#and any really ridiculous au I can add to

[randomrabbys]

Like Minds reincarnation AU, but they are fated to die everytime they are reunited as one.

See below for more details-> it’s a lot of rambling but I can’t get it out in any other way

This is based on the theory that Nigel is Alex’s real Maraclea, but also that he was the original (lady of) Maraclea. Alex once being the Templar Knight that fell in love with Maraclea and taking her skull that he believed held power, this being the beginning of the reincarnations, the cause of it all. 

With the whole ritual that Nigel has in mind for him and Alex is recreating what was depicted in the legend, find your Maraclea, claim your Maraclea, and retrieve what belonged to them in nine months. This being the skulls of both of their chosen Maracleas. 

I think in talking of this AU, Nigel knew that something was missing in his life, he was the first to die as fated, so he is the first to seek what he knew he was missing. This is most likely why Nigel was such an odd individual, he was utterly consumed by what was missing and when he found his and Alex's legend(the legend of the great lady of Maraclea). He felt a connection to it and created his own little fantasy of him and another finding their maraclea’s.

He didn’t see him self as Maraclea and he knew he had to find someone, so he connected the jack of spades card to the legend of Maraclea. This pulling Alex in.

They were so connected, in their thoughts, emotions, and their entire bodies were also in way contrasting the other(if that makes sense). After time, after countless reincarnations since the first death(the legend), they have known each other and have started to mirror the other in past lives.

In every moment of becoming one, all of the reincarnations, I think in this one it is the first time they had found their original selves. In previous lives they might have just subconsciously followed the same path as the originals. Found eachother, “Maraclea” dies, “Templar knight” is lost in grief and in some they will take something from the grave, a bone or a beloved object and carry it until they die, never wanting to part from it. They would worship it unknowingly.

In others, they might not return to the grave and take anything. This will haunt them, even if they don’t know why. And they will die soon after. Once they have been intertwined and have become one, they cannot be separated. a part of Maraclea has to be carried by the “Templar knight” or it will slowly kill them, it has already been decided by fate. Why? Perhaps it is the curse for taking the skull the first time, for a mortal to gain the power of an immortal being.

For Alex and Nigel being aware of the legend of having and indescribable knowing that it is a deep part of them, I think their experience would be quite different from their previous lives. They know what is expected to happen, what they need to do, but they are not all knowing of it. They still have ignorance, Alex refusing it and Nigel not being aware that he is the real Maraclea. In every life they will be fated to the same outcome and there is nothing they can do to escape the curse that the originals are responsible for.

They obtained eternity, but at what cost?

(Edited: also thinking about how Nigel is so desperate about eternity, it’s dramatic irony)

[okwonyo]

❛ YOU ARE MADE OF ANGEL DUST ❜

FORWORD. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗌, 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒.

❪ 𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝒾𝖲 ❫ prince!enhypen x princess!reader 12OO royalty au fluff domestic ⎯⎯disc. kissing petnames skinship reblogs ୨୧ feedbacks & daily

지아⠀⦂⠀ for @soov & you’ll like it if you like being called princess hehe

HEESEUNG

it is quite late for you when you hear things falling on your window. it doesn’t take much to understand that those said things are rocks, and it doesn’t take much time to understand who is throwing them either.

you open your window to see your prince under your balcony, well dressed and hair slicked back. from down there he mouths while he opens his arms, “come down,” and of course, “princess!”

you want to shout and tell him that he is ridiculous. that you already saw each other this afternoon and that there was no need to sneak out so late. be heeseung is heeseung, he loves risks almost as much as he loves you.

there is not a long thinking process before you find yourself sitting on your balcony’s barrier— trusting him enough to catch you. but he does.

with his arms around your tight as he holds you high, he greets you, “i missed you, baby,”

JAY

“c’mon,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing the skin under your eyes, wiping your shining tears. “a princess like you is too pretty to cry.”

the lightness in his tone makes smile. it makes the mood lighter, it makes you less sad. but everytime you look at his face, whenever your gaze falls on his lips, on his cheekbones, the bruises break your heart. you can feel his heartbeat underneath your palm as he holds your hand on his chest, “and a prince like you shouldn’t have scars.”

the prince’s sweet smile gets wider, contrasting with the obvious sadness and worry in his eyes. he look apologetic, even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

“princess,” he starts. he cups your face in the most caring way you have ever seen, his keeps on your tears. “i have to fight for my people, for my friends, my family and for you.”

you only look at him in lieu of answering. the admiration in your eyes must be as obvious as your concern for your dear lover. your adoration for him grows even bigger when he adds, “and when it’ll be all over, i’ll always be yours.”

JAKE

his smile is utterly lovely when he declares, “let me help you, your majesty,” while offering is hand to you.

you accept without any hesitation but with much giggles. the prince helps you get on the beautiful brown horse standing in front of you both. his hand is your is delicate— you get up there being carefully observed and pampered.

“hold on tight, princess,” he smirks after settling in front of you. you wrap your arms around his chest with a smile on your lips and rest your head on his broad back.

“where are you taking me?” you question after a while, right after remembering where you were— you often get lost in his scent when he is around, forgetting everything around you.

“somewhere as beautiful as you are,” he responds, his voice vibrating in your heart. butterflies erupts in the pit of your stomach when you arrive at your destination. the sea stares right back at you widened eyes, in pure awe.

SUNGHOON

there isn’t enough words to describe how it makes you feel whenever the prince asks you to dance with him. although, it is never the first time— you dance with him since the day you knew how to walk. he is the one you learned how to dance properly with.

everytime he takes your hand in his, then he holds your lower back, that it pulls you close— you always feel an overwhelming feeling of attraction. as if your soul is being pulled towards him.

he must know, how it makes you feel. you know it. because ever since puberty hit him, he is not afraid— in front of the heavy eye of everyone— to whisper something in your ear. right after making you twirl in your long dress.

“don’t be shy, princess,” he says next to your ear. his breath is always so hot against yours. this added to this public display of affection in public makes you blush.

you close your eyes, well too shy to even look st the people are you. he holds you close as you both dance, “it’s only you and me when we dance.”

SUNOO

“follow me,” is all that he says. although, he takes your wrist in his hand and drags you behind him, not giving you much choice, you do follow him.

you don’t say much, just admiring his back as he brings you to the garden behind the palace. he carefully avoids his maids and yours as well— the place is quite crowded today, especially since you had lunch together.

he loosen his grip on your wrist after arriving at his destination. you miss his touch immediately but the way he smiles at you makes you forget about everything you have ever known.

you are too starstruck to acknowledge him walking to get behind you. the cold material on your exposed skin makes you shiver, earning a gasp out of you. you touch it, you feel the pearls against your fingertips.

“i hope you like it,” he tells you right next to your ear. “this necklace has been in my family for generations.”

JUNGWON

you wipe your head to your room’s door as soon as it opens in a swift movement. your maid seems enthusiastic, red in the face like she ran all the way to your room, “your majesty! prince jungwon has arrived.”

you almost get dizzy with how fast you get up from the couch. your heart beats well too fast for you to even say anything. the only thing you can do is to, with a heavy breath, look at the palace’s portail from your balcony.

you see the horses and the carriage. those are things you recognize far too well, too used to waiting for his return from travels all over the world and his visits to your kingdom.

in a heartbeat, you hold your dress and start ruminating out of your room. then you run down the hallway, get down the stairs at the same speed. you may bump into a few people and your shoes echo in the entire palace as you run to the door.

you are out of breath and your legs hurt but you don’t mind. when you finally get to reach him, when you feel his arms embracing you and his scent all over the place— you forget about it all. his hold you tight, even making your feet leave the floor, “my princess.”

RIKI

a cool breeze washes over your body. it caresses your skin, soothes your soul as well as his fingers in your hair. eyes closed, your head on his laps, laying on the green ground.

“i hope that we can get married soon,” is the first words he pronounces after a while. you think that you must be dreaming— he has never said something like this before. maybe he thought about it, but he never said it.

and it’s not like you are surprised. you are supposed to marry him one day, it has always been a known fact. but he has never told you that he wanted to, that he hoped.

you open your eyes. and it’s like waking up from a dream. the sun shines behind his head, he looks down at you with such love that it makes you want to cry. “what?” is all you manage to say— with a smile making its way to your lips.

he takes your hand in his and brings it to his mouth. his lips are soft as he kisses your knuckles, “i want you to be mine forever.”

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[hirayalore]

— PART ONE, PART TWO.

the one where the thought of someone liking you romantically has never crossed your mind, much less being liked by your own crush, sirius black, who proves to you that all your doubts are nonsense.

pairing: sirius black x fem!reader

word count: 3k

rating: PG-15

content: fluff, established relationship au; gryffindor!reader

warning/s: mentions of being insecure, low self-esteem

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ reposted from my other account !

Being seen with Sirius — and frequently, might you add — indeed became the talk of the town for the first few days.

As soon as the news spread, Iris and Martha, your close friends, interrogated you endlessly inside your shared room at the dormitory, asking a bunch of questions that ranged from how did Sirius confess and what did you feel for the aforementioned guy.

They labeled themselves as ridiculous and as oblivious as you were when they realized that all the gestures that Sirius has been doing in all the times they accused him of liking Iris were actually directed to you. They apologized, for not seeing it themselves and for not thinking of you as the person Sirius liked, and told you that they were going to be happy and supportive of you as long as they saw that you were happy too and that Sirius treated you well.

When your Hogsmeade date came, you spent the whole day just getting to know Sirius. Turns out, he was more well-mannered than you thought. He was a gentleman; he opened doors for you, offered to pay for everything, was the one who ordered your meal, stood up whenever you wanted to follow up something from the counter, and carried your bag when you bought some sweets from Honeydukes.

But what you liked most about him now was how he seemed genuinely interested in you and whatever that happened in your life. He made it apparent that he really was keen on discovering more about who you really were, from your hobbies, to your favorite things, and where you grew up.

“My parents… I don’t know if you’ve heard it from somewhere,” you began as you walked with him back to the path that led back to the Hogwarts castle, “but they’re, uh, Muggles. So, that means —”

“You’re Muggleborn,” Sirius supplied for you, appearing not even the slightest bit bothered by the fact. “And you don’t have any siblings, do you?”

You answered him, quite confused that he didn’t dwell too much on your revelation, but chose to drop it for now. “None.”

“Ah, so that makes you the only witch in your family.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “uh, does that sound okay?”

He glanced at you with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know. You’re a Pureblood, and you come from an excellent line of wizards.”

“You have a point,” he said, still nonchalant as ever, “but I’m… well, you can say I’m a bit different from them. I mean, to start it off, I’m a Gryffindor.” He chuckled. “Plus, I’ve moved out from my home decades ago.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I live with James over the summer. His parents treat me as their own. Nicest couple, the Potters.”

“Wow. I never knew.”

“Well, being a teenage runaway and an outcast in my own family isn’t exactly something I should be proud of.”

You both laughed.

You were relieved to find out that there was no issue about you being a Muggleborn, especially since as stated, he came from a family of impressive and some well-known wizards who — from what you remembered — believed that being a Pureblood was equivalent to being practically royalty in the wizarding world.

Even if you knew that he wasn’t like that to begin with, there was still some doubt in your mind that perhaps his mindset is the same as theirs, considering that you’ve been a victim of prejudice over the years you studied in Hogwarts and was even called a Mudblood by a Pureblood student when you surpassed them on an exam in second year.

So, to have a confirmation right now was great. You were happy to hear from him that he didn’t have any problem with it, unlike some people who you’ve caught muttering to themselves about how Sirius could associate himself with a person like you, which inevitably led to some insecurities building up.

“Do you reckon I can get away with taking you out again next week?” asked Sirius once you were back in the Gryffindor common room, stopping before you where you stood at the last step of the stairs leading to the girl’s dormitory.

Your eyebrows rose. “There’ll be a next time?”

“Yes. If that’s okay with you,” he said with a patient smile. “Or did I read the signals wrong and you actually hated spending time with me today?”

“Don’t be foolish. I didn’t hate it.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not one bit.”

“Then how did you like it?” He was suddenly doing it again, that thing he does wherein he moves closer to you and you were bound to move away because of shyness, but somehow at this instance, you couldn’t command your feet to do its usual response.

“Hm?”

“Was it nice?” He continued, a hand now placed on the stairs’ handrail, leaning towards it. “Was it okay? Was it average? Would you ever want to be with me again?” He was teasing, it was evident on his big smile and his mischievous expression.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” You frowned cutely.

“Oh, I really don’t.”

“Sirius…”

“Tell me what you think,” he urged, tone gentle.

There were girls from your house walking down the steps, seeing the scene of Sirius gazing at you and you looking flustered playing in front of them. They hushed among themselves, glancing at you in envy, and you felt your cheeks burn at the attention.

“It was nice.” You told him finally.

“Just nice?”

“Wonderful,” you corrected.

He nodded solemnly, waiting.

“And I’d like to do it again sometime.”

He grinned. “That’s more like it. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

You smiled down at the floor. “As if I was going to say something else.”

He lifted your chin up so that your eyes could meet. “Still, I like hearing it come from your lips.”

Before you went upstairs to your room, Sirius reached for your hand and kissed the back of it, winking at you and then heading to the boy’s dormitory.

For the following weeks, the both of you were consistently hanging out and going on dates. It reached a point wherein your respective friend groups were starting to merge. It was either Martha and Iris who were going to be with you two, while anyone from Sirius’ own friends tagged along and joined the party as well.

You were naturally growing more comfortable with Sirius day by day. You even allowed him to hold your hand by the third date. He has stolen a few kisses on your forehead and cheek, and has laid his head on your lap whenever you were in the Gryffindor common room, Sirius sometimes getting your hand and placing it gently on his hair, asking if you would stroke it as he tried to take a nap.

Everything was going at such a smooth and great pace.

Sirius was great. His friends were great. What you were feeling for him was getting stronger.

The only problem was the bitter people who had no business having a say in your blooming relationship.

You knew you shouldn’t mind them, but it was hard when you could hear students whispering about you in classes and during breaks, always going on about how someone like you didn’t seem to be a good fit for Sirius, either in deep belief that Purebloods shouldn’t date Muggleborns or that you were far too quiet and timid to be a wonderful match for the ever so magnetic Sirius Black.

You couldn’t agree more, to be frank. However, your greediness and happiness were what mattered to your most in situations like these that you managed to fade those comments out.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.

Or influenced you to sometimes see yourself in a harsher light.

“I knew you’d still be here,” Sirius spoke from behind you, a quick kiss being planted on your temple before he took the spot next to you on the sofa.

It was past midnight, and you were still working on an essay for History of Magic. You promised Sirius an hour or two ago that you weren’t going to stay up too late, but you haven’t been adding any new paragraphs to your essay because of your overthinking, so that meant you also haven’t reached your personal quota that was made in the first place to prevent you from cramming the said output.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” you replied, looking at him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Didn’t you say you have training for Quidditch in the morning?”

“I do.”

“Which means you really have to go to bed.”

“I tried to. Really. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Do you need warm milk or a frame that has dozens of sheep for you to count to help you get drowsy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Ha, very funny, but I actually wanted to make sure that you were already in your room. It’s not good to be here all alone.”

“I do it all the time. Nobody’s usually up in the common room at this hour, anyways.”

“Well, next time, tell me, so I’ll keep you company.”

“Oh, but that won’t be necessary.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “However, I insist. Come on, love, we’ve talked about this.”

You smiled, apologetic. “Sorry. I should know better, shouldn’t I?”

“Well, you told me that you’re still getting used to it, so I’m not holding that against you.”

“Yeah. But that’s just it, actually. I know that I should be getting used to it. To us… to you… but my brain keeps telling me that it’s bad to do so.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know,” you trailed awkwardly, realizing that you might have said too much, but you didn’t want to stop giving him a little bit more of your thoughts, getting a sudden rush of courage you’ve been wanting to have, “perhaps just, I feel like… I don’t deserve this. Any of what’s happening between us.”

Sirius stared at you, confused. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I just feel like this is all a wonderful dream that I’d have to wake up from soon.”

“____,” he began to say your name, but you shook your head, already sensing where it was heading.

“You don’t have to say anything, Sirius. It doesn’t have anything to do with how you’re making me feel.”

“Then what’s making you think this way? Is it because of what the others are saying?”

In your silence, he got the answer he needed.

“It’s absolute rubbish, you know,” he said. He sat up straight too, appearing more passionate now. “People don’t know what they’re blabbering about. All they want is to stick their noses into others’ businesses when they don’t know anything.”

“Sometimes they have a point, though.”

“Such as?”

“Such as you being a Pureblood and me being a Muggleborn not making any sense.”

He seemed frustrated at that. His nostrils flared a bit when you mentioned it. “Since when did that matter anymore? Lily and James are literally the same.”

“Yeah, but we’re not the same same as them. We’re still different. Lily’s different. She’s much more spectacular than I am.”

 “Come on, you’re being absurd. You’re amazing, ____.”

You had the nerve to laugh. “It’s fine, really. You don’t have to make me feel better. If there’s something that I’m used to, it’s this.” You sighed, going back to your previous position and focusing back on your parchment. “I’m sorry I brought it up in the first place.”

“No, don’t be,” he reached for your hand and forced you to face him again, in which you did, but you still couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I should be the one apologizing. I haven’t been checking up on you about this. I should have known better that this was something that would bother you.”

“What do you even see in me, Sirius?”

“What?”

“We nearly have nothing in common. You should be someone who’s at the same level as you are.”

“No, I don’t. I much rather be with you — regardless of how different we are, I don’t particularly care and I never thought of it as an issue nor will I ever do.” Sirius pursed his lips, appearing a bit nervous now because of what he was going to say. “Look, ____, I like you so much. I like every aspect of you and what kind of person you are. I see what you’re made of, and I cherish you very much because of it. I like your kindness, your wit, your energy, and your whole being. You’re simply the easiest person to adore, and I’m utterly puzzled that you cannot see it.”

Your tongue felt dry. No one has ever declared what they felt for you in that manner before. It caused your eyes to tear up a bit at the overwhelming reality that there was a person out there who saw you this way, who liked you for who you are and didn’t give two cents of what others thought of about it. You were so accustomed to being unseen, not given that much importance to, that to have Sirius tell you what you meant to him brought indescribable contentment in your heart.

So, without thinking, you leaned towards him and kissed his lips, bringing your arms around his neck while he parted his mouth in surprise, nonetheless wrapping his own around your waist to support your weight on him.

Sirius reciprocated the kiss, matching the vigor you were showing him, despite being shocked that you were the one who initiated your first ever real kiss with him. He was under the impression that it would take more dates before the both of you would reach this point, a concept that he didn’t have any problem with since he was sincere when he said he’d be patient with you, and that he’d be the one who was going to test the waters before asking if you were good with the thought of him planting a kiss on your lips.

“I like you so much too, Sirius,” you whispered, pulling away and gasping for air. “Having you be in my life is perhaps one of the most unexpected yet greatest things to happen to me.”

He grinned at that, pressing another firm kiss on your lips that made you sigh. “You’re so wonderful, love. I should’ve been with you since first year if only I wasn’t a bloody coward.”

You both laughed at his statement.

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “You have a lifetime now to show me what I’ve been missing.”

“You’re exceptionally bold tonight.” He observed.

“Well, the guy I have been crushing on and dating just made a heartfelt declaration of his attraction to me so I’m feeling my best.”

“About time that he did, honestly. Will this guy have the honor of being officially your boyfriend if he asked tonight?”

Your eyes widened. “That depends. Is he going to ask right now?”

“He’s about to. Just after he stops pretending that he’s pertaining to another guy and not himself.”

Another laugh and you were kissing him again, Sirius holding onto you tightly as he kept you in his embrace.

“Be mine?” he murmured against you, drawing his head back a little so he could stare directly at your eyes.

You smiled. You were on cloud nine; there was nothing that could ruin your entire year. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Sirius leaned for a longer kiss, much longer than the one you just shared earlier. He thought of how he could stay all night like this, how he might have to fake sickness just to ditch quidditch practices so he wouldn’t have to wake up so damn early, but before he could seriously contemplate it, you retracted your mouth from his and was telling him that he should go back to sleep because he had a tiring day ahead of him.

He frowned, wanting to kiss you again but you shook your head, evading his advances and giggling. “Sirius, you have practice in a few hours,” you told him again, “and I have to finish my essay too. You should head back.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“But —”

“No, no.” You stood up and pulled him with you. “As your girlfriend now, my opinion holds more bearing, so when I say that you should go back to sleep —”

“I should follow you?” he finished, allowing you to lead him back to where the boy’s dormitory is headed.

You grinned, teasing. “Only if you want to, of course.”

He snorted. “You promise not to stay up too late? Because as your boyfriend, I should be entitled to stop you from making bad decisions as well.”

“Yes, I won’t. You have my word.”

“Good.” Sirius pecked your lips. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

An even bigger grin made its way to your features. “Goodnight. I’ll see you at lunch?”

He nodded. “You’ll probably catch me standing at the Gryffindor table too. I have to announce to the whole school that you’re my girlfriend. Can’t have anyone thinking you’re still available, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.”

“Sirius.”

“Goodnight. Dream of me, would you?” He snickered, abruptly rushing to the dormitory and leaving you there, speechless.

You were positive that he was only bluffing to tease the hell out of you who was not a fan of too much attention, but somehow, considering Sirius’ track record of being mischievous, you suddenly feared that he was not bluffing like you reckoned him to be.

Not to mention that he could be really petty at times too, and given that a lot of students still did not believe that a person like him would like a person like you, making a dramatic proclamation of how much he liked you and how much he hated those who couldn’t keep their idiotic opinions to themselves would certainly make a point.

For some reason, you found yourself smiling at the idea, secretly pleased that you had Sirius — the person you were now sure would move the earth and moon for you if that was what you wanted.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[meraki-sunset]

so your crow strider au gave me inspiration for my own au, but i've built up the idea in my brain so much that now im scared to try to put it to paper (oops) did you ever deal with this while making crow strider? (and if you did, how you got over it would be much appreciated thanks fhdjks) also your art is cool :]

Hi, sure, i encountered a few blocks when writing CSAU and other projects. I think my method comes down to a couple rules

You need to know how the story ends from the start, so everything in the story leads to the end. Things can change about the contents of the story as you write it and you change your mind about the events that will transpire in it, but you need an end goal you can build your story towards. Most importantly, this is what allows you to add foreshadowing for said ending and structure the narrative in a clear direction. Otherwise, you might come up with a cool ending too late and regret some choices from past chapters that now don’t help this new ending you want

On that same note (and i’ll proceed to copy and paste from an old post) You need to have a Word document with a rough timeline of the events from start to finish. You need to know how it ends from the beginning and how they get there. It can be really, really vague, but it has to be there. It can go like

. They start the game, the trolls bother them.

.both games go to hell

.scratch

.trip, develop relationships

.new set of kids/teen drama

.old kids they get there

.to hell again

.John retcons everything

.new timeline

.they win

And that's homestuck simplified, Those are your Acts. With them, you will know where you're going and if you need to change something earlier. Everything will be constantly up to change of course, but you will be going from point A to point Z more easily.

From there, you go to every point in that list and create a Word document for all of them. I have them in different folders to have every act separated and in order.

A folder for each Doc for every Act, Numbered, and in each one make more lists like that one telling what happens, for example

WordDoc1 - ACT 1 "They start the game, the trolls bother them"=

.John needs to get his game

.introduce Rose

.introduce the trolls on pester chats

. John gets the game

.introduce Dave

.etc

And those are your chapters. Now you can know the extent of what you want to do and if it makes any sense.

I addition to that, every Folder can contain not only the Word document for the Act but also relevant texts and art that are connected to the Act, so evey folder is all about that specific act and any inspiration for it.

Another piece of advice I can give you is to hint at anything important. That's a rule of comedy; actually, the comedian usually closes the show with something related to the first things they said.

That works for everything, and makes people go, "Oh the thing! The meaningless thing they said earlier, it was a clue all along!"

Interconnect it like a web, and that web will stop the story from falling

Homestuck is so ridiculously interconnected that you lose track of the stuff and objects that repeat that have no way to be where they got to be, songs and people and events that are too similar to not be connected but nobody addresses, things like that make it feel like you're dealing with a universe and not just a line of events.

3. Yet another thing, it's something I'm still trying to assimilate, and is that less is more, sometimes things don't need to be said, specialy not bluntly, and an expression, a gesture, a flinch can summarize them. Backgrounds can be reduced, and ideas can be conveyed.

one example is, In homestuck, it's never said that Dave was raised with lack of food. He never sais it, but it's shown in how happy he was to find a warm bottle of juice in his closet, how there is only weapons on the kitchen and no sign of food, how he later sais he never learned what the purpose of a fridge was until he saw it on tv. If someone is lacking something, don't have them say, "i grew up without X thing" show what filled that space in the absence of X thing.

Instead of some character saying, "My dad was never there for christmas" have them say how they thrited for presents at the local goodwill, payed with their lawn mowing money and put the presents under the tree themselves for their siblings and mom.

4. Something that I always have in mind when writing the dialogs and sketching the scenes, is

"I have an idea; what's the easiest way for someone to get the idea, to get the feelings i want to transmit from the idea?" I made the art something I could handle drawing hundreds of times, simplified the coloring, the aspect symbols, the way I draw backgrounds, the way I write dialogs, etc.

That will save you time and work and could prevent you from getting stuck with a project too big to handle

5. This is the most important one: The first draft’s only purpose is to exist.

Writing is like playing darts sometimes; you only get closer to hitting the center by missing it and learning what not to do. That’s an actual rule on animation and a motto on the Disney office. “Get it wrong as quick as you can,” because when you learn what you’re doing wrong is when you start learnign what doing it right means.

If it helps, title your first draft “the dumb version,” because that’s what it is—the version to get the idea out of your head, and then you built over it.

On the same note, once you write "the dumb version" don’t correct it. Rewrite it. It’s annoying, I know, i know, but fixing and fixing a text only carries the mistakes from the first draft, and everything looks kind of disconnected, because it ends up being a Frankenstein text of all the versions of the story mixed together.

This also applies to art; that’s how I handle both writing and drawing; if it’s not working, hold onto the core idea, new page, restart.

Rewriting it puts it in perspective; it feels like a text of its own, with a clear intent in mind.

I think that’s all I have. Making a story is mostly about managing your strengths and weaknesses, organizing and not being scared of it not being perfect.

Hope this helps.

[sincerelyneo]

woman | h.rj

“i hope you can see the shape that i’m in while he’s touching your skin”

💿now playing: woman by harry styles

❯ summary: Renjun is selfish - he knows. He knows that he has no right to be jealous of Shotato, your dance partner, but he is. Because even though he broke up with you, you’re still his.

❯ pairings: renjun x fem!reader (ft. riize’s shotaro)

❯ genre: exes, smut, angst, idol!au

❯ words: 6.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, jealousy, swearing, arguing, slight angst, smut, dom!renjun, unprotected sex (don't do this!), marking, possessiveness, oral sex (f receiving), praising, mirror sex, hair pulling, creampie, porn with a little bit of plot, use of 'my girl', reader uses she/her pronouns, literally just renjun being jealous and sulky for 6k words.

Fuck Osaki Shotaro. 

That’s the only thing going through Renjun’s mind as he sees the younger dancer have his hands all over you in your dance rehearsal. 

Renjun knows he has no right to be seething right now - he’s the one that broke up with you - but there’s something about seeing Shotaro in your personal space, tracing his fingers down your torso, and making you smile with every compliment he gives you on your technique that’s really starting to piss him off.  

It's not that Renjun has any specific issue with Shotaro himself; any guy in his position would irk him. Still, it’s Shotaro's love for helping others improve their dancing that only adds fuel to Renjun's frustration, especially now that he's volunteered to assist you.

As Renjun feigns busyness on his phone, waiting for his own rehearsal, he seethes behind the glass of the practice room, a visible vein pulsing on his forehead. 

“Dude, you’re practically burning holes into Taro’s hoodie,” Chenle chuckles as he walks over, a smirk playing on his lips as he gazes down at Renjun.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, I’m not!” Renjun rolls his eyes and moves his bag to make room for Chenle to sit on the floor beside him.

“Oh yeah?” Chenle teases, “Then what’s with the bursting vein on your forehead?”

“I’ve just been replying to some shitty emails,” he lies, hastily locking his phone and stuffing it into his pocket.

Chenle quirks a brow and gives him a deadpan look, “You had the weather app open.”

Renjun runs a hand through his hair, about to defend himself, but then he hears your laughter and his gaze snaps back to the glass instantly. 

Shotaro's hand delicately trails along the curve of your waist, before he pulls you into a graceful twirl. You laugh softly, the sound echoing in the room loud enough for everyone outside to hear. Your movements are fluid and seamless against each other, and it’s starting to make Renjun feel sick.  

What dance lesson requires the instructor to twirl and dip the student?

Shotaro's grin is infectious as he spins you around, and you giggle in response. Renjun’s not stupid - he can see the chemistry, the easy camaraderie that exists between the two of you, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

As Renjun's eyes fixate on the scene inside the practice room, he scoffs tonguing the inside of his cheek. Chenle follows his gaze and smiles, an idea popping into his head. He lets out a low whistle. "Damn, they're really going for it, huh?"

Renjun clenches his jaw, trying to tamp down the surge of irritation. "Yeah, well, they're just rehearsing," he mutters dismissively. 

“Just rehearsing? We don’t rehearse like that,” Chenle counters, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Renjun looks up at him with a scowl. He doesn’t know what’s worse, what’s going on in front of him or the irritating little man next to him who seemingly loves poking the already angry bear. He can practically feel the amusement radiating off his friend as if he's revelling in his torment. It's infuriating, but Renjun knows he can't let it get to him. Instead, he focuses back on the glass, his jaw clenched tight as he watches Shotaro's infectious grin and your giggles echo through the room.

“Taro’s cool, I’m sure if you asked him to stop dancing with Y/N he would,” Chenle suggests. 

But Renjun's got more pride than that. He's just about able to handle the teasing from his friends about his jealousy, and he knows that telling Taro to back off would only add fuel to the fire of ridicule. And he's not sure if he's ready to deal with that.

“I don’t mind Y/N and him dancing together,” he shrugs.

Chenle’s face falls flat, “Huang Renjun don’t lie to me. You’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not!” His voice raises to an audio level that’s louder than he would like, gaining the attention of some of the other members outside the room.

"Hey, man, look I’m sorry, but it's okay to feel jealous. You two dated for a long time,” Chenle pats him on the shoulder gently. “Honestley I’m shocked the two of you even broke up.”

So is Renjun - even though he knows he was the one who initiated it. Honestly, there was no good reason for your breakup now that he thinks about it - now that he sees you with someone else. The reason behind the breakup stemmed from Renjun’s growing anxiety that being an idol would force distance between the two of you. You had assured him it wouldn’t, and you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to be his girlfriend; still, Renjun figured separation would be the best despite your protests. 

He sighs, feeling a mix of frustration and gratitude for Chenle's understanding. "I know, it's just..." He trails off. He doesn’t know how to properly articulate what he’s feeling without sounding like a hypocrite.

Still, Chenle nods sympathetically. "Just give yourself some time, Renjun. It'll get easier."

Renjun offers a weak smile in response before turning back to the glass. He doesn’t have his phone in his hand to ‘distract’ him now so he has to watch the scene in front of him, and his heart sinks.

He doesn’t even know how it happened, one minute the two of you are just laughing together, then he turns to talk to Chenle for another and as he turns back to you, Shotaro's hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin with a tender touch. Your eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean into his touch, your bodies inching closer.

He can't tear his eyes away, the sight before him a painful reminder of what once was and what now feels so out of reach. Renjun's fists clench at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he struggles to contain himself.

It's not just the physical proximity that stings, but the undeniable chemistry between you and Shotaro that Renjun just can't ignore. The way your laughter intertwines with his, the way your eyes lock - it's like a dagger to his heart, reopening wounds he thought had healed.

But just as your lips are about to meet, Renjun's up on his feet and barging through the practice room door without a knock. 

"Alright, rehearsal time's over," he announces, his tone clipped and authoritative as he strides into the room.

Shotaro immediately pulls away from you, glancing at Renjun, who responds with a scowl. Despite the tension, Renjun can't help but feel a sense of relief as the two of you separate.

"Hyung, we've still got fifteen minutes—"

"We need to start early today, gotta prep for the comeback and all," he interrupts.

Renjun's gaze shifts to you. You're shaking your head at him, hands on your hips, your midriff exposed and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It brings back memories of all the times he's fucked you in this very practice room. Apart from the physical closeness, the fact that Shotaro got to witness you like this - sweaty and out of breath -  infuriates him.

“That’s not fair Jun, we booked this room for the full hour, you can’t just barge in like this!” You argue with him, but Renjun can’t even take in anything you’re saying because even after your months apart, you still use that nickname for him. 

Shotaro snaps him back to attention, “It’s fine, Y/N, we can reschedule for next week.”

Like hell you will, Renjun thinks.

You narrow your eyes at your ex-boyfriend before scoffing and heading for your dance bag, tossing it on your shoulder and heading to the exit. You make sure to slam your shoulder into his body as you pass him, muttering how much you hate him under your breath. 

Shotaro’s about to follow your lead, hoisting his own bag over his shoulder, but Renjun stops him in his tracks.

“Taro, can I talk to you for a sec?” 

Shotaro nods, slinging his bag back down but pausing by the door. 

Taro 1:25 pm

Sorry Y/N, I won’t be able to help you with your

rehearsals anymore, something’s come up. 

There’s just no way. You look down at the text message, confused. 

Shotaro loves dancing, he loves teaching people choreography and helping them improve, so you know there’s no possible way he’d cancel your sessions like this with no word of rescheduling. Glancing at the time on your phone, you realize it's Wednesday afternoon - around the time Shotaro usually finishes his dance practices with his group. With a furrowed brow, you decide to head over to the practice rooms to ask him about it.

After all, you liked Taro and his teaching methods. 

As you approach the practice rooms, the faint strains of music drift through the hallway, accompanied by a few stops and restarts. Finally, you reach the room where Riize is rehearsing. The door stands slightly ajar, and you pause, opting to linger and peer through the glass instead. Inside, you see them all - sweaty and breathless, a clear sign that they've reached the end of their session.

You're about to knock on the door when you hear Anton's voice from inside. "Taro, are you eating with us today, or are you practising with Y/N again?"

“I’m not helping Y/N out anymore,” he replies and you deflate a little. 

“Why? I thought you liked dancing with her.”

Shotaro groans audibly, then passes his water bottle to Eunseok, who starts chuckling.

“What’s funny?” Anton asks.

“Hasn’t he told you?” Eunseok interjects, casting a glance between them, “Taro loves dancing with Y/N, but last week Renjun made it known that he’s not too keen on it.”

Anton’s face channels your own, because what the fuck did that mean?

You look down at the text message again, and now that you look at it, it only has one person written all over it. 

You know your ex-boyfriend better than anyone, and just from the way he crashed your practice last week, you could tell that the dance rehearsals with his old group member were getting under his skin. You won’t lie, there’s a part of you that liked the idea of irritating him, riling him up now and then just to be reminded that he still cared. But you’d never think he’d go this far. 

“It’s true,” Shotaro confirms, “Last week he told me to hang back after one of our practices, and he asked me to…” he clams up abruptly when he sees you standing in the doorway, arms folded tight across your chest. 

“He asked you to what?”

Shotaro doesn’t answer. The laughter between the boys suddenly runs quiet as you all just look at each other. 

“Finish that sentence, Taro.”

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, “Y/N, come on, he told me not to say anything—”

“Tell me what he said to you, he doesn’t just get to make demands about me anymore.”

“It wasn’t exactly a demand…” he mumbles, “More of a request.”

You give him a knowing look, “I swear to God if you don’t tell me what you know right now Shotaro, I’ll—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupts, “I’ll tell you.”

Around half an hour after grilling Shotaro and his group members for the truth, you burst through the practice room of NCT DREAM. The air is hot and humid, and it only channels the fury that’s built up in your muscles since finding out about your ex-boyfriend’s silly little plan. Huang Renjun has officially crossed the line and there’s no way on this Earth you’re going to let him get away with it without a lecture.

The boys all look a mixture of shocked and surprised to see you. And you don’t blame them, the last time you were in a practice with them, you were happy, probably bringing your boyfriend lunch to make sure he’d eaten. But this time you’re angry, so angry you’re body is trembling.

“Huang Renjun!”

He turns around almost instantly, and instead of looking scared about your anger, he fucking smirks with that stupid beautiful smile you hate (love).

“Y/N?” He responds innocently, though there's a glint of mischief in his eyes that tells you he's well aware of the storm about to be unleashed upon him.

As you and Renjun lock eyes, a heavy silence descends upon the room, punctuated only by the sound of your breathing. Mark, ever perceptive, notices the tension crackling between you, and like a good leader he senses the need to diffuse the situation. 

"Alright, everyone," he interjects, his voice firm yet soothing. "Let's take a break, yeah?"

Because of Mark's intervention, the boys nod in agreement, gathering their belongings and exchanging knowing glances and whispers as they file out of the practice room one by one.

With the others now gone, you waste no time laying into him, “What is the matter with you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs. 

You scoff, frustration bubbling up inside you. "Don’t pull that clueless shit with me. He told me what you did!”

His facade cracks ever so slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crosses his features before he quickly masks it with a defiant smirk. "And what exactly do you think I did?"

"Oh, don't play dumb," you snap, advancing towards him with each step. "You told Shotaro to cancel our dance lessons, didn't you?"

Renjun's expression remains infuriatingly neutral, but there's a glint of defiance in his eyes that sets your blood boiling even more. "And if I did?"

The audacity of his response only serves to fuel your rage. "Do you have any idea how selfish and manipulative that is?" You accuse, your voice rising with each word. "You have no right to interfere with my life anymore!"

He doesn’t look at all remorseful as he shrugs, “I’m not interfering in your life, I just figured Shotaro shouldn’t overflow his schedule.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’re unbelievable. That’s not your call to make. You’ve never had a problem with Shotaro teaching anybody else to dance until me.”

“That was before Riize debuted, it’s different now Y/N.”

“No, it’s not fair!” You snap, “You’re not being fair.”

“I’m just looking out for Taro…as his senior.”

“No, you’re not, you’re doing this to piss me off!” You groan, “So I’m asking you why?”

Renjun clings to the last shred of his pride, attempting to brush past you to grab his water bottle, hoping to deflect the conversation elsewhere. But you weren't about to let him off that easily. You reach out and grab his hand as he tries to slip past.

Your eyes plead with him, and he cracks under the weight of your gaze.

"What do you want me to say, Y/N?" He finally erupts, his voice rising in frustration. "You want me to admit that I'm fucking jealous, that I can't stand the thought of him with you?"

“What, if you can’t have me no one else can?”

He goes quiet at that and just looks at you, the silence speaks a thousand words and you can’t believe his audacity right now. 

With a heavy sigh, you run a hand through your hair, exhaustion creeping in. "You broke up with me," you remind him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Renjun's expression softens for a fleeting moment, a trace of remorse flickering in his eyes before it's replaced. "I know," he admits. "But that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."

You take a step back, his words hitting you harder than you expected. "Caring about me doesn't give you the right to meddle in my life.”

He reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air between you as if unsure whether to touch you or not. "I messed up, okay? It’s just, I don’t like the way he touches you. I guess…I let my jealousy get the best of me."

"Jealousy?" You repeat. "After everything that's happened between us, you're still jealous?"

Renjun's gaze drops to the floor, unable to meet yours. "I can't help it," he admits, his voice barely audible. "Seeing you with him, it just... it drives me crazy."

You shake your head in disbelief, struggling to process his confession. "You broke up with me, Renjun. You made that choice."

"I know," he repeats, his voice filled with remorse. "And I regret it every day."

You're torn between anger and longing, resentment and yearning. Honestly, ever since he broke up with you there hasn’t been a day where you haven’t missed him. You’ve waited to hear him say those words - that he regrets leaving you - but you’re not about to make it easy for him to just crawl back. 

You narrow your eyes at him, a mischievous glint dancing in them as a sly smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "You know, Shotaro is a great dancer," you say, your tone deliberately casual.

Renjun's jaw clenches at the mention of the name, his gaze flickering with a mix of anger and insecurity. 

"It's been interesting to know he's always there for me now that you're not,” you say with a nonchalant shrug, enjoying the way his irritation simmers beneath the surface.

You watch as his hands clench into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling with each aggravated breath. His eyes darken with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to back down.

"It's almost as if he's filling a void that you left behind," you continue. "But I suppose that's just the way things go after a breakup, isn't it?"

The taunt hits its mark and Renjun's temper flares. In a sudden burst of rage, he closes the distance between you, his grip tightening on your shoulders as he presses you against the nearby mirror. His gaze turns possessive as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. 

"You really think I'll let him have you like that so easily?” He asks, voice low and dangerous.

You shiver at the intensity of his words, feeling a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "And what makes you think that’s your call to make?" 

A wicked smile tugs at Renjun's lips, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Because deep down, you know you’re still my girl," he asserts. "No matter how much you keep trying to deny it, you know you’re mine."

You scoff, trying to ignore the way his words resonate within you, "You can't just break up with me and then waltz back into my life claiming me as your own, Jun!" 

He smiles at the nickname again, and it gives him the confidence boost he needs to know you still want him, still crave him the way he craves you. 

"Oh but I can," he counters, his tone unwavering. He brings his finger to your cheek, tracing it along your skin until it rests underneath your chin. "Because no one else can make you feel the way I do. No one else knows you like I do."

His words send a shiver down your spine. All the good times you have with him replay in your mind and despite your best efforts to resist, you find yourself succumbing to the magnetic pull of his presence, to the familiarity of his touch.

"You’re fucking crazy babe if you think I’ll let some other man have you," he whispers. "Especially him.”

Your eyes narrow, he’s so close now that the two of you are practically sharing the same breath.

“And you’re fucking crazy if you think you have a say in my relationships.”

He remains unfazed at your rebuttal, his gaze unwavering as he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to yours now. "Maybe I am," he concedes smugly. "But deep down, you know you still want me."

Part of you wants to push him away, to resist the pull of him, but another part - the part that still aches for his touch, for his love - finds itself surrendering.

"Renjun," you whisper, voice barely above a breath. "I..."

And before you can finish your sentence, his lips crash against yours in a heated, passionate kiss, his pent-up frustration and desire spilling over into the touch. It's a tumultuous mix of emotions - there’s still so much unresolved between the two of you - but you get lost in the moment. You melt into his embrace, and perhaps, just perhaps, being possessed by Renjun again isn't such a bad thing after all.

As the kiss deepens, your hands tangle themselves into his hair until it’s dishevelled and the lines between love and hate blur. It's a dangerous game you're playing, dancing on the razor's edge between desire and destruction, but right now you couldn't care less about the consequences. You can talk about all that later - after he fucks you. 

He pulls back for a breath, trailing kisses down from your lips to your neck, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

"God, I've missed you," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

"I've missed you too," you gasp out as he starts to nibble on your earlobe.

He moves his hand up higher along your thigh until it reaches the hem of your shorts, and he wastes no time slipping his fingers inside them. “It’s been too long.”

You exhale as you feel his hand brush against the edge of your panties before slipping under them. He runs his hand through your folds as he looks at you with a predatory glint in his eyes before finding your clit. A soft moan escapes your lips as you move your hips instinctively towards him.

"You're so wet already," he murmurs as he starts to rub circles around your clit. “This all for me?”

You arch your back in pleasure, feeling a wave of heat surge through your body. You nod pathetically, not being able to form a coherent sentence because the familiar feeling of Renjun's touch makes you feel dizzy. He smirks at your reaction, then pulls out his hand making you whimper from the loss of friction. 

You know you’re fueling his ego with your whining, but you can’t help it. You hadn’t realised just how much you missed the feeling of his hands before they were being ripped away from you so abruptly. 

“You know, you never asked me for dance lessons when we were dating,” he says - almost accusatory -  between soft pants as his kisses return to your jaw, trailing down your neck. His hands slowly travel from your legs and past your waist, dancing along your exposed sides until his fingers are fiddling with the straps of your sports bra. 

You can’t stand his teasing, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned about sex with Renjun, it’s that you play by his rules.

“I know,” you remark, a little breathless.

“And I hated every time he would touch your skin, and how much it would make you laugh and smile,” he growls, gently nipping your neck and soothing the spot with his tongue. “I want all your fucking smiles, Y/N.”

You hold back a whimper as he sucks a small spot just beside your collarbone, a mark you know you’re going to have to cover tomorrow. 

“Seems quite selfish, Jun.”

“I guess I am when it comes to you.”

His fingers take off your bra, exposing your naked breasts to him. You gasp at the cool air making your nipples toughen. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and wild and sending a shot of pleasure straight through you. Not once does he break contact as his hands slide down your body, grazing your nipples until you shiver, and travel down until he is back at the hem of your shorts.

His fingers dance along your inner thighs before they trace along the hem of your panties. Your breath hitches as he skims along your clothed clit, not enough to be truly stimulating but enough to make you bite down in anticipation.

He knows you want more, but your impatience is his favourite part. 

So he doesn’t bother to hide his smirk as he wraps his fingers around your waistband and slowly tugs on your shorts and panties together, pushing them down until they pool at your ankles where you swiftly step out of them. 

The smile on his lips can only be described as feral. “So damn pretty,” he mumbles, “And it’s all mine, yeah?”

You smile as you shake your head. “Possessive much?”

“Maybe a little bit,” he smiles. “But don’t pretend that you haven’t missed that about me.”

“Bold of you to think I’ve missed things about you.”

He grins. “Deny it all you want babe, but the fact you’re the one naked right now speaks volumes.”

You blush at the revelation and the fact that he’s fully clothed whilst you’re bare. You turn your head to the side and mumble. “That doesn’t mean I missed you.”

"Oh?" He raises his eyebrow, his finger gently finding the underside of your jaw, tilting it to meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, filled with a level of lust you didn’t even know was possible. “Then maybe I need to show you exactly what you’ve been missing.”

That’s when he finds himself dropping to his knees, his head dipping low enough to kiss up your thighs. You let out a small sigh as his lips latch onto your skin, nipping and sucking in the same way he used to do when he wanted to leave a trail of marks.

Your lip gets trapped between your teeth, and the cold from the mirror behind you lingers on your exposed back. You look down and wish you could see the look in his eyes right now, yearning to see the hungry glint as he’s between your thighs. You can’t help your nails from digging into his shoulders as you relax into his tantalizing kisses.

“Still so fucking responsive to me, aren’t you?” His words fan over your heated skin, his breath so close to your clit you can’t take much more.

“Don’t tease me, Junnie,” you breathe out. 

He laughs softly before pressing a gentle kiss against your clit, his tongue darting out to follow his lips. He can’t help but grin when he feels your nails digging deeper into his skin. His hands move to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh and basking in your moans. 

He loved it more than anything when his girl was always so vocal, he could get drunk off the sound. Especially when he knows it’s his tongue licking along your soaking cunt and was making you whine like that.

You’re like putty in his hands, breathless and barely able to form coherent sentences as he teases you. And before you can even whine for more, his insatiable need to taste you gets the best of him and one of your legs is being thrown over his shoulder so his face can nuzzle further against your cunt.

“Fuck,” he groans against you, the hum of his words vibrating against your clit. Your knees buckle under the sensation but the tight grip he has on your ass keeps you upright. “Still taste like fucking heaven.”

“Shit,” you moan before throwing your head back. 

“Only for me, right?” He mutters, ignoring your whine as he pulls himself away from your cunt to look up at you before adding a stern, “Answer me.” 

“Yes, yes.” You’re so needy right now that you don’t even care that it comes out in pants. “Only you.”

“That’s right, no one gets to taste this cunt but me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re mine, every fucking part of you.”

He savours the way your cheeks burn red as you nod vigorously in agreement. His mouth finds your pussy again, and now that he has your omission, he doesn’t bother holding back. He loves the way your eyes flutter shut, and the shameless moans escaping your lips as he devours you like you're the last thing he’ll ever taste - he’s certain it will be the last pussy he’ll ever taste.

You can barely think as his fingers run up and down your thighs, slowly travelling up until his thumb is pressing slow, torturous circles on your clit as his tongue dives inside you, lapping and rolling. His teasing along with the fast tempo of his tongue makes your hips rock subconsciously against his face. 

“Please, please, please.” 

The words are a shameless plea, and you can’t help it because he has your legs physically shaking.

“Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl for me and cum on my tongue.”

The simple words of praise are enough for your body to be hit with a strong wave of pleasure. Your muscles tense, your body shakes, and your thighs run wet and slick with a mix of your release and his spit. The room is only filled with pants and you feel a few soft kisses being placed along your thighs. 

Seconds later, his face, plastered with a very smug smile, appears in your line of sight. You notice how his lips and chin glisten; you didn’t think it was possible but you grow even more wet at the sight.

“I’ve missed making you cum.” 

You can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes you. “I guess I’ve missed you being the one making me cum.”

“You guess?”

“I know,” you correct, “I know I’ve missed you being the one making me cum.” You bite down on your lower lip. “Starting to think I should have more dance lessons with Shotaro to make you jealous more often.”

His eyes instantly darken. “That’s not even funny.”

Your smirk widens, “It is a little bit.”

“You think mentioning another man’s name after I’ve just made you cum with my tongue is funny?” He asks, and his hands find their way to tighten on your waist. “Did I not make you cum hard enough if you’re struggling to remember who you belong to?”

You’re amused by his comment, nail lightly trailing along his lower lip before he playfully nips it. “I don’t belong to you anymore.”

He shakes his head with a tut, “Stop it, you know you belong to me, just as I belong to you. Always have, always will.”

“You must’ve been really intimidated by Shotaro to be this possessive right now,” you tease.

“Doesn’t matter though does it?” He squeezes your waist tighter. “Because Shotaro wouldn’t stand a fucking chance against me. He doesn’t know your body like I do.”

Your breath hitches, hands gripping his shoulders. “He could learn.”

The muscles in his jaw flex and his eyes sharpen, “Not a chance.”

His lips tease along your jaw, and he grins when you move your head to the side to give him better access. “You think he could make you cum like I do? Think he’d know how to make you scream like you do for me?”

The grip he has on your hips is a mixture of pain and pleasure. You feel him smile against your skin when his lips kiss over the developing mark on your collarbone, already starting to turn purple, from earlier. 

Then, without warning, he’s flipping you around and pressing you against the cold glass of the mirror. The plush flesh of your tits flatten against it along with your hands, making you gasp. He’s quick to find your ear, nibbling at it before whispering. 

“He’d never get the chance to even look at this pussy.”

“Fuck, Jun,” you squirm.

You know you’ve hit a nerve when you see his reflection toying with the drawstring of his sweatpants, tugging them down along with his boxers with one hand still on your hip. 

It’s clear as day that he wants to claim what was his, and you’re more than happy to let him do so. Because the look of determination bordering on something more territorial sends a thrill through you. 

You can see everything in this position, from the way he has you firm in his grip, to the way he’s slowly stripping from his own set of clothes. You watch as he grabs the flesh of your ass and squeezes it. And he can see you too, your flushed-out expression. 

“Bet Shotaro doesn’t know you like watching yourself get fucked out, huh?”

You exhale deeply, making his smirk grow as he runs his hands along your skin, slowly venturing to lightly tease along your slit. 

“And he’ll never get to know. Isn’t that right?”

Your eyes don’t leave his through the glass, “I don’t know,” you tease, “Maybe you should give me a good enough reason to make sure he never gets to know.”

You watch as he leans closer to you, his back slowly covering yours as he kisses against the nape of your neck. His cock head is teasing your entrance, sliding up and down your cunt tormentingly. 

“You know I love a challenge babe.”

He doesn’t even give you a beat to throw a snarky remark back at him because he finally thrust into you, deep and thick and just the perfect fucking  fit. Your eyes roll, matched by the guttural moan he lets vibrate beside your ear as you clench around him, listening to the small list of curses he lets slip past his lips.

“Already squeezing around my cock, huh?” He hisses through tight teeth, hands tangling in your hair and giving a sharp tug so your eyes snap open. “Eyes on me. I want you to see how much you fucking missed my cock.”

Your eyes are weak and hooded and your skin is flushed. You so desperately want to flutter them closed, but not more than you want to obey his command. So, you open them hazily and Renjun can’t get enough of it - enough of you. 

The way you let out cute, little whimpers with every thrust; the way your hands clench into fists against the mirror as he pounds into you from behind, his tempo unforgiving and merciless. The way his hand tangles in your hair to tug you close enough that your back is pressed against his chest. The way your own chest is heaving up and down, hips wiggling against his. 

He watches as your fist unclenches and comes to cover your mouth in a feeble attempt to hide your moans – that won’t do, he thinks.

“Don’t you dare hide those moans from me,” his voice may be breathy but it’s still commanding. The hand not in your hair snakes around your body so he can cup your tit. “I haven’t heard them for months, so don’t hide them from me.”

“And whose fault is that?” You counter, followed by soft whimpers as he squeezes your breasts.

“Stop reminding me.”

He rolls his eyes as his hand travels down the plain of your stomach, until his fingers reach the sensitive nub between your thighs, making you press your lips together.

The pace of his thrusts - deliberately harsh and sharp to entice moans from you - has you biting down on your lower lip.

“Look at yourself baby,” his breath fans over your heated skin. “So fucking pretty. All wrecked out for me.”

Your hair is tangled, wild and messy, and your thighs slick. It’s the hundredth time your body has begun shaken with desperation for his touch and - well -  you just look so damn needy. 

But who can blame you? Huang Renjun makes you feel things that no other person has. He hits spots so deep inside you, spots you didn’t even know existed. He is just not like anyone else and you love that he was all yours and you were all his.

And just when you think you couldn’t become more of a mess, the muffled words he speaks in your ear as he fucks into you are filthy enough to have you tittering on the edge. 

“Junnie!”

Your orgasm comes crashing down. Hot pleasure rushes through your veins and then throughout your whole body. Your hand reaches behind you to cling onto him like a lifeline, nails digging into his skin as he fucks you through his own release. Your head feels fuzzy with the feeling of his cock driving in and out of you along with his moans – especially when he lands one last final sharp thrust inside of your cunt. 

He holds your body close to his for a moment, letting the seconds pass as his mouth plants kisses messily against your shoulder. You shudder when you feel him pull out of you slowly, and then you feel his wet sticky cum dripping down your thigh. 

He grabs for your panties, which have been disregarded somewhere in the room, and starts to wipe off the cum on your skin. It doesn’t even register in your mind what he’s doing until you properly look at him in the mirror.

You try to pull away from him, but his hand finds your hip and holds you in place. “Renjun! I need to put those back on!” 

“Your point?”

You shake your head and look at him through the mirror, “I have rehearsals and my panties are going to be sticky from your cum.”

He smirks smugly, almost excited at the idea of you having rehearsals. He stands back to his feet holding your panties out for you to take. 

“Good,” he shrugs, “That way if Shotaro wants to try anything, he knows you already belong to someone.”

You scoff and take the panties from his hand, slipping them past your ass with a roll of your eyes. You both find the rest of your clothes, dressing yourselves quickly.  Honestly, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t slightly aroused at the idea of you wearing panties filled with his cum during a rehearsal. 

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, you know.”

“I don’t know about that one,” he gives you a shrug, then pulls you closer to him by your hand. “It helped me get to fuck you again didn’t it?”

You snort, “That’s your takeaway from all of this?”

He’s about to say something cocky, you know it, but he’s interrupted by a pounding at the door. 

“Are you two done fucking in there so we can get back to our dance practice?!” Haechan shouts and you hear utters from the others telling him to shut up. Renjun groans a series of curses as his friend’s voice starts complaining. 

“Give me a second will you?!” He yells back. 

“Seriously how long does it take to have makeup sex?”

“Shut it, Haechan!”

You can’t help the laughter and amusement in your expression as Renjun turns from the door to face you. 

“Is that what this was? Makeup sex?” You ask.

This time when he pulls your arm into him he wraps his hand around your waist, hovering right before your lips. “You know it was. How many more times do I need to tell you I’ve missed you for you to realize you’ll always be my girl?”

“Hmmm, maybe a couple more times.” You tease, and then your words soon morph into giggles as he nuzzles against your neck, right where he knows you're ticklish.

“Then I fucking miss you. A lot.”

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

5 times you and Miguel walked away from each other and 1 time you didn't

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader notes: brother'sbestfriend!Miguel, soccerplayer!Miguel, college au, slow burn, somewhat mutual pining but written from reader's perspective more exclusively, SFW - only slightly suggestive (worst thing is probably a boner), fem reader (pretty neutral though), saying soccer instead of football felt so dirty but oh well, thank you for reading!! word count: 5.9k

You’re having your first lazy day in forever. It’s the first day in recent memory that you didn’t have something to do or somewhere to be. You’re just going to hang out in your apartment and watch your favorite shows or read for fun for once or whatever else you feel like doing. Because you don’t have to go anywhere, you don’t even take a shower, opting to stay in your comfy pajamas, not bothering with any makeup or hair effort, as you lounge around. 

You have the place to yourself now, but you share it with your twin brother Alex, the two of you lucky enough to go to the same university. 

When you eventually hear his keys scratching at the door, you’re sprawled on the couch reading a novel you’d left half-finished for ages despite actually really enjoying it. School really had a way of making you not read. Or at least never full books. 

As Alex opens the door, you’re surprised to hear him talking to someone else. You see his unexpected guest a moment later from your spot on the couch, your college apartment rather small after all. And you’re mortified. Miguel. Alex’s best friend, university soccer team superstar, ridiculously attractive Miguel. 

God, why did Alex not warn you he was bringing someone over? All it took was a quick message, for fuck’s sake. And Miguel of all people? Ugh. Well, it wasn’t like you could tell him. “Hey, brother dear, I have a huge crush on your best friend, so can I please get a warning next time he’ll be around? You know, especially so I’m not looking like a total mess when he shows up?”

He’d been coming over a lot recently actually. He and Alex were both on the soccer team and happened to share a few classes too, so their schedules really lined up. Usually, it was nice to get to see him. It’s not like either of them paid that much attention to you when they were hanging out, but Miguel was nice to look at. Even now, they seemed like they were coming back from a casual soccer match or something, and he still looked amazing. His thick, dark hair was messy in the way that made you want to run your hands through it; his t-shirt hugged his unreasonably broad chest and shoulders perfectly, and his sweatpants — fuck, his sweatpants — his ass looked miraculous as he turned to put his gym bag down.

Miguel’s looking at you as he and Alex step into the living room. “It’s Saturday, Y/N, and the weather’s finally fucking nice. Why’re you reading a book? You’re such a nerd,” Alex snaps as he plops onto the couch next you, pushing your legs off to make room. 

“I’m a nerd because I’m reading a book? Am I am tomboy because I’m not wearing a dress, too, or are we keeping it to one stupid superficial stereotype?” 

Miguel chuckles as he sits on Alex’s other side. “Cut him some slack, Y/N, he took a soccer ball to the head today. Might be making him even more of an idiot than usual.” 

You can’t help but worry; you love the idiot after all. 

“You okay? Was it bad?” you’re asking as you run your hand over his head looking for bumps. “I’m fine, mom,” he mocks, pushing you away. “And you? You asshole,” he accuses Miguel playfully. “‘Took a ball to the head’?” he repeats, then turning to you adds, “It was him that kicked it!” Miguel starts laughing.

“It was the perfect setup, man. Not my fault you were distracted.” “Whatever,” Alex says as he reaches for the video game remotes. Knowing them, it was time for FIFA.

You’re eager to hide with how you look right now anyway, so you get up to head into your room. “We didn’t mean to kick you out,” Miguel starts kindly. “ You don’t have to go; you were clearly comfortable here.” “Clearly comfortable”? God that sounded bad in your head. He was “super hot”; you were “clearly comfortable.”

“Thanks, Miguel. It’s fine. I was going to —“ but you don’t finish your excuse as you trip on the remote’s charging wire as you step across, falling unceremoniously to your face right in front of them. 

“Mierda!” Miguel yells.

Alex immediately asks, “You okay?,” but it’s Miguel who’s up and over you in the same instant.

“You alright?” he asks softly as his hands grab your hips to help you up. 

His hands on you were the last thing you needed right now. So much for composure. “Fine. Really,” you say, your breath shaky. You’re kneeling on your living room floor; Miguel’s squatting in front of you, close; his hands haven’t left your body even though you’re no longer prone. He just watches you closely, eyes beautiful and concerned. You stare back into them, and after a couple more shaky breaths finally manage to stand up and step away, looking anywhere but at him. “‘M fine,” you repeat. You turn away hurriedly and go the few steps to your room. Once safely behind closed doors, your face scrunches and your stomach sinks at the sheer embarrassment. 

~

It’s been days since Miguel was at your apartment, and part of you is happy for the lack of pressure but another part of you still gets a funky feeling in her gut at the idea that the last memory of you he had was of a clumsy mess. He and Alex have a game today, and pretending to convince yourself that you just felt like it today, you make yourself up more than usual for it. You’re actually pretty happy with your look as you head out to meet some friends at the match. 

They win. Miguel scores. Twice. Alex’s defense is probably the main reason for their clean sheet. 

So, hyped up on adrenaline and victory, they’re laughing and messing around with their teammates as a bunch of people approach the sidelines to congratulate them. Alex spots you and makes a goofy face, always so playful when he’s happy. He jogs over to you and gives you a huge hug.

“Stop, you’re so sweaty!” you squeal. He just holds you tighter and rubs his sweaty hair on you, laughing. When he finally pulls away, Miguel is standing right next to him, smiling at the two of you. “Do I get a hug too?” he teases. “I scored two more goals than he did!” 

You’re not sure if he’s kidding, and you’re sure the chuckle you give in response is somewhat tense.

But, stepping toward him, you just say, “Congratulations,” and wrap your arms around his shoulders without getting too close. Damn, they were like boulders. Miguel wraps his arms around your waist and closes the distance you’d maintained, giving you a surprisingly intimate embrace. You’re struck by the feeling of him around you. He’s sweaty, too, and you can smell his musk, but instead of off-putting, you find it incredibly arousing. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing where your chest is flush with his. He’s so warm, and you just want to breathe him in and trace every ridge of his body. But the hug is already lingering too long to be normal, and you pull back a bit awkwardly. Miguel is still looking at you, a subtle smile on his face. 

He seems about to say something when a high pitched squeal right next to you startles you. 

“Miguel!” a very pretty girl yells at him as she approaches, unabashedly jumping onto his back. She’s in a cheer uniform. “Oh my god, you were so good!” Miguel’s so sturdy, her jumping on him didn’t throw him off physically, but his face looks a little flustered. “Uh, thanks,” he says politely, putting her down. She just giggles and grabs his arm as she compliments him again. 

You feel so awkward watching this, so you just turn around and walk away. You don’t see Miguel looking after you.

~

You’re at the after party with a couple of your friends. The soccer team was quite popular, and the victory parties tended to be good. You’re mostly having fun, but you can’t help but keep looking over to where Miguel is. Man of the match and man with that face, he was obviously the center of attention. People were coming up to congratulate him left and right. He handled it all so graciously. It shocked you how there was no arrogance in his demeanor; he was just the easygoing life of the party. 

You wanted to go talk to him too, but you’d already congratulated him and didn’t know what else you would say. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself again. You could go talk to your brother, who was right next to him, but he was busy flirting, and you didn’t want to ruin it for him. 

A bunch of people are dancing in the open space between you and Miguel, and the chaos lets you sneak long looks at him without his noticing. But when your friend leans over and asks, “Who do you keep looking at?,” you realize you have to be less obvious. “No one, just curious who Alex is flirting with,” you lie, proud of how quick you were with it. 

“You a jealous, protective sister type?” she laughs. 

“No, just curious.” “Is he?” “What?” “Protective?”

“Um, sometimes, depends. Why?”

“Because that guy over there keeps checking you out.” She nods toward an okay-looking guy chatting with someone on the edge of the dance floor. A second later, he was indeed looking over at you. “You should go talk to him!” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so interested.” “Why not? He’s hot! I’m pretty sure he’s on the team too. You don’t have to marry him, Y/N, just go dance! You’ve been weirdly tense all night.”

You look over again, and your eyes meet. Before you can do anything else, he makes the decision for you, walking over to you.

“Hey.” “Um, hi.” You exchange names and pleasantries, and he asks you if you want to dance. Without thinking about it, you glance toward the person you really wish you were dancing with. To your surprise, Miguel is already looking toward you. He looks less happy than before. You look back at this guy quickly, hoping neither of them noticed. 

You feel slightly bad thinking this, using this guy you weren’t super interested in, but you couldn’t help but feel it’d be nice if Miguel saw a side of you that might make him think of you differently, not just as Alex’s sister. It’s just a dance anyway, so, you accept the offer and head to the dance floor. 

You fall into a rhythm with the music, with the guy. The dancing is fun; the guy is fine. Your back is to Miguel, and you can’t resist spinning to catch another glimpse, doing it seamlessly as you keep dancing. Your breath catches when your eyes meet his. 

Miguel watching you from across the room is doing much more to turn you on than anything your current dance partner is doing, but you channel your new energy into your movements. It’s not a well thought out decision, though in the back of your mind you know who it’s for, but you start moving a bit more suggestively. You let your hips follow the music, let your hands come up to your hair as your body rolls rhythmically. Feeling especially bold, you even manage to meander closer to where Miguel is, giving him a better view. 

Unbeknownst to you, this unfortunately also makes Alex, now unoccupied, notice you for the first time. You don’t hear him leaning over to Miguel and saying, “Gross. I hate seeing my sister with random guys. Let’s go get more drinks.” He drags him away, and Miguel, unable to come up with a good reason not to follow, does. 

The next time you spin, all you catch is the backs of their heads.

~

The following week, you’re coming home from classes, and all you can think about is eating. You’d had to skip lunch to finish an assignment and couldn’t wait for dinner. 

When you enter your apartment, you find Miguel sitting on your couch. 

“Hey,” he greets. “Hi.” He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa closest to you, and he adorably shifts over to make room, as if you couldn’t just go around. You weren’t planning on sitting anyway, but now that he’s wordlessly extended an invitation, you do. “Where’s Alex?”

“Went to take a shower. We’re gonna play a couple games when he’s done.” He gestures toward the video game console. “Are the remotes charged?” you joke. “I hear it’s a hazard to have the wires across the living room floor.” Miguel chuckles lightly at your self-deprecating humor. He’s turned toward you, sitting in the middle of the couch, his elbow on the backrest as he occasionally messes with his luscious hair. “I felt so bad that day. Taking over your space and tripping you. When you looked so peaceful when we got here.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you laugh, amused but also masking your stirring feelings at the fact that he had thought about it at all. “I was just a mess that day. And I wouldn’t call my pyjamas peaceful, just comfortable. In my defense, though, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I liked your pyjamas,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. “What? I did! I’m all for comfy clothing; have you not noticed 90% of my wardrobe is gym clothes?”

“Yes, well, you can get away with it. You’re a guy, and you look like that,” you say, gesturing at his body before you really realize what you’re saying. You tense as soon as you do. It just slipped out, the conversation getting weirdly easy and comfortable with him. “Like what?” he asks, but he’s smirking, knowing what you meant. You just roll your eyes again. “No, c’mon, chula, like what?” He lifts his eyebrows in challenge, mirth in his eyes. You’re too busy reeling from the pet name to have mental energy to come up with a retort. You’re grateful for what would’ve otherwise been embarrassing: your stomach grumbling. Miguel looks at your stomach and giggles. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, taking the escape route and walking to the adjoining kitchen. He follows. “You can get away with it too, you know,” he says nonchalantly. You think you know what he means but look back at him questioningly. “The clothes. You always look good.” 

You’re glad you’re not facing him, your expression probably revealing your excitement. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” He leans on your counter. “So what are you having?” “I don’t know, whatever we have. Haven’t had time to go to the store.” You’re rummaging through your cabinets. “I can make you something,” he offers. You stop and look at him. “What? I’m a great cook,” he shrugs defensively. “Have you never had my tamales?”

“It’s not about you being good or not,” you giggle. “There’s no reason you should have to cook when you’re just here to hang out.” 

He just shrugs again, but there’s a tinge of shyness in his typically confident facade. 

You turn to open your fridge, and he comes up right next to you. “Oh shit, you guys have jarritos. Can I steal one?”

“Yeah, of course,” you laugh. “Grab whatever you want.”

You didn’t think he would immediately… As you bend over to grab something from the drawers, Miguel reaches up to grab the soda, leaning forward. Both of you moving simultaneously, your ass presses firmly against his crotch. You both freeze in panic, prolonging the position, before you jump up at the accidental contact. His and your “sorry”’s and “I didn’t mean to”’s get jumbled together in the colossally awkward moment. Miguel looks down, then back up again looking startled. He scurries around to the other side of the counter, it now separating you. “Jesus, Miguel, I didn’t do it on purpose! You don’t have to put a barricade between us; it’s not like I’m gonna jump you!” “No, no, it’s not that! Fuck, it’s, uh, fuck…” He looks lost for words. His hand comes to his face, covering it in resigned embarrassment. His voice is a mumble through his obstructing hand, “I’ve a bd’ve uh sitch-ation.”

“What?” He uncovers his face with an exasperated sigh. “I have… a bit of a… situation,” he whispers, looking down.

“Oh… oh!” you say, realization hitting you. Probably largely because of the awkward tension, at least partially at the idea of you giving Miguel O’Hara a boner, you start cracking up. He just stares at you, deadpan, his hands coming to his hips. “It’s not funny.” “It’s a little funny.” His glare cracks the tiniest bit. 

“Okay, maybe it’s a little funny. But it’s your fault!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Alex asks nonchalantly, coming out of his room, lazily drying his hair.

“Nothing!” you and Miguel say simultaneously.

“Okay… should I just pretend that wasn’t really suspicious?” 

“Yes,” you tell him. “It’s nothing, really. Just me being clumsy again.”

His eyes are still skeptical, but Alex just chuckles and nods, letting it go at the look on your face. He heads to the couch with an easy “C’mon, man” at Miguel. Miguel follows, giving you a sideways glance and tense smile. When he sits, he immediately puts a cushion on his lap. You grab the first thing that looks edible in your fridge and head to your room. 

~

Two weekends later finds you at another soccer team party. They’d lost this time, 2-1. Miguel scored their sole goal, and the other team’s second had been a sketchy penalty. If the victory parties were good, the defeat ones were wild. Most of the players, Miguel and Alex among them, were drowning their sorrows, especially after such a disheartening defeat.

You weren’t a player, but you had your own sorrows to drown, and you weren’t stopping yourself from doing just that. You’d hardly seen Miguel in almost two weeks, and the few times you had, he’d been cold, keeping interactions mainly to greetings and goodbyes. You didn’t know if you’d done something wrong, if he was still caught up with your little awkward encounter, or if you were just making it up, your feelings for him needing some outlet. Making up stories by constantly obsessing about him was as good as outlet as you could get sometimes. Alcohol was a better one now. 

A while into the party, you’re at the bar for your… you lost count… numberth tequila shot. You down it, lick the salt off your hand, and stick the lime in your mouth, cringing. 

Your eyes are still closed when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You open them and see Miguel standing beside you. “Maybe switch to water, huh, guapa?” he tells you.

“Why? M’fine,” you slur. 

“Maybe, but you won’t be if you keep this pace up.” “And how would you know?” 

“Just noticed,” he shrugs. 

You squint your eyes accusingly at him. You didn’t know what you’d feel next time you talked to him, but you hadn’t expected to feel this angry. 

“You notice me enough to watch how much I drink but not to say more than two words at a time to me for weeks?” He looks surprised. “Y/N…” 

You cross your arms and lift your eyebrows in an implied “what?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you just walk past him. You end up walking through the dance floor, and though it wasn’t your plan, you kind of like moving to the music. You’re drunk enough to the lack the inhibitions to just dance alone. You’re enjoying yourself, not even bothering to look back and see if Miguel was still there. A bit later though, you startle as you feel a hand on your ass. You turn and find a random guy you’ve never met before, smiling at you disgustingly drunkenly. You’re taken aback, your mind already a bit slow from the alcohol, so you haven’t decided yet how to tell him to fuck off by the time Miguel is in front of you shoving him away. He’s not overly aggressive but, even drunk, easily moves the guy away from you with an angry “What the hell, man?” 

The other guy looks seriously scared and just lifts his hands with a pathetic “sorry, Miguel.” 

“Fucking better be, what the hell is wrong with you?” The other guy stumbles away. Miguel turns towards you, and his expression melts from frightening anger to warm concern in two seconds. “You okay?” he asks, his hands carefully grazing your shoulders. You nod and lean into him. At your seeming comfortable, he lets his arms come around you. 

“Thanks,” you whisper in his ear.

“Of course,” he whispers in yours, and it sends a shiver down your entire body. You stare into his eyes, your hands resting on his chest. 

“Miguel?” 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna dance with me?” 

They don’t call it “liquid courage” for nothing. 

Miguel considers you for a moment, but a soft smirk is whispered across is sharp features. He nods slowly, and his hands move slightly further down your back. You close your eyes at the sensation of his hands running along your body. You run your hands up his chest slowly and wrap your arms around his neck. When you open your eyes, you see his crimson ones boring into you. 

You start moving a bit more as you focus on the music to relieve some of the tension you’re feeling. He follows your lead, and soon you’re dancing together much more easily. As a couple of songs go by, you’re both moving freely, staying close to each other the whole time.

You’re so exhilarated, and he seems as enveloped in you as you are in him, so the next time the beat calls for it, you let your body twist rhythmically in his grasp. Your back is now flush with his chest, your ass on his crotch, your hand reaching behind you on his neck, in his hair. His hands are firm on your hips, and when you roll them against him, you hear his whispered “Fuck, mami” in your ear and feel his arm come around your middle, pulling you into him. His hips move in rhythm with yours. You’ve probably never been so turned on in your entire life. You keep this up for a delicious while. You can feel Miguel is hard through his jeans, but he makes no sign of being embarrassed, just continuing to dance with you with expert hip movements that make your imagination go wild. Of course he’d be an amazing dancer. Of course you’d imagine what else his hips could do. 

You twist back in his embrace, coming to face him. He holds you close, and you bring a hand to his face. He leans into your touch. You move your face up slightly, and he seems to be following, moving his down. You’re so close, even think you feel your lips graze his, when someone bumps up against you, making you stumble. 

Miguel’s strong arms catch you, but the moment is gone, and a second later, he looks startled.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back a bit, speaking loudly to keep his distance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you assure, but he seems off. 

“Let’s get some air, huh?” 

You follow him outside, the sudden change in ambience making your head spin a little. You lean against the wall, and he puts his hand on your shoulder. 

“Sure you’re okay?” You nod but don’t say anything, maybe a bit drunker than you thought, trying to ground yourself. He leans on the wall next to you. His body is warm where it grazes your side. You can feel his gaze intermittently on you. You get a little dizzy again, and you lean onto his shoulder. He just lets you, and you stand like that for a while. 

His fingers graze the back of your hand.

“Want me to take you home?”

You nod into his body. He wraps a firm arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the party. 

You’re home before you know it, the whole journey a blur dominated by his warmth by your side. When you reach your front door, you lean on it and look up at him. His subtle smile elicits your full one. “Thanks,” you whisper. “’S no problem,” he shrugs. “You’ll be okay?” “Yeah,” you nod. You’re already sobering up. “You?”

He chuckles and nods. 

“I wasn’t the one downing tequila shots like water,” he teases. Your cheeks warm, and you look down as you chuckle. 

“Wasn’t that many…” 

He laughs.

“It was, cariño.” Again with the pet names. 

“I’m still surprised you noticed.” “I always notice you,” he responds without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to his, and you see the longing there. 

You stare at each other for a heavy moment, then, drunk more on the sensations of your earlier almost-kiss than on alcohol, chasing that feeling, you lean up to try again. Your lips are a breath away from his when he looks down, effectively rejecting your advance. You pull away, mortified. 

“Sorry, I… sorry,” you stutter as you scramble for your keys. You turn to your door. “Y/N,” he whispers, his hand holding your wrist softly. “It’s okay,” you say, looking back him, wiping tears from your eyes. “You don’t have to say anything; sorry I misunderstood.” 

You quickly go inside and close the door. You lean on it, crying. Miguel, eyes closed, fists clenched, rests his forehead on the opposite side. 

~

Miguel doesn’t come around for a while. Even as days pass, you can’t stop thinking about your night together. Confusion, sadness, embarrassment — all mixing together into a terrible cocktail.

Another match day rolls around, and you can’t stomach the idea of watching Miguel play, of potentially having to talk to him after. You tell Alex you’re really sorry to not support him this time, but that you’re not feeling well. He worries over you a while, unhelpfully but adorably emptying your medicine cabinet onto the kitchen counter, looking through stuff, suggesting this and that, telling you to text him anything you needed that he could bring you after. 

A while later, you’ve just slumped down onto the couch, when your stomach sinks at the sight you’re met with. There, at the corner of the room, lie his cleats. He’d been cleaning them the night before and had clearly forgotten to put them back in his gym bag. 

“Fuck.” 

You lift yourself up, grab them, and head over to the stadium. 

When you get there, you pound at the locker room door, and it opens — of course, you couldn’t catch a fucking break — to Miguel O’Hara’s gorgeous face. Though he looks at you intently, you can’t quite read his expression. Then he yells over his shoulder, “Ale!” 

Alex jogs over and, upon seeing you, lets out the biggest sigh of relief. 

“Oh, thank God. I fucking love you.” He reaches for the cleats you’re holding up to him and gives you a  bear hug. “Saved my fucking life, Y/N/N. Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. “You don’t look as sick. You’ll be okay?” He’s clearly in a rush to get back but wants to make sure you’re alright. 

You nod and playfully shove his chest, pushing him back into the locker room. “You’re the best!” he yells over his shoulder as he saunters back. Miguel is still just standing there, all geared up for the match. It crosses your sick mind how good the uniform looks on him. 

“You’re sick?” he asks. 

“Nothing I won’t get over.” You offer him a weak smile. He’s nodding slowly, considering. 

“Stay for the match?”

“Miguel, I —“ “Please.” You’ve never heard him plead before. You’re head is nodding before your mind can catch up. He just nods too. “I’ll find you after.” And with that, he jogs back into the locker room. 

You’d never known ninety minutes could drag on for eternity, with a half-time’s worth of eternity in between. You’re sure you’re heartbeat was elevated the entire time, your mind and emotions reeling. What was Miguel going to say to you after the match? You had absolutely no read on him during your short interaction before. Then again, apparently you weren’t always great at reading him. 

Minute after minute trickles by. At the end of the second half, your team up a goal (yes, Miguel’s), the ref announces an unusually large number of minutes. You moan with everyone else, for your own reasons. What was a potential leveler compared to the leveling of your heart?

Slowly, the minutes pass. The other team builds a mounting attack; they get a good attempt; they miss. The whistle blows; the crowd cheers, and you, you’re frozen in place. 

You thaw yourself slowly as the players shake hands, go to their respective huddles. By the time they’re roaming the sidelines freely, you’ve only just managed to leave your seat. 

As you descend the bleachers stairs, you catch sight of Miguel. He’s obviously searching, halfheartedly ignoring the congratulations coming from all sides. His eyes eventually meet yours, and as soon as they do, he’s running over to you, meeting you much closer to the bleachers than the field. 

He comes to a stop right in front of you and just watches you. You just watch him. “Congratulations,” you say. He chuckles, lightly shaking his head.

“Thanks.” 

He takes a step closer to you. “Y/N…” “Yeah?” “I…” “Miguel!” you’re interrupted. “Congratulations! Way to pull it out!” “Thanks, yeah, thank you,” he says hurriedly, looking back over to you. “Listen, I just, I wanted to clear things up after how we left them.” You nod, worrying your bottom lip, your arms wrapping around you defensively.

“I didn’t want you to think that —“

“Congratulations, Miguel! Did it again, man!” And a slap on the back.

“Uh-huh, yeah, thank you,” Miguel responds, turning away, approaching rudeness. “For fuck’s sake,” he says, much more softly. “C’mere.” He grabs your arm and drags you around the bleachers, stopping when you have a semblance of cover. He’s looking around to make sure no one else is about to talk to him, and his worried looks right after he’s just won makes you laugh. The sound draws his attention fully back to you. He smiles at seeing you smiling. 

“Where can a guy get a little privacy, huh?” he jokes. “Probably not still by the field where he just scored the winning goal, I’m guessing,” you tease. He chuckles. Then he takes a deep, sobering breath. “Listen, Y/N…” 

His tone sounds apologetic, and it makes you immediately think the worst. He probably just didn’t want you to be embarrassed. Wanted to fix things so they wouldn’t be awkward if he hung around, which he’d obviously want to do given Alex was his best friend. 

Already fighting back tears, wanting to beat him to the punch to save face in whatever way you could at this point, you cut him off. “Miguel, you don’t have to explain anything or anything. I’m sorry I made more out of a good time than I should have. Please don’t let me keep you from hanging out with my brother even if I’m around, and I hope we can still be friends.” “What? No, that’s not… This isn’t about Alex. I mean, well it is a little bit.” He’s looking unsure. “Just keep things how they were before. It’s all fine.” “Is that what you want?” He looks serious. “What do you mean?” “Is that what you want? To keep things how they were before? To still be friends?”

“I… well… it’s what you want, isn’t it?” “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to. I tried to kiss you, and you pretty much said no to that. Twice.”

“I didn’t. Well, once, yeah I did, but it was only because I was worried you were too drunk. I didn’t want to take advantage of you. And, also, maybe a little bit because I panicked, okay?” He sounds more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him yet. “I was worried it’d be weird with Alex or that I’d fuck it up with you, and I just, I don’t know, I panicked. And the other time wasn’t my fault. I was going to kiss you if you hadn’t stumbled.” “Someone bumped into me!” “I’m not blaming you! I just, it just, it made me remember you were drunk, and I didn’t want to be like that idiot guy I’d had to push away a while earlier.” “You’re nothing like that guy,” you say sternly. “I…” He’s started to look frustrated, unable to find the words. He runs his hand over his face, takes another deep breath. “What if you try now?” “What?” “I don’t know how to tell you. So maybe I can just show you. Try again, and no one will bump into you. I won’t panic, and I won’t think of all the things that could go wrong. I’ll think of how I’ve been feeling since that night. Absolutely fucking miserable. It’s been eating away at me; all I could think about was making it right with you, but I didn’t know how, didn’t know if I should. But I can’t take it anymore, and if you feel the same way, then, fuck, let’s just stop getting in our own way.” 

“Miguel…” “Yeah?” “That was pretty good for not knowing how to tell me.” Your face forms the slightest teasing smirk, your eyes lighting up at the realization of what he’s telling you. “Shut up and kiss me already,” he says, rolling his eyes, unable to help his bright smile, pulling your body to his and bringing his lips onto yours. 

You pull him into you, reciprocating eagerly. He moans into your mouth, and you feel his towering body sink onto yours. His arms are tight around you, one hand cupping your head, bringing you close. His kiss is fervent, desperate but concentrated. 

You run your hands in his hair, and he chuckles gruffly, the sound muffled by your chasing mouth. You lose yourself in his embrace. You grip him tightly, breaching into his mouth, wanting to kiss him as much as wanting to be kissed by him. You could feel the beginning of a beautiful push and pull as your mouths move together, your bodies mold into each other’s. 

You want to kiss him forever, but some loud cheering nearby startles you slightly apart. Miguel is looking deeply into your eyes. He kisses you again, lets his forehead rest on yours when he pulls back. You’re smiling when you say, “You should probably get back. I’m sure people are looking for you.” He groans dramatically and hides in the crook of your neck. He kisses it before saying, “I just want to be with you.” 

You giggle, nuzzling his face with yours, holding him close, your hand in his hair.

“Yeah, me too.” He hums into your neck. He plants another kiss there, and one on your cheek on his way up, as he lifts his head again. His rough hands caress your face tenderly. 

“This is good,” he says simply. You laugh and nod. “Fuck ‘em. I’ll go over there at some point. Let’s just stay here a little while longer.”

“Okay,” you smile. 

Miguel leans back into you, kissing you and kissing you and kissing you. 

[420technoblazeit]

do u think either viktor or mel are any good at cooking... u mentioned the sims room having spices and while i think viktor and mel understand cooking in theory and Would Add Spices i dont know how much theyve done it in practice... viktor knows chemistry from singed and his own work im sure which is a similar skillset but i cant imagine him ever cooking for himself (before the events of this AU) beyond stock basic low effort meals to get through the week.. and mel i dont think would be comically bad at it necessarily (cuz idk i just think its an overplayed trope and mel is all about how she is actually quite grounded and careful despite her outwardly fancy exterior- thinking abt the sequence of her mixing her own paints with her own hands) but i think she would have even less experience with it in practicality than viktor since its always been something provided for her...

i just am imagining mel buying spices she knows she likes and viktor advocating for filling starches that go a long way and dont go bad quickly and are easy on the stomach (Viktor lost so much weight while ill i cant imagine he was eating that well) and then the two of them both having such different experiences with food- wanting for it, never wanting for it- and both ending up with the same condition of Constantly Forgetting They Should Eat because of it... but both being so empathetic they notice the Other is forgetting to eat. ugh i love narrative foils

that ask got rlly long but btw i think jayce would love to cook (when he has time for it outside of the lab) i think he would be so happy watching his loved ones eat the food he made. some hobbies can be stress relief (i think this is the forge for jayce) and some require some more energy summoned to put into them and i feel like cooking would be more like that for jayce- something reminding him of his childhood and parents (before Everything), something he doesnt do all the time for fun but makes him really happy when he does do it

oh no i think they're Dogshit at it. to be clear. mel grew up filthy rich and in my mind viktor only ever eats the plainest easiest to cook meals unless jayce cooks him something. he probably has like. oatmeal every day and whatever the piltover equivalent of instant ramen is. my headcanon for the spice rack is actually very close to yours, i think mel picked it up from the market one day because she wanted to get better at cooking. i think she's very out of her comfort zone now that they're more or less on the run so she buys it and at first viktor wrinkles his nose and is like this is an unnecessary expense we should be focusing on other things. but maybe he misses when jayce cooked for him and eventually he gets really into it. maybe TOO into it bc now he's making the most ridiculous spice combinations you've ever seen and it's a disaster half the time but hey it's part of the process and at least he's having fun. i think they deserve to be a little bad at something relatively low stakes together. ty for this ask btw im so glad you like the au so much!!! :}

[daisynik7]

OMG I love your party idea it's so cool!! how about "slow down baby" by Christina Aguilar for Eren Yeager 💓💓 one of my favs

Slow Down Baby

Slow down baby and don't act crazy, don't you know you can look all you want but you just can't touch

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.4k

cw: modern-day au, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, implications of cheating, cheating, sex toy use (vibrator), dirty talk, pet names (good girl, princess)

Summary: Your boyfriend Jean is working late again, and you can’t help but be suspicious that there’s something nefarious happening behind your back. Pent up from not seeing him this whole week, you take this alone time to treat yourself to some much-needed self-care. 

Eren Jaeger knows that his friend is cheating on you, and he hates it. You don’t deserve it, not one bit. When Jean asks him to do a favor to try to cover up his infidelity, Eren seriously considers telling you the truth, ultimately deciding against it because of “bro code”. But what happens when he walks in on you taking all your sexual frustrations out on a little toy? Can he really keep his mouth shut?

Author’s Note: Thank you for this request @shepnicolo! Love me some Xtina, great song for the y2k karaoke party! This was a fun one for me, so I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading everyone! MDNI banner designed by @/cafekitsune. Header image from Pinterest.

“Hey babe. Sorry, but I’m going to be at work late again tonight.” It’s already past nine in the evening when Jean calls you, informing you of this last-minute change of plans.

“Again?” He’s had overtime every day since last week. He’s also been leaving early in the mornings so by the time you wake up, he’s gone. It feels like you’ve barely seen him at all. “How about dinner?”

“Yeah, yeah. I already ate.” There’s shuffling in the background. And maybe it’s just your paranoia, but you swear you hear a woman giggling quietly beside him.

You swallow hard, asking, “Is someone with you?”

“Huh?” His tone shifts, as if you’re asking the most ridiculous question. “What do you mean?”

Immediately regretting it, you rephrase, not wanting to sound accusatory. “I was just wondering if anyone else is working overtime with you. That’s all. Didn’t want you to be lonely there.” The last statement is a lie; you sincerely hope he’s alone and not doing what you’re suspicious of.

He clears his throat nervously. “Oh. Well, yeah, there are a few people here with me, so you have nothing to worry about.” 

Too late for that, you think, listening carefully for any more clues. When you can’t hear anything else, you sigh into the phone. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll see you later then.” You wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t. Quickly, you add, “I love you – ” 

He hangs up before you can get it out completely. 

Jean had been pulling away from you for a while now. It didn’t just start with the overtime. It began over a month ago, when you noticed how glued to the phone he was while the two of you watched TV together. When you asked who he was texting, he answered, “It’s my new coworker. She’s asking some questions about work.” At the time, it didn’t raise any alarms in your head, so you dropped it. Every day, he was immersed to the screen, sometimes excusing himself to take a call outside on your balcony. You resisted every urge, every temptation to eavesdrop on his conversations, look through his text messages, interrogate him further. 

You continue to give him the benefit of the doubt. There’s no way Jean would ever cheat on you. While you haven’t been together for that long, you like to think that you know him well enough to be sure he’s a faithful boyfriend. You don’t even have proof of his infidelity. It would be unfair to accuse him of such atrocities over some silly speculation, right?

Since he’s been in the office late this entire week, the two of you haven’t had sex in what seems like forever. Pent up and frustrated, you take this time to care for yourself, since Jean’s not around to do it. It starts with a serving of your favorite dessert, then a warm bath, soothing the tense muscles in your body. You surround yourself in a comfy robe, brushing your teeth with the full intention of falling asleep as soon as you do the one thing you need to make yourself feel better tonight. 

With all the lights off, except for the dim glow of the lampshade on the nightstand, you snuggle into your bed, untying the robe so it’s splayed beneath you. Inside the drawer, you retrieve your favorite vibrator and a small bottle of lube, pouring a tiny bead on the tip. Spreading your legs wide, you smear it on yourself. Using your free hand, you navigate to your favorite dirty audio, playing it out loud. 

~~~

Eren hates this. Absolutely hates it. 

He’s driving towards your apartment with a set of keys in his pocket and a bouquet of roses sitting in the passenger seat. All because your friend is a piece of shit. 

Eren’s known for a while now that Jean is cheating on you. It started with a not-so-subtle comment in the group chat. My new coworker is fucking hot. That alone disgusted him. Connie, of course, laughed it off. Armin didn’t say anything, probably unsure how to respond at such a statement. It only went downhill from there. 

She’s got the best body omg.

 I’m in trouble now.

This is bad guys lol. 

Don’t tell the girls okay? 

Jean has always rubbed Eren the wrong way, ever since they were kids. But at least he respected him. Now, not so much. Not at all, actually. You don’t deserve this, not one bit. No one does, but especially you. And maybe the reason he can’t completely berate Jean is because Eren’s harboring a secret of his own: He’s head-over-heels for you. 

Of course, he’s never acted on it. Bro code, right? Thou shall not hook up with another bro’s girl, or whatever the unofficial rule is. But what if said bro is acting like a total asshole? And what if this bro would treat you the way you deserve and more? Then what?

It’s because of this stupid code that he finds himself in the most ridiculous, aggravating situation. Earlier in the night, Jean texted the group chat. SOS SOS SOS. Armin and Connie were both busy, so didn’t respond, leaving Eren to answer the cry for help.

Jean explains it quickly through the phone, voice all panicky and guilty. “Dude, I need you to do me the hugest favor right now. I would you owe big time if you could help me out.” Basically, he needs Eren to buy a big bouquet of roses and deliver them to your apartment, where you can see them first thing in the morning. 

“Why?” he asks, irritated by this request.

“I think she’s suspicious. So I need to do something to throw her off the scent,” he explains. Eren can already see the cocky, shit-eating grin on his face. Why is he friends with this douchebag? And why did he agree to do this? He’s complicit in this mess now, not only for keeping his friend’s infidelity a secret, but for helping him continue it. He wants so badly to tell you the truth so you can escape this relationship. At the same time, he’s supposed to have his friend’s back no matter what, even if he is being a massive prick. 

So, he decides to help his buddy out, no matter how much it’s killing him. He meets Jean at an unknown address, most likely his side chick’s place. “Dude, seriously. I owe you one,” he says, patting him on the shoulder.

Eren nods silently, not wanting to speak in case he lets his true feelings slip. Jean hands him the spare keys to your apartment. “Just sneak in and set the flowers on the kitchen counter. She won’t suspect a thing.” It takes all of Eren’s willpower not to punch him in the face, so he quickly turns around to get into his car and drive off. 

It’s almost midnight by the time he arrives to your apartment. Surely, you’re asleep by now, still completely unaware that your bastard boyfriend is cheating on you. Still, he shouldn’t meddle in your relationship, even though he wants what’s best for you, which is not Jean.

He unlocks the door quietly, tip-toeing into the kitchen to set the flowers down, as instructed. He notices your bedroom door is ajar, a faint streak of light coming from the inside, and the undeniable sounds of a man growling expletives like, Come for me, slut. Yeah, give it all to me.

His eyes widen, surprised that you’re still awake, even more so that you’re listening to something like this. Curiosity gets the best of him; he stealthily makes his way beside your door, peering through the tiny opening to get a glimpse of you. 

You’re laid out on the bed, bare and exposed, gripping a vibrator to your pussy. The sight alone is enough to put him into a frenzy. Hearing your soft whimpers from your mouth along with the electric buzz from the toy fluttering on your clit sends him into a trance that he can’t snap out of. Before he can think logically, he’s pushing against the door, making his presence known. 

~~~

“Eren!” You sit up in bed, flinging the toy off to the side, covering yourself with your robe. “What are you doing here?”

He stands before you, a crazed look in his eyes, an obvious bulge protruding from his pants. He stutters, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, glaring at him. 

His mouth is agape, unable to get the words out. You’re losing patience, watching him struggle to explain why he’s here, inside your home, watching you masturbate. You grab your phone, making sure to exit out of whatever filthy audio that’s still playing, fingers ready to dial your boyfriend’s number when he blurts out, “Jean is cheating on you.”

You freeze on the spot, heart sinking from having your worst fear confirmed. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, staring down at his feet. “I’m so sorry.”

There are no tears in your eyes, surprisingly. Instead, your throat is heavy with emotion as you repeat for a third time, “So, what are you doing here?”

Still avoiding your gaze, he answers, “Jean thought you were catching on to him, so he asked me to bring you flowers to throw you off.” 

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you ask, “How long have you known about it?”

“A few weeks.” He looks up at you, saying your name this time. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

After a deep breath, you sigh, relaxing against the headboard. “I’m sorry you’re involved in it.” You smile at him. “And I’m sorry you had to see me…you know.” Embarrassment catches up to you, heat rushing into your cheeks, aware that you’ve just been caught touching yourself with your vibrator, which is still in plain view beside you. 

He steps forward, inching closer towards the end of the bed. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. Jean is a fucking asshole. You don’t deserve this.”

“What do I deserve, Eren?” You peer at him, tears welling in your eyes now, desperate for any ounce of comfort he can give to you in this moment. 

He sits near you on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance. “You deserve to be loved by someone who’s always going to treat you right. Someone who’s going to love you from head to toe.” 

“Someone like you?”

A gentle smile forms on his face. “Yeah. Someone like me.”

No matter how badly you want to close the distance between you, want to feel the love he says he can give to you, guilt holds you back. Sensing your hesitation, he scooches nearer. “Let me help you. Tell me what you want.”

Eren has always been sweet to you. Too sweet, in fact. You’ve always gotten the sense that he cares more for you than he lets on. And maybe it’s because you’re hurt right now, fragile, heartbroken, even a little scornful towards Jean. Whatever it is, it makes you realize you’ve been too busy with the wrong man to notice the right one has been here all along. However, two wrongs don’t make a right. Even with the confirmation of Jean’s adulterous behavior, you’re still his girlfriend until you officially end it, which will be soon. 

In the meantime, you manage to come up with something you can do to take advantage of this moment. 

You let go of your robe, letting it fall to your sides, displaying your nude body to him, arousal wet between your legs from earlier. He watches you carefully, cock straining against his sweatpants, breathing heavily.

“I’m not a cheater like Jean,” you mutter, spreading yourself wider, showing off your glistening cunt.

“I know you’re not,” he whispers, scooting forward, hand drifting to his lap.

Reaching for your vibrator, maintaining your gaze on him, you say, “I’m a good girl.” 

He swallows hard, palming his erection through the fabric. “Fuck. You’re a good girl. Such a good girl.”

“You can look, but you can’t touch. Understand?” Your finger hovers over the button, tip pressed to your throbbing clit.  

He nods erratically, licking his lips. “Yes.”

“Good,” you smirk, turning the toy on, ready to give him a show. “Tell me all the things you want to do to me.”

He shoves his boxers down, cock sprung stiff against his abdomen, the slit shiny with precum, veins bulging on his shaft. It’s the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, better than what’s-his-face by a longshot, though you might be biased now, given the circumstances. Eren wraps his fist around it, jerking himself off while he watches you tease the tip on your swollen bud. “I want to fuck you into this mattress,” he moans. “Pound this pussy until we break the bed.”

“Yeah?” you purr, pressing the fluttering tip deeper into your clit. “What else?”

“Want to bounce you on this cock, watch you cream all over me,” he huffs, stroking himself faster. “God, this is hot. So fucking hot.”

Pleasure ripples through your body, toes curled from the sensation, so close to your climax with his soothing voice spitting his nasty fantasies at you. “I wish you could fuck me right now,” you confess, limbs quivering from ecstasy, pussy fluttering around nothing, aching to be filled. 

“Me too, princess. Me too. But you’re a good girl. And good girls don’t cheat.” He readjusts himself onto the bed, kneeling in front of you, stroking his hard dick. “I can give you this cum, though. That’s not cheating, right?”

You blindly agree with him, approaching your climax. “Yeah, give it to me. Give it to me, Eren.”

He swears loudly, shooting his load onto you, spilling over your clit, dripping down your pussy. “Fuck,” he groans, marveling at how pretty you look covered in his seed. 

You smile at him, relaxing against your pillows, dipping the tip of your vibrator in his mess. His mouth hangs open, eyes half lidded, watching as you stuff it inside your cunt. 

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, stroking his cock again, eyes fixated on your pussy. 

Do technicalities even matter anymore? All you know is that you want to be loved from head to toe by Eren Jaeger. You set aside the toy, sitting up to close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his. He hesitates before deepening the kiss, tongue slipping inside your mouth, sloppy and eager for more.

When you break apart to catch your breaths, he leans his forehead against yours, whispering, “Are you going to be a bad girl now and take this cock?”

Grinning, you nod, pulling him in for another kiss. 

[livelaughlovekny]

You bake with him

Notes: Modern AU, Gender neutral reader, 2nd person POV, Streamer!Reader, OOC!Muichirou

Summary: You try to bake a cake while Muichirou just watches.

a/n: ohmygod y'all its the way i tried writing muichirou as he was before he got his memories back and then halfway decided to try and write him after he got his memories back and changed it but the thing is I cant write EITHER personality well SO ITS LIKE HIM BUT NOT HIM CRIES also this is like really long and written without any er proofreading so IMSOSORRY

  “Hello everyone! Welcome back to ‘Can I Cook It? Yes I Can!’, a series in which I try to create all sorts of foods, ranging from a bowl of chicken soup to macarons! Today’s objective is to bake a simple one-tier cake. Oh and, we have a guest today! Everyone, do welcome my beloved, Muichirou! He’s just here to observe, haha.” Stepping to the side, you allow your audience a view of your lover. Muichirou looks at the camera before glancing down at the comments section. It became extremely active the moment you moved aside.

  You were by no means the most viewed streamer, though you did have a dedicated fanbase of your own. On normal days, there would be a steady stream of comments. Occasionally, there would be a large influx of comments and views, but that only happens when you’re celebrating festivals by creating challenging foods. (The last time you tried, you ended up spending the entire next day cleaning up your kitchen.) So, it was quite surprising to see the number of viewers suddenly increase. You looked at the comments section too.

————

gluedcheeks: OMG?? THATS YOUR BF ??

antidepressants98: HUHUHUH IM SUDENLY GAY

InADitch247: ahhh you two look so cute tgt!!! ><

allthingsblack: how does it feel to be gods bias?

EATINGRAMEN: @ allthingsblack right, GOD I SEE WHAT YOU DO FOR OTHERS

————

  The rest of the comments that followed had similar contents. You were stupefied. You were under no such impressions that Muichirou was anything less than gorgeous, but after being with him for so long, you naturally got used to it a little. Seeing the reactions of people who never had the chance to be graced by such a beauty for, you couldn’t help but a little smug and sneak a glance at your boyfriend. Surprisingly, he was already looking at you, having lost interest in the reactions of others earlier. Smiling a little, you moved back to block your audience’s view of him. Ignoring the flood of dismayed comments, you resumed your talk. “Now, let us get started! I’ll be sharing the link to recipe I’ll be following later. After last month’s baking incident, I decided to pick an easier recipe to follow today.”

————

OKOKOKOKOKOK: understandable as you should

LALALALALALALA: its a surprise youre still willing to bake

————

  What could you and the comments possibly be talking about? Muichirou was mystified. Still, he silently watched you curiously as you grabbed the necessary ingredients and preheated the oven. Once you were done adjusting the settings on the oven and lining the baking pan with parchment paper, you moved on to the next step. You grabbed a bowl that you deemed big enough and dumped in some flour, baking powder and salt. Seeing this, Muichirou couldn’t help but blurt out “How do you know how much to add?” He did not see you measure the ingredients beforehand and the amount of each ingredient you poured in seemed questionable.

  “I don’t.” Ah what a simple response, but it gave Muichirou a better idea and guess of how “last month’s baking incident” could’ve happened. He mentally prepared himself for a “today’s baking incident”. Perhaps he should’ve worn a raincoat? He wasn’t familiar with baking but he was familiar with your uncanny ability to mess things up ridiculously so. He watched with new found interest as you whisked the ingredients before moving on to turning on your stand mixer. After fumbling with the switch and buttons a little, you managed to turn on it and waited a few minutes for it to beat the butter and sugar.

  Muichirou moved closer to you and looked over your shoulder. The butter and sugar now looked pale and creamy, which (to Muichirou’s surprise) matched what the recipe stated. Oh, maybe you weren’t that bad at baking? Unaware of your boyfriend’s skepticism, you continued with the next steps: adding two eggs. Now this was easy. You’ve cracked many eggs before. However, it seems that today wasn’t your day. You must’ve used too much force because the moment you tried cracking the egg apart, it burst open. The slimy egg whites and yolk now stained the front of your shirt and kitchen walls. Some of it already began to drip down your kitchen counter too. Muichirou silently concluded that you couldn’t bake.

  Without hesitation, he shook his head at you, sighed, and reached over to crack both eggs for you. He then proceeded to help you wipe off the egg remains from the walls and counter. Pointing at your stained shirt, he asked, “Are you not going to change? If you don’t wash it soon, it’s going to stain forever.” You wave a hand and laughed. “Of course not, I’m too lazy. This is my streaming shirt, no matter what happens, I’ll until I’m done to wash it.” That explained why this originally-purely-white shirt had all sorts of weird patches of colours on it.

————

imachicken: AHHHHH HE LEANED OVER TO HELP YOU AJHHH

xstrxnxut: that’s literally the hottest thing i’ve ever witnessed

EATINGRAMEN: HOW TO BE EGG

whywouldiknow: taking a bath with my hairdryer rn !! :D

EATINGRAMEN: HOWTOBEEGG

allthingsblack: HOWTOBEEGG

————

  Unlike your extremely active comments section, Muichirou decided to keep his thoughts to himself and chose to observe what else would happen.

  After adding milk, oil and vanilla into the bowl (all volumes were eyeballed obviously) and mixing it, you added the entire mixture of dry flour in and beat it until all ingredients were combined. (you were supposed to add half first, beat it, then add the other half but you wanted to “save time”). You then poured the batter into the baking pan. The recipe stated that you should use a spatula to smooth out the top. You could not find yours and decided to just move on to stuffing it into the oven. The recipe stated that you had to wait a minimum of thirty minutes. No troubles arose so far, impressive! Keep up the good work!

  Proud of yourself, you grinned before turning to the camera. “Haha, guess today’s baking session will be a success! I’ll now be making the cake’s frosting.” Grabbing the bowl used to beat the butter previously, you placed more butter into it and dumped some sugar in and allowed your stand mixer to beat the mixture. With a soft smile on his face, Muichirou leaned against the counter as he watched you dump more sugar (?), milk and vanilla into the bowl.

————

OKOKOKOKOKOK: i didnt know frosting had salt in them

LALALALALALALA: thye don’t

————

  There was still a lot of time left so you decided to interact with your audience. A quick glance at your viewership left you shocked. The numbers were nearly triple of your usual viewership and it was still steadily rising! Was having a new face really that effective in gaining more viewers? Of course not, the effectiveness depended on how attractive that face was! Perhaps you should invite Muichirou to join your streams more often, it seemed your fans really liked him and were extremely interested in him.

————

coconut_972: how did you guys meet????????

user4356892: how long have you guys been tgt

lovelove: YOU TWO ARE SO CUTE WHO CONFESSED FIRST

WEEVHJ: WHATS YOUR BFS SKINCARE ROUTINE

dontclickonmyname: YEAH WHAT PROCUCTS DPES HE USW

EATINGRAMEN: what kind of ritual did you perform to be so lucky

allthingsblack: none, if youre not gods fav you obv wont get someone liek that

EATINGRAMEN: 😔

allthingsblack: 😔

————

  Wow, you were certainly not expecting so many questions. You glanced over at your lover, silently asking if he was okay with all the attention. Muichirou simply smiled at you before answering a question at random, “Everyday, I made sure to stand on my head for three minutes while reciting the following line aloud ‘I have no doubt that even if everyone in the world opposes us we will get together because our love for each other is so great that it’s greater than the universe itself’ two hundred and ninety seven times. You have to make sure that you say it two hundred and ninety seven times within three minutes. You will definitely get your soulmate if you do this. I’m living proof.” He said all that with a nonchalant look. For a moment, you couldn’t tell whether or not he was serious. In the end, you decided not to dwell on it. After all, who cares? (Your audience certainly did. The comments section exploded with multiple users commenting that line along with the cartwheel emoji repeatedly.)

  Looking through the comments, you found a question to answer. “Oh, what’s our love languages? Well, mine is all of them, HAHA. And his is probably acts of service and words of affirmation. He used to be bad with his words but he’s getting better now!” You smiled lovingly at your boyfriend and he couldn’t help but smile back. Indeed, when the two of you first met, he was cold and aloof and held great disdain for anyone who wasn’t part of his family. But slowly and surely, he warmed up to you and now, the both of you have been together for quite some time and he has learnt to express his feelings a little better.

  The two of you spent quite some time together answering the questions. It was mostly you going through the comments, picking out questions out of the sea of “🤸 I have no doubt that even if everyone in the world opposes us we will get together because our love for each other is so great that it’s greater than the universe itself 🤸”. You answered most of the questions, with Muichirou occasionally chiming in to provide some tidbits about the both of you. He didn’t talk much but whenever he had something to say, it would either be to praise you or an affectionate insult (which was actually still clearly a compliment for you!!). He did not look at the camera or the screen but rather at you. He loved watching you excitedly talk about stuff.

  It was a while until you saw the following comments:

————

OKOKOKOKOKOK: hey how long has the cake been in there already

LALALALALALALA: HAHA I THINK AN HOUR. AT LEAST.

————

  Oh no, you completely forgot about the cake! Rushing to the oven, you put on your gloves before opening it, reaching into it, and pulling out the pan. It did not look like the golden brown it should be. And while the recipe stated you wait for the cake to cool before adding frosting, you decided that at the point, time did not matter. Haphazardly, you used a large spoon to scoop out the frosting and spread it on the cake.

  The frosting looked very uneven no matter how many times you tried to smooth it out. Oh well, who cares? Definitely not you! Using the same spoon, you scooped out a large chunk of the cake and turned around to offer it to Muichirou. He saw how the cake looked when it came out the oven. In fact, he could still see black peeking out of the uneven layers of frosting. How could he deny you though? Resigned to his fate, he opened his mouth and ate the cake obediently. He paused after the first bite. He slowly chewed again.

  You watched his reaction intently but could not tell what he was thinking. Finally, you asked, “Well?” Muichirou swallowed before answering. He smiled brightly. “Really good. In fact, you should let me finish the rest.” A beautiful bright smile blossomed on your face as you excitedly took a bite for yourself. Your blossomed smile immediately wilted. It. Was. Salty. And So. Very. Very. Burnt. Really good my foot! You had added large amounts of salt into the frosting instead of sugar and the cake tasted like charcoal (you did not know how charcoal tasted like but you were positive that this was how it must taste like)!

  You couldn’t even swallow the bite and spat it out into the bin. Looks like this baking session was a fail too! How disappointing, maybe better luck next time!

————

EATINGRAMEN: im so jealous he could still smile and offer praises

allthingsblack: OHMYGOD RIGHT ?? like he even tried to make sure that only he would have to suffer

OKOKOKOKOKOK: I KNEW IT IT WAS SALT NOT SUGAR

LALALALALALALA: at least today wasn’t exactly a baking incident like last time

————

a/n: ill really do anything just so I can avoid revising omfg

[nanaminokanojo]

ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE | part 30

-meet cute? a cheesy musical number? forget it! love makes itself known to you through a minor car accident, a broken arm, and a treacherously charming temporary chauffeur

CHARACTERS: sukuna x you/reader | jjk characters

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | bad boy x good girl | college au | a lot of firsts | aged-up characters | strangers to lovers | smut | fluff | angst | ooc depictions - soft sukuna ftw

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts | mentions of alcohol and/or smoking | mentions of injury, promiscuity and bullying | pet names because they're cute with 2D men | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 30 next>>

A/N: Contains prose with panels in between. 6th panel is a video.

“I can do it, you know,” you insisted again

“Not having it. I should make sure you’re getting the best care.”

You arched a brow at him, sitting stiffly beside him, not really seeing how it was easier when he said, “Prop your legs up on my lap.”

“Huh?”

He didn’t explain any further and instead stood up, carrying you bridal style and propping you on the couch so your back was against the armrest while he gently placed your legs across his lap. “That wasn’t so hard, was it.”

“N-no, but –”

“No buts.”

As he moved around you, you couldn't help but stare at him. His usually intimidating demeanor softened as he meticulously put the ointment on the abrasions on your leg with a cotton swab. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers deft and precise, eyes intense as he focused on his task. The room was silent except for your steady breathing. At that moment, Sukuna's care and attention just took center stage.

“You do this often?” you teased. “With other girls, I mean.”

He shook his head. “Consider yourself special.”

“I’m only special ‘cause you nearly killed me.” You laughed at your own joke, not meaning anything by it, about to swing your legs off of him when he held onto them, his hand quickly but very gently settling on the shin of your right leg. “I…I’m sorry. That wasn’t a nice thing to say.”

Sukuna leaned towards you, placing his free hand on the backrest. You met his gaze, not liking the turmoil that seemed to swirl in his dark eyes which, you noticed, were flecked with dark garnets and amethysts with the way the sun was shining on him.

“I’ll never hurt you,” he told you softly. He closed his eyes in agitation before flashing you an apologetic smile. “Not intentionally, anyway.”

“Stop saying it that way.”

“Hmm. What way?”

“Like you’re considering the possibility that you would.” You mustered all the courage you had, reached out and cupped his face, making him look at you. “You’ve taken care of me better than anyone so far. I am grateful for that. Don’t ever forget it.”

He placed his hands over yours. “How are you this gracious? It’s unsettling.”

At that, you felt your heart stutter. It’s happening again. “Is that bad?”

Sukuna laughed. “How is that even bad? I swear to god, you worry about the weirdest things. It’s good. It’s just that…”

“Just what?” You withdrew your hands, looking away. That overwhelming feeling akin to being submerged in cold water made its way from your toes to your chest, making it hard to breathe. “People hate me, you know? They hate me because they think I’m just pretending. I acted out once because I was too tired to deal with anyone, and they all started leaving, telling me I’m a –”

He didn’t like what he was hearing. “That’s ridiculous.”

You shook your head, trying to compose yourself. “But I admire you, Sukuna. You show everyone the real you, and they like you for it.

Unlike me, you thought, concealing the thought with a smile, but that was short-lived when he said his next words.

“I like you.”

TAG LIST: @catobsessedlady @kyo-kyo1 @junehasnotbeenfound @lavender-hvze @guacam011y @eyered @hellomeow12 @its-princessmara @light-yagami-l @domainofmarie @mythoscalliope @noble-17 @pheonix-eclipses @weebbuscuit @sukunasbudussy @lu-c1na @vinnieswife @the-haitani-baton @iaminyourfloors @needtoloveoutloud @r-ryuko09 @somestardeww @swirlingcurses @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @bronze-metal @iluv-ace @kidd3ath

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240526]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[coraniaid]

I really don't understand how popular it seems to be to suggest that Cordelia was a Potential Slayer (and that, somehow, despite not being an teenager when Buffy died in The Gift, she might have been called at that point?). Or that Dawn should have been a Potential in Season 7, either. (I don't really get the appeal of Willow as a Slayer either, as I gather happens at some point in the AU comics, but I don't see anybody arguing for that in regards to the original show.)

The only characters we see on the show who are not identified explicitly as Slayers or Potentials that I think make any particular narrative or thematic or in-universe sense as (Potential or former) Slayers are, in no particular order:

Drusilla. Season 2 establishes Buffy and Drusilla share a lot (including cryptic visions of the future and shared dreams, something Buffy otherwise only ever experiences with Faith, a fellow Slayer). Not something I think hugely credible -- Dru was having her visions as a human, but Slayers don't get them until after being called and it seems pretty clear that Drusilla wasn't a full Slayer when Angel[us] sired her -- but, still, not inherently ridiculous as an idea I suppose.

Ampata (or, rather, the girl whose real name we never learn but who pretends to be Ampata in Inca Mummy Girl). Her fate as a living human sacrifice to ward against evil pretty obviously parallels Buffy's own situation as a Slayer, especially in light of Prophecy Girl which aired just a couple of episodes prior to Ampata's appearance. More of a metaphorical connection than anything else, but ... I guess it's possible?

Sunday (the vampire from The Freshman). No real reason for this except that I once saw (somewhere?) a suggestion that this was the original plan for her character (or, more specifically, that she'd be a former Slayer turned vampire, which I think might have been interesting to see? Okay, okay, I just wish there was more Sunday in Season 4.

Kit Holburn, the girl Dawn befriends in Season 7's Lessons who never appears on the show again. I can only assume there was some sort of casting issue, because the plot of Potential works a lot better if Amanda is somebody Dawn already knows. This also helps set up Dawn, Kit and Carlos as (to some extent) a 'next generation' version of Willow, Buffy and Xander, which I think fits Dawn (we know how much she looks up to Willow).

Gwendolyn Post, Faith's unnamed Watcher and Giles's grandmother. Yeah, these are my dark horse picks for ex-Potentials. We know that the Watchers train some Potentials for years who are never called as Slayers, after all, and what else are they going to do with them later but recruit them as Watchers? (Also notable that Giles and his dad were both explicitly Watchers because a parent was, but we don't get a similar suggestion that that's why his grandmother was a Watcher.) Would also provide an in-universe explanation for why an otherwise intentionally male-dominated and patriarchal organization like the Council might accept women as members. Don't think it's an intended reading, and it's not something I really find that interesting, but I think it makes sense?

Oh the other hand, characters like Cordelia and Dawn -- despite a lot of people suggesting them as plausible Potential Slayers -- make absolutely no sense in this role, because they both (in different ways) literally exist in the story for the primary narrative purpose of being versions of Buffy who are not Slayers.

Cordelia is the popular but self-centred cheerleader who Buffy repeatedly admits she used to be herself (and, at least until the Season 1 finale Prophecy Girl and arguably all the way up to Season 3's Homecoming still sometimes wishes she could become again). Dawn is, quite explicitly, the part of Buffy who never had to be a Slayer, the innocent girl who got the normal childhood and the relationship with her mother that Buffy wishes she could have had. Making either of them Potentials adds nothing to their story -- the whole point of Cordelia's arc after leaving Sunnydale is that she grows up and moves beyond her high school persona and her similarity to Buffy, and making her be secretly a Potential after all reverses so much of that --and robs them of a lot of thematic consistency.

(Dawn not being a Potential is one of Season 7's better decisions, frankly. I don't think the lack of focus on Dawn is great, but I do think that focusing on her by forcing her into the Potential role would have been worse.)

[sparklecarehospital]

been reflecting on my year a bit, and i was thinking about something. i think i know what the best thing i did for myself this year was.

making cometcare public. making the ask blog.

ive had this AU stirring in my brain since 2019, ever since i got really attached to doomi during the haunted arc. one reason i went so long without revealing pollarrydoomi as a ship to readers was because doom's crush wasn't public information until late 2021.

i had kept his crush a mystery for 3 years, but revealed it after a fun experience where people figured out who it was through guessing. i'm pretty sure i did a poll about it? asking people to guess who they thought it was, and uni won the vote, meaning everyone had already figured it out.

after pollarrydoomi was revealed and i started drawing art for it and people made fanart for it, i still couldn't post any of my AU art because ally wasn't public and she and howie were in the AU. in july 2022, for the comic's birthday, i revealed ally as a character to the readers. others around the time had started to notice characters i had in pfps and i ended up telling everyone i did have pollarrydoomi ship kids, but i didn't make them public.

in november 2022, i revealed eve on toyhouse. after her reveal, i would soon reveal sly as well in december 2022 on my birthday (revealing sly as a birthday present to myself is such a funny gesture now that you guys know how important he is to me). over the next few weeks i revealed cream, frosty, and marco as well. all of the main cometkids except chem.

then one day someone out there suggested that i make an ask blog for the cometcare AU. it was such a spontaneous decision, and i didn't even really know what i was gonna do with it at first. i was just kinda messing around. but when i made the blog i realized that if i wanted this AU to be experienced in complete authenticity, i couldn't make uni cis.

so i revealed uni being trans through the blog, despite the fact i'd gone so many years without ever revealing her identity. why did i do it? there's a lot of reasons. not wanting to make her a "dad" in the AU contributed, but also i felt like it wouldn't be detrimental to the story to confirm a character being trans. it also made me (and the crew in general) a lot more comfortable being able to properly refer to uni with her actual pronouns.

making the ask blog really changed me, because finally i could share this little family and comfort story i'd built in my brain with the world and make it real and make content for it and let people consume it.

but what stopped me most of all?

i've said it many times before... but i felt like it was cringey.

i felt like making an AU with 93985893844 fankids in a ridiculous complicated polycule wasn't something a Serious content creator should do, and i was really worried the reception would be negative or people would think it was stupid or something. i did NOT expect it to become as popular as it is. the blog actually has more followers than the MAIN ASK BLOG for the canon comic. it was received SO POSITIVELY and the fact it was just kind of blows me away.

it means so much to me. being able to share the most special thing in my life with people and for people to actually like it and have fun with me and want to see it, and for me to be able to not have to follow strict professionalism about spoilers and chronological storytelling, and being able to change and add in things whenever i felt like it. it's such a freeing experience.

when i was a kid, i used to make stories and OCs and i didn't take them as seriously as i do the sparklecare reboot. this kind of turned into my entire life and career kinda, so i had to take it more seriously. but making this AU honestly just makes me feel like i'm a kid again, it makes me feel like i can have fun and literally do whatever the fuck i want without worrying what people think or if it's realistic or if it makes any sense.

i know though, that some people don't like pollarrydoomi. and i know why. whether it's because of being attached to barruni (of course, they're the canon ship and main characters, i get it) or just having discomfort with the idea of shipping doom with anyone when canonically he hasn't experienced a redemption arc... i get it. i know not everyone likes it.

and that's okay! people are entitled to having their own feelings about content. i understand it. and i've come to accept that's always going to be the case with anything i do with these characters.

but i'm still going to do this for myself. i do this because it makes me happy to just have fun and not worry about being serious all the time. it feels good, especially when it's with characters that are really really important to me.

cometcare is genuinely the most special and important thing i've ever made for myself, it's such a huge piece of my identity and it makes me who i am. and being able to make this story public and share it with people and share these things that have been in my brain for so long with others means so much to me.

that's why i think it was the best thing i've done this year. it's kind of literally changed my life to be able to talk about them. it's made me happier than i've ever been making content. i'm not just making it to entertain myself alone anymore, i'm making it to entertain others like i do with other stuff. and the fact people actually like it still is unbelievable to me.

so, i guess my outlook for next year as it comes is to continue to stop taking everything so seriously. i can tell my stories however i want to. i hope others can realize they can do this too.

please make whatever you want, whenever you what, as much as you want, even if it doesn't make sense or if it's "cringe". you will be so much happier when you realize as a creator you DON'T have to take all of this so seriously. the comic still exists and people read it even if i'm doing this. You Can Do Whatever You Want And Nobody Can Ever Stop You. the only person who can stop you is yourself when you let your inhibitions get in the way of your ability to create things for yourself.

have fun! life is too short to take everything you do seriously

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

Hi😊 i hope you're having a nice day!

Could i request a Larissa/21-22 Student reader(young teacher if you're not comfortable writing it with a student)fic with prompts 1 and 50 please? (Smut)

R have a big crush on Larissa. One night, she was walking past Larissa's room when she heard moans, she couln'd believe what she was hearing, she stopped and decided to take a peace of paper and write #50 on it with a 💋 with her lipstic (yea she's dumb like that), not writing her name and slip it under Larissa's door and ran back to her dorm. Larissa had no idea who could've wrote that and she was very embarassed that someone heard her..yk... The next day when Larissa walked past R in the hallway, she thought she saw a weird look in R's face and then she saw the lipstic, that lipstic, and it just clicked in her head. She always thought R was a bit of a tease with her but she never thought anything about it, but now.. Larissa decided to go to R's dorm, not knowing what she would do when she'll reach it. And what she heard throught that door, she thought that maybe she could pay R back for what R has done to her.😉 She openned the door slowly so R won't hear her and closed the door behind her, then she wispered #1. And then it would end up full of smuth, you can add as many kink as you want, even toys if you like, please?😊 (was this request too specific? I hope not😕)

Thank you if you decide to write it, i really love your fics and i really wanted to ask one too! And thank you even if you don't, for reading this!💋

A way too shy anon😅

i took some liberties with your request, i hope you don't mind! i made reader a 27yo phd student and it's a non-magical au! also..... i know i was probably expected to write a short, smutty thing, but before i knew it had a plot and it was 4000+ words whoopsie please don't hesitate to leave a comment on ao3, it makes my heart sing! <3

without further ado, enjoy some larissa x reader smut :) tags: car sex, mommy kink and idk how to tag adkjfshgd

You walk through the dark, empty corridor that leads to Professor Weems’ office. Most people have retired for the evening — it’s late, way too late for an official meeting, but given that lately you’ve been getting rather friendly, you hope she will excuse the informality. You know you will probably find her there, as she often works long into the night — and you really need her help with this chapter. The deadline for your PhD is rapidly approaching and you are still nowhere near done. 

She truly is a great mentor — always happy to meet with you and answer any questions you have, ready to spend hours going through your work and analysing materials you brought her. You somehow always end up spending a lot of time together — more often than not ending up in deep and heated discussions about various subjects (that sometimes relate to your work, and sometimes don’t) after you’ve finished discussing your thesis. You feel like you could talk to her the entire day without getting tired — she is remarkably intelligent, knowledgable on many subjects — her taste in art exquisite, and her takes are often unique. She always leaves you with several book recommendations (“Read this, darling, I am very curious what you will think about it,” she usually says and writes down a title or two, “read it when you find the time for it, of course — you have a thesis to write,” she winks — you somehow always find the time, sometimes sacrificing those few precious hours of sleep). 

Larissa Weems is also very, very attractive. She is an unusual looking woman — very tall, imposing, with platinum blonde hair and a peculiar fashion sense — she dresses like a movie star from the 1940s — but she is ridiculously charismatic, expressive, charming. Her laugh is contagious, her eyes bright and sparkling — you can’t be blamed for being absolutely enamoured with her.

You thought about asking her out once you get your PhD— age difference be damned. You are a 27 year old woman — you are free to do as you please. It’s just that, well — she is your mentor,  at least for now, and even if she wasn’t, she is just way out of your league. You don’t even know if she likes women, (probably not, knowing your luck) — and if she does, there is no way she would like you (even if you did have a very interesting discussion about sapphic undertones in The Marriage of Figaro — that scene between Susanna, Countess Rosina and Cherubino is rather… sexually charged — she seemed to share your opinion).

Lately, you feel your relationship has reached a deeper level — your meetings would almost always end in a nearby bar, where you’d relax with a glass of wine and continue your conversation late into the evening. Last time, she got slightly tipsy and became rather touchy-feely (she seems to be one of those people who are get very affectionate when drunk)— putting a hand on your shoulder, brushing against your leg under the table (then immediately apologising and pulling away), and when you got back to campus, she hugged you before parting ways. You can still recall very vividly how warm and soft she was and how she smelled faintly of sweet perfume and red wine. Since then you can’t stop imagining her touch — in very inappropriate ways. You try your hardest not to get too invested, though — she is your mentor, first and foremost. 

For all those reasons, you conclude she won’t be terribly upset at you if you barge into her office at this late hour. Worst case scenario, she tells you she’s too busy right now. 

You are just about to knock on her office door when something stops you dead in your tracks — a sound.

A moan.

You stand in front of the door. You hear nothing for a couple of seconds and almost knock again, certain you’ve imagined it (because why would anyone be moaning here at this hour?), but then you hear it once more.

It’s coming from her office. Is she with someone (your heart sinks at the thought, and you immediately scoff at yourself — as if you ever had a chance)? 

You know the appropriate thing would be to leave immediately, but something keeps you there, standing in front of the door, listening. 

The moans continue, and there is no doubt about it — that is her moaning, and there is no one else with her. It’s very clear what she is doing.

You should leave, but you stand there, frozen, listening. You don’t really want to go. 

Her moans sound heavenly — they send delicious jolts straight to your core. You can’t help but wish you were the one making her moan. 

Later, when you get back to your room, you don’t know what possessed you to do what you did. Might have been sleep deprivation, caffeine overdose, or lack of proper meals from days of working on your thesis non-stop, might be that she is the most attractive woman you have ever had the pleasure of knowing and her moans were just too much for your tired brain to handle — but you take a piece of paper out of your notebook and write a very inappropriate thing on it.

I thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong — it's your moans.

You stare at the note for a couple of seconds. The moans coming from her office are getting louder — she must be getting close to… 

…your brain short-circuits at the thought.

Without thinking, you place a kiss on the piece of paper, leaving a coral-coloured lip-print on it. 

Inside her office, Professor Weems keens. 

You slip the paper underneath her door and run back to your room. 

You continue working through the night, falling asleep on your desk around 5am. You wake up at 8, and by then the whole episode feels like it might have been a fever dream.

You still need her help with the chapter, however, so you send her en email asking if she could squeeze you into her schedule today. You get an answer almost immediately.

I am terribly busy today, but I could see you during lunch break. We could eat out together and go over the chapter, if you’d like. Please send it to me beforehand so I can read through it and make notes! :-) 

Sent from my iPhone

(You find her boomer smileys very endearing.)

You try your best not to think about last night’s events. You are lucky she can’t recognise your handwriting, given that you always write everything on your laptop. 

You steal an hour of sleep, take a shower and put on some lipstick and mascara before leaving to meet her at cafeteria for lunch. If you’re lucky, you will succeed at pretending last night never happened.

You are not lucky.

You can’t stop staring at her mouth as she talks, as she chews her lunch, imagining all types of lewd sounds coming from it. It’s downright erotic, the way her lips move — no one should look that sexy chewing food.

“Darling? Are you with me?” she asks, making you snap out of your inappropriate daydream.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just a bit spacey today,” you answer, embarrassed, wondering if she caught onto your staring.

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the last couple of days, darling?”

“Uhm… in the last three days, I think I got about ten hours combined.”

“You really should take better care of yourself.”

“I know, but there’s just so much work to be done,” you sigh. “Is it supposed to be this hard to get your PhD?”

Professor Weems chuckles (the loveliest sound). “I’m sorry to inform you that it is — at least if you want to do it properly.”

“How was it for you? When you were getting your PhD, I mean? It’s hard for me to imagine you going around disheveled and sleep deprived. You always look so put together.”

“Ah, darling, it’s one of the perks of reaching a certain age — you can finally afford some of life’s little luxuries, such as sleeping six to eight hours a nigh. However, I absolutely did go around disheveled and sleep deprived. I was living off of caffeine and salted crackers — I was a rather pitiful sight. I’m glad I did it, but I’d never go back.”

“So you’re telling me life is easy in your forties?” you tease.

“I said easier, not easy. I do still get terribly stressed about things. I was rather stressed yesterday, as a matter of fact. I have so many things to do today, and I will be working late again.”

“And what do you do to relieve the stress?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You know very well what she did yesterday to relieve the stress.

“Oh, this and that. Usually I watch something that takes my mind off work.”

(“Porn?” you think.)

“I think we should get going though, darling — lunch break is almost over. Let me just fix my makeup,” she says and pulls her signature red lipstick and a compact mirror out of her bag. She fixes the edges of her lipstick expertly.

“Do you need to fix your lipstick, darling?” she asks, handling you the mirror.

“Oh, I might, actually. Thanks.”

Only when you’re done fixing your makeup and you hand the mirror back to her do you realise she has just watched you put on the same lipstick you used to leave a lip-print on that wildly inappropriate note you slipped under her door. 

You look at her, your stomach twisting with anxiety, searching for any sign of recognition on her face.

Her face is unreadable, but you wonder if she holds eye contact with you a little longer and a little more intensely than usual. You might just be imagining things, though — you are terribly sleep deprived.

“Thank you, darling,” she says, giving you a bright smile. “Shall we?”

The cafeteria door is a bit narrow, so you step back to let her pass first, but she puts a hand on your waist and gently pushes you past her. Your shoulder brushes against her as you do so. Being this close to her makes your heart beat faster and your limbs turn to jelly.

You look up at her (she is so tall). She’s smiling at you. It’s a bright, toothy smile that makes your insides melt and your brain become mush. 

“I will be working late tonight, so if you need any help you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

“I can spare an hour for my favourite PhD student.”

“Your only PhD student.”

“You should just accept the compliment, darling.” She squeezes your shoulder and winks. “Good luck with your research. Try to squeeze in an afternoon nap. Ta-ta!”

She turns around and walks in the direction of her office, leaving you standing in front of the cafeteria like an idiot. As she walks away, you stare at way her hips move in the tight skirt pencil skirt she’s wearing. After a couple of seconds, you realise your mouth is open, so you quickly close it before anyone notices you are behaving like a horny teenager. 

You slowly drag yourself to your room. As you sit down and start going through the notes she gave you during lunch, your thoughts keep drifting to her ass in that pencil skirt. You sigh.

This is going to be a long day.

By the time evening comes, you are nowhere near finished with the chapter that was giving you grief yesterday. You know what needs to be done and you have finally found the right source to support your argument, but you have a hard time concentrating, and that makes you work in an excruciatingly slow manner. Your thoughts are scattered and you keep thinking about the deadline that looms over your head. Stress and sleep deprivation are truly starting getting to you (it also doesn’t help that your thoughts keeps drifting to Professor Weems and her tight pencil skirt). You wonder if you should take a quick power nap, but you are so caffeinated and anxious you doubt you could sleep if you tried, despite being exhausted, so you continue to push through.

It’s around 9pm that you hear a knock on your door. Before you can react in any way, the door opens and Professor Weems is standing in your room.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, darling. I just wanted to check how you’re doing before I retire for the evening.”

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I am nowhere near done with this chapter. I know what I need to do, it’s just that it’s going so painfully slowly.” You bury your head into your hands and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry I’m being so whiny about this. I am just so stressed.”

Professor Weems approaches your desk and sits on it. Her thigh is just next to your head. You look up at her.

“Darling, you are working yourself too hard. I would tell you if I thought you are terribly behind with your research, but I honestly think you’ll make it. Don’t forget, I have to sign my name on your work — I would never lie to you about your progress to make you feel better — so trust me when I say you should let this go for tonight and come back to it when you’re less sleep-deprived.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come on, I am taking you out for a glass of wine. You should relax. It’s painful to watch you like this.”

You would never decline a glass of wine with Professor Weems, so before you know it you are sitting in that bar near campus having a glass of red wine (that turns into two and then into three glasses). The alcohol is getting to you, since you haven’t eaten that much today — you feel warm and fuzzy and slightly drunk.

Professor Weems seems to be getting tipsy as well, because she is getting very touchy with you again. She laughs at your stupid jokes (her laughter is one of your favourite things about her — loud and unabashed and melodious) and touches your shoulder often, sometimes letting her hand linger way longer than necessary. At some point in the evening her leg touches your own underneath the table.

She doesn’t move it, nor does she apologise. 

“You were right, Professor Weems, I did need this,” you say. “I’ve been feeling really out of it for the last couple of days.”

“Oh, I told you already, call me Larissa, darling. Professor Weems is so formal.”

“Are you big on formalities, Larissa?” you ask. You decide to try and push your luck — your confidence is not that high, but you are not an idiot. You are pretty certain she is flirting with you, unless you are completely delusional because of sleep deprivation. 

“Usually yes, but as you’ve probably already concluded by my taste in literature, I do think life would be terribly boring without letting the irrational, passionate streak in us win sometimes. As is the case in many literary classics — the plot simply couldn’t move forward without one of the characters disregarding propriety and doing something reckless and passionate.”

“I agree. I often wish I had the courage to do something like that in real life — my life would be so much more interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling. I do think you have what it takes.” She gives you a big, bright smile. “Oh, wait a second, darling, your lipstick is smudged. Here, let me.”

She leans forward and takes your chin in her hand, then brushes along the corner of your lip with her thumb. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body hot with desire.

“That’s a lovely colour, darling. Coral suits you very well.”

She knows. She must know. 

She leans back into her seat. You decide to be bold.

“You know, I am still feeling a little bit tense. You said you like to watch something to relax — but I prefer more physical ways of relaxation. Do you have anything to recommend in that area?”

“Do give me an example, darling, what do you do to relax that’s physical?”

“Oh, I’m afraid what I do wouldn’t be appropriate to engage in at my workplace.”

There is a definite red tinge to Larissa’s cheeks.

“What’s life without a little excitement?”

“Very boring, I suppose.”

For a couple of seconds, there is silence. You are looking at each other, both of your cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol. The tension in the air is thick and heavy.

The next thing she says takes you by surprise. You didn’t expect her to be that forward.

“Tell me, darling, did it turn you on when you heard me yesterday?”

“I—” you open and close your mouth like a fish. You can’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth — to hear her say something like that is something straight out of a wet dream, something that would only happen in your wildest fantasies. 

“I usually do it to relax — it’s a purely physical thing, but lately I have found myself thinking about you,” she continues. “Tell me, do you think of mewhen you touch yourself?”

You look her straight in the eye. “Yes, I do.”

You look at each other for a moment. Desire lingers in the air. She is first to break the silence. 

“Before this escalates any further, I want you to know that the last thing I’d want is to put you in a difficult situation or make you feel like you are obligated to do something. If you don’t want this, just say the word and we shall never mention it again.” 

She pauses. She seems nervous — you’ve never seen her nervous before.

“And please know that whatever you decide, it will not affect your thesis in any way. I would hate for you to be under the impression that this is transactional. I am genuinely interested in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, but I am ready to put that aside and prioritise our professional relationship if that is what you want.”

Your heart breaks as you decide to do the right thing.

“Maybe we should wait until I finish my thesis, and then… continue with this,” you say. “As much as I’d like to, it really wouldn’t be professional of us.”

“Of course. That would probably be best.”

She moves her leg under the table so that it’s no longer touching yours —- you can’t help but feel disappointed. There is a moment of awkward silence. She clears her throat. “We should probably go then, not let this escalate any further.”

“Yes,” you agree. “Let’s go.”

The walk to campus is silent and awkward. 

“It’s rather late,” you say. “I do hope buses still drive. The night lines are scarce in this part of town.”

“Oh, I can drive you home, if you want,” she says quickly. “I didn’t offer because I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I mean, if you want to. We will have to spend time a lot of time together until I finish my thesis, we might as well practice not being awkward around each other. Not that I wasn’t awkward before,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood. “You always made me nervous.”

She chuckles and the air seems less heavy. “I didn’t know I was so scary.”

“You’re not,” you say, but you don��t elaborate further (what you want to say is you look like a movie star, you are intelligent and absolutely brilliant and I am nervous because I have a huge crush on you — but that would be inappropriate given the circumstances).

The drive to your apartment is silent. The tension that built in the bar didn’t dissipate into thin air when you decided not to act on it — instead it intensified — it lingers around, hot and heavy, clouding your judgement, making you sweat even though it’s a chilly night.

She parks in a free spot just in front of your apartment building.

“I’m sorry, I acted very unprofessionally,” she starts. “As your mentor, I should have ignored your advances, but instead I flirted with you and encouraged you.”

Her red lips move in the most delicious way as she speaks, and you find yourself staring again. You remember the sound of her moans. It’s difficult to think about anything else.

“I feel terribly ashamed. I promise I will maintain a strictly professional demeanour from now o—”

You pull her into a bruising kiss. She squeaks (you find that adorable).

Pushing you away, she tries to be reasonable. “We shouldn’t,” she says.

“What’s life without a little excitement? What a novel without the protagonist disregarding propriety and pushing the plot forward?”

“I—”

“Please, Larissa, I believe you when you say my thesis won’t be affected. We are both adults. We want this. Tell me, do you want me?”

She looks at you. Desire dances in her eyes.

“Yes.”

That is all you need. 

You kiss her again, then climb over to her seat, somehow managing to straddle her lap. She abruptly pushes the car seat backwards to give you more room — you gasp in surprise and she swallows your gasp with a hungry kiss.

The way she kisses you is passionate, ravenous, desperate. You grind against each other, your hands are everywhere, and her skirt is already bunched up around her hips (the sight of her soft, white thighs in garters drives you crazy). It’s hot, it’s dirty, and it’s not something you thought a put together woman like herself would ever be caught dead doing.

“I never imagined you’d enjoy a dirty car fuck, Larissa,” you whisper into her ear as she kisses your neck. She bites it and you gasp. 

“And I never imagined you’d be such a naughty slut, grinding your pussy against my thigh, but here we are.” 

She makes even something that cheap and filthy sound delicious. It shouldn’t turn you on so much, but it does.

“Say that again,” you breathe out, continuing to grind against her thigh.

“You like it when mommy calls you a dirty slut, hm?” 

She grabs your hair with one hand and slides the other one down into your trousers, feeling your drenched underwear. 

“Mmm, fuck,” is the only thing you can say.

“So wet and needy for me already, darling?” she coos at you. “Tell me, did you imagine me doing this to you as you touch yourself, hm? Fucking you with my fingers, fast and hard, like a common whore?”

She slides her hand inside your underwear and pushes a finger into you, then, when she feels how wet you are, two. You whimper. She curls them and you cry out. “Say I’m mommy’s little whore. I want to hear it.”

“I— I’m mommy’s little whore, fuck—”

She starts fucking you, fast and hard, and there are no coherent thoughts left in your mind. She is grunting and groaning with you — it make you delirious with desire. You want to make her moan like she did last night.

You somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to bury your own hand between her soft thighs and feel her wetness. She moans as you circle her clit and her fingers lose their rhythm for a second, which allows you to put together a coherent sentence.

“Like that, mommy?” you breathe out. “Did you imagine this when you touched yourself yesterday?”

“Yes,” she whines, “please, don’t stop.”

You have no intention of stopping. You continue to circle her clit even as she starts to fuck you harder. Her moans are obscene and loud and for a second you remember that any passerby could see you, and probably hear you, but you don’t care. If anything, that turns you on even more.

What sends you over the edge is her orgasm. Her body tenses up, her moans become hoarser and strangled, and a combination of swearwords and moans mixed with your name leave her lips as she tips over the edge of ecstasy. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever witnessed. She tries to fuck you through her own orgasm, but she doesn’t manage to keep the relentless, steady pace she had set before. It doesn’t matter — you grind on her hand and cry out as you ride out intense waves of pleasure that make your limbs tingle.

She gently pulls her fingers out of you. You stay still for a while, wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, your faces buried in each other’s necks. 

“Fuck, that was hot,” you say after a while.

She nods against your shoulder. “It was.”

“Wanna do that again sometime… mommy?” you pull away, looking at her with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“If you call me that any time we aren’t fucking, I will end you.”

You laugh, and after a second she laughs as well. 

She is so pretty when she smiles — you love how those little lines around her eyes become more prominent.

“I should probably go, though. We are in the middle of the street and it’s like, 3am,” you say.

“Yes, you probably should.”

Before you go exit the car, you kiss goodnight. It’s the sweet and soft — it makes your heart flutter.

“Good night, darling,” she whispers as you get out of the car.

“Good night, Larissa,” you whisper as you watch her drive away.

As you brush your teeth, take a quick shower and get cozy in your bed, the only thing you can think about is Larissa. When you fall asleep, you dream of her sweet kisses. 

When you wake up in the morning, you feel well-rested for the first time in weeks.

[c0smicp3ach]

𐙚 ๋࣭ ⭑baked love- kento nanami

summary: nanami x gn!reader, cafe/bakery au, curseless au, fluff, first fic pls be nice

words count: 1534

By all means, Kento Nanami was not a late person. He was either extremely punctual or not attending at all. However, somehow, he was running a whopping fifteen minutes late to work. Maybe it was because he took too long to get ready. Or maybe it was because of the new employee at the cafe that caught his eye today. 

Normally, Nanami would stop by his local cafe every Wednesday morning to grab a croissant and a decaf espresso on his way to work. However, when he walked into the bakery, he was not met with the usual mundane employee but rather a new, refreshing face staring back at him.

When you think of Kento Nanami you would think calm, cool, and collected. Yet the blonde salaryman staring back at you is far from that. He was a partially disheveled, blushing mess. Everything you’ve said to him had gone in one year and out the other. The only thing he was able to make out was the 3rd,

 “Can I get you anything, sir?”

Your voice was genuinely music to his ears. Compared to his usually depressing and suffocating life, you were the air he needed to breathe. Regardless of this three-minute encounter, he felt like you were perfect. Angelic even. Returning to his senses a few seconds later, he could tell you his usual order, a croissant and decaf espresso.

 He stepped aside as he waited for you to make his coffee and checked his watch. His encounter with you had already set him back five minutes due to his absent-mindedness when seeing you. If it was anybody else, he would’ve been back on his way to work. He tried not to, but watching you work completely had all his focus. Everything you did was done diligently and cautiously, which he enjoyed dearly. Even the way you, packaged the croissant was done with care. He likes to think that you did it just for him. 

He laughs to himself at how delusional he thinks he’s being. Of course, you have to work carefully; it’s your job-

“Decaf for..Kento?” You announced cheerfully, completely breaking his train of thought. He hesitated before going over to the pickup counter, hoping he could strike up a really quick conversation with the end goal of getting your number. 

He adjusted his tie and brushed his hand over his hair to fix any loose strands. He briefly thought about how ridiculous he was being. He’s known you for ten minutes, practically risking his no-tardy streak, all for someone who has only glanced his way twice (which is part of your job, might he add). Yet, he thinks it would be all worth it in the end if he succeeds. 

He waited for you to notice he was there so you could hand him his drink, and when you did, you gave him a smile that he thought made his knees weak, fingers just gently brushing up against his for a literal millisecond. That alone caused his mind to go blank, ruining his plan of getting your number. 

All he could do was get his breakfast and mumble a brief “thank you” before rushing out the front door. Maybe he could get to work quickly now that his adrenaline was pumping through his body.

He wasn’t sure how he ended up here on a Friday afternoon, but Nanami had convinced himself he needed to order another croissant or maybe even some more coffee. 

Instead of heading home from work after a tiresome day, he found himself standing at the entrance of your cafe. He was a little disheveled since he was trying to make it there before you closed for the night. He honestly thought he wasn’t going to make it in time. He didn’t even plan on coming at all and was in the process of looking for a new cafe to go to, as he didn’t think he could face you without turning into a fumbling mess. 

When he stepped inside the cafe, he realized how empty it was, with you, him, and another patron being the only ones inside.

“Welcome, I’ll be right with you!” You called from the counter, as you were still tending to the other patron’s order. He stayed silent as he waited on his side of the counter for your attention. He used this as his redemption to try to get your phone number again. He adjusted his tie like last time, looked in his phone camera to make sure his hair was presentable. 

By the time you finished helping the other customer, he felt ready. Honestly, it's a little better than ready. Nonetheless, he didn’t take into account that you and he would be the only two in the place.

“What can I get for you?” You smiled. He started feeling his palms sweat, but he had to stay level headed. He didn’t even really know what he wanted to order, but he did know he wanted something he could talk to you about.

“Are the strawberry danishes any good?” Great! Perfect! He could feel himself fighting back a smile as you locked eyes with him. 

“I haven’t tried them yet! However, I personally enjoy any of the croissants.” A person after his own heart. Truthfully, he doesn’t even care for Danishes very much. He just wanted to make conversation. This was going better than he thought. 

“Interesting. Which one is your favorite?” He asked joyfully. He could tell you were a little taken aback, maybe unprepared for anyone to ask for your opinion on the pastries. He hoped you didn’t say the plain ones, as those are the only things he ordered from here. He was hoping you would recommend him something as sweet as he thought you were. 

You thought briefly before deciding, “I think the chocolate ones are out of all of them.”

“Perfect, then I’ll get one of those and a small peppermint tea please.” You nodded as he handed you his card. Handing it back, you went to get started on his order while he went to go mentally freak out near the pick-up counter. All he had to do was say, ‘Can I maybe get your number please?’ It seemed harder than he thought, but as long as everything ran smoothly, he’d be fine. 

Once you were done with his order, he practically bounced in your direction, rehearsing those six words. He took the small bag with the croissant from your hand, 

“I really hope you enjoy these. I am slightly biased since I made these myself, but I think they’re the best croissants in town.” You said with a small laugh. He chuckled, so excited to try your baking.

“I’ll have to take you up on that.” He grinned. Your fingers brushed briefly when you handed him his tea, which had him feeling his heart race for the millionth time that week. All he had to do now before he left was to get your number. He felt his hands dampen again and his heart rate pick up. He was so nervous you would say no that he thought he would be sick.

“Could I maybe-”

“Can I get your phone number?” You had beat him to it. You practically fought back a smile, and he felt his eyebrows nearly lift off his forehead. 

“Oh! Yeah, of course.” He replied with a grin. Nanami had never felt this way before. He felt his heart flutter when you pulled out a pen and a sticky note to hand to him. You’ve been waiting for him to ask you since the Wednesday he came in. You thought he was handsome and had a charming aura when he approached the counter. You didn’t think he would come anymore this week, as he didn’t stop by yesterday or this morning, so imagine your surprise when he came in forty-five minutes before your shift ended. 

“I’ll text you?” You smiled as he nodded with a smile.

Although his plan didn’t go how he wanted it to, he technically succeeded in a way. When he got home, he felt like he had something to look forward to for the rest of the night. He felt a little uneasy as he wasn’t sure if you were actually going to text him or not.

He constantly checked his phone throughout the night. He had already prepared dinner, but there were no new messages. He was beginning to lose hope as he decided to go and get ready for bed.

As he was exiting the bathroom, he practically felt his heart drop through his stomach as he checked his phone one last night. 

(1) new message

[invvuu]

chances to kill you — park jay

pairing — villain!park jay x hero!reader

summary — you’re fighting jay and he corners you

genre — superhero au, slight e2l

word count — 1269

warning/s — few curse words, mentions of injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of cutting someone’s tongue, mentions of weapons, possible grammatical mistakes

author’s note — can i just say that i really like the dynamic between jay and yn in this and i think i might have gone too far in some of the scenes so if there are any surprising ones, i’m sorry;; + rushed ending so do be aware of that

You trip on the ground as a fresh wound opens on your thigh. A breathy gasp spills out of your lips as you look at the injury.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter to yourself in a harsh tone. The blood soon creates a small puddle beneath your fallen figure, staining the fabrics that cover your body.

You try your best to flee from the battle but within a second, a dagger finds its position beside your ear, the blade merely inches from creating further damage to your skin.

A set of chuckles come from the area above you. “Is that all you got?” Jay taunts with a sly smirk on his face. He puts his left hand on the space beside your other ear, pinning you fully to the ground.

This was absolutely awful, you thought to yourself. How in the living hell did this even happen? Jay, the villain you were supposed to prevent from ruining the lives of the city’s citizens, has you cornered. Well this had already happened multiple times but none of those could compare to this situation — a situation where you writhe, giving the villain an opportunity to do whatever he wants with you.

“What,” Jay starts, “Cat got your tongue?”

You scoff at his ridiculous question, a scowl forming on the lips that once taunted Jay the same way whenever you won a battle against him. “You fucking suck,” several curses soon came after your insult.

The villain laughs at your outburst, smirk not faltering. “Those are some vulgar words coming out of that pretty tongue of yours,” he tilts his head, “Maybe I should cut it off so you won’t spew out any more stupid nonsense.”

You grab his arm, trying to loosen his grip on the ground beside your head. He notices your attempt and adds strength, tightening his hold, causing you to be more frustrated at him. “Get off,” you demand. The curves of Jay’s lips only go higher as he hears your command. “And if I did you wouldn’t be able to move, after all one of your legs is injured,” he brings his mouth right next to your right ear, “You would just be stuck here with me.” He chuckles as the volume of his voice goes lower.

You raise an eyebrow, “What do you mean stuck with you?” The tone of your question becomes harsh as you wait for an answer.

“The exit is password locked and it can only be opened from outside,” Jay directs his gaze at the double-sided doors that stood across the room, “So that means you and I are stuck here until we find a way out.” He turns back to look at you, a smirk creeping onto his face once again.

“This has got to be a joke,” You say out loud with the same scowl from earlier. Jay laughs slightly at your complaint, “I don’t like this either but I must say, having you right under me is definitely a sight I would want to see.”

“Shut up,” You raise your hand to put it against Jay’s chest, “And get off of me.” You finally say as you push Jay away, causing him to lean back away from your upper body. He lets go of the dagger’s handle, leaving the weapon itself to fall and create the sound of metal hitting the hard concrete floor.

You prop yourself with both of your elbows and look at the villain in front of you. He wipes the blood from the side of his mouth with his hand, looking at it and then at you. He smiles softly while raising an eyebrow, “Seems like you still have some energy in you.”

You grab the dagger beside you and quickly throw it into Jay’s direction only for it to miss and hit the wall. He chuckles and reaches towards his knife belt, “You do know I have more, right?” He asks mockingly. “But you only have two left,” you bite back.

A frown manages to appear on Jay’s face as he hears your words. He pushes you down again and takes out another dagger. He swings it right in front of your face before stopping — the weapon merely inches away from stabbing you.

His reaction makes you smirk, it was your turn to spite him now. “Aw, it seems like someone is pissed at me,” you say with the intention of taunting him. Jay stares at you with a blank expression, the sly appearance nowhere to be seen on his face.

“You know,” you start while admiring the villain’s face, “throughout our entire fight we were close to each other multiple times and it seemed like any other fight to me.” Jay raises an eyebrow, “What are you even talking about?” He asks plainly, void of any emotion in his voice.

“But when you managed to pin me to the ground you had a dagger in your hand,” you change your gaze unto the weapon near you, “and all you did was just taunt me and look incredibly annoying instead of killing me.”

You rest your hand on top of Jay’s hold on the dagger, “I get that you hate me too — the feeling’s completely mutual between the two of us but you can’t kill me? That’s pretty pathetic the way I look at it.” Your fingers wrap around the handle, “If you can’t kill me then that would mean you can’t kill anyone, seems like you’re just a coward to do anything drastic.”

“Fuck off,” Jay says with a deep voice as he quickly uses his free hand to press down unto your shoulder, causing you to make a slight noise of pain. “I could say the same to you,” he responds, “you’re a hero trying to save this city but each time you try it hurts people.” He puts his lips beside your ear, “People die, people lose everything they have, no matter how much you and that stupid organization does it is never enough to save everyone.”

The moment you hear his words your grip on the dagger’s handle loosens. Jay smirks, enjoying the feeling of being able to make you vulnerable by doing nothing but speak the truth.

“[codename], can you hear me…?!”

The sound of Jungwon’s voice comes through your ear piece. The villain chuckles as he opens his mouth to speak further.

“We can hear you,” he responds to the young boy.

The latter doesn’t talk, speechless. After a few seconds the sound of Jungwon trying to talk comes out, “What have you done to [codename]?”

“Don’t worry, they’re here safe and sound with only just a few scratches.” Jay says, trying to reassure Jungwon knowing full well he wasn’t going to fully trust him.

“Listen here,” he starts, “I will leave for now but know that I will come back next time, your little friend is here at the company’s storage room.” Those were the last words before he stopped communicating with the young boy.

Jay stands up, taking the dagger with him. He looks down at you as a soft smile appears on his expression. “Well then, I will be on my way now,” he says while catching your attention simultaneously, “I’ll be looking forward to when we meet again, [codename]. ”

He then runs away afterwards, leaving you on the ground, the puddle of blood semi dried beneath you. You try to compose yourself as you think about what had happened, but a realization starts creeping into your mind — that little trickster knew there was a way out.

[© invvuu] - do not repost, translate, or copy my written work in any shape or form

[l3viat8an]

ACTOR AU⁉️ MORE CRUMBS‼️NOW‼️please -ALL

All I can offer are more silly crumbs ‘n my usual dumb rambling about the ‘behind the scenes of lessons 16’ -IN THE OG GAME BTW- because I haven’t had time to finish anything else yet helpsjsk

While ‘filming’ lesson 16 everybody was laughing. On ‘n off camera it was so ridiculous!!! I mean getting hugged to death sounds ridiculous on it’s own lolol tho getting your ribs crushed isn’t a joke ‘n it would hurt like hell-

Belphie kept making it worse by grinning and running after any / everybody yelling ‘HUG ME!!’ in his full demon outfit.

At the end of the day after finally getting a successful shot the Director goes to give MC a ‘good job’ hug, MC gasps dramatically, says “You’ve killed me again!” and goes limp in his arms.

(^^side note: I’m still not sure if the Director is going to be one of the cast or somebody else maybe an OC? idk…. so you can imagine whoever you like as the Director for now jsksjs)

Another fun fact about ‘filming’ lesson 16 is that the only thing that got everybody to sober up and act serious for the shot was Mammon while he held MC’s ‘dying’ body- the heartbreak in his voice while begging MC not to die and leave him, to the pure rage he leveled at Belphie was scary to watch. (Then as soon as the Director yelled ‘cut’ Mammon was back to being goofy- jsksj)

Lucifer actually said in a later interview that:“Mammon’s acting was honestly too good in that scene and it gave everybody chills.”

Ahhh again that’s kinda all I have for now!!

Oh!!!- actually one more thing-

Simeon + Solomon are the script writers!! I thought that would be really funny to add cuz Simeon wrote TSL ‘n Solomon writes TSL fan-fiction!!