#whatever he can tell me off for it this evening

[chastiefoul]

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this)

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Dynamight agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

[hotshotsxyz]

8x01 coda

(buddie adjacent) (784 words) spoilers ahead, read at your own risk!

A little peroxide, a little elbow grease, and the engine bay should be good as new. Five minutes, ten max, except Buck’s been scrubbing for twenty and the fucking stain won’t come up. He kind of wants to scream.

There’s blood soaked into the concrete and blood on his hands and it’s ugly and red and Buck needs it to be gone. He pours more peroxide and watches it foam.

It’s too goddamn quiet in here. The construction’s stopped, obviously, and Hen took the station out of service so no alarm will take its place. No one’s yelling, no one’s commiserating, no one’s vacuuming the fucking upholstery.

Nausea wraps itself around Buck’s organs. A hand lands on his shoulder and he jumps.

“Buck,” Eddie says, quiet, too fucking quiet.

Buck scrubs at the stain.

“Look at me,” Eddie says, kneeling beside him.

He can’t. He fucking can’t because the stain is still there.

Eddie grabs his wrist. “Buck,” he says again, forceful and a little loud.

Buck drops the sponge and whips around. “What?” he asks. It comes out flatter than he thought it would, drenched in something like apathy.

“You can stop,” Eddie says.

“No,” Buck says, shaking his head. “You know what he’ll do if this is here when he gets back?” He gestures at the stain. He can’t even say his name.

Eddie’s hand tightens around his wrist. “Let someone else give it a try,” he says gently.

Buck knows when he’s being fucking handled. He wrenches his wrist from Eddie’s grasp. Eddie grabs his shoulder instead.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says quietly.

A humorless bark of laughter escapes Buck’s throat. “Yeah, no, I just killed a guy. Totally fine.”

“He’s not dead,” Eddie argues.

“Yet.”

Eddie takes a long breath. “He’s not dead,” he repeats. “And even if that changes—”

“What,” Buck interrupts. “It won’t be my fault? It kind of fucking is.”

Eddie shakes his head minutely. “If that changes it’ll be the universe or whatever.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “You don’t believe in the universe,” he says.

“No,” Eddie acknowledges. “But I believe in what I can see. And what I saw was you risking your life to save his. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Buck swallows harshly and rocks back on his heels. “For—for a second I—”

“What?” Eddie prompts.

“I was—I wasn’t happy, but I—Eddie, I didn’t care,” Buck says finally. He drops the rest of the way to the floor and pulls his knees to his chest.

Eddie blows out a short puff of air and settles next to Buck. “I’m still not sure I do,” he says, tilting his head to catch Buck’s eyes.

“You don’t have to care,” Buck says. “He’s awful to you, and you’re not the one who killed him.”

“Still not dead,” Eddie reminds him. “And he’s awful to you too. He was in the middle of yelling at you when you saved his life.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s not,” Eddie agrees.

Buck bites his lip. “Have you…” he trails off.

“Ever killed someone?” Eddie guesses.

“You don’t—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Buck stammers.

Eddie presses his knee against Buck’s. “I don’t know,” he says, “not for sure.”

Buck frowns.

“I’ve shot at people,” Eddie continues. “Hit a few. I don’t know if any of them died. I’ll never know.”

“How do you deal with that?”

Eddie levels him with a flat gaze. “Buck. I’m in so much therapy.”

It startles a laugh out of him. “Eds I’m serious,” Buck says.

“I am too,” Eddie replies. “And either way, it’s different. You didn’t kill him.”

“He still might—”

“Buck.” Eddie looks away slightly and shakes his head. “Even if he dies, all you did was change what killed him. You gave him a fighting chance, it’s more than he would’ve given you.”

Buck scrubs at his eyes as they begin to sting. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You talk to me,” Eddie says, nudging his shoulder. “You’re a good person, I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”

A single tear escapes Buck’s lash line. “Yeah?” he asks, watery and rough.

“Yeah.” After a moment, he stands and holds a hand out to Buck. “Come on,” he says. “Brass says we can go home. You’re coming with me.”

Buck takes Eddie’s hand and allows him to pull him to his feet, leaving the sponge and the stain exactly where they are. “Okay,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” Eddie repeats.

There’s blood on Buck’s hands. Eddie takes him to the shower room to wash it off.

[parkerluvsu]

can u write something about art and reader having high sex 😛😛😛🙏🏻🙏🏻 like idk just like a chill night at the dorm at stanford or something where they smoke a couple blunts and grind on each other idk!!!!!!!!!!!

MOONLIGHT (art donaldson x fem! reader)

sometimes you felt like a bad influence on art.. he wouldn't let anything that wasn't on his pre-planned diet touch his lips before he met you. but from the first puff of your joint under the bleachers of the tennis court, he was hooked. not just on the woozy feeling he got when he took too long of a hit, but on the feeling of having you around him.

the more you two hung out, the more art associated the feeling of his head in the clouds, not with the large puffs of smoke drifting around his room, but you the feeling of you sitting next to him, your legs draped over his. art feels guilty, if he got caught, he'd absolutely get thrown out of the tennis program, and probably never be able to attend a good school again, but on the other hand.. your sweet giggles as you blow smoke into his face gave made him forget all the consequences if he got caught.

the problem with you (and it's not even really a problem to art.. he thinks you're perfect) is you like things casual. sure you've made out with art in a haze of smoke, maybe grinded a bit over his jeans in the back of his overly clean jeep, and he can't even count the times that you've texted him "you up?" at 2am, but he's never been your "boyfriend".

art knows it would be hard to have a serious conversation with you without the guise of just coming over to smoke, so he shoots you a text.

art: hey can i come over? need to relax :)

the buzz of your phone from the desk beside you steals your attention from your math homework, a welcome distraction. you text him back quickly, eager to have an excuse to smoke.

an eager knock on your door comes only minutes later, arts face a mixture of nerves and excitement, like a kid sneaking candy from their parents. art looks as cute as ever in his wrinkled stanford shirt and his checkered shorts, hair tussled from a night at practice. "cmon in artie" his cheeks blush at the nickname as he enters your dorm, making himself comfortable in the cozy chair in the corner. you pull out the box of paraphernalia from under your bed, flower stickers peeling off of the box from overuse. you tilt your head to the side, looking at arts body language, his constant shifting telling you he's trying to seem calm but he really isn't. "what do you wanna smoke?" you ask him, knowing what his answer will be before he even opens his mouth, "whatever you want".

that seems to be arts answer for anything, "whatever you want", sometimes you think if you walked off the edge of a cliff he'd do the same. art was one of those people who followed everything you did, the way you sat, the way you talked, and even your vocabulary, he would shift to be more similar to you. even when he smoked for the very first time, he watched you inhale so deep and hold it in before blowing a large cloud of smoke into the air, he tried to do the same.. but ended up greening out and throwing up in the trashcan next to the tennis courts. the truth is, art would do that all over again if it meant even one more second with you, and he knew it was clingy and definitely too dependent for the casual situation you were in.. but he can't help himself.

me: sure, come over anytime

art is a lightweight in every sense of the word, whenever Patrick would take him to a frat party to get totally wasted, all it took was one red solo cup full of beer to have art stumbling over his own feet. It was the same with weed, it only took one hit for art to start slurring his words, his body pretty much melting into any surface near him. currently, it's the cozy chair in the corner of your room, but you can see his eyes drifting towards the cozy blankets on you bed. "art, you know you can go sit on my bed right?" his eyes widen and he shuffles over, flopping down on the bed in such a way that would make sober-him flush with embarrassment. you giggle as he wraps himself in the blankets, his head lolling onto the pillow. art blearily watches you come sit on the bed too, leaning against the wall for support. the sight of him tangled up in your blankets reminds you of previous late nights spent together, causing a flutter in your stomach that you're a little ashamed of. art leans over to give you the joint back, your fingers brushing together softly. "y'know you look super pretty right now" art says, "n-not that you don't always look pretty but like.. right now especially" he revises his statement, he's always such a people pleaser. you laugh, taking a long hit from the joint before giving him a wide smile. "thanks artie, you're pretty too" you reply, knowing he likes being called pretty, even though he'd absolutely never say it, the way his ears go red gives him away every time.

as the night goes on, and your shared joint turns into a stub, you find yourself closer to art than you thought you were, your sides pressed up against each other as you lay on your backs, staring up at your ceiling. the boring white paint suddenly seeming very interesting until you felt movement beside you, art was tuning on his side and leaning his face on his hand. you blink, "what are you looking at?" glancing at arts eyes that were fixed on your face. "you" art says simply, causing you to shake your head and laugh. "i know that art.. but why?" you ask, pressing for an answer from him. "dunno.. just your face is nice" he says, his face dropping into your shoulder. arts breath was hot against your neck, making you almost want to pull away, but you'd never do that, enjoying the weight of him against you. arts breathing rate increases against your neck and you wonder why until you feel a pressure against your thigh. "art.." he hums in response, only focused on the small sharp movements of his hips. you know how quickly he shifts from being all innocent and sweet to taking what he needs.

you're such a sucker for art, especially when he's high and he can't hide his feelings like he usually does. you shift your leg to the side to help him, inciting an immediate response of his eyes fluttering shut against your shoulder, his eyelashes tickling you gently. the position that you maneuvered into allowed arts leg to slot between yours as well, letting you slowly rock your hips against his leg, the feeling of his bare skin only making you feel more pleasure. before you know it, art is pressing hot kisses into your neck and your arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. "mmmmmfuck" art groans against your neck, even though he's feeling less woozy than earlier, he's still sensitive, just the feeling of grinding against you having him teetering on the edge. suddenly, you feel his hips stutter and a dampness cover the front of his shorts. art holds his breath for a second before his whole body goes limp against you, his fingers not clenching the sheets anymore.

a comfortable silence falls between you, before art breaks it with his soft voice. "can we go again? 'm sorry i just.. i need you" he whines out, still not showing his face. you giggle softly and nod, lifting up your hips to pull off your pajama pants and panties, art doing the same with his shorts and boxers. "how do you want me?" you ask, sending a flutter of butterflies into arts stomach because of the sense of control you're giving him. art thinks for a second, "can you turn around..? please" he asks, a bit of hesitancy in his voice. you nod, turning to face the wall next to your bed, your back facing art. his gentle hands maneuver your legs into a position that's easy for him to slip into you. he does so slowly, more for your sake than his, he thinks if he pushed inside of you too fast he would surely cum prematurely (not like it hasn't happened before).

you feel art shiver against you, his hips pausing when he enters your fully, his balls resting snugly against your ass. art could truly stay like this forever, if he had the patience and resolve.. but he doesn't, his hips snap into yours quickly, the overstimulation getting to him. he wraps his arms around your stomach, holding you close to him, his head yet again smushed into the crook of your neck. every thrust he gives you feels like it's punching the air out of you, art isn't even pulling all the way out anymore, just humping his hips into you the best he can. even in his delicate headspace, art still wants to please you first, his fingers making their way down your stomach before rubbing messily at your clit, his fingers catching on your nub every few circles, causing you to tighten up around him. art is close, you can always tell by how his voice shifts from more coherent to just straight up blabbering, "mgh.. god.. 's so warm.. you're so warm.." "it feels s' good.. it's feels good to you too right?" "gotta be closer to you.. wan' be closer to you" but you snap to attention when he moans against you, "please be m' girlfriend please.. i wan' you to be mine.." you're sure art has no idea what he's saying until he repeats himself, almost sounding like he's about to cry. you nod quickly, "y-yeah artie okay.. ill be your girlfriend.." now you swear he actually sobs, his hips making one last deep thrust before you feel him fill you up, the sensation sending you over the edge right after him.

art stays inside of you for a minute, dating his breath before pulling out, grabbing a tissue and helping you clean up. when you open your eyes, arts looking up at you with his signature puppy dog eyes. "um.. did you mean what you said?" he asks quietly, his head bowing down quickly, as if he didn't want to see your reaction. you think back to your agreement, sure it was in the heat of the moment, but would it really be such a bad idea to say yes? you pause, and arts head droops even lower, expecting the worst. "art you know ive purposely been keeping this casual.. but i.. i trust you now artie, i do want this to be serious" you reach out for his hand, squeezing it gently. arts face lights up like a kid getting the one present they wanted for christmas as he quickly hugs you. "thank you.. thanks, you won't regret it i swear" you smile, pulling the blankets over the both of you, snuggling into arts chest as you admire the beautiful rays of moonlight streaming into your bedroom.

art is easily entranced by the quick movements of your fingers as you roll a joint, it sounds silly but he's always admired the fact that you didn't buy pre-rolls, preferring to be more independent. you lick the paper to get it to stick shut (and art is grateful you were too focused on that to see the way his eyes widened when you did) and root around your drawer for your lighter, a stupid pink one decorated with hello kitty that you got for your birthday. art couldn't help but find it endearing, the way you were so independent and "too cool" for a real relationship, but you still kept all the things that people gave to you, even if they weren't to your taste. the click of your lighter snapped art out of his observations, the light from the tiny flame illuminating your face in a way that made art want to take a picture, the fluttering flame casting an orange glow onto your skin. the strong smell of the joint caused art to become a little lightheaded even though he hasn’t even taken a hit yet, his fingers grabbing the joint from you after a couple failed tries that make you laugh, the soft giggles a soundtrack for the night.

[anniebeemine]

okay, big brown eyes, whatever you say- s.r. x reader

“Why don’t you ever argue with me?”

The question catches you off guard. You glance at Spencer, who’s standing there, awaiting your answer, his brow slightly furrowed as if he’s been pondering this for a while. You blink a few times, shrugging casually as you settle back against the couch.

“There’s nothing to argue about,” you say, the words coming out simple, matter-of-fact.

But Spencer doesn’t like your response. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense and the way his lips press into a thin line. He crosses his arms, his eyes shifting away from you and toward the floor as he runs a hand through his hair.

“I know you hate it when I leave my socks everywhere,” he says, his voice quieter but insistent. “And when I leave the dishes next to the sink instead of in it. I see you tense up when I do it, but you never say anything. Why don’t you just tell me?”

You’re trying to stay engaged in the conversation, but your focus begins to drift. The way the sunlight streams through the window, casting a warm glow on Spencer, draws your attention. His face is lit up in such a way that it highlights the specks of hazel in his eyes, the soft planes of his cheekbones, and the curve of his lips as he speaks.

He looks so beautiful when he talks, even when he's frustrated. There’s something about the way he’s so earnest, so concerned about something as mundane as socks and dishes that makes you smile. You love how much he cares, even when it’s over the little things.

Before you know it, you're smiling at him without even realizing it.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Spencer’s voice breaks through your thoughts, snapping you back to the conversation.

Your gaze shifts back to his face, and you realize you’ve completely drifted off into your own world.

“I, uh,” you stammer, feeling your cheeks flush slightly, “I wasn’t... I mean, I was listening, but...”

“But you’re smiling,” he says, confused but amused, his frustration beginning to soften. He raises an eyebrow, leaning in a bit closer. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You bite your lip, trying to gather your thoughts. “I was just... I don’t know, I was thinking about how much I love you. You’re standing there all serious, trying to figure out why I don’t argue with you about socks and dishes, and I just... I love that you care about that. And I got distracted by how good you look in the sunlight.”

Spencer’s expression softens even more, a small, lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He shakes his head slightly, but there’s a warmth in his eyes now. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I know,” you reply with a grin, feeling the tension from the conversation melt away.

“But seriously,” he says, his tone gentler now as he sits down beside you. “You can tell me when something bothers you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hold it all in just because you don’t want to argue.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “I know. And I promise I’ll try to be better about that. But sometimes... it’s not worth arguing over. I just enjoy being with you, and the little things don’t matter as much when I think about how much you mean to me.”

Spencer wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. “Well, if that’s the reason, I guess I can live with a few unspoken complaints about my socks.”

You chuckle softly. “Just a few.”

[sirfrogsworth]

sirfrogsworth please i am begging to know your boomer uncle’s thought process when he installed all those spam search bars what on earth was he TRUING to do

This was my Uncle Larry. He died in 2014 from a lifetime of smoking.

But while he was alive, he was what my grandma would refer to as "a character."

I feel like seeing his photo gives a partial explanation of the toolbar fiasco.

He was a man stuck in the 1960s but extremely curious about new things.

It was the early 2000s and I was trying to make some extra money. So when he was interested in getting a computer I offered to build him one from scratch.

What I didn't consider about this arrangement was that I was basically signing up to be my uncle's IT person. If something went wrong, it could possibly be due to a mistake I made.

He called me up complaining he couldn't see his websites and that the computer was running slower than normal.

I boot up his system and it takes 10 minutes to get to Windows. The desktop was filled with random programs he installed. And when I opened his web browser I was immediately greeted with a dozen pop up advertisements. Once I nuked them all, all of the different search toolbars were revealed. There was maybe a few inches of space for viewing websites and he had just been looking at photos a segment at a time for weeks before wondering if maybe it wasn't supposed to work like that.

I asked him why he installed all of this crap and he told me he didn't realize he had a choice. He just thought you had to say yes to everything that popped up on the screen. He also opened every spam email he received.

To make matters even worse, when he was searching for lewd pictures of Catherine Bell (aka the "JAG lady" with nice cans), he ended up on various softcore porn sites containing ever more dangerous pop up ads. And he clicked on all of those as well.

He loved the internet. It was a wonderland for such a curious person. He loved typing in random things and just reading and looking at pictures for hours. Aside from Maxim photos of TV celebrities, his searches were pretty innocent. He looked at old cars he used to own and lawnmowers he wanted to buy. He read old war stories and found websites helping him learn how to whittle walking sticks.

But he had no sense of danger. He had a Leroy Jenkins approach to life. He just sort of jumped into whatever without any fear or caution. Which is probably why my parents were so pissed at him when he offered 8 year-old me a ride on his new motorcycle. He immediately took me off-road and up a steep hill without a helmet or telling me to hold on. And it was a Harley, so not really meant for that terrain.

I tried a virus scan and it just said "You have every virus." So I had to nuke his Windows install from orbit. I then gave him computer lessons, which he paid me for, so that sort of worked out despite how frustrating it was to keep him from clicking on random things.

Uncle Larry taught me an important lesson.

Never tell your family you know about computers.

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x reader x wade wilson

rating: E, minors dni, 18+ (mmf threesome; resolved sexual tension; sex pollen; unprotected p in v sex; oral [f receiving]; double penetration)

words: 6.7k

summary: you, logan and wade are on a stakeout after reports of a new drug which only affects mutants. but what happens when you accidentally get a hit of it yourselves…? (the sex pollen fic from the poll! thank you @eupheme for betaing for me, i owe you my life!)

“I spy with my little eye…”

“Wade, I swear to god…” Logan’s voice is a low rumble, a warning.

“Awww c’mon, peanut! What else do we have to do? Indulge me in my childlike whimsy.”

“Let me guess,” you say, shelling a pistachio before throwing it in the air to catch it on your waiting tongue, “you spy something beginning with R-D, which is the rising damp, which is the fourth goddamn time you spied it because there’s nothing else in this fucking place.”

Wade huffs and throws himself back in his chair. 

“Killjoy,” he mutters, and goes back to carving obscene doodles into the side table with baby knife. 

On the first day you were happy to play along, just to ease the boredom and tension which came hand-in-hand with this arrangement. Now it’s been five of them, stacking on top of each other and getting claustrophobic-heavy, the three of you crowded into each other’s space and on the razor’s edge.

Something is going to break, and you’re worried it’ll be Wade’s nose under Logan’s fist.

What a stupid fucking mission. You should never have said yes.

Ever since the whole Void situation was resolved you, Logan and Wade have been X-Men adjacent. Not part of the group exactly but happy to play along if needed. This most recent assignment had been a request from Piotr - there was something going on downtown to do with trafficking drugs which affected mutants, and someone needed to keep an eye on it. Couldn’t be anyone from the mansion, they’re all hands on deck at the moment keeping an influx of kids in check. But the three of you? With no jobs between you and an urge to do good?

It was a problem with an obvious solution.

It’s a stakeout. Which means sitting and waiting and holy fuck is it boring. 

You can tell something is going on in the alley across the street but you’ve had strict instructions not to take action until you see the guy in charge: thickset man with a penchant for misdeeds and built like a brick shithouse. Once you have proof he’s involved, you’ll get the go-ahead to close in and shut the place down in whatever manner you see fit.

But until he comes in, your little trio has no choice but to stay put, watching petty criminals come and go with no idea they’re being monitored.

Life has revolved around watches from the dingy window. Usually two of you will stay up while one of you tries to get some sleep on one of the uncomfortable twin beds that have been provided, but it isn’t easy to drift off when it feels like the mattresses are made of cinder blocks stuffed with broken glass. It isn’t that you’re unused to being in each others’ spaces - if you’re not at their apartment they’re at yours, after all, you are friends - but this is different. You have the luxury of walking away from each other in normal day-to-day life when things gets too much. Here? Here, you’re stuck until you’re done with the job. You’re all tired, irritated, and desperate for entertainment. You’ve even considered chopping off your own hand to watch it grow back, just for something to do.

And the thing is that’s not the worst of it. Ever since the three of you returned from the Void there’s been something there. Something difficult to pin down, exactly.  A niggling little feeling worming its way through your body. Something which thrums every time Wade flexes the muscles in his hand and you see his long, strong fingers; every time Logan grits his jaw and the tendons in his neck throb. 

Oh, right. You sort of really want to fuck them both.

You don’t go through something that traumatic and not have deep-rooted feelings which surpass normal boundaries. You fought for each others’ lives. You’re bonded in a way people rarely are. And the more time you spend with them the blurrier the lines between platonic and fucking soulmate become. You’ve seen both of them stare at you - and each other - when they think you’re not looking, so you’re sure this isn’t something that only you are harbouring. It’s a secret desire harboured by all three of you.

Like you said, something is gonna break. And in this shitty little surveillance room? It’s gonna break soon.

A movement outside. The three of you sit forward to take a look at the evening’s street view, only to fall back into your chairs as it turns out to be a false alarm. Just a pedestrian walking by. You’re going to go insane.

You drum your fingers on your thighs just to keep them busy, then turn to Logan. 

“You got a smoke?”

He cocks a brow at you.

“You want a cigar?”

“Nothing else to fucking do.”

“Whoa, hey!” says Wade, putting his hand on Logan’s arm as he roots around in his jacket pocket, “no no no, you quit last year! Don’t start up bad habits again unless I’m the one convincing you to, pookie.”

“Wade, c’mon. I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t have something to do,” you groan. Plus, really, you’d kinda like something to suck on, just to relieve some of the ache in your belly.

As if Wade can hear your thoughts he pipes up again.

“Well if you’re that desperate to use your mouth, I know what we could play to pass the time…”

You and Logan groan in unison, and he balls his fist in a way which suggests it’s not long until the claws come out. Wade holds up his hands to signify peace.

“Whoa, chill out, honeybadger. No need to get scratchy. You don’t have to join in if you don’t want to… but it’s more fun the more people there are.”

Accepting there’s nothing else to pass the time, Logan lets out a long, exhausted sigh and lets Wade continue.

The mercenary licks his lips as if, for once, considering his phrasing. Then blurts out what he wanted to say anyway.

“We could play blowjob roulette.”

It was a foolish time to take a drink of your soda, because you spurt it out your nose. After a moment of mopping yourself up with your sleeve you manage a, “what?!”

“Well, oral roulette I guess, if we’re being PC about it.”

“Oh my god,” Logan groans, getting to his feet and stomping into the tiny excuse for a kitchenette, grabbing a beer and opening it with such gusto that the cap bounces off an adjacent wall.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything! We just spin the bottle and whoever it ends up pointing out deals out a round of Australian kisses for the other players. Relieves the boredom, and it’s fun to see how long everyone lasts.”

Your mouth is open, you’re sure of it. You’re looking at Wade in abject horror. This has got to just be part of his stupid bravado, right? Making an ill-timed joke?

Because the other option is he’s serious.

Logan drinks. You stare. Wade rabbits on.

“I’m just saying we used to play it at Sister Margaret’s all the time, when we were waiting for new marks to come in and didn’t have anything better to do! It wasn’t gay or anything except for, you know, the rampant homoeroticism of slurping everyone’s gherkin.”

“Did you… did you ever have to do it?” you ask, morbid fascination taking over. He scoffs.

“Did I ever have to… pookie, I’ve taken more loads than my building’s washing machine. Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty fucking great at it.”

He’s staring at you with an intensity which makes you feel like you’re on fire, but from embarrassment or enthusiasm you’re not sure. 

“So?” he asks, quietly, putting a hand on your knee. Your body burns. You swallow. You look to Logan. 

He sighs. Finishes his beer, but in a way which suggests he’s giving in. You see the way Logan’s teeth touch his bottom lip. The start of a fricative. 

He’s going to say fine.

Movement out of the window. You bolt up, knocking Wade’s hand away. He deflates.

“Aww. But I really wanted to - ”

“No, guys - look!”

They quickly crowd you, following where you point. A huge man walks into the alleyway, flanked by underlings, the bulk of him taking up the small space.

“There’s our guy,” you say, “let’s go.”

You descend upon the alleyway in a flash of swords and claws. You tug your cowl up over your nose to protect your face, hand on one of your Brügger & Thomet MP9s as the three of you come face-to-face with the door you’ve been monitoring all week.

“So are we going in sneaky style, or—”

Logan rips the door off its hinges, throwing it down the length of the alley; he is desperate to be done with this. You exchange a look with Wade.

“Okiedokie, asked and answered I guess,” he sighs, grabbing his Desert Eagles from his holsters.

You both follow Logan who’s thrown himself into the middle of the lab claws-first. Two-thirds of the people scream and flee, the others stand their guard and grab their guns.

Fingers on triggers, you take a beat to examine the situation.

Equipment everywhere. Beakers and cylinders you can possibly guess the use for, set up on desks and synthesising something nasty. The boss is standing in the middle of the room, eyebrow cocked and mild annoyance plastered on his face. Bingo. You make a beeline for him, taking a couple of bullets in your flank as you go.

“Cover me!” you shout to Wade. He pulls his katana out of a guy’s head and throws you a bloodied thumbs-up.

“Got your back, pookie! Hate to see you leave, love to watch you spill entrails as you go!”

As if he was predicting your next action, you whip your knife out of your belt and stab it in an assailant’s belly, watching his warm guts slide onto the floor. He releases a strangled noise as he drops to his knees - you make a move to continue on your way to the boss only to feel someone pick you up.

“Shit!” you mutter as you’re hoisted into the air. Wade and Logan stop their onslaught to turn at the sound of your panic, their eyes both going wide as they see you restrained. With a twinned shout of your name they come running to help.

Aww, your boys. It’d be cute if you weren’t bracing yourself for the pain.

Your attacker launches you across the room. A couple of seconds go by as you fly through the air - and then into a table full of test tubes and pipettes.

A great cloud rises into the air. A cloud of spores?

Before you can get a chance to properly read the situation, Wade and Logan are at your side. Sturdy hands grasp around your forearms and you’re dragged to your feet. 

Of course, it goes unnoticed…but all three of you take in a deep breath.

“You okay, baby?” rasps Logan. 

“Yeah, I’m f— move!” you scream, shouldering him out of the way so you can sink your knife into the neck of the man about to spray bullets down his spine. As you rip through the soft skin at his throat something occurs to you. 

‘Baby’? Where did that come from?

Not that it isn’t nice, obviously, but… it’s unlike Logan to show that much tenderness ever. Especially with pet names.

Oh well, no time to dwell.

Picking bits of glass from your biceps you tank a punch from a man closing in on your left, parry his next couple of blows, then shoot him in the dick. Wade has called this a ‘low blow’ before which isn’t incorrect but honestly, there’s no time for fighting fair when it’s 3-versus-30. 

The boss has finally gotten involved. A pair of brass knuckles shines against his fist as he swings at Logan, a meaty crack filling the air in a way which you’re worried might actually have dented one of your friend’s ribs. Wade uses the distraction to stab a katana into the guy’s back, then another one a little further up - using him like a goddamn climbing wall. The boss roars like an animal and attempts to swat him off but there’s no use. His massive bulk is working against him, and Wade can be a fast little motherfucker when he wants to be.

Wade lets out a ‘peekaboo!” as he pops up over the boss’s shoulder, pressing his pistol into the meat of his neck and firing. Blood sprays across the floor but somehow the guy doesn’t stop, not even when Logan picks himself back up and sinks both his claws into his stomach; it only elicits another snarl.

Okay, time to close.

You sheath your guns and go back to your knife, using Logan as a launchpad as you throw yourself off the arch of his back and into the air - stabbing down into the boss’s skull with a dull thunk.

A line of blood dribbles out of his mouth. He starts to fall.

“Uh oh - call me Ke$ha, because I’m yelling timber!” Wade warns. With a snarl Logan rips his claws free from muscle, snatching you off of the boss’s corpse as he stumbles forward under his own weight. Pulling you free you both lose your footing, and you crash down onto your friend.

You look at Logan.

He looks at you. 

Suddenly, his hands clasp around your hips. Probably you move you off of him…

And then you’re on fire. 

Like gasoline has made a line from his touch to your cunt, everything in you is set ablaze. Your pussy clenches and you’ve never felt so empty before - or at least not so aware of it.

There is a cock-shaped hole and it’s begging to be filled.

You expect Logan to freak out, you’re freaking out - you never thought you had a murder kink but you guess you’re never too old to find out something new about yourself - but he doesn’t.

Instead you just see him furrow his brow as if processing something; then acknowledge the press of his hardening cock rub against your thigh as he bucks up into you.

Oh no. Something is wrong.

When you feel Wade grab your shoulder and haul you back to your feet it’s the same, that delicious burning sensation rocketing through you… and from the way he moans as soon as his hands are on you, the feeling is mutual. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathes. Yeah. You want to, that’s the issue.

You stagger away from him with wide eyes and electric skin, a beat passing between the three of you as the people left in the lab decide to give up the fight now their boss is toast. Hearts racing, hands wanting to reach out and touch.

Logan is the one to break the silence.

“We should call in and let the others know we’re done,” he manages. You nod.

“Yeah. Can we… can we go back across the street? I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh, don’t you go Spider-Man Infinity War Part 1 on me,” Wade chuckles. You don’t have the energy to work out what he’s referencing, especially when a jolt goes through your body to your cunt when you feel his eyes meet yours. 

Damn. This is bad. 

“Yeah. Of course, honey,” Logan manages. He goes to put his hand on the small of your back and then thinks better of it, though you can feel its nearness like a magnetic pull. You almost moan when he retracts his touch instead. Wade whips his phone out and fires off a message to let someone know a cleanup crew is needed as you stagger out of the alleyway and back across the street. 

You didn’t bother closing the door when you ran out, too desperate to monopolise on the chance of getting your mark. The three of you tumble back into the room you’d been dying to get out of just a scant few minutes ago, relieved to be in the privacy of its confines again.

A moment passes as all three of you adjust to the feeling coursing through your bodies.

“What’s happening?” you breathe, bracing your hands on the back of your go-to wooden chair and breaking it with the force of your grip. You wince at the sound of splintering, blood dripping down your palms before you feel it heal over.

“I’ve not felt like this since I first discovered how easy it was to masturbate to Good Housekeeping,” Wade groans, whipping off his mask as he flops down onto the battered-up-couch. Logan has made his way to the fridge again, practically ripping its door off to get to a beer which he downs in one swig. Fuck. It’s so sexy. You want to lick the muscles in his neck.

“It’s a pollen,” he states, voice rocky in a way which goes straight to the burning pit of your stomach. You and Wade exchange a look and then turn to him, waiting for further explanation. “Only has a reaction in mutants. Charles said it was something about putting the id into overdrive, like a fuckin’ adrenaline shot to the libido.”

“It… it makes you aroused?” you manage, attempting not to rock your cunt into the palm of your hand. Logan grunts.

“Was trying to be more tactful, but yeah, honey. That’s the idea.”

Honey. The pet name once again goes down your spine.

“Fucking sorry,” says Wade, “someone was manufacturing this stuff as a drug for what? To make mutants too horny to fight?”

Logan shrugs, still not tearing his gaze from his empty bottle, as if to agree it’s his best guess. Wade’s head falls back against the sofa’s arm.

“I mean, damn, they could have just shown me any frame from Magic Mike XXL and it would have had the same result. Seems like a lot of effort.”

Something about the way Logan talks sticks out to you, you circle back around to it. 

“Logan, you seem to know a lot about this stuff… have you encountered it before?”

Another beer grabbed and chugged down, the forward hunch in his shoulders physical evidence of his walls raising. 

“Once. Back in the day with the other X-Men.”

“How did you get through it? Does it go away?”

Logan doesn’t reply. Drinks.

The unspoken answer sinks in.

“Oh my god, you had to fuck it out, didn’t you?” gasps Wade. Logan doesn’t even growl. Jesus Christ he’s right. “Who was it? Storm? Beast? By the love of all things 100k+ enemies-to-lovers-slowburn, tell me it was Cyclops.”

Logan doesn’t dignify him with an answer, instead putting the empty bottle down with enough force you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter.

“It’ll pass. I just need to sit it out,” he reasons, the grit in his jaw suggesting this isn’t the optimal solution. You feel your eyebrows tug together, a crease of concern settling between them.

“But…”

“I’ll be fine.” The way he says it, he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. With the room in the air practically throbbing he heads to the bedroom, leaving you and Wade alone.

Holy shit. You and Wade are alone.

Your eyes wander over to him, to find his gaze is already resting heavy on you. Your skin lights up.

“So, uh,” he starts, shifting himself awkwardly where his hard-on is trapped in his suit, “you read any good books lately?”

That does help to alleviate the tension and you find yourself chuckling, only for the relief to be ablated when your empty pussy pulses. You whine.

“Wade…”

As soon as you say his name he’s rushing over to you, helping you sit down on the ruined chair. You both moan as hot skin slides against hot skin. 

“Look, it isn’t…” you groan as you slide your hand up his bicep. Fuck, he’s strong. “...it isn’t a crazy idea to help each other out, right? We’re friends. It’s just two friends giving each other a hand…”

Wade dips down to run the bridge of nose along the line of your jaw, letting his lips drop to the pulse in your neck.

“Just friends…” he mutters. You buck up into nothing. Oh, god. You’re going to die here. “Baby?”

Oh shit, oh fuck. You want him to call you that over and over again, stamp it into your fucking mind.

“Yeah?” you reply, the word ripped rawly from your throat.

“I wanted to do this before we even left this goddamn apartment, you think I might have changed my mind after the mutant viagra?”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the seriousness on his face. No, he’s not joking, not saying something dirty just because he thinks it’s funny. 

He’s saying it because it’s true, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying. 

“Can I?”

Oh, it’s so tempting to say yes yes yes… but the more tempting thing is to tease him. Just a little.

You hook your leg over his shoulder and he groans as you dig your heel into the muscle of his back. He groans loud and long.

“Wade?”

“Mmm?”

“Ask me properly.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and you’re pretty sure he’s making a mess in his suit.

“Fuck, can I eat you out, baby? Please?”

You nod so fast you fear you’ll break your neck.

Wade lifts you like you weigh fucking nothing at all, strong arms scooping you up and bringing you to the couch - desperate for more space. His hands move quick and roughly as he goes to the pants on your suit, so wracked with need his fingers shake just from the promise of getting to touch you properly. You help him as much as you can, toeing off your boots and helping him tug your underwear off along with your waistband. His eyes widen as he realises your panties are in his hands. He takes a moment to run his thumb over the cotton of them and he fucking moans. Oh, god damn it, you’re going to be fucking ruined.

“Fuck. Never seen a pussy look this good,” he breathes as he finds himself face-to-face with your dripping cunt. You’re already so wet that it’s embarrassing and, while it would be easy enough to blame on the pollen, you know that you’ve wanted this for months. When he drags his tongue up your puffy, desperate folds, you pretty much combust.

“Oh shit,” you groan, wrapping your other leg round his face to hold him flush against you - not that Wade needs any convincing though, because you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck you with his mouth before. He buries himself in you, scarred hands reaching up to dig into the soft skin of your thighs and keep you steady. He wants you at his own pace, it seems, and is strong enough to make it happen. Fuck, you are not complaining.

Wade’s eyes flit upwards to see how you’re reacting as he moves his whole face side to side to bury himself into your cunt deeper. It’s like he’s trying to find where your scent is the strongest and, honestly? With what you’ve heard about this pollen stuff? Seems right on track. He has no hair for you to bury your fingers in so instead you press your hand to the top of his head and pull him closer, because god knows you don’t have the ability to vocalise it. You sink your fingernails in so he knows, though.

Holy hell you’ve never felt so good. The pollen is heightening everything, each movement he makes into you shooting shockwaves through your nerves. Wade’s tongue is insistent in exploring every inch of you, pressing bluntly into your clit; lapping at the wetness seeping from you like he’ll die if he can’t taste what he’s doing to you; dragging down to your ass and toying with you there, too. Yes, fuck, anything he goddamn wants. When his teeth skim the needy folds of your cunt you jackknife into his mouth, almost breaking them clean out of his gums.

“Holy shit, babe. What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles, pupils so blown wide with lust that his eyes are eclipsed with black. You chase after him with your hips.

“Not you, and that’s the problem,” you harrumph. He grins and you see how covered with your slick he is and fuck you are going to die here. 

“I’ll take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?” he asks, putting emphasis on the word you’re both masquerading behind. When you reach out with a searching hand he threads his finger through yours wordlessly, using the other to grab a pillow so he has something to fuck up against. You feel a tiny bit bad for not offering to help but you know he’ll get his in time - in fact just thinking about sucking his cock your mouth begins to water.

He presses his palm into yours as he goes back to your cunt with his mouth. It takes only moments for him to start up his desperate pace again, tongue sinfully sweet, and you’re chasing and chasing…

Stars explode in your vision and in your blood. The noise you let out is feral, a euphony of pleasure and you don’t care who hears. Wade’s eyes drift close as he tastes your orgasm directly at his lips, drinking you down. You’re certain his hips stutter as he comes just from getting you off. Oh god it’s so hot.

Oh god, you’re not done.

Wade surges up your body and kisses you ferociously, you moan at the taste of yourself he gives back. 

“Fuck, yes, do you taste that, baby? What did I do to you? Holy fuck you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen…”

“Wade, I need you.”

“Yeah, fuck, okay. Let me get this stupid sexy suit off…”

Hands begin to fumble messily, needily at each other’s zippers in order to strip. You sit up to get a better handle on him—

And freeze when you see you have an audience.

Wade follows your gaze to where Logan is standing in the bedroom doorway. He’s managed to get his suit off and change back into his jeans, though you can’t imagine he’ll want to stay in them for long the way his trapped cock is staining dark blue denim even darker. He’s gripping the doorframe with such force that his claws have popped out, eyes a matching pitch black to Wade’s, chest heaving as he watches the show.

“You okay, honey badger?” Wade drawls, a cocky smile dragging across him. Logan grunts. Swallows hard. You go for a softer tactic.

“Logan, sweetheart, you wanna join in?” your voice is husky as you ask, oh so inviting. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and his fist tight, taking a chunk out of the wall.

“Get into the goddamn bedroom, both of you,” he growls. The two of you absolutely do not need to be told twice. Partially undressed you vault over the back of the dishevelled sofa, letting Logan lead the way. As soon as you’re within arms’ reach he snags you around the waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

Logan kisses like he wants to devour you. Rough, commanding, dragging his tongue into your mouth as if trying to claim you. Oh, you’ll let him a hundred times over. You mewl when his hand reaches down you cup your still dripping pussy, immediately swiping a thumb against your clit. It pulses as if Wade didn’t just pull an orgasm out of you.

“Fuckin’ needy little thing,” he snarls, delighted. You reach down to grab the bulge he’s rocking, squeezing hard enough to get him to groan.

“Look who’s talking,” you chuckle. He taps at the top of your suit, an instruction. 

“Off,” he says, but that’s as much as he gets to say, because Wade grabs him by the beard and steers him in for a kiss. You pause for just a second to see what will happen but clearly you needn’t have worried - Logan moans into your friend’s mouth, grabbing a handful of Wade’s pretty decent ass and digging in his fingers. While they’re busy you finish stripping, going for the zipper on the back of the red suit and pulling it down. It’s such a goddamn stupid design having it at the back like a goddamn prom dress - but at the moment you’re kinda thankful for it because it means you get to kiss along the revealed plain of skin. Wade has such beautiful fucking back muscles, you’ve stared at them for long enough to memorise every damned one.

He steps out of the suit when you get to his feet - yeah, he did come just from eating you out earlier and holy fuck are you proud - and lets out a strangled noise when you bite the meat of his asscheek hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck, are you gonna rim me? Because if so I’m a thousand percent down,” he chokes, pulling away from Logan’s mouth and leaving a string of spit between them, evidence of a messy kiss. You shrug.

“You want me to, baby?”

Wade seems to have a crisis of faith as he considers this, letting Logan nibble down the length of his neck; eventually he shakes his head though.

“No, I wanna be inside you, like, yesterday,” he confesses. 

“I’ve got enough room for two,” you state, so absolutely sure the pollen will accommodate that you don’t even need to think about it. Both Wade and Logan suck in a breath at that idea.

“Fuck, baby, aren’t you just perfect,” Logan drawls, grabbing you by the hips as you stand up and pulling you to the pathetic twin bed this apartment was provided with. Not how you wanted this first time to go down but hey, at least it’s going down at all. No longer just a dirty fantasy you bury your fingers into your cunt imagining but a real bonafide liaison (boner-fide liaison, Wade’s voice in your head pipes up).

You paw at his jeans, desperate to have all three of you naked and ready. There’s nothing to hide between you any more. Any boundaries have been not only crossed but decimated, absolutely destroyed beyond repair, and you couldn’t be happier. When his cock falls heavy into your palm you can’t help but suck air in through your teeth at its sheer size. Logan chuckles, gravelly and tempting.

“Oh it’ll fit, baby,” he coos, as if reading your mind. Fuck. Yep, it will. There’s no two ways about it. You’re having both Wade and Logan inside you if it kills you.

He wraps you in his arms before you can have any more thoughts on the matter and pulls you down onto the mattress with him, the pollen in your veins making you feel every touch like the end of a live wire - yet you keep coming back to get shocked. Logan positions himself under you, chest-to-chest, grinning at the way your nipples rub against the coarse and gorgeous hair of his chest. There’s a slapping noise and you realise it’s Wade’s hand on Logan’s thigh, encouraging him to move up the bed.

“Big boy, you know you have to scoot up if this is happening. I’m all for fucking the same pussy together but you have to be realistic…”

Obscured by your body, only you get to see the way Logan rolls his eyes fondly at Wade’s blabbering. He manouveurs you both to allow Wade room to kneel on the mattress behind you and you gasp at the feeling of their cocks bullying at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, body on fire and desperate to be extinguished by them. Logan hums in your ear.

“I know, baby, I know. We’ll take care of you.”

“And each other. I got sex-pollened too, old man,” Wade harrumphs, rubbing his head against the slick lips of your cunt. 

“Nobody’s forgetting you, princess,” he murmurs, “now be good and put me inside.”

Logan probably misses the soft hiss Wade lets out at that, but you feel the way the mercenary’s hand wraps around his cock and presses Logan to your empty cunt. You moan in pleasure as he follows the path Wade has laid out and pushes himself inside of you, no resistance given. It takes you only a couple of seconds to adjust to the pure size of him. Holy shit, if this were any other time you’d be falling apart by now, but the way your body pumps with desperation suggests one dick alone isn’t going to be enough.

“You okay?” Logan rumbles by your ear. You cling onto him for dear life, nodding.

“Yeah. Fuck, Wade, I know you’ll fit, you’ve gotta fuck me too.”

Wade doesn’t even have an answer for that. Instead you feel his thumb tug at your lips, stretching you for him - or just watching the way Logan fills you, getting off on the filthy way you’re plugged. Another cock begins to press at your already stuffed hole and you whine.

“S’okay, I gotcha,” Logan says through gritted teeth as he feels Wade’s length slide along his own, the feeling almost overwhelming for him. You drop your head to his shoulder and choke on your own spit as Wade forces himself inside of you. Your cunt feels like it is about to burst into flames in the most satisfying way possible, flowering open between them both.

“Fuck, never felt anything so goddamn tight in my life…” Wade manages. Eventually he bottoms out alongside Logan, both of them sitting snugly inside of you, sharing you, clutched in your warmth. 

“There we go,” Logan growls. “You okay, baby?”

Not knowing if the question is aimed at you or Wade you both whine a yes. Logan laughs and you feel his chest move beneath you, all muscle and heat.

“I’m gonna move now.”

He drags himself out of you, inch by glorious inch, like a match striking against a box and sparking an ember. A deep ragged breath shudders through you at the feeling of it but it is nothing compared to how he slams back inside. Lights flood your periphery. You are going to fucking die between these two men and that is fine. Heaven, even.

Once Wade feels Logan’s rhythm it is too much of a competition for him not to match it. The mercenary’s arms fall either side of your bodies to support himself as he works himself in and out of you, sliding deep as Logan retreats to the tip. Your cunt makes a lewd noise as they piston inside of you and you have never cared about anything less in your life. You are bathed in light, high off this, euphoric over being fucked. A tiny rivulet of drool falls from the edge of your mouth into Logan’s chest hair and he curses at the glorious rawness of it all.

Above you, Wade has finally found his voice again.

“Look at you taking us so well. Oh, fuck, goddamn. I’ve wanted you like this for so long. Remember when we were neighbours, honey? Those guys who you used to bring home… fuck, baby… I used to give myself the old low-five to the sound of you getting fucked…”

You make a pathetic little noise which spurs him onwards. Wade’s mouth drops to your ear.

“...and I used to get angry because I knew I could do it better myself.”

“Oh my god Wade…” you whisper. Tears are beginning to pool in your eyes at the way you’re starting to get overstimulated, two cocks hitting that sweet spot inside you verges on being too much. Were the pollen not still in full force you’re sure you’d need to tap out.

“And you?” Wade’s hand grips Logan’s bicep, squeezing appreciatively. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning and see you shirtless on my couch, and not be able to fuck you? You do it on purpose, peanut, I swear…”

Logan chuckles again, that deep honey-rich sound eked out in magnitudes. 

“And what if I do, Red?”

Wade pauses in his thrusting, you don’t have to see him to know that his eyes are wide.

“Wait, what? For real?”

“Wade!” you whine, reaching over to slap at his arm, annoyed that he’s stopped moving. “Can we all just agree we’ve gotten off to the thought of each other and we’d have fucked eventually anyway?”

The men either side of you seem to think it’s a good compromise to come to and redouble their efforts. All you can do is to cling onto whatever muscles you’re able to find and ride the wave of pleasure. Fireworks go off in your synapses, brain a messy goo of euphoria, cunt fucked out and thoroughly taken care of. 

They speed up, thrusts getting messy and arrhythmic and yet still somehow matching, and you know that they’re going to come together. What a fucking treat, how divine, oh god. Logan’s hands sink into your ass to keep you anchored as his cock goes faster, skin slapping on skin as his sac moves against Wade’s - causing the merc to let out a string of curses - and you’re suddenly flooded with his warm, sticky cum pumping inside you in jets. Wade whines at the feeling of himself being doused and follows Logan’s lead. The filthy cocktail of them drips around both their lengths and out of your hole, falling onto the pathetic mattress below. One last little nudge of the hips is all it takes to push you over the edge again. Your next orgasm is dragged out of you… but you know your body will demand more.

For now, though, respite. The urge to reach that peak again immediately has at least settled for the moment.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh. Logan hums an affirmative note, fingers playing with the small of your back as Wade peppers kisses across your shoulderblades.

“We should go on stakeouts more often, if this is the nice little bow everything gets tied up in,” Wade sighs, dreamily. You nod against Logan’s chest. His hair rubs your cheek deliciously. Your pussy throbs again, reminding you this dirty escapade needs to continue soon. “So what does this mean? Are we a little mutant charcuterie now?”

Your brow furrows as you try to parse what Wade has just said.

“Oh. Wade, baby, do you mean ‘coterie’?”

Logan bursts out laughing, a noise you’ve never properly heard before, and it has you grinning - and Wade, too, even though he grumbles a little at being corrected. Their cocks jostle inside you and you feel them getting hard again and, as you prepare yourself for round two, it’s nice to know that whatever the three of you face at the end of this will be happy.

Three days later, you’re laid across the couch, head in Wade’s lap and legs in Logan’s, all tangled together as you get the single worst telling-off of your life.

“Non-lethal mission, Wade! How many times did I have to tell you, it was meant to be non-lethal!” Piotr shouts down the line. Wade grimaces.

“Look, there were other things we had to sort out first, okay? We kinda forgot about the no-killing part. Besides the guy can’t traffic drugs if he’s dead,” he confesses. You can picture Piotr’s disappointed face.

“Other things!? WHAT other things, Wade?!”

“Okay so there was this horny pollen, and we all had to—”

Logan grabs Wade’s phone and hurls it across the room. It shatters into pieces against the wall. Wade gawps.

“Hey! That was new! Well, okay, not new, but it wasn’t cracked. Well, it was cracked, but it had all my best dick pics on there!”

“You can take new ones,” Logan states. 

You smile. Yeah. The charcuterie is nice.

[matrixbearer2024]

If you take spicy requests, can you write about Ford teasing reader during sex? Like making the reader begging Ford to stop teasing them sexually

A/N: OH HELL YES LEZZGO! This man, this man istfg there's two sides of his fanbase and that's either him being an inexperienced cutie or a straight up sex god. WHAT THOSE FINGERS DO THOOO- remember ya'll my inbox is open for more spazz about this mans come feed me ideas HAHAHAHA- ANYWAY- because this is a spicy 18+ request, fic is under the cut.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Addicted (Stanford Pines x Reader)

Ford just couldn’t get enough of you, his love, his life, his vice, his addiction. You drove him crazy by simply existing, he couldn’t get enough. Now presented with the opportunity to return the favor, Stanford Pines was going to go the full nine yards and maybe an extra mile.

You didn’t know how you got in this situation to be totally honest; back pressed against the wooden walls of your shared bedroom while being kissed senseless by no one other than Stanford Pines. In one moment you were both sharing wine late into the night, laughing and chatting about whatever. In the next– you were here, the alcohol forgotten as you got drunk on something entirely different. 

Fingers tangled into his hair, you returned his passionate kisses with a fervour; earning a deep grunt from the scientist. The tension wound tight between the both of you, intense and electrifying every action and setting it alight. You were drowning in this man, intoxicated by the smell of leather and ink that clung to him like a second skin. There wasn’t anyone else you knew who could swear the scent of a library like an irresistible cologne. 

Thirty years had been far too long.

Ford couldn’t tell where his desire began and his affections ended, the situation played with his head like a snake eating it’s own tail. It should have already triggered the alarms in his head the second you came to him with a bottle of Port, all the more when you offered to share. Now, the uncorked beverage simply sat off to the side; an afterthought halfway empty. 

It wasn’t as if Stanford didn’t have self-control, the man was disciplined and strict especially with himself. The problem starts when you’re introduced into that situation. You leave Ford grasping at straws to maintain a coherent mind, much less a sane one. Like the differing poles of a magnet, the two of you were just drawn to each other for reasons words couldn’t begin to explain.

One was so bored of the mundane ordinary, the other wanted to find respite in it.

A sharp gasp spilled from your lips when Stanford so easily hefted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist for purchase. You both surged on like desperate teenagers getting lost and crazy in each other. Ford quickly took the opportunity to trail kisses down your neck and on your collar, sucking a couple hickeys that caused you to squirm and cry out for him. 

The idea that he’s able to maneuver you like this, to position you in any way he wanted with ease really set something off in your brain. Likewise, the way you writhed against him drove your lover up a damn wall. The way your fingers shakily dug into the knit of his turtleneck made Ford’s ego swell with pride. It was because of him you were like this, pliant and at his mercy.

Initially, he felt guilty for even indulging in the first kiss when you both shared that glass. One turned to two, then three and four; another and another no matter how much he tried to stop. You kept pushing his buttons and foolish as ever, Stanford kept falling for it. 

He told himself that he was going to take it slow with you, to treat you like royalty the way you deserved. Hilariously enough, Stanford failed to factor in that for every queen– there was a king; and you would stop at nothing to treat him as such.

The researcher knew the buzz that ran in his veins wasn’t because of the ethanol he consumed; the tightness in his slacks and heat in his blood wasn’t because he was inebriated. Sure, he was completely wasted; lightheaded, dizzy and incoherent, but it wasn’t because of the Port. 

Need burned through his flesh when you roughly pulled him back to meet your lips, a low moan slipping from your lover when you lightly tugged at his silver strands. His hands firmly gripped your hips in retaliation while fingers danced around the waistband of your pyjama bottoms.

“Ford. Bed. Now.”

You mumbled amidst fervent kisses, the scientist shivering at the stern tone of your instruction. It was always like this between the both of you; a push and pull that didn’t have just one person explicitly calling the shots. His heart thundered against his ribcage when you nibbled at his bottom lip, you just couldn’t stop teasing him for even a moment could you?

Stanford didn’t dare to break away from kissing you as he clumsily shuffled over to the bed nearby, he was surprised he still even had as much coordination as he did with you distracting him this much; and as if luck decided to taunt him with a jinx– Ford tripped and caused the both of you to ungraciously tumble on top of the mattress.

You both shared a surprised look when that happened before breaking out into giggles, that was an overdue dampener; not to mention extremely sobering. Your lover awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and shyly looked away as he adjusted his glasses, only then did you realise how much of a number you really did on him. 

Tousled hair, red-faced, swollen lips, it really reminded you of the first time you’d both gotten carried away snogging back in university. Though, back then you’d both been interrupted for different reasons. Stanford looked really adorable like this, plus– he’d gone all bashful. 

You were hoping tonight would end in a different way though. 

Gently cupping his cheek, you urged the man to look at you again and gave him a brief peck on the nose. You knew you’d gotten the reaction you wanted when the flame of desire reignited behind his eyes. Moving his spectacles to rest on top of his head, you leaned forward to whisper in his ear,

“I never said we had to stop~”

The response was instantaneous, an excited squeal erupting from your throat as Stanford pinned you down against the bed. He was capable of doing a lot, even back then; you just had to poke and prod him to elicit the reactions you wanted. The researcher just smiled down at you amused, leaning down to meet your lips in a gentle kiss.

“You’re still a minx.”

“I’m your minx.”

That sass quickly left you when he snapped his hips into yours, despite the fact you were both clothed– you could feel his arousal through the fabric. Your face bloomed in a furious red, it’s been so long…

“You look cute.”

Forget his trademark eloquence, the enamoured gaze Ford was giving you sent butterflies to your stomach. He never did look at you with anything less. Curiosity and adoration seemed to mix in his eyes around you, hand in hand and step by step. You sighed happily when he went back to nuzzling your neck, only jolting when you felt his teeth graze your skin. The heat surged in your core, the mood was back.

“May I?”

You’d laugh if it weren’t for the distracting feeling of his calloused palms roaming your skin, your nerves melting and then some from the stimuli. There was no underestimating how much your lover knew, applying that knowledge in practice however… sometimes you’d still get burned since age did make him much bolder compared to back then.

“Yes please.”

That was all the permission he needed, gently biting down on your neck as his hands cupped your breasts.  The moan you let out was no short of sinful, Ford’s eyes narrowed into slits and his actions grew a bit rougher. He felt you shiver when his thumbs brushed over your nipples, arching into his hands as your breathing grew laboured. 

“Ford~!”

The rush of need shot straight down. That had set something off in him, he needed to hear you say his name like that again. Your sweet tone was only doing him in, Stanford couldn’t help bucking his hips into yours and a shiver raced up his spine. You rewarded his actions with another desperate cry of his name.

The scientist thanked his lucky stars that he had the foresight to soundproof the rooms back when he built his home.

Stanford finally allowed his hands to wander elsewhere after some time, moving his lips down to replace his fingers instead when giving your breasts attention. He was being so thorough and meticulous; however, it was driving you crazy just how insanely slow the man was being. 

A small sadistic part of Ford wondered just how far he could take it before you’d beg him to do more; but even that would already be a test of his own control that was rapidly wearing thin thanks to your adorable noises.

“Ford please…”

“Please what my dear?”

You would slap this man for his smug tone if you weren’t so impatient on getting him to rail the thoughts out of you. Even if you squealed in surprise at him suddenly groping your ass, his hands had slipped below the garter of your bottoms and he gently kneaded the supple flesh.

“Don’t– Don’t tease!!!”

You cried out when his teeth grazed your nipple, oh fuck this arrogant man–!

“Why should I?”

Ford chuckled against your skin when one of your legs weakly kicked his side, he continued to press kisses to your chest while one of his hands finally shifted to give you attention where you sought it the most. It didn’t surprise him how soaked you were, but he couldn’t say the same for how receptive you were. Just the faintest touch already had you shaking in his arms.

“Sensitive?”

You kicked him again, only to exclaim in surprise when he started to rub at your clit. You could tell he was still teasing, the pace he chose would sooner drive you crazy from the frustration than the creeping pleasure. All the more when his tongue flicked over a nipple, you screamed his name in frustration.

“Ford!! Please stop teasing!”

“You’ll have to do better than that my love.”

You attempted to buck into his hand but the other was holding you down in place, he sucked harshly on your breast as a consequence and you wailed. It was simultaneously too much and too little, what kind of hell was this?!

“Please~!! Please, Ford! I need–”

He didn’t give you the chance to finish that statement before a finger finally slipped into your entrance, the scientist shivered at how warm and velvety your insides felt wrapped around his finger. He kind of regretted not removing his slacks now prior to this, they were painfully uncomfortable now.

“You’re so pretty for me~”

You whined at the praise, shivering at the gently firm pace he chose in thrusting his finger in and out of you. Pulling him up by the collar, you messily crashed your lips into his again as he added another finger inside of you and curled them. 

He knew how you ticked, what would get you to cave to him. Your head fell back when he purposefully pressed into that spongy part that would have you seeing stars. It should’ve been a bigger concern to you how smug your lover was being, abusing that spot with his fingers until you became an incoherent mess. You cried out his name like a broken record, Ford found himself hooked on it– on you.

“Please– please– Ford–!”

When he slowed his pace down when you got closer to that precipice, you knew he wasn’t going to let you fall over that edge so easily. Fuck. So much for hoping he'd play good boy tonight.

It was going to be one of these nights again.

Fic is also here on Ao3 :D

[serqphites]

been sick for so long and all i need is abby to take care of me like the good girlfriend that she is !!! also look at her lil smile im acc deceased nobody speak to me ever again

16+, modern!au, sfw, throwing up (r!), this is short and ass

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do not even THINK about lying to this girl about your sickness… she will not buy a single second of it.

"abby i promise you i'm-" sneeze, "fine..." is there even any point trying to defend your case any longer when abby is looking at you like an unimpressed, disappointed mother with her hands on her hips?

she's already called issac to tell him that she isn't going to be in work until you're better. he tried to refuse and order her to come in, but abby didn't back down and stood her ground until he eventually backed off because nobody is more important than her girl!!

she quite literally cannot leave you alone, always rushing whenever she has to leave your side just in case you need her (she definitely trips and eats shit on the stairs because she was trying to get back to your room a lil too fast)

laying on her chest!!! her big arms wrapped around you and holding you close, kisses being peppered atop your head whenever she enters a cutscene in whatever game she's playing because you begged her to let you watch her play. it took a little convincing because abby just wants you to sleep and get the rest you need, but the second you flashed her those sad puppy dog eyes she was handing you the controller to let you pick out a game for her to play.

this girl always has tissues on her, stuffing her pockets full of them so she's ready for whenever you need them

i can just picture you making those funny noises people do before sneezing and abby practically TELEPORTING to you and shoving a scrunched up tissue in your face. she would be so proud of herself too and just look at you like "did i help? :D" yes you did sweetie you did such a good job!!!

you can’t convince that this girl doesn’t make the best grilled cheese and homemade tomato soup known to mankind, it’s always her go to when you’re sick (not that you’re complaining because it’s INCREDIBLE)

not being able to sleep because you can’t breathe and you’re just in so much pain, so abby lays awake with you until you eventually fall asleep :( unless she knows you’re okay and asleep she physically cannot fall asleep, her mind won’t let her.

abby for sure keeps a bucket on her side of the bed for in the middle of the night (she doesn’t want you trying to reach for it and accidentally falling and hurting yourself)

abby is jolted awake almost immediately once you yourself wake up with a startle, shooting up into a sitting position as your hands fly to your mouth. she’s springing into action without even realising it, reaching down as quickly as possible to snatch the bucket and place it into your lap. “in the bucket baby, good girl there you go” she mumbles in that raspy sleep voice, one of her hands keeping a hold of the bucket in case you can’t while her free hand moves up to hold back your hair.

abby running you a bath with all of your favourite essentials lined up ready for you (need that). oh and she is 1000000% washing your hair and body for you, she can’t have her baby tiring herself out now can she?

even when you start to feel better she’s still just as attentive, you assure her that she can stop and just take a break but abby just continues whatever she was doing like she literally can’t hear you LMAO

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a/n: i’m genuinely so sorry this is so bad 😭 im still sick and barely had the energy to write this but i just wanted to post something SO bad. hope you’re all having a good day/night !! <3

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

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

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

Jealousy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“Dun’ kiss him”

“What the fuck?”

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

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

“Why are you asking me this?”

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

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

“I know I ain’t got no right t’ ask”

“No, you don’t. Why are you asking?”

“‘cause I can’t stand it”

“Why do you care?”

“’cause ya shouldn’t be wit’ him!”

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

“I didn’t-what?”

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

“I did want ya”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-uh-yeah-I”

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

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

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

-

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

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

“I’m a’ idiot”

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

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

“You’re not going to run away again?”

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

[nathaslosthershit]

Oh Brother(s)! (LS2) (Leclerc!Reader)

Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!Reader (Part 2 to Red, White, and Williams' Blue but can be read as a standalone) Summary: All Logan Sargeant wanted was a nice and productive conversation with the love of his life’s three annoyingly protective older brothers, was that too much to ask for? Request: Hi Natalia! Finished reading: Red, White, and Williams' Blue (LS2) (Note to self: my official comfort fic🥹), is it okay if I could request a part 2 to it? (If you do part 2’s)? Nothing specific just maybe seeing how they’re relationship is going? (You can add whatever you want to it, but that’s my idea as of now) Thank you!!! A/N: Its my fic and I get to do whatever I want with it so I say Logan Sargeant is happy and employed. I miss him so bad. This was also such a sweet request because I too really like that fic. 

“What are we going to do with him?” Charles asked his brothers, keeping his eyes on their victim sister’s boyfriend. The three Leclerc brothers were standing menacingly with their arms crossed in the living room.

Logan sat in a chair placed right in front of them. They said he wasn’t allowed to stand, and they weren’t going to sit. They didn’t want Logan thinking there was equal power between him and the brothers.

What family was he trying to marry into?

Right, that's why he was here, he came to ask Enzo, Arthur, and Charles for their sister’s hand in marriage. It felt so medieval but they were fiercely protective of her and he didn’t want to give them reason to object at the wedding. 

“Can we at least turn the lights on?” Logan begged.

“If the lights are on you won’t be scared.” Arthur replied.

“No, I think as long as it's the three of you I am talking to, I'll be frightened.” Logan didn’t actually think this, he had plenty of normal, stress free, calm conversations with them but he knew they would get an ego boost at hearing ‘how scared he was’. 

“So, you want to marry our baby sister?” Enzo asked. 

They keep asking that question as if they don’t know thats exactly why he is there.

“Considering I started this conversation off with ‘I want to ask your sister to marry me’ I think that is a safe assumption to make.”

“And you haven’t asked our maman? Why would we say yes when you don’t have the decency to go to the matriarch?” Questioned Arthur.

Logan had to come up with a good excuse for that.

“I had… I wanted to ask you all first, you are her brothers and she respects and cares what you all think. Plus I knew I’d have an easier time asking Pascale than you three.”

“Drop the attitude and maybe we will say yes.” Charles commented.

This was ridiculous, he had been there 45 minutes and still had not gotten an answer. 

“How can we trust someone who doesn’t understand why we are protective of our sister?” Enzo spoke up.

“Of course I understand but this is-”

“A perfectly reasonable response to the question you asked us.” Arthur stuck up his nose as he said this, pissing off Logan even more. All he wanted to do was marry this girl.

“But if you guys keep speaking over me than-”

“Now you are trying to silence us? We are only looking out for our baby sister and you are getting mad?” He could tell that the brothers were mostly teasing him, but he had officially run out of patience. 

“Okay! Thats enough. All three of you sit down on the couch so I can say my speech.” Logan commanded, getting up from his chair as he pointed to where he wanted the brothers to go.

Surprised, and a little intrigued at the outburst, the three sat down with nothing more than a few angry huffs.

“You all have known me as the man who is dating your sister for three years. In all of that time, was I ever rude or disrespectful to any of you?” 

The three monegasques shook their heads.

“Was I ever rude to your sister? Did I ever treat her with anything but the utmost love and care?” 

The brothers shook their heads again.

“So, I have always been nothing but kind and respectful. I have never given any of you a reason to not like nor trust me. I have been faithful and nothing but loving towards your sister. I have a career and a well paying job so you all have no reason to think she wouldn’t be taken care of. What can I do to just have you give me a simple answer?” Logan finally took a breath. He had a better speech prepared, one that had less yelling, but he didn’t have the patience anymore.

The three Leclercs stayed silent. Logan began to sweat. Maybe the yelling wasn’t the most helpful method of asking them for their permission.

He then let out a breath as the three in front of him began to smile.

It was a ‘we are totally fucking with you and are amused by your outburst’ smile.

Fucking hell, he knew it and still let them get in his head.

“Sorry Logan, we couldn’t resist. Had to see where your patience ran out for future reference now that you are a part of the family” Charles laughed while standing up to pat Logan on the back. 

It took a second to register what he said.

“So- so you all agree?” Logan asked, not sure if they were still fucking with him.

“Yes, mate, we knew you were here to ask our permission to marry her the moment you asked to meet up with us.” Enzo replied.

Behind the American, he heard feet approaching and based on the fact he saw all the color drain from the brothers’ face, he knew who it was.

All of the brothers felt their stomach drop as their sister walked into the room. She had heard everything! They had ruined their baby sister’s proposal.

The three boys began to freak out, their made up excuses overlapping with each other making it hard to hear a single word. 

Logan ran up to go hug her, spinning her around in excitement. This made everyone else go still. Why was he not upset? They had just ruined his big moment by being overprotective idiots.

At the confusion clearly displayed on their faces, their sister spoke up, “Logan may have already asked me a month ago, we just couldn’t see you in person until now so we waited to say anything.”

“I also just needed a little confirmation that you three wouldn’t kill me for proposing before I got permission from you guys. Although, to be fair, I did ask Pascale before I did anything.” Logan said

“So it was all a lie? You didn’t want to ask us first because we are the most important people?” Arthur asked.

“Are you guys serious? He has no reason to ask you three idiots first. Or at all! You are overprotective babies.” Their sister answered. 

As the Leclerc boys all spoke over each other for the second time, arguing with their sister's comment, Logan kissed his fiancé, the two blissfully unaware of what the brothers were screaming about.

And far too in love to care.

[aritsukemo]

I don’t know if your requests are open, but I simply love your writing! May I have a Zhongli/Venti/Xiao Prompt with a reader who’s secretly a god from another world?

Finding out you're secretly a god | Genshin Impact

( @scar8o )

Summary: After your powers are revealed in a heat of the moment decision, you and your partner have a much needed conversation..

Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, and Venti

Warnings: Nothing much. Mentions of reader facing discrimination in Xiao's and slight tears towards the end of Xiao's as well.

A/N: AGHHHH this took months to finally write, but I'm glad I finally got the push I needed to finish this! I'm sorry you had to wait so long and I hope you enjoy this little collection of drabbles I put together! :D

A yellowish-orange shade was cast over Teyvat just like it would any other evening. Nothing had changed; the wind was still blowing, wildlife was as and as wild as ever, and the grass was still the same old greenish tinge.

Well, today, Xiao supposes that something has changed. For the first time in years, there was complete silence between you two. Being the chatterbox that you were, it was never like this since you're always rambling on about whatever popped into your head—whether that'd be how your day went, what you should do tommorow, or even the most trivial things like which colored cloth you should use to wipe off your weapons.

But that particular evening, you didn't utter a word. You simply sat there, knees to your chest as you gazed at the sun slowly setting upon the horizon. It felt odd for Xiao—awkward if he were to be so mundane. At the same time, he had no way of relieving this odd, awkward tension from the air. He had so many question stirring in his head that could at least fill the air with something of substance, and yet, he felt hesitant to voice any of them.

But he has to say something. If he doesn't, he fears that he'll never get his questions answered. So, without looking your way, he asks, "Who..are you really?"

You don't answer immediately and for a moment, Xiao thought you didn't hear him at all. Before he can repeat himself, however, he hears your voice, low and uncharacteristically sullen as you tell him, "Someone who doesn't belong here.."

He doesn't realize it, but upon hearing your response and looking over at you, his eyes softened—and just like the snow he used to munch down to prevent himself from starving to death, his golden hues glistened in the light of the setting sun. He didn't know what to say to that. Or rather, he couldn't think of anything to say that would be comforting to your ears.

That's one the things about you that he's fond of, but is also envious of. You always knew the right thing to say even when he thought you didn't. It's one of his favorite things about you..

"Look, I'm sorry for lying to you for so long.." You said before heaving a long, tired sigh. One that sounded as if you've been holding it for ages, "In my own world, people despised me and this power so much so that they tried everything they could to make my life miserable.."

"Adults, kids, girls, boys, women, and men.. Even when they were more different than the glaxies above, the one thing that was always the same was the way they looked at me.. That deep swirl of hatred in their eyes as they stared at me..like I was some kind of monster.. No matter what I did for them, it never changed," Xiao chooses to ignore the way your voice cracks midway through your sentence—the signal that the glass dam inside you was beginning to crack..

"When I got here, I saw this as my brethren relieving me of that pain..like a fresh start. I was so happy..and so, so scared. I was terrified of the past happening again so I swore to do everything in my power to keep that part of me hidden for as long as I was able.."

At this point, he could see those crystal tears rolling down your face, the translucent trail they left glimmering in the sun's glow. He's never seen them before. You never allowed him to and now, he's grateful that you never did because the sight of you crying made his chest feel heavy and empty, causing it to ache. The sight was painful. It felt wrong associating this feeling with something so..human, but it's the only thing to describe this black hole forming where his heart's supposed to be..

And in attempt to fill that feeling, he finally asks, "Do you think this power of yours will bring harm to the people of Liyue?" You finally glance at him, confusion written all over that tear-stricken face of yours. He merely looks at you with expectancy, so you eventually croak out a small, "No.."

"Do you ever think that you'll try to take over Liyue and force it's people under your thumb?" He threw another question at you, and this time, you answered quickly, blurting out an offended sounding, "Of course not! Do you think I would?"

"No," He answered immediately, "But as the protector of this land, I had to make sure we were on the same page before I said anything else," And he gets up. Your crystalized eyes follow after him, confusion beginning to swirl along with a headache—the result caused by your near-breakdown just now.

"Wha.." You begin, but your voice dies in your throat as he offers you a hand and looks you in the eyes like he would any other day—as if everything was normal.

"You said before that after all of this was over, you'd drag me off somewhere to 'wind down', didn't you? Well, I'm allowing you this once to do so without having any resistance on my end," He clarifies, and that's when it finally clicks in your mind; nothing has changed. The world is still spinning, the once clear, orange sky has turned blue and starry. Xiao is still willing to reach out to you, still willing to stare at you with adoration and love, and be around you. He still sees you as simply Y/n.

And you find yourself brought to tears all over again. Yet this time, it's due to sheer relief instead of anxiety and agony. It's because of the happiness you feel as you reach out your hand and let yourself be helped up like some damsel..

..And it's all becase of Xiao, who's kind enough to see you as something other than a monster. Something lesser than a divine god or goddess, but as simply another person of the land who he should protect.

"So when did you figure it out?" You asked to the man who sat across from you at the table—although to others it seemed as though you were talking to your tea from how your eyes were trained on it the entire time you spoke, pupils following every ripple it made with every slight of your hand.

The man across from you—who you've called many endearments over the years of knowing him—simply hummed at your question, taking the time to grab his own tea cup before answering just as casually, "Some time ago. I've had some theories of my own for a while now, but..outside assistance helped to point me in the right direction."

"So the traveler told you," You stated, your tone leaving no room for him to lie or say otherwise—a silent testament that it was futile to try and deny something you already seen as a fact, but he attempted anyways.

"Not exactly," He said, "It was a slip of the tongue on Paimon's part, a small one at that, I barely noticed it myself." And this time, you hum, closing your eyes as you at last take a sip of your tea—which has long since gotten cold since it arrived at your table.

You take a long, slow sip, as if you were buying time, or maybe, simply trying to collect all the thoughts swirling in your head and condense them in a coherent, civil sentence. Whatever it is, Zhongli allows you that time and patiently waits for you to finally set your cup down again..

"So? What do you plan to do with me now that you know?" The question comes off blunt—slightly threatening to the unintelligent ears, but it doesn't phase Zhongli. After all, he knows that you weren't threatening him, but more rather felt threatened. Similar to a cornered bunny who's only defense weapons are its fluffy, dull nubs.

"Nothing at all," He says, and at last your eyes cross the table to look him in the eyes. He does the same, granting you the same favor.

There's a moment of silence between you two in that moment. You silently demand an answer to his previous answer and the light thrumming of your fingers against the smooth, expensive wood gave away your impatience, your growing anxiety, and most importantly your fear. It's a discomforting sight to see of his usually calm lover, and so, he's quicker to respond to you in hopes of relieving your tension.

"You hold me in such high regard, dear. And while I'm flatter, may I remind you that I'm simply a consultant. I have no power to do anything other than grant you a comfortable resting place to lay your head when you pass," He closes his eyes, breaking eye contact with you to bless you with a small, polite smile, "A question like that would be more fit for the Tianquan, would it not?"

"In my humble opinion, though, I think it best if you didn't stir a pot that has already settled. Going to Lady Ningguang over something she knows nothing about is not needed, don't you agree?"

He opens his eyes again to look at you, only having the luxury to catch the tail end of your reaction to him deciding to sweep this under the rug before your expression smoothens out and a smile eases onto your face and your fingers move to lace around your cup once again..

"I suppose you're right. Forget I said anything then."

"Who knew my windblume could be even more extraordinary than I once thought?" He told you under that massive oak tree—The Symbol of Mondstadt's Hero—after sneaking away with you, who was just praised the entire evening for your heroic deeds.

"You flatter me," You said before letting out a chuckle. Venti chose not to comment on how it sounded drier than how the fruits up in Celestia look, "Really, I don't deserve such praise.."

"On the contrary! You were Mondstadt's savior today! Not to mention mines!" He said cheerily, "If it weren't for you, Mondstadt would've been robbed of this bard's melodious melodies!"

You found yourself huffing at the absurdity of his words before you can stop yourself. Making up for the slip-up with a half-hearted, agreeing hum.

"You're a fool.. Having a dangerous being such as myself leisurely lay on you like this.." You whisper into his thigh as you turn on your side, your voice muffling due to half of your face being smothered by the puff of his shorts. Your comment was heard nonetheless and earned a chuckle from the bard.

"Love makes one do foolish things," He simply replies, before you feel something cold and smooth against your cheek. Your eyes flutter open and out of the corner of your eyes you see the familar red hue that you would only see plastered on one of the delicious treats the Cuihua Trees so graciously gift Teyvat.

You take the apple from his grasp, once again laying flat on your back as you hold the apple above you as if to tantalize yourself.

"I'm serious. You shouldn't be this nice to me anymore, Barbatos," Another slip of the tongue—one promptly ignored and immediately pushed to back of both of your minds, "I'm nothing but a weapon of destruction."

"That you may have been in the past, but as of now, you're simply a bartender at Angel's Share who's fallen head over heels for a skillful bard; me," He replies after swallowing the chewed, sweet chunks in his mouth that came from his apple—which has already been half-eaten at this point.

And you find yourself huffing again. This time at the realization that he was right—at least the part about being hopelessly in love with him anyways..

"You had a long day, so why not you rest after you eat? I'll strum you a gentle tune that'll carry you away to pleasant dreams, ehehe~!" He suddenly suggest—an obvious attempt at deading the conversation where it stands before you say something too depressing to brush off easily. You pretend to not notice, deciding to accept your defeat for now, as you nod, finally bringing the apple down to your lips and taking a bite, being careful to chew the bite thoroughly before swallowing..

"That sounds nice.. Maybe resting my eyes wouldn't be so bad."

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[froggiewrites]

Hello! I was wondering if i could request a Zoro or a Law x gn! or m!reader with angst? They are in a fight and reader kinda ignores them and hides from them and Zoro or Law realize how in love they are with the reader? Can end however you want!

Sorry I've been so slow on requests, writer's block hit me pretty hard this week! I chose Zoro with a gn!reader for this one, it just seemed to fit him pretty well (man is not good with his emotions). I hope you enjoy it!

A Bridge Too Far

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

SFW

Summary: Zoro is terrible at handling his frustrations, and you're tired of being his punching bag. He doesn't realize what he's lost until it's gone. Warnings: Angst, Zoro being a bad boyfriend, not a happy but possibly a hopeful ending? Word Count: 2.3k

Like most of your arguments with Zoro, he started it.

He always starts it, even when he doesn’t want to. When his frustrations start to bubble, he can’t help but lash out at whoever’s closest, and that’s normally you. You’re always there, waiting for him, and you never hold it against him once he calms down. Frankly, they’re less arguments and more one-sided furious rants, as you never rise to the provocation. So he doesn’t think much of it when he snaps at you again after a particularly tough battle, one that left a buzzing under his skin and a strain in his muscles that he couldn’t shake. You wouldn’t mind. You never did.

A few minutes after you follow him to the training room, sitting quietly in the corner while he readies his swords, he finally snaps. “Will you just leave me alone for once? How am I supposed to relax with you trailing after me like this?”

You don’t just sit there and take it like you always do. You don’t just get up and leave, ready to come back when he’s calmer. You stare at him a moment, not radiating fury or indignation, simply…disappointment. Weariness. “Again?”

“What?” He snaps.

“We’re doing this again? Really?” You seem completely composed and calm. It infuriates him more than snapping ever could.

“What do you mean, doing this again? You following me around like a lovesick puppy? Yeah, I guess we are.” He hits the target in front of him harder, sending splintering wood everywhere. The sound of it pierces his brain, rattling around, making him feel even worse.

You sigh, sounding horribly burdened and beaten down. “You know what? Sure. Whatever. I’ll leave you alone, Zoro, if that’s what you want. But this is the last time. I’m not putting up with this anymore.”

He grits his teeth. “Won’t put up with this? Shouldn’t that be my line?”

Your eye twitches, finally a show of emotion, a show that he’s affecting you. “I’m not your punching bag, Zoro. I’m not here for you to use to work off your adrenaline instead of learning to deal with your emotions like an adult. I’m supposed to be someone you care about.” You finally stand, gathering your things and turning to leave. You don’t look back at him as you call, “You’re going to regret this, but I won’t.”

The door slamming echoes through the room, sounding horribly…final.

He ignores it.

It takes a few hours for him to finally wind down, for the buzzing to quiet and leave nothing but a blissful silence. He doesn’t bother cleaning up the wood all over the floor, or taking a shower to rid himself off all of the sweat. He has only one thought: his bed, warm and soft and welcoming. If he’s lucky, you’ll be in it, waiting for him to hold you close and kiss your face, the closest thing he’s ever given to an apology. He eagerly makes his way to the Sunny’s sleeping quarters, opening the door slowly to the cacophony of snores coming from Luffy and Franky, accompanied by Sanji, Chopper, and Usopp’s quiet breathing. Brook is still on deck, on watch for the night, so it makes sense his bunk is empty, but Zoro notices your bed is also suspiciously clear. Even your pillow and blanket are gone, the sheets not even wrinkled, as though no one had ever slept there at all.

A small part of him tells him he should check on you, make sure you’re alright. But a much larger, louder part is crying out for rest, and he cannot help but give in, falling face first onto his mattress without even changing clothes. He’s asleep within seconds.

He’s alone when he wakes up. He doesn’t typically sleep very long, instead napping in short bursts throughout the day, but he can see the light pouring in under the door and he realizes he must have slept at least until noon. He’s shivering, still on top of his blanket. Usually when he falls asleep like this, you throw one of the extras in your locker over him, tucking him in like a child. You must not have come back in at all last night.

He ignores the uncomfortable feeling nipping at him, something he will not name. You’re fine. You’re an adult, and one night away from your bed doesn’t mean anything.

But then you aren’t at lunch.

Sanji is giving him dirty looks, and Nami is giving him the most foul side-eye he’s ever had the displeasure of receiving. The rest of the crew are trying to act normal, but Franky is suspiciously absent and Usopp is so nervous he keeps dropping everything he tries to pick up, ending in him spilling water all over himself and taking the excuse to “take a second to go change” and never come back.

He finally breaks after Sanji brings Nami another drink, takes an obvious glance at him, and they start to whisper to each other. He makes out the words idiot, asshole, and loser (the first two from Nami and the latter from Sanji), before he slams his fork down. “What? What is it?”

Nami turns to him, filled with the sort of righteous fury she only saved for those who dare hurt her friends. “God, Zoro, you don’t even know? What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You’re all acting weird as hell!”

Sanji jumps in. “Because you’re acting like a jerk and have the gall to pretend everything is normal, asshole! What the hell did you say to them yesterday?”

What he said to…oh. That feeling comes back again, and he furiously clamps down on it, replacing it with a significantly more comfortable and familiar indignance. “That’s none of your business, cook.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I think I deserve to know why I had to find them sleeping in the goddamn kitchen this morning, actually.”

In the kitchen? Of course. It’s the one place you knew he would never find you. He never went there other than mealtimes, avoiding the possibility of another stupid fight with Sanji when he wasn’t up for it. “How the hell should I know?”

“Are you still pretending you don’t know it’s your fault? They were bawling their eyes out after leaving the training room.” Nami’s even angrier than Sanji is, and Zoro genuinely thinks she might hit him. The smaller, more tender part of himself, the one he’s ignoring, wouldn’t even blame her.

But that part isn’t in charge today. “My relationship isn’t your goddamn business.”

“Relationship? You seriously think you still have one of those?”

His blood runs cold, but he forces the feeling away, standing up from the table and stalking off. “I don’t have to take this.”

Nami calls after him, “I hope they dump you!”

Sanji cries out soon after. “I hope you fall into the sea, asshole!”

Zoro could go look for you. Should, even. But he instead makes the trek to the crow’s nest, cherishing the quiet, the solitude, the safety of it.

But as he sits in what is usually his sanctuary, he begins to feel that itch beneath his skin. Quiet turns to unbearable silence, solitude turns to loneliness, safety turns to suffocation. He tries to close his eyes, to center himself, take control as he loves to do, but the moment he does he can see nothing but your face. He can almost feel your hands on his back, rubbing soothing circles while your voice gently shushes him. You were so good at that, calming him down right when he needed you. Giving him a patience he simply didn’t deserve.

A patience he had been taking for granted.

What would he do, if another man had made you cry? If someone else had raised their voice at you as he had, time and again?

Part of him tried to justify it. But I don’t mean it, some petulant part of himself cried. They know I don’t mean it.

But do you? And would it matter, anyway? He’s still shouting. You’re still taking it. How long can you perform the same song and dance before it stops being a performance?

He needs to apologize.

He just needs to find you first. You aren’t in the kitchen, though Sanji is, and he doesn’t even speak with him this time, just giving him a mean glare that would send a lesser man running. Zoro hates to admit he deserves it. You aren’t in your bed, and your things are still missing. Not in Chopper’s office. Not in the library. Not in the bathroom, though Robin is, and he has to take a moment to furiously apologize for not knocking while she laughs at him.

He can only think of a few more places to check when he remembers who was missing this morning.

Franky’s workshop is quieter than he’s ever heard it, only filled with the quiet clanking of a small hammer against an even smaller piece of metal. Franky is using his second set of hands to put together some clockwork trinket, a significantly more delicate project that he usually takes on. Zoro is confused only for a moment, then he sees you, eyes intensely watching, and he realizes what’s going on. Franky has taken you in today, chosen something simple and small to distract you, to allow you to participate in some way. He’s always been great at small comforts like this, allowing someone the peace of his presence without worrying about being a burden.

Zoro could learn a lot from him.

Franky clearly knows he’s there, shoulders tensing slightly, but he doesn’t speak, waiting for one of you to take the first step. You don’t seem to notice either, too enraptured by the small metal bird in Franky’s hands, a look of wonder on your face that makes Zoro’s heart skip despite himself.

“Hi.” He cringes the moment he speaks, the peace shattering instantly. Franky doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, but he can practically feel the wince that must be on his face from the lame opener. Your head shoots up like a frightened rabbit, every part of you tense and ready to run. You pull in on yourself, making yourself smaller, like if you’re lucky he might miss you entirely, move on to the next prey. He puts up his hands, the first and only act of surrender he has ever performed, before continuing. “Can we talk? In private?”

You look to Franky, and Zoro doesn’t know what the look you two exchange means, but it makes you get up and approach. You give him a wide berth, not even coming within a foot of him, but you nod at him briefly to indicate he should follow. However small of a gesture it is, you’ve finally acknowledged him. That’s something.

You lead him back down to the training room, still covered in splintered wood and reeking of sweat. He can’t help but notice you didn’t pick a neutral location. You lead him somewhere he feels safe.

You turn to him. “Talk.”

He hesitates a moment, trying not to trip over himself and somehow make this work, but he can see that he’s finally reached the end of your apparently not-quite-infinite patience. “I’m…sorry.” He says the words through gritted teeth, feeling as though they burn his mouth as they leave. He doesn’t like to apologize in words, but in action. In gentle hands, in small acts he could deny later. He doesn’t know why it embarrasses him, to admit he was wrong. He is pretty often. But something about it makes him feel so small, so weak. But he can be small and weak for you, right now. No matter how much it hurts.

Your eyes widen, and you take the smallest step backwards. Shocked by him admitting for once he’s at fault. “You’re…sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

You narrow your eyes at him, searching for some kind of trick, some hidden knife ready to plunge into your back. “For what?”

“For…for what? You know for what.” He winces at how defensive he sounds, at how you start to pull in on yourself again. “Sorry. Um. For yelling at you. For taking my anger out on you when you did nothing wrong. For how I always do that. I…I don’t know why I snap at you. And it’s wrong.”

“Yes, it is.” You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “It isn’t fair of you to keep doing this. I tried letting it slide, because I know you just don’t know how to handle your feelings, that you aren’t coming from a place of malice. But that doesn’t make it okay. And you never stopped.” You turn your back to him, approaching a nearby window, staring out at the sea.

“I’m going to stop now. I swear it.”

“I won’t be with someone who speaks to me like that. I deserve better. You know I deserve better.” You’re trying to play tough, but he can hear the shake in your voice, and he realizes that just like yesterday you’ve only turned around so he can’t see the tears on your lashes.

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “You do. I swear I’ll treat you like you deserve. If I ever talk to you like that again, I’ll fall on my own sword.”

“...Swords.”

“Huh?”

“Swords. All three.”

He chuckles despite himself. “Alright. I’ll fall on all three at the same time.”

“Good. …You deserve it.”

“I know.” A silence hangs in the air. “I love you.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t hug him back, and you’re still sniffling, but you let him hold you. That has to be enough for now.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece (if you saw I forgot the taglist when I first posted this no you didn't)

[stevesjockstrap]

I Can Tell You Miss Me

Rated E • wc 1800 • preseries-S1, getting together, sneaking around, fuck buddies, top Eddie :)

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember: sneaking around + @steddiesongfics: I Like The Way You Kiss Me - Artemas

Eddie yelped as he was yanked by his collar and pulled into an empty classroom. He almost ducked and swung on instinct but then his mouth was overtaken by insistent soft lips. The now familiar scent of hairspray and expensive cologne assaulted him and he relaxed further.

I like the way you kiss me, I can tell you miss me

Eddie smiled into the kiss and quickly swapped their positions, groaning softly when the other immediately yielded to him, allowing him to press them against the wall and take over.

Breaking apart with a gasp a few minutes later, he couldn’t believe his luck that Steve Harrington was looking at him this way.

“Mmm, missed you, Eds,” he breathed as Eddie dragged his teeth over the hinge of his jaw.

“I know, Stevie boy. I wanted to jump you the second I saw you this morning.” He sunk both hands into the perfectly styled hair. He loved dirtying up the pretty boy, sue him.

Steve whined but didn’t stop him, allowing him to ruffle his shockingly soft hair.

“Can you come over tonight?”

Eddie froze, trying to meet Steve’s eyes but he avoided him, biting into his lip. Eddie couldn’t get any words out, so Steve continued.

“I-it’s, you know, my parents are going out of town again. Usually I’d throw a party, but then I realized the only person I really wanted to see was you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up and he clenched his jaw to keep it from actually dropping. Play it cool, Munson.

“Oh, I guess I could swing by,” he managed, sounding a lot less affected than he was, thankfully.

“Cool,” Steve replied, trying to shrug casually. “Awesome,” he nodded and then seemed to realize they were still pressed against each other, his hands sliding confidently between them.

This thing had actually started at a party at the Harrington house. Eddie had been bored, suggesting to Jeff that they crash and see how much free alcohol they could pilfer from the rich kids before they were kicked out.

But Steve had shocked them. He just smirked as they filled their cups from the keg in the dining room, holding up his own plastic cup in a silent cheers.

Later in the night, Eddie had been even more surprised when he’d walked into one of the bathrooms to an eyeful — it hadn’t been locked, in his defense — and Steve leered at him as he slowly zipped up. “See something you like, Munson?”

He’d tried to seem nonchalant but the way his eyes couldn’t leave Steve the rest of the night must have shown his cards.

Steve pulled him under the bleachers after third period the next day.

The first time he’d sunk into his tight heat, Steve had looked up at him with his huge wet doe eyes and shuddered.

“Is it too much?”

Eddie received a short shake of his head and a gasp as he pulled back a bit.

“N-no, just- ah, you’re inside of me,” he breathed.

The unbelievable surge of want and the need to keep him safe, to bundle him against his chest and never let go hit him like a fright train.

All he could manage was a weak, “I sure am.” He let himself stare at where they were connected, pushing forward again roughly, making himself shrug off the clenching of his heart.

Not tryna be romantic, I’ll hit it from the back

Just so you don’t get attached

He’d had to step back a bit, for his own sanity. Get a little distance between them. Remind them both that this was just sex. Eddie made sure they were never in that position after that. He couldn’t trust himself not to fall into those wide expressive eyes. To make mountains out of molehills, to create feelings that couldn’t possibly be there.

It wasn’t easy, Steve hadn’t made it easy, using his biggest puppy eyes until Eddie had had to get rough, shoving him over whatever surface. Pulling his hair, covering his mouth, anything to make him forget about kissing him as he fucked into him. To keep his eyes from making promises he couldn’t keep.

Their sporadic make out sessions during school became almost daily, until their senior year. Eddie should’ve known it was too good to be true. It wasn’t like they were even dating. Not even friends with benefits. Fuck buddies, really. It shouldn’t have been such a punch to the gut.

Nancy Wheeler wasn’t even hot, and definitely not anywhere near good enough for Steve. He chose not to dwell on the clear similarities between her and himself. Not part of the popular crowd, gangly limbs, dark curly hair. Jeff pointed out it was probably to pass a class, but Wheeler was only a sophomore. And Steve had no problems using that charm of his to get extra credit.

Then Steve showed up at the trailer for the first time, bleeding and slurring and not making any sense. But Eddie got him into the shower, butterfly bandaged his face up and got some of the story out of him after a few beers between them.

He hadn’t thought Jonathan Byers had it in him.

He jolted, blinking up at Wayne who stood above him, apparently had kicked his foot to wake him. Why was he on the couch?

“That wasn’t your doing, right?” Wayne jutted his chin to his left. Eddie frowned, trying to move his arm to rub the sleep from his eyes. The arm that was wrapped around one Steve Harrington, sporting two black eyes and the cut across his eyebrow bleeding again.

He looked up, cringing at his uncle. “It wasn’t.” Then their current predicament hit him. “Uhh-“

“Should’ve put ice on it, instead of just drinking all the beer,” Wayne huffed, turning to ease himself into his chair, calmly opening up the newspaper. As if that settled everything.

Eddie blinked. Frowned. Rubbed his face. “That’s it?”

Wayne grunted. “Seems like it. Unless you need me to give you ‘The Talk?’”

They both shook their heads, and then laughed.

The jostling finally woke Steve.

“Hey,” he groaned, wincing. Eddie caught his hand before he could poke at his face. “Ouch.”

Steve’s eyes widened comically as they landed on Wayne. He untangled himself from Eddie and shuffled quickly to the other end of the couch.

“Uhhh- I- we-”

Eddie almost wanted to see what his excuse would be, caught snuggling on the couch with the likes of him. Wayne waved him off though.

“Don’t mention it, kid. But don’t bleed on the couch, huh? Family heirloom.”

Steve groaned again as his face moved between surprise, confusion and settled on pain. He stumbled to the bathroom and Eddie rolled his eyes at his uncle. “Family heirloom? We found it by the dumpsters.”

“I’m leaving it to you in my will,” he answered without looking up from his sports page.

“It’s too early for this shit, man,” Eddie grumbled and went to make coffee.

Since Wayne didn’t have a problem with them hanging out — or anything else, as long as they were quiet — Steve became a pretty regular visitor to the trailer. Steve seemed to prefer the trailer to his cushy, usually empty house. And Uncle Wayne was happy to have someone to talk football with.

Eddie didn’t go to his classmates’ graduation. Actually the principal made it clear in no uncertain terms that he should not make an appearance. He was probably worried he’d pull a stunt, but it would’ve been nice to watch his friends walk across the stage. And Steve.

But all of that was erased from his mind as he flicked the graduation gown up Steve’s back

“No shirt, baby? Wanted to give them a show, huh?”

Steve gasped, arching his back into the finger Eddie was dragging down his spine. The rough black fabric highlighted his tanned and freckled back beautifully.

“It was hot, ah!”

Eddie’s fingers had made their way down to his boxers, tugging none too gently at the waistband.

Does it turn you on when I turn you around?

Can we make a scene?

Can you make it loud?

He was the one groaning when he found his pretty ass already wet and open.

“What’s this, Stevie?” He gave him a moment to think as he roughly plunged three fingers in his loosened hole.

“I- oh my god. I didn’t want to wait.”

Eddie hummed, pressing biting kisses down his back. “Where’d you do it, huh? Spread out on your big bed thinking about my cock?”

With a shake of his head, Steve wailed. “No,” he dragged the word out as Eddie teased his prostate. “In the shower.”

Eddie grinned. “Ohhh I see. Did you touch yourself thinking about getting fucked later? Getting yourself all open for me?”

There was a shudder around his fingers and Eddie thought momentarily that Steve had come already but instead he practically yelled, “Yes!”

“Is that right? Did you come? Playing with your ass like a little horndog?” Eddie teased, rubbing continuously now against his prostate.

Steve was whining and groaning so loudly now Eddie hoped no one called the cops.

“That’s it, get loud for me. Wanna hear you. Are you that close already?”

Steve shrieked, and Eddie chuckled. But then almost swallowed his tongue when Steve cried out, “Didn’t- ah! Didn’t come! I waited! Wanted you!”

Eddie could’ve come untouched at that. “Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking perfect.”

Shocking him even further, Steve got enough leverage to turn most of the way over to look back at him. “C-can, please Eds. Can I turn around? Want to be… Need to see you. Please?”

It was that last ‘please’ that got him. The final crack in his resolve, every reasonable argument now quiet to his plea.

Eddie pulled away, then rearranged them in his tiny twin bed. Steve shuddered again as Eddie guided his hips.

Almost as soon as he was fully inside, Steve’s mouth was on his.

I like the way you kiss me, I can tell you miss me

I can tell it hits, hits, hits, hits

Eddie was not going to last long, and from the way Steve was mewling against his lips and meeting his thrusts he didn’t think he would either. The knowledge that Steve had edged himself earlier and probably thought about him the entirety of his commencement, squirming around on his hard chair had him biting into Steve’s lip as he came hard into his body.

“Eds Eds- oh my god,” Steve breathed, staring up at him with those beautiful doe eyes as he came untouched between them.

After they came down, Steve chuckled into his chest. Eddie raised an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe I’ll have to keep the cap and gown, huh?”

“Fuck yes.”

[k-nayee]

Mama JJK

wc: 3.9k a/n: Song Inspiration: Mama by Rob49, Skilla Baby, and Tay B; recommend you listen while reading!!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The afternoon air was cool as you make your way across campus, the sun lazily sinking behind the student center.

You're walking to Geto’s shared apartment to finish the last details of your end-of-semester presentation for your public health class.

You weren’t nervous—after weeks of working on the project, things were going smoothly. Especially with Geto, who you'd surprisingly clicked with.

He turned out to be surprisingly down-to-earth for a business major.

As you approach the apartment complex, the brunette's warning from earlier in the week echoes in your mind.

“You’ll probably meet my roommate at some point,” he had said, scratching the back of his neck. “Just... heads up. Gojo’s a bit much. He thinks everyone falls in love with him, so don’t be surprised if he—”

You waved him off, laughing it off at the time. A guy with a reputation for being cocky wasn’t exactly news.

You’d dealt with enough overconfident people before, and you weren’t about to let someone like Gojo get under your skin.

The door swings open before you can even knock, revealing Geto standing there dressed casually in a hoodie and joggers.

His dark hair pulled back in its usual neat bun as he gave you a small smile, stepping aside to let you in.

"Hey, come on in," he said, his voice smooth as usual. The apartment smelled faintly clean and expensive—probably whatever brand of cologne they both wore.

It was neat and minimal, with modern furniture and just enough personality to show that two guys lived here but weren’t obsessed with keeping it pristine.

As you dropped your backpack onto the table and prepared to dive into your notes, footsteps stomp down the hall.

You glance at Geto who released as if he knew what was coming.

“Yo, Suguru!” A voice loudly rang before the person even appeared. “You got any more—”

The moment he stepped into the room, his sentence stops once his gaze locks on you.

Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in sweatpants that slung low on his hips and a t-shirt clinging to his lean frame—Gojo Satoru had a presence of someone who was used to being noticed.

His white hair was an unruly mess, and his blue eyes gleamed with immediate interest as he took you in.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” his voice had a teasing tone as he casually leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms.

There it was—the swagger, the cocky smirk, the way he took his sweet time taking you in. You could hear Geto’s silent groan beside you.

Gojo didn’t stop there.

"So..." He stepped forward, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he made his way around the couch. “You’re the one making Suguru's grades look good, huh? Damn, he didn’t tell me you'd be this cute tho."

His voice is smooth—almost too smooth. You couldn’t help the slight snort that escaped before you caught yourself. 

Clearly this isn't the first time he's tried to charm someone within five seconds of meeting them.

It’s like he’s on autopilot, throwing out compliments without a second thought as if he's sure they'll land. Maybe they did.

"Cute huh?" you replied, voice flat but not unfriendly. “Unfortunately for him, I’m just here for the project. Not to boost anyone’s grades.”

Gojo’s grin didn’t falter—if anything it widened, like he had just been given a new challenge.

He stepped closer, leaning against the back of the couch now, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh, I get it,” his tone dips slightly, lowering his voice he as if letting you in on a secret. “You’ve heard about me, haven’t you? That’s why you’re playing hard to get.”

You glanced at Geto, who was already flipping through his textbook as if to distance himself from the unfolding situation. Gee, thanks.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back at Gojo with an unimpressed look. 

“I’ve heard of you,” you admit, your tone dry. “But it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You can save the charm for someone else.”

His smirk falters for just a second, you see a flicker within his eyes—surprise maybe? Amusement? Whatever it was, it vanishes as quick as it had appeared.

There’s a spark of challenge in his gaze now. He straightens up tilting his head playfully.

“Cold, huh?” Gojo chuckled softly. “I like that about you.”

You scoff, more amused than annoyed.

Geto, sensing the moment had stretched on long enough, finally spoke up.  “She’s not interested man,” he says, tone casual with a hint of warning. “And we’ve got work to do, so...”

Gojo wasn’t fazed. He just laughed again, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m just being friendly. Don’t mind me.”

But of course he doesn’t leave.

Instead he moves around to the opposite side of the table, grabbing a snack from the counter as he watches the two of you work.

Every now and then, you could feel his gaze flicker in your direction—lingering just long enough for you to notice.

You sighed. This guy was going to be a problem.

After a few minutes of him loitering in the kitchen, Gojo finally tossed the empty snack wrapper into the trash and pushed off from the counter.

“Think Imma leave you two nerds at it. But hey,—” he pauses his trek down the hall, voice lowering just slightly as he gives you one last look. “Don’t be a stranger, kay?”

You didn’t respond, just waving him off to focusing back on your laptop. Only once you heard his bedroom door click shut did you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Geto glanced up at you, the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Told you he was a bit much.”

You snort with a shake of your head. “A bit?”

As much as you tried to shrug it off, you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you crossed paths with him.

Though you didn't worry too much, you had no time for guys like Gojo—no matter how much money he had or how attractive he might be.

'He can try all he wants' , you think as your fingers fly over the keyboard. 'But I’m not interested.'

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The days after your first encounter with Gojo Satoru felt like a game of cat-and-mouse.

No matter where you went on campus, it seemed like Gojo wasn’t far behind—sliding into your space with a smug grin like he belonged there.

You hadn’t expected him to be so relentless, especially after you shut him down at their apartment. If anything, it seemed to motivate him more.

He seemed to thrive on the challenge of someone not immediately falling for his charm. And Gojo wasn’t subtle about it.

Not at all.

You had left lecture hall and went to the courtyard to review your notes when a familiar presence loomed next to you.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was—there was an energy about Gojo that was impossible to ignore.

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted smoothly in that teasing voice that had (unfortunately) started to become annoyingly familiar.

He dropped into the seat next to you, long legs stretched out as if he owned the place.

Without sparing a glance you sighed. “Pretty sure I told you I’m not interested,” you replied, tone flat as your eyes remained glued to your notes.

You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling. He chuckled, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “Interested in what? I’m just sitting here. Coulda sworn it’s a free campus...”

You shot him a sideways look. He was grinning—of course he was—and that lazy confidence radiated off him like heat.

His nonchalance was infuriating, but at the same time there was something undeniably charming about it.

You'd heard (and even witnessed) a few stories about Gojo Satoru—the endless flings, the parties, the girls who lined up for a shot with him

And yet here he was, fixated on you.

It didn’t make sense. You weren’t falling for his charm but he still kept coming back for more.

“I’m not buying it,” you muttered, finally turning to face him. “I know your type. You’re used to getting whatever you want.”

His grin widened as he leaned in, his eyes dropping to your lips. “Not everything, apparently.”

Your heart did a little flip at that, but you pushed the feeling down with a roll of your eyes.

There was no way you were going to let him get to you, no matter how persistent he was.

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

It didn’t stop there.

That same evening as you walked from the library, your phone buzzed, a notification lighting up your screen.

Snapchat: Gojo Satoru has added you.

Of course he did.

With a resigned sigh you unlock the phone with half a mind to leave him on read. But curiosity got the better of you, and you tapped the notification.

A message popped up almost instantly.

Gojo: Saw you at the library today. Looking cute, as usual.

You couldn’t help the soft scoff that escaped you. Another message followed quickly after:

Gojo: We should hang sometime. I know a place that does the best sushi. My treat.

He really wasn’t going to give up, was he? Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you shot back a quick response:

You: Not interested.

But as soon as you sent it, another message from him appeared—almost like he had been waiting for it.

Gojo: Lol, sure. You keep saying that, but I know you’ll come around ;)

You locked your phone with a huff, shoving it back into your bag as you continued your walk to the dorms.

It was irritating how effortlessly confident he was, like he already knew the outcome before you did. 

And the worst part? There was a tiny part of you—the smallest flicker—that couldn’t help but anticipate the next encounter.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

And yet it wasn’t just over text. No matter where you went, Gojo found a way to insert himself into your day.

Whether it was him casually appearing in the food court while you grabbed lunch or running into him on the way to class, he was everywhere.

Like today for example: you were sitting just outside the university center, enjoying a rare quiet moment between classes as you listened to music.

The peace didn’t last long.

Gojo dropped down into the seat beside you without a word, plucking one of your earbuds out of your ear before you had a chance to stop him.

“What’re we listening to today?” he asked, popping the earbud into his ear without waiting for permission. He nodded along to the song, grinning in that infuriatingly charming way. “Not bad. You’ve got taste.”

You snatched the earbud back with a glare. “Ever heard of boundaries?”

“Sure,” Gojo replied, leaning back casually, completely unfazed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

He was close—too close—and you could feel the heat radiating off him as he shifted in his seat, his knee brushing lightly against yours.

It sent a shiver up your spine, and you hated how he seemed to sense it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask...” His voice dropped slightly, almost conspiratorial. “I know you like Chanel right? I saw you eyeing that bag at the mall last week.”

You froze for a second, caught off guard. How the hell did he know that? You hadn’t even noticed him there, must’ve seen you there by coincidence

You try to brush it off, muttering, “Just looking. Don’t have money for stuff like that.”

Gojo flashed you a softer grin, one that almost looked genuine—if it wasn’t for the cocky undertone beneath it.

“Good thing you’ve got me then,” he said, voice smooth and tempting. “I could get it for you. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You stared at him for a moment, the offer hanging in the air between you. You eyes hardened.

You weren’t some girl who could be bought off with expensive gifts. You weren’t like the girls who chased him at parties or slid into his DMs, hoping for a piece of his attention.

“No thanks,” you said sharply.. “I’m not one of those girls you can buy off, Gojo.”

For a brief moment his expression faltered. But just as quickly the mask of confidence slipped back into place.

“Didn’t say you were. Just offering.,” he replied, that playful edge returning to his tone. “Doesn’t hurt to spoil someone every now and then, right?”

You turn away refusing to engage any further. Though you couldn't stop the flutter in your chest, heart beating a little too fast for your liking.

There was a small part of you—the part that liked nice things and had never really been able to afford them—that was tempted.

But you knew better. You weren’t going to fall for it.

You had worked too hard for everything in your life to let someone like Gojo sweep in and make you forget who you were.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

You were in the library one afternoon, hunched over your notes trying to finish an assignment when you felt a familiar presence looming over you.

Without even looking up you sighed. “I already told you, I’m not interested.”

Gojo chuckled as he slid into the chair across from you, completely ignoring your dismissal. “You keep saying that, but you’re still talking to me.”

You sent a glare. He wasn’t wrong—you hadn’t exactly cut him off.

Despite your best efforts, Gojo managed to worm his way into your life. And the worst part?

A tiny part of you was starting to enjoy it.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to get bored and move on,” you shot back lacking the conviction you wanted.

Gojo’s eyes glinted with amusement. “You’re different,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. “I like that about you.”

For a second you were caught off guard. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Because just as quickly, he was back to his usual self, winking as he leaned back.

“Don’t worry,” he added, his voice laced with playful confidence. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived; music pounded through the packed house as people danced, drank, and shouted over the blaring bass.

You had been invited by Geto, the calm and collected male becoming more of a close friend than just a project partner.

Despite the promise you made to yourself to avoid parties like this, you figured it would be a nice way to let loose for once. Finals were near and honestly, you needed the distraction.

You had been doing a pretty good job of avoiding Gojo for the past few days. His persistent flirting, his smug confidence—it was all too much.

But tonight wasn’t about him. Tonight you were determined to just have a good time.

It didn’t take long for you to fall into the rhythm of the party.

You found yourself chatting with a guy you vaguely recognized from one of your classes away from the chaos of the dance floor.

He was cute—nice smile, easygoing—and for once, you let yourself enjoy the conversation.

Just as you started relax you caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye. It was subtle at first, but enough to make you pause.

And then, there he was—Gojo Satoru.

He spotted you almost immediately, those familiar blue eyes locking onto you through the crowd.

His expression was unreadable for a moment, but as soon as he saw the guy standing next to you, his jaw tightened just slightly.

He didn’t bother hiding his irritation, but the way he handled it threw you off. Instead of marching over, Gojo leaned against the wall across the room, watching.

The beat of Skilla Baby's Mama thumped through the speakers, the lyrics booming across the house. As the chorus hit, Gojo’s eyes never left yours.

He didn’t approach yet, but his gaze was electric.

And when the lyrics came—“Yeah, I heard you got a man, but it's alright, mama (alright),”—he gave a nod, almost as if confirming what you already knew.

He tilted his head back slightly, mouthing the words to the chorus: “Bae, you know you the coldest.”

You felt heat creep up your neck in response. Gojo didn’t have to say anything—his meaning was clear. He wasn’t just here to win you over anymore.

He was here to make sure you understood no one else could compete with him. No one else could treat you like he could.

And that’s when he started moving.

Without missing a beat, Gojo strolled through the crowd like he owned the place (in a way he kind of did), making a beeline for you. 

The guy you’d been talking to didn’t even notice, but you sure did. The closer Gojo got, the more the tension thickened until it felt like you were holding your breath.

You hated how your body reacted to his presence, the way your pulse quickened the second he was close.

“Hey,” he greeted, smooth as ever  with an edge to it that wasn’t there before. He didn’t even spare the other guy a glance, all his focus on you. “Enjoying the party?”

Your grip tightened around your drink in attempt to steady yourself. “Yeah, I was.” 

Gojo’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he glanced at the guy again, finally acknowledging him.

“Sure, but...” He leaned in. “C’mon, you really gonna waste time with him when you know I could treat you right?”

You didn’t look at him right away, hoping the guy next to you would step back in and restart the conversation. But it was too late.

Gojo’s presence had already made him uncomfortable. And before you knew it, the guy mumbled about getting another drink before disappearing into the crowd.

You shot him a look. “Really?”

Gojo just shrugged, the faintest smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “What? You seemed bored. Figured I’d help you out.”

“You mean chase him off?”

He stepped closer, and this time, there was no one between you.

“C’mon,” Gojo murmured. “You know he wasn’t your type.” His voice was low, but not in that typical teasing tone.

This time, there was something else—something more serious.

Your heart thudded as his words lingered in the air. The bass-heavy song continued to pulse through the room, but it felt like the rest of the party had melted away.

It was just you and Gojo now, the tension building with every passing second. And he knew it.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest, though it was more to stop yourself from reaching out than anything else. “I’m not interested in being some kind of prize for you to win.”

Gojo’s expression softened, though his eyes still held that playful glint.

He stepped even closer, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “I’m not trying to win a prize. I’m trying to get to know you.”

You blinked at the sudden shift in his tone. It wasn’t like him to be this direct.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, though your voice lacked the bite you wanted it to have.

Gojo’s gaze softened even more, and he reached out, fingers brushing against your arm.

“I get it. You think I’m just here flirting. But you’re different, and I...” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I like that you make me work for it.”

Your breath caught, the sincerity in his voice catching you completely off guard.

Gojo Satoru, the guy who never had to try for anything, was standing here before you, confessing he was willing to put in the effort.

The weight of it settled over you as you began to see him differently—not just as the arrogant flirt, but as someone who was starting to care.

He must’ve seen the hesitation in your eyes because he smiled softly, the cockiness from earlier melting into something warmer.

“Look, I know I can be... a lot.” He chuckled with a nervous scratch at the back of his neck. “But I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m serious about you.”

The music continued to thump around you, but it felt distant now. You weren’t sure what to say.

Part of you wanted to believe him. But the other part—the one that had built walls around itself—was still afraid to let him in.

“Look...you wanna get out of here?” he didn’t sound as flippant as usual. “I can walk you home.”

Though you were unsure, the way he was looking at you right now that told you this wasn’t about a quick fling or proving a point.

For once, Gojo wasn’t trying to win. He was just trying.

You nodded before you could stop yourself. “Okay.”

*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

The walk back to your place was quiet, the night air cool against your skin as the sounds of the party faded into the distance.

Gojo stayed close, but not too close, his usual bravado tempered.

Every now and then his shoulder would brush against yours, and the touch was grounding, almost reassuring.

For once he wasn’t trying to impress you with flashy words or grand gestures. He was just there, walking next to you in comfortable silence.

When you finally reached your door you expected some kind of last-minute line, flirty and smooth to cap off the night. But Gojo surprised you.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he began, leaning against the doorframe as he looked down at you. “You’re different. You’re not like the others.”

You gave him a skeptical look, but he shook his head before you could say anything.

“I’m serious. I’ve never had to work this hard for anyone,” Gojo admitted. “And... I like that. You don’t care about any of the stuff most people do.”

There was a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. He was letting his guard down, just a little, but it was enough to make you pause.

You didn’t know what to say at first, the usual walls you’d built around yourself trembling.

“A-and I know you think I'm saying this just to get in your pants or whatever,” Gojo interrupts before you can say anything, “but... it’s more than that. I like you. For real.”

You looked at him, really looked at him.

There was something real beneath it all and it scared you a little, because part of you had already started to fall for him—no matter how much you tried to fight it.

So instead of pulling away, you stepped closer.

“I’m still not convinced,” you say with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But...maybe I’m willing to see where this goes.”

Gojo’s grin returned in full force, eyes lighting up with hope as he nodded. “That’s all I ask.”

He turned to leave, but before he did, he glanced back over his shoulder, playful grin returning. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you.”

The next morning, as you left class, you weren’t surprised to see Gojo standing outside with a smile.

Without a word, he fell in step beside you and handed over a cup of [beverage].

It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, just a simple cup of [beverage]—was exactly how you liked it.

You raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip. “This is new.”

Gojo shrugged, his smile easy and warm. “Told you I’d convince you.”

You shook your head. Maybe, just maybe, Gojo Satoru wasn’t so bad after all.

And for the first time, you let yourself smile back.

[scuderiahalf]

of waning moons and eagle eyes — daniel ricciardo

pairing. platonic/romantic/up for interpretation!daniel ricciardo x reader

summary. goodbyes are hard; for now, i’ll say i am going to miss you and stay here a while. .5k

.

You stall behind Daniel, hesitating, shifting your weight, trying to think of what you could possibly say. You come up empty.

Daniel doesn’t look at you when you step beside him.

He just says, “If you’re going to tell me you’re sorry, don’t.”

“I was actually going to say you’re a talentless hack who deserves it.”

Daniel’s laugh is sharp and surprised. It feels good to be able to make him laugh, even in a situation like this, even if his face quickly goes blank again.

You follow his gaze upwards. The Singaporean night sky is an inky navy, too much light pollution for stars. But the moon, you can see. A little over half, closer to full than new but still waning. It won’t be a new moon until the month is over. After that, it will wax and repeat the process unto forever. Ever present, ever changing.

“I am sorry,” you say, despite the warning. “It’s not pity. It’s just what people say when a situation is fucked and someone they care about draws the short straw.”

Daniel exhales heavily, slowly. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome. I guess.”

He huffs out a half-chuckle.

You stare up into the empty sky for a while longer. It’s well past midnight, now. All the other drivers are gone. Most crew and other staff, too. But not you. Not Daniel.

“How do you even know?” Daniel asks, eventually.

“I have my methods.”

You shouldn’t know. You really aren’t supposed to; it’s a massive breach of security. Luckily, you are just you, and all you want to do with the information of Daniel’s being dropped is be with him.

“I wish they’d at least give you a proper send off,” you voice quietly. “This whole guessing game, making you keep it a secret, not talking about it—it’s messed up. It’s not what you deserve.”

“It’s whatever.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m not a world champion.“

“You’re Daniel Ricciardo.”

You put weight into his name because it means something to you, and it means something to the F1 community even if his team won’t give him a proper, respectful goodbye.

Daniel looks at you. His eyes are always so much lighter than you think they are, yellow-hazel like an eagle and sharp, intelligent, emotive. They show a lot. They show so little.

You want to know what he’s thinking. Want to split the skin of his forehead, shave away the bone underneath and peer inside to see how he’s hurting or healing or however he’s feeling. Broken? Elated? Caught up in what’s past or ready to face the next big thing?

You don’t know.

“There’s no one like you,” you tell him. You need him to know. “There’s never been anyone like you.“

Daniel smiles, eagle eyes quartered like the moon. “Thanks.”

His smile fades and you drop your head onto his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“Yeah.”

Daniel lays his head on yours.

“Me, too.”