#They’re just way too easy to make stupid stuff for

[chrrybbmb]

EQUILIBRIUM

STARRING ... SPIDEY!J. JUNGKOOK X READER

WORD COUNT ... 7.5K

SUMMARY ... how long can you pretend not to notice you're falling headfirst?

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slow burn. mutual pining. they’re both falling so hard they need a helmet AKSJASK. reader’s acceptance era. they wanna kiss each other so bad but are too stupid to realise it someone please bonk them on the head. implied spidey!jk fight. she’s a lil bit short but that’s okay things are moving forward!!!

playlist : give you the world (steve lacy). i think (tyler the creator). me gustas tu (manu chao). falling for ya (grace phipps). the feels (twice). out of my league (fitz and the tantrums). more than a woman (the beegees). be my baby (the ronettes). rather be (clean bandit). cupid (fifty fifty).

taglist. prev. next.

he’s been staring at the same sentence in his notes for the past five minutes.

it’s not even a hard one. something about limiting reagents and product yield—stuff he could usually recite without blinking, but you’re sitting right there.

curled into the far side of the library booth, legs tucked under you, pen twirling between your fingers like you’ve likely done a hundred times before. there’s a smudge of blue ink on your thumb and a crumpled piece of gum wrapper on the table between you, and jungkook can’t seem to make his brain work long enough to finish a full thought.

you hum under your breath as you copy down the last equation he walked you through. nod a little to yourself when it clicks.

jungkook has never hated a reaction more.

not because he minds teaching. not because he minds being here. but because he wants to kiss you. he’s been thinking about it more than he should. enough that it’s starting to interfere with things, like memory and rational thought and knowing when to look away.

your lips purse as you underline something. your brow furrows. he looks back at his notes and pretends he didn’t notice.

“you okay?” you say after a moment.

your voice is soft. casual, like you haven’t just dragged him out of a thought spiral that involved your lip gloss and his complete and utter lack of self-control.

he glances up too fast, eyes wide. “what?”

you blink at him. “you’ve been on the same line for ages. just wondered if you were, i don’t know... buffering.”

a beat, then you grin.

jungkook exhales through his nose and drops his pen. presses the heel of his palm to his temple like that’ll help short-circuit whatever his brain is doing. “i’m fine,” he mutters.

“uh-huh,” you say, clearly not buying it. you nudge the gum wrapper closer to him with the back of your knuckle. “you sure it’s not the limiting reagent that’s got you in a chokehold?”

“positive,” he says. “limiting reagents are easy.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and yet?”

he glares at the sentence in his notebook like it’s personally wronged him, and you laugh under your breath, the sound warm, bright in a way the library doesn’t deserve.

he hates that it makes his stomach flip.

“okay, professor,” you tease. “if you’re done glitching, i have questions.”

he nods slowly, swallowing back everything else he wants to say. “hit me.”

you scoot a little closer, shifting your notebook between you, your leg bumping his under the table. not on purpose, probably, but jungkook flinches anyway. you don’t seem to notice. you’re already flipping back a page and chewing on your bottom lip, scanning your notes.

“this one,” you say, pointing to a messy line halfway down the margin. “the molar ratio part? i think i missed something.”

he leans in before he can stop himself. close enough to see the faint shimmer of your lip balm, the way the library’s overhead lights reflect in your eyes. bad idea. he clears his throat, forcing his eyes back down. “you just have to compare the coefficients from the balanced equation. it’s about how many moles of reactant are required to fully react with the other.”

“right,” you nod, writing as he speaks. “so it’s about proportion?”

“exactly.”

you hum again, more to yourself this time, scribbling in the margin. your handwriting is uneven and fast and a little chaotic, but it makes something in his chest ache anyway.

you’re too close.

he shifts a little, subtly. just enough to give himself space to breathe. because he doesn’t want you to see the way it’s affecting him the way everything you do lately seems to be affecting him. it’s getting bad.

the way you lean into him when you’re focused. the way you smile when you finally understand something. the way you call him ‘professor’ sometimes, like it’s a joke, but he still thinks about it later when he’s brushing his teeth.

you nudge his notebook with your pen. “you’re being quiet again.”

“just thinking.”

you glance at him sideways, a small smile tugging at your lips. “about chemistry?”

he lies. “yeah.”

you laugh. soft and a little disbelieving. “you don’t sound very convincing, you know.”

he shrugs, eyes still on your notes. “i’m not good at this whole… thing.”

“mm. i don’t know.” you twirl your pen again, the ink-stained tip catching a smudge across your palm. “you’ve managed to teach me more in two weeks than i’ve learned all semester. that’s gotta count for something.”

jungkook wants to say thank you. wants to make a dumb joke. wants to reach across the table and take your hand just to see if you’d let him. instead, he stares at the gum wrapper between you. you don’t seem to notice the shift.

“you’re good at it,” you add, quieter this time. “the tutoring thing. i didn’t expect that.”

he raises an eyebrow. “why not?”

you glance at him like it should be obvious. “you don’t really talk. during class, i mean. you kind of just show up, take notes, and disappear.”

he shrugs again. “maybe you just weren’t paying attention.”

your smile falters a little, flickering into something softer. more real. “maybe,” you admit. “but i do now.”

and there’s something in the way you say it that makes his heartbeat stutter and his mouth dry.

you shift again, settling back into your seat. “anyway. i think i get it now.”

he nods, pretending like what you said doesn’t matter to him as much as it does. “good.”

“do i get a gold star?”

he finally smiles, small but genuine. “i’ll bring stickers next time.”

you grin. “i’m holding you to that.”

he’s not sure if you mean it. but he will.

you stretch your arms above your head, spine arching just slightly, a soft groan escaping your throat. jungkook looks away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

“we’ve been at this for too long,” you say, voice light, dragging your hands through your hair before letting them fall into your lap. “my brain’s starting to leak out of my ears.”

he huffs a laugh, flipping your notebook closed. “sure. break time.”

“thank god,” you sigh, slumping dramatically against the back of the booth. “i was two problems away from crying.”

“you’ve cried over chemistry before?”

“once,” you say, lifting your fingers to make a tiny gap between your thumb and forefinger. “just a little. like a respectable amount.”

he grins. “respectable tears?”

“very academic,” you nod solemnly. “phd-level sobbing.”

you’re joking, but your smile is tired in a way that makes his chest tug. he wonders how much sleep you’ve been getting. how often you let yourself take breaks when he’s not the one insisting. he doesn’t ask.

instead, he pushes the textbooks aside. “what do you usually do during breaks?” he asks, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

you blink at him, clearly not expecting him to ask. “usually?” you say. “scroll. draw. steal other people’s snacks. the essentials.”

jungkook hums, amused. “should i be worried?”

“only if you brought anything worth stealing.”

he reaches into his bag, pulls out a granola bar, and slides it across the table.

you gasp. “an offering?”

“a peace treaty,” he says. “in case you cry again.”

you laugh, peeling back the wrapper, and something in his chest unwinds. “this’ll buy you fifteen more minutes of tutoring,” you say through a mouthful of granola. “maybe twenty if you pretend i’m doing better than i am.”

“you’re doing fine,” he says before he can stop himself.

you glance up at him. blink once. then you smile, and it’s not playful—not teasing or smug or exaggerated. it’s quiet. sincere. “thanks,” you say softly. “i’ve been trying.”

jungkook swallows. nods. looks down at his hands just so he doesn’t have to look at you.

you chew slowly, shoulders relaxing against the booth.

“i kind of like studying with you,” you say after a minute, not even realizing what you’re doing to him.

his throat is suddenly too dry. “yeah?”

you nod. “you’re patient. and you explain things better than my professors do. and you always bring snacks.”

“only brought one.”

“you’ve brought others before.”

he snorts under his breath. “you keep track?”

you shrug. “when you’ve got as many things on your mind as i do, it’s nice when something’s consistent.”

and god, he wants to say something. to tell you he’d bring you granola bars every day for the rest of the semester. to ask if he’s allowed to be one of the things you count on. but instead, he picks at the edge of his textbook and says, “i’ll bring two next time.”

you grin. “spoiling me.”

he shrugs, pretending it’s casual. “you deserve it.”

you look at him for a second—really look at him, eyes soft, head tilted just slightly, trying to figure him out. then, just as quickly, the moment shifts. you smile again, all light and teasing. “if you keep saying stuff like that, i’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

you say it like a joke, like it’s nothing. like it’s funny.

and maybe it is to you. maybe you’re just playing around. maybe you don’t see the way his hands curl into fists in his lap, or how he forgets how to breathe for half a second.

he laughs. too late, too forced.

“yeah, well,” he says, eyes fixed on a scratch in the table. “can’t have that.”

you don’t respond right away. you just pick at the corner of your granola bar wrapper, folding it neatly in half.

“mm,” you say finally, like you’ve filed that away somewhere. “would ruin the academic integrity of this tutoring relationship.”

he nods. “exactly.”

another beat passes. you lean your cheek against your hand, watching him with something unreadable in your expression. “guess i’ll just have to keep wondering, then.”

and before he can figure out what that means, or if you meant anything at all, you’re reaching for your notes again.

“alright, professor,” you say lightly. “break’s over. teach me something.”

jungkook picks up his pen with shaking fingers. he doesn’t say a word.

you’re already flipped to a fresh page, pen tapping against the paper as you glance at him, waiting. expecting. jungkook clears his throat and tries to focus. tries to remember what you were working on before you smiled at him in a way that made it hard to breathe.

"okay," he says eventually, voice quieter than usual. “uh. equilibrium constants.”

you nod, jotting down the title at the top of the page.

his hands are still shaking. he doesn’t think you notice. you lean in a little, not quite touching, but close enough to make his skin prickle. "so," you murmur, pen at the ready, "what’s the deal with k?”

and god.

you’re doing it on purpose. or maybe you’re not. maybe this is just how you are—curious, warm, bright in a way that doesn’t burn but still somehow sets him on fire.

he exhales slowly through his nose.

"it’s a ratio," he starts, keeping his eyes on your notebook instead of your face. "products over reactants. a way to measure if a reaction favors the left or the right.”

you hum under your breath. “and what if it favors neither?”

he lets himself glance at you then, just briefly. “then it’s balanced,” he says.

you meet his gaze, smile tugging at your lips. “sounds ideal.”

jungkook looks away. he’s never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss you right now. he doesn’t let the thought linger. it’s dangerous—too loud, too close to the surface. he presses the tip of his pen to your notebook instead, draws a quick diagram, lets the movement steady his hands.

"see how the concentrations shift?" he says, voice even, like his pulse isn’t hammering in his throat.

you lean forward again, shoulder brushing his just barely.

"so when k is greater than one..." you murmur.

"it means the products are favored."

you nod, scribbling it down, brow furrowed in concentration.

and jungkook clings to that. your focus, your curiosity, the way you chew your lip when you're thinking hard. if he lets himself look at you for too long, he knows he won’t be able to look away.

and if he lets himself feel everything he’s feeling, really feel it, he might never stop.

he watches you write, lets the silence stretch just long enough to steady himself. then “okay,” he says softly. “your turn.”

you glance up, pen pausing mid-stroke.

“what does it mean when a reaction is at equilibrium?”

your brow furrows, eyes flicking between his face and the sketch of the reaction chart on your page. he waits.

you tap the end of your pen against the paper, thoughtful. “it means… the rate of the forward reaction equals the rate of the reverse?”

when he nods, you continue, voice more confident now. “that the concentrations stop changing. not because the reaction stops, but because everything’s happening at the same time, in both directions.”

he smiles, and it’s small, but it’s real. “exactly.”

you grin, wide and a little proud, and his heart goes stupid in his chest.

“see?” you say, nudging his elbow with yours. “i am learning.”

“you’re a model student,” he says, just to hear you laugh again.

you do. soft and sudden. the kind of sound that makes him feel weightless.

you go back to your notes, but jungkook doesn’t move right away. he keeps his eyes on the margin of your page, watching your pen move.

equilibrium.

forward and reverse, happening at once. equal effort. equal weight. it sounds simple in theory.

he wishes it were. he wishes he was brave enough to just be honest with you about how he feels, to say it plainly. without stumbling, without second-guessing, without hiding behind chemistry terms and granola bars and excuses that sound a lot like maybe next time.

he wants to tell you that he thinks about you more than he should. that every time you smile at him, it takes him a second too long to recover. but instead he points to the next problem in your textbook. “you wanna try this one on your own?”

you glance at it, then at him, then back at your notes.

“sure,” you say, and your voice is casual, but the corners of your mouth curve just enough to undo him all over again.

you start working through the equation, mumbling under your breath, pen tapping as you go, and jungkook watches. he doesn’t say what he wants to. he doesn’t risk it. not yet.

you furrow your brow at the middle of the problem, chewing on your pen cap while your eyes scan the numbers. “wait,” you mutter, pointing to the molar ratio. “isn’t it supposed to be three to two here?”

“yeah,” he says, quiet. “good catch.”

you grin, triumphant, scribbling something onto the page. he looks away again, smile threatening the edges of his mouth.

god. he’s so gone.

completely, utterly, irreversibly.

you don’t even know. you’re just here, sharing your notebook, offering up pieces of yourself so easily it’s like you don’t think twice. he wishes he could match you in that. be just as open, just as brave.

“what?” you ask suddenly, glancing over at him. “you’re staring.”

“no, i’m not,” he says, and it’s instant, reflexive.

you raise a brow. “you kinda were.”

he clears his throat. “i was just… surprised. you’re getting good at this.”

you smile, a little bashful. “guess i’ve got a decent tutor.”

jungkook looks at your face, the way you’re trying to hide how proud you are. he wants to reach out.

he doesn’t.

“you’re not so bad yourself,” he says instead, voice low.

your eyes linger on him a beat too long. and then you look down again, flipping to a new page.

his heart doesn’t slow down for the rest of the hour.

jungkook winces as jimin dabs at his cheek with a sting-soaked cotton pad.

"jesus," jimin mutters under his breath, voice tight with irritation. "you need to stop letting public transit rearrange your face."

“i’m fine,” jungkook grits out, though the words come slower than he means for them to. his head’s still spinning, just a little. he blinks hard, trying to clear it.

jimin pulls back, eyes narrowing. “uh-huh. and i’m the queen of england.” he swipes at a dried streak of blood along jungkook’s jaw, a little less gently this time.

jungkook flinches, shoulders curling in. “i don’t have a concussion.”

“right.” jimin scoffs, tossing the cotton pad into the trash. “because when a ten-ton hunk of steel smacks you into a goddamn billboard, the first thing you think is thank god my brain’s still in one piece.”

jungkook sighs, leaning back against the couch, one hand dragging down his face. he hates this part, the aftermath. when the adrenaline’s gone and everything hurts and the city’s quiet again and jimin’s looking at him like he’s one bad landing away from being a memory.

“you should’ve gone to the ER,” jimin mutters, disinfectant in one hand, gauze in the other.

“they ask too many questions.”

“they ask questions so you don’t die, genius.”

“you’re patching me up anyway,” jungkook mumbles, gesturing vaguely to the half-open first aid kit on the coffee table. jimin doesn’t answer right away. just presses the gauze to the cut on his temple a little more firmly than necessary.

jungkook hisses.

“you’re an idiot,” jimin says, quiet.

“i know.”

he does. he knows.

jungkook closes his eyes for a second, lets the pressure of jimin’s hand ground him. the sting, the scent of antiseptic, the soft buzz of a heater kicking on somewhere in the apartment.

he’d thought about going to you. when he was dragging himself out of the alley, ribs screaming, blood sticky down the side of his face, your apartment flashed across his mind. a quiet thought, tucked into the corner of the chaos.

she’d open the door.

she’d help.

she always does.

even in his addled state, he knew it was a bad idea. stupid. selfish even.

as much as he’d enjoyed it last time—being there, letting you fuss over him, hearing your voice up close, feeling your fingers skim his cheek like he was something fragile—it wasn’t something he could get used to.

not when you didn’t know who he was. not really.

“you zoning out on me?” jimin asks, tone clipped.

jungkook blinks his eyes open again. “no.”

jimin doesn’t buy it. he never does.

“you sure? ‘cause your pupils look two different sizes and you haven’t blinked in thirty seconds.”

jungkook exhales a dry laugh. “just thinking.”

“dangerous,” jimin mutters, tossing the bloodied gauze aside and grabbing clean bandages. “next time, don’t think. just duck.”

“tried.”

“try harder.”

he doesn’t mean to sound harsh. jimin never does, not really, but there’s a tremble underneath it. fear, maybe. and jungkook doesn’t have the heart to brush that off. not tonight. not after the way his own legs gave out two blocks from the fight, not after the taste of copper and pavement still lingers in his mouth.

so he just nods and lets jimin tape him back together again in silence.

jimin’s quiet for a while after that. he works the way he always does when he’s trying not to feel something. quick, precise, hands steady even when his breathing isn’t. jungkook watches the ceiling, eyes unfocused. the room spins a little when he turns his head, so he doesn’t.

“you’ve gotta slow down,” jimin says eventually, voice low.

jungkook hums. “can’t.”

jimin’s fingers still against the side of his face.

“why not?”

jungkook doesn’t answer right away. he could say it’s the city. the people who need help. the guilt that chews at his ribs when he thinks about what would happen if he just stopped.

but none of that is what comes out.

“she was there,” he says quietly.

jimin freezes. “when?”

“before the fight,” jungkook mumbles. “at her mural. painting.” he swallows. “she didn’t see me. i didn’t stay.”

jimin sighs, sits back on his heels, eyeing him carefully. “you shouldn’t keep doing this.”

jungkook blinks. “doing what?”

“using the mask as an excuse to orbit her,” jimin says flatly. “you’re not doing her any favors. and you’re definitely not doing you any favors either.”

jungkook looks away, jaw tight. “i’m not trying to mess with her,” he says. “i just… i don’t know. i miss her.”

“you see her,” jimin says. “you tutor her. you sit across from her in cafes and make a fool of yourself in front of her every week.”

“it’s not the same,” jungkook mutters.

“no,” jimin agrees. “because at least when you’re you, you’re not lying to her face.”

the silence that follows is heavier than anything else.

jimin doesn’t push. just leans back against the couch, pulls his knees up, and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh that sounds way too tired for how young they are. the room is quiet again, save for the low hum of traffic outside and the soft groan of jimin’s air conditioner in the background.

jimin exhales through his nose, slow and tired. he presses the last strip of tape to jungkook’s temple, then drops the empty wrapper onto the table with a quiet crinkle.

“you’re lucky you didn’t black out,” he says. “again.”

jungkook doesn’t respond. just leans back into the couch, arm slung over his eyes. he’s so tired. not just in his body. not just the bruises, or the cuts, or the ache in his shoulder that still hasn’t gone away from last week’s rooftop landing. it’s in his chest.

the constant push and pull of being two people. the version of him who makes you laugh across tables, and the one who swings past your apartment in the middle of the night just to see if your lights are on.

the one you know.

the one you don’t.

“you should tell her,” jimin says eventually. “before it gets worse.”

jungkook drops his arm, looks at him with tired eyes. “tell her what, hyung? hey, i’m your tutor and the idiot who bled on your furniture that one time. surprise?”

jimin just shrugs. “sounds about right.”

“she’ll hate me.”

“she might.” jimin doesn’t sugarcoat it. “but she also might not.”

jungkook swallows hard.

he’s thought about it. a hundred different ways. a thousand different outcomes. and in every one, you look at him differently after. sometimes with betrayal. sometimes with disbelief. sometimes you don’t look at him at all, and that’s the part that scares him most.

he scrubs a hand down his face and groans. “i can’t. not yet.”

jimin watches him for a beat, then nods.

“then don’t wait too long,” he says. “because if she finds out on her own, it’s gonna hurt worse.”

jungkook doesn’t say anything, because deep down, he knows jimin’s right. that’s what scares him second most.

you stare down at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

here early, grabbed a table near the back x

sent fifteen minutes ago.

you sigh and lock your phone, flipping it face down on the table.

the cafe is warm. quieter than usual, save for the low hum of an indie playlist and the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter. your untouched drink sits beside your notebook, still steaming. you haven’t taken a sip.

you know jungkook’s probably caught in traffic. or maybe the bus was late. maybe something came up. maybe he’s just having one of those days. but your brain doesn’t care about reason. it cares that he was the one who asked to move the session earlier this week. said he couldn’t do the weekend.

so you cleared your schedule. shifted your plans. you told taehyung no, you told yourself it was fine, you told yourself you weren’t too excited when he sent the text.

and now here you are.

alone in a corner booth with your highlighters lined up in color order and your thoughts spiraling at full speed.

you try not to take it personally, and you fail. your mind jumps straight to that place you hate—what if he forgot? what if he bailed? what if he’s slowly realizing he doesn’t actually like being around you at all? you exhale, sharp and quiet.

then the bell above the door jingles, and jungkook stumbles in, breathless and disheveled, hoodie askew and cheeks flushed pink from the cold. his hair is a mess, and his backpack looks half-zipped, and there’s a coffee stain on the cuff of his sleeve.

he spots you instantly and his shoulders sag in relief. “hey…” he pants as he approaches, breath visible in the air behind him, “sorry. i’m so sorry.”

you blink, and despite every insecure thought you were stewing in two seconds ago, your chest loosens just a little.

“…you okay?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean for it to be.

he nods quickly, dropping his bag onto the seat across from you. “yeah. yeah. just—” he pulls his hood back, raking a hand through his hair, “—bit of a mess getting here. totally my fault. i should’ve texted.”

you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “you’re here now.”

he meets your eyes, sheepish.

“still,” he says, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, “thanks for waiting.”

you shrug, flipping open your notebook. “you owe me a sticker for it.”

he exhales a laugh. “i brought two sheets.”

you lean back in your seat, watching him dig through his bag, fingers fumbling for his notes or maybe a pen or maybe just something to distract from how flustered he is. he finally pulls out his notebook, slaps it onto the table, and exhales like he’s just run a marathon.

“you didn’t have to sprint here,” you murmur, reaching for your drink at last. “i would’ve waited.”

he smiles, boyish, still a little breathless.

“i did make you wait,” he says. “felt bad.”

you’re about to wave it off when you notice just the faintest smudge. barely there, high on the edge of his nostril, a smear of red that’s mostly faded but not invisible. your brows draw together.

“hey.”

he looks up. “hm?”

you reach into your pocket for a tissue and slide it across the table. “you’ve got—” you motion to your own nose, eyes narrowing. “what happened?”

he falters just for a second. his hand lifts instinctively, brushing at the spot with the back of his knuckle before glancing at the tissue and taking it.

“oh. must’ve been from earlier.”

you stare. “earlier?”

“yeah, it’s nothing,” he says quickly, too quickly. “i get nosebleeds sometimes. weather shift, i guess.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it. just dabs once, then folds the tissue and tucks it under his notebook like it never existed. you don’t believe him, but you don’t push, either. “…you sure?”

he nods. “promise.”

and it sounds certain enough that you don’t press, even as something unsettles deep in your stomach. instead, you flip open your own notes and reach for a pen.

“fine,” you say softly. “but if you pass out mid-equation, i’m not catching you.”

he huffs a laugh, and it sounds a little more real this time. “deal.”

you pretend to scan your notes, pen tapping idly, but your eyes drift. jungkook’s hunched forward, elbows on the table, scribbling something in the corner of his page. his hair’s a mess, long and black and tangled from either wind or movement or both, curling at the ends where it brushes his hoodie. there’s a little patch that won’t fall the right way, hanging stubbornly across his forehead.

and then there’s the glasses.

you haven’t seen him wear them before. they sit low on his nose, slipping a little every time he shifts, catching the light and reflecting it just enough to make you pause. you don’t mean to stare, but you do until he looks up and catches your gaze head-on.

“…do i have something else on my face?” he asks, cautious.

you blink. hard.

“what? no.” you shake your head, a little too fast. “no. i was just… thinking.”

his brow lifts slightly. “about what?”

you scramble for anything but you look really good like this and i can’t stop looking at you.

you flick your pen toward the table. “i was wondering why we met here instead of the library.”

he blinks, then ducks his head, pushing his glasses up with his knuckle, suddenly shy. “oh. um. the café’s closer to where i live.”

you nod slowly, biting back a smile. “huh.” you tilt your head. “so you dragged me across town for your own convenience?”

“not dragged,” he says, a little defensively. “i picked a place with good coffee.”

you raise your brow and he shrinks just slightly in his seat.

“and you said you didn’t mind,” he adds, quieter.

you don’t. you really don’t. but you’re not about to let him off that easy.

“mm. you’re lucky the coffee is good.”

he grins, soft and crooked.

“i am lucky.”

he doesn’t know what he’s saying. what it’s doing to you.

you don’t trust your voice enough to respond, so you flip to the next page of your notes and hope he can’t hear your heartbeat from across the table.

he, for his part, doesn’t say anything else. just ducks his head again, hair falling even further into his face as he pushes up his glasses with one finger. your eyes follow the movement before you can stop yourself.

it’s almost unfair. how soft he looks like this.

you draw a slow breath, steadying yourself before you speak.

“alright, professor,” you murmur, aiming for light. “you’ve got me at a café. impress me.”

he huffs a laugh, head still bowed.

“no pressure or anything,” he mumbles, flipping to a page of problem sets.

you lean your chin into your hand, elbow propped against the table. “you’re the one who insisted on the earlier session.”

“and i stand by it,” he says, voice warming again. “even if i almost died trying to get here.”

“do you always get nosebleeds when you're rushing to meet girls?”

he pauses mid-scribble. you see the smile tug at the corner of his mouth before he tries to hide it.

“only the pretty ones,” he says, barely above a whisper.

your breath catches. just for a second, just long enough to feel it, sharp and hot in your chest. you glance down at your notebook, heart thudding.

you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything.

your fingers freeze over the spiral of your notebook, eyes trained on a random line of notes that suddenly means nothing to you.

across from you, jungkook goes still, turning red. not just a faint dusting across his cheeks. full-on, unmistakable, spreading fast across his face and up to the tips of his ears. he ducks his head, hiding behind the curtain of his hair like he’s trying to disappear into it, lips pressing together in a tight, horrified line.

you’re not sure either of you can believe he just said that.

he thinks you’re pretty, he thinks you’re pretty, he thinks you’re pretty. it plays on loop in your brain, each echo a little more dizzying than the last. your heart skips and stumbles all over itself, half stuck on the words and half on the fact that he meant them. he must’ve meant them.

jungkook coughs into his hand, trying to recover. “i.. uh. sorry,” he mutters, still not looking up. “that was—i was joking.”

“bad joke,” you say quietly, eyes still on your page.

he exhales a shaky breath. “yeah.”

neither of you look up. neither of you move.

the silence stretches. not awkward. not exactly. just charged.

you pretend to read your notes, pen tapping against the margin, heartbeat thudding loud enough that it might as well be on the table between you. jungkook still hasn’t looked up.

you steal a glance at him.

his hair’s fallen further into his face, half hiding the flush that still stains his cheeks. his fingers are clenched around his pen, knuckles pale, foot bouncing under the table in a restless rhythm.

he’s panicking*.*

not outwardly—he’s too quiet for that. too soft. but it’s there. in the way his eyes stay fixed on the same spot in his notebook, in the way his throat moves when he swallows. and for some reason, the realization makes your chest squeeze.

you almost tell him it’s okay. almost say, you don’t have to be sorry. i didn’t mind it. i’m still thinking about it.

but then he shifts, shoulders squaring, and finally meets your eyes.

“can we pretend i didn’t say that?” he asks, voice low. he says it with a forced little smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

and maybe that’s what makes your decision for you. you look at him for a second longer, then nod once. “sure,” you say, and it comes out smoother than you expect. “you didn’t say anything.”

jungkook exhales through his nose, relief barely veiling the disappointment that flickers across his face.

you both go back to your notes, but neither of you turn the page.

the apartment is quiet when jungkook gets in. the door clicks shut behind him, soft in the silence, but it still makes him flinch. he toes off his shoes, drops his bag by the door, jacket halfway off before he even makes it to the couch. when he does he sinks down hard, palms dragging over his face.

“fuck,” he mutters into his hands.

he’s still rattled.

still replaying the way you looked at him right after—head tilted, eyes wide, something unreadable passing over your face like you were trying to decide if you’d actually heard him right.

only the pretty ones.

the words hit like a sucker punch even now.

he hadn’t meant to say it. hadn’t planned to. hadn’t even realized it was hovering on the tip of his tongue until it was already out there between you, hanging in the air, sticky and impossible to ignore.

you went quiet. you let him backpedal. let him pretend it was a joke, let him erase it even though he wanted nothing more for you to know how pretty you are to him. he leans back into the couch, head tipping against the cushions, and he closes his eyes.

the quiet is louder than it should be.

no city noise, no music, no jimin yelling at him to put ice on something or to stop being so obvious whenever your name comes up. just the echo of that one second. that one look.

you didn’t smile, didn’t tease. you looked stunned. and jungkook can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that he said it, or the fact that some part of him wants to say it again and again until you believe it, until you say something back.

he exhales, long and shaky, and scrubs a hand through his hair. he’s so far in it he doesn’t know how to claw his way out.

he’s not even sure he wants to.

you’re supposed to be paying attention.

there’s something about classical conditioning echoing through the lecture hall speakers. something about pavlov, about dogs and bells and salivating, but your pen is too busy trailing along the edge of your notebook, filling the margins with half-formed flowers and a lopsided spider.

you try to focus. really, you do. you nod when the professor emphasizes a point, scribble a keyword or two, underline extinction twice. but then your eyes drift. out the window, across the aisle, down to the corner of your desk where you’ve already drawn the same sleepy-looking face three different times.

and somehow, every version of it ends up looking a little like him.

you bite the inside of your cheek and shake your head, as if that’ll snap you out of it.

it’s just been happening more often lately—this thing where your thoughts spiral without warning. one second you’re zoning out mid-lecture, and the next you’re remembering the way his fingers brushed yours last week at least three different times.

your professor clicks to the next slide, and the class collectively shifts to pretend they’re still with him.

you sigh, resting your chin on your hand. you don’t mean to get so distracted. but it’s hard not to, when every other thought seems to circle back to the same person.

stupid.

you draw another web in the corner of the page. smaller this time. neater. you don’t know what you’re waiting for. but something in your chest keeps tugging like you’re supposed to be paying attention to something else entirely.

you tap your pen against the edge of your desk. once, twice. again.

“focus,” you mumble to yourself, but it’s useless.

your mind’s already gone, drifting somewhere else entirely—back to the café, which shouldn’t feel as significant as it does, where jungkook stumbled in late, glasses slipping down his nose, hair a mess, breathless and apologetic and still unfairly handsome. back to the night even further back when spider-man nearly collapsed onto your living room floor.

you press the pen harder.

jungkook, spider-man.

one sitting next to you with messy hair and nervous hands, the other bleeding on your couch with too much weight on your shoulder. neither of them probably thinking about you right now.

you don’t even know why that stings.

you’re not dating jungkook. spider-man’s not your friend. you’re just someone who needs help in chemistry. someone who opened her door because someone looked like they were going to fall apart.

you sigh, draw another line across the page. your flowers are losing their shape.

maybe it’d be easier if your chest didn’t feel so tight every time you thought about either of them. you wonder what that says about you. you wonder what that says about them.

your professor says something about freud. you hear someone snicker near the back. you don’t laugh. you just stare down at the little spider in the corner of your page, and trace the thread it’s dangling from. the line stretches up toward the edge of the page, thin and a little shaky.

your pen pauses. you wonder if you’re doing the same thing—hanging off something delicate and invisible, waiting for it to pull or snap or hold.

your professor’s voice drones on, something about repression now. the subconscious. emotional imprinting.

you huff under your breath. “great timing.”

the girl in front of you glances back, but you don’t bother explaining.

your hand shifts again, pen back to work. you draw another figure next to the spider. smaller. a blur of curls and oversized sleeves. he’d probably laugh if he saw it. or tilt his head in that curious way he does when you’re speaking and he wants to say something but doesn’t.

jungkook’s always holding something back. you wonder how much of it is hiding, and how much of it is habit. you shake the thought away before it can settle too deep, scribble a lazy border around your newest doodle to distract yourself.

you’re being emotional. a tad dramatic. maybe it’s just the weather. or the exhaustion. or the fact that every time jungkook smiles at you, it feels like your ribs are curling in on themselves.

you press your pen down until the tip almost snaps. whatever it is, it needs to stop. you’re not built for this kind of uncertainty. you never have been.

you don’t remember the last ten minutes of lecture.

the lights flick on, and the room starts moving before your brain catches up. notebooks close, zippers hum, someone’s already halfway down the stairs before the professor even says have a good weekend.

you sigh, stuff your notes into your bag, ignore the half-page of doodles that somehow ended with a cracked spiderweb and a boy curled up at the center of it. your legs ache as you shuffle out into the hallway, pulled along by the current of students flooding toward the exits.

taehyung finds you near the vending machines, all slouched posture and too-long sleeves.

“there she is,” he says, popping a piece of gum into his mouth without offering you any. “my favorite academically struggling genius.”

you shoot him a look. “what’s with the weird greeting?”

“you’ve got your crisis face on,” he says, tapping his temple. “it’s very i’m thinking too hard about boys again, so i figured i’d meet you halfway.”

you scoff. “i’m not thinking about boys.”

taehyung squints. “okay, so which boy, then?”

you groan, dragging a hand down your face.

he lifts his brows, smug. “that’s what i thought.”

you push open the building doors and step out into the cold, the wind catching your sleeves and snapping at your legs. “it’s not like that,” you mutter.

“you always say that when it’s exactly like that.”

you glare at him. “are you going to walk me to my next class or just psychoanalyze me until i melt into the sidewalk?”

“i can multitask,” taehyung grins, pulling his hood up as he falls into step beside you. “so, is it the covalent cutie or your friendly neighborhood rebound?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“nothing.” he stretches his arms behind his head, all faux innocence. “just wondering how many men you’re collecting this semester.” you bump your shoulder into his, harder than necessary, and taehyung wheezes and laughs. “god, you’re so defensive when you’re in denial.”

you don’t respond. mostly because he’s right.

taehyung shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, lips pursed in mock thought. “so, there’s gonna be a party friday,” he says casually.

you glance at him, unimpressed. “cool. have fun.”

he snorts. “you’re not even gonna pretend to consider it?”

“nope.”

“rude.”

“you invited me like you were ordering takeout,” you say, stepping over a crack in the pavement. “not exactly persuasive.”

“fine.” he sighs dramatically. “you, my beloved friend, are cordially invited to a moderately chaotic social gathering where someone’s bound to cry in the bathtub, and no less than three people will make out in the kitchen.”

you lift an eyebrow. “tempting.”

“right? i’m selling this.”

“still no.”

he pouts. “why not?”

you shrug. “i’ve got stuff to do.”

“you always have stuff to do.”

you don’t respond right away. you just keep walking, eyes fixed on the cracks in the sidewalk, the wind pulling at the hem of your shirt. taehyung sighs again, quieter this time.

“you know,” he says, bumping your arm lightly with his. “you’re allowed to take a break. have a drink. forget about whatever mess is chewing you up for a couple hours.”

you chew on the inside of your cheek.

you know he’s right. you just don’t know how to say it doesn’t really help when the mess comes with a charming smile and really cute doe eyes and the prettiest lips you’ve ever seen.

so you shrug again. “maybe next time.” taehyung groans dramatically, flopping his head back as you both walk. “you are so stubborn.”

“thanks.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

you snort. “sure it wasn’t.”

he glances sideways at you, lips pursed. plotting. calculating.

“okay,” he says finally. “what if i told you it’s not just any party?”

you raise a brow. “is this where you tell me it’s a secret underground masquerade with a five-star buffet?”

“no,” he says, deadpan. “but there will be snacks. and possibly jello shots. and—” he pauses for effect, wagging his eyebrows, “your chemistry tutor might be there.”

you blink. “jungkook?”

taehyung shrugs, faking nonchalance. “could be. dunno. hoseok’s throwing it, and i know they’re tight. might swing by.”

your stomach does something stupid. you look away before taehyung can see it. “that’s not a reason to go.”

“oh, it’s definitely a reason.”

“tae—”

“look,” he says, gentler this time. “you’ve been tense for weeks. you deserve, like, two hours of being normal. you don’t have to dance on the table or hook up with anyone. just show up. breathe. hang out.”

you slow your steps. you hate that he’s making sense. you hate that the idea of maybe running into jungkook makes your chest tighten in a way you refuse to examine too closely.

you sigh. “fine.”

taehyung beams. “yes*.* victory.”

“don’t make it weird.”

“no promises.”

you shake your head, but you’re smiling when he throws an arm around your shoulders, loud and smug and already gloating. you pretend to be annoyed.

you pretend it’s not already the only thing you’re going to think about for the rest of the day.

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @mimi1097 @angellekookie @yooniivrse @knivesdoingcartwheels @annyeongbitch7 @hemmosfear

[dgaftilwedie]

namgyu nsfw alphabet!!!

i've had this sitting in my google docs for almost two months now?? and i saw one of my moots post their version, so i thought i'd post my own too!! i went a teensy tiny bit crazy but namgyu's like, my favorite character ever so i felt obligated <3 i wrote this at like 2 in the morning so please excuse any spelling/grammar errors... oopsies

contains: 18+ content (minors dni, you know the drill), namgyu being a freak (affectionate), recreational drug use, somno, namgyu's probably a tad ooc (i am a firm believer namgyu isn't a pos to his partner's, just the people he doesn't like), just a whole bunch of stuff :3 everything's below the cut!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If Namgyu’s with somebody he loves, it reflects in the way he takes care of them after sex. He’s an avid fan of basking in the afterglow and not cleaning up immediately. He’ll hold your naked body against his chest and talk to you about whatever crosses his mind. Expect a lot of late-night conversations passing a cigarette back and forth after going to Freak Town. He also has a mini-fridge in his room that has snacks and water in them, and he’ll offer to grab you something if you’re interested.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

You can very clearly tell he loves his hands. They’re pretty big with slender fingers that are always adorned with rings. Always. He loves the way they look running through your hair, around your throat, gripping your thighs, inside of you… As for you, it’s hard for him to choose just one thing. Namgyu thinks it’s corny but everything about you is perfection to him. He’d probably say something about your eyes, or how soft your hair is, or how nice you smell… Or something about your thighs. Fuck, he loves your thighs. He likes grabbing them, likes when they’re tightened around his head or shaking around his waist. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Namgyu likes it messy. He’ll cum all over your face, your chest, your stomach, pretty much anywhere. He doesn’t care. Sometimes he’ll be a dick and try to get it in your hair. His freaky ass likes to take pictures of your face when it’s covered in his cum just to jerk off to them later.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes to “borrow” your dirty underwear to jerk off with it. He’s embarrassed to even think about it, but whenever he comes over, he just… Y’know, snags a pair off the floor or out of your laundry and brings ‘em home!!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Namgyu knows what he’s doing; that’s for sure. He’s been around the block. Not a total manwhore, but he’s had his fair share of one-night stands. However, when he’s with you, he doesn’t really consider his previous experiences. Namgyu focuses more on what feels good for the both of you. He wants to learn your body and all the things that get you off. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

AVID SPOONING ENJOYER. Namgyu loves any position where the two of your are as close as humanly possible. He needs to be able to feel your body against him in like 20 different spots at all times. Any position that gives him easy access to your neck is another factor. Sometimes when he doesn’t have that much energy, he’ll sit with his back against his headboard and insist you ride him like that. He’ll dig his fingers into your waist and press wet, open-mouthed kisses to your neck as you do all the work.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Namgyu gets very giggly during sex. He makes it a challenge to try and make you laugh at every opportunity. Part of it is because he loves how cute you look when you’re happy, but another part of it is that he hates when the tension gets too high. It makes his nervous. He’ll tickle your sides while he’s buried deep inside of you or crack the occasional stupid joke. It may be annoying but at least you know he’s comfortable with you!! However, there are definitely times where he doesn’t give a fuck how tense it is. He’ll be all over you, all act and no play. These are usually times where he’s either angry, jealous, or super fucking horny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s trimmed. He hates having a lot of hair so he keeps it nice and short. However, it’s very soft. Take that as you will.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If he’s with someone he loves, he’s a complete sap. Sex is actually really special to Namgyu if it’s with someone like you. No matter how rough he is, he makes sure you know deep down that he loves you. He’ll degrade you, but it’s broken up with praises of how well you’re taking him, how beautiful you look, how good you’re doing for him. He’ll sink his teeth into your neck just to make you jump only to pepper your neck and your face with the gentlest kisses. Namgyu’s always telling you how much he loves you. Again, he becomes a complete sap with you. “I love you”s before, during, and after are a must for him. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Namgyu’s kind of a horndog, honestly. He gets worked up pretty quickly. Lucky for you, he’s really cute when he jerks off. He’ll bite his bottom lip as, whining about the things he wants to do to you. Or the things he wants you to do to him. He whimpers when he cums, too. If he’s in a really good mood and you overhear him, you’ll probably catching mumbling under his breath about how he’s “such a good boy for you”.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I have a lot to say here… He’s an absolute freak in the sheets.

Marking of any kind. Hickeys, scratches, anything that tells people you’re each other’s. That’s a must for him. A necessity.

Hairpulling. If you’re pulling his hair, he’ll come undone almost immediately. 

Absolutely into dry humping. This is very important to me. And to him. 

Praise and degradation. He doesn’t shut up during sex, and he loves it when you get on the fun and start saying shit to him. It makes his knees buckle.

He’s a little bit of a voyeur, honestly!! If you let him, he’d love to just sit there and watch you touch yourself. I mentioned it above, but he also takes a lot of pictures of the two of you during sex to use for later.

VERY into phone sex. Nudes, voice messages, nut videos (with the sound on)... Sometimes he’ll even call you when he’s on a break at work just to rub one out in the bathroom.

Somnophilia… If you’re into it, he’d love to wake you up with his head in between your legs.

Dacryphilia on the downlow. It doesn’t turn him on if you’re crying because you’re like, sad or in pain, but he loves making you feel so good you cry. He could easily spend hours teasing you just to see a tear drip down your cheeks as you beg him to let you cum. It drives his mind wild to think about it.

Speaking of, he loves making you beg for it. 9 times out of 10, you’re not cumming until he hears you begging for it. 

Stoned sex!! I will expand on this later…

Lowkey wouldn’t mind you call him a good puppy. But it’s gonna take a lot of courage on his end to open up about that one… He likes when you take control in general, honestly.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As long as your both comfortable, he doesn’t give a fuck. He’d prefer to do it on a soft surface, like a bed or a couch or at the very least, a blanket. If you’re both super worked up, he doesn’t mind fuck you against the wall of a bathroom stall or the backseat of his car!! Happy wife (gender neutral), happy life!! <3

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Like I mentioned, Namgyu gets worked up pretty easily. The most subtle touches can get him hard, and it’s actually really cute. Touching his neck is your best bet if you wanna get him in the mood. Run your fingers through his hair and scratch just the right spot, maybe give it a tug. Slip your fingers around the hem of his pants or press them against his stomach. He really likes that. He also has a thing for people running their fingers over his tattoos and fidgeting with his rings or pulling his chain. He’s a little easy, ok?? Just a bit.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Namgyu’s into some harder shit but he doesn’t fuck with shit or vomit. Ageplay also weirds him out.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Namgyu’s just a little bit selfish… He loves when you suck him off. He’ll run his fingers through his hair, tugging on it to guide you, basically using your mouth as a fleshlight. He gets a little bit carried away sometimes, but your mouth just feels so good on his cock… On the flip side, he hasn’t had that much practice going down on other people. He barely knows what he’s doing at first. He just wings it with sloppy kisses and kitten licks. However, Namgyu’s a very fast learner. He figures out what he’s doing faster than you anticipated. He quickly discovers everything that makes you tick, and fuck, he gets really good at it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on what kind of mood he’s in. If he’s in a bad mood, you’re getting your guts obliterated. Sometimes he’ll take it so painfully slow it feels like he’s torturing you (he is) (because he’s an asshole). Most of the time, however, he’s at a nice little in-between. He’ll switch between fast, sensual thrusts to ones that are so slow and so rough and so hard you’d think he’s trying to make you explode. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Namgyu eats quickies UP. He loves them. Sometimes you think he loves them more than regular sex. There’s nothing he loves more than dragging you to a bathroom or a dead-end alley to release whatever pent-up frustration you have. He knows you need it, and he just gets so distracted, he can’t help himself… Sometimes you’ll surprise him at work before his breaks and Namgyu will take you to one of the empty VIP rooms just to fuck you. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Oh, absolutely. Namgyu is the epitome of risky. He’ll (try to) try anything once, and he’s very vocal about the things that he doesn’t like. He’s super cool with bringing things into the bedroom as long as you have a conversation about it first so he isn’t surprised. If you want a safe word, he’s down with that too, but if you tell him to stop, he’s going to stop. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can usually go about three rounds on a good day, as long as he has a quick break in between them. If he’s in the right mood (or he popped a pill beforehand) he can go as many rounds as you want without stopping. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Namgyu doesn’t personally own any. He’s never felt the need for them if his hand (or your mouth) is right there. If you use them or are interested in bringing them into the bedroom, he’s intrigued. He fantasizes about it way more than he wants to admit. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This is Namgyu we’re talking about. Namgyu’s an asshole. He loves teasing you. Adores it, actually. It makes sex just so much more fun to him to watch you shake, whining about how bad you need him. He loves making you beg for the smallest things, whether it be a kiss or for him to finally put his dick inside of you. Sometimes he’ll stop his movements all together just to hear you cry out his name. He’ll have you thinking he’s going to let you cum before pulling out and laughing as you clench around nothing. He always makes up for it at the end, though.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s so fucking noisy. Like I said, he doesn’t shut up during sex. He basically talks you through it. He wants to be able to hear you, just you, but you feel so fucking good it makes his head swirl. He can’t help it!! He gets so whimpery in the moment, even when he’s in charge. He’ll bury his face into your neck as he tries to hold back his moans. It doesn’t work. It’s really hot. Especially when you can feel his breath against his neck and hear his mumbles more clear because he’s right next to your hair. If you’re fucking him, it’s a whole other story. He doesn’t even bother trying.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I mentioned it earlier, but stoned sex is one of his favorite things ever. He doesn’t want to pressure you but if you’re down, he’s the happiest camper. He’ll light up a joint for the two of you to share and it’ll lead to the softest, giggliest, laziest, most intimate sex you’ll ever have. He’s pace with be so slow and so sensual. Every thrust feels like heaven, and the way he cups your face and kisses you every five seconds will have you practically falling apart. 

Also, if you’re AFAB, he does not care if you’re on your period (as long as you don’t care). He’ll lay a towel down and go to town. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

5¾’’, cut. Shaft is #EBC3BA, tip is #D9A69E. Slight upwards curve that hits literally the perfect spot. Prince Albert with black jewelry.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s pretty fucking high. He could go multiple times a day if you were down. He’d totally understand if you weren’t, though. He’ll just jerk off and get on with his day.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Namgyu prefers to stay awake after sex. Usually it takes him an hour or two to fall asleep afterwards, but he likes to make sure you’re comfortable and/or asleep first so he’s not just leaving you hanging. Sometimes he’ll just forgo sleep and pop a pill. If you fall asleep and he’s still awake, he’ll hold you close to him, running his fingers through your hair. He likes to trace your features, admire the face he gets to wake up to every day. He’ll talk to you even though you’re asleep, telling you about his day, but eventually he’ll start to spill out the most heartwarming compliments about you - ones that he couldn’t say to your face without getting embarrassed. 

[youngerfrankenstein]

Please let this be the last one, I want to pretend I still have dignity.

[hsslilly-blog]

hollywood u never specified what addison’s mother is sick with, or if it’s terminal; just that she’s really sick, right? rather, that she has been really sick (for a while). personally, i’ve always read it as if it were terminal. lmao not surprising. anyway you know what that means *hits her with dead parent beam*

[saetoru]

Tee…

I’m now on my hands and knees BEGGING for bully Gojo who is (secretly) DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE over the reader PLEASE ANY CRUMBS I WILL TAKE

(you don’t actually have to write this it was just a nice thought)

idkkkkk if it’s rly bully gojo—but he’s definitely a real cunt for sure.

i just think about an asshole! gojo a lot like he’s ur lab partners or something and he does that stereotypical jerk move where he’s like “seriously ?? her ??” when he’s first paired with you. and he’s just naturally an douche, yk ?? wears sunglasses indoors and makes jokes at the professors expense under his breath that gets him snickers and snorts from his frat guys in his class. has to be asked more than once to “please keep it down in the middle of class” by wtv prof he’s in class with.

and he ofc makes u do all the work bc he can’t be bothered—and on the rare occasion that he is bothered, he just does a poor job that’s the bare minimum and sloppy enough that ur like wtv i’ll just do it myself. and then ofc sometimes u don’t have a choice but to meet up to finish something after class every now and then—he wouldn’t care to, but he actually needs to know the stuff for the final report he has to write individually, so he begrudgingly meets up with you, and sometimes you notice his friends give you an amused look when he walks up with them. they snicker before they leave as he sits with you. sometimes they make a snide comment here and there like “have fun with ur super hot date” that makes him roll his eyes—he doesn’t do much to hide the look of distaste on his face.

but then—and he doesn’t even know when it happens—you start to slowly grow on him. because ur actually pretty snarky urself, sometimes making a dry comment here and there about the professor and his stupid bald headed self. sometimes a girl in the distance laughs too hard a group of guys that u roll ur eyes and mumble how “if i had a voice like that i’d never laugh in public” and it makes him snort a bit without meaning to. sometimes you stare daggers at the person who has their music so loud thru their headphones they can’t help but notice u and turn it down in embarrassment. ur actually not as much of a pushover as he thought—you just genuinely think he’s too incapable to help u out that you’ve just shrugged him off and started doing his part. it’s an easy weekly lab class anyway, you don’t need him—and then he realizes that u rly just don’t care for him. his little snickers at u with his friends and their snide comments roll off ur back bc well…he’s him—an asshole little frat boy and u didn’t expect anything better from him. so it makes him a little intrigued—maybe a little wounded in his pride, deep down, because no one has ever been indifferent to him before. they’re either madly in love, or they hate his guts, or they follow his lead. either works—he still gets the attention he craves.

but u just don’t rly care. and ur actually pretty cool, and kinda sorta funny in a way no one else is. he likes it…and fuck, now he’s starting to like you. he can tell bc when his friends ask how his little date with you went, he starts getting a bit huffy ab it bc they don’t need to talk about you. they don’t even know you…but also….its not a date. and that’s the worst part. sometimes it feels like a date. almost—sometimes you both decide to take a break in between and go get a coffee or a light snack. sometimes he’s even paid (to which you look mildly shocked before politely thanking him) and you both walk back to the library while u make light banter and it’s…well, fun. and nice. and your laugh is pretty. and your smile is kinda cute and he (though he hates to admit it) rly likes it when u laugh because of him.

and then things start to get messy—really, he didn’t mean for it to start this way. he really was meaning to ask you in a genuine manner to see u again once the semester was finished. because he’s actually started pulling his weight—he wants u to see him for someone who’s smart. satoru is actually rly rly smart and no one knows it because he doesn’t rly show it but he is. he wants u to see that side of him—somehow there’s some sick validation he rly needs from you knowing he’s not a dense frat guy who drinks and fucks until 3 am every night. so he starts doing his parts and actually communicates with u about sections. so starts ur texting routine—sometimes a little longer than u rly need to for just doing a lab together. sometimes it’s “did u hear ab that girl in our class getting dumped in front of the kfc ??” and sometimes it’s “god our prof rly needs to get some pussy” and other times it’s “look what the guy who sits behind us just posted on his story” and it leads to a few long convos that admittedly…are rly fun. ur so fun. he likes it. he rly does like u and he thinks maybe….maybe he’s grown on u too and you know what ?? satoru’s always a jerk but ur nice and who’s to say he can’t be nice too ?? just for one person. for u, he can be a nice guy—u carried lab all on ur own long enough that u deserve it anyway.

until he gets swayed in that way only a coward can. in that way you do when ur used to being “the man” around ur friends and ur too pressured to keep up that energy for appearances sake bc u don’t wanna be the laughing stock who softened up for “some nerdy chick who’s a nobody.” so he laughs when they laugh at the fact that ur probably “still a virgin who’s never touched a guy before” and then they’re patting gojo on the back and shoving at his shoulder as they laugh harder and suggest that “y’know what would be so funny man ?? if u took her virginity. you could probably do it.”

the thought is sickening because…satoru wouldn’t want to fuck you like that. god, you have him caring about when and how he fucks you—in fact, just thinking about you lewdly makes him feel guilty. disrespectful, even. you’re more than a fleshlight for his dick. since when did he become so respectful ?? but he doesn’t know how to say no, especially when everyone starts agreeing one after the other—and oh no, now they’re betting on how quickly he can do it….and oh, now it’s not just fucking. now it’s “how long until you think she’s head over heels for you? man, that would be a sight, huh ??”

and….well, satoru decides it couldn’t hurt, right ?? he does want to be romantically involved so that would include you being head over heels. hopefully. fingers crossed. and he doesn’t rly want to seem lame in front of the guys either, so he gets to keep both sides of the coin, so is it really that bad ?? maybe not the right idea but certainly the right execution. he’ll treat you well—that much he’s confident of. so he forces out a laugh and says “gimme a month or two, you’ll see.”

and a month or two they give him. and a month or two it takes—but not for you to be head over heels. it’s him who’s utterly and completely obsessed and fallen head first and whatever else they say to describe love because wow. this must be what it is. this must be that stupid fairytale shit they always talk about because fuck, no one has ever looked at him like that. like he’s some miracle to this earth and some wonder only you know of—like you hope it stays that way and that he’s yours and yours alone and no one else comes in to take him away. satoru really likes being yours, it kinda feels better than you being his. being yours means you hold him like that at night and wake him up to a kiss between his brows and sometimes, when he gets those migraines he’s prone to getting, you always seem to know. always seem to understand when to close the blinds and keep quiet and wrap him up in the covers as you rub your thumbs over his temples soothingly.

he almost forgets about that silly little bet he made two months ago when he’s around you. actually, he forgets everything when he’s around you. he’s only ever thinking about you, you, you. when he comes back to his frat house, on the other hand, they’re all gathered around waiting for the newest details. how you must’ve been so pathetically star struck by him. how you must be embarrassingly bad at kissing. how you must stutter over every other word around him. how you must be making a complete and utter fool of urself trying to impress him and be someone you’re not bc the real you would never pique his interest.

they’re wrong ofc. if anyone’s star struck, it’s satoru bc how the hell are u so…cool ?? and so funny and witty and carefree ?? and you’re good at kissing—have him chasing your lips with a whine every time. sometimes you even chuckle at him when he does and make him blush a bit. he’s the one who stutters over his words when he sees you in your little date night outfits. sometimes he watches you drink from your straw and his brain short circuits a little until you snap at him and ask him in confusion if he’s alright. but the real kicker ?? it’s that if anyone’s pretending, it’s satoru. you’re always just you—unapologetically so, that it’s endearing and beautiful and so unearthly he wonders how he got so lucky. but him ?? he’s always acting like some guy he’s not. some chivalrous guy who opens doors and pushes out seats and kisses the back of hands and waits at least a few dates before even considering fucking. some nice, sweet, genuine guy who’s deserving.

he’s not that—never was. if you knew the real him, you’d leave in a heartbeat. it’s a scary thought. a raw feeling he doesn’t like. makes him feel all self conscious and insecure and all that weird shit he never thought he’d feel.

he tries. so hard, he tries to make them forget about that silly little bet and just slowly drop it and maybe even forget ur dating so he can just stay living this peaceful little fantasy with you—but that’s stupid. that’s naive. it’s been 4 months and enough is enough—the guys need to see the look on ur face when u realize what a fool ur being and satoru is “being a lazy ass who’s too comfortable not having for work for pussy these days.” so then there’s a video going around. it’s everyone gathered around on the couch drunk and talking about you. and satoru. you both, in fact. how it’s been two months and u seem desperate for his attention with the shrill little voice you use to call him toru, baby! it’s so, so fucking embarrassing, they say. how you think he likes it. (he does. god he does so much, it hurts. he loves it, actually, when you call him that. makes him feel special in a way he never has.) but then, the worst, most disgustingly nauseous part of the whole thing is when satoru laughs along and plays into their awful words. just lets them talk about you like you’re some piece of meat. something for him to chew up and spit out after he has a taste or you. not even worth savoring and enjoying. he laughs along and agrees—you’re nothing special and he can’t wait until he’s free of you.

that part hurts. that part sucks the most—when he acts like he didn’t tremble under your touch every time you kissed him. like he didn’t beg you to stay just five more minutes! before walking out the door to go home. he acts one way in front of you and one way in front of them and what’s worse ?? you don’t know which one is real. couldn’t tell even if your life was on the line to decide. because there’s no way he’s that good at pretending to be desperately in love, no fucking way. but there’s also no way he can be in love if he’s talking about you like that. that’s not what love is—that’s not what love feels like. that’s not what it means to someone.

you don’t know which satoru is the real one, but you know that neither is worth your time. not if he can’t stick to it.

it’s terrible thing—the way you break up. it’s messy and teary and he’s begging, he’s actually begging. he never thought he’d do that. but he doesn’t even hesitate to plead for you to hear him out. baby, please let me explain. wait, please don’t walk away—please just listen! i can explain.

he can’t explain, though when you as him to. stands there with a bitten bottom lip and teary eyes that are pleading you to just stay with him. to overlook this and just … ignore it like it’s nothing. like what he did and said was just nothing and you can shrug it off like you’re nothing too. like your feelings are nothing and so is your worth and that’s why you should just ignore the way he absolutely destroyed your pride and reputation and dignity and worse….every ounce of your love.

such deep, raw, pure love—it’s almost enough to heal every dry crack and crevice of this earth and bring it back to life.

you look at him with teary eyes and something so broken, it makes him feel like dirt beneath your feet.

“it’s embarrassing, satoru,” you hiss that night through tears, “you’re in your twenties getting a degree and you’re still just a high school bully. life’s really gonna kick you in the ass some day.”

life’s already kicking him in the ass as soon as you walk out. the air is colder. the world is dimmer. food doesn’t taste as good and fuck—there is just so much loneliness when you have no one to be yourself with. when there’s no you.

but he supposes you’re right though—he is just a bully. it’s pathetic, really. and maybe it’s for the best. maybe you don’t deserve someone who’s only ever known how to feel good because someone else doesn’t.

[steveseddie]

happily ever after

written for the @steddiebingo kissing booth mini event | prompt: happy ending | rating: t | wc: 1,7k | no cw | tags: pre-relationship, oblivious steve, dungeons & dragons, love confessions

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know when it happens but at some point, he stops hating Dungeons & Dragons.

He still calls it anything but its actual name to the kids’ faces, and he still bitches and moans about having to drive them to and from their stupid meetings, but he can admit that he kind of likes it, at least to himself.

Definitely not enough to play it. He still believes there’s way too much math involved and he gets a headache just thinking about memorizing an entire character sheet, but he does enjoy it enough to sit and watch the kids and Eddie play.

Eddie is also probably a big part of why Steve started liking it. He has a way of making everything interesting. His voices, the way he insists on randomly jumping on his chair or shooting up to his feet, and the twists and turns he weaves into a story so expertly.

There’s also the fact that Steve is head over heels for him and sitting through one of their games is the perfect excuse to stare at him all he wants.

Realistically, he can’t be at every one of them. He has a job and a tiny shred of reputation to maintain. He can’t be seen dedicating all his free time to a game for nerds.

He can, however, dedicate his Friday night to it when Eddie invites him over for the big finale of their latest campaign.

“It’s going to be great, Stevie, I’m telling you!” Eddie says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You can’t miss it!”

“I won’t, Eds, I promise,” Steve tells him, trying not to show just how easy it is for Eddie to get him to agree to anything.

The big finale does end up being great. The kids spend the whole time sitting at the edge of their seats and Eddie delivers twist after twist until finally the legendary sword is found, the kingdom is saved and everyone lives happily ever after.

Or maybe not everyone.

There’s something that stays with Steve even after Eddie dramatically announces it’s the end, but he doesn’t get to ask him about it until two days later when they’re hanging out at the trailer.

Steve is sprawled on the bed, leafing through a sports magazine he swiped from Wayne’s stuff and Eddie is pretending to organize his desk. In reality, he’s spent the last twenty minutes playing with a rubber ball he found among his things.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve says just as Eddie throws the ball toward the ceiling. He turns his attention to Steve and forgets about the ball, which bounces against his face.

“Ow! Shit!” He swears, rubbing at his eye. Steve stifles his laughter behind the magazine. “What’s– what’s up, Stevie?”

“Can I ask you a question about Dorks & Dweebs?”

At that, Eddie snaps to attention. His eyes are wide and one of them is a little red from the ball hitting it. “Steve Harrington, did you just say you want to ask me about Dungeons & Dragons?”

“I said Dorks & Dweebs, but yes.”

“I don’t even care that you refuse to call it by the proper name,” Eddie chuckles disbelievingly, then he jumps to his feet and joins Steve on the bed, a big grin on his face. “Holy shit, yes! Of course, ask me anything you want!”

Steve can’t help but chuckle at Eddie’s excitement. The way he rests his chin on his hands and stares expectantly at Steve like this is the most amazing thing to happen to him. It’s very cute. “Okay, you weirdo,” he says, his voice dripping with fondness. “At the end of your last game–���

“Campaign.”

Steve waves him off. “At the end of that, what happened to the singer guy? The bard? Uh, Everard?”

Tilting his head, Eddie asks, “What?”

“You know, the– the guy that helped the kids– uh, the party find the legendary sword. The EMT or whatever.”

Eddie’s mouth twitches amusedly. “The NPC.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well,” he says, scratching his head. “He died.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he got mauled by carrion crawlers, Steve.”

“You got mauled by bats and you lived!” Steve argues. Eddie’s nose scrunches up, most likely at the mention of his near death. “Couldn’t one of the kids have used like, a healing spell or something?”

Eddie taps his lip with his finger, thinking it over. Steve can’t help but follow the movement with his eyes.

“I guess they could but– he’s not important, man, he’s just there to help them find the sword.”

Steve averts his eyes from Eddie’s lips and crosses his arms over his chest. “If he’s not important then it doesn’t matter if he lives, right?”

“Okay, sure,” he snorts. “He can live if you like him so much.”

“Good,” Steve says, nodding. Eddie rolls onto his back, probably assuming the conversation is over but there’s something else Steve has been wondering about. “Does he go back to the princess?”

Eddie’s whole body visibly tenses up. “W–what?”

“Everard is in love with Princess Soliana, right? Does he tell her?”

“No,” Eddie says, his voice sharp.

“Why not?”

Eddie groans, sitting up on the bed so he’s facing away from Steve. “Because that’s not relevant to the campaign!”

“It’s relevant to me,” Steve huffs stubbornly.

“Why?”

Because Steve is a romantic and from the first time Eddie mentioned this NPC or whatever, Steve felt drawn to him for some reason. It might sound stupid, he’s just a character after all, but Steve wants him to be happy. “Because Everard loves her.”

“So?” Eddie snaps, “there are things even love can’t fix.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “In real life, maybe, but in fantasy, man? Anything can happen.”

“That can’t,” he grumbles. He still won’t face Steve, his shoulders hunched over.

“But why?”

“Because!” Eddie snaps, finally turning around. His face is pinched, his lips pursed. “Bards don’t marry princesses, Steve!”

“Says who?”

“Me, and I’m the DM so I make the rules.”

“Which means you can change them, give them a happy ending!”

Eddie drags his hands down his face. “There’s no happy ending for Everard, Steve. He knows that. He’s not the hero who gets the princess, he’s the sorry son of a bitch who almost dies. Even if he lives, he won’t do it. He won’t risk the friend– the kingdom when he knows the princess doesn’t love him back.” He says all of that through gritted teeth, and his voice sounds sad like– like he knows what he’s talking about.

“She’s royalty, Steve. She’s beautiful, she’s brave,” Eddie goes on, his eyes boring into Steve with an intensity that makes him shiver. “And he’s– he’s no one and he’s broken and– and scarred, and–-”

“You,” Steve whispers as the realization hits. “He’s you.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut. He gulps, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t. Now that Steve knows it’s so obvious. The similar name, Everard’s funny and flirty personality, the way he joins the party later in the campaign, and how he’s mauled by creatures trying to save them.

And if that’s Eddie then–

“The princess is me.”

Eddie lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Finally caught on, didn’t you, Stevie?”

“You– you based those characters off of us?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “But you killed Everard.”

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, well. I took some liberties, I didn’t want to make it too obvious, you know? And I did die for like a couple of minutes, so–”

“But the part about Everard being in love with the princess. Did you take liberties with that?” Steve asks quietly, holding his breath as he waits for Eddie’s answer.

“No,” he says, ducking his head, his hair falling over his face. “That part was accurate.”

The admission makes Steve’s heart try to beat out of his chest. “You– you love me?” He asks with a shaky voice.

“I do,” Eddie says, his big doe eyes finally meeting Steve’s gaze. “But I meant what I said. Everard wouldn’t risk anything, not when I know– when he knows you– the princess doesn’t want him.”

Eddie’s eyes are sad and pleading, like he’s begging Steve not to be mad at him. But Steve is mad. Just not for the reason that Eddie thinks.

“You don’t know that,” he says, frowning.

“I told you–”

“You told me what Everard thinks, now let me tell you what the princess thinks,” Steve says, shutting Eddie up. “She doesn’t think Everard is broken, she thinks he’s strong. He might be scarred, but so is she. And– and he’s beautiful too! Maybe she never thought she could fall in love with a guy– with someone like him but she loves him, Eddie.” He reaches for Eddie’s hand on the bed. It’s shaking. Steve squeezes it. “And I love you.”

Eddie’s jaw goes slack. “Steve–”

“That’s Princess Soliana for you,” Steve tells him, trying to lighten the mood.

It works. A joyful, high-pitched laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he agrees with a giddy chuckle. “I– did you– do you mean it?”

Another squeeze. “Of course, Eds.”

With his free hand, Eddie grabs a lock of his own hair and tugs it across his face to try and hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks and that just won’t do. Steve uses his hand to tuck the hair back behind Eddie’s ear. “So, now that Everard knows this, what’s he going to do?”

Eddie doesn’t even need to think about it. His eyes instantly dart down to Steve’s mouth. “He’s going to kiss the princess,” he says, his jaw set in determination.

Warmth shoots through Steve’s body, the corners of his mouth curl upwards. “Good,” he says, and then Eddie is pulling him in by his shirt, their lips crashing together in a kiss. Steve’s hand finds its way to the back of Eddie’s neck so he can keep him in place, kissing him back for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes.

“I guess– hmph, I guess Everard did get his happy ending after all,” Eddie mumbles against Steve’s lips after some time. “And so did I.”

Steve’s face splits into a grin. “Nah, Eds, this might be the end for them,” he says, pushing at Eddie’s shoulders until his back hits the bed and he can climb on top of him. “For us, it’s only the beginning.”

[cazshmere]

Some of my favorite synastry aspects and house overlays that I’ve experienced <3

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER: These are just my personal observations and are meant for entertainment purposes only; it may not resonate with everyone due to the nuances of astrology. Please respect my work and avoid copying or stealing it. Enjoy reading!! 🎀✨

🎀 mercury trine mercury synastry - OMG mercury synastry is SO SO important when it comes to both friendships and relationships. I have a sag mercury and whenever I talk to other fire sign mercury’s, I feel SO heard and seen fr😭, they genuinely match my freak (mentally). Not a single dull moment with these people 🤣🫶🏻

🎀 mars in the 1st house synastry (esp when I’m the house person) - okay now HEAR ME OUT😭🙏, yes the mars person can be super ANNOYING but for some reason I enjoyed them annoying me 💀💀💀 does that make sense? It was them irritating me and me pretending to be annoyed but secretly turning away and smiling/blushing cause I lowkey enjoyed it😭👀. Playful bullying core fr

🎀 sun opposite sun synastry - okay this is not everyone’s cup of tea cause it probably depends on the sign but as a sag sun I LOVE gemini sun’s (mostly the women, the men are uh…💀) anyway my best friends are all gemini’s and I absolutely love and adore them🫶🏻🫶🏻😌

🎀 mercury in the 1st house synastry - okay this synastry felt so awkward and comfortable at the same time😭😭. It took ages for me to talk to this person but when we did speak it was sooooooo easy. Also somehow we always accidentally bump into each other or touch each other 💀

🎀 mercury in the 6th house synastry - there’s something very comforting in knowing that this person will be consistent in your life. Talking to them daily will definitely become a habit and they’re literally a part of your routine and you can feel like your day isn’t complete without talking to them😭🩵

🎀 mercury in the 8th house synastry - oh my this synastry was really really good, the house person understood me inside and out and that was scary and comforting at the same time. I had this with my ex and he knew me a bit TOO well which got concerning honestly 💀💀. But either way I could happily express my point of view and never feel stupid or dumb to share stuff with him and he always understood and reciprocated my energy.

🎀 mars opposite moon synastry - goddamn😭 this synastry is spicy for sure🥵👀. Lot of banter and arguments for “fun” (I blame my aries moon for enjoying this synastry lol). I had this with one of my classmates and he would try to tease and annoy me for no reason, we always butted heads💀. Also there’s a lot of jealousy involved in this synastry but hey it was exciting so🤭😋

🎀 venus trine mars synastry - come on everyone knows how attractive this synastry is! trines are obviously not as intense but the attraction is OBVIOUS, you can’t NOT notice each other! Lots of eye contact too😋. They might not be your usual type but you still find them attractive nonetheless 🤭👀

should I post my least favourite synastry aspects and overlays next?😋 lmk

pic and banner credits : @/heavenurl

© cazshmere 2024 [All Rights Reserved]

[pressureplus]

this blog is the goat i love it sm :) totally get if it's too much but i'd love drunk seb headcanons. thnx ❤️

LOVELY, YOUVE GOT THE BIGGEST BRAIN ANON /POS

♡Drunk Sebastian Solace Headcannons♡

Warnings: Intoxication, Warnings to not Fuck The Fish™️, Brief Sexual Content

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

First off, getting him drunk isn’t gonna be easy

His body is significantly bigger so it’ll take a lot more alcohol than a normal human person

That and he could already hold his drinks well, so it’ll take some work to get that man actually drunk instead of just buzzed

Don’t try to match him drink for drink, you WILL die of alcohol poisoning unless you’re an alcoholic

Which wouldn’t matter he’d still out drink you based on weight/size alone, so I guess try not to die is the only goal?

Doesn’t feel comfortable drunk around most people unless you’re BOTH that kind of tipsy or he’s already close with you

When you do actually get him drunk?

The flirtiest, giggliest drunk you’re ever met

Sebastian will laugh at literally everything, it makes him so much easier to talk with

The world is sunshine and rainbows as long as he’s really fucked up

Honestly? He deserves it. He’ll smile at you so softly and actually fully listen when you talk. Maybe he’s not the brightest, or most talkative, but he has weirdly good advice

Though he is super giggly and playful, he does flirt

Usually they’re kind of fun. They’re not meant to really invoke any real feelings

“Hey there hot stuff, you lookin for a chair?” As he pats a portion of his tail.

He WILL forget that he flirted with you later, so don’t try to corner him on it as some kind of gotcha moment. He won’t believe you.

It also doesn’t reflect his feelings entirely…well unless he really likes you.

He’ll get a bit tongue tied and may even let it slip that he thinks you’re just gorgeous

His flirting gets very personal if he has a thing for you, but it’s less frequent because the man is too busy squirming from just sitting with you

Think flustered school girl energy

If he likes you he will do ANYTHING you ask

Please don’t try to fuck the fish, he isn’t very smart and he’s not gonna be able to top you

You’d have to do 100% of the work, and he wouldn’t remember most of it tomorrow anyway

He will probably just fall into a fit of giggles at the offer, honestly, so the likelihood of it happening is like nothing

So unless you’re both so drunk you’re not thinking straight? Don’t do it. Dont even try it.

If he doesn’t like you in that way? You might actually die for attempting it. It’s not worth it.

Speaking of not worth it, that man loses so much motor function. His tail is apparently weirdly hard to control all the way

Will prefer to just sit with you and not go anywhere as he will not have the control necessary to do damn near anything

He tried only once to go do something while really fucked up

Stupid fishman got stuck in a vent for a few hours

Worst experience of his life, (drunk fishman claims) he would never ever do it again

He’s the kind of man that sings when he’s drunk too, but only if you do it with him. He mimics like a parrot.

Or if you manage to play songs with him somehow, he might sing them if he vibes with or knows the song

Get a man to sing your favorite songs horribly at an octave that outright hurts

Idk something like California Girls by Katy Perry? Have fun with it

He can’t exactly dance really well but he might do a fun little shimmy if the music pleases him enough

Have fun doing your shared little dances, drinking to forget (always remembering), and laughing about nonsense

I’m sure, as long as you get him something strong and a whole lot of it

The both of you will get along fine!

After all, he likes people that get him gifts like this a little more

[seijorhi]

Violent Delights

for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)

M I N E

It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.

The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.

But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.

Mine. 

Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink. 

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation. 

Something you missed. 

Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with. 

You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–

The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.

Mine. 

The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain. 

Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name. 

You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you. 

They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours. 

“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.

Open the damn door. 

“Y-yeah?”

Coward.

“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”

Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy. 

Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.

The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ‘cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.

It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all. 

“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.

With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds. 

Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–

“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?” 

Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach. 

One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you  admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.

The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on. 

The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you. 

“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak. 

A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”

“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.” 

“And the other two?” 

“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out. 

They’re gone. 

You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts. 

Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.

He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”

A wordless, wide eyed nod. 

“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”

This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud. 

Your fault. 

Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter. 

You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you. 

“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–” 

MINE.

Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles. 

For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair. 

(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.) 

“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”

“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”

And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.

You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.

“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”

You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,” 

His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot. 

“Bullied?” he probes. 

Another nod. 

“How ‘bout family?”

Your mouth dries.

“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out. 

You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact. 

“Siblings?”

Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms. 

Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.

“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.” 

You don’t talk about your brother, ever.

Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe. 

“How old were you?”

Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming. 

“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”

Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop. 

When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”

There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you. 

“What did I fucking tell you?”  

—

‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’

They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind. 

Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you. 

Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino. 

Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes. 

Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’

You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.

For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends. 

Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend. 

You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground. 

‘She’s MINE!’

Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy. 

With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.

He stops for you. 

At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.

—

‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’

‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’

‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’

‘… He says he misses me.’

‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’

‘I want to write back to him.’

—

There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.

You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day. 

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”

You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is. 

The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice. 

So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;

He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?

The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together. 

—

‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’

Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that. 

He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably. 

They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.

You’ve sent four letters since, no response. 

He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.

You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb– 

No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.

It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.

You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness. 

He never writes back.

—

They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.

There was another fight, someone pushed him–

You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.

Hajime is gone.

The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–

Yours. A part of you. 

Gone.

And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period. 

—

“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine. 

He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.

His lips are mere inches from yours. 

Not dead. 

Here.

There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.

You burst into tears–

and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.

The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.

He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.

“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’

She hadn’t sounded convinced. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”

When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.

Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.

“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.  

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.

“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.

Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you. 

You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.

Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely. 

(Are you not already broken?)

When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”

But that’s a lie, too.

“I love you more than anything.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.

There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears. 

But you don’t look away.

He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip –  crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine. 

Devotion demands sacrifice. 

“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”

What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.

“I didn’t–”

The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat. 

He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh. 

There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.

The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”

And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn. 

When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability. 

Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand. 

He’d never allow anything less.

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 3

Masterpost - Ao3

Content warning: This chapter involves depiction of a train derailment and subsequent fire throughout. There is also brief mention of death. I will be putting a brief summary in the description if you prefer not to read this part.

Danny jolts up from his fitful sleep. He’s intangible and invisible before he’s even fully sitting up and he’s in the air before he registers the loud boom that woke him. Any concerns about his bright transformation are made totally irrelevant by the warning sirens blaring in his head.

Wait, no. Those are real sirens.

In the distance, lights are now accompanying the sirens; flashing as they speed down what looks like main street. It’s pretty clear where they’re going too, from the violent orange glow cascading over the tops of the nearby buildings.

I knew it, Danny thinks, flying towards whatever disaster is unfolding. probably it’s stupid to get involved, when he still knows so little about this place, but- well, old habits die hard. It doesn’t take long for the problem to become obvious, and Danny freezes as he struggles to process the scene before him.

The metal carnage is nothing like Danny’s ever seen before; what looks to be a freight train has derailed at the worst possible location, sending its cars careening into the various apartment buildings and stores on the east side of town, and to make matters worse, one of them has clearly crashed straight into the gas station by the freeway, and fire is spreading faster than Danny could have imagined.

Danny can already see two buildings blazing, but he quickly focuses his attention towards the carnage of the train itself. Luckily it’s fairly obvious what direction it was headed, and Danny moves fast, looking for the engine. In ghost form, physical sensations always feel a little more distant but even through that, Danny can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest. Luckily it takes less than a minute to find the engine, but as he approaches it, the presence of death catches in his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a lost cause.

He can’t sense any actual ghosts, though, so instead Danny whips around to stare at the derailed cars. He’s far more used to fighting than he is rescues, but he can hardly just ignore the possibility of people trapped, so he carefully begins phasing through the wreckage, searching and listening for signs of anyone. Already, people are starting to gather outside; both those who were nearby and those who have managed to escape on their own, and Danny is careful to maintain his invisibility as he works. 

Danny’s made it through about half the wreck by the time he spots the firetrucks arriving, he’s pretty certain that nobody’s trapped under any of the cars, and he’s also thinking more clearly. The fire has also gotten worse now, and Danny watches as fully equipped firefighters spill out onto the street, already jumping to work as the fire chief shouts out orders. Some rush to start battling the flames, but others head towards the crowd.

They’re getting headcounts, Danny realizes. It seems so obvious in retrospect, but of course, Danny would have to be visible to check with anyone. And now that they’re here, anything he tries to do in secret would probably just make things harder. There is, of course, an easy solution to that, but- Danny has yet to find any evidence that all the meta stuff is anything but propaganda.

Even as Danny considers the dilemma, he knows what he’s going to do. He’s survived danger before, after all, and if he can keep people from assuming ghost, then he’ll have an advantage on them even if it comes to the worst. Besides, there’s that whole great powers-great responsibility thing, so in a way, it’s kind of his responsibility...

Danny floats out of the wreckage before shifting into visibility, figuring it’s probably polite to approach in their field of sight.

“What can I do to help?” Danny asks, causing most of the crowd to stare in shock. Belatedly he realizes he’s still floating, but actually that’s probably a good thing. Makes it clear he’s a meta right off the bat, at least

“New hero, huh? Powerset?” The man responds promptly, leveling Danny with an even gaze. Probably the lack of shock is a good thing. Probably.

“Uh, flight obviously, enhanced strength as well, and um... The ability to turn people and things intangible?” Danny responds promptly. It’s far from his full set, but he figures those are the most relevant, and keeping most of his tricks under his sleeve makes him feel better about what he’s doing.

“Is the fire gonna hurt you? I’m not sending some kid in there to die of third degree burns or smoke inhalation.” The man frowns, giving Danny the distinct feeling he’s not particularly impressed with Danny’s answer.

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’ll be fine! I like, don’t exactly need to breathe? And I’m fine in extreme heat too, so it shouldn’t be a problem...” Danny trails off and the head firefighter narrows his eyes as he tries not to flinch at the assessing look. To Danny’s right, someone shouts and when he turns to look, he sees a firefighter wave their arm and plant some kind of flag before moving on. No longer paying attention to Danny, the chief walks over and speaks to another firefighter. Danny wonders if he’s been dismissed, but before he can do anything, the chief calls out to him.

“Alright kid, you’re up, I guess,” he says, when Danny walks over. “We don’t know how injured he is, so do not move him, but if you’re strong enough to move this stuff fast and safe, that’ll be a damn good help.” He gestures to the twisted mess that Danny’s pretty sure was the edge of a building. 

Danny nods, stepping forward to examine the rubble. The firefighter that spotted the man points to a couple beams.

“Those beams are protecting him from the worst of it right now, but we’ll need to move them in order to get him out, so you gotta make sure that there’s nothing that’ll fall on him him when you move them.” 

“Righty-o,” Danny says, stepping forward to grab the two support beams he’d pointed too. He carefully examines the rubble collapsed around and over it. It’s sort of like a puzzle, he realizes - not quite the same as fixing his parents tech; certainly nothing here is supposed to be smashed together like that, but-

Danny blinks and refocuses. If he  just moves a few things first, he thinks he can get enough cleared away and just intange the beams. He tries to be fast as he does, without forgetting the emphasis the chief had put on safety, and after a few moments, he’s ready to move the beams. He gets into a good position, and then carefully makes them intangible, ready to react if anything bad happens. When nothing does, he carefully pulls them up and away, watching as the waiting firefighters rush in and start to work on actually extracting the guy.

He watches for a bit as a backboard appears and they begin a very slow and careful process of getting the guy onto it.

“Kid,” the chief calls, pulling Danny’s attention away.The chief guides him towards one of the buildings that’s on fire. “Got two people trapped on the third floor here. The stairs are unsafe, so if you can, get yourself up there, locate them, and get them out.”

Danny nods, not waiting for further instruction. He flies up two floors, and goes straight through the wall with his intangibility. The majority of this building isn’t terribly damaged, but one side has collapsed in on itself so if that’s where the stairs were, he can understand the difficulty. The air inside is already thick with smoke, and he quickly stops breathing, belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to not get smoke inhalation. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to catch the sound of voices, and Danny follows it to a room where two people are huddled next to an open window. Right, that’s a smart way to limit the danger of the smoke.

“Rides here!” Danny announces cheerfully, dropping his intangibility. Both people startle as they spot him, but one recovers relatively quickly.

“Him first,” they say, nodding towards their companion, who definitely looks more dazed.

“Right, here we go!” Danny says, stepping forward, and scooping the person up, and wasting no time flying directly through the building, and down to the waiting paramedics. There’s no stretcher currently available, so Danny gently sets them on the ground away from the worst of the smoke, before flying back to get the other person. They’re already standing up, and waste no time in wrapping their arms around his neck as he picks them up and flies them out to the medics as well.

Danny hardly has time to set the person down, before the chief is pulling him away again. They send him in to save a couple other trapped people, but after that, it sounds like everybody is accounted for, because the chief starts focusing all their energy on putting out the fire, rather than just containing it.

Danny is surprised to find himself pulled into helping with this part too. He gets assigned to a fire attack team, and Danny trails along after the two firefighters as the enter the building and begin to fight the fire from the inside.Occasionally, one of them will point at some piece of wall or ceiling and ask him to check what’s on the other side. He goes where they say, looking for signs of the fire, and when he does spot flames, occasionally tearing stuff down so they can get to it with their fire hose. It’s honestly a fascinating process. Danny’s never been anywhere near a major fire and the fact that the firefighters actually do more damage to the building as they work echoes in Danny’s brain as a morbid refrain.

What they’re doing is clearly working though, because he can actually feel the ambient temperature going down as time goes on. He briefly wonders if he should be trying to use his ice powers when one of his teammates complains about how hot it is, but they have protection, and he doesn’t want to risk any more info on him getting out. And anyways, he’s busy enough just doing his job. By the time they leave the building, Danny is exhausted. The interrupted night’s sleep is making itself known, alongside the surprising realization that Danny has actually worked harder tonight than he ever has before.

He lets himself half-collapse against a wall beside one of the fire trucks, once they finish their work putting out the fire. Beside him, his teammates are divesting themselves of their gear. it’s funny, Danny was anxious about revealing himself at first, but this whole night - and Danny belatedly realizes the sun is beginning to drift above the horizon now - he’s not been scared at all. Sure he’s been worried; with people in danger he’s hardly going to feel good, but in the last few hours he’s both worked harder than he has in any of his fights, and he’s done it without feeling terrible. Now, with just everyone accounted for and just about all of them either fine or in the hands of doctors, he feels odd.

It’s not a bad feeling or anything, kind of like when he successfully beats a hard level in a video game, or how he used to feel when he finished science projects in middle school.

Satisfaction, he realizes. And that’s what it is, though it’s far stronger than any version of it that he’s ever felt before. He does have a lot to feel proud of too. He  helped, even though he wasn’t sure it was safe to, and he might’ve actually saved somebody’s life tonight.

“You did good, kid.” One of his teammates says, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He startles a bit, feels himself flushing, and then in his embarrassment, he feels himself tumble over into a full blush. It’s always felt more embarrassing blushing in his ghost form. The way his skin actually glows with the green tinge is just so obviously inhuman, and he tries to avoid, tries his best to seem normal and alive, even when he’s a ghost.

Of course, these people don’t know he’s a ghost, but from what he’s seen, most of the heroes out there at least look functionally human, and he waits for the firefighters around him to freak out at the reminder that he isn’t even remotely one of them.

“Damn,” one whistles. Green glow is a new one. Makes your freckles real cute though.” The others laugh, and the other of his teammates steps forward to pat him gently on the back.

“Stop embarrassing my new favorite hero,” the chief says, walking up to join them. “You gotta name?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Danny answers, desperate for a distraction from this line of conversation. “I’m Danny!”

“Danny,” the chief responds flatly. he almost sounds exasperated, though Danny can’t imagine why, unless...

Unless that absolutely sounds like he just introduced himself normal and they think he’s a hero and he sounds like a dumbass without a secret identity, which- technically isn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yup!” Danny says, trying to make it sound intentional. “Danny Phantom at your service! Y’know cause of the intangibility and like. It just sounded good?” There. That sounds plausible. If he actually does end up having to be a hero, though, he’ll probably need a different first name. If he gets a civilian identity, that is.

“Well, Phantom,” the chief grins, that same assessing look from before back, but noticeably more relaxed now that there’s no immediate danger. “We’re damn grateful for all your help, and if you need anything you come let us know, alright?”

“Yeah, one of his teammates echoes. “You’re an honorary firefighter now, you should come hang out at the station sometime!” A couple of the others echo the sentiment. It’s surprisingly kind, and Danny smiles at the unrelenting wave of welcome.

“I’ll think about it,” he offers uncertainly. “For now, I think I ought to go back to sleep for a few more hours.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Danny,” the chief says. “Just make sure to get something to eat first. You’ve burned a lot of calories today.”

“Yeah, will do,” Danny offers an awkward salute to the man, and then, before he can actually fall asleep standing up, he takes off to hunt down a good spot for a nap.

[mcondance]

listen…hear me out…i’m imagining stu falling for a real sweet girl but this girl is like yuck i know your reputation playboy and since he’s obsessed with the chase he’s really gunning for it maybe even calling her as ghostface, getting her scared just so stu can swoop in and be like awh poor baby here i’ll keep you safe <3 big mean ghostface can’t get ya when im around

we should form a collaboration. (this got so long anon. i blame you. 18+) this idea has my brain turning like it gets him going so bad to scare you and then be able to come back and be your savior. it appeases the side of him that likes the chase, and the side of him that likes being in control. i think they’re both linked to his need for dominance and his sadistic nature so this is a win win for him.

you know him through sidney’s boyfriend billy, but you’ve never said more than a couple of words to each other outside of the friend group. aware of his reputation, your answer to his question is easy.

you tell him no, that you wouldn’t touch him with a 3-and-a-half foot pole. (he responds in typical stu fashion. he slaps a hand over his chest, expressing how hurt he is by your rejection, a knowing smile etching across his face.)

and so begins the chase. you turn him down over and over again, inviting sidney to the dates he asks you on, saying that the movie he wants to see with you just isn’t your taste— even if he knows he heard you talking to sid about how you wanted to see it just the week before, stupid little excuses to avoid everything he asks you.

he doesn’t mind. your rejections of his advances let him feel the way he does when he’s shrouded in that fearful black cloak, coming up with more and more ways to get you.

he keeps his distance— ghostface, that is. stu doesn’t want to scare you yet. with occasional phone calls that he directs to more people than just you, he lets you off easy, makes it seem like it’s just random.

but he’s getting a little anxious, and he’s always been impatient. he wants you.

billy and sidney are out of town for the weekend. and you’re terrified, more and more people close to you have been turning up dead. you resort to asking stu to stay with you for the weekend.

if he gets you to fuck him while he’s “protecting” you from ghostface? god he’d feel so good. he never forgets his alter ego, the slasher that terrifies your sleepy little town, but playing as your loving, caring little “friend” is fun too. he thinks you’re kinda stupid, to let him stay over at your house under the guise of keeping you safe.

you’d changed into your house clothes when you both got to your house, telling him not to touch anything while you were gone. when you came out he was in a t shirt and shorts, and he looked awfully good.

you’d let him have some of your snacks, throwing a bag of hot chips at him and perching on the other end of the living room sofa. you’d turned on some long ass video essay, and he actually found it sort of interesting, quizzing you on what certain stuff meant before you got tired and wanted to sleep.

he thinks, maybe you do have a thing for him. why else would you let a freak like him stay over? whatever the case may be, he’s here. in your pretty pink and white bedroom, he almost scoffs at the softness of it all.

“‘s cute.”

“yeah. i put blankets and shit on the couch. you sleep there.”

his lanky body barely fits on the small chair, but he knows he won’t be there too long, so he doesn’t complain.

the blanket you gave him smells like you, and he basks in it. your room is silent, for a while. in the darkness, your mind gets to you and you’re so scared even with stu right there.

“stu,” you whisper.

“yeah?”

“can you come sleep over here? i’m scared.”

there it is.

“yeah, ‘f course.” he feigns genuine sympathy, though you’re smarter than that and no matter how hard he tries, there’s always a sliver of depravity peeking through his words.

you scoot from the middle of your bed to the one side, lifting the covers up to let stu take the other side. too terrified to even get smart with him, you welcome him into your bed.

what a terrible mistake you’ve made.

in the light streaming through your windows, he looks gorgeous, blue eyes gazing softly at your worried expression.

“hey,” he starts, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder. you don’t shrink away. you’re frozen. “i got you. promise i’ll keep you safe.”

he’s full of shit. but it works.

“can you just. . just hold me. don’t make it weird.” you scoot closer to him.

“i won’t. come ‘ere.”

shifting, you move until your back is pressed to his front. he wraps his arms around you, cradling you and your fragile psyche in the palm of his hand.

“d’you think he’ll try and come for me?” you ask him.

“i dunno. but i promise i’ll do everything i can t’keep you safe.”

god, he impresses himself sometimes.

“thank you.” you whisper, the words stuck in your throat.

“no problem.” you can feel him looking at you, can see him out of the corner of your eye.

with his arms wrapped around you, all the feelings you’ve gained for him over the past weeks come to a head. he’s warm behind you, and he’s holding you just tight enough.

you twist around to where you can see him, and if you were standing your knees would have buckled from his gaze.

“if i let you kiss me, would you promise not to make it weird?”

“promise.”

“okay,” you breathe. and you kiss him.

what a terrible, terrible mistake you’ve made.

it all goes so fast from there. one kiss turns into many and you’re turning around so you can face him all the way.

he’s got you on your back and his hand down your shorts before you know it. his lithe fingers toy with you, his mouth swallows every single one of your sounds, his body provides you comfort, a distraction from the murderer desecrating your safe town.

you come for him. you make a mess on his fingers, the ones he knows are soaked with blood. he could almost shout from how elated he is to have you wrapped around his fingers.

over you he moves, pulled by his collar on top of you and to your lips again. he wants to be smug about it, to note the lack of 3-and-a-half feet between you two, but he doesn’t.

instead, he kisses you like a normal boy would kiss a girl he liked. instead, he professes his protection when you make him promise again.

instead, he kisses you through the stretch of him entering you. “‘s okay, you got it. doin’ so good.” he could blow his load now, at the sight of you in pain and pleasure, at the sound of your hisses and deep breathes.

he slides home. inches deep inside you and even farther in your mind, he fucks both. he’s done this before, fucked a girl in a show of devotion that she’ll fawn over, a false bridge of vulnerability that he inwardly laughs at. it brings him satisfaction he can only get one other way.

you feel safe. safe as he pushes his hips against yours, his cock kissing and sliding against every electric spot inside you. his hand is warm on your cheek, cupping your face and the other is firm on your hip. you whine with each rock into you, body tingling, ears prickling as he groans in your ear. sounds he’s only ever heard on the other end of the phone.

with slow, calculated moves he makes you come again, and god it feels good. in the back of your mind you’re embarrassed, cause all it took was being afraid for your life and stu got you where you know he wanted you.

but stu’s been in this situation enough times to know what comes next, and how to prevent it. it’s easy, kissing you before you have the chance to keep thinking and fucking you to another orgasm.

it happens again the next night. battered and paranoid, you’re being played into his arms and you don’t even know it. you’re embarrassed about it, but in your clouded mind it feels genuine. it feels like stu really cares. at first it didn’t, but now that he’s still coming around even after he got you in bed, maybe he does care.

sidney comes home and stu goes back to his and billy's place. you think you can calm down with sidney back and stu and billy coming over occasionally. you let stu stay the night in your room sometimes, and he gets what he wants from you again.

your neighbor's killed. what the fuck, when will this end? this time, stu comes over, and he stays. you can't sleep a night without him. you think you're being targeted. the only time you feel peace is when stu's fucking your mind away. you’re reliant on him. in his absence all you feel is fear.

the phone calls continue, and stu’s there to answer them, telling whoever’s on the other end to go fuck themself. again, he plays you into his arms. “don’t think about him. think about me.” he tells you, guiding your face from the phone beside your bed to his, and he lets you close the gap. he likes letting you make the first move. it fills him with pride at his psychotic deception, the way he’s turned you into exactly what you said you’d never be.

he thinks about sneaking out to don the cloak, showing up at your doorstep just to see the horror in your eyes. he resigns to dialing your number when you’re out, calling you and listening to your voice as you realize who’s on the other line. he follows you out sometimes and watches your paranoid moves, blood coursing hot through his body every time you look over your shoulder.

at your house, he comforts you when you crumple into his arms, suggests that maybe, you shouldn’t go anywhere without him. you accept.

god, what have you become. if you’re not full of stu then you’re full of terror, and he takes pleasure being the bearer of both of these things. you belong to him, your thoughts, your body, your feelings, it all belongs to him.

he loves to hear you go over his and billy’s crimes over and over again, lives for the disgust and fear in your voice when you recount the murders. he could probably get off to it, to your sad little words. and at night, he revels in being the only one that can make you feel okay.

you’ve become the perfect victim, and he didn’t even have to flash his knife. maybe he’ll keep you around.

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

Hello! I have a request. Can I have some head canons about how La Squadra would react if you were disrespected by someone? Let’s say their s/o (preferably female) works at a cafe or restaurant and a rude customer throws the money at her, completely expecting her to pick up the bill from the floor (yes, that is a real experience I’ve had, unfortunately).

How would they react? What would they do afterwards or say?

Would really, REALLY appreciate it. Honestly, I wish someone had stood up for me back then.

Author’s note: Hey hey~

Thanks for the request~

Sorry no one stood up for you, what happened to human decency?

And I can totally relate, the entitlement of people is insane. Two days in to my very first job as a cashier I had a customer say some really atrociously awful things to me and I just took it because I didn’t know what else to do and afterwards my managers told me I should’ve called them wow. Like my manager literally wouldn’t repeat what the customer had said because it was so abhorrently inappropriate and disgusting.

So yeah. Respect employees, we’re all human beings here it’s literally so easy to Not be insanely rude.

Interestingly enough I actually had some thoughts on this written in my personal La Squadra notes, particularly in regard to Prosciutto since he gives me lots of thoughts about stuff similar to that, cool that I get to address that heh.

-La Squadra x female reader: When someone disrespects you

Content, PLZ READ: female reader who works as a waitress, discussion of unhealthy and toxic masculinity paired with sexism (Prosciutto), La Squadra is a group of (mostly) pretty aggressive men who act on that feeling so. Some canon compliant aggression, threats, violence and blood. They’re a group of assassins so Lots of Bad men doing bad things. Melone’s slightly perverse tendencies

Various scenarios involving rude customers, including the example in the ask.

Established relationship: dating/married depending on the character

Ok while writing this it’s finally really hitting me how bizarre it’d be to be a non stand user witnessing or experiencing a stand attack-

Reader is aware of stands and that her La Squadra man is a member of the Mafia

And attempts at Italian hopefully it’s correct but if not please lemme know!

Micro fics style

-Formaggio: Out of all the members of La Squadra he’s noticeably much more chill and relaxed than the others. But he’s still a proud member of the Italian Mafia. And you’re his girl. He’s no knight in shining armor or Prince Charming for you, he won’t intervene when there’s an occasional irritable customer giving you a bit of a hard time. He knows you can take care of yourself.

However, if some entitled customer has the audacity to go too far and say or do something Really disrespectful while he’s around, I think he has a preference for good old-fashioned humiliation, and only results to intimidation if they decide they wanna keep making a fool of themselves.

He plays it up like: “ooh, hey, if you wanted that pretty lady’s attention there are much better ways to get it, buddy.”

You don’t have to add anything. You resume work quietly, but keep your eyes and ears focused on him, in case he decided to get carried away.

After a little bit of back and forth with him using his usual coolness and charisma, the offender gets increasingly frustrated and flustered.

When your boyfriend’s finally had enough of this stupid game he stands up from his table. His playfully mocking expression remains, but his smirk shifts ever so slightly into something more sinister. “If you want we could just take this outside,” he says it so casually, with the tone of a man who wasn’t going to hold back if it actually did escalate into a fight. He was not bluffing at all either.

At full height and with the clear confidence that he was absolutely gonna win the fight, the rude customer wisely decides Formaggio was Not someone he wanted to mess with and awkwardly leaves the restaurant, Formaggio loudly exclaiming taunts as the guy skittered away with his tail between his legs.

He seems awfully pleased with himself after “defending your honor” like that. You let him enjoy that feeling, because honestly that was pretty well done and it didn’t get too ugly. He has some nerve expecting a bunch of praise from you for that though.

-Illuso: Someone saying or doing something rude to you is like insulting him as well. And his stand is uniquely qualified for an entertaining punishment against some arrogant idiot giving you a difficult time.

Illuso doesn’t say anything, but when you look over at him while some jerk is screaming his head off at you like it’s your fault his food took five minutes longer than usual to arrive, you see that he’s pretending to fix up his appearance in a fancy compact mirror you had gifted him on your one year anniversary.

You can tell immediately he’s actually angling it at the guy screaming at you so he can activate Man in the Mirror. You inwardly groan because honestly you welcome your husband’s interference, but it will be difficult to explain a man magically disappearing in the middle of a restaurant, especially while he’s causing such a scene with that excessive screeching.

All of a sudden…silence. Such a sudden silence that the sound of Illuso clasping his mirror shut is audible to you from where you’re standing. Of course all the customers were looking at that guy who was freaking out at you. And he literally vanished before their eyes. So you do the only thing you can think of and spread your arms in an exaggerated manner and go: “Ta-DAAAH~” like the supernatural disappearance was just a magic trick.

In a rather weak attempt to sell it, Illuso starts slowly clapping for you and commenting: “molto bene~”. You can’t muster an annoyed glare at him; the slight smile tugging at your lips gave you away. A few customers join him in clapping, a bit confused, but honesty just glad that the yelling has stopped.

Illuso’s version of torment is to leave the guy completely alone in the mirror world. Confusion combined with isolation is a cruel combination, and given his captor was Illuso who was absolutely bound to prolong the punishment because of his sadistic tendencies, you almost feel sorry for the guy.

“Make sure you let him go by this evening,” you remind him before you get back to work.

“Let who go, dearie?” he says, his acting pathetically bad.

Sigh. So he was going to play it that way…

“I’m serious,” you grumble.

“Me too.”

You meet his eyes at that remark, and his smug smirk tells you he wants to see if you’ll keep nagging him about it.

When you don’t indulge him he’ll get bored and let the guy go. Hopefully that brat learned a lesson. And if not, at least he has a story literally no one will believe.

-Prosciutto: Despite not being a very nice man to you, he’s got that ridiculous belief that only he’s allowed to be harsh to you. It’s “tough love” when he’s hyper critical of you or snaps at you for something small, but if anyone else does it to an excessive degree then it’s apparently unacceptable, rude behavior. Really it’s just his pride as a man and unhealthy view of masculinity that causes him to freak out when you’re disrespected. He’s your fiancé…By his logic, you need him to protect you, and it’s his job as a man to do so.

He’s a big hypocrite.

But at least he stands up for you.

You could usually feel Prosciutto watching when a customer started to get a little ornery with you. He wouldn’t always step in, unless something he deemed entirely disrespectful was said or done; he does think dealing with irritable people is okay for you until they get carried away.

It looked like he wasn’t going to intervene this time over the dirtbag being extraordinarily picky and fussy with you, just because he liked bossing essential workers around apparently. Prosciutto was listening, as usual, but didn’t seem too concerned, drinking his coffee disinterestedly. Until the customer decided to toss a crumpled up napkin at you when you turned around.

Ohhh boy, you didn’t even have to LOOK to know the coffee mug getting slammed down on a table was Prosciutto.

You debate what you should do. He strides past you, and you opt to just…hold still and listen for a moment. Pretend you don’t know him, and let him do whatever it is he’s about to do (though you have a pretty good guess what it is).

Despite all the tough talk he was doing before, that customer couldn’t hide the slight panic in his voice at Proscuitto’s sudden approach.

Unlike a lot of Passione members who preferred to hide their affiliation to the mafia, Prosciutto wasn’t nearly as subtle with that tailored suit, open shirt and the demeanor of a man who’s killed before and will kill again.

“Hey who the hell do you think you are?! Stay away from m-” the jerk’s nervous ranting is cut off by Prosciutto dragging him to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

“You dropped something,” Prosciutto says in that certain tone you’ve grown all too familiar with. He uses it often when he’s pissed off or teaching a lesson or both at the same time.

Before the man can even squeak out the beginnings of some sort of excuse or counter he’s gagging, and you turn around to stop Prosciutto from straight up choking the guy by shoving the same napkin he tossed at you down his throat, speaking about how disgustingly disrespectful it was to throw anything at a woman.

“Hey, I think he gets it,” you cut in.

You wonder if he’s actually gonna listen to you this time. For a moment it seems like he might ignore you and continue the lesson. But he decides you may have a point and that he’s not worth the trouble. Though it doesn’t stop him from roughly shoving the guy to the ground when he lets go of his shirt.

“Make sure you add an apology when you pay the check,” he says to the sniveling man on the floor desperately telling himself not to make a run for it like a coward now that Prosciutto’s back was turned.

You don’t know whether to smile or roll your eyes, knowing all your fiancé meant was that he better leave you a generous tip as compensation for such disrespectful behavior.

“Go smoke outside,” is all you say to him when you see Prosciutto reach for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket. He smoked when he was especially irritated; so he went through a lot of cigarettes. He waves his hand dismissively at you, but obeys and goes outside. Though he stays close to the entrance. He’s making it clear he’s not leaving til you’re getting paid well for all that trouble.

The guy ended up practically handing his wallet to you.

Prosciutto internally checks off his: do one good thing for his fiancée today mission.

-Pesci: He’s not the most confrontational of La Squadra, and there’s no love lost between the murderous members of the team beyond a mild respect for each other’s strength (and that’s only sometimes) but he’s more than familiar with how most of the other assassins handle disrespect or things they don’t like in public with violence and aggression (hard glares at Ghiaccio and Prosciutto in particular). And that usually results in them getting asked to leave the premises, how embarrassing-

He doesn’t want to embarrass you either when a particularly volatile customer started screaming at you and freaking out for no valid reason. But he can’t just sit there and let you take that kind of abuse either.

He tries to excuse you from the situation by calling you over to his table like he was a customer and it was something urgent. And well…it might just escalate the irritation of that insufferable jerk screaming at you but…

You go to Pesci anyways, opting to just ignore the jerk, pretending to be busy dealing with some made up issue Pesci was improvising.

To your surprise it actually kinda worked. The guy was steaming for a bit and yelling at you from his table but. You just ignored him. And if anything actually happened Pesci was 100% capable of handling it if he had to. He didn’t usually try to start fights, but if pushed he could absolutely finish them.

“Do you usually get customers like that?” Pesci asks with genuine concern in his voice once the guy finally gets mad enough to leave (without paying but that was a problem for later).

“Well…” more often than someone who doesn’t work in food service would think…

“Sometimes,” you admit vaguely, not wanting to worry him but not wanting to lie either.

He thinks you should find some different job, not that he’s actually in a position to suggest that given he’s literally a La Squadra assassin. And you’ve heard from the few times you’ve met with his coworkers that the money they make in the business of murder is minuscule all things considered. Honestly he should get a new job too. One that didn’t rely on the occasional commission and splitting a check with eight other people.

You both know it’s not that easy to just Find a new job. And he doesn’t think it’s a great idea to suggest you get more involved in Passione for quick but dirty money…sigh…no easy solution…

-Melone: Your boyfriend was the least confrontational man in La Squadra.

Usually you encourage him to not visit you at work…because he always stares at you in such a manner that your coworkers or customers sometimes warn you about a creep in the corner booth who’s been watching you for a while.

As someone who’s used to being yelled at (though only because he’s the one being a FREAK so it doesn’t Really count) he’s sure you can handle the occasional ornery customer who decided to raise their voice at you. He usually intervened only if you directly requested it, because more often than not you got annoyed at him for worming his way into your other problems. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice when he’s typing on his laptop at the restaurant you work at and someone starts destructively causing a scene all because you brought them the wrong brand of soda by accident. It’s been a long day, you’re tired, you’re working the evening shift and the restaurant’s about to close. So you don’t bother to try and appease this guy, you know he’ll just complain and give you a hard time no matter what you do. And he apparently took your: “I’m sorry, let me grab you the right one,” as disingenuous and insulting, because you didn’t call him “Sir”. You really don’t feel like dealing with this, and you’re about to just let it go until he has the audacity to knock the soda off the table and onto the floor, staining the floor and even getting soda all over your shoes.

God…just to humiliate you over something small-you find yourself quietly staring at the floor for a moment, trying to register what you should even do…bend over right now to try to salvage your shoes before the soda dried? You had napkins in your pocket. But then the damn customer won…

And you know Melone was watching everything. He’s so invested that he’s stopped typing.

Melone’s no gentleman, and has no shame, but he can’t just let someone get away completely with disrespecting his girlfriend…especially given he had bought those cute shoes for you!

You can only mumble Melone’s name quietly when he approaches the situation, his demeanor energized despite how late it was. You weren’t gonna deny him stepping in but saying his name was a warning not to be too weird.

He clicks his tongue, making a point to not even look at the jerky customer, like he wasn’t there, and focuses all his attention on you.

“You know those shoes weren’t cheap, tesoro mio,” he chides playfully, immediately plucking off some napkins from the customer’s table and kneeling in front of you so he can wipe your shoes clean himself.

You bite your lip. It might seem gentlemanly to onlookers, but you knew he was also using the opportunity to get close to your legs in public. But he manages to behave himself, even putting a few napkins over the spill on the floor once he’s done with your shoes.

When he finally stands back up, he makes a point of leaning very close with an especially devious look on his face.

“What a shame,” he says in a strangely exaggerated tone. “I think I’ll have to buy you a new pair of shoes…”

You just give him a confused look after reminding him you’re on the clock when he leans in for a kiss.

Then he wanders off. But at least he distracted the customer enough to dampen the worst of the disrespectful behavior.

You finish your shift. Melone was waiting for you outside with his motorcycle, as he’s your ride back to your shared apartment.

He looks especially pleased with himself.

“What’d you do this time?” you sigh and yawn, too tired to feel especially concerned with whatever he might’ve done.

“Your next pair of shoes is going to be Especially nice…I’ll even get you a pretty dress to go with them~” he licks his lips.

Under the dim light of the street lamp, you finally notice the wallet that he’s holding up. It isn’t his.

His little kneeling act by the table with the rude customer apparently had many purposes…your boyfriend really was quite a sly opportunist…

“Melone…” you were gonna chide him gently for taking the guy’s Entire wallet but…it was too late to start arguing with him, given he was your ride home. And you didn’t care too much about it in the first place, especially right now.

-Ghiaccio: Everything ticks him off so when you’re working you don’t mind if he doesn’t bother to stop by and say hi even when he’s in the area. He tends to get worked up about something minuscule even during quick visits. And your restaurant is quite popular with tourists, who he has a borderline obsessive type of hatred for. Yeah. You were okay with him NOT visiting you while you were working because inevitably one day he was gonna cause quite a scene-

You feel a very ironic cold shiver down your spine when you catch sight of a familiar red Mazda Miata going way too fast in the parking lot looking for a space to park.

“Dios mio…I don’t need this today…” you mumble to yourself, not realizing a particularly entitled customer was watching you act distracted for a moment by looking at a car from the window.

When you get to his table, you don’t really know what he’s yapping about when he says waitresses these days are SO ditzy and aren’t properly trained. You’re not listening too hard because you’re watching Ghiaccio walk past the window on his way into the restaurant. He gives you an acknowledging glance when he spots you, and it pisses off the customer even more because now he’s complaining about how completely unprofessional it was that you invited your boyfriend into the restaurant while you were working. You have no idea where this guy is even getting all these assumptions, or what was even so terribly wrong with the scenario he’s making up, so you don’t pay it much attention and just brush it off as the customer’s eccentric personality trait.

Until he says that if you were going to be disrespectful by inviting your boyfriend to work, you might as well look busy.

What a freaking idiot, waiting for Ghiaccio to walk in to the restaurant before literally throwing the money for his meal at you, completely expecting you to pick up all the bills.

Ghiaccio doesn’t even need to know the context to react (though it’s probably for the best he didn’t hear what started it because it’d just piss him off even more).

“Hey, hey, hey…” Ghiaccio’s voice from the entrance can be heard from half way inside the restaurant. “If you meant to give the money to her, it’d be MUCH more efficient for both of you if you just HANDED it to her, you freaking moron-“

Oh God, here we go…Ghiaccio wasn’t screaming quite at full volume as he speed walked to where you were standing, his hands twitching slightly, either oblivious or simply ignoring all the customers exchanging nervous glances as they watched him. He has to be literally the WORST AND the EASIEST member of his entire team to piss off…and when he got like this he sometimes didn’t even listen to you.

The customer glares at him, and dares to open his mouth to respond, but Ghiaccio’s rant wasn’t over and it just pisses him off even more to see the guy had the audacity to try and interrupt him.

“Ghia, hey-”

Yeah he was definitely not gonna listen to your attempt to calm him down. You wonder if he even heard you because he grabbed the guy by the back of the head while you were talking.

“IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY DAMN SENSE WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT! I MEAN, WHAT THE HELL IS THE POINT OF THROWING MONEY ALL OVER THE GROUND?! YOU JUST GET OFF WATCHING HER WASTE A BUNCH OF TIME PICKING THAT ALL UP?!”

Was he…more pissed about the illogical nature of the behavior or the fact that you were being disrespected…?…It’s kinda hard to tell…this ornery yapper on even more ornery yapper violence was Quite a scene this early in the morning…

“DON’T YOU HAVE A LIFE, IDIOT? OR DID YOU GO OUT JUST TO KILL TIME BY POINTLESSLY INCONVENIENCING A WAITRESS?! YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE BUT SHE’S GOT AN ACTUAL JOB TO DO AND DOESN’T HAVE TIME TO PLAY 52 CARD PICKUP WITH ENTITLED JERKS LIKE YOU!”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that most people would be mortified to watch their boyfriend completely lose it like this in public, you’re so used to it at this point; you’re thinking about how it’s a bit hypocritical of him given how you’ve witnessed him Also going off on a poor server for nothing.

“GHIACCIO!” you finally make yourself shout, reaching out and grabbing the wrist of the arm he was using to hold the panicking rude customer by the back of the head.

You know Ghiaccio. He was about to slam that man’s head on the table.

“WHAT?!” he snaps, but when he whips his head, you can tell the raging blizzard of his soul wavered just a bit when he looked at you.

“Don’t…you’ll break the table, they’re flimsy…”

His physical strength always astounded you, given he wasn’t particularly large, and he wasn’t even resisting your hand on his wrist but you could still feel the power in his arm. “You already made your point…” you whisper, worried about getting in trouble for the scene he was causing.

“BUT-“

“Thank you, it’s okay…”

He REALLY has to debate it, but reluctantly releases the man with an irritated huff and an audible growl. Such a lucky guy…you were one of the few people who could get Ghiaccio to think before taking something too far.

“Is your shift almost over?” he asks, clearly still incredibly irritated, tapping his foot rapidly against the ground.

“About fifteen minutes to go.” You glance at the trembling rude customer, gazing wide eyed and flinching every time Ghiaccio moved in any way.

He checks his watch and the customer climbs further into the booth out of fear of the simple gesture, but Ghiaccio is forcing himself not to pay him any mind.

“I’ll wait for you in the car then.”

“Alright.”

As long as he left the restaurant…

Now everyone knew he was definitely with you in some capacity…damn.

He sends a pointed glare to a couple of the customers on the way out. A “gentle reminder” to keep manners in mind.

And when you give the rude customer one last look, you see he’s on the ground picking up the money he had tossed at you.

He’s trembling a bit. Probably from fear of Ghiaccio changing his mind and coming back to actually break his face. But he’s probably a bit cold too, just from coming into physical contact with Ghiaccio could leave anyone with a chill if he partly activated his stand while touching someone.

You really needed to have a chat with him about his temper but as the previously inconsiderate customer blubbers out apologies and begs you to protect him from your scary boyfriend while shoving the money (and a generous tip) directly into your hands you hesitantly decide today is not the day.

-Risotto Nero: He doesn’t go out in public often, but minus the whole “leader of an assassination division in the mafia with a truly frightening appearance” he’s a pretty normal guy. Keeps to himself and stoic, but he can hold a conversation. You’re fine with him not visiting you at work often, you get that he’s super busy, but when he does stop by you’re glad to see him (and he doesn’t cause any scenes. Bonus points for Risotto).

It was a slow morning for you, and he had finished an early morning mission earlier than he had expected. He even checked to make sure the diner you worked at wasn’t busy before he decided to stop in and see you.

Your face lights up when you see him, running over to him and giving him a quick hug, and bringing him a small cup of coffee on the house, allowing yourself a brief moment of respite to speak with your boyfriend. It wasn’t busy yet…there were only two other customers, but it was just your luck that one of them woke up on the wrong side of the bed and decided to come over and give you a hard time for taking a moment to spend with Risotto.

“Does your boss pay you to flirt with customers?”

You can’t even believe someone really came over just to say that to you. You weren’t even sitting down to talk to Risotto, and it’s not like you were being loud or obnoxious or anything.

“She’s doing her job,” Risotto points out with that signature stoic nature. The guy seems slightly put off by Risotto’s unique appearance, but was apparently in a bad enough mood to not back down so easily.

“If she was doing her job she’d be bringing me a refill and not wasting her time chatting with a guy she already served,” he points out indignantly. What an insane level of entitlement…Risotto seemed to think the same thing, though he wasn’t a fan of escalating things.

But this guy…he had some audacity talking to you like that.

Risotto puts his hands on the table, and stands up slowly, deliberately, to his full height, tilting his head slightly to better look the smaller man in the eyes.

“She’s just being polite,” Risotto corrects the man. His voice is still calm, but his speaking speed is Slightly slower. Paired with him purposefully emphasizing his full height, the warning that he wasn’t going to stay civil for much longer was clear.

The unwanted visitor inwardly debates for a moment, visibly shaken from Risotto’s intimidation but absolutely too embarrassed to just back off now.

He foolishly decides to keep going.

“She-” he’s cut off by an almost explosive gush of blood coming out of his own nose. You gasp at the suddenness, but instantly realize what’s happening. He slams his hand over his nose, the blood not stopping that easily, almost immediately leaking through his fingers.

“Oh…” Risotto remarks with obviously fake concern, leaning in as if he were examining the “mysterious” nosebleed. “You’d better take care of that before you get blood all over the place…” he states the obvious with complete unconcern.

It was admittedly a bit funny to watch that jerk sprint to the restroom clutching his bloody nose.

There is a minuscule tug to the edges of Risotto’s lips.

“Risotto! Sudden unexplainable nosebleeds aren’t funny at all,” you chide, despite not feeling an ounce of pity. It’s not like Risotto was trying to kill that guy, if he was he would be bleeding out on the ground right now. The goal was just to embarrass him a bit, and he definitely succeeded.

“I think that was just a suitable divine punishment,” Risotto replies with a shrug, as if his stand, Metallica, had nothing to do with it. It’s subtle but…you can tell he’s irritated someone really had that kind of nerve to bother you for no reason. But you won’t let it ruin his whole day, reminding him that you got off work early today and you’ve been really excited to finally have some free time to spend with him.

Author’s closing note: I hope this could bring you some entertainment~it was enjoyable to write and consider how a few of them could use their stands to mess with people but wow I was being sent back to my first job on occasion with some of these customer characters, sheesh-

[ghostgirl-22]

https://www.tumblr.com/ghostgirl-22/767591680266436608/vibratoranon-you-made-me-write-this-too-for-some?source=share

Okkkk pls tell me I'm not the only one who wanted this to turn into a lil locker room gang bang... just slutty suggestible Art getting so riled up by the teasing touches of his team mates he finds himself bent over the bench being used in both holes.

Patrick just there watching the whole thing knowing he controls Art's orgasm. It's his cock that'll make his girl squirt back in their dorm and that's it.

Thoughts?

(love your writing so much you're so talented oml 💖)

Nope, you were not the only one my darling 💫

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Explicit

—-

Patrick knows Art.

How silly he gets when boys want him. When boys really, really fucking want him. Surprisingly it happens all the time. Maybe it’s all the all boys dorm, all the hormones. Close quarters. And Art’s always been pretty. Tall and blonde, baby blue eyes, long lashes with his boy next door charm and stupid little know it all smirk. The kinda stuff wet dreams are made out of.

Patrick starts it actually. Right after practice. Arts pulling his socks up over his calves and Patrick starts teasing him in front of everyone in the locker room. Touching his legs and asking why they’re so soft and hairless.

“They really are soft,” another boy chimes in, smirking and stealing a touch.

“And pale,” one more teammate says.

“Do you shave them? They’re so smooth like a girl,” Another boy laughs.

“No, no I don’t… stop it,” Art pushes them off and they’re off to the races. The touching leads to playing with his hair, leads to asking if he’s smooth anywhere else, everywhere else. Art starts flushing as the rest of the boys pile on. They start teasing and touching and then it's easy. So easy.

He goes mindless so fast from the attention. Boys, half naked, playing with him and he’s sitting there—chewing on his hoodie strings, eyes all soft, wetting his lips on every other word. Not even aware he’s doing it.

Patrick gets so fucking hard watching him. It’s why he did it in the first place.

He knows he’s not the only one. Half the boys in school already want to fuck him. Though if Patrick pointed that out (when Art wasn’t cockstupid) he would just laugh and say “you just think everyone wants to fuck me.”

He doesn’t have the intuition for this kinda thing the way Patrick does. Didn’t even understand why he’d get so hard for the teasing.

Even so Patrick doesn’t expect it.

He’s chatting with one of their teammates, Jesse, laughing about something that happened at a party over the weekend. He’s got an eye on Art. Always has an eye on Art. Especially when he’s in this state. Jesse follows his gaze and leans in whispering… “He’s too pretty right? Like girl pretty.”

Patrick smirks, tilting his head to the side, so he can stare at Art properly. “I dunno.”

The locker room has mostly cleared but for Patrick, Art, Jesse and a couple of other guys, Craig and Justin, who are still teasing Art while he’s leaning up against the locker. Art is flirting. Always flirting. Silly, slutty, mindless, flirting. He can’t turn it off.

One of the boys has his fingers in Arts hair. One with hands on his waist.

“You know you should probably let me kiss you,” Patrick can hear Craig say. Arts all flushed, glassy eyes and stammering as Craig leans in, taking his mouth. Justin starts rubbing Art through his shorts.

“Mm shit, you’re so hard, aren’t you?” Justin says quietly.

Patrick feels something in his brain start to malfunction. Getting stuck on this image.

Holy fuck.

The teasing has never ever gone this far.

Art is whiny through the kissing. “I think I’m…” He looks around breathlessly when Craig lets up for a minute. He looks like he’s trying to find some kind of semblance of control but he can’t focus. Can’t stop letting them touch him. Hands everywhere. Lips all over him. Fingers in his mouth on his body, under his hoodie. Even as Justin starts grinding up against him. He’s pushing back. Dizzy, drunk with need.

Patrick can feel his dick growing achingly hard along his pant leg.

Craig pulls Art down on the bench, onto his lap, Art’s moving his hips before he’s even on him properly. Its like they’re already fucking but they’ve still got clothes on. “You should come to my room. Sleep in my bed.” Craig says, biting, kissing, touching while Justin is kissing Art’s mouth.

Art groans, riding against whatever Craig is giving him. Patrick can’t help but wonder if its big.

“Jesus,” Jesse sighs next to Patrick. Patrick can see that he’s also visibly aroused. “He’s so…”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees.

“What about you?” Jesse whispers. “You ever fuck him, Zweig? You ever fuck your roommate?”

Patrick rubs his palms along his thighs, over his dick (yes, yes, fuck yes, but only after years of breaking, breaking, and breaking through sexual tension, is what he doesn’t say). He takes a deep breath and shrugs picking up his water bottle. “What do you think?” He asks, biting down on the cap.

“Of course you did.” Jesse says, lightly. “Better question, can I fuck him?” He asks.

Patrick smirks. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because… everyone knows he belongs to you.”

Patrick thinks he’s gonna lose his mind.

He’s not mad or angry or jealous. Just suddenly so… so hungry. He gets up from the bench seat to grab his stuff out of his locker. “Art are you ready?” He asks, like Art’s not two steps away from letting their teammates use both of his holes to slut him out properly.

For whatever reason his words register for Art. “Mm Patrick?” He looks up, empty headed, still settled on Craig’s lap. “I can’t find my…” he trails off, hopeless.

“I know,” Patrick says.

“And I’m all…” Art shivers as Patrick helps him to his feet.

“I know. Come on,” Patrick says.

Craig is grinning at Patrick, he tries to grab at Art’s leg one more time. “You can come over whenever you want Donaldson,” he says.

“Anytime,” Justin agrees with a sigh, looking at his ass.

“I think I need to…to go home,” Art says, stumbling forward in his little adidas slides. Patrick steadies him.

And oh god is he a mess.

Hickeys blooming all over, sexed up hair in his eyes, lips pink and kiss swollen. Hoodie halfway unzipped, falling off his bare chest and shoulders. He starts biting idly at the sleeve of his hoodie, (fucking oral fixation) while Patrick grabs at it and zips him back up.

“Yeah sweetheart, you need to go home,” Patrick agrees, breathless, grabbing the fabric and pulling him close. “Hey look at me.”

Art’s gaze is cloudy but he tries to follow Patrick as much as he can.

“You can tease them all you want, fuck them if you need to, but I only want you to come for me okay?” He whispers in Art’s ear.

Art nods, still chewing on his sleeve and as brainless as he is right now Patrick thinks he gets it.

It happens the second they get back in the dorm room. Just inside the doorway and Art’s all over him. He wants to be fucked, fucked, fucked for real. They do it up against the wall, on the bed, till Patrick rolls over all sticky and wet with lube and spit and come.

Art is all lucid now. Getting ready to go clean up. Doesn’t say sorry, probably doesn’t even remember how he got so desperate he almost let his teammates fuck him raw in the locker room. He’s just sated and warm, barely any clothes on, socks sliding off his calves and laughing at some dumb movie on the television.

And yeah. Patrick thinks he’d probably die for him.

Blergh, I have to admit this was kinda difficult to write because I don’t think Patrick really wanted to share but these OCs got farther than most methinks! One day I’ll just go for it… full on gangbang for that blonde boy.

[xxiiam]

All caught up ! ☆

Wk - 3.6k I got carried away with the plot instead of the pron

Nerd!kento x Mean bimbo!reader | female reader | soft dom! Nanami | college au |

Note : my brain so rotted , need nerd bf starts to bite on the bars of my enclosure .. some conversation based off of irl stuff lwk lwk lwk starts to bite the walls 🤭

you never thought all that much about studying or being academically successful, smart wasn’t something people would describe you as. You weren’t too upset by this fact because everyone says , “college isn’t like high school bleh bleh bleh” , “this attitude will have to change in college meh meh meh”

Well that attitude got you to be the sorority president of Nu Zeta . Okay so did you actually give a fuck about popularity or being the Regina George? No … buttttt since the academics are lacking , being the president of the most popular sorority at college looks just as good on your resume… probably…

You majored in business but you didn’t know it would be such a sausage fest ! And don’t get started on the guys that are there . They’re in total nerds or like try hard wannabe jocks that never went D1 and try to impress you even though they tore their acl and are super insecure about it.

But one is different, normally the silent nerd types always seem to be the biggest manipulative , nasty , cheating SLUTSSS..but kento nanami .. he was different . You’d never share this admiration to his face because you don’t wanna inflate his ego . More than it probably already is because he’s a big nerd yeah but like he makes it sooooo hot ?????

The only chance you get to see him is class since like he’s a total recluse hermit type and doesn’t show up to parties..not that HE would ever be invited , but stillllll .

You’ve never spoken to him per say , a couple of snarky comments he might’ve heard but that’s it . Until , today you had to get a partner for a mock pretend business that you had to write about and do a PowerPoint on to be graded on and yadayadayadaaaa . You just figured your professor would put you with someone but he said to make things more interesting you had to pick someone who you would actually want to invest in a business with.

You assumed you’d just pick on of the minority of girls since girls stick together but then like a miracle from the higher above , you heard a man clear his throat behind you . “Excuse me , y/n” . A voice you didn’t hear often but you still swung your head around to listen to , then you locked eyes with the stoic , quiet , embarrassingly nerdy Kento Nanami. You raised your eyebrow , his face began to flush as your gaze burned into him . Clearly he didn’t think this through all the way. “I was just thinking..you know this project you will get an easy grade if you work with me since I practically get A’s on everything…like I have a 95% average”

The corners of your glossed lips began to curl into a smile , “are you trying to pitch yourself so I’ll work with you?” Your eyes fixated on his tired hazel eyes that were shielded by his stupid nerd glasses .. that made him really cute too. He furrowed his brow and stammered , “well, it’s just that to be a sorority president you have to keep on top with your grades so I wouldn’t want you to fall behind since you know you’re not the best academically” . You scoffed at him , “excuse me?” He nervously gripped at his desk with clammy hands , “no- that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to help. I can be of good use” . You grinned at him , “you want me to use you?” .

His eyes widened before he shook his head once more , “I meant in the context of-“ “whatever blondie, I can’t have you snoop around my sorority who knows what kind of pervert you are so I’ll just come to your place Friday night, yeah?” You smiled at him once more before pulling up your phone number and holding your phone up to him . To which he quickly scribbled down your number , pushing his glasses up , “Friday is good” he gave you a flushed half smile before you turned your back to him and collected your stuff and leaving your class. Isn’t he just the cutest?

As you sat around in the lounge with some of your sorority sisters your phone buzzed , normally notifications didn’t bother you since you’d hear the same buzz many times throughout the day . But the message on your screen peaked your interest.

unknown number : hey this is Kento Nanami, the one from your business class. You called me blondie. You might remember me as that.

You : omgggg blondie

Blondie : You can just say my name too..

You : nahhhh it’s better so people won’t know I associate with business nerds LOLLLLL

blondie : you don’t want to be associated with me? Should I not include my name on our project?

You : LOLLLL ur so cute I was jk

Blondie : I see, my mistake.

You : wtvvrrrr wyd rn blondie

Blondie : brainstorming ideas for our project and well studying. I don’t really do much else really.

You : show me send me ur snap

Blondie : snap?

You : snapchat? R u Amish do you not know what snap is?

Blondie : I don’t really use social media , haha .

You : could tell

You : make a Snapchat account!!!! I luv sending snaps it’s fun

Blondie : okay. I have made one , it is kento.nanami

You : kk !!!

You got so wrapped up in the conversation you even convinced this nerd to download Snapchat. You even giggled at how formal he texted , “what’re you laughing at y/n?? Are you watching insta reels?” One of your nosey sorority sisters asked as she pressed to your side wanting to watch Instagram reels with you , “nopee not right now lia I’ll send you some soon. I’m gonna go up to my room now see you all tomorrow” .

Being president of the sorority meant that you got the privilege of having a bedroom to yourself . You wouldn’t mind sharing but it meant having a guy over would be a million times more difficult . Luckily since you don’t have to share means that any male suitors can get down and dirty with you in private.

You slumped down onto your bed and awaited as Mr Kento Nanami to get off of his high horse and add you back !!!

Your phone buzzed once more..

Kento added you as a friend!

You rushed to your phone and began typing telling him to show you his plans . This was really an excuse to see if he would send any snaps of him .. in his room … with his stupid glasses on.. shirtless?

Kento sent you a snap

And it was just a photo of his hand pointing to his own personal whiteboard in his room .. point…his hand . Indirect hand pic , tut tut tut kento nanami the man you are. The sleeves of his white button down shirt rolled up to his elbows , veins decorating his arm in a subtle manner. His forearms filled out his shirt nicely , you began to wonder how well his biceps did too. Your eyes were fixated on the screen , day dreaming . Does he think it’s weird that you left him on open for so long? Why do you care?

You snapped him back a photo of you laying on your bed , sticking out the tip of your tongue at the camera . Like snaps that you send to your sorority sisters . he left you on opened for a minute , is he analyzing your snap too?

Opened for ten minutes .

Okay , maybe you were a bitch and said snarky things when he was in earshot BUT TEN MINUTES ARE YOU SHITTING ME? You sighed and began snapping the other boys on your phone hoping they’d entertain you for the night.

By the time Friday rolled around , you and Kento had talked like twice and messaged like once . You weren’t that big of a bitch were you? WHY WAS HE TOTALLY IGNORING YOU? You kept yourself busy with your presidency plans and planning darties and regular parties . After class when walking out you saw the same blonde man standing there , was he waiting for you?

“BLONDIE HEY” you said in a singsong tone but still very loudly it looked like it had startled him , he pushed his glasses up with his thumb and middle finger, he half smiled at you yet again . He proceeded to walk over to you , “do you wanna ride?” . “On college campus? Blondie you’re dirrrttttyyy” you grinned and began to laugh at your own joke , he looked away and shook his head , “no no I meant to my apartment..so we can work..on the project, our project..together?” . You had totally forgotten, “ohh yeah no totally, why don’t you live on campus in the dorms?” You said while you began to walk , “do you want me to walk five feet behind you or something?” He asked in a serious tone , you couldn’t help but laugh at him . “Are you serious , no blondie.. no one is even around , now hurry up and answer my question” . He took a few strides forward to begin walking next to you , “I don’t like dorms..people invading my space, I have a roommate but he has his own bedroom so I’m not too bothered. It’s just how I like things. You know?”

You rolled your eyes , you could’ve answered the question for him that’s how predictable it was , “yeah and you also just hate people that’s why you never text me” . He pushed his glasses up once more , “no..I just thought you didn’t want someone like me to text you because of like..reputation” . You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him yet again , “don’t be stupid blondie you seem pretty cool even if you are a loser virgin nerd”

“Loser virgin? I’m not-“ you put your hand to his face shushing him , “whatever whatever which one is your car blondie” he pulled out his keys and unlocked the white car in eye view , when walking in front of it he stopped before opening the door for you . Well mannered , smart , tall , polite . You could cream in your thong from just these interactions.

On the ride there you noticed kento kept his hand on his thigh whilst driving with one hand , you hand the urge to move it onto yours but that might weird him out . You wouldn’t want to scare him off .

The project you both managed to get through a significant amount , nowhere near done by any means but still a lot of work was done . By kento..mostly . You just sat on your phone for the majority and chimed in on any creative ideas he asked you for your opinion on . “Are you gonna help or just sit there or are you gonna actually help with any of the work?” Kento finally asked , anger bubbled in his tone but his stoic expression never wavered. You grinned , “no I like seeing you work , plus I wouldn’t be much help. I’d be more of a nuisance than help.. I’m not really good at stuff like this , talking presenting sure but actually doing the work is so bleh”

He hummed and his eyes darted around your face , “how about I teach you..an easy way to do things, it’ll be easy trust me” he motioned for you to sit closer , you were now shoulder to shoulder instead of sitting from across the table . This tension , it might not exist to him but to you .

YOU WANTED THAT DICK.

After a while things actually started to stick into your brain , things actually made sense when kento explained how to do everything to you , showing examples from his work to compare with yours . In comparison his notes were so detailed yet concise it made everything seem so easy . So simple. “See you can do it. I don’t see why you had such a negative outlook on it even though you hadn’t even tried yet” . Your face began to warm , he believed in you . He looked up from your work to your face , “blushing?” and this time you were rewarded with a full smile.

“N-no..I..I don’t-“ you stammered , while your face began to grow more red with embarrassment that he managed to get such a reaction out of you . Embarrassed by your childish reaction , to blush and stutter . The president of a sorority wouldn’t react like this by some loser nerd.

“Hm? Can’t get your words out?” The smile plastered on his face he was basically mocking you but why was it soooo sexy? You hid your face in your hands to hide from the embarrassment, “don’t hide I like seeing you like this..I don’t think many others get to see you in a state like this. It makes me feel good , plus you look cute like this” Kento’s babbles didn’t help much , you were still very embarrassed .

you kept your face hidden until you felt a pair of firm hands on your wrists pulling them from your reddened face . “I like this y/n…not the front that your sorority sees.. I like when you get shy . It makes you more human.” Your faces were inches apart , your breath hitched . “I don’t like you seeing me like this..makes me nervous you won’t see me the same” you admitted . He stared at you once more , he was contemplating.

“Would you slap me if I tried to kiss you?”

“…no”

His large hands moved to your face his lips crashing against yours . For some reason this felt right , a passionate kiss , something so rough by someone so quiet. This felt right . His nervous hands moved from your face to your waist , pulling you into his lap . His lips broke away from yours , he began to kiss down your jawline . “Sorry, just wanted you closer to me..needed you closer. Is this okay?” .

“I like it , stop worrying blondie I like when you take initiative like this” you said as your hands ran through his blonde hair . “ say my name” he said practically begging as he began to kiss your neck . “Kento..I want more..” you said not being able to look at him , the embarrassment of him getting you so flustered. No boy had ever gotten you so stupidly feral like this.

You just wanted him to rip your clothes off already. It’s almost like he could read your mind , your shirt was taken off so quickly but Kento latched his mouth back to your collarbone and he continued to kiss you. He wanted to get a good look at your assets but you finally looked down at him to notice that his glasses were all fogged up, his lips were swollen from kissing you and his cheeks were a cute pink color. He removed his glasses setting them on the table , “sorry, you’re just really pretty. I always thought it…can I take this off?” He asked nervously but you were too caught up staring at how attractive he actually was. Well you thought that yes , but his bone structure with his glasses off his face is so chiseled . But you thought the glasses made him look so much cuter.

He nervously took your bra off watching as your tits spilled out of it. His dusty pink cheeks intensified, “sorry for being so forward , I’m just really excited” but you shook your head at his apology , “I told you I like you taking initiative..I get nervous in situations like this, even if I try to hide it but, you make it impossible to hide it from” . He gave you that same smile , it made butterflies start to circulate your stomach like they were on a wash cycle . He hiked your skirt up and moved your thong aside before he began to separate your folds that were collecting an embarrassing amount of wetness , just from kento’s words and kisses . Is this really all that it took to get you this worked up?

His thick fingers began to slip inside you, even though you were so wet it didn’t distract from just how thick his fingers were . As they began to curl up inside you , you arched your back against the table . You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle your whimpers but kento just removed his fingers from you which made you start to clench around the sudden emptiness that left you shaking your head , “no no Kento I don’t want you to stop” you whined which made him smile , “then don’t cover your mouth I wanna hear how much you like it” . You nodded , “I will I promise I will” , “you’re so good aren’t you?” Which you nodded in response as his fingers returned inside you , the sounds of your moans and the sounds of kento finger fucking you. But the feeling of him hardening under you made you all the more desperate and you could tell he felt the same way.

“Are you gonna let me fuck you properly now princess?” He asked as he lifted you up onto the table that was still littered with your project and other pieces of paper he used to study with . “Ken- wait the project” you said gripping onto his broad shoulders , he shook his head , “I don’t care I can make up for it if it gets destroyed , I just care about you right now” he said like he was hungry , he rushed to unbuckle his belt . You laughed at how much he wanted it , how strange it was to you that someone wanted to have sex with you this much. Although you really hadn’t known each other that long , he wasn’t an immature boy . He was a man.

He lined himself up with your sopping wet hole that was practically begging to be fucked at this point , as he began to thrust inside you , you couldn’t help but squirm and wiggle around . Whatever thickness you thought you had experienced from his fingers only intensified with his dick . WHO KNEW NERDS WOULD BE SO HUNG

You were chanting his name like a mantra , your eyes fixed in the back of your head . Your tongue began to lol out of your mouth , kento grabbed your ankles and brought them to his shoulders so he could fuck you deeper . In all honesty you still weren’t adjusted to his sheer girth , you were sure he was leaving an imprint of the veins on his cock like a tattoo inside your cunt.

He grinned as he began to feel you pulsate around him , watching you struggle to take all of him made him want to watch your alter ego unravel more , the more he fucked himself into you. “I wonder how all those dumb jock frat boys would react knowing that you secretly love to be fucked by a..what was it that you called me?” .. he watched in awe as you struggled to even formulate simple structured sentences , “mmn- I..I called…mmn loser…mn..kento” you tried to speak but struggled to even think of what to say , he smiled , “so close princess , you called me a loser virgin”

You were wrong , no loser nor virgin could fuck you like this . How could this quiet boy secretly be able to fuck you so good , so good you might cum. Cum? What a man is actually gonna make you cum? But kento was smart he knew you were close so he put his thumb onto your clit making small circles it made your legs interlock tighter around kento , toes curling and everything . He made it seem so effortless , he knew exactly how to please you.

If soul mates were a thing, maybe he’d be yours.

NO

DONT THINK THAT

THE DICK CANT MAKE YOU THIS DELUSIONAL.

“It’s okay baby..just let it go cum on this dick I’ll take good care of you . None of those athletes or frat boys can make you feel this good can they?” He said softly but it was a complete juxtaposition of how much he was slutting you out . You couldn’t take it anymore , the knot in your stomach finally snapped and your the muscles in your legs began to tighten and vibrate . Leaving your legs shaking and tears streaming down your face , completely ruining the makeup you so desperately wanted to keep on. But kento stripped it all away everything you do desperately wanted to keep hidden from him he just managed to reveal everything about you.

Nerds weren’t so bad after all.

You were kinda glad you got caught up with one.

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

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The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

[writtenbyan-aries]

Okay babe, I need a good old fashioned childhood friends to lovers with Sam. Moms are besties or they grew up next door to each other. Maybe reader is a part of their social media team and lives in LA with them? Could comfort Sam after a breakup or reader has a severe panic/anxiety attack and only Sam can get her to calm down? Can turn into smut can just be super soft fluff, I’m open to whatever, I just need some snuggly cuddly Sam.

Warnings: swearing, slow burn-ish, childhood friends to lovers, flirting, mentions of a break up, kissing, angsty fluff

Word Count: 3.2k | unedited

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C h i l d h o o d

You giggled as Sam messed around with the keys of the piano, “I don’t think you’re supposed to play it like that, Sam.”

He laughs, pointing to the key, “You try.”

You tilt your head, poking at the keys with one finger. Sam giggles, reaching over to drag his hand over the keys from one side to the other.

“Sam.” His mom peaks his head into the room, “Gentle, please.”

“Sorry, mom.” Sam looks back at her and you look back, seeing your mom looking in, too. You wave and turn back around, laughing with Sam, “You got in trouble.”

“Did not.” Sam argues and you give him a dramatic sigh, “Did so.”

“Did not.”

“Did so!”

Sam laughs, gently tapping the keys of the piano, “Do you think we’ll be friends forever?” You look over at him, “Do you want to be friends forever?”

He nods, “Yep.”

M i d d l e • S c h o o l

“Is your teacher a jerk?” You looked up at Sam, “Mine yells over everything.”

Sam can’t help but laugh, “Mine spits when he talks.”

“Oh, that’s so gross.” You laugh as you pick at your lunch, “Do you want my fruit cup? I don’t think I’m going to eat it today.”

He nods, “I’ll trade you my brownie for it.” Your eyes go wide, “You love those brownies. Are you sure?”

He nods, sliding it across the lunch table, “Yeah.”

Everybody thought you were a couple. Whenever you weren’t in class, you were side by side, laughing at stupid jokes or making fun of how a teacher said a word - middle schooler stuff.

As middle school went on, you were each discovering yourselves. Both changing everyday in certain ways, but the only thing that stayed the same was your friendship.

H i g h • S c h o o l

High school rolled around and the two of you became three. Colby was added and you all clicked so well. The same speculation of you being with Sam, snowballed into you being with Colby, then you with both of them.

You know, the high school rumors.

No one ever let that get to them. Colby shut those rumors down when he got a girlfriend, and you and Sam just continued doing what you’ve always done.

“They’re cute together.” You nod towards Colby and his girlfriend, “Don’t you think?”

Colby’s girlfriend smiled, she didn’t mind having you around, “I think they’re making fun of us.” Colby scoffs, looking back at Sam, “Can you not.”

Sam laughs, “Sorry, you’re just an easy target. Are you going to that optional band rehearsal?” Colby nods and you chime in, “Going to try and not trip like last time.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Can we let that go.”

You scrunch up your nose, shaking your head, “No, not for a while.” Sam sighs, “Fine, but only because it’s you.”

You couldn’t lie, there have been feelings for Sam, even way before you understood what they were. You liked being around him, talking to him, FaceTiming him at random times.

You developed a more serious kind of love for Sam, and you were scared of many different things going wrong, or even not going at all.

After graduation, you and Sam remained close, along with Colby. They started up a ghost hunting YouTube channel, and to say it took off, is an understatement.

They were flourishing, quickly at that.

They’ve gotten deals, interviews, requests from people to come investigate their properties, and of course you were there every step of the way.

T o d a y

“Guess who I just got off the phone with.” You say as you walk into the living room, glancing at Sam as you sit down.

He sets his phone in his lap and looks over at you, “Mm, I don’t know.” He smiles, “Tell me.”

You raise your brow, “What’s up?” He shakes his head, “Nothing, nothing. Who did you get off the phone with?”

You turn towards him, “I just got you and Colby and interview on The Evening Show.”

Sam jumps up off the couch, “What!?”

You laugh, nodding, “You heard me. I got you an interview.”

“With Charles Callahan?” He asks, his eyes wide with excitement, “Are you actually fucking serious?”

“Yes, Sam!” You stand up, scrolling on your phone to show him the details, “It’s all right here.” He lays his hands on top of his head, “Y/n, that’s like, a massively famous talk show.”

You nod, “I know.”

“With Charles Callahan.”

You nod again, laughing, “I know that, too.”

“Oh my god.” He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tight, “I don’t know how you managed, but I love you.”

You freeze. It’s normal for you to say it to them, especially Sam, because you’ve known him longer, but everything felt much different for you.

“Seriously.” Sam leans back, his hands on your shoulders, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

You smile, “I get paid for helping you succeed.” You tease, clearing your throat, “You go next week.”

“We.” He corrects you, “We go next week.” He shakes his head, “Does Colby know?”

You shake your head, “I tried calling him, I don’t know what he’s doing.” Sam nods, sitting back down, “I’ll text him, tell him to come home as soon as possible.”

You nod, sitting back down, “Okay.” You prop your arm on the back of the couch, “So.”

He glances up at you, “So.. what?”

“You gonna tell me why you seem off?”

He shrugs, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.” You raise your brows, “What’s up?”

He sighs, “I didn’t feel.. okay.” He takes a deep breath, “I broke up with Leah, and..” he laughs slightly, “I don’t think she’s taking it well.”

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head and he shakes his, “She, posted a picture of us afterwards, you know once people started speculating that we did, and she’s just adding fuel to the fire and I’m just..”

“Trying to move past it?” You ask and he nods, “Exactly.”

“Why’d you, um, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you break up?”

A smile plays on Sam’s lips slightly, “She had an issue with you.”

“With me?” You scoff, “Sounds like she has bigger issues to worry about than me.”

He nods, “She said she didn’t like the fact that you lived with me, I told her that we’re not like that, we just- “ he stops talking, looking down at his lap, “If anyone has a problem with you, they now have a problem with me, you know?”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. I feel like that’s the same for me. I guess a lot of people don’t know how to trust.” You shrug, “I’m sorry that you broke up with her.”

He shakes his head, “She wasn’t helping me in any way.” He looks up, “Not like you do.”

You go to ask, but the front door open, and Colby calls our, “Guys? What’s going on?”

Sam springs up, “Colby?!”

“What happened? Is everything good?” He looks at you and Sam and you nod, “Go ahead, Sam.” Sam looks from you to Colby, “Don’t sit down because you’ll just spring right back up when I tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” Colby asks confused, glancing from you to Sam, “What’s happening?”

“Y/n got is on with Charles Callahan.”

Colby’s goes go wide and he looks at you, “What?! No fuckin’ way, dude.” You nod, “Yes fuckin’ way, dude. You go on next week.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Colby walks over, giving you a hug, “Oh my god.”

“She’s the best, right?” Sam smiles and Colby nods, “The absolute best, holy fuck.”

You laugh, “It’s just an interview. Relax.”

Colby rolls his eyes, “Just an interview..” he mocks you, “Y/n. This is a once in a life time experience. I don’t know how you did it, but Jesus fuck. Good job.”

You smile, “You’re welcome. You’re welcome.”

“Come on, Sam. We have to come up with an announcement post.” Colby walks towards the steps and Sam stays there for a moment, staring at you.

“Go.” You wave him on, “If I get anymore details, you’ll be the first to know.”

He shakes his head, “That’s not-“ he sighs, walking over to press a kiss onto your forehead, “Thank you.”

You so badly want to pull him back in as he is walking away, tell him he missed and kiss his lips, but you don’t. You watch as he makes his way up the steps and sit down.

You start coming up with ideas because you know they’ll be coming to you for an announcement post.

Over the next few days, things seem to be more, interesting, between you and Sam.

He’s been everywhere you are, and you’re everywhere he is. You both use the, there’s a lot of work to do, excuse, but neither one of you will admit that you just want the other as company, mainly because you both just already knew it.

“So I was thinking.” You turn your laptop towards him, “This hotel is the closest to the studio, if you’re okay with that I can book three rooms? Each one has two beds and the one has a nice pull out couch, I think.”

“Why three?” He asks and you shrug, “You and Colby get a room, Mitch and Logan can get one and then I can finally get some peace and quiet.” You smirk at him and he laughs, “Oh I see how it is.”

“Do you want that room? I’m sure Colby won’t mind me-“

“No, no.” He cuts you off, “You’re fine, I was just.. messin’ around, you know.”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” You laugh, “Figured we could get there the night before and that way you and Colby have the day to kind of rehearse your answers.”

He nods, “Sounds good to me.”

You nod, going back to your computer before you sigh, “Can I-“ you look over at him and he’s already looking, “When you said that she didn’t help you like I did..”

You laugh slightly, “What did you mean?”

He shrugs, “Just that.. no one really knows me like you do.”

You nod, “Right, right.” You go back to looking at your laptop and Sam ask, his voice kind of quieter, “What did you think I meant?”

You shrug, looking at him, “Exactly what you said.” You give him a small smile and he nods, “Right.” He clears his throat, “Yeah, I mean. We’ve known each other since we were what, five?”

You laugh, “Yeah, yeah.” You tilt your head, “You still got in trouble for playing the piano the way you did.”

“I did not. My mom just told me to be gentle with the keys, but you remember that?” Sam laughs and you nod, “Yeah, I also remember you-“

“Y/n, I swear to god, If you say-“

“Tripped when you were doing your routine for the band.”

He groans, “That’s it.” He stands up, “This conversation is done. I have to go pack.”

“You have a few days yet, Sam.” You yell and he shakes his head, “Sorry, can’t hear you.” He laughs as he looks back at you, “Come on, help me pick out some good outfits.”

“I’ll be up, let me book these room quick.”

——

“Seems like you’re doing a good job on your own.” You smirk as you lean against his door frame, “Oh, gosh. Wait. I take that back.”

You walk over to his suitcase and pull out a pair of pants, switch these out with that black pair. That’ll go better with this stripped shirt.”

He nods, tossing you the pants, “Yeah, I do didn’t do that on purpose.” He chuckles and you roll your eyes, “I’m sure.”

You laugh, “a white tank will finish this look, is this what you’re wearing for the actual interview?”

He nods, “If you think it’s best.”

You nod, “Oh yeah, I like this a lot. Make sure, well, I don’t have to tell you guys, but just a reminder, as your one manager, take pictures for the gram.”

“It’s so weird.” He laughs and you tilt your head, sitting down on his bed, “What is?”

“You’re my boss.” He shakes his head, “I just, I don’t know. When you asked if we’d be friends forever, I didn’t expect this.”

“Me working for you? Sam, you’re my boss.” You laugh, “But yeah, I get what you mean. Never did I picture us living in LA, I never seen myself getting out of that place.”

“I was taking you with one way or another.” Sam sits down next to you, “You deserved more than what that place gave you.”

You nod, “So did you. And looks like we got it.”

He nods, “We got it.”

“Guys!” Colby yells from down stairs, “Where are you?!”

“That man has impeccable timing.” Sam rolls his eyes and stands up, “Yo, Colby. Up here, man.”

“Oh good, okay.” He walks in, “When do you plan on leaving? Like what day?”

“I booked the hotel rooms a day in advance, so we’ll get there on Wednesday and then your show is Thursday and then Friday we can either come back or so whatever.” You look up at him, “Why?”

“Because I was doing research and they have this bar that just overall looks like a sick experience.” Colby shows you and Sam his phone, “I figured we could do that Friday night?”

“I’ve heard about this place. We definitely have to go.” Sam nods, “Are you up for it?”

You nod, “Yeah. I’m down for it.”

——

The days leading up to leaving were busy. Everyone was around everyone. You had a celebration dinner, people were coming over, to talk about the upcoming show.

People were even talking about how great of a person you were for Sam and Colby.

It was, overwhelming at times, but fully worth it.

“You still scared of flying?” Sam teases as he nudges your arm. You scoff, “Please, with the amount of planes I’ve been on with you guys, that fear is well over conquered.”

“We do fly a lot.” Sam chuckles and you look out the plane window, “At least it’s a short flight.”

He nods, “kinda wish it was longer.” He shrugs, “I don’t know. I like flying.”

You smile slightly and lean back. The rest of the flight was Sam picking on Colby, who is sat in front of you, and small talk.

Mainly about the show coming up. Sam’s nerves, your nerves. Everything but what you wanted to talk about most.

Once you’ve landed and get to the hotel, you make your way up to the rooms, two in one, Sam and Colby in the other, and then you in your room.

You sit down, letting out a sigh as you lay back.

Your mind swirls around the thought of Sam, mainly wondering if you should just push the idea of anything happening between the two of you away or if you should jump on it.

You sit up, making up your mind right then and there.

You walk over to your door, pulling it open and you stop.

“Hey I was just-“

Sam cuts you off, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” You move out of the way and he walks in, “I haven’t..” he turns around as you close the door, “.. been fully honest with you.”

You look down, “I know the feelings.”

Sam walks over, cupping your cheeks. He looks into your eyes and takes a deep breath, “You are the person who has been keeping me going. You, y/n..” he smiles, “You feel more like home than everywhere I have been and I just..”

“I have loved you since we were children, even before I knew what love was, Sam.”

“I can’t do anything with thinking about you, fuck. I think I love you a little bit more each day.” His eyes move between your lips and your eyes, “to spend life with you..” he chuckles, his thumb rubbing over your cheek, “..that’s my childhood dream and the more time I spend with you, the deeper I fall.”

Your hands slide up to his face as you nod, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Your lips meet and he pulls you closer, “I couldn’t be with someone else, knowing you were right here.” He leans back, “I just must have been stuck on thinking it wouldn’t have worked out.”

“You said it first, I know you better than anyone and same goes for you.” You run your hand through his hair and he smirks, “Yeah, we just have that special connection don’t we.”

“We have somethin’ special.” You smile, leaning in to peck his lips again, “So I take it.. Colby is getting his own room?”

“Yeah, that’s what I came to talk to you about.” Sam laughs, “Colby said that if I didn’t tell you he was going to, and I think it would have been better if I just had the guys to do it myself.”

“It was.” You smile, “Definitely was.” You wrap your arms around him and he holds you tight, “I promise, I’m never letting go.”

“You haven’t let go, all these years and I’m still here.” You smile against his chest, “I really don’t want my life to be any different.”

“Really? You wouldn’t change anything?” Sam glances down at you and you look up at him, “I mean..” you laugh slightly, “How about you ask me that, after a nap?”

He nods, “you read my mind.” He smiles and pulls you with him to the bed. You lay down with him and take a deep breath, “Sorry I haven’t said anything either.”

He shakes his head, “Don’t do that, baby.” He kisses your head, “we’re here now.”

You smile at the name, “Yeah baby.” You look up at him, “We’re here now.”

He pulls you in closer, his legs hooking over yours to hold you closer, “I’ve stayed awake at night fighting the urge to just come and cuddle you.”

“You should have just given in.” You smirk and he starts babbling, “I didn’t.. I wasn’t sure if you-“

“Sam.” You lift your head, “I know, I know.”

He laughs and dips his head down to kiss you, “I regret the time I lost, not being able to hold you like this.” You nuzzle your face into his neck, just breathing him in, “It’s fine, Sam. We have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

He kisses your head, “get some sleep. Colby’s got a list of plans for us for these next few days.”

You laugh, “Of course he does.”

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Thank you so much for reading! I love you all so much! See you in the next one! 🖤

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