#trying to get less dizzy or whatever

[kulliare]

bro it has been so rough lately

[heich0e]

"c'mere."

katsuki was so... normal all evening. so subdued. dinner with your friends was nice in a familiar, comfortably unremarkable way. everyone who gathered around the table at the restaurant had chatted happily, getting each other up to date on any developments in their personal or professional lives. jokes were made about the high school days, and failed romantic endeavours (mainly denki's), and tenya's new haircut that he doesn't quite like.

then the bills were paid, and rides were arranged, and katsuki walked you to the car with a hand on the small of your back.

it was normal. everyone was normal.

but now katsuki's like this.

he has you pinned up against the wall just inside the barely-closed door of your shared apartment before you can even take off your shoes. his mouth is hot on yours, licking messily into your mouth in a way that makes you dizzy.

"katsuki, wait—oh!" your head thumps back against the wall behind you as your boyfriend hitches one of your legs up around his waist and grinds the defined musculature of his upper thigh between yours.

"done waiting," he grunts out quietly against your parted lips, pressing your bodies even closer together.

this isn't like him; the freneticism, the almost stifling haste with which katsuki is trying to devour you. he's usually more reserved than this. more trepidatious. katsuki has always treated you like you were precious. too precious, you sometimes think. like an antique sake set made of porcelain so fine that it could shatter in a too-tight grip—like something he couldn't afford to break.

"what's gotten into you?" you ask as katsuki's mouth trails white-hot down your throat towards your collarbone, the kisses he presses against your skin searing as he moves on to the next.

his only answer is to slip his hands up underneath the skirt of your dress, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your thighs.

"katsuki!" you gasp in surprise as the cool air kisses the slickness of your newly-exposed skin.

the pad of katsuki's thumb brushes your clit, and your knees nearly buckle.

"katsuki, stop."

it's quiet after you push him away from you, the air heavy as you laboriously draw it into your aching lungs.

katsuki stands at arm's length, frozen in surprise. in spite of his strength—overpowering you in every possible physical way—he hadn't resisted you in the slightest when you instinctively pushed against him. if anything, he'd willingly taken the step back to give you the distance you need.

he looks at you though his lashes, his chin tucked down towards his chest, half-hurt and half-guilty.

"sorry," he says quietly, mumbled through pursed lips as he shuffles another half step back.

your hand shoots out towards him, grabbing him by the lapel of his unzipped jacket.

"hey," you say, equally quiet but less sheepish than his own words. "don't do that."

katsuki lets you pull him back into your space as effortlessly as you'd pushed him away. you like it when he's close like this. like when that soft, sweet sort of smell that always clings to him envelops you too.

"i'm happy to let you take off whatever article of my clothes you want, i'd just like to take my shoes off first," you say to him, so close your lips are almost brushing. the tops of katsuki's cheeks are rosy, and his lashes are fluttering as he listens to your words. you smile a little. "if that's not too much to ask."

katsuki helps you out of your heels, and then clings to you all the way down the hallway into your bedroom where the two of you go toppling into bed. your boyfriend is normally militant about not letting 'outside clothes' into the sheets, but he says nothing about either of your outfits on the soft cotton as he pulls your body on top of his.

but nothing about katsuki is normal tonight. you've already figured that much out.

you just can't quite understand why.

"you're raring to go tonight," you say with a laugh as katsuki's hands slip up under your dress again, this time with you ensconced upon his lap. your panties are somewhere in the genkan, so this time there's no barrier between his touch and your skin.

"what's wrong with that?" katsuki bites back, but even in his snark he's still soft with you. deftly, his hands slip around to the back of your dress, sitting up so the two of you are chest to chest in bed, and tugs the zipper of the garment down. the material slips down your arms until the dress is left pooled around your waist, nothing but your bare skin left on display. it's hard to make out the colour of katsuki's eyes in the dark, but it's impossible to miss the desire in his gaze as it traces over your newly exposed chest. "what's so wrong about me wanting you?"

you pause for a moment as you consider his unexpectedly earnest words. "there's nothing wrong with it," you finally reply, reaching up and tracing your fingers through the blonde hair at his temple. "it's just a little weird."

"weird?" katsuki echoes, but his repetition sounds incredulous.

he uses a hand on the small of your back—just like how he'd walked you to your car after dinner, but this time a bit more forceful—to pull your body back against his. you brace your hands on his shoulders as you sit in his lap, staring down at him.

"i've been in love with you since we were fifteen," katsuki says. it's ardent. insistent, even. like he's desperate for you to understand. "i've wanted you since we were fifteen. there's nothin' weird about it."

you blink. a little dumbstruck. a little lovesick.

and suddenly you understand his behaviour a little more. it's all a bit clearer.

you dip down, pressing a featherlight kiss to katsuki's lips. then another; deeper and longer.

"you were feeling nostalgic, huh?" you murmur breathlessly against katsuki's mouth, cupping his face between your palms. his cheeks are burning hot underneath your touch. it makes butterflies lick in the pit of your stomach.

you'd caught katsuki's eyes on you a few times tonight at dinner, but really hadn't thought much of it. at one point you'd moved seats to chat with momo about her upcoming wedding (and to admire the ring on her finger) and more than once you'd met katsuki's gaze from the other end of the table where he was seated with the boys.

katuski kisses the back of his teeth, tilting his face away from you slightly.

"fuckin'... izuku said something earlier that just..." he seems to be struggling to find the words. you give him the time he needs. "said some sappy shit about growin' up. about how we all ended up happy."

you feel a twinge in your chest as katsuki mumbles the admission. he's struggling to meet your gaze, and instead leans his forehead against your chest.

"and i looked at you across the table, 'n i just... i kept thinkin' about being a fifteen year old brat staring at you across a classroom. kept thinkin' about how he'd never believe it if i could tell him how we ended up."

it's quiet for a moment as katsuki holds you. and you hold him. the hot, hot flush of his face against your bare skin.

"fifteen-year-old you probably would've tried to kick thirty-year-old you's ass."

katsuki laughs, a warm wash of breath breaking against your skin.

"yeah, probably." he nods, finally lifting his head. he stares up at you, his hands patting gently up and down your back. he smirks a little. "woulda popped a boner at the thought of seein' you like this, too."

"so the two of you have that in common, huh?" you tease him, wiggling your hips a little in his lap where proof of your accusation presses against you.

katsuki kisses you to hide the smile on his face, twisting both of your bodies to lay you down against the soft sheets of your shared bed that katsuki dutifully launders every sunday. he slips your dress down your hips to leave you bare, and tugs his own t-shirt off to join it on the bedroom floor soon after.

"katsuki?"

the man suckling a bruise into your throat groans a little at your quiet call of his name. "if you push me away again i'm gon—"

"i love you too, y'know."

you feel him swallow hard, his face still tucked into the crook of your neck. his hands are trembling a little—just like the first time he touched you, a few years after graduation when your paths crossed again. you can feel his heart thundering in his chest.

your own beats just as loudly underneath it.

because fifteen year old katsuki wasn't the only one sneaking glances across the room. and katsuki isn't the only one who feels so grateful about how you two ended up happy together.

[shoyoist]

── 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 : VI.

content: 2k words ! fem reader, pit fighter!vi, fwb dynamic. this is obviously sapphic. vi tops and she has a strap, rough sεx, cunnilingus, spit, slapping (not on the face), usage of petnames like 'princess' and 'baby', a lil angsty and tense, mentions of sεx work, p<3rn with plot!! this is part 1 to a small series, of which the masterlist and part 2 is linked right below.

SERIES MASTERLIST. part 2: dancefloor.

— . ｡˚ ♡ turns out, vi needed a rebound too.

vi is rougher and quieter than usual tonight.

shedding her clothes and pulling on the strap you've left on the bedside table for her, she climbs wordlessly onto your creaky mattress to get to you. you've been laying in bed for hours, all dolled up for her, and she doesn't really even look at you— it makes your heart sink a little.

you wrap your arms around her anyway, allowing her to touch you, and with a soft sigh, she gives the swell of your chest a kiss, 'hello'.

the pallid light coming through your window outlines her body in pale blue, and her smell invades your senses as she leans into your body, pressing her weight on you. 

gripping the soft underside of your thighs harshly, digging her nails into your tender skin, she pushes your knees to your chest. "you missed me, princess?"

"mmm, i did." you're looking at her with the most innocent gaze you can muster, eyes wet and lips pouty, and she leans in to give them a kiss just like you want her to. her mouth tastes sour enough of sweat and cheap alcohol to make you wince— but when she pulls back, you feel a twinge of disappointment that it doesn't last long enough.

fresh out of a fight, she's still full of adrenaline — and wastes no time on foreplay. hooking your legs over those broad shoulders of hers, she spits onto your cunt and gets right to it. 

her eyes roll halfway back into her head as she slips the strap into your cunt, like she can feel the way your pussy grips it. throwing her head back, she moans hoarsely, in sync with the sweet whine that comes out of your mouth as she rolls her hips into yours, sliding the strap all the way in. "that's a good girl, fuck."

yes. you are a good girl. her good girl.

vi has been coming to you every night or so, for a few months now — and at first it was just a good deal of sex for you both. but lately, you've found yourself less interested in the sex she offers you, and more interested in the woman herself.

your room is dark, like it always is when she comes over, and the harsh pleasure she gives you always turns your mind cloudy — but nothing can sway the watchful gaze you fix onto vi whenever you're in her arms. through half-closed eyes, you count the nicks and bruises that line the base of her throat and her shoulders and arms. the scratches and cuts, redder because she's flushed, drunk and exerting herself.

twelve new marks since last time. you wonder if she won tonight's fight or if she lost. the way she fucks you doesn't make a difference, so you can't tell — what you do know is that she comes to you seeking an escape from frustrations that stem from something unrelated to the fights entirely. 

and whatever it is, it frustrates her a lot.

she seems especially bothered tonight. you try to hold onto her, nails scratching at her muscled back as you struggle to maintain your grip. her pace is dizzying, and her grip on your body doesn't get lighter. she fucks you nearly like she wants you dead. "vi, vi—"

"you're doin' good, baby." she hisses, eyes shut. "g'nna make you cum in a bit, kay? just let me see you take my strap first. pretty thing."

and you take it — like a good girl. how could you not? when she acts like she's ravenous about you? when, with how she puts those dead eyes and calloused hands and busted lips on you, she makes you feel something no one else ever has?

she looks so good, too — so hot, with the dark hair, the ashy streaks running down her face, the lipstick smudged down her bottom lip that's just slightly fuller than her top lip — and the muscles, god.

her tits aren't nearly big enough to hang in your face while she's on top, but they bounce a little with each snap of her hips, and the sight mesmerizes you. she laughs softly when your pussy squelches for her — and it makes your heart flutter. fuck. you might just be in love with this ghost of a woman. "vi, please."

"you like that?" she hums, landing a kiss on the side of your knee that leaves a bit of lipstick stained on your skin. "y'like it when i fuck you to bits?"

"mhm," you choke out, keeping your eyes on her so you don't miss it when she looks at you. "wanna cum, make me cum, please."

the strap slides out of you as smoothly as it slid in — and heat rises to your cheeks when vi stares at how your cunt clenches around nothing. "can't say no to you when you ask so nicely." she reaches up to brush a stray strand of hair out of your face, giving you that half-smile that makes your heart twist just as much as your gut.

"look at you." she lowers her face to your chest, lips tracing kisses downward. one hand comes up to squeeze at your tits, soft and sharp at the same time, index finger and thumb teasing your nipple and making you keen. "pretty, pretty thing."

she nudges your legs apart, getting comfortable between them. her other hand toys with your cunt, middle and ring finger slowly coaxing their way into your hole like she's learning to be gentle now. your body tenses with anticipation, feeling the way her lips get closer and closer to where you want them to go. "ngh. just—please."

the first flick of her tongue on your clit makes you gasp, body rocking in reaction— and vi slaps your thigh. "shhh," is all she says, but it makes you behave. she spreads your pussy open with her fingers like it's a flower, and takes you whole.

the wet sounds of a mouth on a cunt fill your shoddy little room, and you moan and shudder in vi's arms, caged in her hold as she draws the orgasm out of you.

and she does it so quickly, having learned what touches of her tongue your clit likes best, how you like having her fingers, when to add the extra tug to your nipples. she makes you go insane so easily.

like she took the time to figure out how to do it. like she cared enough to do that. like she might just l—

the white-hot rush of pleasure hits you, and all your thoughts dissipate. you grab vi's hair, digging your fingers into the dyed locks, keeping her face where you want it. "mmm, fuck, just like that—vi, just like that, please—"

she slaps your thigh again, but you relent only slightly. she licks up your slick, adjusting her position so she can fuck you better with her fingers, and you tremble under her as she curls her digits into your sweetest spots, wave after wave of bliss washing over you with each touch. the bed creaks like the weak boards under your mattress might snap, but you don't even hear it. "god."

once you're not shaking so much anymore, the high peaking and falling past, she comes up and kisses you — and you know your face and body are full of inky lipstick marks by now. it's almost romantic.

then, it's over.

vi pulls away, letting go of you and sitting up.

"ugh." you slump into the bed, hiding the pang of hurt that fills you. "you . . . don't want me to do you? or . . get you a drink?"

"not tonight. think i'm wasted enough." vi wipes her mouth off, stretching her neck to one side till there's a pop — and gets off the bed. you notice how her lips are entirely clean of the onyx that they were. "hey, you sure you don't want me to pay you?"

and there it is. the moment of intimacy dissolves like a grain of sugar into the vastness of the sea. it's home time.

"no, it's fine." you wave her off, turning away. you watch discreetly through your mirror as she looks around at the little box you live in.

"are you sure? . . i can cough something up." she asks again, and though you're slightly offended, you know what she means. your place is a single room that's barely a six by ten, small rickety bed and a desk with the mirror, a rack for the few clothes you own, and nothing else really. you share a bathroom and kitchen with two other girls across the street. and you have vi each night.

you need nothing else. "yeah, i'm good. and i don't do that anymore, anyway." you tell her.

"alright." vi pulls her clothes back on, and you're just a little sad to see her body covered away again. you did love getting your eyefuls of those slight curves and sleek muscles, and the tatts. "why'd you stop, though? working, i mean."

you think of how you used to feel, seeing clients and letting them fawn over you for the night. handing you a wad of cash and walking out at the end of it. back then, it was what you needed— but the moment you didn't need it anymore, you’d signed out.

you'd only agreed to hook up with vi because it seemed harmless enough. made your nights a little less lonelier, gave you some company. you hadn’t expected money or to catch feelings.

the answer to her question rises up your throat, but you find it a bit ironic — and you know vi is a good person. if she finds out that you're yearning for more than what's between you two at the moment, she may just see herself out of your life, so as to not hurt you. and you didn't want that. you wanted vi, even if it was only like this.

the real answer to her question rests at the base of your throat like an ache, throbbing a little along with the parts of your body vi had gripped a little too harshly. i didn't like to feel used.

but you shrug your shoulders and say, "well, i just didn't need it anymore."

vi doesn't answer, only turns to leave. "will you come tomorrow?" you ask, trying not to sound like you want her to come.

"probably." vi answers, out of the door already. "stay safe, princess." then she's gone, and you're alone again.

the dreary darkness of your room surrounds you once more, and you feel hot and sticky. ignoring the discomfort, you slump into your bed again, realizing how painfully little you know about vi. yes, she's jinx's older sister. yes, she's nothing like her. yes, she's beautiful — handsome; ghost-pale, dark red roots showing through the dyed black hair, sad eyes lit up with need.

you loved those nights when she would let you reciprocate and make her feel good. when she would ask for a drink or two. when she would ask to stay the night, and you'd let her sleep on your chest. she wrapped her arms around your body then, holding you both like she's protecting you and like she wants you to keep her safe. and you'd hold her, stroke her hair, and stay awake praying the morning comes late.

and then there are nights like tonight — where she's quieter and more distant. where she leaves too soon. like she's holding herself back. it infuriates you, almost. you want to ask her what she wants. you want to tell her what you want.

shifting your stare from the ceiling to your door that hangs ajar, you let out a heavy sigh. next time, maybe you'll ask her. maybe you'll tell her. maybe. if the surge of body-and-mind desperation to make the moment last long enough doesn't overthrow everything else, you will. but you know it'll be easier said than done.

vi melts you like shaved ice in the sun. she softens you, turns you sweet. you feel alive with those dead eyes, calloused hands and busted lips on you. being wanted by her gives you a sense of meaning. and you'll do anything if it means holding her a little longer. 

if that meant this, simply getting to be her good girl for a night and nothing more — then so be it.

send me an ask to be tagged in the next part!

series masterlist.

next part.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

➸ masterlist

“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.” 

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

.

.

.

[the end] 

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

➸ masterlist

[buckyschair]

✸BETRAYAL✸

Azriel blurb 

Summary: A domestic dispute with Azriel. 

Warnings: none, fluff 

I kinda pictured this pair as Azriel and Flirting!Reader from my last little fic series if that tickles your fancy hehe :) Comments are encouraged, I love to hear from you <3

Word count: 800+ (so short!! who am i!)

masterlist

✸✸✸ 

“I can't believe you.”

Your words were a savage snarl. Azriel sighed. He'd had a long day, and he didn’t want to fight. 

“Well if you’d just let me explain–”

“–What is there to explain?” you snapped. 

You couldn’t believe it. A male who was committed to you, loyal above all else. That he would do this to you? You were dizzy from the insanity. 

You were curled defensively into the corner of your couch, knees packed tight to your aching chest. It was by the grace of the Mother you’d been sitting down when you found out. 

“How could you do this to me?” The words were bitter, and your broken voice betrayed your wound. 

“I’m sorry.”

Pathetic words, from a pathetic male. Where was his shame?  

His face was wrought with concern. He stood before you, keeping a safe distance. His wings ruffled, and they dragged along the floor. It was a sorry sight, the love of your life ruined, stained by his transgression. 

He didn’t even feel bad, you sensed, he just didn’t like that you were mad. The fact cuts deeper than the betrayal. Resentment soured your mouth. 

“Well, sorry isn’t going to change anything, Az,” you breathed. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

You huffed a humorless laugh, the sound catching in your throat. 

The hardest part was that you’d built a beautiful life together. It hadn’t been easy, either. The shadowsinger was slow to trust, and you’d been hurt before too. But you’d both overcome your fears, and had traded invulnerability up for connection. Your sorrows had been comforted by cooling shadows. Your days were lit with bliss, sipped away in coffee houses or the comfort of your shared home. You’d embraced the bond, sure of its sparklingly rare reward. Until this moment. 

He shook his head, continuing, “No, really, I will. The two of us can-

“-it won’t be the same,” you murmured, your tone forlorn. 

Azriel seemed at a loss. A fearsome warrior, a master of spies, brought low by one pissy mate. 

“I'm sorry," he repeated, more seriously this time. “Will you forgive me?”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve. After what you’ve done–”

“Oh come off it!”

The male plopped himself down next to you on the couch, and his wing draped around you. His expression was pleading. 

“Let’s not fight,” he tried in a fragile voice

“I just,” you huffed. “I can’t believe you would go and do that– and with Cassian, no less–”

“He really wanted to!” Azriel defended himself 

You scowled, unimpressed. 

“It’s just that you knew I was excited about this new restaurant and you knew I wanted to go with you,” you stressed. “How could you do this to me?”

Soft traces on your knee calmed you. He listened to your words intently before speaking. “Listen, though, there’s some good news. I learned they have a special brunch menu on the weekends. How about we go tomorrow?”

You brightened slightly. 

“A special menu?”

“Yes,” he coaxed, lips twitching. “One I haven't even seen. Plus, Cass and I went there for lunch–”

“–famously the most boring meal,” you supplied, nodding along. 

“Exactly,” he replied, equally solemn, “so it’s basically like I didn't even go.”

You saw his logic. Plus you knew how obnoxious Cassian could be when he didn’t get his way. You regarded your mate pouting next to you, his hand still drawing soothing circles on your knee. 

“I guess it would be fine if you took me to brunch tomorrow,” you offered eventually. 

He sighed in relief. 

“–But you have to let me try a bite of whatever you order!”

“Deal.” 

Contented, you leaned forward to nestle into the towering Illyrian. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, fondness softening his sharp features. 

You kissed his chest and he melted. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“I forgive you, baby,” you murmur absently into his chest. He smelled good, his citrus soap mixed enticingly with his musk. “I know Cassian can be an ass.”

“Cauldron, he is such an ass!”

You nodded into his chest, your head gently bumping his chin. You stroked his shoulder, down to his heart. 

“You’re so brave for putting up with him.”

The fearsome warrior was putty in your hands as you babied him after his long day out in the field. 

“I’m gonna kill him tomorrow,” Azriel sighed.  

You hummed quietly. His sculpted arms wrapped around your midsection, your playful attitude bringing out his syrupy side. 

“No one gets between me and my baby,” he said gravely, his boyish grin betraying him.

“You can’t blame him for your poor choices and my bad attitude!” you smirked.

His brows furrowed and he quirked his lips in contention. “Yes I can. He’s a bad influence.”

You laughed at his severity while he grinned. He kissed away your giggles, groaning imperceptibly at the affection he felt for you, only inflamed by your antics. 

The sound of your laughter was a balm to his tired soul. Of course, he’d been trying to make you laugh, just to make sure you were really well and recovered from your mood. 

Mission accomplished.

✸✸✸ 

A/N: hehe I had this idea at 5am one day and wrote the first draft in a furious early morning haze! Enjoy a silly domestic dispute fake out with our most longsuffering bat boy <3

Let me know if you like the shorter blurb-y one shot style??

[gremlingottoosilly]

Maybe König with a fatigue ridden reader? She’s always a little dizzy, never able to rid herself of that exhausting spell.

Konig and his perfect, sleepy wife. of course, his dreams of having a proper housewife in his house are shattered - with countless times when you would almost fall asleep while watching a stove or getting too exhausted to even move a vacuum, he knows he can't torture you with house work anymore. Not like it matters - he has money for housekeeping, some middle age woman ready to help with everything, so you could stay as his pretty songbird, useful only for love and to be adored. He took you to the hospital as well - not like it helped, with the doctor just declaring some bullshit about women being like that and refusing to elaborate further. They gave a generic answer - something that pregnancy will solve, that lack of pregnancy can solve, something that will clear up after the period or something that can be decided with getting on a different type of birth control and maybe just trying to push harder. Konig won't push his wife harder because the hospital visits are exhausting you, and he just wants for you to feel alright, to feel comfortable. Even if that means getting slightly frustrated during sex, since you can barely last longer than a few minutes without getting too tired to continue. Even just one quick orgasm is draining you, making you sleepy and dizzy and melt like a putty in his hands. He got used to seeing your non-verbal clues during sex, and to finish in your sleeping body, hugging you close and mostly just doing cockwarming while you rest. Maybe, if he is lucky, you could last a few minutes longer licking and sucking on the tip of his cock, before your jaw would get too strained and you would require for him to finish jerking off with his hands, making you lick his cum from his fingers like a good kitten. At first, he thought you were just pretending -after all, your first few weeks together were less than ideal, with you only stopping fighting him because it would make you too tired to proceed. You used to yell at him to stop being a fucking creep and let you go - and it would be only obvious that you would like as if even just kissing him would make you too exhausted to continue. He soon learned that you were just like this - always a bit too tired, always a bit too exhausted, always wanting to curl down and sleep. God, he fucking adores you - your droopy expression, your yawning, your desire to constantly lean on his shoulder like a cat whenever you deem yourself too tired to continue whatever you were doing. He likes to think of himself as the one who tamed you, but he knows there wasn't much of a fight - more like easing you up to him, making sure you love him properly.

[quarterlifekitty]

I blame you for turning me into a Nikolai lover, what do you mean he's bouncing us on his lap, that's crazy 🙈 I imagine you'd be delirious with exhaustion and what can you do but lean into his chest, so tired that you can't even try to bite him and just go limp, trusting him in some small way bc you can't get your bearings yet and everyone's a stranger, and a loud stranger bit you and you don't know where you are and who or whatever holding you is nice and sturdy and soft enough to be comfortable, and everything's so scary and dangerous, surely you can rest your eyes for a moment while whoever's holding you so nicely is bouncing you? and what a nice voice that rumbles in your your ear, even if you can't pick out what he's saying, surely someone so nice won't mind if you catch a little shuteye

absolutely love your writing, it's like you pried open my brain and went "hmmm what would be as attractive as possible" I hope that makes sense 💕💕

So. This is completely unrelated and I mean this in a humorous way. But I am a little paranoid when reading message previews right after getting an anon that disagrees with me on how I'm doing things. So I'll see so many asks like this where the preview in the notifications will just say "I blame you..." and I'll be like oh god oh fuck what have I done and then I'll click on it and be like oh lol it was a fun and cool thing nevermind.

Anyways.... it's no secret that I love Nikolai as a softdom/caregiver type guy. So I love this so much. And honestly you can crucify me if you want but I'd like to take it even further if you'll follow me to see what's behind door number one...

CW: this is kinda edging on ddlg/cgl and by that i mean its got mindless finga suckin'

From Nikolai's point of view, Johnny is barely past being a fledgling himself. Hardly fit to be siring his own vampires, even less fit to take care of them. And besides, if he knows Price (and he likes to think he does), Johnny will likely be separated from you while John comes to a decision of what to do about this whole kerfuffle. So you're without guidance, as it stands. And that won't do.

It's already clear to Nikolai that Soap was too excited with his new find that he didn't even bother to find you a meal before spiriting you back to the den. You're certainly acting starved and dizzy-- easily pushed around. He pulls at your lip to inspect the fangs that have only just begun to take shape from your incisors. And if your wincing is anything to go by, they're still very sensitive. He can't very well take you out now, so he does the next best thing.

A drop of his own blood lands on his tongue as his fang punctures the calloused skin of his index finger before slipping it into your mouth. You perk up a little when a rivulet of ichor slides back into your throat, gently sucking at the wound before teething a bit mindlessly at the flesh by his knuckle.

The older vampire keeps you curled into him, murmuring praises and encouragements and sweetness against your hairline in words you can't fully parse, but just listening and tasting him and closing your eyes makes it all feel so much easier.

[dearestmillls]

good girl—d. starkey

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ WARNINGS: talk of power dynamic. mdni. dom!drew. very loosely inspired by deep end by ali hazlewood.‪‪❤︎‬

kinks and sexual desires was one of those topics that was recognised to not be dinner table talk.

though, whenever you hung out with the outer banks cast, out of pocket remarks always seemed to leave your lips without a second thought.

the cast— plus you and chase’s girlfriend—all sat around a rectangular table in an old school dive bar. the atmosphere dimmed but rowdy synonymously.

“soo,” madison drawls tipsily, anyone could see the cogs practically turning in her brain “let’s get real here, we all got nothing to hide right?”

drunk laughs erupt around the table, already anticipating an inappropriate comment from the dark haired girl. “oh girl!” carlacia exclaims, head leaning back in a laugh.

“let’s say the sexiest person you’ve ever seen comes up to you and just asks to fuck you in whatever way you want. what are you asking for?” madison leans back satisfied and examines her friends faces.

you giggle, hand flying up to cover your face and your ever-pink growing cheeks.

more laughter and blushing from you comes in stride with every confession from the table of your friends.

you weren’t sure what caused you to say the words that next left your mouth, the alcohol, the lightness in your chest from conversing with your friends or how dizzy you felt being in the company of such beautiful humans, but you word-vomited, “i like being dominated. y’know like just being able to… submit to someone and let them do whatever they want.”

JD whistles under his breath, breaking the silence that followed your comment. “straight to the point, huh.”

“hey, you asked for something non boring.” you shrugged, cheeks flaming even further. the same laughter from everyone else’s confession followed yours.

you bite your bottom lip, evading everyone’s eyes as you giggle along faintly.

the conversation shifts after that, switching to less confronting topics but a tension lingers in the air. not everyone seems to notice it however, it seemed to solely affect you and drew.

he was being unfamiliarly quiet, his head tilted slowly down towards you as he just… watched.

as if he was seeing you in a whole new light, like he was trying to decipher your every thought and desire.

and then he spoke low and quiet, leaning over the table towards you., “yeah?”

you didn’t have to clarify what he was asking, you knew. you bit your lip, lashes fluttering as you nodded softly, “mhm.”

drew only hums in response, the sound slow and thoughtful like he’s filing that information in his mind.

and then he smirks but doesn’t say another word.

for you, somehow that’s worse.

────── .✦

it was starting to get late, people were pairing up for ubers or finding other ways to get home.

madelyn had just offered for you to come with her and madison when drew, ever the gentlemen (definitely not) says “i’ll take her home.” his tone is definitive and doesn’t leave any room for protests.

you hesitate for a long moment because suddenly being alone with him feels entirely different. nonetheless you nod, the temptation of it feeling far too high at the moment.

the drive started out fairly normal, what usually would’ve been filled with idle chatter is now suffocating with an uncomfortable silence.

then drew looking like a total slut with one being hand resting haphazardly on the wheel and the other tapping against his thick clothed thigh, speaks up gruffly. “so you like being told what to do?” it wasn’t exactly a question, more like a confirmation that what he heard was really true.

his eyes stay locked on the sprawling road ahead of him, afraid what he would do if he saw the look on your face.

your breath hitches in a way that you pray he doesn’t notice and then you swallow thickly, preparing your voice to speak. “well yeah… that’s what i said, i guess.”

“there’s a big difference between saying it and meaning it, doll.” drew reasons, fingers clenching against the wheel as a silent warning.

you exhaled deeply, trying to put air back into your lungs. you laugh softly shaking your head, “you think i don’t mean it?”

that’s when he finally stopped at a red light, giving drew the time to look at you properly. eyes tracing from your windswept hair, long eyelashes that fluttered against your pink cheeks as you blinked, lips glossy from the strawberry flavoured lipgloss you had recently applied to your pouty lips.

then his eyes drops further, taking in the lacey white top on your chest that made you look like an angel, your cleavage peeking out in a way that got his tongue to trace over his bottom lip. your too-short skirt exposed the thighs that he would bet were as smooth as they looked.

“you know what i think y/n?” a silent shake of your head. “i reckon you like it a lot more than you’re letting on.”

the light turns green and the car starts rolling again. you don’t rebute him because you can’t. and he knows it.

the rest of the drive to your apartment was quiet, like the calm before the storm. you couldn’t help but wonder if this was one of those moments where things could tip and change everything.

drew shifts in the park but makes no move of unlocking the doors yet. “you gonna say thank you?”

you blink, your hazy mind taking to long to figure out his words. “for what?”

his mouth curves into a smirk, like you were acting exactly as he hoped. “for driving you home, sweetheart.”

your cheeks flush, embarrassed by your lack of manners. “right, sorry. thank you drew.” you smile sweetly, peering up at him in the dark light.

but as you make a move to the door handle his next words stop you cold. “good girl.” warmth fills your stomach in a way that you didn’t want to allow, your body freezing in spot.

drew leans back in his seat, spreading his legs wider as he smirks. “hmm you like that too. interesting.”

“what are you saying?” you whisper, unable to meet his eyes, your fingers fidgeting on your lap.

he hooks a finger under your chin, intense blue meeting yours. “you like being praised.” his words are steady, spoken with full confidence. and you hate how he has you all figured out already.

“i don’t-“

his finger pinch your chin disapprovingly “bet you’d do anything if someone asked nice enough.”

your whole body lights on fire from his words, his eyes darkened, his jaw clenched. he was holding back. but you found yourself not wanting him to.

his eyes study every reaction and expression that crosses your face before deeming his teasing enough. drew leans over you—the scent of vanilla flooding his senses—as he opens the door.

“go inside,” his voice is smooth, and sends shivers down your spine. “and be a good girl f’me, yeah?”

you hurry out of the car, mumbling a flustered thank you without sparing him another glance.

it was safe to say you and your pink vibe spent some good time together tonight.

🫧milla speaks: first writing posted. let me know if you like it!! i really wanted to continue this but it’s late and i need to go to bed🤍🤍

[pomegranatelifethis]

Forgotten Pages

Part 2

Bruce felt dizzy as he stared at the energetic girl in front of him. She wasn’t just a book character—she was a superhero in her own world. Known as Spider-Girl, Y/N was a 16-year-old high school student and a trained fighter. But right now, she was pacing excitedly around his room.

"You know," Y/N said, crossing her arms as she spun in circles, "I didn't think being in the real world would feel this weird. The physics here… they're kinda off, right?"

Bruce frowned. "What do you mean?"

Y/N quickly jumped onto the desk, crouching and bouncing on her feet. "I mean, the gravity is the same as in my world, but… I feel less acrobatic? Does that make sense?"

"No," Bruce replied flatly.

Y/N shrugged. "Whatever, only one way to find out." She suddenly raised her wrist, instinctively trying to shoot a web.

Nothing happened.

“…Excuse me, what?”

Bruce took a deep breath. "I told you not to try that."

Y/N frantically flicked her wrist again. "No, no, no, this isn’t right! I’m a trained hero! I’ve been fighting criminals for years, jumping across rooftops, solving equations, drinking coffee, going to parties—"

"Parties?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Yeah? I’m a normal high school student too, you know? I have friends, I have fun! My life isn’t just about fighting villains and studying!" Then she suddenly clapped her hands, eyes wide with excitement. "Oh my god! What if my friends from my world exist here too?"

Bruce shrugged. "I don’t know. Your world is written in this book, but it's incomplete and unfinished. So… maybe they’re not here?"

Y/N paused for a moment. "So… I’m alone?"

Bruce didn’t know what to say.

But then, Y/N grinned again. "Well, in that case, I hereby declare you my temporary best friend, Bruce!"

Bruce blinked. "What?"

Y/N threw an arm around his shoulders. "Yep, you’re in this now! I need to find my missing story, get my powers back, and maybe figure out how to return to my world. And you’re going to help me!"

Bruce frowned. "And why exactly would I do that?"

Y/N gave him a sweet smile and winked. "Because if I exist in this book, who knows how my world might affect yours?"

Bruce sighed. This… was going to be a problem, wasn’t it?

Tag : @welpthisisboring @lilyalone @maria-trisha(

[mageofmadness]

FILL THE VOID CALEBXMC

(1.2k) ✗✗✗ ☘︎･*:.｡ nsfw [18+] includes: nothing graphically sexual but sexual themes and we're in a club. strip club. whatever you want to call it. caleb mentions tits once. *i'd had this idea for a bit, i might continue it if anyone is interested. then we could earn some fun tags ^ i played it fast and loose with lore, i don't think it matters much. classic mc thinks he's dead, caleb is clearly not, and has been (unsuccessfully) stalking trying to find her. now he's found her. fantastic.

caleb orders a drink as soon as they get there, making a beeline for the bar and standing amongst the sloshed patrons around him. he much rather be at home, but morale is a big deal and it’s someone’s birthday. no, he doesn’t really know the guy, but camaraderie is also a thing, and after carefully exerting all of his excuses, of which he has none (they know this), caleb found himself at the club on a thursday night.

he gets his jack and coke, adds in a round of shots for the table, willing to go out but not start a tab his somewhat-friend’s will rack up, and closes out. he decided on the way here that one drink and a shot is enough to dull his surroundings, which are overwhelmingly loud and overstimulating while sober. caleb finds his party and slides into the booth, giving a laugh at whatever he had missed as someone flags over a girl for bottle service. caleb grimaces into his drink.

she eyes them all, honing in on the weak links with heavy pockets, and spots her targets almost immediately, which does not include caleb, and that’s fine. he’s not really…this type of person. anymore, at all—whichever it is, whichever it has been. he can be, of course. caleb can handle his own, as he is now, laughing and having a good time, but his appreciation for paying for company starts and ends with the girls around him getting a check, and that’s what it is. the girl that eventually comes up to him, sitting next to him, asking if he wants another drink, well.

caleb’s fine, he’s got all he needs and more at home. in his empty apartment. by himself where it’s quiet and not loud, and the lights are not blinding when they hit the wrong way. where he has plenty of room in his bed and extra pillows that fall off during the night. 

he politely declines another drink, lets the woman sit next to him, and watches as his friends turn into less than upstanding, upright citizens.

caleb ignores the stages, eyes glazing over as he sips his drink, warms, and waits until he feels it an appropriate time to leave. he hadn’t really been told they were coming to this sort of club, but beyond the teetering between crass and classy atmosphere and the fact that he had to take two and a half sips of his drink to relax, it’s a nice place. 

but caleb has things to do. he might go back to work, honestly, as there’s paperwork he was meant to look over and he doesn’t want to tackle early tomorrow morning. the dead of night is when he does the most work and thinking.

in his peripherals, bare expanses of skin spin on the stage, round and round. legs open and close, and there’s men at the end of the platform, looking up at their dreams, tossing money, and it makes him almost dizzy. it makes caleb feel strange, actually, to be in such a place he’s found himself in when he was no stranger to such debauchery once upon a time, but time, so much of it, has taken its toll. he’s worn out.

he’s about to leave, actually. caleb’s ready to spew whatever comes out of his mouth as an excuse, when his eyes catch the stage again. one dancer is leaving, money overflowing and a big smile on her face, a wink, and another is making their appearance.

at first, he doesn’t give it a second thought. caleb stands, he finishes his drink, and makes to say goodbye, but he does a double take. just something is what he’d explain it as. there was no real reason for him to turn fully to the stage, but he does, and something catches the light. 

just something catches the light.

caleb doesn’t have great eyesight, but it’s better than most. it’s getting worse as the years go on, and he stares at screens ninety percent of his time, but he’s perceptive. caleb is intuitive. he can read a room, but the music is shaking the booth he had sat in so there’s a signal jam going on as he freezes. 

he’d blame obsession for being the reason he doesn’t want to be here. caleb would also blame everything as to why his first thought was you when his eyes catch on that flash of silver.

and it’s not as if he has not looked for you.

anyone who would suggest such a thing would be out of their mind.

caleb knows…he knows what he’s working with and that’s very little and he also knows he is here, he is not six feet under the ground as you suspect him to be. that’s a noxious mix.

the lights turn pink instead of a soul-eating red and that is you. even shrouded in the heavy bass in a dark, moody room. he just knows. the shape of your back, the curve of your arm. caleb cannot see hair color, he cannot see much because the lights are a deep, dark blue now and so shadows are black and light is scarce, but caleb’s breath catches. he’s standing there stupid, watching as the music slowly picks up.

he sits back down. 

someone claps him on the back. 

caleb stands again, and mumbles an excuse as to why he stood in the first place, as he makes his way back to the bar. bumping shoulders with other men, throwing out excuse me’s and sorry’s until those are gone from his mind and he’s ordering another drink. he knows what he’s done, caleb sleeps next to it every night when he’s restless, and surely you cannot see him from the blinding stage lights but he sees you fully now, not tearing his eyes away as he hands over his card and another drink is slid before him.

first to hit him is the deepest, largest pill of longing. ten fold what he feels every night as he lies in bed and stares at his ceiling or scrolls endlessly through newspaper articles and such. he doesn’t swallow that pill down right, it catches in caleb’s throat as he tries to clear it and run the feeling down with the whiskey in his hand. watching as you begin to move, slowly. sensually. in a way he’s never seen, he’s entranced. absolutely enthralled by the skin he sees and the small outfit.

it’s wrong, he knows you’d be livid if you found out he was watching you like this. sipping on a mixed drink, leering from the bar because that is what he’s doing. under the longing there’s that high of simply you. just you—on stage, twirling so pretty. it’s the cherry on top of the pill and if you knew, you’d surely be a bit embarrassed, but that would soon be overshadowed by rage. a high voice, telling him off, and the next time caleb takes a sip of his drink, he sees that silver again.

right between the prettiest pair of tits he’s ever seen is a very familiar necklace. 

it hangs off your body, it kisses your cheek when you twirl. it stirs something inside of caleb, parts of him he thought he was already fully aware of, as he takes another sip. 

@ mageofmadness 2025. ִֶָ 195.40.40 119.8.8

[honestlyanowl]

what if, what if Jinx being absolutely Obsessed with curvyplussized!reader— like she can't help but be all over her, pawing, palming, groping at whatever she could get her hands on, maybe even her mouth. Chubby cheeks? Plush stomach? Hips? Breasts? Ass? Thighs? Our girl J is absolutely floored like she can't help but eye reader until she just can't help but beg the poor woman to sit on her face! reader would be so reluctant, not wanting to suffocate her, but before she knows it Jinx already has her hands on her thighs and dragging her to her awaiting lips! PLSPLSPLS WRITE THIS! 🙏🙏🙏

oh lord this is golden ♡ jinx would be feral! (REQUESTS OPEN) - (IF YOU WANT TO BE A KNOWN ANON PUT -*EMOJI* AFTER A REQUEST/ASK)

Content: Nsfw - smut, face sitting, explicit descriptions, groping, dom!jinx (?) sub!plussized reader ᝰ.ᐟ

You weren't sure when this obsession started, maybe it was the sudden need to have her arms around you at any chance she had, or the way she jumped to shut you up before you could talk down on your appearance.

But Jinx had become utterly, almost- dangerously infatuated with you, and your body, to be more precise.

You supposed it had always been this way in some cases, but now more than ever.

She was practically drooling over you at this point.

You were trying to relax? She'd be all over you, legs straddled either side of your hips as her hands palmed at any skin she could find.

She was like a desperate dog; whimpering as she pawed at your curves, and the subtle rolls in your stomach.

It was one of those things you weren't entirely sure how to react to, though, it wasn't unpleasant, in fact the flattery had you making soft sounds under her touch—her hands eagerly groping one of your breasts, the other laced with your fingers as she stuffed her face into your neck, littering it with kisses and desperate pecks.

"J-jinx..?" though you tried to make your voice clear, it came out more of a breathy whine.

The one hand that wasn't being brutally squeezed by Jinx's, lifted to hold the back of her head as she nipped and grazed her teeth along your collarbone.

"Just- let me have this..." You could feel her breath mingle across your skin as she sighed against it.

She recoiled her hands from you to attempt to unbuckle your belt, eventually discarding it blindly across the room, you were obviously wide eyed; but she was aware that you would tell her to stop if she overstepped.

She was moving fast, you almost felt a little overwhelmed, unsure what to do or say in response.

You back arched instinctively as she fumbled with the zipper on your pants, swallowing thickly as that too cluttered onto a pile on the ground.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours for a brief moment, pink irises drowned in longing as she paused her motions, reaching up to cup your face, giving your cheeks an affectionate squeeze.

"Fuck'n adorable."

Within a matter of dizzying moments, she had dragged you to the thin mattress she called a bed, one of the "perks" of living in such a place as Zaun.

With you half undressed, just standing in a shirt and your maroon coloured panties, and Jinx still fully clothed— you felt a tad exposed.

"Aren't you going to-" You start, if anything Jinx was always the first one stripping down, usually too impatient to prolong anything of this sort.

Jinx grabbed a pillow, looking up at you.

"No,"

"No?" You repeat, dumbfounded.

But it clicks as you watch her lay down, settling a pillow behind her head, looking up at you expectantly.

"Jinx- you know I- can't."

Your face was beet red, legs locked together as you took a hesitant step back, within a shimmer induced movement though, she was sat up, grabbing your wrist and tugging you back forward, until she managed to get you on your knees beside her.

"What? Worried I'll suffocate?" Yes, yes you were.

She scoffed, laying back down.

She was serious, and very sure about her decision, she'd never been more sure of something in her life.

But, never the less, here you were, practically dragged onto her awaiting mouth.

You were hunched over, mouth agape and brows furrowed tightly together.

Each little lick, suck, or thrust of her wet muscle had you seeing white, and perhaps a glimpse of heaven itself.

She was experienced, that much of obvious.

"F-fuck!- Jinx..hah~" You mewl, hands lacing through her dishevelled blue locks— her tongue had nuzzled itself comfortably inside you, curling and lapping at your velvety walls like a woman starved.

She had enough space to look up at you as you rode her face, hands gripping at your thighs eagerly, nails scrapping at the freckled skin.

It was hot, or maybe she was hot. either way, the feeling had you in a trembling mess, occasionally lifting your hips to grant her a breath, despite the way your cunt lurched in desperation every time the stimulation would halt.

Before quickly crashing back down on you as she reattached her mouth onto you.

The sensation was deliciously addicting, the wet lather collected between your thighs, coating her chin and god- it was a mess.

yet, neither of you seemed to care; not now, anyway.

Moving her hands upward she slid both them beneath your shirt, and under your bra, cupping and squeezing your large mounds with driven lust, the calloused pads of her thumbs circling your pink nipples, as they pebbled under her fingertips.

Your eyelashes fluttered, head tilting back, you weren't going to last long.

You almost felt like you could cry, not in pain of course, you were far from discomfort. You just didn’t know what to do with yourself, every little nibble on your flesh had you short circuiting.

Your abdomen fluttered and tightened, you could almost feel the subtle exhales mingle over your sensitive clit, the tip of her nose nudging against the small nub as she worked.

"O-oh..~" You almost sob, she giggled over your cunt, sending tiny little tingles up your spine, easing you closer and closer to what you can only assume will be the best orgasm of your life.

Jinx had noticed this, pulling you down as much as she could manage onto her face and eating you out as deep as her tongue could reach, feeling your walls clamp down around the muscle, and eventually that familiar sweet liquid seeped into her mouth— which she swallowed greedily, licking you clean.

It was without a doubt, the best sex you'd had for a while.

And judging by the way Jinx pulled off for a breath, wiping her chin and looking up into your eyes with that clouded want, it wasn't nearly over yet.

still getting used to writing smut, but we'll get there ♡

I loved your idea so come back soon!

- Owl 🌹

[avatar-anna]

It's Not a Competition (But It Is)

i just feel like this song is so reader coded in this series like she literally gets annoyed by how much she likes him and at first refuses to admit but of course she can't hide it forever...

Hockey Player! Harry x Figure Skater! Reader Masterlist

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing. I'm not staring. Who's staring?"

You narrowed your eyes at Harry from across the couch. He was on one end, you on the other, as you studied for your respective midterms. You hadn't meant to stay after hooking up, but Harry offered his shower and an extra set of clothes and promised not to bother you if you wanted a quiet place to go over your notes, and despite the warning bells flaring in your head, you stayed.

As promised, there were no distractions. You were able to go over your psych notes in peace, the only sounds in Harry's apartment being the instrumental music he put on and the clicks of his keyboard as he worked on his laptop. It was comfortable, almost too comfortable, you thought. This wasn't the kind of relationship you anticipated when you and Harry hooked up for the first time. It was supposed to be strictly physical, transactional, a satisfaction of mutual needs.

But you felt it—Harry's stare as you reviewed key terms and quizzed yourself with your professor's review guide. There wasn't any heat behind the stare, it was more of a soft, warm glow. Affection. Harry stared at you with affection, and you weren't sure how to make the responding butterflies in your stomach stop fluttering so intensely.

"You're being a creep," you finally said, shifting in your spot on the couch as if you could physically shake off the weight of that stare.

Harry's brows raised above his blue light glasses, amused by your assessment. You'd never seen him wear them before, but they framed his stupidly beautiful face perfectly. You thought they softened his appearance, made him look less like the overconfident jock you knew too well.

"You really wanna know?" he asked, a playful grin on his face. "I don't think you wanna know."

"I asked, didn't I?"

Harry's grin widened before turning back to his laptop. "I just think you look pretty in my clothes. That's all."

His smirk was self-satisfied as if he knew what your reaction would be, which pissed you off even more. Before you knew it, you took a throw pillow and chucked it at his head.

"Ow! What the hell?"

"I look pretty in your clothes?"

"It's a compliment, princess," Harry said. "You would be the one to get pissy over something like that."

You sniffed. "Sorry I'm not at your feet like one of your adoring fans."

"Hey now, I never said I didn't like it. I like this thing we have going on. The banter. It keeps things interesting."

"Whatever."

"Would you rather I said you looked hot? Sexy?" Harry challenged, though his smirk told you he was playing around, laying a teasing trap to see if you'd take the bait. "Why can't I tell the girl I'm sleeping with she looks beautiful in my clothes? That's like every guy's wet dream."

You frowned and picked at your nails, trying to ignore the effect his words had on you. "You're sounding too romantic. Like you're my boyfriend or something."

Closing his laptop once more, Harry set it on the coffee table in front of him and turned toward you completely. He looked too soft, too cuddly, too kissable in his worn gray sweatshirt, his hair extra curly from the shower you shared together earlier. And when he shuffled across the couch toward you, the smell of his shampoo dizzied you, made it hard for you to focus on his words.

"You say that like it would be a bad thing," he said. His voice was light, but there was an undercurrent of weight to it. This was the conversation you and Harry avoided, danced around, hid from, at every turn. You could see it in his eyes sometimes that he wanted to have it, that he wanted more. But you...you just couldn't.

"We agreed—"

"Yeah, yeah. We agreed. Just sex," Harry grumbled as he pulled off his crew neck. "I can haul you over my knee and spank you all I want but I can't say you can't look cute in my clothes. Pathetic, Y/n, really."

You blushed, playfully swatting his hand away when he tried to push your—his—shirt up. "What are you doing? We already did that!"

"Well not-couples don't sit around studying together, so come on," Harry said, smiling as he play-fought you on the couch.

You giggled your way out of your clothes wrapping your arms and legs around him as he kissed along your jaw. "No, don't do that. This is strictly sex between us. Only girlfriends hold boyfriends like that."

"Don't make fun of me," you said, breathless from laughing.

"I'm not making fun, princess. Promise. We're just two people who love to fuck. And study together and train to—"

You cut Harry off with a kiss, fisting a hand in his hair tight enough to make him hum. The slide of his mouth against yours was familiar, practiced, as dizzying as the first time you kissed him. Since the very beginning, it had been easy with Harry. Too easy, too right. You thought it was just the tension between you and him finally snapping in half, that he'd finally pushed enough of your buttons and you just needed to get him out of your system. And then it happened again, and it felt just as good as the first time. Maybe even better. So it kept happening again. And again. Until you were staying over at his place and he had a drawer at yours and he laughed at your stupid jokes and you knew what he meant when he talked about hockey stats and his favorite place to eat off campus.

And now you were here.

You didn't know where "here" was, though. You knew where Harry thought it was, you knew what he wanted beneath all his teasing and joking. But you didn't know what you wanted. Or you did, and perhaps didn't know how to admit it.

"I should go," you whispered after, even though you knew you didn't have to. Harry's body was warm and sturdy beside yours, the hand drawing circles up and down your back and through your hair pleasant, calming. Your eyes were getting tired, blinking slower and slower as your head laid on his chest.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his chest expanding and falling as he sighed. "But I don't want you to."

You didn't either, though you didn't say it out loud. You just nestled deeper into Harry's chest and wrapped your arms around his waist.

And you stayed.

*.*

Harry woke to the sound of his phone buzzing noisily on by his bed. Too tired to make any sense of who was calling him at such a late hour or why, he didn't even bother sending it to voicemail, merely turning over in his bed and dozing back to sleep once the buzzing stopped.

And then it happened again.

That time, Harry did send the call to voicemail, believing it to be one of Harry's teammates trying to pull some kind of prank. By the third call, he was thoroughly annoyed.

"What?"

"Do you not like me anymore?"

Rubbing his eyes, Harry looked down at his phone, more specifically, the caller ID, for the first time. "Y/n? Is everything okay? Why are you calling so late?"

"It's Friday night why do you—hiccup!—why do you sound like you're asleep?"

"Because I was," Harry said, groaning before sitting up in his bed. Running a hand over his face, he asked, "Are you drunk?"

"No! Yes! Maybe a little tipsy. The nice bartender gave me a double shot for my drink," Y/n said, giggling to herself.

*.*

Harry woke up some more at her giggling, already reaching for the pair of jeans he'd ditched by his bed earlier. He'd gotten home after an away game earlier and didn't have it in him to go out, not to mention the pile of homework he left for the last minute. Y/n went out with her friends, insisting that she could go a Friday night without hooking up with him. Harry had laughed at the time, but selfishly wished she was with him now.

"How nice of him," Harry replied, trying not to let the idea of anyone flirting with Y/n bother him too much. "So, you're okay?"

"I—hiccup!—I'm fine! Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, you're the one who called me out of the blue."

"Well, I," Y/n started, her voice drowned out by loud noise of whatever bar or party she was at. Then it all quieted as if she was suddenly alone. "I wasn't going to call you, but then I did."

Harry smirked. "Aw, did you miss me, princess?"

"No!" she snapped, perhaps a little too quickly. "No, but I just—I was ready to leave and no one else was and I know it was stupid of me because you're always tired after away games, but I thought—"

"I'm already on my way," Harry said, sliding off his bed as he picked up his jeans off the floor.

"Really? You don't have to. We're not—I mean you're not—"

"Send me your location, princess. I'll make sure you get home safe."

Y/n was quiet for a moment, presumably sending Harry her location while he shrugged into a t-shirt and grabbed his jacket. And an extra one for her, just in case.

"Maybe...Maybe I can stay at your place tonight?"

Harry's heart leaped in his chest, but he didn't let himself get his hopes up. Y/n was drunk, and he might've just wanted to hear the plea, the affection, in her voice. She didn't like him that way, or didn't want to admit that she did. He just needed to be patient.

"Course, princess," Harry finally said. "Sit tight, okay? I'll be there soon."

Skating always brought you clarity. Going through a familiar routine and landing tricks was what made sense. Moving through the music, letting the music move through you, helped you relax.

But today was different. Today you skated around the rink in circles, no choreography or music flowing through you. You skated in a daze, hoping you could leave your thoughts behind you with another lap, but they were as quick as you were as you glided across the ice.

"Y/n?"

Your most persistent thought of all.

You skated one last loop before coming to a stop at the rinks entrance. Harry stood on the other side, backpack on his shoulders and baseball cap covering most of his curls. It was a vision you were more than familiar with, you even knew the slightly concerned furrow of his brow.

"Everything okay? You weren't at the library."

"I—I just needed to skate," was all you managed to say, your breaths still coming out unevenly.

"Oh. Can I join you?" he asked, already shrugging out of his backpack.

"Just like that?" you asked him, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

"Just like that."

Leaning across the barricade Harry kissed your forehead. There was a small smile on his face as he pulled away and gingerly pushed that same strand of hair away.

Because that was a thing you and Harry did now. You'd finally admitted to yourself what Harry had known all along, so now he was your boyfriend. It had taken a moment to wrap your head around it, though your dynamic with Harry didn't change all that much. Not at first, anyway. Until your first date at a bowling alley, then the second at a sushi place in town, then you began opening up about your home life, your family, sharing things with him that you never had before. Now you got extremely jealous when girls came up to him and tried to flirt, and Harry, who wasn't afraid to admit he'd always been jealous when he saw you flirt with other guys, wasn't afraid to scare those same guys off.

You and Harry were finally dating, and it was...good. more than good. It was—

"It was the date, wasn't it? Was it too much?" he asked later as skated beside you, having finally gotten his skates from his locker. Harry's skates were clunkier than yours, meant for speed and agility so he could race down pucks and out skate his opponents, while yours is slim and geared toward performing tricks. You watched them as they glided across the ice as you figured out what to say.

The date Harry referred to wasn't meant to be anything special, not any more special than the others were. But then Harry did what Harry did best and went above and beyond.

He somehow scored tickets to the ballet and surprised you with them and a candlelit dinner before the performance. It was perfect, all of it incredibly perfect. Harry in his suit and tie, different than his game-day suit, you in the fanciest dress you owned—pale yellow and off-the-shoulder, the bodice shaped like a bow.

It was a night filled with hand holding and kisses to your bare shoulder as you observed the performance. The seats Harry got were far from the stage, but you didn't care. You were enthralled by the dancers and the night your boyfriend planned for you, and Harry was just enthralled by you. You felt his stare all night, the same one he'd had since the first time you met, only now you knew what it meant.

Then at the end of the night, he walked you to your door, kissed you, and let you go inside. When you asked why he wasn't following, all he said was, "You have a competition tomorrow. I know you like to be alone so you can mentally prepare."

And that was that. He left, and you went inside and replayed the night in your head over and over and over again. You saw him the next morning at your competition, but you were too focused, all your feelings carefully compartmentalized so you could perform your absolute best. But the second you got off the ice, you thought of him, and only him, and all the ways he made you feel entirely too much and how you couldn't see yourself with anyone else.

It was too much, too many giant feelings to make sense of all at once. So you took some time to yourself the next couple days, and instead of meeting Harry at the library to study like you'd planned a week ago and headed for the skating rink instead.

"The date was perfect," you said now, your eyes trained on the ice beneath your skates. "It wasn't—It wasn't the date."

"So...you blew off studying with me because you...what? You just felt like it?" Harry asked, his voice carrying the slightest edge to it. Your boyfriend was incredibly patient despite your apparent aversion to dealing with your growing emotions. But he was still human, and honestly, you were a little annoyed with yourself too.

"No, I—"

"Then what's going on, Y/n? I know things haven't been easy, but if I'm coming on too strong and we need to slow down, then—"

"I don't want to slow down."

"Okay, then what—"

"I love you!" you said, coming to a stop in front of him. The words just tumbled out of your mouth, and now they wouldn't stop, like a dam had broken inside you. "I've come to the realization that I'm in love with you. A lot, and—and I'm overwhelmed by it and a little annoyed that you've managed to make me feel so much more than I ever planned to, so... that's why I didn't show up. I'm sorry, I just—I love you, I guess, and I didn't know how to tell you. But I also couldn't sit next to you and not say it either."

Harry said nothing for a couple seconds, looking down at his skates, then you, then back down again. Then he began to laugh.

You gaped at him. "Hey—You're laughing at me? I know it wasn't as romantic as you would've made it but, but I love you, you stupid fucking jerk!"

That only made him laugh more, which made you spin on your skates and glide away from him. He called after you, but you kept going, except he was a faster skater than you were and caught up to you before you wanted him to. Harry grabbed you by the waist and spun you around so faced him. He was smiling wide, his nose bright red from the chill of the rink.

"I'm laughing because you got to say it first," he said. "I'm laughing because I have been waiting for the right time to tell you, walking on eggshells for almost two years now, and you just—you beat me to it. That's all."

You blinked. Then laughed a little yourself. "So it was a competition? I won?"

"Yeah," Harry scoffed. "You won. Now stop stress skating and come with me to the library, you neurotic freak."

"Competitive ass."

"I love you," Harry said, using the smile he usually reserved for getting out of trouble or getting what he wanted. It was a smile you pretended you could resist, perhaps more for your sake than his, but now you didn't even try.

You rolled your eyes before kissing him, not confused or scared of the butterflies that erupted in your stomach as a result. " I love you too."

[rhiannonsknife]

— BUT I’M A CHEERLEADER (part 1)

— summary: you’re still getting over your past situationship when you meet nat scatorccio.

— warnings: drinking/alcohol. implied period typical homophobia. based on this request.

the music pounds through the walls of the house, every beat rattling through your skull and adding to the dizziness you’re already feeling. you’re perched on the edge of the bathtub, clutching a half-empty red cup you’ve forgotten about. the drink has long since lost its taste, and the buzz you’d been riding earlier is wearing off in the worst possible way.

tears fall, slow and relentless, even as you try to force them back. it’s pathetic, you know it is as you look at the mascara smeared face that greets you in the reflection of the mirror ahead.

none of this was supposed to happen. you weren’t supposed to end up here, locked in a bathroom at some stupid party, crying over someone who never cared enough to give you what you wanted. the same old story. you saw it coming, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. it doesn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.

you run a shaky hand through your hair and wipe at your burning eyes, the red cup slipping slightly as you press it between your palms. it was supposed to be different this time, not feel like the same heartbreak you’ve lived through so many times before. she was different. or at least, you thought she was. that’s what you kept telling yourself while you fell for the girl who promised she was ready to be with you, who made all the right moves, said all the right things.

but when it came down to it, she couldn’t even look you in the eye as you tried to talk about it a couple of weeks ago. all she could do was calling things ‘complicated’ and saying that maybe she wasn’t ready for something real. no apology. no real excuse. and now here she is at the same party, dancing with some guy in a way she never would have with you, leaving you no choice but to watch from across the room.

the bathroom door creaks open suddenly, and you quickly wipe at your face, trying to compose yourself. the last thing you need is for somebody to walk in on one of the cheerleaders looking like this. but it’s too late.

“occupied,” you mumble.

“yeah, no shit,” a dry voice responds

you look up, surprised to see one of the yellowjackets standing against the doorframe. you know her, obviously, if only from a distance, from watching games from the sidelines after performing: natalie scatorccio. she’s the one with the shaggy, bleach blonde hair and that perpetually bored look in her eyes, the one who always wears vintage band tees and a leather jacket if she’s not in her soccer jersey number 7.

“sorry,” you mumble, trying to sound like you’re not completely falling apart. “i’ll leave,”

natalie doesn’t move. she crosses her arms and leans against the wall, her smirk softening. “relax,” she says. “not like i’m dying to hang out with the drunk assholes out there.”

you blink at her, caught off guard. “then why are you here?”

she shrugs, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. “needed a break. but you-“ her eyes flick to your tear-streaked cheeks. “-are you okay?”

“do i look okay?” you snap, voice wobbling.

natalie raises her hands in mock surrender. “fair enough. want to talk about it, or should i leave you to…whatever this is?”

you hesitate, staring down at your cup. she’s a stranger, but something about her feels steady, like she’s not here to judge or pry. before you know it, the words are tumbling out.

“i hooked up with someone. someone i really liked. and they…didn’t feel the same way,”

natalie hums, leaning back against the counter. “cheerleader, right?”

“uh, yeah. how’d you know?”

her grin is small, knowing. “lucky guess,” she gestures vaguely toward your perfect ponytail, the neatly pressed outfit you're wearing (or what's left of it after the night's events). "also, your whole squad has that...same vibe, you know?"

“a vibe?” you echo, frowning.

“you know.” she shrugs. “acting like you’ve got it all together, even when you’re crying in a bathroom…”

you bristle slightly. “well, clearly, i don’t,”

“clearly,” she says, with a smirk that’s just shy of teasing. then, more seriously: “so, what happened?”

you hesitate, then sigh. “i thought we had something. but they didn’t see it that way. basically said i was imagining things!”

natalie tilts her head. “cheerleader too?”

her tone is careful, and the question catches you off guard, though you don't bother denying it. with the amount of cheap liquor you've had, there’s no point in trying to lie. besides, she doesn't strike you as the type to judge, considering the fact that she was the one to bring it up.

“yeah,”

she lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “figures. you guys are always so tangled up together,”

you glance up at her, defensive. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it’s just…” she shrugs. “predictable. all sunshine and pom-poms until someone gets stabbed in the back!”

“not all of us are like that,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“oh, yeah?” she quirks an eyebrow. “then why are you in here crying?”

her bluntness stings, but it cuts through the fog in your head. at least she's not sugarcoating things just to make you feel better. you exhale sharply, and before you can stop yourself, you’re speaking again. “because i thought she actually cared. i thought…” you trail off, shaking your head.

natalie’s expression shifts slightly, something softer slipping through as she shoves her hands into her pockets. “people suck,” she says simply.

you laugh weakly, despite yourself. “yeah. they really do!”

the room falls into silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable. you feel lighter, somehow, like just talking to her has already taken some of the weight off your chest. for the first time tonight, you feel like you can breathe again.

natalie shifts, standing upright and jerking her chin toward the door. “c’mon. this party fucking sucks anyway. let’s get out of here!”

you hesitate, glancing toward the door. “what, you’re just gonna leave?”

she shrugs, her hands still tucked in her pockets. “what’s the point of staying? and let me guess: you’re not exactly dying to run into her again tonight either?”

your stomach twists at the thought, and you shake your head. “no. definitely not!”

“exactly,” natalie says, stepping away from the wall. “so let’s bail. the night’s already shitty, might as well make it less shitty!”

“you want me to come with you?”

she smirks faintly. “you want to stay here crying in the bathroom?”

you let out a soft laugh despite yourself. “alright, fair point”

natalie gestures toward the door. “come on. i know a spot. it’s better than this place, anyway,”

‘better than this place’ isn’t exactly a high bar, but something about the way she says it makes you trust her. you nod, leaving your cup on the counter. “alright. lead the way!”

natalie doesn’t say anything else, just pushes open the bathroom door and leads you through the party. the noise and chaos feel even more overwhelming after the relative quiet, but she moves through it carelessly. you follow her out to the driveway, where her beat-up car sits under a flickering streetlight.

“get in” she says, jerking her head towards the passenger side.

you hesitate for a moment before climbing in. the interior is as unpolished as you’d expect, the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the air. natalie slides into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and cranking the engine to life.

“where are we going?” you ask as she starts driving off.

“somewhere quiet,” she says simply, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

fifteen minutes later, you’re parked at a deserted overlook just outside town. only there, natalie cuts the ignition and leans back, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her jacket.

“want one?” she asks, holding it out to you.

you shake your head. “not my thing”

“suit yourself.” natalie lights one up, the orange glow illuminating her face in the otherwise dark space. for a while, neither of you says anything, the silence surprisingly comfortable.

“so,” natalie starts, breaking the quiet. “you really liked this girl, huh?”

you sigh, leaning your head back against the seat. “yeah. i thought…i don’t know, i thought we had something!”

“maybe she’s just an idiot,” she offers, her voice dry though not unkind. “her loss, right?”

you glance at her, watching the way her face lights up from the faint glow of her cigarette. “what about you, natalie? ever had…dunno, someone break your heart?”

she winces playfully at the name. “natalie? god, no one calls me that. it’s just nat!”

“nat,” you repeat. “alright, nat, what about you then?

she exhales a stream of smoke, her gaze fixed on the horizon through the window shield. “not really,” she says after a pause. “i’ve had my fair share of bullshit. people thinking they can get close, but only on their terms,”

“that sounds…” you trail off, searching for the right word.

“exhausting?” nat supplies, flicking ash out the window. “yeah, it is.”

familiar, is what you were going for, but you suppose ‘exhausting’ will do. you study her for a moment, the sharp angles of her face in the dimly lit space. “you’re not what i expected, you know?”

nat glances sideways at you. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you shrug, leaning back against the headrest. “i don’t know. i see you at school sometimes…and with the whole soccer thing, i guess i just figured you’d be different,”

“different how?” she presses, curiosity piqued.

“i don’t know,” you hesitate, searching for the right words. “the team’s such a big deal. everyone’s always talking about the yellowjackets since you guys won nationals,”

nat lets out a dry laugh, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“trust me, we’re just a bunch of idiots kicking a ball around. nothing special”

“you’re good, though,” you counter. “regionals last year? that goal you scored? pretty badass!”

“you were there?”

“i’m a cheerleader, remember? i’m at all the games. you don’t really notice us, though, do you?”

“not my thing,” she says with a grimace. “but, uh, thanks. i guess,”

the conversation continues, ebbing and flowing with surprising ease. turns out that nat scatorccio is not at all how you had expected her to be.

eventually, as she runs out of cigarettes to smoke, the cold starts to seep in, and you shiver. nat notices, shrugging off her leather jacket and holding it out to you.

“here,” she says. “you’re gonna freeze to death!”

you blink at her, surprised. a part of you wants to argue, but the goosebumps on your arms speak volumes. “are you sure? won’t you be cold?”

“i’ll survive,” she says, rolling her eyes. “just take it!”

you do, slipping it on quickly. it’s oversized on you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, and smells faintly of smoke. it’s warm, at least, and you murmur “thanks” as your finger clutch at the fabric.

“don’t mention it,” she replies, stubbing out her cigarette. “c’mon, let’s get you home before someone calls the cops on me for kidnapping a cheerleader”

you laugh, the tension easing from your chest as she starts the car and pulls back onto the road, letting you navigate the route to your house.

the drive is quieter this time, the party and all your earlier heartbreak feeling strangely far away. nat drums her fingers on the steering wheel in time with a song playing faintly on the radio.

when she stops in front of your house, you hesitate for a moment before opening the door. “thanks for tonight,” you say, your voice softer than you mean it to be.

she shrugs, her gaze flicking toward you. “don’t overthink it, alright? i just…didn’t want you crying in some gross bathroom all night,”

“well, i appreciate it. see you around?”

“maybe,” she says, a half-smile on her face as you climb out of the car and close the door behind you.

you stand on your front porch for a long moment, watching her tail lights disappear into the night. only then, when theres only the pitch black darkness of the street left ahead of you and nat’s car is long gone, you make your way inside.

it isn’t until you’re curled up in the comfort bed that you notice it: nat’s leather jacket is still wrapped snugly around your shoulders. you hadn’t even thought to take it off, too distracted by the events of the night. now, as you bury your face into the worn leather, you can’t help but smile as you inhale what is a mixture of the scent of her cologne and cigarettes.

the thought makes you grin despite yourself, and you let the warmth of the jacket lull you to sleep, unbothered by the fact that you’re still in a full face of makeup and the clothes you wore to the party.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re already thinking about how to return it, though the idea of seeing her again doesn’t feel like a chore at all.

the gym is still buzzing with energy, the echoes of the rally lingering in the air. you're perched on the bleachers, fiddling with the hem of your cheer skirt as the crowd begins to disperse.

the yellowjackets are clustered near the far corner, laughing and shoving at each other while coach martinez barks something about practice tomorrow that you can understand clearly even from a distance and amongst the giggles of the other cheerleaders.

your eyes, however, are locked on one player only.

she's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her signature smirk firmly in place as she banters with lottie. she doesn't seem to notice you staring. if she does, she doesn't let on. her hair is messy, sweaty strands sticking to her neck, and there's a small smear of dirt on her cheek that she clearly doesn't care enough about to wipe away.

the ache in your chest is as confusing as it is frustrating. you're not supposed to feel this way about her, of all people. not after how your recent situationship ended. you'd made the stubborn promise to yourself hat you would not end up falling for another girl in the foreseeable future. and yet, here you are, watching nat scatorccio from afar.

"hey"

the voice beside you makes you jump, and you whip around to find her -the girl you'd been seeing, or whatever you'd been doing-hovering uncertainly at your side. only yesterday, the sight would've made your heart ache. now, it just annoys you that she's interrupted your people (nat) watching.

"uh, hi," you mumble, glancing back at nat almost instinctively. the girl notices, following your gaze. "since when do you care about soccer?"

"what? i don't, i wasn't-" you cut yourself off, realizing how pointless it is to lie. "i was just…..zoning out,"

"sure," she says, her tone clipped. she shifts awkwardly, crossing her arms. "look, about the other night-"

whatever she's saying is drowned out by your own thoughts: nat's laughing at something van said, her smile wide and unrestrained. it's different from the smirk she usually wears. it's softer, more real somehow, and your heart stumbles stupidly in your chest.

"are you even listening to me?" she suddenly asks sharply, pulling your attention back to your side of the gym.

you blink, caught off guard. "sorry, what?"

she rolls her eyes, clearly exasperated. "forget it. i just thought we should talk about...whatever this is. or was!"

you don't want to talk, especially not to her. she's made her stance clear. still, you offer: "yeah, no, you're right. we should. just... maybe later?"

she scoffs, throwing up her hands. "whatever. good talk!" you don't even have the energy to stop her as she stalks off, the sound of her sneakers echoing sharply in the nearly empty gym. your gaze drifts back to nat, then, and you catch her glancing your way. your breath catches, the conversation instantly forgotten, but she looks away before you can tell whether she actually noticed you, or if it was just wishful thinking.

even the school parking lot is alive with post-rally energy by the time you and the rest of the cheer squad has made it out of the locker rooms and you're no longer in the tight outfit.

the yellowjackets are lounging around their cars, hard to miss when they're still in their jerseys. you spot nat leaning against her car, a bright yellow number 7 on her chest and a cigarette dangling lazily between her fingers. she's clearly disinterested in whatever story misty is animatedly telling beside her.

your heart thuds uncomfortably as you approach, clutching the leather jacket in your hands. the nerves aren't new, you've felt them every time you've seen her since that night, but this time, it's worse: she's with her teammates, and they're all staring at you the moment you come into view.

"hey," you call out, offering a small wave. "i, uh...i have something that's yours?"

nat's eyes narrow slightly before flicking to the jacket in your hands.

“oh my god, nat,” taissa teases, leaning casually against van's shoulder. "didn't know you were in the habit of lending your stuff to cheerleaders!"

she exhales a puff of smoke, side-eyeing tai. “shut up!”

you bite your lip, stepping closer. “here. thanks for letting me borrow it!” you hold out the jacket, trying to keep your voice steady with the whole team watching the exchange.

nat takes another drag from her cigarette, letting the silence hang for just a beat too long, before, finally, taking the jacket from your hands. “no problem,”

van raises an eyebrow, smirking the exact same way taissa is.

“well, this is new. didn't know you two were friends...?”

“we're not,” nat says quickly, her tone defensive. you glance at her, the sting of her words hitting sharper than you expect.

“but she's nice,” misty chimes in, clearly delighted by the interaction. “and really good at flips! i saw you at the rally. you did that back handspring thing-“

“misty, not now,” lottie interrupts, shaking her head.

“anyway,” you say, forcing a smile despite the awkward tension.

“thanks again, nat. and...see you around…?”

nat shrugs on the jacket. “thanks, i guess,” she mutters, not meeting your eyes.

“uh, no,” you say, catching her off guard. “i'm thanking you. for, you know...saving my ass the other night...?”

nat quirks a brow at you, clearly unimpressed. “right. well, you already said that. so, we're good!” she shifts on her feet, clearly itching to leave. “see you around, cheerleader!”

and with that, she's gone, her boots scuffing against the asphalt as she falls into step with taissa and van.

turns out you do see nat around, more often than she seems to like.

the first time you spot her in the halls, it's almost comical how badly you fail at playing it cool. nat's leaning against a locker, her bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, chatting with somebody you don't recognize. you walk past and try to keep your head down, but you can't resist glancing over at the last second.

unfortunately, nat very much notices: she smirks, raising an eyebrow in what you can only assume is amusement at your awkwardness. “hey, cheerleader,” she calls, her voice echoing in the hall.

“uh, hi!” you manage, voice coming out brighter than intended. the person by her side snickers, but nat doesn't say anything else, and you slink away, your face burning.

the second time, you're determined to do better.

you catch her near the parking lot, hanging around with a group of guys you've never seen around before. she's got a bottle in a paper bag, her posture lazy and self-assured, and for a moment, you stop in your tracks, hesitant. but then you remember her kindness at the party, and you square your shoulders. the least you can do is thank her properly.

“hey, natalie,” you call as you approach, and she glances over, her expression one of confusion before recognition flashes over her features.

“it's nat,” she corrects automatically, taking a swig from the bottle.

“what do you want?”

you dig into your pocket and pull out the scrap of paper, you'd prepared in class, holding it out to her. “here!”

she takes it, frowning. “what's this?”

“my number,” you say, surprising even yourself with how steady your voice is.

nat snorts. “yeah, no thanks. not really my thing.”

“no, not like that!” you insist quickly, though your face warms. “it's just...if you ever want to talk, or hang out, or whatever. i still owe you for that night, remember?”

her eyes narrow as she studies you, and for a moment, you're sure she's going to crumple the paper and toss it. but instead, she tucks it into her jacket pocket with a shrug. you consider it a small win when you leave her to it.

the third time you try your luck with nat, it's after school. nat's sitting on the steps outside, looking a little less put-together than usual: her hair's messier, her leather jacket slightly crinkled, and she's perched on the edge of a concrete step, surrounded by a few other yellowjackets.

you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot, wondering if you should just let it go for today. but then you remember the way she looked at you the first time you crossed paths after the party, how her gaze softened just a little and how willing to hold nat had been, and it pushes you forward.

you walk up to her, purposefully ignoring the eyes of the other yellowjackets, but determined to try anyway.

“hey,” you say, a little unsure.

nat looks up at you then, her eyes calculating as she takes in your approach. for a moment, she doesn't say anything, just watching you with a furrowed brow. you can feel the familiar rush of nerves, but you push through it anyway.

“do you have a minute?” you ask, trying to sound casual. her lips twitch in what might be the beginning of a smirk, but she doesn't move. “no cheerleading practice today?”

you blink in surprise until you remember: she knows. of course she knows. everyone knows. it's hard to miss you bouncing around in that uniform, especially when you're standing next to your teammates, who always make a point of making everything so damn loud.

“no, not today,” you reply, glancing down at your shoes. “i...thought i'd take a break. come see what you're up to...?”

she doesn't immediately respond, but her eyes flick to the group of yellowjackets gathered around her, clearly sensing that they're all watching in anticipation. nat takes a long drag from her cigarette before replying in her usual dry tone. “why are you here, cheerleader? got another number for me to ignore?”

you almost laugh: the way she says it isn't cruel or mean, but teasing instead.

“no,” you say, shaking your head. “just wanted to check in. i haven't really heard from you since that night. thought i’d see if you were still alive!” nat doesn't seem fazed by the comment. she just exhales a puff of smoke before she replies: “i'm fine,”

you bite your lip but continue, “so you're not mad at me for, you know, giving you my number? for-“

“i'm not mad,” nat interjects. “just don't expect me to be...all friendly, alright?”

you feel a flash of disappointment, but try not to show it. instead, you nod, aiming for a smile but landing more on an awkward grimace. “fair enough. just thought i'd try, you know?”

for a moment, nat just looks at you, her expression unreadable. you're about to turn away, thinking you've pushed too much, when she suddenly speaks again. “you're persistent, i'll give you that,”

you turn back, blinking in surprise.

“maybe it's because i don't like giving up," you reply, your heart skipping a beat. "i really do owe you for what happened that night.”

she shrugs, the motion almost lazy. “you don't have to keep thanking me,”

“i know” you tell her. “but if you ever want to grab a coffee or something, i mean..i'll be around”

just when you think she's going to dismiss you again, she looks over at the group, making sure they're not listening, then back at you. “i'll think about it, cheerleader,” nat says, her voice softer than usual. “but if we do this, i get to decide where we go. deal?”

you blink, surprised by her answer, but you can't hide the grin that spreads across your face. that's not a no. it's far from it, actually.

“deal,” you agree, heart racing in your chest hopefully.

“good,” she says, her lips curling slightly as she pats her pocket, where she must still keep the note with your number on it. “i’ll let you know when. don't go getting your hopes up, though!”

and with that, she turns back to the group, pulling the collar of her jacket up higher, but you catch the smallest smile before she does.

you're not sure if you've just secured somewhat of a date with nat scatorccio or if you're just being hopeful. either way you’re not ready to back down yet.

you don't hear back from nat right away. truthfully, you're not sure you ever will. then, three days later, just when you've pretty much given up on it, the telephone rings.

“hello?” you say, balancing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you set your homework aside.

“hey, cheerleader”

your heart practically jumps at the sound of nat's voice, low and almost reluctant, as though she's already second-guessing this decision

“nat?” you ask, sitting up straighter.

“yeah,” she replies, and you can practically hear her smirking through the phone. “i said i'd think about it, didn't i?”

a stupidly wide smile spreads across your face before you can stop it.

“you did. so, what's the verdict?”

there's a pause on the other end, and then: “tomorrow night. meet me at the bowling alley on main street, eight o'clock?”

“bowling?” you repeat, surprised.

“yeah, you know? shoes that look like fucking clown rejects, greasy fries, cheap drinks?” she pauses, and her voice takes on a teasing edge. “figured it'd be fun to see you totally suck at something for once!”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “wow, thanks for the vote of confidence. are you any good?”

nat immediately snorts, and the sound is so sudden and genuine that it makes your grin widen. “hell no. i fucking suck. but they've got an arcade, so if we both bomb at bowling, at least there's that!”

“an arcade?”

“what, you don't think i could beat your ass at pinball?”

“oh i think i could destroy you at pinball, actually!” you laugh into the speaker

“big talk, cheerleader,” nat says, her smirk audible. “guess we'll see, huh?”

“guess we will,” you reply, still smiling.

there's a moment of silence before she speaks again, her tone quieter now. “see you tomorrow, then. don't flake!”

“i won't," you promise. “you better not either!”

nat scoffs lightly. “yeah, yeah. see you at eight!”

before you can respond, the line goes dead, leaving you with the telephone pressed to your ear, smiling like an idiot.

— a/n: happy new year everyone!! here’s the first part of my little nat series (masterlist) <3

[theprettyarachnid]

JJK characters and their reaction to a sensitive, innocent and easily flustered s/o🌹

a/n: yes <3 also i was on a roll with this one and i’m proud of myself

also sorry for the depression fest lately, my bad yall

warnings: the more you scroll the more nsfw it gets

characters: itadori, megumi, inumaki, yuuta, gojo, suguru, nanami, sukuna (some characters aged up)

itadori

🕷️ he thinks it’s really cute how flustered you get over the simplest of things

🕷️ he’ll hold your hand and he catches a glimpse of the tips of your ears turning a little red

🕷️ yuji once made a dirty joke while hanging out with you, megumi, and nobara and while the other two were rolling their eyes or saying their piece about the joke, he noticed you having this confused look on your face

🕷️ almost like you were a stranger within an inside joke

🕷️ he took note of it and will occasionally say things that are dirty when it’s just the two of you only to watch it fly over your head

🕷️ yuji doesn’t really lose his temper but you did something reckless on a mission once and he got really upset

🕷️ he couldn’t stop himself from yelling at you out of concern and fear but when you started crying he stopped

🕷️ he immediately gave you hug while you kept apologizing only to hear him shush you

🕷️ he was upset with himself for the rest of the day and a little more

🕷️ he cuddled with you for hours even when you told him you had something to do

🕷️ “just a few more minutes, you’re warm and i don’t want you to go”

megumi

🕷️ you can say whatever you want, i think megumi gets a little flustered at times as well

🕷️ in the beginning of the relationship, nobara and yuji would be snickering in the background as megumi tried to make a move

🕷️ your sensitivity can sometimes be a problem because megumi is naturally stand-offish and can sometimes come off as kind of mean

🕷️ especially because we know he can be kind of bad at comforting people but he’s gotten better at it because of you

🕷️ he likes to tuck your hair behind your ear because he likes seeing your lips thin out while you shyly look down

🕷️ not huge displays of affection in public but even when you two are alone and you kiss both of you end up having coloured cheeks when you pull away

inumaki

🕷️ if he’s feeling like it, he makes you flustered on purpose just for your reaction

🕷️ as well as he’s not one to be ashamed of showing his affection so throughout the day he holds your hand, kisses your cheek, twirls your hair when he’s bored

🕷️ but he finds it funny when he shows big displays of affection watching you try to run off before everyone starts staring but he catches your hand so you can’t leave

🕷️ “tuna!”

🕷️ when you two are alone he’s noticed that you’ve become a little less embarrassed when it’s just the two of you

🕷️ movie night with the gang

🕷️ everyone has turns picking out the movie so panda or gojo (on the rare occasion he joins) might put on a scary movie

🕷️ you’ll cover your eyes at certain parts of the movie but be peaking out a little because you’re too interested

🕷️ he pulls the cringey yawn over the shoulder thing even though he doesn’t have to and he knows it’s cringe

yuuta

🕷️ also finds it cute but goes easy on you even though he could do a lot worse

🕷️ occasionally pokes fun at you but gives you a quick kiss so you know he’s joking and you don’t have to get upset about it

🕷️ sometimes he can’t help himself and puts his hand a little lower than usual or will gently squeeze your waist

🕷️ can be overprotective during missions

🕷️ when he leaves for missions, he gives you multiple pairs of sweatshirts, t-shirts, etc for you to wear and even when people ask “is that yuuta’s” and you get embarrassed you still keep it on

🕷️ yuuta can’t help himself when he gets back, as soon as he sees you he picks you up bridal style and spins you around while kissing you

🕷️ by the time you’ve stopped spinning, you’re out of breath, dizzy, and grinning like an idiot

gojo

🕷️ RELENTLESS

🕷️ consider getting a restraining order

🕷️ like sometimes it can be cute like he’ll call you beautiful but other times he gives you a quick smack on the ass or squeezes your boobs when no one’s around

🕷️ you yell at him at times especially if it was in public and really embarrassing with red cheeks

🕷️ and as a sensitive person myself, probably a little tears in the eyes

🕷️ he feels really bad when you yell at him and hugs you for however long he feels necessary

🕷️ for some reason he really likes seeing you in his shades and randomly will put them on you

🕷️ it doesn’t really make you flustered, you actually find it kind of funny at times

🕷️ even when his eyes are covered, you can feel him staring at you and when his eyes are uncovered it’s in adoration

🕷️ gojo just thinks you’re so pretty and he can’t keep his eyes off you

🕷️ he finds it funny how suggestive jokes go right over your head so he’s more direct when it comes to you

🕷️ he whispers something in your ear occasionally and bites the tip of your ear watching your eyes widen and your face getting red

🕷️ he wiggles his eyebrows whenever he says some promiscuous which makes you make your mouth agape as you just turn your head away

suguru

🕷️ finds it amusing

🕷️ isn’t as relentless but occasionally will intentionally do something here and there

🕷️ when he’s talking to one of his disciples and you’re with him, he slyly moves his hand down to your ass gently squeezing it

🕷️ the disciple usually looks confused when they notice you hide your face while staring at the floor

🕷️ likes to sneak up on you and will give you a kiss behind your ear and feel the blood rush up your neck and onto your face

🕷️ gently cups your cheek and compliments you a little too loudly so people will hear

🕷️ he likes how innocent you are because the less you know the more he can expose you to

🕷️ is really gentle with you so you don’t get upset

🕷️ death penalty to anyone who makes you upset, the more upset you are the more miserable the death is

🕷️ he doesn’t let you know though, the last thing he wants is to see who he really is when it comes to others

nanami

🕷️ noticed it the first time he leaned over you to see what you were doing

🕷️ it was only out of curiosity of what you were doing but he thought it was cute seeing how flustered he made you

🕷️ notices how you keep stealing glances at him when he loosens his tie which shows a bit of his collarbone

🕷️ “you know, you don’t have to be embarrassed around me dear.”

🕷️ even with his statement though, you still would

🕷️ occasionally asks you to loosen his tie for him and watches as you look at the floor quietly giving an “okay” before walking over

🕷️ he takes this opportunity to wrap his arms around you and give you a kiss to the forehead

🕷️ he gives you a small smile when you look up before gently kissing you again on the lips enjoying how your hands tremble a little as you still loosen his tie

🕷️ if he raises his voice out of frustration and sees you curl into yourself while looking at the floor, he makes sure to take a breath and apologize

🕷️ it’s a very rare occurrence but it still happens

🕷️ likes when you sit on his lap while he works because he likes how close you are to him and how you stammer a little bit whenever he talks to you

sukuna

🕷️ oh god

🕷️ not to be cringe but you’re literally in the lions den

🕷️ sometimes literally if you’re in his domain

🕷️ sukuna always makes a point for you to look him in the eyes whenever he talks to you, no matter what he’s saying

🕷️ if you look away from embarrassment, he grabs your chin to make you look at him and sometimes even makes you repeat how he wants you to look at him when he’s talking to you

🕷️ “what did i say about keeping eye contact? say it so i know you understand.”

🕷️ occasionally gives you a break if he’s feeling nice but will still do things to get a reaction

🕷️ you sit on his lap on his throne, one of his arms wrapped around your waist and the other on your thigh

🕷️ a little too high up your thigh most of the time

🕷️ lifts your chin up before he kisses you

🕷️ he doesn’t care if one of his servants comes to him about something and he’s doing whatever to you just to hear you stumble with your words while nervously playing with your hands

🕷️ loves fucking you especially in his true form because he has more arms, two of them holding each of your wrists while another one is slung over his shoulder and being extended just a little too far

🕷️ to make it even worse he makes you beg most of the time and watches your tears run down your face

🕷️ isn’t exactly the nicest person, i mean he’s the king of curses, so he says a lot of insensitive things

🕷️ he rolls his eyes and tells you to stop crying which usually only makes it worse so eventually he gives some weird half-assed kind of an apology so you’ll stop crying

🕷️ he doesn’t say “i’m sorry” but pulls you closer so your head is against his chest while he plays with your hair and that’s usually the closest you get to an apology

[revelboo]

Your writing is phenomenal! The way you portray each character and expand on their personalities within the Transformers universe has me hooked from the first word. I am so glad you made a blog and thank you so much for sharing your works with us!!! I’m ashamed to admit how often I come back to check and see if anything new has been posted; and I just found your blog maybe two days ago. Thank you again for writing for us all!!!!!!

Thank you for reading my silliness!

Last Night Pt 5

Bumblebee x Reader

• Little steps forward, day by day. Figuring out that questions about your day are safe. About you, less so. Wanting to ask about everything, but trying so hard to not remind you that you’re here against your will, because it upsets you. And that upsets him. But you don’t flinch away if he brushes a servo against your shoulder or lightly touches the back of your hand to get your attention anymore. Little steps. “There are other humans here, right?” You ask him and he hesitates in scrolling through topographical maps. It’s not exactly a secret, though, so he nods. “Are we allowed to see each other?” When he doesn’t immediately answer, you hesitantly walk closer across the top of his desk and lay your little hands on his arm. Willingly reaching out to him for the first time as you look up at him with wide eyes. “Please?”

• Hands resting on his arm, it’s a surprise how warm he is under your palms. And he’s just staring at your hands on him, lips parted like you’ve shocked him. “I can ask,” he finally says, optics shifting to your face. Because even talking to strangers would be better than sitting here alone when he’s doing whatever secret alien things he does during the day. He’d volunteered that he was a scout, so you assume he explores. Maybe makes maps? You honestly have no idea. “Do you know what this is?” He asks and you lean against his arm to see the data pad screen.

• Freezing as you almost drape yourself across his arm, he’s afraid to move in case you realize what you’re doing and stop. It’s the most contact you’ve allowed so far and he can feel you breathing against him, the beat of your heart and your warmth. “Is that the old mine?” You ask, leveraging yourself even further on him to reach for the screen. Mimicking the gesture he uses to enlarge the image and he’s surprised you’ve been paying that much attention to him while he works. “It is. There was some sort of disaster years ago. I think they tapped into natural gas or something and blew themselves up.” Your little head turns to look up at him questioning, before you inhale, face reddening and slide off of him as if you’d just noticed what you were doing. How you were sprawled on him.

• “Energon,” he mutters as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, face hot because you were draped across his arm, butt in the air to reach the data pad screen. It’s not like he cares or is the least bit interested, but still. “We’ve been picking up traces, but haven’t been able to pin it down. But raw energon is highly reactive,” he pushes up from his desk, smacking the data pad against his palm as he paces. Energon is that glowing goop he drinks, but why would it be on Earth? You’ve never even heard of it before him. There’s no time to try to scurry away as he turns and picks you up in his hand and lifts you, doing a nauseating little twirl and laughing like an excited kid. Dizzy, you fall on your butt when he sets you back on your feet, but he’s already headed for the door, calling out over his shoulder that’ll he be back as you try to figure out what that was and why his excitement spreads warm through you, a smile pulling at your lips.

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[imrllytootiredforthis]

you know how cats like when you scratch above their tailbone

that but with lee know, like

if your fucking him from behind, just scratch and stroke over his tailbone, its enough to get him coming untouched

and the way he mewls like a kitten...

kitty~

lee know x reader

warnings: dom reader, sub lee know, reader fucking him though could be w a strap or a dick, cumming untouched, kitty lino, idk what else

a/n: help, help, help, anon you are 😵‍💫🙏, this is really short and kinda shit bc i haven't written in forever but found this in my inbox and couldn't resist

it happens when you're fucking into him, ass up and head buried into the pillows bc poor baby is too embarrassed to let you hear the downright slutty whines and pleads dripping from his lips one after another as you ram into prostate over and over.

any other day you'd tug him up by his hair, wrap your hand around his throat and pull his back flush to your chest. making his head spin by placing your lips beside his ear, teeth nipping at his earlobe while you whispered such dizzying things to him.

but you're feeling nice today-or cruel.

with you, he finds that the two are often intertwined; one and the same really. able to bring him to the brink of insanity, leaving him drowning in the pool of your desire.

mercy is delivered in the form of sweet words and honeyed praises that seep into his skin, making him delirious like venom. and mercy is injected into him in the cruel way you thrust, pulling hoarse whines from him with every jolt of your hips: rough, demanding, animalistic, just the way he likes it.

"oh kitty~" you coo, and he mewls, proving the point you've made. "so pathetic." and you were right. you make him feel like he's melting, drooling into a puddle for you to mold and remake into whatever you pleased.

you sigh, "so messy," another truth, you were almost worried for your sheets with the amount of pre-cum he was leaking. "you gonna purr for me next? like a good kitty?"

he clenched around you, delightfully so.

he just looks so much like a cat right now.

the cat ears you had so lovingly placed in his hair, matching in colour so well they fit in seamlessly they might as well be real.

the way his hips sway, grinding back onto you to match your thrusts. you swear if he had a tail it would be flicking back and forth. wrapping around your thigh or ankle, trying to find some form of holding onto you- stay sane in the depths of this haze.

you were sure if he could purr, it would be loud enough for you to hear no matter how much he'd try to hide them. you could still hear his muffled mewls and cute hiccupy gasps even now.

just like a cat.

your pretty kitty, your lino.

and maybe...just maybe...

experimentally, cautiously (because much like a cat, you knew he didn't need to be provoked much to bite) you pressed your hand, lightly against his tailbone.

his reaction was immediate, and obvious, startlingly so.

his back arched. his thighs trembling, keening as he pressed back against you, grinding needily, like he couldn't get enough, like he could never get enough.

so you pressed slightly harder, rubbing small circles to the area, ripping high desperate mewls as he spasmed around you. unable to help his head snapping back, looking at you with wide, watery eyes as he came, dirtying the already ruined bedding with his spend.

you couldn't bring yourself to care at this point.

and he couldn't either.

you hummed, amused as you watch him slump onto the dirtied sheets, completely boneless. a quiet cry following when you slipped out of him.

"well that's something new~"

"-you...-you are never doing that again." he huffs, quietly, with little deliberation. with just enough force, in a way that you know he's going to be begging for it in less time than one may think with a stubborn, steadfast man such as your lino.

you only laughed and he shuddered at the sound.

"we'll see, kitty."

a/n: please, please give me a little slack if this is awful-the thoughts took over i wrote this in like half an hour in a moment of weaknessssss😫 i can't control them anymoreeeee

also ik i have a taglist i'll prolly get that out later today if i ever get it out at all😭