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sleepynoons · 1 month ago

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ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU BY MARIAH CAREY– neuvillette (genshin) x afab!f!reader, nsfw / 18+

genre – fluff, smut word count – ~3,100 warnings – age gap, lingerie, oral (receiving), fingering synopsis – it's your first winter with neuvillette, and where you grew up, it's customary to celebrate by exchanging presents, eating delicious food, and spending quality time with loved ones. even though neuvillette is overwhelmed with work at the moment, you're excited to surprise him.

Neuvillette is known for his lack of personal greed, with the exception of his indisputable particular taste for certain flavors of water. Because of his asceticism, intentional or not, it had been difficult for the two of you to enter the relationship you now are in, but with the incredible aid and full support of the Melusines, the Chief Justice finally distinguished your feelings of likeness separate from others of friendliness and sociability.

To his end, though, you are known for your intensity, speech sharp with judgment, gaze watchful and vigilant, pen always in hand, scribbling away at a new manuscript or op-ed for The Steambird. Originating from Sumeru, you had been well aware of the turmoil brewing within the Akademiya, and managed to flee, even with such knowledge, to Fontaine. Here, you have been able to continue your studies from where you left off, as well as pursue your own endeavors in writing, which had long been restricted when you were a student. In fact, it was precisely due to one of your well-received yet controversial pieces in the newspaper that had landed you an opportunity to interview Neuvillette and ask him questions on questions regarding his thoughts on governance, the limitations of rule and government, and checks and balances.

You intended it to be a one-off instance, fully knowing that the Chief Justice is incredibly busy. However, you had a bad habit of losing track of time, and he is more than happy to speak in length, and your first conversation did not end on a fulfilling thought. As a result, for several months on end, you would spend two hours every three weeks with Neuvillette, which, by then, it was more than obvious you had developed intimate feelings for him.

Of course, even though you two are now a couple, the dynamics of your schedule have not differed by much. Neuvillette still has a limited amount of time to see you, though it is permissible for you to make more spontaneous visits to his office, if you are so inclined. But being the studious writer that you are, you still have not acted upon this privilege yet.

“You really should take up more of his time!”

You squint your eyes over the rim of the teacup that you are sipping from, taking several moments to think of a proper response. A part of you is still ruminating over the last draft of your manuscript, something you have been losing sleep over to make it in time for the deadline for The Streambird’s short story contest at the end of the month, but you know you should be more focused on the conversation at hand. After all, while Miss Furina is beloved by the people and is commonly seen out and about, it is still rare for her to request a private audience with someone as little of importance socially, politically, economically as you are.

“Miss Furina, I’m not sure I follow?” is the best you can manage. You take another sip as the celebrity huffs in disappointment.

“How trite! It has been so long since my last visit to the Palais Mermonia, yet even I’ve been made aware of Neuvillette’s situation! Please tell me you at least know of that!”

You open your mouth to release a hum of agreement. “Yes,” you say, “though I am not sure what his condition has to do with his schedule? Wouldn’t it be more advisable for him to go rest, instead of having me bother him?”

“You are incredibly dull, my friend.”

You nod slowly, noting in your head that she is sassier than she lets on, easily overpowered by her stage presence and bright smile. Regardless, you are still not sure if you ae thinking on the same lines as she is.

Miss Furina gives you a few more seconds to think on your own, but seeing the lack of any recognition or realization on your face, she sighs before flinging three sugar cubes into her tea with exasperated movements. She then grumbles, “Neuvillette does not rest until the Melusines kowtow and beg. Could you not at least help save them some face and demand of him to rest a day or two?”

You watch as the sugar begins to dissolve into the tea. When instructed as such, there really is no harm in doing so. You nod again, and Furina yelps with delight, clapping her hands in a circle.

“I try my best to not get involved in his affairs anymore, but perhaps this is just my way of slowly repaying his efforts. Anyway, I need to carry on with the rest of my day. Good luck, friend, and cheers to your union!”

You realize you did not ask the more glaring questions of this conversation. You are not sure how Miss Furina knows of your relationship with the Chief Justice in the first place, or why you are the one settling the bill for lunch. You shrug as you wipe at your mouth with a tissue, thinking of ways to convince your partner on stepping away from his impending cases for at least a few hours.

The solution comes quite easily, frankly speaking. In part of your intense and serious attitude, you are also associated as being very independent, so when you send a note to Neuvillette requesting his assistance later in the evening, he replies immediately in complete compliance. That way, you did not have to risk interrupting him in the midst of his work, while still satisfying Miss Furina’s plea.

In reality, though, you only got lucky because you had happened to remember today’s date. You do not quite recall how you thought of it – it could have been a street sign or a poster that you spotted from your periphery –, but the whole point is that this day used to be very important to you as you grew up. Though you are not upset or even the slightest bit nostalgic, you think it is the perfect excuse to save your partner from undue stress and cacophony.

Thus, you make your way to several shops before returning home with two small boxes and a bag in your hands. There are a few more hours before Neuvillette is to arrive, so you shuffle all of the scattered loose leaf paper into haphazard stacks and stuff your ballpoint pens into your drawers to make room on your desk to wrap the presents you bought.

–

When your partner comes, it is already dark, overcast with dense clouds that pour incessantly. He knocks at your door just as you are stoking the flames in your fireplace, and you pace over to let him in.

You open the door to a very concerned Chief Justice.

“Are you alright?” are his first words.

You cannot help but feel guilty at deceiving your partner.

You place a hand on his arm, which he returns with the same gesture, and you rub soothing circles into the fabric of his coat. “Yes, I managed to figure it out.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to revise your draft? I am more than willing to, might you think my input may be necessary.”

With gentle tugs, you lead him to your rounded dining table for two, where there are already steaming mugs of tea settling on their matching saucers, and the two of you take your usual seats across from each other.

You feel no need to keep up your lie. “My sincere apologies, Neuvillette, but there’s actually no manuscript you need to help with. The Melusines had specifically asked of me to find a way to extract you from your work, lest you become glued to your chair.” You leave out any mentions of Miss Furina out of respect for her privacy.

“Ah, I see.”

You observe his face, careful for even the faintest of shifts or twitches to anticipate his reactions. But Neuvillette’s impartiality should never be underestimated, and his expression does not change at all.

“Are you upset?” you ask.

He glances at you, having previously been staring into his cup. “Uh, no, I… I suppose I have been dealing with a torrent of work. I apologize for having concerned all of you.”

You set your hands out, and Neuvillette holds them in his palms. You admire the feel of his gloves against your bare skin and watch as he thumbs over your calloused fingers.

You finally manage to hum, “No worries. Though, I have a few things I want to give you, so your visit’s not entirely a waste.”

His grip tightens. “It is never a waste. Forgive me, for neglecting us.”

You chuckle before slipping your hands out of his hold, and patter over to the wrapped presents that sit on the floor to the side of the fireplace.

“Here,” you say, as you set the gifts in front of him.

“What occasion are these for?” he asks, eyes glimmering with fascination. You have always loved Neuvillette’s eyes. While his face may be as set as stone, at times, you can tell fragments of his thoughts by the color and brightness in his eyes.

You have not told him much about your upbringing, and you do not feel inclined to dwell on it tonight either. So, in the briefest way possible, you explain, “When I was growing up, every year on this day, the community I was a part of would exchange gifts. There was also a large feast, with plenty to eat and drink.” You give a light shrug before finishing, “I just thought it would be nice to share a bit of my past with you.”

“I understand,” he replies, eyes and tone soft and gentle. “I’m afraid your presents will have to wait for next year.”

You know time means nothing to him, but his words still melt the rough, unromantic edges within you. You smile to yourself as you watch him unwrap the pen and bejeweled brooch you had bought him. Finally, when he moves onto the bag, you laugh as you see him tear away his gaze before shakily handing you the box from inside.

“This, um, seems to be yours.”

You release an intrigued noise before nudging the box back toward him. “It is still a present for you.”

“How so?” Neuvillette’s cheeks and ears are tinged with a warm red, and you are sure it is not solely because of the fire.

You get up from your chair, round over to his side, and stand beside him. “I forgot to mention,” you tease, “but this day’s particularly special for couples. They celebrate together, spend time together, and… need I say more?”

You and Neuvillette have slept together before, though the number does not exceed single digits despite the two of you having been together for a little less than a year. Such occurrences are usually a result of your or his feverish desires exceeding a certain boiling point, and you suppose this time, you are the insatiable one.

“Look inside,” you instruct with a flick of your chin. “Do you like it?”

Folded neatly inside the box is a red satin tank top and sleep shorts. The color shines brilliantly under the flickering of the flames, and you appreciate the contrast of it against the purple and indigo of Neuvillette’s eyes.

“Yes, o-of course. I’m sure it suits you well,” he mumbles, blush flushing deeper and deeper with every passing second.

You pat his shoulder. “Perfect. I’ll change in the bathroom, so wait for me on the bed.”

If it was really up to you, you would not even change in a separate room. But, for the sake of your easily flustered partner, you show him some mercy and grant him no more than two minutes of reprieve. As Neuvillette said, the set does fit you, in ways other than just size, and you are glad you decided to go the extra length to splurge on lingerie, as it is also a treat for yourself.

When you enter your bedroom, barely concealing the skip in your step, you see Neuvillette seated on the corner of your bed, unmoving. You doubt he has barely even breathed since you left him alone.

“Neuvillette?”

His head shoots up at your call of his name, but he fails to respond. His eyes, which were staring holes into the ground a mere second ago, are now drinking in the sight of you in your new clothes. They linger at the exposure of your neck and collarbones, the outline of your breasts, the flare of the top around your waist, and the contrast of the shorts’ red sheen against the suppleness of your thighs. You find yourself almost feeling shy at his undivided attention, and you rock on your feet, waiting for him to make a move.

Neuvillette only breaks out of his reverie once he has looked over your entirety. “You look mesmerizing,” he praises. He makes it sound like a truth, a new law he has amended into Fontaine’s books, something everyone should know and accept by now. It is your turn to shudder and lose your composure at his words, so you do not even try to respond, and instead, walk over to stand in front of him.

However, he quickly switches your positions, gliding you over to sit and him kneeling between your knees. He presses fleeting kisses on the inners of your knees, before slowly traversing up the length of your right thigh, nuzzling and pressing and licking. You squirm as he sucks on your skin, and gasp at every mark he leaves.

It is unbelievable, you think. Back in Sumeru, you were constantly teased, others mocking and prophesying that you will forever spend this special day alone. Yet, you are grown now, and being lavished and indulged by another, by your lover.

You try your best not to muss Neuvillette’s hair, so you clutch onto his shoulders. Digging your fingernails into the white silk of his shirt, you barely contain your whimpers as your partner begins to approach the heat emanating between your legs. You jump once you feel him press the pad of a finger against your hole, and cannot help but moan as he kisses your clit, the satin of the shorts doing nothing to dull the sensations.

Though Neuvillette’s actions are restrained, limited to only kitten licks and playful flicks with his fingertip, your pleasure compounds at an exceptional rate. By the time he lifts you up to slide your shorts off, you have already stained much of the fabric and are continuing to leak, wetness dripping down your inner thighs and the bottom of your ass.

“Absolutely decadent,” he mumbles, gazing with much adoration and intensity at the way your legs shake and your clit trembles.

Before you can say anything, he takes your breath away as his lips close around your sensitive bud. He taps and laves his tongue against the hood, pressure just enough to choke you from pleasurable stimulation. His hands are wrapped tightly around your thighs, to hold them in place, as well as bite his nails into your skin, although you have no idea when he took his gloves off.

“Neuvillette,” you breathe out. He hums around your clit with a more forceful suck, and you reel over, hunching over his head, hands sliding down his back and crumping his shirt within your grasp. Your partner understands your reaction as a subconscious plea to move on, and so, he licks his way down to your hole. He can feel it open and close around nothing, and it is only then that he is made aware of how painfully hard he is.

You grit out, “More – please.”

He knows he cannot further deny you. He laps at your entrance, entranced by your taste, before finally pushing his tongue in.

You are warm, sweet, incredibly tight. He pulls back, draws a large breath, and dives back in, pushing himself as far in as he can. Since the very beginning, you have been very sensitive, always reacting to even the lightest and briefest of touches, so Neuvillette knows your body must be overwhelmed by everything he is doing to you. He knows this is the case when he leans back on his heels for a quick rest, and sees your face, sweat tracing your hairline and eyes glazed over. For some reason, Neuvillette finds himself growing even larger, even harder, at the sight, and he distracts himself by returning to his place between your legs.

This time, he goes faster, accompanying his tonguing with circles of his finger around your clit. He can also hear you muffling your noises with the back of your hand.

“Please, let me hear you,” he says, between movements of his mouth and hand. “I need to know that you are feeling good.”

You are so used to practicing restraint and discipline, so you hesitate at first. But when Neuvillette presses your clit in that exact way you like and tongues you so deeply, you moan out loud, giving in regardless of your own wishes. And because he is incredible, precise, with analyzing your needs, he keeps doing it, giving you what you crave and desire over and over and over again, until you are brought over the edge.

Neuvillette groans as your hole flutters around his tongue, more of your taste filling his mouth, and he drinks in whatever he can. At this point, you are holding his head against your body, almost bucking your hips to close whatever distance is left, so that you can extend your high.

By the time the two of you peel apart from each other, you are about to unzip his pants before you notice a stain. You look at Neuvillette’s face, only to find him with a flushed, euphoric expression, and you feel surprise and delight wash over you.

“We will continue tomorrow morning, if that is alright with you,” he says, a little out of breath. You, too, are still heaving, so you nod in agreement.

Back at home, this day was spent with several people under a clear night. You would all be gossiping, dancing, discussing, and by the end of it, you would exchange gifts, though for most of it, you were left to your own devices, reading storybooks in whatever dimly lit corner you could find. This time around, though it is raining outside and there is no one else besides you and Neuvillette, you think this is the best celebration you could ever have. You would not wish for anything else, as long as you have him.

winter event masterlist

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin smut #neuvillette #genshin impact neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette genshin impact #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette smut #carrot cake!#house of solis occasum #nereids' realm

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atinyslittleworld · 8 months ago

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From Afar

yunho x f!reader

Genre: fluff, a little bit angst

Warnings: mention of bullying

Y/N had always been a quiet, studious girl, content to keep to herself and focus on her academics. She admired Yunho from afar, the school’s star athlete, known for his charm and athletic prowess. He seemed untouchable, always surrounded by friends and fans, and Y/N never dared to dream that their paths would ever truly cross. Little did she know, Yunho had been doing the same, watching her from a distance, captivated by her intelligence and grace, but convinced she would never be interested in someone like him.

One crisp autumn afternoon, as Yunho was heading home after practice, he took a different route to enjoy the scenic path lined with golden leaves. As he walked, he heard raised voices coming from a nearby alley. Curious and concerned, he quickened his pace and turned the corner.

To his surprise and anger, he saw Y/N, the girl he’d often noticed in the library and in the hallways, being harassed by a group of bullies. They were taunting her, pushing her books to the ground, and laughing cruelly.

Yunho’s protective instincts kicked in immediately. “Hey!” he shouted, his voice booming and authoritative. “Leave her alone!”

The bullies turned, their faces paling at the sight of Yunho. They knew better than to mess with him. Without another word, they scattered, leaving Y/N standing there, shaken and on the verge of tears.

Yunho approached her gently, picking up her scattered books and handing them to her. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. “Thank you, Yunho,” she whispered, clutching her books tightly to her chest.

Yunho smiled warmly. “It’s no problem. I’m glad I got here in time.” He paused, looking at her with genuine concern. “Do they bother you often?”

Y/N hesitated before nodding slightly. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I try to avoid them.”

Yunho frowned, feeling a surge of protectiveness. “No one should have to deal with that. If they ever bother you again, let me know, okay?”

Y/N nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her chest at his kindness. She had admired him from afar for so long, and now here he was, standing up for her, making her feel safe.

“Can I walk you home?” Yunho offered, not wanting to leave her alone after what had just happened.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise but she nodded, unable to find her voice. They walked together in comfortable silence, the autumn leaves crunching beneath their feet. As they neared her house, Yunho turned to her.

“I’ve seen you around school,” he said, breaking the silence. “You’re always so focused. It’s impressive.”

Y/N blushed, looking down at her feet. “Thank you. I’ve seen you too. You’re really talented.”

Yunho chuckled. “Thanks. I guess we both noticed each other from afar.”

Y/N looked up at him, her heart pounding. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They reached her house, and Yunho stopped at the gate. “I’m glad I ran into you today,” he said sincerely. “Maybe we can talk more at school?”

Y/N smiled, feeling a new sense of hope and excitement. “I’d like that.”

As Yunho waved goodbye and walked away, Y/N stood there, watching him go, her heart filled with gratitude and a budding sense of possibility. For the first time, it felt like her quiet admiration might turn into something more. And for Yunho, the chance encounter had opened his eyes to someone he realized he wanted to get to know much better.

#jeong yunho #yunho imagines #yunho x reader #yunho #jeong yunho x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez

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tonixe · 1 year ago

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Hiya babes hope you’re doing well I’ve had this idea for a young Coriolanus Snow where he’s fresh into his presidency and runs into a maid in his room putting his clothes away. He thinks it’s just some avox but it turns out to be and old classmate (she was in the grade a year younger than but he’d seen her passing in the halls and she came from quite a respectable lineage). He becomes infatuated by her and why she’s working for him and not living some life of luxury, it becomes months worth of cat and mouse where Coryo tries to buy her love with gifts and she tries to stay strong. But finally she gives in and they start an affair (he isn’t married it’s just he wouldn’t want to be caught dead having a relationship with a servant girl). Normal he just tells her he wants to see her and that night they do an assortment of nefarious things, but one night he asked her to say instead of kicking her out like he usually does. She thrown off by this and after a little hesitancy she agrees.

So that’s all I really have feel free to make the rest up, but also don’t feel obligated to write about this it’s just something that’s come to my mind. I didn’t mean for this to be so long sorry. Love you loads hope you have the best of days and I hope you’ll find inspiration from this prompt. Okay kisses and hugs this is me signing off.

— Dirty little secret

WARNING: Unprotected sex, implied mudpie, fingering, implied affair, groping.

PAIRING: President!Coriolanus Snow x maid!reader

WORD COUNTER: 1.8k

Days for Coriolanus seemed to tick on longer than he bargained after getting elected and inaugurated to the office of Panem. Being the President of Panem wasn't a joke, nor did it have any time to just sit around, he was a busy man with a country behind him and leading the future of his people and generations. It was tiring for him, sometimes he would just accidentally sleep in his office rather than go to his bedroom. After piles of documents and papers were placed on his desk, finding more time to complete them if he locked himself away in his office.

On top of that, he had to make speeches and host future events. He just didn't have any time for self-pleasure with all the work on his desk, but he was dutiful and a studious worker. He did his usual routine after finalizing some paperwork and handing it off to his secretary to press. Dragging his feet against the delicate and pleasant tiles, tiredness drowned his vision, as he opened the door of his chamber spotting a dainty maid in his room. Your eyes widen at the sight of the President in front of you, immediately bowing down, before lifting your head slightly up. "Mr. President, I was just delivering your clothes" You curtsy at him, Coriolanus originally thought you were just an avox until you spoke, but now a mere maid hired by his secretary but once he got a glimpse of your face, a flash of simple memory ran through his mind. You started taking steps away from him trying to get away from the brewing tension, "Stop" You turned your body to him, looking at him with your full attention.

The sounds of the heel of his shoes on the bedroom flooring, feeling his soft hands on your jaw, slowly lifting your head up, taking in the scene of you. You held your breath as he simply inspected you, feeling your heart pumping against your chest. His azure eyes stared into your own, for a moment..before he withdrew his hands away from you. "You may go" he finished, you watched as he turned his body away from you before you scurried out of the bedroom.

But Coriolanus couldn't help but look back at you as you ran away, the sense of familiarity when he saw you was haunting his head. He pondered about it, putting his hand underneath his chin as he thought about you. The passing days were just Coriolanus watching you as you worked around the manor, his eyes never leaving your form. He managed to gather some information on you, by looking through your files, after all, he is the President of Panem it's his job to know everything, right?

His hands flipped through the dainty white pages, your headshot on the first page as he read through the private information, finding out that you were from Capitol blood, and ended up in the depths of middle class maybe even lower instead of luxury. Curiosity filled his mind about you, questions flowing through his mind with no answer to them. "What really are you..Y/N" he whispered under his breath, examining the photo of you. Most of these days were now mostly spent with him staring at you doing chores around the household, hanging up laundry, washing clothes, and cleaning the floors.

He likes how you laugh and smile when talking to your co-workers while you work. Every time he sees your smile, it makes some of his problems melt away, if he is stressed, he completely forgets what he was stressed about. He would purposely order you to his room to clean or arrange something in his office. Over a few months passing, he would continue asking for you, so adding little gifts and necklaces. For you, it was a surprise, certainly. Who expects the President of Panem to gift a simple maid a luxurious, expensive necklace, priced at a high price, more than you get paid. So you would send them off, at first you were confused thinking it was a mistake he sent the luxurious package to you, then it was sent back to you, this time a different gift, more beautiful and elegant. So you sent it back again, he began to be more curious and furious why you didn't keep and accept the gifts he sent, were they too ugly, an eyesore or indifferent to you.

So he orders you to his room...

It was the middle of the night, being pulled out of the servant quarters by the headmistress, ordering you to serve Coriolanus, and you obeyed. Your body is still engulfed in your flimsy nightgown and your flats on the floor of the manor, as you walk down the hallways. You opened the door to Coriolanus still in his attire, leaning on the bedframe. His eyes darted at you. "Mr. President, you requested of me" You held your hands together, looking him in the eyes. You hear his footsteps inching closer to you, his hands on his hips, "Do you hate them?" he asked, his eyes never leaving your frame, cocking your eyebrow, confused about what he was asking you.

"Hate, what, Sir?" you questioned, "The gifts" he walked closer to you, "Do you hate them, Y/N?" he looked at you, his eyes attentively staring at your own e/c. You felt sweat pending up on the palm of your hand as you began to clear your throat, "No—I just thought you sent them by mistake, sir" You said, you looked away from him, feeling flustered at how close he was to you. 'Y/n, do you think I'm an idiot to send something three things to the same person?" He gently lifted up your chin, making direct eye contact with you. "N-no, sir!" You exclaimed, "Then why, my sweet dove?' he questioned, "What have I done to deserve them" You mumbled,

"Every time I saw you, you have been pulling the strings to my heart..." He whispered, his deep voice resonating through your body, sending chills down your spine, you were hesitant to respond to him. The few moments of silence were unbearable, it felt like his eyes were tracking your every move. "Would it, not be improper for you to date a servant woman like me?" You murmur, and he immediately takes your face into his hands, "I will trade all of Panem just to have you in my arms" You parted your lips, staring at him in shock. Before he took your lips, kissing you. His hands touched against your skin, making you whine, his fingers slowly taking off the strings of your sheer nightgown. Immediately the cold air hits your bare skin making you moan, his hand trailing against your sides. He withdrew from your lips, his eyes clouded with lust, his pupils dilated. "W-we can't", looking away from him in embarrassment, trying to cover yourself up from his gaze.

He picked you up by your thighs, immediately putting your arms around his neck. He carried you towards the bed, dropping you onto the mattress, you instantly tried to cover yourself until he ripped your hands away as he stared at you beneath him. He took off your panties, slowly, his eyes staring at your slick coating your panties off, making you flustered. He started taking off his belt, you watched as he took his trousers off along with his boxers. His length springs out, pre-cum leaking from the tip of his cock, feeling yourself getting wet underneath him. His eyes were heavy with lust, impatiently to have you, taste you, and fuck you.

He slowly inserts himself into you, a moan being ripped out of your throat, holding him by his biceps. "Itis' too big" you groaned. You tried to adjust yourself around his cock, you bit the bottom of your lip simmering the pain. Before he started moving, his pelvis smacked into your cunt as your breast bounced in impact.

You pushed your head back in pleasure as he forced himself into you, he groaned into your ear. "You're taking me so well, dove" he whispered, kissing your collarbone. The sound of wet skin clapping resonating around the bedroom, his hands moving around your body, rubbing the nipples of your breast, moaning in response. "Your so warm" he groaned, moving his hips against you, you felt yourself inching near your release.

He place your leg onto his shoulder, moving your body to the side as he thrusted inside, feeling his cock deeper inside you.

His hand groped your breast, abusing your nipples as he plunged into you deeper. Before feeling yourself coming undone, squeezing down on his cock. "Fuck" he groaned, pushing himself into you. His fingers trailing down onto your pelvis, he rubbed your clit, making you whine. Breathy moans echoed from your lips, and you looked through your lashes at him. Your walls massaging his cock, his thrust getting faster and into an animalistic pace.

His groans became frantic, as he fucked himself into you, before he pulled out and cummed onto your stomach, the white sticky load coating your body. Feeling your legs shaking, and your chest heaving. Staring at him, tiredness in your eyes.

"You did so good, dove," he said, kissing the corner of your neck.

Soon this moment happened time and time again, mostly during the nights when everyone was gone or sleeping away. He would call for you, knowing what would happen at the end of every night, you on his bed either coated with his cum or filled with it. Usually leaving before anyone can get suspicious of you and Coriolanus. Always wearing a nightgown, Coriolanus purchase for you. Looking into the mirror with the rich, satin fabric on your body, hugging your curves and bosom.

He would surprise you with special things mostly material things but you were grateful for them.

He would buy luxurious lingerie and jewelry for you. You were getting ready to meet Coriolanus as he called for you again, wearing the special red lingerie underneath nightgown, you obeyed. Walking down to his chambers, in the end, the precious lingerie was ripped and your nightgown on the floor stained with cum. His hands on your waist as he thrusted into you, he was close and you were already done and tired. His hands explored you, before he spilled himself into you. Pulling himself out of you, your legs were shaking, holding yourself up. Feeling him leaving a kiss on your cheek, he put himself into his pants.

You walked towards your discarded nightgown, taking ahold of the material, and slipping it on. There was a moment of silence between you and Coriolanus. Getting yourself busy, fixing the fabric of the nightgown, pulling it down carefully.

"Wait, Y/N" you turned around at him, "Yes, Corio" you responded, he loved it when you used that nickname with him, he walked forward to you, "Stay" he paused for a minute, "Stay with me for the night" He finishes, your eyes slightly widen. "What if, we were caught?" You whispered, "Nobody could come in without my permission, Y/N" he pushed a strand of your loose hair over your ear, "Just stay" he whispered, his hands trailing down to your waist, rubbing them in reassurance. You cleared your throat, putting your hands on his chest, and parting your lips.

"Alright—I will..."

295 notes · View notes

hotricebowlsoup · 29 days ago

Text

it's you and me, that's my whole world

(evamon, 6.3k, non-despair college au where damon and eva fight over the same study seat. read sequel here)

There’s a quiet corner in the Grand Library of Eden’s Garden Academy that Damon really likes. It’s a wooden table next to a stained window, almost hidden by a large Greek pillar diagonally to it. Adorned with plastic ivy leaves and vintage warm lamps, the cozy corner has served as his study paradise ever since he discovered this secret place a month ago.

The Corner (with a capital ‘C’, mind you! (dubbed by him and his genius linguistics)) was incredibly peaceful and worked wonders on Damon’s productivity. So, it’s kind of a surprise that no one else knows about this place. Or, at least, no one else is in the Corner whenever he wants to study there. It’s his unlabelled territory, his secret sanctuary.

Then one day, after a philosophy lecture, he goes to the library as usual and finds a girl in his Corner.

To be fair, Damon supposes it’s about time another person finds out about this hidden spot. The library is nearly packed everyday with studious students, scrambling to find a comfortable spot to study in during the shared break hours. If anything, having another person intrude was long overdue.

But what pisses Damon off is that the girl is sitting in his seat. His table, his chair. Being in the Corner is totally fine. Sitting at the same table, opposite or beside him is alright. There are 3 other chairs to be used, so, whatever. He can tolerate that— but get the fuck out of my seat, ma’am!

He’s clearly been standing rigidly, facing his Corner with a glare, for far too long that the girl looks up at him.

She looks back down after 2 seconds, completely unbothered.

Damon’s head is going to burst.

“Excuse me,” he marches up to the girl, unpolitely speaking, “That’s my seat.”

“It doesn’t have your name on it.”

What kind of highschool ass remark— Damon feels a vein pop. What the hell, sure.

“I’ve been sitting in this seat,” he crosses his arms, “Everyday. For the past month. And I’ve never seen you in this Corner before.”

The girl, completely absorbed in her revision materials, doesn’t bother looking up at him at all.

“I just thought you should know,” he harrumphs. “Yeah. That’s my seat. Go find another.”

“Interesting.”

Damon feels his patience slithering away very quickly, even if he didn’t have much to begin with. “What is?”

“You say you’ve been sitting in this exact spot every day, for the past month,” the girl speaks, soft and low, her pen never faltering in its rapid scribbling. “So have I.”

“That’s… not possible.”

She finally puts her pen down and looks up at him, square in the eye. Her eyes are a steel grey behind her spectacles. “I’ve been here everyday for the past two months, in fact. By your logic, you’re the one intruding.”

Damon blinks, and blinks again, and lets out an intelligent “huh?” from his lips.

The girl sighs, and reaches in her bag to pull something out. She hands him an A5 sized paper, with a schedule printed on it.

He whips his phone out, pulling out his own timetable. His eyes dart back and forth between the two, and realises…

“Your breaks are totally different from mine,” he murmurs, “We don’t share any free periods at all.”

“Then that’s why we’ve never run into each other.”

He tilts his head back up, “I study here in the late afternoons and evenings, too. Do you not?”

“I do it in my dormitory room,” she stretches a hand out, gesturing for him to return her printed schedule. “away from nuisances like you.”

????????????

Damon’s eye twitches, but he’s far too prideful to take the L and leave. So like the perfectly composed, dignified, and accomplished Politics major that he is, he sits. Slams his ass down. At the same table, right in front of the girl. The thief. Who stole his seat, of course.

“You’re lucky I’m not bothered enough to kick you out,” he grumbles.

“How very benevolent of you.”

Ignoring her reply, he just takes out his study materials, trying to immediately immerse himself in them. Although, five minutes later, and he admits he’s not as focused as he should be.

Probably, he thinks, eyes flickering up to peek at the girl opposite him, because of the unwanted company. It’s not even that the girl is distracting, or unnecessarily noisy. But the soft scribble of her pen, the rustling of paper against paper, and the low breathing of another human being near you becomes deafening in the silence.

It does get uncomfortable to work in the presence of another, after doing things alone for so very long.

Damon isn’t used to it. He hopes the girl goes away soon.

Roughly an hour passes, less productive than Damon would’ve liked. Leaning back, he roughly rubs his palms over his eyelids, letting the little stars take over his vision. His revision is getting nowhere.

“You’re far too distracting,” the girl across him mumbles, “Maybe this is why you’ve had this corner to yourself; nobody likes studying with you around.”

“I don’t usually act this discomposed,” he retaliates, “Not with unwanted company around.”

“But I was here first, was I not?”

Damon clamps down on his tongue, refusing to release a colourful string of words in this sacred sanctuary.

“You’re lucky,” the girl smirks, small and dastardly, “I’m not bothered enough to kick you out.”

He slams his hands down on his notebook, slightly wrinkling the paper. “You—!”

“Quiet,” she says, almost teasingly, “You’re still in the library.”

Damon fully crumples the page of his notebook.

The damned thief lets out a small snort from across him, but stays nonchalantly buried in her work. Damon only bridles further.

Okay, thief, he seethes, IT IS SO ON.

ii.

To his utter dismay, when Damon arrives at the library panting and sweating, his favourite Corner is occupied yet again. By the same nuisance, in the form of a walking and talking human girl.

This time, she even dares cross her right leg over her left, dainty and elegant. As if she hadn’t committed an extremely demeaning and outrageously monstrous crime against humanity.

Defeated once again, Damon plops down in the seat in front of her.

The only acknowledgement she gives of his (loud) entrance is a small hum, unsatisfying to Damon’s ears.

He feels like a child, purposely making unnecessary noise when he takes out his study materials. And yet, unperturbed, the audacious Miss Thief stays collected and focused in her studying.

Damon is by no means an athletic person, but he kinda wants to smash this table in half, even if at the cost of a broken arm.

Fine. Whatever. She can keep the nonchalant pretense all she wants; he’ll break her eventually, like he does with all his academic rivals.

“Something’s been on my mind since the last time you took my spot,” he begins as yet another attempt to be a distraction. To break the high-and-mightiness that Miss Thief magically possesses. “If we don’t have any shared breaks, how did we even meet?”

“My spot,” she corrects him in a huff. “To answer your question, my class was cancelled that day.”

“Ah. And I don’t suppose it got cancelled today, again?”

Miss Thief lets her pen hover above her paper, and ultimately clicks it shut. “It got delayed.”

“How convenient,” Damon says dryly. “Surely you’re not making excuses and skipping lectures to prove a point to me.”

“No one has hobbies nearly as boring as you do.” She quips back.

Either this girl is really really good at getting under people’s skin, or Damon is just really really easy to get riled up. And God knows when it will be that he admits the latter.

He takes off his gauntlet.

Leaning forward, he hisses as lowly as possible, “You wish you had my hobbies. You wish you were the best speaker of Eden’s Garden’s Debate Team, accomplished and irreplaceable. You wish you could speak eloquently and argue about topics like science, ethics and so much more. You wish you were top of the class in the Arts. You wish you were me.”

The gauntlet is thrown.

Miss Thief is anything but blown away from his outburst. But shockingly, she puts her pen down, and gives Damon proper attention for the first time since they met. Her eyes bore into his, steel grey intense and sharp. And she leans closer, even closer, that their faces are a hair’s strand away.

The gauntlet is picked.

Without missing a beat, she replies in the same tone, “And you’ll never be me. You’ll never be someone who’s actually relevant in today’s society. You’ll never be guaranteed a high paying, stable job in the future that shapes society greatly. You’ll never be the only person that the Mathematics Faculty in this school trusts to go for competitions, nationally and internationally. You wish you could be a fraction of who I am.”

The gauntlet is worn, and used in the first punch. It resounds.

Then, the arena goes dead silent, save for the deep breathing from both competitors, still a hair’s strand away from each other.

Miss Thief, unexpectedly, is the one to break the limbo. “...And you think debating’s a hobby ?”

“Yes,” Damon replies, too genuinely to be offended. “If we go by the dictionary definition of ‘hobby’ then yes, I do derive pleasure from researching humanitarian topics and presenting them in arguments that my opponents cannot refute.”

“That’s… not fun in the slightest.”

“You’re one to talk!” he rapid-fires. “Math? That’s your hobby? You like those stupid triangles and alphabets?”

“It’s not my hobby!” Miss Thief flushes hotly, the first time she’s lost composure in front of him.

“Debate competitions are extremely normal, but math competitions… what are you, a freaking mathlete?”

When she shuts her mouth, blushing an even darker colour, he finds he’s hit jackpot. “You’re kidding.”

“Don’t,” she hisses, “Even.”

The smirk on his face widens. Miss Thief’s face comically changes from red to pale, devastation settling in.

As if the roles were reversed, she slams her hands down on her notebook. It’s even louder than the sound he made last time. “If you tell anyone, anyone at all, I’ll kill you—”

“Quiet,” Damon whispers, the satisfied smile on his face stretching from ear to ear. Oh, he’s been waiting to say this. “You’re still in the library.”

Miss Mathlete lets out a very, very high pitched wince, and buries her face in her hands. He can almost see the smoke coming from her ears.

And when she peers at him through the cracks between her fingers, he meets and challenges her killing glare, elated that the loathing is mutual.

iii.

Miss Mathlete doesn’t show up for quite a many days, fortunately. Damon gets his beloved seat, and his beloved silence, and his beloved composure returned to him.

But on the one day he needs his favourite seat the most, the Devil pulls it from under him and hands it to his pupil, Miss Mathlete.

Today is not a good day for Damon at all, and he seriously means it. In this week alone, he’s required to submit three essays and two group presentations. And none of his teammates, those bastards, are pulling their fucking part. The least he could get, he thinks, is his comfort seat, the one with vintage warm lights and plastic ivy leaves.

So he believes he’s not overreacting when he sees her in his seat and feels the need to jump off the seventh floor.

The bane of his existence jumps out of her skin when he unceremoniously slams his books on the table. Sliding into the seat across hers once again, he doesn’t hold back the audible grumble as he flips through his notes and yanks his laptop open.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” the worst person on Earth ever mutters.

“It’s Submission Week,” he grits out, being as nice and quiet as he possibly can, “so don’t even start.”

Miss Mathlete is a lot of things, but never an unreasonable toddler. She is a fellow student and victim to the Submission Week at the end of every academic wave, hence the empathy. Yet he finds it pleasantly surprising that she quietly complies and continues her own business.

The comforting silence becomes unhelpful very quickly, unfortunately. Because the glaring light from the stained windows is hitting in all the wrong places, and the AC is too biting on his skin, and his handwriting’s all wrong, and so is everything. And Damon is so, so tired, and he wants nothing but to sink in the ocean and let it swallow him whole.

A stray thought crosses his mind. This wouldn’t have happened if he was in his rightful seat.

He looks up, disgruntled, at the person he was thinking of. The mathlete loser scrolls at something on her tablet, completely absorbed in whatever the hell she’s looking at.

In fact, she’s so focused on it, he kind of feels guilty for wanting to ask her to get out of that seat so he can have it instead.

Never in the past two weeks would Damon have calmed down at the thought of letting the damned girl have the damn seat.

It is, he breathes in and out slowly, feeling his brows unfurrowing, just a seat. It’s literally just a seat we’re fighting over. How silly of him!

For the first time in three days, he returns to his work, relaxed and determined.

And then, he hears it.

Coming from Miss Mathlete’s tablet is a small sound, a gunshot. Not a real one, of course— a high pitched, childish “pew!” distinctive to literally everyone not living under a rock. A sound you’d recognise if you were cultured enough. A sound you’d recognise if you spent way too much time with Cassidy Amber.

A sound you’d recognise if you were playing Galactic Shooter: The Rise of Martians.

Damon snaps his head up so fast that his head spins. Etched on his face is the most betrayed expression anyone has seen on him, and he shows it to the person he’s only known twice.

You’re playing a game.

A brainless, online shooting game.

In the seat I work best in. While I’m opposite you, struggling with five assignments at once.

And while Miss Mathlete doesn’t look the part of an empath, even she knows when there’s a silently fuming teen in front of her, practically trembling with rage and dismay, and when there isn’t. She raises her head slowly, eyes wide, suddenly fearful of the boy in front of her.

Said boy who doesn’t know how to express all the emotions hitting him at once, his mouth opening and closing over and over again like a goldfish. Said boy whose only words in that moment are “You…!” and “Game!!!”.

Said boy who appears to have just given up and slammed his head, face down, onto the very hard wooden table with a very painful ‘bang’.

The Devil’s pupil winces. She’s finally figured out her partial fault.

As for the boy, the pain of his (probably) broken nose is nothing compared to the utter despair he feels.

Clenching a fist beneath his seat, he swears he’ll show no mercy to bespectacled girls with steel grey eyes ever again.

iv.

Eva misses the chaos.

Another week or two goes by, without any cancelled classes and hence no more run-ins with the weird guy who’s apparently a Politics major. The blond haired, green eyed Draco Malfoy lookalike, the haughty prince with an audacity bigger than his brain.

Like a lone crow, Eva is used to the silence, incredibly so. She’s gone her whole life doing practically everything by herself, which she’s more than capable of.

Peace is returned to her, a blessing she took for granted once. There will be no more distractions, no more bantering. No more unnecessarily loud rustling of paper and clacking of laptop keys. There will not be another warmth opposite of her, whose breathing is too loud to stay focused and eyes too bright to look away. Eva has been missing these things since he sat with her, and she should really appreciate the rare instance she has now.

But throughout the past week, she knows she cannot lie about the number of times she looks up from her work, hoping to see a familiar sneer walk in.

They’ve met for three days. Three, and Eva misses him for more.

An hour goes by in complete silence. She goes back to her work grudgingly, having lost hope that he will burst into the Corner once again. Coincidences never happen more than three times, after all.

Then a small thud is heard. She almost misses it. Another small thud. A soft pitter-patter becomes more audible. It’s getting louder. It’s getting closer.

Eva looks up. She doesn’t know what face she’s making. She doesn’t know her hands are shaking. She cranes her neck, trying to look beyond the large Greek pillar. She can’t see anything, and she should get out of her seat if she wants to look closer, but she cannot will her legs to move.

Because what if it’s not the nuisance who’s brought more movement in her life in three days than the entirety of her highschool life? What if it’s not the damned blond hair and green eyes that she’s grown to recognise, hate, and miss? What if it’s not the person she should hope to never see again, but desperately craves today?

The pitter-patter is loud enough. So is the uneven panting she definitely recognises.

When the Audacious Prince’s head finally emerges from behind the pillar, Eva hates the way her heart slams against the wall of her chest.

Trying her hardest to feign nonchalance, she slowly sets her pen down. It shakes in her loose grip. “You lost to me again.”

And then, damn it all, he actually smiles, tired and amused, at her provocation.

Today, the Audacious Prince doesn’t slide into the seat across hers, dislike evident on his face. Instead, he takes the seat on her right, and Eva just only remembers that this table is a four-seater.

He hunches over the table, burying his head in his crossed arms. Even with his lithe figure, even with the ample amount of space provided by the table, his shoulder manages to brush against her arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” she whispers, almost a laugh.

“Hiding.” he answers, muffled by his sleeve. He stays like that for a few beats, while she watches in astonishment, before jerking his head up again. Then, ignoring any of Eva’s protests, he snatches the jacket hung over her seat, and puts it over his head. He takes a few of her books, too, checking that they have ‘Mathematics’ on the cover before propping them up. When he’s done, he goes back into hiding, behind the books.

Another set of pitter-patter arrives. It’s even louder than the Audacious Prince’s, if even possible. A lively, red haired girl emerges from behind the pillar, looking around frantically.

Okay. Eva gets it now.

When she approaches, Eva clears her throat and puts on her coldest face.

“Heyaaa, hope I’m not interrupting!” Lively Girl begins, bright and spunky. “You haven’t seen a Damon Maitsu around here, have you? He’s about this tall, clearly bi, but we haven’t had the Talk—”

“You are interrupting.” Eva snaps, conscious of the shoulders shaking next to her. The Prince is incredibly terrible at holding his laughter in.

Lively Girl’s face falls into a pout. “Oh, okay. Sorry ‘bout that, guess that's a ‘no’.”

She runs away with the same vigour she entered the Corner with. When the pitter-patter subdues, the boy Eva now knows as Damon Maitsu raises his head cautiously.

“Thanks for that,” he sighs, ruffling his hair, “She's, uh, quite the handful, don’t you think?”

“Sure is,” she answers, peeking at him in her peripheral vision. “So are you, though.”

Another sigh. “No, I’m definitely the more normal one between the both of us.”

“Then you must be thinking wrong.”

A snicker from him, and then silence. It’s comfortable, Eva finds, but it makes her all too conscious of the fact that he’s still sitting right next to her, that their knees are almost touching, that their shoulders are almost brushing.

“She’s not a bad person, though. She’s… my friend, even if she tried to force me into her organised-on-a-whim schoolwide gaming tournament.”

Eva feels a twinge in her heart. “You have good friends.”

“You’re frowning.”

She falters, bringing her hand up to touch her lips. Was she?

Damon stares at her, unjudging. “Do you not have any…?”

The silence is no longer comfortable. The presence on her right, while warm, becomes a blur. And Eva feels like the skin on her is wrong, and the workings on her notebook are wrong, and the air is feeling wrong, and—

She slams her notebook shut, unable to stay. And she packs up her belongings, frantic and desperate.

Damon only looks up at her, confused and worried. “W-wait, where are you going?”

“You can have the seat.” It doesn’t matter anymore. I need to leave. Go. Go. Go. Run. Run. Run. “You win, Damon.”

The last of Eva’s belongings is thrown into her bag, messily arranged because of her hastiness. She takes off right away, never looking back, never saying another word.

All that resounds in their Corner is the quick pitter-patter of her footsteps that get softer, softer, softer… and then, no matter how much he cranks his ears, Damon hears them no more.

Miss Mathlete never shows up again.

“Stop being dramatic, stupid,” Kai Monteago groans extremely loudly, ruining Damon’s depressing narration. “It’s only been a day, Damon, goddammit. A. Day.”

One (1) day since his study buddy ran out the library, and one day since Damon went home almost brokenhearted, recounting the entire Corner saga to his influencer roommate.

“Ugh,” Kai plops down unceremoniously, in the seat Damon likes the most. “Give it some time, okay? You said you only meet when your schedules get wonky, so it's totally normal if she doesn’t show up today.”

All Damon does is stare forlornly at the seat Kai is on, and thinks of steel grey eyes. Kai recognises the look in his eyes, and groans again, louder than before. “Dude, you’re fucking kidding. You miss a girl this much?!”

“I don’t miss her,” Damon mumbles, and Kai can almost see the mushrooms sprouting on his head. “She’s super noisy. I’m glad she’s gone.”

“Yeah, right! And I’m Donald fucking Trump!”

“You’re not, though?”

“Did you not get the joke??!!!”

Kai sighs. Damon has always been kind of a loser, even with his academic achievements and many friends (who forcefully adopted him, by the way, because he insists that they’re weirder than him even though everyone knows he’s the most pathetic among them). But really, to see him sulking over the absence of some math girl he shared a table with four freaking times is a whole new low.

His roommate is totally fucked. Kai thinks Damon would look much less pathetic if he were run over by a truck.

So he leans forward, concocting a plan to wipe that frown on his friend’s face, because he’s such a kind person. “Okay, stop moping. I’ll help you get her back, even if the chances of you doing that after accidentally insulting her lack of friends is like, zero point zero zero zero zero one.”

“You just pulled that number out your ass.”

“I’m not Miss Math Girl, damn it!”

Wrong word choice, apparently, because Damon groans at the mention of her and throws his arm over his eyes.

“Why’d you even bring me here, anyway?” Kai crosses his arms. “Did you miss having someone to study with you that much? Like, what if your girl walks in and sees me with you, and decides to leave forever ‘cause she thinks you don’t need her anymore?”

Damon leaps forward, eyes wide. He’s totally considering that scenario. This fucking idiot.

Kai slams his fist on top of Damon’s head, hoping to knock out whatever demon might’ve possessed his roommate.

As the latter rubs his head in pain, the pink haired boy ignores the “what was that for??” coming from his roommate, and thinks. Thinks deeply. Damon is so not himself right now. And no matter how funny, or how irritating it might be for poor old Kai Monteago, it’s actually very very worrying to see the one person you know with infallible purpose and drive suddenly… wither.

And Kai is no idiot. Damon may return to their shared dorm room every night, and kick up a big fuss about the girl he simply hated. The girl he met four times and kept in his head for longer. Damon may do all these, complain even louder, tug his hair harsher…

…but he will never get rid of the soft, endearing look he doesn’t know he has when he talks about steel grey eyes.

Kai isn’t stupid. He’s seen those eyes before, many many times. He’s seen it in his own reflection, when he stares at a text so long the screen blacks out, so he knows.

Kai Monteago is a lot of things, but he is not stupid and he does not leave his friends alone in their perils.

“What did you even talk about? Like, before the part where you found out she had no friends?” he leans back, eyes trained on Damon’s blond mop.

Damon looks up, surprised at Kai’s patient tone. “...uh, Cass? I think?”

“Cass? Math girl knows her?”

“No, but I ran away from Cass yesterday. ‘Cause she was trying to force me into her gaming tournament, remember?”

“Ohh, yeah. You ran off immediately, and she screamed like a chicken and chased after. It was so funny.” Kai twiddles with a strand of his perfectly conditioned hair. “But what’s that gotta do with Math Girl?”

“I hid with her.”

Kai sits upright, listening very intently. “You what?”

“Hid,” Damon swallows, almost ashamed, “next to her. In this table?”

“Damon, what the fuck.”

“Hey, don’t— wait, I went off track. I told her about Cass’s game tournament, and then she said I had good friends—”

“Aw, she’s so right.”

“Shut up, Kai. And then I asked her if she had any, then—”

“YOU ASKED HER IF SHE HAD FRIENDS???” Kai full-on yells, still in the library. “ARE YOU A FREAKING IDIOT?????”

“NO! I mean, that’s not what I said, but—” Damon ruffles his hair roughly, like a dog. Kai watches, gaping in a way that can only be described as disappointed, as he pulls on the strands of his blond hair. “Ugh, forget it. I should’ve just stopped talking at the game tournament thing.”

And then Damon buries his head in his arms, not hearing when Kai scoffs “yeah, you totally should’ve”. And he turns his head to the side, then to the other side, before going back to the first position. And his restlessness is still not going away.

And then he remembers.

“Game tournament… game?” he mumbles, brows furrowed.

You’re playing a game.

A brainless, online shooting game.

A sound you’d recognise if you were playing Galactic Shooter: The Rise of Martians.

Damon snaps his head up so fast his head spins, again.

If Miss Mathlete plays games… and he wants to find her… and his friend so happens to be hosting a schoolwide game tournament…

…

He couldn’t… could he…?

He slams his palms on the table, jumping to his feet. Kai repeats the action subconsciously, having been scared by his sudden outburst. “Kai, I’m a fucking genius.”

“Uh, congrats?”

Damon doesn’t stay long enough to hear it.

Kai watches as he scurries away, a hopeful shine in his eyes. He thinks it’s the happiest Damon has looked in the past 24 hours. When the blond haired boy’s footsteps fade to nothing, Kai slumps in his seat, covering his eyes with his palms. He doesn’t move for an excruciatingly long time. Then he exhales, deep and shaky.

He’s a good roommate, and friend. He really is.

He tells himself that even though his heart’s been pounding for a green eyed boy ever since they shared a room many, many months ago.

+ i.

The Audacious Prince never shows up again.

For the past hour, Eva’s been blankly staring at her notes, the Greek letters and numbers swimming into an unreadable blur. It’s not that she doesn’t understand them (the great Eva Tsunaka, not understanding? Who do you think you’re talking about?), but she finds that even the simplest of equations on her working papers take her longer than a two-mile run.

Because every time she looks down to her notebook to meet white paper, the only thing that forms on it is sharp green eyes.

Eva groans deeply, and slumps onto the table, mushing her cheek against the paper. She fiddles with the hem of her skirt, just sitting in silence in her little Corner. The only sound she can hear is the ticking of the clock; not even the very muffled murmuring from outside the Corner, where there usually were other people doing their own studying. Although, she supposes, there’s a lot less people today now that Submission Week has ended for many students.

A tick passes by. It’s so quiet, so dreadfully quiet.

The lone crow looks around, trying to hear very carefully for sounds of life around her. But the sky is grey and cloudy, and the roads are lonely, and the crow can only sit on the branch, waiting and waiting. For someone who was alone much longer than she was accompanied, she really, really misses the warmth of another.

After all, when a traveller drinks from an oasis for the first time, would he not desire to do so again?

Eva sighs, and sits up. Reluctance slugs her body. If she was going to be alone here, she might as well return to her dormitory.

As she packs her belongings, she drops a pencil to the floor. She bends down to pick it up, and before she rises, she sees it.

There’s a small piece of paper taped to the underside of the wooden table. It’s actually kind of big, but you wouldn’t see it if you weren’t bending down like Eva was now. This wasn’t here before.

Eva prods the paper a few times, then gingerly peels it off the table underside.

When she brings it up under the light, she sees writing on it. Dark blue ink, large and curvy. The author has an endearing habit of connecting the letters in his words.

It reads, To Miss Mathlete.

Eva lets out a gasp, her fingers trembling. She needs to read this. She knows— hopes it’s from the only person she can think of.

To Miss Mathlete.

Before writing this letter, I got called an idiot amongst many other things by my roommate, and for once, I can’t disagree with him.

I sincerely apologise for the remark I made the other day. It was insensitive of me, and I’ll admit I regret saying that a lot.

(I’ll also admit that I am biting back A LOT of my pride to write this letter, so I ask that you’ll have the benevolence to not insult me immediately after reading.)

I’m not good at being company, much less socialising to begin with. On the fateful day I walked into my (mind you, MY) favourite study Corner and saw you there, I knew I wouldn’t forget you ever.

In a bad way, of course. At that time, I wanted nothing but for you to leave. Then, somewhere along the line, within the three more times we met and bantered… I felt like it was a blessing in disguise.

Because in those four days we sat together, bantering and studying, I have grown to like your company. Truly. And when you are not across from me, bantering and studying, I wish I were doing those things.

So go ahead, call me a fool. That’s what I feel like now, missing someone I don’t even know the name of. But I will have you know I want to change that, as well as apologise in person for my rudeness.

If you want to (or don’t, whatever), come with me to my friend’s schoolwide tournament. The one I told you about. It’s on the 18th, after five. You like playing games, don’t you?

I hope to see you there. I really do.

Yours, Damon Maitsu

Miss Mathlete doesn’t show up.

The gaming party is lively and impressively well set-up, for a team that consists of one energetic girl and one equally energetic dirt racer. (“Damie, you have too little faith in us!” “Yeah! Tell him off, Broskii!” “No thanks...”)

And the students lounge, booked specially for this occasion, is booming. Tons of people everywhere. Mark Berskii’s music is blasting at full volume, and both participants and spectators alike appear to be having the time of their life in the student-initiated tournament.

Deep down inside, Damon is proud of his friends for actually pulling it off, he really is. But the only person he wants to see is not here.

His heart pounds in his chest, and he can’t feel his fingers. Did she… maybe not find the letter I left?

Damon looks at his watch for the twentieth time that evening. It reads, 6.08 PM.

He stares, and stares, and stares, until he sighs, long and quiet. And stands in his spot for a moment, looking down to the floor. After a few beats, he runs a hand through his hair, then rubs his drooping eyelids and cold cheeks.

He’s not even a gamer himself.

Damon goes outside the lounge, the booming music and excited yells becoming muted. Pressing his back to the wall, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, sliding down until he sits.

For a short while, the sound of crickets and the rough feel of the cement floor soothe him. Then, coming from the corner, is a soft pitter-patter.

This time, it doesn’t get softer. This time, it gets louder, approaching him, and eventually stopping somewhat near him. Damon doesn’t know where. Damon doesn’t dare see where. Or who.

Clothing rustles, and the mysterious person kneels beside him. There is a delicate breath on his left ear. Soft curls tickle his neck.

“You’re in my seat,” Damon hears, and his lips twitch up. And then he smiles, bigger, brighter, so very elated.

Before he can stop himself, he throws his arm over his closed eyes and straight up laughs , deep from the bottom of his lungs, body shaking.

Turning to the left, he finally opens his eyes. Miss Mathlete kneels, a small smile gracing her features. They both stay there, rosy cheeked and still smiling, a hair’s strand away from each other.

Damon’s heartbeat drowns out the muffled booming of Mark’s music.

“Why,” Miss Mathlete starts, almost a chuckle, “did you tape your letter to the underside of the table?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want anyone else to see it?”

“No one else uses our corner,” she deadpans, and chuckles again, “Damon.”

She says his given name, for the first time, with such tenderness that he chokes up.

“It should,” he swallows, “stay that way.”

“You must really dislike having competition. Your opponents must find you insufferable.”

“You know it's not that,” he mutters, still looking into steel grey, “And do I have to ask you for your name, or will you tell me yourself?”

“Didn’t you promise something else in that letter?” she teases. Damon groans.

“Ugh, right, I did. Okay.” he takes a short breath, in and out. “Once again, I am really sorry for insinuating that you don’t have friends.”

“You’re not actually wrong, though.” Miss Mathlete twirls her side bangs. “I don’t really have any.”

“Whuh—” he splutters, “You’re making me apologise for being right?!”

“But it is a fact. Ever since I was a gifted child, ever since I was high school valedictorian…” She tilts downwards to hide her face, almost bumping her head on Damon’s cheek. “Even till now, I don’t have someone I can truly call my friend.”

He looks at her, eyes half-lidded, gentle and aching. Miss Mathlete rocks back and forth on her toes, not quite ready to meet his gaze again. Damon takes a deep breath, and steadies himself.

“Eva,” he tests, as softly as he can.

She whips her head up swiftly, eyes wide. “You… you knew all along?”

“My roommate’s friends with your roommate, apparently.”

“Then…” she trails off, not understanding. “Why did you still ask to know my name?”

“I wanted to hear it from you .”

Eva Tsunaka stares at him in the eyes, steel grey searching green. Then, a few seconds later, she looks back down and resumes rocking back and forth. Damon can see the tips of her ears turn slightly redder, though. His own cheeks are feeling rather warm, too. This is way too embarrassing.

Desperate to break the silence, Damon offers, “I’ll introduce you to my friends. They play games, too.”

“…Like Galactic Shooter?”

“Yes, that darned game, whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “You’ll get along swimmingly, I can tell. And then I’ll be tortured on a larger scale, sandwiched between multiple idiots, forced to listen to an extended 120 minutes of dumb game mechanics.”

“Good.” The smile returns in Eva’s voice. Damon, very subtly, brightens. “You’ll keep being humbled, one way or another.”

Damon doesn’t protest at the shade thrown his way. He never feels the need to.

As the warmth of another’s finger brushes against his own, he finds that he really likes looking at steel grey.

#project: eden's garden #project edens garden #p:eg #pjeg #p:eg spoilers #p:eg chapter 1 #damon maitsu #eva tsunaka #evamon #maitsunaka

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hotdaemondtargaryen · 6 months ago

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EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED BY DECIDER MAGAZINE.

SO KNOWING HOW HE'S SO STUDIOUS AND THOUGHTFUL, WHAT DO YOU THINK THE CHANCES ARE, IF HE STILL HAS THE DANGER, HE CAN FIGURE OUT THERE'S A HIDDEN MESSAGE THERE?

"Yeah, I think I could imagine that."

"I could imagine Aemond reading a book by the fire and he just puts it over the fireplace and then he’s privy to the information of Aegon’s dream."

"But I can’t confirm nor deny it."

ALICENT MENTIONS TO RHAENYRA IN THE FINALE THAT AEMOND PLANS TO FLY TO HARRENHAL. DAEMON HAS HAD QUITE THE SEASON THERE, BEING AFFECTED BY THE MAGIC THERE. DO YOU HAVE A SENSE OF HOW THAT MAGIC COULD AFFECT AEMOND?

"I think that’s a good question."

"I think if he was to go to Harrenhal, I think, I don’t know."

"It’s similar to what we were saying with Helaena."

"Like, if there was some sort of way that he would be able to harness that power and to use it to his advantage, he could be quite dangerous."

SO, ARE YOU EXCITED TO SORT OF DELVE INTO WHAT COULD POTENTIALLY MOTIVATE AEMONE TO OPEN UP TO SOMEONE? WHAT DO YOU THINK WOULD MAKE HIM SO VULNERABLE?

"I think just finding all of that multifaceted nuance in Aemond, and really exploring that shadow side even more…"

"You know, just constantly keeping the audience on their toes and presenting an angle of Aemond that we hadn’t really seen before."

"He always kind of looked for surrogates for his mother."

"He found it in Vhagar, so to speak."

"An old she-dragon parallel."

"And he found it in the madame."

"But is that enough? So he’s always looking for his match, so to speak."

"Whether or not he finds it is another thing."

"Maybe there’s no one good enough for Aemond."

"Maybe he’s not good enough for anyone either."

HE'S SO RUTHLESS IN TERMS OF THE WAY HE WANTS TO APPROACH THE BATTLES AHEAD. IS HIS MINDSET FOR HIS OWN GLORY AND POWER, OR IS HE ACTUALLY JUST TRYING TO SAVE HIS FAMILY AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE AND SECURE TEAM GREEN'S CLAIM?

"I think it’s interesting."

I think when he approaches Alicent and Helaena in Episode 8, he kind of says, 'Like, look, it’s either them or us and I’m choosing. It’s gonna be them.'

"We can’t go down without a fight."

"Because if the Blacks were to come into power, it would be the Greens heads who would be on the chopping block."

"And Aemond especially."

"So it is a fight for self preservation."

"But whether or not he has his family’s interests at heart or whether or not he’s just thinking for himself?"

"I want to leave that out there."

"I want to let people make their own judgment on that."

"I think he definitely loves his mum and he wants his mum at the end."

ONE OF MY FAVORITE SCENES IS THE ONE WHERE YOU BASICALLY DRESS DOWN AEGON IN HIGH VALYRIAN. WHAT WAS IT LIKE PREPARING FOR THAT? WAS IT AS DELICIOUS TO DO AS IT LOOKED OR WAS IT JUST ANOTHER EXTRA CHALLENGE THAT YOU JUST DID NOT WANT TO FACE IN TERMS OF MASTERING A FOREIGN LENGUAJE?

"I mean I remember doing it a few different ways, but I always kind of settled on the idea that Aemond, throughout those first four episodes, he’s just so composed."

"We see other players around the council table and they raise their voices, and Aemond is the kid who’s just acting from the peripheries."

"He’s waiting for his moment."

"He never raises his voice too much."

So in that moment, when he very much seizes a chance to attack Rook’s Rest and work with Criston Cole, he very much says, 'I’m taking over now.'

"It is a public humiliation, but he does it in such a way that Aegon is able to save face because only him and Aegon can understand it (and maybe Grand Maester Orwyle can, as well)."

"It’s something quite merciful in a way.

BEFORE THE SEASON STARTED, I TALKED TO YOU ABOUT HOW YOU STAYED AWAY FROM MATT SMITH ON SET IN SEASON 1 SO THAT WHEN THEY STARE EACH OTHER DOWN DURING DINNER, IT WOULD BE MORE IMPACTFUL. SO I'M CURIOUS, HAVE YOU MET GAYLE RANKIN YET?

"I – I have not."

OH, OKAY. IS THAT INTENTIONAL OR?

"I mean, I’ve obviously seen Gayle Rankin’s phenomenal performance in the show, but also like the Harrenhal set itself is in a different studio to the studio of the Red Keep."

"So I never really brushed shoulders with Gayle Rankin or Matt Smith this season, other than that moment when Daemon sees the vision of Aemond in Harrenal."

"I think — I think I briefly [met Gayle] at the read through."

"Briefly."

OK, COOL. I WAS JUST CURIOUS, BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH. I REALLY APPRECIATE IT AND I'M REALLY EXCITED TO SEE ALYS AND AEMOND MEET BECAUSE THAT IS A RELATIONSHIP I HAVE SO MUCH CURIOSITY ABOUT.

"No comment."

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd s2 #tv shows #team green #the greens #interview #hotd s2 spoilers #hotd spoilers #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #prince regent aemond #hotd aemond #aemond x alys #alys rivers #harrenhal #gayle rankin #aemond x alicent

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lon3lystarr · 2 months ago

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♡love in bloom♡

Summary: y/n struggles with her grades terribly, the golden boy of nekoma university can help with that despite y/n’s repugnance for him

pairing: Tetsurō Kuroo x Reader

warnings: *mild enemies to lovers,y/n and kuroo are both in college,y/n goes by she/her, mentions of self doubt, stress and anxiety,kuroo calls y/n darling, kuroo and y/n both are dorks, a little cursing.

notes: if you have any requests please leave them in the comments and if there’s any typos i’m sorry about that:))!*

————

“failure, failure, failure”

the word kept repeating over and over in y/n’s head, the negative emotions brewing in her chest only growing by the second,the frown painted on y/n’s lips never left since she seen her latest AP Chemistry Exam grade. the big “55%” on the left corner taunting her but the words below said grade caused vexation to erupt throughout her entire body

“miss l/n please stay after the lesson. it’s about your grades!”

class ended, students exiting the lecture hall except y/n. her professor’s fatigued voice echoed around “y/n, you have failed three exams straight…i know you try extremely hard to be a studious student, having your nose planted in your textbooks and studying every second you can, i genuinely see you’re trying but you cannot fail the upcoming exam so i think the best option right now is to get you a tutor. you may know Kuroo Tetsuro, he’s one of my astute students and i think you can learn from him.”

Kuroo. Fucking. Tetsuro. the “astute student” who spends every moment of his life being a suck up, the overachiever who flaunts his intelligence with a stupid smirk, good grades that match his good volleyball skills, captain of his team and the talented middle blocker, makes you question if you’re even trying with your academics and not to mention all the girls falling to his feet like they’re brain dead zombies with no dignity, he’s the shiny golden boy of nekoma university.

his smug face carved into the walls of her brain, gosh just knowing his response to him being my tutor because of how badly i’ve been failing is extremely embarrassing, it makes her stomach twist uncontrollably.

“uhh professor, is there anyone else that can tutor me? i don’t think kuroo is a good cho-“ y/n responded, nervously tugging her fingers “y/n, you don’t have room to dismiss this opportunity. you need to pass the next exam or you’ll have to retake this class. kuroo is a great choice for this, for you” the professor stated sternly but calmly, leaving no room for any discussion “…very well professor, kuroo can tutor me” y/n replied bitterly, stoned faced as she raised up from her seat, heading towards the tall wooden door “this is bullshit” y/n said under her breath as the classroom door shut loudly behind her

———

“miss l/n needing MY help? isn’t that groundbreaking information?” kuroo’s stupid sarcastic voice was heard behind her “hopefully the ground swallows you whole , your face is nauseating” replied y/n roughly shutting the beige colored locker in front of her and turning around to face the pest “you remind me of nitrogen dioxide, poisoning every thing and everyone with your distasteful attitude” kuroo snapped back, muscled arms folded across his chest, stupid grin on his full lips “so that means you’ll finally drop dead?” y/n sarcastically asked, overly dramatic excitement present in her tone “oh you wish, i’m the oxygen protecting myself and everyone from your unpleasant presence” kuroo said, head tilting to the right with a wide grin “whatever asshole, enough useless talk. when are you going to tutor me?” said y/n while rolling her eyes “well, are you busy right now? we can start today and continue everyday until the next exam.” kuroo suggested “that sounds good, the quicker, the better” y/n snickered “i agree, can’t be around ms.nitrogen dioxide for too long now can i?” kuroo said with his signature smirk, his body leaning forwards invading y/n’s personal space “and why’s that? too weak to stomach the thought of someone disliking your existence?” y/n teased back, leaning forwards as well, standing her ground “you’d be surprised if you knew how many people dislike me, you aren’t the only one darling” kuroo said, chest puffed out “atleast you’re self aware” y/n replied shoving past his bulky built and walking towards to the exit of their university “hurry up and let’s get this over with” y/n said, her voice becoming more distant as she took steps forwards “yes ma’am” kuroo replied with a smirk, speed walking to catch up with her.

———

“come on y/n, why aren’t you getting this question right, In a saturated solution of Zn(OH), at 25°C, the value of [OH-] is 2.0 × 106 M. What is the value of the solubility product constant, Ksp, for Zn(OH)2 at 25°C ?

A) 4.0 × 10-18

B) 8.0 × 10-18

C) 1.6 × 10-17

D) 4.0 × 10-12

E)2.0 × 10-6”

kuroo repeated the question for the 10th time with a slightly frustrated tone “kuroo i don’t know how to answer this question, can we just take a break? we’ve been studying for 2 hours straight” y/n replied, dragging her hands over her face with annoyance and frustration. this whole situation is frustrating, if it’s not kuroo constantly telling y/n “how easy this question is” and “how obvious the answer is” it’s the shame and embarrassment heavy on her heart, feeling so stupid when you’ve tried so hard to show everyone and yourself you aren’t, sleepless nights debating whether or not you should just give up on a career you’ve so desperately wanted to pursue and succeed in…all and all feeling like a failure in life

“yeah we can take a break, maybe then your brain can absorb the information better” kuroo’s deep voice snapped her out of the dark cloud forming around her. silence suddenly fell upon them in the empty library. the library’s big window’s provided a clear view of the orange and pink sunset painting the sleepy town of Miyagi Prefecture in all different shades, the sweet breeze making the delicate pink petals of the cherry blossom trees to flow through the air “isn’t that so beautiful? us humans don’t deserve to see such an exquisite view” kuroo said, looking out the window to see the scenery y/n was staring at “i know, we take this for granted, being able to have sight is a gift but using sight to see this…it’s amazing” y/n replied quietly, the tension shifting between hostile to serene. y/n looked to her left where kuroo sat next to her, his raven colored messy hair and narrow hazel eyes shined with amber specs from the sunset, his face relaxed and his pink lips formed a smile, not a teasing smirk nor grin but a gentle smile, it was nice to see this side of kuroo “you know, maybe tutoring you isn’t so bad if we’ll have moments like this hmm?” kuroo said, turning his gaze to y/n, tenderness encasing the two of them “i agree, maybe i can learn your deepest darkest secrets” y/n said with a smile, softly nudging kuroo with her shoulder “darling you’ll have to wait in line for that” kuroo replied while nudging y/n back softly, a laugh escaped from him “well maybe you can answer a question i’ve had for so long..” y/n said now looking back at the giant window in front of her “i might have the answer to your question” said kuroo, shifting his body to face her “how are you so perfect? perfect grades, perfect reputation, perfect volleyball skills, you have everyone eating out of your palm. it’s hard to try your best when you know there’s someone who has already succeeded.” y/n quietly admitted, her body language tense and unconfident “i’m far from perfect y/n…there’s days where i shut down and become a walking corpse due to exhaustion,stress and anxiety, the responsibilities i have on my shoulders are far too much for me to handle at times,there’s people who absolutely hate me just because i exist, i try so hard to become this person my father wants me to be but…i just can’t be that person no matter how hard i try. those A’s i get doesn’t matters because it’s never enough. so y/n never feel like there’s someone who’s better than you or you aren’t trying hard enough, as long as you keep pushing yourself forward and never deteriorate into a pile of negativity, you’ll be okay, i promise” kuroo replied, sincerity and patience oozed from him. the version of kuroo that y/n molded him to be crumbled in front of her, kuroo softly rubbed her back in circular motion like he was comforting a kicked puppy “Tetsuro…thank you, genuinely, thank you” y/n said, watery eyes looked into his, he pulled her into a warm embrace “no need to thank me, never have doubt in your abilities or intelligence, i know you can do great. you are great y/n” said the deep voice of kuroo. kuroo out of all people understands y/n? past her would laugh in her face.

———

3 weeks passed with y/n and kuroo studying after class, sometimes they studied at the library or the cozy small coffee shop a couple of blocks away from their university, the longer they hung out with each other the closer they connected with one another, confiding in each other about things they felt like no one else could understand. more days went by and the last exam approaching closer, which y/n was ready for…what she wasn’t ready for was kuroo leaving her after, since he’s not going to be forced to tutor her, to be around her anymore, she never thought she’ll love being around him so much, loving his corny chemistry jokes and his dorky little rants about his new interests or when he comforts her when she’s feeling overwhelmed. he became part of her routine, she doesn’t want him to leave yet..or ever

the day before the exam was nerve wracking, studying since sunrise nonstop, which in hindsight isn’t the best but she couldn’t fail this exam, she can’t fail herself, she can’t fail kuroo. all the hard work they’ve done together just to get another 55 would be heartbreaking, embarrassing, and dispiriting “what did i say about over working your brain? you know it causes brain fog, mental exhaustion, muscle tension and headaches. i can’t have my star student having that” kuroo said, deep voice bouncing against the walls of the empty library “yeah yeah professor, i was planning on taking a break” y/n said, playfully rolling her eyes “i know that’s a lie so let’s actually take that break” kuroo said snatching the text book from her and taking up the empty seat to her left “you think you know everything, what are you? a mind reader?” y/n replied, leaning back into the mahogany wood seats “well i do know you’ll pass tomorrow’s exam, you’ve improved exponentially, makes me nervous you’ll pass me. i have my eyes on you” kuroo teased, his pointer and middle finger pointing in her direction“is that a threat dork?” y/n teased back with a laugh “it’s a promise darling” kuroo replied, a grin wide on his lips “do you really think i’ll pass tomorrow’s exam? i don’t want your tutoring to go to waste..” y/n stated, seriousness suddenly in her tone “of course you’ll pass and i’ll there telling you how proud i am and how i knew all along you would pass. and my tutoring wouldn’t go to waste, i aleast we got to become close right?” kuroo said while wrapping an arm around her frame, being her reassuring blanket “you always know how to comfort me roster top” y/n said, leaning against his shoulder, smiling “wow is that what i get for being the amazing, caring, handsome, kind prince? i get made fun of? what a tough world we live in” kuroo said, a faked frown as he placed his head on top of hers. once kuroo became close to y/n he showed his touchy side, always sitting close enough to her so their arms and legs touched, or an wrapped around her while reviewing her answers, maybe a soft nudge from his shoulder that connected with hers as he teased her or like right now where he felt his body heat intertwining with hers as they leaned against each other, comforting silence in all directions “don’t worry your pretty over tomorrow, you’ll be fine” whispered kuroo, pulling her in tighter, once again, reassuring her when she needed it

———

the skin of her lips bitten off, the taste of metallic heavy on her tongue, palms becoming moist. pacing back and forth in front of the tall door to the lecture hall, her stomach churning with anxiousness, her professor grading the test she just took that can determine whether or not she’ll have to retake that entire class, maybe eating breakfast wasn’t the best choice… “miss l/n please come in” the sound of her professors muffled voice came from the other side of the door, y/n immediately turning the door handle and rushing inside, she stood in front of the lectern her teacher was grading from “i’m at a lost of words, i’m not sure if i should say “i told you so” to the tutoring idea or “congratulations” but you’ve passed miss l/n. i’m extremely proud of you” said her professor, a wrinkled smile on his tired face, his eyes squinting with happiness behind his gray glasses “i did? i did! i didn’t fail this time! i have to tell kuroo” y/n excitedly rushed out wide smile that reached her eyes, she grabbed the graded paper “100%” huge on the right side of it.

speedy legs going towards the library, the spot she knew he’ll be at, the moment her eyes met his messy bed head she rushed to him “i passed! i passed! i can’t believe I’m excited over a grade, normally i’m crying” y/n said to the tall male, excitement on his face “i told you! i told you! i’m so proud, i always knew you’d pass, that big brain of yours had to absorb some kind of information” kuroo replied, grabbing her and hugging her tight while swaying her side to side “hey now, no need to call my head big, you have no room to talk” y/n replied with her head on his chest “we have to celebrate, to me being the best and handsomest tutor and you passing because of your best and handsomest tutor” kuroo announced, his head high and grin wide “can’t believe my tutor is saying made up words like “handsomest” but we really should celebrate. i couldn’t have done it without you.” truthfulness and admiration present, soft smile on her lips looking up at him “now now don’t butter me up, it’s working on me” kuroo said looking down at her, cheeks turning pink and rosy “roster top you’re getting shy on me?” teased y/n, kuroo’s face getting redder “how could i not? i don’t want to ruin what we have and make you uncomfortable but y/n…i’ve always thought you were gorgeous with an amazing personality. i know we didn’t take much in the past but now that i get to see a more vulnerable side of you and you seen a side of me that no one knows exists, it makes me realize i don’t want you to leave my life, i don’t want you to leave my routine, i want to be closer with you” kuroo confessed, gently clasping his hands on her face his warm palms making her face even hotter “i want to be able to hear you laugh at my jokes, i want to be able to be there for you through every and anything, i want to be able to tutor you but not as a friend…maybe a boyfriend?” kuroo said, voice soft and airy “a good grade AND the most handsomest boyfriend in one day? maybe i should get a lottery ticket if i’m this lucky” y/n joked, kuroo’s deep laugh ringed in her ears “i’m the lucky one, i have the prettiest girlfriend in the world AND she actually like me” kuroo says, intertwining his fingers with hers “now now, who said i liked you” y/n teased with a smirk “ouch i’m hurt, your boyfriend is hurt” kuroo dramatically threw his head back with a groan “oh stop being a big ugly baby” y/n rolled her eyes, grabbing kuroo’s face towards hers, lips inches close to each other “will a kiss help my hurt boyfriend?” asked y/n, a perked up kuroo nodded his head with a smile. a similar pink and orange tint painted over the two figures, the sun rays shined through the glass windows warming the lovebirds even more, their lips danced in a gentle rhythm, kuroo’s soft lips felt like a warm sugary pastry freshly baked, he felt like home.

“i can’t believe i just kissed ms.nitrogen dioxide, I MIGHT DIE!! HELP ME”

“KUROO SHUT UP YOU GEEK”

#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu fluff #kuroo x reader #tetsuro kuroo #tetsuro kuroo x reader #enemies to lovers #fluff #fanfic #fanfictions #im just a girl #i love kuroo #iminmyhaikyuuphaseagain #haikyuu kuroo

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literary-illuminati · 2 months ago

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2024 Book Review #67 – I Was A Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones

I’d never heard of Stephen Graham Jones at the start of the year, but I’ve at this point read three books of his, seen him speak at a con, and can probably consider myself a fan. Beyond the general positive association I grabbed this book knowing literally nothing but the title, mostly just to have something I could get him to sign. Which worked out much better than it often does! This wasn’t really what I expected from that title (something more comedic or over-the-top), but it was a lovely read. It even managed to make a meta genre-tropes-are-actual-metaphysics plot compelling to me, which is basically impossible these days.

The story is set in a tiny nowhere town in 1989 West Texas and stars Tollie Driver, 17-year-old and already most of the way to being a burnout who is not at all over his dad’s death the year before. It’s written 17 years after the fact as something between memoir and confession, an older Tollie writing on some shitty computer about what happened over a few climactic days to him, the town, and the six classmates he brutally murdered.

He’s a slasher, see – it’s apparently something of a blood-borne ailment, and he was infected while enjoying an involuntary front-row seat to the first set of high school students getting karmically murdered that month, right after a bit of drunken bullying and a peanut allergy just about killed him. The plot is, after that excitement, mostly a matter of Tollie recounting his transformation and the life, relationships, and whole social world permanently destroyed by it.

There are, it sometimes seems, more books these days playing with the trappings and aesthetics of the horror genre than there are actually using them to tell horror stories. This is kind of that – there’s a level of psychological horror to becoming a murderous monster that you’d have to try really very hard to to erase, but it’s certainly not trying to leave you jumping at things rustling in the dark. It’s incredibly the case, though, that this is a story about a slasher and commenting on the slasher genre that is in no real way a slasher story.

Which is to say, Tollie’s best friend Amber has an older brother she idolizes who was a horror movie fanatic, and so she quickly realizes (with the iron-clad certainty of a teenager with a limited reference set) exactly what he is becoming – not even a ‘slasher’ as in a supernatural, vengeful serial killer, but a slasher as the monster at the centre of a particular kind of narrative, whose existence reshapes the world around them to follow its demands. It’s all very tv tropes – Tollie discovers that he moves at least twice as fast as he can run, as long as he’s limping and no one can see him, there’s some banter about the logistics of driving when the only machines that will work for him are murder implements, the sheer force of narrative causality turns a closeted gay guy and a sincere saving-herself-for-marriage Christian girl into a couple who go fuck in an abandoned camper van at night so Tollie can find them. It’s actually a major plot point that the mere fact of being a Final Girl will forcibly reorganize your personality to be a diligent, studious good Samaritan. All of which is order of magnitude more meta than I can usually stand, but it works here (more or less).

It feels a bit silly to say this book reminds me intensely of My Heart Is A Chainsaw – of course it does, that’s the last book by the same author I’ve read. But they both do similar things using the genre apparatus of the Slasher as scaffholding to tell stories that are really only tangentially/obscurely examples of the genre. Also, extremely close first person narration from a low-achieving teenager in a small town. Now, this is a far, far easier read than Chainsaw – not in terms of subject matter, just in keeping track of what’s happening versus what’s fantasy or extended tangent – and, I think, a bit more elegant in its use of the genre, but the similarities are still very clear.

As for what the story’s actual about – I mean first and foremost, it’s a period piece. Lamesa, Texas is a nowhere town, but it is a particular, specific nowhere town that Jones was familiar with in his childhood and (gong by the acknowledgements) went to no small effort researching to perfectly recreate it as it truly was in the late ‘80s (plus or minus a massacre or two). It’s no coincidence that Tollie was born the same year the author was, or that it’s set specifically in West Texas. The whole book is run through with a deep (if jaundiced) nostalgia for the whole milieu. Given how high concept all the slasher stuff is, the firm, deep grounding is pretty much a necessity for making the whole story feel real enough to land.

It helps, too, that the late ‘80s USA is the slasher movie’s natural habitat. All the tired tropes really do fit much more naturally in the culturally environment that spawned them then they do when dragged into the modern day. If I wanted to be slightly cynical I’d say this is a big part of why every modern slasher story is so very self-referential – if you’re not leaning on lineage and metanarrative the bones of the stories themselves just don’t make the same sort of sense anymore. Many such cases, I suppose.

Even the framing device is a period piece, in a rather charming way. Tollie is writing his confession on a cheap, shitty desktop in the back office of a junkyard in 2006, and this informs his narration all through the book. It even shapes the book as an artifact – the fonts and formatting used are all ones that would have been available, right down to only being able to underline instead of bold or italicize for emphasis. Which is absolutely a gimmick, but one I honestly kind of love.

Aside from being a love letter to West Texas 40 years ago, the book is about being a monster. About the cold math of it all making it impossible to deny that the world would have been better without you in it. About leaving people you love behind and never, ever looking back because you can’t bear to confirm the sick certainty that just being connected to you probably ruined their lives as collateral damage. Of spending your life trying to be anonymous and inconsequential, and mourning the loss of a life where you were only the normal and pedestrian sort of fuckup. Of looking through the past as a preordained tragedy in one instant and grasping at all the lost chances and missed turns that might have made it different on the other.

It’s a pathetic narrative – that is, one that’s mostly there to deliver pathos. It definitely worked, at least for me? It was a very affecting read, especially the ending. But your enjoyment of the book will depend more or less entirely on whether you find Tollie’s internal monologue compelling and sympathetic, I think. But with that caveat, I would recommend it.

#book review #i was a teenage slasher #stephen graham jones #sff #horror

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rampurrsszn · 8 months ago

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Okay but what if Rudy is your stereotypical bad boy when he was a teen. You know, facial piercings, drugs, alcohol, vandalism, didn’t care about anything or anyone and just trailed a path of destruction wherever he went.

And then he meets Alejandro, who’s the perfect catholic boy, he’s smart, studious, charismatic, kind. generous, popular. Rudy’s popular, but not for any good reason.

Instead of Rudy corrupting Alejandro or Alejandro converting Rudy, they just kinda blend together. Alejandro adopts Rudy’s confrontational nature, but instead of being aggressive with anyone he uses it to defend the weak and innocent, and Rudy mellows down significantly. He’s still an aggressive guy deep down, but Alejandro teaches him how to control his anger and redirect it to who deserves it.

They both teach themselves a lot in life, Rudy teaches Alejandro to be a risk taker, to get angry at the world and challenge social norms, Alejandro teaches Rudy patience and understanding and how to express himself without hurting everyone around him.

This is me just coming up with the idea of Alerudy raising Dani and Dani gets a bunch of facial piercings and Alejandro’s like

A: “take those off now.”

D: “what? No.”

A: “take them off! Te miras como un pinche payaso!”

D: did you tell that to dad when you two were sucking face?”

R: *now interested in the conversation*

A: “excuse me?“

D: “I’ve seen the photos! He used to have more piercings than me! And you had ear and nose piercings!”

A: “that’s not- well- go to your room!” *visibly flustered*

R: “I think he looks good in them.”

A: “you’re not helping”

#alejandro vargas #alejandro cod #cod alejandro #cod rudy #rodolfo rudy parra #rudy cod #rudy parra #Rudy #alerudy #cod oc #Dani Vargas

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borntogayz · 9 months ago

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Hey can I talk abt landoscar for a minute?🤨

I love them a lot so I wanna rant but also many people are saying they have zero chemistry and are not friends and I just wanna talk about how it’s sort of true but not in the way you think…

In my opinion (as someone who is very observant and empathetic :) yes I am also humble) lando is shy around Oscar because he is intimidated by how calm he is and how well he can perform so early on in his career. I think lando has wanted to befriend Oscar since he got to know him better (perhaps after silver stone last year) but Oscar is so awkward and boring (/lh) and doesn’t have much in common with lando so they end up not hanging out or seeing each other outside of work.

The PR videos from last season showed us them slowly getting along and getting to know each others comedy styles and them becoming more comfortable around each other, but like all PR and marketing, it’s gonna be awkward no matter what. Idk why they stopped the videos, I’ve heard that maybe they wanted them to focus on the car and performance more this season which is totally valid… however! They get along so much better now! And the videos would definitely be less awkward now than they were last season… so they are missing out on some good marketing!

I think Oscar is slowly but surely adapting to a new lifestyle. His appearance in Monaco and his new social media presence is developing his image into something new which I think is interesting. Obviously I don’t know him personally but from what I’ve read/heard he is still the same dedicated and studious dude who just has car and gf and that’s it. But he’s come out of his shell a lot more and we’ve seen a lot of his personality lately, this is a joint effort between him being more comfortable and his new social media manager helping him out (we just see more of him in general now, since he’s much more popular this season than last, he has more fans = his marketing has amped up).

Anyways back to landoscar… Oscar and lando are okay friends and definitely good teammates, but they definitely have the ability to become better friends. I just think right now they are at different parts of their careers and have vastly different mindsets. Oscar more reserved and serious, while lando has already built his brand on being a bit crazy and goofy, and in truth he is louder and dare I say more controversial. I think if they were to become better friends, they would have to meet more in the middle. I think lando does this unintentionally when they interact, he speaks softer and makes less bizarre jokes. We’ve seen lando with Carlos and Daniel and he was honestly insane with them (even recently in the box challenge on the f1 YouTube).

But anyways… I suppose none of this matters because they will only become good friends if they want to but for now I will enjoy their weird interactions and read RPF❤️

#landoscar #Mctwinks #twinklaren #lando norris #oscar piastri

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icarus-n-flames · 9 months ago

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So I’ve had this idea for a fanfic that 100% happened because I was scrolling on TikTok and the video I will link below popped up. At first I was very much “eh not the target audience because it’s not relevant to me” BUT THEN I REALIZED THAT CHARLES IS THOUGH. So I immediately scrolled back to watch it and take notes for his sake.

Anyway the fic would happen just the same; Charles is bored, possibly scrolling on a phone Crystal provided them using like a stylus or whatever. (Trust me when I tell you I doubt ghosts could touch an iPhone screen even if they focus really hard because I have seen alive people unable to touch on a touch screen) So then much like me he comes across that TikTok and for a moment he’s like swiping cuz eh not his thing, but it sticks in his brain all of a sudden. “I’m going to tell you the easiest way to tell if you have platonic or romantic feelings for someone” and, well, now he’s curious because hell is coming to mind and he hasn’t been able puzzle out exactly what Edwin is to him even in the last year or two.

He watches, attention rapt and potentially more studious than he has been his whole life. Charles has a moment where he considers how silly this is. They’re dead, it’s not like they’re able to get married. Right? Then he thinks about it and honestly, Edwin is old fashioned so maybe he’d want to and marriage isn’t always just a mortal thing he supposed…and there are other ghosts and beings that might steal Edwin’s heart. He does as she says, his overactive imagination sending him in a tailspin because he first imagines Edwin marrying Monty but it just doesn’t really feel right. Then he imagines cat king and the feeling that causes him makes him very quickly decided NO. One more try but honestly he’s in the bargaining stage of denial. He starts to wonder if maybe he just has a bit of internalized homophobia or something. Yeh totally…but then he thinks about it more and he thinks about Edwin confessing to someone at the alter with a blissful, happy expression and not one marred with fear. He sees his eyes shining with joyful, shed tears and when his voice catches it’s just not the same. He’s giving his heart to someone on the happiest day of his afterlife and promising them eternity in a safe, beautiful place and if Charles had any insides they’d be twisting themselves in knots.

….. and well that’s where I’ll stop for now. I’m still trying to find their voices so hey if anyone wants to wholesale yoink this idea pls just link me the fic cuz boy I need it now.

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #charles/edwin #dbdshow #dbdshow spoilers #fanfic ideas #payneland #chedwin

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larz-barz · 1 year ago

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I have an mha oc:3

Amaya Kazumi

The catnip hero, Bonsai

Quirk(s):

Neko: Can do anything a cat can do plus she can turn into a cat, only downside is frequent sleepiness and frequent hunger

Plant manipulation: self explanatory, basically can control any surrounding plants if she can touch them (she specializes in vines) downside is when overused she’ll start getting small cuts on her arms and/or legs

Personality:

Sleepy due to her quirk

She’s protective of her friends

She’s very calm and collected

Tries to avoid conflict as much as possible

Confident

Calm under pressure

Favorite hero(s):

Kamui woods

Crimson riot

Knotweed (Amaya’s brother, Teru)

Bakusquad or Dekusquad?

Bakusquad

Favorite people:

Kansatoki Hikari ( @theyslaydemons’s oc)

Yume Hoshino ( @unofficialmuilover’s oc)

Yuki(hara) Fujiko ( @cloudymistedskies’s oc)

Pixychu Midoriya ( @tokito-dulya20’s oc)

Sumi Hikau ( @muichinno’s oc)

Mina Ashido

Eijiro Kirishima

Denki Kaminari

Famale bestie:

Mina Ashido

Male bestie:

Denki Kaminari

Teru Kazumi (big brother, 20)

Hiro Kazumi (little brother, 12)

Family

Mom- Ami Kazumi

Dad- Hirohi Kazumi

Big brother- Teru Kazumi

Little brother- Hiro Kazumi

Thoughts on the rest of the Bakusquad:

Bakugo: “He has a unique way of showing it, but he cares.”

Kirishima: “He’s really sweet..” *blushes*

Mina: “Throws the best parties imaginable!”

Kaminari: “He’s awesome, I wish people wouldn’t make fun of him so much. He can’t help it that he short circuits so much.”

Hanta Sero: “Spider man.”

Sumi Hikau: “Judy Hopps.”

The Bakusquad’s thoughts on her:

Bakugo: “She spends a lot of time training, come to think of it I don’t think I’ve ever seen her eat. That makes no sense cause I’ve heard her say that frequent hunger is a side effect of her neko quirk.” *worried Baku noises* (i’m not good at aggressive characters, i’m sry:( this bakugo will still be aggressive but he’ll be like, nicer for lack of a better word)

Kirishima: *blushes* “She’s so cute! I love her cat ears and her tail! They’re so soft!”

Mina: “She’s very pretty, very fun to have at parties too!”

Kaminari: “She always defends me when people make fun of me for short circuiting. I hope she starts taking better care of herself cause I literally never see her eat.”

Sumi: “I love her ears!”

What Amaya is like in school:

She’s very studious and hard working

She spends a lot of time training, often overworking herself

She does eat, just not around people very often which has resulted in even Bakugo worrying about her health

She occasionally falls asleep in class but is excused for it since it’s a side effect of her quirk

Fun facts about Amaya

She’s Japanese American, her mom is American and her dad is Japanese.

Despite her slight laziness, she’s always had good grades in school.

Bakugo’s nickname for her is catnip (that’s how she came up with being the catnip hero).

Her hero name is Bonsai cause of the plant aspect of her quirk.

Oki doki this is all I can think of, if you have questions feel free to ask them! (she doesn’t have a backstory yet, i’m thinking about not fully traumatizing an oc for once lol)

pls check the tags to see the kirishima x amaya ship name choices i have come up with

#amaya kazumi #mha oc #new oc #hehe #oc info #oc information #hehee #kirishima x oc #kirimaya #or would it be kiriamaya #idk #y’all choose

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pennyserenade · 1 year ago

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all we ever wanted was everything

interlude i: henry & mariella - fade into you | ao3 link

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella), male oc x female oc rating: e (explicit) tags/warnings: angst, smut, talk of children and pregnancy, marriage, depression, infidelity. word count: 6.7k summary: theirs is a story as old time: married much too young, certain they were pioneers on those unbeaten paths of love. all they ever wanted was everything & all they ever discovered was how none of it was really as original as they had hoped. it is a love story & it is not. a/n: you don’t technically have to read this but i think for the sake of the story & all understanding of mariella as a character, it is recommend. also it does play an important part in the next chapter, but i do think could get by without it.

The clock ticks past midnight at the college library and no one notices. Mariella Tawes and Henry Rath are both little more than lowered heads at the opposite ends of the same room, drawing in the same tedious, steady breaths.

She is studious at the wrong hours, insomniac and homesick, and he is making up for another weekend of fun. His head swarms, full of numbers and equations, and hers tilts, rested on the palm of a tired hand. Mariella’s mouth follows along silently with the words on the page and Henry’s eyes are prone to wandering in her direction. He chances a glance at her now and then, and finds she never looks back, so he grows braver still with the length at which he inspects her each time.

He remembers her name. They had health together last year in that cold, creaky classroom with old Mrs. Severson (who remembered, ironically, as being pretty severe with the deadlines). Her name is Mariella, pronounced Mari-ella. He wonders if she remembers him. She doesn’t seem to notice him from her corner of the world – and didn’t then, either – so he guesses probably not.

Henry is good-looking: hazel eyes, more green than blue, generous nose, boyish smile with a heavy bottom lip, and a head full of thick brown hair that falls shaggily over his ears and cascades just above his eyebrows–just how the girls like it. If you think of an All-American boy–try to conjure up an image–he might be the product you receive. Someone, in the spring of his Freshman year, told him he was the Pacific Northwest’s answer to JFK Jr, so of course he is not alien to the attention of women. He doesn’t really need more of it, but for some reason he’d really like Mariella to look at him just once.

Maybe that’s why he’s staring so hard. It’s not just a glance anymore. He’s inspecting her the way she’s looking at the book in her hands, careful and captivated.

She looks up at him, notices, like she can hear his thoughts. He smiles at her, not as nervous as he ought to be for having been caught. He wanted to be caught. It's the truth. She smiles too, before she ducks her head and finds her book page again. Her cheeks tint red and he feels poorly, but nicely too—liking the idea that he might be something that could make her nervous in a warm way. They go back to their quiet, to their own work, until his hungry stomach upsets the balance in the room thirty minutes later. It grumbles for seconds that feel like hours.

He laughs nervously, embarrassed. She smiles, reserved. “I haven’t eaten in a while,” he says.

“I think the pizza place is open down the street,” she provides kindly. He nods; it is. During the week, he works there. It is odd that he has never seen her there.

“Are you hungry? Would you like to go with me?” He is personable. Mariella is less so, it seems, but not in an unwelcoming way. He can tell she’s shy. He remembers that she rarely ever raised her hand in class.

She shakes her head. “I’ve got to study.” The book in her hand is lifted, as if to say: see.

He smiles. “That’s fine. I’ll bring one back for us.”

He doesn’t give her the time to protest. When he comes back, cheeks red from the winter bite, he’s got half cheese, half pepperoni. She’s still in the corner, softly whispering a passage to herself. “Which kind?” he asks, opening the box in front of her.

“It’s okay, really,” she tells him. She smiles. “Eat your pizza. I don’t need any.”

“Are you sure?” he frowns.

She shakes her head again. “I don’t want to take your pizza. I’m okay, really,” she insists, still smiling. A polite smile, cushioning a rejection.

He gives up, trying not to act too defeated. He probably wouldn’t take his pizza either, now that he thinks about it. “Okay,” he tells her. He goes back to his side of the room, opens the math textbook that has been making his head feel heavy, and gets back to work. Grease stains the college-lined paper as he begins yet another problem.

“You’re Henry, aren’t you?” she asks out of nowhere.

When he lifts his head, he sees her looking at him from all the way over there. Her finger is tucked in between the pages of her book and she is beautiful in a way he can’t necessarily pinpoint, and wouldn’t want to. He nods sheepishly. Rejection does wonderful things to the ego, especially at hours like this. Even JFk Jr. would blush. “Yeah,” his voice says for him.

“I’m Mariella. I think we had a class together.”

“Yeah, health last term. I didn’t know if you remembered.”

“I did.”

She did. He blooms with his newfound boyish crush.

They are going to fall in love. It’s written between the lines of the grease stained paper his number is sketched on—the one he gives to her just shy of one am, and she keeps for decades after.

—

Leafs fall on campus the day Henry walks Mariella to class for the first time. They meet in the middle of the large university, at the edge of the empty soccer field. She wears a maroon cable knit sweater and her smile grows incrementally as he approaches her. His hair is wet, curling around his ears already, and the wind is biting as it blows in his direction. He wouldn’t have put this off for the world; he’d jog halfway here from the gym, wet droplets falling onto his heather-gray sweater the whole way. Even with the shower, he smells somewhat like chlorine and clean sweat, but he’d made it. His chest burns from the effort, but he beams at the sight of her–a beautiful square toothed smile.

They’ve been seeing each other in that tentative way young people do when they’re not sure what the other one wants; casual non-dates at the cafeterias peppered across campus, kissing in the back of his car with the radio turned down low on weekends; promises to see each other throughout the week. But no one dares to say the word date or boyfriend and girlfriend. They exist in the liminal space of the pre-relationship, and it’s beginning to worry him.

“Want me to carry those?” he asks her, nodding to the books in her hand. They don’t seem to be weighing her down, but the act seems chivalrous and he wants to be helpful, giving. Last night he’d explored the inside of her mouth with his tongue, tasted the salty column of her neck and felt her over her white lace bra. The car had gotten so stuffy, and she’d been grateful to let him draw up her blouse — it had proved rather tantalizing for them both. But as nice as that was, he doesn’t want her to think that’s all he wants.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. He looks so handsome like this: dripping wet, his chest rising and falling, so earnest. He’s got such an intense stare–so imploring.

Henry likes her–really– and she knows it, which scares her most of all. Something about him makes her feel helpless. He is like a cosmic wonder, some shooting star that tails its way across the night sky and fills you with hope – all while making you feel the precariousness of human life.

“You didn’t have to walk me to class, you know? I’ve been doing it by myself for a long time,” she says, though not unkindly. Her voice is always warm with him, even without her trying.

His bottom lip protrudes and his eyes go droopy, as if he is a puppy dog that’s just been kicked. “You don’t mind it, do you?”

“No. No, of course I don’t,” she's quick to clarify. “I just don’t want you to think you’ve got to do it.”

A cloud of relief flushes into the ecosystem of his body. He wears a contented grin as he breathes out: “I do want to. I like being around you, Mariella”

If he only knew how much she wanted him. She can’t shake this feeling of impending failure, can’t shake how it looms ominously over each interaction they have together. At the dining halls she worries her food choice is wrong. In his car she worries he might have more experience than she does. On walks such as this one, she worries his inspecting gaze will catch an errant behavior, an ugly mark, too much smile or too little—anything—and find her no longer attractive. The fact that he seems so pleasantly happy to be here with her, walking, stuns her more than it ought to. It isn’t that she isn’t pretty. It’s not even that being pretty is what matters most to her. What Henry has brought into her life, along with a pocketful of joy she’s trying her best to ignore, is the realization that she’s afraid she’s not lovable. That something is wrong, always has been wrong, and that when she opens herself to him, he will find it.

“I’d like to take you as my date to this party I’ve been invited to next week.” He broaches the topic gingerly as they round the corner. They branch off into a more secluded pathway that she takes every day to this class. The stony decade old buildings provide an echoey background as he says,“It’s a low stakes affair, just something a friend of mine’s putting together.”

She stares ahead, feeling the lump of fear form in her throat. Now is the time to back out, she thinks. But for some reason she can’t. His body bumps into hers and he apologizes weakly for the misstep. In his voice she can hear nerves. She looks at him. His face is open, nothing to hide on its handsome expanse; he is nervous. “You don’t have to,” he adds quickly, “I just thought maybe since…”

“I’d love to go,” she tells him. Okay, she thinks. This is it. You are going to do this. This being: pursuing him, allowing herself to be pursued, falling in love with him. Getting serious. This is more than she’s ever given to any person in her life and it makes her flush. A grin breaks out across her lips and she feels like laughing. He looks like he feels that way, too.

“Great,” he says. “I…Would you like to have lunch with me? After your class?”

“Yes.”

“Two yeses in a row. I feel like I’ve got a good streak going here.”

“You do,” she laughs. They turn another corner. When they bump into each other again, no one apologizes.

“Mariella?” he asks.

“Yes?”

“Would you be my girlfriend?”

Her eyebrows draw up to her hairline. She looks to see if he’s joking. He is not.

“Okay.” It doesn't take her long to decide. This is a part of the plan, after all, just served up sooner than she imagined. “Yes.” —

In Harvey, James Stewart talks to his imaginary bunny and loses his mind in the most endearing manner. He’s set to the soft volume of six tonight, heard but not always seen. The hues of the movie throw shadows on Henry’s face and Mariella admits to herself that this boy is devastatingly good looking. Her heart thrums nervously in her chest as his warm hand skirts up her leg. They’re going to do it. He’s got condoms in his bedside table and a bottle of lube in the bathroom, if needed.

It isn't Mariella’s first time, nor his, but there’s an exciting freshness to it anyway. He gathers her up in his lap, asks her once, twice, ten times whether or not this is okay. His hand fondles her breasts, grips at the flesh of her ass, and drags a slow path to the waistband of her underwear. She nods against his forehead, warm with desire and flush with excitement. Last week he had fingered her in his car, in a position much like this one. She’s been thinking of it since, let’s it cross her mind at odd and obscure hours of the day. To be wanted by Henry makes her feel good, seen, human. When she thinks of his fingers inside of her, the way he kissed her hotly as his fingers ran over clit…

She moans wantonly and he nods, encouraging her. “Please,” she tells him softly, “Now.”

Suddenly Henry is above her, in her, forearms pitched at either side of her head, tongue in her mouth. Her hands guide his ass and her legs embrace him, the entirety of her body opening for him. He groans softly as he sheaths himself inside of her. Beneath them, the mattress groans from the pressure of their sway. It is nothing. It is everything. People have been doing it for centuries and yet nothing like this, not the way Henry and Mari do it now. It is flesh meeting flesh, the undoing of neatness and propriety that has guarded her for too long. Mariella gasps earnestly when he comes inside of the condom and he kisses her until her lips are red and plump and ache a little. Then he does something no man has done before and he makes her cum too, his lips glossy with her want at the end. She likes him.

In the post-coital aftermath, they finish the movie. He holds her loosely against his naked frame and touches her appreciatively, a thumb stroking a nipple, or her stomach, or some place as innocuous as her cheek. When he tells her that the movie is a favorite of his father’s, a man who calls him once every five years and who he scarcely knows past that single fact, Mariella falls a little in love with him.

Henry Rath understands her before he knows he does.

—-

They move in together, in an apartment close to campus. During the summer they had searched relentlessly for a place, calling long distance from Laredo to Washington, racking up unimaginable phone bills as they circled their newspaper entries with red pens. They hummed and hawed over the possibility of their future and now they stand in it: A plain two bedroom that costs three hundred a month.

The manager had been so adamant that they take the apartment as soon as possible — “These things go fast because we’re so close to campus” — so they did. Because why not? It's been two years and Henry’s finally got a diploma. He wants to hang it somewhere that’s all his.

Mariella wraps her arms around his torso and lays her head against his back. She moves with his muscle, listens to him speak through the sinew of his body. “It’s so hot,” he groans, but he doesn’t tell her to get off of him. He bangs a nail into the wall and laughs with boyish pride when it turns out alright. She had told him she worried that his craftsmen skills weren’t up to boot.

“You did it,” she says, poking her head out from behind him. He lifts an arm and she pulls herself through, hanging off his side. It is hot; she can feel the sweat on the small of his back. They inspect his work with grins only people in love can wear; soft and pleasant, like life is a cloud and they’re ready to sleep on it. “I probably shouldn’t have,” he responds. But he’s happy he did.

She nods; she told him so. But this is so new. He is a college graduate and she’s a year out from her own degree. For the first time in her life she will never return home after the year finishes. This fact alone is enough to make Henry warm with excitement. Two summers without her had been long–even with internships to keep him busy. He visited her once, midsummer this past year. Laredo had welcomed him as most places did: with open arms. Mari’s father thought he had a good head on his shoulders, and told her so. And secretly, without her knowledge, Henry had asked the man—who could be intimidating when he wasn’t actively being warm—if asking Mariella to marry him would be alright.

“At twenty-three it is easy to think you know what the world wants for you,” James told him. But he’d said yes after Henry added on the fact that he wouldn’t do it until Mariella was finished with school. So there’s this apartment and the promise of more to come. It’s pleasant to have so much future, an endless expanse of more stretched out before them.

They will even thrill at the insanity of shared holidays, divvying themselves up between Laredo (her father’s) and Washington (his mother’s) with a bewildering delight. Their marriage is inevitable, but time is no race. Unlike their parents, they vow to do it right. -

She wears an inexpensive pink gown that her father had bought her for a different occasion–her college graduation–and admires the way her simple gold band looks against the tan of Henry’s suit. It’s fitted, the first he’s ever had. He’s so handsome that she feels a deep and incessant need to just touch him. Her husband. The word feels ethereal and interminable, sweet on the tongue as she nuzzles her head into his neck and whispers it. As they sway along to the soft sound of wedding acoustics, he lays his hand on the small of her back. Married in a church earlier today and celebrating in the back of her grandparents’ sizable home, Mariella feels like she’s beat some magnificent curse. After the reception, they travel into the thick of the Washington woods. He’s gotten them a honeymoon cabin, equipped with a hearth. There is no reception, just trees and the eerie quiet of vast woodlands. What is usually the makings of a horror movie seems a respite with him.

She wraps herself around him in an armchair, moves into his lap, lets herself gasp with pleasure. There is no one around to hear. He tastes like forever, his tongue finding her own, his cock deep inside of her. They move like they did when they were dancing, a sway, his hips meeting her hips, a rhythm so comfortable and easy as to allow for conversation.

“Two children,” he rattles off, tucking her hair behind her ear. He looks down between them, his voice heavy with his own desire as he watches them connect. Henry. He’s got a mole on his cheek and he wants to fill her with children. His wedding ring rests against the softness of her curves and hers presses into the firmness of his bicep. Two children, he says, because he and Mariella are the only children to two sets of parents who didn’t work out. It’s lonely being the only creation. She nods against his forehead and presses her lips to his. They gasp into each other as he fills her deeper.

She’s on birth control so the sentence is little more than a fairy tale, but they like it. Maybe it’s sweet naïveté or honeymoon foolishness. Perhaps it’s the fact that they’re tucked away in the trees, no one coming to disturb them for a week, not even in the form of a phone call. Whatever it is, they enjoy it. They form these stories between them, hips moving together in wedded sync. She feels him deep inside of her and her cheeks tint red as he tells her, against the cusp of her ear, “Let’s make them now, Mariella.”

It’s so easy to agree knowing it can’t happen. Playing pretend like children, except now the concepts are grander and the playing is different, a shade more intimate. She closes her eyes and imagines hazel-eyed children in a beautifully lit house, their little feet in the palm of her hand. Their toes will look like his; their smile will look like hers. Maybe they will inherit something from his mother. Maybe something of her father’s. It doesn’t matter. There will be two and they will not be lonely, and they will be half of him and she will love them just as much, if not more.

Her and Henry are going to grow old together. They’ve discovered love, really discovered it, a groundbreaking newness to the oldest thing in the world. It's never been like this, not between anyone else. Mariella is so sure.

- During the first summer of their new marriage, Henry makes friends with the principal of a private Catholic school. They stand cart to cart in a long checkout line and find common ground on a topic as simple as Sunday night football. By the time they reach the end of the line, Henry’s got himself an interview. They need an accountant as badly as he needs a job. In the parking lot, holding a package of hot dogs in one hand, he leans forward and shakes the man’s hand with the other. He is so pleased with himself that he calls Mariella as soon as he gets to the car.

He gets the job because he’s Henry: lovely, affable, and qualified. He does a good job. Such a good job, in fact, that they take Mariella on too.

At first she is a helper for a large second grade class, but then she matures quickly into a full fledged teacher herself. Mrs. Miller has a baby in December and decides the baby needs her more than her little classroom does. There is talk of Mariella being set to take on kindergarten next year, too because Ms. Neely, a seasoned kindergarten teacher, is ready to move up with her class.

The air is full of promise. Their future feels nearer and nearer every day. They buy a moss green ranch house with a downstairs and an upstairs, and two extra rooms for anything they want. They get the approval to paint it tan by the Homeowners association and they laugh together about the fact that they have to ask for things like that.

Henry falls asleep on the couch sometimes, too tired to drag himself to bed but they are happy. They married young and people told them it would be hard. And it’s not terribly hard, not as bad as they made it seem. He is still adoring. He brings her flowers for no reason, and he still loves her enough to take her on dates every Saturday night, no matter what. She can’t ask for much more.

——

Henry’s wearing a red baseball cap. His cotton white t-shirt is paired with blue-wash Levi jeans and he looks devastatingly good–like a baseball player on a day off. It is the school’s annual end of summer picnic. Mariella wears a pink summer dress that falls to her ankles, and a delicate gold cross on her neck to make up for the indency of bare shoulders. Children and parents alike call her “Mrs. Rath” as she helps pass out food.

One of the mothers is flirting with Henry, the way mothers tend to do because school accountants don’t usually look like this. It makes Mariella ache with pleasure. His muscle is flexing beneath the cotton of his shirt as he plays idly with a baseball in his hand and listens to the woman. It’s like he’s James Dean or Marlon Brandon: an American dream lover in the flesh. He is all hers.

The mother looks at him like he’s the greatest thing on God green’s earth and he’s so polite, so kind, nodding along to her like he doesn’t notice. Perhaps he doesn’t. She wouldn’t put it past Henry.

He turns his head and sees her. He begins waving like crazy and the mother turns her head to look too. When she sees Mariella she smiles like a woman who understands, or one who’s been caught, and nods her head respectfully. I see, the move says. And Mariella beams. Yes, she thinks warmly, he is all mine.

She finds she wants to bury herself in the love he has for her. She’ll give him children, of this she is certain. Not now, but one day. They both intrinsically understand this, so he doesn’t ask and she never says. Their condoms and their concepts stretch on, because they are so young and life is so sweet with ripe possibilities, but she knows, looking at him, that she must do this for him. She loves him more than anything. If she is going to give anyone children, it has to be him.

Her mother was older than this by the time she had her.

Henry and Mariella experience a shift, eat separate dinners on Wednesdays and Fridays, and make friends with people at work. He goes golfing sometimes, talks about country clubs and moving away. This is ennui. She shrugs, content with life but open to the possibilities. Or is she content? Is this just boredom she’s grown used to? She finds it’s better not to think about that. It is contentment.

One night Henry asks her about babies. It is not a forbidden topic but they’ve begun to treat it like it is. He has come home late, a little buzzed, and he is groping her. She doesn’t mind. It has been two weeks. “When?” he asks softly into her ear. She leans back into him, hums. He humps against her backside and seems to forget she doesn’t answer.

She has children. Fourteen, all small and bright and lovely. There’s a precocious little girl who she favors, and almost makes her consider the possibility of it. It just doesn’t seem like the right time now.

Some day, she will give him his children.

They are still young. There is so much time. –

Over a cup of coffee, Mr. Seton confesses to Mariella that he loves her. His classroom is across the hall from hers and he seems to be her only friend these days. They’ve bonded over many things: music, old movies, the fact that they’ve both got busy, active partners and that they are the youngest on the roster this school year. Henry has so many friends, and seems to make a new one every week, despite the fact that his job is rather isolated. It makes Mari nervous, like there’s something wrong with her. When Mr. Seton – whom she calls Adam when there are no children around – tells her he loves her, she feels betrayed. You were my friend, she wants to tell him, in the same tone she uses to tell a student she is disappointed in them.

When she gets home, she tells Henry. He is upset—not at her, he makes sure to clarify—but at Adam. He asks her all kinds of questions about him, and though they are spoken in a gentle tone, she knows: Henry is upset at her, even if he says he’s not. It’s an undercurrent, his anger, his frustration.

“He knows I’m married,” she adds hopefully, as if it will help. But she has wondered all day if maybe she hasn’t been doing a good job at showing how married she is–wondering if maybe somewhere along the way Adam had figured out something she hadn’t. When Henry asks, “And Adam’s wife? Does he not think of her?” she knows the questions are meant for her, at least in part. And Mariella’s husband? Does she not think of him?

Henry loves Mariella more than he has ever loved anyone. If this divide they’re experiencing is because of children then he won’t ever ask about them again. He hadn’t even meant to. He’d gotten a little tipsy that night and it had slipped out, but it doesn’t matter to him. Not this much. He’ll do anything if it means that goddamn teacher won’t tell Mariella things like that again. Next time he sees her–tomorrow–Mr. Seton will know Mariella is too goddamn in love–that it will be pointless and embarrassing to confess something like that. Their love is invincible and this is just a kink because they married young. Everyone said they’d go through rough patches and this is one of them. How dare that man think his confession could come to anything?

“Mr. Seton, love your own wife,” Henry can imagine himself saying to the be-speckled, wannabe home-wrecker. He is nothing if not equable, even to those who threaten his domain, his life. “You’re going through a rough patch, and my wife will not be your garden of Eden. She loves me. She tells me what you said. Your secrets are her stories to me, because she loves me.”

Maybe not so equable, then, not in his own mind. Not to Mr. Seton. Not to fucking Adam.

Later Henry fingers Mariella on the staircase. They don’t make it to the bedroom because they can’t; it's needy and desperate. It feels like before, like she is twenty and he is twenty-two and this is that shitty apartment they rented together their second summer as a couple. It feels like that until he asks her to say she loves him. She does, and he asks again, over and over and over, and he swallows the words in his mouth along with her moans. They go down like stones, hard and sharp. They are true–she does love him–but they are also just words, yet to be eroded by the pleasures of deep meaning.

Mr. Seton loves her, but Henry loves her more.

She loves me, she loves me not.

God, they married so young.

- A third anniversary. They don’t think of children, at least not together. Henry does, but it makes him ache so he tries not to. They’ve got a lifetime ahead of them and Mariella is not yet even thirty. They will have her eyes, her mouth. They will have his eyes, his nose. They will be perfect and loving and worth the trouble and the time and this desperation he can’t seem to fix.

Mariella forgets to say she loves him in the morning before work but remembers many more times throughout the day. This is just life.

- They argue. It is so rare that they do. They are not like this.

It is angry. His anger is large, not violent, but it makes her lip trimble anyways. For the first time in her life, she thinks she could hate him. She does. But then she doesn’t. She loves Henry so much and this is her fault. She works so late, comes home too tired to do anything but sleep.

“What does a teacher even have to do that late, Mariella?” he bellows and it is an ugly accustation. She counters: “Are you saying my job is somehow less important than yours? You don’t think I need to stay out as late as you because what–you make more?”

The argument becomes about so much of nothing in the end. Henry wanted to go on vacation—and it was only a suggestion. She was unrelenting and mean and they end the night by fucking. Fucking, unlike anything they’ve done before. It is ugly and they don’t use a condom. He cums on her thigh, mostly, and she is afraid two weeks later when her consistent period isn’t consistent anymore.

She doesn’t buy a pregnancy test to assuage her fears, not that first week, and she doesn’t tell him. The thought of it makes her sick. She can’t bring a child into this. It is so boring and ugly, and they are so young. She has fourteen kids in her class and she doesn’t want to take time away to be a mother. Not yet. She knows she will not be like Ms. Miller and he will not understand. Henry aches to be a parent. She can’t barely handle it, the way he aches. When her period comes she wants to be happy, but she is so notably unhappy now. Henry worries more about the teacher who confessed she loved her, to the point of quiet paranoia. He asks her so many questions about him. He finds the pregnancy test in the trash. They don’t talk about any of it. - Henry doesn’t want to divorce Mariella, but he realizes that he has to. He’s watching a movie late at night and she’s gone, at a conference for teachers and he is so excited for her to get home, wants her more than ever. But he knows what will come is not the Mariella he needs. It’s this idea he’s in love with, and maybe he’s that to her too. Ideas don’t stretch very far.

She doesn’t love him anymore. Not really. Not the way he needs her to.

They discuss it in the shower when she returns. He can’t tell if she’s crying as she leans her head back into the water spray. “It’ll cost money,” she tells him, so matter-of-fact he wonders whether or not it's a badly timed joke. It is and it isn’t. She loves Henry. She only said it so she wouldn’t promise babies to make him stop talking about it. Because she can’t do that. Not yet. Not now. Probably not ever. She is only twenty-six.

She read once that babies inherit fears and anxieties of the mother when they are in her womb. Her mother had been twenty years old and scared to death of her, of the idea of having to care for her alone. Maybe that’s where she got this: a fear of motherhood. Or maybe she’s just wrong, born out of sorts. She’s got a maternal instinct but an emotionally barren womb. It's no man’s land, working but unavailable. Everything will come out wrong somehow, she knows. If God was that cruel to Eve, what’s stopping him from doing something as twisted as that to her? Nothing.

Henry will never understand that. She is only twenty-six today and next time she will be only twenty-seven. Or maybe she will just be twenty-six and divorced. Who knows?

—

It's raining so hard outside that they’re wet from the downpour. He’s kissing her like he’s never kissed her before. Her lips are cool against his own. She shivers, drenched. They are going to be fine. She is an April baby and it always rains on her birthday. He gives her a necklace that’s too expensive but just her taste. They discuss a child quietly in bed that night and he is so excited. She is twenty-seven and terrified. They are going to be alright.

Aren’t they? - Henry asks Mariella for a divorce in the summer. By Christmas they are. She goes back to Laredo, tail between her legs. She doesn’t eat properly for months, but life moves on. - He invites her to the wedding. They promised to remain friends and this is how he is a friend. She knows it’s not mean, that Henry really wants her there. The wife looks so different from her. She wonders how badly she must’ve fucked him up. Mariella declines. She is meant to be a good friend the way she was meant to be a good friend: hardly. - He is a father to a baby girl. Her name is Emily and she is their concept, an idea they formed together as a married couple, come to life with some other woman. She doesn’t have anything of Mariella’s, not the eyes or the mouth or the nose. Mariella tells him congratulations so earnestly she hates herself for it later. She is in Washington to visit her grandparents. Her grandpa is dying, which is something she might’ve told him before, but can’t now. He has a child! The grocery store is so overwhelming, all that bad fluorescent lighting and passing carts. She just needs soup. He tells her to keep in touch, really means it because he’s so goddamn happy and full of life. A beaming new father. She doesn’t keep in touch. Of course she doesn’t. - Randomly, he writes to her. Asks how she is, says that he wonders about her. His daughter is yay high and his wife is happy. Mariella writes back. She’s got a new job as a teacher. It’s been a good week so she sends the letter and forgets about it until he sends one back. They talk and talk and talk, safety in the miles between them.

She is happy to be his friend. - She visits her aunt and her grandmother at the beginning of summer. Henry isn’t on her mind until he’s in her line of vision. Another grocery store. She’s wearing a summer dress and her hair is shorter than it’s been in ever. His daughter tugs at his shirt and they stare at each other forever, remembering the life they had once lived. He asks about dinner. She says yes. Of course. They’re good friends.

They spend the night having sex, and it’s familiar. It isn’t supposed to be like this. He is home. She was so young when she fucked it up. They are in love or maybe not. Maybe this is just the past mistaking itself for the present. That happens when you get lonely enough.

“You’re so…” Henry stutters off. His fingers dig into her hips, his groan deep as she fits herself over him again. “Tight,” he finishes. “God, Mariella. It..” His pace quickens, the sound of bare skin hitting bare skin evading the sex scented air. “It’s never been like this.”

Her skin tints red. A furrow settles between her eyebrows and he wrongfully mistakes it for mounting pleasure. She feels his satisfaction between her legs, his moan low and guttural as he takes in the sight of her above him. When he opens his mouth to speak again, she raises her hand, covering his wet lips with her fingers. The unashamed obscenity of his words is so unlike him. She never thought about the ways he’d be attuned to his other wife, about the ways doing this with him would make her think of the fact that he’s no longer hers. He takes her finger in his mouth, his hot tongue eagerly swirling around it.

His eyes connect with hers for the longest second in the world. They are the most promising thing she’s ever seen, wet with silent apology and the pain of their enduring love. Maybe even a little bit of remorse. He’s a cheater, after all, and she is his willing accomplice.

Beneath the soft orange hue of the bedside lamp, his eyes are green, freckled with familiar browns and blues. She replaces her finger with her tongue in his mouth. He tastes achingly of home, of their abandoned Washington ranch house someone else probably owns now. It’s so ironic she could cry. He does, a little; their kiss becomes salt drenched and tragic, but real, honest, like it should’ve been at the beginning and not now, some place even further beyond the end.

He twitches inside of her. He pushes her downward, so close to his chest that her nipples scrap over his chest.

Her cheek rests against the warmth of his lips.

She is gone by morning and he frowns, touching her side of the motel bed like he’s not quite sure she is really occupied by it. But she did. He remembers. Hip to hip, mouth to mouth, married in memory. When he gets home, his little girl opens her arms and giggles into his embrace. His wife is in the office, the one they share. She is also an accountant and she doesn’t ask where he’s been, but he tells her anyway. “Was at work,” he lies.

She believes him, because why shouldn’t she? He is always at work.

—

It has been three months. He leaves her a voicemail once, twice, three times and she deletes them all. His wife does not know. His daughter asks him why he’s gone so much. He cries in the shower and wonders why the hell he lets Mariella ruin his life.

And the answer is as simple as anything, but no less painful: because he loved her first and he might love her always. He is envious of the men he cannot know exist--the ones he imagines might be entertaining her. He wants to fly to Laredo, to ruin her life, but does not. Life moves on.

All they ever wanted was everything. He realizes that was too much. He will settle for half of it.

#original work #i genuinely do not know what to tag this but it is a part of the fade into you universe #but it does not have javi in it so

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