#and the “correct” responses I come up with are still weird to me

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

Coming to the unfortunate realization that my social and communication struggles run a lot deeper and more widely effecting than I had previously thought

[sparklingblu]

Guess

ft. Wonyoung

“You are always on your playstation!”

Wonyoung’s at it again.

She stands in the doorway like some final boss you didn’t agree to fight - wearing a sleeveless halter-style crop top and denim shorts that let her long legs stretch halfway into your peripheral vision. Arms folded tight across her chest, one eyebrow arched, the full disapproval of a disappointed mom compressed into the expression of your stepsister.

You don’t even bother looking up from the screen. “Didn’t you just spend three hours doing a face mask and dancing in your room?”

She scoffs, walking in like she owns the place. “That was productive,” she declares, brushing past the pile of laundry she’s supposed to fold. “You’ve been in the same spot since, like, breakfast.”

“I was gonna make it to Diamond today…” you mutter, fingers locked around the controller as your eyes scan for movement on screen. Apex Legends. This was supposed to be the peaceful part of your day - parents gone on vacation for a week, fridges stocked, no one to nag you.

Correction: no adults to nag you.

“Ran out of things to do,” Wonyoung shrugs, now leaning against the side of the dining table. Her voice drops into a familiar drawl - the one that says she’s decided her new hobby is annoying the hell out of you. “You’re more fun than TikTok when you’re grumpy.”

“And you’re more annoying than a lag spike mid-fight,” you say, just as your character vaults into a crossfire and gets absolutely shredded. You groan, dropping your head back against the couch with a thud. “Are you serious? You made me die.”

“I breathed,” she says innocently, plopping down on the table. “That’s not a crime.”

You shoot her a look. “You’re a walking distraction.”

She smirks. “A cute one.”

You sigh, tossing the controller onto the table. “Alright, fine. What do you want to do, Your Highness?”

Wonyoung grins like she’s won a battle you didn’t even know you were fighting. “Now that’s the spirit. Let’s play a game.” She says, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes.

You narrow yours in response. “What kind of game?”

“It’s simple,” she says, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a scarf. “You blindfold me, feed me some fruit, and I guess what it is.”

You blink. “What.”

“It’s not that hard to understand, is it?”

You stare at her, and then at the scarf in her hands. “Is this another of your weird TikTok trends? Is there a hidden camera? Because I’m not getting cancelled for being a test dummy.”

Wonyoung snorts, rolling her eyes as she tosses the scarf at you. “No, genius. This one’s just something I saw in a variety show. Thought it would be funny.”

You raise a brow. "Funny for who?"

“I don’t know. Depends how bad your fruit selection is,” she says, moving to sit cross-legged on the couch, looking way too comfortable for your liking. “Come on. I’m bored, you’re not ranking up any time soon, and the fridge is basically a produce section waiting to be useful.”

You sigh, glancing longingly at your paused game screen. Yeah. You were really starting to regret asking what she wanted to do.

“Fine,” you mutter, getting up with the enthusiasm of someone heading to a war zone. “But you better leave me alone after this.”

“No promises,” Wonyoung says sweetly, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You trudge into the kitchen, muttering under your breath the whole way. This was supposed to be a peaceful, game-filled holiday. No chores. No chaos. And definitely no blindfolded guess-the-fruit game with your bratty stepsister.

The fridge hums as you open it. Inside, lined up neatly in their little Tupperware containers - probably arranged by your mom before they left - are the fruits of your impromptu challenge: strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, mango…

And then you spot it.

A lemon. 

Sliced and peeled, its bright yellow wedges sitting there like temptation itself. 

You smirk. “Perfect.”

You grab a handful of each and toss them into a bowl, then make your way back into the living room, where Wonyoung is still sitting on the couch like she’s at a sleepover from hell. She cranes her head at the sound of your footsteps.

“About time,” she says. “You pick the ripest mango, or are you stalling?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure I had something special for you,” you reply, holding up the scarf with an evil little flourish. “Alright, come here.”

Wonyoung drops to her knees, her long hair falling down her back as she lifts her chin, blindly obedient for once. You loop the scarf around her head and pull it snug - maybe a little too snug.

“Hey! Not that tight,” she protests, wriggling a little. 

“If you can’t see, you can’t cheat,” you say. “Rules are rules.” 

She huffs. “Like I’d want to cheat. I’m just better than you at everything, naturally.”

You chuckle under your breath, giving the knot a final tug. “We’ll see about that.”

She sticks out her tongue at you blindly, which somehow feels very on-brand. You set the bowl on the couch and lean in close.

“Ready?”

Wonyoung tilts her face up, lips parted slightly in expectation, blindfold on, hands resting neatly on her lap like she’s waiting for royalty to be served.

You pick out a slice of strawberry first - safe, soft, sweet. You gently press it to her lips.

She takes it without hesitation, chewing thoughtfully for all of two seconds.

“Strawberry,” she declares confidently.

You raise an eyebrow. “Lucky guess.”

She scoffs. “Please. That one was way too easy. Try harder.”

Alright then.

You go for a kiwi next. A little tangier, but still nothing wild. You plan the piece onto her waiting tongue, watching as she chews with a smug little smile forming on her face.

“Kiwi,” she says, almost yawning through it.

You lean back slightly, arms crossed. “You sure you are not peeking under there?”

“Maybe you are just bad at picking hard ones,” she shoots back, tilting her chin up like she’s ready for the next round. “This is way too easy. You’ll have to step it up if you want to beat me.”

Your smirk widens. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan to.”

You reach into the bowl, and pick out a slice of lemon. If she wants it to be hard, you will make it hard. You line it up to her lips, and she takes it without suspicion.

The moment it touches her tongue, her whole body jerks.

Her face scrunches like she’s been electrocuted, eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed as she lets out a muffled curse. “What the fuck was that?!”

You burst out laughing. “What? I thought the game was too easy?”

“You are the worst,” she sputters, spitting out the last of the sour pulp. 

“And you’re the one who wanted to play,” you shrug, still laughing. “It’s ok if you want to back out now. I understand.”

She snorts. “As if I would. Come on. Give me another. But you better make it a good one.”

You look down at your stepsister, still on her knees, mouth open and ready for the next “fruit”. And you realize, at this moment, she looks no different from a prostitute waiting for a facefuck.

An idea forms in your mind - why don’t you have real fun with this game? This bratty slut of a sister has done nothing but ruin your holiday. She deserves to be punished.

Slowly, you unzip your pants and pull out your hard, throbbing cock. It has already grown to full length from your not-so-innocent imaginations, the tip leaking with pre-cum. And more importantly, it’s the last thing she expects.

“Here’s the next one for you to taste,” you say smoothly, gripping the base and guiding it towards her waiting mouth. “Open wide.”

For a split second, Wonyoung hesitates at the glee in your voice. Then her lips part eagerly, tongue darting out to welcome you inside. You thrust forward, pushing your cock past her lips and onto her tongue.

She gags a little at the sudden intrusion but quickly adjusts, swirling her tongue around as she takes you deeper, desperately searching for a clue about the foreign object in her mouth. Little does she know that it’s doing more good to you than her. The wet heat of her mouth feels incredible and you have to suppress a moan.

“Mmm, what do you think it is?” you ask, pulling back slightly to let her speak.

“B-bana-na,” she mumbles around your cock, bobbing her head to take you further. Her hands come to grip your thigh for balance as she continues to suck your tip in an attempt to decipher the mysterious “fruit”.

You smirk down at her, amused by her obliviousness. “Wrong,” you chuckle darkly, shoving your cock back into her mouth and down her throat. She gags and sputters, drool dripping down her chin, but you hold her there, reveling in the way her throat constricts around you. 

“Guess again,” you growl, starting to thrust shallowly, fucking her pretty little face. She gurgles, tears streaming down her cheek, then pulls back just enough to gasp out.

“C-cucumber?” she stutters, confused.

You pause, debating whether she’s just acting clueless or genuinely dumb enough not to know a cock is in her mouth. The way her brows furrow in confusion suggests the latter, but you can’t be sure.

“Wrong again,” you say flatly, holding her head steady as you slowly slide your cock in and out of her mouth. “You know what it is, don’t you? Don’t play innocent.”

Wonyoung makes a muffled noise of protest, trying to pull back. But you tighten your grip on her hair, forcing her to take your cock deeper. “Nngh…I-don’t….know…” she whimpers, gagging as you hit the back of her throat.

You snort derisively. “You’re not backing down, are you? Not my little sister, the one who’s better at everything than me.”

There. You have hit her sore spot. You know Wonyoung’s ego is bigger than her head. Even if she’s out of her depth, she’ll never admit defeat.

You take advantage of her hesitation, starting to fuck her mouth in earnest. Wonyoung gags and spatters, hands scrabbling at your thighs as you use her face. Her face is a mess of tears and saliva but she doesn’t try to pull away, determined to endure.

“Good girl,” you purr mockingly, thrusting harder. “Tell me when you know what it is. At least you are getting an A+ for effort.”

Wonyoung just whimpers, drool streaming down her chin as she struggles to breathe through her nose. But she shows no signs of quitting, despite the degrading filth coming out of her mouth and the overwhelming sensation of being choked by your thick cock. Afterall, nothing can be worse than defeat.

You suddenly force your cock all the way down her throat, stretching her gag reflex to the limit. She slaps frantically at your thigh, coughing and choking around your cock as it invades her airway.

But there’s no room for mercy here. You hold her there, relishing in the feeling of her throat squeezing your cock, silencing her protests. Tears stream down her face as she struggles for air, nose pressed firmly against your pelvis.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally pull back. Wonyoung coughs violently, heaving and sputtering as she gasps and retches.

“Giving up already?” you ask, cock still rock hard and glistening with her spit. 

If she isn’t blindfolded, you are sure she would be glaring. “Fuck you,” she rasps, voice hoarse from the abuse. “I’m not giving up. Just…let me try again.”

You smirk down at her, almost impressed with her insistence. “Oh? You want another taste?”

Wonyoung swallows hard, nodding mutedly. You grip her hair, yanking her head back and shoving your cock back into her mouth without warning.

“Mmph!” Wonyoung gasps as you bottom out in her throat, forcing her to take every inch. You start fucking her face again, determined to push her to her limits.

“Take it slut,” you growl, setting a punishing pace. “You wanted to play this game, so fucking take it like the whore you are.”

You have abandoned any shred of gentleness, fucking her face with brutal intensity. Wonyoung claws at your thighs as she’s used like a cheap fleshlight. But nonetheless, she persists. The lack of air can’t be more important than her pride.

Her defiances only spurs your on and you set a brutal pace, fucking her face like a man possessed. Your hips snap forward violently, slamming your cock into her throat over and over. 

“Fuck, your little throat feels so good,” you grunt, holding her head steady as you ravage her mouth. “Take it all, you dumb slut. Let me use your face like the whore you are.”

The filthy wet sound of your fucking fill the room, punctuated by Wonyoung’s muffled gugrles and choking noises. You can feel her throat constricting around you, fighting the intrusion. But you don’t let up, slamming balls deep and grinding against her face. “Fuck, look at you. Choking on my cock like a slut. You are fucking pathetic.”

Wonyoung whimpers, hands scrabbling weakly at your thighs. But you just laugh, fucking her harder. “Oh no, you don’t get to quit now. We’re not done yet until I say we are done.”

You set a brutal pace, pounding into her tight throat like a jackhammer. Wonyoung’s toes curl, her body growing limp as she’s facefucked into oblivion. You can feel your orgasm building, balls drawing up tight. But you hold back, wanting to humilitae her one last time.

You yank her off your cock, letting her gasp for air. But before she can breathe, you slap your thick shaft against her tongue, smacking it obscenely. 

“Come on, stupid,” you sneer. “You really don’t know what this is? How fucking dumb are you?”

“You mother-” But before she can finish protesting, you shove your cock back into her mouth, muffling her curses. She gags and sputters around your length in shock and humiliation.

You fuck her face with renewed vigour, grunting as you near your peak. “Open wide, slut. You are gonna know what this fruit is now.”

With a final brutal thrust, you bottom out in her throat, spurting thick ropes of cum directly into her stomach. She chokes and retches, gagging on the sudden flood of semen, but you hold her in place, forcing her to swallow every last drop. Only when you’re completely spent do you release her, letting her fall back gasping and heaving.

Wonyoung’s throat is red and raw, her lips swollen and bruised. Cum and saliva drip from her chin to the floor. She looks thoroughly used, a broken mess.

You admire your filthy work, tucking yourself away. “Now do you know what it is?”

It takes a while for Wonyoung to catch her breath.

“E-eggplant?”

-

[urlonelystarrr]

pretty in red

ghostface x you

synopsis -> during a halloween festival, you catch the eye of a certain killer, pretending to be a scare actor.

tags/warnings -> public sex, killing, bondage, pussy fingering, a little knife play, a little cnc, oral!reader giving/receiving, ghostface is a little manipulative/violent, slapping, nipple sucking, body worship, ass eating, raw penetration, slight degrading, dirty talk, dom!ghostface, sub!reader, & kidnapping.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁

in the quiet town of woodsboro, people were hesitant when it came to halloween. maybe because of the murders in previous years, the ghostface costumes that were still sold in stores despite the tragedies surrounding them. but instead of mourning the losses this year, you and your friends had decided to go to a haunted house festival. people were starting to move on, they were bringing back trick or treating, pumpkin carving, the very essence of fall.

fall had always been your favorite season, it wasn't too hot or too cold, the scent of pumpkin spice, the desserts and baking, everything seemed perfect about the season. it's currently the early week of october and you want to spend it as much as you can, which is why you've dedicated the whole night before to getting ready, who knows, maybe you'll get lucky in a haunted house?

your phone rings in the other room, and you've just gotten out of the shower. the tiles feel cold against the bare underside of your foot, light taps following until you've reached your phone. "hello? hey girl, i just got out of the shower....yeah, yeah i'm about to get ready. i'm excited," you smile as the sound of sophia's voice flows out from your speaker, her excited pitch matching yours. she's been your best friend for the longest time, since elementary, probably.

"ohh my gosh, i don't know what the eff to wear!" her voice squeals, "am I going for a cute fall look, or scary halloween?" she asks, and you can already picture her holding up shirts in front of herself while she pouts in front of the mirror. "i'm going with...cute fall, since october just started," you say, setting your phone down on the vanity to put on victoria secret panties and a bra, you know, in case.

"girl you're so right, let me check pinterest," she says, murmuring to herself distractedly, as you put on your deodorant, your lotions and body oil. it's sacred to you, to take care of yourself. whatever you're going to wear - it's a little basic but it's cute, and you've spent the longest time figuring out what to wear. your clothes wait for you on your bed, but you throw on a old sleeping shirt so that your makeup doesn't get on it.

"hey are you still there?" sophia asks, the phone shuffling as she almost had forgotten that she called. you hum in response and she takes it as a sign to continue talking, "so listen...logan is coming with us, but in a different car. is that okay? and he's bringing a friend, uh, alex, yeah."

"sophia?" your voice raises a pitch, your eyes widening momentarily, the neutrogrena hydro boost sheet mask on your clean skin shifting along with your facial expression. "what?" her voice almost sounds panicked, but you're not freaking out that much, are you?

"that's lana's ex-boyfriend, and lana's not coming with us." you said into the phone, letting the mini pink standing fan blow over your face, your skin drinking up the mask's hydrating ingredients. sophia sounds dumbfounded, as if she doesn't understand how it might look, and she stutters, "i don't get it..."

"i mean, wouldn't it look weird to hang out with our friend's ex-boyfriend? and i heard he was such an asshole, i never knew what he looked like, but i hated him from how lana described him." you say, adjusting the mask on your face, peeling it into the correct position. your skin almost prickles from how chilly it is inside your room, the mask's cooling sensation washing over your skin in a refreshing way.

behind the phone sophia is choosing her outfit carefully, and she sighs. "ohmygosh," she says so fast that it's jumbled into one word, "you're totally right. maybe we should just jump him when we see him?" she asks. you laugh on the line, and see that the timer is almost up for your mask, only five seconds. you peel it off as you talk, "we should! but...another time. let's just...i don't know, ignore him." you sigh, tossing the dried out mask into the bin, starting to do your makeup. sophia paces around her room, almost overthinking the situation by a lot, "ignore him?! girl, im going into the haunted houses with logan!" she says, stressing about the situation. it's not that big of a deal, you think to yourself. surely it isn't. it won't be a problem, just ignore lana's ex.

whether or not you and sophia outwardly say it, you know about lana's tendency to overreact, or read deeply into situations. and so, your fingers move across your keyboard and you immediately text lana about who's coming and why, hoping to clear the air. she sounds normal, you think. and the sudden beep in the driveway alerts you that sophia's come. thankfully you've been getting ready at least three hours before it's time to meet at the hangout, and now you're finished. you walk out, and get into the car, sophia compliments your perfumes, you compliment her outfit, and she nearly cries and says she loves you.

it's beginning to get dark but barely, and shit, the haunted houses are a lot bigger than you've imagined. this place looked bigger than the reviews said, and they even have rides. suddenly you feel twice as excited, not only about rides and haunted houses, but masked men too? the thought disappears as fast as other thoughts come, and the sensation of sophia's hand squeezing yours gently, reassures you of a fun night. her expression lights up when she sees logan and alex waiting at the front gate, their wristbands already on. logan and alex are a tall pair, and logan has brown hair that's cut into a modern looking mullet, and he has on baggy jeans with converse shoes, and a hoodie on. his cross chain peeks out from the top of his hoodie. you think he looks basic, sophia thinks she's met her husband, but it's okay.

"hey guys," sophia says with a smile, purposely avoiding alex, a guy with darker hair than logan, cut into a short textured fringe with a fade, and he's wearing grey sweatpants and a black shirt, and a chain as well, and his shoes are black air force ones. he's also basic, in your eyes. but a part of you feels bad for thinking he looks good, but he has a cocky look on his face that's an ultimate turn off. logan is a nice guy and you don't have any issues with him, but he's too hyper for you, which is why he's perfect for sophia. logan immediately hugs sophia with a boyish grin on his face, and you smiled at how happy sophia looks. she's wearing doc martens and a pair of sheer black tights, and a black miniskirt and a cute sweater, and you forgot to include her cream colored leg warmers. logan pays for her ticket entry, and alex pays for yours, despite the amount of times that you've declined his offer.

and you're even more surprised when they buy fast pass tickets, which includes haunted houses and rides. it's not like it's an amusement park where the prices are ghastly, but $60 dollars sounds like a steal. you awkwardly thank him, and inwardly curse for staggering behind logan and sophia.

"look at 'em, they're already leaving us behind." his voice is smooth as he talks, and he looks over your appearance, subtly checking you out. you look cute, you have on fur boots, and low rise miss me jeans, and a zip up jacket that also has the same fur on the hood. "yeah, i figured that would happen." you say, trying to keep up with them. the first thing you guys do is go on rides, since it's still too bright for haunted houses just yet. you're at least thankful that sophia is willing to go on a few rides with you, and then you have to sit next to alex.

your attention is drawn when the four of you wait in line for a ride, which has a few people in front. you're focused on a certain guy, and immediately your heart starts to beat a little faster. a tall guy, obviously dressed as ghostface, can be seen scaring people and even kids, but he slowly turns his head to stare at you.

you're not in a fucking movie where time seems to stop, so you immediately look away and feel awkward for staring. as you and sophia talk again, logan and alex chuckle, and you follow their gazes and jump a tiny bit when ghostface is so close to you. the only thing separating you both is the metal gate, and his knife is raised menacingly. the eyeholes of his mask are so dark and you can tell that this mask isn't the shitty one you see in costume stores. it's well made, and part of you wonders if he can even see. almost sensing your attraction, the tip of his knife gently tilts your head up, and you look up at him, hearing them giggling behind you.

"your wristband," a hand taps your shoulder, and you see logan, sophia, and alex (the one who tapped you), all being let into the ride. you turn to see ghostface, half expecting him to see him disappear like in movies, but he remains still, watching as you go into the ride. the man scans your wrist and you take a seat next to alex. the ride was a tall one, it was almost built like a crane, that one ride you see that holds many people, swings back and forth and goes upside down. the overhead bar clamps down on your shoulders, and your feet dangle. surprisingly they play good music here, a lot of throwbacks, which you sing along to on the ride. alex notices and smiled and laughed, his foot grazing yours.

you're sure you've ridden all of the rides by now, skipping the baby ones, until logan begs to go on the bumper carts, which sophia feeds into. "i'm hungry," alex says, "y'all can go on the bumper carts or whatever, i can just grab us food." alex says, and logan and sophia agree since you all wanted food from the same place. you follow alex and the two of you wait in line, with the two of you memorizing their orders. "logan eats like a baby," alex laughs, seeing the text that logan sent him. you laugh along, "well, sophia's not too far off, i guess. but she's more open minded," you smile, spotting them in the distance, in the line together. "they really look like they're dating, i can't believe they're not." you say, sighing and looking over the menu.

"i know, logan needs to stop being a pussy and just get with her," alex said, looking at the menu. "what are you getting?" he asks, looking at you. "um...i want the steak bites," you said, and he seems to change his mind. "fuck, that sounds good. i'm not getting a burger then," he says, placing the order to the man. "and i'll get a strawberry funnel cake," you tell the man, he nods and you pay for your own food this time (and sophia's), and he covers himself and logan. by the time your food is done, logan and sophia are already headed back to the two of you, their eyes widening at the sight of the amount of food. "holy mukbang," logan says, sitting down and eating his fries and chicken tenders, and sophia eats the same thing. the four of you converse and laugh together, and you share your funnel cake with everyone, since it was bigger than you thought. alex takes his thumb and wipes the corner of your mouth, which makes you feel embarrassed, and you shove him away lightly. "don't do that," and he laughs at your expression. despite the amount of fun that you're having, moments come where you feel like alex is too flirty, and it makes your gut twist with guilt - lana.

alex seems to notice when you look away from him, or when you catch yourself engaging too freely with him. it's an uncomfortable conversation to have inside a haunted house, that even some scare actors refrain from popping out behind old wooden cabinets to scream in your face, it's painted faces that stare back at you as if they hesitate, the sound of alex growing annoyed. "why the fuck are you being weird?" he grumbles at you as the two of you walk, "im not weird...i just don't want you flirting with me," you say, an attempt to try to calm him down. "you're cool one second, and then the next you're like ignoring me, and yeah i am flirting but there's nothing wrong with that."

"i know-" you cut yourself off, seeing him in the distance, not fully but you see the sway of his robe behind him, decending boots going down the structure of the haunted house, behind curtains. "but lana's my friend, im not gonna flirt back with her ex-boyfriend," you say, your heart thumping just a bit harder. he nudged you with his shoulder to walk in front, "i don't get you," he says, his voice bordering on frustration. "if you want me to be honest i think you're really pretty and funny."

this feels like torture. it's so awkward and you don't know what to say or do. "i don't see you that way," your gaze pretends to look at the house and you realize that the two of you have strayed too far, it feels like you're taking the wrong path. there's not many actors, it's just a dark open space. "fuck, where's the exit?" you try to steer the conversation in a different direction, in hopes that it won't be so fucking awkward, and as you're trying to find a exit, you realize only too late that you've somehow separated from alex. is this good or bad? on one hand, it's not awkward, on the other, you're on your own in this maze of a haunted house, and the worst part seems to come up, as you stare into multiple reflections of yourself, and you're lost in a maze of mirrors. one thing is clear - movies are dramatic.

it's easy to find your way out, easier than you thought, as you look at the ground, indicators of corners, or where your reflection isn't dulled. a deep breath, then a muffled scream as a gloved hand clamps over your mouth, your eyes wide with terror. you shove whoever it is away, but your pounding heart calms when your eyes lock into the black eyeholes of a ghostface mask. it's all part of his act, his job. so why does the knife he's clutching look oddly real? and why does a hint of cologne churned with iron waft off of him? he's got you trapped, confused, and alone.

"can't run now, can ya?" his voice is rasp, the iconic deep murmur that can only belong to ghostface. you seem to be at a loss for words, your eyes wide as you look down at his black boots, footsteps imprinted into concrete floors, staining them red. your eyes follow the path, and you run past him. he doesn't flinch. he doesn't attempt to grab you as you run past, that confident that he can catch you. that he can outrun you, even if you've got a head start. you whimper and hide inside a fake bathroom, the area set up in fake blood and decorated well for the budget. you hide in a dark corner, covering your own mouth to shield any noises, and your eyes scan the area, seeing the under sole of black air force ones, and you creep towards it, walking and crouching. attached to that black shoe is a grey leg, the cotton of the sweatpants drenched in red, and you let out an ear piercing scream, the slashed throat of alex is a blatant slap to the face, there's no saving him.

and that guilt lingers behind as you sob and run away, your legs suddenly feeling shaky, you should've stayed with him. you should've-

it sounds like somebody's running, you turn around and you're so horrified by him running at you, that you seem to freeze, and every moment you've judged anyone for freezing up in horror movies, it all comes back to you. sometimes you're scared shitless that fear takes over you, and your body freezes in hopes that it will somehow camouflage you. but it feels like such a long gap that you freeze, only five seconds. five seconds too late, even though you start to run at full speed, his hand reaches the back of your shirt before your hand can reach the exit handle. "no, please!" you wail, his hand clamps over your mouth and you thrashed around and tried to run, but he was so fucking strong.

a grunt escapes his mouth as he knocks you out, bringing your body to a part of the haunted house that's unused.

sophia and logan have started to question why you and alex have been away for so long - and even though logan insists to sophia that you're okay, she doesn't believe him.

"fuck," ghostface mutters under the mask, hauling your body onto a large, stainless steel table. he restricts your hands and legs to the table, leaving you in just your bra and panties. the moment you wake up, your head throbs with a full pounding, and your eyes try to make out whatever is in the dark room.

you whimper, jerking your hands and feet to find that they're restricted, and a light overhead shines down on you. you wince and shut your eyes, letting out a small groan. his hand blocks the light out for you, letting you see him. "fucking finally." he grumbles, staring down at you, while you pitifully stare back up at him, with teary eyes and furrowed brows.

"don't beg me just yet." he murmurs into your ear, his fingers - gloved in leather, caress the column of your throat, reacting to you swallowing. you feel a chill climbing up your spine - and you can't tell if it's him or everything else. the chilly table underneath you, the fact you're fucking half naked. "beg you for what? to release me?" you ask, your voice as shaky as it was before.

"yeah, sweetheart. you're not leavin' me so soon," he cackles, finding amusement in your demise. the way your eyes water and your makeup runs, fuck it's so sexy. "who's alex? your boyfriend?" he suddenly asks, his hand squeezing your cheeks together. you shake your head, "no he's not! he's not even my friend but-"

"oh, doll." he scoffs, releasing your jaw. "he wanted you. that's why i had to do it." he says, as if it justified what he did.

"no you didn't," you sniffle again and your voice breaks. "why'd you kill him?" you say, your chest heaving and shuddering as you sob.

he watches you cry and shakes his head, chuckling darkly. "fuck baby, you're making me horny seeing you cry."

"fuck you!" you cried out, whimpering and thrashing, but all it ends up in is him slapping the shit out of you, making you quiet instantly.

his hands go down to his belt, his robe opening to let you see the black jeans he's wearing, gloved hands unbuckling the leather, and he ties it around your mouth as a temporary gag. you look at him, wide eyed as his hand reaches down and cups one of your tits, and you stay still. "fucking beautiful," he says, raspily. "you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen." a hand reaches for the knife holstered to his thigh. you should be disgusted. you should throw up and scream at him to stop, but something is oddly erotic about the situation. the way he's praising you...it makes you feel something, something you shouldn't. the tip of the blade traced your belly, his fingers gently squishing down into your stomach, before he reaches your panties. he doesn't focus on that part yet, instead he moves up and turns his mask to expose a jaw with a tiny bit of stubble, leaning down he kisses your cleavage.

"don't want me to stop, do you, doll?" he sounds like he's fucking smirking. you whimper in response and he opens the gag for you to speak. the way he's touching your body makes you feel oddly...worshipped. his touch is careful, in comparison to the way he touches other people.

your brows furrow. "you slapped me." you say, your cheek stinging red. "i did, didn't i?" he says, caressing your cheek. "sorry doll, I had to let you know who's in charge."

and for some reason, you're not bothered.

"look at this pretty little body," he murmurs, caressing the dip of your waist and the flare of your hip. "gonna make you feel so good baby, better than any guy you've been with."

you swallowed. "what makes you so sure, huh? you- you basically kidnapped me and tied me up." your heart beats faster when his hand squeezes your thigh. "you're a fucking killer, how would you even treat me better than any other guy?" your voice raises. you don't know why you're being defiant when deep down you like this game, it's always been a part of you that you forced yourself to bury deep down.

"cause you know id kill for you, doll." he leans down and kisses your stomach, and you have to force yourself to not make a sound. to not give into what he wants, he wants you to react, to submit. but he loves a brat. he loves someone who'll fight back the way you do.

his hands cup your tits again, relishing in the pretty leopard print bra you have on, with rhinestone straps and black lace decorating the cups. no matter what tit size you are, he fucking loves it. he grabs his knife again and presses the handle of it to your clothed pussy, making you gasp, as he kisses your cleavage, pulling your bra up to suck on one of the puffy peaks, forcing you to make a sound. "oh my god," you say in a slight whine, trying to press your thighs together, your head turning to the side as you gasp and shiver. he pulls away and unties your hands from the table, but they're still tied together. he's able to take off your bra by disconnecting the straps from the cups, and his mouth kisses and sucks on your tits, sucking on the soft fat, and then sucking a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the bud, while the handle of the knife grinds into your pussy, wedged between pussy lips. you're a moaning mess and he fucking loves it. "good girl, that's a good fucking girl."

the front of your thong is pulled down, and he kisses your soft mound, the knife cutting away at the binds on your ankles, letting you spread your legs wider for him. he pushed your thighs up to your chest, peeling your panties off and keeping them in his pocket. "look at this," he purrs, "look at your pretty pussy, baby." he groans, leaning down and licking one of your pussy lips, before spreading you open and licking at your clit, sucking your soft folds into his mouth.

"please," you cry out, your hands tied. "stop this, we're in fucking public!" you say, trying to lift your head to look down at him. it feels so surreal, that ghostface is gonna fuck you in the backstage of a haunted house out in public. the bloodied corpse is in the back of your head, thoughts overrun with his tongue and lips, pleasuring you. he's so hungry, he's so horny for you that it makes you feel somewhat appreciated despite the situation, and the way he sucks and kisses you, it feels like he knows exactly what you want, what you need.

or maybe you've just been unaware of the eyes that watch you through your window whenever you masturbate, whenever your fingers are stuffed down your panties. the same panties he snatches from your laundry pile. the haunted festival isn't his first time seeing you. he'd been watching for months.

"n' im about to be fucking you in public," he mumbles into the wetness of your cunt, the shine coating his lips and chin. he gives one last eager suck, and one last eager lick up from your asshole to your clit. but once he tastes your ass, it was like he was going to stop, but ultimately decided against it. now his tongue is lapping at your asshole, and a gloved thumb is rubbing your clit, and a third stimulant is his other thumb, lightly fingering your pussy. it's too much, too much that your eyes roll back and you let out a pretty moan, and your back arches from the table, your body tensing before you cum, cumming hard. a few seconds after your orgasm he suckles hungrily onto the new wetness that leaks out of your pussy hole.

"holy fuck," he rasps, "look at'cha, making a mess all over my hands. dirty girl, ain't you?" he quickly takes his jeans off, showing off the large bulge in his black Calvin Klein boxers proudly. "dirty fuckin' slut, know you wan' suck my cock, don't you?" while you lay on the table for him, he takes a large step towards you, looming over your head. a gloved hand bunches your hair in a tight grip, while his other forces your mouth open, and he guides his pink tip towards your mouth, hissing when the warmth surrounds the tip of his cock. "fuck baby," he says between clenched teeth, "mouth's just as wet as this pretty pussy," he says and lightly smacks your pussy, which makes a wet squelching sound. you stare up into his mask, lightly moaning while providing him suction, your tongue wrapping around the wet tip, and his grip in your hair tightens. he could cum from just the sight of you, mouth sucking him up like an easy slut, your eyes glazed over with an expression that's begging for some dick in you. his grunts morph into a small, breathy groan, eyes rolling back behind the mask, he pulls out to get on the table, almost straddling your face while he fucks your mouth, holding your head in place while he thrusts his hips fowards.

"fuck, shit..." he grunts, keeping a hand next to your head, his breathing heavy. you eagerly suck, grunting and your brows furrow when his pace is too rapid. your thighs press together. "nuh-uh," he scolds, "no moving. lay there and suck my fucking cock."

the table creaks, and you suck him real good until he cums. he shoves his cock deep, squeezing your hair while emptying his balls in your mouth, with a throaty groan. his thighs nearly shake from the pleasure, but he's got high stamina.

in an instant you're flipped onto all fours, and he smacks your ass hard with his hand and smacks between your pussy lips, making you moan when his tip thwacks against your clit just right. "gonna fuck you so hard you can't remember your name," he mutters into your ear, positioning himself behind you, his cock teasing your cunt, your ass, anything he can drag and fuck. "fuck, baby, your pussy's so fucking tight. can't wait to ruin this little cunt." he grunts, and after teasing your hole with the head of his cock, he can finally slip inside of you, hissing at the feeling of you, so tight and fucking warm around him.

"fuck, please," you whimper, the side of your face pressed into the stainless steel table underneath you, the once cool metal now feeling warm from how long you've been laying there. he smacks your ass hard, "beg for my cock. you like that, don't you? having a killer's cock inside your pussy?" he taunts, wrapping your hand around a gloved fist, pulling your head back. "maybe ill slit your throat and fuck you at the same time. i bet you'd like that," he sneers, starting to thrust, after your begging. you can't believe this, can't believe you're enjoying it so much that your pussy sucks him in so good, drooling all over his veiny length, the tip of his cock almost kissing your warm insides. and you can't believe the words that come out of your mouth, out of pure humiliation and submission, he's got you wrapped around his cock.

your pants turn into moans, drool dribbling down the side of your mouth, like a fucked out slut that he loves. his thumb slides into your asshole, fingering it lightly while he fucks you, groaning with each thrust, each sound your pussy makes. "feels...s'good, please," you whine and beg, feeling it so fucking close that it's hard to keep your thighs spread like this. he had you on your side, in missionary, and he's now on the table with you, your legs pushed up to your chest, and him almost sumo squatting above you, pounding into your pussy. a slippery thumb lightly stroked your clit, rubbing in circles, trying not to slip off the wet nub. "you like that, baby? like the way I pound this little pussy?" he grunts, balls feeling hot as he pounds into your pussy, losing himself in the warmth. you're crying, and it makes him so fucking horny that he squeezes your throat, groaning as he fills your pussy with his cum, fucking it until your poor hole has no choice but to push it out, mingling with your own cum. your breath is a shuddering gasp, that only echoes in the empty haunted house.

you've been fucked so hard that the naturally dark room feels darker, parts of you suddenly remembering the fact that there's people, that you're in public and the memory makes you freeze, as he wipes your pussy down, half using his cum and something like a napkin, or a towel, you're not sure. the door jingles, an indication of another presence, forcing you to yank your clothes on, and he's right behind you, grinning behind his mask, his hands rubbing over your tits while you two hide inside of a closet, your breathing shuddering as you attempt to re-dress yourself in the tight space.

a flashlight illuminates the slightly wet stainless steel table, chains and cuffs laying around. the security guard moved on, the light emitting from the flashlight disappearing from your sight. you have no idea what to say to him, after he gave you dick that good? it's hard to really think, but then you feel the hardness of his mask gently dig into your shoulder, "don't worry. I'll find you." he says, low and throaty, a clear threat, or a promise of something more.

once you leave the haunted house, confused and fucked out of your mind, the coolness of autumn greets you, refreshing the sweat glistening skin, making you stagger to blot your face with napkins, that smell like fry oil and other things. sophia and logan are always in clear sight, the two of them sharing ice cream that could probably feed four but you don't judge. you run up to sophia and hug her tightly, your eyes suddenly feeling watery.

and he watches you from afar.

the bloodlust grows stronger, each day, each kill, each slash of the throat. he loves the way you pretend to act innocent and unaware, the look of doubt in your gaze when questioned about alex's disappearance. the twitch of your fingers when you play with your clothes. he enjoys it all. and he knows he's got you, encasing you in webs, making sure you never leave, like the perfect meal made just for him. you can't get rid of him.

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authors note: hey so.....I know I said I'd post this by Halloween. I lied. I'm actually so grateful for everyone that likes my posts, even though I'm a liar and a lazy writer sometimes </3 and I would say that I've been busy with school, and I have been, but I did have a lot of free time which I spent playing Roblox on :D it's hard to write sometimes. You don't feel as motivated as you used to, but whenever y'all hype me up it makes me want to write more, and like I said, I'm going to be doing newer characters (cod & maybe tlou) and I'm really sorry but I'm out of my anime phase (I have been out of it since a few years ago...). But I hope you freaks enjoy this one !

[p0orbaby]

It Doesn’t Get Any Easier

summary: you’re the new physio, tasked to help leah one on one with her recovery; but lines start to blur the longer you spend with one another

warnings: none

a/n: i enjoyed this one. also trying out a slightly different style so let me know what you think

word count: 2.8k

-

Leah comes in every morning just after 7:30, always a little earlier than the rest of the team—well, what’s left of the team—who roll in around 8, give or take. You start noticing her patterns by the second week. It’s not intentional. It’s just that she’s hard not to notice. The way she slips into the room quietly, moving like a shadow, like she’s trying not to be seen even though she’s Leah Williamson and there’s something impossible about Leah Williamson going unnoticed. You’re not sure she’s aware of it, or maybe she is, maybe it’s part of the act, something people like her learn over time—how to balance being seen and unseen simultaneously. Either way, she always acknowledges you. It’s a brief nod or a soft “Morning” that comes out like a sigh. But it’s there. And you nod back because it’s professional, it’s polite.

You’re the new physio, brought in because someone higher up decided that ACLs are the new pandemic, and Arsenal’s hit hard by it. One by one, players dropping like flies—tears, rips, stretches that aren’t supposed to stretch. Someone needed to focus on rehab, on these slow and tedious one-on-one sessions. So, here you are. Your life has become a revolving door of knee braces, resistance bands, ultrasound machines, and cold compression therapy. A strange, repetitive kind of intimacy.

Leah is assigned to you. "Take care of her," they say. She’s a captain. She’s the face. There’s an unsaid urgency that comes with her, an invisible asterisk by her name. You feel it in every briefing, every passing mention of her progress. Everyone’s waiting for her return. Waiting for her to be fixed.

Your first session with her is awkward. Stilted. You’re overly conscious of how she sits, her knee elevated, her eyes on the ceiling, like she’s counting the tiles instead of looking at you. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and that weird plastic-y scent that medical equipment always has. You ask her the standard questions: pain level, range of motion, any stiffness. She answers with one-word responses, tight-lipped. There’s a distance between you that you can’t quite figure out if it’s professional or personal. Maybe both.

-

Weeks pass, and the routine becomes muscle memory. You know when to push and when to pull back. How to make her laugh, how to coax her into stretching just a little more without her getting defensive. You start to notice the little things about her. Like how she always wipes her hands on her shorts after you adjust the brace on her leg, or how she clicks her tongue when she’s frustrated, a soft noise that barely registers unless you’re paying attention, which you are. You’re always paying attention to Leah.

It’s in the middle of a session that things shift. You’re guiding her through a series of exercises—balance work, stuff that’s boring but essential—and she’s sweating, biting her lip as she focuses on not wobbling. You’re right there, hands out, ready to catch her if she stumbles. She doesn’t, but the proximity is there. Too close, maybe. Your fingers brush her waist as you correct her form, and she inhales sharply. You freeze, but she doesn’t move. Neither do you.

"Is this okay?" you ask, your voice lower than usual, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the weight of her stare, those sharp blue eyes locking onto yours.

"Yeah," she says, but her voice sounds strained, like she’s not sure it’s the right answer. She’s not looking at you anymore, her focus now on the floor, her hands gripping the sides of the bench like she needs to anchor herself. The room feels smaller, the air thick.

You pull back, step away, putting space between you, but it doesn’t feel like enough. You can still feel the echo of her skin under your fingers, the heat of her proximity. You clear your throat, force a smile. "Let’s take five”

She nods, doesn’t say anything, just grabs her water bottle and takes a long drink, her throat working, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck. You turn away, pretend to be adjusting something on the ultrasound machine even though it’s perfectly fine, just to give yourself something to do, something that isn’t thinking about how her skin felt under your hands.

-

The next time around is more tense. There’s an unspoken tension now, like a line has been crossed, or maybe it hasn’t, but it’s close. You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every brush of skin. Leah doesn’t mention it, but there’s a change in her too. She flirts, subtly at first—offhand comments, jokes that land just a little too close to something more. You laugh, play along, because it’s harmless. It’s nothing. Except it’s not.

You catch yourself watching her more. The way her muscles ripple under her skin as she moves, the way her lips part when she’s concentrating, how her eyes flick to you when she thinks you’re not looking. You wonder if she notices you doing the same. You wonder if she feels it too—this thing simmering between you that’s becoming harder to ignore.

One day, after a session, she lingers. The rest of the team has filtered out of the gym, and it’s just the two of you, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound.

"Thanks for today," she says, her voice soft. She’s sitting on the edge of the bench, her knee still wrapped in the brace, but she looks more relaxed than she has in weeks. There’s something in her eyes, something you can’t quite read, and it makes your chest tighten.

"It’s my job," you say, but the words feel hollow. You’ve been telling yourself that for weeks now, trying to convince yourself that this is just work, that this is just another injured player, another knee to fix. But it’s not. You’re not sure when it stopped being just that, but it has.

"Is it, though?" she asks, and her voice is lighter now, teasing, but there’s an edge to it. A challenge.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. "What do you mean?"

She stands, slowly, her movements careful, deliberate. She’s close to you now, too close again, and you don’t step back this time. "I think you know what I mean," she says, her eyes locked on yours, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous.

You don’t have an answer, or maybe you do but you don’t trust yourself to say it out loud. The air between you crackles with something electric, something that feels inevitable.

She leans in, just a fraction, and you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You could close the distance. You could kiss her, right here, right now, and no one would know. It would be easy. Too easy.

But you don’t.

Instead, you step back. You force a smile. "We should stick to the plan. Don’t want to push the knee too hard too soon”

It’s a cop-out, and you both know it. The shift in her expression is almost imperceptible, but you catch it—the brief flicker of disappointment before she masks it with a shrug.

"Right. The knee," she says, her tone casual, but the tension is still there, hanging between you like a thin thread ready to snap. She doesn’t push it, though. Instead, she grabs her bag, slings it over her shoulder, and heads for the door. But just before she leaves, she glances back at you, her eyes sharp, like she’s trying to figure you out, trying to decide if this is a game or something else entirely.

You stand there for a long time after she’s gone, the gym feeling too big, too empty. You can still feel the weight of her gaze, the heat of her body close to yours. You tell yourself it’s just work, just rehab. But deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

It’s never that simple.

-

The sessions after that are different. There’s a push and pull now, a tension that neither of you acknowledges but is impossible to ignore. Flirting turns into something sharper, more pointed, like you’re both testing the limits, seeing how far you can go before something breaks. But nothing breaks, not really. Not yet.

Then one night, you cross the line. It’s late, the training ground is empty, and Leah’s the last one in the gym. You’re both exhausted, worn down by weeks of slow progress, of frustrations mounting. The conversation starts off innocuous—something about her recovery timeline, how she’s feeling. But it shifts quickly. There’s an edge to her voice, a sharpness that cuts through the usual banter.

"Why do you keep pulling back?" she asks, and there’s nothing light in her tone now. It’s serious. She’s serious.

You blink, thrown off. It’s late, the harsh fluorescent lights above cast everything in this sterile, washed-out glow that makes you feel like you’re in a hospital, or some kind of waiting room where nothing feels real, nothing matters. Leah’s standing in front of you, close but not too close, not like before, but close enough that you feel it—the weight of her presence, the space she occupies, the air between you vibrating, charged with something neither of you is willing to name but it’s there. It’s been there for weeks. Maybe longer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, but it’s a lie and you both know it. You’re tired, too tired to come up with something convincing, and it’s the way she’s looking at you now, like she’s seeing through every excuse you’ve built up, every wall you’ve thrown up between you because you know you have to, because you’re the physio, you’re supposed to be the professional, the one who stays detached, clinical, objective. You’re supposed to care about her body, her knee, not the rest of her. Not this.

But the truth is, you do care, too much, and it’s bleeding into everything. Into the way you touch her during sessions, the way your fingers linger just a little too long on her skin when you’re adjusting the brace, or the way your pulse speeds up when she leans back on the bench, sweat glistening on her forehead, the tendrils of her hair stuck to her neck, and you wonder what it would feel like to brush them away. You know you shouldn’t, that it’s a line you can’t cross, but the line’s blurred now, so faint you can barely see it anymore.

Leah narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s wearing an old Arsenal training kit, the fabric worn and soft, the logo faded from too many washes, and you notice that she tugs at the hem of her shirt when she’s frustrated, twisting it around her fingers like she’s trying to keep her hands busy, like she doesn’t know what else to do with them. “You’re not stupid,” she says, and her voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it—something vulnerable, like she’s exposing a part of herself she doesn’t want to, but she can’t help it. “You know exactly what I mean”

She’s right. Of course she’s right. You’re not stupid. You know why you’ve been pulling back. Why you’ve been keeping your distance. It’s because this—whatever this is—is dangerous. It’s complicated. It’s wrong in a way that’s hard to define but easy to feel, like a low hum in the back of your mind that you can’t shake. And yet, the more you try to stay away, the more you find yourself drawn to her. Like gravity. Like something you can’t control, no matter how hard you try.

“It’s not that simple,” you say, and your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. You’re aware of how this looks—two people alone in a gym, the air thick with unspoken tension, the kind of tension that feels like it’s been building for a long time and is about to spill over. You glance at the clock on the wall—it’s almost 10 a.m.—and you wonder how it got so late, how time seems to bend around her, how hours slip by when you’re with her but still, its never enough. There’s always more, always something unsaid hanging in the air between you.

Leah uncrosses her arms, taking a step closer. You can see the faint scar on her knee, the way the skin’s still a little pink, a little raw, and it’s a reminder of why you’re here, what your job is, but all you can think about is the way her eyes are locked on yours, unflinching. “I’m not asking for simple,” she says quietly, and there’s an intensity in her voice that catches you off guard. “I’m asking for honest”

The word hangs in the air, heavy, and you feel something in your chest tighten. Honest. You think about what that would look like. What it would feel like to stop pretending, to stop playing this game where you act like you don’t notice the way she looks at you, the way your body reacts to hers. You think about what it would mean to cross that line, to give in to what’s been building between you. The consequences. The fallout. The way it would shift everything irreparably, and yet, the thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

You take a breath, slow, steady, trying to collect yourself, trying to find the right words, but they’re all tangled up in your head, a mess of things you can’t say, shouldn’t say. “Leah,” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence, because there’s no good way to say what you’re thinking, no good way to explain the way your heart speeds up when she’s near, the way your skin prickles under her eyes, the way your mind drifts to her at night when you’re lying in bed, staring into the darkness, replaying moments in your head that shouldn’t matter but do.

She’s watching you, waiting, and you can feel the weight of her expectation, the way she’s daring you to say something real, something that matters. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re tired of pretending, tired of holding back, but something inside you cracks, just a little, just enough.

“I’ve been trying to keep this professional,” you say, and the words come out in a rush, tumbling over themselves like they’ve been waiting to escape. “Because I have to. Because I don’t know how else to do this without—” You stop, shaking your head, because it sounds ridiculous, it sounds like an excuse, and maybe it is. “It’s not just about your knee,” you say finally, and it feels like a confession, like something you’ve been holding onto for too long. “It’s about everything else”

Leah’s eyes widen, just for a moment, and you see something flicker across her face—surprise, maybe, or relief, or something else entirely. She doesn’t say anything right away, but she steps even closer, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of her sweat mixed with the scent of her shampoo, something clean and floral, and it hits you like a wave, overwhelming in its simplicity. You feel the pull again, stronger now, undeniable.

“You think I don’t know that?” she says, and her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that cuts through the haze in your mind. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

The words hang between you, suspended in the air, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the gym, the team, the world outside this room. It’s just you and her, and the weight of everything you haven’t said, everything you’ve been too scared to admit.

Leah reaches out, her fingers brushing against your arm, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites something deep inside, something you’ve been trying to suppress for weeks, months. You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you disappears, and her lips are on yours, and it’s like everything snaps into focus all at once.

The kiss is rough, urgent, like it’s been building for too long and now there’s no stopping it. Her hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of her body against yours, the way her breath mingles with yours in the small, stolen space between kisses. It’s messy, frantic, like neither of you can get enough, like you’ve been starving for this and now you’re finally letting yourself have it.

You don’t think about the consequences, about what happens when this moment ends. You don’t think about the power imbalance, the lines you’re crossing, the mess you’re making. All you can think about is the way she feels against you, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.

[spaghettiposts]

Video Games

Reader x Wednesday Addams

Summery: Video games are a waste of time in Wednesdays opinion, being with you however is not.

Warnings: First attempt at writing for Wednesday.

A/N: Lemme know if y’all would wanna see more of Wednesday from me I’m thinking about writing for Tara too!

“There are more fruitful things to do aside from staring at a screen all day.”

Lifting your head from your said screen, you raised a judgemental brow. Wednesday sat with her back turned from you, typing away, she had allowed you to sit lay on her bed in the meantime so long as you promised to stay silent. The noises your console gave off broke that promise, one quick narrowed look from the goth had you lowering the volume instantly.

“Like staring at a typewriter all day?” You retorted with amusement in your voice. She paused her typing for a minuscule moment before continuing her steady pace.

“I’ll have you know my writing sessions improve memorization, vocabulary, and keep me from strangling you.” You could see a cocky smirk form on her face. “Consider yourself lucky.”

Shrugging your shoulders you sucked your teeth, a reply fresh on your tongue. “I don’t know, dying in your hands sounds like the most lucky I’ll ever be.”

At that, Wednesday froze, looking down to her paper before ripping it off, a prominent scowl appearing. You grinned to yourself behind the device, knowing damn well you had made her slip up. The small tints of red on her cheeks almost missable, just confirmed that.

“Disturb my writing time again and I’ll throw that…thing off my balcony.” She huffed, folding whatever she did get done during the duration of your visit into a neat pile. It wasn’t much whatsoever, a pattern that only repeated every session you were around.

You simply laughed in response, causing her stomach to grow spiders. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch you or shut you up in another form.

In different circumstances she’d respond with haste, quickly dismissing you from her dormitories so she could focus. But for some reason, no matter how close she was to saying no, it never happened. Wednesday supposed that was fine, you weren’t completely irksome.

But if those little noises, coming from your Nintendo? Kept happening she might just come to say it.

“I thought I had warned you to turn off the noise.” She snapped, face scrunching at the weird noises of a man crying. The noise didn’t even resemble a realistic cry, what on earth. “What even is that?” She questioned.

You smiled at the clear curiosity she showed. Not that she’d ever admit. Scooting over on her bed—carefully not to ruin her perfectly folded sheets—patted the space next to you. “Come here and I’ll show you.” You offered, receiving a cold scoff in response. “What? Come on Wednesday. We both know you aren’t getting any more writing done, why not unwind?”

Unfortunately, seeing as she had neatly arranged everything back in its usual place. You were correct, obviously Wednesday refused to let you know that, reluctantly trudging along to her bed. Muttering small things about how “I’d get more writing done if you left.”

“Mhm sure Addams.” You snickered, lifting your arm up to put around her shoulder, bringing her into you. She said nothing, adjusting to the position until she found the perfect spot to rest. On your chest.

“Technology is a man-made brain rotting scam that only diminishes human intelligence.”

“So was romance? I guess you’re into rotting then.”

“Only because you could rot with someone.” She muttered, staring at the game in your hands. The corners of her lips rising when you died, cursing to yourself. “Rot with you.” She added lowly, you almost didn’t catch it but you’re glad you did. You just hope she wouldn’t hear how much you enjoyed it, be still heart.

Feeling bold you pressed a small kiss on her head, leaning your head against hers as you continued playing your game. Later when Wednesday got tired of you mashing those stupid buttons she’d toss the game aside, leaving your full attention on her. Maybe there were more fruitful things you could focus on.

[scary-grace]

certain stars - a shigaraki x reader fic

Nothing in your training prepared you for this: A deadly virus that burnt through Space Station Ultra, leaving only two survivors -- you, and Mission Specialist Shigaraki, trapped together in the command module. With time, food, and life-support running out, you have a choice about how you'll spend your final hours. You just wish you had any idea what you're supposed to do.

This is for @shigarakislaughter (happy birthday!) who asked for a forced-proximity roommates to lovers situation. Being me, I had to make it weird, and being one of my fics, it had to get away from me. I'm posting part 1 now so you'll have it for your birthday, and part 2 as soon as it's done! Shigaraki x reader, rated M, space station au, angst + suggestive content. dividers by @cafekitsune.

You stare out the windscreen, into the darkness. As empty as what lies before you is, a pure black void pierced here and there by distant stars, it’s less disturbing than what lies on the other side of Station Ultra’s rotation – Earth, wrapped in clouds, brown and green and blue. It’s only four hundred kilometers below you, no distance at all when compared to vastness of space beyond your high orbit, and yet it’s never felt further away.

It shouldn’t be. There’s nothing wrong with the space station, no malfunction that would prevent the shuttle docked to this very module from bringing you and your fellow astronauts home. It’s not a mechanical problem that’s keeping you here. And as if you needed a reminder, your control panel blips at you, the shipboard computer speaking up in its cool, mechanical voice. “Ventilation recycling complete for all compartments. Parts per million remains unchanged.”

You knew it would. Your heart still sinks. “Understood. Contact Mission Control.”

Mission Control picks up right away. Director Sasaki’s voice fills your headset. “Status?”

“I recycled the ventilation system in all compartments. Parts per million in the affected compartments hasn’t changed.”

“All other systems?”

“Normal,” you say. “Propulsion, auxiliary, heat-shield, life-support. It all works like it’s supposed to.”

“And what about you?” Sasaki asks. “Are you functional?”

You haven’t slept well in three weeks. You aren’t eating much, to conserve food, but even if you could eat as much as you wanted, you’d still be too stressed to be hungry. You’re getting claustrophobic in here. The air feels stale, even though you know it isn’t. “As functional as can be expected. Given everything that’s happened.”

“Yes,” Director Sasaki says after a moment. “This was not an outcome anyone could have predicted.”

Someone, somewhere must have, though. You’ve taken three trips up to Station Ultra since you graduated from the academy, and every time you’ve come back down, you’ve spent a month in quarantine, just to make sure you didn’t pick up any deadly space bacteria while you were in orbit. It was kind of a joke to you, like it was a joke to everybody. The vacuum of space is completely inhospitable, incompatible with any form of life. There’s no way anyone could come back to earth with a disease.

But a virus isn’t life, not the same way other things are. A virus could survive inert, waiting for the correct conditions to claim a host and multiply within them. Conditions like warmth and light and ample food. The kind of things that exist inside a space station. It came inside on Togata’s spacesuit, when he returned from a walk to fix some of the reflective tiles on the propulsor housing, and as soon as it touched air, it exploded to life.

You were in the command module, because it was your shift. By the time the viral load in the compartment was significant enough to trip the ventilation system’s alarms, it had already spread to six other modules, infecting everyone it found. You sealed off all the modules in response, isolating each ventilation system from the others. It’s the only reason you’re still alive.

You, and one other person. “What about Mission Specialist Shigaraki?” Director Sasaki asks. “Is he functional?”

“Close enough,” you say. Shigaraki’s been climbing the walls, but then again, this is his first trip into orbit. Most first-timers are anxious enough without being walled up in a single module, hiding from a virus that’s deadly on contact. “He’s sleeping right now.”

“I’d like to speak to him as well. Wake him up.”

You’d rather not. He’s been having a hard time settling down enough to sleep. Still, you’re not interested in getting busted by Control right now. “Right away.”

You pick up a pen, stand it upright in the air, then give it a flick, sending it rotating end over end across the compartment to bump against Shigaraki’s cheek. He’s a light sleeper. He jerks awake at once, grabbing for his mask. “Is it –”

“Everything’s fine,” you say, then wince. “Control wants to check in with you.”

“Don’t know what they want me to say.” Shigaraki rubs his eyes. “Same shit, different sol.”

“Then it’ll be a really short check-in.” You hold the headset out, and Shigaraki makes his way across the compartment to you. Station Ultra’s gravity is about a quarter of Earth’s, enough to make smaller objects float and enough to let Shigaraki get from his makeshift bed to you without touching the floor once. “Director Sasaki, he’s here.”

Shigaraki settles the headset over his tangled white hair, and you go back to staring out the windscreen, listening with half an ear. “It’s shit,” Shigaraki says, in response to whatever Sasaki just asked him. “I’m sick of listening to you all pretend we aren’t going to die up here.”

Your stomach clenches. You can’t hear Sasaki’s response, but Shigaraki’s comes through loud and clear. “You all are stupid if you’re thinking about taking that kind of risk. If this thing gets down there, everything’s fucked, so stop lying and figure out a way to off us both. Go to hell.”

He takes the headset off, ends the call, and tosses it back to you. “You were right. It was short.”

“I told him you were functional,” you say lamely. “Now he’s going to think you’ve got Pandorum or something.”

“We’d be better off with Pandorum than whatever got in here,” Shigaraki says. You’re expecting him to go back to bed, but instead he sits down next to you at the windscreen. “At least Pandorum fucks off once you’re planetside.”

He stares out the windscreen. You study him, like you’ve been doing when you get the chance. Out of all the crewmembers you could have picked to get stuck with at the beginning of the mission, you wouldn’t have chosen him. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t happy he’s here.

Shigaraki was a last-minute addition to the crew, after the mission specialist who was supposed to go caught the flu, and he was unhappy about it from the second he set foot on the shuttle. You don’t think anybody in the history of manned spaceflight has ever bitched about going into space as much as he did on the way up, but once you docked at Station Ultra, you figured out why in a hurry. He has motion sickness – bad – and short of being on a fishing trawler in the North Sea during a storm, there’s no worse place for that than a space station that orbits the earth while moving in a constant rotation. In his spot, you’d have bitched, too.

You tried to help him. Whenever you were on shift in the command module, you altered the gravity of whatever compartment he was in, trying to make it more like Earth’s and less like whatever his version of Hell is. You parted with most of your share of Dramamine, then all of it, hoping it would help. Maybe if you’d let him know you were doing it, he wouldn’t have been such a jackass to you – or maybe he’d have been exactly the same. Worse, even. Based on the way he snapped at people who asked after him, he doesn’t want anybody’s pity.

As far as mission specialists go, though, he’s great at his job, using the lack of signal interference in orbit to gather data from the most distant unmanned probes that have been sent out, ones that have been lost to contact on Earth for decades. Voyager, Pioneer, New Horizons, Odyssey, Earendil – all of them in interstellar space, all of them still transmitting. One time you wandered into the observation module on an off-shift and found him hunched over something, headphones clamped down over his ears. You knew better than to ask what he was listening to, but when he looked up and spotted you, he kicked out the chair next to his.

You were so surprised that you didn’t question it. You sat down, accepted the pair of headphones he pushed at you, and settled them over your ears, too. At first there was nothing but silence, the quiet of deep space without a hint of static. And then you heard it, so faint it was almost a mirage – soft humming, interspersed with high, clear notes that reverberate endlessly, overlapping with others before growing too distant to hear. It sent chills down your spine.

The two of you listened in silence for a long time, until even the humming faded away. You pulled off your headphones and turned to Shigaraki. “What was that?”

“Earendil’s been picking it up. This is the first time I caught more than a few seconds.” Shigaraki tapped something on his console, and a red light flickered off. He was recording. “It’s music.”

“From where?” you asked. “Aliens?”

Shigaraki shook his head. “It’s not a signal,” he said. “It’s something else. People used to theorize about it, back before science existed, but –”

“Musica universalis,” you said, and he nodded. “The music of the spheres. It’s real?”

“If that was what I think it is, yeah.” Shigaraki’s expression was thoughtful, softer than you’d seen it before. “Cool, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, even though it didn’t feel like the right word. Eerie. Awe-inspiring. Unreal. You watched as Shigaraki bent back over his console, pulling out an old-fashioned jump drive and feeding it into the nearest port. “Cool.”

It was hard to look away from him then. It’s hard to look away now, even though he’s the only person you’ve seen for weeks, the only person still alive in here with you. His white hair, which needs a trim. His red eyes, half-lidded as he looks out the window. The scars on his eye and his mouth, which you’ve wondered about but never asked after. You’ve got questions about him. And even though he’s right, even though you probably are going to die up here, you still can’t get it together enough to ask.

The two of you sit in silence until one of the alarms you’ve set goes off. You know what this one’s for. “Virus check,” you say, and Shigaraki nods. “Let’s get this over with.”

Every six hours, you check for signs of the virus. Temperature, pupil response, blood pressure, pulse oxygen level – and then a self-exam to make sure the pale splotches that signify infection aren’t anywhere on your bodies. The air in your module is clear, still, but you and Shigaraki still act like you’re in quarantine. Like at some point you’ll be declared virus-free and safe to go home.

Your vitals are normal. So are Shigaraki’s. “I was thinking,” he says as you put the blood pressure cuff away. “I’m pretty pale. I don’t know if I’d be able to pick out the spots on myself.”

“Do you want me to check for you?”

“We should check each other,” Shigaraki says. Your face heats up, and you look away. “Accountability or something. In case one of us gets infected and tries to hide it.”

“If one of us got infected, it would be too late for the other one,” you say. “Fine, though. Let’s check each other. I’m sick of trying to look at my own back without a mirror.”

You feel beyond awkward stripping down in front of Shigaraki, even though you leave your underwear on. He leaves his on, too. “I’ll check you first, since you’re the one who’s worried about it,” you say. “Turn around.”

His back is more muscled than you expected, not that you were expecting much. Other than patches of eczema, dry and angry red from the bone-dry air, he looks clear. “I’m not seeing anything.”

“Check for texture,” Shigaraki says, and your face heats up again. “Himura was pale like me, and they thought he was clear until they touched him.”

You set your hands on Shigaraki’s back, and he startles at your touch, even though he asked you to do this. You try to think back to what you’re looking for, what the others in the infected modules reported before they succumbed. Hard, pale circles on the skin that don’t change color when pressed on. Shigaraki’s skin is clear, everywhere you run your fingers over it, but you check again, and again. You haven’t touched anyone in weeks, not even to high-five or shake hands. It’s hard to pull away.

You make yourself do it before things can get weird. “You’re clear. On your back at least.”

“Your turn,” Shigaraki says, and you turn away immediately. At least now you won’t have to keep your arms crossed. He takes one look at your back and laughs. “A tattoo? Are you yakuza or something?”

“People get tattoos where I come from. Not just gangsters.” You jump as the rough tip of one finger traces over the design on your shoulder. “Don’t touch it if you’re just going to make fun of it.”

“I’m not. What is it?”

“I thought you didn’t care about backstory stuff,” you say. “Isn’t that what you said when we got stuck? We’re not gonna bond just because we’re breathing the same air?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. He usually doesn’t answer when he’s wrong about something. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Are you going to check me for the rash or not?” You wait until Shigaraki’s hands move, then answer his question, mainly to give yourself something to think about other than the fact that he’s touching you. “It’s Centaurus. The constellation.”

“I know what Centaurus is,” Shigaraki snaps, almost absently. His fingertips drift across your shoulder blades. “Closest stars to the sun, right?”

“Yeah. Alpha Centauri.” For some reason, your throat goes tight. “I always wanted to be an astronaut, even when I was a little kid. But kids are bad at distance, and time – the stuff that tells you what’s actually possible when it comes to space travel. I used to say I wanted to fly to Alpha Centauri and back. Just a few light-years away.”

You wait for Shigaraki to make fun of little-kid you for not understanding how spacetime works. He keeps quiet, his hands moving down your spine, and you don’t know what to do except to keep talking. “I don’t remember who told me. Probably some smart kid in elementary school. And I felt really stupid about it for a long time.”

“So you got a tattoo of it?”

“Yeah. When I got accepted to the academy,” you say. “Everybody was talking about why they wanted to be astronauts – I know we seem like a bunch of meatheads to you scientists, but it’s not easy – and I thought about how excited younger me would have been to be where I was. All the amazing things I was going to get to do and see. And if it was daydreaming about Alpha Centauri that got me there, even if I could never go that far, I didn’t want to be embarrassed about it any longer.”

Shigaraki’s hands come to a stop at your lower back, fingers curling around your hips in a way that’s not strictly necessary for what he’s supposed to be doing. “Did you ever think you’d die out here?”

“I knew it was possible,” you say. In the academy, they take you through every fatal accident, one by one, teaching you ever detail to demystify it. “I didn’t think it would go like this.”

“Yeah.” Shigaraki exhales, and you feel his breath against your shoulder. “You’re clear, by the way. Turn around.”

You turn to face him and realize that the two of you are standing much closer together than you started out. Shigaraki’s hands lifted away as you turned, but they settle back on your hips at once. “Um –”

“I’ve seen you watching me,” Shigaraki says. Of course he has. There’s nothing for the two of you to watch here but each other. You should have known better than to think you could get away with anything. “What do you think about when you do that?”

You’re going to die, right? Both of you, up here, whether Mission Control finds out a way to kill you humanely or just lets you starve. It doesn’t matter what you say. “You’re pretty. I like looking at you. I look at you and I can think about something other than this.”

His grip tightens ever so slightly. “Were you ever going to do more than just look?”

You’re both going to die. It doesn’t matter anymore. You lift your hands, set them on his shoulders, and step in close. Close enough to kiss, if Shigaraki wants to – and he closes the rest of the distance himself.

It doesn’t mean anything. You’re the last two alive. If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else. You aren’t special. You remind yourself of that as his lips press insistently against yours, as you tangle your hands in his hair and hear him mumble your name. You could be anyone. It doesn’t matter that it’s you.

It’s an effort to detach yourself from Shigaraki long enough to lead him over to the pile of blankets you’ve each been sleeping in when it’s your turn to rest. You’re both mostly naked already, so it’s not a question of where things will go. It’s not the best sex you’ve ever had. With what’s hanging over the two of you, what you’re both trying to forget, you don’t think it’s possible to have really good sex. What you get instead is what you need – connection, contact, a way to ground yourself in one moment, with the only other person in the universe who understands what it’s like to stare this down.

Shigaraki’s desperate in a way that surprises you, responsive in a way you wouldn’t expect, even though this was his idea in the first place. Clingy, too – you’ve both finished, and he won’t let go of you, not even to let you get more comfortable. “I’m not leaving,” you say, exasperated. “Where would I even go?”

He finally shifts to one side, and you’re able to get settled, just in time for him to crawl all over you again. “Touch-starved much?”

“I waited too long,” Shigaraki says. You make a questioning sound. “I should have done it when I figured out who was messing with the gravity.”

Maybe you’re hallucinating. There’s no way he’s liked you that long. Or at all. “Okay, but if we’d hooked up in the command module back then everybody would have known about it.”

“They’d have been jealous.” Shigaraki’s eyelashes flutter against the side of your neck. “And alive.”

And now they’ll never find out, because they’re dead. You feel sick when you think about all the people who will mourn your crewmates, who are mourning them right now – their friends, their families, their girlfriends or boyfriends or spouses or children. Some of them have kids. Who lived, and who lived a little longer, came down to luck. Being in the right place at the right time. Being on shift in the command module for you, and standing in the doorway for Shigaraki, just as the alarms started to sound.

Something crosses your mind. “What were you doing at the command module that night, anyway? I never asked.”

“Why do you think?” Shigaraki’s voice is blurring with sleep, and you resign yourself to being stuck here until the next timer goes off. “Tell you later.”

You’re not all that familiar with hookups – you didn’t have a lot of time for that stuff with your job, or maybe you didn’t make time. You’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to fall asleep together, all but intertwined. But maybe the rules are different when it comes to hookups when you’re both about to die. Hookups where you like each other. Where things could have gone somewhere, maybe, if you’d had more time.

Sleep is tugging at you, trying to lure you down. It’s hard to resist when it’s warm. How long has it been since you were warm? Your sleeping pouch in the dormitory module feels like a distant memory, and with the ventilation isolated, the heaters haven’t been able to shift warm air to the command module in weeks. You and Shigaraki should have been sleeping like this the whole time, if it was ever appropriate for both of you to sleep at once. One person needs to be awake in the command module at all times. That’s you.

Station Ultra completes half an orbit, putting you on the dark side of the planet, and when the module rotates to show you the blackness of space, you look through the windscreen and pick out the stars. Alpha Centauri is right there, close enough to see, millennia away. You’ll never get there, but some virus could drift through space, right up close to Earth’s atmosphere? Bullshit. Then again, a virus isn’t as complex as a human. It doesn’t need air or atmosphere or water to survive. The only thing you and the virus have in common is –

Heat. The virus is inert in the vacuum of space. It activates in sufficient heat. Out in space, it can’t hurt anyone. What if you could send it back where it belongs? You sit up, shifting Shigaraki out of position, and he swears sleepily at you. “What the hell? Lie down.”

“No.” You tolerate Shigaraki’s attempts to drag you back down for about two seconds, then use the hand-to-hand training you received in the academy to pin him. “Listen to me. I have an idea.”

He stares up at you, wide-eyed, a weird flush in his face. “About how to die painlessly?”

“No,” you say. “About how to get home.”

taglist: @atspiss @baking-ghoul @boogiemansbitch @handumb @agente707 @warxhammer @shikiblessed @cheeseonatower @koohiii @stardustdreamersisi @xeveryxstarfallx @lacrimae-lotos @aslutforfictionalmen @evilcookie5 @issaortiz @lvtuss @dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @f3r4lfr0gg3r @deadhands69

[msmk11]

Marauder's Era HC's- How They React When You Ask Them If They'd Still Love You If You Were a Worm

(This is the most unserious thing I've ever written)

James

When you ask him the question, he is SO confused.

I mean, he has no connection to the muggle world, so he's never seen the trend.

James has endless questions for you: "What is the point of this question?" "Why are you a worm?" "Why am I not a worm?"

You have to beg him to stop asking questions and just answer yes or no.

James, of course, is a sweetheart. So even though he's still very confused, his response is lovely: "Well I reckon I'd love you in any universe in any form, so yes I would still love you, even if you were a worm."

Sirius

Sirius is not even fazed by the question.

He INSTANTLY answers yes.

His lack of hesitation makes you all giggly and happy.

But then, he asks you if you'd still love him if he were a worm.

Obviously, you say yes.

Side note: you two would totally have this conversation in bed before going to sleep because that's when you talk about all the weird shit.

Remus

His immediate response is an exasperated, tired sigh because he's so used to your shenanigans.

The first thing he'd say is, "Well am I a worm too?"

Once you tell him no, that he wouldn't be a worm, his answer to you is no because, "he's not attracted to worms?"

You try and explain to him that he'd still know it was you, you'd just be in worm form.

He doesn't budge on his answer and only replies that, "this seems too complicated for a hypothetical, dove."

Peter

I'm sorry, but he instantly laughs in your face after you ask the question because he thinks you're being goofy.

But when he realizes that you're 100% serious, he sobers up real fast.

"Wait, is that a genuine question?

My guy is SWEATING. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing.

He slowly drags out his answer to gauge your reaction and figure out the correct response.

"Nnnnnnnno-" (sees your face fall) "Yes! No yeah, yes, I'd totally still love you if you were a worm."

Lily

She's so happy you asked (if not a little mad that you beat her to it.)

I mean she's muggle born, so she's definitely seen the tik tok trend.

Answers with a giggle and happy, "Yes ofc, lovely."

She'd then go off on a little tangent about all the ways she'd treat you like royalty, even as a worm- she'd get the nicest soil, the best little habitat, etc.

Girl is so precious

Marlene

Marlene doesn't hesitate and instantly responds yes.

But honestly, I think she'd be way more interested to know if you'd still love her if she was a worm.

(There's only one right answer.)

I'm also certain that this question and variants of it would become her obsession for the next month.

Like every day she'd ask you the same question but with a new animal: "Would you still love me if I were a frog?" "A penguin?" "A squirrel?"

Dorcas

Babe is too logical to answer this question.

She's instantly coming up with solutions/alternative answers rather than just saying yes or no.

"I wouldn't need to worry about this, because I'd just turn you back into a human."

Starts listing off all the spells or potions she could use to turn you back into a human.

When you try to protest and tell her that that wouldn't be possible, she'd only take it as a challenge.

Would literally come up with her own spell or potion to prove a point if necessary.

Mary

Her answer is yes

Why? Because she "loves worms and loves you. What's not to love?"

I'm pretty sure this question doesn't linger on her mind very long. But worms do.

Within the week she has a pet worm and a whole habitat for it.

Might even name it after you (which is a ?compliment?)

Regulus

Regulus isn't fazed by the question, but that doesn't mean he will give in to your shenanigans.

Immediately responds no.

Despite your pouty lips and frown, he does not budge.

You say, "So you don't really love me unconditionally?"

"Just be glad you're not a worm."

[amyzworldds]

omg we need a part two to a tale of unsaid love PLS

Part Two: A Tale of Unsaid Love

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

Vernon’s return from tour pulls Y/N into a whirlwind of messages, gifts, and a reunion that blurs the lines between friendship and something deeper, stirring feelings she’s long suppressed. Pairing: Vernon x reader Genre: Fluff, lil bit of angst, slice of life

Y/N’s phone buzzed against her desk for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. She glanced at it warily, already knowing who it was. Vernon. The guy hadn’t stopped texting since he woke up—probably still sprawled on that hotel bed when he sent the first one: “Up now. Tour’s officially done. Feels weird.” Then, five minutes later: “At the airport now. Security’s slow af.” And every few minutes after that, like he was narrating his entire existence: “Boarding. Plane smells like stale coffee.” “Window seat, but the view’s just clouds. Lame.”

She was at work, buried in emails and pretending to care about spreadsheets, so she couldn’t respond much beyond a quick “Cool, safe flight” earlier. Now, as her break time finally rolled around, she unlocked her phone and nearly dropped it. Twenty-seven messages. Twenty-seven. All from Vernon, timestamped down to the minute. She scrolled through, half-amused, half-horrified.

“Flight’s delayed by 10 mins. Annoying.” “They’re handing out snacks. Took the pretzels.” “Just took off. Turbulence already. Pray for me.” “Landed. Korea, baby. Missed this place.” “Baggage claim. My suitcase is taking forever.”

The list went on, a play-by-play of his morning like he was live-tweeting his life just for her. She was about to type a sarcastic “Do you ever stop?” when a little bubble popped up—three dots. He was typing again. Before she could brace herself, the message pinged through: “Oh you already seen my messages time to facetime me. FASTER.”

She stared at it, blinking. “Demanding little—” she muttered under her breath, sighing as she hit the call button. The screen barely had time to load before Vernon’s face filled it, his hoodie pulled low over his eyes, a grin splitting his face. He was in an airport lounge or something, the background blurry with people dragging suitcases.

“Finally!” he exclaimed, leaning closer to the camera. “What took you so long? I’ve been dying over here.”

“I’m at work, Vernon,” she said, keeping her voice low so her coworkers wouldn’t overhear. “Some of us have jobs that don’t involve screaming fans and private jets.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “You should’ve taken the day off. I’m back in Korea now! You didn’t even ditch for me. Rude.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back in the break room chair. “I can’t just skip work because you’re back. I have bills. Responsibilities. Adult stuff.”

“Adult stuff’s overrated,” he grumbled, slumping in his seat. “I’m tired, I’m hungry, and you’re not here. What’s the point of coming home if you’re not waiting at my apartment with food?”

She snorted. “What am I, your personal chef now?”

“Yes,” he said, dead serious. “Come over. Cook for me. I’ll pay you. Name your price—just ditch work and get over here.”

“Vernon, no,” she said, though a laugh slipped out despite herself. “I’m not quitting my job to make you ramen.”

“I’ll order the ingredients,” he pressed, undeterred. “And a cab. And I’ll Venmo you double your paycheck. Triple. Whatever it takes. I haven’t seen you in forever, and you’re out here acting like you don’t even miss me.”

“I do miss you,” she said before she could stop herself, then immediately regretted it when his eyes lit up.

“See? You do miss me! So leave early. Sneak out. Say you’re sick—cough a little, sell it. Your boss won’t care.”

“My boss would fire me,” she shot back, though she was grinning now. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“I’m the best influence,” he corrected, leaning so close to the camera she could see the faint shadows under his eyes. “Come on, Y/N. I’m jet-lagged, I’m starving, and I just survived a world tour. Don’t I deserve a welcome home meal from my best friend?”

She groaned, rubbing her temple. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” he said, smirking. “Seriously, though. Ditch. I’ll handle everything.”

Before she could argue again, a voice cut through the break room—her boss, poking his head in. “Hey, everyone, good news. System’s down for maintenance, so we’re cutting the day short. You can all head out after lunch.”

Y/N froze, her jaw dropping slightly. Vernon caught it instantly, his eyes widening before he let out a triumphant “Yes!” so loud it echoed through the phone. Heads turned—her coworkers glancing over with raised brows—and she sank lower in her chair, mortified.

“Vernon, shut up!” she hissed, covering her face.

“Did you hear that? You’re free!” he crowed, practically bouncing in his seat. “That’s fate, Y/N. The universe wants you to come to my place. I’m booking your cab right now.”

“Vernon, I didn’t even say—” she started, but he was already tapping away at his phone, ignoring her protests.

“Done,” he said, looking up with a grin. “ETA 10 minutes. Get your stuff and go outside. I’m texting you the details.”

She stared at him, torn between laughing and screaming. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re welcome,” he said, winking. “Bring your cooking energy. I want something good—none of that instant ramen crap. Real food. I’ve been living off plane meals and protein bars.”

“You’re so spoiled,” she muttered, but she was already standing, grabbing her bag from under the table. Her coworkers were chattering about their unexpected half-day, oblivious to the chaos Vernon was causing in her life. “Fine. But you’re doing the dishes.”

“Deal,” he said instantly. “Just get here. I’m starving, and I need my Y/N fix.”

She sighed, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “You’re lucky I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t,” he said confidently, his voice softening. “See you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, quieter now, her heart doing that familiar, painful twist. “See you.”

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

Y/N fumbled with the spare key Vernon had given her ages ago—“Just in case,” he’d said with that casual shrug of his, like it was no big deal to hand over access to his life. The cab dropped her off in front of his apartment building, and her phone was still buzzing in her hand, Vernon’s sleepy voice droning on through the call he refused to end. She’d tried—“Vernon, I’m here, I’ll see you soon, go nap or something”—but he’d just mumbled, “Nah, stay on. I’m almost there. Keep me company.”

Now, as she pushed open the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of his place hit her—faint traces of his cologne mixed with that clean, minimalist vibe he somehow maintained despite his chaos. The call crackled slightly as he shifted on his end, probably still sprawled in the back of his own cab. “You in yet?” he asked, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Yeah,” she said, kicking off her shoes and setting her bag by the door. “It’s weird being here without you. Feels like I’m breaking in.”

He chuckled, low and lazy. “You’ve got the key, dummy. It’s your place too, kinda.”

Her heart stuttered at that, but she brushed it off, heading for the kitchen. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’ll regret it when I start redecorating.”

“Do it,” he said, unfazed. “Put up some of those weird cat posters you like. I’d live with it.”

She rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see, and glanced at the counter. True to his word, a delivery bag sat there—groceries he’d ordered while whining about being hungry. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, unpacking the haul: fresh veggies, rice, some beef, soy sauce. “You really expect me to cook while you’re just… what, napping?”

“Pretty much,” he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. “You’re the best, Y/N. I’m, like, five minutes out. Maybe ten. Don’t hang up.”

“I’m hanging up,” she threatened, already rinsing the rice.

“No, you’re not,” he said confidently, and damn it, he was right. She didn’t.

So there she was, phone propped on the counter, Vernon’s soft breathing filling the silence as she chopped vegetables and stir-fried beef. He’d gone quiet—probably dozed off again—and she let him, the rhythm of cooking soothing her frayed nerves. Every so often, he’d stir, mutter something incoherent like, “Smells good already,” and she’d scoff, “You can’t smell it through the phone, weirdo.”

By the time the food was done—beef stir-fry with rice and a side of steamed broccoli—she heard him perk up. “Okay, I’m close. Pulling into the building now. Don’t eat without me.”

“Too late,” she teased, plating the food. “It’s all gone.”

“Liar,” he said, and then, after a pause, “Alright, I’m here. Gotta hang up—luggage and stuff. See you in a sec.”

The call finally ended, and she exhaled, setting her phone down. The sudden quiet felt strange after hours of his voice in her ear. She grabbed a soda from his fridge, plopped onto the couch, and flicked on the TV, picking some random movie she’d seen a dozen times. Her eyes kept drifting to the door, though, waiting. She could still hear his tired drawl from earlier, see the way his face had softened on the screen. He was running on fumes, and yet he’d spent all day tethered to her.

The doorbell rang, snapping her out of her thoughts. She frowned, hauling herself up. “Seriously?” she muttered, trudging over. “You’ve got a key, Vernon.”

She swung the door open, ready to complain—“Why are you ringing your own doorbell like some delivery guy?”—but the words died in her throat. Vernon stood there, luggage at his feet, looking like he’d been through a warzone and back. His hoodie was rumpled, his hair a mess, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. Before she could say anything, he stepped forward and crashed into her, wrapping his arms around her in a hug that knocked the air out of her lungs.

“Missed you,” he mumbled into her shoulder, his voice muffled and warm.

Her heart leapt into her throat, hammering so loud she was sure he’d hear it. She stood there, frozen, arms hovering awkwardly before settling around him. He smelled like airplane and sweat and him, and it was too much—too close, too real. She wanted to shove him off, tell him to stop making this so hard, but instead she just… stayed. His weight leaned into her, solid and grounding, and for a second, she let herself sink into it.

“Vernon,” she managed, voice tight. “You’re crushing me.”

He pulled back just enough to grin at her, that lopsided, boyish smile that wrecked her every time. “Good. You deserve it for not ditching work sooner.” Then, like it was nothing, he let go, brushed past her, and made a beeline for the kitchen. “Oh my God, it smells amazing in here. You’re a legend.”

She stood there, still by the door, staring at his luggage like it held the answers she didn’t have. Her chest ached—sharp and twisting, like she’d been rolling on needles, just as she’d feared. That hug, his voice, the way he’d clung to her like she was his anchor—it wasn’t helping. It was fuel, piling onto the fire she’d been trying to smother for years. She pressed a hand to her sternum, willing her heart to calm down, but it wouldn’t listen.

“Y/N!” Vernon’s voice snapped her back, calling from the kitchen. “You gonna stand there all day or come eat with me? I’m starving, and I’m not waiting.”

She shook her head, forcing her feet to move. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” she said, closing the door behind her. He was already at the counter, piling food onto a plate, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Normal. So painfully normal.

“You didn’t burn down my kitchen, so I’d say this is a win,” he said, glancing up with a smirk. “Sit. Eat. Tell me I’m the best for making you come over.”

“You’re the worst,” she shot back, sliding onto a stool across from him. “I should’ve stayed at work.”

“Lies,” he said through a mouthful of stir-fry. “You love me.”

She froze mid-bite, her chopsticks hovering. He didn’t notice, too busy shoveling food and rambling about the tour, but her mind spun. You love me. He’d said it so easily, like a throwaway line, but it hit her like a freight train. She did. She loved him—too much, too deep—and every second with him was another needle under her skin, pricking at the hope she kept trying to bury.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re zoning out.”

“Yeah,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Just tired. Long day.”

He nodded, accepting it, and went back to eating. Normal. Always normal. And she hated how much she craved it—how much she craved him.

“Next time,” he said between bites, “you’re taking the day off. No excuses. I’m not surviving another tour without you waiting here when I get back.”

She laughed, weak and shaky, and nodded. “Sure, Vernon.”

But inside, she was screaming. Stop giving me reasons to fall harder. Stop making me love you more. Because every hug, every call, every stupid grin was another thread tying her to him—and she wasn’t sure she’d ever break free.

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

The clatter of dishes in the sink was oddly grounding, a small slice of normalcy after the whirlwind of Vernon’s arrival. Y/N lingered at the counter, picking at the last bits of stir-fry on her plate while Vernon scrubbed away, humming some tune she vaguely recognized from one of his setlists. True to his word, he’d taken dish duty without complaint, sleeves rolled up and soap suds clinging to his hands. It was domestic, almost too much so, and she had to look away before her mind ran wild again.

“Done,” he announced, shaking water off his fingers and wiping them on a towel. “See? I’m not totally useless.”

“Debatable,” she shot back, sliding her plate toward him with a smirk. “You missed a spot.”

He rolled his eyes but took it anyway, giving it a quick rinse. She used the moment to escape the kitchen, dragging his luggage from the doorstep where it still sat, abandoned after his dramatic entrance. It was heavier than she expected—probably stuffed with tour chaos—and she tugged it into the living room, parking it near the couch before flopping down with a huff.

The TV flickered back to life as she hit play on the movie, some mindless action flick she’d picked to drown out the noise in her head. Her pulse was still racing from that hug—his arms around her, his warmth, the way he’d just held her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She pulled a throw blanket over her lap, clutching it like a shield, and tried to focus on the screen. Explosions. Car chases. Anything but the fact that Vernon was still here, still close, still making her heart feel like it was about to burst.

“Hey, you didn’t have to move that,” Vernon said, strolling in from the kitchen. He spotted his suitcase and grinned, grabbing the handle and pulling it right in front of her. “Perfect timing, though. I’ve got stuff to show you.”

She raised an eyebrow, sinking deeper into the couch. “Stuff?”

“Yeah, stuff,” he said, plopping onto the floor and unzipping the bag with a flourish. “Tour spoils. Check it out.”

Her breath caught as he started unloading a chaotic pile of treasures, his hands moving with the same easy confidence he always had. First came a tiny ceramic cat from Japan, white with a goofy grin. “Saw this in Osaka,” he said, holding it up. “Reminded me of that time you tried to adopt that stray in high school. You cried when it scratched you.”

“I didn’t cry,” she protested, though her cheeks warmed. “I was just… mad.”

“Sure,” he teased, setting the cat on the coffee table. Next was a keychain from Paris, a miniature Eiffel Tower with a little beret on top. “This was just funny. You’d hate how tacky it is, but I had to get it.”

She snorted, reaching for it. “It’s hideous. You’re right.”

“Told you,” he said, digging deeper. A snow globe from New York, a glittery mess of skyscrapers. “Thought of you when it snowed there. You’d love the chaos.” A woven bracelet from Thailand, bright orange and green. “This was cheap, but it’s your vibe—loud.” A pack of candy from London, some weird sour thing he swore she’d like. “You’d eat these ‘til your tongue hurts.”

Item after item, he laid them out like a map of his tour, each one tied to her in some small, stupid, perfect way. He grinned the whole time, proud and oblivious, like it was no big deal that he’d spent months collecting pieces of her in every city. “And this,” he said, pulling out a tiny plush octopus from Seoul, “I got today at the airport. It’s got your grumpy face when I call too early.”

She stared at the pile, her throat tight. “Vernon… you got all this for me?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was obvious. “Every stop, I’d see something and think, ‘Y/N would laugh at this,’ or ‘She’d hate it, so I have to get it.’ Kept me sane on the road.”

Her heart was screaming, pounding so loud she was sure he’d hear it over the movie’s gunfire. She clutched the octopus, its little stitched frown mocking her, and tried to breathe. This wasn’t normal—not the way he made it seem. Friends didn’t do this, didn’t scour the world for trinkets because they couldn’t stop thinking about each other. Did they? She wanted to ask, to demand what it meant, but the words stuck, trapped behind years of pretending.

“You didn’t have to,” she managed, voice smaller than she meant it to be.

“I wanted to,” he said simply, leaning back on his hands. “You’re my person, Y/N. Gotta bring you something back, right?”

My person. The words landed like a punch, soft and devastating. She forced a laugh, shoving the plush octopus onto the table with the rest. “You’re so weird,” she said, turning back to the TV, praying he wouldn’t notice how her hands shook.

“Says the weirdo who named a random cat Shadow,” he shot back, nudging her knee with his foot. “You keeping all this, or what?”

“Of course I’m keeping it,” she said, too fast, then caught herself. “I mean… it’s free stuff. Who says no to that?”

He laughed, satisfied, and hauled himself onto the couch beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “Good. Now tell me this movie’s plot, ‘cause I’m lost.”

She swallowed hard, hyper-aware of every inch between them—or lack of it. “Uh… guy’s mad, stuff explodes, car chase. That’s it.”

“Classic,” he said, settling in, oblivious to the storm raging inside her.

She stared at the screen, the chaos blurring into nothing. Her mind was on the pile of gifts, the way he’d smiled as he handed them over, the hug still lingering on her skin. He wasn’t helping—not one bit. Every move he made, every word, was another thread pulling her under, deeper into a love she couldn’t escape. She cursed her heart for hoping, for twisting this into something it wasn’t. He was just Vernon. Her best friend. That was all.

But as he laughed at some dumb explosion on screen, leaning into her just a little more, she felt the needles again—sharp, relentless, and oh-so-sweet. And she hated how much she didn’t hate it.

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

The movie droned on, explosions and one-liners fading into white noise as Y/N’s mind spun circles around itself. Vernon’s pile of gifts sat on the coffee table, a quiet testament to how much space she took up in his world—a space she wasn’t sure she was allowed to claim. She barely registered the plot, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket in her lap, when Vernon stretched and stood up.

“Gonna change,” he said, yawning as he shuffled toward his room. “These jeans are killing me.”

She nodded absently, eyes fixed on the screen but seeing nothing. “Yeah, sure.”

He disappeared down the hall, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The room felt bigger without him in it, less suffocating, but it didn’t stop the ache in her chest. She tried to focus—car chase, bad guy yelling, something about a bomb—but her thoughts kept drifting back to that hug, his voice, the way he’d said “You’re my person” like it was the simplest truth in the world.

A few minutes later, Vernon reappeared, barefoot and drowning in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. He looked softer like this, less like the untouchable star she’d watched grow bigger than life, more like the boy she’d known forever. He didn’t say anything, just flopped onto the couch beside her and, without warning, dropped his head into her lap.

“Vernon—” she started, voice catching, but he was already settling in, curling up like a cat claiming its spot.

“Comfy,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t move.”

Her hands hovered awkwardly above him, unsure where to land. His hair spilled across her thighs, messy and still a little damp, and she could feel the warmth of him seeping through her jeans. She stared down at him, her breath shallow, and realized he was already out—lips parted, breathing slow and steady. Asleep. Just like that.

The movie flickered on, but she couldn’t hear it over the pounding in her ears. He was so close—too close—and she was trapped under the weight of him, both literal and not. She sat there for a while, rigid, letting the moment stretch until her legs started to tingle. Carefully, she slid out from under him, easing his head onto a throw pillow with all the precision of defusing a bomb. He didn’t stir, just nuzzled deeper into the cushion, and she let herself smile despite everything.

She stood, tiptoeing around the room to dim the lights. The TV went off with a soft click, and she pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the late afternoon sun that threatened to creep in. Vernon deserved the rest—he’d been running on fumes for weeks—and she’d give him that, even if her heart was a mess because of it.

Blanket still clutched in her hands, she turned back to him. He looked peaceful sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling off the edge, the other tucked against his chest. She stepped closer, draping the blanket over him, tucking it up to his shoulders. Her fingers brushed his collarbone by accident, and she froze, but he didn’t move. Just slept, oblivious to the war inside her.

She straightened, ready to grab her bag and slip out—let him crash in peace, figure out her feelings somewhere else. But as she turned, a hand shot out, catching her wrist. She gasped, stumbling, and before she could catch her balance, Vernon tugged her down. She landed against his chest with a soft thud, her hands splaying against his hoodie as his arms wrapped around her, loose but firm.

“Stay,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, eyes still closed. “Sleep. We’ll talk later.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, so loud she was sure it’d wake him. “Vernon—” she whispered, but he just hugged her tighter, his cheek pressing into her hair.

“Shh,” he slurred, already drifting back under. “Later.”

She lay there, half-sprawled across him, her mind a tangle of panic and something softer, warmer. His breathing evened out again, deep and slow, and his grip slackened but didn’t let go. She could feel his heartbeat under her palm, steady and maddening, and her own pulse raced to match it. Talk later? About what? The questions clawed at her—why not now? What did he mean?—but his warmth was pulling her under, lulling her despite herself.

She should’ve gotten up. Should’ve pried herself free and bolted out the door, given herself space to breathe, to think. But she didn’t. She stayed, her cheek resting against his chest, the blanket tangled between them. His scent—faint cologne and laundry detergent—wrapped around her, and she hated how much she didn’t hate it. How much she wanted to sink into this, let herself believe it was more than it was.

Her eyes drifted shut, exhaustion tugging at her edges. Just for a minute, she told herself. Just until she could figure out how to untangle this mess in her heart. But as she hovered on the edge of sleep, Vernon’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she felt those needles again—sharp, relentless, and piercingly sweet.

What were they going to talk about? And why did it feel like everything was about to change?

[mrchiipchrome]

Talkin' 'Bout My Girl

W.C. - 6.3 k

Warnings: throwing up ig?

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

Lucy’s calling, answer me, Lucy’s answer me. 

Your phone blasts the annoying ringtone Lucy had created the latest time you’d met her, she’d insisted on having a unique one so that you’d answer all her calls. Spoiler alert: you didn’t answer all her calls.

Groaning loudly as your sleep is interrupted by the older woman calling you, she obviously didn’t think about the fact that you were in a totally different time zone and therefore calling you at 7 in the morning wasn’t a good idea.

“Fucking hell Luce, why’re you calling me at 7 in the fucking morning?” You can hear the way she laughs at your grumpy tone and how she sucks in a breath after a second or two. Well at least one of you was enjoying yourselves.

“Ou, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, did the grumpy wittle baby not get her 8 hours of sleep tonight?” She teases through the phone, the rustling of your sheets as you sit up echoing through the room that’s practically empty, like a hollowed out coconut.

“Actually, since you woke me up at 7, I did in fact barely even get 4 hours since Em dragged me away to a party in Connecticut, got wasted and then made me drive us both home.” This just makes the older woman laugh even more. For some reason, you thought that she’d be a bit more responsible and tell you off for going to a party, but she didn’t.

“Well that’s good then, Em is finally making you go through college the correct way, by going to parties.” You groan loudly as you stretch out the tightness in your limbs, the headache that appears soon goes away just as quickly. The floor is cold beneath your feet as you stand up from the bed, dragging your hand over your face before slapping yourself a few times to really wake up.

“Yeah, the proper college experience or something like that.” Lucy hums at your statement, her usually thoughtless brain quickly reforming to its usual state. 

“Mhm, well I’ll call tonight then, don’t sleep too late.” You say goodbye to the defender quickly before she hangs up the phone, venturing into the kitchen to pull open the door of the fridge, substituting a warm cup of bitter coffee for an energy drink.

“You’re going to be my best friend the coming four years, aren't you?” You look at the ice cold can in your hand as you speak, smiling sarcastically as you pop the tab open and take a swig, the weird aftertaste of pure caffeine leaving a streak down your tongue.

“Fucking hell, why do I not have anything at home?” As you look into the empty pantry, you suddenly understand why you should’ve taken Em’s advice earlier in the week, ‘fill your kitchen up like you have a whole family to feed’. Apparently a whole family equaled a drunk Em.

Peeking into the living room, you immediately see Em fast asleep on the couch, half her body hanging off the small piece of furniture like she was some drunk dad in a movie. Her mouth is wide open and the snores escaping from between her lips are just brutal.

Her party clothes from the night before are still donning her body, the dress barely staying intact after a night of tossing and turning to find a comfortable fit on the uncomfortable couch. But at least she’s not throwing up in the bathroom, so that's a plus.

You sigh, the quiet patting of your bare feet hitting the floor reaching your ears, fingers wrapping around the discarded blanket laying on the floor beside her on the floor and pulling it up to cover her body. She shifts underneath it, mumbling incoherently at you.

“Thanks mom.” You giggle at her sleepy presumption and she grumbles before turning her back to you like a moody teenager.

“Not your mum Em, but no problem anyway.” Walking back to the kitchen, you quickly find your phone before going to look for your wallet in your room, the sleek black leather laying on the floor beneath your mattress.

“Okay, just got to swing by the kitchen again then I’m off.” You mumble to yourself, patting your sleep shorts to see that you had everything you needed with you. The old Arsenal shorts from your time in the academy and the brief time you’d spent in the first team were the first things you’d packed for your move to America.

The comfort of home you supposed.

The simple t-shirt you had on was a Harvard one you’d gotten practically the first day on campus, the small ‘sports’ being printed just beneath the massive lettering of Harvard across your chest. It’s still warm enough outside to not need a jacket, you think to yourself, the sun shining brightly in the sky.

Picking up your can when you pass by the kitchen, you quickly make your way towards the door, finding the keys to your car hanging on the small hook meant for jackets. The metal ring you put them on clinks as you pull your keys off the hook, pulling your shoes over your bare feet before you turn the lock with a satisfying click, unlocking the door before disappearing out of it. Your key turns in the lock as you close the door, effectively securing Em inside the apartment.

The nice old lady living in the flat beside your own walks out of her door at the same time you do yours, her kind smile immediately filling you with a comforting warmth, her grandmotherly energy enveloping you fully, almost transforming you back into that little kid who would sit and wait for your gran to read a bedtime story.

“Hello dear, what are you doing up so early?” Her southern accent makes her words almost unintelligible, but you understand them either way, nothing was worse than drunk Em trying to speak. The large Newfoundland dog wagging his tail beside her yaps excitedly as he notices you, his entire body wiggling.

 “Oh I’m off to the bakery to get some pastries, Em got really drunk at a party yesterday and I don’t have anything for breakfast, so bread and pastries it is.” She looks amusedly at you, despite only having been neighbours for about two or so weeks, it was like the older woman had seen both you and Em grow up the entirety of your lives.

“Yeah that does sound like Em, don’it.” You laugh along with her, walking closer to pet Bubba who jumped at you as soon as you were close enough for him. “Bubba, no, you know we don’t jump on people.”

Laughing at the gentle giant, your hands soon tangle in his soft fur, giving him a bunch of kisses. 

“Oh Mrs. Peters, you know it’s his fault that he gets so excited, he’s just a little baby.” She rolls her eyes fondly at you and her dog, a simple tug of his leash making the fluffy dog go back to his owner. Moving towards the stairs you quickly turn back to ask her;

“Mrs. Peters, do you want anything from the bakery?”  She smiles but shakes her head, signaling that she doesn't want anything, before she enters the elevator and disappears from your line of sight.

You hum the tune to the song playing in your headphones as you walk down the stairs quickly, arms nearly tied to your body as you make your way down to the bottom floor of the building. The last step is one you jump over, walking over to the door that opens almost automatically and exiting the building completely.

The rays of the brightly shining sun hit your face as soon as you step out into the warm weather, Frank Ocean’s soft voice floating through your headphones as you walk, the wind blowing onto your exposed arms. 

It wasn’t often that people would just walk through the neighbourhood just to appreciate the scenery, to appreciate the nature and the small things that often seemed unimportant when living in such a fast tracked life as you did.

But you couldn’t just ignore the beauty in the simple things, the beauty in the small flowers growing along the road, the beauty in the gravel crunching under your feet as you walked, the warmth of the sun against your skin and the cooling effect of the wind.

It was all so beautiful, the calm and simple beauty.

You could find beauty in everything you saw, if you knew where to look for it, the soft smile on the mother’s face as she watched her toddler climb on the structure, the bird chirping as you pass it by, the old man sitting on a park bench. 

The world wasn’t as bad as people thought it was, they just hadn’t looked at it the right way.

The chime of the bell hanging above the door takes you back to only hours before, when you’d been at the diner with the divine girl, Nika. God, she was the embodiment of beauty, Aphrodite reborn as a human. 

The local bakery is well known among students, professors and newcomers alike, everyone knows about the bakery with the best pastries in the whole of Boston. Knowing that, it’s not even close to surprising when the line to the register reaches across the room, looking up at the menu of sorts to see what you want to pass the time.

There’s music flowing out the speakers, covering the low sound of people speaking to each other with its instrumental cling. You didn’t mind it though, it made everything just feel more real in a sense, there was no telling why, you don’t even get a chance at trying to figure it out as your phone starts ringing again, though this time it wasn’t Lucy’s voice ringing out, instead it was the infamous song of Arsenal, The Angel aka North London forever.

“Lee, to what do I owe the pleasure of a call? Did Spurs win?” You were both Arsenal through and through, but you always liked to tease her about her being a Spurs fan, the arch rivals of Arsenal being one of the things the older woman hated the most.

“Thank god, they didn’t win. No, I’m just calling to check up on you, ask how you’re settling in and all that.” She tries to be nonchalant in her tone, but  having known the blonde for as long as you had, you knew that there was something more to it. Thankfully, the line’s length has barely changed since the second you walked in, so there’s plenty of time to figure out what she’s playing at.

“Leah, what do you really want? I know you as well as you know yourself.” When you hear her sigh you pump your fist in the air triumphantly, getting more than a few judgy looks and glances from the people around you.

“Well, Jordy and I are having a bit of an argument right, and as our unofficial kid we need you to settle this.” You nod before you realize that she can’t see you, quickly replying verbally.

“What’s the arguing about?” She almost cuts you off with the speed at which she responds at, the smallest giggle to her tone giving you the impression that the matter at hand wasn’t as serious as she’d first made it out to be.

“Who do you think Blu loves the most?” Giving it a second before you answer to give the illusion that you actually thought about it, you can almost imagine the smile on her face, thinking that you’re going to back her.

“Neither of you, Blu loves me the most.” Leah lets out an offended gasp at your statement, and you can hear Jordan’s laugh in the back for a second before a playful slap can be heard. On your side of the line, only a giggle can be heard with the simple murmuring of day to day life in the background.

“That’s only because you give him so many treats.” The blonde groans at you, but you just smile smugly in return, not that she could see.

“It sucks to suck doesn’t it, Lee.” The line of people in front of you gets smaller and smaller with every passing minute as people order, with there only being around five or so people in front of you now.

“Well I wouldn’t know much about sucking, right Jord?” When you finally catch on to what she’s insinuating, you gag, not even caring that there are tens of people around you who can hear.

“Ew, I don’t need to know about what you two get up to in your spare time.” The sentence is whispered, not wanting to embarrass yourself even more than you already had. “Listen, I’ve got to go, I’m about to order some pastries for me and Em so I’ll call you back later.” 

By now you’re nearly at the front of the line, about to get what you came for. But they didn’t seem to want to end the call, nor the teasing they were putting you through.

“Ooh, does your girlfriend want a sweet breakfast?” If the two could see you they’d guaranteed to be laughing their heads off, the look of pure disgust on your face simply hilarious.

“Em’s not my girlfriend, even the thought of that is just like ew.” You shudder when you think about it, the girl had quickly become one of your closest friends and to even entertain the idea of being with her romantically was just gross.

“So you’re just buying her breakfast platonically?” Rolling your eyes at the conversation, you quickly plaster a smile on your face as you reach the counter. 

“Hi, I’d like four croissants and a caramel coffee.” The cashier’s name tag reads ‘Amelie’, the girl looking at you confused as if she doesn’t understand what you’re saying. The women on the other side of the phone snicker and if you weren’t raised the way you were, you would’ve hung up by now.

“A caramel coffee? You mean a caramel macchiato?” She questions dryly, like she really doesn’t enjoy her work.

“Yeah let’s go with that.” You pull out your wallet from your pocket, fishing the card out whilst trying your very hardest to not drop the phone sitting in the space between your head and your shoulder. 

“That’ll be 14 dollars.” Blipping your card against the side of the maschine, the transaction goes through without a problem thankfully. You smile at the girl again as she tells you that your order will be ready soon, and as you walk over to sit down at a table you can hear the kissy noises they’re making.

“Did you two just collectively decide not to hear me say ‘me and Em’, the idiot got wasted last night and I don’t have anything at home, courtesy of that drunk idiot. So me being the great friend that I am, decided that it was better to get breakfast than having to deal with a hangry and hungover Em.” You can hear the way they let out sounds of realization, understanding what you mean.

“Hey, why didn’t you bring us treats when we were hungover?” Leah asks, apparently offended that you hadn’t done this for them.

“Well, you two never took me out to parties so I never knew when you were hungover.” Despite them not being able to see it, you shrug absentmindedly, it wasn’t your fault that you didn’t get to go with them.

“Fair enough.” 

“Listen, I’ll call you back later, I’ve got to carry everything home and I only have two hands, so.” The two say goodbye before hanging up, and you slip your phone back into your pocket as you walk up to the counter, taking the paper bag with you as you walk out into the warm weather again. 

The walk back home is just as peaceful as the walk to the bakery, maybe the usual Boston had decided to take a break for just a day. Well whatever it was, you were thankful for it, your sleep deprived mind couldn’t handle much more than it already had.

When the lock clicks and you open the door, you’re met with the sound of groaning coming from the kitchen. Taking off your shoes at the entrance, you hang your keys back on the designated hook before you move towards the kitchen.

Peeking around the corner and into the kitchen, you quickly find the source of the noise. Because Em was standing in the middle of the room, banging her head against the counter clearly in quite a bit of pain. 

Why she was hitting her head against the counter then, you didn’t know, it’s completely irrational. But if that’s what she wanted to do then you’d let her, it wasn’t really any of your business.

“Em? What are you doing?” She looks up at you when she hears your voice, her gaze murderous, her hands in her hair, massaging her head like it was the last thing she’d ever do.

“Oh, grumpy you’re finally home, where have you been and why did you let me drink so much last night?” She groans out from between clenched teeth, your laugh filling the room pitifully within seconds at her words. It is funny after all, it was Em herself who insisted on drinking last night and her suffering the consequences of her actions was hilarious.

“I was out being an amazing friend and getting us both some breakfast.” You place the bag on top of the counter, almost right in front of Em’s face, but when she makes the motion of grabbing the bag and consuming the contents, you snatch it from the counter.

The older girl whines at your actions, her head coming down against the marble countertops again, the repetitive thumping annoying you more than you’d like to admit.

“Listen, I didn’t spend 14 dollars just for you to throw it back up. Off you go, get ready and for god’s sake please do not throw up in my living room.” Putting your hands on the back of her shoulders, you gently lead her all the way out of the room and into your bathroom, sitting her in front of the toilet before going back to the kitchen. “Oh, I talked to Luce earlier, she wants to thank you for making me ‘experience college the right way’.”  

Emma lets out a groan that sounds like a hybrid of a hawk getting piped and the death whistle, was getting praised by THE Lucy Bronze really worth the terrible hangover? Only Em could answer that, and she was currently hanging over the seat of your toilet, puking her guts up.

You can hear Em flushing and then moving to the sink, turning the tap on and taking some into her mouth, swirling the water around. Her bare feet slap disturbingly against the wooden floor as she makes her way towards the kitchen, your back turned towards her as she comes up behind you, her arm slinging around your shoulders.

“Wait, Luce? Luce as in Lucy Bronze? Lucy Bronze, the three time Champions League winner?” You shrug at her, turning back around to face the rest of the kitchen with Em hot on your heels.

“Yeah, I mean knowing her is not impressive.” Em’s wide eyes suggest a different story, her hands coming up to lay on your shoulders as she shakes your body back and forth.

“Wait, you know THE Lucy Bronze?” Taking her hands off your shoulders, you push the coffee cup into her free hand and a croissant into her other one. She nods thankfully before she hops up and sits on the counter, the small bag being placed between your bodies as you sit beside her on the counter.

“Did I forget to tell you that? And also why would she call me if we didn’t know each other?” Your eyebrows knit together, thinking back to all the conversations you and Em had over the past two and a half weeks.

“UH yeah, how do you know the best defender in the world?” The brunette girl slaps your shoulder playfully, studying your side profile out the corner of her eye. You look back at her in the exact same way, a small almost unknown smile on your face.

“Our mums knew each other, I’ve known Lucy since I was in diapers. And besides, I wasn’t the only one out here hiding family.” Raising your eyebrows accusingly, the girl beside you gives you a look of perplexion, not understanding what you mean by the statement.

“What do you mean?” She asks, her feet swinging off the edge, nearly smacking against your cabinet doors every time.

“I mean your scary older brother that you never told me about.” You say matter of factly, pointing at her with a ‘you know who I’m talking about’ look. The ‘ahhh’ sound that escapes her lips when she realizes who you’re talking about sounds out through the kitchen, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“Oh, Cal? Cal’s not scary, he looks like the rat from flushed away. Oh and that reminds  me, you have to come with me to this dinner he invited me to next week. No way I’m third wheeling all night long with him and his latest girlfriend.” The snort you let out is involuntary, the American girl’s description of her brother very vivid, and hopefully correct. It wasn’t like you’d seen her brother ever before, so you didn’t actually know what he looked like.

“Yeah sure I’ll help you feel less single, but no hand holding and no pretending to be together.” You look at her pointedly, making your point totally clear, no fake dating, that never turned out right. Em nods her head as she shrugs, as if to tell you ‘fair enough’.

“No way that I’d go out with you anyways, you’re far too grumpy for my liking. Maybe you can set me up with one of your mates in England.” Her hand covers her mouth so that she doesn’t laugh at your horrified expression, clearly you’re disturbed at the mere thought of Boston Tea Party part two happening if they ever broke up. 

“One Boston tea party is enough mate, we don’t need another.” The sip of coffee that Em had just taken covers  basically the entirety of your kitchen in a single second, the girl beside you spitting it out in surprise. “Em, come on. I’m not cleaning that up just so you know.”

Jumping down from the counter, you nearly slip on Em’s newly spit out coffee, only escaping the sticky mess by a millimeter. Her laughter clings out through the apartment, and Em makes sure to let you know that she’s sorry by telling you through her bouts of laughter.

“Look under the sink, you’ll find what you need under there.” The sound of the cabinet door opening can be heard from where you’re standing in the middle of the living room, picking up all the various things littered around the space. 

“Girl, why do you have everything under here except paper towels?” The brunette calls out for you, and you shake your head in amusement at her, there was no way that Em hadn’t thought about looking in any other cabinet than the one she had her head stuck in at the moment.

“Look in the compartment above, see if you’ll find them there.” You get the confirmation that she’s found it when she lets out a short ‘aha’, you can almost imagine the way her head hits the corner of the sink when she gets up, the loud ‘fuck that hurt’ being very telling.

“You okay?” Looking around the wall in the direction of the kitchen, you see Em sticking her hand out, the thumb sticking up telling you that she was fine.

It didn’t take as long as either of you had thought to clean the kitchen up, only a few minutes and even less to clean the mess in the living room. Soon enough, the television was turned on and the two of you were sitting in silence watching the looney tunes.

“Do you think the duck piped the rabbit or is it the other way ‘round?” Em questions, her tone completely serious, as if she wasn’t asking the craziest question ever.

“Uh I don’t think Bugs Bunny piped Daffy Duck.” Looking at her incredulously, she only responds with a shrug, her theory about the two cartoon animals being shot down almost immediately.

“Well they do have sexual tension that’s for sure.” She states matter of factly, pointing at you like you would agree. Spoiler alert: you didn’t agree at all.

“Mate what goes even on in your head?” You ask her, looking at her as if she belonged in a mental institution. Em scratches her head nonchalantly, stretching out her legs and placing her feet in your lap. “Do you not have anywhere to be?”

“Like where?” She asks, her words coming out mumbled as she’s biting her nails, chewing on the bits before she spits them out. When she looks at you she sees the judgemental look on your face, stopping what she’s doing with no real sense of urgency.

“I don’t know, maybe at home? Do you not have like a hundred plants that need to be watered?” She springs up from the couch, running to the entrance where she puts her shoes on before she shouts out a quick ‘bye’ and runs out the house.

“What is she on?” You laugh through the sentence, the pure hilarity and absurdity of most situations involving your newest best friend making you laugh more often than not.

With Em being in and out of your apartment practically every day, the week leading up to the dinner with her brother and his ‘newest’ girlfriend passes by extremely fast, feeling more like a day than a week.

“Em, what am I supposed to wear? Is it like a fancy restaurant or more chill?” You shout from your room, Em changing into her clothes in the living room. The clothing hangers click against each other as you look through the clothes you’d managed to put up over the past few weeks, many different button ups and a few normal t-shirts.

“You’re asking me this 10 minutes before we go?!” She shouts back, surprised that you’re not already finished dressing yourself and getting ready, seeing as you were the first one out the house normally.

“Yeah, I just realized that I never asked you what to wear.” You shrug to no one in particular, seeing as you were the only one present in your room.

“Didn’t your parents take you to a bunch of dinners with their clients?” Em’s voice carries through the walls, especially with the woman coming closer and closer to your door.

“I’ve been to a fair few, but in my defense I’ve always had stylists helping me so putting together outfits isn’t really one of my strong points.” Pulling out a few items of clothing, you hold them up so that they’re almost exclusively in your line of sight, looking to see if they’d match. 

“Fair enough, it’s not too fancy, just wear that linen shirt and some of your fancy pants.” She peeks her head into the room, looking at where you’re standing in your jeans, seemingly debating whether to wear the simple white button down or a Harvard t-shirt. 

“Trousers?” You raise your eyebrow cheekily at the brunette, a small teasing smile on your face.

“Yeah yeah, you know what I mean.” Emma rolls her eyes at you whilst you place the two articles of clothing back into your closet, the hangers clicking easily against the pole they’re hooked on.

“I do, I just like to annoy you.” Hearing the door click closed, you pull the linen shirt off its hangar and pull it over your head before you unbutton your jeans and pull the ‘fancy pants’ over your legs. Buttoning up the various buttons on the slacks, you quickly tuck your shirt in before opening the door and tapping Em on her head as you pass her.

“Shut up man.” You look back at Em when you reach the entrance, picking out your fanciest pairs of shoes to show her.

“Those look good?” She studies them for a second or two before nodding diligently, pulling on a pair of relatively fancy shoes too.

“They’re better than your beat up sneakers at least.” She shrugs at your offended look, almost telling you that it’s only fair since they are beat up.

“They still have at least two, three years left in them alright. There’s no need for new ones if they work just fine.” For the second time that day, you take your keys off the hook in the hall, letting Em walk out the open door before you so that you can lock everything up.

“Are we finally taking your car?” She asks, seeing the little metal key on your keychain with hers nowhere in sight. Normally you were insistent on taking hers as your baby was almost priceless, a reminder of home that you’d come to love over the past week, seeing as you’d gotten it shortly after signing your first professional contract.

“Yeah, I need to impress your brother, right?” Smirking cheekily over your shoulder, you see Em smiling widely at you as the lock on the door clicks closed, waiting for you to follow her into the elevator.

“Can I-” She starts off, the cool air in the lift making the hair on your arms raise, the skin becoming all prickly like that of a goose.

“No.” You can see the way Em pouts almost like a petulant child through the mirror, her arms crossed over her chest as she glares at you.

“You don’t even know what I was about to ask you.” Raising a single eyebrow at her, you look down at her through the corner of your eye, like you did more often than you were willing to admit.

“No, but I do know you and that’s enough, no one other than me will ever drive my car.” The late afternoon sun glows bright orange like hot coals as the two of you step out into the humid air, the garage not too far away from the building’s entrance. Picking out the right key, you quickly unlock the door before pulling it up, revealing the gorgeous red ‘67 Mustang that Em always wanted you to drive.

The girl in question wolf whistles when she sees the car, a hand coming up to shelter her eyes from the sun beaming into them, moving towards you with slow steps. Walking into the garage, you motion for the other girl to open the door on the passenger side as you plop down into the driver’s seat. 

You don’t have to feel around for very long to find the ignition, as you push the clinking keys in, smiling satisfied as the motor revs up loudly. Applying a small amount of pressure to the gaspedal, it’s not long until you’ve navigated your way out of the garage successfully and pulled onto the main road.

Pulling the seat belt over your body as soon as you’ve made it out to the main road, you waste no time in pulling your sunglasses out of their compartment and putting them over your eyes so as to not get completely blinded by the sun.

“Okay, give me the rundown of your brother, likes and dislikes, hobbies, aspirations, all the basic knowledge apart from him looking like the rat from flushed away.” Tapping your fingers against the steering wheel, you peek down at the phone that’s currently giving you directions for the restaurant, the beautiful nature almost mesmerizing.

“His full name is Callum Adam Whitmore, he’s 23 years old and he plays basketball for UConn. He likes sports, hitting on anything that has a pulse, pretending he knows how to play the guitar and pretentiously explaining movies. He dislikes losing, being told no by our parents and me on a few occasions. Hobbies are partying and gaming, aspires to go to the NBA. That’s all.” Em lists, giving you all the information you need to adequately make the assumption that Callum Adam Whitmore is kind of an arse.

“Well he sounds…nice?” There’s no denying how questionable you sound, clearly not believing the words coming out of your own mouth. Em looks at you over the tops of her own glasses, giving you a skeptical look.

“No he doesn’t, he’s an ass and to use the correct terminology, a fuckboy.” Em pushes her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose, turning the knobs on the inbuilt stereo for it to start playing music, ‘My Girl’ by The Temptations flowing softly out the speakers.

“Sing with me grumpy! I’ve got so much honey, the bees envy me, I’ve got a sweeter song, than the birds in the trees.” She sings loudly, her hands gesturing for you to join her in singing as you shake your head, a small smile on your face at her antics. “Come on, sing it man! I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way?”

Finally relenting at the last second possible, you join the older girl in song happily.

“My girl, my girl, my girl, talkin’ ‘bout my girl.” Tapping along to the beat just as the last note of the song rings out, you pull into the parking lot of the restaurant, effectively ending the little karaoke session you were participating in.

“Holy shit man, that went so fast.” Em pats your shoulder as you pull into a parking space at the corner of the big parking lot, taking the keys out of the ignition before you fold your sunglasses and place them back into their compartment.

“Perks of having a really fast car.” Waiting from the brunette to step out of the car, you don’t waste a second in locking up the extremely expensive piece of machinery. You take a second to fix your hair in the rear view mirror, even though you don’t really know why, there wasn’t really anyone in that restaurant to impress now that you knew that Em’s brother was a total ass, but your instinct told you to. 

“Can you hurry up?” The girl in question asks from her place in front of the restaurant door and you send her a sarcastic smile in response, half running half walking up to her.

She doesn’t say anything as she pushes the door open, in fact she doesn’t say anything until you two reach the hostess stand where she tells the worker the name of the reservation.

As the worker leads the two of you over to the table there’s a million different thoughts running through your head, why were you nervous? Why did it feel like your stomach was about to explode? Why were there so many tables in the restaurant?

You only really tune back into the real world around you when Em pinches your side, her head turned towards a table with a man sitting alone, presumably her brother. The man stands up and walks around the table to reach your side, bringing your friend into a familial embrace, before he turns to you and sticks his hand out.

There’s no avoiding the sense of deja vu you get from the action, remembering the girl from the party almost a week ago who’d done the exact same thing, but then again it was the most common form of introducing yourself.

“Cal Whitmore.” His voice is on the deeper side, not Darth Vader deep but definitely on the deeper side of the spectrum. His calloused hand grips onto yours in a confident handshake, fingers gripping onto yours harder than needed, which fits the cocky description Em had put forth.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” You smile staley at him, the man moving back to his side of the table as you pull out the chair for the girl beside you, only sitting down when she’s settled.

“So, where’s your darling date Cal?” Em asks her older brother teasingly, looking around the restaurant like she’d appear just out of anywhere.

“Calm yourself Em, she went to wash her hands.” He leans back in his chair cockily, his eyes glued to the backside of one of the waitresses passing by like some horny teenage boy.

“You know what, he does kind of look like the rat from Flushed Away.” You lean in closer to Em as you whisper, studying the man’s face carefully and noticing increasing similarities between the stopmotion rat and the tall man.

“Em, what the fuck, have you been telling people that I look like the rat from Flushed Away again? I don’t look like the fucking rat from Flushed Away, stop telling people that.” He looks at the girl beside you in disappointment, his thin lips turning down quickly. Well that was until a sweet voice cut in, a soft hand with fingers adorned with rings placed on his shoulder, moving down to his chest softly.

“What has she done now?” That accented voice was familiar, and as your eyes trail up from the stranger's hand to her chest and then lastly to her face you soon realize why it was so damn familiar. The careful upwards tug of her lips to the slight curls of her hair and the furrow in her brow, there was no denying that the girl standing before you was someone you recognized.

Fucking hell, you’d just taken your best friend’s brother’s girlfriend out on a date a mere week before meeting him officially. You were officially fucked.

[temis-de-leon]

The brothers reunite with Trans!MC - Part 1

Main Masterlist

Part 2

Anon request: How do you think the Obey Me brothers would react to a trans (AFAB) reader? Like they spent their given amount of time in the Devildom, went back to the human world for a long enough time to get both top surgery and a hysterectomy (so at least a couple years), maybe some testosterone too if they wanted it. Then when the time comes to go back to the Devildom, the brothers almost wonder if they got the right human! And yet the human's pacts, personality, and verbal recounts are too detailed + specific to be fabricated - they did get the correct person, even though they look quite different now

A/N: there are two parts for this request because the introduction alone is 600 words, but don't worry because I'm writing the second part right now. I could've made this an only part, but I didn't want it to be super long <33

Also, please tell me if I'm incorrect regarding the trans experience in any part of this. I'll gladly correct it.

.

You would think time is a different concept to immortal beings like them. They’ve been alive for thousands of years, so what’s a couple more in comparison? What feels like an eternity for you probably translates to the blink of an eye in their standards. However, what no one expected was how desperately they’d need you once you went back home.

It started with the constant chatting and their messages keeping your fingers glued to your DDD for almost an entire week since your departure. Of course, it became a problem when you couldn’t even get dressed without them demanding your attention and immediate response, so it quickly changed to phone calls.

As a result, less than a couple of months later, while you worked to adapt once more to your mundane human life, hearing you talk with your mysterious friends on the speaker became the new normal for everyone around you.

They organised themselves to not overwhelm you, assigning turns to each other so everyone could have equal opportunities to keep in touch with you. As expected, not all of them respected their brothers’ time with you, but that’s something you would only know thanks to your access to their private chats.

And as you can imagine, they entertain you quite a lot.

One day they’re detailing a normal day at RAD and the next they’re explaining why Lucifer hanged the six of them and even Lord Diavolo for most of the weekend.

It’s not like they’re looking for trouble, but they still manage to find it.

And you can bet all your money they will be telling you all about it.

You’re thankful, though.

Somehow, although not that surprisingly, their stories become a great source of comfort once you’re alone during your hospital stay or while in bed, letting your body recover. Their nonsense gives you a strange sense of normalcy that keeps everything around you simpler and easier to process.

Your body might’ve changed, but some things will always stay the same.

The most difficult part of all is lying to the brothers about why you’re at the hospital.

It isn’t like you actively want to keep them in the dark. After all, they’re your friends, the ones who love you and would accept you no matter your appearance, but they do have a tendency to carry everything to an extreme and you seriously doubt they’d change that in a matter of seconds.

However, days turn to weeks and months and, although you physically get better, you still keep it a secret from the brothers. Is it the guilt? You’re not sure. It eats you alive and you berate yourself daily for hiding something so important from people who adore you so much, yet you’re unable to confess.

It all comes to an end when you suddenly bump into Solomon in the middle of the street.

Which is actually… kind of weird?

Despite being the one physically closest to you, you’ve barely seen the sorcerer since you both left the Devildom a couple of years ago. Normally, he’s too occupied to respond to your check-up messages right away, let alone hang out with you, so the sight of him leaves you dumbfounded.

Funnily enough, the sight of you also leaves him dumbfounded.

You both stare at each other for more than a couple of seconds while your brains process the situation.

And before you can realise what’s happening, you’re falling.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez

[rubinaitoart]

#FiddleStantober2024 -- Day 1: First Meeting (yes I know I'm 7 days late)

Writing blurb to go along with it under the cut!

It’s cold and wet. Fiddleford stands alone on a street corner, holding a ratty old satchel over his head to stave off the thick snowflakes. He didn’t have a good coat—couldn’t find it, can’t remember where he left it—so he’s left to walk around in a thin sweater over an equally thin shirt, which the snowflakes soak into and dampen like rain. 

He waits for the walk signal to come on. Did he push the button? Ought’a push it again, just to be sure. His thumb clicks against the icy metal. How long was this light going to take?

“You can just walk across, y’know.”

Fiddleford nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks over his shoulder to see an umbrella, unconsciously counting the fingers—one, two, three, four, five—and then he slowly looks up at the man’s face. Five fingers; yet he’s met with Stanford’s face, framed in a scraggly mullet and equally scraggly scruff along his jaw. The man slowly lifts his eyebrows.

“Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Not-Stanford says. He doesn’t talk like Stanford. His shoulders are stiff and straight, whereas Stanford often slouches; there’s dark circles under his eyes, but he doesn’t look manic. Just tired. Fiddleford blinks once, twice. A third time just to be sure—it’s still Stanford’s face, but not his eyes staring back at him.

“You jus’ look like someone I know.” Fiddleford croaks out. “Knew.” He hastily corrects himself. “Someone I knew.” 

Not-Stanford nods slowly. “You knew him enough, though. Most’a the hicks in this town think I’m my weird recluse of a brother.” He grins thinly, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and waggles the fingers on one hand. “But you know. I saw you countin’ my fingers.”

“Stanford had a brother?” Not-Stanford’s smile drops, and Fiddleford kicks himself for blurting it out like that. “Sorry—sorry, he jus’ didn’t talk ‘bout his personal life real much.” 

“Mm.” The other man grunts. Then, he holds his hand out—for a handshake, Fiddleford realizes, and he quickly grabs the much larger hand with a trembling grip. “M’name’s Stanley. Jeeze, you’re really shaky.” 

Fiddleford doesn’t really know what to say. He squirms a little in discomfort, quickly tucking his arms close to his chest and hugging his old satchel. “Cold.” He finally mutters. There’s a long, awkward silence that stretches out between them. Fiddleford steals a glance at the walk signal—still hasn’t changed, did he push the button? 

“Alright.” Stanley grumbles all of a sudden, stealing Fiddleford’s attention away from the crosswalk and the button he can’t remember pressing. All of a sudden he finds a warm jacket draped over his shoulders—ugh, what was that smell?—and a warm cap tugged over his ears with semi-gloved hands. “Where do you live?”

How does one tell a near-stranger, ‘I don’t live anywhere, and the motel I was staying at just kicked me out?’

“I, uh… well, y’see…” 

Stanley heaves a long, suffering sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyebrows scrunched together in a scowl. There’s several seconds of silence before he speaks through slightly gritted teeth. “I guess you’re coming with me, then.” 

“I don’t want to be a bother—“ Fiddleford quickly shuts up as Stanley shoots him a withering look, one that clearly says there’s no room for argument. He’s baffled. The man clearly doesn’t want to be doing any of this, and yet he’s being so forceful in his… kindness? Pity? Fiddleford doesn’t know what to make of it. But maybe he shouldn’t turn down a chance at staying somewhere warm for a bit. “… thank you.” He mumbles, to which Stanley only offers a low grunt in response.

[ellieswifie]

cuddling w chris while watching a movie in his bed and falling asleep on his chest and he finds it so cute and falls asleep after

cuddling with chris then falling asleep

𐙚 shortish fic!

warnings: boyfriend!chris, slight angst,

authors note: this has been in the drafts for a while sorry about that, but i was just watching ‘a walk to remember’ and thought hey how about i finally get up and start posting some fics.

˗ˋ.*✧·˚ ೃ࿔₊•

CHRIS ISN’T THE SUPER AFFECTIONATE TYPE. sure he’ll want to go out on cute dates here and there, or do cheesy couple things, but if you ask him to couple up on the coach or in his room and watch cheesy romo coms his first response will be no.

you weren’t always annoyed by this though. you knew how scary it is for him to be a relationship considering how intense youtube has been for him, but it always deep down seems to bother you.

it was a late thursday night and chris had just finished filming with his brothers when he noticed you sitting on the couch strolling through instagram with a cheesy movie on, he couldn’t help but smile a little bit. nick had editing to do so he immediately darted to his room, while matt sat on the opposite end of the couch, staring at his phone.

you looked up at chris, smiling before bringing your eyes back to the tv. "how was filming?" you asked, leaning for the blanket to your right, and covering your lower half.

chris groaned, laying his head on top of your from behind the sofa. "you know how hectic filming is." you really do. as his girlfriend you’ve only been in a few videos bc of how creepy and weird the fandom is, but it does get a little intense.

“yeah…" you muttered, shutting of your phone and making room on the couch for chris. "we could watch a movie? something less cheesy."

chris straightened, looking at you then his brother. "umm maybe we could watch it in my room? and it’s your turn to pick a movie."

your eye brows scrunched as you looked at matt. matt looked up from his phone, confused as he looked at you and chris. then it clicked in his head and he immediately stood up from the couch. "oh no! by all means i’m going to my room. sitting in a room with just the two of you is like sitting in a room with-"

"okay thank you matt!" chris said stopping him from finishing his sentence. you giggled as you also stood up from the couch. "but is okay we can just watch in my room. besides i’m already exhausted."

matthew nodded, but still dashed to his bedroom down the hall. in his head he was taking no chances.

you wrapped your blanket around your shoulders, and slipped into your slippers beside you on the couch. it was nearly twelve o’clock so you were already dressed and ready for bed. you had no plans staying the night due to your crazy early classes in the morning, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

chris moved beside wrapping a lazy arm around your shoulders as you guys made your way upstairs.

you sat on his bed, while he made his way towards his dresser, looking for some pjs to toss on. he ended up finding some plaid pajamas and a plain white t-shirt to toss on. he grabbed his laptop from the corner of the room, before settling on the bed beside you.

"so we can watch anything but the notebook. deal?" chris said opening the laptop. you groaned, pushing yourself into his long arms.

"come on you forced me to watch some karate movie a few nights ago."

chris gasped as he remembered last movie night. "karate kid is the movie of the century. you can not dis on that movie ever babe."

your eyes rolled, as your moved your hands to the keyboard. “yeah yeah, whatever." you opened netflix, scrolling through the now trending movies, to then opening the romance movies.you see the past movies your boyfriend had been a baby through, and you simply just giggle to yourself. but when your eyes land on a walk to remember you gasp while chris groans,

"again?" he whines, looking at the title.

“what do you mean again? we’ve never watched this together." you correct, looking at him. he kisses your forehead gently, looking down at you. "but you have and that doesn’t seem fair." he replies.

"alright fine." you say, clicking out the movie preview and continuing to scroll.

chris frowns looking at the change in tone. as much as he hates romance movies he hates upsetting you more. "wait no if you really want to watch it we can."

"no im not going to force you to watch something you don’t want to watch." you say, trying not to sound annoyed or sad.

“no im serious we can watch it. you just have to promise not to fall asleep." he says, smiling at your face slightly light up.

you click back in the movie, rubbing your face against into your boyfriends chest. "no promises. i’m already sleepy." you giggle, while chris rubbed his fingers through your messy hair.

and you were beyond right. twenty minutes in you were passed out. snoring slightly and holding chris like he was a teddy bear. he wasn’t even watching the movie, he was watching you.

the way you were smiling at something in your sleep and slightly drooling seemed so adorable to him. your hair was just scatted across his chest while he kept playing around with your loose strands.

his eyes glanced at his phone in his hand and frowned at how late it was. he turned off the running movie, putting the laptop on his end table, being so careful not to wake you.

you rolled over to your side, so you were completely against chris’ chest. he just couldn’t stop smiling.

he rubbed your cheeks slightly, before kissing your temple good night, drifting asleep with you in his arms moments later here with you.

[satellitespinner]

✼ mommy issues .. (two)

a/n: PLEASE READ CONTENT WARNINGS ! holy gyat i just ate good chilli and it made me wanna get pregnant ANYWAYS.. i was gonna add spice but i found out the girl i like had a crush on a dude so you get more angst:) enjoy

content warnings: ANGST readers child is described to have curly hair, reader is of spanish speaking descent. (or atleast speaks it.) we on some white people shit lowk… ellie is good with kids😍😍😍😍😍 reader works in a hospital! you kids lowk an ass.. ellie has another panic attack. ellie still sad. CANADA MENTIONED RAAAHHHHHHHH cat brought up!!!! we almost get a kith…. this bitch is not proofread

wc: 4.4k

taglist @flowersforvi @ellslvr @saturnsdrafts @3lli3l0v3r @williamssgirl @liasxeatt @adelaide013 @a-little-bit-of-everybody @elliessweetheart @pedropascalsbbg @ellies2missingfingers @nelzooo @r3starttt @jaeminpookie @onlinelesbo @tphmnv @p4ison1vy @pascals-doll @snowy-vee @diddiqueen @littlegingerperson5 @ellieslob @elliessluutt @macaroni676

a few days later ellie finds herself sitting in a booth at her work with her two colleagues. tonight was the first time she was going to babysit your son, and she was terrified

she found that in this moment was the first time her thoughts weren’t plagued of joel since he died.

“i swear! not even light years could dim such a woman.” ellie describes you as if you were a goddess. well, to her you were.

“can you shut the fuck up with that weird space shit and talk like a normal person?”

jesse scolds jokingly. he winces in pain as dina’s foot meets his shin under the table.

“whatever, dude. it’s true.” the girl sulks.

“hey! speaking of space nerd shit. how’s school going, el?” dina asks with a smile on her face.

little did she know the mere mention of school caused gut plummeting anxiety for ellie.

“uhh, it’s good. it’s- school, you know?.” ellie mutters, there isn’t much to say. besides the fact that she’s gonna fail if she doesn’t scrape together a thousand dollars for fucking textbooks.

sometimes ellie wondered if dina struggled with money. she works this shitty waitressing job for twenty bucks an hour, and she has a son. but then again, she didn’t have the burden of school on top of all her other responsibilities.

the table goes quiet after ellie’s response. she’s not one to open up about her personal life. she only told dina about joel dying a few weeks ago.

joel. joel.

ellies mind clouds over. like a switch that clicked, making her go from happy to sad in a matter of seconds. she was always like that.

“ellie?” she hears a feminine voice break her out of her trance. a sympathetic expression on dina’s face when ellie looks up at her.

“sorry. what did you say?” she throws in a fake smile to distract from the fact that she was on the brink of another panic attack.

the last time she had a panic attack at work she was so embarrassed she didn’t come in for a week.

“i asked if you needed a ride tonight. y’know cause of the baby sitting.” dina offers, again.

ellie thinks about arguing with the girl, but she decides against it. knowing she’ll just end up in dina’s passenger seat anyway.

“yeah that would be awesome. thanks.” ellie couldn’t help but feel even more guilty every time dina offered. she felt like she was taking advantage of her. even though she knew she wasn’t.

ellie huffs out of her cheeks before standing up from the booth. “time to get back to work.” she jokingly frowns. causing jesse to laugh.

“it was time to get back to work 10 minutes ago.” he corrects in a ‘told you so’ tone as they start walking back to their designated areas.

“fuck off.” she peers, stopping so dina can catch up to them. she sticks her tongue out at jesse when dina places a hand on her shoulder.

“what a gentlewoman, she’s gonna love you.” she whispers and shoots ellie a wink. leaving ellie flustered yet rolling her eyes.

6:45

you had to be at work in an hour and your son was not cooperating.

“felix!” you shriek, the child was running around with a cheeto you gave him 3 hours ago. you fight the urge to laugh at his un styled curls and grimey face, but your stern mom facade over rode.

“¡vuelve aquí niño sucio!”

(“come back here dirty boy”)

he continued to run wild like a chicken with no head. you start to get sick of his behavior and put your foot down.

“felix. now.”

he stops in his tracks at your stern tone. he sulks as he makes his way to you. you smile at his obedience.

you take his gross cheeto and toss it into the trash. he pouts at your action which causes you to scoff. “put that lip away, chiquito.” you tease him.

he lightens up fast. his sad attitude being replaced with a toothy smile. it was infectious. whenever he was happy, you were happy.

“there we go!” you laugh as you zip up his sweater. he scrambles away before you could wipe the dirt off of his face. you sigh.

you picked your battles with him.

you decided to shoot ellie a quick text, hoping to prepare her for your crazy kid.

ellie’s running around the house in hopes to baby-proof the place when she gets a text from you.

sexy neighbor: hey ellie! he’s almost ready, and please excuse the dirt on his face. i promise i’m not a bad mom lol.

she smiles and begins to type back.

ellie: all good haha, is there any specific allergies or things you need done tonight?

she shuts off her phone and continues to clean up, moving the whiskey on the counter into the high parts of her cupboard.

she runs to her room and changes into a pair of gray sweats and a clean hoodie.

sexy neighbor: nope no allergies! could you make him dinner? if it’s to big of an ask i can totally send something! just say the word.

ellie: oh absolutely. i already planned to make him dinner anyway.

sexy neighbor: oh wow thank you so much, you’re going to be a great babysitter i’m sure 😉

ellie’s cheeks heat up at the text. you were such a mom. she thought to herself. she was just going to like the message when another comes through.

sexy neighbor: he is insisting to bring his coloring supplies. i hope that’s okay..?

ellie: oh wow were going to get along well. that’s totally fine :)

sexy neighbor: thanks sweetheart

a few minutes ellie’s front door is being knocked on by a small hand. when she opens the door she’s met with a backpack clad felix and you. in scrubs.

“hi!” she exclaimed as soon as she opened the door, her words mostly directed at the young boy.

“hello!” your son replies quickly. “i brought toys for us to play with!” she tells her, like he’s known her forever.

“oh thank god.” she puts a hand over her heart as she crouches down to his level.

“toys r’ scarce around here..” she warns. felix looks at her confused, but you laugh.

ellie stands up and puts out her hand for the boy to take, which he does. you smile at the interaction before crouching down to him.

“te amo, cariño” you gently whispered into his ear as you give him a small peck.

you stand up quickly and pull ellie in for a quick hug as well.

“thank you, again.” you sighed into the hug as you expressed your gratitude. ellie smiled at you. she really wanted to kiss you right now.

“don’t sweat it, now get going mom. you’re gonna be late!” she jokes as she looks down at your son.

“you’re right. i should go.” you make your way to the car and get in. you roll down your window and blew kisses at your son, who was now in ellie’s arms. you shoot ellie a wink before taking off.

ellie puts your son down, keeping his hand interlocked with hers as she takes him inside.

“hey kid, does your mom speak spanish?”

—————————————————————-

you found yourself immediately trusting ellie when you first met her. her green eyes reminded you of your own sons.

you saw yourself in her quite a bit, you could tell she was hurting. when she opened up to you that night in your kitchen about her father you could tell.

she told you she had grown up without a mother and all you could think about was nurturing and comforting her like she deserved.

you also saw the way she looked at you.

ellie found great comfort in your sons presence. he distracted her from her usual routine, which wasn’t the healthiest..

currently, felix had ellie drawing each one of his toy cars.

“like this?” she asks, flipping the paper to show him her drawing of a red car.

“no!” he denies before showing his own. a paper full of scribbles with his name poorly printed at the top.

“ohhh.. i see.” she says before flipping the paper back to herself and scribbling atop her original drawing.

“like this?” she asks once again.

“yes!” he confirms. ellie laughs at his childish antics.

the boy had requested a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner around 8:30.

“yeah i could go for a grilled cheese right now.” ellie agrees as she pats his head.

ellie had mastered the art of cooking before she was 14. when joel started fostering her the first thing she asked him was if she could use the kitchen.

although she would do anything to do that for her career, in this economy there was no chance. so she settled on astrophysics. and boy was it expensive.

she just hoped that everything would work out and she could make joel proud.

your shift was fucking exhausting. first, some random psych patient spit in your face. then, you spilt coffee all over yourself not even halfway through the night.

you were ready to go home and see your baby.

you had texted ellie a few times throughout the night for updates and she replied with something positive every time.

ellie next door: yeah he’s fine don’t worry! hes coloring right now.

you: awh that’s my boy. i hope he’s not being to much.

ellie next door: nope not too much at all

ellie next door: *one attachment*

he says hi mama !

you: oh my god aweeeeeee you two are so cute.

you smiled and saved the image to your camera roll without hesitation. it was a picture of your son at ellie’s kitchen table, markers and paper littered her table.

the reflection of her on the black television caught her smiling widely as he waved at the camera.

you: did he eat anything yet?

ellie next door: yep! he requested a grilled cheese. he also had some snacks earlier.

you: perfectttt you’re a life saver!

ellie contemplates how she should respond to your message. she could start flirting or she could img fucking chill and be normal.

she chose the latter.

ellie next door: haha! it’s really no problem :)

ellie had put your son to bed in her bedroom rather than the couch. the kid had toddled in there before ellie could reach him.

she tried to chase him down but his curiosity made him fast and sneaky.

“get back here lil’ man!” she giggles as his tiny feet smack against the hardwood floors.

he giggles as he ran away from her, running into the first open door he sees, that being ellie’s room.

he was awestruck by the many comic book posters and the guitar in the corner of the room was where he was headed.

before ellie grabbed him, that is.

“i don’t think so.” she laughs as she picks him up with ease. gently tossing him onto the bed.

“you have a boys room. but you’re a girl.” the boy points out, not in a bad way. ellie could tell he was just stating what he saw.

“yeah thanks for telling me i didn’t know.”

by the time you arrived home the sun was about to come up, and you were fucking exhausted. you contemplated asking ellie to keep him the rest of the night, but you didn’t.

your kid, your responsibility. you reminded yourself. as you knocked on ellie’s door.

pajama clad ellie opens the door with a smile, welcoming you in immediately.

“hey ellie, how was it?” you ask with a yawn. she guides you over to her kitchen island. her house layout almost identical to yours.

ellie smiles and describes her night with your son in great detail. your heart melts at the way her face lights up during certain points of her story. she recalls how she chased him around after dinner and he insisted on sleeping in her room.

your reach into your purse and searched your wallet, you spoke as your hands fumbled in your bag.

“i really cannot thank you enough,” you begin, finally pulling out your wallet and pulling out a few twenties for ellie. she looks confused as you try to pass them to her, putting her hands out to decline.

“you already paid me, remember?” you nod - urging her to take the extra cash.

“i just wanted to give you a little extra.” you smile and ellie almost cries. she held it together though, she probably told you thank you about forty times before you laughed and told her it wasnt a problem.

ellie lead you to her bedroom to retrieve your son, who was dead asleep underneath her planet print bedsheets. ellies cheeks turned pink when you giggled and said; “nice sheets, el.”

you tried to gently wake your son but he wasn't having it. you grabbed his arm to pull him out of the bed. he groans and slides himself underneath the covers. you are fully on your knees at this point. “i swear, if you embarrass me.” you threaten in a whisper so ellie didn't hear, she still did.

ellie chuckled lowly. “he can sleep here, its pretty late anyways.” she smiled.

you slightly bit your lip. “are you sure?” it wasn't ellie that you didn't trust, it was your kid. ellie wasn't hearing it.

“positive.”

sleepovers at ellies became a recurring thing after that. your son was so excited everytime she babysat and it made your heart so full.

this time in particular your son was extra excited. ellie had promised him ice cream for not putting up a fight to leave the previous time.

usually she greeted you at the door with a smile and a hug. but this time she didn’t answer at all..

“mama where’s ellie?” your son asked. “i don’t know baby.” you reply with a raise of your eyebrow.

you saw her arrive home, you two even spoke briefly before she went in to unwind. she seemed dull today.

you knew something wasn’t right so you decided to go in. your son followed you close behind. you sat him on the couch and advised him not to move.

the house was dark. you slowly stepped down the hallway.

“ellie? honey?” you called out, to your surprise there was no reply. a shiver crept up your spine.

you walked until you were faced with her bedroom door. it was slightly open. so you knocked before you stepped inside.

“ellie?”

the door cracked open as you entered. you didn’t know what to expect but it definitely wasn’t that.

ellie was laying in her bed, fetal position. sobbing her brains out. you were surprised you didn’t hear her when you were walking down the hall.

she gasped for air as you rushed to her. you sit down and sit her up so her back is against the headboard.

“shh, you’re okay. i’m here.” those words, although comforting triggered even more tears to fall. she didn’t know what she was doing.

the girl screamed in your arms for what felt like forever and you just sat there and held her. you whispered sweet words into her ears and rubbed circles on her back.

eventually your son had run through the door. a little gasp leaving his lips at the sight of ellie.

“ellie are you okay!?” he practically screamed in her face. you took your free hand and tried to shove him out the door.

ellie’s loud cries turned into soft sniffles as he wouldn’t leave. your son practically jumped onto her to try and make her feel better. your heart drops but ellie just laughs and pulls him into a deep hug.

ellie looks to you as your son babbles absolute nonsense into her shoulder.

“i’m really sorr-“ she starts, but you instantly cut her off.

“absolutely none of that.” you say, in your mom voice. her eyes widen at your tone.

“can you stay with els while i make a quick phone call?” you ask your son. he stands up tall. “yes!” he nods as if he were superman. you and ellie both laugh.

ellie knew exactly what put her in that position. her entire day was fucked from the beginning.

she should've called out of work when she woke up from a dream nightmare about joel.

she couldn’t stop thinking about the dream while doing her morning routine, or skating to work. which ended with her on the ground and her board in half.

if that wasn’t enough, while she was on her shift her ex walks in.

“you’ve got to be kidding me.” she whisper-yells as she watches the black haired, tattoo ridden girl takes a seat. with a new girl.

there was no way in hell she was going to serve them. she couldn’t ask dina, her table kept sending back the food. ellie was ready to go over there and rip them a new one. she refrained.

jesse couldn’t, obviously. she wasn’t going to ask sam. she looked like she was also on the verge of tears. i guess everyone’s having a shitty day. she thought to herself as she walked over to cats table. except you.

“ellie! hey!” cat smiled, she wasn’t happy to see ellie, it was an evil smile. she was happy to terrorize ellie.

“i forgot you worked here!” she continues, earning an eye roll from ellie. sure you did, bitch.

ellie keeps it short and sweet. oh how badly she wanted to ask if this was her new girlfriend. but she didn’t.

“what can i get for you?” she asks, she didn’t even bother plastering a fake smile on her face.

cat and her whatever she is tell ellie there orders and she’s out of there. she doesn’t even give out her scripted response of.

“great choices! that’ll be right out for you!”

she just leaves.

when ellie returns with the two plates the pair look to be in deep conversation.

perfect ellie thought. she could just put down the food and get the fuck out of there-

“so how’s joel?!” cat asks, her lips pursed and her hands intertwined underneath her chin. ellie takes a deep breath. she should’ve docked cat in the face. she didn’t.

the fucking nerve that this bitch has.

ellie doesn’t reply. she turns around and speed walks back to the kitchen where she breaks down for the first time that day. dina ended up finding her and bringing her home early.

to top off her picture perfect fucking day. ellie gets home and finds a new email from her prof. she quickly skims through. as soon as she read the words “cost” and a four digit number, she was done.

her wobbly legs about to give out underneath her as she lays down on her bed. she takes a few deep breaths but it doesn’t help.

she didn’t even hear you come in. but soon enough you were rubbing her back and telling her that it was going to be okay.

she couldn’t help but cry more because the last person to comfort her like that was him.

eventually you calmed her down. you left for a few minutes and came back with a glass of water and a few pain killers.

“take these, your head must be killing you.” you sit down next to her and rub her back as she throws the pills back.

god. ellie felt like such a child.

“good girl.” you whisper as she takes a few more deep breaths. eventually calming completely. the comment didn’t pass hee though. her cheeks (among other things.) were suddenly hot and sticky from tears.

she turned to make eye contact with you, her eyes blood shot. you wondered how long she had been crying for.

the first words that left ellie’s mouth were simple. “did you still want that ice cream, lil man?” your son jumped up and down before grabbing her hand and pulling her off into the kitchen.

ellie had sat him down with a kind portion of chocolate ice cream before she walked up to you.

“hes more than welcome to sleep here tonight. if you don’t feel like picking him up.” she clarifies. her hands on her hips.

“oh ellie, i called out of work. we’re both staying.” ellie’s jaw drops. she instantly starts shaking her head in denial.

“no no you didn’t need to do that trust me, i’m really fine-” you pull her in for a hug to shut her up. you hold her tightly as she sighs into your shoulder.

“i’m sorry.” she whispers. you could only imagine how embarrassed she must’ve been.

“don’t be. you’re human.” you reassure her. you wanted to cry now too. you knew she was going through a bit of money trouble but how broken was this girl?

that night after your son went to bed you listened to ellie rant about her life for hours.

for the most part she held back tears but when she brought up joel you could tell it was hard.

you didn’t pry, or ask questions. you just listened. you listened to the good and the bad.

you two laughed when she told you about when she kissed her best friend riley, and then cried when she told you that riley had moved to canada and that they haven’t talked since.

you had told ellie about how you discovered you were a lesbian during your marriage.

you were bruh shocked to find your now ex-husband very cool with it.

she found out that you guys shared custody and he owned a house in a different part of the city. ellie was a bit envious of your seemingly normal life. you didn’t have to worry about money. atleast, not as much as she did.

you were nodding along as ellie told you about joel. joel had fostered ellie since she was twelve, he adopted her officially when she was sixteen.

she told you how he taught her the guitar, and let her get a tattoo before she turned eighteen.

ellie and joel’s relationship was rocky before he passed. ellie was going through that age where she needed a mother when she started acting out.

“i was always angry.” she confessed. “i would say the cruelest things to him and he would just,” she paused, looking for the right word. “he just took it.”

you frowned at this.

if you had known about any of this you would have never thrown your kid at her for half the week.

among the bad, you also learned a few interesting things about ellie.

she really liked to cook, and she was fucking good at it. you discovered that when she pulled out leftover pasta and served it to you like you were a member of the royal family.

eventually it was your turn to talk her ear off. however, there wasn’t much to tell, you thought.

“uhm- my favorite movie is tangled.” you laughed. ellie blew a raspberry.

“oh c’mon mama, you didn’t have like - a crazy childhood?” she asked. mama, huh?

you shrugged and spoke “not much to tell.” ellie rolls her eyes.

“alrighty then.” she ponders for a moment before speaking “you wanna watch a movie?” she asked, smiling like a fox. you felt your core tighten.

you accepted her offer and she reached out and helped you off her bar stool.

“what a gentle woman.”

“so i’ve been told.”

you and ellie didn’t settle on a movie. she sat you down and told you that you were watching tangled.

you put your hands up in defense. “if you insist.”

“i do insist.” she lays a soft pink blanket over the two of you as the movie begins.

“didn't picture you as much of a pink girl.” you state, covering your arms up with the blanket.

“m’ not, it’s just for you.” she says, her eyes only leaving the television to meet your own.

“just for me?” you ask, putting a hand over your chest in flattery.

“mhm” she replies with a wink and turns her focus back to the tv. it was your turn to feel flustered at her actions. she was quite the flirt apparently.

rapunzel was currently interrogating eugene when you turned to ellie.

“this is also his favorite movie.” ellie smiled at the fact. “is it really?” she laughed. not a condescending laugh, but more of a ‘that’s the cutest thing i’ve ever heard’ laugh.

“it is! he loves it so much, it’s adorable.” you tell her.

“you’re adorable” ellie accidentally admits. her face flushing when she’s noticed what she said.

she’s about to profusely apologize and possibly crawl in a hole and die when you giggle.

“i could say the same about you.” you whisper, shifting your body a little closer to her own. you were already close, but now your thighs were touching.

you tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, her eyes still on the screen. you burn holes in the side of her face. she doesn’t budge.

“ellie?” you whisper, you see her swallow before turning to look at you.

“y-yeah?” her pupils had dilated just a bit and you swore her freckles were more prominent. maybe you were a bit too close-

“you’re very pretty.” you tell her, your eyes darting from her eyes to her lips. then back to her eyes again.

ellie didn’t respond, instead she smirked and licked her lips. “yeah, you think so?” she asks, mostly rhetorically but you answer anyway. “i know so.”

ellie’s lips are dangerously close to your own when she slips her hand under your chin.

“i think you’re the prettiest.” she whispers. you almost didn’t hear her.

you're closing the gap between you two when you hear your sons sleepy voice come out of nowhere. you and ellie both quickly pull away from each other and she clears her throat.

“‘punzel!” he cheers, one of his pant legs riding up his leg, his hair all frizzled. you both light-heartedly laugh at the boys appearance.

“c’mere, baby.” you bring your arms out from underneath the blanket. open for him to crawl into. he obliged and crakes into your lap. you couldn’t even be mad at him for being up so late at this point.

ellie reached up and strokes his hair gently.

fucking cockblock

[bjorntobeblue]

Jealousy, Jealously

Nathalie Björn x Reader

Summary: You and your best friend have always been close, but lately, there’s a tension you can’t shake. After a heated argument, you both realize that the feelings you’ve been hiding for so long might be stronger than you are willing to admit. As the distance grows, you can’t help but wonder if your connection has always been more than just friendship.

Word Count: 2k

Nathalie’s eyes widened in excitement when she heard Sonia pair you two up during practice to do the warm-up together. You’ve never gotten paired up since so many other girls are on the team. The chances of getting paired up with your best friend are slim to none. She gives you a smile that you quickly return as you jog up to her to get started on warm-up.

“Hey, Nat,” you say.

“Hey, Cap. Can’t believe we got paired up together! That's a first,” she laughs.

“I was just thinking that Sonia has a grudge against me. She never pairs me up with you, and she knows how much I love you, like, come on!”

Nathalie whips her head towards you. You immediately want to correct yourself, not wanting Nathalie to get the wrong impression because you didn’t mean it that way. Don’t get it twisted; you’ve had more than just friendly feelings for Nathalie for years, but you wouldn’t want her to know because the very high risk of her not liking you back and the fear of you ruining your friendship is too strong.

“What?” you say, pretending to be confused by her look.

“She knows you're my best friend and never pairs me up with you.”

Nathalie’s facial expression flashes a look of disappointment so fast you don’t know if you imagined it. You must’ve, though, because there’s no way Nathalie would like you like that.

“Oh, come on,” Nathalie starts to laugh awkwardly. “How can you say Sonia doesn’t like you when she made you Captain? That doesn’t seem like ‘grudge’ behavior to me,” Nathalie laughs.

“Ok, I guess that’s true.” You smile. “I wanted to talk to you about this weekend—”

You get cut off by Nathalie. “Oh great, I did too! I’m excited we planned this. We haven’t hung out together in forever since we’ve been so busy! So, since the movie is at 6:45, I thought we could meet at the theater at 6:10pm to get popcorn and candy and watch the previews for upcoming movies like usual. Then we could—"

You cut her off like she did to you. "No, Nat, I’m sorry, but I actually got asked out on a date yesterday, and she wanted to go to dinner this weekend. Can we reschedule? The movie will still be in theaters next weekend. Maybe we can go then?”

Nathalie responds, “Well, we have a game next weekend. That’s why we planned it for this weekend. I can’t believe you're ditching me to go on a date with some girl you’ve never even met. This'll probably end up nowhere like your dates normally do.”

Her response immediately takes you aback; you can tell she didn’t mean to say that last part out loud based on her facial expression. Nathalie isn’t one to snap at you. She is usually always playful and fun. To see her react like that, especially to you, was beyond weird and has never happened in your years of friendship. You expected her to agree to reschedule and maybe even wish you luck on your date, but not shame you.

You scoff at her. “Wow, tell me how you really feel. You know what, Nathalie? This seems to me like you’re jealous.”

Nathalie automatically tenses up and seems to freeze in place.

You continue. “You’re jealous that I have a life outside of football and actually date.”

She relaxes but still looks mad.

You continue. “Yeah, they usually end up nowhere, but at least I get asked out. Where are the people lined up to go out with you, Nathalie?”

Nathalie rolls her eyes. “Real childish y/n. I just think it’s really nice that you would make plans with someone when you already had plans with me. What kind of friend does that? Then you cancel on me at the last minute, too? That is so rude.”

“Why do you care so much if I go on a date?” you say.

“I—um, it’s not the date part that pisses me off; it’s the fact that you’d cancel this last minute on me for a shitty reason.” Nathalie flushes at her own words.

You then say, “It is a perfectly good reason, Nathalie; you’re being unreasonable. We don’t live far from each other, and the season is going to end soon. We'll have tons of time to hang out the whole break. Also, like you said, most of these dates don’t go anywhere, so why are you so mad?”

You are getting angrier now because this argument has been going on long enough, and you don’t want Sonia to see you guys arguing. It is doubtful that she isn’t aware of it because of how loud your voices have gotten and your other teammate's eyes already on you and Nathalie.

“I honestly don’t know, and quite frankly, I don’t care,” Nathalie says and continues, “It’s just very frustrating to me when we don’t hang out because of how busy we are, and you cancel; it’s rude.”

You interrupt her. “I know, Nathalie, you’ve given me the same reason three times and—”

A whistle blows, quickly interrupting you.

“Ok, I'll let warm-up go on for an extra 5 minutes for you two, but you guys have been bickering long enough. I tried to let you guys handle it by yourselves, but obviously that didn’t happen,” Sonia says. “You can figure this out on your own time, but I’ve got a practice to run.”

Nathalie looks at you and says, “This conversation isn’t over.”

Sunday (a few days later)

You missed Nathalie. You ended up canceling your date with the girl you were supposed to go out with yesterday, the day you got in the fight with Nathalie, because you have been sad about what happened with your best friend. You only really agreed to go on a date with the girl to get over your feelings for Nathalie in the first place.

It sucked pining over Nathalie knowing she’d never feel the same for you, and now that it seemed, since you haven’t talked in days, which was the opposite of normal for you two, that your friendship was probably over, that maybe you could finally get over your feelings for her. Maybe? Probably? You didn’t know. You just hoped so.

It was horrible pining over someone who didn’t love you back, and it would be even more terrible if you weren’t even friends anymore because of a stupid, petty argument, so not only was there no love, but now there was hostility added to the mix of feeling that Nathalie felt for you. You and she have never been in a fight before; that just wasn’t your friendship. It was weird to open your phone and not see text messages from her asking how your day was going so far or seeing her reply to your text messages. You haven't texted her since the fight. Still, it was different and not a good different either.

You are in your room, aimlessly scrolling through the channels on the TV, when you hear a sudden knock at your door. You ignored it since you assumed it was just a salesperson and weren’t expecting anyone.

About a minute later, you hear the knocking again, followed by your doorbell ringing. You pick up your phone to see what time it is; it reads 6:08. You get up to see who is at your door. You look out the peephole to see Nathalie standing there. You haven’t talked to her in days, so you are nervous about seeing her. You open the door slowly.

“Hi,” she says. You notice she has something in her hand.

“I brought dinner; I thought we could eat and talk if that’s ok?” She smiles shyly at you. You return the shy smile and say

“Oh! Um, yes, of course, come in.” You open your door to let her in.

“Where are we eating?” Nathalie asks

“In the living room is fine,” you say.

“Oh, special occasion.” She chuckles, “We never eat there; it’s usually the patio or kitchen table.”

Then, you both walk to the living room to sit on the couch, and Nathalie puts the food on the table in front of the sofa.

”I just thought we could be a little more comfortable while we talk, and you always tell me how much you like my couch, but then say how I need new house chairs, so I always thought you were hinting you wanted to eat in the living room, so here we are.” You smile.

Nathalie flushes at your comment.

“No, I never meant—”

You cut her off before she could fully start. “Nathalie, it’s okay. I'm messing with you,” you reassure her with a soft smile.

She lets out an exhale, and you see her relax. “I came here because I wanted to apologize. I did not like how I treated you a few days ago. I am very sorry that I said all those things to you. I did not mean any of them. If you want to go out on dates, that is not my or anyone else's business, so I am very sorry for how I reacted. I was very out of hand. And I also came because I need to tell you something,” Nathalie says.

You smile and say to her, “I don’t care about that stupid date; I just miss you. I canceled it because I was still upset about what happened between us,” you say, “and I wanted to apologize too,” you say. “I think I handled the situation very poorly, and our friendship will not last if I do that again. I should not have canceled on you at the last minute. That was so rude of me and poorly done on my part. And I accept your apology.” You smile at her kindly, “And is everything ok? What did you want to tell me?”

“I also accept your apology,” Nathalie says as she smiles.

But she still looks nervous, and now it’s making you anxious. You sit with Nathalie, staring at you, trying to avoid her gaze; you're the first to break the silence.

“Ok, Nathalie. Can you please just say whatever you need to say? You’re making me nervous.” You laugh awkwardly.

Nathalie looks up at you and begins to speak. “I tried so hard to ignore how I felt because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but it’s worth the risk of finding out if you feel the same,” Nathalie says.

Your heart starts to race; is she saying what you think she’s saying?

“I love you. I don’t know how or when it happened, but it just did, and I don’t know what will happen if you don’t feel the same, so if you don’t—oh god, I’m rambling. This is so embarrassing. I need to shut—”

You press your lips to hers. She opens her mouth in shock, and you sneak your tongue in. She moans into your mouth in pleasure. You pull her onto your lap, and she straddles your waist, one leg on each side of your thighs. You both continue to make out after getting into the new position. After about a minute or two of making out, she pulls away and says

“So does this mean…” She blushes.

“I love you too; I have for a while. It’s kind of funny; I had the same reason for not telling you I have feelings for you.” You say and smile at her, then pull her back and start to kiss her again.

You are more than happy to have Nathalie in your life. She was brave enough for the both of you, and you’ll always love her for that.

a/n: ahh first fic 😄 i had another account, and had a pretty good following on it, i deactivated it a few months back after going through a tough time mentally. i made a new account recently because i’m doing a lot better and decided i wanted to get back into writing! let me know if you have any woso request, i’m pretty open to new ideas :)

[powerfultenderness]

Clone Wars

This [post]: "saying I would fuck your identical clone but not you and refusing to explain"

You know who it would be fun to fuck with like that? Adrian Chase, Vigilante, the love of my life. And it would be soo easy to steer the conversation towards it too!

Just imagine:

Chilling with the gang, the TV's on but no one's really paying attention to it until you sigh at some random commercial. "Oof, that guy is so hot." You say as the narrator says "Freddie Stroma as-"

And everyone pauses, looks at the TV, looks at you, looks back at the TV, then looks at Adrian.

Adrian's confused forced laugh fades when he realizes everyone looking at him. "What?"

"Really?" Chris' voice and face incredulous as he looks at you, though Adrian is still confused and thinks he's talking to him, so repeats his question.

"That guy?!" Chris jerks his thumb towards the TV, even though the game is back on. "You think that guy is hot?"

"Yea." You nod, suppressing a smirk as Chris and Adebayo fall into your trap.

Adrian blinks, still confused, "I mean, I guess he is? He's not the big buff handsome type like you, P."

Chris rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "No, I'm not asking you. That would be weird."

"What? Why? You think because I'm a man I can't tell when another man is attractive? 'Cause let me tell you-"

"Dude! Shut up! You know I don't give a fuck about that! It'd be weird because you look just like him!"

Everyone else nods and a round of "yeas" echoes around the room.

"No, I don't!" Adrian denies quickly, mostly out of what he feels is social obligation.

"Yes, you do! Look!" Adebayo, sweet Adebayo, holds her phone out and zooms in on a picture of the actor. "He even has the same dimples as you!"

"Yea, just throw some glasses on the guy and dye his hair and he could be your twin!" Economos almost hits your mark.

"Yea, you would know, dye-beard."

"Hey look, here's a picture of him with glasses!" The actor is even wearing a baseball cap in the photo, obscuring his blonde hair and looking even more like Adrian.

"Psh! Twin? That guy could be your evil clone!" Chris scoffs as he looks between Leota's phone and Adrian.

"Why's the clone gotta be evil?"

"The clone's always evil." Economs sides with Chris, who tilts his head in thought.

"Actually, maybe Vij is this guy's evil clone."

"Hey! I'm not evil!"

'Come on! So close! Christopher Smith, you perverted motherfucker, don't fail me now.' Horses and water...

"Whatever!" Chris finally yells over the discussion of whether or not ones clone would be evil. (Really, it was going on a little longer than it should have!). "Look, the point is: I would fuck my clone, evil or not."

Yes! Finally! It takes everything in your power not to grin like a maniac.

Leota and John voice their disgust over the thought of fucking their clone while you wait for Adrian's response. You know he's going to agree with Peacemaker, just say it!

"Yea, I'd totally fuck my clone, it'd be awesome!"

More groans and exclamations that you ignore as you theatrically thoughtfully tilt your head and tap your chin. "Hmm, yea. I'd fuck your clone too."

"You mean you'd fuck your clone?" Adrian tries to correct you, a cute helpful smile on his pretty face.

"No." You smile sweetly at him, "I mean, I would fuck your identical clone, Adrian."

He smiles even more, leaning in towards you, eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"Yea," you hold a mollifying hand up, like you were telling him not to worry. "But not you."

"What?"

"Ha! Fucking thimble!" Chris and the others fade in the background as you and Adrian lock eyes.

"But why not?"

You lick your lips, his eyes flicker towards the movement, and just when you open your mouth to answer your phone lights up in your hand.

"Oh." You look down and quickly turn the screen off just as quickly as it lit up. "That's the boss. I gotta go. See you guys later!"

Chris is still laughing at Adrian's rejection even as everyone else bids you a goodbye. Well, everyone but Adrian.

Instead he follows you out the door, "wait! That doesn't make any sense! Why would you fuck my clone but not me?"

He's followed you all the way to your car at this point. You open your car door and look at him, "your identical clone."

He's so cute when he's confused. "What?"

"Yea, no offense to that actor guy, but I really like you with dark hair."

"Really?" Then his smiles falls as he gets confused again. "But then, why wouldn't you fuck me?"

All you do is smirk at him as you slip into the car.

Of course he's not letting it go though! He rushes around to the passenger side and climbs right in. "Ok, why would you fuck my clone, but not me?" He asks again, this time a little slower and moving his hands as if that'd get you to answer him.

~Fade to black~

Adrian rolls onto his back, his breathing a little hard as he grins up at the ceiling. "So, you would fuck me and not my clone!"

"After that?" You too are a little short winded. "I'm definitely fucking your clone."

"Seriously?"

You turn your head and wink at him, "threesome."

His face lights up even more than when you kissed him. "Oh! Ooh!"

[gojoidyll]

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 26 | quelled fears

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Infinity Masterlist

“Will he really be ok?”

Her voice rung out as she watched Itadori leave with Nanami, Gojo stood next to her silently with that same charming smile on his, “he’ll be fine. He’s a tough kid.”

“If you say so…,” she muttered. Truth be told, she was still worried.

“Now,” Gojo exclaimed as he clapped his hands together, “what should we do for the rest of the day.”

She smiled and quirked an eyebrow up, “don’t we have classes to teach?”

He pouted instantly, “why can’t we just ditch it and go on a date instead?”

“Because I don’t want to get fired,” she answered as she grabbed his hand and started to tug him along. Gojo scoffed in response, “please, they will be insane if they let someone like you go.”

Laughing at his words, she pulled him close so he was walking right next to her, “whatever you say, Satoru.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his smile grow bigger, “something funny, mister?”

He shook his head, “not at all, I just like it when you say my name.”

She rolled her eyes, “you’re so weird sometimes. Now, come on before our students miss us.”

“You two are so late.”

Y/n smiled sheepishly as Nobara glared at both y/n and Gojo, “listen, I know you two are all lovey dovey now, but my time is precious!”

Fushiguro stood idly next to her, not much caring for the tardiness as he was already used to it.

“Right, sorry,” y/n said, “we were just meeting up with another sorcerer was all.”

Nobara rolled her eyes, “we’re not little kids, you know? You don’t have to use excuses when you really lost time because you were making out with one another-“

“Kugisaki,” y/n said exasperated.

Meanwhile, Gojo was pouting in the corner. Honestly, making out with y/n and being late would have been a whole lot better than meeting up with Nanami.

“Whatever, so what are we doing today?”

Y/n looked over to Gojo, but he was still pouting causing Kugisaki to angrily march over to him, “hey! We’re talking to you!”

“No need to get impatient,” he said as he raised both of his hands in defense.

“Then tell us what we’re doing-“

“You’re training with the second years!”

Gojo said it excitedly as he clapped his hands together. And as expected… there was no excited reaction to follow suit.

“Where’s the enthusiasm?! You two should be excited!”

“Why are we training with them?”

Gojo grinned and looked to Fushiguro who already pieced together what was happening.

“Is it to go up against the other school?”

“Correct! Two points to Megumi!”

Y/n laughed to herself as she thought back to her own school days as Gojo explained to a confused Nobara about what was going to go down. Going up against the sister school was always fun!

“Ok… so we basically need to kick their ass, right?”

“Bingo! Two points to Nobara! Now, you are currently set to meet up with the second tomorrow at the training field. Which concludes our lesson for the-“

“But we didn’t do anything-“

“Our job here is done!”

Gojo was quick to grab a hold of y/n as he gave his two students a little wave before teleporting away.

“That jerk,” Nobara huffed.

Meanwhile, y/n was gripping onto the front of Gojo’s shirt tightly when he teleported them both to his apartment.

“Satoru,” she whined.

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist,” he said as he held her close.

She looked up at him, “at least warn me next- mmph!”

He cut her off instantly by pressing his lips hard against her own. And he didn’t let up. Anytime he pulled back to get a breath in, he was already diving back in to kiss her. His lips simply devouring her as he refused to let her go from his hold.

“Satour,” she managed to say between his searing lips, “what’s gotten into you?”

“Just wanting to be late because we’re making out,” he said simply, his lips molding into her own. And when he bit into your bottom lip, his teeth snagging on the flesh as he gave it a gentle tug, she whimpered causing him to move forward a bit in search of something. It wasn’t until she felt her back press hard against the hallway wall that he found what he was looking for. His hands moving down to grip her hips, “jump,” he muttered letting go of her lip.

She wanted to do as he said, but her legs felt wobbly. Her grip on his forearms could only tighten as he smirked. So, with controlled ease, he lifted her up.

“A few kisses got you weak in the knees,” he teased as she wrapped her legs around his waist, “how adorable.”

His teasing words didn’t last long as he slotted his lips with hers again. His teeth biting at her lips again as she got the silent message and opened her mouth. Her movements were a little hesitant, scared, but he was quick to quell her fears when he shoved his tongue into her mouth.

He didn’t like the closeness she had with Nanami.

He didn’t like Sukuna’s continual taunts and blatant remarks.

He especially didn’t like the fact that there was a possibility that y/n could remember everything.

And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not right now, at least. Not when he finally has some time with her away from everyone else and no one to interrupt.

“S- satoru,” she moaned his name out when he pulled away from her slightly. Their mouths still so close together as their breaths mixed and a single string of saliva connected them.

“Again. Say my name like that again.”

And who knows, maybe she’ll quell his own fears too by saying his name just like that.