#I saw the RIP 2 my youth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soobadnoonecanstopher · 1 year ago

Text

Can I Stay? (A Baekhyun Story) Part 8.

Pairing: You x Baekhyun

Rating: M (SMUT - Mature Content) (Don't read this at work or in public or at church or in class)

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Here today for your consideration is some graphic smut. Idk anymore. Agonizing smut. Edging. Power Play. PWP. We don't need to live like this, but this is how this chapter happened, someone told me to make it long so here we fuckin are guys. Anyway don't forget to drink water and clench as you read this.

A romance between two adults with an unspecified age difference between them, an English story that uses the word Noona for lack of another word in English that carries the same feeling, if you don’t like this, then don’t read this story.

Author‘s note: remember all those years ago I said I’d write a Baekhyun x Noona fic? This is that fic.

Inspired by the Ray LaMontagne songs Can I Stay

Thank you @his-mochi-cheeks for making the story poster featuring Baekhyun’s outfit in this chapter. Additional Tag for @andimoon

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

‘When can I see you again?’

‘I need to see you again”

With a slow and deliberate agonizing pull of his dark eyes, he ran them up the entire length of your body before setting them down devastatingly deep inside of your eyes and there was no longer any breath left in your body that could fight the dizziness you felt under his gaze.

Inside of his eyes a flame was ablaze and you, and you, and every single bit of you, was burning.

Baekhyun was at your doorway with a hand in his pocket; looking absolutely nothing like your prim and proper Personal Assistant usually did. Gone was the professional suit and tie and here he stood in front of you looking more casual than you had ever seen him. This was day-off Byun Baekhyun. He leaned against the doorframe with colorful sneakers on his feet and on his lower half wearing a pair of well fitted jeans with what had to be very trendy holes ripped right through the knees. The holes were large and dramatic. You could make out the soft flesh of his inner knee and on the right leg, you even saw some of his soft upper thigh. What were these jeans?

Your eyes seemed to act on their own accord as you took him in, pausing your journey just about thigh level to let out an appreciative exhale because of simply how good this man’s thighs looked in these jeans. On his broad chest he wore a soft and well-worn red hoodie. He looked younger like this. His face was already very youthful for his age but dressed like this? He could pass for a college student in this sweater and in these jeans.

You tried. You really tried not to let your eyes linger for too long over the middle zipper section of him. But the man was wearing a belt — the accent in the middle kind of caught your eyes and despite all of your mental gymnastics to get your eyes to move up into his face right now, you knew that the belt was black. You knew that he had the buckle fastened through the third hole in the leather and you knew that the buckle was silver and had a brushed metal texture to it. You had lingered here for too long. My god, you could identify it in a police lineup if you had to. The belt as well as the bulge of fabric; the well filled out denim below the belt. The parts of him that occupied far more of your mind than you’d ever admit outloud to anyone. You had intimate knowledge of the power he held over you. You’d slept with him exactly twice; both times in the well concealed darkness of your bedroom and still, still knew the man and every single but of him was gorgeous.

You were positive that you were ogling him for too long but if he had any thoughts about the way you took him in he certainly wasn’t speaking on it.

When you finally made it through, when the breath that seemed to be stuck halfway through your windpipe finally made its way out and your eyes finally touched on the edges of his face enough for you to catch the tip of his tongue that moistened his bottom lip a half second before his teeth bit down on that wet lip. It was such a brief action but your mind flashed a memory of those teeth biting down hard on to the soft skin of your neck. Those teeth that brought just a bit of pain and that mouth that sucked hard enough to bruise your flesh.

This mark remained on you at this very moment and it took every bit of strength left inside of you not to lift a hand and touch the spot with your fingertips.

You shouldn’t do such a thing. You were being watched.

His eyes watched you. You’d made it this far. You’d reached his eyes and when you pulled your own into his there was a shift in his pupils to finally have your focus, to finally be looking into his face instead of feasting all over his crotch like you had been doing.

Were you caught?

He had a smile on his face and you could see a narrowing of his eyelids, a microscopic tick of a single eyebrow over one of his eyes and his smile pulled just a tiny bit wider.

You probably should do something.

“Hi,” you managed weakly and his smile pulled brighter, showing his teeth for a moment.

“Hi,” his lips parted with his whispered response. His head tilted toward the door frame he was leaning on. That one word; just a repetition of your own inadequate greeting but somehow in his voice and said so softly it seemed to jostle every bit of the fondness you had for him and it sent a burst of sweet bubbles to your surface. The sweet feelings and tiny gestures and the delicate kisses and the sleepy whispers, they all floated up and one by one each made a tiny pop, pop, pop, breaking whatever excuse for surface tension you had tricked yourself into believing you could still hold on to.

What did normal people do when they had a visitor?

You stepped aside; your legs teetering just a little unsteadily, holding the door open for him to enter and also for your own balance and at last his weight shifted off of the doorframe and he took a quiet step inside.

You could breathe at last. He was finally aiming his eyes at something other than you as he looked down at his feet to push his shoes off.

You could feel the newness of this making your nerves misbehave.

Your brand new out-of-the-box boyfriend had suddenly stopped by your house and it was getting dark outside. As far as you knew he was supposed to have been busy all day. The boys’ music class and then dinner with his parents and then… he would have been tired after his day. He would maybe want to go home and rest.

Your mind reached back to his text message. You’d been longing for his company again back when you read it but now your nerves had a hold of you and his messages’ crystal clear meaning from before his arrival was beginning to cloud over just a bit. What if you had been wrong?

What if he actually had some other reason why he had to see you.

What if something had changed or what if something happened with the dinner with his parents? What if that dinner had turned into a business discussion about his future in the company and how he couldn’t waste away his precious days working as your assistant. What if this was a farewell visit; or worse a break up visit?

Were you jumping to conclusions about the reason for his sudden visit and assuming he wanted what you also wanted? What you knew for a fact right now is that you were definitely overthinking this.

The uncertainty had you crossing your arms over your chest and looking down the length of your bare legs. You pointed a freshly painted toe nail forward and absentmindedly tapped against the kitchen island beside the entryway of your home.

“So what did you need to see me about?” The question sounded innocent enough in your head but when it came out of your own mouth you could hear the confrontational tone. It made you wince. You hadn’t meant to sound this way. Out of habit, to recover just a little bit of your own pride, you straightened your shoulders and lifted your chin. It was an act of self preservation. You were a mess of a mix between a hopeful girlfriend and a nagging team manager and something told you the later one was not what you were supposed to be acting like right now.

Your stupid question was out though and there was no putting it back in. You held your breath and you braced for the answer.

Baekhyun had been making his way into your kitchen and his forward progress stalled when he heard your question. Did he feel your nerves through your words or had your business-like tone taken front and center stage?

He didn’t answer quickly and instead took a few more steps past where you stood your ground and you saw the tiny head shake as he looked back at you with his lips parted.

“Oh, uhh...” his voice began to speak but he stopped again, “I uhhh…” The man didn’t usually struggle with his words. Had you somehow infected him with your nerves? Was it the crossed arms and the manager’s tone of voice? You felt a flash of guilt for it.

Baekhyun exhaled and his eyes closed up.

“I sat outside for thirty minutes and I couldn’t come up with an excuse for being here.” His lips pulled into a wince and he peaked one eye open to look at you.

“I should be at home right now, but my car seemed to drive me here.” Your own smile betrayed you and when he saw it his other eye pulled open. He was adorable. His quiet confession made your heart leap.

“Nothing? No ‘My cell service is out and I had to deliver this important message’ or ‘We have this important client meeting tomorrow and you need to be aware of this detail that only I know.’ You couldn't come up with one little thing?” You simply could not help the teasing now. This was just too much fun. He was adorable.

You hadn’t read his messages wrong. All at once you felt the nerves burst and vanish and he smiled wider as he shook his head.

“I am definitely not here for work, Noona.” He stood just out of reach in that bright red hoodie wearing those jeans and he slipped a hand into his front pocket again, fidgeting with his keys or his phone or whatever it was he did when he was just a little bit anxious.

“So what are you here for then, Baekhyun?” You’d long since dropped your arms and they hung at your side.

His easy smile flattened out, vanishing from his face and he looked into your eyes, watching the shift in your face and recognizing the change in your tone easily.

Something different was brewing inside of your chest that had replaced the silly anxiousness you felt earlier. It had you taking the smallest step closer to him when you asked your brazen question.

This new feeling, a mirror of that which fueled your fingers to text him to tell him to come over, it had you lifting your eyes up from his lips where you’d just watched the nervous way his tongue darted out, your eyebrow bounced over your eye to see it, and when you’d pulled your eyes back up you did it slowly enough that there was zero doubt between the two of you that he had seen it.

This man, this beautiful, glorious, amazingly competent-in-all-ways man, was watching your face with his lips parted and with his words caught up inside his mouth. This man looked nervous right now, inside your home with you looking into his eyes waiting very patiently for his explanations for why he had to see you so urgently tonight.

So far he had none that he dared speak out loud.

You knew this might not be completely fair but it sure was fun watching the man who always had something to say about everything ever, finally at a loss for words.

What would it take to pull those words out of him.

You reached for the top button of the shirt you wore. It was a loose and flowy top and you knew it would only take one button for the shoulder to fall off. You knew the bruise he’d made with his mouth would be visible. You knew the lacy bra you wore would also not be very well concealed and just one more button would bring the view of the soft mounds of your breasts before him. You were on a roll with one button and you were unstoppable with the second button.

Of course his eyes touched below your neck, of course he saw the mark and of course his eyes looked down to the glimpse of your exposed bra. With his eyes having a look he bit down in his lip and you heard the rough exhale through his nose.

And he was in motion. His hand lifted to rub through his hair and another hand lifted to rub over his face and he physically reeled standing right here just out of your reach and with about as much pent up energy inside of his body as you felt inside of your own.

“You,” he lifted a lazy hand in your general direction, waving his slim fingers at you, “I — did not only come here for that. I also wanted to make sure you were okay after yesterday, I swear.”

He spilled the words out quickly and pulled his lips in between his teeth as he lifted an oh so innocent hand to lay over his chest as he did his very best to convince you of his noble intentions for coming here tonight. It made you grin. You couldn’t stop it.

The smile on your face was knowing. While you appreciated his concern you were very clearly just fine. And that wasn’t the part you wanted to get to the bottom of. You raised an eyebrow and dropped your voice an octave and you slowly asked your next question.

“You didn’t only come here for what, Baekhyun?”

You whispered in response, needing him to use the words himself out loud before you exploded right here in the space between your entryway and your kitchen. You wanted him to speak openly and honestly with you. You needed to know if he wanted to use you tonight as badly as you wanted to use him tonight.

His eyes were steady on you and you looked at him, mustering all of your experience from your most intense professional negotiations. You steeled your mouth shut and lifted your eyebrows in his direction with a tiny raise of your chin.

He watched your face. His breathing seemed to grow heavier and he seemed to war with himself inside his own head for a few breaths if it.

After a moment his head ticked upward and the look in his eyes grew darker.

“Okay,” he said and his lips hung open after the word came out. A decision it seemed had been reached.

“Okay, fine.” He took a step, it was a big one and you miraculously stood your ground as he moved in.

You did have to close your eyes for a second as he closed in on you. You’d asked for this. And when you felt the warmth of his breath against your face he was so close to you now that even with your eyes open, the pretty features of his face were a blur.

More than his hot breath on you, his hands had come too, those slim fingers ran a path along your neck, slipping his slow moving fingertips over the bruise. You knew his eyes would be feasting on the sight of where he had marked you as his own.

“You want to know why I came?” His hand moved now and you gasped to feel that hand slip around your chin and grip your face tightly. He pulled, making your face turn away from his so that his lips touched up against your ear. He held your face with a surprising strength and your breaths raged in and out, unable to conceal how affected you felt for him to be touching you this roughly.

You felt his soft lips at your ear a moment before you heard the lowly growled words that came from deep within his chest.

”l came because I want to fuck you.” You closed your eyes and your mouth was open as short breaths pushed out of your lungs. You had asked for this but had nowhere prepared for the impact of it. Oh this felt better than you had expected.

“Is this what you want to hear, My Love” You felt overwhelmed by his words, by his hands, by the way he pressed his firm body up against you and the way the edge of the hard countertop dug into your back. The pain of it made you feel somehow still connected to your body right now despite the otherworldly arousal that coursed through you.

“I came because you feel so hot and so wet and so good around my dick that all I can think about is fucking you over and over again.”

His hand moved your chin to face him again and he pulled his face back just enough for you to be able to make out the dark brown of his eyes. His pupils were so dark and all consuming they looked like black holes ready to devour you completely.

“You have no idea how desperate I am for you. If you asked me to get on my knees and beg, I would drop — I would drop to my knees, again, for you.”

“But what you have no fucking idea about, is how It goes so much deeper than that.” Your mind was too jumbled to make sense of what he meant. You did not have any space to translate — deeper than what?

His thumb moved then and you felt pressure as he pressed over it your bottom lip, his wild eyes watching the way your mouth opened slightly as he did it.

Every bit of resistance you may have had in you was gone. You easily molded under his hands, feeling the effects of him in more than just your mouth, the heat spread all over your body, dropping into your stomach, pooling in between your legs.

“More,” he said darkly as if this one word had punctuated the shift into a very different Baekhyun and you let your lips fall open more. His thumb pushed in, hooked around your bottom teeth and pulled you forward into his open mouth. You felt the hot wetness of his tongue when he pushed it inside of your mouth. This darkness in his voice sounded familiar; like the same Baekhyun that bit you. This must be him, when he’d lost the carefully curated control, this was him.

You felt inundated. Blindsided by the way your body reacted to it. You sucked on his tongue that he’d pushed into your mouth and you heard a low throaty groan from him as he slowly pulled it back out, leaving you shaking and trembling to watch his face twist into pleasure. His eyes had rolled closed and with him pressed up against your body this way you could feel the rigid heat between his legs pressed up against you.

His hands were trembling and he took them off of your face. He was retreating. It took you a few seconds to realize this and you missed his hands touching you when he’d pulled them away. He stumbled back, landing on one of your kitchen stools.

You watched him breathe through it all the while desperately trying to catch your own breath. When he spoke next he sounded worked up and agitated.

“I am fucking wrecked by you. I feel insane. I feel completely destroyed,” When his eyes pulled open he was back; whispering softly through parted lips and trembling hands that he fisted at his waist.

“But, I also know how lopsided this is. I know that I’m the one who fell too hard — too fast. I think you know it too — teasing me like that. Making me lose control, making me want to lose control —”

You’d done something awful. You’d introduced some doubt inside of his mind and you felt the need to undo all of that this very instant. Was that really why? Did he really have so much confusion about your intentions?

“You must know that I would do anything. I know I should hold back — I need to hold back with you, but…”

You took a step into him, leaned forward and pulled his bottom lip in between your lips and you kissed him, interrupting his false beliefs about how much you felt for him with a kiss.

He responded to your kiss right away with a need and incredible want. That he didn’t know the signs — that he didn’t recognize just how strong of a hold he had on you was a failure on your part — this couldn’t be the only reason. You wondered if it was something you’d missed.

His lips kissed you with such an intensity that you had to place both of your hands on his cheeks to pull him back, just so you could breathe, just so you could speak to the truth of how you felt about him; how you had been feeling about him all day. You had things to say to him.

”I worship you —” Your labored exhale painted over his wet lips, “Baekhyun.” Your chest constricted when you heard your own voice utter those scary words. You’d never before told someone something like this and still deep inside your chest you knew how true it was.

With your small declaration you saw his eyes roll and he bit down on his bottom lip. He inhaled through his nose, his teeth bit down hard on that lip. A small whimper came from the back of his throat.

But you weren’t done. You had so much to tell him and you mustered up the courage to speak.

“You occupy my mind and my heart so completely. I even considered going to bed early tonight just so I could hurry up and see you tomorrow morning.

“If I’ve given you any impression that I don’t want you, that I didn’t want you here; I am sorry. And I’m sorry about the way I greeted you earlier. I was — just nervous. I don’t want you to hold back with me.”

His face ticked back and forth, you felt it happen within your hands.

“I’ve never seen you nervous.” Baekhyun said matter of factly with his pink lips hung open after he spoke.

“I am very good at hiding it.” You let go of his face, trusting that he might stay put and you waved both of your hands over your own chest. “It happens all on the inside. My stomach is a wreck.”

“But you, texting me like that, and standing there at my door looking like this…” you waved a hand over the length of him and his eyes followed your waving fingers to look down at himself with a slowly growing smile that he tried to conceal on his face. His fingertips reached out and he touched your shirt, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and index finger.

“You make me very nervous. I thought for sure I was the one who liked you more.” Your confessions had been tumbling out of you quite freely now. It seemed you’d cleared the clog. “I think we have a lot to learn about each other.”

He watched your face as you spoke. You said all you could think of to say and the small tugs he made on your shirt were distracting, they made you lose whatever else you might have had to say. You reached a hand forward to tug at one of the red strings that hung out of his hood.

His fingers released the bit of your shirt he was holding. He’d been absent minded with it but when he reached out again he lightly gripped the next closed button on your top. There were only two left that held this thing together. His focus was light on that button he held between his index finger and his thumb and you felt a small tug as a third finger came into play, pushing the button through the hole; exposing more of your skin.

He was making you dizzy again. You felt his light touch along your stomach just below the front clasp of your bra and your own small gasps were the only sound in this quiet space when he lightly traced the lace edge of your bra, his fingertip running up the soft flesh of your breast. He followed up the strap and you felt him rub the pad of his fingertip on your shoulder, over the bruise there.

Baekhyun leaned. You felt the movement in him moments before you felt his hair tickling lightly over your skin. You felt the puff of breath from his mouth moments before you felt his soft lips on you and when his lips landed over that same exact spot you had to place your hands on his shoulders to keep yourself from falling over. You braced for it, you could feel it coming when you felt the parting of his lips, the wetness of his tongue and the hardness of his teeth and he bit you again, harder this time in the exact same spot as before. It took your breath away and you had to open your mouth; a small hiss and a quiet moan.

“Do I really make you nervous?” He asked in a low whisper into the space beside your neck. You felt goosebumps all over your skin. His hands were moving and you felt a tiny click. He had figured out the front clasp of your bra. You felt his mouth on you again, this time his lips and his tongue all over. You might have nodded your head. You weren't very much in control of your body anymore.

But his hands, those hands, they were moving again. His slim fingertips had slipped into the space between your goosebumped skin and the waistband of your shorts and he pushed with his hands, leaving only your lace underwear behind. He was undressing you. In the kitchen with all of your lights on and your hands rubbed over the soft red hoodie he still wore, lamenting over the lack of warm skin you felt. He was still completely clothed when gravity took your shorts.

“Do you really want me to not hold back?” His next question was spoken into your open mouth. You gasped, inhaling the sweet smelling air from inside his lungs when his hands reached around and gripped your ass and you were being lifted, with his mouth still connected to your own and his eyes wide open as he looked into your face between the kisses.

He had so many clothes on. You felt the roughness of the denim through the thin lace panties that you still wore and against the bare skin of your thighs that wrapped around his thin waist. You felt your own wetness that soaked the fabric press against you as you were lifted and you were carried; he was moving now.

You were in a different room. You inhaled a shocked breath when you were tossed, your back meeting a soft bed and you were entirely too naked for how many clothes he wore as he climbed over you on the bed, his bare knee and its warm skin a stark contrast to the scratchy jeans, you felt him push that knee roughly against your legs, making you open tor him.

“Baek — clothes,” you managed only a few nouns. He understood and you heard a quiet chuckle from the back of his throat, only it didn’t quite sound like humor. It sounded like something else. A little boy playing roughly and carelessly with a toy, perhaps.

He caged you in with his arms pinning you down on either side and his bare knee pressed up high between your parted legs. You were certain he could feel your wetness on his knee.

“I’ll keep them on for now, because you like them.” His balance shifted then and he moved, propping up on one elbow so he could trace down the curve of your body with his fingertips. He was moving very slowly and you squirmed below the uncomfortable tickle you felt when he reached your hip bones. He was moving lower and his knee was gone, replaced by his wandering hand.

“God, you are wet. I can feel you worshiping me, right here,” his fingertips pressed over your panties and the purposeful drag of his fingers over your swollen center had you gasping. He did it again and again and you responded desperately with every touch and when he pushed the fabric aside and slipped two slim fingers inside of your wetness you could feel yourself losing this game he was playing.

Just with the build up before you got into this room, you were already in bad shape, but now with his fingers touching; you felt yourself too close. He was guiding you there. You knew he could tell too. His movements were deliberate and he was watching your face closely as he did it. You could feel on the edge of it, you were so close to it, your breathing was ragged and desperate and he watched with a quiet and calm expression on his face as he brought you there. You squirmed below him, you touched just along the edge of it with a whimper when all at once he pulled his hand away abruptly, slipping well outside of your wetness and far away from the release you had been so close to. That hand, that hand was gone, his fingers and the feeling all of it was gone. The denial felt like a splash of cold water against your hot skin.

“Do want me to fuck you, Miss Manager?” He spoke out your work title in a hushed whisper and the surprise of hearing that title — right here with you in the state you were in, it pulled your eyes open to look into his face. When he caught your attention you saw a slight narrowing of his dark eyes. It was a challenge. You wondered right then about the fantasies this man must have had at work. You wondered how you would be able to move forward tomorrow knowing what you now knew from his one question he had just asked you.

“You know you just have to ask me nicely,” he said with a shrug of his face. He lifted his hand, still wet from you, up to his lips and you watched his lips part and the tip of his tongue emerged to lick up the wetness before he stuck both of his fingers inside of his mouth, pulling them out of his mouth slowly as he looked into your eyes.

This was too much. You hadn’t been prepared for this kind of behavior from him and the most shocking thing was just how much you were turned on by every single thing he did to you.

Yes, you did want him to fuck you. You were feeling entirely too desperate for it and he was completely and utterly in control of every single thought you had coursing through your brain.

“B-Baek—take off your clothes—”

“Uh-uh,” he interrupted firmly when you had started to speak. “I don’t think that’s the proper way to ask your assistant for a favor. Really, you are more professional than that. At least say please.” This was definitely a game he was playing now.

You felt all of it, all at once. The sting of being so close to a finish and being denied it. The sting of him denying you even for a few seconds what you had so clearly wanted from him. You felt the arousal still overtaking every single one of your senses and still so very affected by his goddamned audacity to be so clearly having so much fun with you right now.

It made you feel insane. All of it was too much.

You weren't speaking right away for sheer loss of words. You felt like you’d lost them along with your sanity and all you could do was reach your hand out and tug lightly at his red sweater. You were greeted with a small slap at the back of your hand for that and he was inhaling to speak again with about as much mischief in his eyes as you had ever seen.

“Répète après moi,” he began in French for no reason you could make any sense of, not that you could make any sense of anything that was happening to you right now.

He spoke clearly and slowly as if you were a naughty student in need of reprimanding — with a finger pointed at his mouth, touching on his bottom lip. This was the finger that had just been inside of you.

“Assistant Byun…will you please” he said with a pointed pause and he watched you and he waited.

It was your turn to repeat after him.

“Assistant Byun, will you please take off your clothes and fuck me?” It was always best to rip the bandaid off, you said it in a single breath. The seconds after the words came out of your lips though, you felt their massive impact.

Every single day, and all day long at work, you started dozens of sentences to him exactly like this. This was the most dangerous game you could have played with him.

His eyes were watching you darkly as you said it and you caught the slow roll of his eyes into the back of his head as he threw his face back and away from you, feeling the very real impact of that sentence you had just said to him.

No doubt, committing it to memory so that every single time you started with those words at work, this very moment would return to his mind — and to yours as well.

He didn't respond right away with words but he was moving before you heard him whisper the quiet, “Yes ma’am,” that he always used as a response at the office.

He quickly pulled the red sweater up over his head and tossed it onto the floor behind him. He’d grabbed the white shirt along with the sweater, removing everything at once. You saw the clear firmness of his skin at last. You could smell the clean, expensive fragrance that he wore. You felt the bed move and you heard the telltale sounds of a belt buckle, a zipper, the swish of jeans and he was back to you all heat and skin and the overwhelmingly amazing way he smelled and he was back; he was back.

You felt ready to snap. You felt wound so tight; the anticipation alone might have done you in, but he was back. You’d abandoned the panties. They were soaked anyway.

He was above you; coating you entirely. The heavy weight of his body covered you, you felt restricted in your breathing and he was here. He was yours; you had him at last. He was in between your legs, he was on top of you and his arms wrapped below your shoulders as he pulled your body into his own, a tangle here without any distance at all between the skin of your bodies and between your faces. You felt him there too, right between your legs, so perfectly lined up. You’d wrapped your tense legs around his waist to pull him in closer to you.

He was looking into your eyes and when he pushed inside it was all at once; in one fluid motion. Your mouth opened to gasp and his mouth opened over your mouth, pushing his tongue between your lips and biting down with his teeth with a matching rhythm; the same motion that his hips moved inside of you, until the gasping from his own lungs grew to be too much for him to take.

You touched him everywhere, needing to feel that smooth skin from his abdomen to his chest to his neck to his face and as you passed your fingers over his lips you gasped when turned his head, catching a finger between his teeth and biting down hard. You wondered how many marks he had made on you now.

You were dizzy. You were overcome. He was sitting up and watching the space where your bodies connected; where he disappeared inside of you again and again and you were lost.

You were lost. His pace was affected by the feeling of your tremors, by the tightening of all of your muscles and you were lost. You heard the growling curses that flew from his lips and the whining sounds that came from his mouth.

His actions were a blur. You were too consumed by this man. You know that you came undone before he did, you felt his strong grip as his hand dug hard into your inner thigh and you felt the slight pain as he pushed inside of you roughly. It brought a sound to your lips and you cried out again when his thumb between your bodies colliding did-you-in again and he was shaking. He was trembling on top of you with a noisy grunt in your ear and a shuttering that you could feel inside of you he was shaking.

The comedown was lengthy. A thousand thoughts came rushing into your mind the second it cleared enough to allow for any little bit of rational thinking. This man…this man was surprising in every single way he could be. He was a marathon and a marvel. He was a hurricane and a deluge and you felt almost too spent to even move, but you knew you must. You reached for something on the bed, finding the panties and deeming them good enough for this mess and his breathing had finally settled enough for a small moan to come from his chest.

Despite the relief you felt, despite the sex being what you needed from him you still longed to touch him. You were sore and you were spent and still you reached for his warmth as if you would never be free of this desire for him. You found him easily. He wrapped himself around you and you only half paid attention to any of those thoughts racing through your mind. Concerns and worries for how you might resist him at work, now that you had these ideas presented in such a tempting way. Worries for what the future with him might actually hold. Worries about how deeply you had fallen for him and how desperately you felt this desire to be with him all of the time.

“Where did you park?” You finally spoke after a long spell of silent breathing.

“Secure lot,” he said over your head and he tightened the grip of his arms around your shoulders and laid a heavy leg over your hip.

You saw him arrive at your home empty handed and he definitely didn’t bring a suit for work tomorrow hidden in his pockets, but the hold he had on you was tight and it was warm and his breathing was beginning to even out as the sounds of nighttime insects began to chirp outside of your closed window and you decided that all of those pesky little details and worries and concerns could wait definitely until tomorrow.

[To be Continued]

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo smut #baekhyun #exo fic #exo scenario #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun series #byun baekhyun #baekhyun fic

148 notes · View notes

weirdstuffinthewoods · 6 months ago

Text

Jane Schoenbrun and the Screen Trilogy

Director Jane Schoenbrun’s “Screen Trilogy” seems set to define a period that feels deeply personal to those whose adolescence was shaped by the meteoric rise of the internet and the isolating comfort of technology.

Using a cohesive blend of glowing cool-toned hues, long, lingering shots, and scores and soundtracks that perfectly evoke teen ennui and lonely melancholy, Schoenbrun has used the allure of the screen to craft dreamlike meditations on identity, isolation, and transness that leave viewers feeling so seen.

A quick glance at the tumblr tag, letterboxd reviews, or TikTok videos shows one common thread: Thank you, Jane. And it's well-earned from the beginning. (More under the cut)

With the first installment of the Screen Trilogy, Schoenbrun tackles the questioning of identity through fears generated from unrestricted childhood internet access (something that usually gave the millennial generation something we can never unsee). we’re all going to the world’s fair follows Casey, a teen who partakes in the viral World’s Fair Challenge that leads to an ambiguous separation of self that leaves the audience questioning whether Casey was truly losing herself or merely participating in an elaborate, creepypasta-fueled MMORPG. When speaking about the film with The Hollywood Reporter, Schoenbrun says,

“It really resonated and reminded me of something I went looking for online in my own youth, which was an effort to remove myself from my body and my identity and exist in a space where I could express myself creatively, and perhaps even explore myself personally, outside of ‘the real world.’”

Casey mentions at one point that she can feel herself leaving her body, adding to the overarching theme of dysphoria.

This and many other vulnerable moments are shared through video which is really the only way the audience gets to know Casey, a key piece of information when JLB comes into play. Like us, JLB sees Casey expressing a number of concerning symptoms and thoughts. JLB reaches out to Casey, an adult man reaching out to “save” a teenager he knows nothing about. The adolescents of the internet age know this character all too well.

Between the unspoken disquiet of JLB’s “guardianship” and the time spent with Casey out in the barn in the middle of the night watching ASMR videos with her stuffed lemur, Poe, Schoenbrun’s work reaches out to the kids who, like them, found solace on the internet. We found a world that was bigger than our little towns, we found ways to self-soothe (visual stim videos come to mind as the new ASMR), and sometimes we found people like JLB (we basically made Chris Hansen the hero he is- we love Chris Hansen). For the first time, the isolated, sometimes trans or questioning, internet kid in us felt seen.

Schoenbrun slapped us with nostalgia again in 2024’s I Saw the TV Glow, a magenta-saturated amalgamation of teenage ennui and suburban melancholy that pushes through your ribcage, reaching for your heart without you even noticing until 2/3 of the way through, your frantically beating heart is ripped from your chest among screaming tv static and sparks, leaving you silent in the face of wails of unimaginable pain and need.

Soft-spoken 7th grader Owen meets 9th grader Maddy who’s reading the episode guide for The Pink Opaque- a Buffy-style 90s paranormal teen show Owen has only caught glimpses of, but that he’s totally fascinated with. The two watch an episode together, and as Maddy leaves Owen tape after tape to watch on his own, the pull of The Pink Opaque becomes impossible to ignore.

Schoenbrun is open about it- “I really did live and breathe Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I cared about Buffy more than I cared about my real life”. The same was true for a lot of us. Millennial kids weren’t quite the latchkey kids of the 80s but also weren’t yet the iPad kids of the late 00s. Parents were still learning how to parent and were either too controlling (like Owen’s parents) or too absent (like Maddy’s). Piggybacking on the theme of identity from world’s fair, the kids that didn’t see themselves reflected in popular media or the cliques at school would become masters of escapism, using books, movies, or TV shows like Buffy (it was Charmed for me) to create an inner world where they felt safe, wanted, seen.

Where world’s fair is about the loss and search for identity, I Saw the TV Glow tackles the question of “what next?” What do you do when you know time isn’t moving right, that life isn’t supposed to feel like this? When you learn exactly how to fix it but it sounds absolutely terrifying and insane?

Maddy has no hesitation. “I’m getting out of this town…I’ll die if I stay here. I don’t know how or when exactly, but I know it’s true.” Owen, like Isabel in The Pink Opaque, Maddy says, is afraid of what’s inside him. In Variety, Schoenbrun comments on their differences.

“What we experience through Maddy is this ultimate self-liberation: you have to destroy yourself totally in order to be reborn as who you really are. … Maddy knows that there’s somewhere where she can be full and it’s not worth staying in this place.”

The film encloses a number of deeply disturbing, viscerally upsetting scenes in monologues that connect the audience with feelings of dysphoria, of the disjointed way trans people experience time, and the fear of that time running out in conjunction with the fear of the future. Like world’s fair, the conclusion is ambiguous, but more hopeful in its way. It acknowledges the pain, the fear, the sheer exhaustion of transitioning, but proves it as a method of survival, and reassures the audience, “there is still time”, before leaving them with a cut to pink static where they can cry it out to some Frances Quinlan.

Not too much is known about their third installment, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, but Schoenbrun explains that it both pays homage to and critiques the lineage of trans and queer villains as sexual deviants. The New Yorker sums it up as follows:

“[Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma] follows a queer filmmaker hired to direct a new installment of a long-running slasher franchise. The director fixates on the prospect of casting the “final girl” from the original movie, and the two women descend into a frenzy of psychosexual mania.”

Slated to be gorier and funnier (thank God) than the previous installments, Schoenbrun is now turning to the aftermath of transition and the reclaiming of identity through sex, an important and often overlooked facet of transness. They’ve also sold a book, Public Access Afterworld, originally meant to be a TV show but now taken down in literary form. Schoenbrun hopes it will rival franchises like Sandman or Lord of the Rings in its scope, finally giving trans media an epic of its own.

All this fan can say is I can’t wait.

Sources:

Jane Schoenbrun Finds Horror Close to Home | The New Yorker

'I Saw the TV Glow' Director Jane Schoenbrun on A24 Film's Trans Meaning (variety.com)

How We’re All Going to the World’s Fair Grew Out of Internet’s Subconscious (hollywoodreporter.com)

#i saw the tv glow #jane schoenbrun #we're all going to the world's fair #trans cinema #trans film #the screen trilogy #horror #analog horror

38 notes · View notes

the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf · 1 year ago

Text

Nothing New

James Wilson x peds!reader

"How long will it be cute All this crying in my room Whеn you can't blame it on my youth And roll your eyes with affеction?"

description - y/n meets someone from her past and she becomes a casualty in his sick game.

warnings - swearing, major angst, discussions of a nude picture, said nude picture being made public, revenge porn, discussions of sexual assault and rape, crying, physical assault, men not understanding, not a particularly happy ending.

word count - 1.3k

authors note - based on the lyrics of Taylor Swifts 'Nothing New'. This is very much a personal expression of how I feel about situations like these, specifically the way women are usually treated in them. If anyone has gone through anything like the things I've mentioned, my messages are always open if you need to talk to someone.

Masterlist

Requests open - here

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

I slumped down the hallways. Today was not my day. I had just concluded that 2 out of the 3 children recently submitted into my care, were not going to make it.

“Hey, princess.”

I froze. That nickname. That voice. I turned around and, instead of being greeted by my Prince Charming, I looked into the eyes of the devil himself.

“Josh. Hi.” But my voice only held faux politeness.

“Didn’t you hear? I’m the new Head of Cardio.”

“Really? I wouldn’t say you’re very good handling hearts.”

“Oooo burn. Seriously, y/n, it’s good to see you again.” He places his hand on my shoulder and strokes it with his thumb. It felt foreign now.

“Thank you. It is actually nice to see you too. You’re looking well.”

“You too. You look really good.” He gave my body a brief once over and then landed back on my eyes. I hated how he still had this power over me, that a part of me still felt giddy when I saw him. 4 years don’t just get erased from a person completely, and, even though my body had a bit of muscle memory, my heart still knew its true place was with James.

“You know, I’m new in town. I don’t really have any friends yet so how about we get a drink tonight. Catch up.”

“I would, but I don’t trust you.”

“What do you mean, honey?” he tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“That! That is what I mean. And I don’t want you to try and say I led you on so you should know, I’m seeing someone.”

“Really? Who?” He says giggling in disbelief.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology.”

“Well, you did always have a thing for head.” I shoved his shoulder, not believing he was talking about me like this in our place of work.

“This conversation’s over.” I briskly left. But as I was leaving, I missed the punch Josh delivered into the wall and the flash of anger that overcame his face.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*James’ pov*

I arrived to work alone this morning. Y/n had stayed overnight to watch over an emergency patient. I desperately wanted her to come home to a proper bed, promising her she’d have her pager right next to her, but I knew she wouldn’t. That wasn’t the type of person she was.

I walked in carrying the sports bag I’d packed for her filled with essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, change of underwear, some normal clothes, and fluffy socks to keep her comfortable. I even packed one of those under eye face packs she uses just so she doesn’t feel like her face looks like death.

Before I even made it to my office I was nearly tackled to the floor by House.

“I don’t know whether to congratulate you on your girlfriends body or beat you to death with my cane!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It wasn’t you?”

“What wasn’t?”

“Out of curiosity, did you walk past the noticeboard on the 3rd floor by any chance?”

“No, I didn’t come in that way. Why?”

“I think you better come with me.”

We make our way down to the 3rd floor and House directs my attention to the noticeboard. Many men and a few women are crowded around it, all eyes seem to be directed to a photo. I shove my way past. There I see it. Before I can think of anything else, I rip it down and shout at everyone to get back to work. I storm off to my office.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

*your pov*

The door to James’ office was ripped open. I cowered further into the couch afraid of who it could be. My fragile frame was revealed, and his eyes landed on my face. I had stopped crying a while ago, but the tears still stained.

“You know, they always tell girls to go out and have fun but then they just love to hunt the ones who actually do it.”

James went to approach me, “Baby, I am so sorry.” But I held my hand up. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

He relented and sat on his office chair. Affording me the space I so desperately wanted.

We both just sat there in silence. James afraid to speak when I didn’t want him too, and me without the words.

“Do you want to know the story.”

“Only if you feel comfortable to-“

“Oh, stop with the moralistic bullshit, you want to know don’t you.”

He took a minute and looked down. “Yes.”

“Josh, the new Head of Cardio. We dated for 4 years. Once he was going to be away at a conference for a week, so I decided to send him a little something. We’d been going through a rough spell; I guess I thought it would reignite the magic. Instead, I practically signed my own porn contract.”

“I’m really sorry that happened to you,”

“Thank you.” I whispered whilst wiping away my tears.

He mumbled under his breath. “If you hadn’t sent it, he wouldn’t have had anything on you.” My movement halted.

“What?” He looked down sheepishly.

“It’s just logic. If you don’t take it, it can never be out there.”

“Fuck you.” He looked up in shock, I was a little in shock myself.

“Excuse me?”

I stood up and stalked towards him, fury in my eyes.

“You don’t get to sit there all high and mighty, Mr 2 Divorces! I was in a relationship with a man I loved who I trusted and who I thought I would marry! I trusted him with my heart so yes maybe I was stupid enough to trust him with a photo!”

“I didn’t think of it like-“

“I’ve never heard you complaining about anything I send you. Do you open it and get hard, or do you think about how I’ve basically just handed you some revenge porn.”

He was speechless.

“It’s always ‘girls don’t send pics.’ ‘Girls don’t take nudes.’ ‘girls don’t wear short skirts.’ How about ‘guys don’t rape!’ and ‘guys don’t share your girls’ pics.’”

He can’t even look at me in the eyes.

“It’s always people like you who shoot us down and then sigh and say, ‘God she looks like she’s been through it.’”

“I’m really sorry.” I could see tears welling in his eyes that matched the ones spilling out of mine.

“This isn’t even new to me. There is nothing new here, because somewhere in my childhood I went from growing up to breaking down because of men. And you can’t ever understand. Because you’ve never been catcalled on the street, groped in a club. Your mum never told you what to do if a man grabs your hair or where to kick a man if he’s trying to feel you up.”

He stands up and goes to embrace me, but I stop him. “I can’t, not yet. I just need some time.” I leave the office and leave James stuck in his melancholy state. He had just woken up to something new.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Josh smirked to himself as he picked up his patient files for the day. He turned around once he felt a distinctly wooden object tap his shoulder.

“Hi, Josh, is it? New Head of Cardio. Yeah, you’re fired.”

“What? Who are you? The only person who can fire me is Dr Cuddy.”

“You see I’m Dr Cuddy’s new pet, sexual stuff, and she gave me the honour of firing your sorry ass. You see pinning up a naked picture of someone without their permission is not only a fireable offence but also a crime. But don’t worry I came to an agreement with Cuddy, she’d fire you and not call the police if I got to do something first.”

“What do you m—”

His thought was cut off by the end of House’s cane being jammed into his special place.

“Now, I’m going to call the police.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I know it doesn't seem like a happy ending, I promise this isn't the end.

199 notes · View notes

leahnardo-da-veggie · 3 months ago

Text

The Tragedy of Love, Death and Maggots part 2

Part 1

Athena froze, and I saw rage flash across her features. It was dangerous to provoke her, to rip her mask off and reveal the ugly wounds that festered within. I did it anyway, because it was the only way to get her to listen. “Shut up, Doc,” she hissed, earlier cheer evaporated. “Don't you dare talk like that.”

“Stop that, both of you. The cultists remain a threat to us all. If we don't stop them, they'll eventually become a threat to us again,” Mrin snapped, forcing herself between us. “But we are perfectly capable of keeping an eye out for this new danger while finding their new hideout.”

Brett, who had been uncharacteristically silent, piped up. “Yeah, guys. Please don't fight.” He shifted himself to stand closer to Athena, pressing himself to her scrawny frame. “Things are bad enough without us turning on each other.”

Wrapped around his finger as she was, she acquiesced, settling against him. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Go on, Mrin: How did you work out it ain't the cultists?”

Mrin picked up the corpse's floppy wrist. “Look at this tattoo,” she said, gesturing to the familiar mark that stood out amongst bruises.

“The sigil of The One That Lurks Beneath Rotting Flesh,” I said automatically. “A signifier of high ranking amongst the cultists.” I thought through the implications of it. “This was either an inside job or someone who hates cultists, then.”

“If it's the latter, I say we let them get to it,” Athena told me brusquely. “Maybe even find ‘em and help out.”

“We'll see what happens,” I agreed. The thought of siding with anything cruel enough to torture a man, even a cultist man, made my stomach churn. “Come on. I don't think there's anything to do.”

And so our little spat ended just like all the others, full of unresolvable threats and lingering anger. It simmered under the surface as we gathered rusting cans of food from a stash, when I jostled her arm as we ate dinner, while we lay in bed, silent and seething.

I stared at the cracked ceiling blankly, watching the flickering light overhead. When had I last seen natural light? This place was all concrete and grime, endless electricity fuelling my living hell of insomnia and nightmares.

Mrin was hardly faring any better. Her bedroll was empty, as it often was, for she often meandered her nights away, futilely seeking an escape. Were I younger, I would have followed her, and joined her in that pathetic hunt for freedom. But that was the folly of youth, a folly neither Brett nor Athena had inherited.

They slept curled up in a little ball, snuggled up beside each other. I would never admit it, but I envied their love for each other, the companionship I dared not seek. I watched them silently, arms propping me up, heart heavy.

"They're gonna die here, you know," Mrin said. "They'll die young and in love, without having ever seen the light of day again. They'll die here, and we'll die here, and the cultists will die here. Nobody's winning this game."

"I know," I whispered back. "Aren't you gonna go on your nightly walk?"

"It's pointless. It's always been pointless. It'll always be pointless."

I didn't know how to respond to that.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@xenascribbles, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

#writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #creative writing #my writing #writing community #spilled ink #fantasy #short story

21 notes · View notes

agathawellbelovefanclub · 4 days ago

Text

running like the light from the dark - Carry On Countdown

hey @carryon-countdown i love u

Day 2 - Chosen

Desc: Cast out wasn’t a phrase Agatha was comfortable with, but it was definitely how she felt. The prophecy that haunted her was fulfilled — but there are many kinds of magic.

my girlyyyyy agatha becoming a POWERHOUSE through semi-necrotic magic

Agatha stared at herself in the mirror, its knotty wooden frame making an irregular border around her face. She’d spent so much of her teenage years preening herself to be a perfect girl: pretty, bright, understanding, ethereal. Not so popular that she became an egomaniac, but not too lonely to be seen as an outcast. Her mother’s training, her father’s submission.

She reflected on this, tracing the lines forming under her eyes from the sleepless nights that had followed her back from America. Even with Niamh and their new, timid relationship, Agatha spent much of her new life figuring out where she belonged. Here, with the goats, in the wake of Ebb’s legacy. With Niamh, who had no problem with question of where, why, and how she was supposed to be. Agatha watched her old friends from afar when they were in the same room, wondering if they thought differently of her now that she’d put her naïvety on display for them all in such a catastrophic way. Even when Simon crashed and burned, he ended up in the middle of a web of love and nurturing.

Agatha had Niamh, who sometimes couldn’t understand why she lost herself in regret.

Simon was the Chosen One. Always. The prophecy was his. Their friends, whether Penny wanted to admit it or not, were his. Agatha was petty to think that way, she knew, but it was a by-product of putting her life on hold to lose her mind in America. She stared at the mirror and couldn’t see the perfect girl she was before. This person was mangled and ripped in half. Parts of her were missing and she didn’t know where they were.

The sun hadn’t risen yet. She hadn’t slept. Ebb’s hut could get cold in Autumn and Agatha didn’t have strong enough magic to spell the draft out now. It had been dwindling, her well of power running dry, ever since she lost track of herself. Now, she was about to disturb the goats by starting her farm work early, lest she dwell any longer in the mirror.

She grabbed Ebb’s staff for light and ventured out into the paddock. A couple of kids shifted as she walked past them, but otherwise everything stayed sleeping. As soon as she reached the feeding trough, she sighed heavily.

And Ebb’s staff glowed brighter.

It did that sometimes, like she was close to Ebb’s spirit. She figured this, because it would chastise her for getting snippy with the goats on particularly bad days. Now, she rested her head against it and tried to hold onto Ebb’s aura.

“Doing my best,” she promised.

It glowed brighter. She smiled.

But it continued glowing, getting hotter and wilder, until she had to push it back to protect her hair from getting singed off. She couldn’t let go — something was holding her hand in place — and she couldn’t run — she was scared stiff — and the light grew until it looked like she was in a patch of person sunrise. Through the light, she thought she saw Lucy Salisbury, but soon she recognised Ebb’s scraggly hair and aged face.

Struck like lightning, Agatha was yanked off the ground by the staff — by Ebb — and lost her breath as magick older than she could name coursed through her. From fingertips to her chest to her legs until in intoxicated her brain. Her eyes rolled back. She saw images of herself, an insult to her youthful, perfect façade, connected to the forest through roots and tangled weeds. Fire below her, burning red sky around the crescent moon. She looked like a tarot card. And she saw herself happy.

The power cut. Agatha fell to the grass on her back, the staff knocking her head when it landed. The pain would have been annoying if she wasn’t thrumming with a power that felt too good to be legal.

It’s ancient, she heard Ebb say. It’s yours.

Agatha thought of the trees that had held her in her vision, and from where her fingertips lay on the ground, roots erupted under the dirt. From a thought. From nothing at all. In seconds, a willow tree rose as a sleeping giant, leaves growing green in the middle of Autumn. The goats were in disarray, flying for cover, but Agatha felt no fear. She felt drunk.

Bring forth the new age.

Her mother was not going to like this.

#agatha wellbelove #carry on countdown #coc 2024 #i love it when girls go mad with power i love it i love it i love it #carry on #aw #co

15 notes · View notes

bringthekaos · 9 months ago

Note

It's been almost 2 years now, and I can't stop thinking about Jayce's situation in ep 3. Imagine working SO HARD your WHOLE LIFE trying to prove the impossible, to recreate the moment that saved your life, and then BOOM it all gets ripped off in a day. You lose your funding, your friends, disgrace your House, your mentor expells you from the place you worked so hard to get into and are basically declared insane (in front of everyone). You are about to end it all and then out if nowhere the man who arrested you 48 hours before stops you, gives you hope, solves the final piece of the puzzle and risks it all to bring it to fruition for you (and he barely knows you)

Imagine what was like to wake up the next morning

—TW suicide mention—

OHMYGOD same. Like it makes me emotional sometimes, thinking about all that Jayce went through that day just to be hated by the fandom. This poor guy was chasing a dream, something deeply personal. He almost watched his mother die in front of him, and then he was basically gaslit for the rest of his youth by people who doubted that it was magic that saved them, and that he could replicate it through science. But he never gave up, he worked toward it for his entire life, made it his passion, his goal, his meaning. And he was careful, that’s the thing!! He knew what he was doing had the potential to be dangerous, and he took the proper precautions—per Mylo, he locked his balcony! “Who does that?!” He wanted to be as safe as humanly possible as he chased this dream.

And then through no fault of his own, everything came crashing down. Someone with no idea of the volatility of the gemstones ended up handling them, and dropping them. His apartment, his research, and most of his supplies were damaged in the blast, and we’re led to believe that some people on the street below were injured.

He then had his life’s work stripped away, and he was imprisoned for something he didn’t do. Imagine that you had your car safely locked up in your garage and someone broke in and stole it, then used it to hurt people. And they blamed you and arrested you for it, and threatened to derail your entire life. When you did nothing wrong.

And THEN, after all of that, he was put on trial, where he was condescended to and repeatedly called “boy” in front of his peers. And the head of this governing body came to him before the trial and attempted to scare and manipulate him into admitting fault. And he was going to, too, but in a moment of passion he had an outburst, which led to his mother making a desperate bid to save him from exile by standing up and calling her son crazy. You could see how much this hurt Jayce by the way he spun around to look at her—“magic didn’t just save me, it saved you! You’re alive today because of that mage, and now you’re gunna stand here and say I’m not in my right mind?! My own mother, abandoning me in front of God and everyone.” (Personally, I see what she did a little different; she said what she had to in order to save her son, even if she didn’t believe it to be true. She knew it would hurt him, but the alternative was worse. So in the moment, she said the hurtful thing, the thing she thought had the only chance of convincing the council to save him).

But that doesn’t change how badly it hurt him, how it left him feeling truly alone. So alone that he saw no way out. He had no future. He wasn’t prepared to abandon his only dream, his only passion, something he’d literally dedicated every waking breath to from the time he was eight (?) to go work in his father’s factory. And no one else would stand up for him, not his mentor Heimerdinger or his patrons the Kirammans. And he couldn’t even go to his best friend for comfort because they’d been cut off. So he decided to end it.

And then when he was at his lowest, to have such deep trust and confidence shown to him by a complete stranger—a stranger who’s willing to risk his own life and stability to see Jayce’s dream succeed. Who believes in it so wholeheartedly that he’s willing to betray the man Yordle he works for (who also happens to run both the Council AND the University) to get it done. And then in the process, he’s shown another person who’s willing to see what he can do, who believes in him. It’s catching like wildfire, and all it needed was that first spark that Viktor gave it.

I think Jayce must have literally been in shock. What a whiplash of emotions. He probably pinched himself multiple times over those few days, trying to wake himself up. And I imagine Viktor probably caught him once, furrowing his brows down at the reddening mark on the back of Jayce’s hand, the unspoken question in his eyes.

And Jayce probably blushed, looking down at his shoes as he bashfully rubbed the back of his neck and said,

“Oh, uh… just… just making sure I’m not dreaming.”

And that’s probably the first time Viktor felt the butterflies. 🥰

#helpppppppp #I just love them so much #and I want to give Jayce the biggest hug #and bash every Jayce hater over the head with a rubber chicken #arcane #jayce talis #arcane Jayce #arcane viktor #jayvik #(implied)#asks #ace answers

35 notes · View notes

doodle-pops · 1 year ago

Text

Tales of the Heart | Part 2

Finarfin x mortal!reader

A/N: I couldn't help but continue this request as a self-written piece. Since we know he's already in ME and fell in love, why not place him in a dilemma.

Warnings: mortality contemplation, flashback

Words: 2.3k

Synopsis: Finarfin finds himself contemplating his future now that his love and duties were entangled.

Part 1 | Part 2

Knock, knock, knock. Three taps to your wooden door and the call of your name made your heart leap. He returned to you as promised.

Wasting no time, you dropped your dough half-heartedly into the pan and rushed to the front, tripping over the rug and steps on the way. Halting just a few footsteps away, you tied your hair and swiped the beads of perspiration down your face. Giving a few fans of cool air to your skin, you cleared your throat and ripped the door off its hinges to again greet his charming and fair face. This was the fifth time you were both seeing each other since your first meeting and Finarfin made it his business to ignore some of his unimportant duties that could cry a few days without him to attend to you.

“Hello.” Your greeting was always short and curt whenever you were meeting him; never able to get more than two words out. It was that silly elven effect you heard from many that they possessed. Lucky to know that you were experiencing it the same way for love.

“Greetings my love.” His voice was never above the howling of the wind, but as sweet as the merry tune of a nightingale. Eyes that held yours made you believe you were swimming in an ocean of blue. Lips that stretched into a grin made you stand on your tippy toes to crane your neck for sweet nectar. And a smile so heavenly that washed away all your worries and doubts.

The whispers of being a mortal and loving an elf had already spread throughout the town. Most villagers were eager to place fear and reminder that you would grow old and wrinkled, and he would no longer find beauty in you. How vacillating was mortal life compared to an elf? Your thoughts were plagued many nights with wondering if his love for you was true and he saw beauty, or if he was lying. But that kiss and smile…it melted your fears and filled you with positivity.

“I come baring gifts for you little bird,” he cheered, though his hands were empty, and nothing was present behind his larger figure.

Your eyes peered around him as best as you could glance for any noticeable trace of an object, but none came into sight. The action urged you to frown and pout, leaving the King chuckling at his lover’s sulky expression. It wasn’t every day Finarfin got to experience the array of emotions that mortals, even you, displayed. All he was familiar with were rage, fear, guilt, happiness and despair. The others expressed entirely differently from elves was an eye-opener for him. More the merrier as he would claim it to be.

Stepping backwards and ushering him into your house, you still marvelled today at the difference between him and your doorframe. Bending his poor back to enter a confined spacing, he had never made it his business to complain. You gathered that he understood the differences in living between elves and men.

“What gifts have you come bearing my love? I see no cloth or item in your hand,” you deliberated, roaming your eyes over his figure in case you missed something sticking out. To your disappointment, there was none.

“I believe you would be surprised to learn that your gift…is me!” he exclaimed with a cheeky wink. It felt unnatural for him to display himself so flirtatious when he was reserved and poised in swooning someone. He was never one for the youthful take on courting and showing affection since he was raised to act properly and above what was considered acceptable. All these rule-breaking would make his father and mother cast an eye at him while shouting his name.

You were turning him into a young ellon all over again. That he understood and accepted wholeheartedly.

Rolling your eyes at his antics, you smiled and walked over to him, allowing your smaller figure to become engulfed completely by the cluster of his robes, cloak and body. “You are so very childish at times Arafinwe…I love that about you,” you praised. “Most people spoke about the elves being stern and serious, only a few were described as light and cheerful.”

“Ah, perhaps the latter was my eldest and a few of his closer cousins,” he replied sorrowfully. He still was not over hearing how his family lost their lives all the way down to the last battle. At the same time, he was hesitant to reveal he was married and bore children; not many were willing to accept being with someone who was engaged before. It wasn’t familiar in elven society but heard of among the men.

Pulling away from him, you looked up and gently smiled, noticing the shift in his mood. “Well, your eldest had to get it from someone…like his handsome and cheerful father!”

Walking away and over to the kitchen to refocus on your unattended dough, he followed closely behind, stewing over words to return. A silence had fallen between you both and he used it to bubble over his next words. Glancing at you kneading the dough to the empty fireplace to the troughs that held your kitchen garden, he chewed his bottom lip. Your home was cosy as you fought to make it comfortable. Even though it was sufficient for one bedroom, kitchen, living and dining room and a porch, it was your patch of paradise. He knew that, but would you be willing to leave it behind.

“I am returning home.”

It was over a month since he broke your heart with those words, heartstrings tugging and begging to snap with every reminiscence of the scene. You hadn’t seen him since that day he came to your door and broke the sorrowful news. He stuck around to ensure you were well informed, but even the great King knew how grave his words were and how deep they had cut. You were left with invisible wounds to the human eyes, but open to the one who loved and sang his soul to you the most every night. The joyous look in his eyes, when those words left his lips, was replaced immediately with regret when he witnessed your status figure halting by the counter.

You weren’t pleased.

Finarfin didn’t truly know how to feel after that incident; even his mind haunted him day and night with memories of your teary eyes. Tossing left and right each night in his room he was kindly gifted by the Gil Galad; he would hold his head and wonder if falling in love with you, a mortal, was his mistake for the agony he was causing. The last time he ever loved, his heart was shattered by the actions of family and the crown, and now the crown was repeating the same heartache. The chance to love again beckoned to him like the earth held the moon; he hadn’t the strength to let go of the opportunity the Valar presented to him. A way of them making up for the problem they and his family caused. But it was still an issue and not a simple blessing; how half-hearted of them to cast a blank canvas and have him figure it all out.

He wanted to paint a picture of his future and yet they gave him no paint.

Sitting on the edge of your bed like a silent whisper of night, Finarfin's hands were curled into his lap like a child the longer he observed your peaceful state. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the twitching of your lips and eyes and the flutter of your lashes, how odd were you as a race of beings weaker than his but more fascinating than anything. He loved to observe you in your slumbering state; too many times he had often wondered where you went when you closed your eyes, wanting to follow you into the astral realm. His brows would frown whenever he attempted to evade your mind the moment you shut your eyes and slipped into your sleep.

Now, it was the most beautiful state of peace he has ever witnessed.

Roaming his eyes over your figure once more, he reached out to ghost his fingers over your cheeks and brush your hair out of your eye. The windows were opened to allow small gusts of wind to breathe the midnight ambience into your chambers. It helped his mind to wander the more he gazed at you, contemplating his future. You were a breath of fresh air after years of loneliness, too angelic to slip through his fingers without a fight. The idea of leaving you behind while he returned to Araman while you remained here, alone and with a broken heart, to wither and die without him at your side, made him choke on a sob.

Was he the moth that was drawn to the flame or were it you? He couldn’t live without you any longer.

Faith and destiny were two of the cruellest entities he had ever discovered and had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting. They thrust unwanted burdens into his heart and left him to suffer, a crown for emptiness. Now that the void could be refilled, it was at a time when the crown mattered. But I could do it. Give up the Crown and have the Valar choose Ingwё to govern; he would obey Lord Manwё’s decree without opposition. I could stay here, even if it was fifty years, I could stay. Would they let me return or deem my act as defiance, rebellion even? If it didn’t meet their wishes, everything was a crime in their eyes, but I could also…

His thoughts were abruptly cut at the suddenness of your body rolling to face him. The air in his lungs halted at the sight of the moonlight slipping through the thin sheer curtains and shining on your ethereal form. Finarfin's hands couldn’t help but brush your cheeks while his face grew warmer as you shuffled close to his touch. Your body was familiar with his scent and presence, you were craving him…missing him. The consciousness made his fёa tremble.

The things he’d do for love. They say love is dangerous, love is powerful, love drives the sanest person crazy, love makes you touch the sky and soar the heavens, love makes you do the impossible. Love was making him rethink all his purpose and duties.

The fire you rekindled within him was an imperishable flame now that the beacon was relit. He dared not allow himself to be parted from your side no matter the consequences he could face. Should his flame be doused, his world would crumble, slipping under his feet and plummeting into the abyss. Second chances didn’t come around often, especially when elves loved once, this was a miracle and a sick twisted gameplay he couldn’t afford to lose. What were the chances of snatching you into his arms and boarding his ship to depart to Valinor this instant? You would hate him for taking you away from his family.

“Would you hate me if I begged you to come with me? I am a lonely elf living in a palace like a masquerade,” he breathed wearily. His soul was growing tired from all the constant back-and-forth run-around. “I can do with someone to keep me grounded…you’d be perfect.”

Running the back of his knuckles along your cheeks, he softly smiled when you sighed and nuzzled subconsciously into his warmth. He had been here for years, slowly fading into the regular routine of his fellow elves who adapted to the changes of Middle Earth, no longer under the watchful gazes of the Valar to scold. It felt refreshing to be diverse, with no one to bark at him for any unethical and unprofessional demeanours. He knew if he took you overseas, you would face the harsh end of the stick for poor etiquette, setting you up for discrimination.

You are the High King Arafinwё, you could arrive at a peaceful conclusion.

“But what if I stayed with you…forever. What if I followed like her, the elven maiden who gave her life for her mortal lover, would you still accept me as I am? Mortality,” he brokenly whispered and clutched his chest, “it sounds painful, but I’d get to be with you forever. You’ll never slip through my fingers.” Dragging his eyes away from your face and roaming them around the room, they focused on nothing as they circumnavigated the tight enclosure.

How capricious was mortality? Today you existed, tomorrow you perished and vanished into the world beyond the outer doors. He didn’t want to suffer like his son did or undoubtedly was, but his opportunity was laid before him like a golden road with hundreds of signs. The only obstruction was his path to walk with you. He snickered. It was always he who walked the mystifying paths in life and suffering was all that he was guaranteed to know.

“Would the Valar grant you immortality likewise the opposite for me? They say I am important, but I’ve never felt so until I met you. I’ve only been at their convenience…at everyone’s convenience actually.” Shuffling his position to gracefully lie on his side and face you, he paused to marvel at the love he found. His right hand reached out once more to cup your face and rub his thumb against the softness. As a mortal, you had such remarkable and unfathomable beauty. “I’m sure they can forgive me for the decision I will make, they always do.”

When the sun rose and the ship sailed, his decision would be made.

Masterlist | Underrated Character Event Masterlist |

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar @floragardeniahope

94 notes · View notes

selfproclaimedunicorn · 8 months ago

Note

director’s cut on aldreda’s childhood/emotional development!

This has activated something in my brain that’s probably gonna see me writing a full lore novel about Aldreda & (my version) of Dance Era House Farwynd, like, I’m literally typing this up on a google doc just for my own ease of answering, I have no idea how long this is going to be lmao. Anyway, I’m gonna start off with a couple things that definitely need to be known as the baseline & then I’ll move on from there with wherever the wind takes me.

The baseline of knowledge we need to go forward is this: Aldreda is the only girl out of 21 children, she watched her number of siblings slowly dwindle starting from the time she was 4 until she was 26, she is one of only 2 kids her dad’s rock wife/Ironborn wife had.

There’s not really any way to sugar coat either of Aldreda’s parents. They both suck in their own way. Their relationship was never good. but it’s definitely in shambles now. They are the source of a lot of Aldreda being the way she is, they aren’t all of it (we’ll get to the rest of it) but they are a big, big foundational part.

Alfric Farwynd, the Lord Reaver of Lonely Light is the archetypical Ironborn lord. He’s what everyone wants to be, but he’s so far away from every other noble house in the Iron Islands that he just kind of gets ignored a lot of the time & has unchecked power over his lonely little island. He has 3 salt wives, one of which he kidnapped/married before he even got married to his arranged islander wife. He spent his entire youth raiding & pillaging & he probably has an army of bastard kids he doesn’t know about amongst the thralls of other Ironborn houses & his own castle & even on the mainland if any women got left behind. This guy sucks, he saw a vat of “respect women juice” & dumped it into the ocean so no one could drink it. He doesn’t care about his wives, he barely cares about his daughter, & the only reason he doesn’t have any more kids is because his wives started getting menopausal & his dick stopped working when he was in his mid 60s (RIP Alfric Farwynd, you would have loved viagra). The only person who will ever live up to his expectations is himself, and he was the measuring stick he held up to his sons. He constantly criticized them & they never were exactly how he wanted by virtue of being their own people instead of extensions of himself like he wanted; they were sons though & they met his expectations better than Aldreda ever did. Especially after they died, when they could stop disappointing him & he could project whatever prowesses & perfections onto them he wanted (this was especially true of the ones who died in the cradle & didn’t even get tainted memories of their “failings”). Aldreda kind of wasn’t even a neat party trick to parade around, she was mostly ignored & if asked he'd really only be able to say “she's one of my kids, man, I don’t know. She has my eyes, I like that.” He was cold & distant & critical, & he loves his brothers in his own way but he’s not really “dad material” because he’s too caught up in the toxic pseudo-viking machismo of the Iron Islands. As a little girl, Aldreda was terrified of him, and even as an adult in her late 20s she kind of still is; but she covers that up by performing the same kind of toxic attitudes Alfric has & lashing out within the parameters of Ironborn Manliness As Filtered Through The Lense Of A Woman Victimized By It.

Lady Melusine Myre is…not mentally okay. She is resentful, she is full of grief, & she doesn’t know where to put any of it. She only had 2 children: Ronas & Aldreda. Her son died in the cradle before her daughter was even born, her husband blamed her for his death, & when he finally came back to her she had a daughter & he never came back. She blames the salt wives for her husband being Like This & harbors resentment for those 3 women who don’t even want to be there & each son they give her husband; she doesn’t celebrate when those boys & men die though, because how can she? Their mothers mourn like she does & she understands that pain at least. She has never been her husband’s first choice, & really he probably wouldn’t have been hers, but she was promised the story of “being a noble reaver’s rock wife, his real wife he can only have one of who will give him sons & carry on the family line & he’ll like you more than all those silly mainland wives he takes. It is a good thing for your husband to have those, by the way, it means he is prosperous & rich & can take care of that many wives & all their kids!” She tells herself she’s okay with it, but she isn’t. She wants love & closeness & intimacy, but she hasn’t gotten that a day in her adult life since she got shipped off to Lonely Light away from the other Iron Islands to marry The Absolute Most Ironborn Man There Is Currently. She doesn’t have a partner, she lost her son, she got abandoned but still has to live with the man who did that to her, so she uses her only kid to fill her emotional needs. Like, Lady Melusine’s boundaries with Aldreda are paper fucking thin, they basically aren’t there. Aldreda is her mom’s therapist, she has to live up to her standards that change every day, & she has never had a moment of privacy with that woman. “It doesn’t matter that you started puberty, I’m your mother & I don’t need to knock to come into your room.”/“It doesn’t matter that you’re a grown woman now, I’m your mother & I’m going to rant at you about some slight against me while you’re taking a bath or getting changed.” And in return for this fucky, laborious emotional incest, Aldreda’s payment is “I will support you doing your gender weird stuff & back you up now that you’re the only claimant to Lonely Light,” & yes that is tied to how much Lady Melusine loves her daughter, but it’s also got a small undercurrent of “if you want to replace all your dead brothers, that is my revenge against everyone who I think has wronged me when you succeed.”

So Aldreda has this just really intense parental situation while living in an incredibly isolated & insular court. Growing up her friends were either her half brothers, or the children of her father’s raiders, or some thrall’s kid: vast power & age imbalances. Aldreda’s oldest brother was 25 when she was born, & she was 20 when her youngest brother was born.

Her favorite person was her older brother Orwen (who was 20 when he died, & Aldreda was 13 when that happened). She looked up to him & wanted to be like him, at least in some respects, & he took care of her. Aldreda wasn’t just “his annoying little sister,” he taught her to fight & brought her little trinkets back from raids & told her cool stories about how badass he was during said raids. Orwen was great, but, like, also one of his best friends was their Open-Secret-Serial-Predator-To-Tween-And-Teen-Girls cousin, Westley. Orwen kept Aldreda safe from him, he warned her to not spend time with him alone & in turn told Westley to leave her alone, but Aldreda was still being nurtured in an environment where people were just kind of lowkey okay with what was going on & really only cared to protect her.

Her childhood was never that idyllic, but when she was super little she tried really hard to convince herself it was. She was 4 the first time one of her brothers died, then there were 2 more a year later, & then things were okay until she was 9 & 1 more died; little baby Aldreda didn’t really get it but she knew that there were stories about House Farwynd skinchanging into seals & so she just got it in her head that early to decide that’s what happened with her brothers. “Sure, Winfirth/Faren & Edgard/Theon are gone, but they aren’t gone gone! They’re seals now! I went down to the rookery & picked the one(s) I think is him/them!” And she never stopped doing that. Because yes, her parents suck & her dad only kind of loves them & her mom wants her to not love her half-brothers, but they’re her brothers & she loves them. She grieves & mourns for the short time she allows herself by going pure copium & deciding “this seal is my brother & he will get to live on as that animal for another 15 or so years, maybe 25 if we don’t set him loose!” & then she moves on (or at least convinces herself she does) because she doesn’t want to be like her parents. Except she is. She has turned Orwen into a saint in her memory, she has built her dead brothers up in her mind to act as the voice of her own self-doubt & self-criticism; and she is full of grief that she’s choking on & doesn’t know what to do with. She can’t let it out though, so it eats at her from the inside until she does something either to herself or someone else to let it out with sex or violence (like, she was fully carrying on an affair with the thrall who used to be Orwen’s salt wife for a good 5 years & was just like “this is a normal thing to do”).

When she lost 3 brothers in one fell swoop at 13 (favorite included), she decided “I am a girl, but I’m a son, y’know? Daughter but in a boy type way” & cut her hair short & started trying to live up to the persona Lord Alfric wanted of his sons & joined her cousin’s crew to go on raids. Except Orwen was dead & there was no one to save Aldreda from Westley, his men weren’t going to stop him from grooming her & making her attachment styles even worse (because he threatened them). She’s been fixated on him since she was 13/14 & it was a “positive” fixation until she was 26, then he showed his true colors of just being blindly ambitious & also a little bit delusional but she can’t stop being fixated on him because that’s over a decade of being manipulated & abused & thinking they were star crossed lovers & that “when he says the time is right I'm going to give him my maidenhead.” She still romanticizes what happened to her before remembering all the harm she learned he did & then it turns into the most (justifiably) hateful & violent fixation known to man: it's still a fixation though.

She's not her mother or her father, she's something entirely separate & wholly worse: their daughter who never stopped being a sad, traumatized teenage girl in the middle of being emotionally abused & manipulated.

#asks #oc: aldreda farwynd #scarlett tag

20 notes · View notes