#for realizing that i have a different voice and talk differently bc i probably have a condition

[webvampzz]

mfw i realize how shitty and bad i sound and that i should probably shut up and never talk again because i talked in the wrong tone and everyone thinks im an asshole but i forgot to analyze how my voice sounds because i have a specific voice for everyone so that they dont say i sound mean and like a military guard ans

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation! & shoutout to @yung-notorious for the idea <3

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[captainpriceslilwife]

Thinking about Gaz trying to hit on insecure!reader at the bar, but he's oblivious to the fact that she's self-conscious until he starts talking to her. And for the first time in his life, he gets turned down...and he's never been more attracted to anyone in his life.

Maybe you were all on your own bc your friends abandoned you, or maybe you showed up on your own in an attempt to be flirted with. But once you got there you felt too insecure to look anyone in the eye, so you've kept your gaze locked on your drink since you arrived.

Maybe Gaz sees you - a pretty bird - all on your own and looking sad. It doesn't even cross his mind that you could be insecure, after all, you're gorgous. But you've never seen yourself that way.

So when he finally works up the courage and gets a bit of encouragement from his team, he slinks up next to you and turns on the charm, like he always does with women.

But it doesn't work out like he planned.

There's no blushing smiles and bashful giggles coming from you. Only a blank, surprised stare and tensed muscles. You even look around like you think he's talking to someone else.

I mean, he couldn't possibly be hitting on you, right? It must be some kind of joke, or prank, or...something. Someone that handsome would not be interested in someone like you. And your concerns are only confirmed when he glances over his shoulder and gets a thumbs-up and a wide, toothy grin from some idiot with a mohawk.

He thinks maybe he's just making you nervous, but when you flinch when he calls you 'beautiful', he knows he's done something wrong. He just doesn't know what.

Of course, it's not his fault. He doesn't know how many times you've been asked out as a joke...or a prank...or a dare. Nobody's ever made a genuine effort to be with you. And he's struck a chord in you hard enough to make you have to swallow against the lump forming in your throat.

"You think it's funny to go up to random girls and make fun of them?" Your trembling voice speaks up as you cling to your drink, trying to seem tough even as the tears build in your eyes.

"Make fun-?" He doesn't even get to finish voicing his confusion before you're standing up, staring down at his brown, puppy-dog eyes with the firmest glare you can muster despite your tears.

"You might be this...this handsome guy, but that doesn't mean you can be mean!" You stutter out as you gather up your purse clumsily, like you're desperate to get away from him...which you are...even if he is the hottest man who has ever talked to you.

"Love, I wasn't making fun of you-" He desperately tries to salvage the situation as he watches in horror as your tears begin to roll down your cheeks, but you quickly snap back. "Oh, save it! You...you asshole!" You seem to hesitate for a moment before you grip your drink tightly and splash it into his face, but he can tell by the immediate guilt lacing your features that you regret your choice.

Before either of you can say anything else, you gather your purse and practically sprint to the exit. But in your hurry, you don't realize you've left behind your wallet - which Gaz picks up once he's broken himself out of the shock you've left him in.

He returns to his table - slightly dazed and dripping with strawberry daquiri as he stares down at your I.D., completely lost in thought as he studies the small picture of your face smiling sweetly at the camera. It looks nothing like the gorgeous woman he saw sitting at the bar - you looked...different, on your license. Not ugly, per se, but you were certainly more awkward when that picture was taken. You just hadn't come into yourself quite yet, and he can already picture how people must've been treating you when you looked like that. And it finally clicks for him.

You genuinely thought he was just teasing you, like you've probably always been teased. But this time, you had enough confidence in yourself to at least tell him to fuck off, even if you did it with tears in your eyes.

Ghost's voice breaks through the barrier first, with a gruff "fuck was tha' about?"

"Aye, what'd ye say to tha poor lass?" Soap's concern quickly follows, his head craning to look out the window as he watches you scurry down the dark street with tears in your eyes. "Couldnae be good from tha' look on her bonnie face."

Their words barely register in Gaz's mind, especially when he's too focused on the way his heart is pounding against his ribs as he tears his eyes away from your picture. "I think I just met the love of my life."

"What?"

[part 1, part 2, part 3]

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part one)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: steve rogers is your best friend, which means that inherently bucky should be yours too. somewhere along the way, it became more than that for you. for bucky, it's just tolerance. he likes you, but not like that. not in that way.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, protected sex (yeah wrap that up), rough, choking, fwb, mean bucky, mutual pining, not proofread

notes: thank you guys for the support on the snippet as well as for waiting for me as i got this done! i just finished finals so i plan on locking in on this one and circuit breaker bc i cannot stop thinking about them.

ps. i swear bucky and reader are friends, just had to hit the angst and give some background but there will be cute moments along with smut probably every chapter...I'm hoeing out.

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

“Steve?” You called out to him, steps pounding behind you as you hurriedly moved toward his pinged location. “Steve, oh my god.” Your voice trailed off, shock evident. 

People brushed by you and pushed toward Steve’s figure on the ground. You’d never seen him like this. Sure, Steve Rogers was a super soldier and the most physically strong man you knew—but this was different. Mentally, he seemed destroyed. 

He called your phone, short of breath and muttering for help. It immediately sent you into action. You were normal—the most civilian anyone could be. There was no other option but to call someone, plead with them to find and help your friend. He’d been washed up on the shore, lying in the dirt and clearly out of it. 

You watched him get worked on, staring into the distance. 

“What happened?” You kneeled next to him,  “Who did this?” 

Steve turned to you, eyes glossed over in disbelief. “Bucky.” He shook his head, “It was Bucky.” He kept repeating it to himself, attempting to convince his own mind that it was true. “It was him. It was Bucky. He was here.” 

“I don’t understand,” you grasped his shoulder. “I thought he was gone—you saw.” You gulped, searching his face for any hesitance. “You said he fell, that he-“

“It was him.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, “Okay, I believe you. He was here.” 

It was true. The man you’d heard so many stories about had returned. He wasn’t like the anecdotes Steve recalled; this Bucky was darker, more quiet, resigned. 

He was an observer. You often caught him staring at you, eyes lingering between your figure and Steve’s. Bucky would always stand, tucked into a corner. He didn’t feel deserving of the warmth Steve offered—the humanity that remained present in you. There were times, then, that you would offer a welcoming hand. A slight wave of motion offered him a seat, acknowledging that he did deserve to be there. He felt human with you. 

That’s what initially drew Bucky to you and inevitably why you became friends, too. There was a way that you loved everyone, insisted on not leaving them out and nourished their insides. 

The hurt came when he realized it would never be that way for him.

You could never love him, not a monster. Not when the shining emblem of a perfect man sat beside you every day. Steve had so much time with you—he was your best friend. Bucky couldn’t replace him, not if he tried. So he always kept you at arms length, hoping to be more than friends but settling for something less. 

The first time it happened, when Bucky had been so lucky to have a moment with you—he swore that he was dreaming. He never gave you a reason to like him, in fact, it was the opposite. He’d gone out of his way every day to push you further from him, make it known that he’d never be as good as Steve. 

He could tell you saw something different; he hated it. 

The three of you had tried small talk often, Steve facilitating some sort of discussion to break the ice. It almost always ended with you and Bucky exactly where you started, friends who were forced to be so because of a mutual one.

“Well, I’m headed out—you two should talk.”

“Steve, no-“ 

“Buck, you two are my favorite people in the world. I would love it if you gave this a chance.” Steve patted his friend’s shoulder, “For me. Please.” 

Bucky turned to look at Steve, a solid expression on his face. He didn’t speak, just gave him a small nod and let Steve step around him and out of your place. 

It was common that Steve would find solace in your home. It was far from the city, neatly tucked away in a residential area. There was a sense of normalcy and he was proud to introduce that to Bucky—he needed that, deserved it after everything. 

The room was silent, violently so. You sat across from Bucky—him lingering in your peripheral, and you nestled softly into your couch. He didn’t move, standing still near a wall that offered him the sight of every possible window and exit. 

“Do you wanna sit?” 

You watched his body for any reaction, dissatisfied when there was none. It was awkward, him avoiding eye contact and you not sure of what else to say. 

You sighed. “I’ll be back.” You announced your departure, not that it mattered to him. 

You beeline to the bathroom, desperately needing to escape him. He was always like this, closed off and so obviously annoyed by your presence. Splashing your face with water did little to temper you, and your body seemed to overheat at the thought of having to see him again. 

You didn’t let yourself think—couldn’t. You stepped out and kept your head down before looking toward Bucky’s signature spot on the wall. He wasn’t there. 

You tilted your head down, seeing Bucky now sitting on the couch, two cushions away from where you’d been prior. He watched you smile softly, moving to sit in your spot.

Bucky made a habit of keeping his hands in his lap. He would sit stoically at all times. It was the same now. 

He avoided eye contact but muttered, “Hi.” 

Your breath hitched, surprised he’d started a conversation. Keeping your tone even so as not to overwhelm him, you replied, “Hi, Bucky.” 

The both of you nodded, letting the weight of your forced proximity surround you. As much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore you. The faint smell of your hair products, the way you tapped your own leg rhythmically, how nervous you were—he noticed it all. 

“Do you, um,” you swallowed. “Do you want something to drink, maybe?” 

It’d been over a year since Bucky had shown up. You, of course, shared small talk with him in that time. He’d grown to know the story of you and Steve—how you met. It would suffice to say that Bucky grew to be an acquaintance of yours—a long lost friend of a friend…one that would never truly like you. Accepting that was hard; you wanted Bucky to be comfortable at the very least. If not like you, he would at bare minimum be able to sit down for once. 

So today was a win. 

Bucky didn’t reply to your question but instead asked his own, “How was Steve? Without me, I mean?” 

His voice was gruff, and you hadn’t expected that question, let alone more than a single syllable from him. 

“Well,” you readjusted to face Bucky, “He’s always the most positive guy in the room—which I’m sure you know.”

Bucky let a smirk slip, recounting the optimism his friend had at all times. 

“He’s better than me that way, than a lot of us.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. He’s just Steve, you know that.” 

He didn’t know that. Bucky was living in his body but observing from outside his own mind. He was witnessing his friend after so much time had escaped him. Everything he thought was true wasn’t anymore. 

He wanted to get to know you, offer you the same grace that was given to him. But he couldn’t. Before it even begun, Bucky was overwhelmed. He pushed himself to be kinder, to do this for Steve. It was simply futile. 

He stood suddenly and looked down at you. “I should go.” 

“Okay,” you stood, nodding. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.” 

He hummed, rolling his shoulders back and tightening his posture again. He didn’t respond. 

“I’ll tell Steve you tried today,” you whispered to him. “I know he’ll appreciate it. I do.” 

The tension was palpable. Your eyes stayed locked on each other until you heard a sound and looked down. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm was clear, only slightly suppressed by the gloves he always wore. He watched you noticing his hand twitch as if he wanted to move it. There was a restraint there, like he was pushing down something that was second nature. As if he meant to do something that he’d always done. 

You swallowed hard enough to hear it in your ears. Looking at Bucky, you arched your brow in a subtle defiance—daring him to do what he intended. You wanted to know him and his habits, to understand even a modicum of what was in his brain. 

Without thinking a second more, he let his left arm lift a bit. He reached toward your face but paused at you flinching, leaning away from him. 

Just barely audible, you spoke, “Sorry.” 

Bucky blinked and furrowed his brows, unable to stop himself. He let his fingers wrap around your face, a single hand pressing just under your chin and at the top of your throat. Slightly wide eyed, you watched him watching you. Most of his hand rested on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the other side of your face. 

Despite no longer being the Winter Soldier, his habits lingered. When in that state he remembered being like this so vividly—a hand around someone’s throat and crushing the life out of them. He hissed at the thought, not at all intending for that with you. He craned your head, though, observing the quizzical look on your face. 

It didn’t make sense to him, the need to maintain this routine. But he did. Beyond the haze of what was once his signature way of taking life—he saw a new one. Bucky could envision his future so clearly, yet he couldn’t let himself have it. 

He went to drop his hand but stopped at the feeling of yours on his wrist. It was inexplicable. Glove or not, you craved the contact from him. 

The room stayed silent except for the slight creak of the floorboards beneath you. While Bucky stayed steady, you teetered on the balls of your feet—this moment feeling fleeting. 

He inched forward, watching your eyes fall closed. 

Your lips were right there, the ones he’d openly been ogling at for months. It was torture, but all he knew. He couldn't allow himself the satisfaction of the feeling. He wasn’t deserving. 

Instead, he latched onto your neck. Bucky kissed and nibbled there with an urgency you hadn’t expected—hell, you didn’t even think today would’ve progressed to this at all. 

The feeling of him on you was intoxicating, and it was so minuscule. His hands were all over you, and yours on him. Your breath came out ragged, “We shouldn’t.” 

“You’re right.” He paused on your neck briefly, directly in your ear now. “We shouldn’t.” 

“We’re friends.” You nodded, letting your hands trail up his back and into his hair. 

“Are we?”

You weren’t sure. It was complicated. You couldn’t let yourself think about that now and neither could he. 

He pushed you down onto the couch and stood above you, allowing you to finally look him over. He was casually in jeans and a t-shirt, the rest of his body entirely covered. The only skin that showed besides his face was just below at his neck. Around it lay his dog tags, which he was so adamant about wearing. The glint of them always caught your eye and alerted you of his presence. Even when he showed up silent, you’d see him and those damn tags. Just always out of your eyeline but in the room—that was who Bucky had always been. In his stoicism, he was still consistently there.

Watching Bucky undo his pants already had you eager for him, too. There was always something there for you, an intrigue simply at the way he carried himself. You stayed seated, leaning back a bit in an attempt to slide down your sweatpants. Both of you watched the other discarding the bottom half of their clothes with little thought, tossing them aside. 

He leaned, then, ruffling into his dark jacket’s interior. 

“I got it,” he mumbled, ripping into the condom wrapper with his teeth. He slid the latex over himself just before pushing the jacket off his back. 

He kneeled into the couch, the angle awkward but enough that he was able to slide into you like he wanted. It was tight—rough. You expected the burn but still sucked in a breath at it, the lack of prep. Bucky didn’t mean to make it this way but just wanted it to be over—the insatiable need to pump in and out of you. Only you.

Slowly and deliberately, he continued to kiss around your neck, collarbone, and ears. He snapped into you, purposely moving at a speed that allowed him to chase a high rather than savor the moment with you. He wanted to, truly…to acknowledge the way you looked up at him. It was his dream to let the sounds of you falling apart actually hit his ears and mean something, but he couldn’t. 

The couch creaked and rocked. You were now slightly bent into the back of the cushions, your chest moving up and down alongside Bucky’s. He pulled back, stabilizing himself behind you. The new angle allowed you to see his dog tags again, them hitting you with every movement into you. Without thinking, you grabbed them, hooking them under one of your fingers. 

He finally allowed himself some relief, his voice dragging out the moans he’d himself been holding in. “Fuck...” 

You watched him intently, pulling him closer by the chain on his neck. He shifted his angle a bit at that and watched your jaw drop open. Your brows furrowed, whines choking out of you at the new sensation. It made you let go of his tags, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. This made him pound into you faster—realizing a tether of intimacy was gone. 

He was subconsciously glad for that, happy that he could pinpoint and force that sweet look in your eyes away. There was no longer an adoration in your gaze but simply one of pleasure. This was for the best. He could appreciate you from a distance despite the line of friendship being crossed so carelessly now. 

“Shit,” you groaned out suddenly. “Buck-“ 

He hushed you softly, quelling the harsh sound in your throat. It only spurred him on, though, truly ruthless about this. He only slowed at the feeling of your fingers gliding over his face, pushing the stray piece of hair out of view. His pace stuttered, faltering as he really looked at you. 

A second later, he started in on you again. A clothed hand found its way into your shirt and pinched at your nipples. His grip was rough, kneading your chest. You were already so close; every additional sensation only pushed you further.

You met him suddenly, writhing into him and filling the living room with lewd slapping sounds. 

Bucky huffed breaths out at every push into you. You fought a squeak, pressing your own hand over your mouth. You gnawed at it as it allowed some relief from the burning inside of you. He was hitting that same spongey spot over and over. He was so good at picking up on the subtle changes in your face and body. 

Without warning he slipped out and nudged you, “Turn.” 

You did without questioning, a firm covered hand rubbing at the skin of your hips. Regardless of his gloves, you felt the difference in his hands—the slight shift of metal in one versus the pulse in the other. There was a contrast you enjoyed, a chill about his metal arm that grounded you. 

A knee pushed your legs open as he slid into you again, this time using you as leverage. Bucky pushed you down slowly, the side of your head finding the cushion. This angle was new, deeper. It wouldn’t be much longer at this point and he could tell. One hand slipped underneath you and up to your neck again, squeezing just enough for you to appreciate the loss of breath. In between gasps you nudged further into the couch, the sensation becoming too much for you. 

He couldn’t stop when you came, relishing the way your insides continued to pulse. It was as if he was meant to stay; his one true purpose was to be completely enveloped by you. When he finished a strained sound choked in his throat, one that you hadn’t expected. 

You were throbbing still, a cold feeling finally making you realize he pulled away. The feeling of him on you had gone away so quick. The sound of a different metal clanked—his belt buckle bouncing around as he slid his pants back on. 

“Should we…should I tell Steve about this?” 

Your question was sudden but was filled with a weight that scared him. You didn’t want to be too forward—but it was only right. Steve was now caught in the middle of something complicated. Even if this was the first and only time…you weren’t sure you could keep this from him. 

Bucky thought differently. 

“Why would you wanna tell Steve?” 

“Because it’s-“ 

“Leave him out of this.”  

Bucky readjusted his clothes, smoothing them over as they’d been before. You watched him inch his way to the door—his back toward you. 

You ignored the pang in your chest, the confusion that now resonated in you. Pushing it away, you settled on changing the subject. “Steve wanted to do something tomorrow, you coming?” 

He didn’t turn as he grabbed the doorknob, merely craned his head to the side. You watched his profile for any sense of something, but again, he was so unreadable for you. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Then he left. 

part two

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[arixella]

Can i get some soft romance fluff forbAce abd reader. Like soft domestic work like patching up his wounds or clothes on the ship and him just falling more and more in love with them

Stiches and Sunlight

╰┈➤ pairing: Ace x gn! reader

a/n: hope you enjoy this requesttt, also guys I got everyones request its just taking me a while to write bc there's so many + the drafts I already have to edit!

summary: While quietly mending Ace’s clothes aboard the Moby Dick, you share a tender moment that blossoms into a heartfelt confession, deepening the love between you both.

wc: 1.4k

contains: fluff, soft romance, domestic, emotional vulnerability, tenderness and quiet romance

The Moby Dick rocked gently beneath your feet as the sea lapped lazily against her hull, sunlight streaming golden across the deck. You sat cross-legged on a crate, needle in hand, a half-mended shirt spread across your lap — familiar, well-worn, and unmistakably Ace’s. The tear along the seam looked fresh, probably from some reckless fight or wild adventure he hadn’t bothered to mention.

Typical.

You shook your head with a fond smile and pulled the thread through again.

“Is that mine?” came a voice, low and teasing, from behind you.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That warm, lazy tone always made your stomach do a little flip. You just hummed in response, still focused on your stitching. “Mm-hmm. You tore it again.”

Ace plopped down beside you, the scent of salt, sun, and smoke clinging to him like always. He didn’t wear a shirt — he rarely did — but there were fresh scrapes along his arms and a bruise forming near his ribs. You gave him a side-eye.

“I see the shirt’s not the only thing that got torn up.”

He blinked at you, then followed your gaze down to his side. “Oh. That? That’s nothing.”

You raised a brow. “You say that every time.”

“And I’m right every time,” he grinned.

You gave him a flat look, and he laughed, the sound bright and boyish, before he leaned his head against your shoulder. “You worry too much,” he mumbled, voice softening.

“Someone has to,” you muttered, threading the needle again.

Ace didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just watched your hands work — fingers nimble, gentle, focused. You were always doing this: mending things. Clothes, wounds, moods. Picking up the pieces the rest of them left behind and quietly, lovingly putting them back together. He didn’t think you even realized how much you meant to all of them. To him.

“…Y’know,” he said finally, almost shyly, “you’ve probably stitched me back together more times than Marco has.”

You gave a soft chuckle, your head tilting against his for just a moment. “That’s not exactly a compliment.”

“It is,” he said, serious now, his voice low. “You take care of me.”

You paused, needle hovering midair. He wasn’t usually this quiet. Or this… open.

You turned to him and finally met his eyes — dark, warm, and watching you like you were the sun on the horizon. He looked different in the light. Softer. Sweeter.

“I don’t mind,” you said after a heartbeat. “Taking care of you, I mean.”

His smile faltered for a second — not out of disappointment, but something else. Like the weight of what he felt was pressing against the inside of his chest.

“I think…” he started, then looked down at his hands, calloused and still dusted with ash. “I think every time you do, I fall a little more in love with you.”

Your breath caught, your fingers stilling.

Ace didn’t look at you. He didn’t need to. He just kept talking, words a little rushed now. “Not just when you patch me up. It’s when you laugh with Thatch in the kitchen, or sit with Izo to help with sewing even though you hate it. When you take time for everyone, even when you’re tired. When you remember everyone’s favorite snacks after port. You… you make everything feel like home.”

You stared at him, the sun casting a golden halo across his shoulders, and you realized: he wasn’t joking. There was no teasing smile. No smirk.

He was just… Ace.

Unfiltered. Honest. Vulnerable in a way only you got to see.

You reached for his hand, warm and strong in yours. “I love you too, y’know.”

He blinked. “You do?”

You nodded. “I think I have for a while.”

He looked stunned for a moment — like he hadn’t really expected you to say it back — and then his expression melted into something so tender, so full of wonder, that your heart ached with it.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes slipping shut. “You have no idea what you do to me…”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “Probably the same thing you do to me.”

The wind tugged at the sails above you, and somewhere on the deck, someone shouted and laughed, but here, in this quiet little bubble, it was just you and Ace. Just sun-warmed wood, the scent of sea and smoke, and the steady, quiet rhythm of hearts finally in sync.

“Come here,” you said, tugging him gently.

He let you pull him closer, settling between your legs, his head resting in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. He sighed — a long, content sound — and closed his eyes, like this was the safest place in the world.

And maybe it was.

You looked down at him, at the way the light danced across his freckles, and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“I’ll finish sewing later,” you murmured.

“Mmh,” he hummed, arms wrapping around your waist. “Stay like this a bit longer.”

You did.

And in that quiet, sunlit moment, love wrapped itself around you both — soft, sure, and everlasting.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[cameronsbabydoll]

omg im so happy ur reqs r open again!!!! I have another one about puppy reader!!! so we know she's different from bunny or bambi reader who r both quiter (or at least that's my perception of it pls disregard this if its not urs) but what if puppy reader is just like rlly energetic and giggly and loves talking to everyone but it can get kinda overstimulating for everything (all the "adults") around puppy reader. so what if rafe gets annoyed and is rlly mean to her infront of his friends bc she's overstimulating everyone (but she's obv sad bc she doesn't know what shes done) and he kinda compares her to another friends gf and is just mean and gross like usual

rafe being mean to puppy!reader during dinner at the wreck with his friends :(

warnings: mean rafe!!! mentions of blood / injuries

wc: 667 — a/n: so i sorta went out on the ending and added john b to this fic because puppy!reader and john b is always on my mind <3 hopefully this fits your request !!!!

it starts innocent enough.

you’re at the wreck — perched on the edge of the table where all the guys are sitting, swinging your legs, rambling about something or other. it’s not even important — just that happy, nonstop little stream-of-consciousness chatter you always have when you’re comfortable. when you feel safe.

you don’t notice the looks.

the way rafe’s friends — kelce, topper, even a couple of kooks — start to exchange glances. smirks. eye rolls. not outright mean, but tired. like they’ve hit their limit with the excitable little golden retriever bouncing in their chair.

rafe notices, though.

he notices everything.

and he’s already in a shitty mood — nursing a beer, sprawled out in his chair, watching you with this flat, unimpressed stare as you giggle and talk and talk and talk.

and then — finally — he cuts you off.

"jesus christ, do you ever shut up?"

it hits you like a slap.

you freeze, mid-sentence, blinking wide-eyed at him.

the table snickers. low, awkward laughs ripple around the group.

"m’serious," rafe drawls, twisting his ring around his finger, voice mean and lazy. "you’re worse than topper’s girlfriend. at least she knows when to be quiet."

more laughter.

hot embarrassment burns up your neck, prickling your skin. you don’t even know what you did wrong. you were just — just talking. being friendly. being you.

but now everyone’s looking at you like you’re stupid. loud. annoying.

your throat feels tight.

"didn’t realize i needed a fuckin’ muzzle to have dinner," rafe mutters under his breath.

that’s what does it.

you barely manage to mumble something about the bathroom before you slip off the bench, head ducked low, heart pounding like you might actually throw up.

nobody stops you.

nobody notices.

except rafe — who doesn’t even look your way, just mutters, "probably gonna go cry about it now," under his breath.

the table laughs.

but you don’t go to the bathroom.

you head for the little window near the back, hands shaking as you pry it open clumsily, not even thinking, just moving. just escaping.

you catch your knee on the frame, scraping it raw — but you don’t stop. you tumble out onto the gravel outside, barefoot, palms dirty, throat thick with stupid, hot tears.

and that’s when you hear him.

"jesus christ."

you jump.

it’s not rafe.

it’s john b.

he’s leaning up against his van, to-go bag in hand like he was just picking up food, staring at you like he’s not sure if you’re real or some kind of stray animal that got loose.

"you runnin' away or somethin’, pup?" he asks, voice low and a little teasing — but soft.

you sniffle, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

"rafe was mean to me..." you hiccup, small and pathetic.

john b’s jaw tightens. barely.

but he pushes off the van, steps closer, crouches a little like he’s trying not to spook you.

"yeah, well. he’s a dick," he says, simple like a fact. "let me see your knee."

you hesitate.

but you lift it — scraped and starting to bruise.

john b huffs out a slow sigh, shaking his head like he’s fighting a smile.

"what’d you do, go feral on ‘em? didn’t like your puppy energy tonight?"

you sniffle harder, cheeks hot.

"didn’t wanna be annoying..." you whisper.

and the way john b looks at you.

it’s not pity.

it’s not brotherly.

it’s something else entirely. warmer. sharper. like he’s looking at something fragile and stupidly precious all at once.

"hey." his voice drops a little. "you’re not annoying. they’re just boring."

your lip wobbles.

john b straightens up, nodding toward his van.

"c’mon, pup. let me clean you up before you bleed out in the fuckin’ gravel."

and as he guides you toward the van — hand finding the back of your neck, rough and easy — he adds:

"bet you didn’t even get your fries before your little escape act, huh?"

it makes you giggle — wet and hiccupy.

but it’s the first time all night you’ve smiled.

[bloodibambiidoll]

love love love the rafe cameron x weirdgirl!reader au!! imagine reader at the country club overhearing some mean boys making fun of her and how rafe is crazy to date someone like her :(( she stays in her room after hearing this and rafe catches her biting herself and crying (she normally bites him but after hearing this she feels like she can’t) oh my heart-

No bc this is like sooo perfect. This is literally so her. I’ve been having a lot of fun coming up with lore for her so I’m so glad you’re liking her so far!! Warnings: (I’d like to note that weird girl is autistic coded bc I am autistic), Reader gets her feelings hurt, protective Rafe, biting 18+MNDI!! Part of this AU

“Yeah dude, she’s like so hot until she opens her mouth.” Your footsteps come to a sudden halt, your shiny black Mary Jane’s squeaking against the polished wooden floors of the country club. There’s a group of guys about your age standing around the corner in a circle all snickering to each other.

“No, yeah, like she says the fucking weirdest shit in that creepy little monotone voice. I have no idea how Rafe puts up with it.”

“The pussy must be out of this world or some shit because I would never be able to handle that. I saw her last week on the beach collecting animal bones or some shit bro. Bet she went back to check on her kill.” The entire group starts busting up laughing just as you feel hot tears start to stream down your cheeks. You just want to leave but they are blocking the only path to the door so you suck it up and high tail it as fast as you past them.

You were waiting for Rafe to be done with his game of golf but after that? You really didn’t want to bother him with wanting to leave early so you decided to just walk the mile and a half home. If you were lucky maybe you’d run into the neighborhood cat you befriended and he would walk part of the way with you.

When you get home you rush up the stairs and into your room, slamming the door behind you. Your head is swimming with negative thoughts. You were always scared you were too weird for Rafe, too much, too different from him. So when you hear guys he hangs around saying things like that about you? It’s hard to not let it get to your head.

You kick off your shoes and practically tear off the cute outfit you spent over an hour putting together. You grab your pink fuzzy robe, and walk over to your bunny’s cage, smiling down at her with watery eyes.

“I think you’re the only one that really understands me, Lydia.” Your bottom lip wobbles as you pick her up and walk over to your bed. You rock back and forth slightly as you caress her fur, trying to self soothe. You’re realizing in this moment that maybe you really are too much for Rafe because you hardly remember how to calm yourself down without him.

You wish so badly that he was here. You know he would hold you tight and let you sink your teeth into him until your tears stopped flowing. It seems to be one of the only things that truly calms you down so you decide to bring your own hand up to your mouth and bite down on it. It soothes you a little, but it isn’t Rafe. He’s called you a few times but you just let it ring, he’s probably worried, but you’re too embarrassed to pick up.

“Baby? Are you here?” The minute you hear Rafe’s voice you want to run to him, but the words of the boys at the country club playing in your head on repeat in your head cements you in place. “Bats?”

When he opens your bedroom door and takes in the sight of you his heart sinks.

“Baby girl, what’s going on? What happened? Where did you go? You scared the shit outta me.” He rushes over to you, coming to sit next to you on your bed. He rests his large hands on your calves and rubs soothing circles on your skin with the pads of his thumbs. You whimper and shake your head, your mouth still latched onto your hand. “Batty, you’ve gotta talk to me, okay? Tell me what’s going on.”

“I was…” You pull your hand away from your face, resting it on Lydia’s back as you pet her softly, the feeling of her fur grounding you. “I was coming back from the bathroom and I heard Jake and those guys… talking about me.”

“What about you?” Rafe’s voice takes on a protective tone, especially when another fit of sobs erupts through you. He hooks his arms under you so he can pull you and your bunny softly into his lap. “Princess. Tell me what they said.”

“They said - they said that they don’t know how you put up with me because I’m so weird and that you’re probably only with me because the pussy is good.” You sniffle as your tears continue to fall and if Rafe didn’t know you needed him right now he would be on his way back to the club to beat all of their asses until they couldn’t walk.

“Hey, hey, nah, none of that.” He cups your face in his hand, wiping away your tears. “You know I love you, all your weird shit and all. I’m not ‘putting up’ with you, I fuckin’ love your weird little ass.”

“They also… they also said that - that I probably kill animals…” You start sobbing again and Rafe’s entire body tenses. He knows how much you love animals, how important they are to you. He wants to fucking rip their throats out.

“Princess… I’m so sorry they said that. They just don’t know you, aight? You’d never harm a fly. Don’t let that shit get to you. I know it’s hard, but fuck em, they don’t know fuckin’ shit about my baby.” He gives you a reassuring smile as he wipes away some of your remaining tears. His hand swipes past your lips and you turn your head slightly to sink your teeth into it. He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “There’s my weird girl.”

[cl0udy3]

Lemme get a Viktor X reader. Probably femme reader. Reader is a lab assistant there and works closely with Viktor and Jayce, but as reader starts getting closer with Jayce until Viktor gets a little jealous and then…

You decide.

I’m mostly looking for jealous Viktor, arguemdnt that leads into a bit of jealous smut if you’re down to do that. If you do that, lots of Viktor marking then. I’d like if he could be on bottom bc of his leg and all, but I’d still like him to top.

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍

viktor x fem!reader angst, then nsfw LIKE HEAVY SMUT, then fluff A LITTLE BIT OF EVERYTHING WE DONT DISCRIMINATE (since theres smut, cw: improper use of lab equipment, teasing, denying release, p in v, cunnilingus or something like that idk what to put here)

wc: 5105 a/n: GLORIOUS OVULATION (p.s. this is my first time doing in depth smut AND publishing it so if it sucks mb :'D)

You were always in the background, by Viktor’s side—through every breakthrough and every failure, through sleepless nights spent poring over blueprints and theories. You knew him better than anyone.

Or at least, you thought you did.

Lately, that role—your place—felt like it was being rewritten.

Jayce had always been there, but recently, something was different. They were different.

You notice it in the way Viktor leans in when Jayce talks, in the quick, secret smiles they exchange over the workbench, in the way Jayce claps a hand on his shoulder, his touch lingering just a second too long. And Viktor… he never pushes him away.

Then there are the late nights—the ones that used to be yours.

“Viktor, do you want to run a few more tests before—”

“Not tonight,” he interrupts, barely glancing up. “Jayce and I are reviewing schematics for the new Hexcore modification. We need to fine-tune the energy output.”

It’s the third night in a row that you’ve been dismissed in favor of Jayce.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

You tell yourself it’s not personal.

But when you see Viktor actually laugh at something Jayce says, something sharp and ugly coils in your stomach.

When was the last time he laughed like that with you? When was the last time you were the reason his eyes lit up?

“You alright?” A voice snaps you out of your sour thoughts—one of the other assistants, blinking at you with mild concern.

You force a smile, gripping your pen so tightly your knuckles ache. “Fine.”

Liar.

You cast another glance toward the two of them, watching as Jayce nudges Viktor playfully, their heads dipping closer together over the blueprints.

That’s when you realize—this burning in your chest?

You’re jealous. And it’s only getting worse.

But being you, you tell yourself it isn’t that. It can’t be. Even if it were… why should you feel this way?

Viktor isn’t your partner. He isn’t yours. And yet, at the same time, he is.

The contradiction eats at you.

For days, you try to push it down, telling yourself it shouldn’t matter—that it’s ridiculous. But the thought lingers, festering in the back of your mind like a parasite, gnawing away at your sanity.

The jealousy—the rage—bubbles hotter each time you see them together: the way Viktor leans into Jayce’s space, the way they whisper over shared ideas as if you’re not even there. Maybe you’re just an assistant, but you’re his assistant—one of his best.

And yet, somehow, Jayce has his attention in a way you never have.

“Viktor, would you like me to stay and run some tests with you tonight…?”

You ask softly, almost shyly, your heart gently hammering against your ribs.

Viktor glances at you, then smiles—small, absentminded, but genuine. “I could use the help.”

You nod your head and leave the lab to drop off some blueprints in his office, but with a little extra pep in your step.

But when evening comes, as you enter the lab, Viktor doesn't even bother to look your way.

Viktor is still in the lab, laughing, joking, effortlessly engaged in some experiment with Jayce. Like he forgot about you entirely.

Your stomach twists, something sour rising in your throat. Your fingers tighten around the files in your hand until it slips from your grasp, falling to the floor with the papers flitting around you.

Neither of them notices.

You cross your arms and force a composed expression as you walk in, feigning a casual visit.

“Ah, Y/N!” Viktor looks up, offering you that same easy smile. “Welcome.”

You hum quietly, tilting your head. “Oh, so I’m still relevant to you?”

Viktor’s smile falters. He blinks, his brows drawing together. “What?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head, gripping the loose papers in your hand a little too tightly. “Forget it.”

You try to walk away, but he follows after you. His voice is calm but sharp.

“Are you okay?”

You laugh dryly, shaking your head. “I’m fine. Absolutely fine,” you reply sardonically.

Viktor narrows his eyes, tilting his head. “Lying does not suit you, Y/N.”

His words strike a nerve, and you shoot back, “Oh, but ignoring me suits you just fine, right?”

“Ignoring you?” Viktor retorts with a frown, clearly confused. “I have done no such thing.”

“NO?” You scoff. “Tell me, Viktor—when was the last time we actually worked together? When was the last time you actually needed me for anything?”

“You are being ridiculous,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is about Jayce, is it not?”

That’s the last straw. You snap.

“Yes, Viktor, this is about Jayce!”

“I don’t understand—”

“Of course you don’t!” You throw your hands up in frustration. “You’re too damn smart for your own good, but you’re completely blind when it comes to this! To me!”

As the two of you argue, Jayce remains completely oblivious, nose-deep in his work. He doesn’t even register the tension in the air.

“I have been here since the beginning, Viktor. Every long night. Every experiment. Every single time you pushed yourself too hard—I was there. Not Jayce. Me.”

“I never said you weren’t—” Viktor begins, but you cut him off.

“But suddenly, he waltzes in, and now you don’t even need me anymore. Now, I’m just—just some humble assistant!”

Viktor stares at you, taken aback for a few moments.

“You are jealous,” he finally murmurs.

“No shit, genius.”

Viktor stays silent for a few seconds, processing the words. For the first time, he truly sees it—the fire in your eyes, the way your hands are clenched into fists, how your breathing is too fast, your body too tense. The realization shifts something between you.

A long, charged silence falls.

You’re angry. Viktor is processing. But the air is different now.

Viktor’s gaze flickers over you—not just with irritation, but something darker. You feel your pulse quickening.

“Jayce and I are colleagues.” Viktor says, breaking the silence.

“Prove it,” you retort.

A single step, and suddenly he’s too close. You reach up and cup his collar, drawing him in. He lets you, his breathing heavier as his gaze dips between your lips and your eyes.

Jayce finally notices something is up but remains oblivious to the situation.

“Uh, hey, you guys okay? You’re kinda—”

You don’t even turn to look at him; you point sharply toward the door.

“Get out, Jayce.”

Jayce blinks. “What? But I still—”

“Out.” You mutter, your tone final.

Viktor says nothing, just watches as Jayce hesitates, clearly wanting to stay and finish his work. But your look leaves no room for argument. Your free hand reaches for a nearby tool mug, and you quickly dump its contents before tossing it in Jayce’s direction—missing his head on purpose.

Finally, Jayce throws his hands up with an exasperated sigh. “Alright! Alright… sheesh, I’m going.” He gathers his things and leaves, grumbling under his breath.

The moment the door shuts, your head snaps back to Viktor, a vicious desire burning in your eyes. You let go of his collar and watch as he leans onto his cane again.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches you, his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

You shove a single finger against his chest, forcing him back. He hobbles, barely catching himself before his cane slips from his grasp and clatters to the floor. He lands hard against the workbench, breath hitching, bracing himself with a palm against the metal surface.

And then you’re on him.

You cage him in, hands braced on either side of him, your body looming close, too close. He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t push you away. Just waits, breath measured but uneven, something coiled tight in his chest.

You smile, slow and wicked, tilting your head as you lean in until your lips hover just shy of his.

“No one else but us now.” Your voice is syrupy sweet.

His brows draw together, and he opens his mouth to speak, but he hesitates.

“Nothing to say?” Your fingers drift, slow and deliberate, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His breath hitches—barely—but you catch it. You see the way his grip tightens against the edge of the table, how his fingers twitch, aching to touch you back but resisting.

Perfect.

You let your hand wander lower, teasing down the column of his throat, feeling the pounding heartbeat beneath your palm before trailing further—down his chest, to his ribs, to the firm plane of his stomach beneath his vest.

“You work too much,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear, delighting in the way he tenses beneath you. “Maybe I should make you take a break.”

Viktor’s jaw tightens. His voice is low, strained. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet,” you hum, rolling your hips just barely against his, feeling the faintest shudder run through him, “you let me do this.”

His fingers dig into the table, breath stalling for half a second before he recovers.

“You think you own me, do you?” His voice is rougher now, but there’s no heat behind the words—only hunger, barely restrained.

“Maybe I do.” Your smirk grows, tilting his chin up with two fingers. “And I think you like it.”

Your hands wander, reaching back until you too, can no longer take it. 

The moment your lips crash on his, it’s ravenous. Teeth clashing, tongues desperate, like neither of you can get enough. Like days–weeks–of tension are finally snapping at the seams.

Viktor grabs you, fingers digging into the fabric of your uniform, pulling you closer until there's nothing between you. His breath is ragged, sharp gasps swallowed by your kiss as your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling, taking, claiming. 

The workbench trembles beneath him.

You lift his frail body and press him down on the table. Papers slide, tools shift, small bits of scrap metal and instruments rattle against the surface as you knock aside anything that isn’t Viktor. 

In the background, a small device rolls off the edge, clattering against the floor. 

At first, you don’t notice. You're too lost in him, in the way his fingers claw at your back, the way his body shudders beneath your touch. Until a faint hum fills the space and you pause.

Viktor’s lips are kiss-bruised, his pupils blown wide, his breath uneven as he chases your mouth again, but you pull back, something catching your attention.

You glance down, spotting something small and metallic on the floor–trembling slightly with a gentle vibration.

Your eyes flick back up to Viktor.

“What's that?”

He blinks, still hazed, still drunk on your touch, until he follows your gaze. His brows furrow, and then his expression shifts–just barely–but you see it. The flicker of realization, followed by something tense, tight like he doesn’t want to answer.

You grin. 

“Oh?” You slide off his lap, bending down to retrieve the object, letting your fingers trace over the sleek metal as the vibration hums through your palm, “Interesting.”

Viktor shifts on the table, watching you like a hawk. “That–” He clears his throat, voice rough. “That is a calibration device.”

You raise an eyebrow, turning it over in your hands. “And what exactly does it calibrate?”

“Precision tuning for fine mechanisms,” he says, a little too quickly, “It–it vibrates to detect inconsistencies in structure–”

You hum thoughtfully, dragging it across your own palm.

You drag it along your wrist, watching Viktor’s throat bob as he swallows hard. “It’s not that strong,” you muse, letting it glide up to your collarbone. “Barely noticeable… until you put it somewhere more sensitive.”

Viktor swallows hard.

His fingers twitch at his sides, curling and uncurling, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the table. He’s trying—desperately—to stay still.

But the moment the device glides lower, a sharp inhale hitches in his throat. His thigh jerks involuntarily, his body betraying him before he can stop it.

"Sensitive?" You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you watch the way his thighs clench involuntarily..

He swallows, blinking hard, his hands tightening into fists. "This is…" His voice is strained, his accent heavier than usual. “An unfair advantage.”

A low purr escapes your lips as you lean in, pressing the buzzing device gently against his knee. Slowly, you trace its path up the soft inside of his thigh. His muscles twitch, his hips shift just a fraction, and his fingers curl against the rough surface of the workbench until they tremble with unspoken desire.

A strangled sound escapes him. You tilt your head, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper. “Use your words.”

His jaw clenches, and his pride wrestles with his desperation. His resolve crumbles as he manages, barely, “Please.”

That single word fuels you. Your lips curve into a mischievous smile as you climb back onto the table, straddling his lap. You straddle his lap, your free hand sliding up his thigh as he shudders beneath your touch. 

Before anything, you put the device down beside him and remove his belt, removing it with ease. You reach over him and pin his arms behind him, binding his arms together with the same belt.

You sit back down and grab the gadget again, continuing your playful antics.

You let the buzzing device trace a slow, tantalizing path along his chest, never venturing too low—just enough to tease, to torment. Viktor groans, his grip on the work table tightening so that his knuckles turn white. His words, though barely audible, send a thrill coursing through you.

“Y/N…” he begins, his voice thick with a plea you’ve heard before, but you cut him off with a playful, mocking tone. “Use your words,” you repeat, swirling the device deliberately along his clothed erection.

His pride, now a fragile barrier, shatters with a whispered, “Please..”

A quiet giggle escapes you—soft and triumphant. “I don’t think you mean that,” you tease, your fingers brushing the edge of his growing hardness. Viktor’s eyes dart to your hands, hungry and pleading, but something deep inside him tells him to wait.

The vibration pulses through him, his hips jerking uncontrollably, trying so hard to stay still. His hands clench into fists, nails digging into his palms as his breath hitches sharply.

“Y/N—” his voice cracks, a tremor running through him. “Please—”

You smile as you lean forward, your free hand pulling his head toward you. Your smile stays as you press your lips to his, and he simply melts at the feeling.

But then, just as he starts to chase the pleasure, you pull the device away.

Viktor whines. Actually whines.

You laugh softly, tilting your head. “So eager. Where’s that sharp tongue of yours now?”

His head falls back against the workbench, his breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps. He swallows hard, lips parted, trembling.

“Patience,” you coo, dragging your fingers down his exposed throat, feeling the way his pulse flutters beneath your touch. “Or do you need a little more time to learn?”

A frustrated noise rumbles from deep in his chest, but he nods, jaw clenched. You hum in satisfaction.

“Good boy.”

His body jolts at the praise, his fingers twitching where they remain bound behind him. You pretend not to notice the way his hips lift slightly, chasing contact he knows you won’t give. Not yet.

For what feels like an eternity, you toy with him—pressing feather-light kisses along his jaw, his throat, trailing down, down, down, only to pull away each time he shudders in anticipation. Every time he thinks you’ll finally give in, you pause, hovering just above where he needs you most, letting your breath ghost over his heated skin.

He shudders violently, his body betraying him with each twitch, each involuntary jerk of his hips.

“Y/N—” His voice is wrecked, thick with something dangerously close to desperation. “I can’t—”

“You can,” you correct smoothly, running the tip of the vibrating device up his inner thigh, watching how his muscles clench. “I think you like this more than you’re willing to admit.”

His head shakes furiously, a strangled moan escaping him as you drag the device lower. But you stop again, just before it reaches where he wants it most.

A broken whimper leaves him.

“Beg properly,” you whisper, lips brushing against his ear. “Say it exactly how you mean it.”

His pride wars with his needs. He’s trembling, barely holding on, and you can see it—the moment he cracks. His jaw clenches, his breath stuttering, his body rigid beneath you as he forces the words out, hoarse and unrestrained.

“Please,” he gasps, raw, unguarded. “Please, I need—”

You reward him immediately, pressing the buzzing device directly against him.

Viktor chokes on a moan so desperate, so utterly broken, that your smirk falters. For a moment, you just watch him unravel, watch the way his fingers flex uselessly behind him, the way his head tips back, his mouth falling open on a silent cry.

And then, just when he’s right there—

You pull away again.

His entire body jolts, his breath punching out in a choked sob.

“No—” His voice is barely there, shaking, pleading. “Y/N, please—”

Your heart pounds at the sight of him—completely undone, completely at your mercy.

For thirty straight minutes you continued this: letting him chase his release until he was right on the edge, you’d deny his release, he’d whine and whimper and groan and make every sound you could think of, his hips bucking up for more friction until he finally broke. 

Viktor’s breath is ragged, shallow, his body trembling violently beneath you. His fingers flex uselessly against the table, his nails dragging over the surface as if searching for something to ground him.

He still tries to hold on—tries to resist—but the control is slipping fast. His hips jerk instinctively, chasing nothing, and a sharp, frustrated noise tears from his throat.

You grin. “Just say it, Viktor.”

He clenches his jaw, fighting, always fighting. Even now, when he’s this wrecked, he still refuses to just—

You pull the device away.

A choked, desperate sound escapes him, his whole body jerking in protest. His head falls back, his breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps. He swallows hard, his lips parted, trembling.

"Y/N—" His voice breaks.

"Please—please, I need—"

“I– I need you, please..” he gasps, his voice shaking. 

Success!

You hum in satisfaction, caressing his sweat-slicked face. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Viktor whispers quiet thank yous and murmurs his gratitude as you begin to remove your own clothes, haphazardly throwing each piece around the lab.

On the contrary, you carefully remove his uniform save for the dress shirt, and fold each piece neatly for him, leaving it off to the side on another table.

He sighs shakily as you climb on top of him again, removing the belt that restrained his hands. Viktor rubs his sore wrist but as soon as he’s done, his fingers finally move—gripping your waist, holding you to him as if he's afraid you'll pull away again. The way he trembles beneath you, the heat pooling in his gaze, the way his breathing stutters when you press a kiss against his throat—it’s intoxicating.

You trail your lips down his jaw, past the dip of his collarbone, feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch. You take your time, savoring every second, every quiet gasp that leaves his lips, until finally, finally, you undo the last barrier between you.

The moment you give him what he’s been begging for, Viktor completely unravels.

You pull the waistband of his boxers down painfully slowly, but Viktor doesn’t complain because he knows he’s about to get what he’s been wanting this whole time. You.

He breathes a deep inhale as you gently grip the base of his dick, pushing his only other undergarment down his legs.

You stroke his cock a few times, earning quiet whimpers and moans as you do, the pre cum leaking from the head.

“Y/N–” His voice breaks, his hands shaking as they clutch at you, as if even now he can’t quite believe you’re finally giving him what he needs.

You hush him with your finger and smile as you raise your hips above his, raising the tip of his dick to just kiss the entrance of your cunt.

You let the tip of his cock slide in and out, his tight grip sliding from your hips to your thighs as he groaned from the feeling of your two bodies almost colliding.

And finally, in one swift motion, you gently let your hips fall and your cunt consumes his dick like the perfect sleeve, the sensation immediate to him–hot, wet, and tight.

His head tips back, mouth falling open on a ragged moan, his grip on you tightening. The sound that escapes him—wrecked, desperate, utterly grateful—is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You groan quietly, your arms trembling as you wrap him in a tight embrace. Viktor’s hands snake up and down your back, his nails digging into your skin like he couldn’t get enough of you.

His hips rut against yours as you begin to bounce up and down, your hips softly hitting his so as not to further maim his leg.

Viktor rests his forehead on your shoulder, inhaling your scent like it was oxygen, as he panted and groaned, each sound a symphony to your ears.

“Does this..” You moan quietly, feeling his cock throbbing in your tight hole. “Do you… fuck– feel good..?”

He can’t even form a full sentence. He can’t even begin to describe how good you felt–at least not right now when the two of you were fucking so carnivorously.

He nods his head, growing more and more intoxicated with the feeling, the scent of you.

Viktor partakes in the meal in front of him, hands clamped onto your back as he begins to suck and lick certain spots on your neck, almost like he was taking in new data in an experiment. His mouth explored every crevice on your collarbone, each dip and vein on your neck.

So many long minutes passed of the two of you fornicating together, your body gently slamming onto his as you rode his dick in slow, long strokes. Moans and groans and whimpers and whines–any sound you could think of was heard, echoed in the lab. 

Viktor shudders violently, his body arching beneath you, his grip on your hips turning bruising as he finally, finally lets go. A wrecked, shattered moan escapes his lips as warmth spills inside you, his entire body trembling beneath yours.

"Gods, Y/N—" he chokes out, voice hoarse, shaking. "I can’t— it’s too—"

And finally as if on cue you felt your thighs clench, a small smile peeking on your lips as your walls clenched around his dick as you released a small amount of fluid from your own cunt.

The two of you sit for a moment, panting to catch your breath as you each come down from the high of your release. Viktor whispers sweet apologies and quiet gratitude against your skin. You run your hands through his hair, gently feeling the locks.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, you pull his cock out and it falls limp against your stomach. You moan and chuckle quietly at the shy look on his face.

The lab is quiet now, the only sounds are your uneven breaths and the faint hum of cooling metal beneath you. The heat of the moment lingers between you both, heavy and sated. 

Viktor is flat on the table, spent, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist like he doesn’t quite have the energy to let you go just yet. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, still recovering from everything you just put him through. 

Your body hums with exhaustion, limbs weak, nerves still tingling. You're warm, content, completely satisfied. 

Or so you think. 

As soon as you try to sit up, Viktor stops you.

His hands tighten around your waist, fingers flexing against your overheated skin. He’s still catching his breath, still trembling from how completely you ruined him. But even now, even after everything, there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he isn’t finished.

You laugh breathlessly, dragging your fingers through his messy, dampy hair. “Viktor–”

“You cannot walk home like this.”

His voice is soft, laced with something else. Something fond. Something grateful.

You blink. “I’ll be fine–”

Viktor tilts his head slightly, eyes dropping to where your thighs are still slick, messy, evidence of what you’ve done together clinging to your skin.

“That will not do,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I should fix it.”

Your stomach tights, a fresh spark of heat curling through you. “Viktor, I–”

But before you can argue, he slides you off and presses your back against the workbench, legs parted, Viktor kneeling between them with your spare clothes as support for his leg.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Viktor… on his knees for you.

Your brain barely has time to process the sigh of him–his flustered cheeks, the wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead, the way his lips are still swollen from every desperate kiss–before he leans in.

You twitch, too sensitive, too raw, but Viktor humans softly, brushing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“Shh,” he soothes, voice full of gentle amusement. His hands tighten, keeping you from squirming. “I am only returning the favor.”

Your stomach flutters. “Viktor, you don’t have to–”

“I want to.”

His voice, is low but certain. There’s no hesitation, no teasing, no arrogance. Just pure, unfiltered need.

"Let me take care of you," he murmurs, voice thick with reverence.

His hands caress your thighs, slow, deliberate, tracing over every mark he’s left behind. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee.

"Gods, look at you," he breathes, almost to himself. "Perfect."

The first, slow, lazy drag of his tongue makes you jolt, a sharp inhale cutting through your chest. Your fingers twitch, grasping at the smooth metal surface of the workbench, trying to anchor yourself.

“Too much,” you gasp. “Viktor, I–”

But he doesn’t stop. He’s not playing games.

He’s learning you. Studying you. Committing every sound, every reaction, every shuddering breath to memory.

Your head tips back, lips parting on a quiet moan. Your fingers find his hair to hold him closer.

Viktor groans at the feeling, the way your fingers grip his hair harder, at the way your thighs shake around him. His nails dig in slightly, his own breath stuttering.

He wants this just as much as you do.

“Gods, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs between licks to your clit, his voice thick with something dangerously close to reverence. “Let me hear you.”

Your body arches as he laps at you again, deeper, firmer–and suddenly the heat inside you that you thought had finally burned out flares back to life.

It builds too fast.

Your body is too sensitive.

“Viktor–” Your voice catches, half a warning, half a plea.

He pulls back just slightly, lips shining with your slick juices, gaze heavy-lidded and dark with hunger. “Again,” he urges softly, lips brushing against your cunt. “Give me another.”

“I can’t–”

“You can.”

His voice is soft but commanding, his hands keeping you still as he pulls you apart all over again.

And then he presses his tongue just right.

The coil inside you snaps violently.

Your body locks up, a sharp cry tearing from your lips as the pleasure overwhelms you all at once. It’s more intense than before, sharper, hotter, burning through every nerve.

Viktor groans against you, holding you through it, his grip steady as you come undone in his hands. 

He finally pulls away, pressing one last lingering kiss against your thigh.

“There,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against your thigh, his hands stroking your sides in lazy absentminded circles. “That is much better.”

You stare at him, lips parted, body weak, mind still fuzzy from the aftershocks. 

And then, finally, you find your voice.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Viktor grins, pressing a final kiss to your knee as he quotes you. “And yet, you let me do this.”

The two of you finally manage to stand. You clean off most of the fluids from his body and help him back into his uniform.

The whole time he can’t keep his eyes off of you because you’re still naked, but you pay him no mind.

You throw on whatever clean items you can find and Viktor watches you as he straightens his disheveled vest, smoothing down his messy hair, ever the perfectionist despite the fact that he was just on his knees for you.

Together, you quietly restore order to the lab–blueprints shuffled back into place, discarded tools returned to their proper shelves.

The only thing you can’t fix is the faint smirk that refuses to leave Viktor’s lips.

You fasten the last button on your clothes, running a hand through your hair as you glance over at him.

“What?”

Viktor just shakes his head, grabbing his cane. “Nothing.” His smirk grows, “Just… you are truly insufferable.”

You laugh, stepping closer, grabbing his collar to kiss him one last time–slow, letting him feel the way your lips curve against his.

You pull away first. “I didn’t hear you complaining earlier. In fact–”

Viktor exhales, long-suffering, dramatic, but utterly pleased. “Go, before I decide I need another break.”

You chuckle, finally turning for the door, stepping into the hallway with a newfound lightness in your step.

As you close the lab doors behind you, you spot Jayce standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, clearly waiting.

His eyes flicker to the lab door, then back to you. Jayce chokes on his own breath, eyes darting between your disheveled clothes, your swollen lips, and the absolute mess you just walked out of.

"Did you—" He stops, his voice cracking. He looks past you, at the closed lab door, then back at you, as if trying to process what just happened.

Jayce blinks. Once. Twice. His mouth opens, then closes again, like he’s struggling to process what he’s looking at.

His gaze flickers to your unkempt appearance, the slight limp in your step, the faintest smirk still curving your lips. His expression morphs from confusion to realization to sheer, horrified understanding.

"Did you—" He stops, his voice cracking. "In the lab?"

You pat his shoulder, grinning. "He's all yours—though, I doubt he has much left to give."

And with that, you walk away, victorious.

[occasional-yan-stuff]

really enjoyed your yan otome post! im a fan of stuff like that where characters in traditional video game settings/other media go yan for people irl :3 i saw your post in the community so i wanted to ask- whats your opinion on characters in a standard rpg party setup going yan for the player (possibly healer bc i main white mage in ffxiv lol)? the hero, archer, mage, tank/knight, etc?

Ask and ye shall receive! This will be set up kinda like my berries post, going through characters one at a time. Let's do another isekai type thing, but this time with each yan being kind of an... alternate scenario where that character is the one becoming meta and going yandere, as opposed to there berries where it was sort of a harem. I realize now that you probably wanted a more casual type thing, but I ended up writing little mini stories for each of them. oops!

And now, without further ado...

RPG Archetypes as Yanderes

Pairing: Yandere!Meta!RPG characters (multiple genders) X GN! reader

Warnings: Manipulation (hero, healer, mage, archer), Factitious Disorder Imposed on Another in a non familial context (Healer), implied physical abuse (healer), Obsessive behaviors (all), Possessive behaviors (Healer, Rouge, Tank, Mage, Archer), Stalking (rouge, archer), Blood (rouge), Murder (rouge, tank (implied)), Dubiously consensual SFW touching (Rouge, Tank,), Intelligence degradation (Tank), Nonconsensual kissing (Tank), love spells (Mage), mind control (mage), emotional dependency (Archer)

Details/Tropes: Abuse of italics, Himbo (Tank), Nicknames (hero, rouge, tank), Protector Yan (hero, rouge, tank), Submissive Yan (hero,), Resentful Yan (Rouge), Flirty Yan (tank, archer), YanTsun (Mage), Needy Yan (archer)

THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG ONE, FOLKS! STRAP IN!

It wasn't dramatic. You didn't get hit by a truck and get reborn as a baby. You didn't have a heart attack while playing the game and wake up as the main character. You didn't even get sucked into the console after a bright light came out of it. No, you just went to bed one night and woke up here. You looked exactly like you, you talked exactly like you, you just had different clothes and had somehow woke up in a bed you hadn't gone to sleep in. Looking around the room brought up nothing. It was as if everything had been taken from every drawer. All that was left behind was a set of clothes in the wardrobe. They were brightly colored and gaudy with strong silhouettes, nothing like the typical garb of the medieval-ish setting a quick glance out the window lead you to believe you were in. These looked more like something right out of... oh... oh no.

After getting dressed and taking several minutes to convince yourself, you crept down the stairs of the strange inn to see the party. Your party. They had all of the exact armor upgrades you had given them and had the exact same weapons equipped. You looked around the room and it finally hit you, this was the inn you had saved the game in last night, before you went to bed. This was your save file. You had woken up in your save file.

You talked to the party for a bit and, of course, they recruited you to join. That's just how stories like this go, after all. Traveling with them was fun at first, you loved slaying monsters and getting to know your favorite characters. It was even better because when you died, instead of going back to the inn, it would just take you back to the previous morning, meaning you didn't loose much progress in the adventure, or in building connections with your new friends. Still, as you got to know the party better and better, you couldn't help but notice how odd one of them was acting...

The Hero

He was so instantly sure that it was you. Your voice gave it away instantly. You were the one who has been in his head, telling him what to do, what to say, and how to direct his allies. You were the one he had deemed his Guardian Angel. Now that were here with him, he still wanted to listen to you. You'd gotten him this far, hadn't you? He looked to you for guidance so much that you basically became the de-facto leader of the party.

The first reset was startling to him to say the least but no one else in the party seemed to remember it. That meant it was his duty to make sure what happened before didn't happen again. You had been his Guardian Angel, how he had to be yours. Disobeying your orders to prevent resets was uncomfortable at first but he knew it had to be done. He knew he had to protect you.

You didn't think much of it when it happened. He was, in theory, the leader after all, and you liked to see him taking charge again. However, it eventually became clear that he didn't respond to the resets like other characters, who would behave in the exact same ways and say the exact same things, and you knew you had to confront him about it.

He breathed a sigh of relief that you remembered the resets too. He didn't have to be alone anymore and protecting you wasn't as important. Things could go back to normal, with you being the Guardian Angel that he could never tell you that you were. It was so nice to just take a load off. He always had to be in control, having someone like you to take charge for him and help him with tough decisions was like a breath of fresh air.

It was so nice to be told what to do in battle for a change, it made him feel more like he was on the same level with the rest of the party, and better yet, it made him feel more like he was below you. It was a feeling he couldn't get enough of for whatever reason. Maybe he was just tired of all the challenges, maybe he thought you were better at it, or maybe... it was just the effect that his Guardian Angel had on him.

At times, he would pretend not to know how to do even the most basic of tasks so you would help him or even do it for him. Lighting a fire? Cooking an egg? Putting on his own armor? All skills he magically lost but some how regained the second that anyone but you offered to help him. And every time you did help him, he fell in love with you more and more.

Once you had come along, he quickly lost interest in all 6 of the romance options he had in the original game. You were all he cared about. He loved you. He needed you. His move was finally made about 5 weeks after you appeared in this word. He asked you to come to the beach and look at the sea with him that night. You had played this game time and time again. You knew what that meant, but still, you went. Perhaps it was out of simple curiosity, perhaps it was something more.

That night, he dropped to one knee, unsheathed his sword, and held it up to you. Its black blade glistened in the light of the moon.

"I don't want to be the hero of prophecy anymore," He said, his voice fully certain, "I only want to be yours, my Guardian Angel."

The Healer

She wanted to protect you. Of course she wanted to protect you. She wanted to protect everyone in the party but you... you were different. Perhaps was the amount of interest you took in her that really did it. You were always there to make her feel better in the many many times she got self conscious and you always helped her and the archer make dinner for the rest of the party.

She was, admittedly, pretty darn tropey, but that's part of what drew you to her in the first place. In your old life, you loved writing fanfic that explored her on a deeper level, studying how her backstory influenced certain aspects of her characterization and why she was so motherly towards all the other characters. Now, you had an opportunity to find the real answers to exactly why she was the way she was, what made her tick, and the type of person she was when she really knew someone and could open up to them.

The original game only really treated her as a love interest for the hero and a fragile thing that was there to patch up the rest of the party. Now that you were able to see things from your own perspective, instead of the perspective of the hero, you could finally interact with her without having to worry about going down a romantic route... or so you thought.

She had a tendency to latch onto anyone who payed attention to her and this time, it was you. In here eyes, the rest of the party only ever saw her for her utility, but you saw her as a person and as a friend. She couldn't let you leave her.

She would often give you less healing than you needed, keeping you weak and dependent. What an odd coincidence that she never had enough components or ingredients to make a strong enough spell or potion. The other party members could get healed up fine but maybe there was something about you that made you resistant to healing magic. That was the excuse she always used.

There were some nights where she crept into your tent as you slept and used her spells to decrease your max HP, making you over all weaker and weaker, over all more and more in need of her service. She felt bad about it, a little, but this was the only way she could ensure that you would stay with her. This was the only way she could keep you. It didn't matter that she was breaking her oath to always prioritization the health of others. You were far more important than that.

As was bound to happen on a long journey like this, you got sick once or twice. She adored these periods of illness. It was so lovely to coax soup down your throat and gently stroke your hair. You needed bed rest, after all, and it was up to her to decide when you were all better. Sometimes she wished she could just keep you like this forever but she knew that the dark lord would have to be defeated at some point, and thus always forced herself to put an end to things.

Although she couldn't keep you sick all the time, she was still constantly worried about you and doting. She was always a worrier but now she had someone else to worry about. You noticed how at times she would say things to you that she said to the hero in her romantic route. This made it clear that she had feelings for you.

You didn't want to give her the wrong idea so you began to distance yourself. This didn't make her feelings fade, though. All that happened was her becoming desperate and clingy, always wanting to go on missions with you. Everything came to a head when you offered to go on a side quest with the archer.

You woke up the next morning with a broken leg.

The Mage

The second you got to this world you were deeply interested in magic. This was a bit inconvenient for the mage because they weren't deeply interested in you, seeing you as another pointless addition to an already over crowded party. That was before the first reset, however.

The way the flow of time was connected to your death was fascinating. They didn't show this fascination, of course, being a pretty two dimensional tsundere in the original game where they were a love interest, but it was definitely there. This secret fascination is what made them reluctantly start teaching you magic, so that they could research you.

It was never a secret that they knew about resets. They had assumed the others did as well before they brought it up and everyone looked at them like they had two heads. This was the thought of their theory that only those truly versed in the arcane could remember resets. This only expanded their interest in you, the only other person that remembered.

They were convinced that you had some secret magical knowledge that you were hiding from them, but then why would you ask them to teach you? Just to spend more time with them? That was there assumption but they played along with your 'lessons' because they wanted to study you more.

The more time the two of you spent together, bonding over magic and resets, the more they started to fall for you. It was just like in the game where progress in the mage's romantic arc would give the hero more and more powerful spells to use.

They started using lines from the romantic arc that you had played through time and time again for the spells. You wanted to back away and distance yourself but you remembered the bad end of their romance route: They use a love potion on the hero to keep him theirs forever. Not wanting to suffer the same fate, you let it play out, letting them call you dummy and get flustered just as you remembered it in the game.

That wasn't enough though. They could tell your heart wasn't in it. They could tell that you weren't truly theirs. They really had no other choice than to make you love them.

It was just one of your usual magic lessons when they pressed the flower petal into your palm and whispered those fateful words into your ear.

"This bloom makes you mine and mine alone."

That was all that was needed for your head to go fuzzy and everything to go pink. All you could think of was them. All you needed was them.

The Rouge

One word: Sneaky. They didn't really like people, and, in all honesty, they barely liked you, but something about you drew him to you. They would always stand there, silent, hood up and starting at you. You never found it strange. This was just how they were. The only thing you found truly off putting was the way they would seem to become quietly frustrated every time you spoke with another party member. It was like they saw you as a prize, another treasure to steal.

You were never alone on missions or quests. No, they were always there, watching from the shadows, hand on their knife in case anyone jumped out to attack you. Usually they would handle those who meant you harm without you even seeing either them. It was always so strange how they would be covered in blood whenever you got back from missions.

One night, however, as you walked the dark streets of the city, there was a dangerous person they hadn't spotted. A man much larger than you jumped out and pulled out a knife. He was about to say something but was cut off by the rouge's own blade entering his back and twisting.

The rouge pulled you out of the way of the body, which fell to the earth with a thud, and pulled you close with their blood stained hands.

"No one hurts my treasure," he whispered in your ear

The Tank

He was too dumb to be conniving, but that was ok. Smarts weren't necessary to know how special you were. It seemed to you that with very reset, he would get just a little dumber and just a little more obviously in love with you. Not that he ever wasn't.

He'd always been the type to tease, be it enemies or party members, that's what made him such a fan favorite in the real world, but with you it was more... flirty. Like something straight out of an 'X reader' fic on tumblr. He also had a tendency to use pet names for you. He had nicknames for all of the party members but that was always more playful "red," "sharp shot," "Mx. Silent," stuff like that. For you, it was almost always "cutie."

You were always the priority in fights too. If there was ever an AOE or an attack with multiple projectiles, you were always the one he threw himself in front of.

"wouldn't want anyone ruining that pretty face," he'd say with a smirk.

This was how it started but it got more intense with each reset. Your third death was about the time he started getting all touchy feely. A moment seldom passed with his hands not on you, holding your hand, around your waist, on your thigh. It was as though he thought that letting go would make you disappear.

He also became even less afraid to speak his mind. Other party members would address their dissatisfaction at his prioritization of you over them in combat, to which he would respond "you're just jealous that I like the newbie better than you." and cross his arms with a loud clang emitted from his heavy plate armor.

In the game, there were a lot of things he canonically couldn't do. He couldn't start a fire, he couldn't name certain species of animals off the top of his head, and he couldn't tell a scary story to save his life, just to name a few. More and more skills were lost as the resets went on. By your 10th death, he didn't even know what a deer was called and seemed convinced that the sky was red.

He was more impulsive too, jumping off of water falls to make a big splash, chasing after animals that he was 'helping' the archer hunt, and even kissing you right on the mouth with no warning, squeezing your cheeks with his gauntlets. It was weird. The rest of the party could tell too.

Your 15th reset is when he finally snapped. The party sat around eating breakfast, the hero notably absent. He had been here by now during the previous reset and even pulled you aside after breakfast for a serious talk about the tanks behavior.

"Where's the hero?" you asked to no one in particular.

"Oh," the tank responded with a casual smile, "I didn't like him talking to my cutie."

The Archer

She was fragile, really fragile. Not just because of her low HP, armor, and stamina but also emotionally. It was a common headcanon amongst fans that her charming, flirty attitude was just a defense mechanism for how insecure she was on the inside. Getting to know her in this new world showed you that this was absolutely true.

There were many hours late at night where she would sob to you around the fire, telling you all about a backstory that was never revealed in the actual game. It was heart breaking. You felt so bad for her. These moments were why she became so deeply attached to you.

You became her rock, she would come to you whenever she needed to talk about anything. She practically broke down when you were out of commission for whatever reason. The others respected her as being quick and witty, a fire cracker. She couldn't turn to anyone else.

Still, she was incredibly flirty with you and loved seeing how flustered she could get you. That's one of the main reasons she took you on so many missions with her and hunting trips too, but there was one other reason that the always took you along, other than teasing and emotional stability: she didn't trust the other party members alone with you.

Even when you went on missions with other party members, she was there, using feather light hunting steps not to be detected. You were hers, after all. She couldn't let you have too much emotional investment in anyone else.

Whenever she saw at camp that you were about to have a heart felt moment with another party member, she would step in and ruin it, and if she saw you and another party member have a heart to heart on a mission, she would pull them aside for a chat and they would start avoiding you for whatever reason.

It was ok though, even as everyone but her started to avoid you. She was all you needed. You knew because she always reminded you.

[the-moon-files]

Alright, so I just read through that language barriers post of yours and had a Blast Tm, BUT! Now I have several thoughts that need to be spoken. Firstly, what with english being this really ancient language now, yn‘s basically got a free phd in hyrule, don‘t they?? Predestined for exploration because of their „excellent skills with the language used in the ruins and temples of old, as well as their familiarity with the mechanisms“ or something. The ruin researchers probably beg to have them in their team.

Secondly, apparently accents are really appealing to some people? The chain already finds yn‘s morning voice really hot, but how would they even react to the way they sort of mispronounce the words? Idk too much about how japanese sounds, but maybe they emphasize the consonants too much which makes them sound harsh all the time, or the opposite, too much emphasis on vowels and sounding very soft. Just… brainrot about rambling and not trying too hard to speak perfectly accurately being all it takes to have the boys smitten and kicking their feet.

Thirdly!! What about a yn that knows multiple languages? The chain tries their best to learn english, and then yn comes around the corner like SIKE. THAT‘S NOT ALL OF THEM. YOU WILL NEVER COMPREHEND IT ALL. (That‘s what I‘d do at least.)

sorry for late reply i have a hectic life rn and i got hit by hurricane helene lol

ao3/writing blog author curse is so real u guys, this was like a 100 year not anticpated flood or smth, also we're in the mountains??

anyway gonna assume u mean masc/male reader bc of the reference to this post!! if u want context or a sorta part 1

this is just gonna be a quick reply so i can share anons ideas w/the world tho since ive been hoarding asks 😔

at the very least Wild's Zelda is harassing you

at the very most, every time u guys get near a town or city, u are kidnapped by hylian researchers

just the image of a bunch of nerd hylians mobbing u and fangirling while the rest of the guys, in full armor and swords just stand awkwardly behind lmao

(they get lowkey jealous after awhile i mean what who said that-)

the way Legend, Hyrule, Four, and Twi hover a little closer when you talk

Wild and Twi are practically like excited dogs whenever you speak, perking up when they hear your deep voice, u know, bc u tried randomly talking in the evenings abt nothing and watched them pavlov respond and look to you every time

even when u just started talking about the grass or some flowers

lowkey you accidentally almost mess up their dungeon exploring bc theyre just so used to your accented voice in their heads, just around them, or smth guiding them along, that when they all split up into smaller groups in the dungeon,

each Link pair accidentally starts following a man's voice echoing in the dungeon until they all accidentally converge in a main room and the Link equivalent of the point spiderman meme happens with you in the center with Time, who had been your dungeon buddy (he's laughing at them as every Link goes a little red after realizing they just followed you unconciously)

ur favorite thing to do is leaning down to whisper in each of the pointed hylian ears randomly, just talking about mundane or random things and watching it twitch, some trying to stay still like Time/Twi/Wars/Wild, while others leap away like u burned them lmao Legend/Hyrule/Four, and Sky managing to do both, trying to maintain composure before he inevitably breaks out all red and hides in his hands lmao

(Wind dared you to do it originally, and he snickers every time he sees you doing it again lol)

-

ok but the multiple languages is endless comedy gold

bc everytime a Link thinks he's got it or starts to listen then realize ur actually speaking smth completely different language

u get the most memeable faces of his confusion

like these gems

(four's blue is showing, he's offended u switched languages every other word one time)

they're actually so fed up lmao

☆

anyway sorry for late reply!! I hope u guys are having a good week so far, and ill try to post some more, tho cant guarantee when as the holidays close in for me

(rip my class is also getting near the end too im Stressin)

peace out anon,

🌙

[lunarriviera]

Hi! Hope you're doimg well! I wanted to ask, what do you do when you get stuck when writing? Like, I know I want to go from point A to point B, but I'm stuck at point A and not sure how to get to point B.

nonny i am busting in here all excitedly like the koolaid man at four in the god o’clock of the morning to answer this, because I ACTUALLY KNOW THIS ONE: 

the solution to this issue is, in fact, square brackets. like this: [???]

what? you say. how works this? you say. READ ON I WILL TELL YOU

so right now in the scene i’m trying to pull together/make into prose, from tattered drafts/sentences/allcaps/bullet points/etc., i have three things that need to happen: 1) police will search a suspect’s house, 2) one of them has to find something incriminating, 3) the suspect’s son has to burst in and cause a lot of trouble. those are my B points. but right now, i’m stuck at point A: shen yi and he rongyue are sitting in the car talking about feelings when they need to get out and go do their damn jobs. how do i get them to move. why aren’t they moving. why are they still sitting there talking, this isn’t brunch goddammit.

at this point as a writer, you get to make a decision: EITHER a) your idea about what needs to happen in this scene was all wrong, and the reason you’re “stuck” at point A is that maybe point A is actually a very interesting place for your characters to linger inside, and maybe they really need to be there a while longer, in case they have things to say or do. and point B maybe isn’t the point B you thought it was going to be, but it’s going to be something different (maybe shen yi and he rongyue realize they need backup, or they decide they’re going someplace else to do something different, instead).

OR: square brackets. it works like this. (and by the way i learned this from @seperis because she is literally a genius, thank you sep darling you should know saved my whole entire life.) here is some of my draft to illustrate:

[shen yi and he rongyue saying a bunch of words about feelings and things not related to the case they’re supposed to be investigating]

“I wonder,” said Shen Yi thoughtfully, “what would happen if you just asked her to go for a walk with you?”

[TK]

Shen Yi stopped in front of the painting and looked at it, at first out of habit, and then more closely, as he instinctively stepped back the correct distance to see both the whole canvas at once as well as its technique. From the other room, he could hear He Rongyue and [Name of Her Assistant] doing [something something something]. He still had on nitrile gloves, so he came closer again, to touch the varnish, feel along the grooves of the brushwork. He frowned. This wasn’t a reproduction—this was a genuine [name of painter redacted bc it’s a plot point and a surprise].

[TK]

“What the fuck are you people doing in my house?” came an aggrieved voice from the landing. Everyone turned to look up at the young man standing there, keys in one hand, a cup of iced coffee in the other. He was, Shen Yi realized, Huang Wei, and that was neither unexpected nor a particular problem, but the person with him was probably going to be a very particular problem indeed.

you can see how i gestured towards three different parts of this scene, even though i didn’t finish any of them here and have no idea what the connective tissue will be between them. and i did this by skipping huge wads of prose and just tossing in “[TK]” for now. ”TK” by the way is an abbreviation i learned while working for newspapers/magazines; journalists use it to mean “to come,” as in, “something important is missing here so i promise i will make a bunch of phone calls and get that detail/fact shoved in there before we go to press.” We use TK instead of TC because you can word-search TK and that letter combination isn’t in any english words (or at least very few; anyway i can’t think of any).

at some point, of course, you will have to fill in “[TK]” or rather, i will, here with all the stuff that’s missing—dialogue, action, and description, mostly; i tend not to summarize or use exposition much, but usually default to telling a story in-scene (a time-honored tradition in fanfic). but the beauty of TK and above all, the square brackets, is that you don’t bog down. you don’t go down a research rabbit hole because you can’t remember the name of He Rongyue’s assistant (Xiao something? Feng?) and you don’t wind yourself into knots figuring out how to get them out of the car and into the house. you keep moving, like a shark.

so if you’re stuck getting from A to B? stop trying to get from A to B. just SKIP there, skip to where you want to be. throw in “[something goes here]” so you remember to go back and add it later. if you have a general idea of what goes there, put that instead: “[somehow they get out of the car still talking and head inside. oh wait how do they break the door down. is jiang xue with them?]”—like that.

the trick with any piece of fic longer than, say, 7-8k, is NOT to get bogged down. anything with multiple scenes, really—even if you have, say, five scenes planned for your oneshot, you will find one really easy to write and then you’ll stare at the next one, which SHOULD be easy to write, for eleventy hours, sweating like that gif of jordan peele. don’t do that. just put “[this is the scene where chen fei throws a chair and ruan nanzhu says something cutting and walks out, and that’s the moment chen fei knows he actually likes the bastard.]” then skip! skip, skip. skip to the moment where you know the next thing that will happen! write that part instead! “it’s two years later and chen fei is furious, because he has to see that lovesick look on ruan nanzhu’s face whenever he thinks qiushi isn’t paying attention. the worst part is that lin qiushi is genuinely loveable, so chen fei can’t even hate him. he starts hiding in his room.” etc.

the thing about writing ANYTHING is not to lose momentum, not to get stuck in what novelist robert pirsig called “a gumption trap.” or, as alec baldwin’s character says in glengarry glen ross: always be closing. keep moving! don’t sit in one place too long or you really will get stuck. if you find yourself fussing with a paragraph, or adding more to a scene when you didn’t mean to add more instead of stopping and moving on, or pacing around the house irritated with yourself, drink a lot of very cold water and then SKIP.

skip to the part where you know what happens. if you don’t know what happens, either go for a long walk and think about what exactly Han Juwon or Naruto or Bob the Builder or Taylor Swift or Viktor Nikiforov or Wang Meng or whomstthefuckever would do/say in this situation. after about 15-20 minutes i’m usually either turning around to go home and write it down, or giving myself complicate mnemonics based on trees and street signs, so i have a chance of remembering what i just realized absolutely has to happen next in the story.

in conclusion:

1. [TK!] [square brackets are your friends!] [you can use them!] [to skip ahead!] [and leave a stuck spot BYYYYYEEEE hit da bricks] [and just go to a more pleasant spot where there’s a shady tree and some soft green grass to lie on]

2. …and then later when you take another pass through the document, on some day when you’re mentally fresher and maybe you haven’t read it for a couple days, you’ll find yourself adding a few sentences. or one sentence. or some words. it’s fine. it’s all fine. look we can’t all be out here writing a million words a year. some people do, sure. as writer annie dillard says, some people eat cars. but if you want to write something with some bite to it, some texture and grit and heft, you’re gonna endure some tortuous slowness and a lot of [TK]. so best start getting real comfortable with that now. if you wanted an easy hobby i have some difficult news for you, you picked the wrong fucking one.

3. the reward for your patience with yourself and your writing process will be all those times when you’re driving, showering, cooking, and/or DMing with bestie, and suddenly What's About To Happen Next will hit you like a bolt of lightning and nearly scalp you in the process. holy shit, you’ll say to yourself, stunned. i now know exactly who’s coming through the door with huang wei and it’s not at all who i thought it was. (this jolt of electricity is why people are pantsers, by the way. we suffer through our own cluelessness for an eternity, just to have that one shocking moment of godlike clarity. the crash usually sucks but the high is unbelievable.) (and i say this, but i always have an outline. i just usually mostly ignore it, because apparently my continued survival is predicated on the fact that imaginary people talk in my head and i just write down what they say.)

4. finally i have ABSOLUTELY written fics of every length just to get to One Particular Scene which i wrote first. i wrote the ending of my current long wip really early on, and everything leading up to it has just been me trying to figure out: okay, so what’s it going to take to get them there? in the words of george w. bush, whom i am not much given to quoting, you are the decider. you can decide to write your fic backwards if you want to! write C first and then go back and add B and at the very end A! no one will ever know, it’s between you and your drafts. then you can do what i do, and write an excessively long nervous a/n about it all, when you post.

this got long but tldr just remember: [tk]. love you have fun writing!!! <3 <3

[dracoxsworld]

Can you do a fic where ron was jelly bc the reader was being too friendly to draco and had to show her who she belonged to ?

Hello friend! Thank you so much for the suggestion! I hope this is good enough for you :) I’m doing some requests as I prep the next part of arranged, I’m very excited.

WARNINGS: dom!ron x sub!reader, kinda rough sex ngl, jealousy, angry ron, p in v, oral sex both sides receiving, fingering, reader has female anatomy.

photo edited by me :)

You and Ron have been together for quite a while. Everyone knew you were together, no one even questioned it. Ron liked it that way.

You were his and nobody could do anything about it. He had always had a slight jelousy for his best friend, Harry Potter. He always got everything he had wanted. Ron thought Harry could get any girl he wanted with ease. So when Ron met you and got into a relationship with you, he is never going to let you go.

This was his opportunity to show the school, his family, the world, that he wasn't Harry Potter's lame and single best friend, he had the prettiest girl in school on his arm; and he was particularly protective.

Some of your peers liked to use you to annoy Ron; or try to make him feel insecure. This of course, included Draco Malfoy. You were a tad naive to realize it. You were simply thinking he was just trying to be your friend. It started out as you both being assigned as partners in potions. Draco was well aware of you and Ron being together; and used that to his advantage. He’d flirt with you, constantly talk to you, all while Ron would watch, just thinking.

“So Y/L/N, what’re you doing after class today?” Draco asked, side eyeing Ron, who was seated with Seamus. (Not a good mix, by the way.)

“Oh! I’m not sure, I need to study for Transfiguration…I’m struggling a bit.” You said while chewing on your bottom lip, reading the inked-in instructions for the current potion you both were assigned.

“I can help you with that, you know.” Draco suggested. This had caught your attention, you looked up from your potions book and smiled politely.

“Oh, no I’m okay, I believe Ron is assisting me,” you declined, looking over at your red headed boyfriend; who was watching you both the whole time. His arms were crossed, his eyes were darker than usual.

“Are you sure?” Draco voiced again, stepping closer to you, sliding the potions book away with one hand. You got nervous, just before you could respond, Professor Snape announced that class had dismissed, and you’d have to finish todays project tomorrow.

You swiftly grabbed your bag and ran out the door, leaving some of your belongings on your desk.

You ran to your dorm room, feeling a sense of panic. You were hoping Ron wasn’t think you were engaging with Draco’s behavior, that you weren’t flirting back.

You shook your head at the thought. Ron knows better, you told yourself. He would never think I’d do that.

Does he?

You had opened the door to your dorm quickly and slid in and slammed it, locking it. You set your bag in the floor and flung your body onto your unmade bed. “Stupid Y/N. It’s so obvious he was flirting with you.” You mumbled to yourself, your face squished into your duvet. You sat up and looked in your body-length mirror.

Your hair was a bit of a mess, probably from you flinging yourself onto your bed. You ran your hands through your hair to make it look a bit nicer, and gave yourself a small smile of reassurance.

Knock knock knock knock

You jumped, and turned towards your door. “Please don’t tell me your name is Draco Malfoy.” You groaned.

“You’re damn right it isn’t.” Your boyfriends voice boomed through your door. It startled you, it was his voice but it sounded different. “Ron?” You fled out.

“Yes, open the door.” Ron demanded. You did as you were told and unlocked the door and peeked through. You saw your beautiful boyfriend looking down at you, looking not too happy.

You looked down and noticed he had the belongings you had left at your desk in his arms. Some potion bottles, your book, and some quills. You then noticed his knuckles looked slightly stained with red, and bruised.

You looked back up at him with your lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, still peeking through the small crack in the door.

“Are you going to let me in?” Ron asked impatiently. You nodded and let him in, closing the door behind him. Ron set down your supplies on your desk neatly. Setting the potion bottles up on their designated shelves, putting your quills in ink you had, and setting your book in your built in shelf in your desk.

He turned towards you and slowly walked up to you. You were picking a hangnail, unable to get even a sound out. “Draco has taken quite a liking to you.” Ron seethed. You shook your head. “I disregarded him, Ron. You know I’d never—“

“I’m not worried about you, pretty girl.” He specified, his hand lifting your chin towards him. You licked your lips, looking at his. He smiled down at you. “I’m going to show him that you’re mine, he’s going to hear you. He’s going to see you all fucked up from me.”

Your underwear was wet, your eyes widened and you rubbed your thighs together at his words. “On the bed, pretty.” He prodded you, pushing you towards the bed. You listened, wanting him to do whatever he wanted to you. To be honest, you loved it when he got this way. There was something about it that immediately turned you on.

He took off he belt, keeping his eye contact with you. You sat up on the bed, your eyes scanning him up and down. He took off his uniform pants, sliding off his shoes with them. He crawled on top of you, his hands beginning to fiddle with your button up shirt. “These bloody buttons-“ He grumbled before crashing his lips into yours, it was aggressive but loving all at once. It was demanding, you stood no chance of taking over. You let him have control.

He got fed up with your shirt at one point he just ripped it off, buttons flew everywhere. “Ron!” You exclaimed, breaking the kiss.

“Shut it, you have hundreds of those blasted shirts.” He spat. He kissed you again, harsher, and unclasping your bra. He threw it across the room carelessly, not taking any attention off of you, he pushed you back toward the headboard of the bed, putting you in his lap so you were straddling him. His hands were everywhere; your hair, your waist, the hem of your skirt, etc.

Ron’s fingers crept past your skirt, and they lightly grazed your clothed heat. You moaned in his at the feeling immediately. “You drive me fucking crazy, do you understand?” Ron mumbled in the kiss. You nodded, hardly containing your sounds of pleasure from his fingers teasing your soaking wet core, your panties still acting as a barrier. “I want to hear your response.” He prodded. “Yes Ron, I understand,” you whimpered. Ron’s hips grinded upwards towards yours, as his finger continued to tease your core still clothed.

“Please–“ you begged him in the heated kiss. You wanted him now, you didn’t care how. Ron broke the kiss, still teasing you “Please what, princess?”

“I want your mouth,” You pleaded, your face pink from embarrassment. “What a perfect idea, pretty. Only if you moan my name loud enough will determine if I let my pretty girl cum, how does that sound?”

You moaned, his fingers were still lightly touching you. You needed more, this wasn’t enough. You tried to grind towards his fingers more, and he immediately took them away. You whined, it felt like torture. “Don’t be a brat.” He demanded. He slid himself out from under you, so you were laying in the pillows and on your back, and flipped your skirt up into your belly. He laid on his stomach and inches himself close to in-between your legs.

He teasingly licked slowly up the inside of your thighs, making you moan his name, your hands in his red hair pulling it like reins. He hummed as he got closer to your core, with your now saturated panties. You felt lightheaded, this wasn’t fair, you needed him desperately more than ever. Your core was aching for his mouth. “Fuck Ron, please please!” You cried desperately. He finally complied, hooking his fingers under your soaked panties and pulled them off.

“My goodness, excited are we?” Ron teased, licking his lips. Your pussy was dripping, begging for him to clean you up. He went in immediately afterwards, slowly licking your core up and down. Focusing on each inch. In circles, his tongue went. He planted a few kisses, and went back to licking up your juices. You threw your head back and screamed his name, forgetting you both didn’t set a Muffliato spell. Oh well, Draco’ll definitely hear you.

He hummed as he ate you out, making it even more pleasurable. “Ron, fuck!” You moaned loudly, felt like you shook your dorm walls. You saw him smile and he was licking every inch. His tongue abused your hole, going in and out as his thumb played with your clit. “God, Draco wishes he could lick your cunt like this, fuck Y/N.” Ron groans

You felt a knot forming in your stomach, your legs were shaking violently. “Ron, I’m close!” You moaned. He immediately backed away. You moaned in frustration.

“Ron please, I can’t take much more,” you begged. Your boyfriend shook his head at you and laughed. he took your jaw in his hand “You’re going to earn it, you’re going to learn to not even look in Malfoy’s direction. Understood?” Ron demanded. You nodded, tears falling down your cheeks. Your core was dripping, making a wet spot on your sheets.

“You’re going to pleasure me” Ron announces.

You got up on your knees, which were very weak. Ron’s hard cock was easily visible in his boxers, he slid them off letting it free. He got up from the bed and stood towards the edge. You got on your stomach with your legs in the air and crossed behind you, taking his length in your mouth immediately, licking off the pre-cum.

“Fuck baby, you already know what to do.” Ron groaned, collecting your hair and making a ponytail with his hand, wrapping it around his fist. This made you groan in his dick, rolling your eyes back, but still staying stable enough. You pumped him with your hand and he guided your head, bobbing it up and down on his dick. He again, had a majority of control. That bastard.

His dick was hitting violently against the back of your through causing the urge to gag. You free hand was balled up in a fist with your nails going into your skin making crescent-shaped indents, trying to distract yourself from the urge.

“Take it, look at me.” Ron demanded, your eyes fluttered open and looked at him. “Malfoy couldn’t fuck your mouth this could, could he? Huh? You’re stuffed with my cock.” You made noises at his response, rubbing your thighs together. You shut your eyes again trying to focus on not orgasming right there, even with the absence of his touch.

“Eyes on me, I said.” Ron’s voice boomed again. You whined and opened your eyes agin and looked at him. He threw his head back, his mouth agape, “Pretty girl, I’m close,” He groaned, eyebrows together. You bummed around his dick, head being pushed on it up and down violently by his hands gripping your hair. His hand pushing you on his dick started getting off beat and sloppy, you knew he was very close.

You went faster and faster, ignoring the tears and sweat rolling down your face. You felt his warm liquid roll down your throat as his dick twitched and his loud moans were all you heard.

He hands gently ran through your hair, he pulled out of your mouth and looked down at you. His smile was wicked, but you still saw the love behind it. “On your back, on you go.” You excitedly complied. Your body was aching for him, begging him to fuck the shit out of you. you flipped your skirt up to expose your cunt, soaking wet from his sexual torture. Ron hovered over you, his arms on both sides of you, he leaned down and left sloppy kisses on your neck and collarbones, leaving bite marks. You moaned his name and begged for him to pleasure you.

“You’ve been patient enough, pretty girl,” Ron said sweetly, he likes himself up to you, and teased your slit with his cock. You whines and dug your nails into his back.

He entered into you, giving you time to adjust. You felt so full, so good. “Ron, fuck.” You whined.

“Pretty girl, you feel so perfect; so warm and tight, fuck.” Ron groaned into your neck. His pace was slow, it hit the right spot, he knew you so well. The room was full of your moans and the smell of sex.

Ron had sped up, the sound of your skin slapping together joined the sounds of pleasure you both were making together. His dick was hitting your g-spot like a arrow on the middle of a target. Over and over again. Meanwhile, he continued to leave hickeys on your chest, collar bones and shoulders.

He then sat up and tossed your legs over his shoulders, exposing you more. He railed into you, more aggressively now. Your eyes were full of tears from pure pleasure. The knot in your stomach was forming again.

“Ron, please– let me-“ You moaned, looking him in the eye.

“I am too, cum in my cock baby, come on,” Ron grunted.

After a few more thrusts, you both hit your point, both of you groaning simultaneously, Ron then pulling out and collapsing next to you. You both were covered in sweat, and each others fluids. Ron’s hands ran over his chest that was rapidly going up and down.

“Y/N?” Ron perked up, holding himself up by one arm, looking down at you.

“Yes, Ron?”

“I love you, you know that, right? I just can’t stand Malfoy talking to you like that..”

“Of course, Ron. I love you too. He’s not really interested in me, he just does it to piss you off, I think.” You replied, your hand on his cheek. He gave you a doubtful look.

“However, I should talk to Malfoy more often, that was quite fun.” You chuckled. Ron rolled his eyes at you, and gave you a kiss on the nose.

[estxkios]

HEYYY OMG I LOVE UR WRITING WHAT??

ANWAYS, could you do something with drunk bill? not smut, but like bassicly reader picks him up from a party or something and he’s like SUPPERRDUPPERR drunk LOL. and later in the story he’s keeping reader awake by talking so much, and reader just exhausted and so tired of his shit and accidentally tells him to shut the fuck up or something like that. then billy willy starts crying bcs he’s drunk and can’t process and reader just comforts him.

TYSM!! xx

FEELINGS ੈ✩‧₊˚

2008 bill kaulitz x fem!reader

summary : the request :3

warnings: ANGST with comfort!!, reader is grumpy, drunk bill, a lot of swearing, bill gets comfort not the reader...

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

;- 2:16 am

“what the fuck..?” you muttered under your breath.

your room was completely dark, your phone screen turning on as you received text after text was the only thing that illuminated it.

you tried to shift your position in bed, turning away from the phone. 

you tried to ignore the messages.

but they just kept coming to a point where you could no longer ignore the irritating rattle of your phone against your nightstand.

you let out a string of curse words as you shift in your bed once again.

you reach your arm out towards your nightstand and aimlessly grope for your phone until you find it.

you squint your eyes as they adjust to the brightness of your phone, finally seeing who has been disturbing your sleep.

it was your boyfriend.

;- 2:24 am

you and bill had eachothers location, so finding him wasn’t going to be the hard part. 

the hard part was going to be trying not to fall asleep at the wheel as your drove to whatever house party bill was attending tonight.

well, trying to get your drunk boyfriend in the car would be hard too, but based on his texts, he would probably be too intoxicated to break free from your arms as you shoved him in the back seat like you have done previously.

-; 2:35 am

you could hear the faint sound of trashy music playing as you pulled into the driveway and right as you exited your car you bee-lined for the front door.

you pounded on the door loudly enough so that people would be able to hear it over the music. 

no answer.

“oh-! hiii baby!” a voice said behind you, to which you immediately whipped your head around.

“whatthefuck-“ you stopped when you realized who it was, “bill? why the fuck are you outside?” 

“i was jus’ waiting for youu!” he stumbled towards you and smiled.

you shook your head and laughed to yourself in disbelief. how much had he had to drink?

“yeah, okay.” you paused, “we’re going to my house. c’mon” 

you grabbed bills arm and led him to the passenger seat, he was trying to open the door while you rummaged around in your purse trying to find your keys, the darkness which surrounded the two of you definitely didn’t help this.

bill kept pulling the door handle.

“bill fucking stop you’re gonna rip the door handle off-..“ you found your keys and unlocked the door.

“m’sorry! i jus wanna-“ he tried to continue talking but you pushed him into his seat as fast as you could and shut the door.

you were so ready to get back in your bed as sleep. 

-; 2:40 am

on the drive back to your house, bill stayed mostly quiet.

“are you okay?” you asked him in a concerned tone, “because you’re usually a fucking obnoxious drunk-“

“im not drunk.!.” he looked at you with a very stern expression and you couldn’t help giggle.

“okay.”

-; 2:50 am

when you finally got back to your house you did the same as when you arrived at the frat house. 

you immediately bee-lined for the door.

except the difference was you now had a drunk bill following you.

once again fumbling with your keys, you unlocked the door, bill attached to your arm.

“go to the spare room bill, or take the couch, i don’t care.” you said as you hung your jacket and purse back in their designated areas.

“okayyy..” bill obliged, walking down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

you followed after him moments later, walking into your bedroom.

as you went to settle into your bed you saw something that certainly wasn’t one of the many blankets that littered your room.

“bill.”

“hm? oh hi y/n!” you could see his toothy smile at you even in the darkness. 

“bill, i said go to the spare room. i actually need to sleep tonight. please, baby.”

“but- but i don’t wanna be alone!” he cried, “i promise i will never ever do this again, please can i just stay in here?”

you thought about shoving him off of your bed and letting him find his way to the spare room, but then you thought about how hard it would be to get him off of the floor once you pushed him off the bed.

so you scratched that idea.

“fine..” you muttered, “but be quiet, okay? can you do that for me?” you kissed him lightly on his sweet alcohol-ridden lips.

he looked at you with drunken eyes and smiled. “okay..”  

you smiled at him through the darkness and planted a kiss on his forehead, then continuing to position yourself in a comfortable sleeping position. 

after moments of silence, you thought bill had fallen asleep.

but no.

you flinched as he started fidgeting with your hair, although soon after you leaned into the touch as he usually did this to help soothe himself to sleep

then you heard suppressed giggles behind you which soon turned into full-on laughs.

you tried to ignore him, thinking it would end soon.

but once again, no.

“bill, stop.”  you would whisper, but he couldn’t. 

he brought his hand up to cover his mouth. 

big mistake.

the hand he intended to cover his mouth with was the one he had tangled up in your hair, which led to him accidentally tugging on your hair as he brought it up to his mouth. 

“bill what the fuck!? - ow!” you whipped back at him, “that was my fucking hair!”

you rubbed the back of your head where bill had tugged to soothe the pain, muttering to yourself as you did so.

bill didn’t utter a word. 

you stared into his pitiful eyes and spat many insults at him before grabbing a stray pillow and smacking it between the two of you.

that had to keep him from disrupting your sleep, right?

not right.

the giggles that you heard behind your back minutes ago had now turned into small whimpers.

the bed shook behind you as bill whined out an unsteady breath.

he had to be messing with you.

you turned around for the final time, about to completely snap, “bill can you just fucking-“

you fell silent and stared into bills eyes which were somehow even more pitiful than before.

his makeup was not yet running down his face but it was smudged under his eyes, a streak of the black shadow ran up into his hairline where he had presumably wiped it.

bill sat up, but that didn’t keep him from breaking down. ���i didn’t mean to pull your hair..!!” he hid his head in his hands, sobbing into them.

“oh bill…” you almost started crying seeing the state that he was in. how could you have made your own boyfriend feel like this?

you removed the pillow that you had put between the two of you, discarding it onto the floor as you practically scooped bill up in your arms.

you hugged him tightly as he sobbed into your shoulder.

“i- im so sorry!!” he whined out almost incomprehensibly. he was a drunk, sobbing mess.

“bill.. please don’t apologize..” you stroked the back of his head, gently combing through his rough black hair.

“do you still love me?” his manicured nails dug into your shoulders nervously as he waited for a response.

your heart sunk as his words. had you made him feel like you didn’t love him?

you moved your arms to wrap firmly around bills torso, pulling him flush against you.

you held him tightly, holding back tears of your own as you rested your chin on his head.

“bill..” you trailed off, moving your head away from his as you gently tried to get him to meet your gaze. “i love you so much.. i’m sorry for snapping. really. i’m so fucking sorry. i’m just so tired and-“ 

bill cut you off by smashing his head into your chest, “i really didnt mean to hurt you.. i was just trying to go to sleep..”

“i know you didn’t mean to hurt me bill.. its really okay.”

you felt bill nod into your chest, the poor boy was so tired and he was just trying to soothe himself to sleep.

god, why did you yell at him?

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

oh i really hate this but enjoy nonetheless

[flawssy-227]

Hello! As a former democratic staffer, what's your best advice for Americans right now in how to get their senators and representatives to listen to them? Especially with regard to specific legislation like the SAVE Act as an example. Are there different approaches you would take with red vs. blue congresspeople?

Hi Tox! Thank you for asking and thanks for all the work you're doing🫡

Let me put my staffer hat back on… been a while lol.

🔵I think the best advice I can give is to be consistent and persistent. 1 call isn't going to change anything unfortunately. But calling daily or even weekly? That makes the biggest difference. Staffers have to log every call, so in their daily reports to the elected official, they will say, "we've received X amount of calls on this topic." It shows what constituents are focused on during any given time period.

🔵I know lots of people want to email or fax or write letters instead of call (I feel you I HATE talking on the phone), but those can get lost/ignored very easily. Phone calls are a better tool.

I know you've promoted 5calls and tbh it's the best/easiest thing to use if you're new to calling elected officials and don't really know what to say. It breaks down key issues and gives you a sample script you can use when you speak to someone or leave a voicemail.

🔵If you're feeling really brave, I would grab a friend and go to an in person Town Hall. This is a great time to prepare remarks and speak to your representative face to face. They cannot ignore you here. Guarantee at any town hall, the local Democratic Committee will be there and recording everything. Also, I love my democratic committee- joining yours is an easy way to get looped into local Dem events.

🔵I would also follow all of your representatives on Twitter or Instagram or TikTok or Facebook. When they post things, COMMENT! Respond and call them out. Ask questions. Make a fuss. They probably won't respond but others will see your tweets or comments and maybe join in.

🔵Now, as far as red vs blue officials and how to speak to them, I would tailor your message to them. If you're reaching out to a Republican senator about the SAVE act for example, I wouldn't focus on the obvious harm towards trans people, women or folks of color (bc let's be real, they don't care), I would say "I'm from a military family and I'm concerned that our military members who are serving abroad will be unable to register to vote in person and therefore will miss their constitutional right to vote." OR "Did you know X amount of voting aged women are in your district? If this passes, you could be losing X amount of votes in 2026."

🔵I think Republicans know there is a blue wave coming in 2026, many of them are already worried about their seats if they're up for reelection, so imagine if they got 200+ calls in one week about the SAVE Act and realized how upset their constituents are!! And btw, you don't have to say "I'm a democrat" or "I didn't vote for you", you can just suggest that they're losing a group of voters if they vote yes on the SAVE Act. Your voting history is private, so even if they have your name and zip code, they can't see who you voted for in the past.

🔵Republicans have the majority in the house and senate, so it's more important now to reach out to our Republican representatives. Ultimately, these people are banking on us not paying attention or being too lazy to call them out on it—so let's make sure they know we're watching and listening and make sure our voices are heard.

[lagunaseca2013]

how does pecco tell his parents that he's pregnant in the teen pregnancy au? how awkward is the eventual valentino safe sex talk for both luca and pecco? Do they eventually have another kid way later in life luca unintentionally having kids that have the same age gap as him and valentino?

hi anon! this ask honestly got me to open a google doc for this thing which is more than I can say for half the wips I’ve talked about here lmao. as always things kind of got away from me so I hope I’ve answered your questions but tbh I feverishly wrote half of this in the actual tumblr app bc I was so inspired so. apologies if it’s not that good! but cheers <3

—

“Pecco?” Carola picks up on the fourth ring of his ninth attempted call. She sounds groggy and confused, like she’s just woken up, probably because— “It’s four AM,” she groans, “you just woke me up. What’s wrong?”

Pecco swallows against the lump in his throat, the words getting stuck in his mouth. He can’t think of a single thing to say, though he’d spent the entire five-hour drive to Turin agonizing about it. In his defense, he couldn’t really do his best thinking when he kept having to pull over to throw up. Most of the time he wasn’t dry heaving on the side of the road, he’d spent going 200kph and trying not to have a panic attack.

He’s breathing heavily, trying desperately not to burst into tears again. Pecco knows if he’s silent for much longer, Carola will either hang up or call the firing squad, the best big sister ever, even if his skin is crawling, just thinking about facing her right now. In his. . . .state.

“I’m outside,” he croaks, finally, his voice sore from disuse and crying and, god, so much throwing up. “But I forgot to bring my keys.”

Carola is silent for a moment, but he can hear her taking slow, steady breaths through the crackle of the line. “Stay there, I have to turn off the alarm for the gate.”

—

His mama nearly has an aneurysm when he slinks down the stairs, late in the morning. He’d slept tucked into the corner between Carola’s bed and the wall like he hadn’t since—well, probably before he moved to Pesaro. Or hit puberty, whichever came first. After his sister had tugged the explanation out of him, she’d refused to let him go to sleep alone. They'd huddled together under her soft floral sheets and she’d pressed a curious hand to the slight swell of his belly that he couldn’t even really look at without getting nauseous, an expression of wonder on her face that he hadn’t yet encountered from anyone who knew about the—

“Francesco!” His mama interrupts his downward spiral, pressing two warm hands against his cheeks. “Is that Valentino not feeding you properly? You have to come sit down and eat, eat piccolo! You’ve gotten too thin!”

For once, his stomach doesn’t rebel at the plate of brioche, and his mom happily flits around the kitchen tidying up in the way she does when she’s trying to figure out how to approach a conversation. She frowns when he pushes away the espresso she’d left for him, and asks for warm milk, but carefully hasn’t asked him what the hell he’s doing here, why he hadn’t told them he was coming home. Why he’d shown up in the middle of the night and couldn’t bring himself to face her. Since he was little, Pecco has always been. . . .different, when it came to emotional matters, and his mama had learned long ago to let him come to her when he was ready.

Pecco doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for the conversation they’re about to have. In fact, he barely gets down half a slice of bread before he’s running to the bathroom, hacking it all back up, the thing inside him rejecting it all anyway. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until his mama pulls him in, rubbing soothing circles into his back and reaching up to brush tears off his cheek. “Oh, bambino,” she sighs, heavy with concern. “What’s going on?”

—

He’d insisted on waiting for his papa and Carola to return, mostly because he was pretty sure he was only going to be able to handle the conversation once, and he really needed his sister’s support to even attempt it. His mama had fussed over him for the rest of the day, forcing him back into bed with bowls of broth he’d thankfully been able to keep down. She’d even taken his temperature, humming thoughtfully when it was perfectly normal, though Pecco thought, uncomfortably, that they both sort-of knew he wasn’t that kind of sick.

Unfortunately, crushing Carola’s hands like a lifeline and staring back at his deeply concerned parents, it feels even worse than he’d imagined.

His papa is the first to break the silence. “Francesco,” he says, slowly, like he’s afraid Pecco might bolt if he’s too loud. “What’s wrong, piccolo?”

Pecco swallows hard, his fingers trembling where they grip Carola’s. He feels like a child again, sitting at this very table, confessing to crashing his scooter into the neighbor’s mailbox when he was fifteen. But this is so, so much worse.

“I—” He chokes on the word, his throat tight. His mama’s face is open, patient but worried, while his papa frowns, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Carola wriggles one of her hands out of his deathgrip to pet the curls at his nape reassuringly.

“I’m pregnant,” he finally blurts out.

They all freeze for a moment, pure disbelief. His mama’s breath catches audibly, her eyes widening in shock. His papa blinks at him like he’s misheard.

The silence stretches unbearably. Pecco’s heart is hammering so hard he thinks he might actually pass out. There's a high possibility he's going to throw up again.

“Scusa?” His papa’s voice is strangled.

Pecco licks his lips, his mouth dry. “I’m pregnant.” His voice wavers slightly, but the words come out clearer this time. “I found out a few weeks ago.”

His mama makes a soft noise, pressing a hand to her mouth, her eyes shining with something unreadable. “Oh, Francesco. . . .”

His papa, on the other hand, looks confused and concerned. “But—how? That’s not possible, that’s not—you were tested, at birth, they said—you were not. . . .” He gestures vaguely, like he’s searching for an explanation in the air.

Pecco shrugs weakly. “Turns out I am.”

Silence again, Pecco's shoulders are tensed up nearly to his ears. Carola's free hand grips the back of his neck firmly, like she thinks he'll try to make a run for it.

Then, suddenly, his mama’s chair scrapes against the floor as she stands. For a split second, Pecco braces himself for yelling, but instead she kneels down, pulling him into her arms. “Oh, bambino mio,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “You must have been so scared.”

As soon as she says it, Pecco finally shatters. He crumples into her, sobs tearing from his chest, months of anxiety and fear draining out of him all at once. His mama holds him tightly, rubbing soothing circles against his back, whispering soft reassurances into his hair.

Carola reaches over, rubbing his shoulder, and even his papa, still looking completely out of his depth, awkwardly places a hand on his back.

“It’s going to be okay bambino,” his mama says firmly, pulling back just enough to cup his face. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Pecco sniffles, his breath hitching. He’s exhausted, terrified, still fucking nauseous, but for the first time in weeks the knot in his chest loosens, just a little.

—

It’s terribly hard to focus on what Valentino is saying when Luca looks this good, Pecco realizes with dawning horror, the third time he zones out of the lecture, staring at Luca’s hands. His long fingers are folded neatly in his lap, the perfect picture of proper and respectful, if Pecco couldn't see that he was still sporting a semi under the table.

In their defense, Valentino had walked into the apartment unannounced in the syrupy hour after lunch, but before Pecco’s third daily nap, when he had the best chance of seducing Luca into messing around on the couch. He’d then decided, seven and a half months into the unplanned pregnancy, that catching his brother with his hand up Pecco’s stretched out tshirt was cause for the safe sex talk he’d been “meaning to get around to” for the last five years.

Valentino, completely oblivious—or maybe just choosing to ignore the heavy tension radiating between them—leans forward, elbows on his knees, and clasps his hands together like he’s about to deliver the most important race strategy briefing of his entire life. Pecco wonders, idly, if this is what he looks like when Uccio shows him “telemetry” on his iPad.

“Look, I get it,” he says, nodding sagely. “You’re young, you’re in love, you’re horny—”

Pecco makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Luca chokes on his own spit.

Valentino waves them off and keeps going. “But you clearly haven’t been careful enough, considering. . . .” he gestures vaguely at Pecco’s belly, which is currently both peeking humiliatingly out the bottom of his tshirt and pressing up against the edge of the table.

Pecco glares. He knows he's gotten huge recently, and he's been feeling particularly sensitive about it. “Wow, grazie, Vale. Really, I hadn't noticed.”

Luca, to his credit, looks genuinely sheepish. “It’s not like we didn’t try to be careful,” he mumbles, scratching at the back of his neck. “We didn't know Pecco was a carrier.” Pecco feels his face heat up at the reminder.

Valentino levels them both with a sharp look. “Clearly, you didn’t try hard enough. Even if Pecco hadn't been a carrier, it is still the safest to use a condom!”

Luca groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “Mio Dio, if this is your way of giving us the condom talk, you’re about seven months too late.”

Valentino ignores him, finally in the rhythm of his tirade. It's an interesting look on him, considering it's usually Uccio who attempts any kind of lecturing about the behavior of the Academy. “You know, there are many ways to be safe. Barriers, timing, communication—”

Pecco shoots Luca a sidelong glance. Luca, who is still, inexplicably, half-hard in his boxers. Luca, who just an hour ago had been shoving his tongue down Pecco's throat against the couch cushions, murmuring things that had absolutely not been about barriers or communication. Things much more aligned with how they'd ended up here in the first place.

Pecco swallows hard. This is kind of his second worst-nightmare, just below getting knocked up mid-season on the list. He hasn't even let himself think about how Valentino said they were, jesus, in love, and neither of them even protested it. Pecco has been in love with Luca for as long as he can remember, but he's always known Luca just saw him as a friend. Luca, of course, is just having sex with him out of convenience.

Meanwhile, Valentino is on a roll. “And don’t think that just because you’re already—” another vague hand-waving gesture at Pecco’s belly. It's kind of amazing that they're this far along, and he's in his thirties, and can't bring himself to say it. “—That you shouldn’t still be careful. Pregnancy hormones can make you want to go at it like rabbits, but you need to be mindful of—”

Pecco shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and his gigantic belly jostles the table enough to knock over the sad vase of dead flowers he'd gotten Luca for Father's Day. He's spent approximately ten minutes in one position, so his back aches enough to make him want to scream. “I am not listening to this anymore.”

Valentino raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You think I wanted to be here?” He throws his hands up dramatically. “You think I enjoy this? But I’m responsible for both of you!”

“Vale,” Luca interrupts, desperate. “We get it. Be careful, use protection, don’t fuck up again. Lesson learned. Can we please never talk about this again?”

He squints at them for a long moment, weighing his options, then sighs, rubbing his temples. “Fine. But if I find out you’ve been reckless again,” he points an accusatory finger between them.

Luca glares. “What, you’ll ground us?” He gestures at Pecco's belly. “Bit late for that.”

Valentino pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am just trying to make sure you know how to have safe sex,” he sighs. “I don't want either of you to have to sacrifice more than you already have because of another—” he stops himself, just in time, but Pecco knows he was going to say, what he was going to call their baby. A mistake. He sees it reflected back in his eyes, in everyone’s eyes, lately. His skin crawls every time he visits the ranch, seeing Mig and Franky’s looks of pity. Nicolo’s barely-hidden derision. Bez hasn’t been able to look him in the eyes since he started showing for real, months ago.

The second Valentino finally leaves, after he gives them the dish of food from Stefania that he had come to deliver in the first place, an excruciating round of hugs, and a parting shot about prenatal vitamins, somehow managing to keep his set of keys in the rush to kick him out—Pecco lets his head thunk onto Luca's shoulder with a dramatic groan.

“I will never forgive you for giving him a key. We aren't having sex again until you get it back from him!”

Luca snorts, reaching over to place a warm palm over the silver of belly not covered by the tshirt. “You say that now, tesoro.”

Pecco lifts his head up, raising an eyebrow.

Luca smirks. “Where were we?”

[s7nburn]

Pushing it down and praying

Dean x castiel smut/angst

Summary: While dean and cas are watching a movie, cas begins to get restless, squirming and moving around a lot. Obviously, dean notices.

Warnings: GAY!!! Takes place in the bunker, let's act like cas is a virgin ok? Softdom!dean x sub!cas, whimpering, handjob, internalized homophobia. Angsty at the end guys

A/N: my gay trans bestie man requested this filthy idea and it's pretty awesome :3 so yeah happy pride month gays !!! Also as a women, it feels kinda awkward writing about gay man sex but understand it's not for me, it's for my friend and others bc ik some ppl fetishize gay men which is not cool!!! Part two maybe?

The movie really wasn't that interesting, just some stupid western dean insisted that cas watched. Guns, cowboy hats, and leather, everything that dean loves in a movie. Cas didn't mind watching it though, if it made dean laugh he was fine with it.

Until one scene was shown, a brothel scene. Men and woman, bare skin, sex and beer, also one of deans favorites. Cas felt different inside, confused; he wasn't looking at the women, but at the men. He felt hot, uncomfortable. He took off he trench coat, hoping that'll ease the warmness in his body, but it didn't.

He felt his pants get tighter as he continues to watch the naked men on deans television. Dean can sense that something has changed in cas. He's sweating, shifting his legs every now and then.

"Hey man, you alright?" Dean questions, taking a sip from his beer and turning to face cas. Cas just continues to stare at the tv, probably to focused on the men's genitals than deans voice. Dean reaches for the remote and pauses the movie, looking at cas with his furrowed brows.

He looks down at cas's grown, noticing a significant bulge through his pants. Dean scoffed and chuckles, taking a swig of his beer before embarrassing cas. "dude, you have a boner. Seriously?"

Cas gulps, still staring at the paused television screen. "I cannot help it, dean." He shifts again, whimpering at the fabric rutting against his tip. Dean honestly doesn't know what to say, should he leave? Give him a couple minutes? Does cas even know how to masturbate? He chuckles at his own thoughts.

"if you need a minute that's fine." Dean says, looking at cas with a smirk, but he detected that cas was embarrassed, and the fact he has been squirming more and more as time goes on.

"a minute for what?" Cas asks, I guess dean was right, cas didn't wasn't aware of masturbation. "Y'know..rubbing one out real quick?" He asks, looking for understanding in cas's face but found none. Dean just scoffs again, realizing this man has no idea what he's talking about.

The tightness against his crotch is getting to much, he's sweating even more, cas feels like he about to implode from the warmth within his body and the butterflies in his stomach. "Dean, I need your help." He says, finally looking up at dean since he was now standing over where his desk was.

Dean walks over to cas and sits next to him, looking at him with sincerity. Dean sorta always had a strange attraction to this man. Weird and confusing, it's taboo, a man like him? Who's probably had sex with around 50 women, liking a man? No way. Dean always tried to push it down, but when he saw cas struggling, asking for his help, he could never say no. He owes that man to much to every decline him of anything.

Dean stutters a soft okay. "Um, are you sure cas?" He asks before he moves any further with his request. Cas nods his head, looking away in embarrassment and shame. "Don't be ashamed, cas. We're friends, friends help each other our sometimes." Right?

Dean helps cas pull down his pants, dean sees the outline of cas's cock. From what he can tell, it's thick and girthy, deans mouth just waters from looking at it, but he reminds himself that this isn't for him, it's for cas, he isn't supposed to enjoy this.

Dean looks at cas as he continues to pull his cock out from his briefs. It stands tall, his pretty tip is all swollen, red and leaky. Dean mutters a curse under his breath.

Cas refuses to breathe, "Relax, cas, breathe." Dean reassures him. Cas finally breathes out, closing his eyes and melting into deans warm touch. "Is this okay?" Deans asks as he slowly strokes Castiel's cock. Cas whimpers, telling dean it is with actually having to say it.

Dean continues at this slow pace for a few more minutes, letting cas really feel what's happening to him, dean, the man he's undoubtedly loved since forever, rubbing his hand up and down his cock.

Castiel starts to get impatient, he wants that release, "faster. Please." Cas moans. Dean answers him by doing what the man asked, his pace growing in speed. Dean observed the fact that cas was getting close, he wasn't hiding it very well. He thighs trembling, his cute whimpers and moans getting louder, his mouth forming an O shape at some points.

cas looks at dean in confusion, he doesn't know what he's feeling, he's never felt this good in his life. Dean can tell cas is lost, "You're okay, buddy. let it out." He says, he tries not to get into actual dirty talk, although he wants to, really fucking wants to. He's scared of this side of himself, this is new, this is change.

Cas finally reached his peak, cum pouring out of him onto deans fist, his thumb circling his tip to help him ride it out. Once Cas has calm down, dean let's go, and walks to the bathroom, without saying a word. He knows he should've, it's his best friend, he can't ignore this. He washes his hands, and looks at himself in the mirror.

He lies to himself, it's fine, what are friends for?, one time only, it's gonna be okay, nothing has changed.

So like before, he pushes it down and prays.