#so this way is like drawing straight in pen
Text
Never Hold Back Your Step... Part 6
Yay! Another Boy with a Bat! In this we have Steve and the rest of the seniors finding out if they graduate and Steve getting squicked at his own pool.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
****
Things began to improve between Steve and Nancy but Eddie was still keeping an eye on her. His hackles were up now, and he had no intentions of dropping them any time soon.
Steve was glad that swim season was up and that the basketball team had done so badly their losses far outweighed their wins. And while he was upset he wasn’t starting spring training with the baseball team, it was nice to spend his afternoons with Eddie.
He could see that Eddie was really struggling with his homework, but whenever Steve asked, his boyfriend would blow him off. He was fine. They would graduate together. Just Steve wait and see.
During that last free period of the day, Steve began work on his next comic. He kept it short like he did the other one. Just the part about the junkyard and the dogs. Maybe the next comic would deal with the tunnels, but not this one.
Steve sketched out the RV, changing it from the bus it actually was. He actually enjoying find out ways to hide the details of his experiences into the comic.
What was even better was that he was pretty sure it would even take the smartest members of the Party a couple of pages to figure it out. He had taken out his pen to start inking the page when he felt someone knock into his elbow just as he was about to put his pen to the paper.
He looked up to see a couple of members of the junior varsity team, walking past, snickering.
It had been awhile since he had been a target of someone’s bullying and wondered where the hell it had com from. The idiots were wearing their letterman jackets allowing Steve to read their names. Carver, McKinney, and a couple of others.
Steve shook his head. Billy was a bad influence on the team, and maybe now the coach would see that. Considering how badly they lost this season with the asshole as team captain.
He looked back up at the retreating backs of the juniors as they laughed and whispered insults about Steve as they made their way out of the library.
He knew all too well how they treat people like them, verses outsiders. And now that Steve had thrown his lot in willingly with the outsiders, the other members of the team were going to be trouble.
Billy could call them off, but Eddie’s status as drug dealer wouldn’t faze that lot. They were the church boys. The sanctimonious assholes who would be straight edgers if they liked the violence, but were too soft to get their hands actually dirty.
He looked down at his drawing and sighed. These assholes didn’t know what pain actually looked liked. Still in their ivory towers, looking down on the masses and turning up their noses.
Steve flicked back to an earlier page of the hero and his little brother walking down the railway tracks and ran his fingers over the two figures. He hadn’t colored it yet, but he knew the trucker hat would be red. For the bond the boys shared.
The bell rang and Steve gathered up his stuff. He shouldered his backpack. Just then there was a tap on his shoulder.
It was the librarian, Mrs. Locke.
“Next time, you’ll be meeting with Mr. Cole and handful of other students to know if you have the credits to graduate,” she said, handing him a paper with the information he would need.
“It’ll be here at the library,” she continued. “But be sure to get here in plenty of time because the tables will fill up fast.”
Steve nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Locke. I’ll try to get here as soon as I can.”
She nodded and let him go. Steve hefted his backpack again and made for the parking lot, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach.
****
Steve sat at the same table as Eddie, Janice and Marty. They all greeted him with quiet murmuring. The whole room vibrated with nervous tension. Mr. Cole was going to tell them their future and fuck if that wasn’t the most terrifying thing in their young lives.
Steve envied them.
For Eddie though, this was his second go round and that fear of failure radiating off the older teen in waves.
Mr. Cole walked into the library and whispered something to the librarian. She nodded curtly and walked back to her desk.
He sat on an empty table and pulled out three stacks of folders. A large stack of about twenty or so, a much smaller stack of about five, and a stack of two.
Eddie gulped and Steve took his hand under the table.
“Thank you all for being here,” Mr. Cole began. He hovered his hand over the first stack. “These are all of you who are graduating without a shadow of a doubt. You have the credits as of now to graduate. Congrats.” His hand moved over to the next pile. “This is those that as long as they pass their classes by May 15th, will graduate. But it is dependent on you passing those classes.” His hand landed on the final two folders.
“These two aren’t passing,” he continued grimly. “Do not pass go, do not collect your diploma. For those two, you have three options. Repeat your senior year. Take your GED that will at least be equal to a high school diploma. Or you flunk out of high school. Walk away from formal education for good.”
Steve stared at the second pile with a growing pit of dread pooling in his stomach.
“I will call each of you by name,” Mr. Cole said, “and will talk to you away from your peers. I’m not here to name and shame and if you really want to know you can wait until graduation.”
There was a little bit of grumbling, but mostly from the assholes no one liked anyway.
“Steve Harrington.”
Steve gave Eddie’s hand a squeeze and got up. He followed Mr. Cole to what the students called the Stacks. They weren’t really stacks of books, but it was a set of tables for study that were surrounded by bookshelves to make it secluded. Guys liked to take their girlfriends back here for a little alone time.
“Hey, Steve,” Mr. Cole greeted. “I was happy to see your grade climb back up after your concussion made them take a nose dive.”
Steve nodded, keeping his fingers crossed behind his back. “I tried as hard as I could.”
“Well it really paid off,” Mr. Cole said. “Because you have more than enough credits to graduate.”
Steve stared at him in shock as his guidance counselor handed him his file. He flipped through it and sure enough, he already had all the credits he needed. In fact, he could have graduated early if it wasn’t for Mrs. Hall.
“Thanks to you,” he breathed.
“They aren’t the best grades,” Mr. Cole admonished. “But they are good enough to get you across that stage.”
Steve nodded and handed the file back to him. He walked back to his table.
One by one all the kids were called and while there were happy kids and wailing tears, it was hard to tell the graduating from those that weren’t.
After everyone had been called and told that they could go home, the four of them sat at the table, waiting for everyone else to file out.
“Valedictorian!” Janice crowed. “I made it, baby!”
“I’m graduating too,” Marty said. “Barely. I just have to make sure I don’t fail Mrs. McDonald’s final and I’m good to go.”
“Eddie?” Steve asked instead of giving his own news. Because his didn’t matter. Not when his boyfriend, the best and brightest person Steve had ever met, (and yes that did include Nancy Wheeler) was curled up on himself, staring at the table.
“No, man,” Marty said, “not again...”
Eddie just nodded. “I was doing the work. I was turning it in. I thought the grades I was getting back were enough, but they weren’t.”
Steve wrapped his arms around him and just let Eddie’s tears soak into the collar of his shirt.
His poor beautiful Eddie. He wished he had done more to make sure he graduated.
But now it was too late.
****
Steve threw Eddie a pool party to make him feel better about not graduating again. Something that Steve really shouldn’t have done if he wanted to avoid the question.
“Come on, Stevie!” Eddie called from the side of the pool. “The water is fine. Stop being the babysitter for two seconds and enjoy your pool, babe.”
The kids still didn’t know they were a couple, but they had gotten used to the endearments that Eddie threw out on a regular basis. They all got nicknames and endearments. Max was Red, Dustin was Dusty, Lucas was Strider and so on. So they didn’t even bat an eyelash at his use of ‘babe’ to describe Steve.
Mike rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Steve never gets in the pool. If he wasn’t on the swim team, I would have had assumed that he can’t.”
Eddie got out of the pool and Steve’s eyes trailed down his torso, following each drop of water as they ran for his waistband. Eddie smirked as he got really close. Steve closed his eyes to block out the dirty thoughts that went off in his head like church bells, loud and deep.
Vaguely behind him he could hear Nancy hissing at Mike, but he couldn’t hear what she said over the rushing in his ears of the blood traveling southward the closer Eddie got. He gulped heavily. Eddie cupped Steve’s cheek tenderly and Steve leaned into the touch. He didn’t care who noticed their casual affection. He was starting to shake like a leaf and not just from the way his boyfriend looked like sex on legs, either.
Quietly as though it was a secret between them Eddie said, “Is this about the comic?”
Steve’s lips quivered as he nodded, his eyes still closed. “They all know except...” he waved vaguely at the Corroded Coffin boys.
“Do you want me to kill Mike?” Eddie asked with a grin.
Steve fought to tamp down on his answering smile, but it broke through anyway. “I think one death is enough.”
He paused with a frown and looked behind Eddie where apparently everyone had gathered. In that brief moment, their silence had made Steve’s answer as loud as if it had been had been a shout.
“Shit, man,” Mike mumbled. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
Steve’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not a big deal. I still swim. Just not here. And I act as lifeguard for everyone. It’s fine. Honest.”
Nancy chewed on her lip, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.
Jeff winced. “Yeah, I think we all forgot that Barb vanished from here. Not that we forgot about her,” he added waving his hands at Nancy’s dark glare. “It’s just so easy to forget it impacted more people then you’d think.”
Nancy nodded and let herself be comforted by Jonathan.
Steve pushed Mike into the pool causing a large splash and suddenly the tension was gone. The laughter and fun returned. He breathed a sigh of relief and Eddie wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist.
He leaned in close, “You gonna be okay, babe?”
Steve smiled. “Yeah, I guess it’s good they know,” he said, indicating the Corroded Coffin boys. “So I don’t get freaked out and hurt someone.”
“You’d never,” Eddie soothed.
Steve smiled warmly at Eddie and Jonathan and Nancy shared a knowing smile. He bumped Eddie’s shoulder with his own.
“Where did you learn to swim?” Steve asked turning back to sit sit on his lounge chair.
Eddie grinned. “Wayne taught me the first time we went camping up at Lover’s Lake.”
He sat down in the V of Steve’s legs and lifted one so that it was on his lap.
“How old were you?” Steve asked, basking in the attention Eddie was giving him despite the two of them not being out to Steve’s ducklings.
Eddie hummed for a moment as he thought. “I guess I was about seven or eight. My dad was in jail for the first time and my mom needed the weekend to recoup after an especially long week at work. So Wayne offered to take me camping for the weekend. Back when was he was young, wild and free.”
Steve bumped him with his knee. “Which he doesn’t regret exchanging for you a second.”
Eddie blushed. “No, but with me it meant taking a responsibility he never planned. He could have found someone, settled down, had a family of his own. I could have had nieces or nephews if I hadn’t been dumped on his doorstep.”
Steve sat up and turned Eddie’s chin toward him. “And you would have been lost in the system and hurt far worse then if he hadn’t taken you in.”
Eddie smiled. “You just want Uncle Wayne all to yourself.”
Steve laughed. “You caught me!” He began to tickle Eddie’s sides, causing the other boy to jump and squeal.
“Fiend!” Eddie cried as he scrambled off the lounger to get away. He leapt to his feet and then grabbed the lounger and flipped it.
Steve let out a squawk of surprise and landed on the cement with a thud and a laugh.
Dustin swam over to Gareth, figuring him to be the least scary of Eddie’s friends and whispered. “Are they always like this?”
Gareth scoffed. “No.”
Dustin sighed. “Oh thank go–”
“Sometimes they’re worse,” Gareth bit out, before wading back into deeper waters.
Dustin looked over at the pair of them, cocking his head thoughtfully to the side. There was something more to their friendship, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. Then Max splashed him and suddenly the thought was gone.
****
As for why it doesn't bother Nancy? That's because it's not her pool. She can go home while the sun is still out. While Steve has to hear the lapping of the water day in and day out. Has to see it in the dead of night, like the night Barb disappeared.
Tag List:
@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03
@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie
@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666
@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog
@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690
@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon
@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt
@useless-nb-bisexual @angels-of-hades @mugloversonly @y4r3luv @greeniebean911
@birbsauce @acingthecounts @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @kultiras
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
out here playing dress-up
#my art#ethoslab#he’s like a mannequin to me. truly#actually ignore that he would not wear this and that the folds make no sense thanks <3#ok but for real this is me experimenting w flat(mostly) colors and it’s fun! feels really weird to me to leave it like this#also because i tend to fix all the mistakes by rendering over#so this way is like drawing straight in pen#helps me see my bad habits#also having fun w exaggerated proportions again :]
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
of all the designs which ones actually existed in the 80s? :)
UM off the dome erm none of the bratz ones which were invented in the early 2000s and i specifically used the 2010 version for the st one and the 2012 design for cc's. the barbie ones are era accurate!! they used that design with the pink shadowing from like the mid 70s to the 90s.. the rainbow mlp one is the retro version but i honestly couldn't find any consistency in things like the arc design there and it seems to differ based on whoever's producing it and also i invented the clouds entirely which also seemed to change case by case but i used the one that was used in the original cartoon which is like, 83 - 88!! i also used g1 pinkie pie for the pony lol. actually heres a side by side for fine though i actually used the h/n from another font and had to hand make the g to match the y bc 100% of all logo designs use a modified version of a font that costs like. 50 bucks as well which is why it always takes me so long cuz i'm like not just downloading a font i'm using the pen tool
but the other mlp one is from friendship is magic which around the 2010s i believe :0
#asks#so basically barbie and the rainbow mlp. and bratz the other mlp for some modern.. world..#mostly i made them bc i wanted something with MY nostalgia which is the 2000s <3 and i love making things girly and twee#the bratz ones take so long but they're so fun it's like a puzzle#but it's also where i'm basically using the pen and select tools like 80% of the time tho i do use the kenan and kal font too#oh acruallg my barbies aren't that accurate bc the font is italic and the acrual logo is straight and the shadow is a bit weird#but it's okay. gets the point across#also things i was gonna do but then didn't -> muppets littlest pet shop.. i did most of a polly pocket then i was like no one is gonna care#oh and also beanie babies. lps would've been way too hard though and also i want to DRAW mlp thangs... :)#i think the only thing i would seriously consider also doing is a garfield cc design cuz i think eddie would love that .. or it would say#like. eddie and friends. with a little garfield on top. would be cute#ANYWAY
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
girl why i lost my drawing pen
#CRIES. THIS MORNING IS NOT MY MORNING GIRLS IT REALLY ISN'T#like i feel fine dw but i spilled my water all over me earlier this morning because i had a weirdly intense twitcfh#i've thrown up like. twice? once was esp awful bc i hadn't eaten anything yet so it was straight up acid#AND NOW MY DRAWING PEN IS GONE. ANGUISHED#like don't take this the wrong way i'm feeling great. loads better than yesterday. but damn man this is a lot at once O_o#jestersvaguely#emeto
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
pointillism portrait is going sooooo well my art teacher said it is probably the best in the class and hes excited for it and all my friends that have seen it said it looks exactly like me. who is going to become my patron and shower me in money and substances so i can worry about nothing but my art.
#it really is turning out well though im super proud of it#i genuinely don't know why it turned out so good i'm normally not great at portraits#i think i have an... easy face to draw i guess? i have very like strong and distinct features#almond eyes w a big eyelid large straight nose full lips that kinda thing#and i think it's easier to draw like a strong pronounced feature vs like thin lips or a button nose#also the ref is shot well it's similar to a headshot just my face at a 3/4ish angle whole face visible#+ i actually use pen and ink a lot more in my art than pencil which i think is helping#also i don't really color so used to drawing in black and white and understanding shading and lighting that way#so!! i think it is more that than like. natural pointillism talent. regardless im still proud of it
0 notes
Text
the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)
this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head.
needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it.
tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.
You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.
'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week.
But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.
'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'
You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.
He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.
"Hi baby," you say sweetly.
"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.
"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."
"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.
"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.
"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"
You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."
You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.
You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.
You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.
"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"
He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.
"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"
You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.
"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.
"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.
His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.
"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.
"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."
'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!'
It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded?
You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.
With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.
Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.
With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.
“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”
His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”
“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.”
You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips.
You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core.
"Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt.
"Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"
"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.
"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"
You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations.
"Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress.
"Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out.
"No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.
"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"
You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.
"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"
You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.
"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.
"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.
"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool.
"Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."
You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.
"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.
Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.
"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."
Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."
"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words.
"You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.
"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish.
"Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?"
"Turn it on, please," you whisper.
"Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips.
"Please what?" he asks again.
"Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on."
"Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."
He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit.
"Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there."
"That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"
"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him.
You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.
"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."
"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good."
He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.
"You'll be so good?"
"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way.
"Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck."
"That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids.
"Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood.
"You're very nice," you whisper against his lips.
"Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease.
Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort.
"Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."
A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes.
"Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could.
"Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."
He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.
"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."
He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
THE VANISHING MOON ┊ TSUKISHIMA KEI
tags: GN reader, post timeskip, exes to lovers, fluff, emotional hurt + comfort, reader is a writer, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, getting back together, kisses, weddings, previous ‘mutual’ breakup, happy ending
wc: 4.2K
For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.
The first time you picked up a pen with the intention to write you’d been looking for a specific someone. To pour love into and be loved by. Conjured from the recesses of your mind, a soft smile from the boy you liked, one prepared to whisk you away from the converging angst that came with your adolescence.
In later years you looked inward, searching for yourself. To satiate your loneliness through self introspection. Ink blotted fingers working arduously at the knots that make up the soul. Knots that were once straight rope, simple and without weak points. And when you failed to love yourself you turned outward, exploring the web that made up the world.
You saw that other people loved stories, too. That there would always be at least one which speaks to them in some way and stays with them. You coveted that reality; to be something another person could love, and look back on with fondness. For your words to strike such a chord that they’d become part of another’s tapestry. To live on. Never again be forgotten, even if it means being an echo of something.
That yearning accompanies you up the cobbled footpath. The crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline. “Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Arms sticky with perspiration, leg muscles tingling in exertion after walking the steep hill.
The reception venue sits on the end of a private road, concealed by threadbare canopy. Under an open sky there lay every shade and stroke of colour. Dappled sunlight casts shadows across the grass and your eyes are drawn to them.
“Wow is right. They’ve done an incredible job,” Sugawara airs his appreciation as he walks at your side. His voice is awed, and his cheeks are red. “I can’t believe they managed it. Karumai Gardens are notoriously stingy for booking events”.
The wedding invitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Remaining some of your closest friends, Kiyoko and Tanaka had already confirmed your attendance long before the formal invites were sent out. You even found yourself on the end of multiple phone calls over the months assisting a panicked Tanaka with writing and rewriting his vows.
Despite that, your stomach roiled at the invitation on your kitchen counter, and your heart crawled up into your throat. Because suddenly it was too real.
Everybody would be there.
Tsukishima would be there.
You’ve been a high strung for most of the day, hyper vigilant to the point of fraying. The ceremony was beautiful. Kiyoko looked ethereal draped in her white lace gown, a delicate veil cascading down her back and rippling down the aisle as she walked. Tanaka was striking in his dark blue suit and embroidered waistcoat. Sitting at the forefront, you remained steadfast in your ignorance of Tsukishima’s scrunity and dabbed at your face as you cried.
You missed having his attention. Missed the subtle stroke of his sharp gold eyes across every part of you as though it were Tsukishima’s hands themselves. A scant, cowardly part of you considered not attending the reception, grateful that he hadn’t approached you yet. If he would at all. Kei could be unbearably prideful about these things. But what do you know?
Nothing. After all this time you probably know nothing at all.
“I think he wants to talk to you,” Sugawara says, drawing your focus to the present. “It’s obvious he’s missed you”.
You edge past the increasingly dense foliage with intent, your fingertips outstretched to brush the near-blooming plants. “Who?” you ask. Sugawara’s grin turns wry and he threads his arm through yours.
“So petty,” he murmurs, patting your bicep. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But he’s single, and has been staring at you all day. I thought I should mention it”.
“Well you’ve mentioned it,” you return without true malice, squeezing him back. Sugawara’s lips parted in a sigh, and for a brief second, you saw a wistful expression beneath the lighthearted veneer. It stirs unease in your chest and you add, “I just don’t want to make a scene”.
“You really think that’s what it’ll come to?”
Memories unearthed from the deep recesses of your mind. Packed away into tight spaces and left to collect dust where they can’t hurt you. They awaken easily, triggered by a simple question, and with such clarity that you wonder if you ever forgot them at all.
Soft, deliberate touches. Long, warm embraces, swallowed up by his large frame. Graceless laughter—the ugly kind that makes your stomach hurt. Languorous kisses, biting kisses, chaste kisses, clumsy kisses. Good morning and good night kisses. Bickering over breakfast. Bickering over dinner. Wandering, calloused hands. Pressure behind two fingers, splitting you like soft fruit. A sharp tongue and sharper words. Holding hands in bed, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid he might float away in the night.
Life became busier than either of you expected. Kei landed an opportunity to play for a division two team in the V league alongside his work at the Sendai city museum. Your publisher's demands increased. Kei’s priorities shifted. Resentment crept in. He started to forget things. Small promises and favours, like getting the grocery’s or making it home for date night. They felt so significant at the time—things you deemed indicative of his commitment to you, without communicating as such.
Fractures formed in your relationship. You ignored them in favour of keeping the peace, hoping to address them when the timing was better. Only with hindsight can you say that was the wrong choice. The fractures contracted, expanded until it grew into a yawning cavity with one of you standing either side of it. A slow decay.
“No. No, it wouldn’t,” you tell Sugawara. Tsukishima has never been a shining paragon of virtue but he wouldn't do anything to disrupt Tanaka’s wedding. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen him since…”
Sugawara hums his acknowledgment. You’re adrift as he guides you into the venue holding the wedding reception, welcomed into a kaleidoscope of colour. Carefully crafted floral arrangements line the hall. Half of the building is a greenhouse conversion, and natural light filters in through the high, arching ceilings, illuminating the dance floor. You take in the surroundings as your senses are enveloped by the pleasant din.
“Look, there’s Yachi and Nishinoya,” Sugawara tugs on your arm and calls out, “Yachi! Noya!”
Nishinoya crowed, leaping forward to gather you and Sugawara into a blistering hug. Barely two extra inches on him yet larger than you remember, skin kissed by the sun and his hair handsomely coiffed. His waistcoat creases awkwardly with the stretch of his body while you sink into his warmth and feel your cheeks ache.
“Man, I feel like I could scale a mountain! It’s so good to see you guys again,” Nishinoya reclines to get a look at you both and firmly takes you by the shoulders. “You have a lot to answer for,” he says with mock seriousness.
“I do?” you laugh, skull knocking side to side as he shakes you.
“I read your book on the plane”.
Your laughter putters out. You grimace and clear your throat, “Oh—really?”
“Most of us have. We wanted to support you properly,” Yachi admits as she steps forward to hug you. She’s smiling when she pulls away, faint laughter lines deepening.
Sugawara nods and pokes at your waist, “Don’t look so embarrassed. It was amazing”.
“It made me cry!” Nishinoya effuses. He sniffs, and to your mortification he looks like he might burst into tears again. “There was this one line—gah, no! I can’t talk about it. Get over here, I need to hug you again”.
“Thank you, Noya-san,” you wheeze at the arms constricting around your midsection, eyes clenched shut to repress the impending sting. You turn your head, nose knocking against his temple as you peer at the others. “Thank you all. I mean it”.
Yachi squirms, her smile quivering. “I’m really happy you made it today,” she says once you’ve been released. The unyielding pressure of Nishinoya’s embrace lingers like two phantom limbs. “You too, Nishinoya-san”.
“It’s amazing you’re upright. I thought for sure the jet lag would get to you,” Sugawara laughs. He utters a quick apology to the server passing with a tray of drinks. “Didn’t you fly in from Barcelona?”
“Yeah. Should’a been heading to Andorra but I wouldn’t miss my bro’s wedding for the world,” Nishinoya’s voice drifts as his eyes follow the alcohol. He plucks a glass in one swift motion and holds it high, “Salut I força al canut!”
Yachi watches him throw back the drink with poorly veiled anxiety. “Ah, speaking of, we should find our seats. It looks like the cake cutting is starting soon”.
“Good call. We’re getting in the way of the preparations. And I think you’ve left Asahi alone for too long,” Sugawara claps Nishinoya on the shoulder. “Looks like he’s been accosted by Saeko-san”.
Nishinoya pivots on his heel, whip-like and buzzing. You’re not sure which name he reacted to more. Asahi or Saeko. “Where?” his gaze locks in on the pair across the room. “I’ll talk to you guys in a bit!”
Gone in a blink. “He never slows down,” Sugawara sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Guess that’s my cue,” he says before parting ways. Yachi waves after them.
An idea strikes you then. “Say, Yacchan. You’re next to me, right?” you glance toward the long tables set up around the dance floor and meet her gaze with a suggestive smile. “Would you want to sit next to Yamaguchi instead? I don’t mind swapping”.
Their relationship had blossomed over the past few months. A long, slow burn finally come to fruition, new enough that mention of it usually makes her turn pink. But the light in her eyes dims at your suggestion, and rather than flustered, Yachi looks uncertain.
Her fingers form a loose clasp around your forearm. “Tadashi is seated next to Tsukishima,” she explains gingerly. You feel yourself freeze and the kind motion of her thumb strokes circles along the inside of your wrist.
You let out a shaky exhale. “That’s okay. I don’t mind,” you tell her before the consequences of what you’re offering can really be cemented. Yachi’s eyes widen, her grip tighter on your hand as you squeeze back in an attempt at reassurance, knowing your smile looks brittle. “It’s probably for the best. We haven’t… talked yet”.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure”.
“Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Hitoka,” you laugh, bumping your shoulders together. “I promise I’ll survive”.
You regret it not two minutes later.
Anticipation fizzes under your skin as you spot him. On approach you give him a cursory look over, the harsh beat of your heart ricocheting in your chest. Tsukishima looks good—he always does, but today, dressed in his dark, double breasted suit, with the golden hour light carding fingers through his neatly styled hair, you think he’s never looked better.
It is disconcerting to see him again and realise that your feelings haven’t changed much in the slightest.
You sit in the chair beside him. You see his spine draw taut in the corner of your eye and feel an oscillating loneliness; so alike those final few weeks together that cold dread seeps between the spaces in your ribs and steals your breath.
“Tsukishima,” you incline your head, impersonal and cautious, hating how foreign his surname is on your tongue.
A beat passes before he repeats your name in greeting, soft as a psalm despite the dour expression on his face. You’re overcome with the urge to poke the uncomfortable crease in his brow. To smooth it out and kiss the skin there, the way you used to do.
You shift in your seat. The arms curve around your midsection and knock against your elbows as you fiddle with the table cloth, “I told Yacchan that Yamaguchi could have my seat so they can sit together. I hope that’s alright”.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” and you know the clipped answer is reflexive by the way his jaw locks in frustration at himself. Bracing for what you’ll say next.
Only, your mouth curls up a little, and you exhale a short laugh through your nose. You haven’t seen him this skittish since your first year of highschool. You consider that maybe you aren’t the only one who’s scared. That things are the same and they are not the same. The thought is bittersweet, but it’s nice, the way his trepidation gives way to muted awe, how he sends you sidelong glances when he thinks you’re not looking.
The music picks up in a grand crescendo as the newlyweds enter the hall and the reception begins with a raucous applause. A rich aroma unfurls as the food is served, the depth of the flavour layering over the already present notes of wildflower and honey. Drinks are handed to the guests. Generously. You swirl the liquid gold around the rim of your glass, luxuriating in the syrupy inebriation of a gently oaked chardonnay.
“So, uh. How’ve you been?”
Tsukishima, to his credit, does not startle at the question. “Fine,” he says, and you think he might leave it at that when he adds, “The museum received another new Crinoid collection last month, so I’ve been preoccupied”.
You grasp at the conversational thread, not wanting him to stop, “Crinoids?”
“Marine animals. They still exist today, though not as common. You might’ve heard of sea lilies and feather stars,” he shrugs halfheartedly, not daring to look away from his deep fried tofu, though it’s clear he can’t help talking about his work with pride. “Ours are from the Triassic period”.
“Just like the, uh—” you click your fingers to conjure the name from thin air “—Gojirasaurus! Your favourite, right?”
Tsukishima pauses. It’s a fleeting thing, but you notice. The corner of his lips curves into a barely-there smile. He seems pleased that you remembered. You busy your hands with repositioning the cutlery a fourth time so maybe, hopefully, you can distract yourself enough not to say something stupid like: “If I visit, will you show it to me?” or “Do you miss me, like I miss you?”
You clear your throat. “I hear the Sendai Frogs have been doing well, too. Congratulations on moving up to division one”.
Those aureate eyes are sliding to you again, bright and searching. Tsukishima arches his brow in a delicate mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was sixteen and even more so now. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”
There’s mirth trickling into his voice, giving it a familiar smarmy lilt. A wave of emotion washes over you. Embarrassment and heart-twisting-happiness. You shove some rice into your mouth and chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “No. I read about it in the latest Volleyworld issue,” you reply unconvincingly.
“You don’t read Volleyworld”.
“How would you know that?”
Tsukishima takes a shallow breath and nods. The warm gloam of late afternoon mellows his taut features. “I’ve been reading too,” he says after another sip of wine. “I saw you finally published your book”.
Dread seized the inner workings of your mind and the apology on the tip of your tongue curdles. Time ticks by, one sickening second after another. Your eyes dip low to avoid his gaze—which for some reason, he refused to direct anywhere else.
Your recollection of the break up itself was hazy at best. There had been no raised voices, no desperate movie-esque kiss, no slammed doors. Only grief filling your body like lead, and jumbled, half-hysterical thoughts of ‘Is this it? Are we giving everything up, just like that?’
You remember everything that followed, though. The inability to accept reality. It is said if a writer falls in love, that love can never die. And so you kept writing, and writing, and writing; perceiving love through different lenses, creating different endings; relying on metaphors of natural forces and disasters, of cannibalism and gluttony, of journeys and patience to make sense of it all. Six months after everything fell apart you completed the final draft of ‘The Vanishing Moon’, dedicating a final testimony to him in small print on the first page.
Given the choice, I would’ve rather had you at my side than any one of these words.
Has he seen it? Is that what he’s getting at? Did he read through all eighteen chapters and meticulously pick out the remnants of him you pressed between the pages?
“Noya said it made him cry,” you eventually reply.
Tsukishima signals for another drink. He takes two flutes from the server, handing one to you. You accept it with a soft ‘thanks’, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in your fingers. “Nishinoya-san cried when he found out swans can be gay,” he points out.
“You cried at The Land Before Time”.
“What kind of cold hearted bastard doesn’t cry at The Land Before Time?”
Laughter bubbles up in your chest as the initial dread ebbs away and the tension seeps from your shoulders. Tsukishima dips his chin, a small smile as he mutters, “That’s better”.
In the centre of the hall Tanaka cradles Kiyoko in his arms, now surrounded by clusters of their loved ones whirling with their own partners, a hurricane of colour and laughter and love. Tsukishima observes them with a solemn gleam in his eye. That could’ve been us, his heart says in chorus with your own.
“Do you remember that time we danced together in third year, at the summer festival? I tried to kiss you and gave you a nosebleed”.
“I remember”.
Your gaze drops to the bottom of your glass. At the time you had been mortified. Now it’s a story you would share at your own wedding table. The thought cleaves your heart in half.
“Do you remember the song that was playing?”
“Why are you bringing this up?” Tsukishima snaps. “Yes, I remember everything. I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to. Happy?”
There’s a surge of something devastating in your chest, like love and heartbreak all at once, strong enough that you feel as if your ribs might splinter just to make room for it. But they don’t—and you don’t, because you’ve felt this before, and your body remembers.
You remember.
Suddenly the room is too hot, and the music is too loud. “Sorry. I’ll be back in a minute,” you murmur, pushing your chair back and getting to your feet.
“Wait,” in one short breath there are long, calloused fingers circling your wrist. You do wait. Tsukishima hesitates, the pressure elevates, and as you lean away your palm slips into his, skin kissing skin. Then he’s standing, towering over you. “I’ll come with you. I know a place that’s quiet”.
Tsukishima does not let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of his. He walks a few steps ahead guiding you through the throngs of people. Some familiar heads turn, their attention drawn immediately to the place where your bodies meet, and shooting you various looks of encouragement or confusion. Yamaguchi sees you pass and his mouth splits into a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle.
You’re not sure where it is he’s taking you, only that his promise of finding quiet is true. The cacophony simmers and soon enough the festivities are muffled entirely. Just when you think you’ve wound up at the end of a corridor it curves, leading to a pair of french doors. “Come on,” Tsukishima ushers you out onto a balcony.
What you’re greeted by makes your breath catch. The world as it is around you comes to a standstill, the fabric of reality peeling away. An orange yolk dips below the horizon and the sunset hour drapes across the ostensibly endless meadow hidden behind the Karumai Gardens. Rolls of grass sway in the wind, peppered with wildflowers of every shade.
You move to stand at the balcony’s edge. Tsukishima drops his hand, and your fingers curl into your palm. The shadows grow longer, the air cooler. The evening insects begin to sing. You’re warmed still by the wine thrumming in your bloodstream.
“Hey, Tsukki?”
He comes to stand beside you, folding his arms atop the wall. “Don’t call me that”.
“Oh,” you swallow against the swell in your throat. “Sorry, Tsukishima”.
Tsukishima’s expression twists into a scowl. There’s a blush creeping toward his ears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says. You blink and wait for him to elaborate, which only flusters him further. He stares stubbornly at the border. “Just—call me as you normally would. Anything else sounds wrong in your mouth”.
The name leaves you in an instant. Hushed—not whispered, “…Kei”.
He makes an inquisitive noise, strangled as it is.
“You didn’t say what you thought of it,” you continued. “My book”.
You feel a rush of adrenaline when Kei doesn't answer immediately, unable to read his expression. “Good,” he says, veiled indifference belied by the restless twisting of a cufflink between his forefinger and thumb. “It was good”.
“Well, that’s practically a Pulitzer recommendation coming from you”.
“Shut up,” he huffed, gaze flitting across your face and dropping to your tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile. He wets his lips and glances away. Heartened, both by the alcohol and his reciprocation, you press closer in small increments, and Kei flowers under your gentle persuasion, like he always used to.
“This okay?”
In lieu of a reply you are ensconced by a warm, firm chest and two strong arms around your back that show no sign of withdrawing. The low timbre of his voice vibrates under your cheek, “Who was it for?”
“Hm?”
“The book. You dedicated it to someone”.
You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re glad, in part, that he can’t see the emotion written plainly on your face. “Nobody,” you answer lightly, angling to position your ear right over his beating heart. “Just an ex. You don’t know him”.
“Right,” Kei says, drawing out the ‘l’ the way he does when conceding a point he knows he’s correct about. It sounds so fond that you want to curl up where you’re resting, like some benevolent cat. “Guy must’ve been a dick”.
“I was too. We made a lot of mistakes, I think,” you say. If nothing came of this you would at least be able to revisit it; to pick at the scab and stop the wound from closing over too soon. There’s comfort in that. You crane your head and meet his gaze, nervous but unwavering. “But even if he was kind of a dick, I miss him a lot”.
“Yeah?” his eyes soften, half lidded and dark. “He misses you too”.
“He told you that, did he?” your mouth trembles. Kei dips to bring your foreheads together, and the hard frame of his glasses bumps your eyebrow. You share a shaky exhale of laughter.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, brow pinched with regret. Again, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up”.
You feel your jaw quiver. The familiar burn behind your eyes. Tears so close you can taste them. “We both did. Don’t shoulder the blame on your own”.
“But I made you feel lonely,” he says.
You tuck your chin and whisper, “Yes”.
His fingers splayed across your cheek, pinky tucked beneath your jaw as he cradled your face in his hand, tilting until you’re staring back at the reflection in his pupils. Puffy and damp, eyelashes clumped with tears. What a sight.
Kei strokes his thumb in an arc beneath your eye. A tear beads on his nail, slipping into the crook of his hand. The inexpressible tenderness is overwhelming yet you are underwhelmed by the inaction. You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed by the whine in your voice as you ask, “Are you going to kiss me?”
“Demanding as ever. What happened to ‘please’?” he murmurs. And then he kisses you.
It is slow at first, hesitant, leaving room for you to pull away. But with every languid movement of Kei’s lips came a sweet affirmation, that which you took and took until you no longer felt unworthy of receiving it. His hand flutters at your waist. You take a shuddered breath, pressing closer into his embrace and deepening the kiss. In his distraction you take him by the wrist, encouraging him to touch. There’s an immediate, reverent grip at your hip, kneading over your clothes.
This is what you’d been longing for. The feeling you couldn’t transpose; that which people have long tried to capture. The esoteric, giddy anticipation and joy that bubbled between two people on the precipice of something bigger than themselves. Even with an affinity for stringing words together you are scarcely able to describe it. Immense and overwhelming, light and dark, tender and everything in between.
Kei pulls away for breath with a low, vibrating hum, wearing a smile that you thought you’d never see outside of your memories. Almost boyish when he looks at you. The distance is an inch too many but it is just that—an inch. “Eager,” he teases, only to kiss you again, twice as eager.
For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.
But love doesn’t only exist in stories.
You remember that, now.
930 notes
·
View notes
Text
ೀ ׅ ۫ . 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ? (𝒮𝒞𝒜𝑅𝒜𝑀𝒪𝒰𝒞𝐻𝐸)
nerdy! subby! scaramouche x f!reader ﾉ 18+ content. ﾉ nsfw ﾉ modern au / school au ﾉ blowjob ﾉ anal fingering ﾉ handjob ﾉ begging ﾉ slight nipple playﾉ public sex (sex in school) ﾉ teasing ﾉ slight degradation ﾉ msub+ fdomﾉ not proofread ! ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა
i feel like i havent written a subby work in ages . . eeeee i actually rlly missed it ! alsooo, feel free 2 send sum thirsts / fluff prompts in 'n ill be happi 2 write 'em ! art credits go to @majunju ! ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !
It was the third time you had been late this week, the bell signaling the end of class, and you hurried to gather your belongings, hoping you could slip out before anyone noticed. It had become a routine. Sneaking off campus, ditching your friends, ditching your responsibilities, ditching everything, just to have some time alone with him. The teacher droned on, the man's voice fading into the background, the only thing you could focus on was him. You hadn't meant to get attached. He had been a distraction, someone to take the edge off, a quick fuck. He was easy, a pushover, and yet… he was quickly becoming an addiction. His personality, his interests, the way his glasses sat crooked on his nose, the way his lips felt against your own, the way he sounded, the way he looked, the way he begged. Everything about him had become something you couldn't live without. And he was a nerd. A bookworm. A straight A student. You had never expected him to have a sexual side. You had never expected him to be this needy. This clingy. This submissive. He was an enigma.
"Alright. Class dismissed."
The words echoed throughout the classroom, and you snapped to attention, your gaze snapping to him. He was still seated, his head bent, his gaze fixed on the black, hardback notebook in front of him. You could make out the doodles that littered the page, little hearts and stars and random drawings that made no sense, along with a few scribbled out sentences. Ink scattered across the page, covering the surface, his name in the bottom right hand corner, written in a sloppy scrawl. He was hunched over the page, his pen flying across the paper, the scratching sound of the pen filling the silence. The other students filed out of the room, and the teacher followed suit, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone.
He didn't bother looking up, his eyes remaining focused on the paper in front of him, the pen moving furiously, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. What was he working on? It didn't matter. The sight of his tongue peeking out from between his lips was enough to set your body aflame, the memory of his tongue between your thighs sending a wave of arousal through you. It was a miracle you were able to focus during the lesson. His hand stilled, his shoulders tense, and he dropped his pen, his hands coming up to grip the sides of his head, a frustrated groan leaving him.
"Hey, baby." You greeted, a small smirk tugging at the edges of your lips. He stiffened, his hands dropping, and he slowly turned to look at you, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide. You took the opportunity to make your way over, sliding into the seat beside him, leaning forward, your breath fanning against the side of his neck, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear. "What's got you so worked up?" You questioned, and his gaze darted away, his face reddening even further. You had learned fairly quickly that he was shy, especially when it came to talking about his emotions. He was easy to read, and it was a quality that you absolutely loved. It was a refreshing change of pace. You weren't used to dealing with guys like him. You were used to assholes, narcissists, closed off pricks who thought they could walk all over you. Not him. No, he was a good boy. A sweet, loving, doting, obedient, good boy.
"Nothing." He muttered, averting his gaze, and you frowned, your hand reaching out, fingers hooking under his chin, tilting his head, forcing him to look at you. His eyes darted down, avoiding your gaze, and you huffed.
"Look at me." You ordered, and he obeyed, his eyes flitting up, locking onto your own. Your thumb grazed his bottom lip, and he sucked in a sharp breath, his hands clenching the edge of the table. "What's wrong, baby?" You asked again, your voice softer, and he bit his lip, his gaze dropping again, his head shaking, his eyes screwing shut. You may not be his official girlfriend, but you still cared. It wasn't like you were fucking around with anyone else, and you knew he would never be able to get a girlfriend. He was too sweet, too innocent. But you were okay with that. You didn't want to share him with anyone else. You were content with the fact that he was all yours. And he was happy with the fact that he had you.
"I'm stuck.. With my story." He mumbled, his gaze shifting, his eyes darting around the room, as if looking for a way to escape. "I don't know what to write." He admitted, his voice lowering even further, and you hummed. "I need.. inspiration.. I can't think." He continued, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
"..Inspiration, huh? I think I can help you with that." You teased, and he blinked, his eyebrows furrowing, a frown tugging at his lips. You didn't give him a chance to respond, your hands moving, sliding up the sides of his thighs, slipping underneath his sweater, the tips of your fingers brushing the warm, smooth skin of his stomach, a low, pleased hum leaving you. He gasped, his hands darting up, gripping your wrists, his eyes widening.
"W-what are you doing?" He stammered, and you smirked, leaning forward, your lips brushing against his own, the tip of your tongue poking out, running along his bottom lip. He shivered, his eyes falling shut, his grip on your wrists loosening, a low whine leaving him. "Here?" He questioned, his voice low, a hint of panic lacing his tone.
"Mm, why not? You need some ideas, don't you?" You whispered, and he swallowed, a shaky sigh leaving him, his head nodding, his hands moving from your wrists, his palms resting against the table, fingers curling around the edge, his knuckles turning white. Your hand slid down, the tips of your fingers teasing the waistband of his pants, his cock straining against the fabric, the outline of his erection visible through the tight material. He shuddered, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, his hips lifting, pressing against your hand. You hummed, your fingers hooking around the waistband, tugging it down, his cock springing free, slapping against his stomach. He hissed, his grip on the table tightening, his gaze darting around the room.
"What if someone comes in? What if the teacher comes back?" He fretted, his eyebrows furrowing, his eyes darting towards the door. You chuckled, your hand wrapping around his cock, giving him a firm stroke, a strangled moan leaving him. "Then you better stay quiet, and be a good boy for me." You purred, and he nodded, his chest heaving, his mouth hanging open, a whimper leaving him. Your eyes shifted, your gaze locking onto his face, and you grinned, a soft sigh leaving you. He looked amazing. His eyes were closed, his eyebrows furrowed, a deep flush coloring his cheeks, his mouth hanging open, a trail of drool trickling down the side of his chin. He looked absolutely ruined, and you hadn't even done anything yet. The sight was enough to make you weak in the knees. You were sure he was going to be the death of you. "Awww.. You're already a mess, and I've barely even touched you." You cooed, and he whined in response, his hips jerking, thrusting into your hand.
You clicked your tongue, releasing your hold on him, his hips halting, a whine leaving him, his head falling, his forehead thumping against the table, a pout forming on his face. "Why'd you stop?" He questioned, his voice muffled, his head turning, his cheek pressing against the table, his eyes fluttering open, locking onto your own. He looked positively pathetic, his cock standing proud, throbbing, a bead of precum trickling down the side. "Beg for it." You ordered, your hands coming up, resting on your thighs, your lips curling into a smirk. He blinked, his eyes widening, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips, his head shaking. "No, please.." He pleaded, and you tutted, your hand shooting out, tangling in his hair, pulling his head up, a gasp leaving him. "Beg. Be a good boy, and beg for it. Do you want me to leave? Do you not wanna cum? Hm?" You taunted, and he shook his head, his hands moving, gripping your thighs, his head falling forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He shook his head, a shaky whimper leaving him.
"No! Please! Please, I'll be good. I'll be a good boy. I need it." He begged, his hands sliding up, clutching the front of your shirt, tugging at the fabric. "I-I'm sorry, I'll be a good boy.. I wanna cum.. Please." He cried, and you nodded, your hands reaching out, grabbing his waist, flipping him around, his back hitting the table. He squeaked, his hands darting up, his palms pressing flat against the table. You smirked, your hands pushing his legs apart, and he shuddered, his cock throbbing, another bead of precum oozing out. His glasses were knocked askew, and he blinked, his hands raising, his fingers curling around the arms, his eyes darting around the room. "Wait, my glasses-" He started, and you scoffed, grabbing the hem of his sweater, yanking it up, shoving the fabric in his mouth. His hands came up, and you tutted, grabbing his wrists, pinning them to the table, your lips pressing against his throat. He groaned, his hips lifting, and you shook your head. "Don't move." You hissed, and he nodded, his head dropping back, his eyes fluttering shut.
You grabbed ahold of his garments, tugging his pants and underwear down, tossing the clothes aside, your eyes locking onto his cock. You hummed, your teeth grazing the smooth, flawless skin of his neck, a shiver wracking his frame. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby. Just relax, okay?" You whispered, and he nodded, his back arching, his breath hitching. "Mmhm." He moaned, his mouth stuffed full of material, his perky, pink buds on display. Your hands skimmed the insides of his thighs, goosebumps littering his skin, his body quivering beneath your touch. His thighs trembled, and you chuckled, your lips brushing against his pulse point. "You're so sensitive." You commented, and he whimpered, his head turning, his hands curling into fists, his chest heaving. "Relax, baby. I got you." You purred, and he relaxed, his muscles uncoiling, his limbs going limp. You leaned back, taking in the sight, and he whined, his head lolling to the side, his eyes opening, his gaze locking onto yours. Your hand reached out, grasping his cock, his hips twitching, a muffled groan leaving him, his hands flying up, covering his face. You hummed, pumping his shaft, your other hand reaching out, tweaking his nipple, a muffled moan leaving him. You grinned, your teeth grazing his throat, the sound of his soft whimpers echoing throughout the room, filling your ears.
Precum was steadily oozing out of the tip, coating the sides of his cock, and you swiped your thumb across the head, spreading the slick liquid, gathering it on your fingers and poking at the rim of his hole with your digits. He tensed, his breath hitching, and you pressed your finger inside, his muscles clamping around you. You chuckled, the sound muffled against his skin, your teeth scraping his throat, and he sighed, his hands coming up, tangling in your hair, his thighs quivering. "I-I can't-" He started, his voice muffled by the sweater, and you hushed him, pressing a kiss to his pulse point, your tongue darting out, laving the side of his neck. He sighed, his grip on your hair loosening, and you slipped a second finger inside, the muscles tightening around the intrusion, squeezing you. "O-ohh..oh fuck.. fuck-!!" He moaned, his body quivering, a shudder wracking his frame. You curled your fingers, searching for the bundle of nerves, his thighs clamping around your hand, a muffled shout leaving him. "Mmph, oh my- ah, yes, fuck, there, right there!" He cried, and you smirked, brushing against his prostate, a sob leaving him, his eyes rolling back, his head thumping against the table, his back arching.
It seemed that he had forgotten about keeping quiet, his loud, lewd moans and whimpers filling the room, his hips bucking, thrusting into your hand, fucking himself on your fingers. "F-fuck, please- I'm so close, fuck, oh, yes, I'm- I'm gonna-" He gasped, his eyes opening, a low whine leaving him. "Please, please, fuck, please.." He screamed, his cock throbbing, his entire body trembling. "C-can't take i-it an-anymore, please, p-please let me c-cum- I need to- n-need to-!"
Your tongue poked out, dragging across the expanse of his cock, your fingers still continuing their ministrations, entering and leaving plump, swollen, pink hole, his insides clamping around you, his thighs quaking. You grinned, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, your hand moving, grasping the base, your mouth sinking lower, taking him down to the hilt, his tip nudging the back of your throat. His thighs slammed together, a loud, drawn out wail leaving him, his hand shooting up, burying in your hair, pulling you down, forcing you to take him down to the base. You gagged, his cock pulsing, and his mouth opened, his tongue lolling out, drool trickling down the sides of his mouth, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, his entire body going rigid. "G-gonna-!" He whimpered, his hands tightening in your hair, his hips jerking, his back arching, his toes curling, his eyes screwing shut. "I-I-!! Fuck, fuck,, fu-ck-!! Cumming-!" He moaned, his body spasming and convulsing, a true vision of pure bliss displayed before you. A steady, thick, hot stream of cum erupted from his cock, shooting down the back of your throat, and you swallowed around him, your head bobbing, your tongue swirling around his member. He sobbed, his head thrashing from side to side, his cock spasming, his hips thrusting, fucking into your mouth. His orgasm continued, a steady, consistent flow of cum flowing down the back of your throat, his release filling you up, his taste exploding on your tongue.
His grip on your hair loosened, his hands falling away, landing on the table with a loud thud, his arms falling limp. Your mouth left his cock with a wet pop, and your fingers pulled out, leaving him gaping and empty. His eyes opened, and he panted, his chest heaving, his gaze unfocused. His head turned, and his eyes locked onto your own, a low, content moan leaving him. His gaze was half lidded, his eyes filled with nothing but pure, undeniable lust. His hand raised, his arm falling over his eyes, and he groaned.
"I hope that gave you enough inspiration for your little story, sweetheart."
#୧ ‧₊˚ ☆ athena's creations !#genshin x reader#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#scaramouche imagines#kabukimono imagines#wanderer imagines#kunikuzushi imagines#scaramouche x you#kabukimono x you#wanderer x you#kunikuzushi x you#scaramouche x reader#scara x reader#kabukimono x reader#kunikuzushi x reader#wanderer x reader#scaramouche smut#kabukimono smut#kunikuzushi smut#wanderer smut#scaramouche#scara#kunikuzushi#kabukimono#wanderer#scaramouche x y/n#kabukimono x y/n#kunikuzushi x y/n#genshin impact x reader
780 notes
·
View notes
Text
synopsis: scaramouche finds himself in his office, too distracted to do his duties ((i.e. man’s horny as hell and it’s your fault) based off of this drabble))
cws: masturbation, exhibitionism, spanking (only like three times), virginity loss (scara + reader), cunnilingus, fingering, praise, degradation, edging, overstimulation, creampie, chubby!afab!kitsune!reader
word count: 6800+ (it was an accident LMAO)
a/n: thanks for 100 followers guys <3
scaramouche was beyond frustrated, utterly exasperated—exasperated at his exasperation as he glared at the pile of papers laying on his desk. he brought a hand up, running it through his silky indigo locks. he’s mentally chastising himself for getting so caught up in his emotions, even going as far as to let his paperwork pile up on his desk for two weeks straight. the sight of the tall stack of paper makes him curse everything ever, mainly dottore, his segments, and you. he keeps finding his mind consumed with thoughts of you, distracting him from getting work done.
he couldn’t go out and risk bumping into you, opting to stay cooped up in his office under the premise that he’s doing paperwork but nobody knows what he’s doing under the desk. if anyone were to walk in, they’d find him with a light sheen of sweat coating his forehead and the tips of his ears burning a bright red and most would think he’s just fallen ill from the stress of that mountain of papers.
but you’re standing there in the doorway, arms crossed and leaning against the wooden frame with that concerned look on your face that causes his cold, nonexistent heart to melt. and he almost feels bad about how he’s spent everyday thinking about you until his balls are dry, almost feels bad about the way his hand picks up the pace with each word you say, almost feels bad about the way he’s shamelessly pumping his cock while you’re standing there so worried. that caring lilt in your voice nearly draws a deep groan from his throat when you say, “scara, are you alright? you should take a break—let me do some paperwork for you.”
he knows he should send you off, he knows his self-restraint is practically null around you nowadays, he knows that if he were to spend more than three minutes in the same room with you, he’d probably end up begging you to let him fuck you. but he also knows how stubborn you are and before he could even get another word out, you’re shutting the door behind yourself and taking a seat on the opposite side of his desk. god, he’s fucked.
he’s grumbling under his breath and pulling his hand off his dick so he could grab a pen and at least pretend he’s doing work. the room is consumed in a comfortable silence as the two of you start tackling that pile of papers but he still can’t focus. his eyes keep drifting off the paper and up onto you and the way your ear twitches in confusion as you read over the page in front of you. it’s only now that he realizes how soft he is for you. despite being rock hard under the table.
his other hand slides down to stroke himself once again while his eyes are trained onto your face and he has to pry his gaze away from you before you notice it. he watches you in his peripherals, his thumb slowly rubbing at his sensitive tip as he takes in all of your mannerisms from the way your ears twitch when he hisses at how painfully erect he is to the way you bite your lip in concentration. god, your lips. your lips are already making his self-restraint start to slip and it hasn’t even been a minute. you prop your head up onto your fist, pressing your knuckles into your chubby cheek while you purse your lips and start writing.
he flips his paper a few times, pretending to read over it even though his gaze isn’t even on the paper and instead it’s locked onto you while he eye-fucks you. due to the snezhnayan cold, you’re all bundled up but that doesn’t stop the desk from showing off the shape of your boobs when you lean over to look closely at the fine print on the paper. the sight alone is nearly enough to make him cum, having to pull his hand away again to not stain the underside of the table.
“scara?” your voice draws his attention and he shifts his gaze back to your face, “scara, are you sure you’re alright? you’re getting redder by the minute.” you’re wearing that cute little pout that makes him even redder. all of a sudden you stand up and he’s rushing to put his cock back into his shorts while you walk around the table to press the back of your hand against his forehead, “wow, you’re burning up.. i didn’t think puppets could get sick..”
he’s quick to swat your hand away, swirling his chair around to face you properly with a scowl, “i’m fine! can you just go back to working?”
his self-restraint was barely hanging on when you clicked your tongue and grabbed his wrist in an attempt to pull him up but the second your hand wrapped around his wrist, he manages to flip the roles. he snatched his wrist out of your grasp and quickly took hold of you instead, one hand wrapped around your own wrist while his other hand gripped onto your waist. he swears he could hear his self-restraint snap, the sound resonating in his mechanical ears. before either of you could process what’s going on, he’s pulling you into him.
“wh- huh? scara?!” he thought you looked so pretty like this, flustered while you stop yourself from falling onto his lap by resting one knee beside his thighs. he has you towering over him now and he can feel the shallow breathes you take cascading over his face.
he lets out a deep chuckle, his indigo eyes staring up into your own, “it’s all your fault, you know that? you’re the reason i can’t focus.” he guides your hand to rest on his shoulder so he can tightly grip your soft waist with both hands, “if you don’t walk out of my office right now, i’m not sure what’s gonna happen.”
he can practically hear the gears turning in your head through the thick silence before your shocked expression turns into an amused smirk, “my fault? i personally believe it’s dottore’s fault.”
your words cause him to chuckle once more, “of course you knew. what a sly fox you are—pretending you knew nothing while sitting here just to rile me up.” he can see the way your smirk falters for a split second when he manages to push you onto his desk in one swift move, knocking over the stack of papers in the process. you look at the papers as they flutter to the ground and he uses that opportunity to situate himself between your legs, bringing his head down to kiss the soft skin of your neck. he’s keeping his ears open for each and every sound you make to gauge your reaction to his advances, shutting his eyes while he peppers kisses all over the side of your neck.
he’s pressing his throbbing cock against you while his hands slide up and down your body, squishing and grabbing at every piece of fat he can. one hand is grabbing at the fat on the side of your belly while his other hand runs down to massage the outside of your thick thigh. his movements are spurred on by the breathy sounds that you try to hold back and he leaves a little experimental bite on your neck, reveling in the way you let out a shaky gasp and fling your hand up to slide into his hair. he goes back to pressing kisses onto your neck, leaving you wanting more as you buck your hips up to grind against him. he groans against your neck, his words sending vibrations through your body, “fuck, don’t do that.” but you do it again and again until he’s a gasping mess, nearly cumming in his shorts.
“shit, shit-” he hisses, his hands quickly pinning your hips down onto the table as he pulls away from your neck to press his lips onto yours. he takes your lips into a greedy kiss, letting his lips move against yours so perfectly like he was made for you. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down to press him into yourself and he can feel your soft body against his chest. his hands start to roam again, sliding up the hem of your shirt to feel the warmth of your body and he can feel you shiver at how cold his hands are. he freely grabs at your fat once again, using your body heat to warm up his hands. you’re so soft and warm and it’s making him wonder about how you feel inside.
you pull away from the kiss and he remembers that non-puppet beings have to breathe, a smirk forming on his face when he sees how swollen your lips are. he lets you catch your breath as he attaches himself to your neck again, suctioning his lips onto your skin and leaving tiny red marks onto your neck. you’re grinding your hips against him again and his hands are slowly moving upward, hovering over your ribcage and just under your boobs. he pulls away from your neck again, leaving a few kisses on top of the marks he just left on you.
“you look beautiful like this,” he mumbles before taking a hand out from under your shirt and firmly grabbing your face, his middle finger and thumb pressing into your chubby cheeks. he gently guides your face to the other direction, giving himself access to the unmarked side of your neck before he’s marking that side too. he’s slowly sliding his other hand upward, gliding against the center of your ribcage so sensually and grazing over the middle of your bra just between your boobs. his hand keeps going up and up before stopping at your collarbone and changing direction. his nails are short and smooth over your skin, scratching you ever so lightly as his hand ventures back down your torso.
he knows how his touches cause your body to burn, having spent two weeks fantasizing about you to plan out all the ways he would get you needy for him the way he’s needy for you. it’s working and he can tell by the way your breath hitches, by the way you squirm under him, by the way your hands begin to paw at him, by the way your tail flicks against his leg, by the way you whimper his name.
it’s painful how slow he’s going, painful how much he’s teasing you—for you and him both. but when his hand finally slips under your bra and cups a handful of your soft tits, it’s all worth it. he pulls himself off of your neck with an audible ‘pop!’ before letting go of your jaw and lifting up your shirt. his gaze stays on you as he slowly pushes up the fabric over your chest, eyes darting between the sight of your body and your face. his hands snake around your back and fiddle with your bra, struggling to unhook it before he decided to just pull your bra up too, rolling his eyes when you snicker at his actions.
he immediately attaches himself to your tits, one hand squishing and squeezing at your chest while his lips are wrapped around the other boob and his tongue swirls around your nipple. it’s like he’s lost in the moment, as if nothing else matters when he’s making out with your tit. he can’t help himself—your soft body is just so fun to play with.
your hands are running up and down his shoulders, slipping into his hair again and pulling him even closer to you. he swears he can just cum right then and there—completely untouched, save for your hands in his hair. he has to pull himself away from you again, peppering light kisses in between sucks down the center of your torso and leaving even more marks on your skin. his fingers graze over the fresh hickeys as he slowly lowers himself to his knees in front of you, his lips ticking your skin as he kisses down your belly. he smirks at the shaky little gasp you let out when he nibbles onto your lower belly. he can’t help but admire every single inch of your chubby body, wanting to kiss and bite every single piece of fat he can.
you let out another gasp when his hands roughly part your legs, your half-lidded eyes widening as he looks up at you from between your thighs. you’re so flustered by the way he’s looking at you, eyes darting around the room. he presses a kiss onto your clothed leg, his fingers still snaking over your belly before hooking under the waistband of your pants, “eyes on me, darling.”
such an obedient little thing, you are—looking back at him the second his words left his mouth. his smirk widens and he slowly unzips your pants before pulling them down at an even slower pace. his knuckles graze over your hips, over your thighs, over your knees, over your calves, over your ankles until finally, your pants are completely off and you’re left sitting on his desk with your shirt and bra pushed over your tits and your panties on full display for him. he’s parting your legs again, gently this time while he’s peppering tiny, red hickeys from your knee to your inner thigh. he moves to your clothed heat, his face hovering over it for a second before he’s switching his attention to your other thigh.
“you’re so annoying,” you mumble and watch intently as he sucks and gropes your inner thighs, eyes widening again when he starts licking and biting at the pudgy fat there. you subconsciously flick your tail against his face, suddenly self-conscious but he’s quick to non-verbally reassure you. he gently pushes your tail away and kisses your fat thighs again, putting every ounce of love he has into each kiss until you finally melt and let him suck and nibble your squishy thighs again.
his hands keep massaging your pudgy inner thighs while he kisses up to your knee, leaving hickeys to mirror the ones he left on your other thigh. he’s rushing the last few hickeys, a bit too eager to finally taste you cause he’s suctioning himself onto your clothed cunt. the sight of it alone is embarrassing for both of you but neither of you stop it, letting him tongue at your puffy folds to his nonexistent heart’s content. he’s licking at your clothed pussy, tongue pressing into your hole and flicking it around a few times, dragging it up and down your panties and trying to find that little bundle of nerves he spent days researching about. his fingers are pushing around your puffy folds while his tongue flicks over every spot he could find before he finally finds your clit and you jolt at the touch. your reaction spurs him to do it again and again, focusing all his attention onto that spot until you’re a whining mess.
you’re all breathy and whiny for him with a mantra of his name leaving your lips while his tongue keeps flicking over your clothed clit. god, you taste delicious and he can’t help but imagine how you taste without the barrier of your panties holding him back. he quickly pulls himself away right before you cum, tugging the seat of your panties to the side and blowing some air onto your newly exposed cunt, chuckling at the way you beg for him to lick you again.
he can’t peel his eyes off of your glistening cunt, his thumbs reaching to spread apart your fat pussy lips as he gets distracted by the way your juices shine in the light. he leans in and drags the tip of his tongue from your hole all the way up to your clit, gathering a mouthful of your slick before swallowing it all. god, you taste divine and he can’t help but flick his tongue inside of your hole a few times to taste as much of you as he can.
he slips his tongue as deep as it can go, his thumb reaching up to slowly and gently rub circles onto your clit while his tongue thrashes around inside of you. he’s greedily drinking up all of your slick, his tongue plunging in and out, up and down, left and right. the difference between his tongue and his thumb is mind numbing and he revels in the way you can do nothing but sit there with your hands in his hair, pulling him deeper into you while you grind your hips upward to meet his tongue.
the sound of his tongue dipping in and out of your cunt fills his office, harmonizing with your broken whines and whimpers to coat the room in a sultry atmosphere. neither of you know how thin the walls are but neither of you care either—not when he’s greedily fucking his tongue into your sloppy hole like theres no tomorrow, not when his hands are kneading at your pudgy thighs as they clamp down onto the sides of his head, not when he keeps lapping up all of your juices and thumbing at your overly sensitive clit, not when the pleasure is too much and you’re pushing his head away from your twitching pussy.
he pulls his face away from your cunt but a smirk is plastered onto his lips and you’re not sure why until the tip of his middle finger is sliding up and down your slit, gathering your slick before pressing into your hole a tiny bit and pulling right back out. his finger pressed only a couple centimeters in but he already has your hole twitching around nothing, silently begging to be filled. his smirk grows even wider when he hears your quiet voice say, “scara.. put your finger inside, please..”
“well, when you’re begging like that..” he chuckles and hovers his middle finger just outside your entrance, “..i have to listen to you.” he slowly slides his finger inside, pushing in inch by inch and letting your walls get accustomed to the intrusion. his eyes widen slightly, a bit surprised at how you feel—so warm and wet, so soft and tight, “darling, you’re squeezing my finger so tightly. have you never been stretched out before?”
you shake your head, letting your walls tense up one last time before relaxing completely, “no, it’s easier for me to just.. rub, y’know?” his eyebrows fly upward at the realization of your virginity before he gives you a soft nod, a mutual understanding that the two of you are willing to give each other your first times. he hums before turning his hand to face his palm toward the ceiling, running the tip of his finger against your walls and getting a good feel of your insides.
you keep a smile on your face as he uses his finger to rub at your ridged walls, your expression remains unchanging as his finger surges deeper and deeper up until he grazes against that squishy spot deep inside you. you let out a deep gasp, the smile you wore contorting into a silent moan as pleasure surges through you. he keeps prodding at that spot, sending heat to cascade over your body. he leans forward again, kissing your clit as he mumbles, “you like that, darling? feels like you do.”
the only sounds you could let out where whimpers and pleas of “there! right there! please!” it was music to his ears and he needed to hear more. his finger kept hitting that spot over and over again causing you to get even wetter, using your juices to lube up his ring finger before he slides it in too. you’re a moaning mess, plopping your back onto his desk while your pussy creams and twitches around his fingers. the sounds of his fingers prodding at that spot nonstop is absolutely obscene, causing a hot sensation of embarrassment to cascade over your already hot body. he presses another kiss to your clit that has your back arching off of his desk, urging him to flick his tongue over it a few times.
back arched, legs shaking, tail and ears twitching, hips rocking, toes curling. your hands are pawing at every surface you could reach—gripping the edge of the desk, pulling at his hair, slapping over your mouth.
he’s greedily eating up all of your sounds and movements, relishing in every ounce of pleasure he’s able to pull from you with just his fingers and his tongue. making out with your clit, his lips and tongue are all over that sensitive nub while his index finger is rubbing itself all over your wet skin. now he’s got three fingers curling in you, his hand moving back and forth all while the tips of his fingers keep hitting that squishy part deep inside of you. you’re drowning his fingers in your juices at this point and he’s too busy making out with your clit to lick it all off his fingers. much to his disappointment.
his office is full of the sound of your whining and panting, aided by the lewd squelching of your cunt being stretched out by his fingers. you’re body is covered in sweat, the cold air of snezhnaya forgotten and overwhelmed by the mass amount of heat the pleasure was giving you. a mantra of his name leave your mouth while your hole twitches around his fingers, the heat in your body increasing with each time he presses into that spot until the knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re falling apart on his desk, succumbing to your own orgasm as your whole body shakes.
he doesn’t stop his movements for a while, too drunk on your pleasure to pull away. it’s not until you’re weakly pushing his head away from your cunt that he pulls his fingers out of your twitching hole, immediately popping them into his mouth and licking up all of your juices. the way he doesn’t look away from you while he darts his tongue up and down every stream as it falls down his hand, drinking every single drop, causes embarrassment to fill you again.
you’re about to protest his actions, your mouth opening only for your words to be cut off by a broken gasp when his head dives back in between your thighs. he’s sliding his tongue over every piece of wet skin he could find, his hands kneading at your pudgy thighs and pushing them apart so he could greedily feast on your cunt once more like a man starved. his tongue is sliding all over your wetness, running over before pushing into your puffy folds all while he’s letting out his own groans of satisfaction.
it’s like he’s getting off on just eating you out, like feasting on your cunt is the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his immortal life. you’re still pushing his head away, mewling, “nooo.. ‘s too much, scara!”
he only responds with a gruff hum, his tongue still plunging into your hole. his eyes are staring into yours, watching as your pretty little pained expression morphs into one of pleasure again before he’s pushing your thighs even further. he manhandles you further up the desk, giving himself room to sit back into his chair while he keeps drinking your juices.
it’s like he’s got a whole meal on his desk, one that he has no intention of wasting—making sure to devour every last drop. your hands are gripping on the edge of the desk, hanging on while your head dangles off the other side. your tail is rapidly wagging now, a telltale sign of how overwhelmed you are yet despite your overstimulation, you’re making no longer trying to push him away. your body’s still sensitive from your previous two orgasms and it’s not long until you’re cumming again, whole body shaking while you push his head away once again.
he reluctantly pulls away, his eyes glued onto the sight of your glistening cunt that seems to be calling him. he has to restrain himself, prying his eyes off of your body and guiding them to your face. “so pretty,” he mutters, standing up and pushing his chair away. he’s standing between your legs again, his hands gently caressing your shaking thighs. he watches as you slowly sit up on his desk, ears and tail still twitching ever so slightly as the rest of your body calms down. “you’re beyond pretty,” he spoke in a gruff voice while his hands move to gently cup your face, resting his forehead against yours. you swore you could see the faintest smile twitching onto his lips for a second before he pressed his lips to yours.
the kiss was soft and sweet and you weren’t sure if it was just because of the taste of your juice’s lingering on his lips. one hand snakes into your hair while the other stayed on your face, thumb caressing your soft cheek while his lips dance with yours. without his mind being clouded by the taste of your cunt, he could feel how painfully hard he was. he pressed his aching cock against you, only separated by his shorts and underwear. he broke the kiss, hissing as his cock throbbed under his clothes, “darling, please.. can i fuck you? please let me fuck you.”
even through his clothes, he could feel the way your hole twitches around nothing at his words. a smirk etches itself onto his lips again as he grinds his clothed cock against you, letting your juices soak into the fabric of his shorts. he cooed, “you’ll let me fuck you, right? gonna let me fuck you nice and good, darling?” he smirks even more when your snaking your arms around his neck, pulling him tightly to your chest. he could feel your soft body through his clothes, his hands sliding down your body to grab at your chubby waist.
he used the grip he had on your waist to guide you to the other side of the desk. you were sitting with the length of the desk behind you, forehead pressed to his while his hands snaked up your waist and to your shirt that was still bunched up over your chest. he slips your shirt off, leaving you completely bare for his greedy eyes to gaze at.
“you won’t be able to fuck me with all your clothes on, y’know,” you teased, your hands sliding down to tug at the hem of his shirt. he nodded and eagerly shed his clothing, his excitement showing in the way he hastily tossed his clothes to the floor. he stood in front of you, his body on display for you and your eyes only while the tips of his ears burned a bright red which he ignored. your eyes scanned over his skinny body, widening when you saw his throbbing cock.
he smirked at your shocked expression, taking a step closer to you and pressing his cock against you. his hands trailed up your arms before cupping your face again, making you look him in the eyes as he teased you, “you’re still gonna let me fuck you, right? gonna let me split you open?” he smirked wider when you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. he pressed a soft kiss to your lips before his hands flew down to your thighs, grabbing them and pulling you forward until you sat at the very edge of his desk. your hands were gripping at his shoulders while the two of you watched how he grabbed his cock and guided the pretty, pink tip all over your puffy folds.
taking his time to gather your slick with his dick, he grazed his tip up and down your messy folds. he could feel the way your hole twitched when he pressed into ever so slightly before continuing to slide up and rub on your clit a few times. he was eager to slip it in but he wanted to make sure you’d feel just as good so he took his time rubbing your slick all over his cock before finally lining himself up and giving you one last look.
at your nod of approval, he slowly pushed himself in. you both watched as his cock disappeared into you, letting out your own sounds of desire when he stretched you out. he was only halfway in when you whimpered, stuffing your face into the crook of his neck while your fluffy ears tickled his artificial skin. you made no effort to stop him so he kept pushing in until he finally buried himself balls deep inside of you. both of you could feel the other throb and he groaned deeply at the feeling of your walls squeezing him, “relax, darling. you’re tight enough as it is.”
you chuckled at his words and did your best to relax and let your hole take its time getting accustomed to his girth. he was right—he was splitting you open and the combination of your virgin hole and his thick dick made the stretch even more painful. your hands slid across his back while you pull him into a hug, pressing your bodies even closer together. you’re like a pillow to him, your chubby belly and soft tits press against his own torso in a way so perfect that he’s shifting his weight and making you lay down onto the desk.
the cold surface touches your back, making you shiver underneath him while he leans over you. his hips are sitting flush against yours, remaining unmoving until your fully accustomed to his girth. his head moves into your neck again, lips fluttering all over your skin. it felt like hours for him, having to resist the urge to start slamming himself into you while your walls throbbed and twitched around his aching cock. he wanted you to feel good as well but resisting the urge was getting increasingly difficult with every passing second of your hole sucking him in, all while he’s praying to whatever god would be listening to his fucked up little head that your hole will hurry up and relax so he can finally mold your cunt into the shape of his cock.
after what seemed like centuries, you gave your hips a little roll, the action drawing a matching pair of moans from both of you. he peels his lips off of your neck as he starts slowly moving his hips, light and shallow thrusts as if he’s testing the waters. each time he pulls out, he can feel your hole sucking him right back in and he swears he’s addicted. every pull, every push, every ridge of your walls. every moan, every groan, every squelch of your hole. he’s addicted to it all.
slowly, he starts pulling his cock out more and more, increasing the amount of his girth that he pushes back into you with each thrust. first, it’s one inch, then it’s two, then three, four, five.. all until he pulls out to the very tip just before thrusting all six inches of his fat cock back into your puffy pussy. his hands that were once gripping at your chubby waist so gently begin to tighten and he’s suddenly pulling you to meet his hips with each thrust, using you as a toy for his own pleasure. his breath is ragged and sharp and the feel of your warm walls is making him lose his mind. he’s so lost in it, mind clouded and voice gruff as he groans, “fuck, darling. your pussy is taking me so good. you’re taking me so good.”
you mewl in embarrassment at his words, your walls clenching him and sucking him in deeper. he can only chuckle in response, his laughter getting interrupted by a groan at how a simple clench is enough to bring him closer to his orgasm. he would’ve been fine, would’ve been able to hold back if it weren’t for you and the way you whimpered his name. now, it’s his turn to burn from embarrassment as he prematurely spills his seed into you. you gasp at the warmth before chucking, “aw, scara~ i didn’t know a simple moan of your name could get you to-!”
your teasing words are cut off by your own moans when he stands up straight and pins your thighs to your chest. he glared down at you, face red in embarrassment and anger as he starts to quicken his pace. you’re just as infuriating as the day he met you and he’s putting every ounce of frustration, anger, and love he has for you into every thrust. he’s slamming his hips against yours roughly, the sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass harmonizing with the pathetic whines you let out.
he’s got you pinned to his desk, pussy creaming and throbbing with each harsh thrust. a condescending smirk plasters itself onto his lips as he watches you fall apart, angling his hips repeatedly until he’s hitting that squishy spot once again. you let out a mantra of his name once more but this time, all it does it fuel him to slam into you even harder. the tip of his thick cock is abusing that spot deep inside you, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head while your whole body is coated with a familiar heat. he growls out your name a few times, smirk growing when he feels your pussy clamping him each each syllable, “aw, darling~ i didn’t know a simple moan of your name could get you to be a mewling mess.”
his eyes flick downward, greedily watching the way his cock sheathes into your puffy cunt over and over again. each thrust has a squelch that fills the room and each squelch has your juices rolling down your ass and onto his desk. he clicks his tongue, looking back up to your pretty fucked out face to watch your eyes flutter shut as you drool all over yourself while he pushes your plush thighs up even higher, “such a messy pussy you have, darling. you and your cunt are one in the same—both drooling for me like a slut.”
your mind is simultaneously racing and completely blank, every ounce of your being overwhelmed. he keeps plunging himself into you at a rapid pace that has your back arching off the desk and your legs shaking, ears and tail twitching wildly with each thrust of his cock into that squishy spot. your little fucked out voice rings in his ears, “scara! scara! scara, i’m cumming!”
“that’s it, darling. cum all over my cock like the slut you are. just like that,” he groans, pushing all his weight onto your thighs as he continuously fucks himself into your twitching cunt. there’s a thick coat of sweat over his artificial skin and his breath is ragged as he gives you one last thrust, his tip slamming right into your cervix as his cum bursts into your womb with a drawn out groan of your name. he pulls himself out of your hole, giving you only a second of peace before he’s using his grip on your thighs to flip you over.
the cold surface of his desk is pressing against your bare chest now, making your nipples stiffen even more. you could just barely register the new position before his tip is back to siding over your sensitive pussy. you look over your shoulder to watch him as he’s gripping his cock with one hand while the other runs up and down your back before pressing into your spine, pinning you to the desk. his cock is scooping up all the cum that spilled out of you and pushing it back into your messy pussy. you mewl as he sheaths himself into your sensitive hole once more, “scara, ‘s too much..”
“one last time,” his words carried a demanding tone that he often used with his fatui squad, a tone that made your hole flutter around him, a tone that made your complaint disappear from your brain. he pulled his hand off his cock, slapping it over the fat of your ass before wrapping it around the base of your twitching tail, “you’re gonna take my cum one last time.“
your sensitive tail thrashed wildly in his hold, pathetic whimpers leaving your lips as he started pounding you from behind. his balls slapped against your throbbing clit with each thrust and he reveled in the way your hands grabbed at the edge of the desk on either side of you in an attempt to stabilize yourself. he rubbed at the base of your tail a few times, the pace of his hand much slower than his hips in a way that was absolutely mind numbing. you rested your face against the cold table, eyes trained onto something on the other side of the room that you couldn’t see with the way your vision blurred at the pleasure.
he was fucking his dick against your cervix with ease in this new position, one hand on your back and the other holding your fluffy tail out of the way so he could watch his cock disappear with every harsh thrust of his hips against your ass. he was fucking obsessed. he needed to keep shoving his cock deeper and deeper into you, needed to fill you up with his cum one more time. he let out a deep breath before letting go of your tail and slapping your ass once more. his hands flew to your chubby waist as he leaned over you, pressing his chest on top of your back.
he kept abusing your cervix with his cock, relishing in the way you fully fell apart for him. he lowered his head to yours, smirking at the way you drooled with each thrust. you were starting to buck your hips back, slamming yourself against him for more. you were a moaning mess, eyes rolled back and nails digging into the underside of the desk.
the two of you panted with each other, moaning and groaning as your hips repeatedly met with a loud, wet slap. his hands slipped under your body, pawing at your belly and tits and enjoying how soft you are. his hands had a mind of their own—sliding all over your body while he fucked you from behind, from your neck to your tits to your belly to your thighs. he couldn’t get enough, he’d probably end up fucking you unconscious if he didn’t stop himself soon.
he kneaded your pudgy thighs again while peppering kisses all over the back of your neck and shoulders, the tip of his cock still slamming into your cervix. both of your minds were completely blank, bodies burning and panting heavily. your hole violently twitched around him, your body shaking once again and your tail flicking rapidly, tickling his stomach. he continued to fuck you through your fifth orgasm, not stopping his thrusts even as you whined, “scara! too much! too much!”
“almost done, darling. you want me to fill up this slutty cunt, don’t you?” the smirk on his face was evident in his voice, “so shut up and let me fuck you full of my cum one last time.” he stood up again, his hands pinning you to the desk by your waist as he kept fucking into your abused hole. you clawed at the desk, laying there and letting him fuck your overstimulated cunt some more. one last thrust and you mewled at the warmth that spilled into your womb again. his hips stilled against your ass for a while as he took a moment to catch his breath, his voice tired and gruff, “god.. you did so well, darling.”
he leaned over again, pressing a kiss onto your cheek before pulling himself out of you and plopping back into his chair. you stayed bent over his desk for a while, unable to move your tired body as he shamelessly stared at his seed spilling out of your aching hole. he resisted the urge to fuck his cum back into you, slapping your ass playfully, “c’mon, get up. i still have all that paperwork to do.”
you slowly pushed yourself off of the desk, legs shaking as you glared back at him. he got himself dressed before helping you out with your own clothes. your hands were on his shoulders, keeping yourself steady while he pulled your pants up your legs. he shook his head in faux disappointment, “so.. you were in on it the whole time?”
“of course not. it was all that segment’s idea—i didn’t know until today,” you said, putting your bra and shirt back on.
he blinked for a moment before smirking, “so the second you found out about it, you just had to come see me.”
taglist: @magica-ren
#genshin#genshin impact#genshin impact smut#genshin scaramouche#genshin impact scaramouche#genshin scara#genshin impact scara#scaramouche x reader#scara x reader#scaramouche smut#scara smut#chubby reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
oral fixation (w.afton/fem!reader)
pairing: william afton | steve raglan/fem!reader
content tags: oral fixation, oral sex, body worship, pussy eating, tongue fucking, praise kink, william can not keep his mouth off you.
summary: William has an obsessive habit of chewing and biting things, especially when he's stressed. You interrupt his work at just the right time.
word count: 2,898
read on AO3
18+ content below cut. minors do not interact.
note: I am so glad I received this because I love oral fixation fics.
In public, Steve’s mannerisms, his facial expressions, were a well-rehearsed performance. Not a single person would be able to see the crime scene he cleaned up a week ago through the crease in his eyebrows, or the screams of a victim he still heard ringing in his ears in the way he sipped bitter coffee from a chipped mug; they simply were not there.
No, Steve Raglan was an ordinary guy. A little peculiar perhaps. Sometimes he tried a little too hard to be funny, and that affinity he seems to have for rabbit themed memorabilia could be classed as odd to some. Aside from that, Career Councillor Steve Raglan acted no differently to any other employee in the office.
In private, however, the comfort of his own home or even the privacy the closed door of his office provides, William Afton wore his thoughts externally like he wore the sleeves of his shirt. William would chew on the plastic end of a pen while pouring over a client’s file; agonising over how he was supposed to find suitable employment for a 37-year-old with only a high-school education, a criminal record and a 9-year unexplained gap in his employment history.
He would light up a cigarette or two, rolling the paper filter between his lips, biting it carefully with his teeth while sketching concept blueprints for a new animatronic design, trying to seamlessly integrate a dispenser for a knockout gas that wouldn’t be overtly noticeable.
William would bite his nails and chew his lips when you were out late and not responding to his calls or texts, crashing those worried lips to yours as soon as you’d come through the door.
“My phone died and I had to stay late, you don’t have to worry I’m safe.”
“All manner of dangerous people are out there,” he sighed your name, “can you use a coworker’s phone to call me if it happens next time? I hate to be sitting on the edge of my seat wondering if someone is hurting my girl.”
It was now that William was deep in thought, a half burned out cigarette resting in between his lips. He was tweaking some finer details on an endoskeleton hand, wanting it to have more precise movements, he had said before heading into his garage workshop. That was over five hours ago and the dinner you decided to make him was almost ready.
You watched him from the doorway. The ashtray showing he was on at least his third cigarette; he was stressed. Stepping over boxes and piles of scrap metal, you made your way over to him, resting a palm flat against his back.
“You’re tense,” you said quietly, smoothing your hand over the expanse of his rigid back.
William leaned into your touch but didn’t stop working. You took the chance to gently work out some of the knots in his muscles while he manipulated the metal on the bench, the cigarette still in between his lips. Watching as he moved it between his teeth from the left to the right side of his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and inhaling deeply.
You moved from behind him to lean on the edge of the desk, facing him now. Mentally crossing your fingers in the hopes he wouldn’t snap at you, you take the cigarette from his mouth, immediately drawing his attention. You raise your eyebrows teasingly, bringing the mauled butt to your own lips to take a drag.
“Dinners almost ready,” you exhale the smoke over your shoulder away from him.
A smirk on his lips, “What time is it?” he asks, placing his tools down and finally sitting up straight to stretch out his aching back muscles, twisting his neck side to side. He takes the endoskeleton hand from the desk and places it gently in a box, moving it to a shelf out of the way for now.
“11:41pm, according to the clock in here,” you inhale one more time, feeling the buzz in your head, before passing it back to William who takes the almost finished cigarette graciously. He seems way more interested in it now that it’s been between your lips.
He leans back in his chair, removing his glasses to rub his fatigued eyes then tossing them on the desk. He places the cigarette back between his lips to take a deep, satisfying drag, then stubs it out in the ashtray next to the rest. William exhales, smoke briefly clouding your vision as he reaches for your hips and pulls you down onto his lap, holding you tightly in his calloused hands. One holding your waist, the other gripping your thigh.
William nuzzles into the curve of your neck, nose and scratchy facial hair tickling your sensitive skin. He smiles when he can feel your heartbeat against his lips. He places a kiss, then two. Tracing the tip of his tongue from collarbone to ear, pressing a kiss in the space behind your ear and sweeping your hair back out of the way. You live for these moments. The way he dotes on you and worships every inch of you like a piece of fine art.
“I’m sorry I was distracted in here. Have I been neglecting my girl?” William nips the lobe of your ear with his teeth, before kissing a path down the juncture of your neck again.
“Could tell you were stressed,” your breathing heavy, “you need a break.”
“Hmm,” he responds against your skin.
He kisses firmer, harder, more intensely until he’s sucking a bruise into the delicate skin. The way you feel against him, the way you taste on his tongue. More, is all he can think, closer…
He swivels in his desk chair and guides you onto the hard wooden surface of his workbench, sweeping nuts and bolts, welded pieces of metal and wires out of the way. Some clattering to the ground, but he doesn’t care about that right now. William stands, his 6ft 4” frame towering over you as he leans down, gripping your waist with both hands, and connects his lips to yours.
You can’t help but moan obscenely into the kiss. The ferocity and desperation of his lips moulding against yours has you instinctively grinding your hips against his. Wiliam deepens the kiss, his hot tongue sliding over yours, exploring your mouth and bending you into submission. The kiss tastes like the tobacco you both shared, giving you the same pleasant buzz. He bites at your plush lower lip, pulling it with his teeth enough to make it to puff up and redden.
William leans back slightly to get a better look at you; your hair dishevelled, lips swollen and glistening, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
“So beautiful,” he stoops back down, lips connecting to your jaw before nipping and sucking at the skin of your neck again enough to bruise, traveling down to the collar of your shirt.
William slides his skilled hands underneath the fabric, caressing the skin there up to where he can feel your bra. He pushes your shirt higher, up over your chest, off your shoulders and over your head, paying no mind to where it falls.
Immediately, his lips connect to the soft skin of your breast poking out of the top of your underwear. Biting and sucking hard, desperately needing to touch you, to mark you everywhere his lips will reach. His warm hands snake underneath your back to unclasp your bra. He pulls the elastic straps down your arms and discards the garment on the ground, bending further at the waist to bring a nipple into his mouth.
Your back arches into his touch, one hand gripping the back of his head by his hair, the other finding purchase on the workbench by your head to keep you steady. William sucks and bites down on your nipple, bringing it to a hard peak. He moves all around the soft flesh, nipping and leaving bruises. With no pens to chew on and the cigarettes discarded, your body was his distraction from his frustrations and worries right now. Not that this would be the first time.
William moves across your chest to give your other breast equal attention. He bites down on your nipple hard enough for you to gasp and tighten your grip on his hair. He glares up at you through hooded eyes, not angry, but amused.
Whilst caressing and kneading the flesh of your breasts, he moves lower down your body, nipping at your torso and abdomen, leaving a trail of little red marks as he goes. He teasingly kisses the skin just above the waistband of your trousers. Deciding to speed things up he hooks his fingers into the hem and pulls them swiftly down your legs, leaving you in only your panties on top of his work bench.
William smooths his thumbs over your hips where your underwear sits. Continuing his goal of kissing every inch of you, he presses his lips to your mound, moving lower and lower, until he’s kissing right over your clothed clit.
A rush of adrenaline courses through your body, arching once again into his touch. William, however, moves away from the area you need him most. He sits back down in his desk chair, giving him the perfect angle to place hot, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, marring the area shades of bright red and deep purple with his lips and tongue.
Once he deems your thighs suitably marked, he pushes your legs further apart for him to gain access to the area you both need him the most. William runs two fingers down your clothed slit, a grin forming when he sees your arousal seep through the fabric. He teases you like this; tracing over your clit with his fingers, pushing into your entrance as far as the fabric of your underwear will allow. Watching you squirm on his desk, begging for a release.
William finds himself becoming impatient, biting on the skin of his lips, he needs you in his mouth again like an addict craving a fix. He finally lowers his face back down to your core, running his lips across your clothed mound before, with no warning, biting down in the area he knows your clit will be. You scream and arch dramatically off the desk, a hand coming to grip his hair. He smirks up at you, eyes swimming with lust and feeling pride surge in his chest. Nobody else could make you feel like this. Nobody but him.
William flattens his tongue over your clit through your panties as you come down from the electric jolt of pleasure. His saliva soaking through the fabric to your skin underneath, mixing with your arousal. The material of your underwear becomes smooth under William’s tongue, clinging to every dip and curve of your cunt as his hands grip your thighs tight.
“Oh fuck, Will…” you whined.
He hums against you, sliding closer to the desk on the chair and hooking his thumbs under the crotch of your panties. The cool air making goosebumps spread all over your body as it hits your wet core. William holds the fabric to one side, granting him access to tease your pussy while you writhe and moan beneath him. Noticing your reaction to the cold air of the garage, he blows against your cunt, grinning when he hears pathetic whimpers slip past your lips, and he watches you clench around nothing.
He moves closer and takes the swollen flesh of your labia between his teeth, biting ever so slightly. Just enough to make you squirm and moan his name. William sucks the flesh into his mouth hard enough to leave yet another bruise to match the many others that are scattered all over your body. The rough sensation of his facial hair causing the heat to stir low in your abdomen.
Once a suitable mark has been formed, William shifts his attention slightly higher. Flicking his long tongue over your clit, finally making contact skin-to-skin. One of your thighs rested on his shoulder with his arm wrapped underneath, holding you securely at the hip, with his other arm laying on top of your hips, holding your panties to the side to give him direct and uninterrupted access.
“Oh my god!” your own hands come down to grasp at his, feeling that heat intensifying inside you.
William doesn’t stop for a second. He sucks expertly on your clit until you’re writhing against his face. He moves lower and plunges his long tongue deep inside your tight hole. Your grip on his hands tightens as you arch into his mouth. Your upper arms pressing your breasts together, feeling the tenderness on the skin from the assault he laid into them moments ago.
William loves the way you taste, and he resolves to lap up every last drop of your arousal like it was his final meal on death row. He licks a stripe the entire way up your cunt from entrance to clit, before wiggling his tongue back inside, rhythmically stroking your walls. His breath is hot between your legs.
A sweat breaks out over your skin, you pant desperately as William builds your climax, stroke by tantalizing stroke of his tongue. He grips your thighs hard in his hands, bruising handprints holding them in place on his shoulders as you try to grind down against his face.
He eats you out like a man starved; routinely thrusting his tongue deep inside, moving it to circle your clit, pressing flat and teasing with the tip, biting and sucking intensely on your clit and labia before moving back to fuck you with his tongue — all while his facial hair scratches you so delightfully, only adding to the stimulation.
The heat is intensifying. You can feel your muscles begin to tense, twitching uncontrollably against William’s face as your climax takes over your body.
“A-ah, fuck! Oh fuck, Will!” you cried out, chest heaving as you pant and gasp for air.
William strokes your thighs encouragingly, breaking away from your core for a moment.
“Let go for me, baby. Come for me, that’s it,” he dives back in, coaxing you higher and higher, his nose bumping your clit. He loves hearing you cry and squirm at the mercy of his control.
Everything tightens and tightens, reaching an apex until there’s nowhere left to climb, and then you finally snap. Screaming William’s name as your muscles spasm, jolting your entire body. Your thighs tremble at either side of his head. William grips you tight, rhythmically pulsing his tongue inside and helping you ride out your orgasm. Shocks radiate throughout your body, your abdomen twitching and tensing with every clench of your walls.
William finally pulls back, laying gentle kisses to your inner thighs and caressing over your hip bones with his thumbs affectionately.
“Good girl,” he soothes, “good girl, you did so well for me. So good.”
You lay there completely bare on his desk, eyes closed, breathing deep and feeling light headed as you come down from the intense high he gave you. A smile creeping onto your face and a warmth spreading in your chest at his words of praise.
William takes your thighs from his shoulders, stands, and rests your legs on his desk chair. He presses a brief kiss to your abdomen, then higher in the valley between your breasts, your neck, jaw, then finally pecking your lips before deepening the kiss and allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You just begin to run your hands through his hair when he leans back.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” he said.
You narrowed your eyebrows, confused as he stepped away.
“Give me one minute, I’m coming straight back.”
You hear him cross the room in wide strides, then the sound of his footsteps as he ascends the stairs in the house. Only moments later, his footsteps drum down the stairs and enter back into the garage.
William drapes something soft over your body; the blanket from your bed. He helps you sit up and pulls the blanket snug around you, then holds you steady as your legs tremble beneath you when you try to stand.
“Woah, easy. Sit here for a sec,” he guides you to his chair, easing you down into the worn seat.
“Thanks,” you sigh, “that was… intense.”
He leans against the desk facing you, the side of your legs pressed against his, “too much?”
“No! No, definitely not. It was good,” you feel warmth creep up your cheeks.
“Good,” William smiles. He swivels the chair and pulls you against him from where you’re sat, your head leaning against his stomach.
“Did it help?” you ask, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “you’re not biting your lip or lighting up another cigarette.”
He chuckles, “oh, it helped. Definitely way less stressed.”
“Good.”
William cups your face in his palm and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips.
“C’mon, we should go inside. It’s getting cold tonight,” he says, “and didn’t you say something about dinner?”
William gathers your discarded clothes from the floor and offers you an arm to hold, leading you out of the garage and back into the warmth of the house where luckily, there was no smoke billowing out of the kitchen.
#fnaf#fnaf movie#fnaf smut#william afton#william afton x reader#william afton smut#five nights at freddy's#steve raglan#my works
592 notes
·
View notes
Note
omg omg omg can I pls request hotch genuinely being the most clueless, dumb-and-in-love individual?
Basically the team has to point it out to him for him to see how soft he is for reader and how differently he treats them 💗😩 he’s in love, your honour 🤭
i love our stupid man in love, he's so cute i can't.
this is part two of this blurb from my moments au
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader
Words: 1.7k
CW: nothing, just fluff.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
He didn’t ask you out that night. Neither Morgan or Rossi won the bet, the unfortunate draw making them only want to try harder to win over the other.
That had been a week ago, the pool only growing as more agents got in on it and it had somehow gotten out of hand really quickly. Penelope had been tasked with keeping track of the bets, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her mouth shut about it, especially when she was around you.
The team had left for a case earlier in the week which meant you were spending a lot of time with her. From helping with research, running point from the office, making calls and setting up permits, warrants, everything and anything they needed, you were practically tied at the hip as per usual when the team was away. The only problem? Penelope Garcia could not keep a secret to save her life, and the more time she spent with you, the more she almost slipped and told you what was going on.
You had closed the case earlier that night after five days of grueling work. You were exhausted, more so emotionally than physically, so you’d invited Penelope to dinner as way to celebrate the little victory. But what had started as a simple night out had quickly turned wild as the waiter had taken a liking to her and kept the cocktails coming throughout your entire meal. You were on dessert, a forgettable chocolate lava cake with ice cream when she finally slipped.
“I just think it’s so silly,” she giggled in between sips of her drink and scoops of dessert.
“What’s silly?” you egged her on, whatever this secret was had eluded you for the entire week and you just needed to know.
“How much Hotch likes you,” her cheeks flushed pink but her brain didn’t realize what’d she’d admitted to yet, allowing her to continue. “The team has a bet going on when he’s going to ask you out and everything.”
“Huh,” you mused. “That is silly.”
That’s when her brain snapped, dread and realization washing over her all at once. Her eyes widened, her spoon fell from her hand and onto the plate.
“Oh my gosh, do you not like Hotch back? I could’ve sworn— I am mortified! Forget I told you, please I am begging you—”
You reached over and placed your hand over hers, gently soothing her out of her panic as a mischievous smile curled on your lips.
“Can you get me on the board, Pen?”
Apparently they were all convinced it wasn’t happening for a while. They had decided to overcorrect their previous assumptions, placing bets that were days if not weeks in the future. Penelope had added you to the bet list that same night, promising to keep the secret until the next morning.
You knew the clock was ticking, knew that once you started the countdown, you had no business losing your courage. It was now or never, and the reminder that soon the rest of the team would be shuffling into the bullpen to start their day, that they’d know someone else had made a risky bet — it only got your adrenaline pumping even more.
You poured his coffee as you watched him enter the office, gaze on his phone, powerful and confident strides leading him towards his office. He turned and waved from the top of the stairs once he finally noticed you, a small smile on his lips. You smiled back, your cheeks reddening slightly as you finished getting your own coffee in order, the pale tan a contrast to his straight black.
You made your way to his office a minute after he’d settled, placing his cup on his desk and taking a seat across from him. This had been your routine for months now, you’d bring him his coffee in the morning and the two of you would fill each other in on your lives.
Aaron had been dealing with his divorce, the guilt of having to split Jack’s time between him and his mom, the added stress of finding a new place and moving, of finding himself alone when he’d been used to always having someone to come home to after a tough case. And you? You had just started going to therapy after he’d encouraged you to. It had been a rocky adjustment to the job, and you were glad that you could confide in him as your boss but also as your friend.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, pulling out the case files he’d taken back home the night before.
You shot him a look, the look, and he couldn’t help but sigh deeply. You weren’t angry, you were simply disappointed, and he knew that. It had been hard, harder now that he had to force himself back out there if he wanted to actually have a life. But even after months of this new normal, the idea of dating made him even more exhausted than he’d like to admit.
Because while Morgan or Emily thrived meeting new people, Aaron had met Haley in high school. He’d been with one woman his entire life, one woman for more than twenty years. He was rusty to say the least, the insecurity of it only growing the more he refused to take the leap, the more he refused to feel his feelings, the more he fell in love with you.
“Haley had Jack last night—” he started but you were quick to interrupt him.
“That’s a terrible excuse,” you chided. “There’s a million things you could’ve done instead.”
“Oh yeah?” the mischief was back in his eyes, making you gulp visibly. “What did you do last night?”
Your mouth opened in mock annoyance, he couldn’t possibly know—
“For your information, sir,” you mocked. “I went out with Penelope last night.”
Whatever glimmer of hope Aaron had cultivated to tease you about taking work back home was extinguished in a second. He sat back in his chair, inaudibly admitting defeat.
“Maybe that’s what you need too,” you started, your heart racing once more. His eyebrows shot up and you could tell his blood had also gotten to his head. “Ask someone out, go on a date, get laid.”
That caught him off guard completely. If he had been sipping on his coffee he would’ve choked, made an even bigger fool of himself. But instead his cheeks just reddened, his ears quickly following suit, a detail he knew you knew about him as you’d pointed it out many times in the past.
But you didn’t today, you didn’t say anything about his reaction but he was too hot to notice it right away.
“It’s what I have to do too, honestly,” you shrugged, faux confidence somehow allowing you to not combust right then and there.
“Do you now?” he managed through gritted teeth, the idea of you dating something that he made sure never to think about because it always led him down a dark path of rage and an ungodly desire to ravage you to the point where you belonged to him and no one else.
“Yeah,” you drawled on, almost sighing dramatically. That’s when he caught on, when his brain finally reconnected to his body and his heart only sped up even more. “But I don’t know…I’m not really into any of the guys Penelope or Emily have tried to set me up with, they’re not really my type.”
God, this was not actually happening. “What is your type?”
“Crime fighting single dads who adore their kids and participate in triathlons for fun,” there was no misinterpreting it now.
“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” the words flew out of his mouth before either of you could register them.
A bright smile took over your lips, your eyes sparkling with happiness. A shy smile slowly started to turn adorably embarrassed on his, his gaze tentatively raising to meet yours, eyebrows raised almost pleading, his eyes round and hopeful.
“I would love to,” you said and he graced you with the most beautiful full smile you’d ever seen from him. It was unrestricted, genuine, life giving.
“Great,” he cleared his throat as the clock struck eight, the reality of the world outside of your little office bubble a reminder of where you were. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Can’t wait,” you reassured him, standing up with your own untouched coffee mug and making your way downstairs. “Oh, and it’s my treat. Trust me.”
You were gone before he could argue, but you knew that he couldn’t stop smiling, the warmth radiating from him was enough for you know it deep in your bones.
“Babygirl,” Morgan asked aloud, holding up the list of bets that Penelope had left on his desk earlier as the blonde returned to the bullpen from her office. “What’s this?”
He tapped on the bet you’d written down, the other agents gathering to inspect the new addition.
“Proof of my victory, Derek,” you said cockily as Penelope handed you the envelope full of cash.
The entire team turned to you, eyes wide and anger slowly boiling. But none of them let it out, instead they all looked impressed, they respected the move, the hustle, the boldness. Morgan scoffed in proud defeat as he held out his fist for you to bump, and you did, excitedly.
It had finally happened, the start of something that had been brewing for months, and you couldn’t be happier. While the girls walked up to you to get all the details you shot Aaron a cheeky glance as Penelope filled Emily and JJ in on your conversation the night before, and for the first time ever, Aaron allowed himself to meet your glance, unashamed to be caught staring at you.
i've been smiling like an idiot all day
taglist: @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh, @cr1minalskies, @xladyxdreamer, @mrs-ssa-hotch
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fluff#hotch x you#hotch x reader#show your fangs writes#moments on ao3#show your fangs hotch blurbs#show your fangs moments au
935 notes
·
View notes
Text
Roll the Dice
Charles Leclerc x Reader
Summary: You and Charles throw your own private celebration after one of the best races of the season
Warnings: 18+ content
The roar of the crowd still rings in your ears as you make your way through the paddock to find Charles. Your heart is bursting with pride after watching him fight his way to a hard-earned P2.
Las Vegas may be a new circuit but Charles drove it like he had been racing here for years. He made the Ferrari dance in ways you didn’t think were possible, squeezing every last hundredth out of each corner.
You spot him up ahead, finally free from the mob of reporters and post-race press conference. He’s leaning against the wall near the media pen in a rare moment of solitude, eyes closed and head tilted back, no doubt mentally replaying each complex sequence of braking points and apexes.
You take a moment just to look at him — the way his damp curls cling to his forehead, the zipper of his race suit undone and its sleeves tied at his waist to reveal soaked fireproofs that cling to every contour of his chest. He’s breathing heavily, a post-race flush still clinging to his cheeks.
He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
As you draw nearer, his eyes blink open and immediately lock with yours. Relief, affection, and something more primal flash through them as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Y/N!” He shouts, hurrying over to sweep you up in a massive hug.
You squeeze him tight, not caring at all that he’s drenched in sweat and sticky with champagne. “I’m so proud of you!” You beam.
He sets you down, his hands lingering on your waist. “I couldn’t have done it without my good luck charm.”
You playfully smack his shoulder. “Oh stop, this was all you! I can’t believe the drive you put on out there. You were incredible!”
Charles glances down shyly. “Thank you, mon cœur. It was a good race tonight.”
“A great race,” you correct him, “You drove incredibly. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time, watching you battle with Max and Checo like that. It was the best thing I’ve seen all season.”
Taking his hand, you lead him away from the crowds. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. I think it’s time we celebrate!”
A flight in the early afternoon means you both decide to forego the wild Vegas parties and instead make your way straight to the hotel. Once you’re in your suite, Charles heads for the shower while you pour champagne. When he emerges in a billow of steam, you hand him a glass.
“To my champion!” You declare, clinking your glass against his.
Charles smiles graciously but you catch a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “I’m hardly a champion finishing P2.”
You fix him with a serious look. “That was the drive of a champion tonight. You left you heart on the track out there. If it wasn’t for that safety car, you would’ve won. I would have bet my life on it.”
He looks thoughtful as he takes a sip. “You really think so?”
“I know so! The way you managed to regain the lead from Max? And then from Checo? The move you pulled in the last lap to take P2? Incredible. My only regret is that you don’t have a car that would give you an opportunity to compete like this all season.”
Charles sighs. “The team is doing their best with what we’ve got.”
You set your glass down and rest your hands on his bare chest. “I know and you’re so patient with them. But a driver like you? You deserve to be fighting at the front in every single race.”
Looking into your eyes, Charles brushes a strand of hair from your face. “We’ll get there, I know it. This result today, it shows progress.”
“You’re right. It does,” you smile up at him. “And when you do get a car worthy of you, the rest of the grid better watch out. Because you are going to do great things, Charles Leclerc.”
Charles gazes at you tenderly before pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips move together unhurriedly, his hands trailing down your back.
When you finally break apart, breaths mingling, he gives you a mischievous look.
“You know, I never did properly thank you for being my good luck charm today.” His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt.
You bite your lip coyly. “I think the good luck charm wants to properly congratulate her driver on the podium. I want to make you feel good. You more than earned it.”
Charles grins and tugs your shirt up over your head. His lips find your neck as he backs you towards the bed, hands roaming your newly exposed skin.
You fumble with the ties on his sweatpants, shoving them down as the back of your legs hit the plush mattress. He gently lowers you down, hovering over you.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes dark with want.
You pull him down for another heated kiss, reveling in the feel of his solid weight above you. Your hands grasp at his back, nails digging in slightly to leave crescent marks on his skin.
Charles groans into your mouth at the sensation, pressing his hips down firmly against yours. You can feel his arousal even through the thin fabric still separating you.
Breaking the kiss, you trail your lips along his stubbled jaw to his ear. “I want you so much,” you whisper hotly.
He shudders in response, hands gripping your waist. “Take what you want, mon amour. I’m all yours.”
You slip a hand between your bodies, palming him through his boxers. He hisses in pleasure, bucking into your touch.
“These need to come off. Now,” you demand.
Charles obliges eagerly, stripping the last barrier between you away. You waste no time to wrap your legs around his waist, gasping as he enters you in one smooth motion.
You move together unhurriedly at first, simply reveling in the feeling of being joined so intimately. Charles peppers your face and neck with tender kisses as your hands caress every inch of his back and shoulders you can reach.
As the pleasure builds, your hips pick up speed, chasing release. Charles shifts his angle, hitting that sweet spot inside you that has you seeing stars.
“Just like that! Don’t stop!” You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders again.
He increases his pace, pounding into you relentlessly. You feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.
“Charles, I’m so close ...” you gasp.
“Let go, mon cœur. Come for me,” he growls breathlessly into your ear.
His words send you tumbling over the edge with a wordless cry. Your vision goes white as intense ecstasy washes over you. Distantly you’re aware of Charles following right after, your name a reverent sigh on his lips.
As you float back down, Charles collapses on top of you. You hold him close, heart threatening to burst from the love and pride swelling within you.
Charles presses his lips to your forehead. “Have I mentioned that you’re the best girlfriend ever? I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as wonderful as you. But I’m so glad you’re here with me through all of this. I love you so much.”
You grin and pull him in for a kiss. “You deserve the world, Charles Leclerc. And I plan on spending every day of our lives proving that to you.”
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc drabble
777 notes
·
View notes
Text
rumor has it
synopsis: rumor has it that yu jimin, straight A student and the star captain of the university's volleyball team, has only gotten to where she is through cheating and bribery. now, she's your partner for a final paper.
pairing: uni student jimin x uni student fem!reader
warnings: cursing
word count: 9.5k
notes: this is my first time uploading a piece on any media platform. feedback and comments are much appreciated!
the buzz of the students in the lecture hall dies down immediately as dr. kim, your english professor, walks in. you find your seat beside your best friend aeri and uncap your pen, ready to take notes. aeri, however, has different plans and rests her head on her arms, ready to catch up on sleep for the next hour. it isn't her fault that the university thought an 8 am english class was a great idea.
"good morning, class. let’s begin today’s lecture," dr. kim's voice echoes. with those words, you begin jotting down the professor's key points, making sure your handwriting is clear, knowing that the sleeping girl beside you will be asking for your notes later.
throughout the lecture, you can't resist sneaking glances at the girl two rows ahead of you. yu jimin sits there, in all her glory. you don’t know many people at this university, but it's nearly impossible not to recognize jimin.
her face adorns bulletin boards all over campus, celebrating her role as the victorious captain of the volleyball team that clinched the national championship for the university. from life-sized cutouts of her and the team placed around various corners to her frequent appearances on the university’s instagram story, it's harder to evade her presence than to acknowledge it.
although you aren't particularly interested in sports, you can't help but admit that she is extremely attractive. however, you’ve heard numerous stories about jimin's infamous reputation, primarily from the napping girl beside you. apparently, jimin is a rude and overall unpleasant person who got her high grades thanks to bribery and cheating.
an hour drifts by, and finally, dr. kim speaks the much-awaited words, "alright, class. i believe that concludes today’s session."
before you can pack your bag and make fun of your friend for drooling, dr. kim interjects, "oh, before i dismiss you, i'd like to announce that the final paper is approaching. it will be a paired effort." a glance between you and aeri implies your agreement to be partners.
"i will be assigning the pairs randomly," the professor states, pausing to allow the students to voice their groans and complaints.
"is she serious?" aeri asks you in a hushed voice. however, it wasn’t quiet enough.
"yes, miss uchinaga. i am indeed serious," you stifle a laugh as your best friend's ears turn crimson.
"as i was saying, this final paper will be done in pairs that i will randomly assign. you are all adults, and it's important to learn how to collaborate with people you don’t know. this paper will facilitate that skill." it takes all your restraint not to roll your eyes. it's way too early to be doing this.
“when i call your name, come up to my desk and pick a piece of paper from this box which has the names of everyone in this class. show me the piece of paper and i’ll announce it. if it’s your own name, you can draw again.” dr. kim looks around to make sure the class understands the instructions.
“it seems like everyone has understood so we’ll begin. miss uchinaga and miss y/l/n, why don’t you do the honors and pick out your pairs first.”
you and a much more awake aeri begin walking to the front, not missing the way jimin’s eyes quickly meet yours. maybe you just need some sleep just like aeri.
with a sigh, aeri goes first and is paired with the girl who is sitting on the right of jimin, a girl with the name ning yizhuo. she seems nice enough with the way she smiles at aeri when she hears her name.
you go up to the box and rummage through its contents. stopping at what you feel is an appropriate time, you unfold the paper and show it to your professor.
“it seems like ms. y/l/n’s partner for the final paper is yu jimin,” you make eye contact with her as the professor calls her name, and you give her a tight-lipped smile. she meets your eyes and only gives you a small nod. you and aeri go back to your seats.
as the professor continues to announce pairs, you notice a mix of expressions – excitement and disappointment – on the faces of your classmates. some seem genuinely happy with their partners, while others exchange anxious glances.
“i am giving you all 2 months to work on this paper. please do not procrastinate. this is a major paper, and your grade on it will have an immense effect on your final grade overall,” dr. kim announces before she leaves the room.
the buzz of the students in the lecture hall continues once more, with the majority of the class talking to their partners. you take a quick look at your partner, who was still sitting next to what seemed to be two of her close friends, one of which was aeri’s partner and the other was a girl named minjeong, her co-captain.
“i’m scared,” you tell your best friend. “what if she makes me do all the work?”
“hey, don’t judge a book by its cover – or i guess a person by their rumors,” aeri says, getting up from her chair.
“you’re the one who told me those rumors in the first place!”
“i would say i was spreading valuable information, not rumors,” aeri reasons as you both begin walking to exit the front door of the lecture hall.
before you both could step out the door, you feel a tap on your shoulder. you turn around, not expecting a certain raven-haired girl to be the one behind you.
“hi, y/n. i’m jimin,” she introduces herself to you bluntly without a smile on her face, how welcoming. before replying, you nod goodbye to aeri, encouraging her to go on without you.
“nice to meet you, jimin.” it was your first time talking to this girl, but immediately you could feel the pressure of her presence. you could barely look her in the eyes.
“here’s my number,” jimin hands you her phone with her contact information bright on the screen. “i have another class after this, but i’ll text you so that we can meet and talk about the paper.”
you nod, pulling out your phone and copying the numbers from her screen onto yours.
putting her phone back into her pocket, jimin begins walking out of the room with her two friends trailing not so far behind her.
“oh, and by the way, y/n,” jimin stops in her steps and stares you down in the eyes, “i won’t make you do all the work. i don’t trust you enough with my grades.”
you stand there, mouth slightly agape and face hot from embarrassment, watching the three girls walk out of your sight.
fuck.
"y/n, it's not that bad," aeri attempts to comfort you as she took a bite of her sandwich. hours had passed since you were paired with jimin, and now you found yourself in a university common space, trying to have lunch with aeri. however, the embarrassment from your earlier encounter was dampening your appetite.
"she probably hates me now, i can feel it," you sighed dramatically, plopping your head onto the cold table.
"what you're feeling is probably hunger. eat," aeri said, digging through your bag to retrieve your packed lunch. “it’s not your fault you didn’t know she had superhuman hearing,” aeri tries to make light of the situation.
"she's going to tell all her followers that i'm an asshole, and i'm somehow going to get expelled from this university," you exclaim with an exaggerated groan.
you're well aware you're being overly dramatic, but considering the rigorous academic demands of this university and the looming assignments, papers, and tests from multiple classes, your nerves are at an all-time high.
"first of all, calm down," aeri set her sandwich aside. "second, i know i'm the one who keeps you updated with all the campus gossip since you're practically a dorm hermit. but seriously, rumors are just rumors."
you didn't understand why she had to point out your introverted, homebody habits. "you should just let go of those rumors and form your own opinion about her once you actually get to know her."
you don't reply as you open up your lunch and began taking small bites. that was one of your biggest dilemmas. if you looked up "opinionated" in the dictionary, it would feature your face as an antonym.
always going with the flow, never wanting to stand out or have a loud presence, you'd rather take what you're given than go out and seek something yourself. hell, you couldn't even form an opinion on a tiktok without first checking the comments to see what the majority of viewers thought.
before you could spiral deeper into your thoughts, your phone vibrates.
yu jimin
this is jimin.
i’m free at 3 pm today. let’s meet at the library if you’re free too.
“who’s that,” aeri asks as she notices your eyes skimming over your phone. “it’s jimin, she wants to meet at the library later today,” you answer.
y/n
hi, jimin.
i’m free. i’ll see you then.
“ugh, i don’t want to go,” you complain to aeri.
“y/n, are you hearing yourself?” your best friend gives you a deadpan look, “this paper is worth more than half of our final grade. if you fail this paper, you’re going to fail the class.”
the weight of her words sinks in, and you're reminded of the possible consequences of not taking the paper seriously. of course, you knew that you had no choice but to go and work with the infamous volleyball team captain. while you were still quite mortified from your earlier interaction with her, you didn’t want to fail out of college just yet.
only the distant hum of quiet conversations and the faint rustle of pages moving could be heard as you enter the library.
as you weave your way through the bookshelves toward the back, you finally lay eyes on the person you were looking for. jimin is focused on whatever content is displayed on her laptop. you can't help but notice her furrowed brows and the subtle movement of her lips as she reads the text in a hushed voice. the sun's rays cast a gentle glow on the contours of her face, accentuating her features.
curse this university for having naturally well-lit buildings.
you gently tap her shoulder, careful not to startle the focused girl. you wish you could say that her expression softened the moment she turned and spotted you, but if anything, her features seemed to tighten. this was going to be a fun time.
“hi,” you say quietly to jimin as you sit down in the open chair in front of her.
"let's begin," she immediately suggests while you retrieve your laptop from your bag. "i understand that we could work on this individually in separate places since we both have access to this document, but i personally prefer collaborating face-to-face with my partner, especially for a final paper." you give a nod in agreement to jimin's proposal.
for the next hour, you and jimin discuss only the paper's details, staying firmly on the subject of your final paper. she has already outlined the content the two of you will cover, assigned each of you specific sections to write, and established a schedule for completing each part.
at one point, she asks, "what do you think? you haven't said a word about anything i’ve mentioned." her eyes remain fixed on the shared document displayed on both your screens, with a majority of the content coming from jimin.
"i mean, i'm fine with whatever," you reply. in group papers, you've never been inclined to voice your opinions or contribute ideas. don’t get it wrong, you're certainly not a freeloader, but you've never assumed the role of a group leader either.
"not even a single suggestion or comment?" she finally lifts her gaze from her laptop, locking eyes with you. you instantly break the brief eye contact you shared.
"no, i’ll give you some if i come up with any. besides, we still have 2 months ahead to tackle this paper," you explain, trying to reason with her. she releases a deep sigh and shifts her focus back to her laptop.
she clearly isn't your biggest fan.
"i think that's all we should do today. we've got a solid plan in place, and we can use the upcoming days to gradually work on this paper," she informs you, sliding her laptop into her bag.
you nod, following suit and tidying up your side of the table.
"i have classes from 8 am until 3 pm back-to-back," jimin rises from her seat and pushes her chair in. "i've got volleyball practice every day of the week, starting at 4 pm, except for wednesdays and thursdays." you raise your eyebrows at the mention of her grueling schedule.
“so, we can meet at the library on wednesdays and thursdays after my last class, which is at 3 pm," she looks at you, and you get the feeling that she's not suggesting a meet-up but rather informing you that it's already arranged.
“sounds good with me, i’m free those days as well,” you inform her with the awareness that she had already assumed so.
as she turns to leave, a feeling inside you compels you to apologize for the comment you made about her to aeri in the lecture hall earlier. but before you can muster the courage to do so, she's already gone.
for the next two weeks, you and jimin meet up at the library on wednesdays and thursdays. while you still saw her during your 8 am class, she was only focused on the lecture or in conversations solely with yizhuo and minjeong. however, in the privacy of the library, your interactions with her only happen through the shared online document where your collaborative work took place.
actual conversations, if they could even be labeled as such, between the two of you were few and far between. the only topic that managed to breach the silence was the ongoing discussion about the final paper.
during lunch, you update aeri about your library sessions with jimin. between bites of food, you express your worry, "i honestly don't know how i'll survive working with her for the next two months. it's not that she's a bad partner or anything. i just feel so awkward around her, like i want to disappear into the ground every time we're in that library."
aeri raises an eyebrow and helps herself to a piece of your food. "have you ever tried having a conversation that’s not about the paper with her? maybe if you initiate something, she'll actually have a real conversation with you."
thinking about it now, you realize that you've never actually initiated a conversation with jimin throughout the weeks of meeting up. it's always been her leading the discussions about the paper while you simply go along with whatever tasks need completing.
you sigh, setting down your utensils. "she probably can't stand me."
aeri counters with an exclamation, "she doesn't even know you! besides, she's not exactly a nobody on this campus. she's likely heard worse things from others. i doubt she even remembers whatever you said, considering her only focus is volleyball and school."
"sometimes, i really hate how you're right," you grumble, starting to clean up your lunch.
aeri smirks, taking the last bite of her food. "which is pretty much all the time."
with aeri’s words in mind, you walk into the library a little bit after 3 pm to where you and jimin sat. as per usual, jimin was already there with her laptop out, typing away.
"hey," you say in a hushed tone as you sit down. "i swung by the campus cafe before heading here and picked up a little something for you." you hold out a brown paper bag across the table, containing a warm muffin.
"food isn't allowed in the library," she remarks, not even lifting her gaze from her laptop.
you inhale sharply, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. before you can pull your arm back, she reaches for the bag.
"but still, thank you. i'll save this for later," jimin looks up and offers you a nod with a ghost of a smile on her lips. “let’s get to work.”
around 30 minutes pass by and the silence has enveloped the two of you as it usually does in your meetings.
you stop your typing, that familiar feeling in your stomach urging you to break the silence. you find yourself wondering, what's the point? like aeri mentioned, jimin has probably heard worse things, and once this paper is finished, she'll likely forget all about you. after all, you're just another face in the crowd to her.
from the corner of your eye, you catch jimin glancing your way, noticing your sudden pause and distant expression.
“y/n,” she calls out, her voice pulling you back to the present moment.
you snap your attention to her. “yes?” you shake your head in an attempt to stop being swallowed by your thoughts. “did you say something?”
she raises an eyebrow, her gaze attentive. “that was the fifth time i tried getting your attention. are you alright?” you want to believe that there’s some sort of concern behind her question rather than just an act of common human decency.
“oh, yeah. my bad. i’m just tired. didn’t get much sleep last night,” you excuse. it wasn’t the truth but it wasn’t a complete lie either.
“that’s understandable, this semester is crazy,” jimin replies to you turning her focus back to her laptop.
"you're probably having the craziest semester out of any student here on campus," you remark, surprising yourself with the sudden courage to continue the conversation.
"what makes you say that?" jimin pauses in her work to look at you.
"i mean, i may not have the best knowledge of university sports, but even i know that being a team captain isn’t necessarily an easy responsibility. much less being the captain of a team with a national championship title under its belt," you explain. "plus, you have back-to-back classes from 8 am to 3 pm every day, and i assume you’re doing well in them, given the quality of your work in our shared class alone."
she lets out a quiet laugh - that was the first time you've heard it. "are you sure you’re not just making wild assumptions?"
your palms start to get sweaty, and you feel like you’ve definitely made a mistake. "i’m sorry-"
"i’m just joking," jimin interrupts you. "it’s absolutely not an easy schedule, but if you have to do it, you find a way. yizhuo and minjeong help me out a lot too."
"what do you mean 'have' to?" you silently curse at yourself for prying into her personal life.
"this is the most i’ve heard you talk, y/n," jimin says to you.
"i could say the same to you," you reply. "but, uh, don’t answer if you don’t want to, or if it’s too pers-"
jimin interrupts you once more. "it’s okay. i don’t mind. i prefer when people actually want to get to know me rather than making crazy assumptions that aren't true at all."
a twinge of guilt washes over you. even though you're disconnected from the campus social life, jimin's reputation has managed to reach your ears. many things have been circulated about her – from her attitude to her accolades, and even details about her love life, none of which appeared positive.
"back when i was younger," jimin begins, her vulnerability taking you by surprise, "my parents pushed me incredibly hard to excel in school. naturally, like most parents, they had aspirations for my success. they enrolled me in after-school tutoring to make sure i did better than all the kids in my grade. they also encouraged me to choose an extracurricular activity so that i’m not always buried in books. that's when i chose volleyball, obviously."
you absorb each word she says, intent on not missing a single one. here was yu jimin herself, an enigma of existence - simultaneously adored and despised. and now, right before you, she opens up and shares her story. the reason for her trust in you to this extent, allowing herself to be vulnerable, confuses you, yet you don’t mind at all.
“i have an older sister. she’s a hotshot lawyer now. she did well in high school and did very well in college unsurprisingly,” jimin shares and you notice a gleam of admiration in her eyes. “our parents never compared us to one another and we’re actually really close. besides yizhuo and minjeong, she’s one of the few people i can call my best friend.” you nod as she continues telling her story.
"my parents stopped pushing me so hard in high school," jimin continues, her eyes fixed on you to see if you’re still listening. you are. "they believed that i needed to find motivation within myself and take charge of my actions so that i wouldn't become overly dependent on them."
"so, no, my origin story isn't about parental pressure or living up to my sister's achievements. i believe i have to do well because... i want to. i have this belief that i'm destined for greatness, so i'll dedicate everything i can to achieving it,” jimin’s gaze turns serious. “even if it means having to deal with people who want to spread nasty rumors about me.”
you sit there in silent awe. you realize jimin was your complete opposite. jimin embodies a sense of ambition and dedication that you rarely exhibit. while you've often approached situations with passivity, avoiding confrontation, jimin radiates an unwavering pursuit of her goals.
the aspiration for greatness was something unfamiliar to you. your goals were straightforward – passing your classes, securing a well-paying job for the future, ensuring financial stability, and enjoying the company of your friends. as long as you had that, you were more than happy.
"what about you, y/n?" jimin's question breaks the quiet focus, both your laptops now lowered.
"what do you mean?" you ask, the confusion apparent on your face.
"i just shared something quite personal and vulnerable about myself. wouldn't it be fair for you to do the same?" jimin replies casually.
pausing, you contemplate your response. "i don't think i truly know myself."
jimin arches an eyebrow at your revelation. "what i mean is, i'm not sure who i am. throughout most of my life, i've mostly gone along with aeri, letting her lead me to new places and experiences. but i haven't really discovered a genuine passion for anything."
"i realize now how sad that sounds, especially to you, considering you're the complete opposite of that description," you continue, your voice steady. "but, despite it all, i'm still leading a pretty happy life. i've come this far, haven't i?"
jimin responds to your rhetorical question, her tone measured and thoughtful. "just because our ideals differ doesn't mean i can't accept your perspective. it's called empathy, y/n. i don't need to share your beliefs to understand where you’re coming from."
in that very moment, you feel the foundation of your assumptions about jimin, based on the rumors, begin to crumble.
"life isn't a competition, and you're absolutely right. if you're content and your actions aren't causing harm, doesn't that define a good life in itself?" jimin's words resonate with you.
as the sunset's warm glow graces jimin’s face, you find yourself thinking about how this girl in front of you has it all. no wonder she’s the topic of everyone’s conversations. her beauty is undeniable, she’s intellectually sharp, athletically skilled - she personifies an array of qualities that capture attention.
"thanks, jimin. your words mean a lot," you express, hoping she can hear the sincerity in your voice. "i've been wondering about something, though."
jimin responds, her curiosity piqued. "what's on your mind?"
"why did you feel so comfortable sharing that part of your life with me? don't get me wrong, i'm more than happy to listen, but we're practically strangers, and you opened up to me so easily."
jimin's gaze shifts toward the expansive windows. "like i mentioned earlier, it's a refreshing feeling when someone genuinely wants to know about my life, rather than blindly believing all those damaging rumors. believe me, i've heard them all, and most are far from pleasant."
before you could give her a reply, the librarian approaches your table. "excuse me, ladies. the library will be closing in 10 minutes. it's a good idea to start wrapping up and make your way back to your dorms," she advises with a warm smile, then walks away.
over the weeks you’ve been meeting with jimin in the library, you gradually get to know each other better. your talks shift from just focusing on the paper to real conversations. occasionally, you even end up talking more than working.
you find out that jimin is a big fan of anime. one of her favorites is "assassination classroom," and it made her cry. you’ve watched it before too, making you sob your heart out into your pillow after finishing it.
with a slight smile pulling at the corner of her lips, jimin confesses, "i've never really had the chance to explore many hobbies outside of volleyball. but i've always used anime to unwind and relax.”
you also learn more about her sister – you can't miss how her eyes light up whenever she talks about her. you discover that she has terrible eyesight and wears contacts every day since it would be impractical to wear glasses to volleyball practice.
you begin feeling a sense of connection as she opens up to you about her interests and her life. it's a side of her you never expected to see – a vulnerable, relatable side that defies the rumors and preconceptions you once held.
in return, you find that jimin learns more about you. you share that you and aeri have been best friends since childhood. during one conversation, you share a memorable experience from your past: the time you and aeri got lost on a mountain during a family vacation hike.
"how are you both still alive?" jimin questions, her words laced with a mix of humor and genuine shock.
"to this day, we still have no idea," you reply, chuckling at the expression on her face.
she learns that you’re an avid film watcher after you start giving her detailed film recommendations when she asked you what would be a good movie to watch for a girls night in with yizhuo and minjeong.
as you walk from your dorm to your 8 am class, which you share with aeri, jimin, and her friends, you pass by a group of students. normally, you would quickly walk past them, not caring about the nonsense they'd be talking about. however, that changed when they mentioned someone you knew.
"did you guys hear that jimin is sleeping with her best friend's ex behind her back?" the person who seemed to be the ringleader of the group shared, as the other students around them snickered. "isn't she such a backstabbing bitch? i also heard that the only reason she got a perfect score on that exam that everyone else failed was that she slept with that professor."
you slow your steps, listening to the lies spewing from their mouths. over the past weeks, you've learned so much about jimin, enough to know that none of what they're saying is true. you're extremely aggravated at their words. plus, who the hell has this much energy to be so negative even before 8 in the morning?
a part of you wants to ignore it and walk into your class. that would be the easiest option. haven't you always liked your life that way - easy and devoid of confrontation?
which is why you're extremely shocked when you find yourself standing in front of the instigator, going head-to-head with them.
"excuse me? have you ever heard of personal space?" they snide, making the other students around them laugh as well.
"have you ever heard of shutting the fuck up and minding your own business?” you don't know why, but the next sensation you register is solid bone connecting with your knuckles, knocking the ringleader out.
"does anyone have anything else to say?" you say through gritted teeth, the ache in your knuckles resonating alongside the rapid thumping of your heart.
the mouths of the students around the unconscious ringleader drop. before anyone can say anything, you hear someone's voice.
"y/n!" aeri yells and grabs your arm, dragging you away from the group of students and into a private hallway near the lecture hall. next to her is her partner for the paper, yizhuo, along with minjeong and, of course, jimin herself.
"what happened?" asks one person from the group. you're unsure who.
"are you okay?" says another person - you still don't know who's talking.
"why did you do that?" questions a third voice. you're wondering the same thing. everything was blurry, and it felt like you couldn't breathe. your chest was heavy, and the burning sensation in your knuckles was bothering you beyond words.
it's so early, just 8 in the morning, and here you were, out of your mind. they help you sit down on a bench.
"you three go to class," the fourth voice tells the others. "i'll handle this."
"are you sure?" you register a figure nod at the question and then hear footsteps walking away from where you were.
"y/n, you need to take deep breaths and calm down, okay? you're safe. nothing bad is going to happen to you right now," the voice assures. their words help you see clearly again.
with a shaky voice, you ask, "jimin? what are you doing here? you're going to be late for class."
"the lowest grade i’ve made in that class for the whole semester was a 98, i'm sure i can miss one lecture," she says jokingly, and you notice she's trying to lighten the atmosphere. "i never knew you had a solid punch like that."
"i didn't either," you let out a breath of disbelief. "something just came over me, and i couldn't stop myself."
"what happened? that's probably the last thing i thought you'd do," jimin asks, holding your hands to steady them, with a much looser grip on the injured one that you used to knock that annoying student out.
a moment passes before you try to explain. "they were talking... about you," you hesitate. jimin raises an eyebrow. "that person was saying terrible things about you, and they were all lies!" your voice gets louder. "all lies, jimin."
"i might not be yizhuo or minjeong, but after getting to know you these past 2 months, i felt like i had to do something. i wanted to defend you, even though you probably didn't need it," you ramble, not stopping. jimin listens carefully.
"i couldn't just walk away. i usually would, but... i couldn’t this time. they were saying horrible lies. it was so wrong," you exhale deeply, realizing you were holding your breath. "i hated hearing that about my friend."
before you can apologize for assuming your closeness, jimin's lips curl into a smile. "thanks, y/n. i really appreciate you standing up for me. i really do."
she looks you in the eyes, and you can feel the gratitude radiating from her. "i've grown thick skin to the rumors, and they don't bother me as much as they used to when i first started hearing about them, so you don't need to worry about me."
"still, i'm very grateful to know that i have a friend like you who would defend me to that extent. but next time, just ignore them. i wouldn't want you getting expelled from the university just because of those lifeless losers," she smiles at you, and you feel a tug on your heart.
you nod, not sure what to say. "my hand hurts so bad," you manage a laugh despite the pain.
"let's get you an ice pack from the clinic," jimin helps you up, going with you. she holds your hand all the way until the clinic staff hands you an ice pack, but you're too focused on your hurting hand to notice.
that day, jimin learns that while you label yourself as non-confrontational and passive, you’re empathetic, loyal, and kind.
you meet up with aeri in the cafeteria for lunch. she glances at your bruised hand and the icepack you hold in the other hand.
“hey, y/n, is your dad a boxer? because you’re a total knockout!” aeri laughs at her own joke.
“you’re not getting any of my lunch today,” you say with feigned annoyance.
“no! i’m sorry!”
the realization comes at you out of nowhere while you're in the library with jimin, finalizing the remaining parts of the paper. as you steal a glance over the edge of your laptop, you observe jimin with furrowed brows, her tongue peeking out in concentration, and her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. she tells you its because she couldn’t find her contacts this morning.
it’s raining outside with dark and gloomy skies, casting a dim ambiance over the library. despite it all, jimin shines in your eyes. it’s been like this ever since the incident. you’re extremely thankful that no person of authority caught wind of the situation. you're even more appreciative that despite the confrontation that led to you knocking out a fellow student, you weren’t expelled.
jimin has always possessed a beauty that captivates you. but now, you couldn’t see anyone else but her. whenever you're with her, your heart races, your hands sweat, and your stomach twists. you're not sure why. it's an uncomfortable feeling, yet you don't hate it. instead, you welcome it. you swear you can feel her eyes on you at times. or maybe it’s just sleep deprivation.
it’s when she calls your name, "y/n," you lift your gaze, meeting her eyes. they shine brightly despite the darkness in the building, her hair framing her face exquisitely. "i really liked your latest addition to our paper. i think it really captures what dr. kim is looking for," she says, a smile gracing her lips. in that moment, that’s when it hits you.
she really liked your work and you really liked jimin.
“aeri, i don’t know what to do," you muffle into your pillow. the two of you are currently in your dorm, a space free of roommates thanks to your parents' decision to splurge a little.
"just tell her you like her," aeri offers a solution to your current dilemma, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.
"that's insane. i could never do that!" you shift onto your back, still laying in bed, and glance at aeri, who's absorbed in her phone and helping herself to snacks from your fridge.
"that's not insane. you want to know what's insane? walking up to a stranger and knocking them out before 8 in the morning. that's insane," aeri retorts.
you toss a pillow at her, not truly irritated because her point was pretty valid.
"y/n, just be honest with her. if she feels the same, great! if not, it's not the end of everything," aeri speaks with sincerity, finally raising her gaze. deep down, you acknowledge that aeri's advice is good, great even. it's also the most sensible approach.
you don’t listen to it at all.
with less than a week left before the final paper's due date, you have two more library meetings with jimin and see her in your english class every tuesday and thursday. despite these many chances to talk to her, you try to completely avoid her.
you fail in doing so. although you avoid her eyes during the 8 am class, rushing out with aeri to prevent any conversations, the final paper still needs to be finished.
this meeting feels reminiscent of the initial paper discussions, where conversations centered solely on the final paper. you avoid looking at her, which is out of the ordinary since you spent most of these meetings simply looking at her.
"are you okay?" jimin's face shows concern, her question directed at you.
"yeah, just feeling tired," you respond with the same excuse. it’s become a reflex at this point.
“alright,” jimin replies to what you assume was the end of the conversation. “so, can you tell me why you’re avoiding me?” damn.
“what do you mean?” you try and play it dumb, but even you couldn’t believe yourself.
"i'm not stupid, y/n. why are you so distant all of a sudden? i thought we'd moved past that after all this time," jimin studies you, her expression unyielding.
you quickly attempt to come up with a lie. "i'm sorry, jimin. i've just been swamped with finals from other classes, and my grades are really low. i need to do well on them to avoid failing," you deliver the excuse, hoping it sounds convincing enough.
fortunately, jimin seems to believe it, her expression easing. "i’m sorry for assuming it had something to do with me. i'm used to being at the center of problems most of the time,” there’s a hint of playfulness in her tone, an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
guilt engulfs you as you face her. you're strongly tempted to just tell her the truth.
"no need to apologize, jimin. it's not your fault at all. it's mine for procrastinating on my other assignments," you offer a smile.
that night, you struggle to fall asleep as you overthink the potential outcomes of confessing - or not confessing - your feelings for jimin. the most extreme scenario that haunts your mind is her hating you and refusing to speak to you ever again. you don’t sleep at all that night.
you're standing in line at the campus cafe, desperately in need of a caffeine boost before your 8 am class. your phone displays aeri's message specifying the coffee she wants. you try to blink away the sleepiness with little success.
"y/n?" a tap on your shoulder startles you, and you turn to find yizhuo and minjeong behind you in line.
momentarily taken aback, you don't respond immediately, processing which one of them tapped you.
"you look like you got run over by a truck. are you okay?" yizhuo's concern is evident.
"yiz, you can't just say that! i'm sorry, she doesn't mean it negatively, i promise," minjeong interjects, playfully slapping yizhuo's shoulder.
despite your fatigue, a soft chuckle escapes you at their antics. "it's alright, i understand. i pulled an all-nighter last night studying for an upcoming exam." the lies come more easily now.
"oh, yeah. jimin's told us that you've been working hard lately," yizhuo shares, prompting you to raise an eyebrow. jimin talks about you?
"jimin always talks about you! we had a movie night last weekend, and she made us watch a film because she said you recommended it," minjeong adds, causing a blush to rise to your cheeks.
"how did you guys like it?" you ask, still surprised that jimin talks about you.
"we loved it. you have really good taste!" yizhuo's enthusiasm is unexpected, especially before 8 am.
"you and aeri should join us one of these nights. jimin would love to have you over. maybe after finals or after our game on friday? we can order pizza and snacks for dinner," minjeong suggests.
“plus, it can be be a little celebration for submitting dr. kim’s final paper and surviving her class,” yizhuo adds.
minjeong's invitation sounds far more appealing than your usual friday night, which typically involves binge-watching anime or kdramas in your dorm, sometimes with aeri if she doesn't have a party to attend. "sounds great, just text me the details."
finally at the cashier, you place orders for both your coffee and aeri's coffee. after a short wait, you receive your drinks and wait for yizhuo and minjeong. together, you enter your 8 am english class and send a small smile toward jimin before taking your seat next to aeri at the back.
today marks your final meeting with jimin in the library for this paper. the paper is fully completed, and the only task left is proofreading the sections.
"jimin, i have a question," you begin.
"about the paper?" she looks up from her laptop, meeting your gaze. you still can’t decide if her love for eye contact is a blessing or a curse.
"no, not about the paper. i just want some advice."
"oh?"
"it's nothing too heavy, i promise." you briefly glance down at your laptop's keyboard before returning your attention to her. "have you ever felt scared?"
"many times, yes," she replies. "but i thought you said this wasn't going to get heavy?" jimin's tone carries a playful note.
"it won't! i was just curious… how do you get over fear?" you ask earnestly.
"well, if i’m scared and it's a matter of my own safety, i avoid it. i have too much to live for," jimin senses the seriousness in your tone and tries to lighten the mood. "but if the fear stems from the possibility of failing or not achieving something, i tend to just disregard it and overcome it."
"if i let fear dictate my actions every time, i wouldn't be here today. i probably wouldn't have even picked up a volleyball. i might've dropped out the moment people started saying hurtful things about me," jimin muses, delving deep into thought.
"yes, certain things can be scary, but it's scarier to miss out on opportunities because fear is holding you back," jimin concludes her response.
a moment of silence passes. "you could give a ted talk with answers like that," you quip.
she playfully swats your hand. "finish proofreading your sections. we're almost done with this paper."
two hours pass, and you lean back in your chair. "i close my eyes, and all i see are punctuation marks," you groan.
"well, here's some good news. we can email this to dr. kim tomorrow during her office hours and officially put our final paper for this class behind us," jimin's enthusiasm is evident.
"so, no more library meetings, huh?" you sit up straight.
"no, but we'll still be seeing each other often. are you coming to movie night tomorrow?" jimin questions, tidying up her side of the table.
"i am," you reply, closing your laptop.
"don't tell me you plan on treating me like a stranger after we submit this paper," jimin jokes, standing up and collecting her bag.
"i would never," you respond.
she chuckles at your remark before reaching into her bag. "are you hungry?"
you walk alongside jimin. "a bit. i'm heading to aeri's dorm for dinner. she cooked japanese food for us."
"i'd think you two were roommates," jimin tells you as she pulls a brown paper bag from her backpack.
"well, considering how often she's at my place, i can see why. but no, we're not. she lives right across the hall," you explain.
"here," she hands you the paper bag. "take this. the girls and i went to an off-campus restaurant for lunch earlier, and i thought of getting you something as a small thank you."
"thank you? for what?" you inquire while accepting the bag.
"for being an amazing partner on this paper, of course. i've got to go. yiz and i have plans. i'll text you tomorrow about when to submit the paper," she informs you.
assuming she's about to walk in the opposite direction, jimin surprises you by enveloping you in a warm hug. naturally, you reciprocate.
"i'll see you tomorrow!" jimin calls out, walking out of your sight.
at aeri’s dorm, you devour the food that she’s prepared for you. “this is so good. have i ever told you that i’m so glad you’re my best friend?” you tell her through bites of food.
“only when i cook for you. now, close your mouth and chew properly. i don’t know how to do the heimlich maneuver.” aeri looks at the brown paper bag by your feet and points to it. “what’s that?”
“i think it’s a dessert or something that jimin got me.” you notice the look on aeri’s face. “don’t even start. it was just a little thank you for helping on that final paper.”
“i didn’t say anything. i might need to get yiz a little something too, considering what a great partner she's been," she teases
“ugh, whatever.” you finish your meal and share the slice of cake jimin got you with aeri.
later that night, as you lie in bed, jimin's words echo in your mind.
fear holds you back. fear holds you back. fear holds you back.
you open your eyes to the grating sound of your alarm the next morning and see a notification from jimin.
yu jimin
hey, good morning
just a reminder to email your copy of the paper to dr. kim at 8 am!
have a great day ahead :)
y/n
good morning
will do
have a great day as well
before you leave your dorm, you open your laptop and schedule send your copy of the final paper to dr. kim for 8 am.
making your way to class, you spot a poster on a campus bulletin board.
"i think fearless is having fears but jumping anyway." huh? your confusion lessens as you realize it's an ad for the swiftie club on campus. you can't help but question why they'd position their ad right next to jimin's volleyball photo.
before entering the lecture hall for your biology class, another banner catches your eye.
"do not be afraid." what's with all these posters? you realize you hadn't finished reading it. "do not be afraid… to join us in the bible study club!" why do all these clubs insist on placing their endorsements next to the volleyball team's photos?
you could barely focus during the biology lecture, only hearing fragments of the professor's words. that is, until the professor singles you out, "miss y/n, why are you afraid?"
"excuse me, professor?" to say you're surprised would be an understatement.
"i asked you a question," the professor's expression turns unpleasant. "why do cells degrade?" there's no doubt you're losing your mind.
thankful that you won't see jimin until later, you use your free time to calm down and regain your composure.
walking through the university building's halls, you accidentally collide with an enthusiastic student. "have you ever been rejected?"
"what?" you react with genuine surprise.
"we're conducting a focus group discussion for our thesis on people who've experienced rejection. if you fit the criteria, your participation would be appreciated," the student hands you a pamphlet.
"oh, no thank you." you brush past the dejected student. spotting an empty hallway bench, you sit down, putting your head into your hands. it's as if you're spiraling into insanity.
what exactly are you afraid of? rejection? embarrassment?
all your life you’ve done nothing but run away from your problems. always finding the easy way out of everything. you’ve never wanted to face any problem or challenge head-on, deeming them unworthy of the trouble and effort.
lifting your head from your hands, you slump into the bench, trying to break free from your unhealthy mindset.
that’s when the realization finally comes to you.
jimin is worth it. she's worth every bit of trouble in the world. she's worth every second of your time. she's worth it all.
you rise from the bench, your feet moving faster than your brain. inside the university gymnasium, students stream out of the volleyball courts, signaling the end of the game. quickly heading to the back where the locker rooms are, you spot minjeong outside.
"y/n? what brings you here? i didn't see you during the game," minjeong questions, looking at your disheveled appearance.
breathless, you hadn't realized you were running. "not at the game…" you struggle for air, "jimin…" you hunch over, attempting to regulate your breathing. "where?"
minjeong places a hand on your back. "before you go looking for her, make sure you don't faint right now," she advises. it's amusing, really, the volleyball player who just finished a game telling you to relax.
"she's in the back of the locker room. she's alone in there since everyone else quickly left because it’s a friday night," minjeong informs you. "only athletes are allowed inside." a frustrated groan escapes you. "however, if it's important, i can pretend i never saw you go in," minjeong adds, a sly smile forming on her lips.
you've never set foot in the locker room before. the idea of being here seemed distant, even impossible. yet, you continue forward until you spot the one person who's been on your mind since the very first conversation.
"y/n? how did you manage to get in?" jimin's voice carries a mix of surprise and curiosity.
you're thankful for minjeong's advice to catch your breath. "minjeong let me in." jimin's face is flushed, an unmistakable sign that she gave her all on the court. despite the disheveled hair and the sheen of sweat, she remains the most beautiful person you've ever seen.
"what are you doing here?" jimin stands from the bench, turning toward you.
"i needed to tell you something, and i couldn't hold it back."
"what is it-"
"wait. let me say this all before you say anything else, or i might just black out and forget everything." you inhale deeply. "throughout my life, i've let fear dictate my choices. i've been nothing more than a coward. i couldn’t even take a stance in a tiktok argument. confrontation scared me, and i felt like i could never handle it."
"i was always scared," you press on, sensing jimin's eyes on you. "until i met you and got to know you." your mouth feels dry. "there are so many things i want to say, but i don't want it to sound corny," you chuckle, noticing jimin's smile forming.
"through you, i've learned the worth of ambition and dedication. you've shown me that fear is something that can help you become the person you want to be, not stop you from becoming it," you pause, then continue, "you've given me a new perspective i never thought i could ever have."
“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to talk this long,” you feel relieved as you see jimin laugh with you.
letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, “i like you, jimin. i have feelings for you.”
a beat passes and she doesn’t say anything. each second that goes by, you feel the dread within you grow more and more. as you were about to open your mouth to apologize, you feel jimin grab your arm. in the hush that follows your confession, you feel a rush of nerves coursing through your veins. jimin's grip on your arm is firm yet strangely comforting, and her intense gaze never wavers from yours.
jimin's lips form into a gentle smile. "you really caught me off guard, y/n," she admits, her voice carrying a mixture of surprise and something you dare to hope might be fondness.
your lips quirk into a sheepish grin, your heart beginning to settle from the initial anxiety. "yeah, sorry about that. i didn't exactly plan to pour my heart out in the locker room."
jimin chuckles softly, her fingers lightly squeezing your arm. "well, i appreciate your honesty. it takes a lot of courage to say what you just did."
the warmth of her smile and the sincerity in her eyes encourage you. "you've been my inspiration for stepping out of my comfort zone," you confess, your voice steadier now. "i realized that i can't let fear hold me back anymore."
jimin's thumb draws a little pattern on your arm, sending shivers down your spine. "i'm glad to hear that. and you know what, y/n?" her gaze intensifies, a spark of playfulness dancing in her eyes. "i think it's only fair that i tell you something too."
your curiosity piques, your heart racing once again. "what is it?"
jimin's smile turns tender, and she takes a step closer, her free hand lifting to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "i like you too, y/n. more than you can imagine."
you’re not afraid anymore. with a gentle yet firm pull, you bring her even closer to you. with a surge of courage, you close the distance between your lips.
the kiss is gentle, tentative at first, as if both of you are savoring the reality of this long-awaited moment. jimin's lips are soft and warm against yours, and her fingers find their way to your cheek, holding you tenderly. your heart thrums in your chest, the world around you fading into a distant blur.
as the kiss deepens, the initial hesitance transforms into unspoken understanding. lips meld with lips, sending electric sensations through your veins. it's an intertwining of emotions and desires, a connection formed by your honest words and the silent longing that brought you to this moment.
when you finally pull away, your breaths mingle in the space between you. jimin's eyes are half-lidded, her lips still just a whisper away from yours. "i think you’re braver than you thought," she mumbles, her voice laced with newfound intimacy.
you share a breathless chuckle, your forehead resting against hers. “to be honest, i didn’t even think i’d make it this far.”
“are you guys done?” minjeong yells from the entrance of the locker room. “i’m hungry!”
both you and jimin share a laugh at minjeong. you reach for her bag and proceed to walk out of the locker room, your hands intertwined comfortably. together, you make your way to yizhuo's dorm, where aeri had already joined.
the soft glow of the television screen in the living room casts a gentle illumination on you and jimin, who are cozily seated on the couch. your hands are intertwined beneath a comfortable blanket, and a bowl of popcorn rests between you. the film playing on the screen has captured your undivided attention, while jimin is having trouble deciding either to watch the movie or you instead.
aeri and minjeong stand together at a distance, with yizhuo in her kitchen. the trio is busy preparing the remaining food to be served later in the night.
"i can't believe y/n actually did it. i can't believe your idea actually worked, minjeong," aeri whispers to the two girls.
"it was only a matter of time. i couldn't stand hearing jimin talk about her endlessly, looking like an oblivious lovesick puppy that was kicked onto the street," minjeong rolls her eyes at the memory of her friend. "i'm glad she finally admitted it to herself too."
"it wasn't minjeong's idea at all! it was my idea to go to the campus cafe that morning when you told us she'd be there," yizhuo points out. "plus, let's not take any credit from y/n. we may have given her some hope that jimin liked her, but at the end of the day, she was the one who made the move." aeri and minjeong nod, agreeing with yizhuo’s points.
“how’d you even know y/n was going to be at the cafe before class, aeri?” minjeong asks, finishing plating the dishes.
“she texted me she couldn’t sleep and asked if i wanted coffee before our 8 am class at 4 in the morning that day,” aeri explains.
“makes sense,” yizhuo points out.
the three girls make their way over to where you and jimin are seated, each holding plates of food in their hands. aeri takes the seat next to you, while minjeong and yizhuo settle on the floor amidst pillows and blankets, arranging the plates.
your gaze occasionally shifts from the movie playing to the people around you. there's a sense of contentment in this simple act �� being in each other's presence, a shared moment that speaks volumes beyond words. back then, it was difficult for you to decide what you wanted and even what to think. now, looking around, you know for sure what you want.
you turn to face jimin when she squeezes your hand under the blanket. here she was, in all her glory.
you inch closer to her, resting your head on her shoulder. despite the gentle embrace of that moment, an urge runs through you - to dismantle each and every single dreadful rumor about jimin. she was more than just the petty and nasty words of thoughtless individuals who thrived on idle gossip.
in your eyes, she embodied all that was beautiful and kind in the world. with her by your side, fear dissolved into insignificance, its grip over you gone.
“i really like you,” you whisper, only for her to hear.
“i know. i really like you too,” she whispers back to you.
additional notes: it's my first time ever uploading a piece on any platform! i hope you all enjoyed reading. i don't really know how to work tumblr, i just want to share my writing lol. your comments and feedback are much appreciated! but pls be kind, i am sensitive hehe
#aespa x reader#karina x reader#yu jimin x reader#girl group scenarios#aespa imagines#aespa scenarios#karina imagines#karina scenarios#yu jimin imagines#yu jimin scenarios#aespa#aespa karina#blue’s pieces
978 notes
·
View notes
Text
Xavier Thorpe - Believe Me
Warnings: Threatening Thing (JUSTICE FOR THING), mention of reader being hurt (no gore, no b!ood), overall just love and tension (ENJOY!)
Words: 1.4 k
SHE/HER PRONOUNS
Context/Trope: Reader sneaks into Xavier’s room to find out about Rowan, he catches her. Basically, reader is an Addams (not like Wednesday) and with modified storyline with cheesiness.
I saw Xavier coming back from his run, hair wet, skin dewy, earbuds in his ears, his sweaty shirt clinging to his chest.
Dear, what a sight for my sore eyes.
He walked back into his room, slamming the door behind him; Thing slipped into his room before the door was closed. I heard another door slam; probably his bathroom door, which means; perfect timing for me to go find out all of his secrets.
I opened the door silently, shutting it quietly behind me.
His room looked like a normal boy’s room. Poster/paintings/drawings on his wall. An artist has to show their talent somehow. Thing looked for anything that could lead me to find out if there was anything about his dear ex-roommate, Rowan.
The one who tried to kill me two times.
[Flashback]
I got out of the infirmary, after that humiliating fencing experience, only to find out that it was raining.
Wonderful. I mean truly, this is quite uplifting.
I opened my umbrella, walked toward my room when I heard a vibration coming over me. I looked up only to find the statue of a gargoyle being tipped to fall on top of me.
This a peaceful death, I thought.
“Y/N!” I heard the familiar sound of a boy taking me by my waist and pushing me to the ground.
Everything was black after that.
[Xavier’s POV]
“Y/N!” I saw Rowan using his telekinesis to try and kill her. I took her by her waist just in time before the gargoyle hit the ground.
I had placed one of my hand under her head, hoping she didn’t break anything. I was almost on top of her, my heart beating out of my chest, tears prickling my eyes.
Please don’t let her be dead, I thought.
“Y/N?” Can you hear me?” I took her face in my hand, placing her gently in my lap.
No reaction.
I gently pressed my ear to her chest, hoping to hear something.
A heartbeat, another one. Thank God, thank whoever is out there.
I picked her up delicately and led her once again to the infirmary. The nurses told me she was okay, that she would’ve been killed if it wouldn’t have been for me.
“Please be okay, Y/N” I whispered. “I can’t lose you. You’re all I have.” I sighted, reassuring myself that she was okay. She will be okay.
She woke up minutes after my words.
“Y/N. Take it easy.” She sat up slowly from the bed, looking straight at me.
“That thing was about to fall on me, correct?” I nodded; she touched her head slightly with her hand.
God she is so beautiful. Her long Y/H/C hair that covered her face slightly, her pale yet sometimes rosy complexion. Her dark clothing, yet fits her so right. God, I am totally in love with her.
“Thank you, Xavier. For not letting me die.” She smiled at me.
No way. I’d never thought I’d see the day when Y/N Addams would smile at me.
“Anytime.” I offered a warm smile back, and we kept talking for a little while, still with my heart beating out of my chest, but in a good way this time.
[Present time, Y/N’s POV]
I looked around the place, finding an empty bed.
Rowan’s, I thought.
I looked under the mattress, not finding anything. His desk, empty. Everything was gone. Not even a single hair was on the mattress or the pillow that was left behind.
I switched my sight over to Xavier’s side.
Maybe there’s something that Rowan hid in there, I thought.
I looked on his desk where colored pencils and pens were spread out on the table.
His sketch book was the also, his initials carved on the leather cover.
X.T.
Such pretty details. I opened it, finding drawings of raven, spiders, sharply detailed drawings.
A cello appeared too. My face was the next page. All my features were correct, as if he drew this with me two inches from his face.
Another drawing of me, sleeping in the infirmary had me shocked.
Was he obsessed with me? Is he like Rowan? My thoughts were rattling through my head.
I was so in my space that when I turned around, I was face to face to the boy in question.
“Hi, what are you doing here?” He was very close to me; hair dripping wet, a hoodie on top of him and pyjama pants hanging on his hips.
I tried to get a logic and sane explanation out, but the stupidest thing came out instead.
“I came here because I thought Rowan might’ve hidden something that could’ve led to him to try to kill me.” I nervously fidgeted with my fingers behind my back, which is something I never, ever do.
“I don’t think there’s anything in my sketch book that might help you, Y/N.” I could practically smell what soap he used to clean his body, wash his hair.
“Right. I should go.” I tried to go but he trapped me by his desk with both of his arms on the desk.
“Tell me the truth, Y/N.” He tilted his head so that he was leveling with mine.
“I did tell you the truth.” I could feel my heart beating out of my chest.
“No, I think you’re here because you have something to tell me. Something that isn’t about Rowan, or the Nightshade or of what Thing found out.” Thing crawled out to be in Xavier’s sight.
He bent down to my ear, whispering slowly in it.
“Are you here to tell me that you like me?” He pulled back, still trapping me by his arms.
I could fell my cheeks heat up, my legs felt shaky and everything about me wanted to scream yes to him. To make him kiss me, touch me with his hands, to embrace me into his scent and make me his.
“That is in your dreams, Xavier. Or shall I say in your drawings too.” His face broke out into a smirk.
“What if I said that I liked you too, Y/N.” My eyes widened up, every part of me that was filled with anxiety left my body.
“I wouldn’t believe you.” I lied.
He bent down to tilt my head up to look up at him. He came closer to me, his lashes practically brushing my cheek.
“You don’t believe me? I’ll guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”
His lips met mine, a fire exploded in my heart, my brain, my everything. His lips were soft yet so passionate and kind. His damp hair tickled my cheek as I wrapped one of my hands by his neck, the other one in his hair. His other hand traveled down the valley of my back, caressing my upper back down to my waist. He pulled me closer to him, feeling the softness of his shirt yet the hardness of his body underneath.
We both pulled away to breathe and look at each other.
“Do you believe me now, princess?” I nodded repeatedly.
He smiled and leaned his forehead against mine, I lifted my head up to kiss him again and he gladly accepted. I pulled back and looked at him.
“I’m sorry I barged in your room. I should’ve just asked you.” He rubbed his hands down my back.
“Do it again. I don’t mind.” I laughed a little, he did too.
I checked the time only to notice that I had to go meet Enid in our room.
“I have to go. Enid emergency.” I still looked in his eyes. Beautiful green eyes.
“Manis for her and Thing, got it.” He kissed me once again on the lips before we both pulled away from each other.
“So, you like me right, like this isn’t to get information out of me?” He asked, half joking.
“Yes, I like you, Xavier. Though I could still get information out of you anytime I want.” I winked, leaving his room as he was smiling and I walked back to my room.
Thing followed me from behind, all excited about his manicure.
“If you tell anyone what happened, I will rip out your nails.” I snarked, he shook slightly in fear before swearing he wouldn’t say anything.
I guess I did not fall in love with a psychopath.
#xavier thorpe x you#xavier thorpe#xavier thorpe x reader#wednesday netflix#wednesday series#wednesday 2022#wednesday
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 7
A/N: Right, this might get a little confusing, but you know how we (English speakers) kind of went from Latin, to old English, to Now English? I’m substituting those for the Old Language, ‘Middle Language’ (the transitional phase—completely made up), and whatever the common tongue is for Prythian? Yeah, sorry about that!
Warnings: none…? I don’t think…?
Word Count: 5,587
-Part 6- -🌌🌠- -Part 8-
You stare at the page, heart in your throat.
Stare at the page, and reach for a pen.
Who is this?
Ink stains the white paper, and stupidity heats your features. He probably left it as a taunt. It’s not like he’s going to respond. You groan, setting the pen down, covering your face with your hands. Mother above. Definitely not your smartest moment. Reach to flip the paper over—not wanting to be reminded of your naïveté.
More ink has appeared, just below your scribbled question.
You may hide your intelligence around your family, but that won’t work with me. Smarten up.
The words burn your features. Scowl at the paper.
Forgive me for not anticipating the paper to talk back, Eris.
It vanishes the second you’ve written the sentence, leaving you blinking at the empty space on your desk. Winnowing isn’t possible within the House of Wind—you’ve heard both Rhysand and Feyre say it before. Yet note passing seems completely acceptable, for some reason. You suppose no harm can derive from simple exchanges.
You’ve been surrounded by magic for nearly two years. It’s shameful to still be taken aback by its multi-faceted ways.
A reluctant smile gilds your mouth. That’s Eris alright. Readjust your hold on the pen.
And it’s embarrassing to rely on stupidly long words in attempt to prove your intellect. Just say it’s versatile.
The parchment disappears, then returns. Nothing’s been added.
Amusement brightens your mouth, raising the writing instrument, poising it to attack. The words dance on your tongue, weapons to provocation: You have a bad attitude to being spoken back to. But you shake your head, instead choosing compromise for your next reply.
Did you want something? I doubt you simply dropped in to say hi. Unless this is your way of making sure I got the book?
Perhaps it was my way of seeing where you fall in this alliance.
Brow draws together. He obviously means the alliance between the Night Court and him, but where do you fit into it all? How does this show your placement? What does he even mean, where you fall? Take a deep breath, release it. It will do you no good to fall for his own provocation.
I hope you were satisfying enlightened, then, you write back.
Quite.
Stare at the neatly scripted response. He’s leaving the conversation for you to direct. First thoughts go to where he acquired the book, but somehow you feel that’s not the direction he wants you to take this in. So, sighing, you stumble straight into the trap he’s laid out.
Why haven’t you told anyone?
Paper vanishes again. Takes a minute to reappear.
It’s pretty blackmailing material. Why waste it in common conversation?
Lips purse together as you read his reply. Manipulative indeed.
Whatever you think you’ll be able to extort from me, I can guarantee you’ll end up disappointed.
Not the family favourite?
Blink at the speed of the response. Like quicksilver. Vague amusement warms your chest—how clear the mockery is. Disconcertingly comforting to know he doesn’t change. The same in every form. Precious constancy. Lower the pen to parchment.
I suppose you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?
And I suppose you’ll hide beneath the guise of observation, now?
It certainly isn’t warfare. I’d think you’d be practiced at spotting pretty, bladed words.
Again, the parchment vanishes, leaving you in the silence of your own room. Feet tap anxiously upon the clear wood, leg vibrating as you wait on him. Realisation smacks you upside your jaw—you refuse to sit here wasting precious seconds for whatever nihilistic response he carves out for you. Instead, you turn to the anthology, flicking to the index, peering at titles. Searching for one that will catch your eye.
I’m flattered—you’ve sharpened your tongue since we last sparred.
Roll your eyes. Lips quirking at the inherent Eris-ness of the response.
Wooden swords will only serve me for so long. Why not experiment with steel in a controlled environment?
The parchment vanishes, and takes its time to reappear. Time you spend scanning titles, pondering their contents. Maybe you should ask why he gave it to you in the first place. Certainly not out of the kindness of his heart.
Paper reappears.
You think merely because there are entire courts between us that makes you safe?
Peer at his reply—try studying it. Does he want you to be wary of him? It seems unlikely, somehow. He wouldn’t be able to get anything from you if you’re afraid of him. He should be encouraging you to feel at ease speaking with him if he wants something.
Do you make a habit of being as unpleasant as possible to every person you encounter, or am I just lucky?
A smile warms your mouth as the paper vanishes, fantasising how irritated he might become. From your words! Exhilarating!
Eyes land on a title that piques your interest: Movement of Light. Brow narrows with interest, flipping to the registered page number eagerly. Upon the parchment, beside the tightly knitted words, lays a neat diagram. It appears to be of a rectangle with two small holes punctured through its thin mass. Interesting…
Do you make a habit of keeping secrets from your family?
Lips purse. Cutting to the core, again. Manipulative as he may be, he’s certainly skilled at finding the right bruises to target. You wonder if it’s a skill he’d been taught through books or word of mouth, or if, perhaps, it was a nastier kind of education. Shake your head free of thoughts, pulling away from the book.
Having no secrets at all is stupidly idilic. Are there any other misconceptions you would like me to clear up?
You’re surprisingly cynical for your age.
Strange how having one’s mortality ripped away will do that to a woman.
Even you can hear the bitterness bleeding through. But the words have been written, and the paper has disappeared, so there’s no use trying to take them back. Even if you’re mentally cursing yourself for allowing that kind of opening. Surprised at how easy it is to be caught up in conversation with him. Or sparring, as he so eloquently puts it.
Wonderful immortality not treating you well?
Again, with the taunting. Amusement and something else prickles beneath your fingertips. Irked.
I’ll admit, it’s not quite as spectacular as I might’ve thought once upon a time.
That seems measured enough.
I thought humans were raised to hate us.
Observe the words—how they sit on the parchment. The contrast between your short scribbles and his elegant font.
Might a deer not wish for a wolf’s strength?
Parchment again vanishes. Once you’ve counted to three, you turn your attention back to the book, scanning the passage of writing. Brows narrow at the leap in language—words you’re unfamiliar with. A photon? Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning. Where’s a damn glossary when you need one?
Paper reappears—you take a moment to pull away from the volume.
Have you always been in pursuit of grandeur?
Brow narrows at the question.
I’d say I’ve always been rather passionate about not starving. So I suppose I did once think having three hot meals a day would be utter luxury.
I would have rather rotted away than be forced to live amongst vermin.
A surprised laugh flutters from your chest, amusement sparking within you again.
You’re much too stubborn for such a miserable end, Eris; too bitter to resign yourself to such a fate, either.
Parchment vanishes. One. Two. Three. Return to the volume, start at the beginning. Where your eyes were intended to land. Sighing, you scan the title: The Foundations of our World—Stuff. Brow narrows, lips quirking upward at the vagueness of it. Stuff. Such a lack of precise articulation, yet here it is, in an anthology of noteworthy discoveries. Somehow, this piece had been selected as important; important enough to be the base for the entire book. Strange…
Eye roll across the tightly stacked letters, mind pulsing as words soak into your brain, thumping dully as blood rushes through your ears. Take everything at it’s basest nature, reduce it down to the fundamentals, and what sort of building blocks are you left with? What makes up the world as we see it?
‘Take the prefix a- from the middle language, and combine it with the Old Language verb to cut, creating the name for the indivisible: atom. The smallest bits of matter that can exist independently.’
Intrigue returns with crushing force, making it near impossible to tear your eyes from the volume when the parchment reappears. How long has he been writing? Maybe he was preoccupied.
And yet I understand it was the youngest of you who took up her weapons and headed out into the wild. For how adamantly you protested against my lack of action regarding something I could easily correct, you seem to appear quite the hypocrite. Why didn’t you go out into those woods?
Blink away the memories of frost. Of sweat-stained clothes, and matted, knotted hair.
Getting a little personal with the questions, don’t you think?
Writing to me at all is much more personal than you should ever be getting—I’m sure your friends would agree. Yet there you are, pen in hand, thinking up your next counterattack.
The reply comes with surprising swiftness, allowing you only a brief glimpse of the following passage. Just as you’re beginning to grasp the core of what the essay is talking on.
You write with the confidence sight, you reply, eager to return. Yet he seems to have put his own distractions aside, as the response follows promptly.
Magic is a wonderful thing.
Blood ices in your veins, limbs stiffening, tongue turning leaden.
You’re lying. The House is fortified with wards; practically impregnable.
Yet here we are, corresponding. Does your High Lord know what you get up to behind closed doors?
Heart spikes in your chest, fingers trembling just a little as you lower pen to paper.
You clearly want something; you’re not going to get it if you spook me away, so quit the games.
Very well, but I’ll admit I indulged in the thought of your discomfort.
Release a heavy sigh—he doesn’t somehow have a window into your room, able to watch every move you make. Surely that would be too far, even for his manipulative ways. Skin prickles at how easily he slid beneath it—fingertips brighten.
You share that delightful, sharp-written humour with your youngest brother, you know that?
The parchment vanishes, then reappears in a matter of seconds. You laugh to yourself.
Touchy subject, Eris?
The second you dot the question mark, the door swings open; you yelp, jumping in your chair, shoving the parchment away. Vanishes again a blink later, slightly crumpled from the violent rejection.
“I knocked…” Feyre supplies, features tightening with concern. “Did you not… Oh.” She blinks, peering at the door frame; the threshold. “I suppose it must have been set up to block out exterior noise, too.” Sighs. “I’ll get that fixed at some point. Seems a waste to have a sound barrier up if you’re unable to hear what’s going on outside.”
Swallow heavily, trying to look normal. Like you weren’t knowingly communicating with the heir to the Autumn Court throne. Blue-grey settles upon you, fingers fidgeting in your lap, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. Everything feels unsettled. Her brows arrow, “you’re… What were you doing?”
“Nothing.” You reply, quickly. Far too quickly to be normal.
Lips quirk. “Writing to Bas?” She teases.
Heavy sigh whooshes from your chest, deflating a little. “How do you know about him? I haven’t even mentioned him to ‘Lain,” you say lightly. Something flashes through her eyes, too quickly for you to decipher. “Az mentioned you had someone after you,” she laughs, stepping into the room, door closing behind her. “I had no idea it was so serious,” she smiles, the happiness so inappropriate with the context you have.
Shake your head in denial, “he’s just a friend. There’s nothing else going on.” She gives you a look to say she doesn’t believe you. “I’m serious,” you insist. “There’s nothing romantic going on.” That part’s true, at least.
Feyre laughs again, then shifts on her feet. A strange quest seems to overtake her. “You know things are different here,” she begins softly, “to how we lived as humans.”
Heat flushes your features, making you groan. “Oh my gods, Fey. I am not having this conversation with you.”
“I’m just saying, if you want to get out there…see the world…maybe a few males, too… That’s fine. That’s stuff we can do, now. Well, you can do.” She amends the last part. After all, she’s the youngest, and already has a mate, a husband, and a child. An entire family. The epitome of womanhood.
Shake your head adamantly, “please, stop.” You grimace. Her lips quirk, mischief in here blue-grey eyes. She’s so lively…spirited. Bubbly? But calm, too. When did she become so adult? She seems to have aged in the blink of an eye.
(Why didn’t you go out into those woods?)
She shifts again, peers around the room—it’s a superficial move. She’s buying time, building up to something. “Your floor’s clear,” she notes, nodding to the clear wooden boards. Nod in response, trying not to wring your fingers. You were doing nothing wrong. He had spoken first. Nothing to be guilty about; no one got hurt. It’s fine.
“About our last interaction…” she begins, quietly. Spine stiffens, heart spikes. “I wasn’t trying to find something wrong with you; I’m sorry it came out that way.”
Exhale softly, shoulders lose their tension. Smile easily, waving her off. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” you laugh. “I understand. I’m sorry for lashing out at you, it was unfair on my part to act that way.” Her eyes narrow on you. Keep up the smile. “Is this your way of saying you just don’t want to talk about it?” She asks, softly. Blue-grey shimmers with sincerity.
Lips begin to ache with the stretch. “What are you talking about? We’ve made peace, there’s no need to exacerbate this.”
“Do you not want to talk about it?” She reiterates, keeping calm and quiet.
“What is it?” You laugh, turning to face the desk, eyes flitting to the volume. Scan the page; absorb nothing. “What you said last time. About being a burden.”
Body stiffens, breath catches.
“Fey, I’m getting tired,” you excuse, voice steady.
“You’re tired a lot,” she replies, quietly. Still watching. “Maybe Madja should take a look at you.” Sigh. Lean back in your chair. Tilt your face back, peering at the ceiling. “I’ve had a long life,” you murmur up to the white wallpaper, “I’m allowed to be tired.”
“You’re barely twenty-two.”
“And a lot has happened. I’m allowed to be tired.” You repeat, not looking at her.
Silence stretches between you. Gentle, but taut.
“How about you?” You ask, shifting the conversation over. Turning to peer at her. Your younger sister. Feyre blinks, then nods her head. “Good. Wonderful.” Watch her silently. Mark the lowness of her lids. “Nyx still waking you up?”
Nods again, smiling faintly, traveling somewhere distant. Somewhere foreign to you. “Eight days a week,” she laughs quietly. “Rhys and I are taking turns looking after him during the nights. Despite his work-load.” Sighs, pushes hair from her cheek, tucks it over a pointed ear. “He’s been great. Supportive, attentive, perfect. I keep trying to get him to let me handle Nyx, but he’s insisting it’s a joint effort. Wants to be there in a way his father…” she trails off, eyes misting.
Nod your head slowly. “And I suppose you want to be there in a way our mother…?”
“Yeah,” she replies thickly. “I guess that’s part of it.” The quiet turns viscous, coagulating into something almost translucent.
“I read some things…” you begin gently, “about the turbulence of motherhood.”
Her features lift into a smile, “oh, don’t worry about me. Rhys and I are working through it. It’s difficult, but everyone’s there when the strain starts to set in.” You blink away subtle surprise. “Mor’s always up for taking him off our hands for a day or two. It’s the same with Cass and Nesta,” she laughs fondly. “Amren…well, she’s Amren. And Elain’s great at making little treats here and there. Smiley faces out of his breakfast and things like that—he loves it.”
You nod slowly. Blink. “That’s great.” Again the silence creeps in.
Then she’s shifting on her feet, and. You just know—
“What kind of person is Bas?” She inquiries, not at all subtly. Nosey.
“He’s my friend, and nothing else.” He’s much more than a friend, but there’s no way to explain that without an entire Court’s worth of misunderstandings and uncomfortable questions. Still, she nods, but remains in your room. “And he… His intentions?”
“Feyre,” you scold, incredulously.
Your younger sister doesn’t flinch. Keeps her gaze straight. “Okay. Okay,” she sighs, holding up her hands in defence. “I’m wary of him.”
“Please, you can trust me he’s harmless. To me, at least. I’m sure if someone swung at him he’d be the type to swing back, but that’s besides the point.” You leave out the part that you’re fairly certain he would be the one to also somehow provoke a fight. He can be pretty provocative when he wants to. Not always in a bad way…
(…a hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.)
“I just want you to be careful,” she says quietly, eyes misting, going somewhere far away. “Males…people can be unkind. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Amarantha, Tamlin… You nod your head, “I understand. But Bas…I can trust him. So please don’t doubt him; please don’t doubt me either, in this decision.”
Feyre nods again. Silence stretches, then she straightens. Pats the doorframe. “Well, I’ll have this fixed as soon as possible. It’ll need to be disabled, than I can remake it—so you’ll be able to hear people coming. It’d be awful if you got yourself hurt from being startled by one of us.” She gives you a sweet smile, then disappears out into the hall, door clicking shut behind her.
Unsure if it’s her silent feet or the sound barrier that prevents you from hearing her disappearing footfalls.
————
Skin is itching, fingers burning. Heart spiking.
Burning, burning, burning. Hands on fire.
Vision blurs, floor spinning. She’s on the ceiling.
Crash into a wall, bone crunching. Stumble to the kitchen.
Water. Where’s water. Burning skin. Charring fingertips.
Liquid drips down cheeks, splashing onto knuckles.
Scraped raw, searing pain. Bone splintering, nails peeling.
Cool water fills the sink, drown her hands.
Sweet strangulation, dulcet deprivation.
Lovely oblivion.
————
Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out.
Chest deflates, keeping your body straight but relaxed—imagine sinking into the mattress. Cheeks puff up with the exhale, calm and quiet. Sit silently. Allow the world to fade. Tension seeps from your shoulders, muscles relaxing the way you’ve practiced. Now to make sure you don’t drop off instead.
Empty out thoughts, settle into the silence. Float away on a breeze. Imagine hands being set aglow. No. They are aglow.
Eyes remain shut, tight. Picture the radiant green seeping onto your skin, setting it alight.
Fingers twitch, bones itch. Teeth grind. Nails heat.
Eyes open in time to catch the glow as it fades, sinking back into your skin. A flicker of Starfall, then nothing. Sigh heavily, back slumping, shoulders sloping. It’s something; most importantly, it’s progress. Day three of fourteen. Slow movements, slower response. Gently stoking the flames.
Remove the light from your world, lids closing, return to the darkness. Seeking solace. Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. In. And out. Fingertips warm, but eyes remain closed. Don’t acknowledge it. Can’t look or feel for it. Allow it to grow in the back of your mind, allow into latch into your blood; flourish. Swirling and billowing, gaining momentum until it can move on its own, until it can function without nurture.
Keep your back turned to the power, allow it to remain unseen. Pull it upward; hear as it cracks and fizzles in your head. Rapidly dividing…splitting at high-speed…multiplying until it boils and bubbles. One cleaves another in two…into three…nine…
(…Twenty-seven, eighty-one, two-hundred forty-three…)
(…two-thousand one-hundred eighty-seven, six-thousand five-hundred sixty-one, nineteen-thousand six-hundred eighty-three…)
(One-million seven-hundred-seventy-one-thousand one-hundred forty-seven.)
Heat burns your fingertips, flashing pain blaring so rapidly, sparking like lightening across your palms, splintering phalanges…down into the carpal bones, nearing your wrists.
Vision blasts into view, pupils contract to tiny dots, shrinking away from the pale green light that’s blazing from your hands, barreling up your forearms, crackling past elbows, bolting up, up, up… Muscles seize, contracting against the hot itch scrambling your flesh, twisting at sinew. The blinding light dims, eyes peeking open as it dulls to a quiet luminosity, tinting your skin. Feels like poison ivy…the nettles by your old estate.
Swallow, staring at the radiance. Almost mesmerising enough to block out the burn. Throat itches, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deep breaths. Ease in. And out. Deep and easy. Calm and quiet. Collected.
Slowly, warily, you rise from your bed, door swinging open on the house’s command. Silently pad down the hallway, arms and torso concealed well by your dress, cardigan hiding the faint incandescence of your wrists. Hands—no way to hide them. Ignore it for now, you need a drink. Deep and easy. In. And out. Calm. Quiet and collected.
A glass waits for you on the table, walk steadily forward, fingers tremble as they clutch the cup. Water vibrates inside, tiny ripples fluttering across the surface. Effervescent bubbles shimmer at the base. Grow larger, swelling into compact air, fizzing up. Simmering in your hands. Tension coils your shoulders, brow dampening. Liquid heats up, boiling into a volatile mess. Bubbles pop at the surface, scalding water splashing onto your knuckles.
Scream as glass shatters, burning your bare feet as the liquid sprays.
Heart spikes, glowing brighter, inching up your arms, over your shoulders. Crawling across your collar bones. Muscles knot, tangling over themselves as they seize in terror. Power coils closer, snaking toward your throat, slowly…slowly…
“What—”
Hazel pierces into you, flicking over your hands, marking the shards of glass. He appeared in a flurry of darkness, shadows pulling back once he’s materialised in the doorway. Eyes already scanning for the source of distress. Fix on the slow spread of toxic green as it tip-toes higher. Hits a barrier. It’s a small hesitation—but it’s enough. Magic flickers, recoiling from your clavicle, enough hesitation to be quashed. Like a weight sinking down, an avalanche of rock crushing vermin, bones crunching beneath the pressure. Incandescence shoved away, dripping down your arms, cut back to your fingertips.
Sweet relief washes over you, waves of coolness cresting from your forehead to your toes. Lovely reprieve. Exhale heavily, spine nearly collapsing beneath the strain, leaving a slight glimmer to your fingertips, nails curved and warped from heat. Stagger back as he silently moves toward you. Scarred hands reach out, wanting to touch; wanting to steady.
“Are you—”
“Don’t,” you bark, snapping your arms closer to your body. Feel their unnatural heat as it singes the fabric of your dress. His nostrils flare, scenting the charred material, shadows flicker.
Call breath into your lungs, soothing. Deep and easy. In and out. Calm and quiet. In. And out. Calm and collected. A familiar scent has hairs raising at the back of your neck, eyes flicking up to lock with hazel. Closer than before. Despite the heat.
“What was that?” He asks, the deep roughness of his voice curling across your breastbone, soothing the heated skin like a balm. Swallow heavily, keeping your hands tight to your torso. Turn away; move to the sink. The tap turns on independently, cool water sizzling as it washes over trembling hands. Cold metal mollifies your skin, a comfy weight around your neck. The tiny barrier your magic had hit. Tripped up on.
Azriel doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel him nearby, standing at your side. Watching silently as the water fizzles and hisses, the last of the glow dimming from your fingertips. How close he’d come to touching the blisteringly hot skin. Slowly, the cold begins to souse into your digits, running smoothly over your hands, no longer bubbling or evaporating on impact.
The house has already cleared away the shards of glass; dried the pool of scalding water by the time you’ve dried your hands. Flaky, and ashen. The smooth, creamy texture seemingly been ravished by the heat. Yet all you felt was a slight itch to begin with. You don’t make any attempts to conceal how quickly you want to escape the room, but you’re kept where you are. Waiting…waiting for him to change his mind about keeping your secret. After what he’s just seen…
Feet are pinned to the boards, muscles unwilling to obey your mind as you explore them to turn and leave. Arms feel leaden, stiff and immovable. Wait for the compromise to be retracted. Hands tremble, teeth faintly bite onto your tongue. Wait for the condemnation. For being so foolish; stubborn.
“Are you hurt?” Words thud dully against your ears, keeping your hands as out of sight as possible, hidden beneath the sleeves of your cardigan. Nod dutifully. “I’m okay,” you murmur. Lips are numb, mind buzzing faintly. Floorboards spin ever so slightly, blurring in and out of focus. Deep breaths. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. Calm and collected. In. And. Out.
Boots appear at the top of your sight, just a little way from your own. Far enough not to be intimate. He holds out a scarred hand, palm facing upward. Almost expectant.
Blink away the dizziness. Flesh tingling…wriggling beneath your skin. Nails itching.
Wait silently to see what he’ll do.
Continues holding out his hand, waiting patiently to see if you’ll offer up your own. Remain rooted to the spot, numbness crawling beneath your sleeves. Mind buzzing with confusion at the outstretched palm.
Slowly, he begins reaching for your wrist, as if to inspect the results of the experiment. Analyse the consequence. Examine.
It topples you into motion.
Turn on your feet; quietly scamper off down the corridor. Behind the safety on your door.
With the wooden barrier in place, plus the sound block on your room, you can truly feel forgotten for a while. Like time’s stopped.
————
The shower had your blood moving again, temperature cooling to a regular heat. Mind working again, mentally cataloguing every thought you had, every twinge of unusualness that could have been the signposting you should have noticed to prevent that rapid surge of…burning.
Peer down at your hands, almost absently. Aside from the slight roughness to your skin; the chapped dryness to your knuckles, there’s nothing to show for the bone deep itch that had manifested within your flesh. Just the texture becoming sandpapery. Flaky.
A dark blue towel is draped over your shoulders like a shawl, preventing the damp ends of your hair from saturating the changed dress.
(What was that?)
It stopped almost out of nowhere. One moment, steadily spreading throughout your body, the next, it seemed to stumble. Like hitting a bump of some kind. Something that disturbed its momentum. Peer down at the necklace that’s sitting comfortably around your throat, resting just above your collar bones. In the dip of their joining point.
The small, glass pendant hanging from the bronze chain sits innocently on your person. Fingers brush over the map in wonder, curiously feeling. Cool metal contains the accessory, lead encapsulated within a gleaming polish. Even the underside has a pretty finish. Lead, bronze, and glass. Maybe some ink, but that’s all it is. No secrets carved to its base, no hidden compartment. Just a simple ornament, yet something about it disagreed with you. Thank the Mother.
Fingers play with the charm as you take a seat at your desk, reopening the volume. Rusty red leather creaks as you turn to your page, more than willing to submerge yourself in learning. The candles flicker as you ease out a breath, taking in the familiar scent of parchment and something pleasantly spiced. Maybe it’s an Autumn Court scent.
Crumpled paper lands on your desk, settling comfortably between the two large pages of the anthology.
It may surprise you to learn I have better things to do than spend all my hours writing to you.
Stare at the neat, elegant script. Debate the merits of responding willingly. Returning to this strange sparring match would be acknowledging your interest. There’d be no way to talk your way back to innocence. Putting pen to paper will mean…
And yet here you are, Vanserra, writing back to me.
Oh, you hope that irritates him. Hope he sends back something vicious. Something to make you spark awake again. To light up the numbness that’s turning your world monotone.
Would you like to tell me where these wrinkles came from?
Lips tug at the edges, but remain set in a dull line. Lower your pen to the roughed-up parchment. Fingers dry and somewhat cracked in the low light.
Nonsense, Eris. You don’t look a day over thirty.
Picture the way his sharp caramel eyes blaze with ire at the brazenness. Maybe his palms also heat when he’s in a mood. It’s a little comforting to remember power probably didn’t come naturally to him. Maybe. You’re making assumptions, though.
And you don’t dress a day over fifty. Considering Rhys’ wealth is at your fingertips, you have the fashion sense of someone who’s still destitute.
Mouth parts as you read the response. Brows flicking up your forehead. Harsh…
A smile quirks the corners of your lips.
I’ll have you know I dress for comfort. You’re the one who cares so much about prettification. Maybe I could visit your personal beauty parlour sometime, Eris?
Parchment vanishes, allowing you time to peer down at the diagram before you: a small rectangular table. There are various squares left blank, while others are filled in with one or two letters. The boxes that do contain letters attached are numbered, correlating with asterisks further down the page, displaying a full title.
Who would ever accompany you? It’s bad etiquette to visit a tonsorium on one’s own.
The smile fades after a few moments. Who would go with you if you wanted to visit somewhere? Elain? Feyre? …Mor? Shake your head, pushing away the dismal thoughts he’s brought to your attention. Divert elsewhere.
It’s worst to not entertain your guests. What a miserable (and sour) host you would be. I think I’m actually quite glad to not be visiting anytime soon.
Try to return to the anthology; find yourself awaiting his reply. Leg tapping against the floorboards. Minutes pass while you attempt to absorb more of the text, but nothing’s sticking. Like there’s a fog passing through your brain, stopping you from taking in the wonder of the world. More minutes tick by—the sky a solid dark blue the other side of your window. A few other candles gleam alight, and you murmur your thanks to the House. Flame flickers in response. Oddly comforting.
Eyelids start to feel heavy, weighing into your vision.
You don’t realise you nodded off until you wake from your nap. The desk is still void of a reply; you wearily peer around your room, attempting to orient yourself. Knuckles itch to be scratched, still rough to the touch. Gaze settles on your door. Perhaps it’s a little scary that you wouldn’t know if something was lurking directly the other side. Wouldn’t be able to hear any heavy breathing, or the scrape of steel. Deep breath, because there’s nothing there.
Stand to draw the curtains, but hairs stand on end. Remain still for a few seconds, centring on the feeling. Is it fear? Is it loneliness? Brow knits in concentration, absently drawing the curtains, turning back to face the entrance to your room.
(The only exit.)
Sigh in frustration. It’s not good to give into your…however you’re feeling. It will only encourage your mind to exacerbate whatever problem its fabricated. Still, you find yourself opening the door, peering down the well-lit corridor. Nothing there, no strange feeling, no lurking presences. Just your mind finding something to react to, creating a madness to subject you to. Deep breaths. The House of Wind is secure. Safe, and secure. You’re safe here. Nothing bad will happen; you won’t get hurt.
Deep breaths, heart lowering its pace.
Move to bring the door to; notice something on the ground, beside the frame.
Crouch down to pick up the small tin. Bring it inside, door swinging shut as you hold it up to the light.
Peer at the neat label. Pop open the lid; look inside.
It’s a small pot of hand cream.
General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022
Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch
CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @imma-too-many-fandoms
#CBMTHY#CBMTHY Part 7#Azriel#Azriel x reader#Eris#Eris Vanserra#Azriel shadowsinger#Shadowsinger#Azriel angst#Azriel x reader angst#multi-part fic#Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You
710 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can I ask a Steve Harrington x shy!reader where she has a locket that represents him (like the initial SH) and she always wears it but under her shirt so that no one can see? One day, Steve comes home to find her asleep, he smiles and leans to kiss her but then finds out her little secret. Just fluff:)
steve finds a sweet surprise when sneaking into your bedroom to see you — steve x gn!reader fluff
warnings: none:)
words: 1.1k
a/n: this was supposed to be a little tiny blurb idk what happened lmao but I hope you like it!
Steve was supposed to be there at 11 o’clock sharp.
He had promised you that as soon as the arcade closed and all the boys were dropped off at home, he’d be sneaking up into your room without a sound. ‘Like a ninja’ were his exact words; and maybe it was your fault for assuming ninjas were punctual.
You had given him a little grace period, maybe twenty minutes where he could come and you wouldn’t be upset with him. An hour after that ended, you decided you weren’t even going to wait anymore. If Steve was willing to wait that long to see you, he could wait even longer.
You decided to change into a pair of pyjamas instead of staying in your normal clothes all night and then get ready for bed. After turning out your lights and closing your curtains, you tucked yourself in and quickly fell asleep.
Unluckily, Steve had arrived just a few minutes after you dozed off. He cursed himself quietly when he saw your curtains drawn—already knowing you’d be pissed at him for being late—then tumbled over your windowsill since he was using one hand to palm away the hanging fabric. As he was climbing, he noticed you were asleep and was shocked that you stayed in your state despite the thud he made when he hit the ground. He was thankful you didn’t wake, though; he didn’t want your morning grumpiness on top of your anger at him for not showing up on time.
When he walked towards your bed, a smile graced his face at the closer sight of your peaceful figure. He wondered what you were dreaming about, and of course he hoped it was him.
Steve crouched down to plant a kiss on your forehead before pausing and contemplating what he should do. He pondered staying, but he didn’t want to be the kind of creep who sneaks into girls’ beds when they’re sleeping—even if you were dating. Then he thought about sleeping on the floor, but he didn’t want to deal with back pain when he’s already on his feet all day. So, he decided that he’d write a nice note, promise to take you out for a make-up date tomorrow night, then leave the same way he came.
He sauntered over to the desk across from your bed so he could borrow a pen and piece of paper, then carefully avoided picking the stationery he remembered you calling ‘the expensive stuff’. Personally, he doesn’t understand why anyone would buy writing supplies when they were always just laying around somewhere, but he didn’t judge you.
Steve started the note out by addressing it and drawing no less than five hearts around your name. Then he got straight to the apology. He wasn’t sure how much he should say, so he just told himself that he’d explain, apologise, and promise to make it up to you until his hand started cramping—and he did just that. He signed his name at the bottom of the page, then capped your pen and thought about where to put it.
His first thought was to leave it on your pillow, but then he got worried about you smudging it in your sleep and not reading what he wrote, so he went with his next thought of your nightstand. He would leave it by your alarm clock, leave, then you would find it in the morning and all would be okay. But a shiny object on the night table caught his attention and delayed his plan.
You always wore a gold locket, but you never showed the inside to anyone. All your friends had tried to guess, saying everything from a magazine cutout of Rob Lowe to a single brown m&m, but you never revealed it.
And now here that necklace was, right in front of Steve, and he couldn’t resist looking. As worried as he was that you’d be mad at him for peeking, he told himself that you’d never find out and it was only a tiny peek. So, he placed the note on the nightstand, and swapped it for the necklace.
As tough as the decision was on whether he should look or leave it alone, the locket itself was actually quite easy to open. And once he saw the picture, his heart swelled at least two sizes and he wished he had looked before now.
It was a tiny black and white picture of him that was cut out from the school newspaper. He remembers the exact photo, too. It was his last meet with the Hawkins High swim team, and he had tried harder than ever to win. After finishing the half mile distance a second before the rival school, he was completely exhausted.
Your boyfriend came out of the water, and barely got to sit down for a minute before some skinny sophomore had come up wanting to take a picture of him and the rest of the team for the school paper. He had initially told the kid the buzz off, but you had reminded him how hard he worked, and that this might be the last time he ever gets to be in the newspaper, and he reluctantly got up to pose with the rest of his peers.
He smiled quickly, then went back to the bench to sit with you, grumbling about how he probably looks like he’s about to pass out in the photo. You laughed, but assured him that you saw his smile and he actually looked like a million bucks.
He tried arguing, but you fed his ego by reminding him a million times of how pretty he always looks and that the picture was no exception. A few days later, the paper came out and you pointed it out as soon as you saw it.
“See?” You said with a sigh. “The hottest Hawkins High swim champ ever. I’m gonna keep this forever, it’s such a good picture of you.”
Steve didn’t know you actually kept it for this long. He honestly assumed you threw it out the next day, and he certainly didn’t expect you to keep it after graduation. He stroked the edge of the locket with his thumb and wondered when you put the picture in the locket and just how often you looked at it.
The smile on his face wasn’t going anywhere at this point, and it likely wouldn’t leave until he fell asleep.
He closed the locket and put it back right where he found it, then leaned down to push the hair from your face and kissed your cheek. He whispered a ‘goodnight, sleep tight, baby’ and walked across the room to crawl out through your window.
Steve wouldn’t tell you about what he saw tonight, but he was sure he’d never stop thinking about it.
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington fic#stranger things#stranger things fluff#xena's requests
587 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
garrothromeave
man i forgot how much i hate being an aphmau fan
fussypaws
Commissions are Closed!
xolo278-blog
Pasion Xolera
3st3ll3
Untitled
kayleerylan04-blog
My Tumbler Account Is Awesome