#im actually like. more Casual. in a way that is- more vibrant
Text
Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)
Rated: explicit 18+
word count: 7.6k
warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)
a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT
There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace.
Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy.
Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.
The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.
The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.”
“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”
She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”
Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.
Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.
Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—
Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it.
Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.
Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“
The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.
You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”
The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”
The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…
You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”
As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”
Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.”
He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.
“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“
He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.”
You smile. “Lovely.”
On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.
-=-=-=-
Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality.
Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.
That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.”
You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”
The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—
There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home.
You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.
His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.
You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”
Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”
He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare.
“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”
Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“
Din tips his head in acknowledgement.
“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.”
Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors.
“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.”
The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.
“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”
Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.
Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—
With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.
Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot.
Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away.
Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle.
You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder.
Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”
Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.
“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.”
A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”
Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.
Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”
He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”
Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.”
Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat.
You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.
Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”
Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”
With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—
“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."
Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder.
“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”
Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind.
You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile.
Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.
You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll.
It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit.
“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“
“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”
The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak.
“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement.
You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses.
Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short.
Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”
You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more.
Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains.
“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”
Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.
Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself.
Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist. Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”
He nods and utters a breathy yes.
Fuck yeah.
Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock.
Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh.
Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—
Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge.
It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.
Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.
He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.”
Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.
Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.
“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation.
Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.”
Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”
“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.
“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark.
Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now.
Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.
You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.
Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?
Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs.
“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question.
Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command.
Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.
As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.
You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff.
Fuck, you need more.
Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.
He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight.
That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you.
You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.
“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth.
Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.
“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.
You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.
Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”
You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“
His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.”
Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs.
Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.
Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days.
Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.
Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs.
“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”
Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much.
“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”
You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.”
Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.
You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”
The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.
“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”
Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.
The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat.
“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“
“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“
Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.”
There we go.
You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes.
You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness.
“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile.
You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep.
taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeaches @pettyprocrastination @nelba @beskars @jango-fettish @corrupt-fvcker @maybege @auty-ren @legally-a-bastard @bigdickdindjarin @thesparkleslugs @cryptid-candy @mandowhorian @pascaliprincess @mitchi-c @vesperstalksclones @cmakars @cptnbvcks @whewchiles @leias-left-hair-bun @astrochellie @angryares @rise-my-angel @stardust-galaxies @phoenixhalliwell @samhollandssweaters @blue-writes-a03 @hdlynnslibrary @darthadeline @calamity-queen @luxurybeskar @justanotherblonde23 @book-hoardingdragon @fahrenheit-not @princessxkenobi @skdubbs @ben-is-a-hoe @3strogen @chasingdreamer @weebblossom @bobaandthefetts
sorry if I missed you AH!!!!
#well yall im#bucket fucker supreme right here I guess#enJOY#boba fett x reader#boba fett x you#boba fett#din djarin#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian#boba fett x reader x din djarin#din djarin x reader x boba fett#star wars fanfiction#my writing
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)
another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry
summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)
warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe
length: 2.7k
The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.
You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while.
Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation.
If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place?
Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—
You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion.
(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)
"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!"
You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.)
"Happy birthday, Chi—"
"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?"
"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns."
Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—"
"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."
"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon.
"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.
"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something."
"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this."
You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."
He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes.
"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday."
The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!"
The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield.
You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip.
"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!"
His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile.
He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you."
"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."
"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?"
"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?"
"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone.
You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand.
Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him.
It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow.
Except—
His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before.
You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier.
Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place.
The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar.
"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!"
You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick."
"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade."
You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is."
He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed.
"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"
You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?"
You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?"
"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."
You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.
"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"
Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier.
His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot.
A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—
Shine.
"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!"
You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place."
He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!"
"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"
Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please."
You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker.
Hungrier.
"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."
The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more."
Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering.
"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax."
Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him.
You're glad to drown.
#genshin impact x reader#childe x reader#genshin imagines#genshin x reader#genshin scenarios#sfw#birthday fic
130 notes
·
View notes
Text
for @jeanxcabbage
“You look lovely,” Cas says over the threshold of his front door. “Not that you don’t — you always do,” he hurries to amend, flushing. He’s not very good at this, though he has convinced Dean to see him all the way through tonight, their fifth date, so he must be doing something right.
“You look great, too,” Dean says with a smile.
“Thank you,” Cas says, looking down at himself. Meg told him the blue button-up brings out his eyes and go get ‘im, hotstuff.
Dean acts a little odd through dinner. Cagey, fidgeting, his laughter a beat too late. Cas thinks he was wrong to hope he was doing something right, and at any moment Dean will say that Cas is a nice guy, but he’s not interested in seeing him again. As Cas pulls out his wallet to pay, he prepares himself.
“Dude, no, it’s my turn,” Dean says, digging out his own. “Don’t argue.”
“Are you sure? I can —”
“I’m sure,” Dean says firmly. “You can get it next time.”
Next time. “Ok,” Cas says, more out of surprise than anything.
“So, uh.” Dean blushes. “Want to get a drink at my place? I have a nice scotch I think you’ll like.”
Cas swallows. “I don’t say no to good scotch.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
This is the first time Cas has actually been inside Dean’s apartment, and he tries not to stare too openly, despite his curiosity. It’s nice, neat but lived-in, and there are multiple bookshelves in the living area full of books and figurines.
“Don’t laugh,” Dean says. “You already knew I’m a nerd.”
“I’m not laughing,” Cas says, gently touching a miniature movie monster he vaguely recognizes but can’t place. “I like that I can tell that you live here. Some people keep their homes so sterile.”
“Yeah, I hate that. Like walking into a model house.” The words are light, but Dean’s fidgeting again, standing awkwardly by the couch. “I guess I should grab the scotch.”
“Sure,” Cas says.
Cas settles on the couch — comfortable with a well-worn coffee table in front of it — to wait. It only takes Dean a minute, and then he’s sitting next to Cas and handing over a tumbler. Cas isn’t a whiskey snob, but even the smell of this one is tempting. He takes a sip and relishes the smooth woodsmoke as it goes down.
“So, uh,” Dean says. He’s blushing again, and Cas tilts his head. “I would’ve invited you over before, but — shit, this is embarrassing.”
“What is?” Cas says when Dean doesn’t continue.
“I’ve never been with a guy.”
“Oh,” Cas says. “But you’re out?”
“Yeah, but I kinda got away from the casual sex game, so…”
“Oh,” Cas says. “You haven’t slept with a man.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Dean gives Cas a sharp look. “Seriously? You get into bed with some idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing and it’s hunky-dory?”
“If the roles were reversed, would it not be ‘hunky-dory’ with you?”
“Ok, you’ve got a point,” Dean says, smiling weakly. “I’d say there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Precisely.” Cas reaches out, touches Dean’s hand. “There’s no rush.”
“I know.” Dean reaches to set his glass down on the coffee table without looking away from Cas’s eyes. “Can I kiss you?”
“Anytime.”
Dean shifts closer. Dances his fingertips up Cas’s jaw to slide into his hair. Kisses him, warm and full.
They’ve kissed before, chaste kisses at the end of each date, but this already feels like more, even before Dean’s lips part for his tongue to tease along Cas’s lips. Cas gasps at the first wet slide of their tongues against each other, presses closer.
One kiss melts into many, hot and sweet and tasting of whiskey. When they break for a breath, Dean says, blushing, “So, uh. I really want you to fuck me.”
“Are you sure?” Cas asks, heart pounding.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Dean says. “And — practicing.”
“Practicing?”
“Yeah. With a toy.”
Immediately, an image of it rises in Cas’s mind, vibrant and visceral. Dean, spread out on his sheets, touching himself. Getting himself ready for Cas. Barely breathing, Cas says, “Can I see?”
“The toy?”
“No, you. Practicing.”
Dean’s eyes widen and he licks his lips. He’s so beautiful, and Cas is suddenly dying to get him out of his clothes.
Voice rough, Dean says, “Yeah. Let’s go.”
119 notes
·
View notes
Text
GWAINCELOT ESSAY THREE???
[commentary voice] ah yes and this gwaincelot essay.... which turned into a fic was inspired by @nextstopparis and @little-ligi
GWAINE TEACHING LANCELOT HOW TO READ. and thats how they actually CONFESS.
imagine gwaine seeing lancelot trip up reading leon’s plan for the day, seeing him trying to understand it. and gwaines, hes a little in love. Hes. Hes a little hit with feelings for this Noble (tm) knight. So OF COURSE he CANT EMOTION and he tries to show his affection for lancelot without yknow being in ‘loVE’
he comes over with his swishy hair and bantery tone like “oooOhHh LANCELOT! Lancey! Hey! Hello! Can’t read leon’s goddamn awful handwriting huh?”
And Lancelots embarrassed and flushes red and gwaine thinks hes Fucked Up (and he really doesn’t want to fuck this up, this is the first time he’s actually felt emotions this deep for someone) and tries to fix it panickedly, like the Anxiety Clown He Is.
He keeps on saying sorry and apologising, and Lancelot, the EVER CALM KNIGHT GUY, goes “it’s fine, it’s okay. It’s nothing to do with you...” and then he hesitates. He HESITATES. “....it’s just that...” and then he BITES HIS LIP and gwaine thinks he might just faint there and then, “...i cant read.”
and now it hits him, gwaine, gwaine, who thought literacy was something trash and something he didn’t really need, realises how important it is. and so, yknow because hes kind of wrapped in those Emotions (tm), he pulls lancelot’s sleeve after practice, when they’re alone in the changing room. (and if lancelot wasn’t so tired and miserable, he would have easily seen gwaine BLUSH)
And he, shyly asks if lancelot wouldnt mind being tutored by him.
Now Lancelot is OVERJOYED, and he’s borderline CRYING because lancelot, poor old village boy lancelot who’d been kicked out of the knights of camelot, and had to become a MERCENARY and fight for masters who didn’t care for him, has NEVER HAD someone literally CARE about him so much. (Apart from Merlin. He loves merlin <3)
so now imagine lancelot waking up an hour early the next morning, and showing up into gwaine’s room. He knows gwaine literally doesnt sleep with a lock, so he just barges in, and starts shaking gwaine.
Now GWAINE sleeps like a Log (had so much shit going on irl, time to sleep it away) and when he opens his bleary eyes, seeing lancelot in one of his stupid v neck shirts over him, hes like “....h...helo??”
and lancelot’s all like. “We- werent YOU gonna give me reading lessons.” And gwaine nods, yawning (and in that moment lancelot thinks gwaine looks unimaginably cute, so cute that he wants to literally ruffle gwaine’s hair and run his hands through how silky and brown it is.)
THEN gwaine pulls on the dont care-ish mask, and makes his arms into a pillow under his head, as he leans against the wall behind his bed, in some kind of somewhat???flirty??? manner??? [i dont...i dont know what hes trying to do. On the other hand! Not does Lancelot :) ]
Lancelot, does not realise this is gwaine’s poor attempt at flirting - since he’s seen gwaine ACTUALLY flirting and this is like. Nothing. And its also poorly executed. Which is NOTHING like gwaine.
So he pulls gwaine’s arm, and half hauls him out of bed.
As gwaine’s head crashes into lancelot’s stomach, he can smell lancelot’s clothes. They smell of flowers, and cotton and everything so natural and gwaine, who literally smells of wine, and wood and Tavern. (And aftershave, or the 500AD equivalent)
[see here, see im trying to bring themes of dionysis okay. OkayyyyyyyyY. yours truly likes looking at greek mythology. And both these two complete dionysis]
Gwaine, in his sleepy stupor, nestles his head on Lancelot’s hip, who gives a sigh and stands there. One hand clutching gwaine’s, leaving the other free.....
....to rake through his soft, flowy brown hair. And twirl his fingers through its waves, and Gwaine cuddles in further.
And since Lancelot left the door open, Leon (the other bitch who wakes up at 4am to do idk nothing) sees them two...like that, illuminated by the SUNLIGHT behind them, and smiles a little.
And then he trips over the stairs, the moment is lost.
Gwaine and Lancelot pull away at the same time, and gwaine’s face turns back to “ha ha im a Jerk (tm)” and if he wasnt too busy trying to hide how flustered he was, he’d see Lancelot looking at him the way he used to look at GWEN.
They both blink and look at each other, understandingly, neither of them to speak of this again.
And then Gwaine drags himself out of bed, and Lancelot raises his eyebrows as he watches him (totally not checking him out) haul out a book from his cupboard.
Gwaine’s too sleepy for this, he keeps yawning and rubbing his eyes (looking like a cat, Lancelot notes) and Lancelot takes a deep breath, his eyes understanding.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“Lancelot, I love..” he bites his tongue, cursing his half asleep mind “..doing this, and love hanging out with you...I just cant stay up this early.”
Reading lessons, from now on, are at 1:30am-whenever Gwaine and Lancelot stop rambling about Odysseus and Circe and Telemachus
[i dont know any other ancient books apart from like. Ancient greek/Roman ones. So i guess. Its not historically accurate,,,,BUUIT this is a fanfic for a pair who had like no scenes together SO i think i can take some ✨creative liberties✨]
Lancelot has heard of the journey of Aneas from travelling bards, singing songs in his native old english. Gwaine’s eyes are quick at latin, and he learnt the flaws of Romulus and Remus in his pure latin. Gwaine’s a good teacher, and lancelot is a quick study, and it’s not long before they’re arguing over which Goddess caused the most harm in the Illiad.
Gwaine’s never met someone who he could reveal that he loved reading to, he loved doing.
Lancelot’s never met someone who he could tell he couldn’t read, and ask if they could teach him, love learning.
They make it work.
The other knights notice, of course they notice. Percival notices how Lancelot stumbles into the Gwaine’s room at night, bright eyed. Elyan notices Lancelot and Gwaine’s voices from Gwaine’s room opposite him; sometimes slow, Gwaine speaking slowly and Lancelot following; sometimes heated and passionate.
(They’re arguing. They’re arguing about how to pronounce Minerva)
Merlin finds the two, in the early hours of the morning - when the birds are figuring what song they sing today - on Gwaine’s bed.
Gwaine leaned against the bedframe, his trousered legs splayed over the sheets. Loosely braided, long brown hair fell over his closed eyelids, his mouth in a small smile.
And Merlin follows his arm draped over Lancelot, snuggled beside him, his head on his broad shoulder, every breath of wind pushing against curly black hair, making it almost /bounce/. His eyes are covered by the other man’s hair, and he looks...content. More content than Merlin has ever seen him.
He slips out as quietly as he came in, and smirks, hes gotta tell arthur they finally got their shit together oh GOD
Its no surprise to anyone but them, when Arthur pulls Lancelot out of training, and into his chambers.
“I’m glad you’ve found someone Lancelot.” He starts, his face geniune, his voice giving away hints of relief. (He thought he was never going to see his knight smile again after all the ordeals that had happened to him)
“Oh...” Lancelot’s heart sinks, “...how did you find out, Sire?”
Arthur blinks, taking in the change of mood in Lancelot, maybe it wasn’t anything important, maybe they were trying to keep it casual, hell they didnt want the king knowing.
“I- uh, I just noticed...” Goddamnit Merlin, and Goddamn his need to tell him everything he saw. (Merlin had advised him not to do this, as they sat on his bed after a long night. This was really his fault.)
Lancelot pales, and he places his hands down on the table beside him, palms slapping stone as he did so.
“Well, I guess I should tell you the whole truth then,” his voice is quiet, and Arthur steps closer, “Sire I am not of Noble birth, and was born in a village - as you know.”
Arthur nods, his arms crossed, but his Kingly Bravado fell away at the sight of his knight, and one of his closest friends, being this vulnerable.
“Yes I know, but what does this ha-“
“And we children in the village we-“ he falters, “-we were never taught to read.”
“Yes, no I understand, I-“ he pauses, Lancelot’s words hitting him a bit too late, this was about literacy?
This, this whole conversation was about literacy?
Not being gay?
Merlin was going to have a field day
“Sire?”
“I understand Lancelot, and is this why you feel a little out of place with the other knights?” He carries it on, with a smile, he has a few questions to ask merlin.
“Yes, and that’s why I asked Gwaine to tutor me from time to time, although, the sessions carry through late into the night, which may have been affecting my performance at practice. I’ll have you know that this is a temporary th-“
“It’s fine Lancelot,” Arthur places a hand on his shoulder, “You are still exceptional at practice,”
“Thank you Sire,” Lancelot twinkles.
✨
“Theyre, theyre not together?” Merlin cant stop laughing, tears streaming down his face, “theyre not TOGETHER?? oh my God arthur what did you DO”
They sit together on Arthur’s bed, drinking wine from stemless cups together, with Arthur recounting the events of the day; red faced.
“I mean, it was your idea Merlin.”
“I just saw them, and I assumed...I didnt...I didnt think youd ASK them.”
“What do you think I’d do then?? Let them be on their merry way.”
“Yes!”
✨
“Do you like me?” Gwaine asks, unexpectedly, one night, the moon vibrant against the loud sea.
“You’re...tolerable...” Lancelot says, a smile tugging at his lips, as the silver moonlight falls against his hair, a halo around him.
✨
The knights give them the look every morning, as the two of them stumbled out of the same room, more frequently than ever.
Sometimes Lancelot would throw on Gwaine’s shirt, when he’d crumpled his own beyond repair. Sometimes Gwaine would put some of Lancelot’s hair oil on, when his hair was frizzy.
They gave each other knowing looks when Gwaine and Lancelot started whispering and giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls.
✨
And then Stupid gwaine had to go get fucking stabbed, and their delicate dance was like trying to waltz through a minefield.
Lancelot clutches onto Gwaine’s arm as Merlin feels his forehead with shaking hands.
“He’s burning up.”
“Infection...?” Lancelot sounds broken, and nods, fumbling with his pack to find some bandages.
It was just a simple quest; a save the day, get the girl, do various harmless shenanigans type of quest.
He’d half expected Gwaine to get the girl, and he cant help but give out a half choked laugh. Gwaine had no idea what hit him when she turned out to be the evil one all along.
He tries to forget that Gwaine showed no interest in her, he tries to forget that Gwaine’s been less frequent at the Tavern, he tries to forget that he hasn’t seen Gwaine with anyone since months now.
Gwaine, his beautiful Gwaine was lying on his lap, hot red blood rushing from his side, staining his polished chainmail with dark, sticky blood.
He’s been out for nearly an hour now, and Lancelot remembers carrying him, through the entire forest, forgetting his sword and his helmet and just grabbing Gwaine and getting the shit out of there.
Gwaine’s lack of self preservation was really rubbing off on Lancelot nowadays.
Merlin watches as Lancelot holds back tears, his own eyes stinging. Gwaine can’t die like this, he can’t die like this....
“hælan beorn adl”
Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and Lancelot could feel warmth coming back into the fingers he was grabbing.
He was coming back.
And then the weight of everything hits him.
He was in Fucking Love.
✨
“Hey.” Gwaine’s voice is rough from disuse, but Lancelot nearly sobs when he hears the voice.
“Don’t fucking do that to me again, amor meus.” He puts his head down on Gwaine’s chest; finding the hammering of his heart calming.
He shimmies onto Merlin’s bed, which Gwaine had been lying in for the past few days.
“Did you mean, ami meus?” Gwaine sounds tired, too tired to be awake.
“Huh? Did i say something else?” Lancelot decides to play dumb, a sparkle in his eyes,
“I thought I heard amor meus,” Gwaine pushes his nose into Lancelot’s hair, taking in the wonderful smell of coconut.
“Well then, at least your hearing’s okay, amor meus.”
Gwaine gulped, and was sure Lancelot could hear his loud swallow.
“Lancelot, I hope this isnt a big joke with me teachin you latin and all,” Gwaine’s voice is a little wobbly from the slee deprivation and the magic and the pain numbers, “because I’ll have you know that I really love you, and I cant go on like this any longer,”
“Its okay Gwaine, I learnt latin from the man I love, of course it’s not a joke.”
“The man you love? Who’s tha-“
Realisation hits him like a brick.
Oh.
Oh.
“Me?” His voice cracks, and Lancelot looks up, a smirk on his face.
“Of course dumbass.”
“Like I’m meant to know that,” Gwaine tries to keep his dont care-ish aura, but they both know he’s too exhausted to keep that up.
“mmm?”
Gwaine kisses him on the nose, and he wraps himself around him.
And thats how Merlin finds them later that day, eyes blinking as he stood there.
✨
“I’m glad you’ve found someone, Lancelot.” Arthur coughs.
“Is that what that whole talk was about???”
“Answer the question.” His words sound harsh, but he’s barely hiding a smile.
“I’m glad too, I’m Glad I found Gwaine too.” Lancelot blushes, turning to gwaine.
“Why are you asking anyway, Princess?”
“Oh just, making sure this time.”
#shit this turned into a fic#im sorry#uhh#gwainecelot#gwaine#lancelot#gwaine x Lancelot#gwaine/lancelot#i should post this onto ao3#but like. fix it up first#fun times#first tumblr fic yall#im growing!!!#IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE AN ESSAY WHAT IS THIS#gwaincelot#im SO sorry
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Black Widow Essay
one of em anw, lol
i'm just gonna start with the very beginning of the film, cause start to finish, they put so much detail in and you can tell everyone really cared to make natasha's story as full & vibrant as they possibly could.
them showing how early on she liked dying her hair or was used to it, even as a child?
as well as such innocent sweet things as this scene
all possibly subtly hinting these girls’ physical capabilities and their dark upbringing or who they really are as spies???
just, how seemingly normal child like things could be subtle hints toward something darker??
but it was STILL something innocent and sweet nevertheless whether they were able to do that cause of their training??
LOVED THAT.
the fact that NAT HAD FRIENDS??? WHEN SHE WAS A KID???
so important to me...
(cause they didn't really need to add that,... but they did)
how the whole operatives pretending as fake families made perfect sense cause they do it all the time in spy movies…
and how yeah, if there were child spies, then they could be used for spy families,
but this was the first movie that DARED to talk about the complexity of it all…
of a fake family being the only family that you had.
I bring this up because I just fucking love it and it reminds me of what they did in wandavision
rushed holidays and birthdays and normal family occasions all in one, because that was all they could get…
the idea of fake empty families in both bw and wv and jac schaeffer being involved with both of em??? gods im in love hahahah
in other spy movies, it’s just so plot focused…
they’re disguised as this to get to this and blablabla
they don’t dare to talk that they were more than their mission
that they have interests hobbies hopes dreams AND LIVES, beyond their work
(say what you will about captain marvel, but I will repeat, it was the first to show women had lives interests hobbies dreams beyond the work that they had...)
i just... the spy families thing is always so plot-centric, but this one, the infiltration aspect had an emotional side to it since it meant that they could all get a reprieve from their normal horrific lives
that's what i ADORE from this film, when they do something, they always hit for the most emotional, most moving, compelling way it can be told or shown
because, all this time we’ve been told, she’s a child assassin, she’s a child spy, she started when she was young dadadaaa
in other movies, they probably could’ve explored this by showing the violence
what was done to her, to show the meaning of what they did to her…
but you know what I absofuckingtutely die for??
they showed the meaning of the violence through this
that BECAUSE of what was done to her…
she could do that
SHE COULD PROTECT SOMEONE ELSE FROM SUFFERING THE SAME FATE AS SHE DID
all, in the first FIFTEEN 15 FUCKING MINUTES…
I just love how the never endless mention of the child assassin thing
the heaviest meaning of that was so beautifully shown like this…
like, YEAH
THIS.
THIS IS WHAT BEING A FUCKING CHILD ASSASSIN MEANS.
SHE’LL STEAL YOUR GUN, SHOOT TO KILL
ALL TO PROTECT HER INNOCENT, YOUNGER, SISTER
oh wait, I also just love the action of the plane scene
it had so much stakes, I was genuinely panicked and fearing for all of them..
melina was shot, nat was flying the plane, yelena was a terrified baby, alexei was even hanging from the freaking wing…
it wasn’t just weightless action, random kicks and punches on screen…
it was a family fleeing for their lives.
I just wanted to commend the incredible stakes the creatives made sure to put into the film’s first action scene is all.
they could have phoned this in and just have hopper punch some dudes
but they WANTED you to root for this family
they WANTED you to feel scared for them, care about them.
THEY CARED.
the first action scene nat ever did, was to protect her sister…
they could have shown her take down some men following after them…
but they DECIDED for nat to show her full capabilities… when it would matter most.
THEY CARED.
AND… NO ONE, NOT NEARLY ENOUGH PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT IT.
you know what I love about the budapest reveal??
they could have just kept it at the clarifying what actually happened thing
and all of us in the audience can revel in the fact that
shooting it out with the hungarian guard and blowing up a building
was in nat’s eyes
just like a literal alien invasion of floating monsters descending from a portal in the sky
just… bask & appreciate the comedy of this guys…
nat’s so funny, I cant…
no okay, they could have just kept it at that…
but they decided to add WHAT HUMANITY THEY COULD IN THAT BACKSTORY.
and they had nat & clint play tic tac toe in the air vents they were hiding out on…
they didn’t have to do that, but they did…
and not enough people appreciate it enough.
people are already talking about how excellent and wonderful it was, the conversations and commentaries on choice are and I’m only here to say YES MORE OF THAT SHARE IT TO EVERYFREAKING ONE GODDAMN IT
in most marvel movies, the female character & the hero usually just either butt heads or the female just helps out the hero in whatever they need to do, they’re the infallible support structure that keeps the hero up
I think… this is why the dynamic between yelena and nat, hits so goddamn hard…
your pain makes you stronger
so much of this film talks about how their pain made them stronger, the best example of this I believe, is the scene in cuba
what I said about the child assassin repetition all concluding to that “I will kill you all, DON’T TOUCH HER” scene…
her pain was LITERALLY what enabled her to do that.
but I bring back the film’s crux line, cause it’s what I think truly separates and makes yelena and nat’s dynamic so much richer more complex and beautiful to me…
the pain of their past.
nat’s insistence of their time together in america not being real, and her dismissing everything in her past as a widow of the red room as horrible and just something she needed to get away from…
it reminds me of a scene from a show my family watches,
new amsterdam. in it, a woman, escapes a house of neglect and abuse. but she also left behind her younger sister in that household, and naturally, feels deeply guilty about it.
but, her therapist said to her, “you saved the only person that you could.”
and, … I can’t think of anything better to fit nat’s situation.
her dismissal of everything in her past as horrible was a fucking coping mechanism…
it made leaving everything behind, easier…
“it wasn’t real, so there isn’t anything to hold onto” nat herself says
she saved the only person she could… herself.
sigh…
most marvel movies usually just have its theme as “be who you were meant to be”
tony, thor, quill, & rocket learned selflessness
peter parker learned to appreciate what HE had, and not focus on what he was escaping from and to
steve figured out who he was in a new world
t’challa reckoned with the sins of the past
(scott’s just a dad)
carol learned to own her power and who she truly was
but nat??
yeah, sure, she could also fall under that theme.
but I just… I honestly believe the abuse, the pain she endured… makes her arc so much more meaningful and poignant…
because it wasn’t just the hero struggling, then the female side character reassuring them & giving them the strength they needed to be who they needed to be
it was her reckoning with what she did…
it was her shutting off yelena who cared about her, because she didn’t want to think about what she left behind
it was her, keeping her heart… when her mother could not.
how despite melina felt she was a rat in a cage
what SHE taught nat, was what kept nat alive…
the pain nat escaped, still found its way to her, in that because of that pain, she caused pain to the little happiness that she had in her past
she caused pain to yelena, because it was all she could associate to her past, which she NEEDED to escape
pain was inflicted on her, and she inflicted pain too
she also just casually stated her mother throwing her out like garbage
was I the only one who was utterly shaken by her statement??
to only then after say, she thought of her everyday even if she didn’t admit it to herself
(don’t even get me started on this search & importance of her past to her being fucking hinted in the place she died, vormir, where she learned her father’s name.
how even after she defeated dreykov… she still didn’t know it, til then…)
I just…
the creatives put so much effort into making nat’s story so full of heart, humanity, and meaning…
the humanity of tic tac toe over hiding out from an army
playing in the yard and colorful dyed hair hinting the dark upbringing
reckoning with what one did to survive…
black widow, is such a heartfelt humanely painful and beautiful film…
it isn’t just another spy movie
it isn’t just another marvel movie
they talked about abuse in it, guys…
they acknowledged it, unflinchingly
the good, the bad, all of it, the entire truth of it…
that alexei wasn’t allowed a chance to be forgiven for what he did
that he can wash himself clean, and that they give him their forgiveness, for HIS benefit…
that it was the very pain inflicted on them, that enabled them to take their abusers down
You think I can’t take a punch?
it was literally her pain threshold & strength that enabled her to break free from dreykov's control
her capability of severing the nerve borne from the training she endured
her pain was literally what made her stronger
they made sure to show that oksana and antonia wouldn’t be forgotten
they let the other widows do their part
and the ones the family saved, came back for them and saved them too
even antonia, as taskmaster, had someone who cared about her. the young widow who told her to smile, went to her when she was no longer controlled.
it was fighting for control, it was looking & focusing on what WAS there
just like how nat learned to accept that not all of her past was horrible,
I want to show you how this movie shows that not all of how nat was treated in the mcu was horrible
the thank you for your cooperation scene, yes
but, one parallel that I haven’t seen anyone bring up yet is this one…
nat did her job, and it’s how they took down hydra
nat did her job, and that’s how they took down the red room
because of nat’s intelligence, due diligence, they had the intel they needed to take down hydra
and to find and save the other widows…
because that’s precisely why I would die for this film…
they. care.
they remembered that small, for most people forgettable, thing that she did- BUT WAS ACTUALLY THE KEY TO THE WHOLE THING
AND MADE DAMN SURE TO SHOW & HIGHLIGHT ITS IMPORTANCE IN HER FILM.
(her copying the data needed to SAVE THE OTHER WIDOWS IN THE WHOLE WORLD WAS GIVEN THE FOCUS & ENERGY NEEDED TO HIGHLIGHT THAT SCENE'S SIGNIFICANCE CAUSE W/O THAT DATA, THOSE WOMEN WOULD BE LOST)
they KNEW that HER COPYING THAT INFO in the lemurian star in tws IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE is HOW NICK FIGURED OUT HYDRA’S PLAN
AND DECIDED TO FUCKING PARALLEL THAT TOO IN HER FILM CAUSE THEY KNEW THAT DESPITE HOW SMALL THAT SCENE WAS, IT WAS ACTUALLY THE KEY TO THE ENTIRE THING
they know the significance that nat’s story has, how it’s about abuse, and what it does to people
it makes them want to run away & dismiss everything that happened as purely horrible
sometimes, it makes them betray people (like melina & even to some extent, nat…)
they did all this in a marvel movie
the importance of choice, control, autonomy, of women’s lives, every aspect of it
the mundane, their intelligence, their pain, their relationships, their humor & happiness & love…
this was a marvel movie, starring women, produced by women, written (jac schaeffer, wv creator too), directed (cate shortland), and edited (leigh folsom) by women.
this was an excellent beautiful painfully heartfelt luminescent movie, from start to finish.
so much care compassion complexity & love, woven into the story
they cared about what nat DID manage to do in the mcu, not that she was forced into the sidelines
(though, honestly, I think that line about nat never letting herself be alone long enough to figure out what her story is was such an interesting & cool way of acknowledging it…)
nat never spoke much in the films, and they went with it, she’s not the inspiring speech type, she herself says
behind the scenes, they were making nat look as cool as possible with those poses
but in this film, they made it HER character trait
that SHEEEE, WANTS TO POSE LIKE THAT.
I just think that’s so funny… a cute character trait of her wanting to pose all the time and denying/not acknowledging it??
I think it’s a sweet & funnily humanizing trait of hers :’’’))
they made her funny like that, heh…
most mcu movies, they have arcs, they have great interesting moving stories…
I just think this film is chockfull of love over natasha romanoff, a hero, an avenger’s story…
they put so much in to give her as full of a life as they could… a complex, heartbreaking, painful, happy, tragic, loving, human life…
most mcu movies… they’re so plot focused. find this, follow that.
for me, this film wasn’t.
it was women getting their control back.
behind the screen, and on screen, it was women getting their control back…
after a decade and more of getting bits of meaningful crumbs here and there, the creatives of this film gathered all those up, and built a full complex life and story from it…
it dealt with something so real and tragic but also beautiful and full of love.
I don’t think most mcu movies did this.
and it’s why I wrote all of this.
give credit where it’s due.
black widow is the most heartbreakingly painful and beautiful film marvel’s ever made…
it was a full and concise and finished and complete story, start to finish, about the hero who’s earned it, the goddamned most.
acknowledge what they did with this film.
it’s what they, nat & the creatives, deserve.
acknowledge it.
they didn’t work this hard to give nat such a meaningful loving & complex life and family and story, only for it to be called lesser
than films who tackle their themes in much shorter times
and with themes that aren’t as rooted in reality
acknowledge what they did.
acknowledge it.
I’m not really that knowledgeable over what framing and lighting really means…
but I think those details mean something
how their life at ohio, playing in the yard was flickered with sunlight, and fireflies
how it turned to night when they were forced to flee and return to russia
how it was night when they first entered the red room
but then there’d be more and more light as nat had progressed with their plan, with beams of light, flashing through the window behind her
and then once the dust had settled, the sun was rising on them, the survivors.
but… the most poignant & meaningful of all these lighting shots that I found…
was nat’s endings,
when she said goodbye to her family…
it was almost like, she was saying goodbye to us too…
with daylight, shining all around behind her, as she walked away and whistled her goodbye
this happening with her goodbye to her family
and with her official final shot of her, heading into the horizon, to her destiny
saving the universe, and saving her family
they cared so much to give her these beautifully poetically luminescent images of her, guys…
my heart breaks as I don’t see anyone else acknowledging this…
so please… acknowledge it.
acknowledge, what they did.
acknowledge it.
#*mic drop*#lol hahhahah#black widow#natasha romanoff#love#women#marvel women#women of marvel#scarlett johanssen#cate shortland#jac schaeffer#leigh folsom#marvel studios#marvel cinematic universe#marvel#:') cries#:')#florence pugh#yelena boleva#black widow movie#black widow 2021#black widow film#natasha and yelena#melina vostokoff#rachel weisz#nat romanoff#ca:tws#captain america: the winter soldier#captain america the winter soldier#long post
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi there!
I am writing a request for a BNHA matchup please!!
I am 20, a Virgo Sun (Cancer Moon + Aquarius Rising, if it matters), 5’3, and ENFP (^:
On the outside I look like I have my shit together, I get things done one way or another. Lots of people have told me I’m upbeat and straightforward, easy to get to know, but I don’t always feel that way. I’m super nervous getting to know people, I’ll even go out of my way to avoid talking if I’m feeling really shy that day. Once ppl get to know me though, I’m affectionate and spontaneous. Can be very hit or miss tho because I do tell it like it is.
I have a very “melted crayon” aesthetic, kidcore/hippie with bright colors, flower and butterfly accessories, etc.
Im super into art and writing, and I listen to a LOT of metal/rock music. It’s a little strange considering my clothing style
I love your stuff, thanks so much!
You sound so cool anon!! ❤️ And thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoy my work ❤️
I will match you with...
Keigo Takami (Hawks) ❤️
You had met the most popular hero while wandering around the shops of Fukuoka. It had been a bit of a stressful week for you so you had decided you needed a relaxing shopping spree to reset your stress levels.
Hawks was doing his usual patrol around the city, helping out anyone who needed it with his feathers. He enjoyed this type of hero work since it meant he could relax and take everything at his own pace. It was as he was walking past that his eyes caught sight of you.
Maybe it was the bright colours you wore that got his attention. After all, your clothes were covered in colours as if a child has thrown paint at you. Or maybe it was the contradicting way you appeared. After all, he noticed how outwardly that you walked with an upbeat confidence but the way your body reacted to the crowds showed how you were a little uncomfortable. It's what intrigued him.
And so, Keigo made his way over to you, wanting to make sure you were alright. At least that's what he told himself. In fact, he had wanted to introduce himself and get to know you more.
You knew exactly who Keigo was. There wasn't a civilian in Fukuoka who didn't. Hawks, the fastest hero and the current Number 2 in the Pro-Hero ranks. You couldn't say that you didn't have a crush on the winged man. Hell, there wasn't a woman alive in Japan that didn't. So when he approached you in the streets to talk to you, it was like a dream come true. Maybe what happened in fanfictions you had read would happen here!
As the conversation eventually turned to a more comfortable and natural one, Keigo was listening intently as you spoke about your interests. He would never had pinned you for one that would listen to heavier music but I guess it was his fault for judging you off your clothing choice. Just before he had to leave to continue his patrol, he had given you his personal number and told you to text him later.
In a daze of what had occurred earlier, you had almost forgot that you needed to text the bird hero. So quickly, you had sent a text simply saying hello with your name attached. Once Hawks had seen it, that is when that thread of messages began. Within an hour, you had arranged a date for that weekend.
Remember the restaurant where Hawks took Endeavor? Well, that's where your first date would be as well. You had decided to wear a simple floaty dress and applied some light make-up. Keigo had dressed up for the occasion, a smart casual outfit that really matched the vibes.
The date itself went amazing! The two of you were passing banter back and forth in between actual conversation topics. The more Keigo got to know about you, the more he was reeled in and it wasn't long until he started to develop slight feelings for you. You were quick to get over the awestruck phase and actually treated him like a human being so it was refreshing.
Dating Hawks would be quite lonely but he would be one to make up for it tenfold. The hero was constantly out preventing and stopping crimes while you would work or if it was a day off, draw and paint. Sometimes you would be seen writing whatever project you were working on. Basically anything to distract yourself from how lonely it was without the bird man you called your boyfriend.
However, when you two would spend time together, it was the most fun or chill experience. Wanting a fun hang out? Well, let's hope you're not scared of heights as this man would love to take you out for a flight. Something about the way your eyes would sparkle at the sights below and how you would trust him with your life. It was something that made Keigo's heart flutter in his chest.
Wanted a chill hang out/date? PJs, blankets, snacks and Netflix. Hawks loves these the best as it meant he could give his feathers a break. He would pull you into his chest and wrap a wing around you as well as his arms. You would be the one that picked what the two of you were going to watch. So enjoy full control of the Netflix to your heart's content.
Keigo is very affectionate both in private and when you go out together publicly. Not to the point where it makes others uncomfortable but where they know he is no longer single. Enjoys having such a vibrant person with him. Hand holding, face kisses, hand around your waist. All of these are a common show of affection for this hero. However, things can... *cough cough* escalate when you're in the privacy of an apartment.
--
Requests for match-ups are closed.
#bnha#boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia match ups#bnha matchup#match up requests#match up event#100 followers event#requested#pro hero hawks#keigo takami
10 notes
·
View notes
Note
I want to bring this into your perspective and see if you agree with it. Because I've been thinking and wanted some thoughts and from other people. Everything in Persona is controlled by the Human Mind (like P3-5 because idk P1-P2 ;n;) Didn't everything come into existence because its what humans desired? In this case everything like the gods are personifications of what humans wished for (spending on the game except P3 because thats actually god of death)
spoilers for every 4 and 5 base game and spinoff
anon darling sweet this has literally been my brainrot for the past year
(I don't know how long this'll get since im tired but hey! I'll stuff things under the cut)
I'm particularly focused on 4 and 5 as seen in above, so my interpretations will be based on that fact as i have yet to play 1 nor 2, while 3 is unfortunately blurry to me (SAYS THE ONE WHO WATCHED A 10 HOUR CUTSCENE COMPILATION ON 4X SPEED. but i understand that nyx herself is. uh. an alien--an actual god. a /gets run over before i continue making more assumptions/)
As the gist of it, yeah! Human collectives desired one thing so much that it gave birth to a godly power, the so-called "Deities" of the Persona series.
"Deities," born of the collective human unconscious, are manifested from the cognition of what said collective unconscious has for the god of the same name.
Izanami was draped in white and was actually a corpse with burnt flesh hanging from bones underneath. Just like the myth where Izanami was a lot more attractive before she died and was rotting away in Yomi.
Kagutsuchi is, well, an entity of fire from the myth's god of fire (who also burned Izanami to death haha), deciding to burn things down to answer the desire for solitude
Mikuratana has the motif of magatamas on its wrists, similar to the myth where it was literally just Izanagi's necklace.
Unfortunately I have not much to say for the 5 deities with their gnostic myth and lovecraftian lore, so I only assume they manifest the same way from my observation.
That being said! No! None of these guys are reincarnations! Make all the "fighting my ex in front of the gas station" jokes all you want, that's not your ex! Izanagi is also a manifestation of the human heart in the form of a Persona inspired by bancho's thoughts of the myth's Izanagi which is why is looks kickass and has a funny coat. They've literally just manifested with the same name (their forms being inspired from however the human unconscious thinks of said mythological figure resulting to their appearance manifested)! The joke gets bland overtime, okay?? I don't even know how you people actually genuinely believe the reincarnation bullshit--but anywho
For this reason and as personal preference, I'd rather refer to them as "deities" as opposed to "gods" in discussion, as I reserve that term for figures they're inspired by. But yeah, more casually you'll see me toss terms around.
Deities out of the way, then there's the "world of the human unconscious." Said to "have always existed," "be born from human hearts," "be affected by human hearts," "exist within humans themselves."
In 4's case, the human unconscious had always been a lush and vibrant forest filled with life. Just like how Teddie remembered it being, before human desire grew out of bounds and turned it into the "hollow forest." In this case, it became devoid of life as fog engulfed it, all for the sake of keeping the Shadows at peace when their desires changed and they wouldn't stay calm unless their vision was obscured from the truth.
(This is mind, I am speaking without Golden's "Hollow Forest" which I would rather refer to as "Marie's Tomb" to make things clearer. And because I honestly saw it as a poor attempt to connect Marie to Izanami when it was just... unnecessary and lore shattering and baababababa you get the point.)
Following this, it also reconstructed itself as a TV station. All for Shadow selves to manifest and broadcast themselves through the Midnight Channel. Human desire at the time being, "Humans ache to expose their suppressed sides, while the prying eyes around them are curious to see them laid bare," after all.
Don't ask me what happened in Arena--in fact, lore was thrown around like a poor marketable plushie where it might've been thrown out the window at this point. Spinoffs have their charms...and their bullshit.
However, while Inaba's world of the human unconscious was clearly shown its "before" and "after" it was corrupted by bloated desire to hide the truth (base) and the wish for self preservation and solitude (arena), Tokyo and the rest of Japan's state of the unconscious was never shown, as no one's been able to return when their access to that world has been restricted.
But recalling the fact it "has always existed in human hearts" may imply it wasn't all organic and...bloody. Just like Inaba's forest never being so foggy--or the fact it turned into something other than a forest at all.
Now! Why do I say "Inaba," and "Tokyo," ("Japan" too, I suppose), and possibly "Metropolis" as that's where 4's Dancing took place (the one Bancho, Rise and Naoto stay in, in context of the IT), separately?
Referencing the Golden Premium Funbook's Persona Team comments, each "collective" has its own world and can give birth to a deity. Which means that the "TV world (the forest)" is Inaba's unconscious, and the "Metaverse" and "Palace" nonsense is Toyko's (ayayayaya I can talk about how I see Strikers' lore in all this but NOT NOW im so sorry). The TV world can only be accessed in Inaba because it exists there.
I can say a lot more about the "human unconscious" like how the Midnight Channel works, or how deities are the ones to bestow access to their respective worlds of their human unconscious but I'll leave it here for now! Like I said, I'm heavily rotted with 4, then 5, but not so much 3 and nothing of 1 or 2, as seen in this interpretation. But thanks for asking for my thoughts! I'm happy to share! (and constantly go on several tangents and forget my main points WHOOPS but yeah!! i have thoughts. my brain is. brimming. with 4 thoughts.)
#persona 4 spoilers#persona 4#persona 5 spoilers#persona 5 royal#persona 5 strikers spoilers#p4#p5#p5r#p5s#sulululat#pagsususuri#assk#anon#//yeAHHH this was part of the now defunct iznmipedia im so sorry to that poor project i'll just be ranting when i want to lol#//also yeah!! thats vl behind the scenes hehe idk omisan looked funny fdjsaebfgvsd#//you can find my (bad) tls of the funbook somewhere in my blog i am...too lazy to lookfor it rn lol#//sorry if i sound salty idk ive been peeved about the community's widely understood fanon which im not meant to argue with bc.people#//yeahyeah poor storytelling or whatever bah i dont want to fight. see what you want to see or whatever mimi said#//but yeah say thanks to this anon for accessing this part of my brain ily nonnie
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Surprise, Dr. Jekyll!!
(For @darling-dolly-darlene uwu)
Henry had been sick with anxiety for the past month or so. Hyde, his idiotic, stupid, fool of a counterpart had fallen asleep after a rather... ahem.. intense hookup. He hadn't left in time, and when Hyde suddenly spasmed in agony, the couple he'd bedded with had leapt up, concerned and startled. When Henry had coughed the last remaining bits of green fluid over the side of the bed, the pair had stood, staring in shock, and it wasn't until Henry had lifted his head that he realized just how fucked he truly was.
And so, after hastily tugging on Hyde's clothes, he'd fled, the man and woman chasing after him for a good bit, shouting for him to come back. Obviously, he hadn't listened, not wanting to end up in Bedlam, thank you very much. Ever since then, he'd been terrified, jumpier than usual, enough so that the Lodgers were starting to notice. Of course, they just added this to their little roster of insults, and for once Henry was glad Frankenstein had turned them all against him. What could he say if they'd shown concern? That he was near ill with panic because a couple he'd indirectly had a threesome with had seen him transform from Edward Hyde into Henry Jekyll?
So, his panic remained, and only grew over time, waiting anxiously for Scotland Yard to burst through the doors and drag him, kicking and screaming, to Bethlam Royal Hospital. His only relief was, ironically, treating Frankenstein. It was easy to forget his troubles when he was being harrassed by an old woman, having to out all his focus on not throat-punching her the next time she called him a slut. Hyde's hisses that, technically, by proxy, Jekyll was a slut, he could do without, though. It was during one such insult-filled checkup that the other shoe finally dropped.
"-just a hack doctor, an industrialist slut groveling at the boots of the wealthy!" Henry's eye twitched, it getting harder by the second to keep his smile in place. The Lodgers were being extra stubborn today, refusing to leave while he treated their oh-so-valiant hero. As Frankenstein started up with another batch of repetitive jabs, Henry bit back a sigh. Could today get any worse?
"Oi!!"
Henry stiffened as all the Lodgers turned to look in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. Well, unfamiliar to them. Henry knew that voice. It had shouted repeatedly at him as he had fled. Shaking with dread, he turned to see that, yep, Hyde's 'friends' were in the doorway, looking livid. Henry paled as they marched towards him. This was it. This was the end of his life. They would grab him, throw him into a police coach, and then he'd be Moreau's new neighbour, tested on each day until the insanity truly did set in—
"You leave our Jekyll alone, you ol' hag!!" Henry squeaked, startled, as the man slung his arm over his shoulders, the woman moving to lean against his side. His mouth opened and closed, akin to a fish being told the most shocking news imaginable, unable to speak. The Lodgers seemed even more surprised than Henry was, and the look of shock on Frankenstein's face admittedly gave Henry a maliciously gleeful sort of feeling. "Henry is brillian', unlike you, ya deadbeat parent!" The woman's voice was thick and slurred, and if it weren't for the fact that Hyde knew that was her natural accent, Henry would have assumed she was intoxicated.
"That's right, ya old bint," The man gruffed, scratching at his bearded jaw as he eyes the old woman with cold disinterest. Henry had by now turned from pale to a vibrant red, so fast he was worries his blood cells would experience whiplash from it. He stammered, unable to form a full word, let alone a proper sentence. The Lodgers were looking at the duo with more interest now, and when the woman casually wrapped an arm around Henry's waist, rubbing his hip soothingly, a few murmurs and titters broke out. Needless to say, Henry was humiliated. Frankenstein shook herself out of her shock, grinning, "Well, I guess my 'slut' comments weren't far off!"
Quick as hounds catching a whiff of blood, the two stormed over to the old scientist, gritting their teeth. It was almost hypnotizing, watching the way they seemed to weave around one another, and Henry tugged at his collar, ashamedly admitting to himself that, yes, he did find their aggressive coordination and brash attitudes attractive.
"Now you listen 'ere, bitch!!" The Lodgers gasped as the woman got right up in Frankenstein's face. "Tha's our boy, ya go' tha'!? Don't say anothe' wor' abou' 'im, or I'll knohk yer damn 'ead off!!" She leant back, her partner easily stepping around her to take her place.
"Lay off!! He's done nothin' but care for you, you wretch!!" He spoke slower than his lover, his accent implying he was possibly from Kent, or maybe Sussex, and Henry only grew a darker shade of red as Hyde teased him about liking the way it sounded. "You've got some nerve, comin' into a man's home and disrespectin' 'im! He's a fine gentleman, and jus' because he knows when and where it's appropriate to show the real 'im doesn' mean he's some stuck up prat! If anythin', it makes 'im smarter, knowin' how to play the game to keep those he cares about safe!" He narrowed his green eyes at her as he growled lowly, "Unlike you, he actually knows what it takes to survive. Then again, I wouldn' expect a spoil' rich girl who ran away from all her problems to understand that." With that final jab, he turned and strolled back to the woman and Henry, the two wrapping their arms around him and pulling him out the door as he sputtered. It wasn't until they were alone in a hallway that he hesitantly asked, "You.. aren't.. turning me into Scotland Yard..?" The pair looked surprised by his words. They shared a look, then cracked up laughing, leaving poor Henry even more confused.
"An' lose th' bes' shag in all of London~?" The woman asked, causing Henry to squeak with embarrassment. The man leant in next, purring in his ear, "What kind of stupid twat gives up a 'two-for-one' deal~?" Henry uttered a soft, "O-Oh, dear..", earning a chuckle from the man. He patted the doctor's back, beaming, "Come on, then, there's drinks to be had, gettin' to know each other, all the fun parts!"
"W-Wait, I–!! I don't even know your names!" Henry complained, not sure if he should be disturbed by how quickly a fond sort of exasperation was settling in his chest.
"Tom Bishop," The man rumbled, and Henry was flustered to admit he liked the sound of it.
"An' I'm Chasity Bishop," The woman crooned, and Henry realized with a jolt the two had matching copper bands on their fingers. Henry groaned, uttering, "Edward Hyde, what have you gotten me into?" The two only laughed, pressing closer to either side of them. As they approached his office, Henry shyly wrapped his arms around their lower backs, the two smiling softly as they recalled a certain blond who loved to do the same.
"I know Hyde has mostly been drinking brandy and gin with you, but all I've got is red wine, I hope that's alright?"
#tgs#tgs au#polyamory#daylight trio#is that what they're called?#daylight trio and moonlight trio?#I'm love them#Mod Jeks
92 notes
·
View notes
Text
Swap a Storm for Sunshine
Shamelessly stealing this from @crvsh-culture ‘s ficlet #CoupleSwap because it’s amazing and im unoriginal
~2.2k words
Marisol’s sitting around the fire pit beside Graham, listening to him prattle on about boats or crabs or fishing or something equally dull as she feigns interest, nodding and smiling whenever he deems it necessary by looking at her expectantly. He always grins back, and she almost feels bad for pretending, for leading him on. Except she feels so much worse for everything she’s done to the woman laughing in the kitchen.
The woman laughing with Elisa, of all people, as she sits on the counter, Elisa slipping closer and closer as the night wears on and Marisol’s patience running thinner and thinner with every centimetre lost between the two. She sends constant glances to the pair, gritting her teeth every time, yet she can’t stop, not even when Elisa’s hand lands on Violet’s lower back, drawing her in as laughter shakes her shoulders mercilessly.
Marisol’s hands tighten into fists, her knuckles white as she focuses all her energy on the ground beneath her feet. She’s jealous and she hates everything to do with it. She hates that she even thinks she has a right to be jealous when she doesn’t; Violet’s not hers, never has been. She hates Elisa for stirring up the envy crashing against the sides of her stomach like stormy waves against the hull of a ship - and not one for fishing. She hates that she ever let herself get to a point where she could be flushed bright green at just the sight of Violet speaking to someone else, and she especially hates that there’s no way to fix it, to patch up her relationship with the woman in the kitchen, a relationship she’s torn apart countless times.
“Oh, I got a text!” Graham pulls out his phone, hopping up and looking down at Marisol, her eyes nearly piercing the ground as haggard breaths cause her shoulders to shudder with each intake. “Hey, I got a text,” he drops his hand to her unsteady shoulder, squeezing it to steal her attention.
She finally glances up in both confusion at the situation and irritation that it’s him, the glassy coating on her eyes disappearing when he wiggles his phone in the air. “What’s it say?” she asks in a small voice, her typical strength stolen by her overwhelming envy.
His brows knit together and he looks as if he’s going to question her, but the look in her eyes forces him to oblige, turning back to the screen, “‘Graham and Marisol, you’ve been given the power. You now have an opportunity to swap up two of the current couples - including yourselves.’”
Marisol jumps up before he’s even finished, stepping close and stealing his phone from him, rereading every letter a dozen times to clarify if it’s real. And it is. Every syllable is just as he announced it, and every possibility is just as it seemed as the words left his mouth.
Graham steps behind her, his hand dropping to her lower back and every cell in her body cringing from his touch, “Alrighty then,” he chuckles, surprised and a loss for what to do. “Who should it be, then?”
“Violet and Henrik,” Marisol answers without hesitation, letting the light illuminating the message fall away to her side as her eyes immediately find Violet in the kitchen once more. Her back’s to Marisol as she sits cross-legged on the counter, facing Elisa below her as they chat away, her hands occasionally rising to fidget and rake through her dark hair, habits she’s built from constant nerves that follow her everywhere.
“Oh, uh, are you sure? They get on well…” Graham ponders aloud from behind her, his words forcing a crease between her eyebrows at the unbridled dismissal of what she has to say, of what she believes.
“Violet and Henrik,” she repeats, harsher now, determined for him to understand. She’ll force him if she has to, just to wipe away Elisa’s stupid smile that glints in the kitchen’s lighting in front of her. She’ll force him if it means she can remove that prideful glint in Elisa’s eyes every time Violet trembles with laughter. She’ll force him if it means stopping the storm inside of her, wracking every organ within her body.
Graham shrugs, giving in without more of a fight, “Okay, I’ll grab them. You know where Henrik is?”
“Check the terrace,” Marisol’s already walking to the kitchen, privately pitying the lack of a fight and just how easy it is to wrap him around her finger, something she once cherished. But now it’s too easy, too basic, too dull. She doesn’t hear Graham’s response or even know if he has one, her focus entirely ahead of her.
Elisa spots her coming, sees the determination glimmering in her coffee eyes, and just to piss her off, to turn her an even darker, more vibrant green, to see if her head will actually explode, she slides impossibly closer to Violet. Her arm’s almost wrapped around the woman on the counter as it rests behind her, and a cold gaze has replaced her smile in greeting, “Hey, Marisol.”
Violet turns, smiling brighter than Elisa could ever dream of, her eyes crinkling with the size of it and the slightest amount of Marisol’s bitter jealousy disappears at the sight of it. “Hey!” she greets cheerily, cheer that few are allowed to witness.
“Can I, uh, borrow you? There was a text,” she explains uneasily, suddenly nervous and shifting from foot to foot with crossed arms. Her bottom lip slips between her teeth as she stares directly into Violet’s unwavering eyes.
Elisa stands straight, pushing off from the counter and stepping forward and between the pair, “What’s it say?” Her eyes narrow, suspicious and curious as they scan the body before her.
Marisol shakes her head, finally tearing her gaze from Violet to meet the ugly gaze on her, “Not about you,” she’s a centimetre away from spitting the words through her clenched jaw, and she couldn’t care less. Maybe she would have cared at one point, but that was lost as soon as there was malice in Elisa’s face.
Elisa’s cold and judgemental gaze finally lands on the ice within Marisol’s own, “But it’s about Vi?”
The muscles beneath Marisol’s left eye twitch at the casual use of the nickname, a shaky breath filling her chest as she attempts not to choke Elisa out in this very moment, “Yes,” she answers tersely, barely managing the syllable.
“Okay,” Violet hums, hopping off the kitchen counter and joining Elisa at her side. “Talk later?” she offers her with a small grin, a private grin, and the storm in Marisol’s stomach resumes, the wind nearly throwing her across the lawn like a doll in a tornado.
It seems to appease the other woman, her stance softening as she nods, “Sounds good.” She forces a smile for Violet and only Violet, and steps back, turning and striding deeper into the Villa.
The remaining two watch her leave, watch her disappear inside, off to do who knows what just to see if she can get away with it. Until Violet turns on Marisol, eyes bright with curiosity and the slightest bit of confusion, “So what’s the text about?”
“You’ll see.” She instinctively reaches out, freezing when her fingertips brush Violet’s wrist. She meets those dark eyes, finding a gentleness within them, and her fingers close around soft skin, pulling Violet along to the fire pit.
Firelight begins to illuminate their skin in an orange glow as they draw near, Violet dropping onto the bench when they arrive, Marisol standing and fidgeting restlessly with rings and her outfit and a bracelet, anything within reach, as they wait for the boys. After a few minutes, Graham strolls up with Henrik, the two chatting and chuckling together as they approach. Henrik sits beside Violet on the bench, nudging her until she laughs lightly, Marisol turning a light shade of green at the banter, a shade that’s become familiar in recent history.
Graham clasps his hands together, “Alright, who else do we need to grab?” He grins, eyes scanning around the lawn as he awaits Marisol’s answer, his easygoing smile falling away a second later when it comes.
“No one,” Marisol answers coldly, eyes back on Violet, frozen as they watch her face shift in further confusion, the slightest crease forming between her eyebrows.
“Um, what?” Graham asks beside her, his voice just as puzzled, a nervous chuckle escaping his throat as he works to make sense of her words. “Then who else are we swapping?”
Marisol watches dark eyes flick over to him, the crease separating her brows deepening at his words, the text and her purpose at the fire pit still lost on Violet. “Us,” Marisol nearly whispers the word, butterflies of nerves swarming the storm inside of her.
Graham steps closer in her peripherals, his mouth agape and hurt or anger, Marisol can’t tell which, simmering in his hazel eyes, “You want me to couple up with Violet?!” The crease deepens as the woman in question attempts to make sense of the scraps of a comprehensible explanation being handed to her. Henrik’s silent behind her, a knowing shimmer as he watches the interaction before him.
Marisol’s ombre hair flies around her shoulders as she adamantly shakes her head, never breaking her gaze. She can’t break it for reasons entirely lost on her, but she knows that much at least, “No, not like that.”
Violet’s eyes land back on hers, questioning and deliberating, warring thoughts fighting for dominance until recognition reigns victorious, dawning within them. Her features soften as she looks up at Marisol in disbelief, questioning reality, and a smile lifting the corners of her lips at the tiny, miniscule nod of confirmation Marisol gifts her. She launches up from the bench, tackling Marisol into a hug, arms wrapped tight around her torso as she spins her around excitedly, Violet’s face buried in the crook of her neck.
Marisol’s own arms coil around her neck, a few streams of laughter escaping her as she’s swung about, the butterflies and the storm gone, replaced by glowing sunshine even in the late evening. Violet drops her back to the ground after what feels like a perfect eternity, her arms still wrapped around Marisol as she turns in her arms to face the boys, hands gripping Violet for balance and reassurance.
She finds disbelief, anger, and a distant understanding brimming in Graham’s eyes, his gaze scanning her as the gears in his mind audibly turn and clink together. “So… what about me and Henrik?” he asks after a beat, a silence that feels like its own awful eternity.
Marisol shrugs, feigning nonchalance, feigning indifference, feigning confidence, feigning something other than unadulterated terror, “You guys are friends, right?”
Violet’s own eyes find Henrik’s now, silently pleading for both rescue and understanding, understanding she knows is there - has to be after all this time. And he eagerly provides it, jumping up from the bench and clapping Graham on the shoulder, “You bet we are!” He beams wide into the night, a picture of joy and excitement at such an odd recoupling.
Graham looks over at him, puzzled and lost, only becoming more so as Henrik directs his smile at him, squeezing his shoulder. “But…” he starts, his own crease forming between his brows as his world shatters into pieces around him.
“Hey, let’s go have a chat to ourselves… love,” he winks exaggeratedly, smiling the whole while as he tries to lighten the mood around the flickering fire pit, rescuing Violet and Marisol in one swift motion.
It’s not the most successful, it’s not comforting or reassuring, it’s not stabilising to the other bloke, but it’s enough to get Graham moving, Henrik carefully leading him away from the fire pit and into the Villa, where the some of the other Islanders have elected to spend their evening of chill breezes.
Marisol suddenly becomes aware of Violet’s hands on her body again, turning in her arms and looking up at those impossibly dark, impossibly soft eyes already looking back at her. Her hands rise to cup sculpted cheeks, to stare into those eyes that she couldn’t see all evening because of Elisa, that she forced herself to avoid until she couldn’t anymore, that she’s never gotten to see quite like this, quite this… happy. She’s positively glowing, her smile brighter than the flames gently licking the sky as they rest in the fire pit, and Marisol can’t help the pride welling in every part of herself, the very same pride she hated Elisa for only moments ago.
Yet, Marisol doesn’t mind the pride or even the pain. She doesn’t mind the awful, swirling storm or the sickening, nerve-wracking butterflies that had nearly overwhelmed her. She doesn’t even mind the sickly green that’s painted her skin for ages at this point. She doesn’t mind any of it, as long as that smile is hers and only hers. As long as she can make up for everything she’s done to the woman standing in front of her from now on, for another perfect eternity, one with only bright, blinding sunshine.
#litg marisol#litg fanfic#sorry for stealing just couldn't get it out of my head#its such a good prompt#maybe
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Different - Adam Sackler (pt. 2)
given the fact how fast im writing this story, i thought i wouldn’t waste time and just bring you the second part as soon as possible!
series summary: Hannah lets you move in with her and Adam as you are her second cousin and in need of a place to live. Your relationship with Adam starts rocky, but things soon seem to be taking a turn.
pairing: Adam Sackler x Reader
word count: 5.4k
PART 1
masterlist
Standing on the pavement you wave as you watch Hannah leave with her parents in the car for her big adventure in Iowa. Life is going to be so much different without her in the apartment, but you’re happy she is taking a step forward in her life.
It’s been three weeks since that night when she and Adam had that big fight and you fell asleep with him on the couch. Neither of you spoke about it, pretending like it never happened. As far as you know, you are the only one who knew about it given the fact that Adam was asleep. Or so you thought.
Things just fell back into normal after that, Hannah and Adam made up the next day, they had an argument about something else a few days later, and balance has been brought to the universe. Then came the big news that she got accepted to grad school and you could almost cut the tension in the apartment, even though they weren’t arguing anymore. There wasn’t any shouting, accusations, fighting, just silent nerves eating both of them up, but neither of them wanted to admit it. They didn’t talk about it.
When the car disappears from your sight you go back up, finding Adam sitting on the couch with a glass of milk in his hands.
“Oh, you’re up,” you say. You thought he was still asleep since he didn’t come down to say goodbye to Hannah.
“Yeah, just woke up. Hannah’s gone?”
“She just left,” you nod heading for the fridge and grabbing a bottled water from it.
You watch him from behind, he just sits there, staring out the window and you wish you could hear his thoughts. Hannah has told you about her concerns regarding her leaving and how it’ll sit with Adam, though he has told her several times that everything is going to be okay, you just feel like there’s been a lot he hasn’t told her about.
“I’m gonna go for a run,” he announces standing up and then he disappears in their… his room, walking out a few minutes later in his running shorts and nothing else. Without a word he just leaves the apartment and you stand there in the kitchen, feeling uncertain how this situation will turn out to be.
The first week following Hannah’s departure is rather weird. Mostly because it’s unusual to be at home with only Adam around. Out of the three of you Hannah was definitely the most bubbly and vibrant person, she talks way more than you or Adam, so silence became the third person in the apartment once she left.
You don’t see Adam too much, he has a lot of work with his show and the castings he has been going to, he usually gets home pretty late and is still asleep when you leave for work, leaving very little time for the two of you to actually meet.
But when you do, it’s weird. He constantly seems uninterested in everything, stays in his own little world, seemingly shutting everything and everyone out. At first you feel like it’s because of Hannah, you tell yourself that he just needs time to adjust to this whole new situation. But as time goes by you start to feel like it’s actually you. That he is avoiding you and trying to shut you out, but you have no idea why and it’s starting to really bug you, because you are almost entirely sure you didn’t do anything to have him act like this towards you.
One Monday evening it’s a lucky time, you both are at home, Adam is in his room with the door closed and you hear him shuffling around, like he is rearranging the room or something. You hesitate for a while whether you should try to talk to him or just let him distance himself in peace. Your curiosity is too strong to just let it be, so walking up to his room you knock on the door firmly.
“Yes?” he calls out and opening the door you peek inside before walking in.
“Hey,” you greet him with a faint smile. The room is kind of a mess, it seems like he is rearranging his dresser, all of his clothes sitting on the floor, two of the drawers are on the bed, each of them half full. “What are you doing?”
“Just moving some of Hannah’s shit so I have more space.”
“Oh,” you nod taking another look around. “I was thinking about ordering food, do you want to join?”
Exhaling sharply he puts his hands on his hips as he looks at you from across the room.
“No thanks,” he shakes his head and you lick your lips in defeat as you slowly nod. As you are about to walk out you decide that you’re not missing the chance to actually ask him about his behavior so you stop with the doorknob in your hand as you turn back to him.
“Adam, did I do something that upset you?”
“Huh?” he tilts his head.
“I just feel like you’ve been kind cold with me lately, and I was wondering if I did something that made you so… distant.”
He stares at you for a few moments before licking his lips and turning away, as if he doesn’t know what to say and you just stand there, waiting for him to tell you anything.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he then finally speaks up, but you are almost entirely sure he is not telling the truth. Staring at him you give him a few more seconds to change his mind and tell you the real reason, but he doesn’t. He just looks right back at you, and the feeling that you are unwanted here just grows with each passing moment.
“Alright then,” you shortly say before finally walking out and shutting the door closed.
You don’t order anything, your appetite is gone the moment you get to your own room and tears start dwelling in the corner of your eyes.
“I just honestly don’t understand what his problem is all of a sudden, everything seemed cool before, I don’t know what changed,” you sigh when two days later you are sitting in a bar with Ella. She is visiting family in the city and the two of you wanted to have a long night of just chatting and catching up on each other’s life. You just told her about the whole Adam story, except that small little detail that you woke up cuddled up to his side that evening you two watched a movie together. She doesn’t have to know about that.
“You said it yourself before, the guy is a weirdo, why are you surprised that he is acting weird?” she asks, stirring the straw around in her drink.
“Because he hasn’t been that weird lately.”
“The guy just had to go into a long distance relationship, I’m sure it’s hard on him.”
“Yeah, but I feel like it’s against me and has nothing to do with Hannah. I mean, as far as I know, distance has been nice for them, haven’t heard them argue on the phone since she left and it’s a personal record for them.”
“Because people in long distance relationships don’t like to waste their time on useless stuff like fighting on the phone. They value the time they get to spend together even if it’s not in person.”
“But still, it just feels… It doesn’t feel right, that’s it.”
“I’ll tell you what you need to do,” she snorts and you eye her curiously, wanting to hear her way of solving the problem. “Let’s get two more tequilas and get shit faced so you forget about his weird ass.”
You just roll your eyes at her, but don’t say no when she orders two more rounds. You feel like you could definitely use just one night when you don’t think about Adam. He has been constantly occupying your thoughts on a daily basis and it’s pretty tiring, to say the least.
It’s been so long since the last time you and Ella had a great night out together, so you might go a little overboard with the drinks. An hour later you definitely feel drunk, head dizzy, words blur together in your mouth. Ella had the same amount, but she always took it better so she is enjoying the show you are putting up.
The two of you move over to the dance floor, just casually enjoying yourselves, some guy buys a drink for Ella and she shares it with you, though you probably should have said no to it. But you are no longer in the right state of mind to decide what to do.
Nearing midnight you really reach the point where you lose control over yourself. Ella drags you back to the table, sitting you down and gets you some water that you start sipping on, but you are not really present anymore in your mind.
“Shit, Y/N, how am I gonna bring you home?” she panics, the situation sobering her up pretty fast as you just sit there, eyelids threatening to close shortly as you lose focus with your eyes. You don’t just see double, everything is one big mass.
You mumble something back, but she can’t understand it and she realizes she doesn’t even know where you live. She tries to come up with a plan, but she has to realize she is not enough on her own to get you home. Fishing your phone out of your purse she grabs your thumb and opens it with your fingertip and goes straight to your contacts, looking for one particular name, hoping you have the number.
“Bingo,” she sighs in relief finding the contact name Adam S. and she doesn’t hesitate before dialing the number.
It takes a few rings until he finally answers.
“Y/N?”
“Hey, this is Ella, Y/N’s friend. I have a little situation here.”
“Okay?”
“Y/N is pretty wasted and I need help to take her home, since, um, I don’t even know where her home is.”
The line is silent for a few seconds before Adam speaks up in a stern voice.
“How bad is she?”
Turning to you Ella checks in on you, lifting your head up, but your eyes are closed and you just slur something under your breath.
“Pretty bad. I don’t think she can even stand up.”
“Shit. Alright, text me the address, I’m leaving now.”
Adam quickly gets dressed and leaves to the address Ella texts her from your phone. While waiting for him to arrive she tries her best to keep you in one piece, but it’s harder than she thought. Apparently, a completely drunk girl is just what also drunk guys want, so Ella has to face quite a few men who tries to hit on the two of you. She is outraged that people want to take advantage of someone who is truly not able to make decisions for herself.
When Adam finally arrives Ella is shouting at some random dude, who has tried to drag you away from her, but all you could do is giggle and you almost fell from the chair.
“Hey, ass rat. Why don’t you get the fuck out of here?” Adam snaps pulling the guy back who at first seems mad that someone dared to call him out, but seeing how much bigger Adam was than him, he realizes it’s better to just disappear.
“Thank God! They are like disgusting vultures!” Ella whines as Adam squats down next to you, taking a good look at you.
“Hey Kid, how are you feeling?” he asks tilting his head to the side.
You frown, turning your head in his direction and it takes some time for you to recognize him, but when you do, your whole face lights up.
“Adam! What’re ya doin’ here?” you gasp throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him, that definitely surprises him.
“Oh, okay. Hey, why don’t we get going? You’ll feel so much better at home.”
He talks smoothly, like he is talking to a little child and in some sense you are one at the moment. Curling an arm behind you and holding your hand with the other he slowly stands you up and starts walking you towards the exit as Ella follows the two of you right behind, carrying your purse.
He goes up to a cab waiting near the bar and gently, carefully sits you inside, shutting the door on you.
“Thanks, I’ll take care of her. You good on your own?” he asks taking your purse from Ella.
“Yeah, I’ll just get a cab for myself too. Thanks for helping.”
Ella takes one last look at you, sitting inside the car, already kind of dozed out before she parts ways. Adam gets into the car and tells the driver the address. As the car starts moving you immediately lean onto him, nuzzling your head into his shoulder and he freezes for a second.
“You’re comfy,” you mumble under your breath, making yourself comfortable on him. He hesitates, doesn’t know what to do, but then just puts his arm around you and keeps you at his side, gently rubbing your arm on the way home.
He can barely drag you up to the apartment once you arrive, you keep talking nonsense as you basically hang on him.
“Okay, just a few more steps,” he sighs, opening the door to your room and the two of you finally make it to your bed. You immediately collapse onto it, letting out a satisfied moan that has Adam gulping hard.
Your dress has ridden up on your thighs, revealing way more than what he has seen of you before, and your cleavage is also pretty gifting to his eyes at the moment.
“Mm, Adam?”
“Yes?” he asks as he tries his best to control his thoughts as he is taking your boots off.
“Why do you hate me?” you sigh, eyes closed, arms spread out to the sides.
He freezes, one hand wrapped around your ankle, the other one holding your boot.
“I… I don’t hate you, Y/N.”
“Yes you do,” you mumble nodding.
“I definitely don’t. Why do you think I hate you?” He finally finishes with your boots and you reach for the bottom of your dress and start pulling it up. “Oh, maybe that can stay,” he quickly grabs your hands stopping you.
“I can’t sleep in this,” you whine, moving around and trying to free your hand from his hold. “Adam!”
“Jesus, okay! Can you change without help?” he asks finally letting you go.
“Mm,” you hum to yourself pushing yourself up. Stepping to your dresser he grabs a shirt and shorts he has seen you wear at home before and lays them to the edge of the bed before turning around to give you privacy.
He hears you shuffling around as he stands there, arms crossed on his chest, aimlessly looking around when he realizes he can see your reflection in the small mirror set on your dresser. His lips part seeing you in only your bra and lacy thong, throwing your dress to the side before reaching for the clothes he gave you.
He tells himself to just look away, but he can’t. His eyes just wouldn’t obey as he watches your body, how your breasts curve in your bra, the way your collarbones run along your shoulders, and the dip of your back that curves into your ass. Adam takes a deep breath when he feels himself hardening and quickly takes a small step to the side so you fall out of his sight finally.
“I’m done!” you announce and when he turns around you are lying on bed finally clothed.
“Do you feel like throwing up?” he asks sitting to the edge of the bed as you get under your covers, making yourself comfortable.
“Nah,” you sighs shaking your head with a grimace.
“Okay, then tell me why you think I hate you,” Adam says getting back to the original topic.
“Because… You’re weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“But… You’re weird…er. To me. You ignore me. I don’t like that.”
“I’m not ignoring you, I just fetched you up from a bar. If I was ignoring you, I would have let you do whatever you want.”
“But you didn’t,” you sigh closing your eyes and Adam is afraid you’re gonna fall asleep so he selfishly shakes your leg to wake you up. “Stop!” you growl.
“I don’t hate you, Y/N. I’m just…”
He doesn’t even know why he is talking to you about it right now, when you are not clear. This is definitely not how he wanted to talk to you, to be exact, he didn’t think he would ever talk to you about it, because his thoughts have been killing him and he was just hoping it would all go away, but it didn’t.
“Do you hate me?” he finds himself asking.
“No. I think you are… great. I like you,” you smile to yourself, letting your head sink into the pillow again. “You are my favorite person here.”
“I am?” he asks surprised.
“Yeah. I don’t know many people though,” you chuckle to yourself turning to your side. “But you’re cool.”
Adam sits there in silence, taking your words in and he feels an odd warmness in his chest. Glancing over at you he watches your face relax and he thinks you have fallen asleep already. He thinks you’re cool too, he just doesn’t know if it would be appropriate to tell you.
Taking one last look at you he decides it’s time to let you sleep this all off. Standing up he is about to head out when you stop him.
“Adam?”
Turning back he sees that your eyes are barely open, but they are focused on him.
“Yes?”
“Can you stay?”
“Stay?”
You just nod your head flipping the covers as you scoot over to make him space. He just stands there, torn over what he should do. Every little bit of him wants to get into bed with you, but he still has that small little voice in the back of his mind that’s warning him that he is crossing a line.
“Please,” you pout your lips at him and it’s the last straw for him.
Sighing he kicks his shoes off and he crawls into bed next to you. The moment he pulls the covers over him you immediately cuddle to his side, making yourself comfortable pressed up against him. He has to take a few deep breaths before he can relax, putting an arm around your shoulders.
He just lies there, listening to your even breathing while staring up at the ceiling.
He’s been trying to behave for so long, but his feelings towards you are getting out of control and he feels like he doesn’t want to control them anymore. He is definitely losing his mind and it’s all because of you.
Your head feels like it’s getting hammered by trolls. You haven’t even opened your eyes but you already grimace at how hangover you’re feeling. You really shouldn’t have drunk so much, you’re gonna kill Ella for this the next time you see her.
“Fuck,” you groan rolling to your back and just as you realize how oddly shaped your pillow is under your head, it starts speaking.
“You good?”
Your eyes pop open and you see that Adam is lying next to you, an arm under your head, his hair messily covering his forehead.
“I… My head hurts,” you mumble, totally confused about what he is doing here, in your bed.
“I’ll get you something for that,” he sighs pushing himself up and scratching the back of his neck he walks out of the room and you hear him shuffle around outside. You quickly check if you have clothes on and you luckily do, though your dress you had on last night is gone and you don’t remember getting changed. To be exact, you don’t really remember anything after the third round of tequila. It all melts into a mass in your head, maybe you were dancing, you remember a guy came up to you, but have no idea what happened with him. Then Adam bringing you up to the apartment and that’s the end for you. Panic starts to set in when he appears with a glass of water and two Advils in his hand.
“Here,” he softly says as you take everything from him and chug the pills down with the water.
“Thanks,” you say, voice sounding throaty. “I, uhh—I’m gonna take a shower,” you quietly mumble slowly crawling out of bed. You just need some time to figure out what had happened last night that ended with Adam sleeping in your bed and you just can’t think when he is standing right in front of you.
The hot water feels like heaven on your skin and you take your time standing under the shower, trying to recall as much from last night as possible. It’s like trying to watch a damaged videotape, bits and parts are missing, other parts are just too grained and it’s so annoying. But by the time you wrap your towel around yourself you know a little more about last night than what you did in the morning.
You remember talking to Adam in your room, he gave you the clothes and then you changed on your own, luckily. You recall telling him that you like him, but you don’t know what he replied to that, maybe he didn’t even say anything.
When you walk out Adam is on the couch, reading a book. You plan on asking him what really happened last night, but you decide it’s better to get dressed at first. So a few minutes later you emerge from your room wearing a hoodie and yoga pants as you go over to the armchair and sit down, anxiously fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie.
“You okay, Kid?” he asks narrowing his eyes at you.
“Adam… What did we exactly talk about last night?”
He stares at you for a few seconds before closing the book and putting it aside and pushing himself up.
“Um, a few things.”
“But what exactly?”
“You… told me that you thought I hated you. Which I asked you about and you said that it’s because I act weird to you. I didn’t realize that, so I’m sorry about that.”
You quietly nod, taking everything he says in as he continues.
“Then I asked if you hated me. And you said… You said you liked me and that I’m your favorite person here, though you added that you don’t know many people in the city,” he chuckles lightly and you feel your cheeks burning.
“Way to brag about being socially awkward,” you mumble under your breath.
“S’okay. I think it’s cute.”
You raise your eyebrows at his words, didn’t expect to hear that for sure. But now you don’t know what to think about this whole situation. Just a few days ago Adam was totally ignoring your existence, barely talking to you and now he tells you it’s cute that you suck at socializing? And he spent the night in your bed?
You want to ask him what this all means, does this change anything? What will happen now? But you’re too afraid to speak up. Instead, you just decide to see it yourself. Worst case scenario he goes back to ignoring you.
But he doesn’t. It’s like you are going on a rollercoaster when it comes to Adam, sometimes it’s bad, really bad for no actual reason and then you are suddenly going up and at a blink of an eye he is all pleasant and nice to you. You just wish you could predict these tracks and not just go through them blindly.
The upcoming days are… amazing. That’s all you can say about them. You and Adam start hanging out on a daily basis, doing as many things together as possible, cooking together, watching movies on the evenings, having breakfast together before you both leave in the morning, it’s been quite the change and you don’t mind it.
However it has also brought a constant anxiety into your life, because your liking towards Adam has been growing wildly, but you often have to remind yourself that he is still in a relationship with Hannah, no matter that it’s been weeks since she left to Iowa. It feels so inappropriate when you find yourself zoned out on him, thinking about things that should never cross your mind about someone else’s boyfriend, but it’s so hard to control yourself.
Being good friends with Adam is an awesome and wholesome thing, but it’s really messing with your head and you decide you should do something before you fall too deep.
“Where you heading all dolled up?” he asks one evening when you are doing your makeup in the bathroom, already wearing a deep blue, flowy dress but you’re still barefoot.
Adam stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watches you carefully applying mascara, fascinated by your delicate movements.
“Um… I uh…” You’re not sure if you should tell him, but then you tell yourself it’s stupid, he is your friend. “I have a date tonight.”
“A date?” he seems genuinely surprised and maybe a little offended? You’re not sure about that though. “I thought you don’t date.”
“Yeah, but…”
You’re not sure how to answer that. You really don’t date, or to be exact, you don’t want to, but you figured it would be a good way to distract yourself from your thoughts about Adam. It’s not really the best thing for your anxiety, but sometimes you have to push yourself out of your comfort zone and who knows? Maybe something nice will turn out of it.
“This guy from work asked me out and I thought maybe I could give it a go.”
“Why do you torture yourself?”
“It’s not torture,” you roll your eyes sighing and packing up your makeup stuff into your little bag before walking past him and going back to your room. He follows you and while you get around, gathering everything you need he flops down to your bed, playing with your furry pillow.
“You said it yourself that you hate the whole dating shit. Then why do you want to do it now? Why don’t you stay home? We could order food and watch something.”
“Let’s do that tomorrow. I can’t cancel on Tyler now.”
“Tyler, huh?”
“What?” you huff at his weird tone. He just holds up his hands in defend, like he has nothing against the whole situation when in real life, it’s eating him up on the inside.
He doesn’t like the idea of it at all. Thinking about you with some random dude, it has him shivering on the inside. What if he is a dick to you? What if he says something rude and hurts you? There are so many problems he could list if he was asked why you shouldn’t go out tonight.
“I’m just worried that you’ll just worsen your whole perspective about dating with tonight,” he shrugs his shoulders, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“That’s nice of you, but I’m still going.”
You grab your jacket and purse, then quickly step into your shoes and head for the front door, ready to leave. Adam follows you out of your room, still not satisfied with the fact that you are going on a date.
“Call me if you need help,” he offers and you give him a puzzled look.
“Help with what?”
“If he turns out to be a complete douche and I don’t know, maybe he starts harassing you.”
“We work at the same place, if he would want to harm someone he wouldn’t have asked me out, because he would have to face me every day until one of us quits.”
“Okay, but still. Anything could happen.”
“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you later,” you flash a smile at him before walking out and shutting the door closed behind you.
Adam stands there for a couple more minutes, as if he is waiting for you to come back and say that you were just joking, you’re not actually going. But you don’t return and he is left with his irked nerves, not knowing what is happening with you.
He can barely stop himself from calling or texting you to see if you are doing alright, he tries everything to keep him busy, he even starts cleaning, but when he gets bored with everything he just sits on the couch, staring at the TV, waiting to hear the click of the door opening.
It’s past ten when you finally arrive back home, Adam basically jumps to his feet when he hears the door opening and you look at him surprised.
“What?” you ask confused as you shut the door closed and head into your room, Adam follows you right behind.
“So how was it?” He tries his best to sound neutral, like he is not dying to know how it all went down, deep down hoping that you’d say it was a disaster.
“It was… okay, I guess,” you shrug.
It wasn’t as bad as you expected, you knew Tyler is a nice guy, he took you to dinner and then you just walked around for a while, talking, before he walked you home. It was definitely not the date that is going to make you change your mind, but you could… make it through and that’s all that matters for now.
“Okay? That doesn’t sound too good.”
“Adam, what do you want to hear?” you sigh, a little too tired for this conversation right now. “I didn’t like the talking, I felt awkward, but it also wasn’t bad enough to make me want to cry, so yes, it was okay,” you explain hanging your jacket into your wardrobe.
“So does this mean you are seeing him again?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“That I don’t know! He hasn’t asked me out for a second date, so I don’t know and I’d love it if you stopped interrogating me about it,” you say giving him a look.
“I’m not interrogating you, I’m just curious.”
“Well, stop it.”
“Why, is it against the laws to want to know what happened?” he asks, sounding clearly hurt, but you feel like he is doing this for nothing. He doesn’t have the right to act like this.
“It’s not, but my dating life is not exactly your business, Adam. And I don’t mean it in a hurtful way, but this is the truth,” you start, reaching a point where you feel like you just can’t take it anymore. You’ve stayed silent for way too long. “Yes, we are friends, but it’s weird to share these kind of stuff with you. If I didn’t know that you are still dating Hannah, I would think you have other intentions, trying to make me not meet men. But you are still with her and I’m sure this is not what I think it is, right?”
There’s a hidden meaning behind what you are saying and you hope he is taking it in the right way. The two of you have been dancing on thin ice lately and you definitely don’t want to cross any dangerous lines. These feelings you’ve been battling are getting out of hands and the way he acts is definitely not helping, whatever his reasoning is behind it all.
“Yeah,” he finally nods. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he mumbles before wandering out of your room.
For a moment you regret what you said, maybe you should have communicated in a nicer way, but then you realize it had to be done for your own sake.
The only thing that bugs you is that you’re afraid he is now going to go back to the cold, dour Adam you already know so well, but surprisingly, it doesn’t happen. He is just the same in the morning, smiley and bubble like before and you are kind of relieved to know he didn’t take your words too hard, but something in the back of your mind is telling you that the situation is about to take a concerning turning point soon.
-
general/forever taglist for Adam Driver
i do separate taglists for different people, but not for different works of mine! if you ask to be on my Adam taglist, you’ll be tagged in all of my Adam fics!
@superdriver @siren-queen03
if you’d like to be taken off or added to the list, please let me know!
#adam#driver#adam driver#adam sackler#sackler#hbo girls#adam sackler imagine#adam sackler imagines#adam sackler au#adam sackler fanfiction#adam sackler fiction#adam sackler fanfic#adam sackler story#adam sackler x you#adam sackler x y/n#adam sackler x reader#adam driver imagine#adam driver fanfiction
173 notes
·
View notes
Note
for the firefighter au: please let the kids ask Rowan if he's Aelin's boyfriend? 😂
@tangledraysofsunshine can attest to the fact that this was always my plan *evil smile*
Masterlist
~~~~~
Aelin was washing up her dishes from dinner when Rowan walked in in his usual sleeping attire.
“Hi,” he said as he locked the door behind him.
Aelin shook off her hands then wiped them on the apron she was wearing before pulling the ties at the back.
“Hello,” Aelin said and slipped the apron over her head, revealing her own sleepwear.
She couldn’t help but smile at the ways Rowan’s eyes widened a little as he took her in. It was one of her more demure ensembles, a camisole and culottes that hit her mid thigh, but it was a vibrant red the complimented her features perfectly. The deep V neckline didn’t do any harm either.
Rowan just shook his head a little and made for the bedroom. Aelin followed him, feeling slightly awkward as Lysandra’s words from the other day replayed in her head.
Instead of going into the room Aelin stopped at the door.
“So tomorrow, can you come at 10? You only need to talk to the kids for like half an hour 40 minutes max. If that time doesn’t work I can rearrange things,” she said.
Rowan set down his pillow and lay on the bed.
“10 is fine. If we get a call out I’ll let you know though,” Rowan explained.
“Sounds good,” Aelin said, still standing by the door.
“Not coming to bed?” Rowan asked.
“No,” Aelin instinctively said, still feeling awkward. She’d always been in bed first, this was new territory. “I’ve got some things to do for tomorrow.”
“Alright, goodnight then.” Rowan rolled over and that was that.
Aelin walked over to the couch and grabbed her phone and aimlessly scrolled for about half an hour. As she had planned, Rowan was already asleep when she went to climb into bed beside him. Aelin sighed A week and a half, that was it. Then they’d be able to stop this damn awkwardness and she’d have her apartment and bed all to herself again.
~~~~~
Rowan pulled up to the school in navy pants and shirt uniform, it practically looked like he was wearing a jumpsuit. In the duffel bag in the backseat he had his actual firefighting gear to show the kids.
Aelin had told him this morning as they rushed past each other to sign in at the office and then they’d tell him where to go. He grabbed the bag and headed to the administration building.
Coming through the doors before him there was what looked like a parent dropping off their child, then a woman with rich brown hair who was wearing a white coat. As she heard the door opened she turned her head and gave Rowan a kind smile, Rowan nodded as he lined up behind her.
“Careers day?” She asked, her golden-brown eyes looking over his uniform. Rowan nodded.
“Me too,” the woman pulled a hand from her coat pocket and held her hand out to him, it was then Rowan noticed her pregnant stomach. “Dr. Yrene Westfall.”Rowan took her hand and shook it. “Rowan Whitethorn. I work at the fire station.”
“I assumed,” she said, but not unkindly.
“Westfall? Are you Captain Westfall’s wife?” He and the police captain had crossed paths multiple timed on call outs.
“Yes I am,” she said with a bright smile.
“I’ll have to remember to congratulate him next time I see him,” Rowan said.
Dr. Westfall cocked her head. “About what?”
Rowan felt his face burn. But then the doctor laughed.
“I’m kidding. He’ll love that, he’s very excited.”
Rowan let out a nervous laugh. By this time the parent was done and Yrene moved up to the window.
“Hello Elide. How are you? How’s your ankle doing?”
Rowan peered over Yrene’s shoulder and saw a small dark haired woman on the other side of the window.
“I’m good. Those exercises you gave me have really helped. How are you?”
“Heartburn in killing me at the moment,” Yrene said.
“You know where Lysandra’s classroom is?” Elide asked
“Yep. I might see you later,” Yrene said as she stuck a visitors sticker on herself. “Nice to meet you Rowan,” she then threw over her shoulder as she walked away.
Now Rowan stepped up to the window.
“Hi, Rowan Whitethorn. I’m presenting to Aelin Galathynius’ class.”
Elide’s eyes sparked with something, but her face gave nothing else away.
“Here sign this, then I’ll take you to Aelin’s classroom,” Elide said as she slipped a piece of paper towards him and a visitors sticker.
“If you tell me where it is I’m sure I can find it,” Rowan said.
“I’m on my way there anyway,” Elide said casually.
Rowan just nodded as he signed the paper and stuck on his sticker.
~~~~~
It was 5 to 10 and Aelin hadn’t heard from Rowan so she prepped her class for his arrival. They were seated on the mat in front of the chair she usually sat it, excited and eager to see who would be visiting them today.
There was a knock and Aelin went to the door. Elide was there with Rowan towering behind her. Her brows were high as she gave Aelin a look and Aelin almost failed to stop her snort of laughter as Elide came into the classroom.
“Class,” Aelin said and 20 little heads snapped to where she was, “this Firefighter Whitethorn. He works at the fire station.”
There were a few gasps and many hissed yeses, then just about all of them went a bit wide-eyed when they took in his size. Rowan, bless his heart, gave a tentative smile as he tried desperately to hide how nervous he was.
“They can smell fear,” Aelin whispered. Then she went to the back of the room to where Elide sat on one of the desks and sat beside her.
“He looks as if he’s stepped out of one of those borderline pornographic calendars you buy at the $2 store,” Elide whispered.
Aelin just gave her a smile that suggested she was inclined to agree.
~~~~~
The presentation had gone fairly well. The kids were attentive and well behaved and practically hung on every word he said. Rowan had showed them his gear and passed the helmet around. Most of the kids had tried it on and Rowan had smiled as it dropped well past their eyes. Aelin had smiled too from where she sat at the back of the room, alone as the dark haired woman had left sometime during his presentation.
“Alright, does anyone have any questions?” Rowan asked. 10 hands shot into the air.
“Wait for Firefighter Whitethorn to point to you, he doesn’t know your names,” Aelin instructed.
“But Miss G, you tell us it’s rude to point,” one of the kids said.
Aelin didn’t miss a beat. “Right now is an exception. Which means it is allowed, but only by our guest.”
That seemed fair enough and the kids turned their attention back to him. There was a girl near the front who looked like she was about to burst so Rowan pointed to her.
“What’s the scariest fire you’ve fought?” She asked, her words coming out so fast he almost missed them.
Rowan thought for a moment. “Wildfires are probably the scariest to fight because they’re unpredictable,” many of the kids looked at him a bit confused. “They can be doing one thing then suddenly change. I fought one about a year ago that ended up surrounding me and my team. That was the scariest.”
The question having been answered more hands shot up. Rowan called on a freckled brown haired boy next.
“How do you get your arms to be so thick? They look like tree branches. Is it for you job?”
Rowan heard a snigger from the back of the room and Aelin was covering her mouth with her hand.
“Well, we have to make sure we’re strong and healthy for our job. Everyday we have time set aside to do fitness, I just do a little more that I have to,” Rowan explained and the boy nodded, happy with the answer.
Next Rowan called on another boy, who put his hand down a little shyly.
“Are you Miss G’s boyfriend?”
Rowan felt his cheeks flush and he stammered at the unexpected question. At the same time there was spluttering and a choked off cough from where Aelin sat. She had been taking a drink from her water bottle.
“Uh no, she’s not my girlfriend,” Rowan said hoping that would suffice the kid
“Would you like her to be?” The boy pressed.
There was a clap from the back of the room.
“Okay. Firefighter Whitethorn has to get back to work,” Aelin said. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” the class chorused but there was one whined “But he didn’t answer my question.”
“Benjamin, that’s enough,” Aelin said as she opened the door. It was now Rowan noticed the blush on her cheeks. He hid the smile about the fact something had finally seemed to get under Aelin’s skin.
Rowan waved goodbye to the kids, many of whom waved back and he left the classroom.
“Thanks for coming in,” Aelin said, standing in the doorway.
“Yeah, no problem,” Rowan said as he slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Guess I’ll see you tonight then,” Aelin said stepping back into her classroom, door in one hand.
Rowan nodded and smiled. Aelin smiled too, a small one, and the way her cheeks were still flushed it made her look quite pretty. Beautiful even. Then the door closed and Rowan was left by himself in the empty hallway, trying not to contemplate other ways he could get his neighbour to smile like that again.
~~~~~
Tags: @tangledraysofsunshine @nalgenewhore @highqueenofelfhame @galyxsy @fucking-winchester-trash @literary-licorice @http-itsrebecca @highladyofthesith @aelinfire-bringer @soup-that-is-too-hawt @sleeping-and-books @3am-reading @average-girl-at-best @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @rowaelinforeverworld @alifletcher2012 @westofmoon @tswaney17 @mydarlingfireheart @rowansfirebringer @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen @vanilla28 @fireheart-of-your-dreams @enquires-state-building @im-not-rare-im-rarr @your-high-lady @ttakeitbacknoww @queenofxhearts @vi0let-femmes @kindofawalkingpoem
314 notes
·
View notes
Text
NEW MYTHOLOGIES MENSWEAR
I chose this as anther one of the trend to look at as
I really liked the style of the clothing. I also really
like the tones used as they contrats, some are
vibrant and bright, where as others are neutrals,
however, i really like how these two different
tones compliment eachother. I also think this style
is massivley in trend with the over sized pufffer
coats, especially in the colder seasons. This year the
oversized look has become so fashionable.
This style is perfect for the urban lifestyle, I think
the brands that made and styled this garment are
closley linked with nature- i think because the tones
within the clothing remind me of autum/spring. I like
this because it links to the season and also makes the
garment link with outdoors and nature. I love the
colour pallets in these garments because it ranges
from browns to bright sports wear colours. Thid links
to the consumers lifestyle as I think these garments are
focused on people who have a actuve lifestyle who are
outdoors and wanna look stylish while also keeping
warm.
I also love this trend because its very casual
and is everyday wear, it also links to street-
wear which i love because i think its so in
fashion and trendy. I also love how this trend
is examples of upcycling clothing- this is good
because it’s sustainable, also the new
generations are becoming increasingly
comfortable with wearinh pre-owned
clothing as the ‘vintage’ style is very in trend.
I realy like the fact this trend has the retro,
vintage look.
Patagonia Products Are Built To Last
When Patagonia's durable products finally reach the end of their lifespan, they're designed to be repairable or recycled. The ability to recycle goods is even better for the environment, reducing the amount of raw materials Patagonia needs to manufacture new products. this collection is part of- Worn Wear is a set of tools to help our customers partner with Patagonia to take mutual responsibility to extend the life of the products Patagonia makes and customers purchase. The program provides significant resources for responsible care, repair, reuse and resale, and recycling at the end of a garment's life. This links well with this trend as this trend looks at upcycling vintage products and re-selling them. This generation more than ever want to find vintage clothing which is second hand as this has come back in trend. This brand links perfectly with this trend as they both look at upcycling old products to ruduce the waste and help the environment. The colour palletes link quite wel to as theres some bright, vibrant colours however theres also some brown, neutral tones which actually link very well together as they compliment eachother.
This brand links well with this trend as it is sustainable, bright and have outter wear garments and their customers will be people who most likely have urban lifestyle.
I created this practical response using photoshop, I chose two of my favourite images from the trend and I collaged them together making one model using the polygon lasso tool. I really like how one is a full body and one is half the body as I think it makes the collage more intriguing and creative. I did this to show off the type of styling and colour palettes they use within this trend. This shows that's it very much casual and outer wear within this trend.
WOMENS WEAR-
Finding fresh meaning in ancient wisdom amid an uncertain world.
I like this trend as it is bold and has many different styles within it, like outerwear, layered garments, inspired 70s and many more. I will be inspired by thus by styling my outfits, with layers and the right colour pallets. With the colour pallets I will focus on using neutrals, and pastel colours and will make sure my edits are bright nd bold. I was my styling to link with outer wear to reflect the theme im aiming for- cvid-19 and becoming closer to nature. This is also why I chose this theme as it links with nature which I thought would be great as everyone in this pandemic has become closer to nature as we have no other excuse to leave the house.
RESEARCH- 70S FASHION
Women's fashions in the late 1970s included cowl-neck shirts and sweaters, pantsuits, leisure suits, tracksuits, sundresses worn with tight T-shirts, strapless tops, lower-cut shirts, cardigans, velour shirts, tunics, robes, crop tops, tube tops, embroidered vests and jeans, knee-length skirts, loose satin pants. There’s a reason the 1970s continue to be one of the most stylish decades of all time. From flares and bell sleeves to shearling coats and miniskirts, the era birthed an eclectic mix of style influences that evolved quickly over the 10-year span. Skirts got shorter, boots got taller, and a range of style icons like Jane Birkin and Jean Shrimpton helped spearhead some of the most memorable fashion moments of that time. Take a look back at some of the looks that helped define the decade's style—and continue to inspire today.
I researched this style on Pinterest and BAZAAR website as I think this links to the trend very well and this style has similar colour pallets and style. I think this is really cool and interesting to research because it shows how fashion has developed and changed within these years. I also think that the styles from the 70s like flares, fur coats and bright colour are coming back into fashion in some ways. I like this trend because I think it will be really exciting to edit and take images in this style. I will focus on hair and makeup for these shoots as well as the styling of the clothes.
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
And Mike starts thinking stuff like, "I wonder if Will would tilt my chin up to kiss me," and, "was his jawline always that good?" and, "I wonder what being trapped between him and a wall would be like?" and fuck, he's so gay and so in love
IM SISKCKKKKKDJDKSJBFUCKCKFJ YOU CANT...YOU CANT COME INTO MY HOUSE WITH THISSSSS I WILL DIE!!!!
—————
“Oh,” is the only Mike can say when Will pulls him into a tight hug against his chest. “You’re tall,” is the next thing his brain manages to let his mouth spew out midst the confusion.
Will laughs and, oh, his voice is so deep, what the fuck. “I kinda hit my growth spurt during these past few months.”
“Kinda?” Mike steps back because the height difference is just enough now where he has to look up if he’s that close and it’s so weird, it’s so unusual and crazy that Mike just stands there and blinks repeatedly. “You...you look different.”
“Yeah?” Will runs a hand through his shortened hair and grins. “Mom went all out with giving me a new look once I grew out of practically everything.”
Mike swallows a deep breath and chokes on it. “Nice. It’s nice. You look nice.”
“Thanks.” Will steps from the door and motions for Mike to make his way inside. “How have things been for you back in Hawkins?”
“Uh, good.” he mumbles distractedly, “Lucas and Dustin and Max miss you a lot. They said hi and hopefully next time, it’ll be all of us coming up here instead of just me.”
“Wonderful!” Will cheers, stuffing his hands in his pants’ pockets as he makes his way to Mike’s side. Oh god, he’s stupid tall, Mike’s gonna go weak in the knees. “I’m glad you were able to make it at least.”
“Wouldn’t miss visiting you for the world.”
Will grins and it’s so familiar despite how different he looks and Mike’s heart jumps into his throat. The brunette pats Mike’s back and then leads him toward the kitchen where he pours a couple glasses of orange juice. “I just got back from the store actually; I wanted to get some snacks before you came by.”
“Yeah?” Mike squeaks into his cup as his mind flashes back to the hot guy in the store and he’s really having a hard time accepting that guy was Will. Fuck, he’s so stupidly in love with his friend he doesn’t even need to know it was Will to still be so head over heels. “That’s, uh, that’s funny. I was at the store too picking up some candy.”
“Oh really? Wow, I didn’t even see you there.”
Mike shrugs and stares into his half empty glass. “Different isles I guess.”
“Small world, huh?” Will slouches against the kitchen counter so casually, leaning back on his arm behind him with his legs straightened out before him. Mike stares at Will’s legs and then flushes when Will coughs to get his attention. “Is everything alright with you?”
“I’m good,” Mike laughs hoarsely. Just having a bit of a panic as it sinks in with every passing second how fucking in love with you I am but that’s neither here nor there! “You wanna show me around the house?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
Mike watches Will as he walks by him and when Mike has to tilt his head up, he belatedly wonders if Will would have to tilt his head up by his chin to kiss him. A deep blush consumes Mike’s cheeks and he pats at his face angrily before following Will down the hallway. The house is quaint, similar enough to the house the Byers’ had in Hawkins in terms of size but definitely much better furnished and painted. Mike likes it, it screams ‘Byers’ to him and he’s just so happy that the new home fits the family and doesn’t feel like a temporary fix.
Will leads Mike through various rooms and he’s chatting about something to do with school but Mike’s not really paying attention. His thoughts are straggling bits of data warped around the sharp curvature of Will’s jawline. Was his jawline always that good? Mike shakes his head and tries to concentrate on Will’s words again, but his voice is so deep, like way more than before, and Mike cannot emotionally handle it every time Will says his name.
“Mike,” Will mentions and it’s only Mike’s lack of concentration on his breathing pattern (ie, not breathing) that stops him from releasing a low groan, “Do you wanna hang in my room for a bit before my mom and Jonathan get back? It’ll be a couple hours anyway. I can show you some of the new gear I’ve got.”
Mike in Will’s room has long since been pushing at Mike’s ‘don’t let him know you like him’ buttons. Mike in this Will’s room is equivalent to slapping the red button labeled ‘eject Mike’s common sense’ until it breaks. Mike, with a giant crush on his best friend, in said best friend’s room alone while dealing with the inability to deny his crush any longer is just asking for a death sentence. So, of course Mike says yes.
He sits himself at Will’s desk as Will heads over to his dresser and starts pulling out various shirts and whatnot. Mike takes a moment to gather his breath, tells his stupid heart to stop being an idiot, and then lets his eyes wander about the room. Will is talking again but this time Mike is actually listening--well, until Will starts pulling off his shirt to slip on a new one he wants to show Mike and Mike nearly falls out his chair from the shock of it all.
“Will!” he cries out, face so red he can feel the heat in his cheeks scalding him.
Will, who is still wriggling his way into the garment, makes a muffled noise. “What? I’m just trying to show you how this shirt fits.”
“I know, but, you can’t just,” Mike motions vaguely, “take off your shirt without a warning at least!”
Will’s head pops out from the collar hole and he runs a hand through his hair to straighten it out. “It’s not a big deal, we’re both boys here.”
Mike wants to scream. “You’re right,” he starts as he glances over at Will, “but still, you don’t see me taking off my shirts and--fucking hell, Will.”
“You like it?” Will turns in a circle and laughs. “It’s kinda popular at school and I really don’t wear this often but,” he pulls at the bottom of the white crop top and shrugs, “it looks good.”
Death sentence canceled; this is more like jail for life where jail is Mike’s never ending mixture of love, attraction, and devotion toward Will Byers. “Mmhmm,” Mike hums at a high pitch, trying his best not to stare. “Yeah. It’s a good cut.”
Will gives Mike two thumbs up and then returns to sifting through his dresser drawers for more clothing. Mike is about to die right here in this chair and never make it back to Hawkins. He’d be fine with that really. Seems like the best option at the moment at least. Will decides he’s had enough with looking through clothes though and plops himself on his bed across from where Mike is seated.
“What do you wanna do while we wait?”
We could discover what it’s like for you to pin me up against a wall if you’d like. Mike shakes his head and inwardly berates himself. “I’m fine chilling here. Just relaxing with you is nice. It was a long ride.”
Will nods. “I can understand that.” He pats beside himself a couple times. “Sit here with me though; that chair isn’t too comfortable after a while.”
“Uh, I’m good here.”
“What? It’s just a bed.”
Mike would laugh if he didn’t know he’d sound like a gurgling baby doing so. “But you’re on it.”
“And?” Will rolls his eyes. “I can scoot over if you need more room.”
“No, Will, I can’t.” Mike rubs his hands over his face. There’s a panic settling in his chest again; he can’t do this. He can’t face loving Will head on like this; it’s all too overwhelming. “I think--I think I need some fresh air.”
Before Will can say another word, Mike bolts from the room and makes his way downstairs toward the backyard. His mind is a mess, he can hear Will calling after him, his heart is thumping in his chest so fast, his hands are sweaty and he feels like either crying or screaming. Or maybe both at the same time. Either way, Mike doesn’t actually get very far down the hall because while Mike has long legs, he’s not athletic and Will has longer legs and was always more athletic than Mike.
So Will catches up to Mike, grabs him by the wrist and turns Mike around until he’s got the shorter boy pressed up against the wall with one arm up above his head. Will hovers over Mike with concern written in his vibrant green eyes. Mike can’t break eye contact and he probably wouldn’t even if he could. There are so many unspoken words in Will’s eyes, something that hasn’t changed despite everything else about him. There’s a comfort Mike can find in that, in looking into Will’s eyes and seeing the same gaze he fell in love with all those years ago looking right back at him unchanged.
Mike looks up into those familiar eyes, ignores the slight twinge in his neck caused from looking up, and smiles warmly. The panic is gone when he’s between Will and the wall, pressed close but still not close enough. There’s nothing but comfort here before Will, nowhere to escape literally and figuratively. He has to face this head on after all.
In a fit of courage, Mike leans up on his toes and whispers lightly against Will’s parted lips, “I’m in love with you.”
Will takes his unoccupied hand to Mike’s chin and tilts his head just enough. Mike’s knees are so fucking weak, he’s going to collapse under Will’s handlings of him. The taller boy rubs his thumb against Mike’s freckled cheek and smiles. “I’m in love with you, too, Mike.”
Will closes the gap between them in a single motion, pressing Mike against the wall with a hunger Mike never thought he’d get to taste. Mike gasps into the kiss and takes everything he can from it, wrapping his arms around Will’s neck as the other boy slides his hands down to Mike’s waist. He doesn’t know how long they stand there pressed up against the wall kissing like if they stop they’ll never get the chance again. All Mike knows is that he now knows that Will does have to tilt Mike’s chin to kiss him, Will’s jawline has always been this good, and wow, being pressed up against a wall by Will Byers is probably the second best thing he’s ever done in his life.
#yams writes#yams answers#byler#byeler#anon you RUINED MEEEE#I WAS DYING WHILE WRITING THIS!!#justsdhjsjdhs ughhhhh#i was mike the entire time#LOLLLL im dead#prompt? complete#tall will byers
195 notes
·
View notes
Note
Thanks for validating my love for clean shaven Magnus! Most seem to like the goatee look more. Also from a trans Magnus perspective, I kind of headcanon that Magnus keeps the goatee for a more masculine look after getting together with Alec. Like, to "compensate" and for other angsty reasons (Alec is gay and Magnus thinks he isn't "a man enough" for him or something like that).
ldfkjg any time, it’s nice to hear im not the only one lgkhjfgh
yeah like?? don’t get me wrong, i love magnus with the goatee, he looks amazing, but i prefer clean shaven magnus lowkey?? he just looks so good lkgjfgh
and ohhh!!!! that fits into so many of my other headcanons. i can def see that, like magnus has really conflicted feelings on it. on one hand, he feels more masculine with it, which is kind of nice, but on the other hand, he’s more comfortable with a shaven face? like normally he wouldn’t mind stubble sometimes, but he tended to keep it pretty closely shaven. but. but. alec is gay, and magnus is........... well, he feels like he really needs to be as masculine as possible for alec. he has to compensate, he has to dress more masculine and wear darker colors and wear less makeup and yes, grow out his facial hair.
and he all these conflicting feelings about it, too, because he’s forcing himself to present as more masculine in an effort to keep alec with him and comfortable, but at the same time, he feels like he should want to do this anyway, he is a man, after all, and it’s not like he necessarily... doesn’t like it, he likes his darker and more masculine outfits fine, and he still dares to add his own touches, jewelry and eyeliner and so on. so why does he wish he could still dress the way he used to, just a little bit, he’s not uncomfortable and he should be happy, and it’s for the love of his life, he’s being ridiculous.
because even if in his more masculine outfits he didn’t feel uncomfortable, he still liked how he looked, remember how after the body swap his colors got more vibrant like he was trying to comfort himself, like he was pulling away, remember how after they got married he was painted with colors again??? when he was happy??? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa it’s just.... he felt really good in those androgynous outfits. he liked wearing them, liked how they felt and looked.
but he thought, well, alec was already putting up with so much, he should be. well. as masculine as he could be. alec was gay, he wanted a man, he deserved a boyfriend who was actually manly, and it’s fine.
and it’s not like this is a huge thing. it’s fine, really, of course it is. magnus isn’t uncomfortable, and he’s willing to sacrifice a little extra pleasure to be with alec. and sure it enforces some of his deepest insecurities about being too feminine and not a real man but it’s fine.
but like. idk how this comes out but it does. im picturing he’s getting dressed, like choosing out his necklaces and looking in the mirror, alec behind him watching with loving eyes, and magnus just casually mentions that he misses wearing some of the more androgynous clothing or something before catching himself. he shuts himself up but it’s too late, he’s said it, and he hopes he’s overreacting and alec will gloss over it--and alec kisses his cheek from behind. and says mm, that’d be nice.
and magnus’s whole brain goes ???
and alec’s like yeah you always look really great in those outfits. why did you stop wearing those?
magnus doesn’t really know what to say.
alec’s like i figured it may have had something to do with valentine coming back, but i wasn’t sure, and really, that had contributed, throwing up that sharp and dangerous and powerful facade had become more important than ever in those years, but.
idk how alec coaxes it out of him, or exactly how the conversation goes, but magnus ends up admitting he wanted to be as masculine as he could for alec, alec deserved his boyfriend to actually be a boyfriend, and he already put up with so much, and he deserved better and magnus just wanted him to be happy and comfortable in their relationship and alec’s like ok what about your happiness tho? your comfort?
and magnus is like “does not compute” because he has never, ever put himself first
and alec’s like “and even so, it doesn’t apply, because you’re not less masculine for enjoying more feminine or androgynous clothing, and i don’t see you as any less of a man, for that or for your gender identity, i love you and i would love you in any outfit, and anyway you look beautiful like that, i first started falling for you when you were dressed like that, you look stunning in glamorous bright colors and sparkles and flowers and soft silky clothes, you look so beautiful with the colorful makeup and i bet you’d look stunning in lipstick or in a skirt or whatever else you might want to try, it doesn’t make me think less of you and it certainly doesn’t make me less attracted to you” and fglhkjfglkhjgkhjflgkhjgflkhj fglkhjfglkh jflgkhjfglkhjflgkhjfglkhjfglkhjgfh fglkhjhf
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
@stuck-in-the-now replied to your post “feeling very On The Brink™️ tonight and im struggling; can you guys...”
beca has a baby half sister, and she likes to blow raspberries on her. chloe thinks it’s the sweetest thing.
Oh my god, this is adorable. WHY ARE EVERYBODY’S HEADCANONs ADORABLE.
I feel like it’d be a little bit of a surprise to Chloe (maybe even to Beca too), the kind of affection that rises up in her whenever she sees her new baby sister - and I took the liberty of writing up a little something during my lunch break...hope you don’t mind:
baby steps
summary: Beca learns she’s getting a new baby sister. Thank you again @stuck-in-the-now for the headcanon and thank you twice for letting me borrow it. 💕
word count: 1050
Read on AO3 or read below.
Everything you do
I want to do it with you
Don't ever want to miss
– Floating by Alina Baraz, ft. Khalid
------
Beca never thought she’d ever experience being an older sister. Or even just ever experiencing being a sibling, period. It always felt like part of her identity was grounded in being an only child. When her father remarried, Sheila had an older son, but he was hardly around, so Beca barely recognized him as being an older brother.
Now, however–
“You’re having a what?”
“Beca,” Chloe says softly, mild reprimand in her voice. Her voice is quiet and she smiles at Beca’s father and stepmother, clearly willing to give them more patience than Beca. “That’s amazing, congratulations. I didn’t realize you were trying to adopt.”
“They–how old?” Beca asks stiltedly.
This is new territory to her. She’s twenty-four years old, sitting in front of her father and step-mother, holding her girlfriend’s hand. And her father and step-mother have just informed her that she’ll soon be an older sister.
Chloe squeezes her hand in support.
“By the time she comes home with us, she’ll be just under a year.”
She, Beca thinks. A new baby sister.
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
Beca doesn’t intend the question to be harsh or laden with consequence, but not for the first time, Beca sees her father hesitate, like he doubts her or doubts his relationship with her.
She falters, knowing she hasn’t made it easy over the years, but she had thought that they had overcome some obstacles previously thought to be insurmountable.
“A while,” he admits quietly. “We wanted to be certain before telling you.”
Beca supposes that’s fair enough, but it doesn’t stop the streak of white-hot hurt and mild jealousy run through her that she isn’t necessarily immediately privy to a potential new sibling’s life.
Consciously, she slips back into a state of awareness, focusing on the way Chloe’s hand feels in hers. “That makes sense,” she admits. Even quieter. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
------
She kind of bothers Chloe about what it’s like to have siblings, knowing that Chloe grew up as a middle child. She’s not sure what to expect at all.
Okay, so she bothers Chloe a lot.
Chloe is patient and accommodating.
“You’re going to be an amazing sister, Bec,” Chloe assures her, sleepily in the middle of the night. Her tired eyes track the way Beca feverishly reads blog after blog, trying to find some semblance of an identity.
But what if I’m not?
“Okay,” Beca says instead, finally closing her laptop and placing it on her bedside. “Okay,” she repeats.
Chloe pulls her into her arms, pressing a kiss against the back of her head.
------
Beca is nervous.
She is nervous all the way to the airport. She is nervous for the entire flight from Los Angeles to Atlanta. Nearly five hours of shaky legs and sweaty palms. Nearly five hours of resisting the urge to bury herself into Chloe’s side and sleep the rest of her life away.
“Babe,” Chloe calls softly. “We’re here.”
Their Uber stops outside her father’s familiar porch. Beca recalls many a vulnerable night, standing in front of that door too nervous to speak. Too uncertain of her own relationship with her father.
“You guys are good, now,” Chloe continues. “Your sister’s waiting for you.”
Beca nods, allowing Chloe to pull her out of the car. She helps Chloe carry their weekend bags from the trunk, finally feeling the oddest sense of calm.
“I’m not even sure why I’m so nervous,” Beca says, speaking quicker than she originally intends. “It’s…it’s a baby. I’ve dealt with your niece and nephews before.”
Chloe stifles a grin, thinking of her ten-year old niece and her five-year old nephews. “Yes, same thing.”
Beca’s father greets them immediately, almost like he had been waiting for them right by the front room’s window. “You made it,” he says, looking both nervous and exhausted. “Can I get you guys a drink? Tea, Chloe?”
“I’d love that,” Chloe agrees, depositing her bag by the door. Beca does the same, then immediately stuffs her hands in her pockets.
“I guess the little munchkin’s asleep,” Beca says casually like she didn’t just drop the cutest nickname with more than a bare hint of concern in her voice.
“She’s awake, actually,” Sheila murmurs from behind them, surprising them all. She descends the stairs with a small bundle in her arm, from which Beca can see the smallest of fists reaching out into the air, mid-stretch.
“Oh,” Beca says softly.
“Meet Natalie,” Warren says. “Your sister, Bec.”
Natalie has a shock of black hair and light brown eyes. Her cheeks are round with the faintest natural blush. She’s practically grinning at Beca already.
Chloe can tell she’s going to love her.
(Whether that’s Beca loving Natalie, Natalie loving Beca, or Chloe loving both of them with her entire heart.)
“She’s cute,” Beca murmurs, looking embarrassed at her own words. The embarrassment fades almost instantaneously however and the transformation happens right before Chloe’s eyes: Beca’s entire demeanor softens, her shoulders hunch, and she bends right over Natalie, not caring how close she gets to Sheila’s personal space.
“Really cute,” Chloe says, very nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet to resist from getting too close.
“Do you want to hold her, Beca?”
“I…yeah, I do.”
Beca’s not sure exactly what opens in her heart the moment Natalie settles into her arms, but something shifts in her and she embraces it wholeheartedly.
------
“That’s something, huh,” Warren comments, noting how intently Chloe is watching Beca play with Natalie on the floor. Beca is playfully holding a little stuffed lion above Natalie’s head, both of them laughing delightedly when Natalie’s arms fall short of the stuffed toy in her attempts to grab at it.
“It’s something,” Chloe agrees. She blinks the sudden tears – happy tears – out of her eyes. “I’m really so happy for you and Sheila,” she says quickly. “You guys…this is perfect for both of you. All of you, actually.”
“We were skeptical about raising a child so late in our lives, but we’ve got more than a few good years left and we knew when we saw the adoption papers that we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to give Natalie a better life.”
“Yeah, that’s…that’s amazing,” Chloe says, not trusting herself to speak more.
Their conversation is interrupted when Natalie blows a raspberry right up at Beca’s face, startling them all into a brief silence.
Chloe waits to see what Beca will do or say, now that she has baby spittle all over her face.
(She’s waiting to see if Beca will notice if she pulls out her phone to take photos.)
Beca continues to surprise them all however because she begins tickling Natalie’s sides and then she leans down to blow a raspberry into her stomach, causing the baby to emit squeals of delight and ensuing giggles.
The burst of noise warms the entire room.
God, I love you, Chloe thinks, letting her mind wander a little to think about Beca holding children of her own. Children she’d ideally share with Chloe.
Beca’s eyes are bright and playful as she turns her eyes upwards so she can smile at Chloe. It is, without a doubt, the most in love with Beca that Chloe has ever been. She doesn’t care if in that moment, her love for Beca shines across her face as clear as day.
Beca is more sunny and vibrant than ever before. Chloe has always known this about Beca - about how loving and caring she can be, even if she is slow to show it to strangers or people she is distant from.
But now – now Beca is everything.
Chloe wants to bask in this warmth forever.
fin.
#bechloe#stuck-in-the-now#replies#hc#my fanfic#beca mitchell#chloe beale#pitch perfect#fanfiction#pp#mine#headcanon
129 notes
·
View notes
Text
letters to you (pt. 2)
KIM TAEHYUNG (V) X READER
Type | Genre: slice of life au | fluff/angst
Word Count: 1738
A/N: it’s been hard finding time to update in general but i have a soft spot for this fic! hope you enjoy.
One
After Taehyung's first visit, we managed to keep in touch until somewhere around early springtime. The Kakao messages got increasingly sparse as he got closer to his mysterious debut date and college examinations loomed over my head as I entered my final year of high school.
The flutters I had felt were long forgotten in lieu of books and essays.
It wasn't until summer that I was reminded of Taehyung. Auntie Kim came barging into our house bright and early with excited shouts of his debut.
I was already awake, studying my butt off upstairs in the lovely solitude of my room.
"He's releasing the album tomorrow! Tomorrow! My Taehyungie is finally debuting!"
My heart couldn't help but stir a little at his name, as if it was remembering an old habit. I hesitantly reached for my phone, wondering if it would be out of place to send him a congratulatory message.
[07:55AM] To: Taehyung
Grats, superstar. It's about time.
To my surprise, the reply came instantly.
[07:55AM] From: Taehyung
Dont tell me my mom woke u all up this early to tell u...
[07:55AM] From: Taehyung
But thats just like her isnt it
[07:56AM] From: Taehyung
Goddamn shes embarrassing
[07:56AM] From: Taehyung
But thx ;)
I smiled, heart skipping a little faster, but I decided to play it cool and leave him hanging. It didn't necessarily warrant a response anyway.
It was more than two hours later into my reading when my phone buzzed.
[10:13AM] From: Taehyung
Im coming home for a few days next month.
[10:13AM] From: Taehyung
Excited to see me? ;)
My stomach suddenly twisted into a knot, butterflies I hadn't felt for months threatening to creep back. Goddamn him and his flirty winking emoticons.
[10:21AM] To: Taehyung
Not really
[10:21AM] To: Taehyung
But you can come anyway I guess
I wondered if I had waited an ample enough amount of time to not look so desperately eager to answer him. Childish, I know, but I couldn’t help it.
I returned to my studies with a renewed energy, suddenly feeling empowered by the thought of having something to look forward to.
Taehyung looked so different that it was hard to believe only two seasons had passed since I last saw him. He was the slightest bit less lanky and his hair was dyed blonde. God, who would have thought he'd look so good with Barbie hair?
I stared at him in silence for a few moments before giving him an awkward wave.
"Y/N!"
I could have sworn his voice got deeper, but I didn't have time to mull over the thought really as he scooped me into a big embrace. It knocked the wind out of me -- in a good way. "Nice to see you too, Taehyung," I mumbled into his chest. He smelled like laundry with a hint of musk.
It was strange seeing him in shorts and a tee, legs and arms so bare. Had he always been so tan?
It was our mother's ideas to catch up over lunch, and although my books were practically screaming at me, I decided to be a little careless and enjoy some time with my long lost friend. It seemed like Taehyung always brought out the irresponsible side of me.
"So how've you been?" Taehyung asked expectantly.
I had never been a fan of small talk, but there was no other way to really begin the conversation. "Alright, I guess. Studying mostly. Actually, only studying.."
"Ah, so once I left, you were no longer a genius."
I couldn't help but crack a smile.
"No boyfriend?"
"My textbooks are my boyfriends." I sighed, feeling the nervous guilt of ditching my studies gnawing away at me. I was so determined to get top scores, go to one of the top universities in Seoul, and then the world would be my oyster. It was somewhat reckless to be here comfortably chatting the time away with Taehyung.
He smirked. "Wow, what a player. Didn't think you were like that, Y/N."
I rolled my eyes before a chuckle escaped my lips. "Enough about my boring life. I bet yours has been crazy exciting. With your debut, and... shows... and singing?" It was too obvious I didn't know anything about the idol lifestyle.
"Yes. Shows and singing. Hit the nail right on the head," he joked. There was a brief pause before he sighed. "It's actually more like crazy busy than crazy exciting." I watched his still-beautiful fingers run through his dyed locks. "But yeah on top of shows and singing, it's a lot of promotions right now... We're trying to win Rookie of the Year and just get ourselves more out there... Grow our fanbase, you know?"
He sounded so desperate for a moment that I almost reached out to touch his hand in comfort. I didn't know anything really, but I could tell he worked his ass off every day, and he was hoping more than anything that his efforts would pay off in the end. I could sympathize with that -- we were kind of in the same boat when I thought of it like that, and it was comforting.
"How long are you here for this time?" I asked timidly.
"Three days." A loud sigh left his lips. "I know, short as fuck." He was biting his lip nervously, eyes wandering for few seconds before landing on mine. "And I know you're probably busy as hell, but couldn't you make some time for your fave Kpop idol?" A cheeky grin broke out onto his face, and I was instantly reminded of the Taehyung I had grown so comfortable with last winter.
And just like that, it was so easy to fall back into his trap.
My books were neglected as I spent the next few days with Taehyung. It was like we had fallen back into our old habits -- going to the cafe in the morning, watching I Hear Your Voice or some other drama in the afternoon, and driving to the mountains or downtown in the evening.
He still took his coffee much too sweet. And with the way he comfortably settled in next to me besides the couch, shoulder to shoulder, it was like nothing had changed. By the second day, it felt like he had never even left.
I loved the drives the most. The skies were clear and starry, and with the wind blowing through my hair, going anywhere felt like an adventure. The scenic view of town from the cliffs was different now that it was summer. It was so green and lush, as if the colors had all become more vibrant now that he was back. The days were longer and warm, so we spent more time outside. He treated me to ice cream every day because he was "now a working man," as he called it.
"I missed this," he announced with a sigh, laying back into the grass.
"Hm?" I absentmindedly continued to poke around for the cake bits in my ice cream.
"Just chilling around like this. With you."
The last two words were said so nonchalantly, but they resonated so deeply in my silly heart that my entire body tensed up.
"You're leaving tomorrow, Taehyung."
Was I saying it to remind him... or myself?
He rose from his position and gestured towards the car. "It's good though. You need to study anyway." He grinned. "Genius or nerd, whichever you are, I'm sure you still need to get back to your books. The college exams are in a few months, aren't they?"
I hadn’t known, but he had overheard my mother yelling at me the previous morning for spending all day with him. It hadn't stopped him from distracting me all day today though.
I nodded, swallowing nervously. I didn't want to think about my looming tests and their gravity on my future outlook. With Taehyung, I could enjoy a reprieve from it all. I didn't want him to leave.
"You'll be fine," he murmured softly, hand messily patting my head. "We'll both work hard, and we'll see each other again before we know it."
My eyes were hopeful as I looked up at his golden face. "When's the next time you'll be back?" He wasn't even gone yet, and I was already looking forward to our reunion.
"Hopefully the holidays." His mumbles were laced with uncertainty, and he tried to give me a reassuring smile. "I'll try to keep in touch, Y/N. Much more than last time."
The way he wrapped his arm around my shoulder made me almost believe he would keep his promise.
He didn't. It was only a few days after he returned to Seoul that the texts stopped coming.
I wasn't surprised. From what I heard from Auntie Kim, his group was getting ready for their comeback, and I wasn't in a position to chase for replies either. I was frantically catching up with what I missed, but it didn't help that I'd occasionally get distracted by the thoughts of him already forgetting me.
The leaves turned from green to yellow, oranges, and reds before turning brown and withering off. My birthday passed uneventfully with a casual text from Taehyung. I traded in loose shorts for leggings and sweats, and pulled out my winter gear from the back of the closet. Other than my clothes, however, nothing changed much. Day in and day out, my nose was buried in textbooks, my hand deathly sore from writing notes.
It felt unreal when the examination day finally came. I woke up like any other day, but instead of heading to the school library with books in tow, I headed there with only a few last minute notes and a pencil case. Basically every other kid in my year was walking down the streets with me, hearts nervously thumping as we all knew the test we faced would determine our future.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I was reminded to turn it off. But at the sight of the familiar name that hadn't graced my screen in months, my heart fluttered.
[08:16AM] From: Taehyung
Good luck genius
It was nice to think that he was somewhere in the capital city thinking about me this early in the morning.
With a happy heart, I powered down my mobile device. Perhaps this exam would be my ticket to Seoul, a little closer to Taehyung.
#kim taehyung#taehyung#bts v#bts#bts scenarios#bts fanfics#taehyung x reader#kpop scenarios#kpop fanfic
16 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sweet-heart-jack
fuck canon
puss-puss-witch
I ain't gay tho!
vanesaaaaasblog
Vanesa’s Blog 🪩
perbaikansepatuhappyshoes
Untitled
m66g
Meg 🗝️