came in: art, weapons, bones. If you weren't doing that, you might be in the garden instead, fine-tuning the patterns drawn in the zen garden yourself and feeding the massive koi. If not that, then you might be asking Uraume to teach you to cook, or you could be fiddling with your loom or–well, it could be anything. 

Sometimes, you’d choose to  lay with Sukuna and keep him warm and content throughout the dreary haze of winter. 

You didn't hate winter yourself, no, but Sukuna most definitely did. The snow and ice were a pain in the ass, and they always threw the garden into a messy disarray of dead foliage and slushy mud that'd have to be tended to come springtime. And it was cold as hell outside. Who asked for that? No one. 

“My love,” you cooed as you stepped to his side while he stared out the window. “Glaring won't make the seasons change.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “That a challenge?”

“Not at all.” You reached up and smoothed his hair back, stopping pesky, rebellious strands from tickling his forehead. “I'd hate to see what you'd do in an attempt to play god.”

“I'm already a god,” he countered as he snatched your hand from his hair and looked down at you.

“Not a god of the seasons, I'm afraid.” You held his hand and pulled it down to kiss his knuckles. “But a god amidst men, nonetheless.” 

Your beast hummed deep in his chest. You had a funny way of setting his roiling soul at ease with your effortless praise and acknowledgement. 

“Knew there was a reason I kept you around,” the man purred, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours. 

You leaned up into the soft gesture like a cat too eager to be pet. “You'd be quite bored without me.” 

“No kidding. I'd go fucking mental if I didn't have you to entertain me.” His voice was a murmur, then, and softened even more when your warm hands cupped his cheeks like he was a priceless, fragile artifact: precious, special, breakable.

“Yes, yes, I go insane in your stead, loved one.” You touched your nose to his, then, before placing the softest of kisses upon his lips. 

A light, sighed grumble slipped past Sukuna's lips when your skin left his. It was his turn to nudge his nose against yours, earning himself a petal-like smile from his prized possession, before he blessed you in return, trying to match the kindness you'd met him with. 

You held the front of his garbs as you leaned up into him, and his hands all found their places on your smaller frame in return, pulling you closer, keeping you against him. He hardly wanted anything like this in the past before you came along and tore his mind and soul to pieces before hunkering down in the hollow of his ribs and setting up shop. It was aggravating. Captivating. 

“Come,” you softly beckoned, slipping away from his desperate hold and leading him back to the bundle of blankets and linens he’d learned to accept as a bed.

As always, he had no choice but to follow, abandoning his mad-dogging of the outside world to join you and the infinite warmth his personal Amaterasu brought him. 

“You’re lazy as hell in the winter,” Sukuna noted as he sat himself down in the middle of your nest and let you get to work adjusting blankets and such around the both of you for optimal comfort. 

“You're free to traipse off into the snow if you so wish.” You settled yourself by Sukuna's side and tucked under his heavy arms. “I will remain here. Warm. Dry. At peace.” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes and pulled you close to his side, squeezing a chirped purr from your chest. “Think I'll pass on the snow.” 

You smiled to yourself, feeling warm and content with the settling silence engulfing you as the snow engulfed the world. Winter was the only season where he'd stay by your side, so you often indulged in it, bothering him and sticking to him like a needy pet until spring inevitably rolled around to ruin your happy spell. Because Sukuna was more wild and feral than you. He had to go wander, to go fight. Otherwise, he'd have no purpose. 

Unbeknownst to you, he may have another purpose in mind. 

His hand breached your clothes and reached down, stopping just above your navel to your surprise. There, he drew gentle, thoughtful circles against your skin. You felt pulses of cursed energy flicker and feel, searching for something neither of you yet knew of. 

“What is it you're looking for?” You murmured, knowing full well what he sought.

Sukuna inhaled deeply and exhaled just as heavy. “How long does it take to get one god knocked up, huh?” He tutted and looked down at you, holding an annoyed look while you met him with doey, lovey eyes as you leaned into him more. 

“I'm sure you'll be the man who finds out.”

Sukuna grinned to himself and adjusted the lump of blankets he held. Arrogant pride blossomed in his chest alongside his bolstered ego; if he could do this as a mere man, what could he do as a curse? 

The king sighed as he breached the warmth of the halo surrounding your humble, comfy abode. He was getting sick of the shit weather in the games, all the cold and emptiness. Being near you was what he needed. 

“Oi, don't make a fuss,” Sukuna grumbled lowly to the whining duo he adjusted in his arms. “You wanna get inside or not?” 

But before he could make use of his newly freed arm, the doors slid open before him. 

And you stood there. Tired. Disheveled. Eyes big and hopeful, yet rimmed with disbelief and shock as you stared at your man and the package he brought to your doorstep. 

Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't melt, too. Being here, standing firm and whole and so very real and untethered in the spot other sorcerers stood in their attempt to spirit you away from him–it was the reason for his existence. 

And so was your arms wrapping around him and holding him close. 

“Ho? So you did miss me, huh?” He hummed, looping an arm around you and pressing you closer to him. “Sure didn't act like it earlier.”

“I didn't wish to believe in something that felt untrue,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Even now, you're not…entirely yourself.” 

Sorrow stained the undertones of your voice. Whether it was for the fate of Fushiguro Megumi, or for the state of your lover, Sukuna did not know. 

But he was here. He was tangible. He was in control. Finally. 

“At least I'm here, yeah?” He said. And you nodded. 

You led him inside and into the room filled with comfort and warmth. Works of embroidery lined the once-unremarkable tapestries draping down from the ceilings and walls, and the wooden pillars now boasted intricate carvings in various states of completion. Seemed like you'd gotten quite bored in your wait. 

Sukuna sat with you, being the man to finally make use of the fluffed cushions around the kotatsu as he dragged it to your side to stay close. You needed it. He thirsted for it.

The bundle whined and cooed as soon as Sukuna’s ass hit the cushion, and he sighed. “Think you can take care of this, fox?” He teased, but felt a rush of something overtake him when he caught you with your ears perked, tails swishing, back straight as you stared down at the bundle. 

He eased them into your arms and, with shaking hands, you pulled back the wooly linen to find two perfect little treasures staring up at you with big, red-lined eyes. One held the colour of yours, while the other took responsibility for sporting Sukuna's hues, but both boys’ eyes glimmered with divine flecks of gold and amber. Their hair blushed with the colour of sakura petals, and two, itty bitty tufts of soft onyx ears dotted both of their heads like chocolate chips in strawberry ice cream. 

Two perfect kits. Your perfect kits. 

“You seriously wanted these things?” Sukuna asked, teasing and rude, but softer and warmer than the fire burning in your chest. “Gotta say, they're pretty fucking annoying.”

You swathed your tails around them and purred with the ferocity of an avalanche as you leaned into your partner and doted on the teeny tiny babies he'd somehow brought back to the land of the living. A part of you felt guilty for what this could mean. The rest of you screamed, I don't care. 

“Look at them,” You whispered, tracing the roundness of their cheeks with a gentle touch. “They're beautiful.” 

“Well, lookit who their parents are.” Sukuna chuckled and held you against his side, which you eagerly melted into. “Kenjaku had a plan for them too, turns out. Who woulda thought?”

“You never told me,” you said. “Why did you not tell me?” 

“You would've been pissed,” Sukuna said, voice matter of fact. “Better to just do it and reap the benefits later.”

You looked up at him, and found his gaze locked onto you. “That's quite selfish.”

“I'm a king. I can do whatever I want. I can have whatever I want,” He reminded you. “As soon as I take care of a few pathetic, loose ends, everything'll be in place. Right where it all needs to be. And life goes back to normal." 

Your heart did something funny when you read between the lines. “Must you–”

“Don't question me.” Sukuna grabbed your chin and forced you to look down at your snoozing babes. “You’ll lose this. All of this. You'll be left with nothing all over again if I don’t finish this off. That what you want, fox?” 

“You know the answer,” you murmured, too content to let him guide you and sway your reason. He tugged your chin toward him, forcing you to look his way again.

“Tell me anyway.” Tell me what I want to hear.

How could you refuse? 

“No matter the case," you murmured, soft as forgotten winter snow, "you will always have my favour, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

–

Forever to be loved, herein lays a God's young,

Imprisoned by none, held dearly by the Disgraced One. 

[totheblood]

superposition. (one)

pairing: dealer!ellie x best friend!reader

summary: you've never been on a date, hell, you've never even kissed anyone. ellie decides to be a good best friend and teach you how! wow.. so kind of her..

warnings: 18+, nearly every chapter will have a somewhat sexual element to it (this one is probably the tamest?), cursing, alcohol/drug mention, suggestive themes... cheating if u squint

a/n: i want bff!ellie and that's all... friends to lovers??? fav trope. i hope i do this justice and i hope you guys like it... ai audios at the end as usual

"in every universe, you are my dark star."

You felt like a fucking loser.

Well, you usually felt like a loser, but as you sat on Dina’s couch researching what to wear on a first date you felt absolutely lame. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been asked out on a date before, it’s just that no one you liked had asked you out on a date before. A girl had never asked you out on a date before. But since the cute girl from your chemistry lab had asked you if you wanted to go to dinner with her, you happily agreed.

You were just… inexperienced and although it never bothered you before as you approached the time for your date you were becoming increasingly more nervous. What to wear, what to order, and what to talk about were all things you were not familiar with and you wanted to be, if anything, overly prepared. So you did the only thing you knew how to: Google it. 

Your feet were tucked under your legs as you sat crisscrossed on the couch. From the living room, you could hear Dina and Jesse laughing in the kitchen as they snacked on whatever they had available in their pantry. Ellie was sat at the dining room table with a scale in front of her, measuring and sorting loose flowers into dime bags. This was what a regular Friday night looked like for your friends. It usually ended in Ellie passing around one of her pre-rolls as you watched a shitty movie Jesse had suggested, but tonight you planned to leave early for your date.

As if Ellie could sense the tension rolling off of you from her place at the table, she plopped herself next to you on the couch, startling you from your anxious state. 

“Jesus, fuck-” You looked at Ellie with wide eyes, her green ones staring back and searching your face as if she was analyzing you. “We need to put a bell on you. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I practically stomped over here, it’s not my fault that whatever-” She gestured back and forth between you and your phone. “Is going on with that stopped you from hearing me.” 

You rolled your eyes at her fully knowing she was right but not wanting to give her that satisfaction. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Soooo,” She began, drawing out the sound as she placed her arm behind you on the couch and leaned into you. “What’s got you all nervous today? I swear whenever you’re nervous, I get nervous.”

You groaned, leaning your head back and into Ellie’s arm. You tilted your head slightly to look at her. She looked comfortable in her grey hoodie, her other hand tucked into the pocket. Her eyes were locked on yours and her eyebrows knit together. She was concerned about you. If the reason you were freaking out wasn’t so juvenile you would be eating this up, but instead you just felt guilty. It annoyed you how well she knew you sometimes.

“It’s so stupid, El.” Your voice came out in a whisper almost as if you were telling her a secret. “You’re gonna laugh at me” Her face softened as she offered you a small smile.

“How much do you wanna bet it’s not stupid?” She leaned her head back on the couch, trying to match your posture. “And if I laugh you have full permission to punch me.” 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a second. You knew that she would never make fun of you for freaking out over a date, but that didn’t stop you from being reluctant to say it out loud. 

“I have a date tonight.” When you opened your eyes you scanned her face looking for a hint of a smile, something that would tell you not to stress. Instead, you saw a different emotion flicker over her face, something you couldn’t quite place. Shock? No. Sadness? No. Disappointment? Close enough. It didn’t make much sense to you but as quick as it was there, it was gone.

“And?” She didn’t sound annoyed, but she didn’t sound happy for you. For the first time in your life, you were having a difficult time reading her.

“And I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never been on a date before.” With your admission, you squinted your eyes causing your nose to scrunch. The reaction you were getting from Ellie was hard to read and you were already beginning to feel extremely embarrassed. When you finally did adjust your vision to look at her she just looked confused.

“Why did I not know you’ve never been on a date?” 

“Cause I never told you.” You laughed, a downturned smile on your face. “Not really the best talking point.” You were trying to lighten the mood but Ellie’s expression never changed.

“I mean, it makes sense.” She casually said. If you were anyone else you may have laughed it off, but the sentence cause a sharp pain in your chest. Your mouth fell open as you gasped and playfully pushed her shoulder.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Her eyes widened as she realized how you took her sentence.

“No, no- fuck. I just mean like you spend all your time with me. You never really talk about anyone, I’m not saying no one would date you cause obviously I know that’s not true, I just mean… I didn’t mean it like that.” She rambled out, a frantic look on her face.

“Damn, Ellie. Tell me how you really felt.” The smile crept back up on her face as she realized you were teasing her.

“So you’ve never been on a date? So what?” She shrugged, trying to steer the conversation back in it’s original direction.

“So I don’t know what to wear, or what to talk about, or howtokiss.” You mumbled the last part of your sentence together hoping she wouldn’t notice, but she was Ellie and she noticed almost everything.

“Wear that pink floral dress you have, the one that makes your boobs look amazing. Talk about yourself, it’s a date, the whole point is to get to know each other. And what was that last thing you said?” When she spoke to you everything she said seemed so casual, but you weren’t like her. You couldn’t brush over the fact that she just told you not only does she know your wardrobe without thinking too much about it, but also makes a note of how you look in them. How your tits look in them. 

“Uhm-” You cleared your throat. “I don’t know how to kiss. I’ve never done it before.” You reluctantly admitted. Again you expected Ellie to laugh at you, but she just stared at you, then your lips. 

“Well, I can show you.” She shrugged, eyes trained on you. Your mouth hung open, unsure of what to do. On one hand, kissing your best friend never seems like a good idea, on the other hand, you could use the practice.

“I mean… now?” You asked, your body heating up in anticipation. She looked completely serious, her lips were a straight line and her body seemed completely calm. She was the complete opposite of you. She slightly got up and leaned over you as she peered into the kitchen, presumably checking for Dina and Jesse. As she sat back down she took another quick glance at your lips. 

“Yeah, now. Just a quick lesson before your date.” She said it matter-of-factly almost as if this would just be a case of a friend helping another friend. Like she was offering to help you move or something. A part of you assumed you were overthinking it. If she was so nonchalant about it, then it must not be a big deal. Right? 

“Yeah, okay. It couldn’t hurt, right?” 

“Don’t think so.” She agreed.

“So, what do I do? Do I just-” You placed your phone on the couch between you before cupping her cheek. Ellie placed her hand that was previously in her pocket over yours and moved your hand down to her thigh before leaning in close to you.

“Just relax, I’ll show you how.” Her voice came out in a whisper that you could feel ghost your lips. You were unsure of when she got so close but you could smell her, feel her short and rapid breaths coming from her nose. If you moved an inch your lips would be on hers, but you decided to let her take control.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as she closed the small gap between your faces and pressed her chapped lips against yours. Your eyelids fluttered closed as you froze, unsure of what to do next. Her hand that was still resting on yours tapped the back of your hand. Almost instinctively you parted your lips and hummed when her tongue tentatively brushed against yours. It almost felt natural, her tongue in your mouth and your hand on your thigh, but as she slowly pulled her face back from you, you suddenly wanted more. 

Your free hand grabbed the back of her head, your lips capturing hers once again. You were fighting to feel her tongue in your mouth again but understood what she wanted when her lips parted. Her hand which had been resting behind your head for a better part of your conversation had made its way down to your waist and gently pulled you into her. Your chests were impossibly close together and every little noise you made caused her to get more and more aggressive. Your whole body was burning and you were attempting to ignore the wetness that was growing at your center, but Ellie just kept going. She guided your hand further up her thigh, humming into your mouth as you brushed your thumb over her inner thigh.

With the hand that was previously trapped in your hair, you steadied yourself with a hand on her shoulder as you pushed her back in an attempt to straddle her. Both your hands had moved. Her hands found their place at the base of your hips and yours were gripping the back of her neck. Her lips felt like fucking magic as she began to suck on your bottom lip. You could feel a tightness in your core, something you were all too familiar with. Your clothed hips ground down on hers, causing her to gasp and break away from you instantly.

“Fuck, fuck. Okay.” She sighed, leaning away from you and gently pushing you away from her. When you got a good look at her her lips were swollen and eyes red and glossy. You wanted to kiss her again, you wanted to relieve the pain you were beginning to feel, but the situation was beginning to set in for you. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never done that before.” She blinked up at you, her hands rubbing at your sides distracting you. Your mind was practically empty. 

“Was I okay?” You asked bashfully, causing her to snort. All she did was lean up and press a kiss to the side of your lips, before pushing you off of her and back onto the couch. 

“You were more than okay, that was-” She stopped herself as she looked at you. Her eyes scanned your face, staying too long on your lips. “I think your date will go great.” Something in her tone seemed solemn, but she had a gentle smile on her face, and her hand was still hoovering the side of your body.

“Thank you.” You said quietly, eyes never leaving her. 

“I should get back to work, and you should go get ready.” She pushed herself off the couch and made her way back to the dining room table, leaving you sitting there licking your lips just for the taste of her. A second after her you got up too, grabbing your bag from the coffee table in front of you. Ellie turned back around to look at you from the table. 

“Wear the dress, and uh-” She stopped to look you up and down. “Text me when you get home tonight.”

ai audios:

[missmielyhoran]

Chapter 1

Welcome to Humphrey high my loves...

I don't know shit about the british education system, and tbh it's confusing when I googled it, so I just made one up! But it's a all rounder school, more like fiction people are doing anyone and anything except studying.

Sunshine asshole × Grumpy sweetheart enemies to lovers

[Warnings - Angst, death threats, Harry being asshole as always, y/n having stick up her ass, bullying like a lot of]

Masterlist

*****

Humphrey High was a prestigious school for wealthy families. People from all over the world would send their kids there to get education from exceptional teachers.

It was basically boarding school for rich trust fund babies who have their head up their asses.

The school had seen many things from inappropriate relationships to enemies at each others throat to lovers who would die for each other.

Still, there was one story that stood out the most...

The whole small stadium of school was packed, yet no one dared to make a sound. Sweat glistened down the side her head to her neck as the sun was shining right above her head. It was too hot of a day, but nothing could stop her.

This was the last shot it would either make or break her streak of winning. The scores of both parties were equal, and even she had to admit that after a long time, she found a good opponent. The other girl served, and the intense game was on, but as good as the other could be, she wasn't her. The ball made a loud sound when it hit her racket, making the ball fly just an inch from beside the other girl, insuring her win.

The whole stadium roared while some booed, but there was a single person, the loudest of them all whistling and cheering for her, knowing it would get on her nerves.

Y/N rolled her eyes, looking over the bleacher where he stood with his smug taunting smile. She ignored him and walked towards her coach, who gave her a patt on the back and congratulated her.

There were a few things Y/N was known for, her great skills in tennis, physics, her resting bored face, which rarely turned into a smile and hating Harry Styles. It wasn't like she grew up in a traumatic household or had a traumatized childhood. Well, she did have traumatized childhood and experiences, but she feels like she had always been this way. That's why he called her that stupid nickname-

"My My Wednesday" Harry said, walking towards her, his ring clad fingers making clickling noise as he clapped.

"I will see you at the practice on monday, coach." She nodded her head and picked up her bag, looking around for her best friend who was nowhere to be seen.

"Why you ignore me, darling?" Harry asked, pouting feigning hurt. He was walking backward in front of her, and she had all mind to push him.

So, she did.

He fell on the grass with a thump mumbling a small 'ow' as if falling on grass would hurt him. Y/N took the opportunity and race walked out of the stadium to the parking lot where she saw her friend dry humping with some girl on her car!

"Get off" Y/N said once for all, and the other girl was scrambling off of her car's hood while her friend laughed. She looked at her car for any dent or scratches when there were none she hummed contently. Y/N threw her bag in the backseat while Amelia slid into the passenger seat.

"Next time don't fuck on my car" Y/N said giving Amelia side eyes. Her best friend raised her hands in defeat, knowing the love she had for cars. It wasn't like Y/N was obsessed with cars or has a passion for collecting them (she had), no. It's just this old Mustang she got as a gift that she loves more than anything cause it was given by the only tolerable person in her family, her grandma.

"Did you win?" Amelia asked as Y/N started the car. Y/N gave her a deadpan look and shook her head. "Of course you won it was silly of me to ask" Amelia laughed.

"Hey doll, can you give me a ride with you?" she suddenly heard the infuriating voice again. Harry stood on her car's window, his face way too near hers for her personal taste. It irked her, and he did it more. He knew she hated when people were near her, and he did just that.

He stands way close to her or puts her in a position where she has to be near a lot of people or talk to them. He did everything he could to push her buttons.

"No" Y/N said, and just as her foot was going to accelerator, Harry ran and slid in the back seat.

"Such a sweetheart, aren't you?" He gave her a fake smile and fixed his attention to Amelia.

"Hey, wasn't that the girl from history class?" He asked Lia, earning an eyeroll from Y/N. Y/N wasn't one to judge people for their preferences, but she did judge her best friend's preference in men cause their was one boy she keeps going back to and has almost fucked half school to make him jealous but as always it never works and she has to be the one listening to her cries and rant about how shitty men are.

"Yeah" Amelia agreed with same sly smile as Harry's. "She's so hot I was shocked she even agreed" Amelis laughed.

"Are you kidding me you're hot as fuck. No wonder she agreed" Harry sat back in the car seat like it was his own hands behind his head and all. "Get your friend some too it might get that stick out of her ass" Harry chuckled.

"I don't want something. All I want is for you to get out." Y/N said, looking at Harry through the rearview mirror as his dorm had arrived. He just shook his head and got out of the car. He leaned against the window like before, way too near her for her taste but she didn't back cause that would mean he knows it affected her and she would rather die than admit that anything he does affects her.

"And if you can't find anyone, my dorm is just a garden away" Harry said, "You can get details from your bestie. I can assure you my service is very satisfying. " He winked and gave Amelia a smirk. Y/N glared a whole behind his back as he skipped towards his building while Amelia laughed beside her.

Oh yes, forgot to tell...Amelia and Harry used to fuck. Alot. And yes the service sounded very satisfactory from a thin wall but she will never admit that.

"He's just joking babe calm down." Lia laughed as if it was funniest joke, but all it did was annoy her.

*****

"I just don't understand why he won't even look at me!" Amelia whined, "Am I not pretty?" She asked Y/N sadly.

She looked at her friend and sighed, "You don't look bad" She said and resumed her homework.

"Then why won't he ask me out!?" Amelia let out a loud groan and fell back on bed. Y/N just shook her head and tried to concentrate back at her homework.

"Why won't you ask him out if you're so desperate?" Y/N said and Amelia looked at her like she has 3 heads.

"I'm desperate that stays between you and me. I would rather die than let him know that" She said, "Anyways what are you wearing for the annual ceremony this year?" Amelia asked.

Y/N slammed closed her notebook and put her head down on the desk. Every year except her first she had found a way to dodge going to that god awful ceremony.

It was the time that inncident with him happened and after that she can't stand being near him or go to that ceremony again.

"I'm not going" Y/N said putting an end to the discussion.

"But it's our last year!" Amelia whined, "I don't want to be there alone. Pleasee Y/N" Lia practically begged.

"Don't worry, you will find someone" She said and put her books where they belonged. It was true Lia was the perfect person to exist she was pretty, smart, outgoing, she made friends werever she went just don't let her know Y/N thought all that about her cause she won't let her hear the end of it.

"But I want to go with my bestieee" Lia whined again, giving her best puppy eyes.

"We do this every year, and just like every year, it's not going." She said, going to the washroom to change into her pajamas.

She breathed heavily as she looked into the mirror. She hated crowed places and told everyone and herself also, but she knew why she didn't want to go, really.

*****

So, yeah... this was this. I will write a new chapter soon. I'm also working on the 2nd part of the stages of grief, so that may be out soon also.

Thanks for all love. I love you guys so much<3

Taglist- @tenaciousperfectionunknown @that-daydream-look @harryspirate @tiaamberxx @lomlhstyles @vmpellie @sunshinemoonsposts @jayde515 @yeehawbrothers @sleutherclaw @ikea2-0 @thechaoticjoy @astridcommings @gxbiqs

Please Like, Comment and Reblog♡

You can tell me how it was here♡

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x DC AU: Danny didn't want to rely on his rogues, but Tucker's computer skills only got them so far and if the media black out continues... Danny knows it's not going to be pretty for them. Nightmares begin to plague the Justice League.

---

Danny gets back from a shitty conversation with Clockwork and in his frustration, accidentally sets off one of the new GIW sensors that his parents allowed to be installed in the lab. Their collaboration seemed to be going no where but when Danny had new holes blasted through him... it must be going somewhere. Damn it.

The commotion is loud enough that Jazz hears it from her room above the lab (he knows she listens to more than just the lab... it's cause she cares, even if it is a bit invasive.) and rushes in to play the distraction while Danny gets away. This time it works- the Drs. Fenton might have the worst aim in the city but they demand all shots cease if a civilian is nearby- Next time his mom might be aiming her gun at him and not the ground. Danny decides he'll buy Jazz a coffee on his way home.

But first, new holes. Yikes. That like, needs medical attention- He heads to Tucker's place and he's pretty sure Sam is already there.

"Danny! What the fuck, did Clockwork-" She starts, her meticulous cat eyeliner making her glare all the deeper.

"Nah, it's the stupid GIW sensor, the stupid one I told you guys about that has a spring lose in the back?"

"I thought we decided those weren't a concern?" Tucker looks him over, face covered in undisguised and very blatant concern.

"Yeah well, Clocky pissed me off so I forgot about them when I came back in through the lab portal-"

"you were supposed to be practicing making your own." Sam interrupts.

"-And when I did, the thing got knocked and I was swatted like immediately. Jazz launched herself into the lab so Mom made them stop shooting and it gave me enough time to get out." Danny continued to explain, ignoring his friend's 'i told you so' faces.

"Dude. We're pushing it close this week. Sam already had a confrontation with the lab guys and I already got blacklisted on my new persona accounts. We're like seriously threading the needle for getting caught." Tucker, pulls his glasses down to pinch the bridge of his nose and Danny and Sam both get what he's really saying. They need to lie low.

"What did CW say to piss you off?" Sam asks after a silent moment.

"He said nothing really, just like he always does, but insinuated I should try getting a rogue to help." Danny sighs.

"What, Like getting Ember to announce the GIW invasion on her tour? We already agreed that-" Sam is getting angry as she speaks so Tuck cuts her off- "It's a bad Idea. She is- They are all just as likely to get captured and hurt as you are if you go out of town." He comes to the same conclusion they've agreed on for weeks. No rogue involvement.

"Maybe we just need to sleep on it... Hey... wait." Danny sighs, but then his gears start to turn.

"Nocturn. We need Nocturn to help us. He can get the message out through dreams." Danny comes to the new conclusion and his friends look hesitant but at least like they're considering it.

"Isn't he an ancient? He's not going to help us for free." Tucker, ever the Egyptian god in these moments.

"Most people don't take their dreams literally." Sam, ever the skeptic in these moments.

"Yeah but, if they dream it enough times, and they're the right people to do something... they can look it up and then at least see that there is a problem?" Danny sounds hopeful and its the first time he's sounded that way in months.

"What, you're gunna give Batman nightmares?" Tucker snickers but Sam looks inspired.

"That's exactly what he's going to do. We need to haunt the Justice League. They'll see past the fake facade the GIW put up online and they'll be able to get the right legislation passed." Sam is practically buzzing.

"Okay, so lets get scheming- What do you get the primordial beast of the unconscious? Should I google 'what to get someone who has everything'? " Danny laughs.

_____

Bruce and his children rarely do feelings when they have breakfast in the morning after a night of separate patrols, but it seems as though the room is plagued with unease. Tim looks about as tired as ever, so his unease is probably attributable to WE board meetings, but its unlike the rest of his children to be so... disturbed. For some reason, after Alfred has excused them all from eating more than a few nibbles, they make it to the cave. Bruce is glad for the noise his children bring.

The nightmare's he's been having are following a dark plot. A town, a boy who looks like he was kin, and so, so much death. Bruce has had vivid dreams before in life, but this nightmare is... unreal. He tries to remind himself that it's just a nightmare.

When his JL emergency communicator goes off at the computer desk, he's not expecting it to be Dinah Lance. She and her Birds are typically wary of him in Gotham, even if they work well together in the League. He answers it like he would any Batman call, with silence.

"Bats, we have a problem. Any chance you've been having weird dreams about a kid getting experimented on or a town being burned down? Ghosts? Lazarus portals?" Dinah sounds exhausted, but Bruce snaps to her voice with rapt attention. As do all of his children.

"I-" Bruce takes a look around the room, everyone's heads except for Tim's nodding up and down with distress," We all have."

"Something tells me that they whole JL is. Everyone I've talked to this week has had a variation of the same dream. We either have a telepath trying to tell us something, or something even worse than that."

"I'll call emergency meeting, we need to collect details and try to determine the complete message."

"I'll send you what I've noted down so far, sans personal details of course, it's definitely in a town called Amity Park though. My client this morning saw the sign."

Batman grunts and the call ends. It's time to get to work.

----

When the Justice League finally arrives, the town is glowing, and everything feels like... sleep. smothering. snoring. smoking. smoldering.

And then, despite the exhaustion that echos within them, the trudge onwards. The noise of laser guns certainly wakes them up a bit.

[uh-oh-its-bird]

There are so many naruto time travel fics out there but what I need SPECIFICALLY is an ANBU era team of Kakashi, Tenzo, Itachi, and Shisui getting flung into the founders era.

Like. Ok just looking from the political side of it that's;

A) 2 very young and VERY powerful Uchiha's (one of which is the future clan head!! Politics!!)

B) A very fucked up baby mokuton user who's still in the middle of being deprogrammed and can totally pass for Senju

C) The free wild card that is Hatake clan lore on top of having a stolen sharingan. On top of *that* him being the team leader of a team of kids who, in the time period context, should both be at eachothers throats and probably not be expected to obey the commands of someone not only from another clan but a way smaller one

Theres SO much potential there!! So many political implications in virtually ALL of the directions!!!!

Yk what as I'm typing this out I'm having ✨️ideas✨️ so let's make some story points to sort those out:

• I think itd be neat to have this happen like. A year? Ish? Before the massacre? So age wise, and full disclaimer I'm referencing Google and Wikipedia rn so I could totally be wrong, I think that's :

Kakashi (18)

Tenzo (17)

Itachi (12)

Shisui (15)

Could be wrong about the ages but honestly it's my world you're just living in it, so.

Then me going totally purely off of my own headcannons, were going to say they came in a about a year before Izuna died and place the founders ages as:

Madara (23)

Hashirama (23)

Izuna (19)

Tobirama (18)

Big fan of Tobirama being the youngest between the 4 but projecting the aura of someone as old as like. Idk, however old Madara is. Very funny to me, 10/10

• I'm personally a big fan of dogteeth kakashi so we're running with that all the way home. Also a huge fan of the "Hatake's are a distant, more feral cousin of Inuzuka clan" hc along with some sprinklings of "back in the day they had a bit of a Reputation(tm) for being a 'lill wild, and everyone generally tries to avoid them. Which isn't too much of a problem because theyre a very small out of the way clan from Iron, they just have a big reputation in contrast to their size.

In more modern times tho, along with (obviously) having dwindled down to a single depressed teenager, they've become a lot tamer over the years due to village life. Kakashi is a Hatake, 100%, but he is NOT up to the standards of this time. Which becomes a bit funny when people see him, go "oh FUCK it's a Hatake" and then start edging slowly towards the door like he's about to rip their throat out with his teeth. Meanwhile he's standing there like 🧍‍♂️"am I that ugly."

Give me a scene where, finally used to this reaction to him from the general shinobi population, the team starts to use it to their advantage.

"Give us the scroll or we'll let the Hatake off the leash to have his fun with you. He's been awfully hungry latley you know, hasn't had fresh meat in days"

Kakashi, feeling kind of stupid, gave his best growl.

It caused an almost immediate, embaressed flush to rise to his face, but he didn't let up. It sounded more like an almost pathetic puppy growl than anything to his ears, but apparently it was enough to convince the trembling enemy nin because he slowly lifted the scroll up in offering.

Wow. Now he couldn't tell if he was embaressed for himself or for this guy.

Probably both to be honest.

• So like. Itachi is the clan heir. That's big. That's important. Let's do something with that.

First off, I had a great time reading this one fic (tho I don't even remember what the fic itself was about now, oops) where a plot point of it was how Sasuke is just a walking stereotype of main house Uchiha. Like people look at him and they don't just go "oh that's an Uchiha." They go "oh fuck that's an UCHIHA Uchiha." He's so fucking painfully, obviously related to the very tippy top of the clan that anyone not blind can tell. It's in the way he looks, it's in the way he talks and treats those around him, it's in the way he fucking holds himself. You look at him and every other stereotype about the Uchiha clan is there in big, bold letters. (On top of that he's also a dead wringer for Izuna, which I'm such a sucker for and desperatley wish people would do more with)

So like let's give that to Itachi here because it's so fun for several reasons.

First off; Sasuke in this is like. Straight up a doppelganger of Izuna, just a few generations apart. They could be twins. Itachi, as I'm sure you are aware, is Sasuke's big brother. So let's take some liberties and say that Itachi could absoloutley pass as a blood sibling to Izuna and Madara.

He is however 12, so we're also going to say that the only people who get to make this connection is anyone who's seen the siblings when they were also at a similar age.

On top of that however he has the 'walking amalgamation of all the stereotypes of the main Uchiha house' so anyone who isn't blind will look at him and assume he's somewhere in the sphere of 'important main house person' tho who really knows how distant the relation may be exactly. No one !! That's who !!!

Second; He's the fucking clan heir!! What the fuck!! This bit would have the most impact after all the messy time travel reveals when things have settled down a bit, so it'll sit in the back pocket for a bit. Save it for some fun shaking up later down the line so we don't run out of all the fun reveals too fast and bore the readers, yk?

When it is brought up tho it'd be fun to maybe have some fucky Itachi and Madara mutual understandings of the way things work.

• So. Madara is like a bit of a scary bed time story to Uchiha children, right? Like. "Ooo make sure you don't get too obsessive or fall too deep into your grief and always stay loyal to the village or you'll end up just like Madara!!"

Something something Uchiha-Village relationships are tense as hell, something something Madara fucking over a lot of the clan with his whole. Everything., Something something scapegoat and old stories, something something 'people have probably been talking a lot more about how "god dammit this all started with Madara" in recent years.'

Now with that in mind let's take a look of what our time travelers think of Madara:

Itachi is a good Konoha soldier. Itachi (as has been very much fucking proven) would rather beat a possible problem before it even exists with a hammer till it dies an ugly bloody death than even RISK it blossoming into a proper problem. Itachi does not like Madara. Itachi personally, quietly thinks they should maybe wait till the village is formed then carefully arrange a little accident for him before he goes off the rails. He, even more quietly, maybe even thinks it would be a kindness. Allow him to be remembered well by the village instead of scorned.

Shisui I think is cautiously optimistic about him. He's the kind of guy who gives the benefit of the doubt, who weighs the options, risk and reward, but includes things like hope and compassion in his calculations. Yes, Madara was a uhh. Thing. That happened. But in every story his big blow up always come from one specific event; Izuna's death. So if they stop that from happening, wouldn't it secure both a better future for them and Madara? The history books never went into detail about Izuna, he doesn't know what he's like, but maybe his involvement in the future, on Konoha's side, could lead to even more profits for them long term. At the end of the day he's not against killing Madara (though to be clear, they are at first operating on trying to avoid all interactions with historical events and return home without touching things) but it'd be nice, to manage to get a happy ending for everyone. Unrealistic maybe, but nice.

Mmmm hear me out actually, maybe Shisui, after interacting with him a bit, finds that Madara reminds him of Itachi too. They definatley both have that "I would do unspeakable things to even dream of my loved just one more time" energy, if you know what I mean

Anyways; Kakashi and Tenzo are both neutral on Madara. Yes, they learned about how he betrayed the village when young just like everyone else, but they weren't getting the bed time stories and "do this and you'll end up just like him" warnings like the Uchiha's. They're possibly leaning into negative but are detached from the situation enough to just go "well he hasn't done it yet and his brother is still alive so he won't any time soon" and be done with it

• Now, on the the total opposite side of the spectrum you have Hashirama and Tobirama. People are brought up in Konoha to fucking IDOLIZE these guys. You can not tell me our team of time travelers wouldn't be at least a little awed to speak with them.

I think Tenzo would be the most wide eyed about Hashirama, both for the baseline "holy shit that's the Shodai Hokage" and also that fun juicy mokuton user imposter syndrome he has going on for him. That guys DNA is inside his body!!! Holy shit wait does that mean if someone did a blood relation test with them he might read as being related to him?? Fuck were gonna pocket that for now but like. Mmmmm potential.

I'd say Itachi is the most hesitant about Tobirama but again, village loyalist, so.

You know what tho maybe Shisui is the most hesitant about him (though still largely positive) he both def grew up looking up to him but can also see the anti-Uchiha policies people inact now with the implications that Tobirama would have approved of it. He doesn't know if he would, but like, he has to wonder.

Kakashi is probably the most normal about them (and also has experience in being close to a hokage (Minato) to know that at the end of the day they are painfully human) Don't get me wrong, he's still in some sort of awe! He might get a little lightheaded at the thought of seeing the God of Shinobi in proper battle, or the possibility to see the famed genius of Tobirama with all the different jutsu's he's invented. You can't tell me Kakashi didn't spend a little extra time reading about him when he was trying to make Chidori. Honestly I'm gonna roll with that and say he had a bit of a phase as a kid where he was a total fan boy. Maybe sprinkle in the good old HalfHatake!Tobirama hc to add some faint daydreams a lonley babykashi had after his father's death, about getting to meet him as family. Like cmon, little genius idolizing and projecting on some big history figure only to find out they're actually related? Can you say potential?

Anyways he did eventually grow out of the phase, probably got unattached to it all and lost interest after the whole "losing everything he loved" bit of his life. And at the end of the day, he doesn't have any real complex personal hang ups on the founders like the others do. Thus, most normal.

• And then my favorite most special boy, Izuna !! He's for sure the one they're all most neutral about. He's not actually taught about in the academy? There's probably some throw away line about him in some history books somewhere, but he died young and was quickly buried by the looming shadow of Konoha. The only real knowledge had about him in modern times is just a vague "Yeah he got killed by Tobirama which lead to peace being made but also lead to Madara losing his shit"

Poor Izuna he's the linchpin for it all but was left an unremarkable footnote of history. My boy deserves so much better

Tenzo doesn't actually even know who he is, that boy got bare minimum education under Danzo and Izuna was NOT included.

Itachi and Shisui mmmaybe have some small little fun fact here or there buried in stories from the older members of the clans but like. It's gonna amount to just "yeah he had a great katon" and thats about it.

I WILL SAY HOWEVER. Itachi sees him and instantly is that one PTSD dog meme. Sasuke is a BABY but holy shit Izuna looks exactly like he'd expect him to grow up as and it's making him FEEL THINGS. Also he's so bratty little brother coded !! He's an entire 7 years older than Itachi but Ifachi keeps fucking up and trying to big brother him it's embaressing.

And ofc Itachi didn't go into the first meeting thinking he'd see some weird older mirror version of his beloved baby brother who he misses and worries about very very much. So like. There's for sure going to be some conflict there. If their first meeting is a scuffle (which it probably will be) I think Itachi would keep hesitating to attack. On full run away mode. Which is probably for the best bc he shouldn't try to fight Izuna anyways honey he's like double your bodyweight and you're strong but you aren't THAT strong.

• Pointing back at both the 'Itachi does not like Madara and has quiet thoughts about how it'd possibly be in everyone's interest to just kill him' and the 'Itachi and Madara quietly bond over being clain head/heir during stressful times (w pressure from the elders especially)

I can see 2 outcomes of a potential bonding conversation with them:

1) They come to understand eachother better.

Madara wants to be on good terms, he looks at this kid and sees one of his brothers eyes and the others quiet determination. He can tell Itachi doesn't like him for some reason, and it's frustrating because he doesn't know why. He wants him to like him. He wants to be able to offer his hand and have it taken. It hurts, to be looked at with such suspicion from a face that has traces of Izuna's.

Meanwhile Itachi . . . Itachi looks at Madara and he sees someone who gets it. Gets it like no one ever has. It scares him. He looks up at this man, this horror story he's been told to fear becoming, and he sees himself. And this realization shakes him. It makes him think, makes him wonder. He's so, so sure of his loyalty to Konoha. More sure than he is of anything else in the world. But . . . But if something happened to Sasuke, if he had to choose—

And maybe it softens something in him too, along with the (honestly healthy) dose of fear. It forms a little crack in his shell, just enough to maybe, maybe let Madara through. Just a hair.

Or 2) we pull one of those "The conversation ends with them agreeing verbally but mentally they're on 2 VERY different notes."

Madara, nodding and looking at Itachi meaningfully: "Yeah it can be hard, but all we can really do is try to make the world a safer place for the ones we love. (To create Konoha, to keep my clan safe. Izuna safe. And now to keep you safe too.)

Itachi, nodding slowly: "Yeah. No matter how hard it is (even though I think I understand you more than anyone else Ive ever met) we have to try to make the world a safer place (by killing you in your sleep once Konoha is formed) for the ones we love (My clan. My village. Sasuke.)"

• Also pointing back at the 'Hatake warring clan era reputation,' the 'Tobirama is half Hatake' and also now pointing at Tobirama's title as the White Demon. Small thing but it'd be neat if there was some small throw away line that the nickname lowkey started in part because of the absoloutley terrifying reputation of the Hatake combined with Tobirama's own Everything(tm) like it just had some influence on how some view him. Give me Uchiha's making dog jokes ab him it'll be funny

• Ok but now the actual plot thoughts. Yeah I know I kept you waiting sorry about that.

So time travel! Probably due to a mission gone wrong. Some ruins or some ancient crumbling scroll that wasn't even supposed to do fucking time travel but was so old and corroded that it somehow managed to transform into a whole other seal by pure bad luck. Or good luck I guess, considering it could have just turned into a nuke.

Our favorite team of disasters are very very alarmed !!! What the fuck !!! Obviously they don't default to thinking time travel, but they immediatley know something is wrong. The landscape has changed, though the big landmarks are still there. The mission was complete anyways with no injuries so they just retreat to Konoha. Only oops !! It's not fucking there!!!

Queue alarm.

Shisui is the first one to suggest time travel because he's quirky like that. And there's a very easy way to confirm this theory.

(Also we're going to say that Konoha's location is a valley a few miles out from the Naka River that borders the Senju / Uchiha territories.)

This is convenient because that verification method involves checking in on where Itachi and Shisui know the old Uchiha compound should rest.

They do it in full stealth mode, the second they saw Konoha was missing Kakashi as team leader decided they'd treat the land as enemy territory. They all agreed ofc, for all they knew this WAS enemy territory now.

And, ofc, yeah!! There's the old Uchiha compound!! Being active!!! There are people there!!!

"What are the odds Fugaku-sama decided to have the clan return to their homeland for ahh, cultural enrichment?" Kakashi asked weakly.

"Time travel." Was the only reply he got from Shisui, whispered reverently as the boy vibrated with excitement on the branch.

Itachi just gave him a look, radiating a level of dissaproving disbelief that no normal 12 year old should be able to make. Kakashi would know, he was that not-normal 12 year old once.

From there they decide a no interference policy. Hands off guys!! They probably debate it tho, like, a good amount. They all have ✨️opinions✨️ except maybe Tenzo who's lowkey still in the middle of trying to learn how to be a person and is following Kakashi's lead 99% of the time. Especially since they're still in mission mode and this is like a super serious discussion and he really does know the least ab the founders overall.

They probably debate the merits of going to Uzushiogakure bc seal help but it's really far and they don't actually have like, just any leverage with them. They already decided not to fuck with the future so it isn't like they can trade secrets and warnings. At least if shit happens here they have some plausible deniability, being, yk, 2 uchiha's and a senju-passing guy with Mokuton. Kakashi's kinda fucked tho in that regard but he isn't going to be doing the party ANY favors with his clan heritage.

Which means it's time to potentially get desperate enough to interact with Tobirama !!! Which will inevitably lead to them bumping into a Uchiha patrol or something!!! I don't know honestly

• Anyways want Hashirama and Tenzo to interact. He has so many issues like holy shit. Let Hashirama give him the hug he deserves. I want him to violently adopt him. New brother acquired!!!

I said before but Tenzo is still reprogramming from ROOT. Let Hashirama impact that! Let him help! They can make flower crowns and photosynthesize together idk

Hashirama would be so happy to have another mokuton user, I think they should be able to sense eachother extra strong and like 'ping' off of eachothers chakra, it'll be fun

▪︎ I'm not thinking toooo hard about power scaling and this is fanfiction so a) don't quote me on this and b) for the love of all that is holy don't take my words as gospel

But for this fic specifically I'm ranking the founders and Team Ro, weakest to strongest (in a clean, fair fight head on w no time to prepare) :

Itachi (he's fucking 12 guys. But also he is like. FRACTIONS under Tenzo and Shisui. If he were 13 I'd let him be above or at the same level but like. He's 12. Cmon.)

Tenzo - Shisui (they're like JUST under the next 2 tho like seconds behind)

Izuna - Tobirama

Kakashi ( by the skin of his fucking teeth and the advantage that is his stupid amount of jutsu's and lack of self preservation)

Madara - Hashirama

And again that's not counting like. The specific situations, time given to prepare, potential dirty tricks they could play (I think the Konoha tricks would play a fraction dirtier than the others, who are slightly more used to big open battles vs the ANBU squad who does all sorts of shit in all sorts of places) plus like. Mental state and team ups.

Tenzo or Shisui couldn't take down Izuna or Tobirama but if they teamed up I'd allow it. Kakashi would get his ass kicked by Hashirama or Madara but he could survive a minutes longer than the others would

Itachi is doing his best

But like

He's 12 guys

I love him and he is terrifyingly competent but he won't win 1 on 1 with anyone unless he has some sort of advantage. Minus Shisui and Tenzo who he does have the advantage of regularly fighting, so.

• I think they do get to go back home in the end. It takes a ton of work tho and they probably do need to get Mito's help with it, Kakashi can show them the seal they got brought here with but it's an ACTUAL one in a trillion miracle it didn't fucking atomize them. So it needs a lot of touch ups

Anyways !!!

I have a little more rattling around in my brain but I'm really tired and also starting to think about other things now so I'm gonna stop here. Might come back and add to it later so stay tuned if you're into that

Full disclaimer I'm not gonna write this. I don't have the proper energy and it'd probably end up being too ambitious of a project if I tried. I'd love to see it happen tho, so like !! Big open invitation to absoloutley anyone who might want to take even a fraction of the ideas I've listed.

@ me if you do tho I wanna see the final product

[psychotic4ghost]

NNN but Simon's never heard of it until you tell him.

Simon had a smart phone but it was only so he could store photos of you and the occasional couples photo that you'd force him to take. But really he didn't have social media or even really knew how to use Google on the damn thing.

So when you ask him the first morning of November if he can successfully do no-nut-november, he gives you the cutest tilt of his head before asking what the fuck that is.

"No-Nut-November? You seriously don't know what that is?" You ask as you push against his chest to look at him. The two of you had been laying in bed that morning, not wanting to get up just yet. Your head was on his pectoral and his arm was wrapped around your back.

"No...should I know?" He asked as he tilted his head quizzically at you.

"It means not cumming for the whole month of November." You inform, biting back a giggle.

"That's stupid."

"You should try it."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Cause it's fun." You think for a moment before continuing. "I bet you can't." You say with a coy tone, knowing he can't back down from a little challenge. Especially one given by you.

"It sounds easy." He grumbles. Your plan was working.

"Hm. Yeah? That just means you can't fill me." You can't help but let that giggle escape now.

You watch those gears turn in his head as he contemplates your words and the meaning behind them. "Deal."

The look of bewilderment on your face causes him to laugh now. You didn't expect him to take on the challenge especially after realizing he can't cum inside you as he so so so loves to do. It's like a ritual for the man, the deed isn't done till he's cum at least three times inside your gummy walls.

"You won't last!" You fight.

"Wanna bet?" He asks as he abruptly flips you over, pinning you to the bed with his broad chest. Your cheeks burn with fire as he begins teasing and kissing you.

By December first, just know you'd get the biggest, fattest cream pie of your life because when put to the challenge, Simon Riley does not back down. He did, in fact, win.

I wrote this on my phone cause I was smacked with the idea mid scroll. If you want the rest of November as content I shall consider writing it lol. But in the meantime, enjoy this lil tease <3

Main Masterlist

Masterlist

[beenbaanbuun]

fever w/ kang yeosang

words - an amount 🙂‍↕️

genre - hurt/comfort, sickfic

warnings - food avoidance because of illness, mentions of vomiting, reader is a little bratty but it’s the fever talking, yeosang is tired :((, not proof read

——————————————————————————

“you need to eat something, baby,” yeosang grumbles, arm folded crossly over his half-exposed pecs. you can’t help but focus on the way he’s standing there in nothing but a tank top and some shorts while you’re sat shivering in one of the many hoodies that you’ve stolen from his closet. you’ve been blaming the fever for how cold you seem to be at the minute, but you’ve always ran a little colder than your boyfriend. whenever he needs a sweater, you need a sweater, a coat and a scarf. you’re just a little nesh, you suppose.

your eyes flicker around the kitchen, studying everything that crosses your vision. perhaps you could have some toast, you think as your eyes land on the half-finished loaf of bread on the counter. then you think about how heavy your stomach feels, even when it’s empty, and you realise that perhaps toast isn’t the best option. you turn your nose up and move on to the bowl of fruit that yeosang had just refilled this morning. the scent of the bananas alone is enough to make you feel sick, and perhaps the citrus fruits aren’t the best choice when you’ve been struggling to keep food down.

“i’m only going to throw it up again,” you argue, trying your hardest to make your expression pathetic and sad. you commit to it, bringing out the sad arched brows and the big wet eyes. your bottom lip juts out just a little and for extra effect, you can’t help but wobble it a little. for a moment of two, you’re almost sure it’ll work. yeosang’s eyes soften and his arms go limp and fall back to his sides. you’re almost positive that he’ll let you off with another day of medicine and water, you can practically feel it on your tongue—

“you don’t know until you try.”

your shoulders sink upon hearing your words and your features drop, expressing only apathy and defeat. sure, the puppy dog eyes have never worked on him before, but there’s a first time for everything. you were certain that this would be that time.

“yeosang!” you whine, trying to grab his attention as he turns to face the countertop. he whines your name back in exactly the same nasally tone you used. “please! my throat already hurts from all the acid; i just want one day where i don’t throw up. it’ll make me feel less miserable.”

he ignores you, lifting his phone from the counter and typing a few words into safari. you wish you could see i what it says, but from your position, huddled up on a dining chair—which you would only move from if a hefty bribe was offered your way—you can’t even dream of looking around his oversized torso.

damn him for getting buff.

“google says banana’s are goo—”

“no,” you cut him off, head shaking wildly like a petulant child.

“baby~”

“they smell bad!”

with a sigh, yeosang goes back to looking.

“dry brown rice?” he offers meekly, already foreseeing the outcome of his offer. he doesn’t even have to turn around to see your face screwed up in displeasure; it’s already so clear in his mind. “nevermind, it was a stupid suggestion.”

you hum in agreement, the small sound making him crack a small smile. despite being incredibly difficult, yeosang can admit that you do have your sweet moments while you’re feverish. your mind may be muddled and your body doing everything in its power to make your life a living hell, but you still somehow manage to put a smile on his face.

if he wasn’t desperate to not catch whatever 18th century plague has taken up residence in your body, he’d spin around and kiss you. squish your cheeks together like he always does when he wants to annoy you a little, bring your face up to his, and just kiss you. it’s almost impossible not to when he’s been missing out on the feeling of your lips on his for the past few days, but when he hears the sound of your stomach churning and a pained groan leave your lips, he remembers exactly why he’s doing this to himself.

“how about broth?” he suggests, putting his mind back on the task at hand, “you like broth, baby.”

he’s right, you do like broth. or at least you like it when you’re not feeling like satan himself has put his little tapdancing shoes on specifically to do a jig atop your stomach. instinctively you wrap an arm around your abdomen which after a short period of docility, has began to cramp again. that broth really doesn’t sound appealing right now…

“yeosang…” you say, dejected and miserable. he sighs, understanding exactly what you mean by saying his name in that tone of voice; it’s a disheartened no from you.

and while it pains him to be forceful with you—or anyone for that matter—he can’t just sit and watch you waste away over a poorly stomach. he has to put his foot down for once.

“baby, you need to eat,” he sighs and rubs a hand over his face. he hates being so bossy with you, almost as much as he hears the weary sound pass from your lips just after his soft command. “just a small bowl, okay? just for me; your yeosang?”

and while it’s an obvious guilt trip, a little bribe to make you feel a little bad about refusing to eat, you can’t help but fall for it. you sigh, wrapping your arms around your knees so you can pick at your fingers guiltily. it’s not like you can help being sick, but maybe you have been a little dramatic about the whole refusing to eat thing. sure, your stomach churns at even the thought of food, but yeosang is right; if you don’t try, you won’t know. the idea of throwing up again frightens you, but broth is a liquid; it’ll be easy to come back up.

you resign with a minuscule hum, so quiet it’s almost silent.

“fine,” yeosang hardly believes the word when you say it with so much resignation, “one small bowl of broth…”

[didyoulookforme]

need you tonight

part of give me a moment (aka stylist au as briefly described in this tag)

warning: 18+, smut. probably grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

“sorry—‘m sorry”

you’re pretty sure those are some of the only words that stumble past his lips as you go down on him. perhaps an apology for his ring getting tangled in your hair, trying to keep you close. but to be honest, the more cynical part of you hopes it's pure regret for fucking someone else just hours before.

it was not strange for you to crave a nicotine hit at this time, more often than not stepping out the bus to smoke a cigarette or two prior to calling it a night, that first inhale always making your head buzz a little as the all-too-familiar warmth runs through your limbs, a much welcome sensation to try leave the tiredness behind.

every day was like clockwork. bus arrives at the venue. stage and lighting are assembled. band soundchecks. you have a quick dinner. then it's time for him. after all, it's what you're here to do, work as matty's own personal stylist during the tour.

you had no clue luck had finally struck when you opened those dms earlier this year.

(13:43) trumanblack: hey (13:43) trumanblack: i found your profile via my friend (13:44) trumanblack: i really like your style n you look pretty cool

(13:58) trumanblack: sorry if this sounds creepy. promise i'm a real human tho (13:58) trumanblack: x

you didn’t recognize him. however from a swift scroll through the feed, you gathered that his name was matty. apparently the front man of a seemingly popular band with a fanbase head-over-heels lusting for them.

mostly him, though.

you couldn't help but gaze at his lanky frame and pale skin adorned with ink, zooming in on certain posts to try decipher what they were. he definitely had a point of view when it came to dressing himself—sometimes a bit messy and chaotic, but for the most part pleasing to the eye, a quality you appreciated given your line of work. his seemingly playful demeanour across photos made it seem like he was perhaps younger than you, this time a google search confirming that, in fact, he was born three years later. april 1989.

countless press photos appeared under his name and you spent the next half hour swiping back and forth between articles, finding him intriguing enough and giving you the surge of confidence to respond.

and that's basically why you're leaning against this tour bus now. the friendly banter with a stranger led you to travel the world and do what you enjoy most. the fancy clothes. the colourful glitz. the wild after parties. this stuff that you always dreamed about was somehow now your own reality that you often had to pinch yourself to ensure you weren't just passed out cold on the sofa back home.

however, this almost too good to be true gig also led you to fall for a guy, the same one whose collar you straighten almost every night.

the most fucking cliché story. some assistant falling for her boss just months after being hired. it actually makes you feel sickeningly stupid, embarrassed. still you can't seem to stop digging yourself deeper into a hole with every hour you spend caring for him, not being made any better by matty being nothing but affectionate towards you behind closed doors.

you know he’s the reason your nicotine addiction has increased tenfold, always finding yourself alone at this hour enveloped in smoke, part of you still wanting to pretend you do so to numb out the sleepless nights. took you a while to finally admit you did it as an attempt to cloud out any thought of him.

tonight’s really no different.

you’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s enough for the cold to start settling on your skin. perhaps it’s your queue to stop and go back in. you snub out your cigarette, watching the red embers fade just as a car rounds the corner. it halts to a stop only a few meters away, and you catch the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by the murmur of voices filling the night air.

then you hear it. that unmistakable high pitched laugh that can pull you awake in a single second. him.

and, of course. you immediately know why.

you’d learned pretty early on this was a common end to the routine: matty picks up a girl at the gig, goes fucks her somewhere, and has her drop him off right after.

reminds you of the number of red and purple bruises you often cover up before his show. it wasn't rocket science figuring out the cause, yet he never really addresses it, choosing silence and averting his gaze as your fingertips dab foundation on tender skin, temporarily hiding any remains of nights prior.

you didn't even notice your eyes had closed. not until the car door slams shut, jerking them open just in time to see him blow a kiss in her direction. your heart fractures at the sweet gesture, but only hurts for a second before he's walking towards you, his stupid wide grin mending it better.

"didn't expect to see you out here.”

open button-up untucked. blazer over his shoulder. dark curls frizzy and disheveled. everything making it crystal clear he's just slept with someone else and still not you.

"only making sure you make it back alright so i can tuck you in." of course, you wish that were the case.

it's only a few seconds until he settles next to you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. soft lips gently brushing against your skin. the way he always greets you—but only when no one's watching.

"aren't you sweet, then?"

"trying my best." given the circumstances, it's pretty much all you can do.

he pulls out his beat-up cigarette box, flicking it open and offering you one. you decline, showing him the smothered tip of your own before finally tossing it aside.

"guess it must've been a pretty good time today," you lick the pad of your thumb before rubbing a lipstick mark off his jaw. it’s always ruby red or deep maroon. those same tones which he'll compliment you on. a similar shade you left on his lips the only time your mouth had been on his.

you finish cleaning the stains off his skin, matty murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ for having done so. it’s your turn to kiss his temple. “‘tis my job, you know? making sure you look good.” you should be mad, upset, have some sort of negative emotion. instead, you can’t help but have your heart intermittently flutter when he returns a sheepish smile, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you close.

neither of you say much, but that’s alright. you rest your head on the crook of his neck, noticing how nice it feels. how nice he feels. you see the chipped nail polish on his fingers. the wrinkled fabric of his flowered shirt. the dark hair down his torso. the unbuckled belt at his waist. it’s only then that jealousy creeps itself back in and suddenly your shoes seem all that more interesting than the man standing by your side.

"why do you do it, matty?" the sweetness of your voice never fails to mask the envy you actually feel. or at least you hope it does.

"hmm?"

"the sleeping around.” you finally lift your head to look at him, surprised that his pretty eyes were already on you. the toothy smirk is gone, though, replaced by a thin, expressionless line at his lips. he doesn’t owe you an explanation. you know that. thus why you’re surprised when he actually starts to talk.

"dunno, really.” he lights up another cigarette and you notice as he gets lost in his mind. “i mean, it’s kinda difficult to say no to sex or a blowjob when they’re literally throwing themselves at you.” he seemingly tries to joke, but you don’t have time for funny right at this moment.

instead you wonder if it’s actually that easy.

“let me do it, then.”

“so—sorry?” he chokes mid-drag.

“let me give you a blowjob just like those other girls do. just like she did,” you point at the ghost of that green car from before, “ just tonight.”

it’s like his face cannot figure out which expression to land on, flipping between confusion, surprise, and something else that reads between need and desire.

“what the fuck?” his voice is shaky and it stings when he pushes you aside, yet, he doesn’t try hard to put much distance between you two so it’s not difficult to invade his space, standing right in front of him until your face is a breath away from his. large, calloused hands grasp your shoulders tight, halting you from inching closer.

“don’t.”

“what’s the difference between them and myself, then?” seems like a simple enough question to you. “why can they have you and not me?”

but he has no answer, at least not one that he can properly voice. his hold on you starts to lessen, perhaps giving you some permission to let you do whatever you want.

you bring your hands up to his and pull them away, kissing his knuckles before placing them on your waist. an almost incoherent ‘fuck’ leaves his lips, and, as if on cue, his head falls back willingly, giving you the space to kiss his neck. the faint smell of her still on him.

“please let me,” you whisper against his skin.

it’s not even a question at this point.

his fingers dig into your hips as you look at him once more, now noticing a mixture of lust and care in those almond coloured eyes. for a minute there, you get lost in them, admiring how his pupils dilate when your hands find the button of his pants, and how they shrink back as you finally undo the zipper. you don’t want to waste any more time—you’ve already waited too long—so you slide your palm down his pants to grab his half-hard cock, his eyes instantly rolling to the back of his head when you wrap your fingers around him.

“is this okay?”

you take the buck of his hips as a confirmation, giving you the courage to spread the precum along his length. he feels nice. having him in your hand seems just right and you only hope that he won’t regret this when he wakes up next morning in bed.

tonight is your turn to suck on the skin alongside his jaw, the thought of having to cover your own marks making you smile.

“fuck, baby.”

you’re not sure if he even noticed that sweet name leave his mouth, but you like the sound of it, and it’s all it takes for you to drop to your knees, dragging his pants and boxers down just enough to pull out his dick.

you look up at him once more, his left hand coming to tangle on your head, his other loosely holding his cigarette, almost done and fully forgotten. you kiss his tip, your gaze still not leaving his, thoroughly enjoying yourself as he bites his bottom lip each time your thumb hits that spot under the head of his cock. his scent is almost too much to bear so you take him in one go, feeling his cock twitch inside your mouth. it doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and hitting the back of your throat.

the plastic taste of latex is still on his skin. a sad reminder that you weren’t his first tonight. that maybe you are an afterthought. just another girl who he uses to make himself come. but at least it means you get to have him even if it’s just this one time.

matty. that’s all that’s on your mind. once again. somewhat difficult to not think about him when you’re sucking him off, those heavenly sounds coming from his mouth making your own slick drip down your leg.

you pull away to catch your breath, using your hand to keep stroking him, pleasantly surprised when he pulls on your hair each time your red fingernails graze the underside of his cock. you do it again and again until he breaks and fucks your hand, apologizing for not being able to help himself. it’s a sight you’ll commit to memory as long as you’re alive.

now that you’ve had a taste, it’s only so long you can go without having your lips around him. and that’s what you do, take him again, hands urging his hips to fuck your mouth. to fuck himself senseless in the hopes that you’ll be the one he turns to when he needs somebody else. he doesn’t deny your request, throwing away the wasted cigarette to guide you, setting a pace that allows him to stay steady on his feet.

purely drunk on him, you're barely aware when his phone vibrates in his pocket, matty muttering 'sorry' before grabbing and letting it drop onto the grass at your side. nosiness always gets the best of you, so you can't help but glance down, catching sight of a text from an unsaved number asking if he could fuck her again tomorrow.

you feel his hips falter. he knows you've seen it.

“’m sorry.”

this time it's a mix between a cry and a whimper. perhaps he did feel bad. perhaps some part of him did care about you in the way that you needed him to.

you reach back to place your hand on top of his, making him push your head further into him, to thrust into you until tears pool at your lashes just as he spills hard and fast down your throat. his taste overtakes every cell of your being as you swallow, feeling him soften against your tongue before you reluctantly pull away.

you didn’t even realize your knees were so sore until you stand up, not wasting a second to ask him is he's going to see her again the following night.

"do you want me to?" his thumb wipes away some of his cum off the corner of your lip. you reach out to suck it, slowly shaking your head in response.

he laughs nervously as his mouth clashes against yours, stealing both the air from your lungs. this wasn't the first time you’d kissed, but this wasn’t like before. the way he quietly moans against your lips. the softness of his fingers resting on your face. the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he pulls back.

"can i see you tomorrow, then?"

you could’ve sworn you heart stopped. can you truly believe those words after watching him leave you behind all those nights? the soft circles his thumbs draw on your skin do feel sincere, the reassurance you need to perhaps let him in, give him a chance even though you know it’s a slippery one.

it’s your turn to brush your thumb against his mouth, slowly pulling at the bottom lip and watching it bounce back up into place. you kiss him one last time before confirming 'okay', immediately turning to finally head back in. not wanting to linger for too long in case he changes his mind.

you catch his reflection on the mirror, noticing as he tucks himself in, and it’s that slight smile on his face which keeps you awake for hours on end.

-----

for this lovely anon here. thank you for the inspo :) <3

[josiewinters1999]

Don't Leave Me

Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Summary: Set after the events of X-men (00) Logan plans to leave the school, feeling he is unworthy of staying. Yet something... someone pulls him back...

Words: ~2.4k

Contains: fluff, angst, insecurity, Logan being sad (per usual), smoking, a hopeful ending

A/N: I see we are simping for Wolverine again... Y'all are lucky bc I been about this life. I've had this one loaded in the chamber (google drive) for many a year now... enjoy my friends and stay thirsty

What am I even doing here?

That question echoed in Logan’s head as he stared out across the lawn, elbows resting lazily on the stone balcony and cigar in hand. The strong smelling smoke encircled his head in a cloud, making his vision hazy. Blinded by his own vices, he hangs his head. 

He didn’t belong here, that much he was convinced of. This place was too good for him, too innocent, too pure, too… right. It was full of wonderful things that people like Logan were not destined to have. 

Stubbing out his cigar on the concrete, he stands, tugging his leather jacket out of its disheveled state and back into place. With a sigh, he looks out at the grass, glowing green and full of life. A group of students catch his eye, walking softly together, laughing with the giddy happiness only children could have. 

Logan wasn’t even sure why he had stayed so long to begin with. He’d been here for over three months now, pretending he belonged, pretending that he had any right to be there. The time for make believe was over now, though, and he needed to face facts that this mutant sanctuary was not meant for him. 

As he tries to walk away from the balcony, something in the back of his head stops him. Logan finds himself unable to move, a heavy weight settling in his heart. He was going to miss this place, but why? What did this place have over him, holding him hostage like it did? 

Heavy footfalls slowly fade in, the sound becoming louder and louder in Logan’s ears. Turning his head slightly to the entrance way behind him, he listens intently. Someone was coming, the sound of their feet on the wood hallways echoing loudly. 

It could only be one person. Of course it was her, who else would come to him in his time of need to taunt him of what he couldn’t have?

Her head peaked around the corner, peering out onto the balcony. At the sight of his rigid, leather clad, back, a slight sigh of relief escapes her. “Logan,” she flatly states, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

Funny she should say that, Logan thought. He was avoiding her everywhere today. The last thing he wanted to see before he left was a look of disappointment on her sweet face. 

Looking back to her, he acts surprised by her presence, as if he didn’t just hear her coming this way, “Hey,” he sighs, turning back out to the lawn in front of him. 

Her boots tap against the stone as she approaches him. Making her place next to him, her scent wafts through the air, replacing the harsh cigar smoke in Logan’s lungs. She smelled so fresh, so sweet, so warm. It was too much. 

She swallows, working up the courage to say what she had come all this way to say. Logan could feel her eyes on him and could practically hear the wheels turning in her head. “I…” she starts, trailing off. She stops, rethinking her words and trying again, “Someone told me that you were leaving.” 

This was the last conversation Logan had planned on having today. If there was one person, one person in this whole world, who could convince him to stay, it was her. It was part of the reason he was forcing himself to leave. Logan knew what was happening, what would happen if he wasn’t careful. It was hitting him like a ton of bricks and it was just too much. 

He sighs, nodding slightly, never once looking in her direction “Yeah,” he mutters, voice barely audible over the breeze in the trees beyond. She only shakes her head, “I… I don’t understand.” Of course she didn’t understand, he barely did himself. It was stupid of him to think that this was the right decision yet he couldn’t keep himself from going through with it. 

Raising his head, he glances to her out of the corner of his eye. Her face was contorted in the exact way he had imagined. Hurt, confusion, fear, it was all there, plain as day, etched into her blond brows. 

Pursing his lips for a moment, Logan huffs, “Sorry. I just… it’s time for me to get going on.” Intensifying her confused expression, she shakes her head. “���Going?’” she repeats, “Going where?” 

It was a valid question, one he couldn’t answer for her. He really had no idea where he was going after his departure from the school. All he knew was that he couldn’t stay here, her presence choked him in a way he couldn’t take anymore. 

She watches him for a long while, waiting for the answer to her question that would never come. Instead, Logan just turns more, meeting her gaze full on. Hazel eyes meet hers, the latter sparkling like the stars. 

A lump forms in Logan’s throat, his chest clenching familiarly. Just being this close to her, it was becoming hard to breathe, hard to stand, hard to think. The only thing he could keep his focus on was her lips and the thought of what they might feel like. 

Her eyes scan his face, desperately trying to read him. It wasn’t something she was good at just yet, but she was getting better each day, Logan knew, and it scared him to death. If she saw him, really saw him, he’d fall completely victim to her, he’d have no choice.

Increasingly becoming frustrated with her lack of answers, she huffs, “Why are you doing this?” 

His hand tingled as he felt the urge to reach out and touch her. If only he could feel her skin on his hand one more time before he left, maybe he’d come to his senses and stay. Clenching his fist at his side, he grumbles, “I don’t belong here, sweetheart. You and I both know that.” 

As if she had been reading his mind, her fingers roughly grip his forearm, almost as if to pull him back to reality. “Yes you do,” she barks, “You belong here… with us.” 

Us. It was a word that Logan hasn’t been able to say in a very very long time. He was always alone, always cold, always empty. Right now, ‘us’ sounded like a hopeful promise, especially coming from her soft lips. 

Looking at her, watching her as she held on a little too tight to his sleeve, it all started to fall into place. She was here, she was warm, and she was so full of life. Everything about her felt like ‘us,’ even down to her god awful ugly sweater that unraveled more and more each time she wore it. 

Flexing his jaw, Logan grabs her wrist with his other hand. The cuff of her shirt rode up just enough to let his fingertips grace the skin of her pulse point. The heat radiated off her, flowing into him and directly into his chest. Taking a deep breath, he pulls his composure back, “No, I don’t.” The hostility in his words changes the look on her face. It softens, along with the grip on his arm. 

Retracting her hand from him, she blinks, unsure of what she was going to say. Logan only held onto her tighter, wanting to savor every last feeling of her, thinking it might be his last chance. 

She takes a few breaths, trying to force words to come out but not being able to. Finally, she stutters, unsure of herself as she speaks, “I… I thought you liked it here… I thought… you liked me. Aren’t we friends, Logan?” 

Not able to keep his face scrunched up in fake anger any longer, Logan’s eyes widen. It was getting harder and harder to hold what he was feeling back. He could feel his confession bubbling in his trachea, preventing air from coming into his lungs. 

If things were different, if life was different, if he wasn’t… him, he would tell her everything she so desperately wanted to know. He’d tell her he didn’t want to leave, that he wanted to stay- with her- in this dusty mansion for as long as she wanted. He’d tell her that she was the first person in over a lifetime that has given him any sense of belonging and hope in his sad, pathetic, freakish, life. 

Instead, he nods, his body moving on its own accord. “Yeah,” he answers, looking down into her sorrowful eyes, “we’re friends.” 

Biting her lip, she grabs the back of his palm with her free hand. As he grips onto her still, she encapsulates his fist in her warmth. Her touch was so soft, so light, Logan nearly gasped. He looks down to see her holding his hand, his fingers still wrapped roughly around her. Looking back up to her, he watches her as she begs, “Then stay, Logan.” 

Opening his mouth, Logan finds it hard to give her another excuse. There really wasn’t one, other than his own fear of what she was unknowingly doing to him the longer he stayed. “I… I can’t…” 

She grips him tighter, her force matching the one on her wrist. “Yes, you can,” she bargains, “I know that this place can be frustrating sometimes, and things can get a little crazy, but,” she pauses, swallowing her emotion down, “we take care of each other, and… if you let us… we’ll- I’ll… take care of you.” 

Logan’s chest tightens more than ever before. It felt like the world had fallen away, that time had stopped, that the only person that mattered, the only person that ever mattered, was her. The sparkle in her eyes surely was being mirrored in his as she gazed hopefully into him. Maybe if he stayed… maybe if he stayed with her longer… he could keep some of that sparkle. 

Biting her lip again, she breathes in sharply, “Please, Logan… don’t leave me.” 

Don’t leave me. 

It was the one thing he couldn’t do, no matter how much he tried. Even when he didn’t see her for days, she was still there, in the back of his mind, unyielding in her presence.

Finally, the fingers on her wrist loosen, eventually falling away. Her hands follow suit, going back to rest gently at her sides. With a strong, heavy hand, Logan cups her face, the act making her both jump and melt at the same time. 

His eyes dart to her lips, plump from her rough, nervous, biting, nearly quivering from the emotion coursing through her. Logan quickly wonders if now would be the time to do what he’d been thinking, dreaming, about for so long now. 

Logan tilts his head, his eyes becoming heavy as he leans in. His head starts to spin, the blood in his ears pounding louder than the sound of a jet plane. The space between them starts to lessen as he inches closer. He gets so close he feels her breath on his upper lip. 

Before he is able to touch his lips to hers, the feeling of her so close to him ends. He opens his eyes, seeing her leaned back comically far, an amused, yet very confused, look plastered on her face. “Logan,” she chuckles nervously, “what are you doing?” 

He stares at her for a moment, his cheeks a dark, hot, red, and eyes blinking rapidly. Logan follows her lead and leans back too, returning to his original position. Clearing his throat, he lets go of her, “Sorry, I just… I don’t really know what I was doing.” 

It was the truth, he had no idea what he was doing. He wanted to kiss her so, so, badly, it was truly his only wish at this point. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was likely due to the fact that something deep inside him told him if he even got the slightest taste of those soft lips, it’d be his complete undoing. 

The woman watches him for a moment, trying to scan his face for any sort of emotion she could read. Her eyes squint as she concentrates, something Logan found so destructively cute. 

With the softest of smiles pulling at the corner of his lips, he glances out back at the lawn. It shined so brightly, the sun illuminating it, making it look like the land itself was glowing with light and happiness. She wasn’t wrong when she said this place could be frustrating, but perhaps… if he had a hand to hold, he could navigate it just fine. 

Logan turns back to her, her eyes expectant for his next sentence. Her gaze may have been dark, but she was so full of brightness, Logan felt like maybe his future here, with her, might be something to look forward to. 

He sighs, reaching out to grab her forearm gently. The scratchy material of her sweater felt like home underneath his fingertips. “You know what...” he starts, grinning as her eyes widen, anticipating the end of his thought, “I think you’re right. I do belong here.”

She nearly gasped, tensing under his touch and sending a flutter into his heart. “You’re not going to leave then?” she asks, a little too eagerly. Logan only shakes his head, unable to stop the grin on his face, “Nope. I think I’ll give this place one more shot… As long as you stick around too.” 

The woman chuckles at his joke, nodding with great enthusiasm. “Of course, Logan. I’ll always be here for you. It’s what friends do.” Her smile grows so wide, her eyes nearly disappear in her joy. Logan chokes back a wanting sigh, the urge to kiss her bubbling back up inside him. 

With no warning, a pair of arms wrap themselves around Logan, her hair tickling the underside of his jaw as she wraps herself around him. The warmth from her being flowed through the fabric from her sweater and into Logan’s heart. 

Nearly fainting from the shock, Logan finds it hard to breathe with her pressed against him so tightly, yet, it all felt so right. Hesitantly, Logan finds himself returning her embrace, holding her against him, his head leaning itself against hers. 

She sucks in a sharp breath before muttering, “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d left, Logan. I would have missed you so much.” 

Swallowing hard, Logan chuckles, “I would have missed you too, darlin’. You have no idea…” 

[adrienneleclerc]

Do you think you can do a Carlos sainz jr imagine

Well YN is MMA fighter and I don't know they meet at one of her fights or at the gym however you want to put it I guess so yeah and I was the one who requested the Lewis Hamilton photographer one and I really liked that imagine in this very good so thank you very much xoxo 🇲🇽🫶🥰😘

Let’s see what I can do and I’m so glad you liked how the Lewis Hamilton imagine came out! I was a little worried there for a second

Love At First Fight

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr. x MMA fighter! Reader

Summary: Carlos meets Y/N at the gym and end up sparring together

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: I have the idea in my mind, I can see it happening, can I put it into words? Let’s see. Also, sorry if it’s too short but I think it turned out cute for the prompt. Anyway, MY FIRST CARLOS SAINZ IMAGINE

Now that is is summer break and Carlos has announced he was going to Williams, he decided to go boxing with his trainer at the gym.

“Hola Carlos, ready to begin your session?” His trainer, Emilio asked.

“Of course, let’s get started, cabrón.” Carlos said. Him and Emiliowere doing some basic punching combos, Carlos was practicing his footwork, when he saw a woman walk in and immediately started using a punching bag. Since carlos was distracted, Emilio hit him upside the head.

“Focus, man, i thought you wanted to box today.” Emilio said.

“I do but who is that?” Carlos asked.

“You’re kidding.” The trainer said looking at the woman and back at Carlos. “I think it’s better if you stick to dating models.”

“Her name, cabrón.” Carlos said,

“Her name is Y/N L/N, she is an MMA fighter, she’s the UFC Featherweight champion for 2023.” Emilio said.

“You think I can spar with her?” Carlos asked.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try. L/N!” Emilio shouted, Y/N turned around.

“Gutiérrez, you know better than to shift my name in a public gym, what’s up.” Y/N said, walking towards the two men, taking off her gloves.

“My client here wants to spar with you.” Emilio said.

“Carlos Sainz, nice to meet you.” Carlos said, extending his hand, Y/N shook his hand.

“Think you can go toe to toe with me, pretty boy?” Y/N asked, stepping closer to Carlos so their noses were almost touching.

“Why not? I’ll give you the first shot.” Carlos said, Y/N stepped back, releasing his hand.

“Haha, okay, You’re confident, let’s see how confident you are in the ring.” Y/N said, walking toward the boxing ring they had further into the gym. Carlos was in shock but Emilio pushed him to start walking, Y/N was already inside the ring.

“Alright, I got these two helmets because Y/N would probably kill you since you suck at blocking.” Emilio told Carlos and Y/N snickered. “Y/N blue, you red.” They put on their helmets and Y/N put in her mouth guard. Emilio helped Y/N and Carlos lace up their gloves. “Great, touch gloves, and spar.

Carlos severely underestimated how it would be like to spar Y/N. You know how people feel pretty stupid one they find out Formula 1 is a serious sport and that driving a kart at 300 kilometers an hour isn’t easy? Carlos is feeling really stupid for wanting to spar with a UFC featherweight champion when he only boxes every other week (probably). Y/N was obviously winning, at one point, Y/N was straddling Carlos and had his wrists pinned to the mat until Emilio called time. Carlos winked at Y/N before she got off him and helped him up.

“Gotta hand it to you, pretty boy, you did pretty well for an F1 driver.” Y/N said.

“You know who I am?” Carlos asked.

“Well i obviously had to google you after meeting you since you’re Emilio’s client.” Y/N said,

“Well since I already had you on top of me..” Carlos started and Y/N laughed “..do you want to get lunch right now? I’ll pay.”

“That sounds great, I’ll shower and change so we can go.” Y/N said,

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

[princesssmars]

practical magick

a stiles stilinski x witch!reader

plot : just when stiles thought he had gotten used to the dramatics of the supernatual, he happens across you performing magic in the forest. when you fail to wipe his memory, his thursday afternoon gets a whole lot weirder.

wc : 4.678

contains : sfw. kissing at the end. the picture for look inspo is fair-skinned but the reader's skin color is not described! reader has hair! google translated latin sorry 😞i like my men loserish and obsessed sorry.

a/n : yasss a little halloween special. rewatching teen wolf for the third time bc idfk. is it obvious i love witch!reader's yet.

for the first time in over a decade, stiles stilinksi was bored out of his mind.

he had previously thought that given his adhd gave him a deep desire to be doing literally anything all the time that the word bored wouldn't enter his daily vocabulary until he died.

yet here he is, kicking his feet at the dead leaves on the ground as he searched for any hidden traces of wolfsbane. the only reasons this had even happened was because he had opened his big mouth too many times and was sent on a busy quest by deaton, to "make sure the surrounding areas were safe for werewolves."

just reminding himself of what led him here was enough to tick him off again. it wasn't like the past two years have been easy, being under the constant threat of werewolves, werewolf hunters, kanimas, etcetera etcetera. it was enough to stress out the most stable of adults, and stiles was the direct opposite of that, so of course he got nervous and started talking over people and pissing them off.

"stupid wolfsbane, stupid werewolves," he mumbles, kicking at more of the dead brown leaves on the forest floor, tearing a line of the familiar purple plant up from the ground and stuffing it into the brown sack in his other hand. once he was done it was likely it would either be tucked in jars in deaton's stash or burned. he wouldn't mind seeing the latter.

its another twenty moments of grumbling and scavenging before a sound in the distance stops him in his tracks. he stands still, making sure that he barely breathes before he relaxes, figuring his anger and memories are making him paranoid of the woods.

a minute later he wishes his mind was playing tricks on him, because he nears the noise again, but this this its louder.

"its closer," he thinks.

he barely even registers when his legs start running. he may have a bag full of wolfsbane, but there was no guarantee the threat was something the plant could harm. and he didn't feel like tempting fate today.

at this point he's slightly lost his direction, but when he passes the stunted redwood stump he and scott carved their names into during the fifth grade he starts to understand where he is, and as his heart beats in his hears he knows if he turns right here he'll come up onto the old willow tree-

in the span of ten seconds he smacks head on into a hard object, falling on his ass and gasping as the air is knocked from his lungs. he blinks quickly to try to rid of the black spots in his vision, and before he can comprehend it he's making eye contact with you.

he's slightly embarrassed that the first thought that races across his mind is how pretty you are. he knows he should be wary of you, but he can't help it. your hair is a rich (h/c), seeming to almost shine despite the sun being blocked by clouds. your skin is smooth and your eyes are gorgeous and big and still staring straight at him.

you both rush to stand up. he holds his hands out in a way that you would calm a wild animal, hoping it doesn't piss you off.

you continue to stare at him. which isn't helping calm down his racing pulse.

"uh, alright. look, i'm not gonna hurt you, alright? i'm just...looking for something..."

before he can finish his sentence, you raise your hands to cup the sides of his face. his words die in his mouth and he feels his cheeks warm up to the point he's surprised they haven't burned your palms. you look determined, and for a second he feels like he's gone to heaven

"convertere et perge quid agas. oblivisceris quid hic vidisti."

turn around and continue what you're doing. you will forget what you saw here.

his mouth opens and his brows scrunch in shock. he never thought those latin lessons he took online and with lydia would pay off, but he's really glad he did them now.

he considers doing what you said, just turning around and forgetting all about this encounter. but unfortunately his curiosity is getting the better of him, and if his suspicions are correct he needs to know more about you.

"i'm gonna guess you just tried to put a spell on me, right?"

your eyes widen so largely he's afraid they're going to pop out of your skull.

"i..i don't understand, that should have worked. are you a warlock? druid?"

"no, no. i'm just stiles." he tells. his guess that you were something supernatural is partially confirmed, since you know about druids and the whole tried to put a spell on him thing.

"well, stiles, unless you tell me why my spell didn't work on you i'm most likely going to have to kill you." you deadpan.

he thinks you're kidding so he eta out a strained laugh. you don't even twitch.

he wracks his brain for a good enough excuse that will save his life before his arm moves without command and thrusts the bag in your direction.

"well, i have a uh, a bag full of wolfsbane, if that matters at all. pretty sure it does since…yeah…wolfsbane”

yours eyes dart from him to the bag, most likely not trusting that their isn’t some insta-death powder that will pop out as soon as you open it, so he looses his thumbs grip and steps closer so you can see the purple herbs inside.

“hate to admit it but you’re right,” you sigh, pushing back some hair from your face. his eyes follow the movement before darting back to yours.“ that much wolfsbane would make most supernatural or magical doings wonky.”

"yes, yes! exactly. that makes sense. im sorry about that-"

"why would you even have that much wolfsbane anyway? are you a hunter?"

"what? no, no! im not, i swear to you im not a hunter. i can explain this, really i can." he nearly chokes on his words at the speed he speaks.

you stare at him for a few seconds more before crossing your arms over your chest, hopefully about to let him explain why he has a bag filled to the brim with a dangerous plant on a random afternoon.

when you start to walk directly past him into the forest he doesn’t think he’s ever been more confused.

"fine. you can explain it on the way back.”

he’s as still as a statue as he process your words. you just accused him of being a hunter and now you want him to follow you to whatever mysterious place your going? even for him this is weird, and he’s ten seconds from refusing-

“hurry up.”

he rushes to catch up behind you.

after around twenty minutes of stiles repeatedly asking where you were going followed by silence on your end, you finally reach a clearing in the woods filled by a large victorian-era house, fully black with large looming windows lit up by warm golden lighting coming from inside. there's a nearly fully glass sunroom/greenhouse on the right side, and he can see from here the varying flowers and plants that fill the room. he wants to ask how a house like this could be kept under wraps from the rest of the town, but then he remembers.

magic, duh.

you lead him through the threshold of the home and down a hallway until you arrive in what must be your living room, not giving him a chance to admire the room before you're pushing on his shoulders so he sits in a loveseat, taking your own seat across from him. your legs spread and you rest your elbows on your knees as you glare at him, causing him to shift in his seat.

"why are you carrying a bag full of wolfsbane?"

"my friend's boss, deaton. he asked me to pick up any wolfsbane in the woods to make it safer for them when they do the whole wolfing out thing."

"deaton's working with werewolves again? does he have a death wish?" your brow raises in confusion, he notes how the fingers on your right-hand scratch at the skin on your right.

"i'll be honest, you're kind of creeping me out."

"thank you. why is he doing it?"

"my friend, scott. he's a werewolf. and so are our friends erica and boyd. and derek and his weird uncle peter-"

"the fucking hale's are back? are you kidding?" a scoff leaves you and you get up out of your chair, starting to pace back and forth in front of his chair.

"yeah, it was this whole thing with peter being evil and killing his niece, and he turned scott but scott thought it was derek who turned him. it was a whole thing. not to mention how peter came back from the dead-"

you continue to walk around the room while occasionally pausing to pay attention as the boy details the events that have happened in the past year. despite you being a stranger it felt oddly cathartic to vent about everything that had happened to him. admitting to the countless times he felt scared out of his mind but had to stay strong lest his enemies take advantage of it.

"that's a lot for a normal human to go through in just a year with no prior knowledge of the supernatural. i'm surprised your brain didn't implode from the stress."

he blinks. "thanks. i guess."

"you're welcome. i'm going to make some tea. stay here," you say, moving from standing across from him to heading to a room near the side of the room, able to faintly see some dark counters and pots and herbs hanging from the ceiling, "not like you'd be able to leave anyway."

that's reassuring, stiles thinks to himself, bouncing his leg up and down where he sits. after a minute he figures you won’t kill him horrendously if hes looks around a bit, so he gets up and starts observing the countless pictures on the walls. some are old, like the people in them are wearing outfits from a few hundred years ago, while some are colored and recent. in most of the recent ones, you’re with three older women who look just as dark but ethereal as you do.

he continues looking at some pictures and hung-up trinkets when you come back into the room with two cups of tea, handing one with a smile to the wary boy with a halfhearted promise that it’s “totally not poisoned.”

“can i ask you a question?” he asks, sipping at his tea after he discovers it’s not poisoned and actually really good. he was never really fond of tea, always preferring coffee or energy drinks when he was in a low-energy period. he remembers his mom liked chamomile tea.

“you just did. but go ahead.”

“why would you let me in here? you could have just questioned me at the willow tree, you didn’t have to let me into your house. not that i don’t like your house. i like the whole victorian gothic vibe.”

you don’t answer for a solid minute, slowly drinking from your cup as you stare into the lite fireplace.

“witches pride ourselves on our knowledge. to be aware of our abilities and surroundings at all times to best stimulate our growth. and as much as i’d like to be this powerhouse who could take down any threat, i know i’m not. if you actually were powerful and i tried to take you on myself? who knows what would happen.”

“and i’m guessing that magical barrier around the house would protect you in case i really did try anything?” he gently asks, not wanting to talk too loudly to distract you from opening up to him.

“exactly. plus if you tried anything my aunts probably would have put a curse on you and your loved ones. something not too flashy to attract attention, but enough to cause great suffering.” he notices your soft sigh when you stop talking, almost like you’re disappointed you won’t get to see this suffering play out.

“plus it’s better to know where your talents excel,” you continue, setting your cup down on a skull patterned coaster on the coffee table in front of you. “i’ve always been better at using my magic to investigate my surroundings. helps to find materials or signs of psychos roaming around.”

something you two have in common. it makes his mouth quirk up.

“so, the werewolves and all the other things being back in town, that’s a problem for you and your aunts, right?”

“yup. if it was just werewolves it’d be normal for beacon hills, but kanimas and a whole pack of alphas? who knows how much that can disrupt the natural balance and what more they’ll bring.”

he thinks over his next words carefully. scott would likely be upset at first at him for trusting you, but he was also the nicest person stiles had ever met. if you could help them then it was worth the risk.

“then how about a trade. you help us with this alpha problem, and you get the experience you need to become a great and all powerful witch. pretty soon you'll be riding your broom to your heart's content."

you can’t help but scoff a laugh as you think it over. he starts to think you’re about to reject the offer as you stare him down before you get up and offer him a hand.

“you’ve got a deal.”

after shaking on it, you send the boy back with his bag of wolfsbane and a few more helpful weeds from your greenhouse, giving him a note to give to deaton so he won’t ask too many questions.

when he returns to the vets office he dumps the materials on the operating table, ignoring isaacs joke about how if he took any longer they’d all be alpha chow by now. he can tell deaton is concerned about where he got the vials of strange red and yellow herbs, but when he reads the note his eyes widen and he lets out a mix between a laugh and a sigh. scott asked insistently what was on the note but his boss refused to tell him what it said.

before he left to drive home, deaton pulled stiles to a corner and told him that he had been in close contact with one of your aunts before something happened a few years after the hale fire that caused them to go into hiding and cut contact with all supernaturals they had previously been helping, including him as the emissary of the hale family.

as he lay in bed that night staring up at his ceiling, all he could think about was you. you were a welcome distraction from the chaos of his current life, a pretty distraction at that. if not a bit scary. which he didn't mind all that much.

the both of you spent more time together in the following weeks. at first, it was just simple conversations by the willow tree talking about the werewolf situations and checking what materials deaton needed from your family. as time went on his curiosity got the best of him and he started to ask you more questions about your life.

"so hit me if this is stupid but did you have any family in salem? or can you like make a potion ina cauldron to see if I did because I could use that as massive bargaining power in fights with issac-ow! why'd you hit me?"

"you said i could."

"yeah but not so hard. jeez, ever thought of quitting this witch thing and trying boxing."

"never thought of it. maybe i should start now. with your face."

"really funny."

(your threats kind of reminded him of derek, but had less of an 'i'm about to rip your throat out and eat your esophagus vibe.' slightly.)

but as time went on it got deeper. as he told him more about himself you started to do the same, once even apologizing for "giving off psycho killer bitch vibes" and chalking it up to being so isolated from people for most of your life. he told you he didn't mind the vibes, assuring you he liked it maybe a little too excitedly.

he could really feel the shift when one day he came up to the willow tree and he saw you, standing with a frame photo in your hands and nearly on the brink of tears. he was so shocked at seeing you show such intense emotion he wasn't watching where he was going and stepped on a branch, alarming you as your head whipped to him like a deer in headlights.

"i...im sorry. i can leave if you want."

"no no, it's," you shook your head, looking down at the photo once again. "it's fine. it doesn't matter."

"well if it's enough to make you cry id say its world ending-"

"could you just shut up? for once in your life?"

it's quiet for a minute, the only sound in the air being the gentle breeze. even thought the comment stings stiles knows all too well you're just lashing out in anger and hurt.

"im sorry."

"don't apologize. i get it, i do." he moves closer until he's standing beside you, walking slowly so he doesn't make you lash out again.

he looks down at the photo and he gets it. its you, about six or seven with a bright smile on your face and standing with two people he can tell are your parents. he can see the resemblance. you have one of their smiles and hair color, the other's nose, and by their clothes, the same dark style.

"its been over ten years. since i lost them," you whisper, your voice sounding more weak than he's ever heard it. "itd be nice if I was staying with my aunts for some sabrina the teenage witch reason but no. i don't have a choice."

he gently puts a hand on your shoulder. "i get it, i do. i lost my mom. every day i remember things about her in things i do. it hurts but its better than forgetting."

you sniff and hes about to back up when you put your hand over his on your shoulder, gripping it tightly. it hurts a bit. he doesn't really care.

"its not fair."

"its not."

"...thank you."

"don't mention it."

you give him with the materials and he's about to leave when you stop him, your hand grasping his wrist. he wants to ask whats wrong but he stops. you're staring right at him, into his soul he thinks, and all he wants is to hold you and tell you any pain he's suffered the past few years is worth it because it led him to you, that even if you asked him to sacrifice himself on an alter for a spell that would make you happy for a minute he would do it-

"this bracelet. i want you to wear it and don't take it off no matter what, all right?"

hey, that works for him.

as soon as the bracelet was clasped around his wrist he felt different. like his nerves were tingling and his brain was warm. he felt like he was going to get the most powerful migraine in existence and reached to take it off when you took his hand again.

"please. just give it a minute."

and so he did.

only thirty seconds of dull pain later and he felt normal, if not better. like when you're a kid and have the best day of your life and return home to a good meal. a nice bath, and a great night's rest. he feels almost powerful.

"hey what is this thing? did you just give me powers? is this gonna make me your servant or something?"

"bye stiles."

he gives deaton the materials after telling scott where he was ignoring the weird look on his face before the boy goes back to examining an adorable beagle on the operating table.

deaton takes the bag and bottles with an appreciative smile, his eyebrows scrunching up when he notices the jewelry on stiles wrist.

"where'd you get that bracelet?"

"uhh, i found it. at a thrift shop. thought it looked cool. why?"

deaton clearly doesn't believe him but decides to entertain stiles anyway. "the band is a normal bracelet but the charms are what makes it special. they're pagan."

"could you explain them to me? just because you know."

the vet just shakes his head and laughs before pointing to each one.

"this one, the witchs knot. standard symbol for warding off evil. its mostly used as a protection charm."

stiles admires the charm, the metal silver with the symbol burned into it. it looks like a circle with a line roped in and out of four points of it.

"this, hecates wheel. a goddess of magic, as you probably already know. symbolizes the power of knowledge and life."

this charm is a bit heavier, the stone looking weathered with a scratched labyrinth engraved on it, a distinct 'x' in the middle of it.

"and this one is..." deaton starts before his words trail off. stiles looks at it. it looks like four combined circles, each with symbols inside them. the two across from each other on the side looking like two crescent moons, the one on the top holding a basic pentagram. but he doesn't recognize the one on the bottom-two perpendicular lines forming an 'x' with little swirly lines coming from the middle on the top and bottom.

"what? what does it mean? is it bad?"

"no, it's not bad at all, stiles. the crescents and pentagram are used in another basic protection spell. more protection for the user."

"and the one on the bottom?"

"well, i don't honestly know what it is. its most likely a personal sigil made by the person who made it. but by my guess, based on others I've seen before, it might mean whoever made it has a deep love and affection for whoever they gifted the bracelet to."

stiles thought he was keeping his cool, but scott made extra sure to remind him the following days and the dumbass look on his face when deaton explained the symbol to him.

he didnt know what to do. this had to mean you felt the same way he did about you, right? why else would you gift him a love sigil on a bracelet you insisted he wear? for a second he considered it was a love spell you tried to put on him, but he was feeling iffy about that. mostly about how he wouldn't care that much.

(he apparently admitted that in a sleepy haze when he was sleeping over at scotts, and he's never wanted to die more than when he woke up and realized issac of all people heard him.)

the next time he saw you he tried as hard as he could to act casual. you asked him about ten times if he was okay, and he eventually came up with a good enough 'just a slight stomach bug' lie and regretted it immensely when you invited him back to your house, telling him you'd been practicing making simple health remedies and you had the perfect thing to fix him.

the whole walk to your house he was on edge, his palms feeling sweaty for the first time in his life as he repeatedly wiped them off on his pants. just like the first meeting, you tell him to wait on the couch and he lets out a shaky breath when you leave into the kitchen.

what does he do? does he confess? does he need to? he was so scared that he was being too obvious and maybe that's why you put the sigil on the bracelet, to let him know you returned his affections. but what is he wasn't obvious? and he was basically telling you he only liked you because you liked him? what if-

"stop staring into space and drink this tea, dummy."

he laughs awkwardly and takes the ornate cup from your hand, sniffing the tea before he drinks it. it's sweet but savory, smelling like nutmeg and milk. he can see little flakes and leaves floating on the top. he takes a sip and hums at the taste.

"screw boxing, you should be a professional chef. i'm gonna need you to give me this recipe."

"yeah right. a witch never reveals her secrets." you scoff before sitting down next to him on the couch. you put your arm up on the back and rest your head on your wrist as you cross your legs, your foot brushing against his leg. he nearly spills the tea over his lap.

he can't help but admire you. he had given you a few magazines he'd gotten from stores and stuff to better show you how people were dressing these days, and while you'd hated most of it you took to some trends, wearing a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a pair of combat boots. he tried to focus on the rips in your jeans as to not let his eyes wander up, where you were wearing a leather halter camisole with nothing underneath. he can't help but laugh in his head when he thinks of the word camisole. maybe he was spending too much time around lydia.

"stiles? seriously are you possessed or something? normally you'd be talking my ear off trying to guess exactly what ingredients i used for the tea."

he sets the cup down after taking another long sip and turns his body to you, your eyebrows raising in what he can tell is amusement. most people could easily get annoyed by his theatrics, but after your near trauma bonding at the willow tree, you had always made sure to welcome them with a smile.

"look, i have something to say. which you probably already know, but i need to say it to you anyway to make sure you really know, y'know?"

you blink. "go ahead."

he breathes in and out a few times, his previous confidence suddenly disappearing.

"let me guess, you saw the sigil and now you're going to confess your love to me?"

he goes into a near coughing fit.

"how, well thanks because now i dont have to actually say it, but if you had given me a minute-"

before he knows it you're scooting closer, your faces just a few inches apart. you're staring at him with that same look you had when you gave him the bracelet. his breath is picking up and he bites his bottom lip, your eyes darting to the motion.

"can i kiss you?"

"yes, god yes-"

your hand grips his chin and brings his lips to yours, the intensity and plushness of it nearly driving him insane. he doesn't really know what to do with his hands, settling to just keep them on his lap before your other hand brings them to your waist and squeezes them in place. at this point you're nearly on his lap and that combined with the kiss and the fact he swears he just felt your tongue poke his lip is going to be the death of him.

he pulls away from the kiss and kneads his hands on your hips, able to feel the softness of your skin on the places where the camisole lifts up.

"wow. i mean just...arent you a recluse? where'd you learn to kiss like that? have you like, conjured up clones to practice with or something."

"stiles?"

"yeah?"

"shut up and kiss me again."

"whatever you say, babe."

for the first time in his life, stiles stilinksi thinks everything is gonna work out.

ty for reading! had to tell myself to get up off my ass and write at 3am and wrote about half of this so sorry for any dialogue inconsistencies. love you bye bye.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (1/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it's his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The best tactic to defend yourself from a stranger? Being dressed only in a towel and having a newspaper in hand, of course.

Warnings: google translated French (I didn't put the translations in the story, but there's a reason to it! maybe you'll figure it out through the series!)

Word Count: 3.1k

series masterlist

A/N: here it is my friends! the first chapter! I'm not sure about tagging people. bad experience and stuff. I still hope you like it! feedback is appreciated! love ya.

The apartment is dead quiet when you get home. Tired, you flick on the kitchen light and toss your gym bag into your small bedroom before grabbing a wine glass from the shelf. You twist the cap off the cheap white wine sitting on the bottom shelf of the small fridge with your teeth, and spit it away. You wouldn't need the cap anymore. You would drink the bottle empty today. 

The whole last week had been unbelievably lousy. Your boss had fired you for a mistake you weren't responsible for, and even though you didn't like working there, you were on the money. 

A few months ago, you had moved to Monaco for that very job. You left your family behind. Built a new life here. Only to find yourself without a job, without opportunities, without prospects. 

You sit down on one of the two chairs at the dining table and open your laptop. Since you were kicked out, the home page of your Internet browser has been searching for suitable job offers, but you haven't found anything yet. You're glad that you've put aside enough money every month to be able to keep this apartment for a few more weeks. And after that, it's either take the next best job, no matter how underpaid it is and no matter how unhappy it would make you, or move back in with your parents.

You'd rather live under a bridge than back with your parents.

Frustrated, you close the laptop. It's hard to find a job in Monaco unless you're already a big shot or born into a good family. And as a former, small-time magazine photographer, you're neither. 

You leave the laptop and your sweaty gym clothes in the bedroom as you head to the bathroom for a shower. The warm water feels good on your skin and tense muscles. The lavender shampoo calms your senses and nerves a bit, but you can't flush that nagging lingering thought - what happens if you don't find a new job? - down the drain, unfortunately.

Ideally, you'd like to stay here, in Monaco. Why not? Life here is great and the people are so friendly that you don't even want to think about leaving it all behind. But the possibilities are limited. And time is running against you. 

You step out of the shower, wrap your hair and body in soft towels, and walk out of the bathroom. 

And just at that moment, the apartment door opens. 

"What the hell?"

The young man suddenly standing in the hallway wrenches his eyes open at your words and winces. Apparently, he wasn't expecting anyone either.

"What the heck are you doing in my apartment?" you yell at him, grabbing the nearest object you could use to defend yourself from the intruder. Unfortunately, it's just a magazine from your old job. You roll it up and point it at him.

"In your apartment?" he asks, confused, dropping the large bag hanging around his shoulder to the floor. He doesn't take his eyes off you. It's like you're the crazy one standing in his apartment all of a sudden. "What do you mean?" He raises his hands placatingly as you take a small step toward him on bare feet with the newspaper.

"Are you stupid? What don't you understand about 'my apartment'?" Your voice sounds a little shrill. You roll the newspaper up tighter in your hands. Not that you can particularly do anything about the man. Just wrapped in a towel and with that little bit of paper. Besides, he's at least a whole head taller. And definitely stronger, judging by his stature. 

The young man lowers his hand to let it disappear into his left pants pocket. You wave your arms behind your head - like Rapunzel with her frying pan. If he tried anything, you'd have enough momentum to maybe hurt him.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." He fishes something out of his back pocket and holds it up. Dangling from his finger is a jingling silver key. "This is my key. For my apartment. The one I bought." He enunciates each word one at a time, as if you're a child who must somehow be made to understand why two plus two does not equal five. Step by step.

You narrow your eyes. The newspaper stays in place behind your head. "I rented the apartment. A few months ago." You shift your feet apart a little to get a firmer footing. "If it really is your apartment, where have you been for the last few months?"

Confused, he looks at you as if you must know where he'd been. Then he rubs his forehead with his free hand. "Can I sit down? My day has been incredibly tiring and I'm exhausted." He takes a step toward the dining room table, where your wine glass still sits.

"If you take one more step, I'm going to scream."

He rolls his eyes, but stops anyway. "I'm too tired for this shit," he retorts, annoyed, running a hand through his brown hair. "This is my place. I don't know how you got in here or who's supposed to have rented it to you, but you pack your shit now and get out. Before I call the police."

"Why do you want to call the police? You're standing in my apartment!"

"This is not your apartment!"

Like two lions about to go for each other's throats, you stare at each other.

"You leave my apartment now before I call Joris and he throws you out," you threaten him. When he starts in with the cops, you continue with your landlord. If suddenly the cops are in your apartment, he would be informed either way. At least then you could give him a heads up if he really did call the cops. 

Apparently your words triggered something in him, because he lowers his arms and his shoulders relax a little. "Joris? Joris Trouche?"

The fact that he knows your landlord's last name unnerves you enough that you lower your arms as well. The newspaper, however, you still hold in one hand. "How do you know Joris?"

The man no longer looks annoyed, but seriously confused. "Joris is one of my closest friends," he explains. "I bought the apartment in his name. Did he rent it to you?"

Friends? Bought it in his name?

"He did. A few months ago," you answer him. You're not facing each other like lions now, but rather like two deer who don't know exactly how to act. You chew on your lower lip, undecided about what to do.

"I'll call him." As the man pulls his cell phone from his back pants pocket, you can only stare at him in disbelief. If his Joris is really your Joris - what happens next? If he bought the apartment, will you have to move out? You have a valid rental contract. Will it be terminated then? Will you have to move under the next best bridge sooner than expected? Does Monte Carlo have any bridges?

"Good evening, Joris." You didn't even notice that he had already dialed the number. He's not holding the phone to his ear, but in front of his mouth, and you can see he's activated the speaker.

"Hi, buddy. Did you have a good flight?", Joris voice actually rings out.

Your heart stops for a moment and the newspaper falls out of your hand. The man takes one look at the paper and then at your face. "I did, thanks." He licks his lower lip once with his tongue. "I just arrived at my apartment. You know, my second apartment. The one that's in your name."

On the other side of the phone, it's suspiciously quiet. As if transfixed, you stare at the cell phone in his hand, hoping it's all a big mistake. That this already shitty week isn't about to get even shittier. 

"I can explain." Fuck.

While Joris explains to his "buddy" what's going on - "I had rented out the apartment so that it wouldn't get miserably dusty. Besides, it would be completely stupid not to rent out a great apartment and let the money slip through your fingers. I couldn't have known you'd go there. I thought the apartment was only for emergencies." - you sit down at the dining table, still wrapped in your towel, and drink the rest of your wine in one go.

"C'est une urgence!" The man turns off the speaker and holds the phone to his ear. "Je ne peux pas et ne veux pas aller dans l'autre appartement! Tu sais pourquoi! Et maintenant, tu loues ma retraite sans m'en parler? Qu'est-ce que je vais faire maintenant, Joris?" His French is too fast for you to understand in the least. Judging by the wild flailing of his hand, he can't be saying anything good. He raises his hand, touches his thumb to his other fingertips, then holds it to his forehead. His face is flushed as he nags stressedly into the receiver, and you can even see the vein on his neck. "Je ne vais certainement pas à l'hôtel! Comme "pourquoi pas"? Parce que j'ai une résidence secondaire, espèce de crétin! Je peux difficilement l'expulser maintenant de l'appartment que tu lui as loué! Alors je suis le connard qui a jeté une jeune femme à la rue! Comment crois-tu que le gros titres vont suivre?"

While you understand a few words like hotel, idiot, woman - almost certainly meaning you - and headlines, your French is not so good, even after months in Monaco, that you could easily understand him.

"Je me fiche qu'elle soit sexy. Tu ne peux quand même pas laisser quelqu'un vivre dans mon appartement!" He puts his thumb and forefinger to his nose bone. "I'm really too tired for this, Joris. We'll talk tomorrow," he ends the conversation back in English and sits down in the chair across from you. He places the cell phone on the table before drumming his fingertips on the tabletop. "We'll summarize. You have a valid lease on my apartment. I have nowhere else to go. So I have to stay here. What's the plan?" He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

You stare at him. "I should put some clothes on first." Wordlessly, you get up and disappear into the bedroom before he can say anything back. You quickly change, slipping into a dark green Adidas sweater and comfortable yoga pants, and quickly comb your hair. When you leave the room, the man is no longer sitting at the table, but stands in the small kitchen and - cooks?

"I haven't eaten anything today," the man says without glancing in your direction. "And you still had some stuff in the fridge."

You reach for the wine bottle and pour some more into the glass before taking a big gulp. "And you think you could just grab my groceries and cook yourself something?" you ask snarkily. He acts like he's at home. Like this is his apartment.

Well, it is, in theory. 

"I'm making two servings. For you and for me. I'm not a monster." He glances at you out of the corner of his eye as you lean against the fridge to watch him. "Maybe we should start over. Completely new." He turns the piece of chicken in the pan. "What's your name?"

"Y/N" You tilt your head. "And you?"

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before giving the noodles in the pot a single stir. But as suddenly as the confusion was on his face, it's gone just as quickly. "Charles."

Sharl. The French pronunciation of Charles. And you have to admit, it suits him. As he cooks, you watch him, racking your brains on how to proceed now.

The apartment is small, but living with two people in it could work. One would sleep in the bed, the other on the couch. There would have to be a bathroom plan. And a cleaning schedule. And-

"Can you pour me a drink, too, please?" asks Charles, spreading the food on two plates. He sets them on the table and pulls two forks out of a drawer. 

"What would you like? Wine?" When he nods, you take a second wine glass and pour him the last of your wine. As he sits down, you look at him skeptically. 

Charles raises his eyebrows. "What is it?"

You tighten your mouth into a thin line. "That's my seat."

"Well, there's another chair. Why don't you take that one?"

Uncertainly, you teeter from one foot to the other. You don't want to seem like a crazy person, but in the few months you've lived here, you've always sat in the same chair. You want to keep it that way.

When you don't move, he rolls his eyes, but then sits down in the chair across from you. "Better?"

His food tastes better than expected. To be honest, it tastes better than anything you've ever cooked. But you don't tell him that, of course.

"I don't know how much you overheard of my conversation with Joris" - you overheard everything, you just didn't understand anything - "but I'm afraid I have nowhere else to go. Personal reasons." He pokes at his chicken for a moment. "And I don't want to put you out on the street, either, of course. I can't at all. After all, you have a valid lease and I can't just kick you out, even if it is my apartment." He looks up from his food and looks at you. His eyes are an impossibly beautiful green.

"What do you say we live here together? Just until my situation eases up," he suggests. Before you can say anything, he continues speaking. "I know the apartment is small and there's only one bed, but if we agree on cleaning and shopping and everything, I'm sure we can work it out."

There's a sparkle in his eye. You'd like to know why he can't go to his other apartment. Why he can't go to a hotel. Why he absolutely has to go to his second apartment. But he said himself it was an emergency. And you've known each other for what? An hour? Even if you asked, he certainly wouldn't tell you. 

Private is private.

And maybe it's not permanent. True, you could say on your own that you could go to a hotel, but on what money? For sure you could negotiate with Joris. You move out and stop paying rent. But what if you happen to find a job after all? Then you'd have to look for a new apartment again, because hotels in Monaco aren't exactly cheap. And you certainly won't get a cheaper apartment than this one.

"All right."

Charles doesn't seem particularly surprised, but relieved nonetheless. More like his suggestion wasn't a suggestion, but a fact you'd have to agree to. Which makes you very uneasy.

Maybe he's the kind of guy who takes advantage of his looks to trick young women like you and then murder them in their sleep. Or maybe he'll drug you and sell you to the nearest human trafficker. Or-

"Then maybe we should talk about the sleeping arrangement." He takes a sip of wine and screws up his face. "I thought this was dry wine."

"Dry wine is gross."

Charles exhales audibly. "That's debatable. Whatever." He puts the glass back, but a little farther away than you had put it earlier. "You can sleep in the bed for all I care. I'll sleep on the couch. It shouldn't be that uncomfortable. Except - if it's okay with you - sometimes I'd like to sleep in the bedroom to save my back." His offer sounds reasonable. Once you fell asleep on the couch from fatigue. You could have saved yourself the backache the next day.

"No problem." You smile kindly at him. "Thanks. For letting me have the bed, I mean." And for not kicking me out.

He nods before standing up, taking the two empty plates and placing them in the sink. Charles turns around, hands braced on the ledge behind him. "We can wash this tomorrow, if you like. I'm too tired for that now. And you don't seem like you're particularly up for it right now, either."

He's right. Although your fingers are itching to wash the dishes and put everything in its place, you're so exhausted from the day and the terror of suddenly having a stranger in your apartment that you could fall asleep standing up. So you just nod. 

"I'll just go brush my teeth. Then you can go to the bathroom."

Charles sticks his thumb up before you disappear into the bathroom and quickly get ready for bed. Thank goodness you cleaned the whole apartment yesterday, so you don't have to worry about things lying around or dirt. 

As you exit the bathroom, Charles is settling into the couch. "I grabbed the second set of bedding from the closet in the hallway. You certainly don't need that, do you?" he asks. You shake your head. "Great. I sleep without an alarm clock until 9 most nights. So would be great if you could keep it down until then. The walls aren't very thick, I'm afraid." He spreads out the comforter while you stand in the room, still unsure, watching him. "Do you have to go to work tomorrow? No? Great. Then we can talk about the rest tomorrow. About cleaning and stuff. We'll figure it out." His smile is almost infectious as he pushes past you to go to the bathroom. "Good night, Y/N."

Just before he closes the bathroom door behind him, you see him pull his shirt over his head and his back muscles move under his tanned skin. 

Just at that moment, your cell phone rings. Without looking to see who's calling, you push the caller away. There is only one person who could be calling at such a late hour. And you definitely don't want to talk to that person. 

A few minutes later, you're lying in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin and the door locked for safety - you never know - and you're racking your brains about what needs to be sorted out tomorrow. And whether the whole thing might not have been a stupid idea after all. 

Living with a complete stranger? Who could possibly kill you in the night? Or worse - could put you out on the street from one moment to the next?

You turn on your side, one hand tucked under your cheek, the other between your knees.

Maybe Charles is nice enough and living together works out great. Maybe you'll even become friends. Anything is possible. 

And apart from that - you don't have any other choice. 

Neither of you can go anywhere else. You both need this apartment.

That you both also need each other, you don't know at this point.

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