#This is the most 'head empty just insanity' fic i ever wrote

[mari-lair]

Chap 110 in Akane's pov! A gift to @iamhereinthebg

[purinfelix]

hi!! I really love your work! I was wondering if you could do one where Gavi and the reader hate each other, but one day the reader had nobody to turn to so for some reason she found comfort with Gavi if that makes sense

i don't want to talk about anything ₊˚⊹ - pablo gavi

pairing: (academic rival) gavi x reader w/c: 1.5k a/n: ANON i love this idea and im sorry its been sitting in my inbox for so long - i decided to sort of involve it with the academic rivals fic i wrote, since it made sense to me, hope u don't mind! <3

No matter how many times you blinked, the words of your essay refused to stay still on the laptop in front of you, the feeling of your eyes growing tired only adding to your frustration. According to the irritatingly loud clock on the wall, you had been at the university library for almost five hours now, on top of an entire day of lectures and tutorials. Your head ached, and your mouth was dry ever since you had run out of water an hour ago but had been too engrossed in studying to go get more, and every time you closed your eyes you considered falling asleep right there and then. You hadn't even gone insane before, but you were pretty sure this was as close as you were going to get.

Forcing yourself to stand up you tried your best not to dwell on how unprepared you felt for your upcoming finals, or how many assignments you still had to finish. Even with how tired you were, your brain still managed enough energy to stress you out, even as you definitively shut the textbooks you had brought with you. You were more than aware of how childish this was, having thought you'd outgrown your ridiculous study methods years ago. But something about your recent dip in grade, how frustrated and helpless it made you feel, had spurred you into a frenzy you were too far into to stop. You couldn't recall the last spare hour you hadn't spent studying or the last conversation you had that hadn't been about exams.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder you reluctantly left the desk that had been your home for the majority of the evening. After a struggle, you managed to get the library doors open and were immediately. met with the miserably biting cold of the late winter night - the thought of the long trek back to your dorm room acting as salt in the wound. Your hands are already freezing as they dart into your jacket pocket in search of your phone, and you flick it on to check for any response to the many, many texts you had sent to your friends. Most of them were invited to study with you or questions about lectures, but all you were met with was a pathetically empty inbox, the reflection of your own tired face once it switched off, and the stinging realisation of just how isolated you had become, and how lonely you felt. Perhaps it was this, or the howling wind whipping around you, that caused tears to prick up in your eyes as you bit your lip painfully hard to stop them from falling.

You're overcome with a sudden desperation to get back to your dorm as quickly as possible before anyone can see you crying like an idiot. The added barrier of your own fatigue makes this difficult though, and the immense cold doesn't help. Before you know it though you're already halfway there, passing by the campus football court which is still brightly lit and lively despite how late it's getting - a fact you curse as you make out a familiar figure, and the single last person you want to see right now.

Gavi seems to spot you too and even though you hand your head to prevent any more tears, you can hear his loud footsteps as he leaves his friends and game to jog up to you. He calls out your name and the smug tone in his voice is enough for you to will your legs to move faster. When you don't stop, you hear him pause before running up to match your pace.

"Long day at the library, huh?" he jeers, walking beside you and clearly not taking any notice to the fact that you're not in the mood to entertain his ego. Usually, you would've jumped at the opportunity to flex your work ethic in his lazy face but not now, not with how you're feeling. All you wish is for him to leave you alone before he sees you crying and it gives him another thing to make fun of you for - but just as this entire day has turned out, your wishes are far from granted.

"You know, I did notice you've been slacking a little lately. Even I found the last quiz pretty easy and I could tell you struggled with it."

You scoff loudly at his words but don't offer a response in fear of him being able to tell something's off from the quiver you're bound to have. A small part of you does question why he's been paying so much attention to you lately but has little time to when you feel him reach out to grab your hand, suddenly jerking you back and stopping you in your tracks.

Finally, you crane your neck up without thinking and lock eyes with his, and you hear the next comment he was preparing catch in his throat. It happens so quickly that you almost don't notice it, but his smug expression softens immediately and you can almost make out the concern in his eyes once he sees your tear-stricken face. The contrast from the teasing way he normally looks at you is so stark it almost stops the flow of tears from your eyes, and you almost wish it had because now you're standing here sniffling like an idiot, and he's standing there watching you.

"Hey…" he mumbles, and the pity in his voice is enough to make you want to run away, even as he drops your hand. Still, you can tell he's not enjoying the awkward situation any more than you are but is trying his best.

"I'm fine," you blurt out instinctively, messily wiping the stream of tears from your cheeks before laughing - at what you're not entirely sure, but you're desperate for an opportunity to lighten the mood.

"You don't look it," he sounds so mature that it almost takes you aback.

You hang your head, half in shame and half so that you don't have to look into his eyes when you lie. "I'm just really tired."

It's almost irritating how sudden his movements can be and how easily they can catch you off guard, but his athleticism has never blended itself to subtlety. Still, it's hard not to be shocked when he pulls you once more and before you realise it you're enveloped in his arms, pulled flush against his chest. His body still radiates heat from the exercise he was just doing, a fact that you find comfort in. Before you can stop yourself, you're already sinking into his touch, its catharsis being exactly what you needed, but hadn't realised. You wrap your arms back around him and close your eyes as you rest your head against his chest. The rhythm of his heart is bold and quick as you listen to it, and you chalk this up to the exercise as well - an excuse you're not lucky enough to have for your own quickening heart.

He's the first to break the silence. "You're the smartest person I know, you know." He says it barely above a whisper, and he seems to be confessing more to the night sky than to you.

If you had just a little more pride in yourself, you might've met this with one of your usual jabs. Strangely enough though, all signs of the competitive nature you reserve for him have gone missing. Maybe it's because of your surprise that he seems to know exactly what you need to hear, but you're sure it's more because of how tired you are.

"Thank you," is all you can quietly muster up, but given how earnestly it comes out, you hope it'll be enough.

"I don't mean to stress you out, not just now but all the time. I'm sorry for that," he sighs, and you can tell without seeing his face that he really means it.

"It's alright, I appreciate it," you laugh softly, before adding, "sometimes."

He squeezes you a little harder and standing there in his arms, despite how mind-numbingly strange the situation is, you allow yourself to forget about some things for a bit. Forget about how late it is, about all the work you still have to do, about how you're not meant to like him at all, how you're hoping no one you know sees the two of you right now. For just a minute, the two of you share a world you had only gotten teasing glimpses of during your heated conversations in hallways, your quick comparisons after grades get released or quippy comebacks. Only now, not a single word needs to pass between you two - the sound of his beating heart and the strange sense of comfort that falls over you being all you need.

[vi0l3tluvsu]

Dead Girl’s Paradise.

hc!au!Tate Langdon and dead!reader

Tags ; spiteful reader , clueless Tate , bonding, death, biting , violet mention!! , comfort , yelling

Word Count: 2868

A/n ; Tate langdon is a bit ooc and this is an AU fic. I got this idea from a Jack Kays’ album (deadbeat) . it’s very little reread and it’s probably terrible 🫶🫶 enjoy it’s my first work

Tate Langdon moved into your house just over a month ago and since moving in he’s rearranged your furniture, taken down your posters, and blasted terrible music from a strange device. You glare at him sometimes, watching him lazily drag about the house and complain in his sloppy journals about school and his mother. If you could speak, you’d laugh at him. His journals were that of a mad man. The world needs to burn. Everyone must suffer. You scoffed at his insane rambles, at his thoughts of going into his school and .. well he’d never do it. He was a coward. Every time Constance opened her mouth, he fled. Hid in his room and cried, scribbled and ripped pages. Some of what he wrote was almost poetic, if it weren’t him writing it. The world will bend and all that will be left is the ashes of what could have been the best, but failed before making it. You rolled your eyes, kicking the papers about the floor. Sometimes, just to drive him insane, you moved his CDs around his room, Nirvana in his closet. Kurt Cobain singles CD in his boxer drawer. Tate was boring. The most boring teenager you’d ever had the misfortune of watching move in and then, just as expected, move out. Except only his family moved out and, despite every wish you’d had, he’d stayed.

You stayed relatively hidden from him. A shadow in an empty house as he rotted in his bedroom, but his mopping was getting annoying and now he was the shadow that was torturing you. In your own house.

“Hello..?” Tate’s voice called out into the dark of his bedroom. The scuffled sound of his desk chair moving away from his desk had startled the poor boy awake and he sat, eyes wide, staring into the darkness that almost dared to reach out and touch him. A gun cocked somewhere on his bed and your eyes moved from the chair to him. You were standing just about ten feet from him, your blood stained hands pulling the chair closer to you, further from the desk. “I’m - I’m not afraid!” He spit as he said it. As if he needed to convince himself before anyone else, “I’ve .. got a g-gun!” He called out, aiming into the darkness and at you.

The moonlight barely lit his room, like a dull candle in the center of a ballroom, he was shaking and you could hear it. You sneered, stepping towards the shell of moonlight cascading across the floor in front of his bed, your feet were light. The floor board creak just barely audible as you touched the wood, three feet from him. “Who are you?! How’d you get in?!” His voice cracked, you could hear true fear. From the same boy who had said he’d kill all who wronged him. You leaned your head forward, hair just barely falling in front of your face as your eyes met his. His blue eyes struck a cord in you as your nerves spiked. He was really holding a gun at a ghost.

You grunted at him, eyes narrowing. His lip pulled up and he made a face that was somewhere between disgust and fascination. Your eye brows folded in which narrowed your eyes even more. You stepped closer to him, hands reaching out toward the bed. His gun followed you as you pushed your way toward him until the barrel was sticking to your forehead. He seemed frozen in time, his eyes fixed on yours, unmoving. Unblinking. You turned your head slightly to see him past the gun and his eyes moved to follow yours instinctively.

“You’re..” his hands trembled under the weight of the small pistol in his hands, “you’re dead too?” The words struck you funny. Too. How could he be dead? He was more alive looking than any living person who passed through. You huffed, sitting back onto the bed and watching him. He put the gun down, well, dropped the gun down… “How long have you been.. uh.. stalking me?” His words stuttered out of him like he wasn’t sure where to start. You shrugged, eyes dropping to his covered legs. “Okay..” he sighed, “uh.. what’s your name?” His eyebrows knit together and he backed up slightly. You put a hand to your throat and looked around. It’s hard to answer someone with cut vocal cords. You grabbed his arm and he flinched, instinctively pulling back with a yelp as you forced up his sleeve and were faced with scars from wrist to elbow. You skimmed past it and started tracing letters onto him. He leaned his head forward and looked at the rest of your body. The collar of your shirt was drenched and smeared in thick dark red, the gentle lace of it forever ruined, the cream shirt layered on top was also stained but not as badly . It laid just off your shoulder to show off the Lacey under shirt, the sweater bunched up where it met your jeans. He scanned back up until his eyes fell upon your neck. He pulled back, a little red. You pulled back too and you must have looked as confused as he looked concerned. “Uhm. Sorry, I like your.. sweater..” his eyes shifted to your sweater, then your neck, and back to your sweater. “So .. pretty name..” he smiled softly, his sudden okayness with you seemed weird but you chalked it up to him enjoying not being alone anymore. “What’s your- oh.. wait.. - I mean-“ his legs slid out from the covers and he stood. The sun was rising outside the window and as the light started to hit the curtains Tate paced mumbling questions to himself.

“Okay. What’s y-“ he turned towards the bed, and you were gone. Retreated to the safety of your attic to avoid being really seen. You sat, cradling yourself until you started to doze off, small dreams came to you in flashes. Your parents at the funeral, your body still lying in a river not too far away. Your dog, Clover, left to forever search for you.

“Hello?” Tate’s voice rang out from the floor below, he was searching every nook and cranny to find you. Your sudden appearance had given him a chance to socialize and apparently he wasn’t letting that go. “Uh.. HELLO?!” His calls became louder, almost piercing. He called out your name, opened every cabinet, closet, and drawer. His desperation leading him everywhere but to the attic. For now, your haven of silence was gone but you hoped he would give up searching and- “there you are!” You had missed the creak of the attic door opening and now Tate was staring at you, a weak smile on his face as he carefully approached you. “Uh.. I was calling for you. I guess you didn’t hear.” He sounded cold, but kept a smile anyway. You shuffled away from him, trying not to let him get close enough to touch you like you’d touched him. He stepped closer still, backing you against the far wall of the attic, “you know. It’s been months since I had someone to talk to.. it’s nice to have company.” He gestured with his hands as he spoke, picking at the sleeve of his dark sweater, “Why’d you run away?” His eyes were piercing as he asked, his footsteps getting closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with you. “Why’d you leave me alone again?”

You were stunned, fear took over you. You stared up at him. He wasn’t much taller than you, maybe two inches, but it was enough. His eyes trailed to your neck again, the scar that spanned the width of your neck. You bent your head down raising your hand to cover it, his hand reached to grab yours. It was a gentle tight, the kind of pressure that wasn’t uncomfortable. You bent your head more trying to cover up your neck as much as possible. His other hand slowly touched your cheek, his light touch a shock to your nervous system, he pushed your head up until you were looking at each other again. His face was soft, his eyes searching your face up close now. He was taking in all of your features as you struggled against his wrist. He hummed to you, but his sudden sweetness didn’t change the bitter taste that was left in your mouth by the position you found yourself forced into. He’s hand drifted, thumb running along your lip, you parted them letting him fall into a false security before leaning forward and biting down on his thumb.

“Ow?! You bitch!” Tate stumbled back, falling over a box and hitting his head against the low ceiling, “I was trying to be nice!” You fled, tripping down the attic steps and nearly falling down the main ones until you reached the basement. The cold cement felt good against your socked feet and you found a corner curling into a ball and taking deep breathes.

After your first “run-in” with Tate you let the weeks pass hiding in his shadow as he searching relentlessly for you. You assumed his searching was to hurt you, but as you watched him pace and write, as he became more desperate to find you, the realization that he was just as lonely as you were hit like a brick. Eventually, he gave up searching and went back to his room locking the door and playing his awful music again. He gave up finding you and so you gave up watching him, retreating to the attic only to find a neat pile of clean clothes on the floor behind the door. You had spent so much time in your new hiding spot, the basement, and following him around that you hadn’t thought to check on the attic. Now, you had a pit of regret about avoiding him. In the pile was an oversized gray sweater, a pair of jeans, and mismatched socks. They must have been his sister’s clothes at some point. Guilt started to eat you as you slipped into the new clothing, it was weird to not feel the starchy and stiff of blood on your shoulders and around your neck but the change was welcome along with the new smell. You sat in the attic, the idea of going and talking with Tate felt foreign, like a small knife cut into your chest and dug out your insides. Grinding your teeth, you stood in the doorway clicking the knob’s lock as you debated whether to go and see him. The idea left you nerve wracked so you turned and locked the attic opting to stay hidden just a little bit longer before letting him find you again.

It took a few days for you to work up the courage to actually go and knock on his door but the day you did his music had ceased. There was no noise coming from his room and the door was wide open, Tate sat motionless on his bed holding a picture. You stepped forward into his doorframe pushing at the hinges of his door as it creaked open. His head shot up and he took in the image of you in fresh clothes, it was midday and despite not enjoying being seen in sunlight you couldn't be picky anymore. "Oh. it's just you." his tone was cold, any trust that had been built or affection that could have been gone. "I see you.. found my gift." he swallowed the words clutching the photograph tighter, you stepped forward sighing. The closer he stepped the more protective of his photo he became until you were sitting next to him on the bed and the photo was flipped upside down. "I was looking for you, you know." His mouth twisted into a sort of frown as you nodded, of course you had known. He was practically screaming your name all throughout the house. Awkwardly you rubbed your legs and Tate relaxed a bit, the guilt you had felt was still eating you and without being able to say sorry you were left with the feeling. Your eyes drifted down to the photograph. Instinctively, you raised an eyebrow, curiosity was never your strong suit but the silence was enough to kill even the bravest person.

Tate noticed you take an interest and quickly put it in his nightstand, "It.. It's none of your business." he blushed saying it, like it should be your business but he couldn't explain why. You rolled your eyes and stood heading for his door. It was useless to try and be friendly with someone like him. "Wait.. where are you going? Don't disappear again." He stood with you grabbing your hand and tightening as you turned to meet his gaze. There it was again, that gentle pressure that had driven you away the first time. You didn't pull away this time, it was as if some invisible line was wrapping around you. A voice begging you to stay. You turned, hand in his, and stared expectantly into his eyes. "I just.. I don't want to be alone again." He rubbed his thumb over the pad of your hand, the gentle circles felt like fire igniting under your skin but you let him. You huffed, letting him lead you back to the bed. You spent the next few days this way, laying about his bed and letting him ramble to you about what he called, "the latest". You didn't understand any of it. He slowly taught you about the current 2006 "pop culture", how to properly use a computer and what the name was of the strange device that played his horrid music. A Boombox. It became apparent that since your untimely end, a lot had changed. That you had changed. Tate rambled on about My Chemical Romance and how overrated The Fray was, almost all of it was lost to you. Yet, you were still content listening, despite not answering almost any question you were given Tate could answer them for you. "Do you think Nickelback will always be this popular?... Probably not. I mean like two of their songs are good.." You never tired of his talking, theories, and weird movies. Soon you were consumed by Deep Sea, Silent Hill, and Air Buddies. Tate's strange taste grew on you, now you were picking out movies, songs, even TV shows to watch on his old laptop. It wasn't too bad, hanging out with him, and obviously he didn't think you were too bad either. Until you walked into his room early in the spring of 2007, wearing a purple knit sweater. You had found it in a box hidden in the basement, and Tate screamed. "Where did you find that?! Take that off! You've ruined it! It was pure!" he had ran at you, frantic, but had been careful where he touched the sweater so as not to damage it at all. The shock of his yelling had startled you too much and you fled. Fled to the attic, locking the door. Tate followed, close behind but not close enough when you slammed the door in his face. "Wait, I-.. I can explain- Please give me the sweater back. Please. You don't understand it's hers." You didn't answer, just stood breathless behind the door as he walked away. A few minutes past when you saw a photograph slip under the door.

"It was vio- .." he went quiet, unsure of his words, "it was a .. friend of mines.. we met at school and. She was important to me, so please. Give it back." you took off the sweater, careful to fold it neatly before opening the door a crack and giving it to him. His sigh of relief once it was with him again was a calm you'd never seen in him, as if the mere reminder of her was enough to tell him it was okay. "I'm.. Thank you.." he mumbled. You closed the door and picked up the photo, it was creased and smudged in the corner where you could tell he was holding it too tightly, his sweat wearing it down. The girl in the photo looked beautiful. She stood next to Tate, just a few inches shorter, holding a lit cigarette and flipping off the camera, her tongue sticking out. Tate was holding the camera and smiling, a peace sign just barely in view, like he held his hand a certain way so as not to cover her. She was wearing that purple sweater, the same one you had put on. You walked silently to Tate's room, he was curled up on his bed hugging the sweater. You put the photo down on his nightstand and curled up with him, hugging him from behind. "She was everything to me." he buried his face into her sweater as your hand pet his hair, you had never comforted anyone before but this was how your mom comforted you when you cried. He let out a sob, turning to you and wrapping an arm around your waist, "I'm glad you didn't disappear again. You remind me a lot of her."

A/n: eeeee Thank you for reading!! I'm sorry it was so long<3 and I'm sorry if the ending was unsatisfactory.. I ran out of ideas for this one but I wanted to post it because i liked the writing

[steviewashere]

20 Questions For Writers!

I was tagged by the awesome @puppy-steve thank you <3 I like to talk a lot, so this is kind of long-winded and I'm so sorry.

How many works do you have on AO3?

I currently have 95, which is a lot! But also, I have too many ideas.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

I'm currently at 436,999. Again, I'm insane and have a lot of ideas and things just get away from me lol.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Stranger Things! I've written Steddie, Platonic Stobin, Stommy, and a couple Platonic Stancy, and Ronance once. I honestly don't see myself writing for another fandom in the near future. I've thought about maybe doing some for Baldur's Gate 3 with Bloodweave or Tav/Astarion, but we'll see.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Words Like a Bullet, Wounding My Soul

Rusted Silver Spoons and Empty Pockets

I Want You to Love Me, No Obligations, No Strings Attached

Love, Rest Your Head

I Am Vulnerable and I Am Wanting

(People love Steve angst, which I do too, so this list makes a lot of sense.)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes, I typically do! Unless it's one that I just am not sure how to respond to. But I tend to respond within the first two to three days the comment is left—unless I'm down for the count due to chronic illness.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Okay, my answer is Death Embraces You as I Kiss Your Skin because both Steve and Eddie die in the end (not really spoilers). And it's just very melancholy, gross, and world-ending. But if you had to ask the people who read and comment a lot on my works, I've heard that Love, Rest Your Head is the one people are upset and mad about the most, lol.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A lot of them do end up having happy endings, so it really depends the flavor of angst leading to that happy ending that you're in the mood for. But, my personal choice would be Balls in Laundry Baskets: An Apology or Everything and More (though the series that work belongs to does not have the best of endings, oops. But every work in the series is standalone).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have only received hate once on a fic, surprisingly. They commented, I responded, and then a few weeks later I deleted the thread entirely. But I've received hate on here for some of my Steve headcanons. And I've received hate on Twitter for writing Trans Stevie Harrington. So...Sort of.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, I do. Though, not a lot. I've mainly written emotional/tender/gentle sex. I've done a T4T Steddie fic that's smut with some plot called Be My Lover. Take Care of Me (Sodomy) is physical fighting that leads to rough sex that turns emotional and tender (read tags, obvs). And, I don't really post about it on here because it's the kind of stuff that gets hate (because it's a kink that is usually hated on a lot already), but my weight gain kink fic Indulgence and Discovery is a mixed bag. (If you read that last one, just know it's don't like, don't read. And I don't wanna hear you complain about it.)

10. Do you write crossovers?

I don't currently. And I'm not all that familiar with them, as I don't usually read them. But I'd like to do something, maybe, that involves Steddie x Doctor Who or Steddie x Star Wars. The logistics just don't work all that well in my brain.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, thank goodness. But if it does happen and I'm unaware, I'm hoping someone will reach out to me.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, but I'm open to it! If somebody wants to translate my work, they just gotta reach out and ask. Honestly, that would be kind of cool.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No I have not. And I don't know if it's something I'd like to do. I'm not a hard person to work with, but sometimes I am kind of hard headed. (Big old character flaw.) So I tend to get argumentative really easy. And I don't want to scare people off just because I'm being an ass.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Steddie, of course. But I've also been a big fan of Steve Harrington/Tommy Hagan (Stommy), Astarion/Gale (Bloodweave, Baldur's Gate 3), and Markus/North (Norkus, Detroit Become Human). And I've recently liked the idea of Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker (Dinluke, The Mandalorian).

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you will?

Probably my first ever trans Stevie Harrington work, My Girl, Your Girl. I just lost interest with the work over time. But I'm thinking of doing one more chapter and calling it finished. And We Share This Life is one I'm thinking of orphaning. It's just such a big boy project that I am just over with at this point. I don't even want to link them because I don't want to get y'alls hopes up.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think dialogue is a current strength of mine. May be from experience writing speeches and monologues for public speaking and theater classes. But that's a big one for me. And then I've been told numerous times I'm great at writing very human, realistic, disgusting crying scenes. Which is great because I do that frequently. (Cry, that is.)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing action. Not like bullets flying, explosions going off action. I mean just the simple act of kissing or hugging or being in a space. And also writing smut. I've never had sex and sex isn't all that interesting or necessary to me, so all of my smut feels kind of stiff. Except for my work in Indulgence and Discovery—that one in particular is written when I'm in the mood, it's written from personal fantasy/desire. So it flows just a little better than my other smut works, but still. Not great at it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I only know two languages, English (which is my first and is what I'm fluent in), and American Sign Language (which I'm intermediate to fluent in). Obviously, I write English dialogue. But I've written sign language in fic before, it tends to write like this: 'WHISPER OKAY?' (an example taken from Words Like a Bullet, Wounding My Soul). And I'm moderately good at writing ASL grammar, as this is how I've seen it written and been taught to write it. So as long as the language is something I know or am fluent in, I'm good to go.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stranger Things and it'll most likely be the only fandom I write for.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Hard question. I have quite a few that I like, so I'll give my top five. Just because I'm indecisive.

The Bow on a Gift (Steddie)

Lighthouse (Platonic Stobin)

My Boy (Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson)

Be My Lover (T4T Steddie)

In it For the Long Haul (And Then Some) (Pre-Steddie/Steddie)

I don't know how many to tag for this:

@ataliagold @pearynice @scoops-aboy86 @hotluncheddie @sidekick-hero

@touretticeddiemunson

And anybody else because I have a brain the size of a pea <3

[llondonfog]

Hello, I would like to make a request if possible. I'm translating through a translator, so I'm sorry if something is not too clear. I hope that the request meets your criteria and does not cross the line. You can change it as you feel more comfortable or completely ignore it. So the essence of the request is that Silver dies in childhood because of Mellius. Perhaps he will find out about the origin of the child or just an accident. But Silver is dead and Lilia is going crazy. Mellius himself is plunged into a sense of guilt. And in their grief, they decide to bring him back to life. Whether it's an attempt to revive it or replace it. It doesn't really matter. Just distraught from the loss, they begin to live in the illusion that Silver is alive. But Silver himself is just an empty shell acting on orders and possibly imitating the behavior of the original. Most of all, I am interested in the reaction of the other characters to this. Sorry, it's a little hard for me to put the whole idea together. I would like to see how they live after the tragedy in complete denial and reassurance that everything is fine, continuing to live as before. But perhaps it breaks down when they try to destroy this illusion. As I wrote earlier, you have every right to ignore my request or change it as you wish. The main thing is that the essence of the idea remains. I also wanted to ask if it is possible to make multiple requests? Of course, taking into account not to spam and not to burden you. Anyway, I'm glad I was able to get this idea out of my head. Thanks for attention.

drabble fic posted here! <3

first, thank you so much for taking the time to share this incredible request, i absolutely LOVED writing it and i hope the spirit of what you wished to see was conveyed!! <3 please don't hesitate to ever jump into my inbox with ideas or twst thoughts that you'd like to share! it may take me some time to get to it, and i'll make it known if it just isn't something i can't get to at this time :)

as far as the direction i went with for your request, i was fully OBSESSED thinking about the mundane, agonizing horror of silver dying by a simple and natural accident— a slip on the wet rocks of the creek in front of their cottage home, losing his grip on a mountainside during a bout of rock-climbing, etc. something so blameless that it would RUIN lilia because it was such an ordinary accident that he couldn't prevent.

i really wanted mal to be the one to bring silver back to life out of a desperate bid to heal lilia's near overblot levels of grief, but also out of this childish way (because he's still a child himself!!) to save lilia's wish to so desperately know if he could love a human— plus of course, mal is obviously fond of silver at this point too and is similarly grief-stricken and absolutely NOT thinking clearly when he tries to resurrect the child.

something that i wanted to be key is that whatever mal brought back, it is NOT silver. silver is permanently dead, and whatever spirit is inhabiting his body is one that mal sees as a complete abomination. lilia, too deep in his grief, latches onto the child regardless even if he has moments of clarity when he can't look at the new 'silver' or be around him for some time. so both mal and lilia know the truth, but nine year old sebek has been pretty much kept in the dark so far with only a few play dates to start seeing a weird behavioral difference in silver and the others.

(but the illusion can't last— this silver can never grow past the age in which the body died, and the spell has to be reapplied after so many weeks or else the corpse starts, well . . . becoming a rotting corpse again. also i'm kind of insane over the idea that the spirit inside silver is malicious and has bewitched lilia into trying to kill himself to reunite with his dead son so that it can take his magic and now mal has to figure out how to undo the awful that he did BUT I MIGHT BE GOING TOO FAR DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE NOW LOL)

[amethystina]

I saw someone ask how many chapters you think Who Holds the Devil will be, and it got me thinking about how long (word wise) it might actually end up being since it’s already ~270K. This fic is a monster where it currently stands and if there’s still a lot left to go, the final word count might be insane. It makes me curious as to what the longest fic you’ve ever written was. Have you ever written a singular fic as big as this one before? What’s the most challenging part of writing stories this big? Is it outlining, continuity, or is it less to do with the story itself and more to do with things like potential burnout etc.?

(Okay, so, this is going to be quite long (which is very on-brand), perhaps a little more detailed than you asked for, and also delve into my insecurities in a way that might be TMI. Read at your own risk x'D)

Yeah, I can't say for sure how many chapters I'll write or how high the final word count will be, but it's definitely going to be a very, very long fic.

As for other fics I've written, my very first fanfic was a series (three parts that tell an overarching story, plus nine bonus chapters) that clocks in at 290k. And, after that, I've written two more than go past the 100k mark, one at 183k (if you count the bonus chapters) and another that lands at 127k. So writing long fics isn't anything new to me, but Who Holds the Devil is definitely the longest so far.

As for the most challenging part, that differs depending on the story. That first fic I wrote was a Teen Wolf one where I basically did a third season (before the actual third season aired) and the challenge was definitely the continuity, keeping all the details in order (both from canon and my own creations), and making sure to write the frankly rather big cast of characters in a believable way. It was meant to be a cohesive story that spanned over three parts, but each part also had to have its own internal structure and climax, slowly building up to the big finale in the third instalment. Hilariously enough, I was too young and dumb to even realise how big of an undertaking that was and just kept writing, blissfully unaware of my own hubris. And, somehow, I pulled it off.

But in hindsight? I was nothing short of insane. Especially considering my, at the time, untested skills at actually finishing a story of that length — in English, to boot, which isn't even my native language. I had written original stories before that, some of which were quite long, but none of that size or complexity. Like, I'm not sure I would dare try that now, even with the added experience and skills I've accumulated since then x'D

Sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss.

Anyhow, the more I write, the easier the outlining, continuity, pacing, characters etc. gets so that's rarely a problem. And a lot of that has always come naturally to me in a way I can't really explain. Like, that 183k fic? I wrote that entirely without a timeline, outline, or notes. I just kept it all in my head and went by instinct and, somehow, never had to go back and correct a mistake — not even once. Which is kind of wild when I look back on it (not to mention reckless) but yeah. And the fic is Autonomy, for those of you wondering.

I don't know what it's like for others, but I rarely get stuck on planning and outlining. I usually just figure out a beginning and a couple of key scenes and off I go. And then everything just falls into place as I keep writing, sort of outlining itself without conscious effort from me, long before I actually reach that point in the story (my brain works faster than my hands, I guess? xD). So I usually figure out the ending before I reach the halfway point and then it's just a matter of filling in the empty spaces in between. And, somehow, my brain just automatically manages to figure out the pacing, continuity, and details without me having to pay attention. Don't ask me how that works, it just does x'D

Since it's so much bigger, I do have a timeline for Who Holds the Devil, though, to keep track of where we are and remember important dates (like Go Eun's birthday! :D) as well as a document with notes for future scenes. But that's mostly because I got so excited about some of them and wanted to write down all the cool dialogue before I accidentally forgot it.

So I would say that the more experience I get, it's definitely not the story itself that makes writing long fics difficult — that part is honestly the easy one. Burnout is definitely a factor, though, especially for a fic of this length. Basically, I'm a sprinter, not a marathon runner. I will usually write a lot of words in a short period of time, then have long stretches when I write nothing at all. If I divide my total word count from last year, I actually wrote over 500 words a day, except it's usually more along the lines of 6k three days in a row, then nothing for three weeks x'D

Anyway, since I know this about myself, I usually never start posting a fic until I've finished writing it, since there might otherwise be months without updates. But I obviously had to change that with Who Holds the Devil and that has proven a bit of a challenge, I will admit. I'm not used to regular or even semi-regular updates like this, so I've had to change my habits quite a lot. But I still make sure to recognise when I have to take longer breaks (which does happen, usually after a very intense portion of the fic) just to let my brain cool down a little.

Fortunately, since I'm very goal-oriented, I never lose sight of what I'm doing, however, even during these breaks. I'm not someone who needs to feel inspired or motivated to keep writing, so I can just pick it up again whenever I like. That's not to say I force myself to write, but I can usually trick myself into getting excited enough to continue simply by taking myself over that first hurdle when everything just feels boring and uninteresting.

I'm stubborn as all hell, is what I'm saying, which is definitely useful when writing long fics.

Because, at a certain point, you're going to need more than just inspiration and eagerness if you want to finish. I have not written a single long fic during which I didn't have a moment — often more than one — where I questioned if I truly wanted to continue or not, either because I was at a boring part of the story or felt overwhelmed by the thought of how much further I had to go.

And that's honestly the most challenging part with Who Holds the Devil. I'm confident in my writing, my characterisation, my ideas, and even my plot, but sometimes when I look at my notes and see how much more I have to write, all I feel is doubt. And, in an interesting turn of events, it's not even my own commitment I'm doubting, but everyone else's.

I know I can get through this and stick with this fic to the bitter end, but can you?

Now, don't misunderstand me — my readers don't owe me anything. You can stop reading any time and you should if you're not enjoying the story, but I would be lying if I said that the amount of criticism and questions I get about the length isn't beginning to wear me down. It makes me second-guess every single choice I've made about the plot, pacing, and overall tone of the story.

At the same time, of course I get why people ask. Some want to know when they can start reading because WIPs are scary (I can totally relate) and these readers have no reason to trust me when I say that I will finish this fic, come hell or high water. Heck, I've already lost two grandparents during the writing of this fic and I'm still going. I even tried to write one chapter while sitting at my grandmother's bedside, waiting for her to die (bad idea in hindsight, my writing was very incoherent — do not recommend).

But it's not like everyone who runs across my fic automatically knows that. They don't know me so of course they'll ask, not knowing that they're the fifth person to do so in less than two months. And that kind of hurts.

And I won't deny that there's probably a bit of pride involved as well — it's annoying to have people question my choices — but, more than anything, it's telling me that I must be doing something wrong. My readers don't trust me. And, well, that's kind of alarming as a writer, when the whole point is to take someone on a ride and they keep asking you for directions or "are we there yet?"

Clearly, I'm doing something wrong.

Now, this is not EVERYONE. I have so, so many lovely readers who enjoy both the insane length and glacial slow burn of this fic — I know that. But there's always a niggling doubt at the back of my mind that I'm eventually going to alienate every single reader because this fic is just Too Long. Or that they'll simply give up on the story since it's going to take us beyond Yo Han and Ga On kissing. Like, this fic isn't just about the two of them getting together, but also how they'll make their relationship work in the long term with their individual and shared baggage taken into account. It's going to continue long past the point of them kissing for the first time, as well as them having sex for the first time.

And a lot of people lose interest after the first kiss or the first sex scene. Which is fine — each to their own — but it's very disheartening to be told that as the author. I've had people ask me in what chapter they'll finally kiss so they can jump to that chapter and ignore the rest. I've had people tell me they're going to stop reading because they just can't stand the annoyingly slow burn anymore. I've had people tell me the fic is already too long for them to read and, here I am, knowing it'll take a lot more words to even come close to finishing it.

And that, at least in the case with Who Holds the Devil, is the biggest challenge — to stay motivated and committed when more and more people are telling me I'm not doing this right. It's daunting enough as a writer to look at your fic and realise that, damn, I have such a long way to go, without also having people tell you, to your face, that, yeah, that's way too fucking long, what the fuck are you doing?

It makes you wonder why you should even keep going, especially when you know how much time and effort you're going to have to devote to the project.

What's the point?

Because despite all the lovely comments I get, praising the level of detail and how realistic everything feels, we all know that negative comments have a tendency to stick with us longer. I can't ignore them even if I desperately want to. And, to make matters worse, not all of them are even intended to be mean. Some just want to know how long the fic will be — which is fully reasonable. But those entirely reasonable questions just pile on top of this mountain of doubt I already have, telling me that this is all pointless. My commitment to this fic is a mistake. I'm wasting my time. It's not Good Enough. It's Too Long.

Now, all that said, I love Who Holds the Devil. I love exploring the characters and the story, and I honestly don't think I'll stop writing it. Because, cliché as it might sound, I do write for myself, not others. I share with others because I know people like my writing, but I'd still be writing even if no one wants to read it. So, worst-case scenario, if people are no longer interested, I'll just keep writing it but will stop posting.

Because, when it comes down to it, I don't need validation to write. I can write in complete solitude. As mentioned, I usually finish a fic before posting, which means I've sometimes completed a 60k fic without a single word of encouragement from another person. I LOVE validation, as most writers do, but I don't actually need it to keep working on a project.

Interestingly, what I'm seeing with Who Holds the Devil, is that too much attention can, apparently, instead make me doubt my commitment to a project in a way that's honestly pretty fascinating? I felt more confident about the fic BEFORE I started posting it, BEFORE I knew if anyone would even want to read it x'D

Now is when I feel the doubt, because what these comments are telling me is that, sure, a lot of people would want to read this fic, but it's too long so now they're not gonna. And, in many ways, that feels like a failure on my part, even if I of course know that tastes differ, we can't please everyone etc. etc.

Tell that to my anxiety.

So yeah. For me, personally, it's definitely outside things that make writing long fics difficult, more specifically opinions from other people that make me doubt my skill level, intentions with the fic, and if it's even worth writing in the first place. I'm actually pretty confident about the rest and, even if I struggle sometimes, I can usually push my way through those issues.

Sidenote: As someone who likes to analyse people's behaviour (including my own), it's pretty fascinating to realise that my biggest issue isn't that I feel pressured to produce more or post on a certain schedule — which is what most fanfic authors struggle with — but that I might, in fact, be doing too much? My fic is just too goddamn long for people to handle.

Like, you gotta admit — that's pretty funny xD

Anyway. All of that said, know that I don't regret writing Who Holds the Devil and that I certainly don't regret posting it. I also have every intention of finishing it and I doubt I'll actually reach a point where I'll stop posting. As long as there's even one person out there who enjoys reading the fic, that's enough for me to keep posting.

So to all of you out there — especially if you happen to be one of those who just casually asked me how long the fic will be without knowing all of this shit — I'm fine. I'm not angry or upset with you. I know the majority of you love the fic and wouldn't want me to change a thing. I also know that these insecurities of mine are… well, not unreasonable, but I don't need to listen to them. And I try my best not to (it's just difficult some days, you know?)

So, to finish this off, just know that I love you, appreciate you, and have no regrets. And thank you so, so much for reading my fic, even if it's long, and taking the time to comment, kudos, or even just gush about it with your friends. To know that my writing brings joy to other people and that it can help support you through difficult times or make your day better is the best feeling ever.

Thank you 💜

… also, chapter 29 will probably be another 15k one, because fuck my life x'D

[notinmyvocab]

literally no one really asked for this but @c-nv-s07 commented on a post I made mentioning a wentworth fic so here's a snippet because I'm actually really excited to share it and that's all the encouragement I need!

The sound of scraping filled the otherwise quiet Los Angeles night in the Murder House, so named because of the crimes committed over the decades. Metal was dragged again and again, seeking purchase and finding nothing, reminiscent of a shovel searching for a grave. It was the most devastating sound Isabel had ever heard.

The ice cream pint was empty.

Heartbroken, she reached for the can of whipped cream and filled her mouth with a generous dollop.

“Why are you still awake?”

Mouth full of whipped cream, Isabel looked over at her matronly, accusing housekeeper, Moira. She swallowed. “I should ask you the same thing.”

“No rest for the wicked, dear.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Isabel, filling her mouth once more with whipped cream.

Moira shook her head, vaguely amused. “You have a phone call, by the way.” She held up the house phone, displaying it.

Again, Isabel swallowed the mouthful of whipped cream. “And they have the right number?”

“I double checked.” Moira handed over the house phone over to Isabel.

Isabel couldn’t imagine who would be calling her at such an hour. Shouldn’t they be asleep? “Hello?”

“Isabel?”

Isabel immediately straightened up. “Vera!”

“I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t be! I was uh, actually already awake.”

“Isn’t it four in the morning in Los Angeles right now?”

Isabel looked over at the clock, which did indeed read 4:00 AM. “Um yeah, yeah it is.”

“…Right. Anyway… I’m really sorry about this. I feel, well really I feel ridiculous asking. But do you remember what you said?”

The problem with that question was Isabel said a lot of things. “Don’t suppose you could be a bit more specific?” No, think. What had she said to Vera the last time they saw each other?

“You said if I needed anything—“

“I’ll come running.” Yes, Isabel remembered now. Vera had been so nice to her when they first met, and helped her so much when she wrote her last book; literally answered every single question she had, no matter how annoying (and Isabel imagined that it got to be very annoying).

“Did you… did you mean it?”

The question almost made Isabel laugh. “Vera, you’re probably my best friend in the whole world. Ow!” Isabel whipped around to see her brother saunter into the living room, having apparently heard her best friend comment. He stuck at his tongue, and Isabel mirrored him.

“Isabel, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a poltergeist. Anyway, you’re probably my best friend, of course I meant it. Just tell me what you need.”

“It’s a big ask.”

“Ask me anyway.”

Isabel listened to Vera take a deep breath, mentally preparing herself. “My mother…” Vera started slowly. “My mother isn’t doing well. And… And I know it isn’t fair to ask you.”

Despite Vera not even properly asking anything yet, Isabel motioned for Moira to grab her laptop for her. The housekeeper did her duty, and Isabel got online.

“I thought I was managing fine on my own,” Vera continued. Her voice wobbled; stupid woman, why wasn’t she stronger? “But I just… No, forget it.” She couldn’t ask Isabel to drop everything and just come to Australia from Los Angeles. That was insane! Even best friends had their limits, right?

There was a pause. Vera checked her phone to see if Isabel hung up. No, she was still on the line. “Isabel?”

Another moment of silence, and then, “One-way ticket on a red eye from LA to Melbourne, all booked.”

Flabbergasted, Vera stammered. “You… no, I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have even brought it up!”

“Too late, already done, tickets nonrefundable,” Isabel replied in a teasing singsong voice. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to catch in a few hours. See you soon?”

Vera chewed on the inside of her cheek. It felt almost too good to be true: a friend who dropped everything because she hinted at her mother’s health declining. She wanted to pinch herself; wake herself up from this dream. She wanted to cry, feeling weirdly relieved by it all. She wasn’t going to be alone. Isabel really was coming to Australia; Isabel was willing to travel across the ocean.

“Vera?”

“Yeah, yes,” Vera replied. “I’ll see you soon.”

Isabel hung up and set the phone aside. “Well, looks like I’m going to Australia,” she told Moira, seeing that her brother had vanished. Typical. He had a habit of coming and going as he pleased, never sticking around for too long.

“When do you think you’ll be back?” Moira asked.

The smile slowly fell from Isabel’s face. “You know I can’t answer that.” It didn’t matter if she had a plan to only stay a week or two weeks or a year. Something was bound to happen; something always happened.

“Then at least do me one favor.”

“Yeah?”

“Try and stay out of trouble. For once.”

“No promises.”

[soulwillower]

semi-charming •  bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader smut)

requested:  Do you have any bill denbrough x reader’s that you have finished that can be posted? I really love your work I re read it like everyday lol :)    +      AKANSHAKAKMA U SHOULD POST THE BILL DENBROUGH HATE SMUT AHHHH     +     don’t be shy post the b.d hate smut 😀🔫🥰🌝

i haven’t posted a fic in well over several months but i hope u guys like it :) im here and around still so send me something if u wanna chat <3 i also have re opened my requests lkajsdlkaj

also - i gained a lot of new followers while i was gone and im sure some ppl want to be removed from my taglist SO: i am gonna start a new taglist!!! pls send me a message and let me know if you want to be on it bc after this post im starting fresh  !!!!!!!!!

warnings: drinking, mentions of weed, dorm living, almost-strangers hooking up, smut, choking (light), light spitting, a tiny bit of dirty talk, switch!bill, its kinda fluffy smut tbh, enemies-to-lovers but its so lowkey, kinda cute guys, neighbor-ish au, 

(losers + reader are 19+.)

4.1k words

♡

the first time it happened, you wrote it off as unintentional. 

it's happened to everyone: you're joking around with your roommate, or reaching over to grab your laptop, and you fall off your bed to the floor. you knock over your lamp or someone knocks over the handle that was sitting half-empty on the mini-fridge. the tile on the ground of the dorm rooms are hard and cold and don't do much to quiet the noise of anything, so you get that. 

but whatever the hell was going on in the room above you was not that. it was three in the morning, and your head was spinning in that sickening way that only happens when you take too many drinks in a short time and find your way to bed for a few hours before being startled awake. 

a loud thump made you jump in your bed, heart racing as you woke in surprise. 

it was around twenty more loud thuds from your ceiling (in a span of barely two minutes) that you gathered the energy to slide out of your bed, sliding on your dorm slides and throwing on a shirt to cover your near naked body before storming into the hallway to climb the most challenging single story of stairs in your life, right to your upstairs neighbors' door. 

your hand was banging on the door for a mere five seconds before the door swung open and a terribly confusing sight fell onto your eyes. 

three boys who you've only ever seen in passing before in your dorm, all shirtless and heaving breaths. the one who answered the door, possibly bill or mike (judging by the stupid name tags on their door), has bright eyes and dark auburn hair that reflects in the dim light of the hall, backlit by the neon purple from inside the room. his sweaty bare abdomen made your eyes twitch as you glared at him, suddenly more irritated because he's kind of really hot and stupid and annoying, and you needed to sleep.

"hi.” he said casually, and you could tell he wasn’t entirely sober, either. 

“so what is your fucking problem?" you said in lieu of a greeting, half-asleep and pissed beyond belief (also still drunk). the boy who answered the door raised his brows, head turning with a brow raised, as if to ask his buddies 'are they for real?' before turning back with a large, cocky smile, "pardon you? we already turned down the music." 

you blinked, knowing you must have seemed so rude and looked insane but it was a weeknight and you had class in the morning, "wh- what, no-��i'm not here about music. it's like three, you're slamming on the floor and i can hear it like i'm in a fucking tornado in my room below you so you need to knock it off." 

then the other boy, further back with foggy glasses, started laughing. the other one laughed too, rubbing his neck sheepishly, still breathing heavy. "what the hell are you guys even doing in there?" you added, running a hand through your hair in exasperation. 

"they were trying to bench press me. but then bill decided to start doing squat jumps onto his bed." the boy with glasses explained as he rubbed his chest, still concealed by the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the stupid LED neon lights that every single person in the dorms had lining their rooms. that explained the thudding. 

"why." you'd deadpanned. you were too tired for this, but you'd wanted them to understand that it was keeping people up. "richie got us kicked out of Pike for stealing their doorknobs and pledge class photos." the third boy says, elbowing the boy, richie. "we felt like working out, but then richie said we couldnt press him, so..." he trails off at the look you give. 

"you want my workout routine or something?" richie asks you. you sharply inhale and bill smiles, "well, if that's all, we'll be going. i've got one more rep to get in." 

your eyes widened, jaw dropping at his words. he'd laughed, then, and your eyes couldn't stop as you stared at his sculpted abs flex in the light. god damn it. 

"chill out, neighbor. sorry to wake you from your beauty sleep." he said as he noticed your look, and you wanted to fucking hit him. 

you rolled your eyes, picking up on his facetious tone. "whatever. just knock it off. thanks," you'd griped, sarcastically smiling at them before trudging away towards the stairwell. and you'd caught it when bill muttered, "is now a bad time to assemble my ikea desk with my drill?" 

you'd run into bill once again a few days after when you'd gone to use the bathroom on the floor above you where your friend lived, washing out the bowl you'd used for lunch. a 'shh!' had made your brows furrow as you'd walked in, not paying attention as you'd heard a shower stop and a girl laugh from the other side of the bathrooms. 

but a deep voice grunting 'ow, fuck' made you freeze and then feel hot, wondering what kind of luck you have to be in the bathroom when some people were hooking up in the shower. but you're reminded that you had the worst luck when you go to leave the bathroom and two figures round the corner, hair soaking wet and hoods pulled over their heads. making eye contact with him, he must've seen how flustered and irritated you were, because he cracked a grin, "good to see you again, neighbor. you sleeping well these days?" 

that was only a few days ago. you'd seen him in passing at a party at one of the frats, but had avoided any interaction with him after you saw him and his friend with the glasses snickering to themselves after sneaking looks to you. god, you didn't want to face them again - they were so mocking, so cocky.... so rude, and they made you feel like you were being insane just for wanting to have peaceful sleep. bill was not your favorite person. 

but as bad as the first two experiences were, the third time you had the misfortune of interacting with bill, it was the worst. 

your roommate was out for the weekend, and you'd found yourself stuck with your leg and ankle pinned between your heavy file cabinet under your bed and your bedframe, unable to scoot it over on your own to free your leg. 

you were planning on relaxing tonight, after being stood up from a booty call hook up. you’re mad, frustrated, horny, and close to tears now that you’ve gotten yourself stuck pinned to your bed.

it’s nearly one in the morning, and nobody’s in the hall. 

but then, bill walked past your open door as you struggled, and desperately you called, "hey!" 

his double-take into your room, his head poking in, would have been charming if the face was anybody but him. 

"what?" he asks, suddenly noticing it’s you. his voice is not charming and calm as you've seen him be with other peers, but in your stubborn mind, you convince yourself it’s fine; you don’t like him, either. 

"i'm stuck, can you help?" you say despite your thoughts. 

he sighs, dropping his backpack next to your bed and then tugging to try and move the cabinet. 

"how did you do this?" he mutters as he pulls as hard as he can to pull it, but your shoe is too wedged diagonally against the floor, cabinet and frame. you sigh, "thought i could nudge it to the side with my toes, i dropped my dab through the crack." 

he chuckles, trying to instead shove it backwards instead; to no avail. "smart girl." he says sarcastically, and you roll your eyes, trying to help him shove it. "what was the point of you keeping me up all fucking night if you aren't strong enough to move this shit?" you say, exasperated because it's starting to dig into your calf. 

he stops, rolling his eyes at you. "has anyone ever told you that you can be a bit rude?" he asks, moving closer to you to try and push it away. you look down at him from where you stand, elbows on your mattress. "no. you're just a dick. fight fire with fire, or whatever." you mutter, face feeling hot. 

you can't stop staring at his shoulders, his arms - they're so hot, the veins popping out of his hands and forearms, the smell of his aftershave wafting into your nose from where he kneels next to you. 

he just hums. "i'm going to try to push your leg forward and then push the cabinet away." he states, and you nod, just wanted this nightmare to be over. you're still terribly embarrassed and the proximity to such a hot and confusingly irritating boy is making you lose your grip. 

it takes a lot in you to not jolt when his warm hand wraps around your bare leg and starts to pull you, his strong hold on you making you tingle. "what's your name?" he asks, and you almost laugh as his grip on your thigh tightens, the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your skin making you hot. this is insane.  "y/n." you struggle out, throat feeling dry - there's no reason his hand needs to be so high up on your leg, but some part of you really wants it. "it says that on my door." you say breathlessly. 

whatever he was going to reply with is cut off as he tries to readjust his grip on you and the cabinet, but his hand slides up and grazes the skin near the apex of your thigh, coaxing a sharp gasp to fall from your mouth. 

he turns red, looking up at you, "god, sorry." he mutters, and you bite your lip, unable to look away. 

you kind of forget to say anything, stuck staring at him, heart thumping as wetness pools between your legs just from this boy's touch. god, you've got to get laid. 

his arm is wrapped around the onside of your leg, thumb reaching higher on your thigh than his other fingers, and for a moment you hesitate before deciding to go for it: you drop your hand hand to his hair, pulling lightly as you 'steady yourself,' smirking as you feel his shaky breath against your thigh. 

you don't even care about getting unstuck now, all you can think about is being fucked into the mattress by this asshole boy from the fourth floor. you’re not sure where this feeling came from. 

when he finally pushes the cabinet away, causing you to stumble to catch your ground. he helps you get the cart and then push the cabinet back, awkward small talk making you want to die. "why were you down here anyways?" you ask, rubbing your leg. "mike kicked me out to be with a girl and all my friends are out for tonight." he sighs, rubbing his neck. "i have to do homework tonight, just going to find somewhere quiet to get it done." 

"that's surprisingly responsible." you say, looking at him wearily. he gives you an annoyed look, "what's that supposed to mean?" you roll your eyes, "you don't seem particularly academically motivated." you state, unsure if you're coming across as flirtatious or just a dick. he gives you a look as he moves to grab his things from next to your bed. "you seem more pleasure motivated." 

you catch your mistake immediately - and he does, too, smirking. you stutter to fix it, "don't be gross." you defend weakly. 

he's biting his lip and something rumbles in your chest, flames in your abdomen. it's hard to gauge if you don't like him or if you do. maybe you're just horny.

"i thought you were cute, you know, until you showed up at three in the morning to chew me out." he mutters, eyebrows raised, "i get that that was annoying, but it was a saturday. everyone was drunk, i don't get why you are still being a bitch." his face drops when he says that, as if he didn't mean to say it at all, but he doesn't take it back. you shrug, not too offended. he kind of has a point, "i don't get why you have to make everything so much harder than it has to be. doesn't matter how hot you are,  i don't have to like you, you know." you say, crossing your arms with a smirk. 

"believe me, i'd rather you not like me." he says, smile on his face troubling. you look at him, trying to gauge why you're feeling so flustered, why you want to jump his bones right now no matter how annoying he is. "then why haven't you left yet?" you challenge. you figure if you're reading his actions wrong, this gives him an out. 

"because i kind of want to fuck you now." he says boldly. you just smirk, walking towards where he sits on your desk chair, lowering yourself to straddle him. he looks up at you, eyes large and mischievous as he pulls you down on him all the way, your hips grinding lightly. "i think you want to fuck me always." you whisper, lips hovering above his, teasing. you're eating up all his attention, soaking it up and savoring the way he watches you. 

you boldly snake your hand down between the two of you, lips still refusing to touch his, your hand starting to tease his clothed cock as it hardens under your palm. you stroke him as you lean, almost kissing him before pulling away. he glares at you. 

then you move your hips, the tension in your room killing you. he lets out a half-moan, causing you to buck your hips again, relishing in the pleasure it gives you. he leans forward, trying to catch your lips, but your hand catches his chest, your lips just centimeters from his own.  "fuck you, y/n." he says, fed up with your teasing as his hands squeeze your ass, moving to the bottom of your thighs and then rising with surprising ease, holding you against him and making your heart thump in shock. he takes four long strides towards your bed, tossing you on it. you grin, expecting for him to climb onto you, but instead he's walking towards your door, making your heart quicken. is he leaving? 

he slams your door shut, though, and it makes you smirk as he clicks the lock. you're on your back, the sight of him upside down making you bite your lip, eyes nearly even with the bulge in his sweatpants. 

he walks up to you, and you eye him as he bends forward, hand catching your chin, holding your head forward with a strength you didn't expect. "look at me." he says suddenly. you blink, feeling hot as you stare into his eyes. 

"don't tease me." he says, and you swallow, heart racing in excitement. "okay." you croak, and it seems to satisfy him because he tilts your neck from here he holds your neck and chin, kissing you soundly on your lips. you feel on fire at his touch, squirming as you slip your hands into his hair - it's making you so needy that he's holding you, almost trapped on the mattress, kissing him upside down. 

he pulls away and you flip around, allowing for him to climb onto the bed, barely enough time before you pull him in for another kiss, this one heated and desperate. 

he bites marks on your neck as your hands palm him, pushing your own thighs together in need. slowly, you push him down against your mattress and sling a leg over his hip, moving to straddle him. his hands find your hips easily, looking at you like you're the only thing ever worth looking at; your breath leaves your lungs and you steady yourself, the reality of how fucking beautiful bill is hitting you at once. 

you pull his shirt off, yours coming off, leaving you in just your shorts and underwear. he palms your tits, pinching your nipple as you grind down against his cock, whimpering at the feeling of his pants against your clothed clit. "if only you'd come up to my room like this." he says, and you snap your eyes to his, seeing the teasing grin but glaring at him. "maybe you would've been nicer to me if you knew how good i'd make you feel." he whispers as you resume your hip's movement, "shut up, bill." you hiss. he laughs, his thumb making contact with your clit takes you by surprise and you jump a bit, moaning quietly as your eyes close in pleasure. 

"take these off." he mutters into your mouth as you bite his bottom lip. you take off your shorts, quickly resuming your spot straddling him, his lips trailing from your breasts to your throat and then your mouth again, grinding against him in need. he toys with your slit over your panties before he pulls them slowly to the side, spreading your juices on his long fingers, humming as he brings his fingers to his lips, watching you as he licks his fingers. you nearly moan, impatient enough that you kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips faintly; "do you want me?" you whisper against his lips.

"i wish i didn't," he says, "but yes. do you want to do this?" 

you're breathless, beside yourself with need, "yes." you say quickly, tugging his sweats off and tossing them to the floor. "fuck you, by the way." you spit, flipping him off. he grins and it's fucking beautiful, his smirk, his red cheeks, heaving chest. budding hickeys bloom over his neck and chest as he catches your hand, tugging you forward over him, whispering, "you're about to." 

you roll your eyes, ignoring the butterflies in your chest, hand falling over his as he pumps himself. your thumb swipes over his tip, spreading his precum before opening the condom he'd pulled out of his pocket (you don't even want to know why he brought one with him to study) and roll it onto his cock. 

and then you’re pushing aside your panties and stabilizing yourself on bill’s chest. you line yourself up on him and look to him for one last confirmation. he nods, “quick fucking around, babe.” he says, but his voice sounds desperate and his cheeks are flushed and you let out a strangled moan as you sink onto him, the nickname making your stomach flutter. you have to stay and give yourself time to adjust to his size, his moans swallowed by your own mouth as your tongue swipes his. his hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, your ass, your breasts and then rising to cup your neck and back. 

“shit, bill.” you whimper as you slowly start to move up and down. his eyes fall shut in pleasure and his head tilts back, exposing the entire expanse of his throat for you to claim, his hands falling to your hips. your eyes watch his thin necklace shine in the faint light from your lamp and he's filling you up perfectly. 

he looks like fucking heaven.

you kiss his neck lightly as you pick up the pace, bouncing on him steadily as his fingers grip the sides of your thighs.

“fuck, y/n.” he whispers, staring at you with his lips caught between his teeth. the feeling of him stretching inside you and hitting the perfect spot has your legs shaking already, breathing heavily. he’s soon surging up, kissing you deeply as groans fall from his lips, his arms rising to your waist to hold you as you move.

"you're much better when you're not talking." you mutter as you fuck yourself on him, moving your hips as you bounce. he rolls his eyes, "i'd fuck you every day if it meant you wouldn't come ruin my fun every night." he quips back, eyes challenging. and your hand rises to squeeze around his throat, at first as a joke, but then he smiles brightly, a smirk that stirs something in you and you squeeze ever so slightly, the feeling of his pulse making you moan. 

his smirk sends butterflies through your stomach, pleasure swirling in your core. but then his own hand rises to your own throat, squeezing lightly.

you moan, unable to keep it together. "you think two can't play this game, y/n? it's like you don't know me." he tuts, seemingly pleased as you're flushing, gasping as your legs stutter, his hips moving up to meet yours, strokes hitting you deep. “i don’t,” you whisper, and he hums. 

your legs stutter after one particularly satisfying thrust and he grabs your hips, lifting slightly and biting his lip as he starts to thrust up into you. “oh, my god,” you moan as he hits your g spot and he curses under his breath.

your hand comes up to rest on the wall behind him as you meet each other half way, hitting a spot deep inside you that has you moaning his name loud enough for anyone to hear. you hope to god your next door neighbors are out. 

he presses his lips to yours and you know its to get you to stop being so loud - it makes your toes curl in pleasure. then his thumb snakes its way to your lips, his grin widening when your lips immediately part and suck on the finger, humming around it as your hand rests on his neck, the other over his abs as you bounce. 

"so pretty like this, y/n." he leans up, then, sitting up more and changing the angle, making you gasp with a moan as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his face with the hand on your face. he pulls his thumb from your mouth with a light pop, your legs barely riding him at your proximity, instead steady on his hips, his cock warm and stretching you. "do you think you'd look pretty under me?" he asks. you swallow, moving your hips again and sliding on his cock, movements making you stare at him, pleasure building. 

"i think you would." he whispers, hand still on your neck. you whimper a bit, sliding off of him, allowing him to climb over you, kissing you soundly before pulling you to the edge of your bed, legs hanging off as he stands in front of you. lifting one leg, he kisses your knee and holds it up as he teases your slit with his cock before sliding into you again, causing you to let out a loud moan, his own melding with yours. 

your eyes roll back at the new angle, legs shaking as his fingers dig into your thigh. “wanna see your f-face when i make you cum.“ he mutters, hand rising to thumb your lip, dragging your bottom lip down.

 "you think you're gonna make me cum?" you bite, knowing no man you've been with has been able to. 

you watch as his eyes admire the half-lids of your eyes, the blissed, fucked-out look on your face. your chest is littered in blossoming hickes, varying from pink to dark red and slightly purple already. 

he says nothing in response to you, but pulls your leg further open, spitting down onto your cunt, making you moan lightly, the action being terribly sexy. his thumb finds your clit and starts to rub perfectly in counteraction to his thrusts, his lips finding your nipple. 

you gasp in pleasure, panting as you start to wonder if he really is going to make you cum. then his thumb rubs circles on your clit and as he presses lightly, you can’t hold off any longer. “fuck,” you hiss as you hit your peak, your orgasm making your legs shake. you can’t help it, gasping and bucking your hips as you clench against his cock in bliss, your orgasm causing you to tug his hair in ecstasy. “so pretty.” he mutters against your neck, pressing kisses to it as you’re moaning and arching your back. "so good, cumming for me." he says cockily. you're panting as you whisper, "shut up," his hips still pounding into yours. 

“god, you're such a sweet talker.” he mutters sarcastically as you look at him desperately, his eyes fall shut in bliss, a deep groan leaving his lips, you can tell he's close. 

"and you're such a gentleman." you jest back, pulling him closer by his shoulders, eyes shutting in bliss. he hums, strokes getting sloppier, "i let you cum first, didn't i?" he counters. 

you huff a laugh, something in your heart twinging in affection. you kiss him so you don't say something stupid, moving your hips with his. a few strokes and he's pulling you closer to him by your back, whimpering into your mouth, “y/n, fuck.” beautiful moans fall from his cherry colored lips as he cums, and you just stare at him in awe, surprised by how hot it is as he says your name. he rides his high and then falls off of you, onto the mattress between you and the wall. 

"hey," he says after a few moments of you both catching your breaths, your hands overlapping on your stomach but not nearly holding hands. it makes you feel warm in a weird way. excited, nervous. 

"what?" you ask, turning to stare into his eyes. he smirks, "you think we woke up the downstairs neighbors?" he whispers, eyes alight with tease. 

you shove him, smothering him with a pillow while he laughs, pulling you onto him. 

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters @unfortu-nate-ly @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie  @decafcoffeew

[chanluster]

the duke and i | {m} ; {f}

teaser | bridgerton! au | f2l! au | approx. 25k words

“The Duke of Hastings can show you much more than what you write of.”

s u m m a r y >> wishing to be a successful writer in the regency period seemed next to impossible for the sole daughter of a dead earl. with arising pressures from your mother to tie the knot, you turn to your dearest friend, hwang hyunjin, duke of hastings and the most eligible, scandalous bachelor of the season, for assistance. when he suggests the insane of idea of marrying each other to help each other, you agree to the proposal, unaware of just how much the duke can teach you of the wonders of matrimony.

w a r n i n g s >> noble! reader, duke! hyunjin, hyunjin is a fucking rake, reader is a fucking nerd, also really really innocent, hyunjin is sosososo hot, a lot of teasing, endearments, sexual tension, kissing, making out, corruption kink!!!!! corruption! fucking! kink! oral (f. receiving) fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe hoemies!!) orgasming on multiple occasions, (kind of) hate sex, there is fluff i promise, tiny bit of angst

p l a y l i s t >> here!

t a g l i s t >> @fivefootfuryanon @h0eforhyunjin16 @seoulicitae @linoscult @aliceu @hwangi @shipsaremything98 @babyyynatty @kabira @danyxthirstae01 @sunseokkies @lunefilm @severetimetravelnerd @minaamhh @starry--koo @ninjaleeknow @hyunjeonnies @inlovewithasa @titleisyettobemade @maedesculpaeusoubi​@healinghyunjin @fleeingreality (send an ask if u wish to be added!!)

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e >> hello hi i am finally writing this fic!! bridgerton may be problematic but simon basset was still the sexiest man i’ve ever seen in period dramas so here is hyunjin being that exact sex god in this teaser i hope you enjoy <3

back to masterlist

“____, YOU HAVE WRITTEN A BLOODY MASTERPIECE!”

Your entire body stilled.

“I...I did what?”

“Wrote a masterpiece!” He swiped through the pages, lighting up at each word that passed his gaze. “A bestseller! An award winning novel!” 

A smile worked its way onto your lips. “You...you really think so?”

Sighing out in exasperation, he set the papers upon the desk as he began to lose his initial anger. “How could you be embarrassed about something so beautiful?” He put his hand on the gold chair, leaning onto its head. “Your descriptions were lovely, the characters are perfectly imperfect. You have really outdone a lot of the writers in circulation.”

Your shoulders sagged a little — almost as if you had been carrying a heavy burden, and this man had taken it off of you.

You made sure he saw your joy when you said, “Thank you, blondie.”

Seeing the pure contentment upon your face had your friend looking away, eyes narrowing to the plans once again.

“There was, however, one thing which needed improvement.”

The setback had you straightening once again, eager to hear. At least he was not sweetening it fully. “Go on.”

“As I was reading through, right till the end, I noticed a lack of very important details.” 

That was quite strange. “A lack of?” you asked, when you were so sure that you had added too much of everything.

“Yes.”

His fingers drummed against the velvet of the chair.

“I noticed that there was a deep lack of...passion.”

An incredulous look was your reply. “Passion?”

“Yes, passion. Desire.” He jerked his head towards the papers. “I hardly saw any of those emotions in the book.”

This new information was certainly quite worrying. “But I do not understand,” you started. “My whole novel is based on this relationship, of the love that blossoms and grows—”

“I understand that, darling, I really do,” he said. “I know what you are going to say.” 

The drumming continued. “But where is that residing in the chapters? Where is that physical lust implied in the characters?”

Lust. 

You had heard of the word before. Heard of its implications, yet never grasped the weight of its meaning. Was it just another form of longing? 

If only your mother had given you an education on this side of love.

“What do you mean...lust?”

Hyunjin raised a groomed brow. “What else could I mean, angel?”

The way he voiced that question, that endearment had you parting your mouth, unable to say anything. You tried to speak, to say something to ease the tension which came slithering back into the bedroom.

“I...what were you expecting? From the relationship.”

Curling his locks behind his ear, his gaze became obscure. “You spoke of forbidden love, of...of a coupling which should not be occurring but happened through the fate of the universe. Is that right?”

When you nodded, he carried on. “See, I did not sense that from their exchanges. Their emotions are tame, chaste. An innocence which cannot be tainted.

“Now where is the fun in that?”

You dared not break his gaze. “What is that ‘fun’?”

His eyes seemed to darken. “That ‘fun’ in the relationship is physicality. Where is that in your novel?” 

He took a step towards you. “Where are the unbreaking stares? The curious hands, aching to caress another’s? Where are the trembling breaths, the lust-stained sighs that fan lovers’ lips?”

The duke had you craning your neck back as he looked down at you. “Where are the kisses, my darling?”

You gulped. “K-kisses?”

“Yes, kisses,” he repeated softly. “Lips enveloping lips, tasting your inner workings? Travelling to your neck, your collarbone...places which cannot even be whispered in polite society?”

Each part he mentioned had its goosebumps pricking.

The bastard still did not stop. “Where is that passion, ____? Where is that forbidden love, which makes the heart burn wilder?”

And as he descended before you on his knees, hands settling on your lap, you had a feeling swirl up your sides which had never struck you before.

“If I were the man in your book, I would not be tame with you.” 

His eyes offered a new, intimidating darkness. “Because if you were my woman, then I do not think I’d control myself. The moment I’d catch the innocence dancing in your eyes, I’d have waltzed it away into my shadows.

“Only God could save you from my hunger, then.”

Silence descended upon the two of you.

One waiting for the other to speak, and the other unable to form the words to do so.

The moon had illuminated your husband, one side of his face glowing like a celestial being, the other side basked in darkness. How strange, when he had compared himself to it just a few moments before.

You seemed unable to look away from him. His gaze, always intense, now became so penetrating you wondered whether he could glance at your soul, quivering from his feedback. 

Improvements which you still did not quite comprehend, despite the implications.

Somehow, he could see it on your face. “I have a feeling you still do not grasp the idea. Is that correct?”

A half nod. “I…” God, speak! “I just...I have never understood it, Hyunjin.”

Your head dipped down, darting at the plains of your hands. “You asked me about lust, and I simply cannot answer because I do not know. I have never experienced such emotion.

“Hell, I have not witnessed a single action that you spoke of. How could you expect me to write of desires I have never even felt?”

This.

This was unchartered territory. This was a terrain you had not explored with him.

Yes, he was your best friend. But one does not talk of such...dangerous conservation when your best friend happens to be a man — a complete rake, at that.

It seemed as if the rake, too, was thinking the same. 

His legs, a force which had never let him down, threatened to buckle under him. His mouth opened, only for silence to answer you. 

Lord and all His subjects help him. He did not think he could contain it any longer.

And as his eyes exposed you, vulnerable before him, he only knew of one thing — one fact within this ocean of uncertainty you swam in.

He would jump into the waters for you. But not in the notion to haul you out to safety.

No, the duke would drag you down further, with him as your sole saviour.

Or even your destroyer. Your fated undoing.

For the Duke of Hastings will absolutely ruin you, body and soul.

“Hyunjin?”

A blink.

A singular action, dragging him back to dark, dark reality — sweeter than his fantasies as it sat before him, shy and wide-eyed.

An innocent reality all for him to defile.

“Yes, angel?”

You tried not to shudder at his lilting whisper. “How am I to be helped?”

The man did not even think of the possibilities, to your surprise.

If only you knew, how long he had kept them hidden for.

“How about...how about I assist you?”

Confusion washed over your features. “And how would you assist me, Hyunjin? You have never written a novel.”

His answer was a chuckle, revealing slight glimpses of his teeth as he stood.

“That is true, yes.”

Sitting down beside you, he planted his hands behind him on the bed, leaning into the position. 

“But what I can provide aid for is the one feature you lack in your writing.”

His voice right behind gave you a fright.

“Pure, raw lust.”

Looking over yourself, you watched him reclined in ease. Your speech was uneven as you said, “And...and how will you help me with that?”

“Simple, my darling.” A pause, looking you over. “I shall provide you with examples. Show you what truly happens between a man and woman when all they yearn for is each other.”

He saw the further questions in your gaze. The questions you dared not voice out loud, perhaps dared not understand. 

Smirking, he sat himself up, eyes never leaving yours as his hands encircled your own, bunched up in your dress. As his fingers brushed against your linen he felt his skin go aflame. 

“If, of course, you would let me.”

Tilting your head slightly upwards, you sensed a foreign warmth envelop your face, burning at the sight of your friend studying you like an empty canvas, begging to be filled.

Maybe you were an empty sheet of paper, waiting to be painted with guidance by the master. Maybe that master was beside you all along.

“What will you do to me, Hyunjin?”

There it was. The question which may have been his drug — his purest form of opium. 

Because when his hands travelled upwards, sliding to your face and imprisoning you with his stare, he knew he would become addicted.

A shame he did not care for his well-being when you were so fucking tempting.

“Show you what real passion tastes like.”

[hermannsthumb]

possible prompt for a university au: newt is the biology major who maintains all the fish tanks in the physics building at 11pm and hermann is the physics student who likes to wander the halls to think. newt accidentally flings water all over the ground and hermann trips, hijinks ensue.

earlier today I was thinking about how I wrote a college AU fic almost 3 years ago to the date, and how I wanted to do more bc its fun thinking about newt and hermann as dumb college students

----

Newt's not really sure how he ended up with the weirdest work-study job on the planet, but honestly, things could be much, much worse (he could be stuck down in the dining hall, or dealing with confused freshmen in the school bookstore) so he keeps his thoughts on the whole thing to himself. Every Friday at eleven sharp, Newt pulls on his grodiest t-shirt and a pair of long rubber gloves and treks all the way over to the physics department to set to work scrubbing down the fish tanks that line the classroom walls. Why does the physics department have fish tanks? Newt's not really sure about that, either. It's kind of an insane amount of them, too, more than even the marine bio department has. Maybe it's supposed to boost morale or something. Hey, look at these crazy cool tropical fish who get to do nothing but eat and swim in circles, sorry you're stuck inside calculating velocity and shit.

Whatever, Newt's not complaining about that either. Let the physics nerds have their fun. It'll be good for them to branch out a little, realize there's life beyond robotics club meetings.

Also, Newt likes the fish. They're cute. He likes to think they like him, too, because they're very well behaved when he has to scoop them out of their tanks and plop them into smaller fish bowls (the kind goldfish in movies always use). He's going to teach them tricks eventually—he had a beta fish once who would do a little flip when Newt tapped the glass a certain way because he knew he'd get rewarded with dried worms, so Newt knows it's possible. Just imagine, a hundred fish doing flips on command. Newt Geiszler, fish whisperer.

Yeah, maybe the job could be more glamorous. It's really hard to get algae out of the gloves, and he hasn't been allotted the budget for a new pair yet.

"Hey, guys!" he shouts as he pushes in the door to room 214. The fish don't acknowledge him: they just continue swimming in their giant tank. In and out of plastic plants and rock caves. The rock caves were a gift from Newt three months into the job, and so were some of the moss balls—stimulation is important for fish! He wouldn't want to be trapped in a glass box with nothing to do, either. "I bet you missed me. Ready for a clean tank?"

Newt always talks to the fish, even if they don't talk back, because he thinks it's important to build their trust. He'll usually keep a running commentary of his week as he scrubs the tanks, just get everything off his chest that he needs to get off. Stuff he's worried about. Stuff that went well. Stuff that went badly. Therapy's expensive, and Newt's student health insurance can only cover so much, but talking to fish? That's free.

That's also kinda why he does it so late at night and over the weekend. The last thing he wants is an audience. Because, one, talking to fish is admittedly weird, and two, no one wants a glimpse at Newt's psyche like that, probably not even the fish.

The first step in cleaning the tanks is relocation. Newt digs his stereotypical goldfish bowls and an industrial-size mesh wand out of the supply closet, fills the former with some of the special tank salt water, and begins the slow and arduous task of scooping out the fish and depositing them into the bowls. "I had the lamest week," he announces once he's about three clownfish in. "I was working on a group project Saturday—"

Then Newt stops, because he hears footsteps in the hallway just outside the classroom.

Serial killer, Newt's instincts supply helpfully.

No, Newt corrects himself, that's dumb. Why would a serial killer wander into the physics building at eleven o'clock at night? Why would anyone, period? He's probably imagining stuff. Lack of sleep, stress over his upcoming projects, residual embarrassment from his disaster study session Saturday, all of it culminating in Newt thinking there's someone there. No, definitely imagining it. Newt can only even get in this late to the department because his ID swipe card is set up with the right permissions—not even the physics students have the permissions he does to be in this late at night. Well, not unless they clean the kitchenette in the student lounge or something.

Or if Newt left the door unlocked.

More footsteps. Closer now.

Newt's pretty sure he didn't leave the door unlocked, because he thinks it locks automatically behind him, and he would have to literally prop it open for anyone to get in after him. But anything's possible. The door could've caught on a dropped pencil or a paper scrap or other weird shit that physics students leave around, and a serial killer could've noticed and taken the opportunity to sneak inside on the off chance a hapless young biology major was scrubbing slime off fish tanks in the middle of the night. Any minute now, Newt's about to end up on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries. The Physics Department Murder. The Disappearing Biologist. (Nah, neither of those are very good titles, but that's why Newt isn't on the creative writing track.)

Step-tap-step. Closer now; Newt's heart leaps to his throat. Step-tap-step. Step-tap-step. Pausing just outside the door of room 214. God, why didn't Newt turn the lights off? Why didn't he shut the door?

Newt reaches for the first vaguely weapon-shaped thing he can find—an empty fishbowl, because Newt's not going to sacrifice any of the fish for this—and, as the door swings open, hurls it with a cry.

The bowl clunks on the ground. Except it turns out Newt grabbed the wrong fish bowl, because (even though it doesn't shatter, thank God) water quickly begins to seep across the slate floor tiles towards Newt's serial killer, a pathetic little clownfish (Newt thinks this one is named Albert, because the physics department is made up of nerds who do shit like name their random pet fish after their kind) flopping around in the puddle. Newt's serial killer, meanwhile, cries out similarly, his arms windmilling as he loses his footing and slips backwards, his cane—

Oh, fuck.

The intruder is not a serial killer. It's someone possibly worse, actually: Newt's mortal enemy, Hermann Gottlieb.

Newt's not really sure at what point Hermann became his mortal enemy and not just some guy I have class with that I hate, but he can pretty easily say that they've hated each other since the moment Hermann walked through the doors of Engineering 101 and was deigned Newt's lab partner by the Alphabetized By Last Name Seating Chart god. Something about Hermann just gets under Newt's skin. It's not his prissy English accent, or his oversized sweaters, or his absolutely horrendous haircut, and it's not even that he takes every opportunity to savagely rip apart every single thing Newt says in class. Don't get Newt wrong, that's all super fucking annoying, but it's annoying levels he can deal with.

It's the stuff they have in common that makes Newt hate him. It's like Hermann's a slightly broodier and more angular mirror that reflects all of Newt's most egregious faults—his arrogance, his stubbornness, his social awkwardness, his desperation to be taken seriously—right back at him. It sucks.

Plus, one time Newt caught Hermann ripping down the flyer he put up on the quad for Anime Club to advertise his stupid chess club instead, and he's never managed to forgive him for that.

Newt may hate Hermann, but he's not about to let him land on his ass in a puddle of fishy water (especially not on a freezing November night) just because the subsequent bitching would be unbearable, and, yeah, it would be supremely shitty of Newt, so he leaps forward just in time to catch Hermann and his cane before he hits the ground. He's so impressed with himself with his amazing catch that it takes him a few seconds to realize that Hermann is shouting and probably has been shouting since he slipped.

"—bloody maniac! What on earth are you doing in here? How are you in here? Did you just assault me? I'm going to phone campus police, you wretched—"

"Hold that thought," Newt says.

He rights Hermann and snags the mesh net and rescues poor Al before it's too late, dropping him back into the big tank with the rest of his friends. Newt can't be sure, but he thinks Al blows a bubble in thanks at him. Maybe he needs to make friends outside fish.

Hermann is still yelling at him.

"I am going to tell the head of the department you're—you're skulking about in here after hours!" he declares. "You're a menace. Pay attention to what I'm saying to you, Newton!"

Newt sighs and turns around. Hermann's turned an interesting shade of red—sort of like an over-boiled lobster, or if he fell asleep in the sun for too long. Newt wonders if it's from embarrassment (almost falling on his ass) or anger (almost being knocked on his ass). Probably anger. "Look, dude, I'm sorry," Newt says. His face twists like he ate a lemon, and he hopes Hermann doesn't notice. Newt hates apologizing to Hermann. "It's my job to clean the tanks every weekend. You scared the shit out of me and I freaked out—it's just that, like, no one ever comes by this late. Ever." He decides not to mention the serial killer thing. Hermann might make fun of him for being jumpy or paranoid or something.

Hermann's scowl doesn't lessen, but he does nod. Plus, he stops shouting. That's as much as Newt's gonna get of forgiveness. "Hmph," Hermann says. "You clean the tanks?"

"Every weekend," Newt repeats. He realizes he got some fish tank slime on Hermann's button-up when he caught him. Oops. Hopefully Hermann won't notice until Newt's in the safety of his dorm. "Gotta pay for my textbooks somehow." Then he frowns. "Wait, so what are you doing here? I didn't know you had access to the building this late."

Maybe Hermann is the kitchenette-cleaning guy after all. But, to his surprise, Hermann sniffs and casts his eyes to his dorky Oxford shoes. "Er," he says. "It's just—I was having trouble working out a solution to a problem, and thought a walk might do me good. Chilly nights like this one always do. And I quite like this building at night—it's calm, and much quieter than my dormitory." He fidgets. "And—well—only don't say anything to anyone, but I rewrote the permissions of my ID card so I could come and go wherever I please ages ago."

"You rewrote the permissions?" Newt says. "What the hell, wouldn't you have to hack into the security system or something to do that?"

"Well, obviously," Hermann says.

Despite himself, and despite Hermann being his Mortal Enemy, Newt is genuinely impressed. "Dude," he says. "That is so badass." Since when has Hermann been a badass?

Hermann's eyebrows jump, and he blinks at Newt behind his dorky librarian glasses. What twenty-one-year-old wears librarian glasses? With a chain? "You think so?" he says.

"Uh, totally," Newt says. "What problem were you stuck on? The one from Saturday?"

Being lab partners for engineering means Newt and Hermann have to collaborate on pretty much everything, including their midterms. Their midterm is what they've been working on for the past two weeks. On Saturday, though, they met in neutral ground to work on it (a reserved study room in the library), and, after a stupid and massive argument that had the librarians hoisting them out by their shirt collars and threatening to ban them for life, Hermann called Newt an idiot and stomped off into the night. Newt still hasn't gotten around to giving the problem another shot. Whatever, they have another week before the dumb thing is due. Plenty of time. Hermann nods. "Yes," he says. "Er—that one."

Newt glances at the clock ticking away on the wall. Quarter after eleven. Hermann's delayed him a whole fifteen minutes. Technically, he reminds himself, he doesn't actually have to have the tanks scrubbed by Friday night—he has the whole weekend to get it done. Also, he kind of feels like he owes Hermann for attacking him the way he did. Accidentally attacking. "Listen, Hermann," he says, feeling totally insane for what he's about to suggest. But he kind of wants to know more about Hermann The Badass. "What if we went back to my place and worked on it together? I'll buy us pizza, and I have, like, a bunch of energy drinks." The pizza place nearest campus is open until three in the morning, almost definitely because they get all of their business from sleep-deprived undergrads. Plus, they have midnight specials where you get free breadsticks with every pizza. Newt could go for some breadsticks. "It might be...fun," he adds.

Fun? With Hermann? Hermann will think he hit his head or something.

But to his surprise, Hermann doesn't hesitate even a second before saying "Alright, then."

"Oh," Newt says. He honestly thought Hermann would put up more of a struggle. "Cool!"

"But I might need to borrow a jumper," Hermann says. "If you'd be so...courteous, that is. I'm a bit chilly."

For some reason, the thought of Hermann (Newt's mortal enemy, but also a secret badass) curled up in one of Newt's baggy sweatshirts makes Newt feel all weird and warm all over. He swallows a few times, because his throat feels a little weird, too. Too tight. Like he just ate something he's allergic to. "No sweat," Newt says. "Let me just get these fish back in the, um, the tank. And—" He waves his slimy, gloved hands. "Take these off. And clean up that puddle. Gimme—um, gimme like, ten minutes?"

"Of course," Hermann says, and gives Newt a small, terse nod.

From Hermann, it's a smile. Newt almost slips on the puddle he's so blindsided by it. Stupid Hermann, making him feel all weird and clumsy.

[troubatrain]

truth or dare - m. barzal

a/n: so @dembenchboys​ sent me an ask about how they wanted me to write a fic about Mat eating you out for the first time and then I absolutely ran with it. So happy Saturday here’s some straight up filth that i wrote in like a night (which I haven’t been able to do in forever so that’s exciting!!)

Your roommate’s boyfriend was an absolute idiot. Anthony was about half a bottle of wine deep, his cheeks red while tears were practically streaming down his face from laughter. He barged into your apartment a few hours ago, Mat in tow, ruining your girl’s night in with Zoe. Mat was apologetic, lounging on the couch in sweats shaking his head at Anthony who didn’t take your hints that they should leave.

“I just think we should play truth or dare if it's a girl's night,” Anthony argues, waving the glass of rose he was drinking around your couch, Zoe grabbing his hand to stop him from spilling it.

“I just think you’re an idiot,” You snap back, rolling your eyes at Zoe who was trying to tame her getting-drunker-by-the-minute boyfriend.

“I’ll play,” Mat sighs, sipping his beer and sitting up from the otherside of the couch.

“I thought you were on my side here,” You tap Mat in the arm, reminding him of the secret alliance you’d made a few weeks prior.

It was silly, but after Anthony and Zoe left you with Mat in a bar, Mat was pissed. Not at you, which he made clear after he told you about fifteen times he was mad at his teammate. But, he was so upset that Anthony invited you both out but couldn’t even bother to offer you a ride home. You told him it was fine, because most of the time Anthony was actually really kind to you, but Mat didn’t believe it. After he’d driven you home, Mat made a joke about how if you were both constantly forced to third wheel your friends, you could at least have each other's backs.

“I am,” Mat assures you, waving his hand at you and leaving over to whisper to you, “Sometimes it’s just easier to let him win.”

“I’ll play one round,” You sigh, Mat’s landing on your thigh to give it a squeeze, “Don’t get too excited.”

“I am excited,” Anthony cheers, an app with a bunch of random truth or dares literally open on his phone already, “You’re going first Y/N - truth or dare?” “Truth,” You sigh, leaning back into the couch. You hear a chorus of boo’s from everyone else at your answer, “Do you want me to play or not?”

“You’re so lame,” Anthony hollers, dragging out his words, tapping his phone to shuffle a truth question, “Oh this is a good one, tell the story of the best orgasm you ever had.”

Zoe’s eyes went wide, looking at you while you choked on your drink. It wasn’t a sensitive topic, the whole never having an orgasm thing, but it definitely wasn’t something you wanted to talk about with Zoe’s drunk ass boyfriend and his insanely handsome teammate. Your past boyfriends hadn’t always been great, and considering not one of them had ever gone down on you, it wasn’t surprised you’d never had someone get you off. You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks and before a lie could come to mind, Anthony already had you read.

“You’ve never had an orgasm,” Anthony accuses, a confused look on his face. You gave it away, nodding your head and not even daring to turn to look at Mat who was sitting next to you, “Oh my-” “Beau,” Zoe stops him, grabbing his arm to remind him to be nice with whatever thing he had to say next.

“How?” Anthony asks, his jaw still practically hitting the floor, “What kind of douchebags are you dating? Or is it-” “Tito, no one’s ever gone down on me and I’ve never had an orgasm,” You start to explain, anger boiling in you that you had to explain yourself at all, “You know what? I’m going.”

You get up, grabbing your glass and a few empty plates that were littering the coffee table. You heard Anthony call your name, probably to apologize for striking a nerve, but you ignored him. You were moving around the kitchen frantically, cleaning to try and distract yourself from your own emotions. You just didn’t want to talk about it, talking about your sex life just wasn’t something you did often. You hear a few footsteps in the kitchen and you turn around quickly to spot Mat was leaning against the counter waiting for you to turn off the sick.

“Zoe drove Tito home,” Mat sighs, getting up and gently turning the knob to turn off the sink, “And I’m sorry he’s a dick.” “It’s not your fault Mat,” You take a deep breath, not breaking eye contact with the plate that was in your hand, “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset with him.”

“No you should have, he shouldn’t have questioned you,” Mat argues back, “It’s okay you know, by the way.”

“I don’t need validation from you about my lack of sexual experience just because you get laid all the time Mat,” You remind him, finally looking up at the apologetic man in front of you. Mat’s eyes were soft, with a smile that matched when you finally looked at him, “It could be just me.” “Or it’s whatever losers you’re dating who won’t go down on a girl,” Mat scoffs, running a hand through his hair. His mind had been blown from the second he realized why you didn’t answer Anthony’s question. But, Mat could believe never having an orgasm, but never having someone go down on you - that should have been a crime, “I bet I could get you off.”

“My first orgasm isn’t some prize Mat,” You say, walking past Mat to open your fridge and pull out the bottle of wine you’d opened a few hours ago.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mat rushes out, trying to fix his mistake. He looks panicked for a moment, like the gears in his head were turning. He took a few steps forward boldly, taking the bottle out of your hand and pushing you against the counter, “I just mean I could take care of you if you’ll let me.”

Mat’s large hands were gripping your waist, and you could feel yourself practically melting under his touch. You look straight at his chest, watching the chain peeking out from under his hoodie shine against the fluorescent lighting in your kitchen. You knew you breathing was heavy, and you bit your lip debating it for just a moment. Mat was a good guy, and you were sure no one would ever  find out about this if you asked him to keep it quiet, “I’m not a pity fuck.”

“You were wearing blue the first time I met you,” Mat whispers, his lips ghosting overs, “I remember that because the first time I saw you I walked over to flirt with you and then Tito introduced us.”

You smile at the memory, the light blue top you were wearing was one of your favorites. It was the end of the summer, and you were holding onto the last few moments of warm weather before fall hit New York. Zoe dragged you out that night, insisting you met her new boyfriend and a few of his friends. You remember meeting Mat that night, but you didn’t know what his actual intentions in talking to you were, “Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“Tito really likes Zoe, I didn’t want to make things weird,” Mat laughs, his eyes flicking down to your lips that were barely an inch away from his. You lean forward, throwing caution to the win and placing your lips on Mat’s. He smiled against your lips, grabbing your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Please make me cum,” You breathe out, leaving a trail of kisses down Mat’s jaw while you directed him to your bedroom. He drops you on the bed, pulling his hoodie off and tossing it aside. You bit your lip, eyes raking over every muscle on Mat’s body that was drool worthy.

“You can stop me whenever you want,” Mat assures you, climbing on top of you and pulling you in for a kiss. Mat bit down on your lip gently, smirking when he heard a moan slip through your lips, “I could kiss you all day.”

“I assumed you’d get to it by now,” You admit, knowing everyone man you’d ever been with would have thrown foreplay out the door by now. Mat laughed against your neck, taking a break from the mark he was intent on leaving.

“This is why you’ve never had an orgasm,” Mat chuckles, picking his head up to look you in the eyes, “I’m taking my time with you.”

You smile, pulling Mat back down by his chain to meet his lips to yours. Mat’s hand snuck under your shirt, waiting for you to nod and give him permission before he tossed the t-shirt behind him, groaning when he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath it. Mat pressed a kiss to your neck, making his way down between yours breasts. His tongue swirled your nipple, hands moving down your body to pull your shorts off. You arch your back, letting out a whimper when you felt Mat’s teeth against your skin. Mat kissed down your body, stopping when his lips hit just above your panties. He looked up at you, waiting for the green light to take them off.

“Go ahead Mat,” You breathe out, the anticipation practically killing you. Mat slipped his fingers under your panties, sliding them down your legs and throwing them to the side. He presses a few kisses to the inside of your thighs. You bite your lip, the sight of anyone between your thighs was new, let alone Mat. A whimper left your mouth when you felt Mat’s lips just above your clit, hot breath fanning over your pussy.

“You’re sure about this babe?” Mat asks one more time, a cautious tone to his phone. Something in your gut told you he was never this gentle, but the way he was handling you was just too sweet. You nod, watching while Mat flicked your clit gently, afraid if he went too hard too fast you’d either go into shock or you’d be too turned off to get you there. His tongue went flat, licking a stripe down your folds and teasing your entrance. Your hands landed in Mat’s hair, pulling on them gently while a moan slipped through your lips, “You like that?”

“Yes,” You whimper, a feeling you couldn’t quite describe overtaking your body. Sex never felt this good, because no one you’d ever been was bothered to pay attention to your body. Mat smirks, clearly pleased with himself for figuring out exactly what made you tick. He tossed your thighs over his shoulders, his tongue moving faster on your pussy while his nose was rubbing against your clit. You could feel it, the build up from pleasure while your moans became the only sound in your bedroom, “Mat, fuck, I think I’m going to-”

You didn’t even finish your sentence before your legs began to shake as your orgasm took over your body. Mat was gentle, his mouth still on you while you rode out your high, but not enough to overstimulate you just yet. You laid there for a minute, Mat pressing kisses into your stomach while you caught your breath. Even you could read the smile on his face, one that was clearly satisfied with the victory of finally getting you to cum, “You did so good baby.”

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks at Mat’s praise, something you were quickly learning you really loved to hear, “Do it again.”

Mat smiles against your skin, a light laugh leaving his lips, “How?”

“With your fingers,” You whisper, biting your lip and looking down at Mat’s hands that were still wrapped around your thighs. Mat nods, freeing his grip on your thighs with one hand and letting his finger trace your folds, collecting the cum from the first time. He swipes it with his finger, sucking your cum right off it.

“You taste so fucking good,” Mat admits, and you let a breathy moan as a response. Mat’s eyebrows raise, “Do you like when I praise you?”

You nod quickly, pulling Mat up to meet your lips. Mat kisses were slow, but his finger that was slipping in you wasn’t. His thumb circled your clit while he caught your moans with his mouth, “Two.”

“Give a girl one orgasm and she’s already this demanding,” Mat jokes, tucking his head into your neck while he slipped another one of his long fingers in your, “You’re taking my fingers so well princess.”

“I’m going to cum again Mat,” You moan, your hips lifting off your mattress while Mat’s fingers move relentlessly in and out of you. Your hips sputtered, your legs shaking at the pleasure of your high. Mat finally slips them out, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a muttered good girl that left a chill up your spine. You looked down, the bulge in Mat’s gray sweats was prominent, a part of you almost felt guilty for leaving him high and dry like that, “Mat let me-”

“No,” Mat grabs your hand, entwining it with his and pulling it up to his mouth, “You don’t owe me anything.”

“What if I want you to fuck me?” You bat your eyelashes, trying to muster up the sexiest face you could while Mat’s brain short circuited from your question.

“You don’t have to get me off,” Mat makes his point clear, driving home the whole notion that he doesn’t want to push you into an uncomfortable situation, “I can do it myself and-”

Your free hand makes it way down Mat’s chest, running your fingers over his abs and stopping at the waistband on his sweats, “Mat Barzal I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck,” Mat breathes out, watching you pull down his sweats and boxers in one motion, his cock springing freely from his pants. He’d been turned on from the moment he stepped in your bedroom, the idea of getting you off for the first time was just too hot for him to handle. You pumped his cock a few times, letting the precum on his dick spread. You rolled over, opening your drawer and fishing for a condom that you were thanking your lucky stars was actually in there. Mat grabs it, ripping the plastic open and rolling the condom onto his dick while you lightly rubbed your clit in anticipation, “You look so fucking perfect right now.”

“Mat please,” You whimper, a bold statement considering you’d never been one to be vocal in the bedroom about anything. Mat rubbed the head of his cock against you, slowly entering you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Mat groans, the feeling of your pussy around his cock lived in his wildest fantasies, ones that he stored in the back of his mind so he could get through hanging out with you without getting a boner. Mat bottomed out, giving you a few minutes to adjust to how big he was. You whispered a small go against his shoulder, your lips against his skin while Mat pulled his hips back and started a slow pace in you. You gripped his shoulders, digging your nails into the muscles on his back. Mat looked down at you, pushing your hair out of your face and pressing his lips against your forehead, “I think my cock was made for you babe.”

“Harder Mat,” You moan, the same feeling you got the first two times building up inside of you. Mat took the hint, his hand snaking down your body and rubbing his thumb against your clit while he picked up his own pace. Your pussy flutters around him, and you ride out of your high while Mat tries to chase his own. His movements became erratic and with a loud groan he spilled into the condom.

The room was quiet, Mat laying on top of you while you both tried to catch your breath. You traced your finger down Mat’s back, “That was something.”

“Glad I could be your first, second, and third orgasm,” Mat chuckles, finally slipping out of you and tossing the condom in the garbage. He disappeared for a moment, coming back with a warm towel to clean you up. You winced at the contact, “I know you’re still sensitive babe but you’ve got to let me take care of you.”

Mat’s words were gentle, followed by a kiss on the inside of your thigh before he got up to collect his clothes that were thrown across your room, “I don’t want to go but-”

“I know Barz,” You laugh, knowing full well he had a morning skate the next day that if he was late for Trotz would have his ass, “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Listen, next time you're out with someone I can send him notes on how to get you off,” Mat jokes, throwing his hoodie back on and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Or we can save the middleman and you can let me take you out.”

“Well I guess cutting out the middleman would be best,” You giggle, feeling Mat’s lips turn into a smile.

“So Saturday?”

“It’s a date Barz.”

[hee4won]

hate(d) | nishimura riki x reader

requested by @onionhaseyeo i’m so sorry if this isn’t what you wanted but for some reason i got super excited

a/n: this is my first time writing a fic(?) i guess it could be considered.. i just had an idea i liked for the request and it felt more like a fic than a headcanon :] i hope it’s not too bad !

word count: 2.1k

warnings: probably some grammatical errors, other than that none. (lowercase intended)

tags: e2l, slight angst, slight fluff

you hate nishimura riki. when you tell others how you feel about him they always have the same unoriginal response, “hate is such a strong word.” and that, is exactly why you chose it. 

now, in order to really understand why your hatred runs so deep, let’s get into the Three W’s! WHY do you hate him so much? he stole your best friend, she ended up developing feelings for him and ghosting you, she moved away, he never apologized for it. WHEN did you realize nishimura riki was the worst thing to ever happen to you? 7th grade, it’s always 7th grade. WHERE did the beginning of the end commence? the cafeteria, your friend decided to spill her guts out in front of the whole lunch table, only to be humiliated not long after. 

there you sat, glaring at the back of riki’s head. anyone from a mile away could sense your distaste when it came to him. truth be told, no one could understand why, and you never cared to explain. you figured the situation between the two of you or - just you and an unknowing boy -  was personal and should be kept private. you were really good at keeping it a secret too, so good that riki himself couldn’t pinpoint the issue you had with him. 

for the most part you did your best to avoid him, whether it be physically or when he was brought up in conversation between classmates. ni-ki, as people on good terms with him would address him, was a really friendly student. he didn’t pick fights, kept his teasing to a minimum, and somehow got good grades despite sleeping in and skipping classes. 

going to school knowing his sweet, smiling face would be one of the first things you would see in the morning was what kept you in bed during first period. just the idea of him was revolting, and you simply weren’t strong enough to hold your ground right after waking up.

that was until your first period teacher emailed you letting you know a group project was coming up and it counted as 60% of your overall grade. all you could do was send a friendly reply, close the laptop, and scream into your pillow. you were going to be seeing nishimura riki for the first time in almost a month. which you considered to be the best month of your life.

you were alert all morning, barely getting any sleep the night before from how nervous you were. it actually wasn’t as bad as you thought. you were late, which meant everyone already picked who they were going to group with. and, to your luck, riki was nowhere to be foun-

*bump*

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry. . . y/n?” sigh, of course it had to be him. you flashed a limp smile and hurried over to an empty seat. you noticed his hand go forward then drop down to his side, almost like he was trying to bring you back. “oh! ni-ki,” even the teacher knows his nickname? how wonderful. “what perfect timing, you and y/n will be partners for the project, i’ll send the rubric out this afternoon. class dismissed!”

your legs were like jelly, since when did you become this way? sure, you hate him but. . . not being able to move? it was different, it was new. riki noticed the look of confusion on your face and cautiously made his way over to you once all the other students cleared the classroom. “hey, y/n. i haven’t seen you in a while, have you been doing alright?” why on earth was he concerned about you? so shameless.

“yeah, i’m fine, thanks,” you glared at him while standing up and purposefully bumping into his shoulder. bad move. your knees gave out right then, luckily, riki held onto you before you could hit the cold floor. you sighed in defeat, today just wasn’t your day, and mister nishimura just wasn’t the person you wanted to be this close to.

“do you need something? or is there another reason you won’t let go of my arm,” every word had a hint of poison mixed in it. riki muttered a small apology and quickly released you. “i just wanted to let you know that we can work on the project at my place, only if you want,” he gave a boxy closed-mouth smile, almost as if he was trying to act cute. disgusting.

“whatever, give me your address and i’ll come by at 4.” and with that, you two went your separate ways.

after school

as you made your way to riki’s house, you were running over every possible scenario that could occur. you wanted to avoid arguing, only because you took your grades very seriously. but does he? you couldn’t help but feel nervous and slightly jittery as you got closer to his front steps. oh! the door is open. but. . . no riki?

you called out for him a couple times until hearing laughter and the crunching of chips coming down from the second floor. of course, he’s playing the game. trudging up the stairs you wiped off your sweaty palms, mentally preparing yourself before inviting yourself into his room.

“sunghoon, shut up! it’s not even like that, you’re so weird,” he was so loud. “jake, you too! as if you haven’t been trying to swoon that girl in your third period for the past two months now. haha!” well, boys will be boys.

you open the door and riki notices immediately. he throws his headset and controller down to the floor. “y/n, you scared me,” he was almost out of breath. “oh my bad, i called out for you but you didn’t hear me so. . .” you fiddled with your fingers awkwardly. riki muttered a quick, “it’s okay” and gestured for you to take a seat on his bed.

picking up his headset, he told the cheeky upper-class boys that he would talk to them later. grabbing his supplies and computer, he took a seat next to you. you shifted away from him a little, not comfortable with the closeness between the two of you. he didn’t seem to notice, that or he just didn’t care.

“okay, so, have you already looked over the rubric?” crickets. “helloo, earth to y/n! have you checked the rubric yet?” “OH! yes, i have, ha,” you gave a quick reply, trying to pretend the awkward moment of you staring at him never happened.

ha? are you insane? you were nervous yes, and you thought it was because of the bad terms you two were on but. . . this nervousness felt a bit different.

“i also wrote up a quick outline during lunch,” you took the paper out of your bag and moved to hand it to him. “ooh nice, you’re such a scholar,” you gave him a lighthearted “shut up” before looking back at your laptop.

did he feel that? your fingers touched. they did touch, right? you can’t be imagining all of this. Y/N. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU HATE HIM, REMEMBER?

“uh, y/n? why do you look like you’ve been holding in a wet fart for the past three minutes?” he was being playful while also holding genuine concern because of your recent actions. your jaw drops, you were always bad at keeping a poker face. but you knew you had to go back to your cold state, there was no way you were going to finish the project by gawking at him. he has such pretty lips by the way, how did you not notice sooner?

it had been a few hours since you guys started working on the project. you checked the time, 8:00 pm. “hey, riki,” you began with a small yawn. “y/n, you know you can call me ni-ki, right? that’s what all my friends call me,” his eyes suddenly widened noticing your discomfort. “wait, i mean. . . only if you want to!”

you cleared your throat and just asked for the bathroom. once inside and closing the door behind you, you felt the need to cry. sob, even. what is going on? why do you feel so bad for being around him? are you a traitor? is it wrong to be laughing and giggling like the two of you are besties?

you turned the water on, hoping it would drown out the sound of your muffled cries. unfortunately, you have some awfully loud sniffles. riki came running to where you were and knocked on the door. he spoke softly, “y/n? are you okay? can i come in?” what was the point in saying no? it is his house, and maybe if you told him. . . you’d feel better.

as you opened the door and looked up at him, the look of worry on his face made your heart ache. gosh, why do you care about him so much? he looked at your tear stained face and slowly reached out his hand, giving you a look that pleaded for your approval. you pass a small nod, and almost sank into the warmth of his hand on your cheek. he pulled you in for a hug as you cried for a little while longer. “do you wanna talk about it?”

here it was, here was the chance to let him know what you’ve been wanting to since 7th grade. you took a moment to steady your breathing and gather courage to look him in the eyes. you told him everything, from the beginning of 7th grade, to the day it all happened, all the way to where the two of you stood now.

he just sat there, probably trying to process everything you had randomly dumped on him. you were about to apologize and pack your things, but for some odd reason, he smiled? “ni-ki? what’s so funny? i was being serious,” his smile only grew bigger, “no i know, i just find it so funny how you had so much agaisnt me meanwhile i just wanted you to like me.”

he?? wanted you to like him??? hmmm. “what do you mean. . . wanted me to like you?” you were really curious, “i’ve had a crush on you since 7th grade, that’s why i rejected your friend later on. i never knew it would hurt you in the process, and for that i am sorry. very sorry.” you let out a small chuckle, “it’s not your fault, really. now that i’m older i think i was only mad that you two didn’t end up together because i liked you too. i just couldn’t live with myself for liking the same boy my best friend liked. it’s stupid, i know.”

riki reached out for your hand, which you obviously let him have. “you’re a good friend.” he flashed you a sweet and caring smile. you let out a sigh of relief, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. all this time you had been pushing for yourself to hate him, while it was all just a plot to get rid of your feelings for him. crazy.

it was 11:00 pm.

you and riki had already finished the project and were laying on his floor. the both of you just staring at the ceiling and stealing glances at each other. what lovesick little kids.

after noticing the time, you hopped up and told him you really needed to go. he gave you a small pout with puppy eyes trying to get you to stay, and of course, it was hard but you’d rather leave now and see him later than get grounded and not see him for another month. “i can just text you, don’t make that face.”

he escorted you down the stairs, both of you moving discreetly, careful not to wake the boy’s parents. he opened the door for you and you turned around, gazing at him. “what are you thinking?” he asked with a tired smile on his face and small pieces of fluffy hair sticking up in every direction. you gave a shy smile and pecked his lips. he was very surprised, but also very happy.

“nothing.” you said, holding a cheeky grin in an attempt to hide your shyness. “wow, just to think that you hate my guts,” riki poked fun at you.

“hm, hate is such a strong word.”

“what would you call it then?”

“i would say. . . i hate(d) you. past tense.”

the two of you just laughed, both of you yawning shortly after.

“goodnight, mr. ni-ki.”

“goodnight, y/n.”

and with that, the two of you went your separate ways. but this time, with mutual feelings.

oh and btw, the project got you guys an A+ ;).

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

2021 Writing Self-Evaluation

I was tagged by @scribbling-dragon to do this! Thanks for the tag!! :D

1. Number of stories posted to ao3

20! Which is like 1/4 of my total number of works on ao3, so that’s pretty neat!

2. Word count posted for the year

74,359! Which is honestly pretty impressive considering I posted mostly oneshots and drabbles this year haha

3. Fandoms I wrote for

Dream SMP, Origins SMP, 3rd Life, Last Life, Empires SMP, and Hermitcraft!

4. Pairings

SO much flower husbands omg. And one Phil and Kristin fic! 

5. Story with the most Kudos/Bookmarks/Comments

Highest by kudos was an icarus and his sun, highest by bookmarks was and the void looked back to say i love you, and the highest by comments was an icarus and his sun (y’all really liked aiahs, I’m glad!! I really liked it too!)

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why)

Definitely an icarus and his sun! I felt really afraid to post it, because A: it was super self-indulgent and I thought maybe three people would only really read it, B: it was one of the first specifically shippy flower husbands fics (most fh fics at the time barely had them kissing, cause lots of folks were nervous about overstepping boundaries, and I personally was worried about getting hate for overstepping boundaries). But the attention the fic got was INSANE and I get so many people telling me that my fic inspired them to write flower husbands, which is incredibly sweet. aiahs also got me out of a massive writing slump, it was the first multichapter work in a LONG time that I felt super inspired and motivated to write (it was also the first time EVER that I had written so much that I had a backlog of chapters, and was able to do some daily updates). I also just genuinely enjoyed writing that fic, and I’m so happy that people enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why)

Probably like a beat without a melody. It was my first foray into writing mcyt fanfic, and I don’t really feel all that confident about my characterization of Techno and Tommy in that one. However I will concede that it was the first stepping stone into getting out of a writing slump and beginning to feel excited about writing again!

8. Share or describe a favorite review you’ve received

Both @dancinglifeboat and @pastelvangelion’s reactions to my fics always made my day!! Lifeboat’s long rambling comments on specific details they liked and her pregame comments on tumblr are always lovely, and Kiki’s threats to me over aiahs on discord and tumblr made me cackle like an evil genius lmao

9. A time when writing was really, really hard

Probably the beginning of 2021. I wasn’t as into Sanders Sides as I was before (which made me feel pretty sad, but I couldn’t get myself into it as much as I used to), and because of that I was really struggling with writing. I also felt mild guilt about writing for a different fandom, because I felt like everyone expected Sanders Sides fic from me. I honestly still feel like that a little bit, but that’s mostly my own head being mean, a lot of people seem to have stuck around no matter what I write! And I also have just learned to let myself enjoy things too! Not to mention that I’ve made a bunch of new friends through mcyt!

10. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you

I honestly didn’t think I’d be into flower husbands as much as I am. I thought I’d write a handful of fics and eventually go back to writing Dream SMP fic or get back into Sanders Sides or something, but I really am just no thoughts, head empty, just flower husbands. But as for any specific scene or character, I am surprised that I like writing Jimmy as much as I do. Scott has been my favorite cc for a while (I’ve watched him since like 2016 I think?) so I kind of assumed I’d mostly write in his POV for stuff, but again and again I found myself writing from Jimmy’s POV. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely write from Scott’s POV a lot, but aiahs was mostly Jimmy’s POV, which wasn’t exactly what I had expected to do lol. 

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing

Scott laughed, dipping and twirling in the sky while Jimmy struggled to keep up. Going after someone who had actual wings while Jimmy only had an elytra was a definite disadvantage, but Jimmy was a little too stubborn to care. Scott climbed higher into the sky with ease, Jimmy following close after- and then the sun hit Scott’s wings and Jimmy just about fell out of the sky. The sun’s rays caught the gold tips of his wings, making them shimmer. But it wasn’t just the sunshine reflecting off his wings- it was the way Scott’s whole face seemed to shine like the sun with his smile and how the wind ruffled his usually neat hair. It was how his laugh sounded as if the shimmering of gold made a sound. It was how those icy blue eyes sparkled with mirth as he held the slimeball victoriously above his head. It was how Scott’s expression suddenly melted from that of a mischievous trickster to something almost fond. All of those things caused that pleasant flip-flopping feeling in his stomach to return, and Jimmy suddenly pitched down because of it. He quickly righted himself, flushing in embarrassment and glaring at Scott’s resulting smirk.

it took me way too long to pick just one excerpt, but i eventually went with this one from ch 4 of aiahs! another close contender was the balcony kiss scene from ch 5 of aiahs, but i decided to go with this one instead cause it’s less angsty lol. but i really like this scene bc i am very proud of the icarus imagery here, as well as the flying description!! 

12. How did you grow as a writer this year?

I think I’ve definitely improved a lot! My characterization has gotten pretty good, and I’ve gotten better at some prose-y and poetic-y type stuff in my writing instead of relying completely on dialogue. I’ve also let myself just write things that I like, without worrying too much about what people “want” from me.

13. How do you hope to grow next year?

While I said that I had gotten better at the more prose/poetic type of writing, I definitely could do with letting up on the dialogue a bit and doing more descriptive writing. Not a whole ton, because my writing style lends more to focusing on characterization, but I do wanna get better with describing a character’s surroundings in a way that is relevant to the fic and doesn’t interrupt the flow of the writing! 

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc)?

Honestly anyone who has left comments on AO3 or ramblings in reblogs on tumblr has been such a positive influence on me. I also want to shoutout people who send me asks or messages about fics/aus- @silencer-lemonade, @screamingallium, @smaidjor, @god-of-identity, @dancinglifeboat, @vyeoh, and crown anon are some people off the top of my head who have done so, but there are also so many people who have motivated me this year on discord! If you’re in the rps (ranboo protection squad), or hermbi discord, I love and appreciate you all very many <3 (and also special shoutout to @scribbling-dragon who has motivated me as much as they say I’ve motivated xem!)

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year

the fact that i am incredibly touch-starved and constantly yearning lmao. oh also particularly the amount of platonic hand-holding that showed up in aiahs. someone hold my hand pls i love holding hands with people

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers

write what you want!! even if you think you’re the only person in the world who’d want to read it, write it anyway! bc in my experience, there will probably be at least one other person who likes it, and sometimes fics will surprise you! there have been so many times where i’ve written something on a whim and people have loved it!

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year

I really want to write more of interrupted isolation this year, as well as maybe FINALLY start that aiahs nature wives sequel! or just write more for the aiahs-verse in general haha

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

uhh how about @infinitelysordinary and @smaidjor! i’d like to see what you’ve got to say about ur fics in 2021!

[shhhlikeme]

F*cked Out 💤

Ojiro Aran Domestic Smut (NSFW) part 2

A/N: I wrote this as a Part 2 to this fic, but it can be read as a stand alone!

18+, Explicit smut, praise kink, Aged up obvs, Timeskip spoilers

Tagging: @saitamastamaticsoup & @chunhua-s b/c these Aran stans found part 1 last night & their comments made me thirsty enough to write a pt. 2. Hope you like it!

also my lovely @qyuanon who I just read is back and I missed her💛

Futilely, you knocked on the door to yours and your man’s home office. Leaning on the frame, you crossed your arms. Being a literal isolationist when you had to work, you never understood why your man liked keeping the office door open. But then he told you once that he didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t hear you calling him if the door was closed. ‘What if something happened and I didn’t run to you?’ He had explained, pouting when you laughed at him. It warmed your heart, but you decided not to call his name tonight, instead opting to physically pay him a visit. You had to, because what lead you here in the first place was serious! You had just woken up in the middle of the night because his side of the bed had turned cold. Yeah, that deserved nothing less than a visit from you! 

From your spot in the doorway you could see Ojiro sitting at the grand desk, his back turned to you, the lights from his laptop playing some Team Canada highlights. The screen bluelight shone brightly on his gorgeous dark skin, the back of his head bobbed up and down as he dutifully wrote down any important plays he was seeing so that he could tell his coach tomorrow.

“Babe,” You announced your presence with a soft smile. Your man is such a hard worker and he really doesn’t get enough credit for it. You tighten the robe you were wearing because it was always kind of drafty on this side of the house. “You have a game tomorrow.” 

Your boyfriend, captain of the Japanese National Volleyball Team’s shoulders slumped when he heard you, but he didn’t turn around. 

He didn’t have to.

He never had to. Even though you’ve only been dating for a bit over a year, you two knew each other so well that you could accurately tell exactly what kind of expressions, feelings, and thoughts permeated the other without having to be vis-a-vis. When you first met, your dates were—objectively speaking—oddly silent for the most part. The waitress once asked you if you were uncomfortable through an inconspicuous napkin note, which was kind of her—but the truth was that on that date you were actually more than Okay! It might have seemed odd to an outsider or eavesdropper that no sentences were being finished, and both people on said date were constantly staring down, away, or into each others eyes in silence… but realistically, neither of them could grasp the fact that words weren’t necessary when there existed a connection like yours and Aran’s. 

‘It’s fate. He’s the one.’ You had told your friends after the second date when you realized your mind reading wasn’t a fluke. Because as corny as it sounded then and even now in your memory; it was true, tf. 

Doesn’t mean you weren’t going to kick his ass for letting his side of the bed go cold, though. You were used to Aran being gone for volleyball so you had no problem falling asleep alone, but when you were ecstatic to have him home it was important for him to REMAIN home, which means staying in bed if you fell asleep on his chest! He has never done it before, so This is not Okay!

“I know, baby, I know…” your boyfriend calls to you, scribbling on his notepad faster. “I’m almost done. I-I think their setter could be doing one of two plays to start tomorrow, and I don’t think it’s the one I was sure about before we went to bed. And I mean, we play them until 12pm, so—“

“So nothing. You still have to be up by 6. The stadium is far and knowing you, you won’t sleep on the Team’s bus, you’ll still be watching these videos even then. I’ll—“

“Please don’t tell Iwaizumi-san, he will kick my ass! We’re playing Team Canada tomorrow and they are ranked just under us but—“

“Not by a lot, I know. I understand, but you guys will still pull the win. I know it....because Your team has you.”

Aran chuckled heartily, continuing to scribble with his back still turned, but his voice turned a little more endearing. “Thank you, baby. But.... I can’t seem to sleep tonight... I just can’t. I’ve been up this whole time so I—” As your boyfriend babbled on, you quietly interjected, 

“I know a way to get you to sleep.” 

“—won’t use my laptop in bed and wake you up when you’re sleeping so….wait….what did you—?” 

You smirked, knowing that your man knew why your voice had dropped a few octaves. He knew you were up to something, not because you two could practically read each other’s minds—moreso because you two had already established that that specific tone of voice of yours made his dick hard. The pen he was scribbling with stopped moving, finally, and you could just picture the way he gulped just now. 

“I know you can’t sleep, Ar…..” You made sure he could hear you clearly now, in the voice you only reserved for fuck-me-o’clock. 

A sexy smirk that Ojiro could see without looking at you played in his mind and on your face simultaneously. 

“Yeah?” He asked, his deep voice cracking. 

You kept speaking in that voice with one goal in mind.

“Yes, baby…” You hummed thoughtfully before stating,

“So why don’t you come over here and fuck me so hard it puts you to bed, then?”

Drunk off horniness caused by the amount sex dripping from your voice, the captain of Japan’s National Volleyball Team slowly turned the office chair so that he was facing you. 

Boldly, you turned your back to him at the same time and fiddled your hands that just tightened your robe. This time, instead of tightening it, you loosened the strings fully so your robe was wide open, facing the emptiness of your house. Knowing that your boyfriend was checking out and admiring your ass in that short silk robe and desiring the shock factor—in one motion you tossed the robe over your shoulders so that it pooled at your feet, exposing your completely nude back and backside to your man. 

“🤤 Shit,” Ojiro groaned, sounding as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. You just knew your man was biting that full and juicy bottom lip of his.

Swaying your hips to give your man a tiny show, you sauntered precisely where he didn’t want you to: away from him; heading towards the master bedroom. 

You kept yourself from giggling when you heard the aggressive shutting of a laptop, a volleyball announcer being cut off, and a certain volleyball player’s stumbling and cursing because Ojiro was practically chasing you out of the office.

***

“Mmmm…. Fuck..”

A few minutes later, your mind displayed a valiant effort by attempting to guess how your boyfriend looked right now, but it would be in vain. You couldn’t picture your man like you usually could because you were currently being fucked way too fucking well. Ojiro was filling you completely with just half his length, whispering horny-nothings to help you understand his feelings anyway:

“God damn, Y/N… Every. Time. Feels. So. God. Damn. Good,”

Now, If your mind was clear you’d be able to perfectly visualize how Ojiro’s face was scrunched up in pleasure right now, a coat of sweat coating his nude dark skin, the skylight over his head allowing the moon to reflect an insanely sexy glow sheen over his muscles due to the perspiration. 

“Auuh there’s nothing better than this, baby…”

If your mind was clear you’d be able to perfectly visualize how Ojiro’s head was tilted backwards right now, his mouth slightly ajar as he focused on not cumming inside you within the first few minutes of this because he needed to feel you cum around him first. As always. 

“Not when I hitting a line shot, not when I get a service ace.... nothing feels—auuuh f-uck— better than your pussy, baby girl..…”

If your mind was clear, you’d be able to see Ojiro on his knees behind you, holding your hips in his giant hands while he drove into you from behind, inserting only half his cock in and out like a pro, then surprising you with a fully thrust every now and then when he sheathed all 10 inches inside your heat.

“Mmm, so ti-ight, always so wet… damn,”

Despite your mind being clouded by immense pleasure, however—you did know that you looked absolutely wrecked with your face pressed in the pillow, blindly reaching behind you to tap or wave or pinch or do something to him since you couldn’t speak. You could barely made any sounds other than choked out moans because it felt so spectacular… but you didn’t have to! Aran knew that you wanted your boyfriend to stop playing and give you full strokes. His half thrusts filled and pleasured you more than any one ever could because he was huge and skilled in bed, he knew just how your insides liked to be stroked, but that didn’t stop you from silently pleading to him..

Even if Ojiro wasn’t holding back like always because he was very aware of his size and girth, even if you both knew that it would hurt you the next day like after a good workout, even if you walked funny when you had to attended his Olympic game several hours from now—you fucking needed it.

HE fucking needed it!

“Harder, Ar,” You commanded, “Deeper!”

“Fuck,” Your boyfriend panted, still not giving you what you asked 7 amazing strokes later. 

“Harder, now!” You cried as if you were whispering to the fucking pillow. You hadn’t the strength to lift your head. Your orgasm was fast approaching because HALF your man’s dick was too good and there was no way you weren’t bringing him with you. “Deeper, baby!”

“Y-you su-sure?” He asked worriedly. He always did this shit 🙄. He always worried way too much about your body soreness and way too little about both of your impending orgasms tonight rocking your motherfucking worlds. 

Ugh!

Good boyfriends and their fucked up PRIORITIES, amirite?!

Needless to say, you didn’t have time for compassionate Aran tonight. You needed him to fuck the both of you to sleep the way you knew he was capable of if he stopped holding back. Besides, he should have been in bed hours ago. You had to do this for the sake of the National Team! You had to this for JAPAN! (A/N: lucky b*tch shut your horny ass up)

So that’s why, in response to his asking if you were sure or not, you responded by clenching your insides so that your slick hole squeezed around your boyfriend’s cock. 

As soon as he felt you pulsing impossibly tighter around him as he fucked you halfway, his eyes rolled back in his head. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck…” He moaned deeply, so of course you continued doing it.

“Shit, Y/N, Okay, Okay,”

Without having to beg for mercy, your man did as you asked him to. He moved his hands from your waist to splay them on each of your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to make more room for his member that already barely fit (with your hasty prep and not his tentative one), but especially when your pussy clenched around him like that. With a loud moan from both of you, he bottomed out and stayed there for a bit to get you used to the size. You almost passed out by how good it felt pressing against your g-spot.

When Aran couldn’t take it anymore, and he started giving it to you: hard, fast, and deep. 

“Ye, baby, make room for me just like this…..” He moaned, gripping your ass tighter. “You want all of me? You think your tight hole can handle all of me?” He asked, no growled, still giving shallow but gratifying thrusts.

You whimpered, knowing that Ojiro knew the answer to that. Even so, you egged him on, “Sh-Show me why you’re the best top,” playing into your dirty talk from the last time y’all had sex like this but he was under you. 

Your boyfriend let out a long groan in his smooth deep voice and picked up his pace in reaponse, sending a new wave of wetness to your private. You were so soaked down there that it sounded like y’all were having sex in the bath tub, fuck. 

Your man loved it. 

“Mmmm, —m’ close beautiful,” He called, snapping his hips forward to meet you g-spot again and again. “It’s you, baby, it’s you,” Your man groaned. “Your pussy feels too fucking good……. I’d never pull out if I had to co-couldd,” 

“Oh, God. Aran!" You moaned loudly due to his dirty talk and praise, teetering on the edge of your release. Knowing that you maybe had 30 seconds left if you focused, you must have decided that you didn’t want to walk tomorrow at all because being the weakness of your bf you are, from your position being pounded into the sheets, you propped yourself up on your weak arms so that you could use the fact that your elbows were digging into the mattress as leverage to push your body back so that you met Aran’s deep thrusts. 

Like your boyfriends does every rare time he’s able to see your glorious ass bounce on his hard dick, his eyes flew open and he felt as though he’d been transported to heaven itself. 

“Y/N—auh, s-so sexy, aah, ooh, ohhh, fuck, Y/N,”

entranced, Aran couldn’t even last another second before he was stopping your movements with his hands, sliding them back on your hips to hold you still as his orgasm took his muscular frame by storm. He saw stars.

Of course, his orgasm triggered yours immediately, and you cried your man’s name as you came on his dick. He whispered yours as your insides milked him without influence this time, effectively lengthening your man’s finish. Panting, Aran just barely caught himself before his now exhausted body toppled over you. 

His last wakeful act, being the gentleman that he is, was to roll over so he wouldn’t crush you with his body weight, pulling out at the same time. 

You wondered if he registered that he said, “thank you baby,” before he began softly snoring—a sign that he was completely worn out and sleeping.

You smiled softly to yourself when you heard his snores, finally turning when you caught your own breath, to fully see your boyfriend’s stunning face. You endearingly brushed his goatee with the tips of your fingers, turning his sleeping face to yours so you could peck his lips. Then, you just barely had the leg strength to stand up on limbs that barely worked, removing his condom for him, then using the furniture in your room to support you as you cleaned the two of you up. You almost fell asleep standing up as you used a cloth on the two of you. Five minutes later, you were back in bed, under the covers with your lover and amazing man. 

Usually, Ojiro Aran slept like the dead (when he first moved in you occasionally have to check if he was still breathing...) , but you knew now that if he snored, that was a sign that he was so fatigued. You knew about the snoring, but the talking was new to you. Ojiro was so deep in his sleep after that round, that he was talking to himself in his slumber, whispering sweet-nothings about you that you’d never let him know he vocalized to spare him the embarrassment.

Besides, he didn’t say anything too embarrassing.... and you knocked out as soon as your head met his chest, not even feeling his arm sweetly wrap around your waist to pull you closer. So, you didn’t even hear most of his sleep-talk.

And maybe you were right when you called it fate, that drove the two of you.... because if it wasn’t fate that had you place your head on Aran’s chest at that exact moment, if it wasn’t fate that made you fall asleep at that exact moment..... then, I mean, you would have heard Ojiro not a second later declare aloud that he’s hiding your engagement ring in the office’s cabinet drawer. You would have heard theis the real reason he wasn’t able to fall asleep: because he was so nervous about asking for your hand in marriage before his Japan vs. Canada game tomorrow, when you least expected it.

Cause like, well, that totally would have ruined the surprise.

But you did fall asleep. Fate did that. So him sleep talking honestly never really happened.

And you know what else never happened? 

You never had to feel the cold side of the bed again where your man should be, at least not that night, because Aran Ojiro your new fiancée’s body kept it warm all night, because you were great and helping him fall asleep like a baby....making him just that:

 f*cked out. 

[thebeautyoffanfics]

Hey! I always loved your writing and you actually inspired me to write some myself so I want to request if it’s alright…

Can I have Hanako x f!reader who doesn’t believe in love (this having to due with her parents never getting along). She says that it’s just a little word people say to make them feel better about themselves and it’s a waste of time.

But she can’t help but fall in love with Hanako and gets on flustered when he’s around but tries to tell herself it’s not love. Oneshot please!

Thank you and feel free to ignore if you want!

hanako x f!reader

a/n: hello hello!! thank you so much for the compliment- that’s really sweet, and it genuinely means the world to me;; but, sure thing! (ahh, the fact that i wrote a rengoku fic about the reader feeling that way not long ago- this is a topic I’m familiar with, so I hope that it makes it turn out even better? haha) thank you so much for requesting, and I hope this turns out alright!!! <333 also, if you ever want to share your writings, do feel free to tag me/let me know somehow! I’m sure they’re amazing, and I’d love to read them, should you be comfortable with it!! :DD

bro i guess this request resonated with me bc i genuinely like,,, went off. So it’s,,, pretty long- i hope that’s alright haanofnaoinf-

warnings: implied parental issues?

word count: 2,363

Love was ridiculous. It was a stupid idea. An overused word, thrown onto any situation in which you felt something other than anger, fear, sadness, or disgust. If something made you even a little happy, you’d claim to love it. If someone showed you basic human decency, you’d claim to love them.

You hated it. It made you feel sick.

It’s not like you could control what everyone else did, you supposed. So, you’d continue on normally. If you didn’t fall in love, then there was no worry about falling out of it- that’s what you figured. That’s what you told yourself. Love wasn’t real in the first place- how could such an overused word hold any true meaning? It was like a 1st grade pinky promise. It was easily broken, as if it held any truth to it when the kids exchanged a deal. No matter how much either part of it trusted the promise, it made it no more real or true.

Yep… love was best put as a 1st grade pinky promise.

Maybe not-

Still, such a strong opinion on love, an unmoving opinion, with your own “proof” to back it up… made it hard when you thought that it may be put to question. You walked near the bathroom, the girls’ bathroom, and heard a girl from your class shout something. You couldn’t tell what, but you did notice her slightly annoyed expression as she left the bathroom.

Ah, the girl who seemed to be constantly head-over-heels for boys- particularly Minamoto-senpai, you had noted. It wasn’t like he’d return the feelings, you figured. It’s not like her “love” was anything more than an obsession.

Still, you figured there must have been some other girl in the bathroom. Yashiro probably had friends- she talked to Aoi a lot. Maybe the school’s princess was teasing her friend. You pushed open the door, noticing that all the stalls were empty. The only other entity in the bathroom was… a floating, slightly-transparent boy. He was laughing, and you went ahead and assumed it was at Yashiro’s annoyance.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Honestly, you just needed to pee, but it shouldn’t have surprised you. Little mokke running around the school constantly, weird things happening, a boy in the girls’ bathroom wasn’t life-changing. Or so you figured.

You grumbled, making some comment you weren’t even sure you got, as you stepped into a stall. Not acknowledging him would surely be best. You were fairly new to the school, and it wasn’t like you were insanely fond of public restrooms anyway. You’d never have to see him again. Plus, if he was anything like the other supernaturals, you were sure he’d be a handful. That was your thought process, as you washed your hands, glimpsing up at the mirror hung above the sink- you caught another glimpse at him.

An old uniform. Brown, almost shaggy, hair. His eyes were amber, and rather large- the way he held his hands, you silently compared him to a puppy. Innocent face, playful eyes- almost too alive for a ghost. He turned his head, nearly making eye contact, but you continued to study his appearance. A white… bandage? Sticker? Something- stuck to his face, the kanji for “seal” written in red.

Weird.

“My, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” He spoke, bringing a hand to his mouth, as a mischievous smirk came to his face.

A pain in the neck.

Your eyebrows furrowed, as you looked back down, turning off the sink and drying your hands.

“Oh? Gonna pretend you didn’t see me? How cruel,”

Still, you ignored him. He couldn’t be serious. How was he so sure you didn’t simply think you caught something out of the corner of your eye? Was he messing with you, or trying to lighten the mood?

“I don’t think I want to associate with a pervy ghost,” You said, shutting the door behind you. As if right on time, the bell rang, signaling that lunch was over. With that, you made your way to class, hoping to not have to deal with any more paranormal things.

…

Unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned. As the rest of the day took it’s sweet time to pass, you sat, spacing out as you thought about that boy. He was one of the first humanoid supernaturals you had seen at the school- honestly, you half-hoped that all of them were cute little bunnies. Not… strangely eye-catching boys… how weird.

You sighed, clicking your pen, letting the quiet sound drown the teacher’s ramblings out a bit. Ca-click, click-click, ca-click, click-click.

“Y’know, people find that little sound annoying sometimes. It never bothered me, but teachers seem to be so sensitive about it.”

Jumping, you turned your head a bit, only to be practically nose-to-nose with the boy from the bathroom. Your heartbeat increased from the surprise, but you placed your hand on your chin, pretending to not have seen anything. Not only did you not want to give him much of your time or energy, but you definitely didn’t want to attract negative attention from the normal kids around you. Your eyes scanned the room, and you noticed Yashiro looking in your direction, most likely at the boy. Yes, she definitely saw him too.

“Waaah, Yashirooooo, the new girl’s totally ignoring me!” He sighed, floating over to her. She looked away as well, focusing intensely on whatever the teacher had to say. You weren’t even sure by this point, watching the two out of the corner of your eye. You stopped clicking your pen, watching as he stood behind Yashiro, leaning against her as he peered at her notes.

He glanced at you again, and you looked away. The boy, who you were now curious as to what his name could be, floated back over to your desk, glancing at your notes.

“You really aren’t paying attention, huh! Yashiro’s not much better- her page is mainly doodles. How on earth do you plan to pass like this, haha?”

You glared at him slightly, before lifting your pen, and clicking it open. Annoyed, you flipped to another page, and scribbled something down. He leaned forward a bit, looking at whatever it is you wrote.

“Leave me alone, toilet boy.”

He laughed, patting your back. “Toilet boy? What’s with all the insults, I barely know youuuuuu- plus, I have a name. I’m Hanako. School Mystery Number 7, Hanako-san of the toilet! Not ‘toilet boy’, nor a pervy ghost.”

You raised your eyebrows, writing once more.

“Wonderful. Now leave me alone, ‘Hanako-san of the toilet’.”

Days passed, and he certainly didn’t leave you alone. In fact, you grew to find yourself spending more time than you expected to with him. You assisted with supernaturals from time to time, even meeting his two other friends properly- Kou Minamoto and Yashiro Nene. You all slowly, but surely, became friends.

“I’m done wiping the mirrors,” You said, tossing the dirty rag into the bucket.

“I’m done mopping!” Yashiro exclaimed, sighing as she leaned against the mop.

“I’ve finished dusting too,” Kou added.

Hanako nodded, clapping cheerfully. “Great job, everyone! Can’t wait to see the same enthusiasm tomorrow!!”

The three of you collectively groaned, rolling your eyes. “Yes, yes, just like that,” Hanako laughed, moving his legs to sit in the air in a criss-cross fashion. Light conversation picked up, Kou talking to Yashiro, and Hanako throwing in a comment every so often. You stood, leaning against the sink, watching your friends look so happy. Hanako glanced at you, closing his eyes as he grinned.

Your heart rate picked up, and you felt your face grow warm. Your eyebrows furrowed just slightly, as you glanced away. It wasn’t the first time a little action like that made your heart go haywire. Not just your heart- your stomach, your legs, your arms. The moment Hanako grinned at you, hugged you, or emptily flirted, you felt as though you lost the ability to function. It couldn’t be love… no, you didn’t want to fall in love.

“Right, but it's getting late, guys. I should really head home,” Yashiro spoke, putting the mop up as she did so. Kou nodded, glancing over at the clock. “I’ve got to get home and work on dinner,” He said, putting the duster away, and grabbing his things.

Hanako glanced at you.

“I don’t really have any plans. I finished homework in class, so I think I’ll linger around for a bit more.”

“Alright! Be safe when you head home, (Y/N)! I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Yashiro spoke, waving as she left the room. “Bye guys! Be safe!” Kou added, leaving not long after she did. Silence filled the room for a moment, the only thing breaking it being the sound of your shoes as you made your way to the window seal. Taking a seat, you looked at Hanako expectantly.

“Well? Any more stories of the things I missed out on?”

...

“The Confession Tree?” You questioned, the other two humans long gone by now, leaving Hanako to recount to you previous adventures they had gone on.

“Yep! Yashiro and I took care of that one- it was honestly easier than most of them were. He’s still around, just nothing bigger than one of those pre-cut broccolis. The rumor was, you’d confess under him, and he’d make the feelings mutual~, buuut, it obviously got way out of control.”

“That’s so stupid.”

Hanako raised his eyebrows, not expecting such a distasteful tone of voice. “What is?”

“A supernatural forcing some kids to ‘fall in love’,” You made air quotes, before continuing, “it’s pretty gross. Love’s nothing more than some overused word. It’s tagged onto everything, and it’s basically used to make you feel better. It’s all a waste.”

For once, he was silent. Several questions began to circulate in his mind, but a part of him was… somewhat hurt.

“But what if I love you?” He questioned, tilting his head. His face felt warm, but he tried to steady his heartbeat. It wasn’t a direct confession. No, just a question. A ‘what if.’

You blinked, your face feeling warm. You understood- of course, it was nothing more than a ‘what if.’ “It wouldn’t be love. You’d be interested in me, only for the interest to go away eventually- even if it took a week. Even if it took years. Just… trust me, Hanako. I’m not the smartest person in the world, but- once you see it happen to the two people who are supposed to be there for you forever, you get the memo. It isn’t love. Never was, never will be.”

Those words you spoke… you didn’t like the fact that you questioned their sincerity. Especially when you were blushing, the boy who made you question those words looking at you with his big, rather beautiful eyes. “Or… that’s… what I think,” You added, the heat rising to your face only making you feel worse, as he blinked. His undivided attention on you- on what you said- made your heart beat much faster than you wished it would.

And suddenly, he was closer. Too close. Way too close. His eyes began to shut, as his face drew closer to yours. Your heart began to beat quicker than it had before- your face grew hotter than it already was- your eyes widened, as you silently questioned what on earth he was going.

One of his hands grabbed your wrist, and you looked over at your arm he was holding, then back up at him. His face was still close, so close you were sure you’d smell him if he still had a scent. So close he could probably feel the heat radiating off of your face, if he could still distinguish hot from cold.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?” He finally questioned, thumb pressed against your radial artery, as if the warmth of your face wasn’t enough of a sign.

“Because- you’re… way too close.”

“But you aren’t pushing me away? I’ll scoot back if you want. I’m not a mind reader though, so just use your words.”

Your mouth felt dry. Why weren’t you saying anything? You could speak. Open your mouth and tell him to move. Take your free hand and shove him.

But… a part of you didn’t want him to move.

Hanako smiled once more, his eyebrows drawn together slightly, as if he were saddened by something. “I’m sorry that you were dealt a hand like that in life. It’s easy to look around and find all the negatives in life. But,” He leaned forward a bit more, nose nearly touching yours, “you aren’t your parents. You don’t need to follow in their footsteps. Don’t let their problems influence you so heavily to where you miss out on potentially great things. It’s okay to be sad about it. It’s okay to be scared. But it’s still your life, not theirs. If everyone’s overuse of it bothers you, then only say it when you mean it. Still, if you feel love, embrace it.”

Your eyes felt slightly prickly, as they watered up a bit. His sincerity… your racing heart. Maybe, just maybe… you were in love.

“I… think I love you, Hanako,” You muttered. You were scared. You were scared that he’d tell you he was joking- or that maybe this wasn’t love. Scared of so many things, stemming from one little word. Yet, you tried to embrace it.

“I love you, (Y/N). And nothing will change that,” He said, his smile widening. Quickly, he closed his eyes, closing the distance between the two of you. His lips were… cold. His touch was the only thing that reminded you that he wasn’t alive. Still, the warmth of his words made up for it, as you closed your eyes into the kiss.

His encouragement wouldn’t drown out the fear completely. He couldn’t take the memories away. But he tried… he told you that he loved you, so… you’d believe him. After all, you hadn’t heard him overusing the word. It only made that moment feel that much more genuine.

[kaepop-trash]

IM SHOOK? SHAKEN? CHANGED??:&:9 PUSH AND PULL IS SO GOOD??:&:@; AAAA. I LOVE YOUR WORK.. LITERALLY OBSESSED ... i was wondering if it had a part 2 BUT THE CLIFF HANGER .. GOD INSANITY.. UR SUCH A GOOD WRITER AAAAA

There was a time when I had considered writing another part for it, but truly there was just one scene I really wanted to write. When I saw this, I felt compelled to write it. Consider it an apology for the cliff hanger I left the fic on. Not that this is any better.

I was intrigued by this dynamic when I wrote this fic and I continue to be even now. So consider this more self-gratification than anything else. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it.

Tw: unhealthy relationship dynamic, hints of obsession and violence if you squint.

_

This was strange. She was allowed to think that. The restaurant was a good one, she was dressed as well as she always was.

Kim Doyoung was in a white shirt and dark jeans. His eyes were focused on the menu in his hand, brows stitch together in concentration. The other hand ran through his hair, an honest effort to push it out of his face. But it was long and fell over his eyes just as soon as he let it go, the only difference being a few strands that stuck up.

She looked down at her fingers, nails now cleaned of the blood from his scalp. He had very soft hair too, she could remember the feel of it against her palm. She could remember the other parts too.

"Have you decided what you want?" His voice made her look up. He was watching her with careful calculation, the gaze of a panther assessing his prey. He was a fool to think she wasn't herself a predator.

"Sure." She slapped the menu close, the sound sudden and loud.

He just nodded, "Okay." His eyes coloured with amusement. She clenched her fist tight, impatient and irritated. "Are you usually this quiet?" He sat back in his seat.

"I speak when I want to, Mr. Kim." Her voice was curt.

He gave her a heinous smirk, "I had my tongue in your cunt, (Y/N). You can call me Doyoung." He reached for his glass of water.

His words made her shift in her chair. Her body reacting against her will was what made the last thread of courtesy snap.

"Other people have done more than that. Physical intimacy isn't grounds for familiarity, not with me." She settled back into her chair. When his jaw flexed, she smiled. At least now they were both annoyed.

"What is grounds for familiarity with you?" His voice was sharper, gaze narrower.

"Why do you care, Mr. Kim?" She snapped. "I'm not interested in being familiar with you."

"Why not?" He furrowed his brows.

"I'm not interested in being familiar with anyone." It was the first honest thing she'd spoken in a while.

"Scared?" He looked intrigued.

"Indifferent." Her frown twisted further.

He hummed, considering her words. "I could make a compelling case."

"It would be a wasted effort. I'm sure you'll find someone more suited to your demands elsewhere." She reached for her glass of water, confused and displeased by the way this was going.

Yet a part of her clawed with intrigue, wanting to know why he was seemingly undeterred. It stopped her from walking out the door, "Can we order?" She questioned. He gave her an unbothered smile, nodding in answer. She wanted to pry open his skull if it told her what he was thinking.

"I don't understand why you're being so persistent. I'm not trying to be coy, I'm not interested in anything beyond sex." She told him once the waiter left with their orders.

"We can have sex." He said it like it was a consolation prize, one he only considered in hindsight.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "What do you want, Doyoung?"

He licked his lips, eyes grazing the skin over the low neckline of her dress. "I started a painting the night I first met you. I haven't painted anything in three years." His eyes glazed over at that, clearly not present at the table anymore. "The second time I met you, the image became clearer, I could picture the colours of it." His eyes focused again, honing in on her. Her stomach flipped. "Last night I thought of a different painting I will paint after this." He gave her a look of conviction, "I must get to know you better." It wasn't a question.

"I'm not keen on being used." She brushed it off.

"Being somebody's muse is a privilege, (Y/N)." His tone flares with offense, "It's being immortalised in memory. I want to capture you in between my brushes and commit you to canvas. I want to make you art." He frowned at her, confused by the rejection.

"Privilege?" She laughed, the sound light and melodious. "It sounds to me like I'm the one doing you a favour. It's your privilege, Mr. Kim." She laughed a little more.

"I don't care what you think." His words didn't match the look on his face, "I haven't had inspiration in years. I'm losing my touch. If I don't create, I cease to be." Anger seeped into his eyes, burning bright red.

She sat back in her chair, "What do I get in return?" She couldn't believe that she was actually considering it.

"What do you want, (Y/N)? Other than an artist's devotion."

She scoffed at his words, "Let me display your art. Anywhere, anytime. If you want to use me, I want to be the only person who gets to use your paintings." She saw the gears grinding in his head at her words.

While it would be a good deal to have, a part of her was sure he'd never agree to it. She knew his reputation. Kim Doyoung did not like sharing what was his.

"Fine." It was his lack of hesitation that caught her off-guard. “But I have a single condition instead. It’s not up for argument.”

She nodded, the possibility of having the exclusive right to display the art of one of the most coveted artists alive worth anything he could demand. He smiled like he was aware of that.

“I want you to myself. No other people.” His eyes bore into her, his gaze the most intense thing about his presence. She clenched her fist so tight that her nails dug into the skin, her palm stinging.

She wanted to slap him.

The demand was a clear sign of control over her. She knew artists, knew the extent of their obsessions. She also knew they tended to fade fast.

“Alright, Doyoung.” She bit her lip. “Have your way with me.” Despite herself, she felt her chest stir at her own words.

-

He flicked the light on, the large empty space illuminated with harsh white light. She looked around, the studio mostly empty save for a single canvas that rested against the wall. The smell of paint thinner in the air told her that he had been at it recently. Doyoung stood by the door as she walked towards the piece, the click of her heels echoing in the space.

The canvas was a messy blend of colours: red, orange and white. In the centre of ot sat the outline of a couch. “This is what you made?” She questioned, the perceptive eye of someone acquainted with art observing every detail.

“Don’t like it?” He spoke from across the room.

She focused on the blend of colours; despite the bold mix of red and orange, it was the white strokes that felt aggressive. “It’s confusing.” She shifted her weight between her feet.

She heard his footsteps approach her, “Have you ever felt rage, (Y/N)? Blinding rage that you cannot control? Only channel?” His words bounced off the walls.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve your rage.” Her voice was softer.

“You seduced me, (Y/N).” His footsteps stopped short of her heel. “You were using every dirty trick one could do it. And you were so blatant about it.” He groaned.

Her lips tugged, “I’m known to go after what I like in the moment.” She swallowed.

“You’re shameless.” He spat the word like an insult. She clenched her jaw, “And it makes me furious that I can’t stop thinking about you.” There was a crack in his calm voice, it made her breath falter for a second.

“You aren’t the first." She scoffed, "You don’t have to be hard on yourself, I know what I’m doing. Your reaction is to be expected.” She tried to keep her voice level, not giving him the priviledge of seeing her own rage. Rage was an admittance of effect and she would not let him see his effect on her.

She gasped when his finger brushed up her thigh. “You don’t know anything about me." He mumbled, still maintaining the last few inches of distance. "I don’t play games, I don’t collect conquests.”

She laughed, her head falling back. He took a step closer, pushing her head to the side to brush his lips over her neck. “I know people, Doyoung. I especially know men. You want to believe you’re complex,” He bit down on the smooth skin, she moaned. “But lust is never complicated. It’s deceptively simple. You’re currently playing a game with me, one you want to win. You just don’t know it, which is your loss because you don’t have a prize in mind.” He licked the skin he just ruined, purring into her throat. He bit down the same place again, harder. She whimpered.

“I know my prize.” His nose brushed up her jaw, his breath heating her skin.

“I’m not a trophy to be acquired.” She took a step back, pressing into his chest.

Doyoung sighed, hand reaching around and tugging on her waist, “Who said I was talking about you?”

She clenched her jaw. “What is it you hope to win then?” His hand brushed up and grabbed her jaw, tilting her head back further.

“Let me show you.” His lips brushed against her cheeks. He gathered her dress in his hands, hitching it higher. “Lift your arms.” He whispered. When she did, he pulled the material off.

His fingers made quick work of the rest of her garments. Once she was completely bare, he turned her around. His smile was deceptively gentle, “Do you enjoy being a whore, (Y/N)?” He took a step back, looking her over with detached scrutiny.

“Very much so.” She stepped out of her underwear. When he looked up with a sharp gaze, it was her turn to give him a sweet smile.

“Will you enjoy being my whore?” He brushed his index finger on his lips. Soft, pretty lips that she made a note to destroy.

“That is to be seen.” She breathed out.

He smiled wide, pointing behind him. “Sit on that sheet.”

She gave him a skeptical look. When he added no further explanation, she did what she was told. She walked up to the large white cloth that lay flat on the floor, ready for whatever he had planned. She bent over, deliberately slow, and took her heels off. Walking over to the centre of the sheet and sitting down, bringing her knees up to her chest. She sat patiently.

“Such a pretty picture you make.” He hummed, walking over to a table littered with paint and brushes. He picked up a few bottles, coming up to stand in front of her. Her heart beat so fast with anticipation that she was certain it was echoing against the walls.

He kneeled in front of her, “Give me your palms.” His eyes stayed on her face, his voice still dispassionate. She lifted her hands and laid them out for him. When he looked down at them, she glanced at his features. Without his dark gaze, his face looked almost delicate. She felt thick liquid on her palm, looking down to see him squeeze blue and green paint on each palm.

He looked up when he finished, “Lust isn’t simple. It’s like being on fire one second and being drowned the next. Put your hands behind you and lean back.” She took in an unsteady breath, sitting back.

The paint squished between her palm when she pressed them on the sheet, coming out from between her fingers. He sat back, unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes didn’t leave hers the entire time.

“Which one of us will drown?” She breathed out, words mixed with soft pants.

He unbuckled his belt, smirking when she squeezed her legs. “That is to be seen.” He repeated her own words back, grabbing her knees to open her legs again. He stood up, pushing his jeans off. Once he did, he squeezed the green paint onto his knees. Her breathing was ragged now, bouncing off the walls and filling the space with the admittance of her eagerness.

He walked around to her back, leaning down. “Sit up.” His voice was lower, and to her victorious realisation, afflicted. When she did, his knees pressed into the small of her back, paint rubbing against her skin. She couldn’t explain why, but the rudimentary action made her moan. He brushed her hair up, tying it up on her head with a tie she didn’t know he had. Everything felt meticulously planned.

He squeezed more paint onto her spine, rubbing it around with precise fingers. He remained unnervingly silent, getting up and coming back around to face her again. “You’re so beautiful.” He gasped.

The words made her smirk, chest heaving with quick breaths. “I know.”

He smirked back, “I’m going to make you divine.” He put his knees on the sheet, the blue and green rubbing together. She stared at the traces, for a moment mesmerised by the mark it left.

She yelped when he grabbed her ankle and tugged her, her wet palms slipping. Her back landed on the sheet, her head stinging a little from the sudden contact. He parted her legs with his knee, she looked up to see him squeeze white paint into his palm. He rubbed his hands together, before using them to hover over her. “You’re going to display the very manifestation of your lust in museums all over the world, (Y/N). We’re going to commodify your sin. That’s my prize.” His hands slid across the sheet and grabbed her waist.

She reached up and grabbed his throat, the smooth white skin tainted blue and green. “It’s going to be our sin, Doyoung.” She dragged her eyes from his eyes to his lips.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t want familiarity.” His hands rubbed white paint up her sides, brushing under her breasts. Both their breathing matched in impatience.

She pulled him closer, resting her lips on his. “If you’re going to immortalise me, I will own you.” She promised. He smiled against her lips, kissing her.

_

Send me an ask about a character from one of my fics in a scenario and I'll write a drabble.

Character from: Push and Pull