#thank you for your lovely messages and for those asking for this

[lymtw]

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

-

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

[sarahroutldge]

caveman.

a/n: I wrote this for the brilliant 'make rafe great again' campaign by @zyafics!! It's a bit of a mess and unedited but I hope someone enjoys it!

summary: you may love rafe cameron, but that doesn't mean you have to love his borderline toxic possessiveness and jealousy.

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, fluff, creepy guy behaving creepily (nothing graphic), violent rage on rafe's part (what else is new), alcohol, weed, smoking, mentions of past messy relationships, I'm lazy so I didn't proofread this... uh I think that's it. lmk if I forgot anything!

Parties at the Boneyard are practically rites of passage for the kids who grow up there; whether you’re a kid from the cut or the heir to a multi-million-dollar fortune on Figure Eight, you’re probably spending those summer Friday nights getting drunk or high—most likely both—at the Boneyard. In high school and college, those nights are treasured, rare moments where the parents and grandparents aren’t eyeing their kids, waiting to see them fail. 

And sure, maybe, on occasion, things get messy. The Pogues and the Kooks are never quite at peace for long, but usually it blows over before anything truly terrible can happen, as the Kooks involved know that once Deputy Shoupe gets notified, so will their parents. And for the Pogues, one run-in with the police is a future discarded—a scholarship taken away, a college acceptance thrown out, a job opportunity lost. 

But it’s hard to care so much about that when you’re a bit tipsy, a bit high, and dancing with your friends under the moonlight. Your boyfriend is just across the beach, drinking with his friends, and you can almost swear that the winks he sends you every once in a while feel like a jolt of electricity. Truly, they’re almost as intoxicating as the weed and the alcohol.

Kiara spins you around, and the two of you twirl across the makeshift dancefloor (which is really just sand), as you enjoy a drama-free night. The wind is just strong enough to provide an extra breeze to what would usually be a much hotter, much more humid Outer Banks night. And the music has mellowed from Top 40 hits to some softer, bedroom pop. You don’t know the words, but you’re having too much fun to care.

Unfortunately, though, nothing in the Outer Banks is ever truly uneventful. The bliss you’ve taken for granted is shattered without warning, when you feel a sweaty, unfamiliar hand grasping at your midsection. Immediately turning around, your hand drops from Kiara’s, and you make eye contact with the tall, unfamiliar man before you (a Touron, if you had to guess). Not wanting to make that much of a fuss, you simply shake your head, hoping he’ll get the message. But he’s either too wasted or simply doesn’t care, and he reaches for your waist again, and this time his grip is strong enough to pull you back into his chest. 

“What the hell, dude?” Kiara bites, before pushing him off of you. “Get off our beach if all you’re planning on doing is acting like a perv,” she adds. You grab her hand, squeezing it in thanks. 

The man raises his hands up as if he’s totally innocent, and you just scoff. Thankfully, though, he seems to finally take a hint, as he turns around. Kiara looks up at you, and opens her mouth as if to speak. But unfortunately, before she can, you hear the familiar but worrying shout of your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, from behind you.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rafe starts, before shoving the man’s back. 

You can immediately sense where this is going, and frankly, you’re not up for it. “Rafe, it’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Rafe turns around. “It’s not fucking fine. He’s scum.” 

And just as you’re about to grab your boyfriend’s hand and pull him away, the stranger turns around. “Hey man, it was an honest mistake.”

“Yeah? Well, next time, ask a girl before you put your fucking hands on her, especially when that girl is my girlfriend.” 

“Rafe, please, let’s not do this. I just wanna go home,” you chime in, hoping that you’re loud enough for him to hear over his rage. 

“You didn’t want to go home until this prick put his hands on you,” Rafe argues.

And while you were annoyed before, now you’re irritated. “Rafe, let’s go,” you say, colder. 

He stares at you for a minute, and then looks around, noticing that the man who touched you has walked away. He huffs, his fists balled in anger, and then he walks away from you. You watch as Rafe walks across the sand, away from the crowd.

“Do you want to go after him?” Kiara asks, feeling awkward about the obvious tension between you and your boyfriend.

“No. He just needs to blow off some steam.”

Kiara nods. “Are… are you okay?” she asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… That was gross. And I’m mad at that guy, but unfortunately, shit like this happens. And I’m tired of having to deal with Rafe’s temper tantrums every time we go out.” 

“Any other time, I’d get it. Believe me. But this wasn’t just a guy getting too close—he wouldn’t back off. That piece of shit deserved whatever punch Rafe was gonna give him.”

“It’s not about what the guy did. Trust me, I’d be happy to see him get punched. It’s the possessiveness that bothers me. It’s like Rafe thinks I’m helpless without him,” you explain.

“I promise that’s not true,” Kiara assures you, but even she seems a little unsure of the words she’s saying. “Look, I’m not Cameron’s biggest fan—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes.

Kiara chuckles. “But this time, I think that guy deserved what was coming to him. And it’s so obvious that Rafe loves you. Maybe your anger is a bit misplaced.”

You shake your head, trying to get her to understand your point of view. “Shit like this has happened before, Kie. And with guys that were way less upfront than that one. It’s not that I’m mad he defended me; I’m mad that he sees me as some damsel in distress, someone who can’t function without him as a bodyguard. I just wish he’d have a bit more faith in me.”

Your friend considers your words for a minute, ultimately giving you a tight smile. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. You can hang with us at the Chateau while your man figures his shit out.”

She tosses her arm around your shoulder, and your mouth curves into a reluctant smile. As the two of you make your way off the beach, your head turns behind you, looking out for your troublesome but usually well-meaning boyfriend. He’s far away now, but you can still sense the frustration radiating from him in waves. 

A few days pass before you see Rafe again. You’ve texted a bit back and forth, putting some space between the two of you. You know you’ll forgive him eventually, but you need time to consider how to move forward. Rafe’s issues with anger and jealousy span far back into his childhood. And it might not be your job to “fix” them, but you can’t help but want to. 

Rafe is complicated, always has been. From his issues with his father to his struggles with hard drugs and history of getting into fights, there’s a lot of darkness swirling around in that brain of his. For the longest time, he struggled with asking for help, lacking the attention and care of a parent who could teach their child how to deal with the toughest emotions. But you won’t deny that he’s gotten better at it. He’s matured in a way that his younger teenage self would never have imagined, and the responsibilities of adulthood combined with the weekly therapy appointments (that only you and his sisters know about) have helped to mellow him, giving him the tools with which to face his demons. 

And that’s why you won’t give up on him. 

Midsummer’s is just around the corner. Though balls and galas in the name of “charity” are certainly not rare on Figure Eight, Midsummer’s is always one of the grandest and most important (at least in the minds of the Eight’s parents and authority figures). For the teenagers, it’s a time to converse with adults about the future, hopefully landing connections that will help with the process of college applications and even internships later on. For the parents and grandparents, it’s the perfect time to show off the family unit; those who live on the island year-round and the families that stay just for the summer all come together to brag about the past year’s “achievements.” For those in their early twenties like you and Rafe, it’s a time to take advantage of the open bar and see the friends from high school that you haven’t seen in a while.

This year, however, is the first year that Rafe and you are attending as a couple. Your table is a mix of the Cameron family (plus Sarah’s boyfriend John B. who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else), your own family, and a few singles. Normally, this would be an occasion for pressure, but your families have known each other throughout the years, as the Figure Eight scene has always been a tight circle.

After the main courses have been served and the parents have swapped conversations about business for the latest gossip, the band’s music starts to slow. The sun has set and the moon looks stunning over the country club, reminding you of just how lucky you’ve been to grow up in a place so beautiful. And even though you and Rafe are a bit rocky, you almost forget it. The tipsiness from a few too many unclassy shots behind the bar with your friends has set in, and Rafe’s hand on your thigh feels almost too hot for a night like this. He squeezes the bare thigh uncovered by the slit in your dress every once in a while, as the two of you shift in and out of conversations with your family. It’s almost going too well. 

That is, until your father mentions your cousin’s upcoming marriage when he speaks to Ward.

“She’s the first of my nieces to get married. We’re all thrilled, and the wedding is only two months away.” He shifts a bit, seeking your attention. “Y/N, honey,” he says, and you turn your head to face your father, away from the pleasant and lighthearted conversation you’ve been having with Sarah and her boyfriend.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I still need to book the tickets for your trip with your cousin, so please send me the dates tomorrow at the latest. Or else you’re going to have to find your own way to pay for them,” he adds, laughing at himself like it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world. 

“Will do, Dad,” you add, and as soon as the words have left your mouth you go back to the conversation with your friends. 

But before you can speak, you feel the hand that’s been on your thigh move to your hand, squeezing to get your attention.

“What trip was your dad talking about?” Rafe asks, unsure of why this hasn’t been mentioned before.

“Oh, Rafe, I’ve told you about this. I’m going away with my cousin and a few other girls in a few weeks for her bachelorette party.” 

Rafe considers this. He knew you’d mentioned a vacation, but he could’ve sworn it was a family trip up to visit your grandparents. His jaw clenches, though his tone remains the same. “Where is it?”

“Miami. We’re all staying in one large suite at a beach resort that I can’t remember the name of.”

He nods. “Why can’t I come?”

You hesitate. He did hear the word bachelorette, right? “Rafe, it’s a bachelorette party. You’d be the only guy there.”

And yet he doesn’t seem to get it. “Exactly. Babe, you’ll be going to bars in Miami without me or any other guys. And as much as I love you, you’re the clumsiest drunk I know,” he adds, with a smirk. Clearly, he thinks you’ll find his comment funny. Though you normally would, he says it with a condescending tone that makes you drop the hand you’ve been holding.

“I can take care of myself, Rafe.”

“Can you?” he asks, not yet sensing the change in mood.

“Yes!” you respond, more sternly but without raising your voice. “I’ve taken care of myself drunk way longer than you and I have been together. I think I can manage a few days in Miami with my cousin and her friends.” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not understanding where your anger is coming from.

“I know you can take care of yourself, babe, but you shouldn’t have to. I’m a guy—I know how guys behave. And you’re nice—sometimes too nice—and it makes me worry about you.”

“I am a grown woman, Rafe. I’m not helpless.” 

“I never said you were helpless, and you know it. Why are you fighting with me over this? It’s like you think I’m the bad guy, and not whatever perv is gonna start groping you in a sticky Miami bar.” 

Frankly, you’re stunned, and a thought comes to your head. Is he really worried for me—or does he not trust me? But you don’t feel like voicing your opinion out loud, and you need to cool off. You stand up out of your seat, and shove your chair in. The action draws the eyes of your family, but you ignore your mother asking where you disappeared to. You need fresh air.

Taking the path you and every other Figure Eight kid knows from the time they’re fifteen years old, you follow through the winding hallway of the club that leads out back, to where the waiters and other club employees take their breaks. The immediate gust of wind feels refreshing on your face, and you walk to the edge of the parking lot. 

Your feet take you to the abandoned dock that, for whatever reason, was never taken down when the country club was renovated a few decades ago. It’s hidden behind overgrown trees and weeds, and you breathe in relief at the absence of anyone else there. Though from here you can still faintly hear the sounds of the event behind you, it’s quiet enough to where you can also hear the swamp waters crash against the dock, and the night bugs buzzing around you. 

The edge of the dock is too dirty for you to sit down on—your eagle-eyed mother would immediately notice any stain on your dress and berate you for it—so you simply stand there, thinking about the boyfriend you left at the table. The look on Rafe’s face just makes you let out a harsh chuckle. It occurs to you at that moment that your boyfriend is either an idiot or really entitled. Maybe he’s both. 

You’ve dealt with this shit before, and Rafe knows that. He knows that your most recent boyfriend before him was controlling and overprotective in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. It’s why you broke up in the first place.

Does he not even listen to me?

The small but effective cardigan that covers your shoulders begins to itch, and you reach to take it off, only to stumble upon something in the left pocket. When your hands grasp the item, you immediately sigh in relief, pulling it out. 

The pack of cigarettes is old, of course; you haven’t worn this sweater since high school, but it was the only one that even somewhat went with your dress tonight. And Outer Banks summer nights have always had a bit of a chill to them. Your fingers carefully open the pack, pulling out one of three cigarettes left, before setting the pack down next to your feet. You drag it to your lips, holding it there as your fingers naturally reach for the lighter in the opposite pocket. 

It takes a few flicks before a flame is successfully lit. You draw it to the end of the cigarette, an inhale.

About halfway into your second cigarette, you hear the sounds of footsteps on the creaking dock. 

“You hate when I smoke,” he says, and though the immediately recognizable voice of Rafe Cameron should be comforting, in the aftermath of the argument it’s only agitating.

“I don’t want to do this now,” you say without turning around to face him. He nods, though you don’t see, before walking a few more steps.

He’s about a foot away from you, and you still haven’t turned. “Look, Y/N, I only—”

And his insistence on talking only adds to your irritation. Turning around your heel, you look him right in the eyes, meeting his blank face. “No, Rafe, you don’t get to speak.”

“But I—”

“No,” you say, and he finally seems to understand. 

A beat passes, and he nods, encouraging you. 

“Rafe, I love you. I really love you. But I don’t love you enough to deal with distrust that clearly comes from a place of insecurity rather than genuine concern. I’m not saying that you don’t have any concern for me; I’m saying that whatever your little interrogation was back at the table felt more like an insult than anything else. And you know the shit I went through with Noah. So don’t act as if my rage is misplaced or coming out of nowhere. I’ve done this shit before and I know I deserve better, Rafe.” 

You take an inhale of the cigarette, before exhaling right in his face. He rolls his eyes at the action, but you remain unbothered. “Can I say something now?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

He looks hesitant, but he proceeds anyway. “I’m not great with words—you know this. I’m not good at expressing myself eloquently, and one of the things I like so much about you is that I don’t ever feel like I need to. You know what I’m feeling even when I can’t find the words to describe it, and you don’t push me to.”

He waits a bit, eyes searching your face to ensure that you’re paying attention. When he finds at least a bit of interest in your eyes, he continues. 

“I’ll be honest. I didn’t get why you ran off before.”

“I can tell.”

He ignores the snark in your comment. “But it doesn’t matter whether I get it or not. What matters is that I love you and I trust you. And I did sound a bit like a dick.”

“Just a bit?” you ask, and he tries not to smile at your question. Clearly, he’s headed in the right direction with his speech if you’re willing to even joke with him.

“Fine, I deserve that,” he accepts. “I mess up a lot. Like a lot. I don’t always say the right things and I don’t always express my feelings in the most polite way, but I’m working on it. I promise.”

“Rafe, that’s just the problem. I’m tired of hearing you say that you’re working on it—I want to actually see the change. I can’t do the possessive caveman shit again, I can’t. And I don’t like feeling like your teacher. I’m your girlfriend; as much as I care about you and want to help you with shit like this, it can’t be all our relationship is.”

He nods. “I know, babe. You deserve better than that.” And something in his tone makes you want to lean into his sincerity, trusting that he actually gets how you feel. You drop the butt of the cigarette, and he stomps it out with his foot. “Your mom would go insane if you ruined those heels.”

You smile… just a bit. Testing the waters, he brings a hand up to your face, and your body reacts by leaning in, craving his touch. Even when you’re mad at him, he’s the one you yearn for. But before you can get swept away in the magic, you need to make sure that he gets your point. Your hand reaches up to his and pulls it down. He immediately frowns at the action, and it takes all the willpower you possess to not abandon your speech when his lips pout in that adorable way that they do. 

Instead, you squeeze his hand in assurance, and his pout morphs into something less worrying, more hopeful. 

“Rafe, I don’t mind that you get worried sometimes. I don’t even mind that you get a little jealous. They’re your feelings and you’re entitled to them. But you’re not entitled to talk to me the way that you just did. I love you and I would never, ever do anything to risk that.” You punctuate your declaration by bringing your hands to his face, pulling him down to meet you. He settles into the familiar action, and leans in.

“I’ll work on it, I promise,” he says, only an inch away from your lips. 

You nod, sensing the truth in his words. “Thank you.”

His blue eyes look into yours with a gleam of hope. With the natural habit that comes with almost a year of dating, his lips come to press against yours, as his hands fall to your hips. The moment is picture perfect, and your hands run down his tux-covered chest. It’s gentle at first, almost hesitant—just like when you first started dating. But then it moves into something deeper, as you feel his hands squeeze at your hips and his lips move against yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. What started out as something soft and romantic quickly becomes something much more crazed and heated, with whines and sloppy kisses drowning out the noise of the waters behind you and the country club in the distance.

You make out like teenagers, hidden away from everyone else as if you’re not both grown adults in a serious committed relationship. It’s thrilling and messy, filled with passion and earnestness, as if he’s trying to convince you of his promise with the kiss. And you love it.

But unfortunately, the fog of youth can only last for so long. Your immature but intoxicating makeout session is too-soon interrupted by the sounds of your boyfriend’s closest friends, Kelce and Topper. 

“I told you they’d be making out,” Topper says, and you and Rafe immediately jump apart as if your parents have caught you. But he refuses to drop you entirely, instead pulling you with him as he turns to face his friends. 

His mood quickly shifts from slightly annoyed to severely unimpressed when he sees Topper take a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet, passing it to Kelce. “Really?” he asks. You roll your eyes at the juvenile bet. He pulls you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hey, you have no reason to be mad, Cameron. You’re not the one with twenty dollars less in their pocket,” Kelce bites back, and Topper just snickers.

“Not really my problem and also not my fault,” Rafe retorts. You can’t help but giggle at the petty argument, and Rafe’s heart swells knowing that your argument has been resolved. Maybe not completely, but he knows the two of you will move forward. You always do.

As the two boys in front of you begin to bicker more about God-knows-what, Rafe leans down to your ear. “You reek of cigarettes by the way.”

“And since when does that bother you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t care less. But your mother—”

You huff, not letting him finish. “Don’t even go there. Let’s sneak out through the back parking lot.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth. Come on.” He grabs your hand, tugging you forwards. The two of you shove through Topper and Kelce, but Rafe couldn’t care less. You quickly make your way across the parking lot, hand-in-hand. 

“And maybe since I won’t be joining you on the Miami trip, you could give me a little show of all the bikinis I won’t get to see,” he adds with a smirk. 

You gasp in mock agitation, but the mischievous glint in your eyes tells him that you’re back in tune with him. “Only if you’re on your best behavior,” you tease back. 

I'm soooo bad at endings so apologies for that - but otherwise hope y'all enjoyed!! and here's a reminder that requests are very much open :)

also again - shoutout to zyafics for this clever campaign!! I loved participating and I encourage y'all to read the other great fics written for it <3

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: one. <two.> three. four. five. six.

Y/N Y/L/N had slowly, painfully, become the secret builder of Megan’s small joys. It was a role she never asked for, a strange, heavy job that both made her heart glow with a quiet happiness and, at the same time, slowly broke it. Every thoughtful act, every careful surprise, was meant only for Megan, a quiet whisper of love Y/N couldn’t say out loud. It was her way of showing, without words, how deeply she cared, how much Megan truly meant to her.

However, time and again, her older brother, Gabriel, would just step in. Like a sudden, cool shadow falling over a sunlit path, he would effortlessly claim the praise, the smiles, the grateful looks meant for someone else. It was a strange, sad dance they all seemed to be caught in, though only Y/N knew the full steps.

Y/N poured her whole heart into these actions. Each one was like a tiny, precious gift of herself, a silent promise of a love she couldn’t openly share. Yet, almost as soon as she made the move, she would watch Gabriel soak up Megan’s thanks, her happy exclamations, her warm glances.

It was a pain she put on herself, a constant, dull ache behind her ribs. Still, the thought of Megan being truly happy, even if that happiness was based on a lie, was enough to make Y/N keep going. She told herself, over and over, that it was worth it. That Megan’s smile, no matter who caused it, was enough.

She could vividly recall one particularly rough evening. The air outside was turning chilly, and a sense of quiet dread hung over campus as midterms approached. Megan had been buried in the university common room for hours, a place usually full of chatter that was now hushed by the shared stress of exams.

Megan was surrounded by piles of thick textbooks and scattered notes, her hair a bit messy from running her hands through it in frustration. She was deep into a huge, confusing philosophy paper, a subject that often tied her in knots. Y/N had seen her earlier, her forehead crinkled in a worried frown, her shoulders slumped, and her hand shaking slightly as she tried to highlight a passage in a dense, difficult book.

Y/N knew Megan’s habits well – how she always reached for warm, comforting drinks when she was stressed, especially after long hours of intense studying. She remembered Megan mentioning her deep love for a very specific spiced chai latte from a small, cozy café all the way across town, a little place with mismatched chairs and the scent of cinnamon and old books. It was a cafe Y/N herself rarely visited, because it was quite a walk.

A decision, quick and sharp, had formed in Y/N’s mind. “Should I do this?” a small, tired voice inside her head whispered. It felt like that voice was always there, a tiny, nagging doubt.

“It’ll just hurt later, when Gabriel takes credit, won't it? You know how this goes.”

But then, another voice, stronger and filled with the pure, aching want to ease Megan’s stress, spoke up, “She needs it. Look at her. She’s really struggling.”

This second voice, the one that rooted for Megan’s happiness above all else, always, always won.

So, Y/N had quietly slipped out of the common room, moving like a shadow, trying to blend into the group of students heading out for dinner or back to their dorms. The air outside was turning cold, a fine, misty drizzle starting to fall, making the streetlights glow softly, blurring their edges into halos. She walked quickly, the familiar dampness of the city settling on her skin, feeling the cool drops on her eyelashes.

The sounds of distant cars rattling by and chatter from students slowly faded as she got closer to the quiet café, warm light in the gathering dusk. Inside, the warmth and the rich, sweet smell of spices mixed with brewing tea were comforting.

She ordered Megan's exact chai, asking for it extra hot, just how Megan liked it, knowing she'd be sipping it slowly while she worked. While waiting, she found a stray napkin on the counter and, with a tiny, worn pen she always carried, drew a small, familiar star on the cup’s sleeve—a little inside joke from a conversation she’d had with Megan months ago about wishing on constellations after a particularly tough exam. It was a small, secret mark, meant only for Megan, a tiny piece of Y/N’s heart hidden in plain sight, a silent message—”I see you. I’m thinking of you.”

Back at the university, Y/N crept back into the common room. It felt heavier now, the air thick with unspoken worries. Megan was still there, hunched over her laptop, looking even more tired and lost in her work.

Y/N’s heart ached just looking at her, a tight squeeze in her chest. She carefully placed the warm cup of chai and a small, neatly folded napkin (with a little motivational doodle on it, a tiny, happy doodle she knew Megan would find amusing) beside Megan’s laptop, making sure not to make a sound, not to disturb her focus.

Then, holding her breath, Y/N quickly, silently slipped away, disappearing back into the hallway before Megan could even lift her head, before she could even notice the small act of kindness.

An hour later, Y/N walked back through the common room again, pretending to just be "passing by" on her way to grab a late snack. And then she heard it. Megan's voice, bright with pure, unburdened gratitude, echoed across the almost empty room.

"Oh my God, Gabriel, you are a lifesaver! This chai latte is exactly what I needed! How did you know?" Gabriel, leaning casually against the doorframe, a relaxed, easy smirk on his face, simply winked.

"Knew you'd be in here suffering, Megs. Figured a little pick-me-up was in order." Y/N saw him glance down at the cup, his smirk briefly wavering as he noticed the small, hand-drawn star on the sleeve, a slight frown of confusion crossing his face for just a second but he was quick, he recovered instantly, shrugging playfully.

"Anything to help you crush that paper, Megs. You deserve a break." Megan had smiled, a tired but truly grateful smile, her eyes full of warmth and thanks directed only at him. "You're seriously the best," she'd murmured, taking a long, comforting sip, her shoulders relaxing just a little.

The words "You're seriously the best" felt like a knife twisting in Y/N. They weren't meant for her, the one who had felt the drizzle, walked to the distant cafe, carefully chose the exact drink, and added the secret star. They were for Gabriel, who had done none of those things.

He had just accepted the praise, like it was always meant for him. Y/N retreated to her own dorm room, the familiar ache in her chest sharpening into a dull, throbbing pain that spread through her whole body.

It wasn't just the credit he stole, it was the feeling of closeness, of being truly understood, that he took away from her. Every thoughtful act, every attempt to show Megan that Y/N truly saw her, was hijacked, making Megan believe it was his attentiveness, his understanding, his care.

Your pining felt heavier than ever, a secret so massive and crushing it threatened to break you. You knew, deep down, that you should stop. You should pull away, protect your heart from this constant, self-inflicted pain. Sometimes you just wish that your own brother, Gabriel, would back off.

However, the thought of not being the one to bring even a tiny flicker of joy to Megan’s day, even in secret, felt utterly unbearable. So, you continued, a silent guardian of her happiness, forever invisible in her eyes.

The chai latte incident was just one of many, many times this had happened. Weeks later, Megan had mentioned, with a frustrated sigh, how incredibly confusing her advanced historical economics class was. She was struggling badly, often complaining about the dense textbooks and the complex theories. She felt lost.

Y/N, however, had always had a natural knack for breaking down complicated ideas. It was almost a personal challenge for her to take jumbled information and make it clear. Over the next few weeks, while Megan was busy with demanding soccer practice and other tough classes, Y/N spent almost every late night in the library. She didn't just read the historical economics course material, she studied it deeply, she examined every chapter, she dived into the background stories.

She created detailed flowcharts, summarized key points into easy bullet points, drew funny little cartoons in the margins to help remember dry facts, and simplified complex theories into language anyone could understand. It was a huge amount of work, a massive, carefully crafted study guide, something she herself couldn't imagine she can pull off.

She added little encouraging notes in the margins, like "You've got this!" and "Don't let the numbers scare you, they're just friends!"— things she'd say to Megan if she could, little whispers of support.

Once it was finished, a thick binder filled with neatly organized pages, color-coded tabs, and easy-to-read summaries, Y/N felt a strange mix of pride and dread. It was perfect. But how would she get it to Megan? And how, oh how, would Gabriel take credit for this?

She decided on a subtle approach, hoping for once it might slip under his radar. One morning, when she knew Megan would be in a big, crowded lecture hall, Y/N quietly slipped into Megan's locker room (she knew the code from a group project they’d done months ago). She carefully placed the thick binder inside Megan's locker, right on top of her books, so she couldn't miss it. No note, no signature, just the guide itself, a silent offering.

A few days later, Y/N was walking through the student union building when she heard Megan’s voice, buzzing with excitement. "You guys, you will not believe what Gabriel did for me!" she told a small group of friends, including Y/N, after class.

"He somehow got me this amazing study guide for historical economics! It's perfectly organized, and makes everything so clear! I mean, I was really struggling, and now I actually feel like I get it!" She turned to Gabriel, who was casually leaning against a nearby wall, scrolling on his phone, looking as cool as ever.

"Seriously, Gabriel, thank you so much! It's a lifesaver. You’re my lifesaver. My grade is gonna jump because of you!" Gabriel looked up from his phone, a lazy, charming smile spreading across his face.

"Oh, that? Yeah, no problem, Megs. Knew you were having trouble. Just whipped it up for you. Glad it's helping." He didn't even try to look modest or humble, he just accepted the praise as if it were simply his due.

Y/N stood there, a forced, tight smile on her face, feeling her blood run cold, a sudden chill spreading through her veins.

“Whipped it up?” she thought bitterly, her mind screaming. “You didn't even know what historical economics was last week, you kept calling it 'history numbers class'!"

The unfairness was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe, making her vision blur slightly at the edges.

Then came Megan’s birthday. This one was always the hardest of all. You wanted to give her something truly special, something that showed you knew her better than anyone else, something that spoke to her deepest passions.

You remembered a tiny, off-hand comment Megan had made months ago, late one night while talking about her love for classic literature. She’d mentioned an old, out-of-print poetry collection by a lesser-known contemporary of Emily Dickinson, something she’d dreamed of owning but thought was impossible to find.

It was incredibly rare, a true treasure for a poetry lover. Y/N had spent weeks searching online forums, sending emails to collectors, calling small, independent bookstores all over the world, from the US to the Philippines.

She even emailed a quirky little antique book shop she’d heard about in Cebu. Finally, after what felt like endless searching, she tracked down a dusty copy in that tiny shop in Cebu. The owner had been surprised anyone was even asking for it. Y/N paid a hefty price which cost double because of the shipping fee she had to pay for it to be shipped internationally, it was a significant chunk of her savings but the pure joy of finding it for Megan, knowing how happy it would make her, was worth every single cent.

It was more than just a book, it was a piece of her silent affection, something only Y/N, who truly listened to Megan’s quiet wishes, would have known to look for. She wrapped it beautifully in simple, elegant brown paper and tied it with a rustic twine, attaching a small, blank card, left intentionally empty. She planned to leave it on Megan’s desk early on her birthday morning, an anonymous gift from a secret admirer, a small act of love.

Unfortunately, Gabriel beat her to it. On Megan’s birthday morning, as Y/N walked past Megan’s dorm room, her heart pounding with nervous excitement, she saw the door wide open.

Megan was inside, beaming, her face absolutely radiant. She was holding up a beautifully wrapped gift – identical to the one Y/N had purchased, right down to the rustic twine and the exact dimensions of the old book. Gabriel was standing beside her, a proud, almost possessive grin on his face.

"Happy Birthday, Megs! I remembered you mentioning this forever ago," he said, pulling her into a quick, easy hug. "Took me ages to track it down, but anything for you, right? Only the best for my favorite girl."

Megan’s eyes were shining with pure delight. "Gabriel, you shouldn't have! This is... this is incredible! It's exactly the one! How did you even...?" Y/N saw Gabriel subtly glance at the book's spine, then at Megan, before shrugging with a casual, confident air. "Like I said, I have my ways. Only the best for you, birthday girl."

Y/N felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Her hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into her palms so hard it almost drew blood. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to leave her gift.

He hadn’t just taken credit for something Y/N did, he had somehow gotten the exact same rare item –or, more likely, he had somehow found out about Y/N's gift and co-opted it entirely, perhaps even intercepted it or copied the idea down to the wrapping.

The thought was a chilling realization, a fresh wave of disbelief. This wasn't just stealing credit, it was stealing her unique understanding of Megan, her deep, personal connection, making her thoughtful acts seem shallow and common, easily duplicated.

Her profound disappointment turned into a sharp, bitter anger that tasted like ash in her mouth. She quickly, silently, walked away, the unopened gift for Megan heavy and cold in her own bag, feeling like she had been punched in the gut, winded by the cruelty of it all.

“Why did he choose Megan out of everyone? He could have anyone else he wanted…"

After each of these painful, heartbreaking moments, Y/N would retreat into herself. She’d spend countless hours replaying the scene in her mind, over and over, her thoughts a tangled mess of what-ifs, self-blame, and sadness.

“Why do I keep doing this?” she'd wonder, pacing her small dorm room until late into the night. “It only hurts. It’s like I’m feeding Gabriel’s ego and my own heartbreak at the same time. This is insane.”

She'd try to rationalize Gabriel’s behavior, clutching at any straw of hope.

“Maybe he just doesn't realize what he's doing. Maybe he genuinely forgets that I'm the one who does these things and just assumes he did. Maybe it’s just how he is – a bit scatterbrained, but deep down, he's good-hearted."

However, deep down, in the quiet, honest corner of her soul, she knew it wasn't true. He knew. His knowing smirk, the quick glance at the hidden details, the casual way he dismissed her hints—he knew. He was taking advantage of her quiet nature and his own loud charm, playing a role.

The emotional toll was immense. Y/N often felt drained, utterly exhausted, a dull numbness spreading through her. The constant tightness in her chest was a physical reminder of her unspoken feelings and unacknowledged efforts.

She felt stuck in a never-ending loop: Megan expresses a need or a wish, Y/N quietly fulfills it, Gabriel swoops in, Megan thanks Gabriel with a bright smile, and Y/N feels completely invisible, erased.

The cycle was relentless, and she felt utterly powerless to stop it. She couldn't bring herself to just not do things for Megan, the urge to help, to show care, to ease Megan's burdens, was simply too strong, an impulse etched into her very being.

However, she also couldn't bear the thought of openly telling Megan how she felt, not after years of seeing her so happy with Gabriel, so convinced of his thoughtfulness, his genuine care.

The hardest part, the most agonizing torture, was watching Megan’s genuine happiness when Gabriel "did" something nice for her. Megan’s smile was so bright, so full of pure joy, so authentic, that it was its own kind of deep, aching pain for Y/N.

How could she ruin that? How could she shatter Megan’s belief in Gabriel's goodness, even if it meant Y/N remained heartbroken, stuck in the shadows?

This constant battle, this secret life she led, made her feel so incredibly alone. There was no one she could talk to about it. How do you explain to your own brother that you're secretly in love with the girl he thinks is his and that he's stealing all your gestures? It was an impossible burden, a silent scream trapped deep in her throat. She was merely an observer, a ghost silently watching her own heartbreak unfold, day after day.

Maybe, just maybe, she's not the Y/L/N Megan’s meant to be with.

previous part. | next part.

a/n: If you guys did pay attention, you would know I added some of KATSEYE's lyrics into this part. It's a coincidence his name is Gabriel right? Lol. Anyway, I posted this before I barely started part four, thinking I should post two so it somehow feels complete. Somehow. I hope y'all are loving this though.

[bunbunlapin]

🎪🎟️MDNI! 18+ No Minors!🎟️🎪 “Life’s a stage… but death? That’s when the real show begins!”

Part of the Lutualverse (other interactions welcome!)

🎪Mod: Pseudobun (Evie) 23 she/her

🎪 18+ slight nsfw topics

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🎪Lapin’s opinions do not necessarily reflect mod’s opinions… on any topic. I have received hate for some of these opinions in the past so I would like to make that clear

Lutual Statement

After a pretty rough week with a lot going on, the Lutuals have decided that moving forward we will be a bit more selective regarding certain things. We love sharing our characters and developing new and interesting storylines for people to read and interact with and want to continue doing so while protecting ourselves and our mental health. Please see below on the things we expect moving forward.

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[snowstormarts]

omgomg wait youre taking date everything reqs!! this is my first time req something, may i have literally any form of headcanons for Chance, Parker, Penelope and/or Connie/Luna? I love these nerds so much ToT thank youu!!! - 🌹

Headcanons coming right up for you dear Rose Anon! Also I already wrote something for Parker here so feel free to check that out :D

Likes & Reblogs are appreciated and like always the Inbox is open for Asks & Requests

Date Everything Headcanons Galore

[Feat; Chance, Penelope & Connie/Luna]

🎲 Chance 🎲

- Has a collection of mini-figures for G&G that he paints while thinking of new ideas for his campaign or after a stressful one. If you're friends/lovers he will gladly let you paint one of them, he will even explain how to if it's your first time

- He only accept Co-Dungeon Mastering with his partner, nobody else. It's something very important to him and he trusts you enough to nudge your group into the right direction if they trail too far off the road ["Our bard is in jail..." "Don't worry I know one of the guards and he owes me a favor"]

- Wears the Red Glasses not only for aesthetically reasons but also because his eyes are super sensitive to light, you can often see him without his glasses when you visit him at night

- I don't care what anyone says but every person I know [including myself] who plays Dnd is neurodivergent, so I bestow upon him the biggest honor I can; Autism Headcanon Blast!

-Rongomaiwhenua & him have a mutual helpful friendship, she helps him imitate how gods would speak so he can use those in his Campaigns while she gets amusement out of him

🗃 Penelope 🗃

- She got really into coloring books, especially those with positive messages ["You don't need to solve all your problems today, it's enough to just make it through" "You're worth of Kindness and Care", ect]

- She's friends with Dolly who helps her build up her confidence and is there on her lowest moments, Penelope in turn helps Dolly keep all her paperwork organized & quizzes her on things she currently studies

-Has an Inanimal buddy which is a Erasle [Eraser Turtle] who hates everyone but her, they even dislike Mateo and will glare at him

🎮 Luna/Connie 🎮

- Get's super competitive in all games, even cozy games where there is no rival farmer ["We will be the best farmers and beat our competition!" "But...We're the only farmers" "For now, who knows who will come to take our title!"]

- She will alert you when there's a sale on games you either wanted but always missed the sale or on games she really wants to try out

- Had a slight crush on Telly when she first arrived here but it has long since faded and they are now work acquaintances, nothing more

- Hates when Updates have to be done since she's basically forced to sleep through them with the energy they consume. She could rant for hours how much a sudden update sucks and she will if you offer to lend an ear

[reginaphalangelobster]

Chrysanthemum

Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader (platonic)

Summary: You and your closest friend go after an unsub alone.

Warnings: death, brief description of injuries.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/n: This is my first Criminal Minds fic (I've posted) and I hope it's good! Thank you so much to @mameeta for this request via my Flowers Ask Game, I really loved writing this.

You had worked at the BAU for practically forever. You were regarded as one of the best detectives that worked there. You were great with the families due to your soft, kind nature. You were always able to get the information you needed and comfort them at the same time, never upsetting them or stepping over the line. You had a fantastic analytical mind, being able to decode cryptic messages alongside Reid. You were also particularly good at dealing with the bureaucracy of it all. After cases you often helped Hotch deal with the overwhelming paperwork. He never wanted to abuse your generosity so every time you offered to help there would always be the same conversation. You'd knock on his door and walk into his office.

"You busy?" You'd ask, knowing the answer was always yes.

"Just paperwork" He'd say without lifting his eyes from the stack of files he had to sort through.

"Need a hand?"

"I've got it"

"I don't have anything to do this afternoon, you look like you could use some help"

"You don't need to go out of your way"

"It wouldn't be any trouble"

"Don't you have your own paperwork to do?"

"Finished it"

"What about the rest of the team, I'm sure Morgan wouldn't turn you down"

"I already did his, everyone else's is done too"

"Don't you have anything to do at home?"

"Not really"

"You know if you do this you'll be knee deep in case files and performance reviews?"

"Oh, how invigorating!"

He laughed, incredibly lightly, a miracle on your part "Alright then, want to start with this pile" He said, pointing to one of three piles stacked a foot high.

You picked up the top file and started to work.

You had little conversations here and there, generally talking about nothing but sometimes you spoke about things, real things. Hotch's divorce, Jack, nightmares you both had about tough cases. Without realising it, all of that excess paperwork turned the two of you from colleagues to friends, best friends, who'd do anything for each other.

One morning Hotch finally asked you the question he'd had in the back of his mind ever since you met. He was walking past your desk when he spotted the same old vase, the vase that always contained a single chrysanthemum.

"Why do you always have one flower on your desk?"

"Good morning Aaron, I'm good, how are you?"

"Sorry, good morning"

You sighed lightly as you shook your head "It's a chrysanthemum, it holds deep meaning in European and Asian culture"

"What meaning?"

"There are a variety of meanings, that's part of what I like about them. The white ones are mostly for funerals, like a farewell to someone you cared about. That's why I only have colourful ones. The colourful ones generally symbolise love, happiness and immortality"

"Why is immortality important to you? Considering our job especially"

"This job is why. Immortality isn't being alive and breathing forever, at least not to me. It's living forever in the memories of those who cared about you. It means, when you're gone the people you loved will think of you fondly and you'll live forever in their hearts"

Hotch didn't say anything for a moment, contemplating your explanation, not exactly expecting something so profound.

"A bit much for eight thirty on a Tuesday, huh?"

You both laughed lightly and continued on with your day.

You were jolted awake by the piercing ring of your phone, at this hour you knew who it was.

"Hotch, this had better be an emer-"

"The jet leaves in twenty, be there"

The tone in his voice told you that this was bad, bad for the BAU was terrible so you got to the jet as quickly as you could. The second everyone was there he started the briefing.

"We're going to San Francisco, thirty one people were shot in either the chest, neck or head two hours ago. A week ago the same thing happened with nineteen victims then eight hours later there were another twenty six"

"Why weren't we called in earlier?" Morgan asked angrily.

"I don't know" Hotch said through gritted teeth, probably angrier than Morgan but trying to keep things professional.

"Do we know anything else? Any attempts to contact the media?" Reid asked.

"No"

"Any similarities in the victims?" Prentiss asked.

"No"

"What about the locations of the shootings?" You asked.

"No, all we know is there is a dangerous mass shooter loose in San Francisco and he's escalating quickly"

The rest of the flight was sat in silence. Not much changed when you landed, you all separated and did what you could but there wasn't much luck until the next wave of victims.

JJ ran into the room you were all in.

"There's been another shooting, thirty eight dead in Pioneer Park"

Just as the team were about to walk out the door Hotch's phone rang.

"Agent Hotchner"

"Do I know you?"

"I think so, you've been following my work recently"

He put his hand over then phone and motioned for Garcia over the monitor "It's the unsub"

"Tracing the call now"

He turned back to the phone and put it on speaker "You've been busy"

"I have, it's nice to see someone appreciating all the trouble I went to. You are enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

He sighed deeply, knowing the only way to work with this unsub would be to play to his ego "Yes, you're outdoing yourself. More victims each time"

"Yes, I do like this recent, escalation"

"Recent? So you've done this before?"

"Ooh, you're a quick one! Tell you what, if you meet me at Coit Tower, alone, I'll tell you all about the others, sound good agent?"

"You should know by now that I can't meet you alone"

"And you should know by now that you can't afford not to, see you at four, Aaron"

"He hung up, Garcia, did you find him?"

"Sorry sir, he knows his way around tech, couldn't even get a cell tower"

Hotch sighed and held his head low, rubbing his temples.

"You know you can't meet him alone" You said to him.

"I have to, who knows how many people he's killed, or how many more are next"

"It's too dangerous"

"I have to go"

"I-" Just as you were about to argue further your phone buzzed.

"I think it's the unsub" You said, showing the phone to Hotch.

"Go with him, it'll be fun" He read aloud.

"That's strange" Reid started "Everything this unsub has done has been set to a strict plan, the timings of the shootings, the locations, his contradictory messages might mean it's a set up"

"We have to go, even if it is" You replied.

"Guys" Prentiss said quietly "It's 3:45"

"The drive to Coit Tower will take approximately sixteen minutes with the current state of traffic" Reid added.

"We'd better go then" You said to Hotch.

The two of you left and drove as fast as you could. You didn't even have enough time to put vests on but you couldn't wait. You got there at 4:02, you only made it a few steps out of the car when you saw the unsub standing in the middle of the street, gun pointed at Hotch. You didn't have enough time to take out your guns before you heard the unsub.

"You're late"

Then he pulled the trigger. You could see it in his eyes and you didn't have time to think, so you just did. You turned around and wrapped your arms around Hotch, shielding him from the bullets that littered your body. You heard the faint sound of panic in the crowd and over your radio, the cops stationed a few blocks back began to move in. You heard their gunshots as they killed the unsub and you heard the sirens of the approaching ambulance. You looked up and saw Hotch, holding your body as you collapsed, blood pouring out of your back as you fell to the ground. Your vision began to blur and darken in from the corners, after your eyes went black the last thing you heard was Hotch, his voice broken and desperate as he softly begged.

"Stay with me, please, just stay with me"

The wind blew softly as birds chirped their sweet songs. Leaves crunched underfoot as Hotch slowly walked across the ground, wishing he wasn't where he was. He finally reached his destination, he stood there for hours, silent. There was nothing that he could say, nothing that would fix things, nothing that could turn back time or reshape reality, nothing that mattered.

He crouched down slowly and placed a large bouquet of white chrysanthemums on a cold, grey gravestone, your gravestone. A few tears began to roll down his cheeks as he read your name over and over again.

He thought back to what you said earlier and he knew that even though he failed at keeping you alive here, you would live forever in his heart, just as you wanted.

We have charged in battle array with the rose and the chrysanthemum - Okakura Kakuzō

Tags

@pinkthick @craftytacopiecash @meryuniverse @aliljaybird @macbaetwo @castielshunterwife @scarletluvsdanno @twentyonetornmyheart @neospacedoctor @destiel-1967-sammy @yigashimei @something0193 @ursamajor17 @colorfulavenuecollection @fairytailnerd1024-blog @daithideolishmer18 @am-i-the-villain-co @mameeta @bblessed @maximum-uwu @bbywonu

[morgana-larkin]

Ok, I just posted a new story about Melissa x reader on my patreon and it's open to members only, free or paid. Here's a tiny preview! Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Her Secret Admirer

Summary: Melissa swore off dating after her divorce and she admits it to you. You then start writing love notes to her in secret, hoping to change her mind.

Warnings: None

Words: 5.6K

Melissa walks in the front doors of Abbott and sees all the Valentine’s Day decorations that are all around the office and hallway. She goes to her little cubby and sees all these Valentine’s Day messages in there from fellow teachers and she sighs.

“You got a lot of messages in there.” You tell her as you come up beside her and she hums.

“Just other teachers.” She says plainly.

“No messages from a lover?” You ask her and she shakes her head.

“Nope, you gotta have a lover in order to get one of those.” She tells you. You look at all the messages you got for Valentine’s Day and see it’s all from teachers as well.

“I would have thought you of all people would have a partner.” You say and she looks at you.

“No. After my divorce I’m just not interested in dating.” She says and you furrow your eyebrows. “See you in the break room, hon.” She tells you before she leaves. 

When she’s out of sight you let out a breath. You have a huge crush on her, I mean, how could you not when she’s the whole package. She’s smart, funny, nice and extremely hot. And once you found yourself in her immediate circle then she’d do anything for you. You know she got divorced 10 years ago and she told you she hasn’t dated anyone since, you just never knew she wasn’t interested in dating. 

“Well there goes my plans on ever telling her.” You mutter.

“Telling who what?” Barb asks behind you and you slightly jump out of shock.

“Barb! Oh…hi.” You tell her and she smiles at you.

“Hello dear.” She says. “Who are you talking about?” She asks you.

“Oh nobody.” You say. “Although I have a question for you about Melissa.” You tell her and she looks at you. “Is Melissa really not interested in ever dating again? It’s just, she mentioned it when I was talking to her.” You ask.

“I wouldn’t say she’s not interested because she is, but she’s scared of it ending up like her divorce.” She tells you. “I think if the right person came along and took the time to allow her to process the possibility of dating again then she might.” She adds before she walks away with a smirk.

You go to the break room and sit down with Melissa and Barb at their table as you look at all the teachers who gave you a valentine card. You see Melissa scrolling on her phone and you reach in your bag and pull out a valentine’s day card and place it in front of her. She sees the movement and looks at it before looking at you.

“You got me a card?” She asks and you nod before she smiles as she looks at it. “Thanks, hon.” She tells you. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you as well.” She says after she reads it and you smile. 

At the end of the day you’re sitting in your chair, rocking yourself as you think about Melissa. You don’t know what to do to help her think about dating again without seeming desperate or without revealing your feelings in case she doesn’t feel the same way. All of a sudden you get a knock on your door and you look to see Melissa there.

“Hey hon.” She says and you smile at her.

“Hi, thought you’d already be halfway to your car by now.” You tell her and she walks up to your desk. 

“Normally I would be but I wanted to give you this.” She says and she goes in her purse and pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to you. It’s a red piece of construction paper and it says ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ in white and 3 pink hearts on it. On the top it says ‘To Y/n’ and on the bottom it says ‘from Melissa’.

“You made me a card?” You ask her and she nods.

“My little eagles were making them in class and I thought I’d make one too. I wanted to thank you for the card you gave me as well.” She explains and you smile. 

“I love it, thank you. Although it makes me feel bad that I just got you a store bought card.” You say and she chuckles. 

“I like the one you gave me.” She tells you and you smile. “So you only got cards from teachers?” She asks and you tilt your head. “No lover or secret admirer?” She adds.

“Only teachers. I’m single and no secret admirer that I know of.” You say and she nods and shifts her weight on her feet. 

“Well happy Valentine’s Day hon.” She tells you with a smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Melissa.” You say and match her smile. She then puts on her pink scarf and then leaves to go home. 

You look at her card again and smile as she has really pretty writing and you can’t believe she made you one. You then think back on her words and what she asked you until one thing she said came to your mind… secret admirer. You then think that might be perfect as you can help her confidence, get her mind on possibly dating and not have to tell her that you like her. You then take out your pink notepad and grab a pen. You take a few minutes to think of what you might say before you write it down: 

I want to tell you that you’re beautiful and I think about you everyday - Your Secret Admirer 

Read The Full Story Here!

[pardonmydelays]

my online friends are better than yours

[starry-scarl3tt]

is this what addiction feels like

thank you so much for every single person out there who is just as mentally deranged as i am, i love you with all that is left of my heart 🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️❤️❤️

[lqfiles]

bring back seunghan and fuck lucas LMFAO

this will be the last ask i’m going to answer regarding this whole thing because quite frankly it was never meant to be this serious and its actually draining me having to answer all these asks, i’m glad that majority of you seem to not support * and i promise you i don’t care and my stand on this topic isn’t going to change anytime soon, unfollow me if that bothers you. please stop sending me asks defending him or speaking on the topic, i’ll be ignoring them because im not willing to go on day 3 of this i’ll be real with you. 🙏🏽 let’s all do better things with our tiiimeee~

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: one. two. <three.> four. five. six.

Y/N Y/L/N truly believed it deep in her heart. She was the wrong Y/L/N. The words kept playing over and over in her head, a low, sad hum behind her ears.

Her brother, Gabriel, was the flashy one, the loud one, the one who could charm anyone without even trying, and that included Megan. He was like the sun around whom everyone else seemed to turn and Y/N? She was the quiet one, the one who watched from the edges.

She felt things very deeply, but she kept those feelings locked away, hidden tightly inside. She was the one who loved from the shadows, like an invisible hand giving comfort and doing thoughtful things that Gabriel then simply took credit for.

This had become a pattern, a painful rhythm to her life that had gone on for years, like a broken record playing the same sad song. She felt stuck, always watching, always aching inside. She had almost, almost, started to accept this as her fate.

She told herself, “Just keep loving her from a distance, just keep doing good things in secret, and maybe, just maybe, Megan will always be happy, even if I'm not the one making her happy.”

It was a small, sad comfort she tried to hold onto, a very fragile shield against her own growing heartbreak.

But sometimes, the world has its own plans. Sometimes, even when you think everything is completely set in stone, fixed forever, a tiny, almost invisible crack appears, and through that small crack, a sliver of unexpected light can pour in, bright and surprising.

The change started in a very subtle way. So subtle, in fact, that at first, Y/N barely even noticed it. It wasn't about big, grand gestures anymore. It wasn't about the stolen chai lattes or the study guides Gabriel had claimed as his own. This was something different, something much quieter, much more personal.

Megan was, little by little, starting to seek Y/N out. Not to ask for favors, not to complain about a class, but just to talk. To share thoughts. To just be together.

The very first clear sign came on a Tuesday, late in the afternoon. Y/N was sitting on a simple bench outside the university library, sketching in her old, worn notebook. The air was cool, carrying the familiar smells of damp earth after a light rain and the tempting scent of street food from a nearby vendor.

She was drawing one of the ancient, gnarled mango trees that stood like old guardians all over the campus, focusing on the twisted roots that broke through the concrete walkways. She was completely lost in her own quiet world, the gentle sound of her pencil moving against the paper filling her ears. Then, a soft shadow fell over her page.

"That's really beautiful, Y/N," a soft voice said, making Y/N jump a little. She looked up, startled, to see Megan standing there. Megan had a small, genuine smile on her face.

She wasn't rushing, wasn't looking around for anyone else. She was just… there, standing quietly, looking at Y/N's drawing with true interest.

"The way you captured the roots... They look like old hands reaching up from the ground. I never noticed that about these trees before."

Y/N’s face warmed, a blush spreading across her cheeks. She quickly closed her sketchbook, feeling a sudden wave of shyness. "Oh, thanks, Megan," she mumbled, trying to sound casual. "Just messing around, really. You know, doodling."

Megan shook her head gently. She then moved to sit on the bench beside Y/N, leaving a comfortable amount of space between them. "No, seriously," Megan insisted.

"You really see things. You notice details others completely miss. Your brother always just rushes past these trees, always on his phone, probably texting or scrolling. He probably doesn't even know they're here, or how amazing they look."

Megan chuckled softly, a light, airy sound, but there was a hint of something else in her voice – a touch of thoughtful sadness, maybe?

"You really pay attention to the world around you."

That was the first crack in Y/N's carefully built wall. Y/N’s heart did a strange little flip-flop, a dizzying somersault inside her chest. She had to swallow hard to keep her voice steady, to stop herself from showing any sign of the sudden earthquake happening deep inside her.

“She noticed me. She saw me. And she... she compared me to Gabriel. And I came out on top.”

It was a quiet thought, but it vibrated through her whole body, making her feel both incredibly vulnerable and strangely powerful.

After that moment, the "coincidences" started piling up, one after another, until they weren't coincidences at all. Megan would stop by Y/N's dorm room more often. Sometimes it was just for a quick chat before class, a passing "Hey, how's your day going?" But then she'd start to linger.

She’d lean against Y/N's doorframe, then slowly, casually, she would just fall onto Y/N's worn bean bag chair, sprawling out in a relaxed way that showed she felt completely comfortable and at ease there. Then, before Y/N even realized it, hours would melt away as they talked about everything.

One evening, it was raining very hard. Megan knocked softly on Y/N's door, looking a little tired and stressed about a big upcoming philosophy exam.

"Mind if I just... exist in here for a bit?" Megan asked, her voice quiet, rubbing her temples as if trying to soothe a headache. "My roommate is on a super loud video call with her family, and I seriously can't focus on anything."

"Come in, Megs," Y/N said, a warm, soft feeling spreading through her chest at Megan's easy presence. Megan settled onto the beanbag, letting out a long, tired sigh.

"This philosophy stuff is seriously killing me, Y/N," Megan confessed, opening her thick textbook with a groan. "I just don't get it. Like, at all. Gabriel tried to explain it to me earlier, but he just kinda... summarized the slides really fast. I need to understand the why’s, you know? Not just the facts."

Y/N paused from her own reading, setting her book down gently. "Which concept are you stuck on?" she asked softly, truly wanting to help Megan figure it out.

Megan pointed to a confusing paragraph in her textbook. Y/N read it, taking her time, then looked back at Megan with a thoughtful expression.

"Okay, so think of it like this..." And for the next whole hour, Y/N didn't just explain the answers, she broke the confusing ideas down piece by piece, drawing little diagrams on a scrap piece of paper, using simple, everyday examples that made sense. She watched Megan’s eyes closely, seeing the exact moment understanding clicked, like a light suddenly turning on.

"Oh my gosh," Megan breathed, leaning back against the beanbag, a look of pure awe and relief on her face. "Y/N, that actually makes so much sense! Why didn't anyone explain it like that before? Seriously, you make it so clear, even to me."

She shook her head slightly, a small, thoughtful frown appearing on her brow. "Your brother just told me to Google it and then gave up. He said, 'It's just philosophy, Megs, don't sweat it too much.' "

She chuckled softly at the memory but there was a hint of something else in her voice, a touch of disappointment, maybe, or a dawning realization?

"But with you, it’s different. You actually make me think. My brain actually lights up, you know? It's exciting."

Y/N’s heart did that dizzying somersault again, only this time, it felt stronger, more real, like a solid, joyful thump.

She had to swallow hard, fighting back a sudden lump in her throat, a wave of emotion she didn't want to show.

"Yeah?" she managed, trying her best to sound casual, like this was a normal, everyday thing for Megan to say.

"I mean, I just like talking to you, Megs. You have a really interesting way of looking at things. You make me think too. It's cool."

Megan smiled then, a genuine, warm smile that wasn't just on her lips but shone deep in her eyes, making Y/N’s whole world pause and tilt. It was a smile of true connection, a deep, quiet recognition.

"You too, Y/N. You just… get it. Like, you see things that no one else does. You see me.”

The last part was spoken almost to herself, a quiet realization that seemed to ripple through the air between them, making the silence that followed feel deep and meaningful, not awkward at all.

It was as if Megan was discovering a new, important part of herself, a part that was perfectly reflected in Y/N’s quiet understanding and presence.

In that moment, surrounded by the drumming rain and the quiet hum of the university dorm, Y/N felt a connection with Megan that went far beyond any stolen credit or public praise.

It was a raw, real, authentic thread, woven between just the two of them, untouched by outside expectations, untouched by Gabriel's charming but often surface-level presence.

It was a connection that spoke directly to Y/N's pining heart, whispering a dangerous hope. Megan might have believed the world's story about her and Gabriel, but her own heart, it seemed, was starting to whisper a different name. The doubt, however tiny, was beginning to grow in her mind, not about Gabriel being a bad person, but about him truly being the right person for her.

That Gabriel was the wrong Y/L/N all along.

These deep conversations, mixed with moments of easy laughter, started to become a regular thing. Megan would often just appear at Y/N’s door, sometimes with a new book she was excited to talk about, sometimes just to vent about a frustrating class, but always, always, ending up talking about something deeper, something that truly mattered to her.

They’d talk for hours about the complex plots of their favorite true-crime podcasts, debating theories, arguing playfully over who the real suspect was. They’d dive into the hidden meanings of Emily Dickinson’s poems, comparing their favorite verses, discovering new layers together that neither had seen on their own.

Y/N would find herself quoting lines from stanzas, and Megan's eyes would widen in genuine surprise and delight.

"You get that too?" Megan would ask, a rare, unbridled excitement in her voice, leaning closer to Y/N. "I thought I was the only one who saw that! Gabriel just shrugs and says poetry is too deep for him and walks away." There was a little sigh in her voice when she mentioned Gabriel.

One evening, Megan brought over her laptop, looking completely defeated. She was stressed out about a particularly confusing coding problem for a group project, a huge part of her final grade. Gabriel was supposed to be helping her, but he’d "had something come up" – probably another party or a casual hangout with his friends.

Y/N, who had a quiet knack for logic and coding puzzles, even though it wasn't her main subject, just patiently sat with her. She didn’t just give Megan the answers, she gently guided her, step by step, explaining the why behind each line of code, watching as understanding slowly dawned in Megan’s eyes, like a light suddenly coming on in a dark room.

As Megan finally fixed the frustrating bug, a smile lighting up her face, she leaned back, looking at Y/N with a profound, almost reverent appreciation.

"Y/N," she said, her voice soft, filled with wonder. "You're amazing. Seriously. Your brother just tells me to Google things or tries to do it for me, but he never actually explains it. You actually make me understand it. It’s... really cool. You make me feel smart, like I can actually learn this stuff."

Y/N’s stomach fluttered, a rush of warmth spreading through her veins. This was new. This was truly different. Gabriel never made her understand. He just did (or claimed to have done) things, without teaching or truly helping her grow.

The contrast between her conversations with Y/N and her interactions with Gabriel became clearer and clearer to Megan every single day. With Gabriel, it was easy laughter, surface-level fun, and big, obvious gestures that sometimes felt hollow.

He was charming, yes, and always there for a party or a quick favor, but Megan was starting to feel like he was playing a role, like he was always putting on a show for her and for others. With Y/N, it was deep. It was a thoughtful conversation. It was an intellectual challenge and quiet, steady comfort.

It was the feeling of being truly heard, truly seen, not just admired for her soccer skills or her bright smile. It felt real, truly real. Megan was slowly, painfully, starting to grasp the difference, a slow dawning of realization that was hard to ignore.

Y/N, on her part, began to notice Megan watching her, too, not just in passing glances. Sometimes, Y/N would be sketching in her notebook, or quietly humming a song under her breath as she studied, and she’d look up to find Megan’s gaze already on her.

It was a soft, thoughtful look that made Y/N’s cheeks warm and her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the casual glance Megan gave everyone else, it was something deeper, more intense, a look filled with curiosity and a growing warmth that felt almost like a touch. It was a look that made Y/N’s heart pound a desperate rhythm against her ribs, a rhythm that was both terrifying and utterly exhilarating.

Then came the moment that felt like a quiet explosion, a turning point that would change everything, a conversation that echoed the exact pain Y/N had felt for so long from Gabriel’s thoughtless actions. They were sitting outside, on a surprisingly warm afternoon in late November, beneath one of those old mango trees whose roots twisted like ancient veins above the ground.

The sun was slowly setting, painting the sky in beautiful hues of orange and purple. They were talking about their dreams for the future, something Y/N rarely shared with anyone, especially not Gabriel, who usually just joked about getting rich and famous without much effort.

Megan was quiet for a moment, tracing patterns on the ground with her finger, a thoughtful frown on her face. Then she looked up.

"Y/N," she began, her voice low and steady, almost a whisper that carried immense weight. "Do you ever feel like... like you're talking to someone, but they're not really hearing you? Like they're just waiting for their turn to talk, or they only hear what they want to hear, or what benefits them?" She looked straight into Y/N's eyes, searching for understanding.

Y/N froze, her blood turning to ice, then back to fire, burning with a new kind of intensity. This was it. This was the conversation she’d always both dreaded and secretly longed for. It was the moment the hidden pain of years might finally be revealed.

"Yeah," Y/N admitted, her voice barely a whisper, the word catching in her throat, a lump forming. "Yeah, Megs, I know exactly what you mean. It's... it's really frustrating. It feels very lonely."

Megan nodded slowly, her eyes wide, searching Y/N’s face for understanding, for shared experience, for a sign that Y/N truly knew this feeling.

"With you," she said, her voice filled with a profound softness that made Y/N’s breath hitch, "it's never like that. You actually listen. You remember things I say, even the small ones. You… you just get me. Like, even the weird, small parts of me that I don't show anyone else. The parts that like poetry and get stressed about philosophy and worry about the future and what comes next." She paused again, then a small, sad smile touched her lips, a deep regret shadowing her eyes.

"I actually feel more like myself when I'm with you than I do... with anyone else. It's like I can finally breathe."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning, with years of hidden longing finally being acknowledged, even if Megan didn't fully realize the full depth of what she was saying, or the full impact of her words on Y/N.

Y/N’s heart was absolutely pounding. It felt like it might burst right out of her chest, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. This was everything she had ever hoped for, and everything she had ever feared. Megan was seeing her. Truly seeing her, for the first time. Not just as Gabriel's sibling, not just as a classmate, but as Y/N, the person who understood her.

Megan then sighed, a small, thoughtful sound, a new kind of doubt clouding her usual bright eyes. "It's weird," she continued, almost to herself, her voice tinged with a confusion Y/N recognized.

"Gabriel's great, he's so much fun, but... sometimes it feels like he's acting or like he's just playing a part that he thinks everyone wants to see. Like he just knows how to make everyone think he's thoughtful, but... it doesn't always feel real, you know? It's like a shallow pond, pretty but not deep."

Her eyes met Y/N's again, a hint of deep realization, and a touch of hurt, slowly dawning in them. "But with you, it's always real. Always. You’re... just you. And that's... everything."

Y/N could only stare back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, the emotions too big, too overwhelming to contain. This was everything she had ever hoped for, and everything she had ever feared.

The confession hung in the air, a fragile, beautiful thing, a delicate bubble that might pop if she breathed too hard. It felt like a missing piece of a puzzle had finally snapped into place, not just for Y/N, but for Megan too, revealing a beautiful picture neither of them had fully seen before.

Megan wasn't talking about romance yet, not with direct words, but she was talking about a connection, a deep, undeniable pull towards Y/N’s true self, a bond that ran far deeper than any superficial charm.

Her heart ached, not with sadness this time, but with a mix of hope and vulnerability. Hope that this quiet shift meant something more, something real and lasting. Fear that it might all disappear, or that the full truth about Gabriel, and Y/N’s own hidden feelings, would cause more pain than she could possibly bear.

Yet in that moment, under the old mango tree, with Megan looking at her with such raw honesty, with her usual dazzling eyes now filled with a new kind of wonder, Y/N felt hope bloom in her chest.

Megan might have believed the world's story about her and Gabriel, but her own heart, it seemed, was starting to whisper a very different name – a name that was, finally, Y/N’s own.

previous part | next part.

[tonycries]

Freak On The Cam! - C.K.

Synopsis. Choso always loved watching you - his pretty lil’ camgírl - from behind the screen. Who knew he’d love being on-screen with you even more?

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, camgírl! reader, spítting, Choso has rings and piercings, first times + loss of vírginity (Choso’s), oral (fem receiving), exhíbitionism, DOWN BAD Choso, cúmplay, use of “ma’am”, Sukuna is a menace, víbrators, light jealousy (Choso’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 6.5k

A/N. Meant to post this last week but hehe here we are. Also I’ve GOT to stop using Unc-kuna so much lmao.

“Wanna see a movie or do you wanna make one?”

Choso was screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. So badly, in fact, that he might as well just wipe off every trace of himself online and go into hiding - preferably forever.

All because he had been so stupidly careless as to leave his phone unattended for exactly 1 minute and 47 seconds around Sukuna. 

In the time it took Choso to raid the kitchen for his favorite brand of cereal, his uncle had managed to open his Twitter (because “that’s where all the juicy stuff is”), stalk your pretty page at the very top of his last searched, and send a god-awful pick-up line that would probably get him blocked. Or worse.

Damnit, he knew he shouldn’t have made his password Yuji’s birthday.

“Ya should be thankful I didn’t DM her myself, brat.” Sukuna chuckles, not even a shred of regret in his tone, way too amused with how Choso was frantically trying to tackle the phone out of his hands. “What’s the harm in asking? Such a pretty camgirl, n’ you look like you need some good pu-”

“She���s also my classmate.”

“Kinky. Even better.” 

No, not “even better”. God, this must be some kind of cosmic joke, and Choso just wished the Earth would swallow him up whole right now - and maybe his phone along with it too. 

It had taken him almost a whole semester to work up the courage to just sit next to you during your shared lecture. All gorgeous with your bright smiles, and your smart mouth. And Choso was very much content to admire you from afar - and from behind his phone screen, of course.

Never following, never liking. Never tipping you off as one of your hundreds of thousands of fans.

And now, not only had Sukuna revealed that he’d found your secret Twitter account - the one with those sinful little clips of yourself that had Choso opening the app way too much - he’d also propositioned you. Like some creep.  

“Ugh. This is why women hate you.” Still desperately grappling, he spits out more to himself than Sukuna at this point. “B-besides, she’s never even gonna respond any-”

Ping!

And the Itadori household had never been quieter. Never, on a random Saturday during spring break. Never, as the two men crowd the phone, jaws dropped and staring wordlessly at the singular message on screen. You. 

“Let’s make one ;)”

---

“So s’not a stream this time, jus’ a video. Is that okay?”  You hum from your desk, glancing at the man seated on your bed as he hastily nods along with whatever you said. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. 

Weird. 

It had only been a few days of back and forth since you’d gotten that first text - the one that you’d honestly thought about blocking like the thousands of others. But there was just something about it that made you stop, something that had you clicking on the profile to delve a little deeper.

It hit you like a semi-truck back then - five of them, in fact - that this was someone in your class. Someone you knew. How the hell did he even find this account? 

You knew Choso as that sweet - albeit slightly gloomy - kid that sat next to you, always quick with his answers and even quicker to look away from your gaze, no matter how hard you tried to spark a conversation. You’d just guessed he was afraid of you or something.

So nothing could’ve prepared you for how ridiculously attractive he looked in that profile picture, all smug grins and dark locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner. Shirtless, giving just a peak of- oh god, were those nipple piercings?  

Could you really be blamed? You just had to have him.

But, here - it was like he was just itching to run away at the first chance he got. 

“You’re not held at gunpoint, y’know.” you giggle at how he startles at the mere sound of your voice. The mattress dips as you stop fiddling with the camera to sit next to him, thighs flush against his muscled ones. “Are you sure you want-”

“Yes.” 

It seems that both of you were surprised by the abrupt response. Too quick. Choso clears his throat, cheeks flaring as he tries to dredge up some semblance of dignity, he drawls lightly. “I mean- Yes.”

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - nothing quite like the suave impression his pick-up line gave off. 

But so irresistible just the same.

“Well…Cho.” you bat your lashes, voice dropping to a seductive whisper - not too heavy, for now at least. “Then why won’t you even look at me?”

Alas, Choso was not a strong man. 

Maybe at your words, maybe at that playful little nickname you gave him, he’s finally raising those dark eyes to look at you. Twinkling with- fear? anticipation? A flicker of something so dangerous as his gaze sweeps greedily over that tight dress you put on just for this occasion. 

Choso tries to ignore how sinfully it hugs all your curves. Or the way it would look a million times better on the floor. 

This was absolute torture. 

And God he thinks he could pass out right then and there as you lean in closer. Too close. The temperature in the room suddenly increasing by about 10 degrees as you purr, tone careful and balanced. “Much better. And now…” 

His breathing becomes heavier, eyes flickering downwards. Once. Twice. 

And you know you’ve got him in the palm of your hand. 

“...all you gotta do is touch me.”

Yeah, if Choso thought he was going to pass out before then he definitely wasn’t ready for those dangerous little words. Ones that have him shaken right to the core - fighting that urge to just take you how he’s imagined all those lonely nights.

“You- huh?” he lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he crosses his legs with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, desperately trying to will away the blood rushing straight to his throbbing cock right now. 

But how could he? Not when you only shift closer, barely even a hair’s breadth between you two - relishing in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm. Such an adorable pout playing on your lips as you mutter, “Do you not want to?”

And he did. Oh, how he did - has been imagining it for the past five months, in fact. And Choso lets you know, a little twenty times, actually, as the words spill panickedly from his lips. 

“-idiot trying to set me up and I’ve been dreaming of fucking you for so long but I’m just-” Heat rushes to Choso’s cheeks, as he abruptly shuts the fuck up. But it’s too late - the damage has been done.

You give him a wry smile, lips mere inches from his ear. “Just what?”

His breath hitches, muscles rippling so deliciously as he shudders beneath your touch. “I’m a-” Choking out - as if it physically hurts to  admit - “-virgin.”

Oh. 

Now, you might’ve expected many things - but certainly not this. Though, looking at the cute flush on the tips of his ears, all the way down to those big, needy eyes, you don’t mind. Not one bit.

With one, quick glance at the rolling camera - your mouth is moving before your mind. “Do you want me to…do something about it?”

And then it’s like something snapped. 

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Choso’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him - how could you not? 

Because goddammit it was always those pretty lips that you were staring at whenever he was spouting off answers in class. You just never expected he’d be kissing you back with such an infectious desperation. 

No sooner are you thinking about how sweet his lips are before he’s pulling away with a soft sigh, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. Your neck. Back to your lips like he wanted everything and anything.

You gasp licks a long, languid stripe up your neck - maybe at how utterly obscene it felt, maybe at that sharp cold feeling that makes you flinch. Fuck - a tongue piercing? The noise makes Choso’s mouth drop into a quick oh! surging forward to claim your lips again. Addicted. 

Only to be stopped by your hands cupping his face, letting out a pained grunt at how he was so close. Just a hair’s breadth away from your lips.

“Cho~ Open your mouth, baby.” you whisper, hotly. 

And he looked so pretty - dark hair askew, lower lip swollen and quivering with need, brows furrowing because he wanted more of your taste. But he obeys, of course he does, Choso thinks he’ll do anything you asked. And lo and behold, sitting right there in the middle of his tongue was a pretty silver piercing.

You just can’t help but thumb open his mouth further, looking him right in the eyes as you spit in his mouth. Once. Twice. 

“Bet no one else has done this before, huh?” Grinning at how sinfully Choso’s eyes roll to the back of his head at your taste, “Kiss me proper now.”

God, you were so good at throwing away whatever was left of his poor sanity. And it’s all that’s said before his kiss-bitten lips are crashing into yours again. 

“No. No one’s hah- done that before. Only you.” he’s panting into your open mouth, swirling his tongue with yours. “F-fuck only you. Only you only you-”

You barely even realize the way you’re on his lap now, sitting so prettily there that Choso half-deliriously wonders whether he should take a picture. Mind spinning too much with his throbbing erection under your drenched panties, a damp little patch at his fat tip. So hot and heavy already.

“Cho, do you want me to-”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You certainly don’t have to be told twice - especially with that little nickname. Fiddling with his belt, you’re so hazy with want - the need to taste Choso, to see if the rest of him was as sweet as his lips - that you almost miss the look of confusion that flashes across his face.

You bat your lashes at him almost-innocently, “You alright?” And Choso thinks he could cum right there and right now at the sight. If he wasn’t currently battling for his life, that is. 

“Yeah, s’jus’- what I wanted hah- was to…” His hands sneak down, cupping your heated pussy through your drenched panties. “-taste her. ”

“Oh?”

“Are y’gonna teach me how?”

Oh. Fuck.

You know you’re fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

Only moments later, Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress, face-to-face with your sloppy pussy. So mean with the way he was pinning your hips down with one hand, all but ripping your panties off with the other. 

You feel his piercing before his tongue. Both the hot and cold so maddening on your cunt as Choso licks long, lazy stripes up your puffy folds - dragging his hot tongue all the way from your base. Just grazing your swollen clit. 

“Teach me- fuck fuck-” words muffled and slurring together, vibrations going straight to your pussy. “Use me. Use me how you want.”

You’re threading your fingers through his dark locks before you even realize it, grinding your sloppy cunt all over his waiting mouth. “Quirk your tongue like- ngh-” Angling him close enough so he bullies his soft tongue into your tight pussy. Piercing massaging all the right places. “Fuck-”

“Like this?”

“Sh-shit,” you gasp, nodding deliriously. “S’too ngh- good.”

And by God, did you mean it. 

“Yeah? Y’like this?” he’s groaning, wrapping his lips around your swollen clit. “Can feel you clenching around me. Shit shit shit, you love this, huh? So slutty on camera for it?” 

Getting wetter and wetter by the second as his tongue roams for that one-

“Oh! F-fuck, Cho. Right hngh- there. Deeper-”

Ah, found it.

Choso grins as you tug on his soft strands, you can feel it on your throbbing pussy. Pushing your legs all the way till they’re at your tits to hit that little spot each and every time. Again and again. Eyes glassy, torn between devouring that slutty expression on your face and how fucking drenched you were. 

“Shit, baby,” his words are so strained now, like his sanity was dancing away at each flick of his tongue. “You’re drooling everywhere. See? Show the camera now.”

You don’t have to look. Because you can feel it.

Can feel how wet his mouth is, just glistening with slick and saliva. Trailing all the way down his chin - to his wrist - only second to how sloppy your dripping cunt was. It was like he was getting messy on purpose, like a little reminder to himself that shit this was you and he was eating out your pretty cunt to insanity-

“Oh my god, think m’hooked.” Tongue dragging all over your swollen folds, catching on his piercing. “Think your pretty lil’ pussy’s hah- driving me crazy. Ruined me, Fuck-”

And it’s so embarrassing how he’s talking you through it, grinning at every lil’ whine and whimper that leaves your mouth. You were acting all shy right now in a way that makes Choso’s cock twitch so painfully. He barely even notices, though, with the way he was so drunk off your pussy. 

So messy - unable to decide between rolling his tongue over your ravaged clit and dipping into your sloppy hole. Too much. In and out in and-

“Faster.”

He goes faster. 

“H-harder.”

He goes harder.

Anything and everything for you - to keep those pretty moans falling from your lips, walls getting tighter and tighter around his tongue. And Choso might just consider himself a man addicted.

“Can you ngh- cum f’me, baby?” You flinch as he spits out the words into your cunt. Harsh. Fucked-out. Sounding just as delirious and breathless as you. “Cum f’me please. Wan’ to taste y’on my tongue. Please. Fuck- need it so bad. So bad.”

You’re so caught up in Choso’s pussydrunk little babbles that you barely even realize when you’re cumming. Just that you’re letting out a strangled scream of his name, dragging your sloppy pussy all over his mouth. 

And he has never seemed more blissed out. Long gone is that nervous little expression usually on his face around you, Choso looked like he could be suffocated in-between your legs right now and love it. Hope for it, even.

He tells you that, of course. As soon as you’re blinking back your vision, blood still roaring in your ears. Delicate strings of slick snapping where he parts from your quivering cunt, lips swollen and glossed so prettily with your sweet sweet juices. 

“Baby, y’think the video of lesson one came out good?”

Oh. Shit, what have you done?

---

That certainly wasn’t the last time you saw Choso - or the last time you had him in front of a camera, either.

A few weeks later, you found yourself with an entire album for the man - a hidden treasure trove under the simple name of “Cho <3”. Most of the videos favorited, all sorted so tediously in a way that showed you spent an obscene amount of time looking at all the ways he ruined you. 

So filthy on camera that you always wondered whether it was the same person in the sheets and in class, texting Choso for later. Just to confirm. 

But embarrassingly, only some of these videos made their way onto your Twitter account - with Choso’s pretty face largely out of the frame. The two of you hadn’t ventured into streams yet either, opting to hide him away. Because, okay, maybe you were slightly jealous of other people seeing him - but it was really hard not to be when he looked like that.

In spite of all that, you’d still gained a casual hundred thousand more followers since his appearance - ones who always commented on your solo streams asking where your “hot emo bf” was.

Comments you’d pointedly ignore, because, hell, you wished he was here on-stream helping you get off, too. Yet despite the endless flirting and videos, Choso actually hadn’t made it further than actually holding a full conversation with you. And you wanted more. 

For all you know, you might just be one of his many trysts - and it was just for the videos, right? You get the content, he gets the experience? A win-win situation, so why have you never felt more like such a loser?

Such a loser the way you’ve already lost count of the “lessons” but still haven’t gotten to feel him - to fuck him the way you wanted just yet. 

“S’alright if I take this, right, ma’am?” He smirks during one such session, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt. Dangling your drenched panties like a badge of honor, flimsy and soaked with your sweet sweet juices. “S’alright if I-” And he can’t even finish the sentence. Your jaw drops as Choso raises the thin fabric to his face, breathing in your essence like a man possessed. 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“You’re so filthy, Cho-” you manage to choke out once you find your voice. Squirming on his bed like such a slut for him. “Was the innocent thing just an act?”

“Nope.” he pops the p, licking lewd little circles on your neck, thumbing open your puffy folds to watch in amazement at the way you glisten and clamp around his fingers. Eyes flickering briefly to the recording phone in his hand. “But we gotta give ‘em a good show, huh?”

Right, you’d forgotten about the camera. But none of that matters anyway because-

Intensity setting 2.

“You’re so mean, too.”

“Am I?” he grins, teeth grazing along your racing pulse. “I think you taught that to me, baby. Shit, lesson 8 it was?”

God, he was addictive.

Choso’s having way too much fun playing around with the intensity setting of the bullet vibrator shoved inside your ravaged cunt. Sending quick, methodical vibrations all along your pulsing clit. In time with the breathless moans leaving your kiss-bitten lips, and it’s all you can to call out for- more? Mercy? Both? 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“God, you’re so perfect. Shit, so messy f’me.” he groans, and you could tell that the video wasn’t going to be uploaded anyway. Too shaky, focusing in and out of Choso’s fingers. Knuckle-deep and pumping in and out of your filthy hole. Relentless. “Almost makes me wanna show off to an actual audience.”

“Maybe I want to, too.” you muse, shifting at his heated gaze. Dangerously pressing your thumb over those nipple piercings you’ve gotten to know so well lately - as if to support your point. God you wish he’d take off that snug shirt.

Intensity setting 3.

“That so?”

And no matter how many times Choso’s ruined you on camera - and watched the videos over and over afterwards - he always thought they weren’t enough to capture your perfection. 

“Such a slut f’me, baby.” To capture the exact moment in which your wet lips fall into a soft little oh! when he massages your walls in time with the pulsing vibrator. To capture that absolutely sinfully excited little glint in your eyes as he ruts his clothed erection against your pussy. “Y’always this dirty?” Quickly turning into a look of slight panic at the sudden jingle of keys from the front door. 

“Yo, brat. Where the fuck are ya?”

Ah, there he was, the reason that Choso usually locked his bedroom door whenever you were over, even if he was home alone. 

Intensity setting 4.

As the silence continues, so does Choso’s abuse on your cunt. In fact, he only gets more erratic - like he wanted you to cum. Needed you to cum right now, right here in front of Sukuna, footsteps only growing louder. Nearer.

“Cho-” you fight to get out the words. “He’s hah-.”

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“Can’t speak? That’s cute.” he coos, voice way too relaxed for someone whose mind was reeling with the realization that he couldn’t remember if he locked the door this time, and how adorable you sounded. Enough so that it made some raw, primal part of him wanna pull down his pants and fuck you right here right now. Cockblocks and his own virginity be damned. “C’mon now, use your words like a good girl. Tell the camera.”

Cocky bastard.

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzzt-

“Close!” you yelp, unsure of whether you were talking about yourself or the looming Sukuna. Jaw slack, tears springing into your ears as you look up at Choso. “So close.”

God, you were addictive. And this video was definitely going in both your favorites.

“Mhm,” he hums, movements getting hastier. More desperate. “I know, ma’am.”

Intensity setting 5.

That’s all that it takes for you to cum, letting out a loud strangled moan of Choso’s name. Or, you would’ve - if it hadn’t been for the way he’s shoving two, thick fingers into your mouth.

Silencing you - and in your hazy brain you think that if this was his way of shutting you up, then you really didn’t mind. Because all you could taste was you and the cold, cold metal of his rings. Somewhat intoxicating.

“Shhhhhh.” he’s breathing out, still mindlessly grinding his hips into yours. Though, you realize with a pang that today won’t be the day you get to feel that achingly hard erection straining his pants. “These pretty moans aren’t for him, hm?”

Pressing on the back of your tongue, smirking at the way you nod tearily up at him, moans still muffled. Hell, do you even know how sexy you’re being right now.

“Mhm, all f’me. All for fuckin’ me.”

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

“Why the fuck are you locked up in here on a Saturday night?” Sukuna sounds impatient, but not surprised. Probably imagining all sorts of dorky things his nephew was doing to hole himself up in his room. “Come out n’ get this takeout- what’s left of it anyways.”

And with that, it’s like the magic is over.

Your high only just bating before Choso’s hurriedly ending the recording on a hazy still of your disappointed pout, cursing Sukuna for his impeccable timing. 

Slightly concerned about the door being broken down and someone else seeing you in all your fucked-out glory, he hastily moves to grab the spare cloth by his bedside. Cleaning you up with hushed promises of ���sending the recording later”, and “s’alright, he’ll be gone soon.”

Close. You were so close.

A win-win situation - but you’ve never felt like more of a loser.

---

“By God, I never thought he’d get the balls to do it.”

You yelp in surprise at the deep voice from behind you, whirling with a defiant brandish of Choso’s (your?) keys. He’d given them to you a few lessons ago, saying it would make it easier for you to come and go from his apartment as you pleased. Which - to you - felt dangerously like something a boyfriend would say-

But that wasn’t important right now.

What was important was the older man suddenly towering over you right outside Choso’s front door. Big arms crossed over his chest, that leering smirk clashing with his pink hair. “I knew it was odd that brat had a pair of heels by the door.”

Shit. Sukuna.

Ryomen awfully-wingman-his-nephew Sukuna.

“Spill.” At your confused head tilt, he plows on. “Spill the tea. I need new blackmail on my lil’ nephew. How badly did he have to beg you to go out with him?”

You don’t know what was more bizarre - what he was saying or the way he actually pulls out his Notes app as if hanging on to your every word. 

“I-It’s because of you.” you manage to choke out, unsure of what Choso has told his family about you.  Eyes flitting between him and the door right behind you, sounding your very best not to sound just as guilty as you felt. “You’re the reason we have this weird…thing.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two. 

And just as you’re beginning to wonder whether you’ve broken Choso’s infamous uncle, he throws his head back and laughs. Laughs, right in your face, sounding like he’d just heard the funniest punchline in the world. 

“Oh that’s hilarious.” he exclaims, wiping a mock tear. Cackles dying down as if he was suddenly aware that maybe Choso would hear and walk in on this impromptu interrogation. “Damn, that awful pick-up line is why you started fuckin’? I thought it’d get that sap blocked so he’d stop stalking your account so much.”

“No, we…” you hesitate, mind reeling with what Sukuna just admitted, and how bad it would really be that you’re divulging your sex life to a relative of the guy you’re fucking. Before thinking fuck it, might as well confide in someone. “...we’re just doing stuff for-” putting up air quotes. “-content.”

“Just content?”

“Just content.”

“And you like that fool?”

Your face burns at how glaringly obvious it apparently was, “...Yes.”

This seemingly sets Sukuna off on another wave of uncontrollable laughter. “Ohh, thanks for the blackmail on that emotionally-constipated brat.” Typing away on what you assume to be his Notes, he promptly turns to walk away, “See ya around, doll.”

“Wait!” you call after in confusion, making him stop and raise a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to like- I don’t know, give me advice for your nephew or something - like a good uncle?”

Scoffing, “Who said I was a good uncle?” He leans in ever-so-slightly, “Jus’ rock his world on camera or somethin’ n’ ask him out right in the middle.” Satisfied with being enough of a decent samaritan for today, he walks back with a half-wave, “He’d listen to whatever you say anyway.”

Oh. Is that so?

And Sukuna probably meant it as some joke. Something to tease the both of you with - but it’s something that sets the gears going off inside your head. Something that had you ignoring Sukuna’s slightly panicked, “Jus’ not too soon, I needa bully him with this first.”

---

You didn’t listen to Sukuna’s little plea, of course. Because only a few days later you’d steeled yourself to finally send that one text you knew would change your relationship with Choso. For the good, hopefully. 

You: 9pm my place. Get ready, cuz this time we’re gonna be live ;)

Cho <3: :0 

And with that, you’d thrown your phone on the bed, jittery about later tonight. Browsing through your wardrobe for that one set of barely-there lingerie in his favorite shade of pink. Hey, you could never be too prepared, right?

Nothing could’ve prepared Choso for this moment - absolutely nothing at all. 

He might’ve just died and gone to heaven the very moment he read that dangerous text - finally inviting him to join one of your streams. The ones that he’d always watch in the safety of his bedroom, lights dimmed, pants bunched around his ankles. 

Cock just achingly hard in his fist while he wished he was with you behind the camera. Getting you off so much better than any sextoy would. Just forcing those pretty moans from your lips - and everyone else could see that. Wish it was them ruining you instead. 

Alas, it was only a dirty little fantasy. 

Until now, that is.

slvt4u: Holy shit boyfriend reveal, about time.

uniwhore: THIS is the hottie from Twitter????? 

itsgenslut: idfc just fuck

“Nervous?” you smirk, looking down at the man sprawled so prettily on your bed. “You look just as close to an aneurysm as you were the first time. Though-” snaking your hand down, “-this is still the same as ever.”

You chuckle at the way Choso catches your lips with his, more to shut up those pathetic little moans threatening to escape him than anything. Because every glance at you in that sinful little pink bra gave Choso a mini heart attack. 

“B-baby-” he gasps, grinding his clothed erection against your palms. “I wan- hah-”

“Mhm?”

And God how you’ve ruined Choso - run him so utterly dry of his sanity.

Because he’s angling your head down, piercing cold against your tongue. “Spit.”

It was like that first time had gotten him addicted. So you do - right into his waiting mouth. Jaw dropping at the way he tips his head back, back, back to let it slide so obscenely down his throat. Moaning at just a taste of you, “God, I need to f-fucking ruin you.”

And if there’s anything you’ve learned after all these months with Choso, it’s that anything he says - he does.

The words have barely left his mouth before he’s pulling your bra off, ripping your panties easily off your hips. Each and every little regret about what a shame it was thrown out the window at the first sight of your pretty pussy. 

It never gets old - and Choso could never get enough of the sinful sight - your cunt so sloppy and ready for him already. 

“Cho-” you whine as ringed fingertips coming up to circle your sloppy entrance. Cold. Stretching you to insanity. “S-stop teasing.”

“Yes, ma’am. But first-” shifting you around ever-so-slightly on top of him. “Gotta show off how wet y’are f’me.”

uniwhore: did he just call her “ma’am”?? Me when??

roses101: idk who i wanna be they’re both so fucking hot ugh

“Fuck, y’look so sexy from this angle. Wonder if the camera thinks so too?”

Your face slightly burns at how he was seemingly taking over your own stream. Smug bastard, you think, glancing down at Choso, red-faced, hair untied, wearing a sly grin as his eyes slide over the flurry of comments. But two can play that game. 

“Cho~” fumbling with the hem of his underwear, “You’ve been holding out on me.”

A gasp leaves you involuntarily as you tug down Choso’s boxers just enough for his throbbing cock to spring free, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Blushed your favorite shade of pink - to match your bra - so so angry and soaked in precum. 

He was so intimidatingly long - longer than any of those toys you usually brought on camera. Thick enough that it had you wondering, shit, would you even be able to take it?

“S’this a-alright?” and for all his previous confidence, Choso sounded self-conscious. Peeking at you through his long lashes.

You grin, pumping a hand up and down his swollen cock, letting his precum drip down your wrist. “S’perfect.”

“God- fuck, baby. Oh-” Choso lets out breathless little profanities as you straddle his waist, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy as you sink down in by fucking in. Slowly. “Too- much-”

Apparently too slow because no sooner have you just taken in his fat tip, squeezing and clenching around him, that Choso’s flipping the both of you over. 

“M’sorry.” he breathes into your mouth as your back hits the mattress. “M’sorry m’sorry, fuck- just can’t-” fingers immediately drawing frenzied little circles on your pulsing clit to take your mind off the dizzying stretch as he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. “Can’t wait can’t wait- waited too fucking long. Want this so badly-”

You felt too good. Too perfect around him. 

“Ah! Hngh- Cho, oh my god. Too- ngh-” you moan, as he starts grinding in shallow, mindless little movements just to fit himself inside. Pushing and pushing, you wondered if he even realized what he was doing.

Sounding like his sanity was dwindling away with each little thrust, “S’too big? You can take it. Fuck fuck fuck please. Need this.” Pressing all the way into your lungs. “How do you wan’ it- how do you wan’ me?”

Honestly, Choso didn’t even need to ask, because he just bottoms out - heavy balls smacking against your ass, cock swollen and throbbing inside you - that you think that you just wanted him to ruin you. 

“R-ruin?” his voice breaks as he repeats - more to himself than you. Oh, shit had you said that out loud? You’re speechless as Choso throws your legs over his shoulder, dragging his swollen lips lazily across your ankle. “Yes ma’am.”

Oh. You might as well have just signed off your will. 

Because then he’s fucking into your sloppy cunt. Unforgiving. A man starved because he was. Jagged, quick thrusts, splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his rock-hard cock. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” he pants into your open mouth, finding it so fucking difficult to find any rhythm when your tight cunt was milking him so good. “You feel so good. So messy. Ya love it like this, huh? Being hngh- watched?”

“Hngh-” you buck wildly into his body, reaching up to play coyly with his nipple piercings. Tugging and pulling lightly. “Feels too good- are- ah- are ya sure this is your first time?”

Honestly, it was a wonder Choso didn’t cum right then and there. 

Tojisslvt: need someone to fuck me like this the first time

22sabi: Typing with one hand is so hard.

DaStrongest: i could fuck her so much better than than inexperienced loser

Choso throws his head back in a cruel little laugh at that last comment, something that makes you tingle all the way from your burning cheeks to your stuffed cunt. Clamping down deliciously on Choso’s unforgiving cock in a way that makes his hips and fingers stutter. 

“Ya think you could fuck her better?” it takes you a second to realize he was talking to the camera and not you. Thrusts getting sloppier, getting familiar. “I’m the one that got her so messy like this.” Purposeful. Calculated. Like he was aiming for that one-

“Fuck!” you scream as he hits that magic spot. Once. And then over and over like a man possessed. Just so utterly ruining you the way you knew he could. “Cho oh my god- I can’t hah- ngh-”

The cold metal of Choso’s rings dig into your cheek softly as he turns you head to face him. God, this was the stuff of his wildest dreams.

You - teary eyed and looking up at him like such a slut. Pussy getting wetter - tighter - as he teases you in front of the camera. Torn between running away from his relentless cock and bucking up for more more more-

 “Fuck no no no- Keep your legs open, baby. Don’t hah- run away from me.” his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. “Don’t- need this. Need this so ba- shit.” 

And he sounded so genuinely worried he’d lose the feeling of your heady cunt. Fingers bruising on your hips as he pulls you closer. Like he was trying to fuck out any and every shred of shyness out of your body. 

slvt4u: Always the quiet ones.

DaStrongest: heh, fuck off. i’d make her cum so much harder.

Now, Choso was fucking you like he had a point to prove, and it was probably the only reason he hadn’t passed out from how good your pussy felt wrapped around him. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point - and he was out of control now.

Pussy drunk thoughts unfiltered, “No one’s ever d-done this- got me hah- feeling like this.” And you had the distinct feeling he just beat you to your original goal, letting out sweet little babbles into your open mouth - though his hips were anything but. 

So hard that you were sure the creases of your sheets would leave marks for tomorrow - along with his balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, lips searing against yours. It was like he wanted to prove something - to prove he was good enough to- the viewers? To you? 

Knowing your body well enough to hit that one spot over and over until you were sobbing. Fingers erratic on your clit. 

“Cho-” you squeal, tears springing to your eyes as he only gets sloppier. “I-I’m gonna-”

“Cum?” he breathes, as if he couldn’t believe it. And fuck if you weren’t the gates of heaven spread wide open for him then he didn’t know what was. “Fucking cum. Please please- hah- f’me. Cum on m’cock n’ make them jealous. F’me- Like you’re mine.”

You barely even realize when you are. Jaw slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you see stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. God, he was gonna have to go home and rewatch this stream all over again. 

“Ngh- m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

Not even realizing the way you’re dragging your nails down Choso’s sculpted back. Marking up his milky skin - and he lets you. 

Loved it in fact- the way he loved you. 

Your eyes go wide, and Choso knows he’s fucked up. Realizing with a jolt that words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. But it’s the way you squeeze him tighter- giving him such a gorgeous little fucked-out smile that sends him over the edge.

Sharp canines digging into the crook of your neck like he wanted to break skin, holding himself back from breaking you while he cums and cums so hard it hurt. Over and over-

“Love you- love you love you love you-” he’s muttering into the skin, unbarred. “Since I first saw hah- you. Wanted this more than fuck fuck- air that I breathe.”

His seed was oozing out of you now, painting your ravaged pussy white, dribbling down your legs.  So fucking full and debauched. Thick, hot globs that were sure to stain those overpriced new sheets. But did Choso care for the mess? Not at all. 

Because you were holding him so impossibly tight, pushing away the strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Whispering little praises as he fucks you through his first time. Close. Warm. Everything he ever dreamed of.

“S’everything I ever dreamed of, too, Cho.”

And he knows he’s won. 

urfavslvt: Proudest nut. Want more.

uniwhore: does this mean couples content??? Pls say yes plsplspls

DaStrongest: invite me next time <3

“Thought you were embarrassed.” he licks soothingly over the bite. Voice shot, piercing smooth against his tongue. Embarrassing little confessions leaving him with each spark of electricity running through his veins. “Thought you didn’t stream w’me cuz of that- but shit. Dreamed of this f’so long. So long-”

Oh?

“Hey, Cho.” your voice rings through his hazy mind. Just enough for Choso to raise his head and meet your intoxicating, sultry gaze. Giving a sly, sidelong glance at the still-blinking camera. 

“Mhm?”

“Wanna film a week’s worth of ‘movies’ in advance?”

---

Sukuna (do not answer): Oi shitty nephew, where r u Jin made me come over with (half) leftovers.

You: Sorry, not home. At the movies rn.

Sukuna (do not answer): When tf do u go to movies?? 

You: Since now, on a date. You probably can’t relate.

Sukuna (do not answer): Stfu n’ stop lying, a date with who? Ur body pillow?? Not like u had the balls to ask out that pretty lil’ camgirl anyway.

Haha

Right? 

You: *girlfriend

Sukuna (do not answer): Huh?

You: Girlfriend.

Sukuna (do not answer): THE FUCKIN’ PICK-UP LINE WORKED??

A/N. This came out a LOT longer than expected. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

You always try so hard to hide when something's bothering you. You're so careful not to let your phone unlocked and out in the open, you try not to let your eyes unfocus as you think about whatever's bothering you; you work so hard to keep being productive despite your sorrows.

But they know you better than yourself, doll.

They see how your shoulders tense up whenever you leave Price's office and how you're always so wary of your surroundings, looking this and that way, waiting behind walls to avoid certain people. You can't hide your fears from them. Not from them. Not from the ones who were placed in this godforsaken world to protect you no matter what.

Figuring things out is easy. There's a reason they're a special task force. Swooping your phone from you is as easy as stealing candy from a little kid, and so is unlocking your phone (you need to be more careful about your passwords, love. Really? Your childhood's dog birthday? That's like basic information for them).

And when you come back to the room, flustered, fretting over your phone, it's there: on Price's desk, as if it was untouched. They hide the anger caused by their discoveries behind clenched jaws and hardened eyes and wait until you leave to begin discussing their plan of action (it's cute how you still look at each one of them to make sure they didn't see a thing).

Love, why didn't you tell them? Why did they have to search through your messages to find the reason behind your sadness? Don't you trust them? They're your guard dogs, doll, why don't you just order them to maul and gnaw and rip to shreds whenever you need?

It took them breaking into your phone to find out about the Sergeant who's been messaging you. They could read the suspicion behind your words as you accused him of pranking you after he asked you out.

Pranking you? Pranking?

They read the following messages, where he admitted to his lies – it was a bet, he said. Some friends had bet a good amount of money that he wouldn't be courageous enough to ask you out and then stand you up. He then had the gall to thank you for believing his words and going to the date. For dressing up "weirdly" and being delusional enough to think someone like him would be interested in you.

"just an advice: putting lipstick on a pig doesn't work lmao thanks for guaranteeing me the money tho" he had said.

Seeing red wasn't enough to describe how they felt.

Soap could barely stay still. He leaned his weight on one foot and then the other, itching to run as fast as he could until he found the bastards that dared to insult his bonnie. He needed to feel their bones giving out as he punched them into a bloody pulp. He needed to scream, to let you know that you were too good for all of those scumbags, that he and his mates were the only ones who could appreciate you, touch you with the reverence and devotion that you deserved.

Gaz felt like he failed you. The sourness of his anger mingled with the bitterness of his sorrow. He swore he could taste his emotions on his tongue. He always makes sure to tell how beautiful he thinks you are, how lovely your uniqueness is to him – his little porcelain doll he wished he could place on a shelf. To think some random man managed to hurt you and disrespect you under his watch... it was unbelievable. He would spend a lifetime spoiling you until you forgot about it. After he sunk his teeth into those men throats and ripped them apart, of course.

Ghost was the other side of Soap's coin. But while the Scotsman wanted to seek and destroy as quickly as they do in action, Ghost wanted cruelty. He wanted to take it slow, deliberate. One fingernail for every tear they made you shed. One bone snapped in half for every second you suffered due to their disrespect. If it depended on him, they would only live up until the clouds that covered your sun cleared up. There would be no surrendering, no mercy. You deserve thorough revenge, lovie. And only the muzzle that Price puts on his rabid snout can hold Ghost back.

Price wondered why you didn't tell them about this... incident. Why? Are you trying to defend those poor excuses for men despite how terribly they disrespected you? No, that can't be it. You're their angel, but he knows you aren't some punching bag. Are you afraid they'd agree with those bastards? At that, Price has to laugh. You're so smart, love, but so so blind. You still can't see how they could sell their soul to you, if you became a devil. You still can't see how they'd kneel down on nails and pray to you if you became a saint. After Price pulls a few strings and manages to get that scum dishonorably discharged, he and his muppets would have to work really hard on making sure you know you're the only thing that matters.

[simpforboys]

Surprise! (3)

Drew Starkey x fem!singer!reader

Summary: reader and Drew celebrate the release of the ‘Perfume’ music video!

Warnings: fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), praise, swearing, male masturbation, dirty talk, missionary position, sex on couch, daddy kink, protective piv sex, boob worship (?), drinking wine, fangirling

Part one, part two, part four

taglist is full :(

Two weeks had went by.

Two long, busy weeks of you not hearing much from Drew, other than the promotions and photo stills you would send him.

It was finally the release day, and within 18 hours, the video had already reached 200 million views.

You were currently sitting on your light grey couch, flicking through Netflix movies when your phone buzzed with a notification.

Drew Starkey: Hey, congrats on the success of the video. I’m still very honored you wanted me to he apart of it. You still down to celebrate?

Oh.

In all honesty you were expecting Drew to stop talking to you after the shoot.

But within those two weeks, you were both extremely busy, so reaching out was hard.

That didn’t mean you two didn’t text at all, it was just two or three messages a day.

Drew was notorious for being a bad texter, not to mention how filled up his schedule was.

So you never took it to heart. Or, at least tried.

But seeing the notification that he actually still wanted to hang out, wanted to celebrate with you…

Your User: hi, thank you so much! i’m still so happy and grateful you said yes <33

Your User: and yes i’m still down to celebrate!! when are you free?

Maybe the double texting was too much, but you were already a glass of wine in, and texting your celebrity crush.

To your surprise, he replied pretty quickly.

Drew Starkey: I’m actually free rn surprisingly, are you?

Oh.

You were in fact free, but ready was the better question.

No, you were not ready to see Drew fucking Starkey, especially looking like how you were currently dressed.

Only wearing sweatpants, a shirt that is three sizes too big, fuzzy socks, and no bra was not exactly presentable to meet the love of your life.

Your User: yes, but i look absolutely horrible rn

Again, another quick response.

Drew Starkey: I doubt that. Can I come see you?

You typed out a message.

Your User: CNEOSHWOSHEODNEOWHSOWBSIFBEOSBAJDBDKDHOSBSKSBDJSHS😜✊👍😜🤭🔥🫶😩

That was what you really wanted to reply with, but instead went for something more nonchalant.

Your User: yeah, you want my address?

It was never good to share your address to anyone online, especially after only meeting in person twice.

But it was Drew Starkey. You would send anything to that man, no questions asked.

Drew Starkey: Yes please

You had spent the last 30 minutes frantically cleaning your apartment. Not that it was a complete mess, but you did want it to be cleaner than what it was.

A soft knock on your door was heard, heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking with nervousness.

Peeking through the peephole, seeing his familiar face was enough to make you almost back out.

Why did you have to be so fucking nervous? He was just a man.

Your fingers unlocked the door, opening it gently.

“Hey, Y/n.” Drew smiled warmly at you, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi… come on in.” You grinned back, trying to hide the feeling in your chest.

Drew’s long legs guide him inside the apartment and he takes a second to look around.

It was cozy, and definitely you.

“I got these f’you.” He hums, holding out the flowers.

“Oh, these are my favorite flowers, Drew… you didn’t have to do that.” You awed, taking the bouquet as he practically handed it to you.

He knew they were your favorite flowers. He might have looked up y/n l/n’s favorite flower onto Google. Not that he would ever admit that, though.

“Really? Damn, lucky pick, I guess.” He chuckled, scratching the side of his neck a little sheepishly.

Putting the flowers in a vase, you realized that he was wearing sweats and a hoodie. It was 10:23pm on a Friday, and clearly you two were appreciating a night off.

It made you feel better about your outfit.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have white or red wine, beer, vodka, soda, water…” You trailed off your options.

“What’re you drinking?” He hummed.

You nodded over to the coffee table, an open bottle of wine with a half filled glass on it.

“Wine.”

“I’ll just have some of that, then.” Drew murmurs.

You grabbed another wine glass and walked over to the couch, hearing his feet behind you.

Sitting down on the couch, you got all comfortable underneath the blanket again, then reached over to pour him a glass of wine.

“Cheers, to the success of ‘Perfume’, and to you.” Drew says softly, holding his glass out for you to clink.

Feeling your face grow a bit warm, you tapped your glass with his.

“Cheers to you being amazing.” You took a sip of the wine, your eyes locked onto his blue ones.

“You have a nice apartment, by the way. Forgot to say that.” He hums.

“Thank you, I wanted to make it as cozy as possible for those rare times I am at home.” You explain.

"Yeah, I get that. Life nowadays is just so hectic." He agrees, blue eyes trailing over your face, as if committing each feature to memory.

"Well, yeah. You're all big and famous now," you tease.

He chuckles sheepishly, his large hand running along the back of his head.

"You have any big plans coming up?" He asked you.

"Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to be preforming at the iHeartRadio Jingle Ball festival in a week," you nod.

"Really? Damn. That beats me, then." He joked.

"What do you have coming up?" You questioned.

"Variety is going to have Harris Dickinson and I do that Actors on Actors interview thing."

"Yeah? That sounds fun," you hummed.

The two of you spent an hour and a half talking about life, success, and just got to know each other.

You both finished the bottle of wine and were now onto your second bottle, the two of you tipsy as you giggled on the couch.

Your body felt warm and you weren't completely sure if it was from the alcohol or the fact that a beautiful man was sitting a foot away from you on your own couch.

Drew felt the same, and one specific joke you made had him laughing a little too hard. His eyes creased in the corner as he smiled, those pretty dimples on display.

But when his large hand went to rest on your knee, the wine in your system completely fought off your anxiety, making you more relaxed.

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your hand resting atop of his.

"Your laugh is so cute, Drew," you murmured.

"Yeah? You're cute," he responded.

You bit your lip, eyes locked onto his. "Is that the alcohol talking or you?"

He grinned, shaking his head.

"That's me talking."

Oh.

"You're sweet..." you trailed off, trying to ignore how butterflies filled your belly.

He just hummed, a comfortable, tension-filled silence falling between you two.

"So, you really had a crush on me for four years?" He teased, squeezing your knee a little.

"Oh, god. We're back at this now, huh?" You grumbled in embarrassment, although there was no real malice behind your tone.

He smirked, licking his lips. "We never left it."

"I certainly did."

"Yeah? You don't have a crush on me anymore?" He murmured, the playful tone in his voice making your stomach turn more.

"I didn't say that...." you trailed off, picking at the extra skin near your nails.

His eyes trail over your form again, taking in every inch of you he can see that's not hidden by the blanket on your lap.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't hear you."

You rolled your eyes, face hot. "I'm sure you didn't."

He laughed, scooting a little closer to you so your legs were touching.

"'m just fucking with you," he said softly.

"I know..." you glanced over at him, eyes instinctively falling down to his pretty lips.

It had been too long since you felt them on you.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the boost of confidence Drew had gotten, but he slowly leaned in, his free hand going to run his index finger and thumb on your chin.

"Is this okay?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah... yes..." you breathed out shakily, heart racing.

He hummed, gently connecting your lips to his own.

Feeling that familiar, addictive spark when his skin touched yours. You immediately kissed back, your left hand going to cup his jaw.

Kissing. You were kissing Drew fucking Starkey. And it wasn't for work, wasn't for cameras. He kissed you first.

Within moments, he was laying you back on the light grey couch, the fluffy blanket being left abandoned on the floor.

His tongue was in your mouth, sculpted body hovering over yours. Your thighs were spread for him to nestle in between, left hand still cupping his strong jaw, right hand in that soft brown hair.

On instinct you pulled a little on the strands, making him grunt into your mouth. He disconnected your lips, trailing sloppy, needy kisses down your jaw and neck.

Chests pressed together, it was as if you two couldn't get any closer.

"Mhmm... Drew..." you whimpered softly when he nipped at the skin of your pulse point.

"Yeah? That feel nice, sweet girl?" He murmured, voice muffled from his attention on your neck.

You nodded, legs squeezing him in between your body.

"Can I take your shirt off, baby?" He asked, not wanting to do anything you weren't desiring.

"Please.." you breathed out, heart racing, stomach flipping.

His large hand slipped the oversized fabric off and over your head, a small whine leaving him when he saw your pretty tits.

"Fuck, Y/n... you been hiding these from me?" He mumbled teasingly, continuing his line of kisses and nibbles down your collarbone, in between the valley of your breasts.

"All you needed to do was ask," you panted. Your back instinctively arched up, your chest needing some attention from his warm mouth.

He groaned at your answer, moving slightly down your body until he was eye level with your hard nipples. He swirled his tongue around the bud, blue eyes locked on your face when he sucked your nipple into his mouth.

Your body jolted a little, making him hold your side with his left hand, his right hand massaging the other stiffened bud.

He switched sides after a few moments, relishing in the sounds of your pretty moans and pants.

But something else was throbbing and aching, desperately needing his attention.

"Drew," you whined.

"Hmm?" He hummed, still worshipping your boobs.

"Need you."

"Yeah?" He cooed, reluctantly disconnecting his mouth from your right nipple as he continued to kiss down your stomach.

You nod, breathing short and needy. He got to the waistband of your sweatpants, looking back up at you.

"You can take those off too." You gave permission, already knowing what the man was going to ask.

He wasted no time in slipping the fabric down your legs, readjusting so his face was in between your spread thighs.

"Look how you ruined these panties, pretty girl... you're so needy f'me, huh?" He murmured softly.

All you could do was whine when he pressed a tender kiss to your clothed clit, the fabric absolutely soaked. It had been way too long since you'd had sex.

His large hand slid the fabric down your thighs, leaving you completely bare for him.

"So beautiful, baby. So beautiful..." he muttered, talking more to himself than you.

Your legs twitched when he flicked his tongue against your clit, hands digging in his hair.

"Drew--"

"I know, baby. Let daddy eat this pretty pussy, yeah? Just sit back and relax."

A needy whimper left your mouth, but you didn't respond. Not that you could, as he licked a stripe from your pulsating hole to the top of your clit.

He hoisted your thighs over his broad shoulders, moaning a little at your taste. His movements became more eager, beginning to lap at your cunt like a starved man.

Right hand in his hair, left hand gripping the couch. Your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up towards his face.

He made a grunt directly into your clit, another jolt of pleasure going into your body.

"Daddy... fuck..."

His piercing blue eyes were feeding off of your facial expressions, his cock throbbing in his own sweats.

He slipped two fingers into your cunt, focusing his mouth on your clit. His left hand slid down his own pants, beginning to palm his cock through his boxers.

"Yeah? Is daddy making you feel good, sweet girl?" He coos, whining a little as his own hips buck on the couch, desperate for more friction.

His noise and hips bucking made your cunt clench around his fingers, as if trying to pull him in deeper.

The knot in your stomach was already forming, almost embarrassing how quickly he turned you into a mess.

Legs trembling over his shoulders, hips rocking against his face and chin. You couldn't even announce you were coming, mind fuzzy from the pleasure.

He hummed when he noticed you releasing, continuing to lap up all your juices as he came in his pants.

When your body calmed down, he pulled away from your pussy and kneeled in between your legs.

He peeled his own hoodie off, revealing that perfect, toned body of his again. Your eyes drank in the sight, licking your lips.

“You’re so hot, Drew…” you murmured.

His ears were ringing, need coursing through his veins as he slipped off his sweats and boxers.

You had to physically hold back a gasp when you saw his cock for the first time.

People had always written it differently in all those guilty pleasure Rafe Cameron fanfics you would read when you couldn’t sleep.

But seeing it in person was just a whole new experience.

It was long and thick, which was to be expected. The man radiated big dick energy.

Pretty mushroom tip that was still leaking, his pubic hair slightly fuzzy as if he hadn’t shaved it in a week.

“Holy shit…”

“Mhm? Better than you imagined?” He asked teasingly, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a condom from his wallet.

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a small snicker leaving you.

He rolled the condom onto his shaft, moving to hover over you again.

“Are you sure you want this, Y/n?” He asked softly, eyes gazing intently into yours.

“Yes… please fuck me, daddy.”

He let out a small groan, nestling himself in between your thighs. He used a long, strong arm to grab a couch pillow and tuck it under your hips.

You watched as he teasingly slid his head up and down your slit, tapping it against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Don’t tease me, please,” you beg.

Your pretty begging weakened his resolve as he slowly slid into you.

Whimpers and noises of pleasure left the both of you at the feeling, a course of energy being shared within your two bodies.

He kept pushing until he was all the way inside, giving you a moment to adjust as he captured your lips in his.

Your hands roamed over his biceps and back, loving the way the muscles flex against your palms. His skin was burning, adding to the electric feel.

When he felt you stop tensing around him, he began to slowly pull back, before pushing in, creating a delicious rhythm.

“Fuck… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” He moaned.

Your legs tightened around his hips, a noise leaving you as he rubbed right against that spongy spot.

“So deep, Drew… can feel you so deep,” you whined in between breaths.

“Yeah? You take this dick so good, pretty girl.”

His movements were getting a little rougher with every minute passing, both of you needing this.

Your crush on him for four years, the sexual tension you shared in the music video, the chemistry when you first met him on The Tonight Show.

It was all so surreal and felt like you were living straight out of a fanfic or dream.

His head dropped down to your chest, clearly having a thing for your hardened nipples as he nibbled gently.

Maybe one day Drew would fuck you without the condom and be able to feel your warm, velvety walls squeezing him without the protection.

He could dream.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You swore, the pillow under your hips allowing for his tip to kiss your cervix with every thrust.

“Mhm, yeah. Good girl.” He praised breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded from everything.

The couch creaked a little beneath you two, your nails digging into his back.

He was already close, eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

His calloused thumb went to rub your clit, making your legs twitch around his sculpted hips.

Your cunt squeezed around his cock, your belly on fire with your building orgasm.

“You gonna cum f’me, sweet girl?” He choked out, hips snapping against yours.

“Y-yes!” You squeak, mind hazy, body trembling.

“Yeah… that’s it… let me feel you…”

His breathy words, deep penetration, and touch on your clit sent you over the edge again.

You moaned loudly, clinging onto his body as he talked you through your orgasm.

He was also talking himself through it, feeling his cock twitch as he spilled his seed into the condom.

His body was still against yours, both of you catching your breaths from the intensity.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead again, his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” He asked you softly.

“Mhm… ‘m good…”

You kissed his lips again, more gently this time. His nose brushed against yours when he pulled away, lips connecting to your cheek.

He reluctantly slid out of you, kneeling between your legs again as his blue eyes gazed down at your cunt.

“Did you bring any more condoms?” You ask after a few moments.

He looks at your face, then reaches over to grab his wallet. He pulls out two more condom wrappers.

You grinned, licking your lips.

“So are we going two more rounds or what?”

tags!!

@slut4you @sweetlike-sugarplum @snowtargaryen @fastlovela @christinechickiee @ahgrace6 @evermorx89 @loren8818181 @eddiemuns0nl0ver @sophiesmovingcastle5 @chimchimjiminie16 @amel1ee @reader1402 @tqd4455 @rxeae @caraxes-syrax @shrimpybbq @drewstarkeysbabe @rafeswhoooreee @meropeeonmee @rafeluvrr @marvelahsobx @raeven-marie43 @fallout-girl219 @brendazzlingg @10ava01 @secretsideofbree @drewstarrrkey @p0gue420 @gibson-g1rl @kiiyomei @spiderstyles04 @sexualparkour @vinaluvsu @domainexpandme @mariadu2 @toterry @taliawz @always-reading @angvl3tears @iloveoldermenn @aesthetic-lyss @lover-girl-estxx @cadhlabear @kaiparkerwifes @herbookgarden @luvleyshif4 @caraxes-syrax @mymultiveres @reader1402 @dinnodallas @darkreymbow @vinaluvsu @sarahskywalker-amidala @christinechickiee @hoelesslyt @tincanhat @scenesofobx @james-bucky-barnackle @angvl3tears @belledawnidk @millietozier @vrsluts @chimmysoftpaws @brathwaite444 @urmanicpixieangelgirl

[saveabedmaj]

Rebuilding What Was Erased – A Message from Abedmajed in Gaza

My name is Abedmajed, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.

In a single missile strike, we lost over 25 members of our family. They were not just names. They were mothers, daughters, sons, grandparents — people we shared meals with, laughed with, and built dreams with.

The missile hit our family home — the heart of everything we knew.

Among those killed were: 🕊️ My mother 🕊️ My sister 🕊️ My older brother His wife and their three daughters 🕊️ My uncle, his wife, and all their sons and grandchildren

We were left with nothing but rubble and grief. Yet somehow, my brother and I survived. And now, we carry the responsibility of rebuilding what was taken — not just for ourselves, but for our father, our surviving siblings, and the memory of those we lost.

💔 Why We’re Fundraising

This campaign is not just about survival. It’s about rebuilding a future — A family home, a shared life, a place where our father can rest safely, Where the next generation of our family can grow up knowing peace instead of trauma.

💬 The funds raised will help us:

🏗️ Rebuild our family home — which was completely destroyed 🛠️ Provide basic support for our father and siblings 🏡 Create safe, livable conditions for a family shattered by loss

🔒 How the Funds Are Managed

Due to the collapse of Gaza’s financial system, all donations are processed through my brother, who has a U.S. registered Stripe account. Funds are securely transferred to Gaza and distributed in cash here on the ground. We are transparent and ready to provide proof of every step.

🌱 Why Your Support Matters

We are not asking for charity. We’re asking for a chance to stand again, To rebuild something we can pass on to the children who survived.

Vetted By @gazavetters No:537

Your support gives us the strength not just to remember the ones we lost — but to honor them by continuing.

💬 If you can’t donate, a reblog means the world. 🕊️ From Gaza, with hope and dignity — thank you.

[saveabedmajeed]

Rebuilding What Was Erased – A Message from Abedmajed in Gaza

My name is Abedmajed, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.

In a single missile strike, we lost over 25 members of our family. They were not just names. They were mothers, daughters, sons, grandparents — people we shared meals with, laughed with, and built dreams with.

The missile hit our family home — the heart of everything we knew.

Among those killed were: 🕊️ My mother 🕊️ My sister 🕊️ My older brother His wife and their three daughters 🕊️ My uncle, his wife, and all their sons and grandchildren

We were left with nothing but rubble and grief. Yet somehow, my brother and I survived. And now, we carry the responsibility of rebuilding what was taken — not just for ourselves, but for our father, our surviving siblings, and the memory of those we lost.

💔 Why We’re Fundraising

This campaign is not just about survival. It’s about rebuilding a future — A family home, a shared life, a place where our father can rest safely, Where the next generation of our family can grow up knowing peace instead of trauma.

💬 The funds raised will help us:

🏗️ Rebuild our family home — which was completely destroyed 🛠️ Provide basic support for our father and siblings 🏡 Create safe, livable conditions for a family shattered by loss

🔒 How the Funds Are Managed

Due to the collapse of Gaza’s financial system, all donations are processed through my brother, who has a U.S. registered Stripe account. Funds are securely transferred to Gaza and distributed in cash here on the ground. We are transparent and ready to provide proof of every step.

🌱 Why Your Support Matters

We are not asking for charity. We’re asking for a chance to stand again, To rebuild something we can pass on to the children who survived.

Vetted By @gazavetters No:537

Your support gives us the strength not just to remember the ones we lost — but to honor them by continuing.

💬 If you can’t donate, a reblog means the world. 🕊️ From Gaza, with hope and dignity — thank you.