#Art Challenge Prompt Reply | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

subukunojess · 8 months

Text

Freestyle Phantom: He'll Come Back To You Again

Fandom: Mario + Rabbids, Rayman

Content Warnings: Slight Angst, Main Character gets possessed/controlled

Word Count: 1,943

Summary: Based on a Tumblr Art Challenge. An Alternate What-If Scene for Rayman in the Phantom Show. As the final battle goes underway, The Phantom introduces a new form that would not only shock the unlikely heroes in more ways than one but might also have one of them question everything.

This is a one-shot I wrote for @hostess-of-horror's Phantom Genre Challenge a while back where someone would pick out their favorite music genre and imagine Phantom's new form as that genre. Since I can't draw at the moment, I decided to do the next best thing and write it. This resulted in a slight songfic with some Rayman angst mixed in.

For the challenge, I decided to create Freestyle Phantom, a late 80s version of the Phantom that has shock-based attacks and can control a hero of his choice for one to two turns similar to Hypnotize in the game. The song that the Phantom sings is "Let The Music Play" by Shannon which I recently found out is considered the #1 Freestyle song. I recommend listening to it.

I provided the Archive of Our Own link, but I'll also put the fic under the cut for you to read here as well! I hope that this is okay:

CLAP!

Rayman opened his eyes to the sound of a clap that reverberated through the room and his figurative eardrums. At first, he almost forgot where he was until music started playing.

Oh, right. He and his teammates were stopping a large ghost rabbid from getting revenge and possibly taking over galactic media with unlimited power. After hitting the show-tune villain where it hurts, the team woke up to... flashing lights, scattered speakers, and checkered dance floors. But that was not the sight that shocked everyone the most. There in the spotlight floated the Phantom wearing a garish neon pink jacket styled with coattails, a black shirt, and purple fuzzy bracelets. His phonograph was now a light purple color. Needless to say, the heroes shielded themselves from the sight.

"Augh, my eyes!" Rabbid Mario exclaimed.

"That jacket's so fourth decade ago!" Rabbid Peach scoffed. The Phantom ignored the cries, moving his body to the syncopated beat.

"This next act will get your heart pumping and the beat stomping you into the dance floor! Let's go at it with this mix!" Phantom smirked, electricity flowing through his transparent body.

Rayman, on the other hand, hid behind some speakers nearby. His face was a mixture of familiarity and suspicion. He turned to Beep-0 and asked, "Anything you can tell us, Beep-0? The music rings a bell, but I can't put my finger on it."

"Hmm," Beep-0 scanned the Phantom using the tacticam and gasped in realization. "According to my findings, we're experiencing Freestyle music. Rabbid Peach isn't too far off in the timeline. It's an electronic genre that was popular in a couple of cities and had to compete with other genres like techno, funk, or pop. It was usually played in dance clubs. And the nerve of him, using the first Freestyle song to perform! A disgrace to the original artist!"

"Whatever it is, I can dig it!" Rabbid Mario grinned as he got out to dance freely until Rabbid Peach pulled him back behind cover.

Beep-0 continued, "There's a static in the Phantom's eyes, so we're going to deal with shock-based attacks. But knowing the diva, he'll have something up his sleeve. Keep your guard up and dash those lights!"

The three heroes nodded, huddling together for their battle plan. This time, there were five light bulbs that surrounded Phantom like a circle or a pentagram with Goombas, Stooges, and a few Spellraisers scattered around. After a brief discussion, the heroes went to work.

As the two Rabbids dashed the two lights in the front, Rayman used the flying rings to glide toward the back of the stage. He dashed the backlight before he shifted to his Rocket costume and flew his rocket to target the Spellraisers and Stooges. Meanwhile, Rabbid Mario took out as many Goombas as he could whereas Rabbid Peach summoned a clone and helped the clone team jump into the next light. Four out of five lights were dashed before the enemies attacked. The Stooges and the remaining Goombas advanced towards the heroes as the Spellraisers threw their shots and summoned more Stooges.

It was Phantom's next move that surprised the heroes. Usually, Phantom would stay in the spotlight, wave his hand to disable any weapons or techniques, and let out a note that would slam someone into next week for his first turn. Instead, he took one look around the stage with a twirl, then placed his hands upon his chest as his gramophone glowed eerily and he prepared an action with an invisible range.

Rayman shuddered. He did not like the confident, smug grin on the Phantom's face in general, but it seemed more ominous now than ever. He glanced at the Rabbids all over the floor who looked equally wary. There was no telling what the Phantom would do and it did not help when Beep-0 scanned the pose and it came up blank with his full effort. Either way, someone had to be the bait. With the brawler and two healers out on the field, Rayman decided for himself and moved first.

Before Rayman could even grab a ring or take a step, Phantom jerked in his direction, inhaled, and sang out while waving, "Let the music play!" Rayman stumbled, losing his footing but regained balance and stopped to check the damage.

"Huh." Rayman patted himself down, feeling no ooze on his face or around his hands as he gradually smiled in relief. "I can shoot and use my powers still, so I think I'm--"

Just then, Rayman froze and paled, his hands hanging by his sides as he tilted his head down. His teammates gaped in concern.

"What's wrong, Ray?" Rabbid Mario called out.

"And this is no time for dancing in place!" Rabbid Peach added with a scowl. Rayman, in fact, found his feet were pacing from side to side with the beat. His body glowed a light purple as he struggled to lift his head. His eyes were purple, one pupil brown and the other light blue.

"I... I can't-- move my body!" He managed to hiss as his body shook. It was so shocking that even the Rabbid Peach clone gasped in horror along with the heroes.

"What's the meaning of this?!" Beep-0 demanded an explanation.

"That would be me." The Phantom piped up with a dark chuckle. "What better way for your final show to turn out than by throwing in a climactic betrayal?"

"Betrayal? What do you-- Ghk!" Rayman yelped when his hands started to raise in unison with the Phantom's. Phantom cracked his knuckles and neck which looked strange with Rayman copying him.

"Now, to make use of your two turns." All of a sudden, Rayman jumped down from the raised platform, dashed into the Rabbid Peach clone, and ran as far away from the Phantom and the remaining light as possible before he shifted into his Vortex costume. He raised his hand and instead of pulling minions with tornadoes, his teammates were caught instead. The three Rabbids flew towards Rayman and dropped to the floor with minor injuries.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean that!" Rayman apologized.

Beep-0 growled, glowing red as he and the team glared at Phantom. "That Devious Wind-Bag! He found a way to be like our Spark, Mayhem, and control anyone with his music!"

"Hey, leave my best buddy alone! No one gets to control his body like that!" Rabbid Mario shook his fists angrily.

Rayman blinked. "Best Buddy?"

"Us Punching Pals gotta stick together!" With that, the Rabbid Plumber rushed to show the Phantom what for, forgetting that he still needed to take out one more light. When he got close, Phantom sang out a blast that shocked Rabbid Mario multiple times and stopped him in his tracks.

The two Rabbid Peaches and Beep-0 looked at each other. Both Rabbid Mario and Rayman were out of commission which meant it was up to them to destroy the spotlight. Rabbid Peach covered for her clone as the two of them made their way to the light whereas Beep-0 stayed with Rayman to give moral support.

The eggplant thingamajig, however, was still reeling. Rabbid Mario called him his best buddy even when they recently just met. Rayman thought he only had one or two best buddies. He would never think that a Rabbid would think of him to be one. Regardless, he needed to get out of the Phantom's control, but the ghost had a strong grip.

"Let me go! I don't want to hurt them!" Rayman pleaded as his body ran after Rabbid Peach, pulling out his plunger gun.

'Funny. I thought deep down you'd want to take down the Rabbids.' Phantom's voice echoed in Rayman's mind. 'They captured you, took over a planet, and annoyed you to no end. Because of them, no one remembers you. It wouldn't hurt to enjoy pushing some around a little. Give them a taste of their own medicine! Mwahahaha!'

Rayman did not know what he hated more; the idea of hurting his comrades, temporary or not, or the fact that some part of him was considering the notion.

After taking down some Stooges, the clone dashed the final light before screaming as Rayman chased it with his gun raised, apologizing repeatedly while doing so. Although the spotlight shut off, the Phantom still had his glow as he sang, "We started dancing, and love put us into a groove as soon as we started to move."

"It's okay, Ray. I'm comin' for ya!" Rabbid Mario exclaimed in assurance, coming from the electrocution until another High-C froze him again. "After I get over the shocks. Curse you, catchy rhythm!"

"The music played while our bodies displayed through the dance. Then love picked us out for romance."

Rabbid Peach chased after Rayman, punching Spellraisers in the process. She came to Rabbid Mario and healed him on the way over.

"I thought it was clear the plan was we would share this feeling just between ourselves."

It did not help that all the minions were dancing to the beat, the lights were flashing with the atmosphere, and the rhythm was indeed catchy. Rabbid Peach took some brief pictures before getting serious. The new goal was to defeat the Phantom's phase before he decided to control someone else. If anything, this gave her the excuse to punch the weird Rayman and knock him out for the remainder of the fight. She would heal him later.

"But when the music changed, the plan was rearranged; he went to dance with someone else."

At that lyric, Rayman had already shot his gun at the clone before turning his body around towards Rabbid Peach. She had to admit she felt guilty for a moment, seeing Rayman staring at his betraying body parts like he wanted to bite at his non-existent limbs to stop. She backed away from him, unaware that she was getting closer to the Phantom.

"We started dancing and love put us into the groove, but now he's with somebody new. What does Love want me to do?"

Rabbid Peach noticed Phantom's voice loud near her ears. Before she could turn around, a wave of a hand spread a dark ooze that covered her face and eyes.

"Where'd you go? Hold still, will ya?!" She snarled as she pushed herself into where she thought Rayman stood, throwing punches but Rayman kept dodging and weaving before pushing her to the ground. She then launched missiles in the air haphazardly. One hit the Phantom but the other two hit the remaining Spellraisers.

"Love said: let the music play! He won't get away. Just keep the groove and then he'll come back to you again! Let it play!"

As the music kicked up and the Phantom's singing became much more sinister, Clone Rabbid Peach got from behind Rabbid Mario and dragged him to the back so they could attack the ghost with a surprise attack.

"Let the music play. He won't get away. This groove, he can't ignore. He won't leave you any more!"

"No, no, no!" Rabbid Peach protested, deciding to retreat until she could get the ooze out of her face and Rayman would be set free.

Although the hold would loosen any second now, Rayman still trembled at the power Phantom possessed and the implications. Who knew which hero he would go after next? A large Rabbid ghost posed a threat that he had not realized until now. As his brown pupil turned blue and tears formed in his eyes, Rayman strained a smile as he sang with Phantom's voice in unison, pointing his gun at his fellow teammate.

"Somebody stop me~!"

15 notes · View notes

suntoru · 4 months

Text

─ ✰ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒.

— synopsis: 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔, the popular guy in your class, chooses to sit next to you, of all people. you've fallen head over heels, what happens next?

— warnings: highschool au! angst, fluff in the beginning, will not be writing a part 2, swearing, gaslighting, betrayal, just a bet troupe, gojo being a dick or everybody generally, 3.4k words!

— a/n: not my proudest work to be honest :( also tried another formatting lmk if u liked it! comments and reblogs r very much appreciated i will love u forever

"yo. can i sit here?" gojo satoru grins, effortlessly sliding into the empty seat next to you and making himself at home.

...huh? isn't that the popular guy who's usually surrounded by his friends? he's constantly the subject of admiration among the girls in your class, eliciting swoons and whispers of infatuation wherever he goes. confusion creeps in as you wonder why he didn't choose the empty seat next to suguru. there's no conceivable reason for someone like gojo, popular and charismatic, to opt for the seat beside you. you feel a sense of self-consciousness settling in.

nevertheless, you nod softly, though you're well aware the question was more of a rhetorical one. he's fashionably late, by twenty minutes, to be precise, unabashedly ignoring the scolding glares from your teacher about punctuality. instead, he buries himself in the deep blue plastic seat, sticking his tongue out when the teacher turns his back, letting out a huffy pout from the lecture.

nervously, you glance up from your notebook, cautiously stealing a peek at your new desk buddy. he's pretty─ real pretty, snowy white lashes adorning his pretty cerulean spheres, dainty fingers idly spinning a pencil out of sheer boredom. and as if kissed by the blush of a gentle sunrise, his lips possess a natural rosy hue, smooth and plump, belong to him like a delicate work of art. you wonder just how many kisses they've stolen. caught in a moment of admiration, you find yourself staring a tad longer than socially acceptable.

his eyes flicker, locking onto yours, and the realization hits you—oh, he caught you staring. shit. immediately, you break eye contact as you cough awkwardly. you swiftly attempt to play it off, pretending as if you were engrossed in examining the intricate texture of your silver-grey desk instead. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you hope he hasn't interpreted your lingering gaze as anything more than idle curiosity.

...should you say something? try to deny you were very clearly eye fucking him? he probably thinks you're a freak now. perhaps he sat next to you out of pity, and now he regrets it. out of sheer embarrassment, the words die in your mouth before they could ever leave, keeping your gaze glued to the floor as you refuse to acknowledge that his presence ever existed.

however, it appears that gojo won't let you suffer the embarrassment in peace. when your stern teacher turns away, he subtly slides a ripped edge of his blue-lined paper towards you, bearing a simple 'hi :)'. he's attempting a conversation, a surprising but welcome distraction from the awkwardness of being caught staring. an opportunity to salvage a bit of your dignity. now, the challenge lies in crafting a response that strikes the right balance.

would 'hey' sound too dry? but 'heyyyy' makes it seem like you're a little too interested. you opt for a casual 'heyy' with your black pen, scribbling the reply with extra caution to avoid prying eyes. as soon as the teacher is out of view, you subtly slip the note back to gojo. his lips curl into a slight smile upon reading your response.

two minutes pass by before you get a response. 'do you get this lesson? i'm soo lost..' accompanied by a small doodle of a crying suguru. you can't help but stifle a giggle; the drawing is poorly done, yet undeniably cute. the teacher swiftly turns around at the sound, prompting both of you to scramble and make it look like you're diligently focused on the lesson. the suspicious gaze lingers for a moment before the teacher returns to the whiteboard.

'maybe it's cause you missed like, half of the lesson.' you write back. he rolls his eyes playfully upon reading your retort, swiftly countering with a pout. "it's not my fault this class is so boring.'

'who said philosophy was supposed to be fun?' you reply. in response, gojo eagerly accepts the note, maintaining the subtle exchange of eye contact. 'hey, be nice to mr. aristotle, he's a great guy :(' he sends back. and thirty minutes seem to pass in the blink of an eye.

the bell chimes, signaling the end of the philosophy session and the need to transition to your next course. reluctantly, you stow your textbook in your bag, feeling a twinge of sadness at the realization that this amusing interaction might have been a one-time occurrence.

it's been a while since you've genuinely laughed. so when his ocean blue eyes latch onto yours with a genuine sense of hope, you quickly fold when he asks you if you're interested in sitting with him again tomorrow.

in those thirty short minutes, you learn three things about gojo satoru. firstly, you realize you've sorely misjudged him. he's not just another nepo-baby cheating his way through school; he's actually quite smart, smarter than he lets on. he's especially good in biochemistry, and he promises to help you study next time.

secondly, you discover that he loves sweets, just as you do. you both agree that kikufuku mochi is better than strawberry dango, and he even tells you about his favorite shop. maybe you can go together sometime.

and thirdly, he doesn't tell you this outright, but you learn that gojo is insecure. what strikes you the most is the glimpse of uncertainty you catch beneath his confident exterior. it's not about his looks or intelligence, but it's actually about his relationship with suguru. he's afraid to lose him, a fear that seems to drive him more than anything else. he overcompensates for his self-doubt. but you find that his flaws make him all the more pretty.

it's peculiar, the speed at which gojo somehow effortlessly integrates into your daily life. how he's feeling is how you're feeling, which is usually reflected on his friendship with suguru. if they had a fight, he'd be sad, and if everything was alright, he was too. but either way was okay with you, you just want to be there for him. what was once a dreaded fourth period now stands as the radiant highlight of your entire day.

despite the limited instances of verbal communication —perhaps a mere once or twice— the inexplicable truth remains: you've fallen head over heels for him. the simple act of passing notes with satoru becomes more than a routine; it evolves into the sole force that awakens you in the morning, the singular thought that propels you forward and keeps you going throughout the day.

and just maybe, the hopeless romantic within you fervently clings to the belief that his sentiments go beyond mere friendship. his actions seem to carry an extra layer of care, an attentiveness that extends beyond your platonic friendship. he notices the little things that escape the notice of others. it wasn't lost on him when you shed tears the other night due to the weight of stress; he went out of his way to procure your favorite candy bar, a sweet gesture aimed at brightening your spirits.

he took notice of your new haircut, expressing in a note that it frames your face nicely. he had comforted you when a classmate aimed a subtle insult your way, he wrote that the words of someone whose foundation didn't match their face shouldn't hold much weight. he even made an effort to be punctual for class, all to engage in the shared exchange of silly notes with you. and honestly, even if he didn't like you back, you'd be fine.

because your heart swells with gratefulness at the fact that he chose to sit with you. he wanted to be your friend even when nobody else did. you trusted and loved him with your whole heart, because that's what you believed he deserved.

so imagine your surprise when you overhear his conversation with suguru that day.

"just a day more, then you win the bet." geto groans, tossing his head back in exasperation. the two of them linger in the now-empty classroom, the echoes of other students long gone.

"yep, twenty four hours, then you owe me three hundred dollars." satoru sings, playfully nudging his best friend's shoulder. he's all sunshine and smiles, swinging his feet from the desk he's currently sitting on.

"and it wasn't even that hard. i just had to get 'em to fall for me." suguru rolls his eyes. "dude, if i was you, i would've tapped out the first week. how'd you manage to do it?" he huffs, clearly annoyed at the impending financial loss.

satoru mischievously grins. "just used my charm." he fluffs his hair with a smug expression on his face. "can't believe it worked so fast, though. they must be real desperate for someone's attention. all it took was for you to fuckin' pretend like you cared." suguru grouches, being a sore loser. you don't hear the rest, the notebook you had lost long forgotten.

a lump forms in your throat, a sensation of dread creeping up on you. you desperately want to believe he's not talking about you, but you can't shake the realization that to him, you were nothing more than a pawn in a bet— a tool used for his amusement. you're overwhelmed by a sense of stupidity, a painful realization sinking in, drowning every rational thought.

he never cared. you could fall dead at this moment and he wouldn't even spare you a glance. you should've known. why would he? you feel stupid for allowing him entry into your life, stupid for naively believing in his sincerity, and stupid for daring to love a heartless jerk who played with the fragile strings of your heart.

they're right. you are pathetic. you just blindly fell for the first person who gave, or rather, pretended to give a shit. a relentless ache throbs in your chest as you stubbornly refuse to succumb to tears over a boy— a resolution crumbling like fragile glass. despite your stubborn determination, an uncontrollable torrent of hot tears streams down your face, distorting the world into a watery blur.

the desperate yearning for someone to choose you, to envelop you in unconditional and pure love, had fueled your hopes. and for a fleeting moment, you believed you'd found it, only to witness your heart being ruthlessly trampled blue. clutching onto the tattered shreds of your dignity, half-broken and bleeding, you muster the strength to leave swiftly before they catch a glimpse of you.

the bitter taste of betrayal lingers in the air, each teardrop is a testament to the shattering of dreams, the dead hope that once soared. the yearning for a love that stands unwavering proves to be a mirage, leaving you grappling with the shards of a love that was never truly yours.

that day, you learn one more thing about gojo satoru. he's just like everybody else.

cerulean eyes, like pools of shimmering azure, flicker with concern as they scan the empty seat beside him. minutes stretch into eternity on the clock, each tick of the second hand amplifying the weight of his worry. nine twenty morphs into nine fifty pretty quickly, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. at this rate, you'll only get in twenty minutes of 'talking.'

you're always punctual—eight fifty-five on the dot. but today, the clock ticks on, and there's no sign of you anywhere. his brows furrow with concern, a nervous flutter dancing in his stomach. did something happen to you? the mere possibility sends a pang of anxiety through him, and he fidgets restlessly in his seat, unable to focus on the lesson before him.

yet, when his gaze shifts to meet suguru's, he swiftly masks his apprehension with an air of nonchalance, as if feigning indifference to your absence. but inwardly, his heart races as he anxiously awaits your arrival. when you finally walk in, he's already scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, filled with questions about what could have delayed you today. yet, as he extends his hand to pass you the note, his eager smile fades into confusion and disappointment.

you walk right past seat thirteen, your usual spot, without so much as a glance in his direction. instead, you approach a random girl and ask if you could sit with her. his heart sinks, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as a torrent of thoughts flood his mind. is something wrong? are you upset with him? he replays every interaction in his mind, searching for any misstep. but he can't find one. he's been careful to maintain the perfect facade when you're around. perhaps you simply forgot, he reasons with himself, attempting to quell the rising tide of hurt and confusion.

yes, that must be it.

...just a simple oversight.

"hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!! just wait a moment!!" gojo's voice cuts through the chatter of students eager to leave as soon as the bell rings. he grabs your wrist, his touch gentle yet firm, halting your attempt to blend into the rush. his heart races in his chest, the sudden surge of adrenaline making his palms clammy.

"um... you didn't sit with me today." he mumbles, the words coming out in a rush, his voice tinged with uncertainty. his fingers toy with the ring around his finger, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggles to find the right words to continue the conversation. he doesn't like the way you're looking at him. there's a flicker of irritation in your gaze, a departure from the usual warmth and affection that he's grown accustomed to. normally, when his eyes meet yours, your cheeks tint pink, your pupils dilate, and you give him the cutest starry-eyed look. but not today.

"yeah," you mutter casually, your eyebrow raising ever so slightly. there's a certain coldness in your eyes that sends a shiver down his spine. you're about to leave again, but he moves to block the door, a frown creasing his forehead.

"did i do something wrong? i don't understand why you're suddenly acting so bitchy," he huffs, irritation lacing his voice. the words tumble out before he can stop them, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "no," you reply simply, your tone devoid of any emotion, as if you genuinely don't care. it stings his ego, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"you can 'use your charm' to make a new friend. since it's so easy for you, right?" you mutter, your voice trembling with suppressed anger. you promised yourself you'd hold it together, but the wound is still raw, etched deep into your mind as a flush of resentment rises within his eyes widen in shock, a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. you heard that? no, no, no... he hadn't meant for you to be there. he had been so careful, or so he thought.

"i didn't mean it, i just-" he stutters, desperately searching for an excuse, but he knows it's futile. there's no chance you'd believe him now, would you? his heart sinks. he doesn't want you to hate him. "i was easy, right?" you laugh bitterly, each word dripping with sarcasm and pain.

"i hope that three hundred dollars was worth it. not that you even needed it, though. you think toying with people is fun? you're a dick, satoru, go to fucking hell." you hiss, your words laced with venom, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "let me explain-" he protests, desperation evident in his voice as he tries to reason with you. but you're too angry to even consider it.

"explain? explain what?'" you explode, your voice rising with each syllable, oblivious to the judgmental glances of passersby. you scoff, tears threatening to spill over.

"i didn't mean it," he cuts you off, his own voice strained with emotion. "you're my friend, i just—" his voice cracks. "friends don't manipulate other people's feelings." you interrupt, your voice laced with venom as you spit out each word. you're aware you look like a mess, mascara staining your cheeks. "friends don't trick and hurt you on purpose!" you yell, tongue dripping with malice. "and here's the thing. you may be the greatest, satoru, but you will never, be enough. not for suguru, not for anybody."

you almost regret saying it. targetting his biggest insecurity. but then again, he deserves it. "how could you say that?" his voice is broken, quiet, as he mumbles it out as a whisper. the eyes that you once found so stunning suddenly look just like everybody else's. they well with tears, but are quickly blinked away. "you don't get to cry, satoru," you scoff, unzipping your bag and opening the front pouch.

you toss all the letters you've written in class, all the sticky notes, every single ripped paper, every little doodle, flipping your bag over and emptying it on the floor. every single heart fluttering moment you experienced seems so dead now. "you don't get to act like you cared. it's only fair, after all." you manage to muster, fighting to keep your voice stable. tears drip down your chin as your bottom lip trembles.

every step feels like a battle, a relentless tug-of-war between what your heart wants and what your mind knows is right. leaving him behind is like tearing off a piece of your own soul, but you convince yourself it's for the better— for your own sanity, for your own self-respect. each stride forward is heavy with the weight of goodbye, each breath drawn in a struggle against the ache in your chest. and as you finally turn away, a part of you dies inside, a piece of your spirit crumbling in the wake of shattered trust and broken dreams. you can feel his eyes on your retreating figure, the silent witness to your silent agony.

this time he doesn't try to stop you. and when you leave, gojo finally allows himself to cry.

today, gojo finds himself seated next to suguru, reclaiming his former spot from before the bet. yet, everything feels different now. the idiotic jokes his friends make just aren't as funny anymore. their presence is irritating to him. he laughs, but the sound lacks the same genuine joy it once held with you. he smiles, but it's a mere shadow of the radiant expression he wore in your presence. his heart may feel a fleeting sense of happiness, but there will always be a hole where you once were.

his so-called 'buddies' don't even notice that he's at his lowest point, and he can't help but think about the way you would've noticed immediately.

how you would've sent him a cute note with his favourite candy attached, because you kept them in your bag just for him, for these kinds of days. he feels so numb. he's always been so confident, yet he can't even muster up the courage to pass by your desk.

and he can't help but wonder what might have been if he had chosen differently that day, if his intentions had been pure from the start. would you two have gotten somewhere? he supposes that now, he'll never know the answer. his eyes cloud over at that thought, slouching back down into his seat.

he never had the chance to tell you how sorry he was, how he would take it all back in an instant if he could. he didn't mean to hurt you. he was stupid and careless. and yet, he tries to convince himself that he'll be okay. that he'll be able to get over you one day. one day, when he's married and has two kids, he'll look back at this and laugh. so then why does his heart feel so heavy? you're not suguru, it's true. but suguru never made him feel this way. and he's confused with his own feelings.

he doesn't know what love is.

he's only sixteen.

perhaps he'll never know. but for him, love was sneaking kikifuku mochi into class for you to share. it was sending you cat memes at three am in the morning, only for you to groggily respond with your own. it was doodling you in his notebook in his spare time. it was how what you were feeling was how he was feeling too.

you were right, it seems.

gojo satoru, the greatest, yet not enough to make you stay.

#gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo angst

2K notes · View notes

kryptonitejelly · 8 days

Note

art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fanfic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson x female reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers imagine #not cm #not tg

920 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 5 months

Text

Sapsorrow - Chapter 1

Masterlist here, Mood Board here.

Word Count: 6,022

Song Accompaniment: La Petite fille de la mer

This is the first part to a multi-chaptered series. Thank you @feral-artistry for brainstorming with me and shepherding me into the right direction.

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

The cobblestone steps greeted your eyes with an iron and intimidating intensity, your future as uncertain as the words that were addressed to you regarding your newest undertaking. Two wards under the care of the Lord of Kuraigana were allegedly in dire need of training in the art of navigation as they began interacting with the upper classes. At risk of embarrassment, Lord Dracule Mihawk had humbled himself with his carefully and hastily composed words and sent them through to meet your eyes only.

Clasping firm the address within your fingertips, you reopened the rolled scroll to once again read over the words Dracule Mihawk had written to you. You smoothed over your formal title with the pads of your fingertips, reading the carefully crafted words beneath to ensure you did not misunderstand any minor detail:

“I hope this letter finds you well.

I will not dance around the issue at hand with formalities and fluttery words. I need use of your abilities as a trainer and governess.

Your resume speaks volumes, and your many debutants and young lords you have presented under your guiding hands have captured my attention with their attuned supremacy in handling all manner of circumstances. Although my wards are not of debutant age: both much older than the appropriate age of presentation, I find myself out of depths in training them to handle the upper class as fluidly as I know you are capable of doing so.

Two young adults: one young unrefined gentleman in need of carving down to size, and one young lady who I cannot donate my time to attune to her femininity.

I simply can’t - I cannot handle it. - Please can you – I need -

Should you desire to undertake such a challenge, I would humbly request – I expect you could – please find the disclosed location for my castle at Kuraigana.

To run the risk of sounding desperate, I once again reiterate: I need you, Governess.

I look forward to hearing your reply, and should you accept the position, I shall adjust wings accordingly for your stay along with discussing wages.

Kindest regards,

Lord Dracule Mihawk of Castle Kuraigana.”

Rereading his honest words, and smiling at his scratched and stricken notation, you began your ascension up the towering steps towards the large double doors of the keep. Having met the ex-warlord a handful of times at events held by the world government, you had never assumed he had paid heed to many of your accomplishments as a finishing instructor and governess to the upper class. Always professional, never swaying your gaze from your pupils and debutants under your watchful instruction, you could maybe recall a small amount of polite conversation between you and the Lord of Castle Kuraigana.

Again, you found yourself recollecting the handful of times you had spoken to the warlord in the past. He had always been professional, and you had always reciprocated in an appropriate manner to him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Governess,” a smooth voice addressed you at your right hand side. Unmoving your gaze from the young gentleman you had been training for the past eleven months, you smiled and nodded your head in acknowledgement.

“Warlord,” you addressed him in return. Your pupil had finally worked up the courage to ask a young lady to dance, an action prompting you to sigh in both pride and relief.

“One of yours?” He asked, his voice quirking up at the end in question. Although it was deemed impolite to disregard a member of the upper class, you could not tear your eyes away from your young student as he was following the proper mannerisms of courtship. He extended his right hand, bowing politely to the young woman as she accepted by placing her gloved fingertips within his own.

“Indeed,” you drew out your response, cocking your head to the side to follow your pupil with your gaze more thoroughly. Your student began effortlessly twirling the young lady on the dance floor; swaying her to the melody performed by the stringed quartet. The twin violins began to swell, the viola accompanying their melody with harmony while the cello droned the bass notes effortlessly.

“He’s doing quite well,” he complimented with a polite expression within his tone, “I offer my praises to your abilities.”

“They always do,” you replied with a small smile tickling left hand side of your lips, “and thank you for your kind words, Lord Dracule.” Mihawk hummed in response, holding firm his yellow gaze affixed to your young pupil as he spun the debutant within his arms.

Both you and the warlord at your side allowed several moments to pass between you as you witnessed the successful maneuver of carefully articulated dance moves to be initiated by your student.

“Do you dance, Governess?” he asked you with a lazy air of curiosity about him.

“I have an array of many talents at my disposal, Warlord,” your smile broadened, “musicality, linguistics, formal ceremonies, and dance are a few skills I can call on from time to time. However,” you finally allowed yourself to look away from your pupil to focus on the awaiting gaze of the man beside you, “I find myself relishing in the propel of my students rather than to chase the thrill for myself.”

“Indeed,” he nodded, bringing his right hand to clasp the tip of his broad hat within his thumb and index finger, “until the next soiree, Governess.”

“Warlord,” you crossed your right leg behind your left, your toes curling beneath your foot as you bent in a low stooped curtsey. Your eyes shut politely before you rose, dragging your toes against the floor to brandish at your side and turning your back to the gentleman.

Stalking the perimeter of the dance floor, you once again found your pupil: he attempting to engage with the young lady’s chaperone to indicate his intentions of courtship. Another blissful sigh of the night fell from your parted lips, brimming with glee at another successful pupil finding a potential partner within the upper class. Unaware to the two amber eyes honing over your figure, you continued to fix your gaze on the young man, smiling further as he bowed lowly to take his leave and join once more with you.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Drawing the back of your knuckles upwards and rapping politely from the door, you stepped back and smoothed over the front of your formal governess attire. Hearing clangs, clashes and heavy laden footsteps falling in a thud towards the door, your eyes finally met with the warm, hazelnut gaze of a tall man with moss-coloured hair littering his scalp in an array of tussles.

“The fuck do you want-,” he began, halting as soon as a pale palm and slender fingers grasped his cream-coloured shirt and thrust him inside. Hastily closing the door behind him and stepping out into the foyer lay the towering form of the broody warlord who wrote to you.

“Governess,” he addressed you, sucking in an exasperated breath through his teeth. You took in the gentleman falling from the doorframe. His intimidating and intense aura was tainted with a slight amount of dishevelment.

“Warl-,” you halted your words, recognising his relinquishment of his prior status with a small quirk of your chin, “force of habit,” you smiled at him, lacing your fingers behind your back before correcting yourself, “my lord.”

“I will not hold it against you. It takes some adjustment,” he nodded. You bowed your head in a polite curtsey before again raising your gaze to beam against your new employer.

“Your latest protégé, I assume,” you nodded your head towards the door, eyes beaming with a small air of teasing.

“My latest project. As you can see,” he, himself, nodded his head towards the recently shut door, “his manners and language are of the highest priority.”

You hummed in response, looking over your latest recruiter with an intense and examining gaze. He took the opportunity to straighten his attire, rotating his shoulders back to adjust his posture upright and rigid, as was how you had come to acknowledge his stature through your prior interactions.

“Your letter-,” you began, halted by the palm of Mihawk’s hand presenting itself before your eyes.

“-I apologize for my hastily written words. I should have thought about them further before sending for you,” he commented, cutting off your sentence with a bored and dismissive tone. You clenched your jaw, displeased by his silencing of your words. Humming and straightening your own posture, you began looking up at him with a challenging intensity.

“I agree, my lord. Before you interrupted my words,” you coughed to release a small amount of agitation from your throat. “you currently have two wards in your care?” He roughly sucked in an air through his nose, shutting his eyes to rid himself of his own abrasive emotions. He reopened them, his pupils immediately narrowing in on your own.

“Yes,” he gruffly confirmed, his agitation not hidden by his rough words.

“And you require my help with rearing them?” you asked once more, stepping towards his towering form. He again inhaled very slowly to calm the simmer of his anger rising upwards.

“Yes,” he hissed from clenched teeth, again confirming his need for you. You smiled softly at him before turning your gaze towards the door once more.

“How wonderful,” you commented, stooping to reclaim your bags from the doorstep as Mihawk held his honeyed-gaze on your form, “I simply can’t wait to get started.”

“I would not be so eager, if I were you,” he reprimanded, reaching behind him to clasp the handle to reopen the door.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The ornate hall was decorated from the top of the roof floating all the way to the join against the floor with intricately painted designs. Angelic silhouettes or seraphim and cherubim floated at the highest point of the design, painted clouds parting to reveal the radiant beams of sunlight warming their drawn smiles. This was not a sight you foresaw, judging from the dark and gloomy halls and wings of Castle Kuraigana in the many rooms prior.

No. This room was special. Something truly holy and sacred to contain the vast accumulation of wealth displayed on the ornate, glass shelves and carved marble. Gemstones glittering with colors of the darkest of reds to the pastel hue of a magical and mossy green lay perfectly cataloged along the benches. The golds, silvers, coppers and platinum bands and bangles reflected the light beaming from the stained glass with drawn back, velvety curtains showcasing their majesty.

You should not be here.

Those were the words that you thought as your right arm lay laced within your pink-haired debutant pupil as she guided you throughout the beautiful halls, with your green-haired ‘gentleman in training’ lay sculking behind you with his left hand clutching the neck of a brown-stained beer bottle. You couldn’t hear a word she was uttering through her enthusiastic lips, no doubt informing you of the different historical properties and peculiarities lord Dracule Mihawk managed to procure over his time with piracy, and purchases he made under his former title as Warlord of the Seas. You were simply awestruck by the different paintings, musical instruments and finery fabrics that lay embroidering the perimeter of the room with their carefully attuned presence.

“And this one,” Perona’s voice shook you from your trance as she escorted you to the center of the room, “This one is my favorite. I don’t know exactly why he’s put it on the cushion, but I enjoy trying it on from time to time.”

You drew your gaze to the plush, deep emerald cushion. Laying in the center of the plush object lay a small circlet of gold, the central piece being a smoked piece of moss agate with the green floating across the circular stone. Compared to the other pieces, this one appeared to be of far lesser value in its make and mastery.

Perona pulled you towards the pillar the cushion was sitting comfortably atop, a wide grin pulling at her lips to beautifully decorate her cheeks. Unlacing her arm from within your own, she reached up to take the small ring within her slender fingertips; rolling it over in her palms before trying it on each of her fingers. The band easily slid off each of her long fingers, a small giggle falling from her parted lips as she did so.

“Zoro,” she elevated her tone in addressing her peer, “Come over here, you try it.”

“I’d rather not,” he grunted, raising the beer to his lips and taking a swig.

“And I’d rather you refrained from drinking alcohol so early in the day, young man,” you chastised him, gesturing to the glass bottle clutched tightly in his hands. His brows furrowed in a deep frown at your words. Making unblinking eye contact with you, he raised the tip of the bottle to his lips and hurriedly gulped down the yeasty brew to relinquish its presence within the container.

“I don’t have to do what you tell me, Governess. I neither need you, nor do I want you,” he spat in a gruff grunt, walking over to your place beside the cushion and taking the gold circlet from his peer’s hands. Unable to get the object over the first bended knuckle of his thumb, he tried three of his fingers with similar resistance while continuing to hold his frown against his brow.

“There’s no way this thing is getting on my-,” he halted his words as the ring slipped over his secondary knuckle on his smallest finger; immediately lodging the small band atop it. Looking between you both, eyes now widening with a small air of panic, his words struggled to flee from his lips.

“I-It’s stuck,” he gasped, gulping back his stress within his throat, “I-I can’t get it off. Help,” he quickly darted his eyes between you both, looking down at his swelling pinky finger and back up, “don’t just stand there! Do something!”

Perona, immediately sensing Zoro’s panic, lunged towards him and began pulling and tugging at his fingers. Zoro yelped as the young woman almost dislocated his finger under her strain.

“For fucks sake, Perona! Stop!” Zoro yelped with his voice, cradling his left hand within his right and soothing over the back of his knuckles, “Governess, you do it!”

You shook your head, a small sigh falling from your lips as you slowly drew yourself closer to the towering form of the unrefined swordsman. Clearly Mihawk was telling the truth in your abilities as a trainer and governess being of use to sculpt his wards into shape.

“I thought you didn’t need a governess, Zoro,” you kept a stern air with your voice, presenting your right palm upwards as a gesture to collect his left within it.

“I don’t,” he spat with a small tremble in his tone, immediately placing his swelling hand within your gentle grasp. You smiled and carefully inspected the digit with your examining gaze and the gentle and featherlight touches of your fingertips.

“Clearly,” you jabbed back at him, allowing your touch to attempt to rotate the band circling his pinky finger. The ring had a large amount of resistance, unable to move the object under your gentle touch. You sighed, reaching into your pocket to trace over a variety of hidden objects within your collection. Small scissors, a single bobbin, safety pins, and spools of cotton string jangled around in your pocket as you finally collected the object you were searching for. Drawing it up, you rolled it over beneath the pads of your thumb and index finger and revealed the length of the dark, satin ribbon to Zoro.

“I need to lace this around your finger to tighten the swell,” you said, following through with the action as you informed him, “and should all things go according to plan, I will be able to-,” you heard an echoed footbeat click against the hall outside the large door. All three of your eyes widened as the calculated thump drew nearer and nearer to the treasury door.

“Get to it, then!” Zoro’s harsh whisper commanded you, prompting you to continue tightening the ribbon over his finger. As the area compressed, the ring began moving back over his knuckle and slowly drawing its way down to his fingertip. This is not how you imagined your introduction to the two wards to go, but something you should have prepared for regardless.

Clearly Dracule Mihawk was not exaggerating your overzealousness in commencing your undertaking so hastily. The thumps fell silent as the crescendo of the steps fell in front of the large door. The shadow beneath the wooden frame halted its movement, a small rotation of the handle began to hasten your movements and increase the motion of your hearts rapidity.

Finally, the object was unceremoniously flung from Zoro’s fingertip and rang in a bell-like jingle against the polished marble floor.

“Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up,” Perona hastily whispered her commands to you with a frantic air to her words.

As the door flung open, you backed your way towards the object with your eyes holding firmly against the darkened silhouette. Stooping low and quickly finding the object, you hastily drew back up to your prior, formal posture and held your hands fastened behind your back. Zoro immediately drew himself between you and Perona, his form attempting to shield the velvet pillow from showcasing its bare surface to his mentor.

As your eyes met with the amber, calculated stare of the former warlord in front of you, all thoughts of sense fled from your mind. You immediately slipped the circlet onto the third finger of your left hand, holding it secured for safe-keeping. You were hoping to wait until his back once again turned for you to place it back on its comfortable position atop the dark, green cushion. But alas, not all things go according to plan.

“What are the three of you doing in the treasury?” his eyes narrowed, examining the three of you with a harsh and calculating gaze before immediately drawing his body closer in. He shoved the swordsman out of the way of the pillow, his eyes widening as his sights were met with nothing than the material of the plush pillow.

“W-Where,” he began, coughing slightly to rid himself of his panic, immediately looking to Perona, “where is the ring? Where did you put it, Perona?”

Before the pink-haired ward could answer and was unwilling to wait for you to offer an explanation, Zoro spoke up.

“She wanted to see it,” Zoro nudged his head to your form and laced his arms over his broad chest. You snapped your eyes over to the green-haired swordsman, clenching your teeth hard in anger at his words behind your thinned lips. You drew your eyes back to the lord of Kuraigana as he immediately sought out your forearm and harshly yanked it from its place laced behind your back.

“What are you-,” you began, immediately halting your words within your throat as you witnessed all of the pale color draining from Dracule Mihawk’s face as his expression changed from panic to absolute terror behind his amber eyes. You sucked in a stifled breath as he immediately clutched at your fingertips with both of his hands. He gasped, bringing his eyes over the gold circlet firmly placed effortlessly over your wedding-ring finger.

“N-No,” he stifled out, gently thumbing over the gemstone placed on your finger beneath his firm hands. As his hands clutched yours within his, you could almost feel them trembling beneath your own, “Why would you-, how could-, why would you put it on.”

“I-It was an accident,” Perona’s voice squeaked from beside Zoro, prompting your eyes to look at her in panic.

“You accidentally found yourself within the halls of the treasury?” Mihawk hissed at her, prompting her to cower behind Zoro. A pregnant pause fell between the four of you within the room, tension arising in a swell so suffocating you could tangibly feel it throughout the room.

“I can remove it,” you offered in a small voice, drawing up your right hand and gently placing it over Mihawk’s knuckles. He drew his eyes from their place holding against the ring to your two orbs. A small softness threatened to peak through his intensity, before he sighed and furrowed his brows.

“We are well past that now,” he sighed, removing his hands from their place clutching yours. He moved his neck in a small rotation, relieving the tension with a small ‘click’. He sighed once more, pinching his brows between his thumb and index finger and drawing himself away from the three of you. His boots began rhythmically falling against the floor as he paced from side to side.

“I’m assuming you do not understand the significance of such an object?” He uttered, drawing his eyes against yours once more. You gently shook your head, furrowing your brows at his words.

“All of us had one,” he spoke up, “the warlords and higher ups within the world government. I’m surprised at you, Governess.” Immediate realization hit you in the face with the intensity of a cannonball. You immediately drew up your right hand again to take off the small circlet from your finger.

“If I’d have known-,” you began, stopping only as you felt Mihawk’s hands atop your own to halt your movements.

“-As I said,” he again informed you, “we’re well past that.”

“Will one of you spit it out to clue us in?” Zoro’s gruff voice called to you both, “we’re in the dark here.” You let a shaken breath release from your lips as you looked down to your finger. The beautiful circlet of terror was truly an amazing piece, albeit not as spectacular as the other pieces within the treasury.

“These rings were made specifically to hold a particular covenant,” you uttered darkly, shutting your eyes, “none were the same. Each attuned specifically to the individual who purchased or claimed it.” You shook your head and drew your hand back from within Mihawk’s.

“Why would you have such a thing, my lord?” you asked him, not drawing your eyes back up from its place affixed to the floor, “You do not seem the type to desire marriage or courtship.” Both Perona and Zoro’s jaws fell slack, looking between each other before falling their widening eyes back to their mentor and lord.

“Which is precisely why I commissioned such a piece,” he commented, turning his back away from you and his two wards, “I will write to the appropriate channels to inform them of such an event.”

“I hardly see that as necessary,” you replied while drawing up your right hand to tug at the item attached to your left ring-finger.

“You placed it on your hand,” Mihawk informed you, gesturing to the object attuned to your flesh, “and now, unfortunately, we must bear the consequences of such an idiodic undertaking.”

You sucked in another hissed breath through your teeth, your tongue placed against the back of your top two teeth. Never had you so much as thought about marriage, opting to remain forever in your solitude in training the upper class to begin their courtships with poise and elegance. You were content with working your way through singledom: first achieving the status of Spinster and well on your way to becoming a Thornback or Doomwitch, you had never considered marriage a prospect for yourself.

But this gemstone encrusted within a finely tuned band of promise held a different fate for you. This hand of horrors now held your fate clutched entirely within its circlet of destiny. What this ring was intended for, and was now holding you completely to complete its obligation, was for you now to join with the owner in holy matrimony. Whom shall ever place the ring on your joining finger, and have it fit perfectly beneath its band with no need for alteration, would find themselves committed to wedding the owner of such a prize.

You felt your eyes beginning to sting with a foreign sense of hopelessness as you gazed upon the mighty band atop your ring finger.

“I will simply cut off the finger,” you declared, a rise of destiny swelling your chest alongside its solid intentions.

“It matters not,” Mihawk declared, refusing to turn to look at you, “the sign has already been addressed. We are to wed and, unfortunately, there is nothing either of us can do about it.”

“And if I refuse?” you quirked your head to the side, affixing your eyes to the band on your ring finger once more. Mihawk halted his pacing, looking over his shoulder at you through his peripheral vision.

“You know very well that neither you, nor I, can halt the ribbons of destiny,” he spat in an agitated breath. He was enraged, his thoughts and actions eclipsed with a fury he had not felt in a long time. You sighed, shaking hands drawing themselves down in front of you as you stepped closer to the former warlord before you.

“Fine,” you spat, rotating your shoulders back and affixing your posture to the most rigid state you could make it.

“Fine?” Mihawk questioned, turning to face you once more at his spot firmly placed beneath the door of the treasury. You immediately flung yourself into a trade of impossible circumstances to complete, one thought outrageously eclipsing the other with its demands.

“I require three things in order for us to wed, former warlord of the seas,” you uttered in a low and serious tone. Drawing up the finger containing the moss agate ring, you placed it on your bottom lip to ensure the cursed item did not miss a single syllable of your demands.

“To wed, I require three items,” you narrowed your eyes and lowered your forehead to the floor. Glancing up at the World’s Greatest Swordsman, he ushered you to enlist your demands before the ring. Grasping at straws, you decided to list three impossible items that dawned on your mind, carelessly spitting them out as they dawned on you.

“For the ceremony; I require a dress that is as radiant as the moon. A dress that glows with a hue so majestic, it eclipses all else with its mastery,” you declared, drawing your irises up to meet the honey-hue of the man who was entrusted to fulfill such an obscure demand.

“And what of the other two, Governess?” he spat in a serious and low tone. Refusing to shy away from such a verbal challenge, you declared another outrageous demand.

“For the reception,” you quirked your head to the side, stepping yourself closer to his towing form, “I require a dress so magnificent, the stars are envious of its sparkling vibrancy. Deep and darkened material accompanied by dust and orbs of glimmering starlight is what I require.”

Refusing to draw down the ring from your lip, you drew yourself uncomfortably close to the lord of Kuraigana and maintained a serious air of propositional eye contact.

“And the final demand?” He questioned, looking to your bottom lip lying flush against the cursed stone wrapped around your second littlest finger on your left hand. You took a moment to collect your thoughts, looking down at the piece clutched firmly against your finger. You sucked in a final, shaken breath through your teeth and parted your lips to release it from your chest with your last request.

“Sunlight,” you uttered quietly, drawing your eyes up to meet with the intense, narrowed gaze of the swordsman before you, “I require a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its intended purpose. A dress so scantily designed,” you stepped closer in proximity to the man before you, glaring up at him beneath his feathered hat, “that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance. This be the final demand I ask of you, my lord.”

He sucked in a winced breath through his teeth and snarled at you.

“You ask me to meet three impossible circumstances for me to ever claim you as my bride?” He hissed, stepping closer into you. You felt his intense breaths exiting from his nose onto your face as he continued to snarl at you.

“Yes,” you nodded in confirmation. In your logic, if he was never able to meet those three impossible tasks - you would both get what you desired. Living forever in a dance of singledom, honing in to master your respective industries.

“A dress akin to the glow of the moon,” he confirmed with a curt nod, “another that is as radiant as the stars that litter the night sky.” Stepping closer again to you, drawing the ring away from your bottom lip to claim within both of his hands.

“And-,” he found the final demand catching within his throat. Watching the bob of his Adams apple brought you a sense of glee you did not intend of feeling on the first day you were invited to grace the presence of the castle; as you were initially hired to undertake the training of his two wards.

He uttered in a low tone, barely above a whisper; “lingerie that is as vibrant as the sun, cascading over your body with such radiancy that all those unintended to look upon it will shy away from its beauty.”

It was your turn now to click your neck under a graceful maneuver of rotating your chin. Extending your right hand out to him in a gentle and firm gesture, you confirmed his relay with a few words.

“Bring me such items,” you declared as he drew his hands up to meet with your own, “and we shall marry on the morrow the final demand is met.”

Clutching your right hand within his own right, he drew up his left hand to encase itself around it. Stooping in a low bow, he brought his face closer to your non-encompassed right hand and pressed his lips against the back of your knuckles with a chaste kiss; solidifying his promise to you with an utterance of confirmation.

“We will marry on the morrow.”

As he withdrew his face from your hand, you felt obliged to affix your gaze onto his retreating form. Relinquishing his hold on your hand, he looked to his two wards at his side and uttered a reprimand to scold the two of them.

“Do not think I will ever forget such a betrayal,” he hissed at both Perona and Zoro, swiftly falling his heavy feet against the polished marble towards the exit, “and you-,” You felt your heart rate quicken under his firm chastise, baring your unwavering gaze into his yellowed orbs. He sighed, taking a moment to collect himself before uttering a swift command; “get back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” you clicked your heels together and bowed lowly to the lord of Kuraigana, shutting your eyes to avoid his gaze as the great lord exited the treasury. The loud thump of your heartbeat echoed within the chasms of your hollowed chest, finality of the situation dawning on you.

You were now fixed to marry the former warlord of the seas. The World’s Greatest Swordsman. The never swaying gaze, the ever sought after bachelor of the four corners of the ocean. Something you had never desired; marriage.

After taking a small moment to collect yourself, you turned to face both of the two wards falling within your care. You narrowed your eyes at Zoro, finding a small bead of sweat falling from his temple to drag itself down to his chin. Wordlessly. You drew your eyes over to Perona, watching as she gulped a dry mouthful of breath down into her throat.

“I hope you’re both well pleased with yourselves,” you monotonously informed them, relishing in the slump of their shoulders beneath your chastised words. Stepping forward, you reached your right hand over to Zoro’s, claiming the neck of the brown-stained beer bottle beneath your nimble fingers.

“You will now heed my every word.” you scolded him, drawing up your left hand to collect Zoro’s chin and elevate it for his hazelnut irises to meet your furious gaze. His breath halted in his throat as he was met with your complete ferocity and intensity.

“My word is now law,” your tone continued to hold its low and serious air. Relinquishing your hold on Zoro’s chin, you stepped over to Perona and ensured her eyes would follow you, “Is that understood, pupils?”

Both of them enthusiastically nodded, prompting you to draw your thumb and index finger to your brow, pinching it below the pads of your fingers.

“When I address you,” you warned them, relinquishing your hold on your brow, “You will respond with ‘Yes, my lady’. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lady,” they both spat out with haste, almost allowing a small stifled chuckle to find anchor within your throat, you hastily stifled it within your chest with a small, curt cough.

“Good, pupils,” you praised them, turning to the door and walking swiftly over to it, “now, the real work begins.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-BONUS-.-.-.-.-.-.-

As Mihawk shut the iron-barred, wooden door behind him, he allowed himself to have a small emotional outburst as soon as he heard the ‘click’ of the hinges. The lingering warmth against his hands, the illusionary touch of your skin still pressed against his palms and fingertips continued to propel his fury onward.

Why were you in the treasury? What possessed you to ever reach for such an item? Was it fate, or something else entirely?

These words flooded the brain of the dark-haired former warlord as his brows creased in the center with a rage he had not felt in some time. His lips curled back to bare his pearled teeth in a snarl, your demands echoing throughout his mind. He knew without a doubt you were challenging the curse carefully integrated into the moss agate ring.

Were you aware that if he did not complete the challenge, he would die? Absolutely not.

After taking a moment to collect himself, he drew in a final baited breath and began listing the items you had demanded one final time.

“A dress with the glowing hue of the moon, a dress littered with orbs akin to starlight, and-,’ his verbal list halted in his throat as he felt a warmth rise to taint his cheeks with a reddening glow, “-lingerie as forbidden as a kiss from the sun.”

He rotated his shoulders back to rid himself of the swelling tension from behind his new undertaking. Immediately, he began propelling himself closer to his personal wing with a sense of purpose now falling onto him.

“If I am to take a bride,’ he uttered to himself, allowing a small breath of anger to escape from his lips, “she will want for nothing.” He, again, began calculating the price, location and availability of fabrics, seamstresses and designers from all corners of the seas.

Once reaching his office, he stalked over to his desk and unceremoniously plonked himself into the studded, red armchair behind it. His elbows placed firmly against the desk, he cradled his forehead within his palms and allowed a shaken sigh to fall from his parted lips. After collecting himself, he withdrew a large amount of parchment paper and collected an inkpad and quill from his desk drawer. Beginning immediately with his undertaking, he was immediately seeking out the three impossible items.

Reaching up his right hand and shutting his amber-hued irises, he ran his fingertips over his bottom lip as he recollected the smoothed back of your knuckles he caressed with them moments prior. Sighing out a shaken breath, he reopened his eyes and glanced at the parchment paper.

“I will not fail you, my lady,” he uttered to himself, scratching his quill against the parchment with flourish.

Chapter 2

Tag List:

@writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #sapsorrow

601 notes · View notes

just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 6 months

Text

Break it first

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 2

Prompt: Came back wrong

Rated: M

CW: Mind control/brainwashing; Possessive behavior; Referenced character death; Aftermath of trauma; Aftermath of injury; Kidnapping

Tags: Kas!Eddie Munson; Dark Eddie Munson

Notes: So, I already had a fill for this prompt, but then @house-of-the-moving-image showed me this stunning piece of art and my brain broke like Steve's. We both have a bunch of other fills coming up for this challenge, quite a few of them collabs, and I'm so, so stoked to share!!! ❤️

He still remembers how fragile Steve looked.

They were in the boat house, Steve and Eddie. The others had gone out for supplies, but Steve had insisted on hanging back. Eddie hadn’t protested, even though the thought made his heart rabbit.

The second they were alone, Steve let himself slide down the wall and curled into a ball on the floor, face hidden between hunched knees, shaking hands clawing at his own temples.

“Hey, man!” Eddie jumped in alarm. “You okay?”

Steve took a while to reply.

“Fine,” he claimed, but his smile was a tense thing in a too-pale face. “Just headaches. Been getting them a lot. Robin thinks it's 'cause I got knocked around a few times too many."

Eddie quirked an eyebrow, pulled a strand of hair in front of his face. "That … happen often in your line of business?"

And Steve told him.

About fighting monsters with nothing but a nail bat. About Billy Hargrove. About Russian torture chambers and the headaches and the nightmares and the ringing in his right ear that never really went away. He looked so young, so beautiful, so broken. Eddie wanted to scoop him up and put him back together and hold him close so that nothing would ever hurt him again.

But he didn't.

Instead, he watched.

Watched how Steve squared his shoulders and put on a brave face for the kids. Watched as Steve threw himself to the front lines so that others wouldn’t have to. Watched as Steve got choked and torn apart, that golden skin painted in new scars, and told everyone not to worry, he was fine.

Eddie watched and Eddie didn't do a thing.

Because Eddie was weak.

Eddie was a coward.

It's a good thing he's dead.

Steve is still the one to throw himself into danger first. That's good. It makes it easy to catch him alone.

"You still have the scar on your neck …"

A flick of his wrist and the bats scatter into the clouds. Steve curses, scrambles to his knees, gropes for his fallen weapon- and freezes as he cradles his face in both hands, tilting his head up.

"... Eddie?"

"Not quite," he hums, sharp claws carding through soft hair. "I have his body and his memories, that's all. The name's Kas. I've been dying to meet you, sweet thing."

Those caramel eyes go wide. Steve tenses under his hands, tries to scramble away. That's okay, to be expected. He tightens his grip. Steve gasps as the vines on the ground wrap around his wrists and ankles.

"What are you-?"

"Sssh…" he brings their foreheads together, softly, slowly. Lets his mind wiggle inside the boy's, just a sliver at first, so he won't notice. Finds a crack, fine as a hairline, slips inside. Waits. "He was so in love with you, y'know that? It ate him alive, watching you sacrifice yourself over and over again. Seeing you suffer. Being unable to help, being unable to fix it."

Steve's mind flutters like a frightened bird as he encases it with his, gently, carefully. His arms twitch in their restraints, trying to break free.

He smiles. Always the fighter, his sweet boy.

"Dont worry," he coos. “I’ve got it all figured out now sweetheart. I’ll fix everything, promise."

"Eddie, wait-" Steve's mind flails. Realizes it's trapped, panicks, tries to break free-

And he pounces.

Steve struggles, briefly, but he doesn’t stand the ghost of a chance. He's human, and humans are weak. All it takes is a little pressure, and the tiny crack opens wide, welcoming him in.

Steve screams.

"I know, sweet thing, I know," he coos, curls himself around the boy's spasming body as he digs in deeper. "It'll only hurt for a moment. You'll feel so much better after."

He sees them now, the scars on that beautiful mind, the traces left by years and years of hurt. Sees how to fix them, sees what Eddie could never have seen. What Eddie was too soft, too cowardly to understand.

Sometimes, to fix something, you need to break it first.

And he does.

Tears at the cracks of that mind until it comes apart at the seams, shatters the fragments into so many tiny shards, grinds what is left into fine, fine dust. Steve screams and sobs and begs him to stop until his voice breaks. By the time the dust is ready to be molded back into shape, he is silent, bar for the occasional whimper.

He tells the vines to release their hold, cradles the limp body against his chest. He hums softly and kisses the tears from under the boy's unblinking eyes while he completes his work. He takes his time. This needs to be perfect.

"You with me, darling?"

Steve hums against the crook of his neck, so softly he nearly misses it.

When he looks down, those pretty eyes are blinking up at him, wide and wondrous like those of a newborn.

He chuckles. It's true in a way.

"Feeling all better?" he asks, claws softly tracing the shell of his boy's right ear. "Ringing should be gone?"

Steve doesn’t reply, just slips his eyes shut and nuzzles closer, every movement slow and sluggish.

He coos.

"Aw, sweetheart. You must be exhausted, that was a lot to take." He gently scratches at Steve's scalp, revels in the little sigh it gets him. "Don't worry. From now on, nothing's gonna hurt you ever again. I'll make sure of it."

Steve stirs a little at the soft press of lips against his forehead. His lids flutter, but they don’t open.

"That's it, honey, you rest. Let's take you home now."

By the time he has adjusted Steve's weight so that he can stand and start walking, his boy is fast asleep.

All of my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

329 notes · View notes

jensettermandu · 8 months

Text

doppler effect - jennie kim

genre;smut

pairing;student!jennie x professor g!p reader (everyone is of age)

content;praising, age gap (21, 27)

words;6k

masterlist

"Hi, professor!" Jennie chirped and you looked up from your laptop that was on your desk at the front of the classroom. You glanced towards the door to see the last few students piling out of the room before looking back at the girl who stood in front of your desk with a smile.

Kim Jennie, 21.

The worst student you have ever had in your classroom and this was your first semester and first-ever job as a college professor. You were young for a professor, 27 and it wasn't common for people your age to become professors this early. One thing you could brag about was how you had always been a prodigy when it came to your subject...The same couldn't be said by the girl in front of you.

You couldn't even stress how bad she was at physics. It was mind-blowing how bad she was and you were wondering why she even picked this class up in the first place since she joined mid-term.

"Yes, Miss Kim." You said, half-interested before looking back at your screen. You tried to be enthusiastic but you just found students like her annoying, but you tried not to show it. Annoying in the way that she would sit through the lessons, look like she was listening to every word you say and then hand in the most half-assed papers possible and you had caught on that she simply wasn't listening but pretending that she was. It felt like your class to her was a joke and she would honestly be better off not being in it.

It went quiet for a few seconds and you looked up to see her looking impatiently at the door where less than a handful of people were heading out. "Can you close the door?" Jennie asked, slight irritation lacing her voice as she spoke to the last guy that was about to leave. He murmured something, but still closed it as requested by the girl in front of you.

She smiled again once it was just you and her, looking back at you as you two met gazes.

"I'm failing your class." She stated as a matter of fact and you hummed, scratching your temple as you leaned back in your swivel chair, resting your elbows on the armrests. Rolling the chair back a bit to stretch out your legs, the girl watching every move.

"I know." Jennie nodded at your simple words.

"And so...I was wondering if there is anything I could do to not fail." The brunette prompted about to step closer to the desk, but ultimately stopped as you shut her down.

"Study and pay attention in class." You replied, playing with the rings on your fingers as you looked at them. Her lips parted in disbelief and she was wondering if she was maybe too discreet with her words, she was trying to go somewhere else with this. You were oblivious to it since things like that didn't cross your mind.

"Isn't there anything else that I could possibly do to pass your class...Like an exchange-." She widened her eyes as you cut her off bluntly and she sighed. "Get a tutor, they usually work. I've had some students that got help from tutors and the results were quite astonishing." You told her since you've had students struggle before as physics wasn't an easy subject. They maybe weren't as bad as Jennie, so the tutor would be up for a challenge with her, but it could possibly work. No matter how much you disliked the way she simply didn't seem to care about your class and how that annoyed you, you still had hope and wanted every one of your students to pass.

"You could ask someone in this class for help." You said and offered her a small smile before rolling the chair closer to the desk again and going back to your laptop.

The gears in Jennie's head were turning, fast.

"I don't know anyone in this class, professor...Most of my friends are on the other side of the campus studying fine arts." Jennie admitted since this was her only class on this side of the campus since she belonged on the other side too...Majoring in fine arts. Her only knowledge about physics was from high school and even then she barely passed. This only made you wonder even more what the actual fuck she was doing in your class.

"You don't have to know anyone to ask for help after classes, Miss Kim." You reassured her, your gaze staying on the screen and missing the girl who rolled her eyes at your words.

"I can't do that," Jennie said with a soft voice and you frowned, looking up at her with a confused hum.

"I am too shy to just ask a stranger for help." Jennie wasn't exactly lying, she was a very shy and introverted person, there were a few rare instances where she wasn't all too shy. You licked your lips as you thought about it, the hope rose in her eyes seeing that you were thinking about something- all the hope deflated when you opened your mouth and nothing that she wanted to hear spilled. "I could ask someone for you...Stacy has tutored before, I am sure she would be up for it." You offered, being kind and understanding of her situation.

"I won't be comfortable enough to see her after school...Social anxiety, there are only certain people that I am comfortable with like friends, family...professors." The girl continued to try and hint at what she actually meant right from the start. Watching you scratch the back of your head in thought again.

Jennie had honestly never met such an oblivious person ever in her whole life.

"I'm sorry Miss Kim, but I don't think I have anything else to offer to you that would raise your grades." You gave her an apologetic smile.

"Couldn't you...possibly take some of your time and tutor me?" She asked and bit her lower lip in anticipation.

"I don't know." You said, you only wanted to go home after being done here and not spend time tutoring one of your students who clearly didn't know anything about physics.

"Please? You could just tutor me for like an hour or so...I won't need more than an hour. You're the only one I would ever be comfortable enough with to do this." Hint after hint.

You heaved a sigh at the desperate plea coming from the girl. You looked at her, she looked somewhat miserable (miserable because of your obliviousness to all the hints.) with a small frown and eyes that were looking at you full of hope. It would really suck for you to have a student fail your class in your first year as a professor, wouldn't it? You always liked being the best and never failing- which meant not having students fail your class either because that would mean that you failed.

"Fine Miss Kim, but I can only do Thursdays and Fridays at 10 pm...if having your Fridays busy is a problem then I guess you will have to either sacrifice those or fail." You ended up offering, to use the two days you had evening classes from 5 pm to 9 pm.

"Not tomorrow though, starting this Friday." You added that Thursday was tomorrow and you had plans.

"Oh my God, yes that works. Thank you, really...You won't regret agreeing to this, I promise." You only nodded and Jennie gave you a smile before hurrying to the door that you still wondered why she needed it closed.

Friday.

Jennie had hurried towards your classroom after first making it to her dorm to make sure to change into something less...modest. She felt dumb, but she only had herself to blame for joining a class she had absolutely no business joining.

You looked up at the door that closed to see your least promising student in physics, the girl turned around and beamed a smile at you as she ran her fingers through her hair that had gotten slightly dishevelled from the wind that blew through it as she was basically running through the empty halls.

"You're two minutes late...You can sit down." You redirected the girl with a gesture of your hand and instead of heading for your desk she pursed her lips and went to sit down at the first row.

It had been 30 minutes already and you had been explaining everything in detail to Jennie, simplifying everything for her, making it look like something that a kindergartener would understand. Drawing and writing on the chalkboard as Jennie "watched" and "listened" while scribbling down whatever notes that would help with getting her grades up.

This was not how she planned this going, she wasn't paying any attention, instead, she was trying to figure out a way to get closer and make it clear that she wanted to put in a different effort into getting a higher grade and not fail your class. Her clothes didn't even seem to catch a glimpse of your attention, no double take on what she had on, no slightly longer stare, no checking out. Were you asexual? Just as she was walking through the halls earlier she had an older professor push his glasses up and look at her pass by.

"This is the next assignment you will have to turn in, so I will be here now two times a week to help you with it after school." You said as you finished explaining the assignment to her and turned to look at the girl who was busy chewing on the top of her pen while staring into the abyss. Now you couldn't be sure if she had listened at all during the past 40 minutes you spent simplifying the assignment for her or not. Did you just waste your time? It was possible.

You walked up to the girl who was stuck with her gaze on the papers in front of her and as you looked down at the papers, they were filled with doodles and half-assed barely readable notes. "Kim." You said and the girl jumped in her place, hitting her knee under the table with the pen that was in her mouth dropping to the little desk with a clatter.

"Were you listening to anything I just explained to you?" You calmly asked the girl who trailed her eyes up your lanky body, lingering her gaze slightly below your waist before looking up at you through her lashes. She bit her lower lip for extra effect, blinking her eyes in innocence, but felt her self-confidence crumbling under your gaze that did not change a single bit...Had she overestimated her own looks? You were making her insecure. Or was she simply stupid for thinking that a professor would look at her in any other way?

She hummed and you hummed back, not convinced.

"So in short, what's the Doppler effect?" You asked since it was part of the assignment, she needed to know what it was to be able to do the equations for it. Jennie froze and glanced subtly over at the chalkboard with the keyword Doppler effect in her brain...She spotted it on the board. "It describes the changes in the frequency of any kind of...sound or light wave...produced by a moving source with...respect to an observer," Jennie explained while continuously glancing between you and the board and you decided to play stupid since you were well aware that she had no clue unless she would look at the board for the answer.

"That's great Miss Kim...How about we cut it short today and you use these last 15 minutes we have left to walk back to your dorm." You suggested since you had 15 minutes left.

Jennie heaved a sigh and nodded her head, she had to use her brain for something else either way. She needed to figure out how to get what she wanted because this tutoring deal she got was not it.

"Make sure to start on your assignment for the next time that we meet." You said while gathering your stuff.

Jennie had no clue what assignment you were talking about as she walked out. She would have to look into it.

Thursday.

Jennie did end up looking into the assignment because even if she was half listening to you last Friday, the way you were explaining it to her caught some of her interest. It also gave her the opportunity to do what she was about to do. Jennie glanced over at you to see you being occupied with your laptop for the moment while she was working on the assignment, free to ask for your help whenever she needed it.

She grabbed her phone to look at herself in it, fixing her hair before reaching for a button of the little cardigan she was wearing that wasn't covering a lot, but she made it cover a bit less. She glammed up her sex appeal before grabbing her paper and standing up and with gracious steps she made her way over to you in the short skirt she was wearing and the v-necked cardigan.

"Could you please check this out for me?" Jennie asked, her voice dripping like sweet honey from between her lips as she walked around your desk. You hummed and looked up at the girl who handed you over her paper- you almost got thrown off by the enticing scent of citrus fruits radiating from her (she had made sure to put on extra lotion and perfume before coming) and grabbed the paper from her.

Her gears were turning again because you still didn't have any reactions or anything that gave her the green light. She was honestly ready to try coming naked next time to see if you would react to that.

She quickly made herself comfortable on your desk, crossing her legs as she sat as close as possible to you without making it all too obvious- she wasn't trying to make it weird. Her gaze was on your leg slightly bouncing under the table while you read the paper...Was that a possible reaction? Was it her scent? Proximity? Clothes? Body? It was something and Jennie was going to take it as a reaction even if the case would most likely be that you bounced your knee any other time.

"Is it any good?" Jennie asked, her hands gripping the edge of the desk on each side of her thighs before leaning forward slightly. You hummed, still reading and when you glanced to look at the girl you assumed was standing in front of you on your left you were met by smooth naked thighs crossed over one another.

The enticing scent of oranges was much stronger and you quickly looked back at the paper in your hands, looking away from the thick and creamy thighs that were on your desk.

Your brain had already dismissed what you saw as you went back to the paper.

Jennie bit her lower lip after catching your gaze on her legs for what was a split second, but it was one step closer to where she wanted this to go. She reached her hand up to the cardigan and made sure to part it more around her cleavage before uncrossing her legs and leaning against the desk instead of sitting on it.

"You could explain this further." You said, using your pen to point at what you had in mind, looking up at Jennie who leaned forwards to you to look at the paper. You watched as she pushed her hair to one side so it wouldn't get in the way (of blocking the view of her cleavage) of her eyes as she looked at the paper in your hold. Now you felt unsure about what was going on. Was this normal? It felt a bit seductive. It didn't take you a lot of fighting to not look down and you looked at her side profile as she was almost leaning over you.

"Where?" Jennie questioned unsure and glanced up, catching your eyes with her intense ones and you quickly looked at the paper pointing where.

"This one here?" Jennie asked as she pointed where you had just pointed with the tip of your pen, you hummed, nodding your head. Getting a tiny bit jittery in your body as you spun the pen between your fingers to occupy your mind with that.

"Could you please elaborate on how I should proceed further for you?" Her tone was far from innocent and you almost flinched when her hand that was pointing at the paper fell to your knee and you couldn't decipher if that sentence held a double meaning to it or not.

You cleared your throat and pushed your chair back, rolling towards the board, the hold that was on your knee disappearing as you grabbed the piece of white chalk to get to explain.

Jennie bit down on her lower lip, eyes intense on you, trying to ignore the wet gush in her skimpy underwear. Maybe she wouldn't have to come naked to get your attention after all.

Friday.

"I elaborated on what you pointed out last time, professor." Jennie happily explained as she was yet again by your desk, leaning against it as she handed over the paper to you. It seemed like she had somewhat of a more enthusiastic approach to your subject now after the first two tutoring sessions which was quite good to see.

Jennie watched you read through her paper as you played with the rings on your fingers, the girl trapping her bottom lip between her teeth as her devilish little brain was starting a fire in the pits of hell, hotter than the sun. She had to get through today because she may have found some bit of interest in your subject, but not enough to keep coming here for actual tutoring.

Crossing her legs again, she turned her body towards you and subtly used her foot brushing it against your leg. Barely touching you, not gaining your attention as you were engrossed in the paper she handed to you. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as she innocently and by "accident" brushed her foot up your leg. She watched your body tense up, shaking your head the slightest, but not diverting your attention- probably to not make it weird and thinking that she did it by accident.

She honestly felt like kicking you in the shin because you were not breaking.

Once again her foot rubbed against your leg and this time it felt like it was intentional, the second you looked up with raised eyebrows, the girl knocked over your pen holder that was beside her, letting out a faux gasp. You pushed your swivel chair back to pick up the few pens that fell under the desk, but a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"I knocked it over so I will pick it up...I'm sorry for the mess." Jennie said with such sweetness in her mouth that honey probably couldn't compare. She pushed you back into your swivel chair as she slid off the desk, her hand running down your arm as she crouched down and got on her knees. "It's fine, accidents happen." You reassured her, your legs tensing up as her hip brushed against your left leg and you looked away since the only thing that was out was her ass that was barely covered by the short skirt- her upper body under the desk, the student on all her fours.

You watched the time tick away on the clock that was on the wall, listening to the shuffling under your desk as you tried to not think about it.

"I was thinking..." Jennie trailed off as she never picked up a single pen from the floor and instead got on her knees facing you. You hummed in confusion and looked down at the girl, this time you couldn't even try to hide anything like all the other times as your eyes widened in shock.

"I was thinking, professor that..." Jennie repeated as her hands trailed up to your knees and you were trying to think of what to do when she spread your legs. "We could maybe do an exchange instead." The girl suggested, biting her lip and looking up at you through her lashes with innocent, but suggestive eyes as her hands ran up your legs slowly.

"Miss Kim- what...come on, get up." You tried, being at a loss for words because of what was happening right now because you would never think that something like this would happen to you out of all the people in the world. You grabbed her hands to try and stop her, but she gripped onto your thighs.

"It could be a one-time thing...or more than just once as long as my grades stay up until I graduate, it doesn't matter," Jennie spoke, her voice sultry, as hot as a scorching July sun, her fingers slipping from under your hands and trailing patterns lightly on your thighs.

You should stand up right now and get her on her feet and get all of these ideas out of her head because it was wrong. It was against all your morals, but something was stopping you. "Kim, I could report you for this and have you expelled." You warned, hoping that would get her up since you couldn't get yourself to do it no matter how wrong it was.

Was it wrong to find her extremely hot? Yes? No?

"I know, but why would you if I let you lend my mouth for good grades...Could be more than just my mouth, professor. Whatever you please and are into." Jennie offered seduction radiating through her whole body and your breathing got heavier. You honestly would push away anyone else, but there was just something special about the girl who annoyed you with her ignorance in your classroom. Was it perhaps that she was the first and only student to ever pay no attention to what you were trying to teach?

"I- I- Jen- Miss Kim." You cursed yourself for stuttering and almost calling her by her first name. Jennie's eyes never left yours as her hands were running up your legs again, this time your eyes betraying you and looking down at her unbuttoned shirt. Your lungs drain off the air at her cleavage in your line of sight.

"Jennie works, babe too...I know some people are into slut, whore and bitch too, I don't mind those either since humiliation is quite arousing don't you think. I find it quite humiliating already how I am on my knees in front of you for better grades." The girl spoke, her fingers running over the bulge that was forming in your pants, her fingers dancing over your clothed dick like ghosts. The dirty words in her beautiful mouth created a knot in your stomach. She smiled brightly at you. "I do have a preference for good girl, princess, or angel since I've always been a good girl, don't you think? On my knees in front of you like a good girl." Your hips bucked the slightest into her hand when she palmed you, sitting between your legs now as if you hadn't pushed her away or said anything that clearly stated that you didn't want her to continue.

You gave the green light. You did not say no to her. You have only stated what the consequences were and she didn't care about them.

"Jen- Miss Kim, this is strictly forbidden and wrong, please get up before someone sees and we both get in trouble." You said, remembering that anyone could just walk in even if most people had already left. Just this position you two were in would get you both in a shit ton of trouble. Jennie smirked and teasingly played with the button of your black pants.

"I locked the door already and there will be no trouble as long as we keep quiet about it...I don't kiss and tell, do you?" Like the idiot that you were for letting this go so far you shook your head, practically glued to the swivel chair as the girl undid your button. "I just want to be your good girl and make you feel good for better grades prof- what would you like me to call you?" Jennie stopped herself from unzipping your pants, looking back up at you wanting to know what you wanted to be addressed as if this was going to happen.

"Mommy? Miss? Professor? Teacher? Maybe you're into daddy? Or just a first-name basis?" Jennie asked with a tilt of her head as she palmed your outline that was now prominent through your pants as just those dirty words and her rubbing on you was enough to get you going. "Y/n- just Y/n is fine or professor." You swallowed, nodding your head and a smile grew on her lips as she went back to looking at your crotch. Her nimble fingers slipped your zipper down and she tugged your pants, lifting your hips so she could get them down just enough.

You watched as she licked her bottom lip, her fingers brushing over your already hard cock. "Do you want me to put it in my mouth?" Jennie asked, looking up at you through her lashes you grabbed hold of her wrist, her fingers getting stopped from bushing over your dick so gently. Jennie pouted slightly and you pushed the swivel chair, the girl gasping as you pulled her up, manhandling her and she felt her underwear sticking to her as she got up on her feet. You stood up, towering over the girl who backed up into the desk until her ass was against it.

"Did you plan this?" You questioned and she leaned back even more as you came closer, reaching behind her and pushing everything aside. Her breath hitched as you grabbed her by her hips and easily lifted her onto the desk, Jennie squirming the slightest at the cold wood under her ass. You weren't stupid, you noticed on the first day what she was trying to do, but you did your best to ignore it since you refused to believe that it was actually happening. "Yes, professor." She answered you with an innocent glint in her eyes as she bit her lower lip again while still looking at you through her lashes and head tilted down.

You reached for her face, grabbing onto her cheeks with your fingers and making her release her lower lip, forcing her to look up at you and Jennie felt the heat course through her whole body all the way to her throbbing clit. "Then you came prepared, didn't you?" She nodded her head at your question, her legs spreading more for you to get even closer, luring you in and dooming you. She reached her hand inside her bra and took out the rectangular blue packet. "I tried my best to guess your size," Jennie mumbled, embarrassed about how she had spent her time staring at your crotch in class, trying to figure out your size before she even thought of this. The girl had always somehow gotten off to you, something about you talking and sounding so smart made her panties wet and her clit to tingle.

You took it from her with a scoff at her words as you let go of her, Jennie's breathing heavy with lust. "So that's what you do during my class?" She inhaled deeply at the question. "Yes...you're the only hot professor on campus and most guys in my classes are...well, you know." Jennie did the limp wrist and you put the pack between your lips and hummed, running your hands along her smooth thighs that felt like silk while you snaked them under her sinfully short skirt. You felt how her legs tensed up around you the slightest as you made it to her underwear, hooking your fingers around them.

Jennie's heart picked up at the thought that she would get fucked by you, her hot professor that was manhandling her on top of the desk. "So you want to be a good girl?" You mumbled with the pack between your lips and she watched as you slowly pulled the underwear down, going down and getting them off her legs, getting the skimpy and drenched underwear of her slick pussy. "I want to be your good girl, professor," Jennie replied and you put the underwear to the side, the girl leaning back onto her palms and spreading her legs for you. "Your good little stress reliever if you want that." She spoke in a humid tone as her short skirt rode up and exposed her glistening pussy, her wetness leaking down onto the wooden desk.

You looked over at her, the buttoned shirt unbuttoned halfway and messed up at the top, showing her white bra and cleavage, her eyes right on you with her legs open, awaiting you eagerly yet patiently to prove that she was a good girl. You had already gone this far so you saw no reason to stop now as you pulled your boxers down, Jennie's eyes instantly going down and looking at your hard cock that was leaking with precum. "A good girl for better grades?" You questioned as you opened the pack and took out the rubber. Jennie hummed, her tone already up an octave from her eagerness and arousal as she watched you pull the condom over your length.

"A good girl for your cock, professor...Grades can be talked about after." Jennie breathed out and reached for your shirt, pulling you to her and between her legs. She did not care about grades right now as she was feeling too needy to think about them. She just wanted to know what it would be like to get fucked by you into the desk. "You're being eager now." You warned, not liking how she pulled onto you and you grabbed her hand that was on your shirt. Jennie let out a gasp as you pushed her down, making her lay on the desk with her back.

"Please...I can take it all just fuck me." Jennie begged with need, feeling your cock against her soaked pussy as you pressed against her. Holding onto her one wrist, her other hand holding onto your shoulder. You hummed at her plea and reached between you two and grabbed hold of your cock.

"You will take it all?" You asked while running your tip between her puffy folds before finding her hole, but not pushing into her yet. "Yes, all, everything, however much you do, I will take it all...I'm a good girl." She let out desperately, making you let out a breathless chuckle at the neediness in her voice. "We will have to see if you're such a good girl then." You breathed out and her grip on your shoulder tightened as you pushed into her, a moan pushing through her lips as her head slumped back against the desk. Jennie tensed up at how you were stretching her out, pushing into her fully, leaving no space between you two.

You groaned while slowly moving in and out of her, Jennie letting out light breaths, feeling how your cock caressed her sopping and throbbing walls. You moved your hands above her head and gripped the edge of the desk, holding onto it to be able and fuck her tight cunt harder. With each thrust, you picked up your pace and went harder. "Fuck, fuck, fuck...Please fuck me harder." Jennie whined, gasping as you didn't hold back at her request, the lewd sounds her pussy was letting out travelled across the big classroom together with her gasps and cries.

"Tell me that I am a good girl...Look how good I am taking you." Jennie moaned out with cries, her back arching at how perfectly you fit into her, her pussy snug and just for you as she so badly wanted to be a good girl. You groaned as her walls squeezed around your cock, her sopping cunt being a tight fit even if she had her legs spread. She gripped onto your shirt and pulled you closer, her chest pressing into you as the desk creaked with a few things falling over from how it was shaken. "You really do take dick like a good girl, don't you." Jennie hummed with a blissful smile with her head thrown back and legs wrapping around your waist and arms around your shoulder, clinging onto you so she would stay in place.

"I want to be your good girl...for you to fuck my little pussy whenever you want to, to fill me up until it's leaking from me and I can't walk." Her breath hit your ear as her mouth was dirty, but so hot.

"You're doing so good right now, you're taking it all so well that I might as well fill you up the next time." Jennie moaned at that, already imagining how it would feel to have you shoot all your cum into her greedy pussy that wanted more.

"Please, I want it all in me, I want to take it all."

You gripped harder onto the desk, feeling how it was all building up in the pit of your stomach. The girl under you moaning with her head thrown back, legs spasming around you, arched back and eyes closed, but mouth agape. Her clit was throbbing and she felt the satisfaction from having her tight and needy cunt filled with your cock. Each stroke was filling her stomach up to her chest with heat, spreading further down to her legs as she was getting close now.

"You look so good while taking cock in your pretty pussy...Fuck you feel good." You moaned at how she clenched more around you, your head falling against her shoulder and you continued to pound her just like she wanted and begged for.

"Touch me, please...I want you to play with my pussy so I can cum." Jennie cried out, feeling so close yet unable to get there without you playing with her throbbing heat that you were pounding into. You moved up, propping yourself up with your forearm beside her head and looking down at the girl, your right hand moved down between you two and you pulled her skirt up more. "Open your mouth." You ordered and she obliged right away, parting her lips just enough for you to stick two fingers in it. Jennie coated them in her spit and you pulled them out of her mouth. Finding it between her thighs with your hand too you found the swollen bundle of nerves with your fingers covered in her spit as lube.

"Oh- oh fuck...Oh my god." Jennie gasped out a moan when you pressed onto her clit, rubbing it with enough pressure to make her legs spasm fully around you and each moan got louder and higher in pitch. You bit down on your lower lip and watched as her brows furrowed and she pushed her chest into you.

"Y/n." Jennie squealed out a moan as she reached her orgasm with heat shooting through her whole body and the way her walls constricted around you while throbbing more than they already were as she continued to whine made you moan as you filled the condom with all your semen. Her breathing was heavy as you stopped rubbing her sensitive clit, Jennie felt the aftershocks of her orgasm and you pushed yourself up with her legs unwrapping from around you.

You hummed and looked down as you pulled out of her, taking a step back and removing the condom, tying it and wrapping it in tissue after taking one out from a pack that was on the desk. Putting it on the desk in the meantime. "Was I a good enough girl?" Jennie hopefully asked as she managed to push herself up to sit, her legs still spread open in front of you as she watched you fix your pants and slump down into the swivel chair. You licked your lips, watching Jennie's gaping hole clench at that with her juices leaking out of her pink pussy.

"Think you might get an A this semester Miss Kim." Jennie grinned at that as she now had a reason to look forward to your classes...Always being up for getting pounded by her hot professor.

#blackpink smut #jennie smut #jennie x reader #smut #jennie x g!p reader #girl group smut #fanfic

798 notes · View notes

kikker-oma · 2 months

Text

I HAVE AN IDEA!!!!!!!<-click

Ok, so some of you replied to a post I made a while back about missing Whumptober, and people gave me lots of options for drawing challenges to do in the meantime. There were some great ideas but nothing in particular that jumped out to me.

BUT WHAT IF---

Instead of doing my own personal prompts, I think it would be really fun to draw 1 color drawing each day that corresponds to a scene in an LU fanfic!

So, for example, I would find fics that I've read and like and pick a scene to draw, then post it and tag the writer(if they have tumblr) and link the story!

This way I get to have fun reading and gifting art, writers get more exposure for their fics, and people get recommendations for LU fics they may not have seen!

I could probably do it in July, that way I have time to find 31 fics and pic the scenes. And ALSO get a head start on drawing, cus man, monotone sketches everyday in October was hard, color drawings will be even more time consuming, so I would need to hard core prep.

If I do this, would people be willing to give fic recs of their favorite stories? Granted I would reserve the right to pick and choose which ones I do. I wouldn't want people to feel sad if I didn't do their fic, but regardless, I think it might be a fun idea.

Thoughts??

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu fanart #lu fanfiction #what would I even call this challenge #Fangirl July?#Why Did I Do This July? lol #someone clever help with the name please😂😂#self promoting fics would of course be welcome too🤭#Favorite Fic July?

150 notes · View notes

ipegchangbin · 1 year

Text

— smudgeproof

sub!model!felix x dom!makeup artist!reader

There’s a new lipstick that claims to be make-out-proof. You, with your makeup expertise, naturally decide to test it on your model boyfriend, Felix: except he’s the one that gets to wear it.

🏷 gender neutral afab reader (they/them pronouns, no specifics), smut, fluff, some humor, established relationship, porn with barely any plot.

🏷 petnames “mommy” and “baby girl,” unprotected sex, feminization kink, slight oral and hand fixation, marking, butt plug (felix using), thigh riding, fingering (felix receiving), overstimulation, male squirting, lots of teasing, voyeurism mention, no specifics about y/n’s physique.

w/c: 8.8k

a/n: happy (hopefully not late) valentine’s day! to celebrate, i finally present to you the long overdue felix-gets-fucked fic! based on my thought piece, this concept has been on my mind ever since. i kept rewriting this fic but i drew the header art so fast LMAO icb i finished it!! otherwise, enjoy!

18+ only. minors do not interact.

On slow days, you would often find yourself bored in the makeup store. Your boyfriend, Lee Felix, would probably be just as bored, sitting in the chair of his set. Your notifications were as empty as the barren shop.

After two aimless scrolls down your Instagram feed, you realized that you hadn’t posted anything recently and hadn’t texted Felix that day.

The afternoon sun brought in waves of humid air throughout the city, setting everyone back from a trip around the shops. You peered over at the conversation with your boyfriend as you thought about ways to kill time.

It wasn’t uncommon to go for a while without contacting each other. It had been years since you two became official, after all, and comfortable silence had become a given that you both simply indulged in. That didn’t take your mind off of the boredom, though, and your fingers itched to do something. They found Felix’s contact on your phone, bedazzled with an embarrassing nickname and profile picture.

It stung to think that if you weren’t looking at his endearing profile, you would instead settle for some sort of creeping guilt of not posting anything on your social media page after a while. Either way, you shot him a message.

you: lix, wya? you: im bored as hell

Considering Felix’s work as a professional model, he would probably reply in less than ten minutes. You thought to turn your phone off and play with the freshly-cleaned makeup brushes on the makeup store’s vanity counter while waiting.

But this is Lee Felix, the sunshine of your days, and you didn’t have to wait any longer than two seconds.

lixie: Am at the shoot I told u about lixie: Bored too tbh LOL

Even if he typed in a silly way, you couldn’t help but love him.

He’d always been your go-to person to unwind and be yourself around. Starting as best friends gave you both a jumpstart to be comfortable around the other. People would say it worked a little too well especially since you two had become the most seriously unserious couple in the creative industry.

That fact made him understand you more than anyone else: you were both creatives. Your heart belonged to the artistic liberties of makeup and beauty, while his heart belonged to the ethereal realm of modeling and fashion. Your two hearts found each other, which was almost perfect for the adjacent businesses. He collaborated with you on makeup challenges. You came to his sets as his “preferred makeup artist.” He understood you whenever you ranted about stupid trends and declining engagement in your channels.

With that, could tell him about your uneventful day and equally uneventful social media pages, but you refrained from complaining more than dropping a passing mention.

you: idrk what to do there are no customers you: and i havent posted anything new you: but its not like theres much to do lixie: Well you’re the genius one here! lixie: Got art block or something?

The prompt response caught you off guard. Almost as if you have forgotten, this was Felix, and he always sensed whenever something was wrong.

As if he had some sort of radar or emotion detector, he always just knew how you were. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he had always been in the proximity of your face, observing your concentration as you put eyeliner on him before shooting. Maybe that connection stuck with him after years of being together, and it had remained strong to the point that he could feel it from miles away, staring emptily into the face of some other random MUA.

Alas, you found yourself overthinking again. You would rather overthink about your relationship than your semi-abandoned creative efforts, though.

you: well i guess you can call it that. im just conscious since i havent really posted you: idk what to do next. ive done everything lixie: How about, “Boyfriend does my makeup drunk edition”? :D you: boring ! lixie: “Makeup tut but bf does my voiceover”? :D you: just because it got views doesnt mean its worth doing a fifth time >:(( lixie: I’m kidding LOL

The scowl on your face reflected on the mirror sitting in front of you. You knew that if only Felix saw it right now, he would have lost his mind trying to turn it upside down.

You were right though. You two did everything.

My boyfriend does my makeup? Done, and he did an okay job at it. “The boy beat” makeup tutorial featuring Felix? Damn right he did. Boyfriend does my voiceover? It was so good that you guys did it four times and everyone fell in love with the deep timbre of his voice contrasted with his surprising amount of knowledge. Even if it was easy to collaborate with him, it was hard to create something new and unique. On the contrary, your audience fell in love with you two. It’s nice to watch a model and a stylist practice their art together.

Lost for ideas, you decided just to tease him instead.

lixie: So? No ideas in that pretty head? you: i got one thing in mind lixie: And what might that be? you: having you here you: in my arms you: to kiss up and call pretty :>

It was a thing that you usually did since you loved how he always reacted so pricelessly. He didn’t disappoint with his response, the notifications popping up not even half a minute after your last message.

lixie: HNDNSABNNDJS lixie: Don’t tease me unprompted!! lixie: ;__;

You’re so grateful that he’s always up to play with you.

You thought deeply — too deeply for a situation like this — and scanned the store shelves and storage room for ideas.

You wondered what he would be up to right now.

Felix was stunned.

Done-up in the most expensive face and hairstyle he’s rocked to date, adorned with an unbuttoned suit jacket that one could only dream to wear, he was supposed to look like the stunner. His pecs were only barely hidden and the midsection of his upper body was almost entirely exposed.

Instead, he was the speechless one. He wasn’t shocked by the cold air seeping through his revealing outfit, but his hair raised at your messages.

Your teasing usually should not affect him this much, but today, it was something different. The whole day, all he could think about was you. His mind went to your first meeting. Earlier, he got deja vu as one of the stylists applied lipstick on him. It felt familiar, the feeling of a senior stylist’s hand resting on his face as a brush glided along the perimeter of his mouth. All it lacked was the stunning view of your face in particular. It reminded him of the first time you ever laid eyes on him, and it was to check on his eyeshadow. You stared at each other for too long, exchanged numbers after the shoot, and the rest was history.

He was pissed, to say the least, that you weren’t the assigned stylist for the shoot this time. Nothing could ever compare to the focused look you gave him as you fixed the corners of his mouth with the smooth swipe of your pinky finger.

He craved that touch again.

“Yo,” a dragged-out sigh whisked through the air. “You’ll catch a fly in your mouth if you keep that jaw open.”

Felix looked up from his phone to find Hyunjin, his best friend and one of the junior photographers on set, eyeing his reflection in the mirror. He had his bleached blond hair half-up, tied messily to complete his so-called “intern look.” Most of the senior directors and photographers on set confused him for a model.

“Am I interrupting some kinda internal monologue sesh?” Hyunjin smiled, leaning behind Felix’s chair, raising a brow at him through the reflection.

“No, I just—”

“He’s thinking about Y/N again.” Jeongin, their other best friend, popped from behind the vanity, carrying Hyunjin’s abandoned camera.

The two were interns at the studio. Both were very bored art students looking for a job to pass the time by. Jeongin was there to work as a personal assistant and was mistaken for a stylist considering his fashion sense. His behavior around set proved otherwise, though, since he spent the entire day prodding at everyone’s business.

Felix was no exception as a victim.

“Imagine flirting online,” Hyunjin chuckled while reaching for the camera. Jeongin handed it out to him, only to swing his arm back, teasing the older.

Jeongin dismissed the frown on Hyunjin’s face and fiddled with the camera. “Yeah, cut your significant other some slack, they must be busy at the store or something,” he added.

“Nah, they aren’t.”

Hyunjin snagged the camera back. “Editing a Youtube video?”

“That’s exactly why they messaged me. They asked for ideas for a new video.” Felix sat back and redirected his eyes back to the conversation on his phone. The other two slowly turned their heads to each other.

“Wow! Did you hear that, Innie? They messaged him!” Hyunjin yelped.

“Lix didn’t message first? Unheard of!” Jeongin gasped.

“Cut it out, overdramatic cunts.” The accent made the last word roll off Felix’s tongue in a heavy and aggressive accent. “I want to help them this once. Shoo. Leave me be.”

“Oh, why are you getting all worked up, man?” The younger placed his hands on Felix’s shoulders and wiggled them.

Actually — why was he getting all worked up? Everything seemed off: he wasn’t the type to get annoyed easily like that.

He would have defended himself, but he thought it over. Not only had he been unusually sentimental while getting ready, but even as the day started, he was already rolling off to a rough start. He barely got out of bed, reaching out to you from the side and asking for longer morning cuddles specifically from you. He had been so clingy all day that the silence and afternoon heat killed him from looking forward to anything else but you.

A discussion brewed between the menaces as Felix thought about it. “Innie, you know, he couldn’t even hit the poses right. The director felt bad because our bro didn’t seem into it.”

Felix’s cheeks flushed upon hearing that. “No way, Hyune,” the other replied.

Oh god, Felix thought.

He swatted embarrassing thoughts away from his head to not get teased any further by his own friends. His thoughts — and something else — were hindering him from doing anything physically. The poor boy couldn’t even shift in his seat from embarrassment. It’s not that he didn’t want to physically fidget, he just couldn’t. His entire body froze, but he also just could not move by any means. It would be uncomfortable for him, and it wasn’t just because the clothes restricted him.

Something underneath his clothes would shift too and pierce his body with shockwaves. Before that could, though, his phone vibrated before he did.

you: babe! you: had a breakthrough so big i said eureka out loud in the store [you sent a photo]

Felix immediately opened the notifications and observed the sent messages. He opened the photo even before it loaded. When it did, he nearly melted in his seat.

You supposedly sent him a picture of a product that you found. By the looks of it, you probably thought of doing a product review of it, but that wasn’t the first impression he got from the picture. The first thing he saw was your face, winking with a toothy grin, your beautiful hand holding the product up next to your cheek.

God, you were all sorts of stunning to him.

lixie: OMHJYGOD YOUre so pretty you: dont look at me, silly! you: look at this lipstick. its so funny

For a moment, he didn’t listen. His eyes were still fixated on everything from your expression, to your features, to the nails that you just got done holding up the product. As if he had gone stupid, he had to blink and shake his head before formulating a reply that made sense.

lixie: LMFAOOOO THE NAME you: its not the name baby lixie: WHAT SHADE COLOR IS THAT LMAOOO you: the shade looks fine, look at the label! lixie: What’s it say you: the label claims its make-out proof lixie: ??!!! LOL

Of course, he didn’t make any sort of sense whatsoever. His two friends watched him frantically type away, barely being able to process anything from the mere sight of you.

“Bro’s deluded,” Jeongin whispered.

“Bro’s fucking horny,” Hyunjin commented, squinting at his friend.

you: you sound so funny baby you: anyway i was thinking i should review it you: but can you join me? i wanna try something

It felt like something broke inside of him. A shot of excitement ran through his system, hitting down until his core — oh shit that hurt.

He tried to twist his lower half again, fidgeting in his seat, but it grew harder for him to do so. With tears in his eyes, he jolted up, attempting to focus on the conversation.

lixie: Sure, what do you want me to do? lixie: Won’t you just do an application and wear test thing? you: mmm i guess u can say that you: but im making it a lil different lixie: How so?

The intrigue bit his tongue and Felix attempted to swallow it. The staff around him were wrapping up the shoot, pushing equipment back in their places, and some started to leave as soon as the director announced the last “cut.” He, however, was glued to the vanity chair, shaking in anticipation.

you: im gonna put it on you baby <3

Felix’s eyes widened.

It didn’t matter how many times you placed makeup on him, nor did it matter how many times he joined you in your antics. There were too many things going on in his head that toyed with his thought process and everything that came with it. He didn’t exactly know why, but a knot formed in his stomach. He grew nervous and just knew that you were up to something sinister.

lixie: But how are we gonna do the wear test? I already got my face done and half the day has passed, I’m even done w my part of the shoot you: you dont get it ??? lixie: I don’t get it!! you: ill put it on you when you get here. and were not just testing how long it wears regularly, were testing what the label says you: ill be there in 10mins love you baby

He sat back, looked up from his phone, and his gaze zeroed in on his reflection, attempting to focus on the thought. How would you conduct a different kind of wear test? In terms of makeup, a wear test would simply be to spend a full day with the product on and to see if it still holds its place at the end of it. It had already been well past afternoon by that time and it wasn’t like there were many other things to do that could budge the lipstick aside from dinner. He always trusted your genius, but he knew that there was more to this.

Felix blinked, once, twice, and then stared.

Were you…going to test if it was really make-out proof?

The world around him seemed to dim — it did, since the studio lights were turning off and the senior stylists urged Jeongin to wake the model up from his short-circuiting brain to change out of the clothes.

That is if Felix could still respond before the horniness consumed him.

lixie: Wait lixie: Don’t tell me lixie: DON’T TELL ME lixie: You’ll test it by putting it on me lixie: AND THEN MAKE OUT WITH ME?????? [Read 2:50 PM] lixie: Y/N!!! Answer me!!! [Delivered, unread 2:51 PM]

The cogs in his head accelerated before banging to a full stop, clinks and clanks ringing through his ears at his very slow realization.

“Congrats, smartypants, you figured it out.” Hyunjin scoffed from behind him.

“Dude—wait, hey! Have you been watching me the whole time?!”

“You should be more secretive,” Jeongin giggled. “Get those privacy screen protectors or something. Now we know what poor Y/N has to deal with every day.”

“And stop getting your thoughts tangled in horny next time you text,” Hyunjin elbowed the poor model boy, fiddling with his camera as if nothing happened. “Don’t worry. Your secrets and online PDA are safe with us.”

Felix’s face was washed without color. His jaw hung open both at his friends’ antics and your devilish plans.

“I’m looking forward to that review,” Jeongin added before walking away, teasingly pushing Felix’s shoulder on the way out. “Not that I’ll use it or anything.”

The two friends left the set side-eyeing and giggling at Felix.

—

It wasn’t long before you pulled up to the studio to pick your boyfriend up.

“Hi, darling.” Felix’s greeting and nervous smile lit up the quiet air and darkness of your car. He got in the passenger seat and immediately leaned in to kiss your cheek.

He was trembling.

You had to laugh. “Hey, babe. What’s got you shaken up?”

“Long day.”

“That’s it?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Long because of you,” he said, scrunching his nose. “Kept teasing me.”

“Aw, don’t sulk, silly.” You cooed at him, “Save the pout for later, baby. We’re going home.”

Maybe it was the combination of inhaling your expensive signature scent and hearing the sound of your voice again that made him tingle all over. Maybe it had to do with the curling corners of your mouth that gave Felix all the information he needed in the world. Maybe it was the fact that you held the back of his seat as the car reversed, and the action looked undeniably sexy.

Felix lifted a leg to cross over the other, but it only ever made him look more uncomfortable throughout the entire car ride home. Though concerned, you didn’t point it out, and instead continued to drive.

His chest was heaving and he internally scolded himself for acting like a bitch in heat.

The both of you arrived home sooner than expected.

The tunes that you played earlier in the car ride home stuck in Felix’s head. He wondered if the song choice of a sultry voice singing about “wants and needs” was deliberate. It was your playlist, and if you intended to include subliminal messaging, then it worked like a charm on him.

He had been worked out to the point he couldn’t face you. The moment he laid eyes on you again in your apartment’s living room, he shied away almost immediately.

You caught his averting gaze, though, and disallowed him from living it down. “Is there something on my face, baby?”

Baby. He could spend a lifetime just listening to you calling him that name. The way it sounded so natural coming from you made him melt.

He also could not stop staring at your lips. You always wore a certain gloss no matter the occasion. Even if it was your signature, Felix couldn’t help but stare, and it didn’t make his situation any better. In fact, it got worse, and it felt like the straining in his pants could explode.

“Mm, ‘s nothing, Y/N.”

“You sure?” You prodded. “Your friends kept waving at me and they looked back at you earlier.”

“Ah, please don’t mind them.” He scoffed. “They were being cheeky cunts.”

“That’s a funny way to put it.”

“Anyway, how are we gonna do th-the…uh, the thing…?” Felix stammered, playing with his fingers instead of looking you in the eye.

“Oh, glad you mentioned it!” You hurriedly grabbed the three tiny boxes in your bag. “I got a bit excited over it. Look at this!”

There was nothing too remarkable about the boxes. They looked like basic products, but the huge bolded font on the product labels caught his eye. “It’s more of a stain or something. The label says it can survive five consecutive make-out sessions before a singular budge.”

“It’s…interesting, yeah.” Felix blinked. You chuckled, nodding at his reasonable reaction. “So…y-you’ll put that on me.”

“Yep.”

“And then we kiss.”

“Make-out,” you corrected. Your voice was clear and slightly stern, but the smile that formed on your face sent him in shivers.

The familiarity in your features contrasted with whatever stunts you were going to pull on him sent his head into a haze.

“Anything wrong with it?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Lix, baby, just be clear with me.” You inched closer to him, bringing your hands to his plump freckle-spotted cheeks. “You don’t mind that I’ll record this and post it?”

“Of course, I don’t mind. I just…” Felix sighed.

“…Just curious, what are you planning to show in the video?”

“I’m gonna show the application, I’ll start by putting it on you.”

The heat rushed to Felix’s face as numerous thoughts clouded his mind as he visualized everything in his mind.

“We’re gonna kiss for a brief moment in the video, probably make out and do…whatever,” you winked shyly. “It’s only gonna be brief. Gotta keep it within community guidelines.”

One of your hands made its way down to his hip. You pulled him closer. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat from gulping back an otherwise embarrassing sound.

You had to wonder if he was hiding anything causing him discomfort there.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Felix bit his lip. “A hundred percent sure.”

“If you don’t want—”

“I want…it,” he whispered under his breath. “I want you.”

He flashed a weak smile. He was incredibly excited, but he was losing composure and he didn’t exactly know why.

He was about to melt in your hands but you held him up and adjusted your set-up for the video with an equally beautiful smile.

—

Three, two, one, action.

The camera rolled and you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline surge through you. Impressively, you thought you would have lost your spark at content creation, but posing in front of the ring light felt refreshing.

“It’s been a long time coming y’all,” you waved, “but I’m back! And guess who I’m with!”

Felix stared at the camera for a moment, his eyes flicking back to you for a split second. It was his cue to wave as well.

“Ah, hi, everyone!”

“Still handsome and meek as always,” you teased. “He still has a bit of makeup on since he came from a shoot.”

Your hand ran down the side of his neck. You felt the goosebumps rise from his skin.

“Anyway, today I’ll be starting a series of videos covering weird products and their weird claims. We’re starting strong with this funky new liquid lipstick from…B.Me Cosmetics.”

Taking the tube out of its package, you examined it and showed it to the phone camera. You swatched a shade on the back of your hand. Differing from a bullet lip, it had a liquid formula that boasted a unique, pseudo-gloss satin finish.

“It claims to be smudge-proof, make-out-proof, everything-proof. Can last five rounds of kissin’ and smoochin’ I assume.” You said many things that Felix didn’t even dare to process.

Felix simply watched your hands delicately hold the product. His gaze was fixated on your nails, fingers, and everything about you that wasn’t the lipstick.

“But oh no no, I’m not testing it on myself. Well, kinda, but Lixie over here is gonna be my test subject.” You swung an arm over Felix, dragging him down to the height of the phone, showing everyone his nervous yet precious face. He eyed up at you with what seemed to be hearts in his pupils.

“Let’s first see how this goes on, hmm?”

You walked a bit away to grab two chairs: one was velvety and comfortable, while the other was taller and had regular cushions. The first was the same chair your clients usually sat on, and the second was your working chair. You urged him to sit down, patting the seat as a signal.

The moment he sat down, Felix started trembling. His knees looked like they were about to give in and his thighs took a moment to settle onto the velvet.

“Everything alright?” You whispered.

He wordlessly nodded back at you. Unknown to you, though, he bit back a noise. He didn’t mind the sharp pulsing pain when he finally got the courage to look up fully, of course with the guidance of your thumb and index finger propping up his chin.

It felt like handling a little kitten in your hands.

“Which shade, which shade…” You took the other bottles out of the bold box packaging and waved them out in front of Felix’s lips. It either would have been a rosy nude color, a deep red, or a bright cherry pinkish-red.

You tapped the tube of the last color against your boyfriend’s bottom lip, watching his cheeks pout slightly at the action. You quietly settled on the cherry color, to Felix’s apparent delight.

“Would you look at that?” You cupped his face with one hand, holding the lipstick on your free one. You faced him towards the camera, relishing in the sight of his cheeks puffing up in your palm. “Call me biased or whatever, but his lips are some of the prettiest I’d ever seen.”

Before he could indulge in the praise though, you urged him to open his mouth. He didn’t prepare for any of this and not your next course of action.

You slotted the bottle in between Felix’s teeth and kept it in place even after unscrewing the applicator off. He bit slightly and carefully to keep the bottle in place without damaging it. If he were a nervous wreck then, he became overly anxious now. You, however, in full focus, took the applicator of the liquid lipstick and slid it along his top lip. The cold sensation of the new foreign product on his mouth made him squirm slightly, though you held him firmly in place with your hand.

“So fitting that his lips are shaped like a heart. He’s so kissable.” You smooched the air while cleaning up the perimeter of his lips, teasing him.

Wished I kissed you right now, huh? Felix could hear that in your voice and he let it echo in his pretty little head. Alas, he couldn’t retaliate nor speak back at all. He couldn’t even dip his head in embarrassment. Your eyes were trained on the brush you flicked, almost dismissive of your own flirting and it mismatched the smirk that adorned your mouth after teasing.

It was the exact kind of look he’s seen many times before. The exact look he fell in love with when you first met.

It’s the look he would get off to almost every night.

You finished off applying the lipstick and it was impressively smooth. You took the bottle from his teeth and sighed. The color made his mouth look irresistibly edible. It would take you three marathons and a trip to the moon to admit that you were starting to feel just as affected as Felix by the sight of his pouty mouth.

“Rub those pretty lips for me, baby.”

Only you could say those words to him the way that you do. Felix felt multiple urges rummaging through his system at once. He could almost cry from wanting to say something, to call out your name, to moan it, to whine and whimper, and melt in your arms as if nobody were watching.

The eyes of the world were on him, though, and all he could do was comply. He rubbed his lips together and pouted them out with a smack.

“Good job, baby.” You rubbed his chin with your thumb. He felt fire surging within his heart.

He knew that you knew what you were doing. It was only you, after all, who knew how to push his buttons in the right places. Unlike Hyunjin nor Jeongin, it took you no effort and no risks to leave him a mentally jumbled mess; not agitated, but certainly needy.

You were still sticking to a mental script, though. “How does it feel? Chalky? Rough? Sticky…?”

“I-It’s smooth. Feels thin.” He felt his tongue almost twist in his mouth from trying to speak when he was physically weakening over you.

“Seems like a good formula,” you giggled.

He watched as you turned your back on him, explaining bits of beauty jargon that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. His vision seemed to blur as a need to satisfy the growing discomfort in his pants overwhelmed him. It all snapped away for a second when you switched the angle of your phone and pulled him up by his arms, leading him in front of the couch.

All of a sudden, you rubbed a circle around the base of his wrist. You looked up at him with eyes that demanded something from him. It was dark yet inviting as if he had just eyed down a wolf threatening to eat him whole.

The gesture was your signal that you wanted to fuck him then and there.

Felix finally didn’t have to keep to himself.

“Time to test how good it wears,” you smirked at him.

Felix’s eyes were focused on yours. He didn’t move an inch as your fingers crawled from his jaw to his cheek. You glanced at your phone, propped up on the countertop, to check if it was recording. When you looked back, your eyes met Felix’s red lips.

You were so glad that you picked that shade. The makeup line released a ton of colors and your mind folded into itself when you realized how many there were. It was almost overwhelming to choose a shade for your boyfriend: you wanted to see him with a pinky nude on his lips, but you also thought the dark berry shade looked pretty.

As a trained makeup artist, you had a knack for figuring out which hues elevated which skin tones. Of all people, you knew Felix’s skin would match the slightly muted, pinkish cherry satin stain.

You should know this. You’ve seen his skin flush many times before, that would be more than enough to be familiar with the hues of his delicious skin.

You were the reason why he would constantly blush, after all. His skin would burn under your slightest touch, but it would flare up until his freckles darkened each time you held him down on your hips and called him pretty. His cheeks would turn as red as the tip of his cock every time you squeezed it lightly.

Before you could think of any more, you tapped your boyfriend’s cheek. His face burned into a shade not far from the color of his lipstick.

“Are you sure you want to record this with me?” You asked, eyes scanning his face for second thoughts.

Felix almost forgot that you needed a clip of the both of you briefly kissing. He nodded after a second, confusion snapping into realization as you smiled at him. He seemed to be lost in thought, too: maybe he was nervous, maybe he was thinking of the same things you thought about. Either way, he simply answered with a smirk and the faintest giggle.

“Yeah. I’m game.”

You were on a mission to prove that this lip product could not budge after an intense make-out session. Now, you — and maybe Felix — wanted to see if it could survive intense sex, too.

All it took were two inches forward: you grabbed his hands dangling in front of you and closed in. Your noses touched each other, the skin bumping softly before your lips slotted against his in the smoothest kiss possible. To his surprise, you started gently. He expected you to crash against his mouth. He expected you to rummage through the product sitting on his mouth right away, to test its strength as a long-lasting piece of makeup, but you didn’t.

Maybe he wanted you to be rough. He wanted it.

You could tell by the whimper he choked up behind the kiss. That, and his hands roamed around your arms and sides, pulling you closer.

“Getting a little excited now, are we?” You purred, pulling your face away from his. He hesitated to break the kiss, inching his lips closer to yours even as you talked.

“Sorry, s-sorry. Got a little carried away.”

You wondered what got him to be so clingy and affectionate. You’re well aware of him being loving and tender, but it’s another thing to have him smitten while you’re doing nothing special.

Little did you know that to him, everything involving you is special. Even the texts you sent earlier and the ones you sent before. He couldn’t stop thinking about them; who wouldn’t, especially when you were being such a tease?

He finally pulled his head back. “Smooth,” he whispered.

You thought to tease him. “The lipstick?”

“No,” Felix chuckled, “I meant you.”

Your hands traveled from up to his toned arms until one of them met the nape of his neck — his sensitive spot. You often called him a little kitten for enjoying being petted on that spot a little too much.

“So, did it rub off yet?” Your boyfriend managed to squeak, still affected by your antics.

His face was impossibly close to yours and you could feel the heat in his cheeks growing the more that he smiled at you. You stepped back to observe his face: apart from the blush on his cheeks, the lipstick was seemingly left unscathed. By the look on his face, he observed your lips, and there were no signs of product transferring.

He also just wanted to kiss it again.

You raised an eyebrow at the camera and shrugged. “I guess it survived round one.”

“That was round one?” Felix mirrored the look you gave your phone. “I thought we call that first base.”

Your head whipped back to him. He simply smirked back, feigning an angel’s smile.

You’ve dated him for a long while, and while he had always been silly, he had never been this way in front of the camera. You wondered if the shoot he did — or the staff he was with — earlier had anything to do with a sudden ego boost.

“Now you’re bold, baby.”

The nickname caused Felix’s smirking eyes into wide ones, the excitement writing itself everywhere on his face.

“Just wanna do more with you,” he teased back. “Do more rounds, test how much removes.”

He puckered his lips and pouted. It was a juicy invitation that you couldn’t turn down. Instead, you took it with a kiss — a deep kiss, one that made you inhale and caught him off guard.

It was still gentle and velvety. It felt like you both tasted clouds and nothing was in between. The hand on the nape of his neck ran up to his hair and back down almost instinctively, making Felix shake. Unable to focus on both the sensation of a passionate kiss, an overwhelming urge to breathe and process the suddenness, and the general feeling of being petted, his hands swung to your chest and squeezed.

“Ah! Felix!” You whispered loudly against his mouth, almost moaning at the sensation.

“Sorry! Force of habit,” he said.

“Gotta keep it PG, baby, I’m posting this.” He nodded assuringly at your words but his hands were crucially still on your chest, threatening to squeeze again.

After realizing this, he immediately attempted to pull his hands back, an apology dripping on the tip of his tongue. Instead, you surprisingly threw your hands on his wrists, caging his hands in place.

If that didn’t surprise him enough, you leaned in close to his face and kissed him once more. It was fiery this time; he felt your tongue darting at him while your teeth nipped slightly at his bottom lip before you pulled away. He gasped louder than he should have.

You giggled at his shock and nuzzled your face on his neck. “Sorry. Reflex.”

“But mommy—” Felix froze, realizing what he had just said. He didn’t mean to say that.

All the cockiness he displayed earlier fizzled out into thin air. You could feel the heartbeat in his neck thumping against your lips. From his eyes fluttered shut to wide open ones, you could see the embarrassment wash over him.

Sure, you two were doing something intimate, kissing and groping in front of the camera. He knew and trusted you enough to edit it out, but the idea that footage would have existed of him calling you that nickname…scared him. The camera watched him, the microphone picked up his low voice, and on the off-chance that this moment makes the cut, thousands of people would have seen it.

He’d gotten used to the idea that millions of people could pass by his face and body, but it’s different when he’s exposing a bit of himself that he only reserved for you — his “mommy.”

“Y/N… Shit, I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t—”

“Oh baby, it’s okay.” You gave a reassuring look and a warm smile, shifting your position to hide his face away from the phone camera.

The pet name was his suggestion. The idea that you could hold this title as his dominant partner was something he never thought of telling you at first, but the moment he mentioned it, you indulged immediately. It was something so dear, so sweet, and soft, definitely making you less of an ominous presence to him in bed and more like a warm home he can return to. You loved it even if he didn’t expect you to.

Even while he’s embarrassed and fully vulnerable, he felt so safe, entrusted to the only one in his life that could take the title without judgment.

“Call me that as much as you want. I won’t show it,” you whispered. Felix nodded but you didn’t miss the tears threatening to form in his eyes.

“Mommy…” He inevitably gave up and dipped his head in the crook of your neck. You petted the back of his head again and kissed the side of his head, calming him with hushes and soft hums.

Before he could melt at your warm embrace, you took a few steps back. Felix whined and hoped to hug you for longer, only to watch you press the button on your phone to stop the recording. You shut the phone off, looked back at him, and smiled with your eyes.

He always valued your respect for his boundaries and the fact that you always made his comfort your top priority.

“We’re not done,” you inched closer, “the lipstick’s still on there.”

Because if you two were going to fuck comfortably, you two were still going to fuck.

Taking his arms and pulling them towards you, you prompted him to wrap himself around you as your lips crashed against his. You held him by his waist — it was remarkably small, toned, and muscled but definitely made for your hands to take it.

With force, you hugged his waist and carried him slightly, pushing you both on the couch. You sat on it while he was essentially hovering over your figure, his hips just above your lap.

“Mommy—g-god,” Felix gasped, muffled by another nudge of your mouth.

As if your brain switched off, your hands started going on their own. One was trained on his hip and the other snaked up his side and cupped his face, making him tremble at the sudden yet soft movements.

You were focused on the kiss but you just knew he looked gorgeous.

Of all the clients you put makeup on, your boyfriend always turned out the prettiest. Maybe it’s because his eyes seemed to shine with certain shadows on them. Maybe it’s the way his freckles peek through the base products. In this case, maybe it was the plumpness of his lips that you loved, covered in a flattering shade of red. Maybe that’s what was doing it for you.

“You’re so cute, baby,” you said, pausing the kiss.

Felix pouted. The pigment on his lips accentuated the curves of his mouth. “Not as cute as mommy.”

“Hm, thank you. But you’re my cute baby.”

Sometimes, you wonder how you got this to be so vulnerable, so whipped for you. It didn’t take him that long to warm up to you with this side of him, a side he so dearly hid from the rest of the world. It’s like this doll was made for you.

“Mommy,” Felix dragged out a whimper as he called you by the title. “Making me needy.”

“Don’t get impatient baby boy,” you whispered, a kiss on his temple following your sweet words.

While rolling your hips onto his, you thought about it what you said. You thought back to the last night he fell into this extremely submissive role. He’d always been the one under you and you’ve always been the one in control, but during that one night — similar to this one — he shyly asked you to call him a certain pet name. You loved it, probably more than he did, and you figured he might want to hear you say it again.

“Or are you my baby girl for tonight?”

“Mommy!” Felix scolded. If his cheeks were already flushed, his entire face heated up with a warmth that you simply indulged in. His ears and the corners of his eyes lit up with a blush tone that complimented and accentuated the cherry color that lined his shy smile.

He enjoyed the pet name too much, and he seemed to be threatened with memories of the same night the moment you said it.

“What? Don’t want to be my baby girl? It’s okay if you—”

“I’m mommy’s girl! Yeah, I’m their baby girl!”

Almost all traces of bass in Felix’s voice left the moment he squealed his response to you.

His eyebrows were slanting upwards like a needy puppy, his eyes sparkled as beads of tears sat on his eyelashes, and he wiggled his hips onto yours with a neediness you’ve seen many times before. He briefly whimpered again in a high pitch.

Being called that for the first time was as special to him as it was to you. It still landed him punches to the gut every time you said it. You would wonder why he loved it even if he was incredibly comfortable in his masculinity.

Maybe it made sense like that, considering he was wearing makeup while sitting on your lap.

You kissed him again and praised him until he gave into the burning sensations he felt from your overwhelmingly smooth graces around his body. With fast swipes, you pulled his plain shirt over his head, only to clothe him again with nothing but the warm embrace of your arms.

He moaned, writhed, and whined, adjusting his position on your lap until his legs were slotted against one of your thighs. Once he found his balance, he rutted against your leg, letting out a sound that he couldn’t resist.

“Didn’t even undress you yet, I still have pants on, and you’re already riding me?” You smiled widely at him. Felix huffed, unable to think, inhaling so that he wouldn’t drool on your shirt.

Or your chest, now that you abandoned your top in a flash, leaving it even harder for him to contain himself.

You took his lips into yours again, this time licking and biting his sweet mouth, allowing his tongue to slide against yours. It was messy and sloppy, just the way he needed it. You wondered if he had been craving this for so long and just couldn’t tell you.

Nevertheless, the next step was to take the bottoms off of your lower half and his own, but he paused your hands from reaching onto his crotch.

“W-Want mommy’s off first,” he sighed. It sounded more like a question now that his voice was so high and his tone was so soft. He was far from the boy whose mouth went foul over his own best friends at work.

His head was far gone, you figured.

Felix helped you pull your pants down, careful not to disrupt the current position that you were both in, only slightly lifting yourself off the couch. He sighed once he saw you, bare and beautiful, rid of anything that kept him from being horny the entire day.

He wanted you so bad.

“Baby girl, tell me,” it was your turn to pause his hands from reaching you.

“Is something bothering you?”

“No…not really a-a bother…” He pursed his lips.

He figured to rip the bandaid off and just show you the source of his discomfort—or, as it seems, the source of his pleasure.

“Baby girl, you…”

He revealed a pastel pink lacy fabric covering his private area. He was wearing panties.

“I…I got them from a PR package…from th-that one underwear company…” Felix justified, stuttering from both extreme embarrassment and arousal.

“It was supposed to be yours b-but I…liked it so much…a-and I wanted to…”

You couldn’t help but notice the drool threatening to fall from his tongue, glossing his lips. Distracted, you didn’t kiss him. You licked his mouth and bit his bottom lip again. The blood under his skin rushed to color his lips, emphasizing the pink-colored stain.

As you bit his lip, your fingers found the band of his panties, toying with the pink lace before slipping under it. The flesh — rather, his cock — was hard and pulsing. Felix moaned. His chest heaved from being unable to process everything at once.

“Baby girl’s clit is so hard for me already.” You pecked his cheek and let him whine. “You’ve been needy since earlier?”

“Y-Yeah, but, ‘m…not finished.” He mumbled under his breath. “Got more…to show you.”

He pulled his panties fully down, allowing his cock to bounce up. You couldn’t help but notice something at the base, but your suspicions were confirmed when he led one of your hands to touch his ass.

“You wore a butt plug the whole day?”

Felix’s face flushed into a shade similar, if not deeper than the cherry red he wore on his lips. At your words, he felt like crumpling into himself.

“It’s just for you. Thought y-you’d like it.”

All you could do in response was kiss him deeply and thrust your thigh up, hitting the plug deeper into his ass.

He moaned deliciously into the kiss and almost cried at the contact. It fucked with him — literally — the entire day and you made it all the better. Only that he had so little time to adjust before you gave him a dark look again.

“Mommy, what are you—”

He was shut up by you licking his mouth and your fingers filling up his hole.

“Your cunt’s so fucking wet, baby girl.” Your words left your system through gritted teeth, filtering your animalistic desire to ruin him even more than ever. “This pussy is mine and only mine.”

You bit his lip once more, sucking on the plump flesh before abandoning it. “Bet your toys can’t satisfy you as I do.”

“They d-don’t, mommy!” Felix was on the verge of tears, choking back sobs as your teeth found his jaw, peppering it with love bites lining his natural contour.

You started pumping your fingers up and down his ass, hitting his prostate with your fingertips over and over. “Can only take me inside your cunt.”

“Ah, god—fuck, mommy!” The delirious sounds escaping him as he scrambled to hold onto your body kept you going.

As if he noticed, he started grinding into the air next to your entrance. You took this as his usual sign that he wanted to please you too. Felix valued mutual pleasure and craved it as much as he craved the sloppy crashing of mouths on a couch.

“Take me like a good girl.” Your voice softened as you cooed. “Can you do it? Ride mommy’s fingers while fucking into me?”

He could only nod frantically, allowing the drool in his mouth to drop onto his cock.

The lipstick probably looked so messy by now.

You held his cock, lengthy and hard, and squeezed it in your free hand. “This is mommy’s to play with.”

Shoving it into your entrance, you curled your fingers deep onto Felix’s prostate, eliciting loud moans from either of you. Felix could scream from the sudden warmth enveloping his cock.

“Rub your clit against me,” you demanded, urging him to thrust his cock immediately. He complied only to start whining and crying out from the stimulation.

You leaned your head to the side and exposed your neck. With a subtle nod of your head, you invited him to bite your neck before his next thrust. Lightning bolts entered you when his teeth sunk into your skin for some semblance of comfort.

In turn, you kissed and sucked a spot on Felix’s shoulder. The biting sensation made him squirm away from you, but his noises only amplified when you latched onto a more sensitive spot above his freckled collarbone. It didn’t help that your fingers were practically exiting and entering his hole completely, filling and emptying him at a speed he almost couldn’t take.

The stimulation from all ends of his body caught up to him, release rumbling from his core up to his cock. He begged and pleaded and called your name multiple times as you did too. Felix readied for release but shocked himself when it came suddenly, almost without warning.

He started gushing just outside your entrance, the relief surging through his hips in waves: it had never happened to him before, but the slight amusement on his fucked-out face sent you over the edge too.

You came at the same time, your wetness coating the sides of your thighs and the cushions of the couch, the pool of both your juices mixing right under you.

It had to take you both several minutes to an hour of downtime before you both got up to clean. During that time, Felix held you close, trapping you in a warm cuddle.

“Y/N, I love you,” he whispered, his deep voice returning, calming you from your high.

You pressed one more kiss on his lips. “I love you too, Felix.”

Aftercare had to be a non-negotiable after the scene you guys painted all over the living room.

You made sure to offer Felix the softest bubble bath, massaging and soothing every inch of his skin, scrubbing away at the residue of the new lipstick.

You both found out, just before the bath, that it barely survived at all. It still stained his lips a shade of red, and the stains of love bites that he left on you stuck for a long while, but the actual product budged possibly within the third round of kisses. It barely held on when you started biting him.

The bedroom was full of giggles and the shuffling of your bodies cuddling close to calm yourselves down. Felix shared how he couldn’t believe his horniness that day, and you teased that he was being a hormonal girl.

He whined at that, kissed you good night, and fell asleep while huddled close to your chest. You calmly played with your phone, quickly editing the footage and clipping out the moment that he slipped into submission.

That was for your eyes only.

You posted the video and muted the notifications, kissed his forehead good night, and fell asleep.

—

“Baby, baby girl…” Your voice, although hoarse and deep from the blissful sleep, woke your boyfriend up. The clock on your bedside table flashed 9:00 AM in bright red, but the light from your phone shone brighter. “Look at this!”

“Holy…Y/N, oh my god!” Every trace of sleepiness left Felix as he jumped out of bed. “The video blew up?!”

You sat up next to him, chuckling in disbelief. “Let’s see what people are saying.”

“Why does the suggested search bar have…”

Men marked up. Men with hickeys. Men whining. It was clear that the video affected your audience in more ways than one.

“Silly,” you giggled, sinking into your boyfriend’s embrace. “Wonder how this thing got through community guidelines.”

Felix pointed at a comment. “Help. Someone’s asking about washing the stains off.”

The both of you cuddled closer. As the sunlight shone through your curtains and hit your figures, it highlighted Felix’s honey skin and the cherry stains that failed to wash off in the shower.

You turned your head to his and smirked. “Should we film an update video? What about a part 2?”

taglist: @toastyseungmo @hobihearteu @biddes-enthusiast @snow-pegasus @subby-kpop @myrandomthoughtsandhobbies @eggielix @hanniecheesecake @chrisbahng @laylasbunbunny @ppiri-bahng @he-they-heathen @chriscentric @svintsandghosts @sstarryoong

+ @imrllytootiredforthis @imsolovelylovely @beefis @sorikkung @lix-ables figured to tag since yall showed interest!

special thanks to @meivida, my ride or die, the big brain that inspired me to write this in the first place! they also took time out of their day to proofread it ^_^

thank you for reading ! consider reblogging and leaving feedback if you loved my work 💗 artwork and writing © ipegchangbin. no reposts and translations.

#skz smut #sub!skz #sub!felix #sub!yongbok #dom!reader #stray kids smut #felix smut #yongbok smut #💬 z is writimg

1K notes · View notes

ineffablefamfeb · 5 months

Text

Welcome to Ineffable Family February, a month-long celebration of Aziraphale and Crowley navigating parenthood and what it means to build their own family. During Feb. 1—Feb.29, a variety of pregnancy- and family-themed prompts will be provided to help inspire artists and writers alike.

Rules

This event is intended only for a mature community and is welcoming of all ideas and preferences, including every possible shape our lovely ineffables could take!

Remember to tag us in your posts @ineffablefamfeb and use the hashtag #ineffablefamfeb !

While we are keeping things simple to make this event accessible for those wanting to participate, you are welcome to submit questions to our ask box on tumblr or to reply to any of our posts on twitter.

Prompts

There are two main prompt lists (SFW & NSFT) to provide you with inspiration every day in February. Additionally, we’ve provided bonus prompts for those looking for flexibility and even more ideas.

✨ Important Note: If you are ambitious enough to tackle the daily challenge—fantastic! If you’d rather skip some prompts, select the prompts that you like the best, and post them at any time during Ineffable Family February, that works too. Make SFW prompts NSFT, and vice versa. There are no wrong ways to celebrate and participate in this event!

Additionally, we will be providing a few bingo cards that utilize some of our prompts for those who want the added challenge.

Bingo Cards

Want a way to track your participation and give yourself a goal to work toward? Try for bingo! We have include three optional prompt bingo cards—SFW, NSFT, and SFW/NSFT.

If you get a bingo during Ineffable Family February, post your bingo card(s) and tag us so we can celebrate with you!

Credits

Find us on twitter! / Find us on AO3! Avatar credit / Ineffable family art credit / Graphics credit

#ineffablefamfeb #good omens #good omens events #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable wives #ineffable partners #ineffable family #ineffable parents #good omens fanart #good omens fanfiction #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #pregnancy #nsft

215 notes · View notes

mrsjellymunson · 2 months

Text

‘It’s My Birthday!’

Written for the @steddiemicrofic bonus challenge ‘birthday’, to celebrate @steddieas-shegoes’s special day! Happy Birthday Mickala! I hope you get all the cake you want! 😘😘😘😘

Rating: M | WC: 290 | CW: drinking, yearning, overt flirting | Tags: getting together

Written as an homage to a previous prompt, and because I can never get enough of ‘getting together’ fics.

🎂

Someone once told Eddie, after he asked for more cake, “It’s your birthday, you can have whatever you want!”

Now it’s Munson Doctrine, and he’s made damn sure everyone knows.

The Party approach this date with trepidation, knowing Eddie’s antics will elevate past 11, and he’ll demand ridiculous and outrageous behaviour from his friends. But after their narrow (in Eddie’s case, miraculous) escape from the Upside Down horrors, they cut him some slack, and usually enjoy whatever frivolities the day presents.

Today, they’ve played paintball (“I want my friends to look like art!”), overeaten ice cream in horrendous flavour combinations (“I want everyone to have a tummy ache!”), and narrowly prevented Eddie from egging Hopper’s patrol car (“But it’s my birthday! I can have whatever I want, and what I want is a criminal record!”)

Steve knows what he’d like to give Eddie, but it’s definitely not something that could be… unwrapped in front of everyone. But he’s always been way too chickenshit to make a move.

So when Eddie decides that he wants tequila, Steve joins in, hoping the vile burn and foggy head might dull his yearning.

After the kids have gone and the others are packing up, a drunken Eddie saunters over to Steve.

Standing in front of him, their chests almost touching, he suddenly flings his arms around Steve’s waist, slapping his hands roughly onto his ass and grabbing handfuls of Steve’s buttocks.

“It is my birthday, you know…”

Steve panics. His face says I’m so casual about this, but his eyes are screaming What the fuck is going on?

“Yeah , Munson, I know. What- uh, what do you want?”

Pursing his lips, Eddie’s eyes flash and he squeezes, hard, as he replies,

“More CAKE!”

🎂

Thanks so much for reading!

My masterlist

Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @curlyjoequinn just a short fic this time!

#happy birthday Mickala!!#steddiemicrofic #steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson x steve harrington #birthday prompt #steddie fic #birthday fic #steddie fluff #steddie flirting #steddie getting together #stranger things ficlet #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #post S4 #Eddie lives

126 notes · View notes

inklings-challenge · 1 month

Text

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 1

Welcome to Day 1 of the Chesterton Challenge! The beginning of a month full of creativity! I can't wait to head on this journey with all of you!

Today's Optional Prompt is: Tradition.

Chesterton was an advocate for tradition in secular and religious contexts, and May 1st is a day associated with all kinds of traditions, from May Day to St. Joseph the Worker to the opening day of writing and art challenges.

You can interpret the word any way you want. Will you write about a fantasy world's traditions? Write an essay about your favorite springtime tradition? Create artwork within a traditional art medium? The sky's the limit!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post.

Now go forth and create!

#inklingschallenge #the chesterton challenge

117 notes · View notes

st-juliet · 2 years

Note

Prompt because your work is aMAZing: when it’s before Sherlock and y/n’s wedding day, and he’s being an insufferable gentleman but she bats her eyes going “do you not want me” and he absolutely loses it 😏😏

Your Only Warning

Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: Alone in the library with his betrothed, the Reader, Sherlock fights to remain a gentleman…with limited success.

Content: 18+ for incredibly filthy language, explicit description of future sexual intimacy, dominant, angsty “I AM A GENTLEMAN” Sherlock, with a side of mild “look what you’ve made me do” rhetoric from our dear detective, but for the benefit of the very eagerly consenting Reader who absolutely intended to make him do precisely what he’s done.

Notes: Thank you so much for the prompt; I loved it, and hope you like the story, Anon!

It is a rare occasion that your future husband allows you to be alone with him.

Ever the gentleman, ever possessed by the fine arts of propriety, justice, compassion, and self-discipline…all the qualities for which you find yourself more deeply in love by the day…Sherlock has become increasingly distracted, sometimes even dismissive, of your endeavors to cultivate closeness, as the day of your wedding draws near. You do not know what precisely has caused his detachment; never once has he expressed any regret for his proposal, nor suggested he does not wish to proceed with the marriage, but something has changed.

You cannot recall the last time he was tender—if ever he truly was. No soft words, nothing of your beauty, certainly, rise to your memory, even as you entertain the recollections of shared laughter, discussions of books or music, your eager interest in his cases and his equal enthusiasm to share his work with you. Meanwhile, you long to pour out your heart on the subject of his handsome face, his gorgeous eyes, how much you long for his touch, his kiss, his…

Well.

Sherlock’s true feelings for you are a mystery that only he could solve, and finding the time alone to ask him to unravel his secrets has been nigh impossible. But tonight, at another interminable dinner party for your family and his, a challenge from Enola to discover the secret passages of the Holmes estate has led you to the library, opening a hidden door behind a bookshelf to your delight…and the surprise of Sherlock, whom you discover pensively staring out the wide window behind his desk. He looks back over his shoulder, slightly startled, but smiles when he recognizes your familiar form emerging from the shadows.

“Very well done, Miss —,” he praises you, and your heart flutters happily at the accolade. “My sister will be most pleased to have such a companion as yourself with whom to roam these halls. When we can coax her back home, that is.”

“I hope you will find me a fine companion, too,” you offer, stepping out from the passageway and into the library proper. You look about you: no one else is there. Good.

“Naturally,” he replies, leaving the sanctuary of his desk, but still keeping a polite distance. “It will be entirely pleasant to share a home with you, here or in London. I have too long breakfasted alone, beginning the day in sullen silence, only to let supper grow cold, too, for want of more companionable nourishment.”

“Yes, I quite look forward to that, too,” you reply politely, a few tears of disappointment pooling in the corners of your eyes. His once ardent interest truly does seem to have waned into a wish for company over meals. Still, your hope preservers; perhaps this is only a gentlemanly demurring from more intimate matters? You have had some success in delving into his captivating mind. What line of inquiry might unlock his heart?

“And you must never hesitate to make use of this library.”

“Thank you. But…Mr. Holmes…”

“Yes?”

“I mean…certainly we shall share other…other rooms, too?”

“Of course. You must be honest with me in the correction of my bachelor habits.”

“Yes, and you must similarly address the conventions of my customary solitude.”

These mirrored platitudes are maddening. You steel your courage and make a bolder proposition.

“But is it not true that, as is only proper, to my understanding, that when we marry, we will be…as one?”

At this, he meets your eyes for a brief, flickering moment, then turns away from you entirely, and begins to meticulously examine the books on the shelves, uttering a monosyllabic: “Ah.”

You wait.

And wait.

At long last, he clears his throat slightly and says, “I hope that if you should have any concerns of that nature, you might seek out the counsel of a recently married woman of your own age—Mrs. Watson, for example, is a lady of faultless virtue and excellent education, and might allay your fears—“

“I have no fears!” you exclaim. “I have…great anticipation. Longing, for a closeness I thought you equally desired. Sherlock, please I long to know and be known as a wife, to share with you every facet of my life, including—my…our—“

“Please, Miss —“

“But of late you scarcely look at me—“

“Dear girl,” he interrupts again. “I beg you to cease this line of inquiry!”

Your frustration bubbles over. Determinedly, you cross the room to where he stands, and slip around his hulking frame, insinuating yourself betwixt him and the bookcase, demanding his attention whether he will or no.

“What is it, Sherlock?” you ask, gazing up at him through your eyelashes, feeling your pulse quicken at his nearness. “Do you not want me?”

“Do I,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Not want you?”

In an instant, he has you restrained against the bookshelves, one hand pinned above your head and the other left to grasp frantically at his lapel, feeling the hard muscle and pounding heart beneath his fine coat, like an ember burning beneath your fingertips.

“Every moment I am plagued with wanting you! Do you not understand why I have withdrawn from you, why I must keep my distance from the woman I love?”

Sherlock lays his palm against your cheek, then slides his fingers down your neck, across your collarbones, coming to rest against the heaving swell of your breast over your gown.

“This is why. To prevent this.”

Hands over hearts, you are more closely entwined than you have ever been, and you can see with perfect clarity that his eyes burn with deep, profound emotion as well as increasingly unbridled yearning. Pinioned there by his full weight and bulk, you are completely helpless to his whims, and nothing has ever felt so freeing in your entire life. Finally, finally, finally, you exalt in your mind, and you sigh his name, unable to suppress a slight moan, which only seems to afflict him further.

“Oh, Sherlock…”

“I am a gentleman of unimpeachable conduct, but you would turn me into a brute. The more time I spend in your presence, the closer the day draws near when you will be mine, the more I find my resolve tested,” he despairs, drawing in a deep breath, and shuddering as the scent of your hair, your skin, permeates his senses. “Look at us, look what you have done! All this time I have resisted, but you undo it in a mere minute…”

His lips are practically touching yours, his grip on your wrist grown tighter, the press of his unmistakable hardness against you firm and unyielding.

“This,” he explains, his voice gone ragged and low. “Is your only warning, my dear sweet bride. If you speak another word of wanting before I may lawfully, licitly show you every way a man may possess his wife, if you touch me—or, or, you perfect minx, my gorgeous tormentor, if you with all your whiles force my hand…if you insist I kiss your glove in public, or ask for my arm to cross the street…I will make you pay for it the minute we are wed. I will turn you over my knee and spank your backside bruised. I will have you in every room of the house; damn who might see us. I will hunt you down across the estate and take you in the fields or the forest like an animal, for so you make me, darling. I will bind your hands to my bed and make you come for me over and over again until you have not a single thought left in this brilliant little mind, and then I will fuck your pretty weeping cunt until I’m sated and you are dripping with my seed. And that for a start.”

Sherlock, eyes glittering with his barely leashed lust, presses a light, chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Are we understood, Miss —?”

“Yes, yes,” you gasp, and, with the final indulgence of skimming the pad of his thumb across your trembling bottom lip, he very gently, courteously releases you, and then promptly flees to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a substantial drink. He downs it in one gulp, then takes several very deep breaths, and though he keeps his back to you, you can tell, with a secret thrill down your spine, that he is adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to disguise his arousal.

“You were best return to the drawing room at once,” he instructs, almost bashful at his body’s insistence against his mind’s prudence. It is incredibly endearing. “I must compose myself.”

“Of course. Forgive me, sir, that I have discomposed you so.”

“No, no, it is I who must apologize. Can you forgive me, dearest girl, that I have not made clear to you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? I was never a man of sentiment until now, and feared that to linger too long on the object of my desire, might make me lose all control. But I will tell you every day, ten times a day—from now until the end of my life, that your loveliness of body and soul is to me as vital as the air I breathe.”

“Are you becoming a poet, Sherlock?” you tease, melting all the more at his rush of tenderness, so looked for and longed for.

“Only for you,” he sighs, and you almost faint away as his hand drops to palm the outline of his cock through his trousers. Realizing the nature of his reflexive gesture, he gives a frustrated groan and points at you accusingly. “Only a romantic fool, and only a devious, seducing scoundrel, because of you.”

You laugh together, and, sneaking one last fervent look over your shoulder as he sinks into his chair and begins to unfasten his trousers, you close the door behind you depart, practically skipping through the halls of the home that will soon be yours, too, to rejoin both sides of the family in the parlor.

About ten minutes later, Sherlock rejoins the party, too, and no one seems to suspect anything untoward, clearly a relief to you both as your eyes meet across the table with a shared, secret glow. Once all parting pleasantries are exchanged, Sherlock follows you and your family out to the carriage, keeping a painfully respectful distance all the while. He offers only a formal bow and a stern, “Good evening” by means of farewell, but you have other designs.

“Good evening to you, too, Mr. Holmes,” you reply with a cheerful smile, and then, in front of the whole company, you elegantly present your hand to your fiancé to be kissed…

I am so, so honored by all your kind replies and reblogs! Thanks to those who commented on my other prompt fic, Pulse Point:

@fluffycutecevans @madeanaccounttoreadfanfics @nana1000night @writing-for-marvel @raccoon-eyed-rebel @sarcastic-coffeedrinker-reads @holmesbunny @peachyvulpixie @sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @inlovewithhisblueeyes @kingjuli3n 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #henry cavill sherlock #henry!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #enola holmes fanfic

2K notes · View notes

rgbstatic · 7 months

Text

INTRODUCING NOVEM-BUR

This is a bursona prompt list for the month of November, mixing ideas from lists such as Inktober, Huevember, and other drawing challenges!

Each week of November has been given a theme, an optional choice if you want to draw or write bursonas to fit those themes!

There are no rules, whatever the themes and prompts mean to you, roll with it!

If you participate, use the tag #novem-bur on what you make!

P.S. If you have any questions on who a bur is, reply below and I’ll answer asap!

Here are the themes & burs for each week!

Week 1 - Retro

ex. Retro could refer to colors, outfits, art style, patterns, settings, etc.

Argbur, Skybur, Earthbur, Simpbur, Zonebur, 100pbur

Week 2 - Cozy and Warm

ex. Warm and cozy could refer to colors, outfits, art style, patterns, settings, etc.

DSMPburs (any) Rustbur, Dr Malpractice/Keith, Tiptup, Phantombur, Walter Crondale

Week 3 - Horror/Thriller/Camp

ex. Horror/Thriller/Camp could refer to subject matter, themes, setting, aus, etc. **Camp refers something that is so bad it’s good with incredibly queer undertones.

Dark Wolf, Qbur, Mr Handy, Wilma, Daynjer Boy, Draq’Thar

Week 4 - Rainbow Monochrome/Cliche

ex. If it is art, you can choose any color but the piece has to use only shades of that color. If it’s writing or something else, write a cliche trope, or use this week as a freebie theme

Amongbur, Hardcorebur, Raftbur, Wimpfred, Tiddy Pang, MCCbur

These themes are entirely optional, without them you can just use the prompt list like you would others.

The list is designed with a ‘freebur’ day to use any bur you want in its place, and a day to catch up on anything you’ve missed.

If you want an additional challenge, on those rest days chose a bur you’ve done from the previous week, and create something with them again for the theme of the upcoming week.

Have fun!

#sootbur #monthly prompts #novem-bur #rgb talking #art prompts #wbrst #rgb guys #burs

214 notes · View notes

jerzwriter · 4 days

Text

A Time to Heal

Trystan x Carolina

One thing is for certain. When @/artbyainna (IG) comes to bat, she only hits home runs. I have run out of superlatives to describe how incredible her art is a long, long time ago... but she did it again! I simply love this!

Book: Crimes of Passion (Post Series) Pairing: Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Carolina Rose) Rating: Mature / 18+ / NSFW Words: 1,500 Summary: After a rough day on the job, Carolina & Trystan return to her apartment, where Trystan wants nothing more than to take care of her. But in the end, they realize they do their best healing together. A/N: @lexicook74-blog asked for a Trystan x Carolina hurt/comfort fic a long, long time ago. I can take a long time to get to them, but I'm determined to do all asks sent to me :) I hope you like it! Submitting to @choicesjunechallenge2024. It doesn't fit any of the prompts completely, but we can see indecision before he surrenders.

The two flights of stairs that led to Carolina’s apartment were something she and Trystan typically navigated with ease. If she took double steps, she'd be upstairs in a matter of seconds. Sometimes, Trystan would yell, “Race you!” when he already had a three-step lead, and they’d both end up panting before her door in an instant. But today wasn’t a typical day.

Trystan trudged along, inches behind his limping partner, who let out a soft whimper with every other step she took. Ensuring she got upstairs was his only concern, so he did his best to conceal his own pain. With just four steps to go, he thought he was in the clear when a muscle spasm seized his back and thwarted his plans.

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow... ouch!” He cried out in pain.

“Trystan,” Carolina exclaimed. “What’s wrong? I knew you were hurt, too!”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, trying to wave it off, but his clenched teeth said otherwise. “If the Drakovian press knew I was whining about something so superficial, the people would demand my passport be rescinded at once.”

Carolina shook her head and leaned against the door as she fished around the bottom of her purse to find her keys.

“Does everything have to tie back to some strange Drakovian lore?”

“Usually,” he smirked, placing a kiss on her cheek.

A feeling of tranquility washed over them as they stepped inside. Carolina’s apartment. It was small and far from fancy, but the warm, cozy space always gave them a sense of peace. At minimum, they were pretty sure the floor under their feet would support them. Something they hadn’t had the luxury of earlier today.

“Come,” he said, guiding her to the couch. “Let’s get you seated.”

“Me?” she protested. “But you’re hurt, too!”

“Your hip is badly bruised and you’ve been limping! I still say you should have seen a doctor! You’re hurt. I merely have a boo-boo.”

“A boo-boo?” Carolina chuckled as he sat beside her. “Can I kiss it and make it all better?”

The smirk on his lips and the fire coming alive in his eyes made his thoughts clear, but ensuring his girlfriend was all right was his priority this evening.

“If you’re a good girl and let me take care of you, maybe I’ll let you tend to my boo-boos later.”

He rose from the couch to get Carolina an ice pack, but she reached for his hand and stopped him in his tracks.

“No, stay with me.”

“Lina,” he sighed. “Let me take care of you! You fell through a floor in an abandoned building today!”

“Ehh,” she shrugged. “It’s all in a day’s work. I’ve been through much worse. Besides, you fell through that same floor!”

“I just pulled a muscle,” he said, arching his back. “It’s nothing.”

“Well, mine is really nothing, too. We were quite lucky.”

“Of course we were,” he grinned, placing a buss on her lips. “You’re my good luck charm, after all.”

“Please,” she laughed. “Your life has been filled with one nightmare after another since we met. I’m hardly your good luck charm.”

“Ah, but I survived every one of those challenges, some of them largely because of you, so I’m sorry, Detective Rose. You’re my good luck charm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make you chicken soup.”

“Chicken soup?” She queried. “That’s for colds and the flu, not two idiots falling through a ceiling.”

“Yes, but in times of trouble... we go with what we know. So, chicken soup it is.”

An hour later, they sat at the kitchen table, still sore, but full bellies delivered some relief.

“See, I told you,” Trystan mumbled as he bit into a crusty piece of bread. “Chicken soup heals all.”

“I guess,” Carolina smiled but quickly winced as her aches reminded her they were far from gone.

“Are you OK?”

“Just sore. I’m thinking of taking two Advil and then getting into a hot bath.”

“Don’t say another word!” He took their plates and began clearing the table. “I’ll go run the water for you.”

“Trystan, I can run my own bath!”

“Nope! This is not a battle you will win.”

“Fine,” she laughed. “I’ve learned to choose my battles with you. But make sure you add the new bubble bath we bought. This is a great time to start using it”

Moments later, Trystan helped Carolina to the bathroom; her face lit up when she saw what he had done. The scent of the lavender bubble bath wafted through the air, as dozens of little candles glistened around her old clawfoot tub, washing the room in a mystical glow.

“Trystan,” she smiled. “What did you do!”

“I can’t expect you to convalesce in an unsuitable environment.”

“You spoil me,” she sighed.

“And you better get used to it.”

Trystan helped her out of her clothes, becoming more transfixed with each new item that fell to the floor. Carolina was stunning, and he always found her irresistible; but the combination of candlelight and moonlight pouring in the window reflecting on her skin, their shadows accentuating every delicate curve on her body, it left him breathless.

But that’s not what tonight was about, and when he felt his body begin to stir, he deliberately turned away. Relieved when she slipped into the warm water. With her exquisite figure concealed under a plethora of bubbles, his primal urges began to dissipate.

“Ahhhh,” she breathed, as her tension drifted away. “This is just perfect.”

Trystan placed a small table with strawberry-infused water within her reach, then kneeled beside the tub, gently bopping her nose with a bubble-strewn finger.

“You’re perfect.”

But Carolina's mood visibly shifted when he stood up and asked if she needed anything before he left.

“Leaving? Why are you leaving?” She tapped the water gently with an open hand. “There is plenty of room in here; I was hoping you’d join me.”

“But I want you to relax; you took quite a fall today.”

“Trystan,” she said with an arched brow. “You took the same fall! Now, get in here with me. That’s an order.”

“Well, if it’s an order...” he smirked.

Quickly removing his clothes, he slid into the tub across from his love, letting out a deep sigh the moment his body was submerged. With his arms stretched over the tub's sides and his legs rubbing against Carolina’s silky skin he wondered why this hadn't been his plan all along.

“This is divine,” he swooned.

“I told you! No way was I going to let you miss out on this.”

“And for that, I thank you!”

They closed their eyes, reclining in the soothing waters for a long while; but when Trystan opened his eyes again, he found Carolina’s sultry brown eyes peering at him, a playful grin on her face.

“Yessss?” He droned.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are in this lighting?”

“In this lighting?" He said, feigning insult. "I thought I looked sexy in all lighting!"

Carolina barked out a laugh. “That goes without saying, of course! But in this lighting... you’re especially desirable.”

Carolina was stunned; perhaps the candlelight was impeding her vision, but she swore she saw Trystan Thorne blush.

“You’re one to talk,” he whispered. “You’re simply ravishing.”

The lapping water made delicate sounds as Carolina pushed herself up and moved closer to Trystan. This allowed him a quick peek at her luscious curves before he felt them pressed firmly against his chest.

“Then, why aren’t you ravishing me," she purred in his ear.

Trystan thought he might melt into the water. “Lina,” he moaned. “What are you doing to me?”

Her pride morphed into a smile as she dragged her hand up his thigh, then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, skimmed her fingers along his hardened length.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” she teased. “But that’s about to change.”

He let out a muffled growl when her arms wrapped around him, stoking her desire even more.

“Lina, you’re hurt," he said, offering one last out.

“I’m fine!"

“I want you to feel better!”

She pushed back with seductive eyes, just begging to be taken.

“If you want me to feel better... I can offer some suggestions on how you can do that.”

His erection pulsated against her thigh, and she silently lauded herself for her restraint at that moment.

“Are you sure?” he whispered as her hands sunk under the water grasping him at his base, pleasuring him with slow, deliberate strokes until he quivered beneath her.

“100% sure,” she hissed, parting his lips with her tongue, entangling it with his for a long, sensual kiss.

The grin on his face couldn’t have been wider when they parted. “If you keep doing this, I'll see to it that we fall through ceilings together every day."

Carolina straddled him, placing him at her center before holding him tight. Unbridled shrieks of pleasure filled the air as she slowly sank down on him. He reached up and cupped her breasts just as he filled her completely. She closed her eyes, remaining still for just a moment to savor the feeling, and then, with a wicked grin she began to grind shamelessly against him.

If either had a worry about the water that splashed onto the floor, they certainly didn't show it as they brought each other to the precipice of pleasure again, and again until they unraveled in each other's arms.

“I don’t know what doctor recommended this treatment plan,” Trystan said trying to catch his breath. “But I really need to thank them.”

"What, this is how I fix boo-boos?" Carolina smiled.

"Then, I need to thank you."

Shortly after, the couple curled up in bed... completely in need of painkillers to soothe their aching muscles. But the blissful smiles on their faces as they drifted off to sleep made it very, very clear... sore muscles be damned, it had all been worth it.

@choicesficwriterscreations

#crimes of passion #trystan thorne #trystan thorne x f!mc #trystan x carolina #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfic #choices fanart

39 notes · View notes