#kind of a big dump here

[muscariii]

WIP NOT-EXACTLY-WEDNESDAY

@cayemm thank you for tagging me. I gotta be honest, I got consumed by housework and stuff for uni and I completely forgot I was supposed to post this. Woops.

Here's some Morrowind stuff I'm working on. Don't know when I'm going to finish it but yeah.

A small set of the three of them being dramatic. As much as I love drawing Nerevar all silly I also keep in mind that he's literally a tank.

I also have been making linocuts (linoryt!!!) and made a Nerevar while I was at it. I'm planning to make a nicer print and turn him into a sticker for my B1 teczka (sorry I don't know what to call it in english. It's the huge plastic thing I carry my art in for uni).

And besides that I've been making some random Lorestone things.

Another linocut that I'll print on some bag or sticker and also a small little concept for a game I'm planning to make with my brother. It'll probably take forever to make but I'm thinking of it.

[luna-spacedoodles]

monty and esther’s relationship is sooo interesting to me even if it doesn’t have lots of time to be explored. a kind of mother-son dynamic

like monty’s been esther’s crow for some time before we meet them only as her familiar but for a less than a week he’s human teen. he still works as her little helper but now there’s a boy in her house that she got at least a few clothes for from somewhere somehow. she doesn’t expect this to last long. he sleeps in his own room now and has a library card and talks back when she talks to him and has a genuine love for astrology. he still perches on chairs instead of sitting in them when he’s in the house and has black hair.

esther brought him into a human body and he blames her for all these human emotions he has to deal with. she takes him out of the world she gave him and it’s back to being a crow in a cage. he wants to be in love with edwin and for edwin to be in love with him back and he doesn’t want to follow esther’s plan to really kill him. he also has no one else to look up to, to follow, to learn from. he doesn’t want to make her mad because he knows the exact extent of what she can do to him and what she will do to him. he wants to make her proud, that he can capture edwin and charles.

esther wastes no time turning him back onto a crow if he fails her. she still has him come back home. he always does.

[the-wizard-dipper]

Masters' Academy AU: Environment Concept Art (and some lore)

"There's no such thing as ghosts." - Unofficial motto of Master's Academy.

Art by @okkennymay

Something I haven't really talked about is how the rest of the school feels about all the supernatural stuff going on...

The place has been open for more than a hundred years at this point, it's hosted a few dozen magical teenagers and is actively being haunted. (among other things) So let's just say there's officially enough weird going on for the students to have noticed.

But ghosts aren't real, everyone knows that, you'd be crazy to say they did. And even if they did, no one would believe you if you saw one.

Despite these very reasonable facts the school continues to be frightening in the dark of the night and new kids look to the older ones for comfort and explanation. Their answer? Ghost Stories.

A long tradition of giving the little kids nightmares with the same scary stories that gave them nightmares their first year, where the school's secrets are passed from one generation to the next. "don't go into the chemistry classroom after midnight", "don't look for the skeletons in the basement or they'll make you join them", "carry salt if you need to use the bathroom after dark", "never turn around if you feel a cold breath on the back of your neck". Dozens of stories told with utter seriousness, but mocking laughter if you look like you might really believe it.

Believing in ghost stories makes you a dumb little kid, and everyone knows it.

Ignoring those stories is a recipe for disaster, and everyone knows it.

Because it's hard to reconcile going to a haunted school when there's no such thing as ghosts, and everyone knows it.

[lala-blahblah]

I will never make this because it would be for an audience of one (me) but ever since reading "If we Were Villains" (story about serious drama kids in college who perform shakespeare and deal with a murder) I have been entertaining the thought of a crack fic crossover with High School Musical The Musical The Series where the staff decides they will no longer put on shakespeare after the tragic accident that happened at Thanksgiving, because Shakespeare plays would only increase the tension and drama. So they hire Ms. Jen who decides their spring play will actually be High School Musical (which exists in the 90s in this universe) and it ruins the vibe so much that everyone gives up on being dark and mysterious because they're universally pissed at Ms Jen for making them learn choreoraphed basketball dancing.

[forsty]

I watched a documentary with my dad about how Romani/Traveler people were treated in Norway and the documentary was literally called "the people that disappeared" and, while I knew how badly they were treated, seeing it in a documentary like that was pretty heavy. I was left with some big strong feelings

I didn't know I had that kind of heritage before just a few years ago, I only found out in my grandma's funeral and I was so shocked. My great grandmother was apparently from this wealthy family and she was supposed to marry a rich guy from another town, but then she ran off with a man who was a Traveler and married him instead (my dad said she was "captivated by the fiddle playing drifter"). My grandma was very ashamed of it and didn't want to talk about it (my dad told me she had told her kids if they wanted to know more about it they could look it up in some historical records)...

I remember when I was a kid I heard my mom say something derogatory about my dad's family and I didn't understand what it meant, but now I do (if my mom was still alive I would have liked to give her a piece of my mind about that). Watching that documentary and really being told and shown how they (my great grandpa and his people) were treated and in the end completely wiped out by the norwegian government really left me with some big heavy feelings.

I wish my grandma was still alive and was okay with talking about it, cause I still have so many questions...

[amischiefofmuses]

.

[quietwingsinthesky]

the thing about mass effect 3 is that if they’d just ended it with Shepard and Anderson sitting side by side and then it choosing your ending for you based on how many war assets you had, people wouldn’t have been half as pissed as they were

[snekdood]

why do ppl you barely know or interact with at all think you give a huge fuck about interacting with them?

[jaydenism]

I would love to see what your hypothetical Kanade crash out would look like ngl (you don't need to draw for this if you don't want to a text explanation would still be awesome)

ok soooo this isn't exactly the crashout but rather building up to it i guess :P

the rest of this post is gonna be rambling and predictions ⬇️

alright this ask enabled me, im gonna just dump all my thoughts as of now on what's to come for kanade's story :) i could end up being completely wrong, but hey im just theorizing and having fun here while i wait very impatiently lol

To start, I don't think kana5 will be on the scale of mizu5 (i mean i might be biased but idk if anything will come close to that level of insanity again), mainly because there hasn't been as much build-up to a breaking point. Kanade's issues have been pushed aside (by herself especially) and not heavily focused on up to this point in the story. There hasn't been any increasing tension for things to reach a climax yet. Having her big break be in this next event would be too sudden and sort of unprecedented. For this event at least, I highly doubt that'll be the case. Instead, I think this event will start to touch on Kanade's buried issues more, and begin building that tension for something bigger. I can see this being a multiple event arc, similar to the events leading up to the climax of Mafuyu's story. Summarizing that, yes I think Kanade's got some real tough shit ahead of her, but that's why this won't be a one-off event story. I think it'll just be the beginning.

That being said, to touch more on my predictions for kana5 itself, I think Kanade will start to slip, and the others, Mafuyu especially, will take notice. I can't really predict anything specific, but I think something will happen that will make her question her ability to save people, or cause her to be harder on herself, as she has in the past, to keep composing persistently, neglecting her own needs and health. However, things are different now than they were before niigo. She has more people around her that will be able to see the damage she's doing to herself. But she also knows they all look up to her, and that her music lifts them up. She knows they all have a lot they're dealing with, and she needs to be there for them. She can't let them down.

Then, when Kanade pushes herself past her limits at the cost of her well-being, what will she do then? She meets with the others on nightcord every night, and Mafuyu is living at her place. She won't be able to rot away by herself anymore without people noticing. But she still feels this need to be the group's rock and to be the one to save everyone, so she'll try her damn hardest to prevent the others from worrying about her. She'll shoot down their attempts at trying to talk about it. I think she might be especially stubborn this time around, and it might cause niigo to have to figure out a way to help Kanade, since they won't be able to get through to her at first.

Kanade has shown in the past to get uncharacteristically aggressive when she's pushing herself too hard, as shown above. She starts to take on everything herself, and snaps at anyone who tries to stop her. I think this side of her will be shown more going forward, as she begins to go down this kind of self-destructive path yet again. At least, that's where I think her story will go. Her tendency to work herself to the bone hasn't really been resolved, and she's gone so far with it before to end up in the hospital after passing out. She doesn't care what happens to her, as long as she can save people. The only reason she has ((slightly)) gotten better at taking care of herself is so that she can be able to keep composing without ending up in the hospital again. Not because she cares about her health. Because she must keep composing. She still only does the bare minimum for herself. If it's her cooking, she's only having instant ramen, and most days she's probably not going to see the sun. She still doesn't sleep much, and Mafuyu has said that she's often falling asleep at her computer.

This might be getting a little rambley atp, but my point is that Kanade neglects her own needs in her determination to save others. I mentioned how she neglects her physical health in the last paragraph, but she also neglects her own feelings as well.

She minimizes her own problems or just doesn't even talk about them. I think she truly believes that her problems don't matter, that they only distract her from her goals. The reason she doesn't open up is likely because she herself doesn't believe her feelings are important at all. She doesn't pay them any mind, and she doesn't want anyone else to either.

Of course, I have to bring this card up. I think this is just a perfect visual representation of Kanade's feelings, and it's great foreshadowing for what's to come. Those feelings are buried deep within Kanade, yet to be addressed or solved. THIS is what we're getting into. Kanade, depicted as an angel, surrounded by death. I think this is related to her guilt surrounding what happened to her father, believing it was her fault. That she destroyed everything. But because of that incident, she told herself she has to keep composing, and never stop, in order to save people. She feels like she owes that much, and that that's her sole purpose. She won't allow herself to think otherwise. No matter how much it destroys her, she must be a savior for others.

Last thing I wanted to add, because I saw this reblog under a prev kanade analysis post, and they brought up great points. Especially how dangerous Kanade's composing grind can get. We wouldn't even have a story if Honami hadn't found Kanade unconscious!!! I think she might get to a really low point again like this, but having Mafuyu there especially, it won't be able to go unnoticed. I don't have much else to add to those tags though cus they speak for themselves 🙏

Finally, just real quickly going back to the little comic I drew, this is just a rough idea of how I think Kanade could act. She'll get noticeably worse, but will try to hide that fact from the others and deny any help from them. I also mentioned that I think we could see more aggression from her again, so I included that, as she feels threatened in a way by Mafuyu worrying about her. She can't let that happen. Also, Kanade's impending doom aside, I think this progression in the story may also spark some change in Mafuyu. She might show some more emotion in this or future events, and she may realize how much Kanade means to her, motivating her to do more for her. I think it'll be a full group effort to save Kanade, but I wanna see Mafuyu taking a bigger role in this. I just think this also has the potential to grow Mafuyu's character more.

Also, as for the Kanade crashout, I really don't know how they'll handle that. I can't really predict what they're gonna do with her climax. But I want her screaming yelling and crying !!! like she better go insaneeee 🙏 and I also feel like they have a lot of potential with her seiyuu/VA and stepping out of the soft quiet voice to do some crazy shit, maybe in the songs too pls pls pls give us loud kanadeeee

OKAY THATS ENOUGH YAPPING its 5 am i havent slept....

[suguboos]

USED TO BE MY GIRL

getting stuck baby catsitting a high maintenance ball of fur wasn't how you planned on spending your saturday. and then your ex shows up for the same thing. yay!

FEATURING: ex boyfriend! gojo satoru x fem reader

CONTENTS: 18+ content, MDNI. non canon compliant/au (he’s a ceo), kinda angsty at first but gets pretty silly :p, he’s kind of an idiot sorry, ex sex, unprotected p in v, kinda pathetic gojo, body worship, nipple play, panty-sniffing + panty taking (?), cunnilingus + fingering, missionary, hair pulling (m receiving), belly bulge mention, some aftercare

WORD COUNT: 6.4k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: over two months later here it is ^.^ anyways, forst time (solely) writing for this white haired freak so lmk ur thots 🥸

@aquasoftware here it isss, hope you enjoy bae :3

“we should break up.”

when you’d spent nearly an hour and half in the shower prior to this date and another hour getting ready, the last thing that you would’ve imagined was that you were getting dumped. publicly.

fairy lights illuminated the dark sky, soft jazz playing throughout the restaurant’s speakers out into the balcony—a simple quiet evening where you and satoru had been having a pleasant dinner date.

you could practically hear your tiktok swirling down the drain—is he going to propose or he just…?

setting down the the glass of water you had in hand, you turned to look over at him just to make sure you’d heard him right, “you want to break up.”

the entirety of your relationship came flashing to the forefront of your mind along with questions that you weren’t even sure you wanted the answer to. how long had he been thinking about this breakup?

and just what was so unforgivable that he didn’t deem this relationship worth it anymore? you began relaying all the little things the two of you bickered about—like dirty dishes in the sink, socks scattered in the hallway, or picking out where to go eat.

all the little arguments that somehow seemed all too big at the moment. but surely those didn’t warrant a breakup of all things, right?

“well no, i don’t want to break up,” he stared at anything and everything but you, paying more attention to the flower bed situated beside you, “but we don’t have enough time to put into this relationship.”

“you mean you don’t want to put enough time into this relationship,” you stated plainly, folding your arms across your chest.

case in point, the two of you had finally come out to dinner after multiple ‘i can’t make it, sweet cheeks’ or ‘can we reschedule? i’ll make it up to you, princess, i promise.’

“to-satoru,” you were quick to correct yourself and fuck, that stung more than it was probably supposed to—he couldn’t even begin to remember the last time he wasn’t your toru—“we’ve been making it work so far, we can keep trying to make it work.”

the moment that satoru looked up at you, you already knew. it was practically engraved all over his face—he didn’t want to make it work, all that he was doing was simply announcing the break up to you.

“i love you,” he spoke up after a couple seconds, like that had the answer to everything, “and i don’t want you to end up hating me because this relationship will never be a priority to me. not as much as my family’s business.”

you sat there in complete silence, barely registering when the waitstaff had placed your food in front of you. food that you didn’t even have an appetite for anymore—despite wanting to try out the restaurant for a few months now. “so if this relationship wasn’t a priority to you, what was it?”

satoru tried to find the words to speak but before he could get a word in, you continued, “and if you knew, if you fucking knew—” your voice cracked, “—then why even bother in the first place? why even bother making me fall in love with you?”

each moment of silence that lingered in the air gnawed at your mind, each second that you waited for some explanation to come. “i’m sorry,” gojo reached over to take your hand, an action that you quickly rejected. you pulled your hand away, hastily getting out of your chair.

“you’re not giving me an answer, just half assed responses,” a bitter laugh left your lips, “just answer me one question, please. when did you decide this relationship just.. wasn’t worth it? that i wasn’t worth it anymore?”

“you will always be worth it to me, but—” gojo spoke up, avoiding your gaze all the while. an action that made your eye twitch—wanting to shake him by his shoulders and make him give you an answer. instead, you settled for tightening your grip around your purse.

“—but sukuna co.’s basically starting a war between the two companies, stealing away our biggest clients and investors alike. i don’t have the time to be with you. like i said, i don’t want you to hate me.”

a scoff threatened to leave your lips, tears threatening to spill with each blink you took. when he finally looked at you is that you finally spoke, “it’s a little too late for that. but fine, since you’re adamant on throwing away our relationship—we’re done. have ijichi take the stuff i left at your place to my apartment sometime in the week. i never want to see you again.”

the unfinished piece of steak you’d ordered a few minutes prior sat on the table, the only reminder that you’d ever been here in the first place. well that and the aching feeling of regret settling deep within his very bones with each step you took further away from him.

gojo satoru was a truly hopeless man.

every single thing about you consumed his every thought like an unrelenting parasite every single day, every single hour, and every single minute. he’d resorted to having one of your shirts next to him, the scent of the perfume he loved so much lulling him to sleep at late hours of the night.

and it worked for the most part. but the fantasy dissipated the moment his fingertips reached out to grab you, to hold you, only to find nothing but cold sheets and the sheer feeling of utter regret.

waking up to find your coffee mug sitting on the counter where you’d usually be leaning up against, finding himself torn between wanting to store it away in the depths of his cabinet or keep it there just in case. just in case, in the odd chance, that you’d come back to him. that he’d wake up and his stupidity was just a dream.

and usually, the latter ended up winning. the coffee mug remained in its rightful spot, stuck in time. stuck in memories of simple morning bliss.

then he found himself thinking what even was the point of having all this ‘extra’ time to himself when he couldn’t bring himself to focus in on any meetings? when all that came to mind when he filled out another report from the heavy paper stack was the look on your face.

and so, here he was begging shoko for just an opportunity to talk to you again.

after countless attempts of trying to send you extravagant bouquets of roses and cashapp requests in the thousands just begging to be unblocked. you usually accepted the money, leaving him blocked regardless.

satoru would take that as a good thing, at the very least.

“sho, pleaseee,” a loud whine left his lips, attracting some attention from those passing by. not that it necessarily mattered; he would get on his knees if deemed necessary.

“weren’t you the one who dumped her? in public, too?” shoko raised a brow, taking an obnoxious sip from her coffee.

gojo let out an offended scoff, “sho, you’re missing the point. yeah, i made a tiny little mistake but i’m trying to fix it.”

shoko simply took another sip of the black coffee in hand, giving him a quizzical look, “disregarding everything i just said, somehow you think my cat’s the answer to your problems.”

“well duh, that’s what i’ve been trying to tell you. all we need is like five minutes together and it’ll be like the breakup didn’t happen,” satoru responded, taking his own obnoxious sip of the overly sweet concoction he called an ice coffee.

(a drink rumored by baristas to have the capacity to put a victorian child in the hospital)

she set her cup down, folding her arms across her chest as she faced him. a clear sign that she was about to go on a spiel about how utterly ridiculous this whole idea was. so, naturally, gojo took out his wallet, handing her a couple hundred bills as if he were handing out flyers, “please.”

shoko took the money in hand, flipping over through the bills before letting out a reluctant sigh. “you’re forgetting to include the lying and deception fee. she’s my friend, y’know.”

“fine, i’ll message her. it’s not on me if it doesn’t work out, though.”

satoru let out a quiet hum, adding in as an afterthought, “hey, silly question, haha, but you don’t happen to know if she maybe kept the flowers?”

shoko didn’t find the same amusement, staring at him blankly, “she gave them all away.”

he nearly choked on a sip from his coffee, nearly knocking his drink off the table, “all of them?! she didn’t keep a singular rose? a petal? anything!?”

passersby looked over at the table upon his little outburst yet again, having shoko hide her face behind the menu. “keep. it. down. and no, i think she mentioned smacking the vase over your head if you kept sending them actually.”

gojo quickly came to realize that maybe, just maybe, there was the odd chance that he’d need more than five minutes.

but at least step one of his plan was complete.

now to see if you’d actually show up.

“hey, sorry i’m late,” you gave shoko an apologetic smile when she opened the door,

“it’s fine, you’re not that late. i have something to tell you, though.”

you stepped foot into her apartment, leaving your shoes at the door before dropping your bag off at the kitchen counter. “yeah, what’s up?”

“so, you’re not actually babysitting her alo-” shoko barely managed to get that out without grimacing before you heard a grating voice behind you, a voice you were hoping to never hear again, “pooks, what a silly coincidence.”

you simply looked at shoko with a pleading expression, begging for this to be a joke. all you received in response was a slight grimace, her own version of an apologetic look on her face, “i wasn’t actually expecting him to show up, i’m sorry.”

gojo came up behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders for a split second before you pushed it off. and he had the audacity to look at you with his arms raised in defense, “okay, okay, jeez. but at least we’ll both be babysitting the little maniac.” like that was supposed to be any reassurance.

“more like i’ll be stuck babysitting two maniacs,” your response came out immediately, and much to your annoyance, it only made satoru’s grin spread even further.

“always so charming, princess.”

“i’ll be right back. try not to kill each other,” shoko called out, disappearing up the stairs and leaving you alone with gojo. exactly how you planned on spending your saturday off.

“so you didn’t have enough time for a relationship but you have enough time to catsit,” you finally turned to look around at him with a glare on your face, and damn. he’d even made time to hit the gym more often, biceps straining against the tight material of his black compression shirt.

it would’ve made you practically drool if you hadn’t gotten pissed all over again—he had the time for everything else but you, clearly. you quickly averted your gaze, staring at shoko’s home decor with a newfound curiosity.

“how could i give up the opportunity to catsit this little cutie? she loves me,” satoru had a cocky grin when he spoke, walking over to the cat and patting her head. a cocky grin that quickly morphed into an overexaggerated frown.

if the cat loved him—she certainly didn’t show it now. purrsephone hissed in retaliation, flicking her fluffy white tail against his arm when she turned to face the wall. “can really feel the love,” you deadpanned, making yourself at home on the couch.

satoru took that as an opportunity, plopping his bony ass next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “you’ll see, she’ll get used to me,” he remarked, making a point to flex his arm against you.

you shoved his arm away, inching away from gojo until you reached the end of the couch. “just because we’re stuck in the confines of these four walls for the next night doesn’t mean we have to get along.”

gojo wasn’t exactly sure if it was the disgust on your face or the fact that you were acknowledging him for once—but he found himself getting turned on regardless.

“so let’s just focus on keeping the cat alive for—blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff,” satoru found himself nodding along, staring mindlessly at your pretty face, “i’m so pretty, i like you. but im angry with you for some reason.”

you snapped your fingers in front of his face when you saw a bit of drool start to leak out from the corner of his lip, letting out an annoyed grunt, “you didn’t listen to anything i said, did you?”

“absolutely not, princess.”

shoko walked over to the extensive cat tree, picking up the white ball of fluff from her resting spot and placing her against her chest. “if the two idiots don’t feed you, i give you full consent to scratch their eyes out,” she cooed, letting the cat rub up against her shamelessly.

somehow, you didn’t doubt that she was being 100% serious either.

the second shoko dropped purrsephone back onto the cat tree to get her suitcase, the cat was already glaring at the two of you again. definitely loathing this idea more than yourself.

“alright, have fun. there’s a to-do list of sorts on my nightstand and if there’s anything else, just call me,” shoko called out, leaving for her medical convention. (ie: a bunch of show offs grouped together with an open bar)

purrsephone looked over at shoko with each step she took, letting out a pitiful meow before making her way down the cat tree. she hopped onto the couch, walking over satoru’s lap in circles before laying down in a ball.

"see? told you the cat just had to warm up to me," gojo began stroking through her fur, sticking his tongue out to you. the moment hadn't lasted for more than a minute—purrsephone had chosen to use his designer pants as her scratch post, digging her tiny razor sharp claws into his thighs.

“ow-ow-OW! let go, you little gremlin!” satoru let out a loud hiss, moving to pull the cat’s claws off his pants. she remained unmoving, practically attached to him now. purrsephone simply looked over at him like he was the inconvenience.

“meow.”

“please?”

“meow.”

a low huff left your lips, standing up from your spot on the couch. “alright, while you go deal with that situation, i’m gonna go see where the list is,” you approached the stairs, hastily stopping in your steps to look back at the two, “don’t mess this place up, please.”

picking up the scribbled note when you approached the nightstand, you began skimming through the contents—

shoko’s 101 guide to taking care of purrsephone

1) only eats 1/2 of a cup between 2pm-5pm

2) she only falls asleep after a warm glass of milk and singing her a lullaby (she’s really into twinkle twinkle little star)

before you could continue reading the list of demands, you heard a loud CRASH echoing through the living room up until it met your ears. “ah fuck,” you could barely pick up gojo’s complaint, taking a deep breath to brace yourself. it couldn’t be that bad, right? you’d only left for a minute or two.

wrong.

you walked downstairs to find the living room a complete mess, from cat litter sticking to the floors up to the couch and somehow even the walls to cat droplets trailing a little path around the expanse of the coffee table. you walked closer to gojo, practically in his face and digging a finger against his chest,

"you just can't do anything right, can you? i swear, it's like it goes in one ear and ou-" your complaints were quickly shut down, his lips pressing against your own before you could even muster what was happening. 

every single atom in your body was screaming to push him away, not to do this. again. but instead of doing just that, your fingers dug into his shirt and pulled him all that much closer.

kissing him felt all too familiar—a practiced dance you hadn’t quite managed to forget all the moves to. “be mad at me later, just.. let me have this please,” he pleaded, pressing his forehead against your own.

and you were certain that the man had done witchcraft, gotten some spell from a witch on etsy that’d been activated with the kiss, because somehow, someway, you found yourself nodding.

satoru hooked his fingers underneath your thighs, squeezing the supple flesh once while he made his way up the stairs. “mmph, fuck, i missed you baby,” he let out a quiet moan against your lips.

“shut it,” was your response, nibbling down on his bottom lip. your nails raked through his hair, tugging at the strands when you pulled him closer.

“yes ma’am,” satoru breathed out, lightly opening up the guest door on the far edge of the hallway. closing the door behind him, he walked over to the queen sized bed in the middle of the room before gently placing you down.

every second was savored—not willing himself to stay away from you for too long. he was hovering above you in a matter of seconds, holding your chin in between your fingers, “can i?”

once again, every thought in your mind was telling you to push him away. to remember how little he made you feel. “yes,” your mouth had a mind of its own, answering him before you thought better of it.

satoru let out a sigh, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “are you sure? i want you to want me. to want this as much as i do.”

you shook your head, reaching up and pressing your palm against his cheek. he was like a pathetic puppy, rubbing against your touch. “i do want it, toru. i want you.”

his touch was careful, almost like unraveling an expensive gift he didn’t quite want to ruin the wrapping of. a strangled breath left him upon seeing your lingerie, cerulean and lace framing your body in the best damn present he’d opened.

a cerulean blue that was too similar to his eye color—too much for him to deem as a coincidence.

looking over at you in disbelief, he asked, “when’d you make the switch to agent provocateur?”

you raised a brow at how quickly he recognized the material—deciding to leave it be though, “ever since i had seven grand to blow from a veryyy generous donor last week.”

satoru let out a quiet scoff, tracing the outline of the lace on your bra with the tip of his finger. his thumb barely circled against your clothed nipple, a featherlight touch, “and just who were you planning on showing this pretty set to?”

“wouldn’t you like to know weather boy?” a scoff of your own left your lips, rolling your eyes. but he was already in his own little world by now.

satoru had been deprived of the taste of you for months now—the very feeling of your skin underneath his fingertips nearly having him break out in a moan.

every nerve in his brain seemed to go haywire when he pressed his lips against your neck, the lingering scent of your perfume intoxicating whatever brain cells remained in that big noggin.

"did you just moan?" you raised your head as you looked down at him. never mind, not almost.

“you taste and smell good, what did you expect?” he licked a stripe down your neck, reaching your collarbone. gojo gently pulled the skin in between his teeth, sucking at the flesh. determined to leave a mark—even if you’d just have him for today.

each kiss trailed lower and lower down until he got to your shoulder, unable to resist the urge of snapping your bra strap. before you had the chance to glare at him, he reached for your back—unclasping the hooks and tossing your $300 bra to the floor.

you nearly winced.

“there’s my girls,” satoru took one of your breasts in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple, “my favorite girls. missed them too, missed everything about you, baby.”

one of his large hands engulfed your other breast, rolling his thumb against your areola while he mindlessly sucked on the one in his mouth. “there you go. arch your back for me, sweetheart,” a groan left his lips, slipping his knee in between your legs to keep them open.

satoru alternated between each breast, giving each equal attention. leaving your nipples hard and covered in his spit. “so pretty,” he whispered in awe, giving each a farewell kiss.

he made his way down to your navel, pressing chaste kisses to whatever skin he had access to. kissing everywhere but where you needed him most—where he was rubbing his knee against.

you almost expected him to pounce up at the first opportunity, but instead, he settled by the foot of the bed. his touch featherlight as he dragged his fingers from your ankle to your calf, eliciting goosebumps down your spine in his wake.

“i’m sorry,” satoru started off, pressing his lips against your right calf before moving on to the left. “never wanted to make you cry, baby,” he continued, kissing his way up your leg.

not a single inch of your body went untouched by his lips before he moved up, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. you raised your hips, letting him slide them down your legs.

he looked up at you with puppy eyes, holding the slick-covered panties you in his hand. a silent request.

your eyes narrowed, “no. you’re not keeping those.”

satoru let out a whine, bringing your panties up to his nose. taking an audible whiff and closing his eyes, practically relishing in the lace. “oh come on, i’m the one who got you these, technically.”

“generous donor, since we’re getting technical,” you shrugged, “put the merchandise down on the floor.”

“i’ll get you ten more. twenty, if that’s what you want. just let me keep these,” he spoke quickly, watching the way your eyes practically turned into money signs. “and maybe if you just show them off to me.”

he’d already spent over seven grand, what was a couple more thousand?

you looked at the pair in his hand, before shrugging, “i’ll be generous and only ask for fifteen.”

satoru quickly pocketed your panties, kissing up your thigh. “the most generous,” he mused, nibbling on your inner thigh. his hands spread your legs out, presenting to him like one of the finest meals.

and he was more than ready to feast.

he leaned forward, swiping his tongue in between your folds. your fingers ran through his hair again, gripping his hair tightly. or at least.. you thought your grip was tight. it was hard to tell when satoru moaned regardless, sucking on your folds.

“so good, so good, use me, i’m all yours, always been,” just one taste of you again was enough to have him pussy drunk, babbling against your cunt. you pushed his head further into your cunt, swiveling your hips against his eager tongue, “yeah, yeah, just like that, don’t stop.”

you looked over to see satoru laying down on his stomach, completely at bliss slurping and sucking at your cunt with his feet swinging back and forth. if his mouth and hands weren’t busy, you had no doubt that he’d be twirling his hair and giggling.

“come onnn, let me know how i’m good i’m making you feel,” he pouted as he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, his lips glossed over with your slick.

"fuck you," you bit down on your lip, gritting the words out in an attempt to keep any moans at bay.

"aht, aht, that's my job, cutie. and first, you gotta tell me what you want," satoru gave your thigh a loud smooch, his fingertips tracing your folds and barely dipping inside of your dripping cunt before he’d pull away. only to repeat it again.

in a moment of weakness, you found yourself relenting, “your fingers, toru. please,” it came out low, barely enough for his ears to register. and almost like clockwork, he took that opportunity to tease you further.

“what was that, baby? couldn’t really hear you,” he retorted, clicking his tongue. when you went to open your mouth, he pushed his fingers inside of your cunt. the loud squelch cutting you off completely.

“your. fingers,” you gritted out, your request coming out louder, “please.”

he pushed his fingers inside of you yet again, bringing them to his lips and swirling his tongue around them, “please what?” another tease.

“please, toru. i want your fingers,” a low whine was evident in your voice.

“there we go, baby. that wasn’t so hard, hm?” his fingers thrusted inside of you once more, curling in a come hither motion.

satoru closed his lips around your puffy clit, sucking on it before swirling his tongue. he started with drawing small circles on your nub, before your brows furrowed.

he was using your damn clit as a writing board.

the tip of his tongue carefully spelled each letter,

‘I. LOVE. YOU.’

“seriously?” it came out shakier than you would’ve liked, little gasps and unsteady breaths leaving your lips.

“mhm,” he didn’t bother on elaborating further, covering your clit in his spit as he sucked. the curl of his fingers hit that spot inside of you with each thrust, his fingers thrusting deeper than even some of your toys.

“ah ah, fuck!” you let out a moan, hips bucking into his face to meet his tongue frantically. “don’t stop, don’t stop, just like that,” each swipe and thrust brought you closer and closer, your back nearly off the mattress.

satoru simply shook his head, swiping his tongue back and forth. the idea was simply absurd—that he was even capable of thinking to stop. “not gonna stop, baby. just wanna keep tasting you,” he responded, swinging his feet back and forth again in sync with his thrusts.

you weren’t sure if you hated him or you wanted to fuck him even more. maybe a little of both.

that familiar coil tightened in your lower stomach, your nails practically digging into his scalp in response. “ah fuck, yeah, dig them in there, i can take it, i can take it,” satoru was reduced to a babbling mess yet again, each whine vibrating against your clit.

“i’m close, i’m close, gonna cum,” your moans had him pushing his hips into the mattress, seeking anything to relief his aching cock. but—this wasn’t about him. it was about you first. “come for me, baby, take what you need.”

the coil inside of you snapped, your orgasm hitting you at once. your hips stilled, your release coating his fingers and spilling out onto the bedsheets underneath. he sucked his fingers, cleaning up every. single. last. dribble.

gojo wasted no time in unzipping his pants, sliding them down along with his boxers. freed from its confines, his cock sprung up against his stomach. pink tip twitching and all—dripping drop after drop of precum.

wrapping a hand around the base, he swiped the tip against your folds. much like he’d be swiping his card later. up and down, letting your slick coat the head before he slowly pushed it inside. pushing against that initial resistance.

“biggg stretch, there we go,” a hiss escaped from his lips, feeling your walls squeeze against him tightly. he had to close his eyes, refusing to look down at you. he knew that if he did, that would be all it would take for him to bust.

satoru placed your legs on his shoulders, slowly starting to move his hips forward. pushing inch by inch inside with each thrust, up until he could see his tip bulging in your lower tummy.

“toru?” your voice broke him out of the trance, hazy blues meeting your own glazed over gaze.

“yes, baby?”

“you think maybe, just maybe, you could go a little faster?”

satoru broke out into a cheshire like grin, making you instantly regret your ask, “anything for you, my princess.”

*PLAP* *PLAP* *PLAP*

the sound of your skin slapping against his own, the sound of your moans and his shaky breaths filled the room, mixing in with the heavy stench of sex. satoru’s grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into you while he used your cunt how he pleased.

“that fast enough for you, baby?” satoru taunted, a smirk on his face. the sight in front of him was nothing short of perfect—from the way your jaw fell taut, drool leaking out from the corner of your lips with each punishing thrust. all the way down to the way your tits bounced, each bounce nearly putting him in a hypnosis.

“yes yes, fuck!” your hands dug into the bedsheets underneath as a lifeline, something to cling onto. you could even feel the slight curve to the left, each vein grazing your walls.

“y-yeah? finally good enough for you?” you could only nod in response, his cock drilling out every thought. your walls squeezed around him, toes curling against his back. you didn’t have to give him any warning this time—he simply knew.

“so good, so good,” you babbled like a broken record, his dick hitting your g-spot with such ease it had you wondering why you’d ever accepted the breakup.

“suck for me,” satoru prodded his thumb against your bottom lip. you instinctively parted your lips, swirling your tongue around it and sucking on it. all while keeping your eyes on him. he could’ve sworn you were trying to kill him now.

you released with a pop, his thumb glistening with your saliva. “ah fuck! keep going, keep going!” satoru rubbed quick circles against your clit, his own thrusts starting to grow sloppier and sloppier. heavy balls smacked against your ass with each push of his hips, one of his feet propped up against the mattress for an angle that had your eyes rolling back.

“t-toru! make me cum, please, please!” you whined, nails scraping against the cotton bedsheets. your walls clenched against him tightly, milking his cock, before your orgasm washed over you like a wave.

your release coated his shaft, your cunt squelching as he fucked you towards his own orgasm. he was close, so so close, but the man needed one more push. “tell me you love me, please,” his voice came out ragged, “i need you to tell me.”

“i love you, toru,” his name had never sounded so good, so sweet before. the quiet whisper of your admission was all it took to push him from the edge. a low groan left his lips, spurt after spurt of cum dripping inside of you. painting your walls white, pooling where he and you were still connected.

satoru pulled out carefully, the mixture of fluids dripping from his softening shaft onto the cotton bedsheets underneath. at least he’d been smart enough to use the guest room. “stay here, i’ll be right back with something to clean you off.”

he came back into the room with a wet hand towel from the guest bathroom, gently cleaning in between your legs. wiping away at the cum dripping down your legs, staining your thighs. “there we go, how are you feeling? you need water?” satoru tossed the towel to the side, pulling his pants back up.

“no, thank you. but you’re cleaning up the cat shit downstairs by the way,” you pulled the covers over your nude body, turning your back over to him. satoru let out a whine, kneeling over on the bed, “you’re not serious.”

kiss. kiss. he pressed his lips gently from your exposed shoulder blade up to your neck, his mouth ghosting over your ear when he finished. “please, baby?” he whispered, the proximity of it all making a shiver run down your spine.

a shiver that you concealed by pulling the cover tighter around your body, turning your head away from him. “no. you made the mess.”

gojo reluctantly made his way downstairs, picking up a broom for what seemed to be the first time in his life before he started to awkwardly sweep the floor. trying and failing to scoop it up in the dust pan. trying to mimic what he’d seen from one of the maids.

even the cat had woken up from her nap, staring daggers into him with beady emerald eyes. despite him feeding her just a couple minutes beforehand and trying to appease her with extra treats (the cat was not appeased). like she knew what had just taken place upstairs.

“don’t look at me like that, i’ll give you more,” satoru pouted when the cat continued to glare holes into him, possibly definitely plotting out his murder when he went to sleep tonight, “please.”

eventually, after 9 minutes of trying (and failing) to mop up the place, he broke down. he dialed shoko’s number like second nature, hoping to every entity she wasn’t completely drunk off her ass. or passed out. or both.

“heyyyyy, how you doing?” shoko slurred into the phone. at least she was coherent enough to respond. phew.

“things are fine. but…” satoru took a deep breath, bracing himself for the inevitable teasing he’d get, “—how do you use a broom?” the words left him in a whisper, akin to a deeply guarded shame. maybe it was.

“come again?”

he had to take another deep breath, letting out a quiet groan before repeating himself, “i’m asking you for help on using a broom.”

one second passed.

two seconds passed.

he almost had the hope that shoko wouldn’t react.

a hope that quickly died out when shoko burst out into boisterous cackles, managing to get out a broken, “you don’t know how to use one at almost thirty?”

satoru folded his arms with a petulant pout on his face, tapping his foot against the floor while he waited for shoko to get her laugh in. “no. can you just help me? your cat’s glaring at me.”

it was almost pitiful the way he clung onto every word shoko was telling him, finishing up what should’ve been a thirty minute job in an hour. he leaned back against the couch cushion, wiping nonexistent sweat from his forehead.

“how do you people do this everyday?” he let out a scoff, taking a moment to admire his surroundings. squeaky clean. absolutely no streaks on the floor (maybe a couple on the wall—they didn’t count.)

he could practically hear shoko’s eyeroll, a grunt leaving her lips, “dunno, probably by not depending on maids or whatever.”

“touché, yeah. but if you had a maid, the opportunity to babysit with my girlfriend wouldn’t have happened.”

“speaking of babysitting. sooo, how’d it go?” shoko mused from the other line, her words starting to slur together. seemingly more drunk than when the conversation first started.

satoru giggled, giggled into the phone, “oh, we’re so getting back together. it only took her like one glance and she was already soo whipped.”

“uh-huh,” and despite shoko’s obvious disinterest in the conversation, satoru continued to talk her ear out, “no, no, but i’m telling you. she wants me so bad, i swear. she practically jumped my bones.”

after nearly 20 ‘uh-huh’s’ and 15 ‘that’s crazy’s’ from shoko, he decided to hang up and go back to bed. a small smile formed on his face upon seeing you still asleep, trying to carefully tip toe his way into the opposite side of the bed.

“did i wear you out, baby?” he poked the side of your cheek when you finally stirred, propping himself up on a elbow. despite the stupid grin on his face, he couldn’t hide the sheer adoration in his eyes.

not when he stared at you like you were an expensive painting, something to be admired. scratch that—someone that he wouldn’t mind admiring if given the opportunity to.

“no, never that,” you let out a stifled yawn, rubbing your eyes. a clear indicator that he did, indeed, wear you out.

satoru let out a small snicker, nodding along before wrapping an arm around your torso. bracing himself for the moment that you’d push him away like before. much to his surprise, you didn’t.

you welcomed the cuddling—much to your tired state, scooting closer to where he was laying down.

and satoru didn’t find himself minding cleaning up cat shit again if it meant getting to hold you like this. to have you mold against him like a missing puzzle piece.

though granted, he’d like to avoid cleaning up cat shit for as long as possible.

you wrapped an arm around him, resting your head against his chest in your sleep. “i love you,” he whispered, lightly pressing his lips against your shoulder blade.

“just because we fucked doesn’t mean we’re getting back together. an i’m sorry and a couple thongs won’t fix what you said,” you muttered in your half asleep state. despite your words, you let him engulf you into his own version of a human blanket and entangle his limbs in every possible crevice.

“i know, i know. that’s why i sent the flowers too,” at the glare he’d grown so used to seeing directed his way, he decided to shut up, “okay, i’m sorry. i’ll try to show you better, i promise.” just being with you like this, holding you close against him was enough to ease the pain he’d felt the last couple months.

your embrace allowed him to find his home again, a home that he wasn’t sure he wanted to give up again when morning came. “and if you still don’t want me, just let me love you, sweets. doesn’t matter if you never wanna see me again,” he whispered, noticing a faint smile on your lips. gone as quickly as it’d appeared.

maybe gojo satoru wasn’t such a hopeless man.

[yanderedrabbles]

I desperately need Yandere! Military Contractor fun facts/headcanons or anything else really. Like how tall is he? How old is he? When did he actually saw us/started stalking us? What made him stalk us even? Just anything about him

I think a big part of what makes him so menacing is how mysterious he is. But here are some things you've pieced together from watching him.

Yandere! Military Contractor who kisses your forehead every night before he falls asleep. Who holds you against his chest no matter how warm the weather is. How can he be so tender in the dark, but so awful in the light of day? You've yet to figure it out.

Yandere! Military Contractor who spends every Sunday taking care of his guns. Disassembling them, greasing, cleaning, the whole nine yards. A cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he takes apart an M16 like it's nothing.

You aren't sure why he let's you watch him. If anything, you assume he would want you far away from any weapons. Eventually you get brave enough to try your luck. Grab a rifle when his back is turned and pull the trigger.

Nothing. Just an empty click in the suffocating silence.

Yandere! Military Contractor who just scoffs. Doesn't even bother to turn and look at you.

"Safety's on," he says simply. Like you didn't just point a gun at the back of his head and pull the trigger.

You expect him to punish you. He doesn't. If anything, he looks pleased. Glad to see you still have some fight left in you.

Yandere! Military Contractor with tattoos all across his arm. Names. Dates. Places. A list of comrades or victims? You're too scared to ask.

Yandere! Military Contractor who cooks surprisingly well. Doesn't really eat with you though. Just dumps the plate on the table in front of you and stands with his arms crossed, watching. For a while at the beginning, you tried to stop eating. Hoped that by wasting away he'd maybe lose interest in you. It was a terrible idea.

He got irritable. Angry. Grabbed your thigh so hard it bruised and snarled that if you wanted to eat all your meals through a fucking straw, he could make that happen. You never finished a plate so fast in your life.

Yandere! Military Contractor who keeps his hair short. Not really buzzed, or military cut, but still pretty short. You think maybe it's a habit, but one day when you try and pull him off you by the hair, you realise it's entirely practically. You can't grab it and yank like you would with longer hair. It's just one more way to take some leverage away from you. One more way to stack the cards in his favour.

Yandere! Military Contractor who doesn't soften, no matter what you try. Begging doesn't work. Swearing and fighting and trying to claw his eyes out seems to just amuse him. Crying...well crying just fucking turns him on.

You try being affectionate towards him at some point. Kissing his cheek, hugging him, cradling his face in your palms. Either you're a terrible actor or he's an overly suspicious bastard, because all it does is make him double check the locks every night.

Eventually you give up that approach. You think he doesn't care, but not being nice to him must really hit a nerve. He fucks you extra hard until you realise what he wants.

"I love you," you say through gritted teeth, your palm against his cheek. "I love you."

He slows his pace then. Doesn't keep ramming into you like the goal is more to hurt you than to satisfy himself.

He doesn't say it back. He just drops his head to your ear and snarls.

"Mine. My girl to kiss, my girl to fuck. Mine."

Yandere! Military Contractor who finds you crying in the shower. Head between your knees, sobbing like you're dying. You flinch when he squats down next to you.

He doesn't comfort you. Just looks at you with those flat, empty eyes.

"Get tough."

You want to laugh. Get tough. Like getting held down and fucked is just some kind of training.

Yandere! Military Contractor who takes you out for walks a few times a week. His property is remote, thick with trees and circled with electric fencing. You didn't find out about the last bit until the day you tried to make a run for it and sprinted straight into the wires.

He found you heaving on your hands and knees. Shaking with the aftershock.

"Voltage was any higher you'd be dead."

He grabbed your collar and dragged you behind him, your shoes leaving furrows in the dirt.

"Thought you'd try somethin' stupid, so I put it lower today. Gonna hurt a whole lot more in the future."

You don't try running away on your walks after that.

You think he gives you a bit of freedom because he likes seeing you fail to escape. A cat with its prey. After the first week, he stops keeping you cuffed. You try to escape the first opportunity you get, hanging out of a second story window when he walks up right underneath you. Leans against the wall and lights up a cigarette, eyes on you the whole time.

When you pull yourself back into the bathroom you climbed out of, he just grins in that mocking, lazy way of his. As if to say, what did you think would happen?

Yandere! Military Contractor who keeps his mouth shut tight when you ask him about himself. And it's even worse when you ask him about you.

"How long were you watching me?"

"Why did you choose me?"

"Are my family looking for me?"

"Am I the first girl you've done this to?"

That one he answers. Sort of. He scoffs and squishes your cheeks between his fingers.

"Only ever gonna be you." The way he growls it, it feels more threat than promise.

Yandere! Military Contractor who says he loves you, but never in a language you can understand. He must've picked up a dozen different tidbits from three dozen different countries. Arabic, Swahilli, German, Afrikaans. Always the same. Always I love you. But you never figure it out.

Yandere! Military Contractor who tells himself he deserves you. He's done such awful things. Committed crimes the ICC would happily try him for. But in his mind, it's all justified. All just justification.

He's done awful things. Doesn't he deserve something sweet to cleanse his palette?

Yandere! Military Contractor who entertains the idea of teaching you to fight. You've managed to give him quite a collection of cuts and scars. How much more of a spitfire would you be if you knew how to really throw a punch?

It's counter productive. It's self sabotage. It's making things harder for himself in the long run. But oh, it's so much more fun to wrestle you to the ground. His prize tastes all the sweeter when he has to work for it.

Yandere! Military Contractor who's an irredeemable bastard. He's going to rot in hell for what he's done, going to dance with the devil himself.

But even knowing that, he wouldn't change a single damn thing. He has what he wants - a pretty girl who fucks and fights and cries just how he likes it. And he ain't letting you go.

No matter what.

[lokissweater]

sunday's 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

{yuta okkotsu x popular f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been in love with you since he started college— living in the shadows of your popularity as he watched from afar how your bouncy and genuine kind soul prospered and shined everywhere you went. but during one of his shifts at the 50s diner down the street from his campus, you walk in with you friends one sunday night and immediately bond over your shared love for elvis presley’s music, yuta stammering and fidgety at how pretty you are up close, and you falling fast for his pinky cheeks, sweet little words, and how he takes care of you every single day.

warnings: college!au, FLUUUFFF omg so cute, lovesick yuta he thinks you’re so prettyyy, no smut in this one!, popular reader, cursing, afab!reader, lots of mentions of elvis presley LOL, little bit of angst, clueless yuta, strangers to friends to lovers.

word count: 9.6k

authors note: THIS ONE HITS HOMEEE FOR MEEE AAAHHHH CAN YOU TELL I LOVE ELVIS PRESLEY? i live and breathe that man and oldies in general, so this is a love letter to him! :] this fic is all of my favorite things combined and it is SO FREAKING CUUTEEEE UGH i hope you all love it seriously <3333 MWAAHHH I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU—

yuta okkotsu had never seen a girl so beautiful.

you were breathtaking, watching from afar, it was truly as if the world revolved around you in the most positive way yuta could think of.

you were popular— a beam of gorgeous light following you everywhere you went as you were always just enveloped by people and strangers and friends, them wanting to talk to you, wanting to get to know you, wanting you to better their lives because that’s what you selflessly liked to do for everyone without knowing.

and every time he’d walk in between lectures and spot you— feeling in the dumps if on certain days he’d miss your presence entirely, he’d just stare. stare with pink cheeks and softened eyes as you laughed and messed around with your friends or did extracurricular activities around campus, always giving a helping hand to those who needed it no matter the status.

that’s what yuta admired the most about you. you didn’t treat anybody differently just because they didn’t stand in the same level as you. you didn’t care about things like that, and you spoke to people with such fucking class and poise, that he always dozed off picturing how it would be like if he ever had the privilege of actually speaking with you.

that’s how most of his work shifts went at the diner after his classes.

he would wait tables or be in the kitchen, wipe down the windows or run the hostess stand… and you’d be on his mind— permanently there to torment him in the loveliest way he knew how.

and on one sunday night, you were unexpectedly there right in front of him at his job.

“hello?”

you waved a gentle hand over his face, and he snapped out of it immediately, cheeks pinky and bright, your friends snickering.

“yes! s—sorry.” he reached behind the hostess stand. “how many are with you?”

“four!” you responded sweetly, yuta having to swallow the huge lump in his throat as he officially saw your smile up close for the first time in his life— a gorgeous contrast to what it looked like from far away.

yuta quickly grabbed the corresponding menus and stepped to the side of the hostess stand, leading you and your friends through the empty restaurant and to a big booth— placing two menus down on each side of the table.

a series of elvis presley oldies (a personal pick from yuta) played through the jukebox in the middle of the diner while you and your friends scanned the menu, yuta fidgeting and anxious with his pen and notepad, waiting for you to order.

“do you have a favorite milkshake from here?” your kind voice spoke, looking up at him.

“uh— milkshake?”

your friends snickered again, but this time, you turned to them and shot them all a menacing glare.

“hey!— stop that you guys…” you shook your head at them and turned back to a red faced yuta, smiling apologetically. “i’m sorry! i’m really sorry.”

your friends only looked annoyed as they buried their faces in their menus or looked away entirely— yuta shaking his head softly.

“n—no it’s alright. um— i usually prefer this one-”

he timidly pointed his pen downward, the words ‘elvis shake’ reading from it.

“it has uh— vanilla ice cream with peanut butter and bananas.” he pursed his lips. “if… if you like that?”

“oh i’m a whore for anything with peanut butter in it!…” your hands spread flat across the menu as you leaned closer, yuta shyly laughing a little at your wording.

you looked up then, your eyes bright and excited and yuta doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him the way you were at that moment.

“is that why you like it? because of the peanut butter?”

“yeah! yeah definitely... m— mainly because of the name though.”

you stopped and your eyebrows furrowed. “elvis? do you listen to him?”

his cheeks buzzed. “do you?”

“y/n!” one of your friends harshly whispered to you from across the table. “are we here to chit chat or are we here to eat?”

“fuck okay! jesus—”

you and the rest of your group ordered, yuta nervously scribbling down the names of various platters and drinks before silently excusing himself to send the note off to the kitchen staff.

and when it came around to serving your food, placing each individual dish down for each person— yuta gently settled the elvis shake you got in front of you, adorned with baby pink sprinkles over a mountain of whipped cream with a cherry on top, something that yuta did extra for you out of the goodness of his infatuated heart, since it didn’t come with the drink in the first place.

he didn’t know why, but he could tell that the energy was different between you and your friends the second time he came around, and after hiding in the kitchen for the entirety of the time you were there instead of outside waiting tables like he was supposed to, by the third time he came back around— you were fighting with them.

he quickly retreated behind the bar and made himself look busy, guiltily eavesdropping as he picked up a random salt shaker and falsely examined it.

“i don’t understand why you guys can’t just be nice!” you pushed. “is having a normal conversation with somebody that funny? every time?”

“y/n you always talk to a bunch of rando’s of course it’s funny.”

“what the hell does that even mean?”

“it means it looks odd and you’re embarrassing yourself every time you skip around not being mindful of who you’re having conversations with!” one of them seethed, their tone judgemental and rude and one yuta didn’t like at all.

“like— like the server today! i’m pretty sure i’ve seen him around campus, he’s odd. why were you asking him about— about— who the fuck were you asking him about?“

“elvis.” you spat. “i was asking him about elvis."

“that guy! who cares? he works here why do you have to always talk to people like that—”

“like what?!” you threw your arms up. “like a normal decent human being would? i can see why you’d lack that.”

“excuse me?”

“yeah. and it sucks for you.”

“sucks for?— okay. i think we’re done here.”

“way fucking done.”

as each of them scooched out of the booth, yuta watched with wide panicked eyes while you stayed seated and silent, arms crossed over your chest and lips tight as you glared.

“i don’t know why everyone loves you so much…” one of them muttered. “there isn’t anything to you.”

and they all walked out, the bell above the door chiming as they did.

yuta’s eyes darted from you to the exit and to them through the window outside in the parking lot, watching fucking gobsmacked as they all got in one singular car and sped off, leaving you there by yourself and with the responsibility of the bill.

soft sniffles reached him, and he turned then, your body hunched over on the table as you cried with your head down, yuta’s heart aching for you.

he put down the random salt shaker he was holding and walked around the bar, slowly making his way towards your table.

“you don’t—”

you shot up startled.

“sorry! sorry—” he awkwardly scratched his pinky cheek. “i was just— gonna say you don’t have to pay the bill… i— i can—”

“oh! no you don’t have to do that.” you wiped your cheeks. “it’s okay i can pay it.”

“but they left you the entire bill.” he said softly.

“i know… it’s okay! really.” you smiled a little through your tears, the sight making his shoulders slump.

how you could possibly smile at a time like this was beyond him.

yuta started clearing the empty plates from your table when you spoke up again.

“i’m sorry you had to deal with their attitude...” you mumbled. “and my ugly crying.”

he smiled softly and shook his head. “no it’s okay. you shouldn’t apologize for them.”

“i should though…” you whined a little. “they were being mean the moment we got here and were just straight disrespectful.”

you leaned back against the plush of the booth and crossed your arms, muttering. “it’s not like they were my friends either..”

yuta quirked a confused brow, setting the last of the plates away in the kitchen before coming back around. “they weren’t?”

“nuh uh.” you shook your head. “i had just met them today actually, from a sorority event. i thought they were nice at first but i started noticing they were a little bitchy.”

“bitchy?” he laughed a little, his heart leaping like a little leap frog at the realization that it was just you and him at the diner alone, the cooks having already gone home seeing as it was past closing time for the diner.

“yeah…” you sighed deeply through your nose. “they weren’t being very nice to the other girls there either… and— and when they asked me if i wanted to come eat here with them i didn’t really want to go but—” you pursed your lips, a sheepish look on your face. “i have a hard time saying no to people so…”

yuta’s eyes softened, leaning back against the edge of the long bar table as he eyed how resilient you tried to come across but damn well knowing you were hurting inside by their actions, your cheeks still wet and your bottom lip in a slight pout.

“what they said to you wasn’t very nice…” he murmured. “i’m sorry they did that.”

you smiled warmly. “it’s okay. i get it here and there.”

his eyebrows furrowed. “here and there? what do you mean?”

“from other people that i meet.” you perked up slightly then. “do you wanna sit?” you signaled to the seat across from you in the booth and he stiffened, eyes wide and cheeks pink as he reluctantly scooched his legs over and sat across from you.

“they just get a little mad when i don’t do what they want me to do.”

“like be mean? like them?”

you shrugged a little, but the way your gorgeous eyes peered up at him indicated that he was right. “i suppose.”

“are all of your friends like that?”

“oh no! thankfully not…” you fiddled with your fingers on the table. “a lot of them are really sweet.”

yuta never thought about how something like this could be a possibility, as all he saw was how much you were loved and idolized and sought after by literally anyone who knew your name— but he missed the mark on the logistics of it. he should’ve known certain girls wouldn’t be in favor of you and desired what you didn’t have to work very hard for to get.

he saw how you wiped the remnants of your wet cheeks and sniffed, looking like you had at least recovered from crying but still a little dejected as you slouched over the table, eyes down.

“do you want… another elvis shake?”

you looked up. “what?”

“a—another shake. do you want one?” he stood slowly from the booth. “or i could get you ice cream? we just have vanilla and chocolate but—”

“oh no! it’s okay really i don’t want to freeload over what you have—”

he giggled a little. “you’re not freeloading. i’m offering.”

and before you could reject him again, he was already making his way to the kitchen— hands skillfully prepping his favorite milkshake like he’d done so many times before since the age of sixteen, and now skillfully and lovingly preparing it for you, the girl he’s adored since the moment he started college.

you stood and timidly followed after him, but instead of fully going into the kitchen, you stopped in front of the vintage burgundy jukebox and scanned the selection of songs.

“you won’t get in trouble?” you worriedly called over your shoulder. “i don’t want you to run into issues with your job…”

“no it’s okay!” you heard from the kitchen, glasses and silverware clinking together. “i’ve been working here since high school and my manager doesn’t mind. i usually um— close on sunday’s on my own too.”

the blender went off as you spotted your favorite elvis presley song on the list of selections, perking up and quickly digging into your purse for any stray quarters you magically hoped would appear inside.

yuta switched the blender off and unhooked it from the base, pouring out the frothy liquid into a fountain glass cup.

“you close on your own on sunday’s?” your head turned to where he was, catching little glimpses of him from the doorway as he moved to and fro. “the entire restaurant?”

“yeah…” he laughed awkwardly. “well— all of the time.”

“all of the time?!” you gawked, popping your head into the kitchen and accidentally scaring him.

“oh shit!—”

“sorry!” you giggled cutely. “i’m sorry…”

he laughed with you and waved you off. “it’s okay.”

yuta looked down and proceeded topping your milkshake with baby pink sprinkles again. “and yeah we’re kind of… understaffed right now. it’s just me and another kid.”

you hummed understandingly, watching the way he finished off your shake with two cherries on top instead of one like last time, making you softly smile in response.

he plopped a straw in. “here you go.”

“thank you!” you bounced excitedly on your little toes and he grinned, handing the glass over to you gently.

“i hope you feel better…”

your milkshake filled cheeks made him laugh as you paused and swallowed, the sweetest expression ever on your face as your eyes flickered to his name tag and back to him.

“i do yuta… thank you!”

the way his name rang off your tongue, something he never ever would’ve thought to hear come out of your mouth, to come out from you, sent him feeling lightheaded as fuck as he dropped his head down to hide his rosy cheeks, walking out of the kitchen as you followed after him.

you paused in front of the jukebox again.

“oh! i didn’t get to hear your answer from earlier.”

he picked his head up. “from earlier?”

“if— if you listen to elvis?”

“oh—” his gaze drifted to where you had your focus on the elvis presley selection panel on the machine. “i do! i love his music.”

you beamed, eyes lighting up so excitedly as you looked at him.

“oh my god i love him too! so much!”

“really?” he smiled. “do you— do you have a favorite song?”

“yeah! i have a lot...” you giggled shyly. “but i mainly like ‘always on my mind.’”

“that one’s a good one!” his smile grew. “i love that one too.”

“right?!” you stepped closer to him, and his face flushed. “and you? what about you?”

“i uh— i like ‘moody blue’…”

you gushed. “i like that one too!”

you loved the way his pinky cheeks bloomed and how kind he was— the way he tried his best to make you, a stranger, feel better with a cute little milkshake, his stuttering and fidgeting something that you found yourself adoring and only made your heart mushy with the weird need to pinch his rosy cheeks.

and he loved elvis.

“i’m glad you like him.” you hummed, running the pad of your index finger mindlessly over the smooth glittery surface of the jukebox. “people don’t really listen to him or oldies in general now.”

you gently set your nearly finished milkshake on the bar table as he nodded his head in agreement, thinking he couldn’t fall more in love with you over the fact that you actually liked one of his favorite artists. “i didn’t—expect you to either…”

you tilted your head. “really? why?”

“because—” he stammered, eyes darting around your breathtaking face. “well you’re popular. and pretty. and in a sorority. and i just—”

“oh— i see!” you smiled with blushing cheeks at his quick compliment, but it didn’t really reach your eyes. “i understand.”

“no but!—” your eyes stayed glued to the jukebox, and he worried that he might’ve accidentally offended you as he frantically tried to get his words together.

“i know it’s all stereotypes and assumptions so i’m— i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright!” you giggled softly. “i just don’t want you or anyone to get the wrong impression of me because of those things is all…”

your eyebrows pinched in thought, and he quickly shook his head.

“i’ve never!” he reached and placed a hand on your shoulder, your cheeks growing hot as he did so. “i’ve never gotten the wrong impression of you…”

“no?”

“no.”

you peered up at him. “what do you think of me then?”

“what do i—” he gulped. “what do i think?”

“yeah!”

“i think uh… you’re really nice.” he mumbled. “really nice. to everyone.. to me. doesn’t matter who honestly. and… you’re not afraid to say something if someone is being rude.”

yuta shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he avoided your gaze. “and you’re helpful… you put a lot of care into the things that you do, which are always never for your own benefit but for the benefit of others.”

he froze. “i— i see you around campus! a lot— so…”

your doe eyes were soft and filled with affection and warmth, the weight of his words settling into your mind as if they’ve always belonged there. as if he’s always belonged there.

you wrung your fingers behind your back then and leaned up on your tippy toes.

“you think i’m pretty?”

beautiful.

yuta hadn’t even realized that he had called you that until the moment you mentioned it again, his eyes widening as his wobbly lips tried to form coherent sentences for you.

“well— well who doesn’t...” he squeaked.

“but do you?” you leaned even closer, your cute smile nearly making him want to blurt out that he’s in love with you and that he’s maybe thought about you being the mother of his children from time to time.

“i— i do.” his eyes flickered back to yours. “i do.”

you bit your bottom lip and gleamed, giving into your impulses and reaching up to gently squeeze his flushed cheek.

“you’re so cute yuta…” you murmured, arm falling back to your side and eyes casting over the jukebox again.

and he nearly just about died.

“do you want a little donut?” he asked. “i— i can get it from the back—”

you and yuta spent literally the rest of the night until two in the morning chit chatting, playing various oldies tunes on the jukebox that conspired of mainly elvis presley, and yuta literally feeding you and giving you anything he possibly could just so he could watch the way you beamed at him every time he did— even when at one point you literally begged him that it was okay, your tummy absolutely filled with sugary sweets and drinks.

you even helped yuta close— disinfecting and wiping down all of the tables, sweeping the floors, triple shining the little elvis mural the diner had by the hostess stand, and organizing the menu’s for tomorrow’s shift.

in the midst of you wiping down the last of the big glass windows by the entrance with him, you thought of something.

“oh my god yuta—” your head snapped in his direction, his eyes widening at your sudden outburst.

“what if i work here?”

he stopped.

“work here?”

“yeah!” you nodded vigorously. “with you!”

he bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming. “with me?”

“uh huh!” you chirped sweetly. “i would love to wipe down tables and listen to music with you everyday..”

yuta’s ears went red as he heard your soft voice say something so cute, wanting to literally run into the kitchen to the sink and dunk his face in sink water to cool off his boiling face.

“if that’s okay!” you sputtered. “am i being weird? am i freaking you out—”

“no! no not at all!” the corners of his lips curled, and he smiled, genuinely smiled. a big loving one that made his cheeks hurt with how hard he was doing it, and one that made your heart lightly flutter inside your chest at the way he was looking at you.

“i can talk to my manager.” he spoke gently. “i’m pretty sure he’ll take you.”

you bounced excitedly on your tippy toes, unexpectedly throwing your arms around him and landing a big fat kiss to his cheek.

“thank you thank you!”

yuta kept true to his word and talked to his manager the following day, who barely even had to think about it since he trusted yuta more than his own damn kids, waving him off and giving him the all clear to have you start the coming week.

“look look! do you likkeeyyy?”

you twirled around in your waitress uniform, the frilly pink fabric moving and swaying with every spin you made as he casually tried to bite down on his thumb in stupid restraint.

“it’s great!” he muttered, teeth locked around his thumb still. “you look great y/n.”

“thanks thanks!”

and you hopped over, giving him another quick kiss on the cheek before skipping away to the kitchen, him ecstatic as he’d been wanting another one so fucking badly again since the first time you did it— him biting down even harder on his thumb when you disappeared from view.

“why do you look like you’re about to shit yourself?”

yuta whipped around and saw his other coworker, yuji, the kid who shares shifts with him sometimes and spills everything and anything that comes out of his mouth without thinking twice about it, standing next to him with a clueless face.

yuji then wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. “is it the girl? the pretty one? the one with the big ass—”

“knock it off—” yuta shoved him away lightly and walked off, crouching down behind the bar counter and sorting through piles of rolled up silverware and buffet napkins.

“do you like her? yes or no?” yuji leaned against the edge of the bar.

his cheeks went pink.

“because if not i’m gonna go try y’know—”

yuta scoffed. “yuji you’re a freshman in high school and we’re in college. she’s in college—”

“okay maybe she likes them young? cougar moment?”

yuta looked at him absolutely horrified and bewildered. “you’re fucking insane—”

his reaction and response only made yuji double over in a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath as yuta looked at him with an unamused face.

“i’m kidding! i’m just kidding i know you like her you’ve been red in the face the minute she clocked in—”

“what’s so funny?”

you popped your head in from the kitchen, making yuta jump again and yuji double over laughing like before, you giving yuta an apologetic look.

“i wanna laugh!” you pouted. “what happened? what’s funny?”

“yuta didn’t like the joke i made.” yuji quipped.

“well what was it? maybe i will!” you smiled sweetly.

“i said—”

“don’t say it!”

yuji ducked as yuta threw a kids menu at him.

“yuta has a cru—”

“shut the fuck up!—”

you covered your mouth with your hands in a little fit of giggles, the sound halting yuta mid throw to look at you with wide dreamy eyes— not wanting to miss the way you laughed and the way your nose crinkled with every hiccup.

yuji snickered and he shot him a glare before standing and walking over to where you stood.

“you don’t wanna hear it…” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with a buffet napkin. “it was freaking weird.”

you settled your giggles down and breathed, nodding cutely. “i’ll take your word for it, yu.”

yu.

“eeehh?! look y/n! look at his face!—”

“shut up!”

for the rest of the days and shifts that you spent together, yuta made it his mission to do things for you to hopefully earn him a sweet cheek kiss in return like last time, all while desperately trying to avoid yuji and his big ginormous annoying mouth actively corrupting some of his attempts on purpose.

yuta would try and bring you any kind of pastry he could give away to you without his manager knowing, or make you milkshakes randomly throughout your shifts or small BLT’s during lunch time to feed you, all for the purpose of watching the way you’d smile and hug him gratefully each time, and if he got lucky, a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“i don’t get it.” yuji shook his head during one of your shifts, him shuffling through a movie magazine on his break. “why don’t you just ask her for a kiss on the cheek? hm? i’d bet she’d do it! ooo better yet—” he looked at him with sarcastic laced excitement. “ask her out you little loser.”

yuta’s cheeks were hot as he listened, watching you from the kitchen take orders and scribble them down on a notepad.

“it’s been months yuta. months. i am in agony every day watching you follow her around like a lost puppy even though it’s the funniest thing i’ve ever seen.”

yuta rolled his eyes, but sent him a small sad smile. “can’t do it.”

“why not?” he whined. “she likes you too!”

“because she’s out of my league.” yuta pursed his lips. “and no i don’t think she likes me.”

“oh man—” yuji hunched over the sink, tossing his magazine to the side and gripping the rim in exhaustion. “she kisses your cheeks and hugs you and literally took this job because of you! what more proof do you want?!” he grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “a straight up confession?! a straight up kiss?!”

yuta’s heart accelerated at the thought as he pictured yuji’s words clear in his mind.

would you ever kiss him?… would you ever like him back?

“m—maybe?”

“what about school! do you guys not hang out or talk at school?”

“we do!” yuta perked up, but his shoulders quickly slumped. “we’re in different circles though so it’s always just for a little bit or casually.”

yuji groaned loudly and smacked a hand over his forehead. “it’s useless. you’re on your own man i tried i tried so hard i can’t help you—”

he continued to mutter under his breath as he picked up his backpack and walked out of the kitchen and out of the restaurant, the end of his shift drawing near as yuta laughed to himself over his words.

he appreciated how much yuji cared and how badly he wanted him to succeed, but even though his unrealistic expectations and hopes annoyed him most of the time as he blabbed on to him about them, yuta knew he was just a kid. so he valued it anyways.

“yu!” you spoke from behind the bar, him quickly rubbing his sweaty palms over his pants as he walked out of the kitchen to you.

“i’m so excited for tonight!” you smiled, your giddy little self practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation.

he laughed. “you’re excited to clean?”

“yup yup! i’m excited to clean with you.”

with him.

yuta adored sunday’s because that’s when you were both scheduled to close together on your own— just like the first time you did months ago, back when you weren’t working there yet.

there were no cooks, no yuji, no manager, and no customers. just you and him as you blasted elvis singles on the jukebox and got a sugar high from the ice cream machine as you wiped down tables and dusted off shelves— one time you literally slipping on the checkered tile by the entrance because you forgot you had just mopped the floor, yuta practically jumping over the bar counter to see if you were okay and him absolutely sick and worried over nothing as he showered you with more pastries and sweets to help you feel better.

that sunday night he got a kiss on the cheek.

so as you both bid the last customers a good night and got right to work, yuta considered yuji’s dumb words.

maybe he should just ask?

“if elvis was still alive i would probably sell myself to go see him.”

he let out a shocked laugh. “sell yourself? like prostitution?”

“mhm!” you hummed, wiping down the bar counter. “think about it— his tickets would probably cost like three thousand dollars. where the hell am i gonna get three thousand dollars? i’m broke and in college.”

yuta shook his head, his lips in an amused grin. “anything for elvis.”

“exactly!” you leaned over the counter excitedly, yuta on the other side with pink cheeks and a fuzzy feeling in his heart. “you get it. only you understand me.”

he laughed.

“i think it’d be cool if they brought him back as a hologram and did concerts that way.” yuta suggested.

you gasped incredulously as a hand flew to slap over your mouth. “yu! you little genius! oh my god i have to start pimping myself out now—”

yuta laughed again and shook his head. “don’t do that. we’ll find a way to get in.”

“we?!” you propped yourself up on the counter with your elbows and cupped his hands in yours, him stiffening with wide eyes and wobbly nervous lips. “you wanna go with me?”

“y—yeah.” he stammered. “of— of course…”

you squealed and nodded quickly, seemingly accepting the hypothetical proposal.

but then you settled down a little. your eyelashes slowly fluttering as you stared at him— a slow 50s love song statically murmuring through the jukebox adding to the atmosphere as you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

but this time it was different.

it wasn’t quick and cutesy and one that yuta barely had time to bask over before you pranced away. it was slow, tender, and yuta could feel the way your soft lips touched his skin and left behind a burn as he let his eyes close at the blissful gentle feeling, him finally able to relish in the rarity of it before you slightly began pulling away, eyes twinkling.

“…do you still think i’m pretty?” you whispered.

he swallowed thickly, your face so close he could feel your breath fanning across his lips.

“i do.” he whispered back, eyes locked on yours. “very much so.”

you bit your bottom lip as you smiled, ever so slightly leaning closer and closer to him as your lips nearly brushed against—

riinnggg!

you quickly pulled away and ran to the back to answer the phone, leaving yuta sitting there swooning and nearly collapsing on the table, his hands cold from not being encased in your own soft hands anymore.

but most of all… leaving him confused. he didn’t know why you were leaning in like that.

“i’m sorry we’re closed for the day!… uh huh… we open at eight am tomorrow if—”

yuta could still feel the blaze your lips left behind on his cheek as you spoke on the phone, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he tried to get his head back down from the clouds and simmer down the beating of his heart.

“someone wanted to come in right now!” you exclaimed, coming back over to your previous spot.

he furrowed his eyebrows. “right now? are you serious? it’s—” he spun around on the barstool and turned his head to the coca cola themed vintage clock on the wall. “it’s nearly twelve am?”

“i know!” you breathed out. “we closed four hours ago.”

“four?!—”

it dawned on the both of you how long you had been inside the diner, fully convinced it would’ve been longer if you hadn’t noticed.

so as the two of you mutually agreed to finish up and gather your things— the jukebox switched to an iconic elvis presley slow love song as you were just about halfway through the entrance double doors, eyes snapping to each other’s.

“aw i love this one…” you spoke softly, a little whine seeping through.

a small close lipped smile spread across his face. “i love this one too.”

“do you wanna—” you stopped.

his eyebrows pinched. “do i wanna what?”

“do you wanna… dance with meee?” you dragged out cutely, slightly bouncing on your toes.

“dance?” his eyes widened. “i— i don’t know how—”

“s’okay! i’ll teach you!”

you quickly pulled his hand and dragged him out, opening one door and jamming a door stopper underneath it so the music of the jukebox leaked out of the diner and through the empty street.

the pavement was a little wet from the morning rain as you took his hand again and pulled him to the middle of the dead empty street, the bottom of your shoes tapping and splashing a little with each tiny puddle you stepped in.

elvis presley’s voice softly hummed through the air, but it was loud and clear to the both of you as you gently took yuta’s hands and set them around your waist, his heart fucking palpitating and feeling like he was about to have a stroke when you wrung your arms over his neck and showed him that pretty smile he loved so much.

you both slowly stepped side to side, the air crispy and cold as your breath’s blew out foggy misty clouds due to the condensation, both of your noses and cheeks flushing red and buzzing warmly as you continued to slow dance— yuta’s grip slowly tightening until he was practically hugging you flush against his body.

out of anything that could possibly happen to yuta in his life, he wanted to remember this moment specifically— with you, dancing in the middle of the street listening to the man that essentially brought you both together in the first place, your beautiful beautiful face looking at him like he was the most important thing in your life… yuta wanting so badly for that to come true as he basked in this little made up scenario in his head that you were already his.

“yu…” you murmured.

he didn’t trust his voice.

“hm?”

“why haven’t you kissed me yet.”

what?

“kissed… you?”

“yeah..” you whispered, your bodies swaying. “don’t you like me?”

yuta let out a shaky breath. “i— i mean yeah… who doesn’t?”

your smile faltered. “i’m talking about you though…”

“oh. well you know i do. i’m sure a lot of other guys would want to kiss you.”

the song drawled to a gradual close and the jukebox reset, you both no longer swaying but still holding on to each other.

your eyes drifted to the side. “other guys?”

he pursed his lips, not really liking the thought of you kissing guys, but answering your question anyways. “yeah… other guys.”

his emphasis on other guys and not on himself left a bad taste in your mouth.

your eyes narrowed in confusion as you looked up at him, yuta a little shocked at your sad expression.

did he say something wrong?

“i thought—” you shook your head softly. “i thought you…?”

“…thought me what?” he cocked his head to the side, his genuine confusion solidifying his rejection in your eyes.

“i— i thought—”

your hands slipped from his shoulders and you stepped back, yuta sadly complying and letting his arms open and fall beside him as you rapidly blinked back tears, his eyes slowly widening once he caught it.

“hey— are you okay? what’s wrong?”

yuta went and reached for you, you backing away in response as you shook your head and gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes at all.

“why are you crying? did i say something mean? i’m sorry—”

“no no i’m fine.” your voice was quiet and sad. “i think we should go home now.”

his shoulders deflated.

“are you sure? we— we usually hang out until at least one in the morning on sunday’s…”

you walked past him and towards the double doors of the diner, letting your tears slip in secret as you picked up your school bag and swung it over your shoulder, quickly wiping your cheeks before picking up his bag and giving it to him.

yuta thanked you and hoisted his backpack up on himself, ushering you gently to step to the side as he pulled the door stopper from beneath and placed it in its corresponding place by the entrance, letting the door close on its own before pulling out the keys from the pocket of his jacket and locking the diner up.

he did all of this— completely unaware to the way you were trying to quiet down your sniffles behind him.

you were so sure he liked you back… now you just felt a little stupid.

of course— the one genuine guy you came across that you actually liked out of all the others that you’ve met, one that wasn’t like the rest and was sweet and funny and caring and so so attentive of you… didn’t like you back.

the one thing you truly truly wanted, you simply couldn’t have— you walking ahead of yuta in silence through the parking lot with your arms crossed as you wondered if the way he treated you was literally just because that’s how he was as a person.

a good person at that. way too good for this world, and way too good for you.

yuta didn’t know why you were so quiet, his chest a bit achy at the absence of your usual cheerful voice.

when you reached your cars, you barely even bid him a proper goodbye like you always did before you got in your car and sped away, leaving a perplexed yuta standing alone in the parking lot— eyebrows pinched together in clueless concern.

you were acting so weird, and you unfortunately continued to do so for the following week.

the next time you came into the diner (which was literally the next day), yuta was taken aback by how bloodshot and sunken your eyes were when you came in for your shift, not saying a single peep to yuji and him when you walked through the kitchen or through the bar counter like you usually did… and it was weird.

through the bustling of the busy restaurant, it was oddly quiet to the two boys, simply because you weren’t your usual boastful self.

and you were hardly talking to yuta either… which pained him the most. you kept it strictly casual— as if you weren’t completely tied together every fucking day for almost a year now, you just completely casual about your day and about the things you had to do whenever he asked you, your one word dry responses sending him through the worst confusing and sadistic loop of his life.

but it wasn’t casual at all. nothing about you was casual. so why were you acting like this? did you finally maybe open your eyes and realize yuta was a big fat nobody who didn’t belong with a girl like you?

yuta nearly cried at the thought. perhaps you had finally realized that.

but how fucking cruel was it that he lived a year of love and beauty and everything that was just you, getting a taste of what it would be like to live a life where you thought of him as something really special and a life where you wanted to basically do everything with him— only to be ripped away from him overnight? with no explanation?

by wednesday, yuta was dead inside.

you didn’t seem to want to do anything with him anymore like before. you didn’t excitedly jump and squeal and bounce on your little toes when it was time for the both of you to clean during your shift or restock the ice cream machine. you didn’t talk to him about elvis anymore or about another ludicrous idea on how to resurrect him from the dead— you didn’t smile like you used to whenever he tried to give you a small pastry, actually rejecting it instead, and you didn’t kiss his cheeks anymore.

by friday, yuji was fed the fuck up.

“what the fuck did you do?!” he whispered harshly at him from the bar, you somewhere in the diner taking orders. “that woman is like a walking zombie. her eyes have been red like red since monday, and she’s not yapping about elvis anymore.”

yuta leaned against the counter with a flat palm to his forehead in worry, feeling like he was gonna be fucking sick over you.

“i— i don’t know.” he stuttered. “i truly don’t know i don’t know what i said that’s making her act like that.”

“okay run it back for me run it back.” he placed both hands on his shoulders and roughly pulled yuta to face him. “explain to me again what happened on sunday.”

“we were closing…”

“uh huh?”

“she wanted to slow dance in the street so we did…”

“okay cute i love that part okay keep going..?”

“and then she asked why haven’t i kissed her—“

“she what?!” yuji choked, “you didn’t tell me this part! you fucking jumped to the parking lot!”

“my bad…” yuta muttered.

“shit— whatever keep going.”

“she also said that she thought i liked her and i said who doesn’t… and then i told her i was sure other guys would want to kiss her.”

“you said other guys?”

yuta’s eyebrows pinched. “yeah?”

“you. said…” yuji repeatedly slowly. “other. guys.”

“yes i did—”

“oh you’re done.” he rapidly shook his head. “i can’t help you i’ve done all i can you’re my buddy and i love you but i cannot take this anymore—”

“woah woah slow the fuck down—” he narrowed his eyes. “what’s so bad about what i said?”

“you rejected her.”

“what? no i didn’t—”

“yes!” yuji nodded frantically. “yes you did you freaking dingus! yuta she wanted a kiss from you a kiss! she literally said ‘when are you going to kiss me!’”

“i thought she was joking about that?” he answered softly.

“i might die early if you don’t figure this out right now.” yuji spat. “when you said other guys, she took it as you saying you’re sure other guys would want to kiss her and not you! do you understand what i’m trying to say?!”

yuta stayed silent.

“you said ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you,’ which is you indirectly saying ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you but not me.’ emphasis on others—”

“holy fucking shit.”

why was yuji kind of smart?

“oh thank god!” yuji breathed out, throwing his hands up in the air before clasping them together and looking up at the ceiling, his eyes screwed shut as he shook his interlocked hands and prayed.

“thank you! thank you elvis presley for finally making him see what a dumbass he’s been this entire year especially this moment your music has never been better—”

yuta shoved his fingers through his hair, his eyes bulging open. “holy fucking shit what the fuck did i do?!”

you walked past the bar just then and they both shot their arms down and tried to appear as nonchalant as humanly possible, you not even sparing them a glance as you walked over to the kitchen and disappeared from view.

“oh you have got to fix this.”

yuta spent the rest of the week trying to devise a plan to ease into the situation and have a conversation with you about it, but doing it fucking poorly as he miserably couldn’t come up with anything and yuji having even worse ideas— going as far as to suggesting he kidnaps you and takes you to elvis presley’s home in graceland and apologize there, yuji calling it a ‘grand gesture.’

by sunday, yuta was grasping at straws.

you slowly looked up from the bar as you saw a little sprinkled donut pastry slide across from the other side, your stinging eyes locking with yuta’s and feeling an immediate colossal pang through your chest when you saw him.

“you um—” yuta sighed softly through his nose. “you haven’t had a donut from here in a while…”

“oh.” your eyes stayed glued to the pastry. “thank you but i’m alright. i’m not that hungry right now.”

yuta bit his tongue. “please.”

he wasn’t pleading for you to eat the damn donut, but he pathetically couldn’t get the words out properly either.

“i don’t want it i’m okay.”

“why not?” he pushed. “you love donuts. you haven’t accepted my milkshakes either and you love those too.”

“i got sick of them.”

yuta froze.

you sounded like a completely different person at the moment, and yuta knew that your words held an entirely different meaning to them— his heart literally throwing up all over his insides in distress.

it was near closing time, the last pair of customers just about finishing up their meal as you both stared solemnly at the uneaten donut.

“are you—” yuta cleared his throat. “are you mad at me?”

the customers called you over then, and you quickly pushed yourself off from the edge and walked over as yuta heard your kind customer service voice from somewhere in the diner finalizing the bill for them, the bell above the door chiming as they left— you coming back around to stand back on the other side of the bar.

“sorry what did—”

“are you mad at me.”

you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “no. why would i be mad?”

“are you upset with me?”

you hummed a no.

yuta wanted to rip his hair out at the fact that he couldn’t fucking think of what to say to you— not wanting to accidentally say something that could offend you like last time without him even knowing, as he didn’t trust his mouth for shit.

“you haven’t looked okay since last sunday.” he murmured. “you don’t look happy around me anymore.”

you pulled your lips into a thin line and pressed hard, already feeling tears threatening to spill.

“it’s just school. it’s tough at the moment.” you mumbled.

“you’re lying.”

you slightly snorted. “okay thanks.”

“no— fuck i did it again.” he screwed his eyes shut. “i know you’re upset with me and i know you’re mad at me. you don’t talk to me as much, you don’t— you don’t take any of the sweets and drinks i give you when you always do, and you refuse to talk to me about elvis.”

“it’s school yuta i don’t know what else to tell you.”

he groaned and pushed himself off the bar, swiftly making his way around the counter to stand right in front of you as your pretty red eyes widened, your body immediately fidgeting.

“please… i miss you.” he mumbled, and your bottom lip started to wobble. “i miss when you wanted me around.”

“i— i do want you around.” you said, so so softly he could barely hear you.

“then please tell me what you’re feeling.”

you brought your hands up and pressed your fingers into your eyes, trying your absolute hardest to keep the tears inside as your body trembled.

“it’s all me it’s not you so— so please don’t worry about it it’s school and— and—”

“i love you.”

you paused.

yuta shakily pried your fingers away from your eyes, holding them in his hands as silent tears escaped down your cheeks.

you shook your head. “no you don’t. you’re just saying that—”

“i love you.”

“stop it you’re being mean i don’t need you to tell me you love me because you feel bad for me—”

you tried to tear your hands away but his grip only tightened as he shook his head and wrung you in, pressing your hands flat over his heart and holding them there as he leaned and pushed his lips to yours, the taste and feeling of you complete fucking paradise as he hoped that the weight of his lips were conveying how much he truly fucking loved you, how much he truly needed you in his life and how much he wanted you to treat him like he was something to you again.

he was tired of you carrying around the missing half of him, but not because he wanted you to give it back.

he wanted you to keep it. he wanted you to keep it forever and ever and not let it dangle over ineptly like you’d done for the past week. he wanted you to kiss it and shove it next to your heart and keep it there snug where it belonged until the day that he died.

the jukebox murmured another soft 50s tune, you slowly but surely letting your tense shoulders relax as you allowed your lips to move against his, your heart screaming and zooming through your bones at the fact that this man was kissing you like you’d wanted and dreamed for him to do so badly for the past year.

you both slowly pulled away with your lips quietly smacking apart, your stunning face finally looking at him the way you always did, the way you used to, even if it was a little timid still.

“are you lying?” you murmured.

his eyes softened as he gently shook his head.

“absolutely not.”

“but you rejected me.”

he sighed through his nose, his hands still pressing yours over his heart as you felt it beat rapidly under your palms.

“i— i didn’t mean to. i swear to god i didn’t mean to.” he gently dropped his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “i was being stupid and worded everything wrong. but— but i’m telling you now that i wanted to kiss you… so fucking bad. you’re too pretty for me so i honestly thought i just didn’t stand a chance…”

you couldn’t believe it.

“i don’t want other guys to kiss you.” he continued. “not at all… just me.”

“just you?” you murmured, and he nodded against your forehead.

“just me.” he propped his chin on the top of your head. “i’m sorry i hurt you and made you cry.”

“no yu…” you spoke gently. “i’m sorry too. and i’m sorry i said i was sick of the sweets you give me… i was lying i love them.”

he chuckled softly.

“it’s okay… i know.” yuta gently caressed your fingers with his thumbs. “but i love you pretty.”

“i love you.” you whispered, and you slid your hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down in a warm embrace as he copied and pulled your body to his so so tightly, your hearts beating in time with one another as he felt his fingertips go numb at your confession, kissing your soft little cheeks over and over and over again until he got giggles out of you.

yuta loved sunday’s… and so did you.

and when he asked you to be his girlfriend that same night while standing over the jukebox, staring at the elvis presley song selection like you’d done many times together before in the past, yuta for the first time realized that he hadn’t felt alone since the moment you came into the diner with your mean friends— finding himself actually thanking them in his head for that, realizing that if they hadn’t then you probably would’ve left with them and he would’ve never gotten the chance to speak to you that night.

the next time you both came into work, you back to your usual jumpy self as you took every pastry that yuta gave you again and babbled about elvis and how you were gonna spend your hypothetical prostitution money on a flight to memphis to see his grave and pay your respects, yuji was elated.

“what happened?! you have to tell me what happened come on you can’t keep it from me i’m just a boy—”

you skipped into the kitchen then and smoothly walked in between them, pressing a gentle cute peck to yuta’s lips before grabbing what you needed from the back and walking back out, yuji’s mouth flinging open and his jaw hitting the fucking floor.

“how— what— when— where—”

you stepped back in after a second and bounded over next to yuta, his eyes soft as he watched you lean your head on his shoulder.

“what?” you asked. “what’s wrong yuji?”

“oh god no!” he wailed, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes in agony. “i thought this is what i wanted but it’s not! i want a kiss like that man!”

he flew to his knees in front of you and took your hand in his. “y/n why can’t you just wait for me please?! wait five years you’re so pretty i won’t confuse you like this dingbat and i’ll give you better sweets and milkshakes than him please!—”

yuta took your hand and slapped yuji’s away. “you freak stand up man the floor is dirty—”

“i need a popular gorgeous girlfriend like you yuta! how could you do this?! i thought we were brothers?! what spell did you cast?! have you ever learned jujutsu?! what have i done!—”

your manager popped his head into the kitchen and you all stiffened.

“yuji why are you crying? everyone outside can hear you, kid.”

yuji flew to his feet and shook his head. “m’not crying sir. everything is fine just fine and dandy sir.”

“okay… well can you check on your tables? leave yuta and y/n to work.”

“yes sir i’ll check on them sir.”

your manager nodded, muttering something about today’s generation as he left and went back inside his office, yuji walking out of the kitchen shortly after with his head down as you both tried your hardest to keep your laughter in, hands tightly clasped over your mouths and silently snickering to keep yuji from hearing it on the other side.

“p—poor him.” you heaved, a hand over your chest. “i hope— i hope he finds his ‘popular girlfriend’ when he’s older.”

“i wish her luck.” he muttered, and your hand slapped back over your mouth again as you burst into another fit of giggles alongside him.

yuta sheepishly outstretched his arms for you once you both settled down, you perking up excitedly with a cutesy little grin as you skipped into them, your arms wrapping snug around his torso as he brought his around your shoulders and squeezed, earning a tiny squeak from you that made him laugh.

he hoped to god he wasn’t dreaming.

yuta started shifting his weight from one to the other, gently moving and swaying you side to side in the kitchen as you giggled and let him lead you like that.

“you slow dancing yu?” you murmured softly, head coming up to give him a kiss on the cheek as he blushed.

“yeah..” he hummed. “i like it when we do.”

“i do too yu… it’s like our little thing! we’re so vintage.”

he snorted, and a charming beautiful smile spread across your face— one that made him wonder how he ever managed to land you when all he did was wait tables and stutter foolishly and wasn’t anyone particularly special like you were.

but you. you were everything. everything and way fucking more as you looked at him like he built the diner himself brick by brick for reasons he still couldn’t understand why.

yuta spoke after a moment.

“…what do you think of me?” he murmured suddenly, cheek mushing up against the side of your head as your brows furrowed.

“what do i think of you?” you asked, your perplexed face slowly shifting to one of realization as it dawned on you how yuta was reiterating your words to him from when you first met.

he grinned. “yeah.”

you pulled back to face him.

“i think you’re kind… you always have been even when i didn’t deserve it.”

his jaw dropped. “what? didn’t deserve it?—”

“i’m not finished!” you pouted, and he playfully rolled his eyes as he shut his lips.

“you’re too good to me yu…” you sighed a little. “you’re so helpful and selfless, and even when things piss you off you still take the time to appreciate them… like yuji.”

you both snickered then, and yuta brought his head down and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“i love the way you love, yuta. i love the way you love me and take care of me and always feed me…” you giggled. “without me ever having to ask.”

you felt his arms tighten around you.

“don’t ever think that you aren’t special to me or anyone or i’ll kill you and go to graceland without you.”

he laughed loudly in your neck and pulled back, half lidded ditzy loving eyes staring back as he leaned in and kissed you— gentle and delicate, his hands coming up to cup your warm cheeks.

“jesus man table nine would not stop asking me for— oh god no!”

you and yuta jumped apart, yuji immediately wailing and crying again as he flung himself to the floor on his knees.

“really?! in my kitchen?! in front of my face?! how cruel can you be yuta?! y/n can you maybe give me a ki—”

yuta leaned down and smacked him upside the head.

“owwwuhh! what’s wrong with just one little kiss man?!—”

“cut. it. out!—”

and just like always, the week came and went, sunday fast approaching as the day eventually came to close the diner together like lovely clockwork— wiping down tables and sweeping the floors, organizing the menu’s and restocking the crayons for the little kids, gulping down milkshakes with yuta like water as you worked…

but most importantly— sharing long kisses in between each sweeping rotation, kissing and pinching his cheeks repeatedly whenever he asked or did literally anything, and slow dancing to the same 50s love song that played when you first tried to kiss him at the bar that one night, swaying together in a silly way and giggling whenever you’d both nearly topple over to the floor— yuta beaming and lovesick as he looked down at your gorgeous smile and your gorgeous face… it gleaming with so much purpose, so much pure love and importance and value for him as you danced—

that yuta decided he wanted you to keep the other remaining half of him too.

forever.

this! is the song that was playing when reader was about to give yuta a kissy kissy on the bar counter, and again at the end if you’re curious :3 it was playing when i wrote it and it literally fit so well and lifted my entire body and spirit and i felt like i was THERE MAN! <333

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @fushigurioo @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs

(HATE when tumblr doesn’t let me tag some of yall i don’t know why it does that!!)

[nightingale-prompts]

Health Code Violation- DC x DP prompt

"Hold on there. You're not permitted beyond this point." The floating teenage boy said as he tucked his clipboard under his arm.

After a battle with another world-ending villain Superman was killed in action and after a short debate the decision to revive him using the Lazarus Pit was made. However, the league members who were carrying his body to the pit didn't expect it to be blocked off with caution tape. A teenage boy with stark white hair and wearing a hard hat and orange construction vest.

"What are you doing out here kid? And what is with the tape?" Barry asked shifting Clark's heavy ass body from crushing him.

"I'm here to take a look at the leak." He said pointing a thumb in the direction of the green pit.

"The leak?" Diana echoed in confusion.

"Yeah, your planet has a leak. A few actually. Our realm hasn't been managed well and now that the old king is gone we need to fix some things. Right now the leaks need to be sealed." He said. "Also what's with the dead guy?"

"We were bringing him to the Lazarus Pit to revive him." Barry said blankly.

The teen shook his head in astonishment almost dropping his clipboard.

"You are what?! With the what?!"

"The Lazarus pit...?" Hal laughed nervously his face in a half-quirked smile.

"You call it a Lazarus Pit? Guys this is a pool of contaminated ectoplasm. Basically sewage. This thing is full of dead people juice. All those leftover emotions and obsessions are stewing in there. You toss that body in these pool and you'll make a revenant full of anger. It doesn't even have an ecosystem to cleanse it. It's like stagnant water." The teen said waving his pen around before pausing "Wait a minute....you people have been using it? No wonder it's so polluted! What is wrong with you?! Are you trying to contaminate your planet? Do you want zombies?"

It was kind of weird to be scolded by a kid, for everyone but Bruce. He thought of a more pragmatic approach. He didn't like the pit but he acknowledged it's usefulness.

"I understand. But we do want to save our friend and the only way is to use the pit."

"That's a big ask. The pit is one thing but bringing back the dead willy nilly? ...But I guess that's my domain now.. "

The teen mumbled to himself before sighing.

"Look, I want to help. I really do. But the pit is unstable and there are many more on this planet with the same issue. We can't risk an apocalypse and the chance they get into the wrong hands. This is for the safety of your planet." The teen said as mannerly as possible as he dismissed the heros.

"Come on, please. Our friend is dead. You don't want our friend to die." Barry said pleadingly.

"Very mature of you. A bit of shame might help you...alright fine but don't badger me again." The silver-haired being said taking out a small syringe and taking a sample of his own blood.

"It's diluted compared to the pure stuff but 10x stronger than the stuff in the pool. It's safer and once he's kicking again it'll drain out of his system." He tossed the needle to Barry and returned to taking samples of the pit. "This biohazard requires an ecologist. I'll have to import some blob feeders to clean up the toxins. Then either seal this up or link it to the network. But these dumb mortals are just going to keep dumping bodies into it."

The teen mumbled to himself as he tried to find a solution.

A week later all the Lazarus pits had disappeared. The Al Ghuls were scrambling as the source of their powers dried up.

Clark was alive and feeling better than ever. No pit rage at all.

Eventually the boy returned.

"I had a talk with the ancients and they agreed to let you have one ecto pool. Only one thought and it has to be managed by me. As long as you don't try abusing it by going into it while alive or not asking permission I'll allow you to use it. Also, be mindful of my cleaning wisps, they work very hard to keep the natural flow of the ecto cycle going." The teen said holding up a green little ghost blob and petting it.

[sidekick-hero]

“Hey, have you seen Harrington? Guy’s totally wasted. Can't even stand. Tried to get up, fell down like a goddamn turtle. Garrison's over there throwing chips at him. It’s hysterical, you gotta check this out, man.”

The upside to being the guy everyone calls ‘the Freak’—the guy no one wants to talk to unless they’re looking to buy—is that Eddie can disappear whenever he wants. And tonight, he’s been in full stealth mode, almost ghost-like in the way he drifts through the shadows of this overcrowded house party. When he’s not standing on lunch tables at school, giving speeches, or taunting the assholes who think they run the place, Eddie finds that people tend to forget he’s even there.

Which makes it real easy to hear all kinds of things he probably shouldn’t. Not that Carver's announcement is any kind of secret, not with the way he’s broadcasting it to the entire room. Ever since Harrington lost his King Steve status, the rest of the jock squad has been scrambling to claw their way to the top. It’s desperate. Pathetic, really, if you ask him. But no one’s ever asking Eddie for his opinion.

He should get out of here. Most of his stash is gone, and it’s getting late. There’s leftover mac and cheese in the fridge with his name on it, and if he bolts now, he might just catch the midnight rerun of The Thing.

Eddie tries to ignore the mental image of Harrington—Steve, Steve—sprawled out on that grimy carpet, covered in crumbs and dirt, drenched in stale beer. He must feel defenseless. The kind of defenseless that Eddie knows too well, the kind that gets you laughed at, or worse. But just because Harrington buys a dime bag off him every week doesn’t mean they’re friends. Even if they’ve had a few surprisingly not-awful conversations. Even if Steve’s actually kind of funny for a rich kid, for a jock.

There’s no reason for Eddie to care about what’s happening to Steve Harrington, just like Steve never cared about him.

So why the hell are his feet carrying him toward the living room instead of the back door? Why is he elbowing people out of the way, pushing through the circle of gawkers around Steve? Why are his hands grabbing Steve by the shoulders, hauling him up, and dragging him out before anyone even knows what’s happening?

And why, for the love of God, is he driving to his trailer with Steve snoring in the passenger seat, instead of dumping the guy at his parents' mansion and going home?

Eddie wishes he knew. But his body’s on autopilot, and he’s watching it all happen like he's outside himself, like he’s not the one doing it.

The trailer park is quiet, too quiet for a Saturday night, but that’s January for you—cold as a witch's tit, and getting colder. The van’s heater barely works, and Eddie can see both their breaths fogging up the air, little puffs of steam in the dark.

Eddie cuts the engine, and the sudden silence fills the van like a held breath. Steve shifts in the seat, muttering something incoherent, his head lolling against the window. For a split second, Eddie considers just leaving him here. Would serve him right, honestly. Let King Steve wake up alone, freezing his ass off in a busted van in a trailer park at the edge of town. But then Steve lets out a soft groan, and Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes.

"You're a real piece of work, Harrington," he mutters under his breath, pushing open the driver's side door.

The cold air hits him like a slap, biting through his jacket and sending a shiver down his spine. He makes his way around to the passenger side, yanking open the door and catching Steve before he can tumble out. The guy's heavier than he looks—dead weight, limp as a rag doll. Eddie grunts, struggling for a grip, and finally manages to sling one of Steve's arms over his shoulder.

"Okay, big boy, up you go," Eddie mutters, half-dragging, half-carrying Steve toward the trailer. Steve's head drops forward, his hair brushing Eddie’s cheek, and he smells like a mix of beer, Steve's usual cologne, and something else—something clean, like laundry detergent or fresh air. It's weirdly comforting, and Eddie has to shake himself out of it.

Inside, the trailer is dim, lit only by the glow of the old TV Eddie left on. He kicks the door shut behind them, maneuvering Steve over to the sagging couch. Steve flops down with a heavy thud, eyes still closed, mouth slightly open. For a second, Eddie just stands there, looking at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing.

Why didn’t he just leave him there at the party? Why did he care?

Maybe it's because Steve looks different like this. Not the smug, popular guy who used to strut down the halls like he owned the place. Not the guy who had everything and then lost it all. Just... some kid, really. Some scared, drunk kid who probably doesn’t know where he fits anymore.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” Eddie mutters, leaning down to untie Steve’s sneakers. “Let’s get you comfortable before you choke on your own puke.”

As he pulls off one shoe, then the other, Steve stirs, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment, his gaze is unfocused, hazy, but then his eyes lock onto Eddie’s, and there’s a flicker of recognition.

“Munson?” Steve’s voice is low, rough from whatever he’s been drinking. “What the hell…?”

“Yeah, it’s me, genius,” Eddie says, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. “You got yourself in a bit of a mess tonight, Harrington.”

Steve blinks, slowly piecing things together. “Why’d you bring me here?”

Eddie shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Seemed like the right thing to do, I guess.”

Steve snorts, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Right. The Freak playing Good Samaritan. What’s the punchline?”

Eddie’s smile fades. It inexplicably hurts to hear Steve call him that. “There’s no punchline, man. Not everything’s a joke.”

Steve stares at him, as if searching for something in Eddie’s face, something to latch onto. Finally, he just nods, leaning back against the couch, eyes half-closed again. “Thanks,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. “I guess.”

Eddie feels something strange twist in his chest. “Don’t mention it,” he says, a little too quickly, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Steve. He turns away, grabbing an old blanket from a nearby chair and tossing it over Steve. “You sleep it off. I’ll be in my room.”

But even as he walks away, he can't shake the feeling that something’s shifted tonight, some invisible line crossed. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe in the morning, Steve will wake up, make a snarky comment, and it’ll all go back to the way it was.

Or maybe, just maybe, it won’t.

[dilf-docs]

This Thing Upon Me, Howls Like A Beast

professor!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: to cover some social hours and as a favor to your recently fallen-ill friend, you become your research methodology professor's TA. but here's the catch: you've got history, and what you really mean is beef; good, pure, unadulterated loath.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, pwp, rivals to ??, hate sex, p. in v. (do i even wrap it atp), degradation kink, daddy kink, lwk exhibition kink bc this happens on his office (rip to the furniture), bit dom!pedro + brat taming (again?? stop it mayor we get itttt omg) sprinkled here and there, fingering, squirting, creampie (everyone got invited to the party), reader is a loud-mouth (who's this divaaa), pedro's kind of an asshole and a perv in this one (ooc sorry), don't expect a second part this is literally just self-fulfilling filth without a storyline

word count: 6,451 words

side note: hello! this won the poll. am i the only one with this fantasy? pls tell me not; i feel insane looking some of my professors like a fucking starved drooling dog. giggling as we speak, bc the movie's got everybody insane between marvel renaissance, gif dump, new content, husband!pedro material and professor wet dreams out there... this piece of work is the last. hope you enjoy it, citizens! ps. jin of bts makes an appearance bc i love my seven men and i'm currently sick so he is sick too lmao (ah pero para escribir cochinadas ahí sí estás sana verdad)

It's your fault, really, for opening it in the middle of the class. It was a link, and you should've saved it for later, but then your thumb clicked into the blue underlined text your friend sent, and the reel popped up on your screen.

Your laugh erupted before you could cover your mouth, your professors' words hanging mid-air.

"Who did that?"

Everyone looks at you. Those sell-out, ass-kissing, boot-licking dicks.

His eyebrows furrow until they seem to melt into one, a big angry scowl on Mr. Pascal's face.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Ms. Y/n?"

His voice reverberates on the class' walls, sounding even scarier.

You shake your head, tone quiet as you let out a small, "No"

"No?" he repeats your words, mocking your insecure demeanor, "because with that loud ass laugh, it seemed like something important enough to dissrupt my class. So please, share. You can't leave us wondering in here"

People cough and avoid your gaze while you wish the building would collapse and kill everyone inside, you included. Oh, that would be good. But no, you're stuck on a space that now feels too small and his persistent gaze cuts right through you.

"I-It's not important-" you stumble over your words.

"Can't speak anymore? All that boldness, suddenly gone"

"Mr. Pascal" you plead. God, you had never even begged for anything in your life. But there's always a first.

"I said share" his voice menacing, like he's got not an ounce of sympathy in that sturdy body that could fit plenty. No, wait. Focus!

He grows impatient at your lack of movement, practically growling his next words:

"I won't repeat myself"

"I-I I don't know how to-" you cut yourself off, cringing at how pathetic you sound. "It's a video, so-"

"Then cast your phone and project it" he clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying this. What a sadistic motherfucker.

"I-I can't-"

Can Jesus please hurry up and come fast? Even better, immediately take this one to hell, please.

"Aw, you poor thing" he tuts, mockingly. No one dares to speak, and you'll learn later that he's got his own reputation. For a reason.

"Don't worry, I'll help you myself"

Turns out, the fucker made you and your shaky legs stand up and walk the walk of shame. Then, you had to proyect the silly video, which in handsight, wasn't funny anymore. While some of your classmates laughed, that didn't lessen how humilliated you felt.

It had happened during your first year at university, on a subject you really couldn't care less and when you were still (practically) a baby; freshly eighteen. But now you were twenty, almost finishing your career, and the shaky insecure teenager was long gone, replaced by a secure (albeit a bit of a bitch), confident woman.

That had been your first encounter with professor Pascal.

You have to give him some credit: he is kind of the reason why you did a full 180 on your personality.

But life always comes back to bite you in the ass.

"What do you mean you're sick?" you scoff, "we were supposed to go to Dave's party tonight!"

Your friend lets out a cough that sounds borderline animalistic.

"First of all, don't come closer. I'll pass it to you" Jin speaks up, voice rough from the earlier death-threatening cough. "And second, do you think I care about a stupid party? I'm dying here"

"Don't be so dramatic" you roll your eyes.

"Hello? Didn't you hear that cough?!" he sounds offended, reinforcing the feeling by throwing one of his used tissues at you. You dodge his lame throw with a yuck. "I think you're devoid of empathy"

"Well, thank Mr. Pascal for that"

Jin wasn't your friend when that happened, but when you became buddies, he eventually came to know about your beef with the older man. Yes, beef, because after the Reel Deal (as you both have come to call it), he made your life impossible. If it weren't for your skills and intelligence, you'd probably fail his subject. Mr. Pascal gave you the hardest time ever: be it pairing you with the absolute worst students or making your assigments more difficult, for an "unknown" reason.

Eventually, even after such a traumatic experience and subject being way behind, it became a staple in your duo to bring him up everytime something negative happened or was mentioned.

("You're so funny!")

("Thanks, a professor pushing fifty made my life impossible when I was eighteen")

But here's an even funnier thing: for unknown reasons, Jin became his TA last semester. Probably he didn't know that you were friends, and that has to be the reason he's actually a decent human being towards the younger boy. I'm telling you, Jin would insist, the whole mean asshole shtick is propaganda!

"Talking about him..."

"Stop" you raise your hand dramatically, "enough bad news today"

"You can still go to the party, you know?" he giggles, earning another cough that practically leaves him voiceless. "Why do you insist on taking me? I don't know this people!"

Jin was two years older your senior.

"But it's not fun without you!" you insisted on dragging him around everywhere after you met because he tutored you. "Who will I bore with all my failed flirting attempts?"

"Thank God, not me" he ignores your pout. "Besides, wasn't like Marcos insisting you went with him? There's your chance!"

"But Marcos is boring..." you draw out, "and I need a man who makes me laugh"

"You can't really ask for that much in this economy"

Okay, here's the deal: there's another reason you can't let go of the Mr. Pascal subject, and it's not because of the beef. Hell, Jin can't know about this or he'll never let you live.

The answer is quite simple: as infuriating as he is, Mr. Pascal is hot. Like, middle-aged hot, with the greying hair and face marked by lines that tell time. If it wasn't for him you'd probably never discover your preference towards more... aged meat. You should be furious, and you were, but during all your petty arguments over topics or slides that didn't deserve to be reviewed for more than five minutes, the fire that ignited in your lower belly? You've never felt it before, and if that managed to get you more hot and bothered than a fresh boy ready to kiss your lips, neck and below? Well, that's a serious issue.

But it was his voice, that treated you with such vitriol, a deep and rich sound reserved just for you, or be it the way his auburn eyes seem to catch fire whenever you opened your mouth, dark forests burning in flames that threathened to reduce it all to ashes; yo were eager, anticipating the burn.

He saw your defiance, and instead of putting you in your place, he matched that wild rageful spirit of yours that refused to be tamed.

And that you liked, despite the history of hate between you.

"What about him?" you appear nonchalant, while retouching your makeup for the party.

"About him who?" Jin quips, "we just talked about two fine men-"

"The much older man"

A weird smirk forms across his lips. "Sure, of course"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. But it will be fun, nonetheless" he sits up straight from his previous surrendered position on the couch. "So, remember how I'm his TA, right?"

"Yes?" you pause. "Wait, if this is for me to help you check again more homeworks, no. I am not helping you read a hundred papers again for free"

"They weren't a hundred!" he barks. "Besides, it's not that"

"Then?" you press, not admiting how interested you were.

"Do you see my poor state?" you nod, not understaning where he's going. "Then, you're aware I'm not capacitated to do said task as of right now"

"I'm aware" you repeat, "what I'm not, is what does that have to do with me?" you resume your activity, going for your eyeliner. "So much mystery when you could've just said it in a pass"

"I need you to cover up for me"

The liquid eyeliner paints a line across half of your face. "What?!"

He laughs at your reaction, "You heard me"

You leave the mirror, now focusing your attention on him. "It's not April Fools yet, Jin. Heads up, it was a terrible prank"

Even if it made you hot to have such dynamic with your former IM professor, you weren't exactly keen on seeing him again. For you, he had turned into a memory slash fantasy at some point: an asshole that got your panties wet and pussy slick when you touched yourself at night, on behalf of all the dumb uni boys who couldn't reach that sweet spot of yours. What a dirty girl, his velvet voice on your head would say. Why are you touching yourself to your supposed foe, a much older guy? Fucking slut. Yeah, there was no way you'd go back to the real thing for the real him to taint the image you got off almost every night to, so he could say your name in that animosity that leaked with a barely contained rage and poorly disguised distate that left a bitter taste on your mouth, ego and self-steem on the ground. Because the truth is, no matter how much you argued back, he always won. You had just found your voice, but all efforts to bring him down seemed powerless, and he had won every single battle: even if he didn't have the last word, just with a look, he made you feel small, stupid and meaningless.

Nope. Not going back.

"And you have a terrible way of coping" he's quick to counter back. "Listen, it's not so bad. You just have to do meaningless tasks and pretend to be interested. Simple, right? Look, those extra credits could be useful, you know? And you excelled the class, y/n. Easy!"

"You're making it sound trouble-free as if the man doesn't hate me"

"He's definitely forgotten about it!" he waves his hand, dissmisively. "Probably jokes about it, like us!"

"Mr. Pascal doesn't seem the type of guy to have humor"

"Humor me, then" Jin sighs. "Do this for me, yes? When have I ever failed you?"

You wish for some sense to get into his skull. Had he forgotten every single anecdote?

"Think of all those times where I've taken you home, carried you drunk. Or the sad heart breaks I've been through with you, remember? Brought you ice cream and watched your favorite movies. Or when I used to tutor you? Or-"

"Enough of your emotional manipulation, Mr. Kim" you shake your head, dissapointed, all to avoid the quiet rage to settle in. "I thought better of you"

"It's for a week. Days if this pills do a miracle" his big black eyes look at you, pleading.

"Jin, you're not being a very good friend"

"It's just this one favor" he sighs. "Look, I can't loose this thing, okay? I get the credits I need to finally leave this shithole. If I don't show up, they'll hand it to someone else. You may not believe it, but it's very demanded"

People making lines to be emotionally abused by your former IM professor? Sure thing!

"Can't you tell someone, though? I'm sure they'll understand and you can go back once this cold is gone"

"I already did so, and they told me to show up or quit, due to the wait list of people applying for the position" you roll your eyes at your university's antics and their bullshit policies. "I don't trust anyone else to not fuck it up, but you. You'll just have to tell him about this minor inconvenience, and Mr. Pascal will understand. You know, I'm kind of his favorite guy in there..."

Great, just what you needed.

"Sorry to break it to you, but as soon as I walk through that door, all that pretty boy privilege would be gone"

"Please, y/n. Please"

"You'll never ask me any other favor?"

"No" he looks rather desperate; it's funny. "Hell, you can use the lake cabin for your birthday bash if you-"

"Deal"

Were you that easy to buy, huh? What does that say about you? Fucking ass sell-out.

Okay, but a birthday party in that all glass modern cabin with a deck and a jacuzzi does sound tempting. Who could be blamed? Not you, who will have to face her biggest foe in exchange for one wild bash.

You take a deep breath, imagining the lake water splashing and champagne on the deck (ugh, Jin's parents had a waterbike too. They were loaded), before knocking on his office. The door flings open, almost hitting you in the face, and there he is: Mr. Pascal, with his brown hair with white on the sides, loose curl over his face. Your fingers definitely don't itch to touch it, of course.

He's sporting a grumpy look (when doesn't he?), his big hands (you had forgotten how big they were) holding a bunch of papers (great, work!).

"Goddamn it, Jin. I was about to call you for standing me up, you know I hate when people don't tell me-"

He stops on his tracks, and that all too familiar scowl deepens his face.

"You"

Seethed with such venom, it's quite scary. Your legs tremble, yet your pussy clenches.

"Yes, me" you can't help but let out a little laugh at his antics. What did Jin said about him not remembering you? Well, can't be blamed; you weren't easy to forget.

His jaw clenches while looking down at you, but this time, you don't dare to flinch.

"What are you doing here?"

"See, Jin is my friend-"

He interrupts you, body frame resting on the door with a relaxed posture, but his shoulder looks tense.

"Oh, I liked him. Liked, as in past tense" he emphasizes, like a child throwing a tantrum. "How can a kid like him be friends with you?"

"We're best friends, thank you very much. As a matter of fact, I'm here as a favor" you hand him Jin's written apology, that may have one or two sneezes over it. "He's sick, and I'll cover him for a week, just so he doesn't loose the position. Said you would understand"

"I do" he replies on an instant, "you I don't"

"I passed your subject. With honors, even after you made my life impossible" you reply. "I'm the best candidate, face it"

He's rendered speechless for a moment, before he bites back:

"What makes you think I won't do it again?"

Now it's you who doesn't know what to say. It's infuriating how he still keeps winning.

"That's right" a wicked smile adorns his face. "Stay and find out"

Boy, don't you love a challenge?

So you stayed, much to his surprise. The bastard probably thought you were still the same scaredy mouse from first year.

Oh, it was delicious the way his whole face fell at your entrance next morning, how he quickly replaced it and introduced you in a clipped tone.

"Where's Jin?" a girl sitting in the front row had asked, more students joining to ask for his absence. You wonder if your friend's popularity stems from his brain or looks.

"He's sick" you answered. "But don't worry, he'll be back soon"

"Thank God" Mr. Pascal voices out loud.

You shoot him a look. He wasn't joking about not making it easy, was he?

"Oh, I didn't take you as a man of faith, Mr. Pascal, but you're right. It's important to thank our Lord everyday. So, thank Him for this week where I get to offer my suffering. In reward" you turn to face him, all the class silent as they take in your weird exchange, the atmosphere tense, "I'll never see your face again"

This time, you weren't going down without a fight.

"We'll see about that"

There it was: the fire to your gasoline.

So you pushed back, and argued everytime you disagreed, things that weren't part of your work but you still did because well, if he was still hellbent on making you suffer, you weren't going to make it easy for him this time.

If students argued against him, you took their side; even if just one did, you had their back.

You finished grading, but when returning the papers, you'd let them fall with a heavy thud over his desk, not even daring to look back.

At the time he'd talk to you, you wouldn't answer, instead just doing so, but no words to be uttered his way, as if he wasn't worth the effort. Not even a clipped okay.

And you enjoyed this; savored how he'd take every one of your petty actions with his full chest, eyebrows furrowed and face red in anger, but never answering, just silent, like deep in thought, a cold and calculated look overtaking his brown eyes.

Then the veins on his neck would pop as the ones of his tight white-knuckled grip on his mug. He'd speak up, and his voice had your legs shaking for some friction, wet spots now more often on your lingerie.

That he didn't know.

All he did was you were now more than a pebble on his shoe: a huge fucking stone, going down the hill, ready to squash him.

But boy, didn't he love a challenge?

It's Friday, aka last day of Torture Week.

You drop the quizzes for next Monday on his desk with the same harsh movement you had done all week.

"And it's over" you announce, papers plopping next to him, who is writing something. Mr. Pascal's hand moves, his L much longer than it should be. He looks up at you, annoyed, but his eyes flash with a hint of amusement.

"I see you can talk"

"Well, you already know me, Mr. Pascal. So you should be aware of what I can do"

"Love if you'd enlighten me"

He leans back on his chair, arms resting behind his head. It's hard not to take a brief glance to the flexing muscles, or how he's rolled up his sleeves, arms bulking up with the action, the fabric tense. It's hot in here. Wait, or has it gotten hot? Your face feels red, and when he catches your lingering gaze, he smiles devilishly.

"Like what you see, Ms. Y/n?"

No. You refuse to let him win this again, so close to the end.

"The release from prison?" you regain your posture, "very much"

"You may be a loud-mouthed brat, always knowin' what to say. I'll give that to you" he props himself to the front, elbows now resting on the desk as his eyes scan yours with a shade of dark covering them. "But a good liar you ain't"

You try to remain still, face emotionless, but your professor is a man of experience; an expert on his field. He who investigates, who has majored to be able to notice every small detail that can contribute to a hypothesis, has now formulated his.

You want this as much as he wants to.

You, with your wobbly legs and nervous eyes, glancing up at him with a hungry gaze that matches his own, despite your angry posture and irritated tone. You, that picked up petty arguments just to rile him up, because you liked the command for power on his voice. You like this, didn't you? Feeling small and weak, fangs pointy, just barely gracing the skin; the edge what set your skin on fire.

He isn't one to hold grudges (he's just mean all the time), but Pedro is willing to show you he hasn't forgotten about the years, and he'll be more than willing to fuck that bitchy attitude out of you.

"Hello?" you snap your fingers in front of him, "are you there?"

He snaps back to reality, your face covering his vision. In his position, he gets rewarded with a delicious peak at your breasts and the nude lingerine hiding them. He can imagine the perked nipples and the rosy plush skin he'd love to trace his tongue with, because even when you speak in a harsh voice, your eyes speak another thing. Fuck, he thinks he can even smell your arousal.

"I was talking to you" you don't even give him room to reply; snotty ass. "Said I was already leaving"

He thinks of himself as merciful. So he stands up, your bodies barely brushing against each other for a second, before he's opening the door, towering over you. He's so close, you can see the grey hairs mixed with the brown ones on his beard and mustache. God, you can smell him: coffee, cigarrettes, sandalwood and leather.

"You're free, Ms. Y/n" he follows your line of joke from before. "Just, humor me with one last thing"

You glance over at the clock above his desk. It's barely noon.

"Yes?" as dry as possible.

"Why did you accept?"

It's a simple question, really, but it manages to catch you off guard.

His tone is so different, maybe that's why: it's low, impossibly low. For less attentive people, it could even pass as a growl. But you hear, the amusement and dare laced within the velvety tone.

"Because I'm a good friend" you manage to speak, his body caging your smaller frame against the door.

This is ridiculous. You can leave at any time. Hello? Have your legs not gotten the memo?

"I didn't think you were capable of good things"

You huff, annoyed. "Well, I passed your subject, didn't I?"

He clicks his tongue.

"Many before you, and more after you have. Doesn't make you special, y/n"

Your name alone leaves a savory and toxic sweetness on his tongue.

"But how many of those you remember?" Mr. Pascal shots up an eyebrow, confused. "Tell me, how many can you name? That's right. I changed your life, whether you like it or not"

He's quick to reply. "Bullshit"

"Bullshit" you mock his angry tone, "but you recognized me the moment you opened the door. It didn't even take you seconds, hell, you hadn't even fully seen me and you knew who I was. Doesn't take a great investigator to figure it out, does it? So I take you missed me"

He can't believe your fucking mouth.

But then Pedro's remembering the way his pants tightened when you started to stand up to him, getting even worse when he still managed to shut you up. Fuck, the way you had smirked when you approved his subject during your last project delivery. He let you, because well, you had earned it: for the way your image had been the perfect companion for his hand pistoning his cock will full force, thinking of that loud mouth of yours gagged with it. Or when you walked past him in the hallways, wrapped in your own little bubble, your carefree laugh erupting and bouncing off the walls, tickling every hair of his body.

Part of him had accepted Jin to be his TA if that meant having a piece of you, even if a small connection, to you. Did you think he wouldn't know? That he wouldn't see you walking by in those small skirts that rode over when you bent? He noticed you; after all, you were in the same place most of your day.

You had excelled his subject after all, hadn't you?

So of course you'd notice his stare lingering in your back like a hand over your ass. How his eyes would dart to the skirts you wore on purpose, attentive to the moment you'd drop a pen on accident and your panties would be on sight, a wet spot in the middle you hadn't even noticed that smelled. Fuck, and wasn't it sweet?

You really feel like you have won this, don't you?

"Miss you?" Pedro hisses the words out. "I didn't miss you. What I think is happenin', is that me missing you is what you want"

"And I think you're repeating the same words and fumbling thoughts because you're a big egocentric prideful asshole who can't admit he's got the hots for his younger student"

"God. Don't you have such a filthy mouth, baby?"

Before he can register and you've fully let the nickname sink, your hand slaps his face with a potent movement that reverberates across his office's walls.

"You're a fucking piece of work, Mr. Pascal" but instead of being offended (or you don't know, fight back?), he remains silent. "You dirty old spoiled prick. Think I would never fight you back? That you can get away with whatever this is?"

"Whatever this is?" he chuckles, a sound rumbling deep from his chest. "Well, pretty girl, ain't you started this?"

He looms over you, hot breath carressing your face softly.

"Me? Unbelievable" you scoff. "You're one to talk, humiliating a poor freshman"

"Poor? You were distracted, in my class! Did your parents never teach you manners?!" his words leave droplets of spit that land in your face. "I had to put your stupid ass in place; that'll teach you something"

"Like what?" you taunt, recklessly, chest up and down with uneven breaths.

"I see it didn't work" his body language does an immediate switch. You remember a predator ready to strike their prey. "Maybe I should've tried harder"

His eyes do a wild dance over your body as so do yours.

Lip. Eyes. Skin. Cleavage. His tight pants. Biceps. Legs. Hair.

Before you can register, he's got you pinned against his desk, door closed in a loud move. There's a click sound somewhere in between, but you're too busy feeling his big hands grabbing your face roughly, as if he wants to consume your skin and feel your very bones on his calloused tips.

His lips are impossibly wet and eager, hands needily gropping your body. He pushes all his weight over you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue now inside your mouth, making you falter.

You let out a breathy moan when your back hits the desk, the wood digging your skin, but he swallows it whole, making it impossible for you to talk.

"Mmph-"

"Mmph?" he mocks between kisses, not giving you the chance to take a breath, or maybe he was scared you would get the time to think and would push him away. "Just my mouth got you all worked up, baby? Can't even speak"

Your fingers run through his hair for support, curls between your fingers. They felt soft, like they were meant to be combed through over and over again. He dives his head in your neck, hot mouth wet with its trail of kisses, making you squirm.

"I see" his breath ghosts over your reddened skin, "you wanted this just as much, don't you? This boys aren't enough for you?"

Every hair on your body prickles, his mouth claiming every spot he could, bites and hickeys all over your skin. You whine, pouting your lips, missing his already.

"It's okay, baby" he laughs, "just gotta show them who's enough for you" he grunts, "a man"

Mr. Pascal takes off your shirt, well, basically rips the poor thing, his hands relieved to finally touch your breasts. He roughly grabs one of them, and you bite your lip so hard, you almost feel the bitter metallic taste in your mouth. He lowers himself, despite his aching joints, to play with your hardened nipples, lapping them with his warm tongue, sucking and swirling until they turn swollen.

Your hand finds its way to his formal pants, fingers gracing over the fabric, feeling his cock straining against it. Just like you imagined it: big, like his presence. If it could, your pussy would jump in excitement, realistically just throbbing and leaking.

You untie his belt and buttons so you can begin to rub over his boxers. You can feel him trying to meet your touches, grinding onto your palm. He groans, deeply, enjoying your hungry stare, steady beat, parted lips and wet cunt.

He bucks his hips against you, propping himself on the wall behind his desk, which had moved from its original position thanks to the mayhem.

"You clearly don't know what you got yourself into, baby. But don't worry, I ain't letting you go just yet"

He pulls the skirt up, revealing the damp panties and mess between your legs. He licks his lips before rough digits find your wet folds. His fingers carress your impossibly tight walls, coating them with your slick.

"So fucking tight" he groans against your collarbones, "thought of yourself as uptight but I can fucking smell you dripping, you dirty slut. Could tell you loved provoking me becayse that's the only way your snotty ass can get off"

"F-fuck you, Mr. Pascal" you manage to choke out.

"Where are your manners? After how I've rewarded your big mouth, you bitch" he takes off your panties with skilled practice, the piece falling to the floor with a weak sound. Your bare cunt makes you shiver. "You think you're smart, baby? You think you can play these games and face no consequences at all?" he tuts. "No, Ms. Y/n, you know I hate wastin' my time, so be a good girl and don't make this harder for you, get that?"

You whine at his words, but refuse to shut your mouth.

"Oh, I'm smart" you laugh, "smart enough to have you on your knees for me"

An ugly grin spreads across his features.

"I will never bend for a bratty pretentious slut like you" he grips your hair with force, leaving your neck exposed, "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, stupid cock hungry whore. You wanted my attention? It's all yours"

Then, with a low, almost feral growl, he grabs your hips and hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sweeps the papers and books onto the floor with a clatter, setting you down on the edge.

"You better behave, baby" Mr. Pascal bites your lower lip, "don't want people to know what we're doing in here, do you? Or would you want them to know just how much of a slut you are, spread on my desk as your cunt drips for me?"

He steps between your legs, pushing them further apart, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He leans in, his face inches from yours, voice low in a threatening rasp.

"I'll behave, I promise" mind in blank.

"No loud mouth bitchy stuck up attitude?"

You free his cock, hands scouting his shaft, his base, and balls. You fondled them while his fingers lingered closer to your pussy.

"No"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked stupid and used for my pleasure? Well, get ready, because I'm not going to stop until I've had my fill of this sweet little cunt"

He savors at the sight of your glistening folds.

"Let me-"

He laughs, seeing how you desire to guide his cock towards your entrance.

"Eager, little one?" he teases.

"Yes" you whimper, "I need you so badly, papi"

Your plea mixed with Spanish sends him on edge. His eyes darken with a primal, almost feral hunger at your desperate plea.

His voice is strained, rough with barely restrained lust.

"Fuck, you needy little thing. You want to take my dick until this desk breaks?"

He rubs the swollen head of his dick against your dripping slit, coating it in your arousal. Then, with one powerful thrust, he slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in your tight, hot cunt.

"So tight" he groans, starting to move and setting a brutal pace from the very beginning. The desk shakes and creaks beneath you with each forceful thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the empty office. He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit. He sets a relentless, punishing rhythm, determined to fuck you into oblivion.

It's a goddamn view in here: him above you, droplets of sweat falling to your face, pristine hair now disheveled.

At this point, you were clenching so hard it hurt, walls fluttering around his massive girth. But he's greedy, and he's pushing himself deeper and deeper.

"Runnin' your mouth but now all quiet as you take all of me, hungry greedy whore" he digs his fingers into your cheeks harshly, but you find pleasure in the sting the pain causes. "Bet this is all you been thinking since you started talking back, huh? Don't worry, daddy's got you"

Surprisingly, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a dominating kiss, tongue invading your mouth. His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly, a silent reminder of who you belong to.

"God. You're wet everywhere, baby"

His sweaty chest presses itself onto your tits as he forced his cock deeper within you, the plaid shirt sticking with sweat to his ablazed body, temperature high.

"T-the desk" you protest numbly; mind-fucked.

And oh, boy, doesn't he enjoy this view? Your fluttering eyelids, hazy eyes and trembling body.

So he keeps fucking you: pounding into you, rolling his hips skillfully, taking up all the space within you.

"I don't give a damn fuck about the desk, Ms. Y/n. I'm gonna fuck that attitude of yours until all you know is my name" he leans down, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. His hands grip your hips with bruising force, pulling you harder against him with each violent thrust. "Gonna break the desk, hell, fuck you on the floor if necessary, but you ain't leaving this office until my cum drips from your legs and everyone knows your tight little cunt is mine"

The desk groans and wobbles beneath you, the legs scraping against the floor as Pedro fucks you with wild abandon. The sound of your moans and the crude, wet slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the room.

His pubic bone grinds against your clit with each thrust, the rough friction sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting up your spine. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the desk.

He feels your walls starting to flutter around him, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches. Mr. Pascal leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Why don't you be a good girl and tell daddy how good he's making you feel? Show me and everyone else what a desperate little slut you are, waiting for me to fill you up nicely with my seed"

He makes out of you a loud mess, a series of sweet sounds falling from your lips. You clench and he twitches, his digits holding your waist, keeping you in place for him.

"Good girl" he praises, "now you're gonna take it all, milk me dry, you greedy cocksleeve"

His thrusts become erratic and sloppier. The older man can feel your walls starting to flutter around him, body tensing as your orgasm approaches. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Will you be a good girl?"

"Yes!" you cry out, "don't stop!"

You hated this humilliation, how easy it is for him to fuck you with his big cock. You fucking hated him. But didn't he make you feel so good.

"Then come on my cock, bitch"

You didn't think it was capable, no, but you did. A first, another first when it came to Mr. Pascal.

You squirt. You fucking squirted.

Pedro lets out a feral roar of triumph when your pussy spasms around his pistoning cock, your release gushing out and soaking his dick and the desk, papers and shit beneath you (no, not the quizzes! You had printed them this morning). He savors the way you throw your head back, eyes rolling until they turn white on your fucked-out face.

"Such a sweet cunt, baby" he praises. "Milk me dry, come on"

Your slick walls milking him dry pushes him over the edge, clenching around him, and he knew it was over. He snaps, arching his back as he roughly moans. With one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls-deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come. Thick, scorching ropes of cum paint your insides, flooding your womb with his potent seed, still pushing the remnants inside when he grinds against you, his pelvis pressed tight to yours as he rides out the waves of his intense orgasm. His grip on your hips tightens, fingermarks surely to be left in the soft flesh as he holds you in place, ensuring you take every last drop of his release.

"That's it, pretty baby. Can't even speak, can you?" he captures your mouth in a deep, dominating kiss. Like he owns you. "As you can see, I'm a man of my word"

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark and intense, filled with a primal, almost feral satisfaction.

It's humilliating, really, how your lips search for more. You need him, badly, despite how shit he treats you and how wrong all of this is. Is this a win or a loose?

"Good girl" he repeats, his sweaty forehead clashing against yours. The desk creaks yet again. You love when he praises you, and you whine on instintic, making him laugh. "Learned your place just yet? Listen carefully, Ms. Y/n: no matter what you do or say, I'll always win, get it? And you'll be nothing but a needy uptight slut who begs for my attention and cock"

He pulls out of you slowly, his softening dick slipping from your well-used hole with a gush of their combined releases. He tucks himself away, doing up his pants with quick, efficient movements. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, smearing a streak of his cum across it.

"Go on. Taste it, and tell me how it feels"

Your tongue does a lazy movement, making your lips moist thanks to the saliva and his cum, like a fucking gloss. You shouldn't enjoy this, really, but your body shivers when you feel the taste of him going down your throat as you swallow.

"Good" you manage to speak, salt on the tip of your tongue.

"Good" he repeats, voice low and menacing, "because we're just getting started"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[urcoolgf]

what’s your deal? pt. 1

pairing : childhood bsf!rafe x reader

content : fluff. suggestive content/thoughts.

summary : when your dad suggests a 'family vacation' with rafe and his siblings, you don't think much of it– but rafe is hiding something this trip is bound to expose p.s. i’m gonna make this in two (or more) parts because as i was writing i got carried away with the build up…

SERIES MASTERLIST

you and rafe had been basically inseparable since birth– well your birth– rafe was a couple years older than you. your moms had been best friends, but even after yours passed and his left, you guys stayed the same. everyone on the island knew you weren’t to be touched, looked at, or even thought about– you were rafe’s even if you weren’t dating. you didn’t mind though, it only saved you from dealing with all the guys with egos too big for their own good. plus rafe was good security– you were basically untouchable when you were around him, which was basically all the time.

sure, you had a few boyfriends here and there– those who were brave enough to deal with rafe on occasion, but nothing worked out. they either mysteriously left, or you broke up with them because they only wanted what they couldn’t have– which was you. you knew rafe was proabably the reason behind the ones who left, but you didn’t really care. you still had him, and that’s what mattered.

you were a kook, but you were not like them at all. sure, you had nice clothes and a nice house, but you didn’t care about those things. you cared about the people around you, but you didn’t care what people thought about you. rafe had always liked that– no matter what people were saying about him, you had his back and it never changed the way you saw him. you defended his name when he wasn’t in the room, and that kind of loyalty was attractive as hell to rafe.

your dad always liked rafe, which you thought was weird because he was kind of insane, but you figured your dad liked that someone that extreme was always looking out for you– protecting you when he couldn’t. so, when your dad offered to take rafe, sarah, wheezie, and you on a little ‘family vacation’ you weren’t that surprised.

“how ‘bout it, pumpkin?,” your dad asked with a wide smile on his face, and a hopeful spark in his eyes. you could tell this trip meant a lot to him– i mean he already had everything booked– you really had no choice but to say yes.

“sure, dad. sounds amazing. thank you,” you smiled softly, giving him a tight hug before running off to tell rafe.

—

“so, of course, it’s all expenses paid and whatever– i mean it’s literally just our beach house in the bahamas, but he invited you, sarah, and wheezie. y’know like a little ‘family trip’. so you down? oh, we leave tomorrow by the way,” you and rafe were sat outside by his pool at tannyhill while you info dumped everything on him.

“am i down… of course i’m down,” he said it like it was a dumb question– which is kind of was– if you were going, he was going.

“i’m sure sarah and wheeze would love to go, too. you wanna tell them?,” he asked pointing toward the house behind him.

“nah, you can. i gotta go home and start packing,” you replied, standing up from the lounge chair, and fixing your shorts. your houses were within walking distance from each other, so you were able to just walk home– it took about 10 minutes but you didn’t mind, you liked the fresh air.

“alright. hey i’ll be over tonight mkay?,” he replied, standing and turning on his heel to walk back into the house.

“sounds good!,” you shouted to him as you were walking away.

—

“duh we’ll go!,” wheezie replied to rafe with a big smile, almost jumping for joy when she heard the news. she loved you– you were like a second big sister to her, plus you gave rafe a hard time, and she always wanted to see that. your dad was pretty cool too, not too strict, which she liked because this meant she could basically do whatever for the next two weeks.

“yeah, we’re in,” sarah added, laughing at wheezie’s excitement.

“cool, cool. we leave tomorrow, alright? so be ready. i’ll drive us all over to y/n’s and we’ll leave on their boat from there,” rafe said before leaving the girls to excitedly squeal together in sarah’s room. rafe laughed and shook his head as he walked away from the closed door.

he made his way to his room to quickly pack his things, he would probably stay the night with you anyways. rafe knew you would be asking for his opinion on what clothes to bring all night. he didn’t mind, it was fun dressing you up like his pretty little doll.

he packed some shirts, few pairs of shorts, swim trunks, and some bathroom essentials into a duffle bag. that was really all he needed, he knew everyone would just be at the beach every day, so he didn’t bother stocking up on clothes.

he picked the duffle off the bed, and headed for his car– but not before knocking on sarah’s door. he could hear the faint sound of some girly pop music coming from behind the door, and the girls giggling to each other.

“come in,” sarah said without stopping what she was doing.

“i’ll be back at 10am, ‘kay? be outside,” rafe stated with a semi-serious face.

“are you going to y/n’s now?,” sarah asked, looking over at rafe’s duffle slung over his shoulder.

“yeah, i’m gonna chill there for a bit, maybe the night,” he replied.

“we can just walk over tomorrow if it’s easier?,” she suggested with a helpful smile.

“you sure?,” he was glad she said that because then he wouldn’t have to take his car.

“‘course, rafe. it’s only like a 10 minute walk. we’ll be fine,” sarah said reassuringly.

“alright. tomorrow. 10am. don’t be late, got it?,” he said one last time.

“got it,” sarah answered with an ‘it’s-okay-we-got-it’ type expression on her face.

—

once rafe arrived at your house, he greeted your dad on his walk to your room.

“hey mr. y/l/n how’s it goin’?,” your dad had told rafe multiple he could call him by his first name, but rafe refused. it just felt more natural this way.

“rafe, hey bud! doin’ good. how ‘bout yourself?,”

“i’m good. y/n in her room?,” rafe asked, though he already knew the answer.

“oh yeah, been trying to pack for like an hour,” he laughed like it was amusing, “go help her out for me son, would ya?,”

rafe just laughed as he walked toward your bedroom. when he opened your door, the room looked exactly as he expected– a complete mess.

“jesus, y/n we’re not moving there,” he said, moving things around on your bed so he could sit.

“two weeks is a long time. plus, i wanna take pictures, and what if i meet a guy? vacations are a mystery, rafe. anything could happen. sue me for wanting to look good,” meet a guy? not on rafe’s watch.

“whatever, jus’ pick some stuff out,” rafe knew you, so he laid the trap.

“pick some stuff out?! it’s not that easy. i need your help,” bingo.

“alright, alright. what are my options,” he said, kicking his legs onto the bed, his back against the headboard with his arms behind his head, a smirk spreading across his face.

“okay, so there’s this bikini,” you said holding up the top of one, “or this one,” holding the top of another.

“you’re only bringing one?,” rafe’s brows furrowed.

“oh, no! i already have three definite options packed,” you laughed like the answer was obvious.

suddenly, rafe had an idea, “hm i don’t know… might have to see them on,” he said with a fake puzzled look on his face as if he really couldn’t decide.

“good point! be right back!,” you said before disappearing into your bathroom. rafe just laughed to himself, pulling out his phone. he had always seen you as just a best friend, until the last year– it’s like you had completely transformed, not only physically, but you were this sexy, independent woman who did whatever she wanted. you didn’t care what other people thought of you, and you were hardly ever embarrassed. your mindset had matured, and it turned rafe on like crazy. you had always been smart, but now it was one of the things he liked most about you. he knew you knew what he was doing– having you try the bikinis on– so the fact you complied gave him hope you didn’t see this as just a friendship anymore either.

he was pulled out of his thoughts as you walked back into the bedroom. you stood there proudly, almost modeling the bikini you had on– confidence radiating off of you.

“okay, here’s the first one…,” you said turning around so that rafe could get every angle. he didn’t even have to ask, you knew what he wanted. your ass was basically on full display, and rafe would be lying if he said he wasn’t drooling… just a bit. your tits perfectly secured and upheld behind the two triangles on top. the color was nice too, a bright blue that contrasted with your dark curls and already slightly tanned skin perfectly.

“alright, you got the picture? let me go try on the other,” oh, he had the picture alright, memorized every tiny detail, and stored it away. you turned back into the bathroom, not even knowing what you just did to rafe.

a couple minutes later you walked out in the other bikini. this one had slightly more coverage, but still showed off your curves in a tempting way.

“okay, second option,” you said, doing the same ‘modeling’ as you did for the first one. this one was strapless though, and covered your tits more– rafe wasn’t sure if that was a good, or bad thing. good for other guys, bad for him.

“hmm… that’s a tough one. i think you should just bring them both,” rafe shrugged it off as if he wasn’t half hard just from looking at you in them.

“if you insist! five bikinis are better than four anyways,” you complied, going back into the bathroom to change.

you returned to the bedroom, both bikinis in hand, with a tank top and tiny shorts now on your body. you threw the swimsuits into your suitcase before throwing your curls up in a bun just to keep it out of your face while you finished packing.

you and rafe just talked mindlessly about random stuff as you wandered around your room, rummaging through your drawers, and throwing more clothes into your suitcase as he sat on his phone.

“okay, i think i’m finally done,” you sighed, falling dramatically onto your now clean bed.

“great. you wanna get food? i’m starving,” rafe said, finally pulling his attention away from his phone.

“yeah, sounds good,” you both got up from your bed, you grabbed your phone and purse and headed out of the room.

“hey dad, rafe and i are gonna go get food. you want anything?,” you asked before you passed by him in the living room.

“no thanks, pumpkin. have fun, be safe!,” he replied with a smile before turning back toward the tv.

—

you and rafe eventually made it to ‘the wreck’, and after getting drinks and ordering food you sat in silence, until you broke it.

“you think i could have like a little vacation fling in the bahamas? that would be so fun. have someone to go out on little dates with while we’re there, maybe sleep with him once or twice– if he’s lucky,” you laughed. surely, you had to know what you were doing to him right now, rafe thought. he was never one to show he was desperate, but he had no problem showing he was possessive.

“if you wanna go out on dates, i’ll go with you. no need to slum it with some stranger,” he replied, trying to hide the fact that he was seething inside.

“well, i wouldn’t slum it. he’d be hot of course. i’m sure there’s tons of hot guys in the bahamas,” you said, looking around, awaiting your food. you said it like you didn’t know it bothered rafe– and it really bothered him.

“yeah, sure. do what you want, i guess,” he replied coldly, staring at you even though you weren’t looking at him.

no way was he letting you out of his sight on this trip.