#I haven’t played the game maybe I’m just reading too much into it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

puck-luck · 5 months ago

Text

evening embrace | jack hughes

warnings: oral (m! & f! receiving) aka 69 BABYYYY!!!!! whiny jack, silly jack, established realtionship af, very domestic pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes coming home from practice or a game all grumpy and frustrated and just ranting endlessly about whatever is pissing him off so u just casually decide to give him head mid-rant. without a word you just start palming him over his pants while he’s mid sentence and he’d be like “baby, what are you doing?” and you’d casually make your way to your knees with a shrug and say “you’re stressed, seem like you could use some relief” and once you’ve got his dick out and you’re about to bring it to your lips you’d say “you can continue with your ranting baby, promise i won’t get distracted” with an innocent little pout i-" wc: 4423

Jack had a bad day. The Devils just had their first few preseason games and Jack, although he felt ready to get back into his normal routine, feels like his shoulder injury from last season is still a little tender. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment that he snapped, but he thinks that he blacked out around the time when he missed a pivotal pass that resulted in a breakaway and goal in the game today. He’s never been so angry after a game– and this is just preseason.

He bursts through the door to your shared apartment, already ranting.

“This is shit,” Jack complains, dropping his bags in the doorway and kicking off his shoes.

“What’s shit, Jacky?” You ask from the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and reading a book. Now that he’s home, though, you set the book down and give him your attention.

“I’m not playing good enough,” Jack huffs out, frustrated and annoyed. “It’s my stupid shoulder. I’ve rehabbed it, I’ve gotten it fixed through surgery, and I still feel like I’m not playing at 100%.”

“Aw, honey, come sit,” you say, patting the cushion beside you.

Jack stalks over, collapsing onto the couch cushions and pulling you onto his lap. He kisses you hello before going back to his ranting.

“I knew I needed to work more on my wrister before the game,” he says. “But Keefe wanted us to run drills at camp so that we could be better all-around.”

You hum when you need to, but Jack’s just complaining and pouting. He had a tough day and wants to get all of his negative thoughts out, knowing that you don’t mind listening to him when he has problems.

“And I appreciate being a good team all-around, you know,” Jack continues. “But there should be times during practice when a guy can go work on his own shit, which will make the team better overall once he’s perfected the skill.”

“Maybe you can talk to Nico about that,” you murmur, tracing the letters on Jack’s shirt.

“I don’t want to be that guy,” Jack grumbles. “It’s a team sport. If Keefe wants us to practice as a team, then that’s what we’ll do. He’s the coach.”

You nod absentmindedly, adjusting yourself on Jack’s lap. Your hand continues to pet over his covered chest as he talks. His muscles are defined; it’s clear that he put in the work during his time off. You know he did, actually. You’ve watched his body swell and gain muscle mass over the summer and you’ve been able to see the changes up close and personal.

But not this past week: training camp started and Jack has been so tired and stressed out that he’ll come home, eat dinner with you, and collapse into bed with nary a makeout sesh anywhere. He’s been too tired to get off with you, although you know it relaxes him and helps him keep his mind clear, so you haven’t pushed.

Yet, as he talks about his day, you can’t stop thinking about how much better this would be if your lips were wrapped around his dick.

Your hand drops to his lap, palming his length over his shorts and interrupting Jack’s sentence.

He catches your wrist. “Baby, what are you doing?” Jack asks. “I’m talking to you.”

You blink up at him innocently, moving from his lap and sliding down to the ground. You situate yourself prettily on your knees, right between his thighs. Again, you touch the front of his shorts, rubbing the area like you’re giving him a handjob over his pants. “You seem stressed,” you tell him, simply. “Like you could use some relief.”

Jack’s mouth is agape, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I– um, yeah, I mean, I guess I’m stressed,” he replies, agreeing with you with an additional nod.

“Let me help,” you offer, cupping his bulge with your hand before leaning in to brush a fleeting kiss against the growing tent. You mouth along for a moment before bringing his waistband down, revealing his tight boxer-briefs. His semi is much more noticeable in just the underwear, straining more against the fabric as he grows harder. You fit your lips over the tip of his cock and suck slightly, through his shorts, just to make Jack jump.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, touching the back of your neck hesitantly. He moves like he’s still confused and not quite sure what’s happening.

“Keep talking, baby,” you say to him as you pull his length out of his underwear and start to stroke it. You press a kiss to the crown of his cock, then pull back. “I’m listening. I promise I won’t get distracted.” You blink up at him through your eyelashes, watching countless emotions pass over Jack’s face before you kitten-lick over his slit and hum in approval.

“It’s just hard,” Jack says, his eyes still wide and blown because of the shock that came over him when you made your bold move. “To, uh–”

He trails off, gesturing helplessly as your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his cock. You hum, bobbing your head in a commiserating, blatantly sarcastic nod. You know what you’re doing to him. You know that Jack goes boneless whenever you suck him off, that he promptly loses his words when you gag on his cock.

So, you pull away from him. You let your spit pool where it lay while your lips were around him– able to use it as lube as you pump him, blinking up at him like you’re unimpressed. “C’mon, J. I thought you had things to be frustrated about.”

“I do!” Jack exclaims, finding his words after your mouth parts from his body.

“Oh, you do,” you repeat, a smug little smile on your face. “So tell me about it.”

“I– well– it doesn’t matter now,” Jack whines, his hips twitching under your calm palm.

You furrow your brow and tilt your head to the side. “It doesn’t?”

Jack covers his face with his hands and makes a frustrated noise.

“Well, if that doesn’t matter, then why am I doing this?” You ask, feigning complete confusion even as you continue to stroke him. Jack has obviously gotten side tracked– and the relief of your mouth is like a wet rag on a dry erase board: it wipes everything completely clean and fresh. “I thought I was offering you something sweet to make up for your bad day.”

“You are, just– stop stopping!”

You move your head from side to side with each word in your response: “You can’t make me!”

At a stalemate, Jack deflates. He frowns to himself, then pointedly at you. You’re still stroking him, just teasing him, waiting for him to sweetly ask you to continue until–

Jack pulls you up onto the couch and takes your place, sinking to the ground on his knees with his pants and underwear pooling around his ankles. He doesn’t bother to take his clothes off before he touches your leggings reverently with a light ghosting of his fingertips. He brushes a sweet kiss against the inside of your thigh as he touches you, but the sweetness and teasing doesn’t last very long.

“How was your day?” Jack asks with a smirk and another kiss to your covered skin. He pulls at the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down your legs in a totally obvious way.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you warn.

“Not doing anything,” Jack teases.

“Don’t lie to me, Jack Hughes.”

“Full name,” Jack notes offhandedly. He licks his lips and rubs his thumb along your slit, still covered by your godforsaken panties. If he’s going to do something, he had better do it. “Just giving my baby a taste of her own medicine,” he adds.

“My day was fine, thank you very much,” you retort.

Jack hums, fiddling with the edge of your panties, the part of the underwear that’s covering his favorite part of you. “What’d you do?” He asks.

“I showered,” you say.

“Without me,” Jack adds. You don’t have time to berate him for acting like a fuckboy– not when he starts mouthing over your hipbones until he finds the waistband of your panties. He takes the band between his teeth and drags the fabric down to meet your leggings. All the while, he stares up at you with his own wide, blown, horny eyes.

“And I had breakfast, then I worked for a while, then I got lunch with my coworker like I told you about last night–” You continue, but Jack interrupts, pulling away from your bare cunt.

He pouts a bit. “What coworker?” Jack asks. “Who was it again?”

You muster the courage to glare at him. Jack just grins, his thumb sweeping through your folds like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

“Sadie,” you remind him. “The new girl in accounting.”

“Oh, Sadie,” Jack drawls, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “How could I forget about Sadie?” He smiles at you briefly to show that he’s messing with you, then nears your mound. “What did you eat?” He asks, just before replacing his thumb with the tip of his tongue, pride written all over his face as you take a deep breath.

“We got those Mediterranean bowls you like,” you say. You don’t tell him that there’s one in the fridge waiting for him.

“Without me,” Jack repeats, sounding a little more forlorn than the first time. Who knew that showering without your boyfriend would be less titillating than a Mediterranean bowl from that place down the street?

Regardless, you still don’t tell him about your little surprise in the kitchen.

“Without you,” you agree. “I can’t always be with you, you know.”

“Mhm, and it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever had to go through,” Jack says, using his thumbs to pull your lips apart so he can really dig in and lavish your cunt. Jack drinks up the gasp that leaves your mouth when his tongue twirls against your clit, then drops lower to press against your entrance. Jack presses a kiss against your entrance before his tongue really works into you, rendering him quiet.

You know he expects you to continue speaking, just as you expected him to continue. One thing you’ve always been better at than Jack is compartmentalizing– you swear it comes with the territory of being a woman compared to being a man– but you’ve missed this so much that you don’t care about his gloating that will come later.

“Jack, come–”

You interrupt yourself with a breathy gasp, hands flying to his hair. Jack has always loved when you tug at the brown waves adorning his head, so the heady look in his eyes when he looks up at you is no surprise. It’s also no surprise that your gasp has Jack flattening his tongue and showering your cunt with attention.

You had meant to ask him to come back up onto the couch, wanting him to be comfortable, but Jack doesn’t seem to care. You still want him to fill your mouth. There’s a trace of his salty precum on your tongue and the absence of his cock on the muscle leaves you writhing.

He eats you out messily, getting your juices all over his lips, cheeks, and chin. When he pulls away to catch a breath, you admire how his chest heaves with the effort to fill his lungs before diving back in and the way he licks his lips. You grip his hair, tugging slightly to get his attention, and then Jack’s disheveled baby blues are back on you. He smiles dopily, moving to wrap his lips around your clit, but before he can, you speak.

“Come up here,” you implore, tugging at his hair again.

“Wanna stay here,” Jack replies, succeeding in his efforts to reconnect with your core this time.

Despite the shockwaves flying through your body at his powerful suction, you remain steadfast. You’re even able to string a sentence together that has Jack pausing: “Please, J, wanna suck you too,” you complain.

It isn’t long until Jack thinks of a joke to refute you. “Baby, I’m 86, not 69.”

“Jack,” you complain, tugging his hair again indignantly as he laughs against your cunt, enjoying his own joke. “Not funny.”

“Very funny,” Jack mumbles, fitting a finger inside of you and thumbing over your clit in the absence of his mouth. You’re grinding down against him now, not nearly full enough or satisfied enough. Jack’s smirk tells you that there’s more coming. “You want to have my cock in your mouth so bad that you’ll do your least favorite sex position on the couch?”

You groan. Of course he remembered the conversation he walked in on when you had your girlfriends over a couple of months ago– a lengthy, very detailed, very philosophical conversation about which sex positions are practical and impractical, as well as what places are more practical than others.

You don’t suck Jack off as he eats you out often. It’s not something you ever really feel the need to do, even though Jack has admitted to loving the way you’ll moan against his cock and rock back into his mouth like you’re unsure which is better. The reason you don’t do it often, though, is that you can rarely finish like that. And Jack, being the doting, pussy-drunk boyfriend he is, would rather have you in a position where you’ll come all over his cock or his face rather than struggle to make it to your destination.

As for the couch, you’ve always thought that it’s more fun to ride Jack and distract him from whatever he’s watching on the TV, or for him to bend you over the edges of the furniture to pound into you from behind.

But today– today, you’re confident that you can finish. It’s been over a week since Jack felt like doing anything and you’re needy. You’re not ashamed of it, either– you love your boyfriend and the passion shared between you both is enough to steam up the windows of the apartment. It’s no secret that Jack does everything he can to make you feel good.

Which is how you’re going to convince him to get back on the couch and fill you completely, please you from both ends until you’re boneless and smothering him with your cunt– “The ideal way to die,” according to Jack, and all of his friends who insisted he was right when he dared to bring up sex at one of the parties on the lake house the previous summer.

“Jack,” you say, simple and plain. You lean forward on the couch, reaching down to cradle his face in your palms. Your hands get sticky with your own slick, but it’s no big deal. After all, you’d already touched Jack’s dick, so it’s not like your hands are clean. You press a fleeting kiss to his nose, making Jack grin widely. “Wanna sit on this pretty face,” you tell him. “While I gag on your cock.”

“Mm, yeah?” Jack asks. The way he perks up is laughable: if he was a dog, he’d be wagging his tail. “Gonna come in my mouth while I come in yours?”

You shiver at the thought of a simultaneous orgasm– your own warmth and relaxation taking over your body while Jack fills you up. You nod slightly, biting your lip to hold back a needy whine. Your eyelashes flutter as you watch Jack stand from his spot between your legs.

He lays on the couch, his head resting on a throw pillow for some extra leverage. He makes himself comfortable, and it’s a little silly that both of you still have your shirts on, but Jack sticks out his tongue and waves you forward. The position makes you laugh, combined with his antics, so you make a silly move of your own.

You crawl towards him, across the couch, trying to look like Sophie in Mamma Mia while she and Sky sing ‘Lay All Your Love on Me,’ but there’s no music playing. It’s just you and Jack and your soft little giggles, which are eventually quieted by a sweet kiss and a swipe of Jack’s tongue against your own. You can taste yourself on him and he can taste himself on you, which has Jack smiling into the kiss. His teeth clink against yours for a second, then he pats your hip and you pull away.

“Come have a seat, baby,” Jack invites, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. You shake your head and avert your eyes, blushing a little bit at how giddy you’ve made him with just a few kisses, some attention to his cock, and access to your pussy.

“Forgotten all about your bad day?” You tease.

“It turned out okay, I think,” Jack replies with a wink. He keeps his hands on your body as you turn, then line yourself up with his mouth. You’ve got the perfect view of his cock in this position, standing up and red for you, just waiting for you to lean forward and welcome him into the warm wetness of your mouth.

Jack hasn’t waited to admire you. He’s already sloppily mouthing at your lips, sliding his tongue against your clit. He has his arms looped around your thighs, hands planted squarely on your ass. He grips your cheeks and spreads them so that he can pull you back further and work his tongue inside of you. For your hesitation, he gives your clit a little nip to encourage you forward. It doesn’t hurt, but it does surprise you, and you let out a hushed yelp. Jack giggles before returning to your entrance, prodding at you.

You bend forward, laying across Jack’s body and holding yourself up by laying your forearms on his abdomen. Your left hand pets over the skin on his hip while your right holds his base steady. You gather some spit in your mouth before letting it drip onto his slit. The fluid drips down his cock, but you’re determined to replace your spit with ropes of his cum.

You take him in your mouth as far as you can, moaning when his tip nudges the back of your throat. He twitches in your mouth, involuntary but welcome. You love when he’s unable to control his reactions, doubling down on his enthusiasm at your core.

You can feel yourself dripping all over Jack’s face. His hands are strong on your hips, pulling you back to grind against his mouth. Taking an arm from around your thigh, he brings his fingers back to your core, sliding two inside of you while he focuses on your clit.

He’s so messy and he keeps making slurping sounds because he’s so into it, which is completely not sexy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You treasure the moans and hums that follow the unattractive slurping– Jack’s voice has grown high-pitched and needy, completely intoxicated by your taste.

You imagine him now, cheeks flushed just as pink as yours. Hell, his lips are probably swollen and the same shade of red as his tip.

You bring a hand up to move your hair to one side of your head, the strands brushing Jack’s thigh and tickling him slightly. It’s necessary for you to give this blowjob your full attention, and you can’t have your hair getting in the way now, not after you’ve been missing Jack’s cock for a full week.

No, you’re just as drunk as he is, moaning and gagging and humming. You pull out all the stops– leaving his cock to kiss over his balls and suck at the skin while you pump his member. Jack’s always enjoyed that extra touch, his hips jumping uncontrollably into your space for the second time tonight.

“Wanna fuck my face?” You ask, words coming out in a rush.

Jack keens beneath you, holding you closer. He pumps his fingers inside you quickly, working a third into your hole and curling his knuckles until he finds your sweet spot, making you moan wantonly. His hips are moving again, wiggling beneath you until you bring your lips back to his tip. You press a kiss against his slit before opening your mouth as wide as you can, hollowing your cheeks against his shaft until Jack starts to move.

He’s quick like a jack-hammer. His movements are twitchy and shallow because, as you’ve said time and time again, Jack has never been the world’s greatest multitasker. He’s able to perform well on the ice, very athletically minded and capable, but when his mind gets all foggy and sex-crazed, he’s completely helpless.

He chases his pleasure wildly. He continues to make his sweet, pretty whimpers against your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit as fast as he can manage while also fingering you and fucking into your mouth– he’s working overtime and his chest is heaving with harsh breaths. You take it, even rolling your hips against his fingers to try and help him out.

You’d feel bad about making him do all the work, but you’ve known since the beginning of your relationship how Jack feels about making you come: he loves it. It’s better than his own release. He always wants you to come over his tongue or make a mess all over his cock or fingers.

“Baby, baby,” Jack whines against your clit, his lips brushing the nerves as he talks. “Fuck, gonna come, please, please–”

“Uh-huh,” you hum, the best response you can give with your mouth stuffed with his cock. The vibrations send Jack over the edge and he lurches beneath you, pulling his fingers from your hole and replacing them with his tongue. He switches, putting his thumb on your clit and rubbing furious circles until you’re writhing above him.

You’re able to swallow a mouthful of his cum before you have to squeeze your eyes shut and focus on your own orgasm, milliseconds away from breaking down the dam inside of you. You pull off of Jack’s cock and pant above him, continuing to stroke him through his climax.

Your eyes are a little teary from the ecstasy coursing through your veins, fueled completely by Jack’s rapid movements and equally frequent muffled pleas. He can’t stop begging you to release all over his face, even with his tongue inside of you. You can’t focus on what he’s saying, but his voice is wrecked and bordering on distressed. That’s how bad he needs you to come, how badly he needs to make you come.

His jaw has got to be aching by this point, having eaten you out for so long, but you’re so close.

You sit up a bit, just enough that you can place your hands on his muscular thighs and grind back against his face. Your hips are quick, messy, and inconsistent. “Jack,” you cry out, your breath leaving you like a hard fall to the ground knocking all the air from your lungs.

“Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, his tongue flicking over your walls.

You come harder than you ever have like this– maybe harder than you ever have in general. Jack holds you against him and laps at your release, despite the pleasure causing your hips to jerk and try to escape. You lose track of yourself, feeling completely gone. There’s a chance you’ll have to wash the couch cushions later, with the way you’re spreading slick over Jack’s face. It feels endless, your orgasm, and you think Jack may have actually made up for a week of nothing in just one night.

He licks over you until there’s nothing left for him to taste. His hair has gone wild, eyes bright but groggy and hazy at the same time. You’re sure you look the same, unwilling to find yourself in the mirror across the room when you roll off of Jack and find a shaky footing on the floor. Your shirt is damp with sweat, as is Jack’s. He lifts the neckline to wipe the lower half of his face, dazed.

“Fuck,” he sighs, placing a hand over his heart. His eyes look up at you, a slight smile lifting the edges of his lips. “That might be the closest I’ve ever gotten to dying from your pussy, baby.”

You laugh at that, running your fingers through your hair. “I think we both need a shower,” you say with an easy smile.

Jack yawns. “Then bed?” He asks.

“If you don’t fall asleep on me right here,” you reply, nodding at his body as it lounges on the couch. You thought you were bad with going boneless– Jack seems to have sank into the cushions. The sight is hilarious– your boyfriend, completely love drunk and smiling up at you like you’re an angel, with his shirt still on but no pants and no underwear. His dick has softened against his hip, the cum you didn’t swallow drying against his skin. “With your dick out and all. Any burglar would run the other direction.”

“You don’t think he’d be impressed?” Jack sits up just enough to look at his length.

“Maybe not in this state.”

“I’ll just have to explain to him that my girl fucked me so good that I couldn’t move anymore,” Jack ponders with a shrug. He laughs to himself, eyes hooded but blinking slowly at you.

“Well, you did come first,” you agree. You reach out and take his hands, dragging him up to a sitting position, then up to his feet.

Jack stumbles into you, petting over your rat’s-nest of a head of hair and pressing a series of kisses all over your face.

“Gross, gonna have to do extra skincare tonight,” you pout, pushing him away.

Jack continues making kissy noises as you pull him towards your shared bedroom, depositing him in front of the shower so that he can start the water while you grab new clothes for the both of you and go to the bathroom.

He feels you up in the shower until you’re both laughing and covered in suds, unable to keep your lips from the other person’s for longer than a couple of minutes. He makes his hair into a shampooed mohawk just to make you giggle again. His displeasure from earlier in the night is completely gone, and you couldn’t be more glad.

notes: this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written, so i hope y'all enjoyed!!

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jh86 #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hockey smut

836 notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 1 year ago

Text

…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

Masterlist

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #poly 141 #open relationship trope #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader

3K notes · View notes

cosmiclily · 11 days ago

Text

when she sees me

★ vi x f!reader

wc: 5.4k

cw: reader goes on a date with one (1) guy for exactly 27 minutes; pure tooth rooting fluff.

notes: this was @entraptasimp request but tumblr was being a bitch and i lost the ask 😭. this got my brain juices working, it started off with nothing to do with what you requested but i worked my way through it, i had so much fun writing it, hope you like it !!

I was born a fundamentally anxious person. I like things a certain way—I’ve never liked guessing games or the feeling of not knowing how things would unfold. That’s why I’ve never been a fan of dating apps, meet-cutes, or anything that required me to dive into the unknown. Even my reading choices reflected that. I always gravitated toward romances where the main characters were destined to be together, the kind where they had known each other forever and love was inevitable.

So when it came to my own life, I was completely lost. Imagine spending almost 21 years never having a boyfriend, a girlfriend, or anything remotely romantic. It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried—I’d had experiences, but they were all terrible. The kind of stuff you look back on and cringe so hard you want to erase the memory altogether.

"Can you believe I’ll be 21 soon, and I’ve never dated anyone?" I groaned, tossing a handful of popcorn into my mouth. Vi, my best friend, was sprawled next to me on my bed, equally engrossed in our snacks but pretending to care about whatever show was playing in the background. "Even you had girlfriends. What is wrong with me?"

Vi turned to me with a dramatic gasp, her mouth still half-full of popcorn. "What do you mean, even me? I’m a greatcatch! Good looking, great muscles, and super smart. You can’t beat that."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, super humble too, I see."

She smirked, flexing her arm like she was some kind of bodybuilder. "Exactly. You’re just jealous."

I sighed, staring at the ceiling. "No, I’m just… I don’t know. It feels like I missed some crucial lesson everyone else got. Like, how do people just meet someone and start dating them? How does it happen so easily for everyone else?"

Vi was quiet for a moment before she nudged me with her foot. "It’s not easy for everyone. And maybe it’s not supposed to be easy for you. Maybe you’re just waiting for the right kind of difficult."

I frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Vi shrugged. “I don’t know, it just sounded poetic. But seriously, maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet. Or maybe you’re meant for a slow-burn romance—like the ones in those books you love so much.”

I groaned, rolling onto my side. “But I’m tired, Vi,” I whined. “I hate relying on fate, or destiny, or whatever. I need to do something!”

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes narrowing like she was deep in thought. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, and that was never a good sign.

“Okay, hmm.” She tapped her fingers against her chin. “I know you don’t like dating apps, and you hate talking to strangers, but unless you want to date me, or Mel, or—I don’t know—Jayce…”

I made a face so disgusted she burst out laughing.

“Right, so unless you want to date your friends,” she continued, still grinning, “you’re going to have to get to know someone new.”

I groaned dramatically, burying my face in my pillow. “But I don’t like meeting people.”

Vi let out an exaggerated sigh. “God, you’re insufferable.” She poked my shoulder until I looked at her again. “Again! Unless you’re planning to date your friends, you have to meet new people. So! My idea is… I choose your suitors based on what I think you’d like. You go on a date with them, and if you don’t like them, we move on to someone else. We keep going until we find you a partner.”

I stared at her. “You make it sound like a game show.”

She grinned. “Oh, it absolutely is a game show now.”

──────────────────────

“So, to start off—download every dating app you can find. We’re setting up your profile and swiping away!” Vi announced, a sinister grin on her face and a bag of chips perched on her lap. It was honestly kind of terrifying.

I hesitated, staring at her like she had just suggested I walk barefoot across hot coals. “Okay, I just don’t see how forcing me to do something I hate is the solution here.” Still, I begrudgingly opened the app store and started scrolling through the endless sea of dating apps.

“Exposure therapy, Y/N!” Vi declared, stuffing a handful of chips into her mouth. “Besides, I’ve known you my whole life. If I don’t make you do this, you’re going to end up single well into your sixties, whining in my ears about your wasted youth and how you never got the love story you deserved.” She pitched her voice higher, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. “‘Oh, Vi, why didn’t you force me to date when I had the chance?’”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Hey! I don’t sound like that.”

Vi snorted. “You absolutely do.”

I sighed, already regretting this. “Fine. But if this turns into a disaster, you owe me—big time.”

She grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. This is going to be legendary.”

As soon as the apps finished downloading, Vi snatched my phone right out of my hands. “Nope! You are not sabotaging your own chances at finding love,” she declared, her eyes gleaming with determination.

I sighed, letting her take control because, honestly, fighting her on this would be pointless. Vi had always been like this—stubborn, overenthusiastic, and convinced she knew what was best for me. And, to be fair, she usually did.

Vi had been my best friend since birth. Literally. Our moms had been best friends in college and ended up pregnant around the same time, so we grew up side by side. Sure, she could be very annoying at times, but she was also the person I trusted most in the world. We had been through every high and low together, and despite her occasional chaos, I knew she always had my back.

“There! Your profile is complete,” Vi announced, handing me my phone with a triumphant smile. “Now, we can start hunting for our prey.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I really don’t like that you’re calling them ‘prey.’”

She shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? It’s the circle of life, Y/N. We swipe, we match, we conquer.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.”

Vi ignored me, already swiping through potential matches like she was picking out groceries. “Ooooh, this one’s cute. She looks like she reads books and goes to the gym. A rare breed.”

I groaned. This was going to be a nightmare.

──────────────────────

During the weekend that Vi stayed over at my house, we matched with a handful of people—well, she matched with them while I mostly watched in horror. By Sunday night, she had already set up a few dates for me. The first one was with a girl named Ashley. She had dark green hair, loved musicals, and was apparently obsessed with Lana Del Rey.

“You’re coming with me, right?” I asked the second Vi dropped the news.

She blinked at me, unimpressed. “How exactly do you expect me to do that?”

“I don’t know! Put on a fake mustache, wear sunglasses, sit at a different table—something!” I waved my hands dramatically. “What if the date is a disaster? What if she’s weird, or hates me, or—what if I need to escape?!”

Vi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was already regretting signing up for this. “Y/N, you’re a grown adult. You can sit through one date without me holding your hand.”

“You say that, but you’re also the one who forced me into this,” I pointed out.

“Okay, fair.” She crossed her arms, thinking for a moment. “How about this—I’ll sit nearby but not like, right there. If you need an out, text me a code word, and I’ll call you with a fake emergency.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the code word?”

Vi smirked. “Summertime sadness.”

I groaned. “You’re the worst.”

She grinned, tossing a pillow at me. “And yet, you’d be lost without me.”

The date was scheduled for Friday, and there I was, sitting at a window table in the local diner, nervously tapping my fingers against the menu. Vi sat three tables away, pretending to be interested in her milkshake but very obviously keeping an eye on me.

I had no idea what to expect. I barely knew anything about Ashley—we had exchanged a few texts, but nothing meaningful. She was essentially a stranger I was about to have dinner with, and the thought alone made my stomach twist.

Vi caught my eye and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, trying to send some reassurance my way. It didn’t really help, but I appreciated the effort.

Then, I saw her. Or rather, I saw her hair first. Ashley’s dark green hair stood out even from a distance, but what really sealed the deal was the bright pink jacket she wore over an all-black outfit, complete with chunky black boots. She was hard to miss.

As she approached the table, she smiled wide. “Hii, you must be Y/N!” she greeted, sliding into the seat across from me with an excited energy.

I straightened up. “Yes! Nice to meet you!”

And honestly? It was nice to meet her—at least, at first. The conversation flowed smoothly. She asked about my life, I asked about hers, and everything seemed to be going well. That is… until she brought up her cat.

Lana.

Named, of course, after Lana Del Rey.

Which was cute at first—until Ashley did not stop talking about her.

Not joking, for thirty minutes straight, she went on about Lana’s favorite toys, her special diet, the way she sensed when Ashley was sad and comforted her like a “little furry angel.” Every time I thought she was done, she’d whip out her phone and scroll through an endless gallery of Lana’s pictures.

My face was cramping from forcing a smile. I snuck a glance at Vi, who was clearly enjoying my suffering way too much.

I subtly reached for my phone and typed a single text.

Summertime sadness.

That’s when Vi stood up, striding toward our table with intent. At first, I was confused—she looked… angry?

For a brief second, panic flared in my chest. Had I texted the wrong code word? Was something actually wrong?

Then, she stopped in front of us, dramatically placing a hand over her heart like she was in a soap opera.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” she gasped, sounding exasperated. “I cannot believe what my eyes are showing me! You—cheating on me! And in our favorite diner, of all places?!”

It took me a second, but then I caught on to the theatrics.

I shot up from my seat, clutching my chest as if I had just been caught in the act. “No, Vi, my love! This is not what it looks like!” I turned to Ashley, gesturing dramatically. “I don’t even know this girl! We were just making friendly conversation, you have to believe me!”

Ashley blinked between us, looking both confused and mildly alarmed. “…Wait, what?”

Vi let out a loud, exaggerated sob and turned away. “I trusted you! And this is how you repay me?”

I reached for her hand, playing along. “Baby, please! Let me explain!”

Ashley slowly leaned back in her chair, gripping her drink. “Uh. I—should I leave, or…?”

Vi sniffled, dabbing at her dry eyes like she was wiping away imaginary tears. “No, no. I’ll leave. I just can’t bear to look at you right now, Y/N. I hope you and your little fling are very happy together.” She turned on her heel, storming out with all the grace of a drama queen.

I turned back to Ashley with an apologetic smile. “I should… probably go after her.”

Ashley just nodded, still looking completely lost. “Uh. Yeah. You should… go do that.”

I grabbed my jacket, muttering a quick, “It was nice meeting you,” before practically running out of the diner after Vi.

The second we were outside, we both burst into laughter.

“Oh my god, that was so unhinged,” Vi wheezed, wiping at her eyes.

I groaned, shaking my head. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

She shrugged. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

I sighed, but I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for saving me.”

Vi smirked. “Anytime, cheater.”

──────────────────────

And I would love to say the other dates went even remotely better—but I’d be lying.

The second date was with a guy named Chad—which, honestly, should’ve been the first red flag. He was a full-on gym bro, the kind who talked about nothing but his gains and his macros. He was so obsessed with hitting his daily protein intake that he actually pulled out a shaker bottle mid-conversation and started chugging a protein shake like we were at a post-workout hangout instead of a date.

I lasted exactly 27 minutes before sending Vi our secret code word: creatine.

Within seconds, my phone rang, and Vi’s panicked voice echoed through the speaker. “Oh my god, Y/N! Grandma’s been in a car accident—the car’s on fire! You need to leave IMMEDIATELY!”

I slapped my hand over my mouth, trying to look convincingly horrified. “Oh no! Not grandma! I—I’m so sorry, Chad, I have to go!”

He barely looked up from flexing his bicep in the reflection of his water glass. “Yeah, cool, family first or whatever. Just don’t forget to hit the gym tomorrow—you’ll feel better.”

I practically sprinted out of there.

The third date? Even worse.

This girl—her name was Marissa—decided to bring her lizard to our date. Yes. A lizard. She texted me to meet her at the park, and I figured, “Oh, cool, a casual outdoor date.” But the second I spotted her on the bench with a giant reptiledraped over her shoulder like it was an accessory, I just… stopped in my tracks.

I didn’t even bother texting Vi. I turned right back around and walked away like I’d never seen that park in my life.

Later, as Vi drove us away from the disaster zone, I was still fuming.

“She brought her lizard, Vi! Her LIZARD!” I complained, slumping in the passenger seat like the sheer memory drained me.

Vi snorted, barely holding back her laughter. “You wouldn’t be having this reaction if it was a dog. Just saying.”

“Because dogs are normal! Lizards are not a third-wheel you bring on a date!”

She grinned, giving me a playful nudge. “Maybe the lizard was her emotional support animal.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’m never doing this again.”

Vi just laughed. “Oh, yes you are. We’ve only just begun.”

The fourth date was… surprisingly normal.

Her name was Ellie, and she was hot as fuck. Like, the moment she walked in, I felt my soul leave my body. She had this effortless, cool-girl vibe—tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of her denim jacket, a lazy smile that could probably stop traffic, and this way of looking at you like she was reading your mind.

And the best part? She was actually fun to talk to. She played guitar, had this dry, witty sense of humor, and we clicked in that easy, natural way I didn’t even know was possible. For the first time since Vi threw me into this dating nightmare, I thought, Hey, maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

But, of course, the universe wasn’t about to let me have that.

As the date was winding down, Ellie gave me this soft, apologetic look. I knew something was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for that.

“Hey, so…” she started, fiddling with the ring on her finger. “You’re a really nice girl, like, seriously. But I’m not, uh… I’m not over my ex. And talking to you tonight made me realize how much I miss her. I hope you find what you’re looking for, though. Truly.”

She was so sweet about letting me down, which almost made it worse. Like, why did the only nice, amazing, tattooed goddess have to be the one who didn’t want anything to do with me?

By the time I got home, I was ready to burn Vi’s whole dating plan to the ground. I flopped onto my bed and immediately called her.

“This isn’t working, Vi. Seriously,” I groaned the moment she answered. “Where are you even finding these people? I just had one of the best dates of my life, and suddenly she’s not over her ex?”

Vi snorted on the other end. “Oof. That’s rough.”

“I’m not joking!” I whined, dramatically kicking my feet like I was five. “This is your fault. You roped me into this mess, and now I’m emotionally attached to a girl who doesn’t even want me!”

Vi burst into laughter. “Wow, you’re really going through all five stages of grief, huh?”

“I’m stuck at betrayal, thanks.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’s just one date. You’ll bounce back.”

“I don’t want to bounce back, Vi. I want Ellie,” I grumbled, burying my face in my pillow.

There was a pause, then Vi said, “Well… maybe the next date will be even better.”

I groaned louder. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, still letting me pick your dates.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong.

──────────────────────

After all the disasters I’d been through, I was done with dating. Completely over it. No more awkward small talk, no more weird code words, and definitely no more dates with people who brought lizards as emotional support. Vi, however, refused to let it go. She’d still ramble on about people she’d matched with, her excitement bubbling over like I wasn’t emotionally scarred from the last lineup of dating catastrophes. I didn’t want to hear about it anymore—I knew this wasn’t going to work.

“Okay,” Vi started one afternoon, plopping dramatically onto my bed like she was about to deliver some life-altering news. “I know you’re fed up with the dating apps. And with me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Especially with you.”

She ignored me. “But there’s one more person I’d like you to give a chance to.”

I groaned, flopping back onto the bed with the same energy as a dying Victorian woman. “Vi—”

She cut me off with a look. That hopeful, annoyingly earnest look that always managed to crack through my walls, no matter how stubborn I was. Despite being mad at her—or at least pretending to be—I could never actually say no to her. It was like some unspoken rule of our friendship.

“Ugh, fine!” I threw my hands up, as if surrendering to the universe itself. “But this is the last time.” I sat up, pointing a finger at her like I was laying down the law. “I’m serious, Vi. After this, I’m done. If anyone wants to date me, they’ll have to show up at my door, kidnap me, and force me into a relationship.”

She burst out laughing, but there was something off about it—like it was a little too forced, a little too high-pitched. Her usual chaotic confidence was still there, but underneath it, I noticed a flicker of something…nervous?

“Yeah, well…” She cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her neck. “About that. There’s just one small catch.”

I squinted at her, already suspicious. “What kind of catch?”

She grinned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The date is a secret until you get there.”

I blinked. “A secret?”

“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ with exaggerated cheer. “No name, no details—just show up and let the magic happen.”

I stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Vi. Do you hear yourself? This sounds like the start of a true crimedocumentary.”

She waved me off. “Oh, please. If anyone tried to kidnap you, you’d be the one they regretted it instantly.”

Fair point.

Still, something about her expression stuck with me—this weird mix of excitement and nerves. But, like the fool I was, I agreed. Again.

──────────────────────

On the day of my mystery date, I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out what to wear. Which was ridiculous because, technically, I didn’t even know who I was meeting. But somehow, the not-knowing made it worse. Was I supposed to go casual? Dressy? Prepare for another lizard-wrangling situation?

When I finally arrived at the little café Vi had texted me the address to, my stomach was doing Olympic-level flips. I scanned the room, half-expecting to see another “Chad” flexing in a corner or someone waiting with their tarantula perched on the table.

But there was no Chad. No lizard. No tarantula.

Just Vi.

Sitting at a small table by the window, nervously fiddling with her rings, her usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. She looked up, and when our eyes met, she gave me this small, almost shy smile.

I froze.

“This…is a joke, right?” I blurted, laughing nervously as I approached her table.

She stood up, shoving her hands in the pockets of her red jacket—the same one she always wore, but somehow it felt… different now.

“No joke,” she said quietly, her voice lacking its usual smugness. “I’m the date.”

I blinked. “You’re the date.”

She nodded, her lips twitching like she couldn’t decide whether to smile or run. “Yeah. Surprise?”

I didn’t know what to say. My brain short-circuited, replaying every moment we’d shared—the teasing, the late-night calls, the way my heart always felt lighter around her. How had I not seen it before?

“…Are you kidding me?” I finally managed, shaking my head with a breathless laugh. “You put me through all of that—Chad, the lizard girl, the Lana Del Rey monologue—just to end up here with you?”

She grinned, her confidence slipping back into place like muscle memory. “Well, technically, I needed you to realize everyone else sucks compared to me.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was racing for an entirely different reason now.

“You’re insufferable,” I muttered, sliding into the seat across from her.

Her grin softened into something more sincere. “Yeah, but… you’re still here.”

I didn’t have a comeback for that.

Because she was right.

I was still there.

We ordered our coffees—or rather, Vi ordered them. She didn’t even need to ask. She knew exactly what I wanted: an iced caramel latte and a chocolate muffin. It was such a small thing, but it hit me harder than I expected. She knew my order by heart, like it was second nature. And somehow, that simple gesture left me sitting there in awe, my heart doing this ridiculous flutter thing that I refused to acknowledge.

I watched her as she thanked the barista, her fingers tapping against the counter in that restless way she always did when she was nervous—or pretending not to be. When she finally sat back down across from me, her knee bumped against mine under the table. She didn’t move it.

The question slipped out before I could stop it, soft and almost hesitant.

“Since when?”

Vi tilted her head slightly, squinting like she wasn’t sure what I meant. “Since when what?” She scratched the side of her neck, her fingers brushing over the edge of her tattoo like it was a nervous habit.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

“Since when did you… want to go on a date with me?”

Her expression shifted. Just for a second. A flicker of something vulnerable slipped through the cracks of her usual confidence. But then she let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe I’d even asked.

“Being one hundred percent honest?” she said, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed like she needed a shield. “Since I became conscious about anything in my life.”

I blinked. “What?”

She laughed again, a little softer this time. “I mean it. You’ve always been there, you know? But you were so busy with your face buried in those books, rambling about epic love stories and grand, sweeping gestures. And there I was, just… me.” She cleared her throat as the waitress brought our order, the clink of ceramic cups filling the brief silence.

She picked up her coffee, but didn’t take a sip. Instead, she stared at it like it held the answers she was too afraid to say out loud. “I guess I got a little self-conscious. Like, how was I supposed to compete with all those ‘great loves’ you read about? And you never really seemed to care much about dating, so I figured… if I said something, you’d just let me down.”

Her words hit me like a freight train—because how had I not seen it? How had I been so blind?

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. I stared at her, really looked at her, like I was seeing her for the first time. “I never thought that what I was looking for was quite literally right in front of me.”

Vi didn’t respond immediately. She just smiled—small, a little shy, but undeniably real. The kind of smile that makes your chest ache in the best way.

And that’s when it hit me.

I’d spent my whole life waiting for a cliché love story.

The kind with grand declarations, epic twists, and movie-worthy moments.

But what could be more cliché than this?

A slow burn, friends-to-lovers situation, sitting right across from me with a smug grin and a coffee order she knew by heart.

Maybe the love story I’d been searching for wasn’t in the books after all.

Maybe it was in the girl who’d been there all along.

I reached for my latte, mostly just to have something to do with my hands because my heart was practically sprinting. The ice clinked against the sides of the cup, loud in the quiet between us. Vi was still watching me, her gaze steady, like she wasn’t afraid of what I’d say next. Like she already knew.

But I didn’t know. I didn’t know how to string words together when everything inside me felt tangled—like someone had taken all the pages of my life, ripped them out, and shuffled them around until nothing made sense except her.

So I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Because I’m an idiot?” She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “Or maybe I was just scared. Scared that if I said something, I’d lose you. And losing you… would’ve been worse than keeping it to myself.”

The honesty in her voice settled over me like a weighted blanket—comforting and overwhelming all at once. I thought about every late-night conversation, every casual touch that lingered just a second too long, every time she looked at me like I was her whole world, and I’d been too oblivious to notice.

Maybe I had noticed.

Maybe I was just too scared to admit it.

I glanced down at my muffin, untouched, then back at her. “You’re kind of dumb, you know that?”

She snorted. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

I smiled, feeling it stretch wider than it had in a long time. “But so am I.”

The words weren’t grand or poetic. There was no sweeping background music, no dramatic lighting. Just the faint hum of the coffee shop, the cold of my drink between my hands, and Vi’s knee still pressed against mine like it belonged there.

And maybe that was enough.

No—it was enough.

I reached across the table, my fingers brushing over hers. She froze for a second, her breath hitching, then slowly turned her hand over so our palms touched. The warmth of her skin sent a quiet thrill through me, something soft and electric all at once.

“I think,” I whispered, “I’ve been on this date with you for years. I just didn’t know it.”

Vi’s smile was different this time—brighter, softer, filled with something that made my chest ache in the best way.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.”

──────────────────────

We finished eating between bursts of conversation and laughter, and somehow, everything had changed while staying exactly the same. The comfort was still there, woven into the fabric of who we were, but now it carried something electric beneath the surface. The glances were different—the way her eyes drifted to my mouth when I spoke, the way our intertwined hands never strayed, like we’d forgotten how to exist without that connection.

The walk back to my house felt surreal, our fingers laced tightly together, neither of us willing to let go. Every step felt heavier with anticipation, like the world had tilted slightly, and gravity was pulling us toward something inevitable.

And then, standing at my doorstep, she kissed me.

It wasn’t tentative or shy—it was certain, like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it and wasn’t going to waste another second. It felt like being woken up, like every nerve ending had been dormant until that exact moment. My heart raced, but everything else stilled, like the world had gone quiet just for us.

It was the kind of kiss that rewrites everything you thought you knew about love.

Pieces of a puzzle perfectly aligned.

Vi’s hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and she kissed me like her life depended on it—like I was the air she’d been searching for. My fingers threaded through her hair instinctively, and she let out a quiet sigh against my lips that sent shivers down my spine.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, she rested her forehead against mine, her thumb brushing soft circles against my cheeks.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she whispered, her voice low and rough around the edges.

I smiled, my heart still racing, my hands still trembling slightly from the intensity of it all. “Then do it again.”

And she did.

Over and over, like she was making up for all the years we’d been too afraid to cross the line.

But we weren’t afraid anymore.

We stayed there for what felt like forever, just standing in front of my house, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. It was like time had paused, giving us this perfect moment where nothing else mattered but the two of us. The city sounds faded into the background, and all I could hear was the soft rhythm of her breath mingling with mine.

Eventually, she pulled back, just enough to look at me. Her eyes were full of something I couldn’t quite name, but it made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to let go of.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice softer now, like a fragile question hanging in the air.

I laughed, breathless, my fingers still tracing the edge of her jaw. “Are you kidding? I’ve been sure for longer than I care to admit.”

She smiled, a quiet, content smile that made me want to hold onto it forever. “Good,” she murmured, her lips brushing against mine again, this time slower, like she was savoring the moment, taking her time.

We didn’t need to rush anymore. Not tonight.

We stayed close as we stepped inside, neither of us wanting to break the connection, like if we did, everything we’d built might shatter. Her hand never left mine as we walked through the door, and when we finally reached the couch, we sat side by side, still tangled up in each other, unable to fully separate.

The night stretched out before us, full of possibilities, full of all the unspoken words between us that no longer needed to be said. Every moment felt like a revelation, like we were discovering each other all over again, but in the most intimate way possible.

Vi’s head rested on my shoulder, her breath even and steady now, and I realized, as I looked at the way she fit against me, that this was it. This was the start of something new, something I hadn’t known I was waiting for but had needed all along.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she whispered, her voice light with amusement but also a touch of something deeper.

I smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Yeah, we are.”

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t scared of what was coming next. Because it wasn’t about the destination anymore—it was about the journey we were going to take together, step by step, kiss by kiss.

And I was ready for all of it.

──────────────────────

masterlist

#vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi arcane #arcane #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lily writes #mootie ✰#requests

148 notes · View notes

pretzel-box · 6 months ago

Text

Tags: Comedy, Some Fluff, Streamer AU, GN!reader x Human! Sebastian

Words: 1,9k

"Pressured_Solace has started a stream. Click here to watch."

The blue notification button caught your eye as it popped up on your desktop, the usual alert signaling that your favorite streamer was live. A thumbnail of the game he was about to play accompanied the message, and without hesitation, you clicked to join the stream.

“Jellycatfished joined the stream!”

“Is that the real one??”

“Bet it's another faker looking for donations.”

A grin spread across your face as you slid your headphones over your ears, adjusting them for comfort as you leaned back in your gaming chair. Solace hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on setting up the stream and chatting casually with the early viewers. Hearing his deep, familiar voice through your headphones sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, filling you with a warm, giddy excitement. Pressured_Solace was your absolute favorite streamer—witty, thoughtful, and with a voice that could melt butter. Like you, he streamed without a face cam, leaving his appearance up to the imagination of his audience, which only added to his charm.

“I think… yeah, I’m all set. Everything’s good,” he mumbled into his microphone. You could hear the sounds of items shuffling around and the clatter of coffee mugs on a wooden desk in the background. Then he leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Test, test, 1-2, 1-2. Can everybody hear me?”

The chat lit up with eager replies—greetings, questions, and a flood of emotes scrolling by at high speed. The sound of his chuckle was like music to your ears as he tried to keep up with the barrage of messages. You could feel his excitement; it was the same rush of emotions and adrenaline that coursed through your body when you streamed.

“Alright, just a heads-up,” he continued, his tone teasing. “I got a new microphone, and I haven’t fine-tuned all the settings yet. So if you hear anything other than my voice… well, that’s just proof I’m not a robot.”

His joke made you laugh out loud, and without a second thought, you hit the like button to show your support. This was classic Solace, always with that sassy vibe and the funny comments right up his sleeve.

You moved your cursor again, hovering over the donation button as you carefully selected the amount, leaning forward with excitement as you typed a message to accompany it. Money wasn’t an issue for you—you had sponsorships, collaborations, and a well-paying side job as a secretary at a company called Urbanshade. So you took the liberty of spoiling yourself a little by supporting your beloved streamer.

“Jellycatfished has donated $1000. ‘You're telling me you are not an AI that will take over the world, Solace??’”

The automatic voice read out your donation, and Solace burst into laughter, probably shaking his head in amusement. “Welcome back, beloved Jelly. How many times do I have to tell you not to donate so much, silly?” His words were playful, but there was a certain softness in his tone, a hint of affection that made your heart flutter. Knowing that your favorite streamer had noticed you always brought a smile to your face. “But seriously, thank you, Jelly, for the donation,” he said warmly. “I appreciate your support—although I’m starting to think you’re secretly trying to buy my loyalty.”

You laughed, quickly typing back into the chat, “Maybe I am! How else would I get the attention of the coolest streamer online?” A quick moment of embarrassment filled you as you suddenly regretted your message, was it too cringe? Too much?

Solace chuckled again into the microphone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “You don’t need to buy my attention, Jelly. You’ve always had it.”

The chat exploded with a flurry of reactions, hearts, and playful comments. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, even though you knew he couldn’t see you. This was the magic of streaming—the hidden identities, the mystery, the fun banter. It was your little escape from reality, and you loved every second of it.

Just then, a notification popped up on the screen.

“Pressured_Solace has invited Jellycatfished to a private match!”

It was an invitation to a combat pvp game that grew popular in the past few days, blowing up on social media. It became one of your favorite things to stream, and Solace knew that.

Your heart skipped a beat as you glimpsed at the sudden invitation. A private match? With him? You quickly accepted the invitation, feeling a rush of adrenaline and excitement. As the game loaded, Solace spoke again, his voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. “Alright, Jelly, let’s see if you’re as good in-game as you are at throwing money around.”

You laughed, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. It wasn’t the first time you played with him and surely not the last. “Bring it on, Solace. I’ve been practicing.” This was the last message you typed before the loading screen disappeared.

The game started, and the playful banter between the two of you continued over the ingame voice chat, filled with laughter, friendly taunts, and unexpected plot twists. The chat was loving it, spamming comments like “OMG, this is the collab we didn’t know we needed!” and “Ship them already!”

As the game loaded into the next round of the PvP arena, the tension between you and Pressured_Solace crackled like electricity. The map was a sprawling labyrinth of narrow corridors and open spaces, perfect for ambushes and quick escapes. You took a deep breath, fingers flexing over the keyboard, ready to bring your A-game. The chat, that was open on your second screen, was buzzing with excitement, filled with a mixture of support and playful taunts.

"Let’s go, Jelly! Show Solace who's boss!"

“Team Jellycatfished for the win!"

“Pressured_Solace may be good, but Jelly's got that magic touch!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the encouragement flooding in. The support from your fans always gave you that extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to facing off against someone as skilled as Solace. You knew he was good—really good. But you weren’t about to let that intimidate you.

“Alright, Jelly,” Solace’s voice came through your headphones, smooth and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Oh, I plan to do more than keep up,” you shot back, your voice light and playful. “I’m coming for you, Solace. How about a bet?”

“A bet?” He chuckles. “Sure.”

You started to smirk as an idea came to your mind. “If I win, I get to wish something from you.” It took a moment for Solace to reply, he was definitely teasing you by pretending to think. “Fine, but if I win, you're the one that has to fulfill a wish.”

“Deal.”

The match began, and you immediately took off, sprinting down a side corridor to grab some resources. You knew the map well enough to anticipate the power-ups and health packs that would spawn in certain locations. If you could get to them first, you might stand a chance.

But Solace was a step ahead. As you rounded a corner, you were met with a hail of bullets, forcing you to duck behind a crate. You could hear Solace chuckling through the mic.

“Nice try, Jelly, but you’re gonna have to be faster than that,” he taunted, his confidence evident.

Your heart raced as you peeked out from behind the crate, firing off a few rounds in his direction. He dodged easily, taking cover behind a wall. The chat was going wild, cheering you on, urging you to give it your all.

“Come on, Jelly! You got this!”

“Don’t let him intimidate you!”

“Use the power of the Jellycatfished!”

You grinned, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You quickly reloaded and made a break for it, dashing toward the nearest cover. You had to stay on the move—staying in one place too long would make you an easy target. Solace’s aim was deadly accurate, and you needed to keep him guessing.

But every time you thought you had a plan, he was already two steps ahead. He moved through the map like he was born there, seamlessly transitioning from offense to defense. You managed to get a few hits in, but he was quick to recover, always staying just out of reach.

“Having fun yet, Jelly?” he asked, his tone light but focused.

“More fun than you can handle,” you retorted, launching a surprise attack from above, dropping down from a higher platform. Your ambush caught him off guard, and you managed to land a few solid hits before he rolled away, retaliating with a well-placed grenade that forced you back.

The chat erupted with excitement.

“YES! Go, Jelly, go!”

“That was epic!”

“Don’t let up, Jellycatfished!”

Despite the cheers, you could feel the pressure mounting. Solace was clearly better, his skill evident in every move he made. He was precise, calm, and knew exactly how to control the flow of the game. You, on the other hand, were running on adrenaline and instinct, trying to keep up with his calculated strategies.

And then he made his move. In a swift, decisive maneuver, he cornered you in a dead-end alley, cutting off your escape routes. You fired desperately, but his shots were faster, more accurate. Before you knew it, your health bar was dwindling down to nothing.

“Looks like this is the end, Jelly,” Solace said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Any last words?”

You grinned, a surge of determination flooding through you. “Yeah… don’t underestimate me.”

With a final burst of energy, you lunged forward, launching one last, desperate attack. It was reckless, but you had nothing to lose. You managed to land a few more hits before Solace finished you off with a well-placed headshot.

“Defeated! Pressured_Solace wins the match!”

The screen flashed the results, and the chat exploded with a mix of cheers and playful groans.

“GG, Jelly! You put up a good fight!”

“Solace is just too good!”

“Rematch! Rematch!”

“That was intense!”

Breathless, you leaned back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad, Solace. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad? I’d say that was a pretty solid victory,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But you did put up a good fight, Jelly. I’m impressed.”

You laughed, feeling a warm flush of pride despite the loss. “I’ll get you next time, Solace. Mark my words.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the screen. “I always enjoy a challenge from you.”

The chat continued to buzz with excitement, fans from both sides celebrating the epic showdown. Even though you didn’t win, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You may have lost the match, but you had fun, and more importantly, you had earned Solace’s respect. And that, in itself, felt like a win.

As the stream continued, you and Solace bantered back and forth, the playful rivalry only fueling the chat's excitement. It was moments like these that reminded you why you loved streaming so much—the thrill of the game, the support of the community, and the chance to connect with someone like Pressured_Solace, even if you didn’t know him outside of this virtual world.

But there was always tomorrow, and another game to be played. And who knows? Maybe next time, the outcome would be different.

A message plopped up at last, Solace texted you privately over the streaming platform.

“Alright Jellykitten.” He obviously joked by giving you such a silly nickname. “Time for my wish, prepare for your doom!”

“What is it, Solace?”

“Share your discord tag with me.”

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #pressure #pressure x reader #Streamer AU

389 notes · View notes

thecommunalfoolboy · 10 months ago

Text

I think tadc is gonna explore the different ways a person would cope with the situation of being trapped in a fake world and take them all to their logical extremes.

Like the whole thing with Jax is that he’s viewing this in a code breaker way. None of its real, the fake people aren’t real, so it doesn’t matter if I kill them and break things. Hell, what if that’s how we get out? What if you can break enough things that the whole code falls apart and the game shuts down? I find this idea the most interesting because i honestly think that’s how I’d react to the whole situation. Like if none of this shit has consequences then why not see just how far you can actually push it? Act insane and see how the game reacts. It’s like that option in a dialogue tree where the player sees it and is like ok no one would actually ever say that, but it’s insane enough that I wanna see what would happen if I did.

Kinger is the most realistic reaction in that he kinda literally just went crazy. Like he got locked in fairy land and lost it. He seems to at this point almost believe it’s all real too, he calls himself an actual king and not just a human who randomly got put in a chess piece body. He’s at the point that he’s just manic and accepted that this is reality now

Ragatha seems more like one of the early mindsets, like she arrived kinda recently. Her idea is to just play the game as it was supposed to be played. Go on the adventure, save the kingdom, oh no, the bad guys are here! She’s still trying to rationalize it all and act like it’s real. But after a while she’s probably gonna find it harder and harder to pretend that she cares about the next NPC’s problems. She’s gonna face the eternity trapped here one way or another, and when playing the game stops working she’s gonna have to find something that does.

Pomni’s so new to this all, she’s still going through the stages of grief. She’s so preoccupied with all this new stuff she hasn’t had to actually sit down and figure out how to respond yet. And most importantly, she still thinks there’s a way out- when she’s forced to realize that she’s stuck here for forever, she’s gonna have to figure out what’s next.

For Gangle and Zooble I’m honestly not sure. Maybe it’s just that they haven’t gotten as much screen time yet, but I can’t get quite the read on them comparatively. So idk if anyone has ideas lmk I guess

631 notes · View notes

obbystars · 6 months ago

Text

Encounter Nihilism

Synopsis: “Just because they don’t have any eyes doesn’t mean they don’t have other senses. Come on, you should know that by now.” Z-13 (Sebastian Solace)

Notes: Not exactly a Sebastian Solace x Reader fic but you can read it as such / read When Light Fades before reading this / Reader deaths, nothing too angsty though / Sebastian being an asshole (and we love him for it) / Experimental deaths + cutting off limbs / Brief angst at the end / may be a tad bit shorter than my usual (it bothers me)

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(Is it obvious this is self indulgent? I really love When Light Fades, super proud of it. I haven’t decided if I’m gonna take this concept and use it for an OC yet, but oh boy, it’s getting strong. Anyway, this fic’s meant to explore more on the reader featured in When Light Fades while also continuing to experiment with Sebastian’s character.)

As you swam to the next door, you hear strange noises coming from the other side. It’s not the Good People, they can’t come into the flooded rooms. It doesn’t sound like an angler either. You continued forward and the next door slid open. Your eyes widened at the sight of the creature on the other side as it looked at you.

Panicked, you try to climb into a locker. You don’t make it in time as you feel its tentacles wrap around your head to crush your diving mask, but that isn’t what kills you. The creature manages to trick the operator behind the PDG by attempting to remove it, causing immediate detonation.

You woke up with a gasp in an all too familiar room.

“I heard that,” Sebastian leans on his hand as his lure flickers on, “What’d you run into this time… Ah,”

You looked down as he slides over the document. An image of the creature you encountered is shown and beside it was another photo that was redacted. Maybe in another death you’ll see what that other photo is.

Nihilism was the codename Urbanshade had given it. A lot of the text within the first page was left redacted, and only a few lines were on the second page were visible.

“If by chance any operative encounters Z-8 within any flooded rooms, it is advised to remain still and turn off any light source currently in possession. Wait for Z-8 to pass.”

That was the only line you were able to read. Sebastian begins to tap his finger against the desk. You sit back and he takes that as the signal you’re done, but it’s not like you read much anyway.

He sighs as he closes the document, “Think of if as Red Light, Green Light. Surely you’ve played that game before,”

“Ugh, this feels worse than Pandemonium…” you groaned, leaning on the table.

“Pretend you’re a corpse floating in the water. That should be pretty easy for you, yeah? I mean, you have died quite a lot,”

“Screw you…”

Upon your next life, you find yourself in the trench tunnels about 20 doors in. It was an area in Hadal Blacksite you despised since it showed you that the anglers can attack from the front. You stepped out of the locker once the angler passed by and turned on your flashlight. There’s no squiddles in this room so you decided to look through the drawers for anything useful.

In the corner of your eye, you swear you saw something moving in the dark water. It wasn’t the Eyefestation as you didn’t see a green glow. Instead, it was Z-8. You freeze once you finally realized it, and you clicked your flashlight off. They looked like they were just passing by, but they suddenly turned to look at your general direction. Did they somehow sense you turning it off?

“Are you alive?”

You actually freeze up this time. It was a voice inside your head, but it wasn’t like Eyefestation where it tried to mimic the voice of the person in the PA. This was its own voice.

“I can sense you there,”

You start taking shallow breaths, almost resorting to holding it.

“Don’t worry. I can’t reach you. But when I do, it’s not personal,” it continues, “We’re both fighting for what we want, right? Freedom from this place?”

You try to not listen, thinking it’s only try to persuade you into meeting up with it. Maybe even striking up some sort of deal.

“I wish this wasn’t how we met, but I owe Sebastian. This is my favor to him,” its tone suddenly changes, “We can’t let you get that crystal,”

“…they owe Sebastian?” You whispered to yourself.

The Eyefestation suddenly emerges from the dark, and Z-8 swims out of her way as her eyes turned red. A new voice cried inside your head, pleading for you to look into its eyes. The next thing you knew, you were back in the room with Sebastian who stifled a laugh as he slides over the document to you. You had questions concerning what Z-8 had said, but maybe now’s not the right time to ask.

“For unknown reasons, Z-8 is somehow able to communicate with Z-317 “The Eyefestation.” Should operatives see Z-8 outside the windows, or hear its voice, DO NOT LISTEN and keep moving forward as they cannot reach you. They have already called “The Eyefestation” and are trying to keep you in the room.”

Sebastian closes the document, still trying to keep himself from laughing, “A tag-team! Who would’ve thought, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, “I can’t believe that’s how I died,”

“Like a deer in headlights,” he smirks as he leans closer, “Happens to all of us, but man, I thought you’d be used to seeing that shark considering the amount of times you looked at her,”

“She just startled me! I’d love to look at her if she wasn’t able to kill me just by making me look at her,” you shrugged, “She is a beautiful shark,”

Sebastian gives you an odd look and groans, “Get out of here already,”

“Fair enough,”

The next few deaths to Z-8 were more of trial and error. In your most recent death, you learned the hard way that Z-8 does not like the flash beacon and did not hesitate to detonate your PDG. You felt like it was a strange reaction considering it took them a moment to even react when you used any other light source.

“Got grabbed again, did ya?” Sebastian laughed.

He then slides the document to you, now revealing the entire document with some text still left redacted. Some documents contained those, such as his own, and you learned to stop caring about it. At least it wasn’t like the Multi-Monster. Previously redacted photo was now uncovered. A person whose face was obscured.

Z-8 - Codename: Nihilism. Real name: ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇

In early 2011, five LR-Ps were selected to be a part of an experiment to achieve immortality. Out of the five selected, only Z-8 survived the first round of tests. Z-9, Z-10, Z-11, and Z-12 all succumbed to different effects as each subject was given a different dosage. Although Z-8 survived, they were not immune to the effects their dosage brought. As a result, the experiment was left on hold until researchers found a better source to reach the desired goal.

By 2013, the experiment resumed using the immortal jellyfish as originally planned along with the mimic octopus, the ▇▇▇, and ▇▇▇▇. Z-8 was used again for the next test and hasn’t experienced any side effects on the first day. Two days later, a guardsman escorting Z-8 noticed they have been stumbling and bumping into the walls. On the seventh day, Z-8 had gone completely blind. However, it has been noted that Z-8 is capable of sensing where there is light and where someone is even if they are not moving.

Z-8 soon began to struggle walking and can’t seem to have a tight grip. It didn’t take very long for them to lose all feeling in their arms and legs. They were still able to move their torso as well as their head. They were still capable of speech, but Z-8 has been refusing to talk.

Z-8 was meant to be executed due to the state they were in, but thirty minutes after their heart seemingly stopped, it soon started to beat again. They wake up an hour later as if they had just taken a nap with all of their memories still intact, but Z-8 still cannot see and still cannot walk or move their arms. This resulted in having to move Z-8’s location into a more suitable cell for testing.

Z-8 has endured 5 deaths before changes in their body started becoming clear. Shortly after, testing and studying the regenerative properties Z-8 should have began. Due to poor execution during the procedures, Z-8 ended up enduring 7 more deaths. By the 4th death, a new side effect to Z-8’s resurrection was noted. Upon death, coral (polyps) begins to form on their body.

Their body soon takes the form of a humanoid jellyfish, leading to having to relocate them again. Z-8 no longer turns to others when they are near until they shine a light. The behavior they show gives the impression they like the light and often try to follow it, sometimes moving their head or even their entire body.

Z-8 will then be used to study the regenerative properties further until it can be refined in a way that is desirable.

Before the lockdown was in effect, Z-8 was going to be sold at The Anomalous Auctions as Z-8 had been deemed of no monetary value, nor can be used for work. 5 hours into the lockdown, camera footage caught Z-13 transporting Z-8 to an unknown location.

If by chance any operative encounters Z-8 within any flooded rooms, it is advised to remain still and turn off any light source currently in possession. Wait for Z-8 to pass.

DO NOT move as Z-8 can sense you nearby, but they can’t differentiate between a corpse and a living person until you move.

Turn off any and all light sources in your possession as Z-8 can sense it and become curios. Your window to turn it off is narrow, but it’s still wide enough to not raise their suspicion.

There is a chance where operatives may find Z-8 roaming in a dark flooded room with S-Q. If the room prior has lights on, Z-8 will go into that room. It is safe to move in the dark room as Z-8 cannot tell the difference between you and the S-Q.

For unknown reasons, Z-8 is somehow able to communicate with Z-317 “The Eyefestation.” Should operatives see Z-8 outside the windows, or hear its voice, DO NOT LISTEN and keep moving forward as they cannot reach you. They have already called “The Eyefestation” and are trying to keep you in the room.

Unlike Z-13, operatives are instructed to contain Z-8 as it is impossible for the subject to stay dead.

You’re not exactly sure what to say to all of this. Sebastian is being much quieter than usual too, not even closing the document when you sat back. You look up at him, building up the courage to speak.

“So that’s what they meant when they said they owe you…”

“They don’t owe me anything,” his voice lowered into a growl, “It was their choice to stay much like that shark,”

You look down at the document again and sighed, “Kinda feels like there’s much more than that,”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

You sighed again as you stood up to leave. Sebastian watches you go and looks back down at the document, then closes it without another word.

#🌑 // the moon provides #i actually dont know how the science works #just pretend that i do lol #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian solace #roblox pressure sebastian #roblox #roblox pressure #pressure #pressure sebastian

346 notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 9 months ago

Text

Teenage Dirtbag 5

Here we go again! I decided to bring back Fratrry in the rotation. For those of you who didn’t read them yet (or forgot) check out the series masterlist. These updates are shorter so I can get them out somewhat frequently instead of making you wait hehe.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 170+ exclusive writings

Teenage Dirtbag Masterlist

WC- 1.5k

Warnings- asshole H, angst, Y/N putting him in his place as usual

----

Harry knew he should be a bit more cautious when it came to Y/N but… god, how could he not try and push the envelope if it meant her maybe giving into it again?

The reality of it was that Y/N, a girl who hated his guys most likely, had been the best fuck he’d ever had. She had blown his mind in the literal and metaphorical sense, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Fate had a funny way of working, sure, but he couldn’t be too mad considering he knew their chemistry was too good to push away completely.

H: what do ya want from the cafe, baby doll?

Y/N: nothing that you’ve touched.

Harry smirked at his phone. So predictable, already back with the snarky responses. It worked him up a bit, thinking about how this snarky girl had pleaded for more, kissed him sloppily as his balls smacked against her ass and dragged her nails down his scalp. Such a sweet thing for him that night had gone right to being sour as soon as she left.

H: ok, so you want me to lick your cake pop. Got it.

H: it isn’t like we haven’t shared saliva before ;)

Y/N: yeah, lick on it and then choke . Let me know how that goes so I can cancel our session this afternoon.

The hope was to bring the sessions here one day. As much as Y/N had disdain towards him, the sparks had flown during sex. She had loved it just as much as he did- he’ll, during their last round she had pushed him on the bed and rode his cock until he was sensitive, her nail marks left on his chest for days.

H: I’ve got something else you can choke on, baby

Y/N: I will quite literally not show up today, your grades be damned.

His lips puffed in a pout. He was pushing it, but it was so fun to rile her up. Eventually, he hoped she would give in and like him. See the fun parts of him like other people did- but for now, he would play this game. Cat and mouse… though he wasn’t quite sure which one he was.

H: fineeee. I’ll be good.

For now.

Y/N: please do. It was a mistake and we don’t need to keep bringing it up.

It was a mistake he very much wanted to repeat, over and over again.

H: yes, maam. I’ll see you at 2 🫡

Y/N: don’t be late, I’m serious. I have something afterwards and I can’t be late

H: oooo, a hot date?

Y/N: yes, actually. So don’t fuck this up or you aren’t getting your full hour.

His smirk quickly fell.

She was going on a date? With fucking who?

That wasn’t in his plans. For some reason, guiltily, he hadn’t anticipated the idea of someone else making a move on the girl he wanted to fuck. Let alone her accepting. She seemed like such an ice queen with him that it led him to forget just how sweet she was to literally everyone else.

It was slightly infuriating, how everyone had nothing but good things to say about her. She was nice and she helped out this person when they moved, she helped plan this persons birthday party, she spotted this person 5 when they went to get coffee… there was no denying everyone else got the sweet parts while all the sourness was reserved for him.

And yet, he still pushed her. Still played this game and taunted her because how the fuck else was he supposed to get her attention? He was going to have to kick it up a notch.

——

“Who’s the date with?” He asked in the middle of their session, ignoring the paper in front of him as he looked at her. She was way more dressed up than he’d seen her at a tutoring meet before, a little skirt that brushed her thighs and a little button up tucked into it giving it a sweet but sexy combination that made him a little twitchy.

In all honesty it had been hard to focus since he seen her today. All he could think about was how those pretty lips had been bitten and swollen from his kisses, how they’d curled around his name so fucking sweetly that it had his cock stirring at the memory. Her perfume was seemingly freshly applied and it was interfering with his brain chemistry or something, because all he wanted to do was throw the books to the side and pull her up to straddle his lap.

He imagined her hands knocking off his SnapBack, tangling in his hair as she rode his cock right in the secluded part of the library. His hands under her skirt and gripping her plush ass yet again, unbuttoning that little shirt and leaving more marks on her skin.

Marks he caught a glimpse of as she suddenly looked up at him.

“His name is Derek.” She cleared her throat. “He asked me out on Monday so I decided to say yes. He’s really nice.” For some reason she looked embarrassed by the information she had divulged, like she hadn’t meant to say all of that.

That sneaky little minx.

“Uh huh…” he let his eyes linger on the bruising that was fading but not quite covered by the collar of her shirt. “And what is Derek going to think of this pretty little thing?”

It was gentle, his knuckle lightly brushing over the mark he remembered sucking during the first round. He knew he had caused some nice little lovebites but that one was still healing, so it was probably a dark one. Fuck, it probably looked hot as fuck when it was first developing. “Suits you, y’know. My marks on your skin. I could put some more there, If you want.”

He was pushing it and he knew it, getting closer to her as his nose brushed her cheek. She wasn’t pushing him away, so he counted that as a good sign. “I could take you back to my place and I could give you quite a few more. A refresher course because… I highly doubt this guy is gonna be able to make you squirt all over his dick. Which you did with me, twice.” He hummed, letting his fingers fall a bit deeper down the collar of her shirt. “I don’t think he’s going to give you what you need, princess. We already did it once and so we’ll… it would just make sense to do it again. I think we have gotten well enough acquainted that I could do the job.”

He hadn’t seen the cold drink coming. Poured all over his lap and seeping through his shorts, he yelped as the icy liquid hit his skin. “Oi! What the fuck?”

“I told you, last time was a one and done for this particular reason, Styles.” She snarled, grabbing her books and hurrying to shove them into her bag. “Because you’d be a fucking pig and see me as a sex object instead of a human being. I’m not some fucking challenge, I’m a girl with feelings and I- I told you, I wasn’t doing it again and it meant it!”

“Babe- no, I wasn’t suggesting that at all. I’d never say that shit.” He tried to fight, unsure how it had gone south so fast. Apparently, he was shit at reading her cues. Worse than he originally thought.

“You don’t have to say it. You suggest it. You don’t respect what I say. This is why I was never going to go and do anything with you. Who gives a fuck how hot you are if you’re an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t get his head out of his own ass to see exactly why people don’t like you.” Slinging her bag across her shoulder, she scowled at him. “This isn’t going to work. I’ll find you another tutor. I can deal with your stupid flirting, but throwing what we did in my face? Absolutely the fuck not.”

Harry didn’t have a chance to defend himself, feeling incredibly confused as she ran off. Any call of her name went ignored, the librarian hushing him as he made his way out of the doors but it was too late. She was god knows where.

Who knew those legs could run so fast?

He was a little pissed that she was assuming he thought of her as some sort of object. He didn’t mean to make her feel any sort of way about it all, not thinking he was throwing it in her face, but apparently she thought so.

H: Y/N can you please come back???

H: I didn’t mean to upset you

H: I know I can be a dick and that’s part of our thing but I never thought of you as a sex object and I never would

H: I didn’t think I was throwing it in your face

H: can you answer me please????

H: I don’t want a new tutor, I want you :(

H: y/n, cmon

H: alright, I’ll try again tomorrow. But we need to talk. Please.

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #Fratrry #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfics #frat boy harry #frat harry styles

375 notes · View notes

h2llish · 9 months ago

Note

Your requests say semi open and I don’t know if this would count as a headcanon or not so I’m just gonna go for it,, but I read a Vil fic from you and you mentioned how he knows his dorm mates appetites and makes them a meal plan or something similar. I don’t know if that’s canon or not cause I haven’t played that far into the game yet but what if the reader is new to their dorm so Vil tries to figure out their appetite and likes just to realize he’s never actually seen you eat before, even in the cafeteria (maybe just drinks or smoothies from time to time). Not that the reader has a disorder, just that they forgot to eat, is too lazy to, just doesn’t want to eat at that time, mainly eats at night or can just go long hours before feeling hungry. Now I have read your rules but I don’t know if this would count as any mental illness/disorder, so if it does then you can just ignore this and go on with your day. But if this doesn’t then could Vil lowkey observe (or ig just ask) the reader to figure them out or maybe even gain feelings while doing so? Again you can just ignore this if you’re uncomfortable with it but thank you anyways

⁀➷ ˖ LACK OF APPETITE

notes ─── hello dear! it is actually canon that he creates routines and diets for his dormmates, it’s so sweet. anyways, sorry if this took too long but here you go! hope this is to your approval <3

VIL SCHOENHEIT ─── he does his best for all his dormmates, but you make it difficult. ♡ fluff mostly, gender neutral, mentions of not eating, lowercase intended, reader was in heartslabyul before they transferred, hints at feelings during the end

vil liked to pride himself in his ability to help his dormmates become the best version of themselves. he was careful and observant ─ meticulous in how he created diets and routines that worked best for every person in his dorm. everyone had their own diet, their own skincare routine, it was different for everyone. vil would spend nights in his room or the commons, noting down what certain students could and couldn’t eat, adding in allergies and current medical status. he wanted everyone to be their best self and that started with a routine.

but not many knew about his late planning, how much effort he put into making sure his dormmates felt confident in who they were and were healthy while doing so. pomefiore dorm residents complained. vil didn’t often hear them but he knew, but he couldn’t be upset about it, they followed his advice either way ─ he didn’t care if they hated him in the process.

everyone in his dorm had a routine, a diet, even the freshmen he had spent a few late nights working hard to create a fitting diet for. ─ well, everyone did, that is, until you, a junior recently transferred from heartslabyul, came to his dorm. vil did what he always did when it came to creating a diet for his dormmates. but after many nights of a lack of development in his notes about you, creating a diet for you proved, simply put, difficult.

if vil hadn’t seen you bite into the occasional apple slices or drink a small smoothie every once in a while, he would almost be under the impression you didn’t eat at all ─ which is ridiculous, but one can’t blame him when he hardly sees you pick up food, even as you sit in the cafeteria, scrolling through your phone and sitting with trey and cater as they ate their own lunch. neither of them seemed fazed by your lack of lunch, hardly batting an eye when you joined them and began a conversation. even when you denied an apple from trey, they didn’t seem all that concerned.

vil can admit he was starting to grow concerned the longer he watched this lack of routine in your diet. this was not good for your health ─ not eating. although you didn't look to be lacking nutrition, that didn't do much to sway vil’s concern for one of pomefiore’s residents.

vil was not one to dwell, if he had a question then he would simply ask.

that moment came after he had not seen you at dinner once more, despite you being one of the four in charge of dinner duty that night. ─ he asked the three dorm residents who were on cooking duty with you, and they shrugged, commenting that you said you “just weren’t all that hungry”. a repeating response you often give around breakfast and dinner time. ─ and vil thought it to be a good time to voice his concern with your lack of eating, so he began his way to your room.

“housewarden?” you asked with a bit of surprise, blinking at the actor who had just knocked on your door. you narrowed your eyes with confusion, and a little bit of concern, wondering if you had done something wrong, or if you had forgotten something. “is everything alright?”

vil nodded, quickly cutting to the chase of his visit before you could ask any more questions, “i have a concern, so if you could answer me truthfully, it would be appreciated.”

you blinked at him again, confusion visible in your expression as you repeated his words, “a concern?” you scratched your cheek awkwardly, releasing the hold you had on your bedroom door after opening it to his knocking before. “okay, sure.”

“[name],” he said your name rather sternly, “have you been eating properly?”

you let out a noise that sounded almost like a huh. you half expected this concern to be about your grades or school conduct (not that either were a cause for concern. you think). but to hear him ask about eating habits ─ wait, did he learn about the late nights you would sneak into the kitchen to make you food? you thought you were being careful! did rook find out? that hat wearing vice housewarden did always seem to know everything but would he snitch on you if he discovered your secret? trey was always more lenient back in heartslabyul, even when he would stumble upon you casually cooking a grilled cheese in the dark. perhaps you shouldn't have assumed rook would be the same (but trey also said he'd probably stay quiet if he did find you.)

“what do you mean?” you asked, hoping you weren't about to get in trouble for your late night snacking (snacking would really be an understatement, sometimes you'd cook yourself a complete meal).

“you’ve only been here for two weeks and yet you've skipped every breakfast and dinner, always with the same excuse.” he explained, to which you pursed your lips. “you also don't eat lunch, to my knowledge, even when you sit with your old dormmates. so, i ask again, are you eating properly?”

you were surprised, effectively caught off guard by your new housewardens confrontation. ─ “ah, shit.” you gasped, covering your mouth after the slip of the tongue, “i’m so sorry, housewarden.”

but vil didn't seem to bat an eye at your words, “if you struggle with food─.”

“it’s not like that!” you quickly interrupted him, before scrambling to apologize for doing so, “i’m sorry, but that's not it all.”

your words gained you a look from vil that clearly held the question “then what is it?”. you sighed and your shoulders slumped ─ you never quite liked explaining your odd eating habits (or lack-there-of), because no one ever understood and always told you, you needed to stop. but it's not your fault!

but vil showed a concern, and you didn't want your eating habits to be mistaken for something more. ─ so you broke into a ramble of an explanation.

“i do eat! swear., i actually think i eat pretty well!” you looked at your housewarden with an almost awkward grin, hoping that would be the end of it. but when that didn't seem to be a satisfactory answer for vil, you sighed and crossed your arms, and found yourself continuing into a familiar explanation.

"i don’t have a problem with eating. I’m just not usually hungry in the mornings so i just don't eat. but i do make myself food to have between my classes. but then i’m not hungry by lunch so i don't eat. and about dinner, i know i skip it, but i eat, just well, when everyone is asleep.” you scratched your cheek again, almost smiling embarrassingly as you added, “and uhm, well, sometimes, y’know, i forget.”

vil was silent for a moment, nodding slowly, “i see. i’m relieved to know you do eat.” you nodded and smiled at your new housewarden, but that smile faded when he looked back at you with a stern glare, “but, we do need to talk about this. it isn't very healthy.”

you frowned, “we do?”

vil was relieved to know you did eat ─ although you lacked a routine, you at least weren't unhealthy by going without food. but he certainly didn't enjoy finding out that there were moments eating simply crossed your mind, and you went without doing so. nor was he happy when he learned you would spend nights sneaking around the dorm to cook yourself something to eat or take something from the fridge to quickly snack on.

with the news of your rather not-so-ideal eating habits, he brought up helping you create a proper routine (and with it, a healthy, more steady diet), offering to create a process that would help you build one slowly, to your own rhythm.

and you did agree, although, maybe with some hesitance. ─ you have tried giving yourself a routine, knowing that your habits weren't so ideal (especially forgetting to eat until the clock struck two and you were hit by the empty grumble of your stomach). but you ultimately, always failed.

and so that's how you found yourself with a written schedule, one that explained your choice breakfast. a choice to eat between classes so that you will at least have energy to eat lunch, as well as dinner choices if you don't eat what was made. none of them were extreme, you noticed ─ vil had truly taken into account everything you told him. ─ your lack of appetite in the morning being one.

“good morning, [name].” you were greeted by the actor upon entering the dining room of pomefiore, many of your fellow dorm residents already sitting at the table. “will you be joining us? there's apples and other fruits on the table.” ─ and on the table there was a bowl of selections between fruits, something small but food nonetheless.

“oh, sure!” you smiled, following your housewarden as he led you to the others. ─ a first small step to the beginning of a routine.

it was not easy to get used to a new routine, one that changed with your progress. ─ two weeks in, you did sit with your dormmates at breakfast, but always chose to eat a fruit or something else that was small (and vil approved). you still lack an appetite in the morning, and you doubted that would change. and then there was lunch ─ there were times you didn't eat, simply forgetting to grab a lunch as you greeted your friends. and then come dinner time, it was similar to lunch, forgetting and moving on to your room to study or entertain yourself until vil came to get you with a sigh.

but vil seemed to understand, even offering to remind you if it ever seemed like you were going to forget to eat again.

this all inevitably led to more time spent with your housewarden ─ more than you had ever spent with riddle back in heartslabyul. and you learned about vil much like he learned about you.

vil schoenheit was a man who enjoyed routine in terms of skin and diets ─ he wanted the best for those around them. he was concerned for you and your eating habits (or perhaps rather, lack of), so he did his best to help you ─ to help you make a healthier, less worrying habit of diet.

“housewarden!”

vil paused, turning away from rook, who he was just conversing with to face the familiar voice. you waved and smiled at vil and and pomefiore’s vice housewarden as you approached, just before stopping in front of them.

“hello, [name].” vil greeted.

“are you guys going to the cafeteria?” a nod from vil only kept your grin on your face, “mind if i join you guys?”

vil looked back at his friend, who obviously held no objections to the new addition to their duo, smiling an all too familiar smile. he turned back to you with another nod, “not at all.”

“great!” you almost skipped alongside him as the three of you set out for the cafeteria, with you and rook breaking into easy conversation.

you eventually turned away from the hat wearing eccentric and towards your housewarden, humming, “say, have you heard what the ghosts will be be having today?”

“a most favored sandwhich is on the menu!” rook answered for vil, and you turned to him, blinking. “but i fear we may be too late to get one of our own.”

“awe,” you sighed, “that’s too bad, i kinda wanted a sandwich for lunch today. maybe they'll have other choices.”

vil looked at you after your comment, and smiled, “you’ll be eating lunch today, [name]?”

“yeah! a sandwich, probably. what do you think?” you looked at vil with a smile that didn't hide your own pride in yourself. you were happy to have found an appetite for lunch, (and remembered too!).

“that's good. i’m sure they'll have good choices to choose from. they often do.” vil nodded, and you lit up at the praise in his words ─ and vil was proud, glad you were finally going to eat something that wasn't just a smoothie and an apple. ─ you were making progress.

perhaps he'll have a sandwich as well.

this was fun and relatable. i forget to eat or just don't eat at a time one would think you should. or just lack an appetite. i need vil </3

sorry if there's any mistakes. i proofread this late at night.

do not repost, translate, copy or run my writing through an ai

#𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ❝ requests ❞#shrimpnetwrk #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twst #x gender neutral reader #x male reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gender neutral reader #twst x male reader #twst x reader #twst x gender neutral reader #vil schoenheit x male reader #vil shoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x gender neutral reader

388 notes · View notes

actiniumwrites · 1 year ago

Text

kiss me (not)

synopsis: how they’d react when you dodge/ wipe off their kisses for a day as a prank

characters: gaming, kujou sara, heizou, tighnari, cyno, kaveh, and lyney x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, some humor, established relationships, etc

notes: i love this prompt so much omg. i’ve read a lot of fics other people have written for different fandoms and i’m actually shocked i haven’t written it before considering i eat it up every time (especially when there’s some angst 🫠)

gaming:

the first time he sees you wipe off his kiss, something in him dies a little, especially when you don’t say anything after he asks if you’re okay

so he starts doubting himself and compensating for where he may went wrong

maybe he had bad breath? or you weren’t having a good day today?

he hates that he doesn’t know what he did wrong, and even worse, why you keep doing it throughout the day

you only stop when you see the way he genuinely starts beating himself up over it, deciding it wasn’t funny anymore and honestly never was

“it was a prank,” you nudge him softly, regret overflowing from your voice, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. i shouldn’t have kept it going for so long.”

a relieved breathe and a small smile from him follow right after. you can tell he’s still a bit stuck on the whole thing, but deep down, he’s just grateful he didn’t screw up somewhere because there’s no way in hell gaming would ever let himself lose you

“it’s okay,” he breathes out, clutching your hand a little tighter than usual, “just please, don’t do it again, okay?”

kujou sara:

to say she’s confused is an understatement

she’ll immediately backtrack to make sure she actually just saw that correctly. did you really just wipe off her kiss?

so she goes in for another one, and sure enough, you dodge her this time and send her a quick goodbye before slipping out of the house and running off to work

it legitimately ruins her whole day. she can’t even function at work because it’s all she can think about

and by the time she’s home at night, she’s already tired and just wants you but she’s also too afraid that maybe she did something to upset you

fortunately for her, you spare her of the prank knowing your girlfriend well enough to know that the second she walks through the door she had a shitty day

so you apologize and tell her it was just a prank and you didn’t mean any harm

and she wants to be so mad at you for it, but literally can’t no matter how hard she tries so instead she just gives in and gets the kiss she’s been thinking about all day

heizou:

he realizes right away what you’re doing and finds it rather amusing

so he’ll play along too, not trying to kiss you at all and even going a step further and not showing you any sort of physical attention

try to hold his hand? not happening. hugging him? not a chance

and it ends up becoming a competition, because what can you say? you’re both competitive people

goes on until the end of the day and only ends when you’re both too tired to keep it up

“you’re no fun, you know?” you poke his chest as you tiredly lean against him

he smiles down at you, “how so? i let you play your little pranks, didn’t i? i even played along.”

you just scoff and scoot away, tucking yourself into the warm blankets and ignoring his teasing

but then he’ll grab you and pull you into his chest, giving into you, “fine. next time i’ll give you the reaction you want. happy now?”

tighnari:

the opposite of heizou: he’s very unamused, and is very aware of what’s going on.

as soon as you back away from him after he tries to kiss you, his face falls into a deadpan and he crosses his arms menacingly

“i’ll have you know i don’t find pranks like these very funny,” he’ll immediately tell you off, not wanting to act so childishly when it comes to affection

tighnari cares a lot about people, whether he shows it or not, so to have you pretend to dodge it upsets him — even if it is meant to be a mere lighthearted prank

so you apologize instantly, feeling a little bad over the whole ordeal, “it’s just a prank, you know? i thought it would be funny to see how you’d react.”

definitely the kind of person to feel a little bashful and guilty for overreacting over something so silly, but also doesn’t want to admit it

so he’ll just silently kiss you and act like nothing happened, secretly hoping you’ll never try to pull something like that again

cyno:

at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny since he always plays jokes. however, i think he’s similar to tighnari in the sense that he also takes a little offense to it

like, he knows it’s a joke, but he just can’t help feeling a little hurt over it

“is something the matter?” he’ll ask while you’re both on the way to meet with friends. you shake your head no, fighting a smile

defeatedly, he leaves it at that, knowing you won’t budge. he’ll feel miserable the entire time and won’t stop thinking about how you won’t give the prank up, even in front of your friends

and when you both leave for the night, he crosses his arms and confronts you as you both walk home, “it isn’t funny.”

“what isn’t funny?”

“your prank. it isn’t funny. i don’t like the way you’re avoiding kissing me,” he says bluntly. it makes your heart sink into your stomach a bit, admittedly starting to feel a bit bad

so you apologize and work everything out, telling him you got the idea from alhaitham who was curious to see how he’d react in a situation like that — that, and he felt like pissing cyno off for a day, but you didn’t need to know that part

he’ll get frustrated, but is glad it’s all settled. he’ll also be extra affectionate throughout the next week, feeling as if he somehow lost time with you

kaveh:

gets so offended omg he will literally hate you

the first time you do it, his jaw drops to the floor and he calls you out on it immediately

“what was that?” he points an accusatory finger at you

you bite back a smile and feign innocence, “huh? what are you talking about?”

will not let you leave for the day until you drop the act and properly return his kiss

when you continue to go on with the prank, however, he’ll start to get all pouty and just ask you to kiss him

and he just looks so cute that you cup his face and give him a big fat kiss and walk out the door immediately after without a word and a big smile on your face, satisfied with his reaction

lyney:

he gets so dramatic about it it’s not even funny

will literally clutch his chest and fall to the ground in public so that you stop him

when you don’t and you let him face public humiliation (because you find it funny too), he stops himself and gets back up

follows you around like a lost puppy all day and will constantly try to sneak in a kiss while you’re caught of guard, but you never fall for it and he gets so much more frustrated each and every time

then he begs lynette and freminet to help him, except they think it’s funny too seeing how whipped he is for you

and he knows it’s a prank too, but the fact that you won’t break makes him so lovingly annoyed with you

you don’t stop until lynette genuinely intervenes, complaining about how annoying lyney had gotten throughout the day, “please end his suffering already. you know my brother is an idiot who doesn’t shut up and i’ve had enough of him today.”

you laugh it off, but ultimately agree

so you go and find him, which wasn’t that hard, and tap him on the shoulder before planting a gentle kiss to his lips, “sorry for pranking you. it was just too funny of an opportunity to pass up.”

“you’re so mean to me,” he’ll complain, but will then continue to kiss you so often that you’re now the annoyed one instead

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #gaming x reader #gaming x you #kujou sara x reader #kujou sara x you #heizou x reader #heizou x you #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you #cyno x reader #cyno x you #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you #lyney x reader #lyney x you

1K notes · View notes

ducktoo · 3 months ago

Text

Love is War

Red Velvet’s Irene x Reader

Note: I….love….Kaguya-sama so much. It’s just a funny show to watch and I’ve wanted to make something inspired by them. I had a lot of fun with this.

P.s. a lot of second handed embarrassment

(She’s kinda like Kaguya)

You sit across from Irene in the empty student council room, the evening light filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows that add a layer of mystery to the already tension-filled silence. Irene is flipping through some papers, meticulously reading, yet somehow ignoring your presence. Her focus, as always, is sharp, precise — but you've noticed the subtle glances, the way her lips curl ever so slightly when she thinks you aren’t watching.

You lean back, determined to stay calm. After all, if you show any interest first, it’s game over. Irene is the president, elegant and controlled, respected and even a little feared. And you, as her vice-president, know every one of her mannerisms by now, but this silent tug-of-war — this feeling she hasn’t just caught your eye but your heart too — has been going on for months. But you’d never give her the satisfaction of saying it first.

“So,” you say, nonchalantly, “another meeting… just us, huh?” You emphasize the “us,” making sure it sounds casual enough to not raise suspicion.

She raises an eyebrow, not even glancing your way. “You’re the vice president, remember?” She flips to the next page. “Or did you forget why you’re here?”

Ouch.

But you can play it cool. “Just making conversation,” you reply with a smirk. “Not everyone spends hours in silence like you do, President.”

She finally looks up, her eyes sharp, and for a second, you’re caught in her gaze. This is all part of the game, you remind yourself. Whoever slips first, whoever lets their guard down, loses.

“I don’t mind silence,” she says with a smirk of her own. “Unless you’re uncomfortable?”

“Oh, of course not,” you scoff, leaning forward. “If anything, I think you’re the one struggling to keep it together.”

She narrows her eyes, amused. “You think I’d give in that easily?”

“I didn't say anything,” you tease and put both of your hands up in innocence. Though your heart's pounding, every word a risky gamble. “You seem pretty close to breaking. Maybe you’re just waiting for me to say something first.”

Irene tilts her head, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It’s funny. You think you’ve got it all figured out.” She leans in, just close enough that you can feel the warmth of her presence. “But if you’re so certain of yourself, why haven’t you said anything either?”

The challenge is clear, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the air between you practically crackling. You’re staring at each other, each waiting for a sign of surrender, for that one misstep.

Just then, you notice her hand on the table, fingers lightly tapping. You reach out, instinctively, to still them, and in that moment, her eyes widen slightly, the faintest flicker of surprise betraying her usual composure. Your hands linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and you can feel your own face growing warm.

You pull away, breaking the silence with a chuckle, hoping to cover up your own slip. “Nice try,” you say. “But I’m not that easy to trick.”

She looks at you with an unreadable expression before her lips twitch into a soft smile — a genuine one, not her usual restrained, dignified expression. “I’ll admit, you’re a little harder to deal with than I thought,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a rush of victory. “So, you’re admitting I’m getting to you?”

Irene crosses her arms and raises a brow, leaning back in her chair as if sizing you up. “Well…since you’re so intent on making conversation, how about a game?”

You match her confident expression. “A game, huh? Alright, let’s hear it.”

She holds up her fingers, ticking off each word. “Twenty. Questions.”

The challenge is clear, and your eyes narrow as you smile. This is an opportunity. If you ask the right questions, you might get her to reveal something. “20 questions?"

“Yes,” she says, looking far too pleased with herself. “I’ll ask first.”

You nod, already strategizing your responses. There's no way she’ll get you to slip up.

“Alright,” Irene begins, her tone deceptively casual. “Are you… seeing anyone right now?”

You blink, but you manage a cool response. “No.”

She hums thoughtfully, tapping her chin. “Interesting. Your turn.”

“Are you seeing anyone right now?” you shoot back immediately, watching her for any reaction.

She raises an eyebrow, giving you a slow smile. “No. Next question: Do you have a… special someone in mind?”

Your face heats up, but you don’t let it show. You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “No,” you say, stretching the truth just a bit. “Do you?”

She smirks, but her answer is quick. “No.” There’s a spark in her eyes now, and you know she’s trying to rile you up. “Have you ever… spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about someone without realizing it?”

You narrow your eyes. She’s getting clever with these questions. “No,” you lie, feeling like she’s closing in. “But have you ever been caught staring at someone and couldn’t look away?”

Her smirk falters for a split second, but she recovers quickly. “No.”

The room feels charged with each back-and-forth. Neither of you wants to back down, and every question seems to dig just a little deeper, as if you’re both trying to pry open a box that’s already bursting at the seams.

Irene leans forward, her eyes glittering. “Do you… think about me when you’re alone?”

The question catches you off guard, but you’re not about to let her win. “No,” you reply, keeping your expression neutral. “Do you think about me?”

Her lips twitch, almost into a smile, and her answer is a soft, measured, “No.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re sure she’s lying. But you’ve both committed to the game, and there’s no turning back now.

You decide to turn up the heat. “Have you ever wondered… what it would be like if you and I were… something more?”

Irene’s eyes widen slightly, and for a fraction of a second, you see a crack in her calm exterior. “No,” she replies, but the tiny hesitation is enough to make your heart race.

“Are you sure?” you press, grinning.

“Yes,” she snaps, recovering her poise with a steely look. “Absolutely sure.”

You can’t help but laugh, sensing her annoyance. But she doesn’t let you revel in it for long.

“Do you get jealous if I talk to other people?” she asks, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

“No,” you answer immediately, fighting the urge to look away.

Irene chuckles, clearly unimpressed. “Liar.”

Your cheeks warm, but you keep your gaze steady. “Sure, like you’re any better,” you say. “Have you ever gotten jealous seeing me with someone else?”

She narrows her eyes, leaning just a bit closer. “No.”

There’s a pause, tension thick in the air. Both of you know the series of no are getting less and less convincing, but neither of you is willing to back down.

Then, Irene clears her throat, her voice softer than before. “Alright, last question. And you have to be completely honest.”

You nod, bracing yourself. “Fine. Go ahead.”

She looks you dead in the eye, her expression unreadable. “Do you… feel anything special for me?”

Your heart pounds, the air between you both thick with unsaid words. You can feel every second stretching, every fiber of your being shouting to say something, anything other than—

“No.”

Irene’s eyes widen, and for a moment, her carefully guarded expression slips, replaced with something almost vulnerable. But she recovers, her smirk returning, even if it’s a little shaky.

“Good,” she says, trying to sound indifferent. “Neither do I.”

You both sit in silence, staring at each other, knowing you’ve just lied through your teeth and realizing that you’re both too stubborn to admit it.

But then Irene leans back, her smirk shifting into a resigned smile. “Well,” she says, standing up, her voice teasing, “it seems we’re both in the clear, then. No one’s losing anything here.”

You watch her walk toward the door, and before she leaves, she glances over her shoulder, her eyes holding yours for just a second too long.

“Good night,” she says softly, with a smile that tells you maybe, just maybe, she’s as frustrated as you are.

“Good night,” you manage to reply, watching her leave, and for the first time, wondering if this game is even worth playing if it means you’ll never actually win.

Back in your dorm room, you close the door and let out a long, frustrated groan. You’d spent the entire day locked in a ridiculous back-and-forth with Irene, trying to make her slip up, but "nooo", she had to be as stubborn as ever. You throw yourself onto your bed, grabbing your pillow and thrashing around in irritation.

“‘No,’” you mutter to yourself, mimicking Irene’s voice in the most exaggerated tone possible. “'No, I never get jealous, no, I never think about you, no, I have no feelings whatsoever!’” You yank the pillow over your face and yell into it, hoping it’ll somehow drain the frustration boiling over inside you.

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD BAE JOOHYUN!”

Meanwhile, across campus, Irene is pacing in her room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Every step she takes sounds like she’s trying to stomp a hole into the floor. She mutters angrily to herself, face contorted in a mix of anger and — if she were to admit it — embarrassment.

“‘Do you think about me when you’re alone?’” she scoffs, doing her best impression of your voice, throwing her hands up in the air. “Absolutely not, why would I?” She frowns, blushing despite herself. “As if I’d be the first one to say anything anyway!”

She huffs and, in a rare moment of unchecked frustration, grabs her textbook off her desk and slams it down, a futile attempt to squash the annoyance bubbling inside her. She’s never felt so embarrassed — or so irritated that she can’t stop thinking about you.

“No,” she grumbles to herself again, as if the more times she says it, the more true it’ll become. “I am Bae Joohyun…why would I fall for you?”

Back in your room, you’ve started pacing now too, every nerve on edge. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your face twisted in frustration, and throw your hands up. “This is ridiculous! I don’t even care!” You stomp over to your desk, slamming your hands down like it might somehow snap you out of this bizarre Irene-fueled haze.

“Of all the people I had to like,” you grumble, throwing yourself back on your bed, arms flailing dramatically, “it had to be the one shortie who won’t admit anything!”

Meanwhile, Irene’s found herself in a similar scene, on her bed, legs kicking the mattress in frustration. “And that kid KNOWS what they’re doing,” she says, voice muffled by the pillow she’s now buried her face in. “Just sitting there with that smug little smile, asking all those RIDICULOUS questions like they didn’t care one bit!” She lets out a loud, frustrated sigh, tossing her pillow across the room.

It’s not even five minutes before she stands, determined to shake off the restless energy building inside her, and starts pacing her room again. Each step lands with heavy frustration. She mutters under her breath, trying to convince herself: “It’s not a big deal. This is… nothing. And they were obviously lying anyway, just to mess with me. I mean, why would they ask those things unless they were trying to make me crack?”

At the same time, you’re staring up at your ceiling, arms crossed, muttering to yourself. “She just has to be so stubborn,” you say, voice heavy with annoyance.

“Every single answer, every question — it’s like she’s actually trying to lose her mind on purpose!” You cover your face with your hands, shaking your head. “But no, she’s just too proud to admit she feels anything.”

In the end, both of you spend the next hour or so in almost synchronized frustration — you, rolling around on your bed, groaning loudly every few minutes, and Irene, sighing dramatically and flopping from one end of her bed to the other, trying not to think about how much it bothers her that you refuse to admit anything either.

It’s only when you both wear yourselves out from the mutual thrashing and muttering that a sense of calm settles, leaving you both sprawled on your beds, staring at the ceiling, each lost in thoughts of the other.

But even in the quiet, both of you have the same thought lingering, echoing annoyingly in your minds:

“Why can’t they just confess already?”

“Why can’t she just confess already?”

The next morning, you drag yourself into the student council room, feeling the weight of sleep deprivation clinging to your eyelids like cement. You glance at the clock — 8:15 AM. You’ve barely gotten any sleep, and it shows. Your eyes are bloodshot, your hair’s a mess, and every step feels like it’s being weighed down by the universe itself.

You slump into your usual chair, rubbing your face. The room is eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. No one else is here yet — except for Irene, sitting in her usual spot across from you, who seems just as disheveled as you feel. Her hair’s a little frizzy, and her posture is slumped like she might collapse at any moment.

You exchange a tired glance. Neither of you says anything. There's no point in it. It’s obvious you both didn’t sleep well, and it’s all because of that ridiculous game.

"Morning," Irene mutters, sounding less like herself than usual, her voice hoarse and low.

You nod. “Morning. Did you… sleep at all?”

She gives a small shake of her head, eyes slightly glazed. “…No.”

You groan. “Same.”

“I can tell,” she says, voice tinged with equal frustration.

You both fall into an exhausted silence, but just as the tension begins to build between you once again, the door creaks open. Seulgi, the treasurer, strides in, bouncing on her feet as usual, though today she seems extra chipper — like she’s somehow been recharged by a full night of sleep, which you both desperately lack.

She beams at you both. “Good morning, my higher ups! You two look like you barely survived the night.”

“Thanks for the observation,” you mutter sarcastically, leaning back in your chair, trying to ignore the painful throb in your skull.

Seulgi raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing the tense energy in the room. “You guys didn’t get any sleep, did you?” she teases, looking between the two of you. “Too busy scheming with each other, huh?”

Irene gives Seulgi a deadpan stare. “We don’t need your commentary, Kang Seulgi.”

Seulgi shrugs, unfazed. “Okay, okay, no need to get defensive. You two need a distraction.”

With that, Seulgi pulls a small notepad from her bag, flipping it open with dramatic flair. “Let’s play Would You Rather,” she announces, practically jumping into the chair beside Irene.

You blink at her, too exhausted to even care about the idea of playing another game. But Seulgi’s already too deep into her plans to let you escape.

“Would you rather,” Seulgi starts, voice rising in enthusiasm, “have the ability to read anyone’s mind, but only while they’re eating something, or be able to talk to animals, but only in a language they don’t understand?”

You glance at Irene, already half-suspecting she’s not going to entertain this nonsense, but to your surprise, she lets out a small sigh and leans in, trying to humor Seulgi. “The animals. No contest.”

“Really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I could ask a certain bear to stop stealing my snacks,” Irene mutters, eyes narrowing like she’s speaking from personal experience.

"I know nothing" Seulgi whistled and looked away, feigning ignorance.

You chuckle, despite yourself, because somehow that seems oddly relatable. But Seulgi’s not done yet.

“Okay, next one!” Seulgi says, flipping her page. “Would you rather always know when someone’s lying, but it makes you physically ill, or never know when someone’s lying, but it makes you constantly question everything?”

Irene shoots you a look, probably knowing where this is going. You tap your chin dramatically.

“I’ll go with the first one,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I already get physically ill just dealing with you.”

Irene doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m starting to think you might be lying about that,” she retorts, a small grin playing at the corner of her mouth.

Seulgi, clearly loving this back-and-forth, just grins wider. “Alright, now for the real fun one…”

You both exchange a look of dread.

“Would you rather,” Seulgi pauses for dramatic effect, “have to sing every time you want to communicate, but only in opera, or be unable to speak at all and only express yourself through interpretive dance?”

You both sit there, silent for a moment, processing the absurdity of the question. Then, without missing a beat, Irene responds, deadpan, “I’d go with interpretive dance. At least it’s not opera.”

You stare at her in disbelief. “You would dance? For everything? For your class presentations?”

She shrugs. “I mean, it would be easier than singing opera in front of the entire school.”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. “I’d rather sing opera. It’s at least... dignified.”

Seulgi looks between the two of you, laughing to herself as if she’s witnessing the world's most ridiculous standoff. “Okay, okay, one last one. Would you rather accidentally confess your feelings to the entire school, but the person you like doesn’t hear, or have to live your life with a giant embarrassing secret that no one knows except you?”

You freeze. Irene’s gaze flicks to yours, and for a brief, horrifying moment, it feels like the entire world has just turned its spotlight on you both.

Seulgi’s watching, clearly loving the discomfort she’s causing.

“I—” you start, but then you hesitate. “I’d rather have the secret,” you say quickly, then add, “I mean, I don’t want to confess in front of everyone!”

Irene laughs — a soft, almost bitter laugh — and answers quickly, “I’d pick the same thing. Secrets are easier to deal with than... that.”

You both stare at each other, and for once, the silence between you doesn’t feel as tense as before. In fact, it’s almost like... you’ve just admitted something without even trying.

But Seulgi, ever the expert at reading the room, lets out a dramatic sigh. “You two are impossible,” she says, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “But at least we had fun.”

Irene and you exchange a glance. Neither of you says anything, but the hint of something unspoken lingers in the air. Something that wasn’t quite said in the game, but was definitely felt.

“You know,” you mutter, standing up and stretching, “next time, we’re just playing chess.”

Seulgi grins, already plotting her next absurd question. “You got it. But just so you know,” she winks, “I’m totally adding opera to the rules.”

Irene shoots you a look as if to say, See? This is your fault.

And for once, you can’t help but laugh.

A few months pass, and life in the student council room has somehow become a bizarre, ongoing comedy show. You and Irene continue your ridiculous push-and-pull game, each day a new round of Who Will Crack First?. Neither of you has budged an inch, and yet neither of you has let up on the passive-aggressive scheming either.

It’s as if you’re both living in some weird, never-ending loop of “will they, won’t they” — and it’s driving everyone around you absolutely mad.

Seulgi, who’s practically an expert at this point in navigating the absurdity of your interactions, has given up trying to intervene. She now finds it hilarious, often leaning back in her chair with a smug smile as she watches the two of you exchange cryptic looks and challenge each other with passive-aggressive “Would You Rather” questions.

One particularly awful morning, Irene walks in wearing her usual perfectly put-together look — except today, her blazer is slightly askew, her hair a little more chaotic than usual. She’s clearly been running on no sleep, but as always, she gives you a pointed, unamused look when you glance at her.

“Not today,” she mutters, sounding exhausted, and collapses into her chair with a sigh.

You blink. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m tired of you,” she snaps back, without hesitation.

You sit up straighter, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh? So you admit it now?”

Her head whips to face you. “I didn’t admit anything, you idiot.”

“Right, right. Of course not.” You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, trying to play it cool, but inside you can feel a small victory bubbling up.

Yes, you’re getting to her. Keep going.

Before you can continue your “I’m always right” victory lap in your mind, Seulgi enters, holding an envelope in her hands.

“Good morning, everyone!” Seulgi greets, sliding into her chair and tossing the envelope onto the desk in front of you. “Got this for you,” she says, looking far too pleased with herself.

You blink at it. “What’s this?”

Seulgi leans forward, grinning. “Well, someone (ahem, our vice-president) just got accepted for the student exchange program. With a full scholarship, no less.”

You freeze, staring at the envelope as if it might suddenly burst into flames. It takes a moment for the words to fully process in your tired brain, but when they do — you can’t help but feel a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“Wait… you’re kidding,” you mutter, flipping the envelope open. Sure enough, it’s real. You’ve been accepted into the program — and with a scholarship at that. You can barely wrap your head around it, the magnitude of it overwhelming. A chance to study abroad? This is huge.

"I MADE IT MOM!!!" You shouted, as loud as you just won a well fought war.

Irene, however, is not as happy for you. She glares at the envelope, as though it’s personally offended her. “Congratulations,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You grin, almost smugly. “Thanks, Pres. I’m going to study abroad! How cool is that?”

“Right, so you’ll be gone for how long?” Irene’s voice has a sharp edge to it, and you know instantly that something’s bothering her.

“I’m not sure,” you say, waving it off, still too distracted by the possibility of it all. “Maybe six months? Maybe more. It’s exciting, right?”

Irene doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans back in her chair, arms crossed, staring at you with an unreadable expression. Her lips are pressed together like she’s holding something in.

“You know,” you say, enjoying the rare moment of feeling like you actually have the upper hand, “maybe you should congratulate me properly. This is a big deal.”

She gives you a sharp look. “I don’t congratulate people who act like they’re already the best at everything.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, “that’s not even true. We both know you’re just upset that you won’t get to have your daily dose of me tormenting you.”

Irene narrows her eyes, leaning forward like she’s about to bite back with something absolutely scathing. But instead, she just sighs. “Fine. Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll do great. Now, I’ll just go back to pretending you aren’t about to abandon me for six months.”

You blink, caught off guard by her sudden change in attitude. It’s almost like she’s… jealous? No, that can’t be right.

“Wait,” you say, your voice sounding strangely unsure, “you’re mad?”

She raises an eyebrow, looking at you like you're the dumbest person alive. “What do you think, Einstein?”

“Are you actually mad that I’m going abroad?” You almost can’t believe you’re asking. This is a new level of absurdity. She’s always acted like she doesn’t care about anything — least of all you.

Her response comes in the form of a heavy sigh, followed by her leaning back again with a dramatic thud into her chair. “I just don’t get it,” she mutters, staring at the ceiling like it’s the most tragic thing in the world. “One moment you’re here, annoying the hell out of me, and then poof — off to some other country like it’s no big deal.”

“Is that jealousy?” you ask, incredulous. “Pres, is that—”

“No!” She snaps immediately. “I’m just annoyed that you’ve been torturing me for months, and now you’re going to vanish, leaving me alone with Seulgi’s stupid games and that.”

You look at Seulgi, who’s grinning at the back-and-forth with a cup of coffee in her hand like she’s watching a reality TV show unfold before her. “I’m just here for the drama,” Seulgi mumbles under her breath, casually sipping her coffee.

“See?” Irene gestures to Seulgi. “I’m stuck here with this.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m just as confused as you are,” you joke, tapping the envelope on the table, “since it looks like I’m leaving you here to suffer alone with your secrets.”

Irene glares at you. “Stop talking about my secrets. It’s not like you even have any.”

You grin, sensing that you’ve touched a nerve. “Oh, I do, don’t worry. Just waiting for you to—”

“Stop talking.” Irene snaps, her voice so sharp it’s almost a threat.

The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife, but you don’t know whether to laugh or just keep pushing her buttons. It’s getting harder and harder to tell if she’s frustrated because of your “secret” or if it’s just the ever-present game you two have been playing for months.

Seulgi, clearly sensing the climax of your endless drama, looks between you both with a smirk. “You two are ridiculous,” she says, sipping her coffee and savoring the war, like a general on the side watching her neighbouring countries fight.

And as always, you and Irene stay locked in your little game — still stubborn, still not admitting anything, but both of you a tiny bit more frustrated than before. You can’t help but laugh, even though you’re not quite sure whether it’s from the excitement of the exchange program or the absurdity of your constant back-and-forth with Irene.

One thing’s for sure — you may be leaving soon, but the game will never truly end.

The days leading up to your final day at school felt like a drawn-out episode of Who Will Break First?.

The tension between you and Irene was palpable, like two magnets trying to repel each other while secretly waiting for the other to snap. It was absurd, and yet, you couldn’t help but be thrilled by the idea of ending this ridiculous game once and for all.

The exchange program was looming on the horizon, and you were determined to win this war — no more games, no more indirect jabs. One of you was going to finally confess, and it would be grand. You weren’t just going to do it quietly or casually.

Oh no. You had bigger plans.

Way bigger plans.

You could practically feel the dramatic music building in your head as you sat in the student council room, staring at the whiteboard, mapping out your elaborate scheme. It had to be perfect, a moment so spectacular that Irene would have no choice but to confess. You had one chance, and it had to be memorable.

The idea? A scavenger hunt.

But not just any scavenger hunt. A scavenger hunt for the heart.

“How can I make it even more dramatic?” you muttered to yourself, looking over your ridiculous list of clues and challenges. Every challenge would lead Irene closer to her inevitable fate — confessing her feelings, of course. But it couldn’t be too obvious. You had to make it like a game, because she would never confess otherwise. She was too proud.

You could already hear the sound of her internal monologue: I can’t let them get away with this. I’ll show them I’m not some softy.

Little did she know, you were about to turn this into the most obnoxiously grand gesture ever.

The next day, you casually walk into the student council room, where Irene is sitting at her desk, looking as stoic as usual. Her hair is perfect (obviously), and she’s in the middle of filling out some form that looks like it was written in some ancient bureaucratic language.

“Good morning, Pres.” you say nonchalantly, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

She barely glances up at you, just giving a quick nod. “Morning,” she mutters, not even bothering to make eye contact.

Perfect. The stage was set.

“You ready for the game today?” you ask casually, leaning over to get a peek at her papers.

Her eyebrow twitches slightly. “What game?”

“The game,” you say dramatically, “The scavenger hunt. The ultimate scavenger hunt.”

Irene freezes. “What?”

You grin, feeling the thrill of your scheme starting to take effect. “It’s simple, really. I’ve set up a series of clues around the campus. Each one will lead you to the next, until you finally reach your destination. And guess what? You’re the only one who can participate. No one else is allowed.”

Irene stares at you as if you just suggested she run a marathon in high heels. “A scavenger hunt? Are you serious?”

“Yes.” You give her an exaggeratedly dramatic nod. “You’re going to love it. Each clue is going to lead you to a place that’s important to us. You’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

She blinks, clearly confused. “And what’s the point of this ridiculous hunt?”

“The point is,” you say, leaning in like you’re about to share the world’s greatest secret, “by the end of it, you’ll finally admit that you can’t stand it anymore and you will…”

You paused for a moment “…confess your feelings for me.”

Irene’s face is completely deadpan. “You’re out of your mind.”

But she’s intrigued. You can tell.

“Okay, okay. I’ll bite. Where do I start?�� Irene asks, crossing her arms with that same defiant, no-nonsense look that always drives you insane.

You hand her the first clue, which is written in ridiculously dramatic handwriting. “Go to the place where it all started,” you say, practically bouncing in your chair, “You know, where we first met. Good luck.”

Irene glares at you for a second before unfolding the note. Her eyes scan it quickly. She’s already halfway out of her seat when she mutters, “This is so stupid.”

And off she goes.

What she doesn’t realize is that you’ve set up each clue in the most bizarre and over-the-top way possible.

The first stop is the fountain near the school entrance. But it’s not just a simple clue — oh no. You’ve surrounded the fountain with floating balloons that spell out “LOVE,” because you’re subtle like that. Next to the fountain, there’s a big, obnoxious banner that says, “First step to confessing your feelings: stop running away from the truth.”

When Irene arrives, she looks at it, rolls her eyes so hard you think they might get stuck, but follows the instructions anyway.

“Ridiculous,” she mutters, lifting the balloon with one hand and searching for the next clue.

Next, the clue leads her to the library — but not just any section of the library. It’s the aisle where you first bumped into her accidentally (totally not planned) on that fateful day. The shelf is stacked with books on love and confession. (Of course, you also made sure the most embarrassing ones were in plain sight.)

By the time she reaches the next clue, which is hidden inside a cookie jar in the student lounge, she’s had enough. “This is the worst thing you’ve ever done,” she says under her breath as she rips open the paper and immediately glares at the next clue.

It’s just one word: Confess.

Irene stares at the note for a solid minute, as though she’s trying to will it to self-destruct. “This is… absurd.”

She’s so close now. You’re practically jumping out of your seat, grinning so wide you’re certain she can hear the smugness radiating off you.

The final stop is, of course, the student council room. You’ve cleared out all the other council members and arranged the room like an oddly romantic restaurant, complete with candles (yes, real candles, because you’re extra) and a giant cardboard cutout of the two of you from a school event that she’ll definitely recognize.

“I swear to god, if you’ve done anything worse than this, I’ll…” Irene trails off as she steps into the room, eyes widening at the display.

You cross your arms. “Well?”

“Are you really going to make me do this?” she asks, her voice dangerously calm.

You grin, barely containing your excitement. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Irene looks at you, deadpan as usual. “You’re impossible.”

You wait, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

She doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches for a few seconds, and just when you think she’s going to snap — she sighs. “Fine.”

She’s this close.

She takes a deep breath, looking you straight in the eye, and says in the most dramatically deadpan voice possible:

“I hate you.”

And just like that, you snap.

“WHAT?!”

“I said I hate you.” Irene smiles smugly, enjoying every second of your frustration. “But I think you’re kind of an idiot. And I’m sort of impressed by your sheer lack of self-awareness. So, confession done.”

You stand there, utterly flabbergasted.

“That’s not a confession!” you shout.

“I didn’t say it was a good one,” Irene retorts, crossing her arms. “But at least I win.”

And with that, you both realize — you’ve just played yourselves.

As Irene starts walking away, her smug expression plastered on her face, you stand there, still stunned, your heart hammering in your chest. You had come so close to victory — and then she just dropped the bomb on you like it was nothing.

I hate you.

What kind of confession was that? Sure, it was dramatic, but it was barely even close to what you had in mind!

But something in your chest tightens. You can’t let this end like this. No way. You won’t let her get away with this. Not when you’re so close

You take one step forward. Then another. You’re walking after her now, and you can feel the heat rising in your face as you approach. The whole scene plays out like a movie, but not the cool action kind of movie. No, this is a slow-motion trainwreck happening in real time.

“I—” You stop yourself. What the hell am I doing?

Irene turns around, still smirking as if she just hit you with the world’s greatest comeback. “What? Did you come to call me an idiot again?”

“No! I mean—YES, but—” You flounder, trying to hold on to whatever shred of dignity you still have. She raises an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you mutter, realizing that at this point, the only way to salvage your pride is to act like you meant this all along.

You take a deep breath, already feeling the cringe crawl up your spine. “I—I think I like you. A lot.”

You don’t stop there. No. That would be too easy.

“Bae Joohyun, I think... I think I’ve liked you for a long time, and... and this whole thing, the games, the scavenger hunts, the balloons... it’s been ridiculous and stupid and—”

Your voice cracks, and you internally scream. This is so embarrassing. Why did I think this would work against the Ice Queen?

Irene just stands there, her smirk faltering for the first time. “Wait—are you—”

“Yes! I—yes! I like you, okay?” you blurt out, and then immediately want to crawl into a hole and disappear forever. “Like, really like you. More than I can even explain. And maybe I don’t always show it, and maybe I’m not the best at this, but I’ve spent so long trying to... uh... win this stupid confession game, and now I’m realizing that I... don’t care about that anymore. I just want you to know that I like you—like, like you—and I’m tired of pretending I don’t!”

There’s a moment of silence. You stand there, your face glowing with humiliation, hands clenched at your sides, waiting for Irene to react. You almost can’t bear to look at her. You can feel the awkwardness radiating between you like a thick cloud, and it’s so heavy that it might as well be an actual physical presence.

Irene doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at you with wide eyes. Then she opens her mouth, and you hold your breath, half-expecting her to laugh in your face or walk away.

Instead, she says, “...Are you... done?”

You blink rapidly, still trying to process her words. “What?”

“Are you done?” she repeats, her voice more amused than anything else. “Because that was about the most painfully awkward thing I’ve ever witnessed. I mean, are you seriously this bad at confessing?”

Your face turns bright red, and you immediately want to crawl under a desk and live there for the rest of eternity. “I—No! I mean... Yes, I am. I just... I don’t know how to do this! It’s like every time I try, I keep making it worse, and now I’m... I’m...”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m just going to shut up now.”

Irene crosses her arms, watching you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “So, what exactly are you expecting from me now? A confession back? Do you want me to one-up you with some dramatic gesture too?”

The secondhand embarrassment is reaching a point where you feel like you might die from sheer awkwardness. “I—”

“Well, guess what?” she interrupts, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re not the only one who’s bad at confessing, you know.” She pauses, letting the words sink in. “I’m just better at pretending I don’t care.”

Your eyes widen. Wait. What?

“You’ve been so obvious for so long. But you’re... you’re a mess,” she says, voice dropping into something a little more serious now. “And I didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. I didn’t want to admit it either.”

Your brain short-circuits. “Wait, so... you—”

She gives a dramatic sigh and steps toward you. “I’m just saying,” she continues, “You’re such an idiot. And I can’t believe it took this long for you to get a clue.”

And then, out of nowhere, she leans forward and kisses you.

For a moment, everything stops. Your brain ceases to function as you try to process what just happened.

It takes about five seconds before you realize that you’ve been kissed, and another five seconds to realize that you’re staring at her wide-eyed, as if this were the most confusing thing to ever happen to you. But you’re also feeling like you might pass out from sheer shock.

As Irene pulls away from the kiss, you’re still standing there, completely shell-shocked. Your head is spinning, the words in your mind tumbling over each other, and your whole body is shaking like a leaf. You can’t believe what just happened — you’d been playing this ridiculous back-and-forth for so long, and now it was finally over.

Sort of.

Irene looks entirely too smug for someone who just outplayed you at your own game. “Well, that was definitely a moment, wasn’t it?”

Your mouth opens and closes, but you’re too dumbfounded to say anything remotely intelligent. You can feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your brain still processing the fact that she kissed you like it was some kind of casual Tuesday.

“Um... can I... can I just...?” you trail off, desperately trying to regain your composure, but it’s like trying to catch a greased pig.

Irene, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected, smirking as she watches you fumble. “What? Are you still processing it, or...?”

But before you can even think of a response, you hear it.

A very loud click.

Both you and Irene freeze at the sound, and the two of you turn towards the source of the noise. And there, standing a few feet away, is Seulgi — grinning like a cat who just got into the cream.

“Oh, this is rich,” Seulgi says, holding up her phone. “Vice president, you really should’ve told me you were planning on doing a ‘confession’ scene. I thought I was going to have to orchestrate this myself, but lucky for me, I had a feeling something like this would go down.”

“No...” you mutter, feeling the blood drain from your face. “No, no, no. Did you seriously just—?”

“Oh, you bet I did,” Seulgi replies with a grin so wide it should be illegal. She’s clearly enjoying every second of this. “You two have been at this for months. I was just waiting for the moment when one of you would finally break. And I caught it all on video!”

You can feel the panic rising in your chest. “Kang Seulgi, no! You—You can’t—”

She takes a few steps closer, completely unfazed by your distress. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t post it... yet,” she says. “But let’s just say I also have some... interesting footage that could influence your future decisions.”

“Seulgi, you wouldn’t,” Irene warns, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Oh, I would,” Seulgi chirps, tapping away on her phone, her fingers flying over the screen. “I have all the juicy bits. You two were so painfully obvious, I might just have enough material for a whole documentary about your embarrassing little love war.”

(She said the title card! Don’t sue me thank you)

You turn to Irene, a look of pure despair on your face. “Please tell me this is not happening.”

“I swear to God, Seulgi, if you even think about blackmailing us...” Irene starts, but then her eyes flicker to the phone in Seulgi’s hand. She hesitates, realizing there’s really no way to undo this.

“Oh, I’m just kidding,” Seulgi says suddenly, and you almost collapse in relief, but then she adds, “Mostly.”

“What do you mean, mostly?” you ask, now suspicious.

Seulgi just looks between the two of you, her grin only growing wider. “Well, I was going to use this footage to make you two suffer with some embarrassing compilation videos... but honestly? It’s more fun to watch you both squirm. You’re so pathetically obvious, it’s hilarious.”

You groan and throw your hands up in exasperation. “I can’t believe this. Of course, Seulgi would have been lurking in the shadows, ready to capture every moment.”

Irene, meanwhile, takes a deep breath and glances at the phone again, looking more irritated than ever. “You better not show this to anyone. Or I will make your life a living nightmare.”

“Oh please,” Seulgi says, tapping the screen. “I’m just going to enjoy watching you two suffer in peace for now. But you know, if you’re ever interested in... making a deal... I’m all ears.”

Irene crosses her arms, giving Seulgi a death glare. “You really want to start blackmailing THE president and vice president of the student council? Don’t forget, I have connections.”

Seulgi raises her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll back off... for now. But let’s just say, I’ll be keeping my eyes open. You two are so obvious.”

As Seulgi walks away, still chuckling to herself, you and Irene stand there, completely defeated.

You’re both speechless.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter again, this time to Irene, who’s clearly just as done with the situation as you are. “I swear, Seulgi is too much.”

Irene lets out a long sigh and places a hand over her face, as if trying to hide her sheer embarrassment. “This is never going to be over, is it?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’m stuck with this for life.”

“I don’t think I can show my face at school tomorrow,” Irene admits, finally letting out a little laugh despite herself.

“Same,” you reply, feeling the humiliation deep in your bones. “I’m going to pretend I’m sick. I’ll fake an injury. I’ll fake... I don’t know, something.”

“You should,” Irene agrees, “and I’ll be right there with you. The entire school will know about our ‘confession’ before lunch.”

There’s a brief silence between you both, and then, at the same time, you both erupt into groans of frustration and turned away from each other.

“This is why I hate you.”

“This is why I hate you,” Irene replies, her voice thick with secondhand embarrassment.

And there it is — the grand culmination of months of tension, teasing, and awkward games. And it ended up with you both being caught on video, standing like two idiots while Seulgi secretly enjoyed every moment of it.

Today’s result: Both lost (even with a fcking kiss)

The week after you left for the exchange program felt like a blur for you — the excitement, the new environment, and the unfamiliar routines made everything feel like a whirlwind.

But back at school, Irene was in a much different place.

Every day, Seulgi would come to school with a new glint in her eyes, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, and a phone hidden somewhere on her person. She wasn’t as sneaky as she thought; Irene could spot her from a mile away, and each time, she’d smirk to herself.

“I swear, you’re enjoying this way too much, Bae Joohyun” Irene would mutter, though the grin never left her face.

And why wouldn’t she? Each time Seulgi presented her with another batch of pictures — snapshots from the infamous day of the confession — Irene’s heart would flutter in the most embarrassing way.

There was the one of you, mid-sentence, as you tried to pull off your grand declaration. Your face was a perfect mix of awkwardness and desperation, eyes wide as you blurted out the confession.

The best part? The expression on your face was so utterly panicked that it made Irene burst into a fit of giggles every time she looked at it.

Then there was the one of you standing there, your hands raised in dramatic surrender, as Seulgi’s camera flashed. Your face was a blend of mortification and determination. Irene would often catch herself replaying that moment in her head — how precious you looked, fighting so hard for that confession you never thought you’d be able to get out.

But the one that made her giddy the most was a candid shot — one taken right after the kiss. It wasn’t a perfect picture by any means, but there you were, lips still pink from the kiss, standing in complete shock as Irene pulled away with that smug smile plastered across her face. You looked like you’d just been struck by lightning…

…and Irene was absolutely in love with the image.

Every time she glanced at it, she could feel the warmth in her chest, the little skip in her heartbeat.

But the real kicker? The deal she made with Seulgi.

“If you promise to keep these between us... and not use them as leverage against me,” Irene had said one day, as Seulgi grinned with her phone in hand, “then maybe... just maybe... you’ll get something in return.”

Seulgi had raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are we talking about here?”

Irene’s eyes glinted mischievously. “The ‘one’ photo you really want. The one where I’m looking adorably happy in front of that dork. I’ll give it to you... for a price.”

“Deal,” Seulgi said instantly, knowing exactly which picture Irene was talking about — the one of her, holding her phone with a soft smile, staring at all the pictures of you. The one where the subtle joy in her eyes was enough to make Seulgi’s heart melt.

And that, of course, meant that Irene had the perfect little “deal” in her pocket. She now had the ultimate keepsake of her vice president and all those memories of their relationship’s unspoken history — one that no one else would ever know about. Not just the hilarious moments, the embarrassment, or even the kiss itself, but the sweetness of it all — tucked away in her phone, a secret only for her to see.

The first time you sent her a message after you’d arrived at your exchange program, she stared at her phone for a moment longer than necessary, then quickly typed back:

“I miss you already. Do you remember that day?”

She hit send before she could overthink it. Almost immediately, she received a reply.

“Of course I do, Joohyun.” you texted. “How could I forget? My life will forever be haunted by that day, thanks to Seulgi.”

Irene couldn’t help but chuckle, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I’m not letting you forget. I’ll be keeping all the best pictures. After all, I did get the perfect shot,” she teased, her fingers flying over her phone.

“You wouldn’t dare...” you wrote back, but Irene could tell you were joking. Your words were playful, the tone light.

“I would,” she replied, sending a winky face along with the message. She then paused, allowing herself to enjoy the quiet connection between you two.

As Irene walked through the campus, heading toward the student council room, she felt oddly content. Despite the distance between you now, despite the teasing and the games and the back-and-forth, there was this undeniable warmth in her chest. She might have started this war thinking she’d win, but now that it was over, she realized she had already won.

You.

Her vice president. The one who had made her life absolutely ridiculous and frustrating, but also the one who had somehow captured her heart in the most unexpected of ways.

Irene flipped through the pictures once more (and the candid shot that she had set as her lock screen)— the ones of you two together — and her smile softened. It was official.

She was never letting go of this.

As she walked into the council room, still holding her phone close to her chest, Seulgi shot her a knowing look. “So, when are you going to send them all the photos and just admit you’re head over heels for your vice president?”

“Soon,” Irene said, her voice thick with happiness, as she swiped through the next batch of pictures. “Just... one more time. I want to keep this to myself for a little longer..”

Seulgi rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that followed. “You really are hopeless. It sounds more like you definitely lost this war, isn't it?”

“…maybe.” Irene admitted, unable to stop herself from smiling widely. “But I’m hopelessly in love.”

And with that, she tucked her phone away, heart full of giddy excitement, ready to face whatever came next. After all, she had time. The war might have ended, but this?

This was just the beginning.

(cue the outro)

#red velvet x reader #red velvet fanfic #red velvet #irene #bae joohyun #irene x reader #bae jooyhun icons #irene red velvet #seulgi #x reader

124 notes · View notes

fxckn-sxck-fr · 27 days ago

Note

Oh well, since you encouraged me... Something that's been on a mind since I've read your older brother!Dick I just keep thinking of the incest potencial... Even with the more than controversial ages

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍…

!!! 18+ THEMES, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, GN reader, fauxcest, age gap, toxic dynamic, noncon, making out, disgusting touching, brief hints of sexual content, general yandere fuckery, manipulation, kind of grooming(?), controlling behaviors, poor reader trying to cope so hard.

GGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAA—

Don’t worry, pooks, I saw all of your other asks about this idea and I’ll try to remember to hit all of the points you bring up. I just wanna keep it all in one place.

ALSO, ALSO, ALSO, LIFE WITH OLDER BROTHER ENJOYERS. HEY. HEY. LISTEN. If you’re not fucking with this ask and you don’t want the wholesome platonic dynamic you conjured in your brain ruined for you, DO NOT PROCEED ANY FURTHER. LIKE, AT ALL. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

You literally clocked me so badddd. Yes, the undertones in that series are 100% intended. I’m not gonna add anything overtly incestuous, but like… the subtext is there for the freaks to pick up on. Platonic incest where the lines blur every now and then, I love you so much.

Anyways, lemme get to yapping for real.

If we’re going to vaguely follow the Life With Older Brother series, Dick suddenly being so friendly to you would be… a little bit jarring. But try to think about it from his perfective: he wasn’t really there for Jason, and the thought of failing another younger sibling is too much to handle. Maybe he’s just trying to be more present for you. As weird as he may come off, you should at least give him a chance.

The beginning isn’t all that bad. Even if he’s relatively new to the older brother thing, you can tell he’s trying his best, and dare you say it, he’s actually fun to hang out with. Playing video games, going out for ice cream, trashy movie marathons… it almost makes you forget about those weirder behaviors. Almost.

Now, one thing you quickly noticed is how touchy-feely he is. Whenever you’re together, it seems like he’s always got sort of body part touching you one way or another. Sometimes, it’s subtle: a knee resting against yours, a very quick head-pat, his hand brushing against you as he gestures at something. Nothing all that noticeable unless if you’re very sensitive to touch. But then there are times where it’s a little more… overt. Like when he slings an arm around your shoulders. Or when he holds your hand while out and about. Or when pulls you against his side by your waist when it’s a crowded area. Every now and then, you find yourself wondering if this is normal. Do siblings usually touch each other so often? It kind of makes sense, but… considering you haven’t even been siblings for a full year, should he really be this comfortable around you yet?

If you think you can set boundaries with him, good fucking luck. He might’ve made it seem like he was hearing you out, but it won’t be long before he’s back at it with the touching. Okay… maybe this is something he really can’t help. As annoying — and weird… and uncomfortable — it may be, you’ll probably just have to suck it up and get used to it. Some people are just very handsy. But not like that! Oh my god, no. Dick’s Nightwing; a good guy, for Christ’s sake. He would never do anything like that!

(… Right?)

Here’s the thing about platonic physical affection: how weird can it get before people finally draw the line? Is it forehead kisses? Hugging someone by the waist? Having them sit in your lap whenever the opportunity arises? Are any of those things actually weird, or does Dick somehow make them weird? Because, yes, he still most definitely acts like an older brother — he certainly teases you like one, and you constantly have to fight against the urge to bite him like a feral weasel — but the touching… well… maybe familial affection is just a concept foreign to you (thanks in no small part to Bruce), but Dick somehow makes it feel like something else.

And you’ll admit; you don’t actually know what that something else is. All you know is that you’re pretty sure big brothers do not do that gentle, extremely intimate thumb-stroke thing to their little sibling’s face before a forehead kiss. And they also do not come up from behind their little sibling for a hug.

And the lap thing?

That was probably the turning point.

Because what older brother has their little sibling sit on their lap while watching TV? One hand on your hip, the other on your thigh… he’s doing that weirdly intimate thumb stroke thing on your bare skin, and all you can do is sit there and think, oh… I don’t like this. If you’re brave enough to ask him what he’s doing, he’ll play dumb. Hm? What do you mean, kiddo? He’s not doing anything… what are you talking about?

Before you can even begin to express how uncomfortable you are, however, his fingers start toying with the hem of your shit. You’re acutely aware of his knuckles brushing against the flesh of your torso, sending an uneasy shiver up your spine. Dick’s no stranger to touching your waist area, and while you still don’t really like it that much, you’ve gotten used to it. But this? Something about the actual skin on skin contact makes you freeze up entirely.

“You know,” Dick would thoughtfully begin, “I’m probably the luckiest big brother in the world. I don’t think you realize just how cute you are, (Y/N).”

His hand then inches its way up your shirt.

BadbadbadbadbadbaDBADBADBADBAD—

Don’t bother fighting back. Don’t bother yelling at him. Don’t even bother squirming as he gently begins to run circles into the skin under your shirt. His grip on your thigh is like iron, holding you down to his lap and making any struggle futile. In fact, if I were to venture a guess, you’d probably be too petrified to even move, the shock of the moment rendering you completely immobile. This was supposed to be your big brother; yes, he’s a bit weird and overprotective, but he’s still your fucking big brother. And while your knowledge on big brothers may be extremely limited, you know for a fact that this is crossing a line.

Your faces become closer and closer until his breath is ghosting against your lips. “I love you, kiddo. You know that, right?”

You don’t dare to offer him a response. Hell, you don’t even know what you could say to that. The only thing filling your brain is the brazen warning bells screaming for you to get the fuck away from him. Except you can’t. For whatever reason, your body’s frozen in place, limbs weighing you down like heavy ice blocks.

You can’t move.

You can’t fucking move.

And, of course… he takes advantage of that.

By the time his lips softly plant themselves on yours, it’s too late. The lines between platonic and whatever the fuck this is have long been crossed, and you can never go back to pretending like everything is normal between you two. All of the subtle warning signs you opted to ignore were now blaring in your mind like loud sirens, almost mocking the fact that you didn’t fucking trust yourself.

This can’t be happening. This absolutely can’t be happening. You thought of this creep as your big brother; was this really the same guy that helped you with homework and let you play games on his laptop? Was this really the same guy under the Nightwing mask?

While the kiss evolves into something a little more passionate, he doesn’t take it too far. Just a gentle make-out session with roaming hands. He ends it by holding you against his chest, seemingly content with just occasionally peppering kisses to your face for the next hour or so. Neither of you say anything during this time. Even if you want to yell at him and demand why the fuck he did that, you’re too shocked to even form a coherent thought.

The man you thought could be your big brother is a massive fucking creep.

You think you’re going to be sick.

He doesn’t go out for patrol that night. Instead, he simply picks you up and carries you to his room, dressing you in his clothes for bed. You’re still trying to process the humiliation of letting this all happen as he slips you under the sheets with him and cuddles up to you. Sleep doesn’t come easy to you that night. How the fuck could it? Not only do you have that stupid fucking kiss haunting you, but now you have this sicko’s hand playing with the waistband of your shorts (his shorts), and god. You’re not sure how you didn’t throw up then and there.

So. What happens afterwards? Well, first off, no more phone. Dick’s not an idiot; he knows the lines he crossed that evening and would rather you not call Bruce or Alfred or the police. You’re also not allowed on his laptop unless if he’s supervising you, and your ass is not going outside anytime soon. Then we have the gross shit… yeah, now that he’s had a taste, he’s gonna be all over you. It won’t go that far just yet — he’d rather ease you into that territory, much like what he’s been doing before — but it can get a bit steamy. At least for him. You might still be grossed out over all this or whatever.

You know what the worst part is? He still has the audacity to act like your older brother. It doesn’t matter how many times he touches you or forces you to kiss him: he’ll call you kiddo through it all and offer to play some video games afterwards. In fact, are times where you both return to your previous sibling banter and you can almost convince yourself that things are totally fine. There you go again, falling for his meticulously set up trap.

This new dynamic might take some time to get used to, but Dick will try his damned hardest to make it seem natural. So what if Big Brother sometimes wants to pin his cute little sibling against the counter and leave love bites on their neck? Sometimes, it just has to happen. No harm, no foul. This could be normal if you stopped being so weird about it, you know.

And, you know what… you may find yourself finally accepting that this is your new normal. What else are you supposed to do? You can’t call anyone, you can’t run away, you can’t even fight back because he was trained by fucking Batman… you sure as hell don’t have to like it, but maybe you can make peace with it. This is nothing more than an annoyance from your big brother. That’s all. It’s not him grooming you. It’s not him taking advantage of you. It’s just him being a little irritating at times. Ignore the urge to throw up… ignore how your skin crawls whenever he’s near you… every sibling has their flaw, and being a total creep is Dick’s.

You’d probably begin to despise Bruce a little, too. Did he know how fucked up his former ward is? Or is the exact same way? Guess you’ll never know, because the man can’t even bother to check up on you. He essentially took you out of the system and threw you into the den of a wolf, subjecting you to a new personal hell you can’t even escape from. And Alfred… you thought he actually cared. Is he not concerned about the sudden radio silence on your end?

You really can’t help but wonder if anyone even thinks about you outside of the apartment, and with Dick being in control of what information he feeds to Bruce over the phone, all you can do is guess at this point. In the meantime, Big Brother just came back and needs a hug… why don’t you come on over to the couch, kiddo?

Ugh. There are so many fucking directions I can go in from here. You mentioned Bruce (or eventually Tim) becoming suspicious and finding out what’s going on, and GRRRRR. SO GOOD. SO FUCKING GOOD. I need to write a blurb about this. It’s so addicting. I just had to get some of the base ideas on this out because this concept has been marinating in my brain for way too long. I’m not kidding, I was going to actually explode if I didn’t get to talk about this. I NEED MORE OF THIS TYPE OF SHIT.

#❥ CALL INCOMING: DO YOU LIKE SCARY MOVIES?#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ DEAD DOVE #❥ YANDERE CHARACTER #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON X READER #❥ GN READER

74 notes · View notes

kitty-tea · 1 month ago

Text

The accusation

Link to masterlist

Oliver Wood x reader (smut 18+)

A/n: Yay! I posted two stories within a week I’m so happy! Also there’s just not enough Oliver Wood x reader stories, so here I am writing my own:)

Other tags/warnings: NSFW, shower sex, gagging, characters are of age, porn with feelings, nipple play, unprotected sex, enemies to lovers or hate sex (take your pick) once again, do not read my smut stories if you’re a minor thank you

Summary: Oliver accuses you of being the reason he lost the Quidditch game. You’re also on opposing teams.

WC: 2.5k

#gif not mine

“You alright, mate?” Oliver heard one of the Weasley twins ask from the seat next to him.

“Just spectacular.” He clenched his jaw, but his disdain wasn’t directed towards his Quidditch teammates.

Fred and George followed Oliver’s gaze that led to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. There you were, the only girl on the Slytherin Quidditch team, chatting up with the rest of the otherwise all male team. As soon as he and one of the boys sitting next to you locked eyes, he saw him lean over to you, whispering something to which you laughed as you looked to where he was pointing at: Oliver himself.

“Who does she think she is?” He huffed out from the back of his throat.

“The Quidditch Captain.” Fred’s chuckle died down with the sharp glare that was instantly thrown his way from Oliver.

“You and the rest of the team better hope our early morning practice sessions have paid off for the match today.” Oliver said, initially unaware of how low and threatening his voice sounded until Fred and George scooted away with wide eyes.

Those bastards are lucky they aren’t in the same year as her. They haven’t got a clue what I have to deal with in class. Oliver thought.

There was no denying deep within himself that he was perhaps jealous of you in some ways. As if the steaks weren’t high enough with the circumstances of you being Quidditch Captains in the same year from two rival houses, he was forced to be in close proximity to you in your shared classes where he could not only sense, but was blinded by your gloating with your stupid perfect grades, perfect reputation, and perfect rapport with the teachers. It was too much. Maybe that’s why you infuriated him so much, was because of how perfect and untouchable you came across to him. To Oliver, humans weren’t supposed to be untouchable and perfect. They were supposed to have flaws and faults, but to Oliver, it was as if all this time searching for yours led to nothing (other than your attitude sometimes.)

Your rivalry didn’t stop at the Quidditch pitch. Obviously you could tell that he couldn’t stand being in the same room as you, and you loved it, always sending him that smile in his direction that made his blood boil. To make matters worse, he knew that stupid smile was meant only for him, meaning you thrived on making him miserable.

Speaking of that stupid smile, why were you always wearing lipstick or something else on your lips during your matches? Not that Oliver was intentionally taking a mental note of that habit of yours.

He had to clear his mind and prepare for the game. That didn’t include looking in your direction as he stomped off from the Gryffindor table to see you applying a coat of lip gloss.

It was over for him. He couldn’t believe it. As soon as the Snitch was caught, Oliver knew he had possibly just lost his chances of winning the Quidditch Cup before graduating. Everything was starting to slip out of his hands. Maybe it wasn’t over for him after all, he thought about that as he saw you and the rest of your team walk into the changing rooms laughing and yelling like he didn’t exist.

From his peripheral vision, he could make out the rest of his own team eyeing each other as he stormed over to where you were by the entrance.

“Morning, Wood.” You smiled light-heartedly, as if you were innocent. “Haha get it? Morning wood? Or afternoon, I mean.”

Oliver wasn’t laughing. He never thought those jokes were funny. It was even worse that you were the one telling it at the height of his humiliation.

He crossed his arms, hoping you’d stop laughing upon one look at his enraged frown.

“You’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.” He seethed, gripping his broom tighter.

“Meaning?” He could tell through your sarcasm that you weren’t actually interested in all that he had to say.

“You made me lose! You distracted me on purpose!” Lost in his rage, he had let go of his broom, letting it lean forgotten against the wall.

He jabbed a finger at the air between you. Any closer than that, and he’d stick it inside your forehead.

“Stand down, boys. I’ll handle him myself.” You turned around and as you held your hand up to your teammates, who had taken a step forward to attempt to look more intimidating, Oliver assumed although he was used to their antics by now that they had no effect on him anymore.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” You said nonchalantly.

“Why would you ever be sorry that our team lost?!” Oliver’s yelling had eventually caused his own teammates to gather around to observe the commotion.

“I’m not sorry that your team lost. I was talking about your ego.”

That was it. Oliver grinded his jaw, but just as he was about to hurl an insult at you, both of your heads of house came in.

“What is going on here? We thought we heard… What is all this?” Professor McGonagall gestured around to both your teams with her hands.

“She was-“ Oliver pointed a finger at you.

“It was nothing serious, Professor.” You cut him off, your smug smirk had been wiped off your face, leaving Oliver satisfied for now.

“Well I should hope so.” Professor McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Shouldn’t it be time for the lot of you to go to your common rooms?” Professor Snape stated, his glare scanning all the players around the room.

“Come on, guys let’s go.” Oliver heard Angelina say to their team from behind him, ignoring the silent battle he was having with you.

Without another word, the two teachers had left the room, letting the dam that was holding the tension flood through.

“As I was saying!” Oliver was the first to shout. “You made my team lose!”

You scoffed.

“Isn’t that the whole point? We’re on opposing teams for a reason.”

“You distracted me!”

“By throwing the Quaffle and scoring the goal? Come on? What’s next? You’re going to accuse me of cheating? Or was that already just a sneaky way of doing it?”

Oliver didn’t say anything. He was fuming, feeling as if he’d have too much steam inside his ears for his brain to think coherently.

“If you think I cheated,” You began, still yelling at him. “You’ve got it wrong! I was doing what every other Chaser’s been doing! Why don’t you ever go off on them too?”

“Because they’re not you!” It was then that with Oliver’s voice ringing out in the dead silence that he realized all the other players from both teams had already gotten changed and left. It was already bad enough just being with you, now he really wished he wasn’t alone with you.

Oliver felt his whole body shaking at the moment.

“I didn’t… I didn’t say you cheated.” He was having a difficult time speaking through his anger. That must have been what was making it so difficult for him to speak whenever he was with you, because he was always angry at you. No, not anger. Something inside his gut told him, but he ignored it while he chose to continue to stare you down.

Although Oliver wasn’t as tall as other guys, he wasn’t short by any means either. Despite that, he felt at that moment that his stance alone could be enough to intimidate you. You were standing as close as you could get to each other without kissing. Not that he would ever think about kissing you… Because of your rivalry.

Time slowed down for Oliver. He blinked as soon as his eyes gravitated towards your lips, being unsure as to why he’d look there.

He couldn’t stop himself and it seemed neither could you as you closed what little space remained between you.

Oliver moved hard and fast into the kiss. He let your hands explore his body over the layers making up his Quidditch robes eventually touching his skin underneath. A shiver electrified him as your fingernails moved over his sides.

Still cupping your cheek, he pulled away, allowing for the both of you to catch your breath. He licked his lips, tasting your fruity lip gloss.

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to taste you again. So he did precisely that. The combination of the noises you made against him while you tugged on his hair was enough to make his cock hard. He found himself thrusting against your hips to which you responded just as enthusiastically by following his movements.

He didn’t know when he started to feel hot. He knew he needed to shed some layers to help him cool off.

“What the fuck, Oliver?” You whispered, still breathing heavily.

“I didn’t mean to– I can expla–”

At first he thought you were shocked at his actions or maybe you didn’t like what he was doing. Then you started to peel off the outer layers of your clothes, silencing him.

“Shut up” You said, taking him by surprise as you let your hand hover over his very prominent erection.

By the time you and Oliver had rid each other of any clothing, there was a trail of mostly green and red fabrics leading to the showers.

As Oliver turned the showerhead on, he stepped back, letting you lean against the wall. He let his eyes trail over your naked body, admiring what you often hid under your school uniform. He watched the water drip down your breasts, clinging onto your nipples. The hardened buds, wet and perky, tempted him to flick his tongue or his fingers over them.

You arched your back and moaned as he began to suck on one of your nipples while he pinched and swirled the other one with his hand.

“Oh, fuck! Oliver!” For the first time since knowing you, you sounded weak, like you were about to lose control of yourself. It made his pride go up.

You squealed as Oliver began kneading your breast more aggressively, causing him to take his mouth off your other nipple.

That’s when he looked down to see your fingers rubbing your clit, already slippery from the shower and your arousal.

“Stop.” He demanded, the patter of the water drowning out his voice slightly. He grabbed your hand that you were using to touch yourself.

“Think you can do better?” Your mean, teasing voice was back.

“Watch me.” He said huskily. He was leaning towards your ear so close that he could hear your breath coming out long and shaky, as if you were anticipating his next move.

Oliver kept his eyes on your face the whole time he inserted his finger into your slick hole. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open. With his other hand, Oliver brushed away a wet strand of hair that had stuck to your face. Once he could feel your walls settling around his pointer finger, he slowly added in another, making you tense up with a loud moan.

He didn’t know what had spurred him on to keep going: your breathless moans or the squelching noises that echoed the room with each pump of his fingers.

All he knew was that he wanted to be inside you. Desperately.

“Open.” He ordered you as he took his fingers out of your cunt. You obeyed him, and he pressed his fingers upon your tongue, letting you taste yourself. You gagged as he pushed further down into your throat bit by bit.

Tears crept out of your eyes and joined in with the water from above that was running down your cheeks. As if your pleasure-stricken face didn’t already stir something inside him, you moved your tongue between his fingers, the movement languid and snake-like.

You pulled away from his fingers.

“Please… Just cum inside me!” Your voice came out strangled.

There was something satisfying to Oliver about seeing you like this. You were at his mercy now, your infuriating and cocky attitude washed away, but you were still so perfect. Everything about you in this moment was perfect to him, from the way your body gave itself to his mercy, the wanting look in your eyes. Best of all, your body fit just right against him, letting him hold you close as you push him to your lips again.

With your lips still dancing against each other, Oliver hooked his hands underneath your thighs, enabling you to wrap them around his torso.

It wasn’t difficult with his already hard cock to find your slit, more than ready for him to slip into you. As he settled inside you, both of you disconnected your lips, tensing and moaning at the same time.

You held onto his shoulders, squeezing with your fingers tighter as he started thrusting into you.

“You feel so good… Oh fuck.” He didn’t know which one of you spoke, as he was too lost in the pleasure of having his cock squeezed by your soft walls to be able to focus on anything else.

Oliver started off slow, letting himself savor the sensation before he picked up the pace. You ran your fingernails up his neck and through his scalp, softly scratching the surface and tugging on his short hair just right. You had no idea what you were doing to him. He had to stifle a groan and slow down or else he’d spill inside you much quicker than he’d anticipated.

With his track record of letting his temper get the best of him with your previous interactions, he was determined to exercise what little self-control he had left.

You weren’t having any of that. Your cunt had demanded Oliver to fully surrender. You had started thrusting into him as hard as he was gripping your thighs, working to hold you up.

As the heat started to make his blood run much faster to his cock, he knew then that there was absolutely no chance he could hold on for much longer.

“Oliver!” Your hoarse sobbing had only edged him further. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Me too!”

He could feel it as your legs started tensing harder around his body. Your walls clenched around him one last time and that's what triggered him to finally spill himself inside you.

Everything slipped from Oliver’s mind, including his humiliating defeat at the Quidditch match. That was so unlike him. As dedicated as he was to the sport, it was that dedication that fueled your rivalry, adding more fire to his attraction towards you he tried hiding from himself.

When you both had calmed down, Oliver set your feet on the floor. Your knees trembled just a bit, so he had to press your body against him to help you maintain your balance.

Oliver didn’t know how he was going to deal with the consequences of what he had just done later, but for now, he was content with letting you rest in his arms as he rubbed circles along your back.

How could he let himself get like this? How could he let a pretty girl distract him from his goals of winning?

#smutty fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #fanfiction

79 notes · View notes