#wrote this instead of doing my final paper <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thepowerofswayze · 14 days

Text

demonstration

originally on ao3

based on this post by @fantasylandloser

pairing: art donaldson (challengers, 2024) / afab reader [gender not specified]

word count: 1.9K

warnings & info: 18+, afab reader, college era art AHHH, friends to lovers, first time together, mostly smut, oral sex (reader receiving), art is a munch obviously, reader wears a bra and skirt

summary: Catching Art up on your adventures gets hard when he doesn't get your explanations, or your hand puppet examples. Looks like you just have to show him exactly what went down. Based on this post that i could not stop thinking about. :))

☆

“Oh my god, fuck you!”

Art chuckled from where he stood, watching as you tossed the t-shirt he’d balled up and chucked at you back in his direction. It fell harmlessly to the floor a foot from him, and you glared at him as he snickered, picking it up and putting it away.

You were visiting Art, your close friend from high school, at Stanford. At that moment, you happened to be explaining how an interaction at a party at your university had gone a couple weeks before. Art never really liked listening to you talk about guys- hence, the shirt thrown directly at your face when you’d started describing this particular frat boy to him in detail- but he’d given up complaining a while ago. It was either that or be honest about why he hated it so much, and that was never going to happen. So, he tidied up his room as you explained the lead up, the flirting, the stumbling up the stairs. He fell back parallel to you on the bed as you got to the “good part”, his head by your legs and an arm over his eyes, like he could block out the imagery.

“Anyway, I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, like when we were flirting, but then I was on him, kinda like-” You took a moment to sit up straight, grinning as art groaned and propped himself up on his elbows to see you better. He watched you attempt to mimic the position with your hands, your left hand being the guy you were talking about, your right being you.

To Art, it just looked like you were mashing your hands together. He looked up from your hands to see you raising your eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he was following. “Huh?” He said.

With an exasperated sigh and without another thought, you pushed yourself up on your knees and waddled over to him, swinging a leg over his body and hovering just over his torso. For a moment, Art just watched, bewildered, as you steadied yourself with your hands on either side of his head. He let himself fall back from his elbows, hands sliding up your hips and settling at your waist, catching momentarily on the fabric of your skirt. His fingers peeked just under the hem of your shirt. Your skin tingled where he touched you.

“... Like this,” you said finally, blinking at him for a moment. “Well, uh.” You moved your hands to his chest instead, careful not to push too hard (though with the muscle he’d acquired since he’d started playing tennis for Stanford, you were sure it bothered him much less than you thought). “More like this, I guess.”

Art nodded, quickly licking his lips before asking, “Then?”

You tried not to look at his mouth. “What?”

“Then what did you do?”

It finally hit you then: what the fuck were you doing, climbing all over your best friend to ‘show him’ how you and some guy had been fooling around a couple weeks ago? That would just mean fooling around with him, obviously. That wasn’t really the plan.

But, it was too late for your common sense to kick in now. There you were, your hips hovering over his, not quite touching yet. You watched his eyes dart down to your lips, then drag slowly back up to meet your gaze. You couldn’t wait here and think about what you’d gotten yourself into and how this would change your friendship forever, though you got the feeling he’d let you take as long as you wanted.

Then what did you do?

You steeled yourself, biting your lip and watching his lips part slightly as he tracked the action with his eyes. Then you took that moment to fully sit on his lap.

You could feel his chest expand beneath your hands with his sharp inhale, his eyes snapping down to your hips, then back up to your face.

“This,” you murmured. You’d intended for it to come out cocky, maybe even a little seductive, but you could hear the breathlessness in your own voice. You were trying your best to ignore the growing pressure where your hips met his, though really, it was hopeless.

Art’s ears were burning a bright shade of pink. The urge to gently nip at them crossed your mind, just for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Then?” His voice was almost a whisper, chest rising and falling unevenly with his nervous breathing. The way he was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure you were real…

Fuck.

You leaned forward, trying not to let your breath stutter at the friction caused by the movement, until your lips hovered just over his. Then you kissed him.

You pressed your lips together gently, lingering for a moment before pulling back by centimeters. His lips chased yours, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly, and you were right back on him, lips falling open against each other. A soft sound escaped him as your hips shifted against his, along with a contented sigh from you. You repeated the motion, reveling in the low groan he let out, followed by your name murmured into your mouth.

Art’s lips were soft. And he’d shaved recently, you thought, hands cupping his face. The smooth skin of his cheeks was a stark contrast to the calloused hands he was now raking over your thighs, your skirt pushed up around your hips. You broke away from his lips, kissing down his neck instead, listening to the noises he made whenever you left a mark, whenever you ground against him just right. “Shit,” he gasped. “You’re- You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You left another kiss just below his ear, before murmuring, “What is it?”

You could feel him all but shudder beneath you. “Fuck,” he groaned, then your name, before he looked you in the eye. You resisted the urge to dive right back in. “Let me eat you out,” he said, suddenly determined, though still flushed and dazed. “Please.”

All you could say was “What?” because, surely, this was one big dream.

“Please.” His hands hadn’t stilled, still rubbing shapes into your thighs, his hips rolling up against yours. “Can I?”

Your entire body was on fire. “Okay, yeah. Yes.”

He wasted no time flipping the both of you over, laying you against the bed so he could kiss down your neck. You barely had a moment to process, your hands moving to tangle in his hair, one of his knees slotted between your legs. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, prompting you to lift yourself slightly and help him get it off. Your bra came next. “You, too,” you murmured, pulling at his shirt and making him chuckle. He reached behind his head, tugging it off in one swift movement and abandoning it beside your shirt and bra on his freshly cleared floor.

One of his hands slid down your chest from your shoulders, enclosing one of your breasts, the thumb circling your nipple. You bit your lip and sighed, pulling him down for another kiss by the back of his neck.

Art let his hand trail from your chest down the sides of your stomach, then slotted his palm right between your legs, over your underwear. You gasped quietly, pulling away long enough for him to return his lips to your neck, your shoulders, your collar bone. You murmured a couple choice words as he started to move his palm, rubbing at your clit through the fabric. The dulled sensation was almost enough on its own, paired with the kisses he left against your chest. “Arthur,” you whined, tugging at his hair. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

A grin overtook his face at the use of his name, his hands only slowing down, tracing torturously slow circles over you. Art only snickered at your glare before hooking his fingers into the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down and leaving you in your skirt pushed up to your waist. He watched you carefully as he slid further down so that his head was between your legs. His finger only traced a line from your clit to the bottom of your hole before whatever restraint he had was gone, and his mouth was on you.

Art’s tongue flattened against you, the warmth and friction making your head fall back as your eyes fell closed. “Fuck,” you moaned, hands threading into his hair as he answered with an equally obscene noise, muffled against you. ‘Hungry’ didn’t even begin to describe him, his mouth falling into a vague rhythm, eyes closed blissfully, whining into your pussy like it was doing him just as much good as it was you.

You thought about asking him to finger you while he worked, but his tongue prodded at your entrance and almost immediately, words escaped you. You brought one hand up to your face, clasping it over your mouth to muffle your moans, but Art stopped suddenly, watching your face. You whined your confusion, and he reached out to tug at your hand. “I wanna hear you. Let me.”

You blinked at him, chest heaving, and murmured “Alright,” before watching his head dive right back between your thighs, one hand still intertwined with yours. You had no choice but to moan unabashedly, your other hand busy pulling at his hair. His free hand was wrapped around the outside of your thigh, pushing it in towards his head, so tightly you were sure it couldn’t be comfortable. But there he was, continuing to move his tongue against you like there was nothing else he’d rather do, whining and whimpering like you were his first meal in weeks. “Fuck, Art,” you cried, barely keeping your eyes open so you could watch him move. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He groaned at that, relenting the pressure of your thighs against his head just long enough to reply: “That’s it, baby, please.” If he had anything else to say, he couldn’t keep himself off of you long enough to finish, already pushing your thighs back against his head, nose bumping against your clit as he bobbed up and down.

It seemed like that was all it took, really. You squeezed his hand and his head embarrassingly tight as you felt yourself tip over the edge, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. Art kept up his rhythm as you cried out his name, your hips rolling against his face. He didn’t stop even when you’d come down, chest heaving, until you basically pushed him off, desperate for a moment of relief.

He kept a hand on your thigh, the other untangling from yours to push his blonde hair out of his eyes and look at you. He was breathing as hard as you were, you noticed. His mouth hung open as he panted, the entire bottom half of his face coated in saliva and your arousal. Fuck, he was pretty like this. “‘S good?”

You shook your head, beckoning him toward you and pulling him down by the back of his neck when he was close enough. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, lips against his almost before you were even done speaking. You didn’t mind the stickiness. You pulled back to look at him, then glanced down to the tent in his pants. “Lemme return the favor.”

Art let out a breathless chuckle. “I don’t think I’m gonna last that long,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. “Not if you’re the one touching me. Not after this.” He gestured to the shine still on his face, to your thighs beneath him. Your face burned, and your smile was so wide that your cheeks hurt.

You shrugged. “Lemme try anyway,” you said, before bringing his ear down to your lips, nipping at the lobe gently. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to you.

1K notes · View notes

alyakthedorklord · 10 months

Text

Part 3 of Batman the Playboy, in which I change my mind about the reveal in part 2:

Batman: “So you didn’t notice?”

-justice league record scratches-

GL, horrified: “No. there’s no way, there’s absolutely no way…”

Batman’s grin would fit better on a supervillain, before he suddenly, miraculously, transforms. He leans back, tilts his head, the smirk isn’t evil but instead inviting and amused: “Really, Mr. Jordan, your job is just so fascinating… tell me more about planes…”

GL: 😨

Batman, turning on the rest of the league, one by one, changing his body language ever so slightly for each person: “Mr. Allen, I do hope you’ll entertain me again if I’m ever back in central, I had a grand time. Dinah darling, I stand by what I said, Ollie was SO much nicer to kiss when we were in college. Princess, the boys and I are in your debt. Mr. Jones…”

Batman’s mind goes no thoughts, head empty. Martian Manhunter is both impressed and embarrassed, nodding in understanding as Batman turns to the final hero, smiling sweetly, brain still empty as a blank sheet of paper: “And, Mr. Kent…”

Batman steps closer, hand on Superman’s chest, hip cocked, Brucie Wayne smile in full effect: “Our conversation got… cut off, the other night, because I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with me going further, which is a damn shame. Call on me, won’t you?”

Superman, realizing why a very eager Brucie Wayne stopped their makeout session short: “…huh? OH- um.. uh huh.”

Green Arrow, short circuiting: “No fucking- BRUCIE? How? How is that possible?”

Batman, backing away from a shutdown superman, the physical mask on his face hardly the most effective one in his arsenal: “Because I’m Batman.”

Bonus for @help-i-need-a-cool-username: Hal Jordan STILL doesn’t know who bruce wayne is.

a few months later:

GL: “So this big old money billionaire guy in gotham is connected to this, i think he’s called Wayne or smth.”

Justice league: “…”

Flash, had a FULL DAY of Brucie and was VERY aware of who he was with: “Uh… Hal?”

Green Lantern, who heard Bruce’s name in passing, while distracted, under loud club music + has tried to erase that night from his memory: “what?”

Batman, under his breath: “We can find your secret identity so easily, batman, you’re not that good, Batman, we’re just being polite, Batman.” Sure you fucking can, Jordan. You know, it’s polite to remember the names of people who you’ve fondled.”

#batman the playboy #dc prompt #bruce wayne #justice league #justice league shennanigans #autistic batman

2K notes · View notes

loganlermanstanaccount · 10 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

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

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons.

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think.

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV.

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball.

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails.

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes.

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room.

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly.

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft.

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you.

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video.

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly.

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder.

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–"

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts.

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick.

And that's the second thing: it works . He's more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame.

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then.

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it.

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo.

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll.

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask?

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier.

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one.

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen.

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives.

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls.

"Miguel," You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–"

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate.

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that.

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure.

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock.

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials.

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind.

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?"

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion.

"...what does that even mean?"

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day."

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?"

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting."

"Seriously?"

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused.

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz.

"Lyla? Could you let us up?"

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back.

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel.

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–"

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out.

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–"

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–"

[Let it go, that's enough now–]

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –"

"Can you just fucking open the–"

"What's the magic word?"

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–"

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open.

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed.

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost.

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer.

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose.

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room.

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye.

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug.

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused.

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–"

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up.

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how."

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas.

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said.

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking."

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding.

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?"

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally.

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure.

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back.

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita."

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl.

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular.

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around.

"I don't sound- "

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker]

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have.

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes.

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food.

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!"

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-"

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away.

"Um, we should… we should go."

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question.

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?"

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically.

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations.

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? "

"That's not–"

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working.

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile.

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours.

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!"

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair.

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders.

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit?

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around.

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood.

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined.

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate.

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time.

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated.

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session.

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist.

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does.

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to.

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night.

"Miguel?"

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile.

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?"

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny?

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–"

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly.

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? "

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips.

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering your name like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone."

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue.

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed.

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter.

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you.

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag.

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut.

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs.

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused.

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them.

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his.

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall .

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –"

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt.

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?"

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off.

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff.

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago.

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips.

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that.

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care.

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty.

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours…

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit.

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest.

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same.

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another.

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch.

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest.

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats.

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed.

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck.

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut.

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy.

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–]

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–"

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–]

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach.

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt.

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts.

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans .

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly.

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits.

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat,

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears.

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air.

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#rigor mortis 😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv x reader #atsv fic

1K notes · View notes

gtgbabie0 · 1 year

Text

✧gorgeous distraction✧

{James trying his best to study while you distract him}

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Knock it off” James tries so hard to be serious meekly pushing your shoulder, you watch with a teasing smirk as the crease between his brows wobbles and a small chuckle escapes his supple lips, that he tries so hard to press into a thin line to show how ‘unimpressed’ he his, and he hates to admit it but you’ve got him wrapped around your pretty little finger.

James could never truly be mad at you, you’re his everything and he tells you so about ten thousand times a day, so he doesn’t mind much when you press ticklish kisses against his jaw and to that sensitive part just behind his ear, while he’s trying to study, his books splayed across your bed and he pretends to more interested in them than you.

He always gets this fleeting feeling in his chest whenever he’s around you and it flutters to his stomach leaving him all giddy inside, you drive him mad in the best way possible.

Especially when your gentle fingers play with the curly ends of his hair that sit against his neck, the way your cold knuckles graze against his warm skin, he thinks he just might end up going insane.

You giggle watching as he not so sneakily glances at you, a small smile dances on his lips, and you know he can’t keep his composure for long, “James… James, give me attention” you whisper in his ear as you continue press kisses along his jaw while your gentle fingers still twirl through his hair, with the hope that he might just put away the scattered books and paper tonight.

He wants to be stubborn, he wants to regain some kind of control over himself when it comes to you, but how can he? When you smell like home and your comforting warmth is radiating from you inviting him like a Sirens melody.

"I'll kick you out" he threatens, as you blow cold air against his ear with a giggle, while he scribbles notes down on some paper.

"It's my room, love" you remind him, your head resting against his shoulder

"That won't stop me from locking you out, Love" he smiles as you let out a huff and he thinks he's finally won, that you might have gotten bored, but he's proven otherwise.

Your hands playfully tug at the hem of his sweater nimble fingers dipping under the soft weaved fabric as they gently traverse his lower abdomen, and you feel his muscles tense under your teasing touch as he lets out a breathy giggle that borders on a gasp and you relish in the soft sound.

“Oh!— alright, enough you win, you win” he smiles picking up the old tattered books on transfiguration and chucking them carelessly, you gasp watching them skid across the old wooden floor.

“What did the poor books do to you?” You giggle as he scoffs at you, his hands pull you into his lap and your heart feels so full and loved as his gentle fingers trace mindless patterns on the top of your thighs, and you lean to press a small kiss to the tip of his nose.

his hands settle against your hips, "If I fail I'm blaming you" he says, chuckling as you feign offense with an overdramatic shocked expression.

“Not my fault you're so pretty James” you whisper, hands cupping his warm cheeks, and pride blooms in your chest at the redness that tints his cheeks, "Just completely and utterly irresistible"

He’s a blushing mess and uncontrollable toothy grin splays across his face, his lips wobble as he tries to stop it, and it makes you giggle, “Well... I got nothing on you Angel” he admits with a wink and you roll your eyes at his comment leaning down to capture his soft red lips in a loving kiss that leaves him breathless, and he never wants to let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

☾⋆AN// *BOOM* I wrote this instead of my essay, hope you enjoyed lovelies! <3 {{requests are open!}}

2K notes · View notes

kulapti · 9 months

Text

Aug 2023, bookbinding of The Silent Isle Imbowers by Tharkuun.

I’m sooo so so pleased to finally share this! I have been actively working on this for many months and waited until Tharkuun received her copy before posting so the final result would be a surprise.

-----------About this bookbinding under the cut

This binding has been one of the more elaborate pieces I have attempted so far. This has been my first binding where I (1) made three copies of a piece at once, (2) used a modified a historical illustration, (3) collaborated directly with another artist on the decorative elements, (4) finished matching art for the cover and title page, and (5) layered paint and heat-transfer vinyl for the covers. These are also (6) the first non-tiny books I have made with this style of hinge and cover attachment.

Pretty much immediately after I first read this story I felt I had to make myself a copy of this. I had a strong mental image of a vintage-looking cover for a fairy tale, with a deceptively simple design of flowers on the cover, probably with fancy metallic accents, the kind of thing you’d find in an interesting used bookstore with no summary, no text on the back, no dust jacket, just the flowers and maybe a title. I’m going to make a separate post about making this cover design a reality because oh man has it been a journey lol! I designed and drew the digital art for the cover (digital because of the cut and application method), as well as the corresponding title page illustration (pencil and dip pen, scanned, title added digitally).

When I asked Tharkuun about it she was excited to suggest I get in touch with quillingwords, who generously agreed to collaborate with me! Among her talents quilling writes calligraphy, and hand wrote both the book title and chapter headers for me to incorporate into my plans. Check OUT those chapter headers! So fancy! A font could never!! Quilling has also been very encouraging and let me yell about this project in dms for months so the final result could be a surprise for Tharkuun. Thank u so much quillingwords, your calligraphy adds invaluable amounts of swag to this project.

I was going to do some kinda neat font for the chapter headers, but quilling’s work is too cool for that and I decided to use a modified piece of a historical illustration instead. The illustration also happens to be cool as heck: I was browsing the Artstor database (an academic quality resource available for free via Jstor, my beloved) and found E. N. Neureuther's 1836 gorgeous etching for etching of the fairy tale Briar Rose, an illustration made for a printing of a Brothers Grimm recorded German fairy tale with Sleeping Beauty elements. Much to my delight this illustration not only matches the general look I wanted but is actually relevant to the story, itself a Sleeping Beauty spinoff.

Slightly less stylistically consistent are the endpapers, which are prints of two different paintings by Arnold Böcklin: Isle of the Dead (1883) in the front and Isle of Life (1888). The first painting had occurred to me as an excellent visual to go with the story, and Tharkuun and I discussed this and agreed that pairing it with the related later, more optimistic piece was too thematically appropriate to resist.

I had fun and learned a lot making these books and I am very pleased with the result!!

Materials: Archival bookboard, cardstock, cotton cheesecloth mull, archival PVA glue, linen thread coated in beeswax, paper cord, red cotton embroidery floss. Blue cotton backed with archival paper, acrylic paint, machine cut black and gold heat-transfer vinyl. Laser printed text and illustrations. Metallic scrapbooking paper.

#artists on tumblr #bookbinding #ficbinding #fanbinding #dreamling #my art #here there be fandom #the sandman #the silent isle imbowers #tharkuun #described #id in alt text #pls imagine me screaming continuously about this project for oh idk 4 or 5 months? oh I can make shiny books??#im not allowed to @ people in this post apparently #links and fic rec in reblog #laying on the floor I found a few missing words I must have deleted on accident while fixing formatting #poppies (Papaver somniferum) and mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)#tailfeather binding

758 notes · View notes

ada7201 · 5 months

Text

what do the blue lock boys do for you on valentine’s day?（╹◡╹）♡

Shidou, Rin, Sae, Kaiser x reader (seperate)

→ part 1 ⭢ part 2 ⭢ part 3 on the way!

gn! reader, google translated German for Kaiser’s part

don’t forget to suggest me things if you have any ideas! happy early valentine’s day (๑>◡<๑)

Shidou Ryusei

he gets you a TON of sweets (which he eats half of)

Sae once told him that love letters were a common thing for valentine’s day, so he tried to make you one.

it was a piece of paper, which was poorly folded and drowned pink glitter glue. he used scented gel pens to write a few “i love you’s” and smiley faces… it’s the thought that counts?

wrapped a ribbon around his neck and called himself your valentine’s gift.

decided it would be fun to wear your lipstick and kiss your cheeks - staining your skin with kiss marks

for lunch, he brought you to the park where you both played around, and afterwards sat down somewhere on the playground and munched on sweets (of your choice!)

the two of you watched those romance dramas together in the evening and fell asleep on an episode you weren’t paying attention to

“come on sweets, it’ll be fun!” Shidou whined, clinging onto your arm like a monkey, smushing his cheek against your shoulder as he pouted. why wouldn’t you let him do your makeup? “im great at makeup! you know that! i’ll do a special valentine’s day theme〜”

“Shidou- no!” you groaned, attempting to pry the taller man off of your arm. “you will not do my makeup, and that’s final!”

“fine…” Shidou sighed dramatically, letting go of you and falling to the floor in a pathetic manner. “guess you just hate me… and you’d even do this on valentine’s day?”

you huffed. he could be such a pain sometimes…

“alright, you can do my-“ your voice was cut off by Shidou’s big hand on your lips, a grin on his face.

“no need to talk more, bae - let’s get started…” he’d chuckle, almost evilly, before pulling out your makeup bag from the pocket of his sweatpants.

“how did you—?” you were cut off once again by his hand, and that stupid smile on his face.

“ah-ah,” he’d wiggle his pointer finger, before poking your cheek.

“let me do my magic!”

by the end of that hour, your face was decorated with sparkly stickers and hearts drawn in pink lipstick. your eyeshadow was almost terrifying, with the way it was so bright - brighter than Shidou’s eyes.

“perfect.” he’d giggle, hand on his mouth as he tried to hold back from full on cackling in your face.

surprisingly, Shidou isn’t bad at makeup - he just wanted to be a little silly for you on valentine’s day!

he posted a photo of you and your makeup, along with cute photos of the two of you throughout the day - like one of the heart engraved onto a bench with your initials, or maybe the photo of you sleeping peacefully with a bow stuck to your forehead - totally not Shidou’s doing!

he also baked with you - but it didn’t turn out great so you both decided to order takeout instead.

takeout wasn’t the most romantic meal, but it sure best whatever you both made…

Itoshi Rin

poor baby didn’t know what to do at first.

he spent a couple weeks planning and brainstorming ideas in his free time - even considering asking Isagi for advice.

instead of turning to that lukewarm freak, he chose to go with what he thought you’d like the most.

he bought you a sweet and simple bouquet, assorted with flowers of your favorite colours and type.

he wrote you a card, and got a plus he’d toy with it too.

he placed everything next to you in the morning, since he wakes up considerably earlier than you do.

when you woke up, you were pleasantly surprised with everything. thanks Rin!

when he got back home, he made the two of you some lunch.

he didn’t want to admit it, but he had been waiting to use the cute little heart plates you had bought especially for valentine’s day.

“this bowl is so cute!” you’d smile, admiring the pretty white plate decorated with pink and red hearts. “is this the one i got you valentine’s day?”

he simply nodded, placing down his plate - and sitting on the chair opposite you.

posted a photo of the two of you holding hands, along with a pretty sunset you both witnessed on your evening walk.

he definitely wasn’t too embarrassed to include the photo he took of your plates! he just wanted to be the only ones to see them

yes, he took you out on a walk in the evening - and when he noticed you shivering, he was quick to wrap his scarf around you and drape his jacket over your shoulders - not realising he just exposed himself and the pink shirt you had gotten him.

his face turned the same colour as his shirt! cute!

“Rin, why is your face so pink? are you getting cold?” you ask him, worried gaze focused on the way his cheeks were pink. “do you want your jacket back—?”

Rin quickly cut you off with a small peck, cheeks blushing even more after the small gesture.

“i was just… blushing.” he mumbles, looking away from you as a teasing smile made its way onto your face.

“aww, you were blushing〜”

Itoshi Sae

bought you a bouquet of purple roses.

purple roses mean love at first sight. <3

he also got you a matching set of earrings, a necklace, bracelet, and an anklet.

along with jewellery, he got you a piece of fancy clothing that he saw you eyeing. (example: dress, suit, button up, tie, skirt, and more! your decision)

got you a pack of cupcakes as a desert for lunch (or any yummy food if your choice)

he spent most of the day taking photos of you and admiring how beautiful you were - even with morning hair, even if you were still in your cheesy pyjamas matching that Sae got you, even if you had your face stuffed with sweets - you were beautiful and Sae wanted to capture that moment. (this is a regular occurrence, but was feeling it a bit more today!)

either takes you to a beautiful and expensive restaurant, or hosts one at home with candles lit nicely.

this valentine’s day, he chose to eat out with you - and brought you to one of the newest and most expensive restaurants in town.

“wow, Sae! this is really nice!” you smiled, placing your fork down next to your plate before looking up at Sae, who was sat opposite you.

“you deserve 10 times more.” he’d respond simply, shrugging off your words with a slight blush on his cheeks.

he watched the way your smile grew. cute.

could it be the perfect time?

“y/n.” Sae said, almost quietly - before pushing his chair back and standing up.

his slim fingers reached into the pocket of his nice dress pants - and you couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat quicken. what was he about to do?

“i have loved you since the first day i met you.” he started, hand wrapping around a small velvet box, before pulling it out of his pocket - he wasted no time on getting down on one knee, eyes looking up at the way you stared back down at him. “do you think that… you could make me even happier, and marry me?” he asks with a small smile on his face.

im sorry, but i definitely feel like he’s the type to propose on valentine’s day!

on the drive home, you had to remind him to her his eyes on the road because he kept admiring the pretty ring on your finger!

bought you another pair of cheesy pyjamas - this time, they were pink cat onesies.

he took so many photos of you and your cute little smile!

he posted a photo of your hand with the ring, being held by his

it took him a good 15 minutes to decide what photo to choose for the ring photo

along with the ring photo, he posted a picture of the two of you in your onesies, a photo of his hand on your thigh as you were both in his car - along with some others of the two of you having fun

Sae was stood in the jewellery shop, looking down at each glimmering ring in the display case.

his cheeks blushed as he imagined each one of them on your pretty hands, how could he ever choose?!

he just could not wait to hold your hand, and look down at the ring.

“um, Sir?” the accountant could ask, waving a hand in front of Sae’s face - who was currently spacing out and fantasising about holding your hand.

oh, guess he got caught up thinking about you.

just then, his eyes caught the most beautiful ring. he could practically see the happy face you’d make when he presents it to you!

he wasted no time pointing to the ring, neutral gaze looking back at the woman.

“i want that one.” he says flatly.

no woman other than you deserves to even look at him. how dare that saleslady even talk to him?

(this wasn’t on valentine’s day, but he practically danced out of the shop when he finally bought the ring)

Micheal Kaiser

how bold of you to assume he’d get you something?

jokes!

he bought you a bouquet of blue roses (a little cliche, but you it’s his thing!)

like Sae, he bought you a lot of pretty jewellery.

got you the prettiest piece of clothing, one that would match an outfit he bought for himself.

he absolutely insisted that it was a coincidence.

for lunch, he brought you to a diner he knew you liked - but when you asked, oh you liked this place? he never knew!

made sure to show you off more than usual the whole day, saying things like “they’re the only person worthy of my love” and other egoistical love confessions, if you get what i mean

for dinner, the two of you dressed up in your matching outfits

he practically begged you to be able to do your hair. (he’ll never ever admit it though, not with his ego)

when you were both finally dressed, you went to a party that his team was hosting.

when the two of you got home, he basically fell asleep on you!

“i’m not falling asleep.” he’d huff, unconsciously nuzzling further into your stomach as her hugged your waist. he just … wanted attention.

“sure,” you’d tease, fingers threading through his hair gently. “is that why you’re cuddled up to me right now?”

“ruhig sein,” he’d huff. “or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

ruhig sein = “be quiet” / “pipe down”

you simply giggle at his words, patting his head gently.

“i’m sorry.” you’d pout playfully, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Kaiser had always loved being babied by you.

it was somehow… comforting?

posted a mirror selfie of the two of you, and maybe, just maybe, a photo of your cute smiling face - if i felt like it!

The next morning, Kaiser woke up to his phone buzzing constantly - and you clinging onto his side. he couldn’t help but bask in the glory of being so famous. he had a pretty person next to him in bed and his post has most likely gone viral once again.

he reached over to the side table and picked his phone up, u locking it quickly to read the comments left on his newest post - which was of the two of you yesterday.

“best couple!” “they’re made for each other.” “y/n looks so pretty!” “they’re matching!?”

was very excited to have so many compliments.

he realised that he gets a lot more when he posts photos of you

288 notes · View notes

navyhyuck · 1 year

Text

how many times? — 2.3k words, choi yeonjun

warnings: explicit marijuana usage, shotgunning, kissing, so incredibly suggestive and so much sexual tension, stoner!yeonjun, sorta mutual pining/bff2l idk, reader gets a little goofy

a/n: my comeback!! honestly i was high writing this because what the fuck. i got so carried away. anyway @itgirlgyu (i hope it's ok i tagged u hehe) wrote the most lovely little thing and getting shotgunned by yj would most def lead to.. something :> so thank you for the inspo! also pls don’t smoke kids, i would let only yeonjun absolutely demolish my respiratory system. tagging kai @channoticedmeuwu bc … yes! <3 (yes it’s not soobin but he’s otw ok). listen to often by the weeknd for ultimate vibes!

you’ve decided that you absolutely love the way yeonjun rolls his joints.

there’s nothing special about it, of course. you’ve watched him countless times, folding the rolling paper with hazed concentration, carefully packing the perfectly grounded weed inside. it’s the stupid sleeveless shirt he insisted on wearing today, stolen from soobin’s closet after a fifteen minute banter—as you’re told, because it’s ‘too hot outside’ to wear a short-sleeved t-shirt instead.

his arms are bare, smooth skin stealing the attention of your gaze the moment you walked into his apartment a few minutes ago, and you still haven’t gotten over it. not when yeonjun rolls the unfinished joint between his fingers, involuntarily flexing his forearms as he does so, flitting his eyes towards you as he asks in question to your silence, “you good?”

perfect. you simply nod, untrusting of your words at the moment. he smiles lightly, getting back to work as you let your eyes wander once again, finding yourself caught up on your friend a lot more than you usually do.

that’s not to say you haven’t thought about him in the past, when he’s invited you over to sit on the overpriced outdoor furniture outside on his balcony, sporting a handsome smile and tousled hair, getting you higher than taehyun’s gummies ever have. the other boy swears his working on increasing his milligram count, but you think it’s a little more than that.

you’re on-your-knees, borderline inappropriately attracted to yeonjun; clearly, considering you watch a little too intently as he raises the joint upwards, licking a quick stripe to seal the paper. fuck, if you leaned in just a bit closer, you could waft the addictive cologne he’s rubbed on his neck, one you gifted him on his birthday last year, and maybe it’d get you off in ways you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about.

yeonjun finally lights the joint, slowly rotating it in his fingers as he does so, sharp eyes focused on perfection. it was hard to believe how much he cared how intentionally his joints were lit (price inflation?).

a gentleman as always, he places the joint to your lips with a gentle expression of want to go? and you couldn’t imagine saying no to him.

how could you? pretty boy perched next to you, legs spread in such an inviting position—you’ve almost lost it already. eyelashes fluttering, you inhale deeply, trying to ignore the way his fingertips pressing lightly at your lips, keeping the smoke contained from the very beginning. you wonder how his lips would feel on yours, maybe for a little longer than you should.

when he pulls away, you lull your head back, your body slumping, easily enamoring yourself in the sudden joust of pleasure. it makes you forget where you are momentarily, giggling in a daze as you part your lips, letting the smoke leave your mouth.

“all that with one hit?” yeonjun teases, and your eyes meet his with a roll of annoyance. there’s a smirk dancing on his lips, playfully as you watch the smoke bellow around him, slowly releasing from the corner of his mouth. always so fucking pristine, a perfectionist if you will.

“it’s been a long day,” you say in response, furrowing your eyebrows as the boy shrugs, passing off the joint. “remember how my manager told me to recruit another intern for our team?”

“hmm,” he hums, running a hand through his hair as he watches you inhale again, relaxing your head back as you always do. he finds it so innocent, the way your jaw relaxes as the weed takes its effect, and your lips, as inviting and plump as always, opens only to the smoke.

there’s a sort of numbing feeling, either from watching your jaw slack, mouth open, eyes closed with a string of dense fog surrounding your face or simply the high he’s slowly losing to watching you. it’s almost intoxicating, how you tilt your head to him, small smile lining your lips, offering him another hit as you continue speaking.

“i referred taehyun, you know,” your eyes are narrowed now, gazing nearly shamelessly at yeonjun when he’s unsuspecting. “dude’s got a fucking stellar resume. but they hired this other guy instead, and he’s just been following me around like he’s my intern.”

“yeah? what’s he like?”

sharp eyes trail on you carefully, watching intently as you subconsciously dart out your tongue, licking along your bottom lip before going off on one of your usual ramblings. it’s so easy to get lost in the way you look, yeonjun thinks, especially when he’s slowly prodding a ‘wow’ or ‘no way’ into your rants every so often, just so you don’t get so caught up in the way he’s absolutely undressing you with his eyes.

he can’t help it, you’ve always been so difficult to be around after a certain hour at night; when the clock strikes midnight and he hears, from a distance, the university bells signaling the arrival of tomorrow, you take his invitations with open arms, spreading your legs on his couch and marking your spot. it’s not as though he spends his time smoking in pg rating with other girls at 2 a.m. anyway, that’s all reserved for you.

the dark-gray shorts and white t-shirt combination is maybe his favorite ever, he thinks, as you suddenly flail your arms up in sudden annoyance, screaming about some ‘and he fucking asks me again!’, the uneven hem of your shirt riding up slightly, exposing the smallest sliver of skin. yeonjun’s mind wanders to where you might’ve gotten this shirt; maybe he should ask you before he tears it off of you.

yeah, maybe it’s time for another hit.

and your voice blurs more than it did before, surprisingly, sounding increasingly more attractive with every word that leaves your mouth. yeonjun’s dazed, drunk on how you lean towards him, chest forward before your face, reaching to grab his joint with your perfect, graceful fingers. in a split second, he moves it out of your reach, smiling lazily when your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“want me to shotgun you?” he asks with a tilt of his head, words spilling from his mouth impulsively. your forehead smoothes at the question, maybe a little too casually for his liking, and you shrug a nonchalant sure. “i–have we done this before?” he’s got to be crazy, he’s never lost his memory smoking weed ever in his lifetime.

“no,” you’re trying to search his eyes, “hmm, taehyun’s shotgunned me before, though.”

the innocent shining of your eyes paired with your response has yeonjun suddenly giggling, making him place a hand over his mouth as if it would mask anything. oh, he hadn’t known you could be this cute, whining lightly as you question his laughter. when he catches his breath finally, planting his sight back on you, he simply pats the seat right beside him, “come here, i’ll show you.”

you’re quick to oblige, your body buzzing from the marijuana in your bloodstream, keeping you warm even as a cool breeze blows by. yeonjun’s presence is ever-so comforting, more so than ever, and you nearly have to hold yourself from resting your head against his shoulder. with parted lips in unadulterated awe, you watch as the dark-haired boy takes a long drag, the simple motion appearing astonishingly alluring. you’re hooked on deep, and there’s nothing to save you.

but when yeonjun turns towards you, suddenly holding the side of your face–thumb pressing down on your bottom lip to keep your mouth open, and moves impossibly close, you practically freeze.

heart in your throat, his eyes beckon you to fill in the gap, never faltering. when you shuffle close enough, cautiously grabbing onto his forearm—you can almost taste the ghost of his lips, barely an inch away—he exhales straight into your mouth.

oh…your eyes flutter shut at the soft sensation, your fingertips pressing tightly into his arm as you let the high course through your body. maybe it’s because you’ve already taken too many hits (how many times?), but the intimacy has you buckling down even faster, the rate possibly record-breaking in guinness terms.

yeonjun’s waiting when you open your eyes, nearly blowing the excess smoke right into his face, yet he isn’t fazed. it wouldn’t matter anyway, no, you could do anything to him and he’d take it without hesitation.

“wow,” you mutter, laughing breathlessly as your friend plasters on a stunning smile. “yeah, i definitely haven’t done that before.”

good. taehyun would be dead otherwise. his hand’s found solace resting on your thigh (when did it get here?), barely grasping at the flesh with nimble fingers. the material of your shorts are soft against his skin, loosely covering you, reminding him of just how easy it would to simply tug—

“can i try?” yeonjun’s fighting inner demons at this rate, testing the deep levels of his self control. he lets you do as you will (of course, why not?), eyes widening when you shift onto your knees, cautiously placing one in between in his legs. he’s gripping on your waist now—just lightly in case you’re overwhelmed, hoping he doesn’t look incredulous with the way he stares at you taking another hit, absolutely enamored with every move you make.

there’s a flash of desire in the way your pupils dilate, suddenly hyper-fixated on your best friend’s exposed arms. it’s driving you crazy, your mind wandering back and forth—palm grazing up his bicep, feeling the taut muscle beneath your fingers. yeonjun’s gaze wanders on you, quietly leaning forward and putting out the joint against the ashtray.

you’re looking down at him now, hovering over him in a less than platonic way, glancing between his eyes and lips. opening his mouth, he guides your jaw back towards him, warping you in far too close than the previous time. everything is so heightened, senses tingling from the ends of your finger to your nose—which barely brushes his—and you exhale.

you’re a natural, yeonjun thinks, from how you don’t let your stream falter, giving him a high just as well as yours. as you finish, you realize you’ve moved your hand to grip at the junction between his shoulder and neck, leaving slightly reddened marks against his skin.

“sorry,” you mumble, trying to rub them away, but yeonjun merely brushes it off, instead pressing your hand back against him. “i didn’t mean to…”

you lose your voice to the dead of the night, faltering when he runs his thumb back over your bottom lip, eyes scanning your face. when you all but gape at him, he takes it as his invitation to yank you down, crashing your lips against him.

he’s kissing you feverishly, desperate for the way you let out the slightest sound of surprise before surrendering completely, finding it more than difficult to keep you perched above him. your legs are spread over him, nearly lewd in the way you press up against him, drinking him up to the very last drop.

even when you lean back, disoriented from how the world around you spins miraculously, grinning from ear to ear, yeonjun pulls you back. licking into your mouth, begging for anything physical, feeling you up from the sides. oh.

“yeonjun,” you’re panting, dodging him lightly as he tries to chase you. blinking dazingly, your fingers find purchase in his dark locks, gripping a lot harder than you would’ve done sober. “jun—i didn’t know you liked me like that. i thought we were just friends.”

you’re giggling under your breath as he groans, now tightly wrapping both arms around your waist. it’s so contagious, how your smile lights up your entire face, and he can’t help but match your expression. “what am i meant to do, y/n? have you seen yourself?”

you scrunch up, now gazing at your hands as if you’ve never experienced them before. “i’m seeing myself…”

yeonjun clicks his tongue, gathering your attention with a humorous look on his face. “fucking gorgeous, right?” you start giggling again, shying away when he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“mm, but you’re hot,” you all but whine, overcome with confidence when you lean in, molding your mouth against his with an adrenaline-filled fervor. hands run down the sides of yeonjun’s neck, circling around until you’re grasping at him. you gasp while he delivers the smallest licks to your lips, taking advantage of your open mouth.

he sucks on your tongue—such an obscene action in your usual book, yet you can’t care. laughter racks up through your chest when his impulses get the best of him, sinking his teeth into your tongue hard enough to elicit the most indecent sound.

you’re lucky you’re high, or else you’d be doubling over in embarrassment at your behavior. you’d have to thank yeonjun for getting you stoned later.

“hey,” he calls for you, thumb caressing your cheek, “you’ll let me kiss you after this, right?”

you climb off of him, much to his dismay—laying down against the cushions, stretching your legs, opening your arms—grinning up at your friend. shirt riding up, exposing your midriff as you make a show of your position, nudging him with your legs.

he's giving in to your beckoning, palms grazing your thighs, gripping and tugging, slotting between your legs. caging you in with his arms, you woo dramatically at his biceps, pecking at the skin with quiet giggles. “yeonjun…”

he hums, admiring you softly, desire and longing lingering behind his eyes.

“you can have me anyway you want,” you whisper, igniting a fire in his stomach, roping him down in your embrace with a tantalizing kiss. now tangled amongst you, prying mindlessly at clothing that seems so unnecessary in the moment.

oh, that’s something he’ll have in his mind forever.

#yeonjun x reader #yeonjun imagines #choi yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x y/n #txt x reader #txt x y/n #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun scenarios #choi yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun fanfic #txt fluff #txt suggestive #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt angst #i hope this shows up in tags if not i'll...

1K notes · View notes

kasagia · 18 days

Note

Can you give us a little sneak peak for the next part

My twodear anonymous and @hanadays1234, thank you so much! 😊🖤🩵

Yes, I can. And since I wrote all my exams, I only focus on writing. 🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵

Nope 🤭🙈 🩵🖤🖤🩵

24.05 Friday or 27.05 Monday. (I have nothing written except what I will give you right now)

Also, who binge watched Bridgerton season 3 and now get inspiration for the new series (for Feyd, I showed you once) instead on focus on the Right Hand? 🤡🙈

Anyway... sneak peak:

Feyd rarely felt pain he didn't like. The years spent on Giedi Prime—or rather, years of enduring his uncle's methods of making him a true Harkonnen, his worthy successor—made Feyd love pain. He found pleasure in it—something he had to learn if he wanted to survive.

But it didn't bring him any satisfaction or pleasure when you pierced his chest with one of his swords. He feels pure pain. Anger, betrayal, and hurt.

He hates the way he falls limply to his knees in front of you. He hates that he still looks at you like you're a saint. He hates that he hopes you'll at least look him in the eyes, as if that would bring him some kind of salvation. He hates how lost he feels now and how he's slowly losing awareness of his surroundings. He hates that even though you stabbed him, all he can do is stare at you, clinging to the sight of you more than to his life.

"This will be the beginning of a wonderful alliance, Lady Y/N."

He feels you unhook your poisoned dagger from his arm. Feyd thinks you're doing it to finish him off. Poetically kill him with the weapon he gave you. He closes his eyes and waits for the final stab or throat slit. But nothing like that happens. He doesn't have the strength to turn around and see exactly what you're doing, but your words alone are enough for him to imagine the scene that is happening behind him.

"I may not be a Harkonnen, but I've picked up a few of their habits. If you want an agreement between us, show me your hand." After your words, he can hear a hiss from Atreides when you plunge the dagger into your joined hands, piercing them both through.

Feyd would have laughed mockingly if he hadn't spent all his energy on breathing slowly. He remembered explaining to you how contracts, such as arranged marriages, were sealed on Giedi Prime. The Harkonnens shook hands and pierced them with swords, thus signing a blood pact. This also applied to marriages and other such things. Blood bound them stronger than any words or signatures on paper. He cursed himself for the fact that, seeing your scared face at his words, he withdrew from this idea and decided to make a verbal agreement between you. He should be the one to bind you with his blood, not Atreides.

The steel in his body rubs against his lower ribs, but it does not damage any major organs. He tries to keep the sword in the exact same position you stuck it in, but he feels like he's going to faint from all the pain, the blood, and the fear for you that he feels now.

You made him so weak that even after you stabbed him, all he could think about was your safety and your well-being. Every shaky breath he took, every slow beat of his heart as he fought to stay conscious—it was all for you.

He just hoped like hell that you weren't lying a few moments ago, that this would all turn out to be just one of your games, and that you would soon end Atreides' life. But it's not like that.

"Let this blood be a symbol of our union." Your sweet, dangerous whisper reaches Feyd's ears.

He's raging with powerlessness and anger. That Atreides dog didn't deserve to mix his blood with yours. Only Feyd should be able to do this. Only his black blood should merge with your crimson, staining your joined hands as you swore allegiance to each other. His heart hurts more than the wound you gave him as he imagine how you and this desert rat are now echanging each other's blood.

If he hadn't been placed in such a vulnerable state by you, he would have ripped Atreides' heart out with his bare hands for daring to mix his blood with yours. A cold shiver runs down his spine at the thought of Atreides connecting with you in yet another way. A way Feyd was robbed too many times.

He tries to get up, but he doesn't have enough strength. All he can do is place his hands on the floor, trying to take the weight off his torso. The blade scratching his flesh bothers him much less than the fact that Atreides has the nerve to touch you or that you're blatantly ignoring him while playing whatever game you're playing right now.

"Leave him to me. I want… to repay him for all these years of fulfilling his wishes."

(...)

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #writing problems #thanks anon!#anon ask

111 notes · View notes

lenathekiller · 9 months

Text

*~Filling the Loneliness~*

A Buggy x gn!reader

Tags: mix of angst, smut and fluff basically, a bit of voyeurism too

A/n: excuse mistakes I'm very rusty at writing but this damn clown has a chokehold on my mind. I wrote this with LABuggy in mind but it could fit Anime buggy as well tbh. The only derogatory word the user is called is sl*t and it's only used once.

Word count: 6683

It was just another day of work, managing the costume shop that you'd come to own somehow. It was a relatively good sized shop, selling a variety of clothing one might use for performances or wear to the masquerade themed parties the town held every week.

Your little costal town had been unofficially deemed a safe space for pirates to come dock without having to worry about being captured for bounty or fought off by other pirates. Hence why the town threw celebrations themed around casting aside one's identity to just enjoy a night of drinking and having fun without a worry for their own safety.

You never cared to attend the celebrations, instead using the time to do trivial tasks around the shop like checking inventory or working on new masks or makeups to sell. You were doing such right now infact.

Behind the counter you sat, working on some paperwork you needed to finish, calculating what had sold best this week compared to last week.

"Welcome in!" You called out when you heard the squeaking of the shop's old door opening, but did not glance up to check whom had come in. "I'll be with you in a moment, feel free to look around and let me know if you need any assistance finding what you need."

Footsteps approached the counter followed by the creaking of someone leaning against the counter across from you. "Actually doll you can help me, I came to get my usual order of things. So where's ole Petey?"

Keeping your eyes still glued to your papers you continued to work as you replied. "That old coot's dead. Died bout 3 weeks ago after drinking himself into a damn stupor and falling into the sea. So I'm in charge of this place now unfortunately, seeing as I was his only employee."

You heard a chuckle "That damn old man. I tried to warn him something would happen but I suppose he got what he deserves after partying too hard even at his old age."

"Got that right. Sure he was a good boss but the bastard drank more than any pirate that visits town." You scoffed finishing up your work and setting it aside. Finally looking up you instantly recognized the man before you. "Now how can I help- oh it's you."

The man stood up straight, fixing his coat proudly with a grin. "I see you know of the Great and flashy Buggy. Of course you would, I mean who wouldn't?"

Placing a hand on your hip as you stood from your seat, smiling back at the Clown pirate. "The boss never seemed to shut up about you, constantly talking about how you were his best customer.... amongst other things I'd rather not repeat."

His face fell a bit at your hinting of the old owner saying less than honorable things about him.

"Don't worry, I never took his rambling of you to heart. He was always a cranky drunkard who'd complain about anything or anyone he could." You reached over and patted Buggy on the shoulder reassuringly, before motioning to the backroom with a thumb. "Thankfully that man made notes about his regulars preferences so I'll be right back. Just gonna go grab em real quick so I can get you what you need without all the hassle of you having to explain your likes and dislikes of products to me."

The tall clown gave a nod, watching you disappear into the back of the shop. Taking the opportunity to glance around at the stock around him, mentally taking note of what had changed since he'd last been here about 3 months ago.

After a few minutes you returned holding his wanted poster, reading the scrawling of notes written on the back of it. "Let's see, looks like you prefer the typical Circus clown makeup, of course long lasting and as smudge proof as possible. Though we don't carry one of these brands anymore...-" You were deep in thought now mumbling as you moved around the shop grabbing the items noted on Buggy's preference sheet.

The said Clown Pirate stood leaning on the front counter, watching you zip around like a little mouse searching for all the usual products he buys. He had to admit you looked quite cute all worked up and focused on your job like that.

"The only thing we don't have from this list is the white face paint, but have no fear my good man for you're in luck." You placed down the small basket of products before him. You gave a small 'boop' to his nose with your finger before proudly crossing your arms. "I happen to make my own white face paint, and am willing to give you my latest batch if your interested."

"Oh really? And just what do you know about clown makeup little shop keep?" He asked you smugly, with a smirk

"A lot more than you think bozo. I was a mime for ten years, hence my fashion sense idiot." You gestured to yourself and your choice of clothing.

He admittedly hadn't really paid attention to what exactly you were wearing, more distracted by your actions and words. Though now he could see you were wearing black pants, that were doing wonders to make your thighs look great, and a oversized longsleeved striped black and white shirt, with some subtle mime makeup. "Huh. I hadn't even noticed."

You stood there silent for a second, before reaching up to pat his cheek a bit mockingly. "It's a good thing your attractive, cause you sure aren't that observant are ya bud?"

The man was thrown off guard at the fact you'd just complimented him, albeit also insulting him along with it. Usually he's the one being somewhat cheeky and flirty to others with no prevail, but here you were just casually complimenting him like it was nothing.

You moved back behind the counter, pulling a container of white paint, a handheld mirror, a few brushes as well as sponges, and a damp rag. "Well here let me show you just what I actually know about clown makeup."

Before Buggy could even process what was going on, you'd already snatched his head off his shoulders, now holding it between your hands. "Hey- Just what do you think your doing?!" He spat out at you in an annoyed tone, head already trying to wiggle free from your grasp.

"Take it easy hot stuff, you're too tall for me to do your makeup if your standing. I'm simply making this easier for both of us." You took a seat in your chair, laying Buggy's head on your lap between your thighs so he was facing upwards. "If you're a good boy who stays still I may even give you treat."

"Forward aren't we? Already putting my head between your legs and I've only just met you. I mean I know I'm flashy and all but I didn't realize I was having such an affect on you babe." He teases as the both of blush a bit at the position your in.

"Oh shut up, fool. Only in your dreams would your head actually be allowed between my legs in such a sinful manner." You cut off any reply he could give by begining to gently wipe the makeup off his face with the damp rag you'd pulled out previously. You made sure not to rub too hard as you scrubbed his face clean, though the red on his nose wasn't coming off at all.

He picked up on your confusion, rolling his eyes and sighing a bit annoyed. "That's not makeup sweetheart. My nose is just naturally big and red."

You smiled sheepishly. "Heh, sorry. I knew it was your natural nose I just didn't think it was naturally red as well."

"Yea yea, crack your jokes now about it so I don't have to hear them later" His eyes were looking elsewhere as he spoke, avoiding your gaze as much as he could.

You paused, looking into his eyes till he eventually gave in, making eye contact with you. "Why would I joke about something you can't control or change about yourself?"

"Cause everyone else does so why wouldn't you as well?" He stated matter of factly, while studying your gaze, seeing a flash of hurt for him in your eyes.

"Well, I'm not everyone else." Shifting your gaze to look at his nose for a second, and smiling faintly as you spoke. "In fact I think it's cute to be honest. Seeing it up close somewhat makes me want to give you a kiss right on it."

Buggy was well and truly lost for words now, just a blushing mess that was forced to look right at you. You just let him stay like that, giggling softly at his cheeks that seemed to be almost as red as his nose, before you finally gave him some sort of mercy by applying new makeup to his warmed face. The both of you stayed silent during the whole thing, you concentrating on the paint you were applying to Buggy's face as his head laid there in your lap, him studying every inch of your face as you worked.

He had to admit he was trying to memorize every little detail of your face, from the color of your eyes, to every little twitch of your lips while you focused, the way your tongue would poke out slightly and brow furrowed when you were painting thinner lines. He was trying to savor this moment while he could, knowing there was never a moment like this before nor would he ever possibly experience anything like this again. No one was or ever would treat him with such care and attention as you were currently, this truly was a once in a lifetime thing for him and he wanted to remember it forever.

Eventually you finished, putting down the paint brushes, and lifting the clowns head up in your hands to admire your masterpiece. A smile formed on your lips as you stood, moving to reunite Buggy's head to his body again and handed him the handheld mirror.

"Pretty good huh?" You spoke as he looked at your handy work.

You did the exact same look he had on before but there was a noticeable difference between his work and yours. His makeup had looked more messy and somewhat smudged before, as if he practically lived in it, where as now the lines were crisp and colors vibrant. He looked like a clown people would smile and laugh with, no longer one people feared instantly.

"Damn sweetheart, you're even better with your hands than I thought." He teased as he handed you back the mirror, giving you a wink and click of his tongue.

You winked back at him with a smirk. "Don't give me all the credit, I mean I had quite the attractive canvas to work with."

"You seem to really enjoy flattering me." His head cocked curiously at you "Or are you just this flirty with all your customers?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, starting to clean up the counter and repackage the products you used on him. "Nah, just you Buggy. I guess you could say I have a thing for clowns."

A floating hand grabbed your chin gently, guiding your gaze back to it's owner, whom was now leaning in dangerously close to your face. "Hmm, well too bad for you. I don't have a thing for chatty mimes."

He could have sworn your gaze had flicked to his lips for a moment before you licked your own, but he'd chalk it up to his desperately lonely mind imagining things. The hand let you go, reattaching itself as Buggy stepped back, away from the counter. You took a minute to snap back to reality, then went back to packing up his order.

The pirate began to roam a little, looking at all the different costumes and masks you had displayed around the shop. Maybe he could get a few new outfits for some of the crew before they all head back out to sea in a few days. Hell maybe he'd get himself a new flashier coat too, one that would really wow the audience when he makes his grand entrance every night.

"Got everything you need packed up and ready for you. Did you want to get anything else?" Your voice pulling him from his thoughts and luring him back over to you.

"Was thinking bout a new coat, something flashy, but I'll hold off till tomorrow on that." He spoke, pulling out a few coins to pay you with.

"Oh good! So I will get to see you again." A smile formed on your lips as you took the payment and slid the box of merchandise over to him.

"Of course! I would never deny a fan from seeing my greatness up close in person." He takes a dramatic bow towards you, before placing one hand over his heart. "What kind of performer would I be if I did such a thing?"

You just laughed at his theatrics, shaking your head a bit.

He grabs the box off the counter and headed to the door, turning to bid you farewell. "You've been a wonderful audience, but it's time for me to take my grand exit unfortunately."

"Farewell Captain Buggy. I'll be waiting patiently till your next performance." You give a small round of applause for him as he leaves.

You stand there for a minute or two, replaying the whole interaction in your head, letting out a frustrated cry when you realize something. "FUCK! I NEVER TOLD HIM MY NAME!!"

"Didn't tell whom your name?" A voice says, causing you to jump.

Turning you see famed pirate Mihawk, you jump once more. "Ah! Sorry sir! I didn't hear you come in, my apologies."

"It's quite alright, I will not fault you for being so lost in thought in your own store." He stoically dismissed your concerned apology, removing his hat and placing it on the counter. "I seem to have gotten a bit careless earlier and somehow got a cut in my hat. Am I correct to assume this is the place I can get it fixed up nicely and quickly?"

Looking at the mentioned cut you assessed it was something that you could indeed repair, and quite quickly. "Yes, I do not believe this will take me that long to patch up, and I'll make it as unnoticeable as possible of course. Give me about an hour and I'll have it good as new sir."

"Very good, I shall be back then." He gave a curt nod before leaving, and as soon as he was out the door, you immediately set to work on fixing the hole in his hat.

After one hour had past exactly, Mihawk came strolling back in, gaining the attention of the few locals that had come in to browse.

"Perfect timing I finished a mere moment ago." You handed him back his hat, watching as he inspected your craftsmanship intensely.

A smirk cracked on his lips as he glanced back up at you. "Very well done, you can not even tell it is there unless you look extremely closely at it. Of course no one will ever be close enough for that, so you have my thanks." He placed a hefty amount of money in your hands before leaving.

"Whoa! That guy's intense!" One of locals muttered as they came to the counter.

"Yes he is, but thankfully I was able to do a good repair job." You replied, starting to ring up the items they'd set down.

"He seemed quite pleased with your work, maybe he'd be willing to dance with ya at the celebration tonight." Someone else chimed in, as they got in line to be rung up.

"Don't be ridiculous. That man is much too serious for my liking, I'd feel on edge the whole time." You shuttered slightly at the thought. "I never go to any of the parties in town anyways, but even if I did I'd rather spend my time around someone more akin to Buggy honestly."

A scoff could be heard, followed by a disgusted toned response. "Really that loser? He's a pretty sorry excuse for a pirate don't ya think?"

A few other insults and comments were thrown in agreement by others in the shop.

"HEY, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" You shouted, causing everyone to jump and go quiet. "If y'all want to shit talk that man then: GET.. OUT..OF..MY..SHOP!" you put emphasis on those last words, pointing your gaze to each person, whom was just talking, with each word.

A few people gulped in fear at what you might do if they say anything more.

"Captain Buggy is a highly valued customer here, so if you want to run your mouths like that about him in front of me then there will not only be hell to pay, but you will also be banned from my shop for life."

Everyone remained silent and somewhat timid of you until they left the store thankfully.

God did that get you're blood boiling, and you weren't entirely sure why. Maybe it was the fact that the clown had just been in here early and then suddenly everyone's throwing around insults about him. Or maybe it was more so the fact that Buggy had wormed into your heart quite easily during the earlier interaction you'd had with him. Whatever it was, it caused you to be uncharacteristically protective of someone other than yourself or the few people you were actually fairly close to. He was risking his life out at sea, putting on showy performances of a lifetime, while everyone in town here just partied and got drunk constantly, yet they'd all looked down upon Buggy in distain.

Shaking your head clear of your thoughts, you began to occupy your time by sketching ideas and designs for costume pieces you could make to sell. Eventually you found yourself drafting up some designs for a flashy coat you'd think a certain blue haired pirate captain might not only enjoy but also look great in.

The squeaking of the door could be heard, pulling you from your current sketching, you looked up to find Buggy back in the shop.

Your face instantly lit up with a smile upon seeing him. "Hey there handsome, I thought you wouldn't be back till tomorrow."

He smiled back at you, making his way over to lean on the counter across from you. "Well what can I say? I was craving the love of an audience... well that and I realized you never gave me that treat for being a 'good boy' like you said earlier."

"Oh and just what kind of treat would the marvelous Buggy the Clown like?" You stood up, making your way around the counter to stand in front of him, placing your hands on your hips. "Maybe something like a free pair of gloves, or a discount on one of the pricer costume pieces, or maybe even a specially made mask that will fit around your cute nose?" At the mention of his nose you gave it a small 'boop' with your finger.

He gently grabbed the hand you used to tap his nose, holding in his as he looked into your eyes. "Actually I was more so hoping for that kiss you claimed you wanted to give me. Ya know the one you you said you want to give me on my nose you seem to like so much."

"Oh-" You were caught off guard a bit, in a good way however as it caused you to blush. "I suppose I can do that, yea.."

A wide smile grew on his face as you placed your hands on his shoulders, leaning up to place a small kiss to his bulbus red nose. You'd only pulled back a few inches away from his face, looking into his eyes for a moment before a mutual pull had you both leaning back in and connecting your lips. It was a sweet kiss, that lasted for what felt like hours but was probably only a minute or two in reality, though it left you both speechless for a moment.

"Uh wow, I um- wasn't expecting that sorry." Buggy said, breaking the calm silence you'd been in.

"Heh, yea me either, but I enjoyed it so don't apologize." You slid your hands up to cup his cheeks on either side of his head. Something felt weird though when you did. "Uh not to ruin the moment but you seem to be missing an ear..."

A nervous chuckle came from him. "Heh, about that..." He stopped speaking for a moment a bit embarrassed as his missing ear seemed to zip out of your back pocket and back to his head. "I kind of left it here earlier."

"When did you put that there?" You were more shocked at how it got his ear into your pocket without you knowing, than you were mad at him for seemingly spying on you.

"I did it while you were distracted with my theatrics of leaving." He smiled sheepishly. "I heard you defending my honor so to speak and felt bad about the whole spying thing after that so I decided to come back."

"Hmm, if you say so~" You squinted at him, being jokingly skeptical of his words.

"I'm willing to make up for the spying in anyway you want." He held his hands up, seemingly in a playful surrender.

You faked thinking really hard for a moment, before smiling and giving your response. "I suppose you can give me another kiss, then I'll forgive you."

A shit-eating grin plastered itself across Buggy's face, while his hands now detached pulled you close to him by your waist. "Oh that I'd me more than happy to do."

The two of you shared in another sweet kiss, this one with a bit more passion pouring from both of you. Neither of you wanted to be the first to pull away, though eventually when your lips had parted from each other's you remained there holding each other still.

A pit started to form in your stomach, the kiss was great sure but you hardly knew him. For all you know he could have a spouse and kids somewhere, yet here you were openly flirting and kissing him without even a second thought. There'd always been a sort of loneliness in you, always craving the love of another but never being able to find it. You had small flings during the time you were a mime, ridding yourself of that lonely feeling for short periods with the fleeting intimacy of your fellow performers. Though it had grown especially harder since you had moved here, to fight off that ache, no longer having the trusted company of others, only visiting pirates that brought danger with them and the townsfolk who only ever seem to care about partying their troubles away.

Then Buggy came in and you couldn't help latching on to the hope that those rumors of him being less of a threatening force were correct. Thinking he might be easier to approach, that he wouldn't be a threat to your own safety, and you could use him easily to fill that void again for at least the night. There would be no worry about catching feelings considering he only comes for supplies every few months from what you'd heard, and he surely would or has met others who catch his eye far better than you ever could.

It was all starting to make you feel guilty the more you thought about it. "I'm sorry Buggy."

His expression flushed with confusion. "Huh? What are you apologizing for?"

"I'm sorry that I don't fear you." You moved out of his grasp slowly, gaze now shifted to the floor.

More confusion. "How is that a bad thing exactly?"

A sigh escaped from you, back now facing the puzzled pirate. "Every other pirate that comes to town leaves me feeling on edge. Sure this town might be big on reputations not mattering here but I can't help but fear for my life around the few pirates that do come in to this little shop. You must have heard the fear I felt earlier over Mihawk's visit, yet I was completely at peace when I saw you. I guess I let the gossip people say about you being less threatening or less strong as others affect how I saw you. I kind of used you somewhat for my own selfish desires today or was at least planning on to."

"What do you mean by that exactly?" You couldn't read his emotion in his voice and you dated not look back at him.

"I've always longed to experience love but I never have been able to. I use to sleep around with my fellow performers to chase off my feelings of loneliness, though I can't do that anymore since I've moved to this town. The pirates bring too much uncertainty with them and the locals are all a bunch of careless party animals, but you've been described as somewhat of a push over. In my subconscious I guess I thought I could use you like a toy to make myself feel better with out caring about your own feelings since we're both pathetic cowards." As you spoke tears began softly falling from your eyes, causing your own makeup to become a mess. "I was wrong to think that though, and I realized it after you kissed me again. You don't deserve to be treated so poorly, especially not by me. I'm sorry Buggy for thinking so little of you, when in reality you are far greater than me."

Silence. No response from the man came, only the sound of you sniffing filled the air for what seemed like forever. Though finally detached gloved hands came to rest on your shoulders, snaking their way up your neck to cup your cheeks and wipe away your tears. Handless arms wrapping themselves around your waist from behind as Buggy's head floated Infront of you, looking into your eyes.

"It's okay sweetheart, there's no need to get so worked up over lil ole me. in all honesty I can't blame you or hate you at all for wanting to use me. I mean I would have used you right back." A bit of guilt hid behind his gaze, a small comforting smile on his painted lips. "I know I'm the great Buggy the Clown, but I'm in the exact same boat as you. Searching selfishly for small cures to fix the deep desire of wanting to be loved by someone. I've honestly used so many random people along my journey, never caring how'd they feel when I'd be gone the next day, never to see any of them again. There's no telling if I'd have ended up doing the same to you or not."

Staying there you a moment, both of you processing what you'd each admitted to, you could help but feel drawn to him again. Even if it was wrong of you to do considering all you'd said just now, you couldn't help but to reach up to cup his floating head, guiding his face towards yours again before kissing him.

"I'm sorry, i-" You started, but he cut you off.

"Don't be.." He said, connecting his lips back to yours again.

The kiss quickly turned passionate, it was clear that you both need this right now and there would be no resistance from either one of you. When you'd broken apart for a moment to catch your breaths, Buggy took the chance to spin you around and put himself together again. Now that your chests were pressing together, he recaptured your lips as one hand flew over to lock the shop's door and flip the sign to closed, before coming back to join the other hand in grabbing your ass. Your own hands found their way to his shoulders, one moving to his back as the other moved to softly tug off his bandana.

Tangling your fingers into his soft blue hair, few groans escaped him when you dared to tug at it. The sound only served to light a quickly growing fire of desire in you, which lead you to tug his hair some more in order to gain another few groans from him.

"Damn you really like my hair don't you?" He teased, trailing kisses down to your neck now, finding your sweet spot quickly, nibbling and sucking on it. "Though it's not fair I'm the only one making noise here."

You moaned at the feeling of his mouth marking up your neck, grinding your hips greedily against his, growing desperate for some form of friction between you two.

"Buggy~ pl-please" You whined a bit and he took the hint, using one of his hands to pin your waist against the counter while the other began to rub over your clothed crotch. He pulled his head away from your neck to watch the faces you were making at his touch. He felt he could watch you all day honestly, the way your eyes had become full of lust and your teeth gnawed on your bottom lip, was so mesmerizing to him. His own arousal and desire blossoming as he watched you try to plead with your eyes for him to touch you more. He maybe a killer but he knew how to be nice when he wanted, and thankfully he chose to play nice tonight by giving you what you wanted.

His hand stopped rubbing against your aching clothed loin, moving to undo your pants and pull them down.

When you tried to push your underwear along with them he stopped you. "No no- not yet." He picked you up, placing you so you were sitting at the edge of the counter, as he kneeled down to place his head between his legs. He started planting little kisses and bites along your thigh leading towards your core untill he was about to plant a kiss directly where you needed his touch the most, but instead switched to the other thigh, doing it over and over again to tease you.

"Captain please quit teasing~" you begged, not knowing how much more his little game you could handle before you'd go insane.

"Alright doll, but only cause you asked so nicely." Finally he removed your last bit of clothing covering your needy sex, planting tender kisses that only served to make you crave him even more.

Gradually he began to use his tongue, licking and sucking in all the right places and in all the right ways, drawing out moans from you, that he could only describe as beautiful. All the little moans, whimpers and curses of his name were music to his ears in all honesty, and he knew once he'd gone back out to sea they would haunt his dreams every night till he saw you again.

Of you in turn would be haunted by the memories of the way his mouth felt on you right now, the way it seemed to be effortlessly drawing you closer to your climax. "Buggy~ 'm close" Your hands tangled themselves in his hair, encouraging him to continue what he was currently doing until you had cum. Thankfully he did, letting you reach your high, then lapping up the mess you'd made without any hesitation.

Once he knew you'd come back down from your orgasm, he stood up and guiding you off the counter where you sat, moving to bend you over it instead. Removing his gloves and undoing his pants, his aching member flew around to your mouth while a few of his fingers began to tease your hole.

"Do me a favor babe, suck on that for me and get it nice and slick with your spit while I make sure your stretched out enough here for me to fit."

He didn't need to tell you twice, instantly you took the floating member into your mouth sucking on it and running your tongue over the tip. You took as much as you could into your mouth and throat, using your hand to spread excess drool over what little bit of length you couldn't. As you worked bobbing your head on his cock, he began to work your hole, starting by slowly inserting two of his digits into you, sliding them in and out a bit before scissoring them carefully inside you, and when he felt you were ready enough he inserted a third digit into the equation.

After a bit when he felt you were stretched out enough, and his dick was thoroughly lubed with your spit, he removed himself from both ends of you. Joining himself back together, he lined himself up with your entrance and slowly pushed in, groans escaping from both of you as he did. His movements were slow and steady to start, letting you get fully accustomed to the feeling of each other.

"Fuck, even with all that preparation your still so tight." He groaned out into your ear, his hands squeezing your hips tightly as he started to speed up his pace a little. "You doing okay? Nothing feels uncomfortable right?"

You shook your head, trying to remember how to speak anything but his name. "No- I'm fine- feels so good Buggy"

He plants a few kisses on your shoulder before he stands himself up straight, quickening his pace more till there's an audible slapping sound of your skin slapping against each other's. Just as you both were getting lost in the pleasure and feel of the other one's body, a knock errupts from the door.

The pair of you glance towards the door, seeing Mihawk standing in the window of it. Without even slowing down his thrusting for a second, Buggy detaches his torso and floats it to the door to answer it.

"What do you need?" You hear the clown ask annoyed, probably glaring daggers at the swordsman.

"I came to talk to the shop keep. I wanted to inquire about replacing the plume of my hat." Mihawk responds unfazed by the current situation.

"Really shit head? You can see were in the middle of something obviously, you couldn't wait till tomorrow to ask?" Buggy crosses his arms, now pissed at the man for interrupting you two over something so stupid. "Get lost, and If you bother me again while I'm fucking their brains out, I will kill you and serve them your heart in a pretty little box. Got it!?" With that he slams the door and relocks it, before his torso makes its way back over to you float Infront of you.

"Mmm~ Fuck that was kinda hot, and I loved the way you threatened him babe." You look up to meet his gaze.

"I know, I felt you clench a bit when I said it." He plants a kiss on your lips. "Now, that he's got me all pissed off I'm sorry but I'm gonna take it out on you. Sorry in advance"

He reconnects his body to his hips, gripping tightly onto your waist before picking up the pace of his thrusting till it's almost painful how quickly he's plunging in and out of you. Your hips are being harshly pressed into the counter's edge by force of his pounding, your brain going numb, only capable of barely forming his name on your lips occasionally or producing various loud groans of pleasure.

Somewhere in the hectic mess of your mind trying to keep ahold of what's going on, you realize you'd cum again, which only furthered the overstimulated mess of pleasure you'd become.

"Nng- Bu-ah-gy~" It was no use, you were desperately trying to beg him to slow down a little but words were far out of your reach in your current state.

"Shhh sweetheart" His removed head came up to rest beside your own to comfort you. "Only a little longer baby, I promise. I'm gonna cum soon and then we can take a break ok? You want me to come in you, right? Want me to make you mine, don't you?"

He weakly nodded in response as he kissed you, your mouths seemingly melding into one.

Finally his hips ceased all movement, burying himself as deep as he could before releasing into you. "Good slut~ see, doesn't it feel so nice to have my cum in you?"

Finally you regained the ability to speak. "Yes~ that was so... wonderful."

"I know it was, we practically had a standing ovation with all the clapping our bodies were making." He joked, removing himself slowly from you. "Now let me help you get cleaned up after that outstanding performance."

"I'd like that. We can go up the stairs in the backroom, I live above the shop." You stood up carefully but when you wobbled a bit Buggy instantly picked you up and carried you up to your bathroom, with the help of your directions. The pair of you bathed, him of course helping you clean and dry yourself off before you both moved to lie on your bed.

"Buggy, will you stay the night with me please?" You rested your head on his chest, curling up into his side.

"Of course. I couldn't even dream of leaving your side right now." He placed a few kisses to the top of your head while one of his hands now comfortingly rubbed your back.

Blissfully you both laid there silent, basking in the soft glow of the moon rising through the night sky and shining through your window. You could both hear the faint noise of people partying in town square, laughing and shouting in drunken glee, it serving as a form of white noise to your thought filled minds.

"Hey Buggy, can I make a proposition, well I guess it's more of a request?" You shifted so you could look into his eyes, that were now seemingly glowing in the low light.

"Sure my starlight. What is it?" A thumb ran over your cheek tenderly.

"Would you be willing to be mine?" You studied his face for a second as he thought. "I know I'm being a bit foolish here but you've filled that lonely void in me more than anyone else ever had. I honestly think I've fallen for you somewhat today and I don't want to lose you. I don't care if we can't see each other for months on end, just please let me selfishly love you for at least a little while and maybe you can even love me too."

Something twinkled in his eyes as you spoke, knowing he felt the same. You'd both lived your lives searching for someone to love, or someone who could love you back and now the two of you were here entwined in bed together. You'd both filled that empty void in each other, chased off the loneliness together and somehow grown attached to the other in less than a day. Even if this was only a fluke, a mistake on your part, Buggy wasn't going to question it in the slightest. You were practically begging for him of all people to love you, of course he wasn't going to deny your love. You were the first person to love him and want to be loved by him, he'd be an idiot if he pushed you away now.

"Of course! I'd give anything to be yours honestly!" He pulled you into a deep kiss, sealing your new relationship with tender passion. When he'd pulled away, the pair of you had eyes filled with joy.

"I do have one request of my own though, besides wanting you to be mine as well."

Curious and excited you nodded for him to continue.

"Can you finally tell me your name at least?"

#one piece live action #buggy x reader #buggy one piece #one piece fanfiction #live action buggy the clown #mine

281 notes · View notes

yourgentlegirlfriend · 1 year

Note

HIHIHIIHI!!! i luv luv LUVVVV your writing!! you're one of my favorite writers on this app fidhuhgseuhsdfsifj ><

may i request some fluff (or smut; whichever you prefer!) with leon wherein the reader is an artist, and she has this lil notebook filled to the brim with sketches (whether that be normal sketches or... spicy ones) of leon but she hasn't shown leon the notebook BUT he ends up finding it and teasing her??

AND (if you DO write it as smut) WHAT IF READER DREW SOME SKETCHES OF SEX POSITIONS AND LEON USES THOSE POSITIONS WHE THEY HAVE SEX!?!??!?!?!? I'M GOING CRAZY OVER THIS THOUGHT RN DJFHSIDFUHIU

keep up the good work with all the writing you do!! you're an amazing writer, and i hope you have a great day :>

Hello my angels!! Thank you guys again for 400 followers im forever grateful for you guys. i was so fond of this little plot i HAD to write but it’s def not my best. Happy monday <3

DISCLAIMER: This is an 18+ blog! If you are underaged or don’t have an age indicator in your bio, please don’t interact!

AFAB Artistic reader x Pre Re4 Leon

Warnings: Leon’s a little tease. Mentions of ripping clothing, couch sex, Leon’s pretty soft in this :)

Word count: 3,050

Meeting Leon was just a lucky coincidence, almost four years ago now. The worst job you swore you’d ever had, but that changed once you met Leon. Instead of typing the files in the computer, your foot tapped against the marble flooring.

“That’s really good.. Do you draw often?”

You slammed your notebook shut, scared your boss had caught you again. Your eyes glanced up to the man peering over the desk, a tight gray t-shirt on and a pair of cargo pants.

“So sorry, sir. Are you here for training?”

Your fingers pressed against the keys of your desktop as you stared up at him, waiting for an answer. He looked like his ego had been beaten down when you didn’t reply to him, nodding his head at you.

“Yeah, um, Kennedy, Leon.”

You wrote his name down on the paper, handing him the small slip with a grin.

———-

She was new, I think. Her hair was pulled into that pretty bun, dazed as ever. Pretty pencil skirt and an off-white long sleeve. Beautiful handwriting, too, Leon’s thumb brushing over the slip in his hand, pulling out his wallet to shove the slip inside.

The next day he hoped you’d be sitting there, looking bored out of your mind. His arm pushed against the heavy glass door; he couldn’t help but smile seeing you at your desk. Why is he smiling?

“Busy day?”

Leon couldn't help but smile as you jumped in your seat, slamming the notebook shut- again. Your little smile tugged at your glossed lips as you held at the pen, scribbling his name.

“Goodbye, Leon.”

Your teasing voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He grabbed the red slip in your hand, dragging the bag off your desk as he walked down the hall again.

——————

For days, even weeks after. Leon would always ensure he showed up early, fascinated by your presence and the way you scribbled his name on the notepad on your desk when he would say something to make you blush.

“Hey, so… remember that sushi restaurant I told you about?”

Leon’s first words as he walks up to the desk, placing his bag on your file as you roll your eyes, nodding up at him as you type something into the computer.

“What about it?”

You ask as you push your rolling chair back, waiting by the printer as it turns on. Your head leans back as you look at him. He looked handsome as ever today. His training was working, that’s for sure, his shoulders being so much broader and his arms becoming so defined with muscle.

“Well, today is my last day of training. Did you want to go out with me as a celebration?”

It wasn’t for celebration; Leon just finally had an excuse to ask you out. Spending almost three months talking to you and getting to know you, yet he has never asked you to dinner. Your face lit up as you rolled back to the computer, stapling the papers together and using it as an excuse to cover the bright red that invaded your cheeks.

“Sure- what time?”

You asked up to him, clearing your throat as your hand rubbed your cheek to make it seem like you weren’t blushing. Cute, Leon thought as his tongue brushed over his bottom lip.

“Seven? I can pick you up.”

Even offering to pick you up? Your heart was in your throat as you nodded shyly, smiling as you wrote your address on a sticky note and handed it to him.

“I’ll be ready.”

You handed him his pass along with the sticky note of your address, his eyes reading over the number over and over before he smiled at you, tapping your desk a few times and walking down the hall as he does every single day.

———-

Why so shaky? The knocking on your door echoed through your living room, your hands brushing through your hair again as you did a small circle in your mirror.

You thanked god you wore heels, quickly glancing through the peephole to see Leon. He made your heart jump just by standing there. You swore he looked you up and down when you opened the door- but this was one-sided. You were so in love with him. Your coworkers make fun of you when you’re on your break, eyes following him from the expansive open training rooms.

Obsession was a strong word- but even you could admit it was getting to the point of obsession. You hoped after he left the facility, you wouldn’t have to see him again, especially since it was his last day, but he just had to ask you to dinner, didn’t he?

“Are you ready?”

Leon asked as he looked around your apartment, scanning all the books on your shelf. You wanted to say yes, but your hand reached up, your eyebrows frowning as you noticed you weren’t wearing the necklace your brother had gotten you.

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be back.”

He couldn’t help but watch you walk down your hallway, fingers tapping at your sides like at work. Snoopy, maybe. His eyes darted down to the notebook on your coffee table. It’s the one you always have on your desk. Light purple with random stickers all over the front and back. His fingers traced over where your name was carved before he looked down to the hall to check if he was clear to look through it. The first few pages are drawings of the statues at work, the plants, yourself, and your glossy lips. His eyebrows frowned at the empty pages, going on for almost five before he finally saw it. His name was written in your pretty cursive; below was the soft sketch of his face, his handsome smile, and the small indent in his chin. Sketch after sketch of him leaning over your desk with the cheekiest smile.

The next page sketches his lips, his tongue darting out slightly through the corner in one and pressed together in another. Sketches of the way his eyes sparkle next to them.

His slender fingers traced the page looking at the sketches of his arms, some with his knife in his hand, some just holding a water bottle. He peeped his head down the corner of the hallway again, hearing the echo of your voice on the phone. His fingers moved before his eyes as he flipped the page, his cheeks flushing a deep red at the sketches of his hands rubbing up your waist. Now he was paying attention, graphics of his fingers in your mouth, your legs thrown over his shoulders, his head thrown back, and his Adam’s apple more than prominent.

“Leon?”

You stuttered, your heart pounding against your chest. Your breath feels so caught in your throat, your eyes staring at his hands holding the spine of your notebook. You blink into reality, snatching the notebook from him as you firmly have it against your chest.

“Why.. would you go through my things..”

You laughed, embarrassed, as Leon stared at you. His presence was now super overwhelming. He just.. stared at you. Great, now he hates me? He thinks I’m so weird…

“Why’d you just leave it out?”

What? Jesus fucking Christ, what?

“It’s my apartment; what do you mean..”

You laugh bitterly as you push the notebook onto your shelf, your hands slightly shaking.

“I didn’t draw any of that. I left it at work for a few days, so maybe it was stolen or something.”

There we go. Perfect excuse. Leon’s feet shuffled till he was standing beside you, pulling the notebook off the shelf next to you.

“Alright, that’s understandable. If they aren’t yours, you wouldn’t mind me looking through them again.”

Your face flooded with embarrassment. Your back turned to him as your eyes squeezed shut at the sound of him flipping through the pages.

Leon felt his pants grow tighter at the sketch of your pretty folds wrapped around his cock, then the illustrations of just your pussy made his cock grow painfully harder, your eyes shifting between the notebook and the bookshelf. There were pages after pages of just Leon and you, sometimes just Leon, small notes here and there. The last page is a sketch of the two of you hugging and a small note

“Seven, Leon’s sushi place”

Leon, yet again, closed the notebook, laying it on the shelf as you held your arms, sighing at his silence. His hand rubbed your arm softly, taking your hand in his. He rocked behind you, resting his cheek on the side of your head.

“Cmon’ let’s go eat.”

———-

The drive back to your apartment was so silent. Your head spun as you looked out the window, admiring the pretty night sky. Leon’s handheld at your thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles on your smooth skin. Biting at your nails nervously, your head turns to Leon. Why did he have to be so handsome? Hand gripping the steering wheel, hair perfectly rested against his cheek. The white button-down he wore fit him so perfectly. He believed you, right? You felt guilt in your heart, thinking about how you sat at your desk, legs crossed so close together at the thought of Leon fucking you stupid. It’s not everyday you meet a man like him. You craved him, but you would never tell him that. Leon’s car stopped, your daydreaming stopping as he pulled his keys and shoved them in his pocket. What a gentleman, he opens your door for you, holding his hand out. Your hand grabbed at his as you stepped out, holding your purse to your side as you whispered a small thank you to him as you reached for your keys.

The two of you stopped in front of your door, your heart starting to ache at the thought of never seeing him at work again, all the conversations you guys have had. The silence was uncomfortable now; you looked up at Leon with a slight frown before you reached up and brought him in for a tight hug, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as he hugged you back.

“I’m going to miss seeing you every day.”

You laugh into his shoulder. He laughs back in response as he pulls away from the hug, your hand reaching to unlock your door as he watches you. You step inside your dark apartment, looking at him from the door with a gentle smile still on your face.

“I’ll call you, I promise.”

Leon speaks as he watches you stand against the door frame.

“Bye.”

“Bye, Leon.”

The door slams. Why are you going to cry? Is it because he thought you were a massive creep? You held onto the wall as you kicked off your heels, sighing in frustration as you threw your purse to the ground. Your body jumped at the pounding at the door. Though you were taught better, you swung it open. Leon stood his hands on his hips, staring at the ground.

“Le-“

Leon pushed his way into your apartment, his perfect hands cradling your face as he smashed his lips into yours. Your feet struggled to keep up with him moving you back into your living room. Where did this come from? His hands hungrily gripped at your hips, your thighs hitting the arm of your couch. Leon's head dipped down your neck, pressing his tongue to the softness of your skin.

“Leon, wait..”

Your eyes flutter open as you reach down, grabbing his face. Leon stared up at you, his breathing labored.

“What happened?”

Your thumb rubbed across his cheek as he stood, pulling you in closer to him.

“You think I don’t want you? Do you know how hard it was not to bend you over this couch after flipping through that notebook?”

He grumbled as he turned you around, pressing his palm up your back as he bent you against the arm of your sofa. Your back arched in response as you looked back at him with red cheeks.

“Every word I've ever said to you makes you blush like that, you know.”

He’s right. But it’s hard not to blush when he compliments your every detail. Leon’s fingers dragged the zipper down your back, his lips following. So much softer than you had imagined. He stood again, tugging at your sleeves, smiling at your bare back. You gasped as you heard a slight tearing, your head flying back to see Leon had ripped your dress. Leon chuckled as the fabric of your dress dropped to the ground, his hands brushing over your hips.

“I’ve always loved watching you grab papers, your hips swaying.”

Leon smirks against your shoulder, his lips pressing against your neck again, your breathing shaky as he sucks at your skin. His pretty lips leave red patches all over your skin that will later be small purple markings that’ll be so prominent. Leon lifts himself, grabbing you to lie on your sofa, smiling down at you as his fingers work at unbuttoning his shirt.

It all felt like a dream, Leon’s shirt dropping to your floor as he tugged his dress pants down his legs. Hypnotized by him, the way his arms flex when he comes to hover over you, his hands holding at your thighs as he drags you further down the couch, his lips pressing against yours again. Leon’s lips ghosted over your skin as he stared at you through hooded eyes. Your eyes roll slightly when his fingers press over your clothed clit, rubbing small circles into you as he licks over your chest, leaving his marks on you there too. Your hips buck into his hand, a laugh coming from his lips as he pulls back, staring down at you as he pushes your panties aside, his fingers slipping into you with ease. Your mouth hangs open slightly as you stare at him.

“So wet.. all for me?”

Leon’s voice was so husky, so different than it usually was; you couldn’t help but let out a moan as his fingers dragged over your walls, your body lifting onto your shoulder as you looked down, your hips tilting up slightly to watch his fingers push in and out of you. The feeling was intoxicating, your head throwing back as he used his other hand to rub at your clit.

“You like watching? Watching how greedy this little pussy is..”

Leon couldn’t help but moan himself as you tightened around his fingers, his eyes staring down at you, sucking in his fingers. He groans as he tugs his boxers down, a whine leaving your lips at the feeling of his fingers no longer filling you. His hands grab at the back of your knees, holding them with one of his larger hands as his other hand grabs ahold of his cock, which was painfully hard. His lips parted slightly as he pressed himself into you, his grip around your leg tightening at the feeling of you squeezing him. He was so thick, so much bigger than what you could handle, a whimper leaving your lips as he pushed himself into you more. His hand drops your legs resting against his waist as he leans over you, grabbing at your jaw to pull you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue pressing into your bottom lip as he fully bottoms himself into you, causing you to gasp into his mouth. Leon let out a soft whimper as he leaned up, holding at your thighs as he rocked into you. You looked so beautiful finally lying below him; he had waited for this too fucking long.

“You look so fucking beautiful taking me like this..”

Leon groans down at you as your hands reach for his shoulders, pulling him back down to press his chest against yours as his speed increases. His face comforts your shoulder as your hands grab at his back, your nails scraping at his back as he lifts your hips, the new angle making him hit that perfect spot.

“I- Leon!”

Leon nodded his head as he looked down at you, forehead glistening with his sweat and his hair sticking to his skin.

“I know, baby, I know.”

He knew because you were gripping him so tightly, he was fighting his hardest not to let himself go inside of you, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he watched you squirm beneath him, warmth flooding your stomach and your breaths increasing as he pushed his palm into your stomach. Random babbles leave your lips as your arm comes up, covering your face as you cum around him, your walls fluttering against him, causing a loud groan to escape his lips as he pulls himself out of you, moving your hand from your stomach as his cum splatters all over your soft skin.

You two stare at each other, catching your breath. His arms reach forward, moving your arm from your flushed face.

“There you are.”

He mumbles as he kisses you softly, standing up and reaching down to pull up his boxers. He’s gone for almost two minutes, yet you’re still lying on the couch, eyes studying the ceiling.

“You organize your laundry room weirdly.”

Leon’s voice makes you tilt your head, watching him walk back into the living room. He leans over, wiping your stomach with the small rag in his hand, your lips tugging into a smile as you reach forward, touching his face. He peers down at you, smiling back as he helps you sit up, his fingers pushing your hair behind your shoulders.

“You want a shower?”

He asks softly as he sits beside you and wraps his arm around you as you lean your head against his shoulder.

“I just want to be with you.”

You mumble, your eyes closing as you wrap your arms around his waist.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon; I think you’re stuck with me.”

Leon speaks as he lifts your chin, kissing your forehead softly before he stands up, lifting you over his shoulder, causing a loud squeal to leave your lips as he taps the skin of your thighs with a smile.

“Let’s shower. Then you can show me more drawings, yeah?”

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #yourgentlegf #re4 x reader #re4 leon #self insert smut

713 notes · View notes

nicromancytarot · 3 months

Text

HOW I GOT STARTED IN TAROT AND MY TIPS FOR ANY OF YOU WHO ARE NEW TO IT!!!

I love to offer advice if you can’t already tell, and I also love tarot, so let’s talk about things that I have learnt from my journey as a tarot reader.

My journey

I started tarot at 14 years old while living with a family member who was shut off to the idea of spirituality, as it had hindered the life of my own mother, and caused her mental health issues in the past.

I decided to go against their requests and start practicing in secret, I didn’t have my own income so I wasn’t able to buy my own deck, instead I decided to make one. (Tarot is a tool, you don’t need “actual” tarot cards to be able to read.)

I used old train tickets that I had since I would take a couple of trains 5 days a week, which would give me 1, if not 2 tickets per day.

I was mainly focused on love, so I created little tarot cards with small details about love on them, and I would use these on my friends just for a bit of fun.

Eventually these got taken away from me, so just after my 16th birthday, after not doing tarot for around 3 months at that time, I decided to buy my first tarot deck as I was now living back with my mother, and although she was sceptical about the idea, she allowed me to have my first deck and supported my journey as I dove deeper into divination.

I practiced every so often, one time I had a crush on this guy and I wanted to know how he felt about me, every spread I got for him would give me the 4 of cups… yeah, I used to think that meant he was just a little demotivated, until I realised like a year later that it meant he was absolutely not interested in me, lmao!

But this is good, learning always comes with mistakes, so do not let that discourage you.

My decks

- the Rider-Waite tarot (my main deck)

- Spirit song tarot (my favourite deck)

- (I had a purple one that I spiritually didn’t need, so it went missing and never returned like a week after I got it)

- Ethereal visions tarot

- The nightmare before christmas tarot

- Angels of abundance oracle

- Casanova tarot (for 18+)

I also use little pieces of paper that I wrote 18+ stuff on, which I now use for any explicit readings to highlight the things someone would do to my collective sexually!

Having multiple decks

I personally love having this many decks, and I 100% will be getting more, as soon as I’ve finished learning the meanings of some of the casanova tarot!

Tarot is a tool, sometimes I read explicit stuff off my main deck, and I still get very accurate messages using that, you do not need to splash out on extra decks to try and read one specific theme.

I enjoy having multiple decks as they’re all just so beautiful, and I feel blessed to be able to have them.

Having one of my decks fall off the face of the earth a year and a half ago, proved to me that I needed to really make sure that I wanted a deck and felt connected to it before buying. This deck itself was 1 actually instinctively didn’t want to buy, but went back to get for other reasons.

So don’t impulsively buy, if it’s meant for you, you’ll know.

How I do my readings

If I decide that I need to cleanse my own energy, I will do a 15-30 minute meditation, but I normally only feel called to do so when I’m doing a really intense reading that I feel I need to protect my energy from.

I start off with a simple affirmation, welcome my spirits to help guide me through the session.

“I am calling upon my ancestors and spirit guides to make sure I am protected during this reading, and that I get the most accurate and concise messages.”

Then I knock on the deck twice before doing 1 shuffle thrice, knocking twice and doing the final shuffle thrice, knocking twice.

That is my own personal way of cleansing my deck after other energies have been channelled through it. I let my decks rest with some crystals every night, and they see the moon when it’s full for an extra cleanse.

I personally find the knocking to be very simple and cleansing for my cards, and it has proved well.

After I’m done cleaning, I ask my spirits the question out loud, and then I knock twice before shuffling to get the spread.

I only take 1-2 cards at a time, if there’s more, I put them back and start shuffling again.

If no cards fall after a while, I do a final shuffle and pull from the top.

The spread varies for every reading, normally I pull around 15 cards from my main deck, and then I pull an animal from the Spirit song tarot deck, and sometimes around 12 from another deck if there’s anymore questions needing to be answered.

When reading for other people, I personally only pull upright, unless we’re doing yes or no questions (which I do upright for yes and reverse for no), I’m not a fan for reverses, although I’ve started off with them, I just find it easier to do only uprights.

I pull reverses for educational purposes when I do my own readings, that way I can make sure I learn them more than I already do, and so I can get quicker with identifying them.

As of the beginning of April 2024 I started a new spread, this is my new favourite one for mainly advice readings or something to do with the future.

I like to grab 16 cards, you can take 15, but 16 is my personal number, then I line all the cards up into 3 groups, until I pin the negative cards, this is just something I do instinctively (doesn’t have to be death, tower etc, it could literally be the 2 of cups which seems negative in the reading), on the left I set up the negative ones, and then I add a present feeling or reaction card to do with these negative things, then between the negative and feelings, I put a card to describe why the person feels like that. Then for the rest I basically branch down like the roots of a tree, it’s very sporadic and random, but it creates a story, whichever card is next to another relates to the situation, thoughts and feelings of those cards, then when you get to the right bottom side, you end up with the future energy.

LEFT —> past MIDDLE —> present RIGHT —> future

Random things that I believe in

- The star and the 4 of cups are connected, the 4 of cups represents being fussy and ungrateful, and in the the Rider-Waite tarot, the illustrations are all connected, the star happens in front of the tree which is where the 4 of cups is set, so I like to think that the star is letting go of fussiness and allowing yourself to be free.

- Death and moon are connected, death tends to talk about something you need to let go of, and you already intuitively know about it. This is since death happens in front of the moon.

- The temperance happens in front of the tower, so when you pull the temperance, it means to make a decision before the universe makes it for you, bringing you a tower moment. A good example for this is pulling it in a “how does he feel about me” reading, if you get the tower during this, I would say he feels like you’re his last option, like a plan B if his A falls through. (People hate when I tell them that.)

- The queen of cups represents stability, this is since in the the Rider-Waite tarot, she’s chilling on her throne on a small island, meanwhile the king of cups is floating in the water, showing to me that he’s just going with the flow (weirdly, when I see the king of cups, I associate him with Aquarius energy.)

- The empress is all about loud and proud energy, she’s totally the one to boast about her achievements and what she’s working on, knowing that she will succeed. The emperor is the opposite, he works in silence, he only tells everyone about his newest achievements after he’s sure about them, he likes for people to be in surprise over his success.

- If I pull some cards to check energy for the reading, and the emperor upright, or the empress in reverse comes out, probably means the person I’m reading for isn’t ready to hear this message. This is because the emperor is physical (3D) realm energy, meanwhile the empress is spiritual (4D) energy, this is because spirituality is feminine energy, if you take part in spirituality, you are tapping into your devine feminine.

- The knight of wands represents exes. The night is going to the left (the past), the wand represents fire, fiery passion/fiery ending.

Does this mean my spread may be explained differently if the illustrations are different?

In short, yes. I love symbolism with my whole heart, so when I can make something symbolic out of the illustrations on the deck to describe a reading, I absolutely will.

What does channelling and visualising look like for me?

On a good day, I’ll hear another voice that sound identical to my little internal narrator inside my head, this can be identified as my spirit guides. They will use this to tell me things I need to know, but clairvoyance isn’t really my strongest, so normally I just hear the word “catapult” over and over again, since my main spirit guide seems to love that word.

I honestly channel the most through writing, it’s like I gain so much more information when I start writing down readings, whether it’s in my notes, on tumblr, or in a notepad.

Visualising is interesting, again back with the symbolism, it comes to me in a little story for me to unfold and find a moral of, it’s very time consuming, and I often get confused and think I’m insane, so I’ll pull some cards on it just to be sure I have the story right.

Important notes

- communicate to your spirit guides, I like to tell them exactly how the reading is going to go, just so they understand the format and what, I am looking for.

- Don’t do readings when you don’t feel like you should, if you’re mentally not doing ok, don’t feel bad if you need to step back and away from it, forcing yourself will just give you confusing readings.

- Your spirits hide answers from you, one time I asked my spirit guides how life works, and they refused to tell me (and then had a silly moment and told me like 3 months later for whatever reason.)

- This is not future telling, I cannot tell you what your future will be like, but I can tell you what it might be like if you make certain decisions.

- Don’t use tarot to intrude on someone’s personal life, like no sex readings on your ex for the love of God.

- If a reading doesn’t resonate with you, remember what it said and then come back to it to see if it does now, an example of this was when someone gave me a past life reading that didn’t match up until I reversed it and realised that I was the second person in the reading, rather than the main.

- Have fun with readings, it shouldn’t feel like a chore.

- Allow yourself to make mistakes, that’s the only way you will improve.

- Be patient, don’t think you will know everything about tarot after like 1 week of learning it.

- There’s always more to learn when it comes to tarot, you will never have enough knowledge.

- You can buy yourself decks, even your first one. You don’t need to have another person buy it for you.

I hope you enjoyed this! It took me an hour to write up lmao, but I had fun.

#pick a card #tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #free tarot #tarot witch #daily tarot #pick a pile #tarot cards

114 notes · View notes

cards-of-rose · 7 months

Text

study tip!! how i write essays

going from a long, intensive classical education to my current history major, i've had to write a lot of papers. at this point, i can write a 5 page paper in a few hours, and just a couple weeks ago i wrote a 20 page paper in a single day. i graduated valedictorian with this method (current cGPA of 4.0!) so i thought i'd share how i write them! grab some coffee and settle in - it'll be a long post, but i promise it'll be worth it. :)

first, the topic. if you don't have an assigned topic, pick something that fascinates you, something that you could write pages and pages about. you will. if your topic is assigned, find something in it that you find fascinating. even if you find your topic completely boring, there's always something interesting to glean from it! once you find this, you'll gain motivation, and that's half the battle.

write down a basic outline. when i say basic, i mean barebones. just a vague, 3-point general idea of what you think you might write your paper about. this will guide you in your research! you don't need to worry about writing your full outline just yet.

sources. after you have a basic list of points, it's time to find sources! if they're already assigned, you can skip this step. most of the time they aren't, though. this is the most important part of your paper. you can go to google scholar to find really good academic journals and studies!

generally, the number of sources you have depends on the length of your paper! a good guide is that your amount of sources should number half the length of your paper. so if you have a 5 page paper, 2-3 is a good way to go. if you have a 20 page paper, you'll want around 10.

evidence. skim over your sources and categorize each one under the point you made earlier. this will mean you have a quick reference guide when you're writing, so you don't have to go through a big list of sources when you're looking for evidence! under each source, put a few bullet points talking about the info that you can use for your paper.

outline. this part may seem daunting. i promise, though, it's one of the easiest parts of the paper! you may feel tempted to skip it, but having an outline makes your paper sound better and makes it easier and quicker to write. use the sources and bullet point info you used earlier to fill out your outline. start broad and general, then add details as you do your research! your outline should be about half the length of your paper. don't worry about making it super scholarly - this is just for you, so make it as informal and easy to understand as you want! be stupid, throw in memes, whatever gets it written!

every outline should include an introduction, a body, and a conclusion. i can go over the structure of an outline in another post, but remember the 3 points you thought up earlier? these will form your entire outline, and eventually your essay!

finally, write! open a blank google doc and view it side by side with your outline. once you get started, it's a lot easier to finish than you'd think, especially if you took the time to outline! this is when you can make your dumb outline into something that would make the ancient philosophers proud. don't worry about perfection. just write it as you go. you can edit it later!

quotes/evidence. once you've finished your rough draft, it's time to add the evidence! some profs want quotes, others want you to paraphrase. either way, go through your paper and put in the evidence you researched earlier. don't worry about citations just yet - just put in the link in a comment on your rough draft. it won't be hard to fix it up later.

edit!! please, please don't finish your rough draft and be done with it. you can save so many points by going over it again instead of submitting it in a rushed 3am haze. fix spelling and grammar, add citations and a reference page, edit for clarity, anything you need to make it sound like the best paper you can write! if you're proud of it by the end, you know you've done something right.

congrats, you did it!! make sure you start your paper early and don't wait till the night before - your grade will thank you <3

#study motivation #essay #studyblr #writing #dark academia #school #studying #essay writing #study blog #study tips

178 notes · View notes

bubuslutty · 2 months

Text

40-something Moon Man ROCKS the Dancefloor! (REAL NOT CLICKBAIT!)

pairing: Marc Spector & Female Reader

word count: 4026

warnings: none

summary:

Marc Spector accidentally goes viral on TikTok after his uni student neighbour/friend drags him to the club with her.

a/n: i wrote this in a silly goofy mood and i love marc sooo much <3 Also I used Darling instead of Y/n cuz im funky like that.

“Please, Marc.” Darling begged the 40-something man while he tried to clean his flat.

“No.” Marc answered flatly, wearing a very washed-out and loose t-shirt and a pair of dark blue shorts. His hair, now longer was tied at the back of his head in a tiny man bun.

“Why??? We’ll have so much fun and you need a night out to dislodge the stick up your ass.” Darling groaned and fell on her knees in the kitchen, ready to hold onto his legs and beg if need be. Marc sighed and ignored the 19-year-old teenager on his kitchen floor as he cracked another window open and increased the volume of the radio on the window ledge, BBC Radio 1 playing a Central Cee song in the flat as he picked up stray books, papers, food wrappers, socks and random junk, a bin bag clutched in one hand and a laundry basket clutched in his other arm.

Marc finally got himself to start cleaning his flat, he read that it would help his mental health to live in a cleaner space. That’s why she was over, she was meant to help him clean so it wouldn’t be too overwhelming on his own, and motivate him to get on with cleaning so he finished faster and could escape her non-ending yapping sessions. But now, it seemed like she was more interested in annoying him, which is literally second nature now, a natural reaction she had to him, annoying the shit out of Marc.

I mean, he could literally kick her out, and scare her enough that she’ll leave him alone for good, he’s done it before, to other people. He’s tried, but she’s Steven’s friend and he can’t do that to him. And he knows deep down he actually enjoys her presence and would kill anyone that hurts her then himself. He cannot lie, the kid had a big heart and was incredibly kind and patient. He was a little jealous that her parents were able to make a girl like that because Marc knew he could never produce that level of goodness into the world. He can never come close. She was too good.

Marc dropped the basket on a chair and the trash bag on top of it, letting out a long sigh and putting his hands on his hips. “Why do you want me to go with you?”

Darling’s miserable puppy eyes immediately vanished and she got up from the floor, walking up to him with a huge grin on her face. “Well, first of all, you’re my friend, and I like hanging out with you.” Marc raised one brow and didn’t say anything.

“I found this club with great music and I really want to try it out,” Darling said shrugging.

“Why don’t you go with your friends? People your own age.” Marc asked, his arms now crossed over his chest. “People from my uni are… I never really enjoyed going out with them, sure, nothing terrible happened cuz we always stuck together but uh-” Darling tried to explain and Marc failed to understand why the hell she wanted him to go with her out of all people.

“I’ll just be in the way if I go with you. And I can always pick you up at the end of the night, you know?” Marc said and Darling frowned in confusion, “In the way of what?”

Marc almost laughed in disbelief but held it together, “Don’t you want a boyfriend? No one will get close to you if I’m with you.”

Darling looked unimpressed, “What boyfriend? You mean drunk finance bros with an Andrew Tate mentality? Plus, I don’t do hookups, I have anxiety, mate.” Marc was confused and Darling remembered he wasn’t as chronically online as she was, so he probably had no idea who the abomination of a man was.

“I just want the experience. I just want to dress up and dance all night without men I don’t know breathing down my neck.” Darling explained, picking lint up from her way too big t-shirt with a Pikachu plastered on the front, so she wouldn’t have to look at him in the eyes.

Marc understood and thought about it for a second before picking up the trash bag and walking to the area that was his kitchen and putting it on the floor, next to the bin. “You want me to be your bodyguard?”

Darling’s head snapped up, eyes wide, “No! I mean- Yeah, sure..”

Marc pondered over the thought and asked, “When?”

“This Friday.” Darling quickly answered, smiling big and all, excitement radiating off her in waves.

“Alright, but so you know, I don’t dance.” That’s also what Chad from High School Musical said but go off. Darling knew to keep her mouth shut instead of calling him out.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” She squealed, jumping up and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Alright, enough.” He grumbled even though he was smiling, and ripped her away with his hands on her shoulders. “You won’t regret this,” Darling promised and Marc just nodded, he’ll see about that.

“Now, do me a favour,” Marc said, turning around and picking up two trash bags in his hands. “Take out the trash.”

Darling groaned and Marc fixed her with a look and her shoulders slumped, taking the bags out of the door to put them downstairs.

🌙

“How do I look? Be honest.” Darling asked, standing in the corridors as Marc locked his door and shoved the keys in his pockets, his black leather jacket held in his other hand.

Marc straightened his back and analysed her outfit from head to toe. She was wearing a sleeveless, backless sparkly blue top paired with jean shorts and white trainers. Simply put, she looked pretty and it surprised Marc a little, he didn’t know she was capable of wearing anything but washed-out old t-shirts with unhinged slogans on them. It was an addiction at this point, she loved buying the weirdest t-shirts she could find on the internet. She even bought him a t-shirt once that said “I lactate”. And swear to God, Marc almost killed her right then and there. It’s still ranked as one of her “biggest Ws” whatever the fuck that meant.

“Not ugly,” Marc answered flatly and Darling grinned, that was Marc’s way of saying she looked nice.

“And you look great, did Jake pick the clothes?” She asked, looking him over.

“No.” Marc lied and she giggled, because the one who dressed cunty every single time without fail, was Jake, and unfortunately, Marc didn’t possess the level of serve Jake did.

Marc was wearing a black short-sleeved button-up, unbuttoned at the top, where his David’s star necklace glinted against his tan chest, paired with black trousers and black shoes. Simple, clean. His hair was brushed back this time, but still, some curls fell over his forehead no matter how many times he ran his fingers through it.

“Let’s go,” Darling said after checking she had everything she needed in her small handbag.

The two decided to take the underground rather than Jake’s cab because it was faster than being stuck in traffic in central London. It was a bit busy and lots of people looked like they were heading to clubs and pubs for the night, dressed in all sorts of manner. Marc was honestly just looking around and taking everything in, he had never witnessed London’s nightlife like this, maybe saw some things from rooftops while tracking someone, but that didn’t count.

He saw an alarming amount of young men dressed in techs, standing in hoards. And girls wearing matching bodycon dresses. The underground station was hot, extremely loud and stinky. Darling was standing next to him, complaining about the prices that TFL charged. How ridiculously expensive the tube and trains were, even with a student oyster. He just hoped he wouldn’t get a nasty headache by the end of the night.

They hopped on the tube when it came, screeching to a stop, people spilling out of it in crowds. When they got in, they sat across each other as more people sat around them. And if it couldn’t get any louder, a man walked in with a big speaker resting on his shoulder and a cracked iPhone gripped in his other hand. “Bassline Junkie” blasted loudly as he sang along, and soon enough, a group of rowdy teenagers, around Darling’s age, started singing along too. Darling started laughing and Marc watched as the man started approaching them, goading the sitting people to get up and start singing with him. Darling got up and shouted the lyrics at some girls as they sang together. They somehow managed to drag Darling away from her seat, holding each other and singing loudly, multiple phones recording the scene. When they reached their stop, Marc got up and pulled Darling by the hand out of the tube before they missed it.

“BYE!” She shouted over her shoulder, laughing and breathing hard.

Marc let go of her hand and watched her put her hands on her knees, panting and straightening, fixing her hair and looking at Marc with bright eyes, “I’ve never done that before.”

He smiled a little, “Good job.”

“To the club!” Darling pointed in the direction of the gates, pulling Marc by his arm.

When they left the station, Darling let out a shuddering breathing, suddenly feeling very cold in the polluted crisp air of London. Marc noticed and frowned, “Don’t get sick.”

“Wow, thank you, Marc.” Darling rolled her eyes and started walking down the street, Marc following her behind. She turned around, walking backwards, “By the way, I have your jacket so I won’t get sick.”

“I’m not giving you my jacket, dipshit.” Marc said and Darling rolled her eyes, “Yeah, whatever you say.”

They spent 30 minutes trying to figure out where the hell that club was, bickering while following the map on Darling’s phone. At some point, she ended up locking arms with Marc after a rando whistled after her when she walked by and had to physically stop Marc from turning around and bashing the man’s face in.

When they finally reached the club, Darling was so excited and Marc had a hand wrapped around the back of her neck, guiding her through the crowds of people to the bar so they could get a drink in their system first and take in the place. “You’re paying, by the way,” Darling said over the loud music, taking a sip of her cocktail, this drink will probably be her first and last. She didn’t plan on throwing up on the pavement, and she wants to be able to remember tonight.

“You’re the one taking me out, aren’t you supposed to be paying?” Marc asked, leaning in so she could hear him over the music. “I’m paying for kebabs later. 50/50, yeah?” She said and he hummed.

He looked around and noticed how a lot of people were dressed, it faintly reminded him of the early 2000s with twists to fit today’s fashion trends. He could tell that this was the look Darling was going for, then he finally allowed himself to actually hear the music and was surprised when Flo Rida was blasting from the speakers, the floor vibrating under the weight of the bass.

“Come on, let’s dance,” Darling said after she finished her drink and dragged him on the dance floor, drink still in hand. Rihanna was now playing and Marc was a little mortified because he doesn’t remember the last time he danced in a club. Darling gave him encouraging nods while she practised a Just Dance routine without missing a beat as Marc nodded to the music, finishing his drink and trying not to laugh at her and failing miserably.

At some point Darling got rid of his empty glass for him and ran back, almost crashing face-first on his chest if he didn’t catch her. “THAT’S MY SONG!” She shouted over the music and Marc immediately recognised the beat. It was that Usher song that even the aliens from outer space could recognise, the one and only: “Yeah!”. Marc was a little confused because he was sure as hell she wasn’t even born when it came out.

“I WAS BORN TO SERVE CUNT AND SLAY THE CLUB!” She shrieked and Marc knew she must be out of her mind because there’s no way one drink made her say shit like that. He was dragged to the centre of the dance floor and Darling started busting moves he never saw her do, and Marc had to admit, she was a good dancer. But he was a great dancer.

He ran a hand through his curly hair and watched her dance with fire in her eyes. Marc smirked. Alright , if this is how this is going to go, then so be it. He popped another button open from the top of the shirt and rolled his neck, getting his muscles loose, nodding to the beat. Darling watched him as she bounced with the beat and honest to God, Marc started krumping. Krumping in the club.

Darling’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets and she screamed in delight, hyping him up with her whole body, “I knew you could do it!”

He was good. Really good.

So good in fact that the people around them started to notice and the space between them got bigger, creating a clear space where they could see Marc and Darling better. Darling didn’t even notice, her eyes glued to Marc who was absolutely destroying the dance floor. She didn’t even notice the phones pulled out to record the scene. And when it looked like Darling was starting to lose against Marc, a random girl squeezed herself through the crowd, handing Darling her drink and started dancing battling Marc. Darling was losing her mind, laughing and having the time of her life. The crowd hyped both the girl and Marc.

Marc was smiling the whole time, his curls moving this and that way, now falling over his eyes, sticking to his forehead. His face was warm and his necklace kept constantly swinging as he ate up every single person who decided to battle him. In between songs, he kept being offered drinks while Darling kept complimenting his skills. She was proud to get him out of his shell and was genuinely so grateful that everything went as planned. But most importantly, she was proud of him.

Hours later, by the time they left the club, the two were walking down the streets, singing together to a Britney Spears song, arms linked and still warm and sweaty. Darling had Marc’s (Well, it was actually Jake’s) leather jacket draped over her shoulders, keeping her shielded from the cold wind. Meanwhile, Marc may as well unbutton his shirt all the way down and take it off because it was sticking to him and a huge, very generous chunk of his chest could be seen, still shining with drying sweat. His hair was a little crazy because no matter what he tried to do, it refused to stay still and he didn’t have anything to hold it with. But that’s alright, he looked very pretty and he had a great time to care about his hair at the moment.

The two made their way to the first kebab place they saw. “What do you want?” She asked, looking at the old and worn menu above the counter, on the wall. “A number 2.”

“Bossman, let me get two number 2s and two Coke Zero’s.” Darling said and the man nodded, “£22.98, please.” Darling reached for her purse. “I got it,” Marc said, digging in his pocket for notes before she had the chance to protest.

“I was going to pay.” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes, feeling tired.

“You can pay next time.” He said, patting her head.

“You always say that and you never let me.” She complained, leaning her weight against him, cheek squished against his warm arm. “Yeah, yeah.” Marc checked his phone for any notifications and scrolled a bit while waiting for their food to be done. When they got their food, they left the joint because there were literally no seats in there, you just collect your food and leave. Marc held the plastic bag in one hand and wrapped the other around Darling’s shoulder just in case she tripped, she didn’t drink much but she exhausted herself to the bone, and he didn’t want to end up in the ER looking after her.

“Do you want to eat in the tube?” He asked.

“No, I’ll get sick. Aren’t there any chairs anywhere?” She asked.

Marc hummed and looked around, spotting a park? A garden? It was really small and fenced, and in the middle, there was a big statue of a man Marc couldn’t recognise. He walked closer and saw that there was an empty bench inside. Perfect.

They got settled down, Marc unwrapped their food and Darling complained about the cold bench against her thighs. “Sit on the jacket.” He said, opening his Coke and taking a sip.

“But then my back will touch the bench.” She complained and Marc rolled his eyes.

“Just eat your food.” He said and they dug in.

They didn’t speak for a long time, both looking up at the dark sky. There were no stars to be seen due to the city lights, but they could see the moon and the clouds. It was as peaceful as London could get. When they were done, they collected the trash in the plastic bag but didn’t move, still sitting on the bench, looking at the moon together. “Uhm-” Marc spoke and Darling turned to look at him. As soon as she met his eyes, he snapped his mouth shut.

Darling didn’t say anything, just looked at him with an open expression, eyes heavy-lidded due to sleepiness. Marc licked his lower lip and parted his lips to speak but nothing came out. So instead, he opted for squeezing one of her knees in his warm hand, trying to make her understand what he was trying to say with his eyes.

He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say that he appreciated her taking him out with her. He appreciated her patience and kindness. He appreciated how she never judged him for being himself. How she was brave and strong and didn’t get scared easily.

And Darling understood.

🌙

It was around 12 in the afternoon the next day when Darling got a text message from one of her uni friends. She frowned in confusion, she usually never received any messages from them during the weekends. She put her spoon in her cereal bowl as she chewed, and paused the YouTube video she was watching on her laptop.

Darling opened the message. It was two messages actually, one of them read, “Is this you?” And the other was a link.

She suddenly felt scared as her finger hovered over the link, she was sure she had a good digital footprint. I mean, she had profiles where family and friends followed, and she also had separate accounts online where she caused havoc without revealing her identity. And she was sure there was no way anyone she knew in real life could find her accounts and link them to her. She was careful.

Darling opened the link and instead of loading in a browser tab, it opened the TikTok app. Now, what the hell is this?

At first, she didn’t know what she was looking at, but her brain caught on and she felt like screaming. It was a video of the day before, from the club. There she was dancing battling Marc in the middle of the circle. Her jaw was on the floor, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Then she looked at the likes and screamed because why did it have 2M likes?

Her finger pressed the comment section before she could think and was flooded with comments like “This is what I mean when I say I want to go to the club”, “Okay but why did he eat?”, “Where is this??”, “Get this man in a Step Up movie NOW”, “Goo Goo Ga Ga”.

Darling leapt off the bed laughing and scrambled out of her flat, phone in hand. She didn’t even bother to wear slippers and instead ran over next door, Steven’s door, knocking quickly. When the door didn’t open in a millisecond, she turned the doorknob and walked inside without bothering to shut the door properly behind her, “Marc, you have to see this!”

Marc was in bed, shirtless and wearing a pair of loose PJ bottoms, wearing his reading glasses as he read his book. Well, he wasn’t reading it now . He was looking at Darling with an annoyed expression. She ignored it and ran to him, but not without throwing a quick “Hi, Gus” to the tank. She dived knees first on his bed and he sighed, slamming his book shut and placing it on the bedside table.

“What do you want?”

“Look!” She held her phone in front of his face and he tried to comprehend what he was looking at. Darling saw the moment he realised what it was, he grabbed the phone with both hands, a look of horror plastered on his face. “All of London saw the video. You’re viral, Marc.”

“Delete it.” He said without ripping his eyes from the screen.

“What?” Darling frowned.

“Delete it. Right now.” He repeated.

“It’s not my video. I can’t delete it.” Darling said and Marc dropped the phone in his lap, gathering his head in his hands, groaning. He truly had fun, but he didn’t know how he felt about all of London seeing this video.

Darling picked up her phone again, “I’m going to send it to DuChamp, he’s going to love it.”

Marc screamed and ripped the phone away from her hands, scaring her. She got scared not because he had taken her phone but because she never heard the man scream before. “Give it back!” She said, trying to grab her phone but Marc didn’t let her. It was a struggle because not only Marc was stronger, way stronger, but he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt so she didn’t have any grip on him, except his shoulders and hair. But she knew if she even thought about pulling his hair he’d throw her out of the window. “I’m going to report the video so it can be taken down.” He said and Darling gasped, “You don’t even know how to do that! You never used TikTok in your life, boomer!”

“Watch me,” Marc said through gritted teeth as Darling struggled against him, then she somehow managed to wrap her arms around his free arm and threw herself down on the bed, back first and swung her legs up to wrap them around his head, choking him. Marc let out a surprised shout, his eyes sent 500 million invisible daggers to Darling. He threw the phone down on the floor, out of her reach and lifted her off the bed, her legs still wrapped around his neck and she screamed when he flipped them around and slammed her down on the bed, head first, WWE style.

The two kept wrestling and clawing at each other until Darling ended up in a headlock, Marc squishing her body on the bed with his whole weight, “Help!” She wheezed, clawing at him, trying to get away from him. “Quit it.” He hissed as she tried to kick him with the heel of her foot on his ass.

A cough startled the two out of their fight, both of them looked up and Marc froze.

“What are you…doing?” Layla asked, looking at Marc, then back down at Darling. She had her phone in her hand, and a big Tesco shopping bag in the other. God bless her heart, she brought her disaster of not-technically-divorced husband groceries.

“Oooh, is that the bad bitch you fumbled-”

🌙

Tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @bobastayhigh @weblesstherains @h-leigh @unspokenmoon @ahookedheroespureheart @thursdaywritings @gebstargeb @softieekayy @fem-moony @peachjellypackets @pakhiya @darlinglittledevil @anixluxtt @mrs-cupidd @gebgeb @poeticabomination

this work is part of the "I'm friends with the moon" series. You can read it as a stand-alone or delve deeper into this AU.

68 notes · View notes

writingsfromhome · 1 year

Text

Things to Learn

Request: hiii idk if youve thought about this but what about a mean girl!yn and nerd!harry high school fic or something like that :))

A/N: it is what the request says, idk if this is exactly what you wanted but writing a mean girl!yn was different for me. I also wrote this from Harry’s third pov so that’s also different lol. Hope you enjoy it? Thanks for the req :) <3

———————————————

Harry hated girls like her. Hate was a strong word, he knew that. And he used it still.

He eyes her again as she sits on the lunch table and talks animatedly to her friends about something shallow or irrelevant. He goes back to the sandwich he had for lunch.

“She’s out of your league mate,” Harry’s best friend tells him.

“What?”

“YN? You’re staring at her. She’s out of your league. Like so far that even if you climbed a mountain and looked over everything you wouldn’t be able to see-“

“I got it,” Harry didn’t like her. He knew she was well out of his league and he didn’t care. He had one more year of this shite called high school and then he was off to uni. His sister always told him high school labels didn’t follow you there. “I don’t even like her. I was just looking.”

His friend makes a noise, he didn’t believe him.

“I’m serious. Ms. Easton partnered us in history probably because she’s not doing well. I’ve got the highest grade. But she’s insufferable.”

“You’re insufferable,” his friend shoots back. “If I was partnered with her I’d be shooting my shot. Every chance.”

“I’d rather shoot myself,” Harry mutters. He had history next period and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Their class had booked the library for research period and that meant suffering through it with YN.

He’s first to arrive at the library and books a computer. They were researching the royal family, he didn’t know what angle the paper was going to be from but he would figure it out later. Alone. Because YN was always too busy not giving a shit.

The truth was, he just didn’t understand girls like YN. How they could be so shallow and rude for no reason, he didn’t think the world was rainbows and unicorns but it was decent to just be a little nicer. She was judgemental, loud, and of course attractive as hell. But her personality ruined any good looks in his opinion. So even though he was staring at lunch, he didn’t find her very attractive.

“I guess we’re sitting here,” speak of the devil. Surprisingly YN is here before the bell goes off. She sits in the seat next to Harry and her bag is thrown on the floor.

“Hi to you too,” Harry mutters. He ignores her, continuing to flip through his textbook for the correct chapter.

“Have we decided on a topic?”

Harry grits his teeth. I don’t know YN have we? Instead he says, “No.”

“Oh, well why not just do it on what’s going on right now?”

“Because it’s a history class,” Harry finally look at her. He remembers it was a little nerve wracking to do that when they were first partnered but now his annoyance triumphed any nerves.

“And?” She scrunches her brows. “Isn’t that the point?”

She had no idea what she was talking about. He shakes his head and goes back to his textbook.

“You don’t have to be such a nerd all the time you know that?” She continues.

Harry ignores her.

“Hello?” She snaps her fingers. Who did she think she was?

“Can we just work?” Harry couldn’t stand her.

The bell rings. YN picks up her phone in a huff and Harry goes back to Googling for their project.

***

Harry packs his bag with the books he needs as students rush past him to go home. His bag weighed a million pounds and he’s pretty sure it aged his back 40 years but it was either his grades or his back that suffered.

“Hey Harry,” a voice calls out to him as we heads out the door. He turns to it; Raina, one of YN’s friends. She twirls her blonde hair and tilts her head. “It is Harry right?”

“Uhm,” suddenly Harry’s throat was parched. Raina was gorgeous and gorgeous girls never spoke to him.

“You’re cute,” she gets up close and personal with Harry and everything in that big brain of his liquifies and slides away. “So I heard you’re giving my bestie a hard time.”

“Your-uh,” what was wrong with him? Focus!

“My bestie! YN?”

“Oh,” the name snaps him out. Was this a prank, why was Raina talking to him? “W-what?”

“I thought you were smart,” she tilts her head again, this time Harry understands it to be condescending. “Did you not understand the question?”

Harry hears a snicker from behind him. His heart drops, he knew what was happening yet he walked right into it.

“Harry’s really smart,” YN’s voice comes from behind. “So smart he can’t even talk to me. Like, I’ll bring down your IQ or something right?”

“I never said that,” Harry turns, back to the wall like he was in some sort of fight for his life and he had to cover all his angles.

“Then what’s your problem?” YN demands. Her friend takes a back seat, staring at him from behind YN’s shoulder.

“I didn’t say I had one,” Harry mumbles.

“What? Speak up!” With one hand on her hip, YN was the image of a mean girl. Harry’s gaze flickers up to her face and he realizes she was actually angry. At him. He looks away.

“You’re so pathetic,” she tells him. “You can barely look me in the eye when I’m talking to you but you think you’re a hot shot just cuz you get straight As. You can take your intellectual superiority and shove it up your ass.”

He was surprised to hear her say intellectual superiority, then he realizes the irony of thinking that.

“This guy bothering you?”

Great. Harry hitches his backback higher on his shoulders. One of YN’s soccer star boyfriends had joined. He looks Harry up and down with a condescending smirk.

“No, I got it.” YN says but her friend opens her big mouth.

“He thinks he’s the smartest person here, he treats YN like shite.”

“Really?” He turns to Harry and now is when Harry realizes he was deep in. There was no way out.

“I’m sorry,” he looks YN in the eye and only her. He had to make a quick exit, find a way out of this before these meatheads decided to defend YN’s honour or something like that.

“Too late for sorry,” Raina says. Another guy—Brett joins the crowd.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“Nothing,” YN says while her eyes stay on Harry.

“Hey Harry! Mate! This guy helped me pass my maths last semester.”

“Yeah he’s a nerd,” the other guy says to Brett. “That’s the point.”

“Hey Brett,” Harry nods. He should go, he thinks. Make a move. Get out of this circle forming around him.

“He’s a dick to YN,” Raina reminds everyone. What was her issue? “And he’s always staring at her like a creep.”

YN turns to look at her friend. Raina widens her eyes and shrugs.

“What the fuck?” The other guy, Harry had no idea what his name was, steps closer to Harry. “Are you a fucking perv?”

Statistically, this guy with his brute force and reactivity was probably more likely to be a perv over the years than Harry. But Harry doesn’t think it’s a good time to say that.

“Anyway,” YN says and with that all eyes are on her. “Apology not accepted. I’m over this let’s go.”

She walks away from him, Raina eyes him and follows. Their friend gives Harry the stink eye and follows too. Brett’s left. He shrugs and finally leaves Harry alone.

Little by little the breath comes back to his lungs and with shaky steps Harry exits the building. Some students lingering in the hall stare as he goes, probably the audience to what almost went down. And this was why Harry hated YN.

***

Over the next week Harry tries to be less intellectually superior to YN and practices looking her in the eye. He doesn’t know why it was so hard.

And it surprises him when the words coming out of her mouth aren’t entirely superficial and basic. But she continues to verbally abuse and belittle him and Harry continues to take it, his ire growing more by the day.

Just on Tuesday, at lunch she’d sent one of her boyfriends to sit at his table where he threatened Harry. Harry’s friend had stared at his phone the whole time, traitor. And yesterday YN had listed for him all the ways he could improve his appearance during class.

“Your hair could use a nice trim,” she tells him. “And your glasses are so 1970s. Like not in a trendy way. And honestly Harry why do you wear clothes that are too big and too old. Like seriously…”

It was hard not to be a know-it-all when that’s what she wanted to spend her time talking about.

“My appearance isn’t really a priority for me,” Harry had said hoping to shut her up.

“It really should be. Hey,” she’d called out to a friend of hers in class. “Don’t you think Harry’s style is sad?”

“Him?” Her friend had asked, like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to say it in front of him. Harry had burned with embarrassment. “Yeah I reckon he could use a makeover.”

“Yeah maybe then he’d get a girlfriend. Get his nose out of his books.”

They laughed and the sound was haunting. Harry stayed staring at his book, gritting his teeth. He’d never had a girlfriend, gone on two dates in his life. It didn’t usually bother him but somehow YN made it feel like an open wound.

On Thursday, they have another research period.

“And how are we doing here?” Ms. Easton leans down and balances on their table. Harry and YN opted for a table and books this period.

“Good,” YN sits up. “Just finishing our research.”

“Good,” Ms. Easton smiles. “Did you two decide on a topic?”

Harry doesn’t look but he can feel her rolling her eyes. “Yeah. Harry wanted to do the royal family and their war legacy.”

“Hm.”

Harry was sensitive to feedback. When you’re smart you don’t get a lot of criticism, and when you do, it’s a hard pill to swallow. That’s why he was so sensitive to the tone of his teacher’s voice. He looks up to her. Was it just him or did she look a bit disappointed.

“S’not a good topic?” Harry asks. YN glances at him.

“Well,” the teacher crosses an arm over her abdomen and waves the other hand. She was choosing her words. “I was hoping putting the two of you together would produce an interesting project. Something out of the ordinary.”

“Oh.” Harry feels his grade flash in front of his eyes. Well, not flash but plummet.

“Hmph,” YN says in satisfaction. “Well Harry here felt very strongly about the topic.”

“Okay,” Ms. Easton pursues her lips. “It is a good topic. I’m looking forward to hearing all about it at the end of the month!”

As soon as their teacher is out of hearing range YN turns to Harry.

“I told you so.”

With that, she gets out of her seat and walks away. Out of the library, swiping the hall pass on her way out.

Suddenly he was hot. Very hot. Harry could feel the sweat dampen his shirt and he pulls the collar away from his neck. His project was disappointing? He was doing something wrong?

He stumbles up and finds Ms. Easton.

“Yes Harry?” She addresses him when she’s done with the pair she’d been talking to.

“Um what you said,” Harry clears his throat. “About the project. And pairing me with YN. I don’t understand…should we change it?”

“Up to you two to decide!” She says vaguely. “I can’t pick your topics for you. And you should only change it if you think you have enough time.”

“But our topic is disappointing?” Harry didn’t understand why Ms. Easton would make those comments and not just tell them upfront what she wants.

“No not at all!” she guides Harry to a bookshelf where it’s quieter. “War is a classic topic. But it’s also a very…straightforward topic do you understand?”

Classic was good. Classic was timeless, is that not what she wanted!?

“Harry,” she chides when he continues staring at her. “Listen. You’re a bright kid. Really, proper smart. I know you’ll do amazing in your future regardless of what I say in this class.”

It was YN. There was a but coming and she was going to say something about YN.

“But I’ve had a few bright kids in my class before. The thing about history is it repeats and the pattern I see is that there’s a creative energy even in something like history that’s lost on big brains like yours. That’s why I paired you with YN. I thought you two would complement the way you think really well. I was hoping to see a new topic come out of it. That’s not to say your current topic isn’t fabulous. I think if you want to continue with it, I’m excited to learn more.”

Harry doesn’t have anything to say. Actually, he’s embarrassed. This whole time he thought being partnered with YN was because she was failing or doing horribly. When really it was because the teacher thought he could use some help. Intellectual superiority 100, Harry 0.

“You two are getting along right?” Ms. Easton probes.

“Yeah,” Harry lies.

“She’s letting you call the shots?” She asks casually.

“Ehm,” Harry wavers. He had taken the reigns immediately because he didn’t think she could handle them. He feels his face turn more pink.

“The great thing about this project is to collaborate. Throughout history some of the best things were brought from collaborating…”

Harry zones her out and looks back at their desk. YN is still not there. Maybe she was skipping. But he spots her bag, that wasn’t true.

“Oh I better go help out your classmate,” Ms. Easton points to where someone has their hand up. “You’re alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry shakes the funk off. Maybe he’ll listen to YN more now but they only had a week and a half and it would be crazy to change their topic now.

But as he sits in his seat and waits for YN to return, to collaborate with, he feels it again. The sinking feeling. Like something was his fault.

YN was the mean girl but he hasn’t been the most friendly either.

After another 10 minutes go by he gets out of his seat and grabs the second hall pass.

He spots around the toilets, moves through the halls, and makes his way back to a stairwell. There YN leans against a wall on her phone. She doesn’t look up as he walks down until he stands in front of her.

“Oh,” the glow of her phone moves off her face, muffled by her sweater. “I thought you were random.”

“Are you coming back?” Harry asks. Still, his eyes flit from her face to her neck, settling on the wall behind her.

“Why does it matter? You’re doing the project with or without me.”

His throat feels like it’s stuffed with cotton as he swallows. He should apologize. He should-

“Why are you so awkward for?” She demands. “Like. You’re smart and all but you’re kind of weird.”

Nevermind. He was so not apologizing.

“Hello? And then you go so quiet when I say anything direct. You can be smart as shite but you’re not making it anywhere if you can’t even talk to a girl without staring a hole into the space beside her.”

Harry’s mum always said to be himself. This was him, smart (nerdy—fine), quiet, awkward, and bookish. But it wasn’t easy to be this way when girls like YN existed. They were confident and loud, and she called him out like his sister did. But she was nothing like her. She was beautiful and she knew it. And she was rude, but maybe her mum told her to be herself too and this was it.

“What are you thinking?” She demands.

“What?” Harry asks in surprise.

“I want to know what the fuck you’re thinking in that big brain! You’re so awkward! Jeez!”

“I’m-I-why?”

“I don’t get you.” She gives him a once over. “So? What were you thinking?“

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Seriously I-“

“Tell me.”

“I…” Harry trails away. He turns away from her and walks to the other end of the stairwell, pivots, and stands a few feet in front of her. “I was just wondering if this is who you really are.”

“Me? How am I?” Eyes narrowed, she sounds both curious and defensive.

“Really?” Harry meets her eye. “You’ve got such an attitude, you’re rude and loud and pushy, and I don’t know why you don’t like me but you’re always so condescending so I was just wondering if that’s who you are. Like when your mum says to be yourself, is that who you chose?”

Her mouth drops, then it snaps shut and her arms cross over in defence.

“You know why I don’t like you?” She asks. “Because you’ve got an attitude. You’re rude and pushy and condescending to fuck. So let me ask you—is that who you are? Is that who mummy tucks into bed each night?”

Harry’s impressed how she’s turned it around on him. He doesn’t take it seriously until she breaks eye contact and looks away.

“If I listened to my mom’s advice, I would be a bloody doormat in this place. I’d be used and discarded like a wet wipe. I have to be rude and pushy. And don’t even get me started on boys like you, who call girls pushy just because they know what they want. I can’t afford to be who I am, like you can, because I don’t have the privilege of being a bloke.”

They have a stare-off, mostly Harry is just surprised at everything coming out of her mouth. She goes on.

“I know who you are Harry. I know you’ve got a mum and sister you’re close with. I’ve seen you around town. For someone with two women like that in your life you can look up to, you sure are a misogynistic prick.”

Harry’s left stunned. He didn’t think she ever noticed him let alone know him. He replays her words, her glimpse of vulnerability. If her words were an essay, there would be no red ink. It was hard for him to accept but she was right. From the start, when Ms. Easton paired them he made a million assumptions about her. That were all proven wrong. And Ms. Easton was right too: he was smart and good at being smart but maybe there was more than that.

“Now you’re quiet again!?” YN sounds defeated.

“No wait,” Harry speaks up before she leaves. “I’m sorry. Seriously.”

“Yeah whatever,” she rolls her eyes. “I’m over this.”

“Actually,” he steps in the same direction she does as she heads for the door. She stops in surprise. “Actually I am sorry. I was being intellectually superior. You’re smart too. I’m sorry.”

She looks at him warily, like he was going to laugh at her and tell her he was joking. When he doesn’t, when he maintains eye contact even though it kills him inside she backs away. Her face relaxes, like she’s accepted backing down. It was quite a sight for Harry, to see YN the Mean Girl who’s been making the last couple weeks hell for him, transform into something softer. Something that—he was still nervous to look at for too long, but one he could look at a little easier.

“I don’t want to write about the royal family and their fucking war legacy.”

Harry wasn’t expecting that.

“That’s basic as hell, I’m falling asleep just imagining us presenting it. It’s like buying drugstore when we can be buying Sephora.”

She squints at him, waiting for a rebuttle but he lets her have this one. After what Ms. Easton said, Harry was realizing that being smart didn’t mean you were right all the time. And he also had no idea what her example meant.

“Wow. Nothing?”

“No, I agree.” Harry smiles, a little embarrassed but wow. Her mouth splits into a grin and it changes her whole face. She’s suddenly younger, carefree, in that moment as Harry remembers how to breathe, he sees the person her mother tells her to be.

“What?” The staircase dims as she takes the smile back. “Are you going to go back to being mute.”

“No,” I was just admiring how beautiful you looked right now. Maybe you’re not who I thought you were. But you’re also way out of my league so now I have to act cool about it. “I just don’t know if we have time-“

“Stop.” She puts her hand up and walks towards him, back to the doors. “I’m going to come up with a pitch so good I’ll be picking your jaw off the floor and wiring it shut again. And…you can pitch your sad topic to me. The best one wins.”

“But we can just vote our own,” Harry points out the flaw in her plan, ignoring her threat.

“I think we’re both mature enough to hear each other out?” She opens the door back to the hall and Harry scrambles through it to keep up.

“I know I am,” Harry says it before he can think. Uh oh.

“You’re cheeky,” YN eyes him but she doesn’t look upset. Actually, she looks delighted. “Not just a quiet nerd hm?”

Harry shrugs, they had really been their stereotypes the last few weeks.

“So what you said before, you think I’m smart?”

“Well, yeah. I guess.” Harry felt uncomfortable now on the spot.

“So like you think I can be the future prime minister?”

“I…don’t know about that.” Harry side eyes her to notice she’s smiling. She was teasing him.

The bell rings out as they near the library.

“Talk to you tomorrow,” she says to him. She shoots him another smile and Harry tries to memorize it, second guessing he ever thought she was unattractive.

***

That Friday it’s like Harry and YN never had that conversation. She ignores him in the halls as usual, her friends sneer at him when they catch him looking their way. As much as Harry didn’t want to be disappointed, he was. Why did he think anything was going to be different?

But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her smile was a loop in his head any time his mind wanders. No wonder their whole grade was in love with her.

“You’re staring. Again.” Harry’s mate says at lunch. This time Harry looks away quickly, embarrassed. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “She’s just been making my life hell since we partnered up.”

“Yeah I heard those guys roughened you up at lunch the other day.”

They didn’t. But they did aim a basketball around the net as Harry was walking by yesterday and it had hit him. His glasses had fallen off but luckily nothing broke.

“Just one more week,” Harry mutters. Earlier this week he was counting down the days. Now he wasn’t so sure.

When the bell rings signalling the end of lunch, Harry is surprised when YN falls in line with him to their class.

“Pitch ready?” She asks. She smelled amazing like flowers and tea. Focus.

“Yep,” Harry didn’t put much effort into it. He didn’t have the same passion he did before and he was curious what YN had.

They get the last 20 minutes of class to work on their project. YN sits behind Harry so he turns when their time starts.

“Me first,” YN brings out a binder. She pulls out a folded piece of paper that she hands. He opens it and glitter falls into his lap.

“Ugh!” Harry jumps up but despite that his crotch sparkles. “What is this?”

YN’s eyes are lit up and she hides her giggles behind her hand. Harry stares, turning pink. Why would she do that?

“I’m so-“ she covers her mouth again. “I’m sorry!” She’s shaking as she tries to stop laughing. It’s kind of contagious and Harry cracks a smile.

“My pants are covered in glitter,” he deadpans which send her head onto the table as she shakes with laughter.

“It was just supposed to lighten the mood ohmygod,” YN can barely finish her sentence.

That was it. Harry tries to pick up whatever glitter he can, using the paper (he realizes it was her pitch) as a dustpan. He taps her behind the shoulder and she jumps up to turn, in that moment he dumps the paper on her and sits back down in satisfaction.

“Now we’re even,” Harry tell her. Her mouth is open in shock.

“No!” She tries to dust it off but her crotch, that Harry glances at, is also shimmering. “We were even after I did that to you! This is! Oh my god.”

She stands over Harry, her eyes glancing at his pants. A snicker escapes. Then she’s back in her seat laughing.

“I have to say your pitch is not going well,” Harry reminds her.

“Oh my god,” she tried to get serious but she’s still grinning. Harry doesn’t mind.

“Should I go first?” He asks.

“No no I got this. Okay. The royal family and…their influence on food. Now before you think it’s stupid did you know the matriarch actually has a list of forbidden foods. And if we go back, and look at the countries they invaded we can see…” YN grows serious, but passionate, as she begins pitching the topic. And before anything just her passion alone convinces Harry they had to do this topic. “From land to table.”

“Okay.” Harry says.

“Okay? Like that was just okay?”

“No, I vote your topic.”

“Oh my god really?” She lights up and it’s blinding. Harry wanted to make her light up every chance he got. Focus.

“Yeah I think it’s interesting. And different. But we only have a week.”

“That’s okay!” YN opens her binder and pulls out another sheet. “I did a bunch of research. I couldn’t really sleep last night cuz of…anyway. So our library has all these books that can help. And we can spend the weekend catching up right? We can meet at the local library and work. So we’re caught up by Monday.”

Wow. She really thought this through.

“Isn’t that too nerdy for you?” Harry has to ask. Didn’t she have something cooler to do on the weekend.

“Oh my god,” she rolls her eyes. That was the YN he knew. “Just because I’m not a nerd doesn’t mean I don’t care about my grades. You should know my lowest grade has been 82 this year.”

Wow. Even though Harry never scored below 95 that was still impressive coming from her. Which it shouldn’t be, he reminds himself. She was smart—just in a different way.

“Okay let’s do it!” Harry was excited. He suddenly understood what Ms. Easton was trying to say, he was missing creativity.

“Yay!” She squeezes his arm and Harry’s never felt more aware of his arm in his life. YN notices him freezing and she pulls away. “Sorry. I didn’t give you my cooties did I?”

She was quick. But it was funny and Harry can’t help but let out a snort.

“Is that a laugh? Are you laughing at something I said about you?”

Harry shakes his head and turns in his seat but his face is stuck in the grin. YN continues to heckle him from behind but she’s interrupted by the bell.

“Give me your number,” she says as he packs up. “So we can coordinate tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry pulls up his contacts and hands her his phone. “Just put yours in.”

“Okay, I’m texting myself too,” she types for a while and then hands it back. It’s only later when she texts him at the end of the day does he click her contact.

Future Prime Minister YN ❤️

The picture is one of her from below with a serious face on. When he squints he realizes she’s flipping him off. It’s funny, and Harry feels like he sees her now. Even though she couldn’t always be herself like he could, Harry now understood her enough to recognize the glimpses of herself she was giving him.

It’s destined that every nerd falls for the mean girl. Harry never believed that until now. As YN becomes more recognizable to him, his crush grows a little more. He had to nip this in the bud, he realizes. Because she would never feel the same way. In a million years. But maybe they could be friends. Maybe it was time for Harry to discover who he could be when he wasn’t spending all his time being nerdy. He had a lot to learn from her, he realizes. And the one thing he was good at was studying.

506 notes · View notes