#not to be obsessed with not only my own playlists but also my own writing but. man. poetic cinema

[artekai]

Honestly "I could give you the world but you'd poison the seas" is Frosscore enough that it could apply to most people who have ever cared about him. But also, it should clearly be about Lis. Combine that with Aloy's "Elisabet is the only reason you even have a planet to return to" for greater impact. Boom

[evanpetersmybf]

All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one. 

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!” 

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready. 

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him. 

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

“Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?” 

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago. 

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy. 

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary. 

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do. 

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil’ piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting.  “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint? 

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course. 

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant. 

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!” 

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say. 

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?” 

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again. 

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!” 

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to. 

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe. 

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth. 

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday. 

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class. 

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

 After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged. 

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes. 

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were. 

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible. 

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real… 

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself. 

[strawberrysnoopy]

ACT ONE: The Photo Shoot, part one

prologue

summary of the series: for months, leon has been writhing in his bed dreaming of his friend's wife (you). he's been fighting the desperation for months until that one night you bring up a lingerie shoot you've done for a prestigious brand.

summary of this part: recalling the first time you and leon met, you've realized you've been poorly treated by your husband. leon is no different, in a toxic relationship with his wife, ada wong. as the seeds of resentment have begun to germinate, the desire for you grows like a brush fire nearby.

warnings: MENTIONS OF PUKE, BUT NOT ACTUAL PUKING, leon teaches you how to smoke (i don't wanna see no dumb stupid comments about "oh but leon hates smoking", well leon isn't disloyal but here we are), brief use of (adjective) girl (atta girl, good girl, silly girl), praise, mentions of misogyny (not from Leon ofc), awkward, tense ass convos, a fuckton of desc. and a little description, no sex (yet ;) ), cussing, descriptions of fucking, descriptions of masturbation, semi-public masturbation, almost caught masturbating, slight corruption kink (? if you squint), alcohol consumption, use of tobacco, smoking, implied sexual references, etc.

also a/n, writing this as of feb. 2nd, 2024: 60 notes?!!!!! i was writing this for my own personal pleasure but like...??!?! i got reblogged so many times?! im gagged, tysm you guys!!! making a playlist rn, so excited to release the soundtrack. if you see little random edits, i'm probably obsessing over the fic and trying to make it perfect lol/anticipate changes. i would also like to write I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING! always communicate with your partner, discuss issues, etc. this fic is just a lil’ taboo type of fantasy, do NOT cheat on your partners.

The first time you met Leon was at a grocery store: two weeks before your husband would have any idea of his existence and one week before he had invited Leon and his wife, Ada, over for dinner. You were picking up a bottle of red wine for you and your husband under the guise of wanting something nice for date night. The reality would actually be you were buying it for yourself after your husband decides you're not worth his affections anymore, lazily mosey on over to the spare room, and pull out his phone to text other women. The wine would be something to drink to inebriate you while you watched a shitty re-run of a sitcom from the 90s. Maybe if you got lucky, Golden Girls was on.

He was only browsing, stumbling upon the liquor section and staying to look if there would be anything worthwhile. And there was. It was you. He knew he had to think of something witty, something cool people say, before you left and thought he was some creep staring at you because he saw a smidgen of your breasts in a magazine. "You're a famous model, right?" He asked. Oh, how stupid he felt. He was a chronic overthinker: thinking of every last terrible scenario, a trait he picked up after becoming an agent. This had certainly felt like one of the worst options he picked, especially with how you would-- You interrupted him. "Yeah, that's me." The subtle sweetness, the slight rasp in your voice was better than anything any street drug could offer with the amount of dopamine flooding into his brain: overloading every neuron, synapse, dendrite, and cell membrane in his body.

But for whatever reason, he stretched his hand outwards and lazily grinned towards you. "I'm Leon." "Nice to meet you. Well, I'd say my name but y'know..." He nodded in an awkward agreement before you could even finish your sentence, but not daring to go as far to interrupt you. He felt as if he already started off the conversation with a cumbersome beginning. "Right, right. So, that's your real name? I see a lot of models use stage names n' stuff like that." He adjusts his weight from one foot to the other, switching the hand holding his grocery basket from his right to his left. He felt so...awkward around you. Maybe it was the fact you were a famous model, or maybe it was the fact you were just so calm. The joke causes a soft chuckle to leave your lips and the mere look of a fleeting moment of bliss to cross over your features makes his knees turn into gelatin. Those nerves solidify into stone when the overwhelming sense of guilt hits him like a tidal wave but allows it to wash over him for the sake of continuing the conversation.

"Yeah, just my regular name. I'm not that creative outside of modeling. Usually the photographers do the thinking and the creative processes for me." He chuckled, shaking his head and barely moving himself a little closer. Leon wanted to sink in that gentle, warm, and soft presence you carried around with you. Your aura felt comforting: like a hug after a tough day: it had felt so much more different than his wife. True, Ada could be affectionate but that's usually only after something good has happened to her or Leon was her last resort of attention. He really hated how much he would act like an obedient dog, awaiting her arrival home, coming back to her after she's treated him like dirt. You? You felt so goddamn altruistic and considerate. And he's only known you for three minutes.

You notice he's gone silent and you're silently hoping he thought you were cool. Cool. Like a teenager trying to fit in. You silently cringe at yourself until he smiles at you, almost like he's signaling you to continue the conversation. You can't think of any conversation starters. And you're a model for gods sake. You're usually so outgoing and social with other people but now it's like a cat came by and stole your voice box. Thankfully, he takes over that portion for you. "Buying wine?" He knew it was dry as all hell but he wanted to steer the conversation away from him being a fan of your modeling gigs. No, he just wanted to talk to you and discover what you were like behind the camera. (Okay, and maybe he wanted to see if you'd flirt with him.) "Yup. But I'm just buying wine for..." You paused, about to say 'for me and my husband' but your throat becomes dry whenever you feel like you're about to announce it to him. "...Myself."

He smiles. He likes that you're awkward in real life. The fact made you feel more real, like you weren't just some sexy model with expensive tastes and a bratty attitude. You were a person like anyone else.

"Right. Me too, just uh...just browsing." You nod, fidgeting anxiously with the sleeves of the coat you decided to toss on last minute before leaving the house.

The conversation went on to end when you eventually realized you would be home late. Although you thought that worrying your husband a little would be the thing that reignited the spark in your marriage, you knew that punctuality was a habit you'd like to upkeep. That, and you also knew if you talked to this handsome stranger for longer, you'd cheat on your husband. That night, Leon had fallen asleep to the thought of you for the first time. Soft little visions of pressing his lips against yours, caressing your cheek softly and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, etc, etc, cheesy lovey dovey bullshit. So much more different than the truly filthy thoughts he had about you nowadays. You're torn from your conversation with your friends when you make eye contact with him. You can practically feel his eyes travel from the hair at the highest point on your head to the very last bit of your black, leathery heels with perfect pretty pearls embellished on the pump. For a moment, you feel like you're trapped in some type of horny labyrinth while you stare longingly at him.

He's ripped out of his own longing by the feeling of your husband's hand slapping his back. Ada sat beside Leon with her arm protectively wrapped around his bicep. You felt as if the gesture were a signal to everyone at the party that Leon belonged to her. He was under her control, nobody else's. Or maybe the protective message was for her husband, as if he was an unruly friend to her husband. And you could agree with that. You fell in love with your husband because he was wild and care-free but after the diamond ring was slipped onto your ring finger, you realized he was also carefree in the sense that hurt you: talking to other women behind your back, and leaving for days at a time only to come back inebriated. But you stood by his side, no matter what. You hated how you felt like a doormat but you didn't know what else to do besides stay married and play the role of an oblivious wife while your husband fucks other women in various positions. In a way, you and Leon sat in the same loveless boat. Who knew when that same boat would be shaking from the violence of the both of you fucking, clothing pulled out and to the side instead of being fully taken off. Your thoughts become interrupted by an unmistakably handsome voice.

"Hey."

You feel a hand being placed upon your lower back except it's so much more different than your husband's. The palms were rough, callouses inside the nooks and crannies, and pulsing veins make you all dizzy if you thought about it for too long. His voice was dampened with some undertone of lust, his fingers prodding into the skin of your sides. He's always been a little too handsy for a man that's supposed to happily married. But you always figured touch was how he communicates: touch. But he's never touchy with your husband. Or any of your friends. And he missed you? Sure, your're friends due to the fact your husband was friends with Leon. (Even though you met him first, but I digress.) The simple phrase had your mind reeling, cheeks flushed red due to the hidden intimacy of it all. His wife shoots him a look and his hand immediately retreats back to his side, fighting the urge to palm the engorged erection struggling against the seam of his boxers. "Haven't seen you in so long, hm? Thought you disappeared on me for a minute." He's holding his facade of being totally and irrevocably in love with Ada up and steady. Like he had no feelings for you other than being friends.

"Of course not." You murmur, feeling a hearty chuckle reverberate from his chest. He takes his index finger and his thumb and gently swiping it against your chin.

"Atta girl." And of course, with how hoarse his voice is, your panties are instantly puddled with a thick pool of arousal. You hate his stupid, thick, sexy, and deep voice. You especially hate his voice whenever you imagine him degrading and praising you whenever your husband was away and you just happened to have your hand down your underwear, playing with your clit to ease the throbbing impulses you felt for Leon. He gives your back a single pat before moving back to stand beside his wife. You really hate that you feel jealousy flare like wildfire within you, but you brush it off.

Everyone would eventually be drawn to the several dining tables that were arranged in a group and had golden candlesticks and smooth white tablecloths on top. Once you are seated, you observe that Leon appears to be striving extra hard to guarantee his place beside you. He looks right at you for a brief moment. And only then can you see, just a hint of thirst sprouting in his eyes, before he glances away from you and gives Ada a quick smile while patting her thigh.

It's only a few minutes before Leon decides to break the awkward silence.

"How's that modeling gig going?" You nod, gulping down way too much champagne.

"Good, been going good. Have to admit it gets a little boring posing in front of the camera after a while but can't bite the hand that pays you, right?" You joke, and the table laughs with some sense of jealousy. "Nice to hear. What was your latest shoot?" He asked, leaning forward in a sudden rush of intrigue. Then those words pass your lips. Words he had never anticipated, even in his wildest guess (oddly.)

"A lingerie shoot. For Chanel." The table goes quiet. And everyone, including your dumb-ass husband, look at you. Someone (Ada) clears their throat in the dining room, hinting at you to elaborate and it's almost like you suddenly developed to ability to hear from light years away.

Leon, who had just finally got his goddamn boner under control feels his cock twitch back to life, fully hard instead of a semi this time. And correct him if he's wrong, but he starts to feel pre-cum smearing his dress pants. He's thankful he chose the black slacks instead of his lighter colored ones otherwise this would be downright humiliating.

"Sorry, um...I did an intimates photo-shoot for Chanel a few weeks ago for their new line of clothing." That seems to help lighten the mood a lot more because everyone goes back to their conversation with their respective friends, the embarrassing "confession" from you immediately leaving their minds. "The theme was Overtime. Like, staying later in the office with my shirt unbuttoned and stuff. Nothing that interesting."

The table simultaneously nodded, Leon going as far to excuse himself for a cigarette.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go have a smoke." Leon scoots out from his seat, heading towards the upstairs balcony to take care of business. Asshole, leaving me with his mean ass wife.

You decide to join him outside.

The air had finally gotten too tense, felt too judgmental for your taste. Scampering outside, you're met with the sight of Leon smoking a cigarette outside. That's odd: you've usually pegged him to be the straight-laced, no-nonsense type of man yet here he was, smoking a cigarette while leaning against the balustrade of their friend's top floor home. At the sound of the balcony door opening, he turns his head to see what you're doing out here. His eyes scan you, almost like he would while he's in combat but it's more or less to get another glimpse of the outfit you were wearing tonight. Okay, and maybe he wanted to commit the sight of you to memory.

"You alright?" He asked, trying his best to look straight forward when you step closer and cross your arms over the balustrade.

"M'fine, just needed a minute of fresh air, I think." When you sit beside Leon, there's a few things you notice. The first was his outfit. A white button-up that usually would be covered by his black suit jacket, though he left it behind on his chair in the dining room. There's also mentioning his blacks slacks, fitting his muscular thighs a bit tight but loose enough so they're comfortable. Then there's the dress shoes, ones he wore at his wedding due to how overly formal they looked. Maybe he wanted to get some more use out of them? Who knows.

"What about you? Why are you out here?" You decided to be the one to take the reigns since the air outside had become incredibly awkward as well. "Same. Thought I'd take a minute of fresh air, you know?" The second thing you notice about Leon is how much he calms you. More importantly, how much you never noticed that you were anxious when you were around others. He had this aura of relaxing or maybe you were just buzzed, who knows that either? Maybe it's the cigarette, speaking of...

"I haven't smoked since college. Cigarettes, I mean. Don't think I even know how to do it anymore." The confession makes his head tilt to the side, now taking more of an interest in the conversation than before. He grinned wolfishly, taking your chin in one of his thick and strong hands and pulling your head forward. For a second, you could almost be dumb enough to think he'd be moving in for a kiss. Of course not. You'd never be that lucky. "Open f'me, sweetheart." And like an obedient puppy, you opened your mouth just enough so your pretty pink-shaded lips could be parted. He placed the cigarette on your lip, the moisture making the filter stay in your mouth alongside his index and middle finger holding it up, thumb brushing your chin. Little hazes of grey smoke dance along your tongue without even taking a sip of the smoke yet, your lips trembling with a lustful agony. "Now close your mouth..." He whispered, his damp and hot and horny breath hitting your ear like an affectionate declaration of love. "And inhale."

You close your lips around the cigarette, faintly tasting the flavor of him where he had sucked on the cigarette. You got notes of citrus, rum or some expensive, top-shelf label of whiskey he used to help quell the pain he experienced on grueling missions, tobacco, and maybe even the slightest hint of his wife's lipstick. Chanel's Rogue Allure, if you had to guess correctly. "...Now hold it..."

You held it. "Silly girl." He whispered, pulling the cigarette away from your lips while you slowly exhaled the rest of the smoke you've been holding in your mouth and then some. You can't tell if it's because of the alcohol, Leon's presence, or your mere anxiety but you begin to feel dizzy. Thankfully Leon seems to swoop in with his questions to keep your head in the game. Bless him.

"Why'd you need a minute, huh?"

For a minute there, you didn't know how to respond. Looking down at the leathery pumps you chose for the evening, you begin to wonder why you even chose them instead of answering his question. But you answered him. Eventually.

"I'm just tired. This whole night just seems a bit…” You gesture to the party in the background. “Fake. I don’t want to be here."

He hummed in agreement, but it felt like more of a signal for you to keep going. "I'm also just terrible at making conversation. Especially when it's awkward and silent."

His eyes flicker down to the pumps he'd already stared at tonight, not finding an interest in them anymore than your own body. He tucked his lip between his teeth, pulling the pink flesh away from his mouth before he spoke up again. "You're not that bad, you know? I think you're pretty good. How about this?" He pauses. Then a beat passes.

"Tell me something true. Tell me something you wouldn't brag to anyone about." He moved his cigarette to rest on the balustrade instead of the space between his fingers. "Something that's yours...and only yours."

You look at Leon with wide eyes, mouth agape as you struggle to answer his question. Your eyes rake down his face from the space between his eyebrows to his parted, pink lips: just a little chapped from the cold chill of the night air. You wanted to kiss him. All of those times you've had him over for dinner, all of those times you've spent with your hand down your panties while your husband was away on "business": dreaming of his best friend, Leon, and god, all of those times you thought about throwing caution to the wind and leaning in to press your lips against his: the sum of all of those moments had you quivering for more.

But you'd never cheat. You have a reputation. You have a husband that gifted you the pretty diamond ring on your finger. But how did it always feel so...impossible? Like you couldn't live another day if you weren't able to fuck Leon like a rabid dog in heat. But he was staring at you, almost as if his eyes were laser beams and searing holes into your skin: you had to answer.

"I don't know what I could tell you that's only mine." You chew on your lip. "Huh. How about..."

How about the fact I wanna kiss you? I wish it was you I was in bed with rather than my stupid, cheating husband? The fact you are so much hotter than him?

"I hate being a trophy." And that brings the biggest grin on Leon's face. A massive shit-eating grin. Leon had gone stir crazy. He wanted to peel your entire being open, see all of the nooks and crannies of your soul and devour it whole. But now wasn't the time to scare you away: even if he wanted to fuck you, you were still a friend to him. So he calmed down. "I can't say that's too surprising. I mean, who would? Being able to be pretty and have money being tossed at you is nice until you want something deeper. Then it seems like one of the only things that are scarce in your life."

You nod, letting out a breath of consolation. "That's exactly how I feel. Like my only purpose is to sit still, look pretty, serve my husband, and be a hole when he needs it."

His eyes become downcast, looking down at the garden on the ground level of the restaurant. "I get what you mean." The moment was interrupted by a waiter peeking out on the two of you: head poked outside of the door that lead to the outside area. He pulls his hand away from your soft skin and back to his side, sighing wistfully that tonight wouldn't be the night he gets to act on his desires for you. Damn it all to hell.

"You should head back. I'll be back, yeah?" You nod and within a few seconds, you've returned to your spot at the dinner table. He sighs, hand slipping down to palm at his erection. Fuck. Can't go back like this.

Just resist. You're just another woman. You have a husband, He thinks to himself, I'm married to a lovely woman. I am a faithful husband. The silent mantra he practices on himself works about as well as a band-aid on a bullet hole. Resist. God, but you looked so pretty tonight. That cute jewelry set you wore with your little black dress? Hot. The smoothness of your skin?

Resist.

But he can't stop picturing you on your knees in front of him, sucking on his cock. The sounds your perfect, wet mouth would make. How he'd ease himself down your throat. How you'd whine.

Resist.

Or how about when he could be fucking his cock into your tight, wet, and warm cunt? The tip of his dick kissing your cervix? Or what about the positions he could force your body into? Like having his arm around your throat, bicep curling into your mouth to muffle your moans from his wife hearing? Or how one of his hands would be gripping your hips while he needily plowed into your pussy, while you begged him to let up. Resist.

Resist.

Fuck it.

In the few moments after he's excused himself from you, he's already rushing to the upstairs bathroom of the restaurant: thanking the holy beings above for making it a single stall bathroom for his jerking pleasure. He hastily unbuckles his belt with one hand, other hand impulsively opening Twitter as a first resort to find some fashion fanatic post about the slutty lingerie photo-shoot you did for Chanel. Alas, you're still a bit of an undiscovered goddess in the modeling industry at the moment: so Google is his next best option. He pulls out his half-hard but hardening cock from his jeans before he can even find your photo-shoot and gives it a quick few pumps to ease the throbbing that's starting to build up in his loins. Eventually, he finds it. Thank fucking god because the creativity for his fantasies are beginning to run quite dry. And instantly he's grunting and groaning while he strokes his cock and scrolls through the multiple scandalous photos the photographers took of you.

"Fuck." He winces in pleasurable agony as he stares at quite possibly his favorite photo of you. The photo was in black and white: theme being "Overtime" like you mentioned. The white button up shirt was undone, revealing you had nothing on underneath, and allowed for the side of your perfect breasts to be revealed. If he squinted just a little harder, he could see your puffy nipples threatening to peek out of the shirt. He tried squinting a little harder to see your nipples a little easier. And oh my god. You have piercings?! He almost shot his entire load on the spot. God, he needed to fuck you. And hard. He groans as he feel himself get closer to orgasm. Closer, and closer, until--

"Leon?"

Fuck. It was you. God, of course you're so goddamn sweet, checking up on him to make sure he's okay. He didn't dare stop stroking himself off, especially not when he's got jerk-worthy material of you almost catching him. That's also not mentioning the soft intonations of your almost innocent voice right there. He's trying not to cum too quick, wanting to savor those images for as long as he could but he also realized his wife might start asking some questions and she wouldn't be on the other side of the door if she came upstairs. "F-fuck, yeah?" He responded after much too long of hearing your sweet voice. "Did you need something?" "Are you okay? I just got worried when you left. You've been gone for like..." You check your wristwatch: a classic and dainty Timex from the 80s with a blank band that wrapped around your wrist snugly.

"Fifteen minutes. Do you need water? Ibuprofen?" He shakes his head as if you could see him while he continues to jerk himself off, hand swirling in a sort of cranking motion as he tries to work his cock to orgasm. But his pre-cum isn't coming out fast enough, not as fast as the pumping motions his hand was doing right now, so he spits in his hand before bringing his palm back down to his cock and lathering his dick in spit. You believe him enough to think he might be getting ready to vomit.

"Nah, jus'...ngh, drank too much, I think." Please keep talking, He selfishly thinks to himself. "Oh, okay. Well, if you need anything, just text me?" He nodded, grunting out a thank you while he continues to dream of ruthlessly fucking you until you're embedded into his mattress. He wants you. He needs you. He feels himself get a little closer until he finally releases into his fist. His hot and sticky cum ran down his palm while the waves of post-orgasmic bliss and post-nut clarity simultaneously moved together as one. For a few minutes, he's panting like a rabid dog in heat until his breath eventually stills and he's able to walk downstairs and look his wife in the face while giving her the impression that he definitely didn't just masturbate to his best friend's wife. When he sits down at the table, the first person he makes eye contact with is you. You smile at him, mouthing a "you okay?" because, of course, you're still worried about him being sick. He nods with a grin peeled onto his face. Because he came to the sound of your voice. And you didn't have a fucking clue.

credits: snoopy divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more heart divider by @saradika-graphics

[formulapai]

THE MUSES BY YOUR SIDE PT1

a Lance Stroll social media AU

scenario: the “history of literature”’s student taking over instagram slowly attracts a driver, curious about beautiful words and dazzling writings. OR how to fall in love through poems and handwritten letters.

warning:

pai’s words: i studied history of literature while in uni (this is not the name it has where I live but from what I’ve read, it’s part of what I studied) and absolutely fell in love with poems analysis. also, i have an unhealthy obsession with myths so yeah.

romanticalliope made a new post!

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romanticalliope: 🖋️🪞🐈🎨

1. Putting words on words, explaining the explanation.

2. Went to the market, fell in love with mirrors and what they reflected. The sky, the clouds, my eyes, the seller’s kind smile, life passing by.

3. Gaia is learning about her Name and what it implies, carefully reading as she takes in the beauty of her own myth.

4. “Le Villi” Bartolomeo Giuliano.

user1: gaia seems to be enjoying her book ! can we know what it is ?

romanticalliope: Of course darling, it’s Pride and Prejudice ! She surely took a liking to it, as I did after reading it the first time. 🤍

user2: those mirrors are to DIE for, i need them plz

romanticalliope: They are, aren’t they ? I sadly didn’t take one home..

user3: Will we have another poem analysis soon ? I love them so much, it helps me a lot with understanding literature !

romanticalliope: I’m very grateful for your comment, helping all of you understand poetry is my main goal and I’m glad it’s working. An analysis will be out tomorrow ! 🤍

user4: Hey, random question but do you have a playlist ? I feel like you have divine music tastes 🥹🥹🥹

romanticalliope: Well, that’s a high praise, thank you my sweet. I don’t have a public playlist for now but will surely make one if people are interested :) 🤍

user1: YES PLEASE

user5: we are SO interested 🥳🥳

♥️liked by romanticalliope

romanticalliope just posted a new story!

seen by user5, user6 and others

user7: I WAS WAITING FOR IT OMG

user8: Thank you for this analysis!! 🥹🫶

romanticalliope made a new post!

liked by user9, user10 and others

romanticalliope: 🫐🕸️🐈📰

1. One of the Water Lily’s paintings from Claude Monet, in Paris. Undoubtedly one of my favorite paintings, it’s truly magnificent.

2. Matching Spider-Man Lego keychains with my friend. I’ll forever be enamored with my friends.

3. Gaia is disturbing my reading time as the sun is hugging us. Karma is the cat purring on my lap because it loves me, I guess.

4. The market in the morning, the scent of newspapers and mimosas surrounding us.

user2: the Spider-Man keychains omg 🥹🥹

user9: estie bestie would love them lol

user2: oh bestie while I 100% agree, I doubt Cassie knows about estie bestie..

romanticalliope: Ahah, I do know about Esteban :) and I bet he’d adore them too 🤍

user11: CASSIE SWIFTIE ???

romanticalliope: Confirmed 🥰

user5: I feel like you really like Impressionism, is it your favorite style ?? Also I LOVE this painting, still didn’t have the chance to see it IRL :(

romanticalliope: Impressionism is my favorite indeed ! I hope you’ll be able to see it soon, it’s truly something 🤍

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1. A new tattoo, an illustration for Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe. While I don’t particularly like this writer, this poem has changed the trajectory of my life and I felt it was only fair to have it engraved in me, forever.

2. Walking back from university and feeling leaves crunching beneath my weight, the smell of wet asphalt taking over my senses.

3. My friends and I going to the Lego store and standing in front of the keychains for a good few minutes, admiring the tiny persons.

4. A picture with Esteban, from 2016, baby face and all. For those not believing I actually knew who he was 😬😉

estebanocon: Nooon les deux enfants qu’on était ! On doit faire d’autre photos plus récentes 🤣 (nooo the two children we were ! we need to take more recent pictures)

romanticalliope: Invite moi dans le garage Alpine et on prend autant de photos que tu veux 😭 (invite me inside the Alpine garage and we’ll take as much pics as you want)

estebanocon: Bien compris 🫡 (understood)

user12: THE TATTOO OH GOD ITS SO PRETTY

user13: ESTIE 😭😭😭 A BABY

user14: I didn’t expect to see f1 related posts on this account 😬 not complaining tho !

user2: me neither !

user9: the tattoo is breathtaking, cheers to the artist !!

[megumimania]

london boy eren, jean and connie hcs!!

a/n: back on my connie bs again after @westcinny said he gave central cee vibes i’ve been obsessed . also snuck eren and jean here cuz why not 🤭 the format changed when it got to eren and jean it was 3am when i was writing this and i got lazy sorry 😭

warnings: slight connie x reader if you squint! v brief mention of weed

mini glossary:

bump- to get on public transport without paying

bait- someone who is well known.

leng- means beautiful or attractive

CONNIE

londoner!connie who is from south and is always repping it to the point where people are sick of him like bro we get it!😭

londoner!connie who is a trapstar/techfleece warrior even when it’s hot asf outside, he refuses to take if off

but when he does take it off trust you’ll see him in a white tee, grey shorts combo with a gold chain and af1s

londoner!connie who always bumping train despite him having an oyster card with money on it (tfl be charging extortionate prices for the train tho😔)

londoner!connie who has several tattoos, (with one dedicated to you ofc) also has a shit ton of piercings

londoner!connie who’s playlist mostly consists of drill music (both uk and ny cuz he doesn’t have a preference) but is always on the hunt for new genres of music

londoner!connie who has deffo taken his birthday pic at canary wharf once 😭 (its a rite of passage for us londoners i swearrrr)

londoner!connie who used to use his e scooter to get around everywhere cuz he failed his driving test a couple of times. but now he’s driving a benz so progress ig!

londoner!connie who rarely goes to motives but when he does its because you ask him to, he always stands to the side with his drink watching you dance with your friends, before you drag him in to catch a whine from you

londoner!connie who is more of a smoker than a drinker, trust that he always has a blunt behind his ear but sometimes you’ll catch him sipping a magnum

londoner!connie who is ALWAYS at the chicken and the chip shop its gotten to the point where bossman already inputs his order without saying anything

londoner!connie who pops up to your ig stories with either ‘😍😍’ or ‘you’re looking leng icl’

londoner!connie who despite his cold demeanour is loved by the little kids on the estate like hes always spoiling them buying them sweets, toys all that shit

londoner!connie who calls girls darlin’ or babe

EREN

he would be from north or northwest london

eren would be bait like he prob has half of london on snap

he knows connie from mutual friends

fellow tech fleece warrior like he owns so much in so many colours omg

eren refuses to drive, he rides his e scooter everywhere or he ubers most of the time

he got banned from tfl after trying to bump train and got caught by the ticket officer

he’s always at motives like every week no matter how far they are

has several girls in rotation, london boys are not loyal sorry 😔

you can catch him at westfields tryna chat to girls

he got rich from crypto so he’s always at the shard or the ivy or at hakkasan

but he does fraud on the side always doing refund methods sigh

eren’s ig stories consist of him smoking, him thirst trapping with drill in the back or him flexing with stacks of cash

has an insane watch and jewellery collection

JEAN

Jean would not be from london lmao

but if he did he would probably live in like wimbledon or some shit

Hes one of those guys who claim london but they live in surrey

He’s a corteiz/stussy warrior he’d never be caught dead in anything else

Always talking about uk undergroud rap but only knows knucks or sainte

He forces the slang so hard 😭 when he knows that he had never spoken like that in his life

Jean probably drives a range rover

Hes’s always at hyde park

Jean is a vape addict like ik he has a collection of vapes LOOOL

he always shops at harrods and waitrose none of that tesco, lidl stuff for him

[sstormyskyess]

Still Woozy

author's note: i was listening to my still woozy playlist and got the inspo to write some headcanons based on the songs i thought fit the boys! also wanted to write my first piece with alejandro so here it is 👍 [side note: all the songs refer to a woman/fem listener but for the sake of this, the reader is gn!]

cw: nothing, just fluff!

word count: 800+

TF-141 + Alejandro x GN!Reader

Simon “Ghost” Riley [Cooks]

♡ Ghost is a little clueless when it comes to romance and the things that come with it, having been in a toxic home for his younger years. Most of his ideas about romantic relationships come from the very few movies/shows featuring happy couples he’s seen, so his ideas on how to handle a real relationship are scarce and sometimes a bit misconstrued.

♡ But once he finds the one he loves, he’s ready and willing to try his best at figuring things out as he goes. Regardless, he’ll still be fairly lost in the early stages of a relationship.

♡ But don’t get it mistaken—if he’s in a relationship, he’s absolutely head over heels in love, and he’ll do his very best to keep everything working smoothly, even if that means messing up every now and then. He would rather die than hurt you, so be prepared for him to be asking a ton of questions; you may need to reassure him frequently to remind him that just him trying is enough.

John “Soap” MacTavish [Get By]

♡ Soap is a bit of a goofball in a committed romantic relationship, but it’s all for the sake of his partner because he lives to see them happy more than anything else.

♡ He loves to see you happy and practically any time he notices you not feeling your best, he’ll do what he can to bring your spirits up, whether that be taking you out on a nice, fancy date or just staying in and getting you to spare some time for yourself. He has a special place in his mind to remember all of the things that make you smile, like your favorite foods/restaurants and the media you like to engage with.

♡ As referenced in the song, though, he’s made a fool of himself for the sake of cheering you up a few times. It makes you feel bad, but it is quite funny watching him do the silliest things to make you laugh.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick [Get Down]

♡ Gaz is a very dedicated partner and he would do damn near anything for them. He’s made it clear to you on multiple occasions that he can handle pampering you with anything you please, even if you tell him you don’t want to overwork him.

♡ He’s by no means a materialistic person, but he loves to spend his money on you. When he’s on leave, he loves taking you on vacations, big or small. He’ll buy you any little thing you may have your eyes on or have mentioned wanting in the past, because what else will he do with the money he gets from his job? After all, before you came into his life, he was a fairly frugal man, only spending money on what’s really necessary. Now, though, you’re his only real necessity, meaning you get spoiled one way or another.

♡ He also loves it when you get clingy and adores when you’re all over him like your life depends on it. It never gets overbearing for him and he wouldn’t trade the world for your love and attention.

John Price [Wolfcat]

♡ Despite being a rigidly authoritative person outside his home, when Price is alone with his partner in the safety of his own home, he is absolutely whipped. He’s a homebody at heart and he loves filling a domestic role in his intimate relationships.

♡ He’s most certainly a quality time enjoyer and he spends a good amount of time planning little activities for the two of you to engage in while he’s home on leave. He’ll try to mask it as him simply trying to keep himself occupied in place of the strict schedule he’s accustomed to on base, but it’s obvious to anyone that knows him well enough that he’s obsessed with being by your side.

♡ Not to mention, he loves a partner that can put him in his place when needed, since he knows he can be a little headstrong and stubborn. Disagreements turn into arguments, but he knows when to shut up with you because you’re very good at reminding him that he’s not invulnerable to being wrong.

Alejandro Vargas [Habit]

♡ Alejandro is a romantic man even if his work often comes first. But, if he had it his way, he would be spending all his waking moments with his partner. His carefully manufactured distance between his work and family has him feeling insecure about the stability of his relationships, but he always comes back to you, no matter what happens.

♡ He doesn’t fall in love quickly, always wanting to make sure that he’s making a sound decision on who he’s going to lavish with his affections. But he’ll be glued to you once he’s finally comfortable in his choice to settle down with you. He doesn’t do frivolity; everything he does is done with purpose and his love life is no different.

♡ He’ll also put in extra effort for you to have a good support system while he’s away so you never feel lonely, likely with his family. He has plenty of family to go around and he’ll use that to his advantage to keep you comfortable even without him in your presence.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[m00nlight-ramblings]

BG3 Companion Modern AU Headcanons

These random thoughts popped into my mind and I had to write them down. I love these little weirdos, and some of them probably don't make sense but OH WELL.

Should I do a Part 2 with more companions?? Let me know - my inbox and requests are open!

------

Astarion

This dude's got iPad kid energy - he loves to scroll Tiktok for hours.

He gets bi-weekly pedicures. And not the basic kind - the full on 1.5 hour long with the massage and the mask and the exfoliation.

His favorite holiday is Halloween. He plans his costume starting in August.

He'd be the type of person to be walking through a mall, see a Claire's, and spontaneously decide to get his ears pierced idk.

Is really into metal. Like, you'll come home and Metallica will be blasting and you walk into the bedroom and he's folding laundry and just like, "Oh, HELLO, Darling!" but will have to scream it over the volume in which he's listening to music

Will truly take an hour picking out the perfect wine to pair with your dinner...he's definitely a wine snob.

The cheapest article of clothing Astarion owns is from Banana Republic and it's an undershirt...everything else is ~*very fancy*~

Loves watching all types of vampire movies/TV shows. He can often be heard saying, "Oh no, they got that all wrong" under his breath.

He definitely reads like 1-2 books a week. He's recently really gotten in spicy smut books (he definitely got recommendations from BookTok).

For sure falls asleep to ASMR videos.

Gale

This man loves HGTV *queue Home Depot commercial music*

Has the most absolutely beautiful, clean home you've ever seen with about 30 bookcases CRAMMED with books. The books are the only disorganized thing in his home because he constantly is reading them, so alphabetizing them is useless.

Pinterest is his most used phone app. His boards are carefully curated. That man has a recipe/inspiration pic/quote for EVERYTHING.

Definitely volunteers at the animal shelter once a month. Often times has to talk himself out of bringing a cat home.

LUSH is his favorite store at the mall. He loves them bath bombs.

He THROWS DOWN at holiday parties...Christmas? Thanksgiving? The table is SET. The decorations are UP. He's wearing an APRON because he's been cooking ALL day. The playlist is PERFECT.

Speaking of holidays, he has matching pajama sets for everyone in the household. For every. Holiday.

Fall is absolutely his favorite season. "Sweetheart...have you ever watched 'When Harry Met Sally'? Perfect autumn movie...also I bought a new scarf today to go with my new peacoat. And mittens. And a new hat...it's getting cold outside."

He definitely has a Live. Laugh. Love. adjacent sign somewhere in his home

He definitely needs glasses to read. And he for sure has those librarian chains so that he can just take them off and they hang, instead of losing them.

Karlach

Absolutely loves to eat meals watching Youtube videos.

Imagine her in Times Square? She tears the M&M's store UP.

Is obsessed with documentaries. She often says things like "I can't believe there's so much stuff to LEARN out there!"

Definitely has a Squishmallow collection. And she rotates which one she sleeps with every night so they all get a chance.

Is absolutely the worst cook of all time but tries really really hard...however, she can make a mean boxed mac n' cheese.

Has an obsession with sugary cereal. There's always Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Fruity Pebbles in her cabinets.

Certified Switie for SURE.

Is really into astrology. Definitely has said, "Oh, you're just saying that because you're a SCORPIO" or the like many, many times.

Absolute Starbucks addiction (venti iced caramel macchiato, extra caramel).

Has monthly "girl's nights" (but everyone is invited) at her place. The rules are: pajamas only, junk food, romcoms, and a playlist of the best pop songs in the past 20 years.

------

How'd y'all like it...should I make a part two with other companions?! Remember my inbox is open and I'm accepting requests!! I'd love to write some stuff so send it in!

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world! 

playlist 

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

[bit-dodgy-innit]

We're Not Here to F*ck Spiders

Summary: You were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel took a special interest in you. He wanted to know if your life would correspond with his and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. After an offhanded comment about reviewing your canon with Miguel outside of headquarters, your relationship with Spider-Man 2099 is forever changed.

Set in between ITSV and ATSV.

Pairing: Marc x OC Female!Reader

For context, Reader is an alternate, grown-up version of Mayday due to personal reasons (personal reasons being I’ve been obsessed with Mayday Parker since I was baby child)! No real use of Y/N, though Miguel does refer to the reader as "May" twice and Peter Parker nicknamed her Mayhem. Peter B.'s daughter is Mayday.

Word Count: 10.2k words (see why this took me forever?!)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI!!

CW/TW: An obscene amount of world-building, parents and kids fighting, mentions of a loss of a child, everyone being hot for Miguel, rough-ish sex (both partners are superheroes, come on), our boy is HUNG, dirty talk, a bit of cocky dom!Miguel, oral f!receiving, a lil bit of both m and f!receiving nipple play, PIV sex, riding, a quick spank, creampie, felching, and perhaps most intense of all, Miguel’s fear of commitment.

A/N: hahahahahaha this movie is nearly a year old and I FINALLY got around to writing a fic for it! Trust that I've been working on this on and off for a while now, but life has been nuts and writing more and more for work (yay!) but wanted to get this out while I had a slow week for everyone to enjoy!

Also, due to more personal reasons, my HC for Reader's parents are Peter and Mary Jane from Sam Raimi's masterpiece in 2002. But no presh if that doesn't jibe with ya!

I MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THIS FIC AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE PROUD OF ANYTHING

“Careful, Mayday!” you fondly called after the child who was literally bouncing off the cavernous walls of HQ. Yeesh, were you this energetic when you were her age? Probably. It never ceased to be weird, hanging out with an alternate baby version of yourself, but you could manage if you pretended she was your little niece, or sister, or something like that. 

The alternate baby version of Mayday Parker in question didn’t heed your admonishment at all (which tracked), so you called again, “Oh noooo…I’m gonna have to come up there and get ya!”

Mayday squealed in delight at your “threat” and only zipped around quicker. However, you had a couple decades on her, so your reflexes were more attuned. It didn’t take long for you to capture her in your grasp and tickle her. However, little Mayday wasn’t going to give up that easily. She squirmed out of your hold and began scaling the nearby wall at a dizzying pace. 

“Okay, missy, let’s settle down,” you announced, shooting a web to meet the infant on the platform she’d crawled onto. You continued to speak as you swung, “you know how Miguel is, we can’t get too carried…away.”

You nearly threw yourself back off the platform when you were met with the sight of Miguel himself standing before you holding May. 

“Oh, hi,” you gestured to the squirming girl in his hands, “thanks. I was right behind her.” 

“What am I like?” He asked, an inquisitive arch in his brow. 

“You’re…you run a tight ship that’s all,” you wished a portal would swallow you whole. “And it’s great! We need it.”

“Are you supposed to be anywhere?” Miguel prodded further as he passed you May. 

“Me? No, it's my day off.”

“Then why are you here?” 

“Because you put Peter B. on a mission and it gives me anxiety when he takes her.” 

“You and me both,” he huffed. 

“That being said, anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah actually, I have new sequencing to go over with you.” 

Though the multiverse was ever-expanding, you were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel had taken a special interest in you. Since you were a second generation Spider, Miguel wanted to know if your life would correspond with his, your dad’s, and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. You initially found the whole concept fascinating, yet that interest waned pretty quickly when Miguel informed you that he was going to have Lyla analyze your entire life and have you expound on your experiences so he could compare you to the other Spiders. 

Not that there was anything you were particularly ashamed of, but some of this stuff was embarrassing. Unlike baby Mayday, whose powers had already emerged, yours didn’t make an appearance until puberty. Reviewing your awkward teen years wasn’t exactly your ideal way of spending time with an unfairly hot guy, let alone the head of Spider Society.  

“Oh okay, yeah,” you replied. “When Peter gets ba—“

“MAYDAY! WHERE’S MY PUMPKIN?” Peter’s voice echoed across the room. 

No sooner had Peter spoken did Mayday websling herself off of the platform and into her father’s arms. 

Shit, there went your excuse. A nervous chuckle escaped you, “Convenient.” 

“Sí. Follow me.”

You did as Miguel said and trailed behind him to his…office didn’t quite describe it. Work station? Lair? You lasted all of forty-five seconds before your gaze dropped to his sculpted backside, a new record for you. 

It really was unfair that the intense, ornery leader of the Spider Society had to be so damn fine. You were a superhero and a consummate professional, but at the end of the day, you were a mostly heterosexual human woman with eyes. Miguel was stupidly sexy. His shoulder-to-waist ratio, that chiseled face, and of course, perfectly round ass had been the topic of a few hushed, giggly conversations between you and the other Spiders that liked boys. 

It was only ever cheeky whispers however. All of you knew better than to catch any real feelings for Miguel. One, it was majorly inappropriate. And two, he’d built emotional walls higher than the tallest skyscrapers in Nueva York. 

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander every now and then…you blamed it on your latest breakup. Spider-Girl duties had yet again claimed another potential partner. You suspected that was the reason it was more and more difficult not to fantasize about Miguel lately. Like sure, he was probably an animal in bed in the best way, but it was the prospect of not having to hide anything from him that appealed to you even more. 

“Lyla, bring up the latest sequencing,” Miguel ordered. 

If it weren’t for your spider-senses, you would’ve collided with his impossibly cut back, you were so deep into your thirsty thoughts. 

Suddenly, you were back on Earth-982A in your childhood bedroom. Or at least, that’s where you appeared to be. The virtual surroundings would’ve been comforting if it weren’t for the particular event that Miguel had wanted to revisit. 

Your father was forbidding you to use your powers. Again. You gazed at the rendering of your teenage self with compassion. Now, your father was fully supportive of you following in his footsteps, but the journey there had been rough. 

“You know, most parents would be happy if their kid wanted to do something to help the world!” 

Your dad scoffed. “That doesn’t matter - I’m not most parents and you’re not most kids!”

“Yeah and whose fault is that?!” Virtual you fired back. “I was born like this because of you! Dad, you’re always telling me that ‘with great power, comes great responsibility’ and now when I discover I inherited that great power, I can’t use it!?” 

“Pause,” Miguel’s voice spooked you back into the present. When you finally shook yourself from the memory that was playing before you, you found his eyes on yours. “Okay, there. Define ‘always’.”

“Quantitatively?” 

“Preferably.” 

“That’s impossible.” 

“Qualitatively, then.” 

“I mean, it's one of those things he said so much that I can’t remember the first time I heard it.” 

“When did your dad first hear it?” 

“His Uncle Ben told him during their last conversation together.” 

“Checks out. And how old was he?” 

“He was a senior in high school, so like seventeen, eighteen?” 

Miguel nodded. Even though x-ray vision nor telepathy weren’t in your powerset, you could practically see all the comparisons and calculations he was making in his head. 

“So using your powers to help people, that was your instinct when you inherited your abilities.”

“Yeah.” 

Miguel nodded again. 

“It’s different, isn’t it?” you asked him. He didn’t reply. “My dad told me he entered some god awful cage-match-wrestling-thing to get enough money to buy a car and impress my mom before he officially became Spider-Man.” 

Miguel was seemingly too busy with entering his latest data to respond. Instead, he barked at Lyla, “Resume sequence.” 

The holographic version of your dad lurched back to life to argue, “May, you are my great responsibility! So if I say no powers, no powers! I did this a lot longer than you! ” 

Tears streamed down your adolescent face. Thankfully, you’d lost some of the baby fat since.  “I hate you! I HATE YOU DAD!!” 

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This wasn’t easy to live, let alone re-live. So, as a Spider, naturally you made a jaunty, off-handed comment. “Wow, you really know how to show a girl a good time.” 

“Qué?” 

“Nothing.” He fixed you with his signature scowl so you elaborated, “Seriously, nothing. Though, maybe if we did this in an environment where I had access to alcohol and carbs, this would be less um…less unsettling for me.”

Miguel stared at you blankly. “But the simulator is here.”

“Right, of course.” Ughhhh, why was he so damn pretty?! “Forget I said anything, Miguel.” 

He dropped it, but before the simulation could start again, your gizmo beeped. Benji’s basketball game started in twenty. 

“Actually, sorry, I have to go.” 

“But we just got started.” 

“I know, but I haven’t been able to catch one of my little brother’s games yet this season, and it’s almost the playoffs.”

“Won’t he under–”

You interrupted Miguel. “You realize spider-stuff is not a viable excuse with my family, right? Besides, it’s my day off. I’m only here out of the goodness of my own heart and my commitment to the Spider-Society.” 

He rolled his eyes at your remark, but couldn’t help a little half - nay, quarter - smile from forming across the lips you had fantasized about kissing one too many times. “Things are quiet for once. We should knock this out now.” 

“We should,” you conceded as you created a portal, “but trying to have some semblance of work-life balance is Spider-Girl canon.”

And with that, you hopped back into your world, before you could change your mind or say anything else stupid and/or unintentionally flirty to Miguel. 

You re-appeared in your apartment with just enough time to throw on clothes and swing over to the middle school. Your mom was waiting as you hurried into the gym right as Benji and the other players were taking the court. 

“Look who made it,” MJ observed wryly. 

“Ha ha,” you fired back humorlessly, but pulled your mom into a hug all the same. “Where’s Dad?”

The ref’s whistle signaled tip off and the beginning of the game, momentarily distracting you two. You were thrilled to see Benji starting – he really wanted to make JV when he started high school next year, and this was a step in the right direction. 

“Go Benji!!” MJ cheered before answering your question, “He hit traffic coming from the station. He’ll be here soon.” 

Your collective attention was pulled to the game unfolding in front of you, then MJ asked, “What have you been up to today?” 

“Me? I was at the society for a bit, helping with the baby.”

You didn’t need to see your mother to know that she tensed at the mention of the Spider-Society and Peter B.’s Mayday. It, understandably, weirded her out. 

“How can it not be strange to care for–”

“It would be if we were closer in age,” you pointed out. “But it’s just like babysitting with Mayday right now. And trust me, after all the versions of Dad I’ve met, hanging out with little me is nothing.” 

Despite being weirded out, your mom always tried to empathize, so she switched gears. “Anything interesting happen?” 

“Ugh, just more sequencing with Miguel - today was a tough one.”

“Why?”

“Fights with Dad from years ago that I know we’ve moved past, but still suck to watch.” 

Your mom took your hand in hers, a much-needed grounding gesture. “Well, you’re back in the present, in your corner of the universe now, sweetie.” 

You gave her hand an appreciative squeeze and took her words to heart, focusing on the basketball game in front of you. It didn’t take too long to put the earlier events from headquarters behind you – Benji scored a couple baskets and you took it upon yourself to meticulously document the game on your phone for memories and possible future blackmail. 

When your Dad did join you and MJ, you couldn’t help but hug him tightly. You buried your face into his coat, which smelled like a mix of smoke from the streets and his aftershave. 

It was Peter’s mix of spider and paternal instincts that prompted him to ask, “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” you assured him, giving him some space. “I just–I love you, Dad.” 

“Love you too, Mayhem.” Where Mayday was Peter B’s moniker for his daughter, Mayhem was your dad’s nickname for you.

The game ended in victory for Benji’s team, the Midtown Mavericks, and you three waited for the youngest member of the Parker family to emerge from the locker room. 

Benji’s face when he saw you made any lingering discomfort you had leaving Miguel one thousand percent worth it. “You made it!” 

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you pulled Benji into a hug - however reluctant he was to it since he was a ~teenager~ now. “Dude, you put up points tonight!” 

But Benji had gotten distracted, so instead of responding to you, he murmured “Woah, that guy is swole.” 

You turned around to see who he was talking about and your jaw nearly hit the floor. 

It was Miguel. 

Even more incredibly, he was in civilian clothes. It wasn’t until you witnessed him in dark wash jeans, a henley, and a well-worn bomber jacket that you realized that you’d actually never seen Miguel in anything other than his spider suit. 

He called your name and you acknowledged him with a wave, flabbergasted. Even more astonished that you knew this very attractive hunk of man was your brother, “Wait, you know him?!”

“We work together,” you said quietly. 

“At the paper?” Benji was confused. 

“No, at my other job.” 

“Oh,” it clicked for him. “That makes sense. Man, I hope I get that jacked when I get my powers.” 

“Shhhh, be cool Benji,” you urged him. 

“Um, I’m not the one you have to worry about,” he harrumphed. “Oh shit, you like him.”

Though there was more than a decade between you and Benji, your little brother was still your little brother.  “No! He’s the head of the Spider-Society and he’s–you’ll see.” 

You took a step forward to greet Miguel before anyone else from your family could get to him. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” 

“I wanted to finish our work today, and since it’s your day off, I decided to come to you.” 

“Miguel O’Hara making a compromise? How not canon. Wonder how big of a hole that’s gonna tear in the multiverse.” 

“Shut up,” he ordered you playfully. 

“Miguel, good to see you!” Your dad strode over and pulled the younger spider-man into a handshake. 

“You too, Dr. Parker.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how oddly deferential Miguel was with your dad. He’d met Peter first, when he was establishing the Arachnohumanoid Polymultiverse. Miguel was stunned to discover that this Peter was not only retired, but had a full-grown daughter who’d taken up his crime-fighting mantle. Apparently your dad’s canon was particularly important and central to the greater Spiderverse, which meant Miguel would pester you with questions about him constantly. 

“Is everything okay?” Peter asked, “You don’t usually make house calls.” 

Before Miguel could explain, an elbow nearly sent you into careening into his broad chest. Mom. 

“Miguel, this is my mom, Mary Jane.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker,” Miguel dutifully offered his hand to her. 

“The pleasure is mine,” your mom gushed, “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Benji was right. He was not the person you had to be worried about. A rip in the multiverse to swallow you whole would be rather convenient right about now. 

Miguel’s brow creased. “You have?”

“She hasn’t,” you intervened. “Like two or three things in passing, max. Promise I haven’t broken my NDA or you know, the superhero code of secrecy or anything.” 

Mercifully, Miguel let it slide for the time being. He turned to your brother. “And you must be Benji.” 

“Yeah,” Benji confirmed, doing a terrible job of pitching his voice lower. “‘Sup, bro.” 

Jesus Christ. At this point, you were ready to rip the fabric of reality yourself to end this. 

“Congrats on the win. Hate to do this, but I need to steal your sister for a bit.” 

“No problem, I know she’s fine with it.” Perhaps Benji needed a reminder regarding which sibling had the super powers. “Also, what’s your workout–”

“Well, as fun as this all is, we should probably get back to work.”

Your family didn’t put up much of a fight – thank God – as pleasantries were exchanged and you and Miguel took off. You hoped Miguel didn’t catch when your mother mouthed “So handsome!!” to you as everyone said their goodbyes. Finally, it was just the two of you walking down East 36th Street. 

“Sorry about them,” you began. 

He looked at you, puzzled. “Why?” 

“My family. Embarrassing.” 

“They’re not embarrassing. They’re…they’re nice,” there was pain behind Miguel’s eyes. “It’s interesting. Your brother hasn’t experienced any spider-abilities, has he?” 

“No,” you confirmed. “Not yet.”

You two slowed to stop on the corner. Miguel looked at you expectantly. “So, where to?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You said you wanted to do this in an environment where you ‘had access to alcohol and carbs’.” 

“Oh! Right. Hmmm, where are we?” you looked up at the cross streets above you. “36th and 3rd? I know a place.” 

You took Miguel to a little hole-in-the-wall Italian spot nearby. Since it was so close to Benji’s school and your old middle and high school, you had spent many a week night at their tables, either working on homework or chowing down after basketball practice. 

Therefore, the staff knew you – it was a family owned spot, you’d basically grown up with the owner’s children, Maria and Chris. Though you graduated from Midtown Charter a looong time ago, they still took care of you. Maria had even let you use their first aid kit once, no questions asked, after a nasty Spider-Girl skirmish nearby. You didn’t suspect she knew anything, but even if she did, you could trust Maria to be discreet. 

At least, you thought you could trust Maria, but when she showed you and Miguel to your table, and Miguel made a pit stop at the restroom, she very indiscreetly asked, “Daaaamn, girl. He your boyfriend? Because you–”

“No!”

“You getting dicked down by him?” 

“No!” 

“Can I get dicked down by him? He single? Does he like the ladies?” 

“Maria, he’s a colleague. Actually, he’s my superior. So no…unfortunately, no.” 

Maria cackled with delight. “That’s a pen worth sticking in your company ink. I’ll bring you some garlic bread.”

“And a glass of red wine,” you added. “no, a bottle.”

“That’s my girl!” 

In theory, you had thought that reviewing sequencing outside of headquarters would’ve been less awkward, but in reality, it was more so. You couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of Miguel in normal clothes, the intimacy of having a meal together when usually your interactions were so sterile and professional, plus there was a little voice in your head screaming that THIS WAS BASICALLY A DATE on repeat.

“So should we pick up where we left off?” Miguel asked. The question brought you back down to Earth. Despite that little persistent voice in your head oohing and ahhing at him, it was clear that Miguel didn’t think this was a date. This dinner was a means to end, nothing more. 

“Let me get a little wine drunk first,” you bargained. 

“Yeah, but you have sped-up metabolism, so that’ll take at least–” 

“That was a joke. Miguel, when was the last time you went out to dinner?” 

He seemed to truly consider the question, then, “I don’t know.” 

You’d never heard Miguel say those three words in that order before. 

“I promise you I will go over my cringe teen years with you, but can we eat some garlic bread and not get drunk off this very nice bottle of wine first?” 

“You’re worse than Lyla,” his eyes narrowed. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“She’s always trying to get me to take breaks.”

“You should! There’s only so much self-flagellation a human can take, even if they’re a superhero.” 

Miguel’s response was a very inarticulate grumble. Maria dropped off the wine, bread, and took your order. You didn’t know what was more insane – the amount of food Miguel ordered or how unabashedly Maria was ogling him. 

“Let me guess, Lyla’s the one who suggested the field trip to my home dimension?”

Another grumble, this one in the affirmative. 

“Classic,” you remarked with a snort before taking a gulp from your glass. “I love that your AI is smarter than you.” 

“Of course she is, she can access all of the multiverse’s knowledge in a nano-second.’

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” 

“Can we not talk about me for a second?” 

“Why?” 

“Because…because, I don't know, I was hoping doing this in a more casual environment would–it’d make it feel more like a conversation.” 

“We are having a conversation.” 

“Jeez, Miguel,” you took another sip of wine. “It’s not easy digging through my past like this. A lot of the time it feels more like an interrogation.” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah. And don’t get me wrong, I want to help you, help the Spider-Society, but the one-sidedness of this is exhausting.”

“Exhausting.” He sounded dubious. 

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll take care of the bill and see you tomorrow, and we can go back to reviewing the sequencing like we normally do. I should know better than to complain to you.” 

Miguel looked at you if your words had stung him. “You can complain to me.” 

“No, I can’t,” you disputed. “You’re the most self-sacrificing Spider out of any of us–which is really saying something, by the way–and I feel lame talking about my feelings with you.”

“And that’s why our reviews feel like interrogations,” he was putting it together. 

“Yeah. Sorry to drag you out of HQ.”

Miguel scrutinized you with a long, unreadable look before announcing, “I’m not leaving before I have my bolognese.”

You didn’t know whether to smile or scream. Miguel may have lacked the traditional spidey precognitive sense, and the signature spider sense of humor, but he definitely had the stubbornness you all seemed to possess. 

You shot him a sidelong glare. “Why did you come here?” 

“I told you - I wanted to finish sequencing and Lyla suggested coming to you.” 

“But you didn’t have to take her suggestion.”

Miguel’s large frame shifted in the chair that suddenly appeared too small for him. “Like you said, she’s smarter than me, so I did. And yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve gone out to dinner.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. Right before the silence became intolerable, Miguel spoke again, “You still with that gu–’

“No.” The last thing you wanted to talk about with Miguel was your failed relationship with Gene, and you’d once discussed the correlation of getting your first period could’ve had with your powers emerging with him.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, you get it.”

Miguel at last took a sip from his glass. “All too well.” 

“The price of being a hero, right?” you sent him a small, sympathetic smile across the table. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself.” 

“Your parents seemed to have figured it out,” he pointed out. 

“Well, that took like decades, and according to you, they’re canon, right? So it was meant to be. I guess that’s one of the comforts of having a canon-confirmed soulmate.” 

“Yeah, if you're Peter Parker.” 

Your heart sank at the implication. “So that means if a Spider isn’t Peter we’re meant to die alone?” 

“I don’t know,” Miguel’s eyes were averted. “Maybe only if you’re a Miguel O’Hara.” 

“Stop, you could get anyone in this restaurant to sleep with you,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Our waitress has to resist climbing on top of you whenever she passes the table.”

He swatted away the implication as if it were a pest. “That’s different.”

“You know, it might help with the stress.”

“What?”

“Letting someone climb on top of you.”

Miguel glared at you, “Don’t.”

“See? It’s not fun being on the other side of the questions,” you smirked. Your conversation was briefly suspended when Maria returned with your entrees. After thanking her, you refocused back on Miguel, “Can I ask you something else?”

“No.”

“DADA!” A child, who couldn’t have been more than three, screeched happily from a neighboring table. 

Miguel froze. For the first time in the several months that you’d known him, you saw his face soften. The warmth that filled his eyes at the sight of the toddler was undeniable. The fond expression hardened back into his stoic facade within an instant, yet Miguel couldn’t fully conceal the anguish that clearly still haunted him. He never could. 

“Sorry,” you said softly. 

He shook off your condolences. “What’d you want to ask me?” 

“Have you tried seeing anyone after…” it felt forbidden to say Gabriella’s name out loud. 

“What’s the point?” Miguel shrugged. “I don’t have the time, even if I wanted to.” 

“Right,” you hedged. 

Eventually, you and Miguel were able to find things to talk about outside of work and your respective traumas. You compared notes on the lamest villain you’d each encountered rounding up anomalies, discussed the idea of a nursery for spider-babies, or as Miguel insisted on calling them, “second-generation Spiders” – Peter couldn’t keep taking his kid on missions, plus Jessica Drew had just learned she was expecting – you even got Miguel to open up about his teenage days some. 

“Makes sense you were a rebel,” you chuckled, taking one last bite of the tiramisu Maria insisted was on the house.  

“Yeah? Why?” Miguel prodded.

“Because you-re so uptigh–upstanding now.” 

You were treated to another rare grin from Miguel, this time a half smile rather than a quarter. “Nice save.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you contended with put-on innocence. 

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t always like what I have to do, you know.” 

Your gaze locked directly with his for a breath-taking second, his eyes garnets in the low light of the dining room. “We should get going, I've taken you away from headquarters for long enough.” 

“You act like I’ve never left HQ before, and if anything, I took you away from your family,” Miguel parried, yet stood up nonetheless. You followed suit, only mildly disappointed he didn’t argue with you about leaving. As awkward as this dinner initially was, you’d actually ended up enjoying it. “I’ll take you home.”

Miguel’s words stopped you in your tracks, “You know I’m the protector of this city, right?” 

“Obviously, I—” he huffed as you waved goodbye to Maria and exited back onto the street. “Mierda May, I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

Oh. Oh. Did Miguel think this was a date too? Date was too strong of a word – did Miguel think this was a not-entirely-work-related-hang too? 

You struggled to keep your face blasé. “Ah, okay. We taking the subway or are we swinging?” 

Miguel shot you a look as if the choice was obvious, which is how you found yourself traipsing across the city with Spider-Man 2099. You’d traveled by web plenty of times with Miguel before on missions, but there was something about it being the two of you, in your city, that made it feel just a little bit special. 

And to be honest, you’d never get enough of watching Miguel’s body hurtle through the air – despite his bulk and brawn, he was agile and lithe as he swung from building to building with you. You nearly plunged into traffic on Sixth Avenue after your thoughts had wandered to what those bulging muscles looked like unencumbered by that skin-tight suit of his. 

When you arrived at your apartment in Morningside Heights, you were suddenly self-conscious. You’d never brought a Spider to your residence, and Miguel was likely the hardest to impress of them all. 

He studied your modest one-bedroom with the same intensity as he did his screens at the Spider-Society. 

“It’s not much, I know,” you began, “and with Spider-Girl stuff, I don’t have the time to keep it as tidy as I'd like to.”

“It’s perfect,” he mumbled before catching himself. “I mean, it’s perfect for you.” 

“Yeah, I don’t need much, but it gets good light during the day and was the highest floor I could afford at my price point,” you removed your mask as you babbled on. 

“Makes sense,” Miguel nodded. 

You had no idea where to go from there – what on Earth was the man playing at? Should you offer him water, another drink, the best spot to portal back to HQ? He was lingering in your space, seemingly fascinated by the framed prints on your walls, the photos on the coffee table and credenza. 

“Um, do you need to use the restroom or something? Because it’s right through there,” you motioned to the appropriate door. 

“I’m good for now.”

THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? You hollered in your head. Externally, you kept playing hostess, “Let me get you a glass of water then–”

Yet Miguel caught your wrist before you could retreat into your tiny, galley kitchen. You weren’t proud of how your heart leapt and your breath hitched at the contact. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?” 

He shrugged, “I should, but–”

“But what?” 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said…about letting someone climb on top of me.” 

You gulped, “Sorry, that was so inappropriate of me–”

“It was. Inappropriate, that is, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea,” he tugged you closer to him. You could barely stand to meet his eyes, alight with desire, while your heart was pounding embarrassingly fast. 

“Um, judging by the–uh, do you want me to climb on top of you, Miguel?” you were always so much smoother in your daydreams about him. 

His lips hovered dangerously near yours. “Do you want to climb on top of me?” 

The closer you got to Miguel, the faster your brain turned to scrambled eggs. His large, sure hands had settled on your hips. 

“Uh huh,” was the best you could muster before he crashed your lips together. 

Miguel’s kiss was searing and all-consuming – it felt as if the longer your mouths moved against each other, the more your body melted into his. He was tall, so tall, and even for a superhero like yourself, it was difficult to keep yourself perched on the balls of your feet to reach his skilled, hungry mouth. 

He seemed to sense your struggle, and without breaking your liplock, he scooped you up into his arms. It was foreign but not unwelcome – you were so used to being the strongest, the person who held others, the hero. Therefore, being held so effortlessly in Miguel’s arms was nothing short of exhilarating. You weren’t the strongest person in the room anymore, you could surrender. You loved it.

Miguel pressed your back into the nearest wall, causing an emphatic moan to leave you when your hips became flush with his. You could already feel him – hot, hard, and big – between the flimsy fabric of your spider-suits. Instinctually, you canted your heat against his, delighting in the way he seemed to grow hotter, harder, not to mention unbelievably bigger, when you did. 

“Bedroom?” he gasped between harsh, ardent kisses. 

You managed to fling a hand in the correct direction, and next thing you knew, Miguel was depositing you onto your bed. You propped yourself up, leaning back on your palms to take in the man towering over you at the edge of your bed. In a flash of color and light, his suit disappeared from his strapping physique, and the sight of Miguel naked intoxicated you more than alcohol ever could. 

His shoulders seemed even broader without the unstable particles of his suit covering them. His pecs were massive, which made a delectable ratio when his chest tapered down to a chiseled abdomen and slim hips. Slim hips that framed the biggest cock you’d seen outside of porn – hell, maybe even including porn. He was long and thick – it made a dark thrill race down your spine when you contemplated how the hell that was going to fit inside of you. 

Miguel noticed you marveling at his package, misinterpreting the rapacious glint in your eye as unease, “I’ll prep you, I won’t hurt you.” 

“Oh, I’m not worried” you glanced back up at his face coquettishly. 

“No?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow and advanced toward you on the bed, a jaguar stalking its prey. He nudged you onto your back and pinned your wrists to your comforter, “maybe you should be.” 

You muscled out of Miguel’s grip and switched positions so you were straddling him. Only then did you lean closer and whisper into his ear, “I can take it.” 

Miguel growled, and within an instant, you were on your back once again as he pawed at your suit. Unlike his costume, your spider-suit was made of plain old fabric, so there was a bit of fumbling, cursing in Spanish, nervous giggling, and a mumbled comment about ‘making you a suit like mine’ from Miguel before you were nude as well. 

He splayed you out against your mattress as if you were a feast before him. Your first instinct was to try and cover yourself but Miguel’s dark gaze froze you. A pleased groan rumbled from his chest and then his large hands flew to your breasts. “Such full, perky tits.”

You moaned in response to his ministrations. How was this real? You and Miguel were touching each other – naked – and you hadn’t woken up yet. 

“It’s all for you,” you mewled, relishing his hot palms on your sensitive buds. 

Another growl ripped from his chest before he swooped down and sucked one of your nipples into his warm, wanting mouth. You keened, a pathetic, high-pitched sound, and you wove your fingers into his dark locks as he gorged himself on your tits. 

The pull of Miguel’s mouth on your peaks was made only better when he snaked a hand between your legs and ran a finger along the seam of your sex. You bucked at the touch, your reaction causing Miguel to lift his head from your bosom. 

“Mmmm, you like it when I play with your pussy, cariño?”

At this point words had all but left you so you nodded and whined in the affirmative. Miguel’s digit parted your folds, tracing up and down, then found your clit and rubbed slow, tortuous circles into the nub. 

“So wet for me, bebita,” he observed, maddeningly casually, while he played you like an instrument. “This is all for me, huh?”

Your head thrashed back and forth on your comforter with a sob, both from pleasure and bashfulness. Now there was no downplaying how horny Miguel made you. 

“Shhh,” he cooed at you, taking one of your hands and bringing it to his groin, “feel what you do to me.”

This time your moan was unabashed as your hand circled around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so big.” 

“I know,” he grunted. Normally, such braggadocio from a man would be an immediate turn off to you. But Miguel wasn’t being arrogant, not when he was referring to the thick, pulsing hardness you were currently caressing. “Gotta get you ready for me.”  

He guided your hand away from his member, even despite your protests, to wrench your thighs wider and bury his head between them. The realization alone that Miguel O’Hara was about to eat you out almost made you come, yet actually feeling his tongue on your needy cunt was infinitely better. He licked a stripe from your perineum to your clit, tearing another ragged moan from you when his tongue focused in on the bundle of nerves. 

Miguel chuckled against your folds at your enthusiastic praise and redoubled his efforts. Your fingers reflexively tangled in his inky locks once again as he continued his delectable assault on your pussy. The way Miguel tasted you matched with how he seemed to approach everything – he was vehement and determined to bring you pleasure like how he was when he worked. He managed to just stay on the right side of rough as he slurped at you..though perhaps that was a bit different than how he fought.

He speared his tongue into your hole, affording you the opportunity to grind your clit against his prominent nose. In your pleasure-filled haze, you briefly fretted that you were suffocating Miguel, but when you tried to scooch away and give him some air, the man grunted and pulled your hips closer to him.

You keened again when one of his thick fingers joined the fray as he prepped you. After all the sexual tension, all the self-denial, and all the excitement the night had held, it felt so good to clench around something. He was again methodical with his preparation, allowing you to adjust to one digit before adding another, and another. It couldn’t have made a starker contrast with how he was devouring your sex. Even in the bedroom, Miguel O’Hara was full of contradictions. It didn’t take long for your breaths to become more shallow, for your cries to reach a higher pitch as you climaxed around his hefty fingers. The combination of the penetration and the stimulation of your clit with his mouth was too good to resist. 

You were slightly relieved that Miguel remained nestled between your legs while you rode out your peak. The orgasm he’d given you was much too good to be able to control your facial expressions. 

He at last came up for air once you’d begun floating down from your peak. A primal pride surged through you at the sight of your juices smeared all over his lips and chin. You couldn’t help but smash your mouths together, eager to sample the combination you two made. It was all too easy to get lost in a kiss with Miguel, yet as you plundered his mouth with your tongue, your hand crept back down his groin. 

This time it was Miguel who moaned into your mouth as you returned him to full mast with feather-light, teasing touches. 

“I need to fuck you,” he gasped between kisses. 

“Finally,” you bantered back. 

A growl from Miguel and then he tackled you back flat on the bed. You couldn’t help the giggle – partly from nerves, partly from anticipation – that escaped you at his actions, despite the visage of a hulking, intimidating man hovering over you could be frightening in another context. 

“Do you have protection?” 

You hesitated. You kept a box of condoms in your bedside drawer, but given Miguel’s size, they’d be inadequate. 

“None that would fit you,” you confessed, stealing another glance at his large erection. It was truly a sight to behold. Miguel deflated slightly, fearing penetration was off the table, and usually it would be. You were firmly a two methods of contraception girl, but there was no way you were going to pass up this chance to have sex with Miguel. “Don’t worry Spidey, I’m on the pill.” 

“Gracias a Dios,” he muttered, then wasted no time situating himself between your hips. He drew yet another mewl from you when he slapped the tip of his cock a few times on your clit before lining himself up with your entrance. 

He found you looking at him expectantly. And though Miguel mostly saw desire in your eyes, he could see the glimpse of unease too. He assured you, “I’ll go slow.” 

You nodded, you trusted him after all, but nothing could prepare you for the stretch of when Miguel finally pushed into you. Just the tip was already splitting you apart more than Gene, or any former lover for that matter, ever had. 

“Breathe,” Miguel rasped. You couldn’t tell if he was advising you or himself though. It struck you then that you’d perhaps achieved the damn-near impossible – disarming the notoriously closed-off Miguel O’Hara. He looked beautiful, biting his plush lower lip as he slowly rocked more and more of his huge cock inside of you. 

Your back arched off the mattress of the sensation of being progressively speared on the monster that Miguel called a dick. It was too much and not enough all at once, and your fingers dug into your comforter below you. He tried to distract you from any potential pain, Miguel’s index finger returning to your barely-recovered clit. 

“That’s it, open up for me,” he husked. Your head swam at the mix of his enormous manhood stretching you to your limit and his tender, in-control tone. The realization hit you harder than a punch from an anomaly. In that moment, fear skittered down your throat and pooled into your stomach, resting right above where you two were joined. He’s going to ruin me for other men, isn’t he? 

You couldn’t think any further since not only was Miguel fully seated within you, he had asked you a question. Your eyes glassy and pupils blown, found his, and he repeated himself. “You okay? Can-can I move?”

“Yes,” you gasped. In case your breath affirmation left any room for doubt, you added, “please.”

Another grunt from your lover and Miguel at last began to thrust into you. Your arms flew from the bed to his impossibly wide shoulders, your nails digging into the caramel, taut skin there. You couldn’t tell exactly when it’d happened, lost in the deliciously lewd sounds you were making between the slap of your bodies, your labored breaths, and his determined staccato grunts while Miguel railed you, but your hips had begun to meet his. 

“M-more Miguel,” you urged him as you dragged your fingertips down the expanse of his back. Each of your hands grabbed a fistful of that glorious ass and squeezed to drive home your point. 

“You sure?” 

You moaned. It was as if he couldn’t give it to you hard or faster enough. You used your grip on the globes of his perfect rear to try and force him to increase to the pace and force you needed him to fuck you at. 

Miguel laughed. A dark and stirring sound that made you involuntarily tighten around his girthy length. “Alright bebita, but remember…you asked for this.” 

His words ignited something defiant within you. You pulled Miguel’s head from where it had fallen into the crook of your neck so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I’m not some pillow princess from Nueva. I’m just as strong as you are, I can go just as hard you can, and I want you to fuck me.” 

Your lover’s eyes darkened at your demand. The growl that ripped from his throat was your only warning before Miguel unleashed the full force of his strength on you. You keened in pleasure as he all but drove you through your bedframe and the wall behind it. Miguel captured your wrists once more and restrained you against the mattress as he absolutely pounded into your pussy. 

His drilling drew another ecstatic cry from your mouth. Miguel glared down at you, his eyes nearly crazed, his face barely lit in the ambient light from the street. It truly was infuriating to you how beautiful this man was. You watched his brow furrowed in concentration – not on his stupid screens for once – and his dark hair shift in time with his thrusts.  Your features contorted in pleasure when Miguel switched from drilling into you to swiveling his hips to stuff you with his cock. His movements were deliberate and slow, he was trying to get as deep inside of you as he could. You almost went cross-eyed at the feel of his bulbous cockhead punching against your cervix. 

The criminal undulations of his hips extracted a little yip from you each time he pistoned into you. He grinned down at you wolfishly. Equal parts indignation and arousal bloomed within you. Also, was the first time you'd ever seen Miguel smile? Not a little half-smirk or a humorless quirk of his lips, but an unabashed smile?

“Want me to back off?” 

Oh, there was no way you were going to take that lying down. Even if Miguel’s pubic bone was perfectly grinding into your clit. 

You let out a growl of your own and summoned all the power in your core muscles to wrestle Miguel back and claim the high ground. Out of breath when you found yourself seated on Miguel’s dick, his large, muscled body prone beneath you, you braced yourself on his rippled abdomen.

“Is the itsy-bitsy Spider-Girl gonna ride my cock?” he taunted you. If Miguel didn’t wear that arrogant, playful smirk so well, you would’ve wiped it from his lips. 

You slid your hands up the length of his chest and leaned over, your face hovering over his. “That depends. Can 2099 handle it?” 

Miguel answered you with an impatient buck of his hips up into your sex. You giggled as you straightened up again, tweaking one of Miguel's nipples as you went. You relished the little shudder it sent through him. “Alright, but remember baby, you asked for this.”

He snorted out a laugh, which you quickly silenced once you began riding Miguel like the stud he was. “Hnnn–shock, bebita.”

“Ah,” you sighed as you bounced on his prick. Before sleeping with Miguel, you had assumed the term “feeling him in your guts” was hyperbole. Not with him. “Fuck, you’re even bigger like this.” 

A large hand traced its way up one of your thighs, now lightly covered with a sheen of sweat, past your sex, split apart by his shaft, to where Miguel’s manhood made the slightest bulge in your lower belly. His smile became wider and even cockier. “It’s good, no?”

You gave him a nonverbal, but enthusiastic, reply. He smacked your ass in satisfaction, “Yeah c’mon, cariño, ride me. Wanna watch your tits bounce.” 

You officially hated Miguel and his big, thick, perfectly sized cock. Where as with other partners you’d smack them right back with a zinger, all you could do was moan again. His naughty, domineering words did nothing but excite you. There was something about him and the way he fucked that made you incapable of doing little else than enthusiastically submitting to him. You leaned back, your fingers clutching onto Miguel’s thick thighs to stability as you changed angles and gave him a better view of your breasts jiggling in time with your motions. 

“Ay, sí bebita,” Miguel’s hands flew to your hips to intensify the frantic mashing of your bodies together, “Ven aquí.”

He gathered your torso in his hulking arms and pulled you closer so that he could coax a breast into his mouth again as you rode him. 

“You gonna come for me Miguel?” you panted.  

“No,” he sounded as winded as you were. “Not yet.”

You clenched around him and snickered. “Are you sure?” 

“¡Coño!” Miguel snarled at the feel of your already blistering, tight pussy suffocating his dick further. “¡No más – basta de esto!”

The vision of your bedroom swam when Miguel lifted you off his pulsing member and dropped you back on your stomach onto the mattress facing the foot of the bed.. You could hear him shifting behind you, and you blindly groped for the lower metal railing of your bedframe’s footboard, only vaguely aware what was to come. 

A grunt from Miguel, and the next thing you knew one of your pillows was stuffed under your lower belly and his massive hands were back on either side of your hips. Your lover didn’t give you any notice before shoving his fat erection back inside of your already tender pussy. 

You shouted at the feeling of his cock stuffing you to the brim once again. Miguel’s hands appeared above your head where you held on for dear life as he impaled you on his prick.

“Ahhh!” you clamored, desperately trying to pull enough air in your lungs to function as Miguel squatted behind you. “I’ve never been so full! Oh God, Miguel, it’s so much…so much…”

Miguel responded with a pleased growl, and merely rammed into you harder. You were peripherally aware of the clanging of the pieces of your metal bed frame clanging together in protest at the vigor of your and Miguel’s coupling, but there were too many sensations overwhelming you at once to focus on one in particular. Not even when the metal groaned and the angle Miguel fucked you at changed did you pay attention to what was actually happening. You merely pushed back onto his cock as much as you could, your fingertips scrabbling into the folds of your comforter. 

Your eyes screwed shut at the barrage of stimuli - the unrelenting stretch of Miguel’s hardness,  his harsh but steadying grip on your hips, the light scratch of fabric beneath you on your skin, the little puff of warmth on the back of your neck from Miguel’s labored exhalations. You were sure this was better than any high any drug could provide. You hadn’t tried many, not even Rapture, and but nothing could top being thoroughly fucked into your mattress by Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel’s dogged grunts morphed into shouts when he at last found his release, spurting rope after rope of hot, creamy cum into your welcoming cunt. You found yourself crying out along with him as he emptied his load, your walls bearing down around his length as you both rode out his high. Miguel flooded your pussy with his seed and before you could even try to adjust to the feeling, he withdrew his cock from you, tearing a quite pathetic-sounding whimper from your mouth. 

Miguel pulled your ass cheeks apart to examine your stretched, puffy pussy leaking his cum. His chest rumbled with primal delight. “Hermosa.”

You’d barely had a chance to catch your breath when Miguel dove back in for more, this time his eager, demanding tongue again invading your channel. You whimpered again, your pitch jumping an octave at Miguel’s needy tongue not only collecting his spunk from your pussy, but flicking the muscle against your clit. He was a man possessed, he ate you out as if he needed you to orgasm one more time for his survival. 

You gave him what he wanted (how could you not?), and once the crest of your pleasure had subsided, you lightly pushed him away from your gaping, abused cunt. 

The first thing you noticed when your wits returned to you was how much closer the ground had become. 

“Oh my God,” you put it together and turned to face your partner, "we broke the bed.”

Miguel arched a brow from where he leant back into the pillows. “Are you surprised?”

You frowned at him.  

“I’ll fix it,” he promised. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m going to…” you trailed off your gaze floating to the bathroom.

“Do your thing.”

“Can…can I get you anything?” 

Miguel glanced down at his crotch. “A towel?” 

You nodded. “Say no more.” 

You ducked into your en-suite, and once you were sure the door was firmly closed behind you, you proceeded to have a freak out to yourself in the mirror. You scarcely believe your own appearance – lips kiss swollen, hair a veritable bird's nest, your mascara smudged into rings around your eyes. Miguel had destroyed you in the best of ways. 

The thought sent a little aftershock of pleasure through you. You didn’t dally any longer — you relieved yourself, washed your hands, ran a brush through your hair and splashed water on your face. After dampening a washcloth for Miguel, you returned to the bedroom, where your bed frame was properly vertical again. 

You glimpsed the glow of Miguel’s distinctive red webs holding the broken metal rods together. The other Spider was reclining on your mattress, a sheet haphazardly tossed over his groin to preserve his modesty. Even so, the sight of him made you go weak in the knees. He really did remind you of some sort of a large cat given the odd grace in which he lounged with, the evidence of his power and strength so poorly hidden under the surface of his skin. 

“Get a new frame and expense it to Spider-HQ,” Miguel's baritone snapped you out of your reverie. 

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” You tossed him the towel. 

His eyes raked over your naked form. But instead of the desire you’d found there earlier, his gaze was full of concern. “You okay?”

“Yes. Very okay. A little sore but good sore, ya know?” 

“Good,” Miguel busied himself with cleaning up. 

“I mean, what’s the point of having superpowers if you can’t enjoy extra rough sex?” you joked. 

“Yeah, about that,” Miguel refused to meet your eyes. “As um…great as all this was…I think we–it should be a one-time thing.” 

“Um, duh.” He looked up at you hastily and you continued, “Miguel, neither of us are anywhere close to ready or in the right place for a relationship.” 

Your heart disagreed with your words, but you uttered them anyway. Not because it was how you truly felt, but you knew it was what he wanted to hear. Miguel associated any sense of closeness or vulnerability with weakness and danger. Trying to get him to see otherwise was a fool's errand, and it was easier on your heart to convince yourself into concurring with him. 

Oddly, Miguel didn’t seem to relax at your assurances. He looked dubious. “Are you sure?” 

“Oh my God, you are so cocky!” you accused him with a playful slap to the broad, tan chest. “Spare me the fake worry 2099, you may be amazing at sex, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to be professional with you at HQ.” 

“Amazing at sex?” Mirguel parroted you with a smirk. 

You slapped him again. “Of course that’s the only part you heard.”

“Sorry but those are very distracting,” he claimed, his gaze focused on your exposed breasts. 

You scoffed and grabbed a pillow to temporarily cover yourself. “Hang on there, Spider-Man. Yes, you are…not terrible at showing a lady a good time, no, you don’t have to worry about me being clingy at work, and yes, I’m sure so stop looking at me like that!” 

You tossed the pillow away and straddled him. “Now I don’t know about you, but it’s only midnight. If this is indeed a one-time thing, I say we make the most of the night and the fact that no one has bothered us with some multiversal emergency yet.” 

Miguel finally let it go, choosing to focus on your very nude body on top of his. His hips moved on their own accord, grinding his cock, already stiffening back up to full mast, against where you were still so nice and stretched for him. 

“Vamos, bebita,” he whispered into your ear. His fingers dug into your sides possessively in a way that almost let you believe he was doing it because you were his. “Wanna fuck you on the ceiling.” 

***

You shouldn't have been surprised that Miguel didn’t stay the night. You were honestly shocked when he collapsed beside you after the hours you’d spent vehemently fucking. Your bed was now held together by a mix of both his and your webs, one of your framed photos on the wall lay shattered on the floor to be dealt with later, and the ceiling now sported a dent that was going to be very difficult to explain to your landlord. 

The memory of Miguel leaving was hazy at best. After so many rounds of deeply satisfying, intensely athletic sex, you felt like you could sleep for a week. Yet the shift and dip of Miguel’s large frame exiting the bed was enough to wake you. You could sort of recall a small flash of light and chirpy voice which must have been Lyla…and you also had a vague memory of him replying in a hushed rumble as if not to wake you up. Or was he telling you he was heading out? Everything jumbled together under the fog of sleep. 

Either way, you had to tell yourself that the sensation of a large hand caressing your face and then tenderly stroking down the sleep-warm skin of your back was a dream. Not for Miguel’s sake, but yours. 

Thanks to super-spider stamina, you only really needed a couple extra shots of espresso to function somewhat normally the following day at headquarters. You were angry at your instinct to avoid Miguel. You both were adults that had an adult, mature conversation that last night’s activities were merely a form of stress release that didn’t mean anything. It was hard to believe however, when you could still feel the phantom shape of him inside of you. 

Besides, it’s not even like you could avoid him if you wanted to. You were scheduled to go over more sequencing today with Miguel, and you were dead set on not blinking first in the post-sex-awkwardness stand-off. 

“Hey, Miguel!” your voice reverberated in the vast space. 

Several agonizing moments later, his platform lowered enough for you two to start conversing. If he was at all bashful about seeing you, the man didn’t show it. 

“Good. You’re here.”

“Yep.” 

Miguel was all business. “I want to go back to the fight you had with your father. Lyla, take us to timestamp 46:90:45.”

Damn, and here you thought you were good at compartmentalizing. You did your best to hide any disappointment from reaching your face, playing along as if he hadn’t seen every crevice of your body the night before. 

***

Days turned into weeks, and you eventually, reluctantly accepted that Miguel had told you the truth that night. What you two had shared was really just a one-time lapse of his frighteningly strong self-restraint. 

You were enjoying a rare night in, parked on the couch, takeout boxes strewn about the coffee table, your favorite trashy reality show playing on your TV. You’d gotten injured taking down a Doc Ock variant a few days ago, and Miguel benched you to recuperate. You were all too happy to take a break, from him and Spider-Girling. Despite your complicated feelings for the man, he assigned a recently displaced Spider, Spider-Woman 1357, to pinch hit for you in your dimension while you healed up. It was the first time since you became a hero you had a day off with peace of mind. 

Just as you started another episode, a tingle raced down your spine. Your spider-sense. Something was about to happen. Out of all the possibilities of what could have followed, a portal opening in your living room and Miguel walking through was the last thing you would’ve guessed. You leapt up from the sofa. 

You instantly regretted your appearance - messy bun, no makeup, and ratty sweatpants. Miguel, as usual, looked immaculate in his skintight spider-suit. 

“Hey.” 

“Is this a booty call?”

“No.” 

“Don’t bullshit me–”

“It’s not, I swear! Coño, I came to check on you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you could have messaged me on my gizmo. It’s your preferred method of communication after all, ever since the last time you were in my apartment.” 

“May–”

Lyla appeared over his shoulder. “He missed you, that’s all.”

Miguel growled at his AI. “I’m going to sentence you to robot death via spreadsheets.” 

Lyla wasn’t threatened in the slightest. “Thank me later.” She disappeared before Miguel could try and make another retort. 

“You missed me?”

“No,” his denial was instant. “I just…I–”

“This is a booty call!” you crumpled up a napkin and chucked it at his large form. “Go home, Miguel!” 

He didn’t budge. “It’s not a booty call. I…what are you watching?”

“The Realest Housewives of Manhattan. What, don’t judge me!”

Miguel couldn't keep his face straight. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Seeing his eyes crinkle with amusement was infectious. You threw another napkin ball at him and then composed yourself. He wasn’t getting off the hook this easily. “Why are you here? Be honest with me. It’s the very least I deserve.”

“I wanted to see the shocking expensive bed frame you expensed to HQ for myself.” 

“You said I could and you didn't set a spending limit.” A wicked little grin pulled at the corners of your mouth. The bed frame from Restoration Hardware had been your own private form of revenge. “And I’m supposed to believe you wanting to see my bed – my bed that you broke–”

“Hey! We broke the bed–”

“--is not your thinly veiled excuse for seeking another roll in the hay? Enough with goddamn mind games Miguel.” He tried to speak but you pushed on, “I’m tired and this is the last thing I need.”

Miguel sobered. He hung his head. His mouth seemed to fight the words as they left his lips.  “Alright, fine. I missed you.” 

You ignored your heartbeat’s sharp increase and schooled your features to maintain a neutral appearance. “I have some extra Pad Thai if you want.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“So this may not be a booty call, but does anyone other than Lyla know you’re here?”

“No.” 

You nodded. “Come. Sit. I just started the episode where Beverly throws her poodle a forty thousand dollar birthday party.” 

“Nothing you said just now made sense,” Miguel protested, but took a seat on your couch anyway. 

A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed!! Miguel has fully rotted my brain so I thought it only fair to share the horniness. Of course I have more imagined in this AU, fingers crossed I can find more time to write (comments and reblogs and likes help!)

Translations:

Mierda - Shit 

cariño - dear

bebita - baby

Gracias a Dios - Thank God

Ven aquí - Come here

¡Coño! - Damnit!

¡No más – basta de esto! -No more, enough of this!

Hermosa - beautiful

Vamos, bebita - Come on, baby

Taglist: @plethora-of-imagines, @itdobe-liza @absolutelybloodyhopeless @ninebluehearts, @oscarissac2099 @trinthealternate

[marmot567]

bitter orange — okkotsu yūta [1/3]

pairings. okkotsu yūta + f! reader/original character (main); past!orimito rika + f!reader; past!okkotsu yūta + orimito rika warnings/themes. mentions of death, jealousy, hints of obsession and possession. just a lil dark romance practice (which is barely any dark romance tbh who am i kidding) sprinkled with food motifs but i dont know what im doing im just here for the vibes :P mostly sfw with nsfw themes but nothing sexual bc im too scared to go down that dark path (also no use of y/n bc i started writing with an original name and it unfortunately stuck lawl... can be treated as either or it doesnt matter tbh i cant write anything outside of 2nd person anwyay) word count. 2.8k words nothing too crazy xd playlist. knuckle velvet, ethel cain; velvet ring, big thief; pure, cigarettes after sex; only in the dreams, the marias; be my mistake, the 1975; mary, alex g next

it’s been a long time since i have seen my beloved. the moss has grown on that abetachibana tree

PART ONE: ichigo daifuku

Gojō Satoru tells you that love is the most twisted curse of them all.

He had said it in passing after your first solo mission, right as you were entering the car back to Jujutsu Tech before talking your ear off with his lame jokes. The mission had consisted of exorcizing a curse that had persistently haunted an abandoned apartment complex in Omotesandō, assigned to you by the higher-ups in accordance with your newly promoted rank as a Grade 2 sorcerer, having decided that a Grade 1 was doable enough for someone of your caliber. The curse itself wasn’t anything special, though, only repeating gargled confessions of its love to some ‘Chiyo-chan’—whoever she was—the whole time you were dodging its attacks, which was incredibly annoying. You liked your battles in silence, quick and succinct, but curses make that difficult to achieve.

Gojō muses it could have been a past lover, this Chiyo-chan—its love for her having cursed itself. You didn’t really care. If you keep up the good work, complete your required missions and get another recommendation, you could be ranked a Semi-Grade 1 by your second year, then a Grade 1 by your third and nothing else after that because unless you were someone like Gojō Satoru, then you are capped forever at Grade 1.

“So anyway—snacks you like?” said sorcerer asks, finally done with his previous tale. Something about an old coworker. “Mochi, senbei, or taiyaki? Personally, I'm a mochi ice cream type of guy!”

You look at him.

“Why are you here again?”

“... Is your memory that small, Ume? I was proctoring you,” he tuts, mouth turned downwards. “Congrats on the promotion, by the way.”

You shrug. “Ichigo daifuku is good, I guess.”

He smiles, wryly.

“You’re joking, right?”

+

The building facing your childhood home had been home to Orimito Rika, an unsuspecting property with a decent front yard and the occasional street cat or two often shooed away by her irate grandmother. “Mean granny,” you’d often call her, the insult drowned out by your hushed giggles as you played with your dolls. Rika wouldn’t say anything about it, wouldn’t dare verbally agree with you, but she would always nod her head down, the corners of her lips turned up too high.

You didn’t particularly hate the old woman, but there was a certain kind of satisfaction to saying it behind her back after all the times you’ve caught her looking at her granddaughter in unbridled scorn, your own little form of revenge. You could never understand how her only remaining family could look at her like that, not when Rika was so beautiful and kind; like the cherry blossoms during spring, falling gently along with the wind. Sure, she could be a little cunning at times, and none of the other kids at school liked her because “something’s odd about her, can’t you just hang out with us instead?”—but that’s what makes her interesting, right?

Rika isn’t weird, she’s pretty, and you’re the bee drawn to her. She’s only older than you by a year, ten instead of nine, but she always played with you, taught you how to make flower crowns at the park, and when you walked home from school she’d always hold your hand. Her smile is blindingly bright, the sound of her voice a song you couldn’t stop listening to. Selfishly, you wish it would always be the two of you together; playing with your dolls, walking home with your hands intertwined.

But when she came back from the hospital, so did Okkotsu Yūta.

You could never see what she saw in him; he was short and just a little bit pathetic, always trailing after her like a lost puppy at first. You could push him off the swing and he'd move on with a sniffle, the kind to give up the plastic shovel even though he desperately needed it to finish his sand castle because he didn’t want to fight a girl. He smiled shyly and hid his hands behind his back, looking at you like he was looking for your approval. Of course, you never gave him the time of day, because it felt like he had stolen Rika—your Rika. It was supposed to be just you and her, but that wasn’t the case anymore. Now there was Okkotsu Yūta, who held Rika’s other hand after school, who took away her attention from you so easily.

“He’s so cute, isn’t he?” she asks often, a light blush dusting her face.

“I guess,” is your reply.

“Ne,” she calls, presenting to you a small, black box. You look at it in apprehension, wincing when she eventually opens it. “What do you think of this ring? It was my mom’s. I’m gonna give this to Yūta-kun, do you think he’ll like it?”

The ring was immensely simple, a silver-colored band with a small diamond in front, glinting under the light. Nevermind the fact that it was too big for a child’s fingers to fit in, Rika presented it to you as if it held all the answers to the world. Although her parents were dead, and she had definitely stolen it from her grandmother’s dresser, the ring spoke full of promise. When she takes it out of the box and lets you inspect it, it feels heavy.

“... You really like him, don’t you, Rika-chan?” you ask, quietly.

Rika looks at the stupid piece of jewelry, painfully smitten.

“Mhm,” she affirms. “I really like Yūta-kun. I want to be with him forever! Of course, I like you too, Ume-chan. You and Yūta-kun are my favorite people in the world!”

You close the box, handing it back to her. When Rika looks at you expectantly, you realize then that you could never bring yourself to take that happiness away from her.

+

The koinobori flies.

“It’s so pretty!” Rika exclaims, eyes wide and staring up at the sky where the huge, windsock carp moves around. It’s bathed in all sorts of colors—from red to blue to white to green—dancing along the azure expanse in commemoration of Children’s Day. The weather is just right, not too hot nor too cold, and the wind caresses your skin gently, the sun not too harsh. It makes the color of Rika’s hair shine in all the right ways, adds more sparkle in her already bright eyes. She’s wearing a yellow sundress, a nice change from her usual blue one. The cream-colored hat you let her borrow covers her face with the shade, but her smile remains bright and blinding. She looks pretty.

She gives you all of her ichigo daifuku, and shares Yūta’s snacks. She doesn’t even like chimaki.

“Are you sure, Rika-chan?” you ask, looking at the two sweets in your hands.

She beams. “You like them, don’t you?”

You keep them with you until the end of the event.

The day passes by incredibly fast, your little trio having exhausted yourselves from running around the park alongside the other children. Yūta chases Rika around the park, and you watch them squeal and laugh at each other and hold hands. You watch them take a nap under the shade, their pinkies intertwined, and you watch as the ugly color of green blinds your eyesight. You leave them be.

Sometimes, you wish you’re the colorful koinobori flying in the sky. You’d let Rika hold on to you, let her fly and hear her amused laugh as the wind tickles her skin. Sometimes, you wish Yūta slapped the ring away from her hands when she handed it to him. Wish he stomped it on the ground and at the same time stomped on her heart. Wish he didn’t take it with a huge smile and agree that he’d marry her when they get older; he’s not the one who’d wait long lines just to get her the best ichigo daifuku, not the one who’d jump at the other kids when they so much as think of insulting her, and he won’t be the one who’d choose to stay with her when she’s all gray and old cause he’s a boy, and boys would never do that.

Sometimes, you wish he never liked her at all—because he never deserved her in the first place.

Okkotsu Yūta could never love Orimito Rika like you.

+

He sits beside you at lunch.

Rika’s been bedridden for the whole week, which subsequently ruins your week. Yūta doesn’t seem to mind her absence all that much since he doesn’t see her a lot during classes anyway, but they’re supposed to be engaged. He should always be thinking of her, should be acting as miserable as you even at the unripe age of nine. He looks too okay with her absence when he shouldn’t be.

“What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the small bag of snacks he had placed on the cover of your bento.

“Hm?” he looks up. “Oh, it’s norimaki senbei.”

“... And?” you prod.

He tilts his head. “You don’t want it?”

“... I don’t want it.”

He looks at you thoughtfully.

“But you like them, don’t you?” he asks though he’s acting like he already knows, like you’ll take it regardless of what you say. It’s annoying.

You look at the seaweed-wrapped rice crackers—the stupid norimaki senbei—in mild contempt. “Why are you giving it to me?”

Yūta’s smile is small, knowing. “Because you don’t like sweets.”

You frown.

+

She’s a sweet girl.

You think of Orimoto Rika like that because it’s true—she smiles sweetly, she speaks sweetly, and she likes sweet things. She tells you that her favorite snack is ichigo daifuku, the very same confection you always begged your parents to buy for you just so you could share them with her. It pays off all the time because then she’d look as sweet as the daifuku itself, her cheeks as red as the fruit within it. She also likes hanami dango, but she doesn’t like the green part because she doesn’t really like the subtle taste of yomogi, so you eat the rest for her because she doesn’t want to waste it. She likes cold tea instead of hot, sweet instead of savory, like yuzu iced tea or bubbly ramune in comparison to the nutty taste of hōjicha. When you go to the store, she always gets the kompeitō with some random anime character on the packaging because those were the “cutest kind of kompeitō,” and Rika likes cute things.

She also likes the color pink, but when you ask her what her favorite color is she’d say it’s blue. It’s blue not because she wears that blue dress all the time, but blue because it’s the color of Okkotsu Yūta’s eyes, bright and round and always looking at her. Rika likes it that way—she likes how Okkotsu Yūta is always looking at her with his blue eyes, unwavering and full of adoration for her and her only.

You think Orimito Rika is a sweet girl, but sometimes she’s more than that. Sometimes, when the other kids get brave enough to drag you away from her, tell you to stop hanging out with her, they say it’s because Rika doesn’t like anyone else but Okkotsu Yūta.

Sometimes, when they tell you that, you wonder if Rika liked you at all, way before Okkotsu Yūta came into the picture.

But most of the time, you don’t really care. Even if Rika didn’t like you, you’d still like her. Even if she’d only have her eyes set on Okkotsu Yūta with his stupid blue eyes and his stupid norimaki senbei and stupid chimaki that he shared with her on the fifth of May, you’d still like her because she’s Rika—beautiful, kind, and wonderful Rika.

She has things she doesn’t like, too, such as other people but never Yūta-kun or Ume-chan! She likes it when people compliment her and praise her looks and give her free stuff like ramune or ichigo daifuku or Sailor Moon-themed kompeitō from the store, but sometimes she tells you that she dislikes this certain group of girls from Yūta’s class, dislikes the boy assigned as your seatmate, her homeroom teacher, the “weird” guy who works at the konbini a street over, and dislikes it even more when her grandmother looks at her and tells her she killed her own father without even saying anything at all.

You know all those things because you know Orimito Rika. You like her even if she holds intense dislike for the people outside her circle, people who tick her off just a little for you to see her smile crack at the edges and go stiff, the little twitch of her brown eyes, and most importantly, you still like her when all she wants in the world is the attention of the boy who wears her deceased mother’s ring.

You’ll always want sweet girls like her.

+

“Where’s Rika-chan?”

“Her grandma won’t let her go out today,” Yūta says, sitting next to you on the bench. “So it’s just you and me.”

He says it dejectedly, but it’s not enough for you. If he was really sad, then he’d be as sad as you are, so you start packing your belongings. “I’m leaving, then.”

He startles, standing up. “Huh? W–wait! Don’t leave just yet!”

“But Rika-chan’s not here,” you frown. “There’s no point in hanging out today.”

He falters, looking down at the ground.

“Even if she isn’t here, we can still play together…” he offers, looking up at you timidly. “We’re friends, too, aren’t we?”

The green-eyed monster stares at the silver chain wrapped around his neck, the ring acting as its pendant tucked underneath his shirt—like an unattainable treasure trapped inside a chest with the key thrown away somewhere you cannot find it. We’re not friends, the monster says with a snarl, stay away from me.

If there is one thing you know, then it’s that you have never wanted to be friends with Okkotsu Yūta, not after he took everything from you. He can butter you up by sticking to you during class and sitting next to you at lunch and even offering you some of his not-ichigo daifuku, not-yuzu iced tea, and not-colorful anime-themed kompeitō but you will and have never liked him for the green-eyed monster will always sit on your shoulder so long as he wears that ring on his person, a physical manifestation of his promise with Rika. Your Rika, even if that’s not really the case.

You will never like Okkotsu Yūta, because—because he—

“... What’re we even gonna do?” you ask, slowly.

He immediately brightens up.

“… Wanna get ice cream?” he offers. “There’s a new flavor I wanna try!”

His suggestion does not entice you at all, but when he stands there with an outstretched hand waiting for you to take it, like it’ll matter if you reject him, you find yourself at a crossroads. But you make your decision soon enough. Like it’ll matter, like the green-eyed monster isn’t there, staring.

“Okay,” you say, moving past him to start walking. He blinks incredulously at the blatant rejection before gathering himself and following after you, a prep to his step regardless of your actions.

You try to ignore the warmth of his body next to yours.

He’s too close.

+

“Yūta-kun’s birthday is in a few days,” Rika announces, lying on your spare futon. “Did you get him anything?”

You didn’t. “... Yeah.”

“Really? What is it?” she cranes her neck to face you. “What’d you get him?”

She doesn’t want your gift being better than hers, it checks out. “Um… just a toy. A garbage truck.”

“Oh, okay,” she turns back to face the ceiling. “I made him a scrapbook with photos of us. I worked really hard on it… do you think he’ll like it?”

“He’ll like anything you give him.”

She’s already given him a ring—what else could compare to that?

Rika smiles. “I guess… you’re right.”

Soon enough, she goes to sleep, breathing softly beside you as your fan fills the silence of the night. You continue staring at the ceiling, making out the little dents despite the lack of light. You squeeze the hand that holds your under the cover, before closing your eyes.

You hear her softly breathe on a steady beat alongside the fan whirring in the corner, and you close your eyes, squeezing her hand tighter underneath the covers of your too-close futon.

You’ll have to ask your parents for some money tomorrow.

+

“Rika-chan isn’t here again,” Yūta says dejectedly. “Her granny’s too strict.”

“She hates her,” you say quietly.

Yūta looks at you, confused. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing. Your birthday’s coming up soon, what are you doing that day?”

“Uwah—you remember?”

“Rika-chan told me.”

“Oh, well,” he smiles sheepishly, “we have school that day, but after that I’ll be celebrating at my house. I’m thinking of just inviting Rika-chan and you over… um, so, will you come?”

“I’ll go if Rika-chan is going.”

He blinks, before a smile blooms on his face. “Okay! I’ll see you, then.”

+

It happens when you aren't there.

It never should have happened at all.

Orimito Rika is pronounced dead at the age of eleven, her body unrecognizable under the heavy weight of a blue truck.

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

ok I’m sorry about having you write those heartbreaking Grayson hcs, I’m gonna be honest they made me sob so hard 😭 so let’s get some happy Grayson ones (I loved that last one by the way, he’s so cute)

happy grayson head canons

of course, i have made another grayson post (some are happy, some are sad), but i'll make another one bc he's everything (it might be shorter though).also i have no idea what 'happy' head canons are so here are some that aren't sad (some funny, some happy, some embarrassing, etc). hope you like them <3. @lanterns-and-daydreams helped with some of these

he doesn't smile often, but when he does you see his little dimples (idk if this is canon but, if it isn't, i like the idea of him having dimples)

he talks to their dog, tiramisu, in a really high pitched voice

he works out religiously. he has like a schedule and everything, and he sings when he works out.

he watches my little pony as a guilty pleasure. xander knows and is using it as blackmail material.

he desperately wants a cat but doesn't want their dog to kill it.

he has an obsession with is ass. he takes pride in it being big and juicy.

he's jealous of jameson bc he's an inch taller than gray is, and he uses it against him.

he joined a yoga group without knowing it was for girls only, so now, once a week, he gossips and does yoga with these old ladies.

he loves face masks more than anything. xander and jameson have tons of pictures of him with cucumbers on his eyes and a face mask.

he doesn't like colors. if someone were to ask him what his favorite color is, he'd just say black or white or smth

he loves composing his own piano pieces and playing them to his brothers and the others.

he despises sex education with a passion. whenever he used to have those classes in school, he would blush so hard the teachers thought he was having a stroke or some shit

grayson loves poetry (ik this was mentioned in tbh, but i hc he still does it for fun to express his emotions (he didn't stop after the one year challenge))

when he was younger, he really liked snails. he used to collect some and give them a 'home' in jars he found around the mansion.

he's a sucker for matchas. he literally makes himself one every morning before he starts working. (he has a cup with cats on it that he uses every day)

he owns a human dog bed (if you don't know what it is, search it up)

he once tried to watch p*rn to see what the hype is all about, but he got so disgusted and uncomfortable he threw away his laptop.

all of the pens in his pen collection are placed side by side from smallest to biggest in his drawer.

he has the biggest walk in closet you can imagine (bigger than barbie's)

xander once bought him a skirt and dared him to go to work wearing it. pictures of it got out and his fans started calling him baby girl.

he makes playlist for his favorite book couples.

this dude cannot smirk for the life of him. he looks like a constipated sloth when he tries to.

he can do the splits perfectly.

when someone kicks him in the balls, he sounds like a dying hyena. he just wheezes for like 5 minutes straight whilst everyone just looks at him in horror. he then wobbles away.

he's a really good just dance player. he actually laughs when he plays.

grayson knows how to pole dance.

when he was younger, he was jealous that jamie had more prominent abs so he used to contour his to make them look like jamie's

when he was younger, he tried to learn how to purr. he thought it would be cool

he wanted to be like nash so bad when he was younger than he would stick a hay strand in his mouth and try to speak in a southern accent. skye was mortified.

grayson loved flower crowns. xander used to make him some and he would walk around wearing them proudly.

he wears subtle makeup sometimes (when he's in the mood) (blush, concealer, very subtle eyeliner, etc)

when he was younger, he would also try to gallop around like a horse. he would get on his hands and knees and strut around (tobias wanted to kill himself)

[uhohwhathaveidone]

Dude I’m obsessed with your writing I’m so glad I came across your page omg 😭🙏 I Hope you don’t mind me requesting a Omnis gaunt x reader fic that would be about the reader being a pureblood like omnis being arranged to marry each other and the both don’t get along and then later on they both start warming up to each other and also start caring about each other one day the reader catches a slytherin girl flirting with omnis which makes her jealous to the point the reader is tempted to transform the girl into a damn chicken and Omnis immediately knows the reader is there so after the girl goes away Ominis starts teasing the reader which causes her to be flustered and then out of nowhere the reader quickly gives him a kiss (I’m so sorry if this sounds cringe but I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers and I can’t help but imagine omnis and the reader be like that at first)

"You're supposed to be my husband you idiot <(‵^′)>"

Marriage? (O.G)

hehe OG. Anyway, this is pretty long, if I do say so myself. I listened to a classical music playlist so I kind of got into it. Also, I think my nose ring got infected and now the tip of my nose hurst really bad, so I have to deal with that for a bit. Apparently you shouldn't use rubbing alcohol and stuff and only like saline solution but....my old college friend stole my solution and I keep forgetting to buy more. Anyway, no warnings, fem!reader, whose also in Slytherin. Its just the good old angst/fluff enemies to lovers trope. I've never written for Ominis before, and let me tell you, I kept typing Seb on accident before correcting myself. And thank you so much for all your requests, im still chipping away at them! Anyway, Enjoy <3 pt2, Marry Me

You stood beside your mother, grasping onto her dress as you stood, watching your father talk with another man. Beside him sat a strange-looking boy. You noticed how his eyes were very different, unsure how to describe them if anyone ever asked, but his hair was laid nicely, done by his mother, no doubt. He was dressed in a rather fancy attire, one you would normally see at one of the many high-end parties your parents would hold, at it seemed to match the dress you wore perfectly. Your mother held a glare as she looked at your father, who shook hands with the other and walked over to you, kneeling down to your height. “Darling, I want you to meet Ominis Gaunt, the boy over there.” He pointed to the boy, who you now know was named Ominis, who didn’t wave or even acknowledge you. You huffed, crossing your arms. “Why must I meet him? He doesn’t look very friendly.” You complained, sending a childish glare his way. Your father sighed, placing a hand on your small shoulder. “You’ll be married to him in the future, so it’d be best if you met now and got along beforehand.”

“Marry him? That’s stupid! I don’t want to get married!” You shouted, running to hide behind your mother. She only sighed as she turned to you, patting your head. “Just go say hi to him, ok darling?” You puffed your cheeks as she ushered you towards him, leaving you there to go make small talk with his parents. You stood there, glaring at the strange boy. His eyes were creepy, and they only seemed to get creepier the more you looked at him. He didn’t speak a word, staring off into a corner of the room the two had been left in. You took a breath and brought your hand out, outstretched to shake his own. “Hello, my name is y/n. You’re Ominis?” He nodded, turning his head in your direction. He didn’t take your hand, nor even look at it. You grew impatient, feeling like a fool. “Well? Aren’t you going to shake my hand?” You asked, gesturing to him. “Right, sorry.” He said, and stretched his own hand out, moving it around in the air. “Seriously? Come on.” You sighed, grabbing his hand, and shaking it once. “You act like your blind, or something.”

“I am…blind.” Ominis said, furrowing his brows. You glared at him, still upset about the embarrassing handshake. “Clearly.” You turned to walk away, looking in the direction of your mother. “How boring, I refuse to marry someone as boring as you are.” Ominis glared in your direction, beginning to dread the arraignment your parents had set up. “I wouldn’t want to marry someone as spoiled as you, either.” Your cheeks heated up in anger as you turned to him. “I am not spoiled!” Ominis shrugged, “Could have fooled me.” You huffed as you stomped over to your mother, grabbing her hand. “Let’s go, mother. I refuse to marry someone like him, he’s boring and rude.” She sighed, looking over to your father as he narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have a choice, sweetie. Your father already set it up.” “Well then Father is a fool, I wish to go home and never see him again.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, little lady.” Your father scowled, crossing his arms. “It has already been set that you will marry Ominis, and even if you wanted to avoid him, it would be impossible.” You stomped a foot onto the cobbled ground, pouting. “And why is that?” You asked, glaring over at Ominis, who had made his way over, somehow. “You’ll be attending Hogwarts next year, same as him. No doubt you’ll be in the same house as well. You must get used to it.” Your father placed his cup onto the table, bowing his head to Mr. Gaunt. “I refuse!” Your mother grabbed your hand and began to walk you out, promising to let you out into the garden when you made it home. You smiled; finally being told something you like to hear. Your father only sighed as he stepped into the carriage behind you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s only ten, it’s quite the age to be set up for marriage.” Your mother reasoned, still holding your hand. You looked out the window, focusing on the world going by instead of your parents’ voices. “It doesn’t matter, we were the same age when we were told that we would marry.” He looked over at his wife, who refused to make eye contact with him. “And I resented you for a long while before we got to that point. All I’m saying is to give them time. Children their age don’t want to get married, they want to see the world.” “She has no choice, one way or the other.”

You stood amongst the crowd, watching as students were called up and placed into their houses. You fiddled with the ring your mother gave you, looking around anxiously. You watched a girl walk up to the front, sitting on the stool. You let out a shaky breath as you watched her smile and run to where the other Ravenclaws were. “Nervous?” You groaned, turning to Ominis. “Not one bit, but I would mind some personal space, you know.” Ominis shook his head, “You can’t lie to me. I can hear your breathing.” You glared at him, knowing he couldn’t see the anger that had made its home in your features. “Keep your ears away, just because you can’t see doesn’t mean you can use your hearing to spy on me.” Ominis shook his head, backing away slightly. “Still as rotten as always. Remind me to never try and help you with anything.” You scoffed, “As if anything I need help with would use your assistance.” Your name was called then, and you gave Ominis one last glare as you made your way through, sitting on the stool.

“You have great wit, you do. Bit of a temper… but not to everyone. I see. A rival already, perhaps? Your mind is strong, but there are other parts…yes.” You sighed as the hat rambled to itself, looking around. “I’d say… Slytherin!” You released the breath you had begun to hold, heading to the table where your father had sat many years ago. A girl waved her hand to you, patting the seat beside her. “Come sit here!” You nodded as you made your way over, taking a seat beside the brunette. “Hello! I’m Anne, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” She offered to shake your hand, and you gladly took it. “My name is y/n, it’s nice to meet you.” Anne smiled at you and pointed into the crowd. “You see that boy, the one with the brown hair near the front?” You shook your head, noticing that there were a long of boys in the assembly with brown hair, including Ominis. “There’s quite a few of them, Anne. You’d have to be more specific.” She sighed, trying to find an easier way to show you. “Oh! He’s standing by the other boy with brown hair, I saw him earlier, blind I believe?” You sighed, knowing she meant Ominis, and quickly spotted him. Beside his stood a taller boy, brown hair, just like Anne said. “I believe I see him now.” Anne smiled, “Good! That’s my twin brother, Sebastian!” You nodded, watching as the two boys got closer to the front of the group. “He’ll definitely be in the same house, I’m sure of it.” You could only nod, watching as Ominis was called up to the stool. Your father’s words replayed in your head, “No doubt you’ll be in the same house.” You shuddered, glaring as Ominis was, indeed, sorted into Slytherin as well.

You thought that would be the end of it, you’d be sorted in the same house, but otherwise not have to deal with each other. You were wrong. You shared many classes with Ominis in your first year, second too. Your friend, Anne, had also become his friend, along with her twin brother Sebastian. You felt your insides bubble in anger as you realized that you had to share friends now, unable to get away from the boring boy you were cursed to marry. Anne had come up to ask you once why you were sort of rude to Ominis, but kind to everyone else. You brushed it off, replying that you just didn’t get along with him. Ominis had let it slip once, though, in front of Anne and Sebastian.

You watched Ominis become more aware of his surroundings, able to navigate around furniture with ease now thanks to all the practice. He was annoying you, always bringing up the marriage situation whenever he tried to help you with something. You thought that maybe you hung out with Imelda too much, as you dragged some of the furniture around a bit, just barely noticeable to anyone. You then sat back, talking with Anne and Sebastian, eyes trailing to Ominis as he walked into the common room. You watched as he took his normal route, around tables and chairs, but his route was disrupted. You watched in glee as he ran his side into the arm of a chair, hissing in pain as he grabbed it. Sebastian quickly stood up, moving to help Ominis.

“Pretty clumsy, are you?” You teased, placing your arms behind your head. Ominis glared in your direction, already on to your plan. “I do hope you lose the habit of moving furniture before we get married, I’ll be dead before we even reach the wedding.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Perhaps that was the plan, my dear.” Anne and Sebastian looked between the two of you, confused. “Wait!” Anne spoke up, “Is that why you don’t like Ominis? You’re forced to marry him?” You nodded, gesturing to Ominis, “He called me spoiled when we first met.” Anne looked at Ominis, seemingly offended for you. Quickly, Ominis retorted. “You called me boring and rude! And said to “stop acting like I’m blind.”” You held back a laugh, “To be fair, no one told me you were blind before-hand.” Ominis sighed, exhausted. “Could have asked, you know.” “Be pretty rude to walk up to a boy I just met and go “Hello, I’m going to be your wife! By any chance, are you blind?” Although, that would be pretty funny.” Ominis shook his head.

By the time you made it to your third year, Anne had been pestering you constantly to try and be nice with Ominis. You could only sigh, telling her that she sounded like your mother. You continued to banter with Ominis day after day, insulting each other and pranking each other. The fourth year arrived, and Sebastian came along, informing you that Anne was unwell and unable to come back. Down a friend, you were stuck with Ominis and Sebastian, and you began to grow tired of making fun of your soon-to-be husband.

You walked into the potion’s classroom, taking your seat next to Ominis. He looked over at you, and you blew air from your nose. “Rough night last night?” Ominis asked, stating the obvious, but you could no longer fault him. He was unable to see the dark circles that had formed under your eyes from the study session you had last night, flipping through the chapter you would be going over today. You had always been anxious during Potions, the fear that one wrong ingredient would possibly cause an explosion was the key element that made you study so hard. “Yeah, you could say that.” You responded, grabbing your book, and opening to the page you were on before you finally surrendered to sleep. “You know, not every potions class is going to end up in flames.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You never fully know until it happens.” “Of course.”

Sharp began the class with the description of the potion they would be making, lecturing for about five minutes before letting the students begin. You sighed, reading off the measurements as you placed them in your pot. You had it memorized, thanks to the night before. You read how the potion was supposed to react, and how it reacted when ingredients were placed when they weren’t supposed to. The potion would blow up, and you refused to let that happen. You took a quick glance at Ominis, checking up on him, only to quickly look back at his hand in horror. He had grabbed the wrong ingredient, of course, and was seconds away from placing it into the cauldron. Quickly, you grabbed his hand, pulling it away. “Ominis! You really must double check before you start adding ingredients!” Ominis looked at you, surprised. “What do you mean?” You sighed, taking the moss out of his hand and placing it away from the rest of the ingredients, replacing it with milkweed. “You were about to blow yourself up, is what I mean. If you’re unsure, please check with me first. Imagine what I’d have to tell your parents if you blew yourself up.” Ominis listened to you ramble, a soft smile on his lips. You had started to become kind to him as you made it to your fifth year. Sebastian joked and said you were finally maturing. Ominis swore that, sometimes, you had been looking out for him as the three of you walked down the hall. Who else would tug on his sleeve and pull him slightly over before he bumped into a statue?

You had stopped talking, returning to your own potion. Ominis placed the milkweed into the cauldron, giving it a quick stir. ���Thank you, by the way.” He said quietly, reaching for another ingredient. “Don’t mention it, you probably would have blown me up too, honestly. Here,” You said, grabbing his paper with the instructions on it. You had learned a spell a while ago that changed writing on parchment, and had tweaked it to turn words into brail. Waving your wand quickly, the ink turned to raised dots, and you quickly labeled the ingredients he was using. “So, you don’t blow us up again.” Curious, Ominis grabbed the paper you placed in front of him, running his fingers down it. He smiled and felt a slight warmth in his cheeks. You ignored him and continued to work.

It became a habit in potions now, where you would watch Ominis as he worked with his potions, making sure he was using the right ones. In other classes, you began to help each other, slightly. There was still the teasing and slight insult, but otherwise the two of you were rather tame. You began to walk with Ominis around the grounds, describing things to him when you didn’t have classes to get to. Ominis enjoyed the walks the two of you shared, enjoying the descriptions you made. Sometimes, you would purposefully describe something in a weird way, waiting for Ominis to catch on and tell you how crazy that would be, but sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes, Ominis would become engrossed in your voice, it always had a calm tone to it, even if you were acting out against him. It was one of the first things he noticed when you first met six year prior; the soft voice you used when addressing your mother, how it sounded annoyed when you asked if he was going to shake your hand, the stern tone you used when you told your father that he was boring and rude.

You grabbed his sleeve, shaking him from his thoughts. “No, no, no, where is it?” Your voice was panicked this time, one that Ominis never really heard much. “What’s happened?” You dropped to the ground, searching through the grass. “My mother’s ring! It must have slipped off my finger! I can’t find it.” Your voice cracked, and Ominis knelt down and found your shoulder. “Are you sure you didn’t take it off and leave it by your bed?” You shook your head frantically, tears swelling in your eyes. “Never! I never take it off, not anymore.” Ominis could hear you begin to cry. You had worn the ring to your first day of Hogwarts, a gift from your mother. You told him once about it, how its silver band curled around a pale yellow stone, Hufflepuff, the house your mother was in. You had taken it off every now and then if you were planning on dueling Sebastian or caring for creatures, but during the break between fourth and fifth year, your mother had passed suddenly, and you refused to take it off after that.

“I don’t know where it could be! I can’t remember when I had it last,” You wept, and Ominis found you once again and offered his hand. “I may not be the best help, but I can help us retrace our steps.” You looked at him, confused. “How?” “Well, you’ve been describing our walk this whole time, so if we go back along the same route and give it a good look-over, I’m sure you’ll spot it.” You nodded, taking his hand as he pulled you up, taking your hand and recounting the path you took. “I believe we left off at the tree with the pink flowers?” You nodded, moving back to the tree, guiding Ominis behind you. You scanned the ground as you walked, not seeing any sign of it. “Not here…” Ominis thought back again, “We visited the fence with the strange mushrooms growing on it, yes?” “That’s right!” The ring wasn’t there either, but Ominis refused to let your hopes down. “I remember you talking about the small pond where those giant toads lived, perhaps it’s there?” The two of you made your way back to the pond, and you searched through the grass. Ominis joined in, sifting through with his fingers, coming up to a round metal object with what felt like a gemstone attached to it. “Here it is!”

“Ominis! You’re a genius!” You shouted, running up to him. Ominis smiled, stretching his hand out. You looked at him, puzzled, not reaching for it as you tried to figure out what he was doing. “Give me your hand, I know you’re not blind.” You chuckled, placing your hand in his. Slowly, he guided the ring back onto your finger, closing your hand with his own. “There, best that we don’t lose it again, yeah?” “Right, thank you so much, Ominis. I have no idea what I would do without you.”

A few weeks had gone by, and the two of you had seemingly gotten closer. You helped each other in class, point out if one of your favourite food was at supper, and take the usual walks, which did not lead to you losing your ring a second time. Ominis had made sure that you wouldn’t, taking your hand with the ring in his as you walked, “A precaution,” Ominis said. You were unsure where you stood with Ominis at that point, unable to tell if you were getting along because you had to, or because you wanted to. You didn’t even know if you actually liked him, thanks to the arraignment; you felt conflicted, unsure if your feelings were real or made up to save face for your families. You weren’t going to ask Ominis how he felt, of course. You pushed the thoughts aside as you walked into the common room, ready to collect Ominis and head to the dining hall.

You looked over to the couch, eyeing where Ominis sat. Beside him sat another student, who had begun to play with her hair as she talked with him. Your eyes narrowed as you walked closer, disgust painting your face as you listened to her awful attempts at flirting. “So, I was thinking. Maybe we could go by the lake? It’s quiet there.” She said, and you glared daggers into the back of her head. Shameless fliting was one thing, shameless flirting with Ominis? A death sentence. Hexes ran through your head, the idea of turning her into a chicken and leaving her in one of the pens stuck out, another, turning her into a toad and leaving her to live with the other toads in the crowded pond. Ominis heard the small noise you made when she tried to get closer, and he smirked. He knew you were there, probably standing behind her as you glared at her, something Sebastian had described to him anytime Poppy would get picked on. You had made it your habit to stand behind your “victims” until they turned around and met your dagger-like gaze, threatening to hex them if they didn’t get out of your sight. Ominis could only imagine what scene was playing out before him, and he broke into a smile. The student took that as a good sign, “I’ll meet you there then.” She got up and turned to grab the book she had placed down, gasping as your presence startled her. “You have to stop sneaking up on people like that, y/n!” Your gaze never broke, “My apologies.”

The girl left, leaving you to huff in annoyance as you waited for Ominis to stand. His smile never left as he slowly got up and walked to you. “It’s quiet there? That’s so stupid! She needs to work on her flirting skills.” You crossed your arms, turning to walk to the door. “Is someone jealous?” You scoffed, as you exited the room, “Why would I?” “We’re supposed to get married, I’m basically your husband already.” You shook your head, pouting. “We’re not married yet, so why should I care?” You walked along the empty hall, the sound of your shoes hitting the cobble echoing around you. Ominis chuckled, “So I can…go to the lake with her tonight, then?” Your cheeks heated up and you began to stutter. “The- the lake? Absolutely not! Why would you-“ You took a breath in and sighed. “Go on then, go have your fun.” You stopped walking, turning to Ominis and crossing your arms. Still smiling, Ominis shrugged his shoulders and turned to walk away, and you huffed in annoyance as your face turned bright red. You quickly grabbed his arm to stop him, “You’re not…actually going to go, are you?” You asked, hanging your head and looking down at your feet. You heard him chuckle, as he turned, guiding his hand up to find your face. “I wouldn’t need to if my wife-to-be would stop being so stubborn.” He felt your cheek burn as you looked up at him, debating what to do.

Without a second thought, you quickly brought your lips together in a quick kiss, hoping that Ominis would understand. You pulled back just as quickly, watching his face heat up just as yours did, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “There she is.” “Shut up.”

[ressonancee]

EXCHANGE/LOVE TRANSIT - S01/EP01 (pt i)

♥ SYNOPSIS: Soonyoung is a man on a mission to get his ex back, even if this means enduring watching her going on dates in a reality TV show - ok maybe he didn't think it through when he thought it was a good idea to go on said tv show. Alternatively; Soonyoung love transit episode. 

♥ GENRE: (this is me trying to do) comedy, romance, a little dash of angsty (because they are exes and because it is me writing it I guess);

♥ CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6925

♥ FEATURING: Wen Junhui as Soonyoung's number one enemy, Xu Minghao, Lee Chan, Boo Seungkwan as a cranky panelist, Seo Changbin as a normal panelist, Girls Day Yura just because I love her, Pi Cheolin as a panelist that nobody knows why he has been cast but he makes it work. 

♥ PLAYLIST: 1. VINTAGE - NIKI, 2. LAS JORDANS - TINI, 3. CALL ME - RENGGA JONES, 4. STILL INTO YOU - PARAMORE, 5. LOVE LIKE THAT - SAM KIM, 6. TENTA ACREDITAR - ANAVITÓRIA, 7. URS - NIKI

♥ THEA’S NOTE: Hello hi hi everyone. I’ve been weirdly obsessed with Love transit/Exchange for quite a while. For those who have never watched it, they put 10 people together in a house - 5 couples, and make them go on a date with different people. The funny thing is that you can’t tell people who your ex is. Also after a long debate with myself, I decided to post this as a multichapetered fic. Anyways welcome to part 1, hope you enjoy it. 

♥ If you want to read the rest of this/ be tagged click here ♥

♥ LOVE TRANSIT MASTERLIST

[INTERVIEW ROOM][CAMERA 1]

“Do you know you have to think about other options too, right?” The producer asks him. The giant camera is way too close to his face and the producer is sitting just under it - in a little stool that looks utterly uncomfortable. Soonyoung wants to face her, but before this question she told him three different times he needs to stare right at the camera. He is sitting so still that he can feel the energy accumulating on his body, making him almost quick in his seat.

“I am not interested in that,” Soonyoung answers - staring at the camera and trying to not blink too much even if the lights of the studio hurt his eyes. 

“But the point of this program is that you are open to dating other people and let her date other people as well,” the producer insisted, and Soonyoung almost laughed. He knows that, for fucking sakes he only got his date because he is a master in rock paper scissor and his ex went on a date with fucking Junhui. He knows the point of everything, he just doesn't really care.

“Like I said, I am not interested in that, my goal with this,” He tries to explain, using his hand to point at everything, the set actually looked way better on camera and it was very flimsy in real life, and everytime he thinks he will break a fake wall. “Is that we get back together,” he grins confidently, “Sorry pd nim but we will get back together before this end.” 

He hears the producer groan, he is pretty sure she shouldn’t be groaning and this won’t go to the final cut. He thinks the audio people will handle it, they probably will put a fade in music or whatever, they are professionals. 

[EX-CHANGE HOUSE][CAMERAS 2,  3, 4]

When the assistant producer says that he can start walking and enter the house, Soonyoung is ready to just run. But he holds himself back, instead of running he just puts down the handle of his suitcase and grips on the strap. Like that, he thinks, it will be faster than strolling around. He starts walking, the weight on his suitcase is heavy on his arms but he is committed to that already, he won’t ask for the assistant guy to re-do his shot, and he won’t change his mind midway either, it is now a matter of pride. Soonyoung is proud - his ex always told him that - he is too proud for his own good. 

He is proud enough to not drop his suitcase when he opens the gate and steps greets him, Soonyoung just groans, because he is proud but not a fool. Ok, maybe he is a fool, again, according to his ex but he likes to think that since they broke up he is a changed man. Eight months is enough time to be reborn into a new man according to Soonyoung experience. He changed his hair, it is way shorter now, and cooler - he likes to think. A few of his friends joked about his short bangs and almost shaved sides but he likes it and he even has a cool slit in his eyebrow. He also changed his clothes, he pays more attention to his clothes now and even his ex would agree with that one - or he hopes so. 

His personality didn’t change that much but Soonyoung likes to think he can see things clearly now - like a fog has come down. He always was good with his goal, he stuck to it, he finished things, he was disciplined and he was focused. But he wasn’t very good with balance. His girlfriend, his ex-girlfriend, always talked about how he had those bursts of hyperfocus, she explained back then how he could dance for hours and hours without feeling his body getting exhausted but he couldn’ focus on a single task if he found anything remotely boring. But he is better now, he worked for long months on how he didn’t need to give up in other aspects of his life to succeed professionally. He learned that he doesn’t need to spend twenty hours per day in his dance studio, he learned to trust other people in that aspect. 

Damn too many steps, Soonyoung thinks when he finally arrives at the door. He looks around and presses the numbers on the digital keypad, the same assistant producer guy told him a few numbers - he actually wrote down in his note app, he knows himself that he will forget in no time. But the numbers are fresh enough in his head and the doors open. Soonyoung looks around the hall and he thinks he is the first one. Well. Cool. Soonyoung drops his suitcase in the hall and takes off his shoes, walking around without a slipper on - he can’t really bother to search for one right now. He starts looking around, cameras are scattered around the house greeting him in every room. 

It is fascinating really, to be a part of the tv show, Soonyoung thinks while he gives the camera in the kitchen a little hand wave. He opens the fridge and it actually has a lot of booze, damn, he is not a good drinker. He goes around the kitchen checking for appliances and almost starts the coffee machine without knowing, he was just pressing random buttons. He hopes the producer teams cut this part. After almost burning his hand with hot water he goes to the living room, one of the walls is completely glass and it makes the sun enter the house, the view of the garden is pretty cool, and there is another staircase outside leading to somewhere. The glass is so clean that when Soonyoung touches it just to see his fingertip smudges it. He exhale thought his mouth, fogging the window and draws with his fingertip a doodle - the same shape of his eyes but with a snout, a little tiger Soonyoung thinks proud of himself, when he turns around another camera is facing him and he just show his work while smiling. 

There is another stair leading to the second floor. Weird obsession to have, Soonyoung thinks, staircases. He jumps two steps at a time. He roams around - the rooms seem nice, 3 upstairs and another living room, no television and thank god no cameras in the bathroom. He gets bored after a while, so he goes down to the main floor and sits on the sofa - politely, his hand on his knees. But that too gets boring really quick so he starts kicking his feets around, he did good, Soonyoung thinks to himself, he really chose a good sock today so he is not too worried he is shoeless walking around, his black socks are amazing.

After what seems like three whole hours the door opens again, he hears the sound of the padlock and his heart jumps against his chest, he almost hop on the sofa, the amount of energy he has in his body is enough to make him vibrate like a cellphone receiving a call. He stretches his neck trying to see who it is before the person enters the living room. He sees the shoes before he can actually see the person and for the size of those damn feet Soonyoung knows it is not his ex. A good looking guy enters the room, getting all shy when he sees Soonyoung. 

“Hello,” the good looking guy greets him and his voice is on the lower side, Soonyoung thinks he looks so cool.

“Hello,” Soonyoung began, “I am Kwon Soonyoung,” he offered first, “your name?” he says when the good looking guy just stares at him.

“Ah, right,” the guy sitting across from Soonyoung began, “I am Jun, Wen Junhui actually, but you can call me Jun.”

“Jun,” Soonyoung mutters, it fits his name, the guy is a little weird Soonyoung thinks but it is okay.

“So, what's your favorite color?” Soonyoung asks him because he is not allowed to ask anything else really. No question about Jun’s ex, he can’t know his age either, and they are prohibited to talk about their jobs, so Soonyoung tries to make small talk in any way he can.

They fall into a weird silence after a few questions. “This is awkward,” Junhui admitted after a bit making Soonyoung laugh. 

After a few minutes another guy arrives, Xu Minghao is his name and Soonyoung is pretty sure he is part of a gothic or emo band. A girl arrives after that, she is cute Soonyoung gives her that but he is not really interested. Then another girl and again a pretty girl because of course. When the fourth guy arrives Soonyoung starts to think that maybe you bailed out and the producer team might be looking for an actress to play his ex, who knows. They are in the middle of asking the blond guy his name and his color, everyone introducing themselves to the new guy when he finally hears the door again. His blood is rushing through his body. When you enter the door a ray of sunshine goes through the window and illuminates all around you, almost like a halo. Soonyoung looks behind him to check if any staff is pointing something at you but nothing. 

“Hi,” you greeted looking at everyone, Soonyoung smiled at you, and damn you are even more beautiful how was that possible.

“Wow,” The blond guy says at his side, Lee Chan, he thinks and that alone makes Soonyoung perk up a little bit, “you are shoeless,” the guy added pointing at your feet. 

“Ah,” You breathed, your voice low. Soonyoung knows you are shy and before he could say anything Junhui guy was already up and walking around, “I couldn’t really find a slipper.” 

“Here,” Junhui gives you a pair of slippers - wait - what about him? Soonyoung thinks but apparently he doesn’t deserve Jun’s attention even though he tried his best to be polite and friendly, and before he knows he is pouting, damn.

When everyone falls silent again, Soonyoung thinks it is his time to shine, “Your name?” he asks politely, trying his best to not make clear that he is still heads over heels over you just with a simple question. 

They go around names again but everything is weirdly muffed when Soonyoung focuses on you. Your hair is different now, longer he thinks. You repeat every name, the girls first then Junhui, Chan, Minghao and Soonyoung. He is the last one and he hates every name that falls off your tongue that is not his own. Soonyoung, you mumbled like everyone else's names, and it hits Soonyoung that it has been months since you called his name, and he misses it. 

“Does anyone know how to cook?” Lee Chan asks, and Soonyoung is sure he will be the youngest one, there is something in him that just screams maknae. 

“I-” Jun starts but when all the eyes turn into him he stutters a little bit and gets shy with all the attention, meanwhile Soonyoung just sharpens his gaze towards the guy, “I can fix something up to dinner.”

“I can help,” you declare, lifting up your hand  like you are back in school or something, you are so cute, Soonyoung almost giggles, “I can do the basics so if you need any help,” you say to Jun and then it dawns on Soonyoung and before he knows he is lying through his teeth;

“I can help too,” Soonyoung volunteers, almost raising his hand like a kid in school, “I am a great cook.”  

Everyone looks at him but he can only focus on the way you look at him - you know he is lying, and for a second he thinks everyones knows it too even though they just met, but he will die on this hill, he can pretend he is putting a salad together for all the people who don’t eat meat even though he is pretty sure everyone's eat meat, but he is thoughtful like that.

“Okay, so you three can go to the market and cook dinner,” says one of the girls that Soonyoung can't remember the name, “we can clean the kitchen and also the guys can help us with all the suitcases, and we sort out the rooms after dinner.” 

[CAR AND MARKET][OUTSIDE CAMERA + GOPRO N 3]

“This is weird isn't it?” The Jun guy asks when you finally sit in the backseat, Soonyoung is in front of you and everything does seem incredibly weird.

“What exactly?” You ask and you hear Soonyoung laugh for the first time in a while and you don’t even know what you feel - everything seems weird, the fact that one go pro is right at your face is weird, the fact that you are in the same vehicle as Kwon Soonyoung is weird, the fact that you said yes to this weird ass idea was weird too.

“I mean,” Jun starts again, falling silent when he starts reversing the car to get out of the garage, “everything? I feel like only now everything is real and it is so weird like, what do you I will be living with my ex for a month.”

“Right?” Soonyoung pipes up, “aren’t you guys excited about that?” he asks and before you or Jun can speak up he starts again, “I am super hyped!”

“You are?” Jun asks, astonished, and you can’t blame him. One of the greatest problems in your relationship was the fact that you and Soonyoung worked somehow on different wavelengths. Soonyoung is someone that is difficult to follow, but once you know him you can start figuring out his patterns and way of thinking - he is predictable, he has a routine into his own madness.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Soonyoung says, looking at Jun and turning his whole body to look at you in the backseat, you just shrug because what else can you do really? Tell him that he is insane was not an option, that alone would make it clear that Soonyoung was your ex. 

“I think the fact that this program entails living with your ex for one,” Jun says dead seriously and it is your time to laugh. You thought you would be the last one in terms of thinking this program is a good idea but apparently this Jun guy is beating you to it. 

Soonyoung keeps talking about how excited he is and how fun it will be, he goes on and on about how this is an one in a lifetime type of opportunity and you know that even if he sounds a bit over the top he is being honest, and that he is - even if you and Jun finds extremely weird - very excited for it. But it is Soonyoung so of course you should’ve seen that coming. 

And after just a few minutes you think that even though he cut his hair, Soonyoung didn’t change that much, when you say you are picking up a basket he is already by your side taking it off your hands, “Let me carry this and you focus on the ingredients,” he says like he has some sort of a plan but deep down you know he won’t let you carry all the weight - you always complain about having wrist pain, tendonitis is a bitch, the fact that Soonyoung still remembers make your heart grow, like a air ballon. 

Back then when you were together every time you were at home he would make you drop your phone, computers were also extremely prohibited to use. If your wrist brace were on he would even attempt to feed you - you always hated that and he always threw a fit about it. 

“Jun,” you call the guy walking ahead of you mindlessly, “Do you have something in mind?” 

“Hmmm,” the guy ponders and you almost laugh at his confused face. He is cute. You give him that but you think that giggling at his face would be too much for one of your first interactions. “Not really,” he says scratching the back of his neck and you can feel the smile forming on your face. 

“We should grill meat,” Soonyoung says proudly, bringing you back to reality, “We could buy meat.”

“I actually can make a side dish with fried vegetables,” you try, looking around to see if you can find anything to put together for dinner.

“Oh nice,” Soonyoung pipes up, giving you two thumbs ups. What a dork, but that was Soonyoung and you were used to it, at him acting like you hung the moon in the sky every time you did something that every other adult human could do. You give him a thumbs up back, and when he smiles get even bigger you think you should just run away from this whole thing.

“Then we could also buy some noodles and put everything together,” Jun says “I have a receipt that I think will work together with your veggies.”

“Great, we can cook together while Soonyoung grill the meat,” you say before you start walking by Jun’s side in a vain attempt to run away from Soonyoung.  

Soonyoung acts like a kicked puppy.the whole trip to the market. Always behind you, sometimes you bump into him when you spin around looking for Jun to know if you should grab or not grab a pack of soft tofu or a pack of broccoli.

When you pick up onions or carrots, Soonyoung acts like it is the smartest thing ever, and your heart grows a little bit bigger - another pump of air. You think about how Soonyoung is still very much the same person he always was; caring and kind. Every time he assures you in a low voice like he is telling someone a secret - you can take both - he says to you when you ponder if you should buy a red or white wine, you don’t even know if other people enjoy wine but Soonyoung knows you do, and before you can think twice he grabs one bottle of each and put in the basket. 

You think that this Soonyoung is the Soonyoung that you missed the most. Of course you missed the loud one, the life of the party, the one who among your friends would make his mission to get people tipsy and happy even though he can’t drink for shit. You miss the one that would make people stand up and sing and dance and every single one of your friends would get so shy while his friend would act like getting up in the middle of a bar or restaurant was not insane behavior. But this Soonyoug, the soft spoken Soonyoung - the one who would always give you assurance when you thought one of your articles was bad, the Soonyoung who always listened to you when you thought you should drop one investigation because your editor didn’t thought the piece was relevant enough, the one who when things were thought was serious and calm to listen to your every word and actually pay attention, you missed him the most, and you missed him the longest because that one vanished before you broke up.

“Stop,” you say in the lowest voice possible, bumping into him so he can give you space.

“What?” He asks - doing the exact opposite of your wishes, he drops his head even closer to you in an attempt to hear you. 

“You are making it so clear that you are my ex,” You blurt out shoving Soonyong lightly, “Stop that it is supposed to be a secret.”

“I am not doing anything,” He deflected with a pout on his mouth, and it was kind of cute and you want to beat yourself up. How can you be down so bad for him? You need to get your mind straight to survive. You need at least a 5 meters distance from him. 

“You are, go follow Jun,” you say, “or grab a snack or two, we are probably going to drink something”

“Ok, I can grab snacks,” Soonyoung beams, his smile back on his face, “I am great at snacks.”

“Sure you are.” You added. 

You look at the camera man holding the camera a few meters away and you exhale. 

Could you survive this? Could you survive 30 days of Soonyoung being back in your life? This was a dumb idea, you think while looking at the ice cream fridge, and of course it was a Sonyoung idea. You should’ve said no. 

[EXCHANGE HOUSE][CAMERA 5, 7, 9]

“Why are you guys dressed up as powerpuff girls,” Soonyoung hears his ex speak up before he can ever see the other girls. Sometimes he thinks he has tunnel vision - his focus is on you, there is no space left for anyone else. 

When he settles down the plastic bags on the kitchen counter and almost runs towards the living room, still a little bit weird, to have his ex right there and not be able to openly talk to her. The whole trip to the market was a torture - going to the market was something you always did with him when you were together. Soonyoung couldn’t cook to save his life so whenever you two would spend time together in his place you needed a market trip. 

If Soonyoung tried hard enough you made him creamy garlic chicken pasta, his favorite. Even if you said you were already sick of eating it every week. You also made very good eggs for breakfast. Soonyoung misses those moments the most; the routine of waking up with you, he always waited for you to wake up, sometimes while you made a cup of coffee Soonyoung would run to the nearest baker and buy fresh bread.

“What?” The girl in the green tracksuit says making Soonyoung return to earth. She is setting the table and she looks so offended that he thinks she might drop a plate or two.

“Chan,” His ex called the guy that just arrived in the living room, how are you so good with names? How has Chan's name engraved in your brain already? Soonyoung almost forgot his own name today - not his ex's name though, that one he remembers, “look,” you say pointing at each one, a coy smile on her face, “Buttercup, Blossom and Bubbles.”

“Yeah, I can see it,” Chan says laughing way over too enthusiastically it wasn’t even that funny. 

“Who will be the mojo jojo?” Blossom - of course the girl in red, Soonyoung understands it now, asks. 

“I don't know but that leaves me as princess morbucks and I kind of hate it,” you complain, “yellow is so not my color.” 

Soonyoung wants to say that you look great in yellow. That you look good in everything, that you never once looked bad in your life, but he thinks that that alone would be too much and everyone would know you are his ex, so he doesn’t say anything. He bites his own tongue - he really does and it hurts. 

And if the market trip was bad, making dinner was even worse. Everything seemed awkward, you almost didn’t talk with him or Jun, thank god, but everytime you did Jun would giggle and Soonyoung thought about how that was the worst moment of his life - only second for the day of you breaking up. Jun seemed like a very shy and giggly guy, he was indeed charming, and Soonyoung hated that - he was never really a jealous guy but now here he is, freaking out because you are being nice to someone you just met. 

Soonyoung thinks he is one step closer to losing his mind. Thirty days of this? He is definitely walking out of this house completely crazy. And what is even worse? Soonyoung told you three different times how he brought chicken breast, and not even once you talked about how you make a mean chicken pasta, and he has been craving that for months now. He once tried eating in a restaurant but didn’t hit the same spot.

“Can I ask you guys something?” Bubbles asks in a low voice, a cup of beer and soju in her hands. There is still a little bit of food on Soonyoung’s plate, mind you it is his second plate but he is just extremely hungry, new experiences makes him hungry. But almost everyone is finished, just munching on a few bites of meat that Soonyoung grilled - he is proud that he didn’t really burn half of it. 

“Shoot,” Blossoms beams with a smile. 

“Do you guys,” Bubbles starts, she sips on her drink again and he can’t blame her for relying on liquid courage. “Do you guys still have feelings for your ex or that would be weird?”

“I do,” Soonyoung says and you almost get a whiplash, the way that those words leave his mouth is so confident, so sure of his own feelings that make your head spin, “I don’t think it is weird, I mean it depends how it ended, how long was your relationship, how was your relationship,” he finishes with a shrug. 

“Wouldn’t that make everything even worse?” Jun pipes up, he says not looking at anyone in particular, looking a little lost on his own feelings. Soonyoung thinks that is the booze, maybe Jun is a worse drinker than him, maybe Soonyoung wins this round. Take that Wen Junhui, Soonyoung 1, Wen Junhui 0.

“I agree with him,” you say pointing at Jun. What the fuck? Is it a tie now? 

And you do in fact agree with him. Even since you stepped foot in this house and saw Soonyoung for the first time you wished you were completely over him, but apparently your heart didn’t receive the memo. Because here you were, your heart skipping a beat like a teenager everytime Soonyoung even looked at you. 

“Why?” Bubbles ask you, her eyes are so big and so focused that you stutter a bit. She seems truly curious about your opinions and the way your brain was wired, even though she didn’t really seem curious about Jun. 

“I just,” You stop to think a little, Soonyoung eyes are glued on you, and now you are the one who needs liquid courage but your glass is empty, “I will have to help the other girls date my ex right?” You added while looking for another beer, “that alone would be even worse if I still had feelings for my ex right?”

“I agree,” Chan says, “but i think that will be weird even if you don’t have feelings for your ex too like it is something it is weird to share in any type of situation.”

“I am the only one then?” Soonyoung asks laughing, he eats another bite of Junhui's noodles and your veggies, and drinks a gulp of his coke. He is a terrible drinker and he won’t cry on the first night.

“I don’t think you are,” Minghao starts, “but I think there are different levels to it, I am not completely over my ex either but I don’t think we should get back together so like, 70% over?”

“I am a hundred percent,” Buttercup says and you start laughing because she is so blunt, “no guys seriously,” she fusses around, “my ex is great, but I think before we broke up we already knew we were over?” She babbled again while someone pressed a cold glass on your arm. When you look at Jun giving you another glass full of beer. “Like, we are friends now and we are cool but 100% over.”

“But even if you are totally over it, being in the same house doesn't shake you up?” Blossoms asks, “because I was like that and being here and sharing this space is fucking me up.”

“Not in my case, no,” Buttercup answers, “what about you?” she says asking you

“Me?” You want to say you are over, you want to say you no longer have feelings for you ex, and you want to be cool and collected like the others, but the way Soonyoung eyes tingles when he looks at you makes you feel like you are a lonely balloon, some kid is hold you down by a flimsy thread, shaking when the wind blows; “I have no idea what I feel right now, I am all over the place.” You groan before drinking from the glass Jun handed to you.

“Ok, not over your ex then,” Buttercup says and makes the whole group laugh but Soonyoung giggles is the only one that rings in your ear.

“You are not the only one you can chill,” Minghao says to Soonyoung and Soonyoung laughs again.

“Thanks god,” Soonyoung cackled, “Imagine being the only one here who still has feelings, but I still think you guys are the weird ones.”

And it is your time to laugh. The group keeps going around asking questions, sometimes it fades to an awkward silence and Soonyoung is the one who speaks up about something completely random to make the group laugh. You guys can’t really talk about much, you can’t talk about your age, or your jobs, or your ex and how long you dated.

Your relationship with Soonyoung was not exceptional in any way. When you look back, even in the end, it was not out of this world. It was an extremely common relationship. Soonyoung was a great boyfriend but that wasn’t enough, and like every relationship ended badly, of course it did. How could it not? You know you broke up because of circumstances - back then Soonyoung was traveling every week working on a tour, his work hours were always unusual; a rehearsal starting at eight or a stage check at ten. It didn’t help that you, as well, had an insane routine, especially when it was election time. Sometimes you wish you covered fashion for a magazine and not national and international politics for one of the biggest TV channels of the country. 

In the end, you and Soonyoung ended your relationship because you were too similar. Your commitment to work before anything else matched his work ethics. 

You didn’t break up with Soonyoung because he was an asshole, you think that in this situation dealing with a horrible ex boyfriend would be easier; there would be no desire to try again, there would be no heart skipping a beat when Soonyoung says he still feel something for you. 

When you look back at your relationship with Soonyoung you think about how it ended before you broke up, before you two come to terms that it wouldn’t work. It ended when you two were so caught up in your life you couldn’t make space for one another, and that, that alone breaks your heart. You didn’t break up because you fell out of love, you broke up because you were no longer a couple, you two no longer able to take care of each other, no longer having the energy to do so. 

And that - to you sounds even worse. 

“Should we share the rooms?” Minghao’s voice brings you back to reality.

“Rock, paper, scissors and the winner choose first?” Blossom questions.

“Sure.”

[EXCHANGE HOUSE][CAMERA 4, 8]

The second night in the house is somewhat the same as the first one. 

Soonyoung doesn’t cook and neither do you, so you guys spend the night just talking with the other people around the table drinking. You sing a little bit, completely out of tune and your rhythm is so bad that it makes everyone laugh. and god, Soonyoung misses you so much he can feel like a physical pain - an ache in his bones, making him feel heavier than he should. 

Soonyoung is laughing when he hears the doorbell rings, and everyone is startled by it. 

See, the thing is - Soonyoung is not a religious man. He prayed once in a while but as he wasn’t a daily customer he thinks God was very much caught up in other people's problems, those who were more of an habitual client than Soonyoung who prays once in every six months when something goes terribly wrong in his life. But when Minghao lays all the little pics on the table after reading the cue card about the guys choosing the dates Soonyoung knows he is in for a win. If poker was that easy he would be rich.  

He knows very well that the wall with a duck neon sign is your favorite coffee, the place that you two used to go to almost every day. 

“How do we do this?” Soonyoung asks, all the guys look a little fascinated by the pictures while the girls look like they are about to have a heart attack. 

“Do you already have your pick in mind?” Lee Chan questions him astonished. 

“Of course,” Soonyoung says proudly, all eyes are on him, and before he knows he is already bending over the table and sticking his hand out, “Can I just pick or?”

“Which one?” Minghao asks, eyes fixed on Soonyoung’s hand. And the tension is so high and Soonyoung kind of loves it, it reminds him of those few minutes before entering on a stage, “What if someone else wants your picture?”

“The duck one,” Soonyoung remarked plainly because he doesn’t really see a reason to lie, “It is cute”

“Me too,” Junhui says and Soonyoung can feel the muscle of his neck almost snap, the aftermath of a whiplash. He blinks looking at the guy in the eyes and at that moment he wants to kill Junhui, he really wants to - kill his own fucking roomate in a tv show, “Let’s do rock paper scissors”

“I said first though” Soonyoung complained and it is childish but he doesn’t really care. If it is to get his way he will probably be even more childish.

“Yeah but you could pick that one if nobody wanted it,” Junhui nagged, almost matching Soonyoung in the childish level. And Soonyoung hates it, most people didn’t tried to go down on Soonyoung’s level. He is not used to someone going so low.

“Can you guys just do rock paper scissors already? It is stressing me out,” Buttercup says by your side, she is already running her nails. 

“Ok, let’s go,” Soonyoung says calling Junhui onto the battlefield, he is already warming up his wrist, this is a war and he will bring up his heaviest gunnery. 

And Soonyoung isn’t the number one believer, and he doubts God or Jesus or even an angel will listen to him, but yet, he prays for a second or two. And when people say three Soonyoung thinks he hears the angel’s voice singing hallelujah when he sees that Jun threw scissors against his rock.

Soonyoung wins, and he almost screams. Getting up and lifting his hand like it is a gift to beat Junhui on rock papers and scissors, he is almost vibrating - happiness filling his whole body. He looks at his own hand, the neon duck pic between his fingers, his most prized possession. 

“Are you that happy?” You ask him, “that’s kinda suspicious Soonyoung.”

“Yeah,” he says, finally back in reality and sitting down after picking up the picture with the little neon duck in it, “the duck is cute there is nothing suspicious.”

“Wow,” Bubbles says laughing, “he totally chose his ex.” 

“He did, didn't he?” Minghao pipes up, “thank god it will be in secret.”

[INTERVIEW ROOM][CAMERA 1]

“Why did you choose the picture with the duck?” Is the first thing the producers after the girl with the slate get off the frame. 

Soonyoung feels more at ease now. He knows how it works - stare at the camera, answer the question with more than a yes or no, and let the people doing the heavy lifting in the editing room. Even though the producer is staring at him with a scowl he is somewhat used to it too, she is always like that. Even back in the interviews prior to the house, she always looked like a step away from a mental breakdown. 

At some point Soonyoung just accepted that being angry and stressed may be part of her nature, some people are worriers, and he is sure that 80% of the time she is not really angry with him, so he just live his life diligently shooting her program without caring too much about it.  

“Oh,” Soonyoung giggles at her bluntness, he really thinks it is funny enough to clap his hand and all that, “I knew it was my ex picture,” he says in a voice full of pride, “thank God I was super lucky, Junhui was like I want that too but-” he lifts his hand, “I really think I was blessed.” 

“But why?” The producer tries again, she crosses her legs and writes something in her notebook, “We know you choose because she is your ex and you knew that it was her picture, but why”

“Ah, I think,” Soonyoung takes a pause to think about it - he really didn’t even think about why, it just felt right. “It is the first date right? So I guess it's just me trying to shoot my shot earlier on and making things clear.” 

“Cut,” The producer says louder, “They are gonna be the first couple,” She says to her assistant, “there is no way we can go around without making it clear they are a couple, the editor rooms are not doing magic or miracles yet.” 

[ultrone]

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 : 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

n/a. really enjoyed writing the jealous amber headcanons, plus i’m pretty much obsessed with her rn so here y’all go :)

cw: fluff

࣪˖𓂅 amber may be mean and cruel to most people, but when it comes to you, she's a total sweetheart. she'll go out of her way to make sure you feel loved and appreciated, even if it means putting herself in harms way. you're the only one who can make her drop her guard and show her vulnerable side.

࣪˖𓂅 when it comes to physical affection, amber can't get enough. she loves cuddling up to you, playing with your hair, and showering you with kisses and affectionate touches. she's always looking for an excuse to be close to you.

࣪˖𓂅 she's also fiercely loyal and protective of you. she's always there to lend a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on when you need it, even if it means putting her own needs aside.

࣪˖𓂅 whenever there's a party or social gathering, amber's eyes are always on you, constantly checking on you to make sure you're having a good time. swooping in and stealing you away for some drunk, sloppy kisses in a dark corner every chance she gets.

࣪˖𓂅 when you're at school, amber loves to sneak away with you in between classes to make out in the bathroom. it's a risky move, but it's totally worth it for the rush of being together in secret.

࣪˖𓂅 even though she can be very possessive at times, amber knows that you need your space. so, she'll try her best to give you the time and freedom you need to pursue your own interests and hobbies, even tho it's hard for her due to her possessive tendencies.

࣪˖𓂅 amber's protective instincts are always on high alert when it comes to you. if anyone ever tries to mess with you or hurt you in any way, she'll be the first to jump to your defense, and you know better than anyone else how violent and aggressive she can get.

࣪˖𓂅 pda is not something amber shies away from. she'll happily hold your hand, cuddle with you on the couch, and steal kisses whenever she can, regardless of who's watching. she also sees this as an opportunity to show everyone who you belong to.

࣪˖𓂅 amber may not be the most conventional girlfriend, but she's always exciting and unpredictable. whether you're out on a date or just hanging out at home, there's never a dull moment with her around.

࣪˖𓂅 amber loves listening to music with you and introducing you to new bands and artists. she'll make you mixtapes or playlists and you'll listen to them together on the way to school or while hanging out at home.

࣪˖𓂅 amber loves to shower you with gifts, especially ones that she's made herself. she'll spend hours crafting something special and unique just for you, whether it's a piece of jewelry, a scrapbook of your favorite memories together, or a playlist of songs that remind her of you. she puts a lot of thought and effort into every present she gives you. seeing you happy and excited over her gifts brings her immense joy and satisfaction, and she's always on the lookout for new ways to surprise you and show her love.

࣪˖𓂅 she often does this to make up for her possessive tendencies. she knows that her jealousy can be overwhelming at times, and she worries about pushing you away. so, she'll go out of her way to make you feel loved and appreciated, showering you with attention and affection in an effort to show you just how much you mean to her.

࣪˖𓂅 amber loves taking you on spontaneous late-night drives, just the two of you, with no particular destination in mind. you'll often find yourselves talking about anything and everything, or just enjoying the comfortable silence. and when the drive ends, she'll often park in a secluded spot where you can cuddle up together under the stars.

please do not translate, copy and paste, or repost my work anywhere. likes, comments, and re-blogs are always appreciated tho <33

[mynameisnotsoda]

Explaining my entire dsmpsona playlist because I can

P.s. every mention of Soda in this post isn't me, i just dont feel like putting c! In front of it every single time LMAO

Also i dont think i ever posted the ref on tumblr!!?!??! Criminal but putting it here is better methinks

I also put this in my studentbur playlist, which feels fitting for both of them. However for Adam its more metaphorical whereas with Soda its more literal.

I have my own shapeshifter lore that's loitering in my brain that i need to write down eventually BUT the basics are essentially that shapeshifters are "born" from the planet. They CAN come from other shapeshifters but only once and most choose not to have a bio kid.

So basically, Soda literally popped out of the ground one day, was found by Sapnap and then adopted by Bad and Skeppy. Soda was maybe physically 9/10 years old and was so curious about the world and excited to experience life. If any creature could possibly be made of pure love, its them.

Growing up Soda got REALLY attached to Bad, they clung onto him a lot and it was to the point where it was probably unhealthy. Of course Bad noticed, which made him actually set some boundaries despite not really wanting to. Skeppy was able to convince him, though, as when it comes to the kids hes the voice of reason.

So, Bad would start off by telling Soda that he was going to be gone, leading up to him just disappearing for maybe a few hours at a time before eventually coming back. Eventually Soda was able to function without Bad, but that ended up backfiring as they just latched onto Sapnap instead.

With Soda's attachment to their brother, they tagged along with him when he went out fairly often but after being weened off of Bad it became more frequent. Soda and Sapnap were practically attached at the hip, regardless of Sapnap's protesting.

With a group of teenagers they were obviously doing some reckless, stupid shit and Soda was just along for the ride! At first Dream and George hated Soda—they were just Sapnap's annoying younger sibling—but eventually they got used to Soda being around. Especially since they may have persuaded Soda to use their shapeshifting for nefarious purposes.

At first everyone found Soda adorable, their cheery optimism, endless energy and amusing naivety was a part of their charm. But then it became...obnoxious.

Sapnap always had a short temper, he tried his best to handle it, but sometimes he'd just snap at Soda when they became too much of a handful. He was always quick to apologize but it affected Soda deeply.

Soda very much struggled with any sort of negative emotions, when they felt it—it hit them hard. One day, it was enough to send them spiraling, having a panic attack alone in their room. This was also the first time memories of their past lives resurfaced. At first it was rather intriguing, though a jumpscare, but then it just got worse.

It seemed like Soda's lives were always filled with turmoil and a constant feeling of dread. The stronger their emotions became the more fragments of memories would appear. Soda didn't tell anyone about this.

Skipping much further ahead, Soda obviously sided with the Dteam during the revolution. They were family, in Soda's eyes at least. Which made it incredibly easy for Dream to use that to his advantage. He used them in every way that he could to win the war, even going as far as to try and make Soda resent Tommy and Tubbo. Soda was a spy, mostly, turning into a cat to effortlessly infiltrate the enemy. They heard and saw everything, but part of them felt bad for it, so they never told Dream everything. He noticed.

The horrors of being a child soldier.

Dream's obsession with power and control was never obvious, not to his friends and certainly not to Soda. They truly believed he had good intentions despite going to war with Wilbur. Then again, Soda doesn't understand what war really is. But the pressure to keep up with Dream's demands and avaid his increasing irritably became exhausting and overwhelming. Yet Soda believed it was their fault.

Tubbo and Tommy weren't safe from the horrors either, they had that much in common with Soda. The three of them went through hell, basically.

Dream.

Aaaand tumblr wont let me add more songs so im cutting this into parts through reblogs. I'll probably continue this later (bc its almost 2am pFF) and might post the second part before i go to sleep like im doing now :P

I am cringe but I am free

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

Heyo! Love your work btw *chef kiss* I'm obsessed with your poly turtles stuff. Could you maybe do some Christmas poly headcannons? Seasonal Activities they do with their s/o, possible gifts they receive, fav cookies/treats, fav Xmas music. Idk just some festive stuff? If you're busy that's cool 😎 your poly turt stuff has me needing more haha. Thanks!

Ok, I'm pretty sure I got this before Christmas and it's now May. I'm so sorry. I won't go into all the reasons I haven't really been writing because it's a lot but I want to get back into it so here goes with this very unseasonal post lmao

and thank you everyone for you patience as I get back into the swong of writing for my blog

Raph

This big hunk of red and green first

He's very seasonal if you think about it

He's also super (secretly) into the holidays

catch him doing his rendition of rockin' around the Christmas tree very loudly when he's off his tits on eggnog

((side note I think he would hate eggnog but would drink it solely because it's festive))

He's secretly super sentimental and he knows you love this time of year so he really puts his back into it

I'm talking it's the 1st of December and he wakes you up in a full Santa outfit and white beard (that he knitted himself) yelling "Ho Ho Ho!" and asking if you've been naughty or nice

it's like 6am so you, naturally, tell him to piss off

to which he makes a big show of trying to shove you into his Santa sack because "Someone needs a trip to the North Pole to learn the Christmas spirit"

He's also pretty good with crafts

obvs you guys can't go outside and be seen so he creates a whole winter wonderland in the lair (without telling the others, Mikey was the only one who appreciated it tbh)

also he's a great cook so you spend evening after evening baking sugar cookies and decorating them, sipping hot chocolate with a candy cane in it and whipped cream on top, making warming winter soups.

In terms of gifts, he gets you anything and everything he even thinks you might like

real big spender this one

handmade too items like a scarf he knitted for you because your old one was a bit worn, handmade card, he even did a little snow globe that he made with figures of you and him inside of it

he'll say "I know it's lame" or "It's not the best but I tried" but it means the world to you

Leo

Big boy blue up next

I see him loving a very traditional, old fashioned, classic Xmas.

His big thing is that he loves to decorate the tree with you

but you would always bicker about how it should look

"No, I think a gold and red theme would look better!"

"But, Leo, we have all of these cute glass candy canes I wanna hang!"

"But I have a vision!!"

so this year he decides to buy like 6 trees (and by buy I mean forage, steal or cut down)

so you can both have your own trees and decorate them however you want

this, obviously, becomes a Christmas competition

your very unwilling judges are Leo's brothers and even Splinter

they have never looked more uncomfortable than when you and Leo are very passionately stating your case for why your tree is better than the other's and it ends in you both throwing baubles at each other

about half an hour and a lot of tinsel lying everywhere later you decide that maybe you're both a little too competitive

but Leo reassures that "That's why I love you"

He's so big on quality time with you

lot's of sitting by a crackling fire, sipping coco and letting soft Christmas songs play

he's made a playlist of v gentle ones like Eartha Kitt's Santa baby, Conventry carol and god rest ye merry gentlemen.

it's all about the mood w/ Leo

as far as gifts, it's has to be something personal and sweet

a pressed flower in resin from the first day you both met, a silver heart shaped locket with a pic of you both in it, some sort of talisman that's supposed to keep you safe in ninja superstition

Mikey

Time for chaotic good to come to play

Mikey just manages to capture that almost childlike enthusiasm and wonder for the season

He has a funny habit of wrapping your gifts to look like something else

last year you were certain he'd gotten you a rocking horse but it turned out to be a new phone and headphones

"How long did it take you to wrap it like that?"

"Don't ask questions you don't wanna know.....3 hours to make the horse part look right"

normally he gets you silly but sweet gifts

lots of sticking filler things

oh and he gets you an actual stocking too, but like a comically oversized one to fit all the gifts

stuff he's made too

one year he made you 50 hand cut paper snowflakes with 50 reasons he loves you written and drawn on them

also stuff you guys can do together

video games he knows you'll find fun, stupid interactive games that you can play, that kinda stuff

he does a special Xmas scavenger hunt for you each year that the others pretend is stupid but it keeps getting more elaborate as time goes on and even they are started to get invested in the ending

there's a theme and everything ranging from polar express to murder at the Christmas party to Santa's grotto....

he also never fails to dress up as Mrs Clause every year (because Raph insists on being Santa and at first Mikey just wanted everyone to laugh, but now it's kinda a tradition)

Donnie

oh my sweet gadget boy

he's super big into cocktails, the sweeter the better

and you always get to name them together but you both have a warped sense of humour so the names are getting out of hand

you pick a fave each year as well

last year was "The abominable snowman's frozen left nut" and the year before was "Mrs Clause putting glass shavings in Santa's food because he came back with the clap"

I told you they were bizarre....

his gifts are always thoughtful and so romantic

I HC Donnie as being a super romantic guy

whether it be a painting he made of the constellations and planets in correct placement on the night the two of you first kissed

or a wreath of dried flowers and plants to hang on the door that came from the field behind your childhood house

but this year it's a scrapbook filled to the brim with every detail of the two of you, all dated and with a little annotation telling a story as to why it's in there. photos, cards, handwritten letters, magazine cut outs, diary entries.... it's all in there and it's enough to make you cry.

He also sneaks you out on Christmas eve every year without the others knowing (they'd flip if they came to know that he was stealing you away at that time)

but he takes you up to the rooftops to sit on blankets and drink hot chocolate (spiked with a little rum, it's Donnie after all...) and look at the lights and snowflakes and people bustling home to their families and you sit and feel at peace and laugh as you make up backstories to each individual you see scurrying home

you lean against his shoulder and every year that he does this it feels more magical than the last