#just friends again and its a tiny little bit awkward maybe

[weirdlizard26]

i think its really important to consider how lucretia’s relationship with everyone shapes up after the reunion and we do get a glimpse of it in that spinoff, but another thing i wish got explored more is how barry reconnects with everyone. idk.

[sacharinee]

pairing: bestfriend!peter parker x fem!reader

sypnosis: after peter misses his chance to ask you out to the homecoming dance, he has to suffer the consequences of his own actions

wc: 1200+

a/n: hiii!! i have the urge to write again bc im bored and i dont wanna do my summer course work. this prompt is based on this post and loosely based on that one scene in the movie ladybird when she gets picked up by her date. i wrote this super quickly so not the best but i hope u enjoy :)

peter had it first. he had the idea, the flowers, the poster, your favorite chocolate strawberries all ready for you. until brad davis came in and stole everything. 

now he has nothing. he’s on your bed munching on the melty strawberries as he watches you get ready for the dance; you’ve asked for his help in choosing which dress you should go for. 

“okay how ‘bout this one, pete?” the boy glances up at you, mid-chew with his mouth open. 

his eyes snake over the outfit you’ve chosen. you do a swift twirl to show off the pretty soft blue satin dress that falls down to your mid-thigh with an open back. the skirt of your dress rides a bit high revealing a little too much. peter gulps, running his hands down his legs, immediately your sweet honey perfume floods his senses, his brain feels a little fuzzy, and he thinks the room gets smaller while his pants get a tiny bit tighter.

however, your eyes are what he takes in the most. you look eager, nervous about his approval, and hopeful for his admission.

his eyes widen as he gives you a soft nod and a pursed smile, “super pretty.”

you stare back at peter, his hair is flared, and you see chocolate smeared on his bottom lip. his posture looks defeated and you can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with him.

you give him a sour yet confused face, “why is your face like that?”

peter’s eyebrows furrow at your expression, “my face- why is my face like what?” 

“like…” you take a moment to think, “like- you look like that chef in that one movie with the rat, he’s got that same awkward funny looking face.”

peter barks out a laugh in disbelief, “alfredo linguini?? from ratatouille?!” “yea! that guy.” 

the boy in front of you offers you a pout and rubs his eyes, “thanks.”

“sure thing.” peter glazes over your seamless makeup when you take a seat next to him, “so, you’re really not coming? why not? it’ll be fun, plus all of our friends are going” you whine. 

peter kicks himself every day since you got asked out to homecoming by brad. he knows he should have made his proposal to you sooner, but now that he missed his chance, he feels like he’s lost you. 

“oh, so brad’s our friend now? and nah, it’s alright. i’m just gonna go patrolling tonight, might get some good action.” his eyebrows suggestively 

 you muster up a smirk and breathe out a laugh, “right. maybe you’ll find your own ‘cupid of crime’ that’ll show you a good time.” 

peter groans at you, “oh my god, margot robbie is so-”

honk!

“oh,” your ears perk up at the sudden interruption, “i guess that’s my date.” you quickly stand up and straighten your dress, taking nervous breaths. 

“i’m good right? my dress? face? hair?” your fingers run through your shiny locks, “its- i’m, i’m okay?”

peter has an indiscernible look plastered on his face as he gazes out the window and back at you. he’s shocked you’d settle for this, and even more appalled at you’re excitement to go with a douchebag who can’t even meet you at the front door. he knows you deserve better than this, and he knows he would treat you so much better with much less than your date. his stomach turns upside down and he feels his face get hot, breathing through his nostrils as he struggles to control his disbelief. he slowly stands up and meets your anxious expression peering up at him.

“you aren’t gonna get in a car with a guy who honks, are you?” 

it’s almost as if the entire atmosphere shifts. peter studies your appearance. your face shimmered sanguinely regardless, brighter than the glitter that sparkled atop your eyelids.

it was safe to say you were excited to go to the dance, even if your date wasn’t your first choice. you had been waiting endlessly for peter to ask you to homecoming. you were almost depressed at the thought thinking your crush didn’t like you back, but even more upset at the fact that your best friend didn’t even want to take you as his date, romantically or not. 

you remembered the feeling of delight swirling through your body as betty gushed about ned asking her to the dance, and mj agreeing to harry’s proposal. 

you only wanted the same for yourself. the same thrill and warm feeling of someone wanting to take you as their date. you wanted more than anything for it to be peter, but you figured he simply didn’t think of you like that as empty time and hopeless anticipation went by. so yes, you did settle for brad davis. he’s only ever been sweet to you, with harmless flirting and sultry smiles in the halls. plus you had a hunch about peter’s displeasing stance on the man, and presumed this may have tipped peter over just the right amount. 

you simply blink at his desperate eyes and nod, your adamant expression not wavering, “i think, yes, i am.”

you offer him a wistful smile when you brush past him, grabbing your purse on the way.

“y/n, stop.” peter’s finger’s wrap around your small wrist, your charm bracelet dangling against his hand.

“are you serious? what, the shithead can’t walk a few feet and knock on the door like a real man?”

“peter!” you snatch your wrist back and his hands rise.

you feel heat rushing up your neck and settling behind your ears. you had wanted a reaction out of peter when brad asked you out, yes, but the entitlement he has to mention about the manhood of brad angered you.

“i’m just saying,” he steps back from you, licking his dry lips while he chuckles back at you. “a guy who doesn’t have the balls to greet you at your doorstep isn’t worth falling for.” 

you scoff at him, he was so sweet and now he’s only taking his anger out on you. “well it’s a good thing that he’s just a friend then. what’s it to you anyways?”

peter disregards your last statement, “a friend?! y/n/n, listen to me. you’re being naive if you think he just wants to be your friend.”

another honk outside pierces your ears, yet you can’t seem to shake your stare on the boy before you. you narrow your eyes at him.

“you sound jealous.”

peter sputters nonsense out and breaks his eyesight away from you, nervously running his hands through his curls.

“jealous? me? pfft. never. i’m not jealous, i’m- i’m being absolutely reasonable.”

you keep your eyes on him as he looks down at the carpet floor. he sighs and drops down at your chair, scratching the wood on your desk. his head shakes and ever so softly murmurs, “seriously, why are you going out with him?”

peter continues to stare at the rotten wood he’s chipping, “brad asked me to be his date, so i’m going whether you like it or not. unless,” peter glances back up at you.

“there’s something you’re not telling me.”

hope bubbles down in your stomach, and you anticipate his confession, waiting to hear the words of his true feelings that you know for certain are deep down inside him.

except, he doesn’t.

the boy only blankly stares at your desk, clenching his jaw, and drowns everything inside, letting you down yet another time. you turn away, disappointed in peter, ready to leave him alone for all the false hope and hurt he has caused you. 

“right, well, when your balls finally drop, let me know. i’ll be at the dance with my date.” 

[kalims]

the package deal

summary. random scenarios I think about daily

content. scenarios, fluff, not proofread

featuring. jamil, ace, floyd, gender neutral

note. @merotwst hello beh para ito sayo 🥺 SORY ITS VERY LATE I GOT BUSY

scenarios are by order of the names ^^ & double post as an apology for inactive-ness LOL

your personal basketball shield

"what in the great seven are you doing?"

"I'm doing nothing, I'm completely innocent." you nervously reply before adding; "and I'm um... a student from room C."

well the first part made you look suspicious now.

but the second part is a lie though.

you in fact, are not a student from room C. you purposely left out mentioning what year you were in all together in favor of hopefully, having your identity still anonymous the remainder you'd still be inside the court.

speaking of. you aren't even supposed to be here right now.

the student eyes you weirdly, and you refrain from sweating bullets under their gaze.

for your own sake you just ignore them and focus on the court, your eyes immediately zeroes on the seemingly tight block (attempt at this point) at floyd, but he doesn't have any problem getting past them at all. you blink and he had already slammed the ball in and hung off the net like he's trying to play monkey bars.

to be fair your getup is immensely out of place, you're wearing all black, the hood is over your head and you're wearing shades which wouldn't have been strange if you hadn't wore it indoors. a black jacket to match when it's 36 degrees outside? yeah right.

in all honesty you're trying to gaslight yourself that you're just here to show support for one of your friends but you hadn't spared a wink of a gaze in ace's direction ever since you had entered.

instead you're staring at an empty spot at the bench, usually occupied by a certain someone you know. yet it isn't, you're just staring in hopes that he'll magically appear out of thin air and leave you something to stare at.

you're a mixture of confusion, and disappointment. this isn't very independent boss of me. you sweatdrop, pining over a boy... was not part of your plan.

maybe getting hit by a basketball flying off court and miraculously in your direction wasn't too but thankfully before you could screech bloody hell and break your nose, a palm reaches out and literally slaps the ball away casually?

you peek out your arm and peek up at jamil who doesn't even look at you and stares in the direction of which where the ball had come from with unblinking eyes (it seemed kind of intense but you don't want to question it.) he's wearing his signature club wear, his water bottle present in his other hand and a towel over his shoulder. the slightly dampened fringes that frame his face tells you that he had gone to wash up.

"you should be aware of your surroundings." he chides.

and he finally looks at you, you swear you just exploded.

you don't have it in yourself to reply to the echo of an apology from the court but is only able to stare dumbly at jamil who stares back.

... this is awkward.

"thanks..." you trail off, flabbergasted and warm as hell. maybe you shouldn't have used a jacket? maybe it was the weather? definitely!

before you know it, he stalks off with a tilt of his head and you believe you're being delusional again when he keeps looking in your direction whenever he scores like... it's for you.

covering the edges of a table

"I can't believe you spend time with trey."

unsurprisingly there's a deadpan directed to ace, not from deuce, riddle, nor cater but from you. sure he's just teensy tiny little bit bothered because well, it's not like he considered those other people romantically and there's been a silent promise to himself to prove that he is in fact; not as dumb as you think he is when you look at him like that.

usually when 'that' comes into mind ace would have imagined it to be a look he gives you daily, like you're sure he's the biggest idiot of the world but he's your idiot. he definitely does not want to get into detail but it's those looks people in love give which he used to cringe about.

ironically enough he's one of the subjects daydreaming about it.

you get him? he wanted that look not this one.

ace throws up his arms in the air with a deep sigh. "I live with him but that doesn't magically make me good in cooking, plus... trey bakes!" he rolls his eyes, speaking with a matter-of-factly tone.

you squint at him.

"have you not tasted trey's homemade dishes for dinner? those are to die for."

"no I haven't." he snaps.

"to think you even have the resident cook of scarabia mentoring you..." you continue, dodging a spatula that was thrown at your head. you frown at him in mock disappointment. "now now, you really wanna get charged for assault?"

from across the counter ace gives you the forbidden triple fuck you fingers. there's a silly pink apron he wears because you stole the only one which doesn't give his eyes a seizure, a red one. red looks good on you, he thinks but then his eye twitches.

when he had invited you over most of the second and third years had gone out for a camp, right now the first years are rejoicing the absence of their strict dorm leader and cooped up themselves in their respective rooms, eating every single junk food in the rules.

so that meant no one was really willing to cook, even ace wanted take out but you gracefully intervened.

to be fair you were hungry and the food would arrive at like 2 hours with how much ordering the residents had done.

"I think it's ready." he scratches his head, looking more unsure than you.

"you think?"

just then the timer beeps.

"how hard is it to make curry..." you shake your head, grabbing a set of utensils... to use, somehow.. even you aren't that experienced because all crowley does is send you microwavable food from the convenience stores and only the pizza was decent enough to call nice.

his brow creases. "not that hard."

"do it then."

"..."

ace just stares at you, leans over and slaps you over the head. while you've been a victim of many of these, you didn't expect him to literally lean over the counter to do that. "assault." you comment dryly, you curse under your breath when it goes flying under the table.

"it's your word over mine." he shrugs. blinking when you crouch. "what are you doing?"

"I dropped them because of your criminal ass." you roll your eyes, reaching over to grab the scattered utensils all over the floor, great. now you have to wash them too.

only when you realize that there was a possibility of hitting your head (which by the way, was never a fun experience. you're sure there's a carved up line from how many times you've hit it on your head.) when your head indeed bumps, but it's not exactly the hard surface that sends a jolt of sharp pain up your head.

instead there is a soft cushion. it ruffles your hair a bit and you're immensely confused.

you immediately look up when you stand up, unharmed but ace is just looking away from you. stirring the... pot which is weird cause there hasn't been any seasonings put in it.

you shrug.

missing the red ears.

getting hit by a ball to his face but he pretends it doesn't hurt because you're there

you're surprised that basketball even exists in this world when they apparently can't tell the difference between magishift and football, you're practically itching to slap someone when you explain the similarities between the two and they still have the audacity to deadpan at you like they're the most different things to ever exist!

namely, some idiot named ace trappola.

maybe leona too since he was giving you a stinky side eye but you don't want to get slapped back too.

what you appreciate though is floyd, you can't tell if he's just a big, strong ball of idiocy or the smartest person between all the people listening cause he seemed to be the only one interested in what you were saying.

and he even agreed that they were similar! albeit even if his usual manners are confusing floyd isn't that much of a guy that agrees with people a lot so it's a shocker.

and you're confused why he seems to be so attached to you. the tweels are almost always together, where one is, always is the other trailing along. so you're a little concerned because you can't take the presence of the resident friendly terrorists of the schools.

floyd was always following you around till he just wordlessly shoves a flyer of a game that's about to occur in his club, a wide grin on his face as he boasts about how he's on the starting line up and 'going to crush the other team.' literally or figuratively? you don't know but.. probably both.

basically he wanted you to watch so here you are.

not to exaggerate or anything but he is indeed, crushing the other team. a whooping 17 point lead between them, of course NRC leading. you'd be more confused if they weren't the one in first if they have floyd. (who apparently attends practice like one time a week but just enough to stay at the club...)

not to mention before it even started floyd had mentioned something along the lines of decimating the other team for your name. which is floating around the borderline of romantic and insanity.

for your delusions you will believe it romantic.

you're torn if you should cheer for the team, cause you know. you are technically part of NRC so it's natural but you know floyd would get all pouty, in a bad mood so you hesitate. vice versa because if you cheer for floyd you're gonna get weird looks cause so far, he's been doing selfish plays, not passing but scoring.

well this is the least villainous thing a student from a school that worships villians can do...

floyd is playing well, you would not like to admit that you're staring because he looks a little too good in that uniform... sweaty, pushing his hair back with a grin as he glowers at his opponents and sends them into peeing their pants. it works though cause they almost always hesitate when floyd is the one they're up against.

just wow.

you're just 100% sure you're watching a basketball god who would ascend to a higher life form if he wasn't so lazy till there's an abrupt silence that definitely isn't normal.

thankfully you catch the sight of a ball being... shoved to floyd's face like a dunk? should you really be thankful to witness that.

and for once entirety of the room agreed on one thing for that person. rest in piece.

floyd rubs his face and narrows his eyes, it almost looked like he was about to tear up but you swear he looked at you and immediately forced a wobbly grin, closing his eyes so the tears wouldn't fall and opens them to stare at the poor guy intensely.

in the distance you could hear a vague chuckle of jade.

"you don't know where to dunk, lil' guy?" floyd flashes them a sharp toothed grin, ironically you witness their soul leaving their body at the sheer intensity he excludes. most held their breaths cause they're sure that he would have started quietly threatening them but... there's no threats.

almost like he's holding back to act unfazed?

the 'lil guy' gulps and can't even muster up an answer.

floyd smiles at him. "I'll show you."

before the game ended that player left with a red round stain on their face, clear evidence of floyd's 'accidental payback.'

... now he's asking if you've seen how he's carried the team.

[heartfullofleeches]

can we get more Fratbro!Darling interaction with creep!yan? it was amazing

They don't belong here.

Why did they even come.

The ice in their cup has melted from the heat of their skin, but the punch's still too strong to drink. With how shakey their hands are, they'd likely spill it if they tried. People are watching them now - probably wondering who let the freak in. They've been in this situation before. Invited to places because it'd be too awkward to invite everyone in the group but them while most of them pray they'll just stay home. Maybe they should have. The whispers are starting again and they're getting closer. Here it comes-

"Oh, hey! There you are! I've been looking for you since I heard you were here. You got a minute?"

Someone pulls them from the obscurity of the crowd - dragging them into the spotlight on wobbly legs. A strong arm holds them steady as the uncomfortable gaze of their peers swallows them, a gentle squeeze to their bicep negating their rising fears.

"This is the person I was telling you guys about - the one that drew that picture you saw on my lockscreen. I'm telling you, Mickey has crazy talent. I'm glad so we met at that gas station a few weeks back... Would you believe they live right across the street?"

It's pretty obvious that nobody really cares, but enthusiasm is an infectious disease. They do their best to answer half-hearted questions and try even harder to smile. It's hard to fake emotions when your attention is elsewhere. Mickey stares at you, arm still locked around their shoulder, like the beacon of light you are. How did you manage to be so different? When you first met they thought you were just another fake. Someone who pretended to be their friend for whatever benefit it gave. You cared. You tried to get them to be more social and showed up at their apartment when they'd be absent for days. You showed genuine interest in their quirky little hobbies and always laughed with them instead of at them. You even wore the crow skull necklace they made for you. It's like you were already dating.

Your grin falters as you look over at your friend, the clacking of their teeth and goosebumps on their skin catching your attention. "Hey, Mick... Everything okay? You're shaking."

Mickey hides their face in the collar of their jacket. "Yeah.... fine. Don't worry about me."

They jump as your palm touches their forehead.

"Nah, dude - you're like really sweaty. I'll walk you home in the morning, but you should lie down for now."

Mickey starts to protest, but as you weave through the crowd, heading for the stairs - their lips are sealed. They always forget you live with this meatheads despite standing beneath your bedroom window every night. Where you taking then to your room? They can feel stares on them even now, but they feel almost... jealous. Mickey likes that feeling. They squeeze your hand tighter - heart stopping as you approach the door with your name taped to it.

Opening the door just a crack, you make sure no one is inside before leading Mickey in. You take their cup as you guide them to the bed. Your bed. They giggle to themselves as you walk away with their cup, pouring its contents down the sink in the bathroom and filling it with fresh water from the tap. You really were the kindest person they've ever met on campus - like any good spouse would be.

"How much did they give you to drink?.... Just drink this water and relax. Remote's in the bottom drawer if you get bored. I'll be back to check on you in a bit. Don't worry about falling asleep I'll just sleep on the floor or the couch."

Mickey blushes as your fingers graze theirs as you past them the cup, and the image of the two of you cuddled up in your bed. They take a few tiny sips before setting the cup on the table.

"T... thank you... I wouldn't mind if you slept with me. It's your bed afterall."

"True, but I wouldn't want you to be comfortable. Relax, we'll talk about it more when I come check on you. Be back in a few!"

Mickey watches as the door closes behind you. They wait for your steps to fade down the stairs, finger on their zipper as they disappear. Mickey unzips and throws off their jacket like it was restricting their air flow. They drop it to the floor along with their shoes as they crawl beneath your blankets - planting their head face deep in your pillows and sheets. They smell just like the conditioner you use. Mickey makes a mental note to raid your bathroom, but there's so much they want to do in such little time.

Your dirty clothes. Your closest. Your dressers. So many places - so little time. What should they do? What should they do- Steal the fragrances you wear so their room always smells like you? Take your toothbrush or a water bottle you've drank from for their first indirect kiss? Steal a shirt or maybe even your underwear to.... now's not the time for that, Mickey - your window of opportunity is getting shorted with every breath.

Mind racing, Mickey decides the best thing to do now is to claim their new territory. Mark your room as theirs just as their entire apartment has been overtaken by pictures of you and the things you've thrown out. They fish through their jeans for their keys - picking the hidden knife discreetly disguised as a key. Having overprotective parents had its perks - such as items of self defense they'd otherwise be put on a list for buying themselves.

They climb out of bed, crouching to the floor. The gap beneath your bed has just enough room for them to wiggle into. Compared to lockers they'd been shoved into it was like a luxury apartment. They lay flat on their back, dragging themselves below the bedframe - knife in hand. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, their hands search for the boards supporting your mattress and drives their knife into the first place plank their nails catch on - drawing the curve of a heart into the wood. Light bleeds into the room as they complete the second arch and angle their blades for the first letter of their initials, followed by startled gasps and halted flirts at the odd sight of feet beneath your bed.

"Is this room already occupied?"

Mickey clutches their key ring tighter.

"This is our room...... IF YOU'RE NOT GONE IN THE NEXT FIVE SECONDS I WILL GOUGE YOUR FUCKING EYES OUT AND FEED THEM TO YOU!"

Mickey shrieks in laughter at the sound of slamming doors and footsteps racing down the hall. They've never raised their voice at anyone like that before. Love is a crazy drug. They carve their initials and yours beneath your bed, slithering from the opening and up onto your bed between the sheets for the best night of sleep they've had since they were young.

[scribbling-dragon]

the very lonely giraffe

summary:

It’s stupid to begin to feel this kind of reluctance now. Stupid to feel the shaking of his hands, the trembling of his fingers as they line up along the string of his bow. Stupid, to begin to feel a swirl of regret deep in his gut, despite the layers of blood already lathering his hands – blood that he put on his own hands as he seized the lives of his friends in those very same hands. So maybe – maybe maybe maybe –that’s why he can’t resist the pull forwards. The urge to follow the bloody trail of who he and Pearl hunt over the grassy plains.

(ao3 link)

(3,750 words)

uh! yeah! that finale sure was something, and here's something that i decided to write after seeing this post by @stiffyck (hope you like it hdjsshjk <3)

(also hint hint nudge nudge reblogs are pretty funky <;3)

The grass swishes beneath his feet, the susurrus of his legs against the grass as he moves through it becoming familiar to his ears. He cuts through the tall grass easily, long legs eating up ground with each stride he makes. Legs that feel oddly shaky right now, trembling with each pulsing beat of his heart.

He can’t tell if it’s reluctance – some kind of fear that’s only just beginning to rear its head as his heart continues to thump louder and louder, beating in his ears as a mockery of war drums; something warning that every step brings him closer to the inevitability of winning, or dying trying.

It’s stupid to begin to feel this kind of reluctance now. Stupid to feel the shaking of his hands, the trembling of his fingers as they line up along the string of his bow. Stupid, to begin to feel a swirl of regret deep in his gut, despite the layers of blood already lathering his hands – blood that he put on his own hands as he seized the lives of his friends in those very same hands.

So maybe – maybe maybe maybe –that’s why he can’t resist the pull forwards. The urge to follow the bloody trail of who he and Pearl hunt over the grassy plains. He’s drawn forwards, pulled into the orbit of this roaring flame, like a moth that can’t quite resist the alluring light promising warmth and safety. But in this case, he is the moth and the flame is an assurance of violence.

He stumbles, drawing to an unsteady halt; slowing from a gallop to a gentle jog as Pearl pulls up beside him.

“Scar,” she huffs out, sounding far more strained than he expected her too. He looks over as she groans, doubling over and leaning against her knees. He’s worried, for a moment, that she’s been mortally wounded, somehow and he’s about to lose her to bleeding out, of all things. “Just- remember that your legs are longer than mine. Please.”

And oh. That makes so much more sense. He lets out a relieved breath that almost turns into a laugh, but he manages to staunch it at just a giggle. Of course she was struggling to keep up with him, he’s so much faster than her!

“I also have double the number of legs that you do,” he adds. He’s forced to lean over to the side, a little awkwardly, in order to close the distance between them. Being forced to shout up at him is probably not helping Pearl’s efforts to catch her breath. He still feels awkward, despite being forced to lean over like this the whole time in order to put himself a little more on their level – an awkwardness that he’s managed, so far, to blame most of his allyship (or lack of) issues on.

He still feels awkwardly far away from his friend – is friend even the right word for someone that could end up dying at his hands later? Is it the right word for someone that is his friend, but only outside of this game? Is it the right word for someone that is only friends with him right now because they are all the other has left? – widening the space between his legs in order to lower himself that tiny bit more.

He would consider sitting down at any other time, folding the four gangly legs beneath himself in order to better speak with Pearl. But that is not a weakness he’s looking to invite; standing up again would take far too long, leaving him vulnerable to a surprise attack before he manages to regain both his feet and his balance.

Gem and Scott are long gone by now, escaping like the slippery snakes that they are. Slithering away into the tall grass to lick their wounds and prepare their next attack.

“They're long gone,” he echoes his thoughts aloud, watching as Pearl straightens back up, apparently having managed to regain her breath. Or at least enough of it that she no longer feels the need to hunch over and just breathe. “We should regather ourselves, get whatever else we need.”

He turns around, hooves clopping against the baked earth, ready to do just that. Maybe slightly anxious to get moving, to do something. He only has a few supplies, but he’s sure that they can be spread between the two of them, albeit a little thinly…

“Scar,” he feels Pearl’s hand on his flank, the sensation almost making him jolt at its unfamiliarity. He manages to reign the reaction in and pauses his steps instead, thoughts halting too as he looks back down at her. Pearl’s hand rests lightly over one of the larger blotches on his side. The brown of the fur is too dark to actually be brown, closer to black than the typical markings you would find on a giraffe.

He makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat when she doesn’t continue, but doesn’t pull her hand away either. She seems lost in thought, eyes searching his face, as though in consideration. Then, as though she’s been shocked, her eyes dart away, fastening onto a patch of bare ground just in front of her feet. “Look,” she breathes out slowly, raising her head to meet his eyes as he hunches down again, worried at her uncharacteristic solemnity, “Scar. At the end of the day, when we’ve finished off Scott, when all is said and done, I want you to kill me.”

He rears back, mouth moving before his brain can catch up- can even begin to comprehend what it is that Pearl is suggesting to him. For him to do. Her hand, a warm presence on his side, falls away as he backs up, leaving him feeling cold all over. Like someone’s just dumped a bucket of ice over his head.

“I'm not gonna kill you Pearl!” His voice may come out a bit more panicky than he intended, but he doesn’t care much – can’t find it in himself to care when his brain is struggling to process what it is that Pearl is wanting him to do – the decision she’s making on his behalf. His legs feel shakier than before, and he’s momentarily worried they won’t support him at all. “I’ve wronged you too many times recently,” he follows up with, a little quieter than before. A little sadder.

“I- Scar,” Pearl emphasises his name, as though that’s meant to mean something to him. Like it’s going to sway him to agree with her. He shakes his head stubbornly, gritting his jaw and preparing himself to argue further. She must realise this, as she stares up at him a moment longer before sighing, shoulders drooping. “Whatever you say.”

“You can’t just say something like that to me,” he laughs, even though it feels strained, as though it might crack his chest apart from the sorrow behind it, barely contained within his ribcage. “My poor heart just can’t cope!” he sings, aware that he’s being over the top, that he’s overdoing it all. Pearl still cracks a grin, though.

Maybe she can sense what he’s doing with his words, with the way he gestures too widely and smiles even wider, steering her back towards the remnants of his base, to root through the half-exploded chests and hope that the items inside aren’t burnt to a crisp.

They don’t even make it past the Secret Keeper.

Pearl’s the one that stops him, throwing an arm out in front of him. He doesn’t notice it, only registering the blockade when his front legs bump up against her arm, halting and looking down at her. Maybe he should work on being more aware of his surroundings, maybe he should have been paying a little more attention in order to keep an eye out for the people actively hunting them down.

Gem’s eyes gleam as she stares over at them, stood on higher ground than Scott. His head is bowed before her. Gem’s lips move quickly, but they're too far away to hear what they're talking about. Gem doesn’t look at them for longer than a few seconds, but it’s enough to pin him in place, keep him rooted to the spot despite how easy it would be line up a shot and take Scott’s life right that moment.

There’s a flash of blue – a sword drawn, are they turning on each other? – and then the unmistakable sound of flesh being parted forcefully. He feels a little sick as he watches the sword poke out Scott’s back, a little to the left of his spine.

His jacket quickly soaks through with blood, darkening as it continues to pour. Scott, brave man, doesn’t make a single sound, simple collapses where he stands. It leaves Gem scrambling to pull him into her arms, dragging the sword back out of his chest.

He feels like he’s intruding on a quiet, private moment – both of them are, really.

Gem doesn’t look at them once. He feels his fingers twitch over the string of his both, an arrow balanced loosely against it. He could line it up, take Gem out while she grieves over her friend, her ally, the one she’s put to death herself.

He doesn’t, finger continuing to twitch as he goes back and forth between drawing his bow at all.

An explosion echoes overhead, reaching every corner of the server. As though there is anyone left beside the three of them, gathered in this small corner of the world. The explosion echoes far and wide, as though there are more people to hear it than just them.

“Oh,” Pearl says beside him, the sound of the explosion still ringing in his ears, the blood on Gem’s front not fading. “He…gave her the kill. Gave her that small reprieve.”

He feels his mouth go dry at the discovery, watching as Gem looks up at them, away from where Scott had lain previously, face splattered with gore that might belong to her enemies, but could also belong to her allies – to Scott. He can’t see her expression properly from this distance, as she disappears too quickly for him to try and see it any better.

He doesn’t look at Pearl, ignores the way he can feel her looking up at him, imploring him to take that kill too. To go into that final fight with his wounds stinging a little less, his energy slightly replenished.

His legs continue to shake, and he can’t lie to himself – he’s long past lying to himself, except about the little things, not big things like this – and say that the idea isn’t tempting. Cannot say the thought wouldn’t sway him slightly if he were anywhere else. If it were anyone other than a friend beside him; if it were an ally of convenience rather than someone he cares for.

Call him selfish, maybe, but he wants someone beside him in these last moments. Doesn’t want to be the one to cut down his one friend – one remaining friend, he had a few in the hours before this, only had friends as everything went to hell around them – when they could charge against Gem together. She’s scraped and beaten, the same as both of them despite the small boon Scott granted her. But there is two of them and only one of them. Two of them, when she is used to having two others at her back, ready to support her when she needs to fall back.

He steps forward, attempting to appear confident. He can only hope Pearl doesn’t notice his shaking, the way his legs tremble like leaves in a breeze and the discomforted swish of his tail.

He gives a small laugh, hoping that it might bolster his confidence. Make him feel a little less sick to his stomach. The feeling only worsens, bile rising in the back of his throat as he speaks, “Let’s go put her out of her misery, yeah? Maybe she wants to join her friends!”

Pearl makes a small noise, one that could either be an agreement or a hesitance. Scar ignores it, continuing to step forward, before he's lightly jogging, covering the distance quickly. He’s worried his legs will get tangled up amongst themselves, feeling as shaky and ungainly as a newborn calf.

He barely notices Pearl beside him, feeling so tall, so far away from the ground and the rest of the world that goes on around him. Oddly separate, even as Gem perks up, readying herself and her sword when they approach, when they corner her beside the Secret Keeper.

He draws his bow first, dancing out the way carefully as Gem goes for the legs first. Smart move, one he’d probably use in her place – take out his legs and he won’t be able to run anymore, won’t be able to go anywhere.

Pearl crashes against her with a scraping of steel and apologies, the two of them apologising for each clash of blades they have with each other. Apologising for every scrape of steel and every nick of skin. Pearl shoves Gem back, away from the tangling twist of limbs and swords, enough for Scar to line up his shot and take it.

Gem hisses, staggering back as the arrow pierces her shoulder, going straight to the bone.

She turns her eyes back to him, something furious flashing in the depths of her red eyes. Something born of desperation and fear, something that only rolls about once someone believes they are cornered. A frightened animal lashing out despite being on its last legs.

She may be going down, her eyes seem to promise, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take at least one of them with her.

He has to properly leap back when Gem lunges at him, batting Pearl aside easily as she chases him. His hooves make deep grooves in the dirt as he attempts to escape the blow, taking it on his side rather than straight through him.

He still winces at the sting, kicking at her and shoving her further backwards. He can’t draw his sword – there’s no point in drawing that weapon when he won’t even be able to reach her. He shoots off another arrow, one easily dodged at such close range.

He startles as Pearl barrels into Gem with a shout, the two tumbling over the ground, more like a pair of wildcats fighting as they claw at each other. He watches Pearl rip through half of Gem’s face, fingers curled into claws.

It makes Gem cry out furiously, throwing her head upwards and goring Pearl across the face with her antlers. Pearl falls back, grasping at her face as something – Scar doesn’t even know what, stood on the sidelines like a fool – begins to bleed profusely.

Gem spins on him, and charges with a cry.

He doesn’t expect the arrow to be what does her in. Doesn’t expect her to die to his hands at all. He’d been stood there, aware that he was probably about to watch two of his friends rip each other apart in the name of a game.

He shoots it with shaking hands, a last-ditch effort to not die at this moment, at this crucial point in time. Still grasping for that final win, despite how firmly out of reach it really is.

It sinks into Gem’s chest with an awful, solid sounding thunk.

The sound alone makes him sick, tears already beginning to bead in his eyes, shaking his head as he backs up, raising his hands in defence. He doesn’t even notice the bow slipping from his fingers, doesn’t notice the way his hoof crushes it beneath him, grinds it into the ground.

Gem glances down, as though surprised at the arrow sticking out of her chest too, looking back up as the explosion sounds and she’s struck down. The lightning wipes her away, as though she was never there in the first place.

“Pearl!” he calls, turning in a circle as he looks for her. She’s nowhere nearby, explosion continuing to ring longer in his ears than it probably should – still echoing through the air around him, crackling with electricity.

Maybe she’s down in the ravine nearby, he tells himself. He leans over the edge exaggeratedly, looking for her. She’s not there, he knows that. She’s probably somewhere behind him, lining up a shot at the back of his head.

He’ll let her take it – she deserves it far more than he does. She’s done far more in this than he has, been far nicer to him than he really deserves.

He lowers himself to the ground properly when the shot fails to come, settling himself at the edge. He won’t be moving anywhere quickly now, and Pearl will know that. Will shoot him now, now that her arrows will find their target; there’s no risk of her missing and startling him anymore.

And yet, the arrow fails to come, still.

The air seems to sigh around him, breeze stirring the grass he sits in. It brushes over his face gently, like the cradling, careful touch of a loved one.

“Pearl, I'm coming for you!” He heaves himself to his feet, wobbling precariously on the edge of that ravine. And, oh, Gem cut him a little deeper than he realised, blood sluicing off his fur and down to the ground. It patters like a morbid rainfall over the grass there. He turns, a little unsteadily, and prays he doesn’t topple into the ravine like a fool. “Where’d you go?” he calls out again, “I'm gonna getcha!”

She’s dead, Scar, the heavens sigh. You’ve won.

The heavens seem to have a suspiciously Grian-like voice, echoing down at him as though the man is speaking a thousand times over, each repetition layering itself over the previous until it reaches the echoing crescendo that has him cringing slightly.

“What?” he laughs. “C’mon, don't mess with me like that!” No response comes, even when he looks around, waiting for Pearl to emerge from whatever hiding spot she’s found herself and to declare the final showdown between the two of them.

“Oh, c’mon,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else. Maybe it’s a last, desperate plea for Pearl to jump out at him. Maybe it’s a struggle to accept what’s being shoved in his face. Pearl doesn’t hesitate, not even over hard decisions. “How’d that happen, huh? How’d the guy with no friends win?”

The air kicks up around him a little, pushing him in the direction of the Secret Keeper.

“I don't even have my book anymore,” he calls out to no-one. The silence responds as silence often does: not at all. He sighs, and begins the short yet long trek towards the Secret Keeper. “How am I even meant to hand in a task without a book,” he grumbles.

He can feel the tears in the corners of his eyes, can feel the way they threaten to spill over as the silence presses in around him.

His hooves echo awkwardly against the stone as he walks up to the Secret Keeper, looming over him ominously. “Uh, hey there,” he greets, as though the stone might respond if he tries hard enough. “I don't actually have my book!” He laughs again, shaking with both residual adrenaline and the knowledge of what’s to come. He’s watched all the previous winners, bar one, be struck down by the powers that be. He’s sure his own death will be no different. “Never really thought I’d get this far,” he adds, a small, quiet afterthought.

He leans down, the distance between him and the button nigh insurmountable. It clicks beneath his fingers gently, bouncing back up as he pulls his hand away.

He takes a step back, watching as the Secret Keeper draws power towards itself, coalescing into a bright white symbol over the hooded face. He glances back as the tension builds, half expecting to see all his friends gathered there, watching with anticipation to see what rewards he’ll gain.

There’s nothing there.

Empty space where someone once stood. Empty air where laughter once echoed. He’d even rather a chant of fail fail fail to the silence, pressing in around him.

There’s a small thump, and he turns back around. A book lies at his feet, even further from him than the button. It looks tiny, that far below him. The leather-bound book stares up at him, insignificant in the face of the last few hours.

He picks it up anyway, blood smearing over its front cover.

Curiosity drives him to flick it open, blood staining the white paper a deep crimson, blooming across the pages. Like he’s pressed for too long with a quill and the ink has begun to bleed.

Win Secret Life

It stares back at him. Mocking in its simplicity.

“Thank you!” He responds, “I didn’t have a book to complete it with, did I? Well, I have one now!”

He presses the button, book in hand, feeling the weight evaporate alongside it. He turns his face upwards, ready and waiting for the lightning to strike him down too, to claim its last victim. He closes his eyes, not exactly willing to see his death plummeting towards him.

There’s a small thump as something small lands on the ground, just in front of his hooves.

No, he thinks, and looks back down anyway.

This, it seems, is what does his shaking legs in. they give beneath him, folding as he crumples like wet paper. The book continues to sit there, taunting in its smugness. It has no face to grin with, but Scar can feel the disgustingly pleased aura radiating off of it anyway.

“So this is my reward,” he tells the book. “Thanks, I guess.”

His words are empty, devoid of any humour of actual thankfulness. As dead as the server around him.

Only bloodstained grass and the dried blood clumping beneath his nails remains of his friends. And yet he stays, he remains.

The air remains still, not even that gentle touch returning to promise him everything will be alright. They would be empty words, empty promises, but he’d prefer them to this.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” he asks.

The Secret Keeper stares down at him, silent.

He’s not sure why he expected a response from it, really. It’s lifeless stone, as dead as the server around him.

[srjlvr]

,, stages of confession ‘‘

PAIRING . . . highschool-student!Jay X highschool-student!femReader !

GENRE . . . brother’s bsf trope! , fluff , angst(?) , maybe even crack but maybe just a tiny bit.

WC . . . 2.2k+ !!

SYNOPSIS . . . there are many stages of confession, especially when your crush is your brother’s best friend.

WARNINGS . . . not really a warning but heeseung as your older sibling , one year age gap(idk if its really a warning) , insecurities !

STAGE ONE — denial.

“i’m not having a crush okay, he’s heeseung’s best friend, there’s no way!” — if there’s one thing you learnt about yourself in the last few years, is that you’re a good liar, but it really depends on who you’re asking.

“you keep repeating the same sentence each time i ask you about it, i know you good enough to know that you’re always doing it when you’re lying” your best friend riki, would say otherwise.

“okay so maybe a tiny crush, it’s nothing big, he’s my brother’s best friend, let’s not forget that” you rolled your eyes, “so? it’s the perfect plot! brother’s best friend has always been my fav”

“my life’s not a movie you know” “oh it is, ever since jay entered your life, the camera started rolling”

you rolled your eyes again and playfully punched the guy.

you’ve known jay ever since you were little, he’s older than you by one year, and younger than your brother by one year as well.

jay met your brother in the neighborhood, and ever since then they became literally inseparable.

“jay, this is my sibling, y/n” a month after jay and heeseung —the long lost twins— met, heeseung finally introduced you to jay.

jay was focused on you, you were so pretty in his eyes, you totally made him fighting the urge to learn more about you.

“it’s nice to meet you” he smiled warmly at you, “its nice to meet you too” you replied happily.

those were the first and almost last words you two exchanged. there’s only “hey”s and “bye”s whenever jay’s coming around but nothing more and nothing less.

as you grew old, you started seeing each other more at school, you’d just return smiles and stares but again, nothing more and nothing less.

whenever jay would come over, you’d spend your time staring at him from the kitchen, while he was in the living room, playing some video games with heeseung.

“listen, heeseung is finishing school this year, which means you and jay finally get to talk without it being so awkward!” riki smirked at you.

“i can barely even say hey to him anymore” you sniffed, “oh come on i see the way you two are looking at each other whenever you meet in the hallway, it’s obvious that he’s crushing on you as well”

STAGE TWO — accepting.

the other day, you were walking to riki’s locker, crossing your hands and looking at him seriously.

“okay fine maybe i do have a huge crush on him” you sighed while looking at cheerful riki, “tell me something i don’t know”

“but i’ve also accepted the fact that it can never happen between us” you added, “exact—wait what no!” riki sighed, “of course it can”

“heeseung would never let us date” you sighed, “let’s not forget about the fact that he’s not interested in me, i mean look at his classmates, everyone’s so pretty and around his age”

riki rolled his eyes and smacked you, “you HAVE to see the way he looks at you whenever you’re not watching him, it’s like he has heart eyes or something like that”

“i think you’re a bit exaggerating” “i’ll hide a camera in my sweater and prove to you who’s the one exaggerating”

“what do you think i should do?” jay asked sunghoon, one of his friends and classmates. “i mean, heeseung never said anything about his sibling being off limits, but i dont think he’d like the idea of you two dating”

“i think it’s worth a shot” he shrugged, “heeseung is leaving school this year and will probably go to college, this is my chance”

jay has already accepted his huge crush on you, from time to time he would steal glances of you, so intrigued by your beauty.

whenever jay’s coming over to your house, he’d spend every second in trying to get closer to you, including going to the kitchen to fill up more than ten cups just because you were spending your time in the kitchen and he thought it’d be a great opportunity to talk with you.

it didn’t work out though, just as you said before, things are just awkward between you two.

jay can’t stop thinking about how pretty you are, and your bubbly personality is what makes him more curious about you. he watches you from afar, playfully punching your friend, riki and then laughing your ass off with him, it’s something that made him envy riki, he wanted to be the one to make you laugh like that.

STAGE THREE — trying.

another year passed and heeseung is finally out of the picture, so what’s stopping you from talking to him now?

it was fear, the fear of not being enough for him, the fear of being different and weirder than the others, the fear that he’ll laugh at you the second he hears you talking and so on.

“you should at least try,” riki said, at the verge of begging, “it won’t hurt”

“what am i supposed to say? ‘oh hey! now that heeseung’s outta the picture we can kiss!’?” riki giggled, “no, i think you’ll know what to say when you’ll see him”

“i’m going to try,” jay said to sunghoon, “it won’t hurt”

sunghoon nodded and pat jay’s shoulder, “i wish you well dude, try not to die in the hands of heeseung okay”

STAGE FOUR — meeting up as if its the first time.

you were taking some books out from your locker when jay suddenly showed up.

“hey!” he said kindly, “oh, hey jay!” you replied with a smile.

“heeseung is not here now” he added, “right”

“so i’ve been meaning to ask if you’d like to get to know each other better, it’d be less awkward between us each time i come over to your house” he chuckled.

“oh gosh yes finally,” you sighed in relief, “i thought i was the only one who felt awkward”

jay shook his hand, “no no, its totally mutual”

“so i was thinking about going to the park after school, just to talk about whatever” “i would love that” you smiled warmly at him.

“great! can i get your phone number?” he suddenly asked, “so i could contact you when i finish school”

“oh yeah right” you held him out your phone and he put his number in it, “done! i’ll see you later” he smiled and walked away.

“dude!” a second after jay walked away a figure jumped on you causing you to fall. “you got jay’s phone number AND you’re going to the park with him later? i’m so proud of you”

you glared at the figure, “oh im gonna beat you up you better start praying nishimura riki!”

“wait wait wait,” he froze before you could hit him, “can you at least tell me what happened?”

you did end up telling him what was the conversation about, and he obviously couldn’t stop teasing you about it.

“i told you and i said what i said” he stick out his tongue, “remember me when you get together”

“i’m fighting the urge to beat you up on daily basis i need therapy” you sighed.

school ended and you texted jay that he should wait by the lockers and then you both could go out together, he texted you right away with an okay.

as you walked out of the classroom, you could already see him leaning on the locker next to yours, patiently waiting for you.

you smiled and walked up to him, “hey again” he said, “hey, i kept you waiting too long?”

“no not at all! i’ve just finished some things i had to do” you nodded and put your books in your locker, “let’s go now shall we?”

“i think heeseung would kill me if he saw us together” jay chuckled as you two kept walking around the park, “i can talk some sense in him” you rolled your eyes.

“your brother loves you a lot, he wouldn’t stop talking about you” he smiled, “i could say the same about you, it’s always ‘jay jay and jay’ whenever we gossip” you rolled your eyes.

“but that’s what made me curious about you” you added and he nodded, “i’m glad to know my feelings are mutual”

you two spent the rest of the afternoon together, even going to a local cafe just to get comfy and eat some snacks together.

“thanks for today, i really hope we can do this more” he smiled, “i really hope so too, i had fun today”

he nodded and watched you walking up to your door, “i’ll text you later!”

STAGE FIVE — confronting.

“hey!” heeseung popped out of the living room and hugged you tightly.

your relationship with your brother couldn’t be better than what it is, you’re each other’s best friend and know every little secret about each other.

“hey” you replied, “you’re back late” he pointed out.

“yeah” you replied and hesitated, “i was actually with jay”

“really?” he said excitedly and hugged you.

“are you okay?” you asked him, now you’re the concerned one.

“yn please, it was obvious that the moment i leave school, you two would open up and talk” he said, “i had to watch you two stealing glances every now and then”

“i don’t understand” you said.

“you’ve never asked or talked about wether it’s okay if you and jay would hang out or not, i’m obviously a fan of you two” he chuckled.

“god you acted like you’re mad all the time!” you complained, heeseung laughed and pat your head, “it’s your mind that makes you think like that, i was actually the happiest when i first noticed your tiny crush on him”

“you didn’t even have to tell me you’re crushing” he shrugged and you rolled your eyes, “how do you even know im- you know what? im just gonna go shower” you said and ran to your room.

heeseung sent u off and then smirked, he took out his phone to call his friend, “jay you were right, she just told me you went to hang out together” he giggled.

“really? what did she say…?” jay asked curiously, “you’d have to find out”

a few days ago, jay went up to heeseung and confessed to him about his crush on you. “heeseung, i need to tell you something”

“i know and im already excited” heeseung smiled warmly. jay looked at him confused, “how do you-“ “you were about to tell me that you’re crushing over my sibling right? it was pretty obvious”

“i waited patiently for the day to come” he chuckled, “how did you even find o-“ jay’s eyes widened a bit, “i’m not blind, i noticed your stares and awkward tension, come on it was so obvious”

jay just grinned and went up to hug the older one, “since when did you become so-“ “thank you heeseung, it means a lot”

“i’ll be waiting for your confession, better do it soon or i’ll be the one to reveal it”

“please don’t” jay smiled.

STAGE SIX — waiting for the right time.

“well? it’s been a month and i havent heard anything from y/n except your hang outs” heeseung rolled his eyes.

“im waiting for the perfect time, i don’t want to rush it” jay shrugged.

“this is the perfect time! you’ve spent together a lot more than you think” heeseung pointed out.

“you’re right but-“ “i’m not going to force you, but you should do something before it’ll be too late”

“too late for what?” you came behind jay and smiled, “we were just talking about the fact that finals are soon and i didn’t even start studying” jay rolled his eyes.

“oh, same here” you said disappointed. “hey y/n, let’s go watch a movie!” he suggested.

“sure, let me go and get ready” you smiled and went up to your room.

“i’m gonna do it now” he grinned and heeseung crossed his fingers as a good luck.

STAGE SEVEN — confessing.

as you and jay sat on your seats, you noticed him taking a few deep breaths.

“are you oka-“ “y/n, i actually have to tell you something”

you nodded and waited for him to continue.

“i like you, a lot actually” he smiled, “ever since i first saw you, you caught my eye and i couldn’t stop falling for you, you never fail to keep me intrigued about anything the involves you and-“

“i would really like to take you out, on a date, and officially call you mine” as soon as he finished, the movie started rolling. “you don’t have to answer right away, take your time if it feels too rushed for you”

he then turned his head to the screen as you kept staring at him.

soon, the movie ended and you don’t remember even watching it, you were so deep in thoughts and excitement.

the jay park, likes me? you thought and your cheeks started to automatically blush.

as jay was about to get up from his seat, you grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“i would love to go out with you on a date, and i would love to be called yours” you let your mouth speak without even thinking.

jay smiled immediately and dragged you into a hug.

“oh god im so glad-“ “FINALLY!!”

you heard claps and shouts from behind you. you took a glance and saw riki and heeseung standing right behind you with small tears in their eyes.

“i never thought i’d be able to watch you two get together before my college starts” heeseung wiped his happy tears.

“i told you!” riki smirked and shrank as you glared at him as if you’re going to kill him.

jay then got closer to you and whispered in your ear, “me and you tomorrow, at 8pm, i’ll come to pick you up”

© — 2023, srjlvr. pls don’t copy/translate any of my works without permission ! | reblogs and comments are very appreciated !

[kamisama1kiss]

Larry Johnson { Classmates with equal interests }

This is an old story I made a while back 😝 hope you guys enjoy the small little story I tried to fix to at least readable this time around. Don't worry, requests are being worked on at this very moment 😚🫶

Tapping the pencil on the tan wooden desk as their eyes scanned outside as the rain was booming down as if there was never going to be a tomorrow as leafs waved in the wind as they flew past in a rush, a soft sparkling sound could be heard with the lights being poorly lighting up the old classroom.

The teacher spoke, yet the words fell on deaf ears. Meanwhile, they focused on everything around instead. Their mind as being easily distracted also didn't help much to their displeasure. The class went on when a sentence had finally reached out, shifting to face the teacher listening to her one toned monotone voice.

"In this project you need to partnered up with someone" before she could continue several voices were whispering amongst the students, "Groups have already been chosen, the remaining of class will be used for discussion." Many groans were heard, and a lot of grumpy teenagers' faces were visible in the room.

The only thing that would maybe scare them about this project depended on who they got with it. Maybe it could mostly be because who would wanna be partnered up with 'the quiet kid' huh? Most people.

"Last group is Larry Johnson and {Name} {Last Name}. Group up and talk." Which was the last words heard from her, having moved her focus back at her desk as she schemed at some sort of papers. Clinging on to some sort of hope that they'd survive this project.

While they sat as thoughts ran through their head, a voice interrupted that train as they blinked. Their eyes met with a pair of brown eyes, "Hey {Name}, right?" Long brown hair softly framing his face as a beauty mark placed underneath his right eye, he was pretty decent looking. "Yeah, Larry, correct?" A soft smile creept its way to their lips, trying to keep the awkward tension to minimum.

"Mhm" Keeping a good mood. "How would you like to do the project? I am currently blank myself, " shrugging his shoulder sheepishly with a lazy boyish grin on his face. "Oh yeah. We have had about the nature lately, so we can just keep it simple with that theme? Like sustainability of some sort?"

Looking at him waiting for a response, but he only nodded, seeming as if he didn't mind, "Yeah, that could be an easy topic without too much stress. Chill." He agreed, nodding with tiny lip curl.

"Thinking the same." scribbling down the idea in the book which was used as notes. Facing Larry again with an almost nervous smile, that never actually seemed to have left. Not used to interacting with someone. Complaining? Slightly, but that was before their eyes landed on the big letters on the tan t-shirt he was wearing.

"Sanitys Fall?" They mumbled softly, which he had heard easily enough as a bright smile appeared. "You know them?" he spoke excitedly, which shocked them as it suddenly was a bit louder than before, even seemingly more interested in talking. Happily answering. "Yeah, I do"

Almost as if new life had shot throughout his body, Larry leaned forward as his elbows rested crossed on the desk. The left leg bounced. "Wow, I don't often meet people who even know about them. Why didn't you say so earlier?"

Stopped yapping, waiting for a reply from them. They were speechless for a few seconds before the words poured out like a waterfall. "Really? That's shocking. I've known about them since the first release." Taking a short breath.

"I have had to hide that interest, not every accepted at home." Their expression showed excitement, yet it lingerd a more of an upset filter underneath. Greeted with a rare emotion of no judgedment.

"Fucking that suck man, we can talk about it now? I've got a friend who also likes SF. " He smiled back. His joy could be reminded of a little kid in a candy store. "If it isn't too much of a trouble, I would love to."

"No, no. I dont mind. How about later today? After school." An eye-closed chuckle escaped from him, recreating a similar smile on their own expression. His smile was contaiges.

Pausing for a brief moment, "I am not exactly the most... social person." Rubbing the back of their own hand, the pencil being back on the table. Their expression now faltering for a little. "Don't even worry, Sal is chill with new people."

The bell rang, signalling the end of class. Disappointed, this conversation had to come to an end. Larry had looked at the clock on the beige wall before turning back to them. "Later?" Saying with more of a questionable look, "Yeah.. later." Nodded at him.

Larry stood up with these words, grabbing his red bag, which he had next to him on the floor, which went unnoticed by them, not having seen the bright red bag before now. Their eyes looked around the bag to see all the different designs, which looked mostly hand-made or stuck on there. He was a creative person.

Lifting a hand as to say bye before he left the room before making his way to god knows where. This small, friendly movement made their face heat up the slightest bit, almost not even noticeable. Being left in class smiling to themselves before snapping back and leaving for next class.

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter Summary: Bartolomeo copes with being just a friend by slipping back into his bad habit, and someone from your past starts messaging you. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ for the story, slightly NSFW chapter in that there's mentions of jerking off) TW: Breaking and entering, Barto watching you sleep, implication/mention of parental neglect Ao3 Link: Chapter Five (3,163 words)

Friend.

Friend.

Fuck. Bartolomeo hated how much he was agonizing over the word. Wasn’t it supposed to be a good thing? It meant taking things slow, natural-like. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Apparently, he underestimated how badly he wanted you. He tried to keep it in check, and look where it got him. He never thought he'd be the type to use the term "friend zone", but what else could he say? While he hadn't technically been expecting sex just for being nice to you, he still had been thinking about having sex. But, still, it wasn’t like he felt he was owed that...

He just really. Really wanted to fuck your brains out.

Among other things that were decidedly more wholesome. Like holding your hand, or cuddling on his couch, or spooning. Mostly whatever involved holding onto you and not letting go. For some reason, thinking about those types of things almost felt even more scandalous.

Bartolomeo sighed, carding a hand through his hair. He shouldn’t have been doing this. He knew that. He promised himself he wouldn’t, and yet there he was, sitting on the fire escape next to your bedroom window. He didn’t dare look in — not yet, anyway. He had to be sure you weren’t still awake, and even then he waited a bit longer.

All because of what he was about to do next.

Painstakingly slow, he opened the window. He kicked off his boots and left them outside before climbing through. A tiny shadow darted from a pile of clothes near the hamper to under the bed. He stiffened, waiting to see if you would stir, before slowly shutting the window behind him.

At first, he sat down, his back pressed close to the wall as it dawned on him what he’d done. He could just as easily reopen the window and slip back out, making a break for it back to his apartment like he’d done before. But instead he stayed, staring at the you-shaped lump in the bed. His breath caught in his throat as you continued to sleep, not even remotely aware of his presence. Eventually, he pushed himself up, the street lights from outside throwing his shadow over you. He carefully stepped closer, watching for any further signs of the tiny kitten you’d taken in so he didn’t accidentally trip over it.

Bartolomeo really was happy to be friends.

But he needed more.

He had to be closer. And if friendship was as close as you would allow, then doing this was necessary if he wanted to know what it’d be like... just once... to be closer.

Before he knew it, he was standing next to your bed. He was ghosting a hand over the sheets. Then it drifted over your back, to your side, and settled its full weight on your shoulder, feeling your soft body give just a little under his palm. He could even feel your warmth radiating from under the bedsheets. There was just barely enough room... he could... maybe—

He shook his head, snatching his hand back. This wasn’t right. He was trying to be good. What happened to that?

You don’t have to be good.

Once again, it was like you were speaking to him in his head, and he had to lean over you to make sure you were still asleep. The action resulted in him holding himself up with his arms on either side of you, his body twisted slightly awkward to balance his weight and keep from collapsing. Oh, shit. Your face was so peaceful. So close. So close.

Protect me.

Bartolomeo blinked, and slowly brought one knee up onto the mattress. It sunk deep into the springs with his weight, and the frame creaked a bit. You barely even stirred, a short hum leaving your throat. Right. He promised he’d protect you. Even as your friend, he could do that. He’d make sure no one ever hurt you. And he could do that his own way.

He stayed like that for a moment, watching your face, listening to your breathing, your body just ever-so-slightly grazing his with each rise and fall of your chest. If he couldn’t have you now... he’d be damn sure to be there for you later. And anyone who dared to come close to you in the meantime, he’d be sure to tear them to shreds.

He wasn’t nice. He couldn’t be good. He’d been fooling himself to think he could keep from sneaking back in, and smothering that urge only made it so he had to break in while you were home, just to satisfy the itch. He’d bring it back down to coming in whenever you were gone, but for now he’d savor this moment. Savor being so close. Close enough that he could drag his teeth over your skin.

Bartolomeo flinched away from the bed. The sudden movement made you twitch and curl up tighter under the blankets, but you otherwise remained asleep. The dim light of the street lamps illuminated a thin scratch on your cheek. Barely even a surface scrape — it would fade by morning.

He made himself scarce, slipping out the window and back into his boots, then back to his apartment.

A week passed. True to his word, Bartolomeo helped you keep Luffy secret from the landlord. After reviewing the contract, you found that there was a pet fee, and a ridiculously high one at that. So, when the landlord inevitably came around with suspicions, Bartolomeo distracted him... rather, he loomed behind him while you lied through your teeth. He helped sneak in cat litter and a carrier, practically smuggling them in like they were contraband. It made you wonder if he’d ever done shadier work before bartending.

(The answer was technically no, at least never paid work. Bartolomeo just spent a decent chunk of his highschool days sneaking in and out of classes with backpacks full of fireworks, stolen sports uniforms, and alcohol.)

Amidst the hiding of various cat supplies, Bartolomeo showed up at your door one day with a handful of video games. Not only Yakuza , but a few Devil May Cry games and one you’d never heard of called Dark Cloud. He even ran back across the hall and returned with an old Playstation 2 when you told him you couldn’t play all of the titles. He didn’t strike you as the type to be so excited to share his interests with someone, making the action all the more endearing.

It all helped to distract you from the fact that things were feeling off again.

The smaller things, like your bracelet and the hat for your monkey plushie, easily could be sequestered away by Luffy somewhere. Most likely under the bed, but whenever you attempted to check, he was already under there and you became distracted by his purring and nuzzling into your hand. You weren’t entirely sure how long Stardew Valley had been missing, given how sporadically your sudden desire to play it for long stretches of time came and went. However, you were certain that you didn’t just forget or lose it during the move. You had another day of changing the bedsheets before running errands, only to find them rumpled when coming home. Sure, that also could have been Luffy, though it would have taken some serious zoomies for the covers to be as mussed up as they were.

You once more tried to put it all out of your mind. Knowing Bartolomeo was around to keep an eye out made it easier to dismiss your fears, since you had no doubt if he saw something, he’d do something. If he kicked someone’s ass to make them stop, you probably wouldn’t even know.

Meanwhile, Bartolomeo spent the last week indulging in his bad habit. He hadn’t snuck in while you slept since the night he practically bit you, but he still looked in through the window every chance he could just to watch you sleep. When you were gone, he no longer resisted the urge to cuddle up with your pillows, reveling in how your scent lingered in the sheets. He took a chance on swiping one of your games, picking one he would normally never have chosen for himself. He wanted to know (as close as he could know) what it’d be like to play something with you. He also couldn’t help but play a little with Luffy, and one day realized the monkey plushie’s hat was the perfect size to fit on the kitten’s tiny head.

In between his trips, he found himself entertaining his fantasies a bit more, too. He was done convincing himself that he didn’t have impure thoughts about you, deciding it was better not to suppress them, lest they get out of hand and he accidentally act upon them instead. He didn’t jack off every day, but almost, all the while daydreaming of how you’d feel under him, or riding him, or on your knees with your pretty mouth around his cock. After parting ways in the hall one afternoon, he imagined himself yanking you into his apartment and fucking you on the couch. On a trip up the elevator with you, he had to keep his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t act on the temptation to hit the emergency stop and pin you to the wall.

Bartolomeo was dying of hunger and staving it off with junk food. From smelling your shirt while he jerked off to stealing a bracelet he’d seen you wear only once. It was maddening and unhealthy, but he would survive.

Your mouth twisted into a frown at the notification on screen. It’d been sitting there since you’d arrived at work that morning, and you meant to respond during lunch but had your attention pulled elsewhere when Nami joined you. Now work was almost over, and you still weren’t sure what to make of it.

Cavendish Bourgeois would like to chat.

“Is everything all right?”

You jumped at the faintly accented voice and turned toward Rebecca, her brow knit and a bronze gauntlet under one arm. With a shrug you looked back at your phone. “I just got a message from some guy I knew growing up. He was always kind of snobby, so I don’t know why he’s messaging me.”

She leaned from one foot to the other, tilting her head. “Well, what does the message say?”

You sighed, your thumb initially hovering over the “ignore” button before opening the message instead.

“Good morning! I know it’s been a few years, but I thought I’d say hello. How are you?”

“He’s just asking how I’m doing.” You cocked your head. “Weird. I didn’t think he even knew I existed.”

Rebecca leaned over your shoulder to see. “Maybe he wants to reconnect and make amends?”

You shrugged again and pocketed your phone, resuming your task and pushing a cart full of boxes back to the storeroom. “He doesn’t seem the type. At least not since I last saw him in highschool.”

“People can change,” she said, shifting the gauntlet from under one arm to the other as she followed beside you. “I reconnected with my father recently, after I thought he had left us.”

“That’s a little different.” You paused to slide a box onto one shelf. “Your dad was forced to leave. No one forced this guy to be a stuck-up peacock.”

“You don’t know that,” she countered. “Plenty of people are raised with parents who have unreasonable expectations. He might’ve felt he had to maintain a certain attitude.” She then nudged you with a smile. “Come on. Reply to him. See where it goes.”

You gave her a side-long stare and a crooked smile. “You just want me to cheer up about the whole Barto thing.”

“And I think you could use a more traditional date.” Her grin didn’t falter and she nudged you again. “Maybe this one will surprise you.”

After putting another box on the shelf, you pulled your phone back out and replied, “Hi! I’m doing okay. Moved away from home a few months ago. How about you?”

It wasn’t long before your phone chimed with Cavendish’s response. “Lovely. I moved myself, though it was about a year ago now. I heard you live in the city, is that right?”

“Congrats on escaping the suburbs lol. Yeah, it’s on the cheaper end of town, but it’s home now. Where’d you move to?”

“What’s he saying?” Rebecca startled you as she leaned over again.

“Nothing yet,” you laughed. “We literally just started.”

You had more time to put boxes back where they belonged before your phone chimed again.

“I live in the city as well. I have a place near the business district.”

You let that one sit for a few minutes, unsure of what to say or where Cavendish was trying to go with the conversation. Luckily you didn’t have to say anything as another pair of messages came through.

“I’m sorry this is so sudden. But I have an ulterior motive for messaging you. 

“Would you like to go out together sometime? I have some things I’d like to discuss, but I feel maybe it’s better I do so in person.”

You froze, and Rebecca immediately noticed, trying to peek at your phone. “What? What happened? What did he say?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “He’s... asking me out.”

She gasped and set the gauntlet down on the cart, eyes glittering. “You should go. It’ll be good for you! Especially since you’ve been so heartbroken over Bartolomeo.”

You shrank back, blushing. “I dunno... I don’t think I’m ready to jump right into dating.”

“Well, isn’t this the perfect opportunity to try?”

You worried at your lip. In all honesty, you weren’t interested in Cavendish in the slightest. As you said, he’d always been a bit of a snob, and was never exactly nice to you. He had his own sphere of affluent friends he ran around with, and most of them were in the drama club. Rumors had it that he threw fits if he wasn’t the lead role or romantic interest in whatever production they were working on, so you never went and saw the shows. Besides, you were still hurt over Bartolomeo. You liked him too much still, even just as friends. It wouldn’t be fair to someone to try and make a connection with you, only for your heart to be elsewhere.

“Can I see what he looks like?” Rebecca asked, noticing your hesitation. She had an uncanny ability to read people, not unlike Robin. But whereas the latter did it from a standpoint of pure observation, the former seemed to do it as if people were opponents. It made meeting her a little intimidating, but also made her the designated workplace vibe checker whenever someone was unsure about a date. You pulled up Cavendish’s profile and handed her your phone, admittedly curious about what she’d say.

Rebecca held the phone close as she began scrolling through his posted pictures. “He has a lot of selfies. He definitely still has a snobby streak to him.” She paused, then nodded and continued, “There are some where he’s doing humanitarian work. He still looks too well-dressed and these could be staged to make him look better, but some look genuine.”

Shortly after the assessment, she started typing something into your phone, and you panicked, trying to grab it back. “What are you doing!?”

She held the phone at arms length and put a hand on your chest. “I’m not replying to him, if that’s what worries you. I’m just looking up one more thing.”

“No! It’s fine, I’ll respond to him.”

But Rebecca was already on a mission, and kept you at bay with surprising strength while she continued rapidly typing and scrolling. “Ah-ha! I had a feeling there was something under that princely face.”

She then turned your phone to show you, and your jaw dropped.

A criminal record for Cavendish Bourgeois. One count of assault and battery, released on bail with community service. His mugshot looked rough; a cut on his lip and a bruise under his eye, his normally luxurious hair wild and tangled.

You snatched your phone back and stared, scrolling through. “How the hell did you figure he committed a crime!?”

Rebecca shrugged. “His ‘humanitarian’ stuff looked so forced, and at the start the filters he was using were very obviously trying to hide something. Then I noticed no one in his friend list was from your hometown — not even his parents. Just lots of pretty girls.” She leaned forward against the cart. “I actually didn’t expect to get the criminal record right away. I thought maybe there’d be some scandalous articles first.”

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing too loud. Pretty boy Cavendish, convicted of a crime. His parents probably disowned him. The feelings in your gut conflicted. You felt bad. Vindicated. Concerned. What would have possibly driven him to hurt someone so badly that he was sent to jail? Let alone hurt someone at all?

You had to know what the hell happened. You quickly replied.

“That is pretty sudden. And a surprise. Any way you can be more specific?

“No offense, but we’re not exactly old friends. So I’m just kind of confused. I’d like to know more before I say yes or no.”

A few minutes passed, and you saw that Cavendish had read the message. On and off the string of dots indicating he was typing had popped up, but they didn’t stay long. And then they stopped all together. With a heavy sigh you tucked your phone away. He probably wouldn’t tell you, especially if he knew you found out about his record.

No sooner had you pocketed your phone did two more messages finally come through.

“I apologize. I know I wasn’t exactly kind to you when we were young. I’m hoping to make amends.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone from home. I was hoping to meet with a familiar face.”

“Holy shit,” you breathed, showing Rebecca your phone. “You were right. How the hell do you do that?”

She grinned. “Just a hunch. It’s not uncommon for bullies to try and apologize after they’ve had some sort of change in their life.”

You put the last box away, right in time for the shift to end, and re-read the messages. Maybe going out with someone who had an assault and battery charge against him wasn’t the best idea, but then again, that wasn’t exactly enough to deter you. Bartolomeo was a rough guy, and though you didn’t know a whole lot about his past, you imagined it was probably a lot more intense than Prince Charming Cavendish’s, and he still was one of the nicest people you’d met since moving. 

Screw it. You’d give it a shot.

“When did you want to meet? And where?”

[peachjagiya]

https://www.tumblr.com/peachjagiya/749976642163769344/httpsxcomtkscheristatus1788142165723648303s

idk if i will get hate for this but hear me out, there is something abt taekook that is soooo awkward, i dont wanna use this word bc antis use it but i dont know how else to describe it. they are very very weird around each other. their relationship is so obviously different from their relationships with other members. like u just need that one moment of clarity and u will see bc once u see it, u can't unsee the fact that it is painfully obvious they are dating. all of their interactions are laced with this sort of fear?? are they doing too much? are they doing too little? its like i can see their struggle. on one hand, they wanna show that they have a good relationship bc duh all of bts are besties but at the same time, they don't wanna do too much to expose themselves. do you get what i mean or do i sound crazy

At first I wasn't sure I did get what you mean but actually... I do think you have a point!

It's not fact-based this next bit so forgive me for going on vibes alone: I simply get a feeling that there are walls up with them that don't exist with other pairs (even pairings that also include them.)

BUT I often feel like they're together behind that wall, if that makes sense. I don't feel they're awkward between each other really because they have moments of over-comfort. But they're awkward if you're looking in? Again, I don't know if that makes sense.

It's kind of like... Ok, so you know when you hug your friends and you do like that silly side to side swaying thing, all bouncy and enthusiastic? It's genuine but it's a tiny bit performative. That's how the affection between a lot of the pairings feels to me.

Then you hug your partner in that same crowd of people. The person you're in love with. But maybe you don't want to be that PDA couple so you hold back what might come naturally (especially notable when you're a same sex couple because of societal nonsense)

Sometimes, looking in, that can look awkward. But the affection you do end up showing, like little touches and strokes, are quieter and calmer and smaller because the feelings are bone deep and the physicality between you is well worn like your comfiest sweater.

That's what I get from their interactions! Awkward in that kind of trying not to be loud way. Ok do I sound crazy now? 😭😂

The only time I've ever felt like that watching another pairing was, controversially, when Namjoon runs his hand down Hobi's back at the JITB album party and that was a one off (and I suspect more to do with it being a side of Namjoon I hadn't seen much of.)

Thanks anon. Let's be crazy about it together. 💜

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Hi, do you take requests for x readers? Im really wanting some natemare x reader (they/she pronouns) fluffy cuddles maybe a cute date? Protective and mildly possessive Mare has my heart lol hes so precious and i love him, maybe its a date and Mare left to get drinks or something and a creep wouldnt leave y/n alone so Mare has to step in etc? Its okay if not that and its okay if you dont write x readers too ^-^ thanks :P

Call me Lyxie or Lyx ^-^

(for anon, ill be either Lyxie/Lyx or ^-^ anon if theyre free :P)

Weeeeell, this is a tiny bit awkward, considering the role I wrote Natemare into for Goretober 2022 (sue me, I took inspiration from FNAF lore.) But I'm still happy to write for him again! I really appreciate your patience. Hope it's okay!

(I am SO, SO, SO SORRY this took such an incredibly long time to post! The Goretober stuff and my last-minute Halloween Special Story had already been keeping me busy, AND THEN CHRISTMAS SEASON CAUGHT ME SO OFF-GUARD THAT MY HEAD IS STILL SPINNING FROM IRL CHAOS. I guess I should've expected that, because Christmas is always like that, but whatever.)

(Also, this is kind of my first time writing an x reader type story, or one specifically in a romantic sense, at least. So, sorry if this comes across a bit awkwardly 😅)

(Trigger Warnings: alcohol, eating/drinking, unwanted advances/creepy behavior, body horror, slight physical violence, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

___

You can be described as someone who’s skilled in rolling with the punches.

Now, rolling with the punches doesn’t always mean being able to understand things that really aren’t meant to be understood, but it seems you’ve got a certain knack. 

If you didn’t, then how else would you have found yourself in a nice relationship with a banshee-esque spirit?

Yeah, your and Mare’s first meeting had been a little awkward, considering you’d been sabotaging a cult that was trying to hold blood rituals in his adopted brother’s name, but you two still became fast friends afterwards. (‘Matter of fact, the adopted brother in question is a pretty chill guy, too. Shockingly chill for an eldritch abomination in disguise, at least.) 

Really, dating Mare has helped open up more of reality to you. Pretty much every aspect of the human world has a counterpart for no-so-human entities. (Yes, you sort of already knew about that, but thanks to Mare, you’ve been able to actually explore it for yourself.)

For example: the setting of your latest date. 

Holy Water Distilling Co. was one of many establishments owned and controlled in Phantom’s domain. 

By day, it was a tidy bar offering a pool table in one corner and a stage in the other. 

By night, it was. . .well, the same thing. The only parts of it to change were the clientele, as well as certain items on the menu. 

One particular evening, Mare just so happened to be up on the aforementioned stage, alongside a few of his musician-buddies. You, meanwhile, were seated at the counter, watching and listening as he performed.

(Not that you minded this arrangement. Mare’s affinity for music was what you initially bonded with him over, after all. You’d tagged along on his gigs before, and he’d never failed to make it a good time.)

Patiently waiting for him to wrap up his band’s last song so you two could enjoy the rest of the night together. . . 

“Y’know, it’s always easy to find some nice toys in this place,” an unfamiliar voice whispers from just a few seats away. “But I never thought I’d see a worthwhile human around here.” 

. . .and trying your absolute damnedest to ignore the stranger who just couldn’t seem to take a hint.

Similarly to Mare and Phantom, the stranger in question could almost pass for a human. Just not at the moment, since he’d obviously taken off whatever disguising veil he used (those were pretty popular among this crowd for many reasons). 

His eyes bulged from their sockets, lacking both pupils and irises. Just two orbs a little larger than the average tennis ball, coming in a shade of dark pink that looked more toxic than fluorescent, ever-so-slightly rolling around in his head as he stared at you. The grin he aimed in your direction would’ve been creepy even without his particular mouthful of oily-looking needle-teeth. 

You ground your jaw, feeling one of your hands curl into a fist on the bar counter. 

The bug-eyed stranger seemed to catch onto that body language. Though you didn’t look at him, your peripheral vision still allowed you to see how his smile fell. 

“What? I don’t get any gratitude for the compliment?” Mr. Bug-Eyes asked, his voice changing from smug to indignant in a heartbeat. 

“If you really think that being called a toy is a compliment,” you finally murmur in a clipped tone, “then you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“Oh, c’mon. I know what girls like,” Mr. Bug-Eyes retorted. “I’ll just never understand why you’re all so repressed.”

“I think you’re mistaking repression for self-respect,” you observed. 

You kept your focus on the stage, on Mare and his bandmates. You knew they were on their last song for the night’s performance. The music was winding down, but it was still awesome as ever. He’d asked for your help with lyrics and fine-tuning a good few times in the past, and that had been flattering enough.

But the fact that he was having such a good time singing the stuff that you helped him decide on. . .well, you weren’t sure when you’d stop riding that high, but you certainly weren’t complaining. 

“Fine, fine. I get it: you don’t want things to move so fast,” Mr. Bug-Eyes piped up again, nudging his bar stool a few inches closer to you. He didn’t seem to notice how you automatically nudged your own chair a few inches further away. “Can’t I just get your number, honey? It’s clear you need someone to talk to.”

“I’ve already got that covered,” you replied. “That’s how having friends works.” 

“That’s big talk for someone who’s here all alone,” Mr. Bug-Eyes sneered. 

You feel your knuckles turn white. “I’m not alone.”

“Well, if that’s the case, your company isn’t paying enough attention to you.”

“That’s none of your damn business,” you hiss, trying to keep your voice down. Yeah, you weren’t shy about potentially clocking this guy in the chin if he tried anything, but you still didn’t want to cause a scene. Not when Mare was wrapping up his gig, so close to finally coming offstage and continuing his date with you. “I already told you: I’m. Not. Interested. If you were half the guy you think you are, you would’ve left me alone after the first time.”

Mr. Bug-Eyes gave a melodramatic sigh, and a sickeningly sweet smell permeated the air around you. It almost instantly caused the first stage of a migraine to flare along the bridge of your nose. You shook your head, blinking as your eyes grew watery way faster than necessary.

A chill raced down your spine as you registered the weight of a hand on your head, ruffling your hair.

You jerked back, slapping it away. “Get away from me!”

The quick motion, combined with the smell, caused you to lose your balance. However, instead of collapsing onto the floor, you felt yourself being caught. Despite your now hazy vision, it took no time at all for you to recognize the colorful tattoos adorning your rescuer’s arms. 

Relief sliced through the awful type of adrenaline that was thrumming through your head. 

From there, things moved pretty fast. 

The environment around you was a blur as clouds of dark violet smoke poured from Mare’s eyes, from his mouth, through his skin itself.  

Mare guided one of your arms to rest along his shoulder, helping you to keep up with his pace. 

Cool nighttime air rushed past the two of you; you almost didn’t notice the deep whooshing sound of a heavy glass door being swung open. 

And before you knew it, you were suddenly sitting down again. The weight of Mare’s arm was still around your waist.

“Deep breaths. Take deep breaths,” Mare coached. There was a slight echo in his voice; his pitch seemed a bit all over the place. That always seemed to happen whenever he had too much energy, good or bad. 

You nodded, following those instructions. You raised a hand to knead at your temple. Then, after a moment of scrubbing at your eyes, you realized that you were now in a completely different part of the downtown area. If memory served, you were now a far distance away from Holy Water Distilling Co.

“Are you okay?” Mare asked, keeping a firm yet gentle hold on your hand. 

You finally looked over at him. His eyes were pitch-black, the purple tear tracks on his face now branching out like veins or tree roots. His skin had turned a deathly shade of gray; if you looked closely enough, you could almost see the shapes of his teeth and skull through the barrier. 

Despite his obvious anger, concern and fear were still present in his features. 

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” you eventually reassured him. Your head still felt a little funny, but now that you were away from the scent, your senses were much clearer. You didn’t hesitate to hug him, resting your head on his shoulder. He returned the gesture tenfold, sighing. 

The minutes dragged along, but you didn’t mind. 

“Whoever that idiot was, I think I’m gonna have to kill him,” Mare murmured after you pulled away. The edge in his voice had died down a bit, and his features were slowly but surely turning less ghoulish, but his eyes remained dark. 

“I won’t stop you,” you hummed, having long-since grown accustomed to his more monstrous side, “but could that wait a bit? Just until tomorrow?” 

Mare squinted at you, understandably incredulous. 

You shrugged. “I mean, you seemed really excited about the movie. The screening’s supposed to start in about. . .” You glanced down to check the clock on your phone, “. . .twenty minutes from now, I think.”

Mare’s eyes widened as a surprised snicker escaped his lips. “Priorities, priorities.”

You tilted your head as you rose from the sidewalk bench. “Consider it your reward for rescuing the damsel in distress.”

“Well, when you put it like that. . .” Mare was quick to follow, locking arms with you as you began strolling together.

[adelaidedrubman]

UQUIZ TRIFECTA

been falling behind bad on these lately but @voidika and @roofgeese tagged me for a uquiz threefer, so what better chance to play catch up! sending tags to @florbelles @unholymilf @belorage @henbased @direwombat @socially-awkward-skeleton @shallow-gravy @purplehairsecretlair @poetikat @harmonyowl @deputyash @schoute @confidentandgood @derelictheretic @inafieldofdaisies @strafethesesinners @strangefable @trench-rot @corvosattano @jackiesarch @bluemojave for any of these you haven’t done and wanna!

which uniquely human interaction are you?

LATE NIGHTS AND HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER. desperately fighting air into your lungs you can make another joke or laugh louder. you are the fight. you are saying "life is good and bright and wonderful if only you let it be so" you are every hushed giggle in the back of classrooms. every inside joke. every bit of banter between friends. you are the essence of laughter.

what kind of touch do you possess?

STIMULATING TOUCH. you are an intense feeling that energizes others. you feel it throughout your body, oozing out of your fingertips. you're the bustling subway stations, the final goal that wins the game, and the tilting point of going down a rollercoaster. you're keep the group on their toes and always suggest new and exciting things to do. everyone loves the energy you bring and your eyes that seem to light up and brighten the room. you hate doing the same things everyday and completing monotonous chores. keeping moving and active is how you feel alive. after all, what's the point of living life if you cant enjoy it to its fullest?

what kind of a time loop are you stuck in?

MODERN ROM-COM. have you ever been in love? do you want to do it again? will they like you this time? what about next time? what will you change, what are you willing to give up? will you be the same at the end of it all? will they? maybe just try again. and again. and again. and again.

which uniquely human interaction are you?

A ROOMBA NAMED TEVIN. every single tiny machine created has a name. you are the spirit that gave them the name. you are saying "we both live on the earth so you must also have an experience." you are every friendship with a plastic toy. every thank you to digital assistants. you are creating friendship wherever you can see it.

what kind of touch do you possess?

CREATIVE TOUCH. you are a gem. you pride yourself on creating and sometimes you feel it defining your personality. sometimes you can be a bit scattered and messy, but it just helps your brain think that way. you have your own aesthetic and you know its incredibly cool. you are most in your element when you are doing what you love. sometimes the process is SO frustrating but the proudness of a finished product is what keeps you going. you often compare yourself to others and are the harshest critic of your own work. you are immensely talented and you are inspire others. keep doing what you are doing, love.

what kind of a time loop are you stuck in?

SCI-FI HORROR. there is always something behind you, but you will never see it…have you seen it? you don't think you can remember now. maybe take another look, just a little glance. what’s one more time, right? just once more, once more, once more…

[sophieswundergarten]

@nobody33333333!!!!

I know I said I'd get this out, like, two days ago, but unfortunately I had a pressing essay that I needed to finish. HOWEVER, I have now dealt with it, and so I get to gush about how much I enjoyed this chapter of "S.O.S."!!!!

(This is also going to be in a few parts, so I do apologise. I wanted to do it justice.)

First off, ten chapters!! A very exciting milestone :)

And I was so happy to see all of the sneak-peaks from the WIP Ask Game slot into this chapter; it's like five different layers of satisfying to see the passages I was really excited to read earlier match up with a piece of writing that I love so very dearly.

There is something so exactly siblingesque that Curtain is extremely angry about his brother "stealing" their joint ideas. I have basically had that exact conversation too many times to count.

Poor Jeeps. He's jeeped it up again.

"How many back-up locations and safe houses can one person have?" How many indeed. I think that either they have a ton, because all of them wanted to be prepared so they just set up like five different back up plans without telling each other, or Curtain's forces are absolutely abysmal at finding their singular safe house.

Curtain thinking about how Garrison is closer to him than Nicholas, even though she's currently brainswept herself is so sad. He had a family, and now all that he can do is compare how deeply their various "betrayals" hurt him.

"The family Curtain had lost" OKAY, WE'RE GOING THERE. OUCH.

But, really, that is an exquisitely crafted line with so much nuance and drama and pain.

It's really interesting that Kate and Milligan's names seem to be at (or near) the top of his list, while Nicholas is purposefully at the bottom. Because he still devotes the same amount of attention and mental energy to thinking about/capturing them. He's just pretending not to care.

" Nicholas, and everyone else that Curtain had ever cared about always fought against him, like disobedient unruly children" Oh, oh buddy. I totally get why this makes sense for his character and everything, but, again, why are you trying to run a school?

It is a skill that you can write Curtain's inner monologue and include such things at “The Endless Burden of Greatness is Mine Alone to Bear.” and still make me feel even smidge of serious sympathy for him. You have a talent, my friend.

You included the bit about Number Two's name!! I find that so funny, and am intensely gratified that you gave him that little thought anecdote about it.

Oooh, the way you included the lights from the shore so early in the chapter gave me shivers. I was brimming with anticipation by the time Curtain fully processed through it all.

It's a tiny bit funny to me that Curtain continually thinks of children and their skills as "pathetic", whereas when he himself was twelve he thought he could rule the world, and still holds that conviction!

"Or maybe Curtain was just being paranoid. Or maybe he wasn’t being paranoid enough." Or maybe you need therapy

His statement about the syllables has always thrown me off, but I reconsidered it here, and while I still have no answers, I have some observations: "Ledroptha Curtain" is 3-2, while "L.D. Curtain" can be considered 2-2 ("Reynard Muldoon" is also 2-2). However, both "Nathaniel Benedict" and "Nicholas Benedict" are 3-3. I wonder if the writers chose "Nathaniel" purposefully because of its syllables, as well as starting with "N". I wonder if it bothers Curtain that his name isn't really balanced anymore (as I can definitely see him struggling with some OCD tendencies; need for control and all) or if he likes it (or pretends to), since it no longer matches his brother.

Curtain's just sitting here judging Reynie for wanting to talk about his Manipulation Salad while pretending to care for more manipulation. I can't believe how irony-blind he is sometimes.

He's so awkward ugh this part makes my insides squirm

It's crazy but also really sad how much Curtain has retreated into his defensiveness since the S.O.S., because he's comparing Reynie to both Nicholas and Pedalian, but he can't get out of his own head enough to recognize Reynie as a person and possibly offer him some grace or even consider why he might be acting so oddly. It's good, because it means that the kids' plan works and their people reading skills have been put to good use, but it's still a little sad.

"who by this point was certain that the backhanded nature of his compliment would undoubtedly be completely lost on Reynie, as he didn’t even seem capable of determining the appropriate time to enter a conversation." Why is he so judgy this is actually hysterical-

Why. Just- Why? What about the Ribbon Interaction was so concerning that nearly ruins Curtain's opinions of Reynie? I mean, it sounds exactly like something Curtain would do but I am dying trying to sort it out in my head because it's so weird

AND HE'S STILL OFF. He has a whole interaction with Reynie, and then goes "Hm, I wonder where the possible spies my brother may have sent are. Truly a mystery." He's such a goofy dork, for all his "Greatness"

MILLIGAN

It's so neat that Milligan loves hiking. I just adore that detail.

Oh boy, Rhonda and Number Two's fighting never really sat right with me in the show, but I am liking the spin you put on it. I think it's probably just because I read the books and I was expecting them to be sisters, rather than colleagues. That said, I am very curious to see where you take it!

The way that you interject the girls' argument with the little descriptions of Milligan is amazing! It really captures the energy of the situation beautifully.

In a way, Milligan is mirroring Curtain in this scene, with his uncomfortable awkwardness and trying to escape the conversation.

Mr. Benedict's whole life sometimes feels like a series of putting off a task until it eventually confronts him and tips over into a domino line of other tasks. Same, buddy.

IS IT CONCERNING THAT I INSTANTLY KNEW WHAT SCENE MILLIGAN'S MEMORY WAS OF AND IT GUTTED ME

You are a beautiful artist and it's like watching a gorgeous quilt come together or someone weaving very fine lace to see you write but also sometimes it feels like you're repeatedly stabbing me in the heart

Oh, oh oh oh dear. It's the Milligan flashback. Still just as emotional the fourth or fifth time around :(

The way you describe his wife is so cool!! It's very genuine and sincere, but you keep the vague, mysterious air as well!! Very good.

Agh, and poor Milligan keeps second-guessing his memories and worrying that they're hallucinations or something, my heart hurts for him. And once again!! He wants to meet her again. I think that it adds a lot to things with how you've been writing him, because while obviously finding Kate again was amazing for him, but he probably had to grieve his wife all over again when he remembered her. (But, of course, we know that he'll get to "see her" in Kate, a little)

The way that Curtain does a full 180 from harshly judging Sticky for being timid and like Nicholas to (correctly) assuming that he's a spy is as ridiculous as it is interesting. Curtain is highly intelligent, he and Mr. Benedict are siblings, after all. However, he is constantly handicapping himself with his distrust of others and unhealthily excessive self-reliance.

S.Q.!!!!

“Not slacking off on your classes, are you?” SIR. What classes????

[orangemoonxworks]

LIFTED EPISODE 001: NOTEBOOK NOSTALGIA — 1 WRITTEN BY: K. Reynolds -------------------------------------------------

Sitting high up on the fire escape outside her window, Christine watched as its light shone down 103rd Street. The days of Manhattanhenge had long passed by, but the view was somewhat similar. As the subtle breeze brushed by and her hair swayed along with the branches of the trees lined on both sides of the street. The sound of rumbling and metal screeching escaped from the subway entrance at the north end. As people left the station, she shifted her eyes to the worn-out notebook with masking tape along the edges in her lap.

It was an old journal she’d found.

She opened it up and began flipping through it, skipping pages of entries she’d written over the years. The pages were almost as brittle as the autumn leaves on the sidewalk. Eventually she landed on a blank page, one of the very few left. Staring at it, she palmed her cheek then smiled.

(Huh, it’s been a while since I wrote in this.)

She slightly twisted her body, reaching through her window to grab one of the pens from the holder on her desk, then began twirling it around her fingers while staring at the page.

(It’s kind of hard to believe that almost a year’s gone by. It almost feels like I’ve drifted into an alternate reality – like I’m living someone else’s life. Yeah, something like that.)

She tapped the pen against the page a few times then began to write.

Before last year, my life was uneventful. Yep, I was the girl who never had any friends. Sure, I wanted friends and I tried to make some, but it never worked out. No one wants to be friends with the tiny girl who always gets bullied, right?

After a while, I gave up and stayed to myself. It was lonely but it was better than failing spectacularly over and over again. I was – well, I still am a bit on the awkward side and by all accounts I’m a huge nerd. So, I practically had ‘target’ branded on my forehead. Not much luck there.

She paused, tapping the pen on her forehead, then continued.

After a certain…incident, my mom enrolled me in a school somewhere in Brooklyn Heights. I was just a wallflower there, so no one bothered me. I was fully prepared to be forever alone and accepted my fate as an unlovable dwarf. And then, well…

+

One year ago, September 2008.

Christine dove onto her new bed and frolicked excitedly. After a few years of living with her grandparents in East New York, she was finally living with her mother in their new home. It was a somewhat spacious condo in the Upper West Side that was located on a street facing west end of Central Park. Celeste, her mother, stood in the doorway with her arms crossed watching her daughter giddily roll around. The joy on her daughter’s face was enough for her to crack a little smile.

“Ah! I can’t believe it. I’m finally in my new room!” Chistine grabbed one of the pillows beside her then gently rubbed it against her face. “Bed so soft, bed so soft…”

“I’m glad you like it. Me and your father busted our asses trying to get everything up here.”

Christine spread her arms then let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve finally been freed from the hellish depths of East New York. No more drunk hobos, no more gun shots, and no more genuinely fearing for my life.”

Celeste pursed her lips then rolled her eyes. “Stop over-exaggerating.”

“I am going to miss Grandpa though.” Christine replied then flipped over onto her side. “He’s going to be all alone in that house now.”

“Speaking of that, call him later.”

“Will do!” Christine threw up her left arm, stretching her fingers. “But maybe after I break in my magnificent new room first.”

“Okay, well, do you then. I’mma hit the kitchen, get everything situated and all that, then start cooking. I gotta work tonight.”

Celeste left her daughter to her vices and walked away. Christine rolled over on her back excitedly quivered while holding her clutched fist to her chest and letting out a quiet scream of joy with her mouth closed.

For the past few years, I’d been living with my grandparents. Mom was always talking about making a better life for us – “us” meaning me, her, and my sadistic demon-spawn older sister. As if being tortured at school and around our way wasn’t enough.

Anyway, it’d been five years since she’d left to make that promise. My sister had moved with my father by then, so it was just me. As a kid, I always wanted to live in Manhattan. So, I was super thrilled about our new place which is literally down the street from Central Park. Like, I can look out of my window and boom! There it is.

It’s a dream come true.

Life in the ghetto paradise that is East New York isn’t exactly glamourous. Still, being whisked away to the greener grass felt just as surreal as holding a philosophical conversation with the building’s resident pouched rat. If that thing was any bigger, then it seriously would’ve had to pay rent.

After having spent nearly a half hour soaking in her new room, Celeste knocked on her door. She opened it just enough to lean halfway through the crack. “I need you to go to the store”

“Huh? The store? But I don’t know where it is.”

“It’s one block away – it’s not far. I’m making us some macaroni, so I need milk.”

Christine’s shoulders dropped in dread. “But…but what if I get lost?”

“If you get lost walking down the block then something is wrong with you.” Celeste teased, laughing, then headed back to the kitchen. “I left the money on the table out here. Keep the rest of it.”

Christine pouted then buried her face into her pillows. “So much for breaking in my new room.”

+

Naseem’s Diner and Deli. Aside from looking more luxurious than the usual, it was a typical corner store with all the hallmarks including a cat stretched out on the shelf filled with bags of chips. There was a small dining area beside the exposed windows but given the chairs were up on the tables and everything was still in pristine condition, it was clear they were hardly ever used. The floors and walls spotless, shelves and freezers neatly packed, and a sweet flowery scent flowed through the air.

The bells on the entrance door jingled as Christine walked inside. She was instantly struck by the stark contrast between what she was used to and what she was seeing in the moment. For once, the stench of cat piss and rank body odor wasn’t assaulting her nostrils. The store’s owner Naseem sat behind the register counter with his eyes glued to the flat screen hooked to the wall. There was a soccer game on. Adjacent to him was Ahmed, the cook who ran the diner side, and who was preoccupied with the chicken gyro he was putting together.

Christine headed to the freezers in the back and grabbed a jug of milk. On her way back to the front of the store, the entrance bells jingled. A boy with a twisty afro walked in. Compared to her tiny 4 ft. 11 frame, he was practically a giant. But more than that, he was dressed so stylishly that it wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d just walked off the set of a photo shoot. As he walked, the boy’s sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose revealing his hazelnut eyes, and a smooth but soft light brown complexion that seemed to glow in the sunlight. From the moment she saw him, Christine couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

And there he was – Lox a.k.a. Loen Wells. You know those moments in movies where the girl sees the guy, and rose peddles fly around and everything is weirdly pink and red? Well, that’s what it was like when I first saw him. I was mesmerized.

(Holy crap, he’s cute!)

“Yo, what up Ahmed.” Lox called out.

Ahmed raised his head and, upon seeing the boy, dreadfully sighed. As Christine reached the register counter, Naseem nearly leapt from his stool and cheered with his fist pumped up, celebrating his team scoring a goal. She sat the milk on the counter and briefly glanced at the tv, then returned to not-so-subtly staring at the boy eight feet away from her.

“You finished my sandwich yet?”

“No.” Ahmed replied, annoyed. “Give me a few more minutes.”

“A few more minutes?! Nigga, I called you a whole half hour ago.”

Ahmed sighed again. “You do know that you’re not the center of my universe, right? In case you haven’t noticed, I do have other customers.”

Lox sucked his teeth then jokingly replied, “Bruh, forget them. I’m your homie. I should get first priority over everybody.”

“Yeah.” Ahmed said then massaged the right side of his temple, quietly mumbling “I don’t wanna deal with you right now.”

Christine continued to eavesdrop as they went back and forth, forgetting about the jug of milk waiting to be paid for. Fortunately, Naseem was so invested in the soccer game he hadn’t noticed her at all.

“It’s not my fault you dumb slow. I could ride the A to Far Rockaway and back, and you’d still be making my sandwich.” Lox joked then sucked his teeth. “Got me feeling like I’m waiting on food stamps.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ahmed mumbled.

“And that’s not all either! You see how long you’ve been making that gyro? It’s like you be playing hairdresser and shit. You be mad serious trying to make it all pretty like you a real chef.” He raised his chin then smugly grinned. “I bet you put mad shit on that nobody asked for.”

“For your information, I am a real chef. And unlike you, I actually contribute to society while you stand in front of cameras and,” Ahmed paused then pressed his finger into his cheek. “What was it that you said I do? Make things look pretty? Oh, that’s right! That’s what you do.”

Lox smirked. “Don’t front cuz I make more bread than you.”

Ahmed sighed then dejectedly dropped his head. “And that’s the sad part. If all I have to do is stand still and let people take pictures of me, then why work hard at all, right? This world, man.”

“You chose to make sandwiches for a living. That don’t got nothin’ to do with me.”

After another missed goal, Naseem angrily slammed his fist down on the counter, startling Christine and snapping her back to reality. He grabbed his face, groaning and swearing into his hand, then noticed her looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Oh, sorry Miss.” he said, softening his tone. “You pay, right?”

“Well, yeah. Oh! But I’m not in a huge hurry or anything!” She said then nervously waved her hands.

Naseem slightly tilted his head, confused by her hand waving. “I don’t get what you’re doing there with your hands. You pay for the milk?”

Averting his confused stare, she sheepishly handed the money over. Just as she went to grab the bagged milk and her change, a loud piercing sneeze shot out. Ahmed wiped his nose then tossed the balled tissue to the small trash can beside him.

“Shit, my allergies are acting up.”

“Bruh, if that’s my sandwich on the side, then you’d better move.” Lox said, looking at the foil-wrapped sandwich roll beside the gyro.

“You want this one?” Ahemed pointed down at the sandwich. “You can take it if you want. And I didn’t make it pretty like the gyro here.”

Lox’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Nah, nigga you just sneezed over there. I don’t want that shit.”

Ahmed groaned. “I didn’t sneeze on it. It’s already been wrapped. And it’s exactly what you ordered too, so you might as well take it. Either that or you wait another ten minutes.”

Lox sucked his teeth. “I’m not trying to wait for another ten minutes.”

“Then take the damn sandwich!” Ahmed shouted in agitation.

“All right, damn! I’mma take it.” Lox replied, slightly leaning back. “Stop spazzing, bruh. It’s not that serious.”

As he went to grab the sandwich, his eyes ventured up the menu on the wall behind Ahmed. He stared for a moment, rubbing his chin in deep thought, and tapping his fingers on the counter. Aside from the soccer game playing, there was dead silence. Ahmed’s eyes narrowed tightly, and his teeth clenched so hard one could hear it. His frustration grew more intense with each passing second. An uncontrollable giggle began to rise from Christine’s stomach. Lox’s eyes raced from one edge of the menu to the other, then stopped.

“So, umm, dead that. Let me get chicken over rice.”

Before Ahmed could react to his nonsense, a burst of hysterical laughter filled the store. All three men turned to the source in utter confusion and surprise. Upon seeing their bewildered eyes piercing at her, Christine’s laughter quickly dissipated. Her face bloomed into a bright crimson red. She snatched the milk and her change, then made a break for the door and darted outside and around the corner. -------------------------------------------------

[seasonsbloom]

Congratulations on the 500 followers, you absolutely deserve it! 🎉 And there’s no pressure but could I request Jake x reader and first time, like maybe it’s in the bad habit universe and its the readers first time giving Jake a BJ ❤️

♡ pairing ; boyfriend ! hangman x female!reader

♡ wc ; 4.6k

♡ warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral (m receiving), mentions of oral f receiving, tiny bit of a dom/sub dynamic if you squint, spit, finger sucking, dirty talk, idk it's half past 4am i can't think) like one mention of vomit ?

♡ note ; bad habit universe, but can be read separately. this was the hardest thing i've ever written goodbye. thank you sol for saving my life time and again, this truly wouldn't have happened without you.

It’s his birthday, and Penny volunteered the Hard Deck as a party venue. Drinks are flowing freely, oldies are playing from the Juke Box, and Jake is drifting through it all with his usual cocky grin and an almost uncharacteristic tint of melancholy about the eyes.

You’ve been hanging back mostly, nursing a single Mojito, successfully riding the razor edge of intoxication—just a little bit of liquid courage instead of full-blown inebriation. Things go fuzzy around the edges, your chest feels warm, and everything’s a little lighter.

But the buzz of the nerves in your stomach doesn’t subside. Like a hummingbird got trapped in there.

At some point after midnight, you can’t take it anymore. You push your way through the crowd until you can slot yourself beneath his arm, press your front into his side like you’re trying to climb between his ribs.

Jake smiles at you, your own private smile, the one that belongs only to you, and your heart goes soaring in answer.

“There you are,” he says. The night has made him softer, makes him ignore the raised eyebrows from Coyote and Payback as he traces a kiss to your temple, makes him focus on nothing but you. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You can’t help it - you smile back, giddy and weightless.

“Do you want your present?”

He raises an eyebrow and reminds you, “You already gave me one, honey.”

You did hand him a wrapped present with birthday pancakes earlier this morning. A new pair of aviators because he broke his last ones and a framed picture of the two of you that Phoenix took at a bonfire just a week or so after you’d started dating. But that’s not what you’re talking about right now. That’s not what’s making your insides feel like a butterfly sanctuary.

So you shake your head. 

“Another one. Different one.”

Something about the tone of your voice must make him take the hint. He blinks at you.

“Should we get out of here, then?” he asks, leaving the ball in your court.

You nod. “Take me home, Seresin.”

+

By the time you reach Jake’s bedroom, the liquid courage has turned to vapor. It’s quiet in the room, the kind of silence that echoes after the noise of the Hard Deck, of your friends’ voices, of the roaring of the car engine. You leave all the lights off except for the gentle orange glow of the lamp on the bedside table, hoping it’ll somehow help calm you down.

It doesn’t.

You bumble through a series of awkward motions, strip off your jacket, slip out of your shoes, take off your necklace and let it clink down on the top of the dresser. Jake, who’s only toed off his shoes, watches you through all of it, arms folded in front of his chest, an unreadable grin on his face.

Finally, you turn to face him, put both hands on his chest - and he’s so warm and his muscles so hard, and it hits you every time, like you’re a teenager, like you’re indulging in high-school fantasies, and it’s so dumb, but, god, if you don’t love it - and push him down onto the edge of the bed.

Jake goes willingly, and then he blinks up at you, not saying anything. Part of you had hoped for him to take the lead, but he’s making you work for it tonight. You hate it when he does that. It’s so much easier to follow his cues, feels natural to say yes, Jake, to let him bend you and shift you and move you wherever he wants you. Submitting to Jake is as easy as breathing because you know he’ll always catch you.

But with the way he’s grinning at you, you know he won’t help you out. Not right now.

You swallow around the lump clogging up your throat.

“Take off your pants,” you say, trying for a command that trails upward at its tail-end until it sounds like a question instead.

Jake chuckles but obliges you, opens the buckle of his belt, pops the button on the jeans and slides them down his legs, kicks them to his side.

You stare at his legs for a moment, at the soft flume of blond hairs dusting the shins, the golden skin, the scar on his knee from when he cracked it open trying to learn how to skateboard the summer he turned sixteen. Sucking your lower lip between your teeth, yearning pulling at the muscles of your belly, you take a step closer.

“Your shirt too,” you say, and then, because you can’t help yourself, because it’s stronger than you, you add, “please.”

Jake’s lips purse like he’s trying to hold back words. Again, he listens. Slides the pale blue button-down over his head instead of unbuttoning it. It upsets some of his hair, a few strands sticking up, but he smooths them back into place easily.

It’s always like this - looking at Jake, the planes of his chest, the abs, the collarbones like marble arches protruding from his shoulders, there comes a moment when all you feel is the need to touch him. And then you always realize, belatedly, distantly, that you can. Because he’s yours.

The thought sends a thrill through you, a shudder that starts at your scalp and ends at the tips of your toes. Taking another step forward, right into the cradle of his thighs, you rest your palms on his shoulders.

Jake sighs, something like content to the sound. 

You lick your lips, looking at him, feeling suddenly almost inadequate.

Jake, like always, picks up on it almost immediately.

“What you planning, sweetheart?” he asks. It sounds like you got yourself in this mess, now get yourself out of it too.

And you’d thought about this. Laid out the words like planning outfits for the first day of school, shoes and pants and shirt. Racked your brains on how to make it sexy and good and something he’d want instead of bumbling and awkward and embarrassing.

But now your head is wholly and decidedly empty, here in the face of him and all this want like shifting heat in your bones.

“I’m…” You pause, exhale, bite down on air as you wrestle with yourself, as you search within you for another burst of courage like you had in the bar. “I’m going to suck your cock.”

Where they’re resting on his thighs, Jake’s hands clench into fists. He tenses all over for a moment, every muscle taut, shoulders lifting, elbows jutting out, and then he moans. Actually moans.

You blink.

He’s pulling you against him before you know what’s happening, mouth finding yours with perfect precision. Then his tongue slides between your teeth and his hand is in your hair, and if you’d had a single thought left before, it’d be melting away now under the firm pressure of his lips on yours.

When Jake pulls away, your knees are weak, and his eyes are glazed over.

“You gonna suck my cock?” he asks, and his voice is dark.

You whimper, nod, look away, press your legs together.

Jake hooks a finger beneath your chin, turns your head so your eyes meet his. So you can’t look anywhere but at him. “You’re gonna get on your knees like a good girl and take my cock in that pretty mouth?”

You’re going to black out. You’re pretty sure of it.

“It’s your birthday,” you whisper, like that’s any kind of answer, like you aren’t so wet at the thought of his cock down your throat you’re soaking through your panties.

Jake watches you for another moment, eyes searching, and then he abruptly lets go of you. Leans back on his palms planted firmly on the mattress and spreads his legs a little further.

“Get on your knees then.”

You obey without thinking about it. In your chest, the nerves flutter their feathery wings, but you resolve to ignore them. The hardwood floors press awkwardly against your knees in a way you know will hurt later, but you keep your eyes level with the planes of Jake’s abdomen.

And then you don’t know how to proceed. Stay there, hands twisted into a knot in your lap, biting your lip.

Above you, you hear Jake exhale a shuddering breath.

“Have you done this before, honey?”

His voice is gentler than before, less demanding.

You shrug, think back to your high school boyfriend, to the abysmal experience of it all.

“Once,” you admit, and then don’t offer up any more information. You don’t really want to think about it.

Jake hums. His fingers card a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb coming out to stroke over your lower lip. Immediately, instinctively, you open your mouth, and Jake groans as he sinks the digit between your lips.

“You didn’t like it?” he asks, voice breathy. His finger presses down on your tongue, saliva gathering around it, and you’re pretty sure your eyes roll back in your head.

Then he withdraws it suddenly, and you feel the loss like an ache, sudden, stabbing, as he ghosts his finger across the column of your throat, smears a trail of your own spit onto your skin. It should be disgusting, but somehow, the thought of it, the draft from the open window caressing against the wet path of it, has you shuddering instead.

Jake repeats his question, nudges you gently.

“Oh.” You think about it for a second. “Not really. But he… I don’t think he liked it either.”

Jake cocks an eyebrow.

You shrug, look away from him. 

“I don’t think… I don’t think I’m very good at it.”

And Jake laughs. The sound is loud and sudden, and it punches you in the chest. You all but recoil, drawing back into yourself, the shock of it sudden and horrible, and you can’t believe he’s laughing at you when you’re being open and vulnerable and…

Jake catches you by the shoulders, pulls you towards him - your knees go skating over the wood, and that’ll leave burn marks tomorrow, but right now, you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he bends in half to kiss you again, to take your hand and drag it to his crotch where he’s harder than he’s ever been, precum wetting the fabric of his boxers.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips, drawing back to nudge your nose with his in a gesture that seems almost too tender for the heat of the moment, “no way. There’s no way.”

It’s easier to ignore in his arms, with him so close, but the fear is still there. While you were just thinking about it, just imagining it, it was so easy to pretend you were confident, to feel some kind of misplaced bravado about it all. But now? You feel smaller than ever.

“I just…” You draw back a little, can’t explain why your voice is watery, why you feel so close to tears. “I just want it to be good, Jake. I just want to be good for you.”

Jake makes a noise like you’ve slapped him across the face.

“Always,” he mumbles, kissing you again, gentler this time, trails another one across your cheekbone, your nose, “you’re always good for me, honey.”

And then, without warning, he draws away, almost has you falling face-first against his stomach. With you kneeling, he’s a looming, hulking shadow above you.

“Need me to teach you, sweetheart?”

It’s just like Jake - wrapping the kindness of it all up in something that sounds lewd and almost condescending. But you know him well enough by now to recognize it for what it is: an offer to let you choose how you want to do this. Do you want him to guide you, or do you want to continue what you had planned, try to take the reins over for a while?

“It’s fine. It’s your birthday.” You push your hair back without looking at him. “Just… tell me if I do something wrong?”

He clicks his tongue, sighs, then leans back on his elbows, back almost flat against the mattress. Gestures towards his crotch with a sweeping wave.

“Have at it, then, sweetheart.”

“Alright,” you whisper and think that maybe you were wrong. Maybe it’s not fear coursing through you. You’re not really scared with Jake, not of anything. Just nervous, a little anxious, but most of all eager - to do good, to make him feel good.

So you slide your hands beneath the elastic of his boxers, grateful when he lifts his hips to help you slide them off. Slowly, you reach for his cock, telling yourself you’ve done this part before, have had him spilling into your palm just a day ago, and really how different can all of this be? It’s just spit and friction and a bit of pressure. Men are so much easier.

A muscle in Jake’s abdomen jumps. You take a deep, steadying breath and lean close enough that you can smell him - sweat and aftershave and his shower gel, too - and then, heart beating a hundred miles a minute, you lick a single, long stripe along the underside. It elicits a shudder from Jake, and you think, okay, great, that’s not bad, he’s not running screaming yet... 

Tentatively, you take the tip into your mouth, suck softly, and Jake lets out a low groan.

“Shit… you’re doing great, sweetheart,” he says somewhere above you. “Just… go at your own pa-”

You slide your mouth further down his cock, far enough that you can feel the weight of him towards the back of your tongue (HUH????), that you can really taste him, and then, just to check, just to see that he hasn’t checked out yet, bored, occupied with something else, ready to move onto something where he’s in control and doesn’t have to content himself with your awkward explorations, you look up at him. Your eyes meet. Jake’s pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed, mouth open wide. By his hips, his fingers clench into the fabric of the sheets.

The reaction surprises you, and you can feel the frown starting to form between your eyebrows, but it’s good, too, a reassurance that makes you feel somewhat more grounded. Carefully, you start bobbing your head up and down, just an inch or two at a time. 

All the articles you’ve read trying to prepare for this night flash through your mind at lightning speed, a supercut of everything that had made your cheeks warm and your thighs clench. You remember baby pink font on cream background saying, The wetter, the better! and try to draw as much spit onto your tongue as possible, even with how dry your mouth feels.

Almost like an afterthought, you wrap your hand around the parts of him you can’t reach with your mouth, stomach swooping when you feel how slick he is with pre-cum and what you suppose to be your own drool. Half embarrassment, half desire. You pump your fist up and down, applying pressure the way Jake showed you the first time you got him off like that. Fingers always wrapped a little tighter than you would have thought.

“Jesus,” he whispers, voice quieter now, breaths uneven.

It fuels something in you. All of this is somehow much more difficult than you thought it would be because there’s so much to do at the same time, it’s hard to keep up: Tongue sweeping slow and steady circles around the tip of his cock, fisting at him in a rhythm you hope is at least similar, and all the while you have to remind yourself to keep breathing through your nose. It’s sort of like trying to rub your belly and pat your head at the same time.

But it’s good, too. Nice. You like the taste of him - a little salty - and the feeling of him inside you. You like how hard he is and how he makes these little noises when you move your tongue just so, something breathy and shallow and involuntary. It makes your heart beat faster, something giddy and soft and light floating through your chest.

I did this, you think, and it’s enough to have your head spinning. I am doing this.

And then you just need to know, need to hear him say it, need him to ground you the way only Jake can before something happens, and you end up in your own head again, overthinking, looping, spiraling…

So you pull off, cock releasing from your lips with a soft pop, taking a deep breath.

“Is it…” You trail off, look up at him, feel your cheeks and chest and ears warm. “Am I doing good?”

For a moment, Jake doesn’t answer. He just looks at you with that same far-off expression from earlier on his face, and then suddenly he groans, throws his head back, focuses on the ceiling, and says, “... Fuck.”

You don’t know what exactly that means, but it doesn’t sound bad or like he’ll ask you to stop anytime soon. At least, you’re really hoping he won’t. Because you’re actually, to your own surprise, starting to enjoy this, and you’d like to finish it. Him. Whatever.

Jake sits up then, looks down at you, smooths a hand across the top of your head.

“You, sweetheart,” he says, “are doing phenomenal.”

“Yeah?” you ask, can’t keep the smile at bay. The relief tingles in your bones. 

“Yeah.” Jake’s thumb traces along the line of your jaw. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen with my cock in your mouth.”

You moan a little at that, insides clenching, and then you’re leaning in, eager now, suddenly impatient to get him back into you.

This time, you take him a little deeper, still scared to go far enough he’d reach your throat (some part of you is almost scared you’ll end up throwing up all over his dick and ruining the moment) but becoming a little more adventurous with it. Thinking less, feeling more. Like the way his cock twitches almost imperceptibly when you kitten-lick at the tip on an upward stroke or the way there’s a stutter in his breath every time you squeeze your fist.

For better leverage, you place your free hand on his thigh, lean closer, and suddenly your hair is in your face, getting tangled in your eyelashes, and you can’t see, and…

Jake’s fingers are on your scalp, pulling the strands away and holding them at the back of your scalp in a makeshift ponytail.

“That better?” he asks, and you just hum in response, closing your eyes, sinking another half-inch deeper…

Jake moans, a loud, raw sound, the hand at your head tightening, the one in the sheets flexing, and then suddenly he’s saying, “Shit, sweetheart, you sure you haven’t done this before?”

You’re almost completely convinced he’s saying it only for your benefit, and if you didn’t have your mouth full of dick, you might have told him not to patronize you, but as it stands, you just glower up at him.

He laughs, but this time it’s gentle and a little breathless and followed by something you’d describe as a whine, but only in the privacy of your own mind because he’d get pouty if you were to say it out loud. “I mean it. You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. It’s like your mouth was fucking made for my cock, Jesus.”

That draws a sound from you, and you rock forward on your knees, insides squeezing like a fist, panties probably ruined. For a second, you wonder what the vibrations feel like for him, if it’s the same way it is for you when he’s got his face buried in your pussy like he wants to drown there.

And then Jake answers the unspoken question, dick jumping a little in your mouth, as he says, “Fuck, god, feels so fucking good. I can’t wait to get my mouth on that pussy and return the favor. You’re so fucking….”

You sink a little lower, hollow your cheeks, and suck at him, with more force than before, trying to get past the anxiety that you could somehow hurt him, or accidentally bite his dick off, or…

“Fuck,” Jake moans now with abandon. “God, you’re gonna kill me one of these days, Jesus, sweetheart….”

You whimper, lather your tongue all over him, pull off to plant a few wet, messy kisses along the length of him. Trails of spit follow in your wake, and it should be gross, but it’s not, makes you dizzy, makes you clench around nothing, and then you take him as deep as you can again, your blood rushing in your ears, Jake’s moan echoing after.

“You like that, huh?” he’s asking above you, and when you look up at him from beneath heavy lashes, Jake is flushed all the way down to his chest, skin a rosy pink, shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his gasping breaths, lips swollen where he’s sunk his teeth in. You hum in response because you do, you do like it, like the way he’s falling apart, like the way he smells and tastes and how close you are and how finally, for once, you’re the one making his legs shake and not the other way around, and he makes a noise like he’s dying, like maybe you’re killing him. “Fuck, yeah, you do, don’t you? You like my cock in your mouth, honey? I’ll keep you on your knees forever, yeah, just let you suck my cock anytime I want it….”

Your jaw is going slack, and your wrist hurts, and the limited oxygen is starting to become a problem, but you know it won’t be long now, and you want him to come, need him to come, think you’re gonna lose it if he doesn’t.

Above you, he’s started what more or less constitutes a chant, saying, “You're such a good girl, you're such a good girl, you're such a good fucking - oh god…."

He lets out a long, shuddering groan, and you can feel the way his hips stutter with tiny tremors, how his jaw clenches, how he’s on the verge of losing it, on the verge of letting go, holding on with every piece of strength he’s got left - it washes any trepidation away.

You pull off him, suck in a few gasping breaths and say slowly, haltingly, “If you want to… you can try to fuck my mouth.”

For a second, you think he might not even need to be in your mouth again to come. Like he’s just going to do it right here, right now. On the spot.

Then he catches himself, says, “Are you sure?”

And you almost laugh, wonder if he’d still be asking this question if he knew just how fucking wet you are, how your lower body pulses and clenches, how much the thought of having him crammed down your throat actually sets you off, know he would be asking anyway. Because he’s never done a single thing you didn’t want him to. Because you trust him, blindly, completely.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just… go slow. Maybe.”

Jake’s hand falls from the back of your head to cradle your jaw instead, to open your mouth with his thumb once the way he’d done earlier. When he slides home again, slides deeper than before, a long, torturous, wet, wet, wet drag over your tongue, he grasps the hand still on his thigh, laces your fingers together. Your heart jackhammers.

You choke a little when he hits the back of your throat, but nothing comes up. It feels sort of nice in a strange way, even when it drives tears into your eyes, to have him this deep inside of you. It feels even nicer when Jake curses under his breath, hand going from your jaw to the back of your neck. You shudder when his fingers spread over the skin there, where your hair is plastered down with sweat, when he holds you in place and starts moving.

It’s nice like this because you don’t have to think, can let yourself drift on that cloud of mindless want as Jake pumps his hips for and back, slowly like you requested, fucking your face almost… tenderly.

The thought makes you smile, even with your mouth full of him, and then Jake’s fingers tighten around your neck, squeeze your hand once, a silent warning before he picks up the pace. Just a notch. Still gentle.

There are tears on your cheeks now, dripping down your chin, and the sounds are obscene, but you can barely hear them over the beat of your own heart, through the fog of your desire. Your jaw hurts, and your knees ache, and you’ll feel this tomorrow, probably won’t be able to talk in anything but a whisper, but it’s worth it, worth it all when Jake moans, when his hips twitch as if of their own accord.

“I’m about to… I’ll pull out, sweetheart,” he’s saying, the words drifting to you from very far away. “Where do you want me? Tits, ass, face?”

But you whine, clutching at his hand in yours, suddenly remembering you have a second one and wrapping the fingers of that around the closest thing to you - his ankle. You hold tight. The thought of him pulling out, the thought of not getting to taste him… you don’t like it.

“Fuck,” Jake curses, and then his hips are stuttering forward and up, and he’s saying, “Oh fuck, Jesus, sweetheart, you want it? I’ll give it to you, gonna cum down that tight little throat, gonna make you swallow it all….”

And then he cums with a shudder, with a shout, hips pumping forward in quick succession, deeper than before now that he’s lost all control, and you choke, splutter, but recover quickly, swallow around him, and the salty, warm spurts sliding down your throat.

After a moment that feels like an eternity, Jake pulls out with a groan, falls back on the mattress like he’s boneless. You stay where you are, blinking at the sudden loss of contact, mind reeling, hand still wrapped around his ankle.

And then Jake’s saying, “Come here, Jesus, what the fuck,” and he’s pulling you up onto the bed with him, onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you and pushing his face into your hair, inhaling deeply.

For a moment, you just stay like that, clinging to each other, both of you trying to catch your breath. Beneath your ear, his heart is racing, and you can’t stop the dopey smile from spreading on your face. It’s a little weird, what with you still completely dressed and him naked, spent, sticky with slowly drying sweat.

You’re aching and wet between the legs, have half a mind to start humping him where you’re spread across his thigh, but you resist. There’ll be time for that later, and Jake has never passed up an opportunity to make you cum and he won’t be starting today. You’re sure of it.

Finally, without looking at him, you whisper into his chest, “You liked it?” 

Jake laughs, presses a kiss to the back of your head, the only part he can really reach while you’re lying on him like a deflated air mattress.

“I think that might be understating it,” he says. “And you’ve really only done that once?”

You nod, then lift your head to look at him. “But can we like… do it again sometime?”

Jake blinks at you blankly. “You wanna suck my cock again?”

This time, you can feel the blood rushing to your head. “Yeah.”

Jake groans, head lolling back, spent dick twitching valiantly against your thigh.

He says, “Well, happy fucking birthday to me, I guess.”

[girasollake]

IMAGINE while the gang are out doing their bit and Eddie is still hiding out, the reader has to keep him company and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. She takes like board games and stuff to pass the time and hopefully make it a little less awkward. BASICALLY IDK HOW BUT THEY END UP FUCKING 😭😭😭😭

unexpected | e.m.

pairing: eddie munson x afab!fem!reader

type: smut

warnings: sex 18+, minors DNI, swear words, pullout method, cum on body?, pussy eating, hair pulling, neck holding?(not choking), guys idk what more..

summary: in the ask:]

a/n: i have been writing it for like two past hours, i am so terrified of watching the new episodes when i wake up cause rn its 1 am and i wanna go to sleep, if they kill eddie or steve im suing... anyway i hope you'll like this piece anon<3 (also i feel like i suck at writing smut)

word count: about 2k

————————————————-

It was a windy afternoon. (Y/n) was sitting on her bed reading a stupid book her dad had made her read. Branches of a tree outside were softly hitting her bedroom window, the wind was making weird sounds. She turned over and tossed her book on the floor. With a sigh she got up and made her way downstairs. She didn’t want to interrupt her father who was working so she went to the kitchen. She was a bit tired from the morning events where she had to help her friends so she definitely needed a cup of coffee at that moment. While she was making the drink the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it dad!” She yelled, voice directed towards the office.

She opened the door and saw Robin, the rest of her friends sitting in a car parked in the street. Robin was grinning and fumbling with her hands.

“What is it this time?” (Y/n) threw her head back and sighed.

“I just have a tiny, really tiny, little favour to ask you.” Robin bit her lip. “Can you watch Eddie tonight and like keep him company? We have some really important stuff to do and we need someone to… you know… make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

(Y/n) massaged her temples with her fingers, eyes closed. An annoyed groan escaped her lips but after all she agreed.

“Just wait a minute, I’ll go grab some games and tell my dad that I’ll sleep at your place.”

Robin was patiently waiting in the car with the others when the door opened and slammed just as fast.

“Thank yo-“ Steve started saying.

“Shut up and drive Harrington before I change my mind.”

All she wanted was a peaceful evening, maybe a warm bath. All of the latest events were getting into her head and she needed something to take her mind off of them, that something certainly wasn’t Eddie. She didn’t know him at all except for the fact he was quite weird, at least that’s what she had gathered from the 30 minutes she had spent with him. Maybe getting to know him more wouldn’t be that bad?

She took her bag and swung it over her shoulder. She slammed the door of Steve’s car again and started walking towards the boathouse.

“We’ll be back in 5 hours!” Robin screamed through the unrolled window.

“WHAT!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN 5 HOURS?!” (Y/n) turned around, anger written on her face.

“Or more!” She waved her hand at the furious girl while Steve was driving away.

(Y/n) groaned and adjusted her bag. She knocked on the door and opened it slowly.

“Eddie? It’s (Y/n). I’m here to babysit you.” She whispered while entering the boathouse.

He was sitting with his back pressed to the wooden wall, gaze fixed on the lake.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” He muttered.

“I know, but the others would disagree.” She came closer and took a seat next to him. “I have some board games to pass the time.”

Eddie finally looked at her, she had looked the same in the morning but now her smile looked more authentic, there was softness in her eyes. He put his beer aside and shifted in his seat.

“Okay, show me what you’ve got.” He smirked and nodded towards her bag.

(Y/n) couldn’t deny, she started feeling a bit tense. It wasn’t because she was scared, it’s because she started noticing his best features. The fact that she was left with this man alone was also doing the job. She observed him while he was looking through her games. His brows furrowed, mouth slightly agape, veiny hands caressing the boxes.

Were those rings there before?

“This one should be good, I played it once or twice.” He handed her the box. “You want to make a bet?” He added, his body softly leant towards her, enough for her to notice.

“Um, what kind of bet?” She tucked a strand of her behind her ear.

“If I win, you give me a kiss.”

“Pshh, hell no Munson.” She rolled her eyes.

“Come on, what do you have to lose?” He tilted his head.

Right, what do I have to lose?

“Yeah, ok, I’ll do it. But if I win, you will lent me some of your Metallica records when you get out of this shitty situation.”

“You like Metallica?”

“I like many things you wouldn’t think I like.” She winked. “So deal?”

“Deal.”

They shook hands and started playing the game. Two hours of constant mocking, bickering and swearing passed and now they were waiting for the moment of truth. Eddie shook the dice in his hands and threw it on the board.

“I WON! HOLY SHIT!” He screamed, his arms flying to the air. Then his eyes met (Y/n)’s. “You know what that means, (L/n)”

She gulped and felt her body going even more tense than before.  Just his presence was enough and now a kiss?

It’s just a kiss.

It’s just a kiss from a hot metalhead, you can do it.

She tried to reassure herself while Eddie sat next to her. His hand came up to hold her cheek and he slowly turned her head to face him. His cold rings were like ice to her heated face. Eddie leaned in and their lips collided in a soft, warm kiss. His hand went into her hair gripping it gently. The kiss was short, they pulled apart and (Y/n)’s eyes looked straight into his, she didn’t waste a second to connect their lips again. This time it was messier and harder, filled with passion. She sat up and then quickly swung one of her legs over Eddie so that she would sit on him.

“It was supposed to be one kiss.” He said while he tried to catch his breath.

“I can stop if you want to.” She whispered, her lips softly sucking on his neck.

“Fuck no.”

He switched their positions so that she would be underneath him. That place wasn’t the cleanest but neither of them cared at that moment. Eddie’s lips were attacking her jaw and neck where he left two small hickeys. (Y/n) cupped his face with her hands and made him look at her.

“Touch me Eddie.”

He lowered his head to kiss her again and just before they kissed he whispered the words “As you wish”. One of his hands lifted her shirt, his fingers caressing her delicate body. There was this feeling again, his cold rings against her warm skin were making her shiver. She moaned into the kiss, Eddie’s desire growing stronger. He took off her shirt and started kissing everything on his way, he then placed his hand on one of her breasts squeezing it lightly. He then took it out of the cup and started circling his tongue on her nipple, the other boob being massaged with his other hand. (Y/n) threw her head back, her body arching into his. He used her movement to his advantage, his hands sneaking onto her  back and quickly unclasping her bra. He threw it somewhere next to them and then took off his own shirt. They were both staring at each other, it was getting dark but the sunset was still present and it gave them all the light that was needed. He was in awe of her messed up hair, soft breaths coming from swollen lips and her breasts moving with each of those breaths. She was in awe of his softly sculpted body, tattoos adoring his skin and his face features which were so unique and well-matched. Her fingers started dancing on the tattoos, slowly tracing their outlines.

“You like them?” He asked her.

She nodded softly and smiled.

“I just didn’t expect you had so many.” She looked up at him. “They’re hot.”

“I know they are.” He gave her a smug smile and kissed her.

He grinded into her and groaned into the kiss. (Y/n) softly scratched his back and deepened the kiss at the same time. Eddie’s hand cupped her boob again, his finger gently flicking her nipple. Then she was the one grinding into him, pressing her hips into his more and more.

“Are you sure?” He whispered.

“Shut up and fuck me Munson.” She arched her back again and pulled him towards her.

Eddie didn’t waste a second to take off her jeans and panties, but before he did what he was asked to he wanted to do one more thing. He lowered his head and trailed kisses from her neck down to her thighs. His fingers slightly tickling her lower belly and hip bones. He placed a soft kiss on her clit earning a moan from her. He held her hips tightly and started flicking his tongue occasionally licking all over. She was shaking, hands gripping his hair, her orgasm approaching rather quickly but Eddie stopped right before it hit her.

“I want you to cum when I’m inside you.” He said and pressed their lips together.

He threw his pants and underwear to the side and lined himself up with her entrance. He lowered his body and connected their lips again. She felt his tip slide inside her, it was uncomfortable at first but when she felt all of him it was amazing. They both gasped at the feeling and Eddie started slowly moving his hips.

“Faster.” She managed to say between the moans.

Eddie did what she said, his body loudly slamming against hers. He changed the position and threw her legs onto his shoulders which sent (Y/n) over the edge. She came without a warning, her walls squeezing Eddie’s penis and enhancing his pleasure.

“Fuck Eddie, fuck, fuck, fuck!!” She screamed while digging her nails into his arms.

Eddie helped her through her orgasm and then pulled out. She whimpered at the loss of contact thinking he was also finished but she was so wrong. He held her up and turned her around so that she was on all fours and pressed her head down. He waited a couple seconds and then shoved himself inside of her, she screamed and desperately tried to hold onto something but with no luck. She closed her hands into fists and moaned with each of his thrusts.

“You like being fucked like that?” He asked and went even faster.

She didn’t answer him, her vision going blurry from the pleasure. Eddie noticed that and pulled her up by the hair.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes..uhm..fuck.”

She gasped at the new sensation of her hair being pulled, she had never felt so much pleasure during sex. She didn’t know how much more she could take but this feeling of him filling her up was the only important thing, she didn’t want to lose it. Eddie let go of her hair and placed his hand on her throat pulling her towards him. They were both on their knees, Eddie fucking her from behind, her whole body pressed into his. His other hand started massaging her sensitive spot on her pussy. Next thing she knew she was cumming again. She threw her head back onto his shoulder, his hot breath hitting her cheek. After her orgasm he helped her get on all fours again and pulled out quickly, she collapsed on the floor and felt something warm on her back. Eddie groaned and sighed.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Mhm..” She mumbled still trying to catch her breath.

Eddie stood up and dressed himself into his clothes scattered on the floor, he then took a towel which was a bit old and dirty and used it to wipe off the cum from (Y/n)’s back. He threw it somewhere under the table and helped her sit up. After helping her dress up he took a blanket Dustin had brought him and covered them both with it.

“Was I too rough?”

“No Eddie, you were perfect.” She kissed him on the cheek and then nuzzled her head into his chest.

Just before she fell asleep she thought of the plans she had had before she had come to spend time with him. Maybe she was wrong? Maybe Eddie was that something to take her mind off of things?

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[wheelsup]

kissing lessons

summary: one of your classic movie nights with spencer turns into a learning opportunity

A/N: this is really fluffy, but the whole story centers around kissing. use your own judgement! i’d say it’s at worst 16+

category: spencer reid x gn!reader, fluff (with a bit of spice)  best friends to lovers (sorta)

warnings: just kissing, a brief implication at the end

word count: 3k

Occasionally, the team will spend an extra night in their hotel before heading home from a case. Be it due to poor weather conditions, or the fact that your case wrapped in the dead of night, the reasons for flying don’t ever matter. Because the majority of the times when you have to stay that extra night, you and Spencer have sleepovers.

The routine is pretty much the same. You’ll stock up on gas station snacks – sour peach rings for Spencer, salted microwave popcorn for you – and reconvene in one of your hotel rooms. Preferably, whichever of you got the better deal that week – a bigger tv, a room further away from the ice machine. And you’d rent the cheapest movie available on-demand, the options spanning from low-budget sci-fi to poorly written rom-coms. That night, the viewing fell under the latter category.

Spencer perched at the foot of your bed with both feet tucked under his legs, criss-cross style, while you laid against the headboard to watch. Every now and then, you tossed out your commentary and he’d ignore it. He always says you’re too critical of movies and you’re of the belief that he’s too forgiving.

“I don’t think they should end up together,” you mumbled, words slurring around your mouthful of popcorn. You pulled a face right as the movie approached the romantic climax, after spending the past ninety minutes actively rooting against the couple. Spencer ignored you, pretending to be engrossed in the movie to spite your disparagement of it. “They both suck.”

You groaned, slumped further against the pillows, and shoved your sock-clad toes under Spencer’s left thigh in a call for attention. He jumped at the intrusion, but ultimately, your efforts were futile.

And then the big kiss commenced, and your booing finally piqued his interest. “Gross! I feel bad for people who kiss like that.”

A small bell went off in his head and he took a curious glance at you over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He stopped chewing and the piece of candy in his mouth pushed out his cheek, giving him an adorably innocent look. His brows scrunched in the middle and his nose had a tiny crinkle in it, utterly confused.

You scoffed and matched his expression. “Are you serious?” You jerked your head in the direction of the television and Spencer whipped his head back, squinting. He couldn’t figure out what you were pointing out, what it was that was so obviously wrong to you. “Spencer, he’s swallowing her chin!”

Oh. He hadn’t noticed.

Feeling dumb, he muttered, “I thought that’s how you’re supposed to kiss…” It wasn’t the deepest confession to admit to you that he lacked some knowledge when it came to kissing, but he still refused to look at you as he said it.

“Spencer, please tell me you haven’t been kissing people like that.” You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head, sitting up straighter in bed. He shrugged and lowered his head, focusing on his snack as his fingers dug into the packet of gummy rings in his lap.

He popped another piece into his mouth, pretending to be occupied with eating so as to avoid your prying. “I dunno.”

It didn’t occur to you until that moment that Spencer might have learned everything he knows about kissing – among other things – solely through watching movies. How else could he look at that and think it’s normal? And you’re left wondering if he’s ever even practiced it with another living human. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but unfortunately, that only heightened your interest. You had to know.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” You kept your voice low, your tone implying that you were ready to exchange this secret with him. You wouldn’t judge him if he admitted he hadn’t.

He scoffed loudly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you’re positive he rolled his eyes too. “Yeah, of course.” Then quietly, he added on, “But it was only like… for four seconds.”

You nodded thoughtfully, considering how this new piece of information adjusted your existing view of Spencer. For some reason, you couldn’t tell if you actually expected him to be experienced or not.

He didn’t exactly scream that he’d… gotten around, for lack of better words, but you’re still surprised to learn that he’s barely done it at all. You supposed he was objectively cute, that maybe you could see it if he weren’t your best friend. And yeah, he’s a little awkward, but he’s smart and kind, so he has three great things going for him, and you’re surprised more people haven’t swooped him up yet.

Your lips curled down in thought, brows raised in curiosity. “And was it good?” It was a genuine enough question, because you’ve never really thought about Spencer Reid and kissing in the same sentence before. As it turned out, there was a lot of missing information relating to those two things.

“I don’t know! I didn’t get, like, a feedback form,” he grunted, angling his shoulder even further away from you. If you could’ve seen him, you’d notice his face boiling and turning red with heat. All this inquiring made him think harder about his … talents … than he’s ever had to before, and he’s not a fan.

You were prepared to do some more digging when the slump in his back made you feel a tinge of guilt. It was your fault he looked so defeated. You pressed too hard, disregarding his boundaries just because you wanted to know more. And now, he was wondering if there was something wrong with him, because you wouldn’t leave it alone.

He barely noticed as you swung your feet from under his thigh and rocked onto your knees, leaning forward to nudge his shoulder with your palm. It hauled his attention out of his thoughts and back into the room. You wanted to apologize, but instead you settled with “I’m sure you’re fine, Spence.”

He nodded unconvincingly. By the glow of the screen, you could see he was still gnawing on the inside of his cheek, focusing his eyes as he played with a loose hangnail on one of his fingers. It made you feel even worse. “Are you actually worried about it?” you asked, laden with concern.

“What if I am bad at it?” He whispered, like saying it too loud would make it true. “And that’s why it’s only happened once?”

A large exhale puffed out of your nose as you weighed your options.

You could go back to your original plan and apologize for setting him down this path of doubt. But that wouldn’t do anything to stop him from worrying, anyway. You could tell him there’s no correlation between the way he kisses and how frequently it’s happened; that you’re sure the reason isn’t because he’s bad. But you don’t know that for sure.

So, fuck it, you thought, grabbing a fistful of his pajama shirt and tugging him closer to you roughly, pressing your lips onto his.

This way, you’d at least have an informed opinion to be able to tell him if he was good or bad.

His lips were softer than you expected – not that you’d thought about them often, they’re just impossibly softer than they look – and invitingly warm. But they were completely stiff.

You could tell he was trying to kiss you back by the way his mouth ferociously moved over yours. He was trying to be a passionate, engaged partner, but he forgot about the aspect of tenderness.

His lips felt like two solid objects just sliding around on your face. They didn’t move in any sort of accordance with yours. There was no push and pull, your lips didn’t mesh perfectly together to form a solitary unit as they moved in unison.

It felt more like his lips were your opponent, putting up an attack and defense play against the actions of your own.

You pulled away, resisting a giggle at his bewildered face. “You’re not so terrible,” you swipe the corner of your mouth, smudged with Spencer’s flavored chapstick, “But it could use some work.”

He was at a loss for words, mouth gaping open as his eyes darted around the room and all over you. Maybe he’d find an explanation for what just happened carved into the walls somewhere or written across your forehead.

What happened was that you kissed him. And he was a little bit bad. Simple as that.

“I-I wasn’t ready!” he stammered, chucking up his hands defensively. He’d process the fact that he’d just made out with his best friend at a later time, right now the bigger concern was the slight cringed look on your face. He sulked and folded his arms.“What was so bad about it?”

“Well,” you scratched the back of your ear, trying to gauge if he’d react well to getting some advice, “my first tip would be to relax your lips.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“And don’t think too hard. You should react to what’s happening in the moment, not worrying about what your next move is gonna be.” You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to envision what that would play out like in a real situation. “You wanna try again?” you offered, figuring he’d learn much faster if he was more hands-on about it.

He nodded, and you leaned in close, waiting for him to go for it. His heart quickened under the pressure of performance, eyes screwing shut as he closed the gap. His mouth smashed into yours as he dove in hard. It was toeing on the side of too harsh, but you let that one slide in hopes it was just a byproduct of his nerves.

You had to tap his knee to remind him to relax, and he loosened some of the tension he had in his lips. He slotted his between yours, allowing them to be pliable to your movements and remembering to react, not plan.

He moved his mouth leisurely against yours, trying to match your pressure and pacing. They actually started moving in time with yours at some point. The kiss took on a shape of its own as he started getting out of his head, letting himself enjoy the kiss for what it was in that exact moment.

It was already better than before. Leaps and bounds better. But then he tried to deepen it, building on its intensity but adding more… something into it. You couldn’t even tell what it was he was trying to do.

“Okay, second tip…” you inhaled sharply, pushing him off of you with a palm against his chest. Whatever it was, it needed to stop. “You kinda do this thing like… where you’re blowing air into my mouth?” You scrunched your nose, punctuating your dislike. “That feels weird. Don’t do that. If anything, do the opposite.”

“I’m supposed to suck the air out of your mouth?” His face contorted, voice already slightly exasperated. He barely understood what the air thing was that you claimed he did. He didn’t realize in the process of trying to add pressure to the kiss, he was just forcibly blowing against your mouth.

“Not literally, no.” You laughed a little, rubbing your palm in a comforting pattern on his chest.”But you can use your lips to suck on mine, or my tongue… just nothing involving the exchange of breath. We’re not in CPR training.”

He eased up a little with your joke, adjusting to your advice he gave it another try. After a few moments, he latched onto your bottom lip with his own, sucking it softly into his mouth. “Yeah, like that,” you mumbled against him, voice pitching high in encouragement. He sucked on it with a little more greed, holding it for a second, then eased up, varying the pressure of his movements just like you did before.

You made a mental note to praise him for that at a later time, deciding to instead part your lips to see if he’d venture into further experimentation.

He caught on quickly. He parted them further, prodding his tongue against them as you opened to allow him entry. Just as you started to really enjoy it, he ran his tongue over the inside of your mouth, moving it fast and roughly like he was a washing machine.

“Stop,” you grimaced, tearing away quickly. You had to swipe your hand over your mouth to get rid of the excess saliva that really shouldn’t have been an issue in the first place, given how brief the frenching was. “Your tongue is way too aggressive.”

Overwhelmed, he tilted his head to the ceiling and let out a frustrated grunt, slapping his hands down to the top of his thighs.

There were too many factors to worry about. He had no idea how you looked at him with a straight face and told him not to think too much when there were a million things he needed to remember all at once; he needed to vary his moves to keep it interesting, but make sure he’s not ruining the flow by changing things up too much, and to be gentle but not timid.

All of this was second nature to you, but it was brand new to Spencer. Could you really blame him for not getting the hang of it right away? You decided to stop your list of critiques short for this round to spare him. He’d get there eventually, but not if he felt discouraged too soon.

“I don’t see why people like it in the first place,” he huffed, his head returning to it’s normal posture. In Spencer’s eyes, there truly wasn’t any appeal to kissing with tongue; it looked sloppy and unnecessary, and as you’d just confirmed, it actually was.

You thought about his statement for a second. There’s a certain allure to it, and you didn’t know how to describe it to him. So instead you cupped his cheeks in both your palms and slid your mouth over his again. As his jaw slacked its tension, you slowly pushed your tongue past his lips and gently pressed it against his own before swirling them together.

You sighed softly into his mouth, running your fingers through his hair and tugging carefully at the ends. He made a small noise against you, something like a whimper, and you swallowed the vibrations of it. As you retreated, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth and gave it a light, teasing tug. You soothed it again with your lips before releasing it, a proud giggle forming in your chest as Spencer chased after your lips as you broke apart.

“That’s why.” You smirked at the dazed look on his face. His eyelids remained closed longer than necessary, still feeling the ghost of your mouth on his and a tingle where your fingers were in his hair.

“Oh.” His voice came out meek as he slowly came back to reality, brows wrinkling up his forehead as he opened his eyes.

He put both his palms down on the mattress, one laying flat on either side of you, and dove forward to resume the kiss right where you left it. A surprised squeak left you as his mouth collided with yours with an insatiable hunger. You brought one hand back to his hair, and he was a goner.

He unfolded his legs from under himself and shuffled onto his knees, following his hands until he practically crawled into your lap. Each of his legs hooked onto either side of your thighs as he hovered over your lap, leaning his body entirely into yours.

The physics of it didn’t hold up; he’s taller than you are, and his chest was too heavy for you to carry. The balance was off center and it sent you tumbling back onto the mattress, bringing him down with you until his chest laid on yours.

It was the perfect force – the weight of him on top of you. He tasted like peach candy and sour sugar, and you found yourself craving more of it.

You shuffled higher up the mattress, giving him space to stretch out his body as he followed yours. One of his hands found your waist, gripping tightly, while he placed the other on the mattress beside your head, using it to steady himself. Sliding your legs out from under him, you wrapped them on the outside of his hips, using them to pull him closer down to you.

It only broke off in moments when both of you absolutely needed to get air, gasping as you pulled apart for brief reprieve before colliding again. He followed every word of your advice, getting better with each passing second until he exceeded expectations by leaps and bounds.

Your fingers weaved through his hair, passionately tugging the wavy strands to angle him against you and igniting his nerves under your touch. A soft moan leaves him and you’re encouraged to tighten your grip on them. His hips bucked reactively at the sensation, and he quickly pulled back, a slight embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He got too carried away.

You took in his flushed face and swollen, kiss-bruised lips. They’d turned a shade of red brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and it was all you could do not to dive for them again as his tongue sweeped over them, soothing the burning heat you’d left on them.

Before he could apologize for his eagerness, you nudged your nose against his, your smile skimming against his lips. “So what else don’t you know how to do?”

☆

☆

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