#I want to draw and write and hang out with my friends and be there for them

[spacecatdraws]

oh. this is interesting…

random personal lore drop below

(tldr: I don’t believe I can be a real system but I’m sure as hell not normal)

TW: (minor mentions) gvns, r@p3, d34th, (major mention) su1c1d3

I called myself endogenic because I don’t qualify as traumatized.

let me explain.

I’ve had anxiety, depression, ADHD, and other unidentified issues for my whole life. I roleplayed because it was my escape, life made me want to stop living so why would I stay there? When I was writing or drawing I was those characters, buried in their minds, filling in their bodies, but something would pull me back to reality and I’d feel it crumble. Some characters stayed longer than others. Slowly, I found out they weren’t character’s I had just made up; they were my theriotypes. I left it at that, that I was just a polytherian. But I’m not my types. I share a body with them. I have conversations with them, they care about me, we cuddle as best we can when there’s only one body to share. I love my parents. I love my friends. But life has always been terrifying to me. Sometimes things I’d never experienced would make me cry and hyperventilate. Gunshots make me freeze up and stop breathing. Mentions of sexual assault, of rape, of murder make me want to throw up and cry. Child abuse and childloss make me vengeful like I have nothing but rage. Labels and rules make me sick and dizzy. Poisoning and sickness make me feel like I’m drowning in them. I can’t recognize myself sometimes. My body isn’t mine. I always assumed I was just an odd therian. i learned about systems, and they described the things happening in my head. Some days I tie the door to my room shut because I want to starve and die and crumble so badly. But I always said to myself “my family and friends are fine, so I can’t be traumatized. It’s all in my head, and I’m a failure and a faker for ever thinking that I could be anything else. I’m just being a poser and hurting these people who have been through so much worse.” I believed so deeply that my issues were insignificant and that I didn’t have nearly enough mental problems to be a true system. I said to myself “I don’t have trauma. So I can’t be a DID system. But system is so comforting of a label, so I must be endogenic, and therefore I shouldn’t talk to anyone about my issues because I will just be taking away from people who truly are traumatized.” I never felt like I belonged in supporting spaces because I never got raped or shot or manipulated by my family or friends, even though those things dragged flashbacks from lives I never had, memories from the others in my body. My parents loved me, and my friends cared about me, so I wasn’t traumatized. I have no trauma, so I didn’t deserve to be in those spaces.

There are six of us. The host tries their best to take care of us, but takes out their emotions through cutting and starving themself. This isn’t my body. These aren’t my parents. I can tell these people care, but they’re not mine. I can’t remember what I did for most of the day. It’s all just fog. Fog and static.

If all endos are fake and posers, then I must be one too. Even though I hear my packmates, the others in this body, I love them so dearly, and I can feel their limbs and the memories are so strong it hurts me physically.

I can’t be truly traumatized, right? Not if my family was good.

Not if my friends were nice.

Even though this world makes me want to hang myself…

I don’t count as traumatized enough to be a true system.

I am nothing but a fraud.

ENDO LORE?????!????

[aplaceinthedark]

chapter three: ONE TASTE of the LIFE

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm.

Word Count: 2,945

CW: Supernatural themes, Star Wars spoilers, Hand Jobs (male receiving)

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. For the past several months, I've been dealing with job issues and major burnout depression. Whereas that's still hanging around, I think I might be in a better place to write more. If you're still hanging on despite my hiatus, thank you very muchness.

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

“Taylor? Are you listening to a word I said?”

I jumped, nearly knocking my water bottle over. “N-No. I’m sorry. What were you saying?” I asked sheepishly.

Rachel smiled sympathetically. “Still worried about the break-in?” she asked. I nodded, as I had told everyone that that was the reason why I was so jumpy.

I liked Rachel. Despite being almost twenty years older than me, she was sort of my only friend outside the circle of misfits and monsters I had embedded myself in. She also didn’t live in New Hope, thankfully. She was a transfer from a bigger town, since our library desperately needed one after one of our librarians “mysteriously disappeared” last August.

Said librarian’s assistant had also “mysteriously vanished” as well, leaving a job wide open for me to fill. I didn’t mind it, being Rachel’s assistant. I might have to do grunt work a lot of the time, but at least she helped instead of just dumping it all on me.

“Anyways, as I was saying, I’m pretty sure no one has gone through the donation bin this decade, if you want to make a dent in it.”

Sitting on my ass while I sort for the next two hours? “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I said, earning a chuckle from her as I stood up and left the front desk.

There were several boxes. She wasn’t kidding. This was going to take longer than I thought. Setting my phone off to the side, I pressed play on one of my safe-for-work playlists and started humming along to some Chappell Roan.

It had been a few days since the incident with the pale creature that had come onto my porch. There had been no repeat occurrences at our place, but someone had said something about seeing a sick-looking coyote at the edge of their yard. I hadn’t mentioned that to Nick, since I wasn’t even sure that it was the same thing that I had seen. 

And Nick was… I couldn’t burden him with any more problems. Between his time at the new tattoo place, townspeople coming to him for remedies to their ailments, and not being able to sleep very well, he was exhausted. I had woken up to him passed out on his couch this morning, Lydia loafing on his back. If I could make him sleep for an entire day, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I pulled the next box towards me and dug through the dusty contents. I was sure now that most of these donations were just from older ladies dumping the contents of their attics off on us just to free up some space. Several of these books so far were the same cookbook in different states of decay. 

I was just about to ask Rachel for a mask since I was tired of sneezing out dust when my hand pulled out a book that was different from all the others. A quick flip through revealed it was a journal. Either their handwriting was terrible or it was written in a different language, because I couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was saying. But some of the drawings in it intrigued me, so I set it in the Keep Pile, with the intention to ask Rachel what to do with it. If someone donated it without knowing, they might want it back.

By the end of my shift, my back and lungs didn’t appreciate what work I had gotten done. “Being in your thirties must be rough,” Rachel laughed as I tried popping my back several times. “Maybe you could get that cute boyfriend of yours to help you out later tonight.”

I felt a brief flush rise to the surface of my skin as I thought about Nick’s skilled fingers. “Quit it,” I mumbled, earning a cackle from her that would normally get someone in a library in trouble.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the journal in my hands.

“Oh, I found it in one of the boxes. It looks like somebody might’ve accidentally put it in the donation box. Should we ask if they want it back?” I said.

Rachel shook her head. “Sorry buttercup,” she said, using her nickname for me. “Those were anonymous, and who knows how long ago it was donated. There’s no way we’d be able to trace it back to its owner. Unless it has historic value, we’re supposed to throw it out.”

Something in my face must’ve changed her mind. “Well, if you don’t want to, I could conveniently look the other way when you leave,” she said. 

I was about to say that no, that it was fine, that I didn’t need another written book in my house when Nick was still combing through Granny’s hex books, but the words caught in my throat and I thanked her instead. Maybe if I could find its owner, that would be one good deed I’d done for this town, since they were still wary of me several months after I had moved in.

The library closed at seven, but I didn’t get to go to my car until half an hour later. Late April still meant that it was dark out when I left work, but the building was in the middle of New Hope, the forest a ways off. I dashed to my car through the rain, the water from the puddles splashing up as my feet crashed down in them. 

My fingers were wrapped around the car’s door handle when  a cold rush of air blew through my denim jacket, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I froze as the door automatically unlocked, the sound as loud as a gunshot despite the sound of the rain. Something in the reflection of the car window caught my eye.

Someone was behind me.

I slowly turned around, trying not to startle it. Meanwhile, my mind was racing in confusion and fear. Nothing came out of the woods. The town was safe.

The boys couldn’t help me if something were to happen to me out here.

So what was the shadowy figure doing in the middle of a parking lot?

It didn’t move as I stared at it. It was almost formless; I could just make out the thin, vaguely humanoid shape of it. Even if I wanted to say something, my throat had closed shut. The chill of the night increased, the wind picking up and sending some bits of trash skittering across the asphalt. But it didn’t disturb the shadow. 

I opened my mouth to say… something? Shout at it to scare it away? But another voice startled me into screaming. I whipped around. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Taylor!” Rachel swore, hand on her heart. She was standing a few feet away under her umbrella. “What’re you still doing here? Are you okay?”

“Uhh… yeah. Just thought I saw something,” I said. I turned back around.

Other than us, the parking lot was empty.

The smell of food coming through a cracked window greeted me as I stepped onto the front porch. My knees felt weak at the thought of Nick cooking after the heart attack I had had. I took a moment to compose myself, exhaling as I turned the doorknob and stepped into our home.

It was indeed Nick cooking, as he stood in front of the stove. His long black hair was tied up in a bun, and he was wearing his thick-rimmed glasses. “Hiya,” he said, not even turning around. 

I dropped my backpack onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table, immediately walking over and hugging him from behind. “Woah, hey. Everything alright?” He asked. His hand moved down to cover both of mine.

I should tell him; I need to tell him. Instead, I nodded into the space between his shoulders. Even though a part of me knew that the creepiness of the town's legends were true, I still couldn't believe that something would come out of the woods and into the safeness of the streets.

So what I said instead was, “I missed you,” into his shirt. 

“Missed you more,” he said in return, despite seeing each other this morning. 

“What are you making?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. 

“Just some hamburger pasta. Thought it would be good for an easy night, since it's just the two of us until later tonight.”

“Really? Not even Folio?” I asked. 

Without looking up, Nick pointed over at the kitchen calendar with the spoon in his free hand. A little black circle was drawn on today's date and the next two days. The New Moons meant that Folio was stuck in his Grim form until the first sliver of the moon shined. Kind of like a werewolf but opposite. 

“It'll be done in a few. Go get comfortable and I'll put on a movie,” he said, his own way of shooing me out of the kitchen. As I parted with him, I saw that he hadn't done the same with Lydia, who was watching from the floor with her hungry eyes. 

As I changed into some lounge pants and an old sweater of Nick's, I tried to think of a way to bring up the encounter with the shadow person. There was no way that he wouldn't get upset about it, that was a fact. Maybe after we ate.

When I came back out into the front room, Nick had helped himself to making my plate and putting it on the coffee table. I sat down next to him, I pulled my plate onto my lap. He had pulled up Rise of Skywalker for us to watch.

“So who’s coming later?” I asked as he started the movie.

“Noah,” Nick mumbled. There was an undercurrent of something in his voice, so I guess Noah had transferred something to his mind that annoyed him. 

“That's fine,” I said, squeezing his thigh. 

After eating, I curled up into Nick, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “We should dress up as Kylo and Rey for Halloween again,” he said.

“Your hair’s getting too long for you to be Kylo,” I said, poking the side of his head.

“Yeah, because Rey is totally a blonde.”

“It was last minute!”

We kept up the light commentary for most of the film. I was fine up until the part when Rey sacrificed herself to kill the Emperor. As Ben Solo sacrificed himself to resurrect her, I threaded my fingers through his. A moment passed, and then Nick squeezed my hand. 

When the credits rolled, I tried to get up to take our dishes back to the kitchen sink. Nick pulled me back down. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, pulling me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me.

“Was gonna do the dishes, since you made dinner,” I said.

He pulled my head gently to rest on his shoulder. “Just stay here. With me,” he said, quietly. He would do this if he thought I was about to have one of my moments. 

He started playing with my hair, making my eyes flutter shut. “Okay,” I said. 

He kissed my forehead, but as he was pulling away, I reached up to cup his face and direct him further down. His lips brushed mine before pressing down once, soft and tender, but then he tried pulling away again. “Are you su–”

“Nick,” I pleaded, his name coming out in a rush. If he had any resolve before, it came crumbling down within milliseconds.

He was still a bit hesitant, flicking his tongue against my lips. But I wasn’t made of glass, so I pushed his chest until his back was pressed onto the couch cushions. I crawled up him until I was straddling his hips, my knees pressing into the sides of his waist. The kiss never broke.

It didn’t take long for him to harden beneath me, and I couldn’t help the small, satisfactory grin that rose to my lips. I ran my hand down his chest, down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. When I finally parted with Nick, his hand shot up to curl around the back of my head. “Bun–”

“Can I touch you?” I asked.

“Oh, fuck yes. Please,” he pleaded.

I lifted myself a little bit, just enough to give me some room to slip my hand underneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs. The angle might’ve been a little bit awkward, but it didn’t really matter when I wrapped my fingers around the considerable size of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back against the pillows. The movement caused him to bare the pretty tan skin over his throat, and I practically descended upon it. The minute I mouthed over his pulse point, his hips rolled up, rutting into my hand. On the upstroke I rubbed my thumb over the tip, and he made my favorite sound of–

Click.

We both froze, my hand down his pants. I quickly raised my head and our eyes locked on each other at the sound of the door unlocking. As the front door opened, I quickly rose up to stand on my knees. Noah stopped dead in his tracks, confusion written on his face. 

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said immediately, Nick echoing my words from below me.

Noah’s eyes roamed over me for a second, and his face hardened. “Please, continue. I don’t want to interrupt you guys making out in–”

Nick sat up, crawling out from underneath me. If he stood up, Noah could easily see that we were doing more than making out. “When we agreed on later, I mean late.” 

“It’s after eleven. I think that’s late enough,” Noah said, striding across the kitchen to the fridge, where he took out a beer. 

As Nick straightened himself, I caught the look on his face that said he was communicating with Noah through the bond that he had with everyone. Was there something agreed upon that didn’t require me knowing about? 

My thought was all but confirmed when Nick put his hand on my waist. “You wanna go to bed, Bun?” he asked, looking up at me with big green eyes. In this lighting, they were dark as the evergreens outside.

“No, I’m not tired,” I said. I fixed him with a look that said that I wasn’t going to be kept in the dark. Again.

He sighed. “Hang on, I gotta get the hex book,” he said, standing up. He then walked to the spare bedroom.

I looked over at Noah, who was leaning back against the fridge. He perked an eyebrow. “How was work?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I was gonna tell him.”

“But you got distracted, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off, Bambi.”

“Oh, I’m about to do worse than that.”

I tilted my head. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Nick came back with a small, leatherbound notebook. He tossed it onto the kitchen table, as if it personally offended him. “We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he said. He practically collapsed into one of the chairs. 

“Doing what wrong? What is ‘this’?” I asked.

“There’s a reason why the Valley has been getting worse these past few years. More things showing up, resurfacing, growing bolder enough to where people can catch glimpses of them. Pale Things showing up shouldn’t be a surprise, really.” He was babbling, practically. But then he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Those sacrifices weren’t just for Vessels. They were also to keep the Woods from getting worse.”

Noah’s lips thinned. “I told you, I’m not killing any more innocent people.”

“Yeah, I know, and I think I found a way around that, but…” Nick trailed off. He then silently opened the hex book and flipped to a page he had marked. He then held it out towards me.

“Why me?” I asked.

“I’ve already seen it,” Noah said. 

I took the book and glanced at the pages. It wasn’t in any readable context: Granny wrote in some kind of “language” that had been passed down through her family as to keep their practice a secret from others. Nick had been slowly translating them over the past few months into his own notebooks.

“What is this?” I finally asked. 

“It's a… Fertility Ritual.” Nick swallowed thickly. “My ancestors would send someone into the forest so the Forest would be… sated.”

“A sacrifice. Like what happened with you guys.” I waved a hand over Noah. 

“No! Well… sort of,” Nick said. He bit his lip. 

“That was more the Black Stag's version. Though it wanted sacrifices so it could take a mortal form.” Noah folded his arms over his chest. “This is a… less bloody version.”

I skimmed over the page again, and it finally clicked. “When you say ‘fertility’, you mean… Noah's got to knock someone up?”

“No!” The two shouted at the same time. “God, fuck no,” Nick sighed. “But the baby making process is the main part.”

“He has to have sex with someone?” I asked incredulously. 

“Not just someone…” Nick lowered his voice to a mumble. “Someone with a… someone of the opposite sex.”

“Well how the fuck is he gonna do that?” I asked. “Everyone around here will recognize him, and then you got the antlers to deal with.”

The two were quiet suddenly. Nick put his head in his hands. “Bun…”

“What?”

“He's talking about you,” Noah put bluntly.

tysm for reading! If you enjoyed this, please reblog to share the word of the Revered Father. Next chapter coming soon.

Featured Creatures

@ladyveronikawrites @lilhobgobbler @deathblacksmoke @cookiesupplier @thatchickwiththecamera

@roley-poley-foley @hedonists @philomenie @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness @sitkowski

@screamsinsilver @darksigns-exe @nojoyontheburn @baddestomens

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Interesting. Don’t necessarily think I’m autistic but I have more going on than just ADHD and I’m not sure what that is.

[ss-trashboat]

i was debating on posting them over here, but fuck it i can. those who know me (and put up with me lol) know how much i've talked about if this ever happened. and somehow, after an impromptu travel to new jersey in under two weeks of planning, it fucking happened. will hold this incredibly close for the rest of my life ~

[machinedramon]

I need a dedicated 10 hours added to the day to devote to Free Time because I have so much I want to do and not enough time to do it in and it weighs on me like I'm being pressed to death

[samarecharm]

Scheming…

[bonestrouslingbones]

have officially hit the point where i kinda wish people i would like to call friends drifting away for the millionth time in a row actually WAS personal so that then i wouldnt feel so fucking stupid for getting so upset about it every time

[the-unofficial-village-idiot]

It must be so cool to have hobbies. Like, imagine wanting to do something and actually having something you like to do

[imaginedisish]

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself. 

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time. 

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night. 

Or so you thought. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?” 

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?” 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth. 

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.” 

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head. 

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him. 

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game. 

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy. 

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you. 

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask. 

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer. 

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again. 

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop. 

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone. 

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask. 

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. 

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?” 

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes. 

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.” 

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people. 

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks. 

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks. 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly. 

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say. 

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below. 

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on. 

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts. 

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.” 

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts. 

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties. 

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. 

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you. 

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit. 

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly. 

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing. 

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. 

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst. 

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.” 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming. 

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop. 

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp. 

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release. 

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively. 

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit. 

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist. 

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[enkvyu]

12:45am — gojo satoru ;

“cute earrings, where’d you get them?” shoko asks.

“hm?” still clinging to sleep, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the metal dangling from your ear. the sharp indents of its gem pricks you back into a memory. “oh, these. i got them from a friend last week.”

“friend? or do you mean boyfriend?”

shoko’s words are throwaway, her wandering eyes and yawn a clear indication yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

shoko hums, shifting her cigarette to the other end of her mouth. her gaze flickers somewhere behind you and you almost look too, when her words pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. “i’ve probably never told you because i’ve never thought about it myself. i mean, being a jujutsu sorcerer and all, romance is kind of off the table.”

shoko keeps looking at you, pressing you without words. you grimace and sigh.

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good looking? someone who’s not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they'd have to be smart, but not book-smart, like, street-smart." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humour, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you giggle. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” shoko says, grinning.

you push her shoulder but don’t deny it.

yaga walks into the classroom, cutting your conversation short. you spin around in your seat to face the front, eyes accidentally meeting gojo’s. he turns around too, and you reason that he was probably looking out the window behind you. you see getou snicker and whisper something in his ear, but gojo seemed to be having none of it, blatantly ignoring him.

seeing his face makes you think. didn’t gojo kind of match your type? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and maybe not academic smart, but he definitely carried an air of confidence when it came to fighting. and it wasn't a secret that he lightened the air wherever he went, intentionally or not.

with a start, you look back at shoko. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” shoko chuckles. “are there any more?"

yaga slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and predictable missions. by the end of the day, you can't even remember what you had told shoko early that morning.

when you enter the classroom the next day, you’re surprised to find gojo already there, seated at his table. his sunglasses hangs lower on his nose than usual and most curiously of all, a book is held in his hands. you’re not sure if he’s actually reading or not considering that pages were being turned far too quickly for someone reading “ordinary objects” by amie thomasson.

his eyes flicker to yours as you head in. “good morning.”

“morning. what’s with you?”

gojo clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my potted plant, gojo i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s not dead yet!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, dropping into your seat. “it better be. shoko got me that one.”

“speaking of shoko, is she not coming today?”

“i think she stayed overnight at the morgue.”

“is that so? perhaps i should write notes for her. i wouldn’t want her to miss out on class.”

you turn to him horrified. “so you did kill my plant!”

“i said it’s not dead!” gojo bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i simply worry for her.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“well you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

gojo leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, book forgotten and placed harshly down on the table.

you tilt your head. “where's getou, you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

gojo peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch gojo mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favourite anime had delayed it’s upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with getou, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to getou's usual behaviour.

“are you trying to be like getou?” you try.

gojo whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be composed.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

gojo remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

gojo speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think getou is well-mannered?”

“yeah?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “more than you, at least.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think getou’s great and everything—”

“you think getou’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think getou’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think getou’s great.”

"what are you even saying?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

baffled, you flail for words. “are you jealous of him? that's strange, i didn’t think either of you would ever feel jealous of each other.”

gojo grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “me neither.”

the door to the classroom is thrown open and getou steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and gojo as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” gojo says and glares at him.

getou blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“gojo’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. gojo, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, gojo."

you snicker as gojo huffs and glances away, looking away out the window behind your head. his train of sight cuts right past you but you can’t help but feel slightly flustered as he looks on, almost like he was looking at you, so determined to ignore getou’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown getou out too, your traitorous mind observing the blue in gojo’s eyes. you had always thought it was just one colour, but looking at it now, it seemed more like a kaleidoscope of blues, the many shades sparkling and dimming as he watched birds flutter outside the window, and you watched their shadows through his eyes.

something shifts, in the air or in the skies you don't know, and gojo meets your eye. startled, you hold the gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

gojo glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

getou looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” gojo says.

getou clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one either. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was and your realisation is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

gojo clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns as you don't give him any other reaction.

yaga saves you from addressing his statement, walking into the room as the bell for class rang. "oh? you're all early, even you gojo. where's shoko?"

“she’s staying at the morgue because of the recent mission.”

“i see.” yaga nods. “then let’s start.”

your mind fails to work as you turn over gojo’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with gojo and the talk you had with shoko yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked getou?

you watch gojo’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. yaga’s voice drawls on and yet gojo doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face yaga again, gojo’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

gojo has a crush on getou.

filler imagine based off of that One scene from the manga: "megane tokidoki yankee kun"

[mythicalmaven]

19 Lando fluff and smut please

Secret Desires - Lando Norris

Loved writing this! <3 If you guys want a part 2 where the whole ordeal continues (including Lando’s awkward encouter with Max) let me know!😂❤️

Masterlist ↳pairing: Lando Norris x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 4,6K ↳Summary: In which the reader is Max Verstappen's twin is Lando's friend & he accidentally confesses some things to her while he's drunk. The day after when he apologizes, it leads to something more. ↳content warnings: friends to lovers, reader is Max Verstappen's twin, lando is drunk and accidentally confesses something to the reader, suggestive content, flirting, dirty talk, sexting, sending nudes, phone sex, masturbation (both f! & m!), praise kink, fluff, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), confessing feelings ↳prompts used: 19 - "Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you.. with my hand down my pants"

You sighed deeply, sinking back into the comfort of the guest bed in your older sister's house, the covers wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The room felt different compared to your Monaco apartment, but it was cozy, filled with the nostalgia of growing up with your family as you saw the pictures hanging on the wall. Pictures of your parents, of you and your twin brother Max, of you and Victoria & so on.

You traded your own bed for the guest bedroom at Victoria's house back home in the Netherlands for the week, to spend some time with your sister again to catch up. After a long night of chatting with Vic, you finally decided to call it a day, though sleep was far from your mind.

Just as you were about to close your eyes to at least give sleeping a try, your phone lit up on the nightstand, a soft buzz drawing your attention. You reached over lazily, expecting a random notification, but your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name flashing on the screen: Lando

Your best friend, your partner in crime, and the guy you’d been secretly in love with for longer than you’d care to admit. The guy who made your heart race with a single smile and had you questioning your sanity every time you felt his touch linger just a little too long. Even though you refused to admit it to anyone with a passion. Stating that the way you felt about Lando was nothing more than two flirtatious friends. You knew you were lying to yourself and your facade was starting to crumble. And now he was texting you, at this hour?

Unlocking your phone, you were met with not one, but several messages from him. You squinted at the screen, reading the texts slowly as they loaded, your eyes widening more with each one.

Lando: Y/n… Lando: Fuhk.. why are you sooooo hotttt? 🥵 Lando: Do yhu have any idea howw many tiems I thout about you… with my hnd down my pantss Lando: *1 image attached* You felt your face heat up instantly, a wave of flustered shock washing over you. He send a photo that you had posted on your story on Instagram today, a photo of you in a cute bikini set at the pool at Vic's house.

What the hell? Lando was… Was he really saying what you thought he was saying? Your mind spun, trying to process the drunk, typo-riddled texts. You knew he must have had a few too many drinks tonight; he mentioned going out to a party with the grid earlier. But this?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart racing as you tried to think of a response. A thousand emotions crashed through you at once—embarrassment, confusion, a thrill of excitement. You could barely breathe.

You: Lan, you're drunk as fuck. Go to sleep 😂

you typed back quickly, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself. You barely had time to process your own message before another one from Lando popped up.

Lando: Drunk on love 🤭

Your heart did a somersault in your chest, and you felt your cheeks burning even hotter. What was he doing? Your pulse thudded loudly in your ears as you stared at the screen, fingers frozen above the keyboard, unsure of what to say. Before you could collect your thoughts, your phone buzzed again, but this time, it was a call.

Max’s name flashed on the screen.

You answered, bringing the phone to your ear. “Max, what the hell—”

“Sorry dat ik zo laat bel,” (sorry for calling at this time) Max's voice was low and slightly slurred with a laugh. “Maar ik zag dat je online was, dus dacht, jij bent nog wakker. Wilde je alleen even een seintje geven dat de kans vrij aannemelijk is dat je vannacht nog dronken appjes krijgt van Lando.” (But I saw that you were online, so I figured you were still awake. Just wanted to give you a heads up that it's very likely that you'll receive some drunk texts from Lando tonight)

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh of your own. Of course, your twin brother knew exactly what was happening. “De kerel is echt gewoon laveloos en hield zijn mond maar niet dicht over je. De hele rit terug naar zijn apartment bleef hij maar zeuren over hoe hij je moest appen over iets geheimzinnigs. Dacht ik waarschuw je even.” (The guy is absolutely hammered and he wouldn't shut up about you. Kept yapping about how he had to text you about something secretive. Thought it would be nice to warn you)

“Te laat, is al gebeurd” (too late, he already did) you replied with a chuckle, glancing back at Lando's messages. “Had al zo’n vermoeden dat hij dronken was haha.” (I already figured he was drunk)

“Dacht ik al,” (I thought so) Max chuckled. “Hou het een beetje netjes, ja? Ik wil hier niet meer van weten dan ik al doe.” (Please keep it decent, yeah? I don't want to know any more about this than I already do)

You could almost hear the grin in his voice. “Maar ik moest hem echt thuisbrengen, de jongen was niet meer te houden.” (But I just had to bring him home, couldn't keep him at bay anymore)

“Dank je, Max,” (Thanks, Max) you said softly, biting your lip. “Je bent een goede broer.” (You're a good brother)

“Altijd,” (Always) Max replied. “Ik moet wel weer ophangen nu, voordat ik Kelly en P wakker maak. Succes met je dronken vriendje.” (Gotta hang now tho, before I wake up Kelly and P. Good luck with your boyfriend)

“Max, hoe vaak moet ik nog zeggen dat Lando en ik gewoon vrienden zijn” (Max, how often do I have to tell you that Lando and I are just friends) you said, rolling your eyes.

"Als jij jezelf niet zo voor de gek hield, waren jullie al lang samen" (If you didn't keep lying to yourself, you two would have dated a long time already) and with a last chuckle, he hung up.

You flopped back onto your bed, your mind racing, Lando’s texts still staring at you from the screen. Your fingers shook as you picked up your phone again, reading his words over and over, your stomach flipping with nerves and something else, something hotter, more dangerous.

With a deep breath, you tried to shake it off. Lando was just drunk, you told yourself. He didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything… Right? But the way your heart fluttered at the thought of him thinking about you like that, the way your skin prickled with excitement at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way…

You forced yourself to put the phone down, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the wild thoughts racing through your mind. It was late, and you needed to sleep. But as you drifted off, your dreams were anything but peaceful. Lando's words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself imagining all the things he might have done while thinking about you, the way he might have said your name, the way his hands might have—

You woke up, flustered and breathless, your body tingling in a way that was all too familiar. The morning sun was peeking through the curtains, but all you could think about was Lando, and the way his words made you feel things you’d tried so hard to ignore.

Around the same time, somewhere in Monaco, Lando jolts awake.

"Fuck" the single word comes out as a hiss, his head pounding from the hangover. His phone screen glares back at him, a series of messages and a notification from Max catching his blurry gaze. He squints, his heart starting to race as fragmented memories of the night before come flooding back.

He fumbles to unlock his phone, praying he didn’t do what he thinks he did. But the evidence is right there, the bold lettering of your name above the most mortifying message he could ever have sent, full of typos, but easily desiphered as 'Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you… with my hand down my pants?'

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his messy curls, anxiety flooding his system. What the fuck had he done? His fingers move of their own accord, tapping out a frantic apology.

Lando: Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry.

You: Good morning to you too. How is your headache? 😉

He cringes at the situation, a mix of playful and mocking. His mind races, grasping at straws to somehow make this situation less embarrassing.

Lando: I don’t even remember sending that. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, pretty sure I wasn't thinking at all. I didn’t mean it.

A lie. He did mean it. But he’s not ready to admit that just yet.

You: Oh, you definitely weren’t thinking, lol. But hey, maybe you should apologize to Max too, since you apparently spilled some beans about me to him. 😆

Lando’s eyes widen, horror painting his features. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. He types back, heart racing.

Lando: What did I say? Please tell me I didn’t—

You: Relax, nothing too scandalous. Just enough for Max to find it disgusting.

Despite himself, a small laugh escapes his lips. He can picture Max’s reaction, the exaggerated gagging, the inevitable jokes he’ll have to endure.

Lando: I’m so sorry. Are you mad at me? I don’t want you to think I’m some idiot who can’t control himself.

You: Nah, I’m not mad. You were drunk, it’s not like you meant it anyway, right?

He swallows hard, your words hitting too close to home. A dry response forms on his screen.

Lando: Yeah, sure.

But deep down, he knows it’s not true. He’d thought about you like that more times than he cared to admit, a dangerous longing simmering beneath the surface of your friendship.

You: Hey, at least now I know I looked hot in yesterday’s bikini post.

Heat floods his cheeks. You’re playing it off, but there’s a hint of something in your words, a subtle curiosity. He swallows, fingers hovering over the keyboard before he types back, heart pounding.

Lando: Stating the obvious.

He can’t help the grin tugging at his lips as he imagines your reaction. It’s risky, but you don’t seem upset, and he’s willing to test the waters.

You: Oh? So you think I’m hot?

Lando: Didn’t know that was up for debate.

He’s toeing the line, the thrill of it sending a spark through him.

Lando: U really not mad? I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.

You: Mad? Nah. Flattered, maybe.

He blinks at your response, surprise mingling with a rush of arousal. Flattered? His mind reels, thoughts scrambling as he tries to figure out what to say next.

You: I have to admit tho, when I first got that message, I thought you’d sent something different than my own instagram post…🤭

His breath catches, heart skipping a beat. The implication is clear, and he feels himself growing hard at the mere thought of you expecting a more explicit photo from him. He shifts uncomfortably, typing out a teasing response.

Lando: So, you’re saying you opened it anyway, even though you thought I sent you a spicy picture? 😉

You: Shut up.

He laughs, imagining the flustered look on your face. It’s too easy to picture, and he leans back against his pillows, biting his lip.

Lando: Where are you?

You: In bed. Why?

Lando's breath got caught in his throat. A dangerous idea takes root in his mind, one that’s equally thrilling and terrifying. He knows he should stop, should draw the line before it goes too far. But something in your responses, the playful edge, the hint of curiosity, makes him want to push further.

Lando: Just curious. 😉

His mind races, and before he can second-guess himself, he snaps a quick photo. It’s not much,—just him lying back on his bed, shirt unbuttoned halfway, his abs on display and his hair a mess. He was still wearing the same outfit as yesterday, apparently not changed out of it. But there’s something undeniably suggestive in the way he looks at the camera, the flush on his cheeks, a knowing smile on his lips as he sends it with a caption.

Lando: I can send you one for real if you want to see one.

His heart hammers in his chest as he waits for your response, the seconds dragging by agonizingly slowly. Then your reply comes in, teasing and playful.

You: Kinda daring coming from the guy who was apologizing 10 minutes ago for accidentally sending his best friend a text about thinking about her with his hand down his pants😉

Your words send a thrill through him, the boldness of it, the way you’re not backing down. He can’t resist pushing a little further, fingers trembling with anticipation.

Lando: You didn’t seem too disgusted by it.

The moment stretches out, his breath catching as he waits for your reply. The tightness in his dress pants becoming significantly worde.

When it comes, it’s more than he expected. 

You: I wasn’t. Actually, it was kinda hot.🫣

His eyes widen, arousal spiking as he reads your words again and again, disbelieving. Is this really happening? 

Lando: Yeah?

You: Yeah.

He swallows hard, a wicked idea forming in his mind. He glances down at the growing bulge in his pants, his arousal straining against the fabric. His hand moves almost on its own, snapping a quick picture of his hand palming himself through his dress pants, the outline of his erection unmistakable.

Lando: What about this? Still hot?

Your response is almost immediate.

You: Fuck, yes.

The words send a shiver down his spine, desire flaring as he imagines your reaction, the way you must be looking at your phone. He wants more, needs more.

Lando: Your turn.

There’s a pause, then a photo comes through. His breath hitches at the sight of you, flushed and flustered, the soft curve of your cleavage visible just above the red lace of your bra. It wasn't too naughty, but enough to send Lando reeling. 

He groans, his hand moving down to rub himself through his pants, a low moan escaping him as he imagines what’s beneath that thin fabric.

Lando: Fuck, babe, you’re killing me.

You: Good.

The playfulness in your response only fuels his desire, and he knows he should stop, should take a breath before this spirals out of control. But he doesn’t want to. Instead, he hits record on his camera, aiming it down at his crotch as he begins to palm himself through the fabric.

The video is short, just a few seconds of him rubbing himself, a low groan slipping from his lips. He ends it with a whispered “fuck,” his hand slipping beneath the waistband of his pants to give himself a teasing stroke before the video cuts off.

He sends it without thinking, heart racing as he imagines you watching it, the way your breath might hitch, the way you might bite your lip.

You: You’re really enjoying that, huh?

His breath hitched at your words, every sensation heightened as he slowly works himself up and down inside his dress pants, unable to contain the soft groans leaving his lips.

Lando: I do. Feels amazing... I wish you were here with me.

His hand is shaking now as he types out his next message, his arousal growing with every word.

Lando: Show me more.

There’s a beat of silence, and then another picture comes through. This one is more daring, more revealing. You’re under the blankets, one leg exposed, the other hidden beneath the covers. The waistband of your red panties is just visible above the edge of your blanket, your hand resting suggestively on your lower stomach, fingers reaching just into your panties.

Lando: Fuck, babe, that's so hot

Lando's breath catches as he stares at the photo you sent, his mind racing with all the things he wants to say, all the things he wants to do. He decided to take the leap and press the button to send you a facetime request. You accept it almost immediately, his heart pounding as your face fills the screen. You look flustered, lips slightly parted, and he swallows hard.

“Hi,” you say, your voice breathless, almost shy.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that?” Lando murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he admired your flushed face.

You blush, your eyes darting away from the screen for a moment before you look back at him. “I think you’re the one who’s supposed to be embarrassed right now, not me.”

He grins, the playful tone of your voice sending another jolt of arousal through him. “Oh, trust me, I’m plenty embarrassed. But I’m also…” He hesitates, his gaze dropping down for a moment before he meets your eyes again, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier tone. “... really turned on.”

Your breath catches, and he watches as you shift on the bed, the movement causing the camera to reveal a little bit more of your cleavage and the red lace bra you were wearing. His eyes are drawn to the exposed skin, mesmerized by your body.

“What are you wearing?” The question slips out before he can stop it, his eyes dark with desire.

You glance down at yourself, then back at him, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Not much.”

He groans, his hand tightening around his phone. As he speaks, his other hand drifts back down, brushing over the ever-growing bulge in his pants again. “Can I see?” The words are thick with anticipation, his voice trembling slightly as he palms himself, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure through him. He bites his lip, letting out a quiet moan that he can’t quite suppress.

You hesitate, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you consider his request. Then, slowly, you change your camera angle and pull the blanket down just a little, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the red lace of your panties, the soft curve of your thigh. Lando feels a jolt of arousal shooting through him, and he has to bite back a groan. It’s just enough to tease, to make him want more. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” His voice is rough, strained, as he shifts on the bed, the fabric of his pants suddenly feeling too tight, too restrictive. His hand presses harder against his length, his breath hitching as the friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

You giggle, your eyes sparkling with a mix of nervousness and excitement. “You like what you see?”

“Like?” He shakes his head, his eyes glued to the screen. “I fucking love it.”

Your cheeks flush a deeper red, and you lean back a little, giving him an even better view of your body. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the sight of you, the way the red lace clings to your skin, the hint of cleavage peeking out from beneath your bra. He can see the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the anticipation, the arousal clear in your eyes.

“Your turn,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to send his heart racing.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still holding his phone, he shifts back on the bed, his other hand moving to the waistband of his pants. His fingers fumble with the button, his hands shaking slightly as he pops it open, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your breath hitches as he unzips his pants, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. He pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking up to yours, seeking permission. When you nod, he slides his hand into his boxers, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale as he wraps his fingers around his length.

“Fuck…” The word slips out as he strokes himself slowly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he forces them open again, needing to see your reaction. His voice trembles, laced with a mix of desire and restraint, each moan escaping his lips growing louder as he quickens his pace.

Your eyes are wide, your lips slightly parted as you watch him, your hand moving down towards your panties on their own accord, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric “Fuck, that's hot, Lando…”

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his boxers now pushed low enough to reveal his cock, hand moving faster, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him. “Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Please.”

You bite your lip, waiting just a moment before you slip your hand beneath the waistband of your panties, a soft gasp escaping you as your fingers make contact. The sight of you, the way your body arches slightly, the soft, breathless sounds you make, is almost too much for him.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so fucking hot…” His voice is barely more than a growl as he watches you, his own hand moving faster, the pleasure building inside him, threatening to spill over.

“What would you do to me if I was right there?” you ask, your voice a breathless whisper.

His eyes darken, his grip tightening around himself. “I’d start by kissing you, slowly… working my way down your body.” His voice is rough, each word laced with longing. “I’d touch you everywhere, make you feel so good. Then I’d…” his words getting cut off by his own moan.

“Tell me,” you encourage, your own voice trembling with need.

“I’d bury my face between your legs, make you scream my name,” he groans, his strokes becoming more erratic as he imagines it, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “F-Fuck, I want you so bad.”

You moan at his words, your fingers moving faster as you picture it, your body aching for his touch. “Lando, I…”

“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

“I’d touch you,” you breathe, your voice trembling as your fingers move in sync with his. “I’d wrap my fingers around you, just like you’re doing now… make you feel so good, Lan”

He whimpers at your words, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he imagines it, the sensation of your touch almost too real. “Fuck, Y/N, I need you…”

“Imagine it’s my hand, Lan” you whisper, your voice laced with seduction. “Imagine I’m right there with you…”

His moans grow louder, his hips bucking into his hand as he follows your words, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “I’m so close…”

“Me too,” you whisper, your breath hitching as you feel the pleasure building, your body trembling with anticipation.

“God, you’re amazing,” he pants, his voice filled with praise as he watches you, every movement driving him closer to the edge. “You’re so perfect… I want you so bad…”

Your voice is a breathless moan as you reach the brink, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure consumes you "F-Fuck, Lan, I'm coming"

“Fuck, baby, I’m right there with you…” His voice is ragged, his body tensing as he teeters on the edge, every muscle tightening in anticipation. You watch, breathless, as his hand moves faster, more desperately, his grip tightening around his length.

Then, with a strangled moan, he tips over the edge. His hips jerk, and his head falls back against the pillows as he cums, thick ropes of it spilling out and covering his abdomen. You can see the way his abs contract with each pulse, his hand still working himself through every last wave of pleasure, milking himself until he’s spent. His eyes remain locked on yours, his breathing heavy, a mixture of satisfaction and lingering desire in his gaze as you both ride the waves of your shared climax.

For a few moments, the only sound is your ragged breathing, both of you staring at each other through the screen, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy in the air.

“Fuck…” He laughs breathlessly, his head falling back against the pillows as he runs a hand through his hair. “That was…”

“Amazing,” you finish for him, your own laughter bubbling up, your cheeks still flushed, your body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. “Holy shit, Lando…”

“Yeah.” He grins, his heart still racing as he looks at you, the reality of what you just did slowly sinking in. “Are you… okay?”

You nod, your smile softening as you look at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. More than okay.”

His heart swells at your words, relief flooding through him. He’s about to say something else when you shift on the bed, the blanket slipping down a little further, giving him a glimpse of your bare shoulder.

“Lando,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his through the screen, a mischievous glint in your gaze. “If that was just a taste, I can’t wait to see what happens when we’re see each other again.”

The promise in your words sends a shiver down his spine, his mind racing at the thought of having you, really having you, right in front of him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you have no idea what you’re doing to me…” His voice is a low whisper, his eyes still dark with desire.

“Maybe I have an idea,” you tease, your smile widening as you settle back against the pillows, your gaze never leaving his. “When I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe you should pick me up from the airport... and then we can do this again, but then in real life”

His heart skips a beat at your words, excitement and anticipation flooding through him. “You mean that?”

You nod, your smile softening, your eyes filled with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. “Yeah, I mean that. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

His breath catches, the sincerity in your voice, the way you’re looking at him, making his heart race. He knows, in that moment, that this isn’t just about sex, about fulfilling a desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for years. It’s about more, so much more.

“Y/N… there’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

Your gaze softens, sensing the seriousness in his tone. “What is it, Lando?”

He hesitates for just a moment, gathering his thoughts before he continues. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. It’s not just about my text last night or about what we just did. I've been feeling like this for a while. It’s everything. Every time we’ve laughed together, every time you’ve supported me, every time I’ve seen you smile... I’ve been falling for you more and more.”

You feel your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. Finally ready to admit it out loud. “Lando... I’ve felt the same way. I’ve just been too scared to admit it.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I’ve wanted to say something for so long, but I was afraid I’d ruin what we have.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” you say softly. “If anything, you’ve made it better.”

A wide smile spreads across his face, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ve never been so thankful for getting drunk.”

You laugh, the sound light and filled with joy. “Me neither, Lando. Me neither.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, both of you just taking in the reality of what’s been confessed.

“So… when I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe we could start something real?” you suggest, your voice hopeful.

“I’d like that,” he replies, his heart swelling with happiness. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s a plan,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips.

"God, I wish I could kiss you now" he whispered, a small hint of disappointment in his voice.

And with that, you both know that this is just the beginning of something truly special, something that’s been waiting to happen for far too long.

Sequel

Masterlist

[d3stinyist1red]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ɢʏᴀʀᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟸

yan gyaru who is your clingy bestfriend

Every morning, he made sure to time his arrival perfectly so that he’d “accidentally” run into you near the lockers. "N/n!~" He grinned at you as you opened you locker, twirling his hair.

“Kajiro,” you greeted, adjusting your bag. “What’s up?”

“Just waiting for my favorite person, obviously.” He grinned, stepping closer. “You know, we should totally hang out after school today. I’ve been thinking about you all morning.” He pouted, trying to convince you. "wait no, we should have a sleepover!" His face lit up like a Christmas tree, eyes sparkling with excitement as you stared at him confused

"Im bus-"

"Okay, ill be at your house at 3pm, baby!" He said as he waved at you and left, blowing you a kiss.

meanwhile ur friend next to you looks at u weirdly "how tf did you bag that" You js shrugged

yan gyaru who while during class, spams u

ᴋ𝟺ᴊɪғᴏʀʟɪғᴇᴇᴇᴇ ׂ

hiii n/n :3

lets meet uppp!!!!

i wanna see ur faceee ;3

babyyyyy cmonnnn

im SOOOOO bored in this class without uuuu

i need to see u before i go crazyyyy :(

ʜᴏᴇsʟᴜᴠʏ/ɴ

bruh no

last time we met up in the middle of class, u wanted me to js skip n go on a date

n stop texting im abt to get my phone taken by the teacher

ᴋ𝟺ᴊɪғᴏʀʟɪғᴇᴇᴇᴇ ׂ

:( n/n ur so mean!

n change ur username nowwww!!!!

im supposed to be the only hoe that loves u!!!

GASPPP

do u have other hoes?!?!?!??! Are u cheating??!?!?! Youve been playing hello kitty adventure with some other bitches?!??!!?N/n, i will rip their scalp off their head, and throw a table at them.

Y/n L/n, who are the bitches u call hoes?

y/n, if u dont block them now, ur gonnna see me on the news for murder.

yan gyaru who during english class, just writes poets about his love to you. In art, he draws you and him getting married. In math, he daydreams about the day you guys live in a cute cottage home with your 2 bunnies, and a cat.

yan gyaru who once the final bell rings, hes OUT that class, practically running out to go to your class so you wont leave him.

yan gyaru who finally found you, and was huffing and puffing from all that running before grinning at you. "Lets go, babe?" He said, grabbing your backpack from your shoulders and carrying it himself.

It’s Friday night, and you’ve somehow got dragged into having a sleepover with the guy who’s been obsessively crushing on you for ages—your bubbly gyaru friend, who just can’t get enough of you.

The whole walk to your house, he was gushing and nonstop talking about how fun it was gonna be. “Babe! This is gonna be so fun, I can’t wait!” he chirps, holding onto your arm tightly as if he has doubts that you were gonna run away.

yan gyaru who from the second he steps in your home, he’s a non-stop chatterbox. He’s talking about everything—school, the latest drama, his favorite new clothes, and of course, you. His eyes are constantly on you, lighting up every time you laugh or even just nod along, internally cheering that he made you laugh.

“Oh my god, Y/N, have you seen the latest episode of that show we talked about? We have to watch it together tonight! It’s gonna blow your mind!” He said as he played with your hair.

You can tell he’s beyond excited just to be around you, and his energy is contagious. He’s always smiling, laughing, and playfully bumping your shoulder whenever he makes a joke.

yan gyaru whose endlessly complimenting you. He just can’t stop complimenting you. Whether you’re dressed up or in casual sleepover clothes, he’s still in awe of you. “You look cute even in pajamas, Y/N. Like, how is that fair?” He pouted, scrunching his eyebrows together as he rubbed your arm up and down

He loves finding excuses to be near you—adjusting your hair, teasing you about how comfy you look, or even just admiring your smile. “You’re seriously too cute, I’m not even joking. I could stare at you forever, hehe~.”

"bro"

yan gyaru who inists on staying up late even if your half asleep by 10 pm. He’s full of bubbly energy, even when you’re eyes are starting to close. “We can’t go to bed yet! We have to at least talk about… everything!”

He starts asking more personal questions as the night goes on, his obsession peeking through. “What’s your favorite part of the day? Did you think about me at all today?” His voice is playful, but you can tell he genuinely cares about your answers by the way he intently listens

When you start to get drowsy and start giving mumbled answers, he gives a soft laugh. “You’re so pretty when you’re sleepy. Here, let’s get comfy,” he says, tugging the blanket closer around you both.

yan gyaru who the next morning,

yan gyaru who teasing you about how you slept, offering to make breakfast, and texting you immediately after he leaves

ᴋ𝟺ᴊɪғᴏʀʟɪғᴇᴇᴇᴇ ׂ

last night was soooo funnn! lets do it again this week yeah? :3

yan gyaru who is ur fashionista bestie who is a little too obsessed with you <3

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[notherpuppet]

I LOVE READING YOUR NANNY AU!! The writing and art is amazing!!

Though how you get the dialogue so perfect!?!? I'm trying to do a comic series but I can't do the writing right.

May you please share some tips?

I want to actually be helpful with this, because I looove writing dialogue. It’s my favorite part of the storytelling process. I’ve written works with and without internal dialogue and I like both. It just depends on how much I want the reader to know. Anyway, here’s some advice?

1. Study techniques from media you like

I study scenes from favorite films/tv shows. And there are many YouTube channels that are great resources for writing, but I’m most partial to “Studio Binder”.

This is a great video on dialogue.

Because I write for comics most of the time—rather than prose—I find advice for tv and film to be more helpful because it incorporates the techniques in a visual storytelling medium. But I’d recommend studying technique for the storytelling medium you’re partial to as well. I have several books on comic book storytelling and have studied comics and manga the most in my life haha (cuz I’m a giant fucking nerd).

2. Workshop dialogue to fit the character and scene

Dialogue can change a lot from my first concept—where I want to convey the necessary information—into making it sound “in character”. So I study the writing of the show of course to pick up on the characters’ quirks and unique ways of speaking.

Example:

Carmilla Carmine is bilingual with Spanish/English and it seems that as a character, Spanish was her first language. So some traits she may have are:

1. To confirm her ideas ending with a “no?” Instead of saying “right?”

2. Slipping into Spanish when she’s ‘thinking out loud’.

Then I’ll read aloud a scene to see if it sounds right. Often, this is when I’ll notice if the dialogue seems repetitive or awkward.

3. Touch grass, go laugh, have fun

Also, I’m sure my very chaotic but-hilarious-family members and friends help me with writing dialogue so make sure you take the time to hang out with people lol!

It’s true what they say about drawing inspiration from real life 👥🌎

Hope that’s helpful 🥰

[schoenpepper]

Jade Leech and the Three Breakups

Intro: He was going to break up with you on your first anniversary. He was going to break up with you before he went to internships. He was going to break up with you after he graduated.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, does jade count as a warning, reader is not yuu, established long term relationship, depression jokes, not proofread

A/N: Sorry, the brainrot got to me. College apparently cannot stop me from thinking about my least favorite character ever. Also, my favorite trope is 'i think they hate me' and 'i want them so bad i'm about to kill someone'.

Masterlist

There's a thick notebook in one of the boxes. Curiosity killed the eel mer, sure, but Jade is attracted to its plain leather cover. On the corner is your name, etched in an elegant cursive he's sure isn't yours.

After four years of romantic partnership, of course he knows your handwriting.

He gingerly fishes it out of its pile—your pile of clutter to get rid of before moving into your new shared home—and decides that of course it is fully within his right to open your journal. Diary, perhaps?

He can't help the grin pulling up the corners of his lips.

Oh dear, you've gotten so lax with such things, darling. Are you banking on his love for you to stop him from borrowing your private thoughts? Such confidence. Misplaced. Such a shame.

The first page has his name.

It takes him aback, but he delightfully relishes in the thought, the possibility, that all your feelings for him over several years would be gathered and spilled into its yellowed pages. Was there a stage of hatred? Rivalry? Were you crushing on him like a little schoolgirl? Such cute (excellent) memories (blackmail) from your youth (material)~ He flips to the second page and reads with unparalleled attentiveness he usually reserves for documents on his favorite projects.

September 1st, 20x1 Sunny : | It's orientation, and I'm following my ma's words about keeping a diary of sorts to keep track of interesting things. I wore the cultist uniform of NRC (fugly ass robes) and stood in line to get sorted to my dorm by the mirror. I got into Octavinelle. I don't know if it's the dorm I would have chosen for myself to be honest, but sure. I can't argue with the magical artifact. What I would like to argue about is the vice housewarden.

His brows furrow slightly in intrigue. Did he do something wrong? He remembered being nothing but a kind, angelic upperclassman to your batch of freshmen.

He's so fucking pretty.

Jade chuckles.

He looks like he's about to eat me whole and fuck, I don't mind if he does!!! He's so tall, and so so attractive, and sevens I thought I came to NRC to study but I think I'm here to fulfill my destiny of becoming his <3

He launches into full-blown laughter. He takes his phone out from his pocket to snap multiple pictures, saving them in a locked folder labeled rather inconspicuously in his gallery.

There's a series of entries after that. Nothing too interesting (he's scanned every single page), just you detailing every second of your (at this point, nonexistent) love life. You write about how many times you'd seen him in a day, and how 'cute' he looks in his school uniform, and how 'adorable' he is when he's hanging onto his broom for dear life in PE. He ignores the fact that you shouldn't have seen him in PE classes because his schedule didn't match yours at that time. Then, there's one that you'd written right before realizing you'd fallen into his love trap~

October 3rd, 20x1 Cloudy :< I think I got tricked into being someone's s/o. I thought he's been inviting me to random outings and stuff, alone, together, as like, a threat maybe. Today I found out Floyd (and therefore Azul, and definitely also him) think of me as Jade's significant other. Which is so weird. I'm so confused???

There's a little chibi drawing on the corner of your face with a blank expression.

I thought we were friends and then his brother tells me that the guy I like doesn't think of me as a friend. Okay??????  JADE LEECH IS TREATING ME LIKE HIS PARTNER AND I DON'T KNOW WHEN IT HAPPENED. (but i like it :D)

Well, you've always been a bit slow, haven't you, darling? You never even noticed when Jade began to take an interest in you, slowly steering you towards his own hobbies, even his club activities. After all, he studied your interests, so isn't it only fair? He likes being able to converse with you. He likes the sound of your voice. He likes the movement of your lips. Is it so bad, then, that he did a few perfectly legal things to somehow shoe you in right by his side? 

In the diary, you detail every feeling in every date. You like picnics. You hated the hike up that mountain with poisonous snakes. You liked the parfait he made for you. You disliked the slightly poisonous mushroom he sauteed and put into your chicken alfredo. Shame.

July 23rd, 20x2 Rainy :(

It takes its first turn about a week before the first anniversary of the day you met him (you don't have a 'real' anniversary since you don't even know when you started dating him).

I think he's going to break up with me soon.

His breath hitches in his throat. He's not sure how to feel upon reading that sentence, but he doesn't like it. 

(Why were you so sure, darling?)

He leans back slightly on his chair. He needs to take a few deep breaths before he can even continue to read your writing.

He's going to be in third year by the time the school year comes around again. He'll be busy with the lounge and studying and vice housewarden stuff. Maybe he won't have time for me anymore.

But that's okay.

I realized something. The twins are not the type of people for long term relationships. After knowing more about Jade, I've learned he's not too different from Floyd concerning several aspects. 1.) He only likes interesting things. Jade likes weird, and fun, and spontaneous. I think he liked me then because I was new and so strange. After all, I didn't know that the guy I loved at first sight was such a feared figure, for good reason too. There was nobody in school who would stick around him so much like I do. 2.) He gets bored just as easily. Jade is the mirror image of Floyd here. Floyd is more moody, but Jade is good at pretending. He likes to play around. Until he doesn't. I know I won't see it coming, but one day, I will be predictable. And he'll get bored. I will no longer be interesting.

Has he always struck you that way?

If he doesn't want to play with me anymore, what am I supposed to do? I need to prepare myself. Someday, he'll leave me, and I need to be stronger then than I am now. Right now, I'll break if he abandons me. Surely if I desensitize myself to the scenario, I can mitigate the damage.

You talk of your own heart like a building in the middle of the Ring of Fire, and Jade's the biggest earthquake that's about to arrive since millennia.

It's not often he finds himself questioning his own morality. Gray is his preference, but then, why does he see this version of himself in your eyes in all black? Has he been anything but kind to you? He's tried, really. If it wasn't enough, he should've seen it in your eyes. He should have known.

The following pages go back to their previous light-hearted tone, slowly leaving the saccharine sweet honeymoon phase and dipping into comfortable and warm. You don't mention that entry again, or even that line of thought. He likes that. Jade would prefer you refusing to humor such blatant nonsense than actually spend time worrying your pretty little head about it. It's just a bit worrying. Like a volcano with lava filling up, is it not dangerous to block the outflow?

Why have you never discussed your thoughts with him?

August 3rd, 20x3 Sunny :<

He has to consider that it might be seasonal depression if the entries keep getting darker around the same time. Like a switch has been flipped, the words turn into blades again, cutting into his skin as though they could never draw blood.

I think he's really going to break up with me soon.

Oh sevens.

He has internships, which means he won't even be at school most of the time. It's upsetting because I think he'll find so many people out there. And they'll be much more interesting than me. And then what? I don't know where he's interning, it's probably because he doesn't want me to be a part of his life any longer.

How did he never know how prone you were to overthinking?

He hasn't gotten bored of me yet, but that's not to say it won't happen when he gets a taste of the real world and realizes how limited he is by this place. By me. Am I holding him back? I never say anything to him about these kinds of feelings because it might burden him. Which is a really funny sentence to write considering this is Jade Leech I'm talking about. It's not like he cares about other people's opinions enough for it to be a burden to him.

Why then, Jade wonders, would you ever consider yourself as 'other people'?

I hope he lets me down gently, at least.

Why would he ever let you down at all?

It's a shame to say but I think I love him.

And again, like nothing ever happened at all, the following recorded dates speak nothing of your plight. Instead, you jot down your visits to Jade in his chosen workplace, since obviously, he'd given you the details despite your previous doubts. The records of your life when not with him are few and far between, as you usually opted to write about Jade when together with him. There's an entry about the time you went to the amusement park with him, and threw up all over his jacket. There's one about the cake you failed horribly at baking during his birthday.

There's an entry about the first time you explored intimacy with him.

So it gives him severe whiplash when the entry after that is back to the same 'break up' tone as before, right around the same time as the other two.

(He should call a therapist for you.)

August 1st, 20x4 Sunny >:( He will definitely break up with me soon!

Why is this one so enthusiastic about it, though?

Maybe it's been in his plans all along. Only until graduation! This time, he'll definitely, definitely break up with me. Yes! I mean, I shouldn't be happy about it, but my two predictions beforehand were incorrect, and it makes me very nervous. So I have a plan. On his graduation, I'm going to give him a bouquet of flowers and a terrarium that I personally made.

Yes he remembers that. He still has the terrarium in his collection room.

And then, I'm going to confess my love for him.

Yes he remembers that too. You said 'I love you', and though slightly taken aback, he returned your sentiments.

And it would be the perfect gateway for him to talk about breaking up with me.

Huh. That's definitely not what he thought of it then. Is that why you were so surprised when he said 'I love you too'?

And it would probably hurt, but I think I can get away with not crying in front of him. I really love him. But I think it would be for the best that he leaves now, when I can still let him go with grace. Someday, I'll be in love with him, maybe to the point that I'd break down at his feet and beg for him to pick up the pieces. But I don't want him to see me like that.

He doesn't want to see that either.

(But rest assured, should it happen, he will pick up every piece of you and glue it back together with his love. Rather cheesy, though.)

Wish me luck!!!

Jade's lips curl up into a lazy grin, flipping to the last page on the notebook. There's not much, but he reads through it with a soft chuckle and writes in the corner with a blue pen. "Jade! The moving company will be here soon," you pop your head through the doorway, only glancing at him briefly before walking away, "I'm almost done with the kitchen."

He places your diary into his box of 'to keep', sealing the cardboard shut with some tape.

August 2, 20x4 Cloudy :o He said he loves me too. I could be wrong, but I think Jade's never going to break up with me.

June 16, 20x5 Sunny :) Let's get married soon, darling. I'm looking forward to the rest of our life together.

[kurooh]

☆ ， SATIVA ! — takami keigo, todoroki toya

⊹₊˚. a simple sesh with your two closest friends in the league of villains—hawks & dabi—quickly turns into something else once you start smoking too.

word count ★ 4.4k

warnings ★ 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, smoking weed, mfm threesome, very subtle dabihawks, unprotected sex, oral [f&m giving/receiving], creampies, hawks has a crush on you, wing play, spitroast, squirting, hawks is a lil submissive

xoxo, juno ★ created because of this ask! i had so much fun writing & i spent forever trying to do this idea justice and i seriously hope i did. first ever ‘long’ fic so i pray this doesn’t flop hahaha please give me some feedback and rb/comment if you liked it <33

the sun sinks low in the sky, peeking over the horizon and casting orange rays of light through the torn curtains hanging over the hallway windows. finally being off the clock and done with patrols is always rewarding in its own way, but this is different — you’ve been invited to hang out in one of the more private rooms in the villa.

dabi and hawks had always proved to be an interesting duo: one a hero, the other a villain. as if their positions in society weren’t enough to stop them from becoming friends of some kind, they shared very different interests, tastes, and quirks.

however, the only thing they could seem to agree on was you — the three of you were inseparable, spending time together often, despite having very opposite personalities.

“hawks?” your voice is hushed, awkward as you push open a dusty door, unsure of its location. “dabi? you guys are in here, right? you better not be fucking with—”

“oh relax.”

“we’re right here, dove,” hawks’ sugary sweet voice draws a loud gag from dabi, mustered from the very depths of his soul.

you huff, stepping in and slamming the door.

“it stinks in here, what the hell is that?”

“lock the door,” dabi vaguely gestures behind you, lifting one of his legs over the other as he leans against the bottom of the beat up couch. in his lap sits a copy of the hardcover hawks can’t seem to stop reading, the meta liberation army book. his darkened fingers carefully sprinkle a smelly substance into a rolling paper, and his eyebrows furrow as he focuses.

hawks sees the confusion on your face. “dabi’s making magic over there.”

“you owe me, hawks. damn fiend.”

“i am not a fiend!” the blonde snaps his head to the side, crossing his legs tightly. “you suggested it and i agreed. i’ll chip in for your efforts, though.”

dabi cackles, sealing his creation with a delicate swipe of his tongue against the paper. vermillion wings ruffle in shameless interest, gold eyes locked onto dabi’s hands. not wanting to be the only one standing, you take a seat on the old couch, both of them on either side on the floor below you.

with no encouragement necessary, dabi pushes what looks like a thick cigarette between his lips and lifts a finger to light it.

“what is that?” you ask curiously, gesturing towards his lips.

“‘s a joint,” he mumbles in reply, lighting the end of it with a small blue flame.

“don’t disintegrate it now, dabi.”

“fuck off, bird brain. as if i can’t control my quirk.”

dabi inhales deeply, taking a long drag on the joint before pulling it from his lips and passing it to the man on the other side of you. curiously, you watch as hawks takes a small inhale, then hands it back to dabi.

“pacing yourself this time? that’s new for you.” dabi remarks, sharp teeth gleaming as he smiles. hawks scoffs, staying quiet although he looks away awkwardly.

“you know what weed does?” dabi rolls the joint back and forth between his lips, looking up at you from his spot on the floor.

“i-i’m not sure, i’ve never tried it before,” your voice falters and you clear your throat, fidgeting with your fingers. “what does it do?”

“it’ll get you high,” hawks offers simply.

“it does way more than that,“ dabi shoots him a glare and shakes his head. “it’s relaxing. it’ll make you feel different, in a good way.”

he turns to the side and exhales smoke, then offers you the joint. “come on, princess,” you’re watching the wisps of smoke dissipate in the air behind him before your attention snaps back to dabi. “i, for one, think you’ll come to like it.”

“aw, don’t pressure her, dabi.” hawks takes the joint from dabi with a mild glare, and shakes his head as he slips it between his lips. crimson wings flutter as he takes a deep, long hit and fills his lungs with smoke. dabi watches with a smirk, unable to hold in his laughter when his body trembles and he starts to cough, spewing smoke from his nose and mouth.

“you’re only talking like that cause you’re not all that experienced either,” he scoffs, reaching to the side to grab a bottle of water, then tosses it to the other side of the couch.

tears from the intense coughing cascade down hawks’ flushed face as he sucks down the water, clearly embarrassed. truthfully, he’d been trying to show off a little, as well as unwind from a long day.

you take the joint from hawks before he drops it onto the carpet, then you hand it back to dabi, who shrugs. “if you really don’t want to, that’s fine, doll.”

you’re nervous, heart racing at the prospect of smoking with them. drinking liquor was always rare for you, and even when you did, you didn’t get anything more than tipsy. oftentimes you’d be wrangling hawks out of the sky and reminding him that smashing into a building while flying drunk would be a very bad look for him as a hero. he never seemed to care, though, and dabi didn’t either; he’d be equally drunk but less stupid, standing behind you and just laughing.

what if you took too much? what would you say? more importantly, what would you do?

dabi’s husky voice snaps you out of your thoughts. he offers you a smile full of faux sympathy, eyes pink and just a little shiny from the high.

“you’re just missing out.”

missing out? something about his words makes you squirm, thighs clenching. if you were to say no and leave, you’d miss seeing these two high. drunk was one thing, but high was another; you’d heard a few stories, here and there, about what weed could do. in most cases, people tend to stay the same as they usually are, although they may become a little more giggly. occasionally, weed could cause serious arousal. not to mention the date for the paranormal liberation war: it’s coming up, and hawks’ fate has been weighing heavily on your mind.

the definition of magnetic, you weren’t the first to gravitate to him; but you definitely ended up being one of the only people he actually spent the most time with. well, and dabi. closer than most friends, neither of you could even think about pulling away: what if this was one of the last times you could spend time together?

part of you feels like you’ll regret this, but you bite the bullet anyway, stammering, “uh, okay. yeah, i’ll try it.”

proudly, dabi scoots closer and hands you the joint. the smell is strong, and your nose crinkles as you lift it to your lips.

“be careful, you have to inhale a certain way—”hawks starts to say, seemingly recovered from his coughing fit, but dabi rolls his eyes at the hero’s concern. he fake gags once again, then sets his rough palm on your knee, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the hero.

“i’ll show you how, doll. i taught this dumbass but clearly he does indeed have a bird brain.”

“fuck off,” hawks grunts, leaning over to hit him lightly with a wing before slouching back to watch, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

“bring it to your lips—right, just like that. so, you’ll need to inhale slowly because the smoke can be a bit overwhelming at first..”

you follow dabi’s instructions, closing your eyes as you take the smoke into your mouth, letting it pass through your windpipe and coil in your lungs for a moment.

“wait a second, then slowly blow it out through your mouth.”

your eyes open, and you look at the tendrils dissipating in front of you. beside you, hawks offers the half full bottle of water.

“good girl,” dabi chuckles, leaning his head back against the edge of the couch. dark, spiky hair sticks out in all directions, and hooded turquoise eyes observe you thoughtfully. “you’ll want to repeat that a few more times, alright? make sure you stop when you’re feeling it, it kicks in pretty quickly. don’t wanna overdo it, you’ll end up puking. i’m sure hawks can tell you all about that, huh?”

“dabi, seriously!” the vomiter in question whines, feathers puffing out as his blush darkens. “she doesn’t need to know about all that shit.”

it starts as a giggle, slips from your lips before you can stop it. then it’s a few, all at once. before you know it, you’re curling up and laughing so hard tears run down your face. from the corner of your eye, you notice hawks’ bewildered stare, which only makes you laugh harder.

“she’s definitely high,” dabi clicks his tongue, finding it difficult not to join in with you. hawks continues to stare, shifting in his spot on the floor as he takes in your laughter and smiling face.

maybe it’s the haze that’s taken over your brain, or the fog that’s settled in every corner of your body, but you find yourself slowly coming down from all the laughter, sliding down to the floor between them, joint between your fingers.

“you alright?” dabi pulls the joint from your grasp, sticks it into a nearby ashtray.

“my throat’s a little dry,” you rasp, overwhelmed by all the new sensations.

again, hawks hands you the water bottle, but this time he presses it into your hand. rather abruptly, you twist to the side and lean in, kissing dabi.

he makes absolutely no effort to stop you, parting his lips and letting your impatient tongue into his mouth while his rough hands wander beneath the hem of your shirt, palms dragging against your skin and only moving higher.

by the time you’re pulling away to breathe, he’s panting, eyes cast downwards at the carpet; just before his eyes meet yours, he remembers that the two of you aren’t alone.

heavy wings rustle behind you, the noise likely unintentional. when you turn back, hawks is watching, still cross-legged but now shamelessly pitching a tent in his pants.

”hawks,” you pant, body burning hot. eagerly, you beckon him over; there’s no hesitation crossing over his face when he slides towards you, squishing you between himself and dabi.

dabi watches quietly as you pull the hero into a kiss by the chin, insistent and everything but gentle. you’ve got him breathless against your lips, his wheezes pitched and clearly overwhelmed.

“alright, princess,” dabi scoffs, tugging you off the hero by your shirt and into his lap. “that’s not fair.”

he feels like he’s melting a little when your face falls, your expression becoming pathetic and sad in a way that’s utterly filthy.

“but, i-i want both of you.”

the two men look towards each other, sharing an unreadable look. hawks swallows nervously, “at the same time?”

“same hole?” dabi jokes, eyebrows shooting up when you nod to both of their questions. “well, shit. you heard her, bird brain.”

“on the couch,” hawks murmurs, patting a worn out cushion. on trembling legs, you stand and take a seat.

“nuh uh, on your knees,” dabi grunts, pushing you into position and settling behind your clothed ass.

meanwhile, hawks sits in front of you and pulls his clothes off, stripping down to his boxers. the outline of his thick cock is obvious, as is the shift of his hips as he awaits your touch.

saliva pools inside your mouth at the thought of having his cock down your throat, stretching it out and filling it up.

“off,” one simple word and his whole lower half is already fully naked.

“suck him off,” dabi’s arms wrap around your waist as he unbuttons your shorts and yanks them down to your knees. “and don’t you dare stop, or i will too.”

hawks guides his cock into your mouth, rising to his knees and cupping the back of your head. his face crumbles in pleasure, and he’s only pushing past your lips. “oh my god— fuck, your mouth’s perfect.”

his wings spread out behind him, crimson feathers quivering out of his control. “show off,” dabi mutters, pulling your panties down next. he watches your cunt closely, glossy strings of wetness stretching as your panties slide down your thighs.

“so fucking pretty, christ.” your pussy clenches from his words, his hot breath fanning over you and only adding to your anticipation. hawks stares, gold eyes honing in on rough hands and the way they grasp your plush skin.

“deeper,” hawks murmurs, head falling back as he pushes your head down further.

at the same time, dabi experimentally licks a long stripe down your pussy, the tip of his tongue dipping between your folds. the light stimulation combined with the sight and sound of hawks’ pleasure has your hips thrashing, bucking backwards for more.

“she’s real needy, huh?” dabi spits onto your cunt, a glob trailing down and dripping a little from your clit.

“looks like it,” hawks chuckles, lips moving into a pleased smile at the needy sounds you can’t stop making on his cock.

the air in the room is hot, thick with the scent of smoked weed and sex, heavy with shameless arousal. your head is cloudy, only full of thoughts of hawks and dabi. it’s like being shocked with electricity when your face is pressed into thick thighs, hawks’ cock pushing deep and causing you to choke. he grunts and starts to fuck your mouth, his thrusts carelessly deep. as if that wasn’t enough, dabi’s fingers push inside you and he attaches his lips to your clit.

“mmm,” he groans deeply, roughly tugging you backwards and into his face for more.

“does she taste good?” hawks huffs, his chest heaving. against your tongue, his cock throbs.

dabi smacks his lips behind you, then gifts your ass with a harsh slap. the sudden sting makes you moan, and he smirks.

“oh yeah. she’s so fuckin’ sweet, hawks.”

“tell me about it,” the hero gulps, his lower lip wobbling as he only grows closer to the bliss he’s been dreaming about.

“well, she’s real tight inside. sucked my fingers right in, didn’t you, princess?” to prove his point, dabi nudges two other fingers against your dripping entrance and you clench, greedy pussy begging to be stuffed full.

hawks nods, waiting for more.

“oh my god, i couldn’t even describe the taste,” dabi curls his fingers inside you, rubs your clit in methodic circles with the pad of his thumb. “‘s sweet, for sure. definitely a little sour.”

turquoise meets gold, and dabi watches hawks’ eyes roll back, wings spreading out and straining behind him, like an angel.

“you’ll have to taste it yourself, bird brain. i’m sure she’s more than willing.”

that’s all it takes to push the both of you over the edge — with a choked moan, hawks spills into your mouth, hips stuttering but still jerking forward sporadically. dabi pays close attention to the way you shake, pushing towards him for more but practically running away the second he touches your swollen clit.

dabi blames the heat in his cheeks on the weed.

“o-oh,” hawks fights back a whimper as he pulls his cock from your mouth, too sensitive to even speak.

“it’s so hot in here,” you whine, sitting up to pull your shirt and bra off. the bounce of your tits and perkiness of your nipples has dabi groaning, painfully hard.

“get the hell back on your knees.”

hawks sits and observes dabi, eyes focused on the way his fingertips run down your back and pause at your asscheeks, gripping the skin in an effort to ground himself.

he races to take his pants off, tossing them and his boxers to the floor in a hurry. he’s shaking when he lines his cock up with your entrance and shoves in, falling against your back with a loud hiss.

“holy shit,” he gasps, startled when he feels like cumming already. in a flash, hawks is in front of you again, stroking his fingers over the nape of your neck and shushing your pathetic whining.

hawks would be lying if he said he wouldn’t fuck you harder and make you sob.

“you can take it,” dabi grunts, clearing his throat to keep his voice from faltering. “it’s not you’ll be getting any breaks, doll.”

“that’s mean,” hawks says with a pout, fully hard and waiting for attention.

“shut it, bird brain. fuck her mouth again, why don’t you?”

“you heard him,” hawks shrugs, seemingly apologetic although he definitely isn’t. “open up, dove.”

his wings rustle and he groans as he pushes his cock into your mouth once again. dabi’s pace doesn’t falter, and he tugs you up a little to fuck his cock deeper.

“dabi!” you sob, his name muffled but still audible to both men, “right there, pleasepleaseplease—”

heavy balls smack into your clit with each thrust that you can feel in your lungs. even as dabi pulls you impossibly closer, it still isn’t enough to be fully satiating — what if you all shared each other like this on the regular?

“g-gonna cum soon,” you whimper, a few tears rolling down your face and forcefully falling from your jaw with every hard shove of hawks’ cock into your mouth.

electricity races through your entire body, shooting through your veins in stinging shocks as the pressure in your pelvis increases. then you feel rough skin and hot breath at the nape of your neck, along with a strong hand wrapping around your throat.

“what’s that, princess? you’re gonna cum?”

“yes, y-yes, ‘m gonna—”

“greedy, aren’t you? go ahead and wait for us.”

“i-i can’t,” you moan, eyes rolling back when dabi’s fingers dig into the sides of your neck, “i’m so fucking close, dabi, please—”

he pulls back, but before he returns to fucking you as he did before, he shoves your head down hard, only letting go once he hears you choke.

the room fills with needy groans and the hushed whimpers you keep letting out as you struggle to do as he’d asked. it’s as though hawks is facing the same predicament, a nervous hand tangled deep in blonde strands and tugging to keep himself grounded.

after what feels like an eternity, dabi finally keels over with a drawn out groan. “shit, i’m gonna cum,” the pace of his hips starts to falter and you’re less than a moment away from cumming yourself. “i’m gonna fucking—”

he cuts himself off by biting into your shoulder hard, just before you feel him gushing inside you, filling you to the brim. hawks pulls out of your mouth to take in the scene, and commit every detail to memory.

you fall over the edge with a mewl, gummy walls squeezing dabi’s cock and absolutely draining him. all you can do is moan beneath him, trembling from the strength of your second orgasm of the night.

it’s frustrating that he’s throbbing against your cervix and then pulling out immediately after, beckoning for hawks to come over. entirely spent, you collapse onto your belly, heart racing and breath coming in heavy puffs.

“god,” hawks all but groans at the sight of the mess between your legs — cum pouring from your cunt and smeared around your clit thanks to dabi. then, almost as though he’s hungry, “looks so fucking good.”

“hey now, turn over.” dabi offers you the half full bottle of water from earlier and chuckles at how quickly you open it and begin to chug. it’s gone in seconds, and the bottle falls to the ground with a crinkling sound. you sigh, exhausted and still high as hell — for a moment, you close your eyes.

“round three,” is all you hear before your legs are being spread open. your hole flutters at the prospect of some more, and you’re startled that you’re even considering it.

“i just came twice, hawks,” you cry, lower lip wobbling. a third round will most certainly break you.

with the pad of his thumb, dabi sweeps away a stray tear on your face. “let him fuck you once, yeah? god knows how damn long he’s been wanting to.”

“dabi,” the blonde whines, flushing pink. “stop it.”

with a sigh, he lifts his arms and pulls his shirt off for this final round, exposing the rest of his body. his nipples are a light pink, and he’s got a defined chest and abs with lines that look sharp enough to cut stone. he wiggles his eyebrows, eyes creasing at the corners once he notices you checking him out.

“like what you see?”

behind you, dabi rolls his eyes, but you spread your legs wider with a playful expression. “absolutely.”

thoughts of nothing besides fucking you full of his cum and making you his flare in his mind as he gathers dabi’s cum on the tip of his cock and pushes it inside you.

“o-oh,” hawks gulps down a whimper once he pushes inside, leaning forward and meeting your lips in a bruising kiss. as he pulls back, lips dragging against your cheek, you swear you hear him say something like feels better than i could’ve ever imagined.

“want me to mess around with your tits or use your mouth?” dabi rasps, cupping your chin and tilting your head to make you look up at him.

“do what you’d like to me,” your back arches off the couch after an experimentally deep thrust from the hero, your tits bouncing nicely from the movement. he takes one into his hands, squeezing the soft flesh but mostly focusing on the pebbled nipples.

with a tinkling sound, hawks’ gold chain bounces wildly at his neck. noticing your distraction, dabi slips his fingers beneath your chin and turns your head to face him.

“how’s it feel to be fucked like a slut?” he questions, pinching your nipple harshly; you moan loudly, tilting your head to the side, tongue lolling out of your mouth. dabi thinks the twisted expression of bliss on your face is so fucking hot.

“f-feels so fucking good—” you cut yourself off with a needy, pitched moan, bucking towards hawks and wrapping your legs around his waist. “fill me up, please, i need it.”

the hero chews on his lower lip, closing his eyes and choosing to lose himself in this perfect moment. behind his eyes, he feels the hot prickle of tears; is he really about to cry right now? out of bliss and in front of dabi? but the thought is whisked away the second he focuses on the sound of his balls smacking into your swollen clit.

it’s a mess between your spread legs, cum and spit and slick smeared across your skin and dripping onto the couch.

“fuck, you’ve got no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this,” he grits his teeth, wings spreading out and beating the air hard, sending icy wind straight into your face and dabi’s. “b-been waiting to make you fall apart on my cock.”

“not to interrupt, but you’re blowing the mood out like a candle,” dabi bites, rising from his spot on the couch and stepping around crimson wings.

“don’t fucking start— dabi,” he gasps when he feels hot hands pulling his wings back into their usual resting position at his back. they tremble in his grip, stray feathers falling to the floor.

“sensitive there?” he roughly prods a finger between the feathers.

hawks ignores him although the answer is definitely yes, bending forward to wrap his arms around you and pull you as close as he can. the gold chain bumps against your sternum, and hawks buries his face in your shoulder with an embarrassing moan.

“i-i’m so close— dabi, rub her clit for me,” it takes a lot of strength not to stutter when his brain’s melting like this.

with a grunt of acknowledgement, dabi’s hand slips between your sweaty bodies, fingers pushing through your pubic hair as he searches for your clit.

“right here, doll?” he pinches the swollen bud and rolls it between two fingers.

“fuck yes,” you moan, hips jolting towards him.

he’s got a hand wrist deep in feathers, scratching lightly at the skin beneath, and the other sandwiched between you and hawks as he rubs your clit furiously.

“just like that,” you whimper, eyes meeting dabi’s, whose pupils are blown. against your neck, hawks chants your name like a prayer, lips dragging against your cheek when he pulls away for a moment.

“i’m gonna—” he groans loudly, eyes rolling back and hips stuttering against your own, “take it, take it all, fuck..” his voice nearly cracks as he finally lets go, pushing deep and shooting ropes of cum from his swollen cock.

hawks shudders, wings fanning out and pushing against dabi, who groans as he takes in the whole scene.

“cum hard for me, doll,” dabi urges, his sticky fingers maintaining the rough pace he’s had this whole time; a unique tightness swells in your pelvis, begging to be released. despite having been fucked dumb, you manage to register that something big is about to happen.

“dabi, d-dabi,” you sob, legs trembling and heels pushing hawks closer. “‘s coming, ‘s coming..”

dabi’s hand slips into blonde hair, and he yanks hard, pulling hawks’ head up so he can watch you fall apart.

it happens fast; you clench down on hawks’ cock, squeezing out a moan from deep within his chest. liquid sprays from your spasming cunt, soaking hawks’ pelvis and dabi’s fingers.

“‘s too much,” you cry out, a tear racing down your cheek when you feel dabi’s fingers dragging against your overly sensitive clit again.

“why don’t we see how fucking sloppy she is?” he groans, watching closely as hawks pulls out.

you can only whimper when cum gushes from your swollen cunt and someone’s fingers push it back in. you watch as the two men rise to their feet, still on your back and panting.

“t-this was perfect,” hawks tries to catch his breath, choking when his back is slapped. “minus you ripping my hair out and slapping me just now, damn it.”

“all for good reason,” dabi snickers, helping you to sit up. “you alright? that was a lot, heh.”

“i need to take a shower so bad.”

“let’s just relax before anyone leaves,” hawks says with a sigh, plopping down beside you.

“don’t tell me you get all soft after sex,” dabi stretches and pops his neck before he sits down on the other side of you.

“better than being hard,” he mutters in reply, gesturing to dabi’s boner.

the comment only makes him spread his legs and wrap an unbothered arm around you, knuckles brushing against hawks’ face.

“gotta do this again sometime,” you say, eyelids feeling heavy. “just like earlier, both of you at the same time.”

“same hole?” they both ask at once, more serious than they’d been before.

you wink at them, not so tired anymore.

“most definitely.”