#literally get this away from me I can’t edit it anymore ���

[sesamestreep]

50 jyn/cassian? 👀

50. the hands of fate (from this prompt list)

After such a crushing defeat, Cassian decides that what he and his teammates really need is another round, and since everyone else is still arguing over the finer points of the last question, he decides it’s up to him to make that happen. Luckily, the bar is not particularly crowded at that moment, so he’s able to get the attention of the bartender right away.

“What can I get for you?” she asks, leaning slightly across the bar to hear him better.

It takes him a minute to remember why he’s there, because he’s been doing trivia at this bar for the last few months and he’s never seen this bartender before, which is only notable because she’s exceptionally pretty. She’s got bright green eyes, and hair that manages to be messy in a way he suspects might actually be fashionable, and she’s wearing a black tank top that shows off some very cool-looking tattoos on her biceps. The usual Thursday night bartender barely even looks at him when she takes his order, let alone going so far as to actually speak to him in full sentences.

“Did you want to order something?” she asks, warily, and her expression shutters in the way of an experienced customer service professional who’s used to dealing with drunk people and skeevy men with alarming frequency.

Cassian shakes his head, as if to clear his mind so he doesn’t (rightfully) earn this bartender’s wrath by staring for another minute. “Yeah, sorry,” he says, adopting what he hopes is a genial expression. “We just got our asses handed to us at trivia, so my cognitive function hasn’t fully returned yet.”

The bartender offers him a half-smile at that and nods. “Take your time.”

“Uh, I think I’m just going to get another round for everyone,” Cassian says, and then rattles off his team’s drink orders. The bartender nods and, even though she doesn’t stop to write it down, he has a feeling she’s got it memorized.

She starts making a drink in front of him, and only looks up a moment later when she realizes he’s still there. “I can bring them over when I’m done,” she says, pointing her chin in the direction of his table while her hands are occupied pouring vodka into a cocktail shaker.

“Oh, right,” Cassian says, stupidly. “That would be great. I, uh, already mentioned my brain’s not working, right?”

She laughs a little, which feels sort of like a victory, and shakes her head. “Must have been a tough loss.”

“We came this close to winning for once!” he can’t help griping. “But no one on my team knew the names of the three Fates in Greek mythology.”

The bartender tosses the shaker from side to side in a practiced motion, and gives him a barely interested look. “You mean, the Moirai?” she asks.

Cassian barely stops himself from gaping at her. “I, uh, think they wanted the individual names, actually.”

“Oh, so like Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, then?”

“Jesus, do you write the questions?”

She smiles and pulls a glass out from under the counter. “No,” she says, as she deftly pours the contents of the shaker into the glass. “I just went through a very intense Greek mythology phase when I was a kid.”

“Thank god. I was beginning to think I was just stupid!”

“The two ideas are not mutually exclusive,” she replies, breezily, as she tosses an olive into the drink. “I’ll bring your drinks right over, unless you want me to keep talking to you about mythology.”

There actually isn’t anything Cassian wants more at the moment, but he’s already lost so much dignity at trivia that he can’t afford to lose anymore getting shut down by this beautiful bartender, so he nods and thanks her before he heads back to his table. Bodhi has finally stopped reading Wikipedia on his phone (a time-honored post-loss tradition for them) and is sitting with his head resting on Taidu’s shoulder. Melshi, on the other side of the table, is slumped in his chair, staring into the dregs of his beer.

“Another round incoming,” he says, clapping Melshi on the shoulder.

“Thank god,” Melshi replies, sitting up.

“We are bad at trivia,” Bodhi proclaims, which is also a time-honored tradition.

“We did better this time,” Taidu counters.

“Yeah, but we still lost.”

“Progress over perfection.”

“Stop being reasonable,” Melshi groans. “The wound is still too fresh.”

“You know what’s great for treating wounds?” a voice over Cassian’s shoulder asks. “Alcohol!”

The beautiful bartender appears then, with their drinks on a small tray and starts depositing them on the table, where Taidu immediately helps divvy them up to their respective recipients.

“What are you doing here?” Bodhi asks her, which seems like an odd response. Cassian looks between the two of them, puzzled.

“I told you I was working tonight,” the bartender replies, resting the now-empty tray on her hip.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I sent you a text!”

“Oh,” Taidu says. “That was your first mistake. He never reads his texts.”

“Shut up,” Bodhi says, thumping him lightly on the shoulder. “I read texts! I even reply to them! I am a functional person!”

Taidu and the bartender scoff at the same time, and Cassian is definitely missing something.

“So, why are you working tonight?” Bodhi asks, before Cassian can figure out a way to ask what’s going on without seeming rude. “I mean, I read your text, for sure, but like…remind me?”

“Kennel no-call, no-showed and Baze asked me to fill in.”

“What?! Tell me everything!”

“I just did. She didn’t call out or give notice so I have no idea what happened.”

“Okay, that’s more boring than I expected,” Bodhi says, sounding disappointed. “I always thought she’d get fired for coming after you with a knife or something.”

“You and me both, buddy,” the bartender says.

“Kennel is the usual Thursday night bartender?” Taidu asks, speaking for all of them.

“Yeah,” Bodhi says. “She’s fucking nuts.”

“Good riddance,” she agrees. Then, she turns her attention to Cassian, pointing at him with her elbow. “I put the drinks on your tab, by the way.”

Cassian blinks at her in surprise. “Oh, right. Yeah. Good. Did I—sorry, I don’t think I gave you my name, so…”

“No, but I know Bodhi, which means I also know Taidu, naturally, and I’ve met Melshi before, so I guessed you were probably Bodhi’s other co-worker, Cassian, who he does trivia with but whom I’ve never met and there was a card with that name behind the bar, so…”

“Okay, seriously, are you some kind of savant or something? Between this and knowing all of the trivia answers…”

She smiles. “I have the distinct advantage of being more sober than almost everyone in the room, which gives the impression of genius where there is none.”

“Bodhi, you didn’t tell Cassian your roommate worked here, did you?” Taidu asks suddenly, sounding amused.

Bodhi smacks himself on the forehead. “She doesn’t normally work Thursdays,” he admits, miserably, before looking up. “Cassian, this is my roommate, Jyn. She works here.”

“Jyn. Right,” Cassian says, feeling some puzzle pieces slot into place. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet.”

“Same,” she says, extending a hand for him to shake and giving him a mysterious smile. “Though Bodhi did say you were the ringer on the trivia team, and you didn’t even know the names of the Moirai.”

“Cassian is the ringer,” Melshi says, “which just goes to show how terrible the rest of us are.”

“I think Kay was technically our ringer,” Cassian replies.

“Until he got perma-banned,” Bodhi adds, dejectedly.

“Kay?” Jyn asks. 

“My roommate,” Cassian specifies. “It was for the best, he argued with the host too much.”

“Oh, that guy,” she says, nodding. “Baze and Chirrut have his picture hung up in the office. We throw darts at it, uh, lovingly.”

Cassian waves away the sheepish look she gives him. “I live with him. I understand the impulse. Anyway, that’s how Taidu ended up joining us.”

“Lucky them,” he says, raising his glass in a mock toast. “I know nothing, it turns out.”

“I mean, if they ever need someone to answer a question about the intricacies of Formula 1, you’re their man,” Jyn says.

“Taidu watches a lot of F1 at our apartment,” Bodhi explains. “He’s trying to get Jyn into it.”

“It’s not nearly violent enough for my tastes,” she says, mildly. “Anything else before I go back to the bar? Need me to name all the Argonauts, perhaps?”

“Oh, you’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?” Bodhi asks, covering his face with his hands.

“It’s going to be like the eagle, pecking out Prometheus’s liver every day, only it’ll be me taunting you with Greek mythology facts.”

“Mythological facts, huh?” Melshi asks.

“I’m sorry,” Jyn says, leaning in close. “I have trouble hearing people who’ve never won bar trivia in their lives.”

“You’re right,” he replies, holding his hands up in defeat. “You got us there.”

“Next week,” Cassian says emphatically, “is going to be our week. I’m calling it.”

The pitying look Jyn gives him before she leaves their table does nothing to bolster his confidence—nor does it quell the spark of attraction he felt when he first saw her. He was really hoping the revelation that she’s Bodhi’s roommate might help with that, but no such luck. If anything, he likes her more now; Bodhi has always talked about Jyn in glowing terms and Cassian can see now that she lives up to her reputation. 

He realizes only a little belatedly that he’s been watching her walk away, which feels like a bridge too far, and catches Melshi giving him an unimpressed look. He schools his expression into something overly innocent and Melshi snorts before returning his attention to his beer.

They hang around, replaying their demoralizing defeat for the tenth time and vowing (as always) to do better next time, until their drinks are finished and then everyone gets ready to leave. Melshi heads off for the train with a sardonic salute and Taidu and Bodhi head off in search of a cab, while Cassian lives close enough that he’s just going to walk home. He is already halfway out the door when he realizes he left his credit card at the bar.

He does a heel turn and heads back in, waiting at the least crowded corner of the bar until he can get someone’s attention. He’s seen a few people milling around behind the bar all night, but as far as he can tell Jyn is the only bartender on and she’s the only one there now, which means she’s busy, so he settles in to wait once he catches her eye and she gives him a nod to say she’ll be right with him.

“Sorry about that,” she says, when she finally makes her way over to him around five minutes later. “We’re short-staffed, as you know. I didn’t know Thursdays were this busy!”

“No problem,” Cassian says, signing his receipt and handing it back to her while he pockets his card. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Jyn drums her fingers on the bar as she considers him. “You should know,” she says, after obvious deliberation, “I only date people who win at bar trivia.”

He could not possibly have heard that correctly. “I…what?”

“I think it’s only fair that you know this about me, since you’re making your interest known.”

“I wasn’t—that’s not what—I wasn’t saying I’ve got nowhere to be like that, just that I wasn’t in a hurry! I was not trying to—”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. It was just an expression!”

She treats him to the most exaggerated, patronizing nod of all time. “Right. And you were absolutely not checking me out earlier.”

“I was not doing that,” Cassian says, and it’s frankly embarrassing how transparent of a lie it is.

“I don’t blame you,” Jyn says, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m very cute.”

“Huh. Now that you mention it…”

She smiles, one of those mysterious, knowing ones he finds so intriguing. “Bodhi did always say he thought you and I would get along if we ever met.”

“Too bad you have such high standards,” he replies, easily. “I could think of a few ways we could get along better.”

“Well, there’s always next week,” she offers.

“You mean, next week when we’re going to win trivia and you’re going to give me your number? That next week?”

Jyn shakes her head, but he can see she’s fighting a smile. “I admire your optimism.”

“Get ready to admire my intellect too,” he says, “when I win bar trivia.”

“Whatever you say, Cassian.”

*

“So,” Cassian says, as he leans up against the bar a week later after trivia has wrapped up, “are you absolutely sure you couldn’t be talked into dating someone much much dumber than you?”

Jyn’s answering laugh, surprised and delighted and unrestrained, makes him feel so much prouder of himself than winning trivia ever could. Not that he knows for sure, of course, never having done the latter, but if he had to guess.

[seraphdreams]

ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK? | GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. the campus power outage gives your sly classmates a proper chance to get to know you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, college au, dark content, kidnapping, use of toys, one (1) mention of “you cryin?”, vibrators / dildos, fearplay, eiffel tower position, blindfolds / restrictions, dubcon, squirting, double pen if you squint. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.0k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! happy friday thee 13th !! i know y’all remember me saying i wouldn’t write jjk anymore but i caved! so here’s my comeback to writing them , i literally can’t get gojo out of my head. as always, comment / reblog if you like it ! i’d muchly appreciate it ♡.

“isn’t she lovely, satoru?”

“fucking beautiful.”

a pair of crystalline-like eyes followed your bare figure down from your heaving chest to your lower abdomen where they settled on your glistening folds. you were spread open, laid against the armrest of the couch you were splayed across, hands bound taut by what felt like cheap, abrasive rope.

of the softer voice you had heard, its owner pulled out a silk piece of cloth from the pocket of his sweatpants, carefully binding it over your eyes, eluding your already subdued line of sight.

their mannerisms were recognizable, the two men who’d gotten you into that pathetic situation.

they were none other than gojo satoru and geto suguru from your foreign affairs class. prior to, you hadn’t shared much of a striking moment with them for their names to be ingrained in your memory, other than the times suguru would ask for a pencil, and gojo, a copy of the notes. it wasn’t until the start of the fall semester that you had grown closer to them.

they’d invite you to the campus’s library on account of needing you, /and only you,/ to tutor them, along with accompanying them to parties held by the school’s fraternity, and back to their dorm when things got boring — they took quite a strong liking towards you, despite your persistence on rejecting each advancement they made on you.

it wasn’t like you found them unattractive, or even unbearable. they just had more rumors than they could keep up with hanging off their reputation; rumors consisting of them switching girls much like they switch clothes simultaneous with how they weren’t particularly shy about their hookups, were among the ones you’d grown familiar with.

but, as the end of the semester grew nearer, you felt a need for excitement and a change of direction; especially in the form of gojo and geto.

“y/n?”

walking back from your overtiring night classes, the call of your name from a familiar voice whipped you straight out of fatigue. it was none other than the duo that seemed to follow you step by step, like puppies with their owner, as you turned around to catch a finer glimpse of them.

“hi,” your voice came out dulcet, and slightly hoarse. “why’re you guys out so late?”

“could be asking you the same thing.” suguru retorts, strands of long, inky black hair framing his mirthful expression. he had always been handsome to you, over six foot tall with sharp facial features that involuntarily caused him to exude an intimidating presence yet, he had a tame personality to back it up. there was a reason he was popular on campus.

he was also remarkably attentive when it came to you. suguru would make it a habit to check up on you from day to day, under the guise of morning texts and showing up to your dorm with limited edition beverages from your favorite cafe.

it wasn’t considered flirting if he was constantly referring to you as a “friend,” right?

satoru quickly came up behind him, resting his arm over the shoulder of the black haired man. he was donned in his signature style of attire, tinted glasses low on the bridge of his nose despite the sun being hours away from rising, which you had presumed was just his fashion choice. he looked better like that, anyway.

“i was just coming back from my night class. it let out early,” your words flowed airily into their ears, the tone cordial as ever.

it was the thing they loved most about you — your doe eyes, plump lips, and sexy curves that they’d fantasized about tracing every inch of with their tongues. you were too perfect, and far beyond naive. The ideal victim.

“pretty girls like you shouldn’t be out so late. it’s dangerous.” gojo held an emphasis to his last vocables, the warning you should’ve taken, yet brushed off as concern. because, of course it was. your friends were only “concerned.”

you nodded your head, lips involuntarily jutting out in a soft pout. “i know, i know.”

gojo was the rather flirtatious half of the duo, often opting to remind you of his undying attraction towards you that never seemed to get through to your glitter-filled mind. you were wrapped around his finger whether you knew it or not — you were but the final reward for him when having the others back to back failed to feed his salacious desires.

“you should swing by, though. satoru and i aren’t doing much,” geto spoke, looking at the blue-eyed man hanging off his side. “right, satoru?”

gojo perked up, a sly smirk making its way to his lips while he beckoned you closer with the movement of his fingers. “yeah, it’s friday. you deserve some time off, pretty thing.”

he wasn’t wrong. most of your time was spent dealing with school in which you barely had a moment for yourself. not to mention the fact that it was convenient, the commute to their dorm held less distance than it would’ve had you walked all the way back to yours. it worked out perfectly, for both parties involved.

with the mindless nod of your head and an “okay”, you made your way towards the two, and began to stride along in the direction of their place.

things were off about the duo, though, but not quite strange enough for you to think anything of it. the route was the same, some vacant corridor that always kissed your skin with its glacial breeze, leading to their hall, and down just a few steps was the doorway to their dorm.

as you patiently wait for geto to scan his keycard, the sensation of featherlight touch ghosting along the mast of skin that your tiny cropped top allowed to be exposed, shook you from your veil of comfort. you had come to realize it was gojo who took it upon himself to rest his hand on your lower back.

the world around you felt recognizable, yet you couldn’t shake the suspicion that deep down, something’s wrong.

the latch of the door beeped, signaling that it had been unlocked successfully, and with a sturdy hand, geto opened the door to allow for you and gojo to slip past while he kept his distance, treading leisurely behind.

satoru flipped up a light, the whole place illuminating immediately after. it looked different from the last time you came over, posters that littered every wall in the living space seemingly replaced by minute frames of artwork, all cohesive with the neutral nature of their dorm.

lit at the coffee table across from the couch where you decided to settle yourself at, was a single-wick candle that filled their air with its hints of fresh sage and amber musk.

“lemme take care of your bag,” suguru extended his arm out to you with a soft smile on his face. gojo sat down beside you, ridding himself of his glasses while you gave geto your tote. “i need to get something from my room so i’ll just put it on the bed that way you won’t have to worry.” he continued.

“thanks, sugu.” you returned his warm smile with a beam of your own.

gojo’s tongue clicked as he rolled his head back against the headrest of the couch. “marry her while you’re at it too, huh?” his tone is painted in vexation that wasn’t clear enough to distinguish between mirth or solemnity.

you heard geto chuckle as he made his way to the bedroom, waving off satoru’s comment. “wouldn’t hurt you to be nice every now and again.”

“you jealous, ‘toru?” you taunted to the ivory-haired man, relaxing further into the couch as his arm took purchase around your shoulder, pulling you in closer. “and if i am, baby? what’ll you do t’me?”

it wasn’t hard to get lost in his eyes, especially when they seemed to draw you in with that playful expression of his and kept you craving more of his attention. he’s so annoying.

you brushed off his query with an eye roll, turning your focus back to geto as he sat on the other side of you, a small box taut in his grip.

oddly enough, the soft whirring of mechanics died down along with the luminescence that filled the dorm shutting off, leaving the three of you in pitch black darkness, with only the faintest sliver of light emitted coming from the candle.

it painted an eerie picture, one that caused the pace of your heart to quicken as your body involuntarily tensed.

“oh?” suguru was the first to voice his mystification. he set the box aside, taking a haste look at gojo; which was more of a silent cue to the latter, reminding him of their true intentions.

what you assumed was geto’s hand over your thigh, diligently ran along the expanse of your lower half until its fingers curled at the hem of your bottoms. “aren’t we lucky?”

his touch was unfamiliar, nonsynonymous to you as the chivalrous suguru you knew. the sensation was weighty with lust, hungry against your skin, enough so to cause you to wonder.

“suguru, your—“

just as you were about to question the man before you, his eccentric best friend cut in.

gojo created the slightest gap of distance between your bodies, mainly to take advantage of the sight before him — geto working diligently to rid you of your garments, stripping you bare, safe for the thigh high socks struggling to contain the spill of your plush thighs.

“what? you afraid of the dark?” satoru’s teasing aided in affirming your suspicions. and the fact that you were utterly helpless, only sprung on his arousal as well. “we’ll take good care of ya.”

geto’s left hand found its place back on your thigh, more-so to spread your legs for the two. “you trust me, don’t you?” he smiled, that same smile that was painted over by an ulterior motive. he stood up, finding his knee in between your thighs, centimeters from your heat. “satoru, the rope?” he held his hand out for gojo, feeling satisfied once his request was fulfilled by his best friend, handing him the cord from the opposite end of the couch.

the words you wanted to say struggled to bubble up in your throat, rendering you speechless and anticipating. in one hand, suguru took both your wrists, tying them taut by the cable and stepping back to get a better view of your helplessness, specifically the way it leaked from your cunt and soaked into the cushions.

all the same events that explained the predicament previously mentioned.

after the unfortunate affair of being blindfolded, you felt lithe fingers drum at your clit. it was a teasing, rhythmic sensation that made it clear to you in the strongest way it could, that gojo was the one with reigns over your body now.

“our feelings are so hurt, babe,” his voice feigns offense, and although you couldn’t see him, you sensed that his signature smirk was etched over his features. and that, it was.

he toyed with your heat, running his index and middle fingers along your slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he could before sinking them into your hole. “you kept rejecting us in the past, but,” as his words trailed off, the pace at which his fingers pumped inside of you quickened. “we’re treating you fucking good, right?”

even though it was just two of his digits, the stretch that they’d allot to your hole was delicious, the tips of his fingers deliberately curling against your gummy walls, right at your g-spot which only made the shaking of your thighs worse.

“god—” you rasped, nodding your head. your heat made no effort in slowing the way it greedily sucked in his fingers. it was almost as if you were waiting for this, fantasizing how it’d be like to be one of their girls.

with every foolish thought came foolish actions.

satoru awaited your answer, speeding up to an impossible pace when you didn’t respond within his time bracket. “wanna hear you say it, baby. tell me how good I'm making you feel,” he demanded.

it felt as though your mind was going to break, the pleasurable mixture of sensations causing your head to spin and orgasm to build within you. you only allotted the fortitude for soft babbles, trying your hardest to conjure up something coherent. “f-fucking good! ‘s so fucking good!”

the pad of his thumb finds your clit, rubbing vigorous circles over the bundle of nerves. “attagirl,”

wet squelches were sonorous in the air, so much so, that the students inhabiting the dorms just across the hall could probably hear the filth taking place at that very moment. not that it was something new to them — it was just another satosugu friday night.

you couldn’t take anymore, your thighs threatening to close around his arm, yet his free hand kept you spread.

“i think she’s gonna cum, satoru,” geto coos, leaning down beside you while watching as gojo edges you closer and closer to sweet release. “can you squirt for us, princess? make a mess?”

before you could retort, your release rippled within you, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. evidently, geto’s questions were answered instantaneously the moment you soaked satoru’s fingers with your essence. your chest heaved, your breath growing ragged just moments after.

if only you had the reins to see them — touch them.

gojo slipped his soiled fingers into his mouth, moaning at the saccharine flavor you left him with. if he could live off the taste of you alone, he’d know for sure that he’d die happily.

“are you really that sensitive?” suguru queried. in his hand was the concealed box, filled with toys; some that could vibrate, along with others that were clearly meant to stretch you out. he pulled out one of the thicker dildos, running it along your slit in paintstroke motions.

“do you think this could make her squirt just as fast?” his inquiry to gojo made it undoubtedly clear that they’d been plotting against you from the very start; it wasn’t just some spontaneous idea.

gojo’s focus was unwavering on the dampness seeping through his sweats, his palm rested atop his hard-on as he watched the pleasant sight of geto sinking the silicone into your hole. amidst satoru, he was concerningly gentle. he had kept one hand at your thigh, draw soft patterns while he kneeled between your legs to give himself a better view at how hungrily your cunt sucked him in. “‘toru’s always so rough, isn’t he?” suguru cooed,

you mindlessly nodded your head; it wasn’t like you agreed, but you were stuck between heaven and bliss, not knowing which felt better. whereas gojo was, albeit, impatient and loved to get the good parts, suguru was refreshing, like a cold glass of lemonade on a warm summer’s day. suguru started up a thrusting motion with the toy, building it up to a speed that had your back arching and thighs quivering under his hold.

“you’re so tight, darling. you a virgin?” his soft voice speaks out.

as you were about to respond, gojo’s large hands found themselves at your tits, kneading the flesh while his fingers tweaked at your stiffened nipples. “this virgin’s pretty hot,” satoru commented.

“n-not a virgin!” your reaction came in the form of a cry, seemingly at the increase of stimulation within your gummy walls, the tip of the silicone cock nudging so sweetly against your gspot that the nothingness of your sight morphed into white hot pleasure.

you had fallen perfectly into their trap — what would’ve taken a considerable amount of effort, and even thinking, was handed to them easily though the power of the gods; they’d be sure to thank them later for their service .. or maybe you will.

suguru removed one hand from your thigh, relocating it to dig aimlessly through the box. he was satisfied when he pulled out a tiny bullet vibrator, switching it on to the most mild level and gently circling it against your clit. “mm, i don’t think i believe you,” an amused smile etched on his features watching you squirm in his hold.

with pleasure stemming from the most sensitive parts of your body, it’s difficult to chase away the feeling of yet another, messy, mindnumbing orgasm. “geto..!” your whines fell to deaf ears, suguru hyper-focused on the way your puffy clit twitches underneath the toy. he knew you were close; anyone within a mile’s radius could tell that, and perhaps he was covertly evil, because the loss of stimulation that came soon after he pulled the toys from your heat was pure work of the devil.

he spoke up just as he switched his attention from your aching cunt to your heaving chest. “if you’re not a virgin you shouldn’t have any trouble taking us both, right?”

oh?

they were like that. you should’ve known — the two did everything together, it’d be foolish to deny the possibility of them fucking together.

your obstructed vision was finally restored when gojo took off your blindfold. he figured it’d be much better if you saw how you were about to be obliterated — and obliterated you were.

he took your hand in his, standing you both upwards.

you wobbled beside him, your legs feeling like jello from the insane amount of stimulation your cunt had to endure. “look at her, suguru. she can barely stand,” gojo teases. “and we haven’t even got to the good part yet.”

he wastes no time in freeing his hard cock from the prison that was his boxer briefs. his length was long, bulbous head flushing a soft pink as beads of pre-cum dribbled down his shaft. he gave himself a few experimental pumps before turning you around and bending you over.

without the stability to keep yourself bent completely, you crashed into geto, who was no more than an inch away from your face. you looked up, sheepishly as he rid himself of his hoodie, faced with his toned abdomen.

“we haven’t done this position in a while, huh?” there’s a cocky smirk on geto’s face. one that was his own, yet it wasn’t the suguru you’d known.

since when was he the conniving type? did all his time with gojo finally rot his brain? or were you staring at a man you truly never knew?

suguru’s hand slipped just under the waistband of his sweats to free his cock. the tip tapped harshly against your lips before he took a firmer grip at the base to smear pre-cum over your already saliva drenched lips. “open up, pretty baby.”

instinctively, you slid your tongue around the head of his cock before suckling the sensitive area, only gradually taking in more. on the other end, gojo pushed himself into your core, letting out a low hiss at how eagerly your needy cunt took him in.

“she’s fucking tight,” he groans, squeezing at the plush fat of your hips while rocking his own into you.

“don’t get greedy now, ‘toru,” geto’s voice is soft as his hand in your hair gently guides you to take him deeper, up and down his cock. it’s evident you’re pretty damn good at giving head from the adoration in his eyes when he looks down at you, silvery orbs with hearts for pupils locked onto your vacant ones.

“what a well trained whore you are.” he praised, beginning to buck his hips up into your mouth, not rigorously, but enough to prod at the back of your throat and scatter tears to your waterline.

gojo slipped his thumb into your puckered hole while his thrusts became harder, with fervor. he wasn’t one to be patient nor hold back, especially when it came to someone like you, with a pussy so tight and moans so sweet, he’d have to break you just a bit. where’s the fun in that if he doesn’t?

his balls slammed against your clit, creating a potent string of pleasure to course through your body. throbbing was pertinent within your walls, each drag of his cock along the ridges inside you posing you weak from the shocks of euphoria. a hard slap came crashing down at your ass, gojo’s sizeable hand repeated the motion occasionally to watch the way the flesh rippled.

your moans were muffled by the intrusion of cock getting fucked into your mouth. the room reverberated in an array of messy skin slapping in tandem with groans and whimpers. it was music to their ears, a song they’d want on repeat if it were possible.

“shit.. ‘m gonna cum,” geto’s dulcet tone alerted. you watched in pride at how the muscles of his lower abdomen flexed in the onset of his orgasm. his rhythmic thrusts faltered, morphing into a resonance of scattered heavy thrusts that led him closer to his orgasm until he eventually jettisoned his seed into your mouth. the taste wasn’t as bitter as you were used to, it was almost pleasant and you swallowed every drop before he pulled out ever so slowly, his chest rising and falling while his cheeks were dusted in a soft rose flush.

“you were so much better than i imagined,” his fingers wrapped around your jaw, gripping ever so gently as he bent down to messily kiss at your lips, groaning at the taste of his orgasm on your tongue.

“yeah, yeah. good for you,” gojo started up in his usual bratty tone, sounding more guttural than his typical self. “can finally cum in her without you messin’ me up.”

suguru was used to gojo’s sharp tongue, his complaint not seering as deep as it would’ve had it been their younger years.

whorish moans slipped past your lips, your balance wavering as gojo picked up speed. he was far deeper inside your plush cavern, hitting at the spongey spot with precision that had your whimpers turning into babbles. “s-sho good .. you fuck me sooo good,” gojo took amusement in your slurred speech, pulling you up by the waist until you were completely upright.

it felt as though he couldn’t reach any deeper, yet he did, the feeling spreading all over your body, you were almost 100% certain that you could feel it in your ears. tears had filled your waterline and came cascading down your cheeks before you could even establish what it was. satoru held you close, your bare back pressed against his chest. it was an overwhelming feeling, one that made you lax enough to rest your head on his shoulder.

he smirked, gripping your chin with his fingers to get a better look at you.

“you cryin’?”

that familiar sensation bubbled up within you, what had felt like your nth orgasm had come in blissful surges, his cock coated in the translucent milky essence of your release.

with haste, you were fucked through aftershocks and overstimulation as satoru chased his high.

he had stamina for days, having built it up through multiple one night stands, and yet, he wasn’t quick to pull out like his counterpart, no. there was something of love that came with cumming inside you.

the skin of your thighs clung together with a mixture of your cum and his as he pulled out of your twitching hole. you stumbled a bit, getting back grounded on your feet, the two men tucking their third legs back into their garments.

a flickering noise was sounded from the building, different from the soft flickering of the candle that was beside you. quickly, the surgance of electricity illuminated the dorm, bringing much needed light to the situation at hand. you looked down at your bound wrists before the rush of embarrassment washed over your being once you had taken your naked, used body into account.

gojo carefully whisked you both back onto the couch with you sitting on his lap. “guess our fun’s over, huh?” he pouted, unbinding the rope that rubbed uncomfortably against your wrists. you weren’t exactly sure of who his rhetorical query was aimed to, and you would’ve spoken up had your throat not have been aching from the constant whining or even the pounding of a thick cock fucking bruises in the cavern.

geto was now situated behind the couch, leaning over the both of your figures.

“over? she’s spending the night.”

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @ryukatters @dabibreeder

[franike]

COLD LOVE

Thanos x reader

Authors note: I love him sm there is not enough fics about him, also sorry about my english •+• ALSO i added a character I hope yall don’t mind🙏 THIS FIC WILL HAVE MORE PARTS

It was just a normal day. You were taking the subway home after finishing your day at college. It was hard to pay for all college expenses and you already worked two jobs. As thoughts ran through your head someone approached you.

“Wanna play a game?” It was a strange man - he was tall, had short black hair and also wore a neat suit.

“Uh sure why not”

The game was called ddakaji. You get a piece of folded paper and another one is placed on the floor. The goal is to throw your piece of paper and flip the one on the floor to the other side. You played a few rounds and won every single one.

“Congratulations” The strange man told you as he handed you a card. Before you could say anything else he left leaving you confused. You took a good look at the card. The front of the card had a circle, a triangle and a square drawn on it and the back of it had a number. You looked at your phone for a second before calling the number from the back of the card.

“To play the game state your name and date of birth”

…

You were sitting in your apartment and thinking. What did I just sign up myself for….but i need the money. The pickup date is five days from now on. You looked at the picture on your table. It was a picture of you and your ex that disappeared one day, well not really but he disappeared for you. You still saw him on social media but that’s about it because one day he just said he can’t be with you anymore and left. What an asshole…but you still cared about him just a tiny bit. Perhaps if he died you would be a bit sad.

…First day at squid game…

You woke up at a bed in a big room. There were about 400 other beds and about 400 other people. What is this… You thought as you looked around when all of a sudden someone called out your name. You looked back and saw your friend, Claire.

“CLAIRE what are you doing here?”

“Ah i got myself into a debt..” Claire explained while uncomfortably touching the back of her neck. You didn’t mind however, you were also in a debt just for school, not for…. Anyways soon some guards came to the front and started explaining how this works. All of a sudden some people started complaining about literally everything.

“What about my shoes huh? They’re limited edition!”

Oh no…Its him. Its Thanos. Your ex. What the hell was he doing in here? Did he not see you? What a pain…Soon the first game started, it was green light red light. Pretty easy. That was until someone got shot in front of you because they moved at red light. You started to panic. It soon turned into green light but you were frozen. You felt like you were gonna faint and as soon as it was red light your knees gave out. However someone stood in front of you so you wouldn’t get seen. It was green light again and the person who previously stood in front of you took you by the forearm and forced you to run with them. You turned to look at the person and it was him. Thanos. Again.

“You really need to be more careful”

“Shut up freak”

He just smirked at you and continued the game. How unfortunate that you ended up in the same situation as him. Soon the game was over. Thanos approached you and started to talk to you.

“So why are you here?”

“I’m not gonna tell you”

“Wow calm down ice queen, it was just a question.”

How annoying can a person be. Even after you gave him the coldest glare you could he just simply smiled at you.

“So you’re just going to pretend that you didn’t leave me like some trash huh?”

To your surprise he stopped smiling, but only for a second before he was back to his usual self. He tried to wrap his arm around your shoulders but you pushed him away. The audacity of this man. You started walking away and he started to yell something at you.

“This isn’t over Y/N! You can’t run away from me so easily!” He started to laugh and went back to some guy. This is going to be long six days….

TO BE CONTINUED….

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Childs play (Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader [ex-Childhood best friend turned Fwb AU]) Part 1

Hiiiii! I’m so freaking excited for y’all to read this I’m literally shaking! This will only be 1 part. (Edit: I’ve changed my mind it will get a second part but it won’t be put right away) Shout out to @chickenshit03 for beta reading the one shot. Absolute sweetheart 🫶🏼. Not proofread, enjoy!!

(Y/N)-Your name.

NSFW!! SMUT!! MDNI!! Cursing, light choking during the deed , protecting PinV, Miguel being a big meanie near the end, Comfort/Hurt, lmk if I can’t think of anymore

Word count: 4.6k

Part 2

Masterlist

—

Knock knock…

“Hello, I’m sorry if I’m intruding but I wanted to introduce myself, me and my family just moved in next door and I wanted to introduce ourselves.” Your mother said as she stood at her neighbors door, you hid timidly behind her leg as she spoke to a Hispanic woman with curly dark hair. Your eyes wandered around her living room, or at least as much as you could catch from your spot. Not paying any mind to the conversation they were having when your eyes spotted a young boy around your age, about five or so walking past with a few legos in hand.

Your shyness was quickly overtaken with curiosity as you went to pull on your mother’s hand, she must have been watching you stare at the brunette, because before you could even turn up to ask her if you could go play, she was already shooing you in the direction of him as her and the other lady went to go talk over coffee in the kitchen.

He didn’t glance up at you as you sat down in front of his spot on the living room floor, being too preoccupied on the Star Wars set he was working on.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“My name’s (Y/N).”

“Cool.”

“What’s your name?”

“Miguel.”

You paused, shifting to sit down better before speaking again.

“Can I help? I love legos.”

He stayed quiet, and for a second you think he’ll say no, until he shrugged and moved the instruction book so you both could read it, making your lips come up in a smile.

“Sure.”

—

“You can teach me to play street fighter a million times and I will never understand it.” You huffed as you dropped the controller on your lap and leaned back on the couch, the tv in his living room sounded out a “finish her” as Miguel’s character killed yours, you couldn’t even be bothered to remember the names, peeved off that’d he beat you for the upteenth time, him not even having the courtesy to let you win one round.

“I’m not gonna be sorry for you being bad.” He retorted in a teasing tone, sticking out his tongue at you, and blew a raspberry. Your arms quickly crossover your chest as you puff your cheeks out with a pout.

“You’re so mean to me Miguel, I hate you.” You mumbled the half-lie to the other ten year old, looking away as you felt your cheeks heat with embarrassment, you didn’t even notice his movements until you felt him grab for your hand, turning your head to realize he was now standing in front of your spot on the couch.

“You don’t hate me, I’m your best friend.” He states, making you nod your head in confirmation after a beat, “Good. Because you’re my best friend too.” You smiled.

“Can we play something else then?”

“Nope.”

“Ughhh.”

—

“(Y/N), it’s your turn to spin the bottle.” Mj’s voice snapped you out of your head, suddenly aware of all the other fourteen years olds turning to stare at you. Was it a bit embarrassing you were about to lose your first kiss in a game of spin the bottle?

Half-dried nail-polished fingers gently grabbed the base of the empty Coke bottle, praying to god no one saw the way your hand trembled slightly, as you gave it a good twist. As your eyes tracked the blur of clear glass, you got your lower lip, silently hoping it was someone who you wouldn’t fluster up in embarrassment when you had to tell them who was your first kiss in the four walls of the lunch room. Like Kyle, or Ben or-

“Oooo- you got Miguel!” One of the other girls giggled as your eyes shot up to where the tip was pointing and surely, there he sat in front of you. Miguel was good…yeah, great even! You trusted him, he was your best friend since you were practically in dippers…So with a fine silent look of confirmation, you crossed the circle, closing your eyes as your lips connected for the first time.

Is it normal for your heart to skip a beat during a kiss? God how red is my face right now? Have I been holding it for too long? I wonder if he’s enjoying it, he hasn’t pulled away so that’s a good sign right? I should probably stop now. It's been like four seconds.

You finally pull away, sitting down on your knees as you bring a hand up to wipe some excess saliva away from the cover of your mouth. The sound of the next person going to spin the bottle muffles out around you as you focus on the weird flutter in your stomach.

—

“SLOW DOWN MIG-YOU’RE DRIVING LIKE A MANIAC!” You yelled as your left hand flew to grab at your seat belt, right hand gripping the overhead handle so hard your knuckles were turning white, pushing yourself as much as you could into the passenger seat at you could while he just let out an eye roll and chuckle as you were being dramatic (you weren’t).

“I’m not taking driving advice from someone who doesn’t have their license yet.”

“You got your license yesterday! I don’t turn sixteen for another four months!”

“Don’t care, you could ever shut up or take the bus.”

You couldn’t respond right away because another scream came from your throat as he turned a corner.

“If I die in this stupid car, I’m going to haunt the shit out of you O’Hara!”

“I’m not gonna let you die, stop being dramatic.” He scoffed, finally pulling up to the school parking lot, finally slowing down as he looked for a place to park. His arm comes around the back of your car seat as he goes to backwards park in an empty spot. “See I didn’t let you die.”

“I’m actually traumatized…” You muttered, eyes still wide as you kept still in your seat. Miguel let out a huff and he goes to take your seatbelt off once the car was shut off.

“If I buy you some subway during lunch will you stop complaining?”

“…yes.”

—

“Maybe I could just take a gap year-or-or go to the community college nearby, just until I can transfer, then I can try for Columbia again?” You kept fumbling your words, looking at the rejection letter in your hands. If you tried to focus on it enough, you’d be able to hear the paper shaking lightly in your hands. Glossy eyes trying to rapidly blink away tears before they fell on the paper. Miguel quickly shook his head as he placed his coffee cup down on the table of the cafe you two would frequent.

“No. Not happening, I’ll just reject my application and we can go to Stanford together in California.” He told you, making you copy his actions as you placed the paper down next to your other University letters.

“Are you crazy? That’s your dream school! I am not letting you do that for me. I’d never forgive myself for that.” You admitted, looking at him in those familiar brown eyes, praying to god yours weren’t growing bloodshot from the emotional moment between you both. Miguel letting out a heavy sigh, his hand going to run through his pushed back brown locks as he looked down at his letters again. The silence that grew over you two was almost suffocating, a thing it never felt like around him. It made your heart ache, trying to keep back a whine and some tears as you closed your eyes and took in a shaky breath before opening them again and finally breaking the silence between you both. “I mean…FaceTime is a thing right?” Miguel raised a brow at your sentence, before it clicked in his mind what you were implying. Quickly shaking his head, his hand coming up to stop you.

“No. No. I can’t even go a week without seeing you, I’ve lived next door to you for thirteen years and you expect me to be okay with us being two thousand miles away from each other!?” You glanced around you when Miguel raised his voice slightly, luckily other than you and the owner the place was practically barren.

“Mig, we’ll figure it out! We’ll call and text, FaceTime, and I’ll come back for breaks! And besides, you don’t strike me as a type to enjoy California.” You attempted to lighten the mood, thankfully being met with an amused grunt and his lip twitching up slightly.

“Fine… just, promise we aren’t going to end up like all those friends who stop talking because we’re going to separate college’s alright?”

Your smile grew. “I promise.”

—

Ring…

Ring…

Rin- “Hey it’s Miguel,” your ears perked up, quickly scrambling up from your position on your bunk bed, where you were laying on your stomach, “I can’t come to the phone right now, leave me a message.” Beep.

“Hey Miguel… just wanted to see how you were, I finished my exams for the semester, and I’m going back to Neuva York tomorrow. I wanted to see if you’d want to hang out during the break, let me know… bye…” You mumbled before you hung up the call, tossing your phone on the other side of your bed. Running your hands through your head, letting out a heavy sigh. Closing your eyes to keep any forming tears of frustration from spilling out.

You and Miguel weren’t as close as you’d like to be anymore. How did a few months apart completely unwind the tight knit threat that had kept you both close for years? It had started out well, you did good at keeping your side of the promise and he did as well. Texting every hour, FaceTiming him every weekend, calling every night while you both studied, it almost felt like nothing had changed.

Then, classes became harder, you’d both start to develop new friends, new routines. The text became less frequent, now lagging to every few days, FaceTime sessions were now non-existent and your daily calls now became monthly, never lasting more than half an hour. You hated how you two were growing apart, and it hurt to see that Miguel didn’t seem to care. You didn’t have to see him in person to notice his new friend group was starting to change his personality. He was starting to seem more stoic, dry, it almost seemed like he was constantly agitated or something of the sort when you finally would get a hold of him. Still… despite the gradual change he seemed to be going through you still had hope that deep down he was still the same old Miguel you had grown to love and cherish. And that spark of hope only grew when you heard the faint buzz of your phone from the foot of your bed, quickly grabbing it to read a new message.

Text me when you get in tomorrow.

—

This was not what you had in mind.

Somehow Miguel had convinced you to go to some random bar that didn’t ID with him and his college buddies. “I’ll be fun” he said, “you’ll love them” he said. Now here you were forced to listen to some snobby trust fund kid bitch and moan about how he had to inherit his father’s company and blah blah blah. You weren’t even paying attention anyways, his words were going into one ear and flying out the other, opting to sip on your mixed drink to help keep you from banging your head into the bar counter. Tonight had simply e been the worst. Not to mention Miguel had been acting… different.

Maybe he just wasn’t good with distance, but it still struck you as odd how the second you were both finally in close proximity it was almost as if nothing had happened, like your friendship with each other wasnt badly strained for weeks on end. It didn’t stop there though, no no no. Because now that you were with him in front of his new friends and all dolled up he had been more… touchy, and not in a way he had been before.

A hand on your thigh, an arm around your waist, a finger idly twisting and twirling your hair. It was so… intimate… like he wanted them to think there was something there that was more than just a childhood friend. You couldn’t say that you hated it, it was just unexpected.

“Hey… let’s get out of here?” Miguel’s whisper snapped you out from your thoughts. The way his voice murmured lowly against your shoulder as he all but rubbed against it like a cat making your cheeks flare up and a shiver ran down your back. Quickly ignoring the feeling of the spike in your heart rate and the wetness growing in your panties, nodding as you go to stand up, not wanting to be in the over cramped bar any longer and just waiting to head back to Miguel’s place since you were staying there for a week. Feeling like your knees were going to give out from underneath you when he slid his large hand from between your shoulder blades and upwards to squeeze your right shoulder.

Not sure if your hazy mind was from the alcohol or from his actions anymore. Not sure if things would go back to how they were before you’d left when he went to leave sloppy wet kisses on your neck as soon as his apartment door was closed and locked. Not sure if you could look at him the same way after he made you see stars from the comfort of his sheets. Still you couldn’t stop. It felt too good, he felt too good.

“Fuck- felt so fucking good…” He hissed as he pulled out from between your legs, taking a moment to let himself to catch his breath before rolling the condom off and tossing it in the trash can. You didn’t respond, still out of it from the aftermath of experiencing nirvana in the form of drunk sex. Letting out a sigh as you turned to your side and closed your eyes as drowsiness starts to seep into your bones. Feeling the other side of the bed dip before a strong arm came around to hug your waist.

“…Miguel?”

“Yeah?”

“This… was a one time thing right?”

A pause, a heavy sigh before you felt his soft lips kiss the nape of your neck.

“… of course.”

—

A flash of light shined through the darkness of your studio apartment. You didn’t even need to check the notification screen in order to know who it was. Only one person would text you at two in the morning.

Come over?

If you told your high school self that the only time you ever saw Miguel was in the deeps of night while you were tangled in his sheets, she would have thought you were lying. The most fucked up part was that it was starting to affect you mentally, how your best friend had turned into a booty call because of one night from a drunk fuck seven years ago, it was painfully obvious you’d never get to the point where you’d be able to go back to the way you both once were. You couldn’t help but cling to the last broken bits he was willing to give you though. So every time he calls or texts you at random hours of the night since you’ve moved back to Nueva York, you’d show up at his doorstep like you are now.

“I know it’s late, I'm sorry, these Master exams are kicking my ass.” He apologized while letting you in after a few seconds. Closing and locking the front door before gently pushing you against it, his lips already finding their usual spot against the crook of your neck. Calloused hands began to slip underneath the baggy material of your hoodie, his large fingers gently grazing the exposed skin, you’ve learned to stop wearing shirts to these sessions a long time ago. “Need to blow off some steam…”

“Miguel…”The way you’d breathe out his name always made him feel like he had died and gone to heaven, your hands wandering upwards against the black fabric of his tank top. His lips separated from the blossoming red and purple mark they left in their wake so he can pull your jacket off before stripping off his own shirt. Your arms quickly wrap around his neck, any guilt that had been lingering in your mind quickly melted away when his hands ran down to your hips underneath your waistband, thumb fidgeting with the thin fabric of your panties. “Need you-“

“Need you too Cariño.” He muttered before going to place a gentle peck against the edge of your lips, you couldn’t help but let out a small whimper at the movement. You’ve noticed he never kisses you directly on your lips, always on the edge, on your neck or cheek. You would have felt your heart ache if the feeling of your core throbbing when his hand dragged your bottoms down to squeeze your ass wasn’t more overwhelming, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

Half of the time you two didn’t even make it to the bedroom, finding a spot on the hallway wall or against the kitchen counter. This was one of those times, he stumbled over to the couch, too distracted on leaving hickies all over your chest and dipping his fingers into your wet cunt. You let out a gasp when you landed on the brown leather rather harshly, making the couch move a few inches from its original spot due to the weight of both of your bodies hastily climbing on top of it. He made quick work to strip the rest of your clothes from both of your bodies once he made sure you hadn’t accidentally hit your head. Quickly slipping a condom before lining himself up.

“Fuuuuck-fuck…” He groaned, as he pushed the tip of his cock between your folds. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream from the deliciously painful stretch that he always provides. Giving you a second to adjust to his length and girth before pulling out and slamming his hips against yours, each thrust making your silent whimpers and whines turn into pornographic moans and incoherent babblings. “Love filling you up. You love this cock don’t you?” He taunts, it was so cruel the way the words fell from his mouth but you loved it nonetheless. Nodding rapidly as you gushed around him for the first time tonight.

“Nah uh… need to heard you say it. Use your words.” He smirks, enjoying the plop plop sound that started to quietly reverberate off the walls of his living room. Glancing down momentarily to watch a thin layer of cum that was forming a ring around the base of his cock. “Tell me how much you love it.” He urged.

“Fuck-fuck… love it so much.” You moaned, overstimulated from your orgasm, squirming underneath him just the way he liked. He couldn’t help the way his ego swells at the way you feel apart for him.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.” He cooed as he propped your leg over his shoulder to get a better angle, his sweet words always messed with your foggy mind. “Such a sweet little thing, all for me.”

“Don’t-don’t say that Mig.” You whined, head turning to the side, as your hand dropped from his chest to drop off the couch. His right hand quickly leaves your hip and runs up to your neck, keeping his grip light as he props your head back to face him with his index finger.

“Aww poor baby, can’t handle when I talk all sweet to her, huh?” He let out an airy half chuckle. Despite the honey-like toned he’d use, the underlying taunt was always present. “Let me make it up to you baby.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he thrust deeper into your core, making your hips subconsciously jump up to meet his.

“Mig-Miguel, I’m so-so close.” You whimpered and whined, clenching around his length, his hips stuttering slightly as you felt the heat building in your lower belly start to grow with each thrust.

“Cum with me baby… Cum all over this cock.” He groaned.

“Fuck-Fuck.” With one final thrust, you finally came undone around him, his name falling from your lips over and over like a mantra. Miguel followed suit, stopping his thrust while fully inside your cunt, letting out a deep groan as he came.

“Shit… You okay?” He asked once he was able to collect himself enough, climbing off top of you before rolling the used condom off his softing member, picking up his forgotten boxers and placing them back on.

“Mhm…” You nodded, trying to stabilize yourself on shaky arms and legs. Miguel seemed to have noticed, picking up your clothes from the floor and making his way over to hand them to you.

“Let me get you some water.” He said before retreating to his kitchen. The only sound in the air now was the faint noises of him rustling around his cabinets, and the quiet shuffling of clothes. Hating the feeling of putting your legging and hoodie back on due to the thin layer of sweat still on your skin. Once you were decent enough Miguel came back with a glass of water and handed it to you. Mumbling a “thank you” before taking a sip. Miguel cleared his throat as he sat down on the other edge of the couch, eyes cast down, hands rubbing anxiously together, finally deciding to break the steadily growing awkward silence. “Look, (Y/N), I wanted to talk to you about something… something kinda important.”

You raised a brow, noticing the sudden change in his behavior, taking another quick sip before placing the half empty glass on his coffee table. “What’s up?”

He released a heavy sigh as he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, still not making eye contact as he continued. “I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll just put it out there…” He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, “We need to stop seeing each other.”

Huh?

“I’m sorry what?” The words came out of your mouth before you could stop, your face quickly filling up with confusion and a bit of disbelief as you stood up. Miguel follows your actions as he puts his hands up in defense, but you continue before he could try explaining. “You can’t just fuck me on your couch then tell me afterwards we need to stop. You know how much of an asshole you sound?”

“I know, I know it makes me sound like an asshole.” He tried to reason with you, going to finally put on his shorts and tank top that were still on the floor. Not feeling like being half-naked during this conversation. “Look, there’s this girl I’ve been seeing and it’s getting pretty serious-“

“A girl you’ve been seeing?” You repeated in disbelief. “You can’t be for real.”

“Well, we never agreed to be exclusive. It’s not like we were going to start dating or anything.”

Ouch.

You had to turn away so they didn’t see the tears building in the corner of your eyes, but even with your face hidden your body language gave you away.

“I know we weren’t exclusive but fuck Miguel.” You shake your head, going to make your way to the door. “I’ve known you since we were five and you’re just gonna throw me away like some old toy?!”

“Hey-no. That’s not-that’s not what I mean, you know that.” He takes a step forward, grabbing your arm before you could get too far. “We can’t sleep together anymore, but we can still be friends.” You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips, finally gathering yourself enough to pull your arm away and face him again, not caring if he saw the tears cascading down your cheeks. He’s made you cry one too many times, it’s about time he saw what he did to you. “We can still be friends! You’re still my best friend (Y/N)!” He couldn’t help but let his voice come out in more of a panic, a bit more rushed. You quickly shook your head.

“No. No, we aren’t best friends anymore Miguel, we haven’t been in a long, long time. I know that, you know that. So don’t pretend like we are just because your afraid of losing your emotional support fuck buddy.” You finally head toward the door and towards your car in the driveway, not turning to face him as you hear him call your name. “Don’t call me, don’t text me. If you're as serious about this girl as you say you are, you’d do the right thing and block me. Because I’m so tired of waiting around and pretending like one day you’ll wake up and realize I’m in love with you.”

You froze once the words came out, hand still on the car door handle as you came to the realization you finally admitted the secret you’ve been holding for the past ten years. Your free hand going to cover your mouth as you finally turn to look at Miguel, the look of shock from the confession was evident. You shook your head as you attempted to back track.

“Wait, Miguel I didn’t mean to tell you that-it just happened-“

“… You should leave.” His voice suddenly became stoic, his face hardening so it was hard to read his emotions. “This is just helping my case. Leave.” The tears flowed harder down your face as he slammed the front door shut. Leaving you to sob into the emptiness of the night as you finally let all the pain from the last seven years catch up to you.

You weren’t surprised to see your text bubbles turn green the next morning.

—

“I really think this one is it.”

“Me too!”

“He’ll love you in that dress.”

“Aww I can already see the waterworks.”

All you could do was smile, your hands repeatedly smooth non-existent wrinkles as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you looked like a real life princess. After what felt like hours you finally found the wedding dress. You couldn’t be happier.

“Alright Miss future Osborn.” Your maid of honor squealed, finally getting your attention, “You need to get out of that dress, you need to meet up Harry to look over the venue.”

You sighed, as you turned back to admire the white wedding dress one more time. “You’re right, I don’t wanna keep him waiting just cause I can’t stop staring at myself.” You giggled, before heaving to the back.

You and Harry have been dating for four years now, and he had proposed last month during your anniversary. You couldn’t be happier, he treats you like a queen, better than any other Man you’ve ever been in romantic contact with.

Once you had finally finished changing out of your regular clothes, you grabbed your phone out of your purse. Sending a quick text telling him that you found a dress, before doing a quick check on insta, wanting to look at the engagement pictures you posted on your page last week. But the soft smile on your face quickly dropped, like your heart did to your stomach when you checked your activity page.

Miguel.Ohara.99 and 4 others liked your post.

Miguel.Ohara.99 started following you.

1 message request from Miguel.Ohara.99

Fuck.

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @scaryplanetdestroyer @miguels-aranita @beezusvreeland @raginghomo62 @miguelbaby @thedevax @vera4luv @alialucille

[scoutofmymind]

hey loved your fics you are incredibly talented. i have a scene picture some angst reader is kinda like jo march if u watched little women and luigi is laurie in that one hill scene. basically reader prioritizes acads because of her upbringing - high achiever, academic validations, the whole package and luigi somehow is the same but he compels the reader in a magnetic way because luigi gets to be so carefree and awesome about it and turns out luigi and reader have a common thread and it's turning out rlly good but then reader is slightly scared of commitment in a relationship dare i say? because it was all acads for reader even though there were dreams of having a relationship, it all seemed abstract and unreal!! and the angst comes when luigi confesses to reader and reader reacts very defensive i suppose spitting out word vomit enumerating reasons why luigi shouldnt like her and how he's too good for her and luigi just shuts reader up by pinching their cheeks and holding them steady saying i want you all of you all that sweet stuff...this is just a thought i want to say i admire you heavily your writing is pivotal

Without Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, pining, best friends, purest love, summer, unrequited, lowkey gut-wrenching (sorry)

Wc: 6,843 (I could not stop writing)

Notes; Before we begin, I have to say, anon, I very much enjoyed writing this!! And thank you so much for sending me this request! ✨ there are only a couple bits of dialogue that match the hill scene, but I wanted to throw them in there!

This is lowkey a mini-fic, so enjoy!

Side note: If anything is badly edited, I will likely come back to do some cleaning up. But maybe not. Also I’ve started picking songs to include in requests wherever they may fit in. I want to mention too that backstory is something I just simply can’t leave out when it comes to angsty or emotional scenes, so I’m sorry I literally can’t shut up.

The cicadas weave their summer hymn through the gentle lap of water against stone, your body stretched across whisper-soft grass beside the reservoir.

This spot holds years of you both — echoes of skinned knees and bruised elbows soothed by cool spring water, of childhood dares and teenage secrets.

"You never swim with me anymore." Luigi's voice carries no accusation, just a quiet observation that somehow makes it worse. You can picture his expression without looking —that gentle, knowing thing that always sees too much. "All you do now is torch yourself in the sun."

Your back peels away from the grass, elbows bent to prop you up. Through his borrowed sunglasses — because of course you forgot yours back at the house, and of course he had a spare —you study him.

He's summer personified: water-darkened hair curling at his temples, shoulders golden in the early evening light, wearing a smile easy as breathing.

"I just don't want to get my hair wet, Lu." You say it with the comfortable certainty of someone who's had this exact argument a hundred times before.

"Well, don't then." His retort is quick, familiar. He moves through the water with an easy grace that somehow makes the old reservoir look more inviting than it ever has, though you'd never admit it.

Your shoulders are painted with freckles from all these summer days — chasing chickens in the fields, racing bikes into the city with him riding at your back, his presence as constant as the seasons.

"But then when I get out, I'll be cold." The words float between you like lazy dragonflies, and Luigi just shakes his head, spattering droplets that catch the light.

He pouts, but not like you do.

Where your pouts are theatrical productions, his is a quiet thing — eyebrows drawn together in thought, bottom lip pulled inward instead of jutted out dramatically. His gaze fixes downward at his feet beneath the crystal-clear water, methodically toeing one stone over, then another, like the placement of each pebble might solve some grand puzzle.

You watch him wage his silent war of reorganization, using nothing but his ten toes as construction equipment. It's such a Luigi thing to do — finding the smallest tasks to occupy himself instead of splashing around like he usually does, trying to tempt you in.

"Bet the water feels incredible," he murmurs, more to the stones than to you. His toes have created a perfect semicircle now, a tiny amphitheater beneath the surface. "Like that lemonade your mom makes — you know, the one with mint?"

You do know.

The kind she only makes when the temperature crawls past ninety, when the air feels thick enough to chew. Like today. You can almost taste it — tart and cool and perfect — which is exactly what Luigi intended with that particular comparison, the sneak.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," you inform him, but you're already sitting up straighter, your legs beginning to tingle from staying still too long in the sun.

The grass has left impressions on your skin, tiny crosshatched patterns that Luigi always says look like secret maps, his fingers drawing lines upon them.

He doesn't look up from his underwater construction project, but one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Never claimed to be subtle. That's your department, avoiding the water like it's personally offended you."

"The water hasn't offended me," you say, though you draw your knees up to your chest, putting another inch between you and the shoreline. "We have a mutual understanding. It stays there, and I stay here."

"Mhm." Luigi abandons his stone circle, wading a few steps deeper until the water laps at his knees, stood there in his trunks, the cobalt blue ones that hit just above his mid-thigh. "And how's that working out for you? Enjoying your dusty patch of grass while I'm out here living like a king?"

The problem is, he does look a bit regal out there, all long limbs and easy grace, like he was born for summer days and spring water.

You've known Lu since you were both gap-toothed and gangly, but sometimes — like now — he seems to have grown into himself while you weren't looking.

Yet, your own limbs still feel too long, too awkward, like you're wearing a costume that doesn't quite fit.

Meanwhile, Luigi wears summer like a second skin, all easy movements and natural grace, as if the universe decided to polish him up while leaving you in your perpetual state of stumbling through doorways.

"A king of minnows, maybe," you counter, but you're already uncurling, letting your feet stretch toward the water's edge. Not to join him, obviously. Just to... test the temperature.

"Ah," he says softly, watching your toes creep closer, his voice taking on a funny narrators tone, an accent thrown in that sounded similar to his fathers. "The snail emerges from her shell."

"Shell-less snails are just slugs," you inform him primly, but dip one toe in anyway. The water isn't as cold as you expected — it never is, but that doesn't stop you from putting on this show every single time. "And I'm neither."

"No," Luigi agrees, dropping the accent but keeping that amused lilt in his voice. "You're more like- like one of those hermit crabs. The ones that think really hard about switching shells but then just stick with the same one anyway."

You splash water at him with your foot, and he doesn't even try to dodge. "Fuck, Lu —That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Is it?" He takes a few steps backward, deeper into the water, like he's laying out a trail for you to follow. "Because you're still sitting there, thinking about coming in, just like you do every time.“

Luigi could easily remember all the days spent here, in this very body of water together — the secret collection of precious gems that were really just polished river rocks, the fossil that turned out to be an old bottle cap, and that infamous river snake from an overturned stone that had you shrieking and refusing to dive under for weeks.

"Can't be thinking about doing it if I'm already doing it, Lu." You roll your eyes, your shins now lapping gently with clean, cool water. The trees droop overhead like nature's own parasol, their leaves casting dappled shadows that dance across your shoulders.

He's quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you can't quite read. And then. “Remember when we thought we found actual dinosaur bones here?"

"You mean the plastic fork?"

"A very convincing plastic fork."

The water feels like silk against your skin now, and you find yourself wading deeper without really meaning to. It's muscle memory, maybe — your body remembering what your mind keeps second-guessing.

"At least I wasn't the one who tried to sell it to the museum.” you remind him, the water now swirling around your waist. Each step stirs up tiny clouds of silt that disappear into the clear water.

He splashes in your direction, grinning. "We were tweleve! And Mrs. Henderson at the museum was very nice about it."

"She gave you a cookie and a lecture about scientific integrity."

"Exactly. A win-win."

You're deep enough now that you have to lift your arms to keep them dry, though you're not sure why you're bothering. Your bikini is already clinging to you, and that familiar weightless feeling is starting to take over — the one that always made you feel brave before.

"You know what your real problem is?" Luigi quips, but this time his voice is gentler. "You forgot how to play."

The words hit harder than you expect, maybe because there's no teasing in them now.

Just truth, floating there on the surface like a leaf.

"I didn't forget," you say quietly. "I just- I put it away somewhere."

The look in his eyes tells you exactly what's coming, but muscle memory kicks in before you can retreat, your arms already up in defense position as he sends a massive splash your way, the arc of water catching sunlight like scattered diamonds before it hits you full in the face.

"Luigi!" you shriek, but you're already laughing, already moving. Your soul remembers this dance even if your mind's been trying to forget it, and the water parts easily as you lunge toward him, years of practice making your movements swift and sure.

He tries to dodge, but you know all his tricks — the way he always feints left before going right, how he can't resist staying just within splashing range.

The water battle that ensues is immediate and fierce, both of you laughing and gasping, sending waves in every direction, limbs smacking into each other at times, your body trailing away from his while he charged closer.

"See?" he manages between splashes. "The Queen of minnows!”

You're about to respond when your foot slips on a smooth stone, and suddenly you're going under.

For a split second, panic flares — but then the tranquility and silence envelops you, and it feels like greeting an old friend, your eyes open underwater, seeing the filtered sunlight create shifting patterns all around you, and suddenly you remember why you used to love this so much.

When you surface, pushing wet hair from your face, Luigi is watching you with a grin, his sunglasses pushed away from his face and atop his head instead, nestled in his damp black curls. “You got your hair wet.” He gives you one last gentle splash, his grin so carved into his features it may as well be everlasting.

Luigi, the son of Marco Mangione, whose genius lay in transforming his grandfather's modest Milan carpentry shop into Mangione Artisan Living — now a name whispered in the same breath as Fendi Casa and Bottega Veneta's home collection.

When Marco married Sofia Bernardi in the 80’s, a celebrated interior designer, they moved to America, the local papers painting it as another wealthy foreigner's passing fancy — this modernist villa rising among cornfields and weathered barns.

But Marco had seen something in these hills that reminded him of Tuscany, in the calloused hands of local woodworkers that echoed his grandfather's.

The Mangione Mansion stands like a slice of northern Italy transplanted to American soil, with its stark geometries softened by groves of imported olive trees and terraced gardens.

It's a world away from your family's farmhouse, where the paint peels in honest patches and the screen door creaks a familiar welcome, yet Marco moves between these worlds with effortless grace, discussing the merits of different wood grains with your father across the fence line, or clearing out your mother's farmer's market stall of preserves, declaring each jar Perfetto, just like my Nonna's! with the same genuine warmth he uses to greet European royalty.

Luigi, who could have been pressed into private academies and dinner jackets, groomed for Ivy League legacies and country club memberships, had instead grown up alongside you in public school — though his future was cushioned by both financial security and natural brilliance.

You can't remember a time when academic excellence wasn't your north star — every assignment a stepping stone, every grade a battle in the war for your future.

Being a veterinarian wasn't just a dream, it was your escape route from the endless cycle of farm life that had worn your father's hands to calluses and bent your mother's back.

Perfect attendance since kindergarten, straight A's through AP Biology, even showing up on Senior Skip Day — just you and Lacey Williams, the would-be neurosurgeon, bent over your textbooks in an empty classroom.

Now here you both are in the water — you with your scholarship letters and student loan applications waiting at home, him with acceptance letters from Harvard and Yale gathering dust on his desk.

Two lives that should never have intersected, meeting in the middle of sun-warmed water, your shared freckles catching golden light, limbs tangling as Luigi feints another playful attack.

•

Summer buzzes by your eyeshot like a cicada in a hurry, the season winding down with cooler, longer nights and shorter, blazing hot days.

August comes barreling through like it always does, hot and sticky air clinging to your skin as you sit with Luigi upon the sloped side of the barn, a Birds Eye view of the farm, this very spot the first place the two of you had tried smoking weed, the very first time you ogled at a traumatizing porn everyone at school was talking about — this spot, worn from years of shared moments together is the very place you create some distance.

For the first time.

“I think I want my own party this year.”

The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of hurt crossing Luigi's face before he can master his expression.

For a moment, he looks eight years old again, standing in the tall grass with his first American birthday cake — the one your mom made because his parents were still learning that birthdays here meant homemade frosting, not elegant catered affairs and grand garden parties.

"Oh," he says, and it's the smallest you've ever heard his voice. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense. We’re turning twenty-two. Not eight anymore.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes, hands fidgeting with the bracelet you’d made him years and years ago — the same nervous tell he's had since childhood. "Actually, Ma’s been saying I should do something more — you know, formal this year anyway."

The lie sits between you like a third person.

Luigi, who once convinced his parents to move his elaborate garden party to your barn because you had the flu has never cared for formal anything.

You can see him rebuilding his walls, brick by careful brick, protecting himself the way he never had to with you before.

"Send me pictures though?" he adds lightly, but there's at least fifteen years of shared candles and off-key, bi-lingual singing wrapped in that request, fifteen years of your mom's chocolate cake and his ma’s tiramisu side by side on the same table.

"Luigi, it's not-" you start, then pause, because it is exactly what he thinks it is. A separation. A gentle fracture. "I just need to figure out who I am without- without being part of a matched set. Does that make sense?"

The words feel clumsy in your mouth, inadequate to explain this need that's been growing since your acceptance letter arrived.

You watch him nod too quickly, the way he does when he's processing something that hurts.

The same way he looked when Benny, one of the milking cows had passed three summers ago, or the way he looked when you told him you couldn’t go on the Mangione trip to Italy, desperately needing the vet clinic hours.

"My party's probably just going to be pizza with my study group anyway," you continue, trying to make it sound smaller than it is, even though you've already planned every detail — your first real birthday party that isn't shaped around accommodating both your worlds. "And you should do something spectacular. Twenty-two is a weird number, but you could make it your thing.“

He laughs, but it's his polite laugh, the one he uses at his father's business dinners. "Maybe I'll rent out that new rooftop place in the city," he says, playing along with this sudden pretense that the two of you haven't spent months quietly planning your joint party like every year before. "Very grown-up."

The space between you fills with unspoken memories — dual parties with increasingly ridiculous themes, the year you both got chicken pox and celebrated in quarantine together, or the year his mother hired a magician who pulled you both on stage as assistants.

Fifteen years of wishes and synchronized candle-blowing, and you’ve put an abrupt end to it, with not so much as a warning.

"You're not mad?" you ask, even though you can see he is — not angry-mad, but hurt-mad, the kind that makes his shoulders tight and his smile too careful.

He stands abruptly, brushing invisible dirt from his shorts. "Mad? Nah, come on. We're not kids anymore." The words come out just a touch too fast, too light. "Actually, I should head back. Papa wanted to discuss something about the company tonight."

It's barely seven, and Marco's in New York City until Thursday — you both know this. But Luigi's already stepping back, that practiced social smile firmly in place, the one he uses when he needs to retreat but is too polite to say so.

"Night," he calls over his shoulder once he scales the side of the barn down to the grass again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You watch him walk away, his usual easy stride now stiff and measured, leaving you alone with just the sound of the bullfrogs near the pond, and the chickens settling in their coops for the night.

The sunset feels colder somehow, and you wrap your arms around your knees, trying to convince yourself this is what growing up looks like as you sit there until the mosquitoes start biting, watching the space where Luigi disappeared and wondering if this is what independence is supposed to feel like — this hollow victory that tastes nothing like freedom and everything like loss.

•

The late August evening slowly begins to melt into night, the air carrying whispers of autumn though summer still reigns.

You breathe in deep — catching hints of hay being baled in distant fields, leaves just beginning their subtle shift from green to gold, and lake water evaporating off sun-warmed skin. The pontoon boat hums steadily beneath you, loaded with friends sprawled across every available surface, their laughter echoing across the darkening water.

You'd done your best to prepare them all, carefully explaining the separate celebrations to avoid awkward questions.

But Luigi's absence feels like a shadow you can't shake — in the pause after every joke, in the empty space at the boat's stern where he always sat, in the way conversations drift and fade without his easy charm to bridge them.

You're learning that some people leave gaps too precisely shaped to fill, and you catch yourself waiting for sounds that aren't coming —the full-bodied laughter that usually ricochets across the lake, the constant stream of Luigi's commentary that made even silence feel alive.

No one's standing at the boat's edge, goading others into increasingly ridiculous diving contests. The absence of these things sits heavy in your chest, like missing the last step on a familiar staircase.

"Good for you for doing your own thing this year," Mia offers, wine sloshing in her solo cup as she gestures vaguely. "Must be nice not having to compromise on everything for once."

Not really, you think.

The evening settles into dinner in the back garden, strings of lights casting warm halos over familiar faces — relatives, neighbors, friends who'd trickled in as the day aged and as if on cue, the peaceful scene splinters at the sound of tires on gravel and a booming voice that makes your stomach drop.

"Where's Luigi?!"

Cousin Tony's borrowed truck sits askew on the path, driver's door still swinging open like an afterthought.

He bounds toward you, one arm clutching what's clearly a wine bottle wrapped in what looks like yesterday's newspaper, his face bright with the anticipation of seeing his favorite duo.

The sight makes something in your chest twist.

He’s always treated you both as his own blood, never drawing lines between family and chosen family.

You're crushed into a bear hug before you can dodge it, his familiar cologne mixing with engine grease as you try to breathe through compressed lungs, but he’s still calling for Luigi over your head, each shout making the other guests shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's somewhere in the city, Tone," you manage to wheeze out.

Your phone burns in your pocket, where Luigi's latest Instagram story sits unopened — some rooftop view you're deliberately not thinking about.

"What'da ya mean?" His grip loosens just enough for you to see his face fall, confusion creeping into his features like a slowly spreading stain.

"We're... trying something different this year," you say, words feeling clumsy as you glance over your shoulder at the laden table — a spread that still unconsciously includes all of Luigi's favorites alongside your own. The sight of his mother's recipe for stuffed shells sitting next to your grandmother's pierogies makes your throat tight.

"Well, is he at least comin' later?"

"No." The word falls between you like a stone. "He couldn't cancel his reservation without losing the booking fee, so I just told him it was fi-"

"No, no, mia cara," Tony drags his hands through his hair, face crumpling like you've just told him the world is ending. "Potrebbe essere l'ultimo!" The words tumble out in his rushed native tongue, his distress making him forget himself.

"You just said that in Italian." Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears, like it's coming from the bottom of a well.

"Shit — It could be your last time, cuginetta." Tony's sigh seems to come from his bones as he pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the no-service icon.

"My last time?"

Tony lifts his head slowly from his phone screen, eyes finding yours with a weight that makes your stomach drop. "What — oh, Dio — do you mean to say he has not told you?"

"Told me...?” You brace yourself, chest aching with a sudden, sharp regret for all those breakfast lessons with Luigi's nonna, her patient voice guiding you through pronunciations you'd carelessly let slip away between coffee and lunch.

"He got big'a job in the big city," Tony's hands sweep upward, as if trying to encompass the vastness of a metropolis that stretches far beyond any gesture could capture. "Saying bye-bye forever to smelly farm." His hands fall, and his expression softens into something dangerously close to pity. "Sorry.”

"Leaving? Like — he's moving there?" The words feel strange in your mouth.

You're standing in the same garden where you and Luigi once buried treasure maps at age eight, where you learned to cartwheel together at twelve, where you shared your first illegal beer at sixteen — and suddenly it all feels like archaeological evidence of something that's already gone.

"That's where zio Marco is now, making sure Princess Luigi has all the things he need there for — uh—" Tony lapses into rapid Italian, but you've already stopped listening, the rest of his words fading into white noise.

You're hung up on the present tense of it all — Luigi’s father is there now, apartment hunting, setting up a brand new life while you stand here in your shared history, surrounded by people who apparently knew more about Luigi's future than you did.

The realization hits very suddenly.

Luigi was moving away, and he spoke not a word of it to you.

Tony manages a plate of food before borrowing your landline, desperate to track down Luigi in the sprawling city and when his truck finally crunches back down the gravel path, you feel it like a physical wound — as if he's taking a piece of you with him, torn straight from your core, yet, you maintain your composure with award-winning precision, a smile fixed firmly in place as guests filter away into the darkness.

You go through the motions, accepting kisses on cheeks, graciously receiving gifts labeled with just your name - no more Dynamic Duo or Thing 1 and 2 scrawled in familiar handwriting.

You help clear the garden, stack chairs, wash dishes that held food Luigi would have fought you for the leftovers of. You kiss your father's cheek goodnight, and tell your still-bustling mother you're heading out for some stargazing.

It's not entirely a lie.

You do end up beneath the stars, though you hadn't exactly planned to collapse here by the waterfront, where the distant dock creaks its lonely song, the splash of jumping fish and the bold croaking of nearby bullfrogs barely register — sounds that would normally make you jump now feel as distant as satellite signals.

You're lost in the undertow of your thoughts, barely noticing the warm tears tracking down your neck until your t-shirt is damp with evidence of a grief you didn't know you needed to prepare for — the silence holds you, envelopes you, and you’re almost convinced you can disappear here until-

"Hey, stranger."

His voice cuts through the cricket symphony like a knife, and you freeze, tears still wet on your face.

You don't turn around — can't turn around — because you know exactly what he'll look like: silhouetted against the moons full and distant glow, wearing that stupid designer jacket he bought last month that suddenly makes too much sense.

Big City boy.

The grass whispers beneath his feet as he approaches, each step measured like he's greeting a spooked animal.

It's funny — he used to just crash down beside you, all elbows and laughter.

When did you become something he had to be careful with?

"Tone called me," he says softly, still standing. "Said he found you but couldn't find me." There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Told me other things, too."

The lake laps at the shore, a steady rhythm that used to calm you both on countless nights like this.

Now it just sounds like a countdown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice sounds small against the vastness of the lake, broken and confused, betrayed and disbelieving.

"Would it have changed anything?" His words come sharp, defensive. "Would you have suddenly decided to stay?"

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" The laugh that escapes him is bitter and unfamiliar. "You want to talk about fair? I watched you apply to every college more than fifty miles away. Watched you light up talking about leaving, about getting out. Never once asking—" He cuts himself off, his gaze turning up instead at the trees that sway and rustle in the midnight air, a chill taking your spine.

"Asking what, Lu?”

"If I wanted to come with you." The words hang in the darkness between you. "If maybe I had dreams too, ones that didn't involve watching you disappear."

"I never said you couldn't-“

"What do you think I was going to do, wait around forever?" His voice cracks at the end, brittle and broken. "God, I've spent my whole life orbiting you like a personal Pluto. I don't even remember my life before you." He paces now like an agitated zoo animal behind a sheath of thin glass, just out of reach. “And yet, you expect me to stay here without you? While you go to college, make your own dreams come true?"

The moonlight catches his face as he turns, and you see something break in his expression. "I would have waited. I would have always waited, but fuck—" His hands tremble as they rake through his hair. "You've pushed and pushed and pushed me away. Every college application, every excited story about your future somewhere else, the party -“ he watches as you stand, your posture ridged and nervous, but attentive.

"Lu, please -“

"So what do I do?" His voice drops lower, trembling. "I have to think of myself too. I have to accept that we won't always be this way." He watches as you scrub your hands over your face, your unsteady legs carrying you off the dock.

The cool, damp grass beneath your feet becomes an anchor, something real in a moment that feels anything but.

He follows, his body angled toward yours like a compass finding north. "But it didn't have to be like this." His voice softens to barely above a whisper, his dress shoes crushing the grass with each step.

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" You whirl around, wiping furiously beneath your eyes, moonlight catching the tears on your cheeks that refuse to be unseen. "We were going to play in the river forever? Did you think we'd just find our way without ever trying?" The words come out harder than you mean them, sharp with the kind of anger that's really just fear in disguise.

"I- you-" Luigi's voice breaks.

His eyes are bloodshot, the bridge of his nose red from earlier tears hastily wiped away in the party bathroom. In the half-light, he looks both younger and older than your shared twenty-two years — a boy trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, a man facing his first real loss.

"You know, maybe it might have been that easy for you, Lu." Your eyes drift to the Mangione Mansion, its windows gleaming like jewels against the dark hills, an anomaly among the endless cornfields. "You never had to lift a finger — it always just..." You gesture vaguely, bitterly. "Fell into place."

The words taste like copper in your mouth, sharper for how unfair they feel.

Because he's always shared everything.

Those lavish family dinners where his mother insisted you sit next to her, those delicate necklaces from Rome that he'd drape around your neck with careful fingers, those shopping trips where his nonna would press dresses into your arms with a conspirator's wink.

He's never once made you feel like charity.

But there are some things that can't be shared, some advantages that run deeper than generosity.

While you pieced together credits between evening classes and online courses, fighting for every inch of progress, he'd come home rolling his eyes at another Harvard letter, another Yale recruiter calling.

You take a deep breath, feeling the summer air fill your lungs, and air that smells like it always has, like corn silk and cut grass and the all-consuming night. "Did you think we'd just stay here in our bubble, Lu?" Your voice softens despite yourself. "The only place we've ever known?"

All he can do is stand there, helpless, caught between a nod and denial.

His expression crumples into something raw and pleading — such a far cry from the boy who, just last week, had painted patterns across your skin with river mud, both of you laughing until your sides hurt.

The same boy whom you could communicate with without even speaking to, who knew exactly how you took your coffee, who was born the day before you, and who could read your silences like a book he'd memorized; yet now he's looking at you like you're written in a language he never learned to speak.

"No." The word propels you forward, feet moving before your brain catches up.

His face softens into something unbearable — like watching a star collapse in slow motion, finally understanding that this isn't just another one of your theoretical late-night talks about the future.

His carefully constructed composure crumbles, leaving behind something young and scared and achingly real.

"I love you." The words fall from his lips like muscle memory, like breathing, like the thousands of times before — whispered against your hair during movies, shouted across parking lots, mumbled sleepily during long car rides. But now they land heavy between you, a weight pressing against your chest until it hurts to breathe. "I always have, and I always will—"

"No. No, Lu." Your voice cracks on his name, and your pace quickens, bare feet crushing grass beneath desperate steps.

But he matches you stride for stride.

“My life has been so intertwined with yours, when you began to pull away - I- I panicked,” He was rambling now, quick and out of breath but keeping up with you nonetheless, the two of you navigating the vast property, moon and starlight the only thing guiding your path. “I settled on what I knew would be easiest,”

“That’s the problem.” You stop again to look at him, your chest heaving. “You don’t need to settle, Lu — you’re brilliant, you’re so fucking brilliant-“ he grabs your wrists gently, taking several steps to close the gap between you.

"I have never settled on you." Luigi's voice goes rigid, cracking in the middle like ice breaking over deep water. Each word carries the weight of years — shared secrets, dreams whispered under blanket forts, and promises made in tree houses. "You have always been my first option."

You catch your breath, the familiar warmth of his hands on your wrists suddenly feeling like shackles.

Your head shakes, slow and deliberate, as you try to pull back — but his grip steadfast remains. "How would you know of the other options?" The question comes out softer than you mean it to, weighted with everything you've both been too scared to say. "Do you know yourself without me?”

"I don't want to know myself without you."

"Luigi. Please stop-“ You wrench your wrists from his loosened grip, your feet carrying you forward through the night but he follows, like an echo you can't shake, like a shadow that refuses to fade with distance.

His words tumble out faster now, chasing the shrinking space between you and home, visible through the wavering corn stalks like a lighthouse warning of rough water ahead. "I know I'm not — I know I'm not Matthew Williams, or that guy that works the stables near the Bradshaws. And I know I’m not a perfect man, but—"

You stop once again, so abruptly this time he nearly collides with you, turning to face this strange new version of Luigi — one you've never seen before, one who wears his insecurities like an ill-fitting suit.

He's brave, you'll give him that, but he's also terrified in a way that makes your chest ache.

This boy who's never had to compete for anything in his life, suddenly listing off names like entries in a contest he thinks he's losing.

"You stop that." Your finger jabs at his chest, connecting with the expensive fabric of his jacket. "You are the most-the most magnificent person I have ever met, Luigi. And you're not perfect, no-“ You swallow against the rising bile, against the irony of having to defend him to himself when you're the one walking away. "But you're honest, and you're good — a goddamn great deal too good for me."

The last part comes out like a confession, like something you've carried so long it's carved itself into your bones — the real reason you're running, the fear that someday he'll wake up and realize it too.

The night holds its breath around you, your ragged exhales mixing with his in the space between heartbeats, and the trees shiver their leaves like witnesses to your undoing, crickets falling silent as if they too understand the gravity of this moment — this closing act.

"But-“ You step into his warmth, drawn forward like a moth to flame, even now, knowing it would burn. You’re close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with fresh-cut grass and summer sweat. Close enough to see the moonlight catching in his eyelashes. Close enough to break both your hearts properly. "I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The words tear themselves from your throat like barbed wire, each syllable drawing blood.

Your stomach twists inside out, acid creeping up your throat again, "I can't love you like that. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Luigi — I just - I can’t,

His hands find your face with the reverence of a prayer, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the geography of your skin. "Listen to me," he whispers, his voice thick with desperation. "Listen."

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks you — the way his fingers tremble against your jaw, the gentle circles he traces beneath your ears, the familiar callous on his right thumb from his tree-climbing habit.

His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath hitching, unsteady and warm against your lips.

"You've already loved me better than anyone else ever could," Luigi's voice cracks, splintering like ice in early spring. "You love me exactly as I am — not the heir, not the prodigy, not the Mangione name." His hands slide into your hair, “You have loved me even though I can’t remember to help feed the hens, but I can recite every constellation. And you’ve loved me even though I name every cull cow — even though you think it’s cruel.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the raw hope in his gaze is almost unbearable. "Please," he breathes, the word more air than sound. "Please don't decide for both of us what kind of love I deserve." His thumbs catch the tears you didn't realize were falling, smearing them across your cheeks like war paint. "Let me choose.”

“Then choose someone else!” You shake your hands at him, helpless and wishing to disappear. “I - I’m so unsure of myself - every goddamn thing I do, Luigi. I break everything, I’m useless at being a homemaker. I’m awkward, I’m a black sheep, even all the way out here.”

You aren’t made for the big city like he is.

The moonlight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid as they search yours. "I don't need perfect love. I don't need textbook romance or fairy tale." His voice breaks, raw with honesty. "I just need you. But - but I can’t live like this forever" He’s speaking faster than you’ve ever heard the smooth-talking, easy going Luigi say anything.

You try to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but his touch holds you steady — gentle but unwavering. "Luigi — let me the fuck-“

"No," he breathes, the word ghosting across your lips. "No, don't push me away because you think you're protecting me. Don't make decisions about what I can handle." His fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. "I choose this. I choose the messy parts, the broken parts, the parts you think are unlovable. I choose all of it."

I am stopping this here. Love you 💕

[babysukiii]

not her type

// leighton is a bit sweet on you (the librarian’s student assistant). you begin to fall for the blonde, until you hear her say something that causes you to reconsider your feelings. //

warnings: leighton is an idiot when it comes to emotions, reader is oblivious but so is leighton, misunderstandings, mutual pining don’t let the title fool you, jealousy (leighton gets jealous), kinda angsty

(i changed my username i was @fckoffjakegyllenhaal)

DISCLAIMER; english is not and has never been my first language. i usually edit my works well but don’t have time anymore. sorry for any spelling errors!

leighton didn’t have the most common sense when it came to dating. she was a genius, and she was the smartest person she knew. she was top of most of her classes, and she knew she was beautiful. though when it came to emotions, and her love life, leighton was nearly hopeless. to put it frankly, she’s an idiot when it comes to love.

when leighton first met you, she already wasn’t off to a very good start. she sauntered into the library in her expensive heels, along with her matching skirt and blazer. as soon as you saw her you were extremely intimidated by her. you were only able to attend this school because your grandma had left you a nice wad of money in her will. even with what she left you, you still had to get a job at the school’s library to pay off the remaining student loans. but you knew you didn’t fit in here. the school was full of pristine, preppy, rich kids. like her.

“i need to rent a copy of the black sun.” she deadpans, as she stands up straight in front of the counter. “then maybe you should go and get it so i can check it out for you?” you suggest in a sardonic manner, and the blonde looks visibly stunned by your careless tone. “okay, i’m assuming it’s your first day here or something, but it’s literally your job to find the books students need.” she points out, and you quirk a brow. “no, my job is to keep the library organized, and help students when they ask for help. key word ask. which you didn’t; you waltzed in here like princess diana and ordered me to get you a copy of ‘black sun’.” you remind her, your words as hot as the fire in your tone.

that’s when leighton takes you in; your long curly hair, and high rise jeans. that top your wearing fits you nicely, and for some reason the fact that you aren’t hurdling to do what she says, leaves a fluttering sensation in her belly. “hey, you don’t have to be such an asshole! excuse me if i thought someone who works in the library was competent enough to get me the correct copy of a book. my mistake.” she fires back, and you shake your head.

“i am plenty competent enough, blondie. i just don’t help self entitled jerks who think the world has to stop at their convenience.” you retort, “now, if you excuse me, i’m taking my first break now. come back in half an hour.” you deadpan; your voice is dry, and leighton’s eyes widen in shock. “you can’t just do that!” she shrieks, and if she wasn’t such a mean girl, you would’ve thought the way her voice changed in pitch was cute as hell. you smirk, “just did.”

leighton lets out a huff, “fine! i’ll just get it on pdf, jerk face.” her lame insult makes you bite back a laugh as she storms away. you can’t help but watch her hips move as she leaves; god, she’s hot but so fucking rude. maybe this job isn’t so bad; getting to tick off straight, prissy girls like blondie was going to the highlight of your career. though you put aside a copy of black sun later that day, just in case she comes back.

which she does.

she returns the next day with this determined look on her face. “okay, yesterday i was a bit of a bitch.” she starts carefully, and you quirk a brow in a bit of interest as you look up from your phone. “a bit?” you question, and her fake smile falls immediately. “i’m trying to be nicer now.” her stony expression causes you to sigh. you reach inside the desk drawer where you hid the copy away for this exact moment.

her eyes nearly widen for a split second as she realizes you did in fact retrieve her the copy of the book she needed. “so you did do it for me.” her voice sounds a bit different now; a little lighter, but you try not to dwell on it. “yeah, well, it’s my job, right?” you respond dryly, as you begin to scan the book, “library card or student id.” you command, and she reaches into her expensive bag, pulling out her matching wallet. she hands you her library card, which you scan quickly and hand back to her. “you have two weeks to return it.”

“i know how the library works.” she grows irritated with the lack of emotions in your voice, and she assumes you’re probably just annoyed by her presence. “sorry, i wasn’t sure considering you don’t know how manners work.” leighton gasps, a look of clear anger and offense etching itself onto her pretty features. “i already apologized for that!” she defends, and you tilt your head, cocking a brow at her. “i never heard an “i’m sorry��.” your fake confused tone is enough to irk her but keep her interested in talking to you.

she closes her eyes for a second, before releasing a defeated breath. “i’m sorry…” she trails off, realizing she didn’t even get your name. “… y/n.” you finish, and her belly flips at the revelation. “y/n. i’m sorry.” she repeats, and you roll your eyes a bit playfully. “it’s fine. i guess you weren’t the rudest rich-priss i dealt with yesterday. why do you think i saved the book for you?” you taunt her, and the flush on her cheeks causes your smirk to widen.

“mmm, i’m sure you probably have a drawer full of books that those “rude rich-priss’s” asked for.” she challenges, and you offer her this infectious smile that causes her to lose her train of thought. “only the pretty ones. the eye candy makes the lack of human decency worth it.” you hand her the book and the mischief in your eyes allows her to know you’re kidding, but your words make her snort. “aren’t you a charmer. see you in two weeks.” she waves the book at you, before turning on her heels and leaving.

god, the pants she was wearing today made her ass look great.

you shamelessly watch her leave, and before she gets to the doors, you call out, “i like watching you leave, blondie.” your crude comment causes her to stop in her tracks; her face is suddenly red as a tomato. leighton’s brain that is usually amazing at thinking of insults or remarks, cannot conduct a single thought. she only scoffs, as she pushes the exit door open, and your grin widens.

you really don’t expect to see leighton outside of the library. it isn’t because you assume she doesn’t go out or hang around campus, it’s because aside from your dorm, you’re only ever in your classes and the library. so when you see her walk into the cheap bar downtown you decided to try by complete chance, your gaze zero’s in on her. an inevitable grin tugging at your lips, and she doesn’t seem to see you. she’s looking around the other side of the room, like a lost puppy. when she walks by, you keep you head low, trying to go unnoticed by her. once her back is to you, you turn your head in her direction; “nice ass, blondie.” you comment with a sneer, and leighton freezes at the sound of your voice.

when she spins around, she attempts to plaster a vexed expression on her face, but as soon as she sees you she sighs. “ugh, what are you doing here?” she asks, attempting to sound annoyed. you wave a can of hard seltzer in your hand, “sorry excuse for a drink.” she mumbles, as she takes a seat in the empty bar stool beside you. you shoot her a defensive look, “hey, i get buzzed quickly and it has less calories in it.” you mutter, a surprise expression taking over the blonde’s face. you just sounded so undeniably girly.

she doesn’t respond before flagging the bartender down, “one long island iced tea, and two shots of tequila.” she orders, handing the bartender her card as she speaks. you gaze at her, “jesus, blondie, rough day?” you can’t help but ask, and leighton sighs. “rough week. you wouldn’t even know the half of it.” she responds, as the bartender begins to make her drinks. “try me.” you challenge, and she glances at you. for a moment she considers closing herself off, but then she remembers what esme and francesca said. about how closed off she was.

she downs a shot that’s placed in front of her and proceeds to tell you everything. how lonely she’s been since she started school, how her brother doesn’t even know how she’s feeling… she even tells you about francesca and esme. “wait, were you really closed off with them?” you ask, and she huffs. “closed off is a little bit of a stretch.” she responds, and you flash her an “are you serious” sort of expression. “you said you were friends with them since you were kids. you aren’t supposed to be closed off with them.” you remind her, and she frowns, taking a long swig of her drunk, finishing the rest of it in a gulp.

“now you sound like them.” she states, causing you to scoff. “look, i’m not saying you being closed off was entirely your fault, blondie. i mean, those girls must’ve been pretty shitty if it made you wanna hide who you really are.” you tell her, and she goes quiet. “i think you just naturally hide yourself from everyone. i mean, i thought i had a little bit of you figured out, then i saw you in this place…” you trail off, and the blood rises to leighton’s cheeks.

“didn’t expect a rude “rich-priss” like me to be in here?” she questions, and the way the ends of your lips quirk upwards causes the butterflies in her stomach to flutter. “exactly. i thought you were more of a frat party kind of girl. i’m sure those kind of boys go crazy over you, blondie.” the way your eyes roam over her mercilessly causes a strange heat in her abdomen. she shakes her head, the thought of frat boys making her snicker, “yeah, they’re into anything with long legs.” she murmurs, “good thing i hate men.” she adds, and your eyebrows seems to raise in interest.

“i just mean—“ she tries, but you cut her off,

“hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. there’s plenty enough about guys to hate.” you assure her, and she sinks into her seat. “is that why you’re here tonight instead of hanging out on campus?” she questions, “don’t think i haven’t noticed how many jocks are suddenly going into the library now. just cause you’re working there.” she adds, blabbering slightly. your smile widens at the very leighton-like compliment. “tell me about it, i don’t even think some of the guys who’ve gone in there can read past an eighth grade level.” you throw out, and leighton releases this carefree laugh that causes you to stare at her in awe.

thankfully the look of adoration you’re flashing her goes unnoticed as she adds, “eighth grade is generous.” she jokes, making you giggle.

things change between you and leighton after that. you’re sort of the first person who makes her feel normal. you don’t really expect her to be anything, and talking to you is so much easier than talking to anyone else. eventually leighton begins to find herself, and ends up growing close to her roommate and her roommate’s friend group. you smile at her whenever you see them in the library, and the blonde doesn’t hesitate to approach you.

even though she’s reluctant to admit it to herself, she begins to realize she’s developing a bit of a soft spot for you. maybe it’s more than “a bit”. she starts to sought you out in every room she enters, and every time she’s on campus. when she enters the library, she beelines to wherever you are. you’d be lying if you said leighton isn’t the best part of your days; she is. it’s silly, really, every morning you wake up and get ready with the hopes that maybe she’ll pop up in the library.

when she does stop by, she attempts to make it seem like she’s looking for a book. she doesn’t want you to know that sometimes she just drops by when she wants to see you. so maybe leighton is sweet on you; after hooking up with a few girls at the beginning of the semester she began to notice women more and more. she noticed you the first time she saw you. even though you were nothing like what leighton was usually into; you were soft, and sweet underneath all the sarcastic and witty remarks. you weren’t vastly intelligent, but you were really smart. you read more than anyone she knew.

it only takes leighton four months to pick up on everything about you. your mannerisms, what makes you laugh, your interests, and your disinterests. she pays so much attention to you, she doesn’t even realize she’s becoming enthralled by you. even her friends notice how soft leighton is with you. it’s much more than just a silly crush though; leighton thinks of you as a confidant, and more importantly one of her close friends. you’re actually the first person she tells when she begins to see alicia.

though you feel a little jealous about it, you’re happy leighton is finally coming to terms with who she is. you even tell her this, and it causes leighton’s heart to swell. she still hasn’t figured out why her heartbeat quickens around you, or what the fluttering sensation in her belly is that’s caused by your laugh… but she is trying not to ruin the best friendship she’s had.

you never meet “alicia”. you aren’t sure what they look like, what their last name is, or how they behave around leighton. though you do notice a lighter aura around the blonde. it’s nice to see her so relaxed, and not so tightly wound up. though the relaxation was short lived because one evening leighton comes storming into the library, and she’s glaring daggers at anything in her way.

“woah, hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, immediately hopping off the edge of the desk you were sitting on. you close the book you had been reading, and your attention is suddenly on the raging force of nature in front of you. “alicia broke up with me. you remember how i told you they got upset about me asking them to take down that picture?” she asks, trying to keep her voice at a leveled tone, but you can hear the bitterness seeping through. you nod, “the one with your expensive ass purse in the back that would’ve been a total give away?” you ask, and she nods, not even adding onto your sarcasm. usually she would.

you frown, “what happened?” you ask her in a gentler manner, “they said they didn’t want to be with someone who’s not out. they don’t want to my secret.” you frown, looking visibly upset by the revelation. “are they serious? it’s been like two months, that’s like a blink! how does alicia expect you to be ready in two months?” you sound just as vexed as leighton, and it causes the blonde’s anger to simmer ever so slightly. “that’s what i said… i haven’t even told my friends… you’re the only person who knows.” the taller girl reveals in this washed out voice that makes your stomach flip.

“yeah, but that’s different. i’m just me.” you shrug, and she furrows her eyebrows, “it’s just easier for me to talk to you, and be me around you.“ she adds, and the heat rises to your cheeks. “why?” you can’t help but ask, and leighton looks taken back by the question. as if she’s never even thought twice about it. she pauses before giving you a little shrug, momentarily forgetting all about her breakup. “well, you’re you.” she explains vaguely, and you let out a breathless little chuckle.

“i’ll take that as a compliment, blondie.” you taunt her, and she feels a smile tugging at her lips for the first time all day. “take it any way you want.” she responds, and you grin. “look, my shift ends in like twelve minutes. wanna go get a few drinks? on me.” you promise her and she rolls her eyes. “my dads loaded, remember?” she asks, and you giggle, “okay, drinks are on you then.” you retort, and she lets out this breathless little laugh.

so maybe you make leighton feel better than anyone ever has. after a night of getting drunk and laughing at drunk couples argue in the bar, she finds the courage to tell kimberly she’s gay. after that, telling people gets easier. maybe it’s because she’s realized you’ve become one of the most important people in her life, and she was starting not to care about the opinions of anyone else. in fact, leighton found herself coming to you for your opinion on everything. even what shoes she should buy.

it was amusing; becoming leighton murray’s favorite person. she complains about everything, she’s prissy, and keeps tide sticks in her purse. she’s your polar opposite, yet you can’t get enough of her. every friday night you both end up in that same shitty bar, giggling while talking about nothing and everything. it’s actually become leighton’s favorite part of the week.

you don’t want to admit it’s become your favorite part of the week as well. the longer you spend with her, the harder you fall for her. her cute smile, those intense blue eyes, the way she complains about every single thing. you like everything about her, even the parts that should annoy you and scare you away. a part of you thinks she feels the same way; there are times when you’re both the only two people in the library, and you catch her staring. not to mention how obviously happy she is around you.

“so there’s this party on friday. usually, i wouldn’t go, but whitney begged me. it’s at the kappa sorority house. can you come? please?” she questions pleadingly, and you flash her an uncertain expression. “a party?” you ask ambiguously, and leighton nods eagerly. “yeah, i know how it sounds, but i’ll be there and the drinks are all free. i mean, of course there is that exception to getting drugged but i can totally be your knight in shining armor.” she begins to ramble, and truthfully, you had already decided to go the moment she flashed you those begging eyes. “okay, fine. i’ll go. but to set the record straight, you aren’t a “knight in shining armor”. you’re more like a knight in vicuña wool.” you clarify, and she can’t help but laugh.

you keep your promise and end up at the frat party on friday. though you’ve been here for a whole semester now, you still hadn’t been to a single party. you weren’t sure if the tight flare jeans and tight yet basic fitted top, was good enough, but you tried not to overthink it. you were here because leighton asked you to be, and you were beginning to think you’d do just about anything she’d ask. as soon as you walk into the dimly lit frat house, the loud music and uncomfortable warmth of the room hits you.

you scan the hoard of students for the blonde, and you find her quickly. you smile at the sight of her, except it falters a bit when you notice how many girls are surrounding her. ever since leighton came out, it was no secret she was always getting hit on by various girls now. hell, she got hit on by girls before she was out, but now it was a whole different story. she was getting all sorts of attention, and a part of her really loved it. you could see the cocky smirk etched on to her features, as she holds onto her glass loosely. she doesn’t seem to see you as you get closer to where she is.

that’s when you can hear what she’s saying to one of the brunette’s flirting with her. “none of you are really my type.” she admits, and one of the girls doesn’t even seem phased. “well, what is your type?” she asks, and leighton shrugs. “my perfect woman would probably be 5’6, good style, preferably from a major metropolitan city, blonde…” you feel your heart crack in your chest as you realize you don’t fit any of those categories. you didn’t really have a type, but you certainly knew you were interested in leighton. it hurt to realize you weren’t anything she wanted.

it’s silly how much her words affected you, you shouldn’t have cared. besides, you and leighton are friends. it’s not like you’re anything more… sure she’s nice to you, makes you laugh, visits you at work every day, and even carries your favorite snack in her purse… but it doesn’t mean she wants to be anything more than friends with you. you turn around to leave quickly, you would have to give leighton some lame excuse about why you didn’t show, but it didn’t matter to you right now.

after the party leighton notices something is wrong right away. you had told her you didn’t feel well over text, and when she asked if you were okay, you didn’t text her back until the next morning. throughout the day, leighton was waiting on your replies; which was strange. you always texted her back fast. right after her last class, she makes her way to the library. when she gets there she gets a bit upset to see you don’t even seem remotely busy; yet as she gets closer to you, she can’t help take in how off your demeanor is.

you look sad, but you’re trying to keep your focus on a book that’s laid down on your desk. “hey y/n.” leighton pipes up, causing you to look over in her direction. you look like a deer in headlights, but you a press your lips together in order to force a smile. it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and it causes a wave of concern to wash over the blonde. “hey leigh.” you greet her, and she eyes you uncertainly. “you didn’t see my texts?” she asks, and you grimace. “i was super busy earlier, i barely got a break ten minutes ago.” you lie easily, and leighton wants to believe you, but she doesn’t.

you were acting weird, and it wasn’t enough for her to call you out on it. “mhm, well i was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch later?” she asks, flashing you a hopeful smile that makes it very hard to say no to her. “i-i can’t tonight. i have to study for my psych test on friday.” it’s not an entire lie; you have a test coming up in your psych class, but you don’t necessarily need to study for it that much. you know most of the material. you try to ignore the way leighton’s face falls in clear disappointment.

“oh, yeah. sure, maybe we can do something tomorrow?” she questions optimistically, and you nod meekly. “y-yeah! i’ll text you.” you assure her, and you mean it. you’re not just going to ghost and avoid leighton, you just needed a few days or so to get over her. or at least try to. “okay… i’ll see you later then.” you can hear the disappointment etched into her voice clear as day. you simply smile and nod, and she holds in the urge to let out a frustrated huff.

the blonde leaves the library feeling unsatisfied, but she isn’t sure what’s wrong so she hopes it passes. the entire day dragged on without you, and sometimes you were one of the few things that could actually get her to smile.

when leighton texts you goodnight later on that night, a wave of guilt washes over you. she was genuinely worried about you, and even though you had a hopeless crush on her, you knew she considered you a real friend. so the next day, you go back to texting leighton about every detail of your day, and when she shows up to visit you, you come up with some lousy excuse claiming to have had a long lasting migraine yesterday. leighton doesn’t buy it, but she’s just glad you aren’t acting different anymore.

the next two weeks are normal; you and leighton go out for drinks every friday, you get lunch from various restaurants and cafe’s together, and she still comes to visit you at the library every day after her classes. you’re back to you usual happy self in leighton’s eyes. maybe you really did have a migraine that day. though what leighton doesn’t know is whenever she’s not around you go back to feeling down. even quieter than usual.

sure, you knew the chances of leighton murray returning your feelings were slim to none… but you thought you had read all the signs correctly. apparently you were wrong. but you didn’t want to dwell on it too much; besides, leighton was just a crush, right? it’s not like you were in love with her or anything.

sure, you had denied every person who’s asked you on a date, or shown interest in you… but that had nothing to do with leighton.

oh who were you kidding? everything you did was because of leighton. she was your dream girl, and was also becoming your bestest friend. but you knew you had to get over her for the sake of that friendship. maybe that’s why you ended up giving your number to dani martinez, one of the girls on the softball team. she was tall, and had dark black hair that fell just bellow her shoulders; her eyes were dark and full of mischief. she flirted with you every time she came into the library, which wasn’t very often, but she was definitely very persistent.

today you had finally given her your number after rejecting her for two months. the gigantic smile that overtook her features as soon as you did, caused you to genuinely giggle. leighton ironically walks into the library as soon as dani walks out, and she greets you with that colgate smile which always causes the butterflies in your belly to burst. “hey you, come on we’re trying this new greek place today.” she tells you.

you flash her that sweet little smile, and that’s when it hits her that this is the first time in a month that she’s seen that genuine smile. it causes her to falter for a moment, “everything okay? you look happy.” she comments, trying not to sound too suspicious. you nod, “yeah, i’m good. come on, let’s go get some greek food.” you tell her, nudging her shoulder with your own. leighton decides not to press any further. she thought things were okay between you two, but perhaps she was wrong.

relax, leighton, you’re probably just overthinking things.

leighton’s subconscious attempts to soothe her, but she can’t help but wonder if maybe she did something wrong. did she say something rude? she had a tendency to say the wrong thing all the time… but you always understood her. you somehow always knew what leighton was trying to say, and it was nice. she felt like she belonged right beside you, and when she was talking to you, opening up came so easily. not to mention how kind you are, and leighton wasn’t blind. she was aware of how beautiful you are.

in her opinion you were perfect. that’s why it was so hard for her to just make a move on you; if you didn’t feel the same, it would crush her. everything you did already affected her, hell, when she thought you were upset with her last month she had a mini panic attack. today was friday and you canceled on her via text. she couldn’t even complain or ask you why, she knew it wasn’t really any of her business what you were doing on a friday night… but you always spent friday nights with her.

she ends up hanging out with whitney. the two were picking up some food from an italian restaurant down the street from the university. whitney has been wanting to try it for weeks, but leighton wasn’t even in the mood to eat. she was too busy wondering if you were busy with someone else tonight, or if you just didn’t want to hang out with her. she didn’t know which option was worse. she quickly gets her answer a few moments later. as if the universe hates her, she hears that carefree giggle of yours that always made her heart lurch in her chest.

her head snaps around at the sound, and the sight of you sitting in front of dani martinez— the softball teams pitcher— causes her heart to sink into the pit in her stomach. her gaze lingers on you as her eyes dare to tread down to see dani’s hand playing with yours on the table. you’re smiling at the raven haired girl with the same smile leighton thinks about nonstop throughout the day. to see it directed at some cliche jock made her angrier than she cared to admit.

dani martinez doesn’t deserve that smile.

“is that y/n?” whitney asks, squinting in your direction, “oh my god, is she here with dani? from the softball team?” the dark haired girl asks in a scandalous manner, causing leighton to scoff. “i’m sure they’re just here as friends or something. if y/n had a date tonight she would’ve told me.” leighton sounds as though she’s trying to convince herself more than her friend, but whitney doesn’t let up. “friends? friends don’t sit across from each other while holding hands.”

leighton frowns, her expression hardening as her gaze fixates on you. “i’m just gonna go ask her.” leighton declares, as she attempts to walk over to you, but whitney’s grasp around her wrist stops her. “you’re gonna crash her date?” she incredulously asks the blonde, who’s angry expression falters for a split second. “what else am i supposed to do? just let dani martinez sweep her off her feet?” leighton asks, and whitney flashes her a pointed look.

“haven’t you had months to make a move on y/n?” whitney inquires pointedly, doing nothing to ease the blonde’s vexation. “i’m working up to it!” leighton answers, agitation seeping through her tone. whitney cocks a brow in clear skepticism, “since when do you work up to anything? you’re the most impatient person i know!” whitney counterpoints, and leighton physically deflates. “it’s just… i don’t wanna ruin our friendship.” leighton’s voice is lower than before, and it causes her friends features to soften.

“yes you do; you’re just afraid she doesn’t feel the same or that it won’t work. it’s okay to be scared, you know?” whitney assures the blonde, who scoffs. “i’m not scared. leighton murray doesn’t get scared.” she tries to sound as confident as usual, but whitney can see right through her. leighton’s eyes trail over to you, and her heart cracks as she sees dani lean over the table to move a strand of hair out of your face. the way your cheeks flush in the same way they do whenever leighton fixes your hair for you, causes pure betrayal to course throughout her body.

she knew you weren’t technically hers, but watching someone else do something she always does for you makes something inside of her snap. “order for whitney.” the hostess says, as she brings out a bag of food. whitney gets distracted for a minute and it’s like leighton’s legs have a mind of their own. she begins to walk up to the table you’re sitting at; dani clearly didn’t know you preferred sitting in a booth.

you clock leighton as soon as you see her approaching the table. your eyes widen in slight panic, not because you don’t want her to interrupt your date, but because you didn’t even tell her about said date. the blonde really isn’t sure what comes over her; she hasn’t acted this rude or catty with you since you two started getting closer. yet as she stands beside your table, gazing at you with this intense pair of blue eyes that tell you firsthand just how upset she is… you know you’re in for it.

she folds her arms, not even bothering to greet you or dani. “hey leigh… what are you doing here?” you sound like you’ve just been caught doing something wrong, when you know you haven’t. you’re single, and not even leighton’s type, so why would she be upset about you having dinner with dani? “whitney and i came to pick up some pasta. what are you doing here?” she practically interrogates you, and before you can even think of a proper response, dani— who can nearly feel the jealousy radiating off of the blonde— beats you to it.

“we’re on a date.” the jock pipes up, and leighton can’t even contain a scoff. “i wasn’t taking to you, babe ruth. i was talking to her.” leighton doesn’t even bother looking at the raven haired girl, who’s jaw nearly falls agape due to the rude attitude of the blonde. you feel yourself getting smaller under her gaze, “i’ll let you two talk, i’m gonna get a drink from the bar.” dani declares as she stands up, and flashes you a small, reassuring smile. her gaze goes serious as she looks at leighton before walking off.

a silence takes over the two of you once you’re alone with the blonde. “this is what you bailed on me for?? shitty italian food with dani martinez?” leighton interrogates you, and your eyes lock with hers. “the foods not that bad.” you try to lighten up the mood, but it clearly doesn’t work because leighton is staring at you with this abnormally cold expression etched onto her features. the anger is still practically seeping off of her, and you can’t figure out why leighton is so upset about you being on a date with dani.

“you ditched our friday night hangout so you could go on a date with some wanna be max kepler.” she sardonically says, and you pause. “i don’t know who max kepler is… but dani is nice, leigh. what’s the actual problem here? i know this isn’t about me canceling.” you call her out, and leighton’s cold exterior falters; for a minute you can see just how betrayed she looks. “i just thought… i thought you’d rather go out with me. not some lame jock.” the way she says the words causes something inside of you to snap.

“of course i’d rather hang out with you, leighton, but dani asked me on a date.” you know it’s a stupid response, and you can tell by the way she’s staring at you with a look of disbelief. “so any lame jock asks you out and you’re saying yes? just like that?” leighton’s voice is catty and vexed, yet it sends a jolt of emotion into you. “well, yeah, at least someone’s asking me out. why do you even care? i’m not your type so who doesn’t matter who i choose to go out with?” you ask her, in an inscrutable manner that she’s never seen from you. leighton looks taken back for a moment, and for less than a second, her confused expression makes you feel a little bad. until you remember her words from that night. she specifically told you that you weren’t her type, you were actually far from it.

“what are you talking about?” she questions demandingly, and you go silent, unable to bring it in yourself to reveal to her that you were at that party a few weeks ago. how were you supposed to tell her that you heard what she said, and you were hurt about it? you didn’t want leighton to know you felt anything for her, you already knew she didn’t feel the same so what was the point of admitting it? you didn’t want to ruin your friendship, and you figured the best way was dating someone else to forget about her.

“y/n, what are you talking about?” leighton repeats, pulling you out of your thoughts. “i’m talking about that party you invited me to last month. i heard you talking to your little fan-girls. about your type.” you pettily throw out before you can even think about taking it back. leighton freezes, her entire demeanor shifting from confused to shocked in less than a second. “y/n i didn’t know you were there if i did—“ you cut her off, flashing her a look of disbelief. “if you did you would’ve what, leighton? lied to spare my feelings?” you inquire, undoubtedly angry.

leighton shakes her head rapidly, “no, i—“ she tries but dani returns before she can. “hey… i got you a strawberry margarita.” the jock has this nervous smile on her face, but leighton doesn’t seem to care that dani’s intentions are clearly pure. she doesn’t want any other girl taking you out on friday nights, and buying you fruity drinks. “we aren’t done talking here, martinez.” leighton angrily says, and you frown. “yes we are. dani and i are getting dessert after this.” you glare at her, mentally telling her to stop and go away.

her shoulders fall, and she visibly deflates. “y/n—“ she tries, but you shake your head. “please just go.” you can barely meet her gaze, and her heart clenches in her chest, as if it’s being squeezed so tight it might pop. the blonde wants to say something else, except she doesn’t know what else to say. or maybe she does. maybe leighton knows she should tell you how much she likes you; how despite you being nothing she’s usually into, she is. she’s very into you.

but she doesn’t.

no, instead leighton turns around and makes her way to where whitney is waiting for her. her best friend has a pointed look on her face; she clearly already knows things didn’t just pan out well for the blonde. “let me guess, she got pissed at you for crashing her date?” whitney questions, and leighton is too deep in thought to even hear the dark haired girl. “did you see y/n at that party last month? you remember the one you invited me to for girls night?” leighton asks, and whitney shakes her head.

“no, i didn’t see her there. why? did something happen?” whitney questions, and the look on leighton’s face tells her everything she needs to know. “oh god, what did you do?” the dark haired girl asks, and leighton’s eyes widen. “okay, first of all, why do you assume i did something? and second of all, it wasn’t even that big of a deal. i don’t know why y/n is being dramatic.” she mutters, “she’s only on a date tonight so she could hurt me. i bet she knew we’d be here.” leighton doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest, “we didn’t even know we were coming here until an hour ago.” whitney points out in an irritated manner.

leighton’s facade falls, and whitney can see the way leighton’s face contorts to a genuine expression. “she heard me talking to a few girls at that party last month… i was just talking out of my ass, you know? i was describing my perfect “type” of woman, and y/n heard.” leighton downplays it, and whitney raises a brow. “well, what did you say your type was?” the dark haired woman inquires, as they make their way to whitney’s dorm room. “i just said my perfect woman would probably be 5’6, good style, preferably from a major metropolitan city, blonde…” leighton’s voice fades off as she repeats her words from last month. there’s this overwhelming sense of dread that comes over her, and whitney stops in her tracks to throw leighton a surprised look.

“you basically said y/n wasn’t anything you wanted, leigh.” she points out, and leighton shakes her head quickly. “but i didn’t mean it! i was mostly describing a girl like me.” leighton admits, and whitney cocks a brow at her best friend, “and how would you feel if you heard her saying she wasn’t into blondes? or if she was describing her dream girl and you didn’t fit any of the criteria?” whitney asks, and leighton goes quiet.

“i have to go back and explain to her—“ leighton tries to speak, but her friend cuts her off with a sharp look and a shake of her head. “not now. she’s on a date, leigh. you gotta let her enjoy what’s left of her night. you can talk to her tomorrow.” whitney pointedly says, and leighton glances down at her shoes, letting out a breath. “fine. i’ll just let daniella try and get her into bed.” leighton bitterly says, and whitney laughs. “girl, y/n is so down bad for you, she’s not going to sleep with dani.” whitney assures her, and leighton sighs, unable to shake the thought from her mind.

tonight was going to be a long night.

[100vern]

the great british fake-off | xmh

you thought the guy in the hawaiian-print shirt who seems physically incapable of being quiet would be the most annoying person here, so imagine your shock when it's xu minghao, who has seemingly decided you're the enemy and keeps sabotaging you. a baking competition for charity might have others on their best behavior, but what's a little sugar without some spice?

❆ pairing: minghao x reader ❆ genre: great british bake-off, holiday au; crack, fluff ❆ wordcount: 5.5k ❆ rating: e for everyone ❆ warnings: some swearing, minghao is a saboteur, idiots abound. ❆ credits: this netflix psd template for the banner. this recipe for the yule log; this recipe for the gingerbread house; and this recipe for the entremet. divider from here. this post for the divider. this was roughly edited by me, so any and all mistakes are my own. ❆ written for: the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories as they're posted. ♡ ❆ author's note: i had this rotting away in my wips since literally 2021, so even though it started as a completely different story, i'm so glad it's finally seeing the light of day even if it's not what i originally intended. (also, i know the banner says 12 contestants but the holiday specials only had a couple, okay. i forgot when i made it and i wasn't going back to fix it.)

The obnoxious one is wearing an aloha-print shirt.

He’s also extremely loud, his raucous, fake laughter filling every corner of the large warehouse you’ve been assigned to for filming. Makes a show of batting his eyelashes, throwing his head back every time someone cracks a joke that’s not even funny, comes up with nonsensical nicknames for the entire crew just to suck up to them.

“John Davies? Mind if I call you Joe?”

Joe doesn’t even make sense as a nickname for John, but John fucking loves it, apparently. Looks at the annoying guy like he just watched him string the stars in the sky.

But it’s the shirt—god, the shirt drives you absolutely crazy. He’s about to go on national television, be a household name, and some ill-fitting, charity shop Hawaiian print shirt is what he woke up and chose to wear. What’s his angle here? Appeal to the public with some sob story about only being able to afford second-hand clothes so that’s why he’s competing? Needs the money to care for a sick relative?

(The expensive watch on his wrist and his limited-drop sneakers tell an entirely different story, but you’re keeping that to yourself for now. No reason to play your hand so early.)

As much as you hate the shirt, you have to admit it suits him. The colors are garish and unsightly, just as obnoxious as he is, and you can’t stare at it too long because you start going cross-eyed. Looking at him feels about the same as stuffing your mouth with a bunch of sour candies: you get that same burn in the back of your jaw, same scrunched-up, grossed-out look on your face; have to squeeze your eyes shut to blink back tears.

You don’t even know his name, but you hate him immediately.

Your eyes scan the other contestants. None of them inspire the same level of animosity within you as the annoying one does; all of them nearly unremarkable. A variety of ages, appearances, backgrounds. You hear one say they’re a retired investment banker. There’s an accountant, a teacher, a fucking aerospace engineer.

And then it’s his turn to introduce himself. He clears his throat, speaks with an easy, practiced confidence. Completely void of nerves. Makes eye contact with everyone in your conversation circle. Gesticulates wildly as he speaks, immediately endears everyone to him.

“I’m Tim,” he says, and you nearly recoil at how honeyed his voice is. “But you can call me Tim. I’m thirty-eight, originally from a small town. Work as a…”

You can barely stand to listen to it anymore, each “Nice to meet you, Tim!” like another punch to the gut. How can’t these people see right through him? How are they falling for his bullshit? You should’ve known. Producers always throw in at least one bomb to up the ratings—a secret millionaire, someone rude and confrontational, a flat-earther. Even if you’re competing in a charity baking competition, of all things, it’s still reality television at the end of the day.

Just because the bunch of you are going to spend the next few days creating confections out of sugar, spice, and everything nice, doesn’t mean you have to be part of that ‘everything.’

Tim thinks he’s got this in the bag. Thinks he’s going to show up and win easily, the rest of you be damned, and even if you are typically a very nice person, you’re also highly competitive. There’ll be no rolling over done by you, and if Tim wants to play dirty—

Game on.

As you introduce yourself, you feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. Probably because you don’t bother with the faux-humility the rest of the contestants have. Polite and charming but firm, just the way your mother had taught you. You’re not boisterous, don’t crack silly jokes to play up to the cameras the way Tim loves to do, and you know he’s scrutinizing you the way you’d done to him, trying to figure out your angle.

Well, joke’s on him—you don’t need one.

And you really, really hope it drives him crazy.

Except maybe the joke is on you, too, because you don’t account for Xu Minghao.

In true reality television fashion, the tent is boiling hot.

As if the universe itself had looked down on all of you and decided what you all needed was a heatwave uncharacteristic of this time of year, just to up the ante. Not even ten minutes in the tent and you’re all fanning yourselves and wafting air up your shirts. Which is great, really, because it isn’t like you need to use ovens or stand over hot burners. It’s not like you aren’t going to be soaking through your clothes with anxiety sweats, either! Sweat dripping off your brow into your eyes won’t matter because you don’t need to use them.

Everything’s going to be fine!

But everything is not fine. Not only has the universe gifted you with sweltering heat, it’s given you the work station directly next to Tim’s. You’ll have to feel his annoying, off-putting aura near you for the entire competition. There’s always the possibility of him bungling it and making an early exit, but you know that’s unlikely. Obnoxious he may be, you also know a strong opponent when you see one, and something tells you you’re going to be stuck with him for the long haul.

Think of the cats, you tell yourself. All of this is for the cats.

It’s not like you never would’ve returned here of your own volition. No, your first go-round with feel-good, competition-based reality television had gone fine. You hadn’t won, of course, because you wouldn’t be here again if you had, but you placed respectably in the top three. Became a fan favorite, too, which was arguably more lucrative than winning. People make a living on social media these days.

So, it’s not the competition itself that has you white-knuckled gripping onto the edge of your station. It’s the man at the one beside you, cracking all these stupid jokes about the weather and how it’s a horrible day for tempering chocolate, so he bets that’s going to be the first challenge!

You suck in a deep breath. Try to remember the breathing exercises from that one yoga class your sister had dragged you to. It had been about the same temperature then, too—well duh, it’s hot yoga, your sister had said, which was news to you, because you never would’ve signed up for something called hot yoga willingly. Still, you endured it, just like you’ll endure this, and a little sweat is not going to get in the way of you delivering a check to all those poor, sad cats without families.

“Psst, hey,” you hear from behind you. When you turn, a man is smirking at you as he finishes tying his apron around his waist—has to wrap the strings around twice, you notice, because only someone hand-picked by the gods themselves would have that shoulder-to-waist ratio.

You don’t really recognize him. Can’t recall his name or where he’s from; can’t remember what he mentioned doing for a living. Probably something artsy, if you had to guess—he definitely has the style and demeanor of a creative, with his trendy shag-mullet and the multicolored, glitter-y snowflakes decorating his nails.

You aren’t sure he introduced himself at all, but the confidence with which he holds himself—easy, like it’d take a national emergency to rattle him even a little—implies he doesn’t really have to. Most of the people here already know him, if you had to guess, and he gives the impression that he’s not fussed with impressing any of them.

If only Tim was so inclined.

You clear your throat, vaguely aware you need to respond. “Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Ah, I don’t think so? We’ve done this before, after all. We should be seasoned veterans by now.”

He smirks. “Should be,” he emphasizes. “Feels different when it’s for charity. Extra serious, you know?”

“Right,” you agree, taking a look around the tent. “Anything for the cats.”

There’s an immediate shift in the atmosphere. What was friendly and carefree is now tense; where a smile and a floral giggle sat on the man’s lips has been replaced with a crooked scowl. And it doesn’t make sense, all you’d done was agree with what he said, but then the producers are yelling something at the front of the tent, cameramen are rushing to their equipment, and a woman appears at your side and starts clipping equipment to your clothes, and there’s no time to question it. On your right, Tim’s laughing and joking around with some crew members like they’re old drinking buddies. It drives you nuts, has annoyance pricking at your skin, flushing your cheeks—

So much so that the woman at your side leans in and asks, “Should I get hair and makeup over here?”

“I—no, it’s fine.”

The unnecessary members of the production team scatter away after a loud countdown. Hair and makeup don’t come to wipe the sweat tracks from your skin. You already know Man Behind You is standing there looking perfect because he’s equally as attractive as he is mysterious. God truly has favorites, and this guy somehow made the top five.

You stare down at the instructions in front of you, confident in your ability to read but not so confident in your ability to make sense of any of it. And it’s your own recipe, which is the worst part. You’d typed this recipe yourself. These are your hand-written notes in the margins. You’ve conceptualized, tweaked, baked, and eaten this recipe more times than you can count, and now all you can do is thousand-yard-stare into the ether.

In the time since you were on the show, you’d somehow forgotten about the chaos. Not unlike that hormone women have that makes them forget about the pain and agony of childbirth, you reckon.

In addition to being one of the most bothersome people in history, Tim apparently doubles as a prophet.

Because it is a terrible day to temper chocolate, and you’ve got a bûche de Noël on the horizon that requires you to do so. You can pivot, maybe make some kind of buttercream, but a basic chocolate buttercream is not going to win you a world-renowned baking competition even if it is Swiss meringue. A child could make that.

You sigh. Push that wave of panic to the back of your mind. In a setting like this, you have approximately ten seconds to come up with a back-up plan and execute it and you wasted your time thinking, so you’re just going to have to temper the stupid chocolate and stick to your original plan. God, you have a headache.

But the show must go on, so you do too.

Step 1: Preheat the oven.

Easy enough. If nothing else, you can preheat an oven.

Step 2: Make the sponge.

Not as easy, but you’ve made so many sponge cakes throughout your life you could probably do it in your sleep. Whisk attachment on the stand mixer. Four eggs. Sugar meticulously weighed and added to the bowl. Sugar and eggs whisked together until the mixture is the color and consistency you’re looking for. Flour, cocoa powder, and salt sifted in. Metal spoon to fold it all together as delicately as possible. You won’t have a sponge cake if you beat all the air out of it, now will you?

“Good enough,” you mutter to yourself, staring down at the bowl.

At least you’d had the foresight to grease and line your baking tray, because the entire entourage arrives at your station just as you’re meant to be pouring the batter into it and sticking it in the oven.

“Ah, we meet again,” the group choruses, genuine smiles peeking through as if you’re old friends separated only by time and distance.

That’s the weird thing about being on television. For as long as you’re able, you exist within a microcosm of daily life. A world exists outside of your bubble, you know, but you don’t see much proof of it. All of your meals are eaten together; all of your conversations are had with one another. You share temporary living quarters and oftentimes too much of yourselves, and you’re thankful the show encourages teamwork and kindness because that’s the kind of thing that can grow sour if you leave it unchecked too long.

And then it just—ends.

Bubble burst, you all go back to your regular lives. You look back on that time fondly, but the friendships are thinned out by time and distance. Eventually it all starts to feel like a dream, except every now and then something breaks through the haze to remind you it actually happened: a stranger recognizing you at the store, a message on social media, the casting team contacting you to ask if you’d be interested in competing in a holiday special for charity.

“We certainly do,” you retort, smile matching everyone else’s.

All things considered, you are happy to be back. Even if the tent is crowded and far too warm, the atmosphere is unmatched, especially when it’s decorated for the holidays.

“What are you working on?”

You explain the general workings of your yule log: chocolate sponge, hazelnut liqueur cream filling, and chocolate icing to top it off. You aren’t sure how you’re going to decorate it yet—you’ll figure it out once you get there, depending on how much time you have—but you guarantee them it’ll look festive and professional.

Satisfied with your plan, they wish you luck and move on to the man behind you. It’s so great to see you again, Minghao, someone says, and you’re grateful they’ve spared you the embarrassment of having to ask for his name. It still doesn’t ring a bell, and you can’t recall what season he’d been on for the life of you, but he speaks with a patience and a gentleness that is so unlike Tim that you nearly drop to the floor in thanks.

But as the commotion of the tent reminds you, you don’t have time to waste thinking about Minghao. You’ve only been given an hour for your signature, and you’re going to need all sixty of those minutes if you have any hopes of presenting a finished product.

It doesn’t register at first.

It doesn’t register at second or third, either.

In fact, you’re sure you’re hallucinating when you open the oven door to pop the sponge inside and you aren’t hit with a blast of hot air. Room temperature. Perhaps a bit on the cooler side, if you’re being honest.

And that can’t be, because you know you preheat your oven. It was the first thing you did, because it’s always the first thing you do. It’s just… automatic, like opening your mouth to eat or washing between your toes in the shower. Instinctual. Not something that needs to even be considered, because it’s always the first thing you do.

No, this cannot be. Forgetting to preheat the oven is a rookie mistake and you’re not a rookie.

…Could it be?

Perhaps you were so caught up in the lights and buzz, the thrill of returning to the tent, that it had slipped your mind? Perhaps you’d pressed the wrong buttons and turned the wrong dials? While it’s not likely you’d somehow bumped into the oven and turned it off, nothing is impossible, so… maybe?

“Shit,” you hiss through your teeth. The producers are not going to be happy about your swearing. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Everything okay up there?” Minghao asks from behind you. When you turn, he’s got a flour-dusted towel thrown over his shoulder as he nurses a cup of tea, and his composure in the face of your hysteria has your head spinning.

Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Minghao is drinking tea without a care in the world and your oven isn’t even halfway to the temperature you need. “I—yes? No? I don’t know. I could’ve sworn I preheated the oven, but—”

“Don’t panic,” he offers, his top lip catching on the rim of his mug. “You got this. Work on something else while you wait.”

Something else. Right, you can work on something else. Both the filling and the frosting still have to be made, and quick mental math tells you there should just be enough time to get everything done if you’re efficient. Of course, that’s a big if, but that’s why you’d chosen a yule log, after all: sponge cake doesn’t need that long to bake, and anything can happen (and go wrong) in this tent.

So, you get to work on something else. Measure out a sheet of parchment paper, dust it with cocoa powder, and set it to the side. Decide to get to work on the frosting, because if one thing has already gone wrong, you don’t trust the universe to let you temper chocolate correctly.

The chocolate is halfway melted when the oven dings. A small harrumph of victory and you’re finally good to go, setting a timer for twelve minutes. Minghao offers you a discreet thumbs-up, fingers covered in something sticky you assume is marzipan.

Time flies after that. You get both the frosting and your filling made, and it’s only through divine intervention that your sponge cake comes out perfectly and with enough time to score and cool. When you dare a look around the room, everyone seems to be in a similar position as you: frazzled and covered in powdered sugar, making frantic trips to and from the refrigerators, chucking seized-up caramel into the trash and starting over for the third time with a pained expression.

A holiday special—it was supposed to be more laid-back, more for the vibes and festivity than actual competition, but it looks to you like everyone’s taking it just as seriously as your first go-rounds.

“Fifteen minutes!” someone calls, and your competitors fade out of focus. You’ve got a yule log to ice and fondant to roll out.

You make it by the skin of your teeth.

It isn’t perfect, of course, as few things on this show ever are, but it’s more than acceptable. It looks great and tastes even better which is all you can hope for. Much to your dismay, Tim also gets top marks, but it’s Minghao that shocks you all. His stollen wreath earns him a handshake and a lot of clandestine, private glares, but he’d been kind to you earlier, helped untangle that knot of pandemonium, so you return the thumbs-up he’d given you earlier with a smile that feels akin to getting away with murder.

Something is wrong.

On its own, this is not necessarily surprising. Gingerbread, tasked with bearing the weight of an entire house, can be fickle. On any other day you wouldn’t blame it if it wanted to rebel and go sideways, but the thing is—you’ve made gingerbread before. Tons of times. Another thing you could probably make in your sleep if you absolutely had to. So it doesn’t make sense when you look down in your mixing bowl and it just… doesn’t look right.

You tell yourself it’ll get better when you knead it. Maybe the color just looks off because it’s underworked, and a few good punches will set it straight.

But it doesn’t. The dough sits at your station like a sad, formless lump, giving you no indication it intends to become anything at all. Which is, admittedly, a problem. Your technical challenge is to build a gingerbread house—one complete with little windows and golden-toned nightlights, a scalloped roof dusted with powdered sugar to look like fresh snow, a working door!—and you’re far from an engineer, but you don’t think you can have a gingerbread house without gingerbread.

You sneak a peek at Tim’s station, where he’s well into measuring an immaculate-looking dough with a ruler. The contestant in front of you is in a similar place, too, so it’s with an oh fuck I’m doomed sigh that you turn around and hope to find a comrade in Minghao again.

“Hey,” you whisper, trying not to draw attention to yourself. “Does this look right to you?” You jerk a thumb in the direction of your dough-lump. Minghao, bless him, looks around you and tries his best to hide his grimace.

He does not succeed.

“Um. Well, no.”

You sigh. Place one flour-dusted hand on your waist and pinch the bridge of your nose with the other. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. I’ve made gingerbread a million times.”

“Looks pale,” he offers. Of course, this is the exact moment he dumps his own dough—his beautiful dough, flawless chestnut brown—onto his station to knead it. “Was the sugar right?”

A strangled, disbelieving laugh escapes you. Was the sugar right—of course the sugar was right! Dark muscovado sugar. Everyone knows that's what you use for gingerbread, so of course the sugar was right because no one, both in their right mind and at this stage of competition, would use anything else.

Before you can respond, Minghao’s pointing at your jar of sugar. Your jar of pale, producer-supplied sugar, which even a blind person could tell does not resemble dark muscovado sugar.

A million thoughts race through your head at once, but it boils down to instinct, you think. Your brain had seen flour, butter, and sugar and went into baking mode, not stopping to take in the color of anything. Maybe a smarter, more perceptive person would put two and two together and get sabotage, but you don’t have enough time to play detective.

“Here, here,” Minghao says, hurriedly handing over his (correct) sugar. “It’ll be close, but you should have just enough time to redo the dough.”

You’re going to throw up.

In the end, a chunk of chocolate buttons is missing from the roof and the piping around the edges is far from your neatest work, but it’s passable. You already lamented your loss during the signature bake, because anything less than perfection was not going to win you much of anything, and you’re now 0-for-2 on showstopping, unbelievable, awe-inspiring confections.

Just like the devil, your fall from grace will be studied.

Overthinking isn’t going to get you anywhere, but you can’t help it.

You collapse sideways into a chair, immediately face-planting into the catering table. Everyone else buzzes around you—animated conversations that have your head spinning, words that jumble together and start to sound like nothing at all—but you’re a million miles away. One mistake is out of character for you, but two? It’s unheard of. Something you would’ve said was impossible if it didn’t happen to you just a few hours ago.

This is something you need to file away for later so you can think about it just as you’re about to fall asleep, horror and embarrassment there to keep you company when it keeps you awake until the wee hours of the morning.

A chill runs down your spine.

“Hi. Do you mind?” You startle. Bang your knee on the underside of the table. “Sorry,” Minghao apologizes, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. You shake your head. Gesture to the empty seat across from you as if to say it’s all yours. “I brought you some tea,” he continues, setting it in front of you. “I find it’s easier than coffee when you don’t know how someone takes theirs. Less chance of getting it wrong.”

You smile. Wrap your hands around the Styrofoam cup and delight in the warmth. “Thank you. This was very kind of you.”

“Seemed like you had a rough day.”

Groaning, you try to wave away his words. “Please don’t speak of it.” Minghao jokingly salutes you before miming his lips sealed. “Anyway. Let’s talk about something that is not reality television or baking or a reality baking competition.”

So, you do. Most of the talking comes from you, to be fair, but Minghao is a good listener: nods along, chimes in when appropriate, keeps the spit in his mouth where it belongs. You talk about your hometown and what made you apply for the show the first time. He tells you about growing up in Haicheng and all the things he grew up baking with his mother. You swap stories from your respective seasons; Minghao shares anecdotes with a straight face that have you clutching at your stomach.

Hours pass this way, and you end the night feeling like you’ve made an honest-to-god friend.

Xu Minghao ends the night feeling the guilt weigh him down like an albatross.

In retrospect, it is probably a bad idea to make another sponge, but no one can accuse you of learning from your mistakes.

“It’ll be a patterned joconde sponge with two mousse layers—chocolate and raspberry—and a raspberry jelly. Then I’m going to attempt to top it with chocolate and raspberry decorations.” The judges blink. Are you sure that’s a good idea? you know they want to ask, but this is a holiday competition for charity, so they’re trying not to be pessimists. “Anything is possible through holiday cheer,” you tack on, hoping your smile doesn’t look crazed.

They nod. “Right, right,” they say in unison. “Well, good luck!”

And then they’re off.

Determined to nail this, you triple-check your oven, which is preheating to a crisp 400 degrees; you double-check all your ingredients and confirm they’re correct; when you can spare the time, you watch your refrigerator like a hawk, making sure no one tries to sneak their own work in there and displace yours when you aren’t looking, but everyone’s engrossed in their respective showstoppers.

Tim’s planning a shadow box of sorts, with blown-sugar baubles and isomalt fire. Someone else is stressing over their three-tiered cake, asking the presenter if they think they’ve taken on too much. From what you can piece together, Minghao is making a three-dimensional house, also made from cake that he imported special pistachios for.

“Special pistachios?”

“Mm, from Iran. They have a better color.”

“Iranian pistachios! Can you believe it!”

But you don’t have time to worry about Minghao and his special Iranian pistachios. You have so much to do and not enough time to complete it. Your paste is in the freezer and the sponge is in the oven, but you’ve still got two mousses to make, a jelly to infuse, and little chocolate trees to create—and all of this wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t pointless, but you don’t want to disappoint the cats by half-assing it. They deserve your whole ass, and your whole ass is what they’re going to get.

The result is stunning—not necessarily in stature, but rather craftsmanship and effort. This is what you’re capable of. This is why you came back to the tent. For all your complaining and wanting to put your head through a concrete wall, there’s nothing like seeing the judges ooh and ahh when you present your work to them. There’s nothing like the ego boost of someone taking a bite and watching their eyes light up. There’s nothing like carrying your cake back to your station feeling proud of yourself.

“Great job,” Minghao says, a genuine smile stretched across his face. He also exceeds expectations, of course. Must be those special pistachios, you think, but your congratulations are also sincere.

Production makes a spectacle of judging, much like they always do.

The set is decorated to look like a winter wonderland, even though you’re still in the midst of autumn: a giant Christmas tree in the center decked to the nines with garland and baubles; warm, golden bulbs strung from every awning they could find; all the participants bundled up tight in festive sweaters and scarves all the way to your chins, cheeks and tips of noses dusted with red-pink blush to mimic the cold that’s nowhere to be found. Fake snow falls from the sky, and it doesn’t feel real, but it does feel magical.

One of the hosts catches you by the elbow, asks who you think is going to win. “Oh, I’d have to say Minghao,” you answer, because you’d rather die than give Tim the satisfaction. “His showstopper was incredible, but he was really great the whole competition.”

In the end, however, neither of them wins—it’s Jeon Wonwoo, three-tiered cake guy, who comes out of nowhere to claim first place. He’s bashful as he accepts his prize and says he’s going to donate the prize money to an organization that provides underprivileged kids with video game equipment. No one has a whole lot to say about that.

Once most of the hubbub dies down (and you give Tim a half-assed you did great, so sorry you didn’t win), you find Minghao near the refreshments table. He’s frowning around another mug of tea. “Alright?” you ask, helping yourself to some cider.

“For some reason, I’m no longer feeling very festive,” he replies, which is a very funny thing to say while wearing a hat with a little pom-pom on the top.

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Sidle in a little closer and knock his shoulder with your own. “Ah, I know how you feel, but you really did do great. You were my pick to win, for what it’s worth.”

“Please don’t tell me that. It only makes me feel worse for losing.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Would’ve been nice to donate some money to the cats, but shit, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn some dark force was sabotaging me. Like, come on—forgetting to preheat the oven? Using the wrong sugar? Not even a kid would’ve made those mistakes.”

Two things happen in rapid succession: beside you, Minghao goes very, very stiff, and you realize you had been sabotaged. And not by some dark, evil force, either. You were sabotaged by the very man standing beside you—the man you shared thumbs-up with and thought was your friend. The man whose cake you complimented and picked to win. The man who is now standing ramrod straight, as tense as a corpse, and the thought of sabotaging someone in a charity baking competition is so ridiculous and unbelievable that you just—

You just laugh.

At first, it’s a bark of stunned laughter. Then, the more it sinks in how absurd, how nonsensical all of this is, you can’t stop. Tears are rolling down your cheeks. You gasp for breath as your stomach begins to ache. People are staring, including Minghao, who sort of can’t believe what he’s seeing, but none of it does anything to deter you.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, “I can’t believe it was you—”

Minghao groans. “In my defense, it was for the cats!”

This was not the answer you were expecting. It makes you laugh harder. “What do you mean it was for the cats?”

He swallows. Removes the mitten from one hand to run it through his hair as if that one tic was enough to distract you from everything that’s happened in the last sixty seconds. (It is.) “Listen, you told me you were going to donate the money to a cat charity if you won and I just—so was I, was the thing. I was also going to donate the money to a cat charity if I won—”

“Okay, but which one, though?”

“The Cat’s Paw-jamas.” Much to Minghao’s horror, this sets you off again. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Minghao,” you try to choke out, but you can barely breathe around the cramp in your stomach. “Minghao, that’s the charity I was going to donate to. Oh my god, you sabotaged me and I was going to donate to—to the same fucking place. Jesus Christ, this is some Gift of the Magi shit.”

Your saboteur, who has gone deathly pale, is quiet for a very long time. Every now and then he’ll open his mouth like he’s going to say something before it snaps shut again. When he does manage to speak, what comes out are mangled apologies that sound like gibberish, and you wave all of them away. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“I—I really don’t think it should be?”

“Minghao, it’s fine, trust me, this was just for fun—”

“No, I really insist.”

You sigh, good-natured and exasperated. Something about the fake snow has you feeling romantic and a little bold, so you turn, grab him by the lapels of his coat. “Please tell me if I’m misreading this, but if you insist, maybe you can start by taking me to dinner…?”

This was clearly not what MInghao was expecting you to say. Dazed, he recovers quickly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a half-smirk. “Dinner, hm?” You nod. “I think I can manage that.”

You smile. “Great. How do you feel about cat cafes?”

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

First off your writing is incredible. I was in literal tears reading your Daryl fic.

But I thought I'd send in a request, a jealous Daryl. Doesnt have to be established reader, pretty easy. I just like it when he's all riled up. 😂 Please and thank you

Jealousy

Summary: He could have just told her, couldn’t he? That would have been simple. He’d had to yell at her instead though, because Daryl can never do things the usual way round. Hand down her skirt and about to run away for the second time really was more his style.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Nervous!Daryl. Angst. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Alexandria era. Vague, very short smut.

A/N: Thank you for this request and the beautiful compliment! I may have rushed the editing a little so if you notice any errors please tell me!

It’s not that she’s been avoiding him, it’s the complete opposite, she’s absolutely, inarguably, infuriatingly normal. He’s clawing at the walls of his own brain and she’s acting as if everything is fine. Maybe it is, he thinks, maybe she’s over it, maybe she’s been over it since the second he screwed it up and he’s the only one still hanging on to whatever it was in the first place. He can’t even claim he’s hanging on to much, they’d barely even kissed and it was months ago, but he hadn’t exactly been good at this kind of thing before the world threw a damn apocalypse into the mix.

He’d loved her since the moment he’d heard her laugh. He’d found her in a cabin in the woods on a run, just after Woodbury had fallen, back when the prison was still strong. He didn’t want to bring her back, one more mouth to feed, one more person to keep an eye on, but she’d saved him from a rogue walker he hadn’t seen coming, shrugged like it was nothing, like she’d have done it for anyone. She’d offered him food and water, a rundown but relatively safe place to lay low for a few hours, she was kind. The words were tumbling from his lips before he’d really thought about them.

He’d avoided her for a good while, despite her efforts to befriend him, he’d lost so much already he didn’t want to let her in. But then he’d said something sarcastic, something snappy and prissy and she’d laughed; an honest to goodness belly laugh that had her head throwing back and him smiling from the side of his mouth despite himself and something deep in his chest felt warm.

So he’d loved her, quietly and from a distance. Safe. Until she’d kissed him.

He watches as she laughs, the same laugh, big and warm and real. It’s not aimed at him, and he hates it. After he’d run away from her, he worried he wouldn’t hear it again, but he’d been wrong, and this was worse. He taps his fingers against his thigh, trying to keep a scowl from his face. Failing. He thinks steam would come out of his ears if it were within the realm of possibility.

He’s always too late. Always takes too long to get comfortable. Always spends so long waiting that he misses out on the thing he wanted, and she’s not a thing but his blood is fucking boiling. At the man she’s talking to, at himself, at her too if he’s a little honest.

The man, who’s name he doesn’t know and now never wants to, is handsome. If you’re into that suburban, well groomed, boring kind of thing. He has a punchable face. Daryl is not allowed to punch people unless its necessary anymore, Rick has told him that explicitly but surely flirting with his…flirting with the woman he’s in lo…flirting with her makes it necessary.

He can’t stand the thought that he might not be the last person to kiss her lips. He can’t stand looking any longer, but he doesn’t mean for his knife to clatter loudly on the floor as he tries to flee. He doesn’t dare turn around, but he’d be able to tell she was looking at him even in pitch black. Knows she’s watching the solid, tense set of his shoulders as he retreats.

-

She startles at the sight of him sitting on her porch, quickly schooling her face into the nonchalance she’s been practicing around him since they arrived. It was easy enough, on the road, to pretend he hadn’t hurt her. They were so busy trying to survive, so busy being busy that she could avoid an inevitable conversation where she’d had to apologise for getting their wires crossed.

But since they’ve been behind the walls of Alexandria? She can’t stop herself from searching him out, finding excuses to be near him, trying to act like they were back at the prison. Friends. She can do friends. She has been absolutely nailing being just friends, as long as she can ignore the tightness in her chest and the way she feels like she’s going to cry every time she walks away. Friends.

She flips the knife in her hand with ease, shielding his hand from the blade as she passes it back to him. He nods his thanks as he squints up at her.

“What crawled up your ass tonight?” She asks, but there’s a teasing smile on her face as leans against the railing to her house. The porch light is dim, warm golden yellow illuminating them. Daryl hasn’t been one for a lot of words in a long time, but he intends to bat the question away, distract her with something funny, something acerbic but good natured. Friendly, he can do friendly. He can’t, could barely do it on the road after everything happened. Now though, when she’s showered and brushed her hair and dressed up, lit up by a damn porch light? He doesn’t stand a chance.

“Dun’ kiss him”

“What the fuck?”

Fists clenching to calm himself down, unfurling them when he feels more grounded, he looks up at her again, daring to lock his eyes onto hers.

“Ya like him…tha’ guy?” He tries to keep his voice steady, hopes she doesn’t understand he’s begging her to say no, begging for her to give him a chance, but how many can one man have?

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Dun’ kiss him, please” He asks again, with a shake of his head, knocking his hair in front of his eyes as the ground in front of him becomes the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. She sighs quietly, but the sound reverberates in his brain, he can hear the disappointment that weighs it down, the disappointment he’d hoped to avoid by avoiding talking about this thing between them entirely.

“I’m not having this conversation with you on the porch” She pushes herself off the railing, turning to open the front floor. She means for him to leave but he follows her inside, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh as he closes the door behind him. Every part of his body is telling him to run.

“I know I ain’t got no right t’ ask”

“No, you don’t. Why are you asking?”

“‘cause I can’t stand it”

“Why do you care?”

“’cause ya shouldn’t be wit’ him!”

“Who should I be with then, Daryl? Huh?” He doesn’t respond, not that she expects him to, head hanging low toward the ground “You have no answer, because it’s not you, is it? You didn’t want me!”

“I didn’t-what?”

He’d tried to make it obvious, had given her extra food, had nudged her shoulder with his, had talked to her more than anyone else. But she’d tried to kiss him and he’d fled, had retreated safely back into the comfort of his walls. Then he’d come back. He’d kissed her and again he’d fled. Daryl Dixon is the human embodiment of emotional whiplash. He knows he’s not easy, but he thought at least he’d been clear, he can’t imagine the way he looks at her has ever been subtle.

“I did want ya”

Her mind thinks over the weeks he’s been standoffish, the time he’s spent avoiding her touches, thinks back the first week they’d arrived here and he’s barely spoken a word, all the while watching her with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if she hadn’t wanted his attention.

“I can’t do this, you can’t play with my head because you’re jealous all of a sudden”

“Ain’t jealous” He argues, knowing they both know he’s lying, but he still, even now, won’t let himself be vulnerable. “I know I fucked up, ‘kay? I know, but I’m ‘ere now!”

He snarls, frustrated and bordering on vicious, practically diving towards her as his hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise. He smashes his lips against hers, unpractised and clumsily before his brain catches up and he goes to pull away. Her response is so fast he doesn’t get a chance, dragging him back in as his brain shuts down.

The kiss is hard, angry and fast, all hip bones pressing into hip bones and teeth clacking against teeth. It’s not the romantic, affectionate start she was hoping for. It’s not the gentle steady and slow he was. She’s angry, he is too she can feel it in his body as he presses it against her.

The room spins, air thick and foggy with months’ worth of frustration, tension so thick it could be cut, it’s only when he swallows a heady, deep moan from her that he realises he needs more. Tongue sweeping into her mouth he grips the fabric of her skirt in his hand, bunching it up until he can reach an insistent, rough calloused hand inside her underwear, ripping his lips away from hers to heave a breath in. She’s soaked, dripping around his fingers and he’ll have time to be absolutely fucking floored by that when he recounts this later. His forehead sticks to hers as she moans.

It’s not that he hasn’t had trysts before, it’s just that they were short and unimportant, he’s barely been confident enough to use his hands. He wants to touch her in the right way, wants to know what he’s doing but she’s snaking a hand into his trousers and wrapping her fingers around his cock so thinking isn’t the top of his priorities right now.

It feels incredible, and in the vague recess of his brain he thinks he should have done this at a pace he'd be more comfortable with but he hasn’t done this in years, and barely successfully then so its not long before he comes all over her hand, whining as his head dips down to pant heavily against her collarbone. His fingers still, embarrassed and suddenly full of crippling self-doubt. She knows he’s going to remove them about a second before he does.

A thud echoes through the suddenly too big room as she tips her head back to hit the wall behind her.

“You leaving?” She lets out an incredulous laugh, hurt, betrayed, surprisingly unsurprised. The zip on his trousers seems louder than anything she’d yelled at him less than an hour before. It feels like an eternity before she lowers her head to look at him, doesn’t bother to mask the absolute disappointment on her features.

“I-uh-yeah-I”

She can practically see the walls slamming back up around him, the walls she’s been watching for weeks. A tear rolls down her cheek as he turns away from her, heading towards the front door.

“You don’t get another chance with me, Daryl” the finality in her voice makes him pause, hand on the doorknob. She sighs, hating that she’s about to give him the grace she is “You need to make up your mind, because I’m not waiting for you, not again. If you’re not certain by tomorrow you need to leave me alone”

The shaky nod from him is so small its almost imperceptible.

-

She’s not expecting the knock on her door as soon as the sun is up, really she isn’t. The whole night has been sleepless and filled to the brim with dread, knowing for sure that he wants her but fully believing he will never be able to let himself have her. She isn’t unaware of Daryl’s tendency to self-destruct. Maybe this is it, she thinks, maybe he values her enough as a friend if nothing else, to tell her face to face, but he’d never been able to before and the tiniest hint of hope lights her up as she treads carefully down the stairs.

Daryl stands there with a small, nervous but hopeful smile on his face. The hope hasn’t missed him, either. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, so out of his depth he might as well be drowning, but the knowledge that she wants this too means he’d rather fumble his way through this with her than do well without her.

“I’m a’ idiot”

“Yes you are” She laughs, setting him alight on the inside. The laugh that started al of this, almost. Doubt underneath her voice is the thing that finally settles it for him, makes him pull her towards him, gentle this time, the way he’d wanted. He’ll never let her doubt his feelings even when he doubts himself.

“I always wanted ya” he murmurs against her lips before closing the distance.

“You’re not going to run away again?”

“Ain’t runnin’, ain’t ever runnin’ again”

[rookiesbookies]

mischievous COD ideas😈

Heavily pregnant reader knowing that her hubby doesn’t want to be rough in the slightest with her due to her pregnancy and refrains from punishing her, so she abuses that fully to be a brat

To my sweet sweet brat reader, Im sorry if this is not all you hoped as I am a resident good girl. The one time I was a brat I got degraded (“such a good bitch”) and cried. I hope I do a good job portraying the relationships, if I dont let me know and I will edit it or rewrite sections that dont fit. You also didn’t specify so imma write for my usual set of lovelies. (Im also added Krueger because I’ve recently fallen in love with him a lil bit and he kinda fits thi)

The boys with pregnant brat wife

Price

This man is too worried about helping you get your shoes on. “You’re pregnant, isn’t not being able to see your feet punishment enough?” He’s not going to do much other than pinching you. Whether it’s your ass or your arm, and they’re hard “i had to discipline Soap subtly and im a dad” pinches. He’ll also use pressure points. Give the back of your arm the good pinch and twist. He’s just trying not to take it personally.

Soap

He’s googled what positions he can put you in. He’s googled if its safe for the baby. He has googled what he can and cannot do. He has spoke with your doctors about it, as embarrassing as that phone call was. And for certain punishments, its a long game. Like holding your ice cream you crave hostage until you learn. If he can’t make it sexual, he’ll find other ways.

Ghost

Like Price, he’s also using pressure points. Not the ones that knock you out but the ones that feel weird or make you got “ow”. Cannot get hard and it’s not because you’re not hot its bc he literally gets more flaccid than a limp noodle at the thought of possibly hurting that baby. He’s also very good at holding grudges and every time you brat out and walk all over him, he’s making a note on his phone for later.

Konig

Oh but he just got you to whine and cry you admit you want his cock. He knew eventually he could wait out your little game. “You acted out and now you must wait until I want to give it to you. You ask so nicely though, keep trying. I like when you beg.” He’s so mean, he’d make you wait until after you gave birth and however many times you acted out is how many weeks (or months depending on how he’s feeling) after you have to wait to get any pleasure from him.

Keegan

your toys aren’t doing it for you anymore? Nope. He’ll keep fluttering his fingers over you figure and let you use that tiny dildo he got you that cant even stretch you like he can. That’s all you get. His hands wont even go lower than your waist. They wont even touch close to your nipples. This is real torture. Every orgasm is so unfulfilling. I feel bad for you really. Hope this teaches you.

Gaz

He’s a doormat anyway. I don’t see him punishing anyone. He’s too much of a gentleman. I do believe he’d pull orgasm after orgasm out of you casually when you act up with his hands. Never giving you his dick as much as you beg. Pleading, crying for it, he wont budge. No you can deal with the consequences of your actions while he sits here and watches this movie. “Why aren’t you watching, love? You picked the movie. No, no, stop your whining, just sit and watch.”

Krueger

Sebastian doesn’t care. He’ll find other ways. Like right now you’re legs spread and hands flat against the wall as he spanks your ass, every time he does you have to say thank you and apologize for snapping at him. He knows you’re hormonal, but he’s going to make you apologize. Oh and he’s kissing away those tears and asking you if you understand what you do wrong while running you a nice bath and all the rubs and lotion for your poor butt.

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 2

Holy shit, guys. I have never had such a response to a story before. Thank you guys so much.

Tag list of 50 has now been filled. Any other requests for tagging will be denied. I’m sorry.

Edit: Also if you saw the title as something else? No, no you didn’t. And any reblogs you see with anyone instead of anybody are a figment of your imagination. (*thuds head on laptop* I have the title right on here...in my file *wails*)

Part 1

*

The next morning Eddie got up for school excited for the first time. He had a mystery to solve and his name was Steven Harrington. Probably the third or whatever shit rich people got to with naming their kids. He rummaged through his closet looking for his favorite band tee. But he stopped when he found an old shoe box down at the bottom.

Eddie frowned and pulled it out. It was a bunch of pictures of Eddie when he first came to live with his uncle, Wayne. He looked at the shaved head and bruised face.

His dad had taken one look at Eddie that morning and decided his hair was too long. He had grabbed Eddie by the hair and dragged him into the bathroom and shaved his head. The bruises to the face were from Eddie trying to escape.

Eddie had suffered a concussion and it was then the state had taken notice. They had packed up his stuff while he was in the hospital in a big black garbage bag and told him he would be going home to his Uncle Wayne. In Indiana. So far from the life he knew. But it meant being safe from his dad and that was a plus in Eddie’s book.

It’s how he knew what Steve was going through. Maybe not exactly the same. But he knew concussions and knew they were a bad business.

He put the pictures back in the box and tucked it under his bed. Maybe he didn’t need to know why Steve was hurting. Maybe it was enough to understand. He pulled on his second favorite band tee and his jacket. He grabbed his bag and hurried out the door.

*

Eddie bit his lip. He didn’t have any classes with Steve today and wasn’t able to check up on him. He was tempted to break into the office and pull Steve’s schedule. But that would get him detention and he was still trying to keep his promise to his uncle.

How was he going to do this?

And then the answer literally dropped in his lap. A book was thrown at him by someone. He picked it up and looked at the cover. It was some old homework journal was about to throw it away when a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

Frowning he picked it up. By some miracle it was Steve’s schedule. He looked up to see if he could see who threw it at him. But it could have been anyone. A lot of people were avoiding his eye, but that could be for any number of reasons. They bought from him and now they can’t look him in the eye because he knows. They want to buy weed and don’t know how to broach it. They think he’s a freak. They have a crush on him. You know, the possibilities were endless.

But at least he knew things he didn’t before. Like holy hell, the kid did a lot of sports. He looked at baseball and swimming and basketball with his mind whirling around in his head. How did he keep all the rules straight?

Math third period Eddie knew. History was Steve’s first period. Which was probably how his messed up brain managed to spew that information at Eddie yesterday. Baseball was seventh. Basketball his eighth. Swimming was second. English fourth. Art was sixth. Art, huh? That was intriguing. Probably thought it was an easy elective. And chemistry was fifth. So it looked something like this.

Odd 1-History 3- Math 5- Chemistry lunch 7- Baseball

Even 2-Swimming 4-English 6-Art lunch 8-Basketball

Huh. Eddie never noticed, but Steve was always in his lunch period. That was certainly interesting. He wondered what Mrs Hall, the guidance counselor would do about all his sports now that he couldn’t play anymore. He supposed swimming was still fine, nothing to hit you in that. But baseball and basketball were definitely out.

Eddie chewed on his lip. The sports weren’t going to get Eddie closer to finding out what happened to Steve. They would close ranks so fast. At least Steve and him had lunch together so that would at least make it easier befriend the guy.

Art, though. He tapped his lip thoughtfully. He had art in his fifth period. He could doing some snooping there. After all art is where true expression lies. And if there was anything going on it would show in his art.

The start of a plan was forming in the back of his mind. Yeah. This could work.

*

At lunch, Eddie slid in next to Steve as soon as he sat down.

“What’s on the menu today, Harrington?” he asked grinning.

Steve looked up at him in shock again. “Um...applesauce and plain toast, with a can of ginger ale.”

Eddie winced. “Still feeling the nausea?”

Steve nodded. “I’m starting to wonder if it’s ever going away.”

“It’ll stick around for about a week,” Eddie said softly.

Steve frowned. “How would you know that?”

“How don’t you know that?” Eddie fired back. “This is your second concussion.”

“Didn’t go to the doctor either time,” Steve mumbled.

“You want to run that past me again, Harrington?” Eddie asked.

“Doctors mean having to call my parents,” Steve explained, “calling my parents means that they’ll have to come back from their trip, coming back from their trip means I get into trouble, getting into trouble is not good for a concussion, so I don’t.”

“Why would you get into trouble for having a concussion?” Eddie asked, furrowing his brow.

Steve started counting it out on his fingers. “Getting into a fight. Hanging out with black people and by extension, siding with said black person. Having to drop out of sports. Watching my grades plummet. Not speaking to Tommy and Carol. I can keep going if you’d like...”

Eddie shook his head. “Holy shit, dude. I didn’t think I’d see a shittier dad then my own, but yours and your mom take the cake.”

Steve looked down at his applesauce mournfully. “It’s not that bad. At least my dad doesn’t hit me like Tommy’s dad does.”

Eddie’s eyebrows went up. “Are all rich dads douchebags?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Look, I’ve got to eat my own lunch,” Eddie said slapping the table and standing up, “but if you need anything come find me.”

Steve nodded, but Eddie didn’t think he would take him up on it.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19  Part 20 Part 21

Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites

[honeyandberryjuice]

Into Wonderland

summary: you have a very questionable situation with the man of your dreams. literally. relationship(s): reader/yagi toshinori (all might) word count: 938 warning(s): 18+, MINORS DNI

author's note: originally written for @lavenderovercast of their oc, but edited it for reader x toshinori. specifially small might because i love him. if you enjoyed this, any interaction is appreciated ♡ if anyone would like this rewritten for male, gender neutral or otherwise, please let me know!! tags: small might, fem!reader, cheating reader, well not really because it's a dream, emotional cheating?, whatever it is probably isn't morally correct, very guilty conscience. but it's sexy??

🍯 prefer to read on ao3? 🍯

 The room is hot. So fucking hot.

 Maybe it’s the fact that Japan was experiencing a dry spell, not even an ounce of any signs of rain for the last four days. Or, perhaps, it’s because Toshinori was moaning into your ear, breathy and so, so hot against you. If you weren’t so warm in your cheeks, and so very much distracted by the man’s very large fingers rubbing against your clit, you might’ve giggled as the air tickled your skin.

 Nothing seems very funny right now and, to be honest, your thoughts have been a garbled mess for the past few minutes. It was only the feeling of perspiration clinging to your back that had awakened the internal complaint—Though, really, you had absolutely nothing to complain about when Toshinori’s rough, calloused fingers swirled so hypnotically on your pussy.

 “Fuck,” You gasp out, a familiar pressure building inside your stomach. If the man continued this much longer, you’d come apart. There was something embarrassing about that, even though you trusted him with your entire life… Perhaps it was because this had all come on so unexpectedly, and you should feel shame about this, you should think about your husband—But, shit, it felt so fucking good.

 The blonde man lifted his soft lips from your neck, his eyebrows furrowing in worry. The pressure wanes, and you realise that his hands have slowed their pace. His voice, deliciously gravelly and cracking from lust, asks softly, “Are you okay? Does that hurt?”

 Oh god. You can’t stand it; you want him so fucking bad that it hurts. You don't deserve this man, this moment, anything—But there’s something so delightfully wicked about everything that the two of you shouldn’t be doing, and you don't ever want it to stop. Emphatically, you shake your head, and your hand slides up his neck to grip roughly at his hair. The other hand cups his in-between your thighs, and you push his hand closer. “P-Please, don’t. I’m almost there, Yagi. I…” It seemed impossible for your cheeks to blush anymore than they currently were, but you felt them warm even deeper. “I want to cum for you.”

 Toshinori is at a complete loss for words. His body betrays him to show this fact very clearly as his jaw falls open, and his tongue feels thick in his mouth. It takes a moment for him to regain his composure, and he finally clears his throat before looking at the person in front him with such softness and high regard that you suddenly think about covering yourself up. You don't, because you want more than anything for this to continue, but you can’t help but feel vulnerable under his dark-eyed gaze. After what felt like a lifetime, he responded, “I would like that, more than anything. I want to make you happy—”

 And suddenly, you’re pulling his face towards yours and wrapping your mouth around his. Your heart aches, but your pussy aches even more to feel him again. You don't know if you’ll ever get this chance laid before you again, and you can’t stand living with your regrets any longer. You wanted him; you’d wanted him for years, since you’d been classmates in America. You should’ve been braver, shouldn’t have run away from him, should’ve made yourself confess to him and claim what had felt like yours forever. If you wouldn’t have that chance again, then you’d do absolutely everything in your power to make this memory last a lifetime.

 Your tongue slips into his mouth, and the feel of his own—shy at first, though still so, so curious—feels like heaven. Then there’s fire, burning, and metallic iron mixed with a hint of peppermint as Toshinori noticeably relaxes in your hands like clay and his own tongue slides against yours. Your breaths mingles together, and you aren’t sure if the moan you heard was just your own, or his, or the two of you together.

 Your hands are everywhere—in his hair, brushing against his shoulders, cupping his cheeks. You can’t get enough, it feels like you’ve been starving for this for your whole existence, and this is where you’re meant to be and—

 With a jerk, you awaken. Your skin is clammy, your hair is sticking to your head, and you feel an urgent need to get out of your pyjamas now.

 But you’re still not fully conscious, and the thought is quickly removed from your mind as your hand instinctively reaches out for the body beside you. His skin is cold, so lushly cold, and you magnetically shuffle closer to him, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

 You ignore the fact that the scent that washes over you isn’t the same as the one you’d relished in your dreams, instead cupping a hand against his stubbly cheek, disregarding that the one you truly wanted to touch was clean shaven, and pulling him in for a kiss. There is no inferno or iron, only the slight heaviness of sleep.

 “Sweetheart?” In a voice that doesn’t feel right, but that doesn’t matter right now. All that you can think about is that you need this, and you know you’re a horrible, disgusting person that doesn’t deserve any of it—

 But warm hands, cold at the fingertips, finally, finally reach for you and you can feel his hair brushing against your cheek. It’s similar in shape, and your fingers have expertly explored it over the years, and if you just close your eyes and dream, it’s blond and spiky, and perfect.

 Even if it doesn’t belong to the man you really want.

[toomiieimagiines]

hi hi there! sooooo, how about some Tsukasa cuddling headcanons? Feel free to ignore if you’ve got better ones! Have a super awesome day! >:D

YOU ALL ARE A BUNCH OF DIRTY DIRTY TSUKASA LOVERS!! WHAT IS WITH HIM THAT YOU LOVE SO MUCH! ToT love a good cuddle hc…. was honestly excited to see it… (can we address how he dresses sometime? what a cutie pie…. honestly, i didn’t really favor kasa before i started writing for him!! he’s so darling!!!>_<) AND SORRY FOR THE MINI HIATUS!! life’s been kinda hard recently!! ^_^||| sorry for it being kinda short!

EDIT: i forgot to add tags like a scatterbrain…. -.- i hope people can still see this…

Tsukasa Tenma cuddling hc’s (+ more!)

Too hot to handle… (LITERALLY)

So so warm, an actual walking furnace, YET HES FREEZING!

“Honey, it’s so so cold please…” (whiny (HOW SURPRISING))

“‘Kasa, baby, I’m sweating…”

LOVES and I mean LOVES to cuddle

Who would believe me if I told them he’d pounce on you at any given opportunity? (OMG wuttt??? that’s soooo unlike him!!)

“Sweeetheart, I just miss you!”

“Honey, please when do I ever ask you for anything??”

Trust if he’s sick he makes it your problem too, like pls unsick me!!

Smells like shortbread

You honestly don’t know why because the only time he wears cologne is if he’s going somewhere fancy, and it’s never sweet

Maybe it’s Sakis weird love for baking, maybe it’s a little fairy who likes to sprinkle him with it while he sleeps, he doesn’t really know.

Favorite positions are ones where you’re facing eachother

Doesn’t really like spooning, he doesn’t find it as satisfying

ALSO VERY PARTIAL TO HIM LAYING HIS HEAD ON YOUR CHEST

He likes your heartbeat!!! Is that a crime?

Will genuinely NEVER let you get back up after

He will fight you… Its infuriating

WRAPS HIS ARMS SO TIGHT AROUND YOU, HES LIKE A TON OF BRICKS

Didn’t know I signed up for cuddling sheetmetal, thanks for the warning!

Honestly, he’s so boyfriend tho it’s insane…. like yes yes of course you’re my boyfriend!

AGHHHA HES SO CUTIEEE!!! i enjoy leaving these drabbles after my hcs!! it makes me feel like i actually did something! keep requesting, sorry if i haven’t gotten to yours yet!! there’s been so many! thank you so much!^w^

Rehearsal sucks, anyone who’s ever done anything knows it, and so does Tsukasa. He’s exhausted, and he knows the one thing that’ll recharge him.

You.

He sends you a text akin to “please let me come over before I die and it’ll be your fault”, and who could say no to that!? That’s how you ended up with a mildly sweaty Tsukasa laying on top of your previously perfectly made bed…

“You’re too warm! I can lay with you, but this is ridiculous!” You squirm, trying to pry the boy off of you. When did he get so heavy?! It’s like a bag of bricks is holding you down!

“Please sweetheart, when do I ever ask you for anything?!” He whines, wrapping his arms even tighter around you.

“Five minutes ago you asked me to scratch your back, you asked me for a drink from the vending machine because you didn’t wanna get your wallet-“

“Never mind!” He cuts you off, covering your mouth. “It’s the last time, I swear! I promise that I won’t ever again!-”

You look up at him, unimpressed.

“For the..” he looks away dejectedly, taking his hand off your mouth, “rest of the time I’m here…”

You snicker at his sudden sheepishness, “what happened to the passion, ‘Kasa?” Your fingers run through his blonde hair, twisting it around your fingers.

“You put the fire out… If you could see my eyes right now, you’d see they’re gray and dull….”

You smack his head playfully, “don’t bite the hands that scratch your back.”

He just sighs, burying his head deeper into your neck. He’s warm, REALLY warm, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind anymore. It really is times like these that make you appreciate him the most. He’s not performing, he’s not playing, he’s just kinda there, and you’re kinda there too. Everything can be so much, but life feels mundane and boring when you two are like this - in a good way! It feels domestic.

“I love you, Tsukasa. Y’know that?” You lift his head up, looking into his eyes. Damnit, he’s looks kinda sweet. It almost makes you feel bad for teasing him… Almost.

He leans into the touch, eyes closing again. His voice is uncharacteristically soft when he replies, “I do. I love you too, a lot.”

A beat passes,

“I’m aloud to fall asleep, right?”

“Tsukasa!”

[slashersteve]

Dream Girl

pairing: Walter “Keys” Mckey/Female Reader

summary: Keys helps you pass a seemingly impossible boss battle in a video game you’ve been playing.

warnings/extra tags: cursing, a kiss kiss, probably ooc keys? I tried 😔, poor hacking things i got very vague but for this imagine just trust me bro, beta read, edited by me so if i missed anything pls ignore :')

note: Consider this my debut to writing Keys and who knows…maybe I’ll write more of him 👀 also yall this has been in my drafts for decades and today i was like?? it's bri's birthday, so i should post this right??? happy birthday @userdjo !! Thank you for reading and enjoy ♥️

✦ ✦ ✦

“I'm not doing it.”

"Why not?”

“Uh, because it's too risky?”

“Seriously? Too risky? Do you hear yourself right now?”

Keys was standing across from you, leaning on the kitchen counter holding a cup of coffee that he had only taken a single sip of seeing as the moment you heard the coffee maker come to life you stalked out of your own office to try to convince him to do what you wanted him to do all morning.

“Keys!” You were exasperated when he didn’t reply to your rhetorical question.

He just wanted to spend a bit of time during his break to look at something that wasn’t a screen of codes he could read like the morning paper. He wanted to talk to you in this kitchen like you always did throughout the day and unfortunately your conversations had to be this.

“We could get into a lot of trouble, I could get into a lot of trouble,” Keys told you firmly, to which you scoffed and crossed your arms, “I’m serious.”

“Only if you get caught, which I know you won’t,” you replied, before huffing and adding, “Where did this goody two shoes attitude come from? You literally took down an entire gaming company by causing trouble with Millie.”

Keys sighed, turning away from you as he set his mug down and brought one hand to his face to remove his glasses just so he could properly pinch his nose. That was different, and you knew it, but still wanted to try and guilt him into helping you.

“And you can’t do it yourself?” He asked, fully knowing that you couldn’t because you wouldn’t be asking him otherwise. If you could you wouldn’t be bugging him so much, pushing him to do what you wanted.

“I’d get caught, we both know it. Nobody can do it but you- Millie probably, but she’s not here,” you explained, “Come on, please? If you do it I’ll do every coffee run for the rest of the month.”

You were trying to bargain now, which amused Keys as he wiped the lens of his glasses before sliding them back over his eyes.

“Yeah me hacking into a game of another company is definitely worth you doing coffee runs,” he said sarcastically, resting his eyes back on you. You shrugged weakly and shot him a sort of sheepish smile, not caring that he was obviously irritated with you.

“I think it is- unless anything else is up for grabs? Anything you know…you would like?”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him, and he felt his chest tighten slightly, unsure exactly what you were getting at and suddenly being afraid that you did know. The sight of his expression had you smirking before you said, “She is my best friend- like yours- but girls mostly listen to each other…I could potentially lead her in your direction. You know…get that date you’ve always wanted lover boy.”

Keys blinked, understanding after a moment or two that you were talking about Millie and the hopeless crush he had on her, something he had confessed to you a while ago. Just that, nothing else…thank god.

“Don’t-“ Keys laughed awkwardly, “Don’t. I actually don’t like her like that anymore.”

You gave him a look, and he felt his cheeks heat up, embarrassed by the mention of his old crush on her. Not because he was embarrassed of being in love with Millie once, but because he had thought you had known something else now, that had nothing to do with Millie but with the woman standing in this kitchen with him.

“Oh…when did that happen?” You questioned him, not believing a single word that just came out of his mouth. Truth be told, long before he confided in you his crush, you had been aware of it. How could you not be? It was the way he looked at her, brown eyes longing and yearning. He had it bad for her, for years, so it was hard to believe he’d moved on, that he’d fallen out of love.

“A while ago, actually, just sort of happened one day,” he replied awkwardly, eyes flashing to his watch. He had a few minutes left before he had to go back in there and start coding again. You both worked from home, made up your own hours and he liked to keep a more timely schedule than you did.

“Huh,” you said, still curious as to how that happened at all, but knowing he was going to be escaping back to his office/room was enough to make you set it aside and continue your prior conversation bargain.

“Anything else then? I’m really desperate here Keys, I wouldn’t be asking you to do this if I wasn’t, you know this,” you continued, watching as he picked up his basically untouched coffee and pushed himself off the counter, ready to return to his coding.

“The coffee runs do sound nice, but like I said, not worth it,” he told you again, this time a bit more firmly and now it was you getting frustrated with him as you followed closely after him through the living room.

“Oh come on! I can do it for longer? The rest of the year- Keys!” You grabbed his arm, the one that wasn’t holding a coffee thankfully as it definitely might’ve spilled, “I’m begging you, do you want me to get down on my knees and beg to show you how serious I am?”

He cheeks suddenly became flushed as you started to descent to your knees and he had to catch you to keep you from doing that. The last thing he needed was to know how you looked when you’re on your knees in front of him. The last thing.

“No! You don’t have to-“ he said a bit too frantically. You stared at him, confused by his sudden behavior (even noticing his suddenly very pink cheeks and wide eyes underneath his glasses). Keys blinked rapidly for a moment, before he turned his head and cursed, “Alright alright, it may take a day or so- we need to make sure our schedules are clear- which means you gotta do work.”

He gave you a pointed look, knowing your tendency to move away from your work computer to what you called your fun gaming one whenever you felt like it.

“Oh yeah of course!” you replied like you did work all the time, “If that’s what it takes then hell yeah, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

You didn’t say it like a joke, which made him swallow thickly at your words and push down some thoughts he’d been having about you lately. Some romantic, some not so romantic and more in the carnal sense. Both equally terrified him and made him feel a sense of guilt.

It didn’t help that your favorite lounge at home outfit was a sports bra and biker shorts you usually paired with a zip-up hoodie that you never zipped up. It was mostly that pretty silver chain necklace you wore all the time and how it would fall underneath the fabric of your bra, making his eyes and thoughts wander to forbidden places.

Something he was doing right fucking now. It was almost like getting caught in a spell of some sort, which embarrassed him greatly.

You were too distracted by the fact that he technically agreed to helping you out to notice his eyes resting on your chest area, “I can’t believe you’re going to do this for me- okay- okay you get back to work and we’ll meet up tonight?”

You were giddy, almost bouncing in your spot and Keys suddenly snapped out of his trance caused by you, and he quickly forced his eyes to meet yours, realizing you’d just been speaking and that he wasn’t listening.

“Uh- yeah- yeah totally,” he told you in an attempt to not sound like a creep. You didn’t notice though, you didn’t notice a lot of things actually, and you merely flashed him an excited grin before you turned and jogged back into your own room, for the first time being excited to do some work and actually complete it.

Keys just stood there long after you had slammed your door shut, long after you probably sat at your computer and started replying to messages or reworking some mods like you were supposed to.

He felt like an idiot. A fool. Yet another hopeless fool who developed feelings for somebody he was close to, somebody in the same friend group.

He hadn’t intended for it to happen. It had always been Millie, not that anything was wrong with you of course, he just had some odd attachment to her because for a long time he considered her to be his dream girl, but after a long hard look at himself and their friendship he knew that’s all she would ever be.

And he was okay with that…eventually. Eventually his heart stopped fluttering in his chest when their eyes would meet, eventually his mind was no longer foggy and warm when they spoke. Eventually, he felt nothing but a platonic love that would always be there to stay.

With you, he wasn’t anticipating feelings like that to come up. It honestly came out of no where one day. Millie and Mouser had left, and you decided to stick around a little longer.

Keys wasn’t used to being alone with you, as at the time you were closer to Millie only and you two were like a package deal. So when you said you’d stay, Keys suggested you two play a game of your choice as an ice breaker. You chose this shooter game, 1v1, or on a team together online. That would be his choice and he decided to go with 1v1, not wanting to deal with teammates he didn’t know as he wasn’t up for a headache or trash talking from strangers or kids who aren’t being monitored by their parents and cursing like sailors.

He didn’t catch the wicked look in your eyes when he chose that one.

Keys learned very quickly how much you liked shooter games, even ones at the arcades. Your aim was impeccable and your sportsmanship was completely out of the window. You quipped back and forth like old friends, teasing him when he’d lose, cursing him when you lost, which wasn’t as often as Keys would’ve liked.

It was fun, very fun, and you ended up spending the entire night with him, playing your favorite games, and his favorite ones. Then, you just talked and got to know each other better.

Keys had liked you before that, and it was after that he started to like you more. And when you and him moved into together- things changed. They changed a lot.

He really liked you, but like with Millie, he was probably forever going to keep it to himself because how could you ever like him in return? He was your friend, and you knew he had been hopelessly in love with your best friend- he couldn’t see that working out. Not one bit, even if it broke his heart knowing that it wouldn’t.

Like Millie was, you were just another dream girl, and like her again, he eventually learn to be okay with that. It’s what was keeping him going, honestly, but he knew it would take longer as you were around him constantly. Eventually, he told himself as he took a sip of his now cold coffee, eventually.

✦ ✦ ✦

Keys had gone to bed the minute he finished up.

He washed his face, taken off his shirt and put on his pajama pants, took off his glasses, and laid spread on his bed under the covers on his stomach. One side of his face was nuzzled into his pillow, heavy eyes shutting on their own accord, mind ready to be overcome by well deserved sleep.

Just as he felt sleep wash over him, something had weighed down the mattress from his left side. Well, not something, more like somebody had.

He opened one eye to see you on his bed, and he quickly sat up, moving away from you as he asked what the heck you were doing in his bed like this. You were taken back by his reaction, but then raised a brow before saying, “We agreed to meet up tonight, remember?”

Keys just stared at you, blinking wildly as he tried to remember if that was true. You shifted in your spot, spreading your thighs a little more so you could actually sit on his bed. He let his eyes move down for only a split second, though his vision was blurry, before forcing them back up at you.

“I seriously don’t remember, just-“

“God relax,” you suddenly said, a smile starting to grow on your lips, “You’re so nervous by a girl being in your bed.”

You were teasing him again, and he coughed into his hand before he shook his head and said in an attempt to change the subject, “I told you it might take all day, we can’t start tonight we’ll be up for hours.”

You frowned now, “Then why’d you agree tonight? You said ‘yeah totally’ I remember.” You pointed at him, and Keys suddenly recalled that he did say that to you- he had just been distracted that he didn’t know what he was agreeing to.

He cursed under his breath, knowing that you weren’t going to go away at all, but thinking he should keep his word as well, especially when you titled your head and gave him what could only be described as puppy dog eyes. You even fluttered your lashes and stuck out your bottom lip.

“Fine, get everything set up-“

“Already done,” you replied, already moving to stand, and you gestured him to follow you as you took long strides out the door. Keys could only grab his glasses, forgoing a shirt, so he could keep up with you.

Everything was set up, the game, the laptop with the games codes there- he was sure you made sure IP addresses couldn’t be tracked as the last thing your guys new gaming company needed was a scandal that involved one of the key founding members hacking into a game made by a separate company. Why on earth did you want to do this? It was insanely risky.

You moved to sit on a stool you had brought in from the kitchen, leaving your vibrant teal gaming chair to Keys. He sat in it, eyes glossing over the game and he asked you for clarification what it was you wanted him to do exactly.

“I’m having trouble with the items- okay so every time you buy one the price goes up and it goes insanely high- insanely that it makes it impossible to buy more,” you explained, “So I need you to either keep the prices from going up, or to give me infinite items or coins. That one sounds great.”

Keys ran his hand through his hair and laughed at your request, and said teasingly, “You know you can just earn all those coins by being a better player.”

He felt your hand lightly smack his shoulder, “I’ve been on this for weeks, Keys, and I’m desperate. This boss is kicking my ass and I’d like an infinite amount of healing potions.”

Rather than going to the coding, he actually moved to the game instead, starting it up and waving you off when you asked him what he was doing.

“I just want to see which boss is kicking your ass so much that you want to cheat,” he told you, and you started to protest, knowing that this was one the games he actually introduced you to and would definitely tease you when he found out which one it was.

Keys promptly ignored you as he loaded up to your last mission, and as his eyes danced around the screen, taking in the familiar surroundings and music even, he started to laugh and shake his head- doing exactly what you were afraid of.

“Alright yeah laugh it up-“

“No, no I actually don’t blame you,” he said with another shake of his head before he pushed his hair out his face, “I think I stopped playing for a while because of this fight. Have you gotten asked to play easy mode yet?”

He was looking at you now, and you moaned in distress before nodding. Keys laughed, remembering how this particular boss battle had humbled him and other players who thought they were god at video games greatly. He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together and resting them over his chest.

“It’s a bad idea,” he told you again, this time more firmly, “Also I’m sorry- I’m not going to let you cheat. We’re beating this guy here and now.”

He was turning away from you to look back at the screen, and you groaned.

“Keys there’s no way- no fucking way we’re going to beat him- you said even you had trouble,” you tried, “Just let me go the cheating route.”

You grabbed the laptop, but Keys had taken it from you swiftly, shutting it and setting aside as you grumbled at him.

“No you’re going to beat this guy fair and square, we just need to replay missions, get every objective checked off…” he trailed off as he started moving the character away from the boss battle zone. You just sat beside him, dreading the idea of having to go back to do all that.

“Keys…” you moaned in complete despair, “That’ll take too long.”

“It won’t, I’ll help you,” he replied back, and dropped your head on his shoulder while he grinned, amused by your reluctance to replay any of this.

“Fine, fine, we’ll take turns,” you said, lifting your head up so you can look at the screen. Keys agreed to these terms.

A few hours had passed, you and Keys switching off who plays and who watches- and Keys was a much better player than you were at this particular game, getting through past battles you also had trouble with and barely passed with ease, slicing through the bosses like butter, and going on his merry way. You were almost embarrassed honestly whenever it was your turn, but he sat beside you on that stool, and just helped you.

Normally, whenever you played together or watched the other play a single player game (a sort of ritual you two had every other night when you were both available) you’d go hard on each other for every little mistake.

“Uh triangle is the top button Keys? Need to study the controls a little longer there big guy?”

“Haha- if you’re just going to be so critical the door's over there…”

All would end with a laugh and you leaning back on his bed as you continued to watch him, teasing him within the next few minutes.

Right now though, he’d still occasionally tease here and there, but it wasn’t condescending or serious enough to irritate you. You actually liked it, liked him sitting next to you, leaned in slightly so he was closer to you and the screen, telling you directly in your ear what to do, when to trigger your characters power, what weapons you should go with- you liked him being so close, and especially liked it when you did good and he praises you.

It really urged you to play well, wanting to hear those words again.

Then, you got to the boss you’ve been having so much trouble with you wanted to cheat your way into beating him. By now it was past midnight, closer to 1 in the morning, and you have both been at it for at least another hour or so- switching spots again and again as you did your best to fuck the boss up. He was the only one who got closest and you at least got farther than you normally would…more than half of his life had been down before you were taken out.

��Yup- I’m dead,” Keys said with a sigh. He leaned back, pressing the back of his head on the gaming chair and you grumbled, knowing you were next to try.

“Don’t even move,” you said in a gruff voice as you moved from the stool and sat onto his lap. Keys eyes widened when he felt you there, hands moving to grasp your hips almost instinctively but quickly dropping them as if it was a crime to hold you.

“What are you-“

“I’m going to die real quick, so you moving would be a waste,” you said, shifting slightly before you restarted the mission. Keys just say there staring at the back of your head, trying to fight the heat that was overcoming him.

You weren’t putting your weight fully down on him, your own feet touching the floor and holding yourself upright as you clicked away at the keyboard, too concentrated on the game to notice Keys having a slight panic attack underneath you or how tense suddenly became.

Curse words were slipping through your lips toward the game, and you shifted in your spot again, making him hold onto you once more, deciding to look over your shoulder now and focus on the game and not how you felt on his lap.

You were doing pretty well, actually, dodging with precision, getting well aimed hits on the boss. Your characters power bar was growing drastically, and when the bar was full you managed to trigger it at the perfect time.

“You know, for somebody’s who not even trying you’re doing pretty damn good,” Keys mumbled, leaning forward so his head was over your shoulder. Focusing on the game had been successful in distracting him from your current position.

You merely hummed in response, acknowledging his compliment, and the villain’s health bar was so low- it was in the red and Keys said, “Holy shit! You almost got him!”

He held his breath, and also you, as he watched you dodge some his quickest attacks that you struggled with before triggering your character's power again and putting the boss to sleep with one final blow and a final scream.

You just stared at the screen, in pure disbelief, and perhaps a dash of denial that you’d finally beaten this fucker who had been haunting you for weeks now, taunting you every time you looked at your computer screen. You did it, you beat him - or did you?

"Did...did I actually beat him? Or did I fall asleep watching you play and this is a fever dream? Please tell me this is fucking real-"

“It's real! You kicked his ass!” Keys was practically hugging you from behind and you threw your hands up and shouted with excitement, the smile on your lips wide as you really took in that you finally beat him.

"See! You didn't need to cheat," Keys told you from behind, making you laugh and move to stand, making Keys let you go as you did. He stood up too, and you were turned around to hug him tightly, which seemed to have taken him off guard.

Keys settled into your tight embrace, returning it by wrapping his arms tightly around you before you tilted your head up at him with a wide grin on your lips.

He looked down at you, “He wasn’t worth hacking into a game, right?”

"I mean if we cheated it wouldn't be almost...2 in the morning right now," you joked, making him laugh, his lips pulling into a sweet smile as his brown eyes held your gaze, "But...no you're right...totally not worth that."

He nodded, happy that you agreed with him.

"Thank you, Keys, I mean it...just thank you, I know it's just a video game but you know...this stuff is basically our life, so just...thanks," you told him truthfully.

Keys sucked in a tight breath before he nodded, "You're welcome, anything for you honestly...except you know...hacking into a beatable game."

He made you laugh, again, and because he was pretty sleepy right now with the adrenaline rushing off, he couldn't really hide the way he was looking at your lips.

There was little light in the room, with only your bedside lamp and the light emitting from your computer screen behind you. It reflected back at you slightly, courtesy of those cute glasses Keys wore, but you could see his eyes weren't on yours.

You honestly don't know what compelled you, the adrenaline that still coursed through your veins from the win, or maybe the fact that you were still holding each other like a separated couple reunited- you couldn't really pinpoint it, but you were starting to lean forward as if you were going to kiss him...well...you were going to kiss him.

Until he was leaning away, causing you snap out of it. Your eyes widened as they snapped upward to rest back on his. He looked so very confused and your felt your cheeks heat up immediately with embarrassment, feeling like an idiot that you just about almost stole a kiss from him without asking.

“What...what was that?” Keys asked you, attempting to keep his voice as steady as possible as he felt his heart start to race and his stomach between to twist and turn with nerves.

You were pulling away then, saying in an exasperated tone, “Nothing- sorry- I think I just got too caught up in the moment.”

You were trying to laugh it off, make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal what you were about to do and you stumbled backwards, wanting to shut the game off for the night and lay under your covers in your own embarrassment.

Keys just watched you, piecing together exactly what you were close to doing- how close you had leaned in, how your eyes had looked- were those what they call kiss me eyes?

His heart nearly swelled in his chest and he grasped your arm gently, making you turn to meet him with a curious expression and he asked, “Were you about to…kiss me?”

Your expression turned horrified.

“What? No,” you said, panic rising in your voice before you cleared your throat and continued to say, “I wasn’t- no- did it…did it look like it? Because I wasn’t...”

He blinked a few times, knowing that you were lying. He knows what he saw, and he knows you and your tells, the way you refused to keep eye contact, and would press your lips together as if conflicted. You were lying, and you were embarrassed. He didn’t like that you were.

"Well! Anyway! Thanks for helping me, I really appreciate it and uh- we should totally do this again. Well we probably will but-"

“No wait I wasn't finished," Keys said, making you pause and look up again to meet his gaze. He looked serious now, less shocked and more...determined. You didn't know what to say or do, just standing there and waiting for him to finish.

"Just..if you were trying to kiss me…I’d be totally okay with it,” he said, his voice a little softer. Your eyes widened softly at this statement.

"Really?" you asked, and he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip before he nodded.

Things had suddenly grew tenser, the room quieter and darker, more intimate. You hadn't ever expected to be in a situation like this with Keys, sure you sometimes thought about Keys romantically, but you quickly stopped those because you had always known Keys was in love with Millie.

He was cute, he always had been, you had thought so since you first met him. He was funny...smart, the best video game partner, and roommate, coworker...friend, it always struck you as odd that Millie never saw him the same way he saw her.

And here he was, looking at you how he looked at her, except it felt like something even more and he was basically asking you to kiss him. And you wanted to, you wanted to so bad suddenly, but conflict raised in you because of the fact you thought it was always Millie he loved, wondering in these split seconds if he was suddenly into you because he couldn't have her.

He must've seen this, your hesitation, and he swallowed thickly before starting to speak, "I've actually...liked you for a long time now, you asked me when I lost feelings for Millie and...I think- now I know...it was when I met you because...yeah...it's you."

He trailed off awkwardly, and you watched as his cheeks dusted pink and his eyes shifted away from you. You couldn't really believe what he had just said, but when he finally got the courage back to look at you...you knew he was telling you the truth.

And you were leaning in, tilting your head upwards so that you could press your lips gently against his. You practically felt his breath get taken away as your lips touched his, just before he returned your gentle, almost shy kiss.

You both leaned away at the same time, your heart pounding in your chest and your eyes fluttering open as your eyes met. A small smile had returned to his lips, and suddenly you felt his hand in your hair as he grew more confident and you both leaned in to kiss a second time, this time the kiss was longer, your lips melding together tenderly as you titled your head to deepen it.

Then, things went further...because of you mostly. Your hands planted against his bare chest as you made him walk backwards, your lips never leaving each others and he was on your bed with you settling into his lap, straddling him.

Keys looked up at you through his lashes, his hands placed onto your waist, in almost the same way they were placed moments before when you on his lap playing and defeating the boss. His body felt so warm against yours, and you were sure your body was just as warm against his.

You moved your own hands to his hair, and said, "Do you want to keep playing, Keys? Or do you wanna keep doing this?"

He seemed taken back by your suggestion, but laughed breathlessly as he said, "Yeah...yeah let's keep doing this."

[kaizokuniichan]

Grey Sweatpants

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro/Afab reader (no pronouns mentioned. I don’t think)

Summary: Grey sweatpants are literally never mentioned here but it was the first thing I could think of because you know it’s something that Zoro would always wear. Anyways, you and Zoro fuck on the couch. That’s it.

Barely edited, just been desperately needing Zoro so here.

As always, MDNI; 18+ readers please

You’d been aching for Zoro all day, and you didn’t know what to do. He loved having his space and you didn’t want to smother him, but you were throbbing and you needed to be under his skin.

He sat on the couch, the glow of the tv illuminating him in a blue-tinted hue. As you walked up behind him you bent down, snaking your arms around his shoulders and pulling him back to your chest. His hand reached up to squeeze your arm and you placed your lips to the space below his ear.

“What is it,” he grumbled, running his thumb along the underside of your arm.

“Nothing,” your voice muffled into his pulse.

“Come here,” he sighed, signaling for you to join him with a tug on your arm.

As you walked around the couch he shifted onto his back, inviting you to lay on top of him. You settled onto his lap, pressing your chest atop his and slipping your hands beneath the pillow behind his head. His hands came down to rest on your hips, dragging his fingers up and down your sides.

“If you were this much in heat you should’ve just come to me sooner,” he teased, slipping his hands beneath the waistband of your leggings to grip your ass beneath your panties. A light moan ignited in your chest from the feel of his warm hands groping you, and you felt him twitch against your core.

“I was trying to give you your space,” you shuddered, the grinding of your hips involuntary.

“Yeah well, you’re also not really being discreet when you’re undressing me with your eyes.”

“Can’t help it,” you whined, dragging out the end of the word, “you’re barely dressed as it is and I need you. Only you can fix it.”

“Yeah?” He smirked as he squeezed your ass tighter.

“Yeah,” came another childish whine, followed by a pout.

He dug his fingers deeper into your plushness, throbbing in his sweats as you wiggled against him. Without warning he wrapped his arms around your middle and flipped you over, swapping places to hover over you. He reached down into his pants to pull himself free—half-hard and leaking pearly liquid.

“If you wanted it that badly all you had to do was ask.”

“I hate letting you think you have all of this power over me,” you muttered, swatting his hands away to replace them with your own. As composed as he tried to appear his hips bucked of their own accord into your tightened fist.

“You make it too easy when you beg like this.”

“I haven’t begged for anything,” you scoffed, but your hands were already pumping him faster.

“You’re always begging for it,” he smirked against your lips, grunting as your thumb swirled pre-cum around the head.

“Well fine if you’re not gonna give it to me-“

“I’m gonna give it to, just be patient.”

He took your hand off his dick and sat up to tug your tights down to your knees. Neither of you were in the mood to get fully naked—you forgoing the need to even remove your shirt. Luckily his was already off.

He swiped his finger along your folds, already leaking down your legs and onto the couch. You whimpered as he slipped two fingers inside, and he rushed to bend down and slip his tongue into your mouth.

“You’re always so ready for me,” he groaned, biting your lip harshly.

“I’m always wanting you,” you gasped as he quickly shoved a third finger into your pussy. You tried to open your legs wider but your tights were still rolled down around your knees. “Zoro I need you so badly.”

“I know baby,” he sighed against your lips, lining himself up with your wetness. “You’ve been so good all day so I’m gonna give it to you.”

Without anymore words he shoved himself inside, holding himself in place to allow you to adjust. Every time you fucked Zoro it felt like the first time. He always filled you fuller than you’d ever been, reaching deep into the softness of your walls and feeling every ridge and vein as he throbbed inside you. He slid his hand down to grip your thigh, thrusting forward with a heavy groan.

“Fuck, keep me inside just like that,” he grunted as you clenched and squeezed him tighter. Whimpering into his mouth, your kisses turned messy as your tongues wound around each other. Your mind was a foggy haze of nothing but Zoro. His earrings swinging with each thrust, the weight of his solid chest covering yours, his gravely voice spilling curses in your ears. You felt your sanity slip, digging your nails into his back and bucking wildly up into him as he fucked you.

“God Zoro...fuck it’s so deep.”

“Take it, it’s yours,” he huffed, grasping the pillow behind your head to give himself leverage. The sounds of the couch cushions squeaking paired with the slaps of skin from your hips connecting—it was everything you needed and craved. Overcome with want you wound your arms around his neck and crushed him to your chest with so much force that his arms buckled. You threw your head back and cried as he sucked and bit at your neck, still slamming into you.

“You gonna cum for me?” He panted, thrusts growing sloppy as he tried to hold himself together when you gave a particularly needy moan.

“I wanna cum Zoro, I wanna cum so badly.”

He brought his hand between your bodies, circling a finger around your clit. Your pussy was a mess, leaking and swollen as his balls smacked against it. There would definitely be a wet patch dampening the couch when you both were done.

You burrowed you head into his neck and rode out the building pressure, letting whatever sounds escape you as your mouth hung open. His finger swirled faster and you felt yourself tighten, so close that it felt like time had stopped. You climbed and climbed and climbed. And when it finally snapped you came, the force of it punching you in the chest as your legs shook and your toes curled.

Zoro became weakened by your walls fluttering and convulsing around him and he spilled moments later, growling into your neck and thrusting shallowly as he tried to extend your release. Eventually you both came to and he pulled out, a trail of his cum and your juices painting the couch. Lifting himself back up, he grabbed his nearby shirt in a half-hearted attempt to wipe up the mess, and tossed it aside moments later to nip at your lip. You littered kisses along his jaw and cheeks, licking at the sweat on his skin. He finally lifted his head to give you another kiss, smiling as you hummed in satisfaction.

“Was that good for you?”

“So good. Thank you baby.”

Placing a kiss on your forehead he scooted back down to lay his head on your chest, and your fingers idly petted his hair. Un-pausing the tv, you continued on with your movie, the heavy blanket of sex and lust slowly lifting away.

[truetogaia]

i saw ur post about sub!jake, imma be waiting for that fic ‼️ ur literally writing has me a chokehold bae

I'm just gonna post it answering you bc I can hihihii I LVOE U

Pairing: Sub!Jake Sully x Fem!Reader

Genre: smut, 18+

Warnings: Blowjob, strong language, explicit and mature themes, like use of "Good boy" once, I don't see how thats a warning but YK

Synopsis: Jake is needy thats all

Notes: It's 2:40 am and I JUST finished it, please excuse any bad grammar, i'll edit and fix it tomorrow *SOB* It also lowkey sucks bc IM STILL SUFFERING FROM WRITERS BLOCK IT WONT GO AWAY!!

Word count: around 600!!

Jake’s breathy moans filled your ears as you skillfully planted sloppy kisses along his neck, occasionally letting your sharp fangs drag across his hot, tender skin. His form trembled slightly beneath you, your hand busy tracing gentle shapes up and down his shaft. He mewled when you carefully ran your thumb against his slit, his hips bucking into your hand. 

You cherished these moments, adored how obedient and submissive he was, how his ears flicked around intently, listening to every word that seeped from your mouth. But the one thing that made it so satisfactory for you, was that you were able to give him pleasure. The look on his face when he finally reached his climax was etched into the walls of your memories, and you were obsessed with it. 

“Please,” his voice was croaky from the hours you had spent teasing his poor, neglected cock, “stop teasn’.. can’t take it anymore y/n- hmnn” You smiled up at him, finally wrapping your warm hands around the base of his needy length. His mouth fell ajar as your smaller hands worked his precum along his shaft, choked moans escaping his throat with each stroke. 

You placed a light peck on his angry tip, increasing the speed of your hands, before finally taking it into your wet mouth. The sounds of you gagging on his big cock made Jake’s moans increase in volume, his hands finding a place to sit on top of your braids. You swirled your tongue around his bulbous tip, which earned a loud groan from your mate. You looked up at him through your heavy eyelashes, doe eyes sparkling with stinging tears from taking so much of him, and he swore he could cum right there.

“You’re s’good to me baby, mmm, so so good..” His hips lifted from the ground subconsciously, jerking his cock further into the warmth of your hot mouth. You felt his hands grip your hair tightly, and you braced yourself. Jake was so needy, so desperate for release that you finally decided to let him take control. He began pounding his thick length into your mouth, forcing you to deepthroat him. 

His tip abused the same spot in the back of your throat with each lustful thrust of his snapping hips, and you were sure it was going to leave a bruise. “Oh baby, yes, fuck- hnghhh.. your mouth is so good-” His heavy balls slapped against your chin with each buck, thrusts turning erratic as he fucked himself deeper down your sore throat. His orgasm was approaching rapidly and he could no longer control the noises and moans leaving his mouth. 

You held out for as long as you could, but considering you couldn’t get any air with the way your nose was basically buried in Jake’s abdomen, your vision was fading bit by bit. The feeling of Jake’s hot seed finally releasing itself into your welcoming mouth made you jump. When he was finished, he slowly pulled out of your mouth.

“Sorry, baby.. I got a bit carried away. I didn't hurt you, did I?.” His eyes carried a genuine, apologetic look, and a warm smile settled on your features. You placed a hand on his thigh, lifting yourself up to stand above him. 

“No, It’s okay, love. You were a good boy anyway.” He looked up at your figure with an admiring gaze, taking in all of your ethereal curves and shapes. And just like that, his cock was rock hard again.

RAHH ITS SO BAD ONCE AGAIN IM SORRY IDK WHATS GOING ON WITH MY WRITING MMMMM IM GONNA CRY and now im going to bed goodnight ♡

[molarbeardoc]

Me when I write

Hope you all enjoy Cheshire Cat doomed yuri. This ship has grown on me a bit chat.

Also they start out dating? Woah that's rare from me

Enjoy hurhurhur

Edit before Posting #1: WTF SHE’S 6’7?! 9’0+ WITH THE HAT?! Oh my God she’s literally a fucking GIANT!!!!!!!

EBP #2: Urg I made myself jealous can’t wait to cause suffering

EBP #3: OH YEAH I should probably mention blood and character death warning. It does get a bit graphic towards the end. Viewer discretion is advised.

The elevator was noisy...

And full

Full and noisy...

She hated that.

Two of the things that she hated the most, combining into one awful physical hell.

Her ears flattened as each voice jumbled with one another.

"Brick boy."

"*KRRTZ* WA-WARNING PROTOCOL INITIATED! Animals of such large aren't allowed in the estabilishment! Please re-relocate."

"You wouldn't even hear a fly buzzing around through that thick wooded skull."

"I hate that um... dumb green cat."

So much noise, so many arguments. And then that dumb animatronic had the nerve to say she wasn’t allowed. Sure she wasn’t the thinnest cat but what she lacked there she made up for in strength. At least she thought she was strong.

Ugh! Why is she thinking so hard about this?! She just needs to get to the WHEEL OF floor, then she can get off this elevator and not have to worry about psychos anymore.

As if she spoke it into existence, the elevator dinged before its doors opened, revealing the floor as she let out a quiet prayer and sighed. She wasted no time to push past the others, earning her a few confused stares as she exited the elevator.

She made sure her tail wasn’t caught in the door, as that had happened before and trust her, not only was it painful but she nearly lost it entire, before turning her gaze to the purple suited deity that sat on the crates near the wheel. Her closed eyes opening at the sound of someone’s arrival.

"Retro!"

The feline purred as she heard the adoration in Mach’s voice, rushing over and climbing onto the stage before sitting next to her.

"Mrrow!" «Hi Mach!»

"What brings you here?"

DrRETRO rolled her eyes as she looked at the deity, who was now leaning forward with a knowing grin on her face.

"Meow!" «I know that look. You know why I’m here!»

"Yeah I know! I missed you."

"Meow.." «It’s only been a day.»

"That long?! Yeesh I don’t wanna know how two days are like!"

Before DrRETRO could respond, she heard the sound of a metal door slamming open. Of course being a cat, well katball, she was startled by it; instinctively jumping back to avoid possible danger.

Instead, she was met with the cowardly, caterpillar, clown. Pilby was staring at the two awkwardly, their face contorting into one of anxiety.

"D'ohhh… I’m sorry. Am I messing something up. Heugh I always mess up :0(…"

"Pilby we’ve talked about this, you’re not a mess up. You’re not interrupting anything."

"Oh good golly. I’m sorry Mach."

"It’s okay. You’re fine! If you wanna go on the elevator, you can. They haven’t left yet."

Pilby turned towards the open doors. Upon hearing and seeing the chaos that occurred, they shook their head rapidly.

"Oh fiddle faddle! That looks overwhelming! I prefer to stay here please…"

"Suit yourself."

She turned towards the startled cat, chuckling quietly as she lifted her top hat. At least the caterpillar wasn’t alone when it came to feeling afraid..

The doors of the elevator closed, taking the rowdy crowd with it as it began to ascend.

"Me-" «So-»

The doctor couldn’t even finish her statement- erm meow before she was pulled close and given several kisses on her forehead by Mach. As much as the feline loved it, she wouldn’t let her get away with this. At least not without a challenge, trashing around as she purred in an attempt to escape.

"Hey stop that! I’m not finished with you yet!"

DrRETRO continued her attempt at escape, her purring becoming louder before she eventually gave in. It’s not like she didn’t enjoy it, after all, anything that came from the deity was practically a gift… At least to her.

"Mrrrooow.." «I let you win this time.»

"Sure you did."

Mach held the face of the feline, looking down at her with a smile as she rubbed her cheeks.

"You’re really soft you know that?"

"Mmmrreow!" «Who do you take me for? Bive? I shower every day!»

"Yet you’re still a big, fat, stinker."

"Purrrr…" «I’m your big, fat, stinker.»

"Touché."

Pilby was left watching the two from the side, smiling as they listened to their adorable conversation. They found their relationship to be like two middle schoolers who had just gotten together, being all lovey dovey and overly affectionate with each other. They were glad they had fallen for one another.

Mach being the keeper and caretaker for the "[X] OF" floors, had a tendency to overwork herself. The last time that happened, someone ended up getting a hammer straight to the gut; and based off the sound, they were pretty sure it took a while before that person had actually healed. Not to mention Mach was left were a darker coloured hammer than what she originally had.

She did eventually attempt to apologize to them but the damage had been done and they immediately ran off before she could get halfway through her statements. They never heard or saw it happening again… But they were pretty certain it did when they weren’t around…

DrRETRO was similar. Usually overworking herself to give others check up. From what Pil heard, Bive was the most difficult one to handle, typically having to either be held down or knocked out to get her to comply. Just the sound of it seemed exhausting and irritating…

The difference between the two was DrRETRO fought dirty, going for quick and deadly attacks or attempting to cause some sort of permanent damage to her opponent. They were certain this had to do with her going to prison as they once witnessed, first hand, along with Mark and Spud!, her and Gnarpy get into a giant cat fight. Fur flying in frenzy as they fought tooth and claw. Even with the alien having the extra limbed advantage, xe still lost horribly due to Retro’s size and strength. Pilby even thought with Gnarpy’s zapper or whatever xe called it, xey would still lose!

They were certain the only reason why the katball even decided to heal xem was because Spud! asked her to! The very guy that hated Gnarpy ended up feeling bad for how badly xe lost the battle. Apparently that was enough to get the doctor to lift her glasses and beam the poor Gnarpian. As stoic as Gnarpy was, they had never seen xem look at someone with such hatred yet also pure terror in their four eyes.

Ever since then if either one saw the other on the elevator they flat out refused to enter it. They could’ve swore they even saw Gnarpy flinch one time when DrRETRO narrowed her eyes at xem.

However, it’s like they both tried to better themselves for the other. Both never overworked themselves since they got together, like they wanted to be the best version they could be for each other. It was absolutely adorable in the caterpillars eyes. Sometimes they even had little sleep overs! Mach typically left Pilby in charge when she was gone but always made sure that every task, except the easier ones so they didn’t feel useless, were already completed to prevent any accidents.

They watched as the two enjoyed each other’s company, talking and dropping the occasional pet name or tease. After a few minutes they decided to leave them alone, quietly walking across the stage and walking through the other metal door.

"Waowee, they’re adorable! I’m happy for them."

Mach listened as DrRETRO ranted about her day. From the rowdy elevator, to uncooperative or annoying patients, and even Jermbo not helping her out as he promised. He was always selling his pops that made everyone drop like flies… Well more like turn to dust. Mach witnessed it happen once, it freaked her out to think that something so simple could disintegrate someone just like that.

"So in other words, your day so far hasn’t been ideal."

"Mrraow…" «Yeah...»

"Well at least you’re here with me. I’m sure my mere presence can brighten it."

"Mew." «You’re so egocentric.»

"I am not! I’m just being honest!"

The feline rolled her eyes as she looked towards Mach, continuing to purr quietly with a small grin on her face.

"Mrrow..?" «Hey Mach?»

"Hm?"

"Mrreoww… Meow…?" «Maybe I’ve been listening to Split talk too much about Bive’s conspiracy theories but… You really think there’s other versions of you?»

"What?"

"Meow! Meww…" «You know like if there are different versions of you! Maybe a you that wears pink suit instead of purple?»

"That sounds like a fashion disaster, everyone knows purple is the superior colour."

"Meow! Mmmeow? Mrrow…" «Oh come on I’m being serious! Maybe in a different universe we switch roles? I take care of the Wheel of or Hall of or Wall of or whatever and you’re the one taking care of the others.»

"I mean… It sounds like an interesting concept. I don’t think it’s entirely plausible though. Well maybe it could exist…"

"Meow!" «Maybe I have a giant top hat or I’m just a dog in another reality!»

"I’m sure my catself would still love your dog self."

…

"Merrow.." «That makes me wonder…»

"What?"

"Mrroww…" «Are we together in those realities?»

"Well I’m sure we are! Seems unlikely that we aren’t."

"Mew…" «Yeah… You’re right…»

"When am I not?"

Mach would take her hat before covering the doctor’s face with it, mischievous grin on her face to contrast her usual neutral expression.

"MROW!" «YOU LITTLE-!»

She pulled the hat off her face, an amused purr erupting from the feline as she gazed up at the deity.

The next few hours of theirs were just spent talking and enjoying each other’s company, and before long, it was time for DrRETRO to go. She bid her farewells as she made her way back to the elevator and pressing one of the buttons. As she waited, she felt a slight tug on her sleeve as she looked down towards the cowardly caterpillar she saw earlier.

"Heugh, you don’t mind if I come with you do you? I’m pretty sure most of the ones from earlier got off. Plus, I need to get something from Enphoso’s shop..."

She nodded with a purr, she never minded Pilby. They were a sweetheart and one of the few more tolerable beings to be around. Plus, it was just a quick trip to the store and back; she could wait that long for them. The elevator dinged, opening its doors to reveal a nearly empty elevator; minus a tired Lampert and reserved Pest.

The two didn’t say a word at DrRETRO and Pilby entered the elevator, keeping to themselves rather than engaging in small talk. Pilby was already completing the necessary steps to make it to their desired floor before shuffling back over to stand near DrRETRO.

Soon enough Lampert exited onto his IKEA floor and Pest left to scrounge the subways, leaving the caterpillar and katball alone.

"So uhm…"

She looked down at Pilby, tilting her head.

"How are you?

"Meow." «Good…»

"That’s nice… That’s good… D’ohhh sorry for making things awkward. I just couldn’t stand the silence anymore."

"Mrrow." «It’s okay, I understand.»

"Are you gonna get anything from Enphoso’s shop?"

"Mmmmrew." «Hmm, I don’t think so.»

"Maybe you could get a gift for Mach?"

"Mrow-?" «What-?»

"W-Well you don’t have to! I was just suggesting since you two are together now you could get something for her? Heugh! Sorry for invading I don’t mean to be a nosy busybody…"

"Meow!" «No no, that’s a good idea!»

"Oh… That’s good!"

Retro nodded. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner?! It was perfect! But what kind of gift could she get her? Enphoso had some of the most… interesting items. She could’ve sworn she remembered seeing some sort of plushed golden doll. When asked about it, apparently it was called The Token of Midas. What it did, she didn’t even wanna find out. She knew little of Midas but she knew about how everything he touched turned to gold.

That wasn’t a risk she wanted to take.

She was pulled from her thoughts as a small ding was heard, the doors of the elevator opening and revealing the cheery music of Enphoso’s Shop. The katball and caterpillar stepped out of the elevator as its doors closed behind them.

"Hello!"

An overwhelmingly cheerful and echoing voice spoke out. One she had heard many times, it was like a broken record.

"Welcome to my store. I only sell glig glags and doo dads, so be sure to pay up at the front desk! BUT DON'T STEAL ANYTHING FROM ME."

Yet another empty threat of the yellow, smiling, cashier. She had witnessed Pest swipe items from the shelves and face no consequences almost as many times as she heard its voice. Either Enphoso was extremely blind or extremely stupid; maybe even a bit of both.

Pilby had wasted no time to gather their items, which was simply some more apples and a small tub of frosting. DrRETRO was taking much longer however, carefully scanning the shelves for the perfect gift as Pilby watched from afar.

"What’s she looking for? Are my glig glags and doo dads not enough? Or is she planning on stealing..?"

The caterpillar jumped back out of fear. They never heard Enphoso speak in such a quiet yet malicious manner, the glare it sent them didn’t help either.

"Honk! Sh-She’s just looking for a-a gift for someone..!"

"You better not be lying caterpillar. I hate accomplices just as much as their thieving frie-"

It was cut off as someone cleared their throat. Enphoso looked up, its chilling smile remaining on its face as it looked at the katball doctor.

"Took you long enough, silly!"

DrRETRO merely rolled her eyes and placed a purple bowling ball on the counter. She would have preferred flowers but of course it didn’t have any… Weird smiley face.

"Will that be all?"

"Mrrew.." «Yes..»

The two watched as it rung up their items and sent them on their way.

"See you later! Hope you enjoyed your stay…"

Enphoso’s high pitched giggles could be heard as the elevator doors closed, freaky weirdo smiley face. What was wrong with that thing? It was always acting so weird.. She didn’t like it at all.

"I don’t think that thing likes you very much."

"Meow." «I don’t like it either.»

"That’s fair. What’d you get?"

"Mrrow. Mraow." «This purple bowling ball. I wanted to get her flowers, but just my luck that thing didn’t sell them.»

"Maybe you can get her flowers later?"

"Mrow-" «Maybe I could-»

The sound of metal and concrete scraping against each other cut her off. Both she and Pilby lifted their heads and looked at the ceiling towards two holes that replaced where the fluorescent lights would be.

"Mrrow..?" «What in the…?»

The caterpillar had already backed away, not wanting to get too close in case electrical wires fell from the openings. For DrRETRO? Curiosity killed the cat. One moment there was just confused staring and questioning mrrows, the next the sound of the bowling ball cracking as it hit the floor along with a cut off excruciating yowl.

Pilby could do nothing but stare in horror as the sound of metal pierced flesh and broke through bones filled their ears, the feeling of warm blood splattering on them as they dropped their newly bought items and covered their mouth in shock.

The caterpillar watched as DrRETRO quivered a few times before falling completely still, her eyes dull and lifeless as the metal spike that pierced her body slowly lifted back into the ceiling; dripping the thick crimson liquid from its tip and onto the floor. The katball laid there motionless, her fur stained red and skull cracked open.

The sight was too grotesque for Pilby, causing them to look away while crying. They felt sick to their stomach, they wanted to throw up. They were covered in blood, good GOD they were covered in her blood. What were they gonna do? They what COULD they do?! They can’t just carry her back to her floor she was way too heavy and-

Wait…

How were they even gonna explain this to Mach?

How could they break this down for her?! "Yeah sorry your girlfriend is dead.." THAT’S NOT HOW YOU TELL PEOPLE SOMEONE DIED! Christ they had no idea what to do..

They turned back to the lifeless body behind them before looking at the cracked bowling ball. She bought it for Mach, it’d only be fair that she received the gift, even if it was not of use. It laid partially in the small crimson pool that had gathered around the doctor, Pilby picked it up and held it carefully before backing away. Their once white and green pale paws now stained as they picked up their own belongings.

They continued growing more and more queasy as the metallic smell of iron filled their nose. Upon hearing the ding of the elevator, they waited impatiently for the doors to open before running out, tears still streaming down their face as they rushed towards the stage.

Mach was still there, sitting on the wooden crate with her eyes closed before opening them as she heard the arrival of the elevator. A smile nearly graced her face before she saw the distressed and bloodied Pilby running towards her. Immediately she grew concerned, getting up and stepping off the stage.

"Huh- Pilby? What’s wrong? What happened?!"

Her grip on her hammer tightened as the caterpillar stopped abruptly in front of her, unsure of how to begin. She noticed the clown makeup on their face had started to run due to their tears, she noticed how they struggled to speak, she noticed the items that they held in their many arms. She kneeled down, carefully taking the items before placing them on the floor along with her hammer.

"Pilby. Calm down, it’s okay. You’re safe now."

"Hng- She- The-"

"Shhh… Calm down… It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You’re not in any danger."

"The spikes-"

Spikes? She never really took the elevator anywhere, so she had no earthly idea what they were talking about. She knew a few of the floors such as the one where its bottom fell out, she thinks it was called the frightening floor..? She couldn’t entirely remember.. However, she did her best to comfort them holding two of their hands.

"What about spikes?"

"The lights moved an-and-"

"And…?"

"They killed her!"

Mach grew more concerned as they spoke.

"Killed who?"

"We were just coming back from the shop.. And it killed her."

"Pilby, who died?"

"She was looking at the holes in the ceiling, she was just looking, and then the spikes fell and one of them killed her. It killed DrRETRO!"

Mach felt her heart drop, her already pale face turning whiter at the news. There was no way… There was absolutely no way she was dead. She didn’t want to believe it. She refused to believe it!

"What..?"

"She’s in the elevator. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t carry her, she’s too heavy. I didn’t know if I should’ve taken her to her floor or not. I didn’t know! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-"

"…"

Mach listened as the caterpillar repeatedly apologized, slowly looking towards the elevator. The doors hadn’t closed yet, it was like it was begging her to take a glance. Begging her to see what it did. Like it wanted to prove her wrong..

"Stop apologizing… Head to your room…"

Pilby stood still as they watched the deity slowly make her way towards the elevator, they had stopped apologizing but they didn’t leave. Not yet. They were still too distressed to leave.

Mach cringed as she got closer to the elevator, she hadn’t even looked inside yet she could see the blood dripped off the railing and running down the walls. She took a deep breath before stepping inside, her stomach churning in disgust and despair at the grisly sight before her.

Before her lay the body of DrRETRO. From what she could tell the 'spike' had fallen through and pierced her from her skull through her stomach. Bits of bone and brain laid near her, her eyes were dull, blood had dripped from her mouth and stained her fur.

Mach let out a quiet sigh, forcing herself to stay calm for now. She couldn’t just leave her here but she had no clue what to do with her body. She looked at the buttons of the elevator, her mind coming up with an idea as she pressed them with shaking hands.

She pressed the frightening floor, searching her pockets for a coin before placing it in the slot.

She stepped off the elevator, staring into the eyes of DrRETRO as the doors slowly shut.

She turned towards Pilby, staring at the caterpillar as they trembled.

"Mach..?"

"Go get cleaned up.."

"… Okay…"

She sighed as they didn’t press further, however they did pause for a moment, picking up the cracked bowling ball and slowly making their way over to Mach.

"She heugh… She bought this for you… Enphoso didn’t have any flowers so she got this instead.."

Mach carefully took the bowling ball from the caterpillar before they left, going to get cleaned up as they muttered quietly to themselves and went through the metal door.

She stared at the purple bowling ball, gripping it tightly in her hands as tears began streaming down her face, staining her cheeks as she trembled. She wanted this to be some sort of horrible nightmare, she wanted this to be some sort of sick yet false reality. But the more she stared at it, the worse she felt. The more she stared, the more it sank in, the more she stared, the more she realized there was nothing she could do to change this outcome.

All Mach could do right now, was breakdown in silence..

RAHHHGGGGG LIVE LAUGH LOVE YURI!!!!

I fell asleep while writing the end and woke up with a headache sorry for any silly typos and horrible grammar that appears.

Hope you enjoyed it!!!!!