#hope you’re enjoying them! it’s been nice to participate in this :-)

[lupine-trees]

nothing & everything

[ for @microficmay day 15. drarry | rating: t | word count: 109 | part 13 | part 1 here | tagged #lup’s microfic may | read the full story here ♡⋆˙ ]

— — —

Harry props himself against the desk, plucking Draco’s quill from his fingertips.

“Potter,” Draco drawls, reaching out. “I need that, if you please.”

Harry twirls the quill a moment, striped and ink-mottled, teasing, before placing it back in Draco’s outstretched hand.

“Have you responded to Monsieur Maudrillard?”

Draco scratches something out in his notebook, eyes averted.

“Not yet.”

“Well,” Harry says, reaching for the quill again, “are you going to?”

Draco pulls the feather away, out of reach, and glances up to him.

“I’m thinking about it,” he says, and that could be all it is. It could mean nothing.

(But it could mean anything. It could mean everything.)

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Vodka Slime

pairing: alien!Seungcheol x fem!reader

genre: smut, mild comedy. minors dni.

warnings: monsterfucking, use of tentacles, dom!seungcheol, bratty reader, pussy slapping, bondage, implied size kink (reader is smaller than seungcheol), tummy bulge, squirting, masturbating, unprotected sex but reader is on the pill (pls stay safe), dirty talk, recording during sex (consensual but DON'T DO IT IRL), reader runs a nsfw twitter acc, alcohol consumption

word count: 2.7k

summary: picking up a hot guy from a bar to spend the night with was in your bucket list. him being an alien wasn't. not that you really complain.

Author's note: Spooky season is here and what better way to participate than a spooky smutty theme :) this was a request from Y anon!

p.s.: main inspiration for this fic was drawn by @meltwonu's Starlighter fic, it is a MUST read (like the rest of monster mash lmaooo)

taglist: @duhnova @smileysuh @gyuwoncheol (kindly suffer <3)

©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2023. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.

You kinda wish you had stayed at home.

You thought it would be a good idea to dress up and go to a bar on your own to enjoy a cocktail, hoping for a stroke of luck - Alas, things don’t always go your way.

If you had stayed home, you would be in comfy clothes or maybe no clothes at all, thinking of which toy you want to fuck yourself with. 

You let out a huff and you take your cocktail in your hand, opting for a ‘random walk’ around the bar (you just want to spot a single guy who wouldn’t mind to get laid tonight), but as soon as you turn around, you collide with a very firm body and your cocktail ends up splashing all over your top.

“Fuck!” You gasp when the ice cold beverage hits your skin, desperately looking for napkins to clean up the newly made mess.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!” He apologizes profusely as he asks for napkins from the bartender. “Here, these should help somehow.” He passes you the napkins and you accept them with a grumble, trying your best to clean up yourself.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, miss?”

“You can only-” you almost snap at him but your words die down in your throat when you raise your head and take a good look at the unknown man.

And all you see is the stroke of luck you were wishing for all night long.

Semi-pulled back white hair, slightly messed up from the wind outside, a tight fitted shirt accentuating his toned pecs and a jawline sharp enough to cut through your clothes.

“Well…” You put down the used napkins, “I wouldn’t mind a refill of that cocktail I was drinking.”

The unknown man flashes a rather adorable gummy smile and effortlessly takes a couple of bills out of his wallet.

“That, I can definitely do.”

"So, a college student. That's pretty cool."

You almost snort in your drink. "Oh yeah, it's so cool to stress over random classes because the professor happens to be a dickhead." 

"Hey, don't downplay your achievements. It's not like everyone has the brains to attend college, you know." The man plays with the rim of his glass.

"It's actually funny how hard you're trying to get my attention, while you don't even know my name." You down your cocktail.

"And here I was wondering whether you'd bring it up or not." He chuckles. 

"Well? Are you satisfied now, mister I don't know-what-your-name-is?"

"Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol."

"What?"

"That's my name, doll."

"Oh." You gulp down. "That's a very nice name you have there."

“So I’ve been told before.”

“By other girls, I suppose?”

“I’m not obligated to share this information, doll.”

“Suit yourself then.” You shrug and open your purse, taking out a small folded mirror to check your makeup.

“I’m impressed.” Seungcheol licks the corner of his mouth, “It’s the first time someone isn’t giving their attention to me.”

“You either have a bloated ego or you’re a desperate attention whore. Or both, I guess.” You sigh.

“And you have a pretty foul mouth for such a pretty face.”

“Cliché.”

“Did it work?”

“I’m not obligated to share this information, mister Choi.” You mimic his attitude.

“Are you even willing to share something with me, other than a drink?” He huffs.

“To be completely honest, I was hoping to come here and snatch a cutie back home to have fun with, but things are looking kinda grim.”

Seungcheol flashes a wide smirk. “What a wonderful coincidence, for our goals to be aligned tonight.”

“You’re here to hit it off with someone too?”

“Yeah. And to be fair, you’re looking way too hot and way too lonely to not get laid tonight.”

“Are you suggesting I should fuck you, Seungcheol?”

“I was planning on using more subtle words but I suppose this is also a way to approach things.”

You take a few seconds to yourself, pondering about Seungcheol’s proposal.

Cons - he’s a complete stranger and could be a murderer.

Pros - he’s fucking hot and you could get new content for your account.

“I have one question.”

“Fire away, doll.”

“You’re not some kind of crazy ass murderer, right?”

Seungcheol snorts. “Murderer? Nope."

He brings himself closer to you. "But the crazy ass depends on the context."

"I think we both know the context." You lick your lips.

"Then I hope you're into crazy stuff, doll."

Boy, he's in for a treat.

"That's a nice setup you have here."

"Thanks." You smile and take off your shoes.

"Are you a streamer?" 

"Hmm, not really."

"There's no shame in saying you're a camgirl." Seungcheol chuckles.

"I never said that and I definitely didn't try to hide it." You retort.

"Judging from the box of dildos being out in the open on your desk, I would agree to the latter."

"Do they make you feel uncomfortable, Seungcheol?"

"Not at all." He walks towards the desk and picks up a neon colored, tentacle shaped dildo. "Is this what you play with?"

You sit down on the bed and cross your legs sensually. "Got a problem with that?"

"Not really." Seungcheol drops the toy in the box. "It's a shame to play with fake stuff when you can have access to the real stuff."

You snort. "What, you're into that fake tentacles porn?" 

He flashes a smirk and removes his jacket and t-shirt, you let out a whistle at the sight of his naked torso. 

The excitement you had stored in your body evaporates within milliseconds when you see extra large sized tentacles coming out of Seungcheol's back, looming over him.

"Okay whoa, that is NOT what I was expecting!" 

"I know it's shocking, but I have zero intention to hurt you-"

You crawl away from him. "Your little friends don't seem to share the sentiment!" 

"I am the one who controls them, I can pull them back if you want me to."

"I- I just-"

"Look, I can just put my clothes back on and disappear from your apartment, like I never even existed in the first place."

"W-Wait! I, um-"

"Take your time, Y/N."

"Can you try not to put these things near my mouth please?"

"Since you asked so nicely, I have no choice but to comply."

Seungcheol crawls on the bed and cages you between his body and the mattress, peppering kisses across your jawline to make you feel more comfortable.

"Do you mind if I kiss you? I promise my lips are nothing like my tentacles."

"Oh my God, just shut up and kiss me!" You grab his face with your hands and smash your lips on his, slipping your tongue in his mouth, but it doesn't last for long, as he pulls away and pins your hands above your head.

"What got into you all of a sudden, doll?"

"Maybe I thought things over again and decided that fucking a hot guy with tentacles isn't a terrible idea." 

"I thought you weren't into that thing?"

"Half of my porn content is with tentacle dildos, please get real."

Seungcheol scoffs. "You little brat."

He lifts himself off you and with a tilt of his head, his tentacles wrap around your torso and legs, restricting you midair.

"You fucker! This is foul play!" You yelp.

He leans back on the headrest of the bed, looking at you with hungry eyes. "Everything is fair in war, love and sex, doll. I’m just spicing up things a little." 

Two more of his tentacles come up to your body, one ripping your top in half and the other flipping your skirt to reveal your bare pussy.

“Fuck you, I liked that top!”

“It was already ruined, sweetheart, don’t think too much of it. No underwear though? That's hot."

"It's called easy access, himbo."

Seungcheol clicks his tongue in annoyance and whips one of his tentacles over your pussy, making you whine.

"You're being a lil' smartass and it could get you in trouble, Y/N."

"Do your worst, Kraken."

The tentacle glides between your lips with the tip repeatedly nudging your clit when it suddenly whips your pussy again and you close your legs involuntarily.

"Ah ah ah, we're not having any of that." 

The tentacles tighten around your legs and keep them wide open, while the third one keeps rubbing your pussy slowly enough for the suckers to tease your sensitive parts.

"Ah! Fuck!" You moan when the slimy object slaps your cunt over and over again, your juices starting to drip on your asscheeks and all over the sheets.

"Drenched already? I haven't even fucked you yet, doll." Seungcheol chuckles as he strokes his cock, his pants discarded a long time ago.

"It's all f-fun and games when you're the o-one sitting on the bed!" You whine in defeat.

Your lips fall open when after a particular harsh slap, the tentacle effortlessly pushes into your entrance, turning around and rubbing your walls in an excruciatingly slow manner.

"Oh…my God…Fuck, that feels so fucking good."

Seungcheol raises his eyebrow. "You feel a tad bit loose, sweetheart." 

"And w-what about it?"

You nearly scream when another, thicker tentacle enters your pussy and thrusts harder than the other one. You feel your walls being stretched out, the foreign bodies in your hole proving to be bigger than the toys you use.

“Now it feels just right.” Seungcheol moans, as if it was his dick fucking you stupid. “Can’t wait to have you all wrapped around my cock, doll.”

“F-Fu- Cheol, I’m gonna cum!” You gasp when the tentacles pick up the pace and ram your cunt without mercy.

“Come on, doll, show me what this pussy is capable of.” Seungcheol grunts as he fists his cock harder to bring himself closer to his climax.

A sharp shriek erupts from your throat - you squirt all over your thighs and the slimy appendices, juices dripping down on the sheets and Seungcheol’s legs. His cock explodes all over his torso, streaks of thick white cum splashing on his skin.

The tentacles around your body relax just enough to let you plop down on the mattress, leaving your skin sticky and covered with a thin, slimy substance. He slowly retracts them altogether and they disappear from your field of view, as if they never existed in the first place.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

Seungcheol crawls on the mattress until he’s hovering above you. “That’s cute. But I’m afraid I’m not done with you yet, doll.”

Your eyes go wide when you notice the sheer size of his cock resting on top of your stomach and you’re pretty sure it’s way bigger than anything else you’ve taken before.

“There’s no fucking way that thing will fit in me!”

“That’s what you said about my tentacles, but you took them like a pro.”

“That’s different!” You protest.

“Different how?”

You purse your lips.

“Different how, Y/N?” Seungcheol slaps his cock between your legs and you whimper.

“It’s….so fucking big, Cheol….”

“Are you scared?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“We can always take it slow, pretty girl. Are you on the pill?”

You nod your head slowly and hook your fingers around the elastic band of the skirt to take it off, but he stops you.

“The skirt stays on.”

“It could get in the way, though.”

“Pull it just enough to let your pussy show.”

“Wait, I’ve got an idea.” You say and point towards the video camera on the desk. “Can you grab it for me?”

“What do you have in mind, doll?”

“Since it might take some effort to make it fit…” You turn on the camera and hand it over to him, “Might as well show my followers how it’s done, right?”

Seungcheol flashes a dirty smirk before he points the camera to your pussy, his tip nudging your entrance. You wince a little when the bulbous head pushes into your hole, a strangled moan escaping from your mouth when you try to fit in more of his shaft.

“Easy now, I’m not going anywhere, doll.”

He swipes his free hand over his abs to pick up the cum that hasn’t dried yet and smears it all over his length, using it as lube.

“S-Stop teasing me…”

“‘M sorry doll, but I don't wanna rip your pretty pussy apart.”

“Fuck, I can take it, promise!” You arch your back and buck your hips in the air.

Seungcheol flattens his free hand over your stomach and pins you down. “You will take only what I wanna give you, sweetheart. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Your walls clench around his tip and he has the audacity to bring the camera closer to the spot you’re connected to each other, only to push his fat cock all the way to the base.

“Fuuuuuck, it’s huge…” Your eyes roll back and your pussy spasms like crazy, trying your best to accommodate his size.

“Good girl, I knew you’d take it all in.” Seungcheol rasps as he rubs his palm over the newly formed bulge in your tummy, “Such a tiny pussy yet you managed to fit all of it. I think you deserve a treat for this.”

His hand moves to your left hip and he starts thrusting inside you, setting a slow pace at first.

You moan loudly with each thrust he delivers and you slide one of your hands directly over the spot that bulges from his cock.

“Not so snarky now, are you?”

“M-More…”

“More what, doll? Use your big girl words.”

“M-More power, harder, please!” You beg between sobs.

“I was planning on dragging it out a bit more, but fuck, you’re gripping me like a vice and I can’t wait to blow my load in your pussy, doll.”

He pulls the camera a bit further away to get a full view of your and his lower half, ensuring none of your faces are visible in the video. He answers your pleas by fucking you harder and faster than his tentacles did and he can swear his sanity is starting to slip away.

“S-Shit, you’re- Fuck! It’s so good!” You scream and grip the sheets around you, your tits bouncing up and down.

“Mmmh, I’m about to cum, baby- Gonna take it all deep, will you?” Seungcheol moans above you, trying to keep the camera steady.

“Yes, yes yes, fuck me full with your load, daddy!” You cry out and your thighs shake as you cum around his cock, your wet walls rapidly clenching around his huge shaft.

“Fuuuck….” He delivers a few shallow thrusts before he buries himself to the hilt, blowing his thick load inside your pussy until a white ring of cum forms around his base. He doesn’t hesitate to take out his cock with an obscene pop and spurt the remnants of his orgasm over your pussy and your skirt.

“That…was fucking amazing.” Seungcheol taps his cock on your clit, chuckling when you bite your lips to suppress your moans.

“Close…the camera…” You mutter and he presses the button to stop the recording.

He puts the camera down and lays right next to you, ghosting his fingers over your abused cunt. 

“So? Do you think it was a waste of time to bring me back home?”

You grip his wrist and bring his hand in front of your face, licking his digits clean.

“Only an idiot would consider you a waste of time, Cheol.”

“Does that mean you’re down to exchange numbers?”

“Are you not-so-subtly asking for another time?” You rake your pointer finger across his chest.

“Perhaps I am,” he confirms, “Not to mention that one time isn’t anywhere near enough to show you what I can truly do with my tentacles.”

“One question - Do your tentacles spit stuff like in hentai?”

Seungcheol snorts and erupts into a laughing fit, to the point of tears.

You slap his arm. “What’s so funny?! I’m serious!”

“I know! It was still funny,” he wipes his tears away, “But I can’t answer your question yet.”

“And why is that?”

He smirks again.

“That would just spoil the fun for next time, doll.”

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 2

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: T (evenual E) MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old crused witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), alcohol, jealousy, angst, slow burn, yearning, probably anachronistic witchy stuff, love triangle (quadrangle?), Ezra is a cat, he won't be forever, this isnt a beastiality thing, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 3.4k

a/n: Thank you to everyone that read part 1!! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it so far! I really would've liked to let this part simmer a little longer but I'm holding myself to this publishing schedule. It's time to yeet this into the world. I'd love to know what you think. Your comments and reblogs give me so much joy!

Thank you @lowlights for the beta and help with witchy stuff. Thank you @moonlitbirdie @schnarfer and @whocaresstillthelouvre for listening to me bitch about this and supporting me always.

“Don’t you look nice,” Aunt Margot says. 

You’re putting the finishing touches on your make up in the Page’s office. Usually you’d go back upstairs but you don’t feel like hearing it from Ezra.  

“Thanks. I have a date,” you say, packing your mascara in your purse. 

“Oh,” she replies, not hiding her disappointment in the slightest. 

You hadn’t intended to see Connor again but when he texted you, you couldn’t think of a good reason not to. He invited you to his place to check out his vinyl collection which sounds like an insufferable version of Netflix and Chill but you have no plans to listen to a single record. You just want to fuck in his bed and avoid any drama with Ezra. 

“Well I hope you’ll put as much effort in for the equinox,” she says. She flips the sign in the door from open to closed then snaps her fingers to turn off the overhead lights. 

You and Margot host the coven for the equinox each year which already means extra preparations in addition to work at the bookshop. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask. You don’t wear make up for moon rituals, don’t wear much of anything at all. 

“Esme is bringing River,” she says with a casual shrug. 

“No” you groan. 

“He’s visiting from Ireland,” she tells you. 

The last time you saw Esme’s grandson you were both in high school. River was built like a string bean, his upper lip dusted with the saddest mustache— if you could even call it that. He reeked of some badly brewed potion that was supposed to attract lovers. You still gagged when you smelled licorice root. 

“Good for him,” you say. “Please do not set me up with River.”

“I’m not a matchmaker, dear. I’m just trying to expand your sexual horizons,” Margot replies. 

Suddenly, Connor’s vinyls don’t sound so bad after all. 

—

Ezra pads through crystals and altar bells. Everything’s been laid out on Aunt Margot’s paisley scarves— scrying bowls and athame blades and jars of rain water all waiting to be charged by the moon of the autumn equinox. 

It’s just after midnight and the witches of your coven are gathered in a small clearing far enough into the woods that stray mortals won’t stumble upon them. The air smells fresh and cold like mountain spring water. A bonfire crackles, layered with herbs and pine needles. 

The waning moon feels heavy and close like it might just fall out of the sky and nick Ezra’s ear. It makes him feel uneasy. Then again, it’s hard to enjoy these rituals when he can’t participate the way he once did. 

Ezra watches you offer mulled wine to Esme and River, steaming cups scented with cinnamon balanced on an antique silver tray. You look beautiful in your simple white dress. It glows in the moonlight and he can see your body silhouetted beneath the fabric of its long skirt by the fire. 

He’s never cared much for Esme but, then again, he doesn’t have many kind words for any of the Elders even if the ones that cursed him are long dead. Even if he deserved that curse. She wears her long hair coiled on top of her head, a jade hair pin perched in its nest the same way her familiar, a tired old owl, watches from the branch of one of the trees. 

Ezra’s attention isn’t with Esme tonight. He’s keeping a close eye on her grandson. 

“He totally sucks. Please don’t leave me alone with him,” you’d implored. 

Ezra would be wary of him whether or not you’d asked. River is nothing like how you’ve remembered him to Ezra. He must’ve done a lot of growing up since your last encounter. Tall and lean with thick waves of auburn hair. He’s the kind of witch that even Ezra would have taken to bed when he was human. 

He sees the way River looks at you, watches him turn the charm on as he smiles. River’s eyes travel down your body and Ezra knows exactly what he sees. Waves of hot jealousy consume Ezra from nose to tail. For a moment, he worries he’ll get another thousand years added on to his sentence. 

After some small talk, Esme wanders away and that's Ezra’s cue. He slinks up between you and River, rubbing up against your legs to let you know he’s ready to bail you out. 

River swallows his drink with a chuckle. 

“That tastes just how I remember it. Me and Moss used to sneak glasses of Ariadne’s mulled wine when we were thirteen,” he explains. 

“Me too. Although I’m pretty sure Margot knew,” you say with a laugh. 

“Little mage, you asked me to fetch you when the oils were ready,” Ezra says. 

“Oh,” you say, throwing a self conscious smile at River. “I’ll go in a minute, Ez.”

“Margot could use your assistance,” Ezra adds. 

“Why don’t you go help her and I’ll be there soon,” you suggest.

Ezra can’t help but glare up at River. 

“Would that I had opposable thumbs,” he responds. 

You laugh. River doesn’t. You crouch down and glide your hand down Ezra’s spine.

“It’s okay, Ez. I’m good,” you tell him and you wink at him.

His blood turns molten as you turn back to River and continue your conversation. He wants to hiss and claw at him, draw blood. It feels like you’re slipping through his fingers not that he ever held a claim. Not that he even has fingers anymore. He’s completely powerless, standing at your feet like the dumb animal he is.

Rather than watch you moony over River, Ezra turns away and slinks off to the edge of the gathering to sulk. The fire’s warmth doesn’t quite reach and he presses back his ears to stave off autumn’s chill. He can’t run off into the woods the way he’d like to, not without raising questions from the other witches, make you look like you can’t control your familiar.

He can’t stop his eyes from wandering back to you. Your head thrown back in laughter, your hand on River’s forearm. Each moment of your joy is like a knife in his heart.

Ezra’s eventually relegated to the circle where the familiars commiserate. River’s is a jet black bird named Rhea who turns her beak up at him. He’s not one of them, not really. He was human himself with a familiar of his own but that’s not the only reason why they scorn him. They all know that he’s the worst kind of witch. 

There are many reasons why a witch might be turned into a cat but there’s only one crime that was punished with 1000 years— murder. And not just any murder. Ezra desecrated the life of another witch and, no matter how loyally he serves you, he’ll always have that stain. 

The rituals are done, the chanting. The embers from the fire float up through the trees towards the fat moon. Then the dancing begins. It’s erratic and joyful, Ezra can remember the ecstasy of it in his bones. Esme lets down her white hair and one by one the witches disrobe. 

He hears your laughter as you spin, shoulders shrugging with the pulse of the magic that swirls around the bonfire. 

He knows he shouldn’t look at you like that. Not you. Not here. You’re not putting on a show, you’re doing your magic. But the way your body moves against the glow of the fire is its own enchantment. He could worship you like the moon. 

The spell is broken just as quickly. River’s right beside you, bare skin radiant, muscles rippling with his own rhythm. His fingers tangle with yours and Ezra feels acid in his throat. 

The whole night becomes an assault on his senses. The sound of chanting rises, the old words frantic and savage. Amber and patchouli mix with the woodsmoke to choke him. Grotesque shadows fall over the faces of the witches like a carnival of horrors. And then there’s you— incandescent and naked and whispering something in River’s ear that has him grinning. Ezra’s hair stands on end.

“Come dance with me!” you giggle as you leave the circle of merriment. Your teeth are stained purple, drunk on wine and magic. 

“I’m quite content here,” Ezra lies. 

“Are you having fun?” You ask but you don’t wait for his answer. “River is…wow. He did not look like that when we were kids.”

You pick Ezra up and whirl around in a circle. He smells the incense of your skin, the alcohol on your breath. 

“You’re going to get your wish. I’m finally going to fuck a proper witch!” you say. 

You toss Ezra in the air and catch him. The bile has come so far up his throat it’s an absolutely nauseating sensation. 

“Enough!” Ezra hisses. He swats at you with his claws bared. 

You yelp and drop him. Before he even hits the ground, he feels it— a searing hot pain that makes his back arch. You’re defending yourself with your powers like a reflex. He lets out a yowl and just as quickly it passes.

Ezra staggers and looks up to find you with tears in your eyes. He’s never seen you looking so hurt, betrayed. Your jaw quivers. Ezra landed on his feet but he feels upside down. He’s realizing what he’s just done, that he tried to hurt you because he’s pathetic. Jealous. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice strangled. 

Like a coward, he takes off, ignoring you as you call after him. 

—

It’s the sound of the cat flap that wakes you sometime after sunrise. You’re sprawled out on your bed, head aching, eyes swollen. You’re still wearing your white dress, you threw it on before going after Ezra but it was no use. He was as black as the shadows in the forest and had slipped away under some bushes.

You abandoned the equinox celebration and went home in hopes he’d be there. You waited. Alone with your guilt and anxiety. 

I’m sorry. Please come home. You were never very good at telepathy but you tried to reach out to him with your thoughts. 

The sound that he made echoed through your mind as you paced the floor. Strangled, terrified. You tried to stop yourself from picturing him out there in the dark shaking with pain. 

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. It was involuntary. As soon as his claw grazed your skin, your powers flared. Maybe if you hadn’t been drunk you could’ve controlled it. It happened so quickly you still can’t be sure of how strong it hit him. 

Even if it was just a momentary shock, you saw just how much damage that moment did. His hair standing on end, his tail rod straight. But what really crushed you was the look in his eye. 

Suddenly you were just as horrible as every other witch that he’d served. You’d used your powers to punish him, to harm him. Every promise you’d ever made to him had broken in that instant. 

You see Ezra’s slim form dart to your doorway. In a flash, he slips under the bed and your heart sinks into your ankles. 

“Ez,” you say, your voice ragged from the night’s festivities. 

He doesn’t answer. You press your eyes shut and swallow hard then crawl to the edge of your mattress. Your stomach lurches as you look over the edge. On top of everything else there’s a hangover churning in your gut. You guess you deserve that, too. 

“Ezra, are you ok?” you ask. Whatever words of atonement you pieced together before you cried yourself to sleep have dissolved. 

He’s in the furthest corner beneath the bed, tucked against the wall with his tail wrapped tight around his body. You think you might burst into tears again seeing him cowering away from you. 

“I hope I didn’t make you fret,” he says. 

You want to scoop him into your arms and hold him as tight as you can but it feels like you’ve lost that privilege. 

“I’m so sorry, Ez,” you say, climbing down to the floor. “I shouldn’t have done that. I'm sick over it.”

“You were well within your rights. You’re my master and I struck you,” he says. “I’m the one that should beg forgiveness.”

To hear him call you his master makes you feel even worse than before. There’s no amount of tuna belly that will make this right.

“No. It was my fault. And I promise I’ll never use my powers on you again. Ever,” you say. 

His gold eyes shift away. 

“Keep your apologies,” he says. “And I see I’ve kept you from your new paramour. Another act to add to my contrition.” 

“I don’t care about that.” If you hadn’t been so caught up in the prospect of taking River to bed, none of this would’ve happened. 

“Nonsense, little mage. You’re a witch. Be with other witches,” Ezra says.  

–

River’s in the bookshop when you arrive, standing opposite Aunt Margot. When you couldn’t convince Ezra to come out from under the bed, you decided to give him space. Maybe you could distract yourself re-alphabetizing the cookbooks. You were hoping for some quiet but you’re confronted by the very attractive witch you’d been flirting shamelessly with the night before.

You know you look a mess, your face still feels puffy. River, on the other hand, looks like the definition of a sight for sore eyes. Freshly showered and dressed in a well pressed shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows, the sun is streaming in the front window outlining his still-damp hair like he’s Prince Charming himself.

“There you are!” Margot calls. 

You smooth your hand across your top nervously as she appraises you. You threw on a more than slightly wrinkled shirt that was languishing on the floor of your bedroom, too preoccupied to put together a real outfit.

“Looks like we had too much of Ariadne’s little potion,” she says. 

“I have a tonic that’s great for that,” River says with a smile. “But coffee’s faster.” 

He hands you a steaming paper cup from the cafe down the street. He and Margot have their own perched on the counter. You take a sip and are surprised to find that it’s your regular order.

”Are you clairvoyant, too?” You ask.

River blushes. “Nah. Margot told me how you take your coffee,” he chuckles.

It's so thoughtful and you’re not feeling very deserving. You swallow down a lump in your throat.

“I wanted to go foraging around here but I really need a local,” he says. 

“That sounds fun,” you say half heartedly in an attempt to demure. You’re not really up for a good time but it feels like a real asshole move to turn River down considering he brought you coffee after you ditched him at the bonfire. Margot is beaming at the register.

“Doesn’t it?” she asks. “Why don’t I get you a basket?”

—

River carries the basket now overflowing with mushrooms and wild herbs. You’re deep in the woods, branches crunching beneath your shoes. Nature’s sounds echo around you, starlings and chipmunks, the constant whoosh of the breeze through the turning leaves. 

This path is overgrown but you know it well. You spent your childhood getting lost in these woods. They have their own magic. 

Your guilt overshadows the date. If it is a date. River seems to think it is if the way the back of his hand keeps brushing against yours is any sign. It’s hard to enjoy it especially when your mind keeps drifting off. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re only half-listening as he tells you just how mystical the vibes are at Stonehenge. 

You stop at a stream, sitting on a fallen tree that’s overgrown with moss. It’s one of your favorite spots. The water sparkles where the sunlight spills though the branches, peacefully trickling over rocks. You pick up one of the smooth stones and trace its wet surface with your thumb. 

You’ve sat in this very spot before feeling just as shitty. Heartbroken then, too, trying to figure out if you could call it a break up when you hadn’t actually been anything official. She hadn’t wanted anything complicated and you swore your feelings wouldn’t get involved. Unfortunately they had their own plans.

Ezra found you there, sulking by the stream, wondering if anyone would think you were worth breaking their own rules for. 

It struck you how quiet he was. There were no anecdotes about what the witch scene was like in 1924 or tips for mouse hunting, indoor versus outdoor. He just padded into the water and nudged a little stone towards your feet. It was just big enough to fit in your palm and it was cool against your skin as you held it there. 

“A thing of beauty,” he said and he head butted your shins affectionately. 

It was. Round from years, maybe decades under the water’s friction. A dull gray cut through the middle by a wedge of some crystalline mineral like shards of broken glass. You recall exactly what it looks like because it still sits on your night stand. Each time you see it you’re reminded of how Ezra slumped down beside you, his warm body weight like a cozy blanket, a faint purr reverberating through him. 

“You’ve got a big heart, little mage,” he said. 

You choke up at the memory, unsure if Ezra would ever think that again. You certainly wouldn’t say it about yourself today. 

“Either you’re really hungover or something’s bothering you,” River says gently. 

You laugh tearfully and he rubs a circle on your back. You try to shake your head but River doesn’t give it up, looking at you with a soft concern.

“I really fucked things up with Ezra last night,” you admit. Telling him what a cruel witch you are might be a huge turn off but the feeling of his palm through your shirt makes you feel at ease.

“Ezra?” he asks.

“My familiar,” you remind him.

“Oh.”

“He scratched me and —”

“He hurt you?” he asks, face painted with righteous indignation. 

“No. He barely got me. I totally overreacted,” you say. “I used my powers on him. It was just a reflex, you know? But…I just feel awful.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he tells you with a relieved chuckle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

If that’s true then why do you hate yourself?

“If Rhea was out of line I’d do the same,” he goes on.

You wince at the thought.

“You’d hurt her?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve never had to. She knows who’s boss.”

You’ve always considered Ezra a partner. Of course, there are plenty of witches that think of their familiars as nothing more than servants. It’s an old school way of seeing it. You hadn’t expected River to use words that remind you of the way your grandmother used to talk.

“Maybe it’s different,” you say, trying to give him the opportunity to walk it back. Ezra’s not like Rhea. Maybe you’d feel the same way River does if your familiar hadn’t once been as human as you are. Still, it doesn’t feel right.

“You’re a funny little witch,” he says with a grin.

“What does that mean?” you ask. 

“Crying over your familiar. It’s sweet.” He says it as if it’s a compliment but the condescension makes you frown in disgust.

“If you want to make it up to him, why don’t you find him a lady cat that can make him feel good,” he adds with a laugh.

“Is that what you’re into?” you ask with venom.

“What? That was a joke,” River says.

“I don’t think it’s funny. You know, just because Ezra’s a familiar, it doesn’t mean he should be treated like shit. And he’s not a cat. He’s a human,” you tell him.

“He’s a witch killer,” River spits back. “So I’m sorry if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for him.”

Your stomach turns. It’s the truth. Ezra’s served as a familiar in your family for centuries, his history has never been hidden from you and he’s never shied away from it.

But his punishment has never made sense to you. A thousand years, so many lifetimes, watching his friends and family die as he toiled in servitude for witches as backwards as River. It’s cruel, that’s why the Elders changed the laws years ago. And yet Ezra’s remained a cat, a familiar, disdained. 

Suddenly, the anger you’ve been tormenting yourself with turns outwards and you think your powers could set fire to the dry leaves at your feet. It’s all so unfair. The Elders turned him and witches like River scorn him and none of them feel a lick of shame. The back of your neck heats with a protective rage.

“He’s my friend,” you choke. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”

And you leave River speechless in the middle of the woods.  

🐈‍⬛

Part 3

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated! My inbox is always open.

[dira333]

Kiss me in the dark - Kuroo x Reader

Friends to lovers, for @reverie-starlight for the Milestone Event Week 1

"Spin the bottle!" Bokuto cries, as usual much too loud for the crowded space.

"I heard you the first time!" Yaku sniffs and spins the bottle, no doubt hoping it will land on Fukurodani's cute manager.

It lands on you.

You can see how he swallows, his usually straightforward behavior turning nervous. "I think there's a mistake," he tries. "I didn't spin it right."

"Rules are rules!" Akaashi points out with an almost bored smile while you wish you could sink into the floor.

Yaku hesitates once more before resigning himself to his fate, leaning over the gap where the bottle waits for its next turn.

SMACK!

He lands face-first on the floor, Tetsurou behind him.

"Whoops, sorry. Didn't see you there."

Yaku's cheeks are red and he's positively angry but he's not retaliating, which is a first.

"Well, get it over with..." Akaashi drawls and there's something to his smile that tells you he's enjoying this... whatever this is.

"I could take your place if you're too hurt to kiss, you know." Tetsurou points out, pointedly checking his nails.

"Yes," Kenma snarls from where he's hidden by the snacks. "Do it."

Silence washes over the room. It's one thing to joke about it, another to actually follow through on it.

Your eyes catch Tetsurou’s in the dim light and your heart stutters to a halt as you wonder if he's finally going to do it - breach that gap between you that's been keeping you apart.

- - -

“This is Tetsurou, my son. And this is Kenma, his best friend,” the man explains. You eye the two boys from the safety of your mother's hand, none of them daring to catch your eye.

“My daughter is a little shy,” your mother explains above you to your utter embarrassment. “I’m sure she’ll warm up to them in no time though.”

“Do you, uh,” Tetsurou mumbles, dragging his foot across the floor, “do you wanna play… Volleyball?”

“Can I?” You look up to your mom for guidance. You don’t dislike playing ball. You just hope they don’t play rough.

“Sure, honey. Go on.”

Tetsurou is a good teacher. He might swallow his words sometimes, reddening in the afterglow of the evening sun when you peer up at him with too many questions to voice and he might stumble over himself trying to get you to like Kenma and Kenma to like you, but he’s nice. Not too rough, not too loud. Just nice.

-

The room is filled with the pained sounds of a monster dying as Kenma slays it on screen. 

You purse your lips, focusing as you drag the little brush over Tetsurou’s nails.

“I like this kind of red,” he mumbles quietly, all tuckered out from playing Volleyball all afternoon. It’s the one thing that gets him out of his shell, just like Games do for Kenma, or fashion does for you. 

“I have a wig in that color,” you tell him just as quietly, “I can lend it to you.”

“Really?” His grin is infectious. “I’d love that.”

And it’s in those moments, quiet and soft and oh so familiar, that you find yourself drawn in. Like you’re no longer orbiting him, but going straight on collision course.

- - -

Over seven years of friendship and it all boils down to this.

Tetsurou doesn’t move, frozen where he sits.

You push yourself up when it goes on too long, darting your lips over Yaku’s bruised cheek.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you tell the room as if anyone doesn’t know what’s going on. Those are your friends, in a way, even though Bokuto is more Tetsurou’s friend than yours and Akaashi is Bokuto’s friend of course and Yaku is a whole different topic, but, alas, they all know what’s going on. It’s Tetsurou after all. He’s an open book.

You make it all the way down the dark hallway, past the other sleeping quarters where the younger players snore away. At least Lev hadn’t participated. You wouldn’t be able to live that humiliation down.

“Wait!”

You don’t turn. You know that voice without looking.

The bathroom door closes behind you with a quiet click, your heart beating fast. You didn’t need to run, but it feels like it, running from a joke that’s no longer funny, an unavoidable conversation you don’t want to have.

The door opens again and Tetsurou stumbles through, eyes wide and cheeks pale.

“This is the girl’s bathroom!” You hiss and he panics, throwing himself against the closing door with his eyes closed.

“I’m not looking!” He promises. “But we need to talk. Alone. Is anyone else in here?”

Silence.

You sigh.

“Fine,” you huff, swallowing against the nerves. Like a bandaid, you tell yourself. Just rip it off. “Don’t joke about kissing me if you don’t wanna do it anyway.”

Tetsurou chokes. “I wasn’t joking.”

“What?!” It’s your turn to panic. “No, wait. No! You don’t get to say that when you panic froze right after being put on the spot.”

“I want to kiss you!” He promises. “Just not… in front of all of our friends.”

“You’re just saying that so I’m no longer mad at you.”

“True, but, also…” He shrugs, but it looks more like a nervous tick, like he’s trying to get rid of the thoughts that sit heavy on his shoulders. “You’re my best friend. What if we kiss and you’re no longer my best friend? I don’t know if I can take that risk.”

You nod, stepping back a little. He’s right. You’ve been thinking about that long enough to know that he’s right.

However, tonight has proven something else.

“But I think… if we keep going like this, in this kind of limbo of not just friends but not something more, we’ll not stay best friends either. This hurts, you know?”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou nods, slow and solemnly. His eyes look like they used to as a kid, before he got more confident in himself, before he began trusting others as well as himself. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

His hand reaches out and you take it without thinking, your heart and body longing to be close to him.

“Can I kiss you now?” He whispers as the motion-sensitive lighting flickers out around you, bathing you in soft, curious darkness.

His lips are soft and he tastes like the nerd clusters Bokuto dared him to eat as a joke and his arms are warm and strong around you, like a promise and a memory altogether.

-

Your hand is firmly in his as you step out into the hallway again, your lips a little bruised and his grin sitting a little lopsided.

“Finally,” Kenma drawls and you turn, surprised to see the whole group waiting at the corner behind him.

“Did you kiss?” Bokuto asks, beefy arms heavy on Akaashi’s shoulders who just rolls his eyes.

“Yes,” you tell them with a grin before Tetsurou can and watch them all jump and cheer like the idiots they are.

[himegureisu]

Yule Ball [PT.1]

Summary: Your husband is teaching his snakes to dance. You decide to meet them on this occasion formally.

Word Count: 1733~

A/N: This was longer than I expected and I also meant to publish this after You but I finished this one first. Enjoy! I know I did.

“The Yule Ball has been a tradition conducted before the formal beginning of the first tasks in the Triwizard Tournament,”

His deep voice echoed throughout the expansive space as he walked around. Each Head of House was assigned to teach their students the waltz for the Ball. His Slytherins didn’t know that though.

“On Christmas Eve, we and our guests take time to gather at the Great Hall for a night of respectable frivolity by engaging in a dance,” Severus announced, the students groaned, “We may loathe to participate in such an endeavor, however, as a member of the House of Salazar Slytherin, I expect every one of you to be on your best behavior,”

“At the end of this session, you should be able to not stupidly slither and slip across the Great Hall,” Severus said,

You laughed.

Your laughter easily echoed in the hollow expanse of the room. Their attention suddenly turned to you by the entryway. Despite their whispers, you could hear their words. Who is she? What’s she doing here?

Severus turned. His stoic facade was unchanged in your presence.

“You sounded like Minerva just then,” you said, walking over, “She said something about her Gryffindors becoming a babbling bumbling band of baboons,”

“Did she?” he remarked, “How would you know that?”

“I was there lurking in the hall,” you answered, standing by his side, “They said that you may need help teaching your Slytherins to dance,”

“They?”

“You know, Albus,” you dropped names, “And, Minerva.”

“Those two meddling…” he sighed, the students watched on, “They sent me an incentive as if I need any,”

“Oh, so, I should go?” you walked towards the door, but one of his arms pulled you back, “See you want me here,”

“I always want you, my dear,” Severus said. Your cheeks heated up at the compliment. He whispered into your ear, “You know that,”

“I did bring gifts,” you remembered, pulling a pouch from the pocket of your robes, “Your favorite dark chocolate and gobstoppers,”

“You are an angel, my dear,” he said, raising a palm, “May I?”

“Later,” you said, and pocketed it, he nearly pouted, “For dessert after practice. You, Mister, have students to teach,”

“Shall I introduce you?” he observed them, silently squirming in their seats from curiosity, “I think we tortured them long enough,”

“Was it truly long enough though?” you chuckled.

He offered his arm to you, which you gladly accepted, as both of you faced the crowd of curious students. Their attention was focused as Severus commanded the room.

“Slytherins, quiet!” Severus bellowed, “It gives me the greatest pleasure to introduce to you, my wife, Madame Snape,”

Among the possibilities, their Head of House married was not one they considered.

Their voices were in an uproar of surprise, disbelief, and shock, especially a platinum blonde-haired teenage boy you knew from description as your husband’s godson, Draco Malfoy. Your ears could hear a faint There’s no way, even father doesn’t even know from his mouth.

“It’s nice to meet everyone,” you gently smile, and silently hope that they calmed down, “I thought you should get the courtesy of meeting me first in private rather than amongst other students at the Yule Ball,”

They were speechless. You were nice. The exact opposite of their Head of House.

“You’re going to attend the Yule Ball?” one of the girls dared to ask,

“Yes, I will,” you answered, “Barring any conflict of schedule, I should be there,”

The girls giggled. You were glad.

“Does this mean I can wear my wedding ring more often?” he asked you, lifting his left hand to gaze at it, “I did forget to remove it today, though, I don’t believe any of them noticed,”

“Or they were too afraid of you to say anything about it,” you answered, and exchanged knowing looks, “And, do wear your ring I’d love to hear, and for you to see your other students’ reaction,”

“That can be arranged,” he agreed, and turned to the students, “To resume our activities,”

They sighed. They thought your presence would be a sufficient distraction for him to forget about the task at hand.

“We will be teaching you how to waltz,” he started, “We shall demonstrate, and then after you will pair yourselves,”

“My lady,” Severus formally bowed and offered a hand, “Shall we?”

“Oh, am I part of this?” you teased, acting as if you wouldn’t take it, “Why, I’d be honored, good sir,”

His gentle but firm grip guided you to the center of the floor where every student could get a good view of what both of you were doing.

“Face your partners a foot apart, hold her hand then place the other on her waist,” he emphasized, doing so, “Not anywhere else,”

On the swish of his wand, the pin dropped and the turn table started to play the music.

“The steps are quite simple and gentlemen do pay attention you will be guiding the ladies,” he started the box step, which you just mirrored, “Do imagine you are creating a box on the ground. Your left foot forward, the other to the side, together, back, and repeat,”

“Ladies, you mirror what your partner is doing. If he steps, forward you step back,”

With you in his arms, his stern appearance disappeared. His body relaxed, movements fluid and precise as both of you seemed to glide across the floor.

His students watched in awe and amusement as both of you passed by. There’s an intimacy in the way he moves you, and in a single moment, they catch a glimpse of a smile on his face unexpectedly twirling you around.

“Show off,” you whispered,

“For you,” he quietly said, “Always,”

Your cheeks heated up at the statement.

It wasn’t long until the music and both of you stopped. You both bow to each other after as he addressed his students.

“Find your partners and don’t dally we don’t have all day,” he instructed, as the boys started to stand, “Those who find themselves with no partners will start with one of us and then will switch to other students,”

They quickly partnered up after that.

The older girls were afraid of being partnered up with him. The boys, however, would gladly be partnered up with you.

“You will get a minute of detention for each time you step on her toes or mine. Trust that we will be counting, and,” he warned, “Should I hear any sound of pain escape her lips you will be in detention for the week regardless of the number of times you stepped on her,”

“And should any one of you succeed in not stepping on my toes,” you added, “You’ll get to try the other candy I brought back from America,”

Their eyes lit up in anticipation at your words. They became a bit scared but eager not to mess up as the first young male Slytherin came up to you.

“Hello,” you introduced yourself, “What’s your name?”

You both exchanged pleasantries as he placed the appropriate distance and hand on your waist before the music started.

“You’re more likely to mess up if nervous so relax,” you said, as the music started, and you saw Severus glaring at the student in your arms, “Talk to me about anything to take your mind off it,”

“Oh, Professor Snape is the most…” he started to ramble off.

His feet did brush yours from time to time but no real painful step landed. Once he started talking about your husband, and the subjects he liked, he relaxed and the steps came more naturally.

“Excellent,” you said, “Now do that at the Yule Ball and you’ll be fine,”

You and Severus managed to dance with half the class before the bell rang to their relief.

There were some unfortunate enough to have two left feet which caused you to yelp effectively earning a week of detention. Others would be in detention for half an hour at least, and two hours at the most. Those fortunate to get it right were rewarded by the stash of no-maj candy you brought.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” one student said, the other followed, “And thank you, Madame Snape!”

Slowly, the students thanked you and your husband and waved goodbye as they ran to the hall on their way to their next class.

“Must you give the whole stash?” Severus asked, the other pouch given away, “They’ll be insufferable for the rest of the day,”

“Those were extras. I refilled our stash at home,” you said, which caused him to perk up, “Don’t worry,”

You started to walk toward the door to leave but his arms wrapped around you, and refused to let go.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his lips at the nape of your neck, “Hmmm?”

“Leaving,” you said, “We’re done, aren't we?"

“No, we’re not,” he kissed your shoulder, and with a swish of his wand the music started again, “May I?”

His hand offered once again which you didn’t hesitate to take.

“Always,” you said, as he guided you once again, “You are and always will be my first and last,”

His defenses shattered at those words. His lips curled into a smile. His hands pulled you closer than you could ever be. His scent, the musk of old leather, fresh parchment, and sandalwood engulfed your senses.

In the emptiness of the room, there were no words exchanged. There was only the two of you against the world. Your feet followed his in harmony. Your robes and his flowed behind your backs.

Forward. Side. Together. Back. Again. A Twirl that caused you to laugh. Warming his heart.

So lost in the moment, both of you didn’t notice Draco and his friends enraptured by the intimate performance.

Once the music had stopped, you both briefly pulled away and bowed but after he’d recovered, he pulled you in.

“Sev, what—“

His lips fell on yours gently together. Rough but warm against soft and supple. His arms were around you, protective, possessive. You lean into the comfort of his touch. A soft moan escaped your lips.

“I love you,” you said, as you pulled away.

“I love you too,”

NEXT >>

[iwritefandomimagines]

ROMANTIC GESTURE — JESS MARIANO

masterlist

pairing: jess mariano x reader

description: jess wasn’t going to buy your easter basket and risk the embarrassment of his potentially unrequited feelings. so instead, he pays kirk to buy it so he can steal you away.

warnings: bit of swearing, bit of fluff, jess mariano i love u

author’s note: jess mariano stop appearing in my dreams challenge! anyway, hope you all enjoy. this has been in the drafts for ages and i finaaally finished it.

You were perched opposite Rory at Luke’s, on the edge of your seat as you tapped your feet anxiously and leaned on your basket.

“Nobody’s going to buy my basket,” you huffed, “You’re so lucky you’ve got Dean to like, 100% make sure yours gets bought.”

Rory rolled her eyes, “You’re being dramatic, Y/N. The town loves you. Just because you’ve been here less time, doesn’t mean nobody will buy your basket. Hey, maybe stalker over there will buy it.”

Rory was blissfully unaware that despite pretending to be distracted by wiping down the counter, Jess’ ears were practically pricked up like a dog listening.

“Stop calling him that, Rory,” you shook your head, cheeks burning as you looked over at him and he briefly looked up and caught your eye, “He’s my friend. And he said he wasn’t participating, which I assume means no buying as well as no making.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N. But we’d better head over there.”

You nodded, following her down to where Taylor Doose was already stood yelling at the town to hand their baskets in with haste and get ready to begin bidding on them.

Jess was lurking just out of sight, deciding what his best approach was for buying your basket and getting to have lunch with you as a result.

He spotted Kirk meandering over, a lightbulb moment sparking in his head as he dashed over to his side, “Kirk. I need you to do me a favour.”

“Jess Mariano needs a favour from me?”

“Yes— I need you to buy Y/N’s basket for me and then give it to me,” his hands were stuffed in his pockets as he sighed out his request, and Kirk eyed him inquisitively.

“What’s in this for me? And why can’t you buy it yourself?”

Jess huffed, “I’ll pay you 20 dollars. I can’t buy it myself because I told them I wasn’t going to be free to. I’ll be back at the diner, bring me the basket when you’ve got it and I’ll go and meet them with it. It’s a surprise then.”

“Oh,” Kirk stared blankly for a moment, “A romantic gesture. Got it. The whole town have been wondering when you’d finally get together. I’ll tell Taylo—,”

Jess took a step forward, hands flying from his pockets, “Don’t say a word! Just— we’re friends. I’m being a nice friend and buying Y’N’s basket.”

“What if I want to buy Y/N’s basket? I’m her friend.”

“Why would you want it?”

“Because— I don’t know. But I might.”

“Just take your $20 and buy me the basket, and I’ll give you what you paid for it after, Kirk,” he pulled $20 from his wallet and handed it over, “Or I’m telling Luke.”

With that, Kirk nodded and scurried over to complete his ‘mission’.

—

Kirk came rushing into the diner out of breath, basket in his hands and his face bright red, “I got it! I got Y/N’s basket. I paid $120 because a love rival of yours wanted it too, according to Ms Patty, so it was difficult. But I got it.”

“$120? I don’t have—,” he rethought it as he saw you headed for the diner, “Fine.”

He pulled his remaining cash from his wallet, handed it over to Kirk as he took the basket from him, and then wrote Luke a note explaining why he was about to take cash from the register and replace it with savings he had stashed upstairs when he next went up.

You entered the diner alone, no Rory this time, and Jess was relieved. He knew she didn’t like him, so he was happy to have time alone with you.

“Oh, so Mr Too Cool for the Easter basket bid wanted a basket after all and just got Kirk to do the work for him?” you teased, propping yourself up on the counter as you tried to suppress the giant smile forming as a result of his gesture.

“Well, time-honoured town traditions aren’t really my thing,” he shrugged nonchalantly, just a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “But you’re good at this kind of thing. I thought it’d be nice.”

You placed your hand on top of where his rested on the counter, “Oh wow, are you ill? Is Luke ill? Am I ill and entirely unaware? Jess Mariano— doing something because you thought it’d be nice…”

He shook his head with a laugh, “C’mon, I can be nice!”

“Oh sure. You’ll have to show me this apparent nice Jess now when we go and eat the miserable contents of this basket,” you sing-songed, aware that your hand was still on top of his. You grabbed it, giving it a light tug to urge him to get away to join you now.

“Hm, not sure you deserve it if you’re going to tease me,” he pouted, following you out of the diner anyway as you swung the basket in your hands and skipped along, “Fine. Well let me choose where we go to eat then.”

“Sure. I just wonder where you’ll take me,” you teased, watching a smirk grace his face as he shook his head, “Gee golly I sure hope there’s a bridge involved.”

You’d wandered past him sat on that bridge many a time and it had once been your reading spot instead.

Jess scoffed at your mocking, “It’s quiet, can you blame me? I’ve already had Kirk telling the whole town about my supposed romantic gesture.”

You narrowed your eyes, briefly feeling a pang in your chest at the implied denial that there was anything romantic about him buying the basket.

“So this wasn’t your way of confessing your undying love for me?” you paced your palm to your chest in feigned dismay, “What’s your motive, then? Are you luring me out there to kill me?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Y/N,” Jess rolled his eyes, “Can we just go?”

“No denial. Wow, I’m gonna die at Jess Mariano’s hands, and the last thing I’ll have eaten will be my miserable cheese sandwiches,” you gasped.

Jess led the way out through the town, clocking that all eyes were on you both, “Bold of you to assume I’d let you live that long. Think I’d get the job done quick enough to eat the sandwiches myself. I am pretty hungry.”

“Well unfortunately for you I put up a good fight when I’m hungry,” you nudged him, “And you’re supposed to be being nice, huh?”

Jess nudged you back, “You accused me of plotting to kill you!”

You just hummed, swinging the basket as you walked at his side and finally reached the bridge. You sat yourself down, waiting for him to follow suit as you immediately began unpacking.

“Wow, someone’s eager.”

“You just spent $120 to eat sandwiches with me Mariano,” you laughed, “You haven’t got a leg to stand on talking to me today.”

Jess shrugged, conceding as he looked into the basket while you pulled out it’s contents, “Pretty good.”

You handed him a sandwich with a small smile, taking one of your own and unwrapping it to take a bite, “In all seriousness, why did you actually bid on my basket?”

Your voice was small, and it warmed Jess’ heart to see you nervous to hear his answer.

“I just thought it’d be nice,” he shrugged, but you could see in the way his eyes lingered on you, as they so often did, that he was being honest now.

You smiled, “It is nice. I’m glad. Rory’s always got something to say when we talk at Luke’s, it’s nice to have time to talk alone.”

Jess quirked his brow with a smirk, “To talk alone? Are you sure it’s not you confessing your love for me?”

You scoffed, but the scoff became a small laugh as you looked at your feet where they swung over the edge of the bridge. Had you given the game away with your nervousness? Would it be clear now that you really did like him?

“You know what I mean, asshole,” you chuckled, shrugging, “I like your company.”

He smiled genuinely again, the glimmer in his eyes sending sparks through your body, “I like your company too. Just about the only person in the shithole town whose company I do enjoy.”

“You’re so poetic, Mariano,” you joked, taking another bite of your sandwich and trying to hide your blush, “But I’m glad. I really—yeah, I just like spending time with you.”

There was a brief moment of silence as you both continued eating, swinging your legs practically in sync with each other as you did so.

“Can I be honest?” Jess almost whispered as he finished his sandwich and leaned over to grab a juicebox, “Nice touch by the way.”

You giggled, “Hey, you can’t beat a juicebox. Gimme one, please.”

He handed you one too, and as you pierced the carton with your straw you’d remembered what he said before, “Of course— Of course you can be honest. What is it?”

He gulped, taking one small sip of his drink and then placing it down at his side, “I kinda did this to help me, I dunno, tell you that I liked you. Thought the gesture would… This feels stupid now.”

You bit your lip, trying to process what was currently happening, “It’s not stupid, Jess. I was hoping that was what this was… I mean, who spends $120 on a basket—,”

“Stop reminding me how much money I spent, please,” he interjected with a groan.

“Sorry—,” you smiled, “I didn’t want to get my hopes up and thought maybe it was just you confirming we were friends, but I’ve liked you for ages, Jess.”

He seemed more than pleased with this, a huge smile spreading across his face as you fluttered your lashes at him and smile right back in his direction.

He clenched his jaw, “Really? Rory’s always teasing you so I thought—,”

“How is someone so intelligent simultaneously so dumb?” you teased, shuffling closer to him and pushing the basket back so that you could move close enough that your thighs almost touched, “She teases me because she knows I like you, Jess. It was her who encouraged me to make a stupid basket to see if you’d bid because that would apparently prove you liked me too.”

Jess laughed, “I s’pose it worked out, then. I—I really like you, Y/N. At first I thought it was just because you were the only person here who isn’t— well isn’t always— a pain in the ass. I thought I’d just found a friend, y’know. But that’s not it, I really like you. I don’t wanna be just friends.”

Your heart was racing, and he seemed to have closed the last remaining gap between your sides. You leaned your head on his shoulder with a happy sigh, “I don’t wanna be just friends either.”

His hand moved to rest atop yours where it was placed on your knee, “That’s made the ridiculous amount of money somewhat worth it.”

“Only somewhat, hm?”

“It’ll only be completely worth it when you’re my girlfriend,” you could tell he was shy about saying that, “So yeah, only somewhat.”

“Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend, Mariano?” you grinned, heart still thrumming hard against your ribcage as he tilted to look at you.

“It might be,” he smirked, “But only if your answer’s gonna be yes. If not you’ve like, totally got the wrong idea Y/N.”

You leaned up, propping yourself up with your hands on his shoulder, and pressed a small kiss to the corner of his lips.

He smiled against your lips, reciprocating the kiss for a moment, “Is that a yes?”

You laughed, hooking your arm around his and leaning on his shoulder once more, “Yes, Jess. I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

You sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the sound of only the stream of water beneath you and your synchronised heartbeats.

“Those sandwiches sucked, by the way.”

“Oh I know,” you hummed, “I didn’t want to end up eating them with someone else so thought it wasn’t worth making much effort. Hence me hardly packing much.”

“Well now you’ve just got a hungry, broke boyfriend,” as soon as he said the word broke he was once again reminded of the cost of the basket.

“$120 man. Wow, I really do like you.”

———

thanks soooo much for reading! i hope you like this, i really enjoyed writing it <3 let me know if you have any more requests & please let me know what you thought!!!

also — here is my masterlist

[hayleythesugarbowl]

If you feel comfortable, could you do a cute little one shot about reader and Ian telling their smosh friends that they’re having a baby? Maybe they announce it in a jokey way and everyone’s like wait are u or are u not?? Thank you!! I love ur writing so much!! 😘

Try Not To Laugh: Crew Baby Edition || Ian Hecox x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: you announce your’s and ian’s pregnancy through a TNTL bit

word count: 1.2k

warnings: pregnancy, ian being ian and talking about milk

a/n: this is so cute wait 🤭. hope you enjoy this cute, short little fic!! the pic has nothing to do with this but i thought it was funny lol. fem!reader.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “Do you know where they keep the fake babies?” 

     You scoured the shelves, peeking out from backstage as you waited for your turn to go on for your bit.

      You weren’t exactly used to being on camera and you were still getting used to it. 

      You were participating in your first every Try Not To Laugh video, a gauntlet with all of the crew. 

      “Try the bin next to the walrus in a wig,” Ian pointed in the direction of said bin. 

      You began searching, crouching to get a better look, as you thought about what you were going to do when it was your turn.

      You and Ian had planned it all the week before, knowing exactly what you’d do when you’d first heard Smosh wanted you in a TNTL Crew video. 

      Ian came up behind you now, putting a hand on your back as he crouched to help you look. 

     You had been dating Ian for over a year now, shortly after you’d joined the Smosh crew. Now, everyone at the company had bets going on when you were going to get married and tie the knot or adopt a pet or get pregnant.

     And they weren’t far off. About the last part at least. You were currently three months pregnant with Ian’s baby.

     You two couldn’t be happier. You were counting down the days until the third member of your family was brought into this world.

     But the joy was only shared between you and Ian—none of the other Smosh cast or crew knew about it yet. You were waiting for the right moment to tell everyone. 

     And where better than TNTL.

     You’d talked to Ian about it and decided that instead of come up with a bit, you and Ian would use your turn to announce your pregnancy. 

      If that didn’t get them to spit their water out, you didn’t know what would.

      Sure, telling your friends that you were having a baby during a bit wasn’t exactly conventional. It was silly and unserious and perfectly Smosh. Some people announced their marriages on April Fool’s Day, others announced their pregnancy during a joke show.

      You smiled as you thought about it, finally finding a realistic-looking plastic baby underneath a spiky wig.

     “This’ll do,” you turned to Ian.

     “A poor substitute for the real thing,” Ian said, standing and grabbing your hand to pull you up with him.

     He placed a hand on your stomach and you laid your own hand atop his.

     “If our baby looked like this though, I’d be pretty creeped out.” You gestured to the doll in your hand.

     “Maybe if the baby inherits its looks from you” Ian teased. 

     You put your hands on your hips and Ian just laughed, leaning in to kiss you quickly.

     “Kidding.”

     Erin, who had just gotten done performing her bit, came backstage then. 

     She smiled at you. “You’re up. Should be pretty easy, though. They’re spitting like crazy today—no swallowers here.”

     Behind you, Ian chuckled. “Nice.”

     You smacked his arm. “You’re a child.”

     “Pretty sure that,” Ian pointed to the fake baby, “Is a child.”

     You rolled your eyes at him, putting the baby in between your legs, hiding it under the long dress you wore.

     “Ready?” Ian asked you.

     “I didn’t shove this baby up skirt for nothing,” you teased. 

     You walked out in front of the cast, six of them, all with water in their mouths already.

     Ian followed you.

     A couple of the cast members, seeing Ian in your bit, looked at each other in a way that said, Of course they’re doing a bit together, they can’t go three seconds apart from each other.

      You and Ian shared your own look, nodding at each other as you began your bit.

     “Wanna know the easiest way to get breast milk, free and legally?” Ian said, putting on an infomercial voice. “When you want that leche but you just can’t go to jail again?”

     This got a couple people immediately, Courtney and Anthony both spitting out their water.

     You let the baby drop out from between your legs.

     Keith spit out his water now, shouting, “It never gets old!”

     Now you and Ian both said. “Get pregnant!”

     Ian came to stand beside you. “I got my girlfriend pregnant, and now I never have to worry about where my milk’s coming from again. This doesn’t work with LaCroix, sorry Shayne.”

     Shayne lost it, laughing as he wiped the water from his mouth. 

     You stepped forward. “So get pregnant today. Call now, and with only four small payments a month, you can be pregnant too!”

     Ian added, speaking quickly, “Restrictions may apply. Does not include shipping and handling. Must be 18 years or older to order—so sorry Trevor, maybe next time.”

     Trevor spit, throwing up his arms in mock offense.

     “So what are you waiting for?” You continued. “Get pregnant, like me!”

     You and Ian ended in a cheesy pose and you looked up to find everyone spitting out their water. 

     “You guys are crazy!” Courtney shouted, clapping.

     “Ian, the breast milk again?” Anthony teased. 

     “I hate that baby,” Kieth said, laughing. “I hate it!”

     Ian looked to you. “Well, hopefully you hate the real thing a little less.”

     He grabbed your hand, and you linked your fingers with his. Ian leaned down and kissed your stomach. 

     Suddenly, Olivia, the last to laugh, spit out her water, a look of surprise on her face. 

     She gestured between you and Ian. “Wait are you guys serious?”

     Expressions of shock filled the room and everyone was momentarily silent. 

     “Guys!” Courtney shouted in anticipation. “Guys!”

     Shayne stood up, putting his hands behind his head. “No. No you guys are playing us.”

     “Wait,” Anthony looked between the two of you. “Wait are you—”

     You nodded to all of them. “We’re pregnant.”

     The room erupted into shouts of ‘oh my god!’ and ‘no way!’ and ‘wait they’re together?’—the last one was Trevor.

      It only lasted a moment before everyone was up and hugging you, congratulating you and Ian.

     “I can’t believe you guys just did that,” Anthony shook his head in disbelief. 

     You giggled. “We were waiting for the perfect moment—and I guess this was it.”

     “Well, congrats you guys,” Shayne said. 

     “You’re going to make such good parents,” Courtney nodded, turning their attention to Shayne. “And who knows, maybe we’re next.”

     Everyone laughed at the expression on Shayne’s face. 

     “Do you have any name ideas yet?” Olivia asked.

     “Not yet,” Ian said. “But I’m pulling for Ian Jr. if it’s a boy”

     “Maybe honey,” you said, patting Ian’s arm before turning to the others and shaking your head profusely.

     Kieth laughed. “So I guess Kieth is off the table?” 

     “Or Trevor?” Trevor put in. 

     “Or Olivia if it’s a girl?”

     “Well put those on the list,” you said. “Right after Ian Jr.”

     This got a laugh from everyone. You looked around at your friends at coworkers that surrounded you. You were glad everyone knew now, and could share in your happiness. 

     You grabbed Ian’s hand again, leaning into him. You had so much to look forward to together, and you couldn’t wait.

     “Can we rearrange the order?” You spun around to see Tommy peaking out from backstage, pretending to wipe a tear from under his eye. 

     “Because there’s no way I’m going after that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ i always love writing for ian and i hope y’all enjoyed this. check out my other ian fics if you enjoyed this—i think i have 5 now. mwah! 🎀

[joocomics]

Dinna, I'm here presenting to you preppy!jiseok, who's very cocky and has a corruption kink🤭 He absolutely loves it when you wear a short tennis skirt and a tight top, he looks at your ass when you walk by him after practice or something. You give him a look, and he knows what you want. All his friends want you, and they all want to take your virginity; they even made bets with each other. Jiseok took part in the bet too, but no one knew you were already dating him and you told him to take the bet so you both can rob his rich, posh friends from their money🤭 I say you'll fuck at his family beach house or something like that😌

money on my mind

pairing: preppy!jiseok x preppy fem!reader

genre: smut wc: 3.3k

contains: sub!reader, established (secret) relationship, enemies to lovers trope, forbidden romance trope? (nothing serious), light corruption kink, mentions of virginity, semi? public sex, pet names, (+ slut used once), fingering, oral sex (m!rec), multiple orgasms, overstimulation (f!rec), creampie, squirting, dirty talk, filming, jungsu cameo

a/n: you didn’t ask for this many words ok i’m sorry >< but no matter what i tried it just kept getting longer, because your idea IS SO GOOD. there’s no way i could just answer it with three sentences… no way. it’s jiseok, and the idea is genius. hope you enjoy it and sorry for the wait <3

Jiseok was your secret for a while.

He didn’t care about you being the daughter of the people his parents are rivals with, but you were hesitant about showing up in public as his girlfriend until wanting to be with him everywhere, all the time, clinging onto his arm, was the only thing you could think about.

And you found the perfect way to make it official in front of your friend group. None of them would’ve ever thought they’ll see the two of you together as something more than the two brats who always make faces of disgust when they are forced to sit next to each other.

“You should participate in the bet.”

“What—“

“The bet,” you repeat as your voice shakes. A moan slips from your tongue before you try continuing your thought with a distracted glance at Jiseok’s face. “Take it and win the money.”

He looks directly into your hazed eyes as his hips move against you slowly. The gentle gliding through your walls barely keep them open, and he sees the pretty fluttering of your curled lashes. Being in each other’s arms with bodies connected into one always makes the two of you look high; like you’re slowly losing grip on reality.

“Faster,” you plead in one quick breath before pressing your head back against the pillow.

“You’re cruel.” He grins before burying his mouth into your neck. “I like it… so hot, baby.” His speech turns more tense as you pulse with stronger vibrations around him. He doesn’t speed up though; he enjoys having you melt down underneath him. “I’m so fuckin’ in love with you, you know that, right?”

Your right hand gets lost in his blond hair, looking to tug on his dark roots so you don’t completely lose control over yourself.

“Make it worth it.”

Jiseok peers at you with a mischievous smirk that makes it clear he’s already looking forward to seeing his friends’ expressions after he claims his reward.

“Let’s pick up the pace, pretty girl,” he says, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“When did you get so big?” You lay eyes on the exposed bicep. “Are you working out, Jungsu?”You feel the firm muscles against your palm as you squeeze it gently.

His arms have earned a nice golden tan from the summer sun and the white fitted shirt looks really good on him; complimenting his broad figure even more.

“Yeah,” he smiles flustered so quickly that you almost missed the reaction. “I’ve been going to the gym more often these days.”

You notice the way his cheeks instantly earn a pinkish color from the unexpected attention, causing him to avoid your stare. He’s definitely going to bet double after this. That’s what you want after all, and you’re going to put in the work.

“I’ve been thinking of going too, but I can’t seem to motivate myself enough to do it.” You sigh with a fake pout, running your hand along his broad shoulders before positioning yourself in front of him with the goal to show off your legs. “Maybe we can go together? Some company will be nice, I don’t wanna be just by myself there.”

You can feel Jiseok lifting his gaze up from the ground. He’s behind you, sitting on the chair across from Jungsu with his tenis racket in hands, but the intensity of his stare is warm on your skin like the sun. His eyes skim your figure up and down, stopping right where your short pleated skirt ends as he concentrates on your conversation.

He’s determined to not miss a word.

“I’d like that.” Jungsu blinks up at you with a genuine curl of his lips and eyes partly closed from the bright sunlight.

“Cool.” You smile back, tilting your head in a flirtatious manner. “Gym buddies?”

“Gym buddies.” Jungsu gives you a high five, and you’re just about to add something when you hear the deep voice coming from behind your shoulder.

“I thought you shouldn’t put pressure on your ankle for at least a month or two more,” Jiseok calls out.

“Oh, it’s fine.” You lie nonchalantly after turning around. He fixates his gaze on your chest, dressed in a tight cropped top with no straps, and you know it’s because if he looks into your eyes the real emotions may slip out from his face. However, he seems just as tense while staring at your boobs. “The doctor said I can start working out again, I just need to be careful not to overdo it.”

Jiseok responds with a crooked smile watching you take a seat on the table. As you take out the novel you’re reading for your english class, Jungsu stands up, stretching his arms for the next round.

Jiseok grabs the tennis ball, and a sigh of relief calms his frustration, when he walks pass you and feels your fingers discreetly brushing his as he heads towards the tennis court of his parents house.

“Will this book ever get interesting?” Jiseok scoffs. “Jesus, I’m so bored…”

“Will you stop interrupting me only to complain?”

Not only are you doing him the favour of telling him all the important things he needs to know about the novel, and helping him out with the assignment, more than you should, but you also have to bare listening to him complain like he doesn’t have someone else doing his work for him.

“If you read to me naked, I will.”

You roll your eyes at the comment, but you don’t succeed at fighting back the urge to grin, as you bring back your attention on the open book in your hands. He’s blessed with the most enticing smile in the word, and it never fails to make your stomach swirl. It’s boyish, smug, but so attractive.

“If we weren’t dating…” Jiseok rests his head in his palm after turning on his side, “who else would have a real chance except me?”

“Jungsu is cute.” You reply calmly without looking away from the page.

“Cute?” Jiseok blinks confused. His face scrunches from your quick answer. “Since when do you like cute guys?”

“Why did you ask if you’re just gonna get jealous of my answer?”

“Is this why you’re gym buddies all of a sudden? Cause he’s cute?”

You close the book and put it aside with a deep sigh.

“It’s like you missed the whole point of this bet. I have to get their hopes up a little bit so they can bet more money, baby.”

“I know, I know…” Jiseok whines, turning on his back. His eyes gaze up at the tree which leaves move discreetly from the light breeze. “It’s just annoying having to listen to them talk about you… they really think they have a chance.”

You move closer to him, putting a hand over his chest.

“This means we’re winning.”

Jiseok takes your wrist and guides your hand to his lips, pressing them against your knuckles. A moment later, you sit on his lap and his palms go underneath your skirt; it’s like an automatic reaction and it makes you chuckle.

“I can be cute too.” He says.

“I don’t want that.” You reply quietly before leaning down. The minty scent of the gum he had in his mouth earlier invades your senses as you stare at his plump lips. “You didn’t win me over with a cute attitude.”

You both smile at each other, because it’s true. He’s always been a gentleman, but he never tried to impress you with cute compliments, princess treatment or anything like that… The way you challenged yourselves in class, the games of cat and mouse and the bickering in between pulled you closer till he couldn’t handle it anymore. After realising the hatred you feel towards each other, or more specifically the hatred you’re supposed to feel towards each other was actually lust, attraction, desperation to know each other in more ways than one, Jiseok came up to you and straight up told you he wants you. “Right here, right now,” he said. No pick up lines, nothing.

“But we hate each other,” you stated even though it didn’t sound believable, because it wasn’t true at all. You said it just because you couldn’t think of anything else that wouldn’t make you sound easy.

“I don’t believe it, do you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I actually think you’re good for me, Y/N.”

He fingered you in the library that day. It felt so inappropriate, so… filthy; but most importantly - exciting. Jiseok saw something shifting in you that day, and it made him realise that he was right about you. You had a secret filthy side that’s hiding behind that pure obedient smile of yours, and it was waiting for him to discover it; to make it his.

Two days later he fingered you in the restrooms, that’s when you returned the favour although he said you didn’t need to.

He ate you out in the dressing rooms before his basketball game, and days later he asked to sit next to you for your English lecture so he can sneak his hand under your skirt. He likes doing that to this day - sitting next to you when you’re out with friends and touching you under the table. He enjoys it, because nobody has to know you’re in a relationship especially your parents. Another thing he likes about this is how you let him do it despite this well known fact.

He took your virginity at his house when his parents were out of the country and you got the chance to wake up next to him for the first time.

“What do you want then?” Jiseok keeps shifting his gaze from your eyes to your lips. His hands, hidden from your skirt, are gripping your ass cheeks beneath it. “Tell me, doll.”

He presses his lips against yours into a soft kiss. Once, twice… You remain silent while the contact from his mouth floods your body with adrenaline. The only sound around you is from the nature of the park where you found yourselves a nice secluded spot.

“Why are you suddenly shy, baby?” He smirks after you break the kiss. “I already know how filthy you can be for me.”

As he speaks Jiseok’s one hand moves your panties to the side while the other pushes a finger inside your welcoming arousal. You moan into his mouth as he glides it through your tight walls.

“It’s why you wear these little skirts and tops, right? You let me get what I want whenever I want to…” His finger speeds up, and you hide your face into the crook of his neck. “You don’t really care who sees. You never did.”

“I think it’s time to end the bet.” Jiseok tosses his phone on the table between you and glances in your direction. “It’s been over two weeks now.”

“Hmm..” You’re lounging on the sunbed enjoying the sight of the calm beach as the sun is almost about to set meanwhile Jiseok is sitting on his, hunched over with a certain tense expression.

“It’s perfect.” He exclaims. “Not too late, not too early either.”

“Wouldn’t it look like I’m easy?”

“No, baby.” He disagrees immediately as he walks up to you. “It would look like I’m just too damn good at flirting which I am.” He sits on the edge, stroking your bare leg up and down. “I’m too hard to resist.”

“You’re getting all cocky, Kwak Jiseok.” You tease him with your foot ghosting over his crotch. His hand catches your ankle gently. “Not cute.”

“What do you say?” His eyes fixate on your contemplative expression. What’s there to think about so much? As you stay silent, just maintaining the eye contact with him, Jiseok feels his heartbeat quickening.

“If you insist.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He blurts right away.

You cannot help but laugh while peeling your back off the lounge.

“I’m just messing with you! God, your cheeks got all red.”

You cup his face, smiling at his cute frustrations, but he grips your wrists, speaking out in an even more serious voice.

“I’m putting an end to this, you hear me?”

You pull back to drag down the straps of your light summer dress which is enough of an answer to his words. Jiseok watches you with half parted lips, finally laying eyes on the new pair of Victoria’s Secret lingerie you got.

You’ve talked about this - that you’re going to film just a few minutes as a proof, - but you’ve never discussed how, when, where or which minutes exactly - the beginning, the middle or the end. You completely let Jiseok guide you, but he seems too excited right now. He moves quickly, and kisses you roughly as if he hasn’t done it in weeks. You try to catch up with his speed, but all you can do is gasp and moan at every next touch.

“You can’t stop me, doll.” His tone comes out more intense and raspy. “I’m done listening to them thirsting over your ass, goddamn it. It’s driving me crazy.”

His fingers are already pumping against your g-spot, spreading your wetness and causing even more.

“J-Ji… Jiseok, fuck—“

Your legs dangle in the air as his arm flexes, moving steadily in order to make you cum as soon as possible.

“Slow down,” you whisper in a rush, squeezing your eyes, but Jiseok is too immersed into the fact you’re becoming even tighter than a moment ago.

“C’mon, baby, when have you liked it slow?” He smirks and a second later he feels you clench intensely around his fingers. “Yeah, there you go.”

Your jaw drops in a silent scream as Jiseok thrusts few more times till your climax fades down. Your chest drops heavily as you pant from the overwhelming feeling, it came so quickly and suddenly.

You’ve never cummed so fast before.

Jiseok pulls out his fingers slowly, all coated with your essence and drags them up to your clit. It causes your flushed face to scrunch up again which makes your boyfriend smile. He gives you a light smack.

“You needed this, huh?”

“I did,” you say already feeling relaxed and slightly lightheaded. Jiseok sneaks his fingers through your lips, doubling the pressure in his shorts by making you clean them up with your tongue. “Don’t you need something too?” You ask when you’re done sucking his digits.

Jiseok stands up, getting rid of his clothes. His tanned fit figure positions itself in front of you after you get comfortable with knees planted on the lounge. He looks stunning in this setting with the beautiful sea behind him.

“You can film me.” You say before you lick the side of his cock.

“Not yet.”

That’s all he says, as he stays with eyes shut due to the pleasant rush that's spreading wildly in his veins from your lips wrapped around his tip. You twirl your tongue around his oozing shape, but a moment later Jiseok gets impatient and slides himself all the way in, holding your head steady.

“Fuck, baby…” He groans with his deep voice. He commands his hips to move back and forth a few times, pushing as further as possible into your throat before emptying your mouth. “Give me your wet pussy now.” His soaked cock smacks your cheek lightly as a sign to turn around.

You feel him entering with ease. The pleasure is familiar, but it never feels exactly the same as other times. Every time your bodies connect you get dizzy with even more intense delight; with even stronger lust that only grows your addiction to Jiseok.

His fingertips dig into your hips, threatening to leave marks as the pace of his thrusts increases. He found your sweet spot and he doesn’t plan on slowing down until the knot in your tummy snaps.

“Fuck, b-baby—“ you call out with your weak voice; it keeps shaking from the immense pleasure and Jiseok’s rough pounding. “… gonna c-cum…”

Here at his parents' empty beach house, you can scream as loud as you want, so you don’t force yourself to be quiet nor discreet. You let out a deep wail of emotion that towards the end becomes just a shaky whimper as Jiseok fucks you through your second orgasm. He groans at the same time as you while doing his best to endure the pressure in his cock.

You collapse on your back, squeezing your trembling thighs together, but your boyfriend quickly separates them.

“I want to fuck you all night long,” he utters before his mouth sucks on your neck that’s sticky from sweat and the breeze around you. His body weight settles on top of your chest as his cock shoves into you again, making you whine beneath him. “You feel so fuckin’ good…”

The soothing sound of the waves clashing together blends with your moans as the rush starts doubling inside your core again. You feel how all the energy you had disappears from your body leaving only the overwhelming thrill from his cock turning you more and more sensitive.

“C’mon, my pretty girl, give me more.” Jiseok grunts. “I know you can.”

“Jiseok—“ you begin to say something, but he rises up, placing his thumb on your clit.

“I’m not gonna film shit until you start squirting, baby.”

He reaches for his phone, but the device stays locked in his free hand as the other stimulates your bundle of nerves causing you to squirm with each rub.

“You can do this, doll, look how needy you are.” Jiseok’s voice sounds lower than before as your clenching grows stronger.

His hips are not moving at all. He’s standing steady on his knees, feeling his cock being gripped tightly by your warm walls. He’s trying so hard not to keep his focus on this, but it’s impossible. His fingers speed up on your clit, and he pants heavily while you on the other hand cry out desperately with your silhouette convulsing in front of him. However, Jiseok doesn’t see a flinch of yours, because he cums inside you, and his eyes close shut.

Your clenching during your climax was enough to get him off.

“Shit,” he sighs, meeting your hazy gaze. You look completely washed off, but you still manage to smile after feeling how he spilled all that he had.

Jiseok unlocks his phone and guides the camera at your cunt so he can film the way he pulls out of you. His white cum starts seeping out in a slow thick trail and he makes sure to catch that too.

He keeps the video going as he pushes two fingers inside your hole tempted to fuck his essence back into you. His cock is still too sensitive, and he wants to get one more orgasm out of you.

“One more, pretty doll,” he whispers while pumping his digits, “this pussy is doing so well for me, keep it up.”

The camera memorises all the lewd squelching you do; all the messy juices emerging out of you as Jiseok’s fingers furiously bump against your deepest spot. Each and every whimper that slips from your lips in addition to your boyfriend’s praises.

“… can’t—“ you choke in the middle of your hitched breaths. “J-Jiseok, I can’t.. can’t…”

“Don’t say that, baby,” Jiseok fakes a disappointing look while keeping up the pace. “C’mon, you’ve been acting like a slut so many times for me, don’t get shy now. Show them what I thought you.”

You don’t realise when it happens; you feel too high to recognise anything else except your own crazy heartbeat and the burning in your core that makes you feel like you’re going to explode any second.

Jiseok’s phone gets sprayed when you succumb to the pressure and let go. You don’t even have the energy to let out a proper moan, you just gasp as the juices make Jiseok’s arm wet along with the lounge chair and the camera that catches everything.

Now, all that’s left to do is to send the video to the group chat, and get your money.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise in advance for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[stellamancer]

hey lonely stranger (won't you meet my eye?) — reader x satoru gojo

notes: yes, hello, here it is, the infamous lonely stranger fic. i mentioned the idea a couple months back to @willowser i thought i'd write it after finishing shine on the sea, but as usual, where gojo is concerned i'm eating my words. title comes from this song. i apologize for me love of weeb music. anyway. i hope you enjoy.

contains: fem!reader (no pronouns, no physical description), typical annoying satoru gojo antics, the faintest hint of possessive/jealous gojo, unresolved romantic tension, allusions to canon typical violence

wc: 6.4k [ao3 link; account required]

There are a lot of places where you’d expect to run into Satoru Gojo.

A match-making party is most definitely not one of them.

First of all, why is he even here? You have no doubt that the world’s strongest sorcerer has much more important things to do than attend a match-making party. Not that he even needs to in the first place. Even without the status and the prestige that his family name brings, his looks alone are more than enough to get people to throw themselves at his feet. That being said, his personality is definitely off-putting enough to make some marriage candidates run the other way. So, who knows, maybe he does need help finding a spouse after all.

You grimace, watching in real time as some of the bolder participants make a beeline toward him, eager to mingle with objectively the most attractive man in the room before the event officially begins. Even from your spot across the hotel ballroom you can see him basking in all the attention. Maybe that’s the real reason why he’s here.

After all, there’s no one who owns the limelight like Satoru Gojo.

Even though it is nothing new to you, there’s something about watching all these people fawn over him that makes you sick to your stomach. You tell yourself it’s because they’re being fooled by him and his offensively handsome face and not because you’re upset that he’s here.

You were actually kind of looking forward to this match-making party, but now you’re annoyed and it's all Gojo’s fault. You’ll have to avoid him as much as you can. It shouldn’t be too hard later on when everyone is free to converse with whoever they want, but before that is the speed dating portion. It’s an unfortunate inevitability that you will have to sit across from Satoru Gojo for two minutes of the hour-long speed-dating session, but maybe you’ll be lucky and maybe he’ll be one of the last, if not the last person for you.

In hindsight, you feel like you should have known better than to hope that luck would have your back when it’s always, always favored Satoru Gojo.

At first, you think it's merciful, sparing you from having to deal with him first. It would have really sucked for you to go through all your speed-dates in a Gojo-induced bad mood. But as he comes closer and closer one two minute interval at a time, you start to wish that you'd started with him first, and just gotten it out of the way.

Despite the threat of Satoru Gojo looming over your head, you do your best to focus on the people who come to your table. Two minutes is not a lot of time at all. Some seem to realize that and try to squeeze as much talking as they can in that amount of time. Some are paralyzed by it; awkwardly floundering for the hundred twenty seconds given to them. There are a couple people that you manage to enjoy a nice, albeit short, conversation with. Despite that, you still find yourself sneaking glances in Gojo's direction, hyper aware of the dwindling number of people sitting between you.

The man sitting before you now, Tasuke Tomoda, you think his name is, leans in toward you and gestures for you to do the same. He's the last person separating you from Gojo and he's been pretty pleasant so far, so you do as he asks and move a little bit closer to him.

"So, uh, I've noticed that you keep looking over there." His voice is barely audible as he inclines his head just slightly in Gojo's direction. “At him.”

You inhale sharply. This guy is the first one who’s noticed, or, at least, the first who's decided to say anything about it. You feel a bit ashamed to have been caught, especially when you thought you’d been discreet.

Just as you’re about to offer an apology, Tomoda adds, “I’m not mad or anything. I mean… he’s quite the looker, isn’t he?”

Before you can stop it, you grimace and Tomoda catches it, his eyes widening in obvious surprise. “You don’t think so?”

You don’t need to think so; you know so— for as long as you have been unfortunate to know him, Satoru Gojo has taken great pleasure in flaunting his good looks whenever possible. You scowl and admit, your voice an annoyed sort of murmur, “His looks are fine, I guess, but his personality…”

You don't know where to begin and you don't know if you should.

Tomoda’s gaze flits toward Gojo and he moves even closer, whispering so quiet that nobody else can hear. “...yeah, he does kinda look like an asshole, doesn’t he?”

You reel backwards, laughing so loud that everyone else can hear. Embarrassment flashes throughout your entire body when you realize that both couples on either side of you have gone completely silent and four pairs of eyes are now on you and Tomoda. Oops. Immediately, the both of you bow your heads in unison to one couple, then the next (with you taking great care to not look at Gojo).

Once their conversations resume, you give Tomoda an apologetic smile. “Sorry ‘bout that."

"It's fine!" Tomoda gives you a good natured sort of chuckle. "I'm just glad to have gotten a laugh out of you."

You blink, confused. "Why?"

His cheeks turn a light shade of pink and you think it’s kind of cute. “Well, it’s just that I think—"

You lean in.

"—that you're really—"

The bell signifying to change partners echoes throughout the event hall, startling Tomoda out of whatever he was going to say.

Has it really been two minutes already?

Tomoda starts to rise to switch seats, but he looks conflicted, like he still wants to say his piece.

"Wait," you tell him and you're not sure if it's because you want to delay Gojo's inevitable arrival or because you actually want to know what Tomoda was going to say.

He stops, his mouth half open. Tomoda stares and you see the hesitation swimming in his eyes. It only lasts a second though and his mouth shuts as he makes his decision. He takes a deep breath and—

"Excuse me!"

Your stomach lurches at the sound of the playful voice you know far, far too well. Tomoda looks like his soul is about to leave his body rather than his words. Slowly, reluctantly, you both turn your heads to look at the interloper.

You’d tried not to pay too close attention to Gojo when he’d walked in, but with him practically in your face right now, your eyes can’t seem to help but be drawn in. It feels like he really went all out tonight. His suit fits him perfectly, accentuating his long legs and slender yet built figure. The colors compliment his pale, flawless skin, his snow white hair and his infamous sky blue eyes. Gojo’s entire look is completed with a pair of sunglasses, over which he’s peering down at you and Tomoda.

There’s something about the amused glow in those dumb eyes of his that manages to royally pisses you off. You scowl at him, but he ignores you, his expression unchanging as he directs his attention to Tomoda.

"It's my turn now, you know," Gojo points out and while his tone is friendly enough, both you and Tomoda can clearly hear what Gojo is actually saying.

Leave.

"Right! I'm really sorry about that!" Tomoda exclaims as he basically leaps out of his seat and scrambles over to the next table. His table mate stares— not just at Tomoda, but at you and Gojo as well. You can feel the pair on the other side staring too.

Fucking Gojo.

He is completely and unwholly unbothered as he plops down in the seat opposite you, a self-satisfying smile plastered to his face. Annoyed, you cross your arms over your chest and huff, “Did you really need to cause a scene?”

“Hey, you started it,” Gojo says with a chuckle. “Actually, I think you were so loud that everyone heard.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, throwing your most venomous glare in Gojo’s direction, hoping that, for once in his damn life he listens.

Naturally, he doesn’t.

“So, what’d that guy say that was so funny?” Gojo’s tone is casual, almost nonchalant as he leans in your direction. He reaches up with one hand to adjust his glasses, pulling them down just enough to reveal the shocking blue of his eyes staring you down.

You know he means to disarm you this way, to make you spill, but you manage to hold your ground. “Who knows? That’s between me and him.”

Gojo tilts his head to the side, still smiling as he responds. “Oh? You into that guy?”

“And if I was?” you ask, your words nearly a challenge. In all honesty, you don’t know if you can say if you’re into Tomoda or not. He’s certainly made the biggest impression out of everyone you’ve talked to so far and you wouldn’t be against hitting him up during the free talk section of the event. Who knows? Maybe you just need to talk to him a little more to find out.

“Hate to break it to you, but it’s not going to work out.”

“You don’t know that,” you shoot back, feeling defensive because Gojo doesn’t know. There’s no way he could. His stupid Six Eyes can see a lot of things, but the future is not one of them.

“I do actually,” Gojo responds simply. His voice is even, with none of his characteristic smugness woven in. That being said, you think you catch the meaning in his words and it angers you even more. Just because you’re a sorcerer that doesn’t mean your dating pool needs to be confined to the members of jujutsu society. You know a few sorcerers who have dated, and even married non-sorcerers.

“Wrong! You don’t know anything,” you insist viciously and if you were anywhere else you’d be just about ready to start throwing punches. You’ve never beaten Gojo in a fight (except maybe once, but you don’t count that because you know he threw that fight), but he’s always down to brawl with you.

“I happen to know plenty of things,” Gojo grins at you, pleased and you watch, in real time, as his delight turns devious. “Like I know that you were checkin’ me out earlier.”

Your entire body heats up and you’re not quite sure if it’s from rage or embarrassment. Another eyeful of the smirk on Gojo’s face is enough for you to decide that it must be rage. “I was not.”

“You so were,” Gojo teases, infuriatingly gleeful in his retort. “I totally get it, and it’s completely okay if you want to tell me how sexy I look tonight.”

“Hell no!” you almost yell, ignoring the growing heat in your stomach. Has it been two minutes yet? There’s no way that this clown’s time isn’t up yet. You glance at the big timer the event’s organizers have set up and… you still have half a minute with this fool.

It’s going to be the longest thirty seconds of your goddamn life.

“Come on,” Gojo nudges at you in that playful tone of his, seemingly determined to use every second he has to annoy you. “Don’t you want to tell me?”

“For someone as confident as you claim to be, you sure are desperate for validation,” you dead pan.

He ignores you. “Okay, okay, since you're feeling shy, I'll go ahead and say it: Satoru Gojo is the hottest guy here!"

You think you're going to hurl from all the second hand embarrassment. It's not like it's unnatural for Gojo to be so unashamedly confident but at an event like this you think it's probably a big no-no. "Gojo?"

“Yes?” He sounds chipper, like he thinks you’re going to compliment him after all, but when it comes to Gojo, you live to disappoint.

“Why the hell are you even here?” you ask in exasperation. Gojo has fifteen or so seconds left but you figure you might as well get something out of this exchange with him, “I doubt someone like you has a need to come to things like this, so why?”

A surprised look flashes across Gojo’s features, but he quickly conceals it behind a mischievous smirk. "You jealous?"

He punctuates his question with a wink and you roll your eyes. "As if.”

“Uh huh.”

Five seconds left. “Maybe the jealous one here is actually you.”

You don’t entirely mean it when you say it; you really intend to make one last dig at Gojo before he moves on to the next person. Plus, you don’t even really think it’ll affect him all that much, things like that never really do. At least, you’ll get the last word here.

Or that’s what you think. You should have known better.

Gojo flashes a smile at you and for a few seconds you completely forget what breathing is. You’re used to playful smiles and teasing smiles, but the look that he’s giving you right now is different somehow. There’s something about the curve of his lips, about the borderline gentle glimmer of his crystalline eyes that sets your heartbeat into a frenzy.

Just as you remember how to breathe, he speaks, stealing your breath away all over again, “Who knows. Maybe I am.”

The bell finally rings, telling you that your two minutes with Satoru Gojo are now over, but you barely even register it— your eyes fixed on the man before you.

Just like Tomoda, before him, Gojo lingers, and he looks almost a little pleased with himself. The familiar expression snaps you out of your stupor and you glower at him, shooing him away like he’s unwanted.

Like you don’t want him to stay.

Like you don’t want to ask him what in the world was all that about.

Because you don’t, you really don’t. There’s no need to, you tell yourself. It’s just another one of the whacky mind games Gojo likes to play with you.

But even as the next person sits down across from you, you can’t get the look on Gojo’s face out of your mind. Even as they introduce themselves, the only thing you hear are Gojo’s last words.

“Who knows. Maybe I am.”

That’s crazy talk. He had to be fucking with you because there��s no way. No way that Satoru Gojo, of all people, would feel jealous.

Even though you know that, you can’t get what he said out of your mind and before you know it, the speed dating section of the match-making event is over and you don’t remember a damn thing about anyone who came after Gojo.

You’re annoyed. You’re so fucking annoyed that you wasted so much damn time thinking about that stupid blue eyed bastard, but it’s fine. It’s completely and totally fine, because you still have the free talk session. If you’re lucky, one of the people who came to you after Gojo will be interested enough to come chat you up and give you the chance to make up for the fact you had temporarily lost your mind thanks to one Satoru Gojo.

And if you’re unlucky… Well, you’re confident in the thought that it should be fine to seek out Tomoda. In fact, you decide to do that first. Better to just go for it than wait around. You survey the ballroom that you’re all in and you catch sight of the man off to the side, looking around somewhat shyly.

Is he looking for you?

You don’t want to get ahead of yourself, but it’s a nice thought. Nice, but… You shake your head; you don’t want to think about him right now. Before the traitorous thoughts can sneak back into your mind, you march over to where Tomoda is standing, tightly gripping the cards in your hand. At the beginning of the event, the staff had handed these cards out, instructing everyone to fill them out so that you could easily exchange contact information with anyone who caught your interest. And since Tomoda’s the only one who qualifies, it’s only natural that you give him one.

A relieved smile spreads across his features when he notices you and it makes you think that he really was looking for you after all.

You offer him a small smile of your own. “Hey.”

“Hi!” he squeaks and his expression turns a little sheepish.

You tilt your head in confusion. "What's up?"

"Just… a little surprised that you came to find me.”

"Huh? Why?"

Tomoda frowns, looking conflicted and, finally, he answers in a slow voice. "Well, that really handsome looking asshole seemed like he was really into you."

You blink.

Huh.

Huh?

Huh!?

You nearly double over in laughter. No offense to Tomoda but the thought is just flat out ridiculous. Satoru Gojo is into you? No way. Absolutely no way in hell. Not in a thousand, no, a million years would Gojo seriously—

"Who knows. Maybe I am."

Suddenly, your mouth is dry, your laughter dying in your throat as Gojo's words echo in your head yet again. There's no way he was serious then, right? He only said that to mess with you, to get the last word in, because there's no way, definitely no way…

You take a deep breath to compose yourself. Tomoda is still there and you're grateful that he hasn’t walked away thinking that you’re completely out of your mind. You take another breath, just in case, before you attempt to say anything. "What makes you think that?"

"Other than the obvious?" Tomoda asks, his tone a touch dry, and you frown, remembering how Gojo had made a scene earlier.

"...yes," you finally grumble when you realize that Tomoda is actually looking for an answer. "Other than that."

For some unknown reason, he seems hesitant to say anything further, but you gesture at him, urging him to speak. "Well, he… I noticed that he kept looking over at you after his turn.”

"That's because—" you start but then stop short when you realize that you actually have no answer. Your brain goes into overdrive trying to think of some kind of explanation, some kind of reason as to why Gojo would possibly…

"Who knows. Maybe I am."

The words are louder now. Almost deafening.

Still, you try to block them out.

"That's because he said something before we switched," you say desperately, like you’re grasping at straws. "I think he was just trying to fuck with me for the hell of it and, I don't know, maybe he kept looking to see how good of a job he did?"

Your lame explanation doesn’t seem to convince Tomoda. It doesn’t really convince you either. You rifle through your thoughts, trying to find some other possible reason, but everything you find seems to support Tomoda’s claim that, somehow, some way, Satoru Gojo is into you.

Tomoda looks like he’s trying to figure it out too, his expression contemplative. "...do you mind if I ask you a question?”

"...go ahead, shoot."

"You two knew each other before this, right?”

"Unfortunately," you admit begrudgingly. "But I didn't know he'd be here tonight."

Tomoda hums and nods his head slowly as he takes your words into consideration. He pauses, and then starts nodding again, quicker this time and you wonder if he’s figured something out. His expression shifts and you recognize this look; it’s the same as earlier when he was leaving your table. There’s something he wants to say, but he’s not sure if he should.

You have the distinct feeling that you're not going to like whatever it is, but still you push him to say it all the same. "What is it?"

Tomoda stares at you. Given the fact that this is a match-making event, you would expect some level of agitation or annoyance on his part, but the only thing you see in his bright, kind eyes is a curious glint. "Are you into that guy?”

No.

That's what you expect to say because that’s what you always say, but when your lips part to answer Tomoda's seemingly innocuous question nothing comes out. Yet the word remains there, stuck to the tip of your tongue and you don't understand why.

Maybe it’s the earnest look in Tomoda’s eyes or the strange and irritating feeling that’s been lurking in your chest ever since Gojo spoke to you earlier, but something, something is holding your denial at bay. More than that, it’s bidding you to actually be honest with yourself.

Because deep down you know the answer, and, worse than that, you know it isn’t no.

The truth fills your mouth, the shape of it uncomfortable and heavy in your jaw. It’s almost too much to handle, to keep in; one slip of the tongue and you’ll end up spilling it everywhere. If that happens— when that happens, you won’t be able to take it back.

When that happens, you won’t be able to deny Satoru Gojo any more.

And truthfully, the thought of it frightens you. That’s why you’ve kept your feelings buried deep inside you. That’s why you’re here at this match-making event, seeking a love that doesn’t scare you shitless. That’s why you keep denying Satoru Gojo’s presence in your heart.

Are you into him? Do you have feelings for him? Do you love him? You think the more important question here is are you truly prepared to answer these questions? Are you honestly ready to confront the feelings you’ve kept deep in your heart and the reality that comes with that?

When it comes down to it… you’re not.

Not here and not now.

You clamp your jaw down and forcefully swallow your feelings, condemning them back to the confines of your heart. They settle there, still uncomfortable, still heavy, but you’ll deal with them later, when they are not threatening to free themselves from the cage of your mouth.

Decision made, you look Tomoda in the eye and declare, “No, I’m not.”

He stares back at you and you can tell that he doesn’t believe you. Not one bit. But if anything, you are stubborn, persistent even. You swing one arm toward him, thrusting one of your contact cards in his direction as an offering, a prayer that, even for just a little bit, he’ll indulge your delusions.

Tomoda looks conflicted, like he’s biting his tongue and his gaze flickers between the card and your face. Finally, it stops on your face. His eyebrows furrow together in what is clearly concern, “Listen, you don’t—”

He stops short when you throw up your other arm, presenting the rest of your contact cards to him. You mean to send a message in the gesture, though honestly, at this point it’s probably futile. Still, you have to try.

Tomoda’s eyes ease down to the three cards fanned out before him, but he makes no move to take any of them. Instead, he sighs, clearly sympathetic when he looks at you directly. You see yourself reflected in his eyes and you look more desperate than determined.

Once again, he opens his mouth to speak, but this time you beat him to the punch, and you plead, “Please.”

Tomoda doesn’t move.

“Please,” you insist.

He continues to hold your gaze before, eventually, his shoulders slump, a clear sign that he’s given into you. You smile wryly; this man is truly too kind for his own good. Hopefully, he lives a long, happy life, free from the curses that plague your day-to-day life.

“...it’s not going to work out.”

Gojo’s voice echoes in your head once more, almost mocking you, and your hands waver just a tiny bit. You didn’t need him to tell you because deep down you already knew. It’s still annoying, but you manage to keep the disdain off your face for Tomoda’s sake.

Besides, it doesn’t mean that you can’t be friends. You think that, at least, that much should be fine.

Having finally given into your demands, Tomoda starts to reach for your cards. Just as he’s about to grasp them, another hand, pale with long, slender fingers shoots out and swipes all three cards from your grasp. Your head whips up to look at the interloper and, of course, who else do you find but Satoru Gojo, his trademark grin plastered to his face.

“I’ll be taking these,” he announces casually, slipping your cards into his shirt pocket.

You gape wordlessly at him and he continues to smile at you like some sort of angelic devil. Then, as swiftly as he appeared, he turns on his heel and walks off into the crowd.

Slowly, you turn to look back at Tomoda, who turns to look at you. He seems as stunned as you feel, but you think he recovers first. The man gives you a gentle smile and you think that he truly deserves the world— a world you can’t and could never give him.

“You want to go after him, don’t you?” he asks. You can’t even begin to comprehend why, but he sounds almost amused. Is whatever’s going on between you and Gojo entertaining or something?

Scowling, you answer, “If only to beat his stupid handsome face in.”

This time you’re the one who’s made Tomoda laugh and it alleviates your annoyance just a bit. “Go on, then, I’ll be cheering for you.”

“It’s not like that,” you say automatically.

“If you say so.”

You sigh, ready to follow after that damn idiot, but before you do, you bow in Tomoda’s direction and tell him, earnestly, “I’m really sorry.”

He chuckles again and gestures for you to go. “Get going then, you don’t want to lose him.”

You feel like there’s some kind of double meaning in his words, but he’s right; if you linger too long you might not be able to catch up to Gojo. For good measure, you bow once more before taking your leave.

It’s lucky that Gojo is so damn tall— you spot him almost immediately, at the entrance to the ballroom. You trail after him, expertly weaving through everyone else in the room, but by the time you reach the ballroom doors he’s already gone.

Damn that man and his long legs.

“Excuse me.”

You turn to face whoever is speaking to you, actually hoping that it’s not a potential suitor. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, it’s one of the event staff.

“Yes?” you answer carefully, praying that they’re not about to reprimand you for the outburst you had earlier.

“If you’re looking for that handsome gentleman, he headed that way,” the staff member informs you, pointing down the hallway. At the other end you see a large sign indicating the hotel’s garden is in that direction. It’s a weird place for Gojo to go, but then again he’s just like that sometimes. Grateful, you bow to thank the event staffer before heading in the direction they indicated.

When you walk out into the garden, it feels almost as if you’ve been transported to another world entirely. The night air is cool on your face, and the loud chatter of the ballroom is completely gone, replaced with the gentle sound of running water. Maybe there’s some sort of fountain nearby. Looking around, you step further into the garden. You’re surrounded by a canopy of trees, their branches adorn with fairy lights that illuminate the area in a soft, warm glow. You remember reading that this hotel is a popular wedding venue and you wonder if this garden is where they hold the ceremonies. It would make sense, but it appears that no one is getting married here tonight.

There’s no sign of Gojo though.

The garden is pretty big, so you keep searching. As you walk, the sound of water grows louder and soon enough you find yourself at what has to be the center of the garden. Your entire body stills, your jaw nearly dropping as you take in the sight before you. The fountain you had speculated about turns out to be much, much larger than you thought. It’s really more like a stone pool than a fountain. It’s surrounded by decorative stone structures, which seem to be fountains themselves, feeding water into the pool. Finally, you take a step closer, and you notice the fountain is illuminated, giving the water a soft, ethereal glow. Running through the center of the pool, bisecting it, is a disjointed stone pathway, the steps spaced enough to reveal the water beneath, but close enough to prevent a bridal train or anyone paying attention to where they’re stepping from taking an unwanted dip.

At the end of the pathway is a small landing, a small, square island in the middle of the pool. The edges are decorated in flowers and decorative stone lanterns. It’s picturesque and you think that this must be where people exchange their vows and promises of everlasting love.

It’s here where you find Satoru Gojo.

His back is to you, and you could, if you wanted, turn back around and leave him here.

But you don’t.

You make your way toward him, carefully stepping onto the stone pathway as if you might slip or sink into the water beneath. When you’re sure of your footing you take a step forward, then another, and another. Just as you’re about to make it to the landing, Gojo turns around to face you. He smiles, and your entire body goes still at the sight. The look on his face is far softer, far sweeter than you’re used to. If you were crazy, you’d go so far as to say that it looks almost loving.

He takes a step toward you, and then another and another. With each step he takes, your heartbeat grows louder and more erratic, the sound of it filling your ears. Your eyes are fixed on Gojo as he approaches and you wonder if his infinity is up because it almost feels like the closer he gets the slower he goes.

But eventually, he does reach you.

Gojo looks down at you and you can see that amused sparkle in his eyes as he says, “Look who decided to join me tonight.”

The sound of his voice frees you from your daze and you glare at him. “Cut the crap, Gojo.”

His lips curve, forming an expression you’re more familiar with, one you’re used to wrangling. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb; it’s not cute,” you hiss, earning you the smallest pout from him. You ignore it. “Why’d you take my cards earlier?”

“I—” he begins, enunciating dramatically, “was saving you from a world of heartbreak.”

“Were you?” you ask, your voice less of a challenge than it was before.You can tell Gojo notices from the shift in his expression.

He doesn’t say anything about it though, and he continues, his voice dropping to something more somber, more serious. “It wouldn’t work out.”

You look into his eyes, staring at the endless sparkling blue sky within them and consider arguing with him, disagreeing with him because it’s like second nature to you.

But you decide not to.

Instead, you look away as you admit, “I know.”

Gojo doesn’t laugh or gloat and it makes you wonder if your confession surprises him. You don’t check though, and continue speaking, your voice low, “Tomoda's a nice guy. He deserves a happy, normal love and that's… not something I can promise him."

For as long as you are a jujutsu sorcerer, your life will always be in danger. Every mission carries not only the risk of death, but the chance that you won't even make it home in a body bag. The stress of that, the fear of it, isn't something you can carelessly give to someone else, especially not someone you’d want to spend the rest of your life with. You’d like to think it’d be different with another jujutsu sorcerer, someone who knows the reality of the world you’re part of, but even then you have your doubts.

"So," Gojo's voice is strangely quiet and you notice there's something, some emotion you don't recognize saturating his tone, "you into that guy?"

You sigh as you answer, honestly this time, "No. I'm not."

Gojo doesn't say anything in response— no wiseass quip, no pompous remark, nothing. You don't mind, but it's very odd for him to be silent.

Naturally, it doesn't last for long.

"You know," he drawls, his tone suddenly playful. "Even though I was obviously the hottest person in the room, you looked pretty good yourself."

It feels like all the air has been knocked out of you. The compliment, on its own, is strange because you can't even remember the last time Gojo complimented you, if he ever has, but more than that, where in the world did that come from? You know Gojo has a penchant for unpredictable behavior, but this is something else.

In your shock, you turn to face him, and you realize that the compliment was just the tip of the iceberg. He's leaning down, his gaze fixed on you, the blue glow of his eyes wiping the knowledge of how to breathe from your mind. His palm ghosts over your cheek, and though he's not touching you, you can still feel the warmth emanating off it. You are hyper aware of him coming closer, his face, his lips approaching yours.

No, no, no.

It has to be some illusion, some trick of the mind, because there's no way that Satoru Gojo actually wants to—

Bewildered, you take a step back and your foot manages to wedge itself in one of the gaps of the stone pathway. You wobble, thrown entirely off balance. Seconds later, you're falling sideways straight into the water.

Gojo stares down at you, actually looking shocked for once and you wish you had your phone out to take a picture. It doesn't take long for him to get over it and he starts to laugh uncontrollably.

You glare at him like a drenched cat and raise your hand to splash at him. Weirdly enough, he lets the water hit him, his infinity remaining inactive.

"Don't laugh!" you snap at him.

Of course, he keeps laughing.

You try to lift yourself out of the water, but the river stones beneath you are too slippery for you to get a good grip. If you reposition yourself you think you could do it, but if you do your clothes will be completely drenched and that's the last thing you want right now.

With an exasperated sigh, you ask, "Gojo, will you please help me?"

He snickers, "Wow. Didn't think you'd actually ask."

You glare at him.

"Okay, okay," he steps toward you and outstretches one of his hands for you to take. For once, you don't hesitate to take it and Gojo pulls you from the water with ease, but you think that maybe he uses a little too much force as you collide with the expanse of his chest.

This is too close! You try to take another step back, but Gojo is faster, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from moving.

"Careful," he warns and you think he's teasing you. Is it just you, or is his voice just a touch deeper than normal? Regardless, the sound manages to scramble your thoughts a little. "Or you'll end up taking another dip."

"...right," you mumble, trying to straighten your thoughts. "Thanks."

You think Gojo will let you go.

But he doesn't, and the two of you remain there, pressed close. You're sure the wetness of your clothes is spreading to his, slowly messing up that expensive suit of his. Gojo doesn't seem to care though, but maybe that's because it's just water.

"...you could do it, if you wanted," Gojo's voice is barely audible.

"Huh?"

When he speaks again, it's louder this time, "Give someone a normal, happy love. It's not like you're completely broken or anything like that."

You blink, confused. What is he talking about? Then it clicks and you explain, "That's not it."

Now it seems like Gojo’s confused for once. "Huh?"

"I meant… he’s a non-sorcerer, so…" you trail off, not wanting to explain. Gojo should be able to catch your drift.

He does. “Right, right. It’d suck for your non-sorcerer boyfriend if you were to just suddenly die a terrible and horrific death, huh.”

A little too well. “I think it’d suck for my sorcerer boyfriend too, if I had one.”

“That’s probably true, but if your boyfriend was a sorcerer, then maybe you’d die cruel and unusual deaths together. That’s romantic, isn’t it?”

“Actually, I think it’s kind of morbid.”

You think you feel Gojo’s arms shift, as if his grip is tightening ever so slightly around you. But then he starts to laugh and you figure it must have just been your imagination. You don’t really get why he’s laughing, though.

"What's so funny?" You ask when his laughter finally dies down.

"Nothing!"

You sigh. Should have known better than to think he’d give you a straight answer.

Gojo finally steps away from you, taking the warmth of his body with him and you dismally realize that you rather enjoyed him being so close. Desperately, you try to tell yourself that it’s because with him gone you’re remembering how cold and wet your clothes are right now and not for any other reason.

It's going to suck going all the way home like this.

You hear the sound of rustling cloth and as you look up you catch Gojo draping his giant blazer over your shoulders. It's warm and before you realize what you're doing you're tugging it closer around you, the scent of Gojo's cologne filling your nostrils. It’s nice you think, definitely expensive, but nice.

He stares at you, the expression on his face the strangest one yet.

"What?" you ask.

Gojo merely shakes his head again and it's obvious he plans to keep this to himself too. "Come on, let's go. Can't have you catching a cold now, hm?"

He grabs you by the wrist and starts to pull you toward the garden exit. And, maybe you're imagining it, but you think you might see the palest shade pink dusting the tips of his ears.

extra scene can be found here. :3c

[cranberrv]

so high school

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which you run into your high-school sweetheart, darrel curtis.

( a/n : this isn’t my best work but not every piece has to be my fave! hope u cuties enjoy nonetheless, sorry i have no idea how to write darry )

his brown eyes met yours from across the classroom for the first time since grade 12.

your heart sank. you thought darry would’ve left by now, started his career as a successful football player or something even better, but he was standing in your classroom, still in tulsa.

your entire teenage years flash before your eyes — running on the field to kiss the quarterback, playing kiss marry kill, driving to parties, meeting his family. he looked the same.

darry’s eyes widen as he sees you. he elbows ponyboy. “you did not tell me that y/n l/n was your geography teacher.” he whispers.

“you’d of freaked if i had told you, man,” ponyboy whispers back.

tonight was parent-teacher interviews. one of your best students was ponyboy curtis, little brother of your high-school sweetheart. they were greasers, and you were a soc, but that never stopped you from going over to their house everyday, back when you were bittersweet 16.

“darry curtis,” you say softly, smiling gently. “long time no see.”

he avoids your gaze, his cheeks glowing pink. “yeah, nice to see you, y/n.”

“feel free to take a seat,” you offer, and they sit in front of your desk.

you begin talking about ponyboy — his incredible grades, your insistence on him participating more, assuring darry that ponyboy has a high chance of getting into a good post-secondary school.

you look at darry again. you have to address the elephant in the room — it would be weird not to. “this is weird, isn’t it?” you ask, voice soft. “i mean, we met in this school, and now i’m teaching your younger brother.”

“yeah, i guess so,” he agrees. “i honestly thought you would’ve left this dump by now, you always talked about wanting to move to new york city or toronto or somethin’.”

“yeah, plans changed.” you shrug. “i thought you would’ve moved by now, too.”

“plans changed,” he repeats, quoting you. you smile at him.

“what have you been up to since high school?” you ask him. “still play football?”

“i roof houses.” he answers. “but yeah, sometimes i fool around with football. not as much, though.”

“you were good,” you compliment.

“thanks,” he answers. he is never this awkward, what is happening? “you still into reading and history and stuff?”

“yeah,” you answer. “i mean, ponyboy can tell you, i never shut up about it when i’m teaching. always got a new book to talk about.”

and there we go. the conversation is back to ponyboy. “oh, that’s nice. pony only talks good about you. just never pieced together that it was you.”

“yeah, well, guess you thought i would’ve been gone by now.”

“guess so,” he agrees. “glad you’re not.”

you smile at him.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

the following weeks, you’d notice ponyboy talking to you a bit more whenever he could in class, talking to you about darry. and when you walked into the DX, sodapop asked if you were “darry’s chick,” and you had no idea how to respond.

flowers started blooming at the local park in your neighbourhood, so you decided to take a walk and pick some to decorate your classroom and decorate them for spring.

everything reminded you of him — you walked past a small punch of pink tulips. he got you tulips for your grade 11 semi-formal. he got them for a discount at the gas station, it was all he could afford. they were beautiful.

while you were walking, you spotted a gang of greasers. darry was with them, he was the tallest and stuck out like a sore thumb among the pink and yellow flowers and blossoming trees.

sodapop and ponyboy spotted you instantly, catching your eye and then telling the rest of the gang that you were here. they all excitedly started pressuring darry to go talk to you. you overheard the giggles and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

darry walked up to you after a few moments of resistance. you looked stunning — your hair gently waving in the warm breeze, a handful of wildflowers in your grasp. and you were smiling at him!

“hi darry,” you greet. he starts walking beside you, leaving his friends behind.

“hey, y/n,” he says. his voice is deeper than it was when you knew him. “it was real nice seein’ you at ponyboy’s parent-teacher thing.”

you agree, and then he speaks again. “i just, uh, wanted to talk to you about something.”

“what about?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“okay, so i know we dated back in high school and stuff,” he starts. “it was real fun. we had some good times.”

“yeah, we did.” you agree.

“do you want to try again?” he asks you. his muscular body and his intimidating looks would be nothing if you heard how he was speaking now. it felt wholesome, shy, like how he asked you out in high school.

you take a second to think. you remember how you felt when he took another girl to prom 3 weeks after you broke up, you remember how that hurt you and how you wanted to kill him. but you remember watching shows with him on saturday nights, you remember kissing in the backseat, you remember his mom, mrs. curtis, kissing you on the cheek the first time you met her. you remember cheering when he got a touchdown, you remember him kissing tears off your face when he got hurt in a rumble. you remember the good and the bad. and when you look back up at him, you feel so high school.

“yeah,” you say softly. “i would love that, darry.”

[astridthevalkyrie]

your match is made | xavier x reader

“I know,” he continues, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “that the people in our classes, the nobles, the folks in the marketplace, they all hold me in high regard.” “Xavier,” you try to argue weakly, already feeling your heartbeat speed up from where this conversation is going. The thought of losing him, of losing your best friend, your prince, your everything, it is paralyzing. “Please don’t—” “I know that my weapon of choice is a longsword.” “Stop,” you whisper. But he doesn’t, and he looks directly into your eyes with an open, honest sincerity written all over his face. Like this is his truth, even though it is yours. “And I know that you have known me all your life, and I feel that I have known you for even longer than that.”

cw: fluff, like that's it that's literally it this is so fluffy

word count: 6.6k

a/n: lyric credits used in this fic: téir abhaile riú by celtic woman <- fire song btw, listen to bless your ears, it also sets the vibe of this fic very nicely tbh. jeremiah's my favorite boyfailure.

Lanterns hang from every available line in and around the town square, brightening any block lucky enough to fall under its horizon. In every corner and roadblock, there are carts littering the streets, dozens upon dozens of merchants calling out their best prices on their finest goods, all the way from fabrics stitched by the very same threads used for the royals’ robes, to common sweet chocolates that all the teenagers are purchasing in bulk to share with their friends and younger siblings. There is room to move around, but there is not a single area that is not bustling with people, either trying to purchase steamed corn from the stalls or simply enjoying the festivities with their families. And in the center of it all, the bards play with such finesse that their fingers may as well be the source of the music rather than the instruments. 

Such is the celebration of lights, a celebration of the light. Of Philos, of this miracle that humanity has been gifted with. Every year without fail, the people gather in the town square to commemorate this historic occasion, and every year without fail, it is the grandest jamboree you have ever bore witness to.

“C’mon, Xavier,” Jeremiah protests out loud, “what would be the point of having the crown prince with us if he refuses to pay for our meals?”

Xavier simply shakes his head, the serene smile never leaving his face as he denies Jeremiah for the third time tonight—he clearly derives great pleasure from doing it. “I’d hate to rob you of the chance to participate in Philos’ market tonight of all nights.”

Jeremiah groans at his right, and from Xavier’s left, you giggle. It’s the same routine every single year, and at every occasion to be honest, and yet Jeremiah never stops trying to emphasize the difference in his wealth versus the royal family’s. Xavier, who you think would give his last dime to an ant if it looked hungry enough, looks like he loves refusing Jeremiah more than participating in any one of the activities tonight. 

The spicy aroma of rice cakes fills your senses then, and you let out a longing sigh as you look to the stall decorated with steaming bowls on all sides. “I’m starting to get hungry too, now.”

Both of them follow your gaze, where the vendor is hurriedly turning this way and that to discuss prices and accept payments, while three of his chefs work in the back, delivering more as the demand increases. Xavier hums quietly, then takes out a small black pouch from his pocket.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to eat.” He holds out the bag for you to take, but before you can, Jeremiah scoffs, loudly.

“Oh, that’s sick.” He points an accusing finger at the prince. “That’s sick! If you keep playing favorites, you’re going to get betrayed when you take the throne, I hope you know. I swear I’m going to lead a revolution against you myself.”

“Do you really think my grandis knight would ever let you harm me?” Xavier shoots back, and you beam as Jeremiah rolls his eyes, snatching the pouch straight out of his fingers.

“I’ll take this, and I’m going to get two”—he holds up two fingers for emphasis—”two bowls, and I’m not sharing. Your grandis knight can split her portion with you.” With that, he stomps off in a huff, leaving Xavier with his head tilted and a confused expression on his face.

“I don’t understand. There should be enough coins for three bowls.”

“He’ll get you a bowl.” You raise your voice enough for Jeremiah to hear as he walks. “He’s very grateful that you offered your money, isn’t that right, Jermy?”

Jeremiah makes a rude gesture without even turning back to face you, and you laugh, grabbing Xavier’s wrist to follow him. If it were any other member of the royal family, they’d be getting swarmed right about now, and would likely require at least ten guards to stand around them at all times to ward people off. That is how the king and queen sit, a few blocks away from the main festival, up on a platform elevated high enough that no one could think to climb it, with Lightseekers both in front of them and on the ground, safe and observing the celebration from a distance. Philos’ crown prince is different. Xavier is out in the town with the common folk so frequently that he’s almost lost all the celebrity status his title comes with. Of course, that makes him popular in an entirely different way. The people in the market always seem happy that someone of such high status would lower himself enough to walk and talk amongst them.

His hand slips lower as the two of you go after Jeremiah, warm fingers intertwining with yours. You think little of it, reckoning he doesn’t want to get separated with so many people around. Xavier isn’t one to shy away from touch, at any rate. Once you spar with someone enough, it’s only natural to become physically comfortable with one another. He places his hands on your shoulders when he wants to guide you somewhere, bandages your cuts with his own calloused palms, presses his lips to your forehead to check whether you’re sick or not. In the face of all that, him holding your hand while running through a bustling crowd is hardly surprising.

Jeremiah is waving the pouch in the air hopelessly, trying to be noticed amongst the rest, when the vendor spots the two of you. “Xavier!” he calls happily. “Good timing, I have a fresh bowl ready just for you!”

“Unbelievable,” your chestnut-haired friend mutters under his breath, elbowing you as you laugh at his misfortune. Xavier steps closer, and you see him hold up two fingers to ask for more. When he points over, you wave to the vendor, who waves back before calling out instructions over his shoulder. In almost an instant, he has three steaming bowls filled with rice cakes ready for you to take. Your mouth almost waters at the sight. 

Xavier picks up one of them to offer to you, which you take gratefully. Taking a few steps to the side to avoid crashing into anyone, the three of you find a relatively less crowded place to dig in. 

Before you can take a heaping sip from the spoon, he gently takes your wrist and blows on the hot broth, meeting your eyes with a soft, concerned look. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” you remind him teasingly, but blow some air of your own onto the spoon before finally digging in. As the flavors explode inside your palate, you hold back a moan at how good it tastes.

“Miss Knight!” a high-pitched voice calls out, and you turn in time to see a tiny pink blur moving past people’s legs. 

“Adelaide!” You hand your bowl to Jeremiah, who passes it to Xavier without even blinking, and kneel down to catch the blur in your arms. “Look at you, you look so pretty! I love your dress!”

The little girl’s eyes light up at the compliment. “Thank you! Miss Knight,” she bounces up and down eagerly, “I made something for you!” In her hands, she holds out a product of one of the several craft stalls set up for the children during the festival, a simple but elegant flower crown that she holds out like a grand prize. And from how your heart melts, it may as well be. 

“Oh, how beautiful. Thank you so much. Would you put it on for me?” You tilt your head down, and she places it on with all the care a child of six years would have. You know you’ll have a difficult time getting it out in a while after the flowers tangle with your hair, but you don’t mind at all. Adelaide is your favorite person to visit whenever the three of you come to town, the daughter of the seamstress who makes your uniforms, and you’d do anything to see her smile the way she is now.

“You look like a princess,” she says in awe. Your cheeks warm, and you stand up, gesturing to the other two.

“Speaking of which, you remember Xavier and Jeremiah, don’t you?”

Her small hands grip your dress robes as she hides behind your legs, peeking out at them. Xavier, with both his hands occupied holding your bowl and his own, merely smiles encouragingly at her, while Jeremiah waves. “Hiya, Adelaide. Your dress looks awesome!”

From the corner of your eye, you see her face turn bright red, and right as you’re about to coo inwardly about her adorable little crush, you hear someone calling her name. All your heads turn, as an older blonde boy, out of breath, almost pushes past people in his rush to run to her. 

“I told you not to run off like that! You could get lost—oh.” He stops short when he sees you, blinking as the color returns to his cheeks after his run. “H-hi there.”

“Hi, Neville.” You smile at Adelaide’s older brother, who’s almost always around when you visit. “Enjoying the celebration?”

“Definitely—I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you, I was helping Mother with her stall, a-and I didn’t know your master would give you the night off.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. And the grandis knight is at the king’s side, he could hardly stay to train me on such an important night.”

“Right.” He stands with his hands on Adelaide’s shoulders, only staring, seemingly forgetting why he’s there in the first place. For a few moments, no words are said at all.

Right when you’re about to cough awkwardly, he snaps back to attention. “Um, would you like to dance?”

“She can’t,” Xavier says immediately, almost making you jump. He’s almost right behind you, looming over your shoulder and staring Neville straight in the eyes with an expression you’ve never seen on him before. 

“Xavier!” The blonde bows clumsily (and unnecessarily) before straightening up, an unspoken question in his eyes. He looks between you and Xavier, and while you hadn’t been planning to agree to his request in the first place, you look at Xavier curiously as well. He’s never before dictated what you do during the celebration, whether you’re with him and Jeremiah or with some of the others in your class. 

“She can’t,” he says again, a bit more softly, “she can’t, because…” He takes one glance at you, then down at the two bowls in his hand, then looks back up. “She’s already going to dance with Jeremiah.”

“What?” both you and your supposed dance partner question at the same time. 

“You’ve been meaning to ask her to dance the whole night.” Xavier’s blue eyes fall on Jeremiah, with a pointed gaze. “This song is about to end, I think now is as good a time as any.”

“But I’m eating!” he whines, shaking the bowl in his hands as though to beg Xavier to take pity on him.

“I’d be happy to dance with her before Jeremiah steps in—” Neville offers, but he’s cut off by Xavier again, and this time his voice is icier, and his eyes are narrowed on Jeremiah who’s pouting at him.

“No, I think Jeremiah should do it now before it’s too late.”

Whatever message he’s trying to get across, Jeremiah clearly understands it, groaning and taking one last sip before grabbing your hand and tugging you to the main grounds. You’re only slightly irked that no one actually waited for your answer on whether you wanted to dance or not. But you’re more confused than anything else. Just a few minutes ago, both of them were fine, what could have happened so soon to make Xavier sound so cold?

“Have you really been meaning to ask me to dance all night?” you try asking, but Jeremiah only rolls his eyes.

“Please shut up. I already have to deal with His Majesty the Oblivious Idiot tonight, I can’t deal with both of you.”

“What are you talking about—”

“Miss Grandis Knight!” one of the bards, the violinist, waves to you. You’re momentarily distracted, smiling at her. It’s quite nice, if maybe a bit egotistical, to hear anyone call you what you’re trying so hard to be even when you haven’t achieved it yet. “Coming to dance?”

“I am!” you shout back cheerfully. “Give me a good one!”

She thinks for a few seconds, then makes a motion to the other musicians. Placing the violin against her collarbone delicately, she begins to pluck a familiar tune, one that has you lighting up and has the crowd cheering. Even Jeremiah grins as the two of you face each other, both of you well versed in proper dance etiquette from taking the same classes growing up. 

First, he bows, mimicked by the other men in the large circle that’s formed, extending a hand to their dance partners. Then you, and the other ladies, curtsy, and with a light step you take his hand and begin the dance. The bards begin to sing the contagious melody, as you and Jeremiah step in place, back and forth, your arms extending then coming together, before he twirls you under his arm. Both of you are laughing for no real reason, perhaps aside from how frivolous this is compared to the fighting techniques you’re usually partaking in together.

The song builds, and builds, and his hands slip to your waist, helping you leap across him before he ducks his head dramatically. The violinist calls your name, pointing at you to sing the next verse. Through your giggles, your cheeks warm at the attention, but you oblige.

Swishing your dress around you, you bounce off Jeremiah, pointing at him with a flourish. “Come now and follow me down, down to the lights of Galway where—” Your eye catches Xavier’s, who’s watching you as though you’re the main event. With everyone else’s attention already on you, you’re not sure if you can possibly take any more, but something about his gaze makes your chest feel lighter, as though in this celebration of lights, the real light is the one staring at you, the one who has eyes for no one else. “There's fine sailors walking the town, and waiting to meet the ladies there!”

The bards take over the song again, yet the spell doesn’t break. As Jeremiah twirls you again and hands you off to the next man, switching dance partners easily, you beckon Xavier towards you, urging him to join. 

The night is young, you try to convey to him wordlessly, and I don’t want to be without you.

He steps forward, as you switch dance partners again. While you hadn’t meant to dance in the first place, it makes you feel lightheaded in a good way. The movements you have to do are light as opposed to rough and unforgiving on your muscles, and the alternating hands on your body handle you as gently as possible instead of trying to seek out all your weak points. 

Your head tilts to the side, trying to see if Xavier entered the fray or not. You’ve lost sight of him, in a different part of the circle now, and you can’t search properly without breaking the formation of the dance and ruining everyone’s fun. The next person you spin into ends up being Neville, who chuckles shyly and tells you, “Not bad, Miss Grandis Knight!”

His moves are far more stiff than Jeremiah’s, but far be it from you to judge when he hasn’t had formal training. The important thing is that he tries, and you still have fun, and besides, the song is ending now. You’re almost back to where you started in the circle, just one more spin and—

A familiar, calloused hand grazes yours, skimming down the side of your arm. You gasp at this touch, far more coarse than the others, and the only one to leave you breathless, not least because it’s accompanied by the striking blue of Xavier’s eyes. 

When he extends and brings you closer, it is more than just natural. Xavier is of royal blood, it is almost as if he was born to do this. Your feet step with his without you having to look down, so familiar with his balance and pace from years and years and years of sparring together. And not even once do you break away from his piercing gaze, because you’re nervous that if you do, he might just disappear.

The song comes to an end, with a final step forward and your hands on Xavier’s chest, and everyone erupts into cheers. The noise surrounding you makes the silence between you and him all the more deafening.

As the two of you simply stare at each other, breathing in sync, one of his hands reaches up, first resting on your cheek before then making its way up to gently adjust the flower crown that had slanted on your head while you were dancing. Once he fixes it, his head tilts down, just enough that his nose brushes against yours, and a smile forms on your lips.

“I am very pleased you joined, my liege.” Your eyes shine in gratitude.

Xavier opens his mouth to respond, and that’s exactly when Jeremiah chooses to slump against his shoulder, yawning. “Oh man, I’m spent. When do we go back to the academy?”

Xavier looks mildly disgruntled. “This is going to go on for hours,” you tell him, frowning, “we can’t leave now. Besides, the fireworks will start soon.”

“Another dance?” the crown prince suggests, sliding your palm into his. 

Jeremiah gives him an unimpressed look. “Give it a rest.”

Stepping past the two of them, you look at all the tables mostly occupied by children being distracted by someone painting little butterflies and stars on their faces or the tiny flutes that are passed out for them to blow into. One of the pastry vendors is handing out baked goods for free, and while you didn’t actually get any chance to eat earlier, you want to find something to actually do. You’re not tired after dancing; on the contrary, now you’re restless and brimming with energy. 

“Come on,” you declare readily, taking both their hands and pulling them into the ruckus. Your boys have little choice but to come along with you. Your feet will start to ache soon too, you’re sure. But for now, while they don’t, and while the way Xavier was staring at you is still burned into your mind, you want to enjoy yourself.

Once again, his fingers tangle with yours, clinging to your hand warmly—a stark difference to Jeremiah’s, which you have to grip onto harder to make sure he doesn’t get left behind. He whines and complains the whole time, telling you he’s sore all over and that the three of you should try and beat the rush by leaving early. You’re used to this routine every year, so you’re not fazed. Nor is he serious, because even though you could physically force him to stay, Jeremiah never tries to leave until you and Xavier are good and ready.

As you run, different students in your section call out to you and Jeremiah. People are just slightly more hesitant to address Xavier directly, but you’ve never understood such a thing. The last thing he is is intimidating. Well, maybe place a sword in his hand and he becomes slightly fearsome (to everyone except you). There’s still no need to pretend that Xavier ever struts around demanding everyone show him the highest respects. He’s the furthest thing from arrogant.

It makes you feel proud, really, knowing you’ll be in the service of Philos’ greatest king.

“Xavier!” someone finally calls out. For a second, you’re thrilled, until you see who it is, and your face falls.

The title of grandis knight comes with a certain authority. Not one that you actually have yet, of course, but people respect the current holder of the position, and as his prized mentee, that respect teeters down to you most of the time. 

Keyword being most.

Just a few months back, you and Lillia had been close friends. You weren’t as close to her as you were to Xavier and Jeremiah, but she was still someone you confided in. You knew a few personal things about her, and she knew a few personal things about you. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t a guy, or your trainer, or one of the older students. Just another girl around your age training to become a Lightseeker.

But you should have realized that the respect you garnered by swearing to be the future king’s bodyguard came with a reasonable risk of betrayal as well. And yes, betrayal is a strong word. Technically, nothing happened. There is no accusation you can level at her. At least not without someone calling you hysterical, and that’s hardly needed when you’re already a woman seeking the highest position in the court, second only to the king himself.

It had come down to one night, with just you and her sitting and talking about nothing in particular, when she had leaned in and asked you something.

“So do you like anyone?”

It had been a quiet night, and the two of you had been the only ones awake, holed up in an old classroom, so you hadn’t thought any consequences could come from speaking truthfully—or at least, what you had genuinely believed to be the truth.

“Not really.” You’d shrugged, leaning back on the desk you were sitting on, putting your weight on your palms. “Most of the people in our section aren’t really my type.”

“Really?” Lillia had smiled slyly. “Not even Xavier?”

Your nose had wrinkled—not in disgust, just confusion. “Xavier? Why?”

“What do you mean? You two spend all your time together. You’re always sparring. Doesn’t romantic tension build up after something like that?”

“Maybe if we were equally matched,” you’d huffed, shaking your head, “I always beat him, I certainly don’t feel any tension. Besides, he’s going to be king. And I’m trying my best to be his grandis knight. We could never be in a relationship even if we wanted to be.”

“So you don’t have any interest in him?” she’d asked, a little more forcefully. You’d thought nothing of it at the time. 

“I mean…” Your stomach had twisted a bit uncomfortably and you’d averted your gaze. “If you had a sword to my neck, if I had to choose someone…”

And it had forced you to think about it. A far off scenario, if he wasn’t going to be the king, or if you weren’t going to be the grandis knight, or maybe both. It had been difficult to see Prince Xavier as anything else, but…it wasn’t impossible. If you were both just students, or partners, or even if you worked at that bakery that he loved to frequent. 

If you were just a normal person, and he was as common as everyone else, the first thing you’d thought you’d notice about him would be his eyes. It’s what you notice about him most of the time regardless. He has nice eyes. They have a sincerity in them that most people lack. And he looks at you a lot, so you would know.

He’s not bad to look at either. And he’s kind. A good leader. With a precious heart. And skilled fingers—

Blinking out of the hypnotic thoughts you’d fallen into, you’d hidden your suddenly flustered state as best you could and simply answered, “I suppose if I had to choose to love someone, I’d choose Xavier.”

And that had been that. Or so you thought. Everything had been alright, at least.

Until the next morning, when you’d walked out of your class and seen Lillia’s arms around Xavier’s neck. 

For a second, it had felt like Philos stopped turning on its axis. 

It wasn’t like Xavier had reciprocated. But that was only because he had been too polite to shove her away, and it would’ve been inappropriate to engage in anything further. Crown prince or not, he was still a guy, and obviously a pretty girl pressed into him in such a way would interest him.

And Lillia had caught your eye, and smiled triumphantly, as though to say well, if you don’t want him, then…

Even though you hadn’t said you didn’t want him. Well, you had said you weren’t interested, yes. But you had also told her that if someone held a blaster to your face if you didn’t cherish someone, then you would cherish Xavier. And maybe that hadn’t been a confession, but it hadn’t been you giving her permission to pursue him either. Not that she needed your permission, because it wasn’t like you had a claim on him, and it wasn’t supposed to make your chest burn that he, even for a second, looked at anyone else the way he looked at you.

You hadn’t confided your weak feelings to anyone else after that.

“Hi, Lillia,” Xavier says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You didn’t even realize until now that the three of you had approached her. “What’s this booth for?”

“Oh, it’s amazing,” she gushes, wrapping her hands around his arm and tugging. Your eye twitches. “She’s a fortuneteller. For just a few copper pieces, she’ll answer any one question you want to know about your life.”

“Really?” he asks softly, and all your gazes shift to the woman who bows her head to the prince, sitting in her chair with a purple drape over the small table in front of her. “I’m not sure what I’d want to ask.”

Lillia smirks in a way that makes you uneasy. “Well, I asked about my future partner.”

“Partner? For sparring?”

“For marrying, you dolt,” Jeremiah snorts, “c’mon, Xav, sit down and let’s see which unlucky soul gets to be queen of Philos.”

You’re nervous that he will, and you’re nervous that you won’t like the answer. Because it wouldn’t be you, you’re sure of that. And you shouldn’t want it to be you. That doesn’t mean you think he should be with her, either. What business did Lillia have pursuing Xavier, at any rate? She was training to be a Lightseeker too—but of course, the average knight did not have the same restrictions the grandis knight did—not that it matters because you have no say regardless—

But Xavier shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. My future partner will simply be…whoever the kingdom deems the loveliest of the lot.”

Your heart both inflates and deflates at his response. On one hand, you hadn’t wanted him to have his fortune read, for fear of heartbreak. On the other hand, a part of you had foolishly hoped that he would have the same option to love like everyone else did.

“You should do it,” Jeremiah nudges you with his elbow. Before you can protest, Lillia’s eyes light up.

“Oh, yes, you should! Here, come sit.” 

“Um, I don’t know.” Warily, you gaze over at the fortuneteller, who merely gives you a serene smile. “Is she going to give me someone’s name?”

“No, just a description. She told me my future partner would be someone of noble descent.” Lillia beams, showing off her too-perfect teeth, and suddenly you feel inadequate. You know what she’s implying, even if Xavier doesn’t. After all, there are very few people who would match that description.

So, not wanting to seem like a coward, because the king’s sword is anything but a coward, you step forward, sitting down in the leathery chair. You’re about to reach for your pocket to take out the copper pieces, when Xavier reaches over and places them in the fortuneteller’s palm, giving you an encouraging look that makes your heart sink. Perhaps you should have listened to Jeremiah earlier and called it a night.

When the woman takes your hand, she closes her eyes, running her thumb back and forth against your calluses. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and you try not to move a muscle. For some reason, it feels like if you so much as twitch, you’ll get the wrong answers, and you’re not even sure what the right answers are. 

Her eyes open, piercing yours with a startling gaze. “Fascinating,” she murmurs, “I see three things about your lover.”

To hear that word—lover, instead of spouse or partner, makes your entire face feel hot. Lillia giggles, saying something under her breath that you don’t catch but makes you feel violent tendencies nonetheless.

“First, he is someone held in very high regard by all around him.”

Oh no.

“Second, a longsword is his weapon of choice.”

Oh no.

“And third, you have known him all your life.”

Well, she may as well have just screamed Xavier’s name at the top of her lungs.

Everyone is silent for a few seconds. There is a heavy pause in the air, because who else could she be referring to? Who else fits that exact description? All Lillia was told was she’d be with someone of noble descent, which could be at least a few people. The painful beating in your chest is onset because there is only one person that your fortune fits. 

You know it, he knows it, even Jeremiah and Lillia know it. 

So you do the only thing you can do. You calmly stand up, offer the fortuneteller a tight-lipped smile, and turn on your heel and run.

Behind you, a few different people call your name, though you note distinctly that Xavier isn’t one of them. After that, even if other people are still recognizing you and trying to get your attention, you can barely think straight enough to identify their voices, let alone respond. You run, out of the town square, out of the festival, out of the sight of anyone who could possibly perceive you.

You run as far as you can before your legs start aching, which, unfortunately for you, takes a long time with your endurance training. By the time you feel even a twinge resembling pain, you’ve already made it a far distance away from the celebration, near the seamstress’ shop. 

With gritted teeth, you heave yourself over the fence, knowing you’re more than welcome in her garden. It’s luscious, orange and lavender chrysanthemums in the center stealing the spotlight from all the other flowers. Instead of going towards them, you curl up next to the lilies, because you already feel unremarkable enough.

It’s not that you think Xavier would be disgusted by you. The two of you are friends—but that’s exactly it, the major problem of having feelings for him. Besides the fact that you are supposed to brandish your sword in his name, you cannot like him because you’d rather die than lose your best friend. You couldn’t even say how long you’ve known him, but you do know that he’s the best part of your life. Not for anyone would you bow your head. Not for anyone would you lay your life down. You’ve observed Xavier for years and years and there is not a single other person in the royal family that you would follow into any battle, through any world, past any planet. 

You groan, burying your face in between your knees. At some point in between the months Lillia first asked you about him and now, you’ve gone beyond just considering him as more than a friend. You’ve even got past having a measly crush on him.

You’re in love with Xavier, and it’s awful.

Breathing slowly, you gaze up at the night sky, where the fireworks have still not made their appearance. The wind teases the flowers around you, making them tilt a little to the left, which is oddly how you feel too. Not uprooted, but bent, just like a flower. 

With a blade of grass in between your fingers, you follow the direction the flowers are blowing in, only to find yourself staring at shining ceruleans.

“Xavier!” you gasp, eyes widening with a start. You move to stand as a reflex, but he raises a single hand, and you stop.

There isn’t a single bead of sweat on his face. He is breathing a little raggedly, and his uniform is stained with some sap he must’ve not been able to avoid from the bushes on the way over. His face—well, his face is pristine as always, there isn’t a moment when the prince of Philos looks anything less than dreamy. But it’s not his features you’re gazing at, but the concerned expression upon them, directed straight at you, with caring eyes and pinched brows.

You almost want to cry just at the thought you’ve worried him.

“Are you alright?” His voice is quiet, cautious, fragile. Like you may break if he’s too forceful in his questioning.

“Yes, fine,” you reply automatically, though you suppose you now have to make up a story for why on Philos you ran away like a child, especially because he sits next to you, knees raised in the same manner as yours.

“I was merely…overwhelmed, by the crowd.” The explanation sounds weak even as your tongue speaks it, but you cannot think of any other reason for your actions. At least this is easier than the truth. Anything is easier than the truth.

For a few seconds, there is silence, and as uncomfortable as this already is, you can’t bear it. So you turn to look at him, and you realize with burning cheeks you realize he is staring right back. You don’t even think he’s looked at the blossoming flowers even once; his head seems to be fixated in your direction.

“I know you constantly score better than me,” Xavier says softly, “but I am not foolish.”

With a hesitant hand, as though he’s asking for permission, he reaches up to once again adjust the flower crown on your head. Your heart falls, and you really should’ve known better to think Xavier could not read you like an open book, especially after a fortuneteller quite literally did read you like an open book.

“I know,” he continues, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “that the people in our classes, the nobles, the folks in the marketplace, they all hold me in high regard.”

“Xavier,” you try to argue weakly, already feeling your heartbeat speed up from where this conversation is going. The thought of losing him, of losing your best friend, your prince, your everything, it is paralyzing. “Please don’t—”

“I know that my weapon of choice is a longsword.”

“Stop,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t, and he looks directly into your eyes with an open, honest sincerity written all over his face. Like this is his truth, even though it is yours. “And I know that you have known me all your life, and I feel that I have known you for even longer than that.”

Your lower lip trembles. Never once did you take him for the cruel type. There is no rule nor reasoning for this, to utterly expose your feelings even more and mock you for them, and if you sit here any longer you’re afraid you will begin to sob, and then not only will your friendship with Xavier be at risk, but your future position as well. The grandis knight cannot be weak. The grandis knight cannot shed tears for such silly matters as love. 

To preserve your role, to preserve your reputation and your dignity, you make to stand, to run even farther this time, but Xavier holds your wrist before you can, tugging you back to face him. There is no cruelty in his expression, in fact there is a tenderness as though he is somehow touched by your very clear devotion to him. 

His finger tilts your chin up, unwittingly making you demand a respect you don’t believe you deserve right now. His brow is pinched, as though he’s upset that you would let anyone, even him, turn you soft as a dandelion.

“I also know,” he breathes, “that this kingdom finds you incredibly lovely.” 

The world seems to stop.

“As…” Xavier’s hand rests itself on your cheek, and the most beautiful smile lights up his face as he murmurs, “Do I.” 

You lean in the same time he does, and faintly you hear fireworks erupt as you kiss the prince of Philos for the first time. 

The world is quiet, and so, so, so loud. Blood rushes to your face and to your ears, and you ignore it by placing both your hands on his cheeks, whimpering softly at how good he tastes. Every burning feeling and sensation you’ve felt in his presence these past few months, and really, your entire life, all seem to explode in this moment. The world is blue, and white, and Xavier.

His lips move so gently against yours, once again acting as though you are fragile, but it feels good this time, the idea of being something so precious as to require care for him. His thumb rubs soft circles into your cheek, you can barely pull away from him to assure him that he can be more forceful if he wishes, more wanting, more greedy. 

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, asking for what you aren’t sure, but you nod your head regardless, because you’d think you’d give him your very soul if he were to ask.

When you do pull back, he is looking at you so longingly it makes you more breathless than even dancing you did earlier. His gray-blonde hair nearly conceals his eyes, so you brush it from his face, breath hitching at his proximity. You’ve always known that he’s the apple of everyone’s eye, but you’ve never had the privilege to admire him so closely before.

“I don’t need a fortuneteller to tell me who my partner is.” Xavier rests his forehead on yours, eyes closing. “Whether it’s for sparring, or marriage, or anything else. You are the only one I want with me, through everything.”

You’re surprised you can even muster words when you shyly respond, “Likewise, my liege.”

His eyes shine, and the two of you finally look up to admire the fireworks bursting across the sky in incredible explosions of color. They pale in comparison to the eruption within you, but they are magical nonetheless, and you lean your head against his shoulder to watch.

A gentle kiss is placed on top of your head. “I know we only celebrate this once a year. It is a special time. Still…” He meets your gaze again, and the corners of his lips turn upwards. Tonight, there is only you and him now, you’re sure of it. “Would you mind terribly if we were to ignore the fireworks?”

Maybe one day you will learn to resist him. You sincerely doubt it, though.

“Not at all. But the seamstress and her kids will probably be back soon.” You place a begrudging hand on his chest, not wanting to stop him, but trying to act proper regardless. “Neville checks on the garden every night. He might see us.”

Xavier seems to consider this for a second. 

“Oh well,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss you again, “what a shame.”

He doesn’t sound very sorry at all, and amidst the soft glow of moonlight, you surrender to him, lost in your very own little celebration of lights.

a/n: if i had a nickel for everytime i’ve written a character x reader story where they’re at a party and they dance together but then leave to have a nice moment by themselves i’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

[companionhell]

I'm a slut for the 'overheard conversation' trope so like,,, romanced companions react to overhearing a nervous Sole as they're practicing their proposal speech? Bonus if Sole is ramble monologuing out loud they're worried it's not good enough for their amazing bf/gf. Just some nice fluff to make your day bright. ((Only if you want to of course. Love ur work, m8))

This ended up pretty long, so I put it under a read more. Enjoy! :)

Cait: Cait’s hearing wasn’t the best after years in the deafening Combat Zone, but Sole wasn’t exactly speaking quietly. So she listened in pretty damn easily-- who in god’s name was Sole talking to, anyway?

“Cait, darling,” Sole said, then paused. Cait strained to hear more, interested by the mention of her name, but the next few words were mumbled. The next she heard was the middle of a sentence: “--start over. Look, I know this isn’t… this maybe isn’t what you were expecting. I don’t know. This stuff is different, after the war. But I can’t think… shit, no, that’s bad.” Sole took a rattling breath, and Cait stepped closer over squeaky floorboards-- what was all this about? “You’re just… Cait, you’re everything to me, and I’m so in love with you, and I just… I wanna marry you.”

Sole jumped when Cait opened the door, looking her lover in the eyes. “You… you just said… you want to marry me? That’s… you really mean that?” Cait’s eyebrows were raised in absolute surprise, and when Sole nodded nervously, Cait broke into a genuine smile. “Never thought I’d be the marryin’ type,” she said, pulling Sole into a kiss. “But, if you really want it… I don’t think you know how much this means to me.”

Curie: Curie did have some manners programmed into her, but her intense desire to learn more about people in general (and Sole in particular) won out. She’d never understood talking to yourself, and she hoped to figure out more by listening in on Sole from the next room, thinking of it more as scientific observation than eavesdropping. It was quite a fascinating habit, after all!

But after only a minute or two, Curie quickly figured out what was going on. “Curie, my love. I don’t know… Okay, not that. Um, there’s a human tradition I’d like you to participate in. With me. It’s to show how much I love you, to promise I’ll stay with you forever… alright, that’s a little better.” Curie started smiling behind her hands, unable to contain the butterflies of excitement in her stomach. Ignoring Sole’s next mutterings about how she deserved a better speech, Curie made her way to their bedroom with a lovestruck expression.

“Oh, mon p’tit chou!” Curie exclaimed. Sole stood at the mirror, holding what looked like a pre-war ring, surprise and embarrassment filling their face as they realized that Curie had heard. She didn’t care that she’d flustered them, though, and clasped her hands to her chest. “Is it true, my love?” Once having received Sole’s affirmation, Curie pressed light kisses on their face in quick succession, speaking in between: “Oh, I love you. I feel my heart may burst- I never knew there could be such bliss.”

Danse: Danse wasn’t really consciously eavesdropping. The house’s walls were thin, and he was just drawing out possible modifications in the next room when he heard Sole talking to themselves. He didn’t think much of it at first- they talked in their sleep, after all. It was likely just another unthinking habit of theirs, so he barely processed their words while he concentrated.

“This needs to be good.. I can’t… ah, damn, I’m going to mess this up.” Danse heard the nervousness in Sole’s voice and momentarily forgot his work, eyebrows furrowing. “Alright. Recent events have been… uh, difficult. For all of us. And I know you’ve been taking time to sort everything out. I have been, too. I was just dropped into the apocalypse without my family, and since then, it’s mostly only gotten worse.” Danse put down the pen and stood, hesitating. He didn’t know what to do, but Sole spoke again. “But if there’s one part of this world I couldn’t live without, it’s… it’s you, Danse. You’re more important to me than words could say. I’m in love with you. And I’ve been thinking about it, and I want to marry you.”

Sole stopped talking, interrupted by loud footsteps rounding the corner and the door slamming open. Danse stood there, flustered and mouth agape, eyes surprised and confused. “Did you… Did you just say you want to marry me?” Sole, more shocked than embarrassed, repeated their proposal, and Danse moved to hold them close, arms wound snugly around the person who’d, months before, saved his life. “I… I can’t explain to you how much that means to me. It’s… a lot to think about, but… I can’t imagine facing the world without you.”

Deacon: Deacon knew something was up with Sole from the minute he heard them talking to themselves. He stepped silently to the end of the hallway, avoiding the squeaky floorboards whose locations he’d memorized, and stopped by the doorway. Deacon steadied his breathing, shifted the center of his weight, and listened.

“Deacon, I…” There was a deep exhale. Deacon’s heart jumped for a moment- had he been seen? But no, Sole continued. “I need to tell you that in this insane world, one of the first things I learned was not to trust anybody. But I can’t help but feel that you’re… different, I guess. Shit, I need another word… you’re… you make this big show about lying a lot, but you don’t bullshit about your beliefs. You don’t bullshit about how fucked-up all this is, and you don’t bullshit about where you came from, and that makes you more genuine than nine-tenths of the people here. I’ve fallen in love with you, Deacon, and I wanna marry you.”

Deacon couldn’t stop himself from inhaling sharply. He… he needed to go think about it. So he quietly made his way outside, lighting a cigarette and staring into the post-apocalyptic wilderness. And Deacon thought- he thought about Barbara, and about the love he’d been so happy to find in Sole, and about himself. Could he commit to moving on? Would Barbara have wanted him to? Did it matter? The next few days were more solemn for him than usual, as he made his decision. And he was glad he’d thought about it- glad that, when Sole finally got it together and proposed, he was able to finally say yes.

Gage: Gage wasn’t really the stealthy type. Looking for Sole, he checked every room in the house, finally walking to their shared bedroom. He didn’t even bother trying to muffle his steps, and considering the heavy-ass cage armor he wore, Gage was pretty damn loud. So when he saw that Sole hadn’t even noticed said clunking footsteps, and that they were so focused on muttering to themselves that they hadn’t turned around to see him, Gage had to listen in.

The first few seconds was just Sole swearing before sighing heavily. “Gage… It’s been a wild ride.” What the hell did that mean? Gage didn’t have time to think about it too much before Sole shook their head and moved on. “This world is fucking insane, and- I don’t think the people are more untrustworthy. I think they’re just more honest about it. Anyway, it was kinda a culture shock. But after wandering in the wasteland, I found my place. At Nuka-World. As leader of the raiders. Gage, I found my place with you.” His eyebrows shot up. Their relationship usually didn’t involve this kinda sappy shit- but this felt more important than usual. “I… I love you, Porter. And I know it’s not a raider ‘thing,’ but fuck it- I’m the Overboss, and I say what I want, so I wanna get married.”

“Damn, Sole,” Gage said, crossing his arms. Sole couldn’t ignore that one. They turned, clearly flustered at the interruption, and opened their mouth to speak- “Nah, gimme a minute, boss. Shit, Sole, that was somethin’ else. And… I guess marryin’ always seemed like bleeding heart bullshit to me, but… you are friggin’ amazing, boss, and if I’m stickin’ with anybody for life, ain’t nobody I’d rather be with than you.” He smiled, kind of sheepishly, and when Sole came over to embrace him, Gage held them tighter than he ever had before.

Hancock: Yeah, okay, Hancock was being kinda sneaky. But the ghoul had damn good ears (what was left of ‘em, anyways), and couldn’t help but try to listen when he heard muttering coming from the room he shared with Sole. So there he was, half-crouched in the hallway, straining to hear what his significant other was saying. This wouldn’t be as hard if Sole wasn’t speaking so damn quiet, anyway.

“John.” That was the first word Hancock heard, and he was already paying attention. Sole only called him that when they were being serious- a couple of near-death scenarios, a heartfelt conversation or two, maybe a few (or more) of their nights together. “My love, I know… commitment isn’t your thing. I understand. And I know you’re doing a lot more of that than usual for me-- I’ve seen you turning down hopefuls from Goodneighbor up to Far Harbor. But I just… I love you, John, and it would mean a lot…” A pause, and a heavy sigh. “Fuck it, I’m never gonna do this right.”

Hancock had inched close enough to the threshold to see Sole staring at their hands- was that a ring glinting in the light? His breath caught in his throat and before he knew it he was tip-toeing outside, somewhere open, somewhere else. He rummaged in his bag for something to take the edge off, but nothing seemed right-- Jet to slow the hell down or Mentats to think clearly? Hancock settled on both, and he sat there and thought for what felt like hours. From the minute he woke up from his radioactive dose he’d never expected anyone to wanna deal with him for much longer than a night or two. Sole was the wrench in that plan… and the best damn thing that’d ever happened to him. Oh, Hancock had made his decision when Sole was the first person he’d sincerely told he loved them since childhood. And when they finally got their act together and asked him, he might as well confirm it.

MacCready: MacCready was about to amble into the room, looking for a comic he’d misplaced- he was sure he’d last been reading it in bed- then heard Sole talking. He stopped instinctively, pausing at the door to listen. Was… anybody else in there with them? No, it seemed like the only one speaking was an increasingly frustrated Sole. MacCready debated with himself for a minute, then elected to stay there, leaning closer to the door to better hear.

“RJ, you gave me something a while back. Something that meant a lot to you.” Were they talking about the toy soldier? What the heck was going on? MacCready edged closer. Sole was sitting on the bed, turning something over in their hands. “It’s time for me to… No, that’s stupid. Um, I want to give something to you too. I love you, RJ. We’ve both lost a lot, but I think it’s best we look to the future. Together.” They slumped, muttering something about how they sounded like an idiot, and MacCready finally caught a glimpse of what they were holding. A ring. Identical to the one they always wore.

He felt tears burning his eyes. After Lucy, he thought he’d always be alone. And here came Sole, who’d not only saved his life and his son’s, but also made him happy for the first time in years. Not barely getting by, not ignoring his pain, but truly happy. “Hey, handsome/beautiful,” he said, crossing the threshold. He laughed at Sole’s shocked expression, and found himself unable to stop smiling. “I definitely don’t deserve someone as good as you, but… hey, if you wanna keep this little thing we have going forever, well, who am I to say no?”

Nick: Alright, Nick had a sneaky bone or two. You had to in his line of business. But he made a point of not going digging through Sole’s dirty laundry, so he tried his absolute hardest to be as not-nosy as possible when he heard them talking from the bedroom. But good god, were they talking for a long time. And loudly. He walked down the hallway, fully intending to alert Sole to his presence, mind you, but heard them say his name. He stopped. What on earth were they on about?

“Nick, I wanted… no.” Sole took a deep breath. “Nick. My love. You’re the best man in the Commonwealth, synth or not. You’re compassionate, and caring, and funny as hell. And I…” They paused, as if thinking. Nick watched from the doorway. Sole was looking into the mirror, staring at themself, and shook their head. “I’m not good enough for you. But… I love you, Nick. And I kinda want to stick together. ‘Long as I’m kicking, anyway. There doesn’t need to be any ceremony or anything if you don’t want to-–”

Nick didn’t hear anything after that. Ceremony? He retreated back down the hallway, as quietly as he came, and sat on the front stoop. Lit up a cigarette. Watched the sunset and the comings and goings of the neighbors. He thought for a long time, examining his reluctance to marry Sole-- the best thing that had happened to him in his decades wandering the Commonwealth. It wasn’t Jenny. God knows she’d have wanted him to move on years ago. And it wasn’t a lack of love. Sole was all an old bot could ask for– the luckiest day of his life was the day they crawled outta that cryo-pod. It had more to do with his disbelief that a stunner like Sole would want to be tied down to a run-down synth with a bum hand and a hole in his neck. He didn’t deserve them. But hey, it was their choice, he thought, looking up at the stars. He’d marry them, alright. And he’d follow wherever they led.

Piper: Piper grinned when she heard Blue mumbling in the bedroom. Their sleeptalking was always priceless. She grabbed a pad of paper from her pocket and slowly eased her way down the hallway, careful not to make too much noise. Sole was a light sleeper. Piper peeked around the door, her playfulness rapidly turning to confusion as she saw that Sole wasn’t asleep, after all. They were sitting on the bed, turned away from her, but still speaking softly. What the heck were they doing?

Sole looked deep in thought. “Maybe start out with… Piper, you’re hard on yourself. Hmm… no, that’s no good.” What? Piper was hard on herself? She leaned in closer to hear. She had good ears, but Blue was barely speaking audibly. Sole kept going. “I know you think of yourself as loud and pushy, but what I see is the kindest woman I’ve ever met. You’re confident, you’re honest, and you’re determined to do good in the world.” Sole looked down at something they held in their hands. “And I know the institution of marriage probably isn’t important to you– or to the Commonwealth, generally– but I thought I’d ask– no, that’s wrong…”

As Sole continued workshopping their phrasing, Piper’s jaw dropped. Marriage? She sidled into the bedroom, purposefully stepping loudly, and saw a glint of gold in Blue’s hands. “Blue!” she said too loudly, startling Sole, who nearly dropped the ring. “Oh, I, uh– Damn it, I’m sorry, Blue, I messed up your moment.” Piper came closer, cupping Sole’s face in her hands. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” She kissed their forehead, smiling at their still-shocked face as she pulled away. “My answer is yes. I will marry you, Blue.”

Preston: Preston definitely hadn’t meant to overhear anything. He’d woken up with his arms empty. Sole wasn’t there. Not too unusual– sometimes they got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. Still, it was hard to sleep without Sole next to him. Groggily, he lifted his head off the pillow and looked around. It was dark. No moonlight shone through the window. But under the bathroom door, there was a crack of light. And through the wall, he could swear he heard… mumbling?

Preston frowned. It had been about a year since they’d taken down the Institute– since Shaun had died. He couldn’t imagine that kind of pain. He’d woken up before to find them crying, silently, in his arms, and done his best to comfort them. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and rolled out of bed, crossing quietly to the bathroom door. Inside, he could hear Sole speaking. He paused for a second to listen. “Preston, I– I don’t think I can… no, that’s no good.” Preston furrowed his eyebrows, lifted his hand up to knock, but was interrupted when Sole started speaking again. “I can’t express in words how much I love you. You’re– you’re kind, and loving, and sweet, and– shit, I’m rambling. Um–”

Preston smiled, leaning on the door so it swung open. “What are you…” He trailed off as he saw what Sole was holding. A ring. The ring that matched the one they always wore. Tears pricked at his eyes. “Are you… planning to propose? …To me?” When Sole confirmed it, Preston beamed. He didn’t think he’d ever stop smiling. He pulled Sole into a hug, pressing kisses against their temples and their forehead. “God, I love you. Of course I’ll marry you– if you’ll have me.”

X6-88: X6 was... concerned. When he and Sole spent an evening at Sanctuary, they usually spent their free time tinkering with their weapons or armor. Or catching up with the settlers. But this time, they’d simply given him a kiss and retreated straight to the bedroom. After two hours of messing with mods for his laser pistol, it seemed clear that Sole wouldn’t be joining him anytime soon. So he quietly trod down the hall. As he approached the bedroom door, he could hear Sole speaking.

“Why am I doing this anyway?” X6 moved closer. Had he done something to upset them? Why not talk to him about it? “He’ll think it’s too sentimental... shit. Maybe I can-- um, alright. X6.” He started, thinking for a moment that Sole had discovered him in the hallway, but they continued talking. Practicing talking to him? “You’re determined, you’re loyal, you’re funny. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And-- and it would mean a lot to me if-- well, you might not care about this kind of thing, but...”

“What kind of thing?” X6 asked, stepping into the room. Sole whipped around to look at him, too surprised to hide what they’d been holding. A gold ring. A wedding ring. X6 took a moment. Sole was right, in a way. He’d keep watching their back until the day he died, and he had never thought of needing a ring or a ceremony to prove it. But... Sole was the person he most cared for in the world. Maybe the only person he cared for. And if wearing a ring was important to them? He would proudly wear his loyalty to them on his finger. It was no object.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ONE OF THE BEST AUTHORS ON THIS PLATFORM.

I have a request is there any way you could do the “I’ve never met anyone as infuriating as you, and I can’t stop thinking about you" prompt but with Zoro. Having a female reader just recently joined the crew only for them to be enemies. Both of them have a history of being enemies and now the whole crew sees them fight so the other is 5ft feet under. Only for them to be confused as to why their heart beats like crazy around each other.

Would really appreciate it if you did my request! 🥰🙏

Thank you so much for your kind words @mars-mizuko and @beachaddict48 🥰🥰 I love reading your reactions to my little silly stories and I tried my hardest to make you happy with this request! It turned out a bit bigger than the others, but I don't want to limit myself with the story I want to tell and I've accepted that some requests will have bigger fics than others! I do sincerely hope you enjoy this! Thank you for participating in the event and for all of your support!

Source for Pic

Backstabber

Word Count: 3637

Tags: fem!reader; enemies to lovers; suggestive content; implied sex; cursing; sexual tension; idiots in love;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You never thought you'd meet the infamous bounty hunter Roronoa Zoro again after four years apart. Yet here you are, part of his crew, and all he wants is to get rid of you.

|Masterlist|

“No, Luffy.” 

Two words. Just two words and I already want to rip his head off his shoulders. This is gonna be great!

“Why?” Luffy cocks his head to the side, his pinky reaching inside his nose in search of the annoyance there.

“Shut up, Mosshead!” Sanji growls, his face close to Zoro’s closed-off expression. “Luffy, yes. She would be the most wonderful addition to our crew.”

Aw, see, the cook’s nice!

“She’s not trustworthy.” The swordsman has both his eyes closed but you can see the way his jaw ticks as he tries to keep his emotions at bay.

“Ditto, Roronoa, yet I just helped save your ass.” You bite back. Two can play the accusation game. It’s actually been four years since the last time you saw Roronoa Zoro. He was skinnier then, less… bulk. Still the same asshole, though.

His eye snaps open and you notice yet another difference. He’s more dangerous, ruthless, and predatory. “Measure your words, Backstabber. I’m not the same man I was four years ago.”

You inch forward, squaring your shoulders and measuring up to his height, even if you can’t reach it. “It’s too bad I am not the same woman I was four years ago, either.”

Nami and Robin watch the interaction with veiled smirks. Sanji is seething and being restrained by Franky to prevent him from attacking Zoro for speaking rudely to a lady. 

“Welcome her in, Luffy.” Robin says with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“I’d say she fits right in, Cap.” Nami says with a chuckle.

And just like that, you’re welcomed into the most dysfunctional pirate crew you’ve ever met.

-*-

You and Zoro don’t like each other. Period. There’s no truce, there isn’t even a semblance of a fake peace. It’s an all-out conflict between the two of you and the Sunny has become an active warzone. 

“I don’t want you anywhere near my space, Backstabber!”

“You don’t own the ship, Roronoa!” 

Nami accepts the refreshment Sanji brings her and sighs, tilting her head up to where the two of you are bickering. You just wanted to train and shake away inertia, and the crow’s nest is where the barbells are. 

But nooo, Mr. Salty claims that this is his space! As if he fucking owns the ship.

“LUFFY!” You both yell out the window trying to get your captain to resolve your issue this time. 

“It’s been a week.” Robin says weakly from her perch on the lawn chair.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” Nami whispers back to her.

“Guys, make it stop, they’re so loud!” Chopper whines as he cuddles in Robin’s lap.

Luffy, bless him, doesn’t even move from his spot, so you sigh, pushing your index finger and thumb against the bridge of your nose trying to contain the massive migraine threatening to settle behind your eyes. 

“Look here, Roronoa, we have to make this work. Whether we like it or not, we are now Nakama and-...”

“I could never be your Nakama!” He hisses, dropping the barbell near his feet with the loudest thud imaginable. Sweat drips from his hair and runs down his temples, making the vein there glisten as it throbs menacingly. His (big, muscular, defined) chest heaves from barely contained rage and you force your eyes to settle back on his face because, somehow, the sight of his sweaty, glistening pecs turns you hot and bothered for reasons that have nothing to do with anger. 

“Well boo-freaking-hoo. Learn to deal with it, will you? You’re a big boy.” You say slowly, emphasising each word with a step in his direction. You’re taken aback by your closeness when his scent envelops you and dazes you in more ways than one. 

It’s familiar and comforting: steel, salt, sweat…

But it’s also intoxicating and dangerous and new…

Fuck.

-*-

It’s only been one week and Zoro is ready to throw you overboard. Too bad you don’t have a devil fruit or he could watch you sink without a hint of remorse. That being the case, it would just be funny as hell to watch you get pissed off at him while soaking wet.

Wet like you are now. 

He found you in the middle of your workout in his crow’s nest using his training equipment in his space. You’d been there long enough for sweat to make your hair cling to your forehead, for your top to turn a darker shade and cling sinfully to your curves, and for your sweet scent to mingle with his sanctuary, making his head spin. 

Zoro feels like growling, though he’s not sure if he’s growling for the right reasons. 

And now you’re approaching him with fearless steps, your finger pointing at him accusingly, while your lusciously plump lips form words: ‘boo-freaking-hoo’. And all he can think about is how your lips would feel wrapped around his cock.

“Get the fuck out.” He growls for real this time and you stop pacing. He knows he’s giving off a dangerous aura and he means it. Because his heart is doing some freaking weird shit he doesn’t want to dissect right now and he needs you out of his sight.

Immediately.

It’s a good thing you obey and scurry out - still pissed and calling him all sorts of names, though - because the strain in his pants was about to force him to bend you over the nearest surface and have his way with you.

And he definitely can’t do that.

-*-

Eventually, with mediation from Robin and Franky, you and Zoro settle on a schedule for using the crow’s nest to train. It’s not so hard, since Zoro spends half the morning and afternoon napping, leaving you plenty of time for your daily workout.

“Why do you and Zoro hate each other?” Chopper asks innocently during lunch, and the table falls into an awkward silence. No one tries to change the subject since everyone’s curious.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as memories from the past come rushing back. You and Zoro used to bounty hunt together. You met randomly while tracking the same wanted pirate. After beating the pirate’s crew and helping each other out, you split the bounty and became friends. 

From then on, the friendship blossomed. Zoro had an easier laugh before, he wasn’t so guarded, so closed off. 

Did I cause him to be like that?

You bonded. Actually, so much more than that, you were head over heels for him. The whole works: stomach aflutter with butterflies, fireworks exploding behind closed eyelids, a drum instead of a heart. 

And then there was a misunderstanding. You got a tip about a small-time fry, barely 6k berries, hardly worth your time. But the asshole was harassing a town and you knew you could take him alone. Zoro was collecting a previous bounty so you didn’t even tell him where you were going. 

Turns out the fry wasn’t easy or small. It was huge. It was 16k, not 6k, and he was a tough nut to crack. You could’ve used Zoro’s strength, but you managed. Scraped, bruised but prideful. When you went to collect, intending to share the bounty with him, Zoro was beyond angry. He found out where you’d gone and assumed you’d gone behind his back to collect the bounty and the fame for yourself. 

Things escalated. You fell out with each other.

Over a freaking misunderstanding. 

You were stubborn as fuck. And you soon found out he was equally stubborn, if not more. So here you were. Still mad at each other over something that had happened more than four years ago.

“We just don’t get along, Chopper. We used to be friends, and then… we stopped.”

Zoro’s glass nearly shatters with the force he uses to set it down on the table. “Bullshit, Backstabber.”

“Stop calling me that, asshole.”

“Guys, guys, you’re at the table…” Franky starts.

“Backstabber? Why? You went behind my back and collected a huge bounty without telling me. That sounds like backstabbing to me!”

“You didn’t even let me explain!” You rise, palms slapping against the wood, causing your water glass to turn and spill. 

“What was there to explain? How you got greedy? How you abandoned me without a word? Because that shit stung more than the fucking bounty!”

You gasp and take a step back, grasping the underlying hurt in his words. Abandoned him…? Is that what he thinks happened?

“I… I never meant to abandon you…” Lowering your eyes, you sense the crew shifting uncomfortably under your words. 

Zoro is silent. 

Just as you raise your head to meet his eyes, a cannon blast shakes the ship, forcing the crew outside to battle an oncoming enemy. 

-*-

In the heat of the battle, all animosities are forgotten. You and Zoro move as one, even after four years apart, you can still fight back to back as you used to. It’s both exhilarating and overwhelming. 

Zoro still hasn’t calmed the frenzied rhythm of his heart. You had claimed you never meant to abandon him. Were you speaking the truth? Because, as far as he knew, you had chosen to leave him behind, collect the big bounty and disappear from his life without ever looking back. 

That had been the biggest disappointment he'd faced in a long while. After four years, he thought you were part of his past. No longer a constant presence in his mind, or worse,  in his dreams. 

You were gone, and good riddance.

What were the chances of him meeting you again in the Grand Line, anyway?

The Marines attacking the Straw Hats are predictably weak, but there are many of them and Zoro is distracted by the earlier conversation. Apparently, so are you, because there’s no way in hell four-years-ago-you would’ve let that attack slip through your defences, let alone now-you. 

Zoro grunts and slices through the three Marines in front of him to reach the bastard pinning you against the Sunny’s wall. His sword blade pressed to your throat, your arm laying limp and bloodied, rendered useless for the rest of the fight. 

“I’m gonna count to three and before I fucking reach two, you’d better have let go of her and be out of my fucking sight, or you’ll lose your limbs one by one to my blades. Starting with that hand.” He growls as he notices the Marine pressing his hand against your chest to keep you pinned to the wall. 

-*-

Fuck, that was hot. 

How can your heart be racing this fast when you’re facing possible death at the hands of a freaking weak Marine? You have no idea how you got into this position. You know how to fight better than any of these army fools! 

You were distracted, dumbass.

Yeah, you were distracted. You were thinking about the possibilities and the what-ifs of four years ago, if only you had spoken to Zoro before he thought you abandoned him. And all that thinking got you pinned to the wall with an injured arm and a blade to your throat.  

“One…” Zoro starts counting and you hold your breath. You’ve seen him fight, the Marine better run. “Two…”

His voice is eerily calm, but the intensity of his words leaves no room for argument. He’s dangerous, he’s lethal, and he’s not playing games.  

Even though the Marine drops you unceremoniously and starts to run, you know he isn't getting far. The manic grin on Zoro’s face just before he slashes the Marine makes the critters in your belly flutter and dance all at once.

Fuck.

Zoro did start with his hand.

-*-

“She’s fine!” Chopper exclaims as he steps out of the infirmary with a wide smile, his hoof clasping your uninjured hand as you join your Nakama by the galley. The crew receives you with cheers and you feel a bit ashamed. You wanted to prove your worth but the battle didn’t go the way you meant it to. Still, none of them make you feel unworthy.

Robin fusses over you, Luffy tries to hug you before Nami stops him with a punch, Usopp is already retelling the tale of the thousand Marines who attacked you and Sanji glides to your side with a refreshment and amiable words, worried, anxious and happy you’re safe.

And that’s where Zoro draws the line. “Can we talk?” His gruff voice rolls over you like a caress, and you bite the inside of your cheek trying to snap out of it. 

“Yeah.” You follow him to the crow’s nest unsure of what he wants to say. The entire walk is wrapped in piercing silence, tension hanging like a thick fog. Once you arrive, you’re too wound up to sit, so you start pacing. 

“Explain.” He says, apparently too wound up to sit as well.

The fuck?

“Explain what?”

“What you meant at lunch.”

You try to cross your arms over your chest, but the injured limb is still out of action so, instead, you place your good hand on your hip and stamp your foot. “Listen, honey,” you mock, “you better start using your big boy words because I’m not going to play riddles with you and-...”

Your sentence is cut short when he takes two strides forward, forcing you to step back until you collide with the training bars. Zoro’s face is inches from yours and the ticking in his jaw is back. 

His eye pins yours, and your legs wobble under the intensity of his stare. “I’ve never met anyone as infuriating as you,” he drawls, slamming his hand against the bars beside your face. “And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The world spins as you suck in a breath, trying to understand his words. What does he mean?

“I can’t stop thinking about your lips…” His thumb presses against your lower lip, tracing it roughly. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing your neck.” His lips brush against the pulse on your neck, teeth nibbling and pinching. “I can’t stop thinking about you… squirming under me!”

Zoro’s hand gropes the flesh of your hip, his fingers sinking in, pulling a soft moan from your lips. “Tell me to stop.” He whispers, his tongue tracing your earlobe with sinful licks. “Fuck. Just say the words.”

Your head falls back against the bars in abandon as his hand drops from your hips, fingers inching under the waistband of your jeans. 

“Don’t stop.” You sigh.

And he doesn’t.

-*-

“I didn’t abandon you.” You’re still in bliss after the moment you just shared. You had thought about this, fantasied, dreamed, imagined… every possible variation of what just happened. But it was still better. “I didn’t know the pirate had a 16k berries bounty. I thought it was 6k. I was going to take care of him, call it a day and meet you to collect the bounty.”

Zoro’s still, his chest still heaving slightly, sweat clinging sinfully to where your mouth had been moments ago. 

“But then you left, thinking I betrayed you, without giving me a chance to explain before disappearing from my life.” Your legs are still shaking and aching. Zoro was brutal and intense. And you loved every second of it. 

“Well that makes sense…” He says as his expression softens.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your disbelief makes you face him with a scowl and bared teeth. 

“Look at how much fun we could’ve been having for four years instead of hating each other. My bad, I guess!” His cheeky grin only makes you seethe more and you scramble to your feet to collect your clothes and leave him there. 

“Unbelievable! You’re an ass, Zoro.” You state as you open the hatch to leave him and his smugness behind.

“Meet me later?”

The blush spreads from your cheeks to your nose and then to your ears as you face him. If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. You show him the middle finger before closing the hatch. “After dinner in this spot. Be naked and don’t be late. Asshole.”

Roronoa Zoro used to be a friend, then an enemy, then a Nakama… now you can’t deny all the fluttering in your belly when he looks at you. But the fluttering’s fine. You can live with that, it’s actually exhilarating. 

It’s the frenzied beating of your heart that you have a problem with. That, and the clenching in your chest when you and Zoro gaze at each other. 

That’s what scares you.

-*-

Dinner that evening is the tensest meal you’ve had on the Sunny since joining the crew. On the outside everything looks normal. Luffy is eating from everybody’s plate, Sanji is fawning over Nami, Robin and you, and Usopp is entertaining the table with how he single-handedly defeated one hundred marines in the fight you had earlier. 

But every time you glance at Zoro, he’s pinning you under his gaze, an infuriating smirk lifting the corner of his lips as he downs an entire bottle of sake. You try your damn hardest to focus on the food in front of you instead of letting your mind revisit the most mind-shattering and intense moment of your life. 

Nami asks if you’re alright and you weakly respond with a yes, saying that you’re just tired from the fight, but you don’t miss her curious expression when she catches the way Zoro is staring at you. Fuck. If he doesn’t stop doing that, he might as well wear a sign on his forehead saying you just had sex. 

Bastard.

Zoro leaves first and after helping Sanji clear the plates - even if he vehemently refuses your help - you make your way up to the crow’s nest. You told Zoro to be waiting naked, but you’re actually having second thoughts. Has he forgiven you for what happened four years ago? Have you forgiven him for not even wanting to hear your explanations? 

You’re not even sure if you’re friends, acquaintances, enemies or something else entirely. And that needs to be settled. 

Taking a deep steadying breath before opening the hatch, you brace yourself for whatever is coming, but you can’t help a small squeak from escaping your lips as you see Zoro waiting for you, bare-chested, cross-legged and leaning up against the bars.

“You’re late, Backstabber.”

“Your pants are still on, Mr. Salty.”

He chuckles and the sound makes your heart skip a beat weirdly. Should you talk to Chopper about this? It seems like something you should worry about. 

Zoro moves away from the bars and takes a step your way, that smug grin tilting his lips in an endearing way. “You want them off that bad?”

You take another step back, though your legs feel like jelly. “Smug asshole.”

He doesn’t answer you with a cheeky reply and his lips turn into a thin line again. That same closed-off expression he had when you first joined and now it seems like the step back you took was a step back in… whatever this is.

“Look…” He says your name while scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry. About the way things ended between us all that time ago. It seems silly to still be upset about it, especially now that you’ve explained yourself.”

You nod, agreeing and there’s a lightness to your chest that wasn’t there before. A sort of closure to that chapter of your lives, something you’ve carried with you even if you were unaware of it. 

“Also,” he continues as he takes another step forward. This time you don’t back away. “About what I said the other day - about us not being Nakama - I didn’t mean it that way.” He sighs and reaches for your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I was just angry.”

“Are you still angry?” You ask, your breath catching slightly in your throat. 

Zoro’s finger brushes the inside of your wrist, absentmindedly. “I don’t even know.” He lets out a sigh that resembles a grunt and tugs at your wrist, pulling you to him. “But I know I can’t go another day without you, let alone four years.”

Your heart skips another beat as his words sink in, and this time it continues to beat in this weird staccato rhythm. “Then don’t…” You finally murmur, pressing yourself against him, feeling the heat of his skin against your fingers. 

He grins again, that shit-eating grin he used to give you back when things were still fine. “Good.” He drawls out as he pinches your chin and crashes his lips against yours in a desperate claim. His touch electrifies you and tingles in places it shouldn’t, lighting you up from within and making you feel more alive than ever. 

-*-

Time passes and something shifts. The crew notices it since you bicker less. You’re pretty sure Nami and Robin know what is going on between the both of you, though they don’t say anything. But it should be a dead giveaway since you’re ‘training’ together now instead of sticking to your separate training schedule. 

You still argue on a daily basis, though now there’s an underlying understanding that wasn’t there before. You’re not arguing out of past sorrows, hurt, or unresolved conflict. You’re arguing because it’s just your nature. And you notice that there’s something deeper in your connection. Those skipped beats of your heart, that fluttering in your belly… Those are all part of something far more intense that you don’t want to name yet. But you realise that there’s no rush in naming whatever you have. You have time.

Because Zoro might still call you ‘Backstabber’ with an annoyingly smug smirk, and you might call him ‘Mr. Salty’ with equal fervour now and again, but at the end of the day, you’re both exactly where you want to be: right beside each other.

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World

Chapter 2 (Show them what you got)

Flash-Forward after graduation 

I wake up to my alarm going off I groan and reach up and turn my alarm. Today is the day. Show them what you got. 

I sit up and stretch with the bright Ohio sun in my eyes I look at my phone it reads 7 am on the dot combine and starts at 11 am I’m up just in time to get a shower, breakfast, and maybe a slight workout. 

As the clock struck 9 a.m., I pulled up to the stadium, its imposing structure alive with the energy of anticipation. The driver, Kyle, a friendly face with a warm smile, opened the door for me. “Thank you,” I said, taking my gear bag from him, the weight of it both familiar and comforting. “No problem. Good luck!” he replied, his eyes sparkling with encouragement.

I nodded and returned the smile, feeling a mix of gratitude and excitement, before I turned to face the entrance. The morning air was crisp, and the atmosphere buzzed with activity as I walked toward security. “Hi, what’s your name?” one of the guards asked, his tone professional yet welcoming. “Hi, I’m Sierra Riley,” I answered confidently. Another guard, standing nearby, gestured for me to follow him through the security check. He nodded and said, “Welcome. Follow me.” I adhered to his instructions, the sound of camera flashes popping around me, but I tried to block them out and stayed focused on my path.

Growing up as an only child, I had always been introverted, preferring the company of books and the solace of my own thoughts to the spotlight. The roar of the crowd and the relentless gaze of cameras still made me uneasy.

The guard led me down a narrow hallway adorned with vibrant posters of past champions, their faces captured in moments of glory. He stopped in front of a door, opening it wide to reveal my private locker room. “Here we are. This is your private locker room for the next couple of days,” he said. I stepped inside, my eyes widening in disbelief at the plush surroundings. “Wow, all this for little ol' me?” I exclaimed, my voice filled with wonder. He chuckled softly, clearly amused at my amazement. “Enjoy,” he said before closing the door behind him.

You may be wondering why I have access to such a private space. The simple answer is: I’m a woman. This was a rare treat, especially considering the countless uncomfortable experiences I’d endured in men’s locker rooms—chaotic, often awkward environments that lacked privacy and comfort.

I placed my bag on the sleek wooden bench and began to unpack, the faint smell of fresh paint and polish inviting me in. As I scanned the locker room, my gaze fell on a hanging item in the closet area. Curiosity pulled me closer, and as I approached, my heart raced. There, proudly displayed, was a black and white jersey with my number, 32, emblazoned on the back alongside my last name. Tears of joy welled up in my eyes as I stared at the jersey, a symbol of my journey and hard work.

“Granny, we did it,” I whispered to the empty room, feeling her presence with me in that moment of triumph.

Suddenly I heard a knock at my door “Hi Sierra I’m Jake we spoke over the phone can I come in” the voice on the other side of the door said.

‘Yeah come on” I answer back making my way over to the bench and sit down.

The door swings open, and in strides Jake Thompson—he's even taller than I expected from TV. “Nice to finally meet you in person. I've heard nothing but great things about you,” he says, extending his hand. I shake it firmly and reply with a confident smile, “Good things, I hope?”

“Oh, absolutely! How was your travel?” he asks. I nod, responding with certainty, “No complaints at all.”

“Excellent! Welcome to the MLB Combine. Over the next four days, we’ll be evaluating your skills and abilities. On the last day, all participants will showcase their talents in a game, and from there we’ll decide if you’re eligible to be drafted,” he explains, his tone upbeat.

I absorb the information and nod. “Sounds fantastic,” I say with conviction. He nods back, adding, “You're the first woman we've had in the Combine, and you’re the only one here. Believe me, those guys out there won't hold back—they're all here for the same opportunity. You need to prove to them why you belong. Make your name heard.”

I nod with a confident grin. “Absolutely, sir!”

“Great! Now get changed; I want you on the field in 15 minutes. I’m eager to see your fielding skills,” he instructs as he steps out the door.

I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Alright, time to gear up and show them what I’ve got.

As walk out from the dugout I heard the little whispers or gasps in shock as I walked out onto the field Great American Ball Park home to the Cincinnati Reds. Fresh pair of Nike cleats on my feet, sports shades on my eyes, and glove on my left hand right hand ready to throw. 

As I walk out onto the field I see a lot of familiar faces and new faces. 

“Riley!” 

I heard my name shouted I looked over to see who it was I jogged over to home plate and saw it was Jake. “Alright, where going to see how you are in shortstop going to run a couple of drills and go from there” I nod my head and jog out to my position on the field. 

“Veen! Where going to work on hitting position your going to hit to Short and run the play out” Jake told the Rookie who approached home plate who nodded his head then looked at me and his eyes widened slightly. 

I give a slight tip of my baseball cap, which has the MLB logo centered on it. He nods his head back as he prepares to bat. A pitcher steps out from the other dugout and takes his place on the mound. I glance to my left and spot the first baseman.

Lock in time.

The pitcher winds up and throws a fastball.

Veen hits the ball hard toward me. I quickly sprint to it, scoop it up in my glove, and throw it to first base before Veen even gets close to touching it.

I look at the first baseman, who looks like he just saw a ghost. “Damn, you need a pad in that glove, Smith,” Jake calls from the dugout stairs. “Nah, I’m good,” Smith replies with a chuckle.

I shrug my shoulders and lift my hands. “Homeboy was fast; I had to turn up the heat a bit.”

Smith just shakes his head with a smile and throws the ball back to the pitcher.

Yeah, these next few days are going to be fun.

Over the next couple of days, I continued to show my skills by hitting balls more than 400ft, my base running and how I'm able to steal them, fielding, and how I'm able the dive for a ground ball and make double plays. Overall, it's been fun. But now here we are at game day.

With fans plus it's going to be on the MLB network. But not only that all the big people in the head offices are going to be here too. To say my nerves are at an all-time high is an understatement.

But luckily my Best friend Mia is going to be there which eases my nerves a little even though we haven't seen each other in a couple of years since she moved down here for an internship opportunity. Home girl getting her coin and I respect that. 

As I walk into the stadium once again I hear the camera flashes but I'm to but I'm to locked to Beyoncé’s DIVA blasting in my headphones notice. 

I walk into my locker room and see a gift box sitting on the bench. I put my gym bag in my locker and I really get a good look a the box. 

Weird I slowly reached over and opened the box and saw a Nike box inside with a note on top of it.

“So, you thought you could come to town without giving me a heads-up?" I rolled my eyes, already recognizing the playful tone in the note. It was classic Ja’marr. "I thought we were closer than that, but that’s cool. I see how it is." I could almost picture him smirking as I read his words. "But it's fine. I'll accept your apology in the form of a win with those cleats I bought you and a round of drinks when you get drafted." Typical Ja’marr, always finding a way to tease me.

“But for real, sis, I’m proud of you. Go out there and kill it! Show them that they don’t stand a chance against you. I'll be watching, and so will the rest of the Bengals.” I could feel the love and encouragement in his message, even through the banter.

“What?!” I exclaimed, my voice rising in disbelief. My heart raced at the thought of so many eyes on me.

“Good luck! Remember, no pressure.” 

Your big brother, Ja’marr.

Well, thanks a lot, bro. Yeah, no pressure at all. As if I didn't have enough on my plate, now I had an entire NFL team tuning in to see how I perform. 

Help.

Me.

God.

I reached into the box and grasped the sleek Nike shoe box, pulling the top off with curiosity and excitement. “Ha!” I laughed incredulously. This dude knows how to make an impression.

The left cleat was designed with vibrant LSU colors, a tribute to my college and all the hard work I’d put in there. The right cleat, however, was emblazoned in striking Bengals colors, a nod to his NFL team. I couldn’t help but smile; it was a perfect mix of my identity and the new journey I was about to embark on. When I finally see him, it's going to be on and popping.

Game. Time.

They just finished introductions for the red team, and now it’s time to shine the spotlight on us, the blue team. The atmosphere is electric, filled with the excited chatter of fans and the smell of fresh grass.

“And now, for the blue team, hitting first in the lineup, we have the third baseman, number 17, Matthew Veen!” The announcer’s voice booms through the stadium, and I can feel the energy ripple through the crowd.

“Hitting second in the lineup, the right fielder, number 22, Alex Jefferson!” The cheers grow louder as Alex jogs out, ready to make an impact.

“Hitting third in the lineup, the second baseman, number 18, Matt Chambers!” Matt flashes a confident smile and gives a wave to the crowd, clearly relishing the moment.

“Hitting fourth in today’s lineup, the shortstop, number 32, Sierra Riley!” My heart races as I step forward, hearing both cheers and a few boos from the stands. I confidently jog onto the field, my mind focused, determined to block out any negativity and embrace support.

As I approach my teammates, who are lined up along the right foul line, I can see their eager expressions. I give each one a high-five, feeling the camaraderie and excitement building. “Let’s go, baby!” I shout, ready to give it my all in the game ahead. The sound of the crowd swells around us, fueling my adrenaline as we prepare to take the field.

Suddenly I hear LSU chants and look behind me to see my old softball teammates, my old skip Jim Smith, and my best friend Mia. I wave over to where they're sitting and turn my focus back to the rest of the lineup. 

Reiterating the words in my head Show them what you got.

After the national anthem and pregame interviews. It's time to take the field. 

1st inning wasn't a bad one quick one everyone went on 3 pitches or a Flyout. 

2nd inning 4,5,6 were due up. Which means I lead off. 

I grab my bat, feeling its familiar weight in my hands, and step out onto the field as the powerful notes of James Brown's "It's a Man's World" resonate through the speakers, filling the air with energy and anticipation.

“It’s a man’s world, but it would be nothing without a woman or a girl.”

You’re damn straight, James. I can feel the strength in those words as I take my position.

I adjust my stance in the batter's box, ensuring my feet are planted firmly and that I'm not leaning too far forward or backward. As the final notes of the song fade away, I lock eyes with the pitcher. He’s got a determined look on his face, and in that moment, I can sense the intensity of the competition. I hold his gaze, letting him know I'm ready.

He nods to the catcher, signaling the forthcoming pitch, and raises his arm, winding up with deliberate precision. The anticipation in the crowd builds as he releases the ball.

I track its trajectory and realize it’s headed straight down the middle of the plate. Without hesitation, I swing my bat with all my might. There’s an exhilarating moment of contact as the crack of the bat echoes around the stadium, followed by a collective gasp and oohs of excitement from the crowd. 

When I finally open my eyes, I see the ball soaring high into the sky, arcing beautifully toward the outfield. The cheers of the crowd swell as I watch it sail over the fence, secure in its path toward the stands. 

Home run.

I toss my bat aside in triumph and begin my exhilarating journey around the bases, soaking in the electric atmosphere as my home run song, "Pressure" by Ari Lennox, bursts back to life through the speakers, amplifying the thrill of the moment.

The first pitch was a fastball right down the heart of the plate—perfectly placed. The scoreboard lights up: Score 1-0. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I can't help but think, oh, this is going to be fun…

Chapter 3..My House

A/N: I just realized that in the first chapter, I said 2020 MLB Combine I meant to say 2021 MLB Combine 🤦🏿‍♀️ I was half asleep when I wrote that chapter so please forgive me and my sleepy writing.

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter two: sex and candy

*18+ minors DNI*

tags: mentions of anxiety, religious shame/guilt, reader being insecure, mentions of (negative) past sexual experiences and partners, brief mention of alcohol consumption, v fingering, oral (f receiving) joel is a cunnilinguist, 2000’s nostalgia, mentions of the patriarchy (booooo)  squirting (sue me),  Joel-Land™️™️™️

reader has hair that she fidgets with, "grows warm" /"cheeks burning" but not necessarily blushing, with embarrassment - minor edits to make this more inclusive for my readers <3

word count: ~4.5k

Author/s notes: Sorry it took longer to get ch. 2 out than I anticipated. I've had a lot going on in my personal life (I got a new job!) But I promise it won't be as long for ch. 3 hehe. this is a lengthy chapter, hope y'all enjoy!!

had to name reader's bestie after my dear friend @katiexpunk <3 thanks for always letting me run ideas by you and being a peach in general.

and thank you to @softiedingo for being a beta reader as well <333

It has been two weeks since you introduced yourself to Joel and Sarah. You hate to admit it, but you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Joel. Your mind will stay preoccupied temporarily, then they circle back to him. 

Throwing clothes in the washer? Joel. 

Boiling water for pasta? Joel. 

Doing the dishes? Joel. 

In the shower? Yep, definitely Joel. 

And this morning is no different. 

You’re staring at yourself in your bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth, mind deep into Joel-Land, then your thoughts take a sharp turn - for the worst. You’re thinking about all of your past sexual encounters. 

How unsatisfying and selfish your past partners were. You hadn’t been romantically involved with any of your past partners, all of them casual-no-strings-attached type of arrangements. 

Even if the sex was casual, did that mean the pleasure had to be one-sided? Of course not. 

However, after each encounter you found yourself feeling disappointed, and truthfully, it made you feel…..icky. Was it religious shame? Even though you don’t participate or believe in any religion anymore, your formative years were spent in a conservative, Christian church; where sex is bad, and sin is bad. And you don’t want to be bad, because you will go to hell. You don’t even believe in hell, yet, there is a small voice in your head that still worries about eternal damnation. Jeez, I should really see a therapist about that.  

 Perhaps it’s the misogyny and sexism, rampant and hard-wired into society and into mind’s since the beginning of time. 

Your internal theological and philosophical debate gives you a throbbing headache. 

+++

It’s Friday. Halloween falls on a Tuesday this year, so most Halloween celebrations would occur this weekend. 

If you were still in college, you’d most likely attend a costume party at a frat party and drink until the sun came up. These days, you don’t recover from hangovers as easily and find the anxiety spiral that follows a night of drinking to be too debilitating so you’re planning on keeping it chill this year. 

You’re pouring out a bag of candy into a bowl, so candy is easily accessible for your sweet tooth cravings when you hear a strong, loud cluster of knocks at your front door. 

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock. 

Shaking off your initial startling from the sudden knocks, you open your front door to find Joel. He’s leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, one half of his body bears all his weight. He swiftly straightens upright again when you greet him. He looks even more handsome from the last time you saw him. He’s wearing dark wash jeans that accentuate his body in the most delectable way and a black t-shirt with a faded MILLER CONSTRUCTION graphic that is just barely legible. 

You have the urge to steal the well-worn shirt so you can sleep in it, relish his scent, and let it become a metaphorical embrace of Joel. 

Fuck, I really am down bad, you internally scold yourself to come back to the present moment. 

“Joel! Ho-how are you?” you manage to creak out through nerves and surprise. 

His beautiful, dark brown eyes are staring right into yours. His eyes could compel you to do anything. 

“I’m doin’ alright, you?” The word ‘alright’ is drawn out making it sound like “awllll-right”

“Can’t complain. Y’all settling in okay?” tilting your head unconsciously, as if to convey genuinity.  

“Oh yeah, ‘s a nice neighborhood. Sarah seems to be enjoyin’ her new school, I was a lil worried she’d have a hard time but she’s a smart kid and gets along with pretty much everyone. Awful silly of me to worry in the first place…” he’s rambling, hands moving at the same pace as his speech. 

You find his rambling to be cute, it’s a bit of a juxtaposition from his strong, demanding presence. 

Joel realizes he’s nervous after he concludes his tangent. When’s the last time he felt nervous around women? Especially a sweet, non-threatening woman like you? 

“Anywho, I came over to uh- ask you somethin’... Sarah liked your cookies so much she wants to learn how to make them herself and was wondering if you’d teach her?”

“I’d love to!” You shoot him a flattered smile,  learning that Sarah wanted you to teach her to bake makes your heart sing.

Joel is amazed at you. You agreed to teach a twelve year old, one who you hardly know, to bake. He shouldn’t be surprised given your sweet demeanor and generous heart, but he’s in awe of you. 

“You sure? I mean, you obviously don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“Joel, I’d be honored to. Send her over in an hour,” you cut him off, hoping to convey your delight in teaching someone else to bake, the same way your grandma did for you. 

Joel can’t stop the shit-eating grin that appears on his face. 

“Sounds good. I’ll send her your way, sweetheart,” he lingers just for a moment to watch your reaction to the nickname, the one he’s used twice. 

You desperately try to keep your composure cool and collected, but you’ve never had a good poker face. You wear your emotions like an accessory. And right now, you are flustered. You divert your attention to the ground as if looking into his eyes would expose your every thought. 

“O-okay!” You can barely stammer out a response before he is pivoting off your porch, back to his own house. 

You can’t see it with his back turned to you, but Joel is smirking to himself and feeling amused at his effect on you. 

+++

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Yes, dad. I don’t need a chaperone to bake cookies. I’m a big girl now, remember?”

Yes, he is acutely aware that she is a big girl now. Well, not really, to him she will always be his baby girl, but that doesn’t stop her from growing up. Too fast for his liking. The idea of her becoming a teenager almost gives him a coronary. It won’t be long before she’s driving, then graduating, and college. What if she wants to attend a school in another state? Across the country? 

He feels queasy at that thought, afraid that she will grow out of thinking her dad is the coolest, afraid that she doesn’t want to spend time with her old man anymore. 

He wills himself to think about something else. Anything else. Inevitably his thoughts wander to you. 

Joel hates to admit it, but he was hoping to join Sarah for the baking lesson. He wants an excuse to be in your radiant, sweet, beautiful presence again. 

While you can’t stop thinking about him, he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Driving home from work? You. 

Making dinner? You. 

Making his morning coffee? You. 

Laying in bed? Oh, yeah. Definitely you. 

Exactly one hour passes when Sarah arrives at your house. You’ve already set up in your kitchen in preparation; already pre-measured the ingredients, setting out all the necessary baking equipment and you even found a spare apron for Sarah to wear. Ya know, to give her the full experience. 

“Oooh, this apron makes me feel like a professional!” Sarah exclaims after tying the strings on her designated apron. 

“Well, after this, you will be.”

You can’t remember the last time you felt this much joy. Sharing a passion of yours with someone who is eager to learn from you delights your heart and soul in a way you didn’t know you needed until now. 

“So first, we’ll need to combine the butter and sugar,” Sarah dumps the butter and sugar into the mixing bowl. “Great, now we want to beat the mixture until it looks fluffy.” 

She is completely engrossed in watching for the desired texture, furrowing her brows together in a way that mimics Joel. You find it adorable. 

“Excellent, now we are going to add in the eggs and vanilla extract.” 

She follows your instructions to a T, meticulous and concentrated as if she were mixing hazardous chemicals in a lab. 

“You’re doing great.  Now let’s add our dry ingredients, half of it at a time.” 

Her eyes light up when it’s time to fold in the chocolate chips. You both agree it’s the best part, both of you indulging in a few before adding them to the dough. 

You assist Sarah in rolling the dough into little balls and placing them onto the baking sheet. 

While waiting for the cookies to bake, you learn more about Sarah and Joel. She tells you about their old house, the camping trip they went on this past summer, the catchy pop songs on the radio that Joel will pretend to hate but she catches him humming the tune later, how Joel makes a big breakfast for the two of them every Sunday, a ritual they started when Sarah started school - he makes pancakes just for her. 

Getting a snapshot of Joel and Sarah’s lives and their dynamic makes your mega crush on Joel that much bigger. From what Sarah has shared with you, he seems like a caring, protective yet fun dad. You’re aching to learn everything about him. 

“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” Sarah asks as you’re pulling the baking sheet out of the oven. 

“Oh um, I usually just hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Nothing super exciting. What about you?”

“We always order pizza and watch a scary movie - nothing super scary though. We dress up too. Well, I dress up but dad thinks he is too cool to do that so he wears the same boring mask every year,” she has a mischievous grin on her face, concocting a plan when she asks, “do you want to come over and join us?” 

On one hand you’d love nothing more than to spend more time with your new friend and Joel, but on the other hand the thought of being in the same room as Joel, in his house, makes you both anxious and aroused. Dizzy, nervous, and horny makes for an unpleasant combination. 

Gaining a sliver of bravery, you swallow your apprehension and say yes. 

“Sure, yeah, what time should I come over?”

“6:30. And you better wear a costume!”

+++

You’ve spent the past hour trying to put a costume together. Not making any progress, you decide to seek external advice - your best friend Katie. 

You both met as freshman and have been close friends ever since, even rooming together in your first off-campus apartment. She moved to the West Coast shortly after graduation, though you still keep in touch via email and phone. You give her the scoop on Joel - him moving into the neighborhood, your gigantic crush on him, how you baked cookies with Sarah yesterday. She’s impatiently waiting for you to bone your hot neighbor. Girl, I’m waiting too. 

“Do you still have that bunny costume you wore junior year?”

You rummage through your tote of seasonal clothing in search of said costume. Pulling it out, you now realize just how skimpy the costume really is. Bunny ears and a tail paired with a skin tight black bodysuit leaves virtually nothing to the imagination and definitely too much skin for this occasion. 

“Dude, I can’t wear this! His daughter will be there! I can’t believe I wore this out in public. This is X-Rated,” you’re growing agitated in having no success in your costume, to the point that you are tempted to tell Sarah you came down with something so you don’t have to go. 

“Okay, okay, the ears and tail are still salvageable. Do you have something besides the bodysuit?”

“Ummm…” you trail off into the phone, frantically searching for something to replace the risque bodysuit. You find a plain white baby tee amongst the sea of clothing, deciding you can pair it with your favorite jeans, the ones that accentuate your body in all the right places. 

“This could work..” muttering to yourself when a devious thought pops into your head. White shirt, no bra. 

“Found it! Gotta go, loveyoubye!” You hang up the call before Katie has a chance to respond, tossing your pink Razr on your bed. Your body hums in anticipation and jitters, feeling emboldened by your no bra plot. 

After throwing on your outfit, you style your hair differently than you normally do. You add several coats of mascara to your lashes, sweep on some blush that complements your skin and add a sparkly lip gloss to your lips, making them appear extra plump and juicy. 

You grab a bag of Halloween candy and you practically skip across the street. Reaching the front door of your new bestie and her gorgeous dad, your confidence is replaced with a furious ball of anxiety. Your heart is palpitating and you feel your stomach churn. 

 Would Joel think you looked stupid? Or worse, childish? Fuck, you should’ve stayed home. 

Joel opening the door snaps you out of your thought spiral but only briefly, because he’s staring at you like you’ve started growing extra limbs. He looks both puzzled and pissed? 

“What uh-what’re you doing here?” 

His voice has a sharpness you haven’t heard before and it stings. 

You have a moment of realization. 

Sarah didn’t run the invitation by her dad.

 You deduct that he isn’t a fan of surprises. 

Before you can formulate a response, Sarah saves you from having to do so. 

“You dressed up! I’m glad you came,” she squeals while wrapping her arms around your middle in an embrace. 

She looks up at Joel from where she’s latched onto you and gives her confused dad an explanation. 

“Dad, it’s okay, I invited her.” 

That seems to alleviate his confusion. You, on the other hand, not so much. You’re internally screaming at yourself. It’s obvious to you that Joel wasn’t expecting you, and in conclusion, doesn’t want you here. 

“I didn’t mean to impose, I—I’m sorry, I’ll uh— just go back home,” fighting back tears of embarrassment, looking everywhere except at Joel.  You think now is a superb time to move across the country, change your name, dye your hair, somewhere far away from this humiliation. 

Joel senses you’re feeling rejected in some way.

“No, no, come on in. Jus’ wasn’t expectin’ you s’all,” he gives you his most reassuring smile. 

You swallow the lump of emotions in your throat. 

He didn’t expect you to come over, nor did he expect you’d show up as his personal version of a Playboy bunny.  He almost busted in his jeans when he could see your nipples through your very thin white t-shirt. He thinks you’re trying to kill him. 

+++

You’re starting to relax once you three settle on the couch, Sarah nestling between you and Joel, Alien on the TV. Turns out, you and Joel share a love for the film. You may or may not have gotten into a heated (playful) debate about the other films in the franchise.

Joel gets an influx of trick-or-treaters, more than you usually get, residents of the neighborhood taking advantage of this opportunity to be nosy. Again. 

In between costume clad visitors, you sneak glances at Joel, who looks absolutely scrumptious tonight. His hair had been damp and combed back when you arrived, his curls now almost dry and in all their glory. He’s wearing an obviously well-loved, faded Pearl Jam concert tee that clings to his arms and grey sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips. You wonder if all his shirts fit like that. When he stands, you can see the outline of his dick through his sweatpants.  You have to manually restrain yourself from pouncing on him. You’re soaking through your panties and you’re a little worried that if you stand, the seat beneath you will be soaked too. 

The scent of his body wash invades your nostrils, a heavenly mix of sandalwood and cinnamon. You’re imagining yourself running your hands through his hair and burying your nose into his neck, alternating between kissing and sucking on the skin there. You want to taste every inch of his skin, taking your time to savor him. 

Joel’s stealing glances at you, too. He’s never seen someone look so sweet and seductive, divine even. You smell warm and sweet, amber and vanilla. Not the artificial, manufactured type vanilla scent, it’s like vanilla straight from the bean. When you readjust your position on the couch to get more comfortable, your tits lightly bounce, unrestrained by a bra. He has to stifle a groan, disguising it as a cough. He wonders how much they’d bounce if you were riding his cock. Your lips are absolutely sinful. Pouty and plump, juicy from the lip gloss. The bunny ears are the nail in his coffin. He’s picturing you bent over on his couch, still wearing the bunny ears as he devours your pussy from behind. 

Only a quarter of the way through the movie, a few of Sarah’s friends from her old school pop in to invite her over for an impromptu sleepover to which Joel agrees to, since they no longer go to school together. 

Which means you and Joel are left alone. Together. Your body is aching to close space between you and the man you’re enamored with. You don’t know that Joel is itching to do the same. 

“Sarah couldn’t stop talkin’ bout yesterday. She loved hangin’ out with ya, thanks again for doin’ that.”

“She’s welcome to come over anytime. She’s a sweet kid,” you’re beaming at the fact she enjoyed baking with you. Joel notices the way your eyes gleam, overflowing with delight.

You finally have the courage to meet his eyes. The way his eyes are raking over your entire body makes your clit throb in anticipation. Your heartbeat is erratic, thumping loudly in your ears. 

The energy in the room is magnetic, pulling you and Joel closer together. 

“You can uh-scoot closer t’me if ya want,” he gruffs out, beckoning you to scoot closer to him. Joel wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you make him feel like a flustered teenage boy about to kiss a girl for the first time. 

You scoot closer to Joel, hoping he doesn’t notice your body trembling from nerves. 

With your body flush next to his, he stretches one of his toned arms behind your head, resting it on the back of the couch. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body and it sends a shiver down your spine, straight to your aching core. 

The tension in the air is palpable, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. You’re both pretending to watch the movie in front of you, but your minds are elsewhere. He gently removes his arm from the couch and rests it across your shoulders. It’s a seemingly innocuous gesture, but its impact makes you clench around nothing, more arousal dripping into your panties. 

He leans his head down close to yours, his mouth behind your ear.

“No bra? You’re a naughty lil bunny aren’t ya?” His hot breath tickles your ear, your eyes clamp shut involuntarily and you whimper. A high-pitched, whiny whimper, and Joel’s never heard anything sweeter. 

He places his other large palm on your thigh, gently squeezing it. Your skin prickling in goosebumps and your nipples are hard enough to cut glass. The wetness pooled in your panties is beyond the point of comfort. 

Joel presses a chaste kiss behind your ear, eliciting another whimper from you. He peppers kisses from your neck all the way to your collarbones.

“This okay?” 

“Mhmmm…”  You’re already so keyed up you feel hazy. Your whole body feels hot, lit aflame by Joel’s lips on your skin.  

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he rasps while his hand is caressing your thigh, intentionally not too close to where you want him. Need him. 

“Mhmmm,” you moan, still unable to form words, arousal taking over all of your bodily functions. 

“Need you to use your words, honey.” He squeezes your thigh again.

He pulls his face back from your neck to look you in the eyes, and slows his movements on your thigh so you can tell him to back off or give him the green light to continue. You grab his hand on your thigh and squeeze it, to keep him from removing it. 

“Joel, pleeease. Want it so bad. Need you so fuckin’ bad.” 

You beg in the most sultry voice you can muster, emphasizing every syllable. 

Your lust laden eyes and the way you mewl for him ignites something ravenous, primal, carnal in him. He hasn’t heard you cuss before and it sounds so filthy in your honeyed voice.  His rock hard cock twitches in his pants. 

He presses his plush lips against yours. It’s hesitant at first, but his apprehension dissipates when you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with fervor. Joel deepens the kiss, one hand gripping your hip, the other hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing your body further into his. You tangle one of your hands in his luscious curls. He tastes like sweet peppermint and a hint of black coffee. You feel dizzy, tasting him, finally feeling him. 

He breaks the kiss, guiding you to lie down on your back and props your head up on one of the couch armrests. 

He’s looking down at you and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. You’re always pretty, effortlessly so. But seeing you underneath him, sweet and desperate for him? He’d do anything you ask him to.

“You’re the prettiest lil bunny. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You’re bashful under his gaze and his compliment, cheeks burning. 

Joel notices you trying to shy away and he places a thumb under your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. 

Now you feel embarrassed for trying to shy away in the first place.

“Sorry I’m—”

“Nothing to ‘pologize for, sweetheart,” he’s caressing your chin with his thumb, alleviating all of the embarrassment from you.

“Wanna taste you. You’ve no idea how bad I’ve wanted to taste you. Needed to know if you were as sweet as your cookies.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, “yes - yes please, taste me, Joel”

He chuckles softly at your enthusiasm and promptly rids you of your jeans, making the leather of the couch feel cool to the back of your thighs. 

Joel lets out a guttural moan when he sees your sky blue satin panties soaked through. He runs a finger over the damp spot, making you quiver. His touch is featherlight and it’s maddening. You’re squirming, hips lifting off the couch, chasing for more. 

He obliges, running a finger over your clit with added pressure. 

“Joel, please–” You’re a whiny mess under him, and he’s just getting started. He’s rubbing gentle circles over your bud, still-panty clad. 

He presses a kiss on your belly, just below your navel. The tenderness makes your body shudder.

He finally removes your panties and you gasp when the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. 

“Pretty girl with a pretty pussy to match.” Joel’s admiring the way your pussy is glistening for him, begging to be touched. 

He runs a finger through your drenched seam, your juices dripping onto his thick digit. He licks his finger, then shoves it into his mouth so he can taste every drop. His eyes clamp shut, groaning at how you taste. You commit the image to memory, not wanting to forget how he looks and sounds when he tastes you for the first time.

“Knew you’d taste sweet. So fuckin’ sweet.” 

Your brain short circuits when you realize that means he’s thought about this before. That he’s imagined how you’d taste. Picturing him fantasizing about you makes you light-headed. 

Joel spreads your legs wider, giving him full access to your pussy. He dives in without warning, licking from entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck, Joel!” You hoarsely shout with one hand gripping the couch cushion and one tugging onto Joel’s messy curls. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your pussy as you grind your hips into his mouth, desperate for release. 

 You see stars while he expertly alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking on your clit. He’s keeping a steady rhythm, on the slower side, taking his time pleasuring you. He’s enjoying this.

Obscene sounds fill the room; Joel devouring your pussy like it’s the Last Supper and your chorus of moans and expletives. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”

“Shitshitshit–”

“Joelllll-” 

He picks up the pace, your fingers cramping from their deathgrip on the couch. You feel your peak approaching - sweat beading on your forehead, chest heaving, head thrown back in ecstasy. 

Joel senses your approaching release and pushes one of his thick, dexterous fingers into your weeping hole. 

He reaches for your hand that’s tangled in his hair and intertwines your fingers with his, resting your connected hands on your inner thigh. It’s overwhelming; the intimacy of your interlocked fingers paired with the filthy onslaught of his mouth. 

He speeds up as he adds another finger, hitting the spot that no one except you has reached before. You never knew it could feel this amazing. You thought you were doomed to a life of bad sex. 

Apparently, you just needed Joel to show you differently. And you are so glad he proved you wrong. 

Joel hooks his fingers inside you bringing you closer and closer to that peak you’ve been dying to reach. You’re squeezing his fingers, both the ones inside you and the ones interlaced with yours. 

“Joel I-I’m close,” you manage to choke out, mind foggy from the intense pleasure. 

He sucks on your clit, hard and you’re coming, entering a euphoric plane of existence. You’re floating, body trembling, coming harder than you’ve ever come before. 

Joel slows his fingers and removes his mouth from your pussy, beard glistening with your release, gently bringing you back to reality. He keeps your fingers locked with his, grounding you in the present.

The orgasmic fog clears from your brain, regaining awareness of your surroundings when you feel how drenched your lower half is. Like, really drenched. You lift your head from the armrest and look down and you’re appalled by the scene. 

You fucking squirted. Everywhere. 

On yourself, on the couch, on Joel. His beard is soaked completely, to the point it’s dripping down his chin. He’s just as stunned as you are. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, fuck I-” you’re scrambling to get off the couch and Joel grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks. 

“What’re you sorry for? That was so fuckin’ hot, sweetheart.” 

“I-I didn’t know I could do that…”

“Oh yeah? First time ever squirtin’?

“Yeah, the first time anyone else has made me come… like, ever.” 

His gaze goes dark. 

You get the feeling that he’s just getting started with you. 

And just like your cookies, he’d never have enough. 

THE END

[jello-library]

The Roommate Program (PT 2/?)

Finally part 2!! This one focus more on the reader/self insert!

Also I want to try writing the letters so you can get a feel of what being written instead of just getting vague descriptions!

I hope you enjoy it! 💛

Your first letter from your pen pal was…something else…to say the least. Paired with a prickly friendship bracelet. You felt like you opened Pandora's box with that first letter.

You sigh as you sit down in your office chair looking down at the blank sheet of paper nervously. What in the world do you write back? I mean, writing a letter about yourself is easy but continuing conversations is harder than it looks. What do you say now “Hey I heard you went to solitary confinement was it fun?” Like how you continue talking with him?!

Twirling the pen in your hands your wings twitch and flutter nervously. You joined the program because being a past patient at the Theraprism who managed to opt out of the recarnation ceremony praise the axolotl for that one. You thought it was nice to try to give back to them you know to show that redemption is worth the effort! You felt like you had a pleasant experience there or maybe because you were more cooperative than your peers.

But after the copious amount of interviews and several months of being on the waiting list.

You finally were met with a small envelope congratulating you on your approval into the program and your pen pal. You thought things were finally going well for a chance.

Until…you were brought to have a one-on-one conversation with THE Axolotl themselves you felt like maybe this wasn’t a good idea anymore…They wanted to talk about your pen pal, Bill Cipher. You were somewhat familiar with the name mostly being associated with the chaos he left in his wake.

He was a force to be reckoned with.

Was…

“He is someone who is quite..um…complex..” Look up from your teacup to glance at the other being across the table. The word “Complex” still feels like an understatement to you. The axolotl smiled down at your eyes laced with slight concern before continuing.

“I’ve read your file..” Shit. ”You seem to have been the star patient during your stay. Self-admitted leading to 500,000 years stay before you were released. The top storyteller during puppet hour.“

You can feel yourself getting hot with embarrassment as you sink into your seat. “Yeah, Dr.Oswald says he misses my shows…” You swirl around the remaining tea left within the cup. You don’t know what to say or why they brought you here to begin with. Did all the other participants go through this conversation as well?

“I already know why he joined the program. But I hope for a better outcome than another trip to Wellness Void and I think you can help me with that.”

Looking back down at the blank sheet of paper the pen feels more lighter in your hand now. Just breathe and relax if you mess up you can fix it later.

Dear Bill,

Sorry for my first letter being so plain I can honestly admit I’m a bit nervous about messing this up. I never knew how to talk to someone without it feeling awkward so this is a new step for me. As someone who used to be in the same position you’re in I feel like I can you some advice on how to make your stay less boring! Like, if you want to get out of group therapy it’s time to start taking advantage of art time!

Start doing big projects that take up time with this when art time is over you can ask to stay. But it’s important to say it so can present your piece to the next time group therapy session! Use this advice sparingly those counselors in there are nice but they ain’t dumb! Also if the vending machine is still in the cafeteria hold down on the C button it should give you an extra snack but it’s sadly randomized.

Well, I hope this letter finds you well and also thank you for the bracelet I hope to make you something special when I write to you again!

Sincerely,

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