#ngl only five feels wrong

[khaoala]

look what love does to you. i don't need anyone to tell me how to live my life. i was happy.

JOONG ARCHEN as FADEL episode 7 of THE HEART KILLERS

[musicallisto]

· · · · ♡ NO LOVE IN NEW YORK

�� starring oscar piastri x f!reader ... 5.2k words ... in which your good samaritan tendencies, and some loser forgetting to show up on your first date, lead you to the most bizarre yet exhilarating nyc commute of your life. ... featuring fluff, humor, meet cute, some forced proximity. female reader (wears 'feminine' clothing). language, reader gets stood up on a date, suspension of disbelief for manhattan geography and the logistics of the mta (please forgive me new yorkers i went ten years ago). english is not my first language. ... author notes tadaaa oscar piastri debut who cheered!!!! not me because i'm scared to death of getting him wrong lowk. i was bemoaning the absence of oscar pictures at the f1 premiere and thought, "i know he just couldn't be bothered to go, but wouldn't it be funny if he'd just gotten lost?" and thats how this fic happened. ngl this is very much out of my comfort zone, i know oscar less than other drivers + much more romcom than i'm used to and idk how i feel about it so feedback would be VERY appreciated! very much open for a part 2 if you'd like that tho!!! enjoy ヘ(≧▽≦ヘ)♪ MASTERLIST / ASK BOX

There was no valid reason dating in New York City should have been this complicated.

Yet you prided yourself on being quite smart—smart enough to survive in the hostile urban jungle as a twenty-something on her own; definitely smarter than the national average judging by the (frankly depressing) headlines you heard pinging on your phone every morning. Outstanding high school GPA, reading comprehension way above your grade as a kid, and still no damn clue how to score a date in Manhattan.

Well, rather, how to score an agreeable date. Or perhaps just one that turned out to be real.

Monday morning had risen with a yawn from the sun, as though it were remembering only now that June was well underway but the streets remained chilly. Weak light shimmered over the fire escape when you’d drawn your curtains open. Ramen was sitting on the railing, licking his cream paw and staring at you with unimpressed nonchalance, and you’d grinned. Ramen—your downstairs neighbor’s cat, a sandy little imp whose real name you’d never found out but had baptized so after he’d stolen your instant dinner right off your kitchen counter—only showed up on mornings with importance. Like the day you’d aced Introduction to Statistics with nothing but two hours of sleep and five Monsters.

This was a good omen.

So yes, you were enthusiastic by the time you got home from class, scrambled together an omelet, and disemboweled your apartment looking for your favorite earrings. You were optimistic, and that sometimes sounded like the worst thing anyone could be in New York City.

But this first date promised to be nothing like the others, your inner voice hammered home as you tried to cram your feet into shoes half a size too small. He was cute, funny, not a fascist, he waited exactly the right amount of time in between replies—neither psychopathic nor disinterested—, and he’d told you to dress up because it was only fair that real-life art should match the paintings on the wall. After half a dozen insipid dinners at every other pizza place in Little Italy, and as many ghostings, a museum first date sounded more promising than you’d dared to hope.

Even though he dropped off the radar at ten p.m. the prior evening. Even though you shot him a bubbly, “you said 2:30pm right? can’t wait!” at eleven (the appointed time was but a scroll away, but you just needed to say something, diffuse the nerves somehow). Even though you double-texted him at two fifteen, “omw!”. 

But Ramen was there this morning, blinking his slow blinks at you. The date had to go well.

The sun was fully awake, undeniable, blazing above the trees and endless spires piercing the sky beyond Central Park, by the time you sat down on the steps in front of the museum. Alone.

It wasn’t until two fifty-seven that you accepted to face the glaring truth. 

First miss for Ramen.

You collected yourself in a clumsy torpor. Nothing to do with your heels, or the stupidly long dress you’d picked out and whose skirt you now had to lift with every step—this was the inescapable, crushing feeling of disappointment.

Of course New York City would punish the optimistic. The naïve. The superstitious, who put the outcome of their days into the hands of some feline apparition, scan the sky for four-leaf clover clouds. Served you right for still believing in things falling into place.

Your face burned from the sun and the humiliation, eyes prickling from unshed tears as you stuffed your phone into your purse. Pretended not to notice the group of tourists snapping shots of you, perhaps thinking you some roaming Millais muse. Disappeared into the shade of 103rd Street station, green gown flowing behind you like a pennon.

Every step down the long stairway stung more than the last, but you kept your gaze firmly to the ground, careful not to trip—and bury any ounce of dignity left in you for good. Blend in with the jaded city folk, you thought as you swiped your Metrocard; act as if you know exactly where you are going and go there with purpose, even if you could not be more stranded. Where to now? Back to your disordered, sweltering apartment, its haphazard pile of dishes in the sink and Ramen gauging you silently from the windowsill? Or to the campus library, trying to glean whatever productivity lies within heartbreak? And risk bumping into your friends, who’d teased you all day about the giddy bounce to your step, and having to explain you weren’t even worth showing up for?

“Excuse me?”

You looked up and met hazel. A mop of chestnut hair, that he had manifestly tried to arrange before giving up; discreet moles on an otherwise pale face, and brown eyes where danced flecks of gold and the most gripping kind of urgent resignation. The stranger was cute, and for some incomprehensible reason he matched you: he, too, was dressed to the nines like he’d run off from some wedding, and he also distinctly looked like he wished more than anything for the Earth to swallow him.

“Are you going to the F1 movie premiere?”

“What?”

“The, uh, the F1 movie red carpet thing? Are you going there right now?”

You were starting to worry your foreign-accent (British, or perhaps Australian?) comprehension skills had gotten alarmingly bad, or maybe the shrieking of MTA wagon brakes had finally rendered you deaf. 

“No, uh... I…” Oh, what the hell. Like there was any use lying to a beautiful stranger who seemed like he was somehow having a worse afternoon than yours. “I got stood up by my date. F1, you mean like Formula 1?”

What a formidable and ridiculous scene you two must’ve painted—two kids in formalwear, standing in the middle of a New York City subway platform, stuck amidst the pungent smell of piss and nonsensical conversation.

“I’m sorry about your date, they sound like a bit of a dropkick,” the stranger replied, and although you weren’t entirely sure what a dropkick was you were surprised to find him genuine. “But, uh… I think I’m lost, and I hoped you might help me, or else I’m gonna be the one doing the standing up. On about two thousand people.”

You had no time to furrow your brow, or chew on his words. Suddenly everything clicked with an audible bang, right in sync with the train doors closing to your left. The reason you’d felt so familiarly drawn to that cherub face, and why he had mentioned Formula 1… None of the downright lubricious Instagram edits your best friend had ever sent you featured him in a suit, but he was unmistakable.

“Oh my god, you’re Oscar Pia—”

“Please don’t tell all of Manhattan,” Piastri interrupted, grimacing as he glanced around the platform. You suffocated your voice, though found his dread of being heard a little pointless. Two people standing idly in black-tie garments as metros passed them by were eye-catching, for sure, but nowhere near NYC eye-catching standards. “It’s already pretty bad how late I am to my own premiere, I don’t want to have to take selfies in the subway.”

A million questions jostled about inside your head, but all you could do was stare at him, mouth agape in incomprehension. You didn’t keep up with Formula 1, hardly saw any point in cars going in circles, and perhaps a McLaren (was it McLaren or Mercedes?) superfan might have known better than you what the fuck Oscar Piastri was doing there. Not the film premiere gimmick, you were willing to believe that was the kind of fanfare F1 drivers spent their off-days doing—what the fuck he was doing alone at three in the afternoon, asking for your help in some acrid station on Lexington Avenue. 

“Couldn’t you just drive to the damn premiere?”

“Oh, right, so I should just steal a car off the street?” he deadpanned.

“No, I mean… don’t you have a chauffeur? An… an agent or something? A team? How do you even end up…” you trailed off, finding no words that wouldn’t bring you to astonished frustration. Instead, you opened your arms wide, encompassing all of New York’s rickety railways. “Here?”

Piastri parted his lips to retort with one of his impassive quips, but his whole face fractured then with tremendous vulnerability.

“I’ll tell you if you help me find my way. Please?”

He did not look like the type of man who’d ever begged anyone to do anything for him—you expected a high-adrenaline junkie like him to pray for neither forgiveness nor permission—and the contrast made you consider. That, and the sheer absurdity of the situation. And the fact the only other way you could see your afternoon ending was with an onslaught of messages from some guy assuring you life had gotten “sooo hectic” in the last ten to twelve hours.

Piastri was much cuter than him anyway.

“You know what, yeah, sure, what the hell,” you shrugged with a growing smile. “I’ll help you. I could use the good karma. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

This whole plan was utterly ridiculous, and you had no idea how you’d possibly explain that to your friends when they’d ask how your date had gone, but the way Piastri deflated with relief, like his whole body was exhaling, had you convinced you’d made the right call.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He said your name with the slightest of accents, and you caught yourself wishing he could say it again. “Maps said this was the shortest path to Times Square, but I think it’s a little confused—”

“Times Square? Oh, you’re not getting anywhere near that on the 6. We need to get to Central Park North. You coming?”

You tilted your head to the side, to the staircase drenched in hazy summer light, and Piastri seemed to be weighing the pros and cons for a split second—you couldn’t fault him, to be fair; you could’ve been a stalker, or a lunatic, or the lowest echelon to a weird MLM scheme. Still, he must’ve decided whatever you were recruiting him for was less dangerous than missing this premiere, because he took off after you.

When he billowed out of the station and back into the city, Piastri winced, and at first you assumed it due to the piercing sunlight reverberating on glassy panels, or the cacophony of horns and engines. However, you quickly noticed him glancing at the passersby with frantic interest… and looking puzzled at their utter disinterest in him.

“Relax, no one’s looking at us,” you reassured him, striding down the street on autopilot. He jogged two steps to catch up.

“You sure?”

“Certain. There’s so many people in New York City, and so many of those people do weird shit, that practically anyone can go unnoticed. I assure you that this,” you gestured down at your long dress, catching the light like rippling topazes, then at the silver cufflinks on his jacket, “does not even make the top 5 weirdest things any of these people have seen today.”

But the Australian looked unsure still, twisting his thin lips in a crooked zigzag, so you stopped in your tracks and hailed a young lady passing you by on the sidewalk, Airpods firmly bolted inside her ears.

“Excuse me, do you know who this guy is—”

She strode past you with the most furtive glance biologically possible and a mechanical Nothankyouhaveagoodday. You turned back to Piastri.

“See? No one cares.”

He chuckled, face breaking like dawn, and you chuckled too with no real reason. You weren’t too sure what was funny about typical New York callousness, but the way Piastri’s eyes crinkled, still somewhat strained from stress but illuminating all his features, made you all fuzzy inside. Up close and under sunlight, he looked even younger than you’d thought, no more than twenty-five, and the shadows on his face had lifted, rounding the angles and softening the corners. Like he’d been oil-painted on canvas, ochres and whites melting into each other at the edges.

“Okay, I guess you’re the local,” he conceded, and you resumed your brisk walk.

Maybe you really were at the museum, after all.

“So,” you spoke up after a bit. “I was promised a story.”

“Right,” he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, clearly regretting his bartering skills.

“How do you, Oscar Piastri, end up late to a movie premiere and alone in a subway station?” You stepped across a grate on the sidewalk, careful not to wedge your heel in the holes. “They just left you behind? Did you oversleep or what?”

No reply, but his dry laughter morphing into a cough was a flagrant enough response.

“Oh my God, Piastri,” you gasped merrily. “Did you seriously sleep through your movie premiere?”

“No! … It’s not over yet. I’m just late for the red carpet part. I can still make it to the screening.”

You stared, unconvinced, and he stared back, unconvincing. Biting the inside of his cheek, he watched your smile grow wider until he couldn’t take your teasing anymore. For heaven’s sake—you’d known him a grand total of five minutes and were already tormenting him!

“What?”

“How do they let you get away with this?”

“I was racing in Canada yesterday! God forbid a guy wants a nap,” he stressed the last as though it were some capital punishment and rolled his eyes.

Something in his demeanor was fabulously amusing. He was all relaxed tension, calculated coldness akin to what you’d expect from a person who’s constantly scrutinized; yet there was something more, a sort of agitation bubbling within, under the pores of his handsome face. Feeling so deeply and letting a stranger see so much was not in his nature, that much was clear. Every microexpression, in the lift of his brows, the curve of his lips, the arc of his eyes betrayed a kind of imbalance. He was losing his footing, like a glacier abraded from the top by the sun.

New York City had trained you for all sorts of people, including still waters like him. How to ripple their surface.

“Does this happen to you often?”

“No. Never.”

“Never missed a flight?”

“Just once. My mom woke me up screaming one hour before boarding the second ti—watch out.”

Swiftly, he grabbed your elbow and switched your spots on the sidewalk, pushing you closer to the wall. Before you could open your mouth to protest, the ground rattled from a firetruck barreling past you, ruffling Piastri’s hair and the lapels of his jacket.

“But I set three different alarms on my phone and I figured, Lando will probably break my door down if I sleep through them, so I’m safe,” he resumed, entirely unfazed. You looked up at him like he’d just performed actual magic. “But… apparently not. I woke up… twenty minutes ago?” That explained the slim, red pillow mark on his face you’d mistaken for a fading sunburn. “I wanted to call a taxi, but they’ve cut off traffic. It’s a big deal, you know? Brad Pitt’s gonna be there.”

The way he said Brad Pitt, with a tone so level it became thick with meaning and the littlest of jazz hands, made it abundantly clear there were few people on Earth Oscar Piastri would’ve been less excited about than Brad Pitt.

“Are you in it?”

“What?”

“The movie. Are you even in it?”

“Uh, my elbow is. Minute fifty-three.”

“Wow,” you giggled, arching your eyebrows in a playful wave. “So am I talking to Oscar Piastri the pro athlete, or Oscar Piastri the movie star?”

“Eh, just Oscar Piastri’s fine,” he shrugged, non-committal, though the glint of a smile now flickered uninterrupted on the corner of his lips, almost real enough to remark upon.

Your steps had carried you to the subway entrance north of Central Park already—too soon, far too soon, you thought with a faint ache in the chest. Piastri stirred in your body some kind of early-summer warmth, soft and shimmering like a drowsy morning. As soon as he would vanish to the far side of the platform, only the icy wind would remain, howling endlessly through the corridors…

Piastri, however, did not seem set on giving you up. At least judging by the tiny, tentative steps he took as he walked up to the turnstile, as though the machine could eat him the way it did cardboard tickets. You saw him take out a small, green-lettered card from his pocket… and stopped him.

“Wait, that’s not gonna work.”

“Huh?”

“Your ticket, it’s a single ride. You used that back there on Lexington, right?”

“Uh, I guess?”

“You don’t have a Metrocard?”

He turned to you, puzzled, and almost slammed into a hurried businessman in the process. Thankfully for Piastri, even assault was too inconsequential to reroute the average New Yorker, and the man just breezed past the turnstile and into the guts of the Earth with a nasty glare and a taunting beep!

“Why would I have a Metrocard, Y/N, I’m in this city about twelve hours a year.”

You glanced toward the entrance, where a faint trickle of light still seeped in. A flock of little old ladies, perhaps en route to a high-stakes bingo showdown, had laid siege to the terminals. Judging by their furrowed brows and squinting eyes, no one else in the station would be seeing so much as a hint of a ticket anytime soon.

Goodness gracious. Your helpfulness would be your undoing.

“How late are you to this thing?”

Piastri checked his watch. “Very.”

“And how much do you care about being late to this thing?”

“Normal dude Oscar Piastri? Not so much, to be honest. Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri…”

“Say less.”

Veritable horror surfaced on Piastri’s face at your confident strides, as if he imagined you were about to vandalize your way through the gates.

“Come on! Hop over,” you signaled.

“Uh…”

“Or we could wait in line. Your call.” Like trying to get a puppy to jump through a hoop. What was he waiting for, a treat?

Or perhaps the patrol of inspectors coming down the hallway at the exact same second as Piastri gathered momentum and jumped the turnstile. That, too, seemed like a sensible thing to be on the lookout for.

The two men cried out right as his dress shoes hit the ground.

“Oh come on!” you whined. “They’re never here!”

“What do we do?!” he cried.

“What do you mean, what do we do? Just book it!”

You heard a cacophony of footsteps behind your back, promptly echoed by lighter sounds as Piastri ran down the corridor. Without a second glance, you pushed down on your hands, swung your legs forward, and… came to an abrupt halt mid-air. Looked down. Sage green fabric had wrapped around the metal blades of the turnstile, like snakes constricting their branches.

“Oscar!” you yelped.

If you’d had any doubt Oscar Piastri was the real racing deal until now, they were all silenced at once from the way he spun on his heels, ran back to you and, without a split second’s hesitation, not even the span of a breath, picked you up from your perch and took off. Instinctively your arms wrapped around the taut base of his neck as you felt his clammy hands slide down your back: the glossy fabric offered no grip to hold on to, yet his strong arms held you into place as tightly as they could. You gritted your teeth, prayed to God your heels would not fall off, and watched in stunned silence as Oscar raced down the stifling hallways.

It seemed like but an instant had passed when Oscar threw himself into the belly of the train, its imminent departure chime his very own chequered flag, and the old doors rattled shut behind you. For the first time, New Yorkers shot you strange looks. Finally you had crossed their threshold for urban bizarrerie.

And you were still in Oscar’s arms, flushed and panting even though he was the one who’d done all the running. And had barely broken a sweat.

You were about to clear your throat and kindly—begrudgingly, perhaps?—request he put you down… when the announcer’s perky voice began chirping out the next stops through the loudspeakers. You snapped your head at the line map above the doors. No matter what language she said it in, your next stop was always wrong.

“Oscar,” you murmured.

“Yeah?” he breathed out.

“We got on the wrong way.”

“There’s no oil in New York City.”

Oscar remained silent for a few seconds, as if in a trance. His jittery leg did not.

“What?” he mumbled when he broke out of his reverie.

You simply pointed at his knee, bouncing up and down since he’d sat.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to drill a hole in the ground with your shoe for. There’s no oil in New York City. If there was, Trump would’ve sucked it dry already.”

Oscar sighed, throwing his head back against the glass panel, but your heart swelled with satisfaction when you caught a glimpse of his smile.

Rippling anyone’s surface had seldom proven as easy as it was fun.

You leaned a little closer to him, and he closed his eyes with a faint grunt. His leg, however, was now still.

“Why are you so nervous about being late? You’re the main attraction, it’s not like they’re going to hold it against you.”

Hearing his reply proved difficult over the train’s thundering racket, glass windows and moist handles vibrating within their sockets like charged electrons. His eyes, mercifully still closed, allowed yours to linger on his mouth—to decipher each word as it formed, and to savor the quiet contemplation.

“Being fashionably late usually draws more attention than I like to get.”

“So why bother going? You don’t look like you enjoy being in the public eye that much anyway.”

Only one eye opened, tentatively so, and met your small, expectant smile, chin resting on your fist and your crossed legs imperceptibly brushing his. Any story he could’ve told you right then would’ve been riveting, it seemed, and for the first time in weeks Oscar found that for you, he did not mind sharing one.

“I told Lando I’d go. We collided yesterday on track and they thought it would maybe look bad if one of us showed up and not the other. Like we’re avoiding each other or something. I don’t know, PR stuff. But I promised Lando, so.” He pursed his lips then, and blew air through his nose, holding back a giggle. “Also, I don’t know, I felt like I had to go. I had a… a premonition.”

“A premonition?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, some kind of hunch. In my cereal.”

You stared at him long, assessing him and the likelihood of a lie, but he was a master of the unreadable smile, the one that could mean anything from I’m one look away from bursting into laughter to I have never dissociated more than I am currently, and even, perhaps, I wish this train ride with you would never end.

“In your cereal?”

“This morning, at the breakfast buffet, I had cereal and there was this kinda cornflake clump that looked like a clapperboard. You know,” he mimed it with his hands and the click of the tongue to match. “So I thought that was some… sign? The universe was telling me to go to this premiere, or something.” His neck tensed abruptly as he suddenly remembered himself. Who he was, and what he believed in. “But uh, that’s a little stupid. Forget it.”

The subway doors opened and closed, chimes rang and accordion tunes from the platforms faded in and out of the background chatter. You had close to lost count of how many stops were left until Times Square. The incessant ballet of New York’s illustrious unknowns would still play out, with or without your attention.

When Oscar looked down at you, almost entirely hunched over his lap and taking him in like he was an August rainshower, he found you beaming.

“No, I totally get you. This date I was supposed to go on before I ran into you… I went because Ramen showed up, even though there were so many red flags that I could’ve seen coming.”

“Who?”

“Ramen.”

“Who’s Ramen?”

“The neighbor’s cat. That’s not his real name, just what I call him.”

Oscar stared at you, expression frozen in one of delightful incomprehension, the one you get when you are not entirely sure a miracle is destined for you just yet. And you stared back, awaiting his next words for as long as it’d take them to come.

“So you went on a date because a cat told you to?”

“He didn’t tell me anything, silly, he’s a cat,” you retorted like it was the most obvious thing in the universe, to which Oscar rolled his eyes and muttered Of course. “He just stared, and every time he does it, I know I’m gonna get lucky that day. He’s never failed me before. Well, until today.”

A beat passed, during which you refused to elaborate further out of fear you’d betray the words lingering at the front of your mouth. Maybe this hadn’t been a miss for Ramen, after all. Maybe his magic had worked in unexpected ways. Oscar, on the other hand, just basked in the whole of you, and his lips slightly parted without a sound, as though they didn’t quite know where to begin.

“What?”

“It’s just… My job, this whole universe I live in, there’s no room for good luck charms or silly little superstitions. They’re just… distractions. All the answers are in the data. Our only faith is in the numbers.” And you sensed him about to say something else, something he had to wring out of the very cloth of his ribcage, but suddenly the deep wells in his pupils were sealed off with his favorite lid of deadpan humor. “Well, except the Italians. But they suck, so I wouldn’t take them as an example.”

“Oh my God, Oscar,” you gasped, “you can’t say that, do you know how many Italians there are in New Y—”

A sudden jolt shook the entire train, knocking the carriage back onto its breathless tracks; the momentum sent a teenage girl flying into a tall gym guy, who in turn crashed into you—your hands were too slow to catch you, not lighting-fast and gloved in greatness—you fell on top of Oscar, your nose buried against the open buttons of his shirt.

You were upright in less than a second, locked in a litany of Oh my God sorry’s to which Oscar replied his own recitation of No worries it’s not your fault’s. The train resumed its journey through the depths of Manhattan as if nothing had happened, and truthfully nothing had—except you were now a little closer to each other than you’d been before, and you hoped with all your might that he wouldn’t notice the way your eyelids fluttered, or how your fingertips had started burning up, or how the air was now thicker, or maybe you hoped he did, so you wouldn’t have to speak it aloud—nothing had happened, and truthfully everything had.

“Why did you think I was going to the F1 premiere back there?” you asked softly, not sure why that was the question you’d elected to go with now.

Oscar’s face was impassible—he’d found his calm, collected control back. But he didn’t know, or didn’t care to know, that you could hear his heartbeat louder than the railroad racket below.

“You looked funny.”

“Okay, you’re literally wearing a bowtie, and it’s crooked, by the way.”

“No, I mean, you looked pretty.” The faintest flick of his tongue showed above his bottom lip, undoubtedly accidental. “You looked really pretty, so I assumed you were a guest or something.”

Maybe what you’d heard and thought was his heart pulsating in sync with the wobbly tracks had not been his, but yours. Somewhere indistinct, the lady’s mechanical voice crackled something about Times Square. 

“Thank you,” you smiled, with no mischief attached, this time.

“I’m… pretty glad that your date didn’t show up in the end, huh,” he laughed half-heartedly.

“Oscar, Times Square,” you sprung to your feet, nearly twisting your ankle. “That’s you!”

The doors almost chewed down on the hem of Oscar’s pants when he jumped out of the train. Without so much as a glance back or a single word of forgiveness, all the carriages vanished into heavy shadows, and the world was back to normal again.

Or almost. If there was anything even remotely normal about Times Square.

Every single light blinded you—no matter how many times you came you could never wrap your head around how the place managed to dazzle you even in broad daylight—as you both exited the metro station. Summer lay heavily on the commotion of cars, police whistles, loud music, and… screaming bloody murder?

“Ah, I think that’s my cue.”

Oscar held his hand over his eyes as he took in the scene, and only then did you notice the race cars parked in the middle of the street, some fifty meters ahead. It was probably a fair assumption, then, that the thousands of people massed near the makeshift stage, underneath gigantic screens, were all waiting for him. A fair assumption, and an incredibly odd one; to think you had spent such a mundane moment with the man they would soon shout themselves hoarse for!

“Yeah, good luck with that, I’m not going any nearer,” you forced between clenched teeth. “I hope you don’t get into too much trouble.”

When you spun on your heel, you found Oscar extending his hand out for you to shake, squinting his eyes against the sun. Or maybe it was an excuse not to have to look you in the eye more than absolutely necessary. In the same way you couldn’t tell whether your hand was slightly clammy from the heat or the nerves.

“Thanks for saving the day. Or at least mine,” he said, a little too solemn, a little too final. Like this was a farewell rather than an acknowledgment.

“Thanks for saving mine,” you replied, hoping the little smile you forced on your lips looked appropriately warm, and not inexplicably aching. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

To anyone else Oscar would’ve replied the truth—Probably not—but that was not what his bowl of cereal would have wanted of him, so he said:

“Maybe.”

He gave you a wink half a second too long, and immediately looked horrified at what he’d done, which made you double over in a flurry of giggles. When you opened your eyes, he was a few steps ahead, waving you goodbye, and you returned the salute. You watched him jog the distance to the first cameras until he was but one more black and white dot in a sea of elegant millionaires, your throat hollow save for a funny kind of longing.

Then you walked back the way you came, carrying the end of your skirt down the stairs of the metro station.

Thirty minutes later, as you rummaged through your purse for your keys in front of your apartment complex, you noticed your phone lighting up. Usually, when you went on a date, you’d put it on Do not disturb so as to not be tempted—basic education, you reckoned, and something not many dates of yours had had the courtesy of reciprocating—, but you always sent your best friend your location beforehand and allowed her and only her to go through. She knew better than to text you unless it was life or death.

Clearly, this was of the utmost importance, and the fact there were only three messages instead of the fifty-seven you were expecting did not reassure you one bit.

“bitch” “who tf is that with oscar” “and why tf is it you??????”

A link to a TikTok came up mere seconds later.

The sage green gown was unmistakable. Anything else could’ve been explained otherwise, maybe blamed on some uncanny resemblance, a fortuitous angle—it looked like the video had been shot from very far away, and the protagonists not at all aware of the recording; but you would’ve recognized that lilypad-bright dress anywhere. Just like you knew that the blurry mass of pixels near the man’s face was a pathetic excuse for a wink, and the woman doubling over for no reason was actually laughing. That she’d watched him disappear into the crowd, immobile and longing, to commit to memory the very way his bones moved when he walked.

“Oscar Piastri’s Mystery Date Gets Cold Feet Right Before Red Carpet Debut?? 👀”

You stared at your phone even as it kept going off, its vibrations tickling your palm. A series of interrogation marks, each its individual message, popped up one after the other on your notification bar, and all you could do was clutch the screen as though you could shatter it with your bare hands.

This meant nothing, you calmed yourself down. This would blow over soon, you swore. As soon as they realized Oscar Piastri would never be seen again with this mysterious woman, and that it was never anything serious. Anything at all, even. That the New Yorker in apple green was just a mirage on his path, pertaining only to him and for a split instant.

And even if things didn’t smooth over… you had a feeling Oscar’s team would have no problem tracking you down.

©musicallisto, 2025

⤷ liked this fic? then you might enjoy... endless giggles (ln4)!

[littledes1re]

How to disappear | Chapter: one

Summary: after the passing of your mom, you and your dads best friend get close. You find comfort in him and he does the same because he also once lost something. While a relationship between you two sounds wrong and taboo, your feelings grow stronger. But Joel is an old man, guilt and the fear of losing you too, overwhelms him. So he leaves you.

Warnings: Angst, grief, heartbreak, lots of emotions, (fluff as a flashback), joels alcohol problems, dad that doesn’t care for his daughter, age gap! (23 and 61), crying, kind of depression, smut (as a flashback)

A/N: Okey Okey, I may said next week but I was already done with it so finally it’s here. Some dbf and Oldman!joel angst hehehe. Ngl I kinda hurt myself with this one.

Dear joel,

i‘m still thinking about the first time you kissed me, gentle, careful, caring.

I wish you‘d see how much I love you, how much I love being in your presence, how much I love our midnight talks.

We are both broken, something connected us. You made it a reason to leave me, I made it a reason to call you my soulmate.

I feel heartbreak. I cry myself to sleep, tell me..is that better than us comforting each other and having fun?

I miss our conversations, I miss your smile and your ability to comfort me.

Dad is asking why you are distancing yourself.

I love you, always.

Winter felt like forever.

A never ending cycle of dark and cold days, where the world stays still when snow falls. Lingering loneliness creeping up, as you fall for the hopelessness of it all and allowed the weather to dictate your mood while in the back of your mind the soft touches and whispers swam around of someone you where aching to be revolved around with once again.

Joel Miller.

Your last conversation stuck in your mind like the withering words only an enemy can say to you. Repeating itself over and over till there is only a echo of two words. We can‘t.

But there was no flicker of rejection in his eyes as he touched you, no regret as he cuddled you after his release, no shimmer of a different personality you weren‘t aware of, you knew him long enough. At least you thought so.

The aching in your heart and tummy was one that didn‘t go away no matter how much time had passed. The sadness clinged on you, wrapping tightly around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. It was one that grew each day for the past season, now coming to the point that you feel yourself getting sick from it. Flashes of memories startle you while you want to go on with your day. The glimpse of his brown eyes, landing on your face, soft and gentle the way you always knew him. Faints laughs of you two whenever it’s quiet.

And somehow underneath all of this it remembered you of your mom. The day she passed, the darkness that fell on you, the ability to not think straight as your eyes were hurting from crying. The shock not letting up, moving like a ghost trough life, pretending to function. Time would heal, but it didn’t. Time just showed you how to carry the pain without showing it.

You wanted to be small again, cradled by your mother’s hands, soothed by her voice.

“It feels like time has stopped for you and the people around you don’t care. You somehow have to function, but the person was your sole reason to function.” His eyes were emotionless.

Joel stopped crying after five months. He became a vessel of a man who once showed his kindness through actions and words and now someone who shuts everyone off. Grief is not predictable. It changes, buries itself deep beneath the skin and eats you alive. Joel never asked for comfort. But he gave it to you. He thought he didn’t deserve warmth, he thought he didn’t want to feel joy. But he let you feel all of those things.

The rough patch of his beard tickled your skin as you laid on top of him, nuzzling your face into his neck. The tears were dry on your cheeks, your eyes swollen and red as a headache started to form. His big hands rubbing circles on your back, soothing you to sleep.

“She is watching over you.”

The line that was crossed was blurred. The day you caught feelings was unknown. You just knew that there had been this silent connection between you two right after he decided to knock on your door to check on you.

“How y’doing, kiddo?”

Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t except it from him. Maybe it was the fact that your dad was distant after your mom’s passing. Maybe it was the fact that both of you lost something.

A man you should suddenly avoid because of his alcohol problems; your dad’s sayings. After his daughter’s passing he developed an alcohol problem, something that was clear whenever he was in your house, his eyes hazy, movements too unsteady. Your heart ached for him, never understanding how people do that to themselves. But after your mom, you did. His actions spoke louder than his words. He still helped your father around the house, with his job, with other things. He was there ,only his emotions were completely submerged, a veil placed over them so no one could recognize his true feelings.

That night, changed it all. He calmed your nerves, gave you the comfort you’ve been aching for the past eight months, and after that he finally let you in his heart. Told you what he was feeling. Guilt, anxiety and anger. His lips were quivering, eyes dark and swollen. Jaw clenched, as if he was trying to bite back the sob clawing up his throat. His breath shaky.

“I should’ve been there.” The only thing that he would murmur and then silence. A rather comfortable and understanding one. You don’t say anything, you just watch. Seeing the same emotions going through him as the day you lost your mom. His eyes would finally lift, and they would shine but not with kindness but with anger and sorrow. You could see it.

“An-and I feel selfish. For now coming in here and telling you this while you also lost someone.”

“Hey, hey. No.” Your hand gently lands on his shoulder, slowly moving to his hair caressing through his curls, while looking at him. His eyes softened, suddenly filling full of worry, bottom lip pouting. Looking at you like a kicked puppy. You felt tears leaving your eyes, landing on your thighs, you wanted to hug him. You knew how he was feeling. You also wanted to give him comfort.

“Don’t even think like that. You’re not selfish for speaking it out. You’re human, joel.”

He tilts his head slightly, you doing the same. A flicker of something knowing passing through your gaze.

“And if you really think thats selfish, then i’m selfish too. For wanting to hear it. You should’t carry it alone.”

For the first time, joel let’s go of the breath he has been holding for a long time. It doesn’t fix anything— but in this quiet moment, something shifts.

A piece of his sorrow, no longer carried alone.

He came over more often. Opened your door, sneaked in your bed and cuddled you, whenever your father was at home, you went to his place. He didn’t care anyway. You two had small road trips, where he drove you to his favourite places, music in the background, your head out of the window, enjoying it. It felt safe, it felt right.

Every worry in your head disappearing when he put your head on his chest. Soft humming and fingertips caressing the skin. Your conversations were not only about loss. They were flowing easily, they were funny.

“This thing is gonna give me a heart attack one day, I swear.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, trying to find the right buttons to put it on silent.

“Ain’t working like that, wait—you have a nokia? Where the hell is your phone?” You asked widened eyes, after you snatched his supposed phone out of his hands.

He snatched it back, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about it? Tommy bought me one because they are easy to use.”

“No, no. S’nice.” You tried to suppress a giggle. And as you swallowed you looked around his house, he looked at you with a grumpy expression.

“What? I can’t keep up with your new generation shit.”

“Oh I bet, I bet. I just find it funny.” You finally giggled, laying back down on his couch, holding your tummy.

“Y’know what’s real funny? You don’t even know half of these movies that I showed you.”

You gasped, sitting up again. His face all smug, a smirk on his lips.

“What? They are cult classics c’mon now—“

“Yeah, for old people.” You rolled your eyes playfully, seeing his face all serious now.

Giggling, you stood up as he abruptly did so too, stretched out his arms to reach for you.

And you knew what that meant. You laughed just more, running around his coffee table and he followed you, trying to grab you. And suddenly he did, throwing you gently on the couch and began tickling you.

“J-joel” you couldn’t breathe from the laughter.

You thought your dad would comfort you and be there for you after what happened, you didn’t think it was going to be joel. But your dad locked himself up, ignoring his dad duties. Leaving you alone, not showing his emotions, not letting you show yours. His demeanour was cold, distant it felt like living with a stranger. You understood why. You understood that he also lost someone, but he never once asked how you are, never once opened the topic of Mom again. Deleted it from his life like it never existed. And while doing that he also deleted you slowly.

Your friends stopped texting, one didn’t know how to comfort you. The other one was acting like it wasn’t a big deal. So you also deleted that topic from them, from your father. Joel was the only one who heard you talking about your mom.

And then he left you. So now, you were completely alone.

But maybe you didn’t really love him. Maybe you just loved his comforting. Maybe you just needed someone and he was there. Would you love a man forty years older than you if your father acted like a father? The way he looked at you, worshipped you, made you feel good. Made you feel special. Took care of you. Something connected you two. Wasn’t those signs of love?

“Hurting?”

“No, think i’m good.” You whispered to him. The stretch was unusual, nothing that you haven’t had before but it felt different. It was with joel.

“S’good, real good.” He nodded his head to you. Under the covers, vulnerable, you two were naked. There were goosebumps all over your skin, and his too. Joel lets you adjust on his shaft, worried eyes scanning your face to see if you show any sign of discomfort.

The atmosphere in the room was calm, lights dimmed and if felt comfortable. The first time you really made out with him and laid your hands on his bulge he stopped you. “Wanna do it right.” He took his time, kissing every inch of your body, teasing you, loving on you. Calling you his pretty girl. Making your eyes almost tear up of how much love he was giving you.

He was extra careful as he started to thrust into you, little breaths leaving his mouth, your hands gripping his biceps. A little moan leaving your lips, feeling the pleasure in your belly slowly fill.

His gaze never left you, he noticed it all. The smile you give him, cheeks flushed, trying to breath right and suppress a loud moan. The way he handled you with gentle hands cupping your cheek, kissing your forehead.

“Joel—please.” A coo leaving his mouth, speeding his thrusts into you.

Joel would bite back a groan, his thrusts sometimes sloppy, sometimes losing the rhythm because it’s been so long. But you didn’t care. You loved feeling him all, you loved being with him.

And when he came his face would twist, you would gently touch his face. He would bury himself into you on last time and then hide into your neck, leaving wet kisses while catching his breath. While you didn’t come, you were still content and satisfied to have him on top of you. But of course he realised it and ate you out for one hour, taking his time, giving you the best orgasms of your life.

You never got an answer from the letter. You never got an answer on your countless texts and calls. He cut you out. And you were trying your best to be angry, you really were. But deep down, the sense of understanding was spreading. You knew how much trouble you two would be going through if your father or anyone in your family found out. Anyone in his family too.

The age gap would let everyone turn their heads in the streets.

Your friends, colleagues everyone would think he is a weirdo. That you are a weirdo.

But then you ask yourself why?

Why did he let you develop these feeling for him? Why did he give you a reason to think that he was in love with you? Why did he comfort you? why did he give you this feeling that everything is going to be fine? Why did he make you believe that there was a connection between you two?

A knock pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Can you help me set the table? Joel is also coming—oh and his girlfriend too, apparently.”

AAA this took so long, but i’m actually proud of this. Please if you see mistakes or want to give feedback, feel free to do so.

Thank you so so much for 900 followers, it’s truly unbelievable.🥹🥹

Chapter two!

My Masterlist!!!

Taglist:

@vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @cuntyhunty22 @glitterspark @tikikiki @millerdilfs @lovelystrawberrysblog @millersdoll @mani-pedro @simp4pedro @angelic1angel @hazzzy418 @valitagun @throttlepascal @speaktothehandpeasants @mystickittytaco @whatwouldsookiedo @sage-babydoll @umadirectioner @neobangverse @stvrl1ghtt123 @midnightmischief10 @ccmoonshine @dendulinka6

[januaryembrs]

i love your sunshine!reader x specer fics so much and ngl it's one of the best spencer fics i've ever read. i was wondering how the team would react to them dating? did anyone ever suspect that there was something going on between them or were they completely clueless??

PDA | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

description: Sunshine reader is worried about telling Unit Chief Prentiss about their budding relationship, despite Spencer telling her she's being dramatic.

length: 1.8k

warnings: fluff, TINY BIT OF HOTCHNISS BECAUSE I AM STILL MAD ABOUT THEIR SCENE AT JJ'S WEDDING I have never been blue ballsed so hard.

“Sweetheart, I think you need to calm down,” Spencer’s voice was calm and soothing, as was his hand that skirted down her arm to take hers in his own. Her palm was warm, the tiniest bit clammy as he meshed their fingers together, and stroked over the back of her knuckles with his thumb, “It’s only Emily,” 

“I know, I know, it’s just,” She conceded, and she smushed her face into his chest as a last ditch effort to revel in his affection before they had to go back to remaining professional, the elevator quickly approaching the sixth floor, “I feel like we’re breaking the rules. Are you positive it said nothing in the papers about workplace relationships?” 

“I would stake my life on it, believe me. Me and page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three are tight as can be,” Spencer reassured, after he had spent a good seven minutes reading through their entire contract, front and back, in an attempt to make her feel better because she knew she couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it, even more so couldn’t keep her hands and lips off Spencer for such an extended amount of time now she’d had him.

He watched the illuminated digits flick from four to five, and he yielded his restraint just the tiniest bit, knowing they might not get a chance to love on eachother so unapologetically until the work day was over. Spencer brought his hand that wasn’t wound tightly in her own around her shoulders, squeezing her to him with a pressed kiss to her forehead, the gesture full of eight hours worth of affections. 

Five turned to six just a little too fast for his liking and he was forced to let go of her as the doors slid open, trying to ignore the saddened expression on her face as they parted, the way her lips turned into a pout like a kicked puppy. 

“Good morning, my angels!” Penelope chirped, a sweet coffee with a buttload of creamer swirling around her octopus mug as she headed for her office, walking right past the two agents who looked like they’d forgotten how to behave normally. 

“Morning, Penelope,” She sang back, smiling at the woman who hummed as she walked, a skip in her step, yet the second the tech analyst entered her lair, the younger slapped a hand on Spencer’s arm, turning to him with wide eyes, “Oh my god, she knew!” 

He chuckled, shaking his head and resting a hand on her lower back, leading her to the bullpen as she fretted, “Relax, she did not know. And even if she did, we’re not doing anything wrong,” He cooed, thankful that the floor was empty besides Emily where she poked around her office, moving some folders between her desk and cabinet, “Derek dated pretty much every woman on the second floor within the first term of me being here, Penelope dated Kevin from Internal Affairs for years,” 

“But that’s, like, between floors, between departments. There’s no way they can get distracted if there’s a whole bunch of concrete and carpet between them,” She explained, and the two of them headed for their joint desk so they could set their bags down, “When I look at you, I get side tracked thinking about your beautiful hair and your stupidly handsome face and kissing you and-” She puffed her cheeks out, flustered already. 

“That sounds really difficult for you, I don’t know how you ever get anything done.” Spencer said with an indulging smile, because his favourite thing might just be humouring her. Besides kissing her and everything that came with it ofcourse.

“It’s a struggle, I’ll tell you now,” She said, almost unaware he wasn’t being serious as she looked at him finally, the glint in his eyes he got when he was teasing her, “It is. I nearly tipped coffee over my lap yesterday because you fixed your hair, it’s infuriating.”

He smiled, fighting every urge in him that wanted to pull her back into his chest and kiss her face a dozen times, because he knew she wasn’t joking when she said she was worried about breaking the rules. He knew Emily would be fine with them dating, they’d all turned a blind eye to the clear tension and lingering glances that had gone between her and Hotch for years, but he hated seeing her so frazzled, so he complied with her strict no PDA rule. 

He would just have to give it to her twice over later, when they were alone, and the thought of it excited him already. 

“Alright, alright, let’s do this. Am I speaking or are you speaking?” She asked, rubbing her sweating hands over her legs, and he shrugged. 

“I’ll do the talking, will you just do something for me,” He said, his voice calm and collected as he took the stairs, her footsteps nervously trailing behind him. 

“Sure, anything,” She said, looking up at him with wide eyes where he stood a whole step above her. 

“Take a deep breath,” He reminded her, grinning when he heard her pause and do as he’d said, because this was just Emily. 

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, meeting him at the top of the landing, where he waited by the office door, watching her with gentle eyes, “I just really don’t want to mess anything up, least of all with you,” 

He quickly tucked a slither of hair behind her ear in guilty pleasure, “You’re not messing anything up, I promise.” He murmured, his cadence low and calming because she already seemed worked up and they hadn’t even opened the door, “You ready?” 

She nodded after another deep breath, and he knocked on the door with those boney knuckles of his. 

Barely waiting for Emily to invite them in, he strode into the office, her trailing behind him like she was waiting for a scolding, and Spencer simply cleared his throat. 

“Everything okay?” Emily asked, her dark eyes scanning between the two of them, a look of concern flitting over her face, “Why do you guys have a weird look on your face? Did you chip Penelope’s mug again? Was it the good one? Oh man, she’ll kill you, that was her favourite-”

The rookie shook her head, and before she could breath and regulate like Spencer had been trying to tell her it happened; the word vomit she’d been shoving down for fifteen days, “We’re dating! We’re seeing each other together, I mean were seeing together, I mean wait, hang on-” 

Spencer put a hand on her shoulder to hush her, and she stopped then and there, sensing he could take over for her, because she’d quickly realised she was not one to handle pressure. 

“What she means to say is we’re dating, and according to page fifty nine, sub section five, clause three of our contract, workplace relations are acceptable as long as they aren’t hindrance to either the team or the work, so,” Spencer tucked his hand into his pocket, the other still gentle as it stroked her back soothingly, “Is that okay?” 

Emily shrugged, her lips twitching to hide the broad smile that begged to be released. 

“That seems reasonable to me,” She said politely, looking to where the rookie seemed to have found her words. 

“Th-that’s it, we’re not in trouble?” She asked on bated breath, her brows furrowed and confused. 

“Look, are you guys happy?” She nodded vehemently immediately, and Emily threw her hands up, “Then, there you go. As long as there’s no funny business in the office, it’s none of my concern,”

“Funny business?” She asked, and Spencer ran a hand over her braid she’d twisted into running down the back of her head, a small smile tugging at his lips, as he and Emily exchanged a look.

“No bang bang on company time,” Emily said plainly, ignoring the way the girl stiffened, her face hot and embarrassed as she shook her head. 

“Never, no, never. Never ever,” She spluttered, and Spencer took it as his signal to get her some space, “None of that ever, Emily, you don’t have to worry-”

“Who broke the rookie?” Tara asked, entering Emily’s office with a stack of folders in her arms, her eyes quickly zeroing in on the way Reid’s arm wrapped around her waist, and she turned to Emily with a knowing smirk, “You owe me ten bucks, Prentiss,” 

“Hold on, you guys bet on us?” Spencer asked, his expression dropping because he’d thought that the two of them had been subtle the past few weeks, even if his sweet girlfriend looked like she was keeping bees in her mouth every time there was a pause, like the secret had been begging to come out any second it got. 

Emily seemed guilty, though perhaps scathed would be a better term as she fished a bill out of her purse and handed it to Tara. 

“JJ owes forty, so I’m not too torn up about it,” She replied, catching JJ’s bluebell hues as she swanned past the office window, her eyes narrowing on the way the youngest agent was all but pressed into Spencer’s ribcage, the two of them looking like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole. 

Her face morphed into chagrin, “Two more weeks, and I would have been up by sixty bucks, you guys,” She bit at the happy couple, turning on her heel to where Luke was sipping coffee at his desk, clueless to the meeting they were having in Emily’s office, “Alvez, cough up. They told Emily already,” 

There was some sound of indignation from the desks below as Luke rummaged through his wallet, and Tara looked like that cat that got the cream as the wads of dollar bills made their way to her. 

“This is gross misconduct of workplace trust,” Spencer said, his lips pursed into something annoyed, and he could feel the way her face burnt with embarrassment without even having to look at her, “Alright, we are going out to get coffee, since we’re the only ones who know how to handle things like adults,” 

He led her out with a tight, protective grip, shielding her mortified expression from the rest of the office as they got back into the elevator, and he damned himself when he let her hug into his chest again, though this time it was to hide her humiliation in his shirt. 

“It’s okay, at least it’s out there now. No more secrets,” He comforted, and she nodded silently, her cheeks still on fire where the shame weaselled its way out of her face, “And, hey, it’s not like they can go on forever. They’ll have to give up some time,”

The group watched the doors close behind them, Luke immediately turning to the three women with an impish look in his eye, “Twenty says they’ll engage within a year,” Tara scoffed, waving her money in his face as Emily rooted around for more money, “You’re on, I give it eight months,”

[b0ther]

ain't even jealousy

you fucking hate the basketball team, but there's no one you hate more than aomine.

pairing : aomine daiki x reader (feminine pronouns. afab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : chaptered tags : aomine is a bully im not even kidding he is quite cruel, porn with PLOT, reader is besties with satsuki, reader also has a crush on imayoshi, reader also was wakamatsu's ex, hate sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, vaginal penetration, thigh fucking, semi-clothed sex, some slutshaming going on here, reader has big tits, slight dubcon. word count : 4,323

author's note : title from 'want u back' by cher lloyd. this is comissioned by a dear friend. hope you enjoy mwah. this first chapter (and whole fic im ngl) is centered around the onsen episode.

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

After a long and hard day at school, all that you ever really want to do is to quickly get to your part-time job and finish up your shift. Perhaps you can get some convenient store food after that, or go straight home to shower and rest.

Whatever it is that you daydreamed of, it wasn't this.

Satsuki calls out to you, her voice soft against the bristling wind with her lithe arms circle around yours as you try to walk away, dragging her body forcefully with you. She whines your name over and over again, over the beating speaker against your ears before you finally had enough, ripping your headphones off your head, turning to face her.

“Satsuki!” You try to sound stern, but you end up whining in the same tone that she used. You can only be so serious as a high school girl, after all.

Her pink strands fall against her face messily; you use your other hand to tuck them behind her ear as she elongates the way she enunciates your name and begs, begs, begs you to listen to her. “Please! Just—”

“Satsuki!” You groan, shaking her off your body. “I’m busy. I have a part-time job, I’m failing maths, I have club activities. I can’t just… ditch everything and go !”

“You can!” It’s like she was not listening to a single word that you uttered. “It’s a month away and on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—which you can begin asking for a leave day starting today , they will definitely let you if you do it a month in advance!—and maths!? That’s easy! I’ll teach you!”

You slant your eyes at her, arms crossing on your chest. “Alright. What about my club activities?”

“You mean your journalist club? One that encourages their members to leave their comfort zone in order to bring back interesting stories? One that basically has a crush on the basketball team?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

She gasps. “Don’t you love me!?”

“Don’t do this to me…”

“If you love me at all, you wouldn’t even think twice about going with me. Imagine me, a girl, going alone on an all-boys’ trip to some secluded place—”

“You’re being dramatic—” You tried reiterating your point.

“I’m not!” She whines, even louder this time, attracting attention from all the other Touou students around you. “You literally have nothing to lose by coming along! Give me five reasons—five good reasons—and I will literally stop bothering you.”

You shake her off again, and this time, Satsuki lets go and stumbles back a couple of steps as the mischief on her eye continues to shimmer. You have never lost an argument to Satsuki—but there is a first for everything, and you have a feeling that you are going to break some personal records today.

“First,” you take a deep breath as you hold up a finger. “Aomine’s gonna be there—”

“Perfect!” Not giving you a chance to speak, she cuts you off, eyes glimmering like starlight. “You like him!”

She strikes a nerve with this one.

One of your eyes twitches as you cross your arms under your chest. The excited smile on her face fades in an instant, recognizing in an instant that something is wrong.

Recognizing in an instant that something she should have known about is wrong.

She blinks a couple of times, trying to use all that intelligence in her head to analyse the error in what she said (which turns out pretty useless—guess all that she is good for is basketball).

“Have you been paying attention at all?” You begin to blabber after letting out a huge gasp, arms waving around in the air. “We’ve been friends for years— years ! Since the first year of middle school, and you know nothing of  my strong, burning opinion of Aomine!? Flash news, Satsuki, it’s not love!”

“You—” She stammers, “You talk about him a lot!”

“I complain about him a lot!” You correct her, blowing out air in frustration, feeling somewhat betrayed that your best friend had just accused you of liking your archnemesis�� your enemy… your… your rival.

The point is! You hate him!

You would rather live in a world without television and the internet and good music if it means that you will have to never hear him say another word.

Aomine.

You shiver in annoyance.

Just saying his name irks the hell out of you. Imagining his face causes a feeling close to that of an explosion in your chest. You just wanna grab him by his face and shove him down a flight of stairs.

You cannot even count all the shitty things he did to you in high school: revealing your crush on Nijimura Shuuzou not just to the then-basketball team captain, but the entire student body; tripping you in the cafeteria multiple times; stealing your undergarments during P.E. and commenting crassly about how you were two sizes under his favourite adult model. Granted, you never told Satsuki about the last thing. That shit was just too embarrassing—you were glad that no one else was in the room when he threw your bra back at you.

Still, your frustration remains at her. Jogging down memory lane boils your wrath, and you close your eyes to calm yourself down.

He’s just a bully.

A damned bully.

And you would be damned if you are going to willingly spend your weekends in the same vicinity as him.

“Well… Dai-chan likes you!”

You roll your eyes.

Yeah, right.

You would agree if she had claimed that he found you attractive, or he thinks you’re hot. But liking you? Highly improbable—impossible, even.

Aomine Daiki does not seem like he is capable of feeling any emotion aside from boredom and mischief. The only thing he loves, or even likes, is probably his beloved Aya-chan from his gravure magazines.

You’re not even sure if he still likes basketball.

Which is a shame—seeing someone so tall gradually shrinking to the size of nothing, even if you despise the guy, the whole ordeal with whatever-the-fuck Satsuki’s basketball team went through still managed to extract some sympathy from the bottom of your heart. You’ve been paying attention to Aomine, after all, albeit not under any positive light.

“Whatever,” from past experiences, you know better than to argue against Satsuki. “I don’t care anymore. And you know what? Aomine himself and your blatant disregard of your best friend’s feelings—me!—should be enough to fit all five criterias!”

You know that look in her eyes, the way her lips press against each other and how one of her hands is clenched into a fist. 

“I’ve been friends with him for 16 years, (Y/N),” she bumps her fist against her chest in pride. “Best friends, even! I know him better than you do!”

You scoff. “People who like someone don’t bully them, Satsuki. Open your eyes.”

“He isn’t bullying you!” She groans.

“Oh, so now not only are you attempting to kidnap me, but you’re also defending my bully?”

“Argh!” Satsuki hugs your arm again, earning her a groan from you. She calls out your name again, enunciating each and every syllable. “ Pleeeaaaaseeee? You don’t have to pay a single dime! You don’t even have to see Dai-chan if you want to. Imayoshi-san will be there—you like him, right?”

You slant your eyes at her in suspicion, not buying anything she just told you. You just know that you will have to see Aomine sooner or later if you come with her to the onsen. 

“No man is ever worth that much headache, Satsuki.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, still shaking you ferociously. “But it’s Imayoshi-san!”

You decided to come along. Because of course you did.

It’s either that, or Satsuki pestering you for the rest of the month, bringing either Imayoshi or Aomine or whoever she thinks will get your attention.

And Imayoshi Shouichi? Sure. He’s hot as hell.

But is he worth dealing with Aomine?

You like to think not.

Satsuki dragged you along to a basketball team meeting—the one that would be discussing the practice trip and the whole onsen ordeal.

It wasn’t like you needed to be there at all. You know just a little more than the average person about basketball. All that you were preparing for the onsen was your clothes and deciding whether it’s you or Satsuki who should be bringing her hairdryer.

“Why me?” You said, crossing your arms when the attention of the entire basketball team was redirected towards you, and Imayoshi laughed. The only problem they were facing was convincing Aomine to come along.

And you were happy with not being the babysitter. You were happy with twiddling your skirt as you sat on the edge of the stage of the hall, scrolling down your social media timeline as the team argued on how to get that blue-haired freak into coming.

That was until Satsuki ruined your afternoon by offering up your name.

To your surprise, everyone in the team seemingly agreed almost immediately to offer you as a sacrificial lamb to feed Aomine’s ego and coax him to at least come to the trip.

“He likes you,” Wakamatsu scoffed when you asked why, and you glared at him, but said nothing. Out of respect, you guess, to the upperclassman. It’s not like you respect him, though. You’re on bad terms with a lot of the basketball team, but no matter your disagreements with Wakamatsu, you will never dislike him the way you loathe Aomine.

“He does have a soft spot for you,” Imaoyshi mused as he flashed you a smile—and lord , you cannot say no to Imayoshi. Especially when he’s being so nice.

You saw Satsuki smirking from the corner of your eyes and internally cursed her.

That was how you found yourself climbing the ladder leading to the rooftop. 

And that was how you found Aomine with one hand between his backpack and head, and the other holding an obscene magazine.

He doesn’t even spare you a single glance—probably thought you were another manager or even worse: Satsuki again. But the moment you open your mouth to call out to him, his head snaps in your direction, an eyebrow raised in amusement as he pushes himself to rest his body against his elbows.

“What are you doing here?”

You try not to let your rage spill. You try to keep the boiling water down. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and continue to climb the ladder before approaching him.

Think rational, you think to yourself, he hadn’t even said anything yet.

“The Captain wants to see you,” you manage to say between your gritted teeth, staring down at him before looking away. Imayoshi didn’t ask you to make Aomine see him, but Aomine probably respects Imayoshi more than you, so you try to throw him under the bus just to get out of the situation quicker.

“Imayoshi-san?” He frowns before repeating his initial question: “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I want to punch him.

“You own this roof or something?”

“Calm down,” he scoffs, tilting his head before eyeing your body up and down. You shift your weight into your other leg, ignoring the uneasy feeling on the pit of your stomach. “I just wanted to know.”

Sighing, you glance up at the sunny sky, sweat starting to form on the base of your neck and you are dying to leave at that very moment. You shelter your eyes from the sunlight, despite finding it more appealing than Aomine’s face.

“We’re discussing the practice trip thing—whatever, and also the onsen trip,” you lazily explain, not bothering to hide your disinterest. “Imayoshi-senpai wants you to be present for the meeting. Obviously.”

You cannot fathom the fact that you were explaining his basic responsibilities as a club member to him. What a fucking child.

“You coming with us?”

His focus seems to be misplaced, and you glare at the sky, imagining it was his stupid face.

“I’m going with Satsuki,” you correct, still not willing to look at him. “I don’t give two shits about you or the basketball team.”

“Hey,” he sits up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist before tugging your body towards him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You scoff, finally letting your gazes meet before pulling your hand away. “Fuck off.”

He, in fact, does not fuck off.

Aomine pulls on your wrist again, this time hard enough for you to lose your balance and fall, your knees landing on the coarse floor as the bottom of your skirt rides up your thighs. The skin of your knees scraping against the gravelled surface and you curse, jerking your hand away only to immediately shove his shoulder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You shriek, annoyed at how he remains unmoving even as you push him again.

He towers you, even when sitting, and keeps his eyes peering down at you.

Maybe it’s the heat that day; summer has just ended, but even the soft Autumn breeze cannot conceal the searing flare creeping up the skin of your cheeks. Aomine slants his eyes and grabs your wrist yet again—you weren’t quick enough to retract away from his athletic instincts, and so, you fall again when he pulls you in closer.

You hiss in pain as your knees drag more against the floor, desperate to find your balance only to grab on his shoulders.

“Hey,” He calls out to you, a lame attempt for your attention. “Look,” he says again, and your dumb ass looks.

He grabs the magazine on his lap and tautens the pages together, showing you the spread where he left off before you interrupted his peaceful afternoon. “(Y/N), remember Aya-chan?”

The girl that ruined your life?

How can you forget?

You cannot hide the distaste in your eyes as your eyes scan her beautiful, black hair falling against the sheer material of her white uniform top. The black lace bra she was wearing underneath is apparent as she pushes her two tits against each other, legs spread to reveal an equally seductive pattern on her panties.

Before you even realise, Aomine’s arm begins to wrap itself around your waist as he holds you up, fingers creeping up the side of your torso, tracing invisible lines before resting on one of your breasts. Your stomach begins to churn in excitement, embarrassingly enough, and you press your legs instinctively when the muscle between your thighs tighten as he continues fondling you.

You circle your arm around his neck under the pretence of keeping your balance.

“Mhmm…” He clicks his tongue, resting his face on the side of your upper arm—his nose touching the side of your tit as his hand palms your other one. “I feel like you’re no longer two sizes under Aya-chan. Maybe a size under? Maybe the same size?”

You grit your teeth. “You talk big. Have you ever seen her outside your magazine? She probably edits her photos.”

He grins, gaze shifting to drink in your frustration. “No, but you’re real, and I’m groping you right now. Isn’t that better?”

“Better than your pretty Aya-chan?”

Aomine raises an eyebrow, humming knowingly. You can’t even believe the word escaping your mouth.

“You have a cute side to you after all,” He muses after a short, mocking whistle. “What do you want me to say? Want me to tell you how much better you are than her?”

“Want you to shut the fuck up.”

“Calm down, tiger.” He laughs, pulling away from your arm. He tosses the magazine to the side, straightening his back to press a short kiss to the peak of your cheekbone. His hand begins to work; he slowly kneads your breast while continuously trailing kisses down to your ears. Your nipples brush against the fabric of your damned lace bra, and he stops for a moment only to tug on where your bud is protruding.

A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Excited are we?” He whispers, voice dropping lower as he presses his lips against your ears. “I like hearing you like that.”

“Shut up,” you run out of words, turning your head to the other side, exposing your neck to him. Which turns out to be a bad idea, as he takes it as a sign to sweep his tongue over the skin of your neck.

“A–Aomine—”

“God,” he chuckles. “Who would’ve guessed that you can be this sexy?”

He pulls away from your neck, and drags his hand from your tits to rub against your torso, feeling the material of your uniform. He presses one hand on the small of your back, pressing his forehead against yours. In a swift motion, he pulls on your body, drawing out a squeak as he lays you down against the concrete floor.

“What if…” he trails, rubbing a thumb under your eye as he hovers over rested body. Your cheeks sear with heat, alongside your chest and the pulsating on your cunt. “...I just fuck you right here?”

“W-what?” You whimper.

He laughs. “I’m hard as hell. You made me this way.”

“You were the one groping my tits!”

“You liked it,” he shrugs, pushing himself off of you, forcing both your legs open as he moves between them. His fingers begin to unbutton your uniform, unravelling the bra you are wearing underneath. Sucking in a deep breath, he stops midway down your torso, and without taking his eyes off your chest, he asks, “Want me to stop?”

Your cheeks flare, and you don’t answer him. You don;t even look at him.

He takes a quick glance at your expression.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

“...Whatever.”

A wide smirk forms on his face, fingers continuing to unbutton your uniform all the way down.

“Do me a favour and get up for a bit,” he murmurs, pressing one of his hands against your back once again to get you to sit up. The feeling of his palm against your bare skin sends you to shivers, coupled with the soft wind whistling between the two of you.

“What’re you—”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers fumble with the hook of your bra. It took him two wrong moves before getting it right with the third—the fabric loosens around your body, and you pull him closer to conceal your humiliated expression.

“See,” Aomine chuckles after some awkward motion, tossing your stupid bra to the side when he finally gets it off. “You’re so pretty like this.”

“Shut up,” you groan, nails digging into his skin deeper and deeper.

He pulls himself away from your grip, taking a nice hold on your torso to pull your ass up his lap, letting you fall against the hard floor again.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, roaming his touches against your legs. His eyes cannot leave the heaves of your jugs.

“Stop fucking staring,” your hiss, trying to pull your uniform together, hiding your chest away from him.

Aomine scoffs, using one hand to unbuckle his pants. Your eyes travelled from his face to the loose button on his collar to the wet stain on the grey briefs around his hips to the bulge underneath them.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He tilts his head at your question, furrowing his eyebrows as he takes his cock out from under his briefs. “Fucking you?”

The precum leaks from the tip of his cock, little drops of white strings rolling down his length. He pulls your hips closer to his body and presses it flat against your soaked panties.

He groans at the contact. Your warm slick welcomes him entirely as he presses more against the fabric, rubbing his tip along the length of your pussy.

“S’that feel good?” He whispers, hastily hooking his fingers on your panties, pulling it up your legs, then tossing it to go with your bra. He presses his arm on the side of your head, leaning into you again.

“Don’t put it in,” you whine, trying to hold back your hips from rolling. “You’re gonna get me pregnant.”

“You can’t say shit like that,” he groans against your neck. He positions the tip of his cock against your cunt, and even with your sopping lips, you aren’t sure if you are ready to accommodate his size at all. 

“You don’t want to be a teen dad,” you bite your lower lip, hand going to rub his neck.

“I wanna fuck you, though,” he breathes, using his thumb to run along your wet slit. “Wanna fuck you raw, wanna cum inside’a you.”

You tremble with his words, feeling two of his fingers now circling your pussy. “D— don’t be stupid.”

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, making your cunt wish it has something to tighten around. “D’you know how long I’ve been wanting to get you like this?”

He pushes himself off of you, and holds your wounded knees as he watches your chest heaves, heavy tits rolling with every staggered breath. He flips your skirt over, exposing even more of your cunt to the chill.

He rubs his length against your slick, his tip now pushing against your swelling clit. “I’d jack off and wonder if you were tighter than my fist,” he wraps his cock with his hand and places it again on your entrance, pushing in a slow, deliberate motion.

Between your drooping eyelids, you saw him inaudibly mutter a curse.

“Used to wanna fight Wakamatsu ‘cus he’d stuff this pussy all he wanted. Right?” He scoffs with a stupid, satisfied smile that you wish you could wipe off his face. “Shame that you broke it off, huh? Did he dump you when he realised how much of a whore you are?”

“Shut up…”

“Well, I don’t care. More fun for me.”

“Aomine—“

“Who else have you fucked in the basketball team?” He grunts. “In Touou?”

“Shut— shut the…”

You slap the back of your hand against your mouth—not willing at all to let him hear you be satisfied with his size—biting down on the flesh as he pushes his cock in. All of his cock in.

“Aomine—”

His cock is dragging against your wall, kissing every possible inch of your insides. Your hole continues to burn as he stretches you wide open, draining every last bit of energy from inside of you.

“ F-fuck…”

Your hand goes to fondle your own tit, rolling your hard nipple between your fingers, sloppily trying to garner more and more pleasure. His dick fills you more and more, stuffing you full, before finally stopping.

“Don’t act all reserved now,” he raises an eyebrow as you mewl out his name. He stays still for a moment, a bud of sweat rolling down his temple before pulling out of your homey cunt. “You don’t have to lie.”

Aomine bites his lips, letting his cock rest between your pussy lips. He sees the way they engulf his dick, moving his hips to rub against your core.

“Letting me fuck you on the school rooftop,” he murmurs, “where’s your fucking self-respect? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t your first time getting dicked down up here.”

Your eyes slant up at him, but he quickly shuts down any of your retaliation by pressing his thumb flat against your clit, slowly circling the nub. Your teeth press down hard on your bottom lips.

“We aren’t— we are not …” You babble, putting a thumb between your teeth to stop yourself from moaning, “...having sex.”

He scoffs, drinking in how your eyes roll with your head turned to the side.

“I was inside you just a moment ago.”

Filthy noise of his cock squelching against your cunt filled the air—if someone were to come after you, they would hear Aomine’s dick fucking your pussy lips.

“Fuck,”Aomine spits, pressing your legs tightly against each other then down on your lips.

“A-ah,” You gasp as he drills into your thighs, the tip of his cock rubbing quick and hard against your swollen clit. “Oh my God—”

“Are you cummin’?” He breathes, one hand reaching to roll your tit on his hand. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, and you whine at the nickname. He snickers, “You’re so sexy like this, y’know that?”

Your back arches, little whimpers of encouragement swallow your pride whole as you fall completely into him. Aomine grunts at the expression, seeing the lewd expression on your face. He picks up the pace, slamming his hips against your ass.

“M’gonna cum,” he hisses. “Fuck. Wish I could shoot my load into your tight little cunt.”

“Fuck it,” you manage to spit between your groans, “F-fuck it. Just— oh God, just don’t stop—”

Your words rile him up even more—he tightens his grip on your leg, his fingers bruising your fragile skin. Your head begins to spin. Your slam your fists against the ground and your mind numbing orgasm comes the moment strings of Aomine’s thick, white cum comes flying down your skirt and stomach.

“Shit,” he loosens the grip on your legs, letting them fall even with your still convulsing ass and core. His gaze stays on the tip of his dick, the white cum oozing from it, then to your face—your parted lips, dumb eyes, and the sweat dripping down the side of your head down your neck.

He feels himself getting harder as he watches your plump lips whine, wondering how they would wrap around his thick length, if the colour of your lipstick would stain the veins of his cock.

“You coming to the onsen trip?” Aomine tries to distract himself.

You roll over, blindly reaching out for the bra that he tossed God knows where.

“Fuck you.”

[velunas]

can you do some nsfw five headcanons? thanksss

aw hell yea man. i want aidan gallagher so bad it’s criminal i need to be locked up in horny jail !! (surprise surprise i like another white man)

five hargreeves nsfw headcanons

tw: smut !! mdni plz xoxo 💋

ngl it took him a WHILE to stop cumming so quick after the two of u had sex for the first time. dude was alone for like 50 years with nothing but a mannequin and his left hand ok cut him some slack

but trust me when i say he always made up for it. if he’s cumming after 5 minutes he’s making u cum at LEAST two times that night (more for himself than for you bc busting so quick damaged his ego a bit)

had never eaten pussy before you so he was super hesitant going into it at first, even though he didn’t act like it

probably spent a few minutes exploring what you had down there before rlly going to town on you

picks up on things very quickly bc he’s so smart so it was easy for him to figure out what you liked and didn’t like

is able to make you cum the first time he goes down on you and will never forget it (huge ego boost)

blowjobs are one of his favorite things in the world, second only to actual sex with you

he’s heard his brothers talk about sex in passing but brushed it off as some stupid superficial thing they were obsessed with

but oh man after the first time you two do it he wants it all the time

for the first few months he’s practically insatiable, which is so far from his normally calm and collected persona

after a while, he’s able to control himself more. it becomes less of an addiction and more of a luxury to him

but don’t get me wrong, just because he doesn’t need it every day doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it often

he considers it the perfect way to unwind from a long and stressful day

or the best way to apologize after upsetting you

prefers using his fingers over his mouth on you because he gets a better view of your face and how good he’s making you feel

he gets super possessive sometimes (especially when he’s drunk) so he will occasionally leave dark bruises on your neck, just below your collar. easy enough to cover up but easy to show off as well

doesn’t like hickies on himself but appreciates scratches on his back from time to time

doesnt talk about your sex life with his siblings, but it’s clear by the way he relaxes around them more after the two of you get together that he’s getting that ‘good good’ (direct quote from diego said to a disgusted allison)

keeps his hair long because he likes when you tug it

favorite position is missionary bc he’s a classic man what can i say. he loves that he can see your entire body and your face all at the same time

however you on top is something he’ll never refuse

pls just top him every once and a while he’s so tired from saving the world thrice and taking care of his siblings and murdering people… he needs a break !

is always so hesitant to relinquish control to you but he knows he always enjoys himself in the end

doesn’t usually get into ‘roles’ during sex but he prefers being the one to call the shots

if ur able to get him to sub be prepared bc he’s a mouthy little brat

probably likes being slapped around a lil bit i can’t lie

is a secret sucker for soft romantic sex (but he saves that for special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays)

he’ll cradle your face and whisper how pretty you are and press gentle kisses to your cheeks. he’ll even hold ur hand the whole time!!

ok last addition but i feel like when he gets super drunk he’ll accidentally spill the beans about your sex life to klaus and ben and now ben can’t look at him or you the same without remembering that five told him you swallow LMAO

[midnightshindig]

Cecil x male reader please! I haven't seen any catering towards male readers before

Cecil x Male!Reader

We gotta get some more male reader itb for reaaals

hcs under the cut!!

Cecil is a pretty modern dude by all accounts

its giving gay republican

but like yknow specifically when gay politicians are super nonchalant about it?

Have you guys seen Birdcage (1996)? Yeah he's Armand argue with the wall

that being said, he's a VERY understated guy

it's really hard to tell he's gay

but i mean cmon he gilfs it up hard

In a relationship, Cecil tends to be the top in his relationships

it's just natural to him, he's a boss in his day to day so he can't help but take the reigns in his relationships

Not that he doesn't care about your opinion, but unless you're opposed, he usually picks the restaurant and when you have dates

He loves taking you to try new restaurants, especially ones he's never been to himself

it's a little adventure for both of you

"So, what do you think of the fish?" Cecil asks, cutting up whatever rich man meal he's savoring

"mmmish good" you respond with a grin, your cheeks still partially stuffed with food

Hates calling you his boyfriend

he's like way too old for that

he calls you his husband or lover or partner instead

Introducing you to people like:

"Hello, I'd like you to meet my husband, Y/n. Yes, he's my plus one to the event."

you could not even be married and he'd still call you his husband

very John Mulaney "I love saying my wife" energy

The best part about dating Cecil is sharing clothes

or, more accurately, the best part about dating you for Cecil is wearing your clothes

He hates shopping for semiformal or casual clothing

it's too many options and he despises choosing fabrics

and frankly he doesn't have the time for it

so it's a relief that you have such good taste

he can just borrow one of your shirts and a pair of your pants when the two of you go out

"What?" he raises an innocent eyebrow at you, buttoning YOUR button up onto himself in the mirror "I'm getting ready to go see Les Mis, like you asked."

"Cecil that's my shirt." you lean into the doorway, unimpressed

He scoffs, turning around "No, really? But it looks so good on me" his tone is dry, delivered with a knowing smile

Oh and on that note

he's weirdy into musicals and the opera and stuff like that

idk it just feels right to me

He allows himself to be a lot softer with you

like I mean wayyyyy softer

you're a fellow dude, you get it

he doesn't feel the need to impress you or maintain some paragon of masculinity or protection

He can fucking breath

and he does

For example, cuddling

He opts most often to curl his frail damaged body around yours, his head on your chest and his arms wrapped around your waist

It's like a little weird for people to conceptualize Cecil as gay

not because being gay is weird or anything

it just humanizes him too much

like wdym this guy has like.... emotions? and that he like.... fights for gay rights?

Someone get the photos of this bitch marching in the 80's istfg

Gotta learn these kids something

Cecil is OBNOXIOUS as a queer elder

but you don't mind because it comes from a good place

Cecil fucking WISHES Doc Seismic would step to him

i'd pay to see that fight ngl

Cecil adores you soooo much

he lived a pretty sparse life before you, romantically speaking

not many openly queer spies, you know?

So he cherishes you

You're his favorite person, and probably the only person he's truly emotionally vulnerable with

Don't get me wrong, he's still quiet and a man of few words when it comes to his emotions

but he leans on you more than he's leaned on anyone else

He trusts you

You probably had an evil ass slowburn trying to figure out what the other was getting at

but eventually- after like five years (and maybe some Donald Divine Intervention tm) you two get together

He probably does end up proposing at some point, but it takes him forever

You've probably been dating for like ten year by the time he proposes

I'm sorry he's so bureaucratic about this stuff

but your wedding is like magical as shit

He pulls Allllll the government strings in order to make it as magical as possible

and of course

he wears one of your suits <3

[soobkwann]

~ Why don’t we kiss since we’re bored? ᯓ★

SYNOPSIS: nothing wrong with kissing your homies…right?

PAIRINGS: Choi Soobin x Hueningkai (implied future of Choi Soobin X Reader X Hueningkai)

WC: 1,788 || ☆

Warnings: NSFW (18+, mdni), m/m, Soobin x Kai, potentially poly (?), dry humping, voyeurism ( could be implied the reader watched them for a bit ), they all just horndogs and ZESTY ngl… (LMK if anything else!)

A/N: Likes and reblogs are heavily appreciated ! Also thank you to my friends for reading my draft and gassing me up 😛

© soobkwann please don’t repost or translate without permission/credit

It was supposed to be the average group hangout; you and your five best friends joking around under warm fairy lights, ignoring the dumb romance movie, getting drunk, and waking up to a bunch of wasted guys huddled on your small couch—the usual.

Tonight’s atmosphere was different, not bad different, but different in a way that had you *extra* excited for tonight.

Only Soobin and Kai could make it, typical given they’d never miss a Saturday night hang out. Getting to eat all your food, drinking “unlimited” alcohol, ~~(getting to see you)~~ it was literally heaven on earth for them.

Yeonjun couldn’t make it, “I’m being busy catching up with an old friend.” he claimed over the phone. Beomgyu told you off with an abnormal emergency; “ Can’t come, fishes need a bath-“ And Taehyun…just didn’t want to come, typical, you really admired his honesty though.

The presence of those three would be missed, of course. Thankfully, “The two coolest guys could still make it.” (Their words..)

So here you three are, still enjoying the moment, stuffing your faces with snacks while trying to avoid choking from the funny jabs the other makes. Y/N notices they are running a bit low on drinks :

“I’m gonna go get us some more soju,” she upped and left the living area to get refills from the kitchen.

“Alright,” “hurry back!” The two boys said in unison, as Y/N went to grab drinks, she couldn’t shake the feeling of something exciting happening, especially since it was just those two alone with her. It’s silly, maybe it’s the alcohol throwing her off but she’s always felt like there was tension between the three of them.

Yeah, that’s definitely that alcohol talking.. There’s no tension, all the lingering stares, subtle touches-, that’s just what friends do, totally.

—

Back in the living room, Soobin and Kai were still joking among themselves and half-watching the movie. The laughter seemed to die down once it settled your presence was gone.

It got quiet, not completely silent due to the TV providing background noise —but there was a silence between the two that felt caused heavy tension. Not an uncomfortable silence, just the fact that they’re quite buzzed taking over.

Soobin and Kai just sat there, Kai playing with his fingers and Soobin watching the dumb film he chose.

“Wonder what’s taking her so long,” Kai said, interrupting the dazed silence.

“Probably drinking it all without us.” Soobin joked, both the boys giggling among themselves. Once that got old it was back to silence… where is she with those damn drinks..

“Since we’ve got nothing to do,” it was Kai breaking the silence again, this time he had this look as if he’d just came up with a million dollar idea.

Soobin looks over at him “Hm?” he replied mindlessly. Kai’s lip quirked into a subtle smirk, his eyes were fox-like as he turned over and made eye contact with Soobin on the other side of the couch.

“Since we’ve got nothing to do,” he repeated, staring at Soobin with a vixen gaze “Why don’t we kiss?” he said simply, like it was normal between them, like he was plotting this moment for a while.

Soobin was taken aback, his eyes widened slightly, he wasn’t shocked, he was amused. He knew how his friend got, especially when he was left alone with his mischievous mind for too long.

“You,” he took a breath. “You want to kiss? Right now?”

Kai slowly crawled over, eye contact never breaking. “Why not?” that same cocky expression still written on his face.

Soobin could almost laugh at the sight. His friend, looking at him as if he was prey, sensually licking his lips as if he was craving the taste of Soobin.

“You’re drunk aren’t you” Soobin chucked, cocking a brow. His friend must really be out of it to suggest something like this so casually.

“No,” Kai replied, a smug smile tugging his lips. “We’ve just got nothing better to do” he continued matter-of-factly. Soobin just stared like he was being tempted by a drug dealer.

“shit, why not,” Soobin thought.

Suddenly, Soobin inched slightly, Kai took the hint and immediately scooted to leaned in, capturing his lips against Soobin’s. It was so foreign, but so familiar. It felt like their lips belonged together-, like the softness of their lips were meant to be conjoined.

They’re lip locked on the couch for a while, fully processing the fact that; they’re kissing each other. It was like jumping over a hurdle.

Getting tired of just resting there, Kai took the initiative and grabbed the back of Soobin’s head, gripping the short, black strands on the back of his head.

Soobin moaned, startled by the sudden roughness, not that he minded. His pretty noises only pushed Kai further, prompting him to insert his warm tongue into the other boy’s mouth.

Their tongues meet, the clash of soju and saliva making this impulsive moment even hotter. Soobin doesn’t know what to do with himself, or where to put his hands, so he just sits there, letting Kai explore his mouth, and grab his hair, Kai’s other hand goes to the side of his neck and he leans in impossibly closer, practically almost straddling the other boy.

Soobin takes this as a sign to grab his waist, keeping him steady, and starts to explore the muscular backside his buddy has been sculpting in the gym right before his eyes.

The room is hot and heavy. Tongues swirling, grabbing, and grinding against one another.

Fuck, they’re both hard.

Kai takes the hand that was once on Soobins neck and sensually glides it down to his perked nipples, hardened through his shirt, the slight pressure causing Soobin to shiver as if he’d been shocked, turned on by these acts of impulsivity.

Kai continues his quest exploring Soobin’s body, rubbing on his defined abs, trailing down to the hardened cock that’s piercing his pajamas pants, leaking tip soaking a wet spot through the silk material. Kai pulled back and smirked at Soobin’s immediate attempt to bring their lips back.

“You’re turned on from just a bit of kissing?” Kai asked condescendingly as if he wasn’t also. Soobin rolled his eyes and connected their lips again, this time he’s the one gripping Kai’s soft hair. He doesn’t care about teasing, he wants to finish what’s been started.

Intimately in their own world, the film completely disregarded. They don’t have anything else on their minds other than getting a release.

They’re both panting. Soobin rutted his groin against Kai’s hand, moaning into his mouth pathetically like he was in heat, he’s already so close, just a bit more and he’ll be at his be at his climax.

Soobin, so focused on his on pleasure doesn’t notice Kai taking his hand atop of his clothed cock, helping him get off too. Once he felt the hardness between his finger tips he squeezed earning a loud moan from Kai.

“Fuck,” Kai panted, he instead locked hands with Soobin then positioned himself right on top of him, rolling his hips quickly, aching for a release. Soobin moans at the sudden humping, leaking cock tip kissing Kai’s as he lifts his hips and matches his pace, equally as desperate.

“Make me come,” Soobin demanded, Kai couldn’t help but giggle at him trying to make demands while being such a mess underneath him. He couldn’t even let out a new snark remark, too distracted by the knot in his tummy being so close to snapping.

They were both so close, hot breath fanning against each other, clothed cocks stimulating each other, pajama pants beyond soaked. They probably looked like two animals in a rut. None of that mattered, both of them just wanting to come.

Soobin throws his head back and lets out a high pitched moan he’d be embarrassed about any other day, he couldn’t careless right now, he’s so close to snapping, one more grind and he’ll-

“What’s going on in here?”

Fuck. Now she wants to come back?!

—

Y/N stood before them, box of soju in her hand, cheeks burning but still keeping her composure. The sight of them having a heated make out on her couch surely aroused her. She clenched her thighs together as if it would stop the heat forming between her legs from soaking her panties.

Y/N sucked in a breath,

“You guys got too impatient waiting on drinks and decided to slurp each other’s faces?” she said in mockery, silently praying it’s not noticeable she was heavily turned on by the previous sight.

Soobin and Kai stared at her like they’d been caught red-handed by the police committing a misdeed.

Soobin couldn’t even comprehend her words, cock still painfully hard and brain fried from being so turned on.

Kai on the other hand just started at Y/N, noticing the way she shifts her legs uncomfortably, like there was something aching in between them. He brought back that smug expression that Soobin is all too familiar with;

“You’re not mad are you?” He started. “Or jealous?” Y/N stared at him blankly. She couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh, the nerve of this guy.

“I’m not mad or jealous, I’m just,” she pauses, collecting her thoughts. She places the box of drinks on the floor beside the table and takes a good look at both Soobin and Kai. They look so out of it, like they were having the time of their lives. Together. Without her.. On her couch.

“Damn, maybe I am jealous,” she thought.

She takes a step closer to the edge of the couch in front of both of them and says something that gives them the idea she’s been possessed by Kai’s boldness.

“I’m just wondering why you’d think to do this without inviting me,” she claimed, biting the bullet. Something in her chest said she wouldn’t regret her sudden words.

Soobin and Kai look over at each other, smirking ear to ear. It looked like they were plotting telepathically.

Suddenly Soobin shifted right side up back on his left side of the couch resting his arm across the top. Kai followed promptly, sprawling over the right, leaving a snug space in the middle between for Y/N.

It was Soobin’s turn to be bold now, legs open on the couch, member still visibly hard beneath the wet patch in the middle of his pants, a preview of what she was getting into.

“We’ve got some room for now,” Soobin said lowly, as if he was daring her to come closer.

The erotic expression on both the boy’s faces told her everything she needed to know;

She’s about to get wrecked.

Part. 2?

[oneoftheextras]

Inevitable | j.t

masterlist | help me fund my surgery

paring: ex!jayce talis x gn!reader

summary: you see jayce again for the first time after he cheated, he seems genuinely sorry.

words: 2.9k

warnings: 18+, heavy angst, cheating, this is just pain ngl, alcohol, no pronouns, no y/n

use code READER10 to get 10% off of handwritten character letters

Maybe if you kept your gaze on the ground then it would be okay. No. That would make you look weak and pathetic, and the last thing you wanted him to see you as was weak and pathetic.

It was Progress Day and your attendance at the assembly was a government issued requirement. That was the only reason you were sat in the uncomfortable metal chair, facing a barren stage with a podium as the singular dressing.

The only thing you'd have to do is sit and listen to Heimerdinger's speech, that would inevitably blow smoke up Jayce's ass, inflate his ever-growing ego and conveniently neglect the hard work Viktor contributed to Hextech, and then you could go back to your life.

The obnoxious fanfare died down and Councillor Kiramman's voice began to sound over the speakers, her gentle British accent easing the crowd into the ceremony's celebrations.

These things usually only lasted five or ten minutes, you could last that long before crawling back into the normality of your own home.

"Please, join me in welcoming to the stage-" her voice sounded and the crowd began to buzz again with excitement. You rolled your eyes cynically, all this over something that happened every year and rarely did they have anything to show for it, “-Jayce Talis!” she proclaimed triumphantly.

Your blood ran cold and your heart sank, the frosty thick liquid running through your veins icing over the organ to increase its weight threefold.

“What?” you found yourself whispering aloud in disbelief, your words lost in the sea of cheers and orchestral accompaniment. It was Heimerdinger that gave the yearly speech, you must have heard her wrong.

But then he emerged from the steps leading to left, his pace slow to begin with, then a hurried jog up to the stage level and a humble smile put him in full view of the whole of Piltover.

A glacial shiver went down your spine. Even though you were a few rows back from the front, you could see the shining lights reflecting pride and accomplishment in his irises. The amber colour as resplendent as his undeserved title of ‘Golden Boy’.

He held out his fist and waved to the crowd passionately as he made his way towards the podium, clipboard in hand. He seemed genuinely happy and it made you want to be sick.

The feeling of nausea bubbled in your stomach and up to your throat, leaving your mouth feeling dry and brittle. Then the nausea was escorted by anger; he wasn’t allowed to be happy, not after what he’d done.

It was bad enough that you’d had to walk through the streets of Piltover with the cartoonish image of his face on every banner and blimp, but to actually see him was unbearable. The people of this city praised him like he was the best thing since sliced bread, and the only thing you could do was watch him drink it all in as if he hadn’t ruined any semblance of contentment you’d been able to find within yourself.

It was doomed from the beginning really. Him; a Piltovian from a respectable family, and you; a Zaunite, who’d earned their way Top-Side through hard work and perseverance. He’d told you that it didn’t matter that you were from the Undercity, that he loved you regardless of your birthright, that you were perfect in every way in his eyes.  

And you were stupid enough to believe him.

You’d allowed yourself to settle into the mundane routine of being Jayce’s partner. Watching him work in the lab or in the forge, little coffee dates to cafes you’d never be able to afford but was cheap to the bank of Talis, reading together in silence - you’d even become friends with Viktor.

Loving him came easily to you, like it was a second nature, but receiving it from him was difficult. Not because he didn’t show it, but because you had a hard time believing that someone like Jayce wanted someone like you. 

Your gut told you that it was too good to be true, that your perfect little pocket of happiness was built out of paper mache and the smallest drizzle of rain would erode the foundations and melt everything you’d constructed together into nothing but a formless mulch.

It didn’t just drizzle, it was a torrential downpour.

“Uh, good evening!” his voice echoed throughout the hall over the speaker system, and you had to pull on every single thread of willpower you had not to verbally reply with ‘It’s not a good fucking evening, Ja-’. The main motivator being that in doing so would mean saying his name, something you hadn’t been able to do for a while.

He cracked jokes that people laughed at and spoke with the charisma of someone born to rally people together. The gentleness of his voice that you used to love so much now felt like nails on a chalkboard; your mind urged you to stand and walk out of the hall as a way to protect your heart from any further cracks in the already fragile surface, but your legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“No one in my life expected very much of me,” he spoke solemnly. Pausing for a moment and finally giving you the courage to glance at his face instead of the golden embellishments of the blue podium he stood behind, but he was looking back at you. 

Mentally, you’d automatically replied to his statement: ‘I did’. His eyebrows were slightly lifted, creasing the skin between them, and his lips remained parted as if he’d picked up on your thoughts and seemingly forgotten his next line.

He blinked a few times and broke eye contact with you to read his notes, and the performance was back on. The peek into that sincerity you’d fallen in love with quickly being sealed by the facade of a perfect man Piltover needed him to be. He stepped in front of the podium and declared promises of a brighter and secure future, letting the audience whistle and applaud him as he exited the same way he’d entered. If only they knew how hollow his promises really were.

You knew something was wrong but chose to ignore the signs that he was growing disinterested. Questions of; “Are we okay?”, quickly turned into, “Do you still want me?”, to which he would always respond with “Yes.”

Lying came to him as easily as a wasp to honey, that was his second nature. 

There was something bittersweet about the ignorance of not knowing the betrayal of being replaced. To be so completely unaware that your silhouette was being reshaped to fit the mould of another whilst you still housed it, but to feel every bend of your outline all the same.

You held onto him for as long as you were able. Your grip indenting itself into the part of his soul that you thought belonged to you, only to find that the divots and ridges no longer fit your fingerprints.

In hindsight, the mind games you played with yourself were laughable - you were so desperate to prove your instincts wrong, but Jayce in all his confidence became sloppy and you couldn’t pretend not to see the truth any more. 

Not when she was sleeping next to him, her head resting on the pillows enclosed in the cases you’d picked out for him and her hands gripping the blanket you’d left at his apartment the first time you’d stayed the night. The worst thing was his arm draped over her waist, holding onto her like she was the most precious thing in the world, the same way he used to hold you.

“J-Jayce?” your meak voice carried across his bedroom, but he didn’t stir. They both seemed so content together, unaware of the rapid pounding against your ribs and the two tonne stone that had caved in your chest and dragged all your internal organs into your stomach.

A peacefulness that you would never know again.

You flicked the lights on and their eyes immediately squinted at the brightness of it, and you had a front row seat to watching Jayce’s sleepy brain slowly realise exactly what was happening.

First came the stuttering, then the ‘It’s not what it looks like’, then the begging - after his guest had caught on and hurriedly left.

It should’ve pleased you to see him on his knees completely naked and holding onto your pant leg, pleading with you not to leave with tears welling in his waterline, but you were numb. 

The only thing you could feel was cold. Every part of you was freezing as if any ounce of warmth you would ever feel again left with the woman who was more desirable to him than your relationship. 

The Progress Day celebration was in full swing, fireworks, music and dancing was all around you. The logical side of your brain urged you to leave and go back home, but the two free drink vouchers they’d given you at the door were seemingly more necessary now than when you’d received them.

The two glasses were set down in front of you at the same time, the first one already half empty when you heard the cautious, “Hey,” from behind you.

Even if you hadn’t just heard him speak through an amplified system, your body tensing and the overwhelming feeling of wanting to burst into tears would’ve been the sign you needed to tell you who this was.

You inhaled deeply and grit your teeth before you turned on the bar stool towards him, repeating the phrase ‘The best payback is to move on’ in your head.

He looked almost the same as when you’d met him, if not more muscular and a little bit taller - his genetics had been kind to him and you felt the burn of hatred start its ignition.

You didn’t greet him back, instead you sipped your drink and stared at him emotionlessly.

“How are you? You look well!” he scratched the back of his neck and his vision flicked away from your unwavering gaze for a second as if the intensity of it was too much. Ironic considering he’d just had thousands of eyes on him not too long ago with no issue.

A humourless laugh threatened to leave your throat, but instead you managed to form it into a dry, “Do I?” as you drew your attention to your glass in an attempt to seem uninterested in his presence.

“I mean, you always looked well-” he started with the flattery but your rapidly increasing heart rate was beginning to make your hands tremble, “-What do you want, Ja-” you interrupted his compliment, only to cut yourself short, still unable to say his name.

His left eyebrow twitched, the slit amongst the brown hairs jumping with the movement, he undoubtedly picked up on how his name died on your tongue and you noted how a glimmer of hope in his eyes decayed with it.

“I thought I could buy you a drink, but it seems you’ve already got some,” he chuckled through his explanation, an undertone of nervousness attempting to be hidden by faux confidence.

He must really be spending too much time around people who do nothing but agree with him. Whatever tricks he’d learned to shmooze the brass of Piltover Council wasn’t going to work on you, when he’d shattered your heart he’d also obliterated any illusions he could try and dangle in front of you.

“Why?” you asked him bluntly, your voice was still cold and unfeeling, bringing you a drop of pride. He was taken back by your question, that much was evident from the dumbfounded look on his face. For once, he couldn’t bullshit an answer and get away with it.

He thought for a moment under your scrutinising gaze, “I wanted to talk to you,” he admitted, “Why? I don’t want to talk to you,” you fired back the second he’d finished his own statement. 

You could feel your emotions starting to push their way through the hardened exterior you’d somehow managed to fasten to yourself. He shuffled forwards and sat on the barstool next to you, one elbow on the counter and his body facing you, so you twisted back towards the bar.

“Why?” He repeated your question back to you with a scoff as if the answer was obvious, “Because I still care about you,” he said it so casually that he must have been unaware of how every muscle in your chest contracted with pain, “No, we’re not doing this,” a sour smile graced your lips and you laughed with discomfort to push back the temptation to weep.

“Doing what?” The innocence and genuine curiosity in his voice almost had you believing that he had forgotten how he’d crushed your trust into fragments so small that you were still searching for the missing pieces before you could start to glue it back together again.

“This,” you gestured between the two of you and swivelled to hop off of the stool, “Pretending that everything is fine between us,” you elaborated, anticipating another stupid question from him that would delay your departure from this torment.

He stood as you did, unintentionally blocking you from getting off your chair, “Of course I’m not pretending everything is fine,” he put his hands up as if he was offering a surrender, “I know it isn’t fine, I was a dick, but I want to try and make amends.”

You laughed again, this time it was a real laugh. “A dick? That’s putting betraying me lightly,” you mumbled to yourself but his grimace told you that he heard you. 

“There is nothing you could do in this life or the next that would make amends for the damage you did,” you spoke to him directly this time, leaning into him and lowering your voice so he really had to concentrate on your words.

You hopped off of the stool and he stepped back, calling your name but giving you the space you needed to leave if you so wished, but a part of you didn’t. 

The two of you were so close to each other, you could feel the warmth of his chest against your arm and for a brief second you enjoyed the familiarity of his body heat. Clearly, a small segment of your brain hadn’t fully processed that he wasn’t yours anymore. As if all of this was some very realistic nightmare, and you would wake up in his arms in a world where he hadn’t needed to find fulfilment in someone else.

“Why wasn’t I enough?” The words left your lips before you could register that you were asking him the question that had been on repeat inside your mind since that night. 

His lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed the same way they had when he was on stage, but this time you could see what was in his eyes - guilt, regret, and sadness.

“You were enough,” he whispered back to you, “Don’t lie to me,” your eyes focused on that stupid red tie you used to enjoy playing with so much and you felt every muscle in your face tense as you fought back that urge to cry again.

He called your name and reached to touch your arm but you batted it away, “If I was enough then you wouldn’t have needed someone else,” you spoke firmly, leaving him no room to argue with you, but of course, he would still try.

“I was selfish and greedy,” he admitted as if this was the first time he’d been able to confess it to himself, let alone you, “I promise, you were always enough for me, you were- are perfect,” his voice was soft and you wanted to believe him, but his actions were a strict contradiction to his words.

You hadn’t felt the tear leak from your waterline, you’d only realised it had escaped when you felt his finger brush it away and you flinched. He held his hand up again and slowly rested it on the counter, “Sorry, habit,” he mumbled sadly.

“Don’t,” you shook your head and refused to look at his face, “Don’t act like you care now,” your throat wobbled and you held onto every fiber of your being to allow you to speak clearly enough to maintain some of your dignity. 

“I do care,” frustration lined his protest, “Believe it or not, but I did love you,” his words felt like a dagger being stabbed into your unprepared flesh and twisted until the area went numb from the pain, “You don’t replace the people you love, I never could’ve done that to you,” you needed to leave, any longer and you would make a complete fool of yourself in front of the most influential people in Piltover.

He huffed, hearing him intake a shaky breath, you finally raised your vision to meet his face - his eyes were glossy and his jaw was tense, “I still love you,” his declaration wobbled with emotion on his tongue. 

“No,” you shook your head, “I won't let you lure me into thinking that I meant something to you.” With a trembling hand you wiped away your own tears like you had so many nights before this one. 

“Okay,” Jayce said defeatedly, the strong confident man that you’d seen on stage had disappeared completely, “Whatever you want,” he was the one to break eye contact with you this time.

“I want the person I was before I met you back,” you managed to kickstart your legs into walking away from him. For the second time, it felt like your soul was being ripped apart, leaving half of it and the one person you’d adored most in the world in your shadow.

[lundenloves]

@bringinsexybackk69: can i please request dad simon with a boy? like yeah he has all his girls and then there's either the youngest or the oldest and it's his only son? i can just picture like the girls are jealous cause he gets new clothes not hand-me-downs, he gets to do his own sports with out his siblings, he gets to go shooting with the 141- just like totally sibling rivalry and fighting over who is dads favorite?!

youngest.

simon is over the fucking moon when he finds out it's a boy - he's one of them dads in american gender reveals who says “i think you're a girl but i need you to be a boy" 💀

instant attention all goes to this kid, because A) he actually knows how to do it now and B that's his boy. that's his fuckin lad.

the kid looks like you. boys look like their mums, girls look like their dads n all that but christ does he have simon's quietness.

a complete observer like his dad. will be in silence while the girls argue, quietly exchanging glances with simon who internally feels like fucking high-fiving himself for creating a kid who finally understands him.

however the clothes are admittedly down to you, you love buying shit. any excuse. and having a son instead of another girl gave you great reason. though you did go too far sometimes. credit card bills rocketed.

he gets his own room too. straight off the bat, fresh into this fucking world and he's got it all. or that's how your daughters seen it.

“how does he get everything."

“give him a fucking chance." mumbling something about how he's only a week old. the dad sigh strikes again.

him and simon fuck off together a lot. they'll be away camping somewhere, simon teaching this (probably half uninterested) kid how to do all the survival stuff since his girls were never interested.

and when he gets older, maybe around seventeen to eighteen he's so game for that stuff. realistically, was probably in the school cadets n all 💀

when he's able enough, he'll maybe tag along on a run with 141 or summat. this is an incredibly humbling experience to say the least, though uncle soap is there to make everything a laugh n slow the run. "boys, boys, give the lad a chance eh?"

gets into his dads routine of the gym in mornings too, simon watching his workout from a distance before giving him pointers - hands on hips before stepping back to see if he's doing it right or not.

although, simon does not let him apply to the army. all fun n games till it wants to happen isn't it padre?

probably applies behind simon's back ngl. resulting in a huge fuck off argument once a letter comes in stamped under british army branding under the kids name instead of his own. yikes.

classic son x father shouting match.

i’m probably going to get asked to write that now aren’t i? happily, gladly, don’t get me wrong. sorry i haven’t been writing much but i do enjoy talking to you lot in the inbox.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob @spencerreidisbae123 @ellies-girll @paperbag-prncs @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon

[cherryrikis]

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 007 ! a statement

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note i was out all day to the point i almost forgot ab this smau ngl. + in honor of my fav @/hannicorpse bc she turns 18 today!!

previous <> masterlist <> next

“y/n? its rinnie. lets go out. you havent gotten out of bed in days. its not the end of the world. ill take you to a nice cafe.” haerin said as she knocked on the bedroom door.

“dude, too soon. no cafes.” you heard danielle mutter as she lightly hit haerin’s shoulder.

“y/n, its dani. please come out?”

hesitantly, you got up slowly and unlocked the door. behind it, revealed danielle, haerin, hyein, and minji, all holding essential items they knew would comfort you. ice cream, tissue, ramen, all sorts of stuff.

“oh, poor yn..” hyein pouted with sympathy as she pulled you into her arms. she wasn’t wrong, poor you. your eyes were puffy and red from crying, on top of your heavy eye bags due to the lack of sleep.

“y/n? someone’s here to see you.” hanni informed as she came up the stairs.

your stomach dropped to the floor. you felt your heart pounding out your chest, it almost came out your mouth.

“tell him to leave.” you scoffed, turning to go back into your room.

“it’s not him.” minji cut you off as she pulled your arm to turn you around.

slowly, the five girls moved out the way to reveal jungwon and jake, standing at the bottom of the staircase. “hey y/n.” jake politely waved.

“we’ll give you some time.” minji and danielle nodded as they took the others into the second bedroom.

“i know what you’re thinking. and before you say anything, riki didn’t deny it by choice. if it was up to him, the whole world would have already known how much he loves you. but the manager insisted it was this way. even bang pd wanted your word for the article, yet they just wanted to leave you out of it.” jake spoke slowly to you as jungwon wiped away your dry tears with a wet tissue.

“where is he right now?” you whispered. you were almost unsure if they could hear you or not.

“still locked in his room. you two are in the same boat right now. he’s just like you, he refused to leave his bed.” jungwon chuckled as he attempted to lighten the mood. “we talked to the manager this morning, and last week after the scandal first came out. but there’s nothing we could do.”

“thank you for trying. i had no idea. i just, i really can’t face him right now.” you sighed, rubbing your forehead in annoyance.

“we understand. take your time. i just hope you two are back in shape for music bank, when you guys have to go on in two days.” said jake, before he got up to get more water from the kitchen.

“wait- then, who covered for us five days ago? if i didn’t show up, i assume he didn’t either.” you furrowed your brows.

“eunchae and sangmin came back temporarily due to the circumstances. but you two are required to be back by this next airing.” jungwon informed.

“jungwon, we should get going. but it was lovely talking to you. see you around.” jake politely interrupted as jungwon followed him out the door.

you remained sat on the couch in silence. “what am i gonna do..” you murmured.

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

[nightravenxd]

Idk what I'm writing but I'm going with it

Might make this a series ngl

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

TFP!Megatron x reader

₊˚.⋆⁺₊ Small/big hate

Me when I see that one person:

He also reminds me of a cat in this picture

✮ ��� ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Being stuck in the sharp clutch of the Decepticons was not on your bucket list. The only reason it happened was because while heading home, and being at the wrong place at the wrong time, a battle broke out between Megatron and Optimus when they crossed paths.

Megatron assumed that you were related to the Autobots, but he soon realized he messed up big time when he saw that you had no clue who they even were. And the only thing keeping you alive was purely being bait for the Autobots.

You found out that trying to escape was useless since you were stuck on a ship, a thousand feet and more up in the air, and you didn't want to set the record for the highest cannonball ever made.

So you stuck where you are. Whether you liked it or not. Though you did give an earful to them when you got the courage to, but mostly because your bladder felt like exploding after holding everything in for 3 or 4 hours straight, you lost track of time.

Everything you needed was put in Megatron's room, because to "keep an eye on you better", but frankly you'd rather be put anywhere else than in the room of this ugly, big, shark like teeth's room.

Often, he paid no mind to you, leaving you to be snuggled up in a makeshift blanket which was just a rag, but it served its purpose. But sometimes he would tease you or threaten you with his claws and cannon.

When he does that, you curl up in the blanket, the only thing providing some sort of shield against him, even though it's highly ineffective. Nothing guarantees you that he won't slit your throat with his claws or blow you up, because you're merely a pawn in whatever twisted game he was playing.

But now you were glad he wasn't in the room, he went out earlier to do some work. But you knew once he comes back he'd be in one of two moods. Either pissed off, or rather calm in an almost eerie way, probably because he's tired since you've seen him sitting by his desk next to your makeshift bed, reading or writing something, or just sitting/laying on his bed, staring into space.

You knew it was night since you felt tired, tired from doing absolutely nothing here. So you laid down and covered yourself with your blanket and tried to fall asleep, hoping to wake up back at home, that this was only a very long nightmare.

But as you almost fell asleep, the door opening to his room made your eyes shot open. You didn't need to shift much to see him come to view, the door closing behind him and locking as he sat down on his bed.

You decided to try and fall asleep again, and you also heard Megatron lay down on his bed. Thinking that he would be silent and try to fall asleep, you didn't concern yourself.

But oh boy were you wrong.

He kept moving around, and the metal against metal stabbed your ears, he often huffed or groaned. He wasn't usually like this, he was never this restless and it pissed you off. Can't you get five minutes of sleep here?!

When you had enough you sat up. "Are you trying to keep me awake?" You snapped, glaring at him. You already hated him enough for abducting you, but now ruining the only peace you had? That won't do.

His eyes flashed to you, seeing you sitting up, glaring at him, made his optics narrow. "Careful with your tone." The fact that he was telling you to be careful, made your hatred for him rise. "I won't while you keep trashing around like a restless child!" You pointed your finger at him.

You saw him get up and make his way towards you. He then grabbed your face between two digits, his claws digging into your skin. "I don't like repeating myself."

He squeezed your face tighter, feeling his claws break your skin. You then pushed against his digits, trying to ease the hold he has on you, only for him to squeeze a bit more.

"It hurts!" You tried to mask your fear by being loud and "angry". But the whimper you let out after you said that couldn't be contained. You were sure he knows that you're scared, and he probably likes it.

Finally he let go of you, and you dropped onto your bed. Your face hurts, but you're glad your jaw wasn't dislocated. "I will do worse if you ever raise your voice at me like that ever again." His voice was cold, his eyes, too.

You didn't like it, you didn't like how everyone was cold to you, even your own parents when you were a kid. You only let out a small noise of agreement to his words.

Noting what he did now, he will do worse if you ever raise your voice at him again or defy him. Maybe it was your loveless childhood, but him acting like this only made you want to try and warm him up a bit, maybe if you pleased him and listened to him, maybe he would be a little less cold...

By the time you looked up again, he was already on his bed. Trying to sleep again. You stared for a while, and noticed his frown slowly deepen until it couldn't anymore and he opened his eyes again.

You wondered if bots had insomnia, but if they do, Megatron certainly had it. But you decided to lay down again, your back facing him. Then you felt a bit of blood trickle down to your lips from your cheek. You then wipe it off with your sleeve, not caring if it will be stained of blood tomorrow.

But you couldn't sleep, because of what happened not long ago. The adrenaline you felt was making you unable to fall asleep. You then turned to face Megatron. And saw him rubbing his face, in the same predicament as you.

You don't know what possessed you to speak. "Do you need help?" Your voice was low, but in the quiet room he was able to hear it and he turned to look at you. He got up and went to the desk where you were laying, sitting down on a chair he pulled out from underneath the desk. He then grabbed you and put you beside his hand, then propped up a datapad so that you could see it.

He then showed a picture of a small hill with a cottage-like house on it. It was only the small hill that was clear from the trees surrounding it. The rest was a dense forest.

You recognized the place, sometimes you would come there, put a blanket in the grass and enjoy the scenery. You found it by accident, while taking a walk in the forest you found that clearing. The cottage was abandoned, but it was well kept. It just needed some cleaning, but you never had the time or motivation to do it.

You felt eyes on you, his eyes. You looked up, and he was looking at you, thinking, a distant look in his eyes, though they seemed dimmer than usual. "I go there often." He looked back at the picture on the datapad, shoving whatever thoughts he had away.

"I go there sometimes too." It was honestly a beautiful place, but still surprised that he visited it too. You were glad the cottage had a friend other than just you. "Why do you go there?" To be honest, you wanted to know more about the big guy, maybe he wasn't so cold after all.

"It makes me come up with ideas about poems." Now that was something you weren't expecting, he likes poems? Writes them? Out of everything you thought he liked, writing poems was not one of them.

"How many poems have you written?" You felt yourself relaxing, letting your guard down at this lighthearted conversation in the middle of the night, at least you think it's the middle of the night.

"I lost count, but I stopped when the war started. Only recently have I written more." Now that's intriguing. "Can I see some?" You leaned forward, eyes on the datapad. He exited the image and found a poem he's written. But it was all in Cybertronian so you couldn't read it.

But even if you can't read it, you're sure it's great. Judging by how much is actually written on there. When you looked back up at him again, his eyes were half closed, shoulders slumped. He was tired, tired from a lot of things.

He suddenly got up and grabbed you with him. He laid down and put you on his chest, right where the Decepticon symbol was. You heard a light hum under you, it was probably his heart, or whatever they have.

When you looked up, his eyes were closed, and he was about to fall asleep. While thinking, you realized that maybe he just didn't want to be alone, battling for so long, having no one by his side to put his trust into. It's tiring, maybe that's why he couldn't sleep, he felt lonely.

Tiredness washing over you as well, you laid your head back down on his chest. The warmth and the hum of his spark lulled you to sleep, the first time you actually felt calm in your sleep during your time here.

[mo-mode]

Back on my Screenwriter soap box while watching PJO: They should have bought a bunch of oil diffusers.

(Edit: This post was made before someone pointed out to me that I missed a key line of dialogue, but my points and theories still stand for the same reasons backing up my original post so I’m not changing anything. The dialogue I missed lets us know that Hermes told Percy the lotus was being pumped into the air off-screen. It’s also implies (? I’m still on the fence about this one?) that Hermes told him what day it is, but I missed these during my first three watches because of how quick and vague it was. Which actually kind of supports my point on why visual indicators are so important. Without these, it’s easy to miss key information. And remember, it’s a kid’s show. ANYWAY my conclusions haven’t changed, and I still believe these edits would work better than the quick line of dialogue so just keep this in mind. Thanks.)

(I’m not being nit-picky. I swear. Just hear me out.) So the weirdest thing to me in episode six was how Percy just…learned everything so quickly without any visual indicators? Like they know time passed because it’s dark outside, but how did he know it was Thursday? They know they were affected by the lotus flowers, but how does he know it was pumped into the air? This irked me because even if he’s smart enough to figure some of this out himself (which he is) we as the audience should still be able to follow his thought process instead of learning after the fact.

What if there were oil diffusers?

So imagine the trio walks into the Lotus, figures out this is like the Odyssey, and decides not to eat anything. They waltz in super confident that they cracked the code, but they were wrong. How do we know? Because the moment they enter the crowd, we get an establishing shot of a lotus-branded oil diffuser letting out steam.

Immediately, we as the audience realize their mistake, making it just that more tantalizing to watch. As the episode continues, we realize they’re everywhere. There’s a diffuser in the plants, on the counter, between the game tables, always right out of the corner of our eyes. They just keep churning out lotus-scented oil into the air, which we can infer because we’re smart. (Remember that.)

Now when Percy realizes what’s going on, we know HOW they’re doing it and HOW Percy knows without being told!! Because they were there the whole time.

Onto Thursday.

Consider: A watch.

What if Hermes has the only watch in the casino until the trio walks in with their own?

Let’s give Annabeth one of those cheap, funky watches that gives the time, day, month, year, etc. Something you get from a kids toy catalogue. It’s waterproof, glows in the dark, has an alarm or whatever. I feel like Annabeth would have one of those. (And honestly, she might already. I forgot.) The most important feature for us, though, is the day. It clearly tells us the day of the week.

It’s pretty easy to establish that Annabeth has the watch. Just do it the same way they establish the date: Percabeth arguing over it in the truck. Annabeth shows him the watch. Establishing shot of the watch’s face. That’s it. No bells or whistles necessary. Then when they get to the casino, Annabeth checks it one more time (without an establishing shot, she just does it casually) and they walk in.

(It’s so easy. I promise.)

While Grover is walking around alone, he tries to check the time and realizes there’s no clocks. (Which ngl is super common in casinos already, but it’s creepy nonetheless.) Yada yada, he gets sucked in by Augustus and that’s how he gets got.

Meanwhile, Percy and Annabeth keep meaning to check the time, but every time they do, someone tries to hand them an appetizer or a drink, which makes them forget OR Annabeth’s hubris keeps her from checking. (Percy: Time check? Annabeth: Its only been five minutes. We’re fine. We need to focus.)

And that brings us to Hermes. After their chat, yada yada, Annabeth “leaves” and Hermes gets all cryptic, then he makes a BIG show of checking his watch, and THAT’S when Percy realizes something’s wrong because oh no they haven’t checked the time. So he finds Annabeth, they see it’s dark outside, they check her watch, and it’s Thursday.

“But we didn’t eat anything!” Annabeth says. Percy looks at the diffusers by the entrance. It dawns on him. “They’re pumping it into the air.”

That’s how you VISUALLY SHOW US THINGS instead of Percy just figuring everything out off-camera and telling us!!!!

Now, you may be thinking “Oh but do they have the budget for that??” Do you know how cheap these props are? Just bulk buy like six oil diffusers, slap a homemade sticker of a lotus flower on them, and keep moving them into every shot. And they’re quiet!! They wouldn’t interfere with the sound, the steam is visible enough to be caught on camera without messing with the lighting, they actually look really cool in some lighting, and they fit the atmosphere of a hotel/casino!! Then the watch is like $15, fits with Annabeth’s character, and totally matches her outfit.

It’s CHEAP! It’s EASY! It DOESN’T CUT INTO THE RUN TIME! It’s AESTHETICALLY PLEASING! ANNABETH GETS A SICK WATCH!! NO DOWNSIDES!!!!

The biggest problem with this show isn’t how accurate it is to the book or how much money they have or that they’re “Disney-fying” it. The problem is they are TELLING US things instead of SHOWING us. And not to beat a dead horse because everyone’s heard of “Show Don’t Tell” but like??? This is exactly why everyone is taught this over and over again in school?? Because people still do it anyway all the time???

There’s also something else I learned (or really just picked up) when I got my B.A. in Creative Writing: Good shows are predictable.

Whether it’s a case of the audience learning what’s going to happen before it happens or them watching the show again and realizing how obvious the answer was the whole time, audiences always want to feel smart. They want to interact with the material. If you don’t give them the opportunity to pick apart the mystery themselves by setting down clues, they’ll give up on interacting with the show and lose interest. That’s why you SHOW them things. There are several moments where this show is completely unpredictable, not because it’s complex but because it doesn’t let you predict it. That doesn’t make it bad—the comedy and character development is doing a great job of carrying the show’s weight so far. But it definitely doesn’t make the show good.

It’s like Rube Goldberg machines. Or dominoes! We don’t watch those crazy 1000+ domino videos so we can watch the last one fall. We watch it to see HOW they fall. Take one domino out, and it’s unsatisfactory. It doesn’t work anymore.

But some oil diffusers and a watch??? Little clues that make the realization that more visually appealing??? THAT’S SATISFYING

Anyway, these are just two things that could have been done, but weren’t. Most of the show is stellar. I think it just needs a little bit of editing here and there. I studied this for like years, and I needed to get this off my chest. That’s it.

Rick Riordan, if you ever see this, I am available for hire :) I would love to be a script doctor please please please please

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

Gingerbrave gets adopted by the beasts because.

(somehow better parents than pv which is insane wtf?)

I- I feel like I've done something similar to this before... oh well, here you go butterfly

Adopted by the beasts

Gingerbrave, a good cookie with a good heart. And out of all the cookies to adopt him, he gets adopted by the WORST INFLUENCES known to cookiekind. And these cookies are none other than the five beasts themselves (ngl I think DE is far worse but oh well)

To be fairly honest, he wasn't technically adopted, more so kidnapped. But they weren't doing anything wrong to him or using him as a ransom, so there's a redeeming factor.

Did he like it? No, not at first. He wanted to go home and see his friends and not be in the clutches of pure evil right now. But over time he grew to accept it and despite his better judgment, he grew a liking to the Beasts.

He doesn't quite forgive Shadow Milk cookie for pushing him and his friends of the spire, so he was quite iffy around him. He also didn't make any effort to apologize, so the distrust was understandable. But the two made it work, with time.

Mystic Flour cookie, oh how she scared him. As monotone and expressionless she was, something about her just intimidated him. But he got used to her and even started looking to her for guidance. He knows Shadow Milk cookie was the fount of knowledge, but in his eyes Mystic Flour cookie was the smartest and probably most reasonable person in the group.

He never went anywhere NEAR Burning Spice cookie. And with very valid reason. The guy was aggressive and always looking for either a challenge or something to pulverize into dust. Not to mention, does he ever bath or brush his teeth??? Regardless, he learned that ignorance is indeed bliss, and ignoring Burning Spice cookie altogether was better than running away every time he was around.

Eternal Sugar cookie is just... well... she's just lazy. And being the one to love adventure, the two were complete opposites. So it's strange to see him with her the most. She cuddles him, tells him to take wayyyy too many breaks in a single hour, gives him sweets, and is altogether very affectionate to him. Such affection comes with a huge portion of jealousy when he's not with her or is with the other beasts. He's her kid, he should be with her!

Silent Salt cookie only interacts with Gingerbrave in training. Simply because Gingerbrave admired his skill and liked the idea of a (fair) challenge. Because of this, Silent Salt cookie always held back on his power so he wouldn't hurt Gingerbrave. But that didn't mean he went completely easy on him, oh no no no. He was a mixture of firm and fair, something Gingerbrave both respected and appreciated.

[dlscenarios]

Can you write Mikey with a reader who enjoys taking care of him and being affectionate but they aren't dating, so he assumes it's just her personality.

He does love her but finds out she only does that with him because she loves him too. Which leads to a returned confession while he takes her home on his bike.

With a smutty detour or five😅💖

Kiss It Better

THIS HAS BEEN IN MY INBOX FOR SO LONG IM SO SORRY. This gave me SO MUCH UNNECESSARY TROUBLE OML.

MDNI

Cw: SPOILERS FOR THE FINAL FEW CHAPTERS, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (not detailed), Smut, AFAB Reader, Oral Sex (AFAB Receiving), Surprisingly very tame smut ngl. I MIGHT write a side drabble that's dirtier smut.

Manjiro Sano saw himself as a monster. He had lost so much within the span of a few years and was still only a kid. Through his family and friends' murders, he had to quell his depression every day in order to be the leader he desperately wanted to be. Like his brother had once been. To his surprise, you stayed with him through it all, holding him as tight as you had when you were little. You were his only source of comfort.

It started as you going to the same elementary school. One day, Mikey had invited you over to his house for a playdate, allowing you to meet his other friends and his siblings. The two of you grew older and Manjiro had created his own gang - inspired by his big brother - and you were the boys' personal nurse. You would patch up Mikey and his friends with a smile on your face, softly kissing the leader's bandaged cuts like a mother would.

Even as everything fell apart for Manjiro, you opted to stay by his side. While he never argued, he had a gut feeling that him being this close to you wouldn't end well. He had become an infamous gang leader, even after he had disbanded Toman for the sake of his friends. He would always be the "Invincible Mikey" and other gangs hated him for it.

He should have trusted his gut and cut you off. One day, after the creation of the Kanto Manji gang, Manjiro had learned that you had been murdered. A note addressed to him was found by your body, not stating who had ended your life at such a young age but declaring war on Mikey.

Losing you was the final straw. After your death, Manjiro felt nothing. His dark impulses could no longer be suppressed. The only thing on his mind was to kill anyone that dared to look at him the wrong way.

During the battle against Takemichi and the original Toman, Maniro Sano's life finally got better. After coming to his senses - after stabbing Takemichi - he and the time leaper traveled into the past, farther than even Takemichi had been able to go. The two were little kids again and, this time, Mikey swore to help Takemichi save everyone, especially you.

Meeting you again, seeing your bright smile again, was all Mikey had wished for since your death. His heart fluttered when you walked up to him in class and introduced yourself. He couldn't stop himself from immediately pulling you into a tight hug, which he later apologized for after pulling away. The two of you grew up just like in the other timeline, you being Toman's personal nurse, except this time, everyone survived.

The date that you died in the other reality had been engraved into Manjiro's brain. Now that everyone was alive and happy, he thought it would be a day like any other. To his surprise, that was the very day you confessed your feelings.

Mikey's heart dropped. Did you have feelings for him in the other timeline? Would you have confessed then had you not been killed?

You sat anxiously next to him, his dark eyes wide and beginning to shine with tears. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around you, as tight as his hug was when you'd first met.

His voice was shaky as he finally replied, "I love you." You smiled and returned his embrace, burying your nose in his shoulder.

From that day on, Mikey's friends knew you as his partner. They could all tell he was over the moon to be with you, Takemichi had even cried and hugged his best friend.

Eventually, it was 2018, the year Takemichi was originally from. He and Manjiro had finally gotten an ending where everyone was alive and happy. Mikey swore he had never cried as much as he did at Takemichi's wedding. His existence had done something good for once. The entire day, he kept stealing glances of you, admiring how pretty you were all dressed up and smiling at how surreal it felt to officially be yours.

It's been a long time coming.

After arriving home from the wedding, Manjiro stopped you before you could walk further into the house, spinning you around to kiss you.

"I love you." He muttered, locking the door behind him.

You smiled, "I love you too."

He returned your grin and placed his hands on your waist, resting his forehead on yours, "You're so pretty."

Mikey suddenly picked you up and carried you off to the bedroom. After gently laying you down, he kissed you again, deeper than the first. His affections moved across your face, down your neck, and had eventually reached your chest. He nuzzled into your collar as he unzipped you from your outfit.

Once you were left in your underwear, his hands moved down to ghost up your legs. You spread your legs as Mikey gently pushed you further into the mattress before he nipped at your chest. One of his hands snaked up to paw at your breast as his kisses got lower.

His finger hooked into your underwear and shifted it aside, allowing him to place a soft kiss to your clit. His dark eyes were locked on your face as his tongue teased you. Your fingers laced themselves in his dark hair, making him groan into you when you would lightly pull.

One of your legs moved on its own, draping itself over Manjiro's shoulder. He briefly parted from your skin to kiss your thigh.

"You're so pretty, baby." He purred, his hand replacing his spot in between your legs, thumb catching your clit. He smirked as you moaned lowly. "Love you so much."

He moved up to kiss you, the thumb that was just on your clit now gently rubbing your cheek. You could feel the bulge in his pants as he pressed his body into yours. His nose lightly touched yours as he chuckled.

"My pretty baby."

Your arms wrapped around him as one of his hands went to pull down his pants, enough space to take out his cock. He teased your core with the tip, grinning at the mewl you let out, before slowly sliding into you. Manjiro knew he wasn't the biggest, but he knew he could easily touch every one of your most sensitive spots.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusted into you, holding you close with one arm, his other gripping the sheets beside your head. His pace was slow but fast enough to not be teasing.

Manjiro kissed the side of your head, "Love you so fucking much. 'M so glad you're mine." He let go of your body to travel his hand down to your clit, rubbing the nub faster than he had been thrusting.

His hand quickly brought you to your orgasm. Your hips rolled into his as he coaxed you through your high. You whined as it faded and Mikey kissed your cheek.

"So good for me, baby. You did so good. I'm so close." He whispered, his pace quickening slightly. Eventually, his hips thrusted deeper than they had, his hot cum flowing into you as Manjiro groaned into your shoulder.

Both of you stilled, waiting for your heartbeats to calm down. Mikey’s hand caressed your hip as he smiled down at you. Your own hands were in his hair while you returned his grin.

He finally got a happy ending.

[ssskit]

────୨ৎ────

- ᥫ᭡. “whys this pussy so tight, huh? don’t

i fuck you enough?“ chris

making your pussy loose for him

and only him. ᥫ᭡.

- ᥫ᭡. dom!chris, sub!reader, big!dick!chris,

fingering, dirty talk, degradation (?)

kink lmao. belly bulge, unprotected sex.

- ᥫ᭡. a/n : okay im like uber new to sturniolo tumblr so pls dont be brutal on me 🥀 idk if its acceptable to use moodboards found off pinterest but ngl thats what i did. ts is literally the bible idk why i made it so long um. credits goes to @ribbnsvault on pinterest <3 enjoy !!

────୨ৎ────

It wasn’t often chris denied you things you asked for. I mean he literally got you anything and everything you wanted. You glanced at something in the store for five seconds? he would have it in your arms in two. He loved spoiling you. So when you shyly asked him to fuck you, both of you sprawled out comfortably atop his king sized bed, your head on his bare chest and he said no? you were both embarrassed and confused. Your boyfriend has /that/ smirk on his face. The one you find both extremely arousing and annoying. and you know right away he has an idea you’re going to be tortured by.

“But-“ your bottom lip wobbles, your eyes glittering up at chris in the way you know he cannot resist. “please?” you mewl angelically, your lips nearly ghosting the side of his jaw as he wraps an arm around your waist and hugs you close. Chris’s hand travels as you continue your pleading, his eyes remaining stapled to his phone. He’s not entirely paying attention to you as his fingers dance underneath your shorts. “You know by now you gotta earn what you get mama, don’t you?” chris speaks, his cheek pressed against your forehead.

You whine into his ear, the lace of your panties moreso feeling like silk as you get wetter underneath his slim and rough fingertips. He could touch you. He could make you feel so good. Why’s he being so mean? You whimper at the thought, squirming to get onto his lap. *that* makes chris put his phone down, his arms looping around your thighs, reaching around to grope your ass. “what is it, baby? huh?” chris smirks, his nose nearly scrunched from how cockily he’s looking up at you. You fight the urge to scoff.

What’s wrong? what’s wrong is your boyfriends cock is not currently stuffed inside you, making you scream, or making him whisper dirty things in your ear. You grind against him, the clad of his grey sweatpants giving you little to nothing. “Chris-“ you moan, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders. Chris coos to you, his mouth starting to run sweet kisses up and down your neck, your collarbone. It’s so distracting you barely feel his fingers slipping into the front of your shorts, past your panties.

You nearly cry when you feel his fingers on your clit, your folds, your entrance. Everywhere all at once. You’re pretty sure you could cum just from this. “Pussy’s so fuckin wet” he says, two fingers circling your entrance as you cling to him for dear life. “bet i could slip my cock right in here, couldn’t i? no prep? right?” he says. That’s probably unrealistic...your boyfriends *huge* but regardless, you nod your head dumbly. “justtt like this. see how well she takes me? she knows who she belongs too” chris meows, finally pushing his middle and ring finger into your sopping pussy.

Your eyes roll back shamelessly, a sob of pleasure leaving your bitten up lips. “i-chris…” you try and babble, but chris shuts you up with a rough curl of his fingers. Chris knows you. He knows every single nook and cranny of your body, everything to make you cum, everything to make you scream. He starts to push his fingers in and out roughly, his other free arm holding you down on his fingers, making damn sure you can’t squirm out’ve his reach. Your thighs shake as he fingers you mercilessly. “that’s it” he huffs. “let that pussy cry on me” he demands, curling his fingers harshly.

Though you’re pretty sure you’re going to cry as chris pulls out a few moments later, leaving you gaping and wanting, your whines filling his ears. “told you that you have to earn it” he reminds you, pulling your shorts down your legs. He doesn’t pull them all the way down before snatching the pretty wet lace that laid between them and stuffing them under his pillow. What can he say? he liked the little reminders. Your body shakes, your eyes unfocused as he pulls out his cock. You pout, knowing right away what he wants you to do. “but.. chris..” you plead, your tank top pressing against his bare chest. Maybe if you plead pretty enough he’ll say yes.

He doesn’t. He’s insistent. Your pout remains as you grab his cock, your entire fist not even fitting around the entire thing. You stroke him a couple times, eyes watching his reaction. Chris spits onto his own cock for you, cursing under his breath as you stroke him for a few moments. You lift your shaking hips up, your eyes watching his face intently as you line yourself up. You don’t even try before you whine. “it’s too big-“ you say, letting chris’s cock flop back into his tummy. Chris smirks again, laughing dryly. “don’t be a baby” he says, grabbing his cock and rubbing it up and down your folds.

You hate that your body welcomes him on instinct. You hate that you listen and start to sink down. Your boyfriend’s hands find home on your hips, watching where you two connect. Chris’s cock is a burning pleasure, his cock pushing its way forcefully through your pussy and forcing your walls to mold to its shape. You choke out a moan, your thighs aching as you get halfway down. “whys this pussy so tight, huh? don’t i fuck you enough?” chris growls in your ear, his words egging you all the way down. Your mouth opens in silent screams, your tummy bulging with the size of him.

Chris groans *guttural*. “ohh there it is, feel me there? stuffing this tight pussy?” he asks, his hand moving to press the bulge. You squeal, starting to bounce on his cock. or attempting too, anyways. Chris offers you little to no help, pushing down on your belly as you bounce on him. “chris chris chris chris-!” you babble, little tears gathering in your eyes. Chris isn’t listening. He’s listening to how pretty your pussy sounds- slapping down on your cock. “want you all nice and loose for me” chris says, eyes finally looking up at you. You whine, moving faster but your thighs burn and you just wanna *cum* already.

“fuck you doin? huh? didn’t i say i wanted this pussy loose?” he growls, grabbing your thighs and squeezing them. You’re breathing heavily, gripping the headboard behind his body. You nod your head dumbly, your body already exhausted. “always so disappointing” chris says, grabbing your hips to start pounding up into you with ease. There’s a fervor in his thrusts, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as you start to cry out. “i’ll fuck you all night if i have too- gonna make sure this pussy is how i want it to be when im done” chris growls, his feet flat on the bed as he rams into you.

Your pussy clamps on him, your hands now holding the back of his head and back as you moan and yowl. “oh fuck fuck fuckkk-“ you hiccup. “i’m gonna cum!” you whine and to your surprise? chris doesn’t stop. He goes harder, faster, he gives you more. He topples you over the edge tenfold, your body screaming out his name as you cum on him. Chris spreads your ass apart, moaning into your shoulder. His shoulders shake and before you know it he’s exploding inside your tight pussy. “that’s right baby- just take this cum- right there“ chris moans.

His body allows him to relax down on the sheets when you both finish, gasping for breath as you leak around his cock. But you can hear him chuckling dryly, giving an experimental thrust inside you. “tight” he says, flipping you onto your back. this was going to be a really long night for the both of you.

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