#i swear this isn't as salty as it looks

[sleepymarimo]

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚

synopsis: you catch him smiling.

pairing: zoro x fem!reader cw: none, just fluff! his little smile?? he's precious :') wc: ~600

even zoro doesn't realize when his shoulders relax, when his features soften and the most minute of smiles curls at his lips.

another victory, another step forward toward everyone's dreams coming true.

despite the light atmosphere and celebrations, he likes having a good vantage point. if that means being a little separated from the group, then so be it.

the spot he's found, atop a small hill that's just close enough to keep an eye on things, is perfect.

his chin rests comfortably on his palm, while his free hand brings a half empty bottle of booze to his lips. between the night sky and salty sea air, the swordsman can ask for little else in this moment.

it's peaceful. the sound of drums and laughs, clinking bottles and shouts, the crashing waves and-

click.

his head is quick to snap toward the sound, those once relaxed features morphing into something more stern, maybe with a hint of annoyance. a rough hand reaches for the hilt of one of his blades, quicker than can be seen by the average person.

it fades into something just a little more gentle when he realizes it's you, his shoulders dropping. zoro's attention is caught by the camera between your hands.

"oi," he calls, a hint of warning in his tone, "a camera? really?"

setting his bottle down, he places his palms on the grass and rests his weight on them. his earrings chime together as he nods his head toward the spot next to him.

you've no reason to protest as you claim your seat, shoulder brushing against his. "i had one more photo left on it," you explain, your fondness of him clear as you continue, "so i thought i'd make it a good one."

your words are so sugary that he swears his stomach starts to ache. maybe they're just butterflies, on second thought.

"stop buttering me up, woman." he mumbles roughly, leaning over to check out the developing photo. "you already have me."

the image staring back at him makes his brows furrow, his cheeks warming in that way he detests.

zoro isn't used to seeing himself so unguarded and undeniably happy. the marimo has never been one to sweat the small stuff, always on the more carefree side of things.

in this photo, he just looks too… soft.

"burn it." he looks away, reaching for the bottle he'd yet to finish.

your laugh has his jaw tensing, then he throws a mock glare your way when you nudge your shoulder against his. "no way. why would i burn this?" you wave the photo in front of him.

he grits out your name, trying and failing to be intimidating. maybe it would've worked, if you hadn't been dating him for months.

"i don't look that that." he insists, glancing down at the picture. "don't let anyone else see it."

"i won't, i won't." you assure, admiring the photo with a smile. "it's just for me. promise."

zoro isn't entirely pleased that there's proof of him being a softy out there, but he trusts your word, trusts you.

you take note of this, leaning your head on his shoulder and offering him your best smile. "are you mad at me?"

the rise and fall of zoro's shoulder is indicative of the deep breath he takes, contemplating the question even though he knows the answer.

his head briefly tilts up toward the sky before he lowers it enough to bump his nose against your temple.

"no."

[pentechnics]

Can't Get Enough

pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader rating: E | explicit | 18+ only word count: ~1,200 tags: nsfw, hate sex, angry sex, penetrative sex, throat/breath play, rough sex, multiple orgasms, angst, reader and din hate each other yet can't get enough, din makes you sad, no physical descriptions of reader, no y/n

notes: This isn't my usual style, but I just kinda had to get some stuff out. Not really edited or fully flushed out, for that matter. But hopefully posting something new will help me get further in my other work! I have something due for the d20 writing challenge and I am so sorry that one hasn't happened dfghjsfkl

taglist under the cut❤️

He slammed you against the wall with a loud thunk.

Your throat was sore from exertion, your pulse quickening with each groan he released.

His hand found your neck again and held tight, forcing you to look into that visor and see your own lust-blown gaze reflected back at you.

Fuck, he pissed you off. He got to see you like this, but you didn’t. Every time you two wound up like this, it felt like another charge added to an invisible tab. Like he owed you something, because you always gave him everything.

The thought was brief, soon vanquished by another angry thrust, pain and pleasure melding together and turning your brain to mush.

You peered in deeper, willing his eyes to show themselves. You channeled every ounce of mental energy you had left into him – how much he hurt you, how angry he made you. How angry you were at yourself to have given into this again.

And why? Nothing ever changed. He’d come over, both of you would be pissed as all hell, take it out on each other, and then he’d leave. Neither of you walked away feeling any better.

… You never stopped to wonder why he kept coming back. It took two to keep this up, after all. You sucked on his thumb when he stuck it in your mouth, wrapping your legs around him to bring him deeper into you.

You hated this. You hated that it always came down to this for you to feel something. Ever since the two of you broke up you’ve been searching for something, but hell if you knew what it was.

You hated that he was still your answer. You surely didn’t love him anymore, but you hated that you still needed him.

Especially because he doesn’t need you.

He rammed into you, deeper and deeper, sending you into convulsions. You screamed into the humid air, grasping at his shoulders for dear life.

His own cries followed, a loud ‘fuck’ echoing into the darkness. He pried you off the wall and threw you down on the bed, putting the full force of his weight into each delicious stroke.

You couldn’t help the whines that spilled out of you. He had a way of dragging out every single sensation until you were drowning in it all. Drowning in him.

It was infuriating.

You pulled yourself up to his shoulder, kissing and biting at his salty skin. A gorgeous, vindicating sense of pride soared through you when he let out a whimper. 

You liked to think you were the only one who could make him do that.

It made him pound harder into you. Your bite matched, his skin muffling your screams.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you panted.

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Good.”

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. Swears piled out of you. Your heart was pounding, your blood on fire. He had the nerve to fucking chuckle.

“You like that, don’t you?”

 “Bastard.”

He did it again. You wailed.

“Shit,” he whispered.

Any wittiness he had was gone. His pace became manic, one goal in mind. Your eyes rolled back as he continued to ram his cock against your g-spot.

“Close your fucking eyes,” he growled, pressing a hand over them.

The sensations grew stronger without the distraction of sight. Especially after hearing the familiar hiss of his helmet and feeling the subsequent mouth on your neck.

Your moan echoed around you both. Your hand came up to press against his head.

“Din-“

Your orgasm erupted without warning. He used his hold on your head to press you into the mattress, fucking you through it without relent.

“Yes, keep coming, baby.”

Wave after wave of pleasure had your legs flailing and your back arching. Stars appeared before you. The onset of tears built up behind your eyes.

“I’m not fucking done,” he mumbled.

His free hand began to swirl your clit. You thought you couldn’t scream any louder, yet he proved you wrong.

Your muscles tensed up all over again, that sweet coil threatening to break with each tiny movement.

“You better fucking come again,” he said through gritted teeth, like he was holding himself back.

The combination of thrusting and tight circles on your clit had you coming undone again with ease. Your second release was stronger, your body’s convulsions all the more erratic.

But he didn’t stop.

His hand left your eyes to grip your hips, and you had to fight with yourself to keep from looking at him.

“One. More.”

He pulled you to the edge of the bed and dragged you onto his cock over and over. The new angle was steeper, hitting something deeper inside that you weren’t aware existed.

“Oh god,” you sighed. “Right there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whined.

He let out a groan and picked up the speed. You threw your arm over your eyes, afraid you wouldn’t be able to control yourself for much longer.

His breath was labored, accentuated with deep heaving. He wasn’t going to last much longer, which meant—

“Runnin’ out of time, baby, you better give me one more.”

You squealed with each pulse of contact with your g-spot, but his words made a bead of annoyance interrupt your trance.

No, you thought. You’re not gonna get what you want this time.

You squeezed your muscles, clenching his cock tighter between your walls.

“FUCK,” he shouted. “Feels so good-”

His grunts were too much to bear, each one scratching that sweet spot in your brain that went straight to your pussy, but you had to hold back. He had to break first. You gripped the sheets with your free hand and clenched your jaw, desperate to keep the impending third orgasm down.

His grip on you tightened.

“Oh, fuck you,” he spat.

“You already are, dumbass.”

You didn't recognize the graininess of your own voice. But what came after told you it worked.

He leaned over you and continued the rapid pace, both of you moaning into the air just before coming in a heap of screams and roars.

He buried his head beside yours as he rode out his pleasure, taking yours with it.

He eventually slowed to a stop, standing back up and taking care to pull out the condom with his spend without spilling, just as he did every time.

You heard the plop of it getting thrown in the trash before he leaned over you once more, caging in your frame with his arms.

“Look at me.”

“I haven’t heard the helmet-”

“Look. At me.”

Even through his labored breathing, his voice was unwavering. He put his hands on either side of your face, forcing your gaze to meet his when you did peek your eyes open.

The tiny amount of air that had replenished in your lungs was gone.

He was a vision: skin glowing with sweat, eyebrows scrunched with a crease in the middle, sharp cheekbones and a hooked nose…

… But those fucking brown eyes. They were just downright unfair.

You put your hands over his wrists to keep his hold in place. A glimmer of hope dared to emerge in your head – is he letting you see him because he actually did care? Was there still something in him that loved you?

But then he let out a deep chuckle. Your heart broke all over again.

Why’d I even bother?

“You’ll never get enough, will you?”

You gulped. It always came down to this. But this time, you’d seen the truth.

Not only was this his last playing card, but you had a winning hand.

A confident grin bloomed across your face, the satisfaction already tasting so sweet now that you got to say this directly to his actual face. You’d get to see that smug expression die.

You’d get to finally be the one to let him down.

“Neither can you.”

****

taglist: @booksarekindaneat @bluemacaron @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @whataenginerd @girlofchaos @christina-loves @literallydontlook @the-little-ewok @salome-c @dear-fifi @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @keldabe-kriff @kurlyfrasier @booksaremyyoga @elegantduckturtle @artsymaddie

[konigsblog]

Chubby konig and he “inadvertently” causes his gf to gain a few pounds ^_^

Chubby-König swears that deep down, he isn't the cause for the extra pounds you gain.

A part of him feels perverted and deranged. He gets off to the new softness on your gorgeous body, how plush your hips have become and how swollen your breasts look with his lips wrapped around a stiff nipple, gazing up at you lovingly with lazy, half-lidded eyes.

König couldn't help himself; the thoughts wouldn't leave his sick head. He made delicious treats - your favourite - and fed them to you after his calorific and delectable homemade dinner. I mean, his cooking is truthfully irresistible, and König knows you so well. He palms his hard boner and breathes heavily watching as you eat slowly, a perverted grin curling the sides of his mouth when you compliment the taste, or the surprising but delicious saltiness in the icing. If only you knew what he had used for the icing, Liebling...

You attempt to cover up and conceal your insecurities with baggy clothes - more specifically, his clothes. And although König adores the adorable sight of you wearing his clothing, he wants to see all his hard work, what his effort has created. He pulls the t-shirt from your body and pins your wrists down beside your hips, so that you're unable to use your arms to hide the flesh on your stomach. He presses his face between your soft, warm thighs and slowly rolls his tongue over your clothed cunt until your panties are damp and you're shamefully pleading to be eaten out.

Oh, don't worry, Mäusi, König wouldn't deny that offer. He'll suck and slurp at your wet, sloppy pussy while complimenting every curve, while you weep peacefully through pleasure. You're the epitome of perfect to König, who admires every pound gained to your body.

[russellsppttemplates]

Parenting Practice (Lando Norris)

A look into the Norris family summer vacation

Note: english is not my first language. It's been some time, hasn't it? A lot has been going on, and my mental health has taken the biggest toll, so the blog hasn't received much attention as I'm trying to keep the train going! For those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is pregnant

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

"Are you all packed, my love?", Lando asked you as he zipped his suitcase effortlessly.

"Yes - are you sure it's fine if I take my pillow?", you wondered, holding the pregnancy pillow close to you, folding it into the carrier bag.

"It's regular carry-on, and as much as I hate that I have to share my cuddles with it, I know you sleep better with it so you definitely need to take it", Lando winked.

Blushing at your husband's antics, you made sure it was packed before looking around in case you missed something you needed to pack, "seems like I'm all good too - when do we need to leave?".

"In thirty minutes - how about I make us a snack to eat, then you can go pee before we go and then we head to the airport?", Lando suggested.

"Why did you need to specify that I have to take a pee break?", you poked you tongue out at him, pinching his butt as he walked past you.

"You were the one that told me I should always inform you of when you couldn't pee for a long time! The jet will touchdown to pick us both up and go straight up again - I don't think we will have time to use the base's bathroom, and you say you don't like the jet's bathroom, so I was just warning you, woman!", he bit back playfully.

Recalling the last time where you tried to use the bathroom and had to call Pietra to hold you in case you couldn't get out on your own, afraid that the bump would make moving around the tiny space impossible, you swore you'd always plan your pee breaks carefully from now on, "I'm craving something salty", you beamed as Lando walked down the stairs.

"A salty snack for mama and baby girl coming right up!", he yelled back and you could just imagine his head shaking from side to side with a charming smile on his face.

Your mother in-law was the first to greet you as soon as you stepped inside the aircraft, Lando holding your hand to make you didn't fall and helping with your shoes, "Y/N! Oh, you look so gorgeous!", she cooed.

"It's the compression socks, isn't it?", you giggled, lifting up your long skirt to show her, "doctor said it would be better for the swelling - Goodness knows I need all the help I can with that", you mumbled the last bit.

"Don't be silly, you look beautiful!", Pietra complimented.

"She does, doesn't she?", Lando complimented, kissing your cheek before letting you go and feeling slightly jealous that everyone was now looking at you when you had been a sight for his eyes only for the past few days.

.

"Is all of that jealousy, brother?", Cisca asked her brother, touching her toes on his thigh after she sat down on her beach chair. The sun had finally showed up and there was a light breeze going on, making it the perfect beach day and it was only lunchtime as they sat on the beach bar after making the food orders.

"Jealousy? Of what?", Lando quirked his eyebrow over his sunglasses, drifting his attention from you and looking back to his youngest sister.

"The girls haven't left Y/N since the plane, only to sleep and Sav was just saying she swears she heard Athena call your wife before she fell asleep", she snickered, "You've lost favourite uncle status, we all have I think".

"Like we stood a chance to begin with", Lando scoffed, "she was made to be a mother, and before that she had all the practice with being an auntie. And the girls genuinely think they can play with baby girl like they play with their dolls once she's here with us".

"Mila is gentle most days, Athena is... still a bit hard on her movements I think - oh, just on cue!", she yelped.

"Oh, darling, that was a bit strong, wasn't it?", you scolded softly, taking her hand away from your ear after she pushed on your hoop.

"Come here, you trouble maker!", Adam called, grabbing the little girl away from your lap as you rearranged your jewellery.

"She surely has a strong grip!", you chuckled before winking at Lando, mouthing a silent "I love you, Lan" across the table.

Cisca groaned playfully, "is all of that jealousy, little sister?", Lando teased her before blowing you a kiss and mouthing it back.

.

You were enjoying the pool the villa had, soaking up the sun as you laid on Lando's chest, tracing random shapes on his chest while his hand travelled around your waist and bump, often tapping it when your little girl kicked or moved.

It was fairly quiet until the girls woke up from their naps, immediately coming down to join you and invite everyone to swim with them.

Deciding to engage in their delight, you got up and walked to the edge of the pool, carefully sitting on the warm stone and letting your legs dip in the water to cool your body while Lando dove in and played with the girls, "careful, Mila, you can't unzip your vest!", he called.

Pulling her closer to you, you managed to zip it back up and help her swim back to her uncle, "is the bump getting in the way?", Sav asked you, mimicking your early movements and sitting next to you.

"When I'm sitting down, yes", you chuckled, "I don't have the same range of movements and my mind still has to catch up with that".

"It's a sign that she's growing well though", your sister in-law added, propping herself up on her arms so she could ease the rest of ther body into the water, getting immediate attention from her children as they called her to them, "soon enough you'll have someone calling you every waking second!".

"She already does, though! Look at him making a bee line to her now that she's free!", Oliver joked as Lando swam to you.

"I won't even bother answering that", Lando pointed to his brother before reaching you, ignoring everyone else as he gently wrapped his arms around your calves and rested his chin on your knees, "hi, beautiful", he smiled.

"Hey, handsome", you smiled, brushing a fallen curl away from his forehead, "did you enjoy your splashes?", you asked giggling.

"It was fun, yes. Athena poked my eye a couple of times though", he argued, "can you imagine our little princess playing with them this time next year?", he wondered.

"Three little girls", you mused, nodding at the idea, "you better get ready to be a princess too!".

"I have what it takes to be a girl dad, some people might even say I'm very girl dad coded", he tsked you, earning laughs from you.

"You definitely are, yes", you rubbed your bump, "you haven't been her long and she's already kicking like crazy - definitely a daddy's girl".

"Hey, sweet girl", Lando spoke, lightly wetting the skin as his hands touched your bump, "are you having a good time in there? Mummy always says she's too hot so we hope you're doing good away from this heat. And this helps, no?", he wondered as the baby kicked against the droplets, "yeah, it's good and cooling", he cooed.

.

"I'm craving something salty", you said as you grabbed the menu, flicking the pages to see what tickled your fancy.

You had decided to go to the beach bar and have lunch there, not wanting to have to pack everything to go back home only to come back for the afternoon. Everyone was gathered around the table as the waiter took the orders.

"Feeling good? Well rested?", you asked Lando once you caught him looking at you.

"Yes", he admitted, "I thought it would be harder to switch off, but it's been very good", he squeezed your thigh, kissing the side of your head and pulling you to his chest, "how are my girls today? You look ethereal in this dress, darling".

The white dress was flowy at times and tight in all the right spots, showcasing your babybump perfectly, "we've been good, no more harsh kicking on my bladder which I appreciate, isn't that right, Tilly?", you rubbed just above your bellybutton, "but we're both quite hungry".

"The waiter said yours should be quick to make", he offered since the waiter mentioned that the Caesar salad was a popular plate and they always had it running.

Once everyone was served, you began eating, delighted and exclaiming how good e everything was.

"Have a bite of this, baby, trust me!", Lando offered as he gathered a bit of everything on his fork to feed you.

"It's sweet, I'm not sure I'll like it", you scrunched up your face.

"Try a little bit", he encouraged as he made a shell shape with his hand to catch anything that fell or dropped.

The food was definitely the opposite of what you had, but it was delicious. That you couldn't deny.

"It's good, isn't it? I told you!", Lando smiled, "do you want some more?", he offered while already getting everything on the fork again.

"Baby girl seems happy too", you giggled, feeling her move.

"She has good taste in food, what can I say?!", Lando giggled back.

.

The vacation was well underway by the time you decided which days you wanted to spend on the boat, Oliver and Savannah staying inside with the girls along with Adam and Cisca who decided they would make lunch for everyone.

"Do you know what I have just realised?", you spoke to Flo as you both watched Lando and Cisca's boyfriend jump into the water, "your brother has a massive head - like, it's really big, specially when you compare to Max's", you pointed to your husband's best friend who had joined you for the last few days.

That morning, you cried about the fact that your bikini dug on your hips only for Lando to tell you that you hadn't tired the sides properly and that you had more than enough room to accommodate your growing body, so right now this was a way better way to deal with the rush of hormones you were having.

"I think we all do, to be fair - Cisca has the smalled one I guess", Flo squinted as she looked at her sister who walked closer to you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?", Cisca wondered.

"I've just realised how big your brother's head is and how I'm probably going to be split apart when this little girl - little body but surely a big head - joins us", you rubbed your bump as tears formed in your eyes.

"Oh, Y/N, my friends have had babies with big heads and they're fine", Pietra offered, "they were just fine", she said before waving at Max so him and Lando could come to the rescue.

"I don't know why I'm crying, which makes this even worse - Goodness", you wiped your eyes and chuckled, "I can feel her head, it's about here from what I remember from the scans - and it's big, like, really big! How is that going to work?", you blurted.

"What's the matter? Is everything alright? Y/N, are you good? Is it Tilly?", Lando asked worriedly as he saw you break into a fit of giggles and seeing the girls fight their laughter a bit before joining.

"The matter is that you have a big head and Tilly's will also be big", you explained, "I'm not the tiniest person ever, so there's definitely room but can you imagine? I have to ask your mother how big your head was when you were born because I feel like I need to do prep work for it", you mused, "it's all natural until you decide to have a kid with the guy who has a big head".

"Oh, Y/N has gone dark", Max muttered, earning himself a swat on his forehead from Pietra, "what? Did I lie?", he hissed, containing his laughter.

"I'm not sure what you'd like me to do here, my love", Lando admitted, sitting next to you and attempting to squeeze your thigh lovingly, knowing the affectionate gesture could go both ways.

"Our baby is making me feel like I have the emotional and cognitive skills of a toddler", you mumbled as you cuddled your husband, supporting your bump with a pillow Flo got for you as you both layed down.

"It's okay, Y/N, I don't mind having to reason with you - we'll consider this practice for when we have our little one, okay beautiful?", Lando kissed your forehead.

[f14fun]

big mouth, big brain (!youtuber x op81) ~ part 3

synopsis: in which case y/n, a video essayist pops up on oscar's youtube feed, and he falls in love with the way she speaks and tells stories

smau + prose (2.7K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | prev ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

I was going to be on a bloody yacht.

He led me down a winding path that skirted the beach, the sound of the waves growing louder in the stillness of the night. As we walked, the anticipation built between us. I could feel the warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his grip, and it was incredibly reassuring.

"Are you serious?" I asked, a mix of disbelief and excitement in my voice. "You have a yacht?"

"Well, it's not exactly mine," he admitted with a grin. "But a friend of mine owns it, and he owes me a favor."

I laughed, shaking my head in amazement. "This night keeps getting better and better."

He chuckled softly, the sound blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves. The moonlight danced on the water's surface, casting a surreal glow around us. As we continued along the path, a soft breeze played with my hair, carrying the salty scent of the sea. Each step seemed to deepen the connection between us, making the night feel like a secret we shared.

The path curved gently, revealing a secluded cove where a sleek yacht bobbed gently in the water. Its polished hull gleamed under the moonlight, and the sight took my breath away. "Wow," I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from the elegant vessel. It was like something out of a dream, a luxurious escape from the ordinary world.

He grinned at my reaction, clearly pleased with the effect. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "Just wait until you see the view from onboard."

Together, we descended the wooden steps leading to the dock. The yacht swayed slightly as we stepped aboard, the deck cool beneath my bare feet. Soft music played from hidden speakers, creating a soundtrack to the night's unfolding magic.

He led me to the bow, where a plush seating area awaited us. It felt like stepping into another realm, far removed from the worries of everyday life.

We stood together at the dock, looking away from the marina and towards the water that was calming rippling underneath the gaze of the shining moonlight.

My white dress swayed in the wind, my lips glossy under the moonlight, and his hand tightly wrapped around mine. Every once in a while we would sneak glances at each other, while we thought the other one wasn't looking.

Biting my lip slightly when he would look at me, I felt nervous and hot underneath his gaze. Squirming, he grabbed my chin.

"Y/N, don't do that do your lips," he trailed off, speaking softly to me as his thumb gently rubbed my chin. Looking up at him through my lashes, everything around us suddenly seemed to fade away.

"Okay-," I dwindled off, as his gaze sudden detracted from my eyes, and trailed down to my plump lips.

In that moment, he seemed to get closer. Putting my hand on his chest, I could hear his faint heartbeat get louder and pump faster. He was nervous. I, made him nervous.

He was softly exhaling, as was I. I could only hear our breaths, slowly getting faster in that moment. Oscar's head titled, and in that moment, I knew what was about to come.

Grabbing my jaw, he made direct eye contact with me. "May I kiss you, Y/N?" My heartbeat fluttered, and I swear I could feel something else beating as well.

"Of course," I softly replied. The moment I gave consent, he dove right in. Lips connecting, time seemed to stop.

One of his arms tightly gripped my waist, the other gripping my jaw as he was softly kissing me. He was so gentle, yet so passionate and loving. Groaning into my mouth as I wrapped my arms around his neck, I felt his neck muscles flex. Playing with his soft brown hair, my freshly manicured champagne-colored chrome nails gently scratched his scalp.

We kissed passionately for what seemed like hours. Though it must have been a few minutes of bliss in reality. I was the first to part, and noticed that my lip gloss and lipstick was smothered all around his lip area.

Chuckling I wiped it off and showed him the red Dior lipstick stain on my thumb that had resided on his cheek.

"Looks like I've been marked," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned closer. "Should I be worried about leaving a trail of evidence?"

I laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Depends on whether you want to be found," I teased, unable to resist the flirtatious banter that seemed to come so effortlessly between us.

He grinned, his gaze lingering on mine. "Maybe I don't mind being caught," he replied, his voice low and filled with suggestion.

I chuckled, enjoying the playful dance of words between us. "Oh, so you're admitting to being a wanted man?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

His grin widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Only if you're the one doing the chasing," he whispered, his voice sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

I leaned back slightly, feigning contemplation. "Hmm, I do have a knack for tracking down elusive characters," I mused, my tone teasing yet tinged with genuine interest.

He chuckled softly, the sound like music in the stillness of the early morning. "Then I suppose I'm in trouble," he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I pretended to study him with exaggerated seriousness. "Well, you did lead me down this path," I pointed out, gesturing around us at the yacht and the tranquil sea beyond. "Seems like you've left quite a trail."

He nodded, his expression turning more earnest. "It's a path I'm glad you decided to follow," he said softly, his fingers lightly tracing circles on the back of my hand.

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me at his words. "Me too," I admitted, my gaze meeting his and holding steady. "I guess we'll just have to see where it leads."

He leaned even closer, his lips brushing against my earlobe as he whispered, "I'm hoping it leads to more moments like this."

My heart skipped a beat at his confession, the intimacy of the moment both exhilarating and comforting. "I think we're off to a pretty good start," I replied, my voice filled with a mix of playfulness and sincerity.

Feeling even more bold, I chuckled softly, feeling a rush of playful energy between us. "I must admit, you wear it well," I said, holding up my thumb to show him the faint smudge of lipstick. "But you might want to be more careful next time."

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Noted," he replied, his tone light yet tinged with a hint of flirtation. "Though I have to say, it's a small price to pay for such delightful company."

I felt a blush creep into my cheeks at his compliment, the warmth spreading through me like the first rays of morning sunlight. "Flattery will get you everywhere," I teased, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.

His gaze softened, the playful glint giving way to a more sincere expression. "I mean it," he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against mine. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time."

The sincerity in his voice touched me, making my heart flutter in a way I hadn't expected. "I'm glad," I replied honestly, meeting his gaze with an openness that surprised even myself. "Tonight has been... unexpected, in the best possible way."

He nodded, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Sometimes the best moments are the ones we don't plan," he mused, his tone thoughtful. "Like finding a lipstick stain on your cheek."

I laughed softly, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves against the yacht's hull. "Who would have thought a little makeup mishap could lead to such a moment?" I said, shaking my head in amused disbelief.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Maybe it's a sign," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "That we're meant to leave a mark on each other's lives."

His words sent a thrill through me, the romantic notion echoing in the quiet space between us. "I like the sound of that," I admitted, feeling a sense of anticipation building between us like a rising tide.

He smiled, a softness in his eyes that made my pulse quicken. "Me too," he replied, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. "So, what do you say we continue this adventure? See where it takes us next."

I nodded, a surge of excitement and curiosity coursing through me. "I'd like that," I said earnestly, feeling a surge of gratitude for the serendipitous turn of events that brought us together on this yacht, under this moonlit sky.

As the moon held its vigil in the night sky, casting a silvery sheen over the yacht's deck, we settled into a cozy corner under a blanket. The soft glow of candles created an intimate atmosphere, illuminating the desserts before us—a plate of tiramisu and crème brûlée, their decadent aromas mingling with the salty sea air.

He poured us each a glass of champagne, the effervescent bubbles adding a touch of celebratory cheer to the serene scene. "To unexpected adventures," he toasted, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he handed me a flute.

I smiled, clinking my glass against his. "To seizing the moment," I replied, savoring the crisp taste of the champagne as it tickled my palate.

We shared the desserts, trading playful banter and lingering glances that spoke volumes in the quietude of the night. Each bite of tiramisu melted on my tongue, rich and creamy, while the crème brûlée offered a delightful contrast of smooth custard beneath a perfectly caramelized crust.

Between bites, we talked about our dreams and aspirations, our favorite travel destinations, and even our shared love for late-night escapades. The conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by moments of laughter and the occasional shared sigh of contentment.

"I guess we've hit the apex of the evening," he quipped, his tone teasing yet filled with affection, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

I chuckled softly, enjoying the playful reference. "Well, if this is the apex, I can't wait to see what the straightaway looks like," I replied, matching his playful banter with a hint of flirtation.

He grinned, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of my hand. "Trust me, the view from the podium is even better with you by my side," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

The warmth of his words sent a shiver down my spine, mingling with the gentle breeze that caressed our faces. The night around us seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving only the two of us in our private world aboard the yacht.

Leaning closer, our gazes locked in a silent agreement of shared desire, we savored each bite of dessert as if it were a testament to the sweetness of this moment. The occasional brush of fingertips, the soft exchange of smiles—it all spoke of a connection that went beyond mere words.

As the yacht rocked gently on the tranquil waters, I found myself drawn to him more than ever, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and anticipation. This night, filled with laughter and stolen glances, had woven a tapestry of intimacy that I never wanted to unravel.

"I'm glad you invited me," I confessed softly, breaking the silence that had settled between us like a comforting embrace.

His gaze softened, a tender smile playing on his lips. "I couldn't imagine sharing this with anyone else," he admitted, his fingers entwining with mine in a gesture that spoke volumes.

"And hey, if things go really well, I hear they offer Australian citizenship with every marriage," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned closer.

I couldn't help but laugh at his playful suggestion, feeling a surge of affection for his sense of humor. "Are you trying to bribe me with dual citizenship now?" I quipped back, a playful twinkle in my eye.

He chuckled, his fingers gently squeezing mine. "Hey, it's just a perk," he replied with mock seriousness, his smile widening into a grin that lit up his face.

I leaned closer, teasingly narrowing my eyes at him. "Well, I'll have you know, my love can't be bought with citizenship perks," I teased, my tone light but tinged with warmth.

His grin softened into a look of genuine fondness. "Good to know," he murmured, his gaze lingering on mine as if trying to capture every detail of this moment.

The night air around us seemed to hum with possibility, as if the universe itself was conspiring to weave our destinies together. I found myself drawn to him in ways I couldn't fully articulate, my heart singing with a melody that resonated with his presence.

"But if you keep feeding me dessert like this," I added with a playful wink, "you might just convince me otherwise."

He laughed softly, the sound like music to my ears. "Consider it a delicious bribe, then," he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection.

We watched as the moonlight danced on the surface of the sea, casting a spell of tranquility over us. Time slowed to a leisurely pace, allowing us to savor each moment, each stolen glance, and each shared smile.

As the clock struck midnight, marking the transition into a new day, we remained on the deck, wrapped in each other's warmth and the promise of what lay ahead.

And as we eventually bid farewell to the night, reluctant to let go of the magic we had found, I knew that this evening had woven our hearts together in a tapestry of hope and possibility.

Hand in hand, we returned to the shore, our laughter echoing against the quiet backdrop of the ocean. The night had been a gift—a testament to the beauty of chance encounters and the transformative power of shared experiences.

And as we looked towards the future, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, knowing that our journey together had only just begun.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 233,152 others

yourusername: ignore the elephant in the room (twitter)

view comments

user1: alrrr, aesthetic queen

user2: not them using their own drunk paparazzi pics in their post, it's giving iconic shit

user3: I AM NEVER FORGETTING THOSE TWEETS THEY WERE FUCKING HILARIOUS GIRLLL

user4: nahhh nawt the "pls pls pls gimme ur babies"

user4: IN TEARS. 😭😭

user5: she must've been HELLA DRUNK to post those

user6: oscar too LMFAOO

user7: i know she just woke up feeling like shit, checked her phone, then wanted to kys

landonorris: those tweets...

landonorris: pr wants to talk to both of you...😭

yourusername: oh god oh god i'm in trouble

yourusername: little old me, a content creator online did the single handedly worse possible thing not to do: drunk post

oscarpiastri: LMFAO GET WRECKED🫵🏻🫵🏻

landonorris: what are you laughing about ur probably in trouble too 🫵🏼

user8: LMAOOO lando got their ass

user9: he said "check urself" before u check her

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 212,655 others

oscarpiastri: she's too cute, so i asked to be her boyfriend

view comments

yourusername: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend" 🧡🧡🤤🙌🏼😇😍🥰🥰🥰😘

user1: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user2: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user3: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user4: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user5: wow mate, you really think you're winning in life

oscarpiastri: i really am. she was doing donuts on my dick last night

yourusername: OSCAR DELETE THAT BEFORE ADMIN SEES SKSKKSKS

oscarpiastri: well... you didn't deny it

landonorris: oscar jack piastri. you are going to give admin another fucking heart attack.

mclaren: 👁️👁️🕵🏼

user6: LMAOOOO GN

this comment thread has been deleted

user7: DID YOU SEE THE DELETED COMMENT THREAD LMAO

user8: i hope someone screenshotted ts and put it on twitter lol

user9: ughhh i love them so much

landonorris: congrats guys!! mawmaw yi pawpaw 🧡🫵🏼

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

yourusername: can i be your girlfriend, oscar? 🧡

oscarpiastri: can i be your boyfriend, y/n? 🧡

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

[avocado-writing]

You said you needed ideas pookie, lucky for you 🎀I have free time to think of nothing but Wolverine and Deadpool🎀

Can I get a Wolverine and Deadpool with a goth s/o! PLZ I AM ON MY KNEES!!!

How they react with a reader who is just a completely other esthetic than them

I feel like Wade would steal things he thinks reader would like and make her try it on infront of him

And Logan would think it's hot because it's something he's not used too

(Good God I want them so bad)

IMPECCABLE TASTE my darling. i'm sorry if i didn't do goths justice i am the most cottagecore bastard there is. minors dni.

Wade who pilfers anything he can get his hands on when he knows you'll look sexy in it. This time, scrap of lace which will be just beautiful around your thigh, swiped from a hook in a lingerie store. Him coming home with a giddy glee, telling you he "got you something you'll love, spooky pookie". Feeling himself harden when you look out at him from purple-shadowed eyes, heavy lashes which bat ingenue-like. Asks you to jump up on the counter so he can slip it on. You extend a leg and he breathes out a long breath to control himself, pulling the black garter up until it fits comfortably just under the plush of your ass. You admire it and smile, pressing a boot into his shoulder.

"You did good, baby. Wanna eat me out as I wear it?"

He thanks whatever goth distribution system god is listening that he has you and dives right in, pushing your black satin panties to the side - can't be bothered to take them off. You wrap your thighs tight around his head as he sloppily kisses your cunt in order to keep him right in place, use his face as you want to. The lace from his gift presses against his cheekbone and he cums in his sweatpants.

Logan who swears up and down that he isn't watching you go about your business but can't take his eyes off your little ruffled skirt. You must know he's obsessed with you because of the way you cross your legs so he can admire them, fishnet stockings which reach your upper thigh, boots with a deadly heel. You prop yourself up opposite him, long decorated nails tapping against your cheek. You could leave pretty nice scratches in his back with those.

"You gonna just keep watching, old man, or come and have a taste?"

His chair is thrown backwards at the speed with which he stands. He's not sure if it's really a challenge or an invitation but either way he isn't backing down. Bends you over the table; hitches your skirt up so he can see the scrap of red lace you call panties, slapping your ass with an open palm which makes you moan and squirm under him. A hand fisted in your dyed hair to keep you in place as he fucks his cock between your cheeks, taking his time with you while the apartment is quiet...

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk

[starryhutcherson]

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones. 

It’s no different today. 

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils. 

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it. 

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you. 

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom. 

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is. 

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.” 

Mike scoffs. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?”

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.” 

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas. 

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything. 

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway. 

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.” 

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation. 

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air. 

“If anything happens, call me.” 

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream. 

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that. 

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.” 

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out. 

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity. 

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild. 

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.  

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so. 

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you. 

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode. 

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this. 

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly. 

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat. 

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks. 

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble. 

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.” 

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.” 

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth. 

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.” 

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!” 

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house. 

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!” 

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!” 

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is. 

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in. 

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it. 

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.” 

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle. 

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him. 

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.” 

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down. 

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak. 

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever. 

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face. 

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up. 

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you. 

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you. 

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking. 

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed. 

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you. 

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so. 

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter. 

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon. 

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing. 

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to. 

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud. 

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be. 

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink. 

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples. 

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him. 

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton. 

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar. 

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.  

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor. 

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his. 

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you. 

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge. 

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps. 

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you. 

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body. 

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly. 

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch. 

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes. 

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently. 

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw. 

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless. 

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach. 

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you. 

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute. 

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him. 

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it. 

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does. 

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins. 

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you. 

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same. 

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake. 

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls. 

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well. 

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. 

He’s found his new familiar. 

masterlist

✩‧₊

[o-sachi]

Dress to Impress Headcanons Pt. 1 - for WinBre Week!

ᯓ what's it like to play the roblox game dress to impress with the Wind Breaker characters? ᯓ characters; sakura haruka, suo hayato, nirei akihiko, sugishita kyotaro, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma (more characs in the next part hopefully) ᯓ tags; crack, some profanity lol, gn reader, no y/n, can be platonic/romantic

[🐟]: for day 8 - side missions prompt! (because dti is a side mission) @windbreakerweek

Sakura Haruka

"How the fuck do I win..."

It will take forever to convince him to play because apparently 'there is no way he's playing dress-up that's made for children' but will fold as soon as you tell him he's just saying that because he hates you.

He keeps forgetting where certain items are and keeps going in circles around the place. That's why he thinks 5 minutes isn't enough.

"Where the fuck are the heels with the pretty pink bows? Man." / "You're going in circles, y'know?" / "Not my fault this shit's a maze."

Pretty standard outfits. Like they're not terrible, but they're not impressive enough to get 4 or 5 stars.

He's more of a simplicity-is-beauty type of guy so that also reflects in the kind of outfits that he makes. But the kids in the server are not having it.

"What does 'ate and served' mean?"

SO SALTY WHEN HE LOSES. But he'll brush it off and pretend that he's cool about it because he is not about to let anyone know he cares about some stupid dress-up game.

Suo Hayato

"Oh, look. I got first place again~"

He was easier to convince. But only if you knew how good he'd be, you wouldn't have asked him to play with you. Why? 'Cuz your morale is plummeting by the second.

He doesn't even need to try. Suo just lets his natural sense of style bleed into the way he plays the game AND HE WINS. He's pretty and so are his outfits.

Suo knows that it's mostly kids playing the game. So when he figures out there are younger people on the server, he'll rate them pretty high to put a smile on their face. (HE'S SO SWEET).

"Suo... it didn't even follow the theme." / "But it's quite nice, don't you think?"

You notice that you rank faster when you duo with him. You've been exploiting this little feature.

"We make a pretty good team, don't we?" / "Huh? Oh, yeah. Haha totally..."

Nirei Akihiko

"OH, this one's good... No, but this one's really good too..."

Nirei is everyone's hypeman: yours, the fashion mavens', the ten year olds who can't follow the theme—literally everyone.

He actually gets better so quickly by observing the outfits of those who win a lot. Like dude is analyzing a whole ass Roblox game. Not that it's intentional—more like it's in his nature.

He falls deep into the DTI rabbit hole. You know because he eagerly waits for updates and hunts for codes on the internet.

"Heyyyy, guess who learned a new code hm?"

His face lights up when you ask him to play... as if he doesn't ask you to play every chance he gets already...

DTI actually becomes his door leading to his descent into the world of Roblox. Seriously, he starts playing more Roblox because you started him with DTI. He also starts asking the other Furin guys to play too.

"Guys, let's do an obby next." / "A what?" / "An obby." / "Again, A WHAT?"

Sugishita Kyotaro

"... I swear I can do better than this..."

This man... this man was even harder to convince compared to Sakura. In fact, you almost gave up. Soooo... you convinced Ume instead (which was easier) and in turn, that forced Sugishita to try it out.

Didn't even ask how it works. He's just reading the text that pops up and goes with the flow.

I'm sorry but... he has the blandest style out of everyone in the main Furin group. Like, he doesn't even try to win AT ALL. But, y'know, A for effort!

"Oh... I have to vote for them?" / "Well, yeah... actually no, just give me 5 stars, okay?"

He plays DTI for a grand total of 3 times, all of which were because Ume asked him to play with the rest of the guys.

He's not much of a gamer to begin with... really, he'd much rather watch you play DTI and see your dramatic reactions to whatever's happening.

Umemiya Hajime

"HAHAHA What's with these silly poses?"

It's like a switch flips in him when he boots up the game and the DTI background song starts playing. He looks waaaaay too happy playing it.

He only started playing because all the hype surrounding it. Ume just wants to be part of the conversation and that's why he tried it out.

Talks way too much in the chat. Usually people just use it to provide more context for their outfits, but Ume actually makes conversation with players there. It's pretty funny to see.

"Look. So many people added me." / "Huh... well ain't that a surprise..."

He almost threw the Ipad out of excitement when he saw that the theme was gardening. He said he had to win or he'd literally die.

A pose 28 spammer, obviously.

"Aw, my game started lagging." / "It's 'cuz you keep spamming poses too fast." / "Dang it."

Hiragi Toma

"I'm not that good at it... okay, maybe just a bit."

He's an old man so bear with him when he tells you that he doesn't even know what a 'Roblox' is. He thought it was a vape flavor by the way.

"So... I have to dress-up and make people vote highly for me?" / "Yeah, it's called Dress to Impress for a reason." / "Oh, yeah. Fair."

He barely tries, but somehow he's kinda good at it? He's not insanely amazing at putting together outfits... but for a guy who's not trying that hard—he's doing pretty well for himself.

But he'll be too embarrassed to admit it. Hiragi would click his tongue and tell you to knock it off once you start complimenting his DTI skills.

He's a bit lost with the Gen Z/Gen Alpha terms, but he's trying to learn—slowly but surely like a little baby lamb learning how to walk.

Will rate you 5 stars no matter what. Everyone else is getting 1 star. Hiragi doesn't care.

"I didn't know you could hit poses here?" / "Yeah, look at this one." / "What the fuck kinda pose is that? Who's doing that on the runway? Bffr." / "Did you just—" / "Told you I'm learning things."

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[3d-wifey]

toxic (yandere) baseball player eren and the girl he'd kill for? 👁🫦👁

You Say I'm in Love (I Say You're A Fool)

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x tutor!reader Synopsis: There are many things Eren loves. Word Count: 1.3k Warning: smut, an argument could be made for manipulation, eren is in denial, riding, car sex, overstimulation (reader and eren receiving) A/N: I wrote this in 30 minutes and it shows.

Tag list: @scoven

There are many things Eren loves.

The way his calves burn and lungs heave as he runs from base to base. The resounding cracking noise the bat makes as it hits the baseball. Even the way the infield dirt stains his pants as he slides in to touch the base before a tag out.

But if there's one thing Eren can confidently say he's in love with, it's being between your legs.

It's a known fact that Eren isn't looking for a relationship. He's far too focused on getting scouted. His brother is in the major leagues, after all. So renowned that he has a pitch named after him. It only makes sense that he'd follow in his footsteps.

So, despite the dozens of girls who throw themselves at him and crowd the stands at every game just to get a glimpse of him, he isn't looking for anything serious.

And that fact doesn't change when he starts failing a few classes and his coach makes him take up tutoring with you, his daughter.

It doesn't change the first time he fingers you in his jeep as he drives you to your dorm. It doesn't change whenever he makes you read from a textbook as he eats you out under one of the rickety library tables.

It definitely doesn't change whenever he drags you to the dugout after practice and fucks you so hard that an imprint of the gates is left against your cheek. But you don't mind. His good girl, always so eager to please him.

But when did you become his?

Maybe it was when he warned all his teammates that you were off limits and told them in no uncertain terms that he'd break their fucking fingers they'd have to deal with him if he saw any of them sniffing around you. Or when he didn't see you in the crowd cheering him on at one of his games, and he found himself sending you a few concerned texts.

Ren💚: r u comin?

Ren💚: hello??????

Ren💚: did something happen?

Ren💚: y aren't u answering ur phone???

Ren💚: where the fuck are u?

Ren💚: r u with some1?

Ren💚: I swear to God I'll kill them.

Ren💚: You have till the second inning to be in the stands before I come to you.

Turns out you just overslept with your phone on silent.

Regardless, it's becoming a problem. He can't even get off to porn unless the girl looks like you and even that stops working after a while. Sleeping with anyone else is out of the question. So maybe he has to resort to scrolling through your Instagram when he finds himself in need of inspiration.

Eren's room is pitch black other than the bright light from his phone reflecting off his bare chest. His left-hand holds his phone as he scrolls your page from a burner account while his right hand palms his dick through his sweat pants.

His breath hitches as he stumbles upon the perfect post. It's from last summer when you and your family went to the beach. You were clad in a baby blue bathing suit with little white clouds. He's quick to push his sweatpants down his thighs and take himself in hand.

You had just gotten out of the ocean when you had someone take the photo for you. His pace speeds up as his eyes trace the salty drops of water that dripped down your skin, dipping between your cleavage and between your thighs. He imagines what it would be like to fuck you in that cute, little swimsuit, pushing the crotch of your bottoms aside to go down on you and his hips buck into his hand.

He swipes to the next picture of the set, you on your hands and knees, presumably, playing in the sand as you smile up at the camera, and Eren feels his orgasm ripping through him.

All things considered, his problem with you could be worse.

At least that's what he thinks until he realizes you're eager to please everyone, not just him. Always happy to help, always jumping at the opportunity to be praised, and under normal circumstances, maybe Eren would find it cute or funny, but now it's just fucking annoying.

The team is up for an away game against their rivals and your schedule has finally opened up enough to hang out with Eren after his game. Both of you had been pretty busy, you with midterms and him with practice. He'd never admit this to anyone but you even with a gun to his head, but he's been missing you more than he's missed anything in his entire life. So when you tell him you have to cancel because Jean apparently told your dad he needed some tutoring, he's rightfully pissed off.

Not at you, of course. You're practically in tears when you tell him. It's obvious you don't want to do this, which only fuels his anger.

That piece of shit. Jean is the last fucking person to need help with his homework. Hell, he graduated salutatorian in high school—second only to Armin.

This isn't about grades. He's doing this shit to get under his skin. Is he really this desperate for Eren's sloppy seconds?

He can't stop you from going, but he can send you off with a message.

He has fifteen minutes before he needs to be in the locker room, but you showed up wearing one of his old jerseys and he's already half-hard at the idea of you being in the stands cheering him on with 'Jaeger' printed on your back in big, bold, white letters. Making it known to everyone who you belong to.

And Jean overstepping his bounds pisses him the fuck off. Two birds, one stone. Besides, he doesn't need to be there when the team goes over the play, he's the one who made it.

His pants are pulled down to his thighs and you're bare from the waist down, wearing nothing but his jersey. He grips your hips tight, fucking little gasps out of you. One of your hands claps his shoulder while the other holds the car handle for dear life. Your cheeks are wet, almost as wet as you've made his lap.

He's overstimulated you both, a ring of white, frothy cum grows at the base of his shaft with each downward swing of your hips. That painful pleasure tightens his balls every time your sensitive walls spasm around his equally sensitive cock.

"E-Eren, I—fuck, fuck, fuck, ahhh—” You cut yourself off with a moan that slithers around his spine, pushing him to go faster, harder, deeper. This position is perfect, you're practically boneless over him as the head of his dick punches your g-spot.

"One more, baby. Just, hah, give me one more." And you nod your head from where you're crying into his neck. You leave his skin wet with tears and spit as you bite at him to muffle yourself. He doesn't have the heart to tell you each twinging bite is only making him harder, the grind of your canines that'll surely leave blotches and maybe even thin pricks of blood only makes him feel like he could fuck you for hours—days even! It feels too good, your pussy is too good to leave alone. A fact that Jean will never know.

"Mhm, okay, Ren." Despite your fatigue, your hips shift towards him, rutting your clit against his happy trail like you can't help yourself. "One more. One, uh, uh, uh, more for you." You agree, pulling his hair out of its messy bun in your haze. His good girl, not even thinking about the fact that he asked for one more the last three times, you're too full of his dick to think for yourself now. He would have cooed at you if it weren't for the tears blurring his own vision, toes curling in his shoes. By the time he finishes, you'll be full of his cum too. The game be damned.

After all, Eren Jaeger isn't known for his impulse control.

[archiveof22048]

oceans and engines | michael kaiser sfw | fem!reader with she/her pronouns, swearing

he sees footprints on the sand, he smells the salty air of the sea, and he feels the coldness of your hand, who drags him along the bleakness of the beach. even as he closes his eyes, knowing that he trusts you with where you're leading him, he can still hear the huffing of his breath, trying to keep up with your pace, he can still feel the waves crashing around his bare feet, and he can still taste your expensive chapstick on his lips, as cold as they may be.

"open your eyes, mihya."

and so he does.

the sky is still as it was: desolate and devoid of blue, overcast, and sad. the sea is cold, vast, neverending.

immediately, he tenses up, and he thinks maybe he should have listened to you when he peeled off his jacket before you left his car in the parking lot (it's not even his own car, nor his own jacket, but he hasn't the heart to tell you). he's jealous of you, with your hands tucked in the pockets of your jacket, all bundled up in your layers.

then, you scream.

"the fuck was that?" he asks, his voice raised.

"i'm letting go," you say, just a bit louder than his question. you've got this smile on his face that begs for him to kiss you again.

he scoffs. "of what? you don't even have anything to let go of."

"just shout, mihya!"

and so he does.

"FUCK!!!!!!!!"

you laugh. "yes, that's it! just scream!!!"

"goddamnit!" he screams into the sea. "fuck you, dad! fuck my life! agh!" he kicks the sand, but the sand is wet and hard to kick up, so he gets even more frustrated, and he kicks harder. it splatters on the ground like blood.

again, you giggle. "look at you, soccer player. kicking up anything you see."

he rolls his eyes, but he's half-smiling. "you're lucky i left the soccer ball in the car or else i would have kicked that shit in your face."

"but then i would have a broken nose, and i wouldn't be pretty anymore," you quip, pouting.

he marches over to you, as shouting into the sea had migrated him away from where you are standing. he cups your cheeks gently. "whatever. as long as your lip's not busted, or else it'd be pretty hard to kiss you, huh?"

"jeez mihya, you're so clingy today," you tease as he leans into you, burrowing his face into your neck. he claims it's warm, but you can feel the cold touch of his lips right on the base of your neck. all you can do is wrap your arms around him, and you keep your giddiness to yourself by planting your feet in the sand (if you bounce your knees, he'll remind you of how excited you were when he returned your feelings for him).

"teach me something," he mumbles, dodging your tease.

you rub your hand over his back. "what would you like to learn today?"

"i dunno, just anything."

"but that's what you always say!"

"math, then."

you scoff. "i can only teach you so much math! i'm still learning geometry!"

he laughs. "isn't that just triangles and stuff?"

you pull away from his grasp, still holding onto his hand. your fingers are interlaced. "yeah, well... it's hard to explain."

eventually, you decide to review the vocabulary list that you learned in school the past week. you sit down on the sand, taking off your leather bag and pulling out your school notebook, and he sits down next to you, resting his head on your shoulder.

after reciting your fifty words for the week, you close your notebook, and you sling the bag over your shoulder. "well, that's vocabulary for you," you conclude.

"interesting," he says. "now i know what the word 'philosophy' means."

the both of you stand up and dust off the sand from your legs and behinds. he takes it as an opportunity to rub your behind, borderline caressing your ass, and you turn around and smack his hand away.

"mihya!"

"must've been the wind," he jests, giving you his signature half-smirk.

you look at your wristwatch. "ah, mihya. it's five after."

he rolls his eyes. "whatever. he's not going to get back 'til way later, anyways. gonna go gamble whatever money we have left."

you tuck your hands into your pockets, smiling sheepishly up at him. "well, let's at least start walking back to your car in case he does come back earlier than you expect."

...

he puckers his lips.

"give me a kiss before you leave."

rou've got one foot out of the car, ready to be dropped off in front of your house, while he holds onto your left wrist, stopping you from leaving. he looks like he really owns the car he stole: he grips the steering wheel like he's driven the car a million times, and his slouched posture is to show he's not afraid of wondering whether you're going to kiss him or not.

you close your eyes and smile while you lean in.

"i love you, mihya."

"i love you, too."

then, you leave the car and that is the last time michael kaiser sees you before he becomes famous.

...

"she's beautiful, kaiser."

kaiser looks up from his phone.

it's alexis ness, his teammate, who takes a seat next to him on the bench of bastard munchen's locker room. he's being awfully nosy right now, peering over next to kaiser, taking a look at what's on his phone screen.

"my stupid phone from five years ago has the shittiest quality," kaiser dejectedly states. "you can't even see her eyes clearly."

"but you have a new phone just last year," ness points out.

kaiser scoffs, and he starts rubbing his phone screen with the bottom of his shirt, pretending like it'll do something to clear up the photo of you. "yeah, and transferring all these pictures of her fucked up the quality."

ness hums in understanding (he doesn't get it). "well," he begins to pry, "who is she?"

kaiser's smirk that appears on the field, ness notices, is cold and haughty. it is angering, irritating, and would make any opponent of his shudder and scream. it identifies the emperor of the field, and it is an expression that rules over all.

yet, this smile of kaiser's is unlike anything ness has ever seen during his years of knowing him. kaiser's piercing blue eyes immediately soften, and only the corners of his mouth are lifted up in a smile- it's gentle, bittersweet, and humble. ness feels like he's intruding into the depths of kaiser's heart.

"she's my girlfriend."

ness stands up in shock, and he can't help but clutch the back of his head to accentuate his surprise. "you never told me you had a girlfriend, kaiser!"

kaiser can't help but laugh. "you never asked!"

"well, what does she do?" ness asks curiously.

kaiser hums in thought. "hmm. well, when she was in tenth grade she said she wanted to become a writer. dunno if that's changed, though."

it takes a second for ness to process his answer. "you... don't know what she's doing?"

"well, she's probably studying in university right now. can't say for sure what she's learning."

again, ness is confused. he furrows his brows. "are you saying you haven't talked to her since five years ago? since you joined bastard munchen?"

kaiser looks down in what could be described as shame. ness isn't really sure what he'd call it, but it is definitely not pride. it's such a foreign look on kaiser's face, no expression like ness has ever known kaiser to make.

it becomes increasingly difficult for kaiser to defend himself. so, he resorts to a different tactic: he begins to show ness different photos of you. "oh," kaiser says in fake surprise, "look at this picture of her."

it was a struggle to plan dates between the two of you, but on the rare occasion that you and he could hang around your neighborhood, you'd take him to your favorite ice cream parlor. during this particular date, you and kaiser challenged each other to see who could finish their ice cream cone the fastest, but it ended up as a default win for kaiser as you had accidentally knocked over your ice cream and it landed straight onto the ground.

ness is immediately drawn to the exaggerated faux frown on your face, coupled with happy eyes. he looks over your expensive outfit, and then down at where you're pointing in the image: the melting ice cream on the ground.

he laughs. it's a short "haha," and he isn't sure whether it's out of pity, or if he's trying to play it cool for the delusional kaiser, or if it is genuinely a funny picture. but, he looks past the phone in front of him and looks at kaiser, who has this expression that borderlines ignorance and pure joy.

"funny, right? she's so clumsy, i swear," kaiser says, swiping through more photos on his phone. ness cannot help but notice the softness in kaiser's eyes; how unfamiliar it is to see this boy so vulnerable. "take a look at this one."

after screaming at the beach, kaiser let you take control of the music in the car on the way back to your house. thus, you were granted access to his phone- shoddy, yet reliable. it was probably not the best for taking quality pictures, but pictures were memories, nonetheless.

it was a selfie of the two of you, with you sticking your tongue out and holding a peace sign, and kaiser with his eyes laser-focused on the road. he's got his left hand on the steering wheel and his right on your thigh. as casual as the photo was, ness already knew the intimacy of your relationship.

as kaiser pulls back his phone, ness watches kaiser's expression once more. he looks at his phone like he's in love. kaiser's peculiar smile, unfamiliar to his face, was born from the feelings he held for this girl that he hasn't talked to since he was whisked away in the world of soccer.

"i wonder if she watches my games," kaiser wonders out loud. "i mean, i must be that famous to be appearing nationwide, right?"

ness is taken aback by the sudden change of tone. "u-uh, yeah, for sure, kaiser."

kaiser is pleased with ness's answer. then, he goes back to his phone, swiping through more photos, and consequently chuckles. "oh my god, i forgot i took this video. look at this, ness."

the quality is so bad, but at least he can hear your voice.

...

you're holding onto his soccer ball.

your back is turned to him, and you're dragging him along by holding onto his wrist. his other hand is holding his phone, recording you.

"we're almost there, mihya," you call out from over your shoulder.

his hand holding the phone swats away tree branches, and occasionally dried up leaves crinkle beneath his feet.

"jeez, are you gonna kidnap me or something?" he asks from behind the camera.

then, it suddenly comes into view.

it's an open field. it's just pure grass for miles and miles, and for some reason, it's all trimmed.

the camera pans onto you, and it's slightly shaky. you hold up your hands in defense, and you exclaim, "i didn't cut any of this grass, by the way! i just found it like this, and i wanted to show you. so you can play soccer to your heart's content..."

you drop the soccer ball and begin kicking it around. you've picked up some tricks from him.

"there's no goal post though, i hope you don't mind..."

then, the phone drops.

he calls out your name. "i love you."

"i love you too, mihya."

"i love you more!"

"you better make it big, okay? i didn't show you this field for nothing."

"well, you better watch me, alright?"

"i'll always be watching!"

"shit, wait, where's my phone?"

[siren-serenity]

my favorite shade of blue

characters: buggy the clown, gn!reader warnings: fluff, slight swearing a/n: - OMFG BUGGY??? BUGGY????? *sob, scream, drool* - babes let's admit it, buggy is so touch starved. he seems like the guy who would LOVE physical touch - feedback is appreciated!

"Y/N!"

It was so blissfully silent until your captain's sharp, loud call of your name broke you out of your light slumber. Your (e/c) eyes snapped wide open, scanning the seas around you for danger before realizing it's just Buggy being Buggy again.

"Y/N, get your ass here now!"

Grumbling, you stood up, cracking your stiff back. The salty stench of the sea invaded your senses and you took in a deep, calming breath. Your hand grasped onto the rough texture of rope and you slowly made your way down from the crowbar. The make-shift ladder kept swaying with your movements but you were confident that you wouldn't fall.

"Captain's calling for ya again?" Cabaji cycled past you. His lime green and black hair stood out from the brown wood of the ship. He wiggled his eyebrows. "Ooh, I wonder what he wants!"

You scoff, pushing your friend aside playfully.

"At least he isn't up to his shenanigans again," You said, laughing. "Wanna juggling knives on fire, Cabaji?"

He shivered at the reminder.

"Hell no!"

You nod, as if to say 'exactly', before bidding him goodbye. Your boots thumped against the wooden floors as you made your way through the ship before finally coming across the door labeled crudely 'cApTaIn'.

"Buggy?" You knock gently and an excited call of your name responds in kind. The door is flung open, revealing the love of your life, Buggy. His orange captain hat is off and he's wearing his signature red-and-white striped bandana. Baby blue eyes glimmered with happiness as he glomped you.

"OOMPH-"

"Love!" He buried himself in your shoulder. His cerulean tresses tickle you slightly and you're biting your lip to prevent giggles from bursting out of you. "Missed you...."

Your hands slipped under his thighs before you hoisted them up. Yelping, Buggy's legs were quick to trap you in a hug around your waist and his arms held onto your shoulders like a vice. You popped a quick kiss onto his scarlet-smeared lips, smiling because a bit of the lipstick had transferred onto your lips.

"Missed me, hmm?" You walked to your and his shared bed, laying him down gently. Buggy let go of you from his hands, spreading them wide on the bed while his legs remained wrapped around your waist, pulling you in. You leaned in even more, smiling.

"Yeah," He gave you a small smile. "We haven't been hanging out in a while..."

You laughed. Your hands tried to pull his legs off your waist but Buggy let out a small noise in alarm, ankles digging into your back.

Buggy whined.

"Noo...don't go!"

You booped his nose. His baby blue eyes widened.

"I'm just going to grab a brush," You looped a lock of cerulean hand around your finger, emphasizing the number of tangles and the messiness. "It's been a while since I brushed your hair, no?"

He hummed and slowly let you go. Reaching to the side, you grabbed the self-care bag. You tapped his butt to make him scooch slightly so you could sit on the bed.

"N-Not the butt!" Buggy yelped at the sudden touch and you laughed at the visible blush beneath his fading makeup. Your hands gently cradled his face and he froze.

You showed him the wet wipe in your hands.

"I'm just going to wipe the make up off, okay, Bugs?"

He nodded, looking into your eyes.

"Okay..."

You pressed a kiss to his red nose before gently wiping off the white. Each of your every movement was gentle and kind, not as aggressive as Buggy would have done to himself.

Once the make-up was off, you reached up to pull off the bandana; Buggy leaned forward to make the process easier for you. The moment the red-and-white fabric was off, his cerulean tresses fell like mesmerizing ocean waves.

"I'll never get tired of your hair," You took a lock and pressed a kiss to the hair.

Buggy laughed.

"Only you would say that," He hummed, turning around so you could brush his hair easier.

You frowned.

"I'm serious, Buggy," You began combing his hair, apologizing when the brush would get caught in tangles. "Your hair brings out the blue in your irises and stands out against the white of your face make-up."

"You think so?"

Buggy's voice was quiet, a murmur only.

You tapped his shoulder and he spun around. His eyes widened as you captured his now-bare lips into a kiss and he visibly melted in your embrace.

"Mmph~"

You pulled away, giving him a loving grin.

"It's my favorite shade of blue."

Buggy buried his blushing face in his gloved hands but you could still see traces of bright red on his cheeks.

[boy-comics]

Hiii! Your crush posts got me thinking. And I feel like we are missing one last scenario for them, where xdz realizes that y/n has a crush on them (before they even realize it themselves or have the chance to confess).👀👀 May I request that to complete the “trilogy”?

— ✨

XDINARY HEROES REALIZING YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON THEM

── .✦ tags; swearing, drinking

── .✦ a/n; wow my first emoji anon!!! hihi <3 you're so right. here's pt 3 to the crush trilogy (edit 11/13/2024: now with a part 4!) :)) (pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 4)

── .✦ gunil;

the only thing more shocking than the bottle stopping on him is the fact that you had agreed to play in the first place.

he's not one to deny his own feelings—the mere possibility of being shoved into a closet with you was the reason he had joined this game. honestly, he could take this whole situation as a sign in his favor. but with the way you had flattened yourself against the opposite wall as soon as you had entered, your silence palpable in the dark, narrow space, he knows that this is not the time to confess.

so, heart beating against his rib cage, he does what he does best.

you know, i actually have a funny story about getting stuck in a closet.

it works like a charm. before long, you let slip a giggle, and by the time he's done the nervousness emanating from you has receded significantly. gunil feels quite proud of himself.

i'm glad i'm in here with you. nobody else appreciates my stories like you do.

o-oh? well, they're funny, so … you trail off, and gunil thinks that is all, but then you keep going. i'm glad it's you, too.

keep it cool, gunil tells himself, but his hopes soar anyway. really? why?

w-well, you're nice, and you're always making sure i'm comfortable. and, u-um, i know what this game is usually for, and if that happened, i—um, u-uh …

he takes the plunge. you wouldn't mind kissing me?

you audibly gulp. then you take a deep breath. i wouldn't mind.

gunil doesn't care how many minutes you have left in the closet. his face almost hurts from smiling as he steps forward, finding your shoulder and then your hand, mindful of the way your breath hitches and your hand clings to his.

how about now, then?

── .✦ jungsu;

it's a bit of a thing between the two of you, sharing things. one may even consider it the basis of your friendship. from jackets and umbrellas when it rains to sections of fruit and chunks of bread during lunch, jungsu has come to cherish the way one of you is always looking after the other.

today, it's a sweet and salty pretzel from this new place just down the street. the price of the pretzel is split between the two of you, but you've each bought your own smoothies as well, and jungsu eyes the bright green of your choice with curiosity.

you take notice. it's really good, you say. do you want to try?

he does want to try it, and therein lies the dilemma. sharing a pretzel is fine. chips, apple slices, ice cream if you each have your own spoons—all of these things he can share with you without a second thought. but drinks? he looks at the straw in your cup and imagines tasting where your lips have been, and the terrible fluster of heat crawling up his neck has him stumbling over his words.

it takes a moment before your eyes widen and you let out a small oh, gripping your drink in realization.

i-i guess that would be weird, wouldn't it …?

do … do you think it's weird?

it is then that jungsu notices, completely without intention, the way your eyes flicker down and linger on his mouth before you look away.

you shake your head softly. no. not if it's you.

it's just one glance and a couple of words strung together. but as if a veil has been removed, understanding begins to dawn on him, and he gets the fluttering sense that maybe this stupid crush isn't so stupid.

tentatively, he offers his own drink to you. you swap smoothies and the way you try to hide your smile when you take a sip, looking like something out of a movie, makes him smile too.

── .✦ gaon;

his friends have been calling it a situationship. and they've started scheming, and jiseok is just about ready to dig a hole and bury himself because the last thing he needs is for you to catch wind of how down bad he is.

he should've brought a shovel today, because he's ninety-nine percent sure that the "outing" he's on right now is a double date.

your two friends sit together, coordinated outfits and all, on the train ride to the maze park. jiseok and you, with your non-matching outfits, are seated just across the aisle.

he shares a glance with you, hoping against hope that his face isn't too red.

did you know they were together?

nope.

i think we're third wheeling.

you laugh, and yeah, his face is definitely turning red.

the maze is even worse. you and jiseok somehow (and he's not dumb, he knows the others wouldn't get lost that easily) end up wandering it by yourselves. he's not complaining about it. he's thrilled, actually. but it's just ... it's you, and he likes you, and he wants to hold your hand so bad and he's not because he's not dating you.

his hand bumps against yours.

he holds his breath—then almost chokes on it when your ring and pinkie fingers hook around his without a word. balking at the sight, jiseok searches your expression for something, anything.

you shrug, seeming almost nervous. it's safer this way, right?

all he can do at the moment is nod vigorously. a dopey grin plasters itself to his face as your hand shifts to wrap around his fully, and you continue walking, not particularly concerned about racing to the exit anymore.

── .✦ o.de;

he figures it out immediately.

you have always grumbled about how seungmin can read you like a book, deciphering every carefully worded phrase and facial twitch with a swiftness that would make sherlock holmes jealous. so when he sees your expression that fateful night in your room, so soon after your heartbreak, he makes the decision to act as if everything is normal.

the problem is, you can't seem to do the same.

he wonders if you know that he knows. that he can feel the split second of stiffness when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, catch the higher pitch of your replies when he compliments you, see the new softness in your eyes when you share a smile. probably not.

romantic relationships haven't treated you kindly. seungmin wants to do it right, and that means going at your pace. he is your best friend first and foremost, and he'll always be that no matter what you decide to do.

so with every family dinner, every chaotic moment wrangling your siblings, every time you lean in just to pull away, he remains by your side. expecting nothing, hoping for everything, loving you always.

(but, god, it's torture sometimes.)

── .✦ junhan;

he isn't supposed to know.

your band is working on your latest mini album, and at your request, he stops by the studio to help out with the guitar part. it's a bit late, and he's more than a little tired, but the thought of working on music together has him feeling excited anyway.

it's fun. really, as long as he gets to play and spend time with you, hyeongjun is happy, and once he overcomes the anxiety of doing so in front of your friends, he even wonders when he can do this again.

during a short break, he excuses himself to the restroom. he checks his phone and replies to a couple texts, so it takes a little longer than planned.

the door to the studio is open a crack when he returns. but just as he's about to push it open further, the mention of his name stops him in his tracks.

—and hyeongjun?

have you not been here the past two hours? i'll bet 30,000 won that they're sneaking around right now.

please. with the way our precious guitarist looks at him, i'll bet 50,000 that they wish they were sneaking around.

what are you doing?

hyeongjun internally thanks himself for appearing calm at the sudden sound of your voice, even as his heart jumps into his throat when he turns around to blink at you. the gossiping in the studio hushes.

ah, nothing.

when he shuffles in with you, your bandmates alternate between avoiding eye contact or staring straight at him, and he knows he's been found out. you seem none the wiser.

the way you look at him. hyeongjun's brain goes a little fuzzy at the edges as he picks at his guitar strings, your presence next to him warm and lovely.

he is willing to wait.

── .✦ jooyeon;

for the most part, jooyeon is willing to behave himself around you.

what does that mean? well, for starters, he doesn't run off every single person who hits on you whenever you go out for drinks. hell, he doesn't even interrupt the conversation unless you seem uncomfortable. he's not your boyfriend, after all.

but this guy is making you uncomfortable, and jooyeon's more than happy to abandon social niceties and punt this clown into orbit.

he strolls over and presses himself next to you, smiling blankly when your suitor sends him an irritated look. hi. you mind fucking off?

who the fuck are you?

before jooyeon can reply with a properly unpleasant remark, you beat him to it. as far as you're concerned, my boyfriend, so get lost.

thankfully, the guy seems to be too drunk to notice how sharply jooyeon turns his head to look at you. he grumbles something and stumbles away, and jooyeon is left standing by your side, gaze wide and smile stretching into a grin as you stare into the crowd.

boyfriend?

i'm drunk, you say.

you didn't call me your boyfriend the other times you were drunk.

it's different now.

what do you mean by different, jooyeon wants to ask. what do you mean?! but you've already squeezed his forearm and gone back to everyone else.

the rest of the night is a blur. he doesn't sleep a wink when he gets home, thinking about what you had meant, and by the time the sun rises, jooyeon has concluded that it could only mean one thing—

he has a fucking chance.

[lukesandromeda]

dreamscape - l. castellan

content: angst, i think swearing, pjo show references

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of hypnos!reader

the familiar feeling of sleep finally comes over you, and you're brought into that peaceful bliss you and your siblings know all too well

for children of hypnos, sleeping isn't sleeping. it's your transfer to a more peaceful part of your day. when a child of hypnos goes to sleep, they are brought into a dreamscape that reflects their mood. they live there for those many hours until they wake up.

you open your eyes to the realm you know as your own. it's a beach. before everything had happened, it was a peaceful shore with placid waves, but now, it is a storm crackling in the sky and high tides attacking the water.

you take a shaky breath, stepping onto the sand, the way you do every night. picking your eyes up from where your feet touch the sand, you stop in your tracks when you spot a figure in the distance, standing a few yards away from where the waves pound onto the rocks. a figure you know better than the back of your hand.

a man. a man clothed in business attire—his hair neatly combed. these were the two qualities that made him slightly different from how you remember him.

you remembered him as the angry yet still gentle boy in that same orange camp shirt. eventually, you remembered him as the boy who betrayed you. your friends. the entire camp. the man who joined kronos-the man who sabotaged the gods and left you with nothing but the remnants of his love-memories. good and bad.

he left last year quickly after an attack on percy jackson, a young boy you'd helped luke show around camp when he'd first arrived.

you remember the way you'd laughed when percy first told you what had happened; you didn't believe it. thought it was some sick joke. but here you were, over three hundred and sixty-five days after he left you, seeing him in your dreamscape.

this shouldn't be possible. he's obviously dreaming. you can comprehend that from the way his body is slightly transparent. but how is he dreaming of this place? the only way he could dream of it—

is if he's thinking of you.

you curse yourself. you curse hypnos for letting luke castellan in this dreamscape. you know your father has to approve of entrance of an entity that is not of descent of hypnos. you know he allowed him to enter. you don't know why, but it's the only way possible.

you take a shaky deep breath before picking your feet up, carrying yourself along the sand and closer to luke. he's standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the waters. the crashing, angry, messy waters that reflect your state of mind-angry, messy... at least, ever since he left.

you finally stop next to him, putting enough distance in between the two of you. you stare out at those waters. crazy. like you-for walking up to luke castellan and standing next to him with such serenity.

with force, you open your mouth and push out the simple name, "luke."

turning your head to him, you realize luke is squeezing his eyes. he doesn't seem surprised that you're here. he shakes his head. "y/n."

you click your tongue, shaking the monotonous reaction off of your mind. "what are you doing here?"

he shrugs, staring out at the pounding waves. the wind stirs his dark curls, the chill of it carrying the salty water landing against his face, turning it pink. he moistens his lips. "waiting."

"for?"

your eyes bore into his that are still turned toward the ocean. his lip twists into a small, sad smile, and he just shrugs again. "you."

"oh." you nervously take your camp necklace up into your hands, twirling the string and sliding the beads in between your fingers.

he inhales sharply, finally turning to you. his breath hitches as he takes in the sight of you, and then he reaches out toward you.

instinctively, you back away, afraid to let him in, afraid to trust. he purses his lips after freezing, and then he lowers his hand. "right."

you sigh, dropping your necklace back to hang loosely where it belongs. "m sorry, i just... i... i can't.

"i know."

luke turns his head slowly back to the shore, eyes trailing along the skyline as a bird flies by. rain trickles down his proud cheekbones. he parts his lips, licking them and letting the rain in. he closes his mouth, tasting the salt on his tongue and then opens it again. "tastes familiar."

in a dreamscape, the rain is your tears-the same tears luke used to kiss away and playfully lick at when you cried in his arms. you clench your jaw and turn back to the water, frowning when he steps closer to you again.

"you shouldn't be here," you say finally, closing the gap of exchanged words that rested along with the sound of the beating rain.

"yeah, i know," he bites his cheek, the same way he used to when he was trying to stay serious— trying not to smile and give into your antics when you teased him. "didn't think you'd be here."

"this place is my mind. i'm always here."

"usually your mind is on camp. the dreamscape would represent camp. your friends. it would represent your friends. but it's on yourself. how you feel about yourself. how... i made you feel. so you're here. and i didn't expect that."

"i didn't expect you to be here either."

he laughs. it's a hollow laugh, one that you can tell he forces out, but you know he's doing it to lighten the mood. to make you comfortable.

"I'm always here. just...thinking about you."

"you said you were waiting for me," you state.

"what did you mean?"

"exactly what i said," he replies quickly. "i knew you'd have to come eventually. i knew id see you again."

you stay quiet. you know he's right. you also knew eventually he'd get to you, maim your confidence and self love. the same self love he declared you should have, because he didn't

"understand how someone could hate you."

"i should go," you whisper finally: the words you've been trying to get out of your mouth, the ones that sat at the tip of your tongue like feet stuck to the ground of asphodel. "i should-"

"you should stay," he declares firmly. moments pass until you turn to him and stare at the dark brown orbs in his eyes, now seen through tears. he's looking at you like you're his lost dog that he's been looking everywhere for, because to him, you were. in a small voice, he says, "i miss you."

you scoff, forcing a sarcastic smile to grace your lips, even though there's nothing in you that wants to smile, even if it is sarcastic. "you left."

you hear the sand next to you get kicked, and he's grumbling. "i know. but you know why. i had to."

"you had to betray your friends and family? you had to betray me? your girlfriend? that's not how it works, luke. you know damn well."

luke huffs, looking up at the sky, the rain kissing his forehead as he does so. "maybe not for you. but for me, it's eat or be eaten. power and glory and nothing else matters. i can't ignore that."

"power and glory? really? that's all that matters?" you try to say it with solid anger and firmness in your voice, but it comes out shaky and hurt. "was it always that way? did i ever matter to you?"

"of course you mattered!" he turns to you as if he can't believe what you're saying. "you matter. more than... more than anything. you are glory. that's why it matters to me. you are glory. and i don't care if i'm the first foolish halfblood to say it, but i don't care for glory if it means that you're not the definition."

you bite your lip, trying to remind yourself that this is the enemy. this is luke. but this is your luke.

"why'd you leave, then?"

he rolls his eyes; you already brought this up. "i want to protect you. give you the life you deserve. you don't deserve one where you're controlled by the gods. where you have to constantly obey them on hand and foot. you're not their dog. i want to be sure of that."

"you left me. why couldn't you have at least taken me with you?"

"why would i purposefully put you in danger like that? with me, everyone on the other side has no instructions whether to kill you or not. but if you're there at camp, you're off limits. i already told my army they are not to lay a finger on you. you're safer without me."

"no i'm not! i can't take this. if someone doesn't kill me first, i'm going to kill myself"

"y/n, please stop yelling."

you inhale sharply, and exhale sharply. in and out. like the way luke taught you to when you had those panic attacks during the night and somehow even your powers couldn't get you past nightmares. "i really need to go."

"i need you," he whispers. he holds out his arms, as if for a hug, and he begs, "i need to hold you."

"no!" you say quickly. "that's not... that's not fair. because you can wake up and know this was only a dream, and possibly forget it. but i have to live with this. this is real for me. i'm not asleep right now. i feel everything."

"i do, too," he groans. "you taught me how to become lucid, remember?"

twisting your spit between your teeth, your tongue, you weave a sigh through them and groan. "you don't get to hug me. not when i hoped every night that you'd come back and do it in person. in real life. prayed to every god alive, even your father, that you'd tell me it was all some sick joke and you'd be good again."

"i'm so lonely," he cries, and for the first time you realize that the water pouring down your cheeks aren't only the drops of rain. also his tears. "i need to hold you. let me hold you, y/n."

"you don't deserve that. you don't get to."

"one last time. you won't see me here ever again. just let me hold you. i need to... i need to remember what it feels like."

your lips twist and curl into all shapes of a different frown, and you wipe the now forming tears on your face that mirror the ones on luke's.

"i'm so sorry," he whispers. he's staring into your eyes, and the eye contact feels lethal. this is the man your camp trains you to fight, trains you to kill when you have the chance. but here you are, staring deep into his eyes as you inch closer and closer to him—

how did you get here?

you realize you're wrapped in his arms. his arms are tied taut around your waist and he's gripping on your pajama shirt like it's the only thing holding him from falling into tartarus. he's whispering, i'm sorry's, and i love you's, and you find yourself sobbing into his neck, too. he sighs, pulling away and trailing kisses down your jaw.

trembling fingers are raking through his hair, and you get the same feeling you used to when you'd twirl his curls and lather conditioner into his it in the shower. the rain is pouring down onto the two of you like that same shower water, and you're holding each other and in love, and suddenly you're one year younger and you're luke's girl, and luke is your boy.

"i love you, i'm so, so sorry. wanna go back and fix it. 's too late. i can't take this. 'm so lonely. i miss you so much." luke is rambling and rambling into your hair. he's pulling it a little bit as his hands squeeze and trail up and down your back and he captures a bit of it with his hands.

"i know," you whisper. you can't forgive him right now. but you can hold him.

[liminalpebble]

Stray (A Lokitty Tale): Winter Blues

Hi, my darlings, since we all could use a little (or a lot) of cozy emotional comfort during these difficult times, I wanted to offer you just a bit of Jotun Loki/Lokitty fluff. This does take place in the Stray universe, in the middle of the story, but you don't need to have read that series to read this.

For a quick, tl;dr summary: human lady in 70's Seattle takes in Loki (disguised as a kitty) after his D.B. Cooper stunt, adorable shenanigans ensue.

Here's the series link

Lokitty/Jotun Loki x human shop girl reader

cw: Talk of depression and loneliness (remedied, of course, by our favorite handsome icy boy). The biggest hazard is the tooth-rotting fluff. Enjoy.

“Come on!” you grumble to your elderly space heater, giving it an encouraging pat on the side. Luckily, the coils eventually rouse themselves into a faint orange glow. You breathe a sigh of relief and sit cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, staring daggers at the broken radiator which the landlord never really plans to fix.

The newly-adopted black cat pads towards you and immediately curls into your lap with a graceful slinky twist. You slide your hand gently over his silky fur, feeling the knots of your anger and frustration gradually loosen.

“Sorry, buddy,” you say to the cat, who fixes you with his stunning aquamarine eyes. “It's not usually snowing like this yet, or quite this cold. I guess the whole city is stuck inside.”

Loki gazes up at your face. Bathed in the warm amber glow, the contours of your cheeks, lips, and lashes look like a work of art to him.

She's so lovely. I hope some day I can tell her so...really tell her so.

But beneath your loveliness, he can see the circles under your eyes, the way you rub your temples and slump your shoulders, the way the growing darkness (literal and metaphorical) are weighing on you. You gather him up in your arms and sling an afghan around your shoulders, shuffling towards the window. He watches as a bittersweet grin spreads over your features.

“At least it's kind of pretty, isn't it? And at least I have you, little friend.”

He purrs contentedly as you scratch lightly between his ears on your journey to the couch. Loki watches with concern as your silence gradually turns into the telltale gasps and sniffles of tears. He flinches slightly as the salty drops hit his fur.

“Oh. Sorry, kitten,” you say, sniffing and swiping a hand across your cheek. “I just...god, I'm so tired and...and so alone. It feels like all the cards are stacked against me sometimes. My paycheck barely keeps us here...shitty as the place is. I'm just so frustrated, and tired, and angry, and afraid....and sad...and...”

You shiver. “And cold.”

His paw pats gently but insistently on your hand. You feel crazy even thinking, not for the first time, that it's as if he understands you. Those bright, clear, eyes seem so wise and perceptive. You'd swear he's trying to comfort you.

Sweet human. If only you knew how much I care for you. I'm the god of outcasts. Appropriate, I suppose, as I'm always being cast out...but not by you, my sweet human because you are special...unique. I wish I could hold you. I wish you could understand me.

And then, he considers a way. It's a way he's used cautiously only once before, uncertain of how it might affect his precious human, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He smiles to himself and nuzzles his velvety head against your arm.

Patience, human. Your savior is here, you just don't know it yet.

----

It's an absolutely adorable habit, your little naps in the evening. Or, at least, Loki thinks so. Sometimes, he'll even join you under the tattered old throw blanket to sleep against the undulating warmth of your body.

He joins you today, but not to sleep and not just to use you as a heating pad. The little cat pulls the blanket carefully up and over your shoulders by his teeth, ensuring that you're warm and comfortable (all the while cursing his lack of opposable thumbs). Then he settles himself in between the curve of your neck and shoulder, holding one delicate paw against your temple. A green glow shudders through the little creature and flutters around your head like glitter swirled in water.

----

Your vision is foggy at first as your eyes blink open. Initially, everything is a mass of pearlescent white and a pale aquamarine (a shade you could swear you know from somewhere). As your eyes open wider, and the fog clears, you begin to orient yourself to the sharpening view.

You're standing in the center of a clearing, in a dense snow-covered forest. It's a far cry from the filthy gray slush of downtown Seattle. This snow is a shocking white, glowing, even in twilight. The vast crystalline carpet unfurls beneath you as the sky above dances with northern lights. All you can think, for a long suspended moment, is that this place is ancient. You breathe in and it hits you; the complex aroma of pines and evergreens which have been there long before you were born, and somehow you know, deep in your bones, that this is a magical place.

To your surprise, you don't feel at all cold. Your body is swaddled in rich furs and draped in lush velvet, keeping you warm as you observe it all. Everything is quiet, draped in the muffling blanket of snowfall, and you feel your breathing quiet in kind.

The crunch of footsteps catches your attention as a figure moves gracefully, deliberately, towards you. It glides, back lit, from the inviting amber glow of a wooden lodge where candles sparkle and flicker in every window.

You guess that this mystery person must be over eight feet tall, broad-shouldered and sure-footed, striding through the ice and snow easily as a cape of regal black fur dances around him. As he nears, you see a pair of majestic onyx horns rising from a crown on his noble head.

Closer still, you see his skin; a striking cobalt blue moving against the snow, and his eyes; two crimson rubies cutting through dusk like stars.

Finally, he stands before you, and though you know you should be afraid, you feel only curious and struck by his otherworldly beauty. He acknowledges you with a bow and the sharp lines of his cheeks raise to show a wide, striking, smile. His teeth are as white as the snow itself.

Loki extends his huge hand to cradle yours and you feel your heartbeat kick up with the thrill of it. As it is so often with dreams, it doesn't occur to you to ask where you are, or how you got here, or who he is, or even if he means you harm. You simply trust this beautiful creature of a man before you.

“Come with me,” his deep voice invites, and you accept, taking his offered arm as if you were a princess at a ball.

---

He opens the enormous doors and steps aside for you to enter. The entire cottage (or really, more of a Viking longhouse, if such a thing were made cozy) was perfumed by a roiling fireplace, giving off a toasty, woody incense, like honeydust.

The stranger removes his hooded cloak and impressive crown. He smiles that same charming smile and runs a hand through his long hair, as black and shiny as raven feathers. It occurs to you that this regal being seems nervous, downright boyishly giddy, around you.

“Please. Make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing magnanimously to the plush velvet couches with their layers of warm furs and quilts. You nod and gladly obey, lulled and comforted by the heat as if sinking into a warm bath.

The giant returns with two warm mugs (one the size of a pot, and one of normal size) of something delicious and spicy-smelling, then settles beside you in the heat of the crackling fire.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for the cup and enjoying it's warmth against your palm. Finally, your rational brain kicks in and you ask, “Where...what is this place? I'm...dreaming?”

He laughs, a deep rich baritone chuckle, and you think it might be the most beautiful thing you've ever heard.

“In a sense.” The corners of his crimson eyes crinkle as he smiles and says, “Your body is asleep, yes. But I'm real...this place is real.”

“And...not to seem rude, but you are...?”

He finishes a sip quickly and politely dabs at his lips before speaking, “Oh yes, I suppose this form must be rather...exceptional...to you.”

You sigh and nod with a smile, relieved that he was the one to address the elephant (or rather, the frost giant) in the room. Meanwhile, Loki thinks that this shy smile must be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“I'm a frost giant...a Jotun. King of Jotunheim, actually...not to brag,” he says with a flirtatious wink.

He chatters on genially, careful not to give you time to ask his name. “I've brought you here because you deserve some kindness. You've taken in a creature quite sacred to us and cared for him diligently, asking nothing in return.”

You're about to speak but you're momentarily distracted by the beverage you've just sipped. It might be the most delicious thing you've ever tasted; sweet and rich and spicy. You make the rather absurd mental note to ask the King of Jotunheim for his mulled wine recipe. That thought alone makes you chuckle.

“What is it, darling?”

“It's just...all so strange and...wait, are you trying to tell me that my stray cat is a sacred creature?”

“Well, yes. All cats are. But that one is very special, in particular. Some day, you'll find out why.”

He sets his mug down with surprising dexterity, considering his size, and continues in a more somber tone. He takes both of your hands in his and scoots closer. He smells subtly of mint and pine, and his mere towering presence sitting beside you, curled around you, makes you feel safe, protected.

“I know that you are in need of some kindness, some hope, and I'm here to tell you there is good yet to come. There are splendid things yet to come. I know you're exhausted, sad, and frighted. It pains me to see it, but I know you're strong.

“I don't feel strong,” you admit, bowing your head toward you lap.

His long finger slides gently beneath your chin, lifting your face to meet his kind ruby eyes.

“Please, meet my gaze. It's a pity to hid that lovely face from my eyes.”

God, he's charming. Are all frost giants just oozing charm like this, or is it only their king?, you wonder, as your cheeks begin to burn brighter than the fireplace.

He wraps one strong arm around you and assures you, “Needing some kindness or help doesn't mean you are no longer strong. Everyone gets lost sometimes. Everyone stumbles and needs some tenderness occasionally.”

You give him a wry smile. “Even you, Your Highness? I find it hard to imagine that the world could make you feel small."

He laughs, then he kisses your hand in a gentlemanly gesture that has chills running down your spine; chills that have nothing to do with his slightly chilly skin.

“Even me,” he whispers as he strokes your cheek. The comforting touch melts you into his arms, into the comfort him, of this place, and you dare to put you head on his shoulder. He strokes your back and pulls a blanket more closely around you, then says lightly, “you know I'm actually a runt, for a Jotun. I often feel small. It's all a matter of perspective.” He breathes deeply and you feel the smooth waves where you rest against him. The sound and feeling join the crackle of the hearth in a sweet lullaby of sensation.

You close your eyes and whisper, “I wish I could just stay here.”

“Ah, but you can't, darling. I'm sorry. But you can visit. You must live your life because there is so much good yet to come. In the meantime, know that I'm your humble guardian, always.”

He sees the sorrow in your eyes and decides to ease it with humor. “Besides, who would feed the cat?”

You laugh, your face lights up, and it utterly melts him.

He moves in very gently and cradles your face as your eyes close in anticipation. Planting a light chilly kiss against your eager lips, he whispers, “Time to wake up, my dear.”

-----

You open your eyes to your lamp lit living room and sigh at the vivid memory of your lingering dream. As you stretch, the cat hops away from you with an indignant little chirp. How dare you remove his warm seat!

As a peace offering, you kiss his velvety head and scratch between his ears before rising to your feet. You know it was only a dream, but it's left you feeling better, more hopeful.

Silly, you think, silly brain...putting me on a date with the King of Jotunheim. At least it made me feel better, anyway, imagining some kind of magical guardian angel.

As you cross the room, still yawning, you stop in your tracks. Right before your eyes, the radiator softly tings and hisses into life, sending warm balmy air into the room after weeks of cold. You step nearer, gingerly, as if it might be possessed. How can it possibly be fixed?

On the coffee table beside it, There's a piece of rather fancy looking antique parchment with a delicate cursive skating across its surface. You hold it up to your face and read the title at the top.

Jotun Mulled Wine (courtesy of His Majesty)

A recipe...for mulled wine...from...

You feel the wheels of your mind trying desperately to gain traction and explain this, but you're interrupted by the cat, begging to be held again.

You oblige him, holding tightly to him like a security blanket. When his blue-green eyes meet yours, you finally say, “Well kitten, this is all pretty weird. I guess I found this earlier and forgot, but it sure did give me some wild dreams.”

As you walk to the kitchen, feline in tow, you say, “Christ, here I go, talking to the cat again.” You pause and smirk playfully to your companion, “Say, kitten...did you know that you're a sacred animal?

Well, obviously, Loki thinks, I'm a god.

You chuckle at his sassy mews as you cut carrots and begin to heat up a skillet.

“I love you, you cocky little jerk.”

I love you, too, pathetic little human.

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[lovers-rck]

summary where you and ellie go to a halloween party and end up in a tiny bathroom with an angel and a sick bunny.

theme friends with benefits

hiiiii this is my comeback to writing. i swear. or not. i don't know. im just happy to be back at this !! anyways enjoy

i don't know why but while writing this i pictured the saltburn costume kind of party (just the aesthetic)

☆

it all started like a month ago, in the halloween party.

"is this okay?" she asks, her hands caressing slightly your breasts over the fabric

you chuckle, embarrassed "yes" you see how ellie's face is covered in a blue and violet light "you can take my band if you want"

"sure" she murmurs, her hands grabbing the "prom queen" band and throwing it off to the floor.

the cold tiles of the wall meet your back, the sudden change of temperature making you shiver. handmade costumes dance on the dance floor, fake blood and poor imitations are present in the night.

upstairs, in a tiny and so-well-decorated bathroom you can hear your own breath get heavier as you feel ellie's fingertips play with your covered breast. she leaves wet kisses in your neck, shy but hungry.

ellie can't decide which was the moment when she realized that something was about to happen. later in the week she would think, ¿was when she catch you looking at her lips? ¿or when you "accidentally" touched her ass while dancing to ABBA? and she would think and think so much that her brain will start deteriorating.

but what she knows now is that she is having the time of her life.

"you have such nice tits" ellie's mouth says before she could stop herself

you laugh, a fake spider web in the wall tickling your face "thanks"

ellie nods and lick your neck, her tongue tasting your salty and perfumed skin. you whimper as she continues assaulting your skin, sucking and kissing and sucking again.

your hand grab her head while you think of for how long you been ignorant of your friend's mouth and her abilities.

your eyes catch your reflection in the mirror, a very stylish spiderman suit and a bloody carrie making out in the tiniest bathroom of all times.

"i think i gave you a hickey" ellie says, a thread of saliva dangling as she moves away, her lips shiny "i can't really see with these lights"

"i'm glad you're so committed to your spider costume that you have to bite me" you joke and she rolls her eyes

"i'm spiderman, not a simple spider you idiot"

you roll your eyes at her. it pass a few seconds until you talk again "do you think it will be weird if i kiss you?"

"don't think so" she says, placing the hair behind her ear "no weirder than giving you a hickey"

"yeah but isn't kissing more intimate?"

"only if you make it more intimate" ellie says as she fix your plastic crown "a lot of friends kiss eachothers"

"yeah?"

she nods

"it's just a kiss" she replies "it doesn't have to mean anything"

you nod "right" you lick your own lips "we can be that type of friends"

"yeah, totally" ellie swallows "we can"

so you kiss her. and it's feels warm and wet.

ellie grabs you by the jaw quickly, taking the power. her grip is strong and the moment you moan in her mouth you want to punch yourself in the face.

"you were dying for me to kiss you huh?" she teases you, her breath hits your wet lips as she speaks

you could feel her confident starting to grow "in your dreams"

"i do other things to you in my dreams"

before you could react, ellie's lips are over yours again. your agitated breath echo in between hungry kisses, floating around the curious hands and hot skin.

but when ellie's hands are in the hem of your shirt, you hear a loud knock on the door.

"i"ll be out in a minute" you shout and push ellie away. she lean back against the sink, agitated.

"she's about to throw up!" a girl yells from the other side of the door "open up now!"

you grimace at ellie and she opens the door.

a plastic feathered angel and a playboy bunny quickly interrupt in the bathroom at the same time as the bunny vomits an almost neon green liquid over the toilet.

"let it all out" the angel says to the bunny "i told you you shouldn't accept tyler's drink from fight club"

ellie raises her eyebrows as she admires the scene, you notice how her lips are swollen and her hair is messy.

"are you going to stand there and watch?" the angel says as she holds the bunny's hair "it's not a fucking show"

"jesus" you say

"uh, sorry" ellie mumbles, awkward "goodbye"

the angel's words of encouragement to her bunny-friend become meaningless once you and ellie leave the bathroom. the loud music hits you one more time as you come back to the dance floor where sweaty bodies glow under the neon lights.

[echobx]

Kiss the Cook

The Smoothie - sorority cook!JJ Maybank × fem!sorority!reader

summary: JJ makes you a special smoothie

word count: 580

warnings: cum/food play, masturbation (male)

author's note: I wanna note that I don't drink smoothies, I had like one kale smoothie in my life, so don't trust the mentioned ingredients, but I'm not gonna stop you from trying it if you want to lol

Kiss the Cook masterlist

JJ is about to wash up when you come into the kitchen to look for a snack, giving him a simple smile, nothing more. “I can whip something up for you, if you like,” he says, and you feel your cheeks heat a bit as you shyly shake your head. “I'm not gonna steal your break time.” “There's not much to steal there, princess,” he says, not even noticing the nickname he subconsciously added. “I'm just gonna take my smoothie,” you say, holding the bottle up that you just grabbed from the fridge. “There's way too much sugar in that supermarket shit,” he notes, and you can't help the small genuine smile that plays on your lips. “Yeah?” “Yeah. I could make one way better than that,” JJ licks his lips while staring at yours. “I'm not stopping you from trying,” you tell him and take a step back before turning around and running upstairs. 

JJ is glad that he still had his apron on because when he goes into his small room at the back of the house, he swears his dick has never been harder than right now, ever before. He pulls his pants down to pool at his ankles and strips his shirt off, spitting in his hand before starting to stroke himself. But before he can finish, he has the sickest idea his mind has ever allowed him. Quickly, he pulls his pants up and runs into the pantry to grab a clean cup before returning to his room. “Gonna give you the best smoothie of your fucking life, princess,” he grunts while fisting his cock, and a few moments later he's spilled his entire load into the cup, setting it down on his nightstand before leaving for his bathroom to clean up. 

Twenty minutes later, he's knocking on your door, a glass filled with the green smoothie in his hand. “Come in,” you sing, sitting on your bed with a book in your hands when he opens the door. “The smoothie,” he smiles innocently. He's never seen your room before. The soft tangerine color scheme fits your personality better than he could've imagined. “You can come in, you know,” you giggle, tapping the edge of the bed and signaling him to sit down. JJ takes three steps before he's beside your bed, sitting down and still clasping the smoothie. “Can I have it?” you ask, raising your eyebrow at him, and he shakes his head as if to sort his thoughts out. “Yeah, sorry,” he smiles, handing you the cup and watching you take a sip. The way your lips curl around the straw and how your cheeks hollow as you suck on it just enough, unknowingly tasting him. 

“So?” JJ asks, a smirk on his lips. “Kale, kiwi, interestingly no banana- is that coconut?” you ask and he nods. “Coconut water for the base,” he nods. “What else?” “I don't know, there's this salty aftertaste that I can't place, but it's amazing,” you nod, taking another sip. “Salty roasted pine nuts,” JJ lies, and you smile. “This is probably the best smoothie I've ever had. Thank you, JJ.” “No problem. If you want another one, just ask. But it's just for you,” he says and gets up. “Why just me?” you ask as if it isn't obvious. “Because I like you most,” JJ winks and vanishes, closing your door and quickly making his way downstairs and back into his bathroom to jerk off, again.

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

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