#we say fuck canon on this blog
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I'll never be able to take the theory that Vincent is Sephiroth's real father seriously cuz I cannot stress enough how important I think it is to the plot that Vincent wanted to fuck Lucrecia and did not get to.
#once again i jest but now i have to actually talk about it#like. okay we have no proof of any actual timeline for the dirge flashbacks other than. it was at least 30 years ago#so who knows how long they were at the manor. could have been weeks before The Incident. or months. or maybe a full year! who knows#but to me a timeline of like. they fucked and like a week later vincent found The Evidence and lucercia had her little breakdown#AND THEN EXTREMELY QUICKLY SHE AGREED TO THE EXPERIMENT AND IT COULD GO ONE OF TWO WAYS#1. she knew she was pregnant and thats why she agreed to the experiment cuz there was already a usable subject#and therefore she must have fucked hojo like a week after she fucked vincent AND THATS STUPID FAST FOR THESE EVENTS#or 2. she didnt know. agreed to the experiment. fucked hojo. and therefore thought seph was hojo's and NOT vincent's#AND BY THE WAY. i dont even actually believe hojo fucked either!!! cuz theyre both scientists so why wouldnt they think IVF was the best way#okay. well.... hojo is canonically a fucked up little freak. so. he might have taken the opportunity to... get in there.#also when did ivf even start being a thing? cuz that may play a factor into this if nomura even considered that#well either way lets just unfortunately assume hojo got in there#ITS STILL AN ODDLY FAST TIMELINE#also. fuck man doesnt lucrecia have a later line in dirge where she actually says shes in love with hojo? or something along those lines#IMPLYING ITS BEEN AWHILE SINCE SHE HAD THE FALLING OUT WITH VINCENT. YOU WOULDNT FUCK THE GUY AFTER ALL THAT SHIT#AND WHILE CLAIMING TO LOVE/CURRENTLY FALLING IN LOVE WITH HOJO!!!! LIKE CMON MAN!!!! SHE SUCKS BUT SHES NOT THAT KIND OF A MESS#i dont think vincent would fuck her until they sorted out their issues anyway and that CLEARLY didnt happen.#its VITAL that that did not happen!!!!#its just. if vincent and lucrecia fucked. everything would have had to happen EXTREMELY fast within like a 2 week timespan#and im just talking about up to when vincent learns shes partaking in the experiment. it was probably another week or two until vincent died#SO. logically it must have been like#fall in love->learn about the gimoire incident->refuse to speak to vincent->get obsessed with hojo->fall in love(?)#and then thats where i think its ambiguous on did the experiment become an idea before or after seph started to exist?#like chicken or the egg ya know. experiment idea or sephiroth zygote?#that feels fucked up to say. im so fucking sorry to seph to talk about this. yeah sorry i have to debate who fucked your mom bro#god imagine telling him that. like not even as a reveal thing cuz he knows who his father is. just like as a sick joke. your mom joke.#NO OH M Y GOD I HAVE A QUESTION NOW#in accordance to him having a photo of lucrecia in ever crisis. after he reads that jenova is an ancient (incorrect btw)#does he think that picture is still her? what about when he takes jenova's body from the lab????#oh my god 30 tag limit. FUCK. i need like a rant blog for all this vincent talk now. my brain is going a mile a minute
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this is perhaps thee coldest take I've ever seen,
#GIRL WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT#he was literally homeless as a child of course he has class consciousness what are you SAYING 😭#op made another post like the wens weren't lower class they were just impoverishment because they were prisoners of war#which is literally. not true its canon that they were a poor lower standing subsect of the wens we literally learn this in like episode 6 😭#I agree that the main thesis of cql/mdzs is not specifically about class wirt to wealth#but to say that wwx has not class consciousness and whatever the hell that last line of the post is saying#is like kind of insane#there's so much wrong w this stupid post and ops other posts I can't even get into it I need to go to eepy#you guys are so fucking STUPID#ghost posts#text#and don't even Try to come for me for making fun of this bad post its my right as a blog on tumblr dot com to mock stupid posts#I was even so courteous as to crop out their url
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different anon here, i came here wanting to clarify something but i saw that your reply took the words out of my mouth HAHAH it's funny seeing some of us shippers sharing the same braincells and having similar opinions. love this small community but i hope it gets bigger (wake tf up people!!! are 15 consecutive canon suspicious homoerotic chapters not enough for people on the international jjk fandom to finally start shipping them?!)
the something being that i don't sense any malicious hateful intent coming from either gojo or sukuna. this is a rare enemies/rivals trope imo. like their whole theme is about teaching love and trying to maybe come to a mutual understanding despite fate cruelly putting them on the opposite sides, as they are really just different sides of the same coin. and that's one of the many reasons why i love this pairing. it's not easy to find a non-toxic enemies/rivals dynamic portrayal in media so i'm glad that jjk is an exception.
p/s: i'm an extremely introverted person so unfortunately i won't have the social battery to continue this conversation, but thanks for reading my ask! i really want to interact more with my people bc yall are lovely and have great tastes but socializing drains me so much
YES YES ANON, they really don't hate each other at all. one thing i was thinking about is how gojo doesn't seem to think of sukuna as this malicious Evil thing that other sorcerers (rightfully) make him out to be. he... really hasn't been shown to harbor any ill feelings towards sukuna, even after all he's done.
and their fight is playful, they're playing, they're having fun, it's recreation. sure the fate of the world is at stake here, but that's not what it's about for them at all.
there's not hate, not even dislike, it's simply. well to steal canon's words. love. an overwhelming sense of pleasure, of satisfaction, of fulfillment.
and i LOVE that u mention "despite fate cruelly putting them on the opposite sides" bc YEAH YEAH, that's part of the tragedy of them. there's too many factors outside their own personal satisfaction at play.
and i think there is also a bit of a paradox in there. they're looking for someone with whom to share that solitude that comes at the lonely top. but... that's something i don't think to be possible. sure they're equals, that's the thing, but at the same time, their existences clash just by definition. bc there can't be two strongest. there can only be one.
both can't live at the same time. if one lives, the other can't live by definition.
no one understands them bc they're the strongest, but once they find someone who might be able to—and who does—dont they stop being the strongest?
#sukugojo.post#(but also scratch all that. we are not gonna think about that bc if either of them die i will be inconsolable they can't fucking die bc tha#would make me. incredibly sad. OTL)#gege should just have them marry each other. why can't they just be TWO strongest why the fuck not. The Strongest husbands.#a true power couple#got kinda sidetracked there haha but yeah! i feel we all just a share a collective braincell that gets passed around hkdfjhsd#'are 15 consecutive canon suspicious homoerotic chapters not enough for people to finally start shipping them?!' SAY ITTTTTTTTTT#and i think what sets them apart is that they're rivals on OPPOSITE sides who are not laden with hate.#bc there's a clear cut good-evil dichotomy. we have the good guys and bad guys who are against each other and whose goal is to stop e/o#sukugo are on opposite sides but still hold no sense of hate or disdain or anything for each other.#there's simply regard and expectation and (i'm sorry for saying it all the fucking time but it's true) love.#dhsjfdfs it's almost like they operate on a completely different plane to the others (which well yeah they kinda do as the strongest)#they don't particularly care about that whole thing.#they only care about their position as strongest and what the other can give them in regards to that#jjk#sukugo#gosuku#u know i mentioned once in a post i made in my main blog how gojo only speaks of sukuna in a cheerful reverent way#which was half just me being shippy but this made me think about that#bc ok that could be said to be simply his way of being BUT we DO see gojo show disdain for people he dislikes. very clearly.#he speaks super ill of the jujutsu world higher ups. but he doesn't ever extend that dislike to sukuna#who's u know. the Embodiment of Evil#while gojo may be an outwardly cheery person when he doesn't like u. u WILL know. he's actually quite honest there#and he shows respect for sukuna. considers it an honor to be sukuna's rival.#(tho he IS still a fucking brat <3)#god sorry i will shut up now cshfhaskdjsakffs#alas!!! it's really alright anon i totally get it. u dont have to answer. that's kinda the great thing about asks haha c:#but if u ever wanna talk more about them well the askbox is always open :D#GONNA END THIS BY SAYIGN THAT I AM SCARED I AM NERVOUS ABOUT THE NEXT CHAPTER AAAHHHHHHHH
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I didn't log in on Tumblr for a week bc was busy in UNI hell and the second I came back, I heard about the data sold to AI mess and what the fuck am I supposed to do or to say lol...
Anyway, I must add that I'm not going, like, anywhere else.
Am I tired of this situation? YES, trust me. I've already experienced art being stolen to be handed over to AI programs (I'm talking about you, DeviantArt) but I'm exhausted from moving from one social to another. The most fucked up thing is that even with a deactivated account, your stuff can be used to training Midjourney and shit, so… like, there's not a lot to do.
The thing that makes me mad is the way Tumblr handled this. By the way they wrote the announcement, it does feel like it has already happened, and the update was just a notice.
#wren text tag#last time a thing like this happened I stopped drawing and posting for 3 years bc I had a mental breakdown lol#mostly bc before I used to draw only my ocs and it didn't feel good knowing they where being put into a meat grinder of an AI art generator#esp if you are like me -> person who spends months working on a character between design and backstory#now I use this blog only for fanart so I don't care a lot lol they are not even my characters#maybe I'll draw so much shipping art that the AI will automatically think it's a canon event lol#also I'm really REALLY rethinking my life decision of study art for a living lol#being an artist in 2020s be like#*NFT* *AI* * your drawing stolen* *your drawing reposted without credits* *erasing watermarks* *stolen artworks used to train AI*#OH YES and the “sorry we don't need an illustrator for this project (shows a poster made with AI)”#GIRLLLLL WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO#I JUST WANT TO DRAW FOR FUCK'S SAKE#forever thinking about those 600+ drawings I had to delete on DA#“I'm an artist” and when I say it this is how I feel 🤡🤡🤡
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the discrepancy between the depiction of ganks in most of legends canon vs. in the edge of the empire rpg will never stop being hilarious to me
they are all the most feared mercenaries and killers in the galaxy and exactly the same amount of cool
#listen. I am but a humble zero fucker I know in my heart what he looks like and mr to the left is Not it fhsdkjafh#I feel like the ones to the right lack a certain something in terms of obvious alienness too but y'know. mask sexy. what can we do#it's at least closer that's for sure#star wars#ganks#agent zero#is this a squad of gank killers and their cringefail cousin they love even tho he's a dork so he gets to go on missions with them.#new sw canon dropped exclusively on this blog today folks you're welcome#I've given up doing any substantial research at this point most of the info is either suuuper outdated or extremely vague#and the stuff it does say (like ganks being surprisingly short but very solidly built) doesn't jive with campaign star wars canon#(zero is notably like 1.90 m tall or something he's the reason blue seems tiny despite being a beanpole lol)#(the mystique of what they actually look like is very cool in concept very annoying when you're trying to figure stuff out)#but you know what that means. I get to make up whatever the fuck I want hell yeeeeaaaah#the fanfic writer's lament and triumphal march lol
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I open the naruto tag and see a really cute comic about someone colliding into naruto and him accidentally kissing sasuke, being very naruto and sasuke about it but then reaching out their hands again and kissing again. It's cute. I try to insert different characters into the design of the person colliding into naruto. it could be kiba or maybe that guy who collided into naruto the first time he accidentally kissed sasuke at the academy. i think maybe people in the comments have better ideas than me and open the notes. First one reads 'I did not cheat on my wife, someone collided into me and i accidentally kissed this man'. I remember why I am not in the great yaoi fandom of naruto.
#i think saddest part is i was so happy to see that victims of yaoi poll#and all of sakura's propaganda was about how sasuke is gay and she is a lesbian and why are people even threatened by her presence around#sasuke and shitting on her. and it's like that's just another facet of victims of yaoi!!! just saying she is a lesbian anyway is not the#'be normal about women' idea that you think it is#i'm so tired of this. this is why you only get fanart and 'funny lmao' posts on this blog now#naruto#naruto women i'm so sorry#why are you assuming that they are cheating on their wives or that they have wives if they like each other like ffs if you dont like#something in canon ending just fucking disregard it why twist it into disgusting things showcasing your misogyny#the idea that sasuke would marry sakura if he doesn't like her is SO BIZARRE to me. have you met sasuke?#do you really think he would do something out of pity or for social image or pressure or anything? you can NOT make sasuke do anything he#doesn't want to and it's not like they got married really early like right after the war? there was A LOT of time for BOTH of them to#consider their feelings for each other AND for other people#so i'm equally okay with sasuke doing his travels and arriving at the conclusion that he like sakura or naruto and wants to marry them#but what we would never do is marry someone and then cheat because he loves someone else#i personally don't even think that there's a possibility of sasuke and sakura getting married and realising much later that they dont like#each other as partners like they already have time to figure that out. i think it's canon they do spend a lot of time together travelling#and such before having sarada. oh i am not even going to talk about people saying sasuke is with sakura only because of sarada or something#the only other valid way of looking at it is that beautiful post about sakura sasuke and karin travelling together because that's just so#fucking good
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listen I do not follow a lot of canons and certainly not a lot of duplicate muses so please know that when I am asking you about your canon characters I am literally referring to you as the resident and foremost expert on that character. you are the professor and I am the student, and I have come to learn about what you are teaching, i.e. your muse. I will not question you, I am not the expert, you are. what you say is automatically truth, fuck everything else. you and only you hold the answers I seek, and thus I respect the answers you are inclined to offer. please know this.
#《 ° selkie.exe 》 oh im trash just not approved trash#° selkie noises !#this is mostly coming from a place where i am literally hanging on your words and accept them as truth#because in my mind you know the most about this character so you are automatically assigned authority regarding them#but this is also like. we say fuck canon in this house. i dont care what the canon is but fuck it.#do not apologize for not following canon. do not be embarrassed by your divergencies and beliefs. i am here for them.#you make the rules so whatever you say goes honestly#edit: i just checked and i am following 39 blogs that write canon characters out of 111. thats like 35% of who i follow.
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MAN OH FUCKING MAN those self shipping blogs and their mutuals are so fucking CUTE and WHOLESOME when they put on events and whatnot. i lurk on some of the most adorable interactions. i still can't understand why people make it their personal issue to harass and make rude posts shit talking people who self-ship. THESE CUTE ASS PEOPLE????? who are they hurting????? this girl says her f/o makes her hot apple cider when it's cold even though doesn't like she doesn't turn it down because it's his favorite and he always lights up when he brings it to her !!!!!!!! Sure, i can see where some lame ass with 0 imagination would go "???? what you mean babe? he's litchrally not even real like-' but bitch that's the point- THIS SHIT IS SO ADORABLE!
Oh oh! And this one guy answered this question about who between him and his f/o prefers hot chocolate and he was deadass was like ever since he accidentally burned his f/o with a mug of hot chocolate once he doesn’t want to retramatize him but they do go out for hot chocolate in cafes every once in a while! THAT'S SO FUCKING CUTE BITCH SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT THE FUCK NOW I SWEAR TO GOD IMMA CHOKE SOMEBODY-
#man i love to see people writing what they wanna write#but I've learned some shit lately that's made me realize how harsh people can be toward xreader and selfship blogs#and idk if it's because i ran an xreader blog and in the past an imagines blog#but sometimes when i come across those mean ass posts and i read the stuff people say about it i just think. . .#how fucking sad and unimaginative must you be to 1) go out of your way to hate on someone else work#and 2) this work of writing can be an outlet just like any other#im not the type to leave mean comments do maybe that's why it's so hard for me to 'get it'#but the way i see is this#if you at your big age are harassing people for selfshipping and writing xreader shit- regardless of whether you deem it good or not#(bc that's a different discussion)#i see you no differently than the people who were harrassing people for having ocs what- 10 years ago?#we seem to have gotten better about ocs lately- and that's great and I'm so proud of us#but those of us who grew up in that still hold alot of anxiety about sharing our ocs BECAUSE we remember what it was like#to have ocs picked apart scrutinized and picked apart bit by bit (god help them if they were female) for daring to interact with canon cast#i know how much work i put into building my ocs- and i know that when i have the 'audacity' to ship one of them with a male character#they need to be twice as good to stand up near them just so i don't get harassed about it#I'm lucky to be in such a small fandom but I'd be lyin if i said that once i realized how big majima was in this fandom i wasnt discouraged#im not saying that people can't NOT like things- everyone is entitled to not like things#that's not what I'm saying at all#but I've witnessed these blogs- these selfshipping blogs who generally ship themselves with one particular character#(generally someone I've never even heard of) get harassed and told how their f/o isn't real/ how they should get a grip/how they're creepy#this that and the third....#and idk man that shit's not right#i see it and it makes me sick to my stomach#these people are minding their own business and someone buds in and decides that they're gonna try to deter them for funsies#i HAVE seen a self-ship blog gone wrong one run by someone in need of lots and lots of very serious help#she was in a former fandom (i won't name it because it'd be easy to find i think and people flocked to watch her for spectacle)#she had some of the same mental issues as i do plus schiz but she wouldn't seek treatments#she hurt herself regularly because He told her to#but these people?!?! they're talking about kissing and holding hands and tucking their f/os in before bed
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There is still a lot about the Infernal Infinity that Phoebus does not know about yet . . . understand. It does not help that Angelparadox and the other Break Beyond Heads have not been providing them much details on their motivations-- it's infuriating-- and they can't help but think that the Heads are hiding something from their Saints, including Micah themself. Phoebus just doesn't understand why does Micah want to return to working with them when they can't even share any more information about their threats that they can use to protect themselves better. All Phoebus is aware of about the Infernal Infinity is the oldest members were part of the Break Beyond Force until last year, resigning with a massacre of their twenty four other co-Saints that had painted Warlock as the suspect. ( Now, they are trying to murder Micah. )
Phoebus tries not to think about the Infernal Infinity while they are with Shàngqì, discussing to each other in an early evening about wars and meanings-- they find themself huffing at his next sentence: "People like to think war means something." They roll their shoulders to ease the tension in self and cross their arms together. "Gives them a better reason to execute it-- a pitiful excuse," Phoebus responds coolly, "It's what people tend to do with anything, even the worst things, unfortunately. . ." The thoughts on the Infernal Infinity dwell over their mind once again, subjecting them into believing that the Saints have been at a war with the group since last year, and the Break Beyond Force Heads are only concealing the fact from their Saints. Teeth gritted, Phoebus closes their eyes, deeply breathes to hold their composure.
Heavy silence passes with them returning their focus to @masteredlegacy, own sharp gaze barely meeting his. "People will make things such as wars seem like they are making great impacts when, in the end, they are doing more harm than good. It's heartbreaking, really." ( How there are many people in the world who will always believe that violence can do so much more than love itself. ) "You seem like a good person-- a genuinely good person-- so I do hope you haven't been in a war, Shàngqì," Phoebus says in a more solemn tone, properly facing him, and they do not mean it literally. Not when the Starwake System have been in war with the ever cold and biting universe since they had come into violent existences-- It is a war they would be told it exists to help them see this is how the world goes.
( I / We don't want the world to go like this . . . We / I have a heart. )
"Otherwise," they offer him a rare smile, assuring, "I truly hope you'll soon find peace."
#MASSACRES CW#MASTEREDLEGACY#///#//#/#𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ IC . ›#𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ ANSWERS . ›#𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ V : MAIN / ACT I.II. . ›#𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ PHOEBUS . ›#[ ✨ : head in hands .. . . .. . .. . . . .. . . ..... . .. . .. . . . .. . .. . . ]#[ NO 'cause this is such a great prompt to send at this time around in the blog's recent canon timeline... AND ITS FOR PHOEBUS EVEN... ]#[ head full many thoughts we're so blessed thank you for giving us the opportunity to write Phoebus more ♡ ]#[ we only have Phoebus and Shàngqì in two posts and yet we'll Destroy for them ]#[ Phoebus is so fucking based for saying all of this bless them ]
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the cat sitter (part 15) ✧ max verstappen
max verstappen x fem! reader
previous part | masterlist
loosely inspired by the story on how max lost his cat
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maxverstappen1 🐈
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landonorris Never beating the crazy cat lady allegations
danielricciardo 😍
yourusername i miss you ed, edd, and eddy. gone... but never forgotten 😿
↳ maxverstappen1 you named them?
↳ yourusername yes? 🤷♀️
username i dont care guys this is enough sign for me, it’s canon
username please tell me that she at least kept one of those cats
↳ yourusername maximus won’t let me keep them 💔
↳ maxverstappen1 Pretty sure that’s illegal 🤗
bffusername so is this the reason why you always take so long on your dates? because y/n can’t resist touching every single cat on the streets? [deleted]
bffusername cool pics! 😁👍
↳ yourusername ouH GIRL WHEN I CATCH YOU
↳ username PLEASE TELL ME THAT I WAS NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO SAW THE DELETED COMMENT 😭
username don’t know about you guys but the hand on her head awakened something feral in me
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yourusername these are a few of my favorite things 🫧 🤍 🎶
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landonorris He got game after all
↳ yourusername unlike you
↳ landonorris OUCH??
↳ maxverstappen1 😂
maxverstappen1 Lovely 🤍
bffusername this cake looks way better than maximus' birthday cake, progress!! 💪🏼
↳ yourusername 😎
bffusername now i'm curious, what did you say during mario kart? 🤔
↳ maxverstappen1 A lot of curse words
victoriaverstappen Enjoy your holiday guys, see you soon! 🧡
↳ yourusername MAX AND I WANT TO BABYSIT LUKA AND LIO AGAIN!!
↳ maxverstappen1 Y/N......
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maxverstappen1 More passion, more energy ❄️
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yourusername i kinda hate you right now ngl
↳ maxverstappen1 She's so brave, she's well behaved, she's not afraid 💪🏼
↳ yourusername HUSH
yourusername delete??? or i'll post a video of you dancing to 'paint the town red'??
↳ maxverstappen1 YOU WOULDN'T DARE
↳ yourusername I SAID WHAT I SAID 👹
↳ username y/n i would give you my cat if i could see a video of max doing a tiktok trend 🧎♀️
↳ yourusername check your dm please xoxoxoxo
yourusername MORE FOOTWORK MORE FOOTWORK 🕺🏽
charles_leclerc 😂
alex_albon Fucking finally 😮💨
landonorris I called dibs on being captain of the ship
↳ bffusername hi there, sorry to bother you. y/n's bff here. that position is already taken 🙏
↳ username speak uP? danielricciardo
↳ danielricciardo I don't engage in useless banter, I already have the position of being the godfather of their future child 😁
↳ landonorris exPLAIN??? maxverstappen1 yourusername
username the fact that this post has better engagement than max's wdc post i-
username now we know how max knew all of the viral tiktok sounds 😭
↳ yourusername we're planning to make a tiktok couple account
↳ username ?!??!?!??!?!??! ARE YOU FOR REAL
↳ yourusername please don't take it seriously, I WAS JOKING 😁🙏
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author's notes: eden the scammer is back after 2 months guys, so sorry for making you guys wait too long (and giving you guys false hope) 👹 really hope you guys liked this one hehe, i also take additional request for tcs!! (but as you probably know, it's gonna take me 8273 years to finally post it). there are some references from my lando series in this part, so if you're interested you can also check it out 😙 LOVE YOUUUWWW, now i will hibernate for another 5 months 🤸♀️
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#max verstappen#formula 1#f1#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen x you#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen smau#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 smau#archiverstappen
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⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — SATORU GOJO. the damage is done.
about. when satoru decides that he wants you (his ex) back, his foolproof plan starts off by making your new partner extremely insecure..
warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, smut, non canon, toxic relationships, love bombing, exes to lovers, gaslighting, infidelity, cheating, breeding, fingering, multiple orgasms, couch sex, oral sex ( f! receiving ), unprotected sex, ex boyfriend!gojo, fem!reader.
ex!gojo who slides into the dms of your current partner to slowly make them insecure.
he acts like a nice guy, offers advice on what to do when you’re mad, what you like to eat, how to keep you all sedated and happy. your current partner starts to gush about how cool of a dude satoru gojo is. how could you pass up on such an amazing guy? he’s rich, funny, caring — they can see how you fell for him.
but what they don’t understand is the greedy side of satoru — the one who one who wanted you all to himself. the guy who never let you go out, who made you cry but made you cum with the promise of never hurting your feelings again.
sometimes the advice gets a little too specific. how does satoru know where you keep your sex toys for kinky nights of fun. why does he know the spot that makes you arch your back off of the sweaty sheets just like that? or how many fingers you like to take? or how long it takes before you start gagging on cock.
it makes your new partner insecure, gives them performance anxiety and ruins the vibes of your bedroom. they can’t communicate with you, at least not properly — it leads to fights that are all too familiar. conversations you’ve had with satoru before. your little insecurities and biggest fears are thrown into your face, things they know will hurt you deep down you. these are some of the first times you cry because of your new partner.
it’s all too familiar, these are things you’ve gone through before with your ex — the recognisable twinge in your chest and feeling of guilt after being gaslight is something you know all too well.
“he was right, you really are just a cry baby.” they say. “since he knows so much about you, maybe you should go back to fucking him.” which feels like a bullet to your heart because you’ve spent so much time proving to your partner that you’re over your ex and all the bullshit that satoru put you through. all the drama and all the trauma he left you with.
your partner leaves for the night, leaving you alone with your tears and the tiny voice in the back of your mind that tells you it’s all satoru’s fault. it goads you into calling him, his number which you blocked but kept written down in your notes app in case of emergency. it’s been forever since you last spoke to your ex and told him you wanted nothing to do with him — so you’re surprised when he picks up on the second ring, seemingly happy to hear your voice.
“what did you do, satoru?” his name on your tongue is foreign yet also familiar. you’ve said it a million times before, in many different ways (lust, love and loss) but this time you’re angry. like the last time you spoke.
“what do you mean?”
he plays coy and you feel your temper bubble. “we got into a fight, i know it’s your fault. what did you say to them?”
“shouldn’t you be making up with them?” gojo answers your question with a question, his all-knowing smirk transcending down the static on the line. “why was your first thought to call me?”
that makes you falter, stops your typhoon of rage in its place.
the truth is, you know why you called. deep down you know that gojo could fix this, when you fought as a couple you would always call him first and in tears — letting him calm you down. gaslighting you in the process. he always knew what to say to scab over the wounds of your arguments, patching over deep cuts with little white lies even if he would reopen them and leave mental scars in place.
when you fight with your partner now, you seek the same sort of unhealthy comfort in the only person who you know will give it you and that’s exactly what satoru wants.
“let me come over,” he states, suave. “let me help you fix this.” he takes advantage of your emotional torment, butters you up with the promise of comforting you and against your better judgement — you let him. your partner abandoned you, satoru wants to help you. you’ve always known that he still loved you, at least he wouldn’t leave, at least he’s not like your partner.
regret will come in the morning, you think, when you let satoru into your apartment and back into your life. he knows that everything on the walls are different, the picture frames are now brown instead of white and hold photos of your current life in place of what you had with your ex. the furniture has moved and the diffuser at the entryway smells different. but as much as you’ve tried, you can’t get rid of your ex, satoru gojo. he will always make his way back to you.
he makes sure that you’re aware of this when he kisses you on the couch that you kept from your previous relationship. satoru tells you that you’ll always need him when he pins your hips to its leather with a strong arm and buries his white head of hair between your warm, thick thighs. he proves it to you with the way that his tongue licks broad strokes against the entire length of your sex and flicks at your clit because he knows that how you like you it, he knows you’ll cum in seconds if he eats you out like that.
there’s going to be a stain in the couch from just how much more you gush on satoru’s skilled fingers and tongue, as he moans against your sopping mound and tells you how he’s the only one who could ever make you see stars this way. his face gleams with your arousal and his eyes sparkle knowingly because it’s true. you’ve never felt as good as you have with satoru in comparison to anyone else. it puts doubt in your mind, makes you question why you even left him in the first place.
though, you don’t have much time to dwell on the thought…because in hurried yet precise movements — gojo is making you cum on his fingers again. the rough pad of his thumb possessively writes the letters of his name against your pulsating clit — hardened by blood that rushes to it, carrying lustful hormones from your frenzied mind. he loves how you taste when you cum, how you cling to him, how he knows that you’ll never forget this phenomenalfeeling after tonight.
it’s a little too intimate for two exes when satoru makes you ride him. his legs spread wide while you straddle his lap, creating the perfect angle for his cock to nudge against that one special pleasure spot inside of you. you’ve missed his cock, it’s perfect length and thickness — it’s pretty pink tip that oozes so much precum that’s all for you. it’s only ever been for you.
the way satoru’s large palms cup the globes of your ass and guide you back and forth over his lap unlocks a nostalgic and loving feeling in your rapidly rising and falling chest. he kisses you with so much passion that you’re reminded of the good nights you spent with him — making love until sunrise while his tongue rolls over yours and licks at your teeth. you’re naked and chest to chest, noses becoming neighbours while the course of your breathing syncs up. it’s overwhelming, how adored you feel in the moment, all while fucking your ex on the couch.
you grope at each other like it’ll be the final time you ever have sex like this. your hands settle at the base of satoru’s neck and his on your waist while you languidly move together in a salacious dance routine you’ve done so many times before. you’re perfect partners, it’s evident in the way you reward his throbbing cock with dribbles of your creamy arousal — droplets of soft white running down and catching on veins on his shaft.
“i’m always going to love you, baby,” satoru’s soft laments echo through the home you’ve made with your over lover — barely audible over his balls slapping against your peachy ass and your cunt selfishly squeezing down on him, squelching with every thrust. “i’m always gonna want you like this, even when we fuck up. e-even when we’re not together,” he growls and rambles, blissful blue eyes darting all over your face twisted with ecstasy and right down to where you paint him with arousal and suck him in so well. “fuuuck, i wanna cum…s-say you want it, say you want me.”
it’s overwhelming, how much love you have for satoru. for your ex. it washes over your feelings of guilt in regard to your infidelity, any bad emotion or thought of your partner cannot compare to the burning and bright lust that flickers in your tummy. when you fuck yourself down on gojo’s throbbing girth he pulls back out of your snug, salacious sex — creating a delicious cycle of friction that you never want to forget. that you miss so bad.
“i want…i want you!” you stutter, tears brewing in your starry eyes. “i miss you, i love you,” the words rush out of you before your hazy mind can even catch up and register them. you barely manage to register that you’re fucking your ex just mere hours after arguing with your special one. it doesn’t matter, not right now and not in this moment. not when satoru teases your clit until you’re able to cum all over him, painting his thighs with your slick as you slump against him.
even though he shouldn’t, even though he’s ruined your relationship, gojo cums inside your quivering cunt. fills you to the brim with his viscous, scorching seed and there’s so much of it that it seeps from your entrance — pooling okto the couch below.
“i love you.”
“i know.”
“come back to me, baby.”
“i…i don’t know if i can…”
you want to so badly, especially the damage is done, sealed by stolen kisses that’ll mean nothing in the morning.
satoru’s gotten what he wanted, to make you question your relationship and remind you of why you should come back to him. you fell asleep an intertwined mess on the couch and he leaves in the early hours of the next day.
all so that your current partner will never know the events that occurred on the night of your fight — you don’t have to heart to tell them when they come back the next morning with your favourite flowers and an apology. they shouldn’t have left you. they shouldn’t have gone to satoru behind your back. they love you.
but it’s already too late, a seed of doubt has been planted in your mind by your ex. you release that you still want him, that you might even miss him and the foundation of your new relationship becomes shaky and unstable.
you’ve grown insecure and you will always be comparing your current partner to your last partner. to gojo.
and your lover? now they’re insecure too, because you’re always so distant and you always smell a little different when you come home these days.
because you’ve started going behind their back to be with your ex, satoru, too.
꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#tteokdoroki#gojo x reader#gojo smut#jjk smut#gojo x you#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru gojo x you#jjk x you#gojo satoru x you#jjk thirsts#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#✧ ₊˚੭ — writing
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For You (Gojo x Reader)
What if you were sealed instead of Gojo?
CW: Shibuya Incident spoilers, angst, not canonically accurate (just roll with it for the plot it doesn't have to make complete sense), swearing, so much angst
Part Two | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation
Gojo knew that you were strong. He wouldn't have fallen in love with you out of fear if he didn't trust completely in your ability to return to him.
But that was before.
Before the shell of someone the two of you once knew and loved appeared.
Before he allowed himself to be distracted for a split second.
Before you noticed what was happening and shoved him out of the way.
Before you stood in front of him, hands bound behind your back, body rendered immobile.
"Well, this is an interesting development."
Not-Suguru clapped his hands together.
"Oh well, this will do too. Actually, we just managed to nab the strongest's only weakness: his love."
"Who are you?"
You snarl, glaring at your former friend.
"Why, I'm Geto Suguru. Don't you remember me? I'm wounded."
"Bull. Shit."
All Gojo can do is stare blankly at you, and pray that this isn't happening. That one of his worst nightmares isn't playing out in front of him.
"I know damn well that Suguru would never go out of his way to hurt us. He may have hated non-sorcerers, but even at the end he held no hostility towards us. So I'll ask you again. Who are you?"
"Satoru."
Gojo jumped a little, but quickly smoothed his expression over as you used one of your techniques to communicate telepathically with him.
"You need to run."
No! He wanted to scream. There has to be another option.
You continue taunting and yelling at the creature inhabiting your friend's body, and Gojo realizes that you are desperately stalling for time.
"Listen, I know you don't want to. But right now, you can't do anything for me without putting yourself in serious danger. I'm expendable."
Not to him, you aren't. For you, he would tear apart the world with his bare hands. For you, there wasn't a risk he wouldn't take. He has to find a way out of this. For you. Because there was no world where you were fucking expendable to him.
"You need to run! Now! I don't know how much time you have, but I know you can make it outside. You are the strongest after all. Run. Regroup with the others."
He knows that what you are saying makes logical sense, but he still can't wrap his mind around it.
Then you spoke again.
"No one should be allowed to take youth away from young people. That's what we agreed, right? So go. Do it for our kids. Protect their youth. For them. For our dream. For me."
Quietly, oh so quietly, he says something.
"I'm scared."
He admits, so quiet you can scarcely hear him.
"I'm not."
Your tone is gentle and loving.
"You aren't abandoning me forever. This is only temporary. I know that no matter what happens, you will get me out of here. Not because you're the strongest or anything. Because you love me, and I love you. And nothing can keep us apart, 'kay?"
Moving as much as your restraints would allow you, you turn your head the tiniest bit so you can look at him.
"Go. Go save our kids. I believe in you. I'll see you soon my love."
Holding back tears, Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive did the unthinkable.
Turning away from you and speeding up and out of the train station was the hardest thing he ever did, and will ever do.
But he did it.
For your many (unofficially) adopted children.
For your shared dream.
For you.
Always for you.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
This physically pained me to write, but it was taking up WAY too much of my brain space lol. Let me know what you think, and feel free to send in any requests you have!
#angst so much angst i cant#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru x reader angst#jjk x reader#jjk x reader angst#jjk fanfic#shibuya incident#gojo adopted all of those kids i dont care WHAT you have to say about it#im so sleep deprived#lee's brain writes
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obsession
words: 2.2k
warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, reader and rafe are both crazyyy, toxic relationship, rafe being a murderer but its canon, rafe breaks into readers house
taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs
the noise has you sitting up suddenly in bed, ears straining for the same sound that pulled you out of a deep sleep. you sit there for a minute before letting out a breath and laying your head back against the pillow. maybe it was a raccoon knocking over your neighbors trash can, or a car backfiring.
either way, you think you're in the clear to head back into dreamland, until there's that noise again. glass shatters and this time you know it's not at your neighbors house, it's at your front door.
you sit frozen in fear, heartbeat pounding in your ears. it isn’t until the sound of your front door opening reaches you that you spring into action. you jump up out of bed, from under the safety of your covers. your eyes briefly scan the room as footsteps ascend up the stairs, like they know exactly what their target is, exactly where you are.
your choice is between under the bed and the closet, and when your doorknob begins to turn, your throw yourself onto the rug and roll under the bed. you cover your mouth as your door opens, heavy boots entering the room. you watch as they move right up to the bed, throwing the covers onto the floor, letting out a low curse you can barely make out when you’re not there.
you watch as the boots head over to the closet, ripping the doors open. you keep your hand over your mouth, afraid to breath too loudly. you watch as the boots move closer again, until a hand is suddenly clenching down on your arm, yanking you out from under the bed.
“there you are.” rafe says, smirking down at you from your spot on the floor, your back against the rug.
“rafe!” you say, half in fear, half in relief.
“get up.” he commands, but doesn’t even give you a chance to do it yourself, reaching down and tugging you into a standing position.
“wha-what are you doing?” you ask, pressing your hands against his chest, but not pushing him away. you and rafe have a confusing relationship. half the time his is head over heels infatuated with you, and the other half he is pretending like you don’t exist, like acting as if you're not there can quell his obsession. it breaks your heart, only for him to come back in a few days and put it back together.
“god, i’ve missed you.” rafe says, pulling you tight against his body, even as adrenaline causes you to shake, your mind going over what just happened. rafe broke into your house, because he missed you.
“rafe.” you pull yourself away from him, even as you find comfort in his hold. “you broke in!”
“because i need you baby!” he says loudly, looking at you like you’re the one being unreasonable here. “and i’ll buy you a new door and get someone to install it tomorrow.”
“next time just knock, please.” you say, taking his face in your hands. “you scared me.”
“i’m sorry princess. can we cuddle, yeah?” you see the look in rafes eyes, a crazed look, that he’s not in his right mind. you’re not sure if he’s been taking drugs again or if he’s just in a bad mental state.
“yeah, come on.” you gesture to your bed, not sure what would happen if you say no, not that you ever deny rafe. he lays down as you pick your covers up from the floor. you snuggle up next to him, letting your breathing return to normal, wishing you didn’t feel the peace that you do when in his arms.
“what happened?” you ask, rubbing your hand over his chest.
“i-i did something terrible tonight.” rafe says, hand squeezing your hip. “i really fucked up. this is why i need to leave you alone, fuck. you deserve someone better than me.”
“hey, hey, shh.” you say, giving a kiss to rafes jaw as he starts to get worked up again. “i can help fix it, if you’d just tell me whats going on.”
“no, i can’t. you can never know, you’d never look at me the same again.” rafe says, the emotion in his eyes replaying the horror of whatever happened.
“come on rafe, it’s not like you killed someone.” you say with a chuckle, but rafe is quiet. far, far too quiet.
“what the actual fuck, rafe?” you sit up in your bed, looking down at him as a tear falls down his cheek. “rafe, fucking talk!”
“i did it to save my dad.” rafe says, rubbing his hand over your thigh. “i had to, okay? and i need you to trust me about that.”
“rafe, who did you kill?” you ask, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly.
“sheriff peterkin.” rafe mumbles under his breath, but you make it out clear enough.
“you killed the fucking sheriff?” you scream, moving to get out of bed, but rafe stops you, pulling you back against him. “rafe, let me go!”
“shh, shh, baby, let me talk, okay?” rafe says, caging you tight against his body, restricting your movements. you stare up at rafe expectantly as he presses you into the mattress. “i had to. i didn’t want to. i had to. or she would have shot my dad, okay?”
“why would peterkin shoot your dad?” you ask.
“it’s a long fucking story, but i need you to trust me, baby girl. i can’t have you hating me too. okay? i love you too much, so you’re gonna just be fucking calm. you’re not gonna scream, right?” rafe asks. you give a little nod. you know it’s stupid, you shouldn’t trust rafe, but you do. maybe it’s your foolish love for him blinding you to his flaws, or what they’ve awakened inside of you.
rafe lets go of you, flipping so he’s lying on his back. you curl on your side next to him, placing a hand on his stomach. “i’m scared, rafe.”
“i know. this is why i try to force myself to leave you alone.”
“you hurt me even more when you do that.” you say with a frown, thinking of all those times, after weeks of being happy together, of getting along, when rafe will suddenly ignore you at a party or stop answering your calls.
“i’m so sorry.” rafe takes a deep breath. “i need your help though. i need you… i need you to tell the police i was here all day, with you. they would believe you.”
“okay.” you say in a whisper, “i can do that for you rafey, just no more secrets, no more trying to push me away.”
“promise, princess.” rafe pulls you in so he can give you a soft kiss on the lips. “it’s us against the world now.”
“i love you rafey.” you tell him honestly.
“oh, my perfect girl.” rafe rubs your side, hand slipping under your pajama shirt. “i don’t deserve you.”
“stop, don’t say that.” you say, eyes fluttering clothed as his hand moves up and down against your bare skin.
“it’s true, i don’t. you’re too perfect, too forgiving. you’ve let me hurt you so much and then still take me back.”
“no more hurting, then.” you say, moving so you’re straddling rafe. “no more hurting me. you wanna be with me, you have to let me in, stop pushing away.”
“promise.” rafe says, looking up at you lovingly. you’re not sure if you believe him. he’s never once proven that he can stop hurting, stop betraying, but you’re willing to give him another chance, and another and another.
“now let me take care of you, yeah? apologize for giving you a fright and for hurting you.” rafe says, placing his hands on your hips, rubbing and squeezing them.
“yeah.” you nod, eyes fluttering closed as he presses you down, against his abs. rafe knows the way to truly calm you down, to truly get you to forgive him.
“look at you.” rafe laughs as you begin to grind yourself down against him. “already cockdrunk, silly baby.”
“c’mon.” you say with a whimper, wanting what rafe promised, wanting him to take care of you.
rafe flips you suddenly, hovering over you with a laugh. rafe pushes your shirt up to under your chest, the sensitive skin of you stomach on display. rafe drops down, kissing along your skin. “i love you so much.” rafe says.
“i love you too.” you whisper, tugging rafe up so he can give you a real, proper kiss. your lips connect, and you instantly moan into his mouth as his mouth dominates yours. “please fuck me.”
“let me eat you out first baby.” rafe nuzzles his nose against yours, but you pout.
“you can eat me out in the morning. i want your cock. now.” you demand, usually not pushing rafe like this and going along with whatever he says, but he owes you right now, so he works his pants down his legs while you take off your pajama bottoms, revealing you’re not wearing underwear. rafe smiles, the wetness on your pussy shining in the low lighting.
“take this as my apology for scaring you.” rafe pushes his cock inside of you, making you cry out from the stretch, briefly regretting not letting him open you up more with his tongue or fingers until he starts to move, his warm cock searing your insides.
“so good.” you whine, spreading your legs to give rafe more room to move as he begins to snap into you. you look up at your man, a look of concentration on his face, and your heart beats faster knowing what he just confessed.
it’s not like you ever thought rafe was a good guy, at no point in your relationship did he hide the darkest parts of himself, the jealous, devious parts that contracted your good girl exterior, but what rafe never expected was to bring out the dark side in you as well.
you push rafe off, not wanting to look at his face anymore. maybe then you’ll get a sense of decency back, your morality about not letting a murderer fuck you right after confessing, but you turn on your hands and knees and present your ass for him, and you know there’s no going back.
rafe quickly repositions and enters you, his hands tight on your hips as he lets out all of his frustrations, the loud smack of his skin hitting your ass ringing out in the room.
he moves so quick you feel like your entire body could catch on fire as your high builds, needing that final touch on your clit that you know rafe isn’t going to give until he’s ready.
“so good for me baby, this is why i can never leave you.” rafe moans, tossing his head back as he pumps himself inside of you, keeping a steady rhythm as you squeeze your cunt around his cock. “i tell you i killed someone and you spread your pretty legs for me, let me in this perfect pussy.”
rafe bends over your back so his mouth is right next to your ear. “you’re a dirty fucking slut, but you’re mine.” he growls.
your arms collapse under the pressure, rafe straightening back up as your cheek presses into the mattress. rafe thrusts even harder now, determined to utterly exhaust both of you so you can pass out and worry about the consequences in the morning.
“perfect. fucking. girl.” rafe groans, accentuating each word with a thrust. you moan indeterminately, letting him know just how good it feels as his fingers leave bruises from how tight he’s gripping your skin, yet another mark that rafe cameron is going to leave on you, not all of them visible, but you wouldn’t trade back the trauma for anything if it means being with him.
you muster up all the strength that you can, forcing your body to move even as it cries out to give in, to give up, but you push yourself back up, making rafe lose balance as he falls back on the bed.
you turn so you can see his face as you sink onto his cock. “you’re mine too.” you remind him, bucking your hips as you ride rafe, ignoring the burn in your thighs. “don’t fucking forget it.”
you bend down, using your entire body to move back on his cock, bouncing and grinding in a frantic rhythm. “and never leave me again. never keep shit from me.”
rafe looks up at you in awe, reaching a hand to tangle in your hair as he pulls you into an intense kiss, a clash of biting teeth and slipping tongues.
“i fucking love you.” rafe groans against your mouth as you clench around him, feeling his cock swell inside of you, signaling he’s close.
you sit back up, bringing a hand to your pussy, working your clit with two fingers as you keep bouncing, letting yourself go when you feel rafes hips push up against yours, releasing his cum inside of your heat. you slump forward as you climax, moaning into rafes chest.
“baby, you are something else.” rafe rubs a hand over your back as you come down from your orgasm, keeping sat on his cock, not wanting to give it up just yet.
“mmm, you brought out something in me.” you say, turning to press a kiss to his chest. “and you can’t just take it back now.”
#even when i write a toxic relationship i gotta make it kinda cute AFLKJS#rafe fic#rafe fanfic#rafe fanfiction#rafe x reader#rafe x you#rafe smut#rafe cameron smut#obx smut#outer banks smut#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron one shot#rafe one shot#rafe imagine#obx x reader#obx fanfic#outer banks fanfic#outer banks x reader#outer banks fics
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Some of this might sound intentionally hostile in text and I apologize.
I'm saying this as an abuse survivor mind you - don't throw "abusive ships" under the bus so easily - at least, so long as they're not actually glamorizing the abuse. I lived that irl and I personally find someone overcoming it, slowly having enough of that bullshit and getting out over time, and the other person having to wipe their own butt for once after they've made the damn mess, very refreshing. Maybe that's not a ship in the traditional sense. It's no happily ever after bc it shouldn't be, but I find stories like mine shyed away from so often because even the portrayal gets considered a "canon ship". ... that's just how media works now, I guess? I very rarely See a fictional relationship not called a ship in literally any context now so that's the definition I'm running on.
I wish more people were willing to portray the hardships of finding acceptance outside of "whoever you can find will accept you" very much, and finding the better things after. I wish people weren't terrified out of portrayimg situations like mine.
Jessie.. is not a good person in canon. You expect me to believe she moved into to hanamusa seamlessly, without falling on her ass? I never see you talk about Jessie's abusive tendencies in canon. You never talk about the inherent meanness she needed to get over to get there. She's quite aml lot like my ex in canon, actually.
What do you mean you're going to just remove from the character that she is abusive to those around her. Jessie hits people. She takes her own junk out on others all the time. Do you even like the character then, are you actually invested in her growing, or are you just making an OC at this point?
Idk. Do you, boo. But you are posting about a character who, whether you like it or not, is canonically abusive. I just don't buy that dating Ash's mom alone fixed her. That isn't... How that works. It would be excellent if it did. Part of my love of hanamusa is that it signals Jessie's change - but she could have changed for anyone before now.
What makes Delia different? How is she specifically a turning point for Jessie? Because Jessie's flaws go well beyond just bossing people around.
I would love if my abuser had the same outcome as your Jessie. I adore your portayals of hanamusa, where she's still flawed but still strives to do better. That's all I ever wanted from my ex.
What the fuck got her there tho.
Anyways I've been watching a lot of Bojack Horseman lately -
I agree with you! I don't think abusive relationships (or any tough subject matter in general) should be shied away from in media. It can be powerful when executed well and written by folks who are equipped to tell those kinds of stories. I do think it's sad when people treat it as off limits. But the ask I got was definitely more about which ships I have where I actually like the relationship between the characters. I think the semantics of the word "ship" are kind of vague or rather, over time, got so specific to only mean "absolutely love together and want them as endgame" (for most people anyways). So that's usually what I take the word to mean when people ask me about it.
I can 100% appreciate how an abusive relationship is written and handled, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna ship an abuser with their victim (that falls into the glorifying you're talking about). Love Bojack Horseman! Big fan! I think the way they handled Bojack and Sarah Lynn was beautifully and tragically well written. But does that mean I ship Bojack and Sarah Lynn? Absolutely fucking not.
I've talked about Jessie's character plenty on this blog and the way she's handled in earlier seasons specifically. This is kind of a summary: If we look at it on surface level, yes we can say she was abusive. But I think it's important to acknowledge and take into account the medium, time period and culture. Slapstick and cartoon violence was HUGE in anime and animation in the 90s (and prior to that too). Characters were always cartoonishly slapping each other around with giant mallets, folding fans, etc. Looney Tunes style. These slapstick bits were always distinct from real abuse and hurt (for Pokémon, Jessiebelle comes to mind). Mean slapstick wasn't a character trait exclusive to Jessie either. We saw it in Misty, James, Meowth, characters of the day and pretty much any character who got mad. It was a visual shortcut to show anger.
This type of slapstick has since (thankfully) died out and it hasn't really been a part of the Pokémon franchise since the early 2000s. However, Jessie was a notably special case. One of my favorite fun facts about the Pokémon anime is that there was a point in the series where Megumi Hayashibara (Jessie/Musashi's seiyuu) told the writers that moving forward, she no longer wanted Jessie to be violent or to be shown hitting James or Meowth (source: her memoir "The Characters Taught Me Everything"). She thought it directly went against the vision Takeshi Shudo had for Jessie, James and Meowth, when he created them, which was that they are good natured villains. If you watch from DP and on, Jessie never lays a hand on either of them. I think it was a such a good move on Pokémon's part to change her character like that and I'm forever grateful that Hayashibara said something! Whenever I write Jessie now, I always keep that in mind. She's mean, shouty and stupid but would never genuinely hurt those she cares about.
From then, her character becomes much more bearable. She's still bossy, mean and vain (typical cartoon villainess attributes) but I'd hesitate to say abusive. She'll still yell at James and Meowth, they all yell at each other, but in more of a sibling way (imo) rather than a "i'm actively trying to hurt your feelings way". The show makes a point especially in later seasons to show that Jessie, James and Meowth are not beyond being redeemed. From conception the whole POINT of the Team Rocket trio was that they are redeemable but their persistence and obsession keeps getting in the way of them seeing that there's a better life for them out there.
I won't deny that Jessie was unsavory in earlier seasons, but when I write her, I choose to write the version that Takeshi Shudo and Megumi Hayashibara had envisioned from the get go. She's still incredibly flawed and makes plenty missteps but wants to be better as you stated! My favorite part about Jessie is that she's a piece of shit LOL and I enjoy writing the changes she goes through to be better (but then still showing her default so some of her evil tendencies). In this AU, Delia doesn't fix Jessie. Jessie fixes Jessie because she is with someone makes her want to be a better person. She's already in the middle of turning over a new leaf before even meeting Delia, after leaving Team Rocket. Writing Jessie as legitimately abusive I think could work, but that's not my story to tell and if someone who were more equipped to tell that story did, I'd be very interested to take a listen!
I hope this doesn't come off as trying to deny or invalidate your experience. If you see that in Jessie, I hear you! This is just how I've interpreted her character over the years, having watched every episode of Pokémon and reading Japanese interviews from the cast and crew. She's such a compelling character and I love how messy she is
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Routine
Frankie Morales x coffee shop worker!afab!reader || W/C: ≈7.9k
Summary: Frankie makes a new routine for himself to help with his mental health. In that routine, Frankie stumbles upon you.
Content/Warnings: POV switching - stops towards the end, then POVs are combined. Friends to lovers. Slightly scared and reluctant friends to lovers. Slow burn. Canon divergent to Frankie's Triple Frontier storyline (No history of lady or child for Frankie). Brief mentions of South America and Frankie's mental health. Brief therapy talk. Overthinking!Frankie, but Reader comforts and reassures him. He’s not insecure the entire time, promise lolol. Hints of angst, but this is me we’re talking about — always will be a happy ending here🫶. No physical description of reader besides coffee shop uniform (no size descriptions used) - any descriptions are neutral, no adjectives to describe (purely things like "your thigh" etc.). No use of "y/n". SMUT 18+ MDNI (making out, cunnilingus + fingering, unprotected P in V sex + cumming inside, breast worship/titty sucking). If there's anything that should be up here, please do not hesitate to let me know!
A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and happy days, everyone! This Christmas season, I was apart of @pedrostories' 2023 Secret Santa event where we gift some type of creation to another fellow Pedro-related blog on here. I'm honored to have created this story for the lovely @alwaysbethewest ! I'm a huge sucker for a soft man, so in reading the prompt you gave, I just had to write for good ol' Francisco Morales—the sweetest of the bunch. This story was so cute and sexy to write, I'm so excited to see what you think. I truly hope you enjoy!
MASTERLIST
Frankie
You need to create a routine.
One that takes you out of your house.
Out of your comfort zone.
These words rang in Frankie’s ear as he allowed his feet to make decisions for him today. Ever since South America, Frankie has been struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy again. He rarely leaves his house unless it’s for groceries or work — or as of the last few months, unless it’s for therapy.
Frankie’s therapist noticed he was falling back into his old habits, his old mannerisms; and in being prompted about what his day-to-day looked like outside of therapy, Frankie was met with those three phrases.
“You need to create a routine.”
“I have one,” Frankie says defensively.
“One that takes you out of your house.”
“I do,” he says. “Work. The store.”
“And out of your comfort zone.”
Frankie scoffs. As soon as he thinks of a quip, his therapist’s watch beeps. Saved by the bell.
Frankie rises, getting ready to leave the room. His therapist leaves him with a new assignment. “Clear your schedule. You’re doing nothing but spontaneous decisions tomorrow.”
He takes a breath to calm his frustration. “How will you even know if I’ve done it?” Frankie asks.
“I’ll know.”
“And if I lie?”
“I’ll know,” his therapist reassures.
Which is why he finds himself in the early afternoon at a coffee shop, during what looks like to be its busiest hours of the day. Shit.
He enters the line as he scans the menu on the wall, the line being long enough he’s sure he’ll make a decision by the time he gets to the register. He usually gets straight black coffee, but taking his therapist’s word a little too seriously, he opts for something else.
Hazelnut? No. Mocha? No. Vanilla? No. Fuck, okay, this is harder than it looks.
He scans the tinier board off to the side for today’s special: an horchata latte, either iced or hot. Horchata? He can absolutely get by that. The guy at the register takes the order of the customer in front of him, and the same guy switches off and begins to make the customer’s drink. Waiting to be helped, Frankie reaches into his pocket to get his wallet ready, but still angsty from the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop, his grip fumbles and he drops it.
He bends down to go pick it up, and as he stands back up, he’s immediately met by the most heartstopping view. You, with a brown apron, a hand-drawn name tag, and powdered sugar adorning your cheek. The smile on your face as you greet him causes his brain to short circuit.
“Hi! How can I help you today?” you beam at him, completely unaware of the cuteness radiating off of you, melting his anxieties made of wasps and transforming them into the shape of flapping butterflies all throughout his tummy.
“I- um, hi- yeah, I’d, um-” he stumbles on his words. You smile at him, nodding your head patiently and understanding. “Shit, sorry-” he laughs nervously.
“You’re okay,” you giggle, slightly intrigued at the flushed state of the man before you. “This your first time here? We’ve got a lot of options, it can be very nerve wracking picking from our menu,” you comfort, probably assuming it’s the first-time jitters taking away his ability to speak.
“Oh, uh- yeah, it’s my first time here,” Frankie confirms. “But actually, I had my mind set on today’s special? The horchata latte?”
Your face lights up like a million suns, and his heart feels like it’ll burst any second now. “Oh my gosh, really?!” you squeal. “That’s my creation we’ve highlighted today,” you say excitedly, “and you’re actually the first to order it!” You ring up his total, Frankie handing you his card to swipe in the machine. “Hot or iced?”
“What do you think?”
You study him for a moment. “Personally, I like iced because horchata in itself is already so refreshing, so it adds to that. But you seem like you’d prefer it hot, which is also objectively just as good.”
“Wow,” Frankie says with a smile.
“Was I accurate?”
“Right on the nail,” he confirms.
“Your name?” you ask, reaching for a cup.
“My name?” He asks, confused.
You gesture to the cup with a smirk. “For your order?”
“Oh,” he says. You catch the blush that falls on his cheeks. “Frankie,” he tells you, his hand shooting to the back of his neck to soothe his awkwardness.
“Well, Frankie,” you say after writing his name. “I’ll need an honest review after,” you smile at him as you turn away, signaling for someone else to take register so you can be the one to make his drink.
He can’t help the cheesy smile that forms across his face at the prospect of getting to speak with you again. He turns around and searches for an open table.
He sat on his phone for a few minutes, waiting for his name to be called when someone clears their throat in front of him. He looks up to see you, powdered sugar still kissing your cheek and two drinks — one iced and one hot — in your hands with that smile he’s slowly becoming addicted to.
“Didn’t know you guys do table service?” Frankie asks, in a joking manner but truly he’s curious.
“We don’t,” you smile smugly as you place his cup in front of him. “Told you I needed my review.”
He smiles at you, then reaches for a napkin and lifts his hand towards you as you sit in the seat across from him. He gestures to your cheek. “May I?” You go pale. “Oh, God, don’t tell me I’ve had shit on my face this entire time?”
“Okay, then I won’t,” he offers gently. You lean closer into his hand, giving him the green light. He wipes the powdered sugar from your cheek, his face in concentration mode as he makes sure to wipe it all off. He feels you staring, his face heating up the longer your eyes are on him, but he doesn’t break.
“There,” he whispers, “the shit is gone.” Your faces are still inches from each other.
“Thought you weren’t gonna say anything?” you whisper back.
He breaks the proximity first, clearing his throat to steady himself. He doesn’t reply to your remark. Instead, he grabs the coffee and brings it up to his lips. “Let’s see what this is all about, yeah?” The second the hot liquid touches his tongue, he knows his days of black coffee are over. It’s creamy, the perfect amount of cinnamon, a perfectly pulled espresso shot that highlights the natural nutty undertones — it’s fucking perfect, and he tells you exactly that.
“Guess now you’ve got an excuse to come back,” you tell him.
“I think I had an excuse before that,” Frankie quickly lets out before taking another heady sip, referring to the beautiful human sitting past him.
You lean back in your seat, arms crossed over your chest, something akin to trouble written across your face. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, I guess you did.”
He’s experienced enough to know when someone is flirting with him. He’s experienced enough to notice a mutual attraction. Yet, there’s something so bold, so intoxicating about you that you’ve thrown him off balance. Whether you’re just a naturally friendly, bold person, or you’ve actually taken an interest in him, there’s no way he’s going away now. You’ve got him hooked.
You need to create a routine, he was told, and creating a routine is exactly what he’s going to do.
It’s been six months since his first visit, and in those six months, he’s had the opportunity to really get to know you.
In the first month, he visited twice a week, once during the weekdays and once on the weekends. He made sure to time it on what he noticed to be your shift, and he also timed it for right when you were about to take your break. Catching on pretty quickly, you offer him a bit of reassurance.
“My schedule is the most consistent out of all of my coworkers, by the way,” you say, sipping on your iced mocha.
His ears perk up. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Been here the longest, so the owners let me play around with my schedule and pick up shifts that I want to,” you tell him. “But my therapist a few years ago told me to set a routine for myself, so-”
Frankie chokes on his coffee with a laugh.
“Oh my god,” you giggle, “you okay?” you ask him, leaning forward to pat on his back.
Frankie’s breath falters at the contact. “Y-yeah, I’m good,” he pulls away from your embrace out of nervousness. If you notice, you don’t mention it. “Just threw me off a little.”
“Why? What’d I say?” you reply.
“No, it’s nothing, it’s just,” he sets his coffee down. “A month ago, I had a therapy session, and my therapist told me the exact same thing. They literally told me I needed to create a routine for myself,” he says.
“Oh,” you say with a straight face. Your face goes unreadable for a second, and he feels like he fucked something up. “So is that why you’ve been harassing me for weeks on end?”
Frankie looks like he’s just seen a ghost, pale and flushed at the same time, his ability to form any kind of words rendered impossible. “I- no, I-”
In his state of panic, he’s looking everywhere except you. He feels your hands wrap around his, and you’re leaning closer to him, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Frankie, I’m joking,” you coo. You can see his jaw unclench as he searches your eyes for any signs of discomfort from him. Nothing. There’s something there as he holds your stare, but nothing tells him you don’t want him here. A shy smile forms on his face, and the bashful blush on his cheeks return. He knows you notice it, but still, you don’t mention it.
“For what it’s worth,” you speak again. “I enjoy having you in my routine, too,” his own giddy demeanor reflecting back at him through you. There goes the butterflies again.
Five months in, and he’s coming into the shop everyday. He doesn’t always get coffee, but mostly, he’s there to see you. Sometimes you’re way too busy to take a break any time soon, so he’ll slip in, give you a little wave hello, accept your sweet smile in return, and he’ll slip out.
“Gonna actually get something today, Morales?”
A few visits ago on your break, you ask him if his name is short for anything, and quickly add in that if Frankie is what he prefers, you don’t care to know anything else. His heart melts at the sentiment, at how understanding and gentle of a human you are. Not only to him, but to everyone who has the privilege to interact with you.
Francisco Morales, he tells you. Francisco, Frankie, Frank, you can call me whatever you want. This time, he thinks he catches the heat creeping on your face, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Morales, huh? And what do you mean actually?”
“I’m not dumb, Frankie,” you smirk. “I know you don’t get anything a few of the times you stop by.”
He swears his heart falls out of his ass. He thought you’d be too busy to even notice. As a former special op, he thought he would have been more slick about it.
He scans the menu above you, as if he hasn’t studied it a thousand times over, just to get out of your piercing gaze. “Just tryna keep the routine, is all,” he retorts.
“The routine, huh?” you smile at him, a hint of mischief in your eyes, along with that same something he can’t quite identify — it makes his chest swell. “Your favorite is back on the menu, by the way.”
Frankie turns to the special board: horchata latte. Smiling to himself before he responds, “I’ll have that, then,” he says, reaching for his card. “You going on your break now?” he asks.
“Yes,” you reply, “and coffee is on me today.”
His eyebrow quirks up at you. “Please?” you tell him with the world’s worst (more like cutest) puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen. How the hell can he say no to you now?
“Fine,” he deadpans.
You squeal in excitement. You shoo him away to go find a seat, and you’re at his side within moments, two hot cups in your hands.
He looks quizzically at the other cup. “I don’t know, I’m just feeling like a hot cup today,” you shrug. “What can I say, you’ve influenced me,” you giggle, not realizing just how much that statement affects Frankie’s crushing little heart. God, you’re beautiful, he can’t help but think as you curl up as best you can in your chair while you sip on your coffee. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way about you. One, you’re practically his best friend at this point, and two, you probably wouldn’t want anything to do with someone like him.
“So,” you say, pulling him from his thoughts.
“So,” he repeats.
“I was actually thinking of taking this weekend off,” you tell him.
His face falls a little, but he’s quick to fix it before you notice — hopefully. “Oh, is everything okay?” he asks.
“Nothing bad,” you reassure him. “I just think I need a little weekend to myself before the busy holiday season really starts.”
“That’s understandable,” Frankie replies.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “But…” you trail off.
“Buuuut?” He drags the word out for dramatic effect, sensing your nervousness and wanting to help calm you.
You giggle at his antics. “But I don’t wanna break our routine,” you say quietly. A little oh escapes his mouth. “I was wondering if you- if you wanted to hang out, maybe? On Saturday? Or even Sunday? Whatever works for you… and you can obviously say no, don’t feel obligated-”
It’s always been you cutting him off from his overthinking and comforting him, and now it’s his turn. He leans forward, wrapping his hands around yours as they hug your coffee cup. He gives you a little squeeze and calls your name gently. “I would love to.”
“Okay,” you say sweetly. “Wanna do a movie night?”
“Anything you want,” he tells you.
It’s surprising he didn’t have your phone number until five months in. Though, come to think of it, he’s seen you practically everyday since he met you. And there was no need to communicate beyond that. Right?
Shaking his head to clear him from his thoughts, he copies your address from your guys’ text thread and pastes it into his maps. It takes him five minutes to get to your place, and as soon as he gets to your front door, you’re already opening before he has a chance to knock.
“Oh! Frankie, hi,” you gasp delightedly. “Perfect timing,” you laugh. “I was just gonna grab the groceries out of my car. Go inside, make yourself at home.”
“Hi,” he smiles, “I can help with the groceries?”
“Oh, that’s okay, it’s just one bag. Give me one second,” you say walking to your car.
He waits for you as you grab the bag, both of you walking back inside together. “So I’m terrible at picking a movie, and if I didn’t narrow down our options, I feel like we’d be here all night deciding.”
“What do ya got for me?” he smiles as he makes his way to your couch, purely just enjoying being in your presence regardless of the movie you both decide to put on.
“Alright, since we’re nearing Christmas, I have a few holiday options, and then a few general of my favorites — Elf, The Grinch, or Home Alone; or we can do my personal favorite, but I promise I’m good with whatever you choose, Labyrinth, Paddington 1 or 2-”
Frankie’s eyes light up at the latter option, and you immediately catch on. “Okay, so I’m guessing one of the Paddington’s?” you say with a snort.
He grimaces. “Was it that obvious?”
“Frankie, you literally looked at me like I am your entire world,” you laugh. “Yes, it was that obvious.”
“I mean, it’s not any different than how I usually look at you,” Frankie says without thinking. Immediately his hand is on his mouth.
He sees the shock on your face for a millisecond before you’re back to your usual cool and collected self. How the fuck do you do that? “Okay but which Paddington? There’s only one right answer, here.”
Although his heart is still beating through his damn chest, the question puts him back on track. “Paddington 2, duh,” he says without missing a beat, he rolls his eyes as he playfully scoffs at you.
“Good answer,” you say sternly but with a smile. You set up your TV onto Paddington 2 and then quickly run to the kitchen to grab the popcorn you made. You set the bowl on your coffee table, turning back to grab something to drink. “What’s your drink of choice? I’ve got water, tea, soda — I can whip up a coffee for you, too, if you’d like,” you yell to him.
“Hmm, enticing, but I’m okay with water for now, though, thank you.”
You return back to your living room, scanning the table making sure you don’t need anything else. You ask Frankie if he does.
“Just you,” Frankie says, again, not thinking before he speaks. God damn it, Francisco, get it together.
You smirk at him, he sees your eyes tracing the red across his cheeks. Christ. “You’ve had me for a while, Morales,” you say under your breath, softly but still loud enough for him to hear. Your words genuinely cause his heart to skip a beat. You settle onto the couch beside him, ignoring his shocked face. “Ready to watch?” hints of your smugness still there.
“Y-yeah, ready,” he stutters.
Six months. It’s been six months since he met you and his old self would never have expected his day to day to look like this. He’s got a usual stop at your work—always on his lunch since you start later—sometimes getting coffee and other times your smile is all that he needs to feel energized for the day.
You
And on the weekends, you two share a movie night—your version of recharging for your next work week.
Ever since the first weekend you took off, you loved the mental break it gave you, so Frankie encouraged you to take the leap and start taking off every weekend. The owners agreed, of course. He assured you it wouldn’t break into your routine together. If anything, your time together has increased significantly. You genuinely have no idea what you’d do without Frankie at your side nearly every single day, but there’s something in your heart telling you he’s feeling the same way.
For six months, since the very first moment he fell bashful in his presence, you’ve been completely and utterly captivated by him. You knew you shouldn’t be feeling this way about him—especially not so early and not for this long—but there’s always been a magnetic pull between you. Both of you know it and neither of you can deny it, especially in the occasional flirty comment made by either of you, but there’s something holding you back from pushing for something more. You’ve grown accustomed to seeing him practically every single day, and one wrong move or one wrong boundary crossed, and suddenly everything is gone. You can’t risk it. You’d rather keep him at arm's length at all times rather than not have him at all. He’s your best friend for crying out loud. You cannot lose him to something so juvenile.
However, with tonight being your weekend ritual paired with a particularly draining week of work, all you wanted was to curl up in a ball and sleep your entire weekend away. Though, what you wanted more was to see Frankie. He told you it was truly okay if he didn’t come tonight, knowing about how hectic your week was, but you weren’t having any of that.
“I swear to God, Frankie, I will fight you,” you told him on the phone earlier.
“Oh, really?” You could hear his smug face in his reply. “I’d like to see you try.”
The butterflies erupt in your belly and begin to fly lower towards your core, igniting a spark in the lower part of you that you’ve been trying to keep at bay for months. You take a deep breath before steering the conversation elsewhere. You know he both hates and loves when you do that—smoothly pulling away from the bait he gives you while saving his ego in the process. You’ve gotten so good at this after years of unwanted flirting from customers. You didn’t realize how perfect this skill would be in keeping your distance from the man you want most.
“Shut up and get your ass over here, Morales,” you tell him. “I know where you live, you should be here by the time I change into my damn pajamas.”
“Should I change into mine, too?” He teases.
You both know Frankie loses every flirty little challenge that occurs between you. Which is why he isn’t surprised at your response, but it still stirs him up nonetheless. “That depends,” you say, your voice dropping in tone. “Are you a gray sweatpants or plaid pajama pants kind of guy?”
“Both,” he says. To the average ear, it’d sound like the most casual response. To your ear, though, you can hear the pain laced in his voice.
You stifle a giggle. “In that case, yes, please, by all means. Change into your pajamas, baby.”
You don’t leave room for him to reply, ending the call before you can overthink how that was the most suggestive flirty comment you’ve made yet.
Pulling your head back into focus mode, you go to your kitchen to start preparing the usual snacks you two indulge in during these nights. You also got a new ice cream flavor on your last grocery run that you thought was interesting and wanted to try, but you’ll pull that out when he gets here. Or maybe not. You don’t need to watch him clean off his spoon like the attentive man you’ve come to learn that he is. Your body shudders at the image.
Goodness, what is up with you today? You are always so good at keeping your feelings down, especially the physical ones. There must be something in the air today, because all you can think about are things you shouldn’t be doing with or to your best friend.
Before you know it, a knock is at your door, and you cannot help the way your eyes immediately sweep his body from top to bottom with a lingering stare at his center. You’re absolutely shameless with it, too, your tongue darting out to lick your lips as you drink in the sight of him. Gray sweatpants. A dark green, fitted tee. You are drooling.
Your eyes finally meet his own, and you’re met with a smug Frankie, knowing that this time, he won this round. “You alright there?” He asks you.
Confusion takes over your face. “Huh?”
He brings his fingers up to swipe across his lip. Oh, dear God. “Got a little bit of...” he trails off with a smile.
Your ears finally register his remark, and your hand is immediately swatting at his chest. “Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Get inside.”
He follows you into the kitchen, a new thing he started doing a few weekends ago to help bring all the snacks to your living room in one go rather than multiple trips. It also takes away from the amount of time he’s not with you, so you never questioned it. Walking back to the living room, you speak once more. “I cannot guarantee staying up the entire time, and I apologize now if I fall asleep on you.”
He says your name in an I told you so manner, “I already told you I didn’t have to come.”
You’re sitting side by side on the couch now. “And I already told you I don’t care,” you respond back. He shakes his head disapprovingly at your persistence. You know he’s biting back a smile. A goofy smile you’ve caught a handful of times, and you eat up every single one. “You can choose the movie, though, seriously.” Adjusting yourself to a more comfortable position on the couch, a position where the sides of your bodies are closer together, your head finding solace on his shoulder, you add, “I swear, I think I wanted you here to be my pillow.”
“I’ll be anything you want me to be,” he whispers, taking control of the remote to throw on Elf. Your eyes are already beginning to close, and you mutter a small yeah at Frankie’s statement, then you are out like a light.
Frankie
Frankie spends most of the night watching and listening to you rather than the movie. Watching how your nose twitches ever so often or listening to the occasional snore that escapes you. He doesn’t even realize the movie is over until a trailer for another movie is halfway through. His wingspan allows him to reach the remote nearby, and he quickly shuts the television off.
He debates if he should wake you and make sure you get to your bed safely, or if he should just slip out from underneath you and continue letting you sleep. You look so peaceful, he thinks. Yet exhausted. He decides on letting you sleep. Or at least, he tries to.
He gently attempts separating himself from you, his hand cradling your head to rest it on the couch cushion rather than his shoulder. Even in your sleepy state, you’re just as stubborn. You smack his hand away and wrap your arms tighter around his arm, nuzzling your head further into his shoulder to gain your comfort back again. You let out a final huff before settling on your position.
“Sweet girl,” he whispers. He can’t stop the endearment leaving his lips. His heart is too full at the way you’re physically attaching yourself to him. “I need to go,” he says softly. “Gotta let you sleep.”
Your grip tightens more so, a little whimper leaving your lips as your eyebrows furrow. “Stay,” you mumble.
And although you’re fully overtaken by sleep, he’ll be damned if he ever argues with you, no matter the state you’re in. He takes a deep, settling breath. “Only for a little while longer,” he mumbles unconvincingly as he minutely adjusts his body to a more comfortable position, his head leaning partly atop yours.
You
It’s not lost on you—the two words that fell from Frankie’s lips when he thought you were deep in your slumber. It took every ounce of your willpower not to shudder at the way it echoed throughout your fatigue-hollowed brain.
You thought that maybe, with Frankie’s perception of your sleepy state, you could let part of your inhibitions go with him—reveal to him how you really feel, and pretend the next morning that you don’t remember what you said if something you don’t want to hear is revealed. Though, that’s easier said than done, only able to build the courage to mutter one little word to him as you continue laying in his warm embrace, the soothing sounds of his steady breathing blessing your ears.
The longer you lay here, the more antsy you become. What could possibly go wrong if you two revealed how you feel to each other? You know one hundred percent that the feelings are mutual; it’s a matter of who breaks first, and quite honestly? You’re fed up.
You lift your head up, turning to look at him. He’s out. “Frankie,” you whisper-yell. Nothing.
“Frankie,” you say a little louder. Still nothing. How the hell did he doze so fast?
Finally, with a small slap to his cheek and one final call of his name, he’s up—and confused as fuck.
“Huh-” he blinks heavily. His groggy eyes are searching for you. “Cariño, are you okay? What’s going on?” he rushes out, the sleep disorienting his ability to respond appropriately, forcing worry to the forefront of his mind. Too worked up to let his brain chemistry regulate, you rip the bandaid right off. “Francisco, do you have feelings for me?”
Well, fuck. If he wasn’t awake then, he sure as hell is now.
“I-” he takes a deep breath, still trying to get his brain to catch up with the whiplash of events. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks, slightly defensive from the natural accusatory inflection with a question like this.
Your face falls. So does his heart. “Frankie, don’t be coy,” you say—you beg. “Please, just answer the question.”
He breaks your closeness, turning his body on the couch to completely face him. You mirror his movement. His eyes are searching yours. That something he couldn’t quite identify; that something that swims your gaze every time his eyes meet yours? It’s there, and he knows damn well what it is. He was just too afraid to admit it, to mortalize it into something real, something tangible. Because deep down? He knows he doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve the love you give. The loyalty. The care. He’s done too much bad in this world to even fathom a mere chance at a life with you.
But the way you sit there, staring back at him like he’s your entire world, he can’t stop the selfish desire to spill his truth to you.
“Yes,” he lets out. The pure admittance is like a ton of weights have been completely lifted off of his chest after carrying it for so long. He can see the relief on your face, too, all your anxieties washing away with a single-syllable, three letter word.
“Oh, thank God,” you softly giggle as you choke back a sob. Frankie can feel his eyes tear up.
“Frankie?” you call.
“Yeah?” He asks.
“Please kiss me.”
His hands are on your cheeks in seconds, pulling you in to slot his lips with yours, a sweetness laced with a fire that’s been begging to be ignited since he met you—powdered sugared cheeks and a smile that could take a person out faster than any punch in the gut could.
It’s quick to grow more passionate, his tongue dancing across your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You let him in, of course—your tongue falls into a perfect tango, as if it were meant to be doing this dance with him all along. A soft, breathy moan escapes your lips, and you eventually build enough strength to pull away.
Frankie’s quick to apologize, his overthinking getting the best of him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so carried away-”
You pull him in for a quick kiss to shut him up, a little laugh swirling in the air. “At what point did I make it feel or sound like I wasn’t enjoying that?”
In the dim light of your living room, you see a familiar tint glow across his nose and cheeks. He doesn’t—and can’t—respond to your very sound logic. “No, I-” you start, suddenly feeling yourself get all shy. “I pulled away because I- um…I was wondering if y-you-” you cut yourself off in frustration, grumbling out at the way you suddenly can’t face the man whose tongue was in your throat moments ago.
You pick yourself up off the couch, grab his wrist, and swiftly lead you two to your bedroom. Crossing the threshold of your room, you stop at the edge of your bed. “I-is this okay?”
Frankie stares at you in a trance, a lust-filled yet pure adoring trance. Before your eyesight can register, Frankie’s dropping to his knees, hands on your hips to urge you to settle on your bed.
“This is okay,” he promises.
He kisses your belly through your pajamas. “More than okay,” he mumbles to no one in particular.
“Frankie,” you whimper.
“Can I taste you, baby?” He asks, his gaze finally breaking from your eyes to glance down to your core.
“Y-you don’t have to,” your voice quivers.
His fingers find the hem of your pants, waiting for your signal. “Oh, I don’t have to,” he tells you. “But I want to,” he inhales. “To be honest, I need to, so fucking bad, baby.”
“Fuck,” you say as you rapidly nod your head for him, his hands wasting no time in pulling your bottoms of you. The desperation laced in his voice alone has your eyes wanting to roll back. You’re settling yourself to the edge of your bed, leaning back as you spread your legs for him. “Take what you want, Morales,” you declare.
He smirks before he dives in. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Oh!” you gasp out at the sensation, pure warmth and passion behind his movements, your head struggles to maintain upright at the sight. Your bottom lip instinctively hides between your teeth in an attempt to stifle the moans threatening to escape you, your tiny little whimpers the only sounds escaping you.
He starts with a flat stripe up your cunt, his tongue gliding through your folds and lapping up your wetness to bring it up to circle your clit a few times before dragging back down to your entrance. His fingers are curling into your bed sheet tightly, scared to cross any boundaries by moving too fast to your liking. His cock instantly jumps at his senses being consumed; your sweet, tangy taste mixed with the distinct, saccharine scent that’s uniquely you—he can’t control the groan that escapes his throat and floods through you. God, he could spend forever worshiping at your altar, completely and utterly content.
He pulls away momentarily, the slick bottom half of his face shining back at you. “I just know you can make a lot more of those sweet sounds for me, cariño,” he says as his tongue licks his bottom lip. “It’s just you and me, baby, let me hear you,” he says with a sharp flick of his tongue to your clit. “F-fuck,” you yelp out, your body jolting at the sudden piercing pleasure of his tongue’s movement, your fingers scrambling to the curls on his head. He looks up to you with a smirk, reveling in your reaction.
And with that, his hands are gripping your thighs, his face jumping right back in, completely flush against your center, his nose squished against your mound. His eyes are rolling back at the feel of you, the way your slick just pours for him as he continues licking and sucking everywhere he can reach. “F-feel so good,” you moan, your strength finally breaking as your upper body crashes down onto the bed, your back arching in pleasure.
His dominant hand releases your thigh, and you can feel his finger teasing your entrance as his mouth treks back up to your needy bundle of nerves. “Frankie,” you gasp, “please.”
He moans a raspy mhm into you, his finger not wasting another second before he dips inside, utterly turned on at the warmth wrapped around his finger. He can only imagine how you’d feel wrapped around his aching length.
Frankie lifts off your clit with a pop, his finger still pumping in and out, in and out. Your hips are meeting each movement, desperate moans and incoherent pleas leaving your mouth as he watches your pleasure in a pure bliss.
His eyes fall back down to your cunt and the way it’s greedily swallowing his middle finger. “God damn, baby,” he mutters. “I think you can take another, sweet girl,” he breathes, leaning down again to place an open-mouthed kiss on your sensitive center. “What do ya think?” he asks breathily.
He’s watching every inch of you—the way your thighs are twitching, the way your fingers are stark white in its grip, the way your mouth is falling open into a weak o-shape as you try and force words to leave your mouth. “P-please,” you attempt, “a-another-”
Immediately, he’s straightening out his ring finger to join his middle, his smug smirk falling into a desperate one, needing to pull every ounce of pleasure he can from you really his only goal for tonight. “I’ve got you, cariño,” he tells you, his mouth returning back to lavish you as his fingers curl and hit the spongy trigger button from deep inside.
You practically yell out for him—neighbors be damned—as your orgasm overtakes every inch of your being, catapulting you into another pleasure-filled dimension. “I’ve got you,” he comforts with his lips still attached to your skin, “let go for me, mi amor.”
His fingers are still pumping inside of you, fucking you through the intense wave of your orgasm. His head rests on your thigh, pressing soft kisses and sweet praises as you slowly gain consciousness.
“You’re so beautiful.”
“Too good to me.”
“Estoy tan enamorado de ti.”
Frankie takes your hazy disposition for granted, using this small window to whisper everything he’s been wanting to say to you forever.
You begin to whimper at his movements, and he takes that as his queue to relieve you. His fingers finally leave, his mouth taking the responsibility of lapping up your slick—thoroughly, you note, as you watch him rise to his full height.
“You okay, cariño?” He asks as he swiftly takes his shirt off. Your eyes grow impossibly darker at his bare torso, your spit falling thicker, and you’re quick to scramble yourself up higher onto your bed.
“More than okay,” you mirror his words from earlier. He lets out a little laugh, the butterflies in his tummy ever-present as his eyes scan you up and down. He pulls down his sweats, too, before he’s kneeling on the bed, crawling up towards where you’re situated. You can’t help the way your smirk falls when your eyes do—pure hunger consumes your features, and Frankie’s cock jumps at the sight.
He gulps at the way you’re eating him alive, too eager to be inside you yet too nervous in the case of accidentally messing anything up. The last thing he wants to do is cross the line with you.
As if reading his mind, you take the initiative to pull your top off, your boobs an immediate distraction from his anxieties. “Don’t get shy on me now, Morales,” you say as you let your hands caress your body and make its way down to your still-soaked pussy. “She’s feeling so empty,” you pout, your hips bucking up as your fingers rub your clit.
You swear Frankie’s eyes flash red, and he’s caging you against your bed within seconds. One arm hooked around your waist, the other holding himself up near your head. You bracket his hips with your own as his lips hungrily crash into yours.
You can feel the way his cock rubs against your center, his hips grinding into yours, letting his tip catch onto your clit as your tongues fight for dominance. Your hand snakes down without him realizing, a hearty gasp leaving his throat as your fingers pump him a few times before you guide him towards your entrance, easily pulling him in with your post-orgasm slick.
He’s slow with the way he’s thrusting into you; pulling out until only the tip is inside only to push all the way in at an agonizing pace as he lets you get used to his size.“S-shit,” he whimpers, followed by your name. “So d-damn g-good,” he takes a shaky breath. “‘S like you were m-made f’me,” he forces out, pained.
Even though it was an easy glide in, Frankie is fucking huge, his girth still providing a slight sting of a stretch, but you love it. You’re gonna feel him inside you for days at a time, and the thought makes your pussy flutter around him. His hold on your waist tightens in an attempt to steady any squirming that might come from you. “Gonna fucking cum already if you keep on like that, honey,” he groans. His eyes are shut in pained pleasure.
Fighting against his hold, you start meeting his thrusts, the angle of your hips providing the perfect friction against your clit, you just might cum again in seconds if you both keep this up.
“I don’t care,” you tell him, your ankles locking around his waist. “Fuck me, Frankie,” you say, grabbing onto his face to making him look at you. “Make up for loss time, and fuck me,” you snarl.
His lips are sloppily on you, hips speeding up, pounding into you deliciously hard. Both of you are too lost in the pleasure to even properly kiss right now—a mess of spit, tongue, and teeth clashing as you swallow each other’s moans.
Frankie breaks his lips from yours and he trails his touch lower, biting onto your chin and nipping lower and lower all over your neck. The sensation causes a fresh wave of flutters at your core, evident in the even louder wet squelch each thrust produces from between you.
You’re feeling so good, too good, that your chest arches into him, and Frankie takes the opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipples. Licking and sucking on each, slathering them in his spit before ultimately latching onto your left breast and practically making out with it as he continues fucking you into your matress.
“Oh my God, Frankie,” you whine, eyes clamping shut at just how good he’s making you feel. “Just like that, baby, please don’t stop,” you say, your fingers finding purchase in his curls for a second time tonight, keeping him on your chest. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again.”
He lifts off your left breast, and moves on to the right, trailing wet kisses on his path over. “Let me feel you, princesa,” he mutters as he gives your other breast the same treatment. His hand leaves your waist to make its way to your clit, giving you the extra push you needed to fall off the edge once more. Your pussy clenches at the feeling—a stream of yes and please and fuck leaves your mouth—causing his stomach to tighten, dragging him to the edge along with you. “Cum with me,” you say. “Cum in me,” you quickly revise, “need to feel you,” you whimper.
His fingers speed up on you as his hips falter in its rhythm, and then it’s pure white, hot bliss consuming both of you in a way neither of you have ever felt. “Oh, fuck,” he lets out as he lifts off of your breast, pretty red flowers blooming under his mouth’s touch. Fireworks erupt behind your eyelids, vibrating you from the inside out, as a fire roars through every nerve of his body, leaving him a heaving, trembling, jello piece of mass above you as he struggles not to crush you.
You can feel the way his muscles are shaking, the bed vibrating with him. A giggle filled with ecstasy escapes you, relishing in the contrast of the airiness of your body compared to the solid mass he turns into post-orgasm.
You grab onto his shoulders, and softly nudge him to slide to lay beside you before you slip off on jello legs to the bathroom and kitchen. With as much strength he can muster, he turns to you with a frown. “Where you going?”
“Just gonna get a cloth and water for us both, baby,” you chuckle. You head to the kitchen first and bring the waters to your night stand, taking a large gulp from your glass and forcing him to do the same. You bring yourself back to the bathroom and wipe yourself with a warm cloth, throw it in the hamper, and get a new one to clean Frankie.
You make your way to his bedside, and you bring the cloth to his face first. He’s quick to stop you. “Frank,” you scold. “What are you doing?”
“I…” his face goes red. “I can still smell you on me.”
You swear your knees buckle, heat overtaking your entire body. “Let me clean it,” you whisper, not really knowing how to reply to that. He just gives you puppy dog eyes. You quirk your eyebrow at him. “You can taste me again later,” you offer with a smirk.
He thinks it over for a second, a sigh escaping his lips like he just made the hardest decision ever. “Fiiiine,” he drags out, exaggerated.
After you wipe the rest of him down and bring his cloth to your hamper, he’s quick to reach for you with grabby hands, always needing to be in your embrace—especially more so now.
You cuddle facing each other, your head tucked into his neck as your legs tangle with one another. He’s drawing shapes and lines all around your back.
“Hey, Frankie?” you call out.
“Yeah, cariño?”
“You said something earlier,” you say. “Estoy enamorado something. What does that mean?”
Frankie’s ears go hot. Surely after everything you two just did together, that’s a declaration of love in itself. What more if it’s actually verbalized? “Oh. Um- yeah,” he replies a little rigidly. “Estoy tan enamorado de ti,” he repeats the phrase.
You’re looking up at him now, eyes bright and curious. “Yeah, that!”
“It- um- it means…” he trails off. He meets your gaze, and his heart stops. He’s so in love with you.
“Well,” he clears his throat. “It means I’m so in love with you.”
Your gaze shifts from one of curiosity to one of pure, unfiltered love. Your eyes are tearing up at his admission. He brings his finger up to catch a tear escaping your eye.
You sniffle and take a shaky breath in. “Well, in that case. I’m so in love with you,” you state matter-of-factly, pushing your body up to catch his lips in a soft but lengthy kiss, one that hopefully translates to him just how much you love him, need him, and want him—ever since you took his order.
He releases your lips to place a soft kiss to your nose then to your forehead before pulling you in closer to relax in each other’s hold. A few more moments pass before he calls your name.
“Hm?”
“Can you remind me tomorrow to reach out to my therapist?”
“Of course, baby,” you say with a kiss to his chest. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, baby, everything’s good,” he confirms. “Just need to send them a gift basket or something.”
You look up at him with a confused look on your face. “You and your therapist give each other gifts during Christmas?”
“No,” he tells you. “Well, I thought we didn’t. But in telling me to fix my routine, they led me to you, so.”
“Baby,” you frown, feeling yourself tear up again.
“I know I pay ‘em to do this,” he says, “but a gift like this? A miracle like this? I feel like I’ve gotta give something a little more.”
Unable to hold in your emotions, you crash your lips against his for the millionth time tonight. Pulling away a little breathless, you say, “Sign my name on there, too.”
End note: Again, I truly hope you, @alwaysbethewest (and everyone else) were able to enjoy the way this sweet sweet story unfolded. I didn't realize just how much their dynamic would mean to me, but here we are, an entire piece of my heart later💚. Thank you for prompting me exactly what you did. I'm endlessly grateful. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!
Lastly, I just want to give a little special shoutout to my rock @javierpena-inatacvest for proofreading this story for me and making sure it did our Frankie boy justice. I love you.💚
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Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future stories or would like to stop being tagged altogether. Much love! Xx
EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!
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Eccentricities
Yandere!Miguel x Fem!Reader
TW/CW: DDDNE, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, NSFW, masturbation, spying, camera usage, Miguel being an overall gross creep, stalker behavior, possessiveness, obsessiveness, mentions of murder from the previous chapter, manipulation tactics
MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME
A/N: Woot! Sorry it's taken so long, everyone! I reinjured my back somehow so hopefully I can relax and get comfy enough to be a bit more regular with uploads to this! This chapter is a bit of filler before we once again, get into the heavier stuff later on. (And yeah I totally looked up the recipe for that drink because UGH I want it so BAD)
Part 2
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Pt. 3
Several weeks had passed since the incident with the man in the alley, since Spider-Man had come to your rescue.
Several weeks since Miguel first felt the taste of euphoria from claiming you verbally. Even if you didn't know it, or knew he was Spider-Man.
Snapping that disgusting prick's neck was satisfying. It would only have felt better if he had sunk his fangs in his throat and just ripped it out, or curled his talons deep, his fist wrapping around his windpipe and yanking it free of his body.
No, no, he had no time for that, though. He had to hurry up and get home so he could comfort you, his scared Little Bird.
His precious Little Bird.
Wrapping his arm around your shoulders and patting your back filled him with such a sense of accomplishment. Not even fighting and detaining anomalies felt that good. Protecting the multiverse paled in comparison to feeling your trembling little body beneath his hands, seeing your body visibly relax under his touch and in his presence.
Fuck, did he want you so badly. But, he couldn't. Not yet. He had to earn more of your trust.
Or at the very least, coerce it from you.
He felt pangs of guilt whenever he would think too deeply on it, but he realized when he checked your canon events, that... well. There was nothing saying you couldn't be his. That your universe would collapse.
You were safe, because you were in his native universe. You were safe because you were his.
Or, you would be. One way or another.
He wouldn't lose you the way he lost Gabriela. He wouldn't watch as you crumbled in his arms.
He wouldn't be alone again.
The way he rationalized it when his morals clouded his drive to possess you, was that you were precious. A cool drink of water after a run in the desert, a calm spot in the middle of a hurricane.
You were something pure that he needed to have. He needed to keep you safe.
Pulling up the statistics of your previous apartment district definitely solidified his reasoning that you simply couldn't be trusted to make decisions on your own. Why else would someone as naive as you move somewhere with a crime rate that reached nearly 76% in petty violent crime?
Which brought him back around to the garbage he tossed into a random alley in the city.
His fingerprints and DNA tied him to assaults and break-ins at your building and the neighboring district.
So once again... Miguel was merely doing what was best for you.
Thankfully you didn't have many friends, your busy work schedule from before saw to that. You were simply too raggedly worn to make friends. You even admitted that Lyla was probably the only friend you had (Miguel heard in the recordings of your conversations that you were still too new to Miguel as a person to count him as something so intimate just yet).
Another reason he was taking care of you.
You couldn't manage your work-life balance on your own, and you were struggling financially and mentally from the workload and lack of funds.
But because you were living rent free and with a paycheck to boot... Miguel knew that was the first turn of the proverbial key for your situation.
Soon, you would be locked inside your guilded cage where only he could touch and hold you.
You would thank him for it, eventually. He was sure of it. He would have you on your knees, smiling up at him happily, a pretty gold, necklace-like collar around your neck, the key would hang over his heart.
The thought alone made his cock throb.
No, no...
First things first.
He needed to earn you a bit more. He'd realized that with his work in Alchemax and the Spider Society, you and him hadn't had much interaction save for the end of the day, just after he'd come back from patrolling and you were headed off to bed for the night.
Well, lucky for him... Miguel had put in that he was taking a week away from work, and he even let Jess, Peter, and Lyla take control of things back at HQ, just so he can have time to spend with you.
He needed to make sure that you knew he wasn't afraid to be social with you, that he could be friendly and charming. Maybe once he hammered your walls down a bit... Things might be able to flow naturally. Maybe you would be interested in a relationship with him. It would make manipulating you that much easier.
'It's all for her own good. Nobody else can protect her like I can.' He kept telling himself.
'She'll realize that.'
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You had just let the dinner you made finish baking in the oven.
It was nice, you discovered, to have a conversation with your boss and Lyla while you worked.
Miguel--as politely as possible--convinced you to let him help you cook. He made some interesting dishes that smelled amazing, plus you two worked together to make a tres leches cake just for the two of you. He even showed you how to make homemade whipped icing! (That was messy but you two had fun doing it, of course)
He promised he'd teach you how to make chocoflan and a few other sweets, sometime. Maybe over the next week, since he had the coming days off; and your skills lie in appetizers and main dishes, not desserts.
And it was because of this topic that you learned Miguel had a hell of a sweet tooth. You made a note to add a few new items to your grocery list to make up for this oversight.
Because, hey, he's been working so hard, comes home ragged... who wouldn't enjoy coming home to a nice sweet, homemade treat after working all day and most of the night?
Thankfully your time as a bartender, you knew some things about making some good cocktails without skimping on the liquor.
Like, right now.
Miguel had a bar in his mansion (like most rich people in Nueva York, you assumed), and he allowed you free reign of it because he trusted you.
That knowledge made you feel a bit more pride than you normally would, because this rich and powerful man trusted you with bottles of liquor and champagne that cost more than a year's worth of rent at your old apartment.
At the moment, you were making him a cocktail you've always wanted to try, but menus priced them too high and you couldn't afford the proper stuff to make it right at home.
It was difficult, however, because he was so close, with his Adonis-like good looks and the body that surely made any woman's eyes wander. You had to snap your eyes away when he leaned on the counter, his biceps flexing beneath his partially unbuttoned dress shirt; the sleeves rolled up revealing his thick forearms and the veins lacing the gorgeous tanned skin that probably had phlebotomists fainting or swooning at the sight.
You tried so hard to stay on task as you carefully dipped the rim of the martini glasses in marshmallow fluff and rolled the rims in the crushed graham crackers. It took a few tries, because you were so distracted by the sheer inhuman beauty that was Miguel O'Hara, but his voice snapped you to attention.
"So... What is it you're making?" He hummed curiously, his brow quirking up from behind his glasses.
You cleared your throat and held up the two dusted glasses, "It's called a s'mores martini. It's a bit of a pain to make, but I'm told it tastes amazing."
"Ah." He smiled at you, resting his chin in his palm, his plush and pouty lips curled upwards as he watched. "But you've never made it before, hmm?"
You cringed. "Er... Well. I mean... I've seen other people make it plenty of times..."
Miguel laughed a little, the noise softly escaping his lips as you first poured in the Irish cream, heavy cream, the chocolate syrup, and finally the chocolate liqueur into the shaker.
"Of course. We learn from watching others experience, right?" He hummed softly, eyes tracking your hands.
You awkwardly avoided eye contact as you closed the shaker and held it above you, shaking the contents to make sure they were well mixed. You didn't notice because you were a little embarrassed, that Miguel was staring shamelessly at your cleavage as they jiggled with each over-the-shoulder shake of the metal shaker.
"Well... Yeah! Exactly!" You smiled, finally looking back at him. He'd corrected his line of sight swiftly so you wouldn't notice his hungry leering.
Once it was done, you strained the mixture into the glasses slowly, smiling proudly at the fact you didn't accidentally drop or--god forbid--throw the shaker into the glass bar behind you or across the goddamn room.
You then impaled two marshmallows on both of the smaller skewers you'd prepared, and held them up one at a time, lighting them with the small handheld torch.
You always liked yours a teeny bit more burned, so you let yours bubble and blacken a bit more to ensure optimum gooey-ness before placing it above your cocktail, leaving Miguel's lightly toasted before placing his.
They looked damn delicious, if you did say so yourself.
Miguel gave a tiny congratulatory clap as he watched you finish garnishing the drinks, his lips still curled in that smirk of his.
He took the stem of the glass and plucked the skewer from the rim, making a small show of his tongue curling around the sweet fluffy treats before pulling them off the stick and into his mouth.
He felt his gut twist with a fire as he watched you awkwardly avoid looking at him once more as you munched on yours a bit less eloquently than he did, getting some of the delicious sticky treat on your bottom lip. Miguel continued to watch with ravenous eyes as your tongue swiped the excess off and into your waiting mouth.
Miguel cleared his throat to get your attention again, and lifted his glass in a small toast, "Salud."
Your smile could melt his heart any day, and he felt it do a funny little flip as you returned it. "Salud!"
You wanted to squirm with glee when you saw his eyebrows shoot up when the flavor hit his mouth. You could tell by his expression that it wasn't bad; on the contrary, it was the look of someone who tried something new for the first time and absolutely loved it.
"Muy Bien." Miguel grinned. "You're right. This is good. I didn't know this cocktail existed 'til you showed me."
"See?" You chuckled, licking some of the fluff and crackers off the rim before taking another sip (something Miguel couldn't help but shamelessly watch). "I love looking up drink recipes. There's this one made from melon liqueur that involves soaking chunks of the melon in the alcohol, right..."
"That sounds good... Sprinkle a little chili-lime salt on it, it could almost be like a treat I used to eat as a kid with my brother." He grinned at you.
"We'd go to the park, buy a mango fresh from the bodega, some of the salt, and just sit on a bench and eat it after school."
"Oh! You can make it with mangos, too! We could try that." You chirp helpfully, ignoring how your heart skipped a beat
"I'd like that." Miguel chuckled, taking another sip. "Perhaps I can make you a white Russian, too?"
"Oh! That sounds good! I've never had one of those..."
You smiled, taking in the quiet, budding camaraderie between you and your boss. Lyla had long since moved her little holographic self to the kitchen, carefully monitoring the food so it didn't burn, so it was just you and Miguel in the comfortable silence as you enjoyed your drinks.
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God, of course you couldn't keep your hands to yourself. The moment you finished your chores and bade Miguel goodnight, you ran to your room, your heart fluttering like a wild hummingbird.
It was the booze. It had to be the booze.
Especially with these thoughts running through your head. He was your boss.
He was your boss.
You couldn't think about him like that, it would only complicate things. Being friends you could do, but... job romances always ended nasty. Like when you broke up with your coworker at the insurance office.
Bryce was still pissy about that and would harass you on occasion, sending hurtful and suggestive e-messages to your addresses.
But... working for a guy who may as well have been molded by the gods themselves; how the fuck were you to function properly without your mind wandering to less family-friendly thoughts?
The answer: not fucking easily.
Like right now, you were laid back on your cushy, soft bed, your fingers rolling soft circles onto your clit as you plunged your silicone dildo in and out of your wet and messy channel, your slick and juices leaving a shiny and creamy trail along the length as you twisted and pulled, desperately trying to get that orgasm you wanted. Thankfully you had a towel cushioned beneath you to contain your mess...
Hell, you tried watching porn on your phone, but even that could only get you so fired up. And thus, you were stuck with what your imagination could cook up.
And right now it was a heated image of Miguel leaning over you, whispering filthy things into your ear;
"Ah, so wet and needy, doll? Need my help to work you through it?" He would growl, his teeth just barely grazing the shell of your ear.
"That's it, just tip it up a bit more, thrust it harder--like that. Good girl."
You couldn't help the small moans and breathy gasps that trembled free from your lungs as you felt that wonderful pressure begin to curl your toes.
Your fingers slid down, gathering some of your slick as you imagined Miguel praising you, encouraging what you were doing as you used your wetness to lubricate your fingers so you could do smoother rolls on your little bundle of nerves.
"Good girl." He'd breathe softly, his voice a hair above a whisper as his breath fanned over your cheeks. You could imagine smelling his cologne and aftershave wafting off of him, his natural musk bleeding beneath it all...
"Get yourself nice and wet. Keep going. So close now, muñeca, so close."
You imagined him then, behind your closed eyes, hissing through clenched teeth as he would smack your hand off of your toy, taking the base in his palm before shoving it roughly up into you.
"Need my help, huh? Your little hands not good enough? Fine."
He'd lean back, staring down at you with heavy, lidded eyes as he roughly fucked you with that pale imitation of a real dick; the bulge in his pants straining against the seams in a way you'd swear they would burst.
Miguel would bring a hand back, slicking his messy hair, the sticky gel coming loose from the sweat and heat that was shared in such a small space between you; and he would rip the buttons of his shirt open as he watched you squeak and mewl as your orgasm got closer.
He'd grin down at you, his crooked teeth gleaming like shark teeth on display as he'd twist and thrust the toy up further and further, hitting every spot you needed with every deft curve of his hand.
"And once I'm done, magdalena, I will show you what a real cock can do to that cute little pussy of yours."
You tossed your head back when your imagination spat that line of dialogue out, and moaned wantonly as your orgasm gushed out of you, every muscle in your body tensing and relaxing all at the same time as the euphoria crashed into you like a violent surf.
You just couldn't contain yourself, crying breathily at the mental image:
"Miguel."
You laid there for what felt like forever, breathing, trying to regain from the intense orgasm that made your head and heart pound.
That's when the post-coital clarity began to set in, and you sat up abruptly, covering your mouth in sheer shock at the fact you just called out his name.
Your boss's name.
You looked around, knowing it was stupid, that he couldn't have possibly heard you from elsewhere in the house, but the flush that crept up your body was there all the same.
Equal parts shame and arousal, honestly...
Thankfully, Miguel didn't hear you.
But you were still none the wiser to the cameras above your bed, pointing straight down at you; feeding right to Miguel's office so he could watch you like his own private peep show.
And you were definitely none the wiser about the thick ropes of cum that covered Miguel's fingers, or how his lips curled into a sick smile as he licked his warm spend from his own hand, his face awash in the dim glow from the monitors in front of him.
Yes. You were going to be a fun little project.
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Part 4: Coming Soon
#yandere!miguel o’hara#yandere!miguel#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara#miguel spiderman#miguel o'hara atsv
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