#and so even someone saying the right words to him wouldn’t help because that words are being spoken at all is overwhelming

[cherry-leclerc]

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him. 

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean.  Think back to it quite often."

-

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?” 

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters. 

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t. 

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones. 

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body. 

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver. 

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower. 

He’s just becoming— too real. 

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his. 

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush. 

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

-

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble. 

-

The start of the season is always tough. 

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of  them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

-

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world. 

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing. 

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention. 

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand. 

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough. 

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles. 

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend? 

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words. 

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing. 

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.” 

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

-

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry. 

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room. 

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help. 

Woah, are you feeling alright? 

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.” 

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright. 

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you. 

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter. 

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek. 

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little. 

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration. 

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you. 

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground. 

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open. 

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

-

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver. 

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace. 

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.” 

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.” 

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat. 

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.” 

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose. 

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering. 

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it. 

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers. 

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers. 

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs. 

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess. 

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon. 

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando. 

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.” 

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands. 

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.” 

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.” 

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t  mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him. 

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again. 

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan. 

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing. 

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.” 

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief. 

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.” 

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

-

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision. 

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk. 

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing. 

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off. 

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop. 

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you? 

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning. 

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry. 

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath. 

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer. 

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning. 

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Cleve gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.   

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

-

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome. 

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando. 

You what? 

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers. 

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that  things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream. 

-

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean. 

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.” 

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still.. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts. 

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice. 

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare me have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to. 

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has. 

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might. 

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, does eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.” 

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct. 

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now. 

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once. 

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it. 

It was never going to be you.

-

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues. 

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt? 

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend. 

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing. 

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head his nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you. 

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded. 

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you? 

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks as tired as you are. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab. 

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough. 

But then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.” 

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring. 

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. 

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.” 

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed me—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

-

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a sheepish laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. 

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes. 

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock. 

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it’ll continue for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place. 

“What about me?” 

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

[crepezinhos]

I have to say I really fell in love on your writting. I just discovered you by the Check mate(? Fic and oh- i can't read any other fics now... I beg you to keep writting new ideas or continue your stories (I really would like to see another part of 'Purity' just if it's possible). Thank you for feeding us well ☺️✨️🎀

Innocent Lesson

(REQUEST #7) POV: At one point in Scaramouche’s life, when he was still an absurdly innocent creature, completely unaware of how humans worked, he learned what was sex and how to do it with someone. How was that moment like for poor, little Kabukimono that didn’t even know how to pick something with his hands?

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a NSFW piece

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Kabukimono has no sexual knowledge at all but this does not mean I’m trying to make him 'more childish' in any way.

— Sub!Virgin!Scara

“Y/N-sama…” You heard the puppet call you from behind in a particular low, embarrassed voice tone.

Kabukimono, or Kabuki-kun just for you, was a hard thing to explain. He was a puppet prototype that was abandoned in the Shakkei Pavillion that really resembled normal male human being. It was still pretty obvious that he wasn’t really one since he was so incredibly stupid and unaware of the world around him worked, to a point where he didn’t know how to swallow water, although he really tries to be associated with one. This weird behavior of him made most men in the furnace where you work naturally reach into the conclusion that you should be the one responsible for him just because you were the only ‘mother figure’ that he could have in the place for being the only woman there. Eventually you two became friends rather than family and he started living with you in your apartment, which helped you quickly learn the pattern of his obvious behaviors.

That specific voice tone usually meant that he had an embarrassing question to ask you. You were used to them, although they could be troubling to answer sometimes. Like, how are you supposed to teach him the concept of breathing to him and why do humans do it? At least, the intelligence of his questions would improve the more he learned about the world around him, so you were never once annoyed by these questions.

“Yes?” You answered as you turned around to look at him and stopped folding some clothes that had just finished drying in your house on top of your bed.

“I… I have a question…” He initiated as expected, but didn’t have a lot of courage to continue. “Do you promise to not make fun of me like the other miners did?” He asked in pure need of reassurance, his cheeks going pink as he rubbed his hands together in the corner of the room’s door.

“Yeah! What is it?” You asked excited, putting your hands in your knees to make sure he knew you were paying attention to him.

But he didn’t say anything back to you. Kabukimono actually seemed to be really troubled to get his words out of his mouth despite your approval. It was written all over his face that he was embarrassed about it, which made you decide to simply wait for him.

And while biting his own inferior lip and avoiding eye contact, he finally breathed in and out and used a hand and his eyes to point right at something in you.

“What are those..?” He asked, and your eyes instinctually followed where his finger was pointing at, only to realize he was shamelessly pointing at the trough of your breasts.

“Oh..!” You reacted, a little taken aback, but still willing to answer his question as you used your own hands to point at your breasts too. “These..?” You asked, holding back a giggle in the back of your throat.

“Y-Yes… those two… things…” He finally found courage to refer to your breasts with an actual name.

You couldn’t help but break your little promise to him, using a hand to cover your giggling mouth.

“H-Hey! You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” He instantly protested at your laughter.

“Sorry, sorry…” You quickly swallowed all the remaining giggles down your throat as and moved your hands back to your breasts. “You really mean these?” You groped both your breasts softly, genuinely trying to understand him.

“Yes… those... the other forgers call them b-… boogs..?” He made another question, but his own little knowledge made him get too embarrassed to make eye contact with you or your breasts again, almost fully hiding his body behind the wall.

“They’re called boobs, but you can also call them breasts, honkers… whatever you like! The forgers can easily tell you all the possible names for these if you ask them…” You explained with a smile, trying to get him more comfortable with his own curiosity.

“W-Why do they have so many names..? And why don’t I have them?!” He asked, exposing his full face out of the corner of the door and beginning to get inside the room. His curiosity was too much for him to keep hiding himself.

“Because only girls have them! They are made to feed babies when they’re still too young.” You continued your explanation, making Kabuki’s eyes open more and more the more information you revealed to him, and also making his slow walk towards you more confidently.

“Feed babies..? B-But how?” He asked, kneeing right in front of you, his face already leaning the closest it could to your breasts as if he was trying to figure out how they looked like.

You gently grabbed his chin and pulled it upwards so he could stare at you instead of your breasts. Although you knew there was no bad intentions inside that empty head of his, you still didn’t feel comfortable with a male creature that close to them, especially one that was almost like a male human being. At least he didn’t mind your command and allowed his head to rise until his eyes met yours again.

“You know how babies need to drink a lot of milk when they’re still newborns? To make that an easier task to do, the female body produces and stores a good amount of milk inside them on their own for when they have babies, so that’s why they are this big! Uh… do you know what a nipple is?” You asked a little embarrassed, after all the topic of the conversation was really weird, but at least a Kabukimono was hearing your words very attentively and respectfully and nodded very excited for more. “Yeah, so, the babies get that milk by sucking it out of them with their mouths! Makes sense, doesn’t it?” You explained it all, a little proud of your own basic knowledge about your own kind of body, using a few hand gestures to emphasize the core parts of your explanation.

“Oh, wow… I thought babies had to drink milk from cows… but what if you don’t ever have a baby..?” He rose his upper body back to normal, a little worried at that piece that seemed out of the place in that newest puzzle you were giving to him as he fidgeted his own hands again.

“Well… they’ll just forever exist in my body then!” You giggled at the silliness of your own answer.

“Hm…” He looked away for a second, trying to piece all that new information together in is head. “And how do they look..?” That question made your eyes widen a little.

Did he really just ask you to show your boobs to him?

Poor Kabukimono… he was so unaware of the absurdity of what he just said... Not because you found it rude or wrong, but because you two were never intimate in that way. You never even thought about being more than friends with the boy.

“Oh, c’mon, show them to me! It can’t be bad anyway!”

A tie formed in your throat. Although his goofy grin reassured you that he really wasn’t a pervert, you couldn’t help but make you remember some unpleasant flashbacks. Being the only woman working in the furnace has its many bad sides, and one of the mains ones includes the forgers themselves. All the people working in the furnace made the sacrifice of leaving the town of Inazuma, where most people and the Archon resides, and probably their families too, just to work on the mines. To make things worse, Tatarasuna is a completely distant island with no other civilization rather than those mines, so everyone in there is unfortunately very far from any other kind of people in Inazuma. That means you are literally the only woman in the area that those men see, which also means they all look up to you when hormones starts acting up on them.

A guy asking you out for a ‘drink’ was a daily thing to you now, and most of these really just had the intentions of having a night of sex with you. Most of the times you rejected them. Only a few ones got a ‘yes’ out of you, but that would usually end up in other men asking you why did you reject them or praising the man for sleeping with you it while you got no sort of celebration and even insulted for being ‘easy to fuck’. These many disappointments led you to stop hanging out with the men in there and even start viewing them negatively in that sexual way, locking all those needs that you had in a deep corner of your heart that are only released when you use your fingers to pleasure yourself.

But for some reason, you don’t feel that nervous and repulsive with Kabukimono asking that at all, who was probably the man that had done the most absurd request to you yet. Actually, you always viewed him as a friend or a miracle that happened to fall right in your arms, so you never thought of him like a lover, or someone that could see you naked in the first place.

But why thinking about him as one of those now doesn’t make you even slightly uncomfortable?

��You wanna see how they look under my clothes?” Your smile died off a little as you still decided what you should do with the puppet boy.

“Yes! Can I?” He asked like a little kid would, which made your smile grow some extra inches again.

Kabukimono really wasn’t a bad man, was he? He simply wants to know what’s under your shirt, is that so wrong to ask for? Why would you ever say no to such a good-intended angel?

“Sure…” Your hands gently reached down to the tie of your kimono, located in your waist.

Since you were about to sleep, you weren’t wearing any sort of underwear, which meant that you had to was open the ends of the kimono and let it fall in the ground naturally. And as soon as the chilly breeze of Inazuma was hitting your warmed breasts again, Kabukimono’s pearly eyes shone with that newest view like he was miring at diamonds.

“W… wow…” You heard him mumble to himself as his face got some inches closer to them again as if he had completely forgotten of the fact you had already given him limits. His mouth dropped like he would begin drooling at any point from now on.

But now you didn’t really mind that extreme closure between you two now, did you?

“They look… weird.” You've never been so easily turned off with a single comment as this one.

You did mind it, yeah.

His curious expression also died a little, now looking neutral and unbothered, not even a little bit ashamed in expressing his honesty towards what he thought of your boobs, which made you instantly back away and pull your kimono up again until your nipples were fully covered from him. He went back to a confused state, but before he could say anything, you stood up for yourself.

“Don’t say that, Kabuki. That’s a very, very wrong thing to say to a lady.” You scolded him, which made him instantly cover his mouth in regret of what he had done.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad!” He immediately apologized, leaning his hands up just to shake them side to side, trying to get you to forgive him as quick as possible.

You couldn’t help but let a little grin reshape the lips of your mouth again. He was really just a little dumber than an average human being, wasn't he? If you taught him the right thing to do and say, he would do it for the rest of his life, would he?

“Don’t you ever insult a woman’s body like that again, you understand? This is something very difficult for me to do, so be grateful for the opportunity I’m giving you, ok?” You let go one of your hands from the kimono, still holding it up with the other, just to flick his forehead with your middle finger’s nail.

“Y-Yes, of course! I don’t find your boobs weird, Y/N-sama! T-They're really pretty!” Kabukimono smacked both his hands in the floor and bowed his entire body to you while shaking his head, agreeing with the newest rule you gave him.

“There's no need to bow, Kabuki... now come here again.” You whispered close to the boy's ears, which made him slowly rise his whole body again until it was in the same angle as yours.

The hand you left holding your kimono was taken away from its place, letting him mire the view of your breasts once again. A silence took over the room, one that wasn't embarrassing to him, but surely was to you. Kabukimono would simply stare at your boobs from different angles, trying to understand their entirety with a goofy curious facial expression, while you did nothing, which pressured you to break the ice.

“Do you… want to fondle them?” You asked fighting your own embarrassment, but also getting a little sparked up with the situation you were willing to put the both of you in.

It would be hard to convince someone so innocent like him to do something so out of his level of comprehension and teach him step-by-step about it... but you couldn't deny your own growing curiosity about his body deep down in your heart. You still remembered the sensation of touching Kabukimono's hands in his first days in the mine. They were incredibly soft, like you were touching a slightly hard pillow, but unfortunately some of its perfection was ruined due to the manual work he had to do in the mines, hammering swords, ores, carrying boxes... but he had to do it if he wanted to have a bed to sleep on, or food in his plate, so you coudln’t blame him.

How would those soft hands feel like while massaging your breasts they enjoyed to be massaged?

“F-Fondle them..?” He asked, raising his eyes up to stare at you, looking visibly confused. “Why?”

“Don’t you want to know how they feel?” You asked, fondling your left boob softly on your own in his front to give him a short preview of what you were talking about.

“I-I… yes, but… I don’t know how to do it, Y/N-sama…” He argued pessimistically, bonding his two hands again to fidget them in anxiety.

“There’s not really a right way to do it, Kabuki-kun, just do what comes to your mind... or what comes to my mind.” You replied more optimistically, reaching both your hands to separate his own hands, and starting to pull them slowly in direction of your needy boobs.

His entire body froze at your initiative, shivers running down his spine, blood running to his cheeks and his breathing even locking itself on his thorat just to process your actions, although he didn’t even need to do that according to himself. But that didn't stop his fingers from spreading all open to be able to have them placed where you wished them to be placed at.

And the deed was done. Kabukimono's pillow-like palms were now oficially holding both your boobs with yours on top of his to control his first, initial moments of that interaction you were introducing him to.

While he didn’t find courage to move his hands, he did have the strength to mumble some syllables every now and then, completely melted by your actions.

“Don’t worry, Kabuki-kun…” Your knees hopped closer his body, leaning your head close to his ear again. “Just close your eyes and move your hands around as you wish to... I'll help you if you wish me to.” Your flirty voice made his ears twitch in growing arousal.

The same growing arousal that managed to overcome his embarrasment as you saw the puppet gulp all the saliva resting in his mouth and close his eyes shut, relaxing his hands to let them be controlled by yours.

The first thing you did was to tighten your grip on his hands, forcing him to do the same to your boobs, which made your throat hum in pleasure of feeling such softness massaging your boobs after so many months untouched by a man. You hated the other men's hands felt against them. Hard palms who were usually stained by the black ink of coal, completely mistreated nails and calluses everywhere, playing with your boobs the way they liked it and completely obnoxious to your needs, sometimes even causing you to experience pain when they groped on them. Kabukimono's hands were soft and completely submissive to your command, so they were pleasuring you fully. You doubted that those hands, so perfectly architectured and crafted, could be ever as damaged as the other men's.

“Wow…” He hummed very lowly, still froze in his place as you stared at his dolly face.

And although he wasn't really moving, you could his fingertips slowly getting more and more relaxed by the seconds, mostly stoning them in an angle where he was grpping on your breasts by his own without the assistance of your hands. You even saw him smoothly breathe out all that air he had kept his lungs all this long, which seemed like an achievement to you.

As expected, the experience was becoming pleasing to him. Even if he wasn't human, what kind of creature does not enjoy groping boobs? They're soft and fluffy, no matter how big or small they are. You'd never tell any man this little secret, but even women grope their own boobs when they feel like it, so why wouldn't he want it too? The question didn't matter to you anymore because his hands, who were previously repulsive to your boobs, now finally have tightened their grip on you without your assistance, alongside with his eyes, who slowly opened to meet what he hadn't revealed to himself yet.

You couldn't help but let out a slutty hum, thirsting for more of that individuality of Kabukimono.

And he didn't disappoint your hunger, since it seemed he had found the courage to start a slow rhythm of rotating your boobs all around in a circle as he occasionally pressed them with his fingers too, even causing your inner walls to clench around nothing a few times. His cheeks were still shining in red, matching his shiny violet eyes, but they had definitely lost a bunch of pigmentation as he got used to the feeling.

You grinned and relaxed your hands on top of his', enjoying both sides of his hands working on you. The sexual tension had become heavy to you by the seconds, but Kabukimono didn't really look sparked in that way, like all that went through his mind was really just curiosity in the female body. After all, the next thing he said to you wasn't arousing in any way.

“W-What happened to your nipples?” He asked, moving both his and your index and middle fingers away from each other to take a better look at your nipples.

“Oh..." You went quiet for some seconds, looking down upon your boobs, only to find them looking normal, with the exception of your them being hard. "They just got hard…” You explained, a little turned off and scratching the back of your head.

“Hard..? Why..?” The grip of his hands softened, his attention already focusing in the next explanation you were going to give him.

“Well, as I explained, I need to have a way to feed a baby with the milk inside me, so think of this as a sink turning on..!” You suggested, a little more enthusiastic. “Although any kind of touch can easily make them hard...” You argued back at your own explanation.

“Wow… it’s rally a whole system…” He commented while pressing your boobs once again, which made you nod in surprise of the way he connected the ideas pretty quickly without you having to go word by word about it.

“That's right, just like the entire human body! Wanna try one?” You said, gently pinching your own nipple to show him a preview of what he had to do again.

But unlike your expectations, he didn't feel really embarrassed at all anymore as you saw him nodding for a quick moment and then slowly changing the way his hand was positioned to perfectly pinch both your nipples at the same time, causing a whole heat wave to run through your body.

You couldn’t help but genuinelty let a moan escape your lips and clamp your inner walls together again, trying to hold your will to touch yourself as he teased your boobs. It called Kabukimono's attention for a second but he decided to ignore it, thinking it was a sign to keep going. So, one of his hands decided to convert back to its fondling form, trying to do both things he had just learned at the same time. It was really causing your body to heat up in a way you weren’t expecting it to, in need for the next level of that kind of interaction, and he would simply keep fueling it cluelessly. His eyes would constantly focus on each boob and his hands would switch turns between pinching a nipple and fondling the whole organ, which was an addicting feeling for you, such an untouched woman.

You couldn’t even believe that was really Kabukimono making you feel pleasure, and that much of it too. It didn’t match his personality at all, and that’s also something he also came up to realize.

“Y/N-sama… why am I learning this..?” He suddenly asked, stopping his rhythm on you which also cut off the production of pleasure in your body.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. Was Kabukimono ready to learn how humans make babies in the first place to feed with your boobs? Was he ready to practice it too? Could he get you pregnant..? He was such an innocent boy, vulnerable to any corruption… but you could help him mature in a way it wouldn’t traumatize him. As long as you treat the topic nicely and let him decide whether he wants it or not, it wouldn’t be that much for the boy to take, would it? It could also make him have more pleasure in living as a whole.

Wait... does he even have a dick? Even if he did, is he able to feel pleasure? You didn’t see or feel him feeling sexual during this whole time. Maybe he’s really immune or tolerant to it... or he hasn’t felt it yet.

“Kabuki-kun… do you have anything between your legs?” You asked, purposefully avoiding his question.

“Between my legs..?” He rubbed his own legs against each other gently for a quick moment. “Yeah… yes, I do.” He said, not understanding why you changed topic, but taking his hands off your breasts for the moment.

“May I see what’s between them?” You grinned and leaned a little closer to the puppet’s embarrassed face, trying to make him comfortable onto saying ‘yes’ to you.

“I—… yes, but you didn’t answer my question…” He answered, purposefully closing the gap between his legs shut to get you to talk to him first.

“Well… Kabuki-kun, boobs aren’t only made to feed babies… do you even know how babies are made in the first place?” You stopped your line of thinking just to know if he was really that innocent, which he nodded his head side-to-side. “Well then, I think it’s really important for you to learn about this system of the human body, Kabuki-kun. Boobs are also made to make me… feel good.” His head angled to the left a little, not understanding what you meant by that last sentence.

“Feel good..?” His voice sounded confused once again, back to step one.

“Yes, and whatever us between your legs can probably make you feel good too, that’s why..!” You reassured the boy, gently patting the top of his purple head, but he didn’t really seem to be interested in your words, which made your anticipation truly die. “I just… wanted to teach you something about human beings that can do two things at the same time for us… it’s okay if you don’t want it, I understand.” You finally begun backing away from the puppet.

What were you thinking? How could you forget he isn’t really a human being in the first place? He’s a puppet, one that assimilates a human being, but who doesn’t act like one. He’s still too ‘young’ and naive to learn such a delicate thing… nor would he ever pleasure on it like you did. What kind of puppeteer would ever give any puppet a sexual organ? It would be cruel to teach him something for only your benefit when he didn’t view it like that too. It’d be better to let him have his first time with a woman he actually appreciates, not with the only one he knows yet.

You started tying your kimono back to normal very disappointed at yourself while Kabukimono simply stared. You couldn’t even tell what was he thinking behind that head… how’d you think that brainless man would be able to take all the information sex needs to be done accurately?

“W-Wait… what is it that you want to teach me..?” One of his hands launched forward to hold one of your wrists gently, trying to stop you from completely dressing up again.

Your face frowned, a little uncomfortable to talk about the topic now, but not enough to actually not give him the answer.

“…It’s called sex.” You initiated, but tried to wait for him to recognize the term, although you were pretty sure he wouldn’t-

“I’ve heard that name before!” He smiled at you very excited as he indeed recognized that term.

“You… did..?” You were a little shocked, you must say. The way he has been internally repulsing sexual interaction didn’t match the fact he knew the word ‘sex’ at all...

... Oh, yeah, the forgers.

“Y-Yeah! The forgers talk about that sometimes but they always make sure I don’t hear or understand what they’re talking about! I’ve even heard your name in those conversations sometimes!” He got so excited as he explained what he knew, completely clueless of the trigger he had just pulled on you.

“O-Oh… that’s… good..?!” It took you a while to properly react to that information in a way where he wouldn’t lose that motivation.

“What is that?! I’ve been wanting to learn what that was for a while now… but the miners always told me to wait for 5 years to learn about it, and we’re still on month 6 on year 1! Should I really wait for it or can you tell me what it is?!” You sighed.

Those stupid men… gatekeeping anything they find too ‘inappropriate’ for Kabukimono… and for five years..?!

“Well, Kabuki… I guess you can learn about it...” You breathed in and out, preparing yourself to teach him something partially hard to take in while his face remained excited like a little kid’s. “So... Kabuki-kun, when two people really like each other, they make this act called sex, but in better words, they make love to each other. It shows to them how much they like each other and how intimate they wish to be with each other.” You initiated, blood beginning to run to your cheeks again as you thought of you and Kabukimono possibly making love to each other too. “And sex is… something that makes the both of them feel really good and that can also make a baby, that’s some people call it ‘making love’.” You scratched the back of your neck.

“So… if that happens between two people that like each other, does it mean we can do it too? I mean... I think you were feeling pretty good when I was fondling your breasts so it means we can make it too, right?” Your eyes widened a little. He had no notion of what he had just asked for, did he?

“Well… yeah, but I don’t think you’re apt to do it, Kabuki… it’s not easy at all and you didn’t really seem a bit interested in it before, so I don’t want to make this any more uncomfortable or awkward to you.” You wasted the opportunity he had given you.

“B-But I want to learn! I want to know more about humans! I don’t mind making you feel good at all, I was just a little lost back there! Your boobs feel really nice to touch!” He suddenly banged his hands in the floor again and hopped closer to you, not allowing you to back away from him at all.

Oh, you were so confused… yeah, you had created all this mess but you’ve only realized it was really a mess now. All thanks to your bipolarity...

“Well… we can try but I don’t know if I’m in the mood anymore…” You giggled nervously, trying your best to not make the moment more awkward.

“W-Wait! Here!” He suddenly backed away from you only to quickly undo the simple tie in his white pants and pull his organ out of it with a hand. “This is what you wanted to see if I had, isn’t it?! The forgers already made me that question too!” Your jaw dropped at his move. It wasn’t comfortable in any way to have a man pulling out his dick when you have already stated you weren’t in the mood to do it, nor when it was a puppet labeled as a male human being.

But, indeed, Kabukimono really hadn’t answered your question wrong. He did have a dick...

... and he wasn't small.

It even made you stop your thoughts to think about why would he ever have one. Is his creator a creep? Was this some sort of irony his creator did because they knew they were going to abandon him and that would most likely lead him to death? Well, there’s also the factor he wants to be associated with the human race, and one of the many aspects of humanity are these intimate parts and what they bring humans to feel, so it would make sense for him to have one for this mission or if his creator really wanted to abandon him.

Yeah, that’s probably it. Anyway, this man has a big dick and he stated he wants to learn about sex with you. What are you waiting for?

“O-Oh!” You stared at his furless genital for a moment. “Well then… can I touch it, Kabuki?” You hopped a little closer to him, making his eyes look away from yours in slight embarrassment.

“Y-Yes... but be careful..!" He let go of his grip in his dick and relaxed both his hands behind his body in the floor, opening his entire body for you to touch.

You slowly crawled closer to his body, your eyes deeply focused in his growing erection. After kneeing the closest you could to his hips, your right hand finally reached his organ, which made it twitch and made him whimper immediately. It was not only the first time you had ever touched him like that, but it was also the first time you heard such kind of noise coming out of him. It was probably his first time being touched like that too, so it would be expected for him to be very sensible. Your hand was quick to begin a slow rhythm of going up and down all around it, which surprised him since he’d been so slow and careful with you and the fact he was being introduced to so much pleasure in such a short time. Which means that soon enough, his noises became something constant rather than rare, but at least his body was becoming more relaxed and turned on with your movements. His cheeks had become red again and he decided to put a hand in front of his mouth to cover his moans.

“Does that feel good, Kabuki?” You asked, smiling at his whiny face and pearly eyes, like he was about to tear with the amounts of pleasure you gave him.

“I-Is this… supposed to make me feel like this..?” He looked up to you again while groaning in his own palm.

“Yes, indeed… that’s what I call it ‘feeling good’ and ‘making love’, but it’s also known as ‘sexual pleasure’.” You blinked at him, whose face just blushed more.

“I-I… I want to make you feel this good too.” He stated before suddenly jumping his body upwards and placing his hands on your boobs, already beginning a rhythm of fondling them to match yours.

You couldn’t deny you were surprised at the move, moaning in a high-pitched tone while your walls clamped around nothing once again when he pinched your nipples, but you didn’t mind it at all. Instead, you wanted him to continue… in another place.

“I know a better place for that…” You whispered with a gentle voice, knowing it always made Kabukimono’s ear twitch.

“S-Show me!” He let go off your boobs and rested both his palms open in front of you so you could move them as you wished to.

Unfortunately, you had to ruin some of the tension that was building up by taking your right hand away from his dick, the same way he did to yours boobs. You slid the rest of your kimono, that has been resting in your hips all along, until it was fully in the floor. Then, you slid your panties to your knees, too lazy and needy to waste your time taking it all off. Then you sat down again and begun reshaping his hand to a new form like you were messing with clay, gently grabbing after finishing it to place it to your vertical lips, which made Kabukimono’s eyes widen in curiosity by the second and force his arm to stone in its place.

“W-What’s that..?” He asked, trying to take a closer peek of your pussy before actually touching it.

“It’s called a ‘vagina’, but it’s better to call it a ‘pussy’… it’s where I urinate and also where I feel the most good.” Your own cheeks got flushed as you explained about your own organ, who was aching to be touched by those soft hands of his. “Wanna try it by your own?” You pleaded as you spread your legs further away from each other for his benefit.

He quietly nodded while sliding his hand to your pussy smoothly, ready to coop it on top of it, but as soon as he felt the wet of it barely leaking from your hole, he took his hand away from you like he had just touched acid.

“W-What is that..?!” His entire face went red as he got nervous.

You couldn’t help but giggle, thinking that he was probably guessing that was pee.

“Don’t worry, Kabuki, it’s not pee..! It’s just that when you make a girl feel good like you were just doing to me, she gets wet like this, just like you got a little hard when I touched you.” You carefully explained, gently running a finger at your entrance to grab some of your wet and show him what it was.

“B-But why would you get wet..? And why would I get hard..?” He asked as he cautiously looked at your finger.

“For us to make love… but I won’t show it to you yet, you still need more accommodation.” He made a whiny face as you hid the answer away from him, but decided to go along with what you were previously doing.

“Oh… that looks sweet.” He commented as his eyes lingered on your wet finger like a curious kid.

“You can try it if you want to… I don’t think it tastes good tho…” You brought your finger closer to him so he could taste it.

His mouth approached your finger and opened enough to stick his tongue out and lick the pool of wet resting at the tip of your finger.

“Tastes… salty.” He commented, a little reluctant while moving his tongue around his mouth to taste your juices better.

“There’s no need to keep tasting it… you’re supposed to simply play with it as you wish to…” You joked, giggling at yourself, completely desperate for his soft fingers to caress your swollen cunt again.

“O-Ok…” He nodded, getting his hand back to your folds and caressing them up and down, making your clit ache to receive that much attention too.

And you got your hands back to work in his dick, both of you beginning to pleasure yourselves with your hands while a mess of moans started to take over the room’s previous silence.

“I-Is this… a hole..?” He asked, gently inserting the tip of his finger inside you, which caused you to roll your head behind your shoulders in shock with the sudden pleasure.

“Ah, yes! Keep going..!” You pleaded for him, who simply nodded in shock with your reaction and kept fingering you in and out.

You didn’t even tell him that he was supposed to thrust it repeatedly, but he seemed to have the instincts to do it like a real man would, which relieved you a little. His cold fingers also made you feel even better, melting your entrance in him easily.

Kabukimono couldn’t even think about what was he doing. The pleasure you were giving to his poor virgin dick was numbing his thoughts, and he hated it. He really wanted to find a way to thrust you better, but thankfully, you were also too focused on your own actions to care if he was thrusting you badly or not, your cunt was too hungry to refuse any touch that wasn’t yours. Your grip on his dick tightening according to how good he made you feel.

“You’re really hard, Kabuki… are you enjoying this this much too?” You asked with a flirty voice, leaning closer to his face, inches away from his red lips.

“Y-Yes…” He whimpered.

“Want me to make this even better?” You leaned closer to his ear just to make the boy shiver and nod immediately in desperation for his unrecognized sexual relief.

“There’s more..?!” His eyes widened a little, which made you smirk in amusement.

But it quickly got replaced by you taking your hands away from his erection and use them to push him by the shoulders against the mattress that had been laying down and witnessing the both of you from behind this entire time. You weren’t aggressive of course, why would you want to scare him off from such a pleasurable act that you needed to have once again?

He still got a little shocked and gasped lightly, but still let you have the most power in the moment. But his attention was taken away when he rose his head to see what was one of your hands doing in the back of your bodies.

“Is this… sex..?” He asked while tryin to cover some moans from you running your gummy folds in his tip.

“Yes, indeed. Are you ready to see why I get wet and you get hard..?” You smirked as you moved your hands to undo his kimono away from his chest too, revealing his slim torso.

You were kinda surprised at the fact that he didn’t really have abs after working out so much in the mines, but since he was a puppet, his muscles couldn’t really change, could they?

“Y-Yes…” He moaned, and soon his words were taken over by even more moans because of you slowly fitting all of yourself around his throbbing erection, causing him to arch his back with the weird sensation of your wet warmth squeezing him entirely.

But the thing that mostly called your attention was just how the cold his dick was compared to your cunt, like if all that warming-up was completely useless to his body. The heat shock caused shivers to run down your whole body, also making him to get even harder due to the comfort your warmth gave to his cold body.

“See how they match perfectly with each other..? Do you like it..?” You asked between slight groans, leaning closer to his embarrassed face as his dick warmed up to your temperature.

“Y-Yes… feels weird, but… I want more..!” He moaned out, completely altered by what you were doing to him, even launching his hips upward to feel more of your gummy insides.

“Then I’ll give you more…” You grabbed the boy’s chin and took his lips into a suffocating kiss while you started jerking your hips up and down.

His hands were gripping so tight in the sheets you could even feel bad for him, but he fit so perfectly inside you didn’t really want to stop. Puffy noises could be heard coming out from you whenever you sat down on him due to the arousal of the sex you were doing while your tongues danced with each other maniacally.

“This is why I get wet, Kabuki…” You moaned between the kiss. “So I can slide around you as easily as this… and you get hard so you can easily fit in me..! Isn’t it a funny system..?” You stopped kissing him, but you still kept your foreheads touching each other, feeling his warm breath in your face.

“Y-Yes..! A-And you’re wet because I made you feel good, right..?” He asked, desperately looking for more of your approval, which made you so joyful that you nodded immediately.

“Of course, Kabuki, of course…” You mumbled before launching your mouth right back at his mouth again.

If you never thought of Kabukimono as anything but a friend, now you definitely were. He was perfectly kind and loving like a friend should be, but the most important part of his personality, that you’ve never really paid attention to, was just how respectful, loyal and curious he was about you. He always looked up to you when he had a question, he always praised you for teaching him things, calling you wonderful, amazing and many other things. He was too naive to be unfaithful or disrespectful to you, like… you couldn’t picture him leaving your apartment as soon as he was done with this, like other men did, or tell everyone about his newest achievement of getting you under him in a bed, like all of the men did. You couldn’t even tell if Kabukimono liked you in a romantic way, but you definitely wanted him to. You wanted to be the only woman he committed those acts with, the same way you were beginning to wish he was the only man doing that you did that with.

“F-Feels too good..!” He whined, tears appearing at the corner of his eyes as he forced your mouths to stop kissing, a chord of saliva connecting you two indirectly for some quick seconds before it broke and fell on his chin.

You smirked at the view you had of him under you, but you were soon cut by Kabukimono strength suddenly acting on you.

It was sudden, but Kabukimono really moved his hands to your shoulders and pulled himself upwards, pushing the both of you down the floor again, his balls still shoved deep inside you. You didn’t protest at all but you were surprised he had the instinct to do that.

“I-I want to… do it too…” He whispered, his mouth and arms trembling in exhaustion, barely drooling on top of you.

His kimono had also fallen all the way to his knees, fully giving you a hot view of his naked body as his dick grinded inside your gummy hole.

“It’s ok… go ahead…” You smiled at him, using your hands to caress his back carefully, stimulating him to fuck you already.

His hips bucked once into yours slowly, really unsure of his own actions although he really wanted to be doing it, but you were so turned on, anything made you feel good at this point.

“Y-Yes… just like that… nice and slow~…” You moaned as you spread your legs further away from each other for him, approaching both your bodies to each other.

“You like it like this..?” He bucked his hips some more times into you, more comfortable with your opinion at his sloppy thrusts.

“Yes… you’re doing a good job, Kabuki…” You moaned out his name, which caused a whiny groan to come out of him.

“S-S… say that again…” He pleaded, his speed slightly increasing, although his thrusts weren’t precise at all.

“Kabuki..?” You asked, making him moan loudly again and tighten his grip in the hay floor by your head. “Kabuki~…” You repeated it, but better, making the poor puppet have to tug his face under your neck in desperation for any strength.

“Yes… my name..! I want that to be my real name..!” He moaned with a hoarse voice whille moving his hands down to your waist just to hug you in an angle where he could feel your chest against his and where he could also make love to your needy hole without having to wate all of his little remaining energy.

If it wasn’t for his will to keep going, he would’ve crumbled on top of you a long time ago. You could feel just how shaky his knees were from all the exhaustion. Seems like you had really managed to turn him addicted to the feeling even if it was just his first time ever doing it. He was determined to keep reaching for more pleasure like it was a law set on stone for him. He didn’t even know sex had its peak yet, and you knew he would get even more surprised, excited and exhausted with the information you were going to tell him soon. But right now, you just wanted to feel the tip of his cock punching your gummy walls until it kissed your cervix and hear the poor puppet whining beautifully right on your ears whenever he did that.

Poor little Kabukimono couldn’t even bring himself to pull out more than half of his dick from you, just like if he wanted to simply be embraced the warmth of your insides for the rest of it, cockwarming himself although his dick and his whole body didn't even feel cold anymore. Its temperatue had managed to perfectly balance with yours because of all that energy you two were wasting on each other.

“Y-Y/N-sama... I feel weird...” He whispered in a very weirded-out tone, rising his head to stare at you but not daring to stop fucking you.

“How come..?” You stared right back into the deepest corners of his pupils, moving a hand upwards to caress the poor boy's head as he vented to you.

“S-Something... inside me... I think I need to go to the bathroom..!” He explained while slowing down his rhythm considerably, making a perverted grin to grow in your lips immediately as you remembered that you needed to talk to him about the orgasm.

“Oh, Kabuki... you don’t need to go to the bathroom..! Believe it or not, there’s still a final step you need to learn, so keep going and do not stop.” His eyes widened in surprise once again but he decided to not protest and listen to you. “You’re about to reach the peak of sex... the peak of pleasure... we call it an orgasm... we’ve been building it ever since we started touching each other…” You explained while trying to hold back the multiple moans he was causing you to have due to how he went back to his previous rhythm of pushing his hips into youtrs. “I think I’m also reaching too... so we’re gonna do it together, isn’t that amazing..?” You pulled his head closer to your just to feel his sweaty forehead against yours again.

“Y-yes... are you sure this is the final step tho..? You keep saying there’s a new thing when you say it’s the last one..!” He protested in a childish tone which made you giggle.

“I am a 100% sure this is the last step now, Kabuki... it's nothing as special as all of this.. you’ll see... but I need you just fuck me a little faster!” You pleaded, finally letting some of your sluttiness get out of its cage, the same ones you've been holding inside your head this entire time to make the experience more about him rather than you.

Thanfully, Kabukimono wasn’t selfish or proud of himself, so he simply nodded his head weakly and went back to hammering your hole full of his dick to reach both your orgasms, shoving his head back to its little hiding spot in you neck again.

“C-Can I kiss you here, Y/N-sama..?” He whined while touching the tip of his nose in the side of your neck, his lips already touching it in a trembly way.

“Of course you can, Kabuki! I’m even surprised you felt the will to do that...” You turned your head to his to whisper in his ear as he launched his lips into your muscles, making out with it very gently.

Since you hadn’t really taken your hand away from the back of his head, you decided to go back at caressing it, which was making the poor puppet’s body twitch every now and then. That part of his body was ticklish as expected and you wanted him to feel good, so you just relaxed most of your muscles and let him enjoy the magic of a wet pussy for the first time. After all, Kabukimono was obviously not mastered in having sex (yet), so his thrusts were more relaxing than breathtaking to you, but it didn’t mean it was making you feel turned off.

Still, even if he didn’t have any idea of what he was doing and how to do it, a certain bulge was beginning to evolve quicker in your womb, warning your body that you were indeed about to reach an orgasm. Perhaps, that whole masturbation session and your newest attraction for him made it easier for your body to experience sexual pleasure.

“I-I’m gonna cum, Kabuki..!” You warned him, although you knew he had no idea of what you meant by that.

“I-Is that… the peak thing..? Because if it is, I think I’m gonna do that too.. my balls feel… really heavy..!” The lack of breath in his body didn’t even allow him to tell you something in a full sentence, his will to cry barely becoming true as you heard his voice break multiple times.

“Yes..! You’re gonna cum too!” Your other hand in his back scratched him not so gently, which caused him to let out a deep groan from the back of his throat, but you were really just trying to feel more of him.

And it really didn’t last long to build up the orgasm in that position because Kabukimono had really been building it up all this time. Even that mechanism in his body perfectly resembled a human’s one. It was hot and sticky as expected, even hotter than a man’s cum, causing your womb to ache with the slightly fiery feeling of both your orgasms fighting for space inside there. Kabukimono threw his head aback and screamed the loudest the he could, completely shocked and unused to that euphoric feeling, but he made sure to keep some self control to keep himself loading all of his essence inside you, no matter if his hands were having to give their soul to keep him on top of you.

The moment lasted for a good while since his orgasm was way longer than yours, but you made sure to welcome every single drop of his cum inside you so he could understand the fun of having an orgasm in the first place.

When his cock finally ended milking every single miligram of his cum from his virgin body, he simply crumbled and fell on top of you with eyes closed shut, still with his cock shoved in you so he wouldn’t get rid of that addicting feeling of a gummy pussy. Your hands simply tapped his back in response, trying to make the poor puppet comfortable to relax on top of you after such exhausting round of sex.

“Liked it..?” You asked, holding back a little giggle.

“Y-Yes… I did…” He said while breathing heavily multiple times, his voice stll sounding whiny.

“Come here…” You hugged his back harder and guided him into the loose mattress of your bed again, ending with you and him laying side by side, centimeters away from each other and staring at each other romantically. “Thank you, Kabuki-kun…” You whispered while moving a hand to throw a piece of his hair behind his ear, which made him grin and his cheeks to flush in a pinkish tone.

“No… I should be the one thanking you for teaching me so many new things in a single question…” He avoided eye contact with you.

You couldn't hold it anymore, he looked too cute for you to not hug him, so that's what exactly you did. You threw yourself against the boy's chest and slid your hands under his arms to hug his back once again. He quickly hugged you back, squeezing your head closer to his chest unintentionally. It was weird how you couldn’t hear anything from inside it, but it really didn’t matter if he didn’t have a heart or not to you, he had a soul and a very alive one.

“You’re welcome, Kabuki…” You finally allowed yourself to close your eyes and begin to fall asleep.

You assumed Kabukimono was doing the same, even if sleeping didn’t have any benefits to him. After all, he was extremely quiet and he sounded like he was focusing on his breathing, rolling his fingers in some strands of your hair playfully just like other men did when they decided to spend the rest of the night with you.

“Y/N-sama… do you mind if I ask you something before you fall asleep..?” He suddenly whispered, which didn’t scare you at all, so you didn’t even mind moving a muscle to open your eyes again.

“Yeah, go ahead…” You answered in a sleepy tone.

“When can we do that again?”

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

Taglist: @alatusorrow @the-stinky-winky @kindofscenic @amoyanderes @kindofshyent

Requests are open again!

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part three.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

there is angst in this part !!!

summary: you and spencer have an absolute blast doing the livestream, but then you open your mouth. oh no.

word count: 3286

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

You had two days until the livestream, which means you and Ang would be conspiring nonstop for the next 48-or-so hours. That FaceTime call lasted much longer than necessary, and when you both came into the office today you were both clearly exhausted. But that’s okay, because you were not only going to get your friend back, but hopefully gain a partner in the process.

“Jeez, Peach, you’re looking rough today.” Spencer greeted you in the kitchen, and you immediately glanced up and around to make sure no one else was in the kitchen to hear that. Just last night you were wishing he would call you Peach at work, but now it felt… strange. To actually have it happen. That must have been Angela’s doing.

“Yeah, I was up pretty late. I think I finally went to sleep around four just to turn around and wake up at eight. Plus, I was tossing and turning all night, so the sleep I did get wasn’t even restful.” You put a small amount of concealer on because your eyebags were so dark today, and it was still shoot week. Next week it wouldn’t matter all that much because you’d be in your pod locking in on other things, but since you still have three days of shooting to be done, you had to at least try and cover it up. You usually didn’t venture into the comments for your own mental, but you knew if you didn’t put something over them, someone would inevitably comment ‘wow y/n looks like shit today’. And of course, that would be the one comment out of all of them that you would end up seeing.

Spencer rubbed your upper arm lightly, offering more comfort than you expected from him as of late. It was nice. You let a smile spill across your face, but broke eye contact to stare at your shoes. 

“You want one of my Kickstarts? I know they make your stomach upset but maybe the energy might help?” He held an unopened can out to you, and you took it. He was right, you usually had a stomach ache after drinking a Kickstart, but you felt so dead it just might be worth it.

You popped the tab and took a sip, thanking him for his generosity. Angela had definitely talked to him more in depth than she let on, meaning she definitely knew more than she let on. So now you had to worry if she was conspiring with him as well. Not that she would do anything to sabotage you behind your back, but what if she coaxed both of you into a silly plan that will end up falling through?

//

The two shoot days before the livestream were both pretty much the same as always. You and Angela stayed up well into the night hatching a plan, Spencer let you drink his Kickstart and brought you coffee and Red Bull Thursday morning, the day of the stream. You picked up your energy for the shoots, and did your best to keep up with conversations and plans off-camera as well. Spencer was back to his usual physically affectionate self, and he had no trouble saying ‘I love you’ back when you said it first, if you said it first. Whatever Angela was doing behind the scenes on his side was working, because it almost felt like you didn’t need to do some big thing on the stream now. You had what you wanted: your best friend back. Sure, you want more than that, and as far as you knew, so did Spencer. But why introduce the potential of a severe falling out when this was working just fine? You’d been best friends with Spencer for nearly eight years now, that was all you had ever known. Friendship. Was it worth the possibility of losing all of this? Just to—what, gain a different label?

You said as much to Angela while you two were eating. The kitchen and eating area were fairly empty while everyone was setting up for the stream. Spencer, luckily, was needed on set so you knew he wasn’t around to hear you wax poetic about him. Again. As you seemed entirely incapable of doing anything else, lately.

“I don’t know, I’m just starting to wonder if it’s all worth it. Like, sure, I gain the new label of ‘partner,’ but what else is going to change? We already act like a couple anyway, according to you and Erin.”

Angela put her hand on your shoulder and looked into your eyes, piercing through to your very soul. “Y/N, I’m going to hold your hand when I say this, but you don’t just gain the label. You gain all the benefits and happiness of a relationship and you also don’t have to keep hurting yourself. You want to be with Spencer, and he wants to be with you. Instead of not allowing yourself that happiness, and pushing it down constantly to try and come off as ‘normal’, you can just be normal. Also, as far as I know, you and Spence haven’t kissed or gone on any dates and I do believe that’s a perk that comes with dating someone. Especially someone who already knows everything about you. Instead of you two having to tread the murky beginnings of a relationship, you can hop right into it because you both already know so much about each other. Sure it might not feel entirely different at first, but imagine how relieved you’ll be when you don’t have to stop yourself from complimenting him, or staring at him, or blushing whenever he so much as breathes in your direction.” Angela pushed her food around on her plate, pondering if she should keep talking. She was working hard to make this happen, because she loved you both and knew you both deserved to be happy with each other. But Y/N was stubborn, and Spencer was just… hard-headed sometimes.

You held your breath for a moment, letting her words sink in again. Angela wasn’t always so verbose but when she was, it was serious, and you had to really listen. And, of course, she was right. You keep hurting yourself by pushing these feelings away, and you know that they’re reciprocated, so why keep pushing? “You’re right, as always.” You beamed at your best friend, feeling hopeful that this would work.

You knew the stream was set to be starting in about thirty minutes, so you stood up to throw your trash away and get ready. But before you could walk away, Angela grabbed your wrist. “Just so you know, and you didn’t hear this from me, but everyone here wants you two to start dating. Erin sent those memes in thinking it would kick your asses into gear but it didn’t work as well as she thought it would, I guess. Also, a lot of Smosh fans ship you. There’s a few compilations on YouTube if you’re curious. Just some food for thought.” She smiled brightly before leaving you to ponder on that.

You decided to pop your headphones in and do a quick check on that “compilation” comment. You weren’t due to set for twenty more minutes, so you clicked on a five minute compilation titled “Y/N and Spencer being soulmates for 5 minutes and 28 seconds”. Soulmates. It was accurate, to you, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach. You only got a few clips into the compilation before you started to get a little too warm. You freshened up your face and deodorant in the bathroom, and set off for the stream.

//

Everything was off to a good start. You fiddled around with a few songs, and Spencer, of course, was holding perfect conversation with you while also getting a 96% on Expert mode. It was time to start executing your plan, and you knew Angela was right off to the side watching.

“Okay, so, I didn’t tell you this,” you started, glancing at Spencer, “but I did some extra training without you.” You smiled nervously, hoping he wouldn’t be mad at you.

“No way! Cheater.” Your best friend was gleaming at you, and despite his words, he seemed a bit proud. “You just wanted to impress me, didn’t you, Peach?” 

He definitely expected you to falter at the mention of your nickname while on stream, but you held strong. If you blushed, then you blushed. You didn't really have a say in that.

“Well, of course I did. Anyway, I made sure we added one of my favorite songs to the game while you were busy running around setting up, but it’s only mapped on Expert mode. You think I can do it?”

“I believe in you wholeheartedly.” You could tell from the smile on his face that he wasn’t joking. Well, here goes nothing.

“Okay, close your eyes because I have to scroll and find it and I don’t want you to see which song it is.”

“You said it was one of your favorites, right? Can I guess?” Spencer had both hands over his eyes, under his glasses, which made him look quite silly. And while he did know a lot of your favorite songs, you were pretty sure you hadn’t mentioned this one to him.

“Go ahead,” you urged, scrolling through the menus for a few seconds before asking Alex the best way to get to the song.

“Okay, let’s see here. Is it Andria by La Dispute?”

“Nope.”

“Avocado, Baby by Los Campesinos!?”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ this time.

“Change by Djo?”

“Ah, there it is!” You had finally found the song, after a few too many minutes of scrolling around. The chat didn’t seem to be bothered by the current lack of commentary because they all still seemed to be reeling about Spencer calling you Peach. Which was fair, because mentally you were also freaking out a little bit. But you had more important things to worry about than the blush that was definitely painting your neck and face.

“I was right?” Spencer moved his hands, “Oh, no I wasn’t. I didn’t know you liked The Corrs?” He looked back at you now, and you thought you heard him comment on your blush. But you could rewatch later. For now, you needed to slay this song.

“Spencer, of course I like The Corrs.” You locked in on the song, hitting every single note with ease. You found yourself singing the song too, and Spencer joined in not long after you started.

“Can’t hide it! Can’t fight it! So, go on, go on! Come on, leave me breathless. Tempt me, tease me! Till I can’t deny this loving feelin’! Make me long for your kiss!” You were both singing your hearts out, and you were simultaneously shredding on the fancy guitar controller Spence had secured for Smosh. The chat was going wild, but neither of you thought to even ask about it. The song ended and you managed to get a 92% on Expert mode, while singing and conversing. That was the best you’d ever done on a song, and you had no doubt it was because your best friend was next to you singing with you. 

//

The stream ended after about an hour and a half, your voice hoarse from singing and cheering and yelling. You had picked Breathless by The Corrs because you knew you had never mentioned liking them to Spencer, but the lyrics of the song were just too accurate for how you felt. And you and Angela both knew you wouldn’t be able to actually get a confession out, so you were hoping the song was enough to give Spencer the push to say something himself. And him singing the song with you certainly did something to your insides, but these days everything that man did made your stomach flip. And you were okay with that. You could get used to that. Maybe you even wanted that. You wanted Spencer, unabashedly.

Angela pulled you down the hall away from your other coworkers to ask how you felt. “I don’t know how I feel, to be honest. It was nerve-wracking and stressful at some points, but I don’t know, singing one of my favorite love songs with the man I’m currently in love with was an incredible feeling.” You were so happy and so bubbly you didn’t even realize your wording.

Until you noticed Angela was staring at you.

“What? Oh, fuck. Okay, yeah, I didn’t mean to say that. Um, Just... I’m really high on energy right now, is all.” You let out a soft chuckle, trying to walk back your statement. But she had heard it, and Angela wasn’t exactly one to let things go. “Angela, please do not mention this until we have both clocked out and left the building. Then you can go crazy, but just wait until then. Please,” you quietly begged. It was going to come up again – no doubt about that. But you couldn’t do it while you were still here. You didn’t have anything left to shoot today but you did have some paperwork to do and some marketing stuff to work on, and Tommy asked you to be in a TikTok earlier in the week so that still needed to be done too.

“Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But you will be hearing from me as soon as I park my ass on my couch at home,” Angela whispered back, attempting to meet your volume level but mostly failing.

“What’re y’all whispering about over here?” Spencer had come down the hallway, a Kickstart in one hand and your favorite flavor of Red Bull in the other.

“We’re conspiring on how to break YouTube's streaming rules on a livestream and get away with it, why?” You supplied, knowing he would appreciate a little joke after a somewhat-tense livestream. Maybe the livestream was only tense for you, though. You graciously accepted the Red Bull as he handed it to you.

He did laugh, luckily, and turned towards Angela, “I think Arasha would be a better co-conspirator for that. Y/N is too nice to break internet law.” He smiled at you now, and put his hand on your shoulder, his warmth spreading through your body.

He was always so warm, and you religiously ran cold. It was one of many ways you two fit together so well. You both balanced each other out in all the best ways, Spencer giving more where you had to give less, and vice versa. He always knew just what you needed, and just when you needed it. In so many ways, your friends were right. You were already a couple, basically, without the main perks of being together. You weren’t able to cash in on the parts of the relationship that you really craved – you wanted to kiss him, you wanted to fall asleep in his arms, you wanted to spend lazy Sunday mornings in bed with him and let him teach you all the video games you didn’t understand. You wanted Spencer in a way you couldn’t put into words. It was a visceral need deep inside your bones; an almost bothersome, unending ache. Your want for him outweighed any other emotion you could possibly feel.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it.

“Hey, Ang, can I talk to Spence alone for a second?” You smiled innocently, knowing she’d see through it.

“Oh, of course. I’ll talk to you later! Love you both!” She yelled, speed-walking away like her life depended on it. She was halfway down the hallway before she even finished her sentence.

Spencer and you turned to face each other, and suddenly your throat was quite dry. You remembered, gratefully, that he had brought you a Red Bull. You held a finger up to communicate that you needed a second, and then downed half the can in one go. You burped quite loudly afterwards, apologizing for the loud noise.

“You good, brother?” Your best friend inquired, his hand finding his favorite place on your wrist. He always touched your wrist when he was worried about you, a small gesture that always made you light up inside. Despite his overall relaxed demeanor, you could tell he was a bit anxious. His other hand started fidgeting not long after you asked Angela to leave.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Okay, so I’m going to word vomit right now. I know you’re going to want to tell me to shut the fuck up, but please let me just puke it out and then I promise you can have the floor afterwards. Okay?” He nodded, and you started again. “I love you, Spence. You know that, right?” 

Spencer’s fidgeting picked up speed and you grabbed both of his hands in yours, hoping to quell any anxious thoughts forming. You rubbed your thumbs on the back of his hands, realizing once again how warm he was. “You know that, right?” You reiterated, needing the confirmation before you moved forward.

“Yes, Y/N. I love you, too. You also know that, right?” You could hear his voice shake a little, tempting you to try and hurry this up so as not to stress him out. You still wanted it to come out coherent and somewhat romantic, but you weren’t sure if you could handle him being so anxious. 

You smiled, intertwining your fingers with his before continuing on. “Yes, I do. But I’m also lying to you every time I tell you that.” Spencer’s face very quickly dropped at this, prompting you to remind him to let you word vomit and that everything was okay. After you two shared some deep breaths, you continued on.  “I say I love you, and I mean it, because I do, but… honestly for years and years now, I’ve meant it differently than you might mean it. I do love you, but not as a friend. Spencer, I’m so head over ass in love with you. I’m tired of fighting it, I’m tired of hiding it, I’m tired of everyone making jokes at our expense. If you don’t reciprocate, trust me, I understand. I won’t be upset. I just hope you can forgive me for potentially ruining this friendship. But, I need to be honest with myself and most of all, with you. I love you, Spence, and not as a friend. And I’m hoping you can be okay with that.”

You took a deep breath, letting your words wash over him while you tried to quickly recuperate from the intense reeling in your brain. If everyone else at the Smoffice was right, he did reciprocate. But now you weren’t so sure. He had been silent far longer than you expected. You pulled yourself out of your head to look at Spencer, finally, having been looking at his hands in yours to try and center yourself.

But, he was crying. “Oh, god, Spencer. I’m sorry, that was not cool of me, we’re at work. I’m sorry, I’m... I’ll go.” You disconnected your hands and ran for the office doors, not bothering to grab your bag or keys or phone. You just really needed to be away from everything right now. If he called after you, or if anyone did for that matter, you didn’t hear it. You needed to get out. And you needed to get out now.

You made your best friend cry.

After telling him you loved him and wanted him in a way he couldn’t give to you.

How badly did you just fuck everything up?

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

I'M SORRY aaaaaaaa

taglist: @lokidokieokie <3

[lailawinchesterr]

remedy (vii) — sam winchester

> prev, masterlist

summary: somethings just aren't meant to be, and you can't force them— tags: underage!reader, 22-year-old!sam, med student!fem!reader, cursing, angst, 6k chapter (yeah, it needs a warning), daddy issues I think.

You don’t text back for two days, and he ignores you. All of a sudden, it’s ‘we need to talk’. No way, man; an idiot can see this is a breakup text if they look at it for a second too long. And you’re not stupid enough to end something that means this much to you over the phone. 

If he decides you’re boring, or you’re not it, or whatever, he can say it to your face—

Your phone is ringing.

Worst case scenario, he calls you names, best case, he says it’s not you; it’s him. Maybe switch them around?

Maybe you should change your number.

Maybe you should answer. You answer. “Sam, hey.”

“Hey, you okay? Were you asleep?” Maybe if you say yes, he’ll feel stupid breaking up with you while you are half asleep. 

“No.” You’ve never been good at lying to him. “Do you need anything?”

“Sweetheart, what’s with the silent treatment?” oh, great, now he wants to talk about it? It’s been two days, he didn’t bother then— God, what is happening to you! You’re acting like such a bitch, right now, like all the times you’ve yelled at your friends to stop being so annoying with their boyfriends, and now you’re doing the same. 

“Sorry, uh— yeah, no, I guess I was just being silly because you didn’t call when you said you would.” Your voice is so timid, you wouldn’t believe it if someone said it was you. Sam has responsibilities, such as finding his dad and taking care of Dean, and you are being petty. Fuck this whole thing, this isn't you, why are you suddenly changing around him (without him here).

“It's not silly. I just had something to take care of that night and forgot to tell you.”

“Why'd you pretend? Why not just tell me the next day?”

“I thought you forgot, I didn't wanna remind you; besides, it was one call, I didn't think you’d care.” Where in your exterior of panic did he get ‘wouldn't care’ from? Unlike Sam's tendency to just ooze nonchalance, always seeming uniquely unbothered by this entire thing, he wasn't like this when he was next to you, in fact, he used to care more about your feelings than you did.

Is this what distance is doing to the both of you? Ruining Sam's gentleness and consideration? The things you liked about him from the start? Love about him? God, it's like your parents all over again. You love your father, of course you do, he’s an incredible dad, but he was disappointing as a husband, and you fucking swore that you’d never marry someone like him, even if you’re as physically far away from marriage as possible with Sam, it doesn't mean you’re wrong for thinking of your future with him.

“Baby?”

“Right. Sorry. It isn't a problem, you're right.” You never were as strong as your mother.

“Okay, but I'll text you next time. Promise.” You nod, noticing your nose burning and your vision getting blurry for a second before you breathe. This is not worth crying over. You've always given your entire being into every relationship and lost yourself halfway through, you told Jess that this was different, that Sam was different. But Sam is just like every guy you've ever liked, he's normal, caring, and sure, a little different in the sense that he's not a dick to other people and doesn't curse at you because of how you feel– okay so he's very different, but you aren't. You’re trying so hard to hold yourself back from thinking of those three words, from being all in for once, but you can’t help it, and you’re fucking mad at Jess for being right. Sam lost you. He went to a different state and is staying there for weeks, and it's okay with him. It should be the same way it should be for you, but it isn't. It was never going to be.

Your feelings were never going to be like his, and deep down, you knew that, Jess knew that. And you let it happen.

Fuck you’re crying. Fuck he’s calling out your name. “Sam, I'll call you back, okay?” And you hang up to his protests.

He didn’t cause this, you did by being so fucking careless with the most crucial thing in your life– your heart. And men will always be men. They'll forget to call, or they'll move to another country or state for work, they'll have girl friends that they hang around, and you will never be able to deal with it. 

It's terrifying to think about because you spent your senior year of high school making damn sure something like this would never happen, you didn't breathe near a boy, and you worked your ass off both in school and out of it to have achievements you can add to your transcript. Your first two years in Stanford have been spent right here in your apartment (or the first one was in the dorm), away from anyone who could ruin your progress– then Jess introduced you to him, and so what? She's introduced you to anyone she's ever hung out with. But you knew Sam was different. You knew everything about him was different the second you were both in the car alone, and you let all your nerves go so that you could sit in the passenger's seat and talk to him.

That should've been enough to scare you the hell off. He’s older and more experienced, and you promised you wouldn’t do this– you threw it all out the window the second he asked for your number.

He’s calling, your phone's ringing, and you know it's unfair to him, God, you know it is, but how unfair is it to whatever’s left of you if you answer? 

After an extensive crying session, you pick yourself off your bed and get on the desk for some serious study time. All your best studying has been done with your eyes bloodshot red and your heart broken. It doesn't take a few hours to finish and revise your assignments, and then you make flashcards for the chapter you (daydreamed during) missed last week. It's the most productive you've been this year. You're not complaining— until you are because Jess is barging through the door, and she doesn't yell, ‘honey, I'm home’, which can only mean she spoke to Sam. She knocks on your door twice before slamming it open with a frown. 

“No, because what the actual fuck do you mean you're not answering any of our calls?” Oh, she's worried. You shrug, pointing to the phone that you shut off and abandoned on your bed a few feet away. “How many times have I told you to stop shutting your phone off if you're not going to keep your laptop open? What if your parents call and you don't answer? They can't exactly just knock on your door.”

“I texted them before I shut it off.” She lets out an exasperated breath, walking over to you.

“What about me? Why didn't you text me?”

“I forgot, Jess, I'm sorry, it's no big—” Before you can even finish your sentence, you're hit with an insane case of deja vu, except it's more like your brain stops working. You genuinely did forget. It wasn't like you'd hurt your best friend on purpose, but she doesn't look like she forgives you or, quite frankly, even cares. And you're repeating his words right back at her.

“No big deal? Seriously, what has gotten into you? First, you don't listen to me about Sam– you actually fight me about it, then you ruin it! Sam is racking his brain thinking of what he did wrong, and all he came up with is that he forgot to call once. Tell me you are not being bitch to Sam because he goddman forgot!”

You're not surprised by Jess saying it any more than you were scared when you did. You already knew it was irrational; you're overreacting and rounding up all the bad things happening since you've known him to justify it. But you're not stupid, you know Sam doesn't deserve it, you just– honestly, you didn't think he'd call Jess or care that much. 

“I'll call and apologize—”

“No, God, no, this isn't what this is about,” she sighs, her voice quieter and pensive as she sits on your bed. You turn the chair around to face her. “Babe, talk to me. What is going on with you?”

“You were right.” You can't cry again, and you're not in front of Jess about something you're ruining yourself. “It's too much, I just can't do it, Jess. You were right—”

“Come on, babe, no, you fought for him, you convinced me he's right for you, what is this about?”

“I just can't be okay with it, every time something happens, I just— I'm scared it'll all go to shit, so I can't focus on anything, but the second I closed my phone after I hung up on him, I felt like— it was closure. I'm not scared anymore. I can focus and see everything clearly when I'm not…”

“When you're not in love with him.” You don't meet her eyes, instead, they pan to the floor. Yeah. You were scared to say it, but Jess certainly isn't. She won't shy away from the truth for your benefit; maybe that’s why talking things out with her always works for you. 

“Jess, you were so right, and I'm sorry I didn't—”

“Hey, don't be stupid, no. I didn't mean it— I never wanted you to do this. Sam is good for you, and you are great for him. Me and Gen, we talk about the two of you all the damn time and how incredible Sam treats you, how thankful and accommodating you are to him. I didn't know that that's what you were thinking.”

“I fell in love with him in a month. I can't, I just can't be like this again. I can't keep doing this and–” Yeah, you can feel your tears deep in your chest, and it doesn't matter what Jess hears or sees, you just can't keep going like this, “— I keep losing myself, and I accommodate to him and I want to please him and I shut up when I'm sad because what if he doesn't want to hear it—”

“You know he–”

“I don't care! I don't care how good of a person he is, unless he pulls it out of me, I don't… God, I'm so high maintenance, and he's too comfortin– Jess, I'm done. I can't keep…” She frowns, and you notice her red cheeks as she opens her arms for you. You oblige, moving off your chair and next to her on the bed, your head on her chest while her arms wrap around you. It never hurts less, and the fact it never fucking might scares you more than you thought was possible.

You both fall asleep like that on your bed, your head on her chest and her embrace warming you, it makes you curse yourself for waking up at three. You were in a deep sleep, too. Thankfully, she still is, so you grab your phone and head out of your room, turning off the lights behind you to– oh fucking SHIT.

“Sam!” You scream, a hand on your racing chest. You're already wincing at the thought of waking Jess up, but you don't hear anything except a change of rhythm in her snores. You’re panting as you take a step back from him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“We finished early,” He lies, his eyes on yours. He’s a good liar, you have to admit, even if you can see right through it. He takes a step closer, examines you, and places his hands on your shoulders as he does before pulling you in close. “God, I’ve missed you.” 

That's— what on earth is happening right now? “Were you crying?” He furrows his eyebrows, fingers wiping under your eyes even though your tears dried hours ago. 

“Yeah, but that— Sam, what are you doing here?” You repeat, still starstruck. You like surprises when you know they’re coming. Like not knowing where you're going for dinner or not knowing what type of party someone is planning for your birthday, but this? It's very not cool. Extremely terrifying.

“I just told you we finished the case early.”

“You— what about your dad?”

“Dad left us a clue, well, he left Dean something. We went to find him in Blackwater Ridge, and he left something for Dean there about where to find him next. It's a couple of states over, and when I saw that this isn't a two-week kind of thing, I told Dean to bring me back here.”

“Sam it's been five days—”

“I know. I know, but you— trust, right? Technically, I made it back before the end of the week, so even that promise I kept…” and it's a weak attempt to lighten the situation with his hands still lighting your body on fire. You're not angry with Sam, of course you aren't, you never expected that you'd be with him every second of every day, you even knew that in less than a month you'd have to go back home for the summer vacation— it was never Sam's fault to begin with. It's yours. Your heart, your stupid, childish feelings, because despite being emotionally intelligent like almost everyone you've ever known has told you, and a damn hard worker to get into med school a year early, your feelings are where you draw the line.

“Honey, were you crying?” He should probably stash the monikers away for the time being if you're going to be able to do this.

“No— I mean, yes but it's fine I had Jess here.” You don't mean to sound bitter but it seems as if he took it that way because he frowns and nods slowly in a manner that pains you. He doesnt deserve this. He doesnt, hes been so fucking good to you, he cares about you, he—

He’ll never love you the way you love him. If you break it off now it's better for the both of you, he won't have to deal with a crazy girlfriend and you won't feel your heart shatter every time he forgets to call or goes out with Lily. This is good.

This is for the better. You know it's for the better.

“Sam.” You say with a breath, suddenly self conscious of your hair, is it messed up? And the makeup you slept with (though you're not too worried with it being Jess's and all her stuff is waterproof). “I— uh, we should probably go to sleep. I'm still tired and you just came back, right?”

“Yeah, but if you want to talk about something, anything—” Why is he making this so hard?

“No, no, we should just… wait, did Dean bring you here, with your bags? You don't have your car?” He confirms your words and you groan, walking past him to the kitchenette, opening the fridge door to hopefully find the iced tea you hid from Jess. Thank god for blueberry iced teas.

“I can go back to my apartment, it's no problem,” And you freeze your movements as you curse yourself under your breath. That isn't what you meant, you're just very overstimulated and there's too many thoughts going on in your head, you wish you could calm them down, and now sam is staying over, and he’ll probably expect you to crash with him in Jess’s room. 

“Sam, ‘m sorry, it’s just I’m so tired—”

“No, I get it. It’s fine, a cab—”

“What? No, I mean I’m sorry for being bitchy, I just wanna head to bed, that’s all. And I’m not hauling you into a cab, we’ll take Jess’s room… unless you wanna be alone?”

You look up from your drink to gouge his expression and he shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “‘Course not.”

Great. “Okay, you wanna drink something?” 

At his refusal with a short ‘thank you’, you tell him you’ll be in the room in a moment which he takes as the dismissal it is, shutting the door behind him so you’re completely alone in the living room. Kitchen. What the fuck ever this is. 

God, this is— you brush your hands through your hair shutting your eyes aggressively. You’re okay. It’s okay. The earth is still spinning and you haven’t failed any of your classes— and Sam is here and he’s being a loving boyfriend saying he misses you, what is wrong with you?

You decide that enough thinking’s enough as you drown the rest of your drink and enter the room with soft footsteps. Sam’s sprawled out on your best friend's bed and you check yourself out in the mirror quickly to see that, surprisingly, you look somewhat decent. You shut the lights off before you get in the bed, lying on your back just as Sam is. 

Is it rude to sleep on your side? Definitely is. You can’t find it in yourself to care as you do it, moving the covers so they aren’t all on your side, and sing yourself to sleep because what the hell else are you supposed to do after today?

Waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and maybe even food? Yes. Always. Please. 

You don’t waste a second getting off the bed, not like you’re getting any more sleep with the sun filling the room with a warm, golden glow. You shut the blinds off for good measure before freshening up in the bathroom quickly, not wanting to miss whatever was happening in the kitchen outside.

The second you open the door you’re engulfed in the scent, though this time you notice how sweet it is. You smile as you look over and see— oh. Right. You forgot. That’s why you’re in Jess’s room.

Jess is sitting on the counter while Sam cooks, what you assume are pancakes, on the stove. At the sound of the door, they both face you, Jess quickly running off the counter and into your arms. You reciprocate in no time, squeezing her tighter. “You okay?” She whispers in your ear, as good of a friend as ever.

“‘M okay. Please stay today.” When you pull away, she nods at you, like it’s a given then drags you to where she was sitting, right next to Sam. His smile pulls at your heartstrings and he leans down for a kiss that— there’s no way you’re not kissing him back. Your left-hand lands on his bicep as you steady yourself. When he pulls away, he doesn’t go completely, his face inches from yours, and he steals another quick one. 

He’s back to cooking as he mumbles, “Missed you.” 

What’s happening right now?

What on earth is happening right now?

You’ll think about it when you’re more awake. Or at least when you have food in you. 

“Jess, what do you have planned for today?” you ask, your hand still on him as you rub it absentmindedly.

“I have classes— so do you, Sam!” Isn’t Jess a year younger than Sam? you never noticed how much she knows about the graduating class despite not being a part of it. She reads your mind like she's always done, “Gen’s with him, ‘sides most of my friends are from his class.”

Right. Gen. you should probably apologize to her for stealing her girlfriend for an entire night. Only god knows how she’s coping right now. When you glance at Jess you notice her surveying you and Sam, so you quickly take a step back to remove your hand.

“What about you, Sam? Any plans?” She listens, leaning over the island that separates the small kitchen from the living room, “other than class obviously, which you will be attending— by the way, Lily is so fucking pissed at you, dude.”

Sam throws his head back with a groan, “i know. She wont stop texting.”

That’s reassuring. He continues, “But I don't think I’m up for anything today. I’ll go the classes and talk to lily about finishing the project next week. You think she’ll understand?” His eyes catch yours and you feel obligated to answer with a quick nod. 

He’s back to flipping pancakes that look surprisingly delicious considering you’ve never once seen him cook before. Though, in your defense, you’ve usually eaten out for every dinner and breakfast you spent together. Which now that you think of it, isnt cost-effective. Someone should chek on your bank account. Not you, obviously, but someone should.

“It smells really good.” you compliment, gesturing to jess to bring you a brush, which she complies, leaving to find one. “Where’d you learn to make food like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’, i used to read lots of books growing up, guess i picked up some cooking ones.”

“Really? That’s nice. Dean mustve been real lucky having you try out recipes.” you joke, dipping a fork into the batter to try it. ‘S horrible, just like you expected. It isnt cake batter, it wont taste good, and you knew that— doesnt mean you wont try it.

“Yeah he didnt really, i mean i never actually cooked or anything, just read them and when i got the apartment with Gen i started cooking more, turns out its something i like.” oh its cute to think that coming to stanford, getting his own place with gen, had opened up this kind of opportunity for him, and it has you wondering what else he did when he was younger. Youd hardly spoke of either of your childhoods— mostly because as much as you love your parents, you dont like thinking too much of how they were when you were younger, and apparently that lead to not asking about sam’s. Hes never talked about his mum, now that you notice it.

Is she out of the picture? Are you even allowed to ask? Did you want to ask considering whats been on your mind since yesterday? God, you dont even know if youre going through with it. Hes here and hes cooking breakfast, kissing you, holding you— why would you want to let that go?

“Here, whore.” jess emerges from her room, throwing the hairbrush.

“Thanks, slut.” she smirks, plopping onto the couch and you catch the look of surprise on sam’s face. “What? Whats wrong? We’re joking its just a thing we do.”

“No, i now, just didn't know you do that. Never heard it before.”

“Yeah, i don't even know how it started but it's cute.” he agrees leaning down for another kiss which you, stupidly, let him do. Your hand comes up to brush against his cheek before you remember the object you’re holding and disconnect, sitting on the counter, brushing your roots so you can tie your hair back with no fly-away strands. “You okay?”

You nod, not quite meeting his eyes as you focus on making sure your hair is perfect without so much as a phone camera. “Really?” He prodes, “you don’t look it. You’ve been weird since yesterday, did I do something?” Oh, did you ever, Winchester . 

“No, Sam, ‘m fine.” He sighs but lets it go. It doesn’t take more than ten minutes for a stack of pancakes to finish cooking and Sam serves it on the counter next to maple syrup and some chocolate sauce he says he found in the fridge (you made it a few days ago but didn’t like it). 

Thankfully, everyone enjoys the food, and Jess seems like she has a lot to say about him skipping out on you, then coming back all of a sudden, for losing communication with her— she doesn’t bring up yesterday at all which helps you relax since you’re not even sure what you’re going to do anymore.

It’s ten by the time you’re all done and the dishes are in the sink, you (like a fucking idiot again) kiss sam’s cheek, thanking him excessively. “I’m glad you liked it, it was my first time, I think.”

“You think?” He takes a step closer, both hands coming to rest on your waist as he nods. Why does he just love talking when you’re close to each other? Don’t people have conversations a few feet away anymore? Not possible?

“Yeah, I’m not sure if the first time counts, ‘nothin like what you had today, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well, I’m proud of you, it was amazing.” You wish you could say you missed the faint blush on his cheeks, but you didn’t, and it did nothing but make you want to kiss him more.  “When do your classes start?”

“Two hours.” You frown, looking behind him at the clock you have hanged up. 

“Seriously?”

“Dead.” You groan, looking around to find his bags on the floor on your front door, “I already packed.”

“I didn’t know you unpacked.”

“I didn’t exactly, just got some stuff out for this morning, but I’m ready to go, I’ll see you later today?” 

You tilt your head after he kisses it, and you watch him walk away. “Today? What’s today?”

He shrugs, carding the duffel, “nothing specific, just thought I’d see you. If you want.”

If you want. Do you want? “Sure, we’ll see.” He nods, uncertain, before he yells out for Jess who rushes out of her room to hug him, muttering about ‘not being sure if she’ll ever see him again considering he likes to disappear’. 

Couldn’t have said it better, Jess. You don’t have any classes today but some studying would do you good so you lock yourself in your room for an hour before Jess barges in and you’re more confused to find she’s not at Sam’s than you are to see her in lace lingerie. Because. What. The. Fuck.

“Jess!”

“Do I look pretty?” She teases, twirling around like a Disney princess, before going for something more R-rated, playing with the waistband of her panties. “Was gonna wear it last night for Gen, so I wanna surprise her but I’m scared black isn't my color.”

“Slut! Absolute slut. You’re showing me your girlfriend’s outfit? Sluttiest whore there ever was.” She giggles, walking over to your desk, “black is definitely your color, babe, you know that, don’t worry about it, Gen’ll love it.”

She still seems hesitant, but because Jess would rather kill herself before ever giving you reason to comfort her, she changes the subject, closing your books, “okay, tell me about Sam.”

“What about him? He’s in class— or has class in an hour, just like you do.”

“You’re breaking up with him?” You shrug, leaning back in your seat, “what do you mean,” she repeats your gesture mockingly, slapping your shoulder, “man up and choose a side.”

“Not a man. And besides, he doesn’t know so—”

“Stop being like this,” she scolds, crossing her arms in front of her chest, though it does nothing for her modesty, not that you care, “I know you and you can’t even fucking focus on anatomy. Come on, you need to do something. Talk with Sam or stop trying at all, there’s no other option and you know it.”

“Yeah well the two options suck.” You groan, slamming your head down on the desk. “I—”

“You love him, yeah.”

“Do you… think he does too?” You mumble against the desk before hearing her sigh. And it fucking breaks your heart to hear it indirectly. She hasn’t said anything even yesterday. She didn’t deny it, but she didn’t confirm that your fears are valid— she is now. She’s telling you again, as if you haven’t repeated it like a prayer in your mind, that you’ve just gone too fast. 

“Sam cares about you, you know that, baby. I mean, he just cooked breakfast after staying the night. You guys shared the bed— he wants you, loves having you around.”

“But doesn’t love me.” You look up at her, already being sure tears will stain your face any moment now. 

“It’s not even about time, it’s just— you’re scared and you’re letting it affect everything else in your life.”

“Isn’t that normal—”

“It isn’t. You know it isn’t. Me and Gen spend almost everyday together, but I know my place in her life, as her friend, girlfriend, lover, that’s all I am. At least for now, till we’re done with college and then me and her will figure it out. You’re different, you’re thinking of the future all the time and you’re overthinking what he says when he’s not here, and Sam's been doing things that don’t sit right with you— I know he has, don’t tell me he hasn’t. The first night you spent at his apartment when we told you about Lily I knew something was off. You don’t deserve to live in fear and anxiety because of a man being in your life. And it isn’t Sam’s fault, maybe— it’s not yours either, but it’s just not the right time.”

What’s worse, hearing what you want to hear or hearing what’s honest?

“Hey, Sam. I know you’re in class right now so just, call me when you’re done, we need to talk.” You wince at the last phrase, regretting it already. You’re about to put the phone down when it starts to vibrate with a call from him. Huh.

“Hey, baby, I’m done with class, I was just speaking with the professor. I haven't listened to your voicemail yet, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shut your eyes at the lie, your breathing heavy, “just need to see you. Or actually,” you can’t bring him in blind, “it is something. Just, when can I see you?”

“Oh. I have a few classes then the project with Lily, so maybe eight?”

“Is there— when’s your next class?”

“Few hours.”

“Can we meet up now?”

“Is it important? because I don’t wanna cut it short and I don’t want to be late for class.”

“It’s important but it won’t take long.” He sighs, probably at your vague answers before deciding to meet up with you in your apartment. Like the gentlemen he is. That you’re leaving. 

You call Jess the entire twenty minutes it takes him to knock on your door and she helps your through it all, the same way she has the second this started.

He greets you with a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and somehow that eases your worry. At least he knows something is coming. You close the door behind it and gulp before you let go of the knob and lean against it, not sitting down. He’ll probably want to leave anyways. 

“What’s wrong? Is this about why you’ve been acting this way since yesterday?”

Maybe. Why does your mouth stop fucking working the second you actually have to say something? How on earth is that fucking fair. “It’s not fair.” Oh, great. There goes your speech.

“What’s not—”

“It’s not fair to us, what’s happening right now so I think we should just, you know, like not be together.”

Like, not be together? Way to show off how much of a seventeen year old you actually are.

“What?” He— Sam looks genuinely confused and that’s not something you anticipated. 

“Breaking up. I’m breaking off what we’re doing because it’s just not working.” And that seems to register for him, finally and lets out a defeated breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “What?”

“I knew it was coming, I just have no fucking idea why. Why you’ve been so— I just need an explanation.” 

“It’s everything, okay? It’s my fault, I started this knowing I wasn’t ready for a relationship and you’re great, Sam, but it’s not what I need right now.” You’re not sure what you’re saying half way through, this is not the script you rehearsed and he’s furrowing his eyebrows at you, shaking his head as if to say ‘bullshit’. “It’s a lot of things that we just can’t change about you and about me, we’re just not supposed to be together.”

“Don’t give me that crap, what can’t we change? And why can’t we change it?” He’s frustrated, not exactly angry and you wish you could gauge more of his feelings than just that but the truth is you’re radiating fear and anxiety that you can’t focus on anyone else’s emotions. “And why are you so tense?”

“Because I’m—”

“Breaking it off doesn’t mean you have to be shaking.” His voice is slightly raised so he cuts himself off, taking a breath before taking a step towards you, “You shouldn’t be shaking, okay? It’s fine, I respect your decision, but talking about this is also important.”

“But it’s over, right?” He tilts his head in confusion. “I mean, because, you’re not trying to convince me or anything, you’re just asking.”

“I’m not, what does that even mean? Do you not want me to fight for us?”

“Fighting for us would entitle fighting me, so I don’t think so. I’m sure this is the right thing to do, Sam. I’m very sure—.”

“Why?”

“Because of a—”

“Real fucking answers.” You flinch at his tone, supporting your weight on the other leg.. 

“A lot of what you think is okay and normal just isn’t with me. Like hanging out with Lily or leaving out of nowhere with Dean—”

“We talked about both of these things before I decided on them! Do you just keep a list of all the things I’m doing that you slightly disapprove of?”

“No, but it’s still early and this just shows we’re not for each other.”

“What about the things that show that we are? Studying at the apartment, the dinners, what was all of that? If you’re gonna make a list at least make it fair.”

“This isn’t a list!” You huff, angry at this point and you move away from the door so you’re not standing face to face, “it’s what I think is right. And I can’t live like this if I’m going to have to be okay with all of these things.”

“Live like this? You’re making thsi sound like—”

“—that’s just the way I see it, Sam.” You’re not sure what you would do if you hear him mock your overthinking. Mock marriage and your future.

“Well it’s wrong. I think we’re good for each other when you aren’t getting in your head about everything. You don’t have to think about things so intensely, and I’m not brushing your feelings aside, I get that they’re there, but if you keep giving them more than they deserve they’ll eat at you.” 

“So will being with you.”

You’re a lot of things, but weak isn’t one of them. You’re starting to think that just isn’t true. And it’s starting to sink in as you watch Sam scoff out a breath, his hands covering his eyes as if he’s willing the entire conversation away.

And you’re starting to think it’s not true when he makes a move to leave the door.

And you’re sure it’s not true when you let him leave without a word.

part eight (epilogue); honey, you're familiar.  

title: all my habits came back around (calgary by tate mcrae)

as we near the end of this thing I made that you guys decided to care about, I want to say thank you. I wrote the first chapter as a one-shot, and here we are over thirty thousand words later. I'm so grateful to this fic for how much it has allowed me to interact with the fandom and the amazing people in it.

on another note, this is not the end— don't worry— though this is exactly how I wanted the fic to go because when I wrote this, I had a very specific character in mind: one who is self-sabotaging and constantly struggling with an internal battle, she's complicated. While, of course, she will figure that out, it won't be now, and it won't be with Sam.

this doesn't spoil anything for the last and final chapter, but I did want to give some of my thoughts + I'm a sucker for reusing the first words of the first chapter in the end if you guys noticed + swear this series is a happy ending just wait!!

tag list:

@angzls @chxrrybomb22 @pinkpantheris @ang3ldool @iloveragdollcats 

@oohjana18294 @user-2538484747490203746579403 @wattpaduser200 @s0urw00lf @ashlynyyyyy

@strabarrybat @anu-piyakya97 @tranquilitybasegrunge

[bluejackals]

post-chunkban pt2

continuation of this. word count 1202

notes: I think the european cathedrals inspired images and plagues in myhead

---

But where would that leave him? Alone on this cold cliff, purposeless again, without even the lump of hope sitting in his throat that Parrot meant it when he said he wanted Wifies as his best friend. Yes, Wifies might have Ken, and Ken is warm and wonderful and loyal down to the bone, but this is someone who doesn’t know what he is who says he wants him. This is Parrot, whose eyes are the sun, and Wifies can’t give that up. 

The strength—and perhaps also shame—of that revelation sinks him to his knees, right there on the rock. He looks up at Parrot, who is so bright it hurts Wifies’s eyes. 

For whatever reason, Wifies’s tear ducts have never been removed. Maybe it made the escape rooms feel more real to the viewers, if his eyes could water and he could cry. 

So he cries now—unwillingly, shamefully, truthfully. The tears scorch his face before being torn away by the wind. No, he’ll never be able to give the sun up. 

“I can’t,” he says. A confession to the figure staring down at him in all his shame. “I can’t.” 

Can’t tell him, can’t kill him. Would he be doing this if he knew?

“You have time.” The words sink into his veins. He shivers. Time, time, time. It feels like he’s always running out of it. 

He can’t be truthful with Parrot, but he can do this—make his way to him. Even if he has to crawl on his knees.

He manages to stand a few feet away from Parrot, ignoring any residual aches from the stone. It feels like layers of him slough off with the grit of the rocks as he does. Parrot’s eyes follow him the whole way.

Wifies takes the feather. 

It’s like flipping a lever. Parrot’s wings relax and he lets out a colossal breath and the morning light hits Wifies in thick, gauzy beams. Wifies has to blink a few more times, both to adjust his eyes and to clear away any residual from the crying. It helps to clear his head too. 

“Hey,” Parrot says. 

“Hey.” Thankfully, Wifies’s voice doesn’t crack. 

Parrot rolls his shoulders. “So. Um. Do you have any questions?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I don’t know that much about any of this. I don’t—I guess if you don’t mind explaining what that was?” Wifies is very curious. This is knowledge untouched by anything from his past; this is knowledge he can swallow whole. 

“Sure. Wanna sit?” 

When Wifies nods, Parrot rummages around in his inventory and pulls out two white carpets, setting them on the cliff and pinning them down with stray stones. Wifies takes the one further from the cliffsides. 

There’s a crunch as Parrot bites into an apple with a thoughtful expression on his face. He looks calmer—not forcibly calm like he’d been yesterday, not impassively calm like he’d been just now. Wifies realizes he also feels calmer. The churning in his stomach has reduced to lapping waves, barely present. 

“Mm. Okay. I—when I say I, I mean avians—shed feathers all the time. Those random feathers don’t really mean anything on their own.” 

To prove his point, Parrot rattles a wing. A lone piece of fluff falls out. “See? I obviously don’t moult all of them all at once, or else I’d look stupid and I wouldn’t be able to fly.” 

“Like an actual parrot,” Wifies observes. 

Parrot chuckles. “Yeah. But anyways, feathers that are freely given have significance. There’s a bunch of rituals with different meanings and stuff that are used when giving feathers. So ‘what just happened’ was one of those.”

“Which one?” The question tumbles out of Wifies’s mouth. He’s having fun learning this. Maybe too much fun. It feels like too much fun. “Sorry, I—”

“No, that’s a good question,” Parrot says. “You should get to know that.” He takes another bite out of his apple, throat bobbing when he swallows. “There’s not really a set name for it, I guess. I’ve been calling it the ‘Beginning’ ritual in my head. The feather given is one of the smaller ones because accepting it is accepting the beginning of something, whether that’s an alliance or a promise, and it’s done at dawn because that’s the beginning of a new day. It’s pretty self-explanatory. I’ve done it a few times.”

He tucks the finished apple core away. “I only use it for promises and relationships. There are other ways to make alliances that aren’t this serious.” A small smile. “I mean, you saw how dramatic that was, right? And I had to time it perfectly.” 

“But it was beautiful,” Wifies says. Beautiful and terrifying. 

“It’s meant to be, yeah,” Parrot murmurs. “But I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did. A lot.” He means it. Then his curiosity nudges him towards another question. “I feel like ‘Beginning’ implies a next part,” Wifies muses. “Are there related ones?”

“Yeah. There’s at least two more parts. The feathers given get bigger and bigger. People who get really serious will go up to a primary.” 

An unasked question materializes, hanging in the air between them. Will you? Will I?

Parrot’s headwings drift towards his face like free-floating curtains, then abruptly snap back. “I’ve…yeah. I’ve gone that far. I’d—I’d do it again.” He stares at Wifies. “If it felt right.”

Maybe that lightness Wifies felt after the ritual was the removal of Wifies’s ability to maintain a neutral resting face. He must’ve shown some kind of question in his expression. “That’s…thanks for the information.”

Wifies has a very, very good guess of just who has one of Parrot’s primaries. But it would be beyond rude to ask Parrot, so he thanks the heavens that he doesn’t have that loose of a tongue.

“Do you have any specific questions now?” Parrot asks. “Since you know some basic stuff.”

“Hmm. Actually, yeah. What’s the proper way to store this? Or wear it? I’ve seen people with earrings. Is that how it works?”

“It’s up to you,” Parrot says. “A lot of people just keep the first feather in a pocket somewhere on them so it travels with them through respawns. Turning the later feathers into jewelery is more common.” 

“I’ll stitch it into my jacket cuff, if that’s okay?” 

Parrot blinks, then smiles. “Yeah, that works. That’s a pretty innovative way of doing it too. Remember, it’s first and foremost supposed to be a gift to you, so you can do whatever.”

Right. The feather is Wifies’s. He doesn’t have that much to his name—a painful history, a prong of the trident he and Ken used in there, the clothes he wears. But now he has this as well. Something warm blooms in his chest. It’s his. Just like the trident fragment. And Ken might be happy to hear about it, because Ken always tells Wifies he should have more things. 

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, Parrot.”

Parrot nods. “Thank you too, Wifies.”

Wifies blinks. “For what?”

“Being you.” 

It’s so—Parrot. It’s a little corny and honey-sweet and Wifies’s stomach does what can best be described as a floppy somersault. Parrot didn’t say “thank you for being Wifies." It makes all the difference.  

[c-goldthorn]

MOTA Drabble, 900 words, set in pt6

He wasn’t really asleep but he still startles nearly out of his skin when the cell door is clanged open, loud voices yelling unintelligibly and a rough arm hauling him up from the metal bench.

His vision blacks out for a moment as his body adjusts to suddenly being upright, swaying on his feet till his vision clears. Somehow he’s been stumbling forward, even without seeing. Now though, he can see the guards are emptying the holding cells, more captured Americans and RAF pilots moving around him in the hallway. Dread curls sour in his stomach, the only thing there. They’re being moved, taken, transported somewhere.

He should probably care more, but he’s already dead. He’s on his feet stumbling forward, but he’s already dead, has been since the moment the receiver in that red telephone booth connected to the phone at Thorpe Abbots, and Red told him Buck had ‘gone down swinging.’

He had wanted to die. He did; when he got in that plane with Brady, he didn’t want to survive it. It was selfish, unbelievably selfish, he knows, but he couldn’t stop his mind from splintering. And then his survival instincts had kicked in, hadn’t let him go down with the ship. He jumped because Brady told him to. He ran and stole cabbages from German farmers and ran some more because when it came down to it, he was scared. He didn’t believe in God, not anymore, but he still didn’t think he could face him.

So he followed meekly when he was captured. He held still when the villagers attacked. He thought that would be it, as he heaved choked breaths on his hands and knees in the rubble, blood streaming hot down his face. He thought it was finally over, and he wouldn’t even have to do it himself. But no. He woke up to the jolt of the horse cart, the stench of dead bodies and shit and blood, the mutter of futile prayer. He couldn’t help the flinch as hot brains and blood sprayed across his face, into his eye, into his mouth. He’ll never forget the taste as long as he lives. Which may not be that long. The hot metallic taste of someone dying, someone already dead as the liquid dripped across his face. Somehow, his body moved of its own accord, rolling off the cart into the dirt, pine needles scratching at his hands. Somehow, he heaved himself upwards, propelled forward by some unknown energy reserve, stumbling blindly through the forest till the muscle memory kicked in, till he was running properly, body upright, knees working, quads aching. And then he pitched forward again, the hidden reserve of adrenaline spent, suddenly face down in the animal trodden foliage of the forest floor. As he lay there, arms twisted awkwardly, face pressed against muck, legs tingling and limp, he thought maybe now, maybe now it’s finally over.

And then the butt of a rifle was nudging the back of his head, right where the glass bottle and then the shovel had impacted, and a groan tore from deep in his throat, hauling him awake as the bloody flesh throbbed beneath his matted hair. Somehow he found himself upright in the back of a car, the forest flashing past him, a few German soldiers muttering at him in a nasty tone.

And when they closed the door of the holding cell, he knew, somehow, that this wasn’t the end. That it was going to get worse. And the whisky and cigarette hadn’t helped, not when the slimy blond officer was saying Buck’s name like he had any right to, like it wasn’t a heinous crime for him to have the image of Gale in his twisted brain, his beautiful name in his rotten mouth.

And now worse had come, John knew, as they were loaded into the dirty wooden train car, one that smelled like it had been used for cattle before it had been used for unwashed humans. He knew it when he watched the train roll past, the hands waving, the sobs. He knew when the breath caught in his throat. He had known vaguely before, but now he knew. He kept hauling the other guys up, because if he was going to still be here he might as well help the boys around him. He heard the whimper, when he heard the guns go off, when he heard the silence. He knew things were getting still worse when the guard dumped the boy’s body at their feet, the boy whose name John didn’t know but had been alive only moments before, his body now shoved in the straw and muck at their feet before the guards pulled the rolling door closed, blocking out the weak light of the cold sun.

Somehow, John wasn’t really dead yet, somehow he is still moving forward, trying to get to a corner of the box car that had a crack of light between the wooden slats, his heart still pumping blood through his veins, even though he wished it wouldn’t. It wasn’t fair for his blood to still be in his body when Gale’s might be soaking into the ground already.

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #246

[tonycries]

Cause, I Love Freaks!

Synopsis. The question isn’t whether he can make you squírt - it’s how and where.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, squírting, unprotected, creampíe, exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s and Choso’s), bréeding, Shiu cameo, messy, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, Sukuna’s thigh tattoos, thigh ríding chokíng, overstím, finger suckíng, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.1k

A/N. I think I’m in some early ovulation week because…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Prove it.

Now, does Toji know he’s the best you’ve ever had in bed? Of course.

Is he proud of how he’s done everything and anything - had you folded in half underneath him, stuffed from all ends, and cumming harder than any other loser before him did? Hell yeah. 

Does it bother him when Shiu makes some off-hand comment about how he’s able to make someone squirt? Well, it was hard not to when the man just laughs right in Toji’s dumbfounded face, saying something about how your pretty pussy is “missing out” and to come to Shiu if you want to have a good time.

Surely, that stupid conversation doesn’t bother him, right? Right?

Wrong. 

He was going to prove that bastard Shiu wrong. 

“Damn. Not that one either.”

If you could, you’d probably let out a sob - but right now, you’re too cockdrunk to even think let alone cry. Unsure if you’re even breathing as Toji wrestles your limp body - still twitching and sensitive from your nth high - upright on his lap. Whispering a ragged, “Guess we just hafta try again. Right, doll?”

“Please!” you let out a strangled yelp as Toji’s big hands snake down to steady your hips, all stuttering and messily sucking up his aching cock. Again. “I-I don’t think I can- ah-”

Whatever plea on the tip of your tongue is shut up by Toji pulling your teary face towards his, kissing your swollen lips so softly. Reverent, even. 

The complete opposite of his hips down below, not even bothering to move anymore, hands on your ass just dragging your sloppy pussy up and down his swollen dick. Up and down up and down up and-

“Toji–”

“Aww, c’mon, pretty.” Toji groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he spreads your puffy folds further, bullying his cock so impossibly deep. “G-gotta prove it to that f-fucker that I’m the best, right?”

Ah, there it was - if you were in any better state of mind you’d have cursed out Shiu already. Taunting your boyfriend into this stupid little challenge that had him storming into your apartment and ripping off your poor panties. And you split apart on his cock and cumming over and over again like he wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop until you squirted. Like it killed him to make you miss out on this little thing. 

“Now now, doll.” you jolt as he gives your sopping pussy a little smack! Grinning at your nails digging into his thick shoulders, “Focus. Hah- we gotta have her squirtin’ all over me now, right?”

You really can’t help the way you’re giving him a delirious little nod. Hips bouncing back pathetically in an attempt to meet the way Toji was bouncing you so sinfully on his cock like his favorite toy. And it’s so cute that Toji’s murmuring a low, “Use your words, doll.”

“I- ngh-”

Not like he was giving you a chance to, rolling your ravaged clit between his fingers, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “Louder.”

“Gonna- gonna squirt for you, Toji…”

If he was any lesser man (Shiu) Toji thinks he might’ve just cum in your snug pussy right then and there. Filled you up till you’re bloated and forgetting any promise of squirting - but no, that’s for later. 

Right now, he’s flattening his feet on the mattress, falling onto his back - two big arms pulling your overstimulated body to rest against his muscles. Not even wasting a second before fucking up into your tight cunt like such an animal.

Sloppy - so, so desperate. 

Just rough, jagged movements of his hips because shit if Toji doesn’t make you squirt this time then he’s gonna lose his sanity. Might’ve already lost it, actually, with each adorable ah! ah! ah! falling from your kiss-bitten lips each time he hits that one spot so easily. 

“Bit- bit more-” he grits out, feeling that familiar way your plushy walls were trying to squeeze him dry. Your cunt too heavenly. The stimulation too much. “Jus’ a bit more, pretty.”

“Oh my god- Toji- ah- Toji Toji Toji-” It’s all you can do to whine, writhing as he holds your hips still, rocking harder into you. Clawing at the soaked sheets, his shoulders, his hair - anything to try and hold onto whatever semblance of control you had left. “M’so- close-”

“Yeah?” And Toji sounds so utterly wrecked already, looking up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes. Voice strained, awe-struck like he couldn’t even believe it. His pretty girl - cumming for him again. “Squirt f’me, doll.”

You don’t even realize it when you are at first - just that something snaps and suddenly you’re soaking Toji’s cock in all your sweet sweet juices. Until it was dripping down the side, onto the mattress. 

So messy and sinful - gummy walls squeezing his dick so fucking tight it almost hurt, covering his abs till they were glistening. Toji can’t bring himself to do anything but watch, for once in his life actually grateful that Shiu goaded him into doing something. Jaw-dropped at the way you’re gushing all around him - like you couldn’t stop. Again and again and-

“S-see? Fuck- What- oh shit, doll. All f’me? Good girl.” Eyeing that phone propped up by the bedside, Shiu’s face watching over the obscene mess on the bed. “What did I tell ya?”

“Heh, well whatever. Can ya make her do it twice?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Love is blind

Now, it’s not often that Nanami Kento took off his glasses. Rarely when he cuddled, not usually when he was kissing you - his pretty lil’ wife. And never when it was your lips down below that he was making out with.

“So messy.” Nanami mutters, muffled around your puffy folds. Each word making you arch against the soft mattress. “Are you this messy just f’me? M’so lucky, my love.”

It’s all you can do to yelp as Nanami slides his tongue warningly between your folds, flicking at your swollen clit just enough to have you gripping so tightly at his blond strands. Pulling Nanami’s face up from between your thighs with a strained groan.

And oh you assumed he was exaggerating, but it was so fucking difficult to look at Nanami, too. Glasses slightly foggy, cheeks flushed. Your sweet juices glossing his lips so prettily, dripping all the way down his jaw. Head tilting back ever-so-slightly to let it slide down his throat.

Making your head spin as he reaches over to press a chaste, wet peck to your lips. “Jus’ let me take care of it.”

And take care of it he does. Immediately taking his favorite place in-between your legs, stuffing his face nose-deep into your dripping cunt. Hot tongue giving one, long lick up your folds, just barely dipping between them. The slow torture was delicious. 

“Kento-.” you let out a pouty little whine, one that goes straight to Nanami’s aching cock. Ankles hooking around his broad shoulders to pull him impossibly closer, “D-don’t tease.”

He’s letting out such a dark chuckle, hot against your sloppy hole. Awe-struck at the way you’re glistening and clenching around nothing - so much so that Nanami almost considers taking off those tinted glasses to see this heavenly view better. 

But no, instead, he’s breathing out a little, “Fine.” Interrupting your soft sigh of relief to continue, “But you better not get my hah- glasses dirty, darling.”

Nanami doesn’t wait for your response - he doesn’t have to. Already knowing that you’ll be giving him a delirious little nod in agreement. So he’s digging his neat fingernails into your hips, pulling you closer to spread your lips with his tongue. Lapping so obscenely at the slick beading at your cunt over and over and-

It wasn’t enough.

“Shit. Fuck-” you flinch - maybe from those depraved little profanities hissed into your cunt. Maybe from the cold metal of his glasses hitting your heated core. Probably from the way Nanami was bullying his soft tongue into your tight pussy.

Pushing past that feeble resistance, one hand reaching behind to arch your deeper into his mouth. The other toying with your sensitive clit. Rolling the nub between two long fingers while he dips in and out of your hole at such a ruthless pace. In and out in and out in and-

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck, Kento-” you’re grabbing at the expensive sheets so hard you worry they might tear. Thighs shaking and sliding off his shoulders. “S’too much- too deep.”

And ah, for how much Nanami pretends to be annoyed as he wraps your legs back around his head - it sends all the blood in his body rushing straight to his cock at how wrecked his cute wife was.

Moaning around your entrance, “Remember what I mm- said.” Your juices starting to drip down the corners of his mouth now. “Get it dirty and-”

“Kento! Oh my god-” You buck wildly as he starts drawing lewd little circles on your clit. Nanami’s little warnings the last thing on your mind as you feel yourself losing more and more of your sanity with each drip! drip! drip! of your slick down onto the mattress below. 

Glasses completely fogged now, he makes out with your cunt through pure, feral need. Tongue matching in time with each yelp of his name leaving your mouth. 

“F-fuck.” Nanami’s smacking his lips against your own. “You taste so good. So heavenly.” Your gummy walls sucking him up so sinfully that it was almost difficult to move faster, more erratic. “Gonna make a mess f’me now? Gonna hah-” 

And, well, you did always manage to surprise him.

Because Nanami doesn’t even get to finish his sentence, before your slutty pussy is gushing all around him. 

Everywhere. Making such a mess as he tonguefucks you through your high, letting you use and angle his mouth all you wanted. So so sloppy with the way you’re soaking him in all your juices - down his chin, his tongue, all the way up to his sharp cheekbones and even-

“My glasses.” Head so fucked-out already, you almost miss Nanami’s dangerous little mutter. Raising your eyes to meet his and oh. Shit. “You dirtied my glasses.”

As if to prove his point, Nanami them off, running a long finger down his frames. Slowly. Agonizingly. Pooling all your sweet slick on his fingertips, so tauntingly inspecting it in the dim lighting. 

In a split-second, those dripping wet glasses are resting on the bridge of your nose, forcing you to peer over them at a dangerously looming Nanami.

“Told ya not to dirty my glasses, my love.” Smiling so dangerously, “Think this naught cunt of yours should be taught a lesson for that.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Favorite part

Geto thinks that this might be his favorite part, whispering a ragged little, “God, do you know how pretty you hah- look right now?”

You didn’t - and it’s all you can do to even try and understand what your boyfriend was even cooing from behind. Too caught up in the way your legs were so pathetically trembling with the need to bounce back on his swollen cock. 

“Hngh- f-fuck Sugu- I-”

Sure to leave such lewd little marks for Geto to ogle at tomorrow, his toned pelvis against your ass, heavy balls on your clit, fingers on your hips to steady your fucked-out self. Sloppy - bruising, even. 

So it only made sense that your high was the same - and he can only watch, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, jaw falling slack in disbelief at the way your cunt was just gushing all around him. Fucking him over and over through your high. 

“Shit- shit shit shit.” you hear him breathe, fingers toying with your pretty clit desperately. “Jus’ like that. Good girl.”

Your sweet sweet juices soaking his painfully hard cock, dripping down, down, down his heavy balls, glistening against his thighs. Squirting so obscenely around his twitching cock and shit- he just can’t help but go over the edge as well. 

“Oh- oh god.” Geto throws his head back, giving you one, harsh thrust before he’s spilling all into your quivering cunt. Coating your walls such an obscene white, “This pussy is ngh- magic, gorgeous. Fucking love her.”

Loved how you were squeezing him so tight. 

Loved how you were so messy. 

Loved how it made him think that you could squirt all over his dick again. 

And he can’t stop - couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Hips still moving in quick, ragged jabs to your poor cervix, eyeing the way your poor, abused pussy was still drooling all around him. A lewd little mess of slick and cum, forming a pool on the sheets below. 

And Geto can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted - why would he? After all, this was his favorite part, right? 

“You can mm- gimme another one, right?” You shiver as he flattens his feet on the damp mattress, kissing up your arched spine. Keening at the change in angle as his cock bullies impossibly deeper. Stars behind your eyes at how unfairly easily he finds that one spot. “Your slutty pussy’s gonna s-squirt all over me again?” Fat head hitting it over and over and-

“Suguru!” you squeal, and Geto raises his brows. Knowing you were absolutely fucking wrecked already - you never called him by his full name until you were fucked so dumb you couldn’t remember his nickname. “S’too- much. M’too ngh- sensitive.”

Your hands reach out to grab for the headboard - nails digging into the wood. Geto’s throbbing cock massaging your gummy walls so agonizingly that you almost miss him mutter a quiet, “Now, that won’t do.”

And before you know it, his big hands are prying yours off the bed, intertwining them so gently with his. Romantic - but you knew better, Geto just didn’t want his pretty girl to run away. 

Not when he knew you were so close - could tell by that breathy little ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips. 

“Please-”

Huffing in amusement, “Please what?”

And you don’t even know what you’re begging for - maybe for mercy? For Geto to let you fucking breathe? His cock too bruising against your cunt, drawing out incoherent whines with each drag of his tip down all the right spots. Trying so desperately to fuck that second orgasm out of you. 

“Heh, can’t even fuck- talk.” And it’s so dizzing how he’s puncturing each word with such a rough ram of his cock. So mean with the way he dips a hand lower to graze a long finger down your sensitive cunt - so messy and sensitive. Chuckling at your cute lil’ whines - at the way they’re suddenly cut short when Geto shoves his dripping wet fingers between your lips. “Ngh- well, if you don’t wanna talk…”

Close. Too close. 

You mewl at the way he was pressing right at the back of your tongue, feeling the lewd little taste of him and you and him. “Mmmpf- what are you-” 

“At least don’t try to escape, gorgeous.” he leans in close - so close. Long inky hair tickling your spine, breath hot against your ear, lips grazing yours. You think you could just pass out right then and there as his soft tongue darts out to lick at the mess he’s smeared across your glossy lips. 

Grinning at the taste, at that look in your eyes that told him your cute cunt was about to give him another show, “Cuz this is my favorite part.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Hair tie

If anyone found out why Choso Kamo was never seen without that black hair tie around his wrist, they’d laugh in your face and tell you what a great joke that was. 

That inconspicuous little thing he’d take around everywhere, whether he had his hair up or not. It’s not like he exactly needed it, and most just assumed it was a fashion statement. 

Only you knew what it meant to have Choso thumbing that little red imprint in public. Hooking a finger underneath, pulling back ever-so-slightly to let it snap! against his skin. Looking you right in the eyes as he does. Something dangerous. Subtle. Something that has you pressing your thighs together. 

Something that has him pulling you to the nearest changing room in this crowded shopping mall, one hand covering your mouth, muffling your sweet sweet moans. The other, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt.  

“Sorry, baby.” he gasps, kissing your forehead so mockingly gently. “You just looked so fuckin’ pretty in that skirt. Needed you so- hah- bad.”

The skirt that was currently bunched at your waist, crumpling at Choso pushes you harder against the cool wall. 

But Choso couldn’t give a fuck about that right now, not as he shoves a knee between your trembling legs. He couldn’t have his girl falling now, right? Long fingertips so desperately massaging your plushy walls, searching for that one-

“Mmpfh! Hngh-”

Found it.

Without another word, he’s reeling two fingers back - all the way until they were barely kissing your sloppy hole. Plunging back in, hitting that spot over and over like he was addicted to the way your cunt was trying to suck him up so good. High off of every cute lil’ whine that escapes through his palm. 

“Shit, so fuckin’ gorgeous.” Breath hot against your ear, “Look.” 

You barely even realize it before you are, gasping at the obscene sight below. Your drenched panties pulled so lazily to the side. Sloppy. 

“Can’t get enough. Shit-” Pulling back to show off your slick glistening on his fingers, dripping down, down, down to that sinful hair tie. “Fuuuck, baby. Need you to cum on my fingers. Please. Please-” Puffy folds milking Choso’s fingers so hard that you wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether his wrist wasn’t cramping up now, fingers sore. 

And if they were, then, Choso didn’t show it. Instead, he’s bullying a third finger inside your poor cunt, the stretch too much that you can’t help but squeal. So fucking loud. 

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

“Is everything alright in there, ma’am?”

Oh if the way your heavenly cunt was clenching around him was anything to go by, then Choso wished he did this sooner. 

So entranced that he almost missed the concerned, “Ma’am?” from outside. 

“Wh-what’s the matter, baby?” he whispers lowly, biting down teasingly at your earlobe. Fingers still relentless, speeding up, even. And you could only pray the employee outside couldn’t hear the lewd squelches as he did. “Shy? Answer the hah- question.”

And shit, you could cry as he wrenches his hand away from your mouth. Grinning as you let out a broken little, “Y-yeah.” Cringing at how unconvincing you sound, “I’m jus-”

Whatever stupid excuse that was to come out of your mouth dies in your throat as Choso runs his thumb over your throbbing clit. 

“I-I’m al-right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

And it’s as if he takes that up as a challenge to prove you’re so utterly not. 

Not when Choso’s drawing tight little circles in time with the way he’s hitting that one spot, arching you like such a slut into his touch. Ignoring the concerned remarks from outside as he speeds up his pace, not even bothering to cover your mouth this time because he wanted to hear all your pretty moans. 

So much so that you’re mentally preparing to get caught - maybe even arrested. 

But still you’re so close. 

Halfway through imagining how Choso would snap his hair tie during the trial when that voice speaks up again. “Well…please let us know if you need any help.”

Those footsteps from outside barely even heading away before he’s sighing, “She’s gone now.” he bites down on your lower lip. “Y’can hah- cum f’me, y’know? Make a mess?” Grinding down his rock-hard erection on your thigh, already so damp through his pants. “Fucking cover me in it.”

And then you are - all over Choso’s hand. Kissing him hard, to stop yourself from screaming as he quirks his fingers just right. Fucking you through your high as you drench him in all your juices, soaking his hair tie, trailing onto the floor in a lewd drip! drip! drip! 

Obscene. Exactly the way he wanted it. 

So fucking pretty with the way you’re squirting all over his hand, thighs trembling, lips wobbling. That new skirt of yours so filthy now that Choso can’t help but eye the pile of clothes right next to you. Gritting out a ragged, “We got so many more clothes to try on.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - X marks the spot

“You’re going to cum f’me just like this, okay, brat?”

Maybe it’s the way you’re sat so prettily on Sukuna’s muscular thigh, squirming ever-so-slightly as he starts bouncing his leg to the beat of the thumping music. Maybe it’s the way you can’t do anything but let out a stifled gasp, desperately trying not to attract any attention towards the two of you in the dimly-lit VIP area of this overcrowded club.

But Sukuna just can’t help but tease you. 

Can’t help but trail a finger along your thigh, goosebumps rising so deliciously at the scrape of his nail. Up, up, up to confirm his suspicious and oh- 

He was right. No panties.

“Heh, such a naughty little minx, aren’t ya?” he can’t help the surprise that bleeds into his voice, pulling your back flush against his chest. Cradling your neck into his pecs, “Acting all innocent but you’re just begging to be used like such a slut, huh?”

The clink of a belt, and suddenly you’re feeling a sliver of skin - warm. Soft, sat right above where you knew he had that sinful little tattoo. 

“B-but Kuna-” you flinch as the cold air hits you before you know it. Looking over your shoulder to catch that fucking smug smirk as Sukuna flips your flimsy skirt to rest your dripping cunt on his bare thigh. And to anyone else, it would probably just look like you’re just seated on his lap. But you gasp, “Here?”

“Why not?”

If anyone heard your broken whine, then you didn’t have the courage to raise your head and look. Hazy eyes locked with Sukuna’s as he starts rocking you on his thigh. Fingers digging into your hips, dragging your sloppy pussy. Grip tight, bruising almost - like he was trying to hold himself back from doing anything more. 

“Aww, my messy girl.” And fuck if it wasn’t difficult to not just fuck you right then and there with the way your puffy folds were spread on his thigh. Drooling all the way down to the gaudy couch below. “Who’re you this wet for?”

But Sukuna’s skin against your was so hot. Your brain too foggy. His words too mean. And you can’t help but let out some incoherent babble.

One that has him wrapping a hand around your neck, nails positioned right above your racing pulse, forcing you to blink tearily up at him. “Sorry, pretty. Can’t hear you above this fuckin’ music.” Biting down on your earlobe - just a little punishment, “What were you sayin’?”

“Ngh- f-fuck-” you moan, clit catching on the curves and dips of his muscles, rippling as he bounces you faster in time with your slutty lil’ movements. “Only for ngh- you.”

Voice such a low purr in your ear now, “Who?”

“Y-you, Kuna-”

“Yeahhhh, fuck.” he grunts, angling his head just right to better take in the fucking heavenly view. Back arching, swollen folds spread so shamefully as you hump him like some bitch in heat. Making such a mess all over his thigh tattoo in a way that makes Sukuna so fucking glad he got it. “S’exactly what I like to hear.”

And God, he didn’t even have to tell you for you to realize. Because you could feel the way his rock-hard cock jumps against his boxers - so rock-hard and pressing up against your ass in a damp patch. 

One hand tightening around your throat, the other dipping below to draw urgent, messy little circles on your clit. Over and over. 

You dare to crack an eye open and look at the room around you, hips still grinding down so pathetically on his thigh. Clenching down so hard on nothing as you wonder how someone - anyone - could see the two of you and-

“Oi, look at me, brat.” he’s tugging your head up to his again. Hands getting more erratic - like he wanted to distract you from anything but him him him. “Focus on me. On how fucking good this pretty pussy is feeling.”

As if you could do anything but.

Bucking softly into his angry erection, causing Sukuna to let out a low, drawn-out hiss. “Evil lil’ thing.” he drags his lips down your sensitive neck. Pulling your hips harder against that tattoo. “Guess it ngh- makes sense though because…” you blink up tearily at him as he trails off. Barely noticing the trembling in his fingers, both your rhythms getting so sloppy. Untimed. As rough as the look in Sukuna’s eyes as he whispers, “-because you’re mine.”

And then he spits - right into yout waiting mouth. Once. Twice. 

Loud enough that it definitely makes a few stray onlookers glance, faces immediately burning at the sight of Sukuna kissing you. Just a messy clash of lips and teeth and tears.

Tears as you cum with a strangled gasp, drunk up so greedily by Sukuna as you squirt all over his thigh. So fucking messy. Seeping into his pants, all the way down to the couch below, but especially his tattoo. That ring of ink soaked in your juices - right where Sukuna wanted.

And if you were in any better state of mind you’d have been embarrassed - shy, even.

Instead, you’re glancing down at the way his thigh was glistening in the dim light, delicate strings of slick snapping as you lean back closer. 

“Don’t you have- hah- the same tattoo on your cock, too, Kuna?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Sweeter this way

“Such a filthy cunt on my sweet, sweet girl.” Gojo has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh - at how breathless and fucked out you were on top of him already. “C’mon, what ngh- happened to taking control?”

Ah, right - you bat your lashes lazily, blinking away the tears in your eyes to be met with that fucking smug smirk on your boyfriend’s face. So much for taking control tonight.

“Y-you’re a ngh- cheater, Toru.” you hiss, but you can’t stop your hips from grinding down so pathetically to meet with his rough pace. Jolting every time his leaking tip hit that one spot. “It was s’pposed to be hah- m-my turn to take charge.”

And oh how you had the strongest whining underneath you, two big arms looping around your waist to pull you against his toned chest. 

“But, sweetheart~” Craning his neck to graze his lips against your bruised ones - so fleeting, gentle. Exactly what his hips weren’t. “Isn’t it s-so much sweeter this way?”

You don’t know what it is about it - maybe at the dangerous little tone dripping from Gojo’s words. Maybe at the way each one was punctured by a messy, harsh thrust into your tight pussy. But it has shivers running down your spine - all the way to your bulging cunt, so stuffed and ravaged by his cock. 

Words a bit more breathless than you’d have liked as you mutter, “W-what do you oh fuck- Toru. What do you mean ‘sweet’?”

The only response you get is one hand pushing the hair out of his eyes, the other just bruising on your hips. Pulling you up, up, up on Gojo’s swollen cock like you were weightless, the arms in his biceps rippling when Gojo slams you down. Hard. 

Toned pelvis hitting your ass as he rams his cock into you. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“M’gonna show ya.” he grins, free hand roling your poor clit between two fingers. “Gonna show ya how much sweeter fuck-” Gojo’s eyes fly open as you clench so hard around him. On purpose - a warning. “Hah, feisty. But just you wait. M’gonna show ya.”

Having you feeling more and more like some curse he’s out to vanquish with the way he’s fucking you so merciless.

“Merciless?” Gojo cocks his head in a way that almost makes you forget to realize that oh, shit you said that out loud. “Mhm, sure did.” he hums, in a tone that was way too proud of himself. “N’ you h-haven’t even seen the ngh- best of it.”

You were getting impatient now - and so was Gojo. 

For all his talk, letting you grind your hips down to meet his rough cadence. So difficult with the way the man was getting impossibly faster. Sloppier. 

The look in his eyes is so feral. His hands so unforgiving, pushing your knees further apart. So erratic on your clit, drawing quick, messy little patterns in a way that has you wondering whether this is more for you or himself. 

He’s whispering, like a mantra now. “Gonna show ya- gonna show hah- fuck- m’gonna.” Running only on this and the way you were sucking him up so obscenely. Clit throbbing so fast under his thumb in a way he knew that it was about to be- “Now.”

As if on command, you cum. And not just any orgasm - no, when Gojo Satoru is out to prove a point, he will prove it five times over. Which is why he has you squirting like such a slut all over his rock-hard cock. 

“Oh- f-oh my god. Toru!”

Gojo’s own orgasm just a quick, sharp spike of pleasure, coating your puffy walls an obscene white before he’s pushing your limp body further back to get a better view and shit- 

That only has you gushing around him harder. So animalistically. Dick twitching wildly at the slick glistening all over Gojo’s abs, dribbling down, down, down to those tufts of white at his base. Some reaching his parted lips, and fuck if Gojo can stop himself from running his tongue along them.

Running a finger at the lewd pool on his abs before bringing them up to his mouth, “Oh, baby.” Eyes half-lidded, miles away yet still boring right into yours as he licks up his dripping wet index with a lewd groan. Pooling your sinful juices on his tongue. Heady. Addictive. “See? Sweeter this way.”

Your jaw drops into a soft oh! as Gojo pulls away with a lewd pop! looking like it fucking killed him to do so. 

Strings of slick connecting to those pretty pink lips, snapping ever so slightly as he murmurs a dark, “Wonder if it’ll be twice as sweet if I cum twice in your pretty pussy, hm?”

A/N. Hope y’all have a good day.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[chastiefoul]

love and deepspace men when you (playfully) reject their kiss ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel

fluff, fluff, FLUFF

zayne

his kiss landed on the outer corner of your lips instead as you turned away at the very last second as he leaned in

he just stared at you for a solid five seconds.

“was this because i left you on read this afternoon?” his voice was soft, uncertainty danced across his feature. you just shrugged, turning away from him to hide the smile you’ve been trying really hard to suppress.

he grabbed a hold of your waist first, keeping you in place. he saw the shameless smile on your face, couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle of his own. “should’ve known.”

you laughed, “but you did left me on read, how dare you?” his thumb moved up and down on your side as he made no change on his expression, like doing a gesture he didn’t even realize doing it. “alright then, i apologize for not replying within twenty minutes, since i did give you a call as soon as i was available.”

you put your hands on either side of his cheeks, he leaned into the touch. of course, it didn’t bothered you one bit when he didn’t reply right away since you knew very well how demanding his job was.

you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, you could feel his little smile as you pulled away. “good work today, zayne.”

���hm, then surely you would indulge me more of that for a moment longer?”

xavier

he’s quiet for a moment; he did kiss you, but he didn’t know why you’d turn your head on the last second like that as he kissed you on the cheek instead.

he casted his gaze downwards, looking like a rejected kitten in a pouring rain searching for its owner.

your heart squeezed at the adorable act, lifting his chin with your palm. he tilted his head questioningly, the words was obvious on his face. did i do something wrong today? were you mad?

xavier stared at you as he recalled today’s events, but he reached his wits end pretty fast since he still had no idea why you’d reject his kiss.

you then giggled at his clueless expression, and xavier immediately understood that you’re being playful. he let out a little sigh of relief, embracing you. his neck deep at the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you in the best way possible.

“you’re too playful at times,” he mumbled, he looked like he had all the peace in the world. “sorry, will you forgive me?” you ran your fingers through the back of his head. “i’ll forgive  you if you promise not to reject my kiss ever again,” he said.

you laughed, “okay then, if you insist.”

rafayel

oh. he looked so offended beyond belief. you’d think someone had insulted his painting; a product from his passion and effort. but to think it’s just a face he made because you didn’t want him to kiss you.

“i see what this is,” he started, the dramatic side of him just wouldn’t let this slide. you challenged, “yeah? what is it?”

“you tell me. this is just the beginning isn’t it. first you reject my kiss, next thing i know you’d be packing your bags, telling me you’ve fallen out of love.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his pout was the most exaggerated as it’s ever been.

you had to hold your laugh so hard, you covered your mouth with your fist. “it was just a kiss rafayel, i wasn’t feeling it.” you replied, trying your best to sound serious.

“wasn’t feeling it?” he gasped, like you just insulted his whole entire bloodline. he put up a palm in front of your face, like refraining you to say more controversial things. he took a deep breath to calm himself, “it’s fine, it’s not like i was eager to kiss you either.” he mumbled like he was talking to himself, although it’s obvious he’s being a little loud on purpose. also, lies. he practically bounced on air when he approached you.

finally a laugh escaped you, rafayel looked at you and he just fumed. “just so you know i expect you to make up for all the emotional distress i just went through.” you laughed a little more as you grabbed a hold of his face. “i would kiss you many times to make it up but i think someone just said he wasn’t really that eager to kiss me?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes lit up for a moment at the mention of a kiss, and next second he looked around frantically to make an excuse. “it’s okay i understand, fighting that many wanderers who make a lot of strange screeching noises? it’d disturb your hearing a little. i said i was eager to kiss you.” he smiled, nodding to himself. you laughed once more at his ridiculousness.

“sure, let’s go with that excuse.” you kissed him and when you pulled away he held your head, giving you multiple kisses before he let you go with a grin.

[lale-txt]

❥ 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 ↳ 𝐰/ 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮, 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮, 𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚, 𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚, 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 & 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚

a/n: reader is gn! i started drafting those during one of the first sticky hot summer nights of the year, then forgot about it until this came over me once again like a fever, and now here we are. i love writing drabbles because they force you to really think about the chars, how you perceive them and how to nail their unique personalities in 200 words or less. anyway, this is my first time writing for HQ after the brainworms got me down bad and i had lots of fun! hope you'll enjoy them too ♡

word count: 1.3k

𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 whines when you have the audacity to kick him back towards his end of the couch, catching your ankle and pulling you towards him in return, stubbornly ignoring your protests. Too hot to cuddle, my ass, he pouts, genuinely offended that you’d even consider that; when the only time Atsumu ever feels a sense of calm is when part of you touches him. Your hand playing with the shaved hair in the back of his neck, your leg hooked over his hipbone as you sprawl out in bed together, hell, even your icy cold feet shoved underneath his butt during winter. Something was missing when he couldn’t have your proximity. Yer so needy, Tsumu. So what if he was? He pulls you into his lap, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, hands tightening around your waist. His breath fanning over your skin, hot and cool against it. Atsumu takes, he demands, but with you he is pleading, silent for once. Just a little longer–dreaming, breathing you in, kissing till he feels you smiling against his lips.

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 wears his hair shorter now, back at its natural dark color, too. You helped him buzz it off during one of those sticky summer nights. Both of you in nothing but your underwear, Osamu sitting on the edge of the bathtub in your cramped bathroom. One hand of yours holding a razor and the other clamped over your mouth because you horribly messed up a setting and now he had a funny little edge in his hair, throwing you both in a laughing fit. It was your first summer together and Osamu couldn’t help but hope that there would be many more like this to come, with your bodies orbiting each other, unable to keep your hands off despite the heat and the sweat, the air heavy and electric and yet so light whenever he hears you laugh. Nothing beats the feeling of lifting you up on the kitchen counter and your eyes lingering on his hands, shaping a midnight snack for the both of you, getting drunk on stolen glances and kisses. There’s many metaphors for food and love and right now, Osamu can taste them all on the tip of your tongue.

𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐎 hasn’t even kicked his shoes off at the entrance yet and is already loosening his tie, before slender fingers work down button for button on his shirt. He hears you laugh about his demeanor from the other end of the hallway. How lucky, he thinks to himself. To have someone waiting for him at home, making even long work days during the most miserable summer heat bearable. His shirt has barely hit the floor and he’s already on you, caging you in with his arms and covering every inch of your skin he can reach in kisses, despite your giggling and feigned huffing over how sticky he is, sending him to shower first (as if you wouldn’t come right after him). Kuroo purrs when your hands tangle in his hair. In the end you always pull him back towards your lips again, swallowing every little quip and taunt like candy, sweet and syrupy in your mouth. It reminds him how he fell in love with you many summers ago, his heart ablaze ever since.

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 is glued to the fan at this point. He even switched gaming from his desktop set-up to a handheld console, reluctantly admitting that his old house would heat up even more with his computer running at full blast. His expression really says it all when you approach him, silently pleading for cuddles. Kenma just can’t understand how anyone would seek someone else’s body heat when the sun outside was already doing a pretty good job in trying to end him. Still, he isn’t immune to your charms, never was (one time he mumbled something about your stats being way too high and how everything changed once he received a love buff of yours). When you hold out a popsicle as a means of bribery and blink at him with those damn soft eyes of yours, Kenma pauses his game and holds out his arms. He hums into the kiss you give him before sitting down in his lap, your lips tasting like ice cream and summer love. He rests his chin on your shoulder, face nuzzled against your neck, before he continues his game, letting you feed him the sweet cold treat. Summer might have become a little more bearable with you in his life–though he was already looking forward to many winters under the kotatsu with you. 

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 is squishing your cheeks together, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth. Collecting evidence, but also wanting to feel your tongue poke out slightly against it, cheeky as ever. Just how could you eat the last ice cream in the freezer without him? He lets out an exaggerated huff, feigned indignation, both of you knowing he can never keep this up for too long–not when it comes to you. Oikawa leans down to kiss you, your face still in a tight grip, tasting the remains of the ice cream on your lips, as if you weren’t sweet enough already. Maybe he can be bribed for another kiss when you offer a midnight walk to the 7/11 down the street, promising to pay for a cool sweet treat to make it up to him. He had already forgotten what he was mad about the moment you leaned into the kiss, but he’ll never say no to a chance to hold your hand, even if it’s sticky with leftover ice cream and the summer heat. To Oikawa, love is stored in the mundane things, even if his love for you is anything but that.

𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐈 is standing in the kitchen past midnight, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers while he roams the freezer for anything to help him cool down; even a pack of frozen peas would do. He feels a pang of guilt for having peeled away from you, your form pressed so tightly against him in his sleep, it almost gave him a heat stroke–for more reason than one. Everything is sticky and airless and Iwaizumi is sure that if he would have glanced at you even a minute longer, his heart might have just given out on him. All this love he holds for you, burning him up from the inside, like a fever. He lets out a long exhale when he presses an ice bag against the back of his neck, but it’s not that what causes a shiver down his spine; it’s two arms sneaking around his waist from behind, your sleepy voice mumbling out his name, your body melting into his again. The first kiss pressed on the side of your neck is an apology, the second one a promise. The third–to devour you.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀 grumbles something about you being too sticky and sweaty, making a weak attempt to shove you back to your side of the bed, only to pull you back by your hips when you actually do leave some room between you. He can’t help it, you fit so perfectly in the curve of his body, your back pressed against his chest, one of his knees nudged between your legs, all tangled up. It’s the perfect position to plant kisses on the back of your neck, too. Kiyoomi loathes those hot summer nights in the concrete city. He’d rather be somewhere else with you, somewhere to breathe more easily through this heat. Maybe you should move to the countryside, yes. A small house with lots of green surrounding it. Less people and noise, just you and him. Yeah, he would like that. He kisses the back of your neck once more and takes a slow, deep inhale of your sweet scent, before sleep finally crawls upon him again. For now he’ll endure this heat, anything, as long as he can hold you in his arms like this–and have a cold shower with you in the morning, maybe.

[seumyo]

KENJI SATO ✰ 10:43

“Working overtime really doesn’t suit you, Sato.” The teasing sentence made Kenji grunt in disapproval, slumping against his couch.

“Wow, I didn’t notice. Thank you for that valuable input, [Name],” he says, rolling his eyes at you. 

He can’t help the sarcastic reply. Kenji’s schedule was all over the place. His life has been all over the place ever since his return to his home country, Japan. And now he not only has to take care of himself—which, in his defense, was fairly simple when he just had to worry about himself—he has to worry about an infant Kaiju!

What a wonderful (not) icing on the cake.

“Ken is really appreciative that you made time to fulfill his request, or, shall I say, cry for help, [Name].” Mina’s familiar voice flurried from a distance, closing in to your right in a breeze. 

“Hey! It was not a cry for help—it’s more like a... Asking a friend for a favor,” Kenji says, trying to ease his brain with what’s coming out of his mouth (like it was on autopilot, scrambling to defend himself and the pride he had left).

“Uh huh. And the favor is? I don’t really think there’s anything I could do to her containment unit or any repairs that’re needed in this place.”

“I just need someone to watch over her.”

(“I just need someone to talk to” is a much fitting phrase.)

“Doesn’t Mina already do that?”

“There’s only so much a supercomputer like me can do to entertain a living being, [Name].”

On cue, Emi croons at the video of you singing on stage. A part time career of yours, because when you’re not developing new tech that boosts the economy, you might as well indulge in your hobbies. 

Kenji wouldn’t admit it, but he has a vinyl or two—or even a whole collection of them—that he considers as priceless as his one-of-a-kind sports car displayed in the basement.

“Would you look at that? She likes your singing.” 

He watches as you take a step closer to Emi, observing how she delightedly squealed at the soft melody being played on the holograms. This 20-foot-tall baby Kaiju reminded you of the time you took care of children at the daycare center.

“I just...” he sighs. You didn’t even notice that Kenji was already beside you, offering you a canned drink. 

“How do you do it? Juggle everything?” He murmurs. “You’re the busiest person I know. Working on your thesis, performing at various concerts, taking on charity work, and whatnot. Hell, if you could run for president, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in the elections, too.”

A quiet laugh was returned. “It’s not easy, that’s for sure. But within time, you’ll learn just what you need and what you can handle.”

“Mm. Don’t you ever just want to run away from all the responsibilities people place on your shoulders? I can barely take care of this young lady,” he chuckles, though it doesn’t hold even the slightest ounce of humor to it.

“I wish, but then I’ll remember the kids who're so happy to see me whenever I drop by,” you say. “They may be a handful at times, but you’ll be surprised to know just how smart and caring they are. How they take in their surroundings and attempt to figure out who they are. We’re all what they have. The least we could do is give them our time and love all the same.”

Kenji lets your words sink in. Simple and touching. The kind that gets the gears in his head to start twisting.

“You really are a charm with your words; did you know that?”  

“Thanks; I try my best.”

The night continues with Kenji and Emi playing baseball on a simulated field with you by the shed, cheering on from a safe distance. Kenji doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this genuinely happy after his return to Japan. It’s a refreshing feeling that he wants to get used to again. To see the baby Kaiju successfully hit the ball with a swift swing after watching after him is a sight that tugs at one’s heartstrings.

Just like a proud father.

“Come on, girl! We gotta run the bases!”

And as the two celebrate their moment of triumph, the baby Kaiju stomps toward you and giggles happily as she hoists you in the air without much warning. You took it all in you not to shriek and absolutely lose all composure, but when you’re up in the air and are being held to a bear hug like some sort of teddy bear by a Kaiju that could probably crush your bones if not careful, it’s hard to not just scream for your life.

“Oh, ok—ok. Baby, put me down gently, please,” you chuckle nervously. 

“It appears that the little one sees you as her other mother,” Mina adds.

Kenji laughs at the sight, pulling out his phone to take a picture. This is definitely a memory he’d want to remember.

“This is not funny, Kenji. Tell her to put me down.”

“Aw, is Baby not listening to her Mommy?”

“Again, not funny. This is like an out-of-the-blue co-parenting a child with you. With you being my annoying ex-husband.”

“Specific, eh?”

“Shut!”

When you’re just about to leave for the night, Kenji suggests that you sleep over. There’s a lot of spare bedrooms in their manor, he reasons. He also doesn’t understand what came over him to offer, but he doesn’t take it back.

But it could be because he’s missed you. And he’s somewhat afraid that this may be the last time you see each other in a while due to your clashing schedules.

“You’re such a girl dad, Kenji,” you tease.

“Haha, good one,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. He took a couple of blankets from the closet and placed them on the bed.

“Just saying.”

“Whatever you say, Mommy.”

“Oh hush, Daddy.”

That ringed out a laugh from him. “Bleh, that sounds so embarrassing coming from you.”

You shrugged. “Hm? Don’t you think you’re embarrassing too?”

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. I will not be going back and forth like this with you anymore, Kenji Sato. Good night!”

Kenji can’t hide the smile that appears on his face. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Definitely missed you.

SEUMYO © 2024. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[not-neverland06]

I don't know why I bite

Logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: Had Mitski’s ‘I Bet on Losing Dogs’ on a loop while writing this, now I’m sad Inspired by the isle of dogs quote “I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite” BECAUSE OUCH (they’re both toxic, fair warning) bittersweet ending Summary: You've tried for so long to get Logan to accept you the way he does the others. You want so desperately to be someone who means something to him. But he doesn't want you, maybe he never has. And you both seem to be stuck in this loop of hurting each other.

You’re stability, security, but you’re never comfort. Try as you might, you just can’t get Logan to accept you. You want to. So desperately, you want to be something good for him. But he hates you, or at the very least, he can’t stand you. 

You don’t know what it is about Jean that he craves, but you wish you could replicate it. You’re not your friend, though, you never will be. And it’s pathetic, trying to change yourself to make someone else happy. You’ve never done that before. Yet, there is something about Logan that you want so desperately to help. 

You clean his wounds, metaphorically because he’s never once needed anyone for that. You lift him up after a rough mission and you remind him that the team does need him. They do love him. They want him in that uniform beside them, even Scott. 

You have your suspicions that he doesn’t appreciate your efforts. He’s never outright said anything to you. But you can tell the novelty of your kindness is wearing off. He used to brush your efforts off with a simple look. 

But he’s begun to be mean, saying these little things that you can never completely call out. A lot of what he says is based in truth. “Do you ever stop talking?” No, you don’t. You like talking with your friends, like sharing stories, and laughing together. 

“Has anyone ever told you to fuck off?” Yes, and it hurt. And it continues to hurt. “Why don’t you just shut up for once?” You can’t. You can’t because if you stop talking, if you stop distracting yourself then you’ll actually feel everything. You can’t stop talking, you can’t stop taking care of others because you cannot take care of yourself. You’re incapable of it. 

You can’t say that he’s being rude or mean. He’s just being blunt, and gruff, that’s just how he is. That’s what everyone tells you. They tell you to just ignore when he’s being a dick because he doesn’t really mean it. That’s just what he does because he doesn’t know any other way. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have placed so much faith in others. You should have just left him alone. Maybe then he wouldn’t have snapped, wouldn’t have said such cruel things to you. 

It broke you a little inside. Hearing what he really thought of you. Despite it all, despite the cruel words and harsh attitude, you had hope. You thought they were all right, that he just needed to warm up to you. And you so desperately just wanted to be something for him to lean on because you’ve never had that before and you know what it feels like to be so lonely. 

“Hey, Logan.” You step into the kitchen, rooting around in the fridge for something to snack on. “Weren’t there apples in here?” You’re talking aloud, but it’s meant for yourself. 

It’s that moment that it all finally comes crashing down. This pathetic illusion that he wants anything to do with you or your friendship. It almost makes you laugh, that this mundane moment is when you feel your heart shatter in your chest. When you get so sick to your stomach your bones ache and your limbs tingle with this odd phantom pain. 

“Could you just shut up?” his voice is low as he leans over the counter. His fingers spin idly around the neck of a beer bottle. You wonder how he managed to sneak it in here, Charles has banned alcohol. You watch the condensation collect on the cracks of his palm and shrug the pain off. 

You’re used to this. This is normal. “Right,” you squeeze past him and look in the pantry. “Sorry,” you whisper, if you speak any louder your voice will crack and that will just make everything worse. 

“You’re just always around, aren’t you?” You glance over your shoulder at him but you don’t respond. Deny it as much as he wants, you have gotten to know him. You recognize the tells. 

He’s had a bad day, he needs a way to get it out of his system. You just happened to walk into the kitchen at the wrong time. It could be anyone he snaps at, but today it’s you. Which seems to be happening more often. 

You do what you did when you were a kid, eyes forward, face flat. You keep yourself neutral, let yourself sink into that apathetic place so whatever he yells at you doesn’t hurt. “You tiptoe around me, act like I’m this wounded stray you need to fix.” 

Your brows pinch in confusion and you shake your head. Second mistake. You shouldn’t have walked into the kitchen in the first place. And you definitely shouldn’t have argued. “No, Logan, that’s not true-”

Although, maybe he has a point. You can’t fix yourself so you try and fix him. 

“I don’t know why they keep you around. You contribute nothing, you do nothing for any of us. We can’t even take you out on the field,” his voice begins to raise and you find yourself backing into the cabinets, hating the way this is beginning to make you feel. “You’re so fucking sensitive we can’t trust that you won’t just kill us all if something goes wrong! You don’t deserve a spot on this team!”

You jump back as he shouts at you, hip jamming into the corner of the island so hard you have to bite your lip so you don’t make a noise. Spit flies from the corners of his mouth, the ferocity of his voice and words are that strong. 

You take in a few quick breaths, blinking the sting out of your eyes and focusing on the wall behind him. “Get it through your thick fuckin’ skull,” he warns, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want you around. Leave me alone.”

You don’t cry, you can’t cry. You don’t speak because you’re afraid of what other cruelties that might provoke. Maybe you would understand all this if you’d been bugging him when he’d already made it clear he needed space. All you wanted was a fucking apple. 

You don’t feel much of anything as you slowly nod your head, not agreeing but appeasing. He watches you with something like surprise on his face. You don’t know that he’s wondering why you’re not saying anything back. 

It’s why he yells at you when he doesn’t know what to do. You can take it, you can put him in his place. But you’re not speaking and he doesn’t know why this time is so different. 

Finally, you turn on your heel and leave, footsteps soft as you retreat back to your room. Logan watches you go with an odd twisting feeling in his stomach. He didn’t think you could be pushed too far. You seem to always just have this endless patience. 

You treat him gently, even when the others get sick of the way he processes things. Today was hard, you just happened to be nearby. He didn’t mean half of what he said. He doesn’t know why he lashes out the way he does, he just doesn’t know what else to do. 

He doesn’t like it, contrary to what the others think. He doesn’t like hurting you or being mean to you. He doesn’t know what it is about you that provokes this side of him that no one else does. Maybe it’s because he’s afraid. He can’t say what he’s afraid of, he’s never been able to admit it to himself. 

He’s yelled at you plenty of times before. You don’t know what it is about that one day that was so different. Normally, it doesn’t bother you. You’ll set him straight or give him space. But today, it was needless. You weren’t doing anything. 

You didn’t deserve to be lashed out like that, cornered and scared in the place you call home. 

It was unprovoked and maybe it finally made you see him for what he really is. A bully. It doesn’t make sense, how he can be so kind and caring to Marie. How he can help Jean and Ororo so sweetly, but can’t muster one kind fucking word for you. 

You don’t let yourself cry, even though you want to. Even though there’s a cloying, suffocating feeling clawing its way up the back of your throat. His room is on the same hall as yours and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made you cry. 

You, at the very least, finally stop asking yourself what you did wrong. Instead, you start to wonder what’s wrong with him. You get sick to your stomach, thinking about all the ways you cared for him. Remembering how much of yourself you gave up to make him happy. 

He was right about that, you are pathetic. He never deserved your help or your patience. You should never have offered him any grace. You’re embarrassed that you didn’t see it sooner. This isn’t a little boy pulling your pigtails because he likes you. This is a grown man who can’t regulate his emotions and decided you were the next best punching bag. 

You take in a few deep, shaky breaths and close your eyes until you’re forced to fall asleep. You don’t want to think or feel any of what just happened.

Logan hovers in front of your doorway for ten minutes before he heads downstairs. He’s got a class to run, he doesn’t have time to wait for you to wake up, he reasons. He’ll find you later and apologize then. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize he had gone too far yesterday. Even if you could take his usual level of dickishness, you didn’t deserve it. He just didn’t know what to do around you. You made him confront so many different conflicting emotions. It’s like every time he looks at you his brain is being ripped in twenty different directions and he doesn’t know what to do. 

You’re so endlessly patient and gracious. It makes him realize he wants to be a better man and he can’t be. He resents you slightly for that. For having such a wonderful idea of what he could be, even though he knows he can never be that man.  

He doesn’t find you that day. He makes up enough excuses that he goes to bed promising himself he’ll apologize tomorrow. Which he never does. Because actually saying it would be an admittance that he knows what he did was wrong. And what does that make every other time he’s yelled at you? What does that make him?

It returns to the same cycle it always does. He waits a few days until things are cooled down and you’ll have already forgotten about it. He starts to feel overwhelmed and he goes to find you because you always know what to do. And if you don’t, then you provide an outlet. 

He spots the back of your head in the gardens. You’re with Jean and he expects the usual dirty look she gives him after you’ve both fought. Instead, she smiles warmly at him and waves. Which is odd, usually you tell her about what’s happened between the two of you and she holds the grudge longer than you do. 

You glance over your shoulder, a small smile on your lips, to see who she’s waving at. Logan sees the way it falls when you see him and his steps falter. You never do that, you always look so happy to see him. 

“Jean,” he greets curtly, eyes on you. 

She says hello and they both look to you. Normally, you would have already spoken. But you don’t, you turn your eyes to the kids. Jean frowns and turns back to him, “Everything alright, Logan?” 

He can’t take his eyes off of you. You read his moods, and know them better than he does. You should have already offered to talk. Maybe he really does need to apologize. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

He says your name and your brows just barely raise in question, though you couldn’t seem less interested. “Need to talk to you.”

You shrug, “Sorry, can’t. I’ve got a meeting to get to.” You brush past him and walk back into the mansion. He and Jean both watch you go, each of them shocked by how dismissive you were. That’s never happened before. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Jean demands, the smile gone from her face and her tone deadly. She glares at him, clearly expecting an answer. But he doesn’t have one. Because this is something he’s done a million times and this has never happened. He doesn’t know what’s gone wrong. 

He thought your absence would be a relief. After a few more days he begins to realize that he was wrong. He thought that not having someone constantly badgering him to be better and set good examples for the kids would be a relief. 

There’s no one nagging him. No one forcibly checking on him after a mission when he doesn’t need it. No one to care. 

There are chunks of his day that you would normally fill that now seem to drag on. Lunches are quiet without you constantly rambling about nothing in his ear. When there’s friction among the team and they’re ganging up on him, you remain silent. He supposes he should be grateful. 

You finally listened to him for once. But he’s angry. He always seems to be angry and he doesn’t understand why. There is so much of his mind and life that was stolen from him. He wonders if he got any of it back if it would explain why he is the way he is. 

It doesn’t matter because it wouldn’t fix what he can’t undo. He sees you with the others constantly. You’re always laughing, always happy. Like nothing’s happened. Like you haven’t cut him out of your life completely. And then, when you’re around him, it’s like a switch is flipped. 

You’re irritatingly silent. Practically a brick wall. He pokes and he prods, using every weapon in his arsenal to try and provoke a reaction from you. But you give him nothing. 

There is an ache in his chest when he sees the way your smile drops when he walks into a room. He doesn’t understand the feeling. This is exactly what he wanted. To be left alone. 

It feels so wrong. 

It happens in the kitchen again. Odd, that that’s become such an important place to you. 

Your back is to the entrance and you’re busy slicing up some fruit for yourself. You don’t hear him come in. Not until he speaks. “I’m-” you jump at the sound of his voice. Whirling around with a shocked look on your face. 

He chuckles a little at the reaction but when you don’t smile he stops. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. It sounds semi genuine. But it also sounds like it hurt him to say. “I’m sorry, so can you please just stop ignoring me?”

You shrug and go back to cutting up the fruit. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“No?” He demands. “Then why don’t you talk to me? Why don’t we eat lunch together anymore? You can’t even fucking look at me.”

You slam the knife down on the cutting board, taking in a deep breath so you don’t do something you regret. Your nails dig into your palms, trying to center yourself. “I’m doing exactly what you wanted,” you utter, voice low. 

You turn just enough to make eye contact. “I’m leaving you the fuck alone. That’s what you wanted right? I don’t think I could have misheard while you were screaming it at me.” You turn to leave, abandoning your fruit because you don’t have an appetite anymore. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers before you can make it out of the kitchen. “I,” he stops and starts again, “I miss you. I’m not a mean person, I don’t know why I hurt you.”

You stare at him, face unflinching. You give him nothing and he knows it's what he deserves. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I’m not asking for it-”

“Good,” you cut him off with a disgusted sneer. “Because I’m not looking to hand it out. Especially not to you. You only want me because you miss what I do for you. You don’t deserve my forgiveness. You don’t deserve me.” You turn on your heel and walk away from him, unwilling to entertain any more conversation. 

This is what you’ve always done. When someone hurts you, really irrevocably hurts you, they’re gone. They’re gone from your life. From your mind. More importantly, your heart. You don’t have any obligations to entertain him or speak with him outside of professionalism. 

You thought cutting him out of your life would hurt more. But it’s like you can breathe for the first time in months. You’re no longer striving to gain someone’s approval. You’re not chasing after something you’ll never catch. 

You can find happiness within yourself. Begin to do the things you would do for him, for you. It’s a relief. And a little sobering. Perhaps, in your mission to help him, you’d burdened him with the desires you had for yourself. 

You believe that you’re unfixable. You believe there are facets of yourself that are too dark to face. That you are undeserving of love and kindness. You recognized those things in Logan and tried to force on him what you’ve always wanted for yourself. 

It was wrong. A mutually toxic relationship that never would have made it far had anything actually happened between you two. You can’t paint yourself the victim and you never meant to. It’s why you didn’t tell anyone what happened between the two of you. 

They wonder, of course, why you no longer spend lunches together. Why you no longer rush to defend him when he doesn’t need the help. Why you don’t smile around him anymore. There are questions that you deflect. Saying, you just needed space from each other. 

Your harm was a silent one. Forcing him into a mold he was never going to fit in. Despite the claims of loneliness, you can see the way your absence benefits him. He’s calmer, less likely to yell when provoked. He just needed the space to find himself. Not to have someone try and make him something new. 

You feel an ache in your chest when you think about how differently things could have been had you just let him be. If you had let things happen between the two of you naturally then maybe you really could have been something great. 

A month goes by without speaking to each other. After that day in the kitchen, he seems to understand that there’s no putting back together what was broken. It was already cracked to start with, the break was inevitable. 

You warm slowly to him. Give him polite greetings when you see him. And he smiles at you sometimes, on the jet when Scott says something ridiculous, or just in passing. It’s nice, being a stranger to him. It’s comforting. 

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

You look up from the paperwork in front of you and give Logan a small smile. He’s hovering in the entrance to the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for your permission. “Hi,” you say softly.

He takes that as the go-ahead and walks in, heading for the fridge. You listen to him rummage around before he pulls out a beer. “Where do you hide those things?” You ask, and you almost bite your tongue. This is the most you’ve spoken to each other in a long time. It feels wrong to joke so easily. 

“Can’t tell you or Wheels is gonna stop me,” he grumbles. You just nod and turn your head back to your paperwork. It’s silent for a few minutes after that. He sits a little further down the island, nursing the beer while your pen scratches across the reports your students gave you. 

He clears his throat and you glance over at him from the corner of your eye. “I,” he starts but quickly closes his mouth. “Ah, forget it.”

Your brows pinch in confusion but you decide to leave it. You oddly don’t feel scared or anxious. You don’t worry that he’s going to snap at you if you provoke him. You choose not to because you’re not interested in engaging. 

You don’t really recognize the man before you. Maybe it’s because you never tried to get to know him before you tried changing him. It causes that familiar clenching feeling of guilt in your gut. 

You know if you gave him a chance things would be different. You could be friends, real friends. There’s a reason you latched so readily onto him. There’s a familiar pain in him that’s reflected back in you. 

You stand up, shuffling the papers into a neat stack and pushing your stool in. Logan straightens up as he watches you wash off your dishes and collect your items. Before you can make it out of the kitchen he’s standing from his chair. 

He stops in front of you, hand outstretched before him. “Logan,” he greets. 

You tilt your head in confusion, glancing between him and his hand before it finally clicks what he’s trying to do. Start over, reintroduce yourselves. Actually give each other chances to understand the other. 

This all started because you shared the same pain and you resented each other for it. But you could comfort each other instead. Be pillars of stability and strength in each other’s lives instead of trying to tear the other down so you don’t see yourself in them anymore. 

You were both too afraid to face who you truly are and it nearly destroyed you. But this is a stranger in front of you. You don’t know this man, but you think you’d like to. You give him your name and shake his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you,” you whisper, a slight joke to your tone. 

He holds on for a second longer than he should, the breath rushing out of him like he hadn’t thought you would accept. You smile softly at him before you pass by to go upstairs. His hand lingers on your, skin tingling under your touch until you can no longer hold on. 

You don’t know what it means for you, this odd new truce between the two of you. But you won’t linger on that tonight. You’ll go to bed feeling comforted that for the first time since you’ve met him, Logan has made you happy. 

a/n: felt more like a diary entry than a fic, sorry lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always ♡

[roturo]

HOW THEY FUCK YOU IN PUBLIC.

HOW JJK MEN FUCK YOU IN PUBLIC. (semi public.)

warnings: semi-public sex, public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, exhibitionism, fingering, blowjob, use of vibrators, jealousy, marking, edging, dacryphilia, degradation kink, praise kink. reblogs are appreciated:)

gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, toji fushiguro, megumi fushiguro, sukuna & yuuji itadori.

Gojo Satoru:

This man will make it obvious. He’s not embarrassed, in fact, he would be aroused by it. Noticing people giving the both of you stares, them noticing the hickeys on your neck, the messy makeup, it’s too much for him. Makes him hard again.

And it would happen at the most random times.

Mostly because he gets jealous, this man gets jealous because of everything. He doesn’t trust the other men around you. So that’s why he likes to show what’s his.

He’s more of taking the both of you to the restroom and fuck rather than a vibrator. Oh, and he loves teasing your legs with his fingers near your entrance, your trembling voice, hot face, making his pants get tighter and tighter.

“You like that. Don't you? Slut. Keep that pretty mouth of yours shut if you don’t want other to know how good i’m fucking your pussy right now.” You couldn’t contain your moans, not even covering your mouth helps. It was too much, he was too much.

“Don’t tell me you’re into that? Of course you’re into that. You fucking whore. I’ll make sure for everyone to know how good you get fucked. This pussy is mine.”

Geto Suguru:

This man is elegant. Uses vibrators, and fucks you in public as a punishment. He might not seem like it, but I swear this man is a JEALOUS man. Loves hanging out with others, sitting at the table while you’re by his side, hands down the table, control in hand and shakily sound coming out of you.

He would have a box of vibrators with different sizes, colors, and levels, just for this time of occasion or whenever he’s in the mood to just fuck with you.

Because he loves that, not only because he gets yards seeing you angry at him, but because of how turned on he gets while reclaiming what’s his.

He’s discreet about it, but makes it clear for you to never disobey him or look in direction towards another man.

“Am I going to fast baby?” He says in your ear, in a slow seductive low voice. Friends talking in front of the both of you, like nothing is happening down the table. “Aw, we’ll that’s so fucking sad for you, you decided to act like a big girl with other men, then take it like one.” He says while leveling up the vibrator, his hand resting on your thigh, looking happily at his friends and laughing at whatever they were talking about.

This was going to be a long day.

Nanami Kento:

He’s not the kind to fuck in public.

Prefers doing it in private, having his time, and enjoying it.

But when you get a little bit too bratty for his liking, he would snicker his legs(shoes) down the table to your center. Slightly moving it through your panties and clit, touching it with the point part of his shoe.

Edging you for release, he would retreat his shoe just in time for you not to cum. Asking the waitress for some water.

But when you get a little bit TOO bratty for his PATIENCE, he wouldn’t say a word. And that’s how you know you fucked up. Wouldn’t care if someone watched the both of you, he makes the two of you enter the restroom and fuck the soul out of you.

“You fucking slut. Couldn’t wait some hours to get fucked huh?” One of his arms wrapped around your waist, while his free hand rests on your neck. “And you need to have it right now. Like the fucking brat you are.”

Toji Fushiguro:

This man wouldn’t care. Not even like Gojo, he would make it SO obvious it becomes uncomfortable for the people around you watching the both of you having… intimacy.

His fingers would roam around your skirt/dress, making it easier for him to touch you, and shamelessly get under it. Touching the wet patch forming on your center, chuckling to himself. He loves knowing he has this type of power over you.

He would finger you to the max, his arm visibly shaking so you could get some pleasure, all while maintaining a smile like he’s overstimulating your core.

“I want to fuck you so badly.” He says while rubbing your clit with his thumb. “Too bad your fucking my fingers right now. I would love to fuck you infront of all this people. Such a piece of art.” A specific curl of his finger was enough for you to reach your climax. Trying to moan the lowest as possible to not bring any more attention, would be in vain, because he would shamelessly get his fingers out and insert them inside his mouth to lick your liquids off.

Megumi Fushiguro:

He’s not into it. Actually, you initiate it. By teasing him in public, touching him by ‘accident’ near his crotch. Showing a little bit more of your thigh to him, being all touchy.

But he’s a hard man to break, so you would get bored and annoyed easily. So that’s why you try to make him jealous.

And he won’t show it, but inside he’s figuring his own shadows to not fucking take you right there and erase that smirk of yours.

Taking advantage of you being way too busy trying to claim his attention while flirting with Yuuji, he went near the both of you and placed his hand on the back of your waist. Plastering a small smile on his face.

Yuuji noticed in less than a second he was mad. His hand traveled down your figure to your ass, your eyes widening looking back at Yuuji who was as shocked as you.

He gave a small almost visible smack, which caught you by surprise and made you squeak at the surprise. Feeling your face heated up, while Yuuji scratches the back of his neck. “Uhh…” He looks down at his phone, thanking god he has a way of leaving this situation. “Gojo-Sensei is calling me. Talk to you later guys!”

He sprinted as fast as possible towards the door, leaving the both of you alone. Wasting no time he laid you down on a desk and started taking your panties off and unbuckling his pants.

“You fucking whore. Can’t get enough of a cock you want another one huh?” He said while thrusts, a phone on his hand recording your fucked uo faces, tears dried down your cheeks. Messy moans and whines coming out of your mouth while he records the entrance where his cock appears and disappears inside of you.

The next day, he would ask Yuuji to meet him alone and show him the video. Threatening him to never let himself be that touchy with you.

Sukuna & Yuuji:

This would be more of a threesome tbh, this isn’t a lot like “public sex”, but i’ll start with explicit comments coming out of Yuuji thanks to a sukuna mouth appearing on his cheek. Saying how good your ass looked in that dress, saying how he wants to rip it apart and fuck you infront of everyone. Calling Yuuji a virgin and saying he has the same thoughts of you.

Yuuji would be bright red, looking at his classmates who were shocked and laughing at him at the remarks of Sukuna.

So that’s how you ended up in his room. Someway Sukuna and Yuuji being in control at the same time, while you fuck his cock in your mouth and ride his feet which has a mouth on it. Sucking your clit and tongue circling your entrance, until he appears with another arm and fingers you.

“Nn-ngh~ Don’t stop! You’re such a good girl…” Yuuji said while bobbing your head with his hand on top of your head. “She’s more of a brat. She’s teasing a lot, stop with that.” Sukuna said, curling his fingers just right, making you moan with his cock inside of you. Sending vibrations which made Yuuji moan and release inside of you. “Step back kiddo, it’s my turn to fuck with her.”

[earthtooz]

x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous. 

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm. 

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him. 

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse. 

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye. 

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.” 

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture. 

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug. 

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you. 

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious. 

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup. 

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.” 

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.  

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.” 

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!” 

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why. 

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!” 

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate. 

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?” 

“No one. Now get lost.” 

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.” 

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love. 

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe. 

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar? 

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you. 

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over. 

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression. 

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.” 

“What guy?” 

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.” 

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.” 

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.” 

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him. 

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?” 

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile. 

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh. 

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.” 

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?” 

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?” 

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands. 

“So why aren’t you apologising?” 

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner? 

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest. 

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.  

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs. 

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?” 

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party. 

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.” 

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue. 

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad? 

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[moonlesslights]

Miguel O’hara in Love

Headcanons.

━━━━━━ ✿ 🕷️ ❀ ━━━━━

A/N: I was really looking forward to write this, because I just can’t get this whole idea out of my head.

Warnings: Basically none, a little bit of angst maybe?, some smut references and depictions. Miguel being Miguel. Kinda obsessive (?)

This text is based in that frase of Joe Goldberg: “There’s not a line, in the world, that I wouldn’t cross for you”. So be prepared.

Enjoy, my loves. Every comment or request is welcomed! 🤍

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Miguel was curious of you from the very moment he met you. Such a unique presence among all the others.

You had been bitten just a month ago. And it was hard for you. He saw you struggle, falling over and over again, training till exhaustion, fighting to be on the level of the others.

And the worst part of it all, was the guilt coming to attack him with every side eye Jessica gave to him. “If you weren’t going to help her, you should have let her alone.” The woman had whispered while both of them looked at you fighting to climb another building. Miguel knew she was right. He was the one who insisted in bringing you immediately after they found you (only a couple of days after the bite), even when Jessica insisted to give you time for you to figure it out alone. Miguel wasn’t having it, and now… “She’s been at it for the whole morning.” The woman pursed her lips, shaking her head.

What Jessica didn’t quite know was that Miguel hadn’t left you alone all this time… He wasn’t good at talking, that was true. He wasn’t good at showing his support with words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.

You let out a pained groan when you finally plop on the concrete of the building’s rooftop. Every single muscle of your body aches and you can fell your heart pounding harshly against your ribcage, making it feel like every breath that makes it to your lungs it’s just a mere miracle.

The weight of the presence of someone standing beside you forces you to blink out of your thoughts. Tiredly, you look up, finding Miguel's mask glaring back at you with a deep frown you can make out of the way his eyes curve.

He holds a white little package on his right and he hands it to you before finally sitting down without making a single sound. It had all started like a little game between the two of you: You pretend you don’t see his figure hovering above a building while you train, or his silhouette watching you getting back to The Society place safely. You also pretend you don’t know it’s him who leaves bandages and painkillers over your bed every day with a little chocolate next to it. And he pretends he doesn’t know that you know.

You cross your legs and smile when you open the small box on your hands, smelling the sweet scent of warm and fresh food. You also take notice of how he changed one of the things he brought you last time, you didn’t have the heart to tell him, but you were sure now he definitely noticed you didn’t like it.

“Eat.” He orders and you are too tired to remark his tone of voice with a roll of your eyes. So you nod, bringing a big spoonful of pasta and vegetables to your mouth, thanking him with a big smile. Smile he doesn’t return. He never does anyway. But now it’s not like always. He’s pissed. “When was the last time you ate?”

You look straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. You swallow, slowly, feeling his eyes burning on the side of your head.

“Mhm… Not long ago, no.” You answer, mumbling while you get more food into your mouth. Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“Training this much without any nutriments won’t do anything good for you…”

“Training this much won’t do anything anyway.” You sigh, keeping then the fork between your lips. Miguel wishes to say something but he can’t find the words, he can’t order his thoughts inside his head to place them on his tongue and tell you just how much you have improved since the first day, so he gladly receives your bright eyes turning to him when you seem to remember: “But I finally climbed this building, see? Without using any web, only my spider fingers.”

The man nods at you waving playfully at him. The determination in your eyes even when your whole body wanted to give up, even when you know you’re still not close to go on a mission by yourself (or with anyone else), even when you probably couldn’t even sleep fine because of the sore bruises, the determination in your eyes didn’t flatter.

That made him feel something deep is his hands, a tingle he couldn’t control. And he hated it.

“Tomorrow at seven.” He sentences, standing on his feet again.

You frown, raising big eyes at him. The brightness in them when the weight of his words hit you destabilizes him.

“For real?”

“Yes.” He looks away. “If I don’t train you you’re not getting anywhere.”

His comment goes unnoticed for the excitement running all along your body.

“Ok.” You nod, trying to look professional but failing miserably.

He grunts in response, soon jumping off of the building and losing among all of the city chaos. In some minutes he would be back at the Society lobby. You… An hour. Give or take.

Training with Miguel was nothing but… Hell.

No, it actually wasn’t. You expected you could say that to make people thing you were having it hard, but he insisted on starting with the basics… basics that you already felt like being good at.

Still, climbing had become easier within the first week of training with him. The tips and advices he insisted you to follow helped you thinking of it more like a game than a must do.

Swinging was still a tricky one. You used to lose your balance when the demanded velocity was too much. Panic rushed over you, feeling like you would crash against a window or a fucking person, or another spider doing their own training.

“Trust your senses.” Miguel said to you every time you fell, and every time you death glared at him for that. He didn’t have one of the most important senses for spider people and he still managed to be better than anyone you could have known. You had them all, and they all seemed to be a mess when you tried to use them.

Soon enough, Miguel learned about a way to motivate you: Rewards. Most of the time was food, some others, the promise of letting you rest for more that five minutes was enough. For a week now, it had been a little bit different.

History. You loved it. And you changed any delicious and tasty food for hours listening to Miguel explaining everything about the multiverse and the tangled webs between all of you. He had told you about his first travels to other Earths at least three times, but you couldn’t seem to get tired.

You might not tell him how much his voice soothes you after a long day out, but it wasn’t necessary, he could see it. On the other hand, he definitely would never tell you how he glanced at you, completely asleep after another history session, memorizing every breath, every mole and freckle, counting every single one of your eyelashes like the stars on the sky above you.

No. You would never find out about that.

Today was supposed to be just like any other day: quiet, calm and premeditated. Nothing out of the routine you and Miguel had adopted for the past four weeks.

But with you, things were never that easy. Boredom was a dangerous thing for you, Miguel had learned it by now. The hard way. If something became not enough exciting for your restless self, you would look for that spark of adrenaline at any cost. It was part of your determination. Heart of a lion. He knew that. But it didn’t change the fact he would have to save you from breaking a few bones every once in a while.

“I’m sorry” You would say after he dropped you on the safe floor again. He would turn to look at you, fire running up his veins. Every time he wanted to yell at you, to snap and tell you it was the last time you do something like that. And every time he would sigh, pressing both finger on the bridge of his nose, finally grunting in a low voice:

“Desobedeciste deliberadamente.” A month was enough for you to know exactly what those words meant.

“I know.”

“You could have hurt yourself.”

“I know…” Then the bright eyes. Always the bright eyes. “But I have to try, I can’t depend on you forever. Getting hurt it’s just part of the way.”

He hated you were right. He lost count of how many broken ribs he got on his first years, of how many scars he still hides under his suit. Eventually, you would have to learn to stand up even if you’re bleeding. Even if you’re dying.

He is not mad at you for disobeying, that’s bullshit. He admired that of you, actually. You don’t act by fear, you do not fear him. You follow your heart even when you know you could get in trouble for it. No, he’s mad because every time he catches you before you hit the ground, all he can think about is that there’s going to be a moment where he won’t be there to do it. And the sound of your body crashing against the concrete, of your pain, would follow him till the darkest moments of the night, where he curses the day you’ll scream his name and he will be too far away to hear it.

“I want to change my reward for today.” You smile at him, both of your hands behind your back, making him suspicious of your teasing voice.

“You’re not going anywhere with Hobie.” He responds in a neutral voice, starting to walk in front of you.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head before getting in front of him and starting to walk backwards so you could keep facing him.

“It’s not that.” You insist. He doesn’t answer and you know that’s his way of telling you to go on. You sigh. “I want to see you without your mask.”

That makes him stop dead on his tracks. He tilts his head, questioning you with curious eyes. That’s all you wanted? No, you wanted that? Why?

Were you really that bored?

“I feel like everyone here has seen you at least one time, except for me. And it’s not fair.” You got a point on that. He spends most of his time training you, you share almost every meal together, he’s the last person you usually talk everyday because you’re too tired to do anything other than going to your room and sleep. You have spent entire days with him, you have cried and made a mess of yourself in front of his presence, and you didn’t even know his face.

You can deny the sting of irritation you get every time Hobie or Gwen, or any other come talking about what they said during the meeting before a mission, meetings where, you had learnt, Miguel used to take off his mask. Peter told you it wasn’t that big of a deal. You wanted to punch him.

“If that’s what you want.” Miguel crosses his arms, tilting his head at you. “Now go tra-…”

You were gone before he could even finish his sentence. He sees your figure going around the building he chose for this particular session. Your swinging had gotten better over the last weeks and the confidence you had in yourself had also been improving, showing your true strength for him to see.

Jessica insisted on you being ready to train at the top levels with the others inside The Society training center, or at least to try. But Miguel profusely refused. He had designed many of the levels to train there, he knew the damage they could cause to someone not prepared to face them.

He blame it on his sense of responsibility over you the fact that he denied any attempt to put you on an unnecessary risk, but deep down, he knew that from the moment he stepped in front of you while you cried for that death he knew all too well now, and then observed how you wiped your tears and showed him your fists, ready to fight him despite everything… He was fucked.

You were the little thing he decided to protect even if it costed his life. The little thing that trusted his claws to hold at her, that puts its life on the line without a second thought. It is not his fault to have never experienced anything like this, to don’t know what to do, to act like a fool, to refuse to lose it… How they cannot understand?

“Done.” You jump in front of him, getting him out of his thoughts.

He looks up, seeing all of the targets on the building covered by a good layer of web. Your precision could be better, but you’re getting at it.

He sighs. He turns to face you completely before ordering his nanotechnology to uncover his face. Dark wavy hair falls onto his temples, brown skin glimmers under the heavy sun above you, full lips press against each other and two cold brown eyes glare down at you.

When you don’t say anything, he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?”

You nod without waiting for another question.

“I just wanted to see your eyes.” You answer confident, smiling softly at him.

It is enough to say he never wore his mask on around you ever again.

Miguel O'Hara isn’t good in what emotion management respects.

He knows it, but he doesn’t have the time or care to try to do something about it.

It wasn’t that big of a deal…

Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal until one specially busy morning where he couldn’t make it to your first training, he went on looking for you… And he couldn’t find you.

He went to your room, your favorite places; he went looking all around the city, praying to find you just jumping above some buildings. But you were nowhere to be found. And it wasn’t until one Peter took mercy on him that pointed the worst place to be pointed: The training center.

With his heart going a thousand miles per hour, he started to look for you inside the complex. And when he caught a glimpse of Jessica looking up with a proud smile, he knew exactly where you were.

“She’s doing even better than I could’ve imagined. You’re a great mentor, Miguel.”

“Why is she here?” He answered immediately. Jess raised an eyebrow at him, confused by the uneasiness on his voice.

“Does that really matter? Look at her, Miguel!” She pointed at you with her extended hand. “Aren’t you proud of her?”

Of course he was. But what he couldn’t stand was someone else messing and taking choices over the one and only thing he has. So instead of answering her question, he sentenced: “Don’t ever get close to her again.”

“Miguel…”

“You can mess around with any other, but there is a fucking line, Jess. You chose yours, and I respect them. Don’t mess with mine.”

When he finally appeared in front of you, you smiled brightly at him. He looked like any other day, completely unfazed and with a calmed expression you were so used to see by now.

“Time to call it a day, don’t you think?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You were sweating, you arms were trembling and you could barely control your breath by now, and still… You shook your head.

“I want to try this level one last time.” He was ready to talk you out of it but your pleading eyes made him look down at Jess, who, with a single movement, made him understand what she was talking about.

“Fine, but I’ll be with you every step of the way, got it?” His frustration made you giggle when you nodded.

You didn’t make it till the end of the level, but you tried, and that was all that mattered to you. To Miguel, having been able to take you to the wall before you crashed against a crystal under you was the main thing that mattered.

It had been a whole experience, but it remained like that. Enough time at least for him to push his way of react behind him. Until something made it snap again.

His eyes fly to all of the cameras in front of him, fixing his pupils in whatever screen he could catch a glimpse of your suit.

The threat they were expecting for your first mission ended up being a lot more aggressive and capable than hoped. You and your partner had already received a few good hits by the time Miguel reached for the Call button.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you hear when you press ‘answer’.

“Never better.” You reply, smiling at the interface of your pretty boss clenching his jaw.

“Need help?”

You immediately shake your head. “Not at all, we’re managing just fine.” Your figure distorts while you swing around. Heavy steps following you up close. “I gotta go, Miguel. See you back at home.”

“No, wai-…” He widens his eyes, trying to reach you before you end the call. His fists tighten and his eyes close, fighting to keep himself calm.

But our man can’t catch a break, because as soon as his breath starts to get back to its normal speed, a camera showing on one of the screens burst out with a big clatter, forcing his eyes open only to see his worst fear take form in front of him.

You were struggling against the anomaly, kicking your feet in the air and trying desperately to get his hands off your neck. Your partner was nowhere to be seen. You appear to lose you patience when you stop fighting and instead shoot webs to the creature’s eyes. The anomaly maddens, and throws you against the next building on the street.

Miguel's eyes follow your body across two cameras, watching in horror the blood dripping from your mouth when you cough after the blow, struggling to get on your feet again.

His hands move quicker than he can process, bringing all the information about the Earth you were on for him to see.

“Miguel.” Jessica calls from behind.

“Where the hell did you send her?” He whispers, reading the screen displayed. “I told you she wasn’t ready to go.”

“Miguel, look.” She insists, this time with a more demanding voice.

But the man can’t think of anything else more than you bleeding. Alone and injured.

“You said it was an easy one.” He growls in a low and dangerous voice.

“I’m…”

“I told you she wasn’t ready!” He snaps, looking back at her. His fangs pinch on his lower lip, so hard he can feel a drop of scarlet liquid running down his chin.

And it’s not until Jess takes a step back and Lyla calls his name that he realizes the way his claws had ripped the metal in front of him.

And then… A call.

He blinks out of his trance, looking up at the screen with your name on it. He hits ‘answer’ and your dirty suit and scratched face make an appearance.

His red eyes relax at the sight, returning to those soft brown irises and dark pleased pupils reserved only for you. He hides his fangs and his claws are no longer nowhere to see. Just you. It was just you again. And you were okay.

“Miguel, look!” You smile at him, pointing the camera on your watch for him to see your partner finishing to tie up the anomaly. “We got it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I see.” He can’t help but let out a small glimpse of a smile over his lips, nodding at your excitement.

“Oh, you’re smiling. Wait for me to come back, I wanna see it in person.” And just like that, his smile is gone.

“Don’t take any longer. Both of you, come back as soon as possible.”

And with that, the call is ended once again, leaving him in a room with heavy air and thick silence. He jumps off of the platform, still glaring at Jessica in silence.

“You know that wasn’t right.” She whispers. “The way you’re acting it isn’t right, Miguel.”

He shakes his head, slowing his movements until he remains still just a few feet away from the entrance.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” He murmurs.

“Oh, now I don’t know?!” She opens her mouth with indignation, but Miguel doesn’t alter.

“It’s not like that and you know it.” He hisses. “I have lost everything in this world. I am utterly alone. And even between us, there a strings that doesn’t tangle. You have a husband and a soon to come baby, a family that awaits for you at home, but what do I have, Jess?”

The woman, for the first time, remains silent.

“I have her. I only have her.” He says. “Not a single thing in this world belongs to me but her. Everything else have been taken away from me, everything I once had has disappeared: my job, my life, my normal life. If she’s ripped from my hands, I have nothing left. And I cannot keep fighting for a life I don’t want to live. This is not only for her, Jess. If I lose her, I will tear the universe apart with my own hands.”

A single shiver ran down her spine, watching Miguel exiting the complex to find you arriving almost at the same moment.

She watched how his threat takes meaning when you wrap your arms around him and his eyes brighten at the sound of your laugh.

She knows that if they ever were to lose that light, the whole multiverse would dim with them.

Miguel wanted to own you.

He wasn’t good at hiding it.

His hands would come to your hips, grabbing your tights or caressing your waist under your clothes.

Your scent would drive him into his animalistic side at every given moment. Until the point he would have to step meters away from you during the meetings in order to keep himself from the smell of your hair and your soft skin.

But when he didn’t keep himself from you, he would come from behind you, embracing you with his whole body. His face would bury in the curve of your neck, sending shivers with his tongue coming out, tracing a single line till reaching your ear, where he would whisper what he wants, where he would ask you to let him touch you.

When you say yes, he would drop his head and sink your fingers on your tender skin, pressing his hips against your body when you throw your head back, allowing him to do as he wished so with you, to mark you as his as many times as he wanted.

“Miguel…” You sigh this time, feeling his hands clinging at your suit, desperate to touch your skin instead.

He had just returned from a mission that had kept him away from you three days. You had imagined he would’ve returned tired and ready to sleep for fifteen hours, but instead he took you straight into his bedroom and pushed you against the wall, where he now holds you still with both of his arms.

“Take it off.” He whispers, tugging again at your suit. He was being nice this time, and you thank him internally for that. You don’t have the strength to ask Lyla for another suit.

You complain with a happy humming, letting your body fully exposed before him except for your panties still covering your ass and pussy.

The man switches off his own suit, letting you see up close the tent under his boxers. His fingers grasp at your thighs, forcing your legs open for him. Two of his digits run along your folds over your panties for around ten seconds before he decides to tore away your undergarment and place his hand back at your sex.

You would have complained about his behavior but his fingers pressing down on your clit rip only a moan out of your throat. He plays with your sensitive bundle until you’re wet and seconds away from an orgasm he pretends to steal away when he stops his movements.

“No, please…” You cry out, your legs threatening to give up.

“Shhh, patience, mi amor, I’m not done yet.” With one hand he pushes you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his neck for support before he starts eating you out like a starved man.

You tighten your tights around his head, almost screaming at your over sensitive pussy being stimulated even more, with his tongue pushing in and out for a while until he takes it to your clit again, sucking in, ripping another hard cry out of you. You are so close. And when he finally joins in two of his fingers to curve inside of you, it’s your end.

You scream his name, clenching around his digits, making him growl enough to feel the vibration running down your skin. He guides you through all of it until you finally seem to catch your breath again.

But then, he takes out his fingers and drops his boxes to the floor. His dick throbbed painfully, making him hiss when he stroke it a few times before pressing against you, chest to chest, and bottoming out all the way with a single thrust.

“Fuck, Miguel!” You throw your head back as he does the contrary, sinking his fangs into your skin, trying not to lose control.

“May I move?” He asks, breathing heavily on your skin.

You nod.

“Yes, yes, please move.” He groan in pleasure at your words, starting to move your hips in and down to match the rhythm of his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning sweetly against his ear while he pick up the pace. Soon enough, only the sound of skin slapping on skin could be heard around you, with nothing but your moans and gasps indicating him where he had to thrust, and his deep growls showing you how close he was.

“Cum for me.” He says, pushing your back back to the wall with his hand around your neck, squeezing you under his fingers. “I wanna see you cum.” He demands, making of his pace nothing but a mess of thrusts.

He was so close, he just needed…

“Miguel!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out desperate whimpers when your legs tremble around him and your walls clench around his cock, sending him so high he has to bite you again to avoid a throaty moan escape from him.

You could barely begin to feel your toes again when you feel him tightening his grip around you before walking out to the bed.

He was ready for the next round.

…

Thank you so much for coming all this way!

PD: I know Miguel fangs have paralyzing venom but let’s just pretend he can choose when to use it and when don’t.

This might not be good but I had the idea of this thread of story and I just wanted to write it.

I hope you have at least enjoyed some of it.

Love y’all. Sending a lot of love. See ya. <3

PD2: I’m trying to work now on a Sub!Miguel thing. It may be still a couple of days from it, but I want to be good. And I haven’t decided if it would be just porn or porn with plot. So let me know!

PD3: I’ll be doing cleaning and correction between today and tomorrow.

[starkeysprincess]

after lecture punishment

pairing: professor!rafe x reader warnings: sir kink, spanking, fingering, edging, praising, 18+ mdni

word count: 1.6k request: Hiiii! Can you write something with Professor!Rafe? Like where reader can't focus in class because of how sexy he is/ starts failing so he keeps her after class or something like that lol <3333

main m.list ⟡ rafe cameron m.list ⟡ taglist

“Fuck” you muttered to yourself, staring at your test result, the bright red ink that marked the paper with a ‘D-’. 

When you first started the second semester of your junior year, you never thought in a million years that you would score anything lower than a ‘B’. You passed your previous classes with flying colors, but it looks like this class alone would be the one to damage your track record. If you were being honest, it’s not that you didn’t study or try hard enough, it was your lack of attention span. Your attention was focused on something else during lectures, or should you say someone. 

That someone is none other than the man teaching your class, Professor Cameron. You couldn’t help it, you’ve always had a thing for older men and it didn’t help that he was the sexiest man you’ve ever seen. You were so engrossed with him, that you even noticed he wasn’t married, there wasn’t a ring adorning his left ring finger. 

You were disrupted from your thoughts when you heard rustling around you, looking to see your classmates packing their belongings into their bags. You shove your test into your binder, standing up as you gather your items. Your feet carried you towards the door, passing Professor Cameron’s desk before you felt a hand brush against your arm as he called out your name, following with “Could you walk with me to my office? I have a few things to discuss with you”. You watched as your classmates dispersed out of the room before turning your head, looking at him, and nodding.

You walked behind him, following him like a lost puppy as he led the way to his office. His name plaque mounted near his office door, glinting from the lighting, catches your eye. He twists the doorknob, opens the door, and steps aside to let you in, his eyes shamelessly glued to how your hips swayed as you walked in. He follows behind you, shutting the door, and gesturing for you to sit at the chair in front of his desk. 

“I couldn’t help but look at your transcript and noticed you’re an honor student, is that right?”, Professor Cameron leans back against his desk, standing in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging against the sleeves of his white button-up. “Uh, yes, sir” you mutter, feeling yourself fidget with your skirt. His eyes fixate on your skirt before he clears his throat, “Your grades for the past few semesters are impressive but coming into this class, I have yet to see the honor student in you”.

“You do understand that your grade in this class is on the verge of failing, correct?” he questions, to which you sheepishly nod, “Is there something going on outside of class affecting your learning?”. You nervously bounce your leg up and down, “No, sir. I’ve just been distracted, that’s all”. Professor Cameron’s face turns into a look of amusement, “Distracted? What’s makin’ a smart girl like you distracted?”.

Your face flushes with embarrassment, “It’s nothing”, you mumble, watching as Professor Cameron rolls his sleeves up, his hands moving behind him, settling on his desk, “Nothin’? If it was nothin’, you wouldn’t be on the verge of failing my class. I’ve been watching you during my lectures, you’re a good girl. You wouldn’t lie, would you?”. 

“N-no”, you lied, stuttering as he observed your face, taking in your reaction, as if he was trying to detect if you were lying. He lets out a ‘tsk’, standing up and pinching your elbow between his fingers, pulling you out of the chair and into his chest. “Thought a smart girl like you would know better about lying” he shakes his head, “I can’t help you with your grade unless you tell me what’s been distracting you. That, or I’ll have to get it out of you, it’s your choice, sweetheart”. 

When you don’t give him an answer, he pushes you against his desk, forcing you to bend over. He grabs your hands, pinning them onto the top of his desk with one hand. His voice is gruff, “Alright, you made your choice, guess I’ll have to get it out of you”. His rough, large hand pushes your skirt up your hips, revealing your thong and your heart is pounding in your chest, anticipating his next move. 

His hand runs along the curve of your ass, kneading at the flesh before he pulls his hand back and delivers a sharp smack. You yelp at the contact, squirming to get your wrists out of his hold, and it only makes him bring his hand down again, the sound echoing in his office. His signet ring catches against your skin with each smack he’s given. “Remember, you made your choice. You could be a good girl and tell me what’s been distracting that pretty little head of yours and I’ll stop…or, you don’t and I’ll have to keep punishing you” he warns, reminding you with another smack to your reddening ass. 

He releases his grip on your wrists, “Keep them on the desk” his voice was stern, giving you no room for argument. Rafe’s hands cup the globe of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart, “Then again…I think you’re enjoying this” he chuckles to himself, his eyes locked on your arousal staining a wet patch onto your thong. He hooks his finger into your thong, tugging it to the side, your glistening cunt on display for him.

A gasp can be heard from you the second you feel his spit running along your folds before he spreads it across your lips, his signet ring-clad finger prodding at your hole. “As long as you tell me, I’m more than willing to help you with anything you need”, his words indicating he wasn’t talking about your grades.

His thick digit pushes into you, your warm, wet walls sucking him in and he can’t help but groan at how tight you feel around his finger. “So fuckin’ tight, gonna have to stretch you out” his words ringing in your ears as he adds another finger, slowly pumping them in and out. You scoot yourself back, trying to stand up but he’s quick to press his palm on your lower back, holding you there as his fingers move faster. You moan at the delicious sensation of the coolness his signet ring creates as it bumps at your clit with each thrust of his fingers.

Your slick coats his fingers, practically soaking them, filling his office with the wet, squelching sounds of his fingers brutally thrusting into you. “Can’t have you gettin’ too loud on me, sweetheart”, his hand reaches around, and clamps down on your mouth, muffling your moans of pleasure when he curls his fingers, hitting at your g-spot. He removes his hand from your mouth, snaking it between your legs to rub at your clit. He can sense you’re close, your inner walls contracting, and gripping his fingers. 

You whine out in frustration when you feel his fingers slowing down. Rafe pushes himself forward until his chest is flush against your back, his weight pressing you further onto his desk, “Wanna know what I think?” his warm breath tickles your ear. “I think your pretty little head is distracted and full of filthy thoughts”, his thumb slowly circled at your clit, “Filthy thoughts of me”. 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice, “No? So you don’t press your thighs together, trying to relieve the throbbing need for me when you see me? You don’t think about being bent over my desk like you are right now?”. He doesn’t miss the way you clench around his fingers at his words, “S’okay to admit it”, he coos, his fingers picking back their speed while his thumb circling on your clit faster. 

“P-Please, sir”, you stutter, your hand moving to hold onto his arm between your legs as you’re on the brink of an orgasm, the same orgasm that he ripped away from you. “Please what?”, he taunts, “Please let me cum”, you plead, tears welling in your eyes. His fingers slowed their movement, edging you once again, “No can do. You’re a smart girl, you know what I want to hear”.

“C’mon, sweetheart, just tell me what’s been distracting you in my class and I’ll let you cum, yeah?” He mutters, already knowing the source of your distraction but wanting to hear you admit it. “Be a good girl and I’ll have you makin’ a mess on my fingers in seconds, I promise” He adds. 

“You’ve been distracting me” You hiccup as you admit what he’s been wanting to know. “Yeah? How?” He taunts, his fingers relentlessly pumping in and out of your cunt with ease, curving his fingers, repeatedly thumping at your g-spot, “Been distracting you so much that little head of yours can’t think of anything except the thought of me bending you over, stuffing you full of my cock?”. 

“Yes” you lazily nod, your head feeling dizzy and your response is good enough for him, “Go on, cream all over my fingers”. Your cunt flutters around his fingers, legs trembling, almost giving out as you come undone all over his fingers. “Good girl, see, that wasn’t so hard” He praises, slowly moving his fingers, helping you come down from your high. He withdraws his fingers from you, pulling them into his mouth, sucking them clean, “Fuck…been wanting to know what that sweet cunt tasted like”

You shakily stand up, smoothing out your skirt to fix your appearance when Rafe pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to look at him, “From now on, I want you to be under my mentorship, alright?” he mumbles, his thumb brushing at your bottom lip, the corner of his lip twitching upwards at your response, “Yes sir”.

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