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xiaowhore · 4 months

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intoxicating.

premise. your boyfriend dumps you and says he doesn't love you anymore. of course, being the petty bitch that you are, you have to prove that you don't need him in your life either. and of course, intense emotions often lead to rash decisions, so you go to a bar in hopes of finding a new man.

somehow, even when all you've managed to do is scowl at anyone who approaches you and mope at the bar counter, you still manage to get one.

Wriothesley has dealt with his fair share of unruly drunks before, but they were something more along the lines of aggressive and sloppy, not depressed and sappy.

He finds that he'd rather manhandle angry alcoholics than a person who makes a slobbering mess all over his shirt, clinging to his arm and sobbing to his sleeve. Your body starts to sway even when he supports your weight, your footsteps unstable as your attempt to walk in a straight line fails entirely.

Okay, so maybe you are sloppy after all.

Wriothesley sighs and tightens his grip on your shoulders. There's no point in losing his patience with a drunk person. He didn't even mean to pick you up, it's just that as a police officer, his sense of responsibility makes him want to fix a troublesome situation whenever he sees one. Even when he isn't on duty, he often leads disruptive drunks out of bars and restaurants, forces them out when he has to, and is always on the receiving end of owners' gratitude.

However, he has no experience dealing with drunks that just got dumped by their boyfriend and chugged away the sorrow with alcohol. You know, like the one dragging their feet as he drags their inebriated body away.

At first, he thought you were hitting on him when he felt your head lean on his shoulder in the bar. It's a common strategy, one that he's dealt with enough times to know when someone is just pretending to be drunk and trying to get his attention. He was still thinking of what to say when tears actually rolled down your cheeks and you started retelling your life story that he never asked to hear about.

Wriothesley isn't actually trying to listen, but he still gets the gist of it. It would be hard not to when you're still prattling on about it beside his ear as we speak.

“He said...” You hiccup, warm liquid seeping into his shirt as you sob into his arm. He hopes that's from your tears and not your snot. “He said he doesn't feel anything for me anymore...”

So you glammed up for tonight and tried to have fun at a bar so you could prove to yourself you didn't need him in the same way he didn't need you. He can already recite the story perfectly from the amount of times you told him. Your plan is irrational at best, and he doesn't see himself doing the same if he were ever to be in the same situation, but he can't berate you for it. Not when you looked so miserable and hopeless to the extent he didn't think it would be safe to leave you alone back at the bar.

“You can't force yourself to be happy,” Wriothesley grumbles, finally giving up on carrying you by the shoulder and instead hoists you up on his back to give you a piggyback ride. Your shoes slip off your feet, so he sighs as he crouches down to pick them up. “At times like this, you should find other ways to feel better.”

Your body jolts against him as you hiccup once again. “Like what?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, and he can feel you gradually getting used to being carried. It takes only a bit more for you to melt against his body, your chin snugly tucked in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Watch movies at home in your pajamas, I guess. Treat yourself to good food. Go on a trip. You look like the type to enjoy that. Much safer than getting involved with guys when you're still emotionally unavailable.”

You sniffle. “Romance movies only remind me of him. Eating at restaurants will make me remember the dates we've gone to. And going on trips will make me wish he's there with me.”

Why do they have an argument for each point I make? And I never said anything about the movie having to be romance. “Well, you still have to go through that,” he gives up on making you think otherwise. “But one day, you'll feel a little better about it. Maybe you'll want to start dating again when you watch that romance movie, or you'll want someone else to eat with on that restaurant you once went to. And when you're on a trip, maybe you'll even think you want somebody special to go with you.”

You go quiet. For a moment, he thinks you've fallen asleep. But then your head slowly rises from his shoulder, dazed eyes peeking at him unsurely. “You really think so?”

“It won't be easy,” Wriothesley says, because nothing ever is. “But you want to say you don't love him anymore, right?” He glances at you, at the dry tear streaks on your cheeks, at what glitter remains around your eyes from all the times you've rubbed away your tears.

For the first time that night, he sees you smile. “Yeah... I want to say it without feeling hurt anymore.”

He turns away, and he feels himself smiling without meaning to. “That's good.”

“...So do you like watching romance movies? Or eating [hometown] cuisine?”

“...No?”

“Then I'll settle for a movie you like. And I can make good food from anywhere.”

“...Are you hitting on me? Using my advice?”

“Is it working?”

Wriothesley laughs, looking at the person he's carrying on his back, who he is escorting to his apartment because you lost your keys and your roommate won't be back until tomorrow, whom he wrapped his leather jacket around because he felt you shivering against him, and who caught his eye the very moment he entered the bar.

“That's not a no.” He knows you're pouting even when he isn't looking anymore.

“Yeah,” he agrees with you, almost indulgently. “It isn't.”

When you wake up in an unfamiliar bedroom, dressed down to your undergarments and a t-shirt you definitely do not own, and with hardly any recollection of events from the past night, you think you've made a terrible, terrible mistake.

But then you spot the hangover medicine on the bedside table, your alcohol-spilled clothes drying in the laundry room, and possibly the most gorgeous man you've ever seen cooking breakfast in the kitchen, so whatever you did last night couldn't really be that bad.

“Oh, you're awake,” he says once he notices you standing in the middle of the room, completely awestruck. You don't even know what you should be staring at; his chiseled face, his strong arms, his tight tank top that faintly traces his muscled torso, the gray sweatpants that-

Okay. You are not going to look anywhere below his waist.

“Yeah,” is all you can manage, simply glad you didn't fuck up that one syllable. You feel like you're on the verge of either saying something really stupid or making really weird strangled noises. You prefer the former, if you can help it.

“Sit.” He pulls one chair from the dining table, gesturing for you to take it. You meekly take your seat, eyes shifting everywhere but his face. “You're rather quiet today,” he muses, taking one glance at your reddening face as he fixes the plates of pancakes in front and across you.

“...How was I yesterday, then?” You ask, though you don't actually want to hear the answer.

The man hums in thought, taking his sweet time while pouring coffee over two mugs. “Troublesome,” he decides to say. “You nearly puked over my rug, after all.”

You sputter, making all kinds of apologies and promises of compensation when all of a sudden, he laughs. “Nah, I'm kidding. But this means you don't remember anything at all, right?” He sits across from you, sliding the mug to your hand.

“No...” You take a sip, but you barely register how it tastes. “I remember ordering a lot of drinks, but that's pretty much it.”

“That's a shame.” He sighs, leaning back on his chair as he sips coffee. “I suppose that means our dinner plans are void, then.”

“Absolutely not!” The words come out of your lips before your brain-to-mouth filter processes it fully, your hand slamming down the mug on the table in protest. “Uh... that is... if you're available whenever...” You get a hold of yourself and feel your cheeks burning in shame.

He doesn't try to hide the amused smirk on his face. “Sure. I'll be looking forward to your hometown cooking, then.”

Just what on earth did you do last night...?

???

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fic #fluff #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x you #it doesn't happen immediately but you do get together eventually #your ex sees you with your new man so he realizes who really won that breakup

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earthtooz · 10 months

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x : CHANGE YOUR MIND ! :*+ﾟ

in which: it's 2 am and itoshi sae is outside your door, hoping for a second chance.

warnings: 1.2k words, angst to fluff with hurt/comfort, happy ending, exes to lovers, not at all realistic but it's itoshi sae ok and we're delusional, ooc!sae

a/n: second second chance romance fic for sae LOL he's just too easy to write for when it comes to exes to lovers. idk why the banner is so low quality but enjoy!

you wonder where itoshi sae finds the nerve. after breaking up with you six months ago ‘for the sake of his career’, you never thought sae would have the gall to show up at your apartment, let alone at 2am, rudely disrupting your sleep.

yet, here he is. a soccer prodigy and superstar in the flesh, standing under the harsh lighting of your apartment hallway that always casts an ugly glow on everyone except sae.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, gripping the door handle a little tighter.

“i just got off the plane,” he answers, evading your question.

“i know. i can see your suitcases.”

he doesn’t say anything more after that. before the breakup, you were able to read the untouchable itoshi sae, translating his stiff silences into words he could never say but wholeheartedly mean, breaking through his ego to then understand the messages of his heart. he only hopes that you can interpret the one he’s brought to you right now.

“can i come in?” asks the athlete, his question shy and lacking the usual demand that sits in his tone.

still, you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground. “why on earth would i let you in?”

softness is a weapon that itoshi sae owns. he knows that with his typical hardened exterior the best way he can get through people sometimes is with pliability. even you have fallen for it.

he frowns, “because i’m tired and i want to sleep.”

“don’t you have your own five star hotel that your manager booked for you?”

“can i just come in?”

the nerve. “itoshi, please leave.”

“i will, i will, but will you hear me out first?”

“what could you possibly have to say that you didn’t befo-”

“-i love you.”

the world stills.

the air around you becomes delicate and you’re too scared to breathe in fear of disrupting the silence, but it feels like the floor beneath you just crumbled and you’re falling through the debris. you’re falling and the only thing you can do is search for sae in the chaos.

but you don’t hold on to him. no, not this time.

“that’s not fair, that’s not fair at all, sae, you can’t-” a sob tears your words apart, “-you can’t break my heart then come back six months later to tell me that you apparently love me, do you know how hard it was for me to just- ugh!”

in a fit of exasperation, you leave your post at the door and retreat back into your apartment. sae quietly slips through the crack you left open, closing the door with a soft click and you don’t even have the energy to chase him out. he even left his suitcases outside- not that anyone would take them at 4 in the morning.

“you left me so abruptly and carelessly. we were together for almost a year, sae, yet you threw me aside, called me a burden and moved on with a snap of your fingers! was it easy? moving on like that?”

instead of flinching at your yelling, sae simply stands at the entrance and accepts it, letting your words prick his skin and sink into him as if would make up for the pain you’ve been bathing in.

“do you know what that did to me?” your voice is quiet now, turned down a few notches.

he knows. he knows that you’ve been trying to get over it and not let the breakup impact your life too much, despite what he did. you’ve been going out with friends, treating yourself to everything you deserve, and finding a peace that he’s proud of you for. but sae also knows about the many nights you’ve spent crying and being sensitive to loving again, he hears about all of it from rin who lectured him when he first broke up with you and most likely, will lecture him again when he hears about sae’s unplanned visit.

sae was stupid and naive, but you were the first person he ever loved, and the world is colourless without your splash of influence.

sae knows he shouldn’t be here existing in your space after everything, however, the instant he stepped off the plane, the first thing his heart wanted was to see one of the few things he loves about japan, you.

“-so, please, just leave me alone and don’t come back,” you request.

the last thing sae is good at is following instructions, especially ones he doesn’t like.

“but, i love you,” he tries again. you fall to the couch with a defeated sigh, his persistence impaling your heart.

“stop it.”

somehow, he’s now standing beside you. “do you still love me too?”

“sae-”

“-if you don’t love me anymore i’ll leave.”

with your head in your hands, you lie to him, “i don’t want you to stay either way.”

“another chance, i’ll make it right, i’ll fix it with my life, y/n, just please say you love me too.”

“you’ll hurt me again.”

“i won’t,” he falls down onto the couch beside you, enveloping you with his frame. “i’ll be good and you can kill me if i’m not.”

you laugh. it’s dry and reserved, but you’re laughing and he begins rocking you side to side. “i don’t want to kill you.”

“rin will, then.”

you take your face out of your hands, looking at him properly for the first time since he arrived. “i-i don’t know, sae. you’ll leave again when you decide that you don’t want me.”

he doesn’t know how to tell you that whilst abroad, all he could think about was you. that during the mundane chores, the tedious trips to and from training, and all the times that he had won a match, he was thinking about you.

he thought about you in the music he played whilst cleaning, he thought about taking you to a restaurant he saw whilst on the way, and his thoughts about you are loudest when he has a medal around his neck yet all he wants to know is whether or not you’re watching.

but you’re not beside him singing along whilst he was mopping his floors, you weren’t there in his car pointing out every fun detail you saw, and he didn’t even know if you wanted anything to do with soccer after what him.

everytime, the yearning for you would grow, to the point that it lead him here when he should have gone to the hotel to wash up and sleep off the tiring trip instead.

but sitting here now and looking at your tear-stained face, he knows he’ll always prefer you- he’ll always find and choose you, so long as you let him.

“give me another chance,” and i’ll show you that i’ll never leave again.

“fine,” you surrender after a moment of silence and sae feels like he could jump to the moon. “but we take things slow-”

“-i love you,” he repeats, grabbing your face and pushing you down on the couch, peppering an endless stream of kisses on your skin. sae’s outburst of affection and happiness is uncharacteristic but contagious. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

between each declaration is sae kissing a new part of your face, showering your cheeks, forehead, nose- everywhere with unbridled adoration that he has been keeping locked up for too long. you’re real between his hands, you’re real in his hold, you’re real beneath him, and he doesn’t want this dream to end. his kisses feel like healing promises and you melt right into them.

“i get it!” you giggle out, hands on his shoulders as to wrestle him off. “you don’t need to keep telling me, and promise me that we’re going to take it slow-”

a cold tear slides down your cheek, silencing your giggles. it’s not you who’s crying though, so you hug sae a little tighter.

something tells you that this second chance won’t backfire.

#sae x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #sae fluff #itoshi sae fluff #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock

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strqwberryfield · 3 months

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ot7 - when you come back from a trip.

contains fluff (i was listening to wave to earth whilst writing this)

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heeseung: bro he missed you so much he actually started crying and hugged you to death when you were unpacking your items from your suitcase. "hee i love you dearly but plz let go i feel like I'm about to suffocate" but he just ignores you since 'you left him to suffer and he was touch starved'. but after you do your duties he just smothers you with his love and follows you around like a lost puppy.

jay: this man is basically a dream. he is not real. i feel like he would help you unpack your belongings since you had a long flight and you might have been too tired to do all of it. cooks you a warm comforting meal and asks you questions about what you did and what you ate so he could try and recreate it (on his enlog when he was cooking for his mum he said that when he went to Milan, he had a type of pasta he liked and wanted to recreate it).

jake: another lost puppy following you around. he says "next time when we are on tour im gonna bring you with me for company" since he didn't like being alone without his beloved. he clings to you like you haven't seen each other in ages. wherever you go he follows and if you are cooking a meal for the both of you he literally hugs you from behind and begs for your attention like you were purposely ignoring him. but once you hug him back he would not let you go.

sunghoon: i feel like he would be happy that you have returned because he would've gone insane with jake's and ni-ki's bickering and fighting along with heeseung shouting when he plays video games. once you hug him when you enter the shared home he melts. he claims that "if you went another day on the trip he would've called you crying because he couldn't deal with the members". he's lowkey stressed about upcoming tours and comebacks that he hasn't had time to himself. so when you return he can finally feel safe and calm.

sunoo: i love this man so much. he would be so happy when you returned to him in one because he also couldn't deal with the members. the day after you return, you would do a spa sesh since you couldn't attend the last one. pampers you with his love like you were about to die. you spill any type of gossip that happened for example: your friend decided to turn against you for no specific reason even though you did nothing to then that so-called friend got kicked off that plane for being disruptive on the way back to south korea. he was eating that shit up and his reactions were so cute.

jungwon: he is so silly omg i love him. when you get him a souvenir he gets so happy and cherishes it. i feel like he would follow you around speaking english in his aggressively cute voice. "was the trip slay! y/n??" "yes, the trip was slay! wonnie". would ask you about where you went, how it was and what you ate. he would also lie on you when you are relaxing on the couch since you went for so long. he promised you that when he goes on tour he would get souvenirs from each location. he sleeps so much better when you are here with him in bed.

ni-ki: he denies that he didn't miss you but deep down he did. since it has been confirmed that riki hugs something to sleep. he missed your presence dearly and struggled to sleep without hugging you or having skin contact with each other. but when you return from visiting your family for the weekend - he jumps onto you and hugs you. when you bought him a plush as a souvenir, he would never let it go and would use it as an alternative if you were to make a trip like that again and hug it to sleep and spray it with his favourite perfume that you bought for yourself.

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a/n: sigh.

#enha fluff #enhypen #enhypen comfort #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #yang jungwon #jungwon #enhypen jungwon #heeseung #enhypen niki #jake enhypen #jungwon fluff #niki fluff #jake sim fluff #park jay fluff #heeseung fluff #sunoo fluff #sunghoon fluff

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thedreamlessnights · 5 months

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Hi! I’ve got a request for Astarion and Dark Urge Tav. Like they got together through act 1 and 2 and confessed their feelings for each other, but when they go to see Gortash become Arch Duke Tav realizes that she used to be lovers with Gortash before her memory was wiped. Queue angst and hurt/comfort and fluff and hhhhh Gortash loses plssss

I absolutely loved this concept and had so much fun writing it! Dark Urge's route changed me as a person, and I honestly feel like it's a perfect match for Astarion. Thank you so much for sending this in, and I hope you enjoy!

Aching (Astarion x F!Reader - Dark Urge)

Warnings: Major spoilers for Act III of Baldur's Gate - particularly for the Dark Urge playthrough. Mentions of blood, killing, death, and suicidal ideation. Dark Urge being Dark Urge. Hurt/comfort, self-loathing, angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 4.6k

Like so many other things, the sight of Lord Enver Gortash tugs at a painful spot in your skull.

You’ve come to differentiate them: the gaping, aching tug of your lost memories and the sharp, swift yank of the tadpole. Somehow, his presence pulls at both of them in equal measure. There’s something on the edge of your tongue, but it won’t be said. A memory behind your eyes, but it won’t be seen.

One thing is clear enough - you know this man. For better or worse, the two of you have met before.

Karlach clears her throat behind you, and you return to yourself: not lost in the dark void of your memories, not consumed by the itch for blood. Wyrm’s Crossing.

Gods, you’d nearly forgotten. You’re in the middle of a throne room, surrounded by dozens of people, here for the coronation. Wyll’s father stands in the center of the room, all but a meat puppet under the Absolute’s control.

The Absolute, which Gortash is a part of.

The soon-to-be Archduke sees you, and something shifts in his gaze. His expression softens. Given all the trouble you’ve been causing for him, that expression comes as a shock - but what he says next is jarring to your core.

“Dearest patriars, but a moment,” he requests. “I must greet a most important guest.” He strolls toward you, arms spread wide as he steps forward, and smiles. “Crawling back from her bloody disgrace - it’s my favorite assassin! Gods, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

And suddenly, you are two pieces of a whole. One longs to step forward, knowing him, wanting him. The other longs for nothing more than to jolt away from him - from the misery you know he’s been causing. Not only to you, or even Karlach, but to your home; Baldur’s Gate.

“Hang on,” Karlach says. “What? You know each other?”

As if you could have possibly known that. As if you’d been willfully keeping it from her. As if your amnesia is a silent betrayal.

“We have important matters to address,” Gortash says dismissively. “My reunion with Karlach can wait.”

Gods, it’s all too much. You’re trying to think, but your mind is swimming in front of your eyes. Your skull throbs. Your heart thuds unevenly in your chest. Something in you is fundamentally disrupted.

“Don’t talk to me,” you manage to spit out. “Talk to her.”

After all, she deserves it. Ten years in Avernus, a flaming engine in her chest, a slow, painful oncoming death that none of you can prevent - or at least, not while she’s refusing to go back to the hells. She deserves a talk with the man who betrayed her. More than anything.

But Gortash won’t be swayed so easily, it seems. “No offense to my old friend,” he says, not even bothering to look at Karlach, “but it’s you I have been dying to see. After all, you abandoned us some time ago, leaving a rather uncomfortable hole in our plans.”

Fond. His expression is unmistakably fond.

You don’t know what plans he’s talking about, though. What to say to him? Should you treat him like a friend, exploit his familiarity down to the hilt for the sake of the information you might obtain? Should you be honest and find out more of your lost self? Do you even want to?

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter what you’re planning to say. Gortash sees your face, and that’s enough. “Oh, I’d forgotten,” he remarks, “your memories are quite lost, aren’t they? Orin told me she’d made a fool of you.”

Orin. A picture flashes in front of your mind. Warm blood, oozing from a gash in your head, streaming down into your eyes. A sharp, fierce tug of betrayal that digs into your chest, sours in your mouth like milk.

Then, another image. A recent memory: Orin. A gruesome suit of skin. A bloodthirsty tongue. The Netherstone in hand.

But Gortash is still talking.

“To think you and Karlach traveled together all this time, and she hadn’t the faintest you were one of my nearest and dearest,” he’s saying.

Karlach tenses, and you suddenly feel sick. Your hands go slick with sweat, and you can feel, not see but feel, the others silently fuming behind you.

All of this is adding up to one big, horrific picture. A conclusion you despise but can’t deny. Something affectionate in your chest. The admiration in his gaze. The way he’d greeted you. Nearest and dearest.

Lovers. You and Gortash were lovers.

The walk back to camp is the most painful of your life - that you can recall, at least. You’d rather be feral again, tied up like an animal on your bedroll, attempting to bite Astarion.

Part of you wishes you’d decimated Gortash the moment you’d laid eyes on him. If you had, all of this could have been avoided. The swirling guilt in your stomach for something you don’t even remember. The sting of reproof from nearly every single one of your companions. The betrayal in their eyes.

You’d done this. All of it. The Absolute, the march on the city, the tadpole now squirming around in your brain. You and Gortash had planned this out, and now you’ve fallen victim to it.

It seems like a disconnected idea, a person you can’t imagine being. The further you go on, the less you recognize your old self. The more you despise it.

Gale had certainly chewed you out. Karlach isn’t talking to you. Gods, even Shadowheart is angry. Shadowheart, who should know more than anyone else what this is like.

Astarion, at least, doesn’t seem as upset as the others. He’s liked his tadpole for the most part. Is some odd part of him grateful for your role in this? For the power it’s given him? You can’t tell.

You should be able to tell, shouldn’t you?

When the silence becomes unbearable, you grab a bottle of Berduskan Dark as a peace offering and join him at his tent, crawling through the entrance and sprawling yourself over his various pillows. “Do you hate me tonight, too?” you ask lightly.

He raises a brow and rolls one of his shoulders, feigning annoyance. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing and casual. “It’s not often I find out the woman I’m with is behind a horrible, malicious scheme to control an elder brain.”

Your words of penance fall flat even before they’ve touched your tongue, so you pour him a glass of wine in response.

He smiles. “Trying to win me over, darling?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’ve caused quite the commotion around camp, you know. Gale is positively furious.”

That sensation of guilt comes again, but this time, it’s overpowering. It makes you want to crumple in on yourself, to erase the horrid, evil parts of you that are left like bloodstains on a white shirt; things that won’t be scrubbed away, present and never-escapable.

“I didn’t know,” you start, firmly but barely kept together. “I swear, I had no idea-”

“Relax, dearest,” Astarion says. “As you know, me and the tadpole are the best of friends. No need to explain.” He pauses. “Although,” he says, suddenly becoming very interested in inspecting the brim of his glass, “you and Gortash seemed to be old friends, too.”

You know what he’s asking you, and you don’t have it in yourself to lie to him. Instead, you slowly nod, pouring yourself a glass of the wine, too. Gods, do you need it.

“We were lovers, I think,” you finally answer. “I can’t remember anything about it, but… the way he talked to me. It seemed like we were more than friends.”

He pulls a face. “Well. I certainly hope he won’t be serving as my competition. You can do so much better.”

You stare at him: the sudden tension in his shoulders, the pasted-on, confident smile that plays on his lips, the dark glint to his gaze.

“You’re jealous.”

He scoffs. “Jealous?” he exclaims, laughing a little. “Of course I’m not jealous. Honestly - it’s hilarious. A Bhaalspawn and Bane’s chosen. In another life, I would have been rooting for the two of you.”

But there’s a crease between his brows, and he won’t quite look at you. You reach out for his hand, and his expression softens. He playfully rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand all the same. “And what is our vicious little mastermind thinking about?” he asks, leaning toward you.

“I’m thinking,” you say, “that Lord Gortash could never compare to you.”

“Oh?” he asks, moving in a little further. He loves preening for compliments, and you love treating him to them. “Do go on, dearest.”

You trail your thumb over his knuckles. “Well, he’s clearly nowhere near as handsome as you are.”

Astarion tilts his head. “Of course he isn’t. The man couldn’t hope to compare with a… world-endingly handsome vampire.” He squeezes your hand, lifting a brow. “Anything else?”

You can’t help smiling now. “His taste in clothing is awful. Didn’t you see his boots?” you ask. “Tacky.”

He scowls. “I did. Horrendous, honestly. And at his coronation, no less,” he remarks, tutting. “Well. I’m glad to see your standards have improved, darling.”

“As am I.” You take a sip of your wine, swirling it in your hand, enjoying the feel of Astarion’s grasp in the other.

With him, you can almost forget the worst parts of yourself. The others, as much as you love them, only make your crimes seem so much worse. There’s a constant forgiveness sought with each conversation, a debt you can never repay that lingers underneath the way they see you. But not with him.

He mirrors you. He sees you. What you really are, not what you were, not the echo of your old life. All your past grievances, well… those don’t matter to him. Everything you’ve done, he considers himself worse.

Part of you thinks - if the two of you actually make it through, that is - that bit by bit, you may actually heal. Maybe, you’ll actually have a life with him beyond the tadpoles, and beyond Baldur’s Gate. Maybe, the two of you will build something far beyond those who once controlled you.

And then the night comes.

You leave Astarion in his tent to trance, telling him you mean to sleep even though you have no intention of doing so. You never rest well, but it’s aggravated, lately. The Urge is always at its worst during the night. The shadows reflect your darkest self back at you, and your fingers itch for blood. Your mind becomes a haze of gore. Your teeth fix on a tender part of your cheek and press down until you taste iron.

You’d like to say that this part of you is a clean split from the other - that it’s easy to tell where the Urge ends and you begin - but it’s not. Your thoughts so often drift. You’d been the one feeling that sickening sense of satiation when Alfira lay dead at your feet, her blood drying on your skin. And it’s you who feels a strange tug toward Gortash - some lingering yearning that won’t be scrubbed away.

And you try. Gods, do you try. You take a rag and sit at the river and rub until your skin is raw, trying to get the metaphorical blood off your hands, trying to cleanse yourself of the want that pulls at your chest when Gortash slips into your thoughts.

But it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work at all.

The way you want Astarion feels different. It’s grounded. Natural. Being around him feels as easy as breathing. Gortash, though: there’s something so very strong there, something ripened with time and obsessive, almost. Something that wants him no matter what you tell yourself.

You want to win this. You want to look at the faces around camp and tell them that their faith in you is not misplaced; that you are capable of what they want you to be. You’re more than the monster in your thoughts. When you’d resisted killing Isobel and Astarion despite your butler’s commands, you’d thought there was a chance for that to happen - for you to become something outside of your murderous tendencies.

Now, you’re not so sure.

Your role in the creation of the Absolute has changed things. This feels… unforgivable. Not that Alfira’s death wasn’t already unforgivable, not that you haven’t already sinned enough, but… it’s tallying up to a truly heinous amount of perversion that you can’t fathom anyone here tolerating, much less accepting. Astarion, maybe, but he deserves better than this.

You’ve already tremendously ruined things, and on top of that, you find out you were responsible for turning all of the people you care about into thralls?

It’s enough to shake you to your core. Enough to sow doubt in your mind, spreading like a slow poison through the veins of your thoughts, slowly choking them away, slowly consuming you.

You really might lose.

Gods, are you strong enough to win the long-fought battle against yourself? Do you have it in you to completely turn away from your past? You won’t give in without a fight, of course, but what chance do you have against Bhaal when he’s in your very mind, rooting himself into every inch of you?

In the days, you have hope, but in the nights, when you’re alone, you feel certain you’re doomed. That perhaps, this side of you will take over, and you’ll be absolutely helpless to stop it.

The true question is this: when the darkness takes over, will you still exist; forever trapped in the body you once had control over? Or will Bhaal’s presence ravage you, body and soul, and leave nothing of the thing you once were?

You really can’t decide which is worse.

You’re used to your hands shaking, by now. Your fingers have often trembled around the hilt of your blade, itching to drive your knife deep into sweet, bleeding flesh.

This is different.

It’s fear that takes your body, not the Urge. Fear that compels you, not Bhaal. Are you afraid to lose to Orin, or afraid of what you might become?

Astarion stands behind you, observant but tense. The two of you have come so far now that it almost seems foolish to think of losing. He’d defeated Cazador. He’d resisted the Ascension. If he’d found it in himself to turn away from his darkness, can’t you?

Yet, some part of you still thinks you might disappoint him. Some part of you still fears the monster that lies within yourself.

Astarion rests a hand on your shoulder, knowing you all too well. “You can do this,” he says, lightly squeezing. “I know you can.”

And the sheer, beautiful belief in his eyes - belief in you - is enough to have a little hope again. Not much, but some. You can do this.

You step into the center of the circle, hands around your blade, and you believe.

It all goes by in a blur.

Orin is a viper, tightening her strokes around you, striking fast and hard. Her movements are rapid and graceful, her dance lithe and experienced. Even in her slayer form, there’s a deadly beauty to her actions. Every slash, every wound she inflicts on your skin, is a vicious reminder that she’s nothing but practiced in this regard.

Perhaps she’s forgotten, but you are, too. And, this time, your pride doesn’t blind you to the threat she poses.

Your body moves instinctively; for once, you let the Urge guide you freely. You leap out of the way of her claws, dig your blade into her side. When the scent of blood hits the air, you rejoice. When you feel pain, you bask in it.

Flashes of your past echo in front of your eyes - being in the pod, blood gushing into your eyes. You remember the agony of her betrayal, the fear as you’d smashed your skull into the glass again and again and again. Anything to escape what she’d done.

It’s despair that takes over you, not fear. It’s your fury that deals the final blow, not the Urge. And when Orin finally falls, your blade in her ribs up to the hilt, you feel no relief, no satiation.

Only grief. Nothing but grief.

You don’t know what you mourn for - your old self? The life she’d robbed you of? No - no, you despise your past. You despise who you were. So what tugs at your chest this tenderly? What force brings you to your knees?

For just a moment, you almost forget about Bhaal.

Of course, he won’t be forgotten - not here, not in his own domain. Not when you’re his creation. Sceleritas Fel is in front of you, applauding your victory, calling you the Chosen One.

“He is near,” he says. “He comes for you.”

Fear flutters through your chest. Bhaal’s Chosen. It tempts you, even now. The Urge has slithered into the very heart of you, kept somewhere in your ribs, so dark and alluring that you can barely breathe.

It salivates at the sight of the blade slicing through your butler’s chest, sways at the sight of his blood. His body rises, limp and lifeless, and it’s all you can do to stare, still breathless from the fight, still silently devastated, as more blades cut through the skin one by one - impaling him until his blood seeps onto the stone below; dark, crimson liquid shining over the cold floor.

And in his reflection, you find Bhaal.

He is everything you’ve felt in the Urge and more - the sweet whispers of death in your ear. He’s the honeyed tone that compels you to serve him, compels you to bring forth destruction in his name. In chaos, he triumphs, and in blood, he revels.

This is a gift. An offering to you, his Chosen.

You could accept. You could stop fighting against your destiny, against this thing you were born to become. You could do what he asks, and wreak beautiful havoc on this world. You’re exhausted. Every muscle in your body aches - not from Orin, but from this never-ending fight against yourself.

How strong you could become, remedied of these burdens. How well you would please your father. It would be so easy. All you’d have to do is accept…

And then you see Astarion.

His face is paler than usual, a tension in his shoulders, a quiet exhaustion in his eyes. You see him now, as he is, and you see him as he was in the ritual chamber: the temptation of power right beneath his grasp, begging to be taken. He’d sacrificed so much. The light of the sun on his face. The relief of hunger. The burial of his shame. All of these, he’d refused, but he’s finally free. He wants that for you, and you want it, too.

No matter the cost.

So you refuse. You look Bhaal in the eye and refuse his gift, knowing what it will mean for you. And when he threatens your life, you refuse again. No matter the cost, you think. Death is freedom in its own way.

The sudden agony that wracks through your body is unlike any you’ve ever known. It boils through your blood, singes body and soul, brings down you to your knees with the very force of it. Your chest seems to cave in on itself, expelling your inheritance to Bhaal with every beat of your heart.

Even when he lifts a hand and raises you into the air, you feel crushed - suffocated. Your teeth grind against each other, your skull throbs in agonzing waves, blood flows steadily over your tongue. Your heart slows, your essence fades. Sharp, blinding pain overtakes your vision until all that’s left of you is the shallow, scraping breath in your lungs.

All at once, everything fades, and you’re left in darkness.

And in the darkness, there is finally peace.

Being revived feels like a cruelty. Death is sweet and calm and simple. Emptiness. Oblivion. It is silent, and you are grateful.

Until you’re not.

You’re not, because you’re no longer dead. Something rips you from your painless sense of stillness - throws you back into the misery of life. You fight against it, but it’s pointless; you have no say in this, and it will take you where it desires.

You find yourself in flesh again, find the familiar sensation of your tender skin. You find yourself before Withers, bruised and broken, but reborn.

He’s a sight for sore eyes, but there’s something else that lies in your chest. A silence that hasn’t been there since… since before you’d woken up on the nautiloid, confused and alone, not a memory to be found aside from meaningless scraps and a face you didn’t recognize.

The Urge is gone. All that’s left is you.

It feels empty.

This should feel heroic, this return of yours that leaves you panting with the throes of death, covered in blood and on your knees. You’re back, you’re alive, and gods, you’re glad to see your friends and your lover, but it’s empty.

You deserved to die, didn’t you? It was your horrible knowledge, the one you kept tucked away even from Astarion. That never-ending guilt. After your crimes, after all the horrid things you’ve done with these hands, this body, before you’d lost your memory - you’d most certainly deserved to be put down.

You don’t dare look at Astarion, but you look at Withers. Surely, he must know what you are. Surely, he must know what you’ve done.

“I deserve to die,” you tell him, your voice shaking as much as your body. “For all the evil I have done.”

Withers stares at you, his expression unchanged. “The sole way to atone for thine actions is to do better, in a new dawn,” he says - and gods, he smiles. He’s proud of you, you realize. Proud of your resistance. “That dawn has come,” he announces.

And if he will not be swayed, you suppose you won’t, either. You’re alive, whether you like it or not. Whatever pieces are left of you and the life you might live, you’ll put them together. You’ve done it before, and you’ll do it again.

The important thing is that you’re finally free.

“Bhaal tried to extinguish thee,” Wither observes, “but his wrath is imprecise. He only succeeded in killing the part of thee he knew. The Urge that drove thee to terrible acts. The spark of brutality that made thee his. But there is a new part of you that hath grown during thy travels. That part, Bhaal could not extinguish. And so, instead of destroying thee, he hath made thee anew.”

“You get to start over,” Astarion says. He gazes at you, a mixture of leftover fear and relief and care. “To be the person you want to be. Not what someone else made you to be.”

And gods - even in the worst of yourself, you know that he sees you - wants you, all the same. If you’re at his side, you’re sure you can do anything.

“Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none,” Withers says, and for once in the shabby remembrance of your life, the guilt that haunts you finally sweeps away.

Gortash knows you’re coming, you think. After your stint at the Iron Throne and the foundry that now lies in ash, he must. Your memories are mostly lost to the aether, but you do know this - he’s no fool.

Still, when you see him again, there’s that strange, leftover twinge of your past. It’s dead now; whatever warmth there was in his presence has become ice. Your old self has died along with your Urge, rotted away like your need for blood. After all, the part of you he cared for was maniacal. Brutal. Not as bad as Orin, perhaps, but deranged. It sickens you to know he cared for someone like that, when you’ve despised yourself so.

It sickens you even more to know that he knows no guilt for his actions. How much have you suffered over your own deeds? How often have you awoken in sweat, drenched from head to toe with the fleeting remnant of your past deeds tainting your mind?

And here he is, smug and so sure - of himself, of this path, of Bane. And he knows no regret, or guilt, he makes no apologies. A part of you may have once loved him, but no more. Whatever he’d once seen in you, it no longer remains.

You wonder if he can tell. After all you’ve done to him, after the havoc you’ve wreaked on his plan, does he realize that the person he cared for no longer exists? He seems not to. Not until Karlach launches at him and you draw your blade, willing to kill when it’s necessary but not craving an ounce of blood more.

The fight is long and brutal, but it’s familiar. You have your friends at your side, people you trust even more than yourself. It flies by in a blur, only ending when Karlach’s axe sinks into Gortash’s gut and he crumples to his knees, letting out a final rush of air before he goes still.

Like so many other events, this should feel triumphant, but it doesn’t. Like so many other things, this isn’t fair. Gortash is gone, yes, nothing more than a body on a floor, but there’s no celebration, no relief.

Karlach has gotten her revenge, but she will never get her life back. She will never regain what he took from her.

You have the Netherstones, yes. But gods - that doesn’t stop the sickening feeling deep inside.

You head home with nothing but grief and an aching body, your hand held tight in Astarion’s, and you finally allow yourself to fully mourn the life you’d lived - the things you’d done, and the people who no longer live because of you.

With Gortash finally gone, the air of the camp changes. You’re so close to your goal, but there’s an underlying tension that fills the air. It has you making your way to Astarion, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his neck.

He holds you close, his thumb trailing over the nape of your neck, and the action slackens the tension out of your muscles.

“So,” he starts, “how are you feeling, now that your old lover is gone?”

You huff, shaking your head. The action brushes your nose with his skin, and you can smell him all over you. The warmth of brandy, the sharpness of rosemary. “I don’t remember any of it,” you say, words soft. “I… don’t really feel anything.”

You recall his numbness after Cazador. Dame Aylin’s emptiness after smiting down Larroakan. Karlach’s grief after killing Gortash. Even after your fight with Orin, there hadn’t really been relief. Just… a sense of loss.

He gently takes your face in his hands.

You’re scared, really. You’re so close to succeeding, so close to getting the tadpole out of your mind, and yet, you’re terrified out of your wits. What the hells are you supposed to do, now that failing holds the most weight?

“Do you really think we’ll win this?” you ask him. Your fear slips into your voice and breaks it, and you wince.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I don’t know about you, darling, but I have no intention of dying again.” He presses his lips to your forehead, the gentle touch soothing away your fear. “We’ll get through this. Trust me.”

And, despite the fear, the pain, the loss - despite every curve that life continually throws at you, every defeat you muster through, you know he’s right.

You’ll get through this; just like you always do.

#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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luvyeni · 5 months

Text

❛1-800-SERVICE ME❜ ( z. chenle )

p. ceo!chenle x toplessmaid!reader w. 2.6k+

— 𖦹 warnings. small age gap ( reader is 23 and chenle is 26 ), fem!reader, oral ( m. receiving ), unprotected sex

— 𖦹 ( instead of giving chenle his normal maid cleaning services his assistant gives him a surprise for his birthday ) !

Chenle was a busy man —being the CEO of the top electronic company in Seoul, he didn’t have time to do things, like clean his condo himself, which is why he got his assistant and friend jaemin to schedule maids' services to come do it for him.

“Happy birthday boss man.” Jaemin met him at the elevator, his coffee in his hand. “How are you feeling this morning, the big 26.” He took the cup from the boy, taking a sip. “it’s a regular day for me, meetings, answering calls, meeting with investors.” He said as they walked through the office.

“Yeah, but now you’re a year older.” Jaemin followed behind him into the office. “So i’m closer to thirty, big whoop.” He sat in his chair. “Such a downer, anyways what are you doing later, for your birthday?”

“I’m going home jaemin, that’s all I want to do.” He said, it wasn’t that he didn’t like to party, but he was always so busy, and the only thing he wanted was to get off early and go home and rest. “I want to order some food, drink a cup a whiskey and then crash in my bed.”

“No fun.” Jaemin said, “You’re gonna die alone at this rate.” Chenle shrugged. “Jaemin go prepare for the meeting and leave me alone.” He spoke. “Just trying to help.” The boy said. “That is helping, go.”

“Fine, fine, i’m going.” He said making his way out the door, only to turn around. “What now?” Chenle sighed. “I just wanted to tell you that the maid service you like was closed down, so I chose a new one, they’ll be over later today.” He nodded looking at his computer. “Good, now go.”

Chenle finished his day early, most of his meetings were canceled or rescheduled — so why not get out of here. “Going home early boss?” jaemin asked. “Yup, i’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, jaemin yelled before he got on the elevator. “don’t forget, the maids' services will be there later on today!” Chenle didn’t notice the mischievous smirk that was evident on his assistant's face.

Chenle got home, sitting his briefcase down on the kitchen table — making his way into his bedroom to change his clothes, exchanging his black Prada suit, into some comfortable sweats and a white tee short.

He found a nice Chinese restaurant, picking up his phone, ordering his favorites, it would be an hour and a half wait but he was willing to wait, it would give him enough time to pour himself a drink and wind down some.

He set off the the kitchen, pouring himself his most favorite expensive whiskey in a glass with a huge ice cube, taking a sip, humming in delight — this was looking like his best birthday in a while, just peace and quiet.

His peace and quiet was soon disrupted by his buzzer going off. “That was fast.” He said, “I thought it would be an hour and a half wait.” He pressed the intercom button. “Hello?” He spoke through the microphone. “Oh hello.” A soft voice came through the intercom. “You can leave it there, someone will be down to pick it up.”

You were confused, “Are you not Zhong Chenle?” you were sure this was the address, had you gotten it wrong? “T-the maids services.” Chenle forgotten about that. “Oh yeah, i’m sorry about that.” He hit the button. “You may come up.”

This was a nice apartment, you’ve only been in this line of work for a few months, but most of your clients were rich so you’ve seen a lot of nice houses and apartments — but this was the nicest you’ve ever seen, this guy must’ve been really important.

You made your way to the apartment, sitting all your supplies down, knocking on the door. “Coming.” You heard his voice, then the door unlocking, swinging open revealing a tall guy, he was cute, dressed in the sinful, grey sweats, white tee shirt combo. “Hello.” He spoke.

“Oh h-hi.” You waved, “Mr.Zhong?” you asked, he smiled. “Call me chenle, come in.” You whispered his first name, picking up all your supplies, following him into the apartment. “You can start in here.” He pointed to the kitchen. “Okay.” You said, sitting the supplies down, reaching for your black trench coat, untyping the belt, revealing your baby pink lingerie.

“The bedroom isn’t that bad, i mean I only use it for sle- whoa!” His eyes widened as you reached for the back of your bra. You stopped, looking at him. “Would you prefer of I kept it on?” You questioned, but that was the furthest thing on his mind. “Why are you wearing that?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “The email said that’s what you requested, is this not the shade of pink you like?”

“N-no it’s very pretty- I mean- never mind that, i’m talking about why are you wearing lingerie?” He said, trying not to look at you, fear of a law suit. “And why are you trying to take it off.”

“It’s just the bra.” You said, he couldn’t understand why you were so calm, he was freaking the fuck out, who did jaemin call. “Plus, it’s part of the services.” You explained. “Service?” He questioned. “Yes, the topless maid services— topless, maid sorta the whole thing.”

That cheeky fucking bastard, he was gonna kill jaemin tomorrow. “I’m sorry, this is all new to me, my soon to be ex assistant hired you, it’s my birthday today, and he has to be over the top.” You nodded. “It’s okay, we can cancel the services if you’d like.” You were sweet, you stared at him with wide innocent eyes, you’ve must’ve been new to this.

“No.” He said, “No it’s okay, just shocked me a bit, you can continue.” He spoke. “You sure sir, I would hate to ruin your birthday with such an inconvenience.” He ignored the way his cock twitched when you said sir. “Who am I to stop you from doing your job, you may continue.”

You nodded, “okay.” You said. “Would you like for me to keep the bra on?” he shrugged. “Whatever you feel comfortable with.” You hummed, his eyes widened as you reached behind, unlatching the hooks, letting your bra fall into your hands, your boobs perky the air from the condo had your nipples pebbling — fuck he was getting hard.

“May I start sir?” He coughed; he loved the way sir just fell from your lips. “Um sure.” He said, you began your job, starting with the kitchen like he told you, he watched from the other room, he gulped watching as you washed the dishes, you weren’t even doing it sexy, he was just being a pervert, wishing the water would spray on you, or a little bit of soap would get caught on your boobs — he felt like a virgin seeing a pair of tits for the first times.

You made your way into the living-room where he was sitting. “You need me to leave.” He still didn’t understand how this worked. “No, the whole point is for you to watch me.” You said, chuckling. “And you clean my house naked?” He said, you nodded. “Topless, not naked.” You corrected, he nodded. “Right topless, and you get paid a lot for it – i’m sorry i don’t mean to pry.”

“It depends – if you have a lot of clients, you get paid a lot of money, and your tips, if you’re asking if I get paid a lot personally.” You reached up dusting his fireplace, giving him a peak of your ass, he palmed himself, stopping when you turned around. “I am able to live way more comfortably than someone my age normally does sir.”

He was gonna burst if you kept calling him that. “A-and how old are you?” You smiled, you could tell you were effecting him. “I’m 23 sir.” You bent down, you heard him sigh.

“What about you sir, how old are you?” He coughed again. “Me? Oh, i’m 26.” He wasn’t that older than you, you hummed. “And what do you do?”

The sudden turn of questions stumped him, especially since it was hard not to stare at your boobs. “I-i’m the CEO of sm tech company.” So, he was a huge deal, that explained the nice house.”

You nodded, getting back to work. “That’s so cool, i’ve never worked with a CEO before.” He smiled, you were cute, had this freshness to you, it was quite the scene change from all the corporate girls he met. “I guess.” He spoke.

You eventually moved to the other rooms, cleaning and tidying up everything until you were done. “You did such a good job.” You smiled. “You did better than any maid i’ve had come here.” He spoke. “Are you saying that because i’m topless?” You were a tease. “Well, i’m mean that is a plus, but you’re also a good cleaner.” He spoke. “Good job.”

Fuck he was really turning you on, your tried to ignore the feeling in between your legs, trying to remain professional like normal, but you were only human, and you could literally see his thick cock stiff in his sweats, begging to fill your mouth. “How much do I owe you?” He asked. “Oh no, I was paid already.” He nodded. “Well then a tip.”

He reached for his wallet, pulling out 5 hundred dollar bills. “Here.” He handed it to you. “This is such a generous amount.” You said. “Well I said you did a good job.” He smiled. “Take it.” He said, pulling at your waist band, putting it inside snapping it, normally that was a breech of contract, and you should’ve called him out for it, but he was fucking hot, and you were horny, you couldn’t help but whimper.

“You liked that princess?” He smirked as you nodded. “Y-yes sir.” He could feel a groan bubbling in his throat. “Fuck princess, you keep calling me sir, it’s getting really hard for me.” He spoke, his voice low. “I’m sorry sir.” You smiled. “Oh, you’re a tease, princess I could do so many things to you.”

Fuck you wanted to drop to your knees so fast. “Sir you know there’s no touching in these services.” You teased. “Yeah, but I don’t see you stopping me, you must want me to touch you.” His hands crept up your waist, you sighed. “See princess, you want this just as much as I do.” He pulled your body flush against his, pulling you into a deep kiss, pulling away. “Fu-fuck my cock is so fucking hard right now.”

You guided him to the couch, pushing him down. “Let me help you.” You sunk to your knees, right in front of his cock, biting your lip, looking up at him. “It’s your birthday after all.” He nodded, you grabbed his waistband, he lifted his hips up allowing you to pull his sweats down to his ankles.

You freed his cock from his underwear, his thick cock springing up, hitting his abdomen. “You’re so big.” You grabbed the base, kissing his tip, he hissed. “So heavy.” He groaned as you sucked on his tip. “Fuck princess, take it into your mouth.”

You engulfed his cock, he moaned out, throwing his head back against the couch. It had been a while since he’d been giving a blowjob, and the the way you were sucking him, hollowing your cheeks, deepthroating him like your life depended on it — he was gonna blow his load.

You worked your magic on his, looking at him through your lashes. “Sh-shit princess of you keep sucking me like that, i’m gonna cum in your mouth.” You released his cock with a pop, stroking it. “That’s what I want.” You kept stroke. “Cum in my mouth sir.”

You took him back into your mouth, deepthroating him. “Fu-fuck, fuck.” He moaned. “Im gonna cum, gonna fucking cum down your throat, ngh fuck!” you felt his cum hit the back of your throat. “That’s it, take my cum down that pretty throat.”

You took him out your mouth, giving his tip a few kisses. “You taste so good.” He groaned; your panties were soaked through, desperate to feel his cock in your cunt.

“Wanna ride your cock.” You climbed into his lap, your pantie clad cunt, sitting directly on his cock. “Fu-fuck, gonna take my cock?” He brought his hand down to your ass, slapping it. “Fuck yes.” You moaned. “Wanna ride it so bad.”

“Fuck.” You were killing him, all he wanted for his birthday was to have a peaceful night in and a clean house — now he has all that and a pretty girl ready to ride his cock.

“Take your panties off, leave those pretty thigh garners on.” You stood up, pulling your panties down your legs, giving him a nice look at your ass. “Fuck, sit down.” You straddled his lap, hovering over his cock. “Mmh, fuck!” you moaned, sitting down on his cock. “Your cock is so big.”

You bounced up and down, his cock stretching you out. “Fuck princess, keep bouncing, fucking taking my dick like a good girl.” He moaned, you grabbed his shoulders to steady yourself, “S-sir.” You moaned, he slapped your ass. “Fu-fuck!” You screamed. “That sir word is gonna get you fucked dumb baby.” He growled. “I want it.”

He planted his feet, fucking up into your, your moans became high pitched, chenle’s neighbors probably heard you, but you didn’t care, not when you were about to reach your high. “S-sir.” You spoke. “Sir i’m gonna cum.” He grunted, grabbing your boobs. “Fuck me too, cum for me princess, cum all over my cock, so I can cum all over those perfect tits.”You screamed, thighs shaking as you coated his cock in your cum. “That’s it -fuck- cum all over my dick.”

“Fuck.” He cursed, he was about to cum, he could feel it. “Fuck get back on your knees, i’m about to blow my load.” You got up, sinking back down on your knees. “Stroke it for me.”

You took his cock into your hand, stroking it, he moaned out. “Fuck!” he groaned. “Fuck I’m cumming, I’m gonna cum.” He moaned, cum spurting from his cock, landing on your boobs and on your lower chin. “Sh-shit.” He breathed, watching his cum drip down your chest, coating your nipples. “So pretty.”

He scooped up some of his cum from your nipples, pressing it on your lips — you took his fingers into your mouth. “Fuck good girl.” You sucked his fingers cleaned.

You chuckled taking in everything that just happened. “I’ve never did that with a client before.” You said, chenle chuckled. “Guess i’m special.” You excused yourself to use his bathroom to clean up, putting your panties back on, and your bra, ready to leave. “Here.” He gave you an extra 200 dollars. “Think of it as a birthday present.” You said.

He nodded, “well then hand me your phone number, so can schedule another appointment.” You smiled, “You’re supposed to book me on the sight.” He rolled his eyes. “Stop being such a tease, i’ll book you on the stupid site, but your number is if I want a personal type of service.” Your smirked, writing down your number. “Here.”

You put your jacket back on, grabbing your cleaning supplies, he walked you to the door. “Happy birthday sir.” You said kissing his cheek, before walking away down the hall. “Shit.” He closed the door, sitting back down on the couch.

His phone rang, he answered it, jaemins voice rang through the phone. “So, did you enjoy it?” he rolled his eyes. “Next time, give me a heads up.” he said. “Did you like it?” He bit his lip. “I should fire you.” The boy laughed. “I see you had a good time; I hear the happiness in your voice, I won’t ask questions.” jaemin teased.

“I know you’ll be booking again though.”

©️LUVYENI

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luveline · 7 months

Note

Hey gorgeous! I think I saw somewhere that you’d be open to taking a shot at Steddie x reader and I have this fall idea that’s been stuck in my head :) all 3 are together getting ready for a Halloween party but Eddie and reader argue about how to do Steve’s makeup and everyone gets totally distracted ❤️

ty for your request! steddie x fem, 1k

"Yes," you say, more to yourself than Steve as you close his bedroom door. "Quick, babe, while he's gone."

Steve sits back in his bed unbothered. "You know I'm not gonna kiss you while he's gone. He gets antsy."

"Not kissing. I'm gonna do your vampire makeup, duh."

"That's an even worse idea," Steve says, though his protests die as you climb onto the bed and over his legs. "We'll get in trouble."

"Eddie wants to make you look goth. I want to make you look like a vampire, not like someone from KISS." Truthfully, you're not trying to do Steve's makeup because you think you know better —you want to do it because Eddie will get fake mad with you and maybe throw you around a little bit. Teasing him is your favourite girlfriend's duty. "Am I too heavy?"

"Shut up."

You bring your hand to his bare face, stroking his cheek with the back of your hand. "So loving. Did you put moisturiser on?"

Steve saves you from having to stand up again, having moisturised well. If you needed to you couldn't anyhow, his hands on your hips and locked like he's worried you're gonna topple off of him and fall the three feet to the floor, injuring yourself grievously.

You start with white powder over his face, darkening the hollows of his eyes and cheeks with a dark purple colour for fun. He sits patiently, letting you turn his face this way and that.

"You want lipstick?" you ask, holding his jaw in one hand, a whisper so as not to disrupt the quiet that's fallen.

"How about you put some on?" he asks. "That way I'll get some eventually."

The image of you trading kisses for lipstick is inescapable. You want desperately to dig your face into his neck and kiss him, but the white make up transfers. "You owe me one for that."

"Liked that, huh?" he asks lightly.

"Liking it less." You sit back on his thighs and look him over. "I'm no good at mascara on other people, Eddie'll have to do it."

"Eddie won't be able to do it," Steve says, and there would be pink to his cheeks if he wasn't covered, "you know what he's like, he can't not kiss you if he's close enough."

You have a hickey on the side of your neck to prove it, skin purpled and yellowed from nights of being the little spoon. He doesn't mean to go so far, but it's hardly like you mind. As long as he doesn't go too high to be covered by your collar, he can kiss you whatever way he likes.

Speaking of, your dark-haired boyfriend finally reappears, shirtless and yawning, three coat hangers in his hand that hold your clothes freshly steamed for tonight's party. "Hey," he says, looking down, his back arched backward as he shakes out your dress. He doesn't have a clue how good looking he is or how warm his bad posture makes you feel, how it emphasises the slightest muscle of his abdomen and the slimmer outline of his waist. "Y/N, I don't think the creases are ever gonna come out of your dress."

"That's fine. You're just gonna douse me in syrup anyways."

Eddie looks up smiling but his eyes quickly narrow, tossing your clothes over the dresser with a betrayed squeak. "You fucking sneak! I should've known you were gonna do it while I was gone. Babe, go wipe that shit off so I can do it again."

"I can't do that," Steve says.

"Why not?"

"Uh, because that's, like, a cardinal rule? Happy wife, happy life."

"What's the rule about heartbroken boyfriends?" Eddie asks. He's talking and looking at Steve but he's approaching you, grabbing your hands in an attempt to steamroll you back into the bedsheets.

You laugh, putting up a good fight for a time, but your laughter has you weak and it's not long before Eddie's pushed you down onto Steve's bed, a knee between your thighs as he clamps your arms flat on either side of you.

"You'd look so fucking sick in the Star Child makeup, please let me do it."

"How about you guys go half and half?" Steve asks.

Eddie turns his gaze to you, glaring, a loving quirk to his lip as he bends over you. "You're such a fucking sneak. I swear, you do it to piss me off."

"That's exactly why I do it," you say, squirming in his tight grip. He squeezes you as if to show that he's stronger than he looks, getting closer and closer as your defences wane. "You're an easy target, how is that my fault?"

"I'm an easy target? Which one of us is pinned down right now, sweetheart?"

"Guys," Steve says, defeated through laughter, "you always do this! You fight and make up and someone decides to take my clothes off and we never get anywhere!"

"Who said we're taking your clothes off, Stevie?" Eddie asks.

"He's so presumptuous," you murmur agreeably.

"Right?" Eddie nips down to kiss you, his smile a tight line pressed to the seam of yours. You kiss up and he relaxes ever so slightly, his hands loosening at your wrists to take your hands and hold them instead.

"Forgive me?" you ask into his mouth.

Eddie kisses a sharp stripe from the corner of your lips to your eye. "Nope." He punctuates with one last kiss before sitting up, and again, he can't know that the pose he's in could sell magazines, head tipped back and your joined hands held to his naked stomach. You sit up to be as close to him as possible. "I accept your half and half deal. You'll look like an idiot."

You offer a hand to Steve and he accepts it. Eddie looks at him like he might try to eat him, but there's a real, soft love in his eyes as you both look up into Steve's pale face.

"She didn't do your eyes, huh?" Eddie asks fondly.

"You'll do it for me, right? I can't do that shit, the wand. I'll blind myself."

"Obviously I'll do it for you. Imagine the tension."

You giggle happily and drop back down, yanking on their hands as you go. "Well, don't be too tense. You guys still have to pour that jug of fake blood on me."

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loveephia · 1 year

Note

Hii it’s me again!! I was just wondering if I could ask for some Haikyuu boys Hc’s for a really sleepy and cuddly gf?? Thank you so much!! 😊🫶🏽

some of the HQ boys with a sleepy girlfriend. (atsumu, bokuto, akaashi, kageyama, and iwaizumi.)

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, osamu is featured in atsumu's, bokuto thinks you're like a kitten.

⚠ warning/s: none.

note: I AM SO TERRIBLY SORRY AS TO HOW LATE THIS IS!!! 😭😭 MOTIVATION COMES AND GOES FOR CERTAIN REQUESTS I GET AND I'M SO HAPPY THAT I FINALLY CAME AROUND TO DO YOURS BECAUSE IT'S SUPER CUTE!!! ENJOY READINGGG :DDD

part 1 | part 2 coming soon!

ATSUMU MIYA

absolutely discombobulates once he learns about this

you're already cute enough as it is, why do you have to be even cuter when you're sleepy???

when you hug his arm in your drowsy state, atsumu doesn't even have half the heart to tease you right now

you're just so :((( tired :(((

"she looks like an angel when she's asleep.. s'unfair."

"when yer asleep, you snore like a tyrant. guess sunarin was right when he said opposites attract." - osamu miya's famous last words of 2023.

BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

the way that you slowly blink is enough to tell bokuto that you resemble a bit like a little kitten

"y/n is so cUTEKEKDKWKDKLEM?@($?@"

is what he wants to say,,

but since you're worn out, he's going to pipe down the loudness a bit

"hey, little owl. want to rest on me for a bit?"

you nod and make a beeline for bokuto's chest and arms

he's like your warm fluffy pillow 😭😭😭😭

KEIJI AKAASHI

"keiji, hug, please.." you dopily ask

and because of how adorable you are, trying to keep yourself awake right now, akaashi would drop anything and everything to give you that very hug.

akaashi finds it endearing how you trust him enough to be this vulnerable

so he is not making a single sound.

eating snacks? the crinkle of the wrapper might be too loud.

studying? flipping through the pages of the textbook might be too loud.

and bokuto? is staying ten feet away.

he doesn't want ANYTHING to disrupt your sleep.

"y/n has been working hard. she deserves to rest every once in a while.." he thinks

TOBIO KAGEYAMA

once you're asleep on him, he's as stiff as a board.

bro's not letting himself breathe if that means you can peacefully sleep on his shoulder.

sugawara sees this and teaches kageyama basic breathing exercises bECAUSE HE IS LITERALLY TURNING PURPLE.

kageyama feels you shift against him, and suddenly, he's forgotten everything sugawara taught him.

"how many fingers am i holding, kageyama?" sugaware holds up four.

"ten."

"we've lost him!"

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

the superiority of being a third year has never been more useful than it has right now

you're asleep on his lap, and he's quietly scolding his teammates to pipe down the bickering

and they listen to the ace because once you're awake, he might send a heavy hit to their heads.

oikawa, on the other hand, takes advantage of the current situation, and he teases iwaizumi about how protective he is

"hey maddog, get a good hit on oikawa's head, would ya?"

and, of course, kyōtani obeys

so now oikawa is knocked out on the floor while you're still cuddled up to iwaizumi's thighs

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sunandsstars · 1 year

Text

YAWNETU

CHAPTER 1

Jake x Neytiri x Na’vi!Reader

Summary: One other mate was enough, but two? Unneeded. ___ was the outcast, the unwanted woman. Jake and Neytiri wouldn’t ever see her..right?

Warnings: Talks of war, Briefly mentions death/Bodily harm, Angst, Swearing, Non-con Word count: 2.4k

A/N: Here it is people, the angst series :( Prepare yourselves

Taglist: @itsyoboysparkel @dumb-fawkin-bitch @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fanboyluvr

Having one mate was enough for a Na’vi, they did not need another to deal with or weigh them down. It was a huge commitment and for most, a waste of time. More than one significant other was a rare case these days anyway, usually only reserved for Na’vi of a higher ranking, like an Olo’eyktan or Tsahìk.

Jake didn’t know that the Na’vi can bond with more than one at a time until Grace brought it to his attention one day, “Na’vi will mate with only one other person for their whole life, unless duty brings them to marry another” she stated, smoking a cigarette haphazardly in the lab room, eyeing the man who sat uninterested in his wheelchair.

Mating. Jake thought it sounded primal, animalistic, something the creatures back on Earth used to do just to get a quick fuck. But when Neytiri brought it up and he finally experienced it himself, it could only be described as sublime. He’s never felt such feelings, emotions. You share them with your partner in such a deep level it left him feeling breathless.

Following their mating the skypeople attacked and cut down the Tree of Voices, severing one of their main connections to their ancestors. That’s when he realised it was time for war. Several clans joined the mighty Toruk Makto to fight for Pandora, when he called they answered. But the battle was bloody, long and gruelling, they all lost brothers and sisters that day. But at least now they will find peace in Eywa’s warm embrace.

The Great Sorrow then became something of the past and the Omaticaya were relocated to an area by Hellsgate, the humans and Na’vi finally living in harmony but not peace, a lot preferring to still shun the aliens away from their home.

But the forest provided tall trees to cover them from predators and plenty of abundance, humans will also be with their technology inside an environment they can thrive in, so each side wins. Jake had finally been anointed as Olo’eyktan with Neytiri being his tsakarem, the couple couldn’t be more happier with the way things have become, fully believing the skypeople will not return.

But happiness must soon come to an end.

“Ma sa’nok! Why?! Why must we be mated to her?! She is useless!” Neytiri yelled angrily at her mother, the Tsahìk, she has just been told her mother has been seeing visions in her sleep and suspected Eywa was trying to tell her something. This ‘something’ was about her child’s third mate, which she did not anticipate.

“All of our roles play an important part here daughter” Mo’at glared, has she taught her child no less? “your new wife will be a good edition to your family and therefore the clan. It must be done, Eywa has spoken”

Neytiri did not understand, her and Jake were happy together. Alone. They did not need another person to ruin the balance of their life. She turned around sharply to her husband who was sat on the ground by the tree of souls, urging him to make an opinion on the matter with a glare. Jake coughed.

“I agree Mo’at. We are fine together just as it is”

“This is not your decision to make Jake Sully. The great mother will not be happy, she has done this for a reason and we must trust her judgement. She has shown me what will happen if this does not happen, you and your family will fall under a great despair, it will disrupt all we have made” Jake’s ears perked up, alarmed, ‘what does she mean a great despair’. As his thoughts started to turmoil Neytiri continued to talk to her mother, coming to an understanding that it was the way of life. She cannot disregard Eywa’s wishes.

With a huff she walked towards Jake and pulled him up by the arm with no effort, eyes a glare and ears pinned to her head. She walked away and towards her new ikran, ready to get back to camp. “So.. do you know who we’re supposed to mate?”

“Srane”

“Are you gonna tell me?” They flew into the air, Bob screeching as they went above the trees, staying low to the forest. Neytiri didn’t answer his question and stayed silent, shit. He was just a man, a man who knows when NOT to anger a woman, especially one like her. He decided to not take it any further.

Arriving back to Hellsgate they dismounted and landed onto the floor, Jake greeting the humans who passed by them, taking samples from the nature. Neytiri walked up to where the food was being prepared, a group of woman sat by some small children who they looked after while parents were away doing chores. She grabbed one of ladies by the arm and dragged her towards Jake who only stared in confusion. Soon morphing into realisation.

“Introduce yourself” The warrior exclaimed harshly. Knowing that Mo’at has already told her of the plans, she knew going to her daughter first would cause another war and the elder planned to avoid it. So telling the new mate first was the best option for everyone.

“___ te Syakx Hìfey’ite” the woman’s ears lowered to her head and she faced the ground. The pain in her arm where Neytiri gripped was hard, sure to bruise. “I am a gatherer, a healer. I do not hunt like you or -“ Neytiri squeezed her arm to silence her, having enough of her talking.

They were close in age, both eighteen years old and fully grown adults. They both attended Grace’s school together growing up, they were close. ___ was closer with Neytiri’s sister though, Sylwanin. When she died, the younger sister blamed everything on the other girl. Cursing her out and they never talked again until now.

___ was nervous, she knew she had to mate with them, both of them. She knew that the other woman was angry at her still, even after two years. She could not blame her for the grief of her sibling. But over something she did not do? She was not at fault here.

“Nice to meet you” Jake said curtly, not really wanting to talk any further. He did not like the idea of a second mate either, even on Earth it was extremely taboo so he felt awkward on the matter. Neytiri let go of her arm and dragged Jake off, presumably to talk about anything but the ceremony that is supposed to be held later today. Announcing the decisions their Tsahìk has made to the clan, surely they would all be most pleased. ___ could not say the same towards the couple who walked off.

One part of her thought that they just wanted to be alone for a while, being more recently mated and being thrown into another relationship was confusing and disrupting, she understood that. But the more rational part knew that while Neytiri continued to dislike her, she knew their life together would be filled with nothing but pain and suffering. But she would put on a brave face. For her own sake and the clans. Eywa has spoken.

But is what Eywa saying right?

She was correct, the clan was most happy. Despite some whisperings here and there, they would have to agree that they would all make a good trio. ___ was a good healer, she was gifted with her skills. She was also good to the elderly and children, always happy with a smile on her face. Neytiri was a good huntress and a Tsahìk in training, her battle abilities are most adored on. Jake, he was their Toruk Makto, Rider of Last Shadow. He was well respected in that alone.

But while the Omaticaya was happy, she was not. Sat next to Jake on his left she was left to eat in silence as him and Neytiri conversed without her. Not even looking in her direction once. She figured that they would not talk to her all through the night and decided to make peace with herself.

A little girl tapped her shoulder and ___ turned around to face one of the children she often looked after, Sray. “You are going to be mated to them?” she looked at her Olo’eyktan and his wife, yellow eyes wide.

___ nodded and forced a smile on her face “Yes, Sray. I will be” she stated softly, not comfortable with saying the revelation out loud.

Suddenly Sray sniffed, doe eyes watering “does that mean you will not have time for us anymore? Please sa’nu! I do not want you to leave!” the sweet girl jumped in the adults arms and clung to her chest, fearing that if she let go, ___ will disappear.

“Ma ‘evi, I will always have time for you and everyone else, just because I will be mated, does not mean I will not see you ever again” ___ kissed Sray’s head, wiping her little tears and grinning. Bringing comfort to the girl, Sray smiled back, still sniffling.

“LeNa’vi! Fìtxon awnga fpe’ pxefo mìso!” the people cheered, raising their drinks and whooping. The three will be mated under the tree of souls, to legitimise the union.

Jake and Neytiri looked at each other, worry in the man’s and anger in the woman’s. They did not want to do anything with her, but would have to make it look like they had, they were not stupid. If they did not do this then the people will become angry, it would be a disgrace. Only the great mother shall know.

Standing up, Jake held his large hand out to his wife who took it. Letting go and walking towards the direction of the tree, they would not take the ikran, but rather run through the night. Jake then turned to look at ___ who still sat with Sray in her warm arms, he nodded his head to the direction Neytiri went and followed her.

A little hurt that he did not offer his hand to her, ___ kissed Sray’s forehead and stood up, walking after them. As they got deeper into the forest they began to run, ___ tried her best to catch up but the two were hunters, they were more used to navigating the thickness of the fauna better than her.

“W-Wait!” she called in English, but the two ignored her and ran further ahead of her. ___’s ears slicked back and she huffed to herself, heart beating erratically with annoyance.

At some point the jungle got too thick for her to get through and she paused, the two she was following nowhere in sight. She twisted around, straining her ears to hear any calls or footsteps to help guide her. But to no avail, she lost them. Meaning she herself did not know where she was, this part of the forest was so much further out from the old hometree, a part she has not navigated before.

Her breathing started to speed up, panicking. Did they leave her? Alone? Here? She knew they did not like her, but this was too much. It was past eclipse and night, anything could come to kill her.

A rough hand grabbed her arm, the same one Neytiri held earlier that day and turned her around. An angry Jake stood there with brows furrowed, fangs bared. “Why did you stop?” he growled, ears slicked back “you were supposed to follow, not stop and sightsee like a lunatic!”

She did not know what that word meant, but by his tone it was something mean. Her own ears pressed against her head and her tail tucked between her legs, she yelped as she was harshly dragged through the forest, Jake never letting go of her arm even as they got to the tree of souls.

He let go and stood next to Neytiri who had her queue attacked to one of the hanging branches, tendrils letting go and she broke the bond. Turning to see ___ with a hand on her arm, the bruises were darker than before, the sting aching the area and making her hesitant to move it.

The warrior glared at her and snarled “you will have a baby put in you, as it is the way. But we are not bonding. Never. You will deal with that shame” she barked in Jake’s native tongue, her words were harsh and the prospect of not bonding with the only people she could was demeaning, it brought water to her yellow eyes. This was low, a baby without a bond was seen as disgrace. She would bring great shame to Na’vi.

“Neytiri-“

“Kem si ke plltxe kurkung!” ___ closed her mouth, she did not want to anger Neytiri further than she has. Jake, who stood watching the ordeal, strolled towards ___ and pushed her down onto the ground, pulling her loincloth to the side and doing the same to his.

“Pey! Oe kawkrr-“ her words were again cut off as pain filled her lower abdomen, he entered her. It was her first time and he just did it so fast without considering her feelings. Tears streamed down her soft cheeks, pained noises leaving her mouth as Jake started to move. He manhandled her onto her stomach, pressing his hand to her lower back above her tail bone, if the pain at her core wasn’t enough then the sensitive space on her back was.

Neytiri simply watched as her glare burned holes into the girl beneath her, the person that ruined her life. That took her sister away from her, took everything. She was not going to welcome this destroyer into her family, never. She’ll make sure ___ and her children will be shamed, if not by the people then by her own kids and husband.

___ felt something warm release inside of her, oozing out of her hole. She felt Jake lift off of her and heard him step towards his mate, both of them softly talking to one another while ___ was left to curl up, sobbing quietly. The man that was supposed to care for her, supposed to love her, took her dignity and now her first child.

Her heart squeezed in her chest as she could only imagine the future to come.

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#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ yawnetu #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #x reader #atwow #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #na’vi #angst #series #jake sully #neytiri #poly #unwanted marriage

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hallow-witxh · 9 months

Text

Beginner Witch Tips - Kitchen Witch Edition

The oven can be your hearth. If a spell or ritual requires a hearth, your stove is just that. That being said, do not set anything on fire in your oven. Bad! No!

You don't need separate kitchen and altar herbs, although it is handy.

Some crystals can be used in kitchen magic, but I don't recommend putting them in or on anything other than a crystal on top of firm dough as it rests/rises. Secure crystals onto mixing equipment or spoons, or forgo using them at all.

Listen to witchy music as you cook or bake. I promise atmosphere is almost everything! It helps me focus. I recommend Peter Gundry.

While pets are cute and certainly carry spiritual energy with them, try to keep them out of the kitchen while you cook, especially if you have a certain intention you're trying to carry into your food. Their presence can distract you, throw off the energy you have accumulated, or otherwise disrupt the process. Once you're more confident with your kitchen witchery, their presence won't be such a big deal.

Take your time. It's okay. Sometimes it takes a while to truly clock into your spiritual energy while you're actively moving about and busy working, especially if you're used to practicing while sitting or standing in one spot. Remember - energy flows with you, not just around you.

Start small. Start with something simple like pancakes. For example: add a dash of vanilla to your pre-made batter mix to invoke self-love.

Write down things as you continue to work. Document what you're comfortable with, what you feel like you're good at, your project, and everything you feel you might want to. As you continue to work on that journal, you can go back and see how you've progressed!

Happy baking! Remember, your mood affects your project; negative emotions = negative influence.

As always, blessed be <3

Support your local witch on Ko-Fi!

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strawberryforks · 3 months

Text

blue walls, blue eyes, and the blue blanket // cole walter x reader

summary: you don’t have a good home life and end up unofficially moving in with the walter boys.

warnings: physical & verbal abuse, underage drinking, counsellors depicted in a negative light, swearing, canon divergence–jackie’s family never passes away, so while katherine and her mother are still good friends, they’ve not met/moved in with the walters.

word count: 5957

there’s a ding, and the principal is speaking over the pa. everyone stops what they’re doing so nothing is missed. after all, this doesn’t happen often.

the teacher freezes, dry erase marker still pressed firmly against the board, the end squishing and ink bleeding atop the letter he was writing and danny, who’s sitting beside you, gives you a look. you know its meaning, recognize the weight behind it, and know this routine. you stand up quickly. the backs of your knees slam into the hard plastic you had been sitting on and the chair goes skittering back, bumping into the pair of desks behind you.

you’re too tired to send that apologetic smile to anyone else. fortunately danny isn’t. making sure you aren’t alone, aren’t the only one being disruptive and making noise in an otherwise silent classroom, he braces a hand on the back of his chair, twisting around, to face your wide-eyed classmates. “sorry about that,” he whispers.

your movements are all harsh. they’re fast and full of annoyance, as you swipe your textbook, pencil kit, and water bottle off your desk and into your awaiting tote bag.

standing up, you make your way to the door. the teacher stares daggers at you the entire way. They go to grab your arm and you flinch away. “don’t touch me,” you grit, hands gripping around the doorknob so tightly it hurts. air is hitting your face, propelled towards you by the door you shoved open, when you hear your dismissal “please send y/n l/n to guidance,” spoken over the announcements. your teacher follows you out into the hallway, shouting instructions that you reluctantly follow, after you.

you count the tiles on your way. nearly running into the blue door, you end at fifty six.

ms jacobs, tara, as she’ll insist you call her, is a nice enough lady. she has curly brown hair, brown eyes, and perfectly painted on lipstick. she looks disarming, as a counsellor with the numbers of everyone that could ruin your life on speed dial, you suppose she has to. still, this isn’t new. she leads you further into the room and gestures to a chair “take a seat.”

when you don't, her smile becomes more strained. “please, y/n. this doesn’t need to be difficult, we just need to have a chat.”

you sigh, shoulders sagging as you plop down into the hundredth blue thing in this office. doors, trim, there’s a ridiculous amount of the colour and you don’t like it. blue, represents sadness. it’s something you’ve had enough of. sure, there’s other colours. posters upon posters–some neon, and green leaves stuck onto a large potted plant. there’s other colours just like there’s other feelings, but the one you’re stuck on, the one you can’t get over is sadness; it's blue.

“i hate the colour blue, Ms. Jacobs.” You tell her.

“why?” she asks, interested in you opening up further. you don’t.

“are you going to give me the run-down? tell me what i can and can’t say?”

her brows furrow. “do i need to? i called you here to talk about your grades but if there’s something else going on–”

“there isn’t ms jacobs. i do appreciate the concern, though. about my grades. they’re passing, i don’t see the problem.” you didn’t have a single grade above fifty five. it was hard to, when all of your teachers assigned heaps and heaps of homework and you would rather take a deep-dive into hellfire, brimstone, and lakes of lava, then return to the place you were expected to complete it at.

“call me tara.” you don’t.

“ms jacobs, if it would make you happy, i’ll try harder.”

“it would, y/n. thank you.”

you gather your things and stand. a glance at your phone lets you know your second class is over, so you plan to head to the cafeteria. “and y/n, just know that whatever you say to me is confidential.” Unless you are or are planning to hurt yourself, someone else, or if someone is hurting you.

“bye ms jacobs.”

walking into the cafeteria was masochistic in a way, when they were serving your favourite food, and you had no lunch or money to buy any with. still, in your hurried text chain with danny, this is where you had decided to meet. If you had to sit with the theatre kids to score some time with your friend, you would, although it would be better if you could grab him and go somewhere that didn’t make your mouth water and stomach ache.

walking over to his table, you noticed alex was there too. Just chatting with his brother. You and alex weren’t the best friends, but he was nice enough, and like issac, lee, nathan, and cole, you had his number written down in your notepad under the ‘just in case’ column. you didn’t mind alex, he was polite and much like his brother, danny, never made you feel less than. alex was always armed with a smile.

“danny!” you called, announcing your presence so you wouldn’t scare anyone. you smiled at Alex who as expected, mirrored your expression. “nice to see you. mind if I cut in and steal your brother?”

alex nods, “be my guest. i’ll see you at the end of the day danny!”

he leaves and then you’re pulling danny up and along with you. he barely has time to grab his lunchbox before the two of you are leaving the cafeteria and heading outside. you slump down against the brick wall and danny takes a seat across from you. cross-legged, he pulls out two sandwiches and hands one to you. you eyes widen.

“i’m pretty observant,” he supplies, shrugging.

“thank you, d” you eat the sandwich, and it’s a good one. “do you have plans after school?” ‘please don’t be busy, please don’t be busy, please don’t be busy’ you repeat in your head over and over again. it’s a mantra, you’re manifesting. hoping, hoping, hoping.

“y/n/n, i’m sorry, i actually do. erin tried out for the school’s production and she wants help going over her lines–i would invite you to tag along but…”

“no, no!” yoy laugh. manifesting doesn’t work, mantras are pointless, and shit, what are you supposed to do about tonight? “no, danny. don’t worry about it. i know you like erin and this is the perfect opportunity! if she’s asking for help with lines–i mean you’re awesome–but let’s be real, you can go over lines with anyone. so, if she’s asking you specifically for help, that's such a good–a really good sign!”

you two talk for a while longer but it’s easy to see your mind is elsewhere.

the bell rings, you head to your last classes, and then home.

you’ve got to go home.

well, to your house. that place, those four walls, they stopped being your home a long time ago. when your dad got drunk and your mom got mean.

cole walter pulls up beside you on your way home. his truck slows down, nearly to a stop, and you keep walking. your headphones are on and you’re pretending you can’t hear him. you can, but, you hope he’ll tire of shouting, slam his food on the gas pedal, and leave you in a cloud of dust. “y/n, hey! l/n, you need a ride or what?”

the truck stops, pulls off the side of the road and then you’re hearing a door slam and cringing, face crinkling as you realise you should’ve just said no. shouted it, even.

cole walter jogs up to you. he knows your house is quite far away. too far away to be walking. he calls to you again but you’re still walking forward. he places his hand on your shoulder. you know he’s there. you know he’s beside him and still you fucking flinch. the second time today and you're feeling pathetic. you shouldn’t be–really shouldn’t be. it’s not your fault that people can’t seem to respect the concept of personal space, not your fault that your trust has been violated, shredded and spat out, so many times that touch makes you jump. makes you want to jump, or crawl, your way out of your own skin. you flip your headphones down, letting them fall around your neck, but turning your music up a few clicks so you can still hear it. music is your vice, but no one’s complaining because it’s better than alcohol or drugs or, i don't know, being an asshole–you do that too. unintentionally sometimes. like now.

“what?” you snap. on the defensive.

cole isn’t surprised by your flinching. You were dead to the world, listening to music so loud he could hear it from where he stood paces away from you. if he were you–if it was your hand that had sat down onto his shoulder and surprised him he probably would have shouted. he caught you off guard, he was sorry. both of his hands stuck up in the air. “that’s my bad. sorry for scaring you.”

“sorry for–” you guess he did scare you. in a way. “it’s fine. what are you doing here?” you take your time looking at cole. his sharp jaw, full lips, his blue eyes. usually you hate that colour, but on him? it’s not so bad.

“offering you a ride. youe place is pretty far from here, yeah?”

“it is but i like walking.”

“walking is fine and all, but it’s getting colder and it gets dark around five now. by the time you make it home it’ll be past that. my truck has heat, comfy seats, and i’ll even let you have aux.”

you’re not a stranger to the effect cole walter has on everyone. not at all. when he smiles at you, you feel your cheeks warm. you’re an idiot for not taking him up on that offer. your feet already ache and your legs burn.

some things hurt more, though.

actions, all of them, have consequences.

“i’m fine, cole. but thank you. you’re sweet.”

he shakes his head. you aren’t walking anymore, instead, stopped on the side of the road just waiting. this conversation, it’s going places. places you don’t like. “i can’t let you walk home alone. not in good conscience.”

he’s jogging back to his truck and pulling up beside you. he’s leaning over the centre console and pushing the door open. leaning over further, and helping you up, not starting to drive again until your seatbelt is buckled. if only that was the least of your worries. if. only.

“so what do you want to play?”

you plug in your phone and queue up your playlist. a sad song blasts and you hit skip very quickly, not missing the questioning look cole sends you. you laugh, “don’t tell me you’ve never listened to sad music while you’re reading.”

“i don’t read much, and most of the music i listen to is because of the lyrics. those ones were… dark.”

choosing to disregard most of his statement, you echoed his words back to him. “you don’t read much?”

“alex reads a lot. you two would get along.”

“shared interests aren’t everything. we don’t have much in common but i enjoy your company and danny and i click and we both hate each other's favourite tv show with a passion.”

“what show is that?” you tell him and he grins. “that’s my favourite too–seriously. we should get together and watch it sometime.”

“i’d love that!” so, shared interests aren’t everything, but they’re certainly something. you smile for a couple more kilometres and then it gets harder. when you see the sign with your civic on it, you know that the ride, no matter how awesome it was, and how much fun you had, wasn’t worth it.

you hop out of the truck–cole offered to walk you to the door but you denied, knowing you were already in for it. “thank you, though.”

He nodded. “i can give you a ride tomorrow, too. anytime you need one, really. just ask–or get danny to. I really don’t mind.” you smile. thank him again and climb out of the truck. you walk confidently until he pulls out of the long driveway and onto the road. then you sigh, and it’s because of cole’s conscience that you get home before it’s dark enough for you to slip in unnoticed.

you pause on the porch. you don’t want to go in, but you don’t have a choice. not really. what are your other options? run off into the woods and let yourself be some colorado woodland creature’s lunch? knowing what’s coming, it doesn’t sound too bad. you open the door and nearly sob when the wind slams it shut behind you.

your heart beats hard in your chest like your father’s boots do on the floor. “where the hell have you been! days, gone for days. you couldn’t call, couldn’t fucking text,” with each word, most of them slurred, he storms closer. it’s not even suppertime and his eyes are glassed over with that familiar film, his breath a pungent reminder, as obvious as the one in his hand, of what he’s been drinking all day. your mother is behind him in the hallway, puffing on a cigarette, uninterested. “there’s no respect! ya here the brat? thinking they run the place. comin’ and goin without a care.”

“i don’t–i know i don’t run the place.”

“damn right you don’t!” the half empty–you’ve never been a glass-half-full type of person, not growing up in this–bottle of beer come flying at the wall. it hits just above your head, the liquid and brown pieces of glass falling all over you.

“look what you made me do now! gone and spilled m’drink.”

you had taken your converse off at the door. always being yelled at for trekking in mud and dirtying the floor, the hurried steps you take backwards, hurt. your dad is wearing work boots, steel toe, but the only thing between you and the broken glass is a thin pair of socks. your skin splits. the light blue fabric on your feet turns dark red.

you whimper and each step hurts more than the last. then you bump into the wall. “dad, please.”

“calling me tha’ like you think it’ll make me forgive you. fuck,” he throws a glance over his shoulder. “how’d we make something so… so pathetic?”

your mom shrugs, like she hasn’t a clue, either.

“dad, please. i’m sorry, okay? i’ll call next time.”

“there won’t be a fucking next time! get your shit and get out. all we do for you, all we do and you’re still impossible. keep you fed, clothed, give you a place to sleep and just get attitude, attitude, and disrespect. i’m done being disrespected. done!”

“you can’t just kick me out! i have nowhere to go.” you yell. you yelled. you yelled. oh god. oh hell. oh shit. you see his leg rear back and you go to jump out of the way. you’ve already been kicked out–you just need to get out, and quickly. you jump over his leg but then his fist is wrapped in your hair and you’re falling. then the boot you dodged is slamming into you side. again, again, again. tears are streaming down your face. you’re sobbing.

then he’s picking you up by your shirt. lifting you, dragging you. he opens the door, grabs your bag, your shoes, and throws them outside. then, then he throws you. you land on the porch, body aching and pressing into the hardwood.

the door slams and you’re still sobbing. you’re pretty sure that your new mantra is ��fuck’. it’s what you repeat over and over again as you drag yourself up and away from the front door. You need to get away, you need to get away. You really need to. creating distance between you and that door, you and those people, is priority.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.”

running isn’t really in the cards for you. you limp away and don’t miss your mother peering out the kitchen window. you guess that from her perspective you do look pathetic. but no more pathetic than your dad, the grown man who had to hurt you to feel powerful and get his point across. your pace is terrible but the darker it gets, the further you get. you’re in the woods now, with no idea where exactly you are and not much supplies. maybe you will end up as woodland creature dinner. there’s not much you can do to help it now. you think about calling someone and then you realise your phone isn’t in your bag. you start to shake. choked laughter bubbles it’s way out of your throat. you’re laughing and then the hysterics shift and you’re sobbing. arms wrapped tightly around yourself you cry for what must be hours.

later, slumped against a tree trunk you decide to tackle your feet. one problem at a time, one shard at a time. you pluck pieces out of your skin and the blood makes you feel nauseous. when the job is done, you slide your socks back on, and walk towards the sound that comforts you most. Rushing water. you find a river, and kneel at its edge. you wash your socks, yourself, and dry on a stone in the sun. you scrub the dirt and grime from your feet. when your socks are mostly dry and the cuts have stopped gushing blood, you put on your shoes and lace them up. then you follow the river. you’ll reach town soon enough. your face isn’t marred, just the rest of you, all hidden beneath layers of clothes–a long sleeve, a flannel, blue jeans.

ideally, you’ll find danny.

you don’t live in an ideal world. the boy you find is not danny but he wants something you can give and has something you need–a place to sleep. you do so without clothes, lying next to him. What you did was in the dark, would stay that way, because before he woke, before you were made to converse with the nameless boy, you dressed and snuck out. the walk of shame was just that, shameful. you felt horrendous. your body still hurt and you found yourself walking into a cafe you knew haley, will’s wife worked at.

asking for handouts made your stomach sour but you couldn’t do much else.

haley was scrubbing down a table when you approached her. “hey, haley.”

“y/n, hey, how’s it going?” then she turned to you and realised, not good. that it was not going good. you shot her a flattened smile. “i really hate to ask. like, i really really do, but i haven’t eaten in a bit and was wondering–”

“yeah, yes. of course. just have a seat, i’ll grab you… do you have any dietary restrictions?” you answer her, and when she comes back, handing you a wrapped meal you thank her profusely. “is there anything you need done around here? i appreciate this so much, but i don’t want to take advantage. i can clean–i’m not a great cook but I can make coffee.”

“you don’t need to do anything. you aren’t taking advantage. not at all. is there anything else i can do for you? anyone i can call? your parents?”

fear fills your eyes and perceptive as ever, she catches it. “not them, please.” is what you whisper. haley nods, disappears behind the counter and makes a phone call. then, she dotes on you for the next ten minutes until wil pulls up outside. he comes in, walks over to your table and sits down across from you.

you’re pretty sure you’ve been caught. the ruse, it’s very much up.

“what’s going on, y/n?”

you shrug and sip at the hot chocolate haley made for you. “well, come on. you don’t have to say anything right now but let’s get you home.” you stand, ready to go anywhere but, and will stops you. “my parent’s home, danny’s. katherine knows you’re coming. come on, kid.”

you follow him to the car. most of the drive is silent, but you thank him when the walter’s house homes into view and katherine is waiting outside on the porch with a smile. up the few stairs, and you head straight for her. you’re grateful for her gentle nature, because as you throw your arms around her and squeeze, she simply rests hers on your back, rubbing soothing circles. “they–they kicked me out.”

she takes a minute to respond, only because she finds this hard to process. you were a good kid, a great one, and she, having so many of her own, couldn’t think of a single thing that would make her abandon or discard one of her own children. “you’ll stay with us then.” it isn’t a question and you’re glad because how would you have answered? your mouth is dry but your eyes aren’t.

you sit in danny’s room. he isn’t home from school yet but he will be soon. katherine and george are upstairs making room for you. you feel like a burden, they assure you that you are not.

you’re waiting for danny, only he isn't who makes it home first. it’s cole. he walks in, tosses his bag down onto the bed, none the wiser that there’s another person in the room. his back faces you and he’s rifling through a drawer when he hears you hiccup. he turns around quickly. Sees you, crying in his brother's bed and immediately his brows are furrowed. “y/n?” he walks closer. the bed is near to the ground so he drops onto his knees. he’s close to you know but he’s made himself less intimidating. “y/n/n? hey.”

“hi Cole.”

“are you okay?”

“i’ve been better.”

cole doesn’t ask, he doesn’t push. instead he opens his laptop, logs into his netflix and puts on the favourite show you both discussed watching together. when the two of you are settled. him on the floor, face resting on the mattress, where you’re curled up in a blanket that belongs to his brother, he breaks the silence. “do you want me to get danny?”

“where is he?”

“he’s with erin at the school. i think they’re going over details for the production. but i can go get him if you need him. do you need him?”

you shake your head. as danny’s best friend you were the biggest ‘derin’ shipper there was. plus, cole was here. he made things okay. “no, no thanks. i don’t really want you to go anywhere if that’s okay?”

“that’s more than okay, but i will say, my bed is comfier.”

you smile for the first time in a bit, looking at the uncomfortable position he has himself in. “yeah? well, we should definitely watch this, over there then.”

“my thoughts exactly.” cole grabs the laptop, grabs you, still wrapped in the blanket he tells himself he’ll replace from the linen closet, and carries both over to his bed. you squeal a bit and bite back a real whimper when his hand touches what you know has to be a massive bruise, sitting you down.

you fall asleep, leaning against him. he pauses the show, closes his laptop, and promises to resume it when you’re awake to watch it with him. then he sends a threatening text to his brother, danny.

COLE: Y/n/n has had a rough day and is sleeping in our room

COLE: Wake her up and you’ll get hit

DANNY: is she okay??? ALSO since when do you call her y/n/n???

COLE: I’ll see you later

COLE: Tell Erin hi for me

DANNY: fuck off

george and katherine didn’t receive that same threatening text but when they peeked into the room to check on you and found you cuddled up against cole, snoring lightly, and looking peaceful they left you be. your room was ready and in the morning you moved into it. your clothes were dirty and katherine washed them for you but in the meantime… well it was her dresses or… or what you went with.

you knocked your fist against the door and cole opened it, shirtless.

“hey cole,” look at his face. just his face. only his face.

“hey y/n. What can i help you with?”

your hand flew to the back of your neck which you rubbed awkwardly. “can i, uh… would you mind if I borrowed a pair of jeans and a belt?” cole chuckled, then realised you were completely serious. then he gave you the jeans. then the belt. “need a shirt too?”

you laughed, cheeks stained pink. “i wouldn’t mind…”

he handed you the plain black one in his hand. “riding with me to school?”

“if i’ve got shotgun.”

“‘course.” he said, grinning.

you headed upstairs and got changed. the pants were big but with the belt, and them cuffed they fit alright. then, came the shirt. it fell mid thigh but once you tucked it in a bit it didn’t look too terrible. you brushed your hair, your teeth, and headed downstairs. george looked at you with wide eyes and you shrugged, “i don’t really like dresses?”

katherine sighed. “we’ll get you some clothes after school.”

“from the thrift store!” you amended.

she rolled her eyes but agreed anyway. then, you were sitting beside cole on the way to school, during the one class you shared, and at lunchtime. you weren’t ditching danny, just his time was split between you and erin now. they started dating. they were sweet, good for and to, each other.

you’d only been living with the walters for two days, but everything was great. until cole invited you to the lake house. two coolers had you feeling buzzed and when it was your first turn, playing ‘truth or dare’, you picked truth and ended up faced with a question you didn’t want to answer. so you turned, and pressed your lips to cole’s. his lips parted in surprise, but then he kissed you back, tongue slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss. his hands flew to cup your face, your eyes were shut, and you were feeling things. until someone whistled and another yelled: “get a room!”

next round, you were three coolers in and ballsy enough to pick dare. “i dare you to jump into the lake!”

you rolled your eyes. like that was difficult. sure, it was a bit chilly, but you’d been in the river days ago. rushing water compared to water the sun had beat down on all day was nothing. you grinned, and ran to the edge of the dock, canon-balling and sending water flying everywhere. when you surfaced you saw the asshole who wore cole’s jersey shaking water out of his hair like a dog. you grinned, and started to swim back over when you saw something that caused you to sober up quickly. the foundation and powder you had painted on top of the hand shaped bruise on your arm had worn off. gone. It was gone and fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck.

when you didn’t get out of the water immediately cole was curious. when your face reflected horror, he was concerned.

“you good?” you weren’t. he walked over to the edge and dipped his hand in. the water was freezing. “come on out, you’ll get sick.”

you shook your head, plastering a clearly fake smile on your face. “my immune system is really strong and i want to swim! i’ll be fine cole, gonna go that way.” you make a gesture with your head and begin to paddle in that general direction. away from the lakehouse, away from the people, away from the party. away from cole—or, you tried to get away from cole. he walked on the bank, steps matching your strokes as he followed you. “get out of the water, y/n.” you were still swimming, and now cole was having to duck under and climb over branches and bushes to continue following. now, you couldn’t even hear the people at the lake house.

“no thank you.”

“don’t be stubborn. this was—it was funny thirty minutes ago! It’s lost the charm. just get out, we’ll go back and…”

“i don’t want to go back.”

“then we’ll go home. would that make you happy? we can leave, we don't have to go back to school, i can take you home.”

“i want to stay in the water, cole.”

“y/n, just get out of the fucking lake. it’s not that hard! i don’t understand why you won’t—“

you’re in waist deep water and all of you is submerged until it isn’t. you stand up quickly. teats sting your eyes and emotion clogs your throat. “you don’t understand, huh?” your voice breaks, shatters, and cracks. “does this help? do you see why when i say i want to keep swimming, i mean it? do you see why i want to stay in the water cole?”

he sees something. he sees bruises on your arms. deep purple handprints put there by too big hands and with too much force—force that never should have been used on you. he’s blinking, his eyes are seeing but his mind isn’t thinking, not fast enough.

“do you see?!” you’re shouting now, sobbing too. “because the makeup washed off and now you can see it. bow everyone can. everyone will see and then they’ll report it and i’ll end up in the system in an equally shitty situation! cole,” another wave of sobs interrupts, “cole don’t make me get out of the water.” he doesn’t, he climbs in with you. water soaks his boots, the bottoms of his jeans, you hear it slosh as he takes large steps and closes the distance between you both. “y/n/n.”

“what?” it’s a sob, a plea.

“we’re going to get out of the lake. i’m going to walk you through the woods, out to the road and then i’m going to go get my truck. i’ll be ten minutes tops. i’ll grab my hoodie too.”

“it’s… it’s back on the chair.”

“the red one, i know.”

“okay…”

cole keeps his word, but after five minutes you hear his truck. it stops, he hops out. he sets the hoodie on top of you and you shimmy into it. “No one will see, no one you don’t want to know, will know. but y/n, you will never go back there, okay? not to that house, not ever, because if you go, i’m following, and the things i do, most authorities will not agree with.”

“i don’t ever want to go back there.”

“you won’t ever have to.”

“thank you.”

“don’t thank me for helping you with something that never should’ve happened. we’ll get you some ice as soon as we’re home.” cole cranks the heat up and angles the fans to point your way.

he opens your door for you and walks closely behind you. no one else is home—katherine and george both working and the others at school. cole raids the freezer for anything remotely icey and heads up to your room. he makes a pit-stop to grab his laptop and some snacks from a drawer none of his brothers would ever know about. he steals the blanket you like off of danny’s bed too—the soft one with the blue plaid.

you both watch the show, he looks concerned when you press the frozen peas to your side too. you lift your shirt, show him the damage and he freezes. “ugly, huh?”

“nothing about you has ever been ugly, y/n/n but jesus, maybe we should go to a hospital.”

“flattery will get you everywhere cole but there’s no denying i looked like van gogh fucked up starry night—and no hospital. they’d like immediately call someone. plus i think they’re just bruised and not broken so that’s good.”

“i’m sorry that this happened to you.”

“oh don’t do that. i hate when people apologise for things that aren’t their fault.”

“can i apologise for danny, then? for him not realising what was happening sooner?” cole asked. people weren’t perfect, you realised that then, cole having said the first thing that genuinely upset you. this was no one’s fault. No one but your scum of the earth parent’s.

“no. danny didn’t do anything wrong. i didn’t want him to know and usually i’m good at hiding these things.” a bitter laugh, and: “usually.”

“i blame the alcohol, but, i guess it’s nice that you know.”

“i’m glad i know.”

and he is. he carries your bag, your books, even goes thrifting with you and katherine. “i like this one,” he’d said, holding up a shirt that barely had any fabric to it. you rolled your eyes for the fiftieth time and picked out a baggy graphic tee shirt instead.

at school he walks you to and from your classes. he sits with you at lunch and helps you come up with excuses—none so awesome that they work without the grin and charm he lays on your pe teacher.

weeks later, your bruises were healed, and to the blind eye, the only indication you’d been abused was the occasional flinching. cole tended to call out his moves before he made them, especially if you weren’t sure exactly where he was. your arguments–few and far between, seriously, the only thing you’d argued about so far was where you went for lunch, were had with calm voices and distance between the two of you. cole was perfect. he never caught you off guard, he was just always there.

wouls see you getting anxious and move closer. “i’m going to hold your hand,” he’d whisper. when you needed someone to talk to it was always him because he was always there.

then, one night, the two of you were sitting on that same blue plaid blanket. the one you loved–the one cole had paid danny $40 for. you were both staring up at the same stars, both wondering the same thing: when had you become so close? you weren’t sure if there was a turning point, a particular defining moment, but cole had taken danny’s place in your heart as ‘best friend’. cole had done that and more. he was more to you than that. he baked your favourite pastry, would go just about anywhere with you, and he made you smile. he made you feel safe. he had told no one your secret–but katherine and george had a clue, enough of one that they welcomed you with open arms and seldomly raised their voices. enough of one, that for that first few weeks, the ice was always restocked in the freezer.

they had an idea.

but cole knew. knew everything. knew and made you feel okay in spite of everything. he knew and still.. still looked at you like… like that. cole, he leaned in closer. you waited and listened. “i’m going to kiss you. because i want to. because i love you how you deserve to be loved. and not because of some truth or dare game.

“it wasn’t bad though, right? because i thought it was a pretty good ki–”

cole walter kept his word. he kissed you, and sure, the kiss at the lake house was good. this one was just better.

#cole walter x reader #cole walter #cole walter x y/n #cole walter x you #mlwtwb #mlwtwb imagines #cole walter imagines #my life with the walter boys #danny walter #alex walter

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 7 months

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I'm a student about to start my second year, and me and all my friends are really nervous. It feels like first year was really rough for everyone all over the place and we're all really hoping for a better second year this year! Have lecturers been noticing that too? Do you think it's because of COVID?

Oh my god yes. Jesus yes. It's absolutely the covid effect, and we're expecting to see the disruption for the next five or so years, tbh - the current 18-21 year old undergrads went through the most important years of high school during a lockdown. That not only interrupted academic development (home schooling during a time of stress, massive disruption to exams and exam-taking skills, etc), it also enormously hit emotional development (mid to late teens have the highest socialising needs of the human lifespan, and no one could meet and interact with each other.) And that latter point is having a much bigger effect than the former.

Current undergrads haven't been able to develop the same resilience, the same approach to andragogic education, the same interpersonal skills for dealing with lecturers/fellow students. University is not like school; in school teachers are giving you the knowledge, and gradually encouraging you to try and use it to formulate your own opinions. In university, we're supposed to give you the framework to then go out and do you own research. The bulk of your education comes from you, not us; we're more like facilitators.

But, we're noticing that there's a far bigger skew now towards needing to get the answer right. Anxiety is higher, and so the fear of being wrong is much more crippling for these students, and that in turn means they're less willing/able to take charge of their own education and are more passive with it, wanting to just be fed the right answers so they can rote learn them and get the Good mark. And the disconnect between that and the reality of what lecturers are expecting is pretty big, it turns out, and is causing even more anxiety and stress. Record numbers of my students have started asking me to give their assignment drafts a quick look over, just to see if they're on the right track. Which, you know, I'm more than happy to do; but I do think it's a notable pattern change from three or four years ago.

If you're worrying on a personal level though, Anon, I have some Handy Tips if they're any use!

Remember: the idea of uni is that you are doing your own research and learning on the topics your lecturers describe. They're giving you the basics, but they're expecting you to look up examples, case studies, other research papers, etc. They want to see analysis. That's what gets you the good marks. If you simply describe the information you got in lectures and don't add anything, you'll struggle to rise out of a basic pass.

What's the fundamental point of your particular course? It's important to know this, because it'll tell you how to focus your assessments and exam answers. Just within the environmental sector, you could have Environmental Science (focus: academic exploration and research), Environmental Conservation (focus: applying the academic research to actual management and solutions), Environmental Impacts (focus: philosophy and ethics), etc. In all three, you might be given a paper about the latest IPCC report, but in the first you would focus on exploring all the research papers that formed the conclusion on climate change, in the second you'd focus on case studies around the world and the applicability/feasibility of the shared economic pathways that are going to fix the problem, and in the third you'd focus on the human impacts of both the problem and the proposed solutions. You may of course include elements of all of those, but your main focus should be chosen appropriately.

Keep your notes with copies of the lecture slides in nice ordered folders. Keep a bulleted list of the topics covered in each. This makes it far easier to go and double check the right info when you're stressed out

On that note, the best note-taking system is to add notes/comments to the lecture slides where you record clarifications and things the lecturer said (INCLUDING CASE STUDIES). Don't bother duplicating effort by writing what's on the slide.

I truly do know this is easier said than done, but don't leave your assignments until the last minute. Are you struggling with motivation? You need a study group. You need to body double.

And finally, the biggest: CONTACT STUDENT SUPPORT IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING. Every time I go to an exam board and we get to a student who has failed stuff, the first question the Academic Office asks is "Has this student been working with Student Support?" Even if they aren't that helpful in your uni, working with them means they know about the things you're struggling with, and that you've clearly been trying to work around the problems. That makes the Academic Office far, far more likely to take a lenient view of a student, rather than going "Well, clearly they just don't care then, withdraw them from the program." Your Student Support should be able to help you with counselling, study buddies, a support worker that can help you organise your time and interpret your assignment briefs correctly and give you interim deadlines, etc.

Oh, and remember to schedule in rest and downtime, just as much as study time.

And... honestly, you learned a lot in your first year. The learning curve is less steep in second year, even accounting for the academic rigour increasing. By now, you're basically used to things like referencing, routines, assignment formatting, etc. There are no more surprises, really. Now's the point you can get the bit between your teeth and run.

Anyway: good luck! And enjoy it as much as you can. University is hard, no doubt about that, but it can and should be fun as well.

#asks #the professional world of careers and tasks

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hiraya-rawr · 2 years

Text

🩸 — bloodsucker .

synopsis !! your friend is a hungry vampire

characters !! diluc, thoma, zhongli

contains !! gn reader. preferably mature audience. bloody (ofc, it's a vampire fic). slight prey/predator themes? platonic/romantic intimacy! // crack (diluc) // angst (thoma) // horror (zhongli)

note !! yay! yay! a fic after so long! it's been a while since i've written so it may seem a bit wonky, i still hope you'll like it!

🩸 — diluc .

"Come on!"

"No."

"It can't possibly hurt that ba–"

"N. O."

"I insist that it's fine, you know?"

He swiftly turns towards you, eyes narrowed into a glare, "No. For the last time, no. What part of that do you not understand?"

You huff with a pout, crossing your arms. "You've been feeding from everyone but your own lover!"

"I've been feeding from professional bloodletters licensed by the church. That's the difference."

"They have blood, I have blood, same thing." You shrug, following him as he turns away from you again to walk across the room.

"Blood isn't the only thing to consider when feeding, darling." He tries not to groan into his palm as he sits on a leather armchair, the fireplace next to him.

"Then what? Appearances? Don't tell me you're. . ." You gasp in faux shock, "You're cheating on me with the pretty bloodletters—"

This time, Diluc really does groan into his hand, "No, I am not cheating on you with my meals. (Name), they're quite literally food to me! Inanimate snacks! Do you want me to see you that way?"

He meets your gaze as you slowly look away, biting the inside of your cheek. You don't reply.

Diluc stares, exasperated.

"Oh Barbatos. . ." He mumbles, burying his face into his hands. His lover wants to be his snack. He isn't sure how to react.

"Oh come on, 'Luc. I know you missed your last appointment because of how busy you are. Sooner or later, you'll start to get hungry, and that's sure to disrupt your darknight hero–"

"Don't call me that."

"–your vigilante activities." You offer him a small smile, crawling onto his lap as he frowns at you. He may seem disapproving, but you knew better that he's already hungry and tempted. "So think of me as your emergency food."

"You're not food to me." He states.

"I know, I know," With a hand on the back of his head, you guide him towards your neck, already cozying yourself in his arms, "I'm your lover, I'm yours. . . and I want you to know you can have all of me. It would make me happy if you could rely on me more."

Light kisses on your neck, a soft grip to keep you still, he sighs, "You could have simply admitted to being jealous of my recent bloodletter, you know?"

"Hey! You should've seen the way she looks at you like you're the meal and she's the—" Your breath hitches. His fangs sink into your skin, there's a slurping sound and you feel your nerves numbing.

You clench your jaw, gripping onto his shoulders for stability as he drinks. You try not to whimper at the sensation— of his tongue licking at the wounds, or of excess blood dripping down your shoulder onto your clothes.

"L-luc? Are you done yet?" You whine and he stops, pulling away.

"Licensed bloodletters have a pain tolerance." He says, a devilish smirk on his bloodied lips, "That, my love, is the difference."

🩸 — thoma .

Thoma is the kind of vampire that despises his entire being. He never wanted to hurt anyone, never liked how it felt to sink his teeth into flesh (no matter how addictive the taste that comes with it is). Thoma is kind. Thoma is thoughtful. Thoma feels more human than he feels monster and perhaps that's why he struggles so much because Archons forbid, he ever hurt anyone.

But Thoma is also hungry.

So when he stumbles into your adobe looking a little paler than usual, colder than usual, you find out that he hasn't been satisfied in a long time.

"I'm sorry, I don't even know why I'm here, I just— I should leave. I should really leave–" He says in a frantic daze, eyes panicked because why on earth did he allow his feet to take him to you. No matter how weak he seems to be, he'd easily pin you down to quench his thirst, "Forget this ever happened."

"Thoma, wait—" Your hand reaches out and he flinches away, more afraid of himself than of you. There's a glint in his eyes as he stares you up and down. He's hungry, it's evident.

"Y-you. . . you haven't drank yet, right?" You ask, taking careful steps closer. He nods.

You fumble with the collar of your top, pulling on the cloth to show more of your skin. His eyes widen.

"(Name), no–"

"It's fine, it's alright," You quickly reply, nervous. "You can drink from me." It sounds more like a question than an invite. You're shaking like a leaf, you're not even sure if you're doing it right. Thoma is the only vampire you know and he always kept his feedings private.

Your offer surprises him regardless, "(Name), no, I can't just– I can't do that to you–"

"But that's why you're here, right? You're hungry?"

"Yes, but- I can't! I shouldn't have! I should leave. I'm leaving—" He turns around to make his way to the door but your hand tugs him back again.

"Thoma."

He faces you again and he knows he's losing the internal battle.

"It's alright." Your grip on him relaxes and so does he. He feels both desperation and guilt as his arms slowly wrap around you, bringing his face closer to your neck. Your hand rests on the back of his head. The doorway feels warmer despite his cold skin.

He embraces you like he's scared; as if he isn't the monster in this scenario and you, a vulnerable victim-to-be.

There's no need for a warning with how gentle he rests his lips on your neck. Fangs pierce skin and flesh, the only noise are your quiet gasps and his careful slurps of a tongue.

I'm sorry, (Name), I'm sorry, I couldn't help it— were the words left unsaid but resonated by his trembling grip. There's a pained look on his face, struggling with the satisfaction of quenching his thirst versus his overriding guilt of hurting you.

Because dear archons, your blood tastes better than any of the animal blood provided by the Kamisato clan. He isn't sure how he could ever go back to pre-packed blood bags again.

Thoma is the type of vampire who would regret their guilty pleasures. He never wanted to hurt you, but honestly—

You should know better than to invite a vampire.

🩸 — zhongli .

As the Geo Archon, he made sure that beings like himself never have to worry about their next meal. Food, after all, was a basic right and every vampire must have access to their local blood bank. These blood banks provided meals in a variety of packages: from wine bottles to juice boxes.

Blood banks made life convenient for the modern vampire.

Still, as Zhongli sits with you in a cafe, you with your cup of tea and him with his red glass, he can't help but think of the past.

Centuries ago when he functioned on pure instinct rather than mortal wisdom, when he would stalk his prey in the dark and effortlessly hold them down. It's not that he misses hunting humans— no, that wasn't fun at all. If anything, that was incredibly childish of him.

What he misses was the feel and taste— of sinking fangs into flesh and drinking nectar straight from the flower. Most modern vampires would never know, or appreciate, what it's like to satisfy your urges the way they're supposed to. The way nature intended them to.

"—ngli? Zhongli?"

He snaps back into focus, eyes flickering away from the bare skin of your neck.

"Yes, dear?" He smiles and you eye him warily. There's something about the way he looks at you. Your heart thumps louder and you're not sure if it's because you're flustered by the petname.

"I asked if you're ready to go. The cafe is about to close."

He looks down on his cup. It's empty but he doesn't feel as satisfied as he should.

"Ah yes, allow me to walk you home."

Perhaps you should have turned down his offer— or perhaps you should have ignored the way his eyes would follow you. Zhongli has always been attentive, so it shouldn't be strange that he's being watchful.

The streets are dark and isolated, with most of the shops closed. You should be comforted in knowing you have someone as reliable and powerful as Zhongli walking you home, yet. . .

(But that's the problem, isn't it? Zhongli is incredibly powerful.)

As you glance at the man walking next to you, you can't help but let out a nervous laugh with the way his amber eyes meet yours. Has he been watching you all this time? There's a faint golden glow and you're reminded that you're walking with a vampire at night.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You nervously laugh, brushing the side of your hair with your fingers. This only makes him notice your exposed neck even more.

"Hm? Like what, darling?" His voice is low, like a hum as he tilts his head in question.

"Like. . . you're still hungry." You mumble, soft. He takes his time to reply, his eyes don't leave yours and you look away first, intimidated.

(But he's your friend, isn't he? Good and kind, gentleman Zhongli. He's not intimidating you, you're just delusional.)

"Hmm. . . perhaps it is because I am?"

You continue to walk, this time, nerves overcome by a slight worry for your friend, "Was your drink not enough? It's a new cafe, so maybe the quality was-"

"No, no," He cuts you off, looking down on you, "The cafe was excellent. The drink almost tasted fresh from the source." He praises with a fond smile.

You chuckle, "Fresh? Is that how vampires decide if a drink is good or not?"

"Well, I suppose not. Blood banks are prepackaged after all."

You hum, nodding along as you reach your home and search for your keys in your pockets.

It's the norm for the modern vampire to drink from blood banks. Things like freshness wouldn't be a standard when they know nothing of it. After all, drinking straight from the source would be considered barbaric, uncivilized— it's animalistic and downright frightening.

In a way, vampires have been domesticated the same way wild cats turn to purring house pets.

Wait.

"Zhongli. . . " You pause, just as you've unlocked the door to your home. "why. . . do you know what fresh tastes like?"

Something flashes in his eyes. A slip up.

A polite smile on his face. A fang peeking from between his lips. His eyes narrowed—

"Hmm. . . perhaps if you invite me inside, I could tell you more about it?"

note !! i hope you guys enjoyed! consider this as my end-of-hiatus post :D it has fluff, angst, and horror in one! do tell me what you think please :>

masterlist 2 || ko-fi || commissions

taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @shizunxie

#genshin #diluc #zhongli #thoma #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #thoma x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin diluc #genshin zhongli #genshin thoma #genshin angst #genshin horror #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #diluc ragnvindr

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natalchartnurtures · 3 months

Text

PAC: what do you owe yourself big time?

I channeled these messages with the intention to aid self love and the connection to self for all those who come across this. Hope it does just that. Happy reading!

Pile 1 to 3- left to right

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Pile number 1:

What do you owe yourself?

Grace. You owe yourself grace, sweetheart. You've been doing SO much (be it physically, mentally, or spiritually), and even though you're exhausted, you simply power through. You might feel like there is an invisible standard that you need to hold yourself to, for whatever reason, which might keep you stuck in your head. You may be grappling with perfectionism too. You might even accidentally fall into analysis-paralysis (too much thinking and not enough doing), which is keeping you in the frequency of resistance to the abundance that the universe is ready to give you as a result of ALL the work you've put in right now. You might feel like life is getting a little dry, and everything seems like drudge-work and as if it's sucking the life out of you (in extreme cases). So what I see you owe yourself right now is some self-love, the permission to rest, and the grace of knowing that you've been hard on yourself as a result of a wound that is now ready to be healed. Your healing needs your attention right now; you need your attention right now.

How do you give what you owe yourself?

Reflect on why you keep yourself so busy, pile 1. Maybe reflect on it a little? Is it coming from a healthy place or a wound or societal conditioning? What makes you think taking care of yourself is secondary to anything else in the world? If it's your work-life that's keeping you in this rut, try working in some "me time" into your routine when you can simply breathe and be alone by yourself and marinate in your energy. Even for about like 5 minutes would be a great start. Doing some simple breathing exercises like the 2X breath (breathe in for 4 - hold for 2 - breathe out for 8) could help you MASSIVELY, and it won't even disrupt your routine to do like a couple of cycles of these. This will help clear out some mental clutter, which will greatly improve your quality of life. It's 20% effort to get 80% results. What's not to like? If you had a meditation routine, you could resume that again as well, and if you didn't, now is a great time to begin. Try whatever ones that call out to you. Your intuition has always been a powerful guide to you. The trick to giving yourself what you need right now is making it feel like it's very little effort and not another chore for you to get done with. Love, light, and hugs, sweet soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pile number 2:

What do you owe yourself?

A chance to recuperate. You might have lost something/someone recently and haven't been able to give yourself the chance to grieve it fully yet. That's what you owe yourself, big time right now. You really wanted something to work out here and were super excited about it, but it ended up disappointing you instead. I'm so sorry, pile 2. Allow yourself to grieve this. Feel into it to heal yourself from it. I'm getting that if it was a love situation that ended, it was for your highest good because the person you were dealing with had secrets of some kind, and you didn't need another person with hidden agendas around you (that was very specific, take it as it resonates). You are making space for a more pure kind of love as you grieve this old connection. You will gain a lot of clarity after you have grieved this situation. You might get hit with a lot of epiphanies about the situation and maybe even some blessings from the universe. I'm not getting anything specific in terms of that because it's probably different for each of you reading, but it's mostly around the themes of love and emotional well-being. You are headed towards a situation that will replace your current loss and bring you some much-needed fulfillment and relief. You might even stumble into some success in your work life too if that's a desire of yours.

How do you give what you owe yourself?

It's really simple. Throw yourself a pajama party for one and watch sad movies, cry your pretty heart out, and embrace this loss. Also, I hear - "Is it a loss or a redirection?" Reflecting on that question could help you get some of those epiphanies I talked about earlier.

Love, light, and hugs, sweet soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pile number 3:

What do you owe yourself?

Some fun. I feel like y'all need some much-needed fun because it honestly feels like y'all have been holding your breath for a while (proverbially), like you were waiting on something to happen or just waiting in general for something good to happen so you could relax and have fun. But the thing is, pile 3, you're supposed to make this thing you really want to happen, happen for you. You may believe nothing good happens to you, and this belief in particular is hindering your ability to actively create the things you want in your life. After all, taking aligned actions is an important step in manifestation. You owe yourself aligned action. Taking actions however small towards your desires is exactly what you need right now. The challenge here is that you might not know what you want right now, and that's something you have to actively take on. Side note: You might have had to take on different identities for different people to survive childhood (for some people) or simply to get through life in general, and this has left you feeling detached from yourself, but you're learning how to "come back home" to yourself now. Which is wonderful pile 3, yay!

How do you give what you owe yourself?

Start to take an active interest in learning about yourself and about your likes and dislikes. Spend some time by yourself away from the burdens of others' expectations from you. Reflect on the origins of your lack mentality, and by that, I simply mean - ask yourself why you believe good things can't happen to you. Is it because you think you don't deserve it? This could lead to some revelations about yourself which will further empower you to pour into yourself and nurture your energy, which will inevitably lead you to develop deep and profound inner peace along with a sense of groundedness within yourself, which is also something you owe yourself big time. You'll find that new pathways start to open up for you where once you found dead-ends (specific message, take it only if that one resonates).

Love, light, and hugs, sweet soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#PAC #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a picture #tarot reading #practical spirituality #astrology community #spirituality #spiritualgrowth #tarotcommunity #divination #tarot cards #tarot witch

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dateko · 8 months

Text

˚｡⋆ GLITTER AND GIGGLES | GETO SUGURU

contents: domestic fluff brain rot, papa!geto with the twins, tatted!geto, reader and suguru are married, & suguru being the best dad even though it is written quite poorly

“I’m home!” You announce as you enter the house, feet screaming as you kick off your heels.

Surprisingly, no one greets you back. The absence of the familiar rumble of footsteps that usually storm toward you causes you to frown. There isn’t a pair of mischievous twins that wait for you at the top of the stairs, nor is there a handsome husband dressed in an apron telling you that he’s missed you all day. You deflate at this, but your ears pick up the lovable sound of hushed giggles coming from the living room.

You creep up the steps gingerly, careful not to disrupt whatever fun the girls seem to be having. And that’s when you see it. There, splayed all over your ridiculously expensive rug that is now littered with markers and glitter glue, is your husband. Your two girls occupy his sides, hovering over his bare back with busy hands.

“Girls?” You break their playful trance, and they turn to each other before you with wide eyes. “What are you two doing?”

Mimiko attempts to gather the markers into her arms as a stuttering Nanako waves her hands in your face, doing a very poor job at obscuring your view when her hands are so incredibly teeny. “Mommy! It’s nothing! We were just cleaning up.”

Your brow raises at this since you know well you didn’t raise a liar. Catching a glimpse of Suguru’s sleeping figure with his bare torso flat on the floor almost makes you think the two tired out their own father to death. But as you step closer, the sight almost makes you laugh out loud.

The tattoo of the rainbow dragon that trails down Suguru’s spine finally bears truth to its name. You’re not exactly sure where to look first. You follow the lines of pink and purple scribbled messily outside the inked lines, the loose glitter that sticks itself between the crevices of your husband’s back muscles, and the series of Sanrio stickers that wander down the side of his neck. It’s ridiculous, almost like a unicorn had vomited all over him, yet precious all at once.

Mimiko tugs at your sleeve. “Are you mad?”

Shaking your head with a smile, you pinch the little brunette’s cheek. “Hand me a marker.”

The girls giggle behind you as you kneel beside Suguru’s sleeping face. He’s gorgeous, always been, and always will be. Thought it was a shame you were about to ruin it. The marker in your hold draws an elaborate beard on his face, making sure to dance with a few swirls and twirls. You beam at how your canvas scrunches his nose, eyebrows furrowing at the feeling of your marker gliding across his skin.

Suguru scratches his face before opening his eyes, blinking repeatedly at the moment he realizes you’re home. “Morning, beautiful.” You grin, tucking a piece of his dark locks behind his ear.

“Sweetheart,” He sits up immediately, unaware of the glitter that falls from his skin behind him. “I missed you.”

You decide against scolding your husband for falling asleep instead of watching your children when he leans in to seal a kiss on your lips, and you turn away, stifling a giggle. “Come on, no kiss?” Suguru pouts. “What’s so funny?”

“Papa, you look so weird.” Mimiko pips from behind you, trying to hide her laughter.

“You have something on your face, Papa!” Nanako adds, squealing when Suguru grabs her to tickle her stomach. The house is filled with an abundance of happy laughter once more, and you can feel your heart swell with contentment. Your husband extends his arm to you and Mimiko, a soft glint in his golden eyes. The expression on his face is delicate, yet he is still completely unaware of the ridiculous lines that paint his features. “Come over here, you two.”

Suguru beams as his three favorite girls pile on top of him, bubbles of joy bouncing off the walls every which way. You can’t help but finally kiss him. You could never resist Suguru, especially when he’s always been such a good husband and an exceptional father for the three of you. The wet smack you place on his lips causes the girls to grimace, trying to wiggle their way out of strong arms.

The twins scramble out of the living room and scurry off immediately. You stay in Suguru’s lap, hand tracing his collarbone and down his shoulders as he hugs you tighter. “Don’t think I’m letting you go without a punishment.” He teases, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?"

“Oh yeah?” His eyebrow raises, unconvinced. “Well, I wouldn't be so sure. You look like Yaga right now.”

Your hands scramble to your chin as you gasp, noticing the black residue on your fingertips. Your husband watches you as you attempt to scrub off the black beard on your face with your sleeve. Rolling your eyes at his smirk, you give up. Grabbing both sides of his face, you kiss him once more. “Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

“Anything for you, Sweetheart.”

#i did not edit or proofread or put much thought or care i just hit POST!!!! because i love suguru #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x you #suguru x reader #jjk

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zegrasdrysdale · 4 months

Text

[ christmas in michigan ] l. hughes

day four of malia’s christmas fic marathon

paring : Luke Hughes x jack bsf!reader

summary : (Y/N) is forced to get along with Luke when Jack invites her to the Hughes lake house for Christmas

warning(s) : heavy makeout, some sexual content, some angst

author’s note : i have been wracking my brain to write something for luke and i have been waning to write something angsty for the fic marathon so this is how this came to be. enjoy :)

༺═──────────────═༻

The last thing (Y/N) wanted to do was spend Christmas at the lake house because she knew he was going to be there too. Then Jack said that he wanted her there and she can never say no to her best friend.

That's how she ended up sitting on a plane from Newark to Detroit after the Devils game between Jack and Luke. It isn't a very long plane ride but she doesn't like how close Luke is sitting to her. She tries to keep all her attention on Jack and tries to ignore Luke, but sometimes the youngest Hughes makes a comment or two because he can't seem to keep his mouth shut when (Y/N) is around.

It's not that she has something against Luke, but it seems like he does.

When he came to Newark after his Michigan season ended last season, he made his presence very known. Luke would interrupt her and Jack's hangouts or invite himself to things that they were doing. He always had a snarky comment when she was around.

(Y/N) has no idea what she did for Luke to act like this when she's around. She's just his brother's best friend. That's all she's been since Jack was drafted in 2019.

When Luke gets up to use the bathroom, she is relieved that she gets a few moments of peace. Jack decides to disrupt that peace though.

"Can you do me a favor for the next few days?" Jack asks. She knows what's coming but she looks over at her best friend. "Can you try to get along with Luke while we're at the house? I don't like when my best friend and brother fight. Makes me feel like I'm caught in the middle."

"Because you are," she replies. Jack raises his eyebrows with an 'are you kidding me' look on his face. "Fine. You owe me big time. Maybe get your little brother on the same page too. He's the one that has an issue with me. I have nothing against Luke but he has some vendetta against me when I did nothing wrong."

Before Jack can say anything else, Luke sits back down in his aisle seat. "What are we talking about?" he questions as he looks between his older brother and (Y/N).

"Nothing that concerns you," she retorts.

Luke smiles and asks, "Then why did I hear my name come out of your mouth? Miss me that much when I went to pee?"

"In your dreams, Baby Hughes," she replies. (Y/N) knows he hates being called 'Baby Hughes'.

He rolls his eyes and looks at something on his phone. He puts in his AirPods and she feels a sense of peace.

It doesn’t last very long because as soon as the plane lands at a little past one in the morning, Luke practically pushes (Y/N) off the plane.

She can’t wait to go back home to Newark.

Jack slowly drives them to the lake house because of the layer of snow and ice on the ground. (Y/N) fights Luke for the passenger seat and loses. She has to squeeze in the back seat with a bunch of bags and she is not happy at all.

Maybe she does have something against Luke Hughes. It isn’t just because he’s Jack’s annoying younger brother either. Who lets a guest sit in the backseat with three heavily packed bags because the trunk is filled with hockey gear?

Luke. That’s who.

The lake house is dark when Jack, Luke, and (Y/N) pull up. She knows that Jim and Ellen will be getting in later with Quinn since his game just ended a little bit ago. Tonight, it’s just the three of them in this house.

Jack better get his referee shirt out because it’s going to be a long few hours until Quinn, Ellen, and Jim get in.

As predicted, Luke just grabs his things and goes to his room. (Y/N) is stuck with Jack outside in the snow. She sighs and looks at the middle Hughes.

“What is his fucking problem?” (Y/N) mutters under her breath. “He’s ridiculous.”

She pulls her bag out of the car and Jack says, “He does this every time. He grabs his own stuff and leaves us out to dry. Quinn and I don’t like it either but we deal with it.”

With a light sigh, (Y/N) follows Jack into the house. The door closes behind them and the long few days begins.

“So, the guest bedroom is upstairs across from Luke’s room,” Jack tells her. She opens her mouth to object but Jack keeps talking before she gets the chance to. “I’m aware that sucks for you and I’m sorry. I know being here is the last thing you want to do because Luke is here with his stupid vendetta against you but I want my best friend here. If he causes such a problem for you, can you try to ignore him? I don’t want the two of you to fight.”

A frown forms on her face because she can tell how frustrated Jack is getting with the two of them. The last thing she wants is to upset Jack or make him pick sides between his younger brother and best friend.

“I’ll go talk to him when I’m settled, okay?” (Y/N) tells him. “Maybe you can go get food and drinks while I do that just in case a fight breaks out. I don’t want you to get in the middle.”

Jack nods and the frown on her lips is replaced with a smile. (Y/N) walks up the stairs and down the hallway to her temporary bedroom.

A door closes down the hall so she assumes Jack is in his room. Before she can close her door to unpack, she hears Luke’s voice coming from his room. A very curious (Y/N) presses her ear to Luke’s door.

“… what I’m going to do, Rut,” he’s saying when she begins listening in. He probably on the phone and Rutger McGroarty is most likely on the other side of the line. “What am I supposed to do? She has something against me when I want to pin her against something, dude. It's killing me that she's right across the hallway right now and I can't go over there and just fuck her into that mattress.”

Her eyes widen when she realizes that he’s talking about her. Quickly, she retreats across the hall and shuts her door as quietly as she can so she doesn’t alarm Luke to the fact that she heard what he said. She leans against the door with a sigh.

Confusion floods her body. If Luke wants to fuck her then why does he constantly act like she’s this a person when he can just … fuck her? He constantly pushes her away or says something that annoys her.

She isn’t blind. He’s atttactive and she wouldn’t be totally against it. It just never occurred to her that he would want to sleep with her considering the way he acts when she’s around. The way he’d completely cover her since he is so big and she’s so tiny. How he could probably get her to come with just-

A door shutting downstairs brings her out of her head before that thought could get away from her. She blinks a few times when she realizes what she was about to think about. She hears a car pull out of the driveway and watches the lights disappear down the street.

Frustration floods her entire body when she can't understand why Luke keeps acting like this when he feels completely different. She charges across the hallway to get answers.

(Y/N) pounds on Luke’s bedroom door. “Luke Hughes!” she shouts. “Open the door.” She doesn’t care if he’s still on the phone with Rutger.

"I'm on the phone," he calls back.

She pushes open the door and her eyes fall on Luke, who lays on his bed. "You are the most confusing and irritating person I think I have ever met," she spits at him. He looks at her with wide eyes when she bursts into the room. "I mean, why can't you just man up and tell me exactly how you feel instead of treating me like shit whenever you're around me? It's exhausting."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're not quiet when you talk on the phone," she tells him. "I heard you on the phone with Rutger when I came upstairs to unpack." She watches his jaw drop and eyes practically pop out of his head. "Yeah. I heard what you said to him. Something about how you think I have something against you, when I don't by the way. What else did I hear you say? About how you wish you could've come across the hallway and fucked me into the mattress. Yeah. I think that's what I heard."

Luke quickly hangs up the phone and sits up. "Who said I was talking about you?" he questions.

"I'm the only one across the hallway from you, dumbass," she retorts. She runs her fingers through her hair with a deep sigh as soon begins to get out of bed. "If you want to fuck me, then tell me. Be a big boy and put on your big boy pants and-"

As she talks, Luke stomps over and cuts her off by crashing his lips to her in a rough kiss. His hand is on the back of her neck and his fingers curl into her hair so she doesn't go anywhere.

It's a wet and filthy kiss from the beginning, but it catches her off guard so she has to push herself away from him so she can wrap her head around what just happened. She doesn’t get very far because of his hand on the back of her neck.

Fear flashes in Luke's eyes for a split second, but she is so close that she was able to see it. She feels guilty that she pushed him away like that. “If you didn’t want me to do that, I’m sor-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she snaps. She takes a sharp breath. “Just give me a second, okay?”

He nods and loosens his grip in her hair so she can back away if she wants. She doesn’t move though.

She stares up at him and thinks about how bad of an idea this would be. Sleeping with her best friend’s younger brother is a terrible idea, especially when Luke has been nothing but rude and annoying toward her.

That just means that no one will probably know what has happened between them.

(Y/N) licks her bottom lip before she gets on her toes to bring their lips together in another hot kiss. Luke seems surprised by this kiss but he does hesitate in returning it.

Her heart races in her chest. This was the last thing she thought would ever happen between them.

The two of them have been at each other’s throats for years. Now they’re kissing like it’s what they’ve wanted to do the entire time.

Maybe it has been the entire time for Luke. She can’t say that she hasn’t had a thought here or there about getting with the youngest Hughes brother. If anything to break the obvious tension between them.

Before she realizes what she’s doing, (Y/N) grasps at the t-shirt Luke is wearing. She pulls him flush against her body and she feels something poke her upper thigh. A small smile forms on her lips.

“You got a hot dog in your pocket or something?” she asks between kisses.

“Shut up,” Luke snaps. “I don’t carry food in my pocket, you asshole.”

“Then you really must’ve wanted me.”

“You have no idea.”

Those words cause her heart to jump in her chest while Luke leans down and picks her up. He’s nearly a foot taller than her so it can’t be very comfortable for him to kiss her. She wraps her legs around his waist.

She attaches her lips to his jaw and carefully kisses the sensitive skin. “You better not leave a mark,” Luke warns her. “I don’t want to explain to my brothers that you turned into a vampire or something.”

To spite him, (Y/N) softly nips at his jaw. Luke turns and drops her on the mattress. She stares up and finds that his swollen lips and wide does just does something for her.

“Get down here, Hughes,” she tells him. “Need you.”

Almost like he was waiting for her to say that, Luke crawls into the bed and hovers over her. Their lips reattach in a filthy kiss that almost causes her to plead for more.

He pulls away and looks down at her. She finds herself chasing his lips. “You’re okay with this?” Luke asks. “I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you or anything.”

“Luke, if you don’t touch me in the next five seconds, I’m going to get out of your bed and go across the hall to do it myself,” she tells him. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

A sly smirk forms on his face and she knows she’s in for it until Jack gets back.

༺═──────────────═༻

Three orgasms in less than two hours had to be some kind of record. Her body still shakes as Luke cleans her up. She’s completely spent.

He definitely fucked her like he hated her. She’s worried that she might not be able to walk in the morning. The only reason there wasn’t a fourth orgasm was because she heard Jack pull into the driveway.

“If you need to stay for a few minutes, you can,” Luke tells her. “I can go distract Jack until you leave.”

She nods and Luke begins to get dressed. He throws on the clothes he wore when he got here. Her eyes stay on him for a second before she says, “We need to talk about this, Luke. I don’t want this to turn into a fight that we can’t get past.”

Luke looks over as she sits up and secures the blankets under her arms. The tension has broken between them and she doesn’t want something to form after this.

He comes over to her side of the bed that she’s occupying. It catches her very off guard when he leans down and presses a soft yet chaste kiss to her already swollen lips. She raises her eyebrows and looks up at him. She probably looks very confused.

“Hope that explains how I feel,” he tells her as he stands back up. “We’ll talk about it, but right now you need to get across the hall before Jack catches you naked in my bed. I’m not sure I’m ready to explain this to him. I’m sure you aren’t either.”

She shakes her head. “Come across the hall tonight,” she suggests. “We can talk then, yeah?”

Luke smiles and nods before he leaves her alone. There are footsteps on the stairs and voices coming from the living room. (Y/N) sighs and falls back against the pillow that’s under her head.

It would be a lie if she thought that Luke didn’t rock her entire world for the last two hours. He absolutely did, and she wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again. Maybe not as rough next time.

Very slowly, (Y/N) begins to get dressed. She’s shaky on her legs but she manages to get her clothes in without falling over.

Much to her luck, Jack and Luke are walking down the hallway when she leaves Luke’s room. Jack freezes when he sees her. She forces a smile as she looks between the two Hughes boys. “Hi.”

Jack looks up at his brother. “You hurt her and I will send Nico after you,” he tells Luke. “I swear to God, Luke.”

Her eyes widen and a smile forms on Luke’s lips. Jack definitely put two and two together because of how red Luke’s lips are and the fact that she is walking out of Luke’s room.

Walking is a stretch though. Limping is more like it.

“I’ll never hurt her,” Luke replies. “Again.” He looks at a nervous (Y/N) standing in front of Luke’s room. “I’d kick myself if I ever hurt her.”

The nervousness she was feeling melts away and she smiles.

Christmas in Michigan no longer sounds like the worst thing in the world.

༺═──────────────═༻

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