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infinitystoner · 11 months ago

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First Light

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Vetrnætr (Winter Nights) is a time to welcome winter and honor the gods of old. But, on the first morning of festivities, the only thing Loki wants to celebrate is you.

Pairing: Prince!Loki x Female Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Tags/Content: Fluff, Praise, Smut (Fingering, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms), Established Relationship, Pre-Thor (2011), Asgard AU

Rating: Explicit; 18+

Author’s note: A belated birthday gift to my amazing friend @loki-cees-all. You are the Goddess of Patience and Mercy and I appreciate you so very much! I hope this one lives up the hype. xx

It was easy to dismiss quiet mornings on Asgard in favor of boundless nights under the stars. But you never felt more content than when the first rays of daylight bathed the kingdom in a hazy glow. Beyond frost-kissed windows, the wind whispered a tale of winter’s early arrival, and you burrowed further under the protective arm curled around your shoulders.

Waking before Loki was a rare occurrence, and you offered up a prayer of gratitude to the Norns when you realized your lover was still slumbering beside you.

He was a being of little sleep, often arguing those bestowed with divinity had more stamina than the average Æsir, therefore requiring less rest. You disagreed.

Well, somewhat disagreed.

You pulled your lip between your teeth as you observed evidence of the prior evening’s chaotic activities: clothing and armor were strewn about the room, pillows and pelts haphazardly adorned the hearthside, and papers from Loki’s desk littered the floor, his bookshelves standing slightly askew. Even the bedposts seemed to be off-kilter.

Loki absolutely had the stamina of a god.

Still, he hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately. The past few weeks preparing for Vetrnætr had taken a toll on him. Loki had been responsible for coordinating the arrival of visiting dignitaries and nobility while also leading what he’d described to you as “lighthearted diplomatic discussions” with the royal council of Vanaheim. Queen Frigga, however, had confided that he was single-handedly responsible for not only fortifying Asgard’s long-held alliance between the Vanir and Æsir but also negotiating a new trade agreement between the neighboring realms.

You carefully tilted your face upward, committing the splendor of him in this moment to memory. Swathes of amber light illuminated the rise and fall of his chest, mapping the gentle exhales through parted lips that assured you he was alive. That he was real. That he was yours.

Your family and fellow courtiers had thought you mad when you turned down the advances of several of the Allfather’s golden warriors. But it was when you refused Thor that you’d stirred up any true semblance of trouble. Then again, the elder Odinson had attempted to court at least half the eligible maidens of Asgard, so it wasn’t that scandalous.

What everyone didn’t know then was that your heart secretly belonged to another. And even now, years later, it was hard to comprehend that he returned your affections. But he did, and he made sure you’d never have reason to doubt him.

For so long, he had existed in the shadows of those around him. Only a sacred few saw his light shining through. And once he’d revealed the whole of himself to you, how could anyone else possibly compare?

True, he could be unpredictable and disruptive, but Loki approached everything in life with an unwavering sense of humble dedication. His fidelity was one of the things you loved most about him.

“My beautiful miracle.”

You’d only meant to think it—but hearing the whisper of affection fall from your lips seemed the perfect way to commence the day. Tracing patterns across the exposed skin of Loki’s abdomen, you studied the contours of his handsome face. Long lashes fluttered against high cheekbones as his eyes darted back and forth behind closed lids.

“What is it you dream of?” you whispered, gently placing a kiss on his sternum.

“A prince dreams of many things.”

His reply caused your heart to stutter within your chest. The trickster had been awake all along, basking in the warmth of your sentimentality like a cat soaking up the sun.

“I should’ve known you were only pretending to be asleep,” you pouted as he finally cracked open his eyes to peer down at you.

“Mmm, you should have,” he said as he wrapped his hand around yours, bringing it to his lips and tenderly pressing his lips to your fingertips. “But, I did have the most interesting dream. It’s worth hearing, I assure you.”

Loki was nothing if not convincing, and you were curious.

“Go on then. I’m listening,” you replied with a playful roll of your eyes.

Loki cleared his throat as he fluffed the pillow under his head. Stars above. He was as dramatic as he was mischievous.

“It was the final night of Vetrnætr and the kingdom was blanketed in snow. I was tasked with riding into the forests alone,” he said, absentmindedly trailing his fingertips down your arm as he spoke, “to defeat a great beast with my magick.”

His voice was impossibly alluring, much like Loki himself. Soon, you were clinging to every word—mesmerized by the magnificent man beside you.

“I found myself in the depths of wilderness—where no other soul had dared to tread before. I, of course, was quite brave in the face of this unknown danger.”

“Fearless, some might say,” you offered.

He hummed in agreement, his eyes sparking with amusement. “Finally, I reached my destination. But a horde of Bilgesnipes was blocking the creature I’d come to slay.”

“Oh?” you said apprehensively. He solemnly nodded.

“So, I conjured a simple spell to vanquish them. Imagine my surprise when I realized they were not, in fact, angry Bilgesnipes but your dreadful snores plundering into my subconscious mind.”

Your brain stuttered—did he just? Bilgesnipes?! Loki smirked at the utterly bewildered expression on your face before mimicking the way you opened your mouth in shock. You’d walked right into his little trap and he was enjoying it far too much.

“Loki Odinson! I do not snore.”

You sounded less defiant than you hoped, and—in a bid to get him to renege the obvious lie—you wriggled out from under his arm and tossed a pillow at his stupid, handsome face.

“I beg to differ.” Deep, mirthful laughter rumbled in Loki’s chest. “Now, wait a minute—”

Much to his dismay, you’d moved to the edge of the bed. As you gathered one of the fur blankets around your nude form, Loki propped himself up on his elbows, those stark green eyes focusing on you with an intensity that didn’t seem justified this early in the day.

“Darling, don’t go. I was only teasing.” He grabbed your wrist, and the coolness of his fingers against your flesh sent a thrill rippling through you. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

The offer was tempting but, with Vetrnætr on the literal horizon, you had a never-ending list of obligations to attend to.

“You know we’re both expected at the first morning feast.”

“Yes, and that is still hours from now. Come back to bed.”

“It will take me hours to get ready for the celebrations.”

Loki clicked his tongue as you shimmied off the bed. “What a shame you don’t have a skillful sorcerer at your disposal.”

“Such misfortune,” you quipped, fingers reaching to secure the fur around your shoulders. A curse left your lips as nothing but cold air enveloped you instead. Loki shot you a wink as a wisp of seiðr danced across his palm.

“You’re not playing fair.”

“Where there are wolf’s ears, wolf’s teeth are near.” Dimples adorned the corners of his mouth as he grinned up at you.

“And now you’re not making any sense!”

“So come back to bed, little fox. Please. Help me make sense of things.”

Three thoughts inhabited your mind in this moment: a persistent chill was quickly settling in your bones and Loki’s bed was impossibly warm; applying the ceremonial makeup you were expected to wear today would take at least an hour—and having Loki glamour it on would be terribly convenient; and, finally, you were absolute shit at denying him anything. And Loki knew it.

He stretched his long legs as he awaited your submission. The action caused the silk sheets to settle low around his waist. Shadows traversed the deep V of his Adonis belt like divine brushstrokes while sunbeams highlighted the devastating muscles of his godly physique.

You never stood a chance.

Your pulse quickened as you propped a knee on the mattress, giving him a coy smile. “Satisfied, your highness?”

Loki inhaled as he surveyed your figure. It was easy to assume he was memorizing the smooth curves and soft dips of your body. Every imperfection, dimple, scar—he’d studied and worshiped each precious part of you. But in truth, he knew the map of your body better than he knew the wilds of Asgard—how to expertly navigate your release, to intimately claim you as his time and time again.

“Not quite.” His eyes glinted with desire as he curled his hands around your waist, guiding you to settle against the pillows. You watched in awe as he pulled the sheets over the both of you, adjusting the layers of covers and pelts as he caged you in his arms.

“Perfect.” It was no more than a whisper. But the sense of pride that thrummed through you must have been palpable, because Loki leaned down and brushed his mouth against yours. You barely had time to inhale before his tongue was swiping over your bottom lip and then moving against your own in eager, equal measure. He was heavy on top of you as he settled between your open legs—your collective arousal evident as your bodies seamlessly slotted together. It was exhilarating and grounding and you ached for him. When you dug your fingertips into the firm swell of his ass in a silent plea for more, he broke the kiss.

“What is it, my love?” you asked, noticing a glimmer of tears swelling in his eyes as he pulled away from you. You cupped his cheek, and his gaze flitted across your face.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Loki took in a deep, shuddering breath before kissing you once more. Sparks of white-hot heat ignited your skin as your heart hammered in your chest. Could he sense how wildly it was beating for him? “I’m so proud of you. You know that, right?”

How could words ever truly express that the love you possessed defied explanation, transcended comprehension, and overwhelmed every fiber of your being? How could you adequately convey that his praise was your Valhalla?

You finally managed to say, “I know,” but your response melded into a moan as Loki’s lips made contact with your nipple, rolling its twin between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re so good to me.”

“So good,” you echoed, arching into his touch as Loki’s hand skimmed your curves before dipping between your legs.

He found you slick and ready for him, and he easily slid two fingers into your cunt, his palm pushing upwards against your swollen clit. Delicious pressure built in your hips with each skillful turn of his wrist and you greedily bucked into his hand, grasping at his biceps for leverage.

You were quickly losing yourself to the adrenaline searing through you, igniting every nerve ending like a thousand meteors shooting across the night sky. Still, you knew Loki revelled in the euphoria of your unraveling just as much as you did. He yearned to hear your small whimpers of pleasure, to feel your hands on his body and your fingers twisting in his hair as you came undone at his touch. To be connected without reservation.

He’d once confided in you that the reassurance of your touch sparked something within him comparable only to his seiðr—you had become just as much a part of him as the ancestral magick that flowed through his very veins. Imagining a reality without either was like envisioning a world without sunlight or stars.

“Loki. Loki.” His name was witchcraft on your lips and his fingers deftly twisted inside you in response. When he slowed his movements, you clenched around him, desperately running your hands over the broad expanse of his shoulders. His skin was damp with sweat, his muscles quivering under your fingertips.

“And so eager. Gods, you’re gorgeous when you’re about to come apart.”

When Loki was nestled between your thighs, worshiping your body as if you were the only thing in all the Nine, time stood still. You were teetering on the edge of sweet release—right where he wanted you. A frustrated noise caught in the back of your throat as he removed his fingers, your thighs trembling as your climax began to ebb.

“Patience.” He spoke purposefully against your heated skin, as if reciting an invocation.

“Til árs ok friðar.” Loki paused, looking up at you with eyes so full of adoration you felt as though your heart would burst. He repeated the ancient phrase. “For a good year. And peace. That is my wish for you—for us—my love.”

You were completely lost under his spell. Your only tether to reality was Loki. His forearm heavy across your midriff. His tongue flat against your clit.

“F-faen, I’m– please,” you slurred, your chest heaving with ragged, uneven pants.

“That’s it,” Loki coaxed. “Come undone for me.”

At his words, the overwhelming tightness in your core snapped. Your orgasm ripped through your body—your mind clearing itself of every lingering thought. The wild beat of your heart became the soundtrack of your bliss and you sobbed as the tip of his regal nose rubbed against your sensitive clit. His tongue continued to lap at the warm center of your cunt as aftershocks rolled through you, your body involuntary jerking at the overstimulation.

“Too much…”

“One more, darling. If not for me, for Asgard.” A wicked grin spread across his face—his lips and chin glistening with your arousal—before he dipped his head back between your thighs. “Consider it a royal decree.”

It was pointless to argue with him, especially when he set his mind to something. You wound your fingers into his unkempt hair, and before long, you were curling up off the bed as you juddered under his touch for the second time.

“Thank you,” you said softly as you came down from your high. Loki pressed his forehead to yours.

“A final gesture of goodwill,” he murmured, the blunt tip of his cock nudging your entrance.

“We’ll be late to breakfast. I- I dare not disgrace your good name, my prince,” you said, gasping into his mouth as he pushed deeper inside you. You didn’t care if you missed every single celebratory banquet this week.

“I’m honored you think so highly of me, little wife.” You groaned in unison as he bottomed out with a swirl of his hips. “But it would not be the first time we’ve vexed the House of Odin thus. Nor the last, I hope.”

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki #loki fluff #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

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mommageto · 4 months ago

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Moonlight (Himejima Gyomei x Reader)

Title: Moonlight (Himejima x Reader)

Word Count: 3203 words

Warning/s: This fan fiction may contain disturbing content that may not be suitable for readers.

Description: Days and days you wait for this torment to end, but under the glow of the moonlight you encounter a man that will change your fate.

You've been forced into marriage with a man you do not love. The family you were born into was unfortunate–you were poor and powerless. In spite of your unfortunate family background, it has always been your dream to start a family–a better one. Being sold to marry a drunk prodigal husband who spends most of his nights in the night district and wasting his days as a lazy being did not contribute much to your dreams. He was from a wealthy family who was desperate to marry him off to someone to try and change his ways. His family's plan was far from successful, as you only had to endure the misery of his well-being. Three months of suffering and disgust from the torment of being married to your husband changed everything in one night.

It's been a long day, and looking at the hour on the clock, your husband came home earlier–drunk as you assumed from his usual nightly activities. As you hear him walk his way towards your house, there are shivers down your spine, and your heart races fast. You were in the kitchen, gripping the end of the knife tightly to ease your anxiety and prepare yourself for the obstructive thoughts meddling in your mind. This shall end soon, you thought to yourself.

"Honey, I'm home." You froze and noticed that the voice didn't come from your husband but rather from an unfamiliar individual. You turn to see who the voice belongs to while gripping the knife you held onto. A fearful sight of a demon has appeared in front of you, covering his face with your husband's head. This sight has made you terrified and weak on your knees.

The grip on your knife has become loose as your body has weakened due to what you have witnessed. You knew you'd be happy to escape your agony from your husband, but the demon standing in front of you is not a sight one should celebrate. With all of your body in shock, you knew you had to escape. You ran to the exit of your house with the hope of escaping from the demon who had killed your husband.

As a normal human being, you can never outrun a demon. However, you can only try to survive as much as you can. The demon followed you as you ran outside your house and through a small forest. With the weight of fear on your shoulders, you lost your senses and energy, which caused you to be on your feet as you slipped on an inclined slope of the forest. You screamed your heart out–you thought you could be free from your husband, but you were nowhere near that thought. You could only cover yourself from the sight of the end of your existence and hope for a miracle to come your way.

The sound of metal and chains around the air was present. You were too terrified to open your eyes and witness a flesh-eating being devouring you the same way he did with your husband.

"Worry not. I am here to help you. Please, let me bring you to safety."

You hear a calm yet rich voice speak to you. You slowly unfold your arms. A tall, muscular, huge man with black spikey hair stands before you, lending his hand. It was a strange moment, but tears suddenly fell from his eyes. Still terrified of everything, you look around to see that the sight of the demon has vanished. You felt relief but still hesitant to accept the help of the giant standing in front of you. His tears fall from his eyes. "My name is Himejima Gyomei from the Demon Slayer Corps."

Hearing his introduction gave you more comfort; you have heard of the demon slayer corps and what they do but never thought you would encounter such a situation. "May I ask for your name?"

"My name…my name is (y/n)."

"(Y/n), please come with me. I shall bring you to our base where you will be treated well and safely be taken care of."

Weakened from the attack, the man carried you on the way to the place he promised you could seek sanctuary. It did not take you long to reach the headquarters Himejima was referring to keep you safe and get your wounds treated. As you arrived there, you were accompanied by the hospitality of the people there. You also noticed how well-respected the man is by everyone in the headquarters. It makes you wonder what kind of person he is. The staff set you up in the infirmary and healed your wounds. They advised you to stay and recover for some time.

"You should be better soon (y/n)," said a girl named Aoi, who is one of the girls who took care of you. "I'm happy that Himejima-san was able to save you from that demon. He is the strongest hashira anyway, so it didn't take long for the demon to kill him."

"Hashira?" You were oblivious to the whole idea of the Demon Slayer Corps but quite intrigued by Himejima Gyomei. Aoi briefly continued explaining the concept of Hashiras to you. "Without Himejima-san and the others, we wouldn't be able to be here right now."

Hearing Aoi'sAoi talk about the strongest and biggest hashira has piqued your interest quite a bit. He has caught your eye, and you do not want to accept the fact that you've somehow had an attraction to him, but you do. Aoi also discussed how gentle and calm Himejima is, which fueled your attraction even more towards him. How can a man that size be as gentle and soft as he is? You did not expect him to be the way Aoi described him to be. A few moments later, the giant entered the room as Aoi left you both alone.

"(Y/n)," he called your name and walked towards you. You try to look away from him as much as possible as he gets closer to you. He sat beside you on a stool. "How are your wounds?"

There's something about his voice that also gets into you. Your cheeks are flushed, and you feel the shyness at your core. You try to find the courage to find the right words to say. As you were unable to respond, Himejima felt that your shyness was rather fear. "I apologize (y/n). I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I know you've had a hard time after what happened."

This caused you to freak out more, knowing that tears started to fall from his eyes again. "Oh no! It's not like that! I'm fine! I'm really fine!" You wave your hands frantically, flustered. You can sense that it has already become an understanding between the two of you. Your hands reached his face and wiped away his tears. Himejima lifted his head up to you and paused for the moment that the two of you had. He was in awe by the way you wiped the tears running from his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you pulled back your hands as you thought that it was an unusual encounter for the two of you–too personal. Your cheeks burned hotter. "I... I didn't want you to be sad," you stammered. A slight curve formed from his lips. "It's all right (y/n). Your touch brought me comfort."

There's a relief that could be found in your core. Himejima was called upon by another and left you with words of encouragement for your recovery. When he left the room, you've never felt this happy in your life. You lie on your side, hugging the pillow that you have on your bed. The pillow does not make up for the comfort and short time you've spent with Himejima, but it was sufficient for now.

Days have passed since your recovery; the Demon Slayer Corps was aware of your story as you shared it and decided to give you a position in the headquarters to help out in any way you can. You informed them that you used to be a housewife, mainly tending to your husband's meals and chores, and they put you on duty in the kitchen to prepare the food. This was the main headquarters, where Himejima often went when she was not on a mission. Being assigned to the same area as him made you more motivated to work harder. You were self-aware that you knew you had feelings for the stone hashira. Despite that, you still wanted to serve him because of the kindness he shared with you. He's the one who saved your life, after all.

Every time you cook from the kitchen, you get a pleasant sight of Himejima–either strolling around for a walk or just simply fulfilling his duties. Thus, each time he passes by you, he never fails to greet you or have a short conversation with you. He usually goes around the mountains to train himself or the other members, as well as meditate and pray. You were aware that he once practiced as a monk.

You usually have lunch together with the other staff of the headquarters, but most of them are occupied. You decided to eat your lunch on a river bank nearby to get some fresh air and a change of scenery. You cleaned the rock you chose to sit on while whispering to yourself, "Okay, this is the spot."

"(Y/n)," a familiar voice called your name, which caused you to jump.

"Oh, it's just you, Himejima-san." You heaved a sigh. There were barely any people at the headquarters, so you brought extra onigiri. Quite many, to be precise. This gives you a bright idea of sharing it with the giant who startled you. "Do you care to join me for lunch?"

Himejima sat beside you; you were on top of a rock while he was sitting on the ground. Both of you were in silence. Silence is his demeanor, considering how stoic and calm he is. You enjoy the peaceful and tranquil environment you shared with Himejima while eating lunch together. You have always been curious about Himejima, so it would be the perfect moment to interrogate him with some questions. “Himejima-san, I have a question.”

"What is it, (y/n)?"

"How come you knew it was me when you cannot see? I'm starting to think you're just faking it," you jokingly said to him. This comment made the stone hashira let out a small laugh. "I was born blind (y/n). I had to rely on my other senses to make up for my loss of vision. I can hear you whisper to yourself."

This came as a surprise to you, but you gained an understanding. "So this means you know a lot of things that's going around then?" He lowered down the onigiri he was holding as he was preparing an answer to your question. "It takes more than just sight to be a Demon Slayer, (y/n). The world holds a symphony of information for those who know how to listen," he rumbled.

Himejima is too good–perfect even. From staring at the symmetry of his facial features, scars, and smile to the way his mind works–you are in awe of his being. Though you feel emotions for the stone hashira, you feel hopeless that you're not enough for him and that you're never gonna be. This makes you feel blue. In spite of that, you can only allow yourself to admire him from afar.

After having lunch with Himejima, you take a walk with him back to the headquarters. "(Y/n), that onigiri was delicious. I cannot thank you enough for your service in the Demon Slayer Corps," he comments.

His words made you feel flattered and so much more–it made you feel acknowledged for the hard work that you put into it. "I should be the one thanking you, Himejima-san." You took a pause from your walk as you were near the headquarters. "If it weren't for you, I would have never gotten free from my sufferings and possibly would have been killed by that demon."

The seven-foot-two man looked down on you as if there was a difference between your sizes. You can see the delight painted on his face. "I am pleased that you have been freed (y/n). I could only hope that you are able to live your dreams."

This man was never at a loss of words for you. You have never felt appreciated your entire life. Himejima makes you feel seen. It's something you could have only hoped for after years of torment from your tragic past. Himejima left to get caught up with his duties, and you returned to your daily tasks.

It's been days since you shared lunch with Himejima. That moment is a blessing only you could thank the heavens for. Spending time with the stone hashira has made you feel better. It also made your feelings stronger for him. There are days you try to fight off your feelings because you are knowledgeable of the fact that Himejima does not exhibit the same feelings as you do.

Every time you see him, your heart flutters even more. He is too kind-hearted and gentle around you–but you know that it is in Himejima's demeanor to be like that. Thus, he treats others the same way, so it's impossible to think that he would feel the same way. Nevertheless, he was on a mission for days, and you did not have a sight of him. It was a good thing for you as you tried to push away the feelings you had for him.

One particular day, gossip around the headquarters spread around. The stone hashira should have been home by yesterday, but there was still no sight of him around the place. "Did you hear? The village Himejima-san was assigned to have an upper moon demon."

"There's still no report from his crow. I wonder if he's holding up."

"They said they sent out the other hashers for backup."

All of the nonsense you hear. This gave you a little anxiety about Himejima's well-being. To your knowledge, you knew that they shouldn't underestimate him, considering he is the strongest hashira. However, you prayed for his safety every time. Hoping that he would come back to the headquarters. The next day, you heard from the other staff that he had already come back and was in recovery. This gave you solace, and you cannot thank your prayers enough.

Even though you have heard the news, you helped yourself not to look for him immediately. You are still trying to eliminate your feelings. Out of sight, out of mind. Himejima still crosses your mind. However, with his current absence around the headquarters, you were confident that your feelings were gone for him.

One night, you woke up from your sleep to the bathroom to ease your bladder. As you return to your bedroom, a familiar voice calls you, "(Y/n)." This caused you to jump and frightened you half to death. Only to see the towering giant for whom you swore you had no feelings anymore. "What are you doing awake at an hour like this?"

"H-himejima-san! Oh, it's nice to see you…doing well," you replied with a sense of demurral. "I..uh..c-came from the bathroom. Anyways, I have to go." You ran away from him back to your room. It was a rude gesture, but you had to escape from him. It was over; you thought that your feelings were all gone. You knew you still felt strong emotions with him. This did not make you feel better. You were glad to see him but not pleased with how you felt.

The next day, you made sure to stay close to the kitchen area to not see any sight of the stone hashira. This was not the way you planned it to be. You followed your duties and tried to not think about him as much as possible. As the night falls, you are disturbed by Himejima's thoughts. There were barely any demons near the headquarters, and it was safe. So you decided to sneak your way out to get some fresh air near the headquarters to unwind.

"I cannot fall in love with him!" you whisper to yourself. "This is not how it's supposed to be."

“(Y/n).”

Yet again, an encounter with the seven-foot-two giant you are pretty familiar with. This caused you to scream and be scared for your life. "H-himejima-san! How long have you been there? It would help if you stopped sneaking out on me like that," you mumbled.

"I'm sorry, (y/n). You shouldn't be out at this hour," he said, his voice softer than the usual rumble.

You bit your lip; the memory of your behavior from yesterday is still stinging. "I know, I just have trouble sleeping," you admitted. "I just… needed some air."

"It seems we both did." There were no other signs of injuries in Himejima's physical form, only the wrapped bandage around his arm, which was noticeable. "How's your arm?" you questioned him.

"Nothing to be worried about," he answered. Under the soft glow of the full moon, Himejima seemed even more captivating than usual. His gentle nature, the way he always prioritized others... your heart hammered in your chest. You could feel the words bubble up, a confession threatening to burst from your lips.

"Himejima-san," His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of concern replacing his usual calmness. "What is it, (y/n)?"

You met his gaze, your cheeks burning red. "It's about... how you make me feel. Every time I see you, I feel different. I feel things that I only hold with you. I know this might be sudden," you rushed on, "but I can't keep these feelings bottled up any longer."

Himejima's tears fall down from his eyes. The stone hashira knelt down to meet you. His hand rose, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. You can feel the weight of his fingers, which felt rough; he then cupped the side of your face. "(Y/n), seeing you here tonight… It made me happy, too." His face felt closer when he knelt in front of you. With a flickering gaze, she met his eyes, unsure of how to respond. A part of your system feels shaken by his response. Your breath hitched, and a barely perceptible tremor ran through her fingers.

"Perhaps," he finished, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "these feelings are not entirely one-sided."

The stone in your chest, a weight that had been crushing you for so long, seemed to crack under the gentle pressure of his words. Suddenly, all of your torment has soon ended. The trickle of consolation that has soothed the ache of your heart allowed you to heave yourself to pull Himejima for an embrace. The stone hashira froze for a particular while but gracefully pulled you closer to him–for a tight hug. The night is still young; the fresh breeze of air can be felt through the night, and under the moon's watchful gaze, the two lovers sat bathed in its tender light, a silent promise of a love waiting to unfold.

#demon slayer #demon slayer gyomei #demonslayer x reader #demon slayer hashira #gyomei himejima #gyomei x reader #himejima gyomei x reader #himejima x reader #kimetsu gyomei #itriedtomakethisshort #scaryintro??#himejima gyomei #kny gyomei #kny #kny x reader #hashira training arc #kimetsu no yaiba

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thehollowwriter · 1 year ago

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Summary: A short story in which you do trust falls with Floyd at Camp Vargas. It's goes better than you expected.

(Please reblog and leave a comment ❤)

Trust Falls

Trust falls. Such a simple little game. A game that, no doubt, one has played with their friends before, even though it's rare anyone actually let themselves fall.

To do trustfalls with friends is a fun, silly experience. To do trustfalls with Night Raven College students is sheer madness.

You felt your soul leave your body when Vargas announced this particular camp activity would be trust falls.

You were meant to be the photographer. No worries about participating in the often grueling and exhausting activities that sports clubs were doing. However Grim, the fuzzy little bastsrd, wouldn't behave himself and as punishment for nearly burning the cottage down you were to participate in one of the activities.

One the one hand, at least trust falls were relatively easy and not too strenuous. On the other hand, you had to place your trust in one of the NRC students here. Trust. What a laugh.

You looked desperately from student to student, hurrying to find someone thst wouldn't let you drop and laugh at you when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders.

"Heeey Shrimpy!" Came that excited, high pitched drawl you knew all too well, and you tried your hardest to fight a sigh at your bad luck.

"Hey, Floyd."

Floyd twisted you around and leaned down so that the two of you were eye level. His grin was wide and full of mischief.

"How about I be your partner, eh?" He asked, teeth glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the trees. "I won't let you fall. I promise~"

You glared at him, huffing. "Nice try." You said and tried not to blush at your closeness. "But even if by some miracle you do catch me, I'll probably be flattened like a pancake trying to catch you."

Floyd laughed at that. It was a delightful sound, not that you'd ever admit it.

"You won't!" He said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "At least I don't think so. I can do all the catching if you want~"

You sighed. "Okay. I'll be your partner. But only if you do all the catching. Deal?"

Another laugh from him. "It's a deal~"

When the activity began, you had a sinking feeling about trusting Floyd, fully regretting the deal already. You kept stopping yourself when you leaned back, snapping forward with a sudden jerk.

Floyd, for some odd reason, didn't seem bothered by your reluctance. He just stood there, not saying a word, and watched in silent amusement in an incredibly Jade-like fashion.

A shout from Vargas diverted your attention.

"Oi! There's no doubt in trustfalls, Prefect!"

And before you could react he sent a gust of wind magic your way that knocked you backwards.

You shrieked in surprise and scrambled to wildly to stay upright to, but to no avail. Alas, the ground was your destiny.

...Until you realised you were very much not lying in the dirt. Strong hands gripped you tightly, holding you in place. Floyd pressed the back of your head against his chest and laughed.

"Told ya I'd catch you, Shrimpy."

You couldn't help but be utterly convinced that if it weren't for the Great Seven's mercy you would've exploded on the spot.

"F-Floyd..."

Floyd pulled you up and wrapped his arms around you, trapping you in a tight hug. Smiling, he leaned down and and gently kissed your cheek.

"Heh, you're so cute. More a cute lil Sea Squirt than a Shrimp~"

You flushed and heartedly pushed at him. "Floyd there are other people here-!"

"Don't care." Floyd smiled at you. A softer, more genuine smile. "I could spend forever saving you when you fall~"

-End

....................................

A/N: Shockingly, I managed to produce smt lol. Life keeps finding new ways to beat me with a hammer and I'm never on here. Take this Floyd fic as an apology, I'm so sorry. I'm also sorry if it's not very good kfkfkffk

#floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #octavinelle #octavinelle x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #fluff #one shot #twst fic #twst fluff #writing

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 8 months ago

Text

Dark Moon | Chapter Ten

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 3,6k

Warnings | 18+, smut noncon, yandere themes, triggering content, drunken sex, forced anal sex, rimjob, fingering, sadism, violence, lots of crying and screaming, teasing, humiliation, blood, hatred, angst, attempted murder, serious injuries, use of a knife, sea of blood, first hints of Stockholm Syndrome, be careful: this chapter is darker than the other chapters and from now on Dark Moon will be much more violent.

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys ❤️ Today's chapter was particularly difficult to write, it is very dark and from here on we get into the heart of Dark Moon, which I always remember is a highly yandere story, I recommend reading it to readers who are age +18 and who already have experience with the yandere genre, Dark Moon is not a story with a normal relationship, it is a yandere. For those who will read the chapter, let me know what you think of it and what you believe will happen in the future!

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse, @jiminismine4ever

Taglist is open!

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Perhaps it was the alcohol swirling in his body or perhaps his sadistic nature, but he didn't think twice about ripping off even that one too many garments, Y/N squeezed her eyes shut huddling her head between the blankets that smelled of Jimin, everything about that room smelled of him and she felt suffocated by his oppressive presence.

Jimin ran two fingers over the entrance hidden by the young woman's panties, reached out to her clitoris circling it through the fabric, but did not dwell on it for long, without uttering a breath he lowered Y/N's panties badly, finally putting on display what he was really aiming for.

He eagerly squeezed the girl's soft, perfect buttocks, his hands carefully palmed that velvety flesh, she could not understand what his intentions were, why was he talking one way but touching her another?

The boy lowered himself to kiss her back, inhaling her scent that reminded him of the scent of his bubble bath present in the bathroom, she had not confined herself to books, he thought amused, there was something sick about her, something she did not even admit to herself, even as she actively sought something that would make her closer to the man she so professed to detest.

"Jimin..." there, she had once again used his name, the man couldn't hold back any longer, spread her buttocks revealing the small, tight pink hole, and lowering his head the boy left a wet, warm streak of saliva in that never-violated spot, "What the hell-?!" exclaimed Y/N, stiffening in shock.

Jimin was... he was licking her right there?!

Between shame and disgust she tried to slip out of his hands, but the man squeezed her tightly and together with his weight prevented her from moving, continuing to circle around that ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue, occasionally entering a few millimeters.

Forced there and under those attentions, Y/N felt strange, with horror she realized that she was not just trembling with fear, she was feeling a strange warmth that was affecting her lower abdomen, the sinuous movements of the man's tongue continued to wet and stimulate the little hole, saliva slowly slipped from her buttocks to the throbbing, soaked cleft of her pussy.

Pleasure and humiliation mingled causing her emotions so strong as to be unbearable, she untangled herself once again from his grasp and this time managed to free herself, crawled away and by a hair's breadth the man came back to grasp her ankle again, bringing her back under him.

"You're a goddamn animal!" exclaimed Y/N between her teeth, Jimin sneered pushing his pelvis against her, who distinctly felt the rigid presence between his legs.

"Now I recognize my little whore" he murmured in her ear making her shudder, "From the way you're acting I bet no one has ever touched this cute little ass" he slapped a buttock as if to punctuate his words and the woman winced, "Somehow I'll still have a virgin part of you" he growled forcefully and without any regard pushing two fingers into that tight and rigid hole, a scream dictated by pain and shock left the girl's now pale lips.

"No, no, no! Stop, I don't want to!" she was in a panic, Jimin's fingers made no hint of leaving her, the stretch was uncomfortable and burning like hell, the man was already anticipating that moment, he wanted her to scream in pain and sorrow, he wanted her to regret that stupid attitude she had held with him all along.

As he penetrated that tight little cave, he finished lowering his boxers with his other hand, freeing his hard, aroused cock.

He slid down to the young woman's slit without penetrating her, merely gathering over the entire length what little liquid arousal Y/N had produced against her own will. The girl felt the thick presence behind her and feared that it would end like last time, too bad Jimin had something much worse in mind.

Without saying a word he released those tight muscles from his fingers, Y/N almost collapsed from the pain, but Jimin grasped her hips tightly sinking his fingers into her flesh, the girl buried her head between the pillows already imagining the painful twinge that would rip through her core, but she was not prepared for the excruciating pain Jimin's thrusting caused her when he forcefully entered her ass, a sharp, breathless cry left her throat in despair, she wriggled on the bed like a trapped animal, but Jimin easily pinned her down by pounding inside her without any mercy, his hoarse breaths increased in volume as he sank repeatedly into that hole that clenched hard and in pain around his cock, he fell back on the young girl's small body with all his weight, forcing her to spread her stiff, trembling thighs wide.

"It hurts, please stop! It hurts so much, I can't take it!" she cried for air, she had thought Jimin's fingers were enough to feel pain, she had not expected a situation like that, his thick, hard cock was practically opening her in two, she frantically shook her head against the pillow with each stroke of the man's hips, who smiled addicted to that pleasure.

"How can I stop when-uhm..." he paused for a moment trying to contain himself and not explode inside her right away, "When you hold me so tight?" he finished in a voice pregnant with lust, penetrating her completely, who arched her back with a choked scream at that umpteenth assault.

"Now tell me, do you prefer it when I fuck your pussy or your ass? " he asked, increasing the speed of his strokes, aware of the harm he was doing to her not only physically, he wanted to humiliate her to such an extent that no light of defiance remained in her, his balls began to slam violently against her empty, dripping slit, the walls tightened around nothing, and another wave of tears slid down her face, realizing the strange combination of pain and pleasure that was being created in her.

Jimin moved his body slightly from hers, just the slightest bit that helped him to see himself sinking into her once more, the tiny ring of muscle had finally adjusted to his size despite the force with which he still enveloped his cock, he spit a trickle of saliva between them increasing the lubrication of the intercourse and began to give deeper and slower thrusts.

"You didn't answer me," he chuckled, penetrating the entrance to her intimacy with his middle finger, finding it incredibly moist.

He groaned breathlessly as he imagined himself in there, squeezed by that infinite, delicate softness, cradled by the elastic grip of her trembling walls.

"Fuck, can you hear yourself? If you hadn't behaved so badly this is where I would have come in, and we would have both enjoyed it," he growled in her ear, "But that's okay too, isn't it? You're soaked all the same, maybe you really are perfect for the Dark Moon" he taunted her, ramming into her countless times, feeling his balls swell and his cock shake, Jimin's small, intense moans of pleasure slid over the girl's now helpless body, which catatonicly welcomed the man's semen on top of her, he stood there still between her buttocks, pouring the white, viscous cum inside her asshole, before climbing out of her and gazing with satisfaction at that destroyed little hole soaked with his essence, Jimin slid away wearily on the bed, gazed breathlessly at the ceiling, a glance between his legs and noticed on his still half-erect cock drops of blood.

He grinned, satisfied with his work.

"Now you are no longer a virgin."

Y/N turned her head away, unable to move, feeling pain everywhere, even inside her soul.

Jimin had ruined her forever.

"I hate you" was the only thing she managed to say between dry, trailing lips, lost in a spiral of thoughts that only she knew.

Jimin stared at the walls of his bedroom with a sigh.

"You can hate me all you want, it doesn't change what you are and where you are," he muttered, beginning to close his eyes to fall asleep.

You are my whore, mine to have and mine to torture.

He had not said it, but that was what he meant.

The woman felt the man's breathing become lighter after about twenty minutes, twenty minutes of interminable silence.

Her gaze was no longer lost in the void, but steady on the boy's closet, there where she had previously discovered one of his little secrets.

She tried to calm down, not to do rash things, but he had no respect for her, had used and raped her, going so far as to force her into anal intercourse for which she had not been properly prepared. He had used her like a rubber doll, she thought with disgust written all over her face.

She lifted herself up slowly, preventing her complaints from escaping her lips, although she felt destroyed, her legs staggered on her own weight, and lowering her gaze she saw the blood etched between the sheets.

Panic gripped her chest, that same sordid spectacle she had experienced years before, when she was just a naive little girl who did not understand the malice of the world. The girl's tears became constant, but she still maintained silence. No, she could not relive such a thing and do nothing about it, not this time.

She angrily wiped away her tears and with another glance at the closet opened the doors slowly, rummaging through the bottom and finding what she was looking for, she forced her fingers on a small raised dowel and slid the wooden wall to her right, which revealed the presence of a dark duffel bag.

With unsteady hands she unzipped the thick zipper, revealing its forbidden contents.

She tightened her lips, casting a glance at the sleeping figure of the boy, the alcohol had finally taken its toll along with the sex, that monster would no longer be a threat to her.

That morning Jimin woke up with his mind strangely silent, his demons were not there, he stretched out casting a glance to his side and found the place previously occupied by Y/N, empty.

She was gone.

A gnawing in his stomach caged him, making him incuporated. Why the hell should he have cared?

He couldn't remember exactly what he had done that night, but he remembered perfectly well that he had enjoyed it, that was the important thing, wasn't it?

He got up slipping on the boxers left on the floor and headed to the bathroom to clean himself up.

He washed himself by eliminating the smell of sex from his skin, he looked at the bubble bath without a hint of emotion on his face, just remembering the smell of the girl, indeed it was one of the few things he remembered from the previous night, but his mind was still fixed on her, who would not decide to give in for good, he had come back pissed off like a hyena that night; Because she would not give in to him, because Hoseok had made those insinuations, because now everyone believed that he depended on her.

He wasn't. He was still Park Jimin, the independent, strong man. She, on the other hand, was just his tasty and tender plaything.

When he finished his shower he emerged from the bathroom with a towel tied to his hips, his athletic, slender figure a joy to behold, his dark soul sighing in pleasure at the screams of his victims.

He returned to the room to dress and had only time to put on clean boxers and a pair of shorts before he heard the thud of an object falling and shattering on the floor.

He frowned, immediately heading toward the source of that sound, "Y/N?"

He went to the living room looking around, on the floor were the broken and scattered pieces of a vase, but no trace of the girl.

"Y/N? Y/N!" he was getting pissed off, "We don't have a cat, I also doubt it was the wind, so I suggest you-!" an excruciating twinge blocked the breath in his throat.

His gaze dropped to the silver blade of the knife that had penetrated his side, the handle of that knife was clasped in the small hands of the woman who only hours before was under him in his bed.

Now there was shock and surprise on his face, he watched the girl wordlessly before his eyes narrowed in pain.

Y/N, whose face was transfigured with anger, watched the boy take deep breaths, as if he was used to those kinds of blows, and that pissed her off more.

She had waited all night for that moment, she didn't want to hit him while he was unconscious, she wanted him to be lucid and awake so she could hear him scream, but he wasn't screaming, he didn't look scared, and that made her angrier. She wanted Jimin, for once, to show that he was human and not just a crazed kidnapper and heartless killer.

"Why don't you scream, why?! Fuck!" she shouted before pulling out the blade with a revolting sound, then sticking it again in a spot not far from the previous one, Jimin jerked it away from himself, holding tightly to a shelf to prevent himself from collapsing to the ground, gritting his teeth to try not to scream, he pressed his hand on the first wound, not daring to pull the knife out of the second one. Had he done so, he would only have caused more damage.

He squatted slowly on the floor, pale and unable to think of a solution; there was already sweat on his upper lip to testify to what was going on inside him.

He tried to reason lucidly without losing sight of Y/N, who looked like a lion locked in a cage, paced around the living room holding her head in her slimy bloodstained hands, crying and shaking to herself, he forced himself to keep calm because in that condition he would only hurt them both.

"Y/N, where did you get this knife?" he hissed between his teeth breathing hard, she didn't answer but there was really no need for her to, the man had recognized him, it was part of the set he used during the missions, "Never mind, now be a good girl and hand me the phone" he was shaking, his body couldn't handle that condition yet and he seriously needed help, he had to call Seokjin and get help sent, immediately.

But Y/N stared at him fearfully, if she called his teammates they would surely kill her, Hoseok's threat was still alive in her mind and she began to shake her head.

"The phone is in my room, Y/N...fuck, go get the phone!" he blurted out moaning breathlessly, in response the girl began to run to the front door.

But no, she couldn't know the security code, right?

Jimin's brain threw a warning bell when he heard the typical sound that signaled the apartment was open.

"Shit!" he threw all his good intentions to the wind, began to run after her heedless of the suffering he was subjecting his body to, found himself removing the knife from the wound, shrugging off the consequences, it was incredibly painful and slow to do so, but when he saw her go through the emergency exit he chased after her jumping up several steps at a time.

Y/N's vision was flooded with tears, she did not understand why Jimin had not reacted as she expected he would, he had not turned around screaming in pain, he had not railed at her, and that made her feel bad, made her feel like the monster of the situation.

She had stabbed a man in the back, no matter who he was, she had done it.

And now she was going to die, Jimin would never let her go unpunished, much less his friends, she was screwed in every sense of the word now.

She grabbed the doorknob of the exit, preparing to scream and call for help, but she never got as far as throwing it open.

Jimin was quicker, grabbed her by the hips lifting her off the floor, she screamed in shock as she was dragged away, back into the apartment.

The boy closed the door with a loud roar, but he did not let her go, he slumped to the floor with her still pressed against his body, Jimin's hot, labored breathing tickled her neck, he did not seem to be intent on punishing her, then she felt something wet her clothes, something that horrified her.

Jimin's blood was flowing copiously from his wounds, and despite the lack of a shirt she could not tell where it came from, the blood was so thick and plentiful that it covered the deep cuts.

"Y/N..." he said again, she clearly sensed the torment in his voice and if possible felt even worse, "I need your cooperation," he said bitterly.

The girl silently nodded after a few moments, Jimin closed his eyes, his complexion was increasingly ashen.

"My phone is on the bedside table, bring it to me," he let her go and she got up in pain, between running and the wild sexual intercourse she had a few hours earlier, she was not in a very good state, but she tried to be quick in retrieving the object in question. She could have called the police, asked for help and reported Jimin, but she did not think about those possibilities at all, what was wrong with her?

She felt like a horrible person, how had she become this way?

When she returned to Jimin she found him trying to hold his deep gashes to stem the flowing blood, his movements were getting slower and slower, but he reached for the phone, it took seconds too long to unlock the phone and find Jin's number, but when he did he was relieved.

"Jin," he called, licking his dry, purplish lips, "I have a problem," he coughed.

In the meantime, the woman hurriedly looked around, saw some tea towels in the kitchen and didn't think twice about picking them up, ran to the man who was continuing to talk to his boss and with trembling fingers pressed on the wounds firmly, causing Jimin to spasm, who immediately clenched his teeth. There was so much vermilion liquid that her head spun, she must have been crazy for doing such a thing, she did not kill people.

"... I lost a lot of it, yes... No, she is here with me," he was saying, and that made her blanch. It was over.

Her chest began to lower and rise more and more slowly, Y/N was witnessing the boy's condition and could do nothing, for either of them.

Fuck, she didn't know if Jimin would protect her, he would probably be the one to give the order to slaughter her, assuming he didn't keep the honor for himself, but dead Jimin was pretty much sure she would follow him immediately.

When the boy put down, he took to staring at her without saying a word, he was quiet, he wasn't ranting at her, he just seemed...surrendered.

"Why did you do that?" he asked weakly, she squared him with glazed eyes, "Why did you stab me?"

"You hurt me," she said with a knot in her throat, "Before, it was different... you were like him," she sobbed, leaving Jimin strangled and confused .

What had he done and who was "him"?

Jimin tried to remember his actions, he had come home drunk, this was clear to both of them, and he was angry, very angry.

Suddenly he remembered everything, frowned.

He had... he had....

Why did he feel so bad at the thought of what he had done? After all, this was not the first time, he had done it before, he was interested in feeling pleasure, and he had even punished her, she deserved it! But looking at those tear-filled eyes, it wasn't just the wounds that cut off his breath. Perhaps death was fucking with his brain.

"Y/N..." he seemed to want to tell her something important, perhaps it was about his last breath, but-

"Jimin! Jimin!" tense and nervous voices interrupted that moment full of unexpressed feelings, Y/N turned toward the men dressed in black who with weapons in hand began to check the whole apartment, some she recognized, she had already seen them in the company of the boy.

Other men ran to attend to him, beginning to check his vitals and oxygen, strong, angry hands pulled her away from the man and she found herself screaming in fear.

"It was you, right! Fucking-"

"Hoseok, let her go immediately!" exclaimed Jimin as he pushed one of the doctors aside, his pale, tired face glowering at the man behind the girl's back, "Do you hear me?" he huffed furiously, Hoseok tightened his grip on her, hurting her.

"What do you want me to do then? We can't leave her so fucking unpunished!"

"Lock her in her room," ordered Jimin with a cold stare, Y/N whitened, "She is not to come out of there, just as no one is to enter her room until I return, understood?"

The grip on her shoulders vanished, but another made her get up in a rush, the woman saw Jimin being carried away by the medics, while someone else slammed her violently inside her room, she fell ruefully to the floor and held her arm in pain.

She cast a glance at the culprit and recognized him as Taehyung. He seemed beside himself.

"If I don't kill you now it's only because Jimin doesn't want to, but don't expect mercy from us," he spat, distraught at the image of his friend reduced to that condition.

He slammed the door behind him and the lock was heard to close.

It was really over.

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circeyoru · 2 months ago

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Collection of Overlords _ Epilogue = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 1.5 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9 — Part 10 — Part 11 — Part 12 — Part 13 — Part 14 — Part 15 — Part 16 — Epilogue (here)

Charlie’s face grimanced as she watched Alastor and Husk at your services whenever. Even Angel was comfortable around you now. Her stare shy away the moment your head turned to her direction, even though your eyes were closed, she could feel that she made eye contract with you. You gave her the same soft and gentle smile with a nod, she nodded back but her eyes lips pressed to a tight line.

She moved when she heard the lift ding to signal its arrival, she got in and pressed her desired floor, looking out as the doors closed at the press of a button. Her eyes met yours as the doors slowly closed like time was slowed or paused, the longest wait of her life was this. You maintained your stared until your attention was called away and Charlie immediately let out a sigh of relief.

The dear princess steadied herself, she has to do something. She was the one that brought along this hotel, she was the one that brought along all her friends, she was the one that survived that hellish experience with the exterminators. So why was it that the moment you arrived that she felt a change? Saw a change.

She knew she wasn’t enough, that there was more to do as the Princess of Hell. She lacked so much that her people hardly see her as the Princess, the heir to the throne. When she saw your commanding presence in action, she thought she could learn from you. Yet, she found herself unable to get close to you.

She saw how Alastor was always with you, treating you in a way that was never shown before your arrival. She saw how Husk was more actively attentive without that sharp edge in his tone and words. She saw how Angel was more respectful and mindful of his words and actions, being more open and kinder like a cageless bird. She saw how Vaggie was less angry and tense, even with new guest, also having at least a small smile on her face. She also saw how much more cheerful her father, Lucifer, was after your arrival.

And Niffty was Niffty but more tamed, if one could believe it.

These were all things she wanted to do, things she was aiming to help them change. Granted, she knew it’d take some time to achieve, but that’s what the journey will teach them, that things take time to change. She just can’t understand how you brought along this change in the short amount of time you were here. She saw what you have accomplished without even trying to be impossible. A miracle.

“Dad, you got some time?” Charlie knocked on the door to Lucifer’s workshop, another renovation that you granted to her hotel along with a few other special rooms after your identity was revealed by Lucifer. “Can we talk?”

Charlie flinched as she heard stuff fall and crash behind the door, then she could make out her father stumbling to the door before it opened and Lucifer was standing there with an awkward but excited smile, “Charlie! Of course! Come in, come in.” Lucifer moved to the side to let his daughter enter and closed the door behind her, “Weird that you’re free to chat. Ah, not that I’m not happy or bu- I mean, don’t you usually have some friendship or moral class now?”

“Uh… Well, The Coll- Silver offered for a day off for me since I’ve been working too hard and everyone else agreed. Husk’s teaching everyone to be careful for themselves and others, you know, like lies and tricks?” Charlie felt like she was choking as she admitted that, it was like she was slacking off, like her purpose was being taken from her.

Lucifer sighed, bringing Charlie to sit down at a tea table and sat down himself. With a snap of his fingers, drinks and snacks appeared on the table. He pushed a cup to Charlie before sipping on one himself. His smile dropped as he noticed the obvious frown on her face. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Why are there so many changes after Silver came to the hotel?” Charlie blurted out, Lucifer blinked before getting to respond or given the chance to, Charlie continued, “Not that the changes are bad, but they are the changes I thought I can do it with time. Hell’s my home, this hotel and everyone here is my family and friends, I thought… I thought I can finally pull my weight and help… You know, do my part and be the Princess of Hell.”

“Charlie, you need to understand.” Lucifer got up and went to her, kneeling down so that he was looking up at her, “The throne was never ours.”

The princess gasped. “Then why—”

“We’re only given the title. It means nothing to anyone other than the Sinners.” Lucifer explained, “You never been to the other Rings, but there, you’d be no more than a minor significant figure. We only manage the Sinners, the souls sent to Hell after death, we’re the King and Princess of Sinners. Not of Hell.”

“Then who…”

“Charlie, you’re important to me and I know redemption and this hotel is important to you. But like I told you before, you can’t protect anything without power and authority, you can’t change anything with those as well.” Lucifer got up and opened his six wings, “We’re given this title to protect ourselves, Lilith and I, it never extended to you because you were never there in the beginning when the words were spoken. It was never agreed that our place will be taken over by an heir.”

Charlie got up, feeling like everything was being taken away from her, “So what. Am I nothing now? I can’t amount to anything?”

Lucifer held her hands in his, giving her an encouraging smile, “No. I never mean that. All these changes you’re seeing means potential and interest in rising you to be the next Queen. Teacher doesn’t throw away anyone.” He chuckled, “I had nothing when I came here, Lilith too, but Teach gave us so much. Teach is also giving you so much too. Where this hotel is built, this land was untouched the moment you were born. Until you said to move out, this land is yours.”

Charlie blinked, her heart ached as her eyes pooled up, “Then I’m not being thrown away? I’m not..”

“Never. Everything Teach may be, Teach isn’t pure evil. Otherwise,” Lucifer smiled brightly, “We’d all be dead where we stand.”

Charlie chuckled along, but then froze, “Wait, but then, that means Silver’s the real… Oh my… But you tell me all this, aren’t you in—?!”

Lucifer patted Charlie’s hands, “These are secrets meant for your ears now, Teach said when you ask then I can tell, it was time you knew. Because more challenges will be coming for you in the future.”

“The Princess is ready for her test. For this stage, it’s vital for her to grow. To do that, we need some friction. Between the hotel and the new Overlords.” You turned to the three kneeling Overloards behind you. “The former Vees and Alastor. Your history with each other, Vox and Alastor, would be of great help.”

Alastor, Vox and Velvette all raised their heads as they meet your attention.

“I won’t disappoint, My Sovereign.”

“I’ll do as you command, My Sovereign.”

“Everything will be as you wish, My Liege.”

Note: Okay. This is really really the final part. Say bye bye to this series everyone. I have no idea if it will continue when Season 2 is up cause of all the changes I did for this series. Thanks for sticking by this story till the end everyone.

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @snowy-violet @charlottesskiss @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203 @hikari-michiko @colecreo @myromanempiree @xsamkuro @yourdoorisunlocked @clavelina @jono723 @cursedcattalastor @an-idyllic-novelist @flamiohotman2024 @rea-grace @myromanempiree @veroneverleft @lousypotatoes @crazysuityouth @jellyedkazoo @wat4r @kiraisastay @thealienartist @chefysawesomeideas @wtvbabes @patronizingbitch @koshi-kazu @craftyperfectiontragedy @scr4luv @chrollobb @mysterypotatoink @callmefe @dokukg69 @ratchetprime211 @freejayde @prettyprincess-ily @cgmajor @mook14 @ace-spades-1 @yuuandtheghost @abbiesxox @martinys-world @kiraisastay @umbreon-worshipper @crimsonflameproxy @the-gay-trash-gremlin @ratchetprime211 @soggyb0nes @newkatzkafe2023

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eds6ngel · 11 months ago

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✮⋆｡°✩⋆˙ a christmas miracle

a 'when i kissed the teacher' spinoff.

summary: you and steve were in a weird situation. you weren't actively trying to get pregnant, but you weren't exactly being safe either. so, how will steve react when he opens his final christmas present?

warnings: dad!steve. mom!reader. fem!reader. afab!reader. 90s!au. mentions and allusions to sex. mentions of pregnancy. pet names. kissing. tons of crying. alena being too young to understand pregnancy (kinda cute tho). alena being a cutie pie as always. some worries over steve's reaction. but mostly fluff and comfort!! [1.9k].

author's note: hi everyone!! i am back!! my first semester of uni is finally over, so i can get back to fic writing a little more! i couldn't neglect my happy family like this, so i've tackled a pregnancy fic! i've never been pregnant, but i do wish to be in my life, so all of my research has been for my own benefit and utilised in this fic. if i'm inaccurate in any parts, please let me know for the benefit of the readers and myself!! ♡

It was hard not announcing the news to Steve. Having to attend your first scan without him was heartbreaking, but the look upon the nurse’s face after you told her you were going to wrap up the ultrasound photo, along with a card saying “Merry Christmas Daddy” and a pair of small, cream, woolen socks, just confirmed your decision was the right one.

You and Steve were in a sort of weird situation. You had stopped using protection, but weren’t in a position were you were actively trying to get pregnant. You agreed that any time from now was an okay time for the two of you to have a child, but also weren’t bothered if the pregnancy tests came back negative.

But, a little Christmas miracle decided to form inside of you, the test showing two lines on December 11th, 1999.

Steve and Alena had gone grocery shopping for an hour, the perfect opportunity for you to wrap Steve’s gift.

Rolling out the wrapping paper, you placed a grey, fluffy blanket in the centre, before laying on top the Christmas card which read:

Hi Daddy.

I’m six weeks old today!

I can’t wait to meet you soon! I’m planning to enter the world on August 20th, 2000.

My mom is keeping me very safe right now as I grow, but I’ll still be listening out for you from inside my home.

See you in nine months.

Love, your future child <3

And as you were about to place the ultrasound photo next to the cream baby socks you previous put underneath the card, your eyes started welling with tears once more.

Was it the hormones? Maybe. But, something in you felt this was all natural. You were growing a human life inside of you, one that has half of your DNA and the other half the love of your life’s. That was something to bask in the intense emotion of.

With everything laid out neatly, you reached over for the sellotape, folding over the edges and carefully sticking them in place.

Wrapping the gift in a pretty cream bow, matching the socks inside, and adding a label reading “To my darling Stevie,” you added it to the pile of increasing gifts in the corner of yours and Steve’s bedroom.

Now, just a week to go until he gets his surprise.

You cradle your stomach, despite the size not increasing at all yet, and whisper to your unborn child “A week and he’ll know, my love. Your beautiful existence will be known.”

“Mom! Dad! Wake up! Wake up!”

You are awoken by the sound of your bouncing ten-year-old, aggressively rocking your fiancé as he groans loudly, his eyes adjusting to the light peaking through the window.

“Mornin’ pumpkin,” he murmurs, you opening up one eye as Alena’s full set of brand-new adult teeth smile right at you.

“And what are you doing up so early, missy?” you ask, the clock on the bedside table next to Steve shining a bright 6:00 in the morning, illuminating the room in a red glow.

“Mom” she drags out, rolling her eyes playfully, “You know what day it is!”

You tap your chin lightly, playing along with the joke, “Hmm… I feel as if I may need a reminder.”

“It’s Christmas Mom! And I may or may not have seen all the presents you left underneath the tree…” her vocal pitch increases, looking away in a guilty look as Steve reaches up and pulls her down into his body, the girl screaming as he ruffles her hair.

“Did someone be naughty and peak underneath the tree?” he grits through his teeth, Alena shouting in a reply, “I didn’t mean to, I promise! I saw it on the way to your room!”

You begin to tickle her sides as Steve holds her in place against his chest, making the girl scream in delight loudly, “Is someone now on Santa’s naughty list?”

“Mom…” she pouts her lips, a grumpy expression adorning her face as you sigh sadly, “I know sweet cheeks, you don’t believe in him anymore.”

“I’m sorry…”

You hold out your arms as you wrap her in a warm hug, “Don’t be sorry, baby. I knew you would realise eventually. You’re getting too old!”

She gasps and looks into your eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, “I am not old! You and Dad are old.”

You start giggling in shock as Steve just opens his mouth wide, “You better watch yourself, pumpkin.”

“Yeah,” you hold up a finger in warning, before pointing it over to Steve, “Dad doesn’t like being reminded he’s in his mid-thirties.”

And now it is Steve’s turn to attack you, but instead with aggressive kisses, littering them up your neck and across your face lightly, Alena now old enough to understand the playful love between the two of you. “You’re almost thirty as well, you know.”

“Two more years to go, babe. I’m still in my prime development decade,” you smirk at him.

And it wasn’t just you who was developing.

A loud gasp can be heard along with the shredding of paper as Alena holds up her latest gift, “You actually got me it?”

For such a small gadget, the Barbie Digital Camera cost you $70, the most expensive gift yet, but maybe not the one which will cause the biggest reaction.

“Of course I did! It’s the one thing you kept pointing at in the magazine!”

She giggles with a bright smile, “Thank you! Thank you!”

She launches herself at you, the motherly instinct in you clutching onto your stomach to protect your unborn child, hoping Steve didn’t notice the movement. The surprise would be known in the next half an hour.

“And after you’ve taken your photos, we can connect it to Dad’s computer and see it come to life! How cool is that?”

“Can I take it to school?” she asks, clutching the box in her hands.

“I assume you can! But, just ask Mrs. Critchley before you take it in, okay?”

“Okay!” she smiles, plopping herself back down on the carpet to open the rest of her gifts.

Your hands began to sweat. Alena was all done opening her presents, patiently waiting for you and Steve to unwrap yours.

Steve let you attend to your gifts first. Everything from a brand-new necklace designed with a rose quartz, matching your engagement ring, to the latest Nokia phone, you were thankful for everything he had bought you, praising him with many gentle kisses and warm hugs.

Now, it was Steve’s turn. You specifically told him to leave one present until last, leading him to give you an eyebrow raise and a shrug before simply agreeing, used to your weirdness by now. You got him everything from a new cologne to a new pair of Nike shoes, the soles of his old pair wearing thin from how much he was working over the Christmas holidays.

But, after one final kiss, it was finally time.

“Can I open this now?” Steve jokes, the nerves deeply settling in your stomach. You don’t even know why you were worried, you had stopped using protection in mutual agreement, knowing kids could be a possibility from that result. There was just a voice in your head trying to convince you an awful reaction would occur.

“Uh, yeah… Yeah, you can.”

“Hey,” he puts an arm on your shoulder, “Why are you so nervous?”

You lightly chuckle, “You’ll find out once you open the gift.”

Even after all of these years, Steve still wasn’t the smartest. Verbal cues were not his strong suit, but my God could he read body language like a champ.

He gives you a confused look before unwrapping the cream-coloured bow, delicately tearing apart the paper as his eyes immediately notice the ultrasound scan.

He may be oblivious, but he isn’t that oblivious. He has one very similar in his bedside table drawer of his sweet ten-year-old daughter sat next to him.

The tears form at his eyes before he can even recognise them. Small sniffles enter the atmosphere as his hazel eyes make contact with you, “Are you serious?”

And the tears follow suit for you, nodding frantically as he leans across the floor to collect you in his arms, crying into your shoulder.

“How far along?” he mumbles into your shoulder, tears dripping onto the red fabric of your dress.

“Read the card and you’ll find out.”

Steve was too drawn into the ultrasound scan to even notice the card you had gotten him. Releasing from the hug, he keeps a gentle hand on the small of your back, picking up the card and carefully opening it, reading the words you had written, the tears increasing as he noticed it was from the perspective of his baby.

“Wha— How? When did you get this done?” he stutters out, still in complete shock of the entire moment.

“Pregnancy test has been in the bathroom trash can for two weeks. I was scared you were going to notice it for a while, but then I remembered it’s you, and you don’t notice anything,” you giggle, Steve not even bothered by the joking insult, too caught up in his own emotions, “And two Thursday’s ago, I didn’t go to work. Went to the hospital and got the scan, and just hung around Starcourt until the time I would normally come home.”

“Well, you fooled me,” he chuckles, leaning in for a kiss which you gladly accept, cupping his cheeks as you smile into it.

“I love you so much, beautiful girl. And I love the baby who is growing inside of you. You’re so strong. Your body is so strong. I just— I can’t wait. I can’t wait to meet them.”

His hand had migrated down to your stomach, gently cradling the unborn child inside of you.

Alena had finally looked up from her Etch-a-Sketch, noticing the tears falling down both yours and Steve’s cheeks, your hands holding tightly onto each side of his head as your foreheads were leant against each other, kneeling on the soft carpet of the living room.

“Mom? Dad? Why are you crying?”

Steve turns around to face his daughter, you looking softly into her eyes, “Because Mom is having a baby, sweetie.”

Steve passes her the ultrasound scan, her face scrunching up in confusion as she points at it, “Why is it just a black blob?”

Steve begins laughing as his head falls onto your shoulder, sweetly rubbing up and down the sides of your waist.

“Because when a baby is first made, it starts out as a black blob and then grows into the full size baby we all know and love,” you explain gently to her.

“Hmm…” she takes in, before asking her next question, “But how did it get there?”

Your eyes widen as Steve’s hands stop on your waist, refusing to lift his head and look at his daughter.

You smile through the awkwardness, remembering that her sex education lessons would start in a matter of months, “You’ll find out soon, baby.”

thank you ever so much for reading!! do you guys want any more pregnancy related fics? i really want to do some research into post-partum for myself, so do you want me to skip straight to that, or tackle other things like morning sickness, gender reveal, baby shower, stuff like that? feel free to let me know!! ♡

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 @frostandflamesfanfic @tlclick73 @steveshairspray @superlegend216

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joshym · 1 year ago

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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 1

Paring: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 8.8k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) mentions of stress & anxiety, mentions of a broken home, mentions of an ill, disabled parent, mentions of an oxygen tank & medications, jake is an asshole, (if I missed anything, please let me know)

a/n: it's here! i can't begin to express how excited i am to share this with everyone. this story has been in the works for quite some time now, & it's been such a joy to write. i sincerely hope you all love it. please don't be afraid to let me know what you think. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor, & being my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

As you walk up the stone steps of Angell Hall, you feel as though you’re walking into a book filled with ancient Greek Mythology. The pillars that resemble the Parthenon temple, the delicate stone work motifs that portray Athena's owl and Pegasus; you’ve truly never felt more at home than you do at this very moment as you take your first steps inside the building that houses the English Literature courses. The inside is rich with artwork personifying poetry and myth. The intricate neoclassical design of the ceilings, complete with gold leafing and imperial medallions. The most incredible building you’ve ever seen, and one of the many reasons you decided to make the transfer to the University of Michigan.

It’s been no easy feat to get here. In fact, it’s been damn near impossible. It’s by the skin of your teeth that you’re here today, walking the very halls of your dream school.

The road to get here has been hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. You’ve saved every last penny to afford the move here, while trying to take care of your mom and her declining health. It didn’t help that your dad decided it was all too much for him and left a year ago, leaving the two of you alone with hardly the means to afford even the bare necessities. With two full time jobs, online classes at some bullshit university, and tending to your mom’s every need for the last year, it’s a fucking miracle you’re standing here today.

It’s only been a month since you received your acceptance letter in the mail. You worked your ass off the last two years maintaining a 4.0 gpa to be sure you’d be accepted. You’d applied back in January and waited six excruciating months to hear back, obsessively checking the mail at least three times a day.

One day, you noticed a rather large, crumpled envelope stuffed in your tiny mailbox. It was wet from a rainstorm that had hit earlier that day, but you could still make out the sender information.

The University of Michigan

515 East Jefferson St.

1220 Student Activities Building

Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1316

You knew that the contents of this envelope would seal your fate for the next two years. You were hesitant at first to open, scared of rejection. You let it sit for a few hours before finally ripping it open as quickly as your fingers would allow.

You pulled out the sopping piece of cardstock, stamped with a golden “M” at the top left corner.

Congratulations, y/n!

You’re in! We are pleased to inform you that you are admitted to the University of Michigan College of Literature, Science and the Arts Junior class entering fall of 2023.

Within two weeks of receiving the letter, you and your mom packed up what little you had and left the sleepy town of Cherry Tree, Oklahoma.

Up until now, you’d lived in this tiny town your entire life. You’ve been so ready to leave, to find adventure elsewhere that would allow you to spread your wings. You’d been held back there for so long. You knew it was time, and as much as she could, your mother supported your choice to leave and she was eager herself to get away.

You managed to secure a low income apartment in Ann Arbor that has accommodations for those with disabilities. It’s a shithole. But it’s your shithole.

You’re solely responsible for any and all bills as your mom isn’t fit to work. You’ve got enough saved up to last about a month, so one of your first priorities is to find a job that will sustain you.

Right now, though, your current goal is to find your first class in this massive building. It’s intimidating. Everyone here is walking past you in a hurry to get where they need to go as you’re stuck, still trying to figure out where room 3182 is. There aren’t signs anywhere to help guide you through the utter maze that is Angell Hall. You haven’t the slightest clue of where to start.

You try asking a few people, only to be met with vague points in general directions, or people simply telling you ‘up stairs.’

Where are the damn stairs?

You start trekking along in an attempt to find them, when you see a large wooden door that’s cracked open just enough to see, finally, a staircase.

Some progress.

Making your way to the third floor, you assume you’ve finally found where your class will be when you look at a room number… and it says ‘2548.’

Dammit.

You head back to the stairs to make your way up to the next floor, and to your relief, the class numbers all begin with a three.

You head down the long, dimly lit hallway in frantic search for room 3182, to no avail. The hallway has so many twists and turns with no guidance for direction. There may as well be a scarecrow with arms pointing in all directions saying ‘this way!’

You’re stuck yet again, unsure of where to go. You assume everyone is in their respective classes as the hall is barren, so there’s not a soul to ask. With only two minutes until class begins, you’re nearing the point of giving up.

Anything is better than waltzing into class late on your first day, no less your first day at a university where no one knows you. What a fantastic first impression to make.

Suddenly, a man comes barging down the hall towards you. He looks a bit unapproachable, wearing a large brimmed black hat on top of his shoulder length hair, sunglasses that mimic ones worn by John Lennon in the seventies and a matching all black ensemble of linen pants and a button up, with only the last few buttons actually secured. He jingles as he moves due to an obnoxious number of necklaces sitting on his bare chest.

You’re not sure you want to bother him but desperate times call for asking strange men for directions.

“Hi, excuse me. Could you tell me where room-”

Without even acknowledging your basic existence, he seems to be in a hurry as he slams into you, knocking your brown canvas bag off your shoulder and effectively dumping everything out of it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he quickly turns the corner, not even bothering to help you pick up the mess he’s created.

“John Lennon wannabe motherfucker,” you mutter under your breath as you bend down to gather your belongings.

You hear footsteps coming closer to you, thinking just maybe he's decided to come back and make amends.

“Sorry about him, girl.”

You glance up just as she’s kneeling down, offering to help with your scattered books.

“Don’t pay him any mind. He thinks he walks on water,” she says as she helps you shove the last of them in your bag, now all disheveled and out of your perfect order.

“God, thank you so much. Would you happen to know where room 3182 is? I haven’t the slightest clue where I’m going.”

“Just keep going down the hall until you reach the bathroom, take a left and it’s the second room on the right,” she says, with a warm smile.

You thank her again and quickly head in that direction.

At last, you breathe a sigh of relief as you approach room 3182.

With a deep breath, you open the door to the massive lecture hall that appears more like an auditorium with its pitched floor.

All eyes are on you, the room dead silent as the professor glares at you.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I had the worst time-”

“No matter. Just take your seat and do it quickly,” he cuts you off.

You scan the room in search of an empty seat as everyone continues to silently stare at you, eyes burning holes in your soul.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

Finally you spot one on the far right corner of the room. Swiftly heading towards it, you make a horrid discovery.

Mr. John Lennon wannabe is in the seat right next to the empty one.

Of fucking course.

Grudgingly, you take your seat next to him. He shifts his body slightly away from you as you situate yourself, letting out a long, dramatic sigh once you're settled.

You decide to try and humble him with your southern hospitality, asking his name with a kind smile, to which he only responds by cocking his head in your general direction and not bothering to answer you.

What an ass.

“Now that it seems we finally have everyone here, let’s get things started. Welcome to English 450, The Quest for King Arthur. My name is Dr. Movack and I will be your instructor throughout the semester.”

You start pulling out all of your books on King Arthur, annoyed that some of them now have bent pages thanks to the mysterious man wearing all black sitting to your left.

“One of the requirements to be accepted in this class, aside from the prerequisite courses, is to have more than just the basic knowledge of Arthurian lore.” Dr. Movack continues, “Taking that into account, there is no need to waste time in starting from the beginning. However, I would like to take a moment to test your knowledge. Each person who answers correctly will receive a point towards extra credit.”

Dr. Movack begins going around the room, asking everyone basic questions and facts about King Arthur when he finally gets to you.

“I would like you to tell me which text offers the earliest reference to Arthur.”

With booming confidence, you answer, “I believe it’s around the 7th century when he is briefly mentioned in the poem titled Y Gododdin.”

The John Lennon look alike on your left lets out an obnoxiously loud chuckle while shaking his head.

“Dr. Movack, it’s a well known fact that Arthur isn’t specifically mentioned until Historia Brittonum in the 9th century. She’s clearly wrong,” he blurts out.

You know your stuff when it comes to this lore. You’ve studied it for the better part of your life and you’ll be damned if you let this man who, for whatever reason has developed a vendetta against you, try to outwit you.

“No, you are wrong. You obviously haven’t read the poem or you’d know he’s named when referencing the bravery of Gwawrddur.”

He waves his palm in your face in an attempt to silence you, the gesture causing your lip to curl in frustration. “Tell her, Dr. Movack. Tell her she’s wrong and has no idea what she’s talking about.” He asserts.

Talking about you instead of to you is a great way to piss you off and he’s on the right path towards it. His refusal to even look at you has you nearly in flames with rage.

“What’s your name, miss?” Dr. Movack asks.

“Y/n,” you respond.

Your heart is thumping out of your chest as you await the professor's response.

“It seems there may be someone here who knows even more than you, Kiszka.” Lennon’s jaw nearly hits the desk beneath him. “Y/n is absolutely right. Y Gododdin does, in fact, mention Arthur. The introduction is so slight that it’s often missed, but scholars argue that this piece does indeed contain the first true reference.”

Even through his obnoxious sunglasses, you can see the frustration painted on his face. Proving him wrong in front of the whole class serves him right.

Poetic justice at its finest.

You laugh through your nose and give yourself a metaphorical pat on the back, anticipating more praise from Dr. Movack when he says “However, miss, you will not receive your point for being late to my class.”

Lennon cackles at this, of course, feeling he’s somehow won this educational battle.

He answers his question correctly, receiving his point and commendation from Dr. Movack.

He sits back in his chair, arms crossed with a smug face, wearing a ‘kiss my ass’ grin on his lips.

You just roll your eyes and look the other direction, envisioning yourself ripping those ridiculous sunglasses off his face.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Something you’re not used to yet, and perhaps will never get used to, is the Detroit traffic. Stuck in your beat to hell ‘92 Firebird in bumper to bumper traffic, you’re at a near standstill as you’re desperate to get home after a long day of classes. What should only be a fifteen minute drive home has already lasted more than thirty, and you’ve hardly moved an inch.

You’re sitting in silence as you don’t even have the luxury of the radio to keep you company. You’re lucky enough that this car even runs with as much shit as it’s been through. A hand-me-down from a hand-me-down, losing parts and gusto after each set of hands it passes through. You figure you’ll be the last to drive it before it meets its timely end in the very near future.

WIthout much else to preoccupy you at the moment, your mind is wandering with recollection of your first day at the school you’ve had your sights set on since your first comprehensible memory. Feeling like a fish out of water would be the most comfortable way to describe your day. It goes far beyond that.

You know it’ll take some time to settle. But you’re afraid that time won’t fix the fact that you may not truly belong here. You’ve never really fit in anywhere, even in your tiny hometown that you’d lived in your whole life. You were never fully accepted there, so what makes you think you’d be accepted here? You’d always felt so isolated in Cherry Tree, too small of a town to feel such a way. Now, you have the intimidation of a rather large city to amplify your isolation.

Aside from the nightmare that was finding your first class and the man who made you late to it, your other classes went about as well as you could’ve hoped for. You’d still managed to get lost a fair amount, but on the brightside, you’d found the campus coffee shop so you had been able to stay there for a while this afternoon.

The man, who you can only refer to as Lennon given he so rudely refused to give you his first name, was also studying in the coffee shop today, much to your dismay.

And the way he’d locked eyes with you for a brief moment before quickly looking away…

You were not sure why, but now, you can’t pry him from your ambulant mind. Something about him, aside from his insolent demeanor, is oddly enticing. He’s dark, almost mystifying. There are secrets in the air he breathes. Whether or not you want to know them, you can’t quite decide. Nonetheless, you’re intrigued.

Traffic finally begins to move at a steady pace, breaking your trance and causing your disoriented image of him to return to one filled with anger.

Mystifying or not, he was an ass for absolutely no reason. You’ve made up your mind that you will never give him the time of day again.

You pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex, your car sputtering its cry of exhaustion as you’ve put it to the ultimate test far too many times lately.

“I need you to hang on just a little longer, old friend.” You say as you throw the gear shift in park. “Just a little longer, then we’ll lay your heaping metal bones to rest.”

You trek up the stairs to your apartment, stopping at door 264. You smile as you look down to see “Don’t Knock Unless You Brought Wine” stitched on the doormat beneath your feet. Your mom insisted on it, and as ridiculous as you think it is, you’re grateful for the smile it’s brought to your tired face.

You search through your disarranged canvas bag for your key, silently cursing the fact that it’s not in its designated spot.

Finally spotting the shining silver, you pull it out and twist it in the rusted bolt to open the door.

Your mom is sprawled out on the couch, her oxygen tank filling the quiet apartment with a subtle humming. The living room television is on some old sitcom she loves with the volume muted, as per usual for her.

You don’t want to wake her, as it’s imperative that she gets as much rest these days as she can. You keep as quiet as possible while heading to the kitchen to start dinner for the two of you.

You decide on something simple; bowtie pasta with alfredo and grilled chicken.

Your mom always had a knack for all things culinary. Her skill remains unmatched, although it’s not as easy for her these days.

You sadly missed out on that trait from her. You’re lucky if you don’t burn the water. But, over the course of her illness becoming increasingly debilitating, you’ve taught yourself some easy and quick recipes to get by.

You spoon a healthy amount of pasta on each of your plates, even garnishing them with a few basil leaves for a little aesthetic.

You pour yourself a much needed glass of merlot before taking your mom’s plate to her.

You gently wake her by carefully nudging her hand.

“Dinners ready, mom. I hope it’s okay.”

She slowly begins to stir awake, looking happy to see you as you sit next to her. “I’m sure it’ll be great. Thank you, sweetie.” You help her to sit up and get stabilized before handing her her plate. “How was your first day?” She tries not to wince as she takes her first bite. Her years of being a culinary expert have made her awfully picky when it comes to food, but she’s never once outwardly complained about your cooking. Although you can tell she’s less than impressed, she would never tell you that. She knows you’re trying your best and she’s so grateful for it, especially since your dad left.

“It was alright, I guess.” You take your first bite and instantly understand her initial aversion to it. Undercooked noodles and over cooked chicken. You’re glad it’s not the other way around this time.

“Just alright?” she asks.

You don’t have the heart to tell her how draining today truly was, so you just tell her that classes were a little stressful but that it really was a great day.

You switch the subject and talk about the beauty of the campus and how badly you wish she could see it. “Maybe someday,” she says.

You want nothing more than to get her out of this dingy apartment for a day and take her around, to show her the wonder of the city. It’s been incredibly difficult watching battle her illness. She seems to grow weaker with each passing day. Although she tries to conceal it from you, you know your mom, and you can see her deteriorate before your very eyes. It breaks your heart in a million pieces, but you still hold out hope that she will get better someday.

Hope is all you have.

Until then, you just try to enjoy each and every moment you share with her.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re situated outside of room 3182 nearly thirty minutes early this morning, drinking your steaming coffee and reading House of Leaves that was assigned to you yesterday in your Classic Horror course.

The real inescapable horror, however, would be sitting next to him again, so you’re here early to avoid the unnecessary cruelty you faced the other day.

Taking advantage of your extra time, you allow yourself to become immersed in the daunting novel.

You read of a man on a slow descent to insanity, discovering a manuscript that details a home that transforms on the inside, yet stays the same on the outside.

Unlit hallways that continue for ages, doors appearing where they hadn’t been before. An architectural conundrum, this house.

The words in the book appear in strange prints, some pages with them upside down, placed in strange patterns; some pages with no words at all.

The word “House” is always in the color blue, even on the cover.

The novel both fascinates you and terrifies you all at once, having read it twice before. You’ve yet to make your own interpretations on this book as they seem to change with each read. A bit of a mindfuck, as it were.

Just as you’re diving head first into the maddening depths of Danielewski's story, you hear keys jingling followed by the door to the classroom opening.

You’d been so lost in your book you hadn’t even noticed that most of the students had joined you in the hall, waiting for class to begin.

You’re the first to head inside, much to Dr. Movack’s shock. You take your seat in the front row near the podium, the furthest one away from where you assume Lennon will sit.

The rest of the class piles in, taking their respective seats and gearing up for class. Here comes Lennon, clad in all black once again– sunglasses and all. He walks right past you, humoring you by ignoring your presence.

Good. Keep walking.

As more students pile in, you notice one mindlessly walking towards you before he abruptly stops and eyes you in your seat. You simply smile and nod as he stands there with a curious look about him.

He slowly walks away, leaving you a bit puzzled but you choose to ignore it.

The hands on the antique brass wall clock strike 10:00 am, and you notice Dr. Movack is still out in the hall speaking with someone. Of whom, you can’t quite tell.

You and the rest of the class wait patiently, when finally Dr. Movack walks in, but he’s not alone. He’s with the student who glared strangely at you just moments ago.

The student is standing near the professor, as if he has something to say, when Dr. Movack clears his throat and begins speaking.

“I feel I needn't say this, but it’s clear some of you aren’t aware of how things are done around here, so I will say it this once so that we all understand. Once you choose your seat on the first day of class, that becomes your designated seat for the remainder of the semester. It is disruptive to your fellow classmates to decide to take the seat they specifically chose as their throne for learning.”

Your chest tightens and your face becomes flush with unease.

You know instantly that he’s talking about you.

“So, I will end this here: if you are not sitting in the spot you chose on the first day of class, I suggest you move to said spot immediately so we can get started with our business.”

Shit.

You’re utterly humiliated as you slowly stand up, you being the only one to stand up and making it abundantly clear to everyone in class that you were the cause of this.

You take your things and move to the spot you so desperately wanted to avoid, right next to Lennon who is covering his mouth with his hand, giggling at your shame.

The student standing by Dr. Movack takes his rightful seat as you take yours.

The class you had been most excited for this semester is quickly turning out to be the one you wished you had never signed up for.

You made a terrible impression on the first day by being late, and now on the second day of this class, you’ve broken an unspoken rule that you had no previous knowledge of. All of that topped off with the man sitting next to you who has made his distaste for you rather clear… the only thought tormenting your mind is how badly you wish you could crawl in a hole and never have to show your face in this class ever again.

“I have an important announcement,” declares Dr. Movack as he takes post behind his podium. “Through the entirety of this course, you will be working on a semester-long project relating to the appropriation of Arthurian legend. This project is fairly at your liberty, meaning there are very few stipulations for you to follow.”

Okay, this is something you can handle. Something to sink your teeth into, something you know you’ll excel at.

“This will not be a solo project, however.”

Oh no.

“There are exactly fifty students in this class, so you will be paired in twos for a total of twenty five projects.”

Please no.

“As far as who you will be assigned with, that is very simple. The person seated next to you is who you will work with for the remainder of the semester.”

With Lennon being the very last seat in your row, and you being directly next to him, this means…he will be your partner. For the entire semester.

You were cursed from the first day you stepped foot in this room and had to sit next to him. Fate would have it so things would not work in your favor, it appears.

“This project is not to be taken lightly as it is worth sixty percent of your final grade. Everything in this class will lead up to it, so I suggest you take your readings very seriously.”

He will ruin this for you, no fucking doubt.

He won’t even give you the grace of telling you his first name, and now you have to work on a huge project with him for four months? A project worth more than half of your grade?

That hole you debated on crawling in is sounding better and better by the minute.

“Well, guess that makes us partners.” To your disbelief, Lennon speaks his first words to you in lieu of his typical 'at you' approach. “The nice thing is that it guarantees me a good grade.”

“Is that your way of admitting I know more about this than you do, Kiszka?” you snark. He cocks an eyebrow above his black lenses as you dare to utter his last name.

“Not quite.” He snorts a condescending chuckle, “I can tell you’re the type to work towards the best grade possible, hence, ensuring my success in the process. Shall I thank you now or later?”

Lennon’s got you there.

You take projects like these rather seriously, and this one will be no exception. As much as you’d love to set him up for failure, that would warrant your failure right along with him.

It’s the perfect scenario for him and a living nightmare for you.

Lovely.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You walk through the open doors of the lecture hall for your next class, spotting yet another familiar face amongst the students, only this one much more kind and welcoming.

You recognize her as the kind soul who helped you the other day when your bag was senselessly knocked off your shoulder by your favorite Lennon impersonator.

“Hey!” she says as she notices you, “Come sit next to me!”

You’re nearly taken away by her beauty as you sit beside her, finally able to get a better look at her this time.

Her glowing caramel skin, her eyes light and honest with a sepia tone, her dark brown curls that are unruly yet flawlessly styled, held perfectly on top of her head with the most beautiful satin scarf.

“Thank you again for helping me the other day. You’re a saint for that.” You hang your book bag on the back of your chair, pulling out its contents for class. “You’ll never believe this, but that guy that slammed into me with no remorse, he’s in my class. The one that he made me so late for. And because of that, we’re partnered together for a semester-long project.”

“Ah yes, Jake,” she says under a giggle, adjusting her dark green, slouchy sweater off her toned shoulder. “He’s something else, that’s for sure. He’s got a good heart but he covers it with that mysterious, dark facade that he thinks makes him look so cool.”

Alas, Lennon does have a first name after all. Although, you prefer the nickname you’ve given him.

“Well, Jake has made it rather clear that I am not his favorite person and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’m not sure how we’ll manage to make it through this semester together with his shitty attitude.”

She hums under her breath, slowly shaking her head as if to say ‘just you wait.’

“My name’s Natalia. Where’d you fly in from?”

The way her name rolls off her tongue with her slight accent is nothing short of beautiful.

“Just a miniscule town in Oklahoma. Is it really that obvious that I’m not from here?” you answer in a hushed tone, half embarrassed to admit such a thing.

She grins as she sings a few words from the title track from the beloved Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, showcasing her stark white teeth that compliment her glowing, tanned skin perfectly.

“I hate to tell you Ms. Oklahoma, but you do kind of stick out like a sore thumb,” she quips.

Having gone from a small, southern town to the outskirts of Detroit, you’re bound to look like an outsider until the culture shock wears off, much to your discontent.

As much as you wish you could quickly adapt and easily blend in, it’s just not possible. Your face twinges as you remember your first day, specifically that one class you’d care to not mention any further.

“Welcome, students, to Women in Literature. My name is Dr. Lacey and I’ll be your instructor through the duration of this course.”

Class begins and you both submerge yourself in a study that’s particularly important to each of you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I can’t call you Ms. Oklahoma forever, you know.”

You and Natalia have the rest of the day free from classes, so you decided to walk with her to the Central Campus library to do some studying.

“I guess you’re right,” you say through a laugh. “My name is y/n.”

You walk across the large courtyard full of lush green grass, intricate steel benches and the most lovely hydrangeas colored a deep purple.

The Michigan landscape is a far cry from anything you had ever seen in Oklahoma. Everything's so green and flourished, so full of life. Vibrant colors paint the scenery in the most beautiful vision.

The weather is nearly perfect, with the temperatures never exceeding the mid seventies and the humidity far below the excruciating levels of the southern states.

You’re in awe as you go day to day with the sheer beauty of the nature that surrounds you.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, your curiosity begins to take over your every thought. Jake Kiszka. Your semester-long partner. You need to know more about him, as much as you attempt to relinquish the desire.

You finally build up the courage to ask. “So, how do you know him?”

She looks at you upon your inquiry, squinting her eyes as she studies your face. “Who, Jake?” She says with a sinister grin about her.

“Yes, Jake. What is it about him that he feels the need to treat people like they’re beneath him?”

“Ah, Sir Jacob,” she says. “He’s a bit of an enigma, I guess you could say. And yes, he is single.” She throws you a wink as you stare at her with utter disgust at her wisecrack.

“I do not care if he’s single,” you respond, causing her to snort a chuckle.

“I’ve known the guy for years. We go all the way back to the golden days of our youth. He and his twin brother graduated high school a year before me, and their younger brother was a year below me.” A twin? There’s two of him? “I’ve known their family for the better part of my life. Good people, truly. I can’t begin to tell you how much they’ve helped my family and me.”

You’ve only just met him, but the words ‘good’ and ‘Jake’ don’t seem to belong in the same sentence.

“Incidentally enough, his twin, Josh, and my brother, Malachi, have been partners since they graduated together. So, they’re kind of my family, too.” You walk up the steps to the library as she holds the large wooden door open for you.“I promise you, y/n. He’s not all bad. You’ve just seen what he projects to people he doesn’t know. Like I said, he thinks it makes him look cool.”

Your thoughts momentarily stop as you take your first steps into the library. You’re in shock. Though, you shouldn’t be. Every single building you’ve stepped foot into on this campus is absolutely immaculate, and the library is no exception.

It’s almost bewitching, with thousands of books lining the walls, reaching chandeliers that seem to hang from the clouds at their height.

The alluring musty scent of aged novels fill your senses and take you back to a time long since forgotten.

It’ll be far too tempting to spend all of your time here, getting lost in the pages that fill the space of grandeur.

You’ve been stuck in a near trance by the beauty surrounding you, you hadn’t even noticed that Natalia moved behind the circulation desk.

“It’s also his way of keeping his guard up. It’s rare that anyone gets to discover the true Jacob,” she says as she types away at the computer sitting at the desk.

“Um, Natalia?” You quietly ask. “Should you be back there?”

She laughs as she takes in your slightly terrified expression, “Well I would say so, ya know, since it’s the start of my shift.”

“You work here?” How could anyone be so lucky as to work in such an immaculate setting?

“It’s a pretty sweet gig. It’s not the most thrilling job but it’s nice and quiet. I get to spend my days among books, and the tuition break is a pretty nice incentive.” She secures her gold plated magnetic name badge to sweater, making her look rather official.

A job on campus would be utter perfection for you. You’ll be spending a vast majority of your time here anyways, and the tuition break would be a significant help in your situation.

“Do you happen to know of any other jobs on campus that are hiring?” you ask, almost embarrassed, but you have a feeling you can trust her. “I’m kind of in a pinch to find something soon. Desperate, actually.”

She rests her chin between her index finger and thumb, seeming to ponder your question. “I know of a few,” she says. “One that just so happens to be in this very library, if you’re interested.” Her voice carries an almost sarcastic tone, she knows you’re interested.

“Oh my god, are you serious? I would love to work here!” you say.

“I figured you would.” She rummages through the credenza and pulls out a sheet of paper entitled ‘Employment Application’ and sets it on the desk in front of you.

“Go ahead and fill this out, and I’ll consider putting in a good word for you.” She winks at you as she hands you a pen.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Classes have become increasingly difficult. It’s nothing you can’t handle, but you find it hard to make time for much of anything outside of work and school.

You started your new job at the library one week ago today. You pick up as many shifts as possible, mostly evenings and nights as your days are taken up with your classes. The library stays open until ten o’clock, so most nights you don’t get home until at least ten thirty.

You set aside a little time after class everyday to run home and take care of your mom before work, making her dinner and being sure her nightly medications are set out before you head back to campus.

As busy as you are, you truly love your job and you’re immensely excited about your studies.

Your friendship with Natalia has bloomed beautifully over the last week.

You’re so grateful for her. She has been your saving grace lately as this last week has been a bit treacherous. Her companionship has been a major help in your adjustment to this new way of life and your somewhat rigorous schedule.

Jake, on the other hand–well, things are about the same. You’ve set aside your pride a few times this week in an attempt to get along with him for the sake of your project, but he just brushed you off, every single time.

This project is massive, and not having it started yet, or even having a single idea about what you’ll do with it, is giving you serious anxiety.

The tension with him seems to grow by the day and you’re almost at the end of your rope with it. You don’t know how to fix it, but you need to figure out something soon so you can bury this unnecessary hatchet and focus on your shared assignment.

–

After running home to make dinner for your mom and tend to a few chores, you make it back to campus just in time to begin your shift.

Tonight, you’re in charge of contacting students with missing books and tacking on late fees to their accounts if necessary.

You’re sitting at the computer, scrolling through the seemingly endless list of students and calling them to let them know of the fees they’ve accrued.

Most of them are rather displeased with you upon your notice, some of them even giving you a small piece of their mind before abruptly hanging up on you.

You make phone call after phone call, trekking through the list organized alphabetically by last name.

At last, you’ve made it to the end of the J’s. Your task for the evening was to make it halfway through the list, and you’re nearly there as you begin contacting students whose last names begin with K.

Upon reading the name of the next student, your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach.

Kiszka, Jacob T (1): Le Morte d’Arthur (Norton Critical Edition) - Mallory

“You can’t be serious,” you mumble.

You debate on ‘accidentally’ skipping him, but you don’t want anything to jeopardize your brand new job.

You have to call him, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You suddenly hear the voice of your boss in the back of your mind, “It’s proper etiquette to always state your name when calling students, so be sure to introduce yourself with each call you make.”

You quickly make up your mind that you will not mention your name during your call to him. The last thing you need is any more awkward air between you two.

You dial his number and wait, listening to the ominous ringing from the other end.

Your eyes are pinched shut, your palms sticky with sweat as you secretly hope he doesn’t answer.

Then, the ringing comes to a stop, “Hello?”

Shit.

“Is this Jacob?” You use your best professional tone, hoping to disguise your voice as much as you can.

“This is he,” he responds, the statement ending in more of a question.

“Hi, Jacob. This is y/n with the Central Campus Library.”

Fuck.

You throw your head in your hand, mentally cursing yourself for letting your name slip through. Maybe he didn’t notice, you think to yourself.

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment before you clear your throat and continue speaking.

“I’m calling about your overdue copy of Le Morte d’Arthur.”

“Y/n? Aren’t you in my class?” he asks.

So much for him not noticing.

Ignoring his question, you proceed “It looks like you checked it out over the summer and it’s now twenty eight days overdue. Per policy, there has been a fee of seven dollars and fifty cents added to your account. If it is not returned by the thirty one day mark, you will receive anoth-”

He patronizingly cuts you off before you can finish, “You’re in Movack’s class, huh? You sit right next to me.”

With a sigh of frustration, you finish telling him that he must return it within three days or he’ll receive a much heftier fee.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll see about that,” he says before hanging up on you. His short tone has infuriated you beyond belief.

“Asshole,” you exclaim as you slam the phone down on the receiver causing a booming echo to erupt throughout the building. Luckily, the only other person here with you is Natalia. She’s been in the back sorting books while you’ve been dealing with overdue rentals.

Her boisterous laughter adds to the echoing bouncing off the walls. “I heard that,” she yells.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re especially dreading Dr. Movacks class today after your phone call with Jake last night. You know for a fact that things will be even more tense with him today, and you’re just not in the mood to deal with it.

The exhaustion from everything piled on your plate has really begun to set in. Jake is the last thing you want to worry about. With each unpleasant interaction with him, your impatience grows to new levels.

With the support of your large cold brew in hand, you gather the nerve to walk into class.

“So you work at the library, huh?” Jake says as you take your seat.

“Yep,” you say in response. You pull out your phone and scroll mindlessly, giving him the hint that you’re less than interested in talking with him.

Class begins, and Dr. Movack starts his lecture on Arthurian timelines. You’re trying to pay close attention, but you find yourself becoming increasingly distracted– by Jake.

He smells so good– a mix of sandalwood and vanilla. You’ve noticed it before, but for some reason it’s particularly exhilarating today.

You chalk it up to delusion from fatigue and force yourself to pay attention to the lecture.

But fuck if it isn’t hard has hell to ignore.

You reach for your coffee, glancing Jake's way when you make yet another intrusive realization.

The way he grips his pen so tightly– the veins in his hand and forearm protrude in the most captivating way.

Your eyes slowly follow a trail to his pecks, the curve of them seen just beneath his partially open, black—of course—button down. You watch them tense slightly with each word he writes.

Dr. Movack ends the lecture and you suddenly realize you’ve been staring far too long.

“Can I help you?”

You’re instantly mortified at him catching your stare. Desperate to find any excuse, you happen to see his copy of Le Morte d’Arthur sitting underneath his notebook. Thank god.

“Your book,” you point to the novel. “You need to return it.”

He huffs a laugh as he takes his sunglasses off, leaving you stunned. This is the first time you’ve seen his face without their obstruction—and the first time you’ve ever seen his eyes.

His eyes are kind and warm. They glow amber brown like a glass of whiskey on the rocks, intoxicating you just as the smooth drink would.

“I still have two days, right?”

You saw his lips move, but the sound that came from them was muffled in your head as you’re entirely mesmerized by his eyes.

“Right?” he asserts, breaking you from your trance.

You blink your eyes a few times to bring yourself back to earth as your brain registers what he had said.

“What? Y– yes, you still have two days,” you say. “You know it’s not a required reading until later on in the semester, right? Why do you need it right now?”

“Maybe I wanted to get a head start,” he says while tossing it in his black leather satchel. “Maybe it’s not any of your business.” He swiftly gets up and walks away, leaving you completely frustrated yet again.

Your journey to your next class feels more like a rigorous trudge. You’re walking fast and hard, stomping your feet with each step as your anger towards Jake exudes through your body.

Not only are you pissed at his stupid fucking attitude, you’re pissed that you find him so damn attractive.

How could you possibly find someone like him appealing? Appealing to the eye, yes, but that’s where it stops. He’s a walking rain cloud hovering over you, stealing all the sunshine from your day in only a matter of a single class period.

You’re impatiently counting the days until this class– until this project– is over and done with so you can move on and live a peaceful existence.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It’s just about time to close the library and you could not be more ready. The last few days have been incredibly draining. With homework piling up in heaps, multiple tests to study for and working nearly every night, your stress is at an all time high.

Thankfully, tomorrow is Saturday. This will be your first day off all week and you’re beyond ready for some much needed relaxation. You just need to get through these next five, excruciating minutes.

It’s been awfully quiet tonight and you’re grateful for it since you’re the only one working, but the lack of students has made the shift feel much longer than usual.

You glance up at the clock that says it’s two minutes until ten. Given you haven’t seen any signs of a student in hours, you figure it would be okay to go ahead and lock up a few minutes early.

Just as you're about to twist the lock on the bolt, someone from the other end hastily turns the knob and pushes open the door with great force, causing you to stumble backwards.

Standing before you with their overdue book in hand, and to your utter disgust, is Jake.

“We’re closed, Jake.”

He takes a few steps inside as he points behind you at the clock. “According to that, you’re still open for one more minute and I need to return my book.”

Of fucking course he waited until the literal last minute.

You want nothing more than to turn him away and tell him he’s shit out of luck, but technically, he’s right. He’s entered the building before closing and according to policy, you have to serve him.

Son of a bitch.

You bring your hand up to rub your forehead, trying to relieve some tension before you begin this process with him. “Follow me,” you say as you head back to the desk.

There’s an awkward silence lingering between you two as you sign into the computer, the only sound being his fingers tapping away at the desk as he impatiently waits for you.

“You could’ve just put it in the drop box outside, you know. They would’ve gotten it on Monday morning,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but then it would’ve been late. I’m not letting you all charge yet another absurd late fee,” he retorts.

“You should’ve turned it in on time, then.”

You seem to have struck a nerve with him given the way his jaw clenched at your statement. You just can’t bring yourself to care– he’s the one forcing you to stay late when all you want to do is go home and go to bed.

You go through the return process as quickly as you can. You finish, giving him his copy of the document that states he brought the book back.

“Thanks,” he says. “Now I would like to check it back out, please.”

Are you fucking kidding.

You know he’s doing this just to spite you.

You throw your hands down on the keyboard, “Seriously? Why can’t you just come back on Monday?”

“Because I need it this weekend,” he claims.

“What could you possibly need it for?” Any semblance of patience you may have had left has officially walked out the door.

“Didn’t I tell you it was none of your business?”

You take a deep breath and push it back out in a long sigh. You just don’t have it in you to argue anymore, so you accept defeat and begin checking it back out to him.

You don’t say anything as you hand him a pen and the checkout slip for him to sign. He grabs the pen, looking at you with a slight guilt-ridden expression before giving his signature.

“I’m working on a film with my brother, and I need the book to help him write the script.” This is the first time you’ve ever noted a hint of sincerity in his voice. The features of his face have softened– you can tell this is important to him.

You flip delicately through the tattered and stained pages of the book. “I have my own copy of this out in my car,” you say. “I’ll just let you borrow mine. It’s in much better condition than this one, anyways.”

He agrees as you take the slip from under his fingers and crumple it, throwing it in the trash can under the desk. He waits a few minutes, letting you lock up.

Then, he follows closely behind you to your car to retrieve the book.

You bend at the waist to dig for the book in the mess of your backseat. When you do so, you hear him take a deep inhale, and then blow it out in an exhale.

Is he annoyed with you having to dig? Because he can get the fuck over it.

Just as you hear him clear his throat in impatience, you’ve found the book. You stand and hand him the book, annoyed with him and ready to leave. He thanks you, and you nod, bidding him a hasty ‘good night’… you’re just ready to get home.

He begins to walk away, but stops and turns back around to face you.

Fuck. You’d been so close to being in the car, on your way home. Dammit.

“This film my brother’s doing,” he says. “Its focus surrounds the adultery of Arthur and Guinevere. He asked me to help him, and I was thinking…” You nod your head to let him know to keep going. “Well, if we both helped him, we could use it for our project.”

Your interest is certainly piqued. “Yeah, that could work. I’ve written a few scripts and designed theoretical sets for a couple film electives before… so I could definitely do that.”

“He could use more help with all of that for sure, but what he really needs are actors, specifically ones to play Arthur and Guinevere. He’s been begging me to play Arthur and I agreed, but now he’s on my case about finding someone to play Guinevere and, well...” He gestures his arms towards you, signaling that he thinks you should play her.

“Um…,” you take a minute to figure out how to politely turn him down as you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. You’d never admit it, but just the mere thought of interacting with him so intimately in those roles has your stomach doing weird flips. “Jake… I– I don’t know about that. I’m much better behind the camera, acting just isn’t really my thing.”

“Just give it a try,” he insists. Why does he seem so adamant? Geez. “And if you hate it, you can do something else. But I think you’d be great at it, really.” He smiles at you, the first time you’ve seen a true, genuine smile from him.

Well, fuck.

You want to say no, you should say no. With how he’s treated you thus far, you don’t owe him anything. But– you can’t deny how it would help your project. And this project in Movack’s class… It's important to you. It would be fantastic to have it to back up your own project…

And, aside from that, his smile is making it awfully hard to turn him down right now.

If you were alone, you would have slapped your forehead at the utter chaos in your head, leading to your ultimate decision.

With a little hesitancy, you speak up, “I guess I could stop by. Feel out the role…”

His features seem to lift more at that. You pay it hardly any mind.

And with his final reply, his velvet-toned voice has a brand new, excited, air to it. “It’ll be really amazing, I promise.” Then, he chuckles, almost to himself. “It’ll definitely be interesting,” he shakes his head, a grin still lifting his cheek. “But really… I think it’ll be great. I know my brother and you will get along. He’s also one hell of a director.”

Minutes later, as you’re climbing into your driver's seat, you take a few minutes to sit in the silence of your car.

Trying your damnedest to block out the obnoxious fluorescent lighting of the parking lot, you stare through your windshield into the black night sky.

And when normally, the blanket of black would bring you a sense of peace and comfort, tonight it’s different. Tonight, you can’t help but feel a burgeoning sense of timidness as you fail to find answers to your new predicament in the night sky.

What in the hell had you just agreed to?

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @iffypanic @sinarainbows @klarxtr @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @livkiszka @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface

a/n: let me know if you'd like to be tagged, or follow this link to be added. 🤍

love you all SO MUCH

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

Masterlist

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fic #jake fic #jake kiszka #le morte d’arthur

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three--rings · 4 months ago

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So for obvious reasons I have been thinking about IWTV a lot recently, and thinking about the books a lot. I was OBSESSED with The Vampire Chronicles when I was in middle school, into early high school.

But something that I think may not really be clear to people reading them now, or to people who only know the show, is that there's a reason the books got away with being so incredibly queer and being Bestsellers in the 70s, 80s and 90s: there was no sex.

If you're unaware, in the books, Anne Rice's vampires cannot have sex. They are impotent, sex in the human way is just not a drive they have anymore. Instead physical connection is all about sharing blood. (For the record I think the show is right to have changed this. It's not worried about censorship on that front and having sex as part of the relationships makes them way easier to communicate to the audience.)

So while the books are very homoerotic, homoromantic, and at times quite suggestive, they never have on page sexual activity, they never label relationships with explicit romantic terms like lover or husband, characters never declare their sexuality. (In early books at least.)

What this meant is that The Vampire Chronicles existed in this Plausible Deniability space where anyone who had read them realized they were gay, but they weren't LABELED AS SUCH and therefore mainstream audiences didn't know that was part of it.

So me and my friends could be 11 or 12 carrying these books around our Catholic school and didn't get anything said about it. One of my English teachers had read the first one, and we talked about it, and her only complaint was that it wasn't philosophical enough for her. But she was cool.

So, I KNEW Louis and Lestat were in love. I knew Lestat had male and female lovers. And it affected me PROFOUNDLY because it was the first depiction of queerness as anything but a joke I ever encountered.

But it wasn't "gay fiction." If it was the target of right wing criticism it was about being satanic, not queer.

I was thinking of the 4th book in the series, which I read when it was first released, in 1992. In it, (spoilers) Lestat becomes human again. And he turns to his human openly gay friend David and says "omg I'm human. Let's HAVE SEX!"

Reading that and the fucking THIRD EYE that opened for me is BURNED into my memory. I remember how scandalous that was, because it was ON THE PAGE. Here was a book with men talking about having sex with each other. And I was reading it! And it was just casual and nonchalant. (Unfortunately they don't actually do it, to my young disappointment.) Despite all the queerness that i'd experienced (and recognized) already in the series, THAT was shocking.

You can't know what that was LIKE to a kid in 1992, before the internet was anything more than bulletin boards, before fanfiction online was really a thing. And these weren't niche novels, things only people in liberal literary circles read. They were massive, massive bestsellers.

IDK, you know. I have given Anne Rice a LOT of shit in my time, and she's deserved a lot of it. But she also performed some miracles of representation that affected a lot of people. IDK if I even have a point. Just. I was remembering what it felt like. To encounter a gay character in fiction for the first time, talk about gay sex for the first time.

I don't think it's an accident that me and my friend who shared this obsession both ended up being bi. We passed the books back and forth and pointed out the really juicy sections and other people were never quite as into these books as we were even when we made them read them.

#the vampire chronicles #iwtv #my meta #i guess?#the vampire chronicles spoilers #then there was the writing workshop in college when someone just went #hmm do you read a lot of anne rice?#Me: uhhhh I used to #yeah this reminds me of her stuff #and I was kinda mortified but also secretly happy about that

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crowleysgirl56 · 4 months ago

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Wildest dreams wishes for Good Omens Season 3 which will probably not come true but I can still hope hey!

Number 34

So we need something nice, because, well, *gestures vaguely at everything*. So here is morning in South Downs cottage M rated fluff/up to your imagination smut! Enjoy!

Aziraphale never really was one for sleeping. He preferred to while away the hours on more stimulating activities like baking or writing or reading. Sitting up with a book in hand, he watched as the early morning sunbeams crept through the bedroom window and slowly illuminated the peaceful form of his lover pressed against his side. He smiled fondly. Maybe there was something to this sleeping after all. He gazed at the constellation of freckles on the demons bare back, eyes lingering on the spots where ebony wings would burst forth from their astral plane once summoned. His gazed roamed up to an angular and beautiful face nestled neatly into his waist, and thought of the most beautiful golden eyes currently hidden behind closed lids. How he missed those eyes. It had only been a few hours, but still, his heart ached when they were shut. Gently he slowly began to card his fingers through soft red curls and went back to his book.

Crowley was no stranger to sleep, though after 6000 years of doing so in the strangest of places, from the walls and ceiling of his apartment, to the floor of his Bentley, and one time at the bottom of a rather ornate vase in the palace of Versailles (it’s a long a story), he realised that the best place was by the side of particularly captivating angel. He vowed never again to sleep without the angel next to him. He wouldn’t tell him this of course. A demon does after all need to keep up his reputation.

He lay curled up tightly against Aziraphale’s side, an arm protectively wrapped around the angels waist. As the rising sun slowly brightened the room, he was gently roused awake by the feeling of fingers caressing his hair. He watched the dust motes dance through the sunbeams filtering through the window before looking up at the precious angel’s face. Crowley felt himself grin. A most undemonic thing to do. He didn’t care.

“Morning angel, fancy meeting you here” he purred.

Aziraphale’s eyes didn’t leave his book, though the corners of his mouth twitched up slightly, “Good morning my dear. I see you’re still intent on making that joke every morning”.

“What joke? There’s an angel in my bed and he’s trying to temp me.”

Placing the book down and raising an eyebrow Aziraphale replied “Our bed”.

“Our bed” Crowley repeated as he began to snake his way up to Aziraphale’s eye-line.

Aziraphale took off his glasses and moved them along with the book to the side table. He turned to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Tremendously”. Crowley began to lean into the angels neck when he suddenly stopped. “Angel. Did you miracle on pyjamas last night after I fell asleep?” he asked incredulously.

“Oh yes, I thought them rather stylish”

“They’re tartan!”

“You don’t like them?” Aziraphale pouted, making sure to enhance his bottom lip ever so slightly. It worked. Crowley’s eyes immediately dropped to his mouth. He smiled wickedly.

“I’d like them better if they were on the floor”. A hand suddenly landed at the top button of Aziraphale pyjamas working it open with deft and slender fingers.

Playing coy Aziraphale turned away and made to get up. “Excellent idea. We should get dressed. I’ve made plans!”

“And what plans would they be exactly?” The next button popped open. Aziraphale paused as heated breath tickled under his chin. He settled back on the bed abandoning his ruse.

“You’ll just have to wait and see”. Aziraphale gradually leaned his head back to allow the demon better access to his neck. Crowley softly brushed the tip of his nose into the crook under Aziraphale’s ear.

“You know that’s very irritating Angel. Besides I thought we didn’t keep secrets anymore.” A small kiss is peppered along the side of Aziraphale’s throat as a third button is reached.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, enjoying the tingle that ran down his spine. “Only the nice ones dear” he breathed.

“Nice! Well if you’re going to start talking dirty” Crowley rose up and hovered over Aziraphale, a hand on either side of his torso pressed down into the mattress.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s eyes flew opened as he feigned a protest, but allowed himself to be crowded back against the bedhead. Eyes wide and round, not daring tear them away from the demon, he ran his owns hands up Crowley’s chest.

As Crowley held himself up with one hand, the other went back to slowly prizing open the remaining (and offending) shirt buttons one by one. “These plans of yours, do they have any kind of urgent timeframe?”

“Well no, I suppose they are rather flexible.” Their mouths mere millimetres apart.

“Excellent. Because I have some plans of my own.” The last button successfully removed.

“Oh? Do tell.” Aziraphale slid down into softness of the pillows, slipping his arms around Crowley’s neck as the demon pressed down upon him.

“I think I’d rather show you”. Mouths thank Go-, thank Sat-, thank SOMEONE, finally came together. Turns out, even the best laid plans can wait.

If you would like to know what Aziraphale’s plans were, then go on and read Wildest Dream 13 which can be used as part two to this little interlude. Because you deserve more kissing!

Also Edit: to add @goodomensafterdark because I feel like this is up your alley.

#good omens #good omens fan fiction #crowley #Aziraphale #crowley x arizaphale #crowley and aziraphale kissing #south downs cottage #South Downs #manifesting south downs cottage #aziracrow #good omens fandom #wildest dreams #hey I can dream can’t I #wildest dream wishes #good omens season 3 #ineffable fluff #ineffable husbands #ineffable kissing #ineffable smut

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soraviie · 2 years ago

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tugging at his hair.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: angst, fluff, (themes of) smut, the holy trifecta ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: may or may not have seen Yoongi's insta pic...may or may not be feeling very normal about it

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: Atypically, your boyfriend was actually quite the whiny guy. Friday evening, time - 20:30. Thanks to some uncanny miracle, Namjoon was free this night and you’d been eager to soak up each other’s company. You sat largely silent, tucked into his side and openly staring, merely breathing an infrequent “yeah” and “no way” so he wouldn’t suspect you were not listening. Though you were not listening, catching the jumping cadence of his offended voice only with the tip of your ears. Far too engrossed in admiring the glowing shade of his skin and furiously working cheeks, you felt your mind slip. Never before have you thought that someone resting on the couch, passively aggressively minding on chips could make your heart bleed with love. But everything about Namjoon was soft and comfortable.

Unwittingly, you zeroed in on the tuft of his hair, poking out from underneath his hoodie. Without fully registering, you trailed your fingers down the hood, pulling it down and proceeded to tug at the back of his hair. Namjoon’s cheeks froze and with mouth full, he glanced at your side.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t know,” you shrugged. “You’re compelling like that.”

He returned back to the chips, completely unperturbed by the looks of it.

“You need to condition them more,” noting absent-mindedly, you played with whatever strand called your fancy. He rolled his eyes, pinching your bare thigh.

“Ow!

“You should be whispering sweet nothings in my ear,” he grumbled. “Confess how much you adore me, how hot I am.”

“Right,” you agreed, leaning into his expectant expression. “Your hair is also greasy as fuck. You should shower more.”

Violently, he hurled you into the decorative pillows scrunched from your combined weight, frowning at the easy laughter bubbling from your throat.

“I’m dating a bully,” he muttered bitterly, yet when you nosed at his neck, he craned it with no small amount of enthusiasm, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“Sure are,” you purred. “Can I play with your greasy hair more? Pretty please?” His eyes lingered, firmly set on the playing movie, but you reckoned his neck did grow increasingly warmer.

“You’ll do it no matter what I say.”

“‘Cause you’ve never said “no” to me.”

At that, he heaved a tormented sigh.

“True. I’m but a lowly servant of love.”

You chuckled, pushing the black hair away from his forehead, messing it up. After a moment, with a barely concealed grin, he offered:

“Maybe now I can card through your leg hair.”

“Not funny,” you glared at him but Namjoon merely sniggered further on.

“A little funny.”

YOONGI: Your hand was practically aching as it laid listlessly by your side, partially sinking into the plush sofa of his studio. Fully drowned in work, he sat by the monitor, one hand coming to rest by his lips, the other - tinkering with the beat. And his hair - the hair - curled around him like a ring of halo. He drew a heavy sigh, reaching up to muss the chief objects of unease further. Yet you couldn’t just follow the delirious caprice. Yoongi was a guarded man, he liked his personal space and, despite how much you longed for it, you couldn’t just tug at his long hair. The relationship was still fresh and had to be trodden like a melting glacier - nice and easy. Crossing the itching arms over your stomach, you huffed in discontent.

“What?” he suddenly hummed, and you recoiled, assuming he was blissfully ignorant of your lingering stare.

“Nothing,” you replied, but his chair turned, a pair of disbelieving eyes falling your way.

“Just say it.”

“I want to tug at your hair,” the sentence practically rushed out as though your body was actively disregarding your own orders.

“Why don’t you just do it?”

You nibbled with your fingers suddenly feeling rather foolish.

“I want to be respectful,” you muttered underneath the nose, and a second later, you grasped what sound Yoongi was making. Laughing.

He was laughing at you.

Resting his forehead against the desk, you saw his shoulders wag in muffled glee.

“You know,” he faced you, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Most couples grope each other the first chance they get.”

“Oh, shut it,” groaning, you sank into the sofa, only for all objections to wither into the ether once Yoongi lowered his head with a soft “come ‘ere”.

Cautiously, fearing the dream could shatter at the moment’s passing, you made your way to where he sat and with bated breath curled your palm around his fluffy curls, giving them a tender yet generous pull. Something akin to instant relief flooded your system, making the tips of your fingers tingle.

“Enjoying yourself?” Yoongi wondered, the curve of his smile suggesting he was barely holding himself back from teasing you into oblivion. You tugged at his hair once more, this time harder, and a prolonged moan left his lips, startling you both.

“Not as much as you, it seems,” you smirked down at him, enjoying how his eyes flitted away from you, self-conscious red dusting his cheeks.

“Just go for it next time,” he grumbled shyly, making no move to pull away. “Before you give yourself an IBS.”

JIN: He knew what you wanted by the frankly terrifying gleam hidden behind your eye. There was something entirely transfixed passing your expression as you stared at his head with steely determination. Ordinarily, Jin was content with your inexplicable obsession. Rather this than pulling at his cheeks, he reckoned, however, now…

“I won’t pry ________ off of me,” he whined, gazing into a mirror. Even to his completely normal and unscrambled brain, the permed curls resting atop his forehead seemed inviting. Fluffy. Moussed. Reasonably asking to be tugged.

“Oh, what a torture,” Namjoon dragged aridly, perched in the corner, not unlike a sullen owl. “You have someone to go home to who loves to play with your hair. Poor you.”

Graciously ignoring the seeping sarcasm, JIn breathed a tormented sigh.

“I know right.”

Namjoon merely rolled his eyes, returning back to his quiet moping.

When Jin crossed the threshold, he found you immersed in laundry, folding it and turning to greet him home like always.

“Hello!” you exclaimed cheerfully. “How was your da-”

Frightfully, he swallowed. Your expression grew distant and in spite of his jerky movements, your attention never wavered from the top of his head.

“May I eat at least?” he mewled weakly and you nodded just not before actually thinking about it.

After eating in peace, the last one he’d get for the evening, Jin slowly trodded to the bedroom, shoulders hung low in premature defeat. On the other side of the door, you were waiting for him already, blinking expectantly from underneath the covers. After a prolonged groan, he obliged your whims and settled his head on your lap. To get it over with.

Instantly, your fingers delved deep into his curls, tugging and twirling them to your heart’s strange desire.

“How cute,” you gushed. “So fluffy!”

Jin closed his eyes, trying to suppress the blossoming smile. Perhaps, he didn’t entirely hate being coddled in such a fashion but you didn’t need to know that. Unbeknownst, to him, you were more than aware as, in spite of his efforts to mask the pleased grimace, he failed to conceal the ears burning bright red.

HOSEOK: “Sorry,” he said, squirming and glancing to the side. “But no.”

Well, no was no and you just had to learn how to live with it. Every time your hand subconsciously reached to grasp a strand of his hair between your fingers, not really meaning anything good or bad, just doing so out of instinct, you reigned it back, forcing the treasonous hand to ultimately fall unused. It may or may not have taken you a whole year to timidly wonder aloud:

“Why don’t you like for me to touch your hair?”

Hoseok was practically asleep - his voice came crackling from the other side of the bed.

“It’s nothing personal,” he sighed, cracking one eye open, glancing at your demure expression through the dark. “It’s just…” then he fell silent. Only after a pregnant pause, one long enough for you to assume he’d succumbed to sleep, he casually brushed it off:

“It’s just a preference.”

He rolled on the side and the conversation ended there.

“Hey, ______________!” Jimin greeted you brightly the second you took a step inside the partially hidden makeup studio. Being nearly four in the morning, filming’s end, sparsely anyone was present and even those few people didn’t bother acknowledging you through the haze of insomnia.

“What are you doing here?”

He smirked, all cheek as always.

“Could ask the same for you. It’s really late.”

You shrugged, enjoying the distraction of easy chatter.

“Couldn’t sleep. Supposed Hoseok would appreciate some company home.”

“Ah, dear ______________,” Jimin snaked a hand around your shoulder. “Geniuses think alike.”

“Oh no,” you laughed, scurrying away from his treacherous hold. “Don’t try to seduce me into being your fangirl. It won’t happen.”

What was with Jimin and his tenacious will to make himself your bias you did not know and you never quite asked either, although it provided plenty of icebreakers across the slew of accidental meetings.

“Shame,” he drawled. “Maybe better though. Hoseok would kill me.”

To properly lament the wretched situation, Jimin sighed and reached to rake a hand through his hair. Hair that had been growing out and now sat shining with silver highlights. Unwittingly, your hand jolted by the side of your thigh.

“You want to touch?” he offered, sporting a grin too devious for your peace of mind. You probably shouldn’t but what’s the big deal…It’s just hair…

Doors to the room sprang open with a great bang and you crossed gazes with Hoseok, instantly swallowing in guilt. With expression previously lax, now growing cloudy, he flitted between you and Jimin.

“What’s going on?” with narrowed glare, he questioned, voice falling in a carefully curated tone which was, of course, far more menacing.

“Just waiting for you superstar,” Jimin laughed thinly only to wither when placed underneath Hoseok’s chilling frown. “On second thought, I’ll get home on my lonesome. Goodbye!”

And without giving anyone the time to even blink, Jimin had already disappeared into thin air. No, he was definitely not winning any favours from you.

The drive back home was spent in fraught silence, with Hoseok’s hands gripping the wheel so tight, every now and then it heaved a maltreated scream. Any minute soon the wrath bubbling underneath his skin would surge like pressurised water out of a geyser. However, Hoseok wasn’t a jealous person, even less when it came to the members. Both were trusted explicitly. Was it stress perhaps?

Finally, he crumbled.

“What is it with you and hair?” he sneered sharply. Straight away you bristled at the unspoken accusation.

“Nothing. Better yet what’s with you? I can’t even talk to Jimin now?”

“You went to him with the one thing, I couldn’t give you,” he countered as the car surged with tension.

“I did not go to him!” you squalled in frustration. “Are you even hearing yourself?!”

“It’s our thing!”

“No, it’s mine! You hate -!”

“It’s because of my ex, okay?!”

An awkward silence settled in the space between you. Red light pooled through the windshield.

“She liked to play with my hair,” he explained, anger abating as it was quickly seized by contrite embarrassment. “And I was afraid that if you’d do it, I would unwillingly think of her. You deserve better than that.”

You bit your lip to stop the growing smile, simply breathing: “I see.” Then -

“However, how would I know what you’re thinking?”

He stared ahead, lips thinning identical to yours.

“Probably wouldn’t,” he sighed. “But I’d feel at blame.”

You hummed and gazed outside the window, still battling the blossoming smile, though it was nothing compared to the warmth churning within your chest. A hand reached for yours and Hoseok guided your fingers towards his hair. It was finer than you realized but nice. It was Hoseok after all.

“Are you thinking of her?” you gently pondered.

“Not at all,” he whispered in a breathy voice, eyes briefly falling shut. “You’re the only one for me.”

JIMIN: Instead of happiness, his lips pursed into a thin line, gaze becoming evasive.

“Thank you, but I’m too tired.”

“I’ll help you.”

“I…I’m not in the mood for sex either.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed forlornly, literally feeling him slip through the cracks of your fingers. “Just…get in, and I’ll take care of you,” in a smaller voice, you added. “Like you do of me.”

Standing in the cracked gap of the bathroom door, he contemplated for a second, before breathing a heavy exhale, one expressing the entire weight of the world. Water sloshed as he got in the bath you drew up, and the window soon was covered by a thick layer of condensation, the deep black night growing matted behind it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tossed over the bare shoulder, but you brushed his concerns away.

“I want to.”

“If it's because what I said -”

“It’s not.”

“- then I was out of line.”

“You were not.”

“I take it back.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But -”

Every time he spoke, his head turned to steal a glimpse of you, perhaps entirely on instinct, the water doused you with a heavy wave, drenching the floor and dumping the rose petals out with it. You grasped his head between your palms, keeping him still at least long enough to apologize sans the pain of his scrutinising gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you confessed, letting your forehead rest on the back of his neck. “I won’t ever let you feel like taken for granted.”

He sat unmoving for a long time and you gasped shakily, trying to swallow the budding tears. Well, obviously you would self-sabotage the only good thing in your life. Only naturally at this point in life...

…but this was Jimin and it didn’t matter whether you tucked yourself away in a locked room or an ocean away, he’d extend you the same kindness you were so eager to return. Pulling your arms around his neck, he smiled, laying a tender kiss upon your trembling knuckles.

“Nothing to forgive,” he muttered. “We were never in the wrong.”

You choked back a sob. Nonetheless, the night was still about him.

“Right,” you sobered up, pushing him lower in the water. “Just try to relax.”

“Are you planning to kill me?” he teased tiredly. “Besides, it’s a bit difficult given that my cock is just…out here,” he gestured vaguely at his lower part and you chuckled thinly.

“Nothing new to me. This is just…romantic.”

“Well, you certainly know the befitting aesthetic,” pointedly, he peered across the dozens of scent-free candles littered over every available surface of the bathroom and the pink petals now displayed haphazardly between the bath and the grey mat beside it.

Pressing a handful of shampoo in his hair, you hissed with mock annoyance: “oh, zip it.”

You kept working in now pleasant silence. Peace was in the house, at least it was until…

His groan was near explicit and watching Jimin throw his head back, nuzzling deeper into your hands, you knew you’d never forget the sight. It didn’t even seem like he’d registered it and soon enough the curiosity overwhelmed you. You rinsed his hair and then scratched lightly across the scalp. Another moan, even longer and somehow so filthy you could swear your entire body flushed.

“So…” he chuckled, strangely nervous. “Did I just give you a quick way to control my entire nervous system?”

You laid a kiss on his nape and the water rippled from his shudder.

“Sure did.”

The moons now adorning his spine were entirely at fault here or so you insisted, tugging his styled hair between your fingers, occasionally scratching just to see the struggle to keep his eyes open.

“The stylist is going to kill you,” he warned breathily but Jimin was never more grateful for losing his composure, that day in the bath than he was at this moment. Like grime washed away by a wet towel, your presence eased his worry into the void, while your fingers twirling his hair kept him there. How strange that such a small thing could do so much but then again if it did not, then would Jimin have bought a ring that now laid in his jacket pocket, heavy and searing like the infinite weight of Cosmos.

“Worth it,” you hummed. He couldn’t agree more.

TAEHYUNG: Frankly, the question of your enjoyment never made it into the equation as before you could even wonder of the idea, Taehyung had shamelessly thrust his head into your lap.

“I don’t wanna,” you whined by now not needing a verbal order to know what he craved.

“Too bad,” retorting without so much as an ounce of empathy, he grasped your fingers, bringing them down upon his head. Five minutes later he was snoring on your legs and no amount of force could rouse him, divine or otherwise. It was a language of his, one he talked exclusively with you.

Trees breezed past the rolling car and sitting still, you watched them blur into wide, rushing lines. At first innocent, his palm intertwined with yours, gaze locked on the road ahead. You hummed. He liked to hold hands, and so did you, only for yours to suddenly be submerged within his dark curls.

“Seriously?!” you yelped, and he chuckled with no small amount of glee.

The door smacked behind, or it would have if Taehyung had not been hot on your heels the entire way home.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung mumbled, by now so many times it didn’t remotely even sound like a proper sentence.

“Not accepted,” you sneered, yanking off the jacket, maybe tearing a button or two in the process. “You embarrassed me! And for what?! Some childish caveman display of jealousy?”

The rest of the insult is expressed through a hardened scowl. As you jostled, enraged and unthinking, to peel off the stifling layers, Taehyung enclosed you into a hug, towering above you, his head lowered into the crook of your neck.

“Please, don’t be mad at me,” pitifully he muttered, a warm breath ghosting over your collarbone. “Take it out on me but promise you won’t be mad afterwards.”

Without even quite thinking, you wrenched out of his grasp and seized his hair, yanking it harshly towards you. At the back of your mind, panic took root - were you hurting him? Was this not wrong? But Taehyung grew positively limp, pliant, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as his widened eyes tracked your every movement.

“I’m really angry,” you whispered with a frown.

“I’m sorry,” uselessly, he whimpered when you grasped at his locks. “It’s just…”

All you have to do is tug again for a high-pitched squeal to rip from the depths of his chest. “Don’t want to lose you.”

Something in the near incoherent way he breathed it, made your heart soften.

“Why are you crying?” you asked quietly, wiping the stray tear off his cheek.

Early morning hued the sky pink as you lay beside each other, relishing in the muted stillness of the room.

“Don’t know,” Taehyung sniffled. “Felt like it.”

You reached to brush his hair and soon enough he was slumbering again - all tears faded into the dawning cold.

JUNGKOOK: Frankly, you didn’t grasp why in situations such as these the other partner always offered sex. You were far more willing to simply lug this nightstand at Jungkook’s head. Without knocking you cracked open the doors to his gaming room, discerning the explosive sounds of combat swirling around the room.

“Jungkook, you promised!” you complained and he held out a hand, gaze locked on the game.

“I’ll be there soon, babe,” he lied in between strangled curses. “Just one more round.”

He’d muttered that already two fruitless hours ago.

“No, now!” you threatened, coming to stand by his chair, watching the battle unfold, thoroughly unimpressed by it. He offered some incoherent noise that lacked any meaning, and in a flash of swirling annoyance, you yanked at his hair, forcing his eyes to land upside down upon your face.

“Now.”

Most people would hastily become upset at such a gesture but the little masochist grinned from cheek to cheek, expression gaining a certain twinkle. You groaned at his satisfaction. Couldn’t even playfully torment him. The brat enjoyed it.

“Okay, folks,” he spoke into the headset, with your hand still firmly latched in his shaggy hair. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’ve got to go.”

Someone hollered in the chat but it went entirely unheard. Pushing the chair away from the desk, he reached to pull your other arm to rest on top of his thundering heart.

“What’s up, babe?”

For someone who was jerked by the roots of his hair, Jungkook appeared entirely too delighted.

“I need you -”

“Oh, you need me?”

“To hammer in the nails to the nightstand. Brat,” saying so, your grip on his hair grew harsher. All that came of it was Jungkook’s raspy laughter, eyes briefly fluttering shut and lips carving a sharp line in his dimpled cheeks.

“Couldn’t you just do it yourself?”

“Well if injury is to happen, I’d prefer it is you, not me.”

“Liar,” he smirked. “You cried when I tripped.”

Traitorous heat snuck its way onto your cheeks.

“I thought your leg broke,” you muttered before nudging him outside. “Now get to working.”

“Yes, my liege,” he curtsied, proceeding then to wring his tattooed hands around your waist, making you hobble like some sort of overtly humped creature. His nose quickly delved into its reserved spot in the crook of your neck.

“Always smell so good,” hazily, Jungkook muttered and you shook your head at his antics.

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the one who's constantly trying to dom me by hair pulling.”

“It’s not a dom thing!”

“Sure, baby,” he rasped, planting a wet kiss against your neck. “Whatever you say. Just remember you now owe me three hair pulls in return.”

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stirthewaters · 1 year ago

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Wednesday addams x magic reader?? Lightning control

Strawberry-Flavored

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Mention of drugs, high af reader, suggestive ending?

Summary: The skies of Nevermore are suddenly unusually active, and Wednesday knows that you're the one behind it

The nevermore sky was unusually dark when Wednesday stepped outside, dark rumbles of thunder and faint crackling sounds charging the air as the remaining students hurried inside due to the storm.

Where had it come from? Nobody knew, but Wednesday had a sneaking suspicion that you had something to do with it and she was never wrong. You had to be somewhere, and as if to confirm her assumptions she hadn’t seen you for most of the day. The Addams was already on the move, the other students moving out of the way for her as she stormed through the halls, her energy not dissimilar to the thunderous and gloomy sky outside. At least the weather was good. Upon a search of you regular whereabouts you were nowhere to be seen, and that frustrated her, to say the least. There was no natural way that a lightning storm had formed when the sky had been clear mere hours ago; seeing as you were the only student in the school with the ability to control said lightning, all the signs were pointing to you.

Wednesday was exiting the commissary when she was interrupted by Thing, the appendage tapping on the floor before her, causing her to pause her search to listen, with slightly furrowed eyebrows and a small sigh of annoyance. “What is it, Thing?”

A couple more rapid taps made the raven’s eyebrows lift slightly in surprise as she paused before responding, “Y/N? You found them?” Two or more taps and she huffed slightly, hissing. “Yes, I understand that Y/N started the storm, get to the point.”

When the appendage finished his sentence Wednesday had to bite back an annoyed sigh. Why must you be so foolish? Nodding to Thing, she changed directions, already headed for the secret Nightshades library. Of course you were there; maybe she shouldn’t have told you about it when you were going to use it to your own advantage. Or was that admirable-? No. She had to focus,

When Wednesday walked down the spiral staircase she instantly knew Thing’s testimony had been correct; there you were, with Ajax, head hazy with the cloud of smoke surrounding the two of you. It was a miracle that the fire alarms hadn’t gone off yet.

You were clearly stoned out of your mind; Wednesday could tell that your control of your powers had either slipped or you simply didn’t care that you were causing a storm right on top of you. Your eyes had a droopy look, and in your right hand was your smoke, which you were already using to go in for another bump. Without a word, the Addams quickly stepped forward, taking it from your hand and stomping on it, crunching it under the sole of her boot as she watched you look down in surprise.

“What in Lucifier’s name do you think you’re doing?” Wednesday hissed, grabbing your wrist to pull you out of the slight hazy cloud, though she knew that wouldn’t effect your senses anyway,

Ajax also looked slightly startled, and the Addams felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight, pleased that she had at least done something fun today. Turning away from the stoner’s fear, she tightened her grip on your wrist. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

When you opened your mouth to speak Wednesday huffed and shook her head, abruptly cutting you off. “I don’t wish to hear excuses, Y/N. Get a grip on yourself and let’s get you cleaned up.” With Ajax meekly giving a goodbye, she practically dragged you up the staircase, pace brisk and irritated.

The sounds of thunder rumbling and faint flashes of lightning were still present when the Addams pulled you toward her dorm, clearly showing you were still high as a kite, though Wednesday couldn’t deny it was in character for you. With a small frown, she opened her door and pushed you onto her bed, kneeling on the floor to further examine you.

“Look, I was trying, Ajax had some sorta… like… strawberry scented vape and I was only taking a couple bumps-“ you started to speak, speech slightly slurred. “- I’m sorry, it was just-“

Wednesday shut you up quickly by giving the shirt of your collar a small tug, and you let loose a small whine, causing the raven to roll her eyes as she placed a cold hand on your face, examining your dilated pupils. Definitely high.

Sighing, she muttered curses under her breath as she grabbed a small water bottle from under her bed, placing it to your lips and lifting your chin gently to make you drink. The sounds of thunder were starting to fade, luckily for the school, and the Addams glanced outside at the window before feeling a tug at her sleeve, causing her gaze to turn back to you.

“Pay attention.” You whined again, making Wednesday frown slightly. Of course you were acting childish, you always did so when you were high. Grumbling, she knew there wouldn’t be any other way to shut you up other than giving you what you wanted, and she hesitantly and slowly leaned forward, giving you a small forehead kiss in response. She hated the darkness that was becoming present on her face. Why was it that even in your drugged state she found you so… attractive? Was it the fact that somehow you had caused an entire weather mystery, the only cause being you under the influence? Was it the fact that you had so foolishly used the secret library for quite simply the most unimaginative reason possible? It was puzzling why your simple ignorance was so endearing to her.

“I will not tolerate you this kindly next time, Y/N. Do you understand, or are you still unable to comprehend basic sentences?”

Seeing the meek nod from you made her nod, at least somewhat satisfied as she returned the kiss that you offered.

A/N: I'm working on the next part of TSTT, sorry for the wait <3

#wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday x reader #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #jenna ortega #requests

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twost3ps · 5 months ago

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I love guitarhero, mostly thanks to you! But now I have to ask. What would guitarhero’s first fight would be? I’m all in for the sweetness, fluff, and romance. But they have got to have a sort of quarrel at some point. Unless it’ll never happen, thats fine too!

OH THANK YOU WHOOP- 😳

That is such an honor rfiycbyfeyicbeficyb AUYWUYAWFGuyaG

But man that’s actually a hard question…

I’m not sure but they do quarrel quite a bit. Still a definite believer that Adam is a brat who is madly stubborn and crass, and while Micheal is pliant to most of Adam’s wants and opinions he does put his foot down from time to time. Every couple is bound to argue but that’s honestly something that makes any relationship stronger- working around problems.

But they’ve had fights before

Short answer:

In eden their first argument would have about the value of life. In heaven, it was to do with Adam's abandonment issues because of Micheal's work

Long answer:

For me, their first ever argument, not even as a couple just in general, was the value of life in Eden/earth. I kinda explored that in one of my other posts, but to keep it short- at some point Micheal had looked at what was ‘mortal life’ as inferior. The way angels and humans inherently view life is vastly different, for me personally. And when Micheal found himself in the garden and finally met Adam, who he thought as a miracle by god, he still didn’t value the other life in there as equally. Adam definitely got mad when Micheal would scoff at and ignore the animals who were trying to capture his attention. Adam was really soft to all the animals- closest thing he had to children back then (his little babies) They get into a couple more arguments about it till Adam put his foot down. He felt it on a level unfair that there was a clear bias to him and the other life and that Micheal’s behavior and Micheal tells him he is unable to understand the connection because he just doesn’t feel it. Then it’s this whole thing of Adam dragging Micheal everywhere and showing him the wonders of life, and like really showing him. Making him wait and watch. It’s a lust for life kind of thing. The valve of the living experience and Micheal slowly comes to understand lol

In heaven they would quarrel about like general stuff that couples do but-

I think their first real genuine argument up in heaven would probably have to do with Micheal’s responsibilities and Adam’s relationship insecurity.

Micheal is a man dedicated to order. He willingly takes on more work so that peace is kept, especially because he thinks its HIS duty. Mainly a mix of Lucifer’s fall with the apple and the fallout of it- Micheal felt as the eldest sibling, being Lucifer’s closest twin (or triplet but that’s for another time), and being ones of the few guards of eden, in a way the fall was kinda his fault. And while waiting for Adam to get into heaven, Micheal took on some of Lucifur's old responsibilities and additional duties that had been created because of the fall.

Anyway tldr: the fall caused Micheal to become very work active as a way to cope with the loss of his brother. He feels the need to constantly work to keep peace and also to never think about his personal failures lololol (if I don't think about it its not there mindset- very counter productive lol) He just wants that CONTROL

When Adam finally gets into heaven, that's finally when Micheal halts some of his duties. He makes time out of his schedule just for Adam. I mean, yes, Adam has training with Micheal so that he can be supervised, but Micheal makes REAL time just to have personal one on one time with him. There is though, that nagging part of him thats yelling at him to work.

And it stays like that for a while till finally more winners come up into heaven and there is a steady growth of the birth rate at Earth. Then the work is stating to pile high and Micheal is actively being called in. He falls back into his older routine, of working and working. Old habits die hard and he adds on more work than he really needs to. It's all about having that control bby. And while Micheal is attempting to do work, his personal time with Adam lessens and lessens. He thinks it's fine because a long time has passed and Adam has assimilated pretty well into heaven by then and what he's doing is benefiting Adam's descendants.

As for Adam, he definitely has relationship issues- specifically abandonment issues. With Lilith and Lucifer obviously and a bit of Eve (cuz of the possible infidelity thing and I don’t think she’s in heaven). Micheal had been his rock. The one part of Eden he still had. He also Adam's break. As a winner, Adam was relieved of his earthly duties. He was free to chill and relax (training was Micheal's idea, but Adam had the freedom to refuse) Relaxing is his time with Micheal because it's how he relaxed in eden. And now that Micheal was going away more, he felt scared. He afraid of being tossed to the side again and this made Adam more clingy. Whenever Micheal would tell him he’d have to leave, he’d try to cling on to him and tell him that he could just do it later. Both are emotionally constipated so instead of talking it out immediately they let that stuff marinate and build up, expecting the other to address it.

It all blows up when Micheal is called in for this very important project and Adam is trying to make excuses for him to stay. This has been going on for a while and both of them just snap and words are thrown around. Neither of them have ever had a fight like this before and it ends really badly.

Both stop talking to each other for a while, but it's obvious it's taking a toll on them.

Micheal has buried himself in his work, and despite his dedication, he's become very sloppy.

Adam hangs around in their old hangout spots but clearly wants no one around. He's a lot more quiet but very heated when he actually speaks.

Even when they see each other in training, they actively avoid each other. Adam even dropped out after some point.

It's until Gabriel intervenes that he forces the two to talk it out.

It's rough, and ends in tears and stuff. All that jam.

Adam comes to understand that Micheal has a life outside of him. That while he is granted a life of leisure, the other angels have their duties that they must attend to as well. It hurts, but still. But he also gains comfort knowing that Micheal would not willingly abandon him for his work. That what he's doing is also for both of their families.

Micheal is confronted with the fact that just overworks himself. That he puts too much time in trying to take control that he's losing control of himself and the relationships he has (his work has not blocked his relationship with Adam but also with his siblings) He also comes to the realization that Adam still needs him, not just to guide him, but also be there for him.

Both are also coming to the understanding that they really need to talk about how the fall and eden in general affected them. They work it out. It forges a deep bond between them because they both now that they understand and relate to one another URGWIEGFKWEUBHo

Theres also like, a bunch of other issues that they address as well

This argument also might pipeline to why adam gets into heavenly politics. It was a way of him getting directly involved with his descendants but also to watch over Micheal, because if that man is going to try and listen to anyone its gonna be Adam. Of course theres more to it than just that but thats a part of it.

ALSO im so sorry to the the ppl who have sent me asks Ive just been crazy sick and delirious. But i really wanted to answer this question lol

I'll be answering the ones I don't have any sketches for maybe 2day or tommorow. For the other asks im so sorry but i wanna draw them ,esuFwejvfejwyv

#hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel #guitarhero #hazbin hotel michael #michael x adam #adam hazbin hotel #micheal hazbin hotel #i gen dunno if this makes any sense because im so out if it rn

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catboydreamer · 10 months ago

Text

xiao comfort for nightmare.

notes; vaguely talks about family issues since that's what the nightmare is about. but it is genuinely vague with very general sentences about what happened in the past. also, may be a bit rusty and not super detailed, i haven't written in forever but i really hope it is enjoyable to someone out there. <3

xiao x reader , xiao comforts you after a nightmare.

it wasn't as if you were trying to think of them. if anything, you haven’t actively thought of them in a few weeks and yet…

a nightmare.

when you wake up in a cold sweat and the only light in the room is the gentle light of your alarm clock, all you can remember is flashes. you remember the screaming and how close they got to your face. quite similar to the constant insults and arguments daily when you lived with them. you could almost always taste the cigarettes on their breath or the alcohol steaming off your father when he got home. words slurred and insults casually thrown. no one ever protected you from the fall out. if anything, they created a stone wall against you.

caught up in your own thoughts you didn't hear the soft pitter patter of his boots as he launched off the window sill and made his way to you. it is possible he intentionally walked over so quietly but it wasn’t entirely welcoming in this state of mind.

you only slightly felt how the bed shifted when he sat down. and yet when his hand touches your shoulder in a fleeting, gentle touch, you flinch back a bit. your eyes finally meet in the dark with his glowing orange eyes. it's like a saving grace in the dark of your mind.

he asks without words. is this okay? is this what you want? your throat feels dry so you cannot speak. his presence alone washes over you and tears start to fall down your cheeks. still, despite how it hurts, he sits still and waits for your response. you only nod and by some miracle he is able to see this.

he pulls you into a hug. his arms are a bit stiff but it is a tight hug as he holds you against his chest. you breathe shakily and cry. you’ve filled water stains onto his clothes but he doesn’t push you away or react at all. he continues to hold you within the silence of your room.

and finally, you can feel his breath against your cheek. something you have slowly taught him how to do. something he knows calms you down. it feels more human and puts you at ease.

after a long while in his arms, after the tears have dried up and your throat has closed up way too much, after you have cramps in your wrists from gripping on his shirt, you want to pull away. it's a simple double tap on his thigh and he pulls away from you.

it's only a minute though, and then he lifts a finger to your chin so you look at him only. “you need water. let me retrieve you some.”

it's never a question and with that, his presence is gone for a few moments before he comes back with a glass of water. he places it in your hands and watches you drink the whole glass. once you are done, he places the glass on the small bedside table.

he’s staring for a moment longer than usual though, as if thinking for a long moment. you only wait for his response, trusting he will speak when ready. he stands up and half turns away from you. “do you require physical affection or would you rather me to guard over you from over there?”

sometimes you feel like the answer is obvious but to him it isn’t. he asks every single time, making sure this is what you want. it makes you wonder what goes on inside his head but that conversation is for another time. instead, you answer the question, “i’d like it alot if you would lay with me. at least until I fall asleep if nothing else.”

with the small comment that lays underneath, you see something flicker in his eyes as he walks back over to you. you shift over to make room for him and he lays next to you. you can feel the soft gaze he holds towards you as he reaches to push hair out of your face. your fingers touch his shoulder, fleetingly. never too much, never too little.

it's a million little things that cannot be tackled at once and not in this little room at 3:06 AM. instead, your eyes slowly flutter closed. the comfort of xiao watching over you so closely lulls you to sleep again. this time you only dream of xiao in a meadow, with a smile on his face. you pray that you can have this dream over and over again.

#genshin #genshin x reader #xiao x reader #xiao comfort #xiao x reader comfort #genshin impact

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honeykaes · 2 years ago

Text

—𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝

✦ pairing: diluc x reader

✦ w/c: 3k

✦ warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact

✦ disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, fingering, oral fixation, slight rough sex, nipple play, implied!virgin diluc, mention of blood, mention of murder, angst, takes place during diluc’s time in snezhnaya, alcohol, implied that reader has some kind of ties to fatui, unedited

✦ synopsis: as the blizzard outside your cabin continues raging and the fire in your cabin beginning to die, you go outside to get more firewood only to see a man decorated in all red narrow his eyes at you— blood staining his face and gloves with a large claymore appearing on his back and a bottle of firewater in his hand.

The dim fire crackled in the small fireplace trying to heat the chill of the wooden cabin. As you reached in the cabinets to collect some tea leaves to hopefully warm your body up more this evening, you noticed the flames of the fire dimming from orange to blue. You couldn’t resist the sigh escaping your lips.

Your cabin was always like this as the snow terrorized the environment outside filling it with a cold and icy white. The snow seemed to blow harder outside your window, adding inches to the layers of snow that would never melt in the region of frost and love.

“The Tsaritsa must be particularly angry right now, I wonder why…” you muttered. You waltz over to your box noticing only a few twigs of firewood remained—it wouldn’t be enough to keep the fire blazing the entire night. On these particular days, you wished that Natlan's Archon, Murata, blessed you with a vision to keep the chill from driving you crazy.

“Great…” you muttered, walking towards the front door to grab your coat from the rack. As you bundled yourself up, wrapping a heavy scarf to keep the cold away from your neck and lower face. You plopped your boots on, fastening them securely. Bracing yourself for the change from a slight chill to bitter cold, you opened the door seeing the woodland area covered in snow.

You quickly closed the door, praying the wind didn’t get to your dying fire as you trudged to the side and opened a small wooden box outside. As you lifted the handle, you were greeted back to a lack of dry firewood—from what was impossible was now a small miracle you had hoped would keep your fire active in your small cabin.

As you grabbed a few twigs, closing the latch back down on the now empty box, you looked up noticing a vibrant red throughout snowy white—and gasped realizing it was a man. The man had fiery scarlet hair fashioned in a high ponytail. His eyes matched as heavy eye bags laid beneath them. His outfit also showed off his love of red, but that wasn’t what scared you the most. Blood smeared across one of his cheeks, and his gloves and shoes were stained with it too as a large claymore appeared on his back.

As his eyes met yours, you felt frozen as if you were a rabbit caught under the eyes of a predator. The man brought a bottle up to his lips, taking a swig of it before letting it fall and rest on the snowy floor.

“Are you a member or have any affiliations with the Fatui,” he asked. His voice was serious and horse, eyes narrowing at your form. You quickly shook your head, raising your hands to signal you were unarmed and meant no harm.

“No, I’m not affiliated with them.. I’m..” you muttered before taking a sigh. “I’m no one and mean no harm to you. I live here to get away from all that.” He broke his intense gaze with yours, looking up to the cabin and the small glow from your fire and lamps inside.

“...May I stay the night then? This blizzard is getting worse and I need to patch my wounds up. I will be gone and out of your hair once the sun rises,” he grunted. You clenched your jaw, grabbing the small bundle of firewood closer to your chest. Your eyes narrowed into something glowing on his bloodied gloves. It was a delusion, a pyro delusion at that.

“If you keep the fireplace going with your delusion, I will agree to it, but you have to be out by sunrise. I don’t want to be caught up if any of the Fatui are after you,” you muttered. The redhead grunted once more in agreement, trudging through the snow and past you, As his hand opened the door, you saw the small blood trail he left with his feet. You looked down, kicking some of the snow to try to cover it.

“...Did I make the right decision?” you asked yourself.

As you walked back to your cabin, taking your boots, coat, and scarf off and placing the firewood where it needed to go, Diluc followed—setting the pair by the door. He made his way to the table near your fireplace, taking off his jacket wet from the snow on the back of it. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he gazed by the fire, lifting his left hand up. As his delusion glowed scarlet, the fire burned with intensity as a wave of warmth melted away any inch of cold in the cabin.

“Thank you,” you muttered. You grabbed a bucket of water, sitting next to him on a stool and a rag. His eyebrows furrowed momentarily, confused about what you were doing.

“I don’t want you trekking blood in here, so please let me help address your wounds,” you stated. Diluc merely sighed and leaned into his seat as you placed the rag into the water, soaking it before ringing it out and placing it on his cheek. Wiping the blood away, you could see just how pretty his face was. His eyes were big, jawline strong—some freckles even decorated his cheeks. To say he was pretty on the eyes was an understatement, even as you took off layers of dirt and blood from his visage.

As you finished with his face and neck, you noticed his intense gaze was back at your form. You placed the rag back into the bucket as the once-clear water turned murky.

“I need you to take your vest and other layers so I can address your chest,” you asked. The man merely scoffed, before undoing the buttons from his vest. It soon fell onto the floor revealing a white peasant shirt that soon followed suit along with his gloves, leaving his chest and arms bare to you. You’d never guess the fresh scars and wounds littering his chest and lower stomach. One of the bandages wrapped seemed soaked with fresh blood, he clearly opened it from doing whatever was outside.

“I didn’t expect someone from Snezhnaya to be so hospitable,” the man mutters. You couldn’t help but chuckle, peeling the old gauze away and letting it fall to the floor.

“Can’t judge a book by its cover, so the saying goes,” you replied. You rang the rag out again and placed it on the wound hearing him suck a breath in. You tried dabbing it to avoid causing more pain to him but to clean the area up.

“I’m guessing you're from Mondstadt though based on your accent. I read in books that Mondstadters appreciate hospitality a lot. That true?” you asked. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at you, not saying a word. It seemed he didn’t want more of his identity to slip out; it may be better that way for you too but yet…

“...Why are you after Fatui?” you asked, lifting the rag away from him again. You lifted the bucket away, reaching under your cabinet to get the gauze and alcohol you recently purchased during your short trip to the city.

“How do you know that? Who's to say the Fatui aren’t after me,” he grunted. You sighed, motioning him to lift his upper half towards you and he followed. You brought a fresh rag onto the distilled bottle of alcohol, letting it soak up before placing it back onto his wound. He hissed loudly glaring down at you.

“I guess you’re right but the look you gave me was one of revenge. Someone on a mission. I’m well aware of the Tsaritsa’s agents. They commit atrocities and cruelties for the love of their archon. It's safe to assume you got caught into that somehow,” you murmured. The man merely scoffed once more as you began wrapping gauze around his chest, covering the newly made battle wounds from your gaze.

“Well aren’t you a clever one. It sounds like you’re quite familiar with them. Were you lying to me,” he muttered, eyes glaring into your own. You merely shrugged.

“I wasn’t but let’s say they’re part of the reason I put myself through living in these conditions here. Perhaps one day I can move to Mondstadt. I heard their archon doesn’t let the snow come in. Just warmth, happiness, and hospitality, right?” you chuckled to yourself. The man’s gaze left yours momentarily, looking into the fire with a far-away expression on his face. Your face slightly softened; you wondered if he misses home.

“That bottle of fire water you were drinking earlier and left outside tells me you’re trying to numb yourself to complete your revenge. Is it to make it easier to take their lives or is it to lessen the pain of grief? …You do know they’re other ways of doing that” you muttered, leaning into his face. You lifted your hand up, hand gazing on his smooth and clean cheek as his eyes snapped back to you. Your thumb pressed against his soft bottom lip, as he parted them—an unreadable expression swirling in his scarlet eyes.

“Trying to seduce me to avoid suspicion. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he grumbled. You expected him to push your hand away and turn around yet, he remained still—eyes even softening to your own.

“Why do it, I don’t get it,” he mumbled. A sigh escaped your lips as you looked away from his gaze.

“We all have our own baggage,” you replied. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he soon leaned into your face. Your noses brushed against one another as you tried to resist the urge to gasp from his sudden movement.

“Then I guess the only words I want to hear from you tonight is my name, Diluc,” he whispered, taking your hand away from his lips tightly clasping it with his large palms. As your lips connected, your eyes fluttered closed, soon placing their hands on Diluc’s firm chest. A moan reverberated out of you feeling his teeth nibble at your bottom lip, tongue soon darting into your mouth as he finally rose up. His hands were firmly placed on your waist, awkwardly guiding you to your small bed.

As you two parted—lips glossy as a string of saliva connected the two of you—the springs of the mattress squeaked trying to adjust to the two bodies on it. As Diluc remained on top of you, his hands soon made way for the band of your pants, tugging them down to reveal your underwear to him. As the flimsy fabric followed and he guided it down your leg, his eyes focused on your entrance, now revealed to him. He could see your cunt, pulsating as his cock pressed uncomfortably in his tight pants.

The brought his finger towards your slit, sliding it up and down, noticing the way your body jolted whenever he came in contact with a nub towards the top. He pressed the pad of his thumb on it, rubbing small and firm circles along it as your body squirmed underneath him. A small smile etched itself on his lips, noticing his fingers beginning to get wet from your slick starting to sob out of you.

“Do you ask all the strange men outside to do this to you,” he murmured into your ear. You opened your eyes at him, scowling at the man—lips quivering from the attention he was giving your sensitive clit.

“No, of course not. Fuck…You’re the first,” you groaned. Diluc’s heart fluttered momentarily, trying to stop his cheeks from getting ready with no success. A scowl remained on his face, partially ashamed he was so worked up after that, grinding his hips into your thigh to get any bit of friction he could to relieve his arousal.

“Well aren’t I special,” he grunted, his thumb remaining on your clit before he brought two fingers towards your opening slowly sinking them in as you shutter. As he pumped them inside of you, your hands reached out towards the bottom of your shirt lifting your shirt up to reveal your chest. Diluc’s lips quivered soon pressing his lips on your hardened nipple as you gasped. His teeth graze upon the sensitive bud soon pulling it up, as a moan of pleasure and pain escapes from you. Slowly his pace inside of you as his mind was wrapped up on your chest, he doesn’t notice his fingers beginning to curl inside of you as you choked out his name loudly in the cabin.

“Fuck, there! More. Right there, Diluc!” you begged. Snapping out of a haze, Diluc rested his head on your chest, looking back down to pay attention to his fingers. He began pumping faster, keeping his fingers curled to the spot you keep squirming from. Squelching noises echoed out into the room from how fast Diluc thrust his fingers inside of you. With one last pump, your hands shot to his thick, wavy hair, body shivering in pleasure as you finally reach your high. He could feel how tightly your velvety cunt squeezed onto his fingers, soon pulling them out of you. Strains of your click clung onto his fingers, his hand now glistening in it.

As your chest rose and fell, trying to catch your breath, Diluc popped the button of his pants freeing his cock. He pumped his hand decorated with your slick with his cock, pulsating and twitching, eager to replace his fingers inside of you. It was thick in girth and long in length with prominent veins running along the sides—his tip already budded with precum.

As he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock ran along your slit—swiping it up and down, nudging his flushed tip at your clit. He soon moved it down, trying to slide it inside of you but seemed to fail each time.

“Diluc,” you murmured out, confused and ready to help him. He clenched his jaw and narrowed down at your pussy, clearly frustrated and embarrassed.

“Shut up. Don’t say anything,” he grunted. He firmly pressed his thumb on one of your soft folds, swiping it to the side to help widen you out more. As he finally sinks his tip in, he sucked a breath in hearing a low moan from you. He continued this motion for a while—dipping his tip inside of you before pulling it out—fascinated by the softness and tightness of your cunt.

“Diluc! Stop teasing me and put it inside of me already,” you shouted in desperation. He scoffed, momentarily rolling his eyes before finally sheathing his cock inside of you. You choked out his name trying to adjust to his length—feeling your walls burn in anger as you were steadily stretched out until he was buried deep inside of you.

His nails bury themselves into your hips as he soon begins to thrust inside of you, the mattress groaning with every stroke of his cock. A groan escaped Diluc’s lips, addicted to the feeling of having your cunt squeeze him, trying to milk every drop from him. His balls smacked against your ass as your legs wrapped around his waist.

Lost in the pleasure, Diluc let one of his hands go from your hips noting the crescent moons already developing there before grabbing onto your chin. Just as you did earlier, his thumb pressed along your lips, soon parting them and resting on your tongue. You swirled the muscle around his thumb, your moans now muffled from it feeling his cock twitch inside of you as he propelled his cock inside of you faster.

As you tried to move your hand down to play with your clit, Diluc smacked your hand away as he grunted loudly in your ear. Unlike before, his callous thumb was rougher flicking your clit rapidly as your body writhed in pleasure

“J-Just tell me what to do instead—” he grunted. He wanted to cement this memory in his head, watching your body sway to the pace of his thrusts. Your cunt fluttered down, making it harder for him to move his cock inside of you. Your teeth cave down on his finger as your eyes shut tightly, reaching your second climax of the night. As he let his hand go from your chin and mouth, his hand connected with the headboard of the bed—gripping it tightly as his knuckles went white, his strokes inside of you getting rapid and unsteady.

Before he could close his eyes and let himself spill his cum inside of you, he quickly pulled out pumping his cock a few times. A loud groan erupted from him as thick white ropes of cum spurted out of his flushed tip, splaying across your lower stomach and chest.

Diluc tried to ease his rapid heartbeat and wipe the sweat from his brow. He let the ribbon of his hair go, long hair releasing and cascading down his body. You lay there watching him soon rest beside you, catching his breath as you looked over to the fireplace, crackling and brighter than ever.

Neither of you said a word to one another as you lay next to each other in the small twin bed, mixed emotions swirling between the two of you. For you, you were in the arms of a murderer—someone on the run who would make the Tsaritsa and Fatui happy to see dead. For him, he let his urges get the better of him, sleeping with a “civilian” of an enemy nation responsible for his father’s demise, yet this was the most at peace he was for a long time.

You two knew by morning he would be gone, never to be seen by you again but for now, in the bitter cold—the two of you could use each other for now, warm in each other arms as the blizzard blew loudly.

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