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sometimesliterate · 23 hours

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my turn | gallagher & dr. ratio x f! reader ( 18+ )

requested !! ratio and gallagher are roommates, that's so totally normal right ? ratio takes time to tutor you, and gallagher.. helps you destress about school and work. gallagher may not be able to help you with tutoring, but ratio can help you destress. tags : dubcon in the beginning ( turns into consent ) threesome, double penetration, oral ( f. receiving ), arguing, use of a blindfold & handcuffs, slight possessiveness, dacryphilia, asphyxiation, dirty talking, mean gallagher at points, calls you a bitch, whore, slut, ect but also nicknames like doll, princess, sweetheart, dearest, begging / whining / crying, slightly painful sex, kinda throwing reader around like a doll, implied to be smaller than ratio & gallagher, fem anatomy word count : 5.5k

your relationships with your roommates weren't exactly the normal college roommate situation. of course, in some parts of your life, it was. you three would argue over who did the dishes that day, even with veritas' schedule that he posted on a white board in the kitchen without telling either one of you. he had said that he thought about the three of your schedules and decided which days would work best for all of you. and he was right, he really did think about your schedules and made the best plan possible, which maybe irked you even more than if he had just written down names on the whiteboard haphazardly.

there would be times where you'd all be sat on the couch watching the latest and worst romcom to poke fun of it, and whoever tapped out first had to cook dinner. funnily enough, most of the time it was gallagher, he could hardly ever stand to watch two people pine after each other for an hour and a half without finding himself getting frustrated and yelling ' they should just fuck already ! ' at the tv. he'd stand up, tearing himself from where he was sitting beside you and immediately start on dinner, because he knew that he'd lost the game.

of course there were other similarities between the three of you and regular roommates, but it was the differences that you found yourself hooked on. veritas was in your year, and although he was taking classes far beyond the scope of your own, he still demanded that he helped tutor you whenever you were struggling in a particular subject, no matter what that subject was. you made plans that every thursday while gallagher was out at work all day working a double at the bar, you and veritas would take the living room and study the day away together. whether you were tackling mathematics or physics or literature, if you had a question, veritas usually had an answer. and if he didn't, he had a book that could answer your question.

veritas had a rough around the edges personality, but you could tell that he really cared about people, even if he didn't explicitly state it. or at least, he cared about you and your education. he was always snapping at you, telling you that you should at least go to bed before the sun rises, and maybe stop drinking so much coffee. if he was home, or if you saw him at college, he was always reminding you of things that you should be doing to take proper care of yourself. at college, when he was free from his classes, he followed you around, not because he didn't have any friends, but because he thought you needed someone to look after you with your self destructive behavior. so he says, at least.

and gallagher.. was a different story all together. he went to a technical college on the other side of the city, but he got the weekends off while you and veritas went to school. you would get back at around noon on both days, and veritas had classes pretty much all day until late at night, having stacked up his weekends with extracurricular activities that he didn't necessarily need, but they sure would look nice on his transcript. in those seven or eight hours while veritas was away, you were underneath gallagher in his bed.

you had no idea when it officially started to become a habit to spend your weekend crying out gallagher's name, but neither one of you were complaining, either. you knew that it started out of boredom on your part, and a nasty ex on his part. he had been pissed and frustrated, and you let him vent his anger out to you, and listened to him try very hard not to shit talk his ex because he didn't really want to say anything negative about her, but damn did she make it hard for him to keep calm. keying his cherry red vintage mustang and putting sugar in the tank was his last straw. he eventually emptied out his gas tank and replaced the fuel filter, and repainted his car with a iridescent black / purple coat this time, but damn did it take some work and quite a lot of money.

but through the entire situation, you were there to support him when he needed it. as it goes, one thing lead to another, and what was supposed to be both a celebration toast and a thank you from gallagher ended up with your clothes being dropped in the hallways outside of his room and his body pressed against yours, rushing to finish because you both knew that veritas was going to be home soon. since then, it had become sort of like a ritual of yours.

you trudged through the doors, dropping your bag at the door, completely missing the hook this time where you typically hung the bag. throwing off your shoes at the door, and undoing the claw clip that held up your hair, you were exhausted today. and you knew exactly what you needed, he was in his room probably playing some video game that he really didn't care about and neither did you.

stripping off your college blazer, you dropped it off at your room, already working to unbutton the buttons of your white dress shirt when you walked into gallagher's room, the room itself smelling so heavily of weed it gagged you for a second, but you had gotten used to gallagher's peculiarities by now. exactly like how you expected him to be, gallagher was spread out on his bed with a controller in his hands, playing some gacha game with a blonde traveller and their little fairy companion, a cute little game that you had to make a mental note to check out later after this.

" welcome home, " gallagher said while he sat down his controller, eyeing your slumped form as you stood in front of his bed, " school went well, i'm guessin' ? "

" school sucked, " you sighed, climbing into the bed with him before you could even get off your fully unbuttoned shirt, the fabric just hanging on your shoulders. gallagher laughed a little bit, opening his arms to take you in his arms.

" need something to relieve the stress ? " he suggested gently, holding you close to him. " you know, i was thinkin' of you the entire time you were gone. "

you couldn't lie to yourself and pretend that you weren't thinking about this moment the entire day, either, but you wouldn't exactly be as forthcoming about it as gallagher was. " mm. stress relief sounds nice. "

" you know, sweetheart, " gallagher's voice sounded like he was about to suggest something that he knew you would be on the fence about, but it wasn't like him to just completely ignore what he was curious about. " i was at the store the other day and i picked up a few things for you. mind if we try them out today ? " he picked himself up, still holding you in his arms so you were just kind of following his movements as he opened up his beside dresser and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a red blindfold.

you raised your eyebrows, a mix of curiosity and confusion on your face. " i didn't take you to be one to try bdsm, gallagher. you always took me as a, uh, no thoughts, head empty, just fucking type of guy. "

" oh, absolutely, doll, " gallagher laughed, fiddling with the silk blindfold, twirling the soft fabric through his calloused hands. " you have absolutely no idea how easy it is to lose myself when i'm eight inches deep inside that pretty little pussy of yours. consider it a.. test, for both of us. "

" ugh, i've had enough tests for today, " you whined at the wording, being reminded of just how shitty your day at college was, but at least you were home now, and in gallagher's arms, which meant that even though things sucked previously, they would be okay pretty soon, and you'd forget about it all when you were crying out for him to stop because it was overstimulating you. " but.. we can try it for a little bit today. we've got a long time until i have to get back into my room, so i guess it doesn't hurt anything if our first few rounds are experimental. "

" i knew ya'd see it my way, baby, " gallagher grinned, shuffling around a little bit so that your back was pressed against his flat pillows, barely giving you any structure, and one day you're going to fuck in your room instead so you're a little more comfortable, but you weren't exactly thinking about that right now. " here, put your wrists together and up over your head, doll. "

you did as he said, feeling the cold metal of the handcuffs as he wrapped them around both of your wrists, hearing them click shut as he tightened them so they fit your wrists.

" you look so pretty like this, needin' me to do everythin' for ya, " gallagher chuckled, mostly to himself, as he leaned down and pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your lips. " you're doing so good, doll. " he pulled back to grab the silken blindfold, wrapping it around your head so that it was completely covering your eyes. " can't see nothin', right baby ? "

you felt your heart rate increase a little bit, suddenly the anxiety of not being able to see and touch him getting to you ever so slightly, but it was overshadowed by a surprising desire to continue. " y-yeah, i can't see anything. "

" good girl, " gallagher pressed another kiss on your lips, making you jump in surprise, but he pulled back before you could kiss him back. " i'll be right back, doll. just sit tight, you'll feel good soon. " leaving you with your hands over your head and handcuffed together, unable to see what was going on around you, you could only feel his body weight shift the bed underneath you. you didn't know where he went, the carpet muffling any footsteps that might have been audible to you if it were tile, leaving you in anticipation.

after a few moments of waiting, you could feel the bed dip again as his body get on the bed and in between your legs. " g-gallagher- " you whimpered out softly, finding yourself struggling against the handcuffs that you had honestly forgotten were around your wrists. " o-oh, yeah.. " you mumbled mostly to yourself, biting your bottom lip.

wordlessly, his fingers worked at your pants, undoing the button and unzipping them. he leaned down, his soft lips ghosting over your navel, right above your panties, before he tugged your pants off of your legs. he was sensual with it, his hands trailing down your now bare legs, something that you weren't entirely used to gallagher doing, but you figured that maybe the change in your usual routine was getting him extra worked up.

you could feel his fingers trail up your legs, wrapping two strong arms around your thighs and pulling them apart, so that he had enough room to slot himself in between your legs, close enough that his mouth was so close to your cunt, that was now so lewdly leaking slick that soaked through your panties. gallagher was typically a very vocal man, so it was surprising that he was so quiet now, but by this point you were finding it hard to think straight, especially when he peeled your panties to the side and you could feel his breath fan against your soaked heat.

" n-ngh..! just- get to it already, please ! " you stammered out, sounding a lot more desperate than demanding. as if on cue, finally he gave into you, burying his face into your heat, his tongue expertly working circles around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud. " f-fuck..! " you cried out, your hips bucking into his face, seeking more friction. he seemed to oblige your needs, his tongue working faster, his plump lips slippery with your slick, sliding through your folds perfectly.

gallagher had never eaten you out like this. yeah, he was good at it, but he opted for a lazier approach, flicking his tongue against your clit, drawing out small, slow circles as his fingers found its way to your entrance. he was not doing any of that right now, instead, the way he ate you out was like he was a starving man who had never tasted anything more delicious. he was meticulous with it, every flick of his tongue, every lick and touch designed and planned to draw out the most moans from you.

" h-hah- fu-fuck, wh-what's gotten into you ? " you panted out through loud moans, your thighs shaking underneath his rough touch. all you could do was buck your hips up into his mouth, the pleasure building inside of you and needing to release, faster than you were expecting. maybe it was just the stress finally leaving your body, or maybe it was just the isolation of two of your senses highlighting your other senses, but you swore this felt better than it typically did. " g-gonna cum- please- " you felt your chest rising and falling heavily, your heart thumping against your torso.

" just like that, yeah, pretty thing ? want his fingers inside of your pretty cunt ? " gallagher asked, his voice coming from your side, making you jump up in realization that something was up. you heard a grunt of annoyance in between your legs, and you gasped.

" wh-wha- ?! "

" who knew the doc could eat pussy like that, huh ? " gallagher chuckled, cutting you off, and you felt a lump form in your throat, slowly coming to understand what position you were in despite the haze and neediness in your head. " you look like you're havin' fun, doll. ain't you to close to stop now ? let him take you over the edge, i think he deserves to hear your pretty lil moans for all his hard work. "

the man in between your legs, veritas, continued his ministrations, and the fact alone that this was veritas ratio in between your legs made your body tense up, the eroticism of the situation only heightening your pleasure, especially underneath his skilled tongue. gallagher was right, annoyingly, you were far too close to actually care who was in between your legs, as long as he was able to make you finish. " v-veri- ah, veritas.. " you moaned out shyly, his name falling from your lips both unfamiliar and yet comforting. " i'm gonna cum- please..! "

veritas didn't say anything, too busy coaxing your orgasm from you to properly address anything at the moment. now that their little secret was out, you could feel gallagher's hand on your chest, the digits slipping underneath your bra to fondle your chest, rolling your nipple in between his two fingers, eliciting noises from you with the added pleasure that you weren't even sure you could make. everything was adding together in such a way that you simply couldn't hold back anymore, the pressure in your body too much until your entire body shook from your orgasm ripping through you.

veritas' tongue didn't stop his assault on you, guiding you through your orgasm, your slick absolutely covering his face. you whimpered softly for him to stop after the sensitivity got to, wiggling your hips in attempt to push him away, which he finally did after he got a few more moments in between your legs.

finally able to think straight, you found yourself speaking up, your voice strained as you tried to regain your composure even slightly, but failing miserably. " i-i think- i think i deserve answers. why is veritas here ? "

" he wanted a taste, why else, doll ? " gallagher chuckled, his hand pulling away from your chest. " you should see him, all covered with your juices and panting. he damn near drowned in there and is still wanting more. " you were honestly a little frustrated that you couldn't see him like that, but that wasn't something you were going to say out loud.

" you're as... candid as ever, gallagher, " veritas finally spoke up, obviously out of breath, but trying to maintain himself. when he spoke again, it was directed to you, " did you not think i was aware of this little routine of yours with gallagher ? you're as foolish as you are naive. of course i would know what's going on in my own home. "

his thinly veiled insults were not lost on you, but you decided not to reply in a mean way and start an argument right now, especially when you were at the mercy of these two men. " how did you find it out then, genius ? "

" you two don't know how to properly dispose of condoms. i found at least four of them while trying to take out the trash because a certain man forgot it was his day to take it out, " you could practically feel the glare that veritas was shooting gallagher in between his words, and you couldn't stop yourself from chuckling a little bit at it. these two were so different, and always at each other's throats. but to be fair, you were often at their throats for one reason or another, too. at the end of the day, no matter how much sexual tension was shared between you, you were still roommates. and roommates are always frustrating, no matter the circumstances.

you were just roommates, right ?

" well my little.. mistake, shall we call it, got you in between the legs of the girl you wanted to fuck for a year now, so.. i think you can forgive me just this once, veritas, " gallagher snickered, clearly not one to be bullied down by veritas' condescension. but before you could say anything back to them to get them to stop bickering with one another, gallagher's arms picked you up into his arms, your locked hands hooking behind his head as he held you up against him, his hard cock rubbing up from behind you through his clothing. " and now we're gonna make her feel even better, cuz i can't wait to be inside this fuckin' pussy again. you had your turn, veritas. thanks for warmin' her up for me, now watch me do what i do best. "

you were dangling in the air, your feet unable to touch the ground, held up by gallagher's strong arms underneath your pits, keeping you completely suspended against him. you knew he was strong, but this was ungodly. you couldn't even feel his muscles straining, it was like it was effortless. he really did have the strength of a bear. was he really going to fuck you standing up, dangling in the air just like this ?

" ..tch, like hell i'm just going to watch. i'm not like you and get off watching others touch what's undeniably mine. " you could hear some movement, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt gallagher grinding against you, bucking his hips up in an attempt to rile you up more than you already were. " sit her down here- " you could hear veritas slapping his thighs, and you could only assume that he had taken his clothing off. " i think i know of a way that we can both enjoy what we want. "

after a moment, gallagher chuckled, his grip on you readjusting a little bit. " i like the way you think, veritas. but do you really think she can handle us both ? "

" i don't think she has a choice but to take it, does she ? "

gallagher finally sat you down, treating you almost like an actual doll, sitting you down on veritas' lap, making sure your legs were spread and straddling the other man's. you could feel the hardness pressing against your still slick cunt, practically begging for entry no matter how calm veritas' words were. " i don't think she's got any arguments, either, otherwise she would've said somethin', yeah ? "

that was his way of getting consent, no matter how slightly convoluted and slutty it sounded coming from his mouth, you knew that much. still, your pride refused to let you give out just a simple answer, still a little frustrated with them for this whole set up in the first place. if veritas wanted to fuck you, he could've just asked. it's not like you would've told the man no. " it's not like you're exactly giving me a choice, are you ? veritas said- "

before you could finish speaking, a hand grabbed you by the back of your head, pushing you down onto veritas' lips, effectively shutting you up. you could taste yourself on his lips from earlier, the salty and tangy taste on your tongue reminding you of his skills with his mouth. his tongue slipped past your lips, and you opened your mouth, slightly caught off guard but having enough time to pick yourself up. his hips grinded slowly into yours, making you both groan into the kiss. your hands, still connected together, rest on his chest, your ass arched up, giving gallagher the perfect view of what he wanted.

" finally, " veritas mumbled against your lips, sounding almost desperate, although he quickly composed himself, " a way to shut you up for good. "

" you just wanted to kiss her, " you felt the bed dip, and a pair of hands grabbed at your ass, fondling the fat in his hands. " but i get it, and i aint faultin' you for it. you just gotta learn how to be more truthful with whatcha want. "

you could tell that veritas absolutely hated that gallagher was controlling everything, but he was powerless to stop it at this time, and instead of fighting, he knew the path of least resistance would give him what he wanted in the end, he just had to bare through gallagher's mouth.

" now, can we get to the good part and fuck her already ? she's wet enough from earlier, she can take it, " his voice was snappy, letting everyone know that he was getting impatient and didn't want to wait any longer, one of gallagher's hands moved from your ass to grab his cock, pressing it against your slit, rubbing some of your slick on the tip before he slowly pushed in, needing to pace himself from absolutely plowing you on top of veritas. he had agreed to share you for now, so he wouldn't do that to veritas. at least not right now.

once he was fully sheathed inside, you gasped, moaning out, your body clenching around him like a vice, begging for more. you leaned your head back, resting it on veritas' shoulder, your locked hands grabbing at his bare chest for some type of support, although you couldn't find any. " g-gallagher..! " you mewled out, already feeling too full with just gallagher inside. there was no way that you were going to be able to fit veritas too- you'd be split in half, you'd-

one of veritas' hands stayed at the back of your head, and the other one snaked in between your legs, pressing his throbbing erection against your stuffed hole. " you can take it, " he grunted out, pushing just the tip in, finding the resistance of your body so irresistible. he wanted to actually ruin you, make you cry on his chest and beg for both of them to stop.

" i-it's too much..! i-i can't, there's no way ! it's gonna break me.. please, veritas- " you whimpered, your incessant babbling just fueling veritas on more. gallagher was clearly not pleased that you were calling out veritas' name instead of his, and decided to punish you with a particularly harsh thrust.

" you're lucky i'm bein' patient right now, bitch, " gallagher spat out, his fingertips digging into the skin of your hips. this was like a complete switch of the otherwise cool and calm gallagher that you knew, but you had to admit that you liked it a little more than you were willing to admit. but your body told against you, clenching around him at his lewd words, only spurring him on to degrade you more. " just fuckin' put it in so we can make this slut cry already, damn. there's no point in bein' gentle with her right now. she ain't gonna take it if you keep tryin' to be gentle. just force it in. "

you could practically feel the anger emanating from veritas, not needing your vision to know that he was absolutely fuming, and you were caught in between their little discourse. you were starting to think that this was less about fucking you and more about proving themselves to each other. " fine, mutt, have it your way, " veritas growled, his hand tightening on your hair, pulling it back so your head was back, giving him access to your neck. with one single thrust, he pushed himself completely inside, causing you to scream out in pure ecstasy.

hot tears bubbled up in your eyes, soaking the red silk fabric, and you felt yourself clawing at veritas' skin, making him groan out from both the pain and pleasure. it was too much, far too much, you were filled up completely, unable to take anymore, but they hadn't even started to move yet. the first movement came from gallagher, lazily rocking his hips in and out of you, clearly pleased with the tightness squeezing his cock. " fuck- she's so fuckin' tight, even more so than usual. "

veritas began to move next, each thrust calculated in time with gallagher so not to overwhelm you completely. you knew that this moment of peace was just temporary, however. now they got a taste, and they were not going to just go easy on you. gallagher broke it first, his hips thrusting up to meet yours so roughly that it took your breath away. veritas followed suit, not to be outdone with the older man.

" gal- veri- " you started, completely unsure which name to moan out, and fucked too stupid to truly be able to say anything coherent through your cries and whimpers of pleasure. both men laughed a little, both fighting to be the name that ultimately spilled out of your pretty lips.

veritas' free hand was in between your bodies, rubbing circles on your sore clit, knowing exactly how you liked it from earlier. you felt your entire body freeze, unable to do anything but cry, shaking as you were sandwiched in between both brutal men. veritas knew exactly what he was doing, he knew how to move inside to maximize your pleasure, his thrusts deep and forceful, while gallagher fucked like a wild animal, only really thinking about how good his cock felt when buried deep inside of you. this mix of logic and pure instinct drove you wild, tears soaking the fabric of the blindfold over your eyes as veritas' free hand pulling your hair, the pain dulled compared to the pure pleasure you were feeling.

it was absolutely brutal, and you could feel your belly bulging from the intrusion of both men inside of you. it was too good, and your head was swimming with only one thought: you had to cum, and soon. it was all beginning to be too much, your body tense and quivering. gallagher's body practically on top of yours at this point, his chest pressed against your back as he breathed in your ear, letting you hear every animalist growl that came from his throat, his little grunts of pleasure as he fucked you like he'd want to be buried inside of you forever.

" g-gonna..- gunna cum.. please, please- " you sobbed, your breath hitching in your throat, your body shaking from the pure overstimulation. veritas' fingers against your clit rubbed faster, and gallagher's hand found your throat, squeezing the sides.

" gonna cum on our cocks, doll ? " gallagher teased, his hips hitting yours with a fervor, " gonna make a mess on top of veritas ? on my bedsheets ? you look so small in between two men like this, huh ? filthy whore gonna lose herself on two cocks ? can't even think straight. he's your tutor, right ? go on, show him what you've learned from me. how to shut up and take dick like a good girl. "

you whimpered, your tongue lolled out, drool slipping from it onto veritas' chest below. " she looks so dumb, the blindfold is all wet from her tears like she can't do anything without crying. it's like all i taught her was for nothing when cock is involved. " veritas agreed, his voice hoarse as he fucked into you. the first time he'd agreed with gallagher this entire time and it was over how dumb you looked while getting fucked by both of them. when you didn't say anything back to either one of them, veritas chuckled a little bit, his eyes taking in your fucked out face. " what happened ? can't even think of anything to say ? too stupid to even remember how to speak properly ? "

" oh, fuck- i'm gonna cum- " gallagher announced, picking up speed and intensity, his teeth grazing against your neck and biting down harshly, making you cry out in pain. it wasn't enough to break the skin, but you could feel his extra sharp canine teeth embedding itself into your skin, surely going to at least bruise you. " gonna fill up this pretty little pussy, gonna make her ours. " at this point he wasn't even saying full sentences, just chasing his high. " mine, ours. yours. fuck. ours, ours. ours. pretty little thing is ours. "

" yours- " you sobbed out, your voice barely more than a whisper, too fucked out to even make noises more than whimpers and moans. your little voice seemed to spur gallagher into his orgasm, his hips stuttering into yours as his orgasm flooded you, covering your walls and veritas' cock with his semen.

" fu-fuck, that's too good, doll, your body is too good, " gallagher groaned, pulling out of you, finally letting go of your neck. he took notice of veritas still embedded within you, and mentally made note of it. " damn, he's still goin', huh ? when was the last time you had any pussy, veritas ? "

" this tight ? " veritas managed to choke out, his thrusting up into you with unabashed roughness now that he was the only one inside, able to fill you up to the hilt of his cock. " i'm gonna cum- and soon, there's no way i can hold back with her like this. can you take it, sweetheart ? can i fill you up too ? "

you nodded, feeling him go harder against you, all of the logic and coordination he had flying into the wind now that he was just seconds away from cumming. he didn't talk dirty like gallagher did, but you knew he was losing his cool, with the way his thrusts got more erratic and rushed, driving him over his own edge.

part of you was honestly grateful that it was done, the other part of you felt empty the moment veritas pulled out of you, the suddenness of no longer have either men filling you up causing you to whimper a little bit.

" aw, she wants us some more, " gallagher chuckled, and you rolled from on top of veritas, content just to sit beside him and rest for a little while. veritas was careful with you, reaching over and taking off the blindfold, being the first thing that you saw when you opened your wet, teary eyes, squinting because you needed to get used to the light again.

" you're so good, dearest, " veritas whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, taking your hands in his and undoing the handcuffs. you knew that they were the just the play handcuffs that you could've easily escaped from, not even needing a lock to undo them, but you also weren't exactly thinking about escaping from them at the time, too consumed with something else.

" thank ya, doll, " gallagher interjected, collapsing on your other side, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a few kisses onto your neck, slightly gentler where he had bitten you. " does it hurt ? "

you paused, your eyebrows creasing together. you couldn't help but be angry at him over this, and veritas for that fact. the sex was nice, but damn, can't a girl get a warning first ? " YES IT FUCKING HURT ?! YOU BIT ME ?? AND MR. RATIO HERE JUST SHOVED HIS FUCKING COCK IN ME WITHOUT A CARE IN THE WORLD ??? " you chewed them both out over this, glaring at both of the men. veritas turned a little sheepish, although he wouldn't show it, while gallagher just gently laughed it off.

" you took it so well, though, dearest, " veritas hummed, turning to rest on his side so that he was face to face with you, his hand cupping the side of your cheek. he was surprisingly gentle, much more than gallagher was. " thank you for indulging the two of us. "

" well, i'll make sure we take care of you extra, now, alright ? to make up for it. " gallagher suggested, and you rolled your eyes, sitting your head on veritas' shoulder, closing your eyes.

" you guys are assholes. and i'm not doing the fuckin' dishes today, so you two fight among yourselves about it since you wanna argue during sex the entire time. like, geez. just admit that you wanted to out do each other and maybe kiss a little. "

" by the way, how did you fare on your physics exam ? " of course veritas would ask that when you had just managed to forget about your day at college.

" OH FUCK OFF, VERITAS. "

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icallhimjoey · 2 days

Note

writing idea: group hang at a rage room/smash room that ends up in a meet cute.

eeeeeee thanks for this request! it's a quick lil thing, hope you enjoy! tw: mention of blood and a cut in your face Wordcount: 1.7K

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Not His Thing

Joe hasn't stopped feeling the uncomfortable flush of guilt in his face for the past half an hour. He feels awful.

Smash rooms, as so it turns out, aren't really his thing.

"Stop saying you're sorry."

"Yea, sorry. I'll stop. Sorry. Sorry." Joe jokingly takes all blame immediately, because he is obviously an idiot who can't do anything right at the moment.

You smile through watery eyes, your nose tinged red and half your face numb from the cold. You've been pressing a towel-wrapped ice pack to your cheekbone for over twenty minutes now, and it's done wonders for the bleeding and for the pain. Not so much for the panic and the lightheadedness that followed though, but all things considered, you feel fine.

Your fun day out with friends has been cut short, though.

"Does it hurt still?" someone asks you, and you expertly control your voice, give them a steady, "No, it's just cold, now." but your eyes are still watery.

When you remove the ice pack for a member of staff to have a look at you, they tut worriedly and tell you to just hold it in place a moment longer.

Joe did this. This is Joe's fault.

Joe tries his best not to wince at the swelling he can see. At the size of the cut he left in your face. God, your face. You are likely going to need stitches. He remembers getting a cut in his own face, right in the middle of his forehead, and how that bled for hours. The worst part though, is that it'd left him with a scar.

Joe can't believed he scarred someone.

"But I am sor–" Joe tries, not overly loud, he doesn't want to make you jump.

"Stop it. It was an accident. Accidents happen, don't worry." You reassure him once more, and you really mean it, but it does nothing for Joe's culpability.

He did this.

Joe had swung a bat at porcelain, and you'd been in the wrong spot at the wrong time. A shard of vase had gotten stuck in your cheekbone, just below the protective glasses you'd been wearing.

You imagined it'd just been a scrape, had only let a small, "Ow," pass your lips upon the impact, but then you'd gone to touch it, and felt something solid there still.

Stuck.

Skin wet.

The liquid warm.

Something solid.

Something sharp.

Your fingers painted red, and the sight of it had nearly made you faint. Joe had never seen colour drain from someone's face quite so fast.

Joe already knew that his fight or flight response was freeze, but being confronted with this cowardly personality trait like this was terrible.

Joe hadn't ever seen a girl panic the way you had from something he was responsible for.

He'd just stood next to you in his protective gear, big shocked eyes behind his plastic safety glasses, entirely unsure of what to do.

And then you'd wobbled on your legs, and he had just shot an arm out.

For the lack of strength you'd held in your legs, Joe was surprised by the death grip you had on the sleeve of his overalls.

Your blood covered hand went back to touch at your cheek again, but Joe was able to grab hold of that wrist just in time. And then, with weird tensed upper bodies that held onto each other, Joe'd lowered you down onto the ground because everyone around you kept repeating for you to sit down, to get onto the floor.

You sat down, and then only seconds later, lied down before you could lose consciousness all together. Your friend lifted your legs up and even though your eyes looked scared, the two of you were giggling. Laughing at the silly situation.

And Joe had just stood there.

Useless.

Your skin looked extra pale next to the bright red of the blood that dripped down your cheek right into your hair and it was... sort of beautiful. Awful thing to focus on when he should've actually been doing something helpful, but Joe just... looked at you, and thought you looked lovely.

Looking at you now, still teary, but smiling, he's still scared it'll flare up again. Your panic. It's unlikely, you're sat on the floor, leaning against the wall near the exit, but your cheek doesn't look good. He feels bad going back in to launch a hammer at a printer, or whatever, so he's hovering. Some of his friends are too, just like the staff is, making sure you're drinking your water, telling you to stay seated until your breathing has returned to normal.

Your friend has gone to get the car, and she said she'd be quick, but the second she was out the door, you'd cracked a joke. Said you'd see her in an hour if you were lucky.

You shudder through another inhale, and it makes Joe's eyebrows twitch up a little. You see it happen and release your breath in a laugh.

"If I were to go with just how you're looking at me, I'd believe I was actively dying," you joke, and everyone around you politely smiles through worried grimaces.

"I feel fine. I'm fine, honestly. It's just a minor cut. It feels," and like an idiot, you remove the ice pack and shove a dirty finger right into the cut on your face.

You feel how wide the cut is, and how deep into your cheek your finger sinks.

"Fi–..."

The wave of nausea is a surprise to you, and the way Joe shoots into action when you sag to the side because your head is suddenly too heavy is a real surprise to him.

"Hey, hey, okay, careful, careful..." Joe holds you by the side of your face that hasn't got a huge gash in and curls his fingers around as he carefully tries to hold you up.

"Maybe you shouldn't..." he starts, and finds the ice pack you've dropped with his other hand. "...play with that."

You kind of want to go to sleep.

Close your eyes and have a nap.

You lean into the hand that holds you and the instant comfort after shooting pain is nice.

But then the ice pack gets softly pressed against where your skin's broken and your eyes laser back into focus.

"Hi," Joe says when you make eye-contact. He smiles, though it's wobbly.

Maybe you aren't as fine as you thought you were.

"I'm fine?" you ask, feeling panicked like a real loser.

"You're fine." Joe assures you, voice soft but level enough for you to believe it. That's what's important, he thinks. If you believe it, you'll calm down enough until your friend gets back and she can take you to hospital.

"You're okay, focus on breathing, all right?" Joe redeems himself. This is what he should've done half an hour ago, when all hell broke loose. "That's all you've got to do. You're fine."

"I'm fine." you repeat after him, and force yourself to take a deep breath. "I'm fine." you're reassuring yourself now, and with one hand cupping your clammy face and another cooling where you're hurt, you press your own hands to your chest and ground yourself with your eyes closed.

It's awkward because there's other people there, but Joe's glad he gets to hold you for a bit. It's admittedly an unconventional way of being close to someone he's just met, and he still feels mortified, but... you're pretty. Even with dried blood covering half your face.

If this is how he meets the love of his life, it can be an embarrassing story he will gladly listen to at every single birthday party until he dies.

"That hurt." you say after a moment, and smile, eyes still closed.

"You're fine." Joe says again, but whispers it now.

"I'm sorry," you say like this is your fault. "I should've known not to agree to come to this," you confess, eyes blinking open now, and if you're startled by how close Joe is to you, you don't show it. "I'm not really angry enough for this. I don't think smash rooms are my thing..."

Same, Joe thinks, and he smiles, gets some of his confidence back when he sees the flush returning to your face. "Maybe there's some anger now?" he asks, because you should be angry. At him. Look at what he's done to you.

You don't understand what he means, this handsome stranger, and you frown in confusion. Before you can ask, and before Joe can explain, the door opens and your friend barges in, completely out of breath.

"Quick! I've stopped right in front and I'm holding up traffic!"

And just like that, Joe and staff help you move back up onto your feet.

You're fine.

You're helped out to the car, but halfway down the pavement, you're walking by yourself and are getting into the car without any help.

It is just a cut on your cheek.

"Can I, em," Joe starts, staring through the glass of the door at where you cup a loose hand over your cheek to protect it when you put your seatbelt on with the other. "Can I get her details?" he turns to a member of staff.

"Huh?"

"I'd love to send a card," he explains, and from behind him, he can hear one of his friends softly chuckle.

Joe'd forgotten he was even there with anyone.

"A card, or a bunch of flowers?" one of them starts.

"He's going to write her a love letter," one groans, already annoyed by the idea of it.

"Gifts her ten grand, just because he feels bad," another jumps in, and they're laughing, slapping shoulders. They're making fun, pretending to be Joe, mimicking the face he made, how he'd helplessly stood there, joking about how the one time Joe joins them for something, this happens. It's all shit they'd held in whilst you were there still, and it's all spewing out now, no holding them back. Joe doesn't even try.

"Come on, we've spent long enough not smashing TV's in."

And bats, hammers and axes get picked back up.

"You coming?"

And Joe's smiles, though it's not very convincing.

"Nah," he says, and walks over to that staff member. He needs to get your details.

"I'm good."

There was no way he was going back in there, because smash rooms, as it turns out, aren't really his thing.

the end

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn0628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x Y/N #joe quinn x Y/N #not his thing #icallhimjoey

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nayziiz · 22 hours

Text

Stay | LN4

Summary: A new romantic prospect puts things into perspective in the best and worst ways possible.

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Cara)

Warnings: Angst

Masterlist

CHAPTER 6

The music was louder than Cara expected when they entered the club. Maya immediately dragged Lando over to the bar to get drinks, and Max and Pietra went on a mission to find the private booth Maya had apparently arranged. Cara hung back for a minute and surveyed the scene. It wasn't her go-to place regardless of the country she found herself in. She sighed, defeated, knowing she would be spending most of her night being miserable.

Trying to make the best of it, Cara wandered over to the bar, deciding to get herself a drink. She squeezed through the crowd and managed to catch the bartender's attention, ordering a simple gin and tonic. As she waited for her drink, she couldn't help but notice Lando and Maya at the other end of the bar, Maya clinging onto Lando's arm as they laughed together.

Cara felt a pang of something she couldn't quite place—jealousy, maybe? She quickly dismissed the thought, reminding herself that she and Lando were just friends. Still, it was hard to ignore the growing discomfort she felt every time she saw them together.

“Here's your drink,” the bartender said, breaking her train of thought. She thanked him and took a sip, letting the cool liquid calm her nerves. She turned away from the bar and tried to spot Max and Pietra, hoping to find some solace in their company.

After a few minutes of searching, she finally saw Max waving her over from a corner booth. She weaved through the throng of people, grateful to finally sit down and escape the chaos for a bit. When she reached the booth, Pietra scooted over to make room for her.

“Never really been your scene, huh?” Max observed, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Not at all. But hey, at least I've got you guys to keep me company,” Cara shook her head, managing a small smile.

“Don't worry, we'll make sure you have a good time,” Pietra assured her with a pat on the shoulder.

“See, she looks so out of place,” Maya whined when she looked back at Cara. Lando followed her eyes and found Cara slowly moving towards Max and Pietra.

“Cut her some slack, she's trying,” Lando countered, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Why do you defend her so much?” Maya asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“Because she's one of my best friends, Maya.” Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words.

“It just feels like she's always around, and I don't get why you prioritise her so much.” Maya pouted, clearly unsatisfied with his answer. Lando took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

“Cara is important to me, just like Max, just like Pietra. We've been through a lot together. It's not about prioritising; it's about recognizing the people who genuinely care about you. You should give her a chance, get to know her better.” Lando continued. Maya rolled her eyes as she shifted closer to Lando, linking her arm through his.

“Baby, she's not like us, she doesn't fit in,” Maya retorted, her tone dismissive.

“Like us? What does that even mean?” Lando asked, baffled by Maya's comment. “Alright, if you want to see me defensive, keep saying stuff like that.”

“Calm down, Lan. I'm just sharing my opinion,” Maya shrugged, trying to downplay the situation.

“No, you're being mean towards her, and that's not cool, Maya. She's only been nice to you,” Lando continued, his voice firm.

“Whatever, Lan. I just think you should focus more on us.” Maya rolled her eyes at him once more. Lando shook his head, feeling a growing frustration.

“It's not a competition, Maya. If you can't accept my friends, then this won't work.” Lando informed her. Maya stared at him, a mixture of anger and hurt in her eyes. “Give her a chance. You might actually like her if you got to know her.”

Maya didn't respond, instead turning her attention back to the bar. Lando sighed, knowing that this was far from over, but determined to stand by his friend.

Cara spotted Lando and Maya in an intense conversation from their reserved booth where she sat with Pietra and Max, who were also chatting away. She nudged Pietra, drawing her attention to the scene unfolding at the bar. Pietra turned to look at what Cara was indicating.

"Trouble in paradise?" Pietra asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Who knows?" Cara sighed again, feeling a pang of discomfort at the sight.

Max, picking up on the shift in conversation, turned his attention to the bar as well. "Looks like things are getting heated over there."

Cara nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "Yeah, it does."

Pietra leaned in closer to Cara. "You okay?"

Cara forced a small smile. "Yeah, just...it's been a weird night."

Max gave her a sympathetic look. "Weird how?"

Cara hesitated, glancing at Lando and Maya again. "Just...Maya's been making things a bit uncomfortable. I feel like I'm in the way."

Pietra put a reassuring hand on Cara's arm. "You know you're not in the way, right? You're part of this group, and we all want you here."

Throughout the night as the drinks flowed, Cara loosened up and even ended up on the dancefloor. She danced with some girls for a while, and then the men started approaching her. Lando ground his teeth, his jaw locked, as he watched her dance against a new man every few minutes, a goofy smile plastered on her face as she did so.

He could feel the frustration bubbling inside him, his protective instincts flaring up with each passing moment. He knew Cara was just trying to have a good time and shake off the evening's earlier discomfort, but it didn't stop the surge of jealousy and concern he felt seeing her surrounded by strangers.

Maya noticed Lando's attention was securely on Cara and nothing else the second she went on the dancefloor, so in a huff, she left the club without saying goodbye to Lando. She felt a sting of betrayal and disappointment as she pushed through the throng of people, heading for the exit. Her dramatic departure went unnoticed by Lando, who was too engrossed in his moment with Cara to see anything else.

Lando was able to contain himself until he saw another new man approach Cara. The man slid in behind her, grabbing her hips as they swayed, and pressed himself right against her. She didn't move away from him, not even when his hands travelled around to her waist and later to her butt and thighs. Lando's blood was boiling as he stood and watched.

Max, noticing Lando's agitation, nudged him. "You okay, mate?"

Lando forced a tight smile. "Yeah, just... keeping an eye on things."

Max followed his gaze to where Cara was dancing, understanding dawning on his face. "She's just having fun, man. Let her enjoy herself."

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. It's just hard to watch."

Pietra, joining the conversation, leaned in. "Maybe you should go dance with her?"

Lando hesitated. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

Pietra gave him an encouraging smile. "It might be exactly what she needs. Besides, it's clear you're not happy just standing here."

He walked through the crowd to where she was. The man dancing with her had disappeared, and Lando took the opportunity to wrap his arms around her waist from behind to see what her reaction would be. Instead of pushing his hands away, she rested her hands on his and intertwined her fingers with his. She pressed her body against his and swayed to the beat of the music. She rested the back of her head against his chest and turned her head slightly so she could just, ever so slightly, brush the tip of her icy nose against the skin of his neck.

“You know it's me, right?” Lando asked, his voice soft yet tinged with a hint of amusement.

“Uh-huh,” she hummed, warm from both the alcohol and by Lando’s sudden presence behind her.

“I thought I'd join you,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. “Looks like you're having fun.”

"I am. But I wouldn't mind a familiar face to dance with,” she admitted, a slight flush to her cheeks.

“Well, here I am.” He grinned, relieved.

Lando and Cara continued to dance, their laughter and movements synchronised. The energy between them was palpable, drawing a few curious glances from onlookers but mostly just blending into the vibrant, carefree atmosphere of the dancefloor. Max and Pietra, seated in the booth, observed the scene with satisfaction.

“Looks like they’re finally letting their feelings take control,” Max commented, leaning back with a contented smile. Pietra nodded.

“It's about time. They both needed this.” Pietra agreed, hinting at all of the months and trips they spent watching Lando and Cara dance around each other and their feelings.

After their night at the club, the unexpected intimacy they shared on the dance floor lingering in their minds, Cara and Lando found themselves back at the apartment. The atmosphere was filled with a mixture of awkwardness and anticipation, as both of them tried to process the shift in their relationship. They had reversed roles for the evening: Lando took the couch, and Cara took his bed.

Cara lay in Lando's bed, surrounded by the scent of him that clung to the sheets and pillows. She turned over and buried her face into his pillow, breathing in deeply. His scent was comforting, but without him being close, it felt suffocating and incomplete. The bed felt enormous and empty without his presence. It was cold. Too cold. She pulled the blankets tighter around herself, trying to find some semblance of warmth, but it was no use. The events of the night replayed in her mind, especially the moment on the dance floor when she had felt so safe and connected in his arms.

In the living room, Lando tossed and turned on the couch. The cushions felt foreign and uncomfortable, a far cry from the familiarity of his bed. The eerie loneliness of the room gnawed at him, amplified by the silence of the early morning hours. He stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts consumed by the feel of touch and the way she had fit so perfectly in his arms. He couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that filled the room without her presence nearby.

Both of them were restless, struggling to find comfort in their new sleeping arrangements. The distance between them felt greater than the physical space that separated the couch from the bedroom. They were both acutely aware of each other's absence, and it weighed heavily on their hearts.

His bedroom door creaked open, and Cara stood leaning against the doorframe, watching Lando toss from one side of the couch to the other. The sight of him struggling to find comfort tugged at her heart. She could see the unease etched on his face, and it mirrored her own feelings of restlessness.

“Not comfortable?” she whispered as she approached him, halting his movements.

“Something like that,” he admitted, sitting back with a sigh. He looked despondent, the weight of the night’s events clearly still on his mind. Cara took a seat beside him, their shoulders brushing. “Why are you still up?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she confessed, pulling her sweatshirt’s sleeves over her hands. The fabric provided a small comfort against the cold, but it did nothing to quell the chill she felt inside.

Lando sat there, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate for freedom. His mind raced, a flurry of doubts and uncertainties clouding his judgement. Was this the right moment? Would she think he was being too forward? A myriad of questions bombarded his thoughts, threatening to drown out the faint whisper of courage that urged him forward.

Yet, amidst the chaos of his mind, there was a flicker of something different—an ember of spontaneity and daring that dared to defy his apprehensions. It was that tiny spark that propelled him forward, urging him to take a leap of faith into the unknown. For a brief moment, he hesitated, his lips parting as if to speak, only to falter at the brink of uncertainty.

But then, with a surge of determination, he silenced his doubts and let his words spill forth into the space between them.

"Fancy a cuddle?" he suggested, the words hanging in the air like a delicate promise waiting to be fulfilled.

In that instant, time seemed to stand still, the world holding its breath as they stood on the precipice of possibility. Would she laugh it off, dismissing his offer with a gentle smile? Or would she embrace the spontaneity of the moment, taking his hand and diving headfirst into the unknown?

As the blush bloomed across her cheeks, Lando felt a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of vulnerability. He watched her, his heart pounding in his chest, wondering what her response would be. For a moment, she seemed to retreat within herself, her gaze flickering away from his as if grappling with an inner turmoil.

Then, just as he began to fear that his suggestion had been too bold, she surprised him. With a deep breath, she rose from her seat, her hand extended towards him in a silent invitation. It was a gesture filled with a quiet determination, a silent affirmation of trust and curiosity.

Lando felt a rush of relief flood through him as he accepted her hand, letting her lead him back to his room. The air between them crackled with anticipation, the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging heavy in the space around them.

Once inside, he closed the door behind them, the sound echoing softly in the silence. He watched as she made herself comfortable under the covers, her movements graceful yet tinged with a hint of uncertainty. It was a simple act, yet it spoke volumes—a silent agreement to embrace the intimacy of the moment, to explore the connection that pulsed between them.

As Lando slipped out of his shirt, the fabric falling away to reveal the contours of his frame, it felt like shedding a layer of inhibition, a symbolic gesture of vulnerability and intimacy. It was a routine he had grown accustomed to, a small act of comfort and familiarity in the quiet moments before sleep claimed him.

With a silent grace, he joined her beneath the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning them in a world of their own making. And as he settled beside her, he felt a sense of rightness wash over him—a feeling of belonging that transcended words or explanations.

She welcomed him into her embrace with a natural ease, her body fitting against his like two pieces of a puzzle finally finding their perfect match. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of her breath against his neck, a soothing rhythm that lulled him into a state of contentment.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close, relishing the sensation of her skin against his own. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes—an unspoken promise of protection and comfort, a silent declaration of love and devotion.

With her hand resting on her exposed stomach, he felt a surge of tenderness well up within him.

“Tell me something nobody else knows about you,” Lando quipped in an attempt to distract himself from the feeling of her body against his.

“I am absolutely terrible at skiing,” she whispered with a small chuckle.

“Is that why you didn’t come to Finland with us?” he realised.

“Partly, yeah,” she chuckled. “I did have to work, too.”

“I can teach you, you know, how to ski,” he offered.

“You’d be teaching a wall how to walk, not going to happen,” she countered.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a great teacher. Just look at how great you are now at karting,” Lando teased with a knowingly smile.

“Alright, fair enough,” she conceded, chuckling slightly at his cockiness.

The excitement of their banter dissipated into the tranquil embrace of the night as she nestled her head into the curve of his neck once more. Her breath, warm yet tinged with a hint of chill, ghosted across his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

Lando's fingers traced gentle patterns over her arm, the warmth of her touch a soothing balm against the tumultuous currents of his thoughts. He tried to coax himself into a state of sleep, to let the gentle rhythm of their breaths lull him into oblivion. But amidst the quiet darkness, the desire that simmered beneath the surface refused to be ignored.

With each passing moment, the urge to lean in and capture her lips in a tender kiss grew stronger, a silent plea that echoed in the depths of his soul. He turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting hers in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window.

Their eyes locked in a silent exchange, a wordless conversation that spoke volumes of unspoken desires and hidden truths. In that fleeting moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of them suspended in the timeless embrace of the night.

“I really want to kiss you,” he confessed, his voice so soft it was barely a whisper.

“Okay,” she mimicked his tone and volume, her breath warm against his skin.

With a tender reverence, Lando cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across her skin. He leaned in, closing the small distance between them, and gently pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was soft and delicate, a gentle caress that spoke of all the unspoken words and feelings they had shared.

For the first time in a very long time, Lando felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach—the good kind that signalled something special, something real. It wasn’t a hungry or desperate kiss, but one filled with sweetness and tenderness, a reflection of how he felt about her.

When he finally pulled away, he watched her eyes remain closed, her face serene as she absorbed every moment of the lingering sensation. A smile curved her lips, and in that moment, Lando knew that this simple kiss had sealed something profound between them.

They spent the rest of the night wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy, gazing at each other with a mixture of wonder and contentment. The world outside their little bubble seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft glow of the moonlight and the quiet whispers of their shared breaths.

With tender curiosity, they traced invisible shapes into each other’s skin, their fingertips leaving trails of warmth and affection. Each touch was a silent declaration, a wordless conversation that spoke of their growing closeness and the trust they had built.

Her fingers played gently with his hair, twirling soft strands between her fingertips, while he marvelled at the delicate way she moved. In return, his hand found its way to her hair, smoothing it back from her face with a tenderness that made her heart flutter.

As the night wore on, their words grew softer, their touches slower, each moment drawing them deeper into the embrace of sleep. The rhythm of their breaths synchronised, creating a soothing lullaby that carried them towards slumber.

Finally, with their bodies entwined and hearts beating in unison, they drifted off to sleep, each wrapped in the comfort of the other’s presence. And as they slipped into dreams, the night held them close, a silent witness to the beginning of something beautiful and enduring.

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temis-de-leon · 3 days

Text

Day 19 - Missing a kiss

Characters: Belphegor x gn!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: Belphie being a smitten petty brat, established relationship

If Belphie hated one thing about MC, it was all the times they called him dude; or worse, bro. He wasn’t their dude or their bro, he was their boyfriend. And he would appreciate being called as such. Sweetheart? Bring it on. Honey? Sounds good to him. Baby? His favourite. Dude? Absolutely fucking not. Bro? Did MC want to get the silent treatment? And buddy? What did they think he was? Their dog?

He hated it, despised it, and they thought it was so funny, soon moving on to more platonic nicknames like bestie, pal and, the worst of all, champ.

CHAMP?

“Love you so much, dude” they would say while kissing him in the darkness of the attic.

“Miss you, bro” they would message him when they took separate classes.

“How’s my bestie doing?” they would ask after waking him up from a long nap on the floor.

It was heinous, worth of every ounce of his pettiness towards them. Fortunately, MC knew it was nothing extremely serious or something to actually worry about, but still.

Absolutely foul.

The situation reached a point where Belphie ultimately decided to give his beloved MC the cold shoulder. His need of keeping them close and touching them even in the smallest of ways made everything difficult, and he still needed to at least hold their hand throughout the day, but he was determined to get his point across.

So he did.

Looking the other way whenever MC talked to him and observing every bit of their features the moment they turned away, not reciprocating their hugs and discretely grabbing their, his, sweatshirt to not get left behind, laying on their lap only when he was sure they were already asleep.

And so on.

Finally, not even a full week after his shenanigans, Belphie found himself hidden under the blankets of MC’s bed, frowning when they uncovered him with a knowing and amused smile. They didn’t waste any time in joining him and soon his relief at being next to them became obvious.

MC laughed and he could feel himself blushing in response.

“Are you done being mad at me?” they asked in a mocking tone.

“I’m not mad at you”

“Sure”

“I’m not”

They laughed again, irking him, and quickly launched at him before he could turn his back on them. Belphie hugged them back on instinct and then couldn’t find the will to push them back, keeping MC close to his chest instead and letting his irrational irritation disappear in a matter of seconds.

“Are you done now?”

“Yeah, I guess I am”

Belphie felt an immediately sense of embarrassment filling his body, reddening his cheeks even more and making him hide his face in MC’s clothes so they wouldn’t see him.

Just when he was hoping they’d both fall asleep surrounded by warmth and the familiar smell of their combined scents, MC lightly shook him and talked in tender whispers.

“Tell me what happened” they pleaded. “Is it because I call you bestie? But you’re my bestie!”

“I’m your boyfriend!” he answered in a stern tone.

“You’re my boyfriend and my best friend”

The clarification made his heart flutter, but he was still irritated.

He slowly started to feel light ticklish touches across his face, the intimate caress of MC’s lips marking his skin and making him shiver. From his closed eyelids to his cheekbones, up his temple and down his nose, barely touching the corner of his lips before playfully biting his jaw and letting him go.

“Kiss me” he demanded, causing their smile.

“I already did”

“Not where I want you to”

“Oh?”

MC leaned on their elbows, looking at him from above with hilarity. He was blushing, again embarrassed, but the ghost of their kiss on his lips made him impatient.

“And where does my baby want me to kiss him?”

He avoided their gaze, feeling his face getting warmer.

“My absolute favourite demon? The love of my life?”

“Okay, stop”

“Where do you want me to kiss you, Belphegor?”

His breathing stopped, unable to even hear their heartbeat over his own.

“My Belphie”

They slowly closed the distance between them, eyes fixated on his lips, and just when he thought he would finally have a taste of what he was craving the most, MC raised their trajectory just a little and merrily kissed his cupid’s bow.

He immediately and deeply frowned, again making them laugh, but the sound quickly died when he threw himself at them and locked their lips together.

It brought peace to his mind and it made them sigh in delight and he’d make sure it wouldn’t stop until very early in the morning.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation @owlisbuffering @chizukimp4 @ravenredwine @darkflowerav @craftysclown @mehkers

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x gn!reader #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me belphagor x reader #obey me belphie x reader #belphegor x reader #belphie x reader #obey me fluff #obey me writing #obey me drabble #25 kisses challenge

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derangedanomaly · 1 day

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Bad Sanses x Princess! S/O perhaps? (That one bride and her ugly ass groom meme lol)

YES!

MASTERLIST

BAD SANSES X PRINCESS S/O

NIGHTMARE:

Nightmare is a royal himself (or so he addresses himself as one), so having someone be on the same power position as him, makes him respect you.

I mean, he is an asshole to everyone, but you.

He makes sure that you're treated with the utmost respect by the others too.

You truly overall get more advantages, being Nightmare 'princess friend'.

Now the next thing I'm gonna say, is gonna be shocking.... He's kind to you.

Yes, that's right. I'd say you're lucky. Being treated like a treasure by the king of negativity himself, is a huge achievement.

He even listens to you when you command him something.

"Night! Stop traumatizing this poor man!" "Yes, of course, anything for you, love."

He's determined to make Killer lay on the puddles of water, just so you can come across it.

A sugar daddy Nightmare??

He buys you literally anything you want. Anything your heart desires, you already posses.

You know that one song from Lana Del Rey? That's the kind of relationship going on with you two.

"Would you ever kill for me, one day?" Him immediately without thinking about it, replying; "Yes, of course I will my darling."

KILLER/BLADE:

When I say that this man's HOOKED. Then I mean he's hooked.

He would try to woo you somehow. Gives you flowers, flirts.

But Nightmare doesn't really let him, since he thinks that Blade is too much of a commoner to even attempt at wooing you.

He's deviated fr.

Ya know Romeo and Juliet? That's what's going on. He's gonna sneak himself through your window, while you're giggling at his silly behavior.

You'd probably think he was cute. (And he was lmao)

He's be interested in all the royal stuff, and definitely asks you about it more than once.

He likes your dresses. He wants to try them too! (And he probably did once)

You're like two high schoolers hiding from their parents (Nightmare) while giggling through it.

He'd get in a lot of situations, that you'll have to get him out of, but they're probably all done just for you.

Like, he saw this thing that you so desperately want, and he'd steal it. That kind of thing.

Y'all give me major Flynn Rider and Rapunzel vibes.

DUST/ACE:

Ace would be nervous at approaching you. He probably thinks that the worst possible thing happens.

He's gonna prepare for a conversation with you, a MONTH before talking to you.

You'd think he was cute or something, so you'd just look at him doe eyes. (That made him more nervous)

He wants to hear you talk all the time. Loves your voice, even more when you're explaining things.

He's such a good listener, I swear to god.

Ace would like the fact you two are completely different, when it comes to a position. He's not a royal, or anything like that, so he feels like it's really romantic.

Ace can't stop talking about you, whenever you're not near him.

"So then that happened." "Yeah, that's cool, but did you know Y/N-"

HORROR/TED:

Literally thinks you're the prettiest thing to have ever graced his eye.

He wants to treasure you, and make sure you're safe at all times.

He's gonna be like your personal guard. He's gonna carry you over puddles... Anything!

He's not really talkative though, so he'd probably just watch you intently while you're out here talking his nonexistent ears off.

Please, show him some dresses! He wants to see you in them!

Horror likes the nature, so there's gonna be a lot of walks through the woods or something.

He also likes chopping wood. So he's gonna be out there breaking a brick of wood only with his hands, and you're gonna be drooling over how strong he is. (Me too girlie. Me too)

#undertale #undertale fandom #sans undertale #utmv #sans x reader #nightmare sans #nightmare sans x reader #killer sans #killer sans x reader #dust sans #dust sans x reader #horror sans #horror sans x reader #x reader #utmv x reader

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kayentokk · 3 days

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Hey :) How are you doing?

Okay so, i wanted to request a platonic father Aizawa in which he is out patroling and he finds his teen daughter doing something ilegal with her friends or something like that.

Please and thankss :)

A/N; I’m okay thanks for asking! Love this idea, I’ve gotten many requests somewhat related to this lately actually! I’ll be posting those throughout the week. Also sorry it’s taken me a while to get to this! 🥲 I truly believe Aizawa is a girl dad and a softie parent.

Pairing; Platonic!Father Aizawa x Fem!Daughter Reader

Contains; a little ooc Aizawa, fluff, soft, drug mentions, reader is about 16-17 like mha characters, quirk-less reader, death mentions, bad friends, comfort

wc; 1,763

You weren’t supposed to get caught. In fact, you didn’t even think you would. It wasn’t a big deal anyways, you only did it because you thought it’d be a way to relax with your friends. Plus, if you guys did get caught your backup plan was your father. It wasn’t like he was going to detain you…right?

Wrong.

You were very wrong to believe that your father wouldn’t take you into custody over a little weed with your friends. You just wanted to have fun! Besides, you didn’t want to be the ‘perfect heroes daughter’ who’s a buzzkill. Why couldn’t he understand that?

There was just so much pressure that came with being the child to a hero. Your friends already joked about how you were too ‘good’ to do anything remotely illegal. Which is part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

Of course he just happened to be patrolling around the alley you and your friends decided to get a little high in. That was just your luck, he didn’t seem mad though. So you thought he’d just tell you guys not to do it anymore, and move on. Nope. Leave it to Aizawa to want to teach you a ‘lesson’ all of a sudden. He was normally just a “don’t do it again,” kind of parent. Mostly because you had never done anything of this caliber before.

“Did you really have to bring me in?”

Silence.

“I mean come on, none of the other heroes care. They’re too busy thinking about protecting the city, shouldn’t you be too? Nobody cares about a couple of kids getting a little buzzed, besides everyone does it nowadays-“

“That doesn’t make it okay y/n.”

You’ve rarely seen him like this, so tense. He didn’t look angry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling you got that he was. It was almost….scary.

So you resigned to a simple, “Okay, I’m sorry.” Were you really sorry though? Not that much, you still didn’t see the big deal.

He let out a low grunt, “This is serious y/n, I know you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” well he said it first, “but you could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Hurt? From getting a little high?”

“Criminals lace that stuff all the time, whether it’s with poison, more drugs, or whatever else they decide-“

“Yeah sure, but we got it from a trusted source-“

“And who’s that?” He said crossing his arms.

Oops.

You decided it’d be best not to respond right now. Especially since the source wasn’t technically trusted, just another kid who got it from someone else. Who probably got it from someone else too.

Sensing your apprehension he decide to drop it, “we’ll revisit that later,” he said waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll drop you off at home, you’re grounded.”

You internally groaned at that, grounded? That’s a new one, you were starting to really regret your decision. You should have just told your friends no, even if it meant being the ‘buzzkill.’ Then you remembered, your friends-

“What about my friends?”

“We’re working on calling their parents to come pick them up soon.”

“No!-“ you said sharply, “I-I mean, can’t you just let them off? Or something?”

“You know that’s not how this works, they are already getting off with a minor offense. The worst they’re going to get is their parents’ scolding.”

“Dad! You don’t understand-“

“I understand perfectly fine, a bunch of young kids wanted to ‘have fun’ and thought this was the best way to do it.”

Okay maybe he did understand, but not your side. He didn’t get that now you’d officially be the outcast, the top 10 ranked hero’s daughter who gets everyone in trouble. Does he get how embarrassing that is?

“Come on, let’s get going.”

You stood from the chair leaving the comfort of being shielded, by the small desk separator, from your friends’ piercing gazes. They thought your dad would let you all off too considering the chaos the city’s currently in.

You nervously waved and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to them before rushing out the door trying to follow closely behind Aizawa.

You guys didn’t speak the whole way home, you opted for silence mostly because it wasn’t that big of a deal and he just didn’t know what to say. You had never done anything like that before, or had he just never caught you? When did that start?

He remembered when you were little and you’d give your vegetables to stray animals so you didn’t have to eat them, or when you tried to sneak out at night and he caught you. But those were all pretty minor things, and he was only always concerned with your safety.

You’d never done anything this bad, and in terms of the worst thing you could do of course this wasn’t horrible but he still didn’t get why. It couldn’t have just been for fun.

He entered the house after unlocking the door and opening it for you. Before you could make it to your room, where you’d probably go to sulk, he decided he’d ask.

“Why did you want to do that y/n?”

You stopped and turned around to face him. He was standing in front of the door, and now that you actually took in his appearance he looked tired. His dark circles more prominent, eyes a light pink most likely from his quirk, and his black pants had small patches of dust that had been hastily patted off on them.

You replied after a moment, briefly forgetting his question, “For fu-“

“And don’t just say for fun, because I know you and there are plenty of other things you would do for fun.”

You huffed resigning to just come out with it, “it was a bet.”

“A bet?”

“My friends bet me that I wouldn’t get high with them since I’m a hero’s daughter.”

“And you decided to take them up on that?”

“Yes, I know it was stupid okay?”

“I know you know, you’re smarter than that. So why’d you say yes?”

Why’d he have to be so persistent? “Maybe because I thought I’d finally get some friends.”

“What do you mean y/n? You do have friends.”

“No, I don’t. Momo, Tsu, and Uraraka only hang out with me out of pity, since you’re their teacher, if they even have time-“

“Pity? Y/n no they don’t, there’s nothing pitiful about you at all-“

You scoffed, “don’t lie. I get you’re my dad and all but be honest with yourself, truly honest.”

“I am being honest. I’d never lie-“

Guess you’d just have to spell it out for him then. “The only daughter you had killed your wife, was born quirk-less, and there’s nothing special about her!” You were shocked at the admission of your own feelings but kept going, “I don’t have a talent, I’m not exceptionally smart, I’m not breathtakingly pretty, and I can’t even make friends!” You listed raising a finger for each reason, “Now tell me what about that is not pitiful?”

After that question there was silence, and Aizawa was just looking at you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until the first tear slid down your nose crease and hit the corner of your lip. Before touching could even wipe your tear or register the sound of footsteps approaching you, you were being hugged. Fully covered by his arms, your head grazing the bottom of his chin where stubble had began to grow, face buried partially into his scarf.

You heard high pitched wailing, which you hadn’t even registered was you until his hand began to rub up and down your back with quiet ‘shh’s to try calming you.

“Don’t cry, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, none of it okay?” He began whispering in your ear.

“Your mom and I both knew the challenges she’d have if she gave birth to you. We were well aware, and she wanted to have you. She didn’t care if she’d die in the process, you are our child.”

He continued comforting you, and when you eventually calmed down he let go and gently pulled your face out of his chest so you could look him in his tired, red eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough okay? It’s my fault I’m sorry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you’re perfect. I mean that, I’d never lie. You don’t need a quirk, to be super smart, or have a special talent. You’re perfect to me, okay? And that’s all that matters. You’re important to me,” he said firmly.

“Okay?”

You sniffled, reaching a hand to wipe your nose, “okay.”

“Hey,” he said turning your face back to his, “I really mean it, I’d be no where without you. And how could you say you’re not beautiful? I know I’m not the best looking hero, but haven’t you seen the pictures of your mom? You take after her, gorgeous. Nothing I’d ever change about you, I don’t regret anything.”

“Okay,” you said slightly unused to him saying these things, “I’ve never heard you say something so corny dad,” you said chuckling trying to lighten the mood.

At that, he gave a small grin which faded when he remembered your earlier point, “And Ochaco, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu do like being your friend. Not just because I’m their teacher, trust me I’m more of a supervisor if anything. I let them figure most stuff out on their own. They wanted to meet and hang out with you. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, you make friends just fine.”

“I know, I know, it was just heat of the moment stuff dad.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugged you once more, and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I still have about another hour of night patrol, but I’ll stay here if you want me to?”

“No dad, it’s fine go.”

He looked at you once more as if saying, ‘are you sure?’

“Yes I’m sure I’m fine, it’s only an hour anyways.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything, I’ll be back soon,” he said headed towards the door.

“Okay,” you said starting to walk to your room.

But just before he shut the door you dashed for it and started, “Hey! does this mean-“

“No you’re still grounded,” he said.

And with that the door shut.

@/cafekitsune for the divider!

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ham1lton · 2 days

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013 with charles!

013. a great ballroom during an elegant party w/ CL16.

— part of a series of drabbles! <3

one day after classes, you had come home to see an unfamiliar elderly woman sitting with your mother in your small flat. your mother had placed her cup of tea down on the coffee table and introduced the lady as your grandmother, and as the current queen of the small kingdom of genovia.

thanks to that one night, you were now here at a genovian ball held in your honour but instead of being out on the floor and mingling with the guests, you had hid in an alcove. a side-effect of becoming the crown princess means a makeover. your hair had been styled to frame your face, and you were wearing more jewels then you’d ever seen in your life. it was a bit much but it’s not like anyone had asked you how you felt about it.

one day you were attending college, crushing on carlos, who was your best friend’s older brother, and now you were the only heir to a kingdom you hadn’t even heard of before.

before you could think about your circumstances any longer, someone had slid themselves into the alcove. you screamed.

“wait! wait! sshh! please!” a hand covered your mouth as your eyes widened in shock. you’re gonna die in an alcove and around five minutes away from your security. your introvert tendencies are going to kill you. this is the worst day of your life.

“don’t kill me! please!” you say, fighting his hand.

“what?” he asks, voice filled with shock. “i’m not going to kill you!”

“you’re not?”

“no!” you can hear an accent when he speaks. “i’m just trying to hide from my responsibilities. i didn’t want you bringing attention to us. this is my hiding spot when i come to genovian balls.”

“are you from here?”

“no. i’m from monaco. my mum is the monegasque ambassador to genovia.”

“explains the accent.” you say. you can’t see him but he stands slightly tall as he leans against the wall opposite you. “i’m y/n.”

“y/n?” his voice is shocked. “y/n, as in the crown princess y/n?”

“indeed.” you sigh. “that is me.”

“what are you doing hiding away? isn’t the queen looking for you?”

“you’re hiding too. isn’t your mother looking for you?”

“touché.” he laughs. “i guess we’re both running from our duties tonight.”

“so, what’s your name. you know mine and i’m at a disadvantage now.”

“charles, charles leclerc.” he laughs. “i never would have thought in a million years i’d be here with you. this alcove is usually empty.”

“is being here with me a bad thing?”

“oh! no! god no! it’s just unusual. who else can say they’ve been here with a princess.”

you chuckle at his response, feeling a bit more at ease with charles's lighthearted demeanor. "well, charles leclerc, i'm glad to have some company in this unusual situation."

he smiles warmly at you, the brightness of his teeth glinting in the darkness. "likewise, princess. i have to admit, this is definitely a first for me."

you both share a moment of quiet companionship, enjoying the brief respite from the grandeur of the ball. it's a strange feeling, finding solace in the presence of a stranger amidst the opulence of royalty.

"perhaps we should head back before we're missed," you suggest reluctantly.

charles nods in agreement, offering you his arm as you both make your way back to the ballroom. as you step into the light and the music surrounds you once again, you can't help but feel grateful for the unexpected connection you've found. you turn to communicate this to charles, only to be shocked into a stupor.

“what is it?” he asks as you stare at him. “something on my face?”

he was very attractive and your face heated up with embarrassment at the fact you accused the very handsome stranger of attempting to murder you. god, he put his hand over your mouth. was your makeup smudged? did you look okay? you had the telltale signs of a crush forming, and you were transported back to high school all over again.

you were definitely calling your best friends about this later tonight.

you shake your head, trying to push aside the embarrassment of your earlier reaction. "no, it's nothing. just... lost in thought for a moment."

charles gives you a curious look, but doesn't press further. instead, he offers you a reassuring smile before leading you back into the bustling ballroom.

as the music swells around you and the guests continue to dance and mingle, you find yourself stealing glances at charles when you think he's not looking. despite the initial shock of your encounter, you can't deny the flutter of excitement in your chest at the prospect of getting to know him better.

the only thing you miss are the glances he sends back.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

author’s note: princess diaries au with charles as ur love interest, carlos as lily’s brother and lando as lily. spoilers! charles and reader end up getting married and he becomes her trophy king <3 also, two people requested this prompt!! hope u both enjoyed it <3

#ham1lton’s drabbles 🝮#formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine

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amethystfairy1 · 1 day

Note

Hey, sorry if this is a bit to dark or perhaps even triggering for you, or too much. You're free to just delete this or keep it or whatever you want to.

I just. I had one of the worst breakdowns I've ever had. An identity crisis, I suppose, that I was a terrible person and that everyone needs to leave me or they'll get hurt and burned. That I was merely placing on a mask and I was nothing underneath. I guess this is what happens if I spiral too much into my thoughts after the sun goes down (one piece of advice is to never listen to your brain after the sun goes down. I usually listen to it, but, tonight was just rough, I guess)

It was near the apex of this breakdown that I checked my Tumblr. For a distraction, a sign, I don't know. You posted the link for "Inkblot Lovely". I decided to go check it out, stay up to date to your series and all.

Scott's entry, I don't think it was the first time I saw it, but it was similar enough to my situation that I had to switch apps to calm down for a second.

It was me, in a sense. It was Jimmy's affection and sure belief in Scott that I was drawn to. I anonymously had a bit of a breakdown in a server I have with some real life friends. A friend anonymously responded that I'm not all of the things I think I am. That I'm not secretly a terrible person that needs to be cleansed.

I don't think that if it wasn't for your fic, I would've accepted the objections to my conclusions so quickly.

I want to thank you for helping me tonight. Thank you, truly. You showed me that I can be loved.

Take breaks, drink water, and eat and sleep well.

This is not dark or triggering or anything like that to me whatsoever! I promise you that! I am so happy and honored to hear that Inkblot Lovely went up at a moment where you needed it.

I'm so happy that Jimmy's affection for Scott in this AU and in this scenario helped you find the courage to talk to some friends in that server, even anonymously. I know sometimes it feels like we're all wearing masks, because we've gotten hurt, or maybe even done some harm in the past, but that doesn't define who are now, and it doesn't make us terrible. Scott's gonna have to learn that in TTSBC, and if in some way reading about him doing that has helped you feel like you can be loved, then that is the greatest and more wonderful thing I could possible hope to hear as a writer, that my stories meant something like this to someone and helped you somehow, because they've helped me a lot this past year as I've been working on them, too.

I am taking breaks, drinking water, and all those other good things, I wish the same to you and very much all the best. All the love in the world, because all of us need to see that we deserve that. 💖

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #through the sky blue cracks #ttsbc #ttsbc au #flower husbands #amethyst rambles

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wttcsms · 2 days

Text

excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction.

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.”

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary.

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably.

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride.

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in.

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word.

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling.

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.)

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him.

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks.

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—”

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.”

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment.

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.”

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there?

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word.

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full.

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders.

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone.

“Thanks, ‘Samu.”

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.”

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves.

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves.

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him.

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity.

You frown when he approaches you.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend.

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling.

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself.

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even.

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation.

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride.

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.)

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this.

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance.

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019 BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin.

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in.

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists.

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka.

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty.

“He told me he loves me.”

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.”

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her.

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first.

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night.

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home.

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do.

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud.

And rhythmic.

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too.

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then.

There’s someone knocking at your door.

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm?

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear.

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop.

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief?

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun.

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window.

This stranger must be a soldier.

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall.

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his.

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long.

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water.

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours.

It’s been a rough day.

A rough week.

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know?

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize.

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily.

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan.

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople.

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom.

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own.

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying.

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target.

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body.

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him.

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard.

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this.

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next.

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin.

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that.

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help.

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then.

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope.

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent.

Naoya Zenin is out for blood.

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you.

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches.

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal.

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one?

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in.

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too.

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three.

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom.

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her.

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again.

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.”

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals?

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer.

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back.

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him.

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all.

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words.

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.”

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl.

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run.

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment?

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself.

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up.

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister.

“...helped out Sakura.”

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl.

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura.

“Yeah.” You nod.

“So why are you here?”

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment.

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement.

“She a ring girl?”

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?”

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him.

“You finally did it.”

“Did what?”

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

#atsumu miya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #satoru gojo x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #UGH i hate going thru my drafts #bc im like damn why didn't i finish writing these #anyway lmk ur thoughts. i have to work on comms so no plans to release these this month but perhaps june

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