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lilacxquartz · 4 months ago

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JJK x Reader: What they would do for your birthday

included: sukuna, uraume, kenjaku & mahito

tags/themes: drabbles, fluff, slightly suggestive, slight body horror for mahito, 500-1000 words per character

ao3 link • masterlist • mdni

a/n: levelling up this month so why not a lil drabble post 💥 i’ll write one up for the other chars next time

Sukuna

You had been officially with Sukuna for about a year now and have lived together with him for about half of that duration.

Therefore, it was only a matter of time before you ended up spending your birthday with him.

Or so you thought.

Waking up, you were surprised to find the bed completely empty and utterly devoid of his presence. Instead, Uraume stood in the doorway with a neutral look on their face, entirely unphased by you being partially undressed with the covers only concealing half of your otherwise bare body.

It took you a while to adjust to their unwavering stare before you noticed that they were holding onto something.

At first, you couldn’t help but consider the possibility that perhaps Sukuna had arranged for a gift to be dispensed at their hands rather than to deliver it himself. However, the longer you both stared each other down, the less likely that seemed to be the case.

Stepping forward, Uraume snapped open a roll of measuring tape in their hands, the object making a tight whipping sound, “Your measurements, please.”

Blinking, you tried to process their request.

“It would be wise if you could cooperate with me,” they added, piling onto your strained silence.

“Hold on a sec,” you murmured, “let me just get dressed—“

“—I really don’t mind,” they replied stiffly, “nor do I care.”

“I care, a-alright?” you partially stammered, feeling your face warm up under their eyes. Curse Sukuna for requesting that you sleep unclothed. “Just step out for a moment. …Please?”

With a weary eye roll, Uraume complied with your request.

Quickly slipping into a tank top and a pair of underwear, you awkwardly cleared your throat a couple of times to signal that you were ready.

As they walked back inside, they swiftly manoeuvred around you, looping the measuring tape around your arms and waist with calculated precision as you stood there with slowly building discomfort.

“S-so… what’s this for?” you asked.

“For lord Sukuna,” they quietly replied while taking a step back, their eyes closing for a moment as though to make a mental note, “a request of his so that I can make some… adjustments.”

You nervously laughed in response in an attempt to lighten the mood, “You make it sound so ominous.”

Uraume however did not reciprocate, leaving you alone in the bedroom where you were left to gather what remained of your throughts for a good couple of hours. In that time, you chose to take it as easy as possible in fearful anticipation for what Sukuna might have had in store for you.

When the time finally arrived for him to make his grand appearance, you were sitting in bed half awake against the headboard, sleepily browsing your phone.

Sukuna’s footsteps were methodical as he approached you, holding onto what appeared to be neatly folded fabric. His pointed fingernails lightly threaded around the cloth, seeming careful not to tear through the material.

Warily, you sat up and steeled yourself, unsure as to what to expect all the while he extended his arms, offering you what you were certain to be a gift.

Before you could say anything however, he promptly cut you off with a disapproving tone, “You will refrain from getting sentimental at my offering. I’m doing this out of pure etiquette.”

You blinked at him with a confused arched brow as your mouth slightly hung ajar. Thinking nothing of it, you carefully unfolded the cloth, unfurling the creases and gently spreading out a robe similar to the one he often wore.

Unable to resist a smile, you couldn’t help but ask in a teasing tone, “Did you just give me a matching kimono? Are we really matching? That’s so adora—“

“—cease, the rags you otherwise wear are simply… unacceptable, that’s all,” he huffed in a curt response, seeming displeased with your remark. “This is more so to please me than it is for you to enjoy.”

Your smile continued to grow as his words went right over your head. No matter how much he would continue to deny it, he got you something personal—something purposefully commissioned for you to wear that matched what he had.

Attempting to further taunt him for being soft, you opened up your mouth to tempt the idea. However he quickly grabbed your wrist and yanked it towards him as a playful threat, his voice low and full of warning, “Don’t push your luck, brat. You’ll try this on and let me see how it sits on you.”

Stifling your mockery for now, you quietly obeyed his word without further question to which he released you to do so. You punched one arm at a time through the kimono while he helped you ease into it; his eyes fixated intently on how you wore it, silently judging how you adapted to wearing the cloth.

“Perfect,” he whispered under his breath, although the annoyance he felt prior was steadily returning the longer you stared at him with that irritating smile, “again, don’t mistake this gift as an act of kindness. I’m simply ensuring that you dress the way I’d prefer.”

“Sure,” you replied with a sarcastic undertone.

You couldn’t lie though, the material was perfectly soft against your skin. It felt like wearing weightless silk that both cooled yet somehow warmed your body.

And despite the coldness that he continued to deliver you with his pointed stare, there was a flicker of something else in the depth of his eyes. Perhaps it was care, no matter how much he denied being unable to feel such an emotion.

Or perhaps it was longing… or a subtler form of affection that you didn’t quite understand.

Whatever it was, the gift was a token of his claim towards you—for you to wear something he did too, to present to the world that you were in fact truly his.

Which in his eyes was the most meaningful gift that he could ever give.

Uraume

Your interactions with Uraume were always a hit or a miss, at least initially. Slowly, you grew to appreciate their company over the last couple of years and during more recent times, the pair of you had blossomed into a relationship.

Taking such a big step forward was a challenge for you both, but you did come to value the way they showed affection—no matter how subtle it always was.

Together, you lived on a property not too far from Sukuna’s residence. They were always available at a moment’s notice for his every whim and need, so often times you were left to spend the evenings alone and when your birthday finally rolled around, you didn’t expect anything less.

However, much to your surprise, Uraume seemingly got off much earlier than you had anticipated, arriving home just before it was too dark. Just before you were too tired to stay up for their company.

“You’re home early,” you said, greeting them with an acknowledging nod as they lingered in the doorway—both hands clasped onto a box that they held onto for dear life.

As they nodded back, you became curious about the contents and gently placed your phone onto the sofa to inspect what they were carrying. Carefully, you trailed off to where they stood, looking down ever so slightly while they figured out how to address you.

“…Today is a significant day for you,” they spoke up at last, their hands slowly extending as they attempted to part with the box.

You grabbed onto it, securing it at parallel ends.

“Correct,” you slowly nodded.

A moment of silence had passed before Uraume continued on with what they wanted to say, “As such, I have brought you something as a gift. Please open it carefully.”

Nodding once more, you heeded their request and placed the box onto the breakfast table, sitting on a chair and began to open up the box. Slowly, you unloaded a fine china tea set with a delicate touch.

“Is it acceptable?” Uraume asked.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” you whispered, carefully inspecting each and every single fine detail, seemingly hand painted onto the dishes.

“I used to have a similar set, way back then,” they added, “although I couldn’t find the exact original.”

“You have incredible taste either way,” you complimented.

Uraume’s lips curled slightly, looking away for a second as you praised them,

“Is it… acceptable?” they asked you again, wondering if it was a gesture that you enjoyed or not. Uraume didn’t like it when things were sugarcoated, preferring a blunt or clear response instead.

“Yes,” you replied, “I love it.”

For Uraume to not only consider your interest but to also add a personal flair and also locate something potentially rare and nostalgic to them was an incredible gesture to you.

Seeming pleased, Uraume continued, “I could prepare you some tea then, if you’d like. You should be sleeping soon, so a cup might be nice.”

“I’d love that,” you replied.

“Then please sit tight,” they smiled, “allow me to treat you as you deserve.”

Kenjaku

Going to sleep at Kenjaku’s side and waking up alive the next day was a miraculous accomplishment each and every single time. It was such a relieving feeling, that you almost found yourself feeling thankful that on your birthday, you woke up feeling perfectly fine without a hint of unwelcome surprise.

No suspicious incisions, no missing organs—you were fine, all fine. Just fine…!

Yet as you left the bed and saw a note sitting at the doorstep to the entrance of the bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy.

You warily picked it up, scanning over the surface of the paper:

‘Happy birthday. Your gift awaits.’

As you then unfolded the note completely, you found that there was more written on the inside; an unnamed address without any context.

Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself for whatever it was. You didn’t want to go anywhere unnecessary today, yet here he was, directing you somewhere potentially strange.

Chucking on your usual outfit—something lazy for running errands, you inputted the address into your GPS app and began to march towards the mysterious direction.

You supposed that you were lucky to be dating this man during the modern times, where you at least had modern technology to accurately guide you to wherever it was he directed you. Had this been just decades earlier with a paper map, you might have genuinely lost the single shred of sanity that you had left.

And upon reaching the address in question, you stepped inside what appeared to be an old antique shop. Inside stood an old man who trembled as he asked for your name, seeming equal parts nervous and relieved as he handed you a note with a key folded inside.

Sighing, you thanked the man and parted the key from the paper, reading more of his forsaken words:

‘Unlock compartment #51 and retrieve the contents.’

Doing just that, you asked the man if he knew what the note was talking about and with a strained nod, he led you to a small room filled to the brim with small drawers dotted with little key slots. You supposed that this antique shop somehow doubled as an old post office perhaps, given the worn state of the lockers.

You braced yourself for whatever you were about to find in the allocated compartment, frowning as you retrieved a small box wrapped in paper. Inside, was an even smaller box, although completely metal with a cap on it and to your lacking surprise, another note.

“Oh for the love of—“ you muttered as your eyes focused on the new piece of paper:

‘Return home and loudly close the door. Break the seal of the case and place it onto the counter.’

With an almost exasperated groan, you stormed back to your shared home and did exactly as he instructed—feeling genuinely unsure as to why you were torturing yourself on what appeared to be a scavenger hunt for what gave him the audacity to do such a thing.

You stared at the activated case with a narrowed gaze, half expecting the damned thing to blow up. It was surely not too promising as smoke seeped through the narrow ventilation slots and as a loud beeping noise played, but then you smelled something pleasant.

Kenjaku then materialised seemingly out of nowhere, jolting you with unanticipated surprise as he swooped in to disassemble the case, unveiling a small cake of some kind that he then took a bite out of, without offering you a single crumb.

“…Excuse me?” you asked, staring at him in disbelief.

“I haven’t had one of these for centuries,” he replied, his mouth slightly muffled as he chewed.

You continued to stare at him, “And why did you make me go through all of that?”

Initially he curiously hummed but then smiled upon finishing up the confection, “So that I could give you a gift that you wouldn’t forget. A pleasant memory.”

“I didn’t find it very pleasant…” you sulked.

Kenjaku simply continued to smile as he patted your head, messing up your hair in the process, “But it was definitely unforgettable, right?”

“I… I guess so?” you reluctantly supposed.

“Then, consider that to be my gift to you,” he replied, “a day of intrigue, but also enrichment.”

“T-thank you?” you replied in a state of quickly growing confusion; completely unsure of what was even happening.

Seeming satisfied, Kenjaku retreated from you as he slinked back into what was his study, “You’re welcome,” he sang before disappearing into the room.

All the while you could do nothing but simply stand there, confused yet also… somehow fulfilled?

Mahito

You weren’t sure how, but you managed to find yourself entangled in Mahito’s personal web. You weren’t sure as to why this strange cursed spirit seemed to spare you, but you were starting to wish that he hadn’t, given how often he popped into your own home.

You tried just about everything to keep him out, but he was just too damn determined. It was on a nightly basis that he made it into a routine; somehow breaching your barricaded doors and boarded up windows to routinely appear in your bedroom.

You could always tell when he was there, too.

Initially he gave you the creeps as he lingered in the shadows of your dark bedroom, but slowly he became something to simply just expect.

And with the all too familiar tapping of his knuckles against the wall, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed as he paid you yet another visit against your will.

Flashing on the lights, you bathed the once dark room in a blinding glow and there he was; stood idly up against your wall, waiting for you to notice him.

“Miss me?” he asked, leaning ever so slightly forward which caused his silver locks to sway.

You groaned into your pillow, turning away from him, mumbling something just coherent enough for him to parse, “I’m about to go to sleep. Go away.”

“Sleep? How boring~” he mocked in a jovial tone. “Especially on such a special day.”

You reluctantly acknowledged that it was indeed your birthday, choosing to push down the curiosity you had in mind with how on earth he managed to obtain such knowledge to begin with.

“Correct,” you begrudgingly replied, “so can my present be for you to leave me alone?”

Mahito simply laughed in response, a shrill and mocking sound escaping his lips. It always bothered you how expressive his features were yet how vacant his eyes seemed to be.

“Silly!” he exclaimed. “That would be rude of me, now wouldn’t it?”

“…The opposite, actually,” you mumbled.

Mahito pushed himself off of the wall and made his way to sit by your side while you were still in bed. He made a point of pulling off your blanket away from you and throwing the pillows off to the side—forcing you to whether you wanted to or not, to acknowledge his existence.

However, before you could react any further, his bare fingers brushed against your forehead with a strange, almost alien sensation that followed.

It felt like a headache of some sort but you couldn’t quite figure it out just yet.

Something was simply just… off.

Warily, both of your hands felt around your scalp, feeling something pointed and sharp spearing out of your head. In an attempt to get it off of you, you seemed to make the pain worse.

Such a realisation that he might have altered your body filled you with a deep sense of dread and that wasn’t a feeling you were particularly ready to accept.

“W-what did you just do…?” you asked with a trembling voice.

Mahito clapped his hands together in delight, seeming thoroughly amused at the sight before him. His eyes gleamed with pure excitement as he traced the air with a pointed finger, drawing an outline of your figure.

“Just a little something to get you into the party spirit,” he hinted with a sense of excitement that was just barely contained, “why not look into the mirror and see for yourself?”

Albeit reluctantly, you got out of bed and padded your way to the standing floor mirror that you had in the corner of your room. You weren’t quite sure what to expect, but upon seeing a literal organic mass spearing from the top of your head, it certainly wasn’t that.

The longer you stared at it, the more uneasy you felt.

The very sight of it alone made you feel nauseated.

“G-get it o-off…!” you barely choked out, the volume of your voice croaking out as nothing more than a whisper.

Mahito’s grin then grew wider, “Not yet, birthday girl. How about some gratitude for your very own built in party hat?”

Surrendering to his terms under the implication that he would undo such a ridiculous alteration to your body, you managed to sputter out that could have resembled coherent words.

“Th-tha-thank y-you, Ma-mahito.”

Yet, the patch faced spirit didn’t seem satisfied with your attempt at all, tilting his head off to the side as though to indicate disappointment.

“Let’s try again,” he requested with a feigned sulk, “with a little bit more enthusiasm, perhaps?”

“Th-thank you!” you blurted out, although still sounding more horrified than grateful.

“That’s better,” Mahito cheered on, his personality rebounding in a split second, “but still not quite good enough,” he added on, “one last time with the right amount of passion? Unless you’d rather I keep it permanently like that?”

“Thank you for this incredible gift, Mahito!” you exclaimed, practically shouting as your both your voice as well as your dignity left your body.

Seeming genuinely pleased, Mahito ran his fingers by your head once again before returning you back to your original form. Not only were you right as rain, but he also gave you a good minute to compose yourself, waiting for you to scold him.

“What was that…?” you huffed.

“A magic trick for your birthday party,” he beamed, charading the flick of a wand, “a gift to get you into the birthday mood!”

“Oh, I’m in a mood alright,” you sighed.

“Not to worry,” he announced after yet another moment of painful silence, his sudden movement jolting you, “I’m going to leave you alone for now. So goodnight, better be thankful or else I’ll bite tonight~!”

Your eye twitched as he continued to taunt you with the almost burdening reminder that regardless of his promised absence, that he would come crawling back into your life the very next day.

Perhaps however, you should be thankful that he only seemed to want to rile you up rather than to torture you.

So maybe that much was a gift in itself than anything else.

>>> more birthday jjk drabbles

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lefteagleblizzard · 23 days ago

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𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: The night at the lodge was supposed to be all harmless fun until Chris made you a deal: if he helped you get closer to Mike, you'd owe him big. You laughed it off, certain he was just joking like always. But soon enough, you'd realize Chris was dead serious and the stakes had never felt more real.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Takes place an hour before the event of the prologue. Mike and Emily/Jess are not together in this. Make out session. No use of Y/N. Chris being an amazing wingman. Friends to lovers. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex. Reader being called ‘ a good boy’

Words count: 6000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Part 2 of this

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

You stared out the window, entranced by the snow-covered landscape stretching beyond the glass. The mountain peaks towered in the distance, face softened by thick blankets of snow. Snowflakes danced in the wind, tumbling and swirling, like something out of a dream.

A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. "Pretty amazing view, right?"

You turned, finding Sam standing beside you, her hazel eyes bright and clear as she looked out at the scene you'd been admiring. Her breath fogged up the glass slightly as she leaned forward, folding her arms and gazing outside.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s like we're in some sort of snow globe, you know?"

Sam laughed softly, nodding. "I know. I've been here before, but somehow, every time I come back, it still takes my breath away."

You smiled, watching her for a moment before shifting your gaze back to the view. You felt a sense of quiet contentment that was rare. But it didn't last long, as Sam looped her arm through yours with a grin.

"Alright, enough of the peaceful vibes," she said, giving you a playful nudge. "We'll have plenty of time to be zen later. Everyone's downstairs, and I think we're missing out on some very important chaos"

You laughed as she started tugging you along. "I don't have much of a choice, right?"

"Exactly," she quipped, grinning as she guided you through the hallway and down the grand staircase. The lodge's wooden steps creaked underfoot.

Sam kept a steady grip on your arm, steering you through the open archway that led to the main living area.

You glanced around, taking in the scene. In one corner, Jess and Emily were huddled together, whispering intently, heads close and voices low. Jess was laughing at something Emily had just said.

To your right, the guys were clustered around the TV, where a football game was playing on the massive flat screen. Josh was perched on the arm of the couch, gesturing animatedly at the screen as if the players could hear his advice. Matt sat beside him, his focus glued to the game, nodding along and shouting at the TV whenever a play went wrong. And there, beside Matt, was Mike leaning back casually, but his eyes seemed distant, as though he was watching something beyond the screen.

You blinked as you realized that he was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze caught you off guard, and for a second, your stomach did a strange little flip. Mike's expression was unreadable as he watched you and Sam together. Then, as if realizing he'd been caught, he quickly turned back to the game, jaw clenching slightly as he forced a laugh at something Matt said.

Sam didn't seem to notice any of this. Instead, she led you over to the large wooden table where Chris was lounging, a mug of hot cocoa in hand and browsing through his phone

"Look who finally decided to join the rest of us. Thought maybe you'd wandered off to commune with nature or something." he drawled, setting down his phone with a theatrical sigh.

Sam rolled her eyes but chuckled. "Some people appreciate the beauty of nature, Chris. Not everyone's glued to their phone."

"Hey, I appreciate the great outdoors as much as the next guy. With Wi-Fi and a lot fewer bears, of course."

You laughed, settling in beside Sam "Some people enjoy a bit of peace and quiet now and then."

"I'm all for peace and quiet, just not when there are opportunities for... other kinds of excitement."

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a bit wary. “What do you mean?”

"You know... like maybe getting cozy with a certain someone?" He leaned in, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. "This could be your big chance, man."

You could feel your cheeks heating up, and you quickly glanced away, mumbling, "Chris, come on”

Chris laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction. "I'm just saying, if there were ever a time to make a move, this is it. Perfect opportunity!"

"Chris!" Sam interjected, laughing as she gently swatted him on the arm. "Cut it out! He doesn't need you trying to play matchmaker."

Chris feigned a wounded expression, placing a hand over his heart. "Sam, come on. I'm just trying to help our boy here! All you gotta do is put on some charm, maybe play it a little cool, and bam, he's yours."

"Like you're one to talk," Sam said, jumping in. "You've been making heart eyes at Ashley for all this time. How's that working out for you, Chris?"

Chris groaned, dramatically admitting defeat. "Okay, touché. But hey, tell you what, if I help you get close to Mike, you owe me a favor, or a solid friendship payback, something. Deal?"

You chuckled, waving him off. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Chris" You didn't think he was serious, but it was hard not to laugh at his enthusiasm. You knew Chris well enough to know he was just having a bit of fun.

"Good," Chris said, giving you a mock-salute. "Now that's settled, I'll be expecting my reward once you and Mike are official"

"Official?" You snorted, leaning back in your seat. "I'm pretty sure we're a long way from that"

"Not if you listen to your wingman here," he said, winking. "I know all the right moves."

"Right," Sam interjected with a grin. "Just like you know all the moves to win Ashley over?"

Chris held up his hands, chuckling. "I can be persuasive."

Sam shook her head, laughing softly. She leaned in, giving you an encouraging smile. "Look, don't listen to him. Just be yourself, and if it's meant to happen, it will. And don't let him pressure you into anything."

"Thank you, Sam," you replied, grateful for her grounded advice.

The game wrapped up, the room buzzed with chatter and laughter. Josh turned off the TV and everyone gravitated toward the couches in the living room, drawn together by the warmth of the fireplace and the cozy ambiance of the lodge. The couches were a bit crowded, and as people started finding seats, you hovered near the edge, ready to grab a stool from the table to give everyone more room.

"Hey!" Mike's voice made you turn back. "There's room here." He gestured to the narrow space beside him, barely wide enough for one person.

You hesitated, feeling your cheeks warm as you registered what he was offering. It wasn't much room. Actually, it was hardly any room at all. But he was looking at you expectantly, his gaze unwavering, and you found yourself nodding, unable to turn down the chance.

You made your way over, careful to keep your composure even as your heart raced. Sliding into the narrow space, you were acutely aware of his shoulder pressing warmly against yours, his knee brushing against your leg.

The chatter picked up around you, Jessica was animatedly recounting a wild story from a previous trip, her hands gesturing wildly, drawing laughs from Sam and Emily. Matt listened with an amused grin as she continued her exaggerated retelling. Chris and Ashley sat on the floor near the fireplace talking with Josh, their shoulders bumping every so often, and every time, Ashley's cheeks would flush a faint pink.

"You look nervous," Mike whispered, his breath brushing close to your ear, low enough that only you could hear. "Am I making you uncomfortable? Don't worry, I don't bite... much"

You swallowed, glancing sideways at him. His face was close, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips as he watched you. "No, I'm fine," you managed to reply, trying to sound casual despite how fast your heart was beating. "It's just a bit of a tight squeeze."

He chuckled softly, eyes glinting. "Yeah, real tight. Guess you're just gonna have to get cozy with me."

You felt your face flush, and he seemed to catch it, his grin widening just a little. The conversation around you flowed on but you felt as though there was this separate, quieter bubble with just you and Mike.

Casually, he stretched his arm out along the back of the couch and his arm soon dropped gently onto your shoulder, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sweater. His hand large and warm where it rested.

The others were talking, lost in discussion about various topics but you were barely able to focus on a single word.

You could feel Mike's eyes on you, and when you dared to glance his way, you found him watching you with a quiet intensity, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, his gaze lingering a bit too long, savoring the sight of you flustered beside him. The flicker of firelight danced in his eyes, giving them a soft, molten glow.

You two were, like, five seconds away from sitting on each other's laps and if you wanted to, he wouldn't mind at all.

He looked away then, his fingers tapping lightly on your arm as he settled back, his focus shifting to the others' conversation, smiling at something Jess was said.

"So there I was," Jess said, leaning forward, "freshman year, completely new at school, trying to look cute in gym class which, by the way, is nearly impossible with the whole sweats and sneakers thing." She rolled her eyes, earning chuckles from the group. "And we're playing dodgeball. I'm just minding my own business doing some selfies, when BAM!" She smacked her hands together, emphasizing the impact. "This guy drills me in the face with the ball. I literally hit the ground in front of the entire class."

The room erupted with laughter, Chris practically doubling over as he clutched his stomach.

"Okay, okay," Matt said, wiping a tear from his eye after the laughter had died down. "I've got one, but no judging."

"We're all friends here, Matt," Chris teased, leaning forward with mock seriousness. "Of course we’re gonna do it."

Matt launched into a story about a school dance gone wrong. Something about spilling punch on his crush's dress and then slipping in it while trying to apologize. The group listened, laughing and wincing as he described the mortifying details.

Just as Matt's story ended, Josh turned his attention to Mike, "What about you? Surely you've got some embarrassing memory tucked away."

Mike chuckled, feigning reluctance but clearly enjoying the attention. "You guys want a story? Here's one. My first kiss was not exactly smooth."

The room perked up, everyone leaning in a little closer.

"Alright, alright. So... freshman year. I was at this house party. You know, feeling like a big deal and all that." He leaned forward, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "I'm wearing way too much cologne because, apparently, I thought that was how you got someone's attention. And, yeah, I was nervous."

The group chuckled, and you found yourself smiling as you imagined a younger, less self-assured Mike.

"It was one of those moments, you know? I'm thinking, 'This is it, man’ So, finally, I'm like, okay, I'm going in for the kiss." He paused for dramatic effect.

"And I close my eyes... maybe a little too soon. So, I lean in, full of confidence, but instead of a pair lips, I end up kissing a forehead, like I was giving a blessing or something," he said, laughing as he reenacted the awkward gesture, his face breaking into a grimace.

The room burst into laughter, everyone's amusement only fueling Mike's smile.

Emily grinned, tapping her chin to appear deep in thought. "You know, that sounds like it needs a redo."

Mike raised an eyebrow, his face a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying," Emily continued, her tone playful and a little too serious, "you need a chance to redeem yourself. Your reputation is on the line here, Mike.

"Oh, come on, Michael," Jess teased, winking at Emily. "Emily's just trying to help you out."

Emily crossed her arms, pretending to look offended. "If you're as smooth as you think you are, this should be easy."

Chris voice soon stole the attention of everyone, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked at you. “Why don’t you step in and be a good homie? Make this unique for him without hurting the girls’ feelings here. It’s just a way to help a buddy out.”

Heat flooded your face, and you looked at Chris with a mixture of disbelief and horror, silently cursing him for putting you on the spot. He had an exaggerated, almost innocent smile, like he hadn't just thrown you into the spotlight. You could feel the group's attention shift, everyone's curiosity piqued as they picked up on Chris's not-so-subtle suggestion.

Your heart started to race, your mind suddenly split in trying to figure out what to do.

Accept the proposal. Embrace the challenge, let the thrill ignite something between you two, regardless of the potential consequences. It could solidify your feelings and perhaps satisfy your infatuation, or throw your friendship with others into chaos.

Refuse. Protect yourself from vulnerability, avoid complicating things with Mike, and maintain a semblance of control over the situation. It’s safe, but it might leave you wondering what could have been.

You take a deep breath, weighing the options. You looked over at Mike from the corner of your eyes and to your surprise, he didn't seem phased or disgusted at all. In fact, he looked intrigued. Maybe even a bit too eager. He shifted closer, his gaze steady as he looked at you, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

Accept the proposal

A faint shimmer seemed to ripple across the room, a barely perceptible wave that was more felt than seen, like the delicate flap of a butterfly's wings resonating outwards, echoing into something larger, something unknown.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"I’ve got no problem," you said, your voice quieter than you'd intended, a slight tremor betraying the excitement that was coursing through you. Your pulse quickened as you realized how real this was about to become. "But no promises on-"

Before you could finish, Mike's hand was on your face, his fingers warm and steady against your skin as he gently but firmly guided you to face him. His touch was confident, the kind of touch that held no hesitation, no doubt. In that fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of excitement in his eyes, a spark that catches you off guard.

His touch was warm, grounding, and you barely had time to brace yourself before his lips met yours.

The kiss started soft, a gentle pressure that deepened soon, his lips parting slightly as he tilted your head, his hand steadying you.

His arm around your shoulder tightened, drawing you in closer and enveloping you in the warmth of his solid frame, effectively caging you against him. Backing away was no longer an option.

The room around you erupted in shouts and cheers, but they felt like background noise to the consuming connection between you and Mike.

You could feel his restraint slipping, his eagerness intensifying. His lips moved with a hunger that was unmistakable, his hand slipping down to your shoulder, fingers pressing into your skin as if to anchor himself.

You felt his tongue slip forward, grazing against yours, a bold, unrestrained movement that took your breath away. His breath mingled with yours as his tongue explored, tracing along your teeth and slipping eagerly into every corner of your mouth. His hand moved from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he angled you closer, the kiss growing deeper, more intense.

Emily sat back, her expression carefully controlled, her usual sharp confidence dimming as she watched you and Mike. There was a bitterness in her eyes that she tried to hide behind a forced smile, her gaze dropping as if she couldn't bear to watch.

Sam glanced away from the intensity of the moment, a soft smile spreading across her face as she took in your bliss. She was genuinely happy for you, watching you live out what could only be described as a dream for anyone with their crush. But as her gaze drifted to Hannah, her expression shifted.

She gave Chris a quick punch on the arm, muttering, "Nice going, cupid," as she shot a concerned glance toward Hannah who was looking down, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Chris, realizing what he'd inadvertently stirred up, shifted uncomfortably, murmuring an apology under his breath.

"I swear I thought it'd just be, like, a quick smooch or something. Didn't expect him to... you know, go all in."

You could feel your friends laughing together, their voices blending with the loud beating of your heart reverberating in your ears, all of them no longer paying attention to you and Mike.

Mike's mouth was still on yours, his lips pressing insistently along with the soft cradle of his hand on the back of your head as he leaned in even closer, his thumb brushing gently along your jawline, a soft, almost tender gesture that contrasted with the intensity of his kiss.

When he finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, he didn't move far. His arm remained on your shoulder, his thumb brushing gently over your skin as his gaze lingered on your face. His pupils wide and there was a spark of satisfaction in the small, lopsided grin that curved his lips. He looked as though he'd just accomplished something he'd wanted for a long time, and his hand remained at your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek, leaving you with the realization that maybe Mike felt the same way.

He winked at you, his grin widening as he took in the sight of your flushed face, pleased with the effect he'd had on you.

The warmth of the lodge felt almost suffocating after this. Your heart was pounding, your skin tingling, and you could feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the fireplace. So, when everyone got up to see who could withstand more booze between Josh and Chris, you slipped away from the group, sneaking outside to steady yourself.

Sitting alone outside in the snow, you tilted your head back and exhaled, your breath clouding the air around you in soft, fleeting puffs. The chill from the ground seeped through your clothes, but you barely noticed, too lost in the replay of the kiss that had unfolded with Mike earlier. A quiet smile lingered on your lips, but it was starting to ache from how long it had stayed there. You touched your face, almost laughing at how ridiculous it felt to be so swept up by a single kiss.

The silence was broken by a distant, eerie sound. A chilling, guttural scream that seemed to echo through the snowy trees, too animalistic to be human and too distorted to be familiar. You suddenly became aware of just how isolated you were out here. With one last look around, you decided it was best to head back inside.

Chris and Josh were sprawled across the two couches, completely knocked out. Josh's arm hung limply over the edge, while Chris had somehow managed to slump halfway down the couch, his head hanging back and a gentle snore escaping his lips.

You walked over, chuckling softly as you took in the sight. Chris's face was adorned with various drawings, courtesy of your mature friends. He had a mustache, glasses, and something vaguely resembling a pirate's eye patch.

You leaned in, whispering to him, "I'll make it up to you somehow." Не mumbled something incomprehensible in response, but it only made you smile, glad he was there, even in his alcohol-induced stupor.

As you straightened, your gaze drifted to the table nearby, where a crumpled piece of paper lay. Intrigued, you reached for it, noticing that it had been folded and unfolded multiple times. It wasn't long before you recognized Jessica's handwriting, her signature dramatic flourish over every "i" and "j". Curiosity piqued, you smoothed it out and began reading.

They intended to lure Hannah into thinking Mike was genuinely interested in her, playing on her obvious crush. An idea likely planted by Emily, who you knew was never above using a little underhandedness to get what she wanted, especially if it meant eliminating any ‘competition’ for Mike's attention

Hannah had been Mike's quiet admirer for as long as anyone could remember, and she likely saw you as competition, someone who was slowly claiming the attention she'd always dreamed of having for herself.

And the the kiss you had with Mike happened. Raw, real, with an intensity you hadn't felt before. The memory alone was enough to make your heart race, but now it was tinted with a complicated swirl of guilt and conflict.

You folded the paper and placed it back on the table, the weight of the situation sinking in.

Taking a steadying breath, you climbed the stairs, your heart a chaotic mix of emotions. Maybe you were in time to see what they were up to and stop this stupid idea but, as you reached the landing, you saw Hannah standing in the hallway, looking more vulnerable than ever.

She had changed into a new outfit, this should have been the shirt mentioned on the paper. Her makeup was carefully applied and she'd styled her hair, giving her an air of confidence that seemed fragile beneath the surface. She was trying to be someone else tonight, someone she thought Mike might finally notice.

She greeted you, her voice soft, almost shy. Ber hands fidgeting slightly as she shifted her weight. "Have you, um, seen Mike around anywhere?"

Her question hit you like a blow, and suddenly, everything froze.

Tell her the truth. Take the burden upon yourself, spare her from the cruel joke waiting for her. Show compassion, empathy, knowing it would devastate her to hear that her crush was being used against her. It was the honorable path. But in doing so, you risk losing any chance you had with Mike, knowing she might find some way to make him notice her, knowing she would keep clinging to her hope.

Tell her where Mike could be. Give her the small push that would send her toward the prank, and maybe—just maybe— she'd realize he wasn't hers to pursue. She'd see the truth of the situation, feel the sting of betrayal, and let go of the dream she held onto so tightly. It would be a selfish choice, driven by a desire to keep what you'd found with Mike, however brief, however new it was.

You looked at her, feeling your heart clench. Hannah's eyes held a faint glimmer of smugness, a subtle look that told you she saw you as her rival, someone she'd managed to one-up. There was a quiet triumph in her gaze, like she knew she'd taken a step ahead in this unspoken competition, and it stirred something in you. An ache of jealousy, resentment, a desperation to hold onto that kiss you'd shared with Mike, the feeling of his hand on your face, his gaze steady and unguarded.

The kiss was still fresh in your memory, vivid and electric. His lips on yours, the look in his eyes when he'd pulled back, the way he lingered, his hand resting on your jaw, his thumb brushing your skin. Those moments felt like yours alone. The thought of giving that up, of stepping aside, felt like a painful tearing inside.

It was that memory that tipped the scales, jealousy and desire mingling with fear and longing, stirring something selfish, something raw.

Tell her where Mike could be

You forced a small smile, doing your best to keep your voice calm. "I think he went upstairs. Maybe check one of the rooms?”

A faint shimmer flickered in your peripheral vision, like a ripple in the air, and a twinge of guilt tightened in your chest.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Hannah's eyes lit up, her face breaking into an excited smile, the look of triumph becoming even more pronounced as she nodded, glancing down the hallway with a sense of anticipation. "Thank you," she murmured as she turned, her steps quick and light, eager to reach the encounter she thought awaited her.

You watched her disappear down the hall, your heart sinking as a pang of guilt twisted inside you. The weight of what you'd done settled heavily, an ache that gnawed at your chest, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

Turning away, you felt the need for air, for space, and made your way toward the balcony. The crisp night air hit you as you stepped outside, the chill biting into your skin, but it did little to shake the lingering weight of your decision. The view stretched before you, vast and beautiful, snow-covered trees casting dark silhouettes against the star-speckled sky.

You leaned against the railing, closing your eyes, letting the cold seep into you, grounding yourself in the reality of everything that had happened tonight. The kiss replayed in your mind. You could still feel his touch, the press of his lips, the breathless thrill that had consumed you, making you forget the world around you.

You had let jealousy and insecurity guide you, and it left you feeling hollow, a gnawing ache spreading in your chest as you replayed the moment you'd told Hannah where to find him.

You'd let her walk into a setup, into a trap that would humiliate her, and as much as you wanted Mike to yourself, as much as you craved the connection you'd felt with him, the choice you'd made felt cold, cruel.

So much time passed, snowflakes started to accumulate on your hair and clothes and you were still lost in thought when the soft creak of footsteps on the wooden deck broke the silence, pulling you back to the present. Turning, you were surprised to see Mike stepping out onto the balcony.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"There you are," he said softly, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I was looking for you."

A pang of relief washed over you at seeing him, even as the guilt returned with a renewed intensity. You managed a small smile, trying to push away the conflict twisting in your chest. "Hey," you replied, watching him as he closed the distance between you.

Mike offered you a small, teasing smile, the familiar cocky grin that you'd come to love. "I've got something a little important to talk about with you."

You looked up, meeting his gaze, feeling your heart skip a beat at the way his eyes held a playful glint. He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. "You know, that little thing that happened between us a few minutes ago... I think we left it unfinished."

You could feel again your heartbeat drumming in your ears, and a small smile tugged at your lips. "Is that so?" you replied, feeling a spark of excitement rekindle.

"Yeah," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, softer tone as he leaned even closer. "I think we might have a few things to clear up about us." His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, as he added with a hint of playful challenge, "Unless, of course, you're gonna tell me that was just a favor, and you don't feel the same way."

The question hung between you, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. You took a steadying breath, feeling the familiar thrill of his presence, the way he seemed to pull you in effortlessly. "I... I think you know what it meant for me, Mike."

"I dunno... you seemed kinda thrown off after. Made me think maybe I did something wrong."

Your cheeks heated, and you tried to roll your eyes, but it came off as more of a nervous laugh. "Yeah, sure, like you ever doubt yourself."

"Hey," he said, pretending to look wounded, though the grin never left his face. "I have doubts. I mean, how else am I supposed to know if I've got a shot?"

He grinned, his hand moving to grasp your waist, "So, tell me," he said, his voice husky and barely audible. "Did I live up to your expectations?"

"Expectations?" you echoed.

"Yeah, you know," he said, his hand squeezing gently. "A kiss is kind of a big deal, right? Wouldn't want you to feel like you got short-changed."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face. "I don't have any complaints," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mike's eyes lit up, that cocky grin widening as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost dangerous murmur. "See, I was hoping for more than just 'no complaints’," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "I want you wanting more and more... until you're practically counting down the seconds to get another chance with me." He tilted his head, his gaze flickering to your lips for a heartbeat before meeting your eyes again, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

The words sent a thrill racing through you, leaving your heart pounding as he inched even closer. His confidence was magnetic, and you could feel yourself drawn to it, the space between you almost electric.

Mike leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel his breath warm against your cheek. He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, searching your expression as if looking for any hint of hesitation, but when you didn't pull away, he took his chance.

His lips met yours with a slow, deliberate pressure. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, his other hand lifting to cradle your jaw, his fingers gentle but firm as he deepened the kiss, savoring every moment, every small reaction.

His mouth moved against yours with a quiet, unhurried intensity. His breath was warm, and the faint scent of cologne lingered, mixing with the crispness of the winter air.

He pulled back slightly, his face hovering inches from yours, his breath coming in soft, uneven puffs as he watched you. His eyes held a mixture of affection and something deeper, something that made your heart race.

"Let's go somewhere a little more private." He murmured, his voice low and rough as he glanced back toward the lodge.

You felt a thrill shoot through you, and you nodded, letting him guide you back inside. His hand stayed at your waist as he led you through the hallway, past the sleeping forms of Chris and Josh downstairs, until you reached the room he usually took when staying at the lodge.

He paused just outside the door, glancing back at you with a hint of hesitation. "Are you alright with this?" he asked, his voice softer now, vulnerable.

In response, you stepped forward, your hand reaching up to pull him into another fierce kiss, pressing him against the wall, your lips moving urgently against his. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you against him, and he let out a soft, pleased sound as he responded with equal intensity, his mouth meeting yours with renewed passion. The kiss was deep, consuming, and you felt him guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

You tumbled onto it, and he followed, his hands bracing him as he hovered over you, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

He leaned down, his lips meeting yours with hunger.

You couldn’t help but revel in the fact that Mike wants you. You’ve dreamed of this, fantasized about it for so long, yet the weight of your choices weighs heavily on your heart. The way Mike holds you makes you feel cherished, and you can’t help but savor every second.

How could something so beautiful feel so wrong?

You could feel the intoxicating warmth of his breath as he moved down near, his lips grazing your jawline and neck with tantalizing kisses. Each gentle bite ignited a wave of desire, making you ache for more as he savored every curve of your skin

With your silent permission, he lifted your shirt, his fingers trailing along your skin as he slipped it over your head. He took a moment to admire you, his eyes dark with desire as he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone, down to your chest.

You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was holding himself back, as if he didn't want to rush this moment.

You felt his hands founding their way to your ass, cupping and squeezing it firmly. His kisses grew bolder, deeper, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

He leaned in, his lips close to your ear, his breath warm as he whispered, "Been waiting for this... for us." his voice thick with emotion as he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours once more.

Mike is here, right now, wanting you, and the idea of sharing him with anyone else feels unbearable. It’s selfish, you know, but the idea of being the one he craves makes you feel alive, even if it means stepping on someone else’s feelings.

His hands moved lower, unbuckling your belt and sliding your pants down, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs. You shivered at the contact, your breath hitching as he pulled your pants off completely, leaving you exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

He moved down your body, his lips trailing a path of fire as he explored every inch of you.

As he moved lower, his hands came to rest on your hips, holding you in place as he continued his exploration.

When his lips finally reached their destination, you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The sensation of his mouth on you was almost too much. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you arched up against him.

Mike's pace was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. He took his time, drawing out every sensation, every moan, until you were trembling beneath him, your body taut with need.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening with evidence of his work, you were a mess of whimpers and gasps, your body aching for release. But Mike wasn't done with you yet. He moved back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a deep, hungry kiss that made you dizzy with want.

Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as you try to form words. "I need you," you managed to say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your need. "Please, Mike."

"Give me a second" his voice husky and breathless as he got up from the bed with a soft grunt.

He leaned over and opened a drawer, his hand reaching out to open it. He rummaged for a moment before pulling out a bottle of lube.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice laced with lust as he looked at you, his grin widening at your obvious embarrassment.

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze, your face burning as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. "Y-yeah," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mike chuckled softly, setting the bottle aside for a moment as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. "You're so fucking cute when you're shy" he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate.

He reached for the bottle, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers before setting it aside. His eyes met yours as he coated his fingers, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch in your throat.

A pair of warm and calloused hand slide between your legs, his fingers gently parting your thighs, your hips instinctively arching off the bed as he began to prepare you.

His movements were slow and careful, his fingers working you open with a patience that made your heart swell with affection. He took his time, making sure you were comfortable, that you were ready, before he added a second finger, then a third, each one stretching you further

You could feel every nerve in your body alight with pleasure and when he finally pulled his fingers out, you couldn't help the whimper that escaped your lips, your body aching for more.

He reached down to unbutton his own pants, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes until he was just as bare as you were.

He settled between your legs, his body pressing against yours. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, the weight of him grounding you.

He was so big.

He entered you slowly, the stretch and burn of him filling you completely, making you gasp as your fingers dug into his shoulders. Each thrust was deep and deliberate, as if he was unleashing emotions and desires kept in check for too long.

"You're so perfect for me" Mike whispered, his voice rough as he kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, across your chest.

The room was filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths, the slick slide of skin against skin, the soft moans and gasps that escaped your lips as he drove into you, his movements growing more urgent, more desperate.

"Fuck, you feel so good! My good boy... only mine." Mike growled, his voice rough and possessive as he thrust harder, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer, deeper.

You felt your body respond to his voice, to the way he claimed you with each movement, each touch. You clung to him, your hands clutching at his back as he drove you both higher, the intensity of the moment overwhelming in the best possible way.

You finally reached that peak together, your body trembling beneath him as you came, the pleasure washing over you in waves so intense that you could barely breathe.

Mike groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside you. His body shaking with the force of it and collapsing gently on top of you. He was heavy, but there were many other things to think about at the moment.

You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a mix of the lingering energy between you and the warmth of his body against yours. His chest pressed into yours as he leaned down, his breathing deep and even, and you noticed a light sheen of sweat tracing his brow

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close to his big and muscular biceps flexing unnecessarily, as though he couldn't resist showing off just a little bit.

A smile tugged at his lips as he looked at you. He leaned down, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, his voice still a little husky and a bit of that cocky charm you'd come to know so well.” Just so you know," he murmured, his words brushing against your ear, "I'm ready to make this official... to show you exactly what kind of boyfriend I can be." He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, the words half-teasing, half-serious, but there was a softness in his eyes that told you he meant every word. "You're kinda stuck with me now. Think you can handle it?"

He wanted this, wanted you and every part of him was showing it, from the gentle hold he kept on your waist to the way his gaze held yours like he didn't want to let go.

"You're not getting away from me that easily," he murmured, his voice still laced with that familiar confidence, but there was something gentler there too, an honesty that left you feeling reassured, safe. "You're kinda stuck with me now. Think you can handle it?"

You laughed softly, the sound warm and light in the quiet room, and you felt his chest rumble in response as he laughed along with you, the two of you sharing a moment of unspoken understanding. "I think I can manage," you whispered back, squeezing his hand gently.

His grin softened into a smile, and he let his forehead rest against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the comfortable silence.

Note: I’m thinking of perhaps doing a part 2 of this, i feel like there is some potential. Maybe i could take a darker turn with it. Let me know if you would like it and if you have an idea of what could happen next. If you liked this please leave a comment, i love reading them <3

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vaaaaaiolet · 4 months ago

Text

It's the RPD's annual Secret Santa, and Leon's at his wit's end finding the perfect gift for his work crush. No competition, of course, except for the part where you make him promise not to bring something lame. Leon's got a week. He can do this. Right?

gn / m, fluff, romance, humor, leon is a SWEETHEART, you guys work at the RPD but you're leon's senior and also love reading??, no outbreak, inspired by the teapot episode of The Office lol, tw: claustrophobia

word count: 1.5k // read on ao3

a/n: vivi try not to mention christmas challenge go!!! @k1ssaphobe this one's for you <3 literally the ugliest effing banner i've ever made i'm SO SORRY but this completely destroyed my writer's block. i had so much fun <3

It’s all been downhill since Leon plucked your name out of a glass jar last week. Shit. Multiply that times three, rain down a couple red and green sprinkles for holiday spirit, and you have a great representation of how prepared Leon feels about being assigned the most crippling crush he’s had since high school for the RPD’s annual Secret Santa: you.

Shit, indeed.

His hands shake like tremolo as he rereads your name printed on his little slip of paper, and Leon decides right then and there that the best way to go about this is to not go about it at all. Plain and simple.

“Aren’t you excited?” you gush after your turn to draw from the jar. Poor you, you’d taken his jittery hands as enthusiasm.

Leon grins tightly. “For sure, yeah, I um… I love Christmas. Really excited. You get who you wanted?”

“Hey, no cheating. Not even with me, rookie.” You scrunch your face, clutching your paper to your chest. “Secret Santa’s secret. But it’s no secret that you’ve got to give it your all, so no lousy gifts allowed, got it?”

Well, there’s that plan gone. It’s back to police academy basics: Keep It Simple, Stupid.

There’s nothing to overthink about making a good impression as the newest RPD recruit, Leon gaslights himself while haunting the Target holiday aisle on Monday night. You routinely save him from Irons’ infamous wrath, so it’s only natural that Leon spends all of Tuesday in a stupor at his desk, definitely not thinking of how he could never pay you back the favor with a silly Secret Santa gift.

Wednesday rolls by and his coffee from yesterday sits in the break room, cold and overstirred next to today’s breakfast crumbs. How many times has Leon watched you sip tea at your desk? Five, six?

Your eyes sparkle over the rim of your cup when he asks you about your weekend. Really, he doesn’t get the hate for small talk. There’s nothing small about the smile that bunches up your cheeks when he cracks a stupid joke about the weather, and more often than not, Leon finds himself waterboarding his notes app with the names of all the novels you drop mid-conversation so he can binge their Sparknotes over the weekend. So it goes, according to Kurt Vonnegut.

Ugh, he should have paid more attention in English. What the hell is an allegory anyway? Leon spends all of Thursday browsing your Goodreads profile and wracking his head over the hefty price tags attached to your TBR list. His wallet makes for a terrible wingman.

But really, finding the perfect gift is no sweat at all. Leon is absolutely nonplussed (according to his 50th vocabulary-related Google search) when he steps into the RPD elevator on Friday morning with a clumsily wrapped, candy cane-striped bundle in his arms.

“Hold it plea- Leon!”

Liar, liar, pants on fire – he’s totally shitting his pants when you barely make it inside before the doors snap shut.

“Thanks,” you gasp.

Leon nods stiffly, his cheeks growing warm, and jams the second-floor button with his knuckle.

As the elevator starts its maddeningly slow climb, you hum, rocking back and forth in your snow boots. You’re cradling a package of your own, something four-cornered and fairly small. Leon, however, feels like he’s holding a bomb, the object of his affections standing less than three feet from his radius of destruction. How are you so carefree right now? You’ve probably got this gifting thing in the bag and he most definitely doesn’t.

Leon can see everything unfold the moment he enters the office. You’ve had your gift planned months beforehand, his gift is going to be horrifically lame when you open it, everyone’s going to clap politely but you’re going to hate him forev-

And then the elevator plunges into pitch black.

“Oh my god!”

Who screamed louder, Leon doesn’t want to find out.

The elevator shudders to a complete stop. Leon’s mental spiral of doom helpfully supplies him with an image of you two dangling in midair, suspended on wires. Maybe this is the universe saving him from delivering the worst Secret Santa gift of his life.

Leon blinks in the darkness, waiting for your unflappable voice to cut through the silence and figure a way out, headstrong as always, except you don’t, and Leon strains his ears to hear what’s surely not what he thinks it is, a whisper that sounds an awful lot like: “Leon, I don’t want to die.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna die,” you whimper. “I don’t wanna die.”

Your voice floats up from a lot lower than he remembers your head being, so he crouches down to find you with your arms hugged to your chest. You’re huddled against the wall, breathing all shallow. The package in your arms lies forgotten somewhere in the abyss.

“Hey, hey, nobody’s dying.” Leon reaches out to find your hand. “What’s the matter?”

“I have, cl-clau-”

“Claustrophobia?” He remembers that one well. Wishes he didn’t.

You nod fitfully.

“The dark doesn’t help either, huh?” he whispers, craning his head to look at the busted bulb on the ceiling. “Damn.”

Your palm grows colder and clammier in his hand by the minute, and the shakiness in your breathing is starting to worry him. Your head pops above your knees when you hear rustling in the shadows, and then the telltale Christmastime cacophony of wrapping paper being torn to shreds.

“What are you…?”

“Being resourceful,” Leon grits, tearing his Secret Santa gift open. He fumbles with its contents for a second, slipping something into a plastic compartment. “It’s not the best, but…”

The elevator blooms with soft, golden light.

“...it’ll do.”

“What’s this?” you murmur in awe, cupping your hands around the tiny book light Leon holds.

“My Secret Santa gift,” he chuckles sheepishly. “I kind of, um, blanked. I’m also really bad at giving gifts, so there’s also this,” he says, pulling out a mug from the heap of trashed wrapping paper.

When I Think About Books, I Touch My Shelf, it announces with impunity.

Leon blushes when you giggle at the inscription. Things always look better online than in person, rookie mistake. But at least you’re breathing better now.

“This is amazing,” you laugh, cradling the cup like there’s warmth inside.

“Not so amazing now that I’ve opened all the packaging.”

“Your Secret Santa won’t mind at all, trust me, not with a gift like this- ‘touch my shelf’, you’re unbelievable! Tell me where you got it.”

He shakes his head.

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t stop gatekeeping this incredible mug and this super useful book light, by the way, I’m going to tell Irons you spilled coffee all over his desk. I can be very convincing, y’know.” You cross your arms decidedly, waiting.

“There’s no need for all that!” he protests.

“That was a promise, Leon, not a threat.”

“C’mon, be reasonable here.”

“You’re still not telling me.”

“It’s for you, silly.” Leon tilts his head, face heating up faster than the book light bulb, “You’re my Secret Santa.”

He must be hallucinating the pink in your cheeks.

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Yes, oh,” Leon teases, scooching to sit next to you. “I couldn’t think of anything,” he confesses, “so I just went with the basics. I know you read and I know you really miss your old tea mug, the one that broke, right? You’re my gifting competition and I got nervy from how sure you were about your person’s gift. So, um, I played safe.” Leon finishes lamely and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the light doesn’t also illuminate the shame radiating from his body.

And then he feels the press of an unbelievably soft kiss on his cheek.

“It’s much better than what I’ve got,” he hears.

His eyes fly open. Words don’t form right in his throat when you reach out for the package you dropped when the lights went out. Wrapping paper falls apart neatly in your hands (what don’t you do perfectly?) and you unveil a mini waffle iron, proportioned perfectly for somebody always running late without breakfast. Somebody like Leon.

“You keep missing breakfast and Irons is on my ass about saving you food all the time, so I guess took the practical route too,” you shuffle your feet, bashful all of a sudden. “And um, my gift’s kind of useless if we never make it out. Sorry.”

He fingers the tag in wonder.

Merry Christmas, Leon! There’s a timer so you don’t burn them :) xoxo, your Secret Santa!

You’re so goddamn sweet. You’re perfect and thoughtful and it’s all your fault that Leon didn’t have the faintest clue what to give you. Think, Leon, think. He knows he’s not this stupid. What do you give to somebody who has everything?

A kiss. One that’s all smiles and just as sweet as the way you kiss him back, because screw Secret Santa.

It’s hard to keep secrets when you’re Leon’s favorite one.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil #vaaaaaiolet #ao3 fanfic

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pictureinme · 11 months ago

Text

kinktober day xxii. VOYEURISM – edward 'riddler' nashton

idea from my lovely bf xoxo @standloser word count: ~1.2k tags: both pervy eddie & reader, male masturbation, teasing, somewhat exhibitionism, and they were co-workers masterlist | ao3

Edward’s breath catches at the sight of your bare shoulders– watching from beyond the crack of the locker room’s door. You had just finished your weekly visit to your office building’s gym– a place Edward didn’t even know existed until he decided he wanted to ‘accompany’ you on your way out of work.

You tended to be alone in your late-night excursions here, and that’s what you preferred– time to decompress after getting chewed out by your shared dimwit boss. You and Edward had adjoining desks on the same level at KTMJ, working the numbers of Gotham. The two of you had never actually exchanged words, but you always remembered his coffee order when it was your turn to pick it up– that was more than enough to get him hooked.

His eyes would always dart over your desk, taking in all of the knick-knacks and post-its that cluttered the space– Edward would smile to himself at how easy it was to figure out what you’re like, all while you were none the wiser. All your little intricacies were on full display for him, and, well, you were never the most careful about locking your computer when you left your station. There’s a plethora of secrets that would, more often than not, be considered not safe for work in that drive of yours.

All this to say: Edward felt a certain sense of possessiveness over you, and that baseline primal urge was not something he could resist. That’s how he finds himself ogling at your form, hidden by the darkness of the hallway outside the changing rooms. He hasn’t unzipped his slacks just yet, no– you hadn’t even taken off your sports bra yet.

You weren’t as unobservant as Edward pegged you to be– you were more than aware of his borderline obsession with you. Every time you left your desk to go to the bathroom, you purposefully left your computer available for his perusing– leaving your rather unsavory browser history uncleared. Maybe you didn’t actually browse porn at work, but you liked to leave little breadcrumbs for him– you knew that he couldn’t help but imagine you in such predicaments that you’d search.

Edward needed just a bit of a push in the right direction, so you made sure he knew where you were headed after work so often.

You knew he was watching your every move, so you decided to give him as much of a show as you could. Agonizingly slow, you peel your bra off your damp body. Edward couldn’t see your breasts from this angle yet, but he still had to stifle a moan at your delicate movements.

He bit his lip as you bent over– the way your leggings fit your curves perfectly was almost too much. Edward felt his cock twitch at the immediate thought he had of grabbing your hips, pulling you back onto his hardness over and over– grinding against your clothed behind until he came all over the taut fabric.

You pulled the leggings down slowly, and he quietly whined as he saw your panties. At this point, Edward knew he was close without even having to touch himself.

Acting as if you didn’t hear the pathetic noise from just beyond the cracked door, you stand up straight and turn to face the floor-length mirror before you. Edward swiftly pulled out his cock from the confines of his now too-tight work pants as soon as he finally saw your bare breasts on display. He watches through lidded eyes as you trace the curves of your body, idly wondering if you checked yourself out like this often– did you touch yourself in front of a mirror as well?

Seating yourself on the bench, your closed legs still hide your arousal– if you showed him, would he notice how wet you were from all of this? How badly you wanted him to take you right then, lack of pleasantries exchanged aside?

You could see that familiar glint of his glasses in the dark, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. He stares at your perfect thighs, just waiting for the moment when you’d tear them open– he knows it’s greedy, but he needs to see all of you. You can hear that obvious, yet quiet, sound of Edward pleasuring himself, and you hold back a smirk as you open your legs.

He whimpers, stuttering in his ministrations, as he sees what he believes to be a patch of wetness on your grey panties– were you wet? How fucking lucky did he get? Edward’s mouth hangs open as his wrist feels as though it may cramp from just how fast he’s going. Peering down at himself for a moment, he sees that familiar bead of precum and makes no hesitation to spread it over his reddened tip– only making him closer to that depraved orgasm he so needed.

Edward watches as you move your hands down your legs, seeming like you may be about to pull your work pants back on– he couldn’t waste this opportunity so lovingly presented to him. The sounds increase, both from his movements and his voice, and you betray yourself– you catch that glint in the dark through the reflection.

It was only for a split second, and Edward knew there was definitely no way you could see him, but despite it all– he spilled all over his hand, as well as the tiled floor. His breath, harsh and ragged, would’ve made his presence more than obvious to you, had you not known already– Edward wasn’t as covert as he’d like to think.

As he hears your shuffling in the locker room, he zips himself back up and quickly grabs a crumpled tissue from his jacket pocket– wiping the evidence from his hands. Glancing down, he sees the rest of it on the floor but ultimately decides to just wipe it away with his shoes. Edward leans against the wall, chest still heaving with every breath.

“Oh, hey, Edward!” You stepped out of the locker room, your sudden presence causing him to stand up straight. “I didn’t know you went to the office gym!”

He stutters, wiping his sweaty palms on his jacket, “I, well… yes? I do now, yes…”

You smile politely, the satisfaction of seeing him so frazzled was more than enough, “That’s great, I thought I was the only one using it!”

“Mhm…” Edward looked as if he’d seen a ghost, but he couldn’t deny the tightness slowly returning in his slacks, “It’s, uh… extremely underutilized, yes.”

“You must’ve had a good workout, huh? You’re all sweaty!” You begin to walk past him, swinging your work bag over your shoulder. “Sucks that they don’t provide us with showers too, right?”

He continues to try and stutter out a response as you make your way to the stairwell, but all he can muster out is a pathetic ‘yup,’ long after you have left.

#edward nashton x reader #paul dano x reader #edward nashton smut #paul dano smut #kinktober 2023

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oralmisery · 2 months ago

Text

Stiff by Day, Stiffer at Night

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

[ complete fic on ao3 ]

Rating: E | WC: 7,007 | Tags: Smut, Humor, Lingerie, Blow jobs, Hand jobs, Brat Steve Harrington, Bathing/Washing, Light Dom/Sub undertones

Week three prompt: Lingerie

Steve is a mannequin that comes alive at night.

Eddie occasionally dumpster dives at Starcourt Mall.

The corroded coffin boys break in Eddie’s new find like teenage boys do–with mischief and vandalism. The not so lifeless Steve holds Eddie accountable and makes him clean up the mess he and his friends made.

Eddie knew Starcourt Mall was a corporate parasite draining the economic and cultural vitality of Hawkins; practically stealing customers from local businesses–the mom and pop stores that are generational legacies. However, being that the local businesses’ version of economy and culture consist of sneering at Eddie's crumpled single bills and following him around their stores like he was going to walk away with their entire inventory in his pockets, he wasn't remorseful in the least for being a patron of the new mall. Besides, there was a record store Eddie could browse while Jeff dared Gareth to steal panties from Victoria's secret. It had an actual metal section, small but existent.

The mall also had some of the most unique dumpster finds, not that Eddie made it a habit, he just looked from time to time.

“Why did you-mphf , even take this thing?”, Gareth said. He and Eddie were finding it difficult to maneuver Eddie's latest find through the trailer's small doorway.

“Same reason-push man-you and Jeff stole frilly underwear-oof ”, Eddie said, knocking his elbow into the wall and almost losing his footing. “I saw something, I wanted it, and no one stopped me, besides my acquisition was free”.

“Can't believe you went dumpster diving for a mannequin” Gareth said, finally angling the mannequin's legs right so they could get inside the trailer. They started down the hallway to Eddie's room.

The mannequin was a masculine one, tall and fit with defined musculature that was somehow supposed to represent the average man. It was bare when Eddie found it and the smooth white plastic body proved slippery to hold. The sculpted hair on the head pressed into Eddie's stomach when Gareth gave an impatient push.

“Slander , I didn't go into the dumpster, it was just right outside of it, mint condition” Eddie said, hands grappling with the mannequins shoulders as they tipped it up to stand in the middle of his room. “Ya know this thing will actually get use, which is more than I can say for the lingerie y’all pilfered. Who are you going to give it to? I don't think I’ve even seen you talk to a girl”.

Gareth's face scrunched up and he opened his mouth to argue but was cut off by Jeff, “we can give them to Gareth's mom”. Gareth’s outrage turned to a new target and he swiped one of Eddie's pillows to whack a laughing Jeff.

Jeff dodged, “What are you going to use the mannequin for?” he asked Eddie, holding a swinging Gareth back with his superior arm length.

Eddie turned the mannequin a couple inches to the right, looking over its plastic figure with roving eyes, “So many applications Jeff, imagine! a prop for our sessions, a corroded coffin mascot, a model for new t-shirts”. Eddie turned and smiled, wide and mischievous, “also I'm gonna scare the shit out of Wayne with it”.

Eddie wiggled his fingers at the others, "now get comfy, we are not parting ways until we get our setlist right, I'm going to roll a joint and grab some beer” he bounded from the room.

Eddie plopped down at the small kitchen table and opened his lunchbox to roll a joint. He twisted the filter paper with ease and sealed it with a quick swipe of tongue. With the joint tucked behind an ear, he grabbed a six pack from the fridge and headed back to his room.

“Okay boys, so I think we- what the fuck ?”.

The mannequin was now wearing a pale baby-blue, lace lingerie set.

“I think he looks really good, right Eddie?” Gareth said as Jeff cackled.

Eddie bit his tongue. It did look good. The light blue bra stretched tight around perfectly sculpted pecs. The cups of the bra were completely transparent, the only opaque elements were delicately embroidered flowers and petals. Eddie could easily imagine pink nipples, bruising the sheer blue purple between the floral adornments. The same sheer fabric curtained around the bottom of the bra, creating an hourglass figure on a chiseled torso. Dainty straps enhanced broad shoulders. The whole piece stretched into a shape vastly different from the curves expected of it on a feminine figure. The paradox had Eddie's mouth watering.

The most modest part of the ensemble was the front of the panties. There was a wide triangle of opaque blue cloth, then the rest was just as sheer and flower adorned as the bra. Even though the mannequin’s groin was smooth and flat, the square muscular cut of the hips sparked the image of blue cloth pulling obscenely over a bulge. Eddie swallowed thickly. Unlike Jeff and Gareth, humor wasn't at all the emotion Eddie was experiencing right now. He didn't want them to know what he was actually feeling, lest they stop being his friends.

Eddie laughed, loud and performative “I'd prefer if the top was more filled out” he said. He might as well have spoken absolute gibberish for how meaningless those words were, but he wasn't going to expose himself. He was a goddamn dungeon master and he knows how to put on an act, how to control a room–reveal information only when he's ready to.

When players are a little too close to unraveling the mystery you give them a distraction, a side quest.

A misdirection.

Eddie swirled around and grabbed a marker from his desk, he uncapped it and flourished it in the air. He grinned at Gareth and Jeff, then nodded at the scantily clad mannequin.

“I think it needs some ink”

—----

Eddie woke up to something jabbing his ribs. He shifted with growing annoyance, wondering what was digging into his side. Then he recalled, not long before Gareth and Jeff left, that Jeff had pulled off the mannequin's arm and they took turns brandishing it like a sword. Eddie dimly remembered the arm next to him in bed when he passed out in a tipsy haze. He rolled over and started to sink back into sleep.

Something wiggled along his spine.

Eddie jerked upright and to the side with a strangled gasp. He moved so fast that his spine made an odd popping noise and by some miracle he didn't end up on the floor. Something was alive in his bed.

“Is that my fucking arm?”.

Eddie screeched and whirled towards the voice that just spoke. There was a man in his fucking room. It was too dark to see anything more than a silhouette, backlit with meager moonlight from the small window.

“W-what th- H-holy shit , I don't have any money man!”, Eddie said, frantic and garbled. He felt light headed; his heartbeat a rapid pulse in his ears. So at odds with the sluggish ebb of his thoughts and the sleep still encumbering his limbs.

“I dont want fucking money, give me my arm asshole”, the voice said.

“Wha -I don't know what that means, l-look just take whatever and go”.

The voice groaned like the home invader was the one inconvenienced.

“Like I want to be here? You're the one that kidnapped me from the mall, then stole my arm! now give it back”, the man said, a slight whine edging into his vexed tone.

Eddie wasn't convinced they were having the same conversation. His body moved on autopilot, trying to appease the man’s commands as he mentally debated if this was all a vivid dream. He patted his person as if he had anything on him besides a worn t-shirt and boxers.

“Next to you, Jesus”

Eddie blinked, still processing, “Kidnap ? The fuck-I never, how ev-, I-I took a mannequ-” he said, dazed, his hands reaching out blindly on the bed sheet next to him. His left hand bumped into something warm and smooth.

There was a click. The darkness was cut through with the bright glow of his bedside lamp.

Eddie noticed first that the man in his room wasn't wearing clothes. Mostly. He looked around Eddie’s age and was just miles of smooth tan skin and toned lines that were not at all hindered by a pale blue lingerie set. Indecent was not a word Eddie used often, the term usually directed at him, but the current display had him clutching his metaphorical pearls. Also, there were crude scrawlings of black marker all over the man’s face, like the first person to fall asleep at a truly vicious sleepover. He had uneven sketchy glasses, a stupid french villain mustache and a crooked goatee.

The second thing Eddie noticed was his searching hand was resting on a hairy forearm. There was a severed arm in his bed.

“WHAT THE FUC-” Eddie leaped up and away, tripping over the blankets wrapped around his legs and falling straight into the almost naked burglar. The man grabbed Eddie (third thing Eddie noticed is the guy only had one arm) trying to keep vertical but they both went down in a tangle of limbs.

“Ow! fuck, Dude ”, the stranger groaned.

“Oh my god, what the fuck, there’s a fucking arm in my be-,” Eddie’s words muffled into incomprehensible noises when the other rolled them sideways, pinning Eddie under him as he sat up. The man didn't respond to Eddie's alarmed yelp. Instead, he reached over to grab the arm on the bed spread.

“Ew , don't touch i-”

The man ignored him and Eddie noticed that for all the separation of limbs going on there was remarkably little blood. None. No gore, exposed bones or flaps of skin. The place where the mans’ shoulder ended was fuzzy–like TV static. The end of the arm was the same way, like Eddie couldn't focus properly on what he was seeing.

The man hoisted up the arm and with a quick motion, snapped it back into place. He shook it out and started moving both shoulders in circles. Like a seasoned athlete warming up for a game.

Eddie watched speechless, mouth hung open. He wanted drugs to be the explanation, but he was unfortunately familiar enough with being high that he knew what stone cold sober felt like. Eddie's eyes lowered. There were more doodles and words scrawled on the man's chest and stomach. Eddie paused on a hand-drawn devil face, horns and everything–Hellfire’s club logo, right above the man’s belly button. Eddie remembered drawing it, and cursing when he made the second horn too big cause the marker skidded across a plastic ab.

With a dread thick in his gut, Eddie turned his head slowly and glanced at the corner of the room where they had left the defaced, barely-clothed mannequin.

The corner was empty.

“Where am I? This is not the GAP”

Eddie looked back at the man still sitting on him, now with two arms, crossed across his chest. His handsome face was carved with a scowl, bordering a pout. Eddie absentmindedly observed that the guy was hot . Like, probably the hottest man Eddie had seen in real life. And it wasn't the sexy underwear–the same pale blue combo that Gareth had stolen. The man was so attractive, he made a dying marker look good. He had brown swoopy hair, expressive eyebrows, pink lips and moles everywhere .

“You-you're the mannequin ?” Eddie asked. The question feels stupid–obvious but also absurd. Like asking if the moon was real and if it was made of cheese in the same breath.

“Yes, duh ” the man rolled his eyes, “also it’s Steve, now why am I here? Did you rob the GAP or something?”, Steve said, eyeing Eddie's room like it was tainted.

Eddie blinked, dazed. The mannequin had a name. And it was rude as hell.

“Hellooo, do you have ears? Why did you rob the GAP and take me? Where's the new summer collection, huh? I was in The All-american Polo with a contrast collar, slim fit and the #5 khakis, size 32", Steve said. His chin tilted up as he stared at Eddie down his nose.

“I didn't rob anywhere, are you talking about the GAP in the mall ? Starcourt mall?" Eddie asked.

The annoyance disappeared from Steve's face, leaving it cold and intimidating–anger sunk under the surface to fester. His eyes narrowed, “are you always this slow?” he asked, voice tight.

Eddie opened and closed his mouth. The manne- Steve’s glare was making his skin feel hot and itchy. He’s had unrealistic dreams start like this before, unfortunately the way those usually end is not a likely outcome in this situation.

“I didn’t know you're from the GAP, you were out by the dumpsters, man”

“The dumpster?!” Steve looked affronted. He jumped up and off Eddie to start pacing the room ranting.

“The fucking dumpster ? They were going to throw me away? I'm supposed to be displaying hot new summer looks at reasonable prices. I’m the frontline of fashion, dammit! I don’t deserve to-to model a fucking trash bag ”. He abruptly stopped and whirled around on Eddie who was sitting up, trying to drag himself back on the bed.

“Why am I in this ”, Steve asked, plucking at the lacy bra on his chest, “also fucking marker? Are you serious, you guys 8 years old or something?”. Steve waved an angry hand from his face to down his body. He planted his other hand on a jutted hip.

Eddie's eyes followed Steve’s wave as if it was an invitation. His eyes slid down Steve's figure, marker and all. Eddie swallowed, the bulge wrapped in baby-blue was bigger than the one he had imagined.

“Are you going to answer any of my questions or just keep staring at my crotch?” Steve asked. Both hands on his hips now, unashamed, almost presenting in contrast to his sharp words.

Eddie's eyes flew up, his cheeks hot.

“Uh yeah, or…no, I’m 20 not 8 years old”, Eddie said. Steve’s glare was volatile. Eddie put up his hands in surrender, “sorry , we were being stupid, just messing around. I'm so sorry, we didn't know you were, uh, alive …do, ah, all mannequins come to life?”

“As far as I know, Just me” Steve answered, preoccupied, looking off into the distance. He ran a hand through his hair and pursed his lips, “Ugh , can't believe they threw me out, I'm the best male sport model they have, I'm the only one that does the athletic stance”. He demonstrates with a pose that Eddie assumed was flawless but he's a little distracted with how the lingerie stretched around Steve’s spread thighs, leaving a little less of his crotch to imagination.

“Uh, well that's great…I mean the pose not the being… fired ? not sure why they threw you out but, um, I can drive you back-" Eddie hiccupped when he was roughly pulled up by the front of his T-shirt. Steve leaned in close and snarled.

“Absolutely not, you're gonna clean up what you did” Steve said. His face inches from Eddie’s.

“What?” Eddie asked, wrong-footed. They were so close, he could see flashes of the inside of Steve's mouth.

Steve furrowed his brow and shook Eddie, “all the marker, you're gonna wash it off”.

[ continue reading ]

#steddie #steddie smutty september #ao3 #steddie prompts #steddie event #eddie munson #fanfiction #steve harrington #stranger things #fanart

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pfhwrittes · 6 months ago

Note

Heeeeyyyyy p. I am an awkward soul with an awkward question, but how does ao3 work? I noticed a lot of writers are speaking of migrating there and doing things that I don’t quite understand LMAO. I tried looking into the website but honestly, it seems so daunting and I am a terrified chicken who would rather recede into the pits of hell than do something “wrong” on that website.

I dunno if you are the right person to request of this, but you are always so kind when answering questions so i figured who else is better than to scream into the void at?

Pls disregard if you aren’t interested in answering/don’t feel like it!

Have a great day/night/evening/tea time 😽

hi anon! don't feel bad for reaching out, one of my favourite things in the world is showing people how to do things (you know that chill coworker who goes "okay, so i do it like this..." when they show you things? that's who i want to be in the world). if my handy guide doesn't make sense to you, please please please feel free to come back and ask clarifying questions and i'll wrack my brain on how best to help you!

i'd be remiss if i didn't point you in the direction of AO3's guide on how to search and browse the archive first of all. it's a bit wordy so if that isn't to your liking i've made a little video below the cut on how to use ao3 on a laptop below the cut:

Warnings for potential flickering, scrolling motions and flashing.

[ID: A 3 minute video with no audio showing a basic guide on how to use AO3. /END ID]

so that's a pretty bare bones way of using ao3 as non-member!

step 1: search for the fandom you want to explore.

step 2: use the drop down menu to tailor your fanwork selection to something you might want to read by using the filters on the right hand side.

tags are the ingredient list of what you can expect to find in a fic, you can also search by using the tags if there's something in particular you've taken a fancy to (or you can use the "exclude" button to avoid seeing it - just like i excluded konig from my selections).

the rating system is used to filter out mature content, if you click on something rated M, E or Not Rated you should get a little warning at the top advising you that the work you're about to view may include adult content and you agree that you wish to see that content.

step 3: check the tags and summary to see what piques your interest (in my case i chose @boolger 's "a love letter to gaz" because i thought it was fitting).

step 4: click on your desired fic or fanwork and enjoy!

step 5: leave a kudos AND a comment (it doesn't have to be lengthy, it can be a little note to say "i loved this! thank you for writing it!) when you're done.

i recommend asking for an invite to join ao3 so you can see all the lovely archive locked fanworks (fanworks that are hidden from non-members) like mine! it doesn't take long to get an invitation and you can still browse the archive as a non-member in the meantime.

anyway, i hope this helped just a little bit for you anon.

#pfh answers #tw flashing #tw flashing lights #tw scrolling #tw motion sickness

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bitchesuntitled · 5 months ago

Text

Play Date Hookup

Summary: Frankie arrives early to pick up Missy.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Sexting, being parents, unprotected piv, creampie

A/N: Thank you very much @beefrobeefcal and @strang3lov3 for lending your eyes on this one ❤️ @jay-zzle basically makes all the moodboards for me(with the exception of a few) and continues to surprise me over and over again with her talents! 😍 ilysm!!!

Masterlist||Parents to Lovers||AO3

divider by @saradika-graphics

“Down the hall and it’s the last door on the left,” Benny points, and grumbling in response, Frankie makes his way towards Benny’s new bedroom.

“Fuckin’ hell, Benny,” Frankie mutters, carrying the box Will shoved into his arms, “The fuck do you have in here? Weights?”

Frankie makes it to Benny’s room, barely able to hold the box any longer before it falls to the floor, the contents spilling out onto the hardwood floor.

“Fuck,” Frankie mutters, whipping around to make sure no one followed him in to see the box fumble, wiping his forearm across his sweaty brow he looks down at the mess he has to pick up. Playboys. Hundreds of playboys spilled out of the box.

After picking one up, Frankie quietly makes his way to the door, peering out to see if anyone is coming before closing the door and browsing the dirty magazine. He finds a model that slightly resembles you and his cock twitches, smirking as he pulls out his phone.

Frankie: You busy?

You: Making the girls lunch

Frankie: Thinking about you

You: Yeah? What about me?

Frankie: Oh ya know 🐱

You: Francisco! Naughty, naughty 😈

Frankie: Wanna eat your pussy so bad baby

You: How about I ride you instead?

Frankie: Fuuuuuuck I’m supposed to be helping Benny move and now I’ve got a fucking boner

You: Show me? 😏

Frankie sighs, looking down at the tent in his jeans. Fuck it, he thinks, undoing his jeans. He slides them down to the middle of his thighs and moves his boxers down just enough that his cock springs free. He holds his dick in one hand and his phone in the other, getting the perfect angle.

“Hey man, there’s mor-“ Santi comes barging into the room, “What the fuck?”

“Fuck!” Frankie says, turning around, and pulling up his pants.

“What’s going on?” Will asks coming up the hallway.

“Fish is taking a pic of his dick!” Santi hollers out laughing.

“Fuck off!” Frankie huffs, buttoning and zipping his pants back up. His face feels like it’s on fire with how red it must be, turning around all three of them standing there looking at him.

“Fish, you’re supposed to be helping me move!” Benny laughs, “Not sexting your girl!”

“Ha. Ha.” Frankie mocks, “Lady gets what the lady wants,” he shrugs.

The guys continue to laugh, shaking their heads.

“Come on Fish,” Will says, “Let’s get the rest of this shit done and maybe you can leave early for your girl.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Frankie grumbles, looking at the pic he took before sending it to you.

Frankie: [image attached] I hope you know I love you because I just got fucking caught since you wanted a dick pic so bad 😜

You: Mmmm I love you too babe 😘

—

“Girls! Lunchtime!”

Frankie had volunteered to help Benny move into his new place which meant Missy was hanging out with you and Nora until he was done. Nora and Missy come bounding into the kitchen, sitting down at their plates and digging into the bag of chips on the table to pile on their plates.

“Hungry?” You ask with a laugh.

Missy and Nora nod while grabbing a handful of chips to shove in their mouths.

“How much more time do we have?” Nora asks with a mouthful.

“Sweetie, don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

“My bad,” Nora says, while Missy giggles.

You glance at your watch checking the time before picking up your sandwich.

“Looks like you girls have about an hour left before Missy’s dad comes to get her.”

“Can we play in the sprinkler after we eat?!”

“Can we?!” Missy asks with the same puppy dog eyes as her father.

“I guess that would be okay,” you shrug, “you can just borrow Nora’s old swimsuit, it should fit.”

“Yes!” Both girls shriek in triumph, picking up their sandwiches and taking big bites to try and finish faster.

“Hey now, slow down,” you murmur after taking a bite of your sandwich, trying to cover your mouth with your hand.

“Momma,” Nora says, “Don’t talk with food in your mouth!”

—

The girls are outside running through the sprinkler while you clean up the kitchen from lunch. You hear your ringtone blaring just as you finish putting dishes in the dishwasher. The picture of Frankie from your first date shows up on the screen, causing a grin to spread across your face.

“Hello?”

“Hey babe,” Frankie says, even though you can’t see him you can hear the smile on his face.

“Hey babe! Ooo-la-la!” You hear in the background along with someone moaning, “Oh Fish!” And obnoxious kissing sounds.

“Fuck off!” Frankie grumbles as the background noise gets softer and softer, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s all good,” you laugh, “How are the guys?”

“Being assholes,” Frankie grunts, “but they also wanted me to forward their hellos”

“Tell them I say the same and that I don’t call you Fish,” you say, unable to wipe the grin off your face.

“No you do not,” Frankie purrs into the receiver, “Miss you baby.”

“Frankie,” you groan, “Don’t start that.”

“Start what?” He asks with fake shock in his tone.

“You know what!”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, “How’s Missy? Is she behaving?”

“She’s good! Frankie, she always behaves, stop worrying about that. You’ve done good with her,” you smile, looking out the kitchen window, “They’re outside right now running through the sprinkler.”

“Do I need to stop at my place and get clothes for her?”

“Nah,” you say with a shrug, “She’s wearing Nora’s old swimsuit.”

��Okay,” Frankie laughs, “Oh before I forget! Benny is going to throw a barbecue at his house once he gets settled and he would like it if you and Nora came too.”

“Frankie,” you say softly, “As much as I would love to. Is that really a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Me and Nora showing up to Benny’s,” you sigh, “Nora and Missy don’t know that I know your friends or that we’re together, I think it might give off a confusing message.”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighs, “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m sorry babe, I really am.”

“No it’s okay, I just didn’t think about that.”

“One day,” you sigh dreamily.

“One day,” Frankie repeats, “I better go, I think we might finish sooner than we thought but I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” you smile, “Just let me know. I love you!”

“I love you too babe, I’ll see you soon.”

—

Your phone pings and a text from Frankie pops up.

Frankie: Hey. Girls still playing in sprinkler?

You: Hey. Yeah

Frankie: Come let me in 😉

Confused for a moment, stepping towards your front door peering through the peephole to see Frankie standing on your front porch. Smirking, you open the door.

“What are yo-“ Before you can even finish your sentence Frankie grabs you pulling you into a hungry kiss, letting out a soft moan when his hands grab your ass.

“Frankie,” you whisper, pushing your hands softly against his chest, “We can’t.”

“They’re distracted,” He hums, his nose tracing along your jaw, nipping your neck gently, “We can make it quick.”

You can hear the girls' laughter outside, he’s right - they are distracted. Nora won’t leave that sprinkler until someone makes her and Missy won’t leave it unless Nora does.

“Okay,” you smirk, hands trailing down to his waist, hooking your fingers into the belt loops on his jeans and pulling him towards the couch “But seriously we need to make it fast.”

Frankie nods with a dopey grin, and pushing him to sit, you straddle him. His hands immediately grip your hips, pulling you down on the bulge trapped in his jeans.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he sighs as your lips trail along his neck, softly sucking on his pulse point causing him to groan.

“I’ve missed you too,” you giggle, grinding your core against him. Frankie’s mouth drops open at the friction, “But you gotta be quiet too,” you say smirking as you undo his belt.

“Up,” he grunts, slapping the side of your ass. Hastily he maneuvers your body so that your chest is against the arm of the couch, slipping your leggings and underwear off you just enough and he lets out a pained groan seeing your wet slit, “Fuck, wish we had more time.”

You feel his thumbs spreading your lips open and his breath ghosting against your core, giving a barely there kiss to your bundle of nerves.

“Frankie,” you whine, “Please.”

“Tranquilita,” Frankie huffs, his thumb running circles against your clit, “Wish I could give this pussy the treatment she deserves.”

“Fuck,” you moan, “We don’t have that kind of time, baby.”

“I know,” Frankie sighs, as you hear the button and zip of his jeans, the rustle of them being pushed down, turning your head you see his hand gripping his shaft, a soft groan crawls out his throat as he gives it a few pumps before pressing against your entrance. The head swiping up and down along your slit, causing you to squirm. Frankie grips your hip sharply to keep you still, pushing his cock in, your walls parting to make room for him. Simultaneous groans come from the both of you as he pushes in deeper until you feel his hips against your backside.

“Fuck baby,” Frankie groans, his hand on your hip gripping tighter, “Feel so fucking good.”

“Move,” you whine, hands gripping the cushion in front of you, “I need you to move.”

Frankie hums, pulling out an inch and slowly moving back into your heat. His other hand moves to the opposite hip, placing a firm grip there.

“Frankie,” you whine again, trying to move your hips against him but his hold on them becomes even tighter “More. I need more.”

“Tranquilita bebé,” Frankie says calmly, still keeping the same tempo working you open, “Gotta get used to it first, don’t wanna hurt you.”

He was right, the last time you had a quickie it hurt, but this was starting to feel like torture. Slowly rutting into you, you want it harder, want to feel him tomorrow every time you moved.

“Fuck,” Frankie softly hisses, feeling his cock pull out until only the tip is inside before plunging back into you harshly.

“Oh god,” you gasp, feeling his length scrub along your walls, “Frankie!”

Frankie’s hips begin to snap into you at a frenzied pace, the sound of skin clapping bouncing around your ears. His hand slides down between your thighs to access that sweet spot, swirling two fingers around it, causing you to let out a loud moan.

“Bebé,” Frankie tuts, his arm leaving your hip to lean over you, his chest flush with your back, slowing the pace of his hips, “Gonna need you to hold those noises in for me,” he whispers into your ear, giving your neck a soft bite.

“Mmhhmm,” you choke out, feeling the flutter of your walls as he hits that spot inside of you that makes your vision go blurry.

“God damn it,” Frankie groans, sucking in a sharp breath and pistoning into your cunt, “I need you to come,” moving his fingers faster against your clit.

Your grip on the couch becomes tighter, that warm feeling below your belly button becoming a raging inferno, the sound of your wetness smacking against Frankie’s balls as he continues brutally rutting into you.

“Fu-“ you start to sob as he clamps his hand across your mouth, leaving you to whimper into his hand as you reach your peak, coming undone beneath him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Frankie pants, beginning to chase his own climax as your walls constrict his cock, hips losing their rhythm, “Where can I - fuck - come? Where?”

You grip his hand moving it from your mouth, “I- In- Inside,” you stutter out.

“Dios mío,” he growls, grinding into you, feeling his cock twitch as he paints your walls with his spend, slumping against you, “Fuck me,” he whispers between your shoulder blades.

“Well,” you smile, “I didn’t do that but you did just fuck me.”

Frankie lets out a small laugh, rolling his forehead against your upper back with a shake of his head.

“You’re something else, bebé,” Frankie laughs, pulling out as you both groan.

There’s a smack at the backdoor and you hear your name being yelled.

“Nora fell!” Missy shouts from behind the door.

“Fuck,” you say, quickly sitting up, pulling your underwear and leggings up, “Mom duty.”

#fransico morales #frankie x reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales smut #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #fic: parents to lovers #bitchesuntitled

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daryascurse · 2 years ago

Text

𝙿𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝙿𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚄𝚜 | 𝙺𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒 𝙷𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

You open and close your mouth, feeling that sudden dryness of panic at his unmoving stature. “I’m…” you pause again, and laugh, nervously. “I’m sorry. You can… you can absolutely leave if you want to.”

Kakashi shoves his hands in his pockets, tilts his head as he looks at you. His lips are swollen from your kisses, and you raise your fingers slowly to your mouth, tinging and sore, wondering if yours look the same. “I should leave,” he says at last, and your hand falls back to your lap. “I shouldn’t have come inside.”

“I know,” you whisper, the back of your ears burning. You have to stop. You’ll have to stop writing. You’ll have to destroy every last paperback and manuscript. Your breath catches in your throat.

“But,” Kakashi says, as he pulls his hands from his pockets again. Restless. His fingers are just barely trembling. “I don’t want to go.”

ɴꜱꜰᴡ | ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ | repost from my old acct

pov : second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns, takes place between naruto + shippuden ✧ tags: friends to lovers, teasing, thigh riding, oral, sex ✧ word count: ~5.8k ✧ ao3 link ✧ recommended mood playlist: vanilla cake

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

Some things are better left unspoken; and on the contrary, some things are better said via a certain medium. It’s better to write some things, it’s better to scream others. The question of “better” is, of course, up to interpretation.

For example, perhaps your half-unintended method of seducing Kakashi Hatake would be better – faster, more straight-forward – if you told him you were the secret author of his latest pulp paperback novel obsession.

“Just admit it,” Kakashi says, and he shakes the binding in your face. You lean back and laugh, something momentarily gleeful and genuine from the belly, before forcing the corners of your lips into a more subdued smile. But his eyes are trained on yours, doggedly undeterred even among the hustle and bustle of the marketplace. “I know it’s you, I just know it.”

There would be no shame in admitting it, as overdramatic and lurid as these novellas are. In these months of uneasy peace, everyone’s had time to breathe, stretch, cultivate new activities. Without Jiraiya to pump out pulp novels, Kakashi’s turned to browsing bookshelves to fill his newfound free time with a new series, just as you’ve turned to scribbling daydreams and wet dreams onto paper. You’ve never been able to hide your delight completely, from the first day at the bar where you had encountered him with the thin volume in hand. Here sits Kakashi Hatake, reading porn all on his lonesome. You might have crowed that to the rest of the group - and confided only in your best friends, those who already knew of your intentions, who would seal their lips if he asked them for the truth.

For there’s something delicious in the secret held over Kakashi. There’s a sweet joy in constantly challenging him, watching him shake, the peaches of an embarrassed flush rise over his cheeks.

“And I wonder why you think that,” you breathe, adjusting your grocery bag over your shoulder, feet still pointed homewards bound as you had been before Kakashi had chased you down in the square. “Do I give off the impression that I spend my days only dreaming of such adult things? It’s not appropriate to think of your friends that way.”

The look in his visible eye is almost painful, flashing down, as he lowers the thin book. “It’s not,” he says.

That look gives you such a thrill.

You reach with your free hand, snatching the novella from him. “Well, let me see just what your impression of my mind’s creation would be. ’If anything is going to make me overheat, I want it to be you…’”

“Not out loud,” Kakashi says, his heavily lidded eye closing in embarrassment. Here comes the blush.

“That’s fine, I’m heading home. This is interesting, are the characters at a hot spring?”

You hold the book away from him and continue walking and reading, mindful of your volume. Kakashi walks alongside you in quick strides, but you move your hand away from him with remarkable ease, and over-exaggerate your words with a light, breathy tone that strikes truer than he knows.

“Let’s see. The first time she had seen him standing in the pools of hot spring water, it had made her thighs shake. She imagined his fingers curling right between them, dripping with the arousal that his presence alone was already pulling from her, and flexed her fingers at the thought of raking them through his thick hair and digging down his back.”

The words do make you shiver even as you read them, knees turning into each other as you pick up your pace. They had indeed been written with Kakashi in mind, with that memory of a long ago vacation, and you pause at the visceral memory of seeing him momentarily in the pool when the men’s room curtain swung open in the wind. The temptation goes through you, Orpheus on the side streets, to turn and watch his reaction to your breathy rendition of the pages. When you’d written this short story, as every other in the anthology, you had closed your eyes and squeezed your legs together and dreamed of his own first reaction to these words. A pity all you can do is fantasize.

But fuck, it’s thrilling to experience how he asks every time the bookstore churns out another shitty little pulp novel, and you have the supreme, smug pleasure of laughing it away with a wave and a grin in his direction that lasts jut a little too long.

“Oh, I’d love to go to the bathhouse,” you say brightly. “It’s been so long since we’ve gotten everyone together, isn’t it?”

“I know it’s you, and I know you wrote it about me,” Kakashi says, and his tone is indecipherable as he ignores your digs. You study the pages as you turn up your walkway. Kakashi’s finger follows, skimming over the words before jabbing at a specific line. “This.”

“She studied his face, and raised a hand to his cheek. Her fingers turned, dragging water down his jaw, thumb gentle over the border of his scar and to the beauty mark besides his lip.”

Oh, ohh.

You turn your gaze up to Kakashi as you unlock your front door, and plaster a curious, sweet look on your face, lips slightly pursed to hide the twitch of your mouth. “What makes you think it’s me? Why do you want it to be me?”

It’s hard to read his expression now. Frustrated, maybe? And you chew the inside of your cheek as you remember, that glimpse at the bar long ago, so, so long ago, the sight of his beautiful face just for an unforgettable moment.

And Kakashi can’t give his thoughts away either. He sighs and shakes his head, taking a step back, as if physically restraining himself. “Don’t make me look like an idiot,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “And isn’t it a little egotistical of you to imagine your face behind the mask of the pages?”

It feels clever, and you allow yourself another smug, cat-like smile as you step in the foyer and kick your shoes off, shrugging the grocery bag off. Another publication, another delightful banter.

But Kakashi doesn’t leave your doorstep. You hesitate with a hand on the knob, the smile slipping.

“Kakashi,” you say, speaking gently. “Do you want it to be you and I?”

He looks away, and you recognize this posture – hands out of the pockets, shoulders back and bracing against the evening sun. He’s steeling himself. Keeping his heart sealed away.

You’ve seen him stand like this. When the youngest students, all currently vying for the newly-vacant position of chief troublemaker, cross the lines too drastically. When rumors of war fly, so fleetingly, over the village. And when you had, the first time, and every time, teased just a little too boldly over the crowded restaurants and markets.

It’s just the first time you’ve seen him so guarded and rigid on your account, and alone.

It gives… a strange confidence.

“Why don’t you come in?” you hear yourself ask, and you press the book close to your chest. “You can tell me your favorite part.”

“I can’t,” Kakashi says, and the simple words are loaded.

You turn your head slightly, leaning back against the wall. He can’t, he can’t.

And you can’t bear it.

You lift the book, turning the pages, and begin reading again.

“’This is why I didn’t want to come here,’ he said. She frowned, tilting her head as she made her way through the water, skimming against her legs with each step closer across the spring. ‘You didn’t want to take a bath with me after all? Then the way your body’s responding to being alone with me in the water is confusing.’”

You lift your eyes to him, still frozen in the doorway, as you begin to walk down the hall. The breathiness has long stopped being an affectation. You can’t keep it from intruding your own commentary.

“I guess it does remind me of how standoffish you are to me these days,” you say, “and it is confusing. You have time to read this junk, don’t you? Why don’t you have such time to spend with a friend?”

Kakashi finally steps inside, and you watch his fingers clench against the doorknob as he swings it shut. Shadow falls through the hall, and he remains silent. You clear your throat, and continue, lifting the book to find a gleam of evening light. As you read, you hear Kakashi’s shoes slide off, and his footsteps approach you.

“’You know there’s too much in the way,’ he said. He swallowed, sweat and steam of the hot springs condensing on his skin before he continued speaking. ‘Don’t make me say it.’”

The next part gives you pause, a thrill of genuine anxiety for a moment. You wonder if he’s read the entire story yet. And Kakashi’s stopped before you here at the end of the hallway. His expression is hidden in the shadow. Your grip on the book trembles.

“But he didn’t have to say it. The taciturn man with his beautiful face, so much more intimate to see bare than even his broad, chiseled body half-lapped by the water, was bound by duties, by honor, but primarily, by fear of this new avenue and what it could do to their delicately crafted friendship.”

You let the book rest open against your chest, leaning against the wall to stare at him. Kakashi looks back at you.

“Well, I can’t really imagine you speaking this way,” you say. You wanted to smile, throw some coy joviality into the words, but his hooded eye is so fixed on you as his hand lifts to the edge of his mask.

“Funny. Because you put the words right in my mouth.”

He tugs the fabric below his chin, and a beam of the setting sun flashes warm and golden across his face from the far window. You lift your free hand to him. The pages crash in your mind as your fingers follow the path of his cheekbone, grazing hesitantly against the slashed edge of his scar visible below the fabric still slung across the other eye, and thumb down to his lower lip. He’s just as beautiful as you remembered from that brief glimpse in the bar, and your thumb wavers, stroking gently against his skin.

Who’s to say who leaned in first? Your thumb slides off his mouth just before it meets your lips, and you drop the paperback carelessly to cup his beautiful face. His hands slide down to your waist to hold you in response. It really, you insist over and over in your own mind, even as the words wheel away into nonsense as Kakashi’s tongue moves into your mouth, wasn’t meant to be a sexual invitation today coming inside, it really wasn’t meant to be now of all times - but you aren’t pushing him away, aren’t slapping and recoiling as his hands roam.

He draws himself up as his body pushes you fully against the wall. Your eyelids flicker at the impact, the shift of pressure, the wild silver hair peeking over his ear and the rigidity of his broad shoulders. His fingers ghost, down among the curve of your waist, and you rock forward just enough in response. Your hands slide up from his chest, embracing his neck. His hands move to your hips in response, an experimental, slow, squeeze, and you moan back into his mouth in glad invitation.

“Oh…”

He squeezes again, harder, and the agitation of the gesture brings another jagged moan to your lips.

“You know,” he murmurs, and there’s a new, biting edge in his voice, “you know I want it to be you and I.”

You rock your hips in response, a knee bending forward to part Kakashi’s thighs. He steps closer, legs squeezing around yours, enough for you to lower yourself and roll forward again. Right where your body meets his leg, right where you begin to ride and rut back and forth, earns yet another shaky elated sigh. You close your teeth gently around his bottom teeth and tug, breaking the kiss.

“I… Kakashi,” you say, and the words catch in your throat before you can even think of what to say. You drop your hands to his chest, and you watch the heaving breaths below his vest for a moment before finding the strength to look him in the eye again. His lips are parted, the breath coming ragged. His hold on your hips is firm, thumbs stroking against the curve of your ass, and your legs tremble as you rut against him. Pretense, intentions, damn it all. Fuck it all.

“I’ve been keeping on the side of decency so well until now,” he says, and the familiar tone of light amusement is enough to make your panting breaths become a smile. You lean forward and miss his lips, kissing the side of his cheek, but let your hand fall to your hip and grab his, urging him off you just for a moment.

There’s an aching between your thighs when he slides his leg from between them, letting you step away from the wall and lead him just those few steps into the bedroom. You take backwards steps to the mattress, and tug at his hand, intending to pull him down with you, but he releases your grip just as you stumble down to the bed.

“I should leave,” he says at last, and your hand falls back to your lap. “I shouldn’t have come inside.”

“But,” Kakashi says, as he pulls his hands from his pockets again. Restless. His fingers are just barely trembling. “I don’t want to go.”

You hear your breath release, and you smile up at him again in relief.

“Then don’t.”

When you reach forward for him once more, your hands are shaking too, fumbling against his pants. Kakashi moves at the same speed, going for his vest, his fingers ascending out of your vision as you tug his pants down with growing impatience, desperation not to lose this moment so tenuous in your grasp.

He’s half-hard, stiffening against your fingers as you stroke gently along his shaft. You reach the base, soft silver hair curling around your thumb, and back up, long, and slow. You hear him suck in his breath, a shuddering exhale as he pulls of his vest, his hands knocking against your head as he goes for his shirt as well. The room suddenly feels warm, so much warmer.

He’s thick, even now, and you feel a warm quiver go straight through you at the thought of him fucking you with that cock.

You lean forward to take him in your mouth, lips spread wide, and you’re rewarded with another grunting sigh from Kakashi. You close your eyes, offering a slight moan of your own when you begin to suck at the head of his cock, tongue swirling around the head, dipping into that sensitive slit. His knees shake into your legs. When your tongue moves down, stroking along his shaft to work further, his hips begin to move slightly, moving his cock more into your mouth.

“Fuck,” and it comes guttural.

You shift on the bed, your posture poor, thighs rubbing anxiously together. The taste of Kakashi fills your senses, the weight of him heavy on your tongue and thick at the back of your throat. You moan, feeling your voice slide along him as you move your head back and forth, sucking him off faster, faster. His hand comes to the back of your head, holding himself steady as he actively stops himself from thrusting harder against you.

But you moan again and drop your jaw even further, trying to give him more. With one hand bracing hard against your knee, your splay your other across the base of his stomach, thumb stroking the underside of his cock. Your hold grows wet, sticky, so quickly.

Above you, Kakashi moans your name, and it sends another shudder through you down to your core.

The taste becomes bitter as his precum begins to leak, making your mouth water even more and cunt pulse harder in response. You hollow your cheeks, sucking in with as much strength as your sore lips and jaw can do. You take him deep to the back of your throat, his hair scraping at your bottom lip. You almost gag as you bob your head back. With a steeling breath as best as you can through your nose, already thick and running, you suck in your cheeks again and start to move lower.

He groans again, and his fingers curl around you; but rather than shove your face further against his body, his thumb pushes gently against the side of your head and he breathes, “No, no, stop.”

You slide your tongue along him as you pull off his cock, a string of saliva and glistening precum still connecting you to his throbbing head. He looks down at you, still stroking the side of your face as you lean away. “Not all the way, not yet,” Kakashi says. “Lie down.”

You lower your hands to the mattress, pushing yourself up along the bed, and Kakashi climbs atop you. His broad, muscular chest is bare, dimly pale in the light of dusk leaking through the window, but you can’t tear your eyes away from his face, from the wordless tempest in his gaze.

His hand traces down your chest, finding the fastening of your clothing, and you arch your back as you begin to roll your pants down as well. Kakashi abandons your shirt to help tug them free, a hand tight on yours stopping you from going for your panties. He wraps his fingers around your wrist, restraining your movement. He leans down and kisses your mouth as he squeezes and lets go.

“Let me,” he says, his voice rasping, and you sigh into his mouth.

His fingers slide down your body, tracing the curve of your hip and running along the band of your underpants. He breaks the kiss by traveling down; kissing your chin, your throat, your collarbone, as his knees shift, dipping the mattress as he moves. Restless, you prop yourself up on your elbows to shed the half-forgotten shirt, and when he doesn’t stop you again, move back for your bra before slowly melting back to the bed, panting under his touch.

Between your thighs, Kakashi places a hand on your inner leg and pushes gently. His strength moves you more than the volition of your own muscles, and you shiver at his fingers tensing in their hold. His other hand rises right to the front of your panties.

“Oh,” is all you can manage when his finger traces slowly along the fabric. He swirls, dips, lightly dancing along the indent of your folds, up and down again. Your inner muscles clench.

“You’re already wet,” Kakashi murmurs, and you choke out another shuddering sigh as his breath comes hot against the damp fabric.

He leans in, mouth brushing against your panties, and then teasingly to the side as he kisses the soft skin right at your inner thigh. His mouth opens, tongue swirling along you, before his teeth catch in a large, playful bite. It draws another weak, jagged moan from you.

“Are you growing impatient?”

That’s when it strikes you, through the hazy cloud of lust beginning to fog your coherence. Your eyes widen in a way that has nothing to do with the nuzzling of his lips back over the fabric of your panties – or at least, not completely - he’s quoting the fucking paperback.

You offer only another incoherent sigh, grinding your hips into the bed as the heat there between your legs begins to grow unbearable.

Kakashi’s fingers press against your thigh, moving closer to your panties, and you feel yourself throb harder, achingly so, as he begins to push at the edge of the fabric. He slips below, grazing against your folds. You shiver, and in response to the trembling of your thighs, Kakashi’s tongue comes rough, spreading thickly, right over your panties.

“Fuck!”

You rock your hips into the bed and whimper. Kakashi leans his face further against you. His tongue is spread flat and slow as it washes over you, then withdrawing, and coming back with a curl to dig right at the fold over your clit. His fingers probe again under the fabric, slipping down and running easily along the slickness of your slit until he comes to your entrance.

“Fuck,” you groan again, completely lost in sensation. Kakashi lifts his face, dragging down, upper lip wide and heavy over your soaked panties.

“You did ask my favorite part of the story,” he says huskily.

The words bring a twist, hot and desperate through your core, and you roll your hips in moaning response.

His fingers turn, and he finally grabs the panties in a fistful that pinches at your skin where the band digs in, tugging them to the side. You breathe raggedly as his tongue moves bare over you now, digging to find your clit. Your eyes roll again when he brushes teasingly right over it, back, and forth, before finally circling over it with intention. Begging for friction, your hips jolt, one leg sliding against the sheets, your abandoned entrance throbbing for attention.

“Please, more,” you breathe, and your hands reach down, pushing through the thick shock of hair to hold him close, scrambling down the back of his neck.

If you scratched him with wandering fingernails, Kakashi gives no indication of pain, but continues to work his tongue into you. Finally, finally, his fingers spread across your skin, wandering back to the area of neglect. The slick smears across you as he moves, toying with really, how wet you’ve become, and you moan and twist again. His index and middle finger, so nimble, so strong, rub along the curve of your thigh to your entrance, and gently pump into you – in, out, in again, just a little deeper.

“Kakashi,” is the next word that comes from your lungs, warm and heavy in the twilight air, and his lips close right over your clit. His tongue is insistent, his cheeks hollowed in a light suck, and you arch your back and wail at the pulsing heat beginning to move heady through you.

And then he lifts his face fully from you, your hands falling down to his broad back. He gently pulls away, your panties falling awkwardly, wet, across you. Your fingertips skim across his shoulders, down to his chest, as he sits up, leaving you aching, dripping, trembling, ripped away from the edge.

“No…”

“But it wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

Your face burns, the line from a novella published weeks past rolling across your brain. “What a mean friend you are,” you say, in teasing distraction as you pull your hands back, anxiously grabbing at each other.

Kakashi squeezes the inside of your thigh, smirking. “I thought we agreed this is wrong for friends regardless.”

In the dim light, he’s wild and beautiful. His hair sticks in every direction, the flush across his face spreading wide, lips and chin wet with your slick. And in his eye, caught right in that last beam of sunset, you can see a yearning hunger, something just stirring, far from finished.

He lifts his hand, and your eyes dance across his body to follow the movement. He grips his cock and shifts between your thighs, coaxing your legs further apart as he draws himself up to kneel. His other hand falls to your leg, this time stroking lower, along your calf. You gasp when his fingers flex, taking hold of your leg, and curls his hand to pull your leg upward over his shoulder.

“Ah…”

The strain in your muscle is almost painful, and Kakashi breaks into a smile, breath sucking between his teeth. You can feel him come right against your entrance, the curve of his thumb and clutches of his knuckles against your spread thighs, and the smooth round head of his cock at your folds. He moves it up, down, slowly nudging you apart. You moan again, feeling the heat rush from you, how your inner muscles pulse desperately, needing him. “Kakashi…”

His “Yes?” is just as breathy, his hand tight on your leg, his cock teasing you apart and coming lower, so close.

You arch your back, hips rolling into the bed, chest heaving with forceful air, unable to pull forth coquettish words, desperate for him to just – “fuck me!”

Kakashi groans, and just as the words slide from you, he thrusts at last inside you with a harsh snap of his hips.

It leaves you breathless, barely able to force out another moan, as he moves in you. Your foot strains over his shoulder, hips shaking as best they can in response. His pace is already rapid, brutal, deep, as he leans over you, a silver god of the twilight. Your hands flex, unable to reach for him so far away, and you let them fall to the side to snatch at the sheets.

The waiting, the teasing, the anticipation for so fucking long is worth it, because the way Kakashi fucks you into the bed with gasping growls between his teeth is so worth it that your body shudders at the sensation. When he feels it, he slides his hand along your leg and leans further into you, your muscles screaming in response. He stretches you, moving deep, and you take every bit of him in return. And oh, you knew it, you knew it would be this good, and you moan, elated.

He begins to slow his strokes gradually, that first, anxious desire satiated, but when you meet his eye, your vision rocking with the thrusts, the hunger still burns there. Sweat simmers across his forehead and beads at the edge of the forehead protector, eyelid heavy but gaze so firmly locked on you.

“More,” you whisper.

His arm tenses, the grip on your leg tight enough to bruise, and his face is unreadable as his free hand slides along the sheets. “More?” Kakashi says, jagged.

“Harder.”

Your chest rises and falls, your mind spinning, and he pulls out slightly, hesitating for a moment before slamming back in. It’s good, it’s still good, but you part your lips to beg again, and Kakashi’s hand reaches forward to grab a firm hold of your throat. Your breath comes in a choked hiss as he squeezes, elbow bent and heel of his palm hard against your collarbone. With his next strokes, he squeezes again, and you feel your leg go limp, his fingers slowly unwrapping from their tense hold against your calf.

“Oh…” If it’s possible for a sound to slur from you, that’s how it sounds to your ears, as everything aural and visual starts to fade.

He fucks you, and your head spins, seeing only him even as your vision begins to go static. Nothing resonates around you but Kakashi. Every inch of your skin prickles cold, even as the heat burns below your core. You reach with a trembling hand for him, feeling the iron muscle of his forearm, and grasp weakly at him, as it all comes dimmer and dimmer.

Your leg slides down along his arm, and you feel more than see when he pulls out, hand relaxing against your throat as he adjusts, kicking against you as he shifts out of the kneel. You strain to cough, and his fingers flex, release. His face, now shadowed in dusk, comes above you as you gasp, and move your hand to stroke your throat.

“Too much?” he asks, and you cough again as you shake your head.

“No,” you whisper, your limbs buzzing as you feel him between your legs.

Kakashi’s over you on all fours now, and when he lowers his face to kiss you again, it’s gentler than before, comforting, as if he didn’t believe you. His lips press against yours, warm, slow, as the blood begins to flow back through you with every burst of oxygen. Above your head, you feel his hand stroke gently at the side of your temple, the bed dipping as he leans on his forearm. His knee comes between your legs again, but without rush as his chest lowers completely to yours. Your heart hammers below his.

He kisses you like a lover.

Your voice is raspy when you murmur, “more, please,” against him.

Kakashi lifts his head from you, nudging his leg harder against yours as he begins to lower himself, free hand once more skating knuckles across your skin as he guides himself to your already sore and swollen entrance.

You lift your legs around him gladly as he sinks back in, another sigh shuddering from the both of you in harmony as he begins to move. These strokes build back to the speed he had so rapidly started driving at before, and it pushes in warm ripples through you. The sounds of his cock moving into you are lewd and wet, your cunt still throbbing and aroused even as he begins to pull you closer and closer to euphoria with each smooth thrust.

Kakashi begins to moan in your ear, filthy nothings, but you can barely hear above the rush of blood through your body; the rapid beat of your heart in your ears; the thrusts of his hips against yours that make you shake and melt even as you do your best to buck back in response. The sheer pleasure that shakes through you at his motions, the pleasure he brings, is just overwhelming, even as his words jaggedly break through with your name, broken compliments, half-formed curses.

“God… I’ve wanted…fuck… so pretty… you’re so pretty… fuck…”

He begins to pick up the pace again, his words beginning to slip into incoherence, and the bed shakes as the jolt of his strokes come stronger. Your inner thigh muscles ache, one foot hooked around his lower back as the other slumps to the mattress with the growing force of his slams.

You groan, shuddering, aching, and his name begins to roll from you again in sighs so guttural your throat aches anew.

“Kakashi!”

Your head dips into the bed as his forearm above you pushes harder. His other hand palms hard against your hip, coming away, and back again with a sharp slap against your flank that makes you yelp, eyes closing. Kakashi’s hand comes back, and this time curves below your leg to strain you up against the bed, finding a new angle that seems to hit even deeper.

This time you scream his name.

He moans in response, and you feel his lips on yours in another desperate, hungry kiss. His hips lift and slam you into the bed, his strokes growing shorter as he fucks frantically, closer and closer still to satisfaction. You whine into his mouth, clutching at his back, his shoulders, not caring now how wildly you may be scratching at him.

He breaks the kiss with a grunt and leans back, the hand at your head knocking harshly into you at the shifted movement, and in the silhouetted shadows, you can see the furrow of his brow and gritted teeth. Your hands fall lower down his back, nails dragging in their wake, and you wail as he comes closer, closer, throbbing and fast inside you. You twist your hips, squeezing, clenching, urging your climax forward as the heat begins to rush.

“I’m…. gonna…” you say, desperately, and the word falls into another cry as it comes. Your hands clutch around him as your orgasm hits, the sounds from your lungs broken and interrupted by the force of his strokes, nails scraping into him as the release comes in waves of delicious cramps. You can feel yourself clench around him, legs going limp, back arching as your limps long to collapse and writhe into the bed.

“Fuck!”

And within you, enough to make you tremble and make that orgasm dance out longer, you feel Kakashi slow, his cock so hard, thick, enough to split, and with one last push, he comes after you. His hips stutter, and it’s hard and hot through you. He grabs at the sheets and leans back into you, body firm, sweaty as his chest meets yours again, and urges through you. Only now do you allow yourself to fully let go, legs and arms limp, when he melts into you.

He murmurs your name, and the room is nothing but heavy breath for a moment. You blink into the darkness, eyes unable to focus on the ceiling, only making out the spiked shadows of Kakashi’s hair in your peripheral.

He rests against your shoulder, head in the hollow between your neck and body. You lift an unsteady hand to his back, and stroke gently, softly, down his sweat-beaded skin. The darkness is suddenly too silent. You swallow.

For all the dreams of before, you never thought much about the after. It’s where the pulp novels usually stop, anyway.

But here, having Kakashi lie in your bed, his breath hot against your neck, slick between your thighs and aching beginning to settle through your body, is no novel.

“Maybe I should check those books of yours out,” you say faintly at last. “If they’re so inspiring to make you give in like that.”

He laughs, exhausted. “Your books,” Kakashi says, his voice muffled between you and the bed.

You laugh as well, or as much as you can with his weight beginning to settle uncomfortably across your chest, and pause your caress against his back. “Are you still harping on about that?”

“I’ll prove it one day,” he insists, kissing the side of your neck before sitting up. Moonlight cascades over him now, as you haul yourself up as well.

He’s so fucking beautiful.

“Regardless,” he adds and reaches out. He catches the side of your face in his palm, and you lean to the side, keeping his hand against your shoulder as you stare dreamily at him, “I guess I can’t see the harm in helping a friend with her research.”

fin.

#ao3 crosspost #ao3 #daryafics #kakashi smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi x yn #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake x you #naruto kakashi imagine #kakashi hatake x y/n #kakashi x y/n #naruto #naruto smut

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blackcrystalball · 23 days ago

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I just went on ao3 with the intention of browsing the Sam/Evan tag, only to find that there basically isn't one because it hasn't been marked as common.

Disappointing but alright, I switched to the Sam&Evan tag instead and there are barely any fics with them interacting one on one. I'm genuinely surprised to see how few evsam fanworks there are.

That is to say, I am now thinking of drafting some oneshots to get the ball rolling. I'll need to rewatch season 1 probs to get a proper feel for Evan. I've kind of got Sam down, mostly because I am the Sam in my life, but Evan might be a bit harder to get right.

(if anyone has any thoughts or input about their characterisation, please leave it in the notes. I really want to do these characters justice and I want to do as much prepwork as possible. So, I will be reading a lot of introspective fics tonight)

#lexi's diary #dimension 20 #d20 #misfits and magic season 2 #d20 misfits and magic #misfits and magic #d20 mismag #mismag

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boundinparchment · 11 months ago

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Dream a Little Dream of Me - LV

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. Mind the tags. Chapter on AO3 here. MC's dress || Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich, performed by The Dixie String Quartet is on the Spotify playlist.

You nestled the last pin in your hair and admired your handiwork in the vanity for a moment. Perfect. Nothing would interfere with your mask nor felt uncomfortable.

In the mirror, your eyes flickered to the doorway to your dressing room, where Zandik leaned against the doorframe halfway dressed. He’d been there ever since you began working on your hair, suspenders dangling, only moving his head to momentarily look at something else. Some might have found such moments unnerving, this habit of his to watch and look and listen; for you, his presence was akin to a hug or a kiss on the forehead. Just another demonstration of his affection.

Tonight, you would go without the extra headpieces to conceal yourself. Hiding your hair would only draw more attention, after all, and you were already at the mercy of entering the ball alongside Zandik.

To do anything else, such as enter apart but spend the rest of the evening with him, would only bring more questions.

Hiding you, shielding you and keeping you to himself made sense, once upon a time. Deep down, you were certain Zandik still wanted to. There was a flatness in his bottom lip about the topic and he often held you tighter when you were alone, savoring the private intimacy.

But he, of all people, knew the importance of freedom, of recognizing one’s true nature.

Make-up and hair finished, you rose from the vanity and made your way to the door. You pressed a hand against his chest, his once-soft dark navy shirt stiff under your touch from being starched and ironed. As you cupped his cheek, absently noticing his lack of earring, Zandik turned his head and took your hand in his, reverently pressing a kiss to your palm before his lips hovered over your pulse.

“Go finish getting ready, mon rêve.”

Zandik pursed his lips slightly, lowering his head before he pointedly kissed your wrist again and closed his eyes.

He didn’t want to go. It didn’t take being his soulmate to figure that out. Anyone of his caliber would prefer to be working and making progress over social formalities. As often as he carved out time for you, be it dinner or a training session or simply a quiet evening reading while you played, he sent letters explaining a delay or a missed meal.

“Am I not allowed to savor you?” he asked, his breath tickling your skin. “Before the trappings of formalities take us both?”

You certainly couldn’t argue with that.

He lingered only a second longer before a knock at the door broke the moment like a hammer to a mirror. Zandik gritted his pointed teeth, baring them for a second in a frustrated snarl, as he turned his attention to the sound.

“About time...took long enough...”

You parted, grazing your fingertips across his cheek in apology, and he left to address the interruption.

Left to your own devices, you closed your dressing room door and finished getting ready.

At first, you hadn’t been certain about the lace you picked out on a whim. Columbina sweetly terrorized the shopkeeper so you could browse in peace. Most colors would potentially show through the gown, leaving you with only a few options. The handwoven material was soft against your thighs and waist, the garter belt straps far easier to use than the ones you recalled from home (although perhaps that was simply the benefit of handmade anything).

It felt strange to be without a corset but the dress draped over you and took care of the structure and shape, as discussed with the seamstress. The neckline was twisted and asymmetrical, a swath of fabric covering your left shoulder while your right was bare, save a single strap as delicate as spider’s silk. Your back was bare down to the dip of your waist where a short train fell and pooled behind you.

The dress shimmered and sparkled with the faintest blush. It passed for a soft white, the slightest contrast to Zandik’s crisp and cool preferences.

Your satin heels were simple, as were your earrings. By other standards, including the Tsaritsa’s, you appeared quite plain. But anything beyond the mask in your hand felt excessive, given its prominence.

When you emerged, Zandik was in the sitting room, dressed and idly twirling something between his fingers. He wore mostly white, with the exception of a light blue satin waistcoat, cinched, and a blue and white feather pinned at his lapel. The usual gem worn in his harness was pinned to the center of his white cravat. His inanimate mechanical bird rested over his shoulders, shrouding him in a mantle of feathers. You caught a flash of light blue in the tails of his coat as they curved and fell past his knees.

His lips moved but you didn’t quite catch the sounds he made, the words foreign and low as his ears burned pink. For effect, you gave a small twirl, and it was impossible to miss the sensation of his eyes skimming across your bare back.

“I take it you like it, then?” you said, smiling softly.

Zandik closed the distance between you with slow steps and stopped only when he was just in front of you.

“You look like crystal stardust,” he replied after a beat, lips grazing your forehead. “Similar to when you activate your Vision in a fight. Quite striking.”

He took your hands in his and you felt warm metal slide over your ring finger. When he pulled away, you looked down and found a rectangular aquamarine roughly the size of your last knuckle.

“Zandik, what…”

“I did say it was not the Tsaritsa’s place to determine what jewelry you wore. A ring seemed...efficient. Wouldn’t get in the way of you playing but be enough of a conventional statement to keep others at bay.”

He took your hand in his and ran his gloved thumb over the edge of the stone. It glowed softly, similar to his absent earring and the various ornaments he wore almost daily.

“Whenever I think of you, it glows. It should also be able to carry short messages but that hasn’t been thoroughly tested.”

The glow faded slowly, reluctantly. Zandik let go of your hand and reached into his inner jacket pocket, seeking something.

“I modified the communications technology I used elsewhere. Gemstones prove more...difficult than liquids such as primordial seawater or Irminsul sap, naturally.”

“Presumably, it has a partner?” you asked, eyes flicking from his hand to his face.

You were rewarded with a raised eyebrow. “I can never surprise you anymore, can I?”

His mouth softened into a smile as he found what he was looking for. Zandik extended his hand and you reached out to pick up the cylindrical topaz earring, clear and without inclusions, the perfect shade of golden yellow.

Your power, you, in place of...

Zandik angled his head and you fed the wire through the piercing, securing it when it was seated properly. The curling tendril of his bangs wrapped around it. It didn’t look as out of place as expected, given the golden accents of his suit, but it would be striking for those who knew his usual appearance.

Last night’s dance swam in your head, overriding any remaining anxiety as the topaz in turn began to light up from within.

“Can’t surprise me? Absolutely not true and you know it,” you whispered.

Please with himself, he threw you a playful grin before he slid his mask into place. You did the same, fussing with the straps in hopes your hair wouldn’t be ruined.

Hand in the crook of his arm, the two of you made your way downstairs, ready to get this over with.

Formality dictated that, given you were not publicly known nor the spouse of the Second Harbinger, you were to enter the ball unescorted as any other guest. But Zandik was not one for convention and his enjoyment at the expressions on his colleagues faces was palpable as you descended the stairs together and joined the awaiting Arlecchino, Columbina, and another man with white hair and a single visible eye.

“You’re on time, Doctor. It’s a comfort to know someone can tear you away from that workshop of yours,” the white-haired stranger said.

He approached, his figure as imposing as the Captain’s from what you recalled. Even Zandik had to adjust his neck to look at the other man.

The introduced himself as Pierro and you curtsied, the gesture ingrained in your muscles; in turn, you received warm lips on your knuckles.

“I have not yet had the time to watch you play, as most of my subordinates and Her Majesty have. But hardly a day goes by without your music gracing the halls and I look forward to hearing what you’ve composed.”

“Thank you, Lord Harbinger,” you replied, reminding yourself to soften your smile.

“You’re familiar with the room’s layout, where the orchestra is set up, your cue?”

“Yes, I am, sir.”

He nodded, offered a kind smile, and then said something to Zandik in a tongue you’d never heard before. Your partner clicked his tongue, ears pink, and you caught something pass over Pierro’s expression when he thumped Zandik on the back twice.

“He was the stranger in the desert,” Zandik supplied quietly as Pierro walked away. “One of the few who can say they’ve seen my...evolution, so to speak.”

The rest of the gathering was a blur. Columbina hovered behind you, head on your shoulder as she asked Alecchino if the fabric of your dress was something she should consider next. You suppressed a shudder as you recalled the Third’s kaleidoscope eyes and tried to pair them with a fabric that looked like liquid stardust.

“You certainly would be able to hide not wearing shoes, my dove,” Arlecchino conceded.

To Zandik, the Knave said, “Interesting change, Doctor. I never thought gold was your color.”

“Of course it is, Arl,” Columbina chimed in. “It’s not like Regrator has a monopoly on a color. Besides, our Doctor looks quite healthy now, wouldn’t you say? A little less sallow? Happy, even?”

Zandik let a breath out of his nose. “Is that so?”

You stifled a laugh and were thankful that, not long after, you followed the expected protocol and found yourself in the center of the ball room. You weren’t the only guest (Capitano, Pantalone, and even Sandrone were not unaccompanied), which you were thankful for, but their faces were exposed, known.

Zandik flexed and you squeezed his arm in return as you settled into position awaiting the Tsaritsa. The Archon was escorted by Pierro, her dress as light as air despite the volume of the layers. The fabric whispered against the floor in the hushed silence.

She addressed the guests with a quiet but warm authority, not unlike how she first greeted you. Compared to the performances from Focalors in the Opera Epiclese, the Tsaritsa’s praise of Her Harbingers was grounded, full of pride and yet never reaching the fantastical exaggerations the Hydro Archon was prone to. The Tsaritsa’s eyes sparkled as much as the shining star on the sash, pinned over her heart as always, but there was a falsehood to it; a layer of ice that would never truly thaw.

You hoped your composition captured her oxymoronic nature.

Following your verbal cue, you stepped away from Zandik and passed through the crowd on the edge of the ballroom, escorted by one of your usual companions. Columbina floated ahead of you, her soft slippers gliding over the polished floor. A sea of familiar faces awaited you as you took your position and picked up the baton waiting for you.

You couldn’t use the one Zandik made for you, not without the risk of summoning your claymore over the heads of your musicians.

Percussion and strings came first to create a subtle yet solid foundation of the rhythm. A single woodwind picked up their cue, joined after a bar by the rest of their section for a warm, if melancholic beginning. Flutes picked up and carried the tune not unlike the birds that always welcomed the sun whenever it broke through the icy clouds every morning.

You wove the string section in, rounding out the composition. Grandiose in the middle, you gestured for a little more volume, listening carefully for any off rhythm or out of tune. Columbina’s harmonic vibrato rang through, an eerie chill dancing along the melody.

Everyone hit their climactic cue as practiced, as perfected, and relief flooded you. Halfway done.

Without an idea of what was happening behind you, you could only move forward and continue to pull everything together, beat by beat. Natural instinct took over, nerves steeled, and you let the notes envelope you as you moved everyone into the next section.

Your arms ached not due to exhaustion from conducting but longing. The last time you’d performed for an audience properly was lackluster, a shadow of your skills and heart, the strings on your cello more akin to sand between your fingers. A distant memory that felt so far away now. You felt full, proud, in the same way you did when you slashed your claymore through a mech and allowed your Vision’s energy to pass through you.

In this moment, every note, every gesture, was tangible, real. Coaxed and carried into the air, nurtured by the musician and by you, given a purpose and a place to exist.

You guided everyone into the final bar and closed the song with a flourish, the last of the brass section echoing off the walls of the ballroom. Applause exploded as everyone returned to rest position and you smiled, ushering everyone to stand and bow. Your success was theirs as well and when you turned to gaze out at the crowd, you caught a glassiness to the Tsaritsa’s expression that hadn’t been there before.

You turned and arranged the sheet music for the other conductor as you thanked everyone; there was little time for much else when you’d invigorated the crowd.

Expectations were shattered.

And now the evening was yours to enjoy.

Even when you were apart from Zandik, however temporary, the air felt charged. You half expected lightning to strike at any moment as eyes lingered on you. The Second was immediately swept up into conversations that were directly related to ongoing events. He was spared a single moment to congratulate you before his attention was divided, the vein in his neck prominent from annoyance.

Columbina pulled you along, Arlecchino never far behind, wine glass in one hand as the Third prattled away. The Dove kept most at bay, deterring only the brave or the foolish who wanted to ask about your education, your connection to the Doctor; what kind of person were you to write a musical composition and yet accompany a man so logical and cold that he often spent such events looking for a victim to toy with all evening?

Sandrone approached you only once, not deigning to look at your companions, and congratulated you in a tone you recognized as polite disdain. It was the same kind of placating that you received in Fontaine, a falsehood that exposed itself as the words were spoken. She, too, was among those who did not understand why, precisely, the Doctor would have brought you back with him. A musician with a talent for composition, who wielded a weapon on occasion, was nothing special.

There were others better suited to his interests, his passions, she said in closing; you smiled enigmatically into your glass and wished her a good evening.

The cognitive dissonance would disappear eventually once your soulmate finished his social rounds.

“Is she always like that?” you asked the two Harbingers.

“Weirdly possessive and thinking highly of herself? Yes,” Arlecchino replied. “Her mechanical knowledge is rivaled only by Dottore’s but she can never quite position herself to climb higher. I suppose that’s what happens when you shed your humanity and limit yourself to being a puppeteer of other marionettes though.”

Soon enough, however, the Third and Fourth had their own duties to tend to. Across the room, you watched Zandik’s earring glow faintly, and he turned to look at you for a moment. He nodded in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. You would be reunited soon enough.

You looked around and made your way to the perimeter of the ballroom, where tables and chairs were set up to allow guests to rest. Not far from you, you caught sight of a large figure overlooking the room, his black uniform cutting a striking contrast against the white and gilded décor of the wall behind him.

Greeting him with a curtsy, the Captain nodded to you in silence and then returned his gaze to the rest of the room.

“You are the talk of the evening, Maestra. I hope you do not allow common gossip to concern you tonight.”

The Captain was a man of little words and yet when he spoke, he always managed to make the most poignant remarks.

“I cannot recall the last time nasha Tsaritsa and her Jester smiled as they danced,” the Harbinger continued. “She lost her true ability to love when Celestia took her beloved Sovereign from her and froze him under the sea. The Doctor is not the only one affected by your presence and skill.”

His head turned and you saw nothing but an inky abyss through the opening of his helmet.

“You would do well to remember that, Maestra.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

He straightened and didn’t speak again, instead continuing through the perimeter, ever vigilant.

Your ring glowed and cast the slightest tint of blue against the glass of sparkling wine as you raised it to your lips. You looked around and nearly jumped when you found Zandik behind you. The Third and Fourth excused themselves with a biting comment about lovebirds and slipped into the crowd.

“I trust you were in good company in my absence?” he asked.

“I was,” you replied, an errant hand reaching out to straight the feather on his lapel. “Finished for the evening?”

“My obligations have been met and I have every intention of spending the rest of the evening uninterrupted.”

Zandik held out a hand in silent request. You abandoned your glass on the nearest table before placing your hand in his and breaking through the throng of people to the dance floor. A jolt jumped through his fingertips to yours and ran up your arm, your heart expanding of its own accord.

Just like the previous night, you fell into rhythm quickly, Zandik precise and in-step as he led. The sensation of eyes crawling up your back, skimming your joined hands and how closely you danced, was offset by the way his scent lingered and how perfect you felt against him. The closest feeling to this was stepping into a warm room on a rainy day or entering your favorite cafe. Being pressed to him, in his arms, was like being home.

Around you, the air felt charged again, only this time you were certain that if it struck, you would die fulfilled.

“You were right,” you murmured as he spun both of you around.

“Of course I was. But what about?”

“I missed it. All of it.”

The hand on your waist moved to your back, fingers pressing into the exposed skin at the small of your back. Words failed to truly encompass what you meant and the thumb stroking your spine reminded you that they weren’t necessary for the man dancing with you.

“You’re talented, rooh 'albi. You don’t need me to tell you that. There is a beauty, a strength, that only comes with wielding that knowledge and hard work. If the cursed principles were so dead-set on pairing me, I’m glad it is to you.”

You settled your head onto his shoulder as best you could, even if it wasn’t befitting of the dance, the bird feathers tickling your nose. His scent was intoxicating, sandalwood and mint and musk, and for the last movements of the song, you pushed out all other noise and sensations except for Zandik.

“Can we go get some air after this?” you asked. “I’m tired of being surrounded.”

Zandik pressed his lips to your ear, his breath hot.

“You read my mind. I’ve just about his my threshold for nonsense for the evening.”

The song ended, and you resisted the urge to kiss him as you pulled away, your faces a hair width apart despite your masks. Not here, you reminded yourself, even though every part of you burned with something beyond pure need.

Your soul longed to feel his, connect and tangle and weave itself. It was more overpowering than any sensation you’d felt before.

And cut short too soon when a familiar voice sent needles up your spine and broke your reverie.

“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Maestra?”

In a stupor, you turned your head towards Pantalone, a congenial smile on his lips and his eyes closed; he wore the face of a host pleased with his guests’ experiences.

You hadn’t seen the banker all evening, actually, now that you considered it, o ther than the line-up at the beginning. It was only polite that you danced with Zandik’s closest colleague, regardless of your own sentiments. Your partner had yet to let you go and if you truly had a choice, you would have preferred to decline and stay in Zandik’s arms.

But there were eyes on you and gossip spread quicker than wildfire.

“My pleasure, Lord Harbinger. But only the one.”

Zandik relented and you took your position with Pantalone as the next song began. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched blue hair and bird feathers as the other Harbinger moved about the room.

Did he suspect his colleague, you wondered. You’d told Zandik of your experiences, how cautious you preferred to be around the banker as of late, and he was no stranger to Pantalone’s machinations, either.

The banker led you in the dance in a familiar tug that made your stomach drop to your feet. He was on beat, smooth in his steps, but he expected you to follow him. You stiffened considerably, grateful that his gloved hands never seemed to touch your bare skin other than your hand.

“A wonderful performance, as expected,” Pantalone said. “You managed to pull a smile from Her Majesty, one that hasn’t been seen in years. A testament to your skill.”

“Thank you, my lord. It wouldn’t have been possible without the musicians I worked with, however. A conductor, let alone the composition itself, is only as good as those playing the music.”

“Ever humble, Maestra. For every commonality, there is a corresponding difference between you and the Doctor. The further you ingratiate yourself, the harder this will be, you know, when those differences truly take root."

You followed his cue to spin you out and when you returned, you narrowly avoided stepping on his toe as a response.

“He forgets himself with you around. I remember what it was to be enamored, attached, bonded. They succumbed to illness long before their time. So long in fact that I cannot remember their face clearly. But I recall their touch, their presence, and you would do well to remember that your Zandik has centuries on you. He will outlast you, surpass you, because that is who he is.”

What was Pantalone getting at?

He dipped you backwards, so low you swore you intended to drop you. For a man with a lithe figure, he had more strength and reflexes than he led on. When you were upright again, you spat the first words that came to mind.

"I don't intend to go anywhere. Face the truth and set aside whatever bias you hold, Lord Harbinger."

"And watch my closest colleague suffer when he experiences the inevitability of the lies you've created? Watch my nation wonder about the mysterious woman who is not a Harbinger but managed to seat herself so closely to the Doctor that she has to be some fearsome entity, bewitching even the Tsaritsa herself? I think not."

The music swelled to a close and Pantalone stepped away almost immediately. He bowed only low enough to be polite, gold eyes glittering through his lashes with malice.

“Enjoy your evening, Maestra.”

You were shaking by the time you wove your way through the crowd, grabbed Zandik’s hand, and found the nearest exit from the ballroom. Both of you found a courtyard, dusted with frost, and stepped outside. The cold air was crisp against your hot skin and grounded you almost instantly despite the goosebumps breaking out across your arms.

“What did he say to you?” Zandik asked firmly as he cast off the feathery mantle and draped the bird over your shoulders.

“That you forget yourself with me present. That you’ll outlive me, that I’m lying to you, worming my way into the Tsaritsa’s favor.” You paused, rounding your shoulders to press your face against the metal bird. “None of it is true. How can he come to such conclusions, Zandik?”

“Whatever nonsense Pantalone said is unique to his situation, one I’ve studied extensively. He’s given me a mouthful of drivel on more than one occasion, rooh 'albi. One’s experiences always color their perspective and they always think they’re right; they cannot see beyond themselves.”

You turned and faced Zandik entirely when his hand reached for you. Instinctively, you cradled his face in both of your hands, feeling the slightest hint of stubble already beginning to grow despite his shave this morning.

“It would be more painful to be apart,” you whispered. “Than to not know what this feels like.”

“A conclusion that doesn’t have enough evidence to support. But it is the driving hypothesis behind why we agreed to explore this, isn’t it?”

“Will you outlive me? Am I condemning you to an existence of absence, mon rêve?”

“I’m hardly immortal. I’ve extended my life and with a handful of exceptions, I’m human. I’ll die one day, same as you.”

Your breaths came out in smokey puffs, the chill burning your nostrils and yet you didn’t want to go back inside. Trembling, you angled your head and captured Zandik’s lips with yours, finding nothing but steady warmth, certainty.

When you opened your mouth, his tongue found yours with reflexive ease, tasting you. You craved more, one hand slipping from his cheek to cradle the back of his head and give yourself a bit of purchase. Hunger, need, far deeper than mere carnality, swirled in your chest.

Zandik broke the kiss first, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a satisfying pop.

“Uncertainty and fear do not become you. Forget the rest. What do you want?”

He breathed the words against the skin of your neck and the courtyard spun around you as his teeth grazed your flesh.

“You. Us. Whatever we carve out of this world for ourselves.”

Zandik peppered kisses along your jaw.

“Then you shall have me, musiqaa ruhi. All of me. Even long after every last star in the sky is gone and we are free of the shackles of fate that tie us together.”

The words carried both of you out of the courtyard and deep into the night, never out of reach of one another.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #genshin impact reader insert #soulmate au

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nautiscarader · 4 months ago

Text

Announcing my semi-retirement

This is a post I have been putting of writing for quite some time, and I make it with heavy heart... But first, tl;dr!

Most importantly, Don't Panic!

No, I'm not going anywhere.

I am also not deleting anything.

I simply don't want to give you false expectations about my activity here. I will keep writing, just at my (very) own pace.

Right, do we all have towels, and some refreshments of your choice?

Cool, let's dive right in - it will be over soon.

(oh and usual minor content warning regarding health stuff applies)

...what have I just said? I am not going anywhere! ...or at least not by my choice.

Yeah, in the past 10 months I have disappeared without a trace to the point that some of you thought I have snuffed it. 2.5 months, two weeks here or there, month and then another month out of nowhere...

The sad truth is that my illness, multiple sclerosis, is spreading, plus I have some other health issues that do need looking at occasionally. In fact, I might be going to some new clinic in September/October, but that's TBA.

As a result, I have become steadily more and more unreliable when it comes to delivering prompts, or even basic asks - and I cannot let that stay. Not to mention the length and quality of my works got hit by that - some of you have noticed that and pointed out/asked me about it in the most delicate way - and I thank you deeply for that.

me_irl

And I can already hear you...err...type: "We don't care! Take your time!" Guys, I have taken so much time that the Time Lords will soon be on my ass asking for it back with interest.

I... simply don't want to give you guys false hope and expectations.

I believe I heard it in Hank Green's cancer vlog that once such illness hits you, it "becomes your job". So think of it like that. Me having a really taxing job, often requiring my presence at inconvenient times.

Or maybe think of me going on holidays! To... hospitals...

So that is it, from now, I free myself from the shackles and obligations of prompts and writing weeks... though of course I have been falling out of rhythm for a loooong time, so... I think it is fair to say you are already used to it...

I will keep writing and publishing stuff... very occasionally, though. And I may one day just decide I am feeling strong enough for some quick round of prompts. In fact I will be updating some prompt hubs with old tumblr asks, so keep an eye on that.

Aaand of course I am not leaving you alone!

I can wholeheartedly recommend @fereality-indy, @animation-recaps-by-sean, @noblechaton, @billythsquid, @noblesnook, @thatguywiththefaceog and so many more writers here and on Ao3 - feel free to browse my bookmarks there!

Oh, and speaking of Ao3, don't forget it that it has excellent backup function! As for tumblr, there is tumblrThree, a program to back up any blog, if you are afraid of someone disappearing! You can download mine! it only weights...

...seventy-seven gigabytes, that is a lot of lolcats.

Anyway, that is it. Honestly, not much is going to change. I have been barely writing, and I will continue to do so - it's just I now have medical papers as an excuse.

Thanks to all of you for understanding and for your many messages of concern and support!

Oh, one more thing - H-Hotel!

Feel free to invite your own crazy crossover couples there and use this gif, I mean it, just credit and tag me.

...the only thing is, there is this huge boiler in the basement, and someone will need to check if it doesn't overheat. And since it runs on stardust, it would be bad for the multiverse if it exploded.

But I'm sure you will remember.

Anyway, see you later!

#personal

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lupinedreaming · 1 year ago

Text

As it is the time of year when I re-enter Beetlejuice mode, I’m kind of looking back and wondering /why/Beetlebabes was (and still is to an extent) such a divisive ship. I understand not liking the underage version; I don’t like it either. I think underage stuff is gross. But most people seem to ship it in scenarios when Lydia is an adult.

Part of my confusion is from encountering similar ships that barely get any backlash? Like, I’ve read aged up Sarah/Jareth fic in the past, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen much backlash against it, and that ship is pretty similar in a lot of ways to Beetlebabes. There are also villain ships here on Tumblr that are waaay darker and problematic, but they’re very popular. I’ve never seen the Hannibal show, but Hann/igram continues to be wildly popular on this site, and from what I’ve gathered, it’s a pretty damn f’d up ship.

But yeah! Idk what sets people off so hard with even adult, consensual Beetlebabes stuff. There have been times when I’m browsing the general Beetlejuice tag, and I’ll see people talking about how much they hate the ship and people who like it even enough I haven’t seen /any/ content for the ship in the main tag. If you’re encountering it in the wild on Tumblr, it’s pretty easy to filter the tag and block people. It’s also easy to filter that tag on AO3.

But people act like they’re being forced to view it at gunpoint or something or like glimpsing art of the ship will make then go mad with the knowledge like a Lovecraft protagonist lmao. I think people should be able to talk about why they don’t like a ship or why they find it problematic, but with this one, some people seemingly want to push anyone out of the fandom that ships it. To paraphrase the MST3K mantra, “It’s just a (ship); (you) should really just relax.”

#🌹 eclipse talks #beetlebabes #If you dislike this ship and see this post please just block and move on. I won’t reply if you try to argue

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mapplesand · 6 days ago

Text

my ocs digital footprint is probably hell on earth so let's dive into that for fun lol

they're all pretty active on various social media (instagram, tik tok, twitter, tumblr, reddit ect)

Marco

most of the time it's instagram because everyone in their grade follow each others and Marco is an avid stalkers (mostly to girls)

his first account was banned and he keeps getting suspended or restricted on the one he's using since middle school, he mainly post memes or pictures where you barely see him (like guns he stole to his father and you just see his camo pants and combat boots so you know it's him), the memes are just well, edgy boy humor filled with the dumb horny posting about anime girls

don't go through who he follows, it's a mix of girls from his middle school, girls he knows are in his grade and popular model/onlyfan models (and there's also memes account and shit like that)

his twitter is a lot like that but he's just rambling about dumb shit and tweets about whatever he thinks is pissing him off at the moment, then there's the heavy rt of anime girls, his likes are even worse he's probably happy that no one can see them anymore and he probably likes even more fucked up shit there

Tristan is the only one who replies to what he posts and they often bicker about the dumb shit the other put in their timeline

then there's reddit, because of course Marco is a redditor, that's where he get his memes from, he's not really active per say but sometimes he complains about stuff

here's a list of the subreddit he follows and yes I did browse through reddit for 2 hours mindlessly to find all of them because i have too much free time

then he has tumblr because Tristan uses it and he wanted to test it for himself (he thinks tumblr is the gay equivalent of twitter) he probably just post on tcc even if Tristan tells him not to do that or he'll get banned but he thinks it's funny so he does it anyway

and finally again because of Tristan, he uses AO3 and read fucked up shit on there, probably stuff tagged with "dead dove, no not eat" you probably don't wanna know what he's up to

Tristan

he's less active and more of a lurker, on instagram at least, he's only there to follow artists and probably only post pictures of nature or dumb things like rocks or graffitis on walls idk

only rt drawings on twitter and replies to Marco to complain about the porn he sees on his tl because of him, thing is twitter is also his hideout for following more furry artist and well nsfw artists so Marco is gonna make fun of him for that lol

definitely more active on tumblr tho, he just reblogs a lot of stuff but still gains a pretty average following, he reblogs fanarts and stuff he thinks is funny or relatable, he sometimes lurks on the "evil side" of tumblr as he calls it because of morbid curiosity but stops when it feels too depressing

and then he's a big fanfic reader so of course AO3 is on his top 3 website that he uses a lot, he's embarrassed to admit that he read a lot of smut in there and will never let see anyone his bookmarks

he's just pretty normal with his relationship to social media honestly

Josh

he's just a normal guy who uses instagram and tik tok, he probably has snapchat, whatsapp and you know, stuff that normal people uses

he doesn't have any quirks he post on his stories about parties he's in and that's basically it

Tyler

doesn't post much apart from his drawings on instagram, he follows everyone because David just shows up in his dms and is like "hi tyler if you need to find anyone i follow everyone so i can give you anyone's contact if you need it for group projects !" (David is self proclaimed class representative) so Tyler just wanders on people's profile and well, it's a pretty bad look but he doesnt stalk people on purpose

he probably doesn't do anything on social media, you probably wouldn't know it's him if you dont know him

I do think he has reddit but again it's only about informational stuff (psychology and bombs mainly) or art

when he starts talking to Tristan i'm sure he's gonna both make a tumblr account AND an AO3 account, he knows about it because of Carmen but they probably both push him towards the fandom side of the internet even if he doesnt understand anything

#my ocs #original character #morbid minds #marco klein-valdez #tristan lambert #writing #writeblr #tyler giesler #oc #writers on tumblr #writers #writer community #writer stuff

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sniigura-archive · 5 months ago

Note

To add to the whole 'why do people not like x reader?' and response being 'ocs are better -signed a tired 27 year old'

A lot of people when reading 'x reader' dont directly imagine themselves but an oc they created. a lot of people use x reader to develop their ocs/persona and also find it a good way to pin down a charcters personality or even imagine the OC in different scenarios.

You can enjoy 'oc x canon' but knocking down people who find comfort in canon 'x reader' isnt fair. Not to mention a lot of 'x reader' fanfics have barely any descriptions of looks which means it allows a lot of people to join the story with their own oc rather than the authors.

They're basically the same thing anyway:

'Oc x canon'

- established career

- established personality

- established backstory

- Established age

- established relationships

- established family

- name

- description of appearance

- a self insert of some kind

'Canon x reader'

- established career

- established personality

- established backstory

- established age

- established relationships

- established family

- no name

- no description of appearance (unless specified like 'plus size reader, cat demon reader, etc)

- a self insert of some kind

'X reader' fanfic is for people who want to imagine themselves within the story in a fandom they enjoy but still use their own character/themselves

'Oc x canon' is for people who want to read about the authors character but have that character be in the fandom they enjoy

If you want to read about a charcter you can pick up a regular book and read about it however you cant do that with 'x reader'. You shouldnt be shitting on 'x readers' when they're not for you not to mention it's so easy to just not read a story you dont like rather than actively complain about it. Theres a filter on ao3 to remove things you dont like including x readers, infact there are multiple 'canon x oc' tags our there you can browse instead, you can block tags on tumblr, you can even just search in google 'canon x oc'.

for me it just boils down to that i want to kiss that character 😔😔 me n them are married 😔😔

i have my own ocs and oc x canon parings, and it’s ok to prefer oc stuff but man. in my rules (which no one reads) it’s clearly stated i do only x reader stuff. why follow me if you don’t enjoy x reader stuff 😭😭

#fucking millennials #ask

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broodybuck · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Slow Burns Are Overrated

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: E

Tags: 18+ explicit smut, social media AU, no powers AU, pre-serum Steve, booktuber Bucky, internet famous, top Bucky, bottom Steve, couch sex

[ao3 link]

Steve's not the biggest reader, he can admit this. But he is obsessed with watching one, very specific booktuber online. And alright, fine, Steve will admit it's only because the guy is hot.

Bucky Barnes can talk anyone's ear off about every novel Steve has never touched, but Steve will watch every single minute that Bucky uploads. As long as his beautiful face is on the screen.

Bucky doesn't talk about much else other than books and his cat Alpine who makes an occasional appearance in his videos. And so, Steve truthfully had no idea where the guy lives. He could've guessed New York simply from the slight accent in his voice but the city is huge and maybe he's from New York but has moved away. There are a thousand excuses Steve could tell himself when he happens to walk into the man himself in the small Brooklyn bookstore down the street from his apartment.

And yes, Steve doesn't read. He actually has never stepped foot in the place before today but he was walking past it and instantly thought of that cute face he watches online and just thought, why not? So he walked in for the first time ever and right into Bucky Barnes. Just as he was rounding the corner from the romance section because of course that would be the section he was browsing.

Steve's stunned the moment he recognizes the brown, wavy hair in front of him. The cute, dimpled face he's replayed for hours on end.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," Bucky says but the words only ring in Steve's ears because the voice matches, the face fits. It's Bucky freaking Barnes standing in front of him! He can't get over it.

"Are you okay?"

Steve quickly blinks out of his trance.

"What— um, yes. Sorry, I'm sorry for bumping into you."

"It was my bad, I wasn't looking," Bucky defends with a smile.

Dammit, that smile looks gorgeous on him in real life. Steve's mouth falls open slightly, he's so staring again.

"Romance fan?"

"What?" Steve asks shaking himself free again.

Bucky motions to the book in his hand. Steve looks down to see the romance novel he picked up. It was the last book Bucky raved about on his channel. A gay romance about two boys from the city. Steve couldn't help himself, he got curious.

"Oh, um. Actually, I'm not much of a reader. Trying it out."

"Well, that one's really good," Bucky tells him. "One of my personal faves."

"Yeah, I kn—" Steve stops himself. He can't humiliate himself anymore by admitting how often he watches this man on his laptop. "I've heard it's good, I mean. Hopefully I like it."

"I hope you do, let me know."

"How... would I?" Steve stammers like an idiot.

"I'm gonna be reading in the back. I spend most Sundays here. If you drop by, maybe I'll see you again," Bucky says, he even sounds hopeful.

Steve can barely form words, he's too shocked. He bites his tongue and nods.

Bucky smiles and walks around him to head to the back of the store where comfortable chairs are sprinkled into the corners.

Steve knows exactly where he'll be next Sunday.

~~~

Steve has never read a book so damn fast. He reads the entire novel in a week. Which for him is unbelievable. He knows Bucky can read a book in a few hours, he's documented this many times.

Still, Bucky doesn't have to know how long it took Steve. All that matters is that he can go back to the bookstore and tell Bucky all his thoughts.

The next Sunday, Steve finds him right where he said he'd be. In the back corner of the store, nestled into a deep red armchair with a novel in his hands.

He looks lovely, Steve takes a moment to stare until Bucky's eyes catch the slim figure lingering ahead of him and looks up.

Steve raises the book in his hand in a desperate attempt to prove why he is standing there.

"I read it," Steve says, stepping a little closer so he doesn't need to speak too loudly. He stops in front of the chair Bucky's sitting in. Bucky stares up at him with those bright blue eyes. Steve swears his legs could give out at any moment now.

"What'd you think?" Bucky asks.

"I loved it!" Steve exclaims and little too loudly. He winces and blushes. "Shit."

Bucky chuckles and stands so they're more eye to eye. Except they're not because Bucky is taller than him, so now those blue eyes are angeled down at him. Steve's not sure which is worse.

"I'm glad, what was your favorite part?"

Steve answers without really thinking, just genuinely blurts out what he liked best, "How much they wanted each other."

Bucky's eyebrows raise high and Steve's face goes hot.

"I mean, the build-up. You know? I guess I like a slow burn — I heard that's the word for it," Steve rambles on and leaves out that he learned all these terms from Bucky himself.

"Yeah, slow burn," Bucky smiles. "I like that too."

"Yeah," Steve nods and then suddenly, he's lost at what to say. He looks down and clutches the book tightly in his hands.

"If you liked that one, I could suggest a few more," Bucky offers. Steve's eyes jump back up.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Bucky says and starts leading them right back to the romance section. "How steamy do you like stuff?"

"Steamy?" Steve asks like an idiot. What else could steamy mean? But it's too late. Bucky turns around with a smirk on his face.

"You know, raunchy. The book you read is pretty tame. But if you want more spice, I know a really good one."

"Yeah, I could do with more spice," Steve lets slip and he can't believe he's just said it.

Bucky looks pleased though. He spins back around and scans the shelves for a mere second before finding the book he wants. He hands it over and Steve recognizes the cover immediately. It has orange flames and a rose on the front. He remembers Bucky reviewing it in one of his recent videos and rating the book a level 5 for spice. That's the highest level. Steve's face burns just thinking about it.

"G-great," Steve says nervously. "I'll let you know what I think when I'm done."

"I definitely want all the details," Bucky croons.

Steve's eyes go wide at the impish tone in his voice. The idea that he wants to talk about all the sex in the book. And god, Steve wants to go over every last naughty word with him and he hasn't even read it yet.

He rushes home to do just that.

~~~

Steve beats his previous record and finishes the second book in four days. Bucky would be proud, he thinks. And then he remembers every sex scene in the book — which was twelve, he counted — and gets hot all over just thinking about them. They were so graphic and all Steve thought about while reading them was Bucky.

He still has a few days before Sunday. So, in the meantime, Steve opens his laptop and sees a new video uploaded from Bucky. He clicks on it and begins watching right away.

Bucky starts out with his classic introduction and then gets into the books he's read this week. He holds up a book Steve recognizes and it takes a second for Steve to recall it's the book Bucky was reading in the store last week.

Bucky begins reviewing the novel with a soft smile. It's such a coy, sweet smile that Steve smiles too. He can't believe he's met this man in real life, he can't believe — Bucky's talking about him?!

Steve replays the clip.

"I guess that's what happens when you meet a cute guy in the bookstore. Leaves an impression on you, so I'm bumping this book up to a 3.5 rating."

Steve blinks and plays it again. His ears must be deceiving him but no. Bucky's talking about how he has fond memories of the book because of who he met while he was reading it last week. And Steve knows it was him. Saw the very book in Bucky's hands. Was at the same bookstore with him.

Steve sucks in a breath. Does this mean he actually has a chance?

~~~

Bucky's in the very same chair when Sunday arrives. This time, when Steve steps into the back corner of the bookstore, Bucky notices him immediately. Almost like he was waiting for him. He stands and smiles happily.

"Hey."

"Hey B—" and that's when Steve realizes they never exchanged names. And when Steve realizes how creepy it is that he knows exactly who Bucky is and hasn't told him yet. "I'm sorry."

Bucky looks at him funny.

"I uh, know who you are. I watch your videos," Steve confesses.

"Oh," Bucky responds simply. Steve can't tell if he's mad or not.

"I should've told you. I just couldn't believe I happened to run into you."

"So, you're actually a reader?" Bucky asks.

"Oh no, that wasn't a lie," Steve laughs. "The day I met you was the first time I ever stepped foot in here. You uh, inspired me... kinda."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you get that all the time," Steve assumes.

"Not really."

"You don't?"

"Most of my viewers are already long-time readers and most people who come up to me don't even want to talk about books, they just tell me I'm hot," Bucky explains.

"I can't exactly argue there," Steve says quietly.

Bucky smiles, surprised, "I wouldn't mind it so much from you."

Steve rubs his neck awkwardly.

"I uh, watched your last video. I thought you might've been talking about me."

"I was," Bucky confirms and it feels surreal to hear.

"You're... interested?" Steve whispers.

Bucky looks confused, then frowns.

"Wasn't it obvious?"

"I mean, I kinda got the feeling but you're like way out of my league."

Bucky shakes his head, "Man, I've been waiting all week to ask you your name and now I'm out of your league?"

"No, you're outta mine! You could have anyone," Steve readily corrects and hears how ridiculous he sounds. "And it's Steve."

"It's nice to meet you, Steve," Bucky smiles, ignoring everything else.

Steve smiles much too wide and looks away.

"Um, so I read the book you recommended," Steve lifts it up in his hand. "It definitely had spice."

"Wanna talk about it over coffee?" Bucky offers.

Steve stares at him. Perhaps it's the romance books talking or maybe the unexpected confidence that emerges from Bucky Barnes telling scrawny Steve Rogers he's in his league.

"I got coffee at my apartment."

~~~

He's making out with Bucky Barnes. Holy shit, he's making out with Bucky Barnes on his couch, Steve thinks as he straddles the man and sticks his tongue in his mouth.

He never thought it would get this far. Then again, he knew what he was offering when he suggested his apartment and Bucky didn't really hesitate... so there's that.

Bucky grabs him by his waist and shoves him down against his crotch. Steve has to pull away to moan at the gloriously hard friction between them.

"You know, I don't usually do this," Steve decides to say then.

"Right," Bucky breathes, "you like slow burns."

Steve grins and kisses him for that. Their kiss turns desperate again and soon they're pushing off each other's clothes.

"This slow enough for you?" Bucky teases as he's pushing the head of his cock in. He'd been opening Steve up for the past twenty minutes so Steve's well and ready for nothing slow.

"Slow burns are overrated," Steve growls.

Bucky laughs darkly.

"Fuck slow burns," Bucky agrees and then pushes in further.

He's still going much too slow for Steve but the burn is delicious so he decides he can pick his battles. He waits until Bucky bottoms out and they both make a satisfied noise at the feeling.

When Bucky starts fucking him in earnest, Steve's suddenly reminded of his surreal reality. His internet crush with 800k subscribers is fucking him in his apartment on a Sunday afternoon.

"Jesus, fuck," Steve hisses.

He's definitely not going slow anymore, thank god. Bucky's fingers are digging holes in his skin, holding his hips back as he keeps fucking him harder and faster.

"Fucking christ, Stevie," Bucky says, the nickname rolling off his tongue so easily. "You're so tight."

"Split me open," Steve grits and right when he says it, he realizes that was a line from the book they both read.

Bucky groans like he likes it and swears again.

"I'm close," Bucky rasps.

Before Steve can urge him on, all of Bucky's weight pushes him down into the couch and Bucky lies on top of him pumping his release into him until he finally slows and breathes heavily by Steve's ear.

"Did you?" Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head and Bucky lifts up instantly. He turns Steve over, grabs his cock and starts stroking him. Pressing breathy kisses along his jaw until Steve comes.

"Fuck," Steve breathes turning to look at Bucky.

"That was amazing," Bucky smiles. He kisses him on the lips, hard and long enough that Steve feels like he can go again. Bucky pulls away still breathing heavy.

"Better than all those romance books?" Steve teases.

Bucky playfully glares at him.

"Way better than fiction, sweetheart. You're a goddamn dream."

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