#i already forgot the last name of someone who used to be one of my dearest friends and i cant remember it no matter how hard i try

[zenyuumi]

.

[joelscruff]

truth or dare (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

notification blog | kofi | in honor of my bestie han @swiftispunk who recently celebrated her birthday (and in honor of spooky season starting 🎃) i thought i'd step outside the boundaries of what i usually write and try something new. i'd also like to give a huge shoutout to @toxicanonymity whose entire masterlist greatly influenced my desire to try something like this. please heed the warnings!!! and as i said this is my first time writing anything like this so pls be kind 🫠

summary: a harmless game of truth or dare ends with you tied up in a certain mysterious neighbor's garage. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: dubcon (reader is given a choice to leave, but not immediately), dark!joel, age gap (reader is college age, joel is in his fifties), unprotected p in v sex, use of restraints, ropes, spanking, degradation, sir kink, dirty talk (use of 'little girl' as a pet name), face fucking, rough sex, creampie, brief anal play, humiliation, inappropriate use of a household item (he puts a flashlight up her cooch), marking (with a sharpie), size kink (joel is much bigger than reader and can lift her), pls lemme know if i forgot anything word count: 8.3k

Your palms are sweaty, fingers sticking to your skin as you stand at the edge of the property with goosebumps already blooming along your flesh. The air is chilly, that end of summer evening air flooding your nostrils as a car drives past through streams of leftover rainwater, headlights blurring your vision for a moment. It passes quickly and you're alone again, standing on the street corner with a mixture of anticipation and dread filling your trembling body.

Everything had been fine about twenty minutes ago. A typical party with your hometown friends, one last hurrah before everyone splits off for the third year in a row to go back to their respective colleges, back to long lectures and underwhelming frat boys. It had gone the same way it always does when you get together - shots, secrets, schemes. No end of summer party could ever be complete without a game of truth or dare, not for your crowd anyway.

It had started simple. "Which one of us had the best glow-up this year?" "I dare you to text the last guy you slept with." "What's the kinkiest thing you've done with somebody?" "I dare you to show us the last nude someone sent you." Typical borderline adolescent challenges, things you all still followed through with despite being too old for the game - it's the principle of it, to indulge and pretend, if only for a little while, that life is as simple as it once was.

"Who's the last person you had a sex dream about?"

You'd twisted your hands awkwardly in your lap, felt heat rush to the apples of your cheeks. Usually a question like this wouldn't make you hesitate, but the subject of the answer had been a slightly embarrassing one. As soon as the name Joel Miller had fallen from your lips, you'd been met with screams and squeals and excited chatter from every direction.

"He's so fucking creepy though," one of your friends had said with wide eyes, palm over her mouth, "He gives off serial killer vibes."

"Oh please, he's not that bad," another had chimed in, "He's just a loner, kinda mysterious. I see the vision."

"Are we forgetting the part where he's old as hell? Dude must be in his fifties, at least."

"But that means experience."

"It could also mean limp dick."

"You guys are disgusting," you'd moaned, leaning back on your hands, "It was one dream, let's move on."

And they had. Briefly. Until it was once again your turn and they'd all rounded on you with cheshire cat grins and glinting stares. You should have known what was coming when you chose Dare.

"I dare you to go over to his house."

You'd resisted, of course. The dare itself didn't even make much sense; what were you meant to do? Go over and ding-dong-ditch his front door like a twelve year old boy? But it had only snowballed from there, all five girls tossing in their own thoughts and ideas, talking and giggling over each other. "She should ask him on a date." "She should just flirt a little bit, see how he reacts." "She could see how far she can get with him, maybe?" "Oh shit, that's good."

You could have always said no - there was no way any of them could force you to do it, even if it would have ended the party abruptly with grumbled complaints and a slammed door. But the more they talked the more you found yourself listening, letting the concept sink in, the images of the dream you'd had the other night flooding to the front of your mind. Mysterious and elusive Joel Miller, big hands covered in the motor oil he uses to tinker with his truck, trailing his messy fingers between the swells of your breasts...

They'd managed to convince you just by the reminder alone, though also due to the fact that they'd each tossed in a twenty dollar bill and stated that simply getting a kiss on the cheek would warrant a win. The prospect was intriguing; it would be a testament to your own desirability, your game. How far can you get with your quiet neighbor who probably hasn't touched a woman in years? Who'll probably fold the second he realizes someone as young and beautiful as you is interested in him?

"I'll do it," you'd said with a smirk, rising from the hardwood, "How hard can it be?"

Harder than you thought, apparently. Because now you stand a few feet from Joel Miller's house, loitering soundlessly at the edge of his front lawn, hesitating. The sun has gone down, turning the hedges along the side of his property into frighteningly tall shadows, dark and menacing. A light breeze flows past and you wrap yourself tighter in your well-worn maroon cardigan, shivering, staring at your boots and wondering if you can really bring yourself to do this.

It'll be so humiliating if he rejects your advances. On the other hand, will it somehow be less-so if he returns your flirtatiousness and you then have to reject him once you've gotten what you came for? How will that make you look? You're not even really sure why you care - probably because the man has done nothing to you whatsoever, nothing that would warrant such a foolish prank as this being played on him. It makes you feel bad, in a way. As much as you and your friends make fun of him, he really is just a man who keeps to himself - perhaps this is going too far.

You notice light flickering nearby, a reflection of fluorescents in the puddles of his driveway. You figured he'd be in his garage - it's where he spends most of his time, bent over the exposed hood of the truck he's seemingly been working on ever since he moved in at the beginning of the summer. You've never seen him drive it, never even seen him leave the property, but you've passed by the house on more than one occasion. You've seen the way he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, forearms splattered black and grey, expression focused on the task at hand while sweat drips from his greying temples.

Having a sex dream about him really shouldn't have been that shocking, now that you think about it. The man is a mystery, sure, but he isn't ugly by any means.

You swallow down your qualms, picturing the faces of your friends more than likely smooshed against the living room window a few houses back, watching. As soon as you turn the corner, you'll disappear from view, obstructed by the hedges and the sudden darkness of night. You take one more deep breath, one last burst of chilly evening air into your lungs, and accept your fate.

--

He doesn't notice you walking up his driveway, taking slow and meager steps as you assess the open garage, the truck with its hood popped as usual, the flickering of the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling. He doesn't notice you, but you notice him. You spot a pair of steel toed boots and long denim clad legs sticking out from underneath the truck, hear the clink and clang of metal against metal while he tinkers with something down there, unseen. As you reach the garage it becomes apparent that you still have one last chance to end this before it begins, turn around and take the loss.

But you don't.

"Excuse me," you offer in a weak voice, teetering nervously at the edge of the garage door, neither inside nor out - neutral ground.

The clinking stops, replaced by the steady pounding of your heart in your chest, the heaviness of your breathing. You try to loosen your hands from their fisted forms and unclench your fingers, focusing on the stretch of flesh and bone while the legs beneath the car slowly begin to inch forward. He's not laying on any type of support, one of those wheeled contraptions you've seen other people use - no, he's simply got his back to the ground, a back and body that's slowly coming into view.

His black and green flannel rides up where he's been laying on it, as well as the grey t-shirt he wears beneath; as he slides out from under the car you spot a bare sliver of skin just above his waistband, a patch of hair that trails down into his jeans. A lump forms in your throat. When he finally peeks his head out, you swallow around it and try to remember to breathe.

Greying hair slicked back behind his ears, cheekbones smeared slightly with something black, scruff lining a strong yet soft jawline, a plump bottom lip, and those eyes... dark brown, almost black. It's the face that's practically been haunting you all summer, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.

His brow furrows as soon as he sees you, "Can I help you?"

It's not the first time you've heard him talk, but it's certainly the first time he's ever spoken directly to you. His accent is stronger than you remember, words slipping smoothly past his lips like butter as he eyes you from the floor of his garage, knees up, hands still hidden in the darkness. A few seconds pass before you realize he's asked you a question.

"Oh, um-" You haven't thought this through very far, that's for sure. What the fuck do you even say? You take a breath and remind yourself that you're good at this, have seduced your fair share of frat boys in the past two years with minimal effort and have never heard the word no. Sure, Joel Miller isn't a frat boy - far from it - but underneath his cold exterior he's still very much a man, and very much capable of falling under the spell of a beautiful woman. You hope, anyway.

"I was just taking a walk," you lie, "Saw your light on, thought I'd come say hi."

He stares at you blankly, like he's unsure exactly how he's supposed to respond - or perhaps he's already seeing through your façade. You take a step into his garage, poised at the edge as you lean casually against the opening.

"Honestly, um-" you push some hair behind your ear and attempt to look shy, though it's not a huge jump from how you're actually feeling, "I've been meaning to talk to you, before I go back to college."

At your words he raises an eyebrow and slowly brings his hands downwards, palms pressing flat against the dark concrete. You watch as he eases himself up and out from under the truck, and god he's tall - tall and broad and huge compared to you, a fact that sends a little flutter into your belly. He takes a step toward the work bench against the wall, eyes still on you as he reaches down and picks up a rag to wipe his hands, big and wide and streaked with oil. You remember your dream and feel a twinge in your underwear.

"Talk to me about what?" he asks, massaging the rag against his fingers.

You shrug as nonchalantly as you can, taking another step inside his garage, closer to where he stands at the work bench. You cross your legs in an attempt to show them off, stretching your ankle toward a spare tire on the floor and accentuating the sheerness of your black tights, the little run that splits the material at the inside of your knee, the hint of bare skin that peeks out beneath.

"Nothing in particular," you say, keeping your voice soft and steady but doing your best to keep that shy girlishness present, "Just... wanted to." You peer up at him from under your lashes and bite your lip, then reach out your hand for him to take. You say your name.

He assesses your hand but doesn't take it, brow still furrowed. "Joel," he replies, "And I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment. Don't really have time to talk." His voice is cold and gruff, absolutely no sign of interest or attraction - dammit.

"What're you doing?" you ask, tilting your head.

He continues to stare at you blankly, "What does it look like I'm doin'?"

Okaaaay, then.

You shrug again and take another step, turning to look at the wall next to you. Tools line the shelves, wrenches and screwdrivers and the like dangling rather precariously here and there, smeared in motor oil and dust. It's a mess but you'd be willing to bet that it's organized chaos, that he likes it this way.

"What's this?" you ask, pointing to a particularly large object, something that looks like a mixture between a pair of scissors and a wrench.

"Bolt cutters," he supplies you monotonously.

"Ohh," you say with a nod, leaning a bit into the confused pretty girl stereotype and hoping maybe he's a sucker for it, "And what's that?" You point toward a small cylindrical object, black and tactical, only a few inches long.

"You never seen a flashlight before?"

Oh. Right. "Woops," you giggle, "Sorry."

You turn your face to look at him sheepishly and he's still watching you, big arms now crossed against his broad chest - impatient. Well, this is clearly not working either. He's frowning, eyes so focused on your face that you feel almost naked beneath it, like he's staring into your soul. You clear your throat awkwardly and tug your bottom lip between your teeth, breaking your own gaze away from him and trying to find something else to comment on.

"So you've been working on your truck," you state, gesturing toward the vehicle as if only just noticing it was even there, "What's - uh - what's wrong with it?"

He's clearly not buying into whatever the fuck you're even trying to sell. He remains silent, eyes still on you, and suddenly it's like you've never even interacted with a man before - and to be honest, maybe you haven't. Frat boys are certainly not men by any means, and nowhere near in the same league as Joel Miller by a long shot, probably almost triple their age with a dark and mysterious aura that feels almost suffocating. He just stares at you, slightly unnerving, but also seductive in its own way, almost like he's challenging you.

"What do you want?" he asks blankly.

"I-I told you," your voice is already faltering, losing its flirtatious edge the more you realize how dumb of an idea this was, "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I got that," he says stiffly, "Why?"

You've already exhausted the avenues you thought might work, which means you've got one last chance before he sends you packing. With bated breath you take the final few steps toward him and - averting your gaze - you reach your hand out to touch his forearm with your fingertips. It's feather light, but you're suddenly very aware of the goosebumps that rise on his freckled flesh, the way the thick hair on his arms seems to stand on end the second your skin touches his. Okay, now we're getting somewhere.

"I think you're handsome," you murmur softly, feeling warmth rush to your cheeks when you realize that it's not a lie. And it really isn't. As your gaze gradually tilts up you catch a glimpse of the hair on his chest, peeking out from under his grey t-shirt. You spot his pecs beneath the fabric of his flannel, see the throbbing veins in his neck, the coarseness of his scruff, the sharp curve of his nose, and those fucking eyes - looking at you with a darkness, a lust, that wasn't there before.

He's not just handsome; he's fucking gorgeous.

"What're you doin'?" he asks you, that gruffness still present but being taken over by something else, something darker.

"Nothing," you breathe, still trailing your fingers along his forearm until they reach its apex and dip into the soft part behind his elbow, damp with sweat. You swallow, throat going dry as you stroke his skin with your thumb.

"Doesn't feel like nothin'," his voice is quieter, matching yours, and he tilts his head slightly as he continues to stare into your eyes, "Why're you really here, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. The word sends a burst of warmth to your chest, a smile to your lips. You unlock your eyes from his bashfully, watching your own movements as you trail your fingers back down toward his hand and wrap them around one of his fingers, so thick compared to your own. You squeeze gently, biting your lip again as you peer back up at him. Here it is. Moment of truth. You tilt your head up slightly, eyelashes fluttering as you lean forward to connect your lips with his.

Except, they don't connect.

Instead he pulls his hands away from you, brings them upwards and wraps them around your upper arms, squeezing tightly. Your eyes widen, confusion flooding your features.

"Turn around and bend over."

"W-what?" Shock doesn't even begin to describe the ice cold feeling that now makes its way through your body, edged with something else - something you can't explain.

"Turn around," he repeats, his big hands squeezing your arms even tighter - relentless, firm - as he peers down at you with a dark hunger in his eyes, glinting black beneath the fluorescents, "And bend over."

He does not give you another chance to obey - you're too frozen in surprise and confusion to do anything yourself. Instead, he uses the force of his weight on your arms to spin you on the spot, shoving you against the work bench. You feel one of his hands move from your arm to your back, pushing hard until you fold, warm cheek coming to rest against the cold wood.

"Wh-what are you doing?" your voice is meager, weak, and you feel him wrap one of his hands around both your wrists like it's nothing, pinning them against your back like they're simply twigs in his wide palm.

"What you're clearly fuckin' beggin' for," he replies gruffly, and you feel his other hand at your skirt, feel the brush of his fingertips at the hem as he reaches upward to grip the band of your tights. Your eyes widen and instinctively you pull back, pull away - he just pushes you back down.

"I'm not-" you begin, shock quickly being replaced with fear when you realize how easily overpowered you are, how fluidly he's able to tug down your tights and expose your ass to him, clad in only a black thong already lost between your cheeks.

"Oh, you're not, huh?" his voice is cold and stoic, angry, "You think you can play games with me, little girl?" His hand comes to rest against the swell of your behind and you suddenly feel his breath above you, hot in your ear, "Tell me why you're really here."

You try to lift your head up to look at him better but he just shoves you back down again. Panic floods your body, mixed with the unmistakable burn of arousal. You feel yourself twitch in your underwear, feel a sudden gush of warmth spill inside the fabric as he begins to trail his finger up and down the thin line of black cotton.

"I-I'm..." You're at a complete loss for words, unable to articulate anything, unsure of what exactly is happening - or about to happen. Two minutes ago you'd been sure he was about to tell you to leave, practically kick you out of the garage himself, and now you're not sure leaving is even a possibility.

He pulls his hand back and you cry out when it comes down to slap against one of your cheeks, a sharp sting and burn you hadn't been anticipating.

"Tell me why you're here," he repeats - authoritarian, firm.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out except a frightened squeak, something which clearly eggs him on even more. He spanks you again, harder this time, palm flat and wide against your pebbled flesh. The sound that slips past your lips is somehow akin to a moan of some sort, guttural and deep.

"I'll just make it harder and harder, sweetheart," he says then, and the pet name no longer contains the warmth it did mere moments ago; instead it's cold and detached, mocking. You're still reeling when his hand comes down to slap against you again, even harder this time, and your hands ball into fists behind your back as you let out another low moan. More slick gushes into your panties and it's impossible to deny that somehow, despite the fear twinging in your heart, you're so fucking turned on.

"M-my friends," you gasp out, and you feel him squeeze your abused ass cheek which you're sure is already dark with his handprint, "They- they dared me to see how far I c-could get with you."

He lets your words sink in for a moment, squeezing again - tighter, so tight that it hurts. You whimper against the wooden top of the work bench, legs shaking.

"So you came here to get fucked," he finally states.

"N-no, I swear, I-"

"Wasn't a question," he interrupts, and you feel his other hand tighten around your wrists, "You came here to get fucked so you're gonna get fucked, end of story."

"But I-"

Without any warning he suddenly pushes himself up against you from behind, the rough denim of his jeans pressing deliciously up against your exposed skin. You gasp, eyes going wide when you feel the long, thick shape of his dick between your cheeks, huge and hard. He holds it there, his free hand coming down to lay flat beside your head against the work bench.

"You feel that?" he asks, voice suddenly quieter but still full of that ice cold malice, "You feel that cock?"

Fuck. "Y-yes," you breathe, "I feel it."

"You have five seconds before i close this door and stuff you full, understand?" Suddenly all you can hear is the heavy sound of his breathing, the panting of your own, the thud of your heart where it presses painfully against the wood. He's giving you an out.

"I- I-" you swallow, brows furrowing when you feel his hand slacken around your wrists. You could pull away now, yank yourself out of his grasp and sprint down his driveway, return to your friends. Forget this ever even happened.

It's your last chance.

"Five," he begins, breath warm against your face.

Run. Just run.

"Four."

But why?

"Three."

Why don't you want to run?

"Two."

Why do you want to stay?

"One."

He pulls his hand up from the work bench and hits a button on the wall, eliciting a loud mechanical noise to your left as the garage door starts to close. You watch with wide eyes as your chance to leave slowly vanishes inch by inch until it's gone completely, and yet no part of you itches to run, to escape. There's nothing to escape from, you realize. You want to be here. You want him to fuck you.

As the reality of your situation starts to settle, his grip around your wrists tightens once again. You sense him reaching up somewhere above you, and you suddenly feel the harsh texture of what feels like thickly braided rope wrapping around your wrists. The realization that he's restraining you sends another pool of release into your panties, another faint squeak past your lips.

"You gonna stay still for me?" he asks, voice dark and clearer now in the silence of his garage, no sounds of rain or cars to disrupt you, "Huh? You gonna be a good girl?"

"Yes," you breathe, nodding against the wood.

"Say it."

"I'm gonna stay still," you promise, "I'm gonna be a good girl."

He finishes knotting the rope around your wrists, tight and uncomfortable against your skin. He pushes his groin up against your ass again, brings his now free hands downward to reach through your cardigan and squeeze your breasts. Your nipples are hard beneath the soft cotton of your shirt, no bra between the layer of material and your bare skin; he tweaks them in his fingers and you shudder.

"These are mine," he whispers in your ear, scruff nuzzling against the side of your face, "These tits, this ass," he drops his hands from your breasts to squeeze your cheeks again, "and this pussy." His hand drops to the puffy shape of your lips beneath your thong and you whimper. "Understand?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

You're not sure what he's asking for, what he wants you to say. You take a guess. "Yes, sir," you whisper, and you feel him smile against your ear. Bingo.

He doesn't bother to pull your tights down the rest of the way; instead, he rips them, pulling them apart in his big hands and reaching inside to curl his index finger around the thin strip of your thong. He pulls it - hard - and it rips from you with a rough tearing sound and a painful sting, eliciting a loud gasp from you which he rewards with another spank.

You feel his finger slip between your lips for a moment, gathering some of your release before he pulls it away. "Juicy fuckin' pussy," he mutters, and you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone, vulgar in the quiet room. You have no time to ask about protection, no time to even really process how quickly this is already happening, before you feel the warm tip of his cock pushing against your twitching hole. You gasp again, hands furling under the ropes.

"Shh," he quiets you, stilling for a second, "Don't squirm."

"Sorry," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "I'm sorry."

"What're you sorry for?" he murmurs, feeding his cock to you in small increments, reveling in the noises falling past your lips. It's so fucking big, bigger than you'd anticipated - it feels like he's spearing you, splitting you in half, especially without much preparation. It stretches and burns, but the warmth of it, the way it pulses as it invades your body, just makes you gush even more. "Hm?" he continues, "What're you sorry for? You sorry for squirmin' or sorry you pissed me off?"

Your eyes roll back as he bottoms out, his pubic hair pressing coarsely against your pussy lips, heavy balls firm to your ass. You try to speak but it's hard to get the words out when you're so full, the wide tip of him pushing into your cervix.

"You a virgin?" he asks you then, voice changing for a moment, like for the briefest of seconds he's wondering whether he should have gone slower.

You shake your head quickly, "N-no," you manage to gasp out.

"Feel like a fuckin' virgin," he grunts, pulling out and then immediately slamming back inside. Your head bumps against the work bench, a groan falling from your mouth as he makes a home inside you. "Christ," he mutters, "Tight little thing. You feel me in your stomach, baby?"

You're not sure he wants you to answer, but it becomes clear when his hand slaps down on your ass cheek again and you cry out.

"Yes," you moan, then quickly amend, "Yes, sir."

"S'what happens when you come in here, actin' like a little slut," he suddenly reaches for your cardigan and yanks it off - it catches on your restrained hands and he simply rips it and tosses it to the floor, "But then again, you're not actin', are you? Huh? What's a slut like you doin' wearin' all these fuckin' layers?"

"I'm s-sorry," you repeat, already mourning the loss of your favorite sweater, now ripped to shreds at your feet.

"Sorry's not good enough, little girl," he breathes, thrusting into you again so hard that you yelp, cheek still pressed into the splintered wood of the work bench, "That's it, fuckin' take it."

He fucks you without any reservations, any inhibitions. Your legs shake and you can hear the slap of his hairy thighs against yours as he pounds into you relentlessly. You have no choice but to take it, the stretch of his huge cock becoming less painful the more he gives it to you over and over, the room full of the wet squelch of your pussy gripping him. He grabs your hips, fingertips digging into your bare flesh as he takes and takes; you wish you could see his face, wish you could see how he looks when he's fucking you, getting his pleasure. The thought makes you whine, tears streaming down your face as your body moves back and forth against the work bench.

It feels fucking amazing. You've never had a cock as big as his before, never been fucked so deep and so hard, like he doesn't care if he breaks you, makes you cry. He hasn't touched your clit and yet you already feel you could come from just this, just the relentless push and pull of his dick inside you. Unfortunately, just as soon as you feel your orgasm starting to build, he pulls out. Your brow furrows.

"Stand up," he orders, "and turn around."

You obey, relief overtaking you as soon as you're no longer bent at such an awkward angle. The moment you turn to face him you barely get a look at his face before he's reaching down and tearing your shirt in half - easily, like it's nothing. You don't even have time to wonder how the hell you're gonna get home with all your clothes ripped to shreds when his mouth is suddenly wrapped around your left nipple, and you whine at the sensation. You peer down at him, biting your lip and watching his wet lips suckle around the hard bud, beard scratching deliciously against your skin. Your hand aches to cup the back of his head but it's still pinned behind your back, tied tight beneath the rope.

"Fuck," you whimper, and his dark gaze flashes up to meet yours as he sucks, the hint of a smirk on his lips when he pulls away.

"Feels good, does it?" he asks, and seeing the words come out of his mouth is somehow more sinful than when you could only hear them, "You like bein' used?"

You nod almost immediately despite never having experienced anything like this in your life - though admittedly you've undeniably wanted to experience this, ached to have somebody take control, tell you what to do, make you do things. It's like you've somehow known subconsciously all summer that Joel Miller could be that person for you, despite never having said two words to him. It was just a feeling, an instinct, and that dream...

"Yeah?" he continues, and suddenly his hand comes up to cup your pussy, thumb finally pressing against your clit. You cry out, tears still trickling down your cheeks. "Said you were in college, right? You take any college dick up here? Be honest now."

You nod again, "Y-yes."

"How many?"

"I... I don't know," you breathe. It's the truth, and you can tell as soon as the words leave your mouth that it does something to him. He presses his thumb harder against your clit, two fingers slipping up inside of you.

"'Course you don't know," he murmurs, pushing them as deep inside as he can, making you whimper, "You wouldn't know, would you?"

Your thighs tighten together - squeezing his hand - and he just smirks again, curving his fingers and making you moan. Your lower back digs into the work bench as he stands, pushes you up against it and peers down into your eyes again with a hunger that's only getting worse. You assess his expression, the pout of his lips as he fucks you with his fingers, the focused lines creased into his forehead. So fucking handsome.

"You're not a good girl," he breathes, nose brushing yours, "Knew it from the day I saw you. You're just made for takin' cock. Am I right?"

"Yes," you whisper, nodding shakily and bumping your lips up toward his - he pulls away again and you can't help but feel disappointed, aching to feel his lips against yours.

"Tonight you're made to take my cock, that clear?" he continues, and you watch as his other hand travels downward to wrap around it - just out of your periphery. He's too close to you, crowded so much in your space that you know he won't like it if you break eye contact. You can tell by his arm movements that he's pumping himself at the same speed he's fucking you with his fingers, inhaling deeply, "I'm gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not."

"Y-yes sir," you whisper, voice squeaking when he speeds up his fingers and pumps them in and out with fervor, thumb rubbing furiously against your clit. Yet again he brings you almost to the edge and then removes his hand completely, stepping back with a low chuckle when you whimper pathetically.

Your disappointment only lasts a moment because now you can see him, see the girthy length of him that's already been inside of you hanging out of his zipper, glistening with your slick. He's huge, tip dark and intrusive, beads of his own arousal dripping from the slit; your mouth waters. His eyes cast down to where you're looking and he smiles, dark and mocking.

"Never gonna see another dick like this, darlin'," he breathes, "So you better start showin' your appreciation." His eyes glint. "Kneel."

You're practically already on your way to kneeling before he says it, in awe of the sheer girth and shape of him. The second your bare knees hit the cold floor he's crowding you again, hand coming around to hold the back of your head.

"Open wide, baby," he murmurs.

Your jaw drops and he plunges inside your mouth quickly and seamlessly, making you gasp around his length as your eyes widen. You can't breathe, looking up at him with more tears already fogging your vision as he immediately slips into the depths of your throat with no hesitation. You gag, eyes bulging as you attempt to swallow around the intrusion, find your breath, but it's impossible.

"Yeah," he breathes, both of his hands cradling your face and holding you still as he lets his cock sit unmoving in your throat, "Yeah, that's it. That's what you're made for."

He only holds it there for a few seconds but by the time he pulls it out you're gasping for air, coughing and spluttering as tears stream relentlessly down your cheeks. He keeps cradling your face, tuts to himself as you try to get your breath back. The head of his cock bumps softly against your bottom lip.

"Not off to a great start, are we?" he murmurs, "Let's try again."

He pushes his cock past your lips again and you try your hardest not to gag, a little more prepared this time. The pulsing head of his cock situates itself firmly in your throat, the pubic hair at the base tickling your nose while his balls bounce against your chin. You look up at him with pleading eyes, watch as he stares down at you with nothing but malice in his expression, contempt. You're just a hole to him, nothing more.

He pulls out and lets you gasp another breath before he's shoving himself back in, hands moving back to hold your head firmly as he fucks your face. You don't move - you don't need to; he does all the work as he drags your head back and forth along his cock, hitting the back of your throat over and over again until you're gagging and practically sobbing for air. Your knees ache against the concrete floor and you know you'll have bruises tomorrow, know that you probably won't be able to swallow properly for a few days either. Somehow, you don't really care.

When he's gotten his fill he yanks himself out and allows you to catch your breath for a few seconds, throat constricting around nothing while you choke and gasp.

"Stand up," he orders, and even though you're still gasping for air you manage to bring yourself back up, legs shaking. Saliva drips down your chin, drooling from your mouth in long strands, but with your hands tied you can't make any attempt to clean yourself up - he probably wouldn't want you to anyway.

His wide palms are suddenly on your hips, and he picks you up and places you on top of the work bench with minimal effort, arms bulging. You're completely naked now save for your ripped tights while he's still fully clothed, dripping cock still peeking out past his zipper, covered in your saliva. He steps between your legs and pushes your thighs open, then slips inside of you once again in one short push, making you yelp.

"Oh, please," he grumbles, gripping your hips tightly and pulling your bare body taut against him, head hitting his chest, "We both know you can take it."

It's not like you have any other choice at this point. He fucks you harder than he had before, now that he has easier access, can pull you so firmly against him that his entire length is continuously swallowed up entirely by your dripping pussy. His nails dig into your skin as his cock fucks up against your cervix over and over, so relentless it's almost painful. It's overwhelming how huge he is, not just his cock but his body in general, the way he towers over you and watches your expressions as he takes what's now his.

"Poor little thing," he mumbles, bringing one of his hands up to thumb the tears on your face, "Never been so full, huh? It's okay, shhh," his finger finds your lips and pushes against them almost mockingly, like he's chastising you, "Shhh, this is what you asked for, remember? S'what you wanted." You shake your head but he just nods, "Yeah, it is. You wanted that cock and now you're gettin' it."

Suddenly you're being lifted from the workbench, carried in his embrace with his cock still buried deep inside. You cry out, wrists straining against the ropes, itching to wrap your arms around his neck and hold yourself up with more stability. His arms come up to stretch along the expanse of your back, holding you still and pulling you even closer. As if on instinct your legs bend upwards to wrap around his waist, curling around his lower back while he pistons inside of you without restraint, without mercy.

"Fuck," you almost scream, feeling the rough denim of his jeans scratching against your ass, the heaviness of his balls slapping against you over and over again, "Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Yeah, there she is, there's that little slut," he says, a smile spreading across his face, voice somehow calm despite the fact that he's pounding into you over and over, "Nothin' like gettin' fucked stupid to sort ya out, huh? Needed to be punished, didn't you, sweetheart?"

You don't answer, can't answer, eyes rolling back as he fucks you with abandon. Of course it's not a surprise when he lands a hard spank against your ass, grips your cheek tightly in his palm and growls roughly in your ear, "Answer me, little girl."

"Yes," you force yourself to gasp out, head tilting back, "Yes sir, yes."

"S'right," he mutters, and you suddenly feel the pads of his fingers against your clit, rubbing at an aggressively fast pace that sends depraved noises spitting past your lips, "Come on that cock, tighten up that little pussy even more for me, baby, come on."

It only takes seconds for him to make you come, your eyes rolling back as your body shakes and writhes in his grasp. He doesn't slow his movements, keeps fucking you deep and hard as your legs loosen at his waist and you flop like a ragdoll in his arms.

"Chokin' that dick," he murmurs, "Had so many cocks in this little hole and you're still the tightest thing I've fucked," his brow furrows as he watches your face, watches as your eyes flutter open and your jaw slackens, "And what about your other hole, baby?" You feel one of his fingers prod against your asshole, circle the rim as he continues to bounce you up and down, "Ever had a cock in there?"

You tense up a little in his embrace, eyes widening. At your reaction he slows his movements, still holding you upright and allowing you to just sit on his cock for a moment while he continues to prod your asshole, "I'll take that as a no," he mutters, "Think my cock'll fit up there?"

"It won't," you whisper immediately, shaking your head.

He assesses your expression, eyes trailing up and down your face calculatingly, like he's weighing the pros and cons. Your heart stutters in your chest and you feel that fear from earlier slowly begin to creep back into your psyche, hands shaking under the rope.

"I won't," he states, and relief floods through your body; you relax in his embrace, becoming aware again of his cock still buried deep inside you. He very carefully prods the tip of his index finger inside your asshole and your eyes go wide again, mouth opening in protest. "Yet," he amends, smiling coldly at you, "I won't yet. Not today."

He pulls his finger out and walks with you to the work bench again, places you down gentler than before and peers at you with something in his gaze that you can't place, a curiosity that wasn't there before. It's gone in an instant though, and then he's fucking into you again without warning, gripping tight to your hips and slamming back and forth until you see stars.

"You thought this'd be so funny, didn't you?" he growls, looking at you again with that detached contempt, black eyes locked with yours. He brings his hand down and starts rubbing your clit again, not caring that you only just came a moment ago. "Thought you'd come here, have your fun, and leave again. But it's not so funny anymore, is it? Huh? Is it funny?"

"N-no," you gasp out, overstimulated to the point of even more tears as you squirm and writhe on the work bench, pussy aching from the insistent way he's pounding you and the relentless rubbing of his fingers against your clit.

"S'the last time you show up here tellin' lies," he mutters, "Understand me? Any time you come into my house from now on you're gettin' fucked, got it?"

"Y-yes," you cry, hands futilely attempting to ball into fists behind your back, and he shakes his head.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir!" you scream it, and just as the words pass your lips he stills inside of you, cock twitching as he starts to come. Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open as his hand sends you into another climax just as he reaches his. Your head falls against his chest and you hear him groan above you, feel the way his cock pulsates and throbs and spits his cum in long and heavy spurts. Your thighs twitch and you feel his hand at your back, pulling you in close as he cups the back of your head.

You stay like that for a moment without speaking, your heavy breaths the only sound in the garage other than the rain now pelting heavily against the door. You swear you can hear his heartbeat.

"Good little girl, warmin' my cock," he murmurs in your ear, and you're still catching your breath, eyes closed, sobs wracking from your throat repeatedly. "Full o'me, huh? You feel all that, baby?"

You can only nod against his chest, wrists still straining against the rope as your toes curl somewhere below you and your body continues to shake. His cum settles warmly deep inside and your eyes roll back a bit when he pushes in further, like he's trying to keep it inside for as long as he can.

"Guess I found a new little cum dumpster, huh?" he whispers, carding his fingers through your hair, "I'll have to say thank you to your friends, or -" he pauses thoughtfully for a moment, "maybe I'll just have to send 'em a little message back with you."

You pull your face back from his chest, peering up at him with tired confusion. He reaches down and pulls out one of the drawers of the work bench, coming back up with a sharpie. You watch with fluttering lashes, unable to stop him - and not really wanting to - as he uncaps the marker and pushes your hair out of the way to write something across your chest, the cold tip making you jolt slightly.

"Shh," he murmurs, "It's okay, I'll untie ya in a sec."

It doesn't take him very long to finish writing whatever it is on your skin, and then he's slowly pulling his cock out of you. You whimper at the loss, thighs twitching as you peer down and watch his softening length slip past your hole, followed by a steady stream of his cum. He quickly reaches up and pushes what he can back inside, thumbing it back in carefully while the reality of what's just happened really begins to settle. You just let a man in his fifties tie you up, use you, come inside you, and write on your chest.

"Can't have all that slippin' out yet," he mutters, "Now, what can we use?" His eyes dart up to the shelves above you and he reaches up to grab something; when his hand comes back down you see the pocket flashlight from earlier, see the slightly flared base and know almost immediately what he's planning on using it for.

For some reason - whatever reason it is that you stayed here after he gave you an out, whatever reason you really came here in the first place - you don't protest.

He brings the flashlight downwards and quickly removes his hand from your pussy to replace it with the wide end, slipping it inside with only minimal resistance. You whimper and he hushes you, brushing his nose against yours as he assesses his handiwork.

"That should do it," he murmurs, then peers back up at you and pushes some stray hair out of your face "You keep that in there 'til you get home, okay?" His eyes have softened a bit, looking more similar to the way they did when you first showed up - is this the real him? You honestly have no idea.

You don't say anything, just nod slowly, feeling the anxiety from earlier begin to sink in yet again. How are you going to get home when you have no clothes? How are you going to explain to your friends what happened? How can you tell them - or show them - what you let him do to you?

These questions are clearly none of his concern. You watch as he backs up and gestures for you to stand with him; you do, with beyond shaky legs and the cold metal of the flashlight between your thighs.

"Turn around," he orders.

You feel him untie the rope from your wrists, essentially ending your time here - whatever it even was. It somehow doesn't feel real. You let them hang limply at your sides, feeling embarrassment flood your cheeks as you turn back around to look at him. He's watching you with a smirk, arms crossed - his dick is back in his jeans. He looks no different than he had when you arrived.

"Now get the fuck out," he says, dark eyes glinting once again under the flickering fluorescents, "before I change my mind."

--

The air is still chilly. The road is still wet. But thankfully, there are no cars.

You don't know how you manage to get home without anyone seeing you - hunched over, naked in the darkness, avoiding the streetlights, trying to ignore the ache between your legs and the icy intrusiveness of the flashlight still lodged inside of you - but you do. Your palms are sweaty again, heart pounding at the thought of your friends coming to greet you at the door, for the shock and confusion and screaming to begin - but that doesn't happen.

The moment you're back in the house you pull a jacket down from the coat rack and cover yourself, tiptoeing past the living room and waiting to be accosted by the friends who put you in this situation to begin with. Instead, they're nowhere to be seen. You hear the faint echo of laughter from the kitchen, hear the sounds of glass clattering and a fridge being shut. It's like they've already forgotten you even left, like the game meant nothing, and they've already found something new to entertain them, something better.

As if your futile attempt at getting a kiss on the cheek from Joel Miller is already something lost in the past.

And, you think, as you shakily climb the stairs and creep into the bathroom, tear the jacket from your shoulders and stare at your bare chest in the bathroom mirror, see the dark permanent lines that read TRUTH OR DARE...

Maybe that's how it should be.

[oceantornadoo]

part three outlaw!simon x f!reader who was supposed to marry johnny 🥲

simon is about to cause a scandal and get you kicked out of this town on account of adultery.

you told him he could visit you on your saloon shift, see what the town’s like. what you did not tell him is that everyone thinks you have a fine upstanding citizen for a husband, not an outlaw covered in black head-to-toe. he’s been nursing a whiskey for the past hour, haunting the last barstool in a corner, angled perfectly with his back to the wall.

he touches you everytime you pass him. a guiding hand on your waist when you saunter by with a tray of drinks. tucking your hair back into your updo as you become increasingly frazzled with a busy saturday night. even tightening the ties of your apron one time while you were talking to a customer, their eyes bugging out at the sight.

it would be fine if the public knew he was your husband - but johnny’s ring lays tucked into your nightstand and on account of simon’s gloves, you look like a cheater. an adulteress, committing sin in an already sinful establishment. you can see the church ladies signing the cross, see your neighbors muttering under their breath. it all comes to a head when the town rake decides to engage this shadowy figure of confusion that everyone is wondering about.

“does doin’ all that finally mean she’s out from her husband?” he introduced himself to simon, some forgettable name, and simon’s already wishing for the solitude of the mountains and grassy plains again. “wot?” the stranger’s so close simon can smell the liquor on his breath, can see the unsteadiness of his stature. he nods to you, taking orders in the corner of the saloon. “she’s not wearin’ her ring and your hands are on her, so that mean she’s outta that marriage? never even saw the man, guessed ‘e stepped out on ‘er.” simon couldn’t explain the situation to him, the stranger’s brain so stupidly drunk he couldn’t comprehend. so, the course of action was exactly that; action.

you were turning around, ready to holler at the singular cook in the saloon’s kitchen, when two meaty paws yanked into a body. you immediately resisted, too used to fighting the world at every turn, before you heard his voice. “just me, darlin’. settle down.” you hated how you immediately relaxed, shoulders drooping. simon yanked you into his side, eyes not on you but some man at the bar. “simon, you’re makin’ a scene.” he looked down at you, raising an eyebrow while the rest of his face moved under his bandana. “you’d rather a scandal?” so he did understand what was going on. you shook your head vehemently, intrigued at his next move. he unfurled one of your hands on his chest, the left one, turning it so the saloon could see your bare ring finger. the crowd suddenly silenced, understanding something important was happening.

simon’s gloved hand slipped into his pocket, drawing out a cloth bag. from it he brought out a ring, something with a pretty diamond and a vintage look. you gasped at the sight, of the thought he was giving you a ring with history, not just one from the jeweler’s. gold was well known in the west, the lifeblood of new towns, but the design showed elegance and class, not just new money. he slipped it on your bare finger, pulling you in for a light kiss over his bandana. you couldn’t even reciprocate, too stunned at the publicity of his claim. you heard someone whoop and that was it, your crowd turning back to a better piece of gossip now that this was solved. “y’r not gettin’ pushed out of town on my account, love.” you nodded wordlessly, eyes darting to the heavy weight on your hand. “go’on and get me another whiskey, hm?” he sent you to the bar-top with a pat on the ass, and that was that.

—

a little fluff for yall

this is my outlaw simon in a song.

taglist (lmk if i forgot you or you want to be added!):

@chickennn-soupp

@vmaxis

@samanthamarkle92

@sinful-tawtute

@nightingale2124

@scottpilgrimvsmyfists

@saucypeanuttt

@kylies-love-letter

@livvrosesblog

@livingoutsidethetardis

[steventhusiast]

modern au where eddie and robin are roommates and steve is italian <3

-

eddie has always known that his roommate robin is in the US for college, but grew up in and is from italy. sure, sometimes he forgets, because she somehow has a near-perfect american accent and also speaks two other languages, but he’s always known.

and for the past year and a bit, he’s known how much robin wants her best friend stevie to come visit. she talks about them all the time, and ever since she and eddie moved out of the dorms and into an apartment together for their next year of university a month ago, he’s known stevie is going to come and visit.

he just kind of forgot the exact day stevie would be arriving.

so when he, clad in nothing but his garfield pyjama pants and a metallica t-shirt that’s falling apart, walks into the kitchen one morning and sees someone he doesn’t know at the kitchen counter fiddling with their instant coffee machine, he almost shits himself.

luckily, he doesn’t, because he remembers in that split second that stevie was due to arrive last night. but he still flinches pretty hard at the fright and grabs for the nearest grabbable thing, which turns out to be the doorframe. somehow, he makes a noise loud enough to get the mystery person’s attention, and they turn around.

holy shit. eddie did not know stevie is hot. or that stevie’s actually a guy. he kind of just assumed, with the nickname and all? but the man standing there looks like he could’ve been carved by the gods eddie doesn’t believe in, and- eddie realises he’s been staring at the guy for a few seconds now, and decides to talk like a normal human being. he first adjusts his position so he’s no longer holding onto the archway of the kitchen for support, and smiles at the guy.

“hi, you must be stevie?” he offers, and stevie takes a few seconds to process his words before nodding with a smile.

“my name is steve. robbie just is… hm, silly?”

eddie blinks a couple times, because steve has an accent. a thick one. he should’ve expected that, because- hello? they’re both literally from italy. but it catches him off guard, and adds to steve’s hot factor. why didn’t robin warn him about this.

“yeah, robin is very silly.” he agrees with a chuckle, and then realises steve might not know him, “i’m eddie. robin’s roommate. you probably knew that already though, so now i probably look like an idiot. well- more of an idiot than i already do in these clothes…”

he lets his words trail off as he realises steve is frowning at him in subtle confusion. he’s picked up robin’s rambling-when-nervous habit over their friendship, and hot guys tend to make him pretty nervous. but then he realises maybe steve isn’t as fluent in english as robin is, and even if he is eddie’s a fast talker that doesn’t always pronounce things fully.

“i am sorry,” steve looks embarrassed, “my english is not as good as robin.”

eddie feels so guilty at the pink that’s made itself known on steve’s cheeks, and shakes his head immediately.

“no! you don’t need to be sorry. i just talk a lot when i’m nervous.” he confesses. why did he say that? now steve knows he’s nervous. or does he? maybe he didn’t catch his full sentence.

steve raises one eyebrow at eddie though, and one side of his mouth quirks up into a smile as he turns around to keep trying to make himself a cup of coffee.

“i am making you nervous? why?” steve asks, his back still turned. now eddie’s the one with red cheeks. dammit.

“it’s because eddie here thinks you’re hot, stevie.”

eddie’s flinch at robin’s magical appearance behind him is somehow more spectacular than earlier, and he clutches dramatically at his heart and spins around to glare at robin.

“robin! what the fuck, man!” he yelps when he realises what she’s said. but robin isn’t listening, she’s too busy speaking to steve in italian about who knows what.

probably about how she knows all eddie’s tells for when he finds a guy attractive and how she knows eddie’s type and steve checks every single box. or, eddie squints at the pair as robin tsks at steve and takes over manning the coffee machine, maybe robin’s just telling steve how to make a coffee with the machine?

“you think i am…” steve starts as he spins around to look at eddie, and seems to be searching for a word for a few moments, “attractive?”

eddie’s eyes widen, and then he sighs and fixes a glare on robin. robin just shrugs and makes a very insincere ‘oopsie’ expression, and eddie is about to start denying like his life depends on it, but he looks back at steve.

and steve has that blush back on his face, and a tiny smile, and he’s looking eddie up and down even in his ridiculous outfit.

“um, yes.” eddie practically squeaks, not used to having someone’s eyes on him like this.

steve says something to robin in italian that sounds like it ends with a question mark, and robin rolls her eyes.

“steve wants me to translate a pick up line he wants to use on you, but i literally refuse to do that. google translate is free.”

and with that, she leaves the kitchen.

[yan-randomfandom]

HIIIIIIII I love your writing alot!!!! Soo, I wanna request something:3

Maybe a Yandere Stanford Pines x GN reader who only saw him as a close friend? They became friends when they were still in high-school up to this day! (Yes, reader did sort of wait 30 years for Ford and never forgot about him)

Maybe just Stanford obsessing over Reader romantically, and Reader just think him as the greatest best-friend ever!!

I LOVE ONE SIDED PINNING OKAY????

Stanford Pines x GN!Reader

UM UH,,, IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ANON— and it's something I'm not even proud of 😭😭

context btw; reader doesn't know about weirdmaggedon or fake death or entire lore, they dont tell them anything uhhh idk anymore

You took the bus to Gravity Falls! Stanley reached out to you after decades of not having contact. It was a bit sudden, but there's no way you're going to ignore his call.

Stanley Pines was the first man you saw when the Mystery Shack's door opened. Wrinkly, exhausted widened eyes looked at you in silence. He looked unprepared... kind of crusty musty... and very unhygienic.

"You look disgusting! I'm gonna hug you anyway!" you beamed, pulling him in for a big hug. Unwillingly, a strong whiff of his scent hits your nose. "You stink too! You haven't changed a bit, Stanley."

"Glad to know ya missed me," he laughed, giving you an affectionate noogie.

When Stan finally let you go, you looked up to see Ford. He stood in front of you, speechless as he stared into your eyes.

"...Ford," you grinned, walking towards him. In curiosity, you placed your palms on both his cheeks. He seemed to relax with your touch. "You changed a lot."

Your eyes, while they've wrinkled, are as warm as the day he last saw them. He smiled back, his large hand covering one of yours. Your smile widened when you saw his fingers. "And you aged beautifully."

Poetic as always! A laugh bubbled up your throat as you wrapped your arms around him.

He quickly returned the gesture, burying his face into your neck. He missed this. He missed you.

Your warmth didn't change. Fascinating.

"I missed you, man! How come you're such a silver fox now? Good for you!"

"I still have no idea what a silver fox is," he chuckled, already longing for you the second you pulled away from him.

Ford merely stood there for a few moments before he grimaced. Damn it. He still likes you, doesn't he?

It's been more than thirty years already. He thought he would have moved on, especially after the whole weirdmaggedon thing. Why would Stanley ever get the idea of calling you back here??

All of you now sat at the table with you in between the Pines twins. Mabel wore an apron, sophisticatedly offering you tea. The sweetheart made the recipe herself!

"So, how have you been doing these days?" Ford asked, resting his cheek on his palm. Every passing second with you, he gets reminded more and more of why he used to like you.

You are, after all, the first and only person to not call him any sort of names because of his hands.

"Oh, I mean, I've been financially doing well, and it's been a bit difficult to settle down with a partner... but," you blushed. "I think I finally found the one."

Ford coughed out violently, pounding a fist against his chest. He really shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't! You're bound to have found someone!

Get a grip. Fourty. Years.

...He truly had missed out on this dimension for such a long time.

...

The sky is dark. Dipper told you about the roof spot at the shack, and now you're here, thinking about life.

"Dipper said you'd be here," a voice murmured. You looked up and saw Ford walking up to you. Chuckling, you offered him a non-alcoholic drink.

"How many days will you be staying here again?" Ford asked as he sat next to you, sparing a small space between.

"A week at most," you shrugged, kicking your legs at the edge. Ford simply stared at you.

"I guess it'll be forever before we see you again, huh?" he mumbled.

You turned to him with a smile. "Of course not. You guys are invited to my wedding."

... Wedding.

A small huff left your lips. "We're so old now. I still remember being in high school and grouping up with you and Stan when a trio was needed. Good times."

Ford continued staring at you.

"You guys were my best friends. Probably not now, I mean, been decades since we last talked. That reminds me, what made you call—"

Ford suddenly interrupted you with a hug.

"Woah, Fordsy, you miss me that much?" you laughed, hugging him back.

Don't call him that. His arms around you tightened.

You simply let him hug you.

It was such a long one.

And it only grew tighter by the second.

Like he never wanted to let you go again.

but his aim is getting better 🗣️

i love your idea so much btw, i too am a fan of one-sided pining.... the desperation yk.. I THINK I JUST SUCK AT WRITING FOR THAT WHAT 😟 (says the yandere blog)

[ajortga]

sweet pt.2

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: jenna can't stop thinking about you, the coffee girl. she may or may not have asked you out on something her friends consider as a date.

word count: 3k+

read the other parts here! previous part: part 1 part 2 part 3

It became sort of a habit for Jenna.

It would be music, think about you, eat, think about you, sleep, think about you, film, yay Jenna gets to see you!

Maybe she’s over exaggerating it, but at the same time she’s really not.

Jenna wasn’t the regular person to be a love bird. Head over heels for someone was barely something she was used to. Well sure she would pass some guys in the city or notice them on set and think, “Oh his hair is perfect” or “He’s kind of cute.” She’s dated a few guys, broke them off because they weren’t for her.

All of the guys only hung out with her knowing she was a celebrity, or she would really think they were the one, until they lost interest and treated her like some toy. She hated when they did that. In fact, she was disgusted by it so much that she didn’t even want to think of having a lasting relationship at all. She just had to find someone right for her.

-

“You’re awfully quiet,” Melissa nudges Jenna as they’re both in their Tara and Sam outfits.

Jenna hums, looking at the taller latina with a small roll of her eyes while their makeup is getting patched up, “Just hungry, I guess.”

She shifts in her seat, her earbuds in and waiting for this day to be over, she forgot an umbrella. Of course the forecast would show as non-stop rain the whole day with thunderstorms, she literally checked the day before and it said sunny.

“Well, we only have to shoot like, 5 scenes. You wanna go with Jas and Mason to the Italian place you like? On me.”

Tempting.

But Jenna’s mind has other plans. 

“I think I’m gonna drop by the coffee place next door, craving a latte you know?”

She sees the way Melissa’s face twitches upwards, almost as a confused yet searching look, “You don’t like coffee.”

“The shop changed my mind, Y/N recommended a latte that is actually really good.”

“Y/n you say?” And from Melissa’s sing-song voice, she knows what’s coming.

“Yes,” Jenna scoffs, she can feel her ears begin to heat up.

“I didn’t know you had a friend named Y/N.”

It’s a little quiet, the only noise is from Jenna’s half put in earbud, “I met her a couple days ago, she’s a barista that helps her parents run their coffee shop. Keeps the place cozy and organized.”

“So she’s a barista?”

“Yes,” Jenna replies, half distracted as she picks at her cuticles.

“Who helps run her parent’s coffee shop?”

“Yep.”

“Next door?”

“Uh huh.”

“You like her,” Melissa smirks, it’s not a question anymore.

“Yes-Wait what? No!” Jenna slaps Melissa’s arm, caught off guard.

Jenna hears her laugh, half-heartedly, “I’m just kidding, but you do seem out of it, are you thinking about her often?”

She shrugs, picking off skin that she just scratched.

“Well I think you are, you’re nervous.”

Now the daydreamer turns to face Melissa, “No I’m not, I just think she’s sweet and she’s someone that already brought me out of that introverted lookin’ shell when I first meet people.”

It was true. It’s like you two knew each other when you first met, she hopes you thought of her that way too. She hopes you’re thinking of her as much as she thinks about you everyday.

Melissa looks down at Jenna’s cuticles, then back up at her, “You’re thinking about her, you’ve been quiet today and don’t think I didn’t see what song you’re listening to. You never listen to love songs!”

“What?! I have not been listening to love songs!”

“Lover by Taylor Swift? Lingers by The Cranberries? About you by the 1975?  Dark Red by Steve Lacy??”

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

“I just have taken interest in love songs I guess, it’s spring anyways right?”

“Spring my ass! That is bullshit!” Jasmine chimes in, making Jenna flinch and turn to the corner where Jas was hiding.”

“What the fuck Jas.. Are you eavesdropping?” Jenna shrieks.

“I know when a girl likes a girl,” Jas rolls her eyes and immediately stands up from her squatting position, “Don’t think me and Mason didn’t see you texting someone that you named mY y/N OOoO La lAAaAa..”

Jasmine shuts up with a slipper slapped into her face.

“Just go ask her out or something,” Mason says, popping behind Jasmine and getting the second pair of slippers thrown to his stomach, making him yelp.

“I barely even know her,”

“And there's no difference, you barely fall in love, girl, love at first sight for you means that she’s the one. You know your priorities and she checks all of them. If not, you wouldn’t be listening to those dumb love songs.”

“Gotta agree Jenna, what about this, we’ll go to the Italian restaurant first, then we’ll leave you alone with her in the coffee shop, you come out and tell us how it goes.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you love us.”

“Ugh.”

-

The alfredo pasta was twirled from the fork Jenna was holding, eating as the cast of scream 6 giggled and talked during their lunch break. It was a big bowl of pasta to say the least, she shared it with the whole cast but she was eating it up like there was no tomorrow. She knew around this time she came to your cafe, she only came around two times, but if you didn’t see her on a Thursday in the afternoon, she can almost feel the disappointment you might feel. Or hopes you feel, Jenna’s wondering to herself if you even think of her.

“Oh she’s falling hard for this silly Y/N girl,” Jasmine whispers to Melissa, to which she agrees almost immediately.

“No I’m not,” Jenna blurts, placing down her fork.

Everyone in the table clicks their tongue, a few, “Oh come on” and “Liar!”

“Well you wouldn’t have responded, we’ve been talking to you for the past 5 minutes and you only jerk your head when you hear anything about her!” Jasmine groans, showing her hands if they would somehow present something.

She signals for the check, she quickly pays, and as soon as that happens her real life core four push her out of the restaurant and to the outside of the coffee shop, like parents.

“Go,” Jenna’s shoulder was pushed into the door and it was too late to go back as she heard the familiar bell ring.

“I hate you Jas,” her hands flip the 3 people giggling behind the foggy window behind her as she hears the voice she’s been thinking about the whole day.

“Jenna!” Your tiny figure pops out from the coffee bean machine, waving to her happily.

Cute, she thinks to herself. You’re so cute.

“Almost thought you wouldn’t come today,” you murmur, making Jenna shake her head.

“Just had some lunch with friends, but I couldn't miss out on coffee on Thursdays though.”

“Ah,” you hum, your eyes focused on the latte art you were working on.

The only noise is the r&b music and the small chatter that keeps the environment comforting. 

A small bunny was being created, pouring the creamer carefully. 

“You’re almost looking as tiny and cute as that bunny,” your co-worker, Matteo says, a few feet away from you.

A soft laugh erupts in your throat, rolling your eyes from his compliment, but thanking him nonetheless. Jenna doesn’t know if she’s feeling a strong pit of jealousy that sizzles beneath the back of her mind. Her eyes train on the boy, hazel eyes, brunette hair. 

“Okay okay, stop that,” you grumble, a small smile plastered on your face as you playfully nudge him to show your annoyance.

“Feisty,” he chides.

“The only thing I did differently today is that I curled my hair. You can barely see it in this ponytail,” one hand is pointing to your hair while the other keeps concentrating on the bunny.

“You’re also wearing a bow, your freckles are more visible, mmm,” he thinks for a moment, “Oh and,” he comes closer, whispering in your ear so only you can hear. Your body almost shivers from it, “You’re staring at a new coming regular and smiling like a weird teenager.”

You stop your latte art, groaning in frustration since you were caught by a coworker that also is a kind friend of yours.

“No I’m not, stop whispering in my ear and let me do my latte art,” you shove him away and continue to work on your bunny.

Jenna swallows the prickly feeling in her throat, feeling herself scowl at some guy who’s name tag seems to say, “Mat ear.” Maybe she should switch out acting with latte art for a day.

The bunny looks complete. 

And perfect, you exhale a breath from pride, slide the latte and call out the person’s order with a warm smile.

Then Jenna feels like a fool standing there because she just realized that she’s been staring at you making another person’s latte. Then you feel stupid for not sending someone over to serve her since you’re assuming that she wanted something.

“Sorry!” You apologize, smacking the top of your head as you lean across the countertop, “Hi Jenna, did you want something?” Jenna looks down at your lips for a moment, your teeth tugged on your bottom lip, then trails back up to the menu.

“No worries, I should’ve sat down, I just wanted to visit I guess. Sure. Um,” She doesn’t know what to get.

“Confused again huh?” You tease, looking at the menu then at the lattes. It makes her almost fan herself to know that you know she wants a latte today.

It takes a moment for you to think, “I don’t even think I put this up on our menu, but the other day when I was closing I tried a hazelnut caramel, you down to try that today?”

“That sounds pleasing, sure I’ll take that.”

“Okay, one hazelnut caramel!”

“Dude, I swear your cafe sells at least every pastry known to mankind. Those brownies and chocolate chip cookies look like it could make society salivatate.”

You laugh, “Thanks silly, I just experiment and make sure everyone in NYC can have a taste of home if they are from somewhere else. Sometimes I take my recipes from a past generation baking book, other times I just try baking from eyeing measurements.”

Jenna smiles at that, touching your hand with hers and pressing it down to the counter, “Well trust me, this is probably why you get a hell load of customers every morning.”

A light-hearted, non-forced, soft giggle comes from you, not moving your hand that is pressed from hers.

“As long as it makes others happy and continues a legacy while doing other things I love, and meeting sweet people that mark my memory like you, I think that I wouldn’t trade it. Did you want anything else?”

“I think that’s it today,” Jenna breathes, moving her hand away from yours. Immediately your hand misses the warmth and just wants to pull her back.

She can’t help but notice the smile plastered on your face, “Okay, hazelnut caramel coffee, on the house.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nuh uh, not on my watch,” Jenna insists, pulling out a 10 dollar bill and immediately you shoo her away.

“On me! Honest! I own this place anyways and it happens at least twice everyday, don’t worry about it love.”

She hears a small “aww” come from her phone and she freezes, her cheeks heating up in an instant.

“I’m paying you one day,”

“If it’s banterings and consistent times that I see you besides Tuesdays and Thursdays, then okay,” your voice echoes as you begin to prepare her latte.

Jenna smiles at you and as soon as she turns around she picks up her phone and curses into it, “What the hell Jas? How the hell did you manage to call me before I got into the shop and stalk into our conversation??”

Snorts and laughs come from the other line, she immediately plugs her earphones in.

“On the house, hmm??” Mason teases, everyone in unison going “ooh la la..” 

“I’m going to chop your heads off-”

“And of course you place your hands on top of hers!! It’s like watching the corniest romance in front of my eyes!”

It had only been 5 minutes that Jenna had talked with you, and somehow she still got stuck and caught by her friends.

“Shut up,” Jenna says, her voice soft, but grumpily as she scoffs.

Melissa, Mason, and Mindy are shouting from outside, she can hear them screaming through the phone.

“Hey,” you say softly, bringing her latte with two wrapped pastries in hand and slide it to her front, “Try the brownies and cookies you were looking at and tell me what you think?”

Jenna wants to keep her cool and to smile politely, but the three crazy people outside that are listening in are making it hard. Especially with all the kissing noises she can hear, so she takes out her earbuds and tosses them in her hoodie’s pocket.

It takes her a while to realize she didn’t buy the pastries that made her hungry.

“Seriously?” 

The way your cheeks curved upwards and your nose scrunched as you smiled made Jenna smile on the spot there, “Seriously,” you assured. 

“I hate you for this,” she says playfully, sarcastically.

“Who can hate two free pastries? That’s a win for me,” you pull the chair out, sitting down as you take a small break, exhaling.

There was a cute cat design on the hazelnut caramel latte, the steaming, sweet bitterness scent that wafts in the air makes Jenna shiver. She plays with the wrapping of the chocolate chip cookie before mumbling a soft, “Thank you.”

“Mmmhm, no problem.”

There's a quiet pause, Jenna sips her latte, looking up at you and seeing you giggle. It’s sweet, light, bitter, and perfect.

You hand her a napkin, there's a small white foaming mustache from the creamer.

It takes a moment as she takes the napkin before you speak again, “So, filming mm? Is it stressful, you know, having to wake up early and doing stuff like that?”

“Honestly, there are days where it can be too much and I need to wind down a bit. But I love seeing cameras and doing something that I have the fortunate privilege of doing, I know a lot of people don’t have that and it makes me grateful.”

You hum in response, nodding, playing with the nape of your shirt.

“I used to want to act and direct,” you smile.

“Really? Why not now?”

Your shoulders shrug, “I still do small stuff, holding cameras, auditioning for stuff, it’s just a little harder since I’m working here and making sure I can continue doing, you know, this. But I love working here, it heals something in me.”

It makes Jenna feel almost bad, not in an overly guilty way. She just can’t fathom feeling pressured to do something instead of going the way you want.

“You have coworkers, you don’t have to be here everyday, you know?” She tilts her head.

Her eyes meet yours, and again she sees those doe eyes, with nothing but something to make her own self melt.

But I'm in so deep

You know, I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Do you have to let it linger? 

“I know, sometimes I’m afraid this place will go haywire.”

She giggles at that, then thinks for a moment, “You know, I get on set tomorrow at 11, which is later than most days. Do you wanna, you know, just come and look around? The directors and producers are the sweetest people I know and they don’t mind a plus one. I would like, show you around and you can reach out to some people.”

It’s silent, your face is thoughtful as you’re processing what she said.

“I’ll stick by your side the whole time we’re not filming, introduce you to the cast, as long as you don’t do anything silly, which I highly doubt you might.”

“Okay, I’ll have to check in with Matteo, ask him to bring his sister that comes in on Saturdays and switch it to tomorrow.”

The brunette feels her heart flipping and she nods, burying her face in her hands to try and stop the redness that is invading her cheeks.

You come back soon later, beginning to talk about the plan of the coffee shop tomorrow, but Jenna gets distracted, it’s hard seeing Jasmine blowing her breath on the window, making hearts, then wiping the fog and seeing the way all her friends are making dreamy gestures to mock her. They’re all dancing and she wants to flip them off.

“I’ll be there tomorrow, could you by, um any chance, pick me up? I usually walk here and get my car repaired.”

Oh fuck, Jenna thinks, because she get’s picked up by Jasmine and tomorrow Melissa and Mason will be joining, like they do twice a week. She wants to face palm, she can almost picture the way when you make conversation with her in the car tomorrow, she’ll see in the corner of her eye Mason batting his eyelashes and sticking his tongue out.

“Sure, if you’re okay with some of my crazy friends.”

“Tomorrow it is,” you say, waving and ruffling your hair before waving and walking back to work.

Jenna looks down at her earbuds and she completely forgot she didn’t end the call, she just stashed it away, she’s bearing what is to come, putting her earbuds back in.

“SHE’S ASKING HER OUT ON A DATE” (Mason)

“NO WAY” (Jas)

“SHE’S A FOOL” (Jas)

“SHE’S GOING TO GET EMBARRASSED TOMORROW.” (Jas)

Not to mention the way they are waving their hands outside, she can almost hear the screaming from here.

“There’s no way in hell you asked this sweet pretty girl to come on set tomorrow,” Melissa sing-songs.

“Paws off,” she grumbles.

“She wants her for herself, of course.”

“Shut up!”

[heizours]

BREAK UP

summary. asking the genshin men “what would you do if we break up?”

tags. gn! reader, grammatical mistakes may occur

cw. just a mild curse (childe’s part), call signs, and none ig, pls let me know if i forgot something

feat. diluc, venti, childe, scaramouche, ayato

INTRO.

Really, it was just a hypothetical question, and you had no intention of seriously initiating it in the first place.

But, this question has been itching in your mind for the past few days, and you were genuinely curious what would be the reaction or response you will get from him.

Without further ado, you made your way towards him as you tap his shoulder. He didn’t even get the chance yet to turn around and face you, but you’re already here opening your mouth to speak.

“What would you do if we break up?”

DILUC.

He immediately stops whatever he was doing at that moment, before slowly turning around to look at you.

No, he is definitely not searching for a hidden answer that you’re using this question as a gateway to leave him. No, he is definitely not a millisecond away from bringing you to a private corner to ask you if he did something very wrong and come talk about it.

But, seeing the curious look you’re putting up in front of him made his suspicions decrease for a mere moment. Besides, how could he not respond to that question when you’re already probably thinking of leaving him right now? With that, he gave his answer in the most persuading way he could come up with.

“As much as I hope for that moment to never come, I’ll try to listen and understand whatever your heart wishes. Though [Name], if there comes a time that it does happen, I want you to know that I and my heart will always remember someone like you. You loved me and understood me when I felt that no one did.”

His answer didn’t fail to give you the amount of butterflies you’re receiving right now, and the possible events where there is a chance you can leave him are now at the very back on your mind. Because, who in their right mind would even leave the Diluc Ragnvindr? Only a fool would do that. Suddenly, you were snapped out of your thoughts when Diluc gently grabbed the both of your hands and brought it closer to him.

“..Now, it’s my turn. Any idea why would you suddenly ask me that, love?”

VENTI.

Oh dear, he would act that the it doesn’t faze him in the tiniest bit, but he’s actually getting nervous on why are you suddenly pinning him this query out of the blue.

He turns around to face you, while continuing to be cheery as he always do but, if you look and scoot a little closer there is a glint of worry and concern washing over him. 

“Oh windblume, who said that I am leaving you? Kidding! But, before I give my answer, may I ask the reason for it?”

Really it’s just his way of confirming if you have plans of leaving him after this event, or you’re question stands as nothing but a harmless one. As you responded that it’s something he doesn’t need to worry about because you’re just as interested as he is, he felt the wind of relief washing over him. 

In any situation, Venti could stay calm as he can but if it would be anything associated with you, he couldn’t help but feel this gut twist in fear. The bard laid his head on your shoulder to give you the answer you’re looking from him.

“Well, we can never guarantee how much time could a person stay in our lives, but if there comes a time it happens between us, I’ll continue to protect, reach and guide you along the wind. You were the first in all my firsts, and I’m willing to make you as the last of my lasts.

CHILDE.

‘Oh shit’ is the first thing that comes into his mind, ‘Don’t tell me they’re planning to..’ is the second thing that comes into his mind, and ‘But what if it’s a joke?’ is the last thing that comes into his mind before warily facing you.

Tries to take the situation lightly and calmly, and he almost succeeded if it wasn’t for his body language. His confidence and outgoing personality he always shows you slowly vanishes, as nervousness was written all over him.

He kind of acts like a boyfriend who’s overthinking and reflecting on his past actions and words, because why would you suddenly ask him something like this, if you aren’t affected right? Yes, he definitely suspects something is wrong. Regardless the amount of suspicion you are giving him, he obliged to your query.

“It’s quite expected that I’ll have a hard time if that happens, because if I could compare you to something significant to me, you’re like my life source, my home, my rest and my peace. Even if we will remain apart for the mean time, I’ll come back to court you again and again just so you can be with me one more time.”

After hearing your statement related to the suppositional question that it’s completely harmless and you had no intention of commencing it, Childe’s uneasiness morphed into relief as he engulf you in a tight hug but not crushable to crush you.

“I’m thinking that someone had bribe you into this...”

SCARAMOUCHE

He scoffs, not before giving you the most nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Though, do not be fooled by his demeanour because there is more to that than what meets the naked eye.

At the back of his mind, something tells him that 50% of that is true that you’re planning to leave him after this and another 50% tells him that it is partially false as you’re just being inquisitive.

Questions his what ifs and it just continues to pile up countlessly, until it comes to the point where he has to vigorously shake his head to snap him out of it. He takes a quick look at you, before fully facing you while his arms are crossed.

“Who put that silly little question in your head? I’ll make sure they would be the ones to leave.”

As he saw you frantically waving in the air that it’s no one else but you who put that question in your head and that he doesn’t have to answer it, he couldn’t help but lightly smile. Sure, most of your antics can annoy him but you’re the only person who can deem him tolerable, and it can be said as the same for you. He let out a sigh, before mumbling something that is only for your ears only, as the heat rises up to his cheeks.

“We won’t break up, and I’ll make sure of that. Even if we do, I’ll just come tailing back to you. You’re such an idiot for thinking that I would do that...Stop it with that smile will you?! Ugh, just come here.”

AYATO.

Raises an eyebrow at you in confusion, then that confusion switches to concern as the scrolls he was busy putting on work was now long gone. He looks up at you who’s simply standing there as if the question isn’t affecting you one bit.

Is someone bad mouthing you? Is someone pressuring you? Did they do something? Who forced you into this? Whatever it is, Ayato is determined to find out what’s the root of this question.

Dating Kamisato Ayato is not a joke, for goodness sake he is a leader of one of the most influential clans in Inazuma, so when the public found out about his relationship with you, of course there will be a pressure and a certain inconvenience given to you.

“Why so sudden with this darling? Is there a problem? Would you like to talk about it? I do not know where is this coming from, but I can assure you that we will find a way to fix it.”

Seeing the surprise look on your face, and the way you sheepishly told him that you were just being nosy about it was enough for him to connect the dots. Good, nothing bad happened and you’re perfectly fine, that’s all that matters to him. But, going back to your question, he smiled at you with a glint of refusal in his eyes before answering.

“I am confident that me or you won’t leave this relationship, even though my work serves as a distraction, that reason alone will not stop us from loving each other. If it does happen in the future and you gave me a valid reason for it, I shall perhaps let you go but that doesn’t mean I will also stop loving you.”

[redroseworks]

Shinazugawa-sensei is homophobic

(I wrote this to be silly so it's just a quick thing with little substance. Set in the Kimetsu academy au)

Genya awkwardly looked up from his homework at Sanemi. He was waiting for Sanemi to be finished with some paperwork before they went home. “I'm dating someone.” He said.

Sanemi glared at him over his paperwork. “So?”

“His name is Tanjiro Kamado.” Genya said. He knew his brother didn't like Tanjiro but his brother didn't like most people.

Sanemi sneered. “I don't want to hear about that. That's fucking gross. Keep that shit to yourself.”

Genya rolled his eyes. He knew that Sanemi wouldn't be happy to hear he was dating Tanjiro. “You're such a homophobic jerk.” Genya said, jokingly.

“Yeah. I hate gay people. They're shitty.” Sanemi said, rolling his eyes. “And I don't want to hear about your stupid so called boyfriend.”

Genya laughed quietly. Sanemi was gay himself and definitely not homophobic. “So you hate me!? Your own brother!?” He asked with an overly dramatic tone.

“Yes. Get back to doing your damn homework you stupid faggot.”

Unknown to the two eldest Shinazugawa brothers, a student (*cough* Murata *cough*) had been coming by to ask Sanemi a math related question and had overheard the two brothers' conversation.

And now said student was not a gossip but he did tell a few people about how he felt bad for Genya and word spread over the weekend that Genya was stuck with a homophobic older brother.

Granted, most people already felt bad for Genya because he was related to Sanemi. But to know that Sanemi was homophobic and Genya was gay? It was… well surprising? People weren't sure but it was fun to gossip.

On Monday, Genya couldn't help but to feel like people were looking at him. He liked to believe it was because he was holding Tanjiro's hand that morning but he had been doing it everyday last week.

Plus they were looking at him like they felt bad. It was like the archery award thing again.

By lunch it was Zenitsu who finally revealed what was going on.

“Genya, I knew your brother was a jerk but I never thought he would be homophobic.” Zenitsu said as he sat down next to Inosuke.

“Huh?” Genya looked at him, confused.

“What are you talking about?” Tanjiro asked.

“Why is the evil math teacher scared of homes?” Inosuke commented.

“I guess someone overheard your brother being homophobic towards you for dating Tanjiro. That he even called you the f word. The whole school's been talking about it.” Zenitsu explained as he started to eat.

Genya's face paled. “The whole school..?”

Zenitsu nodded. “Yeah. Did he really call you the f word?” He asked.

“Uh…” Genya was quiet for a moment. “Well… yes? But that's normal.”

“Genya, your brother shouldn't be calling you that.” Tanjiro huffed. “That's not okay!”

“For real. I know he's dick but I think there's a line.” Zenitsu agreed.

Genya sighed. “He's not homophobic. He's literally gay.”

“You can be gay and homophobic though. I've seen the memes.” Inosuke said.

Genya snorted. “But he's not. Someone probably overheard us being us and assumed the worst.”

“Oh. Good.” Tanjiro said with a smile. “I would have fought Shinazugawa-sensei if he was actually homophobic. And now that you mention it, I'm not surprised he's queer.”

Genya blushed. “Uh…” He had no idea how to respond to such a weirdly sweet and scary comment.

“Stop being gay right in front of my salad.” Zenitsu said. “...wait Shinazugawa-sensei is gay?? I thought him and Kocho-sensei were a thing?!”

“No. Well, they dated when they were in high school for like a month. I have the trauma of seeing them in the middle of fooling around one day when my mom and I took my younger siblings to the park and I forgot my phone…” Genya blushed at the memory. It was so embarrassing to think about. Him and Sanemi shared a room at the time so that was where his phone had been.

Zenitsu's face perked up. “You've seen Kocho-sensei's..”

“Finish that sentence and I'll kill you, Agatsuma.” Shinobu appeared almost as if out of nowhere.

Zenitsu nodded silently.

Shinobu looked at Genya with a smirk. “Heard that your brother was homophobic. Makes sense that he hates himself.” She said.

Genya laughed. “Wasn't it your sister that caused him to turn gay?” He sneered. Were he and Shinobu friends? Maybe. Did they share the bond of being witnesses to the weirdness that was Sanemi dating Kanae? Yes.

“At least she never fooled around with Tomika-sensei.” Shinobu said.

Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke all looked shocked by the words out of their upper classmate's mouth.

Genya nodded. “Fair enough. You got him there.”

“Tomioka and Shinazugawa..?” Tanjiro questioned.

Genya smiled at Tanjiro. “You'd find out sooner or later but yeah. They've been dating for about a year now.”

“Huh.” Tanjiro said, clearly processing it.

“Yet they still make out in empty classrooms like teenagers. Too bad someone told Murata to take some papers to Kocho-sensei in that very room.” Shinobu said with a chuckle.

“You're evil. When Sanemi finds out you're behind it, you're dead.” Genya said.

Shinobu shrugged. “Oh I doubt he'd be able to catch me.”

[iris-qt]

𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚌

"Suddenly seeing you in a different light than before..."

ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

✧ ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

✧ ᴘᴛ. 2 ᴛᴏ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀʙᴀʟʟ ᴍᴏᴏɴ | 1.8ᴋ

✧ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀᴅᴀᴍᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ��ꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ (ʏᴏᴜ). ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ: ᴛʀɪᴄᴋᴇʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇꜰᴛ, ᴛᴏ ᴡɪɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ…

God, she’s so perfect

Mattheo Riddle seemed transfixed, practically hypnotized, by the sight of your quill brushing against your lips. The soft plumes of the feather ghosting over them as you listened intently to the Defense Against the Arts professor.

That was his favorite quill.

Although you’d never believe it if he told you. You’d never believe it was him who planted that quill in your messenger bag.

Probably because he was the one who stole your bag in the first place. Perhaps it was sick and twisted, but there was something about your flushed, angry face, brows furrowed and fists balled together, while you yelled at him in front of the entire Slytherin quidditch team that turned him on. You always knew that if something went wrong in your life, it was most definitely the doing of the “hellish toad” named Mattheo Riddle.

But he couldn’t help it.

He had noticed you’d lost your quill and had to write with a muggle contraption called a pencil. 

Barbaric.

So he took matters into his own hands.

Your bag was just lying there next to you on the stone bench while you talked animatedly with your friends. It was practically beckoning to him.

“You know they have a word for that,” you’d tell him months later, looking up with a smirk, sipping your butterbeer in the quaint restaurant Mattheo had taken you to. He had finally convinced you to go on a date with him, and he wanted to make sure it was perfect.

So he rented the whole restaurant out for the night.

Just him, you, a server, and a 5 star chef in the dimly lit building.

He leans forward, candlelight dancing in his ebony eyes.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grin. 

“And what is it, my little dictionary?”

“Kleptomania,” you grin. “It’s where someone can’t resist the urge to steal stuff, even if they don’t need it.”

“Oh, well that’s not me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Mattheo grins at you, face flickering in the romantic candlelight as he reaches out to place his rough hand on your own.

“Because I don’t steal invaluable things.”

“I’d call my bag an invaluable steal.”

“Sure, but I stole your heart. And that’s definitely something I value,” he grins, proud of himself as you roll your eyes laughing.

“You’re cheesier than this alfredo pasta, Riddle.”

“Am I as tasty as it is too?” he leans over, a cheeky smirk donning his face. One that would’ve boiled your blood just a few short weeks ago, but ever since that night at the Yule Ball, Mattheo Riddle had weaseled his way into your “cold little heart” as he teasingly called it. 

It wasn’t easy.

Mattheo Riddle had a lot of sucking up to do before you finally took mercy on him and agreed to this date. The truth is, he had already won your heart from that night of the Yule Ball. It was just far too enjoyable for you to witness his groveling.

At first he had kept it pretty subtle.

You had arrived back to your dorm after a rough quidditch practice, face streaked with dirt and sweat, when you noticed a lump under your duvet. You pull it aside to reveal the new book in your favorite romance series with a little note and a bag of your favorite wizarding candy.

Your eyes widen as you unfold a little note, a small smile dawning on your face.

You already knew who it was from, but the messy, chicken-scratch handwriting just proved your suspicions. 

Riddle.

I snuck out to Hogsmeade with the boys last night. Found these and thought of you. 

-- Matty

You snort as you read that he signed the note with the atrocious nickname you had used to belittle and demean him.

“Aw, poor Matty forgot his homework.”

“Try to keep up, Matty!”

As time went by, Mattheo progressively grew more desperate. You didn’t seem very ecstatic to agree on that date that he so desperately wanted. What could he possibly do to win your favor? What could he offer you that would make you break? He’d gotten you your favorite book, favorite candy, favorite cassettes that he drew little sharpie hearts all over. He had gotten you concert tickets to your favorite band. A little picnic for you and your friends, for he knew how much you cherished them.

What more could he give?

Or…wait…

What more could he take?

That set off a week’s worth of shenanigans that Mattheo was having way too much fun putting together.

Project 1: Steal your favorite book.

And steal it he does, right as you go to use the bathroom. He timed it perfectly: you always go during History of Magic, not like you’d be missing anything important.

He leans over expertly, and in expertly he thinks he twists a muscle in his shoulder blade, but, nonetheless, he manages to pluck the worn down copy of your favorite book from your messenger bag.

When Mattheo’s in private, he thumbs through the book, subconsciously imagining you doing the same with your soft hands. Your messy ink annotations are slightly smudged against the aging paper, and as he reads them to himself, he can’t help but imagine them in your beautiful voice…

You’d been attempting to convince him to read this book, thinking the main male character reminded you of Mattheo. You wanted to see if he agreed.

And agree he did as he spent that entire evening reading the book enveloped in the story. Perhaps it wasn’t even the story that kept him hooked. Perhaps it was how he imagined your reaction to certain scenes. The scrunch of a nose. The furrow of an eyebrow. Perhaps it was how he couldn’t wait to see your face as he added some annotations of his own next to yours. Reacting to your reactions. Perhaps you’d finally agree to go out with him, once his scratchy handwriting weasels itself into your favorite work of literature.

Or perhaps you’d just be annoyed at his theft and vandalism.

But that was the worst case scenario, for when you went to your dorm room that night, your book was there, propped up against the door. And when you saw that familiar handwriting, you felt your heart melt as quickly as a wax candle…

“I hope you know you ruined my aesthetic annotations,” you roll your eyes spooning some tiramisu, your snarky words coming out muffled by the dessert, causing the snark to diminish as Mattheo bites back a fond smile.

“Oh please, I added the much needed chaos.”

“Mm I don’t think chaos is ever a need, Riddle.”

“Well you always tell me I’m chaotic, right?”

“Right?”

“And you need me, right?”

You roll your eyes as you see where he’s going.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” Mattheo gently dips his finger in the mascarpone cream and smears it onto your rosy nose with a cocky grin. “Your blush is proof enough.”

It took more than the annotated book to win your favor, however. You made Mattheo work for it, and he was making the most of every second. The thing is, Riddle loved to do things for you. His love language is acts of service after all. Taking time out of his busy schedule of planned pranks and mischief was only worth it for one person. You.

Growing up in a rich household, Mattheo Riddle had taken on many pretentious, cultured hobbies. One was his immense talent in ballroom dancing as you had the privilege to witness firsthand after the Yule Ball. Another is his weird proficiency in embroidery. Needlework. 

He’s aware it isn’t exactly the most flattering hobby, but he had overheard you talking about wanting to learn it to embroider those uncomfortable-looking muggle trousers of yours…jeans? Yes, jeans. 

No one knew about Riddle’s affinity for needlework and he intended to keep it that way.

But what better way to show you he’s real about you than revealing this talent of his?

So, his winning plan came together by accident when your scarf was blowing along the snowy pathway to Hogsmeade. It nearly flew into his face, which it might as well have, because when he noticed it was yours, he brought it to his face to inhale your addictive scent.

Was he creepy for that?

Probably.

Did he care?

Nope.

What’re the odds your lost scarf blows right into his welcoming arms rather than the various other Hogwarts students milling about?

To a delusional Mattheo Riddle, it was a sign from the universe.

Perhaps he should’ve paid more attention in Divination.

He doesn’t bother to return it to you when he runs across you by a cozy bookstore. Instead, he throws a snowball at you, hitting you square in the face, laughing at your face red from the cold and rage. 

Hey, he’s still Mattheo Riddle.

But he’s a very down bad Mattheo Riddle as he wordlessly wraps his own scarf around your neck, walking off before you could utter a syllable.

After the trip, he busts out his embroidery set, kept buried in a box of old cassettes under his bed. Taking your soft scarf in his hands, he embroiders a moon onto the hem of your scarf, a testimony to the dance you both had shared under the moon at the Yule Ball. 

He leaves the scarf folded on your usual seat in the library, just as you walk in. 

Nothing can compare to the look of pure joy and flustered giddiness that overcomes your complexion at the sight of the embroidery. 

“Guess we owe it all to that gust of wind that blew my scarf over to you,” you grin as you walk out of the restaurant into the chilly night air. Mattheo’s adoring gaze and strong hand are enough to keep you warm as the snowflakes begin to cover you both up.

“Oh, please, y/n. You liked me way before the embroidery.”

“No, Riddle, it was the constant theft and vandalism that made me fall for you,” you tease as you both begin the walk back to Hogwarts on this cold Saturday night.

“Hey, it's my way of showing my affection. Just like yours is rude insults,” he shoots back, nudging your shoulder gently.

“I guess we both need some help, don’t we?” you bite back a laugh squeezing his mittened hand with your own.

“Yeah…but first..” and Mattheo leans in to steal his final thing from you…

Your breath.

NO not in the killing way…

He takes your breath away as he leans in for a soft kiss, numb lips thawing as they meet.

It seems you both always have your magical moments under the mirrorball moon.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @jennapancake @ellabellabunny123 @yearninglustfully, @littlebookbengal @helendeath @girllblogging777

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Hun something else I want to ask is if you would do a hybrid dragon Yan..? Forgot to mention it in the last ask because I forget ideas a lot <3

-from the one anon who said to use 3 names you like :)!

P.s I’ll probably refer to myself as this forever now hun

I'm sorry this took so long!! Here it is:

CW: mild violence, video game logic

Yandere!Dragon x GN!Reader

The winds in the mountains were cold enough to slice open skin and leave blisters.

Traveling up towards the sky was (Reader), a warrior known throughout the lands for their incredible feats, climbing up the snowy pass towards the dark splotch on their map.

The dragon's lair.

Only human in appearance, (Reader) had slaughtered almost every type of monster and fiend in the continent, sending fear through all living beings. They were rumored to be immortal, since they seemed to be capable of recovering from any wound they received, no matter how critical. Whatever life threatening hit they took, and no matter how certain their death seemed to be, (Reader) would only black out, waking a few hours later. A warrior without a past, without a home, who only lived to kill.

Slaying a dragon would be the last creature on the killer's list, having already defeated deities and apocalypse level threats. It wasn't that a dragon would be harder than killing a god; they just hadn't gotten around to it.

In the grand scheme of life, dragon slaying would be a side quest.

(Reader) doubted that the battle would be difficult in any sort of sense; aside from their incredible physical attributes they also had legendary gear such as "the Ring of Absolution" which was forged from the tears of a Golden Warrior. That ring alone made it impossible for enemies to block their attacks or use "break out" to parry.

Upon finding the cave and entering recklessly, (Reader) wished that someone had told them sooner:

That "when you're at the top, the only place to go is down.."

A blast of fire knocked their helmet off their head as the heat pushed them back. Shocked (and a little excited) the warrior raised their vampiric sword. Inside the cave, a giant red and golden dragon sat posed, muscles tense and eyeing the invader with intrigue.

"Who are you, to enter my home?" His deep voice sounded more confused than offended. And when (Reader) pointed their weapon at him in response, he chuckled. "Adorable little human, if you wish to live a long life, leave this cave now, and I shall spare you."

(Reader) shouted, igniting a glowing light around their body, then lunged, slashing at the beast.

To the dragon's surprise it hurt.

"Foul little thing!" He snarled, attempting to blast the human with another bolt of flames (this time not as a warning) but the fighter rolled out of the way, effectively dodging the attack. (Reader) thrust again, angering the dragon when he found that he could not block the sword, the blade passing his harder scales and hitting his soft flesh despite his guarding.

Amidst the rage and frustration a new emotion began forming within the centuries young being; respect.

There were no dragons he wished to associate with, there were no creatures that approached him of their own free will. He was alone. For a very, very long time. For he was not just a dragon..

He was Targov the Malicious.

A dragon of legend, ender of nations, killer of kings..

And his health was slowly being chipped away by the steel of a mortal.

(Reader) did not know who the dragon was, only that this was the closest location for a dragon nest.

"Small human.. I have a proposition for you."

The warrior paused, tilting their head as they waited for the dragon to continue.

"You have impressed me, and you have earned my admiration. So I offer you a chance at life eternal: become my mate, and ascend to a higher state of being.

You shall never want nor need for anything. I will be your willing servant for all of eternity."

It wasn't the first proposal (Reader) had received, yet it was certainly the first from a beast. They stepped back a fraction as though his words caused them to stumble. His request sounded so genuine that it almost killed their blood lust.

Almost.

Disappointment and betrayal filled the dragon's eyes as (Reader) suddenly threw their sword like a spear, lodging it into Targov's chest, a feather's distance shy of his heart. But even that only further fueled the growing need he had for the mortal. And the obvious solution to the warrior's resistance was to make the choice easier for them.

Targov flew forward, but instead of attacking like (Reader) had predicted, he grappled the human in his talons and continued faster, propelling them both out of the cave and into the sky as he built speed.

The wind jostled the surprised human about like a rag doll as they rose higher into the atmosphere. Their ears popped painfully, but they could still hear the roaring laughter of the dragon.

"HA! Now what do you say, human?! Shall you be mine? Or shall I drop you?!" He held the adventurer loosely by the fabric visible under their armor in an attempt to frighten them. But what he saw next made his heart falter.

His eyes widened as (Reader) smiled triumphantly, raising a dagger while maintaining eye contact, and sliced off the part of their outfit Targov held onto, willingly allowing themselves to fall.

It was just a fall.

Yeah, it would hurt. It would hurt like a son of a bitch, but (Reader) knew they wouldn't die. They never did.

However, their near immortality was something that Targov didn't know about.

Before his emotions could fully form into separate feelings, Targov dove, recatching the little human, now with a more secure grip, and flew back to his home, his heart beating a billion beats per second once it restarted.

(Reader) was thrown to the floor by the dragon seconds before being blinded by a bright flash. The dragon was consumed in a bright white glow that illuminated the cave, morphing into a more human appearance, with deep golden skin and red hair. His horns and claws still remained, but as (Reader) could see clearly from his lack of clothes, was now mostly human. He charged towards (Reader), face twisted in his confusing mix of emotions. Anger, shock, hurt, feelings his adrenaline wouldn't give him time to categorize as he closed in on the confused human.

He hoisted (Reader) up by their neck.

"You'd really rather die than be mine?!" The enraged dragon screamed.

Struggling to breathe, the warrior grabbed one of his scaly hands while trying to smack his face with their dominant hand.

The glint of their ring caught Targov's attention, who recognized it instantly. He had been alive for a very long time, and killed many a god during his rebellious years. Sharp teeth sunk into (Reader's) fingers, the dragon biting their hand lightly, suddenly, earning a shocked cry from the struggling human. Targov dropped (Reader), pulling the ring off their finger with his fangs as he did so.

The warrior didn't notice their missing ring until they regained their composure and attempted to attack the humanoid dragon, who blocked their attack perfectly fine.

Targov wore the ring on his smallest claw.

"I see I was right about you.." His deep voice chuckled, but (Reader) couldn't tell if it was out of amusement or fury. "A fellow God killer.. who better suited to be my mate?"

He grabbed (Reader's) wrist, and despite it's low speed, the ring prevented (Reader) from dodging.

"Welcome home, my mate."

"Even if I have to break you, I will have you. And you will learn to love me."

[bluewxrld07]

She's All I Wanna Be (Trevor Zegras)

Trevor Zegras x Reader - Instagram AU

Warning(s): Angst

Summary: Based off Tate McRae's song She's All I Wanna Be :)

dixiedamelio just posted a photo!!

liked by charlidamelio, mileycyrus, trevorzegras, and 1,250,542 others

dixiedamelio Inner Miley Cyrus Bangerz era.... oh and pc to Z

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user1 ok but her suit slays

user2 anybody else notice she didn't tag Trevor? Little sis if you ask me

user3 We all know they're together at this point. They just don't want to rip the bandaid off

user2 Right? We all know he dumped yourusername to be with Dixie. He's just trying to avoid confirmation

charlidamelio 🦆

addisonrae Bod goals af

trevorzegras 😳

trevorzegras sorry still in awe of u

user4 He doesn't even try to hide it

yourusername just posted a photo!

liked by jackhughes, yourbff, jamiedrysdale, colecaufield and 1,475,998 others

yourusername you want the girl with the small waist, and the perfect smile

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user1 She's always been so gorgeous I am obsessed w/her

user2 Glad to see a model who has the same body type as me owning it 🥰

user3 Yeeesshhhh Trevor's loss

user4 Why would she post something like this when her body looks like that? It's actually horrendous 🤢

user1 This is what healthy looks like first off? Second off she's a gym influencer who heavy lifts? What's your talent? Tell me her confidence levels are annoying you without actually telling me fr user4

yourbff Currrrves for daysss

yourbff Hottie w/ a body??!

jackhughes Bestie looking fine as always

yourbff um jackhughes bye she's my bff get your own bff since your last one has a trashy looking type jackhughes Shhhh don't expose me like that we don't claim it

trevorzegras just posted a photo!

liked by charlidamelio, dixiedamelio, alexturcotte, and 1,045,609 others

trevorzegras Obsessed w/ u

tagged: dixiedamelio

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user1 well this wasn't on my bingo card

user2 omg isn't that Charli's sister? I forgot her name. What does she do???

user1 I'm dead, you really clowning her lmfao user2

user3 So much prettier than what's her face

user4 I miss yourusername

user5 It's the fact that she's back to her darker hair? Anyone finding that a little weird?

dixiedamelio All heart eyes for you 😘

yourusername just posted a photo!

liked by yourbff, jackhughes, tatemcrae, gigihadid, and 2,649,913 others

yourusername if you say she's nothing to worry about, then why'd close your eyes when I said it out loud?

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jackhughes Bring me my matcha latte

yourusername I'd already be there if someone didn't drop it, so we're getting you a new one jackhughes yourbff It wasn't my fault the door didn't announce its presence..... jackhughes only you'd blame the door yourbff

user1 Literally love this girl

user2 Kinda crazy Trevor posts Dixie right after yourusername posted. He also never posted her, so what makes Dixie so different lmao

user3 what’s crazier is that Dixie literally just dyed her hair blonde and cut it so short, to now having dark hair and extensions 🤔

yourbff You look sooo good

yourbff IM obsessed w/ YOU

user4 The shade lmfao crazy

dixiedamelio posted a photo!

liked by noahbeck, charlidamelio, tanamongeau, trevorzegras and 3,146,098 others

dixiedamelio thanks vanity fair for the fun day 💅🏼

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user1 ohhhh boy…

user2 Yeah it’s scary how much she’s tryna look like yourusername

tanamongeau Wow Dix ballsy as fuck lmao

yourbff interesting.

user3 SO glad yourbff sees it too

user4 Dixie can try to look like her, but she won’t ever be able to lift like her. Bet she can’t lift anything over ten pounds

jackhughes just posted a photo!

liked by yourbff, colecaufield, l_hughes03, yourusername and 5,973,899 others

jackhughes We can lay on her and she still doesn’t feel a thing. Probably could lift us both with her eyes closed

tagged: yourusername, colecaufield

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user1 I’m living for Jack being on her side during this lmfao

user2 The SHADE LMFAO JACK

user3 Let’s see Dixie try to remake this photo bahahah

yourbff Pretty sure you all fell asleep like that too

yourusername we did lmfao

colecaufield comfiest I’ve ever slept

jackhughes 10/10 recommend

yourbff Writing out the yelp review rn

l_hughes03 I call top next time

yourbff just posted a photo!

liked by tatemcrae, yourusername, colecaufield and 1,347,856 others

yourbff I was just as amazed as Tate was when y/n lifted me onto her back. Carrying me on her back as well as she did with her last relationship. Stupid boy making her so sad

tagged: tatemcrae, yourusername

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tatemcrae That last line in your caption sounding a little familiar 🤔🤔

tatemcrae But also me next, me next!!

jackhughes I walked in on this

l_hughes03 I walked out on this

colecaufield I wanna be in on this

yourusername you’re all a pain in my ass on this

yourbff We just love you ok

*liked by yourusername, jackhughes, l_hughes03, colecaufield and tatemcrae*

user1 This friendgroup is what I strive to have in life

user2 Dixie kicking and punching air rn

*liked by yourbff*

dixiedamelio posted a photo!

liked by charlidamelio, trevorzegras, jamiedrysdale, alexturcotte and 4,137,980 others

dixiedamelio all mine plus bff

tagged : trevorzegras, alexturcotte

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user1 Girl keep him lmfao nobody gonna steal him like you did to yourusername

*liked by yourbff*

user2 Nah man not Alex bro rip 🥲🥲

trevorzegras all yours ❤️

charlidamelio He wanted someone he could show off whenever you go out

dixiedamelio I’ll wear a tight mini black dress with all my friends around 💅🏼

user3 ohhhh she PETTY petty

user4 Her and her sister wanna be besties with Tate and yourusername so bad omfg it’s a headache

*liked by yourbff and tatemcrae*

tanamongeau I think I’ve seen similar posts like these somewhere….🤔

yourusername posted a photo!

liked by jackhughes, tatemcrae, yourbff, trevorzegras and 7,247,113 others

yourusername I’m all she wanna be so bad

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user1 OH NOW THIS WAS A TWIST

user2 Not her turning the lyrics around to call out Dixie oop

tatemcrae lyric change approved 😚❤️

yourusername 🥰💅🏼

yourbff kind of like this version better

tatemcrae Glad I’m not the only one

jackhughes Permission to call you mommy after seeing this post?

yourusername denied

yourbff denied

tatemcrae denied

l_hughes03 Wow you got rejected more than me my Freshman year at Umich jackhughes

colecaufield The better looking ex

user3 It’s the fact Trevor liked the post too I’m dead

*liked by yourbff and yourusername*

[sjywrites]

༊*·˚ Prada & Versace

: ̗̀➛ 𝓢ugar 𝓓addy!𝓛ee 𝓗eeseung x 𝓕!reader. 𝓖enre smut, fluff, age gap, s2l. 𝓢ypnosis where reader is a broke and single college student celebrating her best friends birthday, and at said party she meets someone who might solve more than just one of her problems. 𝓦𝓒 estimated 5-10k. 𝓒𝓦 age gap, oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!), pet names (good girl, baby, slut in an affectionate way!), mentions of alcohol, both hee and reader smokes, reader is a bit intoxicated but still fully aware of what she’s doing.

𝓝ote this is a sneak-peak of the actual story, this is the first story I’ve ever posted on tumblr so if you see anything that I can improve, please let me know. I want the first story I post to be good enough for me to be motivated to keep writing!

This is purely fiction and is not meant to interpret how the idols act in real life!

,, not proofread + english is not my first language ! ೃ⁀➷

Flashing lights, loud music and the smell of sweaty bodies. That’s what most clubs look like, and this one was no different.

It was Ryujins 19th birthday, and she wanted to celebrate it with just her closest friends and her girlfriend. That’s why Y/N agreed to it in the first place. She’s not used to social settings and spends most of her time stressing over finals, so being forced into a social setting wasn't making her any less stressed. Her and Ryujin are the complete opposite of each other and she can’t really remember how they became best friends, but somehow they did. And that’s why she’s in this position right now, pressed between strangers in a club that reeked of alcohol, dressed in a skimpy black dress that barely covered her up.

“Hey Y/N, get me another drink will ya’!” Ryujin shouted and laughed, fully intoxicated. “I don’t really think that’s a good idea Ryu” I said, a little worried about her condition “you’ve had a lot already” I tell her, hoping she would just give up “It’s fineee, I’m fineee, trust!” She laughed and grabbed another beer. I tried to stop her but she was too fast. I just gave up and sighed, trying to reason with her when she’s drunk is like trying to argue with a wall “You’re gonna throw up later I’ll tell you that.” I grabbed my lighter and walked outside for a smoke, leaving her to Yeji, her girlfriend. I love Ryujin, but sometimes she can be a handful to look after.

I walk out on the balcony, leaning against the rack and admire the glowing night sky, letting the cold wind run over my body. It’s a relaxing moment until I hear someone approaching and I assume it’s either Ryujin or Yeji, until they lean against the rack beside me. Build too big to be either of them, I look over in their direction. A tall, hot guy with glasses stands there. He lights a cigarette and looks over to me. I forgot how to breathe for a moment, embarrassed, I looked away slightly. When I look back to see if he’s still there, we make eye contact. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat roaming around him. And I can't tell if it’s the embarrassment or the close contact with the man that makes my cheeks heat up, but I’d rather not find out.

I take a look at the man in front of me, scanning him up and down. Dressed in a suit too fine to be worn at a basic club, hair styled in a way that makes it look almost untouched, and his eyes, his eyes were so easy to get lost in. I snap out of it when I realize I’d been staring for a while, a slight smirk on the man's lips as he leans down to my level.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer”

✩ ♬ ₊.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A/N please let me know if you want me to finish it! Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated ♡ (Also someone please teach me how to make my posts aesthetic I've never posted on Tumblr before so I don't know how it works 😔)

[halaboyz]

oh?, choi san

classroom crush! ateez san x gn! reader (nonchalant vs oa lmao) FINALLY SOME FLUFF wc: 2.2k warnings: none that i know of a/n: i've done so much of this storyline i think this might be the last one of it

San remembers his first day as a returnee, striding down the hallway to his room, notes and pens tucked in his arm. Upon entering his room, was delightedly welcomed by one of the regular students- you.

"Hi, is this seat taken?" San asks cautiously as he points at the seat beside you, crouching to hear you better. When you turn your head to look at him, but instead, your jaw drops.

"Well aren't you fucking gorgeous," Is that even a whisper? San was astonished, blinking at you. It was needless to say that he was intimidated by that single line, feet discreetly stepping back and escaping the situation. "Sorry. Slipped. No one sits there," Your poker face confuses him more. You're a weird junior. You quickly focus back on your phone, as if you hadn't just said the most compliment San could ever receive.

"Ah, thanks... But I think I'll just find ano-," When he whips his head around to find another seat untaken, he panics. You don't look awkward at all, but San is. He doesn't want that. But there aren't any seats left, and he isn't close with anyone to strike a conversation just to switch seats with him. So he dejectedly takes a seat, scooting farther, maybe just a bit, away from you.

The day just wouldn't end like that, San just had to forget to bring an index card- the whole class did. And you just had to be prepared for it. Out of all his blockmates, it just had to be you. It makes everything hard for him when you hand all of your classmates a card one by one, when it all came down to him.

"You have one?" One was already hanging loose between your index and middle finger, handing it to him. It takes him a few more seconds before he shyly takes the card and thanking you softly, and he glances at you to see if you're really unbothered by the thing a while ago.

You really were.

At that point on, San had considered you a friend (he hopes you do too) that he can count on. Being a returnee wasn't easy, and you helped him adjust to the environment quite easily. You were someone who was blunt, straightforward. Unlike San, who overthought every situation he had been, and will most likely overthink the coming situations.

"Oh San. Hello. Are you at the room right now?" You quickly ask right when he answers your call. When he hums, "I forgot my extra shirt under my desk. Do you mind bringing it over here to the gym? Please and thank you."

Like you gave him a choice. He chuckles to himself, just agreeing and immediately getting into action. He retrieves your extra shirt for PE (which he, thank god, had taken already and passed the last year before he went for LOA) and jogs to the gym, where he finds exiting students already. When he asks a familiar face of where you are, they just point inside the gymnasium.

At last, the gym only had a number of students getting ready to leave, and he still doesn't see a strand of your hair. When he tries to reach his pockets for his phone, he sighs when he realizes he left it at your desk.

He cautiously walks to the changing room, where he tries to shout out loud, bravely, calling for your name.

"y/n... please come out, I have your shirt and there's no one else to ask a favor for," He thinks if you're even still there. But when he hears footsteps approaching he perks up.

Not until he sees you, though. He immediately turns red, and I mean literally red, and immediately- when he sees you only covered with a towel. He stands frozen in place, shirt in his hand reaching out to you.

"What, first time seeing a person half naked, pretty boy?" Your nonchalance was killing him inside. You thank him as you retrieve your shirt, asking him to wait for you since he was there already. As if you had just done the most normal thing friends do.

Or was San just not used to this friend-thing relationship that was normal for you?

"Hey, y/n. How are you?" San starts, the chair scraping the marbled floor.

"Good. You?" You reply simply, not even glancing at him.

"Good too," San nervously chuckles, but you don't buy it. With a simple whisper of 'spit', he folds. "Well... Not good, actually. I haven't been feeling well the past few days and I really want to stay in today but I had a quiz this morning. I really want to attend this class since I'm here already but my body's declining. Would you be so kind to share your notes for today?" San rambles, immediately feeling sorry for the inconvenience already.

"Okay." You answer, nodding at him. He waits a few more seconds to see if you'll add onto that, but nothing comes out. So he immediately thanks you, standing up and ready to leave when you grab his sleeve.

"Right, here. I've been meaning to give this." You throw him a small paper bag full of meds, "Get well soon. Miss you already," He doesn't know whether that was sarcastic or not. He doesn't care. What matters were the medicines in his hand, released from the pharmacy dated to three days ago, when he started feeling under the weather and has been doing everything to hide it.

He feels... weird. You're weird.

He remembers all that. That's how it has always been for the two of you. All along, he thought that he was the one who... he doesn't know. He doesn't even know, but all along he thought it was a him problem. Not a you problem.

So why were you here, in front of him, confessing your love for him?

Not the pretty-boy-adoration level, but a serious kind of level.

"I like you, Choi San. I think it's been for a while already." San couldn't figure you out until the end. So he figures that maybe, all this time, it's not a romantically-inclined interest he had for you, but a rather type of 'you're a weird-fun that's why you keep me on my toes' kinda thing.

And he doesn't want that. He doesn't want that for you because you deserve better. Just because you were a fresh air for him, doesn't mean that he'd only keep you to have his own part of fun.

"Uh... y/n..." He doesn't know what to say. He hopes to keep the friendship you've been building, but he also needs your keep of the decision for that. "Sorry, but..."

"Okay." You shrug, smiling at him. "It's fine. I get it. Don't worry, we can go back and act like nothing happened, right?" You didn't even let him finish. But he thinks he dodged a bullet there. Because of how he knows himself, he would've fucked it all up without meaning to if you let him finish. "Let's go back to the room?" You pat his arm, and you were back to being... unbothered. Like you didn't just get rejected.

Did San read too much romantic novels? Watch too much movies? To expect more reaction from you?

But apart from all that's raging his mind now, he follows you back to the room, and just like you- it feels like nothing happened. Maybe, it was better that way.

But when he asks your friend Yeonjun why he was going through your desk, and answers you asked to bring him your extra shirt and bottle of water to the gym, he's dumbfounded.

Not that he had some grudge for Yeonjun, but... hadn't you always asked him with that? I thought we're back to being whatever you were before the confession? Why was he now looking at Yeonjun like just committed a heinous crime?

But he lets Yeonjun off the hook (partially because Yeonjun was now sprinting out of the room to get to you and he didn't had the leisure to confront Yeonjun about it) and stares at the empty seat beside him, left with only traces of you.

Maybe, just maybe, Yeonjun crossed your mind first this time around, than San.

But well oh well, it happens again.

"Yeonjun, can you pass me the scale ruler, please? Oh and could you grab these plates unharmed and go with me to the office to drop these off before class ends," San was sure prior the confession, you had always asked him around. But now... what the hell?

"We can go now," Yeonjun stands up with no complain, getting all of the plates to go with you while you prepare. Why is Yeonjun acting like all of this is normal? Like... isn't he finding it weird that he's now the one getting asked around, not him?

San could now rip his hair all out for all he knows. He thought you wanted to go back to normal? Why is he noticing even the littlest changes now? Why is he so frustrated anyway?

His last resort was now two weeks after the confession, and everything has changed for him. Maybe just him, because he had started even noticing the smallest changes in your actions, or if it even changed- from the looks of it of other people's point of view, it didn't. But for him, a lot has changed.

"y/n, do you want to go get materials for the next project together later?" San encourages himself to initiate an offer, while the both of you were alone after a while, Yeonjun having something to cram on during break.

"Oh, San. Sorry, I already promised Yeonjun that I'll help him with his requirements later." You reply, biting your sandwich and glancing at him, then back to your book

"Tomorrow?" San was desperate. He wanted to make things right, but he doesn't even know if there were things to correct in the first place. Why does he feel so responsible and desperate when he's the one who rejected you?

"...You want to meet on a Sunday?" You slowly set your book down, gawking at him.

"That's a problem now?"

"Oh now your attitude's a problem." With his snarky remark, you immediately rebut it with yours. You were getting confused of how he has been acting, like... he's also confused. You were back to acting how you were before you confessed, only San wasn't.

"What about my attitude, huh?" San presses, scooting closer to you to annoy you more lividly. You scoff, amused at the newly found attitude your senior had.

"What the hell is your problem, San?" You scoff in disbelief, a smirk in your lips at the amusement.

"You know what, now that we're in the topic anyway, let me ask you that. What the hell is your problem, y/n?" He starts, eyebrows furrowing into confusion. Yours raise, because what the hell was he talking about? "You confess and okay, I rejected you, I was expecting that you will never talk to me again because that's how it usually goes, but then you say that we can go back to acting like it never happened."

"So? I did!" You almost try and fight him, if it weren't for his palm flying to your mouth to shut you up.

"You! Didn't!" San rebuts, "It's always Yeonjun here, Yeonjun there- did you not like me anymore just like that?! Have you moved on quickly? Do I deserve getting ignored because I was too ignorant of my own feelings?!" San was now mad at himself. He always was.

Because if you answered yes to all of his questions, the blame falls into himself.

He let you go that easily. Just like that. All because of his uncertainties, really?

"Of course I still like you, idiot! Do you think I get over feelings fast like that?!" You push his hand away, your panicked state was a reflection of his panicked state. You were supposed to be the cool one here, but hearing San panic made you panic.

"Then why the hell are you avoiding me?!"

"You're crazy, I'm not! I'm acting the way I am!" You exasperatingly fight back, because you know you're right. "You're overthinking things like how you always are, okay, I get it." You calm down, because if you weren't no one was going to. "I'm sorry, okay, I didn't notice this time around, I'm sorry I should've been more careful."

"Why are you apologizing now... I should be. You must be so confused of how I am acting right now..." San starts, shoulders drooping, lips turning to a pout. "I've only come to agreement to my feelings just now, y/n. I'm so sorry I came too late," San grabs your hand, caressing it.

You almost turn into a ball at how San was acting, feeling all giddy and happy at the same time.

"Really? San, I don't want you saying anything at the heat of the moment, you can take your time. This might only be because you were overly cautious of my actions after my confession which made you confused. You can take your time, San." You caress his hand with your other, smiling at him.

"No, I've just been trudging it out longer. I've been feeling this way ever since we met. But if I told you that earlier, it would've been weird, wouldn't it?" With a chuckle, you pull San for a hug, one that had been long overdue.

"Fuck Yeonjun, he can cram all by himself."

taglist: @sunlightwoo (answer the form on my pinned to be included!)

[belli5]

Fan favourite — Niko Omilana

Pairing: Niko Omilana x f!reader

Warnings: fluff js. Based on this request.

Summary: in which, you’re Niko’s fan favourite.

A/n: OMD I ACTUALLY FORGOT TO WRITE SO SORRY 😭😭

Masterlist

Dating Niko Omilana was amazing until it came to fame. The fans didn’t know about you and him, maybe some were suspicious of you both, I mean the fans were always suspecting something once someone follows someone.

I mean they were right, because you were dating. When Niko brought you on set with the beta squad, you were excited, but still you weren’t sure how the fans would feel about you.

What if they wouldn’t like you? What if they don’t think you’re good for Niko once they all find out about you two? What if the- you got distracted in your thoughts, when Niko called your name.

“Y/n, im ready to go, are you?” You nodded, getting up from your seat, ready to drive to the set with Niko. When you both arrived, mostly everyone was already there so you got ready and just waited till the people who were auditioning for the video, got ready.

They were filming “Match the girlfriend to the boyfriend” and they invited because they thought you’d be just great for this video.

When tge filming started you introduced yourself, but yet still not talking a lot. You were sat in between Niko and Aj, the girlfriend walked in the room and you complimented her while the guys said hi.

“Hi, you’re very pretty!” You smiled at her, when she sat down.

“Thank you, you’re pretty aswell!” She smiled back at you.

“Could you please introduce yourself?” Niko politely asked her, as he was sitting on end of the table.

“I’m Monica and I’m from Czechia.”

When the video came out you were scared to open the video comments after you watched the video, but you still did. A comment you saw about your self with a lot of likes was “0:55 Yn complimenting the girlfriend is an amazing first impression.” The comment had 1.1k likes and you were surprised.

You scrolled further down and saw a comment such as “yn’s so pretty, who is she? I need to know asap” which you smiled at.

You continued to scroll and saw the fans being supportive, you were glad. But of course there was few hate comments such as “isn’t that the girl who’s everyone suspicious of? The one who’s trying to steal Niko from us.. 🙄”

You just rolled your eyes, they had no chance with him anyway. You went on tiktok scrolling through it, you came across an edit of yourself and it had 14.2k likes.

You reposted the video, and closed the app. Walking into your and Niko’s kitchen, seeing him there you walked up to see what he’s up to.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Nothing, really,” he smiles at you, putting his phone away to give you all his attention “did you saw the new beta squad video?”

“Yeah, just now. I saw the comments..”

“What were they bad?” He started to get worried.

“No of course not,” you laughed. “Actually I was surprised when I saw that they were so nice.”

“See I told you they would be nice.”

“Yeah for now..” you corrected him “what are they gonna say when we’re gonna tell about our relationship?”

“It’s gonna be good,” he assured you “the fans are supportive and if they like you now, they will like you even more as my girlfriend.” He pulled you to him to give you a kiss.

You believed him. “Okay. I saw an edit of myself today. Do you wanna see it?” You pulled out your phone, out of your back pocket still standing in between his legs.

Few weeks went past and the support kept going on, you’d even say you could be Niko’s fan favourite. They always talked about you both, even though you both hadn’t revealed to the media.

@youruser just posted!

Youruser

liked by niko, ohnosharky, gooddecoration and 8,669 others

Youruser woke up to 20k of you🥹💗 ilysm

View all comments

Yourbsf how are you so pretty omd

Youruser guess who I’m learning from

niko I like your face ALOT

Youruser I like urs ALOT

Chunkz I love the last pic

Youruser I do too

User18 you’re so pretty omd, you need to come back on beta squad vid

User19 ARE YOU AND NIKO DATING⁉️

User20 neeko what are you doing here

User21 go on Niko’s channel

Youruser should I?

User22 yesss you should we need more content of u @youruser

User23 ofccc @youruser

@niko just posted!

niko

liked by yungfilly and 433k others

niko so y’all wanted her back?!

View all comments

Youruser duhh I want me back there too..

User24 it’s not a want it’s a need

User25 does this mean new YouTube video with yn?

User26 you have a such a beautiful girlfriend

User27 I love her sm

*❤️ by author

gooddecoration does this mean y’all are dating orr⁉️

User28 Niko winning in every aspect in life

*❤️ by author

When you and Niko both agreed that you should reveal your relationship, you decided it could be about an YouTube video of you being in it.

But honestly it was true, you were gonna be in Niko’s new YouTube video, you were glad that the fans liked you and people didn’t have much to say.

The fans could tell that in the video on Niko’s channel you were more talking, and of course you’d talk a lot when you know that there are people out there who support you and like you.

[sidekick-hero]

It's finally here, my entry for the @steddiesummerexchange. This is a gift for my dear friend @starryeyedjanai - I was so delighted when I found out you were my giftee 💜💜💜 Your prompt 'Steve can't get his inheritance until he marries someone' really tested me and took me out of my writing comfort zone. I hope you like it and that I did your prompt justice! Special shout out to the best beta in the whole world, @acasualcrossfade 💜🙏

Pairings: Steve/Eddie, Robin/Chrissy Characters: Steve, Eddie, Robin, Chrissy, Max, Dustin, Wayne Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Marriage, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer, idiot4idiot, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, Humor and Fluff and a smudge Angst

Summary:

When Steve's grandmother dies, he finds out that he can only get his inheritance - half a million dollars - if he marries someone. It's her way of forcing Steve to live a heterosexual life. Sucks for her that gay marriage has been legalized since she wrote her will. Sucks for Steve that he doesn't have a man or woman in his life to marry. Cue Eddie Munson, roommate and best friend of Robin's girlfriend Chrissy and the guy Steve has had a crush on for years. What could possibly go wrong?

Read on AO3 - the fic is finished and has 4 chapters, the last one will drop June 24

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 1 (5.6k) under the cut

"Rob! Robbie!" Steve yells as he walks into their two-bedroom apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. "Robin Juniper Buckley, where are you?"

He hears the telltale clatter of dishes and sure enough, he finds his roommate and best friend in their tiny kitchen washing the dishes. It's his turn to do them, but his schedule has been hell this week. He's been spending so much time at the firehouse cooking for a crew of five to twelve perpetually hungry firemen and women that the thought of cleaning up their kitchen at home has made him want to cry.

"I'm here doing the dishes, because if I didn't, we could have proven Darwin's theories right here in our kitchen." Despite the scolding words, she doesn't look particularly angry at him, and he figures he'll be forgiven in no time. She knows he's been working himself into the ground lately, pulling double shifts whenever his boss will let him. Living in Chicago is expensive enough, but Steve also has to think about Max's education. There's no way his little sister can't live up to her full potential just because their parents are assholes who stopped caring about their children the second they turned out not to be the perfect son and daughter Richard and Emily Harrington wanted them to be.

He walks up to her and hugs her sideways, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment as he mumbles, "'m sorry, Robs. I'll make it up to you."

She sighs, and he knows he's already forgiven. "I know you will. It's okay. Not like I forgot to do something once or twice."

He leans back to look at her for full effect, waggling his eyebrows. "Oh, like when you started dating Chrissy and were so busy having sex that you barely left your room or her apartment?"

Robin swats at him with the towel slung over her shoulder, but there's a smile on her face at the memory.

"Okay, now that we've established that you're jealous that I have an incredibly sexy and wonderful girlfriend," Robin says, ignoring his indignant Oi!, "do you want to tell me why you stormed in here yelling out my full name, which I've clearly forbidden you to use except in emergencies?"

Her question brings back the excitement that propelled him from the grocery store to her apartment in record time, and reminds him of the news he's been dying to share with her in person, rather than by phone or text message. He needs to see her reaction firsthand.

Taking hold of Robin's shoulders, he locks eyes with her azure gaze, unable to contain the grin that splits his face in two. "She’s gone!"

Robin blinks in confusion, prompting him to clarify. "Grandma Harrington, she's kicked the bucket, bit the dust, you name it."

A puzzled expression lingers on Robin's face momentarily before realization dawns. "No way! She... really?"

Unable to contain his excitement, Steve gives her a gentle shake. "Yes, really. Grandma Harrington finally called it quits."

They look at each other, their grins widening until they both look like madmen. Steve is aware that all of this is probably a highly inappropriate way to react to the death of a human being, but Eleanor Harrington had been the worst human being Steve or Robin had ever had the displeasure of meeting in their lives.

She had visited her son and daughter-in-law infrequently over the years, never giving them much warning when she was coming over and occupying one of their guest rooms for the unforeseeable future. More than once, Steve had come home to find her sitting at the kitchen table or on the sofa, staring at him with her judgmental gaze, disappointed in him before he even crossed the threshold. Any friend who had the misfortune to accompany him was ordered to sit with her and be interrogated, always found wanting as her grandson's companion. Everyone was beneath a Harrington, even Tommy, even though his father was a lawyer. ‘Too many freckles and that awful grin’ was one reason, ‘I don't like the way he looks at you, Steven, too greedy’ was another.

Robin, who had become a permanent fixture in Steve’s life after becoming his project partner in one of their shared classes his junior year, hadn’t fared any better. To this day, Steve has no idea how Grandma Harrington found out that Robin was queer, because at that point Robin hadn't even been out to her parents, only Steve. But when she did, she had spit at Robin. Steve had lost it then, too angry, too hurt to think rationally. He had thrown caution to the wind and come out to her, too, even though the thought of liking boys was still new to him, something he was still trying on to see how it would fit.

He doesn't even know what he expected to get out of it. Certainly not acceptance or even approval, no matter how much a part of him still craved that from his family. The only thing he got was her calling them both horrible names and saying such cruel things that Steve had to hold Robin and wipe away her tears afterwards.

That episode alone was reason enough for Steve to hate the old woman. Never mind that she had raised his father to be a bigoted, heartless man who had never learned what it meant to truly love anyone, not even his own son or daughter.

When their faces begin to ache from smiling, Robin shrugs casually, as though dismissing the significance of the moment. But Steve knows better. He knows the weight of hurt and resentment they both carry because of that woman.

"Rest in peace, I suppose," Robin remarks with an air of detachment, and Steve can only offer a noncommittal hum in response, realizing that any words he might speak would only add to the inappropriate nature of their conversation.

"Alright, so what does this mean for you, Steve?" Robin asks, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Is this going to change how you deal with your family?" She pauses briefly before adding, "And what about your inheritance?"

Steve offers a slight shrug, his expression turning pensive. "I'm not entirely sure yet, Robs," he begins, his tone serious despite the lingering excitement from their earlier celebration. "I mean, I guess it means I don't have to deal with her anymore, which is definitely a relief. But as for the rest of the family, I don't know. They've never been particularly warm or welcoming to me, you know that. I mean, you’ve been there when they wanted to send me to a psychiatrist to help me get over being queer. I doubt they've changed much since then."

Robin nods in understanding, recalling the numerous tales Steve had shared about his family's cold demeanor and their refusal to accept him for who he is. She reaches out, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I mean, you know she was loaded. So yeah, there is an inheritance, but -" Steve continues, his gaze distant as he contemplates the implications. "There's a condition in Grandma Harrington's will. I can only inherit if I marry someone.”

Robin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Marry? Seriously? That seems archaic, unfair, and downright manipulative."

Steve lets out a wry chuckle. "Tell me about it. Grandma always did enjoy her control games. It's probably her way of trying to mold me into the perfect, straight grandson."

"You've got to be kidding me! Seriously? You... what, have to marry some woman so you can be the perfectly acceptable heterosexual son and grandson your family always wanted? Fuck off!" Despite the heavy topic, Steve can't help but smile at Robin's outrage on his behalf. He could always count on her. After all, she was there to pick up the pieces when his parents told him in no uncertain terms to either learn to be straight or leave.

He left and lived with the Buckleys until Robin graduated and they moved to Chicago together. It was the best decision he could have made, even if it still hurts some days.

For a moment, they both fall silent, each lost in their thoughts. Then Robin squeezes his hand again. "We'll figure it out, Steve. We always do. And hey, maybe this is the perfect opportunity to really stick it to them."

"What do you mean?"

A devilish grin spreads across Robin's face. "Tell me, does her will say that you have to marry someone, or that you have to marry a woman to get your inheritance?"

Oh.

Oh.

Steve looks at Robin, his eyes wide with sudden understanding. “You’re a genius, Buckley,” he says, grinning. “I think it’s time for us to pay my attorney a visit.”

Turns out Robin is right. It seems that Grandma Harrington wrote her will at a time when gay marriage was still illegal in most states, and never thought to change it after the courts made it legal in Indiana and Illinois in 2014.

Steve's lawyer, who he honestly couldn't afford if it wasn't for the fact that she was an old family friend, agreed to help him pro bono just to give his bigoted parents the middle finger, as her sister was a lesbian. She said that the requirements of the will would be met if Steve married a woman as well as a man. As long as it was a legally recognized marriage, he would get close to half a million dollars. Enough to pay for Max's education, the rest of Robin's student loans, and maybe even a small house here in Chicago for him and Max once she was done with college and wanted to live with him until she was ready to be on her own.

The only problem was that Steve didn't have anyone to marry, woman or man.

His last serious relationship had been in high school, for crying out loud. Not for lack of trying. Steve loved love, but love apparently didn't love Steve back. Robin insists that's because he's sabotaging himself. She thinks deep down he's afraid of getting hurt again, so he only falls for people who a) he can't have or b) are a terrible match outside the bedroom.

She might have a point, he thinks in his more introspective moments. He has no shortage of options, and he always finds someone to hook up with, but he rarely makes it past the second date.

"Maybe you could hire someone?" Robin suggests, sipping her Dirty Shirley. After seeing John for some legal advice, they had gone straight to their favorite bar to hold a strategic summit over drinks.

So far, they have only made it to the drinking part.

Sighing deeply, Steve considers the idea for a second before shaking his head vehemently. "No way. I'm not paying some stranger to marry me. It's probably illegal anyway, and it sounds a lot like prostitution."

He knows it's the wrong thing to say when Robin raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "And what, Steven, is wrong with prostitution?"

"Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with it. A job like any other job,” he hastily assures her.

His answer seems to satisfy her and he knows she's right. It's just that sometimes the things he's been raised to believe, thanks to his extremely conservative parents, are hard to leave behind. They have a tendency to bubble back to the surface when he least expects it.

"That's what I thought. But I get it, it feels wrong to pay someone to marry you."

"Exactly. And I mean, it's about trust. Who guarantees that they won't double-cross me somehow and run off with all the money? I can't risk that."

He looks over at his best friend, his platonic soul mate, whom he trusts with his life and, more importantly, his little sister's life. Right now, he thinks, there’s only one person he could imagine being married to.

"How about we get married?"

He regrets it as soon as he asks.

Not because he thinks Robin wouldn’t do it, but because of the two of them, she is the one in a loving, stable relationship that could very well end in marriage one day. It's unfair of him to put her in a situation where she feels like she has to choose between Steve and Chrissy.

Worst of all, he knows she still wants to say yes to him. He can see it in the soft, sad way she looks at him. They both know they'll spend the rest of their lives together anyway. The simple truth of both their lives is that they would do anything for each other, walk through fire, face any horror the world could throw at them, just to see each other happy. And it's not like they couldn't get a divorce later, so Robin could still marry Chrissy, sure. But it would take something from her.

"Steve, I -"

"No, wait, don't answer that. It was a stupid idea, I shouldn't -"

"It's not stupid, it's just -"

As they talk over each other, their voices clash until they both instinctively reach over, silencing each other with a hand over their mouths at the same time. Their wide-eyed surprise quickly gives way to laughter as they realize the absurdity of the situation.

Steve is the first to recover from their fit of laughter, quickly sobering up to reassure Robin in a mild voice. "Seriously, Robs, I shouldn't have asked you to do this because it puts you in a shitty position. I know how much you love Chrissy and it wouldn't be fair to either of you. Especially when the two of you could finally get legally married. I don't want to take that away from you and make you agree to a fake heterosexual marriage like it was the 80's."

She looks at him with her big blue eyes, impossibly soft, and takes his hand in hers.

"Steve," she begins, her voice as gentle as her gaze, "thank you. For getting it, I mean. It wouldn't be all fake, though. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But you're right, I'm not in love with you and you're not in love with me. And we both deserve to marry someone we feel that way about. In a perfect world, we would. I mean, I don't even know if Chrissy would ever want to marry me, but," Robin stops here, her eyes widening in sudden realization. "Oh my God, Steve!" Robin cries out in excitement and wonder, her reaction clearly colored by the strong cocktails their favorite bar always provided, before her voice becomes softer again, but no less wondrous. "I really want to marry her. I want to marry Chrissy so badly, Steve, I can't believe I didn't know.”

"And I can't believe you're realizing this after I asked you to marry me. Way to keep a guy's ego in check," Steve jokes with a big grin on his face. It's less news to him than it is to Robin, to be honest. Ever since Robin stumbled into their apartment with a piece of paper in her hand with a number on it, gushing about the gorgeous woman she had just met at the bookstore where she works, Steve knew his best friend was completely smitten with Chrissy Cunningham. That was four years ago, and they are still going strong, obviously madly in love.

She throws her arms around him and says, "I'm sorry," not sounding sorry at all, still giddy with her newfound realization. "I'll make it up to you. I actually might have an idea how we can get you your inheritance and still stick it to Grandma Harrington."

"I sense a but."

"But I can't guarantee it'll work."

"And..."

"And you might not like it at first, but honestly, it's genius, you just have to trust me. And if it really doesn't work out, then we'll get married and you'll pay for my 'I'm-sorry-I-love-you-please-stay-with-me-even-though-I'm-fake-marrying-my-best-friend' vacation with Chrissy. And the divorce."

Maybe it's the three beers he's already had, or maybe it's the fact that Robin would actually marry him just to help him out that makes him agree. He's sure he'll regret it along the way, but maybe he should take a leap of faith. If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't. No way to find out but to try.

Drunk Steve is clearly an optimist.

"I feel like I'm going to regret this, but all right. What's your plan?"

Robin grins mischievously, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she leans back, holding Steve at arm's length.

"Steve Harrington, you won't regret this, I promise," she declares, her tone brimming with confidence.

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly, unable to suppress a chuckle at Robin's enthusiasm. "I'll hold you to that, Robin. But seriously, when do I get to know the master plan?"

Robin's grin widens, but then she sobers slightly, a hint of seriousness creeping into her expression. "I need to talk to Chrissy first. It's... complicated. But I'll tell you everything as soon as I can, I promise."

Steve nods, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension swirling inside him. "Okay, fine. Just... don't keep me waiting too long, okay? I've had enough surprises for one night."

Robin reaches out, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I won't, Steve. Trust me, this is going to work out. You'll see."

Despite his lingering doubts, Steve can't help but be swayed by Robin's unwavering confidence. With a nod, he squeezes her hand back, a silent agreement passing between them. Whatever Robin's plan entails, he knows his best friend has his back. And maybe, hopefully, they'll come out on top after all.

Drunk Steve should not be allowed to make any decisions, sober Steve decides.

Because he instantly regrets trusting Robin's secretive plan as soon as he steps into their apartment a week later, only to find not just Robin, but also her girlfriend Chrissy and Chrissy's best friend and roommate Eddie lounging in their living room.

All eyes turn towards him as he enters.

Robin's expression is the most transparent. Though the furrow between her brows is subtle, her lip-chewing and rhythmic tapping betray her worry, likely anticipating his reaction to whatever scheme they've concocted.

Chrissy, on the other hand, wears a radiant smile, her bubbly demeanor suggesting she's delighted about something. Yet, Steve can't shake the feeling that her enthusiasm might spell trouble. While he adores Chrissy and cherishes her friendship almost as much as he does Robin’s, he's well aware of her propensity for stirring up mischief.

Their shared history stretches back almost as far as hers and Robin's. It's a tradition for Robin and him to introduce their second dates to each other, one of their many platonic soulmate privileges. Steve often wonders if this practice inadvertently sabotages any chances of a third date, but he's unwilling to compromise on the importance of his friendship with Robin.

In any case, if someone can't accept his slightly unconventional bond with his best friend, they're probably not the right fit for him anyway.

Eddie's expression proves the most enigmatic. He appears utterly deer-in-the-headlights, his wide brown eyes resembling those of a startled doe. His usually pale complexion now seems even more ghostly. Steve notices how Eddie's fingers have been incessantly tousling his hair, rendering his dark curls resembling more of a chaotic bird's nest. Steve recognizes this as one of Eddie's nervous ticks, alongside fidgeting and rambling. His suspicions of Eddie's unease appear justified as Eddie avoids meeting Steve's gaze, opting instead to stare down at his hands, absently toying with his rings.

Something is going on and Steve has a sinking feeling that he won't like it.

"Um, hi?" He offers tentatively, his gaze flitting between Robin, Chrissy, and the nervously fidgeting Eddie. "Am I missing something here? Is this an early birthday surprise? Because if it is, I hate to break it to you, but my birthday's not for another nine months."

Before Robin can respond, Eddie interjects, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Hey, Steve! Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it? Nah, no birthday party, man. We definitely know when your birthday is!"

"We do?" Chrissy chimes in with a playful grin, clearly jesting, as Steve knows she's the one who meticulously keeps track of important dates in their circle.

Eddie, caught off guard by Chrissy's banter, stumbles over his words. "Uh, yeah, of course! February 23rd. Remember that baseball-themed cake from last year? I almost dropped it on the icy ground!"

Steve remembers it too, mostly because he was so chuffed to learn that in order to save his cake, Eddie had taken the fall instead, choosing to land on his admittedly not very well padded backside so that the cake could live. He had been unable to sit properly at their little gathering all evening. Steve had felt sorry for him, but also fond in the face of Eddie's sacrifice for him.

"It's so good to see you, Steve. You look great today, that shirt really makes your eyes pop. Doesn't it, Eddie?" Chrissy gushes, nudging Eddie's side as he just stares at Steve in a way that makes Steve worry that he's about to go into cardiac arrest.

Eddie's mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Um..."

"Okay, what's going on, Robin?" Steve turns to the only person who doesn't act like she's on drugs or caught red-handed at a crime scene. Or both.

Robin, bless her soul, doesn't beat around the bush. "I told you I had a plan. This," and she points to Eddie of all people, "is my plan."

"That's Eddie," Steve states the obvious, but he feels he can't be blamed. Nothing makes sense, so he's glad for every single thing he knows. Then the rest of her statement sinks in.

Blinking at her, his eyes wide, he says the first thing that comes to mind. "You can't be serious!"

There's no way she's saying what he thinks she's saying. Because right now it looks like her plan to help him get his inheritance involves marrying Eddie. Which, no. No, no, no, no. Not Eddie. Maybe she means some other plan that Steve has forgotten. Like Eddie helping him with Dustin's birthday surprise, which sounded much more likely than -

"I told you he didn't want to marry me," Eddie's voice sounds loud in the stunned silence after Steve's reaction. "This was a stupid idea, I don't even know what I was thinking." Then, addressing Steve with his eyes somewhere to Steve's right, "Listen, man, I'm sorry. I totally get it, no hard feelings, okay? I wouldn't want to marry me either."

The wry chuckle doesn't sit well with Steve, nor does the way Eddie still refuses to meet his eyes, or the fact that he's started walking toward their front door. Before he can think about it, his hand wraps around Eddie's arm as he passes Steve on his way out.

"Eddie, wait." Eddie does, looking at Steve's hand wrapped around his forearm. Steve's grip isn't tight, so Eddie could easily break free, but he doesn't. He just looks, quietly waiting. Still not meeting Steve's eyes.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I was just surprised, okay? A little warning would have been nice." The last part is mostly for Robin, who at least does look contrite at his words.

"It's fine, Steve, really. Don't worry about it. Now, if you'll excuse me. Places to be, things to do, see you when I see you, you know the drill."

Steve could let him go, maybe should let him go, because Eddie is obviously embarrassed and the whole situation has gone south anyway. But Eddie doesn't sound fine, and Steve feels terrible about his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. Something that is usually Robin's specialty.

So instead of letting Eddie walk out of the apartment, Steve steps in front of him to block his way. "Eddie, please wait. I really didn't mean it the way you think I did, you have to believe me. You're a catch, okay? Anybody would be lucky to marry you."

And okay, wow, he didn't mean to say that, but it's the truth.

"You really mean that?" Eddie asks, pulling a strand of hair in front of his mouth. It looks incredibly cute and Steve wants to kill Robin for putting him in this position. She had said that he would not like her plan and that should have been reason enough for him to stop her. Because now he's between a rock and a hard place.

Either he lies and lets Eddie walk away thinking he's not good enough to be married, even if it is a scam to get his grandmother's inheritance. Or he tells the truth and risks getting his heart broken or their friendship ruined.

Because the thing is, Steve means every word. Steve has had a crush on Eddie for years. He's been able to keep those feelings in check because he and Eddie never spend time alone together. It's always group hangouts, or Eddie being there when he and Robin visit Chrissy, or Eddie joining them when they meet at their apartment. It also helps that Eddie keeps his distance from him. Sure, he's nice enough to Steve, but every time Steve tried to get close to the other man, his efforts were rebuked until he got the memo and stopped trying.

Before he can come to a decision, Robin steps in.

“I’m sorry we’re springing this on you, Steve. I could’ve prepared this a little bit better but Chrissy and I were so excited that we found the perfect solution, we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“And this is the perfect solution,” Chrissy jumps in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Tell him Robin!”

Infected by Chrissy's enthusiasm, Robin’s voice carries an equally excited note. “You said it yourself, you’d need someone we can trust. And you trust Eddie, don’t you?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s eyes on him. “Of course I do.” He doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath next to him at his decisive tone. Eddie’s a great guy, him rejecting Steve’s advances doesn’t change that.

Of course he trusts him because Eddie never gave him any reason not to.

But he remembers the stories Chrissy told them to explain why Eddie was a little wary of Steve. Apparently, Eddie didn't have it easy growing up. Chrissy wouldn't go into details because it's Eddie's story to tell, but she did mention that people used to treat Eddie like a criminal, a fuckup, trailer trash. Especially the jocks and rich kids at their high school, so since Steve was kind of both, Eddie had been wary of him.

So much so that Steve had overheard Eddie asking Chrissy once, early in her relationship with Robin, why Robin kept bringing that rich asshole jock over all the time. The words had hurt, but Chrissy's explanation had softened the blow. Still, he'd stopped trying to flirt with Eddie after that because he'd figured that even if Eddie came to accept him, he'd never be interested in going out with someone who reminded him so much of all the bullies in high school who had made his life a living hell.

All of which makes it easy to see how Steve's implicit trust could come as such a surprise to him. Which still kind of stings, because Steve had hoped that the last four years had shown Eddie that Steve was not what Eddie expected him to be just because he grew up rich and popular and into sports.

Before he can get lost in his thoughts about Eddie and what he has to do to earn Eddie's trust the way Eddie has his, Chrissy chimes in again, raising a finger. "So you trust Eddie. That's like the most important thing. Second," she raises another finger, making a playful peace sign in their direction, "Eddie's single. Not like Robin."

Ah, okay, Steve can see why Chrissy is so excited about her and Robin's 'plan'.

"'m sorry, Chrissy, for proposing to your girlfriend," Steve sheepishly apologizes, giving her a crooked smile, which she returns with a sunny one of her own.

"No hard feelings. I get it, believe me. Being with Robin means being stuck with you. Just like Robin is stuck with Eddie. Which is the third reason why this is a great idea," she adds, raising another finger. "We all spend a lot of time together already. Nothing really needs to change."

Aside from the fact that Steve secretly wishes things could change between him and Eddie, he's not so sure that's true. But to argue her point would mean revealing more about his feelings than he's comfortable with, so he lets it slide for now.

Objectively, Steve knows they're right. If he didn't still feel... something for Eddie, he probably wouldn't even hesitate. Because yes, he trusts Eddie not to screw him over, and he's also a close acquaintance who's been teetering on the edge of being a real friend for years. But he's also the reason Steve had to leave last year's Friendsgiving party early because Eddie showed up with some guy who couldn't keep his sleazy hands off of him. It drove Steve crazy to see someone else have what he wanted so badly.

In the end, it is the thought of being able to give Max all the chances she deserves that finally makes him look back at Eddie.

"And you're sure you want to do this? Fake marry me, I mean. Because, Eddie... I can't tell you how much I appreciate you being willing to do this to help me out, but... you don't have to do this, okay? It's not your mess or your fucked up family, it's mine."

Finally, Eddie is looking back at him, meeting his eyes.

"I do. Wanna do this, I mean. I know I don't have to, but -" Here Eddie pauses, apparently searching for the right words. After a few seconds he breathes a sigh and continues. "Look, for once, I love the idea of sticking it to an old homophobic hag, so that's a big incentive. Also, I was actually hoping you could help me out as well. Because there's this amazing record store that's for sale, but the bank refuses to give me a loan unless I have some kind of collateral. So I'm kind of hoping that being married will sway them."

At Steve's surprised look, Eddie hastens to add, "I don't want your money! That's for you and Max. Just the fact that I'm married to someone with money will probably be enough. And we can totally do a prenup or something like that."

Eddie sounds anxious, like he's afraid he's said something wrong, when in fact he's doing Steve a huge favor and asking for something incredibly small in return. Steve thinks he can't be blamed at this point, he just has to touch Eddie. So he does, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Eddie. Really. Of course we can go to your bank and convince them to give you the loan. It's the least I can do to thank you."

It feels good to be holding Eddie like this, even more so when, after a moment's hesitation, Eddie hugs him back. Even though they've known each other for years, Steve can count the times they've done this on one hand. It's never lasted this long either, and Steve can't suppress his disappointment when Robin interrupts the quiet moment by clapping her hands excitedly, causing Eddie to pull away.

"Oh, I'm so glad we worked it out. Go us!"

Chrissy, just as excited, jumps up and down next to Robin. "I'm so happy for you guys! We can totally help you plan the wedding. It's going to be great, I know it."

Steve and Eddie look at each other in growing confusion.

"Chris," Eddie begins, his voice careful. He's clearly more experienced in dealing with an overly excited Chrissy, so Steve lets him take the lead. "You do realize that Steve and I are only getting married on paper, right? I don't think -"

"You can still have a wedding!" Chrissy interrupts, clearly not deterred by anything silly like pragmatism or logic. "It's still a special day, and you deserve to celebrate it with your friends and family."

Before Steve can say anything - what, he has no idea - Robin jumps in on the ‘you should have a real wedding’ party.

"Besides, it has to look real, right? Why wouldn't you have a real wedding if you were getting married? Everyone would wonder. It's just easier to pull out all the stops and make it look as real as possible so no one will question it."

And that... actually made a lot of sense. Goddammit.

Looking at Eddie with an apologetic look on his face, Steve says, "I guess she's right," and shrugs his shoulders in a ‘I wish she wasn't, but what can you do’ kind of way. Eddie, to his credit, just sighs and nods, accepting his fate with as much grace as he can. He glances at Chrissy, who is almost vibrating.

"Fine. Chris, do you want to help us plan a wedding?"

She actually squeals. "Yes, yes, yes!" Then she rushes over and pulls them into a group hug.

Steve, looking over Chrissy's head at Robin, opens his arm. "Come here, Buckley." It's all the invitation Robin needs to join their celebratory hug.

For just this moment, Steve allows himself to feel as if this is all real, him and Eddie announcing their wedding and their two best friends in the whole world sharing in their happiness. It's a nice feeling, and when he leans his head on Robin's shoulder and looks at Eddie, he finds him looking back with the same soft smile on his face as the one Steve thinks must be on his own.

[gutterfuuck]

bro bro hear me out

you’re like the only mark writer out there so i NEED THIS TO HAPPEN PLS.

frat boy mark x sorority girl reader.

PLLLLLEAAAAAAAASEEEEEEEEEEE.

enough — !

this idea was so good, i had to start writing before i lost my mind and forgot!! you are such genius. this is probably a little off topic(?) as what you were thinking!! sorry if it is not what you expected, however, i will be using this idea in future so if you do not enjoy this, i will be writing another that is more enjoyable to you!! (with credit to you of course as the original anon!!) the frat name is an abbreviation because i couldn’t come up with one 😭😭

cw: reader is like 2 years older than mark? idk they’re both in their 20s, no superheroes/abilities au!!, william is in here for a bit i love william #williamforpresident2024, alcohol, typical college frat/sorority type parties, the start is quite long sorry i got carried away 😭, dubcon(?), reader is a bitch lowkey, mark gets mean, smut, headlock, piv, degradation, mark gets really mean ouh, creampie hehe, typical sparkie fic it’s evil and hiding under your bed like the babadook or something, aftercare at the end cuz i got soft

a/n: i was supposed to release this yesterday night though have had to edit and spellcheck this myself!! i am quite proud as this is probably the longest fic i have written without any editing from my friend!! if you notice small mistakes no you didn’t

he’s had it with you.

it’s only been a few months since he’s started college and he’s already way behind everyone else. you didn’t have a care in the world, you’d already completed college!! yet you still stay in your old dorm room, bunking with someone who had gotten lucky and left without a roommate, you payed whatever rent you felt like. you just enjoyed the college scenery, the lifestyle, you never wanted it to end… most of all, you loved your sorority. you were well aware that you might’ve looked a little bit like a loser, still hanging out with the sorority with ever changing members. you didn’t care, you were practically in charge, their leader - the queen bee. and that’s what got on his nerves.

you see, you’ve been handed life on a silver platter. a sweet 16th birthday party with a car bought just for you, spoiled absolutely rotten. mark couldn’t really talk, but at least his family came from humble beginnings, you’ve always had your money and status. you’ve always gotten what you want, even if you had to play the long game. the long, hard, boring game... which people could only stand for five minutes or less, what with your constant whining sounds and your foot stomping on the ground, pouting with your arms crossed over your chest. whatever you wanted, people just gave to you. handed themselves on a silver platter… not him. never him.

mark had a love-hate relationship with you. on one hand, you were hot, stunning… he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about you some nights, just like the other guys he hung around with.. on the other hand, you were nothing but a spoiled brat. he remembered the first time you’d come bolting at him as he stood at the doorstep of your sorority house, confusing it with the other one he’d supposed to have showed up at on his first day. you threw your arms around him as your head pounded from last night’s heavy drinking, your only sober thought being “i hope the other girls don’t get to him first.”

“fresh meat huhhh… i *hic* always like the newer ones… you like to party..?” you ask, swaying around with your arm around his like you’d known him for years let alone five seconds. mark tensed, expression shifting to slight annoyance as you almost crumpled over, dragging you back up by your shoulder gently. “no. do you know where house 242 is?” you pout at him, wavy finger pressing to his cheek and wobbling a line down his face before he smacked your hand away, tutting at you and looking around the front porch of your sorority house. bingo. mark shook you away, trudging towards the folded up lawn chair he had spotted, bringing it back and unfolding it for you. you’d annoyed him, sure, but his mother had taught him to be nice to girls.

actually, he pitied you. mark thought he could read between the lines, thought you being drunk at 11am on a wednesday morning must’ve been because you were hurting about something, someone, someplace… debbie’s words before she dropped him off in the car two days prior played in his head, ‘you never know what people could be going through, so be kind.’ as much as you’d bothered him so far, he was still inclined to make sure you were at least sat down to minimize risking an injury. you flopped down into the chair, groaning when you bumped your spine against the metal frame of it, tilting your head back to look up at him. he stared down at you with tired brown eyes, stoic expression not registering to you in your drunken state. at least you were pretty.

he clears his throat before he talks again, unfolding a piece of paper from his pocket, “house 242. do you know how to get there?” your eyes widen, mouth falling open with an excited gasp, “shut up! you are not in OOA!” you slur loudly, attempting to get up from your seat but dropping back into it as your socked feet slipped on the grassy ground below. mark gave a sideways smile and nodded slowly, he hadn’t been given the frat name yet, only the house number. mark didn’t want to have to walk around campus with a drunk sorority girl, you were only dressed in a night dress and a loose jacket, people would get the wrong idea! but, if he had no choice (and he didn’t really feel like walking around campus and looking for the house for the third time today) he’d have to have you as his temporary guide of sorts. this was so embarrassing, he really hoped nobody would think of him as a scumbag.

after watching you flap your arms and get all excited about his frat, you wobble towards the house, rushing to put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, slipping your feet into your fluffy pink slippers, a staple. because of you, no other girls apart from your sorority would wear pink shoes around campus. and you wondered why people had branded you, and your little minions who wanted to be like you, as a bully of sorts. actually, if you thought for more than twenty seconds about it, you’d know people’d rather stay on your good side: you were rich, pretty, stole people’s boyfriends on the regular, confronted those who you thought were competition and you were allowed to basically do as you wanted. because daddykins’ best friends with the dean and the dean makes wayyyy less than your dear old dad and your father bends over backwards for you so if you wanted to waste your degree you fucked and paid yourself to, then you absolutely could.

when you both start walking, you attempt to interlock your arm with his, twisting your face up in disbelief when he rejected your advances. nobody had ever, ever, in the history of ever, done that to you. you want to stamp your foot on the ground but you resist, awkwardly crossing your arms over your chest. maybe he was just shy, you’d met guys like this before. new, shy, never had a pretty girl at his side like this… you got it, you really did. you’d take this as a loss, you’d soften him down later, OOA liked to party and you hadn’t seen a new member who hadn’t drank on their first night yet. you’d know, you’d been doing this same routine for almost three years. fresh meat, lost little lamb, needs the drunk pretty girl’s help ‘cause OOA was pretty hidden away, slipping your arm into theirs to tease them, walking them to their new hangout… coming back before seven on the evening and flirting your way into the new guy’s pants, blocking them when they try to contact you before moving on to the next one… one step had already gone south in your plan. you’d take it on the chin this time. he was cute and you’d already claimed him as yours, the other girls would know as soon as they saw him.

the path you both walked on faded into the concrete, a grassy path appearing as you spotted some guys outside of the house, a keg of beer already being set up this early in the day. mark thought maybe he’d made a mistake jointing the same frat his father had during his own college days, the promise of the frat being quite calm and collected faded away from almost three decades ago, the newer generation of young adults poisoning the good name his father had gone on and on about. sure, nolan had drank during his college years but parties and alcohol were never kept at OOA.

you see, mark wasn’t the average frat guy type: not loud, not obnoxious, actually wanted to learn and grow from his college experience and make some new friends. good friends, not meatheads who didn’t know their asses from their elbows. he hoped at least one person in that house was capable, sighing quietly to himself as he unenthusiastically approached the house with you. a guy waved at you, you waved back with a giggle as another set his drink down, announcing to the other guys that “y/n was here”. oh, so you were just a slut then. you don’t know what people could be going through, so be nice. he rolled his eyes internally, feeling slightly guilty with his thoughts as a red plastic cup is thrust into his chest by someone he’d found familiar, looking up to meet william’s eyes, his stone face cracking into a smile. he hadn’t even noticed the way you’d slipped away from him, chatting with some guy who stood shirtless with a concoction of different liquors that made him blink too slowly, constantly shifting from foot to foot to maintain his balance.

“what happened to not wanting to join us?” his friend asks as mark takes the cup into his hand, smelling the contents of the drink before he decides not to put it to his lips. it was way too early to day drink, he hadn’t even put his backpack down yet, “changed my mind, dad was on my ass about it, i just didn’t want the headache when i go visit.” he shrugged, eyes wondering over to you, watching as you let that guy hug you from behind, a strange feeling bubbling up in his gut. he wasn’t sure if he felt shame or disappointment that you hadn’t stayed with him, no longer worried about how weird it would have looked to walk around with you intoxicated. he looks away before your eyes meet his again, attention shifting back to william and whatever he had been babbling on about before he’d started daydreaming. “…and that’s why- mark? are you listening?” william snapped his fingers at him, shaking him out of his absent looking gaze. william looks behind him, in the direction mark had been staring in, slowly nodding his head with an eyebrow lifted when he looks back at mark again, “oh, right. i get it.” he smirks, mark’s red tinted cheeks being confirmation. “shut up, she only bought me here ‘cause you weren’t answering your texts.” he retorts, shaking his head when william gives him a knowing look.

that was the first day he’d met you. mark didn’t go to the party that night, much to your disappointment. instead, you spent the night in the lap of one of the jocks you’d settled on as a compromise, swigging back shots of vodka and rejecting his advances. he had a tiny cock anyway, you’d seen it before when one of the girls in your sorority received a picture of his dick and squealed about how gross the foreskin looked. you weren’t gonna fuck this guy, partly because you didn’t feel like it and partly because you were disappointed that you hadn’t gotten to see more of mark. you’d see him around campus, catch him staring at you outside sometimes. every interaction was short lived, always being shut down by him. hard to get was by far your least favourite game and there was no way mark would be able to resist someone like you! this had to be the twilight zone or something.

you’d tried everything at this point, low cut shirts with short skirts that exposed the bottom of your butt, shorts that should class as panties with how they barely classed as shorts, bikinis, standing outside his frat house while he was in it and being sprayed by beer in a wet t shirt contest, the works!! you had never been so offended, he just acted as if he didn’t even see you! it’s been four months now, four months of being basically celibate due to your petty “if he cant take me, nobody will have me” mentality. god, you were acting desperate. it embarrassed you, you hated working hard for things that should come as easy as one, two and three. while you thought your attention seeking streak was getting you nowhere, mark’s brain was going into overdrive.

“i just don’t get why you’re so… worked up about it.” william says as he sips from his mug that held coffee - the irish kind since he had a migraine from yesterday’s party and felt the only way to recover was to drink more - sitting with his leg crossed over the other on the sofa with mark who typed away on his laptop, “worked up? worked up?” mark repeated, never looking up from his screen, “come on. i’m sure she didn’t mean it-“ william began, sentence cut short by mark slamming his laptop down, getting up from the couch to put it on the kitchen isle, eyebrows furrowed. he was talking about how you’d ‘accidentally’ taken his jacket instead of yours and when he’d asked for it the morning after, you’d sent one of your sorority minions outside to tell him that they had no clue where the jacket or you was- only to see you walking around campus in it like it belonged to you a minute later, returning to the sorority house with drinks in a little black plastic bag. he had to walk back in the rain, his shirt soaked and blood boiling. yes, the jacket wasn’t a big deal. what william didn’t know was that he was mad because for the last few weeks, you’d been at the parties he’d been at. not only that but you’d always have a different guy all over you, always looking over to him, almost like you were doing it on purpose.

“yeah sure, i’m sure she didn’t mean to spill her drink all over me last week and steal my jacket yesterday, y’know, the one i needed to get home in the rain… oh, i’m sure she didn’t mean to break the fucking tv- the only one we have, when she came over for beer-pong.” mark spits back, pinching the space between his eyes with his index and thumb. william rolls his eyes, sipping away at his coffee without a care in the world. “and i’m sure she didn’t mean to make me miss nearly all of my classes.” he finishes, which makes william turn his head towards him with a smile, “oh, i’m sure y/n physically kept you from going to class.” william tuts, standing up and walking out of the room, “last time i checked, she doesn’t even go here…!” he said as he walked off, refusing to argue with mark. william was right, you hadn’t stopped him from attending classes. he’d just become a little obsessed maybe, wanted to keep an eye on you just in case. mark could only think back to the first day he’d met you, how you’d been drunk from before noon and how you looked like you needed help, how his mother’s words buzzed around in his head… he still hung onto that, taking himself up as your personal guardian angel without your knowledge.

you open your phone when you leave the shower, whatever music that had been playing through it stopping as you pressed pause to focus on the words on your screen:

william🤞

prty @ 242 6pm. bring back his jacket 🙄

you tilt your head slightly before you remember what he’s talking about. you dry your hands, opening your phone to respond,

y/n

omw ❤️

is all you type, not bothering to look at the notification that made your phone buzz before you rush to your little vanity, ready to doll yourself up for the evening and throw on some clothes, pairing them with the jacket you’d now have to return. you get an influx of messages on your phone suddenly, the group chat of the girls in your sorority letting you know that they’d also be attending, emojis and gifs and reaction images galore as you scroll through your phone. the girls wanted to go colour coordinated, all in the same pink miniskirts and black tank tops. you, however, wore a black miniskirt with a pink tank top, just to differentiate yourself from the rest of your hive. you didn’t remember exactly when you’d gotten william’s number but he was useful at times. plus, you thought he was pretty fun to hang around with! that, and the fact that he was mark’s best friend.

when you get to the OOA house music is already blaring and some of the boys are already sat out on the porch, some members of your sorority had shown up a few minutes prior. probably the new girls, you think, knowing the other girls wouldn’t make a mistake as grave as showing up earlier than you. for once, you’re gonna let it go. you were in a good mood today, felt like you were finally going to get your hands all over that slippery prick. you didn’t know why you had your sights set on him, you could be with literally anyone else. you told yourself it was pride, he’d offended you by rejecting you. pretty girls never knew when to quit, especially the rich and spoiled ones like yourself. you made heads turn towards you, as per usual. compliments flooded into your ears, dry “thank you”’s and “aww you’re so cute”’s leaving your mouth, hiding the scowl you had plastered under your perfect demeanour.

you scanned the room, looking for one person in particular, pushing away drinks that had been offered to you before you decided to just give up, plopping yourself down on the same sofa mark had been typing his essay on hours prior, finally giving in when william approaches you, swaying a little as he walked, already wasted by the looks of it. you put on a fake smile, trying to stop yourself from having a full on temper tantrum over not being able to find the guy you’d gotten all dressed up for, wearing his jacket, having no fun at the party his frat house was throwing. william opens his mouth before closing it again like a fish, trying to find his words, “y-you came..!” he speaks loudly, placing his cup on the coffee table in front of you, already littered with other people’s drinks as he throws his arms around you in a hug, “duh, it’s not a party til i’m here.” you say, your friendly tone threatening to falter as you looked down at your nails, observing them as if they had better things going on. you return his drunken embrace, giggling when he accidentally spills his drink on himself.

“you bought it, good..! you wouldn’t believe his b-..b-bitching- earlier-“ he covers his mouth with his hand to stop himself from burping at the last part of his sentence, gesturing towards the jacket you had draped over your shoulders to which you nod and smile, patience wearing thin. if william was here then where the fuck was mark? you wanted to ask him where the rest of him was, though didn’t think he’d understand as fast in his drunken state. tipsy wasn’t even the word. “it just looked so similar to mine, ha!” you lied, finally taking one of the empty cups out of the plastic sleeve and helping yourself to the bottle of vodka that stood in the middle, pouring orange juice straight into it afterwards to try and mask the sharp taste. william laughs, you drink.

“actually- he’s upstairs. studying or whate-ever.” william points to the ceiling, brushing some of his hair out of his face, “i can go give it to him if you like-“ and just like his conversation with mark earlier, he’s cut off short again by you springing up with a no, forgetting about your drink as it spilled over the rim, the whole thing splashing over your shirt. you gasp and squeak, william tries to stifle a loud laugh that would’ve bought all of the attention to you. even while drunk he knew not to put his reputation on the line, and his reputation he did kind of value. nobody wanted to draw unnecessary attention to you, the last person who had done that had been trashed so badly they had to move out of the state after a few months of non stop rumours. you sigh, defeated as you pick up someone’s jumper - they shouldn’t have left it out in the first place if they didn’t want you to use it as a cloth - and trying to soak all of the alcohol out of the black fabric. “bathroom upstairs- mark’s in the room to the r-right— ugh, i’m gonna throw up,” william says as he retches, cheeks puffing out before he takes his leave, sprinting into the back garden to puke in a plant pot. a few more compliments, you’re flirted with by a guy for like five minutes, you take a few more swigs of someone else’s drink and you’re headed upstairs, looking for the bathroom and hoping nobody had started fucking in there so you could act out your ever developing plan.

your eyes lit up when you successfully pushed the door and it wasn’t locked, closing it behind you and twisting the latch so nobody would intrude on you. lifting your shirt over your head, you’re careful to not let the fabric ruin your makeup. the next thing that’s discarded is your bra, winking at yourself in the mirror and jiggling your boobs experimentally, making sure your girls looked their best. you then put mark’s jacket on, sleeves coming past your hands as the hem just barely missed your knees. you didn’t hang out or interact with him often, you never get the chance and it’s frustrating, but you’re reminded of the potential size difference between you and him when you put on his jacket. showtime. if this didn’t get you laid tonight, you’d have to get a new name and move out of the COUNTRY out of embarrassment of coming off as desperate. to the right, a door that had large posters on the surface, some stickers peeled away and faded from years of being piled up on the door. a sock on the handle. no fucking way.

this had never happened before. nobody had ever wanted to fuck someone else before sticking it in you. you wanted to scream, rip your hair out and stomp your feet until you fell through the fucking ceiling. this wasn’t fucking happening, the boy you’d had your eyes on was not fucking another girl in this room. you saw red, the reality of not getting your way this time hitting you hard, your hand flying to the handle to twist it open, ready to have a cat fight if necessary. you felt like a steaming bull, felt like steam was coming out of your nose and ears cartoonishly. you didn’t even know what you were gonna do when you saw him and whoever the fuck that stupid bitch was, all you knew was that you hadn’t gotten what you wanted and it was time to let everyone know that.

you’re ready to bite his head off, both of them, blind rage taking over before you lay your eyes on the sight in front of you. he sat with his legs open, pants at his ankles with his head thrown back momentarily, hand going up and down between his thighs with his other hand holding up his shirt before he’s shuffling to cover himself, wide eyed and cursing with his cute face all beet red. “o-out..! get out-!” he stutters, voice cracking as he rushes to close the door, traping you behind it again. you’re stunned, never seen anything so… erotic before. you wished he wore shorts, the way his toned thighs flinched and tensed made you want to slide yourself up and down them, the small snippet of his abs you wished you’d had a longer look at before being blocked from entering… why’d he hide his body away for so long you’d never know. oh how you wished you’d seen his dick, imagining it made your mouth water. you shake your head, clearing your mind to prevent it from clouding with thoughts of lust, you couldn’t have your pussy leaking just yet. were you really so desperate for dick that you’d get wet without even seeing it? just the mental image of him, lip tugged between his teeth, pleasured expression barely visible? get your act together, you thought, breathing heavily before steadying yourself, standing up straight and knocking on his door.

“maaaarrrrkk…” you whine loudly, fist slamming against the posters, “i didn’t see anything, i swear..! but… i also won’t tell anyone if you let me in.” you offer teasingly, smiling wide when you heard a loud groan from the other side, followed by loud footsteps, followed by the door swinging open, mark avoiding your gaze with gritted teeth. he also wasn’t stupid, also had a reputation to keep squeaky clean. he’d had enough of you. for real, this time. he had enough of how you were the bitch who could make or break him if he ever slighted you in any way, had enough of the way you taunted him from afar, had enough of your complete and utter rudeness - who the hell even barges in when there’s a sock on the door? - he’d just had enough. he stood there, arms crossed as you took in your surroundings, blue and yellow scheme familiar to the clothes he wore... then it hit you, this was mark’s room. it wasn’t weird to have people living at a frat house, some people owned them. you wondered how he felt having to listen to music and people yelling and drinking all night, though that thought was quickly brushed away by mark’s voice,

“that’s mine.” he says bluntly, cheeks still pink as he points to his jacket that you wore, still standing at the door like some sort of bouncer. you nod, closing the door behind you and ignoring his words, “nice room y’got… seance dog? how old are you?” you joke, helping yourself to the shelf where stacked comic books stood, picking one up and flicking through it. mark walked towards you, snatching it out of your hands and putting it back, “again, that’s mine. i want my jacket back, y/n. then you should leave.” he spoke matter-of-factly, glaring at you for a second as you rolled your eyes, sitting on his bed and making yourself at home. “ugh, you’re still mad about it? i’m sorry we have the same jacket. i was drunk! fuck, man.” you shoot a glare back, yours with a grin. he’s had enough. he was at his boiling point, red hot rage was about to start bubbling over and you were the person he didn’t really want to take it out on. “y/n, i’m not gonna tell you again.” he warns, scowling at you as he approaches, fists balled up into his hands. this was probably the part of him people could most see his father in, his expression when he got angry. it didn’t scare you, it made you want to tease him more. so he thought he could intimidate you? he had another thing coming.

“you can’t make me. i’ll scream, you want everyone to come rushing up here?” you wouldn’t, you were only teasing. like a bolt of lightning, he’s tugging the zip of his jacket down, attempting to take it off of you and kick you out himself. you grabbed onto the zipper, trying to block his hands away from zipping it down any further, “taking back my shit and you can get the fuck out of here-“ he muttered, ignoring your sounds of protest, “mark— stop it, i’ll go i just-“ he doesn’t care, he’s trying to force your hands away, slapping at them and trying to restrain them to your sides, “shut up, shut the fuck up, give me back my fucking jacket, now—! you’re a liar, your jacket is hot-fucking-pink!” he’s more violent, grabbing the front and damn near shaking you around, your legs trying to kick him away, “m-mark, please-! stop, stop it!” there’s almost tears in your ears as you try to fight him off, remembering how you’d taken off your shirt and left it in the bathroom, with your bra.

mark couldn’t care less about his jacket or if it would be ruined, it was about the principle. more pulling, more trying to hold your hands away, more grabbing the jacket and trying to pull it off before— schzzzzt. fuck. the zipper popped, your protests stopped and mark’s huffs calmed down, eyes settling on your bare chest. tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked up at him, not expecting to have his eyes meet yours. he looks pissed, he’s had enough of you. right now, mark didn’t give a shit about what you were going through, didn’t care about being nice. you’d tipped him over, now he’s really annoyed with you. “mark,” you shuffle away, jumping with a surprised gasp when you feel his hands wrap around your ankles and pull you back to your place, the action making your skirt and his duvet catch on each other, hiking your skirt up to expose your underwear. it was like he wasn’t even looking at your body, keeping his eyes on yours at all times. you open your mouth again and his hand flies to your face, covering your mouth to prevent you from talking at all. now you’re scared, now you’re intimidated. so scared, yet your stomach flipped and your cunt fluttered around nothing when he silenced you with his palm.

“shut up, you bitch.” he snarled, tightening his grip on your face by pushing your cheeks together. it almost hurt, almost. mark shook his head, “what’s wrong with you? you wanna make me mad? for fucks sake—“ his words make your clit throb, your thighs slowly shifting to meet each other so you could move your hips around and get yourself off a little. this was hot, mark was serious. “you’re gonna scream? what the fuck, y/n, what the fuck is your problem!?” you’re wet. fuck, you’re wet and you’re being yelled at. this was the shit you’d see in porn, but for real. no acting, just a coincidence. when he lets you go to get off of you, he finally lets himself catch a glimpse of the wet spot that’s forming in your panties. he should’ve never looked, now he’s caught a sneak of your tits. the noise he makes is halfway between a groan and a sarcastic chuckle, pushing his hair back with the same hand he used to cover your mouth, “now you’re gonna go and leak all over my bed? after trying to go through my stuff?” mark can’t ignore the way his cock strains in his pants, the way it twitches as he glances over you again. any normal person would’ve ran out of his room, trying to cover themselves with the broken jacket and probably never speak to him again. then again, you weren’t a normal person, you were rich. hadn’t ever been told no or been scolded like this before or at all for that matter. you were truly stunned, felt like a deer in headlights.

“m’sorry, sorry..” you finally peep, sniffing as tears dripped down your face. he groaned, clearly annoyed by your antics now, “now you’re gonna cry? now you’re crying, you did this. stop crying, they’re not real tears.” he spits and you obey, quickly wiping your face, black streaks of mascara on your hands as well as your face. fuck, you looked gorgeous like this. you clearly wanted it. you didn’t look like you did, if anyone had burst through like you had earlier they’d definitely get the wrong idea - the worst idea - the kind of idea that stops you from getting a job in your desired field in the future if interpreted the wrong way. mark swallowed thickly. “y’gonna scream?” he asks and you shake your head no without even processing the question, looking up at him with big wide eyes.

you’re on your stomach, clawing at the bedsheets and messing up the way he’d made his bed this morning, face being pressed into a pillow by a heavy hand, mark’s hand. he’s thrusting into you, hips crashing violently against yours over and over again, got your legs trapped between his as he’s using you like you’re a toy, his other hand gripping onto the fat of your ass to help the momentum of his thrusts. your moans are muffled, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth and onto his pillow as you kept your head pressed into the soft cotton pillow, taking in his scent. god, he was jabbing right against your cervix and you let out a particularly loud whine which makes the brute above you lean in to you, his chest pressing against your back so he could talk into your ear meanly, “what’s that? i can’t. fucking. understand. you.” he punctuated each word with a sharp jab into your g-spot, your wrists aching from how hard you were grabbing around at the sheets. he knew you hadn’t said anything, just wanted to tease you like you’d teased him. he’d stripped you naked before you were taking his cock so deliciously right now, tearing your panties off and shaking you out of his jacket which laid beside you. now this was worth playing the hard to get game.

“hey, y/n? you wanna scream?” mark said, sweat beading at his temples as he moaned when he felt your gummy walls close in on him with his words. you shake your head, an almost inaudible ‘no’ coming from the pillow before his arm is hooked around your neck, lifting you up. this new position made you arch your back, leaving you in a dreamy daze as your eyes adjusted to the light of the room again after having your head forced down for so long, “i said, you wanna scream?” he repeats, you shake your head, “n-no-! no, m’m-sorry fuck, mark, i’m sorry—!” you squeal, voice hoarse as he tightens his arm, putting you in a headlock and moving his other hand to your stomach to hold you in place. he was moving so fast, his fat dick throbbed and stretched and rubbed against allll the right places. no other boy had fucked you til your head spun, made you feel so defenceless and inferior… you’d never been filled up this good, you’d been choked, sure - but a headlock? your cunt gripped him tightly, vision dotting as your body shook violently in his grasp, his fingers now swiping over your hard little clit, making you try to stifle the loud half scream of his name somehow, biting your lip with your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“that’s fucking nasty.” he moaned, watching as you sprayed all over his sheets with your body convulsing, hissing when your pussy started to milk him vigorously as you came. he didn’t stop, only let go of you and watched as you thumped onto the bed weakly, trying to lift yourself up before he’s drilling you with his cock again. you’re hardly responsive, body still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, not even noticing how you’d laid in your own release until you blinked a few times, the feeling finally coming back into your body that mark had knocked numb for a second, “p-please-“ you gasped out, hand reaching down to tap at his thigh. he swiped it away, grabbing your wrist and jerking your body back to meet his, obsessed with the way your bodies made smacking sounds when he snapped his pelvis into your rear. “you gonna bother me again after this? look at you, you’re lying in your own mess- oh fuck, keep tightening like that—“ he growls into your ear, balls slapping against your sensitive clit from behind. you couldn’t think, your thoughts being fucked out of your brain with every rough jab to your cervix, words forming and failing to put them together into understandable sentences. he’s just as blissed out, his anger had faded forever ago, replaced by a carnal urge to just fuck, keep plunging himself in and out of your weeping cunt.

you whine when he pulls out with a pop, lines of your slick coating his cockhead and sticking to it before they snapped and dribbled down onto the soaked sheets below you, his hands grabbing your waist so he could flip you onto your back this time, taking you by surprise and finally waking you up out of whatever dreamy daze you’d been in. this is just how you felt earlier but better, you were scared of him sure but you’ve never been so turned on, you’d never had someone defy you before, you asked for a pony when you were younger and threatened a tantrum which got you your pony, your parents would rather give you whatever you wanted instead of saying a simple no. you stare up at him, he stares down at you. call you crazy, maybe you were finally being put in your place, but having someone hover over you like this, possessive and firm, made you feel as if you had no power at all. mark didn’t care about who you were or what you could do to ruin him anymore, especially since he’d already ruined you. mascara streaked down the sides and front of your face which made tracks in your foundation, your lipstick had been smudged from having your face pressed into the pillow for so long and you were pretty sure you were missing an eyelash (which you were; stuck to the bedsheets and twisted and ruined, you’d have to buy another pair).

mark grabs one of your legs with his hands, pulling you close to him as he leaned in, body pushing your knee up to your shoulder albeit a little painfully, eliciting an uncomfortable mewl from you in the process. you felt as if you couldn’t talk, if you opened your mouth you’d die or something. you’d taken mark for a virgin what with the way he awkwardly shuffled his feet when you spoke to him, the way he never picked up on or wanted to pursue your advances. “don’t look at me like that.” he grits, eyebrows furrowing at the way you pouted at him. you hadn’t even noticed but now you’ve made him mad so now he’s pushing into you again, spearing you open on his dick wet with your slick, your expression changing as you raised your brows, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth hanging open like you were trying to catch flies. he moves his hands, hooking them under your knees so he could pull you back and forth against himself, cock throbbing and begging for release when you start tightening again, lewd gasps and moans coming from your spit slicked and ruined lipstick lips. he can’t stand you, can’t stand the way you’re moaning and trying to say his name while having all knowledge knocked out of you over and over again with stabs repeatedly hitting that same sensitive spot with brutal thrusts, hoping your hips didn’t break every time his crashed into yours.

then, a moment of weakness, “am i pretty?” you ask between whines, small and timid like a rabbit. he’s broken out of his current demeanour, tilting his head. mark feared he’d falter, he’d already given you what you wanted by using you like you were nothing but a warm crevice to slide his cock into. you already knew you were pretty, you just needed to hear it from him. needed to hear it from the guy you’d been chasing for months since you’d stumbled upon him, needed to have confirmation that he was attracted to you. his thrusts almost slow down - almost - before he nods, biting his lip to stop the groan that wanted to respond, “y-yeah, pretty..” mark finally mumbles, hips stuttering as the warm coil that tightened in his stomach threatened to snap. you could feel it too, you could feel the way his cock throbbed, the way the head twitched when it pressed against your cervix every time mark canted his hips up into yours, stretching your pussy around him, churning up your insides so they could only think of him. “pretty, really pretty…” he babbles as he tries to keep his thrusts steady, “also p-pretty fucking mean, stupid…” he continues, trying to ignore the way a pleasured shock creeped up his spine and made his legs shake like yours had before.

you were going to cum again, you could feel it. familiar tingles and twinges picking at you before you felt it fully, the mind numbing sensation of an orgasm being fucked out of you again. mark isn’t any better, chasing his own pleasure with his head tilted back steady “hah, hah, hah”’s slipping out of his mouth. working for stuff really was fun sometimes, even if you had to wait a while to get it. you’re lost, back arching up off of the bed with your waist subtly moving in time with his, catching small hazy blinks of him before his face is closer to yours, not even waiting to kiss you. his tongue is bigger than yours, as with the rest of him, completely pushing your tongue away as he kisses into your mouth, muffling both of your sounds as his thrusts became more and more uneven. he’s cumming, hard and fast and with no consideration whether you were on birth control or not, painting your pink walls with his white cum and leaving his mark deep inside you, seeping into your womb with thick globs. you came as soon as he did, dry this time, arms flailing to grab onto his back to anchor yourself. your cunt squeezed around him, trying to milk all of his release into you. you weren’t on the pill but you didn’t care, you could always get that sorted later.

mark didn’t pull out, huffing slightly as he came back to, blinking at your shaking form below him. if it had been porn, he’d feel bad, close the tab and ignore his post nut clarity. this time, even with all of the thoughts in his head telling him that he’d just broken you down, used you like you were disposable, he couldn’t help but feel accomplished. you might’ve won by getting him to fuck you but he’s won the ice cold heart of the mean bitch that’s now laying in her own squirt on his bed, twitching every now and again to show how much you’d enjoyed it. he sighs, shaking his head and pulls out of you, watching for a second as his cum slowly starts to spill out of your aching pussy, ruining his bedsheets even further, “you still here..?” he asks, looking over at you before he’s headed back over to where he’d stripped off all of his clothes, quickly dressing himself back up as he puts his boxers back on, sliding his jeans back up his legs and looking over at your limp body on his bed. you don’t respond with words, only a faint nod, your body still swimming in the warmth that you’d been pushed into by mark. you could feel the way his cum dribbled out of you messily, leaking down your lower half and soaking up the sheets even further.

you’re pulled from your bliss with mark’s words, unexpected and apologetic, “want me to clean you up?” and you melt, nodded with a small ‘uh-huh’ as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him and knocking the sock off in the process. he’d return a moment later, towel in hand with one corner wet with warm water, patting you down gently, stark contrast to how he was just a minute ago. mark wasn’t mean but he’d tried to be nice and nice just wasn’t working for him - wasn’t working for you - so he had to show you how mean he could really be, had to counteract you somehow. you flinched when he started wiping your cunt, hissing when he bumped against your overly sensitive clit with the towel. he muttered a small sorry, drying you up and leaving once more, the sounds of the music from downstairs louder for a second before the door is closed, louder again and then muffled when he comes back with your shirt and bra, tossing it to your side. he avoided your gaze, absently fiddling around with something in the corner of his room, waiting for you to put your clothes back on. you get the memo, pulling your shirt over your head and reaching out for his jacket before you backed away from it, remembering that you’d come here to return the thing.

as you stood up to look around for your underwear and skirt, your thighs twitch as you feel his cum leaking between your legs, trickling down slowly. you could clean up properly later, sliding your panties and the skirt back to where they had left. “look,” he started, turning your attention towards him, “you can have it. just.. bring it back on saturday. there’s another party or something, ask william.” mark turns to you, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. you perk up as you clasp the strap to your heels back on, legs feeling like jelly as you moved to face him. you nod with a smile, eyes bright and sparkling like he’d just told you you’d won a billion dollars, “saturday, same time?” you ask, walking towards the door and resting your hand on the doorknob. mark hums at you, a silent yes. you take your leave, his broken jacket draped over your shoulders again as you make your way to the front door, ready to leave so you could go back to the dorm room you weren’t supposed to live in and sleep the next few days away. you couldn’t wait to party at house 242 again.

mark watched you walk away from the porch, your hands in his jacket’s pockets, the material swallowing you up to keep you warm. he shook his head, once again pinching the skin between his eyes, grabbing himself a clean towel so he could shower and fall asleep to the music that blared underneath him. mark thought he’d had enough of you.

now, he couldn’t get enough.