#u want to tell me that the boy that’s been warned his entire life about the dangers of letting another person close is chill about sex?

[kiwiaok]

firm believer in neil josten having just as many issues with sex as andrew

[wttcsms]

angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k  synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes. 

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi. 

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked. 

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away. 

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now? 

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that?  I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” 

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

[ilycosy]

❝ HE LOVES ME , HE LOVES ME NOT ! ❞ | MATTHEO RIDDLE

pairing : mattheo riddle x slytherin!reader , ron weasley x reader (platonicish)

summary — having mattheo riddle as your best friend was difficult, especially when you've been in love with him since the first year. not to mention all the people he's constantly with, you're planning on moving on when you catch wind of a gryffindor party: perfect for a last ditch effort.

warnings : fake dating (not w mattheo) , messy teen relationships , jealousy , ron appreciation <3 , theo n enzo r a little sick of mattheo , pansy n reader r the besties ever

aﾉn — how do u guys feel abt a part 2 of this ?? i feel like it's a little incompleted but im not entirely sure ... also ron haters dni bc this fic isn't for u <//3

you couldn't remember the last time you had actually talked to mattheo. every time he had started up a conversation with you recently, it ended with him telling you about his (quite boring) sex life. and you were rather sick of it, you were supposed to be his best friend.

pansy had told you that he was too stupid to realize he liked you, and maybe you should just ask him out, but every single time you gain that courage— he's got another girl hanging off his arm. each girl lasts a week, maybe two at most but it still stings.

this week, mattheo had a girl. she was beautiful, really, seemingly sweet too. she would constantly wave at you and smile like she wasn't jealous at all, which you assumed she was right. if mattheo really didn't want to be with you, you'd just have to move on.

now, because you hadn't been talking to him recently, your party invites also dried up. you were hot, everyone knew that, but you were awkward and flighty with people. which is exactly why you latched onto mattheo.

many of his exes had called you clingy, so you eventually just gave up engaging with him first— officially starting your 'situationship detox' is what pansy called it.

you barely attempted moving on before you got a small piece of paper slipped over to you to pass to a hufflepuff girl, a gryffindor party invite. the gryffindor boy just awkward gestured to her, but you glanced at another boy.

bright red hair, freckles, and a little bit of quidditch dirt still smudged on his face. ron weasley, he wasn't exactly the most academically gifted, but he was sweet and funny (much to your friends dismay).

ron looked at you with a confused look when you didn't pass the note, but you had other plans. "can i come?" you asked, trying to sound confident and chill while your stomach churned at the idea of being rejected by the gryffindors, that'd be humiliating.

"uh," he said, clearing his throat before nodding. "yeah, the password is tapeworm?"

for some reason, you felt rather excited when you told pansy that you'd be going to the gryffindor party— you had never gone to a party without being invited by your friends first!

"babe," she cut your excited rambling off, looking at you with a concerned look. "you asked weasley. weasley if you could go to a fucking party?" she double checked like it was shocking, but you felt a spark of offense.

you furrowed your eyebrows, "he's sweet," you say, rummaging through your shared closet for an outfit. "you just don't understand because everyone's so obsessed with blood status, he's always been true to himself." you defended.

she went quiet for a couple minutes, watching you spread out dresses that are a little too modest for her liking. "well, if you're going to be going with weasley, then you need to show him how slytherins are better than gryffindor girls." she said with a smirk, patting your back as she pulled out different dresses.

"you gonna slut it up with me?" she asks, showing off a small red dress.

you scoff but take the dress, holding it in your hands as you admire the sheer black lace covering the deep red. "slut it up," you say with an eyeroll, looking back at her with a small smile. "you're going to be all over blaise, be honest."

you didn't bother telling mattheo about the party, assuming that he'd either be single again and looking for another one there or be arguing with his current girlfriend in the common room.

you didn't even know that he was constantly telling theo about how you barely spoke to him anymore, "she won't even fucking look at me theodore! i don't know what i did wrong, she's fucking insane or something!" he would say, dramatically flailing his hands while speaking.

only for theo to look at enzo with an annoyed look, enzo returning it with a brief head shake and ignoring the temper tantrum by reading. mattheo would eventually calm down and say that he just doesn't get why you're like this, then he'd repeat his idiotic cycle.

he really was blindsighted when he saw you at the party, he had just broken up with his girlfriend— apparently she wasn't all the nice after all, hooking up with another ravenclaw while being with him. he was already annoyed with that whole fiasco, so seeing you with weasley?

he saw red. he barely remembers turning to enzo before trying to approach you, only to be stopped by theo grabbing him and telling him to walk it off.

you, on the other hand, were having the time of your life. sure, harry and hermione took a little bit to warm up to you even being around them, but it seems like they're accepting the casual conversation that you're providing, which is a win for you.

ron has a hesitant arm around your shoulders, keeping a respectful distance while still being touchy. everyone saw it as amazing flirting, both of you guys seemed to be hitting it off greatly.

but you just felt awkward. he was lovely and amazing company, but the lack of chemistry was suffocating you. and he felt it too, his eyes drifting to another person every once in a while, wishing it was different.

maybe that's why you proposed something while tipsy, giggling into ron's ear as you talked about fake dating. whispering the silly joke like it was intimate, and maybe if he wasn't also tipsy he would've told you it was a bad idea.

but he didn't, and now you're bundled up in a sweater with a big r on it.

it could be worse, and you aren't complaining. even though it's fake, it was easy to be around him. he was thoughtful and constantly looking for that reassurance that everything was fine with you, it felt refreshing.

you missed mattheo though, and you confinded in him about it. before others arrived at the designated tree, you whispered into his shoulder about how it hurt that you never seemed good enough for him. ron listened, and he cared.

his freckled hands rubbed your side as you vented, comforting you while he whispered back about how he was so insecure about where he stood within his friends and family. you related to each other, and it was a bond you didn't think you could have.

he pretended to never notice how mattheo clenched his jaw and fists whenever the two of you passed by. while he knew that this was to make him jealous, he felt a little vindictive. how could someone like mattheo riddle hurt such a sweet person like you?

mattheo was spiraling, constantly watching from the sidelines as you and ron 'seemingly fell in love out of fucking nowhere' as he said to theo. he constantly ranted about how you'd never stoop that low, dating a blood traitor.

until enzo spoke for once, lifting his head from his book at the library during a study session. "maybe you didn't know her as well as you thought." he said offhandedly, ignoring the way the whole group fell into silence after.

mattheo didn't speak, just slowly sitting down in a seat next to draco. his cousin looks at him with a sympathetic smile before kind of shrugging, basically saying enzo wasn't wrong.

he didn't know you? that was impossible, you guys were best friends. he barely ate at dinner that night, just watching you laugh and eat with pansy while she gossiped about her and blaise. you were with ron weasley, and he was mad, he didn't know you, but why was he mad?

the next day, he couldn't stop himself from pairing up with you in potions. feeling himself get almost embarrassed and shy when he asked you to partner up with him before ron could, he felt a small victory when you chose him before telling the red head next time with a cheery tone.

the entire potions class was spent with you walking on eggshells with him while he desperately tried to get to reknow you, he felt ashamed when he asked about the latest album of your old favorite band only for you to respond that you don't really listen to them anymore.

he sulked the next class, but mattheo wasn't exactly one to back down— he was going to get you back, in more ways than one.

the following week was used as a way for him to worm himself back into your life like an 'annoying zit' as pansy called him, she did love mattheo but she loved you more and that's all that mattered to her.

ron even asked you about it, "say," he mutters as he leans over your shoulder while you're studying, "why's riddle suddenly all over you?" he asks, genuinely curious though his wording was harsh.

you took a moment to recollect yourself, knowing that he didn't mean it that way. "i don't know," you say softly, taking notes about a plant you could care less about. "he's a little odd sometimes, im sure he'll get bored."

but he didn't get bored, in fact it seemed that mattheo only seemed to go harder. constantly taking any moment to steal you away from not only ron, but other people now (not pansy of course, she'd kill him).

draco trying to talk to you about astronomy? mattheo suddenly needed help with defense. blaise needed to borrow something of yours? mattheo needs you to listen to him rant. slughorn even needed you after class, and mattheo was there mean mugging him while waiting for you.

ron talked about it to harry, laying in his friends bed while he read. "he's bloody obsessed with her!" he says a little loudly, almost waking neville.

"i know ron i know, your girlfriend is being hit on by riddle. im sure it'll be fine," he says, stroking his red locks and twirling it. "you guys are basically married with how you act, nothings going to take her away." he reassures ron.

he just rolls his eyes, pausing harry"s hand to look at him. "that's the thing," he says frustratedly, chewing his bottom lip. "we aren't dating, and im just nervous that she'll get hurt again by him."

seamus listened with wide eyes as harry questioned ron, whisper yelling is still yelling to a light sleeper. and seamus finnigan wasn't the best secret keeper.

it only took a couple days for the whole school to know, constant berating from the gryffindors because they thought it was your fault and then the slytherins cheering you on for allegedly breaking ron's heart.

you didn't even have time to talk to ron about what happened since none of the other gryffindors would let you around him, so you were officially and totally alone.

you sat curled up in the abandoned girls bathroom, crying as moaning myrtle cried with you. you almost started venting to her before the door was pushed open, your old best friend staring at you with wide eyes.

"mattheo?" you question, hurrying to wipe your wet eyes as he approached you. "what're you doing here?" you tried to ask, hiccuping slightly.

he just shrugged, sitting down next to you as he wrapped an arm around your waist. "i know you didn't hurt weasley," he says quietly, pulling you close. "you wouldn't do that to somebody."

you could almost cry with happiness, hiccuping again as you smiled and laughed humorlessly. "it was all fake," you confessed, feeling embarrassed but like you just needed to admit it to somebody. "me and ron did it to make people jealous, and i don't know if it even worked so it was useless and im just so tired of people being so, fucking, mean to me about this i–"

he gently shushed you, rocking you back and forth while whispering that you didn't need to explain yourself to anybody. he pressed a soft kiss onto the crown of your head without realizing it, stroking your back.

when you had began to calm down, he awkwardly cleared his throat to ask an even more awkward question. "so uh, who were you even trying to make jealous?" he asked, glancing down at you.

you just rolled your eyes and shook your head with shame, before just whispering in a defeated tone that it was him. you felt the shame rise but you couldn't let it out, it was just too much.

"are you serious?" he asked, feeling relief and surprise rush through his entire body.

"yeah," you say, not looking at him as you shake your head and scoff. "i know it's pathetic but you don't understand i just felt–" the only thing you actually felt was chapped lips against yours.

mattheo fucking riddle was kissing you, his hands delicately holding your face like you were going to slip away from him again.

"don't worry about it, princess," he whispered, pushing his hair out of his eyes so he could look at you fully while calling you a name you havent heard since the third year. "it's not pathetic."

you stare at him in shock, glancing at the lip gloss smeared on his lips— this time from you, and not from other girls.

"are you sure?" you ask with an awkward laugh, feeling a nervous giddiness rise in you. "because i played that one stupid flower game with ron about you." you confess before you realize, accidently oversharing like always.

but mattheo just laughed, kissing from your forehead down to your chin and slowly across your jaw. "he likes me, he likes me not?" he asked, and you could feel the smile against your skin.

"i played it a couple times," he mumbled, pressing his lips against yours again. not wanting to hear the teasing you were about to do.

[quirklessidiot]

title: Y/N and her boys [sneak peek] pairing : Upper classman/popular kid!Gojo Satoru x F!reader, Exchange student!Eren Jaeger x F!reader, MMA Fighter/Celebrity!Ryomen Sukuna x F!reader, Childhood Bestfriend!Aki Hayakawa x F!reader, Varsity football player!Itoshi Rin x F!reader (use of she/her pronouns) Genre: Alternate Universe-University setting, romance, fluff, angst (if you squint), slice of life, drama, all cliche romance genres unite! (Based on the Manhwa, Bunny and her Boys)

Summary: Y/N’s denied the existence of pretty boys and god forbid she’d ever end up dating one yet with one horrid break-up, she decides that relationships aren’t just meant for someone stupid like her but the problem is — five of them suddenly appear and god, why does it seem like they can’t get enough of her?

General warning for the story: mild sexual content, cliche tropes (help), mahito is his own warning, minor character death, mentions of depression, a lot of second-hand embarrassment from y/n's part (shes not a cool girl, SHE IS A BUBBLING MESS AND THATS OK <33), insecurities, bullying, and mentions of cheating Notes: english isn't my first language! (dont judge me) this multi-chaptered story will probably be 20-30 chapters (idk) in ao3. you can totally tell this story is rooted from self-indulgence LMFAO. Im not sure if i should cross post it but im leaning towards ao3 more either ways, can't wait to release this on friday!

also can u guess who she ends up with :P rb’s are appreciated yay FULL VERSION IS RIGHT HERE!

SNEAK PEAK

“Maybe…Maybe we should break up.”

There's another round of silence between you two, and you know that you can’t exactly take it back anymore since you had said it loud and clear, “Woah, woah, I told you I wasn’t with Misa.” his voice turns louder, and the background noises are good as gone as if he had left the noisy place, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you-”

“I said,” you try to control the stammering of your voice, trying to avoid the stares of the people who cast odd glances, “We’re done. I don’t want to see or hear from you again.” and before he could let another excuse out of his mouth, you end the call. It is only now that you notice how your legs have been quivering and your mouth has gone dry, seemingly like a pup who had just been born and trying to walk. You lose your footing and sit down on the dirty pavement.

No tears were shed at that very moment, probably because you were only stupefied, and it was written clearly on your face that this wouldn’t be something you’d recover anytime soon. Heck, you couldn’t even grasp the idea entirely that someone you’ve been friends with for years and, eventually, a lover would do that to you.

Was it as easy as a snap of a finger?

“Miss? Miss?” someone calls out, but it only bounces back to him like an echo in a cave. You remain still, eyes blinking rapidly while the rest of your face is slack. Everyone around you continued to move, but you remained there like a decorated statue.

“Miss? Christ, you’re about to be–” the husky voice also stops, and it’s only now that you look up to find a man. He seems stocky but, simultaneously, smaller, as if he didn’t want to come off as intimidating when he maintained eye-to-eye contact. 

He is incongruous with everyone who walks by since he desperately tries to hide his features with a baseball cap and a dark face mark. The only thing you can see are strands of his bleached hair, his eyes that resemble the sunshine that peeked through the glasses of whiskey, and the swirls of ink becoming visible underneath his coat when he stretches out his arm.

If this were any other day, you’d run in the opposite direction because he looked like an unscrupulous loan shark, but your body remains in a state of unknown fatigue that you just wanted to stay still. 

You watch as his face softens, the lines on his forehead somewhat disappearing when he watches the color bleed from your face. “...Alright…” he stops, squinting as he crouches to your level. His thick thighs encompass the rough expanse of his straight jeans, and you wondered if he had been an athlete or something. Aside from his built, his presence was rather invigorating,  “oh…” he continues, “Sorry, you-uh…” The confidence he had to throw you off is gone like the evening dust as he motions his index finger up and down his face.

At that moment, you feel something wet running down your cheek. It seemed like the waterworks were late.

You didn’t want to be a pity party in front of anyone, and you’d expect there to be only bystanders, not ‘good samaritans’.

You sniffled, violently wiping the tears away as you felt your ribs were too tight when you took one long breath, “I’m fine…” you respond monotonously.

Who were you even fooling? 

“Right…” you carefully watch him take out a handkerchief, “Fine, sitting on a dirty pavement near my car doesn’t make you look fine, Miss.” he prodded.

“Well, what do you care, anyways?” you tried to keep your voice from cracking, but the stranger showed no qualms of anxiety or fear, nor did he seem mad at your snappy attitude. The blue handkerchief is laid on his palm, waiting for you to take it, yet you exhibit no signs of accepting his kindness. Instead of forcing you through like the usual status quo, he returns it to his pockets.

The odd man.

“Well, for one, I don’t want to run your feet over since I’m parked over here,” he thumbs towards the black jeep that’s parked in front of you, “And my mom didn’t raise me to leave a girl sitting alone, crying her eyes out…”

“Well, did your mom tell you to mind your own business, as well?” your body remains heavy and distant from the stranger, not minding if it came off as rude, but you’ve always been wary of them, especially the ones who claimed to be nice. You wouldn’t be swayed even if you were in a vulnerable place.

He sucks in a deep breath, quite surprised that you had the energy to exchange a vehement response to him. Weren’t you just about to bawl your eyes out?

“Well, you honestly looked like you deserve some niceness after whatever happened.” he conceded, remaining suspiciously friendly, “Piece of advice, though, if it’s a guy, he’s not worth it.” 

“I-what makes you think it’s a guy?” there it goes again, the unknown tightening of your throat and the way the gummy lids on your eyes would heat up as if a pipe of water was about to burst and flood the segways any moment.

“It’s always an asshole who doesn’t seem to know how to treat a woman right.” he lamely explains, and slowly but hesitantly, as if he was waiting for you to move away, he places one hand on top of your hand. 

Unlike a while ago, you weren’t as hostile, but you were confused about why the stranger suddenly did this and didn’t seem to tilt away like you usually would, “So go home tonight, Miss. Cry it out and wake up tomorrow for yourself. You’ll be fine.”

You don’t even see his entire face, but the way he gently caresses your hair as if you were a long-time friend had your lips quivering, and without even realizing it, your torso bends forward. You bury your face in your arms, finding solace in your makeshift fetal position.

The stranger says nothing more; honestly, you didn’t even mind. His newfound presence is comforting.

[iliketangerines]

HI I LOVE U I LOVE U AND UR WORK SO VERY MUCH 🤞🤞🤞

do u have any thoughts on ANY mk boys (johnny, liu kang, kuai liang, literally any combo or individual IDM AT ALL) with a reader that has hella piercings :3 specifically or at least a tongue piercing

i have so many holes in my face i NEEEED to know what they'd do about it :3 nsfw if possibleee, giving u lots of room to work with tehe THANK YOU 🩷

show me what you can do

a/n: i gotchu pookie, haven't written for kenshi yet so here you go

pairing: kenshi x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), blowjobs, nipple play, pussy eating, finger-fucking, creampies (wrap it up dick-havers)

when you first arrive at the Wu Shi Academy, Kenshi has to do a double take when he sees you

your entire face is covered in piercings: two in your nose, two on each eyebrow, two pairs on your lips, and an endless amount on your ears

when you take a picture with Johnny Cage, you stick out your tongue, and he can see you have a piercing on your tongue as well

Kenshi knows for a fact that you’ve definitely been looked at weird and ostracized for having so many piercings, and he’s reminded of his own experience with his tattoos

you two buzz to each other like a flame and a moth

you’re spunky, fun, and performative, almost like Johnny but much more endearing and much less annoying

the two of you get closer as you train, but he notices you aren’t ever at their hand-to-hand combat training, maybe a few times to learn a few defensive moves but much less so than him and the others

you tell him later when he asks that 1. you don’t want your piercings to get ripped out (you’d seen some not so tasteful things at fights) and 2. you’re more a distance fighter

when he raises an eyebrow, you smile and tell him to find you tomorrow morning

he wakes up early and heads to your room, and you bring him to a different part of the Wu Shi Academy that he’s never explored

there’s a selection of weapons on the rack, and you beeline for some throwing knives

you pick them up, flipping them in the air and doing a myriad of tricks with them, flashing Kenshi a wink before flinging them in rapid succession at the human-dummy on the other wide of the field

they all hit, one right between the eyes, one in the neck, and one right in the dick

Kenshi cringes at that but is nonetheless still amazed at your skill

he watches you do this with a plethora of weapons, the crossbow, the bow and arrow, throwing axes, blow darts, and even a rope dart

by the time you’re done practicing/demonstrating your skills, it’s nighttime and he’s spent the whole day watching you practice with your weapons

he’s blown away, where had you learned to get so good at distance weapons?

you tell him you grew up in the circus, and at an early age you were very good at throwing darts

you were a great performer and trained in a bunch of different weapons to woo the audience: you could even use playing cards as a weapon if you wanted to

he can only stare at you in shock, and you ask him about his own life, after all, you had just shared your entire life story, and it’s only fair if you know his

he feels a bit uncomfortable but tells you that he was raised in yakuza, that he trained with a sword, that he’s done some unsavory things, and that he is trying to get Sento back from Johnny to save his clan from the yakuza

you squeeze his arm, telling him sorry but that you believe in him and that he can save his clan

you tell him that he’s amazing, that he’s the only one who's actually listened to you about what you do and hasn’t judged you for your piercings

he brings a hand up to cup your face and glances at your lips

you lean in close and give him a soft kiss, and he can feel the piercings digging into his face as you kiss him, but he doesn’t mind, even enjoying the way they rub against his skin

he pulls you into his arms and kisses you deeply, and you slip your tongue into his mouth and he groans at the feeling of your piercing rubbing against his tongue

the two of you make-out for a few moments before pulling away at the sound of Kung Lao calling you two for dinner

before the two of you leave, Kenshi tells you he wants to take things slow: he’s had to seduce people for the yakuza, but he actually wants this with you and wants to take it slow and you agree

the two of your find time for each other among all the training, sitting close to each other during meals and giving each other quick kisses before leaving for training

on nights, before the both of you retire to your rooms, you both look up at the stars together and tell stories about each other

you tell him about how you got your first piercing, how you got them at quite a late age: 14, and how you were so scared you nearly cried

he tells you about how he sliced off the bun of his mother’s hair when he wasn’t paying attention to where he was swinging his sword

after a few months, a few days before you all travel to Outworld, he escorts you to your room after one of your late-night talks, and you go to say good night

but he grabs onto your arm, and asks in a quiet voice if he can come in

you blush and smile and beckon him inside, sliding the door close and turning on the lamps in the room

it’s simple and plain, no decorations, but Liu Kang hadn’t really allowed them to bring anything with them

but, on your dresser, there’s a pile of playing cards, and you light up as he notices them

you drag him to sit on the bed, and you sit across from him and shuffle the cards and tell him to pick out a card

he picks out a card and memorizes it before sliding it back in the deck

you shuffle the cards and pull one out and ask him if it’s his card; it isn’t, and he tells you so

that’s when you lean in close and say you know before reaching your hand into the folds of his uniform, your hand brushing against his chest, and pull out a card

it’s his card this time, but Kenshi’s a bit red at how you had pushed your hand into his uniform

you look so proud, eyes shining brightly, and he can’t resist

he pulls you in for a kiss, pushing you back so you both fall back onto the bed

he grinds into you, and you moan at the feeling, and he’s going crazy

Kenshi kisses you for what feels like forever, running one of his hands up and down your body, squeezing at your hips and your thick thighs

finally, he pulls away and strips off his top, and you run your hands over his tattoos

he shivers and tugs at the edges of your own uniform, and you take it off before he leans back down to kiss you and slots his leg between your soft thighs

you moan and grind down onto his thigh, and he can feel himself growing harder by the second

he pulls you up slightly with one hand and uses his other hand to unhook your bra, you barely have time to be impressed because he shucks it away and starts trailing kisses down your neck

he goes to tease your nipples when he feels metal on them

in a daze, he pulls away and finds that you also have nipple piercings, and he almost cums in his pants at the sight of your chest heaving up and down with your pierced nipples

immediately he tugs at the piercings, and you whine

Kenshi smirks and brings his head down to lick and tug at your piercings, and you dig your fingers in his hair as he plays with your nipples

he can’t get enough of your sounds: your whines, your whimpers, especially the choked moans you make when he tugs at the piercing a little bit too hard

but you push him off your chest and flip him on the bed, and he props himself on his shoulders as you wiggle your way down his legs

he’s watching with blown-out pupils as you pull down his pants and release his cock from his underwear

it springs up, pre-cum leaking at the tip, and you pump at his dick and watch as Kenshi throws his head back in pleasure

he’s had sex before yes, but it’s never felt this intense, so warm, so loving before

his eyes shoot open when he feels your mouth envelop the tip, and he feel the piercing in your tongue press against the slit

he nearly cums right then and there as has to dig his fingers into the sheets to control himself

you bob your head and down his dick, piercing pressing deliciously into his dick, and he can’t help but watch as you eagerly try and make him cum

when you bring your head back up, suckling on the tip with the piercing pressing into him and your hand pumping him fast and hard, he cums hard into your mouth

it feels like forever as you keep stroking him through his orgasm, and he feels dizzy when you release his cock from your mouth with a small pop and stick out your tongue to show you’ve swallowed all his cum

he drags you back up to kiss him, tasting himself, and gropes at your ass

you grind down onto his abs, and he files that thought away for later

he wants to return the favor, so he flips you over onto your back and trails kisses down your stomach before taking off your pants

he spreads your legs and finds another piercing right on the hood of your clit, and somehow he isn’t surprised anymore and dives right in

he hums around your clit, sucking and flicking the sensitive bud, and you arch your back off the bed, whining at the sensation and tugging at his hair

he grinds his hardening dick into the mattress at the feeling and continues to lap at your sensitive clit, and he takes two of his fingers and pushes them into you

you moan at the stretch, your hips bucking toward him, and he fucks them into your wet pussy, curling his fingers to try and find that sweet spot

he’s watching you intently to see when he does, and as his fingers curl into you once more, you throw your head back and grind against his fingers

he smiles against your cunt as he massages the spot, and somehow your pussy grows even wetter, and there’s an audible squelching sounds he fucks you with his fingers

all too soon, you’re cumming around his fingers, and Kenshi sucks on your clit like a lifeline, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible

when you come down from the high, he puts his fingers into his mouth and tastes your cum on his fingers, moaning at the taste of you

he then brings himself up to kiss you again and grinds against your pussy before finally aligning himself and sinking in

you both moan, and Kenshi swears he’s died and gone to heaven

you’re so soft and wet, and he never wants to leave so he just stays inside of you and grinds a little longer against you

you’re whining, fucked-out and light-headed from the stretch of his cock, and start to beg for him to please fuck you, and who is he to deny your request?

slowly, he starts to thrust into you, shallow little ones at first but they get deeper and deeper until he’s full-on fucking into you like a rabid animal

he brings one of his hands down to rub at your clit, your piercing digging into your clit and providing a little extra stimulation

you’re whimpering at the sensation, and he brings his lips down to kiss you

he can’t get enough of you sound, how you feel, how all of this is just so much

Kenshi can feel tears pricking at the edges of his eyes and can’t care, and he takes his other hand to hold hands with you as he keeps fucking into your wet pussy

his thrusts start to grow more erratic, and he’s close to cumming, and so he pinches at your clit, pressing your piercing into your clit

you cum with a loud moan, and you clench down on his dick, causing him to groan and cum inside of you

the both of you kiss for a little longer as Kenshi fucks the both of you through your orgasms, and then he stays a little longer inside of your cunt because it’s just so warm and wet just for him

but eventually, he pulls out of you and looks for something to wipe you both down

you point at one of the cabinets, and he pulls it open to find a spare hand towel

he takes dampens the rag with some bottled water on your dresser and wipes the both of you down and throws the rag down with the rest of  your discarded clothes

he lays down on the bed, snuggling you in close and wrapping an arm around you

you trace his back with your hand, humming a soft song, presumably one from your circus, and he finds himself falling asleep to it

the next morning, Johnny Cage flings the door open and then immediately shuts it at the sight of the two of you laying naked in the bed and cuddling each other

the both of you change quickly and bolt out of the room to find Johnny Cage laughing his ass off

Kenshi scowls at him, and you smack the back of the actor’s head

but as you two walk to breakfast, the both of you intertwine your hands together and everything’s all right again

[n3ptoonz]

How’d u think earth realm boys would react to their wife telling me there ready for kids 🎤

mk1 hcs: how the earthrealm guys react to their wife being ready for kids

warnings/tags: suggestive, fluff, female reader obv

Liu Kang

The way you brought it up was so subtle and casual. It was during his downtime, which was kinda rare. A simple "Hey...I think I'm ready to have children." and Liu is looking at you with surprised eyes and a full heart.

Being the kind of man Liu is, and how busy his life has become since being appointed as a god, this man set an exact date and time where there would be zero distractions. All his focus and effort was on you. And in you (ba dum tss)

So be prepared for a long night of passion, love, lust, and care. Cause you're not leaving that bed until you've gotten every last drop

Doesn't mind the gender. Boy, girl, he would love them just the same. Hell, even if it was more than one child at once, he wouldn't hesitate to give them the world.

Smoke

You mentioned it while you two were cuddled up on the couch. Little did you know how red his face turned until you felt his heart beat increase in real time, looking up at him with his genuine concern.

At first you thought he was nervous or probably didn't want to, and once he saw your slight frown he immediately countered that thought. He was so excited he froze. Endless reassurance from him until you verbally say you got it.

Did you think he wouldn't nervously suggest you start as soon as possible?? Pish posh, you are sad- happily mistaken. "Why not try right now?" he said, except he's stuttering over his own words and sweating profusely. No matter how many times you've been intimate with one another, he's always nervous around you <3

Gender doesn't matter to him either, however he does lean more on the side of a daughter. Simply because he'd die at the sight of a little girl running around the house that looked like you. If you had a son though, he'd be sure he doesn't meet ol uncle Bi Han bro would prob try to recruit

Johnny Cage

What if I told you he brought the idea to you one day as a "joke" and you're immediately like "That's crazy, I was going to say the same thing!"? You both looked at each other with narrowed eyes before making a run for it to the bedroom

Less talk, more action. It's safe to say y'all were up all night, touchin', lovin', going multiple rounds to the point where you forgot the entire reason for heading straight to bed. But hey, who's complaining? Johnny promised to tap that at the earliest opportunity (yes, i went there)

He SWORE that cowgirl and mating press were the "only efficient ways" to make sure you'd definitely get pregnant. As if going raw wasn't enough already-

Daughter. He wants a daughter. Give the man a daughter. He won't shut up about being a girl dad when you aren't even a month in yet. He's practicing dad jokes. Even coming up with ones that are tailored to daughters. Has a CVS receipt list of girl names and the only one you both decided that was perfect is "Cassandra/Cassie" (wink) He CANNOT wait to have another favorite girl in his life to spoil!

Raiden

It was after training. You finished first and watched him complete his, and the idea came to you while he was helping one of the younger recruits. You just laid it on him without warning: "I think we should have kids." and cue him almost spitting out his water. Was he dreaming?!

Another nervous one who blushed and stuttered a bunch upon trying to conjure up a response. The thought of having a child with you has been on his mind for some time now and it's like you read his mind, he just didn't want to overwhelm you.

Speaking of overwhelming, that was all out the window once you got home. Going from a peaceful walk to a heated make out session on a matter of seconds. Not to mention, you both had a longgg day of training and could use a shower...why not save some money on the water bill!

Raiden is too good with all types of kids to really have a preference. Growing up with his little sister AND kung lao gave him experience on both sides

Kung Lao

After your weekly sparring session, you got to thinking. You're already married, you've seen him handle kids and younger people well, and most of all he looks so damn hot when he's sweaty and out of breath. Not an unfamiliar sight to you at all!

It was when you two went to Madam Bo's for a good after-spar meal when you slyly threw it into the conversation. Mid bite, he couldn't help but back up from his food and look at you with that classic smirk he does and his dimples are fully visible (currently dying at this imagery.) And he'd end up saying something cocky but playful like "You think I'd oppose you carrying the next great Kung Lao?"

Got straight to it when you got home. Luckily you had already showered after the session, otherwise the water bill would've been looking like a traditional Chinese scroll after you were done. Prepare for his teasing, flirtatiousness, and pride to be multiplied by a thousand

I feel like he'd want a boy, and we all know why. He's not at all opposed to the idea of having a daughter. But if your first child was a daughter, you're going back to that king sized mattress once you've fully healed and trying again! (who's complaining 🤨)

Kenshi Takahashi

He had come home from a long day of a series of trips and tasks given by Liu Kang. You were in the kitchen brewing some tea late at night just because when you heard him come in. He wasn't exhausted, but you could tell he just wanted to drop everything and spend all his time with you the way he plopped down at the dining table.

When you offered food he politely declined since he had already eaten earlier. But he could sense something else was on your mind by the slight shift in your tone. Being visually impaired, his auditory has improved considerably since. "Is something on your mind?" he asked. "I think we should have kids." you responded, sitting next to him with your cup of tea.

He was at full attention now, whatever tired him from the day vanished just like that. You took his silence as uncertainty, so as you began to start listing the pros and benefits, he quickly cut you off with a "Let's do it." "Seriously?" you said, just to make sure you heard him. He stood and took your hand in his, "I'm very serious. We can start tonight, tomorrow, next week. The sooner the better." (hey, starting tonight didn't sound like a bad idea 😮‍💨)

He says he doesn't really stress the gender, but he'd like a son. Kenshi would adore your child under any circumstance, but being an only child (idk if that's canon but it's gonna be today XD) who practically raised most of his younger cousins who mostly consisted of girls, he gets a little giddy at the thought of having an older son younger daughter dynamic around the house.

Sub Zero

With how busy he is all the time and how even more tense he's become since the rift, it was a little difficult to find a way to get his undivided attention. However, the whole reason he married you is because you don't take any shit. You voiced your opinions and concerns whenever you deemed fit, and it never got in his way. So, you waltzed into his office on a mission.

It was one of the few times he wasn't running around or training his heart out. He just got done talking to Cyrax when you walked in looking as determined as the day you met. He knows you never interrupt him unless it's something terribly important. At a moment's notice, he gestured for Cyrax to leave so you could speak your peace.

"What is it?" he asked. You made sure the door was securely closed behind you before walking over to sit in his lap. He was quite surprised but also would be lying if he claimed he didn't enjoy it. "Let's have kids." you said. He always told you to be blunt with him about anything, and this was no exception. "Alright." he replied, seldom reason to say no, especially to the love of his life.

Bi Han would for sure want a son. He's set on carrying on tradition, even if he did oppose some of his late father's views. If you had a daughter as your first born, like Kung Lao y'all aren't stopping until you had a son. Though, he knows he will have to learn to raise your kids better than how he was raised. He'd rather die than ever neglect or overwork his children. Plus, you wouldn't have any of that anyway.

Scorpion

Despite being busy a lot as the head of his new clan, he always makes time for you. All his down time was yours unless you said otherwise. You were giving fighting advice to a recruit when Kuai approached you, a gentle warm hand on your shoulder. Earlier in the day, you said you wanted to talk in his free time

After excusing yourself and talking to him on the way to his office, you wasted no time laying it on him. "Kuai...I think we're ready for kids." He stops in his tracks and looks directly into your eyes. "...You're sure about this?" he asks softly, taking your hands in his with the most gentle gaze you've ever seen from him. He's been thinking about this for a while now, but didn't know how to bring it up. Your approving nod with a smile set his heart ablaze with happiness.

Because of his busy schedule, like some of the other kombatants with a lot on their plate, there's a set day and time. And once that time comes...it's tiimmeee (mariah carey voice) That night is gonna be filled with romance and deep love for one another.

Kuai wants a boy. He, like Kenshi, wants the older son and younger daughter dynamic, but for no particular reason. He just likes it. His feelings wouldn't change if your first kid was a girl though, the older daughter younger son dynamic would remind him of how his mother treated Tomas when they were kids before she passed.

a/n: as a mf who doesn't even want kids, this was so fun and cute to write omg😭ty anon for the idea! remember y'all my asks are open and i'd be down to do x or 11 if you want! just clarify pls <3

[futterurl]

hi! I'm coming with an idea for a josh futturman x reader smut fic, so... I was thinking of a scenario where the reader is Josh's friend, and one day, they come to his house to give back a game they borrowed from him. without hesitation and knocking, they enter his room, but... he's pleasing himself. It's a bit awkward, but eventually, the reader asks if he can help him with it and then gives him blowjob or smth 🫢 I'd love to see this in a fic!

RHIS ID SO REAL ANON I LOVE THE WAY U THINK!!!!!!! hes in my head all day might as well givd him some🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

WARNINGS: gn!reader, blowjob, cumming in mouth

- - - - - - -

it was a nice day out, you walking over to your friend josh’s house. you had borrowed a video game from him awhile back that he recommended you play. finally, after a few weeks, you beat the entire thing. god, you were such a loser.

you let yourself in to his house with a key you had. you both had keys to each other’s houses. you both had been best friends for so long, it became normal to waltz in to the others house to get stuff, pick up packages, or just a place to crash for a little while.

you didn’t see his parents home, or him, for that matter. you closed the door behind you, shoving your keys in your picket. you walked to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water. you shouldn’t have walked over while it was so hot out.

while you got yourself a bit of water, you started to think about josh. your mind would wander every now and then about him. so what if he was a loser boy who gamed for a living? he was funny, shy, and cute. what’s not to like?

for starters, he had a pretty jawline. it was very sharp. you also loved his hair. his hair was one of your favorite things about him. whenever the both of you were together, you’d find yourself playing with his hair every now and then.

oh, how you wished you could pull on his hair as he sucked on your-

you shook your head, trying to swipe the thought away. you couldn’t think about your best friend like that. you weren’t even here for that! you just had to return the video game.

you walked up to his room, video game in hand, ready to call or tell him about it and how much fun it was. you didn’t think he was home, as the house was practically dead silent. you’d just leave the game on his desk and leave. simple as that.

you opened his door and it wasn’t that simple at all.

staring back at you was josh, panting on his bed with his hard erection in his hand. the video game slipped out of your grasp, falling onto the floor.

after a few seconds of the most awkward silence you had ever had to sit through, you opened your mouth. “what the fuck, josh.”

“what do you mean what the fuck??? this is my house!!” he panicked, pulling his boxers up to conceal his throbbing cock. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“i’m returning the fucking game you let me borrow! that’s all! i didn’t know anyone was home!” you yelled back.

“shit, um..i’m sorry you…uh..if you saw…uh..yeah…” his words started to turn into mutters.

“dude, it’s fine. it’s normal. i’m not grossed out. promise. we all do it from time to time.” you started to slowly walk into his room, hoping he would calm down.

“i look like a fucking weirdo. i promise i’m not.” he held his head in his hands. this was the most embarrassing moment of his entire life.

“josh. really, don’t sweat it. we all masturbate. i shouldn’t have walked in like that. it’s my fault, if anything.” you wanted to hug him. he was typically the insecure type, and this wasn’t helping. at all.

an idea popped into your head. an awful, genius idea. an idea that would maybe calm his nerves. everything was on the table now. you couldn’t make things worse.

“i could…i could help you with that. if you want.” you said barely loud enough so he could hear.

he perked up, looking at you. had he heard you correctly? there’s no way…

“what?” he asked, voice wavering.

you looked down to his concealed erection. “i could help you with it, if you’d like. i don’t want you to feel like this is something you should be embarrassed about.” you sat on the bed next to him.

“are…are you sure?” he asked. he almost pinched himself, not believing this was real.

“yes’ i’m sure, josh.” you tried to play it cool, like your heart wasn’t pounding out of your chest. were you being too bold?

“o-only if you want to, of course! sorry, i didn’t mean to make you feel forced or anything. just ignore what i said. i..i was just kidding! the last thing i wanna do is make you even more uncomfortable-” you were rambling at this point.

josh stopped you. “no, please. i want you to do this so bad.” his eyes looked down at his cock, throbbing through his boxers, pleading for a release. your eyes also looked down, then met his.

you got up and wedged yourself in between his thighs, getting close up to his tent in his boxers. you traced the outline of it with your finger, making him jolt with pleasure.

“gonna have to take these off for me, josh, okay?” you asked, tenderness in your voice. you knew how careful you had to be around intimacy.

he nodded his head, spurting okays and tugging his boxers off. only then did you really get a good look at his hardened cock. you saw every detail of it: the pink tip, the way it curved, its length.

“d-don’t stare, ‘s weird.” he tried to avert your eyes to anything else, starting to get a bit nervous.

“alright, i won’t stare. i’ll get to it.” you said, testing the waters as you kissed the tip. he jolted, you knew that felt really good.

“shit…” he breathed heavily. he couldn’t believe what he was seeing: his best friend, on their knees, kissing and looking at his cock. it felt unreal, like he was gonna wake up any second.

he was reminded that this was real, however, when you swirled your tongue around his tip. his head fell back with a groan. you hadn’t even put it in your mouth but it already felt so fucking good.

he started to get restless, wanting more yet being so overstimulated at the same time, pulling at your hair lightly. “please, more.” he pleaded, not caring how desperate he seemed to be.

you obliged as your mouth sunk down on him, taking the tip and a bit of his length, attempting to run your tongue all over it. he tugged at your hair even more, feeling so good. he didn’t want this to ever end.

your head bobbed down even more, until finally taking all his length, mouth connecting with the base. he let out a loud moan.

“please. move. fuck, feels too damn good.” he was begging at this point, and who were you to deny a man his wishes?

your head moved up and down in tiny thrusts, testing the waters of how much you could take without having breathing issues. it was all worth it to bring your eyes up to him, seeing his scrunched up eyes, mouth open, moaning and whimpering, and head thrown back. it was mesmerizing.

you started to bob your head up and down on him faster, tongue running down his cock with every move. every second of movement brought him closer and closer to his release. one of your hands ran circles around his thigh, partially holding him steady.

“shit, shit, starting t’ get close. fuck.” his hips threatening to jolt up into your mouth. he knew he wouldn’t last long, him already being hard, but with him in your mouth, watching his best friend’s head bob up and down on his length? he’d be done in seconds.

your tongue swirled around the tip, giving yourself a second to breathe. “please, josh, cum in my mouth. know you can do it, give it to me.” you got back to work, head moving furiously on his cock, trying to bring him to his sweet release he had been trying to chase by himself earlier.

“gonna come, fuck, feels so good, please, please…” he started to whimper incoherent babbles as you ran your tongue sloppily up and down his pretty cock.

after one last bob of your head, his hips started jolting, and you started to feel spurts of cum shooting into the back of your throat in ropes. you kept moving, trying to help him ride through his orgasm as he kept moaning and rambling as he came.

once he stopped moaning so hard and regulated his breath, you slowly took him out of your mouth, disconnecting with his tip with a pop. you took a gulp, swallowing all his seed. he would hate to admit how hot he thought that was.

“do you feel better now?” you asked getting up and sitting beside him as he lay down on his bed.

“that…holy shit that was fantastic.” he breathed, chest heaving. “you have the mouth of a fucking god. thank you so much.”

“hey, ‘s just helping a friend out, right?” you replied, rubbing one of his arms. “hope that did help.”

“yeah, that was so great. holy shit.” he sat up, thinking.

‘helping a friend out.’ he thought to himself. next time, he was gonna help you out, and make sure you guys weren’t just friends anymore. what you just did was one of the best things he ever experienced, and he wanted to make sure you’d know that and get repayment someday.

that could wait, though. he had to take it slow.

“so, which game did you wanna bring back to me that started all this?”

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 10 (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; depression; feelings of stress and anxiety; feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; allusions to a dark, forgotten childhood; arguing; heart issues addressed (POTs); use of heart monitors; revisited, vivid memories of sex; jealousy; body changes as a result of pregnancy; suuuuper sore boobs; negative self-talk (stretch marks specifically); talk of baby + pregnancy; pregnancy hormones...things get heatedddd; reader and jake are both stubborn + turned on, but can't be together and it's TOUGH; cheating; heavy petting; rubbing of bodies against each other (see: dry humping); hands on boobs oopsies (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)

Chapter Word Count: 16.7k+

a/n: hi babes… <3 this is my personal favorite part out of the two… so, let me know how you feel… ;) love u all. busy day! i'm so sorry it's late. plz know i love you all sm <3

s/o to @joshym who is my favorite and the most wonderful encourager and sister in the entire universe. i love you more than i can say. you make life sunny and everything better <3

also, @alwaysonthemend, i love you so incredibly much and i’m so grateful for you and your unwavering support and texts that never fail to make my day <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤 (fr, i listen to it nonstop when i write this.... all of the songs are pertinent to the story and aid in telling it - either already or eventually.)

Covet Masterlist

-🌼🌼🌼-

“The covetous man pines in plenty, like Tantalus up to the chin in water, and yet thirsty.”

-Thomas Adams

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 25, 2022

Friendsgiving. A standing, solid tradition since the first Thanksgiving you’d spent as Josh’s friend. It had always been you, Elsie, Josh, Sam, and Daniel.

But this year, you’d be entertaining new people. One you were incredibly grateful for. Jake. And one you weren’t even slightly sure about.

Maya.

She was the last person you wanted to celebrate a holiday all about Thankfulness with. But, you had to. Stupid ass shit that you couldn’t control, so you had to just pretend to be fine with it. 

To your benefit, you had a distraction – a fantastic, welcome one in Elsie. Elsie and a morning of grocery shopping.

For Friendsgiving, in a group chat between you two and the rest of the boys, Elsie had insisted that you two be in charge of pies. So, you two were currently wandering the aisles of Walmart with Pinterest up, recipes open to several flavors of pies that Elsie had decided the two of you should make.

And the way to make homemade crust since she refused to use store bought. 

“It will be a fun thing to try,” she’d sworn, aggressively pinning a couple to your shared board.

You were the one in charge of grabbing things off the shelves, while she pushed the cart and bossed at you what to grab for each recipe. The makings for apple pie and pumpkin pie already rumbled around in the cart. So, now you were on to the final pies and their ingredients. The few cans of cherry pie filling had just landed in the cart when Elsie decided to confront you about Jake. 

“What’s going on between you and Lover Boy?” She asked, trying to sound absentminded in her question, but you knew she was not thinking of it randomly. She’d most definitely waited for a moment to hit you with the question when you were forced to respond. 

And, you were. You were currently completely stranded at a Walmart with only her and one car to get you back to the apartment. There was no escaping the question. So, you decided to do what you could and only answer halfway.

“Well, he knows,” you started, grabbing a bag of sugar off the shelf, avoiding her eyes. “And things are going good.”

“What a vague response,” she hummed. “Why don’t you grab a couple cans of blueberry filling and hit me with full honesty.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the can and turned to face her. A blush painted your cheeks that you couldn’t avoid. “I am being honest. He knows and things are good.”

“Yeah, that answer works for a random Joe, but not your sister. I’m not here for the fucking cliff notes.”

“I don’t care what you’re ‘here for’, Elsie,” you grumbled, turning to walk ahead of her toward the flour. “And why didn’t you ask me this yesterday when we had the entire day at Grandma and Grandpa’s?”

“It didn’t really feel like the right time to ask,” she defended, pointing to a particular bag of flour, which you grabbed and put in the cart. “I also didn’t want to stop talking about the ridiculous fangirl experience because that shit was hilarious,” she paused, gasping. “Oh! Speaking of fangirls and the other guys. . . When are you planning on telling Josh? I'm dying to start planning a baby shower and I want him to help me.”

“He didn’t tell you that I told him before my first–?”

“You told him?!” She asked, astonished. The cart squeaked to a halt behind you. 

Turning around with a laugh ready at your lips, you gawked at her. “What is wrong with you, Dramatic Ass?”

“Um,” she sharply started, hand on a hip. “My sister and my boyfriend are keeping me in the dark, that’s what’s wrong.”

“Josh is busy and I’m busy,” you responded slowly. “We’re not 'keeping you in the dark'. Also, he just found out a few weeks ago. It’s not like he’s known for–.”

“A few weeks?!”

You swiveled fully around to face her completely. “Els. Josh has never been one to talk about other people and their lives to shoot the breeze. You know this. He wasn’t going to bring it up if it didn’t concern him.”

“Well, it does. It concerns both of us. Aunt and uncle? Hello?”

“It’s also just a giant ass thing that I’m sure he’s still processing,” you argued. “Give him a fucking break.”

“I’m bringing this up to him,” she stubbornly stated, huffing and everything. “I’m going to make him own up to not telling me he knew.”

“You knew and didn’t tell him,” you reminded her. 

“That’s different; you didn’t want me to tell him.”

“And what if he thought I didn’t want you guys talking about it at all? He’s very sensitive to stuff of that nature.”

“I don’t know. I’m still asking him,” she firmly stated, continuing to push the cart forward, effectively ending the conversation with her tone. 

And, much to your joy, dropping the other part of the conversation as she went on a sassy rant about something Josh had done recently that pissed her off. 

It lasted all the way home and you were damn happy. . .

Although, you did have to work a little magic to get her to stop being such an over-thinker and asshole when it came to Josh. You had to give a plentiful amount of examples as to how he was all of these amazing things wrapped in one and not the person her mind was trying to convince her that he was. 

She had trauma and abandonment issues, too. . . she just didn't always show them like you.

But. . . it made you pause. Made you think of yourself and Jake. . . . your mind went to the clouds as you thought of your feelings towards him. You were still like this as you helped her carry in groceries, and only snapped out of it when she started bossing you again. Except this time, she was annoyingly giving you jobs around the kitchen to prepare the blessed pies.

-🌼🌼🌼-  

Jake had been the main chef for Friendsgiving.

All day, the apartment smelled heavenly thanks to his wondrous cooking. He'd started way early in the morning, and had awoken you with the incredible smells. . . but you had forced yourself to lay in bed rather than going about your morning routine. Truthfully, you really hadn't had to force yourself too much as you heard Maya's voice make unwelcome waves around the apartment through your door. You weren't in the mood for any of it this morning considering last night. Last night, when you'd seen him and Maya. . . . . Yeah, you'd still been in the process of blocking that the fuck out.

So, you'd only caught a little glimpse of him buzzing around the kitchen before Elsie and Josh had shown up. At which point, Elsie had been ready to hit Wally World.

But, now that you were back, you'd noticed that he'd taken charge of a few very important tasks. He'd roasted a giant turkey in the oven, made rolls and mashed potatoes from scratch, and a delicious gravy to accompany all of his dishes. Josh had been in charge of casseroles, and the other two hooligan men had been in charge of drinks and salad (a big bag of lettuce from Walmart with a bottle of Ranch and a plastic container of cherry tomatoes). 

Maya had been in charge of nothing, claiming via Jake that she would be helping him. But all day long, she’d just sat around, looking way too stupidly pretty, and watched him cook. Lazy ass. 

While you and Elsie slaved away at dessert, thankfully Jake was done with his preparations (save for the turkey that still cooked and created the most appetizing aroma). Meaning that Maya had followed him and wasn’t looming in the background as you made pie.

Which was good because you really did not need her around you any more than she had to be.

As you made pie after pie and sat them on top of the oven to go in once the turkey came out, you filled Elsie in on everything else that had taken place in your life as of late. Told her about the emergency room visit and everything you’d found out at the E.R.; how you’d come up with a solid morning routine to attempt a healthier pregnancy; and any intricate therapy detail that came to mind. 

The boys had been sitting in the living room, playing music on a few guitars (Josh, filling up the apartment with old Elvis tunes). Then, opting to talk for the majority of the time.

So, you'd been able to gain precious time with your sister. She had encouraged you and supported you just like you knew she would. She’d also gotten onto you for not taking better care of yourself and not taking prenatal vitamins sooner.

“You fucking idiot,” she laughed, bumping your shoulder with hers as she passed you in the kitchen with the last pie. “No, but really. I’m sorry that you’d been so stressed and overwhelmed to the point of forgetting to do shit like that. I wish I’d lived closer to you for the beginning of it all.”

Your ears perked up at that. “Yeah. . . Me too,” you said slyly, considering options as they filtered through your head. “What would it take for you to move closer? I don’t want to be selfish, I just don’t want to do this without you.” 

But, after the words came out  of your mouth, you heard just how selfish they sounded. Though, thinking about her being with you for the baby had been something at the back of your mind that you’d been contemplating for weeks. It didn’t mean you needed to drop that fucking bomb on her though. . . The baby wasn’t her thoughtless decision that she needed to change her life for. . . It wasn’t fair to her. 

“I’m sorry, Els,” you slapped a hand to your forehead, shutting your eyes to avoid any further self-induced embarrassment. “I didn’t even think about that before it slipped out. You don’t have to change any—.”

“Well,” she started, coming close to you and removing your hand from your head. As she held your hand in hers, she continued speaking. You opened your eyes to her. “That was actually my thing that I was waiting to tell you. . .,” she paused, trailing off. A slow smile lit up her features as her eyes brightened. “I put in a request for an office job attached to the company I work through. An office job for a branch of the company - based here in New York. . . Told them I didn’t want to travel any longer and that I’d appreciate something steadier as life changes. . .”

Your ears filled with excited static. “What?!” You gasped, eyes lifting with hope. “What did they say?!” 

“Well, a few people talked to a few people, and the director of the program I’m in gave his permission and then recommendation to that part of the company,” she rushed out. “So, in a few months, I’ll finish out my contract for this job and be living here full time for the new one.”

There was almost no time between the moment she’d said the words and the moment you’d leapt from your spot in the kitchen to give her the tightest hug you could muster. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

Jake’s POV

She looked fucking gorgeous today. Everyday, in fact. But for the past couple of days, all I could think about was how thankful I was to have her in my life. Tis the season. No matter what, I was very thankful for her. . . For so many reasons. 

Though, the most prominent reason in my mind at the moment was how thankful I was to her for carrying our baby. So selfless and motherly and lovely. . .

So, I couldn’t help stealing repeated glances at her. I just hoped I wasn’t being too obvious. She was always beautiful, stunning—actual perfection walking—but the fact that our baby was in her belly just made matters much worse for me. She glowed in a way that she never had before. . . Drew my eye to her in a way that couldn’t be stopped.

It was wrong for me to look at her like this. I was in a serious relationship with someone else. . . I definitely shouldn’t have been eyeing her the way I was through the open layout, into the kitchen from my spot in the armchair. And especially not while I had my arm wrapped around my extremely hot girlfriend, and her nice fuckin' ass sitting halfway on my lap.

And, really. . . y/n had effectively broken—no, shattered—my heart all of those months ago in the kitchen. She shouldn't have drawn my eye to her the way she did after what she'd said. But, I really couldn't hold that against her any longer. It didn't matter as much as it once had. . . not anymore.

But, we weren’t meant to be. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I wanted us to be. . . It seemed too difficult for the two of us to manage. And, I had Maya. . . Mayamayamaya.

I would've been lying, though, if I said she wasn’t the most incredibly created human being. She was sculpted by the gods. . . Meticulously made to ruin me. When she really shouldn't. Fuck.

And now that she held my baby. . . The way her tummy rounded out more than usual, under her sweater—that shit left me completely speechless.

The way she held pregnancy was unparalleled to every other woman that had ever done it before. She was ethereal. And as great as Maya's ass was, there was truly no comparing it to the way y/n's ass looked in those leggings I’d seen her wear no less than a million times before. . . And just like every time before, I wanted to walk up behind her and feel the curve of it. Rip them the fuck down and bend her - dammit. I was so fuckin’ weak for her.

But anytime I felt Maya move against my arm, or lap, or smelled her perfume wave off of her with an action, I was reminded of how completely wrong it was for me to be checking y/n out. It was wrong how I couldn’t get her out of my head—all the time, she was there. Even in the most intimate moments with Maya, she kept creeping the fuck into my thoughts. 

But, truly, it just happened. Couldn't control it.

And, even when I got up to check on the turkey once more, I couldn’t help my reaction when I passed her. When I'd accidentally brushed past her on her way out, the way my heart pounded in my chest as our bodies touched for a millisecond. She smelled so sweet—just like a damned sugar cookie. And the way she’d passed so delicately against me. Her top half had pressed against me for a stolen moment in time, her eyes catching mine as her precious bump skimmed my waist.

And her breasts. Felt those, too.

My chest tightened and my dick twitched—it was almost too much. The air was stolen from my lungs. 

We were so close for those few seconds.

“Sorry,” she hushed, her eyes flicking up to look at me. A small smile was sitting on her lips, more out of embarrassment than anything. Her cheeks were the prettiest pink under my gaze.

But she wasn’t the one to be embarrassed. I was the only one who should have been embarrassed — for how I was instantly a teenage boy again, just because of a little brush from her body. 

“Don’t be,” I mouthed, like we were sharing a secret. My lips lifted to reassure her and my eyes lit up with an emotion I couldn’t explain if I tried. 

Her face softened at my expression, and then she was gone. 

And once I’d gotten the turkey out of the oven, I was mostly back to normal. I’d forced myself to think about sad images of roadkill enough to ruin the mood I’d set in my head. 

After breathing a few deep breaths, I called out that dinner was ready and all I could do was hope for the best for the rest of the day. 

End of Jake’s POV

-🌼🌼🌼-

Thanksgiving carried on from when lunch started at two in the afternoon, to the evening, and saw your friend group (and Maya) sitting around the living room.

You were all bouncing back and forth with the Roku remote. Rotating around your semi-circle, every person took a turn choosing a YouTube video to cast.

It had turned into a sort of game of who could play a song that meant something to someone else in the room. Jake had just had the remote, right before Elsie, and had played a song for Josh. It had been some song from Seussical The Musical, to which Josh had sung along to every word. He’d even gone so far as to get up to do a little performance of the song. 

“That’s exactly how it went,” Josh had chuckled heartily, the sound starting deep and lilting at the end. He dropped his arms from an obviously rehearsed dance routine, the song ending on a final high note. “I swear to God.”

“Oh, Joshua,” Sam’s eyes bugged as he looked at Jake with a laugh, who shared the moment of humor with him. “Trust me. We remember. Every single high school theatre production,” Sammy shook, as if reliving a traumatic memory. "All of it is seared into my poor, poor brain."

"Samuel, shut the fuck-," Josh started, before getting interrupted by his twin.

“Day in and day fucking out, Josh. That’s how often we heard those songs at home— for the months leading up to that damn musical,” Jake raised a thick brow. It made your tummy do somersaults - he was so handsome. “And I was lucky enough to hear it from backstage as crew. . . Every single rehearsal.”

“Yeah, you really fucking hated those songs,” Josh noted with a bubbling laugh, sitting back down next to Elsie, his arm falling around her shoulders. “Why would you make yourself suffer through that again?”

“Just playing the game,” Jake shrugged, rolling his eyes with a smile. He handed the remote over to Elsie, who sat on the couch, next to where he sat on the floor, in front of the couch. “But goddamn if I don’t ever hear it again, it will still be too soon.”

Sam agreed with a toast, raising his beer bottle as Jake lifted his. They nodded at each other from across the room. And you stared on, getting distracted by the woman who sat on the couch, criss-cross-applesauce, behind him, braiding his hair. 

Fuck that bitch, you thought hotly— ridiculously.

Admittedly, it took too far too long to look away from her pop-up salon. But you eventually did, and watched the screen as Elsie started typing something into the search bar. 

You knew better than to feel jealous of her. But, you couldn’t help eyeing her from your place, as you snuggled into the armchair with your favorite fluffy blanket covering you. Just wanted to let the chair swallow you, so you nestled deeper and closed your eyes to imagine it.

“This is one of y/n’s favorites,” Elsie said, the pre-video ad starting on the television. “The first time she watched this, her life changed. The perfect mix of her love for classic rock and soul music.”

Instantly, you knew exactly which song she was talking about. And when the video started, your heart expanded in your chest, making everything feel fuzzy and light. Everything felt okay. 

Change the World. . . . the Unplugged version. Eric Clapton and Babyface. . . . so many memories.

“This is our childhood,” you said, voice thick with emotion. The amount of tears you cried on a weekly basis was nothing short of humiliating. The baby hormones were vicious in their attack.

“I can’t tell you how many times we heard this as kids,” Elsie affirmed, looking over at Josh. 

“Grandpa is a strangely huge fan of Babyface,” you giggled, throat loosening a little as the laughter bubbled from your chest. “This Unplugged vinyl played on a loop for a period of time.”

“It was that year we bought it for him for Christmas,” Elsie added, agreeing. She was watching the screen with tears in her eyes, too. “But you ended up loving it so much,” she looked over to where you sat. “That the next Christmas you got your own vinyl of it. From yours truly. You're welcome." She winked, blowing a little kiss your way.

“I do take partial blame for the constant looping on the living room record player,” you smiled, winking at her. 

She winked back. “Yeah, you and Grandpa had equal hand in his Unplugged record warping on this song.”

You grinned, sticking your tongue out at her as she did the same. When Eric Clapton started singing, you gave the screen your full attention. The sound of this song only brought back the happiest memories. Even before hearing Babyface’s cover, it was a family favorite. It was a song that made you feel whole. 

It was the one song your Grandpa loved to sing to you. . . Before this version had ever come to your family’s attention. He'd sing it in those soft moments that felt like glowing rays of sun hitting your skin on a hazy summer evening.

But when your Grandpa had heard the Unplugged cover on the radio, the Earth had shifted for him. . . And even though it didn’t top your Grandpa singing it, the cover featuring Clapton held a special place in your heart with how often you’d heard it bouncing off the walls of the living room. It played so often that you associated it with some of your best days. . .

You'd still been innocent enough, still, to enjoy the world through a rose-tinted lens. And, far enough away from the trauma with your Mom that life had felt new. Ironically, the cover of the song had come around when your world was finally feeling like it had changed. It had been an intricately timed re-release of the lullaby your Grandfather had once poured over you as you’d drift to sleep on both restful and restless nights. The song felt safe – sort of like your Grandmother’s cooking felt for you. 

“You know, it’s funny,” Josh’s voice cut through your drifting thoughts. You kept watching the two men on screen, but tuned in to your best friend’s dialogue. “Jake loved this version, too. When YouTube came around, he would watch this version back to back, trying to memorize the way Babyface and Eric complimented each other on their guitars. He always wanted–.”

“To play both parts and record them on top of each other," Jake finished, watching the screen intently. You’d let your eyes wander from the screen momentarily to see his expression after hearing Josh’s story. He still looked utterly invested; just like you imagined he had looked as a kid re-watching it over and over again on YouTube. “It’s not really an intricate piece. . . I just found it at a time when I wanted to try everything I could on guitar. I knew how to play better than most 14 year olds, yes, but I still didn’t know half as much as I do now,” he explained, never looking away from the musicians. 

You saw movement at his waist, and when you looked down to observe, he seemed to be playing a guitar part in the air. And you knew if he picked up the instrument right now, he’d match one of the men in time. Whichever one he was currently studying - you couldn’t tell. 

“I don’t know why I never recorded myself playing both parts. Synced them over each other,” Jake mused, still playing in the air. “I used Garage Band like it was an addictive fucking drug–.”

“You can say that again,” Sam inserted, acting annoyed but still grinning so wide all the same. 

“But I just forgot about it, I guess,” the older, long-haired brother continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I’m getting the urge to do it again now – it’s coming back strong,” he chuckled, looking down at his fingers with a brow raised–just like he’d do if he was actually playing. 

It was fucking hot to watch him play so intently with nothing there to support him. Only his mind, full of the memorized chords from years ago. And to a song that meant so much to you. 

“I’m sure the guys at the studio would let you do it with their recording equipment,” Danny offered, also watching the famed musicians with intrigue, glancing over at Jake. 

Jake sucked in a breath, dropping his air guitar before leaning back against Maya, closing his eyes and sighing with one particular scratch of her nails against his scalp as she tugged out the french braid to start another.

Gag. You could vomit at the sight of their mushy-gushy behavior.

Your hand floated to your stomach to remind yourself of one thing you had that she didn’t. 

“Nah,” Jake sighed, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “I feel like it has to be done without the expensive stuff. It has to be recorded in a way that baby Jake would have recorded it. . . I just–,” He wrinkled a brow, releasing a grumble under his breath.

There was something he was concerned about. . .

And, as he sat back up to watch the men finish out the song, Maya made a little huffing noise, crossing her arms over her impressive chest. But, in all of her perfection, she covered the noise with a small smile and a shake of her head. Just seemed to be joking with her little bratty act.

Oh, how cute and funny.

She’d looked over at Sammy, who’d made a little sound at Jake’s words. You followed the line of sight.

“What’s the deal, brother?” Sammy questioned, leaning forward to emphasize his care for Jake. 

“I just don’t have the time to do a little side project like that–can’t even think about prioritizing it,” he replied, combing a hand through his hair, untangling anything that resembled a braid. Maya did outwardly pout at that. She whined his name and said something about her hard work. You couldn’t help the tiny smirk that lifted your lips at the scene. You tried your best to hide it, and just focused on the screen again. “And even calling it a project sounds silly with everything else going on in life right now.”

Before you could feel too guilty for the situation under your palm that added to everything going on in his life, Josh spoke up with a giant gasp.  

“Baby Jake!” The curly-headed twin exclaimed. You all looked in his direction, equally confused with knitted brows. “That’s just it; record it like you would have back then with the intention that it’s for your baby. Something fun to do. But. . . You’ll prioritize the time if it’s for the baby. If you look at it that way, it won’t seem silly at all," he wiped his palms, arm back over Elsie as he finished with jazz hands. "Ta-da!"

As the song concluded and the next ad started (an ad for baby diapers, of all things), Maya was urgently pushing Jake out of the way, claiming she needed to pee. And as she passed between your line of sight and Jake’s, you realized you were zoning out on him when your eyes met his, just as she rounded the couch. 

He gave you a small smile, his eyes staying on yours, floating down to where your belly hid under your blanket, and then back to your face when he responded to Josh’s idea. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a good plan, Josh,” he said, gaze never once leaving yours. 

The fire that rose from the pit of your tummy, all the way to your cheeks was not a new feeling with Jake, but for some reason. . . this time, it felt unlike any time ever before. 

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Everyone had stayed, having decided to lounge on couches for the night to sleep. They were all in equally deep slumbers (save for Maya, most likely still completely awake and waiting for Jake in his bed). 

You’d all stayed up until the wee hours of the morning–much later than you had in a long time. The only way you’d been able to make it, the tiny cat naps you’d dozed in and out of. As you’d done that, everyone else had continued on with their little YouTube game. 

Now, here you were, completely exhausted, practically dragging yourself to bed, ready to sleep. Just barely managed to wash your face before Jake had hopped into the bathroom, right after you, to brush his teeth.

But before you could make it inside your room, he passed by behind you. You weren’t even looking. You’d just smelled his heavenly cologne, a favorite scent of yours (and the baby’s, apparently) flood the space around you. You knew he wasn’t actually drenched in the smell of sandalwood and vanilla, but your baby-powered-super-senses could’ve convinced you otherwise. He smelled delicious and you could easily drown in him. 

Though, instead of focusing on that, you let yourself act on something that was threatening to leave your lips. No matter how hard you tried to stop it, your tired brain wouldn’t let the words halt. 

“Please don’t stop pursuing your dream or any other thing just because of everything that’s happening with me and the baby,” you rushed out, peeking up through your lashes for a moment before locking eyes with your hand on the knob of your door. “I don’t want you to ever feel like this is taking up too much space in your life or causing any unnecessary stress. You can back out whenever you want if you feel like that’s what you need and I won’t be upset with you for—.”

“No,” Jake responded, soft and stern, moving to stand in front of you. You had no choice but to look up at him, he was standing so close to you. His eyes bore into yours. “I’m not going to back out. I couldn’t do that–wouldn’t ever do that. I want this. I promise. It’s everything else, I think, that’s stressful. The baby is something I get to look forward to,” he reassured, his voice wavering just enough to worry you. 

But you didn’t let it get to you. Tiredness prevailed above any doubtful emotion you could’ve mustered. You could only sleepily nod your head at his words. 

“The baby inspires me even more to make it all happen,” he rasped in a velvety tone, assuring you. After, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Your sleepy eyes slowly followed the motion. You wished it was you. “Everything else is still exciting, too. . . But it’s a lot and it gets me thinking about how different everything is about to be. It’s scary. But– it’s. . . the baby makes it all seem brighter. Better. I’m not just doing it for me anymore. Not even for my brothers. It’s for my baby,” his full lips spread into a loose, close-mouthed grin. “Our baby.”

Your tummy flip-flopped and all you wanted to do at that moment was kiss him. You felt the slightest inkling that he wanted the same, with the way he’d brought his body in front of you, closer than he needed to. But. . . you blamed it all on tiredness. There was no way you could trust yourself to make actual, coherent assumptions. You were getting carried away, and even though you wondered of the possibility that he could want it, you cut off the idea. 

Tired or not, you knew one thing. He didn’t want you. He had a girlfriend. A real relationship with a woman much more beautiful than you. So, before you could get trapped in his big, beautiful brown eyes any longer, you decided to bid him goodnight. 

Though, just as you’d opened your door to go into your room, he stopped you. “Hey, real quick,” he cleared his throat. You looked up at him, confused at the sudden stop. “Maya–um,” he shook his head, brows furrowed as he messed with his bottom lip. “She told me that she wanted me to help however I possibly could. She wants me to be attentive and helpful in any way I can be.” 

He was right there - a step away. His breath, fanning over your face. You could smell the mint of his toothpaste. “Obviously with limits,” his voice lowered a bit as his eyes peered down at you. 

What was that supposed to mean? Surely he didn’t mean. . . But, you responded the only way you could think to.

“Obviously. . .,” you trailed off, raising a brow out of complete confusion for the conversation’s direction. “I wouldn’t want you to cross any sort of boundary. You’re in a relationship with her. Not me.” 

“Yeah. She’s my girlfriend,” he replied, voice rasping on a hitched breath. His body felt as though it was wrapped around yours in an act of protection. He’d brought his hand up, above your heads, as his body curved in towards you. After a pause, he continued. “But I don’t want to make any boundaries with the baby ever. Not at all. I want to be present. From now until always.” 

Suddenly, the moment was gone for you. There was no way he’d ever meant it as anything more. All he’d meant was you needed to remember there were boundaries. This was all about the baby. It was selfish to ever think any different. 

You knew better than to believe any different than that. Your thoughts got out of hand so damn easily these days. Why did you let them wander so far when you fucking knew better?

You backed up, your back touching the doorframe behind you. He scrunched his brows, but you weren’t sure why he was acting confused. It was late. You were definitely imagining things. He was just tired, too. . . that was all. 

“So. . .,” he cleared his throat. “Just let me know however I can help with the baby. Please.” 

“Okay,” you whispered with a quiet nod of your head.

“Okay,” he muttered with a gentle, distant grin. He nodded his head as well. And right before he opened the door to his room, his words barely touched the air as he told you goodnight. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

November 28, 2022

Covid. Gia had Covid.

Your heart broke for her having to deal with that absolutely terrible illness. And your nerves were climbing up the wall at not being able to see her. She wasn’t so bad that you couldn’t email her if you had questions or needed advice. But, you also knew better than to bother someone who was sick with something like Covid. 

So, you were spending the time that you would have been gearing up to go to Gia’s office, on this chilly autumn day, pacing back and forth in your living room. Cuticles thin from chewing and perspiration accumulated at your hairline and under your arms, you weren’t sure what to do. 

The idea of losing time on healing before the baby arrived was stressful to say the very least. You didn’t want to be any less of a mother than your baby deserved. He or she deserved a mentally stable mom. . . and in order to get there, you required several hours on Gia’s couch. 

All that could wave through your one-track mind was how terrible you felt for being so stressed about your healing while Gia was so sick. She was the one who needed to get healthy sooner rather than later.

You tried to remember the words Gia had put at the tail end of the email she had sent. She’d put in a few words that reminded you how well she knew you.

Don’t stress too much about the session being cancelled. :) Things happen and we have plenty of time, y/n.

Those words, typed specifically to assure you. Except, you’d worked yourself up too much for it to work very well after you’d read the title line of her email. Just a few, simple words: Out Sick – Sorry!

If even Gia’s words weren’t helping to calm your nerves, you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through to the next appointment.

After an hour of feeling unsure about literally everything, you decided the only way you were going to make it was by doing some other form of self care. And the first thing that came to your mind was food. Food always sounded good these days (nausea taking a backseat thanks to your meds and second trimester), and it would help you feel better while also supporting the baby’s health in the womb.

But it took you no time to get sad because you didn’t know what kind of food you wanted. . .

You’d resolved to just not being able to win at life for the day when you heard the front door jingle on the other side with the sound of a key unlocking. 

Jake was home. Fuck. He was home to take you to therapy and you hadn’t even thought to text him and tell him– shit. Instead of doing what he would have rather been doing, he’d made a useless trip home. 

It didn’t take him long at all to notice you sulking next to the window, face-palming next to the it, where you’d been people watching minutes ago, from your vantage point a few stories up. 

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, concerned, as he came right up beside you. “What’s going on?”

Whenever you looked up from having your eyes pressed into your hand, you refocused your eyes on his worried ones. “I don’t have counseling today,” you sullenly stated. And rather than going into any more details, you just apologized. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. There was no point in you coming home.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he calmly reassured. Again, you found his line of sight. His eyes felt like the sweetest reassurance. “You look like you could use someone to talk to.”

“Don’t waste your time on me,” you waved him off, scrunching your brows in an effort to seem nonchalant. “Just go back to doing what you were doing.”

“Well, I don’t have any plans because I was planning on being with you all night,” he laughed just a bit, under his breath. He flicked at the tip of his nose with a pointer finger. 

“All night?” Your stomach swirled at the thought, but you also felt incredible guilt at stealing that time from him. “God, I’m so sorry, Jake.”

“Please don’t be.” It was his turn to wave you off while shaking his head. He swept a hand through his hair. “I’m glad I was here– glad that I am here.”

You didn’t really know what to say. There wasn’t anything you two could do that wouldn’t get completely awkward after a while. Right? It was only four o’clock and he planned on spending the rest of the evening with you? What were you going to–?

“What do you want to do?” He asked, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders. “Wanna stay here? Order in? Go out and do something?”

Going out sounded like a date. . . and that felt wrong to do. But you also absolutely despised the idea of staying inside of the apartment to wallow for a second longer. . . . 

And it didn’t take you very long to realize you were still wanting food, hunger starting to feel like empty weight in your rounded tummy. 

“Food?”

“Food,” he agreed with a grin, winking at you before turning around, effectively making your brain turn to complete mush as you grabbed your own jacket and followed him out the door. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

The night was one of the best you’d had in a while.

He’d taken you to get Panera. Weird, yes, but their tomato basil soup had been calling your name the second it’d come to mind, as you'd searched places to eat.

And after sitting across from each other and just talking about his budding career and your classes, at Panera Bread. . . he'd told you he wanted to take you somewhere special. And, just as the sun was setting, you’d pulled up to a Barnes & Noble on your side of Brooklyn.

“Tell me why you’re stressed,” he’d said, putting his car in park.

A used, four-door (hard top, thankfully) Jeep. An all-black, mid-thousands model. After riding around in it all evening, you’d noticed it rode really well. It was just slightly strange that he had a car. He hadn’t had one when you’d been. . .

You cleared your throat, back on the subject at hand. “I never said I was stressed,” you stated, feeling ready to combat the truth. For whatever stupid reason. 

“You didn’t have to say it,” he breathed deeply through his nose, turning down the classic rock station he’d been playing. “I know you.”

Deciding it wasn’t worth a debate (because it was the truth–you had been very stressed earlier), you sighed; running a hand through your loose, natural waves, you responded. “Well, I’m just. . . this therapy is for me, yes, sure. But it really is mostly for the baby,” you explained. He sighed and you placed the hand you’d combed through your hair on your rounded bump, covered by your favorite oversized sweatshirt. “And having one session lost that I can’t be working on getting healed for the baby stressed me the fuck out. Still kind of is,” you admitted, glancing out of the small, rectangular windshield. “I just want to be completely better by the time the baby is here.”

“What are you most worried about?” He softly pondered, prompting you to talk through it. 

“That I’ll be just like my mom and project my hurt onto my baby,” you said wetly, swallowing the thickness in your throat. “I have so much in me that I don’t understand and it scares me how much I don’t remember – can’t remember,” you blinked to allow the new tear to make its way down your cheek before quickly reaching to wipe it away. “And it scares the shit out of me. It makes me. . . this terrible person to other people. I need to understand all of me, so my baby gets the best parts of me.” Sniffling, you swiped at your cheeks to rid yourself of the few more tears that cascaded down your cheeks. “And I don’t even remember the last time I saw those best parts. . . . so if I can’t see,” you huffed, your eyes finally piercing his, which stayed on you, intently listening “H-how is my child going to see them?”

Jake hummed, rubbed his chin. He never took his deep-set, amber-brown irises from yours. “It’s funny,” he started, a little grin ghosting over his lips as he spoke, “I’m seeing those best parts of you right now. I see those 'best parts of you' quite often.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you unzipped and reached into your belt bag for your heart monitor phone, willing it to not go off. There were butterflies wreaking havoc in your tummy. Naturally, your hands found their way to your tummy. His eyes followed that particular movement.

“How do you–?” You sniffed, shaking your head, zipping your bag back after a moment. “How do you see those things? I haven’t seen them since before you came into my li–- for a long time. And never consistently. . .,” you rambled, eyebrows drawn together, thumbs rubbing circles over the tight bump. “I’ve always been a bit of a wild card with my emotions. And finding out more of what I'd done from Elsie. . . I'm just way too similar to my–.”

“Do you think she was as self aware as you are?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, honestly. You would go with no, but. . . “I don’t know her well enough to make that judgment.”

“Okay,” he nodded, sticking his bottom lip out. A grin found its way to his plush lips, looking so kissable in the cramped space of the car. You leaned further into the door so as to not tempt yourself of anything. He continued, “Well, I would say she probably wasn’t. Or else you wouldn’t be wracked with so much significant trauma. She wouldn’t have left you hanging with so much to deal with. . . she would have been there for you. Helped you because she would've wanted to help herself. Would've been self aware enough for that,” he emphasized. “Parents say stupid shit. They do stupid shit. They’re humans. What matters is how they ultimately react.”

“But I react so brashly, Jake,” you argued, needing to be heard. “What happens if I do that to our–?”

“You won’t. I know you won’t,” he consoled you, his eyes so earnest as he conveyed the words. “You struggle with saying stupid shit. I do, too. So does everyone. You’ll figure out how to handle situations better, but it won’t be as hard as you think,” he shook his head, taking the keys from the ignition. “Not for you. You are determined. And you’re not this monster you’ve made up in your head.”

“Well, –,” you started, interrupting him, only to be cut off. 

“And your best parts are too many to name right now,” he surmised, winking at you once more. You rubbed wider, nervous circles on your tummy. “But one of my favorites is your determination to help others. The way you care for others. And if a mother has those qualities,” he pointed a finger at your tummy, and trailed the finger up to point at your face. “She will be one helluva fantastic mother. I’m glad our baby will have you.”

“Thank you,” you replied after the words had actually cracked the surface of your mental warfare. No voice appeared to combat what he’d said, so you let them sink, all the way down into your brain to truly consider for later. You didn’t fight them. . . which you viewed as progress. “Thank you so much. I–I needed to hear those things. And you were the perfect person to hear them from,” you blushed, crinkling your nose with the words. A smile settled on your lips, eyes drying. “Because I know you’re going to be the best daddy to this baby. I’ve known it for a long time. . . So, it means a lot that you think the same. Seriously.”

“Of course I think so,” he smiled, glancing once more at your tummy. “And the way you're always holding our baby. . . you love her so, so much. You’re already so intentional about loving her.”

“Her?” You asked aloud, wondering why he’d chosen that gender. Your hands held tighter to your tummy at the assumption. “Why girl?”

He hummed, looking out the windshield, past your head, with a wide grin. “It just feels right,” he concluded, before motioning at the windshield, nodding towards it. “Look.”

You did as he said, turning to see a mother and son (presumably) traipsing up to the store, just past the nearest cart corral. The little boy was skipping, and the mother was watching her like the entire world started and stopped with the child. The sky was bluer because he was around. You felt that. 

“The way you’re watching them says enough, honey,” he concurred. There was that nickname again. . . Honey. Your heart skipped a beat at the term. “I see it all over you. You’re going to mess up. Parents do. My parents did a lot and I still think they’ve been the best parents.” When he gave a small, breathy laugh, you looked his way. He rubbed a finger over his bottom lip. “But what good parents do after they mess up is– they have humility and apologize. They show integrity to their child. You do that. Already. For me.”

Sitting across from him in the still air of the Jeep, you let your eyes bounce back and forth between his. His smell, warm, sweet, and woodsy, was enveloping every sense of your body, in the taut air of the vehicle. His breathing laced with yours, your heaving chest kept up with the rhythm of his. He was steadier than you. . . he seemed fine. 

You felt anything but. Your emotions were going haywire at everything he’d just said. The man he was to you. . . he was too good to be true. 

But, instead of letting yourself get sad that he wasn't yours, you looked at the store behind you and cleared your throat. It opened up your mind and the air in the car. He blinked a few times, tilting his head slightly, watching you. 

“Wondering why we’re here?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I thought– let’s get out,” he said, pausing the conversation to unload from the Jeep. You followed his lead, taking the tall step as gracefully as you could to get down and out. The slip almost happened–but didn’t. Thank god. 

Joining him at the back of the car, you waited for him to lead the way and continue. You wrapped your jacket tighter around your body, over the sweatshirt. There was a bite in the air that hadn’t been there before. Jake tightened his jacket, too, tucking his hands in the pockets of it. “I brought us here because I knew you were stressed. I knew it probably had to do with the baby,” he started, looking down at you. You felt his stare, looking up to meet it. “So I thought maybe coming here to get some books to study and prepare would help you feel more at peace about whatever was on your mind,” he drew in a breath before blowing it out into the cold, dry air. “And now that I know it had to do with preparedness, this was kind of–.”

“Perfect,” you finished, nudging him with your shoulder. 

He looked down for a second, his eyes read an unknown emotion before he kept on. “I know you probably have a lot of books already, but–.”

“There’s no such thing as too many,” you replied, leading the way through the automatic doors. 

“Precisely,” he agreed, coming to a stop as soon as the two of you had entered. Raising a brow, he looked down at you before throwing a thumb over to the in-store coffee house. “Want something?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” you responded with a light smile, walking toward the smell of comforting coffee and cakes. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

He’d footed the bill the whole night. . . including the surplus of books from Barnes & Noble. It had been a hefty bill, but he’d refused to let you pay. He had convinced you it was part of co-parenting – sharing purchases. And this was one of his first purchases to make for the baby.

“This was a good idea,” you mentioned at the end of the evening, juggling your one bag of books that you’d insisted Jake let you carry (the lightest one, after compromise) as you led the way up the stairs of your complex. “Focusing on other ways we can prepare for the baby, rather than worrying about what we can’t control.”

“I have a decent idea every now and then,” he chuckled, out of breath as he handled the bulk. 

Once you made it to the door, you unlocked it for the two of you.

And, for a moment, it felt so domestic.

It felt like a dream you shouldn’t dream. Arriving home after a big shopping run, walking through the door together as you laughed at the heaviness of bags and discussed a few of the books you’d chosen.

And as you made your way through the door finally, it broke your heart to see the night go. He wasn’t necessarily acting ready to end it, but the impending ending made your stomach turn. You wanted this for longer. 

He was going on and on about all of the things he’d researched as of late concerning babies and pregnancy and everything in between. You decided on grabbing a Canada Dry from the fridge, letting him sort the books on the counter into categories as he kept conversation easily.

Every now and then, you offered a small response to show you were listening, but otherwise, you let him talk. You loved listening to him talk about all of this. 

It made your heart feel ten times bigger. Though, as you took a sip of your ginger ale, watching him sort the books, your heart began to sink instead. 

You couldn’t help how much you adored his desire to learn about all things ‘baby’. He was already so good at his job as dad.

The way you’d felt all night–so peaceful with him. . . you knew it was good for you. He was literally your mental safe place (you hadn’t told him that though. Absolutely not). But. . . you knew it couldn’t go past the feeling of good friendship. Co-parenthood.

The unfortunate part, though, was that you really felt unable to stop the way you were feeling for him. It felt new and familiar all at once.

Though, you knew you couldn’t let yourself feel that way. You shouldn’t.

But with the way his eyes lit up when you looked up at him again, after staring at your feet in your whirlwind of contemplation, you knew you were doomed. 

There was no stopping the way that you felt about him. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

One morning at the very end of November, you woke up with a cold. A terrible one. The same cold that every other person in your classes was seeming to come down with. Theo had been gone with it all week, and you saw him more frequently than not to study. You’d decided on one or two days a week after class. There were also the few people who sat around you in class, who’d come down with it.

So, it was due time for you. 

Normally, you would have tried to make it through the day. But, you’d done enough reading to learn that coming down with a serious infection like the flu or Covid could lead to a baby’s fetal development getting stunted. So, you played it safe and decided to stay home until you felt better.  

You had called in to work that morning. And just after that, you’d emailed the professor you had that day to let  him know. Everyone you had spoken to was understanding, luckily, which helped you to sleep very peacefully. You only hoped that the extra sleep wasn’t just helpful to you, but also–mostly–to the baby.

Sleeping off the sick seemed the best option. You hadn’t really had the mental energy that morning to look into safe medicine to take for colds during pregnancy. So, sleeping it was.

Your colds were always intense–all of your sicknesses were. When you got sick, it never failed to knock you on your ass. So instead of stressing over it all that morning, you’d chosen sleep as the easier route.

You had been hoping that you’d wake up from a long nap feeling refreshed and better. . .but. . . you were not so lucky.

When your eyes fluttered open for the second time that day to find what was left of the evening sun peeking through your curtains, you officially knew it was time to figure something out. Your eyes were burning–hurt to open. There was an ache settled firmly in every bone in your body–weren’t sure if you were cold or hot. . . 

You were definitely sick. More than a cold. No two ways about it.

When you turned to your bedside table for a drink from your Stanley, you found your bedside table had a couple new additions since you’d fallen asleep. There was a brand new Stanley sitting next to your old one. One you’d eyed for a few minutes online a week or so ago, and then decided against due to the monstrously obnoxious size. . . 

You’d talked to Jake about it after he’d noticed your pensive face looking at your phone screen for longer than necessary. . . And now, there it sat on your white, wooden night stand. A 64 ounce, rose quartz Stanley, in all of its glory. 

And leaning against it and next to it were a concoction of helpful remedies with a couple of sticky notes to explain each of their benefits. The handwriting gave him away. Jake. In his scrawl, he detailed what to take and when, which ones you could take together. He’d even written out the link to a website talking about pregnancy-safe cold meds. There was also a fruit punch Gatorade. When you reached out, it was still cold. He’d been in recently.

Moving on from the drink and meds, you glanced at the Stanley and saw it had a sticky sitting underneath it, waiting to be read. 

Plenty of water will help you and the baby stay healthy. It was worth it 

It had perfect timing and came in the mail today of all days

:) –Jake

The note effectively had your head spinning from something other than sickness. . .his kind gesture, making your stomach do soft flips. Your hand floated to touch your tummy at the idea of him doing so sweet for you (and for the baby–his baby).

After reading his advice on what to take, you went ahead and took some Tylenol for your headache and body aches, then used a nasal spray to help loosen up whatever drainage you could. The Vicks rub he’d left had been a welcome solvent on your chest, temples, and under your nose. 

But, it didn’t take long for your stomach to start rumbling, so you took that as your sign to find something that would ease the scratch in your throat and warm you up. 

You went out to the kitchen for food, holding your brand new Stanley, taking several healthy sips of the iced water from it. When you bent down to pour food in Stevie’s dish, you realized there was already kibble in there. . . that Jake undoubtedly left for her.

You were sure your heart monitor was picking up all kinds of strange palpitations at his gestures. 

Around the time you’d noticed Stevie’s food, you went to text him to tell him thank you. Only to find he’d sent a text about twenty minutes ago saying he’d left for the night. And while it made your heart sink, you knew you had no right to feel sad about it. . . especially when he’d done so much to help you before you’d even woken from your nap. 

To add emphasis to that thought, you noticed at just the right time that he’d also left a couple Panera soups waiting on the counter for you. God. . . he was wonderful. You read the note he’d left with the two little sealed containers.

Soup is the best when you’re sick :) 

–Jake 

Your body was already hurting a little less after you’d heated and almost instantly downed one of the delicious soups. A warm shower sounded more than tempting, so you didn’t waste time throwing away your trash and making your way to grab the shower steamer pods he’d left for you on your bedside table (they were a pregnancy-safe brand, he’d assured on a sticky, which made you softly smile). 

After placing them in the heating shower to begin dissolving the comforting notes of lavender and rose, you padded back to the kitchen for your new Stanley when you noticed something on the counter.

In an arranged group on the counter sat a few books you'd bought the other night. You recognized them. They sat with a notebook, stickies, and pens. Two of the books were closed, stacked, and tabbed with stickies–all bright pinks, greens, and blues.

Though, there was one more, face up and open, as if he’d had to leave unplanned and hadn’t had time to shut it. There was a pad of stickies sitting atop the page it was opened to. A pen was on top of the pad, which, when you walked closer, realized there was plenty of Jake’s scrawl already written on it. The page had a heading that read:

Props and pillows and sleep, oh my! 

And he’d written the following on his sticky, which lay upon the page: 

–Look into pregnancy pillows for y/n

–Be patient!! 

–Do what you can to help her find the right set up for sleep or rest 

–Adhere to her sleep schedules (no loud sounds or bright lights when she’s asleep, etc) 

–She needs sufficient rest (has healthy outcomes for her and the baby)

You went to look at the cover of the book, but before you could look at it, you stopped yourself. For some reason, it felt like an invasion of his privacy. Even though he’d left it open on the counter, these were his notes, not yours.

But just before you could walk any further to the bathroom and ignore his notes, the book stacked on top of the other had a note stuck to the top of it. And, written in bold, black sharpie, were the words Remember: Do WHATEVER you can to help y/n – it’s for the BABY!

The words it’s for the baby being written with finality at the end of the statement reminded you that chances were, all of this was not really for you. . . definitely not. You didn’t deserve that from him. No, whatever was for you was done for the ultimate benefit of the baby.

All of everything he did was for the baby. All of the words of reassurance. The trip to the bookstore. Panera. The meds tonight. Taking you to counseling. . . ev-ery-thing.

And that was fine. . .

So why was a tear drawn to your eye as you sped away from the book that sat on top of the counter? And why had you felt the need to go back to your room on the way to the shower, to get the Stanley cup you’d bought yourself? Why did the thought of using the one Jake bought for you make your stomach feel all tangled and weird?

Because he doesn’t care about you, a voice nagged, reminding you. It was a familiar voice, filtering in from the dark tresses of your mind. He doesn’t care about you. This is for the baby. So if you feel like it’s for you, know it’s not. Let him help the baby. Don’t be selfish. The baby matters most. 

You couldn’t help but agree with the voice. The baby did matter most. Not you.

So, you resolutely chose to wait out the calming scent of the steamer, until it all pooled down the drain. Stepping in when the scent was gone seemed the only option, as the way the shower calmed you was only for your benefit and not necessarily the baby’s. 

Yes, it sounded fucked up and foolish in your head. But you were trying to navigate these thoughts the best you fucking could and you were grasping for something that made sense. But all you were doing was making no sense. 

God, what the fuck, y/n?

And, stupidly, for whatever fucking selfish reason (because you knew for sure you were selfish–evidence proved that), you found yourself hiccuping on tears that hurt your already-aching body, under the lukewarm spray of the shower.

He didn't truly care about you. Not really. It was all for the baby.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

Once your mind was lucid after your little cold-sickness stint, you noticed stretch marks had started showing up. One by one, they’d started becoming stark and apparent and made you feel gross. 

The creams and oils you’d ordered seemed to help the slightest bit with the new darkness of the few tiger stripe-like lines. They truly looked heinous against your otherwise unmarred skin. You’d felt insecurities really begin to kick in after you’d cried in the shower on the first day out of three of your sickness. 

During the latter three days of your cold (or whatever the hell it was), you’d sulked and avoided Jake’s help in whatever way you could. You wanted his help with the baby. Only with the baby. But the baby wasn’t there yet. 

So, you didn’t need his help. He didn’t need to care about you. Only the baby. It was common sense. And it would be fine. 

But it still made you feel oddly unwanted. The feeling didn’t matter. 

But, for you, with your utterly complicated past, feeling unwanted came hurtling towards you, without any sign of stopping.

Since you were a child, feeling unwanted in your mother’s grimy home, a whole range of other negative emotions accompanied that familiar feeling. Most call it depression. Your oldest friend.

And, it had officially lit up for this new stage of your life. Why enjoy things for too long? It wasn’t worth it. Right?

So, the way your skin was beginning to scar due to growth you absolutely couldn’t control. . . it just set misery aflame in your amped-up insecurities and dispirit. 

On the first night of December, the depressive thoughts persisted. You stood with your big sleep t-shirt tucked up under your heavy-ass boobs as you lathered your tummy up with the last oil in your new, nightly anti-stretch mark routine. As you did so, tears pooled in your eyes at the sight of yourself. 

And, seemingly out of nowhere, your thoughts picked up on a different train. . . something you hadn’t really taken time to be super upset about yet. The thought slipped in amongst the rest of your woes. 

It was the thought of being a single mother.

And while it didn’t matter and wasn’t completely true, because Jake would be there, you’d still be doing it on your own in a sense. You would be on your own. The two of you definitely weren’t together. He wouldn’t be there with you. He would just be there, doing his own thing for the baby, with Maya by his side. (Nausea crept up at her name alone. Gag.)

You were going to be a single mother. Just like your own moth–. No. You locked eyes with yourself in the mirror, momentarily stopping the massaging of your belly. 

I will not let my mind go there, you asserted silently, staring daggers through your reflection. I am not her. I am not. I can’t be. I won’t be. What would Gia say? What would Jake say?

Amidst your crying and sorrowful thoughts, the knock on the door of the bathroom kind of spooked you. And, in the depths of your despair, you couldn’t really care fucking less who saw you right now. That was just how pitiful you felt. 

“Come in,” you said, sniffing and trying to cover the sound of tears in your voice by swallowing them. 

When the door began opening, you had to scoot over a little to let Jake in. You knew it was him. He’d been home all night with you, while Maya was busy doing whatever the hell she needed to do for her job. 

He’d spent a couple hours catching up on New Girl with you and it had been nice. Except, anytime you thought about how it wasn’t really for your benefit and rather him just being your friend for the baby. . . It just wasn't the same.

“You okay?” He carefully pondered, coming to stand slightly behind you in the mirror.

But, as soon as he appeared next to you and saw your current state of dress, his eyes went immediately to your bare tummy. He stayed trained on the bump that continued to grow, day by day. Still not huge, but definitely not small.

Insecurities were instantly blossoming at his stare. He was not looking away for anything, lost in a trance. He was probably in shock at just how big your belly had gotten, compared to the last time he’d seen you like this. Chances were, he was repulsed by what he saw. 

You effectively decided the stretch marks had been tended to enough for the night. You went to pull your Pratt shirt over the exposed skin. But to your surprise, his hand was shooting out, around your body, just as quick, to stop you before you could pull it down too far. 

He definitely succeeded in stopping you, holding your wrist. You were in shock – skin flaming at his touch . . .felt it everywhere. 

“I want to see,” he requested, sort of breathless. What? He wanted to–? “You look–this is–.”

“Ugly? Fat? Disgust–?”

“Beautiful,” he firmly stated, his eyes finally locking with yours in the mirror at the word. “This is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

His hand still held your hand over shirt, not daring to touch your belly. You couldn’t move to make the position change. The fact that he’d just called you beautiful was like a lightning bolt to your entire nervous system.

“I’m not–,” you shook your head, at a loss for words. You did not fully agree with him. Was it beautiful that you were holding the baby? Was the baby beautiful inside? Yes. But were you loving your body these days? Absolutely not. “The stretch marks. . . I’m so fucking big. . .”

“You aren’t,” he suddenly dropped his hand, and you were missing his touch as soon as it was gone. He went to lean against the bathroom counter, facing you. His eyes bounced between your belly and your eyes, settling on your irises as he continued. “You are not any of the things you called yourself. I don’t think any of those things when I see you. . . I don’t even understand how you could–,” he shook his head, blinking once before finding your eyes. “I just see a woman who is special to me. A beautiful woman who is carrying my baby.”

Carrying my baby. 

Those words. . . they did something to you. Your palms were sweaty as you held tighter to your shirt, rolled under your boobs.

“The baby is beautiful,” you concurred. And surprisingly, you didn’t trip over your words. “But I am–.”

“You are beautiful. I am talking about you right now,” he stated, with no room for disagreement in his tone. “Don’t discount that. Please.”

“Are you just saying these things because I’m carrying your baby?”

Where did that come from? Shit. Nothing like baring your most vulnerable feelings to the very person you feel most vulnerable in front of. . . 

“No,” he said without pause. He sounded sure. “You have always been beautiful. It’s just. . . enhanced now. I can’t. . .it’s hard to explain.”

You wanted to ask him to try to explain it but you didn’t.

All of a sudden, you felt confident to ask more. 

“You don’t just think so because of the baby? Do you just care about me because of the baby?”

Jesus. There it was. 

“We’ve gone over this,” he sighed, rubbing circles against his temple. He didn’t keep on with the action, instead stuffing his hands in his pockets as he found your eyes with his. 

“I know, but I just. . . I feel like I don’t matter. I mean, I really don’t right now do I?" You sarcastically laughed, eyes watering. "All I’m good for is being the big, fat incubator who hates her body and has ugly fucking stretch marks because my belly won’t slow the fuck–.”

“It’s good that it won’t slow down,” he reassured, amber-brown irises smiling with his lopsided grin. “It means the baby’s healthy and growing.”

“But you do think I’m an incubator,” you stubbornly persisted. “Didn’t say anything to argue that.” Your tone unnecessarily snipped with your next words, “Jake, you just want to help the baby. I know this. So just wait until the baby’s here. Don’t worry about me or making me feel better if you just want to help the–.”

“Where are you getting this from?”

You stared at each other for a few moments. . . . He gave you a look that told you he could see you.

“My mind is a really twisty place,” you huffed a humorless laugh, rubbing your own temples now. “It never shuts the fuck up,” you paused–didn’t want to say anything about the sticky note on the book that had spurred the thoughts. The same thoughts you’d voiced the night you’d told him. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve already been insecure about all of this shit. It’s just–.”

“I don’t view you as an incubator,” he insisted, crossing his arms, strong fingers wrapping around stronger biceps. “I view you as a brave fucking woman who is being selfless as hell. You’re growing a fucking human, y/n,” he said, grin widening. You felt your lips lift, too. He continued, “And I can’t help but be amazed by that alone every. single. day. And while that is beautiful, yes - I won’t say it isn’t because it is,” he unwaveringly asserted. 

“But. . . it’s more,” he kept on. “You’ve been this woman-the one in front of me - for a long ass time–before I ever knew you. Though, since I’ve known you, I’ve had the privilege of seeing this woman. I knew your heart right off the bat–since the day Josh told me about this girl who was letting a man she didn’t know move into her fucking home. Just because she cared about the situation. Didn't even know me," He raised a brow, lips quirking as yours did the same. “You’re selfless and–,” he paused. 

His eyes shut briefly before opening to yours. Except this time. . . they were wet with emotion. Yours were, too. Your heart was pounding and you felt warm with a blush, from your chest to your face.

“And kind. So thoughtful when you don’t need to be. You care a whole fuckin’ lot for others and sometimes it gets you in trouble because you get in your head and it hurts you,” he said, brows dipped with a shake of his head. “But the fact that your heart is the way it is in spite of everything you’ve been through–I can’t even imagine, y/n. All of that and so much fucking more makes you beautiful,” he tucked his hair behind his ears before they went back into his pockets. “So, no, it’s not just because of the baby. It’s just one more thing that makes you beautiful.”

You were utterly speechless, and you couldn’t stop the wetness in your own eyes, a tear trickling down your own cheek. . . How could he even begin to say all of those things about you when you’d been so terrible to him? Always made assumptions?

You weren’t sure how much time passed when you finally swallowed down your own tears and found the most simple words you could mutter. “Thanks, Jake,” you whispered.

“Don’t thank me,” he winked. It clicked with you that you could faintly hear your heart monitor phone going off in your room. It was alerting you of unusual heart activity. No fucking wonder - with the poetry the man had just spoken. He heard it, too, apparently, brows wrinkling. “What is that sound that’s been going off for the last few–?”

“My heart monitor phone. My heart is beating really fucking hard in my chest right now and the monitor picked up on the palpitations,” you blushed, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you finally pulled your shirt down. “I’m not used to hearing people say things like that about me. It just catches me off guard when you–,” you coughed, blinking as you located some sense. “When anyone says sweet things like that to me.”

Then, you were back in time. Yet again. On the living room floor. That day it'd rained. . . a quiet, gray morning. He'd said things so like what he'd said just now. The same day those Aretha Franklin songs had sealed a place in your heart. Well– both of your hearts, apparently. . . according to Jake at the bar.

A comfortable silence had crept over the two of you that morning, he’d so obviously been watching you– admiring you–not to be mistaken for anything else as you'd laid atop him.

His next words confirmed it. 

“Even in the grayness of this morning, you shine so bright,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “You fucking glow, y/n. You’re just brilliant.”

All you’d been able to utter was a measly, “Thank you.” The sound of tears in your throat, behind your response, had surprised you.

“Has no one ever told you?” Jake had pondered, his warm chest breathing steadily and comfortably beneath you.

You’d explained how Josh and Elsie were kind to you, but. . . “hearing you say something like that. . .,” you’d emphasized to him. “Those words. . . It just feels good. I don’t know,” you’d shaken your head, a tear falling to meet his tanned chest. “And no one has ever said those exact words to me, no.”

“You are all of that and more, my lo—,” he’d cleared his throat, stopping himself from saying a word your heart was now longing so badly to hear. “You are so many things wrapped in one, y/n. So many fantastic things.”

“Stop,” you’d sniffed, more tears falling onto his chest. “You don’t have to say things like that. I promise I’ll still want to have sex with you if you don’t,” you’d laughed, wiping your leftover tears. The words had sounded funny (true, but still funny) as they’d left your mouth. 

“I want to tell you those things,” he’d said, firm in his response. “You deserve to hear those good things. Sex or not.”

And tonight had proven that he truly meant that statement. No sex, and still. . . .

But . . . goddamn. The sex. 

With that thought in mind, you couldn’t help but watch the sway of his ass in his tight black jeans as you followed out of the bathroom behind him. You bit your lip after bidding him goodnight– only able to think of how fucking badly you missed the sex. 

“I fucking love you,” he'd once told you - on the very night that had gotten you in this predicament. “And god, do I love fucking you. . .”

Not that word. . . Where had it come from just now?!

Love. Love. Love. Love. You hardly ever thought of him saying it to you–tried not to because it hurt and you knew it wasn’t true anymore.

But when he’d said those sweet things about you being beautiful just now. . . apparently, your mind couldn't help but chant the word . . .and the sound of him saying it to you. Why?! He was just being kind.

It was so hard wanting him and not being able to have him. . . Not like you ever actually had him - but before you fucked everything up with your stupid, hurtful words.

And, god, did you still want him. 

You couldn’t have him like that – all of the reasons were plain as day. But. . . at least you still had the memories. The wonderful memories. But being pregnant made the memories so much worse. . . because one little thought of how he felt inside of you had you actually throbbing for him.

As soon as you got to your bed, you were reaching into your bedside table for your favorite little vibrating instrument. The thought of that morning. . . the idea of having your breasts pushed against his bare chest again as he told you things just like he did tonight. . . You knew it wouldn’t take long for you to be unraveling. 

Before long, you were feeling all of the tremors you craved from Jake’s mouth, from the little toy held just right against your quivering bundle of nerves. And in less than five minutes, you were  shuddering, body tensing and releasing as you breathily moaned his name into your pillow.

-🌼🌼🌼-

December 4, 2022

Your week ended with a particularly exhausting day at the Black and Gold. 

Inventory had come out of nowhere. And, with Josh busy with his new career, it was mostly on you to prepare for it.

The two other girls who worked with you couldn’t give two shits and it showed when you’d shown up for a shift after theirs. Nothing was ever prepared in the evenings or the following mornings if they were in charge—and inventory week was no exception. 

In fact, it was glaringly more obvious when it was such an important week as inventory week. 

And having to do all of that after your few solid days of feeling like complete and utter crap and while being pregnant? It had been one of the longest days you’d had in your whole life (dramatic? Maybe. But whatever.). 

And to top it all off, you’d come home to the apartment being very warm to accommodate the cooler weather outside. 

For normal people, it probably felt nice to come into the warmth. And, most likely, it would’ve felt great to you before your pregnancy.

It was just too damn hot in the apartment tonight. You’d wanted to come home and take a warm shower to wash off the day and relax your sore muscles, but the temperature of the place had you throwing that idea away real quick.

So instead, you hurriedly went about feeding Stevie before rushing to your bedroom to dig out the box fan stuffed at the top of your closet. You’d bought it the summer the A/C had let out on you and your sister, and had kept it handy ever since for fear of it happening again. 

And at this exact moment, it felt just as hot to you as it did that summer the A/C quit working.

The fan was plugged in and blowing at full blast, towards the bed, in no time. It was sitting on top of your vanity seat, pointing right at your side of the bed. The speed at which you’d gotten it situated was astounding. And your sheets were cool and crisp and tempting you to climb into them when you pulled your covers down. 

But you couldn’t climb in yet with the way your bladder was squeezing and hurting with how badly you needed to pee. You’d put it off at the B&G, ready to get home. And then you’d come home to an uncomfortably steamy apartment.

Before heading to the bathroom, you stripped completely of your tight bra (thank you, God), your stuffy sweater and your leggings. Then, changed into a thin pair of pajama shorts and the first camisole you could find in your chest of drawers. And thankfully the thin strapped shirt had no built-in bra to constrict you. 

You’d welcomed Stevie into your room, her soft purrs and shaggy fur rubbing against your ankles as you promised her of your soon arrival back. 

Finally, after peeing and washing your face, you were ready to lay right in front of that fan. 

You stopped by the kitchen to quickly grab a Stanley from the counter– to find nothing. No Stanley. Neither of them.

Shit.

Slapping your forehead, you remembered almost instantly where they still sat on the counter at the Black and Gold. Both of them. Your rush to leave and rest from your long day had prompted you to forget a couple of your most prized possessions. 

Without your go-to water tumbler, you felt naked. And even more thirsty. 

Your day had been long and hard and now you were paying for it. Ugh.

When you scanned the kitchen for a quick alternative, your eyes immediately landed on the case of waters that Jake had recently bought for rehearsals only. You didn’t give two shits. You were bound to steal one to satiate your thirst. 

The one problem was. . .

It was sitting atop the fridge. Out of your reach. And with the few inches Jake had on you, he’d stacked it up there so it would be out of the way. You remembered him saying those exact words as you eyed the package now. Hated those words. 

Because not only was it out of the way, it was out of your reach. Out of your reach when you were dying of thirst and needed a drink of water. Stat.

Without thinking of risking anything, you went to grab a table chair quickly and quietly.

You had to be quiet because Jake was home and you did not want to wake him. Not when you were in cavewoman mode. . . and especially not with the way your tits and ass were flashing in your current choice of clothing. Or with the ugly heart monitor that was attached to your chest.

So, as carefully as possible, you sat the chair next to the side of the fridge with the waters and climbed on top of the seat to grab the case of Pure Life. Briefly, you worried about handling a heavy object while pregnant, but put it to the side when you realized pregnant women all over America handled water cases like this. You were fine. 

In the lapse of time it took you to contemplate holding the waters, and getting it off the counter, you misplaced the package on the counter top. And right as you silently stepped off the chair, the waters came crashing down onto the floor of the kitchen. The harsh sound of plastic smashing against the ground, filled with several heavy bottles of water, seemed to linger in the air around you as you stood there. One foot still on the chair, one off ready to go. 

Not able to change the fact that it crashed onto the ground, you just stood there and stared at the offensive case of water for a moment and cursed it for its loudness. But before you could silently wish harm for too long, you were bending to pick it up. 

Once it had been safely placed back on the counter with careful hands, you glanced towards Jake’s room. No movement or sound from it. He probably hadn’t heard — deep in sleep. 

And then. . . Your pregnant brain was sparking to life. 

There was a fucking Brita in the fridge. Filled to the brim with ice cold water, versus the room temperature water in the case. You’d just filled it this morning before class. And ice cold water sounded so much more appealing than lukewarm. . . 

If only you’d remembered before that you had the filtered water waiting in the pitcher. . . There wouldn’t have been a giant crash to possibly wake your roommate. 

Putting all of the irritation out of your mind, you went to grab a glass quickly from the cabinet, then hastily pried the pitcher from the refrigerator. With nervous hands, you poured until the glass was literally overflowing. 

“Shit!” You whispered at the mess, anxious to be rid of this situation. Tired and thirsty and still feeling warm even in your cami and shorts, your ears rushed with white noise.

This was not ending up like you’d planned.

The pitcher had safely found its spot back in the fridge and you were finally taking a drink from your (overfilled) glass, when you decided to multitask and grab a few paper towels to clean up the counter.

But when they wouldn’t rip off the roll, you yanked too hard. And that resulted in the water you were still drinking, to spill. It dripped down your chin, down your top mostly, and into the top of your shorts. Sensory overload was doing what it did best, overwhelming you—making you lose grip and had the glass falling from your hand and to the ground. 

That shatter was much worse than the water case falling, the shards thankfully large, but the few sparkling pieces of glass had you shushing Stevie away when she approached with curiosity. 

And if Stevie was approaching, then surely someone else had heard—

“Y/n, what’s going on?” Jake hushed, his voice close behind you, sounding like it was coming from the entryway of the kitchen. 

You stilled. Of course he'd woken up. You’d made a fuck ton of noise. Real nice.

You turned on your heel, just the slightest bit, to peek over your shoulder at him. And with the luck you’d already had with the night, the action made you effectively slip from the bit of water that had made its way under your foot. 

Falling, more like—and not using the counter to catch yourself like a sane person—towards the hard ground and glass, bump—baby— first—fuckfuckfu—.

Jake’s arms immediately wrapped around you, effectively stopping your fall. He hugged you tightly to him. One arm wrapped fully around your stomach, hand secured to your side, firmly in place. And the other hand— gripping your breast. . . fully. 

He had you wrapped up in him, ass pulled into his crotch to keep you steady.

And ho-ly fuck.

Your nipple hardened instantly at the feeling of him holding your chest. You’d been waiting to feel his hand hold your sore breasts. . . And your assumption had been correct. His touch eased the pain in them, felt deliciously good—his touch didn’t hurt them like everyone else seemed to do on contact. 

But then he began moving his hands away. 

No.

“I’m sorry— I-I didn’t mean to—.”

“Stay.”

The word just slipped out as you grabbed hold of his hand, keeping it secured where he’d initially placed it, carefully situating his fingers over your nipple for the sensation you longed for. 

And when you did, he squeezed the flesh through your thin shirt. His other hand gripped your hip, exposed just a bit by your shirt – the way his fingers held you there made you fearful that he’d leave marks.

You fucking hoped so. 

And fuck, if he didn’t like it, too. You could feel it against your ass.

The way he continued to massage his other hand on your chest, wrapping his fingers securely around your breast, feeling it, told you so, too. The impulsive urge to pull down the top of your shirt and give him full access was becoming more and more appealing by the second. 

But you didn’t do it. Didn’t want to do too much and scare him away. 

You just let his arm come to rest where he apparently wanted it to, fully over the other breast. He comfortably situated his arm, rubbed a purposeful thumb over your sensitive nipple. 

“Jake,” you whispered. Couldn’t help it. He elicited this feeling. “Please.”

With your words, he pressed his front harder against your ass. God, you could feel the shape of him.

Letting the moment take over, you decided to let your body lean into his, rested against him and pushed your ass purposefully into his hardening dick. The breath he sucked in was not lost on you, and you craved hearing it again, so you repeated the action against him. 

His hand tightened around your breast, and he began massaging it as he used his grip to pull you even closer to him. His thumb moved to rub tight circles around your taut nipple. It felt so good. . . your head fell back against his shoulder, sucking in your own breath between your teeth. The way he gently kneaded the flesh in his strong grip had electricity shooting through your chest, all the way down to your toes. 

Your heart was going crazy, beating frantically, barely letting up with its assault against your chest. The feeling of him against you was enough to make you lose your breath with the way your heart was clenching in your chest, all the way up to your throat.

And then you heard a familiar, faint beeping from your bedroom.

The blessed heart monitor phone. Tracking when your heart rate would increase. The stupid phone didn’t need to tell you that it was beating hard right now. And so what if you fainted? You would do it in Jake’s arms. No better place to be. 

All you knew was that you were elated that it was still in your room – and quiet enough to the average ear that it hopefully didn’t break the air of want between you and this man you wanted so. badly. 

Jake hadn’t heard it - or didn't care to stop if he had, that much seemed to be clear.

He angled his hips, pressing so cozily into your backside. You could feel all of him – moving in slow circles, while still pressed tightly to your ass. That continued on for a while until he nudged himself, right in the middle of your ass. You felt him pulsing. Tucked into you, making your core throb even more for him.

Your nerves were on fire, and when he began rolling his hips, thrusting into your ass. . . you released the tiniest moan. It was such a small sound that you briefly thought you’d imagined it. But then the hand that had been holding your hip came to wrap around your throat briefly, and then up to your mouth. 

His breath came in hot waves against your ear, his voice gravelly with need. “It’s late. We shouldn’t make noise like that. It’s too late.”

After making his point known, his hand moved to sweep some hair over one shoulder, leaving your neck exposed for him to breathe hotly against. . . and then lick. Your breath hitched at the sensation of his wet tongue, making loose circles against your hot, sweating flesh.

“You still taste so good,” he moaned with the words, ever so quietly. “You always will–but it’s like you taste sweeter than before. I can’t even–.

But he never finished what he was saying, choosing instead to press sloppy kisses against your skin. His lips and his tongue, moving together to suck gently. 

Fuck! What had gotten into–?

Your body relaxed into him all on its own, moving near enough to him that you felt like one. 

Your ass ground against him, pressing so close. He kept with his motions as he angled his lips to hover above your bare shoulder, breath hot on your skin.

Though, his kisses stopped. But, he still released puffs of overexerted breaths, over your skin, wet from his mouth. It made your toes curl and your eyes fall closed. He didn’t give your neck any more attention as he used his position to lean up and look over the front of your body, effectively pulling you even closer to him. 

“God,” he breathed, his breath hitting from exposed shoulder, onto your collar bones. Your motions continued, but just a little slower to keep him where he was, not wanting to somehow push him away. You felt him, throbbing steadily against your ass. “You’re soaked.”

You have no idea, you silently, hotly responded, moving to rub your thighs together.

But you remembered your predicament. What he was talking about. Your clothes were completely soaked through. There had been so much water. He was talking about your clothes.

“I spilled my water,” you breathed back, so quiet. 

“I can see that. Y/n– fuck,” he rutted against your ass, his hand moving to the bottom of your full breast to hold it in a steady grip. You realized he was moving his hand to see the entire breast, your straining nipples through the soaked white fabric. “Your tits. . . they’re so fucking– Goddammit.”

“Sore,” you moaned back, your body arching in need against the hardness in his loose pajama pants. “Heavy.”

“God, I’m sor–,” he went to move his hand again. And you once again brought your hand up to stop him. 

“No, Jake,” you held his hand in a tight grip, rubbing your thumb over the back of it. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?” He questioned, raspy and needy. 

Then, he was suddenly letting go of your chest to move your strap to do what you so desperately wanted.

Once it was draped over your shoulder, he moved a hand slowly over your sternum, into the front of your shirt. When he grazed his fingers over your oversensitive nipple, you whined, knees buckling. And, finally, he pulled your breast out to touch the air. 

And just before he could hold it with the hand that was readily going to grasp it. . . his bedroom door was creaking open. 

“Jakey?” Maya’s voice rang through the apartment. “You okay?”

Of course she was here. Why wouldn’t she be? 

You hadn’t heard the tell-tale sign of anyone taking steps towards the kitchen from the slightly creaky hallway, but you still decided you needed to get the fuck away from Jake. He was not yours.

You pulled away harshly and quickly, turning around all as you went to pull up your tank.

When you fully turned around, he was standing stock-still, watching your every move with your top, not letting his eyes fall away from your breasts. Your hard nipples. You felt the blush spread across your entire chest.

Then he bit his lip, your entire body heating at the motion, before he was responding.

You moved forward to hold his cheek, trying to wake him from the daze he was in. Your words barely hit the air, you were so quiet. “Jake, go back to your room. I’ll clean this up so she doesn’t–.”

“I’m good, babe,” he called back to her in a low tone, still honing in on your eyes. Your brows dipped, confused. He looked to the fridge, his hand coming to hold your bicep, keeping you there. Why was he not getting his ass back to his room? “Y/n’s asleep and I really don’t want to wake her,” he lied, eyes still glued to something to your left.

She could walk in and see he was lying! Why was he being so fucking careless? 

“Just go back to bed,” he continued, leaving no room for argument or worry. “I dropped something when I was getting up to get some water.”

“Okay,” she responded, not using the same near-whispering tone as him. “Just don’t be long, baby.”

“I won’t,” he simply said, amber-brown irises, tracing back to yours in the dim lighting of the kitchen, highlighted by the moon, shining in through the kitchen window. Full moon. Anything can happen. 

And what was happening was wrong. 

When you heard his bedroom door click closed and a little squeak from the bed to indicate someone had placed weight on it, you pulled away from him, his arm slowly dropping back to his side. The eyes that stared back at yours had a question behind them, but you didn’t give him time to ask it.

“Jake,” your tone clipped and quiet. You didn’t want to break the ridiculous cover he’d mindlessly created. “Why the fuck did you lie like that?”

“I didn’t want her to come in here,” he cut back, his inflection reflecting the same hot energy as yours. “If she would’ve known we were both in here, she would have come looking. I don’t need that,” he insisted. “And neither do you. Especially with your tits on full fucking display like that.”

You glanced down, after he’d motioned momentarily at your chest. And, his words rang true when you realized your entire fucking nipple and areola was visible through the material. Even in the darkness of night, you could tell as much. Your arms flew up to snugly cover them, flinching at the way it felt like sharp needles were pressing into your chest momentarily.  

When you peered down to where you saw his hand moving, you realized he was palming himself through his pants. You felt yourself release, the slightest bit in your panties.

Your hands tightened closer to your chest, doing the opposite of what you wanted in that moment–you wanted to bring your shirt down over yourself and let him finish on your waiting ches–.

Suddenly the pressure against you was too much and your arms were falling from their place across your breasts. Thus, standing there, on full display. Right fucking there for stupid ass Maya to walk in at any moment. 

Honestly, you were the stupid ass. And it seemed like Jake was, too. 

Maya was the innocent one in all of this.

“Go wait in your room for me,” he whispered heatedly, his words piercing your heart at the anxious energy floating through your veins. “I’ll clean this up. And then I’ll be—.”

“But–,” you brought your arms up to your chest again, covering yourself. It was a brainless move to flash your chest like that. You didn’t want to tempt him in any way. “This is my mess just–.”

“Y/n,” he all but spit in your direction with the harshness in his whisper. “I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself on the water or glass. Please.”

Good point. 

So, you decided you’d do as you were told, though not without the last word.

“Fine,” you practically growled, stepping over water, his hand reaching out to you, trying to balance over a puddle pooled at your feet. You grabbed his hand, one arm covered your heaving chest, as you made your way over the mess, and finished your thought. “But don’t come to my room. Go back to bed. I don’t want Maya to–.”

“I don’t care right now–,” he cut you off, but you didn’t let him continue before interjecting. 

“You will in the morning, Jacob,” you bit back, making fiery eye contact, crossing your arms. The hiss you released at the feeling of both arms covering yourself again was embarrassing. So, you tried to play it off. “You will. Just don’t make the mistake of coming to see me ton–.”

“It wouldn’t be a mist–.”

“Jake. Yes it would,” you insisted with a tense whisper, taking one step towards him, not taking your eyes from his once. “I’m not going to have you ruin what you have with her just to make a fucking mistake with me.”

Throughout the span of that small conversation, you saw his eyes go through every possible wave of emotion. His beautiful, deep set eyes had started wide with excitement, to now being filled with white hot frustration. He was mad. 

The last emotion made its way straight to the pit of your tummy and to your panties as you felt them draw even wetter. Damn. You’d take any sex with Jake right now, but angry sex? Dammit if that didn’t get you–. 

No, y/n. Stop it.

“Do you not want this? Why were you—just minutes ago if you don’t–?”

“I never said I didn’t want it.” You flat-out said, without a second thought. Why even lie when you’d just exposed yourself with whatever you’d just done with him? To him?

The two of you stood there, watching each other with flushed cheeks, hot breaths, and equally heaving chests. 

God, you would not be able to hold onto your momentary flash of integrity if you didn’t finish your thought and leave him. 

“We just can’t do it. It wouldn’t be right,” you sniffed. Shit. Your throat was tightening, eyes collecting tears. “I don’t want to be the reason you leave a woman–the woman you love,” you choked, foolishly, on the emotion that quickly made its way from your throat to your eyes. “I just want you to be happy.”

His own expression matched yours, his eyes pooled with tears of dejection. There were once more a couple moments, filled with silence.

Silence, aside from your deep breathing, and wrought with an energy you couldn’t place. You had to get away from him.

“Just go to bed. I won’t fucking bother you,” he said, swallowing thickly. He then spoke your words from earlier. “And let me clean this up.”

Again, you sniffled, but nodded, looking down, to cover it with a barely there 'goodnight'.

He didn’t say anything else, just went about his business in the kitchen to put things back together, turning his back on you altogether.

Suffice to say, you cried for a good chunk of time as you laid in bed, after changing into a big t-shirt.

Cried big, fat, somber tears.

The crying had even lasted long enough, keeping you up to hear the bed creak much more than necessary when Jake got back to his bedroom. . . The sound of soft, pleasured moans from both of them, accompanying the groans of the bed as they moved on top of it.

Lucky fucking you. 

The bed that used to be yours when that room was yours. . . The acts being made against it that made you want to punch something - someone. Someone with long, black hair and a too-sweet expression.

Like a child, you growled and used a spare pillow to cover your ears until you couldn’t hear anything through the plush filling of the pillow.

You also tried to distract yourself with TikToks, but you couldn’t focus on your feed filled with BabyTok. It just made you sad and wistful as you thought of your day of book shopping with Jake. . .

About 30 minutes later, you figured the coast was clear. It had occurred to you after lying there, doing aimless shit, that you were still very thirsty. . . your tongue felt like cardboard in your mouth. 

When you opened the door to go to the kitchen, though, you found a tumbler that didn’t belong to you, waiting for you. And when you picked it up, you realized exactly who it belonged to. . . the words told you as much. 

Merry Christmas, Jacob Thomas! 

Love you, 

Mom 

The Cricut-vinyl lettering was placed carefully across the front of the black off-brand Yeti. What you found when you looked through the clear lid was a cup full of water. Iced water.

The crying that ensued as you closed the door and placed the cup on your nightstand was no surprise to you. The sweet action made your heart thrum with unbridled admiration for him. 

You hated how things were now. . . how simply interacting with him the way you had was a mistake. When you compared it to the way things had been before the fateful day in the kitchen, it made your stomach sink and your eyes well with more tears. 

Then there had been what you’d heard through the walls. . . it made you want to fucking vomit. But. . .you’d brought it on yourself. No question about it. 

Aaand, more of the damn tears. . .

After taking a few healthy swigs from the cup, you felt sleep find you without warning. Your eyes were beginning to close on their own.

And, as you faded into a well-earned sleep, the only solace you found that night was the smooth bump of your tummy, which your hands held protectively–longingly–as you wandered to sleep.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: hmmmmm what do you think will follow that night in the kitchen?????

Change the World from Friendsgiving :)

ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts! love youuuu &lt;3

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist:

@joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssoloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend

@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles

(i think i figured out the tags limit! woooohoooo!! boo, tumblr. you're not getting me down today lmao)

[rosaline-black]

well! in the spirit of being hungover, how about a fluffy hotch and reader where they're nursing their respective hangovers together after a night out with the team? i could see a debate occurring on whether or not pickle juice is an effective hangover cure.

Warnings: mentions of drinking!! Bau!reader since it’s my fave. Mentions of hangovers so maybe don’t read this if you are, I wrote this hungover and trust me it didn’t help. Also I reference rage against the machine since they’re my go to karaoke band. What can I say I love chaos.

The pounding in his head was almost as distracting as the foot digging into his… well somewhere he would rather it not be digging. Last night was impromptu to say the least. He’d been getting into more impromptu situations since he met you, and usually he loved it. Hotch had been more spontaneous over the last few years then he had been his whole life. But sometimes spontaneity feels great in the moment, but not the day after.

This was a prime example.

“Honey… your foot…”

Hotch attempted to reason but if there was one thing he didn’t want to do it was piss you off. Rossi had once made a joke about your messy hair the morning after a pretty wild night out with the team. You didn’t speak to Dave for two weeks after that. It took flowers and a $50 bottle of wine to win you back over and honestly, Hotch didn’t like the idea of not hearing your voice for two weeks (and forking out $50).

“What…”

Your head was still very much smooshed into the pillow so your speech had been rendered into more of a groan then anything considered English. Aaron loved when you were like this. Pouty and a little bit scary.

“Your foot it’s… you’re kind of kicking me…”

At any other moment you’d giggle at how unsure the usually authoritative guy beside you sounded, but the ache in almost every part of your body was overshadowing any joy you may of felt. Moving your foot away from Aaron’s uh crotch area… you turned to open your eyes and face him.

To your surprise he looked just as bad as you felt. Lipstick marks all over his cheeks, dark under eye circles and you could still smell the aroma of lingering tequila which instantaneously made your stomach flip. And not in the head over heels way you usually felt when looking at your partner. It was more like ‘if I smell u any longer I’m gonna throw up the entire bar I drank last night’.

“Please brush your teeth…”

Aarons eyes visibly widened at your blunt frankly kind of rude statement. But who was he to tell you no. And well, you were probably on to something since the inside of his mouth tasted like hand sanitiser.

“Good morning to you too dear…”

Once standing, the full effects of his hangover kicked in. The trademark nausea and dizziness washed over him like a tsunami. Ignoring the overwhelming inclination to empty the contents of his stomach, Aaron successfully brushed his teeth and clambered back into his bed, grabbing a hold of you like you were his life raft.

For about fifteen minutes the pair of you laid in each others arms, cringing at the moments that led to your current predicament. Hotch remembered singing god only knows by the beach boys to you and unfortunately he also remembered Emily’s phone filming the entire thing.

“Did I sing rage against the machine at karaoke last night?”

Hotch snorts at the memory of you screaming ‘fuck you I won’t do what you tell me’ to the tune of killing in the name. Instead of telling you that yes in fact that did happen, he simply kisses your forehead.

Your phone screen catches Hotch’s attention next. You’re typing away furiously, like whatever you were searching for was of utmost importance. In fact Hotch had seen you put less effort into catching serial killers, which is saying a lot since he’s convinced nobody throws themselves into their job like you do.

“Honey you’ll smash your screen if you tap it that hard…”

“Do you think pickle juice will fix this?”

Now Hotch has two options. He can laugh and hope you’re kidding… which seems less and less viable the more he senses the seriousness of your statement. He lands on a neutral statement.

“…fix what?”

Your eyes roll and you tap at your head and then gesture to your face. He’s sure you’re trying to say you look bad but honestly, Hotch can’t imagine a lifetime where you don’t look perfect.

“This pounding in my head… this ache that’s making me want to lay down and die…” You shove your phone in his face and hotch attempts to not flinch at the brightness of whatever click bait wellness page you’ve stumbled across “… it said pickle juice cures hangovers… something about the acidity…”

Aaron’s arm circles around your waist and pulls you to lay on top of his chest, carefully taking your phone in the process.

“Here’s a hangover cure idea… you order some fast food… I’ll go fetch us some litre bottles of water and we’ll spend the day in bed… deal?”

Hotch hopes you give up on the pickle juice idea. He’s pretty sure there’s none downstairs and the thought of going to any kind of grocery store feeling the way he does sounds similar to walking the gates of hell. He hears your answer in the restful sigh you exhale.

“Deal…”

[sixzeroes]

take my breath.

summary | lee donghyuck did not believe in ‘love at first sight.’ key word: did. he does now, but only because you happened to fall into his arms on the icy road in the narrow streets. you’re going to render him breathless from the countless times your smile takes his breath away.

characters | lee donghyuck x reader(f).

genres | fluff, romance, slice of life, strangers-to-lovers, meet-cute au, high school au, non-idol au.

warnings | profanity, me projecting my distaste for skinny jeans sorry hyuck ily, mentions of religion (hyuck is my fav church boy), he calls reader ‘princess’ :o like once tho lol, second-hand embarrassment,, mentions of jisung liking ive’s gaeul, not proofread so it’s probs all over the place sorry :P

word count | 5.5k.

37.5MHz | take my breath by nct dream ⋆ first love by sondia ⋆ lucky by exo.

it was time i had a more shy mc in my fics 💪💪 also this is me just projecting my dream meet-cute scenario that i always wish would happen during the damned winter lol!! ty all sm for waiting for this ep, i hope u enjoy ^^ ep.03 of my candy! miniseries, but it can be read on its own!

SATURDAYS ARE FOR THE BOYS, AND WHEN THE BOYS get together, Lee Donghyuck’s entire video game setup comes out. 

Today is the second day of January, and in celebration of the New Year, Donghyuck has invited some of his closest friends over for an entire day of video games. Huang Renjun, Lee Jeno, Liu Yangyang, and Osaki Shotaro have their hands on a controller. Zhong Chenle is busy calling his girlfriend whereas Na Jaemin is immersed in a podcast about bunnies. To his left, Mark Lee is stressing over university course selections, and to his right, Park Jisung is scrolling through an unknown girl’s Instagram. 

Donghyuck, being the Donghyuck he is, scooches over to Jisung with a mischievous smile. 

“Who’s that?” he asks, startling the younger boy. “Your girlfriend?”

Jisung’s face turns red and Donghyuck wishes he had his phone right now to capture the scene. “N—No! She’s not my girlfriend—just a classmate, that’s all.” 

That’s what Jisung says, but Donghyuck can tell that something is amiss. He nudges Jisung and wiggles his eyebrows. “Then is she a crush?” 

Jisung resembles a beet. 

“She is?” the older one coos, pinching the first year’s mochi-like cheek. “What do you like about”—he pauses to read the name—“Kim Gaeul?” 

“I don’t know,” Jisung honestly responds, looking down at his unlocked phone. “She’s really pretty and good at dancing.”

“It was love at first sight,” Chenle budges in with a dreamy sigh. In his eyes, the joy of teasing sparkles. “He’s been stalking her Instagram ever since November.” 

Donghyuck scrunches his nose at Chenle’s words. “Love at first sight? You’re kidding, right?”

Jisung shakes his head. “Why would I be kidding?”

Because ‘love at first sight’ is fake, Donghyuck wants to scoff, but he decides to keep that to himself. Jisung is obviously smitten with this girl, and as his older brother figure, the last thing Donghyuck wants to do is smash his innocent feelings. He instead opts to say, “You should at least follow her Instagram.” To that, Jisung vehemently shakes his head, and the topic is dropped at once. 

Donghyuck doesn’t believe in love at first sight. To him, love is something that occurs over time, not seconds. How can someone claim they love another when all they know is what they look like and their name? There’s no depth to love at first sight, no authenticity. Perhaps he’s being antagonistic, or maybe he’s just realistic. Either way, there is no such thing as ‘love at first sight’ in Donghyuck’s dictionary, and it will be like that for the next one hundred years. 

That was him yesterday, and whoever he was yesterday is not who he is today. 

Lee Donghyuck thinks he’s fallen in love at first sight. 

The road to the local CU is short but icy, an unfortunate outcome of the repeated snowfall throughout the past few weeks. The boys had slept over after last night’s truth or dare session seeped into the early hours of today. Even now, six of them are sprawled all across his living room while Renjun is tucked into Donghyuck’s sister’s bed. Mark walks beside him, the Canadian boy lounging in a sweater and a pair of basketball shorts despite the cold weather. Compared to him, Donghyuck is donning a thick winter jacket and a wool scarf for good measure. 

“You look funny,” comments Mark, his hands finding solace in his sweater pockets. 

Donghyuck shoots him a glare. “In Korea, someone like you is more likely to be stared at than me.”

The two make their way down the sidewalk to where CU is, finding themselves lost in a heated debate on whether Overwatch or League of Legends is a better game. (Donghyuck is a firm believer in Overwatch supremacy.) Mark exasperatedly shakes his head at Donghyuck’s stance, hands gesturing all over the place as he asserts why the younger one is completely and blatantly wrong. Donghyuck, in turn, groans in vexation, his chest muddled with frustration. 

Donghyuck turns the corner. “Mark, you don’t underst—”

One moment, he’s breathing like a regular person. Half a second later, Donghyuck feels as if the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Oh great, he thinks as a body crashes into him and his arms instinctively wrap around them, what a wonderful way to start the day.

“Oh my God,” a small voice squeaks, clearly mortified at the predicament. His focus is hazy from the impact, blinking to clear his blurring gaze. “I am so, so sorry!”

Donghyuck glances at the figure in his arms and his eyes double in size. “Woah…” he mumbles, zoning out of his surroundings. 

You pull away from his embrace, pink cheeks displaying your embarrassment. You profusely bow, avoiding eye contact with the boy. “I’m so sorry about this! Uh,” you crouch to pick up the bus card you’d dropped, “sorry! And thank you for catching me. Have a great day!” 

One moment, you’re standing in front of Donghyuck and Mark. Half a second later, you’re turning the corner with great urgency. 

Mark blinks. His lips are parted in confusion but no sound leaves his mouth. It takes him a minute to absorb the fast-paced situation. Finally, he says, “What the fuck was that?”

Donghyuck grazes a hand over his pounding heart, feeling the irregular beat through the several layers of thick winter clothes. Suddenly, he’s hotter than the sun despite the freezing weather. His ears are no longer tinted pink from the cold, but rather, a shade of crimson from the encounter. There’s an exhilarating feeling in his stomach, butterflies swarming his gut. He can vaguely hear Mark call his name in the background, the older guy tapping his shoulder. 

Is this what Jisung felt like?

Did Donghyuck just fall in love at first sight? 

“Melk,” he whispers—Mark makes a face at the nickname—one hand still over his heart, “I think I’m in love.” 

Mark coughs. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“So, let me get the facts straight,” says Renjun, hands folded as he digests the contents of Mark’s retelling. “You caught some girl from falling onto the ice by basically hugging her and now you’re in love with this girl who’s name you don’t even know?” 

Donghyuck dreamily sighs. “Yeah.” 

Jaemin flops onto the ground. “I think you’re insane.” 

Donghyuck dreamily nods. “Yeah.”

The group of boys simultaneously shake their heads at Donghyuck’s lovestruck expression, (understandably) ridiculed at how smitten he is with a random girl he met on the streets. Donghyuck, on the other hand, can’t stop thinking about your flustered frame from earlier. He’s never before seen a girl as cute as you. If he was in a K-Drama, he’s certain CGI flowers would have decorated the screen. 

“Did you get a good look at her face?” asks Shotaro, invested in Donghyuck’s love life. 

The male lead smiles. “She’s so pretty.”

Yangyang whistles. “Recognise her from anywhere, maybe?”

Donghyuck’s smile falls. His head hangs low. “No. She doesn’t look like a student at our school—I would definitely remember her face if she was. She did seem to be around our age, though.” 

“If she was in our area,” says Jeno, patting his friend’s gloomy back, “there’s a chance you’ll see her again. Could be from a different block of complexes.” 

“Yeah,” Chenle chimes in, briefly looking up from his Nintendo Switch. “If she was running the opposite way, she might’ve been going to the bus stop.” 

Donghyuck perks up at that thought. “Maybe,” he excitedly murmurs. The seed of hope has begun to grow in his heart. Jeno and Chenle are right; why else would you be in this neighbourhood if you didn’t live nearby? As his friends scoot back to their respective activities, Donghyuck bites his lower lip in anticipation. 

Perhaps, he will run into you sooner than expected. 

Fate must hold a special spot in her heart for Donghyuck. 

Roughly thirty-three hours after his meet-cute with you, Donghyuck decides to go for an ice cream run with Yangyang at seven in the evening. (Renjun was going to join, but Donghyuck’s sister insisted on cuddling and being the sweet boyfriend but terrible best friend he is, Renjun happily agreed. Donghyuck is not on good terms with his younger sister anymore.) 

Yangyang rummages through the ice cream bars, searching for his go-to Seolleim. Donghyuck grabs a Nugabar and a Screwbar—he contemplates on giving one to Renjun, but ultimately decides on eating both of them instead. 

His money, Renjun’s loss. 

“Hello,” Donghyuck absentmindedly greets the cashier, placing the ice cream bars on the counter for scanning. He fishes out his card to pay, sticking the slim plastic into the machine. When the payment is complete, Donghyuck grabs his snacks and glances up to say his thanks. 

Your pretty yet exhausted smile greets him back. 

“You—!” His words are caught in his throat, taken aback at the scene before him. He tilts his ball cap from obscuring the top of his view. “The girl from yesterday!” 

Your eyebrows crinkle, adorning a puzzled expression. Then, after studying his face for a second, your eyes widen in remembrance. “Ah! The guy from yesterday!” 

(Yangyang watches from the sidelines.) 

The fatigue has now been replaced by sheer embarrassment and adrenaline from yesterday’s events, your ears burning red. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.” you apologise again, bowing for the nth time. “I hope you weren’t hurt anywhere!” 

Donghyuck rapidly shakes his head, sticking his hands up in denial. “No! No, I wasn’t hurt. Were you?”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t, thanks to you.” you softly reply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ears. “I’d like to make up for my clumsy mistake, if that’s alright. Please, take something from the store for free.” 

(Yangyang snatches a bag of shrimp crackers.) 

Donghyuck refuses. “No, it’s okay. It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway.” 

(Yangyang slowly returns the bag of shrimp crackers.) 

“Are you sure?” you ask, lips pouting. 

Donghyuck finds you irresistibly cute. He can’t believe he’s never seen you around before, with your lovely lips and charming eyes. Hell, he’s never written poetry before, but with the way his mind won’t stop illustrating your beauty, he’s bound to replace history’s best poet with ease. Lee Donghyuck is attracted to you. He wants to see you again, and again, and again. The gears in his mind spin as a fantastic idea generates in his head. 

“Maybe,” he slowly starts, scanning your face, “if you really want to make up for it, you can give me your name instead.” 

(Yangyang suppresses a shriek.) 

The red spreads from your ears and neck to your cheeks and Donghyuck thinks you’re a gift sent from God. His parents didn’t get him the PC set he’s been wanting for ages, so as retribution, the heavens sent you right into his arms. Literally. 

You tug at your sweater, averting your gaze. “Y/N,” you speak timidly. “My name is Y/N.” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Donghyuck gently grins, his heart rate accelerating at the progress he’s made. “I’m Donghyuck.” 

When you softly smile at him, Donghyuck believes he saved the world in his previous life. 

“Maybe,” Yangyang mimics to the boys, “you can make up for it by giving me your name instead.”

The crowd hollers, hounding a proud Donghyuck with pats on his back and slaps to his shoulders. 

It’s been four days since Donghyuck got your name, and he’s returned to the convenience store every evening in hopes of seeing you again. Unfortunately for him, your shifts did not align with his visits, and Donghyuck is starting to wonder if he hallucinated the entire encounter. (No, he couldn’t have; not when Yangyang continues to reenact the entire scene during their lunch breaks.) He steels himself with a slap to his left cheek. Today is Saturday, exactly one week since Donghyuck’s breath was taken away. Once again, he’s going to pop by CU around seven in the evening––this time, with Renjun, who he managed to convince as the younger Lee’s attending a student council dinner party. With Renjun shuffling behind, Donghyuck enters CU with high hopes. 

The Y/N drought instantly vanishes when he sees your figure at the cashier. You’re scanning a basket of snacks for a group of kids, laughing at their animated antics. Donghyuck is very, very close to becoming addicted to your smile.

“Renjun,” he excitedly taps the older guy, “that’s her.” He points at your figure. 

“Oh, I’ve seen her before,” says Renjun, glancing your way. “She seems to be a student at that prestigious all-girls school near ours.” 

Ah, the joy Donghyuck drowns in whenever he learns more about you (in, you know, a non-stalkerish way). “Really? How’d you know?”

Renjun browses the instant ramyun packages. “Saw her a few weeks ago with a calculus textbook on the countertop. You know, the ones specifically made by that school?”

Donghyuck does not know because he never really cared about the prestigious all-girls high school before––which was extremely disrespectful on his part for disregarding such a wonderful school with such a beautiful student. He’s jealous of the girls that attend your school, and how they’re most likely graced with your presence every day. Donghyuck would kill to see you every single day. 

His hands grab a package of Neoguri ramyun whereas Renjun picks out the classic Shin. The two of them head towards the now-empty cashier, the kids having filed out a few minutes prior.

“Oh, hello.” you grin. “Donghyuck, right?”

He passes you the package and beams. “Yeah! Nice to see you again, Y/N.”

(While Donghyuck is preoccupied with staring at your lovely face, Renjun slips his package onto the counter and you scan it as well. Donghyuck pays for both of the ramyun, but he’s too distracted to realise the extra dollar leaving his wallet.)

“Has it been busy at all?” asks Donghyuck, pulling his card out of the machine. He’s desperately searching for an excuse to linger just a little longer. Renjun finds a sudden interest for the alcoholic drinks located at the opposite side of the store. 

You shake your head. “Just a few customers here and there. It’s cold outside, so I guess everyone is staying indoors.” 

“Understandable,” the boy hums.

The convenience store falls silent, Renjun attempting to engross himself in the ingredients of soju, Donghyuck digging through his brain for another topic, you looking down at your phone for the time. It’s awkward––so awkward––that Donghyuck thinks you might never want to talk to him again. So, pulling on his big boy pants, he pops the big question. “Do you have a lover?”

Renjun chokes on his spit. Donghyuck bites down on his tongue. Your eyes widen at the unexpected inquiry. “Uh—no,” you sputter, cheeks red. “I don’t have a lover.”

“Then…” He licks his parted lips. “Can I ask you out on a date?”

The convenience store falls silent. Renjun contemplates grabbing his friend and making a run for it. Donghyuck prays to every single deity out there for a positive response. You digest his words, letting each and every syllable sink in. 

You nibble on your lower lip. “But…you don’t even know me.”

Donghyuck’s heart falls (so does Renjun’s), but he gathers hope when he catches your curious gaze. “You’re right,” he confidently states, “so I want to get to know you. I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. I think you’re really cute. Like really, really cute. I kinda fell for you when you—you know—fell into my arms. Sorta like love at first sight?” He’s rambling at this point, unveiling how desperate he is to have one chance with you. Love sure does silly things. “I mean, no pressure, though.”

Pink paints your face. You’re about to answer when a voice squeaks from behind. “Dude, move.” Annoyed, Donghyuck turns around with a glare but falters at the sight of four middle school girls. Oh. Donghyuck once lived with a middle school girl, so he knows better than to test their patience. Like a child that’s been disciplined, he obeys, scooting over to let the girls purchase their snacks. A hand grasps his wrist, tugging him away from the counter and towards the exit. 

“Hey! Renjun!” hisses Donghyuck, struggling to release himself. “What are you doing?”

Renjun steps into the cold atmosphere. “Saving you from further embarrassment. Seriously, Hyuck, what were you doing? Confessing your undying love for her on the third meeting? You don’t even know her full name!” The Chinese boy abruptly stops and Donghyuck stumbles to a halt. Renjun prods the younger’s chest. “Look, you’re being too rash. She’s clearly on the shy side, so approach her, don’t overwhelm her, okay? Don’t start panicking and blurt out random shit.”

Donghyuck purses his lips. He wants to refute but he can’t; Renjun is right. He hangs his head low, feeling a little (re: really) pathetic at how careless he had been. Impressions are important, and right now, he fears he’s left a terrible one on you. 

Renjun, obviously noticing Donghyuck’s sulky mood, adds, “You’ve still got a chance, though! From what I’ve observed, she seems to be interested in you, just extremely timid. I think, if you head back in with your thoughts organised—”

“Donghyuck!”

It takes him a second to register your voice. Donghyuck spins around, shocked to see you jogging towards him, still clad in your CU uniform. And like déjá vu, you slip on the ice, falling into his warm embrace. 

(Donghyuck could get used to this.) 

“Y/N,” he breathes, getting a whiff of your sweet scent. “Are you okay?” 

Like always, your ears are tinted red. “Uh—yes! Yes, thank you.” You balance yourself on the slippery surface. “I just wanted to give you something,” you quietly say, lifting a slip of paper. Your handwriting is scrawled on it, which Donghyuck finds effortlessly cute. “It’s my number. For, uh, you know, the date.” Your voice grows smaller at the last sentence, awkwardly avoiding his eyes. 

If Donghyuck is a dynamite, you are his lighter. 

“The—date?” he stammers, unable to believe his ears. “You’re—You—Yes to the date?” 

You gently laugh. “Yes to the date.” 

Donghyuck is on—no, above cloud nine. He plucks the piece of paper from your hands, grasping it as if it’d fly away. He cocks an eyebrow and tosses you a smirk. “I’ll text you later, princess.”

You avoid his eyes but a grin tugs at your lips. “I’ll be waiting.” With that, you give him a small wave and retreat back to the convenience store. Donghyuck watches you disappear, his heart rate breaking records. 

Renjun has one hell of a story to tell the others the next time the boys get together. 

Sunday morning, Donghyuck lays in bed as he stares at your contact in his phone. It’s been a little over twelve hours since you gave him your number, and because he’s a nervous wreck, he has yet to text you about the date. 

He ponders what sort of date would be the best. A picnic date? No, it’s too cold. A museum date? No, Donghyuck isn’t really into museums. An arcade date? No, he isn’t willing to unleash his no-showering-only-gaming side to you (yet). 

A movie date seems to be the most ideal first date, from both an objective and subjective perspective. He opens Naver, curious about the current selection of movies in theatres. Donghyuck scrolls through the list, spotting several movies he’s seen advertisements for. A particular one catches his eye—Candy, a romance-comedy movie featuring four high school boys and their entertaining love lives. He clicks on the description, intrigued by the premise. (Don’t let anyone know, but Donghyuck is a diehard romance fan.) A small smile settles on his lips. 

Donghyuck, with a vague itinerary in mind, sends you a message. 

donghyuck: hi y/n, it’s donghyuck :)

You respond almost immediately. 

you: donghyuck!! hi ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

He might overdose on your cuteness. 

donghyuck: so i was thinking of our date donghyuck: and i was wondering if ur up for a movie at the nearby lotte mall??

you: i’d love to watch a movie! which one ?

donghyuck: how does candy sound?

you: i’ve been wanting to watch that one for soo long!! 

Donghyuck proudly grins. 

donghyuck: i know it’s a little sudden, but is today at 3pm ok?? i’ll buy the tickets and everything, so just bring yourself

you: you don’t have to! i can buy the snacks

donghyuck: maybe you can pay next time ^^

Smooth, he thinks to himself. 

you: if u say so haha you: i’ll see you at three!!

Oh, Donghyuck beams, roses blooming on his cheeks. I definitely saved the world in my previous life.

Today’s look consists of a striped crewneck tucked into wide-legged slacks and a pair of black Converses. Donghyuck’s hair is neatly combed, his bangs parted to reveal a portion of his forehead. The outfit is topped off with a puffer jacket and a spritz of his father’s Dior perfume. Normally, Donghyuck would just wear a leather jacket in an all-black fashion. But Renjun, ever the style guru, emphasised the importance of looking nice on the first date. 

(Frankly, Renjun just wanted to play stylist so Donghyuck became his K-Pop idol to dress.) 

Donghyuck received a fair amount of compliments at church earlier this morning, many of his peers applauding the new look. He clearly remembers how impressed Uchinaga Aeri was, nearly shedding a tear at his lack of skinny jeans. 

(Sorry, Aeri, but Donghyuck still likes his skinny jeans and he won’t change his opinions for anyone. Not even you.)

(…Okay, maybe for you.)

(Can you tell he’s hopelessly in love?)

Despite the below zero weather, Donghyuck’s hands are sweaty and his nape is hot. It’s ten before three p.m., and he’s standing outside of the cinema, waiting for your familiar figure. With every minute that ticks by, his heartbeat jumps faster and faster. He recalls Renjun’s words. Approach her, don’t overwhelm her.

Donghyuck, to put it simply, is terrible with his crushes. He’s always had the tendency of getting ahead of himself, ultimately scaring away the girls he’d been interested in. He never means to overwhelm them, but when his own feelings are swallowing him whole, he can’t help but express his love through words and actions all at once. Donghyuck hopes you’re different; he hopes you won’t be chased away by the flood he may be. 

Three on the dot, you’re walking towards him with a bashful smile. 

“Hi, Y/N,” he gleams, absolutely elated. “You look really pretty today.”

Your smile may be shadowed by your timidity but it still outshines the sun. “Thank you, Donghyuck. You look good as well.” 

He giggles. Donghyuck giggles. “Thanks, Y/N.” Then, “I’ve bought the tickets and everything, we just need to grab some snacks. What’s your favourite popcorn?” 

“Mm,” you hum, scanning the options. “I’m fine with anything.” 

Right. Donghyuck forgot about your introverted tendencies. You’re on the shy side like Renjun had said, so he’s got to be the assertive one without, well, overwhelming you. The boy clears his throat. “How about caramel?”

You nod. “Sounds great.”

Fifteen minutes later, Donghyuck and you are seated side-by-side in the theatre, positioned near the centre of the large room. To his left are couples. To his right are couples. Behind and front? Also couples. Donghyuck catches a pair sharing a kiss and awkwardly looks away. 

He would like to kiss you right now. 

Stupid Donghyuck. Baby steps, baby steps.

He would still like to kiss you right now. 

Donghyuck lightly slaps his cheek. He’s here to woo you, not scare you away. His priority is to have you reciprocate his overflowing feelings with the same volume of love and then getting a kiss. 

The lights dim as the opening advertisements come to an end. You excitedly whisper, “The movie’s starting!” Donghyuck glances over at you, his heart stopping at how breathtaking you are. Not even the theatre could overshadow your beauty. 

The opening scene of Candy begins and he reluctantly averts his gaze back to the large screen. Your presence is difficult to ignore, but Donghyuck is not about to get caught staring like a creep. He chews on a handful of popcorn in an attempt to drown in the movie. 

Two hours later, Donghyuck is waiting in front of the restrooms, holding your bag in his hands. If anyone were to come up to him and demand an explanation for the plot of Candy from start to finish, he would simply laugh and redirect them to Namuwiki. Donghyuck doesn’t remember a single thing about the rom-com—save for the character ‘Haechan’—because he’d been too busy sneaking glimpses of your side profile. He might as well live on a ventilator from how often he loses his breath around you. 

You walk out with your hands damp, shaking them to rid the residual water. The two of you walk towards the exit and Donghyuck continues to hold your bag. He asks, “How was the movie?”

Your eyes glimmer. “It was amazing,” you sigh, dreamy. “I loved the different dynamics between the four couples and Haechan—he reminded me so much of you!” You glance at him and beam, “Haechan was…my favourite character throughout the entire film.” 

Oh. Donghyuck gulps. He’ll need to rewatch the movie. 

The time reads five twenty-two p.m., and Donghyuck’s stomach resonates with hunger. He purses his lips, browsing through his memories for a decent yet inexpensive restaurant nearby. You must’ve noticed his dilemma as you say, “Why don’t we grab ramyun at the convenience store?” You elaborate, “I forgot my calculus textbook there. Also, we’d get free food.”

Free food? No sane person would ever pass up the opportunity to eat free food. 

And so, around six in the evening, Donghyuck is sitting at the local CU with a cup of Neoguri ramyun steaming in front of him. You’ve disappeared, presumably grabbing your calculus textbook and greeting the employee of the hour. His stomach continues to perform all sorts of acrobatics, his nerves gnawing at his heart. Donghyuck has never experienced so many different emotions all at once; it’s like a tsunami has erupted within him. 

“Sorry for taking so long.” You appear with a thick textbook in your arms. With a flustered tone, you say, “My manager—she wouldn’t stop asking about you.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t hide his cheeky smile. “Really? What did she ask?” 

Your eyelashes flutter. “If—you know—if you’re my boyfriend.” You whisper the last part, barely audible enough for Donghyuck to catch. Somehow, the corners of his lips lift even more, a pair of rose-tinted glasses perched on his nose. The way you’re shyly moving about, stirring your cup ramyun, cheeks hot with rouge. Donghyuck thinks that, if a meteor were to hit the earth at this moment, he would be content living the last seconds of his life with you by his side. (Sorry to Lee Donghyuck’s family and friends, but he’s got priorities!) He’s so, so infatuated, so head-over-heels in love with a girl he’s known for less than a month. There’s a plethora of things he doesn’t know about you, but he’s willing to learn every little detail of your life. Donghyuck wants to stay in your world for as long as time permits. 

You tap his shoulder. “Donghyuck? Are you okay?” Your cup ramyun is now empty of noodles, only a small amount of soup left. “You spaced out.” 

The boy blinks. “Did I?” He ruffles his bangs, accidentally ruining his neatly-combed hair. “Sorry, Y/N. I was thinking about how I’d be happy even if the world ended right now because I’m with you.” He blinks again. He abruptly stands up, neck flushed red as he grabs the garbage strewn before him. “Sorry! Ignore what I just said.” Donghyuck nervously avoids your gaze, scurrying over to the ramyun disposal to throw out the soup and recycle the cups. When he returns to where you’re seated, he fidgets with his fingers, unable to look you straight in the eyes. “It’s, uh, getting late now. I’ll walk you home, if that’s okay?” 

Donghyuck misses the way you softly grin. “Sure. Thank you.” 

The sun has already set, a dark navy coating the night sky. Several stars pierce through the atmosphere and Donghyuck can vaguely make out the Big Dipper. His gaze naturally shifts to you who’s brighter than the stars. Even under the faded moonlight, he can clearly see the outline of your pretty features. 

Donghyuck has no clue where he’s going. He’s blindly following you, walking this cold path with you until your apartment comes into view. You haven’t said anything, which he finds a little nerve-wracking. Donghyuck, being the Donghyuck he is, decides to blurt out, “I’m sorry.” 

You continue to walk but confusion taints your face. You tilt your head, lower lip jutted out. “For what? I really enjoyed today, even if it was impromptu.” 

He shakes his head. “Not because of the sudden date. Well, I mean, I guess a little, but not really. I’m just…” he inhales sharply, “really sorry about before. How I approached you and overwhelmed you every single time. I didn’t mean to—you know—impose myself on you—”

“You didn’t!” you exclaim, breaking his ramble. In a dulcet tone, you continue, “You never overwhelmed me. I was just surprised to know that a guy was genuinely interested in me, so I wasn’t really sure how to react.” You cross a parking lot. Donghyuck follows. “I’m also terrible with human interactions but you…with you, I feel so comfortable. Don’t ask me why. I have no scientific evidence for that. But just…” You glance at him and he’s unable to tear his eyes away from your face. “I want to get to know you better.”

Donghyuck is glad you’re on the same page. “Me too,” he whispers, elated. “Every time I’m with you, I feel like my heart’s going to explode. In a good way, of course. I really, really like being around you.” I fell in love at first sight.

You stop in front of Building 301 and turn to face him. “Thank you for today, Donghyuck.” you say, voice tender. “I truly enjoyed it.” 

His breath catches in his throat. “Me too.” 

Something in you must’ve snapped as you bravely lean forwards to press a sweet kiss on his cheek. As you retreat to your spot a few inches away from him, Donghyuck’s jaw slacks in shock. You giggle at his lovestruck expression. 

“Good night, Donghyuck.”

It takes everything within him to not squeal. 

“Good night, Y/N.”

He watches your figure slip into the apartment building, giving a small wave before disappearing behind the elevator doors. Donghyuck stands rooted to his spot, hand cupping his kissed cheek while his heart runs wild. 

You kissed his cheek. 

You kissed his cheek. 

Donghyuck didn’t believe in love at first sight. It was a stupid conception, because how was someone supposed to develop feelings for a person they had no knowledge about? Donghyuck didn’t understand, and frankly, he still doesn’t. He’s not sure as to why he fell in love with you at a single glance during a chance encounter. But one thing he is sure about? 

Lee Donghyuck is confident that you’ll take his breath away every single time until he’s left unable to breathe without your presence. 

you: donghyuck!!

Donghyuck pulls out his phone at the notification, a smile immediately spreading at the sender’s name. 

you: go home alr! it’s cold outside, i don’t want you to freeze :(

donghyuck: how did you know i’m still out here?

you: i can see you from the sixteenth floor

Donghyuck looks up. The sixteenth floor is far up, but when he squints, he can see your hand shooing him away. 

donghyuck: that’s not nice, telling your date to go away

you: if u get sick rn, you can’t be my date anymore so go home and take a long hot shower!!

Donghyuck chuckles. 

donghyuck: so, more dates?

You leave him on read for one minute. 

you: only if you go home rn and warm up

Donghyuck has never looked forward to living as much as now. 

donghyuck: noted. good night, y/n :))

you: good night, donghyuck <3

Donghyuck believes in love at first sight and you are his proof. 

bonus: the aftermath.

Approximately one hundred days have passed since you and Donghyuck decided to start dating, and instead of spending the special day outside, you’re snuggled up against your boyfriend at his place, watching Hunter × Hunter on TV. Neither of his parents are home and his younger sister kindly offered to hangout with their neighbour next door. It’s quiet, save for the anime and Donghyuck’s rhythmic breathing. 

You lay your head flat against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Donghyuck strokes your head but his eyes don’t stray from the screen. 

Frankly, you’re a little jealous. 

“Hyuck,” you whine, poking his nose. He looks down at you with a puzzled face. “Give me a kiss.”

Your boyfriend laughs. “Needy, huh?”

You huff. “I want attention, so give me a kiss.”

Donghyuck chuckles, but he complies nonetheless, adjusting his position so his lips can graze yours. You hum into the kiss, your thumb drawing circles on his cheek. 

It’s amazing how easily he takes your breath away.

© NABI (2023); ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

taglist | @matchahyuck @lovehowdream @niinjo @jeonnyread @pckeia @dandelionxgal @huangstape @lemarkjun @mosviqu @neosdaisy @hayven-cov @toothfa-1-ry

[goldustwomun]

false god (e.m.)

pairing: eddie munson x best friend! fwb! reader

summary: sleeping with your best friend was never a good idea, and though he’s confessed his feelings to you, they were feelings he felt for an entirely different girl. 

warnings: some smut-type-spicey stuff! angst!! a whole lotta swearing because i just loved dropping the f-bombs; some l-bombs again because reader is entirely infatuated with our boy eddie; mentions of drugs and smoking and drinking xx err also possibly ooc eddie because it’s my first time writing him (second time writing so be kind)

wc: 3.2k+

note: this wrote itself, i have no regrets :) entirely inspired by the t swizzle song & it’s unedited for now because I just want it out in the world and my brain hurts too much to read it over xx but likes & reblogs are much appreciated <3 love u alllll 

read part two - part three

The two of you were never a done deal. There was no handshake, no whispered promise, no exchange of blood under a full moon. It’d only ever been stolen moments that were brushed aside as slip-ups. Blame placed on the drink, the drugs, the look in each other’s eyes. 

How was he meant to resist when you walked into his trailer in that tiny skirt, lips pouting and talking a mile a minute? He was a patient man, sure, had to be when just about everyone treated him like some kind of satanic ‘freak’. But you’d talk, and talk, and talk, and as much as he loved to hear you talk, sometimes (most of the time), he’d lean over and shut you up with his mouth instead of hearing just how much you hated whatever misogynistic prick you’d seen on TV that day.

It was the same with you. How were you meant to keep your hands, your lips off of him and his skin when he smiled at you in that crazed way he always did? With his constantly-flourishing hands and his ability to look at you for not even a minute before he’d deciphered what it was that had been bugging you since you’d woken up. 

To everyone else, Eddie Munson was the guy who was probably in a cult, listened to the devil’s music, smelled of pot (always), and was exactly the kind of guy mother’s warned their daughters about. He wore leather and chains and had tattoos you loved to trace when you were in bed together.

Eddie Munson was all of these things, and more, to most of Hawkins. 

Yet to you – you were certain he’d be the only man you’ll ever love. 

Now you know you’re young, somewhat naive to the world, and definitely haven't lived enough of life to make such profoundly passionate claims. 

But somewhere deep down in your heart, in your soul, in your very being – you knew it to be true. That it would always be Eddie. 

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. 

And the worst part of it all, the real irony of it, was that you’d yet to find the courage to say just that to him, and though he’d said it to you, he’d been talking about someone else. 

“It’s Chrissy, babe. I’m telling you – she’s the one!” 

He’d been gushing non-stop since he’d fallen into step beside you, arms swinging with such dramatic ease that you had to duck occasionally just to avoid getting hit. “I don’t know why now. It’s not like we’ve ever talked, not since middle school, at least. And yes, yes, I know what you’re going to say– she’d never be into me. But I’m telling you, she is, she has to be – I just know it.”

He stopped, finally, hands landing on your shoulders to turn you towards him. Eddie Munson smiled down at you, waiting, panting, expectantly, to hear just how happy you were that your best friend had found the one. 

You could only offer him a tight smile and an encouraging squeeze of his bicep before you shrugged him off of you, stepping past him. The ground looked oddly enchanting, what with all of the dirt, and twigs, and stomped-on bugs. You couldn’t get enough of it, really. Well, you couldn’t get enough of anything that’d distract you from the frown that had replaced Eddie’s previous grin. 

He didn’t say anything, only walked beside you, having understood that if he pried, you’d only lash out. And while those fights and arguments usually ended with him inside of you and you screaming his name to oblivion, he had a feeling this time wasn’t like the rest. 

It wasn’t until you made it to his Uncle’s trailer that he finally spoke again. Shoving himself between you and his bedroom door so that you couldn’t avoid the conversation – the catastrophic explosion, more like – any longer. 

“What’d I do?” he asked, confident it was the right route to take. If it was anyone else you were upset with, it was Eddie you’d go to, to rant and complain and curse out. So he knew, if it wasn’t anyone else, it had to be him who’d fucked up. He just didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. 

“It’s nothing, Ed,” you brushed off, trying, failing, to push past him. When he didn’t budge, you sighed, glaring up at him and his stupidly endearing curly head of hair. “I’m serious. It’s nothing, just move out of the way.”

“Why?” Eddie wasn’t usually this pushy, but this time around, he stood defiantly at the door frame. 

“Why? Because I want a fucking smoke, Ed. What’s wrong with you?” The anger was building, he could see it buzzing under your skin as your nostrils flared at him in annoyance. That was good, though. Some emotion, even the bad kind, was better than whatever apathetic bullshit you were currently trying to feed him. 

“You’re not gonna get a smoke until you tell me what’s wrong!”

“I told you– nothing! For fuck’s sake–”

“It’s obviously not nothing if you’re fucking shouting at me, now is it!”

“Whatever Munson. Keep your drugs.” You shook your head, fists clenched like you were readying yourself to punch him right in his face (the face you hated to adore), but instead you spun your heel, snatched your bag off of the pathetic excuse of a kitchen table, and hauled ass out of the door. 

“Hey, hey hey!” He rushed at you from behind, slamming the trailer door shut before you’d even had a chance to think about how irrational you were acting. You think it might be your body’s way of getting you to confess, to just tell him. “God! Stop acting like such a brat. Just tell me, I’m not here to judge you, you know that’s not me!”

You knew you were being unreasonable, you knew he’d know something was wrong, and you knew Eddie was just the person to pry it out of you. You were just afraid of what it’d do to the two of you. 

You were glaring holes into the dented metal of the door, knowing the only way out was the truth. 

“It’s Chrissy,” you said, though your voice was barely above a whisper.

“What?” he asked, still confused by your outburst.

“Chrissy.”

“Babe, I can’t hear you if you mumble you words like tha–”

“It’s fucking Chrissy, Munson, you fucking moron! Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy!” you shouted, finally, right in his face. 

And you laughed at how dumbstruck he looked, because you could tell he knew where this conversation was headed. It was a road you’d both avoided for months now, ever since the lines of friends and more had started to blur. 

“Chrissy? I– What? Why Chrissy? What’d she do to you?” You flinched at the concern in his voice, hated that he cared so damn much for you. But you had to remind yourself that care and concern didn’t equate love, and you loved Eddie Munson but he’d never love you back. 

“She didn’t do anything. It’s– She’s– Fuck! Eddie, I don’t want to talk about this!” you cried indignantly, hands flying to hide the emotions so blatantly apparent on your face. He could read you like his favourite book and you needed to rip some pages out before he got too far. 

“Then what do you want to do?” His voice was raw, rough and achingly soft. Eddie’s hands moved to pull your own away from your face, pinching your chin harshly between his fingers so you looked him in the eye. “What do you want to do, babe?” 

Sure, you were looking at him and he was looking at you, but Eddie’s gaze was blatantly trained on your mouth as you gaped up at him, now dumbstruck yourself. 

“You,” you breathed into the slowly shrinking space between your bodies. “I want to do you.”

It was all he needed to hear before he’d crashed right into you. Eddie wasn’t the most useful member of society. He hadn’t yet graduated high school, didn’t have a job, and spent most of his time with fourteen year olds that could probably pass for twelve. But sex, and even more so, sex with you – he knew how to do that, was really good at doing it, as well. 

“That’s it sweetheart, melt right into me,” he urged into your ear, hands shifting from your face, to squeezing your hips, to the heated back of your thighs before he pulled you closer, forcing you to jump into his hold, lock your legs tightly around his waist. 

He walked blindly to his room, one of his hands stretched out to steady the both of you because he couldn’t quite convince himself to tear his lips from your neck long enough to see where he was going. 

“Fucking– fuck!” he cursed when he bashed his hip into the door handle, only for the same offender to jab into your side. You whined into his mouth, brows furrowing in pain, but his fingers rubbed circles into your skin to soothe the ache. 

“I’m sorry, baby, I know– I know, it hurts. But I’m going to make you feel better, yeah?” His voice had dropped into that register that always had your thighs squeezing shut. You could feel his words right down to the pit of your stomach.

 “That’s it. That’s my girl. Isn’t this so much better than fighting?” he asked sweetly, lifting your little dress off of your body before running his warm lips across the top of your breasts. 

“Eddie, please,” you managed to whimper out between gasps and moans. You couldn’t wait, not this time. You need him now, hard and fast, before the spell breaks. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he hushed, then giggled quietly to himself in the midst of stripping his clothes off. “That’s what you’re going to be saying very soon.”

You tugged at his hair for his cockiness, manoeuvring around him to push him back on the bed. “I want to be on top,” you stated firmly, unhooking your bra and slipping your panties down your legs. They were shaking with anticipation but your movements were practised; confident enough that he didn’t notice.

It was only when you picked his discarded band tee from off of the floor that his smile dropped, watching you with pinpointed fascination. He leaned up on his arms to get a better look at you, standing, naked, in his shirt that barely reached midway of your thighs. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, hand snaking down his own body to palm at his growing prick. “You’re killing me here.”

“That’s the hope, Munson.”

Climbing onto the bed, knees resting on either side of his hips, you gave into the urge. Your fingertips traced the ink, stark against his flushed skin, across his chest, admiring how it puffed out towards you with every deep pant of his. “Sweetheart, please,” he begged, words barely forming at his lips. 

You were sat, bare, right on top of where he needed you, and as much as you wanted to get on with it, you relished in the feeling. In the feeling of him needing you, wanting you, for just a few more minutes.

Eddie, of course, wasn’t as patient. Not when you were in his shirt, in his bed, skin on display. You were entirely his, in that moment, and he was going to make you remember it. With an easy back of his hips, he had the two of you flipped as your back collided hard with his mattress. He grinned down at you, teeth flashing that deadly smile that told you, you were in for it. 

“I thought I was the one in charge here?” he mocked, caging you in with his arms. Eddie leaned down until his face was barely inches away from your own, hot breath mingling with your own. You leaned up, trying to capture his lips but he moved back in time to avoid the fated collision. 

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled, staring so deeply into you, you were worried you’d combust right then and there. Spill all your secrets and beg for mercy later, after he’d fucked you. “Do you want me?” 

It was the stupidest question you’d ever heard. He knew it. You knew it. But you answered anyway, your words wreaking desperation. “Yes, Eddie, please. I want you, so fucking bad.” 

“Why are you upset with Chrissy?”

You didn’t think you’d heard him right. It was like a needle scratching against a record player as the spinning stopped, and suddenly, all you wanted was out of his arms. “Fuck you, Eddie Munson,” you whispered curelly, shoving him off of you as you scrambled across the ground to shove your underwear up your legs, your dress over your arms. 

He didn’t stop you this time, only watched you clutch your things in your shaking hands as you sprinted out of his room, out of the trailer, and most worryingly, out of his life. 

You avoided the man known as Eddie Munson like a plague you weren’t too eager to catch. You hid in the girl’s bathroom during lunch, took the long way home or begged Nancy for a ride, even skipped out on work for a week, feigning illness. 

The problem, of course, was Eddie knew your routine, and your plan B for these exact situations, so it didn’t take long for him to catch-up with you after you slipped-up and returned to your usual walk home. 

He stood under a tree, looking entirely calm, cool, and collected. Of course, you could tell he was shitting bricks. That it was a facade he had put up because there were other people on the suburban street you lived on, and he wasn’t looking to draw unwanted attention. 

“Can we talk?” he asked, grabbing your elbow as you walked by him so you turned to face him. He pulled the pair of you deeper into the grove of trees when you refused to answer him, instead staring blankly at a spot on his chest. 

“I fucked up. I know I did. I shouldn’t have brought Chrissy up and–”

“Don’t say her name,” you insisted, cutting him off. “In front of me, at least, just don’t say her name. It makes me want to rip my skin off my bones every time I hear it come from your mouth. So don’t.” There was venom in your voice he hadn’t ever heard before, and he worried he’d slipped you the vial. 

“Baby, please, I need you to tell me. I’m worried about you, about us.” He was entirely earnest when he spoke. Eddie had a knack of being the most genuine person you’d met.

“There’s no ‘us’, Eddie. There never was, and there sure as hell isn’t one now.”

“What are you talking about? Things were fine! They were good! I thought you were enjoying yourself because I sure was!”

“I wasn’t just enjoying it, Eddie. I loved it!” you fired back. “I loved you! Fuck– I love you.” The admission hurt even more as your voice cracked. Eddie’s lips moved around words that weren’t quite making it out of his mouth as he stared at you, slack jawed. You relished in the satisfaction of doing the unexpected, leaving people so completely shocked and surprised by your every move.

But in that moment – a moment you had dreamed tirelessly of, when you’d admit your feelings to one Eddie Munson and the two of you would be forever – the confusion on Eddie’s face wasn’t something you took pride in then. 

“I didn’t know,” he confessed himself, reaching out for your hand that lay limp at your side. You pulled back immediately, not trusting yourself. 

“I know you didn’t. You’re too kind of a person to go on and on about another girl you think is the one, in front of the girl who actually loves you.” You hated saying it, but it was true. Eddie, despite the town’s best efforts to disprove, didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was annoyingly good, even when he was being an oblivious prick. 

“It doesn’t matter, Eddie. Not anymore. I’m tired, really fucking tired, actually. And I know you don’t love and trust easily, so I know, as your friend, best friend, fuck buddy – whatever we were, that she’s good for you.” The tears were falling freely now and you were sure the place in your chest reserved for your heart was nothing but a decaying pit of black. It hurt, but you knew he was too selfless to let you go himself. 

Wiping aggressively at your tears, you continued, having rehearsed the speech in your head, over and over again, the past week. 

“If Chrissy is what you want– who you want, I mean. I’m not going to stop you. I can’t. Not when I’ll be second to her on your list when you’ve always been the whole damn universe to me. It’ll be hard, because I know you need help with Spanish and fixing the lightbulb in your room – but I can find you another tutor and write down the instructions, so don’t worry about it, yeah? 

It’ll be hard for me, too, but I have Nancy, and Steve, and Robin, and I know they’re your friends as well but we’ll make it work– schedule times to see them separately, or whatever and–”

“Stop talking,” he interrupted abruptly, hands flying to fist his hair as he paced in front of you. “Fuck! Why does it sound like you’re breaking up with me? You’re acting like we’ll never see each other!”

“I don’t think you heard me right, Ed. I love you. Like fucking fireworks and cupcakes and ‘I do’s’. I can’t just be friends with you anymore.”

“Why not? We’ll make it work, like you said, but I can’t not see you, I mean you’re my best friend and what if I lose the instructions for the lightbulb or something, then what? I’m not the smartest, you know that, I’d definitely write my grocery list on that same paper and toss it in the trash or something–”

“Because it hurts, Eddie, it fucking hurts,” you breathed out. You grabbed his hand, resting it against your chest, right above where your heart was currently pounding, threatening to burst free from the confines of your body. “It hurts when I look at you because I know you don’t love me like that. Not now, not ever. We fooled around with each other, and maybe it was a mistake, but we did it anyway, and now I’m in too deep, Ed.” 

For the first time in your friendship, Eddie Munson looked afraid. Eyes wide, nostrils flaring, fingertips gripping the soft material of your shirt. He was afraid because he didn’t know how to fix the mess laid out before him, and his usual methods were moot. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” he repeated again, finally, letting go of you as he stumbled back.

“I know you didn’t, Ed, I know it. You did your best– you were the best friend a person could ever ask for, and I don’t regret a thing.”

It was all you could say before you left him in the clearing, surrounded by dirt, twigs, crushed-up bugs and the pieces of your breaking heart. 

You weren’t one to pray, never having believed in a God of any kind, but even if it was some false God with minimal powers and few believers – you prayed he took care of your Eddie Munson. You prayed Eddie Munson made it out. 

Likes & Reblogs are much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed x

[coconutcordiale]

hi! congratulations on 500!!🥳✨

could i request roommates with rooster for the bingo if it hasn’t been taken already? 🤍

you taste just like sundays (dripping off my tongue)

pairing- rooster x female!reader

warnings- 18+ minors DNI, dom bradley, oral (m receiving), degradation kink, probably not a good idea to fuck your roommate if i'm being honest but live ur life, the ‘miles teller is a mean dom so let’s pretend rooster is too’ club unites at dawn (or whenever I get around to posting this)

length- 3.3k

an- thank you so much!!! i'm sorry this took so long :( and of course apologies if this is not your thing i just run away in wild directions with these prompts

500 follower celly prompts are done yay! only took me over a month 🙃

title from u taste like sundays by łaszewo. i thought it was funny because i'm immature

You’re debating the merits of Kodiak Cakes versus Eggo frozen waffles on a late-night shopping run when you hear your name coming from a familiar voice.

You try not to tense up, but the smile on your face feels like plastic when you turn around to see the blonde. “Justin, hi.”

“I can see why you didn’t want me to come in last night.”

You pause. That’s one hell of a greeting.

Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you let the freezer door slam shut, a gush of cold air raising the hair on your arms. “What?”

He gives a pointed look towards Bradley, who wandered from you moments before Justin waltzed up, still in his uniform. “Didn’t take you for a tag chaser.”

You fight the sudden urge to roll your eyes obnoxiously.

“He’s my roommate,” you respond through gritted teeth.

At least you know for sure you made the right call to not sleep with Justin last night after your mediocre date, no matter how frustrated you’ve been lately, no matter how much he reminds you of a poor woman’s Austin Butler.

He may be pretty, but he's still a dick.

Given that you don’t actually know Austin Butler, you can only hope he’s less of a dick than this guy.

Justin scoffs, “Sure, he is.”

You didn’t mind Justin’s cocksureness when you first met him in line at your favorite coffee shop, liked it even. He paid for your iced oat milk latte, forward and confident in a way only men who always got what they wanted could be.  

When he brought up taking you to dinner, it hadn’t even been a question, not really. You were surprised at how much you didn’t hate the inevitability that existed in his suggestion, like he always knew you’d say yes.

But then, he spent the entire date talking about himself, hardly letting you get a word in edgewise, and had the audacity to get angry when you didn’t invite him into your bed. So, now, you kind of want to wring his neck, twisting until the last bit of his undeserved, obnoxious pride is depleted from his annoyingly muscled body.

“Is this the fruit you like for your smoothies?” Bradley asks, oblivious, as he ambles back up to you with a red bag boasting tropical fruit blend on the front.

When you don’t answer, too busy grinding your teeth together and imagining what it'd be like to knee this overgrown frat boy in the balls, Bradley looks up from the bag, spine straightening as he clocks the tension between you and Justin.

“Hey man,” your mustached roommate says slowly, carefully, extending a hand towards Justin. “I’m Bradley.”

Justin stares at the outstretched hand in disgust and it drops back to Bradley’s side. You finally give in to the urge to roll your eyes.

The thing is the last couple of guys you slept with were so courteous, so sweet, so nice. They were barely a cut above adequate, leaving you with an itch to scratch, discontent trembling beneath your skin.

By the time you ran into Justin, you were embarrassingly ready for someone bolder. Someone a little more confident, a little more willing to take charge.

Someone a little more like Bradley, your mind supplies.

Shut up, you shouldn’t even know that, you tell it.

Unfortunately for you and your imagination, you do, in fact, know that Bradley would likely check every box that you’re looking for. The thin walls of your shared apartment ensured that months ago.

Lies to yourself aside, two minutes into a bruschetta appetizer with Justin, you had realized he was likely only going to take charge in disappointing, selfish, and unsatisfying ways.

“Don’t waste your time with her,” Justin tells him, acid dripping from every syllable. “She’s a fucking cock tease.”

Bradley’s eyes flash in anger, the bag crinkling audibly as he takes out his ire on frozen fruit. “You sure that’s something you want to have said to me?”

You watch Justin size him up, probably noting the couple of inches your roommate has on him.

“She’s not worth this shit,” he spits before turning on his heel to stalk out of the aisle.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight for a moment when he leaves, ignoring Bradley’s eyes on you. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bradley nods tersely, silently following you to the checkout line, waffles forgotten.

+

“That’s the guy you had over last night?” Bradley asks finally when you two make it back home and are busy putting things away, disdain ringing clear through the apartment.

“No, I didn’t let him come up,” you snap, knowing it comes out a little harsher than your roommate deserves. “He called me a cock tease, remember? Because apparently letting him buy me dinner means I’m supposed to put out.”

He puts his hands up in defense. “Sorry.”

The silence stretches out awkwardly between you, the refrigerator humming as you try to focus all your attention on the absurd number of cereal boxes in the pantry.

“It just sounded like you were having a good time when I got home last night,” he mumbles.

You freeze, wondering if it’s possible to will a blush back down your body. How did you not hear him come in last night?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rooster,” you manage a flippant tone you don’t feel at all, continuing to move things around the cupboard haphazardly.

“Didn’t mean to overstep,” he says innocently, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter across from you in your tiny galley kitchen. “I’m not judging, more impressed, didn’t know you were such a player. Going out with one guy, calling another over after.”

“I didn’t,” you defend without thinking, and you immediately want to slap your hand over your mouth.

You can feel the heat of his body at your back now, and silently will your hands to stay steady as you organize cereal boxes.

The man is such a slut for Shredded Wheat. He’s probably the only person keeping them in business at this point.

You wish you didn’t find his penchant for shitty cereal as endearing as you do.

“Oh?” He says, but there’s a shift in his tone, voice at least a couple of octaves lower now. “So, you didn’t booty-call some guy named Bradley after you kicked blondie to the curb?”

Your mouth drops open in shock. What a little shit.

You exhale shakily, knowing there’s no way you can fight the pink rising to your cheeks now. “I don’t know what you thought you heard—”

“Don’t be like that, princess,” he rumbles in your ear, sending chills all the way down your spine. “Next you’re gonna tell me it was just a dream.”

You bite your lip. How could he possibly know that was the excuse you were going to try?

He chuckles, something wicked lighting up his coffee-colored eyes as he turns you around and backs you against the counter, pulling boxes out of your hands and tossing them in the pantry without looking. “Fine, I’ll bite. What did you dream about?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” you whisper, refusing to meet his eyes.

Unfortunately for your dwindling self-control, this puts your gaze right at his chest where his flight suit is partially unzipped, tan skin glowing against his black undershirt.

It’s clear he’s taunting you now. “That so? Have those dreams about me a lot?”

You furrow your brows. It’s hard to think with him this close, the spice of his aftershave muddling your senses. “That’s…not what I meant.”

“I have those ‘dreams’ about you too. Never knew you felt the same, or I might’ve said something before.”

You’re torn between elbowing him in the ribs for his obvious air quotes and dropping to your knees at the sheer dominance he’s exuding that threatens to choke you in this tiny kitchen.

Bradley must sense your hesitation because his fingers begin rubbing soothing circles at the pulse points on your wrists.

“I could tell you what I did after I heard your gorgeous voice moaning my name,” he offers, gently, softer than you expect, given he’s spent the last five minutes barely holding back his amusement.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He trails a hand up your side, leaving goosebumps underneath the thin material of your t-shirt. “Was hard as a fucking rock, baby, you sounded so beautiful. Came in my fist thinking about how wet you must’ve been dreaming about me.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” you admit, still quiet.

He smirks at that. “I know.”

Glaring at him, there’s an accusation lacing your words. “You also knew I didn’t sleep with him last night.”

You want to smack the smug look right off his rosy cheeks when he agrees, “He doesn’t look like a Bradley.”

You don’t, though, eyes drifting to where your hands are trapped against the counter, Bradley’s weight pinning you still.

“I know what you need,” he murmurs, voice like caramel in your ears.

“And what’s that?” You fire back with a strength you don’t feel, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control over this situation that’s rapidly spiraling.

Bradley is unphased by your attitude. “I think you know, otherwise you’d have invited him up here.”

You remain defiantly silent, hoping your expression remains blank. His mouth twitches upwards as he sees right through you.

“Why didn’t you let him come up, baby?”

You avert your eyes, uncomfortable under his intense gaze because directed at you, you’ve never seen his eyes quite like this.

Bradley isn’t exactly known for being even-keeled, his temper often flaring as he lets people get under his skin. But he’s never been like that with you, never stared at you with anything but puppy dog brown eyes.

Until now.

Now, there’s a fire lighting them up. A fire you always assumed was reserved for flying multi-million-dollar airplanes or arguing with Jake Seresin.

Despite that, his voice is eerily calm when he hooks a finger under your chin, forcing your attention upwards. “Answer me, princess.”

“Knew he couldn’t give me what you can.”

Pink lips quirk up fully at that. “And how would you know that? Heard me before?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks in answer, and you find yourself fighting the urge to duck your head again.

“Did that make you jealous, baby?”

You let out a small breath and gather the last of your courage. “A little. Mostly just made me wet.”

Bradley unleashes a dry chuckle that has you running hot and cold with embarrassment before he speaks again, low and gravelly.

“Better than me. Makes me fucking angry,” he grumbles in your ear. “The thought of that idiot’s hands on you.”

It’s finally your turn to smirk, although it feels a little weak in the face of his intensity. “It’s a good thing I’ve always kept my dates away when you were home then, huh?”

Bradley’s mouth presses together in a hard line, expression turning to stone. You know you shouldn’t be proud of the way his grip tightens on your wrists, the way his nostrils flare in irritation. You take advantage of his momentary lapse to switch your positions, pressing him back against the counter.

You want nothing more than to get your mouth on him and drive every memory of other girls from his mind. You weren’t lying when you said you weren’t jealous at the time, but you can’t help the competitive part of you that wants him to know he won’t find anyone else like you.

Before you can, he grabs you by the elbows, pulling you to him for a filthy kiss. Your first kiss.

Huh.

You want to laugh, suddenly, that you were ready to have your mouth well acquainted with his cock before you even got to kiss him.

Bradley sucks in a sharp breath once you break away from his lips, eyes pools of black as he notices you trying to move to the floor. “Gonna get on your knees and take care of me?”

“Well, I have to make sure you forget those girls somehow,” you tease, sliding your hands across his abs as you shift downwards.

“If I had thought for a second I could have you instead they never would’ve made it past the front door.”

You roll your eyes at him for patronizing you but busy yourself tugging down the zipper of his flight suit instead of saying something that’ll get you in trouble.

Mouthing at his hardening cock over his boxer briefs, your fingers toy with his waistband but don’t pull them down. You’re fighting back a giggle, giddy and feeling pretty proud of yourself as you listen to his breath catch, as you see his hands grip the counter behind him.

When he opens his mouth there might as well be ice in his breath, a warning in his tone that sends shivers straight to your core. “Don’t tease me, baby, you’ll regret it.”

You acquiesce, pressing your lips together to hold in a smile, thinking it’ll go unnoticed but Bradley’s eyes flare anyways.

“Was gonna be sweet to you,” he drawls. “But I don’t think that’s what you want. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be trying to rile me up.”

Your eyes are stuck on where he strains against his black briefs, words becoming harder and harder to form the longer you perch on the tile floor.

He runs a strong finger across your jaw and you swallow hard in anticipation. “Harder to tell me than it is to push and try my patience, isn’t it?”

All you can manage is a tiny nod.

“Answer me,” Bradley says again, but this time the words are harsh, steel bracing his tone. "Use your words, princess."

You bite your lip, trying not to moan at the hand he’s busy tangling in your hair. He notices, because of course he does, and tugs, pulling the words from you.

“No, sweet is not what I want,” you whisper, blinking up at him slowly.

He grins at that, and you shudder at how mean, how mischievous that expression looks.

Bradley grabs your hands, placing them on his thighs. “Pinch here if it’s too much. If any of it’s too much.”

You raise your eyebrows at him but nod again, more confident this time, licking your lips eagerly.

The bastard laughs. You’re a little sheepish at the way the sound makes you clench around nothing.

“Should’ve known you’d be desperate for a cock in your throat.”

You try not to shift too obviously at his words, unable to stay still as you ignore your own need.

He pulls himself out and your eyes widen at the sight. Your first thought is how sore your jaw is going to be tomorrow.

Your second is that you do not care one bit as long as you get your mouth on him immediately.

Unmoved by the impatience playing itself out across your forehead, Bradley’s other hand goes back to your chin, thumb roughly pushing in to pry your lips apart. You hollow your cheeks around his finger, fluttering your lashes and making a show of it, pride swelling in your chest when he groans.

Your mind has all but turned off as his thumb retreats so he can replace it with his cock, and your tongue darts out to lick his slit, following down to drag across the vein on the underside.

The hitch in his breath almost makes you regret your hands frozen in place on his muscular thighs, lamenting letting him take the lead completely, fire burning deep within you to take him apart with your mouth.

There’s always next time.

Next time, you think wildly, hoping to whatever higher power there’s an unlimited number of next times that’ll make permanently altering your friendship worth it.

Meeting his eyes, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen them, and you can’t help the muffled whimper that leaves you as you feel him sliding deeper, relaxing your jaw as best as you can as he builds a steady rhythm.

It’s probably better like this anyways; lips stretched around his thick length, spit pooling messily at the corners of your mouth, tears forming as he presses himself in, in, in, choking you.

It’s got to be better like this; on your knees, Bradley’s fingers tangled in your hair, your panties ruined where slick pools between your thighs, each thrust driving every remaining thought from your head.

It’s definitely better like this; Bradley fucking your mouth with abandon and making you take it, watching the sinful curl of his lips through blurry, glassy eyes, the struggle to breathe settling something that’s been aching in the back of your brain for months now.

“Not gonna last very long,” he warns, hand drifting down to the front of your neck, hips stuttering ever so slightly when he feels the bulge of his cock there.

That’s hot as fuck, you think hazily amidst the fuzz inside your head. Whether it’s the fact that he can see himself in your throat, the lack of oxygen going to your head, or him being on the edge so quickly - you don’t know.

You don’t care. Nothing exists beyond the weight of his cock on your tongue, his rough thrusts in and out making your clit beg for attention.

“The way you look right now—fuck, you were made to be on your knees with my cock in that pretty mouth, weren’t you, baby?”

It should be demeaning, but all it does is make you press your thighs together to quell the heat lighting itself through you, searching for some sort of relief.

Bradley shifts back until the tip is left in, only the distressed whine you let out keeping him from pulling out completely. You push back down, as much as you can with him still holding on tight.

His jaw slackens in surprise, a groan rumbling from his chest. “Greedy little slut, aren’t you? Gonna take all of me, want my cum down your throat?”

All you can manage is a pathetic mewl in response, eyes desperate and pleading.

Rhythm faltering, he pumps into your mouth just a few more times before cumming with a shudder. Your hands flex against the green material beneath them as you swallow around him, salt on your tongue.

“You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, a fucking wet dream,” Bradley pants after he’s ridden out his high, pulling you up from the floor and against his chest.

In a show of brute strength, he hooks his arms under your legs and carries you swiftly across the short distance to your room, laying you down on your soft baby blue comforter. You’re so taken aback that you don’t even think to complain about him wearing his gross flight suit in your bed.

His chest is still rising and falling rapidly as he arranges you next to him and frustratingly does not touch anywhere that Jesus wouldn’t approve of, instead massaging your sore knees with affectionate, gentle sweeps of his fingers.

You’re trying not to rub your thighs together too obviously, trying to give him time to recover without letting the need thrumming through you take over.

Bradley drops a kiss on your forehead and rolls over to the other side of the bed. “Alright, baby, goodnight.”

Your jaw, even sore as it is already, drops in surprise, outrage plain as day on your face as you grab his shoulder in protest. When you roll him back over to you, he’s shaking with silent laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Bradley coos, condescension filling the air between you as he presses you back onto the pillows, thumbs moving to smooth out the angry lines on your face. “Hope you slept in this morning, it’s gonna be a long night.”

[mamawasatesttube]

what would u say it takes for a fic to get kon's tone correctly? or like. what things do u feel make the tone Wrong? (if u can put it into words ik this is a very vague question LMAO)

so in essence you are asking me to distill kon as a character. i will attempt to do this, but preemptively be warned i will likely be rambling.

there are a few things about kon that always stand out to me. i draw a lot on sb94 for his overall character, with sb11 and adventure comics to guide his character arc. to me, he is, in no particular order:

incredibly smart

but exceedingly hard on himself,

and prone to self-deprecation.

silly and goofy! a geek-ass loser!!

full of joie de vivre!

deeply, deeply passively suicidal.

quick to anger (mostly when younger)

but even quicker to cool off and apologize if necessary.

too quick, even. very forgiving of anything done to him, no matter how fucked up, if he thinks the person is genuinely sorry.

kind. kind. kind. kind. he wants to believe in everyone.

prone to naivety, because of it. (again, especially when younger.)

ready and willing to destroy himself if it helps someone else even a little bit. a bleeding heart that maybe bleeds too much.

deeply, deeply caring. about everyone. especially the folks nobody else really cares about.

pretty introspective (post-death and resurrection).

passionate. he does not do anything by halves.

haha silly!!! jokester!!! star trek time!!! wahoo!!!

so as you can see, he is a character built on contradiction. he loves life, but he's been suicidal since day one. he's a lot smarter than anyone, including himself, gives him credit for - he might not be the best strategist out there, but his creativity and ability to think on his feet are phenomenal! he's deeply kind to the core and yet worries about who he is, because he can't see himself how anyone else does. i could go on. it's about the contradictions - the kontrast, if you will.

in terms of fic writing, character voice, and tone: imagine a boy in the basement of a fucked up science lab surrounded by the frozen-in-stasis corpses of his twelve would-be brothers, the clones before him that didn't pan out. he is white-knuckling his gloves. he is repeating to himself, but i stay silly :3!! but i stay silly :3!! but i stay silly :3!! but i stay--

this, too, is about the kontrast. denial and humor are his best friends and his favorite coping mechanisms.

to me, i guess a fic gets kon right if it understands he is an unreliable fucking narrator. he's incredibly repressed. he just denies it all and pretends he's fine because he can joke it off. he stays silly!! X3!! but he's a genuinely sweet and thoughtful guy. he does all the farm chores for ma kent without being asked, loves his dog, has nightwing merch (a zine, specifically, from the looks of it) in his room, and physically is incapable of shutting up about star trek. he's a geek. he's silly. he's loving. he's deeply sad. he's a walking talking identity crisis.

also wrt fic writing. i mean i know saying this is a lost cause because anyone bothering to read a long post about kon isn't the kind of person writing fics that don't actually treat him as his own character, but. he is not fucking scared of bruce wayne oh my god. i will forever yell about these pages from sb94 #85 aka what might be my fav issue in the entire run:

he doesn't stand for anyone being unjust, even if it's his bestie's mentor who he respects a lot!! even if he's a little nervous he tells bruce off and demands better from him!!! (granted, i also think this is some of my least favorite bruce writing ever - i don't like him sounding like a kkk manifesto someone hit find and replace on when he talks about metas, and i don't for the life of me understand why so many of his "fans" continue to eat that up and then shit it out in the year 2023, but that's getting off topic.)

ALSO. HE LOVES AND RESPECTS CLARK SO FUCKING MUCH. that's another thing fics get wrong. he does NOT resent clark for "not being around" and he does NOT tolerate anyone talking shit about him!! clark is his favorite guy. he idolizes him!! yes, he's sometimes sad about wanting to be closer to him, but never communicates this (and, again, this is also an editorial mandate). if kon was going to blame anyone for their relationship not being what he wants it to be, IT IS HIMSELF!!!! he does this literally on page in sb94, when he finds out clark has a secret identity and isn't superman all the time. he blames himself for not being someone superman would have wanted to confide in sooner. he is REALLY GOOD at blaming himself for things. he would never in his LIFE blame clark.

in conclusion. please enjoy this incredibly roumd krypto snoozing next to him in lena luthor's house. thank you for your time ♥

[yanderecrazysie]

i love ur yan kokichi omg i need more... plot can be whatever u want go crazy babe

I hope this turned out okay- I decided to mess around a little and came up with this plot. A bit cheesy and short, but my brain isn’t working well.

Title: Frayed Edges of Sanity

Pairings: Kokichi Ouma x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Kokichi is a ghost, murder

Summary: Are you losing your mind, or is someone behind all of the hallucinations after all?

“Fighting the fear of fear

Growing conspiracy, myself is after me

Frayed ends of sanity

Hear them calling”

-From “Frayed Edges of Sanity” by Metallica

“So this is the place,” you wrinkled your nose a little as you looked at the decaying house.

A patchwork roof riddled with holes, peeling paint, a generally displeasing aura… that about summed up the manor you were met with.

But it was a house. And it was free. What kind of person would turn that down?

Apparently your great uncle, who you had never met, had entrusted this house to you for some reason. The whole thing seemed like a scam but here it was- an actual place to live. No strings attached.

There was no path to the front door, so you walked through the yard, grass crunching under your boots. The yard is choked with weeds and the grass is turning brown. The entire property is one big mess.

“This is going to take a ton of work,” you groaned. You should’ve known this would be a little too good to be true.

But still, it was a house. Not your tiny, musky, thin-walled apartment or an extra room at your parents’ place. 

You unlocked the door and pulled it open, ignoring the ear-splitting creak it gave you in reply. There was a mirror in the entryway and you nearly walked by it, when something in your peripheral vision flashed in the glass. You took a step back, but the mirror didn’t show what you thought you’d seen.

No dark-haired boy in sight.

You shook your head, banishing the thought from your mind. It had simply been a trick of the light, that’s all.

Your therapist had suggested you keep a journal to document your mental state. Since you were starting over your life in a new home, you might as well start a new habit.

January 8th

Got a new house! Finally out of that awful apartment.

Looking forward to a brand new start.

—-----------------------------------

January 26th

I feel like someone’s watching me. And all night, I hear giggling.

I think I’m going insane.

You put the pen down and buried your face in your hands. Every day, you felt like you were slowly going crazier.

Your furniture kept rearranging itself, your possessions kept disappearing, you kept hearing a voice whispering in your ear, telling you to turn around, only for you to find nothing there. 

You climbed into your bed and pulled the covers up to your ears. You closed your eyes but the feeling that someone was watching you was overwhelming.

You opened your eyes and were met with a pair of purple ones.

“Good moooorning, sleepyhead!” A playful voice met your ears. Your blood ran cold- that voice was the same one whispering and giggling in your ears since the day you walked in.

The dark-haired boy was floating upside down, arms behind his head as he regarded you with amusement. 

“Who… What are you?” You demanded, scooting back on your bed until your back hit the headboard.

“I’m Kokichi Oma,” the boy replied. He puffed out his chest and added, “I’m a ghost.”

“Why am I only seeing you now?” You asked suspiciously.

“Get up,” Kokichi’s grin grew, “Get up and you’ll see.”

He held out a hand to you, but you waved it away from you, anger bubbling up inside of you. He’d been bothering you for weeks, making you think you were insane. 

You slowly stood up, watching Kokichi carefully. He merely gave you a closed-eyed smile and pointed behind you, “Now turn around.”

You obeyed him and, as soon as you did, your entire body froze. 

There, on the bed, lay your body. 

Your eyes were open, unseeing, glazed over with death. Your skin was several shades lighter than it usually was and a dribble of blood had dried on your lips. A knife was driven through your chest, blood soaking through the shirt in the area around the blade.

“I’m… dead…” You stared at your body, realizing only now that you were just a spirit, “Kokichi… what happened?”

“I killed you,” Kokichi supplied cheerfully.

“What?!” You shrieked, “Why?”

“So you could finally be with me,” Kokichi pouted, “You couldn’t even see me while you were alive. But I hung out with you for a while and decided that we should be together!”

“What is wrong with you?” You screamed, “You killed me because you wanted me to be able to see you?”

“That’s not the only reason,” Kokichi said, “Now, I have you all to myself.” Kokichi let out a loud giggle, “If you don’t believe me, try talking to anyone else. They can’t hear or see you.” 

“I’m all you’ve got left.”

[pieroulette]

hi :)

can i please request a one shot with Yuma where you start getting sick but don't tell him because he will worry so when he finally finds out you aren't feeling well he rushes over and babies the shit out of you. like you're almost overwhelmed with his love for you

i appreciate you ♡

PROMISE | NAKAKITA YUMA、&TEAM

warning: just fluff meant to make u delulu 4 life (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)❤︎

getting sick is one thing and it shouldn't have bothered you this much considering it should only last three minimum days if you just take your meds. yet this annoyingly stubborn sickness persisted more than three days despite doing so.

it shouldn't have bothered you this much, really. yet the thing is you just couldn't bear your boyfriend to see you this way.

you couldn't let yuma who had been occupied with so much work recently to find out about your miserable state that you had been keeping for more than three days now with the initial thought that you would heal pretty fast.

even on the phone with yuma, you even go as far as to held the need to cough like a dying fish just to keep him from knowing about it. knowing very well that if he found out, he would drop everything at once and appear before your apartment's door.

this adorable boyfriend of yours is truly the embodiment of a perfect dream boy, yet to worry him just because of your petty sickness is not what you want to happen.

until your dumb of a best friend had to run her mouth in the group chat that also had your boyfriend in it—accidentally revealing that you had been sick for almost a week now.

accidentally, that is.

your boyfriend, in conclusion; is a very, very busy man and so he doesn't always check his messages and so you immediately texted your bestfriend to freaking unsend her message but all was done when you saw your boyfriend's profile below the messages amongst others, marking the 'read' status.

now your phone were bombarded with numerous messages from your busy boyfriend, asking you all sorts of questions ranging from 'how could you', 'why didn't you tell me', to 'i'm coming now.'

you sighed terribly at the last message your boyfriend sent you,

you: YUMA BABE U DONT HAVE TO EXAGGERATE 😃

yuma<3: idc. stay right there.

of course, your apartment door were immediately bombarded with relentless knocks and ringing doorbells. you pulled the door opened with your boyfriend's eyebrows knitted in a tight frown, eyes holding a thousand of questions, and his lips in a heavy pout and down to his pair of fists gripping a few plastic bags.

"holy- yuma, it's just a minor flu!"

"nah, get in."

with your head now rested on the couch and a few layers of blanket covering your entire frame, your boyfriend opens his mouth slightly apart—urging you to do the same so he can feed you a spoonful of hot broth.

the warm liquid pushes down your throat, immediately soothing your chest and lungs, you sighed contentedly at this special treatment, unable to suppressed your small grin and yet yuma narrowed his eyes at you still repeating this particular sentence since he arrived.

"how could you?"

"i just don't want to worry you."

"what else am i suppose to do if not worry?" yuma fed you another spoonful, "i'm your boyfriend, (name). get it in your head."

"but you are busy—"

"god, you wouldn't want me to keep quiet too if i was sick right?" yuma raised his eyebrow at you as he placed the bowl on the table.

that had you shutting your mouth really damn quick, retreating in defeat as you lowered and shook your head slightly. you of course, wouldn't want him to keep it from you even the slightest bit. of course, you would want to be there for him as well.

that thought alone had you wondering all sorts of scenarios and what if's.

noticing this, yuma closes the distance between you both, placing his palms on your head to take your attention from your devouring thoughts. and it worked as you met his tender feline eyes looking into your soul.

you were never good at eye contact as it only does nothing but had your crippling anxiety surfaces and manifests on your face and hands. yet the way your boyfriend does it; his feline orbs and the way the shape of his eyes fluttered like the graceful motion of a cat's tail swaying up and down—had your lungs bubbling up in traces of tiny hearts and bubbles of comfort.

"promise me, you wouldn't do this anymore."

you didn't answer, and opting to nod instead and he wasn't satisfied judging by how the palm on your head shifts to a pair of palms now on your heated cheeks.

you weren't entirely sure whether your heated cheeks was because of your sickness or because of your boyfriend's presence.

"answer me, (name)."

you nodded again as your lips hang slightly apart to enunciate that two words he desires to hear, "i promise."

that alone had his serious demeanour quickly switching to his usual character, his snuggle tooth emerging as his lips pulled up in a wide grin. one that never fails to have you giggling at how adorable he was.

with no hesitation, much to your surprise—he pulls you into his embrace with his arms now wrapped around your small frame, his body heat mingling with your intense ones.

you protested a bit, worried that he might get sick as well. yet he didn't budge one bit, smothering your face with kisses that he knew would help you recover quick.

"you got me worried, do you know?"

"i'm sorry." your voice vibrated against his chest, your ears caught on to how his heart beat skipped a few loud beats.

"it's fine now.. but when i get sick, kiss me alot as well, hm?" yuma hummed in pure delight as he placed

"are you sure?" you raised your head to look up to him, "i think we wouldn't stop getting sick if i do."

yuma places a chaste tender kiss on the rosy hue on the tip of your nose, which had you scrunching your nose in pure giggles. and he did the same— scrunching his nose playfully as his warm palms patted your hair down.

"who cares, i need my doses of kisses too, you know?"

"silly."

"you too."

「 © talesofyuan on tumblr 2023 」 all rights reserved. do not copy or post without permission.

[starsaroundmyscarsblog]

You'll Be Ok

Summary: The Moon Boys comfort you after a hurtful text from your mum.

Also, 'my tears ricochet' is there because I listen to it when I've been hurt by my parents. It's there to listen if you want. Will add some of the lyrics to the oneshot tomorrow morning 😊

⚠️Warnings: Angst. But there is tons of Fluff too. 🥰🩵

Marc/Jake/Steven x reader

Reader is a glass child/emotionally abused

Background Info:

To be honest, I wrote this one for mental healing. The reader is a glass child.

Before you read this, I should explain a few things:

1. I'm a glass child. Remember, child just refers to son/daughter/offspring of. This is as follows

"Glass children are siblings of a person with a disability. The word glass means people tend to see right through them and focus only on the person with the disability. 'Glass' is also used because the children appear strong, but in reality are not. These children have needs that are not being met."

2. In no way am I blaming my sibling for my needs, not being met. It's not her fault, I love her to the moon and back, and literally would do anything for her.

3. Today was also the day I got told by a clinical psychologist (well, technically, I was asking for a "friend") that I was emotionally abused. Said emotional abuse means I have a rocky relationship with my parents - one reason I relate to the moon boys a lot. I am in no way saying my abuse is anywhere near as bad as theirs, just saying I find comfort in them and coming on here and reading stuff about them whe life gets rough.

This oneshot is for all glass /emotionally abused children or children of toxic parents. U ever need to talk, hit me up :).

When you were growing up, all you ever wanted was a break.

Which seemed like a simple enough thing to get, right? Just take a day to yourself, go out with friends or something, maybe have a lie in? But for you, that seemed impossible.

Not when your entire life revolved around your sibling.

And it wasn't like you hated them for it. On the contrary, before you met the moon boys, you'd never loved any one in such a fierce way. It wasn't like you were just their sister. But their protector. Their provider. Came witb being their second parent.

It's not that you particularly minded being their second parent, but sometimes, you wanted to explode because so much, too much responsibility was placed on your shoulders.

It was a strange adjustment living with the Moon Boys, you'd been so used to living with such toxic people, that it felt a little strange to not hear Marc tell you off for not washing the dishes when you had just finished making a meal, or Jake telling you to you didn't have to get up early on Saturday to clean the house, or Steven who telling you to sit and relax after you offered to get his charger, even though you knew you were tired.

With your parents, feelings didn't matter.

It was like they were blind to your feelings. It felt like they appreciated you, all your did for your sibling, but then, as soon as you made a mistake. Nothing you did mattered.

Everything got too much during your senior year. Your grades slipped, work weeks, months overdue. You wanted to leave right then and there. But you couldn’t. Something held you back. Fear of the unknown, you guessed. You ended up breaking down in front of your teachers, and for the time being, your workload decreased a little. You brought your grades back under control. Got better scores on your next set of mock exams. You thought things were finally getting better, changing. That your parents finally understood that you were just a kid.

But you were wearing rose tinted glasses.

You thought your heart was healing from all the pain, but it may as well have been bleeding slowly. The work started to creep up again, and you felt like you were gonna have a another break down, but you couldn't.

Your parents didn't like it when you told over people "family business." So you kept going, kept fighting. You had to hold it together. Were expected to. And besides. This was all for your sibling, who went through pain unimaginable.

Buy you still felt like you were dying everyday.

Even though you never allowed yourself to address it, the real reason you took a gap year wasn't because you needed to "find yourself." It was because you just needed a break. You wanted more time, and with school gone, you could focus on yourself and your US application (you had decided to move as far away from your parents as possible for uni).

Though history had a habit of repeating itself. Your mum seemed to find a way of shoving even more work on your shoulders, like cooking for everyone, on top of looking after your sister and your job. She didn't think you had a right to complain. You did nothing in comparison to your parents, and honestly, it was hard not to believe that.

Desperate to get away, when your US Applications succeeded, you were on the first flight possible. You relished in the new found freedom it brought. No fights, no unnecessary expectations. You were in heaven. Though whenever you went for thw holidays, you were filled with dread at reliving the trauma.

And it wasn't just being worked like a "maid." As a friend told you. That wouldn't bother you too much. It was the constant invalidation as a person. Like you didn't exist.

So you saved up enough money while in college for a flat. Pulling night and day shifts everyday, and your degree. You had too. Towards the end of your final year, you were offered a job at your favourite (company).

You were over the moon on tbe flight home. Things were starting to look up. You had finished your degree, were in your dream carer. Things couldn't be better. Except at home. When you weren’t working, you juggled the task of looking after your sibling, and a set of housework. Until one night in January, it all came to a head. You left in the quiet hours of the morning, with nothing but a text sent to your parents' phones explaining you wouldn't be coming back. Yours blew up with angry, hurt messages, but you ignored them, and the future ones. You stayed with your friend until you found a place to live.

But then came Marc, Steven and Jake, and they changed your life forever.

Like a new morning, they washed away the guilt of the past days, and the sorrows of yesterday. They taught you how to smile again, feel loved, even love yourself.

You all had an instant connection, and in a few months, you had moved in. Now it had been almost a year since you hadn’t met. You couldn’t imagine life going any better. Steven was so thoughtful in a way not even your parents had been, and Marc was gentle, and patient, he never ever shouted at you, or treated you like a kid, and Jake was so tender, just him running your arm made you a blushing mess. You didn’t need them to tell you they’d loved you like you had to head from your parents each night to believe it. You just knew.

You didn't know why you never told them about what happened to you growing up. Marc had eventually opened up to you about his childhood, but you couldn't return the favour. Whenever they asked you about your childhood, and you wanted to open up, somehow the words got lodged in your throat, somehow your brain forgot all the bad things that had happened to you, so you only told them the good. You had informed them that currently you didn't have a relationship with your parents, but for some reason, it scared you to tell them the whole truth.

But of course, there were days your parents really got to you. Like today, your mum who had never stopped texting you, had sent a message a few days ago. She did it every few weeks. Asking how you were, if you were ever gonna come home again. For some stupid reason, you thought she might have changed. They might have changed.

What lies our hearts tell ourselves.

Everything had started fine, but then the blaming had started, then your mum had said that you leaving was unfair and wrong to your family, especially your sibling. That they never deserved that.

And that ate you up inside. You bad promptly informed your mum you were never speaking to her or your dad again, but you couldn't stop thinking about it ever since. It invaded your thoughts, every waking minute. Had you been selfish, leaving your sister like that?

The Moon Boys had all noticed your mood shift, though you brushed it off to feeling tired, of course though, they didn't buy it.

But you couldn't tell them. You couldn't. So when Jake stepped out to the local tesco to by some yoghurt and other things you needed, you lay in bed, headphones on loud, trying to let it all out, so you could forget. Stuff your pain and memories down a mason jar and throw it in an old cupboard in an abandoned building, forever.

The headphones Marc had gotten you must have been really loud, because you didn't hea Jake come in, or call for you in the flat.

'Where is she?' He wondered,

Steven was already going into panic mode

'Relax Steven.' Marc replied 'Maybe she's gone out to Tesco.-

'But she always leaves a note on the fridge.'

'And there's nothing here.' Jake replied before something caught the corner of his eye. Your figure curled up on the bed, sunlight streaming across your face, his face lighting up subconsciously. It was only a moment before he noticed you were crying, and he instantly went over to you, throwing his jacket on one of the chairs. You felt a weight on the bed, and then an arm wrapping around your waist, hugging you close, before a hand pulled the headphones off your ears.

"Cariño," he said gently before you turned around into his chest, hiding your face in his chest as you slowly stopped crying, only aware of how loud your music had been, when you heard it through your headphones on the bed. Jake rubbed your back soothingly until you were just sniffing.

And then, the guilt set in. Guilt was the one thing that hd characterised your time with your parents. It was relentless.

'Marc, Steven, and Jake shouldn't see me like this.' You thought 'I'm being overdramatic.'

Jake rubbed your cheek, soothingly.

"What's wrong amore?" He whispered "Did someone do something to you?"

Whoever it was, he was going to kill them.

You shook your head and sniffed "its not important."

Unable to not bear not being able to comfort you any longer, and worried, Steven fronted. He wrapped both arms around you tighter.

"Love, whatever you're going through, we can help, alright?"

"I don't wanna be a bother."

Steve cupped your face with his hands, "Love, you could never bother us."

You sighed, sitting up, crossing your legs, playing with the duvet.

"It's just my...my parents."

For some reason, Steven felt his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't know why he was this nervous, it was you confessing something, not him. Then he remembered.

Marc.

That word always triggered him. Steven pushed some hair/braids back from your face

"Go on."

"I just." You took a deep breath the tears threatening to spill out again, your voice braking. "They can be so mean sometimes." You whispered, swallowing a huge lump in your throat.

Steven pulled you closer. From what he had gathered, you didn't have the best relationship with your parents, but it sounded better than this. How could they have not known it had been this bad?.

It suddenly dawned on him why you had been acting so distant this week.

"Oh love." Steven whispered, pulling you in again close "Is that why you were upset?"

"Yeah." You mumbled before lifting up your phone, so he could read the messages between you and your mum.

"Here."

'Putos gilipollas' Jake swore, threatening to do some serious damage to private property.

Marc was quiet. Steven worried.

"I didn't even do anything, Steven. I just wanted to... She's my mum. I missed her."

"I know darling." He whispered, kissing your tear stained cheek. "I know."

"Has it always been this bad?" Steven asked after a while, and you nodded back slowly.

For a moment, you felt him tense up, and then the arms wrapped around you dropped. Marc's brown eyes loomed back at you, one look, and it felt like he knew everything.

"Are you mad at me?" You barely whispered

"No baby, I'm not mad at you." He stroked your arm gently."Just wanna know why you didn't tell us?"

You sighed.

"Marc, you and the boys have gone through things unimaginable. It's not just you. People go through worse. I just thought my problems didn't matter much, you know. I was just going through the motions."

Marc took yout oulders in his hands, gripping as tight as he could without hurting you.

"Baby," he sighed "Y/N. Don't everyone think that. Your problems matter, to me, to all of us. We just want you to be happy. We love you."

You smiled, fiddling with the mattress, your cheeks rising with heat.

"Love you too."

Marc pulled you into him, chin on top of your head.

"I guess I should start at the beginning, huh?" You smirked, fiddling with the duvet, then sighed. "My sibling had special needs. I grew up taking care of them, honestly like their 2nd mum, to be honest. I did everything a mum did for them. Cooking for them, feeding them, dressing them, changing them, the works, and more. It was rough sometimes, but it would've been ok if my parents didn't think that I "should be doing this." I don't know if that makes sense."

You sighed taking a deep breath.

"Basically, I wouldn't have minded being a young carer cause other kids are, but it's being this kid's other mum when my mum or dad was right there that got me down. They put all that responsibility on me. I was just a fuckin kid, Marc." You picked up one of his hands, drawing shapes on it "What made it worse is I never truly felt appreciated. It felt like I did everything for that kid, but with my parents, it felt like they didn't care. I got yelled at for insignificant things, like putting a short sleeve shirt on my sibling instead of a long sleeved one, accused of not loving my sibling enough when I made these minor mistakes. I wasnn't allowed to feel tired, got called lazy on a regular basis when all I wanted to do was rest, got told I did 'nothing' around the house, was expected to do things all the time without a fuckin complaint. Was expected to be her mum. My friends kept telling me I was abused and stuff, but I never viewed it as that. It was just what having parents was like, right? I still don't, you know. I just think they're toxic."

You looked up at him briefly, checking if he was still watching, trying to read the expression on his face. Anxiety grew in your heart, worried he would think you were being overdramatic. I mean, everyone looked after their siblings, right?

What if you were taking things too seriously?

"So," you popped your tongue "One day I couldn't take it anymore. I just left. University gave me a relief the time I was there, but when I came home after, it was like I was a kid all over again, just wanting to be free as cliché as that sounds."

Marc was a little shocked, to say the least. He'd never imagined your upbringing like that. He had an idea that things were a little rocky with your parents but not that rough. And whenever you told him about your childhood, you were so happy. No wonder you had seemed so emotionally withdrawn, with parents like that, he wasn't surprised.

Inwardly he kicked himself. Although all the things you told him about your childhood were happy, always made you smile, he should've known by now people with the deepest pain shine the brightest smiles.

Marc pulled you into him, so you were sitting with your back pressed to his chin. He wrapped an arm around your waist

"Sometimes it just feels like it's all my fault." You voice cracked, and you picked up the water on the beside tablr, drinking it. Marc rubbed your eyes in a circular motion"The way things are with my parents. I should've been stronger. Helped them and my sister more."

'"It's not your fault, Y/N. You were just a kid. You did all you could for your sister. Abuse," Marc took a deep breath, and you knew this was hard for him to talk about. Your heart swelled at the sacrifice he was making right now. Casting away his own trauma to talk to your own "Abuse is a form of toxic behaviour, baby. Toxic relationships can be abusive, but all abusive relationships are toxic. Steven told me the definition of abuse, according to the Cambridge dictionary, is to treat someone cruelly or violently. That's it. No surprises. How do we differentiate between a toxic relationship and an abusive one? I still don't know. The line is blurred, but what I do know is you don't have to be treated in what typically falls into the category of abuse for you to be a victim of it. Abuse stems from manipulation of power over you, Y/N, and your parents did that. They're still trying to do that. For lack of a better example, and because you made me watch it four times this week, look at Cinderella-"

"There were four different movies!" You replied, but you knew he was only joking. "Cinderella, 1, 2, and 3 are completely different storylines, and then there's the live action which is customary. Besides, I wanted you to see what I used to watch when I was little."

"It's still the same princess. But anyway, look at her. She wasn't beaten or screamed at. But would you still say everything she went through was just toxic? Y/N, baby, you're not your parents' servant."

Hearing him say that, heaing Marc of all people, that that, the most validating moment you had ever experienced. Marc knew, better than most, what it meant to be treated less than. So if, maybe he was saying this, then you really weren't crazy.

"I used to think I was crazy. Still so. Overdramatic, you know. Everyone goes through rough times. Everyone goes through difficulties with their parents. I can't expect them to be perfect, right?"

"Y/N, it's not as simple as that. People aren't perfect, neither are parents. They go through things, but those people, you can adjust your expectations for. They may not be there for you emotionally, but your relationship with them is healthy. Your relationship with your parents isn't healthy."

It was strnage. A part of you had always needed this validation, needed someone else, wanted someone else to tell you you weren't crazy - but when Marc was reassuring you you weren't being silly, for some reason the words cut you deep. Too deep.

Marc kissed the top of your head gently. You felt weak, so you just held on to him.

"I don't even know what to do now."

Marc kissed your head again

"You' ll figure it out."

"It took me so long to even work out the courage to leave that place. Even after I couldn't block her or my dad's numbers. How could I? They're my parents. I don't know. I guess I was just afraid of being alone. I know, I have you guys. But I kept thinking that what if you leave, or get bored of me. Then I'd have no one, and I couldn't stand that." You wipe your eyes again, drinking more water

"Y/N why would you think we'd leave you?"

"I don't know," you sniffed "but I just kept thinking you'd find someone better. You deserve someone better."

Marc turned your head, placing his forehead against yours, staring into those big, enchanting (e/c) eyes. The same ones he fell in love with when you first met. He ran his thumb over your cheek. Even though you'd been with the boys for months, every time they touched you you still felt shivers.

"Y/N, why would we need anyone else when everything we need is right here? When you're here, honey." He pressed a small kiss on your nose."No one has ever made us feel as happy or even loved like you have. Y/N. It's probably our fault you're feeling like this. We haven't-

"No, Marc. Being with you and the other boys is a dream. One I never hoped for. Don't think you did anything wrong, babe. You're all perfect." You ran a hand through his hair.

"But we don't want you to think like you need to earn our love. You can't win love Y/N. So, it never dies. Our love for you will never die."

You smiled before realising something.

"That line's from the Lion King II." You giggled."So you do like it."

You then stuck your tongue out at him, remembering how he said the sequel could never be anywhere near as good as first

He rolled his eyes.

"It's a good line."

"Yeah, totally Marc. Just a good line."

As your laughter died down, you picked up your phone. You sighed, hand pressing on the delete contact button, before your phone sent an automatic notification, asking if you were sure.

You looked at Marc, who looked back at you.

"It's up to you." He nodded, and you swear you loved him even more in the moment. Whereas your parents had all been about control, he was giving you the option to decide your future.

"Block, delete, ghost. It's all in your hands. I won't even blame you if you still talk to them only on occasion, they're your parents. Just don't let them walk all over you."

You paused. Sure, you could keep trying. You loved them and all, but was trying really worth it if you were the only one? Maybe it was time for them to try, too. And hopefully, one day, they would realise, that they hurt you. Really bad.

You clicked the 'delete' button on the notif, and then it deleted. Oddly enough, you felt a weight lift off your chest. Like they finally didn't have any power over you anymore.

Marc pulled you against his chest again, arms wrapping around your waist. Kissing your head again, rocking you side to side.

"You'll be OK. We will. Our love will find a way."

You smirked.

"Marc, babe, I appreciate them, but those Lion King 2 references are killing me."

Marc just rolled his eyes and held on tighter.

But yes, it was true, with Marc, Steven and Jake, your love would find a way.