#with so much clichés i could die

[littlehaize]

can't believe i'm actually writing a long fic

haven't done that in years

i have no plan, i barely have ideas and clichés

i go with the vibe and feeling

dbh fandom, be scared, i'm arriving

[rinhaler]

I will kiss you and hold you and pet you and call you a good girl if you write a toji os abt him having a one nightstand with someone and when he’s undressing them he unzips their dress WITH HIS TEETHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA……….. anyways!!! :3

am i a good girl now :(((

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, soft dom!toji (maybe), alcohol consumption, squirting, fingering, face-sitting, vaginal sex, tit sucking, praise, slight degradation, reader passes out for a sec.

words: 2.4k

“Can I buy you a drink?” a handsome stranger asks you as you sit by your lonesome at the bar. You came here with your friend, who has since disappeared since locating her ex-boyfriend. And you suspect he won’t be an ex for much longer. The attention makes you giddy. His scar pulling as he smirks at you, a grin that grows wider when you nod. He pulls out his card and waits to flag down a bar tender. “I’m Toji, by the way.”

You introduce yourself and you curse yourself for how pathetic you must seem. It’s embarrassing, really, feeling so accomplished that a man deemed you worthy enough to talk to and buy a drink for. He’s like a model, possessing a wide build and tall figure. He could have any woman here if he wanted, you’re sure. And despite your inner monologue telling you to act coy, you’re sure you’re a bashful fool.

He orders you the same blue lagoon cocktail you’ve already had three of, and himself a lemonade.

“You don’t drink?” you ask him.

“Nah, it doesn’t really affect me.”

You shrug, slurping the ice cold cocktail through a metal straw you brought from home. He smirks at that, noting that you’re the type to prepare this much for what he’s sure is meant to be a casual night out. And he asks you questions about yourself that you’re so willing to answer. You ask him questions about himself that he answers too, though the responses are surface level and simple. The mystery only adds to his allure.

He's funny, effortlessly. Everything he says seems to make you giggle. You’re a cliché, too, twirling your hair as you hang on his every word. It’s a mix or attraction and intoxication. Is he really so interesting and funny or are you just wet and transfixed by his looks?

Your laughter dies out when you feel a tap on your shoulder. It’s your friend, coming to say goodbye. She points at her ex and tells you she’s leaving with him.

So much for girl code.

Though she does offer you to hop in the taxi with them so you can go home. But you don’t want to leave Toji. You want to keep making a lovesick fool of yourself for him and maybe see where the night takes you. So she waves and you focus on the older looking man beside you. He licks his lips, his scar glistening under the everchanging technicolour lights flooding the club.

“Wanna get going, gorgeous?” he asks, leaning over to speak into your ear. The rough gravel to his voice rushing straight to your pulsing cunt. You shouldn’t, really, should you? It’s not smart to go home with guys you’ve never met. You don’t know him or his intentions, he could be plying you with alcohol to get you stupid enough to kill you.

“Mhmm.” you nod, dumbly, consequences be damned. If you die, you’ll die by the hand of a man so beautiful you’d think an angel would cry at his presence. He takes your hand, leading you outside and hailing a cab. You at least have the sense to go to your place, knowing your cousin lives a few doors down and will surely here if things go wrong.

He kisses you deeply in the back of the cab, fingers digging into your skin as he squeezes your plush thigh. You moan, lewdly, when he tells you to stick out your tongue and he sucks it before licking it with his own. Tongues tangling as he continues to squeeze and knead your malleable flesh.

“Head on up, I’ll follow you.” he tells you as he pulls out his wallet. You nod, agreeing, whispering your apartment number before clambering out of the car. The chill of the 2am air bites at your skin, and you hurry to the security door. You pull the key from your purse and rush inside.

Toji takes his time paying the driver, grunting as he puts his wallet away and slides out of his side of the car. He slowly skulks to the entrance, smiling when he realises you remembered to leave the latch for him to get inside. He sees a crowd gathered by the elevator and opts to take the stairs instead.

He smirks, gleefully, when he sees you waiting by the front door.

“Watcha doin’, gorgeous?” he wonders.

“Waiting for you.” you confess, looking down at your feet awkwardly as shame surges through your body.

He approaches, slowly. But before you know it you’re looking up at him and caged between his body and your front door. His hands rest against the frame as he studies your blown eyes and nervous face.

“Somethin’ tells me you’ve never had a one night stand before,” he smiles, scar pulling deliciously once again. You can barely form a thought unable to break yourself from the hypnotising mark on his lip. “Unlock the door.”

“I already did…” you gulp, nervously, still unable to tear your eyes away from his.

He likes your answer, picking you up so that your legs wrap around his waist and he lets himself into your home. Your lips lock and tongues clash as he controls the kiss, but your eagerness gets the better of you. Your hips rutting and soft moans pour from you as you portray yourself as a desperate slut for his benefit.

You pout, a little defeated, as he sets you back down. Though the disappoint dies an instantaneous death as he spins you around so your back is to him, pushing you into the wall by your entryway.

“Have you fucked a stranger before, princess?” he asks, brushing your hair from your shoulder and whispering devilishly into your ear. You shake your head, pathetic strings of ‘no!’ spilling from your lips as his fingers explore under your dress and pinch your ass. You bite your lip as you feel his heavy fingers prod at your drippy panties. He huffs out a laugh when he realises how wet you are. “Allllll of this jus’ for me? You shouldn’t have, darlin’.”

“B-Been wet… since you asked if I wanted a drink…” you tell him, giggling a little and hiding your face against the wall.

“No no no…” he objects, tugging your hair softly to draw you out. “Wanna see you, wanna see how you look when I ruin you.” you feel your body flush with heat at his words, turning your head to the side so he can see you again. You place your palms against the wall to brace yourself, not expecting him to pull your panties down your legs from under your dress.

He relishes in how you can barely keep your eyes open as he sinks two fingers into your sopping cunt and your panties drop to the ground. You bite your inner cheek, though it does little to keep you quiet as he curls his fingers against your spongy insides.

“Oh fuck.” you gasp, ashamed that you might cum after a few pathetic pumps of his fingers. Though it doesn’t feel right. You don’t want it to stop, but you don’t feel like you usually do when you’re close to cumming. “W-Wait.” you move your head and try to close your legs.

“Sh.” he stops you, kicking your ankles to keep your legs open. He holds your head against the wall with his forearm, his breathing heavy in your ear. You shudder when he kisses against it, chuckling quietly when he feels your pussy begin to clench. “Stop clenching, push. It’ll feel good, promise… push against me.” he commands.

You don’t know what’s he’s talking about. Push your body? No, he said stop clenching. You’re trying to keep him inside, keep the feeling inside. But he repeats it. Push. And like he’s the master of your cunt, it listens.

“Good girl, baby…” he praises you as he notes the pressure switch from your tender hole. You moan, and he coos. Faux sympathy as he fucks you dumb on his thick digits.

“Toji! Ngh—!” you moan. Clear liquid jets from your pussy, dripping down your thighs and soaking your panties and the floor beneath. He doesn’t let up, either, still battering his fingers against your g-spot.

“There you go, princess. Good fuckin’ girl… so good for me darlin’.” he moans, too, getting off on your pleasure and the striking realisation that you’ve never squirted before. He’s proud of himself, and he’s proud of you. “Fuckin’ soaked your pretty panties, sweetheart. Dirty little girl…” he teases.

You don’t have the energy to respond, already spent from cumming in such an alien way. He kisses your shoulder as your legs continue to shake. Any logic from the thought of telling him to stop fingering you dissipates when you think that he can you make you cum like that again.

He feels his hardened cock over his jeans as he looks down at the puddle beneath you. Still pumping his fingers against your sweet spot until your eyes roll over white. He can’t take it anymore. The unrelenting inner voice telling him to touch himself. He thinks he might die if he doesn’t stroke his length, even for a minute.

“Don’t move.” he orders.

You stay still, unsure of what he’s doing. Though you whimper as you feel his body press against yours. His head sinks to the top of your dress, and you just about cum again when you realise he’s biting down on the metal zipper, pulling it down with his teeth as exposing your bare back.

The black mini dress falls to the ground into the puddle of your lewdness and your drenched underwear.

“Good girl, stay there.”

He pulls off his t-shirt and tosses it aside down the hallway, only to be seen by the end of this dalliance. You hear him kick off his shoes and quickly throws away his socks. Eagerly, his pants follow, as do his underwear. He’s just as naked as you, now. And you choke out a breath as you hear him drop to his knees, licking up the mess on your thighs and pussy. But he turns around, sitting on his ass with his back against the wall, without a care for the wetness beneath. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your cunt towards his face.

“Sit.” he instructs.

You do, without pause, moaning boisterously as he sucks at your clit and covers his face in your sweetness. One arm remains hooked around thigh while the other releases, hand in search of his aching length. He plays with himself, alternating between lazy strokes and passionate ones. The taste of your cunt makes him dizzy, unable to believe how much slick you’re producing as he relentlessly feasts on your flesh.

“F-fuck, Toji… finger me, please.” you beg. He’s leaking like crazy, and thinks your request might have come at the perfect time. He lets himself go in favour of pleasuring you, the sound of your sticky cunt squelching with each press throughout your eerie apartment. Neither of you had even found time to turn on a light, the only thing illuminating the room is the filtering light sneaking in through the cracks of your front door. “G’na cum, a-again… holy— s-shit.” you moan.

It spurs him on, maintaining all of his ministrations as he tries to coax your second orgasm out of you. He grunts, loudly, against your sodden folds as you squirt again. His face and hair doused with your release as he doesn’t dare pull away. The sadistic desire to prolong your ecstasy is fuelling him to keep going. He feels like he might cum untouched as he feels your cum cover him.

Your legs give, his burly arms hook around your thighs again in a bid to keep you stable. But his hands wander, impatiently. Fingers grip into your waist as he pulls you away from the wall.

He helps you down, hovering you above his longing cock as he guides it to your spent hole.

“I don’t have any condoms.” he tells you.

“Don’t care—” you assure him, wriggling your hips eagerly. “’m on the pill.”

“Greedy girl,” he smirks, pushing you down onto his cock. You want to scream from the stretch but you manage to refrain. He sets a ruthless pace, forcing you to accommodate to it quickly. “Been so sweet for me, darlin’. Gonna be nice ‘n do all the work for ya, okay? Say thank you.”

“T-Thank you! Thank you.” you babble nonsensically.

His knees are bent as he fucks up into your abused hole, the velocity propelling you forward. Your fingers clutch onto his shoulders for dear life as he takes advantage of your body being in such close proximity to his mouth. He sucks your tits, eliciting a dreamy moan from you. The gorgeous sounds you make for him have his cock drooling inside of your unprotected walls.

It's so sorrowful, really, thinking about how pathetic you both are. He seemed so calm and collected and yet neither of you could even make it through the hallway of your apartment before you were both stripped bare. You thought you’d be fucking comfortably on your bed. But here you are, being fucking destroyed by his monstrously large cock on the wooden, soaking, hallway floor.

“Gonna cum, baby.” he breathes against your spit soaked tits. The admission makes you cream, clenching around his thick, veiny cock as you brace yourself. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re gonna cum again. Can feel it, little cock slut. No one’ll fuck you like this again, y’know.”

“Ah- aaaah—!” is all you can say as a lesser stream of liquid shoots from you once more. The internal bliss you feel makes you pass out momentarily. But you come around quick enough to feel your untainted insides become stained with his white, creamy warmth.

He groans, deeply, bouncing you up and down his length. He wishes there was a light on to see the creamy ring and the messy puddle you’ve created together.

“You’re fuckin’ amazing, baby.” he tells you, grasping the crown of your head with his palm to guide you into a sloppy kiss. He manages to stand up whilst keeping himself slotted comfortably inside of you. You giggle as you guide him to the nearest light switch, and both of you look down at the mess you’ve made. Shame builds once again and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Awe, pretty girl made a dirty little mess f’me.” he teases you.

“Stop! ‘m so embarrassed!” you tell him, the sentence muffled as you talk into his skin.

“S’okay, rest up.” he tells you, stroking your back soothingly. “Give me a tour, wanna see the next place we can make a mess of.”

© 2023 rinitxshi

[holybibly]

i’m literally so obsessed with your work 😭

could you possibly do some sort of shiburi/toy play with san?

i would literally die if you did 😩

Bunnies, I haven't been as active lately as I'd like to be, but today I'm here and Unholy Hours are back on the air.

Hmm, I haven't tried shibari yet, but San is too attractive for me to give up the idea.

"Tied up like that, you look so divine. I can't take my eyes off you, my angel; the way the ropes leave marks on your delicate skin is driving me insane." San practically purrs into your neck before he pulls away from you. No matter how tempting you look at the moment, he is going to have to be patient. He has the whole of the night in front of him, and you are completely in his power.

The soft rope whispers and snakes across your bare skin, hot as sin, each intricate loop pressing tightly against your body, leaving exquisite marks. Through the soft lace of your blindfold, you couldn't see the pattern that San was creating today, but you could imagine each intricate knot being wrapped around your body, all of them evenly spaced and perfectly tied.

In San's eyes, you were nothing less than a work of art.

San left your hands free, but you didn't dare move them. You knew that if you started to squirm or tried to rub your throbbing clit, the slow glide of the rope over your skin would stop immediately. San didn't like it when his princess was disobedient, especially when he was making her beautiful for himself. Of all the dolls he so desperately wanted to play with, you were the most beautiful.

You could feel the rope sliding down just below your chest and then tightening around your rib cage. The slight tension of the rope around you makes your breathing harder and more labored, and heat begins to build in your lower abdomen as you feel the rope digging into your skin. It starts to get wet between the folds of your pussy and you know that soon you are going to start dripping.

The tension of the ropes is perfect; there is nothing to put you in any danger. San always knew how to treat you properly.

"Black is your color, my angel." San purred again, but this time his voice was a little more husky and sultry, like that of a big, contented cat. "But you already had that knowledge, didn't you?"

"Yes, I know that, Daddy."

"This is my angel, all mine." He circles around you like a predator on the prowl.

You smile shyly at his praise as he gently runs his fingers over your round, flushed cheek and then leans down to give you a kiss. You lift your face to meet San's soft lips halfway.

You can hardly remember how it all started. You just woke up one day with the thought that you had to have him, even if you had to hide all the delicious marks on your body that San kindly left on your skin after each 'game'. It's so stupid, such a terrible cliché, like in the most naive of romantic films: a rich, gloomy boy and an innocent nerd who was supposed to be his tutor, but instead San ended up being the one who taught you.

And if San wanted to get you tied up and exposed in the most vulgar of ways tonight, you'd obey whatever he wanted. He would be able to throw you down on the floor and fuck you into the parquet, and you would be grateful to him for it.

San pulls away from your lips, leaving you wanting more, and you lean forward as if in pursuit of his love. He just chuckles at you and holds your cheeks as he straightens up. His feline eyes are soft, but they hide a dark desire.

"You're so in need of me, angel." He coos in a loving way. "Do you want my lips, my fingers, or my cock so badly, little princess?" San muses and uses his thumb to smear some saliva over your plump lower lip. He lifts your head up again, and you give him a kiss on the thumb.

"I'll take anything you give me, Daddy." You whimper softly.

"Such a good girl." San senses how much you need to be touched, worshipped, and played with, and he is more than happy to satisfy your needs.

His warm hands begin to slide down the length of your body. San runs his fingers along the textured rope, just feeling and enjoying the sensations, gently rubbing against your skin under the tight tangle of ropes, leaving ghostly warm marks where they touch your skin.

Your skin tingles where the hot texture snakes into a pattern, and you feel another loop begin to slide across your body. You still can't make out what kind of pattern San is tying around you, but you can tell he's creating something like a corset. Each loop of rope lies directly under the previous one, with the knots neatly tied in the center of your torso. Each knot is more intricate than the one before it, and it probably frames your body in the most beautiful way possible.

There will be a brief tug on the rope before the pressure is released and the next knot is tied around you.

San's hot breath kisses the skin of your bare shoulder, and you moan softly, rubbing your thighs lightly against each other in the hope that it will ease your excitement.

"You are so beautiful, my angel." He whispers in your ear in a low voice. "I love seeing you like this—all bound up and just for me. You were made for this—to be adorned and decorated by my hands. You are my very own little masterpiece, Princess."

The praise licks over your body like fire and pools in a liquid, viscous warmth between your thighs. You have the feeling you're even wetter, if that's even possible. Your breathing is getting harder; the thought of how beautiful you look to San turns you on, and perhaps it might not last as long as you'd like, but right now you're perfect for him, and that's all that matters. These thoughts cause you to rub your thighs against each other again, desperate for any kind of friction that might help you ease the aching excitement in your cunt.

San digs his hands into the soft flesh of your thighs and spreads them apart with a growl. He doesn't want you to cum too soon; you've just started playing. His strong, slightly rough hands slide over your thick thighs and then brush lightly against the wet, slippery folds of your pussy, allowing you to enjoy some pressure where you need it so much, your hips rocking as you ride his palm. Excitement drips from your hole like a waterfall and spreads over San's palm.

You whine pitifully as his hand leaves you and San goes back to tying knots on your body, and you stay like that—horny to the max and in need of some relief.

"Shhh, angel, it's okay. You are a good little princess, and Daddy will give you anything you want. Now sit still and let me make you beautiful. Let me make you so perfect for me, my angel."

You obediently freeze in place, the world around you blurring as you melt under his praise. San's voice is so deep and calm, but you hear those hot, dark notes in it that tell you he is just as horny as you are. In his arms, you always feel like sex personified, as San does whatever he wants to your body, molding it to suit his own desires and kinks.

You feel the last loop around your waist before the remaining rope runs down your soft belly, the slightly rough texture rubbing nicely against your skin. The tightness of the rope prevents you from thinking; all thoughts fade as you let the fuzzy sensation in your stomach from being bound spread through your mind. Your fall into subspace is slow and gradual, and your breathing is deepening as if you were on the verge of sleep. San is skilled at luring you deeper and deeper into a web of lust and depravity.

San's hot hands squeeze your thigh, lightly scratching it with his nails before he wraps the rope around it. It's so hard for you to maintain any kind of coherence, so far down, especially when you hear the quiet whisper of a hoarse, purring voice: "my beautiful angel" and "sugar bunny" on your thighs, along with wet kisses and long, slow licks, which literally make your pussy literally dripping with arousal.

San pulls another length of rope through the center of your makeshift corset. You're not quite sure what to expect from him when he slips the loose end of the rope between your legs as they are spread apart. He moves around you and kneels down behind you, pressing his hot body against your back. San was wearing nothing but a pair of ripped black jeans and a leather belt with a heavy metal buckle. He preferred to feel the coolness of the room against his skin, and he refused to wear a shirt or t-shirt. It's wonderful to feel the warmth of his smooth, golden skin and the pulsing muscles that stretch and contract as he moves. His hard, massive cock presses against the softness of your plump ass, rubbing lightly against you, trying to ease the painful arousal. You can't bear to look at him with the lace blindfold that is tightly fastened over your eyes, but it makes you feel good to know you've had such an effect on him.

San stretches the rope between your beras, and you shiver a little as the rough texture of it slides between your labia. His fingers part your wet folds so he can place the rope where he wants it. San gently pulls the rope upwards, watching as the knot rubs directly against your clit, causing a burst of stars to explode from behind your closed eyelids as you finally get the stimulation that you so desperately need.

As San attaches the end of the rope to the back of your exquisitely woven corset, taking his time tightening it to tease you while keeping you safe, the intricate knot continues to rub against your swollen clit in the most delicious way.

He finally finishes tying you up and makes sure all the loose ends are securely tied to the back of the corset. San rises to his feet again, and you feel a chill run down your spine as his hot body moves away from you. He walks around you in a circle, like a graceful cat of prey, admiring the work he has done.

"Do you have any idea how bloody perfect you look, my angel? A perfect little toy for me to play with. I want you to see yourself, Princess." San helps you to your feet and guides you closer to the mirror. Then, in one swift motion, he unties the lace blindfold over your eyes, allowing you to see how beautiful you are right now.

As soon as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror, you let out a long, drawn-out moan. You looked much more beautiful than you could have imagined, the black silk rope wrapping around your body like a smooth snake, contrasting perfectly with the soft pale tone of your skin and leaving bright scarlet marks on the most sensitive and delicate areas.

You were right—the pattern San had created on your body did indeed resemble a corset—the rope, tied in exquisite loops, ran from your chest to your waist. The tightness of the knit made your breasts look astonishingly voluptuous and lifted them up in the most seductive way possible. The rope goes down to make it look like you're wearing sexy lingerie, wrapping around your hips like a garter belt. Another piece of rope is placed between the labia of your pussy. The tight knot of the rope presses perfectly against your clitor and stimulates it with your slightest movement.

You look and feel absolutely beautiful and safe with the black silk rope tied around you and the warmth of San's large body behind you. His handsome, sculpted face is rubbing on your shoulders and neck like a contented cat, and he is purring admiringly in your ear. You were truly his perfect little plaything—the sweet plaything of a big, feline predator.

San's hands trace the intricate pattern of the rope, enjoying how it feels to wrap around your body, sometimes gently squeezing your sides.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever owned, my little angel. You look like a beautiful fallen angel, but that won't stop me from destroying you." San whispers in your ear like velvet. You turn your head to look at San and fall into the dark, magnetic trap of his eyes in an instant. Never before in your life have you seen someone who looked so much like a real cat in the form of a human.

Everything about him—from his mesmerizingly sharp eyes, high cheekbones, and chiselled jawline to his purring voice, sensual personality, and elegant movements—was the embodiment of a little predator. And you—you were his little mouse, the one he could play with whenever he felt like it.

San grabbed your chin with his fingers and turned your head back towards the mirror. With his other hand, he pulled on the rope between your wet folds, the tight knot rubbing against your swollen clit. You almost choked at the sudden pull of the rope as its thick texture slid over your sensitive cunt.

San moves away from you and sits down on the bed in an elegant manner, leaving you standing alone in front of the mirror. At the moment you are so confused that you don't understand at all why he has left you standing there - tied up and excited. You look over your shoulder and see San sitting on the bed, legs spread wide, stroking his thick, hard cock lazily as he watches you. He enjoys the way your body looks wrapped in his ropey silk masterpiece.

You moaned loudly, you were so excited, you want to cum right now, and San's hot, dark eyes sliding over your skin didn't make it any easier. You knew that you weren't allowed to use your hands to ease the tension between your thighs until San gave you permission to do so.

A seductive smile spreads across San's soft, plump lips as he watches you from where he sits on the bed. He slows the movement of his hand on his cock, running the pad of his thumb over the wet head. His eyes roll back in his head, and his mouth opens in a soft, sweet moan.

He nods gently in the direction of the mirror behind you, indicating that you should turn to face the mirror once more. You obediently follow his silent instructions and turn to face your reflection. You look at yourself once more and feel your pussy throbbing with desire. It only seems to increase the intensity of the stimulation as the juices flowing from you are absorbed by the rope stretched between your labia.

You feel so empty and so desperate to want San to use you, for him to sit you on his cock, to pull the ropes around your body as he fucks you deep and slow. From these thoughts, your hands begin to slide down your thighs in an unconscious way, and even this light touch makes you let out a sigh of pleasure.

"Don't you dare touch what is mine." San hisses. "If my little rope bunny wants to come, it'll be from the rope between those thick, juicy thighs or nothing at all."

You're moaning at his words, both enjoying his praise and completely disappointed that he didn't let you touch yourself. But you know San better than anyone else, and you are not going to try to awaken his dark side. You begin to squeeze your thighs together, and thick muscles tense with the effort, causing the rope to stretch tightly between the soft folds of your wet cunt. Your hips begin to rock seductively, the tight knot of rope clinging deliciously to your clit with each successive movement of your hips. Completely overwhelmed by the sensation, you throw your head back in ecstasy and let out loud and long moans. You can feel the viscosity of the moisture starting to flow out of your hole.

"Look at yourself in the mirror, angel, as you try to cum. Don't you want to see the rope sliding down your sweet little cunt while you are desperately humping it like a needy little whore?"

San is absolutely right—you do look like one. On the silver surface of the mirror, your reflection is completely depraved. Your hair is dishevelled, and your eyes are clouded with lust. Your skin is red from the tension of the ropes that are tied around your body, and it glistens with sweat. All in all, it can feel as if you've been fucked for hours on end, but San hasn't even touched you the way you'd like him to.

You begin to rub harder and harder against the rope between your legs, your face contorting in pleasure every time the knot of the rope presses against your clit, the rough texture sliding over your sensitive folds. A particularly strong movement and a tight squeeze on your thighs brings you to your climax.

"Oh God, San…" You moan loudly as you literally fall forward onto the mirror, your hands shooting up into the air as you grab hold of the massive frame to keep yourself on your feet as your whole body shakes with orgasm. Your juices flow copiously down your thighs and drip onto the floor, some being absorbed by the rope still pressed tightly against your pussy.

You barely have time to catch your breath before you are pushed forward by San's rough touch, causing you to literally press your chest against the mirror. The coldness of the reflective surface on your nipples makes them harden in an instant, making them more sensitive to any kind of touch.

"My pretty Angel..." San's voice is silky as he whispers into your ear when he presses his naked chest against your back, trapping you between the mirror and his hot body. "It was so hard for me to stop myself from cum while I was watching you enjoy yourself, but there is a better place for my load of sperm, isn't there, angel?" San emphasises his words by stimulating your clit, still throbbing from the previous orgasm, with a sharp tug on the rope between your labia. You let out a loud cry and squeezed your fingers together on the heavy frame of the mirror until your hands were white.

His tongue begins to slide slowly down the length of your neck, pressing lightly on your pulse point, which is why he can feel how fast your heart is beating at the moment. San leaves hot, wet kisses on your skin, gradually turning into dark hickeys as he continues to stimulate your pussy with a rope, sometimes pulling hard, then releasing. You feel San rubbing his big, thick dick against your buttocks, smearing pre-cum all over the tender, plump flesh, and you want to get down on your knees in front of him and lick that bittersweet wetness off his hard length. You want to hear him moan, and you want to enjoy his beautiful face as it is contorted with pleasure.

But right now you're desperate for him to fill that void inside you, and the thought of him stretching you and stuffing you with his thick cock until you can see the bulge of his length against your belly makes your pussy throb and contract, spouting fluid. The textured knot of the rope continues to press against your kitor every time San pulls on the rope, but even this delicious sensation is not enough to satisfy you. You need him to fuck you so hard. Fiercely.

You're on the verge of another orgasm when San pulls back and unties the rope from your corset. He presses you harder against the mirror with his body, biting the skin on the back of your neck, and you feel the swollen head of his dick slide between your wet folds until it is pressed against your quivering hole.

San enters you in one smooth motion, his pelvis touching your ass as his whole thick, hot length ends up inside of you. He lets out a low moan as he feels the rope garter belt around your hips, brushing against his hips with every move he makes. He loves fucking you like this—bound, helpless, completely controlled by him. San immediately picks up the pace and starts fucking you hard and fast—just the way you want him to do it.

He grabs hold of the back of your rope corset and uses it as leverage to fuck you even harder. You look at yourself in the mirror once more and lock eyes with San as he fucks you from the back. His eyes are too dark for you to understand the emotion that is hidden behind the black, gleaming irises, but you are sure that it is something deeper and more dangerous than just ordinary lust.

Your breasts bounce with each hard thrust, and your breathing becomes heavy as San's hand clasps your throat, cutting off some oxygen. This action only serves to push you even closer to your orgasm.

You can feel San's hot length pulsating inside of you as it rubs against your sensitive, smooth walls with every powerful thrust of his hips. The sound that fills the room is sickeningly wet and loud, intertwined with your screams and moans and San's deep, purring groans. It sounds like fucking porn.

The tension inside you is growing with each passing second, and the walls of your pussy are beginning to shrink as you try to hold his dick in and make it harder for him to move. Every time you squeeze his cock, bringing him closer to his own orgasm, San hisses behind you. For a second, you're completely lost in what's happening. San's hand is squeezing your throat so tightly that black spots start to dance in front of your eyes - while the head of his cock hits your G-spot every time he enters you. Tears begin to flow from your eyes, and your mouth opens slightly, either to catch your breath or to try and moan his name. You're so close to cum.

San tightens the rope loops of your corset even further and pulls you against his body before his teeth sink into your shoulder, and he pushes into you with a rough, powerful thrust. He growls like a cat as he clenches his teeth on your skin, making it bleed as he fills you with his thick, warm cum. Such an animal act of power pushes you over the edge, and you come on his cock, your eyes rolling back in and choking on your moans.

San watches your orgasmic expression through the mirror, lazily licking the bleeding wounds of his teeth on your skin. Your sensitive walls tremble with stimulation as he continues to thrust weakly into you. Some of his cum, mixed with your juices, begins to leak from your used cunt and drip onto the floor.

You remain in this position for a few more minutes as you catch your breath from the intense orgasm you have just experienced. San pulls out of you, and this causes even more of his cum to flow out of your hole. He turns you over so that you are facing him, tangles his fingers in your hair, and tilts your head back so that you are looking into his eyes.

"You're absolutely beautiful, my angel." His lips are soft and too tender as he plants a kiss on you. This is the kind of kiss that can make you fall in love, and falling in love with San is as dangerous as a voluntary refusal of oxygen. Fatal. When he leaves your lips, the look in his eyes is dark and utterly evil, and you don't know what else to call him if he's not the devil himself. "You still look too pure and sweet for me; it seems I'm going to need to work harder to get you destroyed, my princess."

[yuukiiqwq]

Dandelions: Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

His heart beats only for you while yours beats for someone else, so he made a wish on a dandelion, hoping it would come true.

Context/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Soft!Sukuna, swearing, unrequited love, flower language, a bit suggestive

Wc: 2.7k

Part 2

It's not like he wanted to fall in love with you. It was actually your fault. You weaseled your way into his life and then his heart. If only you had left him alone, then none of this would have happened. But you were too god damn stubborn to leave him alone. It was all your fault.

It was so stupid how he fell in love with you. Sukuna absolutely hated cliché stuff. And here he is going through the stereotypical cliché plot. He even told you how much he hated it. He remembers telling you how he rather die than read those stupid romance books you like to read. They were full of stupid plot with disgusting mushy feelings. Basically, it's the same thing in every story. He always felt like his ears were going to fall off listening to you talk about those stories. Recently, you started to read this one-shot called Dandelion. Something about a guy having unrequited feelings for a girl for years and the girl liking someone else.

Absolutely fucking ridiculous.

Sukuna remembers how he met you. It was a few years ago, back when they were still in school. He was minding his own business and then you fucking popped out of nowhere. He wouldn't tell you but you scared the shit out of him when you suddenly appeared.

"Yknow, smoking is bad for you."

He turned around to see you at the door smiling.

"Y'know, not minding your own fucking business is bad for you," he scoffed. "Get out of here. This is my spot."

You walked up to him and snatched the cigarette away. You tossed it onto the ground and put out the light.

"They can cause many health problems," you say as you crossed your arms. "And I don’t see your name anywhere on this rooftop."

He glared at you– "Listen here, you brat. What I do has absolutely nothing to do with you. So skip along to your friends and go bother them instead."

"What if you are my friend?" You said smugly. Your eyes were shining with mischief. "And since you said to go bother my friends, that's what I'm doing."

"You must think you're so fucking funny," he snarled at you.

You put your hands on your waist– "I am actually very funny."

He took a step towards you and towered over you. "Leave."

You looked up at him with a deadpan expression.

"No."

"Last warning. Leave."

"Make me."

News flash – He wasn’t able to get rid of you. He was unsuccessful no matter what he did.

You decided to bother him every single god damn day. Somehow, you always showed up at the rooftop whenever he was there. You just wouldn't leave him alone, so he decided to ditch the rooftop. To say he failed was something he didn’t want to admit. He didn't fail. He just decided to ignore you. But then you showed up in front of his classroom. You somehow found his classroom.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and quickly tried to leave before you could catch up to him.

Mission escaping the brat– failed.

You were a fast little thing. You immediately caught up to him and were now walking side by side with him. This caused a lot of people in the hallway to stare at both of you. You two were an unexpected duo to see together.

"Sukunaaaaaaa"

Great. You even found out his name. Amazing. Whoever told you his information is dead. He's going to kill them.

"Sukuna, if you keep looking like that, you'll end up being super ugly. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend."

Sukuna turned around to face you– "You trying to pick a fucking figh–"

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence as you stuffed a mochi in his mouth. Where the fuck did that mochi come from?!

He quickly chewed the mochi and swallowed.

"Did you fu–"

"Was it good?" You quickly interrupted. "It's a new flavor that came out recently. A friend gave me some to try."

"I don't car–"

"It was a limited edition sale. My friend camped outside the shop for a whole day just to buy all the stocks."

You continued talking about it, and Sukuna wanted to just smack you. You were so annoying.

"I am going to smack you if you keep talking."

You immediately stopped talking and walking. You looked up at him and grinned mischievously.

"Wow, Sukuna. Didn't know you were kinky like that. It's ok, though! I like it rough, but take me out to dinner first. Bedroom activities can come later~"

This caused him to explode in anger. You were teasing him. He immediately stomped away from you. He could hear you laughing as you tried to catch up to him. Fuck. You were annoying as hell. Sassy and challenging him in every way.

Your eyes were gleaming with mischief. Did you have to say that? Now he wanted to put you in your place. Bend you over under him and–

Oh fuck. Now you implanted a curse in his head. Fucking minx.

After months of you constantly pestering him, he grew used to your presence. He started to enjoy it. Wait, no. He meant he was just tolerating you.

Yeah. That's right. He's just tolerating you.

"Sukuna! Stop!!!"

Sukuna immediately halted– "What's goin–"

"You almost stepped on some dandelions," you say as you knelt down to the floor.

Sukuna felt like he was going to pop a vein. He can't believe you stopped him for a weed. Can you let he walk to a restaurant in peace?! It was fucking Saturday. He should have never allowed you to follow him home back then.

"Are you fucking joking with me right now?" He looked down at you as you pluck the dandelion. "You stopped me for a fucking weed?"

"First of all, it's a flow–"

"It's a fucking weed."

"It's a flower!" You huffed. "And it's a wishing flower! You make a wish and then blow away the seeds!"

"Great, now you've gone crazy. Just the thing I need from you. As if you're not annoying enough."

"I have not gone crazy! People make wishes on dandelions!"

"And do you know if any of them got fulfilled?" He raised his eyebrow at you. "And I'm sure the people you talk of are kids."

"Well um–" You try to think of something to say as a comeback but come up with nothing.

He smiled smugly– "That's what I thought."

"That's not the point!" You quickly shoved a dandelion in front of his face.

"Get that weed away from my face. I'm starving for food, and you're stopping me for a weed."

"Geez, stop being a party pooper," you sulked. "Make a wish! Maybe it will come true and prove you wrong!"

"I am not going to do something so childish," he said as he pushed your hand away.

"I'll buy lunch!"

Sukuna stopped and thought about it for a second before saying– "And dinner."

If he was going to indulge in your childish antics and look like an idiot, he better get something out of it.

You reluctantly agreed, and he snatched the dandelion out of your hands. He made a wish and then blew the dandelion seeds away.

"There. Made my wish. Now I hope your wallet is ready."

"Whatever, you glutton! What did you wish for?"

"None of your fucking business brat."

The two of you spent a lot of time together. You eventually introduced Sukuna to your other friends. Which surprised Sukuna because at this point, with the amount of time you came and bothered him, he believed that your friends were imaginary.

A girl named Shoko Ieiri, who looks like she's sleep deprived. A guy named Suguru Geto, who, in his opinion, looks weird. Why is he smiling like that!? And finally, a guy named Satoru Gojo. He was the worst out of all your friends. He didn't do anything to him, but just looking at him makes Sukuna want to get rid of him. Cut him in half. Sukuna didn't understand exactly why until he looked at you, looking at him.

Although Sukuna personally knew nothing about love, he knew what he saw. He seen enough people do what they do when in love. He heard enough about the stupid love stories you like to read. He can see it in your eyes when you look at your friend. You liked him.

The way your eyes light up whenever he comes toward you. The way your cheeks start to turn red with a small blush. The way you nervously play with your hands. The smile you give whenever you're around him. A smile that can rival the sun. He felt a pain blossom in his chest as he clenched his fist. These are things he has never seen or gotten from you before.

He hated everything that was going on right now. He hated the way you would sneak glances at him when you think no one was looking. The way you lean into his touch. The way you looked at him with pure adoration and love.

He absolutely hated it.

It took a while for Sukuna to understand why he hated Gojo so much. Why just the sight of Gojo annoyed him. And it's all your fault.

He didn't even know when these feelings started. Was it when you guys first met and you stood your ground with him? Was it when you teased him? Was it when you kept bothering him? Was it when you guys would go out for lunch or dinner together? Was it when he took care of you when you were sick? Did he fall for your looks? Your personality? Was it because of the times you've spent together?

Fuck. He was pissed. Here he is, catching those disgusting mushy feelings for you. Something he sweared would have never happened, and he doesn’t even know how it even happened.

"Fucking hell," Sukuna sighs as he run his hand through his hair.

It should be fine, right? He'll just ignore this. Move on like he didn't realize he fell in love with you somewhere along this journey. These feelings won't last anyway. It will disappear soon. You liked someone else, too, so it should be easy to move on. Right?

Fucking wrong. He's never been more wrong in his life.

All of you have graduated and are now doing your own thing. You all meet up regularly to hang out. Although Sukuna made an effort to see you daily as much as possible–

Wait, no. Correction: He sees you daily because he knows you'll do something stupid if he wasn't watching over you. Nothing else, really.

It's not like Sukuna had trouble moving on. He's not dreaming about you daily. He doesn't want you. It's not like that at all. He obviously moved on from you while you still liked Gojo. No point in these feelings since they're a nuisance.

Deep down, even if he ignores it, he knows he still likes you. But it's not like you'll ever look his way like the way you look at Gojo. Unless an opportunity arrives and it just so happens to arrive. That opportunity came knocking at his door, and he isn't going to let it slip away.

After years watching you love someone else, now he is watching you get your heart broken by that same person. Honestly, he never understood why you fell in love with this guy. That guy was a child in a man's body. Like, who even drinks those sugary, coma-inducing drinks??

But here you are smiling through the pain. He saw small tears forming in your eyes before you quickly wiped them away and said there was dust in your eyes. Others may not notice it, but he does. He saw the hurt in your eyes when Gojo told them that he fell in love at first sight with someone.

Great. Now he wants to murder Gojo even more now for hurting you.

However, he can't help but feel happy? Relief? He doesn't know what he felt. He just knew that an opportunity was given. But he isn't going to be a shitty person and confess to you right when you got your heart broken. He'll wait until you heal. If you ever will. After all, he had already kept his feelings to himself for years. What's wrong with waiting a bit more?

He could make you happy. He would give it his god damn all to make you happy. He would never hurt you. He wouldn't make you cry. At least not cry in a sad way. You crying under him, though, is a different story–

He quickly shakes his head to get rid of that thought. He's getting distracted. You got him wrapped around your fingers, and you don't even know it. He couldn't help but sigh. He really is still in love with you.

He watches as you and Geto try to give Gojo advice on how to win over the person he likes.

"You're an idiot," he interrupted.

He stared at Gojo as he said it, but it was meant for you and himself, really. Both of you two are idiots. Both of you have unrequited love, like in those shitty stories you read. He really is living in the stupid cliché plot he hates. And it's all your fault.

A few months have passed since then. He knew you had mostly moved on. He can still see the hurt sometimes, but it's fading. He knew he should make a move soon. After all, if he doesn't, what if someone else approaches you? But he also knows that just because you moved on doesn't mean you'll see him as he sees you. So he's willing to wait for that day. The day you look at him the way he looks at you.

So here he is. Standing in front of a flower shop. Looking extremely out of place. If you told his past self that he fell in love with you and is now trying to pursue you, he can see his past self attempting murder. He really can't believe he's going to order flowers.

He took a few deep breaths and walked in.

The minute he walked in, a florist greets him– "Hello sir! How may we help you today?"

"Can you make me a boutique?"

"Of course, sir! What type of flowers would you like for the boutique?"

He wanted something to convey his feelings and message. He's done some research about flowers and their meaning. Many websites showed different things, but he eventually settled for one.

"I want..."

When he finally finished ordering the flowers, he went home. On his way back home, he noticed a dandelion.

"...it's a wishing flower! You make a wish and then blow away the seeds! ...People make wishes on dandelions!"

He stared at the dandelion for a few minutes before he clicked his tongue. He bent down and plucked it. He then made a wish and blew the seeds away. He didn't know why he did it. It's not like the dandelion would make his wish come true.

"Tsk. Can't believe I did this. It's fucking stupid."

You really made him a god damn softie so it's about fucking time you take responsibility.

A few days later, he asked you to meet him at your usual spot. A place that only the two of you knew. When he arrived with the boutique, you were already there. You were sitting on the bench, looking over the city.

He quietly stared at you for a while. You were so beautiful sitting there. If angels did exist, you'll be one of them. But then again, your personality was more like a devil. You cast a curse on his heart, and honestly, he didn't mind it. You can curse him for his entire lifetime as long as you accept him.

"Hey, brat. Look behind you."

When you heard the sound of his voice, you quickly turned around. You looked at him and smiled until you noticed the boutique in his hand. You gasped as your eyes widened.

Red chrysanthemum and astilbe. I love you and I will be waiting for you.

[midniiights-garden]

A Porcelain Doll and a Blade - Mizu x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's cliché, really. A pretty little thing like you with a monster. A classic Beauty and the Beast scenario. But what if the Beauty is not all that fragile and what if the Beast isn't as cruel? Oh well, still cliché.

(A/N: This is probably gonna be multiple parts!! Idk how many parts but there will be more than one. Also the reader is implied to be South-east Asian!!)

TWs!!: Canon typical violence, Mentions of smoking and alcohol, Blood and gore, Canon and period typical misogyny.

It's cold outside, it always seems to be anyways.

The young woman looks around her, taking in her surroundings, checking for something. What that thing was no one knew but her. She was inconspicious in terms of appearance. Her skin was on the tan side, but not anything that would be odd for most of the rice farmers. She could be Japanese for all they knew.

She, you, heads into a nearby tavern seeking shelter. You're cold, unused to such weather. The concept of snow confused you. Crystals? Falling from the sky? What a strange notion. You enter the tavern, sighing happily as the heat from the fireplace within hits you like a wave. It's not nearly as warm as what you are used to, but it's much better than the bitter cold of the outside.

Your feet take you to the bar, seating yourself at one of the barstools. The men stare at you- whether it's because they desire you or because it's odd that a woman enter a tavern was unclear. You try to call over the bar keeper who raises an eyebrow at your age. You're young, early twenties. Couldn't be older than 26. You order a drink, one that gets the bar keeper to raise an eyebrow.

"...Where's your husband?" The man asks gruffly.

You huff. Now you're cold, irritated and without a drink. You reply that you have none. What you didn't say was that you weren't interested in having a male lover anyways.

The man grunts in disapproval. "No husband? Really? So what are you then, a whore?"

It was common for the courtesans of the Red Light to drink. Most drank, in fact. Other women tended to only drink in the company of family. The 'high class' women that was. The desireable little dolls most men wanted.

His words made you scowl, your features twisting in clear distaste. All you do is get up, leaving the tavern in an attempt to fuel your need to retaliate physically. Oh, how you itched for a barfight.

A young man enters the scene. Well, not truly a man. It's Mizu. Her haori and cloak are wrapped tightly around her form as she attempts to warm herself, keep herself stable in a bitter enviornment. You pass her as she heads towards the tavern, your expression still as dark and bitter as ever as you collide.

"...sorry," you mutter, bowing politely.

Mizu merely nods, bowing in return before returning her sights to the tavern. It was getting fucking cold out here.

Later that evening you are forced to return to that godforsaken tavern. The town was small, leaving you no other option. You didn't feel like having to play cutesy in order to get into someone's home. So, you head back, a scowl ever prominent on your face as you tread back into the establishment. The bar keep raises an eyebrow at you once more, the gesture earning him a pointed glare.

"I need a room for one," you mutter, trying your best to keep the flare of your temper under control.

"It's a shared dorm," the keeper explains with another grunt. "You willing to stay with a stranger?"

You sigh, irritated even more. "Yes," you hiss. "Please, just let me pay and let me get to rest."

The man rolls his eyes but obliges, allowing me to pay him. Once the transaction was done you turn, eager to just get to bed. Unfortunately the bar keeper just had to open his mouth one last time.

"You'd be a lot prettier if you kept quiet."

You are unable to reply. At least verbally. Any response to that comment would have ended in a fist fight which would end in a murder. And it certainly wouldn't be you that would die. So you trudge into the shared dorm, fists clenched so tightly your knuckles turned white and your nails dug into your palms.

You slam open the door to the shared dorms not realising another person was in there.

"Hey, what the fuck-?!" A voice says, clearly annoyed.

You recognize the voice. It's Mizu, the stranger you bumped into earlier. You sigh, bowing once more.

"My apologies..." you murmur. "I didn't realise anyone else was in here. I should have been more considerate."

Mizu raises her eyebrow, instantly recognizing the oddly pissed of girl she had bumped into. Her eyes scanned your form. You were pretty, beautiful. Like a little doll that girls would play with. The fact that you were alone made her raise an eyebrow. Despite her thoughts she decided to remain silent.

"I see... just, don't do it again," she replies bluntly, turning to her side to get some rest.

You nod, taking her acceptance and getting ready for bed in turn. You just couldn't shake the anger that those words had caused me. Irritated, you pull out a cigar- stolen, not bought- and lit it. You take a few puffs before Mizu takes notice, raising her eyebrow.

"...you smoke?" She asks, skepticisim and wariness in her tone.

"Yes. Did any of it accidentally get to you?" You reply, exhaling the smoke outside the window. Mizu remains silent for a short while before reply.

"Why do you smoke that shit? It's bad for you. Addictive and ruins you," she mutters.

You roll her eyes at her comment. "I'm stressed," you reply.

Mizu scoffs, rolling her eyes in return. "I noticed that," she huffs. "Now are you going to keep having a stuck up attitude? I don't like dealing with brats."

Considering that you that she was a man this was not a great statement. You sneer, turning to face her.

"Oh, and you think you're so much better? What gives you the right to boss me around? Because you're a big strong man?" You ask bitterly, getting close to loosing your temper. "Well you can shove that strength right up your damn ass. I don't answer to you."

With that you go silent, glaring out into the night sky.

Mizu is taken aback by your hostility. Well, actually, it wasn't the hostility as much as your willingness to belittle a person you saw as a man. Most women would not take that chance. You, on the other hand, seemed to give zero shits. While it annoyed her it also made her respect you a little. No matter how rudely you had gone about it.

So, instead of reply Mizu simply turns over and goes to bed. She could already tell you'd be a hell of a lot to deal with and she was already tired. Perhaps the morning would uncover more things about the both of you.

[cursingtoji]

I'm crying these cliches are so cute!! I think Denji with kissing under the rain + wet transparent shirt (he'd totally stare) + taking care of him while sick, would be very cute!!

𝑾𝒆𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕 ✧ 𝑲𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒂𝒊𝒏 ✧ 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒎 ┊the perfect combo so far?? thank so much for joining 🧡 The Clichés ™

Denji stood outside the Public Safety building where you were supposed to meet him for a mission assigned by your superiors, Denji was totally fine by your delay, it gave him time to psychologically prepare for being alone with his crush.

The forecast said it would rain but Tokyo was under a downpour since morning.

“Denji!” you came running and waving, no umbrella, nothing to cover you except your own hand above your forehead so you could see your path.

Denji waved back but he froze when you got closer and he could see how the white shirt of your uniform was glued to your skin, precisely to your boobs and the way it bounced with your seemly simple pink bra as you jogged in his direction. Did he just die? Are you an angel?

He could hear your voice and something about having your umbrella stolen when you went to a public bathroom, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off your chest, it looked to soft and he wondered what would be like laying down on them.

“…Denji?” you snapped your fingers on his face, “What’s wrong?”

Denji limited himself to just point down at your chest.

“Oh, good thing I’m wearing a bra today” you whispered like a secret and Denji felt steam was about to blow out of his ears like a cartoon, “Let’s go, there’s a convenient store on the other side of the avenue, we just need to cross that bridge. You’re okay with taking some rain, right Denji?” you laced your arm with his and he gasped feeling your plump chest against his arm.

Teasing Denji was very fun, but when you were in the middle of the uncovered bridge drenched to the skin and spotted your superior Kishibe coming from the opposite side you dropped your act.

“Uhm Denji? Maybe we should go back…” you crossed your arms to cover your chest.

Denji got confused at your sudden behaviour change and then he spotted the old man approaching under his umbrella while the two of you looked like abandoned dogs. Denji had more than just hots for you, and that meant he wanted to protect you from embarrassment, so he quickly moved to be in front of you, shielding your body.

“You kids are going to get sick” Kishibe declared looking down at the two of you.

“Her umbrella was stolen” Denji explained and you looked at your superior from above Denji’s shoulder.

“In the metro station toilet” you added.

“What about you, Denji?” Kishibe asked.

“I never had one, I usually just put a jacket on my head” the young boy confessed without any embarrassment scratching his neck.

“Gosh, here” Kishibe pulled his wallet and a thousand yen bill of it handing it to Denji, “Buy yourselves an umbrella and a warm drink” he resumed his path as you thanked him and watched as he disappeared on the corner.

“Hey, wanna buy fried chicken instead?” Denji held the sides of the bill excited, “Oh it’s getting wet” he noticed and put away in his pocket.

You were still at a lost of words for how quick the blond was to read the situation and protect your honour, so you didn’t hesitate in pulling him down by his tie and lock lips.

Denji only realized what was happening when your warm wet lips were already pressing on his cold ones. The rain keep falling around you as you nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Thank you, Denji, you’re really sweet” you whispered with the tips of your noses touching, Denji slowly opened his eyes noticing the droplets sitting on your eyelashes, “Let’s get fried chicken… and a coffee, you could use it” you took his hand holding it in hopes to warm it up a bit.

Maybe he did die and this was what heaven was like.

“We have a problem” Aki said when you answered his call. Twenty minutes later you were in his apartment knocking and asking if everyone was okay since he didn’t give you much information. “He’s your problem now, there’s medicine in the bathroom cabinet” Aki opened the door in his uniform already leaving for work as Power followed him.

“I made soup” she informed.

“That’s boiled egg water, please throw it away” Aki yelled climbing down the stairs.

“Denji?” you called softly finding him in the couch with a heavy blanket and a very red nose.

“I’m dying, help” he mumbled and you leaned to touch his forehead.

“Oh my god, you’re burning” you squatted to be on his eye level, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you walk under the rain with me.”

“It was worth it” he admitted with a nasal voice due to his stuffed nose.

“Come on, let’s remove those blankets before you combust” you started to pull but he held to them whining about feeling cold, “You had the fever meds already?” he nodded, “Then how about that: you lose the blankets and I let you lay down on my chest.” Denji pretended to think, but in reality it took him less than five seconds to kick out his blankets.

“Totally worth it” he murmured having his hair played with on top of the softest pillow ever.

See also: Sexual Tension — Aki 🔞

[writtenfromhawkins]

hoax.

ship: steve harrington x fem!reader.

summary: when his father lets him know his presence is expected at a company dinner party, steve blurts out he’d be taking his girlfriend. the problem? he’s very single. now stuck in a lie, he goes to you for help.

word count: 2.7k.

warnings: lots of pining, some curse words, mentions of migraines, steve’s dad sucks. 

authors note: cliché, but i am simply a slut for the fake dating trope.

part two

let’s fall in love for the night.

“Are you fucking insane?”

“Come on sweetheart,” he begs, reaching over the counter to grab ahold of your hands, his gaze never faltering. “I can’t go alone.”

“You could,” you point out, wiggling out of his grasp, “if you just told the truth. “

"I’m already the loser son with a dead-end job.” Steve waves his arms around, motioning to the racks of videos in the dingy store as if to say see? “I can’t be the loser son with a dead-end job and no date.”

And just like that you falter, any arguments—and you have many—die before they can leave your lips. You hate that your good, kind, funny, absolutely incredible friend felt like anything but. You’d never verbalize it but you despised his father for being the only one capable of bringing that side out of him, turning him from the man you admired into the needy, desperate-for-acceptance and attention boy you barely remembered from high school. 

“If I go...”

It’s a hypothetical, not a real answer but still, your words inflate him. He stands up straight, shoulders back, handsome features pulling into a grin.

“Steve...”

Before you can react, he’s up and sliding his long body across the counter. “Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, coming to a stop in front of you. Big hands reach out, grabbing ahold of each side of your face to pull you close and press a kiss to your forehead. “You are an angel, a goddess really, heaven sent.”

If his praise warms you, his lips set you on fire, just enough to make your brain go fuzzy and have you ready to agree to whatever he wants but you stop yourself, doing your best to hold on to some semblance of self-control. 

This is your friend, one of your closest, and one you maybe have some confusing feelings towards. You don’t like-like him, no way. But, yeah, your heart would beat just a little faster when you saw him and, sure, when he’d touch you—God, was he affectionate—sometimes you’d get butterflies. He was also your ultimate confidant, the one you could complain to about your parents or rant to about your latest shit date. He was a safe place, a non-judgmental ear, someone you could always rely on. Again, confusing.

You worry the ruse he was suggesting would run the risk of crossing a metaphorical line, something you may not be able to come back from.

“Steve,” you say again, hoping to grab his attention, “Stevie, that wasn’t a yes.” His smile falls and you resist the urge to backtrack. “I was trying to ask what we’d be doing. Like... if I agree, what am I actually agreeing to?”

Just like that, he perks up again because you are considering it. That’s progress and he’s grateful; you were the only person he felt comfortable enough asking. Robin would just laugh at him, he could hear it now—like anyone would believe that, dingus, she’d say before bursting into giggles. Nancy was complicated, came along with too much baggage and too many hurt feelings. But you? With your kind eyes and warm demeanor, he felt like he could go to you for anything.

“It’ll be an easy night, I promise,” Steve assures you, desperate for you to believe him. “I’ll make up some excuse so we can just meet my parents there. We won’t even have to deal with them that long. Really. I’d just need you to tolerate them for dinner and, uh, you know... act like you like me.” He throws it out there like it’s nothing, like the thought of that doesn’t make him feel some type of way. “You can wear a pretty dress and get a nice meal out of it. And, I swear, I’ll owe you big time.”

You’re quiet, pretending to consider the proposition—as if you could ever say no to him. “Can we get ice cream after?”

With no warning, he’s reaching out for you again, pulling you into an embrace. “Whatever you want.” He means it too.

—

When Steve shows up at your door a week later, you can barely contain your relief when you see officially that you two match. Well enough anyway. Getting outfit details out of the man had been akin to getting teeth pulled—long and painful.

“What’re you wearing?” You’d asked one night, phone cradled between your ear and shoulder, cord fully extended as you dug through your closet.

“Uh... jeans and a t-shirt?” His answer had come out like a question.

“What?” You’d laughed. “Not right now, Steve. I meant for the dinner.”

“Oh!” You couldn’t see it, but he slapped his forehead, face flushed. “Right, yeah. Duh. It’s supposed to be fancy so like... a suit and tie.”

“Color?”

“Black.”

“Black,” you’d repeated.

“Is that bad?” Steve’s voice betrayed him, he sounded panicked.

“No, no!” You were quick to reassure him. “That’s classic. What color shirt?”

“Blue.”

You paused, waiting for further details that don’t come. “What kind of blue?”

Steve scoffed. “What do you mean what kind of blue? Blue is blue.” 

“It’s really not,” you pointed out, arms crossing. “Is it dark or light?”

“Why does this even matter?” He didn’t mean to be short with you. Really, he didn’t. But anything involving his dad was enough to set him on edge. An already short fuse combined with genuine confusion didn’t make for the moment peasant conversation.

“So we can match. We’re supposed to look like a couple, right?” You chose to ignore his tone for the sake of keeping the peace.

Like a couple. “Oh,” he breathed. “Right, sorry. It’s dark.”

You’re about to ask if he meant more midnight blue or something a tad lighter but you stop yourself. No point, you could make that work. 

And you did. The little number you’d picked out was navy, slinky, and fell to mid-thigh. With enough skin exposed to keep it interesting but just conservative enough to satisfy the stuffy businessmen you’d surely encounter. 

“Hey,” you greet him, leaning against the door frame. You try to stop yourself but your eyes travel, taking in the perfectly coiffed hair, the broad shoulders, and the snug slacks. He cleaned up well.  

The one imperfection—if you could even consider it that—is the loose tie hanging around his neck. He catches your gaze and lets out a dejected sigh. “Couldn’t get the damn thing tied and didn’t wanna ask my dad. Do you think...?” He trails off, sheepish.

You soften at the admission, happy to help with whatever he needed. “Of course,” you answer, stepping aside. “Come in. I gotta grab my purse anyway.”

He steps cautiously inside, taking the opportunity while you were busy to fully appreciate your attire. “I shoulda said it as soon you opened the door but you look incredible.” You were always beautiful, that was something he realized ages ago, but to see you dolled up for him was something new, something he thought he could get used to. “I’m gonna have the prettiest fake date there.”

You can’t help it, you preen at his praise. You were doing this for him, after all. You wanted him to be pleased, to think you looked nice. With your back to him, you’re able to hide just how much an effect those words have on you as you grab your back from an end table and slip the strap up your bare shoulder.

“Alright,” you say as you approach him, coming to a stop right in front of him, the toe of your heels just barely touching his Oxfords. 

Almost hesitantly you reach out, hands taking hold of each end of the tie. It’s pretty, you decide. Navy with light blue and white flowers. You’re rusty but still, with minimal fumbling, you’re able to get a passable Windsor done. Carefully you tighten the knot, knuckles grazing his Adam's apple before your hands lower, smoothing the fabric down his chest to his sternum.

You hope he can’t tell your hands are shaking, he hopes you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating. 

Satisfied, you take a step back, eyeing your work. “Looks pretty good to me.”

He nods in agreement. “S’perfect, sweetheart. Thank you.” A silence falls over you for a moment, it’s comfortable and nice, but Steve has to break it. “Ready to go?”

When you give the affirmative, he offers you his arm. You take it and soon he’s leading you out of your house to his BMW, opening the passenger side and getting you safely in the car before rushing around the other side, joining you. 

—

When you pull up outside the banquet hall, Steve is quiet. Tentatively you glance over at him. Both hands are gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are white, his shoulders tense, jaw clenched. You want to ask if he’s okay but before you can, he’s looking back at you, smiling although it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Let’s do this.” He doesn’t sound excited.

Steve is out of the car and making his way to your door before you even have your seatbelt undone. You thank him when he opens it, pulling the hem of your dress from where it’d ridden up on your thighs. His eyes follow your movements.

“Before we go in there, I just want you to know we can leave anytime, okay?” You’re doing him a favor, a major one, and he doesn’t want you uncomfortable, doesn’t want you in a bad situation just for his benefit.

You almost laugh, figuring that he’s being just a little dramatic but you refrain. “It’s just dinner, Steve. I promise I’ll be okay.”

He wants to point out you’ve never actually met either of his parents, making you woefully unprepared for what the night would entail. He wants to warn you, to protect you, but then you’re taking his hand in yours and any concern is forgotten.

—

That’s how you walked into the event: fingers interlaced, whispering to each other and Steve despised himself for how much he was enjoying it. You were his friend—strictly platonic. It should have felt weird or uncomfortable, but it didn’t. On the contrary, it felt nice, natural and he was hoping his parents wouldn’t see him, that he could keep the night just the two of you.

Those hopes are quickly dashed when his father, from across the fucking room, bellows out his name, waving. Steve can tell right then and there he’d been drinking and all he wants to do is turn you around and take you home but instead, he leads you right into the lion’s den. 

He regrets it but it’s too late. “Mom, dad, this is...”

He doesn’t even get the chance to introduce you. His mother is squealing your name—he’s surprised she even remembers it—and is wrapping you in an embrace. It’s stiff, incredibly insincere and you don’t like it, but you smile anyway.

When she dropped her arms, you step back so you’re pressed tightly against Steve, his hand finding the small of your back. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh,” his father breathes, “it’s nice to meet you too. We didn’t even think you existed, isn’t that right, honey?”

Wide-eyed, Mrs. Harrington almost looks apologetic. “We’ve just never seen you around the house.”

Steve grits his teeth, the irony in the comment not going unnoticed. They were never home enough to know what he had going on. 

“More like we didn’t think a girlfriend could fit his ice cream shop budget.” He says it like it’s supposed to be funny. No one laughs.

“I don’t work at Scoops anymore, dad.” Steve sounds contrite when he reminds his father, but the older man simply waves him off.

You tug on Steve’s suit jacket, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Well, you have nothing to worry about, I’ve never been treated better. You really raised a perfect gentleman, you should be proud.” And they should. They ended up with an incredible son even if they did little to form him into the man he was now.

“I guess he was bound to inherit something from me.” Yeah, right. “So, what do you do? Steve said something about college?”

“Well, I bartend part-time at The Hideout.” You say it like either of the elder Harringtons would have heard of the shithole but they’re definitely not your usual clientele. “It’s a little bar on the other side of town. But yeah, I’m in school right now. I’m majoring in Early Childhood Education at Purdue.” 

He whistles like he’s impressed. “A teacher, huh? An actual career.” He’s talking to you but he’s looking at Steve,

Your eyes narrow and you open your mouth, desperate to put him in his place, but Steve speaks before you get the chance. “Yup,” he agrees, “she’s brilliant. All future little gremlins are very lucky.”

You’re tense, frustrated by Steve’s father and the way he jumps at any opportunity to cut Steve down, but you allow yourself to be temporarily distracted. You could tell he meant what he was saying and it meant a lot to you.

“Oh, babe,” you turned to look at Steve, practically beaming at him. You catch the way he flushes at the pet name—a bold move for you, something you normally didn’t use but, hey, you were trying to sell it. “Thank you.” You turn your gaze back to his parents. “He’s so supportive.”

“He should be,” Mr. Harrington pipes up. “If he’s not gonna have a real job—”

Okay, that was enough.

“Hey—”

“Sweetheart,” Steve interjects, already knowing what is coming, “is your head feeling any better?”

You blink, totally caught off guard. What the hell was he talking about?

“Oh?” says Mrs. Harrington. “Are you not feeling well?”

“She gets these awful migraines,” Steve answers for you, just blatantly lying now. “Had one all day today.” He tsks as his hand moves from your back to your temple, fingers massaging soothing circles into the flesh. “I tried to get her to stay home but she was so excited to meet you guys. Nothing could have kept her away.”

“That’s so nice.” Her tone doesn’t suggest she actually thinks of it as nice, but she still presses a hand to her chest, feigning sincerity. “We couldn’t wait to meet you either, not after the way Steve talked about you.” The boy in question bristles at the comment, silently begging his mother not to reveal what he had actually said. “But if you’re unwell, you should really get some rest.”

“You are so right, mom,” Steve agrees readily, arm moving to wrap around your shoulder. “I know you’re disappointed, baby, but we should go.”

“Oh,” you say, back of your hand rising to rest against your forehead, “I guess you’re right.” You’re eager to go now, but do your best to sound reluctant, sad. “I’m so sorry we can’t stay for dinner.”

The goodbyes are brief and hurried, you have to resist the urge to run out the door, only fully relaxing once you and Steve are safely outside. “God, Steve,” you sigh, shaking your head. “They’re really awful.”

He can’t help it, he laughs. “I really should have warned you, huh?”

“Your father, I just...” You trail off, unable to even put it into words.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You were great in there, by the way.” He would be forever in your debt, you saved him from monumental embarrassment. “It’s still kinda early, I think I can get us in at Enzo’s. You know, if you want.”

Your nose scrunches up and you shake your head. “Let’s just go get ice cream.”

“No way,” he protests. “You need actual food.” A lecture you’d received from Steve more times than you could count. He was always making sure you ate, that you were hydrated, that you slept well.

It was nice to be looked after but that was not what you were after now.

“You said anything I want...”

How could he argue with his own words?

“I guess I did, huh? Let’s get you that ice cream then, pretty girl. You definitely earned it.”

Maybe tomorrow after the soft touches, the pet names and the kind words things would be awkward. Maybe your concerns were valid and a line had actually been crossed, maybe things would be different. But that was a problem for another day.

For now, you were keen to sit with your friend in your fancy clothes, hip-to-hip enjoying two scoops of mint chocolate chip.

—

[poppy-metal]

its so cliché but it works..... fake dating w patrick.... after tashi breaks up with him, to make her jealous - and for you - your friends keep teasing you for never getting out there - how much out there is out there than dating patrick zweig? perfectó. maybe you meet at a party - and you kinda just fall into conversation, next thing you know he's talking about tashi, about how she's here and he was never the pathetic type but he wants nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die and you find yourself pulling him into a kiss before you can think better of it. you're a bit tipsy, and patrick is fucking hot - and your friends are juuuuust over there, maybe tashi is too. it's for show - but his tongue licks behind your teeth and you end up with your hands in his hair and your back pressed against the kichen island. when you pull away patrick looks down at you with dazed green eyes, his hands flex against your ass. and you smile up at him. lean up so your lips are at his ear, you feel him shiver at the sensation as he leans in to it. - "i think your ex just left the party."

and your friends are gawking at the bold display you'd just made. you feel pride swell in your chest.

and when patrick contacts you a week later - how he got your number, that's his business, not yours - he has a whole speech prepared. a whole 'hear me out -' at the ready, but you're already on board. of course you'll need rules and boundaries - but pretending to be grossly in love for awhile could benefit you both. tashi will want him back, because she doesn't like to lose. and your friends will get off your back about dating. a win win! no strings attached after. none! 😝

[idyllcy]

for all time/lovebrush chronicles boys as cliché tropes

word count: 645

summary: lovebrush boys as cliche tropes !

Ai Yin / Ayn - Competitors - Whaaat? Why not Clarence ?? HEAR ME OUT.

You're a musician. You're like the musician ever— probably a pianist just to piss him off. The two of you always tie first for piano competitions. There's no argument. If he's there, you're there. If he's first, you're first. The two of you are both prodigy pianists and there's no room for argument. Thus arises the issue. Your name is always followed by his— or his name is always followed by yours. You guys hate it. Or so you say. Because when you're missing from a competition for the first time in years, he's very much confused as to where you are, and it almost feels empty without you. Wha— what did he just say? That was definitely not him.

Lu Chen / Alkaid - Deskmates - oh that's so cliché (I know)

The two of you are paired up as deskmates for the year. It's a little awkward at first until you get used to him, and then it just breaks into everyone else eating dog food (third-wheeling). He brings you breakfast because you skip eating it, and you fix his tie when it's crooked... he always picks calls for you when he needs an extra hand, you always drop everything you have to help him... you two are practically dating. Which raises the question. are you dating? Or is Alkaid just taking care of you because he thinks you're forgetful and clumsy? The love letter slipped into your desk seems to say otherwise, though.

Luo Xia / Lars - Arranged Marriage - I didn't think this could get more cliché

You get arranged into a marriage with him for one reason— your family's going bankrupt, so they have to sell their only child to the Luos because like. Idk that's a cliché, it's a trope, IT'S HAPPENING TO YOU. PERIOD. At first you're like terrified and he's super scary and cold and lowkey kind of rude, but he still kind of cares since when you first move in, he has the servants move all of your stuff, and yu almost feel like you're home. He's just not very vocal about liking you though; so when your family's business breaks out of bankruptcy and you're told you can divorce him if you want, and then he's like "no please don't take my spouse from me ☹️" and then next thing you know you're being pampered to the moon and back. (You end up staying with him.)

Si Lan / Clarence - Love at First Sight - HEAR ME OUT ON THIS.

You're an unassuming new student at school, completely unbothered. You do not know he's the student council president. You're just at the nurse's office because your mom's the nurse or smth. Then, he's admitted into the office because he overworked himself on accident, and you're like "errrr I'll help. sure" And what does he see upon first waking up? You. The sun behind your head gives you a halo, and you look angelic. He thinks he's hallucinating. "God, did I die?" "Erm... not quite!" Then you nurse him back to health, and he's having a moment (he can't forget you) but dw you eventually end up together 👍

Ye Xuan / Cael - Brother's Best Friend - you did not (oh yes I did)

Cael, your brother's calm best friend who seems to have no interest in dating anyone at all. Cael, your brother's best friend who's been there for you as long as you can remember. Cael, your brother's best friend who helps you through college hell, voice calm and soothing as you cry about the homework. Cael, your brother's best friend who never lets himself slip when you're around (regardless of how bad he actually likes you) Cael, your brother's best friend who tries his best to resist you when you're on top of him, breath heavy with alcohol and almost drunk. Cael, your brother's best friend who doesn't fight it when you pull him in for a kiss at the door when he comes to check up on you the next day. and Cael, who can't say no to you when you spill out your feelings for him on paper, spilling out his own when you meet up with him.

[leviscolwill]

something in the way you put your hands on my waist ★

pairing: bsf!levi colwill x reader

req: congrats to 600 followers! 🩷 may i request number 8 with levi colwill? ("arms wrapped around your lovers neck")

note: what can i tell, i love a good cliché trope. thank u for requesting anon 🫶🏻

now playing killer by fka twigs...

of course being levi's fake date for his cousin's wedding was a terrible idea. so, of course, you accepted.

if there was any person you would follow blindly, even if they had the worst idea, that would be your best friend.

it was just a small favor after all, saving him from a stupid bet he did with his cousin back when he got engaged; if he didn't have a girlfriend to bring as his plus-one to his cousin's wedding, levi would have to give away his insta password for a whole day.

he had a couple girlfriends during that year between the engagement and the wedding, but nothing too serious, surely not anyone he could take to a family wedding. and you couldn't say no when he said there was no one he'd rather go with.

your thoughts were interrupted by levi's hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck when the beat of the song got slower, the first notes to just the two of us played out and brought a smile on both your faces.

he had been dancing with you all night, very aware of how he was pretty much the only person you knew at the wedding, despite introducing you to every family member and friends, putting extra emphasis on the fact you were his girlfriend, for the night at least.

but something about this song, about the way his hands were the perfect fit for your waist. made all the laughs and small talks all around you subside, and you could somehow, in all the noise, only focus on the man standing dangerously close to you.

your giggles were levi's favourite sound, and he felt like he could die a happy man like this, making you twirl, your laugh floating in the air before your fingers found their place back to his neck, rubbing circles softly.

you knew what was going to happen next, something you found yourself daydreaming of quite often. his eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips while yours bore in his, unrelenting, silently daring him to make a move.

one of his hands left your waist to let his fingers brush against your lips ever so softly, as if he was scared to break you.

ever the pessimist one, choosing to put levi in charge of the positive side of your duo instead, you always complained about the obvious realism in your romance books whenever the main character mentioned something about feeling like you were 'the only people on earth'.

but that's how it felt, perpetual nothingness in your mind if it wasn't for levi's touch.

"can i?" his voice brought you back a bit closer to reality, although everything about it still felt like a dream.

you didn't trust yourself to speak right now, instead opting for a small nod, big enough for levi to get the green light.

his fingers tilted your face up, but he still had to bend a bit to be at the perfect distance to finally kiss you, he made you wait a couple more seconds though, scanning your face, to count every single freckle, every beauty mark, every little thing that made you, you.

and he then leaned in, connecting your lips. standing on your tippy toes desperately chasing more. your fingers slightly scratching the skin at the back of his neck, if you let go of him your knees would probably give up on you, so this only gave you more of a reason to hold on to him for dear life.

everything was better than in any of your dreams, or in any of levi's dreams for that matter. it was a kiss that left you breathless, literally. you had to push levi's chest to catch your breath seeing as he wouldn't stop anytime soon.

the small trace of common sense remaining urged you to check if anyone in attendance had an horrified look on their face at the unexpected pda, but everyone was just enjoying the wedding. the world around you didn't change one bit, but you knew this action changed the course of your relationship with your best friend.

when you looked up at him, his eyes were already on yours. you couldn't help the laugh at the smudged lipstick on levi's lips, quickly wiping it away with your thumb.

your little moment was interrupted by levi's cousin playfully slapping his back, “not gonna lie, i thought you were gonna pull a trick to get out of the bet, but it's nice meeting your girlfriend still."

[devildom-moss]

November poll story - pt. 2

Denial - Mephistopheles

(Mephistopheles x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (sub!Mephistopheles / dom!MC) (NSFW tags: denial; edging; ruined orgasm; no penetration; no orgasm; handjob; public why have I developed such an intense exhibitionist/risk of getting caught headcanon for him?; partially clothed Mephi, fully clothed reader; "good boy" for Mephisto he's such a good boy and I'll die on that hill)

(other tags: slight jealousy, slight angst, insecurity)

Word Count: +2,900

“Can I borrow you in the newspaper room, MC?” Mephisto nudged his way into your conversation with Satan about that mystery novel he had lent you last month.

“Not right now,” you dismissed him.

“I only need a few minutes of your time,” Mephisto insisted.

“But –”

“Go ahead,” Satan sighed, assuming you were declining on his behalf. “We can continue this later.”

“Excellent.” Mephisto placed a firm hand on your back and quickly pushed you towards the newspaper room as if he had been waiting for Satan’s approval to steal you away. Of course, that was because Mephisto assumed you wanted to go with him – and usually you did.

The second Mephisto stepped foot into the empty newspaper room, he shut the door and pushed your back against it. His lips pressed to yours in hungry, ravenous kisses. Those warm, gloved hands took hold of you by the back of your neck as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. A low growl left him, vibrating through you. The need was tangible. You could taste how much he craved you.

Yet, you pushed the starved demon back. Mephisto stared at you, breath ragged and eyes bewildered. “Again?”

You could hardly keep track of the number of times you had given Mephisto the slip over the last few weeks. If you had to take a guess, perhaps eight. Every time Mephisto tried to pull you into an empty classroom or the newspaper room when he knew no one would be there, you either refused to go with him or you pushed him away as quickly as he had gotten his hands and lips on you. It had grown frustrating. Just last month, you had five different secret rendezvouses throughout the campus – with no complaints, Mephisto would add. Not all of them ending in sex, but it was at least enough to satisfy his growing desire for you. Now, you scarcely let him kiss you before you provided a half-baked excuse as to why you needed to leave.

“I need to meet Solomon for –” you started with another excuse, trying to maneuver out of his grasp.

“No.” Mephisto boxed you in against the door, his arms planted firmly on either side of your body.

“Isn’t this a bit cliché: trapping me against the door?” You rolled your eyes at him.

“What’s up with you?” Mephisto huffed and inched closer to your face, searching your eyes for anything that would explain your sudden withdrawal.

~

The answer he was searching for was that this was, for the most part, a punishment of his own making. Three weeks ago, you overheard a conversation between Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Mephisto. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you had a report to drop off, and they were all chatting in the student council room when you heard your name leave Diavolo’s mouth.

“Are you friends with MC already, Mephistopheles?” Diavolo asked.

“I beg your pardon, My Lord?” Mephisto sounded like he had been caught off guard. You knew you shouldn’t have been listening from the hallway, but you were equal parts anxious, curious, and hoping not to embarrass anyone by showing up right as they were talking about you.

“You seem to have taken a liking to them, am I wrong?”

“I have to agree, Young Master,” Barbatos concurred. “I’ve spotted you two together on multiple occasions, Mephistopheles. Certainly, you must be on friendly terms by now.”

“Is that so?” Diavolo mused. “Have you noticed anything, Lucifer?”

“MC has not mentioned Mephisto once in my presence, although I have seen them together. Perhaps it’s one-sided, then.”

“I have absolutely no interest in that human!” Mephisto interjected – loud and adamant.

Your heart sank when those words left his mouth. Although you couldn’t fault him for trying to keep the details of your relationship a secret, there was something harsh and cruel about his denial. It was so extreme. He wouldn’t even say your name. He had reduced you down to “that human.”

“Oh?” Diavolo questioned him. “That’s a shame. I was hoping you would get along.”

“We aren’t enemies, My Lord!” Mephisto tried to course-correct. “We just aren’t that friendly, is all.”

You took a deep breath before entering the council room.

“Ah, MC! What brings you in?” Diavolo greeted you. At that, Mephisto turned to stare, his face flushed with shame and guilt.

~

“Are you suddenly worried about doing this in public? I’ve been careful to lock the doors. Or,” Mephisto paused self-consciously, “do you not want me anymore? Is that why you won’t touch me?”

“Is that really what you think?” You sighed and crossed your arms. You might as well be honest. “How would you react if someone asked how I felt about you, and I told them I had no interest in ‘that demon?’ That wouldn’t hurt you?”

Mephisto’s eyes widened. He had completely forgotten about that incident – after a few days of embarrassment that kept him up at night, of course. He was mortified by your sudden arrival at the time, as if your name alone could summon you, but he never imagined you had heard what he said – although seeing you had filled him with instant regret. Unfortunately, when that guilt and regret came rushing back, Mephisto became defensive. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Lucifer. That human you’re all so fond of, well, I like them too now. Hope you enjoy more competition for their affection.’”

“That sounds exactly like something you would say.”

“And when has competing with Lucifer ever worked out for me, hm?” Mephisto ran his hand through his hair. “So, what, I tell him I want you, so he sinks his fucking claws in and takes you away from me? He hates to lose.”

“Fuck you.” His explanation irritated you. You understood that he was insecure, especially when Lucifer was involved, but Mephisto owed you more trust than that. By now, you thought you had proved that your feelings were not as fickle as he assumed them to be.

“Excuse me?” Mephisto furrowed his brows, surprised at your annoyance.

“Fuck. You,” you repeated.

Mephisto scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to get you to do for weeks.”

“Then get undressed.” You looked him up and down. “Now.”

“Really?” Enthusiasm bubbled up to the surface, and a grin bloomed on Mephisto’s face.

Mephisto yanked his jacket off and threw it over a nearby desk. His gloves, tie, and shirt quickly followed. Even your irritation with him couldn’t diminish the excitement you felt when watching him strip. Your resolution to avoid him had left you frustrated and wanting, too. Still, your lust didn’t nullify your anger, either.

When Mephisto put his hand on the side of your neck and tried to pull you in for a kiss, you pushed back on his bare chest to stop him. He was about to question your continued rejection of his advances when you leaned in to bite his neck. A soft whimper escaped him. With one hand still on your neck, Mephisto used the other to try to remove your jacket. His already clumsy efforts came to a halt when you traced over the newly-formed mark with your tongue and squeezed his upper thigh in your hand, massaging small circles into his leg with your thumb. Mephisto let out a soft, pleased moan and tightened his grip on your clothes.

You chuckled, tickling his neck with your breath. Your hand slid further up until you were palming him through his pants. Mephisto gasped and let go of your neck only to bury his face into your shoulder.

“Mm, fuck. I forgot how good your touch feels,” Mephisto whispered shakily against your skin. His stomach flexed as pleasure rose in him.

You kissed from his neck, along his collarbone, and down his chest, leaving Mephisto’s flushed face exposed to the empty room. The hand that clung to your shirt let go to hold the back of your head as you peppered his chest with kisses and soft licks. When you finally focused your attention on one of his nipples, biting it gently before sucking and swirling your tongue around it, the combined pleasure and anticipation left Mephisto whining. His free hand shot up over his mouth to muffle the sound.

Mephisto had always made a decent attempt to keep the noise down when you fooled around in public, despite being so noisy in bed. He enjoyed the risk, but he was usually so careful. You gave him one more soft lick before you pulled back slightly to look up at him. The back of his hand was pressed firmly against his lips, and his eyes were half lidded – with his long lashes further obscuring his eyes as he stared at you in a lust-filled daze. A deep blush stained his cheeks and ears.

“Are you more sensitive than usual?” you teased, feeling a twitch beneath your palm.

“It’s been a while. I’m pent up.” Mephisto admitted sheepishly. He pulled his hand away from his face, revealing a slick spot of drool on his skin.

Straightening your back, you leaned close to whisper in his ear: “good.”

You rubbed over his bulge a few more times before finally undoing his pants, dropping them around his thighs, and taking his cock out. He was so hard and had already started leaking precum into his underwear. Mephisto shivered and gasped when you used his precum to lube up your hand and tease his tip. Within a few strokes, Mephisto had made enough of a mess that you could forgo alternate forms of lube.

Watching his face twist in pleasure while he bit his lip, trying to hold his moans back, you pumped Mephisto’s cock and coated his entire length with his own slick fluids. His breath grew shallow, and the moans began to escape in short, muffled whines like the initial cracks in a dam. Mephisto’s legs trembled under him, threatening to give out. You used your free hand to support his back, but it wasn’t quite enough.

“Sit on the desk behind you,” you demanded, letting go of his dick to place your hand firmly above his pelvis and push him back towards the edge of the desk.

“But it’s not mine,” he protested weakly. When had that ever stopped him before? Although, now that you thought about it, whenever you fucked in the newspaper room, it was usually up against a wall when his body could handle it, or at his own desk. It was almost cute that he respected other members of the newspaper club enough to try not to make a mess on their desks.

“Do it anyway,” you whispered in his ear. “Or would you rather hold onto your cane instead of me?”

You could have supported him more, or dragged him over to his desk, but you wanted to push him – test his desperation. You removed your hand from his back just long enough to carefully sweep any papers and obstructions to the side so Mephisto could sit comfortably. He shook his head and sat up on the desk with a soft thud.

“Good boy,” you cooed and continued to stroke him. Mephisto moaned and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. He unraveled just as quickly as before. Restrained whimpers echoed in your ear.

“I’m so close,” he panted. You slid your hand off him, earning an immediate whine. “W-wait. Why did you stop?”

“Why did you assume Lucifer could just take me away from you?” you questioned him. Your hand slid along his length, in slow, teasing movements. Mephisto throbbed at your touch.

“I, ah –!” You cut him off by sinking your teeth into his neck, causing him to writhe and arch his back. His yelp gave way to a guttural growl. “Fuck.”

“Well?” You licked over the bite mark.

“He’s just – he does that.”

“Mephisto,” you purred into his ear and gently scratched your nails down his chest. “Don’t I have any say in what happens?”

Once again, you started to tease Mephisto, stroking him at an achingly slow pace. Mephisto begged, “Faster. . . please?”

“Answer me.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Mephisto rolled his head back and groaned with no regard for anyone who could be walking nearby.

“Didn’t mean what?” You milked him for a proper answer.

“That your feelings don’t matter,” he admitted. You rewarded his acknowledgement by rubbing him faster. “Mm, yes. Please. Like that, don’t stop.”

“Then why’d you say it?” You slowed your pace down again, earning a whimper. Mephisto bucked his hips up to meet your hand, desperate for more.

“I –” he whined, still humping against your hand. “I’m afraid.”

The confession took you by surprise. When you pulled away, you noticed frustrated tears running down Mephisto’s cheek. His panting was labored and shaky. He was distraught. Using both of your hands, you firmly pressed his thighs into the desk.

“Of what?” you asked, watching the residual pleasure on his face give way to shame.

“I can’t. . .”

“Tell me.” You let go of one of his thighs to slowly rub his tip again. A sharp inhale preceded another muffled moan. He wasn’t trying to hold back his moan this time, though; Mephisto was trying to keep the answer bottled up in his chest. The glint of concern in your eyes and the continued stimulation was forcing him open.

“I don’t know why you want me. I don’t understand you. If I just – ahh, I’m gonna –” Mephisto interrupted his confession to warn you, lolling his head back and moaning. You stopped touching him again. Although he had expected it, Mephisto still groaned at yet another ruined orgasm.

“Finish what you were saying first.”

“If I – if I convince myself that it’s out of your control, then I won’t feel so bad when you decide to leave me – or stop having sex with me or don’t want to be around me anymore.”

You felt bad for him – not because it was stupid or pathetic to be worried about, but because it made sense. It was one thing to lose your partner because some bastard had the power and charm to steal people away. It was decidedly worse to know they left you because they just didn’t want you enough anymore. For the first time in weeks, you brought your lips to Mephisto’s and kissed him deeply until he was breathless. All the while, you thumbed his tip, teasing him just enough to keep him at the edge. Suddenly, you pulled away from him.

“Finish yourself off.” You kissed his cheek. “Or don’t.”

“Why?” Mephisto protested. “I told you the truth.”

“You told me that you think I’ll stop wanting you. So let me tell you something, too.” You leaned in, nearly pressing your lips to the side of his neck. “I want you so much. I can barely contain myself. I want you right now. I’ll want you tomorrow. I’ll want you for the foreseeable future. Can you trust in that much for now?”

“If you want me, then why won’t you finish me off?” It was humiliating for Mephisto, being so afraid to lose you, desperate, and hard all at once.

“I can want you without touching you. Actually, I changed my mind.” You walked over to Mephisto’s desk and pulled out the pack of wet wipes that you knew he kept in his bottom drawer. You wiped your hands off – still sticky with precum – and grabbed a few more wipes for Mephisto before returning to his side and handing them to him. “Don’t touch yourself. Stay like that – all hard and needy and desperate – for the rest of the day. I’ll walk you home later.”

A smile snuck up on Mephisto’s face, understanding your proposition. He agreed, “Okay, I’ll wait. But could you stay with me while I calm down?”

Confused, you studied his face. He was flustered and his eyes were damp with tears. Even his hair was a mess. “Why? I’m not going to change my mind and help you finish.”

“I know,” Mephisto chuckled. “I just want you to stay by my side for a little while. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” You kissed his cheek, wiping away the salt residue from his tears, leaving an interrupted fossil of a stream. You took one of the spare wipes from his hand and brushed it over his cheek. “And Mephisto? I’m really sorry that I made you think I didn’t want you. I avoided you because I was upset, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it – I didn’t know how the conversation would go, and I was worried it would only hurt. I should have said something, even if it was just that I was hurt and not ready to talk to you. I’ll try to do better next time. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine. You know, you play therapist too much for those brothers.” Mephisto laughed and nuzzled into your neck. He made no moves to get cleaned up and dressed yet, but he found the energy to tease you. “Please tell me orgasm denial and edging aren’t a part of your regular conflict resolution process.”

“You’re so cute,” you teased back, only exacerbating his blush and making his cock twitch. Dammit. He was so tempting, and he wasn’t even trying. You sighed, recommitting to wait until you got him home. With a gentle touch, you fixed his hair for him.

“Thank you, MC.” Mephisto grinned shyly. He still hadn’t calmed down completely, though.

As if you intended to test your resolve, you gave him another sweet, tender kiss. “You can thank me later.”

(November poll story pt. 1 - Lucifer version)

A/N: To be honest, I don't really know how I feel about this one. Hmm, but at least I can get back to requests after this, woo~ Don't forget that December's post poll is up and active for the first week of the month. While I do have opinions and preference, whatever happens is up to y'all. I never vote or look at the results until it's over, so I just wait around, hoping to be pleasantly surprised. As I've mentioned, this blog turns one later this month, so I'll do a post about that in a few days, so please look forward to it.

[yawujin]

Can I request the dr v3 boys w/ their s/o being the ultimate Florist, pretty please? 💐

here you go potato!!!

request | v3 boys x the ultimate florist

type | light hearted , fluff , established relationship, non killing game , gender neutral reader

shuichi saihara ♡

supports your small flower shop by buying bouquets for the vase in his office regularly

perfume with floral notes will always remind him of you

takes you on dates to flower gardens

you bought him a beautiful carnelian brooch he usually wears on his blazer

yes i hc that shuichi loves to wear pins and brochs how could you tell?

rantaro amami ♡

lots of picnic dates settled in the middle of a vast field with different types of flowers scattered everywhere

or better yet, on top of a hill during spring, when all the cherry blossoms bloom

gives you a book of pressed exotic flowers he found on his travels

you love to make him flower crowns and he loves to wear them

K1B0/kiibo ♡

memorizes each and every one of your fav type of flower and arranges them into a bouquet

enjoys folding origami flowers whenever he's bored bc they remind him of you

compliments you on your ultimate quite often

thinks you look the happiest whilst tending to the various plants and flowers in your garden

korekiyo shinguji ♡

FLOWER BASED COMPLIMENTS/COMMENTS ALL DAY EVERYDAY

like

if you get flustered around him

he'll say "your cheeks are as red as a rose, how cute~"

bye ik it's cliché but it's so good

he's also a fan of the symbolism in flowers so you two tend to talk about that

kaito momota ♡

would call you some cute nickname like 'moonflower'

also goes into buy flowers from your shop to support you

he is v proud of you everytime you come home excited, saying how you made some really good sales

your anniversary gift was a messy, but cute, portrait of you and him holding hands wearing flower crowns.

"it isn't much but," kaito hands the portrait over to you, "i hope you like it anyway."

gonta gokuhara ♡

you asked him if it was possible to put a few smaller flowers into his bug enclosure

ofc he said yes

he likes taking you on dates where you're outside and surrounded by flowers

you'll be walking when he points out a few bees nestling into a flower to retrieve its nectar

you're both so happy and the outdoorsy date went so well

you like to sneakily put a flower in his long hair while he's sitting, looking over his notes

ryoma hoshi ♡

you two started dating because of that one time he picked some dandelions for you

"it was the only flower that was around...so"

you were absolutely charmed

you brought him bouquets all the time to celebrate him winning a tennis match

"all these flowers and nowhere to put them..." you exhale. you had brought home a bunch of leftover flowers from your shop but had overestimated the amount of vases you had.

"use this." he pointed at one of his many trophies. a joke, of course.

he bought you a few more vases and you thank him profusely

kokichi ouma ♡

"can you smoke flowers?" the question came out of the blue

kokichi w h a t

you explain to him that yes it's possible but why?

he laughs. "oh, no reason..."

you later found him trying to roll crushed flower petals into a joint

he hates how quickly flowers die and finds it a little bit of a hassle to take care of them so

he usually folds you various types of paper flowers and colors each one in with their respective color.

[howtofightwrite]

One of my characters is forced to kill one of their childhood friends to save a bunch of people and I'm wondering how quick (or painful) can you make their death with just a knife? Thanks for your input!

I'm not sure exactly how fast a bleedout from a severed femoral or carotid artery is. In the former, we're talking less than a minute, in the latter, death occurs within seconds. Being able to reliably open the artery you want does require a bit of anatomical knowledge, so getting the most value out of a knife isn't something that any character would automatically be able to do.

As for how much it hurts, I dunno. Neither one is particularly high on my bucket list, so I'm content on leaving that as a question mark.

From personal, subjective, experience, the condition of the blade has a bigger impact on how much it hurts. A clean, and sharp blade, fresh from the factory (or carefully sharpened and honed) will hurt less than a poorly maintained blade. In the latter case (or, with cat claws, as I was recently reminded), you can feel the foreign object catching and ripping your skin. It's an unpleasant sensation, and, far more painful than a clean blade.

In fact, my most painful laceration experience came from a hose attachment that came apart while I was using it, and ended up getting jabbed into my thumb. As a safety measure, if you find yourself in a situation like this, turn off the water beforetrying to repair the attachment.

In contrast, the scar on my right index finger was almost painless. It was a brand new knife, which I fumbled. (Specifically it's double bladed, and the handle is a little too short for my hand. I accidentally knicked my left hand on the base of the fore-blade, and instinctively, flicked it away, gashing my off-hand.) At the time, I didn't even feel the cut, and then saw what I thought was a small welt... before it started bleeding. There is some truth to the cliché about not feeling a cut when it occurs, but the blade needs to be in immaculate condition for this to occur.

How painful can you make it, intentionally? This is not going anywhere pleasant, but I'm not sure there's a limit. That's not sarcasm. There is a point where too much pain can cause someone to slip into shock and die, but, for someone with sufficient sadism, there isn't really a limit. The problem is that a knife in an experienced and knowledgeable hand can do horrific things to someone without killing them. If the point was to inflict pain and suffering, that could be drawn out for day. Probably weeks.

As for the scenario, I have reservations. I'm reading a lot into the way you phrased the setup, but there is something very artificial and, more than a little cliché, about the villain strong arming a protagonist into violating their morals. Particularly on ticking bomb scenarios.

In a lot of cases, neither side really gets anything of value out of the interaction. The villain gets a tiny bit of room to wag a finger and say, “we're not so different now,” but, really, they would have done that anyway. And the hero gets to have a chunk of their credibility chipped away, for no real benefit. In this case, I specifically mean their credibility with the audience.

The reason I say that is because this is a downright inhuman thing for someone to do. Kill someone who you presumably care about, or save the lives of five thousand randos. One of these things is an abstract concept, and the other is a person.

Now, the problem is, for you, both are abstract concepts. Your hero's childhood friend is not a real person to you. They are, at best, a simulacrum, but one you know is fake. Similarly, the mass casualty event is something you also know is fake. Even more so because you have already chosen the outcome. This means that, for you, this is a simple trolley problem. However, the evaluation would be radically different for your character. In situations like that, it is possible they'd elect to kill their friend on the basis of there being fewer casualties, but that kind of cold calculus is borderline monstrous.

This doesn't mean that you can't create a compelling scenario where a character ultimately needs to put down their friend. But, it is a deceptively difficult scenario to credibly engineer, and even then, can frequently result in massive plot holes. So, it can be done, but proceed carefully.

-Starke

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[nemotakeit]

It always mega bothers me too, when people theorize that Clancy or the Torchbearer will die. Blurryface/Nico is an avatar of Tyler's inner demons, so it would completely go against the message of TOP's songs, if he won in the end!

tw// depression & suicide

Yes exactly, I think people sometimes get lost in the epic spectacle of it all and forget that this story is at its core an allegory of battling your mental illness. Tyler and Josh have always been staunch advocates of promoting life over death and have clearly expressed their hatred toward the glorification of suicide. If this was any other story, one of them dying could just be a possible but tragic cliché but we're talking about fighting depression, anxiety, suicidal tendencies etc here. Deaths have already appeared TOO MUCH onscreen, look at all those desecrated bodies of the glorious gones. Ending it with one of the boys' characters' death on top of that would dangerously defeat the whole purpose of the hopeful message they're trying to convey - it's simply too bleak!!

Like I said in another post, I'm fine with the idea of Clancy's (or Torch's) sacrifice AS LONG AS he "comes back to life" and not just. die for shock value. But personally I think a more probable direction this story will take is Tyler/Clancy finally saving himself at the end unlike the other times Josh/Torchbearer saved him because this story is about "a balance between being saved by a friend, and saving yourself" as quoted from the band.

I highly doubt they're going to give the story a clear-cut closure happily ever after style, but they certainly won't kill off one of the protagonists for tragedy's sake either. “It’s not a problem to solve, it’s a tension to manage.” And they'll manage the tension well for the clique to find glimmers of hope in it. Not mourn for another neon gravestone.

so STOP SAYING THEY'RE GONNA DIE PEOPLE

[paper-crab]

To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before

summary: letters to your past crushes get out and its a whole mess, based on the movie/book, yadayada

warnings: swearing, cliché, very rushed

wc: 6914

ignore any grammar mistakes it’s too long for me to reread and if it doesn’t flow smoothly i’m so sorry i rushed it so bad

Writing letters was an emotional release; something healthy to pass the time, and look back on later.

That’s why you’d written a series of letters, spanning from 3rd grade to now- senior year. They were intimate letters, ones you wrote to get your mind off of a crush you’d gained, so when you’d looked for the box to add a new letter and couldn’t find it, you freaked out.

Luckily, younger you was only able to get her hands on two addresses.

Unfortunately, those addresses were the two worst ones you could have gotten. Everybody else had either moved, or come out. They were irrelevant.

Who had gotten the letters, however, were not irrelevant: your school's player, and your best friend's boyfriend. You were fully in panic mode now, how are you supposed to recover from that? You can only contemplate your options for so long before anxiety eats at you. Maybe if you skipped a week or so of school it would blow over.

“Yeah, not happening. Rise and shine.”

You groan. “Dad, you don’t understand. This could ruin my life, I might actually die.”

He doesn’t respond, leaving you to grovel and pick up the pieces of your pride.

In order to avoid your friend's boyfriend, you need to avoid her, which means you’re walking around school alone. You know you’ll need to have that awkward conversation, telling him ‘I liked you when you were just my childhood best friend- those feelings have passed’, but you also know that you are going to avoid it for as long as humanly possible. Asserting yourself was never really your strong suit.

You had grown up next door to her boyfriend, and fell out of touch with him in middle school. While he was blossoming as a social butterfly, you lurked in the background, like a moth drawn to his effervescent light. Like the sun, the light was too hot for you to stay in, and you stopped talking until mid junior year when your friend had reintroduced you.

The other letter, the heartthrob, had been a lot kinder in middle school. You’d heard some not-so-kind stories about him recently though, and they were the exact opposite of the kid, Matt, that you knew.

You hadn’t been particularly close or anything, only exchanging a few words in your 7th grade math class, but you were infatuated with him. When you were younger, he hardly talked, but lacrosse had brought him out of his shell; the shell you’d never managed to crack- or rather the cocoon you’d never emerged from.

Matt probably didn’t know your name, even though you’d boldly signed it in your letter, so you were confident he wouldn’t find you. It’d be just another day for him, hopefully.

Your friend's boyfriend, on the other hand, was constantly with you. He lived right next door to you, and you felt like it was impossible to avoid him. You’d try to get through the school day without an encounter, then lock yourself in your room to never be seen again.

The first couple periods you had? Had gone off without a hitch. Then you hit lunch, and even if you tried, you couldn’t run from your friend forever. She found you, her boyfriend trailing behind.

“I missed you this morning!” She tells you, reaching to give you a hug. You don’t do much but nervously laugh, pulling away from her. “Yeah, I came late.” You lied.

“Ugh I wish, I’m going to get lunch, you coming with?” She says, more to her boyfriend than you. He shakes his head, “I’m good.”

“Alright, be back in a minute!”

“Can we ta-”

You cut him off immediately, nervous laughter coming back. “I have a test to study for, so I’m going to the library, sorry. We’ll catch up later. He knows what you’re doing, but he doesn’t really want to talk about it himself.

After excusing yourself, you make a beeline for the library, seeking a moment of respite. The library turns out not to offer that much solace either, because you see Matt’s two brothers enter, meaning he can’t be far behind. When he rounds the corner, his eyes land on you, lighting up slightly. You see him excuse himself from his brothers, and you immediately stand and run out of there, muttering “Nope, no, no,” under your breath. The sound of you slamming the library door open definitely isn’t quiet.

You can’t help but begin to panic, packing up your things and abruptly running out of the school, through the parking lot, and jumping into your car. If studying wasn’t how you were going to escape the situation, avoiding lunch apparently was. It’s tempting, incredibly so, to skip the rest of your day, but you know you’d be in so much trouble. You can’t handle that right now.

You head back in and continue your day, just praying, wishing, dreaming that you won’t encounter the two people you don’t want to see most- but now you’re seeing them out of the corner of your eye in every passing period; and you can’t even confide in the one person you most want to.

The school day ending feels like your saving grace. You’re exhausted, mentally and physically, from running away from your friend and her boyfriend, and narrowly avoiding Matt didn’t help.

You walk out of the school, into the parking lot towards the direction of your car, ready to be done with the day.

In highschool, you’re never done.

Your friend's boyfriend is leaning against your car, looking around for you, arms crossed. You make a sharp left, in the direction of the lacrosse field and bleachers. You’re not really thinking about it when you do it, it’s just the closest shelter, other than walking back in the hellhole that is the school.

You make your way onto the bleachers mindlessly, trying not to think about the events of today. You set your backpack next to you, not realizing there’s an unexpected guest making his way up to the top of the bleachers where you sat.

“Hi.” You jump, startled by the sudden voice as he sits next to you. You recognize that voice, obviously, so you flinch before turning to him. “Y/n, right?”

You nod, not sure how to continue this. There’s a plethora of things he could say, and you’d rather not hear any of them. Matt taps his fingers on the bleachers, waiting for you to acknowledge that he’s said anything; when you realize you nod.

“Look,” he starts, and that’s never a good sign, “Your letter was really kind and whatever, but I just broke up with my girlfriend. I’m not really ready for anything serious, so if you’re looking for casual-”

“I wrote that in 7th grade.”

“Oh.” He says, scratching his head. “Why’d you send the letter then?” You look to your left, spotting your friend's boyfriend walking towards you, and you panic.

“Kiss me,”

“Okay.” He shrugs, grabbing you. His eyes are closed, but you don’t bother closing yours. You’re a bit busy glancing in the direction of your other victim, and when you watch his face fall as he turns back around, you finally close your eyes. “Not that I’m mad about it, but what just happened?”

“It’s really hard to explain, but you’re not the only one that got a letter. The other person is my best friends boyfriend,”

“Damn. That’s low of you, and I’m not special? My feelings are hurt.” He smiles a little bit, trying to ease your tense expression. “I wrote his before I ever wrote yours, and before they knew each other. I can’t talk to him, though, and if she ever finds out, it'll break her heart.”

“Okay, respect. I gotta get to practice, but I’ll find you tomorrow?”

You want to say no, but you don’t. He did just do you a big favor after all. “Yeah, see you then.”

-

He sticks to his words, finding you in the library the next day. His mouth twists into a grin when he sees you, and he shuffles over holding eye contact with you.

“Hey,” He says, slightly whispering. It might be lunch, but the librarian is still strict. She wants to preserve the quiet atmosphere of the room, in which you can only hear the sound of flipping pages and an occasional murmur. “Mind if I join?” He settles in next to you.

“Uhm.. listen,” You say, launching into a monologue, “about the whole letter thing, It’s, uh, not what it seems. Well it is, but it’s not. I wrote those letters a long time ago, and they don’t reflect my feelings now, and I never meant for them to get out, so, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into it, and I’m sorry you did, get dragged into it, that is.”

“If you didn’t mean for them to get out, why would you send them?” He questions, tilting his head.

“I didn’t send them.”

“Okay, uhm, who did?”

“I don’t know, but I cannot talk to my friend's boyfriend, like ever.”

He nods, a mixture of concern and confusion evident on his face, like he’s really mulling the situation over.

“So, someone sent those letters behind your back? That’s not cool, dude. Messed up, but I think we can help each other out here, take control of the situation.” A wicked grin takes over his face. If you squint hard enough you can imagine a lightbulb over his head, like he’s had an “aha!” moment. “I have an idea,”

“What do you mean, control?”

“Yeah, control. Think about it, we fake date. You need your friend’s boyfriend off your back, and I need my ex to get jealous and come back to me. Win win, and it gives us a chance to control the narrative.”

“Yeah, I mean… it could work, maybe?” You respond, uncertainty in your tone. “How would it even work?

“I don’t see how it couldn’t.”

“Okay, I guess, but I don’t see how it could be that simple.”

“Yeah, it could. Trust me, we play it smart, manipulate the situation, and we get what we want.”

“Okay, yeah. Let’s do it.”

“You sure about this?” Matt asks, searching your eyes for confirmation.

“Yeah, I mean, you said it best. I can’t talk to him about this, not for a long while, anyways.”

“Sick.”

“So, uhm, what next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, rules and stuff?”

“You want rules, you make ‘em’” He shrugs. You grab out a notebook, labeling the top ‘Rules’ in neat handwriting. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“No kissing,” you start writing, and Matt groans.

“If we’re not kissing, how do you expect anyone to believe we’re dating?” You squirm a little bit.

“Matt,” you say in a hushed tone. Heat rises to your cheeks. “I don’t really kiss people,”

“Wait,” he chuckles, trying to make a joke, “was I your first kiss?”

When you don’t answer, he gasps. It almost makes him feel bad, but not enough to apologize. “No kissing then,” he confirms, trying to steer the conversation forward. “What else?”

“No couple-y social media shit,”

“Agreed. We keep it low-key.” He nods. “What about spending time together? How often do we go on dates, and are we hanging out all the time?”

“I don’t know, maybe like, once a week? And I don’t wanna be around your friends all the time.”

“You don’t want to be around yours either,” he points out.

“Fair point. Once a week, I hang out with you?”

“Most days, yeah.”

“Also, no meeting the parents. That makes it too real.” You add.

“Off the table. Oh, I’m not calling you babe or any of that gross shit.” He says. You pale at the thought, literally gagging. “Please don’t, I think I’d throw up.”

“That it?” He laughs at you.

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

The bell rings. “I’ll walk you to class,”

Your face morphs into confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“To make it seem like we’re really dating..?”

“Oh. Yeah,”

He walks you to class, hugging you when he drops you off. “Meet by the bleachers after school?”

“Yeah,” You say, slightly dazed by his request.

When you walk out of your classroom, you let your mind wander back to his ask, ‘what could he possibly want’ playing through your head. You walk through the front doors, taking a sharp left towards the bleachers; just like yesterday.

You’re not waiting for very long when Matt sneaks up on you, whispering “Boo.” into your ear.

You jump, caught off guard, but that’s besides the point.

“Hey,” he says, putting his hands on your waist.

“What are you doing?”

“People are looking.” He shrugs a little. You’re eager for him to get to the point; the longer you’re away from your bed, the more cozy and inviting it sounds. He clears his throat. “I need your number,”

He’s careful to make it come out as a whisper so surrounding students don’t hear. To them, you’re already a couple.

“And your address, so I can pick you up tomorrow.”

“What?”

“As your boyfriend, I’ll be driving you to school, and home, and I need to pick you up for our date too.”

“Date tomorrow?”

“If you’re free, for the ‘spending time together’ bit,” he says, pulling his hands from your waist and doing air quotes with his fingers.

“I can drive myself,” You tell him, as he grabs his phone out and hands it to you sneakily. You proceed to put your number in, and your address, before handing it back to you.

“You can, but it’s more convincing if we come together.” He murmurs, absorbed in drafting you a message. After a moment, you hear the familiar ping of a notification.

“There,” he grins proudly, showing you the message. “Now it’s official.”

-

The morning sun casts a warm glow on you, making you feel cozy and relaxed, despite the nerves growing. The idea of Matt, and his brothers, coming to pick you up scares you a bit. You fiddle with the strap of your backpack as you wait on your front porch.

When you see a car pull up, you know that’s your cue to start walking down your driveway. Matt hops out, rushing to hug you and open the passenger door for you.

“Doesn’t Chris usually sit there?” You ask quietly, still smiling to keep up the charade. “Yeah, I made him move.” He whispers back before he walks to the driver's seat.

“Good morning,” Nick says, sounding completely done. Chris doesn’t even raise his head, giving you a small wave. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you guys.” You say softly, not wanting to disturb them. You think them going out of their way to pick you up this morning was disturbing enough.

The car ride was a mixture of awkward silence and small talk. Nick and Chris are both too tired to engage much, but Matt is trying his hardest to keep them involved.

You pull up to the school gates after a short while, Matt parks the car. You get out and he walks over to you, joining your hands while you walk in. He gives you a reassuring smile as you walk in, “Don’t worry, they’re not always like this in the morning. I promise it’s not personal.”

You nod, trying your best to offer a smile that comes out faint. “Yeah, I won’t take it personally. Thanks again for the ride, Matt.”

“Of course,”

The second you get into the school, Nick and Chris part ways with you two. You’re still holding hands, you realize, when the murmurs and glances direct themselves towards you. Matt can feel the anxious energy you radiate because of it, so he leans in to whisper in your ear, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “Don’t worry, it’ll blow over soon.”

For all the stories you’d heard about him, you hadn’t expected him to be even half as polite. Maybe it’s because you were faking, you decide.

The rest of the day seems to float by in a blur, but Matt was right; the buzz around your relationship did seem to dissipate the more people saw you together. During lunch, you find yourself next to Matt. You’re doing your best to maintain the facade with his lacrosse friends, Chris among the group.

You can feel the stare of your best friend and her boyfriend though, and it only brings back those feelings of guilt and anxiety. You’re grateful for the distraction of food, though, because it provides you an out from conversations.

You’re not used to basking in the light like this.

As the bell rings, you feel a mixture of relief and apprehension. Matt walks you to your last class, of course, offering you a quick hug before parting ways.

The class passed by slowly as you try to piece together the events of the day. In under a week, you went from a nobody with 3 friends to a somebody dating one of the most popular boys. Fake dating.

When you’re finally dismissed from the shackles of public school, you feel an odd sense of relief. You know it won’t last very long because of your scheduled date tonight, but it’s there nonetheless.

You find Matt waiting outside your classroom, as promised, a smile on his face. He falls into step beside you as you make your way towards his car. The chatter of surrounding students fades into background noise when you’re with him. A cool breeze dances through the air, making you shiver a bit. For a moment, you stayed silent, enjoying the comfort he brought you just by being next to you.

It was reminiscent of middle school; his silence made you comfortable because you weren’t alone.

“Wait, don’t you have lacrosse practice?” You interrupt.

“I take Nick home everyday, I have time to take you too.”

You nod. As you navigate through the sea of juniors and seniors preparing to leave, Matt turns his head towards you. “Hey, you okay?” he asks, concern evident.

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, offering a chuckle and a hesitant smile, “Just processing the day, you know? It’s kinda weird.”

He nods understandingly, turning his head back towards the car that Nick is already waiting at. The ride to your home feels significantly shorter when you engage in pleasant conversation with Nick and Matt.

Despite the guilt you feel over keeping up this act, the conversation flows genuinely and you find yourself really enjoying it. He pulls into your driveway, putting the car in park and smiling at you.

“Thank you, and thanks for today.”

“No problem, I’ll see you tonight?”

“You bet,” You say, waving goodbye to Nick. You walk into your house and feel like a puddle of goo, every emotion flooding your body in one go. It’s only the second day of pretending, and you’re feeling like a fly stuck in a web of lies.

Despite your conflicting feelings, you begin to get ready for your date, feeling genuine excitement. Even if it’s just as friends, Matt is really pleasant to be around.

Matt: Movie at 7:30?

You: Perfect, see you then.

The hours tick by as you prepare yourself to hang out with him. You hear a knock on your front door that makes you jump. “Dad, I'm going out!” You yell, rushing out to join Matt.

You weren’t expecting him to hug you when you stepped out. There was no one around to keep it up for, but you decided not to question it. “Hi Matt,”

“Hi.” He grins, pulling away from you. “I didn’t buy tickets yet because I wanted you to choose the movie,”

“You didn’t have to do that.” You tell him, heart filled with gratitude. It was a small gesture, yet it immediately made your middle school crush on him come back.

“I feel like you know a lot about me, so I thought you choosing the movie would help me learn something about you.” He said as you pulled into the movie theater parking lot.

“Yeah, I’ll pick.” You giggle at him, hopping out. When you walk in, you’re overwhelmed by the aggressive scent of buttered popcorn. Matt glanced around, beginning to guide you to the ticket counter. “Shit, that’s my ex.”

“It’s cool, play up the pda to make her more jealous,”

His arm wraps around your waist as he leans into you, pretending to whisper something in your ear. When you walk up to the counter, he unwraps his arm for a mere second to grab his wallet.

“Movie?” He asks. You tell him and he nods. “Two tickets please, he hands his ex his card.

“Hi, Matt.” She says, smiling at him. You immediately get possessive vibes that make you feel uncomfortable, but that means the plan is working. “Oh hey,” He smiles lightly, acting nonchalant.

“Who’s this?” You can literally feel the jealousy she's emitting, and it makes you shift in his grasp. “This is my girlfriend, the tickets?”

“Oh, sorry.” She hands him the tickets, making sure to brush his hand while she glared at you. As you walk towards the next counter to buy popcorn, you start laughing. “I don’t think she liked me much.”

“Good, means the plan is working.” He says, going to fish for his wallet again.

“Nuh-uh. My turn.”

“That’s not really how dates work, but nice try.”

It feels like the hours have crept away from you. The movie comes to an end, despite you willing it to last longer. Matt offers you a hand and pulls you up, making sure to hold your hand when you exit the theater. It almost makes your heart flutter; then you remember why he’s doing it.

“So, what did you think of the movie?” He says, offering you his jacket when you step into the brisk air. You smile, feeling fulfillment while you slide his jacket on. “I liked it, thanks for letting me choose. And, um, thanks for tonight. It was… interesting.”

“No problem,” he says, sounding relaxed. “I liked it too. We make a good fake couple, don’t we?”

You continue chatting while you walk to the car, and while he drops you off. Matt gets out to walk you up to your door, genuinely surprising you. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He says, offering you another hug. You slide off his jacket and melt into him before handing it back. “Thanks, Matt.”

“See you tomorrow morning?”

You nod.

You close the door behind you, feeling the weight of the day settle into your skin. You’re beginning to ease into the fake relationship; even as the facade gets increasingly complex. You sink into your bed, shifting off to dreamland.

As the week goes on, your arrangement only gets better. You avoid your friend's boyfriend, and he starts getting desperate texts from his ex. By the end of the week, you’re sure he’s close to breaking it off.

When Matt drops you off at home on Friday afternoon, you’re insanely smiley. You feel on top of the world. The day seemed normal enough, for your new normal anyways, but there was an odd air of tension everywhere you went. You knew something was wrong when your best friend landed on your doorstep mere moments later.

She was your best friend for a reason- you trusted her with almost everything, so she didn’t understand why this week, you’d suddenly gone ghost. You normally talked every second of every hour if you could, but this week, your communication had been limited to fleeting glances across the cafeteria, or in the hallway.

You open your front door to find her standing there, eyes ablaze with anger. “Hey.. what’s up?” You say, prompting her to talk and cut through the thick silence.

“Where have you been all week?”

“At school..?”

“No, I mean, where have you been? You avoided me on Monday, and you started dating Matthew Sturniolo out of nowhere; I didn’t even know you were talking! I’ve barely seen you this week and normally we spend all our time together. Something isn’t right.”

You feel like you’re shrinking under her intense gaze. Stammering out an apology isn’t really working for her, or you, because the weight of your fabricated relationship with Matt pinned your tongue. “It’s not like that..”

“Don’t give me that!” She says, glaring at you. “We tell each other everything. Why are you shutting me out now?”

You wrack your brain for an excuse, trying to think of anything to get her off your back when you remember a conversation you’d had with her about Matt. “Look, I know I’ve been unfair to you… but I know you don’t like Matt, and I really do. I’ve been caught up with him, and I didn’t want to tangle you into it because I know you don’t like him.”

“He’s a dick.” She says to you, bluntly. “I don’t think you should be dating him, much less talking to him and ignoring me for him. Haven’t you heard the shit he’s pulled with other girls?”

“Of course I have but-”

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not different. He’s going to leave you in the dust too.”

Her words cut through you, sharp and painful. The truth hovered on the tip of your tongue, but the weight of secrecy still held it down. You didn’t know how to get out of this one. “He’s not like that with me,” you attempt to defend, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. “People change, you know?”

“You’re being naïve, and I hate seeing you like this. Ignoring your best friend for a guy who’s going to hurt you in the end.”

You’re feeling shackled, like you’re in the ocean trying to stay above the surface, but there’s a weight tied to your ankle.

“I appreciate your concern,” you say, voice shaking “but I know what I’m doing. We’re happy together. You say, a feigned smile gracing your lips. Her harsh glare softens. “I trust you. Just, be careful. Okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod, acting like you’re relieved, but the pit in your stomach only deepens as the web of woven lies becomes more intricate. She leaves, and you close the door behind you, sinking down to the floor.

All of this because of some letters.

The sound of a message coming through your phone snaps you out of your contemplation. You glance at it, immediately smiling when you see Matt’s name pop up.

Matt: Hangout tomorrow? Nick and Chris r asking

You: Yeah, what time?

Matt: Noon?

You: I’ll be there

Matt: I’ll pick you up

You heart the message, standing from the floor. When you retire for the night, your friend's warning re-enters your mind. You know she’s right, but the reality of your fake dating thing with Matt tugs you back into its tangled web, as it always does.

Each text from Matt, while making you smile, feels like another string of deceit weaving into a thousand more. It just deepens as time goes on. The lure of his attention and the comfort of the familiarity you feel with him vie against the guilt that gnaws at your conscience.

You’ve realized the gravity of the situation, but the truth remains locked in, barricaded by fear and the entanglements you’ve created. You want to call it off, you’ve wanted to, but you don’t want to risk falling into a chasm of more confrontations- from both your friend, and her boyfriend.

You try to shove it out of your mind so you can sleep though, preparing for your day with Matt tomorrow.

-

When you wake up the next morning, you feel giddy. You put more effort into getting ready than you normally would on a Saturday. Then, there’s a knock on your door and a hug awaiting you. This time, you don’t question if people are around, you just accept it with a grin.

“Nick and Chris wanted to come get you,” He tells you, pulling you down the driveway. Yet again, the front seat is empty for you. The energy of the triplets was infectious, in the best way possible. You immediately found yourself comforted by their presence, the simplicity of just being around them had an inexplicable effect on your already good mood.

The drive feels effortless as you settle into conversation with the group. It reminds you of how uncomfortable you’d been mere days ago, and how much had changed. You kind of frown at the thought, but quickly catch it. Matt’s smile never faltered though, leaving you with an odd sense of melancholy when you’re reminded that it’s all fake.

You can’t help but be surprised by your surroundings when you enter the house. You knew the outside, obviously having known the address, but the inside exceeds all your expectations. Family pictures litter the walls, candles are everywhere. It’s cute.

“Your parents aren’t here, right?” You whisper. “Nope.”

“So, what should we do?” Chris speaks up, cutting through the silence. You shrug in response while Matt and Nick go into deep thought.

“We should bake!”

“Nope.” Matt says at the same time you say “Okay.”

When Matt hears you, he turns in your direction. Seeing your smile at the presented idea, he changes his mind. “Yeah, baking sounds good.”

Nick glances at him skeptically, the switch-up being unusual. When your eyes wander towards Chris, you notice his confusion too.

“Baking it is.” Nick mumbles, leading you to the kitchen.

“Alright, what are we making?” Chris pipes in, pulling out various bowls. “Brownies?” Matt suggests, “I think we have a mix and I don’t wanna run to the store right now.”

“Wait, we’re awful at baking. Why are we baking?” Chris questions, wracking his brain to find the answer.

“It’ll be eventful,” Nick replies.

“If we mess shit up and it gets messy, I’m blaming it on you.”

Nick groans, going to grab the mix and the various ingredients listed on the box. “If you do that, I’m gonna tell mom about that time that you-”

“And that’s enough!” Matt cuts him off, grabbing eggs out of Nick’s hand. He ushers you further into the action of the kitchen, imploring you to get comfortable.

“You bake a lot?” He asks, smiling.

“Not really,” You admit, laughing at the commotion surrounding you. It’s fascinating to you how those around you have become such an integral part of your everyday life in the week you’d known them, despite only being in your circle for under a week.

You know your relationship with Matt is false- how could you not? You remind yourself constantly, but these new relationships you’d forged because of Matt? Some of the realest ones you’d ever experienced.

A crack snaps you out of your thoughts, followed by a millisecond of silence. “Chris!” Nick yells, looking at the fallen egg.

“How is this my fault?!” Matt finds himself laughing with you.

The brownies turn out so horribly burnt you’re not even sure if you can call them brownies anymore, and the mess is colossal, but even when Matt drops you off you only have good things to say about, and to, the group.

“Thank you,”

“Of course. I’ll pick you up on Monday?”

“See you then.” You say, waving to Nick and Chris.

The next couple weeks go by so smoothly, you almost forget you’re acting. They’re relatively the same as the first, save for more interactions with your friend. Being with Matt and his brothers, and even his friends, feels natural. Your weeks become more routine, and the plan is working. Matt’s ex is obviously getting more green as time goes on, and your friend's boyfriend won’t even spare you a passing glance.

By your one-month ‘anniversary’, you’re almost 100% sure you two are in the clear. You’re waiting at home for Matt to pick you up, excited to be with him, but feeling a pit on your stomach nonetheless. When you hear the now-familiar knock on your door, you can’t help but run to answer it.

“Hi Matt,”

“Hi.” He smiles and reaches out to hug you, like normal, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes in the way it usually does. It’s missing its charm. He guides you to the car, sure to open the passenger door for you, but the gesture is missing its usual warmth. He takes you to this cute diner, one that you’ve mentioned in a passing conversation, but the earlier apprehension you felt only grows stronger.

When you sit down, you finally decide you can’t take it anymore. “Is something wrong, Matt?”

“Not wrong, really. My ex wants me back. She texted me the other night,”

“Oh,” Is all you can say, trying to force a smile to your face. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” He says. You’re not sure if you’re grasping at straws, but you feel like he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself too. “Do you think you’re okay to break this off?”

“Uhm, yeah. I think my friend’s boyfriend is leaving me alone.” You nod at him, looking everywhere but his face. “Should we just go?”

He can’t argue with that, so instead of getting that cute little dinner date you were promised, you’re sitting back in Matt’s car in silence as he drives you home. The atmosphere felt heavy. You’re stopped at a red light when you finally glance over at him for the first time this entire ride back. He’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, a nervous tic you’d never noticed before, while his eyes are set on the traffic lights.

“I’m sorry,” He finally says, the second the light turns green.

“For what?” You reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

“For coming up with this idea. It was stupid and I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t be sorry, Matt. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed. It wasn’t stupid; it did what we wanted it to do.”

He nodded, but your gaze lingered on him. You could see the mixture of guilt and gratitude swirling through his eyes. “At least it’s over, right? We manipulated the situation.” You say, trying to bring up the mood. You’re trying not to make something of nothing, but his mood seems just as melancholic as yours. “At least it’s over.”

When the car reaches your house, Matt can’t find it in himself to move, to walk you to your door. He hears your seatbelt click, signaling that you’re taking your leave.

“See you around?”

“See you around, Matt.”

When you exit the car, a bittersweet realization washes over Matt. This isn’t what he wanted. He grips the steering wheel, hurriedly putting his car into reverse. He can’t linger any longer, or he’ll make a rash decision and run back to you. He wanted his ex back, and now that’s what he’s getting.

The next day, you wake up with absolutely zero pep in your step. You drag yourself out of bed, drag yourself into your car, and drag yourself through the halls in the morning. The entire world seems more quiet without Matt next to you; your steps echo in your ears. You catch glimpses of familiar faces, but today, they seem almost alien. It makes you wish you’d never left your bed. By lunch, everybody knows something is wrong. Your spot by Matt’s side has been reclaimed by his ex girlfriend. You don’t miss the pitying looks his friends give you, especially Nick and Chris.

You never realized how humiliating it’d be when people saw that Matt left you for his ex.

You settle in your old spot, across from your best friend and her boyfriend, trying to make the whole thing feel natural. It doesn’t.

The whispers and glances you’re receiving from others feel like needles pricking at your already unsettled emotions, and your friend’s compassionate eyes don’t make you feel any more comfortable.

“Matt’s a jerk. I hate him.” She tells you, and it hurts your heart a bit.

“I don’t.” You reply, voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the situation pressing on you. She winces at you defending him, but rebounds. There’s a strong desire to call him every name in the book, but resorts to saying “I can't believe he would do that to you.”

You want to tell her the truth, the lies of the situation having weighed heavy on your mind, but you know that’d defeat the purpose. You thought that when you’d ended the relationship, the entanglement of fibs you’d found yourself in would unravel, but you feel as though they’d only gotten more complicated. “You told me he would.” You say, pushing your school lunch around. She winces again.

“I’m here for you.”

“Thank you.”

When Matt stands next to his ex, who all his friends tell him is a catch, he can’t help but feel empty. His eyes wander away from his table, landing on you. Memories flood back, a mixture of genuine and orchestrated moments swirling within his mind. He’s completely dipped out of the conversation his friends are having, his grip on his new-old girlfriend's waist weakening as he thinks of you.

He catches the slightest glimpse of your eyes, one that you immediately divert; a mixture of confusion and hurt sprinkled within. A pant of guilt hits him, but he tries to forget about it as he turns back to the conversation presented to him.

“What’s gotten into you dude?” Someone asks. Matt shrugs, trying to stay involved. His eyes wander back to you, and then over to Chris, who mouths “Get her back.” at him.

He tries to pretend like he didn’t see that. He has what he wants, his girlfriend, and you have what you want, maybe.

He knows one thing: he doesn’t like the hole your absence has left in his daily routine.

The week comes and goes, Friday night rolling around and the pain of losing each other doesn’t go away. Matt’s battling himself internally to convince himself that both you and him are happier apart; he knows that’s not true. You’re fighting with yourself constantly to not spill your guts to someone, pressure that you had shared with him before the fake, but impossibly real split, weighing on you. It’s past midnight by the time your wandering mind calms enough for you to sleep.

At this point, Matt’s drafted up about 4 text messages to you, and none of them convey what he’s truly wanted to say. He called it off already with his ex-ex girlfriend. The moment she’d started badmouthing you in front his friends put a sour taste in his mouth; that, and he’d realized he was searching for you in every one of their interactions.

He’s restless, consumed by thoughts of longing for your presence. In the silence of the night, he’s grabbing his keys and heading. You think you’re imagining it when you’re awoken by the stall of an engine, but you’re forced to confront the taps on your window.

As you slowly approach the window, pulling back the curtain, you're confronted by Matt’s anxious gaze, illuminated by the faint, cool glow of the moonlight. You rush downstairs, barely stopping to slide a hoodie and some shoes on. The mix of emotions you feel are mirrored in his expression- a blend of nervousness, vulnerability, and longing. With the weight of unspoken words hanging between you, he opens his arms, pulling you in for a warm hug. He’s worried you won’t hear him out, desperate to express what he wanted to tell you in his unsent messages, but his desire to hold you far outweighs his uneasiness.

“I couldn’t keep lying to myself, and you.” He says, face buried in your neck. “I’ve been lost without you, and I can’t pretend I’m happier this way. I miss us, even if it wasn’t real.” His voice contains traces of sincerity, regret, and insecurity, but he feels a sense of strong relief take over at his admission. “I know it was fake- it started out fake- but I’m in love with you now.”

His honesty resonates as his eyebrows unfurrow, his entire body relaxing, and the weight that’s been dragging you to the bottom of the ocean is shed. Rather than sinking, you’re floating peacefully above the soft waves. You pull away from him, your anxieties dissipating like mist under the moonlight. The depth of his words stir an array of emotions within you: astonishment, relief, and a spark of hope. You search his calm eyes, being practically slapped in the face by his sincere and loving expression.

You can’t help but kiss him, seeing the way the moon puts an ethereal glow on his gestures. “I missed us too,” You start, in a soft voice. The air between you is finally cleared. “and I love you too.”

“Can we date, for real this time?” Matt blurts out, going to kiss you again. He feels intoxicated, your second-ever kiss not being a fraction of enough to sate his ever-growing hunger.

You might have started as a fraud, but somewhere along the way, when the tides shifted and your world changed, you emerged from your cocoon, into a glorious and charismatic butterfly.

“If you’ll have me as your girlfriend, for real this time.”

He kisses you again.

[20-th-centurygirl]

summary: a lil trent drabble bc i'm currently obsessed

navigation masterlist

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

bf trent who loves gossip! every single time you come home after being out with your friends he's dragging you to the sofa and making you update him on all the drama

bf trent who pretends to hate it when you mock his accent but he secretly adores it

bf trent who loves nicknames and would rather die than call you your first name "baby" "angel" "love" "gorgeous" "my girl" "beautiful"

bf trent who gets offended when you call him by his first name and not baby

bf trent who is the sassiest man you have ever come across

bf trent who isn't the best with words and sometimes worries that you don't know just how much he loves you

bf trent who makes up for all those worries he has by spoiling you and giving you everything you could ever possibly want despite your protests

bf trent who is so unbelievably shy at first you can't help but be absolutely enamoured by him

bf trent who cannot wait to start a family and spend the rest of his life with you

bf trent who has a possessive side that is rare but strong when it comes out

bf trent who can't quite believe he's lucky enough to be loved by you

bf trent who'd move mountains for you just to see you smile

bf trent who values quality time with you above all else and always makes it his top priority

bf trent who adores cliché romantic things and is more than happy to make a 3 course meal candlelit dinner at home to suprise you

bf trent who'd rather spend a saturday at home with you binging films than going out

bf trent who needs your praise because under that confident shell he often doubts himself

bf trent who's doubts always manifest into your sex life and he craves the praise "tell me i feel good baby, please'

bf trent who suddenly becomes extremely verbal when he has you in bed "that's my good girl" "doing so well for me" "such a slut for me huh baby?" "taste so good beautiful" "taking my cock so well angel"

bf trent who can only tease you for a little bit before he feels guilty for denying his angel what he wants

bf trent who loves fucking you while you wear his jersey because it reminds him whose you are