#but now they’ve interacted a little bit more

[prcttylittlebirds]

“gavin probably does. you know he’s like the partier of the group. you can always count on him to have something.” he shrugs. most of his friends are more outgoing when it comes to partying, whereas he tends to be more cautious. “i value the health of my lungs. marvin and my dad like cigars, though. i also have a little bit of health anxiety? so, i try to look after myself the best i can— not in a germaphobe kind of way, or maybe a little bit? i don’t know.” he cackles, noticing he’s starting to ramble. “i know you can handle yourself very well. the point is.. i like to be aware just in case you need me and you have the option to come get me.” the way he cares for venus is a direct reflection of having nurturing parents and older siblings that have good heads on their shoulders. whether she needs him or not, he wants to at least allow her the space to ask. he doubts she will, but he has to say it. the interaction that they’re having now is much better than before. he hadn’t realized that it’s been awhile since they’ve shared a kiss. he doesn’t hesitate to kiss her back and make sure it lasts a bit longer. “i promise those videos are gone now, but i did rewatch them maybe… once… thrice?” he says with zero shame.

rafael wouldn’t have minded smoking with venus again while on this trip. with her is probably the only time he’d do it anyway. his friends would’ve joined in he’s sure. they still don’t believe that he smoked in the first place. “that would’ve be a good idea, but the guys don’t think that i really tried it so, i could’ve proved them wrong.” he shakes his head. why all of his la friends thought that he couldn’t possibly ever smoke weed is beyond him. cigarettes or anything harder than weed sure, he’ll decline, but he knows how to have a good time. rafael has been going with the flow ever since he decided to move from london to la exclusively. he craved something fresh and new after all the drama between him and olivia’s divorce got out. “hard liquor is gross most of the time, and i can’t drink all of the wines that my family makes because some of the fruit they put in there i’m allergic to. around you i like to be mostly sober because i wanna make sure you’re comfortable and safe especially if you don’t know anybody. no one is gonna look out for you like I will in spaces like that.” venus has to be the funniest person he has met while living in la, he never knows what she’s going to say. It’s always unpredictable. “eh, that means i’d have to share…” he makes a face, before laughing. “i like you a lot i have no problem in admitting that, but i kind of feel like me kissing you at the door was a huge tell? I’m always happy to see you. practically giddy, even.”

[daydreamerdrew]

Tales of Suspense (1959) #92

[simpjaes]

BOOK SMART? P*SSY SMART. — P.JS

The one where Jay basically lives in the university library and you live in any and every party you can find on campus. Unfortunately, your grades are suffering over it and you need help. You’re quite lucky though because Jay is quite helpful. 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 10k

PAIRING― inexperienced loser jay x afab reader

CONTENT―  Jay wears glasses even tho the banner says otherwise lol, he’s also a loser ass dweeb in this, open minded and playful reader, college au, jay just rly wants to get in that but doesn't know how to

NOTE― this is a revamp, surprise surprise, nobody is shocked. was originally written for mark lee over on my other blog @/ncteez but i need jay like i need air so….cackling at the title tho, my brain is malfunctioning pls forgive me

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags :: MONSTER COCK AGENDA. Jay is a pervert and smells ur towel lmao, mentions of food and detailed popsicle eating,  reader is very vocal and talkative, slight use of the pet name “pretty”, a lot of cum, cream pie, unprotected sex, mention of bc pills, Jay has a huge cock and he didn’t even know it, inexperienced Jay, experienced reader, finger sucking, nipple sucking, grinding, oral (f recieving), Jay gets on his knees, making out, sex on a table

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         It wasn’t shocking that you were failing but it was shocking that not a single one of your friends were failing with you. They somehow managed to keep their grades up while partying just as often as you do. You don’t know how the hell they did it and you also don’t know why the hell they refuse to help you study now that they’ve seen your failure.

         Not the greatest friends, you think. They won’t help you study because they only have time to study their own classes and to continue partying without you, apparently. You knew you had to come to terms eventually that these people aren’t your friends. They’re just people to party with, people to have fun with, and apparently, people that will watch you struggle.

         It’s frustrating to walk home from classes by the run-down houses with booming music already playing. Without fail, every time, you wish you could be attending instead of studying. It’s even more annoying when you give up on your studies because you’re just not fucking getting it, and you probably would be fucking getting it if you were at a party talking to potential boyfriends or fuckbuddies. 

         Fairness in the world is so hard to grasp. Someone else always has it, but never you. The worst part about all of this is that you’re very aware of how lucky you actually are, you wasted away in college and allowed yourself to get this low simply because you were lucky enough to be well-liked. You prioritized the pointless things over the important things, and now you’re suffering for it. Complaining that you can’t attend parties, looking like a bore to your friends who pity and are embarrassed by you for not being able to multitask like everyone else.

         That’s right. You can’t party and study like everyone else, so maybe now it’s time to focus on the task you’d pushed aside for so long.

         Studying. Ugh.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         You don’t know Jay past the fact that he is in at least three of your classes, extremely quiet, and constantly in the library when you pass by to leave the campus. You’re a little bit ashamed to admit that the majority of people you are well-liked by are the people who are ignoring you right now. The only choice you have is to find someone that can help you catch up on all of the studies you’ve blatantly abandoned. You could go through the student center and “officially” attend tutoring sessions with someone who would likely scoff at you for not getting it, or you could find someone of your own choice to help you. 

         That’s the only reason Jay comes to mind. Again, he is in three of the four of your classes. Every semester, without fail, you’ll look for your name on the dean’s list knowing that it’ll never show up, but you have seen Jay’s name on that list more times than you care to remember. 

         Jay knows of you as well. The girl who cut in front of him in the cafeteria to grab coffee with her large group of friends, making him ten minutes late to be early for his class. The girl who loudly slammed a book down in the library and nearly gave him a heart attack, the girl who came into class stumbling and giggling with one of the guys, clearly still tipsy from the night before. 

         You are everything that Jay isn’t. You are everything he avoids when accepting friends into his life, and his interest in you doesn’t really go past the point of having a stubborn, pretty girl to look at. He is a man after all. A man who is finally away from home, surrounded by hormonal women and men who can’t see past their brain fog of sexual fantasies in class. Never towards him though, he’s usually just on the outside looking in. 

         Jay has those fantasies too, but it isn’t his focus. He is dead set on being a top student, one that people recognize on the academic end rather than the partying end of it all. So, here he is, sitting with his nose in a book, glasses sliding down every few minutes as he munches on a pack of crackers. He’s been here for three hours already and finds comfort in the silence of the library. It’s such a vast place with so many corners to hide in if someone were to come and disturb his peace. Today is no different from any other Friday, where few students choose to study and instead opt for one of the various frat parties or bar hops. 

         You wish you could be one of those people, truly, but instead, you’re making your way to the library in search of Jay. The one student who you assume may actually take you up on the offer of study sessions. You imagine his shocked face when you sit in front of him, and you try your best not to imagine a look of disgust rather than approval. You need Jay now, for the first time in your life, more than ever. His knowledge of the three out of four classes you have will surely work wonders on your GPA, you will probably have to admit how much you’d be relying on him in order for him to even consider your offer too.  

God, you hate begging.

The library is so deafeningly silent when you walk in. You can’t hear even the slightest of a whisper as you walk around and peek into the many empty study rooms and cubicles. After several minutes of searching, the anxiety bubbles up inside of you. What if he decided to do something else? Of all days? The one day where he is needed to be studying? 

Just as you turn to leave, ignoring the entire second floor of the library, you nearly walk straight into him. And by nearly, you actually do  walk directly into him. 

Books clatter to the floor, Jay sighs as he looks down without making eye contact with you. It’s not the first time he’s been walked into and it probably won’t be the last. He is forever wishing that people could just watch where they’re fucking going.

“Hey, I’m sorry–” You go to say as you lean down to help him pick up the mess, he still doesn’t look at you though. Honestly, he barely even notices you there with those airpods in his ears and eyes on the floor. 

To be fair, most people who walk into him just continue walking, so…

         When he does take note of another person helping him retrieve his things, he looks up. You’re not shocked that all he does is nod at you when he takes the book from your hands and makes his way back towards his study space. 

         In an awkward way, you follow him. You feel dumb and kind of lost in this world of books and good students. Up the stairs, towards the floor you’d not even bothered to check, Jay unintentionally leads you to his little corner that already has papers and books laid out. 

         You swallow hard when he takes his seat and looks up to see that you have followed him. Jay is quick to swipe one of his AirPods from his ears and you can kind of tell that he instantly went from relaxed to nervous.

“Uh–” You look around, feeling awkward standing there. “I was looking for you.” 

“Me?” Jay questions with a soured look on his face. He doesn’t really do it intentionally, it’s just, like, what? 

 “Why?”

“Okay, just hear me out.” You start, taking a few steps forward and inviting yourself to sit at his table. There is absolutely no arm space on this side, but that doesn’t entirely matter. You begin your pitch.

“I know it’s kind of weird, but, I’m failing.”

“That’s not weird.” Jay mocks, shaking his head and moving to put his airpod back in his ear.

“Wait! Just, please–hear me out.” You plead now, a little frustrated that he’s already refusing to help you.

         He looks around and then lets out a deep sigh. Rubbing his temples, he nods.

“I know we aren’t the type to like, help each other or whatever– but I’ve asked all of my friends, and they kind of blacklisted me…you are my last resort, I swear.” You say, begging with your eyes. “Can you please just help me study for like, one day a week?”

         His body is stiff and his face is unimpressed by your pitch. 

“An hour a week?” You adjust clapping your hands together to plead even harder. You very nearly start to grovel on the ground before him. “Jay, please. I need to get my grades up.” 

“If you had just given yourself a day a week, you wouldn’t have to be asking someone you’ve never even spoken with to help you study.” He rolls his eyes, still mocking and appearing a bit cocky at the sudden power he’s been given. Of course he only gets approached when someone needs something from him. 

 “How many classes are you failing?”

“I’m failing three classes and have a C in another–” You shamefully admit. “Just an hour a day, please.”

         Jay eyes you over, shifting a bit in his seat before letting out another sigh. 

“Finals are barely a month away.”

“I know! I’ve already got extra credit lined up so I can at least get my grades up by a letter but– I,” You look down, more ashamed than before.

“You don’t know how to actually do the extra credit, do you?�� Jay finishes for you and is, for some reason, shocked when you nod. 

         He can see the panic in your eyes, and he noticed for the past week that you’d been looking incredibly tired around campus. Not the hung-over type of tired either. He’s noticed you move your seat closer to the front in one of the classes and even noted that you’re actually taking notes during your time spent there. Maybe he should help you out. If not for the fact that you genuinely seem to need it, but also maybe because he’s like, incredibly aware that he is attracted to you.

 He always has been, but that’s not the fucking point. 

“Okay, you can come study with me whenever you want then. I usually study here because I have a roommate who isn’t exactly the quietest person–” He goes to explain. 

“I have an entire apartment to myself, you can come study at my place. Really, I’ll make food and everything.” You panic, still trying to sell the idea despite him already accepting your offer. 

         Jay is a little shocked and offended that you have your own apartment, and yet you’re failing your classes. No way in hell are you paying for that yourself. This only prompts him to want to help more. Because, like? An entire apartment to study in? Where a pretty girl makes his food? 

“Okay, that can work. What days and times can I be over?” He follows up with a nonchalant nod, noting the three shared classes and the one other you’ll probably need help with. He hopes he’s already taken the outlier class, otherwise he won’t be much help in that regard. 

“You can walk home with me after those classes if you want, and we can study until you’re ready to leave?” You offer. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be every day, but–”

“We can meet up after every class and decide if you want to study or not.” Jay finishes for you yet again, and you nod with a smile. 

“What’s your favorite food?” You ask, wanting to make a mental note of keeping your end of the bargain. 

         Jay thinks hard at that because being put on the spot like this makes answering any question a bit difficult. 

“Here–” You hold out your phone. “Put your number in and you can think about it. I’ll text you so you have mine.”

 You can’t wipe the smile off of your face, the anxiety is practically dissolving from your body at the very idea of someone being willing to help you in the comfort of your own apartment.

         He, on the other hand, is a bit more anxious now. He realizes that now, he’s going to be studying with you. A girl who had never even looked at him twice during the semesters you’ve shared classes. He’s putting his number into your phone, and you’re going to be texting him, and spending time with him instead of going to the parties that he’s never invited to. 

“I’ll see you on Monday?” You ask in his silence, sending a quick text to him so that he can save your number. He nods and looks down at his books. “Don’t forget to text me what you want to eat, okay?”

         He nods again as you stand to walk away. He watches intently at the way you have a little bounce in your step and can’t help but feel his cheeks flushing. God, why is he doing this to himself? 

         Slamming his head on the desk, he, much like you, cannot stop smiling now. All thoughts of studying for the remainder of the night left his head and were replaced with his new study schedule. He thinks he will try and take it easy this weekend, specifically so he is mentally prepared. He’s only talked to you for a total of fourteen minutes and he’s already lost his ability to study and think clearly. 

If he’s lucky, the two of you will pass this semester with flying colors. There’s still that tiny part of him though, that wonders if maybe you’d find interest in him, and maybe he will fail the semester with you because, honestly, you are so distracting.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         On Monday, you sat up straight in class while eyeing the back of Jay’s head most of the time. Mostly to prepare yourself for if and when he makes a break for it. He hasn’t even texted you what he wants to eat today, and part of you wonders if he went back on his promise to you. Not that it was much of a promise in the first place, anyway.

         He was a little shocked that you weren’t the first out of the room once everyone wrapped up though. Like you, he was assuming the same thing. You’d make a fucking break for it and pretend you never approached him in the first place. After all, It was common for you to leave mid-way through class or be the first one out the door. Instead though, he finds himself proud of you. You stood there awkwardly looking at him as the room emptied out, clearly unsure of what to do or say to him.

         Jay nods your way as if to beckon you towards him. 

“You’re still wanting to study today?” He asks with a brow raised in surprise. 

All weekend he had thought about it. Thought about the possibility of it just being a joke to you, or maybe that you’d change your mind and allow yourself to flunk out like you already had been doing. His heart kind of jumps a bit noticing you looking at him like this. 

“Yeah? Wasn’t that the plan?” You ask, nudging him a bit once you get up beside him. “You didn’t text me what you wanted to eat so you’re just gonna have to eat whatever I have in the fridge, by the way.”

         Jay nods, opting to stay silent at this moment. He’s going home with you. He’s going to be seen on campus walking home with you. He’s not the sort to want attention, but this situation feels dangerously attractive to him. Especially when he takes note of how you’re probably going to look all…cozy and at home in your apartment. Like, he gets to be in your space teaching you things that you should have already known. 

         It all shouldn’t be so exciting. After all, his days are filled with the typical boring sessions of reading, writing, noting, and memorizing. It is exciting for him though. Never has he studied with someone like you, or really even gotten to talk to someone that most of the men speak to, the unreachable men no less. The ones with families that own the city, and all the houses in it.

You’re one of the unreachable women on campus, he thinks. The ones with standards based on fun, attractiveness, and chaos rather than charisma, personality, and knowledge. It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing for Jay to be doing this right now.

“Okay, so...” Jay drones out, avoiding eye contact with you as he packs things into his ratty backpack. “I’m not super hungry right now but–we are going to your place right?”

He needs the confirmation himself if he’s being honest. Nothing would suck more than assuming and being proved wrong.

         You nod with a smile, grabbing his hand as soon as he throws his backpack on. It isn’t intimate to you, but for him, it’s…something. Holding his hand is reserved for intimate relationships with family or girlfriends. He never holds hands.

 He’s never really gotten the chance to anyway, aside from a little cousin when they were crossing the street last summer. He can’t help but buckle in on himself in a shy sort of way as you lead him from the room and out of the building. 

         You’re rambling about all of the things you need to study. All of the snacks you could offer to him. All of the hours you wish you hadn’t wasted partying, yet, all he’s thinking about is how warm your hand feels in his. You seem to be a natural at talking to people. Touching them without a single worry in the world, it’s kind of nice, he thinks. The fact that you aren’t ashamed to be seen together with him, heading towards the place you sleep. Sometimes Jay forgets that this is college. No one actually cares who is hanging out with who unless they are in the middle of a raunchy frat party, seeing their love interest getting touched against a dirty bathroom counter. 

         He smiles to himself as he finally catches up to you and allows you to stop dragging him around. He keeps pace with you now, resting his hand as if to allow you to let go, but you don't. 

“Just around that corner–” You say,  glancing over at him and noting the shade of color his face has become. “You good?” 

         Jay nods, staying quiet and trying to force himself out of his thoughts. He glances down at your hand holding his and then back up at you on instinct. 

“Ah, sorry.” You mumble, releasing his hand and trying hard to understand that maybe you truly are too clingy with most people in your life. You think his reaction was kind of cute though, and now you’re a little determined to help him relax those stiffened shoulders. Jay can’t be as boring as he seems, right?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“I have peanut butter and jelly, eggs, noodles, some leftover pizza and–”

“I’m not hungry, but If I can have some water or something, that would be cool.” Jay cuts you off, slipping off his shoes in an immaculate show of how clumsy he is. You can hear the clatter of your entire coat rack falling to the floor due to his weight leaning on it through that single task. 

“Okay–” You side eye his mess with a slight smile. “Water, got it.”

 You trail off to get him the drink, keeping a small mental note of how nervous he appears to be right now. He’s panicked, frantically trying to balance your coat rack back in place as if you hadn’t walked directly into him just the Friday before. 

“Jay, it’s just a coat rack.” You laugh with water in hand, hearing him mutter a sorry as he hangs one of your empty purses back onto it.

“Thanks.” He says now, reaching out for the drink.

         Watching his eyes go from the glass of water to your apartment, you smile at the look on his face. Such a smart guy acting so incredibly stupid the moment he’s alone in an apartment with a girl. Cute.

“Is this good?” You ask as if you’re offering a change of subject so that he doesn’t have to think about the coat rack he had just knocked over. You point over to your dining table that’s placed perfectly in a little nook against a window and look at him as he stands in place. “We can start whenever you’re ready?”

“Can you show me to the bathroom first?” Jay blurts, hyper-aware of his awkward demeanor. He needs to calm himself down before even thinking about sitting down to fucking study. 

   You point to the bathroom quickly, making your way to the table and adjusting everything so there is space for the piles of books soon to be laid on it. You watch only a little bit at how Jay makes his way over to said bathroom in a show of not-so-confident body language. He seemed kind of cocky on Friday, but today he seems to be like jelly. 

         You sit at the dining table without thinking much more of the man in your bathroom, instead, you pull out some textbooks and lay them out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

         Jay stares at himself in the mirror, he can practically see the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears as he comes to terms with the fact that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to come to your apartment to study. You’re attractive. That alone is a reason in his head to avoid it, but he’s here and he’s already made a fool of himself. 

         He slaps his face a bit with some cold water and tries to will himself to stop acting like such an awkward idiot. Surely you’ll pick up on his inability to talk to women if he doesn’t get it together, right? You’re going to think he’s some weirdo, a pervert maybe, before throwing him out and avoiding him forever.

         Staring harder at himself, he waits for the color to run from his face so that way he can get out there and start the study session, but then his eyes start to wander. 

         Your bathroom is immaculately clean save for some makeup stains on the counter and a few stray hairs that must have been yanked out of your head while you attempted to brush out a night of drinking. It smells fresh and your perfectly hung towels look plush hanging against the wall. Without a thought in his head, he leans towards the towel so that he can dry his face and hands, and that’s just what he does. Except, maybe he buries his face into the towel a bit longer than he needed to, and maybe the smell of it was so astronomically sweet that he nuzzled against it even more.

         He could tell the towel had been used at least once though, solely because he could smell a scent that wasn’t the soap on the counter, nor any laundry detergent he’s aware of. Then…his eyes flick to the actual hand towel that he somehow missed, right beside it? A lace bra. The flush comes back to his face, making him feel even warmer than he did when he entered the room. Which feels like a fucking nightmare if he’s being totally honest. 

         It dawns on him again. He’s in your apartment, smelling your towels, and staring at your bra. Coming to the bathroom in an attempt to calm down has done nothing more than make things worse, and the only option he has now is to stumble out of the bathroom hoping you assume he was in here doing number two rather than planting his face into a towel where you dry off your naked body. 

         Mumbling to himself, Jay prepares himself to face you. Sure, you probably see nothing out of the norm if he does well and hides the fact that he’s hyper-sensitive just for being in your space, then again, Jay has never been the best at playing pretend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You offer him a bright smile once he finally makes his way back into your living space and seats himself at the table. He seems to be avoiding eye contact with you, bashfully pulling his own books out of his bag with shaking fingers. 

“Are you okay? You sure you don’t want a snack or something?” You look at him, head tilting at him in concern. 

Jay finally looks at you and notes how comfortable you seem while he feels like he’s internally falling apart. There shouldn’t be any fucking issue in his head when it comes to this situation, but here he is, panicking because a pretty girl is in front of him. 

He feels so dumb, so obvious, so embarrassed. Yeah, maybe he should eat something, at least so he can buy some time to focus on something else before he starts stuttering through your studies. At this rate, all you’re going to learn about today is how awful Jay is around women. 

“Maybe I should eat, yeah–” He says in a small voice, still staring at the books as he places them on the table.

“Come look in my kitchen, we can eat something together?” You offer, reaching toward his hand. 

He pulls back from your touch and tries to play it off casually like he was just reaching for a pencil, but you didn’t miss the fact that his hands were cold and shaky.

Taking note, it starts to dawn on you. You’ve dealt with men like him before, and it was always an interesting situation. To check your theory, you rise from the chair and lean over the table, being sure to squish whatever cleavage you have visible to make it more visible to him. 

“Salty or sweet?” You ask, watching his eyes intently and the way they struggle to reach your face. Score one for you, Jay is definitely a man above all. Luckily for him, you have lots of experience in that field, while he appears to have very little in the field of women. 

“W-what?” He drones out, pulling his eyes away from you in an attempt to hide the way his face immediately flushed. 

“The snacks? Savory or sweet?” You laugh, propping yourself back from the table and hopping into the kitchen, checking behind you to see if he follows.

He does stand to follow, but by the time you round the corner, he isn’t behind you like you figured he would be. Peeping your head around the corner, you watch as he holds his hands in front of his groin, looks down at himself, and then lets out a deep sigh. You then watch as he adjusts himself in his pants, uncomfortably hiding a semi-hard on so that he could come into the kitchen without suspicion. 

By this point, you’ve already decided that studying will very likely not be part of today’s schedule. He wouldn’t be able to focus on a damn thing like this, right? You should help him, right?

“Took you long enough.” You joke as he appears in the kitchen, turning to look at him and intentionally trailing your eyes down his body just to see if you can see any sort of bulge. He’s safe though because he apparently must have skills in hiding his arousal during the worst times. 

Jay, on the other hand, can already tell that your shift in mood is intensely different compared to before he went to the bathroom. Twice now you’ve been blatant towards him and it is not helping him at all right now. Is he reading it wrong because he’s very obviously horny right now? Were you really trying to dangle your breasts in front of him like that? Are you really checking him out right now? 

“Sorry–” He looks down. “I– uh, I dropped something.” He offers as an excuse, uncomfortably trying to shift from your view and avoid eye contact. 

“Sure.” You say with a roll of your eyes, knowing full well that he was hiding his cock. “I want something sweet. Sounds good?” You change the subject, reaching out and running your fingers down his arm. 

He swallows hard, stiffening his shoulders and nodding to you. Without hesitation, you let your fingers stay against him for a few seconds longer, keeping eye contact with him before turning and opening a cupboard. 

“Peanut butter crackers, cereal, and oatmeal.” You deadpan, slamming the cupboard and stepping to the fridge. “Pudding.” Then you open the freezer. “Popsicles, and ice cream.”

Jay just stands there when you close the doors to the fridge and look at him in question. He could opt for the crackers but his throat is already dry enough. Choking right now would be even more humiliating. Cereal could work but that would be embarrassing too, for some reason. Oatmeal is an option, solely for how disgusting it looks, surely it would tame his boner. 

But, popsicles? Hell no.

“Grab whatever you want, I'm eating a popsicle.” You say, raising a brow and throwing open the freezer door again to take your pick.

Of course, it’s  intentional. It’s fun to see his eyes light up at the very idea of seeing you eat a popsicle, and even more fun to imagine how flustered he’s going to be in mere minutes.

Jay looks to the floor and heads towards your fridge, also opting for a popsicle despite his very recent internal protest. Mostly so you don’t think he’s a pervert when he inevitably sees you eat it. But also, like, just in case you really are trying to flirt with him right now, at least his lips will taste sweet too. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had expected Jay to get flustered, and boy did he. What you didn’t expect though, was to become flustered yourself by the image of Jay’s tongue darting over sweet ice, and then over his own lips to suck up the melted and sticky juice. The only image in your head right now is the idea of if he would lick his lips like that if you were to spread your legs for him. Would he lick up your mess on his face, chasing the flavor the same way he’s doing right now?

A dull ache begins to spread throughout your body as you watch him. His eyes still avoid you but you manage to catch him a few times. Each time he makes eye contact with you, your gaze shoots to his lap just to see if he’s gotten hard enough for his cock to leave its tucked position in his waistband. 

Jay is hyper-aware now too, with the way you’re staring and almost leaving your popsicle unattended as he eats his own. He feels confused, like? Are you doing what he was actively avoiding doing to you? Jesus, you really are kind of a whore, god.

By the time the popsicles are finished, your fingers are sticky from allowing it to drip down the stick. You make a point to suck each of your fingers innocently, looking under your lashes at him for split seconds as you begin to shuffle through the papers on the table. 

“So–” You say, popping one finger out of your mouth and inserting another. “Can we start here? I need to have a paper written on at least one topic on this list and have no idea how to find a good source to read from.”

Jay hears and sees you in tunnel vision right now, but he manages to catch the ass end of your sentence and begins to try and focus on the studies at hand. Still watching you suck your fingers into your mouth, he clears his throat and places his own popsicle stick onto the table, pretending he doesn’t wish your tongue would lick him like that.

“I wrote mine based on this topic, and I found a lot of good sources for it. I don’t think our professor would think too hard about us choosing the same subject–” 

“Yeah, especially because it’s me. They’d never guess you’re in my apartment right now.” You laugh, smirking over at him. 

“I would’ve never guessed either–” Jay says without thinking, barely processing how embarrassing he is before you squint at him with a wider smile. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, raising a brow and leaning forward. “Why’s that?” 

Jay tries to look around but now can’t seem to force his eyes away from you. A much different circumstance compared to before when he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. There’s a connection here, he can feel it. You’re definitely coming onto him and you have been for the past however long he’s been here.

“You’re kind of out of my league, don’t you think?” He laughs more at himself than he does the situation, and to you, he honestly looks pitiful after saying that. It’s incredibly attractive to you in the way he seems to praise you for being a failure simply because he’s attracted to you. At least, that’s the case if you’re reading him right.

“Who said someone like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two?” You have a smile in your voice, and it comforts him, but that comfort is shot down when you stand on your feet and walk over to him. “Who says I’m out of your league?” You ask again, watching him scoot back with his chair as you come closer.

You prop yourself against the table, essentially blocking him from his books and papers. You look down at him now, dipping your head in a playful way. “I don’t think I’m out of your league.” 

Jay notes how you’re between him and the table now. You look comfortable leaning in front of him like this, and when his eyes trail up to your face all his body can do is give in. He looks at you through large eyes, the overhead light is sparkling through them at you. 

In that instant, you can see his embarrassment fill his body because he’s no longer resisting the urge to be himself. He’s staring at you as if you could be a god and saying nothing in response to your words. 

“If anything, Jongie–” You soothe him, grabbing one of his hands and smiling at the way his pen immediately falls out of his grip. “You’re out of my league.” 

He blinks up at you, soaking in the words and not yet understanding in full what you’re doing until he feels warmth enveloping the entirety of his hand and wrist. 

“Do you know how lucky I am that you’re here right now?” You ask him, basking in the way you can see his breath get caught in his throat. “How lucky I am that you’re not only smart but hot too?”

He dips his head at this, a bashful show of your words having an impact on him. He hides his face briefly against his arm and then he realizes–

“Is this okay?” You ask, holding his hand in place as you begin to move your hips against his palm.

Jay watches the way you’ve managed to pull his hand out and plant it between your legs, all so you could grind against it without so much as a warning. He’s not against it though, if anything, his head is shot back to reality and he’s immediately back to glancing around the room and avoiding the scene in front of him.

His palm is against your literal, dampening panties, and all he can think to say right now is, “You could write your thesis on human connection and its effects on the brain.” 

You smile at his attempt to continue to study through this moment.

“I could,” You say with a deeper voice than before, feeling the way his hand stays relaxed in your grasp as you grind against it. “Or we could think about how your brain is being affected right now?”

Jay groans, feeling the warmth of your wet beginning to seep through the fabric, and honestly, it is happening so fast that he’s sure it would be more embarrassing if he walked out now. 

“How are you feeling?” You reword your question towards him, intentionally swiveling your hips so that you can position his fingers into your underwear. 

“You’re warm.” Jay chokes out, eyes now zoning in on your legs slightly spread in front of him. 

You let out a small laugh at this, pulling a bit on his arm to pull him closer, but he doesn’t compute it at all. 

“Do you like it?” You ask again, this time slipping his fingers into you. You let out a deep sigh and roll your eyes back, fucking yourself gently against his fingers before you look at him.

He’s nodding, probably more thankful now that you’d worn a skirt today rather than pants. He didn’t allow himself to take note of your attire, because if he did, he would have made even more of a fool of himself. But he’s nodding now, watching the way you hold his arm in place and slide his fingers in and out of you. 

His silence is louder than his words could be right now, you think. You can feel him straighten his fingers inside of you, you can practically see him salivate at the very idea of how you’re using him right now. You’re not done though, no, no. He’s far too sweet like this, but you want to hear words.

Gently, you pull your hips back effectively slipping his fingers out of you. There, you lift his arm and examine your wetness against his fingers. You smile again, eyes now adjusting to his face rather than his wet fingers. 

Jay watches as you guide his fingers to his lip, and without a second thought, he opens his mouth to taste you against them. He licks circles around each of the two fingers, closing his eyes almost instantly so that he can relish the experience.

He no longer cares how awkward he must seem sitting here like this, letting you do all the work.

“Do you like the taste too?” You ask, releasing his hand and watching how he continues to suck his fingers. 

“Mhm–” Jay groans with his closed mouth around the digits, making damn sure to suck every bit off.

“You’re pretty, you know that?” You compliment him this time, tearing your eyes from him and slipping your panties down your legs. You turn yourself over so that you’re now bent over the table and you ignore the corner of one of the textbooks poking against your ribs, all in favor of what sound Jay will make when he opens his eyes. 

“You can taste more, if you want.” You offer, lifting to look behind you at the way his fingers drop from his mouth and his eyes immediately zone in on your bare pussy displayed for him under your hiked-up skirt. 

He does let out a whimper, one that seemed entirely desperate to do just that for you but–he doesn’t move. He just stares, soaking in the words you’re saying, memorizing each fold and dip in your glistening pussy.

You don’t intend to wait though. Reaching behind you, you grab the back of his head by his hair and guide his face to you. The way you can hear his chair tip over as he falls to his knees makes you quiver a bit before him, and you’re almost surprised to not just feel a face against you. It appears that Jay does know what he’s doing. 

He instantly jumps into action, loving the feeling of your hand in his hair basically telling him to do it. Giving him that green light, letting him.

You can feel his tongue exploring and his other hand reaching to lift your skirt entirely over your ass. His tongue is soft, warm, wet, and so entirely eager to lick and suck every inch of you. It’s not until he starts allowing his moans to vibrate into your flesh that you hike one of your legs up and open your cunt against his working tongue more.

Guiding him by his hair still, you press his face harshly into you with little to no fight for air from him, and you’re loving it. Loving the way he whines for more when his tongue reaches the furthest limit, loving even more when he finally reaches his hands up to your pussy and spreads it out for himself.

He isn’t even thinking at this moment, just tasting and feeling you guide his tongue as if this is what you wanted all along. The thought alone of someone like you wanting to fuck his tongue like this sets his cock on fire in so many ways. He’s so hard right now that it hurts to think about it at all. Jay doesn’t give a single fuck about how pathetic he must sound to you right now, whimpering and panting against you as if this was the only sweet thing in your apartment he wanted to eat anyway. 

You hear a clatter to the floor, knowing for a fact that he’s knocked his glasses off of his face from the angle in which he skewed his neck in order to fuck his tongue into you. You wonder what’s going through his mind right now, because goddamn he’s eating you out like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He’s impressively messy and loud with it too, making you feel as if you must taste like the sweetest thing on earth to him. 

For some reason, thinking back to all of the non-sexual situations you’d passively seen Jay in? It turns you on even more. The big-brained student who is constantly making straight As and never going out to parties eats pussy like this? Eats your pussy like this? Better than half of the men you’d already been with? Jay doesn’t miss a single centimeter of it,  and you can tell he’s focusing on you more than he has ever focused on his homework or studies before. 

You feel so deeply needed at this moment by Jay that all you can do is let out a desperate moan for him. One so that he knows he’s not the only one utterly stunned by the turn of events, but also because you’re fucking loving what he’s doing to you.

With each moan, Jay picks up his pace, using those same two fingers and spreading your cunt out impossibly wider just so he can attempt to bury his tongue deeper into the messy, wet heat you offer. He’s spreading you apart so well that it almost pains you to move without the fear of being torn open by his tongue alone. Your clit has barely even been reached but he still managed to make you feel sensitive to the point of wanting to beat your fists on the table out of sheer frustration for not approaching him sooner. 

Not only can he help you pass your classes, but he surely could make you feel like a fucking queen on top of it all, licking you open, up and down, as if he were born and trained for you and you alone? Insane.

“You’re so–” You groan out, releasing his hair from your grip but pressing your ass out more so that you can feel him slip his tongue back to your clit with impossible reach. He continues that, sliding his tongue from your clit to your entrance, dipping in and swirling the muscle before going back to your clit. All while he’s moaning, groaning, and panting against you. 

It’s too much, he’s so incredibly eager that you’re honestly too sensitive to let him keep going. You hate it when you pull your hips forward and lift from the table. Your legs are shaking when you do this, and shaking even more when you turn to face him and lean against the table again. 

“How–?” You look down at him in pleasant surprise, watching him lick his lips much like you hoped he would. “How are you so good at this?” 

Jay is stunned by your question because in all fairness, he’s only ever eaten a girl out once and like, it wasn’t that great because she made him stop within like a minute. He wasn’t really thinking about what to do with you though, or how to do it. He just…did it. That’s all. So obsessed with the taste and smell of you to the point he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He’d still be licking you right now if you didn’t move away. 

“I–don’t know.” He shamefully admits, nonchalantly moving his hands to his pants and unbuttoning them. Not to fuck you or anything, mostly just to release his cock from the chokehold of the denim rubbing against him. 

“You’re lying.” You deadpan, running your hand between your legs and quivering the moment your fingers run over your swollen clit. “There’s no way you haven’t practiced doing this.” You gasp, looking at him as if no other man exists. 

He shakes his head, looking up at you from the floor with innocent eyes. His lips are wet, his eyes are hooded, his hair sticking up from your fingers guiding him– it’s a lot to see him like this when you’ve only ever seen him as that goody-two-shoes student who doesn’t know how to have fun. Clearly, Jay knows how to have fun.

Your gaze on him makes him feel more bashful as he looks down to the floor, feeling embarrassed that you’re praising a complete amateur at this. 

Using your leg, you nudge him.

“You did all of that and didn’t even touch yourself?” You ask in curiosity, noting how he had only just now undone his pants to relieve pressure. “Let me see it.” You say again, almost demanding as you hop up on the table and spread your legs even more.

Frantic at your tone of voice, Jay stumbles to his feet and pushes his pants down to his thighs. His cock springs out and stands erect in front of you. You could stare all day, honestly. Jay, of all people? He’s the one with a cock this big? He’s the one with a size that could make you feel as if you’re being split in half? Well, fuck.

“God.” You comment, mouth falling open at the way it twitches in mid-air. “All of the girls would be fucking swooning, Jay, really.” You get a bit flustered yourself because only now do you understand who you just seduced and what he’s got to offer outside of brains. 

In all of his shyness, Jay hides his face from you again despite his cock out in all of its glory. Your mouth could honestly start watering if he hadn’t just eaten you out to the point of needing him to stop. Meaning, your throat is too dry right now to start drooling. 

Without another thought, you pull your shirt and bra off all in one go. No way in hell is he leaving without fucking you stupid with a cock like that. Absolutely no fucking way  would you let this go to waste.

“When’s the last time you’ve done anything with a girl?” You ask now, reaching for his arm and pulling his gaze back towards you, now almost completely naked save for your skirt hiked up to your waist. 

Jay stares at you again, much like he did when you spread your legs in front of him, this time zoning in on the way your nipples are erect and begging for his mouth to be put to use again. He nearly forgets that you’re talking to him because of the way you’ve presented yourself to him. The reality is right in front of his face, but he still wonders if this must be a dream.

“I–um– right out of high school before she broke up with me,” He says in a lazy voice, slightly raspy. It sounds as if it doesn’t even matter to him because he is so focused on you in front of him. “I’ve only had sex two times.”

“Aw–” You pitifully look at him. “What a waste, you’re such a pretty boy.” You coo, wiggling your hips as if to entice his cock to make its way towards you. “You’ve got the brains and the cock for it. You must feel so neglected.”

All he does is nod, because yes, he does feel fucking neglected, partly because he let it happen and mostly because he knows he doesn’t know how to talk to girls. Right now, Jay could genuinely start crying if you keep talking to him like this though. He can’t tell if you’re mocking him or being genuine, but the only thing he wants to do is bury his cock so deeply inside of you that all you can do is moan out mantras of how pretty he is again. He wants to hear you moan over how much time has been wasted without his cock inside of you, how badly you’d want him again and again after this. 

You can see his facial expressions change every few seconds and to be fair, your body yearns to be filled. With the way he is looking at you, there’s no way he doesn’t want to.

“Wanna fuck me, Jongie?” You ask, realizing that you much prefer calling him this rather than his full name because he seems to lean directly into it. 

“God,” He sighs out, hanging his head to look at the way his cock still stands painfully erect throughout the conversation. “Can I?” He asks now, making eye contact with you through pleading eyes.

You reach out for him, grabbing his waist and pressing his cock directly against your core. You lean your head back a bit to look at him and the way his eyes sear straight through your own. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks are rosy, and his lips are glistening. You lick against them, and the way he immediately starts to kiss you makes you think he’s a liar. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his mouth regardless of where it is. His tongue presses into your mouth so beautifully that you genuinely could argue that this man has only ever had sex twice. 

Maybe he’s a natural? 

Jay knows exactly when to grind his cock between your folds, knows exactly when to pull back to kiss your neck, and knows exactly how to lean you back with his hand protecting the back of your head so that it doesn’t slam against the table. 

He slips his cock so beautifully as he trails his kisses to your tits too, suckling gently against one of your nipples before he nearly can’t stand it anymore. He’s in his own world, barely recognizing that he’s not the only one experiencing this right now.

With an eager hand, Jay grabs his cock and presses it directly into you without waiting any longer. He isn’t slow or gentle with it. You can feel how desperate he is solely because of the way he can’t seem to fathom taking it slow. He doesn’t let you adjust, no. The second the head of that thick cock slips in he’s slamming in. All the way, forcing a yelp from your throat and a tight grip to his back.

He’s lost himself in the moment and you’re loving it. Loving the way his tongue picks up against your nipples, and the way there is no rhythm or rhyme to his thrusts. His size alone is enough for you, and you can admit to loving every single push and pull his body is offering.

The room is silent save for his whimpers, your gasps, and the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. You’re quick to wrap a leg around his waist so that when he presses in again, you can force him to stay in place, if just to let him genuinely feel what it’s like to have a pussy clenching around him.

“You feel it?” You groan out, feeling his teeth pinch against your nipple and sending a sharp pain down your body. 

He nods frantically, pulling your nipple with his lips as he does it. You can tell he’s drooling, wetting your chest in such an embarrassing way, but he’s so–Jay. He’s Jay. This is Jay.

You watch his face and the way he winces with each pulse of your hole quivering around the sheer size of him, and you coo out at him when his cock twitches in response. As if you can handle yourself right now, as if he can too.

Neither of you can comprehend the pleasure.

“Can’t believe I get to be your third.” You sing out. “You’re so good, so–”

“S-stop talking, fuck-” Jay calls out in a broken and choked gasp, feeling too turned on by the way you speak. He can’t help it when he forces his hips to move against the pressure of your leg trying to keep him in place. This time he fucks at a quicker pace. His mouth falls open against your breast and his hands shoot to your waist as he pulls himself up and opens his eyes. 

He watches the way your sticky cunt coats him as he slides in and out of you, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that you feel he could be bruising you. 

You’re so in awe of him losing complete control that you want nothing more than to cum with him inside of you. You quickly reach your hand down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive spot almost to the point that you could start crying out at how painful it truly is at this moment. You’ve never been this sensitive for a man, and yet, you’re coming undone beneath him and nearly losing as much control as he has. 

A mess of moans and groans is filling the room as Jay chases his high, and you are at the point that you want to say the nicest and dirtiest things to him out of sheer arousal. So you do, you talk, and you talk. Whispers of “girls would die to be fucked by you,” turn to screams of, “yeah, fuck Jongie, just like that!” 

It wasn’t until you moaned out, “Cum with me, now, Jongie, I can’t hold it–” when Jay ’s hips stuttered and his eyes closed tightly in a frustrated groan. “Stop–” He grunts, hips pressing impossibly hard against you. To the point that you scoot up on the table. “Stop, I’m–” He groans again, attempting to pull out so that he can release against your pulsing and empty pussy.

But you don’t let him.

Your legs hold him in place as you release your clit and pull yourself up on your arms just to grab against his neck and pull him down with you against the table. 

“Cum in me.” You nearly demand, holding his face so that he can’t look away from you.

You watch the way his pupils dilate more at the words and you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you. Then? His pupils are gone. He’s rolling his eyes back now, looking so fucking beautiful while doing it.

Jay’s eyebrows fall much like his mouth does when he cums. His hips are frantic but his face looks calm, and not a single sound releases from his lips. His breath is caught in his throat with each twitch, shooting ropes into you so deeply that you feel each wave of his pleasure hitting your cervix. 

  You’re very quick to rub your clit again, harsh and rough circles being amplified by the way his abdomen adds pressure to your hand with each push of his cock in you. It sends you over edge so fast, even he feels the clench, choking out each spurt of his remaining orgasm. 

You grab onto him harshly now, without a thought in your head besides kissing him. He kisses you back, realizing that despite having sex before, this may be the first time he’s ever made a girl cum. It’s certainly the first time he’s ever felt his cock being tugged by the walls of a pussy as it works itself through an orgasm, anyway.

Crazy thing is…he’s not done. Like, he can’t stop cumming. Lasting entirely far too long and far past sensitivity. Jay opens his eyes to look at you when you’re reaching the end of your own orgasm, all while he’s still filling you up, and even feeling his load bubble out from around him with each tight thrust. Your voice is beautifully raspy, and the way you hold onto him makes him feel like you should never let go. 

Upon his ears popping and finally emptied, he genuinely feels the mess between the two of you. Quickly, he pulls back and notes that the hem of his shirt is absolutely fucking soaked. In an attempt to take a small step back in order to remove himself from you, he nearly trips over his pants that had fallen to his ankles.

“Oh.” You laugh, wincing as you feel his cock leave you empty. “Probably should have undressed you.” Your eyes sparkle at the large damp spot, nearly making his shirt entirely see-through from just how soaked it really is. 

Jay steps out of his pants silently and just kind of stands there awkwardly, watching the cum spill from you. Then panic spreads across his face. 

“Um,” He croaks out, voice cracking almost immediately. “I– I couldn’t pull out…I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want you to.” You soothe him, noting how he’s right back to his awkward and shy persona the moment he’s finished fucking you. “It’s fine, I’m protected” You confirm for him, just to see the relief replace that panic.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“So–” You comment, looking down at the wrinkled papers in front of you. “You really expect me to try and write at least 1200 words tonight?” 

Jay tilts his head at you, sitting with a blanket covering his entire body as his clothes go through the cycles of a wash. “If we hadn’t gotten off track, you could already be almost done with it.” 

“God, you are such a fucking bore.” You laugh, shivering at the cold air hitting your bare skin. “I’m literally naked right now and you’re making me do this right now?” 

“Finish your paper and we can talk about that. Besides, I kind of need to recover for more than thirty minutes from that, you know? I’m sensitive.” He shoots back, not afraid to sound as embarrassing as he truly is now. 

To his surprise, you nod with a cheeky smirk. Promising you any amount of him after what happened was enough to force your focus on your school work for now at least. Just because he did it once doesn’t mean he will always want to fuck stupid girls. If anything, Jay deserves someone who respects his work ethic and need to help others right? The huge cock is just a bonus when you think about it.

You know it’s going to be a hell of a month after tonight, but for the most part, you think that studying with Jay may have been your best college decision to date. You can learn a lot from him, and apparently... he can learn from you too. You just hope he doesn’t run off and use that knowledge on other girls once he realizes he’s definitely got the ability to break hearts. 

[bunnis-monsters]

Do Queens from different hives interact and share tips for mating?

Also, pregnant sex please, imagine being so full of eggs a big strong bee hybrid holds you by your armpits to alleviate the weight while below you another pretty bee lifts your hips and slides you up and down their cocks.

I’d say no, they usually really dislike each other. You are probably the only queen willing to be kind, the others view you as a potential rival and target for assassination. The only reason the other queen: haven’t killed you yet is because your hive is very strong and some of your sons have joined their hives to diversify their numbers.

Now onto the smut!

The bee hybrids absolutely love pregnant sex. Seeing you waddle down the halls and play with the children while you’re barely able to move gets them going. It’s not long before they’re taking you into a spare room, one lifting you up and the other pushing their fat cock into that pretty cunt of yours.

Your belly is already distended and heavy with eggs, but they hold you up anyways, finding pleasure in taking turns pushing your womb to its limits.

Your tits spurt warm milk as your pussy takes the final egg, and you’re finally filled to the brink. They lick up your milk happily, giving your clit some gently rubs to make you clench around their eggs!

By the time they’re done, you’re so heavy you can’t walk anymore, and they have to carry you back to your room… a little guilty that they’ve stuffed you a bit too full. They’ll snuggle you and give you tons of kisses and fluffy hugs to make you feel better though!

The urge to fill you with more eggs is always on every bee hybrid’s mind, even when you’re so stuffed full of eggs that you’re barely able to get around.

How are they supposed to control themselves when their queen is so cute and plump, so breedable? It’s a mystery on why this hasn’t happened yet.

Of course, the two are reprimanded for mating with you and skipping ahead in the line(each bee gets their turn to mate with you in your quarters) but it’s hard to blame them.

You don’t really mind either, now you get pampered and spoiled even more!

[callmecoke]

Thinking of the first time the 141 discover you on a website for Sugar Babies...

TW: Sex work, specifically being a sugar baby. Mention of insanity, but it's mostly exaggeration; this one's pretty SFW, but I would proceed with caution because the subject matter is adult. Not Proofread!!

This is the first instalment of something I’ll continue writing about!!! And also my first post!!!! Yipeeee😆😆😆

I’m thinking about one tired, slow, dull day with our favourite 141 boys as they sit around waiting to receive orders and go-tos from higher-ups. They’ve done everything they could to pass the time: Polished and prepared the weaponry, sorted and stored old files, and Simon even got desperate enough to fold, wash and tuck in bedding for the second time. But eventually, they ran out of little distractions and were left waiting for orders that might never come. Bit by bit, it was driving them mad. The first to snap was Gaz, who was already pacing up and down the base like a madman. Out of desperation, he grabbed his laptop that he hid under his bed and opened it. He knew he wasn’t allowed to access electronic devices while at base; frankly, he wasn’t even supposed to have them at all. But Price couldn’t be bothered to chastise his sergeant, as he was equally starting to get desperate for some action too. 

Gaz just started opening tabs, looking for anything to pass the time. He wasn’t sure what his goal was other than to find something that might quell his building insanity. That’s when he saw it. Some sort of…dating website? No, not entirely that. It was filled with livestreams, gorgeous younger men and women just talking. He looked further and found it was some kind of sugar baby service where people could come on and interact with lonely rich fellas with cash to spend. Interesting, but not his thing. He was about to exit the page when he spotted your livestream. You were attractive, no doubt about that, but you also seemed a lot more nervous than the other ‘sugar babies’ on this website acted. Like you were new to all this. Your live stream was just you sitting on your bed with the laptop in front of you, only having a dozen or so viewers at most. Curiosity struck him, and his finger moved to click on your livestream. 

The audio of you talking played out of the speakers on the laptop, making the other three men's heads turn in Gaz’s direction. You spoke softly, careful with your words as you talked about yourself and your day, answering questions now and again. It was intriguing. You had each of their attention with the way you spoke. None of them had spoken to a civilian for months. Outside of the 141, they barely even saw another human being with the way they were stuck there. So hearing your voice felt like singing angels to them, one that came to pull them out of the darkness of their minds. Soap and Simon silently shuffled to where Gaz was and leered behind him, watching you talk over his shoulder. Price continued to sit on his side of the room, but he was still entranced by your voice. Even ordering Gaz to turn up the volume if it got too quiet.

Gaz soon realised that the livestream was nearing its end. You hadn’t earned a lot of money, and you were slowly losing steam. But Gaz was desperate. He needed to hear your voice again. To talk to you, speak to you, interact with you somehow. His fingers moved before his brain did, and he input his card details into the website faster than the speed of sound. You had to pay in order to leave a comment and interact on this kind of website, so he tipped you a healthy sum of cash before typing out the quickest sentence he could to get your attention.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ 𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 + 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

characters: vox, val, alastor, lucifer warnings: implied smut in some; 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink (+ papi for val), toxic relationships, pet/master dynamic (for alastor), reader is a bit of a brat with vox, implied drugging the night before (val), praise + pet names, fem!reader, reader is carried in val’s words: 2.7k

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐨𝐱 ⊹˚₊

You love mornings with your Daddy—truly, you do; love waking up next to him, slow and soft as his fingertips outline your features; love eating breakfast with him, feet kicking back and forth on one of the barstools as he prepares something simple for the two of you, know that he had to pull teeth to get the mornings off of work so he could spend them with you, getting you ready for the day and seeing you off—but there is one part, right at the very end, that you absolutely despise. 

Like everything with Vox, dental hygiene is a meticulous procedure, a rigorous routine with a set of immutable steps to be followed in the exact order Vox has laid them out in—carved into concrete, set in stone.

And, like everything else with Vox, no one knows how to perform them correctly except for him.

Still, it isn’t like you ever make it easy for him.

What else could he expect from his little troublemaker, really?

“Open up.” 

A thumb and a forefinger clamp down on the hinges of your jaw, palm wreathed around your chin, and squeeze, popping your mouth open with practiced efficiency.

“Daddy,” the word comes out as a stringy whine, slightly garbled, face crumpling in petulance. “Dun wanna.” 

Jerking a little in his grasp, you try to pull away from the advancing toothbrush slathered with translucent teal gel, and Vox clicks his tongue. 

“And I don’t care,” he says simply, fingers flexing in warning. “Good little girls need to brush their teeth—especially if they’ve eaten two bowls of sugary cereal for breakfast.” 

“But—”

Vox pulls back, face flattened into something serious. “Do you want cavities eating holes in your teeth?” 

“No—”

“Didn’t think so. Now hold still and let Daddy do this for you, yeah?” 

A groan vibrates on the back of your tongue, but your body goes pliant in his grasp, chin leaning into his pillowy palm.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs to himself, a small smug smile on his face.

Warmth blossoms in your chest, swells your lungs and stretches your ribs as you droop a little more beneath his praise and he chuckles, a fond little melody playing on his tongue, grip tightening infinitesimally. 

And he’s so precise with it all, maneuvers painstakingly perfect as he tilts your head one way, then the other, sure to scrub each tooth thoroughly, bristles scouring in little circular motions as he cleanses.

“Aaaah,” he hums, mimicking the action as he pries his mouth open wider, another praise falling from his lips as you instantly obey, allowing him to reach the molars at the very back of your mouth—brushing on top, on either side, behind, then on top again. 

“Tongue out.” 

Another whine sticks in your throat, brows pushing together and crinkling your forehead, open mouth downturned in a frown with a slight shake of your head, struggling against his hold.

“Come, now,” Vox chastises, but his voice is hard, fortified with a subtle threat. “You were doing so well for me—don’t start acting up, Daddy’s almost done.” 

His gaze holds yours steadily, a single eyebrow raising in question—are you really going to test me?—and you cave, again.

Reluctantly, your tongue unfurls from your mouth, face still scrunched in irritation as he scrapes the bristles across the muscle, working up a healthy lather, refusing to cease until that telltale disgruntled whine claws at your throat, evoking another one of those patronizing little chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying as he tips a glass to your lips, a palm cupped protectively beneath your chin. “Rinse.” 

And, Christ, he loves how fucking obedient you are, even as the urge to misbehave bubbles behind your ribs, lips set in a deep pout as you follow his instructions, swishing a mouthful of water between your cheeks, waiting perfect and patient for his next order. 

“Spit.”

Oh, so compliant, so disciplined you are as you instantly spew blue liquid down the drain, a fierce sense of pride, of ownership, igniting deep within his soul, blazing bright and hot and strong, reflected in the amplified glowing of his eyes.

Your features are still scrunched up in a cute little pout, glaring at him through your lashes, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” A thumb runs along your forehead, attempting to iron out the crease between your brows in a gentle caress.

“It was awful.” 

“Fucking brat.” 

And he just can’t help but laugh out the word, the sting the insult should bring instantly negated by the tender affection it’s smothered in, turned soft and melty on his tongue.

No, you never make such endeavours painless for him, but you do always make them interesting, and for that, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭��𝐧𝐨 ⊹˚₊

It’s late in the afternoon when Val decides it’s time to get up, deep crimson light spilling through the narrow gaps in his thick curtains and painting thin, long strokes across the shag carpet.

He doesn’t bother formally waking you as two of his hands scoop you from the nest of silk and cradle you to his body, chuckling out a coo as you automatically snuggle into his chest, legs latching around his waist. 

The haze of sleep still hangs heavy in your skull, a soft protest grumbled into his skin as he carries you somewhere, lids staying firmly glued shut, body beginning to melt into his again as the bliss of unconsciousness entices you with promises of whimsical dreams and relief from your aching muscles. 

Cold marble stings your bare thighs suddenly, forcing a small jolt through your form, a soft hiss exhaled from between your teeth.

“I know, I know, it’s cold,” Val pacifies, his voice a pleasant fog curling around your cheeks as he leans around you, tinkering with something.  

“Papi,” you whimper, reaching blindly for him, lethargic head falling forward, forehead pressed tightly to his sternum.

“Mmm, I’m here,” he murmurs distractedly, two of his hands still wrapped firmly around your hips as the other set busy themselves with uncapping a tube of toothpaste.

“Wanna go back to bed,” you slur out in a whine, nose nuzzling into his chest, fruitlessly looking for a place to rest your head, dense drowsiness curling the edges of your mind.

“But it’s time to get up, princesa,” he chides gently, a finger tracing the curve of your cheek. “You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours.” 

“M’still tired.” 

A hum of contemplation vibrates at the back of his tongue as a hand twines around your jaw, examining your face this way, then that, before tilting your chin up.

“Maybe I gave you a little too much last night,” he muses to himself through a dark snicker. “It’s kinda cute that you’re still this fucked up, though. Can’t even open your eyes for me, can you?” 

And you try, really, you do, attempting to heft your leaden lids, features screwing up cutely with the immense effort, and Val coos again, as if your intoxication is so pathetically precious—poor little girl can barely handle her Daddy’s drugs! How sweet.

“Well, that’s okay,” he purrs, first pair of hands slipping further beneath his dress shirt—a makeshift nightgown, his favourite nightgown on you—and tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything; Papi will do it for you.” 

A sound of indignation sticks in your throat as you finally pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh light of the bathroom, bleary gaze fixed on the sparkly pink toothbrush in one of his hands, face rumpling into a pout. 

Your lips press into a tight, firm line, sealing your mouth against the rapidly advancing utensil as your eyes slip shut again, weighted with narcotic-laced exhaustion, head shaking in messy little motions.

“C’mon, be co-operative,” the points of his nails dig into your skin, hard enough to leave superficial indents—a warning. “Don’t upset Daddy this early in the day, baby.” 

Wrenching your eyes open again, your nose twitches with a sniffle, chin beginning to quiver.

“But—But—Do I have to?”

“Yes, you have to,” he says, but his voice trembles with the effort to stay calm, to stay pleasant. “Your mouth is very dirty from last night, and it needs to be cleaned.”

A thick torrent of tears rush to cloud your vision, sudden and stinging, a hiccup stuttering your chest. The hand curved around your jaw tightens, yanking your face toward his own, foreheads knocking together.

“Now, open, before I make you open.”

Your jaw falls slack, a slave to his orders, unable to disobey a direct demand from its owner, and Val purrs, something wicked unravelling on his face, smile stretched sharp and sleazy from edge to edge, the glow in his eyes flaring with your instant compliance.

“Good girl.”

₊˚⊹ 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Alastor, you’ve come to learn, has a plethora of odd regimes; stringently scheduled customs that are non-negotiable, that extend to you, including brushing your teeth. 

It’s become routine, now—habitual, as most things with Alastor are—and your days no longer feel right without it; weird, off, incomplete. 

Because it’s become something of a comfort; something so simple, yet so intimate, something calming and rewarding, something to look forward to—a moment shared between the two of you, twice a day, once at the beginning, and once at the end. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you try tell him, the first time he insists on doing it, trying desperately to look over your shoulder as he ushers you into his ensuite.

“Nonsense!” he waves a hand in dismissal. “It isn’t a problem at all. Now, sit.” 

“Alastor—”

“Sit.” 

With a tiny frown, you perch gingerly on the edge of the bathtub, fingers curling around the rim.

“I’m serious,” you murmur, teeth nibbling superficially at the skin of your lip, wary eyes watching as he flits with practiced ease around the bathroom, a twinge of confusion settling in your chest, something akin to shame sitting thick and bitter on the back of your tongue. “I can do it myself…” 

“I know you can,” he replies simply, focused on depositing a strip of white toothpaste on your toothbrush. 

“Then…” you blink up at him, watching him advance with wide eyes, shoulders shrinking as he blankets you in his shadow. “Why are you doing it for me?” 

Irritation twitches at the edges of his grin, Alastor exhaling a controlled sigh.

“Because,” he begins, keeping his voice light, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb. “A good Master takes proper care of his pet.” 

His grip strengthens, tilting your face up further, his form looming over your own as you sit, vulnerable and exposed, beneath his touch. Crimson eyes glow as they scour your face, his back bent at an uncomfortable angle as he practically curls around you, the scent of earth and cedar tinged with copper wafting across your face with his calm, even breaths. 

“Besides,” he continues, voice dropped an octave lower, his nose nearly nudging yours. “I couldn’t possibly trust you to do it adequately.” 

A cruel little chuckle plays on his tongue, as if the mere thought itself is preposterous, the sound stinging as it seeps into your cheeks, hot and full of spikes. 

“Now, open.” 

Instantly, your mouth falls agape, and Alastor’s smile stretches infinitesimally wider, a sharp glint flaring in his eyes.

“A good owner maintains their pet’s hygiene,” he explains as he works, gaze fixed intently on his actions, cleansing with a meticulous sort of vigilance. “Bathes them, grooms them, dresses them—performs all of the basic necessities a pet needs to appear presentable.”

His hand shifts slightly, angling your head to the side, and you follow easily, malleable in his grasp, his smile shimmering. 

“And I pride myself on taking very good care the things that belong to me.”

And, really, he does. Because Alastor doesn’t just brush your teeth with rigorous care, conscientiously certain to cleanse every dip and gap; he flosses them, too, with gentle hands and painstaking precision, then ensures you’ve rinsed with germ-killing, enamel-strengthening mouthwash for exactly forty-five seconds, counting uniformly and observing with large, unblinking eyes as you adhere to his every instruction, cheeks bulging with burning liquid, eyes squinting from the intensity, but never daring to blink, to glance away, to stop at all. 

“Look at you,” he purrs after you’ve spit down the drain, gazing back up at him with a sort of desperate devotion—demented, devious, damned to his hell—syrupy condescension dripping from his teeth. “So well behaved for me, aren’t you?”  

A palm cups your jaw, his thumb running across your cheek in rhythmic strokes, the tip of his claw caressing your skin with just enough pressure to leave behind shallow scratches. 

“What, hoping Master will give you a treat for being so obedient?” 

“No, Sir,” you whimper out, voice gone dreamy as you nuzzle into his hand. “You taking such good care of me is more than enough.” 

Something sinister oozes into his face, something that contorts his smile and corrodes his eyes, leaving behind nothing but raw hunger, like he’s about to devour you whole, pops of static fizzing thickly in his voice. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

₊˚⊹ 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Everything hurts, muscles stiff and aching and full of sand, your motions clumsy and cumbersome as you attempt to brush your teeth, joints creaking with every slight shift.

Fatigue blurs the edges of your eyes, your vision fading out of focus again, mind gone fuzzy as you try your best to concentrate on your movements—up, down, all around, repeat—features screwing up in a wince as you catch the harsh bristles on your gums, again. 

“You’re making a bit of a mess, sleepyhead,” Lucifer’s tender chuckle pulls you from your foggy stupor, a quiet hum vibrating in your throat as you look over at him in question, the gesture lethargic and delayed. 

“You’ve got some—Here,” he says softly, hands curling around your shoulders and turning you to face him, then tilting your chin up. “May I?”

Another affirmative sounds on the back of your tongue and Lucifer uses his thumb to carefully clean the foaming paste collecting at the corners of your mouth, then catching a slow dribble streaming down your chin with a deft knuckle. 

A frown mars his face, his forehead creasing beneath the strain, his other hand stroking your shoulder as worried eyes search your face, slow and careful.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks. “You’re really struggling to brush your teeth.”

“Jus—really tired,” you mumble through the bubbles in your mouth, Lucifer skillfully catching another trickle of watery paste, concern tugging at the corners of his lips, frown deepening.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” 

Sleepy eyes blink up at him, slow and sluggish, your hazy mind taking a moment to process the question.

“Mhmm,” you finally nod, hand loosening the instant his fingers skim yours, allowing him to gently uncurl your grip from around the base of your toothbrush, his own effortlessly taking its place. 

“Alright, alright, Daddy will help you,” he’s pacifying in a murmur, but his gaze has turned melty, glow dimmed and pupils gaping, lids heavy with love. “Poor thing…Last night was a long night for you, huh?” 

“S’a lot,” you confirm in a messy mumble, lids drooping heavily with the weight of exhaustion.

“Yeah?” his thumb rubs loving little circles into your jaw as he works, gaze trained on his task. “Was Daddy a little too rough with you?” 

The question is uttered out tenderly, full of sympathy and care, his brow furrowing as his eyes flit back to yours, searching for veracity in your pupils.

“Maybe I should be a bit gentler next—”

“No!” you cough around the refusal, puffy lids snapping open suddenly, the unexpected vehemency causing Lucifer to flinch.

“No?” he laughs, and it’s warm with affection, his features, hard with worry, mollifying beneath fondness, amorous amusement twinkling daintily in his eyes. 

“No,” you whine out with a tiny pout, head shaking a little in his grasp. “Please.”

“Okay,” the pad of his thumb runs along your cheek, his stare trailing after it. “If nothing else, at least Daddy will always be there to take care of you the morning after.”

[solxamber]

Kind of want to see how you write White Rabbit!Reader overbloting with the TWST characters.

On your rules, it didn't state whether or not you wrote angst or not, soooooo......

I imagine while everyone else sees it as just teasing anxious/shy beastman, White Rabbit!Reader doesn't find it funny at all and finds it kind of insulting that people are willing to tease them in some shape or form or even try to rope them into a deal.

TBH, if I was White Rabbit!Reader, I would feel insulted or agitated that people are willing to take advantage of them.

Thank you for the request, I hope you like it <3

Part 1 with the characters interaction with white rabbit!reader

You’ve always been the nervous type. Jumpy, shy, the sort of person people look at and think, Ah, easy to tease. It’s not like you want to be like this, constantly on edge, always trying to avoid the next embarrassment. But that’s just how things are, right? No one really sees you, not beyond the anxious White Rabbit who always stumbles over their words and drops paperwork.

Everyone thinks it’s harmless. The playful teasing, the way they poke at you like it’s some kind of game. You try to smile, laugh it off, and pretend like it doesn’t bother you. But inside? It’s different. It’s not funny. It’s exhausting. Day after day, week after week—there’s only so much you can take before the cracks start to show.

As you fall deeper into your overblot, surrounded by thick, inky shadows and an overwhelming sense of betrayal, each of them reacts differently. They’ve never seen you like this before—never imagined you’d reach a breaking point. But here you are, consumed by magic, frustration, and the hurt they didn’t realize they’d inflicted.

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle is the first to react, freezing in place as memories of his own overblot flood back. He knows what it’s like to snap under the pressure, to feel like the world is pressing down on you with impossible expectations. But seeing you, someone so quiet and timid, become consumed by that darkness? It hits him harder than he expected.

“White Rabbit…” he mutters, voice tight, guilt pooling in his chest. He knows what it’s like to feel trapped by rules, but he never thought his teasing could push someone to this. The weight of his own overblot sits heavily in his gut. He had no right to let his frustrations out on you, to not recognize the burden you were carrying.

“Enough!” he shouts, not to you, but to the others. “This is my fault… I should’ve noticed.” He’s desperate to keep you from making the same mistakes he did.

Trey Clover:

Trey is shocked but calm, his expression unreadable as he watches the chaos unfold around you. He thought he knew you, thought you were just shy, a bit anxious. But this? This darkness swirling around you? It tells him how badly he misread things.

“I didn’t realize…” he admits under his breath. Trey has always been the ‘caretaker,’ the calm one, but he wonders now if his casual teasing and pushing you along without addressing your stress was a mistake. “I never meant for things to go this far.” He takes a step forward, hoping to pull you back from the brink.

“I’ll help you,” Trey says, trying to reach through the rage and chaos. “You’re not alone in this.”

Cater Diamond:

Cater flinches when he sees your overblot form, a deep pang of guilt hitting him. He had always laughed off your reactions, thinking you were just a little skittish. Maybe he even found it cute in a weird way. But now, seeing the result of all those moments, he’s not laughing anymore.

“Whoa… I didn’t think—” He cuts himself off, realizing there’s no way to make light of this. His chest tightens with anxiety, memories of watching Riddle’s overblot flood his mind. He’s always been the type to avoid confrontation, to stay on the sidelines and keep things light. But now, he feels guilty for not paying more attention to your feelings.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Cater says softly, watching the chaos unravel. “Come on, this isn’t like you…”

Ace Trappola:

Ace is terrified but refuses to show it, the smirk on his face slipping into something much more serious as he watches you spiral. He knew you were jumpy, but he never expected this from you. The thought that his teasing, his joking around, might’ve actually hurt you? It’s a hard pill to swallow.

“Damn… you’re really pissed, huh?” Ace mutters, trying to keep his voice light, but the guilt creeps in. He remembers when Riddle overblotted, how terrifying that was. He wonders if this is how you felt back then—small, powerless, cornered.

“I didn’t mean to push you so hard, okay?” he says, raising his hands defensively. He takes a step forward, though he’s still uncertain. “We’ll fix this, alright? You don’t have to do it alone.”

Deuce Spade:

Deuce’s heart races as he watches you overblot, his mind scrambling to process what’s happening. He never wanted to make you feel like this. You were his friend, and he thought the teasing was just harmless fun. But now? Now he sees how wrong he was.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Deuce shouts, stepping forward, fists clenched. He remembers when he lost control of his temper, how it felt like the world was collapsing around him. And now, you’re going through the same thing. “I didn’t mean it! I swear, I didn’t think—”

He feels sick, watching the darkness consume you. He knows what it’s like to feel cornered, but he can’t bear to see you fall apart like this. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m right here.”

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona watches your overblot unfold with a cold, calculating gaze, his own memories of overblot lurking in the back of his mind. He knows what it’s like to reach your breaking point, to feel like you’ve been pushed too far by the world around you. But seeing you, so jittery and anxious, transform into something so full of rage and power? It catches him off guard.

“Tch. Should’ve seen this coming,” Leona mutters, though his voice lacks its usual bite. He remembers the humiliation of his own overblot, the way it felt to be consumed by bitterness and frustration. He won’t admit it, but he feels a flicker of empathy for you.

“Don’t get cocky just because you snapped,” he says, stepping forward. “You think you’re the only one who’s been pushed too far? Get a grip.” But behind his harsh words is a hint of understanding. He knows this darkness all too well.

Ruggie Bucchi:

Ruggie’s first instinct is to run, to get as far away from the chaos as possible. But then he hesitates, seeing the pain etched into your overblotted form. He knew you were an easy target for teasing, but he never meant for things to get this bad. You’re just the anxious bunny who always jumped at shadows, right?

“Ah, man…” Ruggie rubs the back of his neck, feeling a pang of guilt. “Didn’t mean to push ya so hard.” He understands what it’s like to be at the bottom, to feel like people are using you. It’s something he’s lived with his whole life.

“Look, I get it. Everyone pushes you around, huh?” Ruggie says, his voice softer now. “But this ain’t the way to deal with it. We can figure this out, alright?”

Jack Howl:

Jack’s eyes widen as he sees the darkness surge around you. He’s always respected your timid nature, never the type to tease you like the others. But still, he didn’t realize how much pressure you were under, how deeply the teasing had cut. Seeing you overblot like this—it makes him feel guilty for not stepping in sooner.

“You...” Jack mutters, his voice filled with concern. He knows what it’s like to feel small and powerless, but he never imagined you’d reach this point. “I should’ve stopped them. I should’ve said something earlier.”

His instincts kick in, and he steps forward, determined to help you. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’re packmates, right? I won’t let this take you.” He braces himself for whatever comes next, ready to face the storm by your side.

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul’s eyes widen in shock, but a familiar pang of guilt hits him. Seeing you succumb to an overblot drags up memories of his own, the crushing weight of failure and inferiority pressing down on him. He had worked so hard to keep himself from feeling powerless, just as you had kept trying to stay in control.

“Not again…” Azul mutters to himself, his mind flashing back to when he was in your shoes. He had been mocked, taken advantage of, and pushed to the edge—just like you. But he realizes now how unfair it was to tease you, to make you feel as though your anxiety and insecurity were something to exploit.

He straightens up, trying to shake off his own feelings. “I won’t let you go through what I did. I’ll help you, White Rabbit.” He knows what it’s like to drown in despair, and he won’t let you be consumed by it.

Jade Leech:

Jade’s smile falters, his gaze sharp and observant as he watches your overblot unfold. To him, you had always been the anxious little White Rabbit, easy to fluster, easy to toy with. But now, seeing the raw fury and pain that has overtaken you, he wonders if he pushed too far.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs softly, though there’s a note of regret in his voice. He had always found your reactions amusing, but he never thought it would come to this. He’s not entirely unfamiliar with what it feels like to be pushed beyond one’s limit. But even so, this wasn’t what he intended.

“I wonder…” Jade steps forward slowly, voice calm. “What can be done to quell this storm?” His tone is smooth, but there’s a genuine desire to help beneath it.

Floyd Leech:

Floyd grins at first, excited by the chaos, but his grin quickly fades when he realizes how serious this is. He’s seen overblots before, but yours? It’s different. He thought messing with you was fun—seeing you all flustered and scared always gave him a good time. But now? Now, he’s not so sure.

“Oi, Rabbity” Floyd says, tilting his head. “I didn’t think you’d snap like this.” There’s a note of surprise in his voice, even a little bit of guilt. He knows what it’s like to be driven to the edge, to feel like everything is just too much, but he never thought you’d end up like this.

“Come on, don’t be boring. Let’s stop this,” Floyd says, his voice still playful, but there’s concern in his eyes.

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim’s heart breaks as he sees you overblot. You were always so quiet, so nervous, and he never imagined that all the teasing, all the casual comments, could push you to this point. He’s never experienced an overblot himself, but he’s seen it before—he saw Jamil’s, after all—and he knows how much pain must be inside you right now.

“I’m so sorry!” Kalim cries, rushing toward you. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this! Please, [Name], I never wanted to hurt you!” There’s desperation in his voice as he tries to reach through the swirling darkness to get to you.

“We’re friends, right? I’ll help you! I promise!”

Jamil Viper:

Jamil’s stomach churns as he watches the darkness swallow you. It’s a feeling he knows intimately, the suffocating need for control and the constant pressure to serve, only to snap under it all. His own overblot had been a rebellion, an explosion of resentment he could no longer contain.

But you? You were different—or so he thought. Now he sees it clearly: you’ve been pushed into a corner, taken advantage of just like he was. A bitter taste fills his mouth.

He calls out to you, voice steady but not unfeeling. “Overblotting won’t free you. Trust me, I’ve been there. It might feel like the only option right now, but in the end, you’ll still be trapped—just in a different kind of cage.”

He takes a slow step closer, his mind already working through how to defuse the situation. “Let’s solve this another way. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil watches your transformation with narrowed eyes, his heart clenched in a mixture of anger and regret. He knows all too well the feeling of perfection slipping through his fingers, the desperation to control everything, only to lose it all. His own overblot was a moment of utter failure, a lapse in control that still stings his pride.

But this is different—your overblot is not about vanity or the fear of fading. It’s about being pushed, teased, and broken.

He steps forward, his voice sharp but laced with an undertone of empathy. “Is this what you want? To lose yourself because of what others think?” His gaze hardens, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I understand your frustration. I’ve been where you are, and trust me—overblotting won’t make it any better. It’ll only steal more from you.”

Vil may be harsh, but his words carry the weight of someone who’s learned a bitter lesson. “Come back to yourself, or you’ll regret it.”

Rook Hunt:

Rook’s eyes light up with both fascination and concern as he watches the darkness surround you. He’s always been keenly aware of people’s emotions, but he never realized just how much you were struggling. He thought your nervousness was simply part of your charm, but now he sees how deeply the teasing cut.

“Mon lapin, such fury!” Rook exclaims, though there’s a softness in his tone. “I never meant to push you so far. I only wished to see you shine, but I see now that I have caused you harm.”

Rook steps forward, his voice gentle. “Let me help you find your way back to the light.”

Epel Felmier:

Epel feels a pang of guilt as he watches you overblot. He thought you were just shy, just a little jumpy, and he didn’t think much of the teasing. But now, seeing the darkness consume you, he realizes how much you were holding back.

“Dang it…” Epel mutters, clenching his fists. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He knows what it’s like to feel underestimated, to feel like you’re being pushed around, and he can’t help but feel responsible for not standing up for you sooner.

“Come on, we’re better than this! Don’t let them get to you like this!"

Idia Shroud:

Idia feels a wave of guilt wash over him as he watches your overblot. Memories of his own overblot come flooding back—the fear, the anger, the feeling of being utterly powerless. He knows what it’s like to feel like the world is against you, and seeing you go through the same thing? It hits too close to home.

“Ah, crap…” Idia mutters, running a hand through his hair. He’s been there, and it’s terrifying. The isolation, the pressure, the overwhelming urge to just… break. He never thought you’d reach that point, though. He always saw you as the timid one, the anxious White Rabbit that everyone teased, but he didn’t realize just how much you were holding in.

“I-I get it,” Idia says, his voice wavering slightly. “It’s not fair. None of it is. But you don’t have to do this.” He feels a strange connection to you now, and the last thing he wants is for you to go through what he did.

“We’ll figure it out, okay? I won’t let you end up like me.”

Ortho Shroud:

Ortho’s sensors flash in alarm as he registers your overblot. He’s never experienced one himself, but he’s seen it happen to Idia, and he knows how dangerous it can be. His eyes widen as he scans your vitals, detecting the surge of magic and stress that’s overtaking you.

“You’re overblotting!” Ortho shouts, his voice filled with concern. He hovers closer, his holographic wings fluttering as he tries to figure out how to help. “You don’t have to go through this alone! We can fix this! I promise!”

He reaches out, trying to connect with you on a personal level. “My brother went through something similar, but we helped him. We’ll help you too! You’re not alone, okay?”

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus watches your overblot with a calm, contemplative gaze. He’s no stranger to feeling isolated, to being misunderstood and feared, and seeing you succumb to the darkness brings up a strange sense of kinship. You were always anxious around him, always jumpy, and he wonders if he contributed to the pressure that broke you.

“So, even the White Rabbit has fallen to despair,” Malleus murmurs, his voice low. He knows the weight of loneliness, and he feels a deep sympathy for you. “You are not alone in this,.I will help you, as you have helped me.”

He steps forward, his presence commanding and calm. “Do not let the darkness consume you. You are stronger than you believe.”

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia’s playful demeanor shifts as he watches your overblot unfold. He’s lived a long life and seen many things, but overblots are always tragic. He thought your timid nature was just part of who you were, but now he sees the pain you were hiding.

“My, my… I didn’t think you’d reach this point,” Lilia says softly. “I should’ve paid more attention to the signs.” There’s regret in his voice as he steps forward, his usual playful tone replaced with seriousness.

“Come now, little one. There’s no need to let the darkness take you. We’ll get through this together.”

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek is taken aback by your overblot, his usually brash demeanor faltering for a moment. He thought you were just weak, just anxious, but now he sees how much pressure you were under. He didn’t expect you to snap like this.

“White Rabbit! Pull yourself together!” Sebek shouts, though there’s a hint of concern in his voice. He’s not good at dealing with emotions, but he knows what it’s like to feel like you’re not living up to expectations.

“Don’t let this consume you! You’re stronger than this!”

Silver:

Silver watches you overblot with a calm but concerned expression. He’s always been quiet, like you, and he knows what it’s like to feel overwhelmed by the expectations of others. He didn’t think the teasing would push you this far, but now he regrets not stepping in sooner.

“I should’ve noticed,” Silver says softly. “I should’ve done more to help you.” He steps forward, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s eyes blaze with a mixture of horror and triumph as he watches you descend into your overblot. The corruption seeping through your veins, the monstrous form taking shape—it only reinforces everything he’s ever believed about the dangers of magic, especially from those at NRC.

“This is exactly what I’ve warned against,” he mutters, his voice cold. He steps back, disgust etched on his face as he tightens his grip on his staff. “Another student, corrupted by the very environment they’re surrounded by.”

He glares at the swirling darkness around you, his hatred for Night Raven College deepening. “This place… it turns even the meekest into monsters. You should’ve never come here.”

Yet, despite his disdain, there’s a flicker of pity in his eyes. “ I had hoped you’d be different.” But that hope has been dashed, and now, all he sees is confirmation of his worst fears.

Dire Crowley:

Crowley stands frozen for a moment, his usual air of superiority faltering as the gravity of the situation hits him. “[Name]… an overblot? How could this happen under my watch?” His voice is laced with disbelief, but it’s quickly replaced by a sense of urgency.

“This is most unfortunate!” he exclaims, hands fluttering in a dramatic display of panic. “But do not fear, my dear student, your magnanimous headmaster will ensure that you are saved!”

Despite his outward bravado, there’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He knew how much you struggled, but he never paid enough attention. Always too busy, always passing off the responsibility to others.

“Now, let’s remain calm, everyone!” he declares, trying to rally the other students. “We must contain the situation! For the good of the school, of course.”

Divus Crewel:

Crewel’s sharp eyes narrow as he takes in the scene, the dark magic radiating off you in waves. He’s trained many students, seen plenty of potential disasters, but this… this is something he should have seen coming.

“Overblot?” he mutters, shaking his head. “Honestly, pup, I expected better from you. Letting your emotions take control? That’s a rookie mistake.”

His words are biting, but there’s a hint of something softer beneath them. He doesn’t pity you, but he understands the pressure you’ve been under. He’s seen students buckle before, and now it’s happening again.

“You’re better than this,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Get a hold of yourself before you do something truly irreversible. Or do I have to clean up your mess, too?”

Crewel doesn’t tolerate weakness, but he’s not about to let you fall without trying to snap you out of it.

Mozus Trein:

Trein’s stern gaze hardens as he watches the chaos unfold. There’s no surprise in his eyes, only a deep, resigned understanding. “Another overblot…” he mutters under his breath, his face grave but composed. “You, of all people…”

He adjusts his glasses, his expression lined with disappointment. “It is always the quiet ones, the ones who bottle their emotions until they explode. I should have seen it coming.”

Trein steps forward, his voice measured and calm despite the swirling darkness around you. “Magic is a gift, not a tool for reckless venting of one’s frustrations. Overblotting won’t bring you peace, only further destruction.”

Though his words are stern, there’s a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. He’s seen too many students fall victim to their own emotions, and he knows that sometimes, the weight of expectations and pressure is too much for anyone to bear.

“Control yourself,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “You are not the first to feel overwhelmed, but you must find another way to deal with it.” His words are laced with the wisdom of experience, but whether or not you hear them in your current state is another matter entirely.

Ashton Vargas:

Vargas frowns, confusion etched on his face as he watches your overblot unfold. You? The shy, anxious student who could barely run a lap? He never expected you’d be capable of this.

“Whoa, hold on!” he shouts, rushing forward with the same intensity he brings to every physical challenge. “What’s going on here? Overblotting isn’t the answer! You need to sweat it out, not let it take over!”

His approach is as straightforward as ever, but there’s a genuine concern in his voice. He’s used to pushing his students to their limits, but he never meant for you to break like this.

“Come on,” he says, raising his voice like a coach urging you to keep going. “You’re stronger than this! Fight it! Don’t let the darkness win!”

Sam:

Sam watches from the shadows, his usual carefree smile slipping as he observes your overblot. “Well, well, looks like things got a little out of hand, huh?” His tone is light, but there’s an underlying seriousness that’s hard to miss.

He’s seen plenty of students walk through his shop, weighed down by their struggles, but you? You were always so jittery, so nervous. He never thought you’d snap like this.

“Hey now,” he calls out, his voice steady and calm. “You don’t want to go down this path. Trust me, there’s no deal worth making with that kind of power.”

He steps closer, keeping his movements slow and unthreatening. “Let’s talk it out, yeah? No need to let this magic get the best of you. After all, you’ve still got plenty of life left in you—and it’s worth more than whatever this overblot’s promising.”

Sam’s no stranger to dark magic, but he’s not about to let you drown in it without a fight.

Grim:

Grim's reaction to your overblot would be a mix of shock, fear, and frustration. Despite his usual bravado, seeing you consumed by darkness would unsettle him deeply. He paces back and forth, tail puffed up and ears flat against his head.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are ya doin', henchman? This isn't part of the plan!" Grim yelps, his voice a bit shaky despite the tough front. He jumps back as the overblot's magic flares, eyes wide. "You can't just let that dark stuff take over! You’re better than this!"

Despite his fear, Grim tries to stand tall, though his usual cockiness is nowhere to be seen. “I know you're mad and tired of gettin' pushed around, but trust me, this isn’t the way! You think I wanna lose my partner to some shadowy overblot nonsense?”

His little paws are clenched into fists as he edges closer, determined. “We’ve gotta fight this! You’ve still got me, right? I’m not lettin’ you go without a fight!”

Masterlist

[emittthehuman]

Thinking about the way Gwen, how she is just a kid like Miles.

Her only father and family member she had left pointed a gun right at her, actively chose his job over his own daughter after she revealed she was spider woman.

Gwen was distraught, her whole world was collapsing. And then two spider people, people like HER, showed up. Adults who seemed like they understood what she was going through, offered her an escape from her problems. To abandon Gwen Stacy, to hide behind the mask where pain can’t get to her.

So she goes with them.

But things aren’t what they seem. The adults are falling apart here too, Miguel blows up at every small inconvenience. He’s extremely hard on Gwen- of course he would be. He can’t get attached to another little kid, not after what happened last time.

And Jessica Drew? A bit more lenient, maybe like the mom she never knew. But she’s not her mom. She pushed for her to be there, but she won’t protect her either.

Gwen learns her father will die.

She learns that Miles was an anomaly, too dangerous to interact with. She’s not even allowed to see him.

She falls on others, Hobie and Pavitr are good people who care about her well being.

But she just misses Miles. He understood her, what they’ve lost.

And when a mission comes up from his universe? Of course she snatches up the chance to see him again without angering the only parental figures she has now.

She tried to protect him in the only way that seemed to work, hiding the truth.

But he’s so much more hopeful than she is. He is kind, he’s strong and he knows what it means to be spider man, in spite of everything.

And she has to watch him learn the truth, watch the new parental figures quickly turn against them both.

People who Gwen thought understood, send her back to her own universe by force.

Gwen is 16.

Imagine being a 16 year old girl, going though all of this.

Miles literally makes earthquakes in her life, changes entire trajectories just by existing. He saves her dad, just by proxy.

God. It is so painful to look at these kids. These poor, sweet kids.

[ataliagold]

you're the only one who knows, you slow it down

For @astrangersummer week 13 prompts 'cat' and 'farmers market'. Title from Look After You by The Fray. And yes, I watched A Quiet Place Day One and was obsessed with Frodo...

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T

W/C: 1791

Tags: Modern AU, No Upside Down, First Meeting, Steve has PTSD, Steve has a service cat, Steve wears glasses, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, panic attacks, Eddie takes care of Steve, referenced child abuse, autistic Steve (not overly relevant here but still)

Summary: Eddie's at a farmers market when he's approached by a very determined black and white cat. On a whim, he follows him to a young man having a panic attack in the woods.

___

Eddie’s browsing the little jewelry stand at the far end of the Farmer’s Market, glancing over hand-made leather bracelets and cheap silver rings while the old lady behind the table watches him hopefully. Over a blare of emergency sirens from the street in the distance he can hear Wayne behind him bartering with someone who’s wanting to buy one of his plants, the plants Eddie had been roped into carting there from the van in boxes that were too fucking heavy and he’d been drenched in sweat almost immediately under the summer sun.

He looks up briefly, regrets it immediately because the vendor’s eyes light up and fuck now he’s gotta buy something…

He’s interrupted by something soft brushing against his ankle.

Hanging up a black leather band, he looks down. Blinks a few times, confused.

There’s a black and white cat butting its little head against his leg. The cat stares back up at him with yellow eyes, wide and imploring.

“Uh….hi?” Eddie says, moving his leg away a bit because he doesn’t really do cats, has never interacted with them much before to be fair, other than the feral ones that hung around the trash in the trailer park and those weren’t exactly…friendly.

This guy is far cuter and cleaner than those cats ever were, though.

He’s got a maroon collar with a tag attached, and a red harness with a loose lead trailing behind him.

The cat steps closer to Eddie. Insistent now, shoving his face into his ankle again, then lets out an imploring meow.

“Where’s your owner?” Eddie asks to no one in particular, swiveling his head and surveying his surroundings. He sees fruit stands with enormous oranges, a honey stall, someone selling flowers off to his right, a small crowd browsing the wares but no one that looks like they’ve lost a black and white cat.

The cat meows again.

Eddie stoops down, gingerly reaches for its collar, reads the tiny writing on the tag in hope of some owners’ details.

Frodo - service cat

And Eddie had heard of service dogs, sure, but a cat?

A great name though, he admits.

He squints at the phone number etched below the name. Pulls out his phone, dials it. All the while Frodo meows at him, slams his head more forcefully into Eddie’s shin.

The call rings out to a voicemail, a guy called Steve in the message.

Eddie hangs up. Sighs, carefully pats the cat with a single finger on his head.

“You’re kinda cute, huh?” Eddie murmurs. “Someone’s missing you, for sure.”

He stands up again. Frodo moves several steps away, stops, stares back at him.

A lightbulb goes off in Eddie’s head.

He takes a step towards the cat. Frodo squeaks out a noise that seems happy to Eddie, and he steps even closer.

Frodo turns tail and trots off away from the market, and Eddie follows, Frodo glancing back every now and then to check Eddie’s still with him.

And so, the cat leads him towards a little copse of trees on the far side of the park. It’s pretty deserted out here, with most people busy browsing the market instead of taking their morning walks.

But as they get closer to the clearing in the middle of the trees, Eddie hears it.

Light gasps, panicked breathing, someone trying to suck in oxygen that just won’t come.

He quickens his step towards it. Frodo speeds up too, breaking away from Eddie now and bounding into the trees.

There’s a young man sitting in the dirt.

His knees are pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, and he’s rocking back and forth a little. His cheeks are wet, eyes clenched shut behind crooked glasses.

Eddie drops to his knees beside the man, hand hovering above his shoulder, not sure whether or not to touch because he knew a thing or two about panic attacks, knew this was what he was seeing, didn’t want to frighten the man and make it worse…

Frodo presses himself up against the man’s side, trills quietly. The man shifts, blindly reaches for the cat, unfolds himself a bit and hauls the animal into his lap, burying his face in warm fur.

“…hi,” Eddie says quietly, barely audible, clears his throat and tries again. “Hi. I’m…I’m Eddie.”

The man goes still. Freezes, noticing Eddie for the first time. He peeks out from behind Frodo’s head, blinking up at Eddie, eyes red and sore-looking but also honey-brown and soft. He’s got moles dotted across his cheeks, hair long and mussed and falling across his face.

He’s fucking gorgeous, Eddie’s brain supplies.

He forces that thought away – it’s not exactly helpful right now.

“Are you Steve?” Eddie guesses.

A small, singular nod.

“I found your cat,” Eddie supplies. “Or…he found me, I guess. Led me here. He’s pretty clever.”

“He’s the b-best,” Steve croaks, his voice raspy and rough and broken. “He’s a service cat. But you can…you can go, s’fine.”

Eddie frowns, shakes his head. “I’m thinking he came and got me for a reason, huh?”

Steve looks away, shrugs.

Eddie waits, gives him time to answer, but Steve doesn’t speak again. He hugs his cat to his chest, still lightly trembling all over.

“How about…I sit here for a few minutes, and you take some deep breaths, huh? I’m thinking you’ve had a panic attack, and those suck – trust me, I know – but you need to get your breath back, ok?” Eddie reaches for Steve, hand ghosting over his shoulder now.

Steve flinches lightly, but doesn’t pull away.

Frodo purrs away calmly in Steve’s lap, letting his owner squeeze him close.

And Eddie sits, and waits.

He remembers his own panic attacks as a kid, after he’d wake up from a nightmare about his dad – where he swore the stench of alcohol was in his room, when his dad was surely just outside his bedroom door, all tension wound tight and clenched fists and ready to unleash a barrage of abuse at him. His uncle Wayne would step quietly into his room, would gather him up and hold him tight, would talk to him quietly about everything and nothing all at once until Eddie drifted peacefully back to sleep.

As the minutes tick by, Eddie starts to talk.

“I don’t know much about cats, but yours is pretty clever,” he murmurs, rubbing circles across Steve’s broad back, over the soft yellow sweater he was wearing. “He came right up to me, no idea why he picked me out of a crowd of nice old ladies at the market, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer, he insisted on getting me to you. I guess that’s his job, right? Just like how some service dogs are trained to go and get someone if their owner is in trouble? I used to have this neighbour, this girl called Max, she had some disabilities after a car accident, and she had a dog who was trained to do that sort of stuff. But you’ve got Frodo.”

Steve’s breathing is evening out, his shoulders untensing slightly as Eddie speaks.

“Badass name, by the way,” Eddie continues, chuckling a little. “I’m guessing you’re a Lord of the Rings fan, then. So am I. In fact, it’s probably my favourite -”

“Not a fan,” Steve mumbles.

Eddie pauses mid-sentence. “…oh,” he finishes lamely.

Steve shifts a little, the tiniest smile twitching at his lips.

Eddie’s heart thumps in his chest at the sight of it.

“This kid I used to babysit, his name’s Dustin, he picked the name,” Steve clarifies, his voice a little clearer now, a little less forced. “It just kinda stuck.”

“It suits him,” Eddie assures him, reaching a hand out to the cat. He quickly snatches it back, remembers Max telling him over and over that you weren’t supposed to pat a service animal when they’re working. “Sorry,” he says quickly, “I didn’t mean to…well. He’s working.”

Steve smiles, wider now.

Eddie blinks slowly at him, feeling stupid and warm and weak for this man.

“You can pat him,” Steve says quietly, just above a whisper. He unfolds his legs, loosens his grip on Frodo just a little, giving Eddie room to reach across to the cat.

Eddie grins as his fingers find soft fur. He traces over Frodo’s head and the cat purrs louder, pressing back into his hand.

Steve watches, tears drying on his cheeks. He lifts his glasses, rubs at his eyes, then straightens them again.

“It was the sirens,” he says, a little choked up still.

Eddie nods slowly, continues to pat Frodo.

“Over on Main Street, I think, I was walking past and they were really loud, and then more and more started and then there was that fire engine too and all the flashing lights and…”

Eddie heard it earlier, too. Some crash near the park, the ladies at the market had gossiped amongst themselves.

“…and I tried to move away, but they were everywhere so I went into the trees and that was a little better but I could still hear them, and I know it’s fucking stupid but some stuff happened to me a few years back and now every time I hear them…” Steve trails off, snaps his mouth shut. Runs his hand rhythmically down Frodo’s back, almost meditatively now. “Sorry. S’dumb. But…I’m ok now, I think.”

Eddie splays his free hand across Steve’s back. Thinks about how much he’d like to pull Steve to his side, bundle him close, wrap himself around him…but they’ve only just fucking met.

He needs to calm down.

“It isn’t dumb,” Eddie insists gently, “I used to get them too. Panic attacks. I get it, ok? I’m just glad you’re ok now.”

Steve smiles at him, wobbly and weak but there.

“Thanks,” he says softly, “for following Frodo. And for…staying.”

Eddie returns his smile. Reaches for the man’s hand, clasps it, helps him to shaky feet.

Steve doesn’t let go of his hand.

They linger there, under the shade of the red maple trees, neither saying anything for a long moment.

Frodo sits at their feet. Blinks up at them, meows eventually.

Steve picks up Frodo’s lead, one hand still in Eddie’s, fiddles with the red canvas cord.

Eddie’s heart beats faster.

“Do you…wanna come and look around the stalls?” he asks quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not held securely in Steve’s, thinks he’d be happy if he could never use that hand again, so long as Steve kept a hold of it.

Steve smiles again, bright as the sun, and nods.

Slowly, he follows Eddie out of the clearing and back into the light of the day.

___

[meo-eiru]

Hello! I'm just curious, does Silas have any friends that come to visit him and his human? Asking because I want to see yandere's working together.

Also, How would Silas and/or his possible friends react if the human was secretly as clingy as Silas was but never showed their more clingy side until cuddles are acquired? (Think cat-like behavior outside of cuddles but it immediately changes to clingy puppy behavior with tears they're trying to hide.)

That part of the ask is because I want to look at or read more fluff stuff. The world has far too much angst no matter if it's the good or bad angst. You don't have to answer this if you don't want to. Hope you have a nice day/night!

Silas has acquaintances but unfortunately no friends who would visit him :(

Elves already live pretty secluded lives and are often alone, it doesn’t help that many elves fund Silas a bit “off”. It’s not weird for elves to have hyperfixations they spend centuries researching, but many find Silas’s attraction to humans out of the norm. They mostly see humans as less intelligent creatures whom they’ve researched in the past enough.

Silas is also a little airheaded and silly compared to his more serious elf peers which often causes them to not take him too seriously. They still interact and talk with each other normally, if they are in a more crowded space like a bazaar or the town hall they’ll greet each other. But that’s it. Silas takes care of what business he has and just goes back to his house located far away from the town to read his books about humans.

Now that he has you his life is more colorful and full of excitement! He loves talking with you and playing with you. You bring him a type of happiness he didn’t know he was yearning for.

He loves you very very veeeeery much���️❤️❤️

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love. 

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love  +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity. 

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s. 

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory. 

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t. 

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

.

.

.

It starts with the little things. 

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23. 

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying. 

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them. 

.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly. 

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy. 

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze. 

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry. 

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji. 

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away. 

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them. 

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in. 

A chuckle escapes you. 

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone. 

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.  

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue. 

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly). 

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing. 

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order). 

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly. 

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly. 

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you. 

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times. 

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick. 

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you. 

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning. 

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage. 

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice. 

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming. 

Is this what it means to be in love with you? 

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you. 

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing. 

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there. 

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will. 

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen. 

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin. 

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own. 

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old. 

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek. 

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this. 

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit. 

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him? 

.

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score. 

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems. 

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely. 

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing. 

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes. 

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this. 

.

.

.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room. 

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into. 

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it. 

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach. 

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’. 

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age. 

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined. 

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines. 

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students. 

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew. 

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly. 

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy. 

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time. 

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced. 

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen? 

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially. 

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully. 

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared. 

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too. 

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing. 

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile. 

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy). 

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since. 

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly. 

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.  

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too. 

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you. 

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked. 

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you. 

.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue. 

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows. 

But it isn’t, and your smile widens. 

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does. 

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

.

.

.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.” 

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel. 

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you. 

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow. 

“What made him ask?” 

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity. 

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.” 

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever. 

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his. 

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t. 

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders. 

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together. 

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks. 

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed. 

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours. 

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17. 

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology. 

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you. 

He says it as if it is the simplest truth. 

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll. 

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think. 

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.  

“Something like it.” 

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?” 

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you? 

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’. 

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering. 

Can he see? You’re meant for him only. 

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away. 

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other. 

You cup his cheeks. 

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now. 

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief. 

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile. 

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips. 

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you. 

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together. 

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips. 

You laugh—sprinkled in love. 

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!” 

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully. 

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.” 

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks. 

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now. 

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true. 

.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage. 

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should. 

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you? 

.

.

.

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give. 

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing. 

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too. 

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface. 

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way. 

.

.

.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry. 

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up? 

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging. 

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through. 

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking. 

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving. 

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you. 

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

.

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you. 

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with. 

He knows it. 

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with? 

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same. 

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face. 

.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak. 

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him. 

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?) 

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today. 

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet. 

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold. 

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you. 

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go. 

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him. 

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it. 

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright. 

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask. 

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more. 

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society. 

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much. 

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him. 

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you. 

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips. 

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly. 

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks. 

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching. 

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry. 

Your grip on him tightens. 

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck. 

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.” 

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder. 

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum. 

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it. 

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even. 

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately. 

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.” 

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune. 

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled. 

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.” 

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding. 

You always do. 

.

.

.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today. 

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane. 

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making. 

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything. 

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over. 

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy. 

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky. 

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life. 

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.” 

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you. 

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way). 

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now. 

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined. 

You stare at him. He stares at you. 

He’s shocked too. 

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely. 

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.” 

The little laugh you make has him, completely. 

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too. 

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’. 

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you. 

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him. 

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently. 

The best part about being in love? 

He gets to be in it with you. 

.

.

.

Gojo can’t sleep. 

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will. 

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching. 

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck. 

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m. 

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that. 

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it. 

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island. 

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating. 

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever. 

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling. 

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting. 

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him. 

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.  

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain. 

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it. 

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray. 

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too. 

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like. 

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you. 

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek. 

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret. 

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after. 

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already. 

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep. 

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing. 

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin. 

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging. 

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one. 

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone. 

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good. 

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.  

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing). 

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs. 

(And he loves that about you). 

.

.

.

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder. 

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill. 

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice. 

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them. 

He knows. 

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you. 

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only. 

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you. 

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed. 

.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy. 

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides. 

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.” 

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love. 

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night. 

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.  

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong. 

Are you happy with me? 

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!!  of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[bucksangel]

milk and sugar

pairing: alpha!steve x alpha!bucky, alpha!steve x artist!omega!reader x alpha!bucky (poly) - omegaverse!au part two

word count: 5.1k

summary: “Are you nervous?” Steve asks, voice soft and caring. His hand settles on your arm, and Bucky appears beside you to place his hand on your back, as well as take one of your hands in his metal one. And despite your earlier anxiety, you mean it wholeheartedly when you say, “no.” or - it’s your first date with your alphas.

warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff, reader has insecurities, steve and bucky are adorable and caring, steve is very nervous bc he’s a romantic, like it’s almost unbearable how much of a pure puppy he is, bucky is extremely fond and a little teasing (bc of course he is), omegaverse, kissing, there are bits where it’s just steve and bucky

a/n: this fic doesn’t contain smut, however, due to the nature of my blog this is strictly 18+

milk and honey masterlist | main masterlist | tip jar

‘Good morning, darling.’

That’s the text you received from Bucky at nine that morning - in the group chat he’d made with Steve and you. And while you normally sleep in on Sundays since your studio is closed, you’d woken up early - seven to be exact -  due to the anxiety you’ve been feeling ever since your art class ended yesterday.

Truthfully, you didn’t really sleep well anyway. Going on a date with not just one, but two Alphas at the same time has you on edge - though, not in a bad way. No, not at all. These are the good kinds of nerves, the exciting kind.

Well, okay, not all of your nerves are positive. Being naturally shy and reserved has caused you to overthink every single interaction you’ve had with the Alphas, both together and separately. And now that you’re going on this date, you can’t help the way your insecurities come creeping in faster and faster as it gets closer.

Because what if they decide they don’t like you after they actually get the chance to know you? What if they don’t even pay much attention to you and treat this as a date with just them since that must be what they’re more used to? What if you say or do something wrong and they get scared away?

Now, logically, you know those first two outcomes are absurd. Over the past few weeks, they’ve each shown extreme interest in getting to know you, they show how much care they have for you, and oh boy does that knowledge make your heart flutter. It makes you feel good, really good about yourself.

But that last point? Well, that is a big insecurity of yours. As a child, you weren’t that open and didn’t have many friends. And it was hard to make new ones when you would always stutter and trip over yourself, causing many of the kids you’d gone to school with to laugh at you. You were so shy, always the shortest kid in your class which made you an easy target for bullying, especially since you couldn’t hold a conversation well and you’d constantly accidentally bump into someone. It’s honestly a surprise that Tori had stuck around this long.

And, to be completely honest, you think you could deal with them maybe not finding you as interesting as they probably thought, maybe even them telling you that it just wouldn’t work out. Yes, it would hurt for a while, but you would deal with it. However, you absolutely could not live with the Alphas finding you annoying. Because this whole thing already feels like a fever dream, and if you were to fuck it up by doing or saying something embarrassing it would only serve as proof that you aren’t fit for Alphas like them.

It’s nine-fifteen when you respond with ‘good morning :)’

And not even a minute later, Steve texts back. ‘how are you feeling about today?’

Well, isn’t that a good question? Because you want nothing more than to go on this date, you want this to work out so badly that you feel like your heart might burst out of your chest. But, again, those fucking insecurities are messing with your mind.

It’s maybe a few minutes later when you reply with ‘Feeling okay, you guys?’

A bubble pops up at the bottom of the text thread, Bucky typing for a good thirty seconds before it disappears. And it stays like that for another full minute, your heart hammering in your chest as your anxieties are jumping to the worst possible outcome. What if they cancel? What if they-

Your phone screen comes to life when Steve calls you. He’s calling you. And for a moment you want to let it go to voicemail, you don’t want them to hear how nervous you are. But you also don’t want them to think you’re ignoring them, so you answer with a timid, “Hello?”

“Hi, honey,” Steve says calmly, his smooth voice doing a good job of soothing some of your worries.

“Hi!” You hear Bucky yell in the background, causing you to giggle.

“Hi, guys.”

You hear a thud in the background before Bucky yells “Put her on speaker, punk!” And then you can hear both of them clearly, Steve laughing as Bucky huffs in what you assume is a fake annoyance.

“So, uh, I’m just wondering. Um, where are we going today?” Mentally, you curse yourself for being so awkward, for tripping over your words while talking to the two most handsome Alphas you’ve ever met.

“That’s a surprise, honey,” Steve says, the smile on his face is evident in his tone. “Just wear something comfortable.”

“And warm!” Bucky adds, coming closer to the phone. “We don’t need you getting cold, okay?”

The hint of authority in his voice makes your heartbeat pick up speed and the care that’s so evident in just the way he speaks kind of makes you want to cry a little. When was the last time any potential partner showed even these small acts of concern for your well-being? Too long.

“Yes, sir,” You joke, having to bite your lip to keep your smile from widening even further when both Alphas laugh. Butterflies are swirling in your stomach, forming a tornado of anticipation and nerves for the day’s festivities.

“Alright,” Steve says with a hint of laughter. “We’ll let you go get ready and we’ll pick you up in two hours, okay?”

Two hours? That seems like too long yet not long enough. You’ve already showered, all you really need to do is find something to wear and then fix your hair - maybe throw on some mascara. But, still. Two hours seems like the perfect amount of time to have a full-on breakdown over this date. But at least that should also give you some time to recover from said breakdown.

“Yeah, that works!” Internally, you cringe at how eager you sound. Because even though you’re nervous beyond belief, and a tiny part of you wants to cancel the date out of fear of anything embarrassing happening, you don’t think you’d be able to live with yourself if you let these two slip through your fingers without giving it a fighting chance. 

“Great,” Bucky says, clearly smiling. “Just send us your address and we’ll be there.”

Once you bid your goodbyes to each other you make sure to send them your address before deciding to freak out over what to wear. Luckily for you, and as though the universe knows you need the help, your doorbell rings soon after. Confused as to who would be at your door this early, you make your way to the door, and when you open it you see Tori standing on the other side with a wide smile.

“Alright, girl,” She says happily, ignoring the incredulous look on your face as she pushes past you to walk into your apartment. “We have to get you ready, where are they taking you?”

“Hello to you too, Tori,” you say with a slight roll of your eyes as you close the door.

“Hey, babe!” Tori grabs your wrist and all but yanks you towards your room, not really caring about the fact that you’re nearly tripping over yourself in an effort to keep up. When you both get to your room she lets go of your arm and heads for your closet.

“So, where are you guys going?”

“I don’t know, they just said to dress warm and comfortable.” Your shoulders shrug, fingers nervously fiddling with each other. You’re not too sure what exactly to wear based on those being the only two requests. Sure, you have plenty of sweaters and jackets and scarves - it’s New York after all - but you don’t know what will impress the Alphas.

You want to impress them so badly. You don’t want them to regret asking you out, and while clothing choices aren’t a ‘make or break’ type of thing it’s still important to you that you look the best you possibly can. After all, anyone who’s seen Steve and Bucky in person would agree that they’re most definitely the two most handsome men to ever exist.

Something soft hitting you in the face knocks you out of your thoughts.

“Hey!” You yelp, looking at the ground to see the thing that hit you - your light brown sweater with a cute graphic of a pumpkin patch on the front. Seconds later, a pair of leggings hit your chest. “Tori!”

Tori simply laughs, then heads to your shoe rack next to the closet door.

“How do you know this will be good for the date?” You ask as you pick up the sweater to inspect it as though you haven’t worn it hundreds of times. But, again, today needs to go perfectly so any stains you might’ve missed would not go down well with you.

“I don’t,” She admits with a shrug of her shoulders. “But that sweater accentuates your boobs and the leggings make your ass look great.”

Your whole body goes hot, the implication of them looking at those parts of your body doesn’t make you shrink away like it normally would, though you can barely stop your insecurities about your body from throwing the items to the side and picking something else to prevent that from happening.

“I-I don’t know, Tori…” You sigh, going over to your bed and sitting down on the edge. “What if they don’t like it? I mean, they’re-”

“Stop it,” Tori says forcefully, walking over to stand in front of you. “You’re beautiful and kind and wonderful and they’re going to love you. And if they don’t, then that’s not your fault. As long as you give it your all, everything will be fine.”

Coming closer, she places her hands on your shoulders so she can shake you a little bit. “I love you, girl. You’re my best friend and I want to see you happy. And it seems like they make you happy, but you make them happy too. I’ve seen it in the way they look at you, how they talk to you. It’s going to be fine, babe. I promise.”

After a long pause where you think over her words, you decide that she’s right - at least about your feelings. You like them so fucking much, so it wouldn’t be fair to them or yourself if you didn’t try your best.

“Okay… Okay, then. Let’s get me ready.”

And with that, Tori smiles brightly, leaning down to squeeze you in a tight hug before releasing you.

____________

It’s a few minutes before eleven when Bucky and Steve park out front of your apartment building. Steve is practically vibrating out of his skin, Bucky even had to convince his mate that he should drive to pick you up since Steve could barely keep his knees from bouncing.

“Baby,” Bucky says, shutting off the engine and twisting in his seat to face Steve. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to just be ourselves and treat her like she deserves, there’s no way she’s going to not like us.”

Steve nods, though he doesn’t look super convinced. It’s clear from how he spent fifteen minutes this morning in the flower shop picking out the perfect bouquet for you that he really, really wants this to work. And even though he doesn’t show it, Bucky knows Steve would be heartbroken if it didn’t. His mate’s always been a softie, and there’s something about you that makes him feel different - better than any other omega ever could.

Bucky knows exactly how he feels. Because, although he’s not as outwardly anxious, he just knows that you’re perfect for them, and he wants to do everything he can to make you see that they can take care of you, they can protect and love you. Your smile and sweet giggle haunt his dreams, his nightmares have long been replaced with his memories of him and Steve - and now you. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to wake up next to you and his Alpha, to cuddle with you two in your nest as you all trade kisses and talk about anything and everything.

“You’re sure?” Steve asks with a timid voice, fiddling with the flowers in his lap. “I - we really like her.”

Bucky sighs, then reaches over the console to place his hand on the back of his mate's neck in a comforting manner. And even though it’s uncomfortable, Bucky leans over and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips.

“I’m sure, Stevie.”

Steve sighs too, leaning forward to kiss Bucky again before pulling back.

“Okay, Buck.”

With that, they both share a small smile and then get out of the car. It’s about a minute-long elevator ride up to your floor, Bucky holding his mate’s free hand the entire way and sending him feelings of calmness through their bond. It works until they get to your front door because now Steve is practically fumbling with the flowers as he figures out the best way to hold them while Bucky knocks.

It’s about a minute later when the door swings open, but it’s not you. It’s Tori with a wide, knowing smirk on her face.

“Hello, boys,” She says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Those for her?” She nods towards the sunflowers and daisies Steve is holding.

“They are,” Bucky says with a smile of his own. Glancing at Steve to see him nod. “Is she ready?”

“Yes!” You say, quickly running up behind Tori to gently push her to the side and give her a side glare. You’re fiddling with your clothes, tugging at the bottom of the sweater in order to smooth out the fabric.

However, in the Alphas’ eyes, there’s no need for you to do so. Through their bond both of them feel the other go kind of dumb - you always look pretty but today’s outfit just hits them differently. Your eyeliner makes the color of your eyes pop, and the shiny lipgloss makes your lips nearly impossible to not kiss.

They don’t, though. Not yet. The last thing either of them wants to do is make you uncomfortable, especially with Tori standing behind you. So, instead, Bucky smiles and elbows Steve to get him out of his trance.

“Hello, honey,” Bucky says, his smile turning into a smirk when you fail to suppress a squeak.

“H-hi, guys,” You say nervously with a small smile. “Are those for me?” You ask when you notice the flowers in Steve’s hand.

“Oh, um, yes,” Steve stutters ever so slightly, reaching out to hand you the bouquet. “You once said you love Sunflowers.”

____________

“You once said you love Sunflowers.”

Something about this gesture makes you want to tear up. Flowers may not be a big deal to some people, but they mean everything to you. Receiving gifts from partners has been rare for you, so the beauty of the petals and knowing that they’re for you just makes you preen a little bit.

“I do,” You say softly, almost like you can’t believe he remembered. “They’re beautiful, thank you. Really.”

“Just like you,” Steve blurts out before a redness covers his cheeks.

And you absolutely cannot be blamed for the embarrassing squeak you let out. You try being called beautiful by Steve fucking Rogers and not want to bury your face in his neck to inhale his scent.

“Th-thank you,” You say with a giggle, handing the flowers to Tori and giving her a grateful smile as she gives you a quick kiss on your cheek.

“You guys have fun,” She teases, waving you off with a smile. “Treat her well or you’ll have hell to pay.”

“Of course,” Bucky says with an assuring nod. “Wouldn’t treat her with anything but care.” He says this while looking at you though, the twinkle in his eyes making you want to bare your neck to him.

When the door closes behind you, you step closer to the Alphas.

“Are you nervous?” Steve asks, voice soft and caring, though clearly a little anxious. His hand settles on your arm, and Bucky appears beside you to place his hand on your back, as well as take one of your hands in his metal one.

And despite your earlier anxiety, you mean it wholeheartedly when you say, “No.” How can you be nervous now when the feeling of the men’s warm hands on you and their clear concern for your wellbeing makes your heartbeat quicken in anticipation?

“Let’s go?” You ask, face growing warm in slight embarrassment for your enthusiasm.

“Let’s go,” Both Alphas say in unison. And then all of you are off to the truck - a very nicely kept, sleek black truck. Steve opens the back door for you before, to your surprise, sliding in next to you.

“We agreed he could sit in the back with you on the way there as long as I could sit next to you on our way back,” Bucky pipes up at your questioning glance.

Feelings of warmth fill your entire being, and you already know that today is going to be the most fun you’ve had in a while.

____________

It’s about a thirty-five-minute drive before you finally arrive at a park - a beautiful stretch of the greenest grass you’ve ever seen with orange and red-leafed trees surrounding two sides of it. It’s big, but if you look close enough you can make out a trail off to the left. That half hour was, surprisingly to you, filled with pleasant conversation. Now, your previous interactions with the men proved that they were wonderful company, but you’re surprised that you’re not as nervous as you thought you’d be. Everything was moving smoothly, there wasn’t even a single moment of awkward silence.

“We’re here,” Bucky says, pulling into a free parking spot closest to the entrance of the trail. Steve opens the door as Bucky gets out as well and goes around to the back of the truck. And Steve, ever the gentleman, holds your hand as he helps you climb out of the backseat, only letting go when you begin smoothing out your clothes.

“Are we ready?” Bucky appears next to you holding a large blanket and a stereotypical wicker basket.

A small smile forms on your face, and your heartbeat increases ever so slightly. How are they so fucking sweet?

“Yes!” Immediately, your face goes hot, self-conscious of your enthusiasm. But the Alphas don’t seem to mind, in fact, Steve takes the blanket from under Bucky’s arm and tucks it under his own, then grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers together.

“Let’s go then,” Steve says, smiling softly down at you.

With that, the three of you head off to the trail, walking under colorful oak trees that flank both sides of the dirt path. A comfortable silence falls over all of you, only the sounds of birds chirping filling the air. You walk for a few minutes, the leaves crunching under your feet as you take in the beauty surrounding you, your eyes wide with wonder.

The environment is comforting, calm, puts you at ease in a way you don’t normally experience. It’s freeing to feel so content - so happy. It takes about five minutes before you come upon a set of wooden stairs leading down to the most beautiful lake you’ve ever seen. The water is nearly clear, the colorful trees reflecting over the surface, and even though it’s a clear day out, you can’t help but notice the golden hue filling the air. You don’t even notice you’ve stopped walking until Steve tugs on your hand.

“Do you like it?” He asks, almost nervous as he waits for your reaction.

“I…” You trail off, tears filling your eyes. This whole thing is just - just perfect. “I love it,” you say as you look at Steve, a wide smile spreading across your face. And you look at Bucky when you say, “It’s perfect.”

____________

“It’s perfect.”

Bucky can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. They’d both wracked their brains trying to figure out where to take you, what to do. They want to wow you, to show you that they can - and hopefully will get the chance to provide for you, they can make you happy. You’ll never go without, if you want something, they will figure out a way to get it.

“Good,” Steve says softly, smiling down at you before looking up at Bucky and nodding his head.

With that, the three of you make your way down the stairs, Steve holding on to your hand tightly to make sure you don’t fall, and Bucky places his free hand on your back. He can hear how your heartbeat speeds up when he does so and tries so hard not to puff out his chest when you glance up at him through your eyelashes coyly.

Once you’re down by the lake, the men lead you to a large oak tree merely ten or so feet from the edge. Steve is quick to unfold the blanket and spread it out under the tree - large enough to probably cover an entire California King bed. Bucky then places the basket down as his mate takes your hand and helps you sit near the edge of the blanket leaving enough space for the men to sit on either side of you.

The Alphas quickly open the basket and pull out containers of food, opening the lids and placing them in front of you. When they finally sit down - obviously with you in the middle - Bucky notices how wide your eyes are, how you seem transfixed on the array of fruits and sandwiches and cake. It’s when Bucky pulls out the jug of homemade lemonade that you choke back a cry.

“Honey?” Steve asks, turning his body to face you with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Bucky places a hand on your back, sweeping it around to hold your waist. And can you really blame him if his whole body goes hot when you lean into his side and turn your face so it’s halfway buried in his neck?

It takes a few seconds but you’re finally able to gather yourself and pull away.

“You guys are just… I can’t believe it.”

“What can’t you believe, sweetheart?” Steve scoots closer to you, placing his hand on your head to smooth out your hair, and unconsciously turns your head so he can look directly at you. “Tell us what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

____________

You want to scream. You want to yell until your voice gives out. It’s nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Them preparing food - by hand - and bringing you to this beautiful spot might just be a normal thing for most people, but considering you’ve hardly ever been shown this much affection and thoughtfulness. Shaking your head, you look away, unable to withstand the Alpha's intense gaze.

“It’s nothing,” You mumble, fiddling with your fingers. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not, honey,” Bucky says, giving your waist an affectionate squeeze. “If you’re upset, we want you to tell us.”

“I’m not! I promise!” You assure them, hesitantly reaching both of your hands out to place them on the Alpha’s legs. “I guess I just… I’ve just never been shown this much… care?” It’s phrased as a question, because you’re unsure if that was the right word to use, but it’s all you can think of at the moment.

“I know it may not seem like a lot,” You continue, taking a deep breath before looking up at Steve, and then Bucky. “But this means the world to me. You guys are just so sweet and thoughtful and I’m not really sure what to do, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, let alone two people.”

Both of the men sigh, and you can almost taste the scent of disappointment wafting off of them. Suddenly your nerves spike, did you say something wrong?

You must have said that out loud because Bucky starts shaking his head. “No, no darling. You didn’t say anything wrong, I promise.”

“We’re just… I guess we’re disappointed that you consider this the height of romance because this is the bare minimum. You should be used to this, you should be loved and worshipped because that’s what you deserve, nothing less. And it’s not your fault, it’s every other person’s fault for not treating you like the perfect Omega you are.” Steve sounds upset, and your heartbeat increases to a degree that you’d think you were having a panic attack if it weren’t for how damn happy you are.

For a moment, you’re unsure as to what to say, it’s just baffling to you that one person, let alone two, can make you feel this way, this joyous and carefree. But luckily Bucky speaks up so you don’t have to.

“And we’d love to have the chance to do that for you,” He says softly, picking up your hand to cradle it in his own so he can place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. And when you stare up into his eyes, you can’t help but gasp at how loving his gaze is. “Will you give us that chance?”

“Yes.” And this time, you’re not embarrassed by how quickly your answer was to come. How can you be when both men sigh in relief and lean into your body so they can wrap you in their arms? It’s warm and comforting, filling you with happiness and care for these men.

When they lean back you really can’t be blamed for the way your gaze finds Steve’s, then drops down to his lips momentarily. At this, you’re a little flustered, suddenly overcome with the want to feel how soft they are.

Steve seems to read your mind because he places his hand on the back of your neck and forces you to hold his gaze.

“Can I kiss you, honey?”

“Please,” You whine, staying in place as the Alpha leans down slowly. Your eyes close when he gets close enough that you can feel his breaths against your mouth. And for a moment, neither of you moves, and your nerves climb higher and higher as the seconds tick by.

You’re about to speak when he finally, finally kisses you. At first, it’s just a simple peck, a chaste kiss on your lips, and then he pulls back by merely a millimeter. It’s you who leans forward to press your lips together again, and you let him lead as you lose yourself in the kiss. Though, it’s over far too soon for your liking by a soft groan.

Pulling away, both you and Steve turn to look at Bucky, who is now sporting a sheepish grin.

“Sorry,” He mumbles with a flushed face. “I just… I love seeing you two together. I love us all being together and having the two people I care about more than anything sharing your feelings. I know it’s-”

“Sweet,” You interrupt him, turning your body so you can face him better and slip your hand out of his. Placing it on his cheek, you smile when he nuzzles into your palm and gives it a little kiss. “I think it’s sweet, Bucky.”

“Can I kiss you too?” He whispers hopefully, smiling when you nod. Unlike his mate, Bucky doesn’t waste any time capturing your lips in a soft but passionate kiss. It’s clear he’s trying to hold back, and something in you just can’t help but feel wanted, desired. This kiss lasts a little longer, and although you can feel Steve’s gaze on you, you’re not in the least bit self-conscious. You know they wouldn’t lie to you, so you find comfort in knowing that you can show affection to both men without either getting upset or jealous.

When you do finally pull away, you can’t help but lean into Bucky’s chest, reaching behind you to grab Steve’s hand.

“I really like you guys,” You mumble into the Alpha’s chest.

“We really like you too,” They say in unison, causing you to smile.

With that, everything seems to fall into place, the men divvy up the food - giving you most of it - and you all eat in comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at each other. Once the food is eaten, Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, causing you to look up at him.

“Come here,” He says with a smile, guiding you to sit sideways on his lap, facing Steve. And there is absolutely no way in hell you could contain the squeak forcing its way out of your mouth. “Is this okay?” He asks as Steve scoots closer to sit right next to Bucky, picking up your legs and resing them in his lap.

You’ve never nodded faster in your life. You’re nervous, sure, but the utter happiness you’re feeling far outweighs it. That happiness only grows when Bucky nods to his mate, and you watch as the other man picks up the container with the cake. Your eyes widen when Steve picks up a fork and takes a small bit out of one of the slices, carefully leading it up to your mouth where you automatically open it.

Slowly, he slides the fork out, allowing you to chew the cake with a pleased smile on his face. It goes on like this until the slice is completely gone, with Bucky pressing kisses to your temple occasionally and bathing you in his warmth. It makes you preen having these Alphas take care of you like this, providing for you.

You’re content to stay here forever, wrapped up in their light, and by the time you’re done eating completely, you feel your eyelids grow heavy, a yawn forcing your mouth wide open.

“I’m sorry,” You say remorsefully, a little embarrassed by how tired you’ve become now that your stomach is full and you’re comfortably resting against Bucky’s chest.

“Don’t be, honey,” Steve says, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “You can nap if you want, we’ll be right here when you wake up.”

A smile spreads across your face, and you instinctively bury your head into Bucky’s chest and reach out so you can hold onto Steve’s hands. “Are you sure?” You ask, peeking an eye open so you can look up at the blonde Alpha.

He smiles as he nods, pressing another kiss on the top of your head. “Go to sleep, pretty girl.”

It doesn’t take long for you to float off into dreamland, and the last thing you hear is, “I told you she’s perfect for us.”

tagging: @the-ginger-fairy-artist / @supernovatardis / @perdidosbucky-yyo / @wckedheart / @kandis-mom / @meteorshowercoffee / @wandaneedstherapy / @buckysbarne / @bigcreatorwombatdreamer / @p1ut0smoon / @venusfly11 / @buckybarnesmetalarmswife775 / @the-photo-hoe / @clownsbf / @matsumama / @fandoms-writings / @thornsnvultures / @sadboiabby / @lily-excal / @alright-i-guesss / @blondie-bluue / @loveforreading / @marvel-wifey-86 / @wheezy-stucky / @exposition-belongs-somewhere / @sweater-bee / @stuckysbike / @lovelylittleleigh / @buckyshbic / @starkblackwolf / @caitlink26 / @dreaming-potato / @emeraldfairy23 / @lethargicluv / @kinsssss / @perfectlyboring / @glistenuplove / @monicachic13 / @bbellen1411 / @akmenia / @shawnftjacob / @ladyravenclaw / @sadsadbabygirlrob / @hc-kerr / @iamfandomwasted / @sweetmoonlove0214 / @yesprettypleasesir / @duckies16 / @wizardofstories / @emerald-writes / @xonickibaby / @matchat3a / @hereticdance / @animegirlgeeky / @rippedpiece

[stevebabey]

it was supposed to be short n small and now its 3k & its unedited and u all have to just deal with it bcos it was supposed to be SMALL | ao3

The driver's side car window makes a resounding thunk when Steve’s forehead falls against it.

Through the glass, his keys glint tauntingly back at him.

Still tucked in the ignition, locked in on the inside. So close and yet so far from Steve who is, unfortunately, locked on the outside.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

He lets his head raise up a bit just to drop it back against the window again, this time more in punishment. Of course, of course, he coughs up the money needed for a warrant of fitness and then he goes and locks his keys in the car the next day. Like he needed one more cost added to his finances.

Steve steals a glance at his watch. Fuck, if he doesn’t get on the road in the next 10 minutes, he’ll be more than late to work.

His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer.

He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron.

The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.

Something thick grows in his throat. He swallows it to no avail. Embarrassment begins to flush down his neck, hot and uncomfortable.

No, no— he can’t ask Eddie because as far as Steve knows, Eddie hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

Even while Dustin and Mike make their jokes about him being a bit slow, even when Robin says at least you have your pretty face, Eddie brushes them off and laughs. Takes them as jokes with no merit to them. Steve knows though.

So what if he doesn’t want to burst his bubble just yet?

He knows Eddie will figure it out eventually— because they always do. When he asks too many stupid questions and needs things explained twice and— and it’s just inevitable, okay? He knows that.

Fixing his glare through the window of his car at the shiny pair of keys within, Steve wrestles with what would be worse; being late or accidentally tipping Eddie off when they’ve just gotten so close.

Close enough to share a kiss, two nights ago, under the covers. It was barely more than a peck. But Steve knew it had taken a miraculous amount of courage from Eddie to do it— to surge forward and grab Steve’s face, his rings cool against his skin, and press his mouth against his Steve's own.

Eddie’s lips had been chapped but his smile had been pure sunshine and Steve thinks he could’ve stayed forever under that blanket, memorising the shade of pink Eddie’s cheeks turn after a kiss.

They’ve been dancing around it ever since. Each interaction is more charged, more flirty, more gooey. Long lingering looks and pointed nudges that make Steve feel like a 14-year-old with a crush again, in the best way.

So, no. He exactly can’t go ask.

With a heavy sigh and glance up at the darkening sky, Steve is only glad he’s not supposed to pick up Robin today as he begins to walk.

—

One phone call to the auto-shop reveals exactly how much it’ll cost to get his keys retrieved. Which is, to say, entirely too much for one adult living on the wage of a Family Video employee.

And they won’t be able to get anyone out for another whole day.

Growing more and more frustrated with himself, Steve angrily jots the number down into his little notebook, the pen pressing down hard enough to leave indents on the page behind it. Keith is somewhere out the back, snacking no doubt, and leaving Steve to man the front.

Normally, it wouldn’t bother him— especially because he could discretely make the phone call he needed— but now it’s just him, the empty store, and the number in his notebook that stares back at him.

Oh, and it’s raining.

The darkening sky from earlier had transformed into something closer to a thunderstorm, rain lashing against the windows and driving any and all customers away. Which is fantastic— just what Steve needs now, really the fucking cherry on the top.

The phone rings, the noise unusually shrill in the silence of the store. The film playing amongst the aisles has been on mute as soon as he’d gotten his hands on the remote and Keith had disappeared out the back.

Steve stares at the phone, watching it ring once, twice, before he picks it up with a heavy sigh. He dredges up his customer service voice.

“This is Family Video, how can I help?” He greets, putting as much pep into his voice as he can manage—which turns out to be a meagre amount.

“Did you walk to work today?”

Steve straightens up at the sound of Eddie’s voice on the other end of the line. His free hand instinctively smooths down the front of his vest before he quickly remembers Eddie can’t actually see him.

“Eddie?” He asks, instead of answering the question.

“Your Highness, himself,” Eddie responds. His tone is that usual jaunty playfulness that Steve’s come to adore. “Now answer the question, Steve-o. I thought you were one of those smart guys who actually listens when the weather report comes on the radio. Why the hell did you walk?”

Steve’s shoulders curl in, just an inch, and his eyes seek out the open notebook with the quoted amount, underlined and circled, staring back at him. His throat grows a lump at Eddie’s unknowingly poor choice of words.

“Thought I would walk today.” He replies, his voice clipped. “You know, walking, exercise, good for you? Any of these ringing a bell for you, Munson?”

It’s supposed to be a joke but Steve can tell by the end of the sentence, it’s come out way too sour to land that way. He sounds mean.

Steve cringes, clutching the phone a little tighter and screwing up his eyes. He waits for Eddie’s response.

“You know,” Eddie says, sounding a lot duller all of a sudden. “I was calling to maybe offer you a lift through the rain—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, that-“ Steve cuts in, that same strange embarrassment swelling in his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“—But if you’re gonna be a dick about it, you can enjoy the walk.”

Steve grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose because this feels a little too much like a line from his Dad— but it isn’t because Steve is the one digging this hole all on his own. He’s the idiot who fucking locked his keys in his car and walked to work and snapped at Eddie and—

“No, I’m sorry.” He says, still a bit too tense.

Idiot, idiot, you’re being a fucking idiot, Harrington.

“A ride would be appreciated. Please.”

A pause. This time when Eddie speaks, he’s a little softer. “You off at five today?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at five.”

The dial tone sounds as Eddie hangs up but Steve stays where he is, phone pressed against his one good ear, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The rain begins to flood the parking lot.

—

Five o’clock comes around too soon.

The rain has let up, just barely, but enough that Steve can actually see Eddie’s van when it pulls up into the parking lot. It rocks about dangerously in the wind and Steve suddenly feels bad for making Eddie come out to get him.

He could’ve stayed here, taken the longer shift. Told Keith to take off early and just walked back home when the rain let up a little more— or just camped out the back on the couch in the employee room if it never did.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He’d started doing it more and more when his parent’s visits to home became more frequent. It was easy to pull a few white lies out and Steve far preferred answering questions like: Where were you last night? than Why won't you come out to our event tonight? Show face for the Harrington's? It's not like you're doing anything with your life, right?

The only reason he’d stopped, actually, was because he had become good friends with Eddie.

Eddie, who loved his company almost any hour of the day. Who gobbled up each and every morsel of food Steve cooked up, whether it was good or partially burned on the sides. Who told him he had a place in the trailer, day or night, rain or shine.

Eddie who… was waiting outside at five o’clock exactly, pulled up to the curb so Steve wouldn’t have to walk through the rain for more than a moment.

There’s a sliver of surprise, deep within his chest; like he thought Eddie might’ve not shown up and forced him to walk through the rain, just to learn his lesson. It would make sense, Steve thinks. You reap what you sow.

He clocks out hastily, barely murmuring his exit to Keith who doesn’t look up in the slightest. Steve heads for the door and decides then and there, he’ll happily pay the number in his notebook if he doesn’t have to tell Eddie what a fucking moron he actually is.

Water splashes as he dashes down the steps and Eddie’s leaning across, pushing the door open so Steve doesn’t even have to wait to yank it open in the rain. He slides in, sprinkled with rain, slams the door closed, and instantly gets blasted with heat.

“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve sighs, sticking his hands out towards the air vents which are working in overdrive. They whir loudly in complaint. Eddie smiles, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the warmth, and twists the wheel, his eyes on the road before him.

The van groans and the bumper dips, kissing the gutter, as they roll out onto the road and head for Forest Hills. For a moment, Eddie focuses on driving straight before he flicks his gaze across to Steve.

“You know I wouldn’t have actually let you walk, right?”

Steve blinks, unsure of what to say in response, because he actually did think that was a possibility until about 2 minutes ago. He shivers as a stray drop in his hair sneaks under his collar, cold and wet.

“Right.” He answers, giving a hesitant smile back.

They’re driving slower than usual due to the rain. Steve lets himself sink back into the worn seats of the van, comforted by the familiar smells. A tang of tobacco, a stronger hint of weed, and that musky deodorant that Eddie swears by— even if Steve has never heard of the brand before.

But, well, it must be working in some sense because when Steve takes a deep breath, he smells it and feels a sense of calm. He doesn’t even notice he’s begun staring.

The strange weather has made Eddie’s hair frizzier than usual and paired with his rosy cheeks, Steve thinks he looks goddamn delectable. He gets caught up in a daydream about having a hot chocolate when they get back to the trailer, maybe even sharing a blanket on the couch and—

And then, Eddie turns and says, “So, wanna tell me why you walked? For real, this time?”

Something shrivels up within Steve. The tightness in his throat from this morning returns. He turns his head and looks out the window.

“I don’t get why you don’t believe me when I say I walked because I wanted to.” He grumbles, almost too low for Eddie to hear over the rain.

Why are they still talking about this? He thinks of the keys through the driver’s side window, thinks of the number in his notebook and the much smaller one in his bank account, and has to hold back from thumping his head against the glass again.

Something metallic jingles behind him.

Steve whips around, his eyes zeroing in on his keys dangling from Eddie’s hand— clearly just retrieved from his pocket. Something ugly and warm wakes up inside him, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, and his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment.

Idiot, Idiot, Idiot.

He knows, he already fucking knows how stupid you are.

Eddie’s eyes dart off the road to look at Steve. “Cos you’re clearly not telling the truth.”

Steve averts his gaze, turning his face back to the window and the wet pavement rushing by beneath the car. He swallows but the lump in his throat doesn’t move.

“Okay, look I don’t actually care that you walked to work,” Eddie continues, placing the keys down in the cup holder between the seats. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me that they were locked in your car.”

Steve can’t help it, the way his shoulders hike up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip meanly, nearly drawing blood. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it— Eddie’s still trying to rationalise away what everyone else has already figured out.

“I just—” Steve starts, on the defence, but it comes out a bit too wet. He forces himself to swallow again, thankful there’s no sting of tears in his eyes. “I can fix that shit on my own. That’s all.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie agrees.

Below them both, the hum of the van begins to dwindle and Steve realises abruptly that Eddie’s slowing down, pulling over to the side of the road. He looks to the side, at Eddie.

“Please, c’mon, I just wanna go home, man.” Steve pleads, not even caring that he’s referred so casually to Eddie’s trailer as his home.

“Wait, just,” Eddie waves a hand as he sticks the van into park, releasing the wheel and properly turning to Steve.

“I just want to understand. You know I can pop the door to most cars in, like, 5 minutes. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Eddie,” Steve stresses, turning away with a pointed sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, latching onto the roots and tugging at it. “Just leave it, please.”

“Or asked for a lift!” Eddie continues, his hands gesturing out a bit wildly. “I could’ve given you a lift even.”

Steve's eyes slice across the van and he wills back every emotional outburst that wants to lash out of him, to poke the right spot that will hurt to get Eddie to back off.

But Eddie is just staring at him, brown eyes wide, a little furrow between his brows, and is just confused. Concerned.

“If you keep driving,” Steve murmurs, almost dejectedly. He ducks his head low and turns back to the window. “I’ll tell you.”

It works— the engine rumbles back to life and the wheels roll gently back out onto the road, just a couple more minutes from Forest Hills. Steve watches the road and tries to grasp for the right thing to say, each possibility dissolving like smoke. His eyes squeeze shut tightly. The rain dins loudly on the roof of the van, a song and dance of the elements.

By the time they’re entering Forest Hills, Steve still hasn’t said a word. The van crawls up into its usual spot, next to Steve’s own car, and Steve stares down at it. He can hear the soft click of Eddie’s seatbelt as he releases it.

He supposes it’s too late now, anyway. Eddie already knows. He keeps his eyes out the window as he speaks, his voice flat and dull.

“I just... I didn’t want you to think that I’m an idiot, too.”

There’s a questioning noise behind him, a little noise from Eddie’s throat that slips out, unbidden.

“Too?” He echoes. “Steve? Who thinks you’re an idiot?”

Steve huffs loudly and turns back, throwing his hands up. “Jesus, who doesn’t? Would you like a list?”

Eddie’s face twists into a meaner expression than Steve's ever seen before and for once, he properly matches the dark clothes and spooky tattoos he dons.

“Yes. And I’ll go door to door— wait,” He shuffles, shifting up onto his knees so he can stretch over the console and place his large hands on either side of Steve’s face, directing his gaze towards him.

It’s reminiscent of a kiss not too long ago. Despite all the burning self-deprecation that churns inside, the pleasant reminder dulls it significantly.

“I’ll go door to door to anyone who ever made you feel that way,” Eddie repeats, now face to face with Steve, their noses nearly touching. His brows are still pull tight into a furious frown. But it's not at him, Steve realises. “And I’ll do something— I’m not sure what yet, but it’ll be foul and like, maybe I’ll put instant mash potatoes on their lawn and— okay the specifics aren’t relevant but this— this is.”

He searches Steve’s face intently, eyes darting around, making sure the message is sinking in. His expression softens out, his eyes suddenly sweeter than before. “You’re aren’t an idiot, Steve. You aren’t an idiot for making a mistake and I’ve never thought that about you.”

Steve blinks. Swallows heavily and god fucking dammit, is the thickness in his throat ever going to disappear? This time it feels different though. He’s not sure how.

“You don’t think I’m an idiot, do you?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head, moving Eddie’s hands with them at the same time. It’s true, he doesn’t. Eddie is… goddamn fucking wonderful. He’s like a warm summer shower through the wretched seasons of Steve’s life. One of the reasons it was worth living through the entire ordeal of 86.

The rain outside continues, pitter-pattering on the roof, somehow softer than it was a second ago.

“Okay,” Eddie says, a small smile on tugging on his lips.

“Okay,” Steve says back. He tries for a smile and it’s easier than expected, though it wobbles at the ends. It doesn’t matter— Eddie is still gazing at him, brown eyes shining and Steve believes what he says.

“Okay,” Eddie says one more time, his smile turning closer to a grin. “Let’s go make some cocoa, yeah?”

He moves to retract his hands but Steve moves faster, his hands darting up to hold them in their place, palms against his cheeks.

“Wait,” Steve murmurs, watching how Eddie stills and keeps his closeness, their noses still a couple inches from touching— and Steve clings to the threads of courage in him tightly.

His hands slide off Eddie’s, grasping lightly at his wrists, and it’s easy to lean forward and connect their mouths in one swift motion.

Eddie squeaks— then melts.

It takes half a second before he remembers to kiss back, equally as enthusiastic and it’s nothing like the first kiss they shared under the covers. The rain dances around them and Steve swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s pulse soothing, feeling the barest jump of his rabbiting pulse.

When he shifts back, breaking the kiss, Steve keeps the closeness, the tips of their noses bumping together. Eddie’s hands feel blazing warm on Steve’s cheeks but when his lashes flutter open, catching sight of Eddie’s glorious pink cheeks, he thinks it might be his face burning up too.

They tumble inside through the rain and with all of Steve’s prayers answered today, they also share a blanket on the couch, ankles linked beneath the rumpled fabric. They make hot chocolate, Steve’s style, and sip it at, making googly eyes at each other over the rim of their mugs— until Eddie laughs too much and spits it down his front.

Steve doesn’t feel stupid again— unless that is, you count feeling stupidly sappy.

(He does not.)

[catboyieejeno]

pairing: theo x fem!reader

cw: smut, oral (f receiving), theo eating it from the back, established relationship, pet names, slight pillow princess reader, lazy morning head

wc: 1.9k

18+ minors do not interact!

✰ ✰ ✰

Theo's index finger tracing along the side of your abdomen stirs you from your sleep—intentionally, it seems, since he doesn’t bother to retract his hand when he notices the slight shift in your breath, indicating you’ve woken up. Instead, his warm palm meets your skin with confidence, circling around your torso to pull you closer to his chest. He must not have been awake much longer than you, a tell being the quiet, borderline incoherent morning greeting he wishes you in a low rumble.

The bed sheets are strikingly cool against your skin, but his legs that tangle with yours are enough to keep you heated. If it wasn’t for his full lips wetly kissing your shoulder, you might’ve been lulled back to your peaceful slumber within minutes. You move to sit up, but his grip around you tightens, and his soft, tired voice calls out to you once more.

“Wait, don’t pull away…” he mumbles into your skin, “not yet. wanna lay with you for a bit longer,”

His ministrations start out slowly, subtly… For a second, you’re almost convinced his kisses that continue to smack against your neck come from a place of innocence, in the form of some half-asleep affection he’s less restrictive about showering you with when compared to his usually reserved self.

It’s something to take advantage of, you decide, and nuzzle your cheek to his, soaking up the way his hands rub over your skin as he lets a hushed moan slip out. At the same time, Theo allows his fingers to inch down your front shamelessly, digits curiously tapping over your stomach.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, and with his antics serving as a catalyst, you can’t help the way your abdomen instantly ignites.

Theo lifts his arm from your waist just long enough for you to roll around in his hold to face him, smiling down at you with puffy eyes and tousled hair. He pulls his hand back up to cup your face, muttering a small, “hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, unable to contain your giddy grin. Gently, he takes your hand into his and brings it to his mouth to kiss it once, then guides it atop of his head in a silent plea for you to run your fingers through his scalp. The dark locks don’t resist your fingers even a little bit, letting you comb through them smoothly until they’ve reached some kind of order. At the feeling, your boyfriend practically groans, rolling his eyes back for a split second before they regain focus and meet yours again.

Every feature on his face is so delicately crafted, gazing curiously at you and taking you in as if the night that passed, and the sleep he had once reveled in, had robbed him of you for far too long, just like his work schedule had the last few weeks. Days on end without being able to see you or hold you had taken a toll on him. You’re his favorite thing to look at, in any state, at any moment, so his first night back at your house was something he had been anticipating for a while now. Truthfully? he’d never sleep again if it meant he could stare at your pretty face for hours at a time.

He misses you, despite lying right next to you and having you in his arms. How is that possible?

Just then, as these thoughts flood his mind, he leans in, capturing your lips between his own in a sweet kiss. At the same time, his arms draw you tighter into his embrace, warm skin pressing to yours, practically melting into your touch.

He props himself up to hover above you, palms placed on either side of your head and caging you in. The metal of his chain is cool as it dangles, sitting on your chest like melting ice. It becomes even cooler as it moves across the expanse of your breasts, trailing down as his mouth follows behind to lick and lap and warm up the icy trail, and before you know it, he’s practically sticking his head under the hem of your tank top to nibble at the exposed skin below your navel.

His eyes, which were previously closed to savor the taste of your skin, peek open and steal a glance up at you, and his member, confined by only his boxers, twitches within the constricting material at the sight before him. Your lips are parted, your chest is rising and falling quicker with every second that passes, and your eyes can’t seem to leave the boy who keeps climbing further and further down, finding solace between your legs.

“I missed sleeping next to you.” He admits distractedly, placing a sticky kiss on your hip as his hand paws at your waist, squeezing at the flesh he can fit within his big palm, “I hate that i was away from you for so many nights in a row,”

“You were working, baby.”

“I know. Still,” he pauses, flashing you a lopsided smile, “this is nice.”

Little to no time passes between the moment when he mumbles those words, and the moment he buries his face into your panties, breathing you in deeply. The action makes you shudder, and goosebumps crawl over your skin as his black hair tickles your bare thighs.

Just then, there’s a glow flourishing on your cheeks, inevitable of avoiding around Theo. Truly, how are you meant to stay composed after he does something so lewd?

“Missed eating you out,” a ghost of a kiss is placed over your clit. It’s involuntary, but you roll your hips in his face and whine out, a response that only makes his head spin even more and his dick swell with need. He grips your thighs and props them higher up until your clothed center is in perfect view and your knees are almost folded onto your chest.

“Let me make you feel good, love. Please?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, and he snickers at you in a way that doesn’t make you feel embarrassed in the slightest—despite its inherently teasing nature, his smirk is only intended to rile you up even more than you already are, and that, it does.

As he swipes one finger over your core, a splotch of wetness appears on the material. His index finger loops around to pull the lace aside, and he wastes no time in diving in. His tongue pokes out, kitten-licking your folds so lightly that you almost think he isn’t doing anything at all.

A few more experimental, soft swipes of his tongue get you writhing, and it’s only then that he releases the hold he has on your thighs and allows them to rest on his shoulders, fully burying himself between your legs.

“Feels good,” you whimper.

He hums back at you, content and unrestrained, and the vibrations almost make you come on the spot. He’s very obviously pacing himself, taking his time to dissolve you into nothing in his grasp. Your breathing goes from rapid heaves to long sighs as Theo alternates between lapping at you and nibbling your inner thigh. At one point, his actions become audible, the wetness of him fucking his tongue into you, and your soft moans become the only two sounds in the room.

Chin soaked and eyes half-lidded, he mumbles, “You’re so pretty,” as he crawls his way back up your body to kiss you.

He lets his thigh take his place between your legs and he presses his mouth to yours, plump lips gliding softly and lazily with no real purpose other than to soak you in. As your panting evens out, you peek your eyes open to glance at him.

“We can’t lie around for much longer. We have so much to do today,” you protest during kisses. He pulls away, resting his chin to your stomach. He stills there for a moment, falling limp, hands caressing you with no real purpose.

“It can wait.”

“The weather is supposed to be nice today,” you announce, and he gives you another crooked smile as his thumb passively toys with your nipple.

“Then we should take advantage. What do you wanna do?”

“Hmm,” As you think, your hand comes up to hold his cheek, thumb wiping the sleep from his eye. “What if we go for a walk later?”

He nods without second thought, happy to walk later with you wherever you’d like to go. At the same time, he greedily leans into your touch.

“We can do that.”

“And maybe we can–“ a few sticky kisses decorate your waist, “stop by the bakery you like on the way home? You haven’t had that since you left on tour.”

“That would be nice.”

“After we get groceries and make dinner, maybe we can even lie around and do this for a big longer.”

“Yeah?” He raises a brow, lip curling up in a similar notion. When you nod eagerly at his implication, he remembers the position he’s in, and presses his leg just a bit closer against you.

“Let me take care of you then, so we can start our day.”

You hum and he gives you one last look before sinking back down where you need him most.

Your taste is lavish and sweet on his tongue that doesn’t care to tease you anymore. Now, it’s working diligently, drawing out every last whine it can, sweeping and swiping at your glistening folds until you come around him with your fingers grasping at the sheets so hard that the skin has turned white.

You’re barely given a second to recover before he asks you to turn around and flip onto your stomach. Weak and unsteady, your limbs hold you up and you arch your back in anticipation as he repositions himself behind you.

For a moment, his shuffling and the rustling of the sheets makes you think he’s undressing and about to sink himself into your warmth, but then his mouth is on you again with no warning.

His groans are tantalizing, and the way he’s squeezing the flesh on your ass has you collapsing into the mattress and crying out in pleasure. The pleads that leave your lips in mangled cries have him reaching a fever pitch, and he suddenly can’t wait to taste your release again, so he does everything in his power to lull it from you faster. His fingers slip into you, shallowly at first, then knuckle deep and curling to fuck your sweet spot; before you know it, you’re gushing around him again.

“Baby…” is the only word you manage to spew from your drooling lips, and your back arches more as he moans into you again.

The comedown is just as sweet, especially when he lets his lips drag up the curve of your spine until they reach your hair, smooth palm tracing over your smooth skin to soothe you as the last waves of pleasure wash away. He collapses beside you, tugging you closer until your head is near his chest.

When your dazed eyes open to look at him, he’s already looking back down at you with his gentle smile.

His lips are glossed over, and you kiss him as a thank you, greedily humming at the taste of yourself in his mouth.

“Good?” He asks, raising his brows slightly.

“Shut up.”

He laughs when you hide your flushed face is his neck, leaning into you as if your proximity was still not quite close enough.

“Just checking.” He murmurs into your hair, leaving a kiss there in the process. “Now we can start our day.”

[moonstruckme]

can i request a doctor!remus fic where maybe reader comes into the er and is very panicked by doctors and hospitals and they call remus in to help because he’s like known for putting people at ease….this may or may not be based on when i freaked out over a needle and they had to bring in a special doctor :l please and thank you and i’m obsessed with your fics <3

Thank you sweetness <3

cw: hospital, needle

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Your heart is in your throat. It’s pounding so hard you can feel its beating in your teeth, and no matter how you try you cannot get tears to stop leaking from your eyes. 

“Wait,” you say again, the word a wobbly, tight-voiced mantra. You keep thinking that if you can just calm yourself enough to seem credible, you can reason with these people. Convince them that you’re actually fine, so there’s no need to touch you, or poke you, or try to move your already agonizing shoulder. 

There are already three people in your tiny curtained-off room with you, so when the curtain pulls back and a fourth enters, you angle your hurt shoulder away from him unconsciously. 

“Hello,” the new doctor says. His voice is low and velveteen smooth, cutting through the thrumming panic in your brain like a warm knife through butter. The other doctor and the nurses who have been trying to pacify you fall quiet, seemingly relieved this other man is here. He glances quickly at a clipboard. “Y/n? I’m Remus.” 

“Hi.” You feel pathetic and a bit wild, tears still trudging down your face as you try to keep an eye on everyone in the room, especially the nurse with the needle. They’ve promised you several times now that they’re not going to do anything until you agree, and it’s not that you don’t trust that but you’re wary of anything happening without your notice. 

Remus walks over to you as though this scene is completely normal for him. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed and sets the clipboard down. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, looking as though he’d really like to know. His expression is kind and concerned. 

You give a little laugh, using your good hand to wipe under your eyes. It comes out sounding pitchy and stilted. “I’ve been better,” you admit. Remus’ lips curve in a small, sad smile. “I just, I’d really rather not be here.” 

“That’s understandable,” he replies patiently. He seems the least urgent of anyone you’ve interacted with since you’ve been here, and there’s a tranquility about him that’s contagious. You feel your tears slowing. “This isn’t really somewhere people end up when their day is going according to plan. What is it that’s making you nervous, sweetheart?” 

All of it, you want to say. The doctors and the nurses and the machines and the hair-raising sound of a baby crying a few rooms over. You hate hospitals and you always have. The idea of needing to be in more pain to relieve the one you’re already experiencing makes you feel like you’re trying to breathe through a straw. 

“I don’t like needles,” you say. Understatement of the year. 

Remus nods, seeming to mull this over. “Well, you have a dislocated shoulder,” he says, mouth pinching sympathetically. “The only way to fix that is to put the joint back into its proper place. It’s not the sort of thing that takes care of itself.” As he talks, his hand moves to rest on top of yours, forefinger stroking a slow back-and-forth across the back of your hand. “It can be fairly painful,” he tells you, “and if you move you could make things a lot harder for yourself. So, we’re going to give you medicine to help you calm down and alleviate the pain.” 

In his steady, dulcet voice, the thing that’s been explained to you twice over already sounds a lot more sensible. His thumb works over your hand, light brown eyes gently coaxing.

“The good thing about this procedure is, both parts are done with fairly quickly. And if you’d like me to, I can hold you while Dr. Michaels works, if that’ll help you at all.” 

The other three people in the room are moving again, somewhat slowly, but Remus doesn’t seem to notice. He holds your gaze. 

“Yes, please,” you say tightly. You know it’s an acquiescence. Even as you say it more tears are blurring your vision. 

“Alright, it’s alright.” Remus wastes no time in moving to your side, his hip pressed to yours while he wraps one arm around your middle and uses the other to turn your face into his shoulder. “You’re fine, sweetheart.” 

You feel childish and embarrassed, wetting his scrubs with your tears, but he only sweeps his thumb over your ribs, shushing you compassionately.  

“We’re going to give you the medicine now, try to stay relaxed.” 

You tense when you feel the cold wipe, and a quiet whimper slips past your lips at the bite of the needle. 

Remus’ hand tightens on your head. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. The needle slips out. 

“Breathe,” Remus instructs. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped. You let out a tremulous exhale, and he brushes some hairs away from your face, your forehead still resting on his shoulder. “That was good,” he assures you. “You’re halfway done now.” 

“Thank you,” you say, more than a little humiliated as you swipe the wetness from your cheeks, sniffling. 

Remus offers a small smile. It’s absurd how much it relaxes you. “Don’t mention it.” He looks to the other doctor. “How do you want her for this next part?” 

“Lying down, please.” 

He turns back to you. “Okay? You want help?” 

Your good hand has gone back to holding your shoulder, so he uses a hand on your back to help ease you horizontal on the bed. Once you’re settled he coaxes your hand away, taking it in his own. His skin is warm and scarred in some places, cruel lines that feel like a violation to touch. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

Remus gets you talking, about the fall that landed you in here, your day before that, your life in general. His responses are understanding and amused at times, seemingly genuinely invested in what you have to say. As you speak his thumb is moving over the side of your hand, down to your wrist and back again, slow and hypnotic. A few minutes later, your eyelids and limbs are heavy, the movement of Remus’ thumb the center of your focus as he tells you about one of the many scrapes his ostensibly reckless friends have gotten into over the years. 

“Seems like it’s working,” he says with a little smile. You blink, not having realized he’d finished his story. “How do you feel, love?” 

“Sleepy.” Your voice sounds stretched and lazy. “My arm still sorta hurts, though.” 

Remus makes a sympathetic tsking sound. “Unfortunately, we can’t make all the pain go away, but it will be a lot easier than it would have otherwise.” He trades hands, taking your hand in his other one and using the first to make sure your face is angled towards him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here with you.” 

Somehow, that makes everything seem a lot more manageable. 

[sadly-in-active]

maybe yandere beast cookies? or just Shadow Milk if you cant do them all

Bet 😘

Yandere Beast Cookies x Reader hcs

Summary: My, my, my. The former five Cookies of Virtue, all fallen from grace are…attracted to you? Yes, and very attached. Almost to a point where it could just be considered unhealthy and unhinged. Well, good luck my dearest reader! Try to survive in this world of chaos and doom! ❤️

TW: The usual yandere stuff, stalking, murder, manipulation, gaslighting, threatening, and some other SUPER cool stuff :D

(Sorry if ooc 😭)

Eternal Sugar Cookie

Quite the clingy gal, that’s for sure. She knew you loved her from the start…but she loved you before you even knew her. She had her eyes on you this entire time, watching your every move with a giddy smile. It almost makes her giggle when she remembers the situation.

Eternal Sugar enjoys holding you close and wrapping her wings around you. She wants you to feel content and safe, but she also wants you to get attached to her as well. She knows that if she was going to try something more extreme, it would have to be when you’re becoming more vulnerable and soft towards her. Then she’d strike.

“Oh, sweetie…that unfortunate Cookie spoke to you too long. They looked like they were flirting with you, and I just couldn’t have that! I love you dearly, and I’m never letting my darling go again~!”

All in all, you’re probably too busy looking at how beautiful she was, how her sweet eyes were filled with care for you…and…then…

Were you getting sleepy just now?

Burning Spice Cookie

He’s not the type to really stalk you, but he’d demand to know where his little peppercorn is at all times, who you’re with and why you’re even there in the first place and not next to him. (yes he nicknamed you that and no I’m not talking about the canon Peppercorn Cookie don’t come at me)

Burning Spice probably gets really aggressive when you try to go somewhere without his permission, even trying to burn you once or twice to make you stay with him while he treats your wounds, love-bombing you afterwards and holding you close to his warm chest while he bear-hugs you. This tactic is usually done on your legs and especially your knees, giving you second degree burns and ending up with you being unable to walk for about a week or so.

“C’mon, toots! It’s just a few burns, no need to cry when you’re around me! This only happened because you aren’t being a good partner… Hey, look, maybe we could cuddle after if that’s what you want?”

How could you stay mad at a guy who looked so sure of himself? So warm and confident…

But the temperature was increasing more, you just didn’t realize until it was a bit too late.

Silent Salt Cookie

They’ve always been, well, silent. Even when around their peers, they’re known as the quiet one. Their situation with you is probably a lot like Eternal Sugar’s, watching you since the very beginning. They’re definitely light on their feet, a sound rarely coming out of their mouth as they watch you go about your day.

Watching you was something that made them feel a bit of hope in the quiet silence they’ve had during their time as a Beast.

They’ve never tried to hurt you, but they’ve hurt many cookies that have interacted with you. Haven’t you noticed all the missing posters? Well, Silent Salt is sure happy that you didn’t see the papers or notice anything off about the world. After all, how could you when you’re in their home, wandering the salt flats from time to time?

“…it’s not to hurt you.”

They had whispered in your ear while keeping you close on their lap, the two of you embracing each other and the silence that came with it.

The Beast of Silence had even felt some…guilt, being this attached to you.

They could kill armies and hundreds of innocent civilians…but never raise their sword at you.

Ever.

And it would be best to keep it that way.

Mystic Flour Cookie

So, I don’t really know what to write about her…because she’s basically a nihilist and the literal Beast of Apathy..

But she’d definitely try to guilt trip you into making you care about her and worship her by telling her story, wanting you to feel sympathy for her even if she doesn’t want to care for you. (She does, in a way.)

“Don’t stop the flow of life, dearest. Join me and become flour…”

Anyways, she’s probably going to turn you into flour in the end.

But watching you cough out flour as you collapse next to her was…a strange sight indeed. Not even she knew how to feel.

Shadow Milk Cookie

(Nightmare nightmare nightmare)

He’s certainly a flirt, ever since the two of you met. Shadow Milk has always been thinking of you as his little toy, someone that he could play around with and face little consequences.

Because how could you resist a face like his? With a pout on his lips as he tries to justify harming the ones who’ve wronged you a long time ago, whether it be a childhood bully or even your parents… Heck, he even swears that it was for your sake and not because he’s a sadistic piece of shit.

“But [name]! How could I rest well knowing that my sweet, sweet doll still has enemies all around them? It’s my duty to protect you and keep you safe. Besides, don’t you love me?! I know you’re not chickening out now, sweetheart!”

He’s definitely tried to control you, making you into a mindless puppet without your knowledge. It’s something he only does when he’s feeling particularly pissed off at you because you’re not listening to him.

Well, if you’re not listening to him, he’s not planning to listen to his little doll anytime soon!

And he swears he’ll change. Every promise he makes is another lie from the jester. Those kisses he gives you before he goes off doing who knows what? That’s just to keep you entertained.

It’s his duty to protect you, but it’s his job to keep everyone entertained— especially himself.