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almostempty · 1 month ago

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Paris, Texas pt. 2

aka: 2 Texans, 1 Lady 🎀 The joel x javi x f!reader threesome PART 2!!

WC: 8k | Other fics | Rating: 18+ | Read on Ao3 | PART ONE

this one goes out to my fellow mlm fans and voyeurs, i hope it’s everything you wanted and more <3; dedicated to everyone that gets a tag bc i love you 5ever

Summary: Joel, still struggling with his conflicting feelings about the threesome with Javier, gets a surprise visit at work from the man himself that leaves him even more confused. After a week of seeing Javier in his dreams, he gets another surprise visit at work.

Note: it’s pretty heavy on the m/m action so if that’s not ur thing no worries you can still have a forehead kiss from me

Tags/warnings: pwp, smut on smut on smut, internalized homophobia, dubcon joel/javi, infidelity, oral (m and f), consensual f/m sleepy oral, m/m anal, it’s not exactly a cuck chair–but there is a chair and u get to watch from it, top!joel, bottom!javi, but also switchy/vers in the future bc, respectfully, i would to experience the best of all worlds, i do not have a dick (i’m just a member of the fanclub) so if any of the m/m action is wildly inconceivable or something pls let me know i’m happy to receive feedback (spit as lube just pretend ok), some angsty guilt and shame in between the smut bc joel is still in denial, uhh dom!joel, idk if contractors have offices and i spent too long googling about it before remembering the point was the porn so pls forgive if that ruins ur immersion, tell me if i forgot something important

standard almostempty warnings at this point: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise no descriptions of skin tone, blushing, hair, idk tell me if there’s something that takes you out (physically); everyone is probably bi; no y/n, no beta just fueled by the power of adhd and delusion, if u see a mistake it was the gremlins i’m sorry

PLEASE TELL ME IF U LIKE IT OR IF U HATE IT OR IF YOU WANT MORE

Joel is buried in paperwork. Permits and invoices are stacked up on his desk in organized chaos. The week has been a disaster. He blames his low-grade headache on the deadlines and number crunching, but he knows something else makes him uneasy. He rubs the pads of his fingers between his brows as if he could massage away the stress or erase the permanent worry line carved into his features.

The noises outside his office blend into static as he recommits himself to getting caught up.

He rolls up the sleeves of his worn plaid shirt, sighing to himself before he resumes. His pen scratches across a form he doesn’t care much about when the door to his offices creaks open.

His head snaps up, looking across the room with a sharp glare. He’s not in the mood for interruptions, and he's already irritated at being stuck behind a desk playing catch-up. He isn’t expecting the man that enters the room. Stifling a surprised noise, he narrows his eyes to a sharp glare. He’s not in the mood for work-related afternoon interruptions, let alone a surprise visitor.

“So, this is the boss’s office?” Javier’s voice is smooth like he didn’t just appear out of nowhere and uninvited.

“Yep,” Joel mutters, grip on his pen tightening in his fingers. Dropping his eyes back to his work, considering ignoring the man. Maybe he can will away the pest by avoiding eye contact and ignoring the intruder sizing up his space.

Javier scans the sparse office. Empty walls, bare bones, and practical.

Joel assumes he’ll have a snarky comment about the size of the room or the view. He keeps flipping through the paperwork in his hand, braced for Javier’s attitude. Joel is tense and prepared to snap back, but his shoulders are tight and stiff as if he’s been sleeping on concrete for a week.

The signature scent of Javier, spicy and smoky, fills the air. The fragrance stirs Joel's memories and causes a visceral reaction. It makes his gut churn and fingers itch with restlessness.

The last–and only–time he’s seen Javier plays out like a well-edited montage. New images flash every time he blinks. Dark eyes. Sweat glistening on Javier’s chest. Lips, tongues, and teeth, he tries to subtly shake the thoughts out of his head.

Javier drops into the chair in front of the desk, eyeing Joel with a casual bravado. He crosses one leg over the other, resting his ankle along his knee in his dark jeans and rusty red button-down. He links his hands behind his head as if he’s prepared to settle in and bask in Joel’s discomfort.

Javier’s eyes roam over Joel’s desk. “You don’t have a secretary for all that paperwork?” he muses. A smile pulls at the corner of Javier’s mouth that Joel could sense without looking at him. He can feel the heat of Javer’s gaze pouring over the desk between them, making the air feel heavy, thick with something unsaid.

Joel can feel his pulse jump in his throat, chest constricted. “Nope.” He hoped his clipped tone would push Javier out of the room, but that hope flickers and dies when he takes in the nonchalant sight. Irritation spikes in Joel at the whole disturbance. He’s not interested in letting Javier take up residence in his office. Or his mind.

“You need somethin’?” Joel’s throat feels dry as he spits out the blunt question. He flips through the next invoice without processing a single word on the page. He’s tired and has a low threshold after a week of poor sleep. Though, he’d never admit, except maybe to you, that he’s easily irritated even with a good night of rest. But you always slice right through his grumpy shell.

“Just in the neighborhood,” Javier drawls, “thought I’d stop by.”

“Right.” Joel rolls his eyes, ”We supposed to be friends now?” Or what? Something more?

Javier shrugs casually, like that’s up to Joel to decide.

Joel tosses his pen and paperwork onto his desk. He takes a breath, forcing his features into something neutral. The night you brought Javier into your home, and your bed has haunted him. Made it so he couldn’t think straight. Tortured him, not with regret, but with the messy, tangled knot of shame and desire.

Now Javier is here. In the flesh. Self-satisfied and content, watching Joel and waiting expectantly. Waiting for what?

“Is staring me down part of your ex-cop deal? You come here uninvited to interrogate me or something?” Joel accuses with annoyance in his eyes.

“I don’t need to interrogate you,” Javier answers, mellow and cloying, “already know what you want.” He shifts, leaning forward, speaking quieter. “Just wanted to see if you’ve figured it out yet.”

Joel works his jaw as he crosses his arms. A brick wall of resistance. The fuck is that supposed to mean?

He clocks when Javier’s eyes lower, tracing the line of his arms, the same way you do when you catch Joel in a mood. You so easily diffuse his anger, disarming him with your wit or completely dismantling him with your body, unlike the instigator in front of him, who seems to only get under Joel’s skin.

Joel lets out a deep sigh. Javier isn’t here to be friends.

“It was what she wanted,” Joel says, his eyes hard, his voice firm. It felt like a weak excuse the second the words left his mouth. Shit.

Javier can taste the blood in the water. His eyes glint at the thrill of the chase. “Is that all?”

The room feels like it’s shrinking. Heat crawls up the back of Joel’s neck, anger entwined with something else he refuses to name. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he replies, standing up from his chair, trying to tower over Javier in some pathetic attempt at dominance.

A move he immediately regrets.

Javier also stands, circling around the side of the desk to look Joel up and down. Boldly. He admires Contractor Joel. The way he fills out his well-fitted work jeans, the way his deep green plaid hugs his broad shoulders and strains around his biceps as he crosses his arms again.

The workwear suits him. A strikingly masculine figure. Powerful and seductive. Tempting Javier just by existing. “I get it,” Javier murmurs to himself, understanding what you’d mean when you first described Joel. The disgruntled expression, the furrowed brows and sharp eyes–he only makes it worse.

“Always thought the whole construction thing was a cheesy porn gimmick,” Javier admits, “you could pull it off though. You got the toolbelt and the hat?”

“You can leave,” Joel replies dryly.

Ignoring Joel, Javier steps closer, “I’m just saying,” he rests a finger on Joel’s shoulder, drawing a line down towards his chest. Joel’s body is rigid, the contact searing his skin even through the soft material of his shirt. “You look good. This is your color,” he tugs at the dark green fabric below Joel’s throat. He drops his hand, and Joel feels like the earth could swallow him whole.

Javier’s mock compliments make Joel’s stomach flip before he steels himself again. Javier flashes a diabolical smile, catching the flare of Joel’s eyes and the hard swallow of whatever retort he couldn’t muster.

“You’re really trying to convince yourself, aren’t you?” Javier’s voice is dripping with mock sympathy.

Violent, intrusive thoughts race through Joel’s mind—socking Javier in the jaw to wipe that smug look off his face, grabbing him by the collar and running him through the wall, slamming him onto the desk. Face down so he could lean over his body and tell him, hot breath on the back of his neck, that he’s about to learn to watch his mouth.

Joel’s hands flex, knuckles popping, and heat stirs at the base of his spine at the dark desires. Suddenly, very aware of their close proximity. Close enough to feel the heat of Javier’s body, and to see the unwavering confidence in his face.

Amused by Joel’s volatility, Javier scoffs gently. His warm breath fans between them, and a smirk spreads on his face. Out of context, it’s only a gentle tease. A flirty smile and charged moment. But to Joel, strained like the last barricade holding back a beast, it’s too much. He snaps, and the beast gnashes its teeth.

“Get fucked,” Joel’s voice is a rumbly, low growl.

Javier’s smirk blooms into a Cheshire Cat grin. “I’d ask if you were offering, but I don’t think you’ve got it in you.”

Blood pounds in Joel’s ears. Drowning out the voice that wonders why Javier can rile him up so easily. The reminder that he’s got no reason to be jealous. That you’ve done nothing to make him worry.

“You were only doing it for her, huh?” Javier’s voice was quieter but still laced with danger.

Joel’s jaw is clenched tight when he replies, “Yep.” It doesn’t carry the conviction he needed to convey.

“Shame she isn’t here now, then,” Javier keeps pressing. The honesty in his tone throws Joel off.

“Would do anything for her,” Joel adds, softening fractionally at the truth in it.

“Anything?” Javier repeats.

“S’right.”

“For her.”

“For her,” Joel nods in agreement. Letting out a breath, he didn’t realize he had been holding. Javier rocks back on his heels like he’s about to turn and stroll away, satisfied by God knows what part of that interaction.

But he pauses.

Time feels weighted until Javier moves in closer. Another smile breaks across his face at how easily he can shock Joel into a trance with his audacity. Acting in defiance of all of Joel’s words.

His hand snakes up Joel’s chest until his fingers are slipping between the curls at the base of his skull. He leans in close, lips ghosting over the shell of Joel’s ear, “Is this for her too?” He shifts back half a step, and with the hand on the back of Joel’s head, he urges him to look down.

Javier’s hand had moved between them, palming the bulge in Joel’s jeans, his fingers pressing against his erection through the denim. Joel’s lips part, his whole body jerking forward instinctively, and a low groan rumbles in his chest before he can stop it.

Javier’s smirk deepened. “That’s what I thought.”

For a moment, Joel’s mind blanks out, lost in the haze of physical sensation. His body reacts before his brain catches up.

“The fuck are you doing?” Joel snaps, grabbing Javier’s wrist and yanking it away. His voice is hoarse, breath ragged.

“Anyone could walk in here.”

Javier didn’t pull away; he didn’t flinch. His head cocks in contemplation at Joel’s specific reasoning.

Leaning in closer, Javier’s voice drips with amusement. “You’re afraid of them?” he nods towards the door. “Worried about what? That your crew is gonna find out their boss likes cock?” he laughs softly, a dark, teasing sound.

Joel’s chest heaves, heart pounding. Anger, lust, and frustration all swirling together inside of him.

“You think they won’t take orders from you if they hear the noises you make for me?”

He knows Javier is running his mouth to provoke him. But it works on him anyway. Joel huffs dismissively, without a thought, “You think I’d make a sound for you?”

“I think you’ll beg me to stop before you do.”

Before he can dwell on the ramifications, Joel acts on impulse. Stepping back, his face hardening as he stares Javier down. That smug bastard. He’s consumed with a defiant urge to remove that smirk from Javier’s face.

“On your knees,” he orders, his voice cold, flat, and restrained.

Javier’s eyebrow raises, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Why, Joel?” he asks, voice playful.

“You know why.” The presumption is underscored by the sound of Joel’s belt clinking before he unzips his jeans. He grips the base of his thick cock, menacing and erotic, as he keeps his hard gaze on Javier.

He accepts the challenge, kneeling slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“Yeah,” Javier murmurs, “you look even better like this. All frustrated and desperate to be touched.” His voice is thick and low, like molasses. Almost reverent, but at the same time gloating, as if Javier’s only proving himself right. It’s infuriating to Joel that the man can so freely express his desire and rile Joel up further with the same words.

Javier’s hand covers Joel’s as he gives Joel’s cock an experimental stroke. Joel hisses through clenched teeth, slamming his eyes shut and tilting his head up to break the eye contact. To sever the intimacy. He’s taut, impatient, and ready to snap.

Until Javier’s lips wrap around his weeping tip, and they both groan in unison at the sensation. The wet heat of his mouth sends a sharp throb of pleasure through Joel. The intensity causes his hand to shoot out to his desk, fingers digging into the edge in an attempt to ground himself.

But it’s no use.

Javier knows exactly what he’s doing, taking him deep, fast, his mouth warm and eager. His hands work in symphony with his mouth, twisting around his length, massaging at his thighs and hips, deliberate and competent. He has nothing to be shy or restrained about.

Sinking into the pleasure, Joel starts to reason with himself. A mouth is a mouth, he can allow himself to have this, to let himself enjoy it.

And he does.

Javier’s tongue teases underneath the sensitive head of Joel’s cock before he slides past his lips, along the flat of his tongue, and deep into his throat. It’s good. Why is it so fucking good? Joel’s head tips back down, blinking his eyes open. His body shudders.

It’s not just a mouth.

Seeing Javier’s head bobbing, his cock disappearing past the man’s lips, it stirs something wild and untamed within him.

It’s a mistake to finally look. To really watch, taking it all in. The handsome features on Javier’s face, the unapologetic pleasure he takes from every reaction he pulls from Joel’s body. The strength and finesse of his hands are so different from you. He’s drawn to follow the movement of Javier’s hand dropping to readjust himself, to ease the pressure on his own aching cock.

The brief friction looses a moan from Javier, vibrating around Joel’s length. It’s undeniably fucking hot. Joel’s control slips, possessed by his urges.

He reaches for Javier’s face to cup his jaw and hold him still. And he gives in. Fucking into Javier’s mouth, hips jerking recklessly. It’s a desperate strain to tamp down the groans clawing at his throat, and it doesn’t help when Javier watches him with his half-lidded eyes. No.

“Shit,” he admonishes himself. Suppressing the captivating draw he feels. He tries to find focus, to keep it together–but there’s a loud knock that staggers him.

A voice, muffled outside of his office door, shouts to him, “There’s a vendor here, says he needs your sign-off.”

Joel’s breath hitches, “Fuck,” he spits, hands grasping the desk and Javier’s jaw, forcing out a coherent response. “Be there in a minute!” he calls out, voice strangled.

Javier doesn’t stop. He doubles down, hollowing his cheeks and greedily coaxing Joel to lose control. And, of course, he does. Joel’s climax hits fast and hard. His last attempts to stifle any noises falter. He gasps, body jerking as he comes, spilling into Javier’s mouth.

Dazed, he can only blink as Javier pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.

“Seems to me like that was just for you.”

Joel is wrecked, leaning against the desk, his heart racing. He doesn’t have time to process anything before Javier kisses him—brief, chaste, leaving behind the taste of himself on his lips.

“Better get out there before anyone worries, boss,” Javier whispers with a wink before walking out of the office, leaving Joel standing there, stunned, unable to move.

As the door clicks shut behind him, Joel isn’t sure if the knot in his stomach is anger, guilt, or worse, wanting more.

Seems to me like that was just for you.

It echoes, slowly settling over Joel.

He nearly doubles over when the reality finally hits. His thoughts race, consumed by the thought of you. What did he just do?

…………..

Joel is wracked with guilt and misery for days. Suffering in his own self-imposed torment.

He needs to tell you, but he can’t figure out how. There’s no version of, “Hey baby, you know the guy from the threesome? The one that I threatened to kick out of the house? Well, he showed up to my office, and I may have come down his throat before he disappeared without a trace like a dick-sucking fairy.” that he can come up with that sounds redeemable.

Worse, he still can’t get over the guilt and shame of how it even happened. Seduced by another man? He can’t fathom the reality that another man could turn him on, refuting the way he felt when he watched Javier sink to his knees. And rejecting the truth when his cock stirs at just the memory. Joel is at a complete loss for how to explain it away.

It fucks with his sleep. He jolts awake in the middle of the night, aching and hard and furious that Javier has invaded his dreams. He sits up in bed, dragging his hands over his face. And you stir, always attuned to him.

You’re warm and sleepy, but concern washes over you in the moonlight.

“Can’t sleep?” you murmur, reaching out to pull him towards you. “What do you need?” Always so grounded, so considerate. It twists the guilt inside of him. He tries to erase his self-loathing and reassure you, to ease you back to sleep.

You aren’t quite conscious enough to listen, but when you shuffle beneath the sheets to cuddle up to your man, you gasp when you accidentally brush over his hard cock. Not because it’s a shock to find, but because in your barely lucid state, you’re uninhibited. Earnestly expressing the desire his arousal sparks in you.

“Use me,” you whisper, slow and syrupy. Difficult to deny.

“No, baby, it’s okay. Go back to sleep,” Joel argues softly.

You roll over, muffling a low whine into your pillow, before turning back towards Joel. You can make out his profile in the dim glow of the room. You can feel the resistance, but you give it another shot.

“It’s not okay,” you grumble, and his head jerks towards you, “can’t go back to sleep now, you’ve got me all wet already.”

“Okay,” he gives in like he could ever hold out on you anyway. He pulls back the sheet, exposing your sleep-warmed skin to the cooler air. Running his palm down your spine as you melt face down on the bed. He crawls overtop of you, straddling behind the curve of your ass, before lowering himself, caging you under his body.

The skin contact is overwhelmingly intimate as he presses soft kisses to your neck and shoulders. You settle with ease and whine softly into the dark room as he rubs his cock along your slick folds. He continues, grunting in his own pleasure, as he glides along your seam, soaking in the sensation of you. Wet and needy from his touch. Until your legs are twitching and your whines grow louder, impatient, and sharp until he hears you say his name. When you plead for him to fuck you already.

Then. He adjusts and sinks slowly into you, filling you inch by inch, grinding languidly against your plush body.

You’re soft. Warm and wet. You take him so well, and he knows how to find the angles to make you shake and cry out for him. Now he chases it, needing to please you, to give himself to you. He plunges into you deeply, whispering praise against your skin until you’re shuddering and gasping beneath him. He nearly comes with you, but when the thought of Javier pops up, he falters. He pulls out of you and gently flips you over.

“Sleep,” he commands as he settles between your legs, and you let it take you. Drifting off before you can process that he didn’t finish. Content to dream about Joel’s tongue dipping into your fluttering entrance and his hands spreading your legs wider.

Joel stays between your legs, making your dream a reality. Trying to purify himself by worshipping you. Pouring his sins out between your thighs. Seeking forgiveness through your pleasure until he’s too tired to dream.

He’s convinced this method will work. That eventually, he’ll forget about Javier altogether. But Joel underestimates how deeply the other man has sunk his claws into the back of his mind. It’s unsustainable, and his exhaustion becomes more and more apparent throughout the week.

Despite thinking he’s able to cover up his internal torment, you always seem to know when something is wrong. You don’t push. You’re patient and gentle with him. It adds to his guilt.

You help out in any way you can. Commenting that he seems stressed and tired but never asking for an explanation. You let him stew on his own emotional nightmare in solitude. As he prefers.

For now.

When Joel admits to you on Friday night that he’s behind at work, you simply nod. He doesn’t argue when you offer to bring lunch to him the next day. But he can barely meet your eyes when you smile and trail off about how you know just what will help him get through the day.

You tell him decisively that he deserves to finish up early if he’s going to the office on a Saturday. He can only nod. Determined to spend the morning figuring out how to confess to you. With words.

He’s still in a haze of fatigue the next day. Despite the rest of the office being quiet, his head is loud and buzzing. Likely the reason he’s so taken off guard when the door to his office swings open.

“Working on the weekend?”

Joel’s pulse spikes as the sound of Javier’s voice fills the room, smooth and mischevous.

Anger floods his bloodstream and cuts through the fog of shame that had been clouding his vision. Joel crosses his arms and levels a ruthless glare at the man leaning against the doorframe.

Javier should be the one that looks out of place. Overdressed for the occasion, in the wrong place. But he stands confidently, neatly groomed, and polished. His dark blue collared shirt and fitted jeans highlight his broad shoulders. He looks like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, and his expression says he knows it.

“No,” Joel says gruffly. Unperturbed, Javier sails into the room.

“I don’t have time for this. Get out.” Joel says, his voice low, dangerous. He stands, hips leaning against his desk, prepared to back up his threat. His tolerance is already out the window for Javier.

Javier shrugs, movements so fluid in relation to Joel’s fixed demeanor.

“You didn’t say please.” His smirk is maddening. Joel’s fuse is short. He’s not interested in games. Not interested in having anything to do with his surprise guest at all. But he doesn’t move. Words caught in his throat.

“Besides,” Javier continues breezily, “you aren’t very convincing. I told you last time, I like this look on you, all mad and–”

Joel feels thorns clawing at his throat. Furious that his nerves flutter in response to Javier’s backward flattery. He can’t be thinking straight, that’s all.

In fact, it’s damned near impossible to think when Javier keeps running his mouth, pushing every button he’s got.

“Fuck you,” Joel hisses, vibrating with frustration, cutting off whatever Javier’s next words would have been.

Amused by the interruption, Javier’s smile widens, eyes gleaming. “Mm,” he purrs, stepping closer, “You would like to, wouldn’t you?”

That’s it.

Joel snaps, his hand shoots out, grabbing Javier by the front of his shirt and shoving him roughly against the nearest wall. The loud thud of Javier’s back hitting the drywall echoes in the small office. But the smirk on Javier’s face only deepens.

“Touchy today, aren’t you?” Javier teases, breath coming out in a soft laugh. His body is pinned between the wall and Joel’s, but he doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, he looks pleased with the predicament.

Joel’s breath is coming out hard and fast, fists still gripping the fabric of Javier’s shirt. This is the last person he wants to see right now. He seethes. Pent up and compressed into a dangerous coil.

“You think this is funny?” Joel snarls, his face mere inches from Javier’s.

Javier’s smile softens into something darker, more intimate. “A little,” he admits, leaning in just enough that their noses almost brush. “But, you seem to be taking it pretty seriously.” Javier shifts under Joel’s grip, his hands skirting up Joel’s waist. “You’re so worked up.”

Joel grits his teeth, a ferocious-looking expression that only eggs Javier on.

Dropping to a whisper to demand that Joel listens closely, Javier adds, “Maybe you’re not mad at me at all.”

Before Joel can snap back, Javier shifts, movements effortless and exact.

In an instant, Joel finds himself flipped, his back flat against the wall, slammed with a force that he wasn’t expecting. Javier’s arm presses across Joel’s chest, and his hips press against Joel’s in a way that sends a hot wave of need shooting down Joel’s spine.

“Maybe,” Javier murmurs, lips to Joel’s ear, “you’re just mad at yourself.” Javier rocks his hips into Joel’s, grinding against his body in a slow, deliberate motion. A shudder ripples through Joel’s frame, even as his mind rebels against the thrill. “Denying the truth.” He emphasizes his point, pelvis pressing into Joel’s hardening cock, rolling his hips again. “Denying the pleasure.”

No. Joel holds out. He isn’t going there. Not now, not ever.

But damn, the way Javier has him, the heat of his body against Joel’s. It tugs at the tangled knot of confusion in his chest. The knot that’s close to unraveling.

“Fuck you,” Joel spits again, but it lacks the venom from earlier. His voice is a little shaky, resolve crumbling the longer Javier stays this close.

Javier smiles, his lips brushing against Joel’s jaw. “Say it, Joel.” He’s all-consuming, like a tidal wave crashing over and destroying all of Joel’s hastily constructed defenses. Javier is a relentless force.

“Say it,” Javier demands. “I already know. Knew the first night we met,” he murmurs. “Just need to hear you say it.”

Joel’s heart pounds against his chest, and his mind races. He wants to shove Javier off, wants to do anything other than stand there and feel his body respond to every damn word Javier says. Instead, he can’t seem to do anything. Can’t stop the muscles spasming in his core, or the way his chest heaves under Javier’s arm.

“You can’t, though,” Javier whispers, his voice a dark, teasing rumble. He drops his arm, releasing Joel from his hold. “Such a shame. I wanted to know what you could do with that pretty cock of yours.”

That was the last straw.

Joel grabs Javier by the waist, roughly spinning him around, and shoving him face-first onto the desk.

“You wanna know what I can do with it?” his voice is harsh and wild.

A reckless energy blazes between them. He pushes Javier down, leaning over him, chest pressed into Javier’s back. One hand snakes down Javier’s side, stopping at his hip. The other hand firmly planted on the back of Javier’s neck, pinning him down.

Javier catches his breath. He doesn’t resist. If anything, he leans into it, arching his back, breath coming out in soft pants as Joel’s firm body boxes him in. With their bodies pressed tightly together, Joel’s straining erection isn’t subtle. “That’s more like it,” Javier murmurs, breathless but still smug.

“Shut up,” Joel’s voice is hoarse. He is losing himself in it, the heat, the tension. Javier’s solid, toned body beneath his. He doesn’t want to think anymore. Doesn’t want to feel. He just wants to take control. To push past all the noise in his head.

His body is on fire. Adrenaline, testosterone, and arousal all surge through him. Heightening every sensation, forcing him to be present. Rooted in his physicality.

Gritting his teeth, Joel’s hands grip Javier tighter, a bruising force.

“You’re gonna be good now,” Joel orders, “For me.” His voice is rough dark, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide the anger—or the heat—coursing through him. He can’t deny it right now, not when it burns so intensely.

He shifts his stance behind Javier, grinding his hips forward and feeling how Javier’s body responds. How he invites the contact and braces against the desk. Sweet, thick satisfaction pools at the base of Joel’s spine.

Javier is still mouthing off, taunting Joel. Despite his voice sounding more breathless, it still brims with arrogance. “For you,” Javier repeats Joel’s words. “I thought it was all just for her? Have you changed your mind now?”

Joel doesn’t answer. He’s too far gone. His hands move to the waistband of Javier’s jeans, yanking them down roughly, exposing the curve of his ass. Javier lets out a small gasp but doesn’t protest. In fact, Joel can feel the anticipation humming in Javier’s body, and he’s amused when Javier presses back as if he needs to dare Joel to go further. As if he could stop now.

Curling over Javier’s body, Joel presses his fingers to Javier’s mouth. “Suck.” Javier complies, allowing Joel to slip two fingers past his lips. Javier lets a hum vibrate around Joel’s fingers that causes Joel to roll his hips, grinding his still-clothed erection against Javier.

Losing the war with himself, Joel takes out his resentment on Javier. He hooks his fingers into Javier’s cheek–jerking his head to the side. He glowers at the signs of arousal on Javier’s face. The undignified hunger.

Remnants of disgust curdle in Joel’s gut. “You’re fuckin’ sick,” he accuses in a husky whisper, removing his fingers and straightening, breaking the eye contact that stirred something fierce and hot in his veins.

Accusations aside, Joel continues. He watches, smirking to himself, as Javier tenses at the sudden contact when Joel runs his hand over the curve of his ass. He takes his time. Enjoying his own exploration of Javier’s body. Smooth skin and firm and muscular.

When he slowly pushes a finger inside, Javier’s body tenses at first, but Joel is persistent, working in deeper and stretching him open.

Javier lets out a soft moan, still managing to sound smug even with the sharp gasp that follows. “You act all pissed,” Javier’s whispers, “but you love this.” His voice drips like warm honey with a teasing bite.

Joel grunts, ignoring the taunts, focusing instead on the way Javier’s body relaxes beneath him, allowing him to add another finger. Javier’s breath hitches and he drops his head onto the desk.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, “you like that.”

His words on encourage Javier to continue, “Know you wanted this,” he breathes, “that you’ve been thinking about it since last time, since the first time.” He continues his murmuring, words spilling over Joel’s desk, “I know because you’ve been in my fuckin’ head since that night.”

“You’ve got an awful smart for someone in your position,” he continues, mindlessly flipping the attitude back at Javier, pointedly ignoring his confession.

A strained chuckle comes from Javier, his body tightening with every twist of Joel’s fingers. “You still think you’re in control here?” he breathes, voice challenging and raw. “You’ve got no idea.”

Joel pulls his fingers out abruptly, letting out a throaty growl as he shoves his jeans down just far enough to free himself. He spits in his hand, slicking himself up with rough, hurried strokes, his mind focused on the sight of Javier bent over his desk, waiting for more, begging for it.

“Let’s see if you can keep running your mouth with my cock inside you,” Joel’s voice is layered with satisfaction. A challenge. He’s firm, gripping Javier’s hips and lining himself up. The room feels still, their ragged breath the only sound filling the air.

He feeds his cock into Javier slowly. The tight heat of Javier’s body draws a guttural noise out of Joel, and he pauses for just a moment, letting the sensation wash over him. Then he pushes in deeper, inch by inch.

Javier lets out a sharp moan, hands balling into fists against the flat top of the desk. “Fuck,” he breathes, and this time there’s no teasing edge, just raw need.

Holding still while they both catch their breath, Joel’s hands dig tightly into Javier’s hips, anchoring the two of them together. He buries himself to the hilt, savoring the overwhelming sensation of heat and friction.

And then he starts to move.

Slowly, at first. Deliberate. He moves with measured control, hips snapping forward, pushing deeper with every stroke. Javier groans beneath him, then manages to mumble something about Joel being desperate, about how much he wanted this, but the words are broken, breathless.

“Yeah?” Joel growls, picking up the pace, his movements growing rougher, harder. “That’s what you think?”

Javier’s body jerks with each powerful thrust, breath coming in short bursts. “I know it,” he rasps, his grip on the desk tightening as Joel relentlessly continues. Slamming into him harder now, control beginning to slip.

“You talk too much,” Joel decides, pounding harshly into Javier, reveling in the sweet clench as his pelvis meets Javier’s ass. He’s entranced by the sensation, the skin-to-skin contact, the heat, sweat, and musk.

Joel feels reckless. Intoxicated with the rush of adrenaline and dopamine. Chasing an escape and taking it out on Javier. He is distantly aware that Javier has stopped with his taunting. The only sound either of them makes are low groans and throaty grunts as he pounds into the man beneath him.

So absorbed with the immorality and the thrill he’s blind to the rest of the world and the rest of the room.

Until the door opens.

Joel freezes, his heart dropping into his stomach.

It’s you.

You shut the door, locking it, before turning back to face both men. Joel’s mind goes blank. His body is still pressed against Javier, his hands still grip his hips, his body flush against his.

For a split second, he thinks he can pull away and cover up the situation somehow, but there is nothing that can explain this away. No excuse. No cover story. His body runs cold, at a loss for words, mouth agape.

Then he sees the look on your face.

You stand still, like a prey animal caught in the line of sight of two apex predators. You can see the fear in Joel’s eyes, and your heart lurches, aching to comfort him. But the rest of the scene has you stopped in your tracks.

Joel sees your eyes widen; your breath is shallow, but there’s no shock. No confusion or hurt. Just a raw, undeniable hunger. You aren’t prey.

You stand, taking in the sight of Joel fucking Javier into his desk, and your lips part in a small, breathless sigh.

Javier turns to take you in, noticing the shift in the room, but he doesn’t pull away either. He is glowing, flashing his teeth with a wicked smile. The locks of hair on his forehead are damp with sweat, and his chest heaves as he remains braced atop the desk across from you.

“Look who’s here to watch. Her own private show.”

Joel swallows hard, still buried deep inside of Javier, his heart races. Adrenaline and arousal tangle together in a haze that leaves him unsure and adrift.

You step further into the room, your gaze never leaving Joel’s as you cross the room. Setting down the lunch you brought, you perch on the edge of the chair that sits in front of the desk.

“Don’t stop,” you encourage.

Joel still looks like he’s forgotten how to blink or breathe.

“The deli had a long line, and I couldn’t get parking,” you trail off a little breathlessly, watching the confusion on your man’s face.

Statuesque and still, Joel is dumbfounded that you’re talking about being late for lunch while he’s balls-deep in the man bent over his desk. Is this real life? He’s been plagued with dreams of Javier for the last two weeks, waking up hard and sweating. But they weren’t like this. None of them were like this.

“Don’t stop,” you repeat, voice dropping, sultry and encouraging. But he’s still locked in a trance.

“Can’t perform for an audience this time?” Javier quips, and Joel can hear the eye roll in his tone.

Joel swallows hard, his mind spinning. He doesn’t know what to make of this. How to handle the fact that you’re here, watching. But with the heat in your eyes and the lack of surprise, you seem so relaxed–no, you’re enjoying this.

That does something to Joel.

Something dangerous.

The invitation in your eyes sets him off.

“She said don’t stop,” Javier continues on, smirking playfully at you, pushing back against Joel.

Slowly, Joel regains feeling in his body. His hold on Javier constricting, his breath steadying, “I won’t.” He starts to move again, indulging in the sensation as he slowly drags his cock almost all of the way out before burying himself deep with a harsh snap of his hips. The motion forces a gravelly moan out of Javier that makes your cheeks hot.

Joel continues, unhurried, fixed on the expression on your face and the depravity of the situation. You have a sparkle in your eye that he’s familiar with. “You knew,” Joel states. You nod in affirmation, a grin spreading on your face.

“I set it up,” you whisper.

Your admission hangs in the air. The sex-filled, debacherously thick air. Joel's remaining hesitance dissipates as it all sinks in. Washing away the fear of being caught or ashamed. He can see the glow on your face, your eyes dark--blown out with lust, wetting your lips as you wait for more. He can ask questions later.

For you.

He tells himself, dismissing the last of the voices in the back of his mind.

You can see the gears turning in Joel’s head before something settles in, and the dark look he gives you makes your body burn up. Joel grunts, and you nearly melt, knees weak at the eroticism. It’s a good thing you’re seated.

Joel slams harder into Javier, giving in to the primal heat driving him forward. Every broken breath from Javier feeds Joel’s growing need. His intensity shoots straight to your core. Your cunt throbs between your legs. You settle back into the chair, savoring the fruits of your labor.

Your eyes trail over both men. It’s better than you could’ve imagined. You only wish you’d been in the room last week. However, getting the details from Javier kept you aching all week, even with Joel’s newly acquired midnight oral fixation.

You feel the hungry look on your face, gaze darkening as you marvel at the lewd scene. You don’t wait for Joel’s approval. Hand dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, slipping over the seam of your pussy, already needy and wet from the debased view of the two gorgeous men.

“Oh, shit,” Javier’s eyes nearly roll back as he watches you, eyes flicking from your hand disappearing beneath your shorts and up to your face.

Your lips part, arousal flooding your body at the dynamic between both men. You watch them in awe, like your very own porn starring your two favorite men. It’s indescribably hot to see you Joel so unraveled, his teeth clenched in a feral snarl as he continues. And to see Javier so blissed out beneath him.

“Show me,” Joel’s plea sends a tingly thrill down your spine. You remove your hand from between your legs to show off the tips of your fingers, glistening from tracing your slick folds. The way both men are glued to your display gives you a different thrill, something powerful and bright that starts in your chest and flows through your body. “Show me everything, baby,” his gruff voice is irrefutable.

You slip the shorts off, spreading your legs wide and parting yourself boldly to give your men their own private show. You trace your fingers from your entrance to your clit, drawing circles and seeking relief from the pulsing need that has you already feeling precariously close to the edge.

Joel’s breath comes in harsh pants now, body slick with sweat. The desk rattles beneath them as he drives into Javier, losing himself in the rhythm, the heat, the friction, and in the sounds Javier makes–those desperate moans, ragged breaths, the way he was trembling beneath Joel, taking it all.

And all the while, Joel’s gaze flicks back to you, watching the way your breath quickens, the way you touch yourself more urgently. Like a live wire had been lit between the three of you, charging the room with an intensity Joel had never felt before.

You’re spread out in front of both of them, a vision he’ll never forget. You freely let out soft whimpers and sweet whines that drive him wild. It all surges through Joel like a fever, threatening to consume him and driving him harder into Javier, who lets out a strangled moan.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you sound frustrated. “You have no idea how fucking hot you are like this–shit.” You watch them with rapt attention, your hand moving quickly between your legs as you touch yourself. Joel can hear the soft, slick sounds of your fingers working and can see the way your body shivers with the same need that builds inside both men.

Your soft moans fill the room, blending with Javier’s broken gasps and Joel’s deep, gruff groans, creating a symphony of debased pleasure.

“Let’s see,” Joel encourages you in a hoarse voice. You can feel all of the need radiating from both men, it’s salacious and empowering. Joel’s gaze stays on you as he pounds into Javier, watching as you arch your back slightly, fingers working faster. Your parted lips and breathless noises make Joel’s pulse pike.

“I’m gonna come,” You can’t stop drawing out deep and bright waves of pleasure as your eyes dance in a flurry between Joel and Javier, taking in every detail. You can vaguely hear Joel’s praise as you work through the sensations. Panting shallowly, you’re fixed back on them as you start to relax.

Joel’s cock throbs inside Javier as he watches you, and for a brief moment, his rhythm falters, overwhelmed by how much it was turning him on to see you like this, to know you were getting off watching him like this.

Having caught on to Joel’s shift in focus, Javier lets out a choppy laugh. His own voice cracks with need. “She likes watching you fuck me,” he says, his words slurred with pleasure. “Look at her,” he begs in earnest.

“Shut up,” Joel grits out.

But Javier only laughs again, his voice still jagged. “Can’t blame her,” he continues, testing Joel’s patience. “Told you already, that sexy angry look you get–”

Joel doesn’t let him finish. He slams forward, thrusting into him deep and hard. Cutting Javier’s words off with a loud, choked moan. “Talk too fuckin’ much,” Joel spits out roughly as he leans over, his chest pressing against Javier’s back.

Joel catches the telltale hitch in Javier’s breath, the sharp, desperate moan that slipped from his lips as his need builds, coiling tight in his gut. He slides a hand over the curve of Javier’s ass, snaking around his hip, tracing over the curls at the base of his cock, and finally wrapping his fingers around his length.

Javier’s entire body jolts, clenching tightly around Joel at the contact. Joel strokes Javier’s cock firmly, matching the rhythm of his own thrusting. He revels in the delicious sensation of Javier tensing beneath him, and his breath catches in his throat.

The display of dominance and ego keeps you enthralled. Skin ablaze as you can barely keep up with the intensity of the two of them. You sink two fingers into your throbbing cunt, aching to feel filled and as wrecked as Javier seems.

Javier’s body clenches tightly around Joel as he watches you come in front of them, for them, but Joel isn’t about to stop. “You,” Joel growls as he pulls Javier’s head back just enough to hear him better. “You’re next.”

“Just–fuck,” Javier groans, hips pushing back to meet every thrust, practically vibrating under Joel, the usual cockiness faltering and replaced with something more intimate. “Don’t stop.”

Grinning through clenched teeth, leaning forward, breath hot against Javier’s ear, Joel’s voice is velvety smooth, “I know.”

“You gonna come for me?” Joel asks, his fist tightening as he jerks Javier’s cock, his other hand holding him steady by the hips.

“Please,” you add, desperate to see them fall apart.

“You–” Javier’s head drops forward, his voice a ragged gasp. He can’t finish the sentence as Joel slams forward, his hand moving faster and harder as he feels Javier’s cock pulsing in his grip.

“Come on,” Joel taunts now, rough and demanding. “Do as you’re told for once, Javier, come for me.”

And with a sharp gasp and cry, Javier’s body tenses, his cock jerking in Joel’s hand as he comes. The sheer intensity of his release is all too much.

Javier slumps forward, panting and spent, Joel’s gaze shoots back to you. The sight of you–the way you are losing yourself in watching them–makes Joel’s entire body light up with a new intensity.

You let out another soft groan, your gaze locked on Joel’s as you touch yourself, your fingers glossy with slick arousal. “Fuck, Joel,” you whisper. “Please.”

His body reacts immediately to the sound of your voice, the sight of you so undone, and he knows he’s close. He can feel the way his cock throbs inside of Javier, the heat of his release building in his gut, tightening with every rough movement. But this. Having you here, watching pushes him to the edge in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Hips stuttering, Joel’s orgasm tears through him. Groaning deep within his chest, his body jerks forward as he comes inside of Javier. His fingers dig so hard into Javier’s hips that he knows he’s going to leave bruises.

Javier shudders beneath him, panting, body spent, but still bracing himself against the desk as Joel rides out the last of his release, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. He looks at you, and a grin spreads on his face. The wrung-out expression really does it for you.

Your eyes are half-lidded, face hot with arousal, fingers desperately reaching for the sensitive spot inside your cunt that Joel reaches with ease. Both men’s dark eyes rake over your body, spurring you on. Writhing under your own hands and their heady expressions.

“Goddamn,” Javier breathes raggedly, but his tone is laced with admiration as he watches you. It makes you glow. “So pretty like that.” You moan louder, body arching as you ride the edge of your release.

“Such a good girl,” Joel says. “Come for us.”

With a shattered breath, you come–moans filling the room as your core contacts in waves. Until you’re cursing and panting softly. Letting the praise flowing from Joel and Javier wash over you. You giggle softly, acknowledging you feel more cockdrunk than the two of them look despite only watching.

You feel a warmth settling between the three of you.

It makes your limbs feel loose and floaty as you smile lazily, watching both men tuck their softening cocks back into their jeans. You swell with pride. For your own luck, snagging two incredibly gorgeous men. And for successfully executing your plan.

You know there’s more work to do. You catch the awkward pauses and shuffling, but you can only allow your heart to swell as Joel helps you to your feet as if your legs stopped working. A deep-seated contentment unfurls in your chest when his arms wrap around you. And when he releases you, watching as you pull Javier towards you, you remain hopeful.

You’ve got more in mind for your two Texans.

divider: @cyberangel-graphics

lomls:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

@94namkooksworld

@gothcsz

@thundermartini

@magneticecstasy

@witchofthedeepwoods

@txlady37

@oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff

@bitchesuntitled

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@tobethlehem

@amanitacowboy

@lotusbxtch

@qveerthe0ry

@ace-turned-confused

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attractedtopeoples · 11 months ago

Note

HI POOKIR hope you are okay so I was thinking

Johnnie x f reader like UH overstim with edge on readers side ? And like reader maybe has a very pink style (coquette/hello kitty typa) and if you could do smth like after aftercare he does a stream and like reader kinda left some lipstick on his neck or hickeys IDK of you don’t wanna that’s okay! Have a good day

A/N: HIII LOVE, thank you I am doing better, and happy new year! I hope this is okay, especially sorry if i didn't mention the fashion as much- i'm not very good at incorporating those smaller details. despite that i absolutely loved this prompt, and i had sat there fangirling over the thought of this scenario for a hot minute but here we go, and as always constructive criticism is welcome.

Feeling Better? // Johnnie Guilbert

Tags/Warnings: mdni, minors do not interact, don't like don't read, smutty, explicit, f!reader, there is one creepy ass guy at the start, overstimulation, aftercare & slight fluff, marking kink from reader if you squint, tease reader/snarky reader, yh i think that's all, tell me if you think there should be more, NOT BETA-READ.

1.2k Words

The both of you had been at the grocery store, getting a few things for the apartment and stuff you needed for future videos. However, at one point Johnnie had left to grab some cookies he'd seen earlier, and some random guy had come up behind you, attempting to corner you into the shelf, one hand on your pressed on your lower back under the crop top you'd worn.

The sudden contact was obviously not appreciated, and you pushed him back as you stepped away quickly, avoiding his hand when he reached out again.

"Sorry Sweetheart, just admiring the view," the random guy said, as if it provided any valid explanation. You could feel his eyes tracing over you, and felt rather disgusted as his eyes stayed trained on your mini-skirt for a few seconds longer than you were comfortable with.

"Who's this?" a voice spoke behind you, and you had never been more thankful than when you turned around to find Johnnie standing there glaring at the creep. The guy rolled his eyes at Johnnie, but took a step back regardless, glancing at you once more before walking away, leaving a confused Johnnie with chocolate chip cookies in hand.

"Just a nobody, it's okay" you'd assured him, although it clearly didn't do a great job, his eyes still taking in every detail, trying to find any evidence of pain or discomfort.

"Are you sure?" he'd asked, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders as he looks back down the aisle with a slight frown.

"Been better, I just wanna go home." you'd admitted with a sigh as you leaned into his embrace.

That lead to where you are now, one hand clutching the pillow behind you and the other tangled in Johnnie's hair as his tongue pushes you towards another climax, your third tonight to be specific, and Johnnie did not seem like he wanted to stop. His hands had taken their place on your inner thighs, keeping your legs from closing around his legs as he overstimulates you.

Your back arched off the bed as you were pushed over the edge once more, and your hand was tugging Johnnie's hair, a futile attempt at pushing him away. However, to your surprise, he pulled away from you with a pleased grin on his face. Sadly, It didn't last very long, as one of his hands moved up your thigh as he began rubbing slow circles around your clit, applying a painful yet pleasurable pressure as you threw your head back once more.

His other hand trailed upwards- towards your hips, and he sat back on his knees, admiring you splayed out in front of him as he continued to toy with your overstimulated body, gently sliding two fingers inside you as you let out a broken moan, throat already sore from the previous rounds.

"Feeling better now darling?" He asks teasingly, curling his fingers inside you as your nails dig into the back of his neck, eyes squeezed shut as you try not to lose your mind from the feelings overwhelming you as his fingers thrust into you at a steady pace.

There were hickeys covering the both of you, but especially yourself, and you couldn't say you were all that upset. There was a trail of them from your jawline, down your collarbone, and scattered down the rest of your body. On your thighs the hickeys and love-bites were joined by slight bruises on your inner thighs form Johnnie's fingers.

On him it was mainly his neck and jawline, alongside a few scattered over his chest before he laid you down, opting to mark you up instead. Although as he leans down, placing his other arm by the side of your head, you had a nice few of them.

Looking into his eyes your shaky arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips as he reciprocated eagerly. The hands around his neck tightened as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten, and as he began to speed up you knew you wouldn't last much longer.

You pulled him in for another kiss as you felt yourself fall over the edge again, crashing your lips together in a desperate attempt of muffling the noises you knew would have woken one of your roommates. As the aftershocks wore off Johnnie slowly pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the bedsheets as he brings you closer, hugging you softly as he traces shapes into your skin.

After a while of you two lying there wrapped up in each other, he sighed and pulled back from you and off the bed to grab something from the bathroom. A few moments later he walked back into your room, a washcloth in his hand and you allowed yourself to relax back into the bed as he sat down next to you.

He rubbed soothing circles into your thighs as he cleaned you up, taking care to be extra gentle with you as he carefully wiped down your thighs with the warm towel. You watched him with a soft smile as your eyes drooped slightly. Eventually you felt your eyes close, and in your drowsy state you could feel Johnnie lie down next to you, an arm wrapped around your waist as you fall asleep together.

Blinking your eyes open you could hear the clicking of a keyboard somewhere in the room, and when you pat around for Johnnie you can only feel an empty space next to you in the bed. Rubbing your eyes as you adjust to the lighting you can finally see Johnnie at his desk on the other side of the room, both his camera and mic set up in front of him as he streams, most likely playing some form of game.

With a small sigh you sit up and hold back a groan at the pain in your lower back from last night. The movement caught Johnnie's attention, and you could see him mouth sorry out of the camera frame, although with the way he tilted his neck you could also see the collection of hickeys you'd left scattered on him- and by the way his camera was facing it was rather clear he was trying not to show them.

That fact didn't matter now however, as he'd just completely displayed each and every one to the viewers of his stream, and as you watched the realization flood his features you had to hold back a laugh. He slowly sat back into frame, and you watched his eyes flick over the comment section, and after a few seconds he just let out a resigned sigh.

With a raised eyebrow you kept watching as he pressed a few buttons, and then he started to speak again.

"Alright guys, I think that's a pretty good ending note, I'll see you next time," and with a final click of a button he slumped back into the chair and turned to face you tiredly. Meanwhile you were still trying not to laugh at him, one hand over your mouth as a pointless attempt at hiding your laughter.

"Shut up," he grumbled, but it didn't help much as you flopped back down onto the bed and continued to laugh, smiling when he came over and joined you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

#mdni #18+ mdni #anon <3 #johnnie guilbert smut #johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fanfic #fandom: jake and johnnie #i don’t know if there is a fandom name for these two #oh well #i was listening to sad conan gray songs whilst writing this #i dont know why #dividers by cafekitsune #divider by animatedglittergraphics n more

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fatesundress · 2 years ago

Text

⭑ patience, please, and thank you. tom riddle x reader

summary. you and tom have always sought to best one another in school. it doesn’t help that upon graduating, you work for opposing shops.

tags. rivals to … rivals with benefits? lovers? there’s no real animosity just #flirting so i don’t know, SMUTT minors begone, fluff that may be ooc to some but Not Me, reader literally learns archaic latin for this man, poor boy x rich girl trope if you squint, pureblood reader (and mentions of pureblood marriage politics), explicitly f!reader this time sorry!, fem anatomy, fingering, piv, tldr tom riddle would be turned on by the culminated tension of an eight-year-long academic rivalry.

note. i was 5k words into something else (that is probably better) before this came to me and would not go away so. here it is. don't know where all the smut is coming from. head empty

word count. 6.4k

The bell to Borgin and Burkes knells low and hollow in your ear as you enter, and there he is. Prim waistcoat and perfect hair, tucking books away with a wave of his wand. Far too pretty a thing for a dusty place like this, you think, and you smile with your head held high, pretending to take in the inventory as if that's ever been your reason for coming here.

“You mightn't consider leaving at all," Tom says, regarding you briefly before returning to his books, “if you're going to return this often."

“Oh, Riddle, but then what would you do without my company? Talk to the bones?"

“A tempting offer when considering my alternative.”

He leans against the counter to watch you as you make your way down the aisle, fingers jolting as they brush the shelves of dark paraphernalia, preemptively casting a locking jinx on a particularly nasty skeletal hand that grabbed you once last year.

“Is there anything you're looking for?"

“Nothing in particular,” you hum as you peruse, “Curiosities of your friendly competitors.”

“Friendly,” he repeats, like he’s tasting a strange flavour.

You smile with just enough polished barb that you hope it bothers him. “Most cordial. And I am nothing if not the dutiful volunteer for the task."

It is an objective truth that you are good at many things. Tom is good at all of them and perhaps one more: being pushed significantly and never showing symptoms of breaking. You'd like to be the one to change that.

“I presume you intend to leave with something?" There's a challenge in his voice, clear as day, as he stands straighter, but — not bothered. Not bothered, just intrigued. His hands fold behind his back and his chin comes up, daring you to say a single snarky thing that isn't true — that you're here to taunt him. Not to buy a thing, and not to enjoy his company.

It was such a boring day before this. If he only knew, he might have a tad more sympathy.

“Breathe, Riddle — if you can through all the dust in here — I've plenty of money to spare; there’s no need to fret about me leaving empty-handed." You select a book at random to prove your point, waltzing closer to hand Tom four sickles from your coin purse.

You're pleasantly surprised to see him actually smile, the corners of his mouth stretching with only the slightest degree of mirth. He reaches out and takes the coins, setting both upon the counter before turning up his nose at the book in your hands. “It must be an enthralling read to capture your attention."

You smooth the cover over with manicured hands and shrug at the indecipherable title. “Well, I’m remiss not to have a clue. I believe it's in Latin."

He runs his hand along the book, thumbing the pages with a raised brow. “It’s a history text. Ancient Roman institutes of magic.” His gaze returns to you. “Will that be all?”

You roll your eyes. He would know a dead language — it's such a remarkably Riddle thing to do — probably just for the sake of knowing it.

“Yes, if that's satisfactory enough that I may be permitted to walk the premises without causing offence."

“Of course. Though I do expect a review of it soon," he adds, “to know whether my time hasn't been entirely wasted."

“A review?" You laugh. “And I suppose you ask that of all your customers? Mind the matter of it being in a language I don't know; it would take me a few months for a crude translation at best."

“Only my best customers," he says with a small shrug, as if that isn't a completely arbitrary standard he's just pulled out of nowhere. “In that case, you've the better part of a year to read it," he adds, and the smile on his face is less thin, less restrained, more cocky.

You raise a brow, scanning over the words on the first page as if hoping something will stick out. It's all gibberish. “I'm being timed now, am I? I don't recall accepting the task."

"Do you not?"

You scoff. "Of course I do."

“Or perhaps I could translate for you?" he suggests, “It's really no bother for me."

You should be offended — he's eternally eager to see you fail — but your stomach flips at the premise of a challenge you haven't felt since you were in school together, and most importantly, you never fail. “Give me a date, Riddle.”

“I think by Christmas would be fair. Does that give you enough time, or shall I set it a bit later?"

“Christmas," you agree, shaking his hand with all professionalism you can muster (this is, after all, a very professional exchange), turning away, and smiling to yourself as the shop bell tolls again.

It’s only weeks before Christmas when it occurs to you that this isn’t even for anything. There’s no prize should you win, no one else is aware of it, it’s a great waste of time when what began as a passable weekend hobby has now drowned you in English-Latin dictionaries and histories of Ancient Rome. The shop surpasses last year’s sales and you’re dozing off into your mother’s pastry dish during the family celebration. Even your father telling a rather pitiful tale of his Polyjuiced visit to Borgin and Burkes can’t keep your attention when he drones on about how easily he fooled Mr Borgin into remembering the details of some spat twenty years ago. Your brain is in a half-scattered language. It tugs you to what might be the most depressing December 25th of your life if you’re forced to give Tom the gift of your failure.

So you double-down. Your social life is nonexistent. You’re three quarters through the textbook and dreaming about duelling Tom under the Arch of Constantine, and he wins, and he wins, and he wins each time. It only propels you more. You’re downing Invigoration Draughts like a drunkard with a cradle of firewhisky.

And you do it.

You finish the damn book, you think you might have actually fucking learned Latin with how deep the words have rooted in your skull, and you win.

You win, in your prettiest dinner dress, snow clinging to your hair, wrapped in a brand new coat as the shop bell tolls and you step inside.

You’re grateful you don’t say as much (which you were planning on doing — planning on slamming the door shut behind you and carolling your bloody success) because it’s Mr Burke at the counter this Christmas evening, not Tom.

“...Miss?” He regards you with perplexity behind the counter.

You blink, recollecting yourself and stepping forward to shake his hand. “Mr Burke. My family wished to extend their best wishes for the new year.”

“Quite a gesture," comes a familiar voice from behind you as Tom steps out from the staircase, dressed in a dark suit and overcoat, like he’s just been out. He’s smiling. He looks disgustingly well.

You glance between the two men, and Burke bows curtly as if made aware of something he’d previously been warned of. “To yours as well, miss.” And then he’s off to assist the only other customer, an elderly woman in fur-lined green with so many glittering pins in her hair she resembles a Christmas tree.

“Riddle,” you say, facing him, unable to hide the triumphant grin that digs into your cheeks. You hand him the book, and atop it, your three pages of articulate, edited review.

“You made it. You read it," he acknowledges, though you doubt he’s surprised, and then nods to the stairs. “Come.”

You follow him up the narrow spiral into a short corridor, taking one look back at the old woman, now clasping a shrieking bauble you gladly turn away from. The door Tom opens is unlocked, presumably where he’d just come from, and — you feel a bit overwhelmed if you’re correct, but you have no idea what else it could be — presumably his flat.

When you enter, the door shuts behind you with an empty click of the latch. The room before you is rather sparse, a kitchenette in one corner, a cramped study in the other, with books upon books and scrolls stacked high on shelves along the dark walls. There's only the barest of seating, two armchairs beneath a dim desk lamp, a small table beside the fireplace, and… a bed, of all things, separated only by a thin divider and the courtesy of enough distance not to immediately draw the eye. You, of course, can't quite help it, gaze lingering on the tidy sheets and back to him.

It isn’t a thought you do well to dwell on. Too many directions for your imagination to roam.

“Well then," you say, hanging your coat at the door and trying not to display any overt anticipation as the parchment rustles in his hand, “Shall I just sit and await your evaluation?"

He raises a brow. “I was going to ask if you’d like tea. Do sit, though.”

Oh. Yes, right, you’re rushing things. Hospitality. Decorum. Consideration. You suppose Tom Riddle would extend those things for the sake of posterity if nothing else. “Something black, if you have any, please.”

The water comes to a boil quickly under the steady heat of his magic, and you’re sinking into a shockingly comfortable armchair taking in every shape and blemish of the room while you’re in it. You don’t have to guess that he doesn’t have many guests.

“Darjeeling,” Tom says as he offers you a steaming cup, “if that’s satisfactory.”

You resist a scowl at his mocking tone, placing the tea on a glass coaster and glancing purposefully at your work (your magnum opus, really) once more. “Perfectly.”

Tom notes your look with a smile, settling into the seat opposite yours.

You take a sip of tea and lean back. “Do go on.”

“Eager,” he mutters, but begins.

He skims over the opening line before flipping the book open as if to be sure you haven’t made it all up, and then you think you probably could have made it all up if you wanted. Read one of the hundreds of magical histories of Rome that certainly existed — probably in your own shop, at that — and gathered much the same conclusion. But you did not. Tom must know you did not.

The silence is thick as he reads, waned only by the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional turn of a page. His brows furrow the way you always remember catching in school, like he's concentrating on a particularly hard puzzle, and you have to busy yourself with a nearly empty cup of tea to pretend not to notice the way his beauty is something almost delicate. Framed by firelight and the indigo gloss of the night shining in through the window, you imagine his hair mussed, his long eyelashes speckled with snow, his cheeks pink from the cold. You wonder about him in a nicer suit than this. You could buy him one, if you liked.

And then, at last, he looks up over the parchment, expression carefully measured. “I'm impressed.”

You put your cup down and you can’t help it. You're smiling. You're proud. His approval is like bottling the tail of a rainbow (which you’ve been told is possible), and it's a feeling that’s been absent from you for so long, it's never come from him — Merlin, you've always wanted it to come from him, haven’t you?

“You’re impressed?” you ask, as you love nothing more than to push. “Is that all?”

He loves nothing more than to keep his face impassive, but there’s a twitch there. Something you’re aware you can only spot because of how much attention you pay him.

“I enjoyed your perspective on the Romans’ utilisation of firedrakes. It was well-thought.”

“Well-thought?”

“Quite good, yes.”

“Good," you say, grinning in the bulk of your triumph, “I suppose that means I win."

Win. You’re not winning anything but the implication that Tom is somehow losing. Still he does not break, and you think at seventeen he would have. At nearly twenty his smile just grows. “Have you ever done anything less?”

Is he pushing too? That could be fun.

“Oh, first year tribulations. Nothing since — you wouldn’t remember.”

“Hm, I do recall an unfortunate lesson with a matagot in Beasts, and that must have been, what—” He tilts his head as though to ponder it— “fourth year?”

You narrow your eyes. “Paid an ever-close watch on me, did you, Riddle?”

“As close as anyone else.”

“And by that you mean to say—?”

“Only that it’s a most fascinating custom, the matter of pureblood marriage. It was hard to avoid your name in a common room full of your particular politics.”

“Ah,” you hum, summoning the teapot from the kitchenette to pour another cup, “so my potential marital affairs are what drew your attention. And here I was thinking it was because I was the only person who could ever best you.”

He stops your tea mid-motion, and you still as he sends both the pot and the cup to the table beside you. “Can it not have begun as one and have become the other?”

“Well, your curiosity knows no end; I should be flattered by such multifaceted interest.”

“So you won’t mind my inquiring.”

“Whatever you wish, Riddle.”

“Upon the current status of your betrothal.”

You blink, and then laugh. “There is no betrothal. At present.”

“At present. Is it subject to change?”

“There’s always talk,” you offer, and it offers impressively little.

“Elaborate...”

“I don’t know that you’re in any position to be making demands,” you gibe, “considering I paid four sickles to prove you wrong and I haven’t anything to show for it but my pride.”

He smiles. “Not enough to sate your desire to make me grovel, it seems.”

“You? Grovel?” You gasp, fingers circling your knee idly. “What a fascinating concept… Wait now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

“Is that not what you came for?” he asks, and it’s odd to see him amused by the idea. You push and push and he just continues to take. “To prove me wrong? To puncture my pride?”

You shrug innocently, even though you’d just said as much. “I’m here to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

He laughs, a warm, quiet laugh — more of a breath than anything — but true if you can read him at all, and that’s a bit alarming. “Of course. Near nine months of exhaustive translation all to bid me a nice holiday. It sounds almost like grovelling, doesn’t it? Wait, now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

You bite back your smile. Damn him. He’s never been funny before. That’s a problematic development.

“Fine.” Your legs are already crossed and now you’re crossing your arms too, and you look very reserved compared to his relaxed stature. “A match would, of course, need to be of good title.”

“Of course,” Tom says, without even an attempt at masking his amusement.

“And he would need to be rich.”

“Naturally.”

“It would help to be from one of the Sacred Houses.”

“I should not expect anything less.”

“And I suppose age is a factor,” you go on. You push, and push, and push. Tom is impervious. He takes.

“What age would do well?”

“Near enough to my own. For health, of course.”

“For health,” he agrees delightedly.

What the hell are you talking about?

“It would be preferable that he be handsome.”

“And of his character?”

“Most agreeable.”

“Docile?”

“Hm, docile, yes.”

“It is a long list.”

“I’ve been told I’m a difficult woman to sate. Far too prideful, apparently.”

Your fingers are drawing figure-eights on your thigh now, and Tom’s eyes flash briefly to the motion. You stop as though caught, and you aren’t sure why.

“A defamatory accusation,” he says quietly.

You wonder if his voice has always had that tinge to it: the gravel underlining his polish like the crack of the fire, and — that must be why it’s so warm in here, too. It has been that way since you arrived, hasn’t it? Such polarising temperatures between your walk in the snow to this, you must have only just adjusted… an hour after arriving. It’s completely logical.

“So there are talks,” you repeat, if only because you’ve blanked on all else.

“Well,” he says, eyes boring into yours in a way that makes you feel transparent, “I wish you all the best. If it at all helps, you can now add a moderate understanding of Latin to your list of virtues.”

You drape an arm across your chair to match his easy posture. (And how is it he manages to look regal and informal at the same time?) “My list of virtues? Elaborate.”

He shakes his head with a small smile and you point an accusatory finger at him. “Ah, ah, Riddle — I won, remember? And I indulged your inquiring regardless.”

His eyes narrow. “You do want me to grovel.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I don’t believe that’s the purpose of the day.”

“And that matters to you?”

He leans forward, looking over you as if your supposed virtues will reveal themselves upon scrutiny. It’s a bit offensive, really. You’d hope he could find more than enough with one glance.

He settles, after a long moment where you feel almost bare, on, “Your pride is agonising.”

It’s — not exactly what you were hoping for. Not quite grovelling, by any definition, but then, what did you expect from him?

“Excuse me?”

“Your stockings are ripped at the calf.”

“Riddle—”

“Your lipstick may have stained my teacup. It is a shade I’m rather fond of, but I do not wish to see a trace of it left behind.”

“Quite good,” you say through gritted teeth.

“And I should not be agonised — incautious and unfettered at a sliver of skin or the gesture of your mouth —” You realise with horror that he’s speaking through something constrained too — “and yet I am.”

It’s — is that a confession? Have you broken him? Have you won again? Your stomach flips and it doesn’t feel at all like winning. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s lost. In fact, he’s watching you intently, and at your lack of response, the constraint forming a taut line on his lips seems to slip back into something deliberate. Curious.

You recover to the best of your ability. “It is a short list.”

“Shall I go on?” he asks, and it’s an answer, too: no, you have most definitely not broken him. He looks a bit like he’s found a neat pathway to breaking you instead.

“I’d hate to debase you further.”

He leans in, and he might be about to stand, and that might be an irreversible thing to do. “Are you sure? I can’t imagine you’ve painted the picture yet.”

Oh, you’ve painted the picture. You’ve painted a gallery.

“I find the image regrettable half-done. No point finishing it now.”

You do not.

“And besides,” you add, “I know my virtues.”

He smiles, and he’s half orange in the firelight and half blue in the night, green somewhere in the middle, and he should be condemned for being this beautiful. “Elaborate.”

You shouldn’t. “I’m intelligent.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

“So I’ve seen,” he agrees, still leaning in.

“I’m good at my job.”

And then he stands.

It is an irreversible thing. Your heart lurches like it knows he’s going to do something that cannot be undone. Your heart lurches because it is a thing you’ve anticipated, quietly, on late nights in scrolls of Latin so you might be able to pretend to mistranslate them — you know, in your first tongue and any other, that you do not want it to be undone.

“Anything else?” he asks. You aren’t sure if you’re resentful of the proximity of his seat to yours or grateful for it, because it takes no time at all for him to be standing before you.

“I’m well-mannered,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you mean for it to. “Lettered in etiquette.”

“Etiquette," he repeats slowly, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, and you don't quite know how he manages an intonation like that, but there it is, dripping with so much contempt you’re surprised he doesn’t fall over.

It wouldn’t be terrible if he did. He’d land right on top of you and put this little game to rest.

Instead he reaches a hand to your cheek — your hair — and brushes it like it’s an absolutely standard thing to do. He pulls away just the same. As if his hand is familiar with the shape of your face because it’s been there before. You'd definitely remember if it had.

“Of course,” you breathe, “patience and pleases and thank yous.”

“In all your manners, you might provide an example.”

Fine. If he’s going to be difficult. “I’d say I’m displaying great patience right now.”

“Hm.” His hands find yours where they sit on either arm of your chair, and his figure is blocking all light now. It shines on his shoulders, casts him like an aura. “That’s one.”

You look at his lips, and don’t bother to look away. You incline forward as much as you can when you’re caged in like this, until his breath is on yours and you can smell his cologne.

“Please,” you say, and for the challenge in it you don’t feel too humbled.

He is most obliging.

His lips just barely brush yours at first, and you did say you were patient — so you wait. The feather-light touch of them stills before it deepens, his hands pressing down on yours. Your open mouth. His tongue. You're kissing him, breathlessly and frantically and completely, and it is all you want.

Tom pulls back and you instinctively push forward. You will your eyes to open and he’s still right there — he hasn’t gone anywhere (what a deranged concern that is) — lips an inch from yours, and he’s smiling.

“That’s two.”

Oh. Oh, he’s an aberration in human variance. There’s something incredibly wrong with him.

There isn’t a way of turning gratitude into a challenge, you think. It doesn’t ask for anything. It appreciates. In this case it would more closely resemble worship. Thank you for your kiss, Riddle, I’d be nothing without it.

So you search to find a way around it that still gets you what you want.

“I’ll need a bit more than a lousy kiss if you want to see me grovel, Riddle." Your voice is a bit rough. You don’t know that your confidence lands the way it typically does.

But you came here to — what was it — puncture his pride? Push him until he breaks? You’ve already made it halfway, and you are, after all, very good at it.

And you suppose he wants to earn the third, because he scowls and then he’s kissing you again and this time his hands are on your face, and perhaps they are somehow familiar with the shape because they fit around you in some inexplicably whole way, like they were made for it. With your hands free, you’re carding your fingers through his hair, hoping for that vision of him you imagined earlier, with thick, messy waves and flushed cheeks.

Tom brings a hand to your waist and tugs you in, and you’re partly pulled from the chair by his insistence and overwhelmingly pushing to get out of it yourself, lips never leaving his as you stumble past the meagre divider to his bed.

The backs of your thighs hit the footboard and your knees buckle, gasping away from Tom’s mouth as you reach for the bedpost. His breath is heavy as his hand curves to the small of your back to keep you steady, your dress bunched in his fist, and there’s a heat in him pressed against you, like a match being held to kindling. And in the flash of fire when it finally strikes, everything in his eyes is clear, singularly focused, and he's pushing you to your back, splayed across his tidy sheets as he kisses you with bruising ferocity.

There's an urgency now to his movements that wasn't there before, and it's a stark contrast to his usual calculated demeanour, but that feels like winning. That feels like breaking Tom Riddle, whittling years of practised constraint to… this. That draws the third: makes you nice and grateful like he asked, because no part of you wants his careful fortitude here. You want to ruin him.

He appears to want the very same from you, which wrecks the whole thing.

Your legs move to wrap around him and he stops you, one hand pinning you by the hip and then down, past where you think he’ll go, as he finds the hem of your dress and lifts it from your calf to your knee. He draws circles over the thinly-clothed skin and you can do nothing but lie there, panting a little, staring at him with less patience than you’d proclaimed to have. And then his fingers move upwards, and they’re drawing figure-eights, and you understand that if this isn’t a taunt, nothing is. He copies your earlier motions. He does not kiss you. His fingers trail higher and higher and they’re soft like the shadows framing his face.

Finally he finds the waistband of your stockings and begins to tug them down your hips, stopping when he reaches that sliver of skin revealed by a tear in the fabric, taking your leg and hiking it up so he can look closely. He smiles, finger sliding down the tear in such a precise, meticulous fashion you can’t help but think he’s doing it on purpose. The moment does not linger when he pulls away, shuffling your stockings down the rest of the way so your legs are unclad before him, your heels already kicked off somewhere across the floor.

He watches your sharp exhale when he ducks down to kiss the skin of your thigh. A shiver runs through you at his softness, another when you see his face, see his eyes go dark with want of you.

His constraint is back, and it’s fucking detrimental. The only silver lining you can find in it, and you hope to be correct (haven’t you been so far?), is that maybe that means Tom Riddle can be broken in litany. Maybe he amends his ruination now but you can carve it out of him again later.

“Come here,” you say, your voice ragged.

Tom frowns, one hand pursuing a dangerous path up the inside of your thigh. “And here I was under the impression you wanted me to grovel.”

“Oh,” you huff, “is that what this is? Not some feeble attempt at winning after I —”

You grip his hair as his fingers curl under the lace of your underwear, as he smiles at the dampness there, the way your argument dissipates beneath his touch. “Winning?” he derides, breathy to match your tone in a way that feels cruel rather than considerate. You nod even as your breathing accelerates and he lifts the skirt of your dress to rest over your thighs, his eyes darting between your legs and your own heavy gaze as if he can't decide which is more intriguing. And then he slides a finger across your heat and you think he’s made his choice. "Is that what you think I want?"

You blink, feeling a bit lost. "What else is there?"

“Will you thank me after this?”

Right. That. You swallow, head falling back on his pillow. “Doubtful.”

“Hm,” he mumbles, some kind of consideration that can only be answered by the movement of his fingers against you, slow as they seek to learn you.

You arrest the moan that rises in your throat, teeth clenching together as Tom climbs over you once more, his body keeping you in place to watch the sustained details of your expression as one of his fingers dips inside you. You hiss, and his gaze burns into you, his mouth parted with a degree of awe and you think perhaps this is the picture he painted — you, under him, eyebrows pinched together as your hands scramble for purchase on his chest, fighting to remain intact.

But then his thumb brushes up against your clit and you let out a sound — half a moan, half a mewl. Tom doesn't give you a second to recover as his lips come down on yours again, hard, desperate, like he's trying to inhale you. And you let him, you take the little bit of ruin he surrenders in the great expanse of yours.

Even if you could quiet your noises you stand to think Tom would feel them, taste them, bite down on them like he does your lower lip, a second finger coiling into you. Your hand smacks at his wrist, clutching his arm with such intensity you can feel every sinew of his movement as he works away at you. Your legs are trembling, pressing around his waist an act of simultaneous resistance and desperation as you push upwards for friction and conquest.

You find both. Undeniable hunger — how he groans softly against your open mouth, how the imprint against your thigh is hard under his trousers, how he wants you.

His ministrations only intensify when your hand searches for the buckle of his belt, gripping your jaw like he needs to watch you fall apart before you can find parity in your desperation. It isn’t an impossible wish; your mind is hazy at the push and pull of his fingers, curving where his thumb draws ceaselessly on the other side, and you think, as much as you’re able right now, that he could succeed. But you force your eyes open to the space where your hand is wedged between your bodies, yanking hastily at his belt and sighing into his shoulder as it unfastens.

His trousers are unbuttoned, unzipped, and you’re arching into him with laboured pants even when your hand slips past them to find skin you've never travelled before.

Tom’s motions stagger when your fingers brush experimentally over his length, and you suddenly understand his ardent focus. You can’t help but stare at the way his jaw ticks, a hiss parting through gritted teeth, and the fact that you’re doing this to him is almost enough to push you over the edge. You grip him in one hand, and his fingers move again like some act of defiance, tightening his hold on your jaw. And then you’re pumping slowly, carefully, the only way you think to with the intention of pleasing him. Of weakening him.

He turns your head so you’re gasping into the pillow, neck exposed for him to press his mouth to. His teeth and tongue are on you and your hand slips from him for a moment as you shudder. Fuck him. This isn’t enough. You won't lose like this.

You tug at his waistcoat now, snapping open the buttons until the last few are clinging on by cheap threads. You’ll buy him that suit, you think. One that you can shrug off as fervently as you like without worrying about tearing the seams.

Your removal of his shirt is not aided by the swelling fire inside you, how the attention of his fingers has remained steady through your squirming and it feels like it’s culminating to something fatal. Your fingers grow shakier but don't stop their pursuit until every button is undone and you can soothe their trembling by pressing your palms against the warm expanse of his chest.

And then they’re back in his trousers, pushing them down his thighs as he continues to chip away at you. You bite back moans and blink through your dizziness.

Tom stops, and it might be more devastating than if he hadn’t. Your body is taut, a fine, thrumming wire spared a moment before snapping.

“More,” is all you say, tracing the shape of him through his briefs.

“More?” he asks. There’s a small mercy in the rasp within in his voice, the uncertainty despite himself. “I suppose that means I win.”

“Win?”

His gall almost, almost pulls you back to reality. But he’s — he’s pulling his trousers further down and your body, like some separate entity to your mind, is flush against him when he’s finally free of all obstructions.

“Mhm,” he hums, and almost-reality dwindles away into fucking nothing — disappears before your eyes when he brings his finger to his tongue and tastes you.

You tear him back to your mouth with a sound that so desperate your humility shouldn’t be able to take it but that's all gone now. His lips are wet and swollen and you’re adjusting yourself so his hips are lined with yours, and your head rolls back when he positions himself against your core and stays there.

“I win,” you breathe. “Everything else is just—”

He moves, hands on your waist as he presses ever-so-slightly inside you. You clutch wildly at his arms, your eyes wrenching shut.

“Look at me,” he says softly. His thumb caresses your cheek as if any act of his acts of tenderness are at all actually tender and not depraved requests for your resignation.

You shake your head. “It’s ju-just—”

He sinks further, unhurried, and you feel like crying, your body clenching around him as the pressure deepens.

“Just what?” he asks, peppering kisses along your jaw.

“Just… um, just…”

“Hm?”

“I win... s’just… cheating…”

You feel him smiling against your neck, and then he detaches his lips to observe you, nodding with false sympathy. “You win.”

And he shifts himself forward so he’s pushed to the hilt.

It’s a lie. It’s a lie as Tom holds you against him, carving kisses into your skin that burn, as you shudder a moan into the thick, hot air, as he begins to move rhythmically inside you, your fingers digging crescent moons into his spine and dragging.

You don't win.

If you are steel honed over years, it’s this moment that you melt, and you think if you were to be fused again it would be in a different shape.

And you mean that. You honestly feel liquified when he splits you slow like this, rolling his hips as you cling to him for strength like he isn’t the thing shattering you.

You rock to meet him, you bury your nails in his back, you rest your moans with your teeth in his shoulder — whatever you can think to make this fair. Make true to your word. You are going to break, it's true, but you are going to break Tom Riddle too.

“Fingers,” you mutter, far too much of a demand for the way it almost stumbles into a sob, but Tom makes a strained sound in the back of his throat as if it gratifies him that you want it enough to ask.

“Thank me,” he answers on a harsh exhale.

You bite at his collar, shaking your head, but your legs are starting to shake and you wouldn’t ask if it was something you wanted — you mask it as an order because you need it. Because you imagine what he’s doing now combined with his thumb on your clit and it’s enough to make your abdomen clench just thinking about it.

Instead one of your hands forsakes the sweet curve of his muscles every time he thrusts into you so that it can snake between your own legs, and you mimic his earlier ministrations just long enough to drive a moan from your lips before Tom’s eyes dart from your lips, the rise and fall of your chest, to the hand missing from his back.

He grabs it with a scowl, pinning one wrist and then the other above your head.

“Stubborn,” he hisses, and he buries himself inside you like it's something personal, persistent in his strokes when his fingers finally rub over you how you wanted.

And you know you’ve done it when his head falls on your shoulder and you feel yourself tighten around him. His grip on your wrists is punishing. His mouth on your shoulder is stringent. He’s hard and full inside you and his fingers slide against you in delicate, torturous contrast. You know because it all stutters a bit when you pull him into a kiss, when you know you’re about to plummet into oblivion and he’s gripping you through it like you might steady him — like you aren’t the thing shattering him.

When you do, it’s something visceral. You think you might be spinning, or floating — screaming, maybe — spilling ill-mannered expletives in strings with his name because your hands are still trapped under his and your body can do nothing else. What you know, undoubtedly, is that you’re coming down from it for a long time, in a haze when you manage to breathe the words into his ear. “Thank you.”

Tom breaks. It’s the most beautiful you think he’s ever looked; eyebrows cinched and pink mouth parted, hair mussed like you wanted, neck tense as he stills inside you and you feel every part of him let go.

Your legs are too weak to cling to him through it, and you just pant under him, blinking languidly and in awe.

You stay like that for a long time.

He leans in when he finally pulls out of you, kissing you like one form of contact must be replaced with another. It's the same with his hands. He sinks into the space beside you and releases your wrists just to cup your face instead.

Yours come up instantly and shamelessly to his hair, craving nothing more than to curl your fingers through the dark mess of it. You trace the sharp shape of his cheeks, too, like his did to yours, like you need to memorize the lines of his expression and the heat of his skin before the world outside seeps in and it all goes cold.

But you pull away and you can't imagine it will.

There’s something in his eyes that feels new. Longing like he’s shed all pretence of acting like nine years of treading the lines of this rivalry has ever been anything but a pathetic display, like he knows you've shed it too. It makes you catch your breath to think this is what it feels like to be desired by Tom Riddle; that you desire him all the same; all this time.

“You know,” you say, and your voice sticks dry to your mouth, “I still win.”

He shakes his head. He smiles. You want terribly to kiss him again.

“I’ll just have to find something else to best you in, won’t I?”

You pretend like you’re considering it and not just staring at him.

“I think by Christmas would be fair.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle oneshot #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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preciouslandmermaid · 11 months ago

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🕸🕷 Free Fall 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven's daughter)

Rating: T (there are mentions to Kraven's abuse toward his children, but nothing described.)

Prompt: It was strange to touch each other without one of them dying, but maybe touch was also something for the living.

This is a drabble for the enemies-to-lovers fic that I haven’t written (and idk if I will write it). This takes place after the events of Spider-Man 2.

tags: angst, pov second person, no use of Y/N, no hurt/some comfort, unhinged fmc lmao

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

New York City :: 4:25AM

Your legs dangle from the edge of the building, but the height doesn’t terrify you—never has, never could—not with Kraven as your father. Your necklace emanates a soft click-click-clack as the wind knocks its animal teeth together. For each kill, your father once said, take a trophy with you. Their coat, their teeth, their claws and wear it with pride, Huntress. You press your thumb into the tip of the largest canine tooth.

You think, what’s the point of collecting a trophy when I have no one to share the victory with?

Lower Manhattan sleeps fitfully below you. Three police cars, one ambulance, and groups of tiny black dots like fleas jumping on the back of a tremendous gray-skinned beast. You wonder where the fleas are going. Home? Work? To their lovers and friends? Something akin to loneliness bites at your heels and you stubbornly kick it away.

How can you be lonely in a city of millions? You twirl the canine tooth in your grip. Snow flurries drift through the sky like dandruff and the crystallized air scraping through your nasal cavities reminds you of home. Or whatever you could call a ‘home’. Kraven had home-bases, with all the luxury and technology money could afford, but they forever lacked warmth.

I should leave this city, the traffic lights below switch to red and a car screeches to a stop, I should leave…

An influx of cold air hits your spine followed by the sound of someone’s feet touching the rooftop.

“Hey, this doesn’t look like Barcelona,” Spider-Man says casually.

He’s referring to your last conversation---“there’s nothing left for me here. I’m relocating.” When Spider-Man asked where, you said “Barcelona, obviously.”Granted, your tone wasn’t as cauterizing as you wanted. You were bleeding out thanks to the Symbiote that speared you through the collarbone and it’s difficult to be snarky when your vision is doubled and your brain is on fire.

“Plane’s delayed,” you toss the words over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of him. The sun hasn’t risen and all the artificial light reflecting from skyscraper windows paints Spider-Man in an interesting arrangement of shadowy grays and muted red. You recall the not-so-distant time when you hunted him. All the tricks you played, all the injuries you gave each other, and you have nothing to show for it.

You release the tooth from between your fingers and it knocks against the others. What trophy would I take from the spider anyway? You return your focus to the fleas and machines between the gap in your feet. A piece of his suit, perhaps. You search within for the rage, the anger that typically fueled you, the desire to hunt that Kraven taught you—instilled in you—through his cruel voice and crueler hands.

Yet, no rage comes to greet you with its fiery white-hot grip. You find stark emptiness akin to the featureless skyscrapers that cage around you.

“Seriously,” he leaps onto the ledge beside you, “there is a place for you in New York, I mean, you’ve met Tombstone, and Martin Li, you could help at FEAST or--” he makes a plaintive gesture with his hand, “there’s other places for you.”

You clench your jaw and create a low ‘hmm’ sound with the back of your throat. His eyes burn into your cheek. Why haven’t I left yet? You could’ve at any moment after Kraven’s death.

You had a complicated relationship with your father. On the one hand, you wanted him to find a worthy opponent and achieve his ‘warrior’s death’, but on the other hand—you wanted to be that warrior. You stayed in New York to kill Venom because he killed Kraven before you could. But then...well...that didn’t work out, now did it? Venom was dead. Kraven was dead. The vultures and crows were circling, circling, circling, and if you were smart then you’d get out before they started plucking out your eyes.

“You know anyone in need of a big game hunter?”

“You’re more than that.”

Your gaze slices toward Spider-Man. His lenses widen. You don’t say anything and let him stew in the uncomfortable silence. How dare he presume to know you? The gall of these heroes. You are what Kraven made you to be. A hunter. A killer. A panther stalking through humid forests, a polar bear staining its white fur red, a sharpened blade sinking between the ribs and puncturing a lung.

You recall the wheezing, rattled breath leaving Spider-Man’s lips. His blood on your hands, staining your palms crimson, drying rusty on your wrists. ‘Gotcha’ you had said before he kicked you in the chest with both feet and sent you into the wall. He was flexible and fast, you’d give him that. An almost worthy opponent.

A true worthy opponent would’ve killed you, you think.

“I saw your notes in Kraven’s study,” he says it quietly, like it’s a secret, and your shoulders bristle close to your ears.

“What about it?” You snap, annoyance corrodes your tone and hides the soft and vulnerable parts of you. My worthless notes. Saving no one. Healing nothing.

“Oncology isn’t an easy field of study,” if he’s trying to convince you of your goodness then he is destined to fail. Your motivations for studying tumors and cancer were inherently selfish. You were trying to save your father—as cruel, and mean, and abusive as he was—you tried to save him. That wasn’t virtue at work. It was fear.

You were afraid of a world without Kraven. A world without purpose, without something to prove, without something to overcome. Kraven never loved you—never could. But he gave you a reason to live, to fight, to thrive against all odds.

You wanted to kill him with your own hands and you wanted him alive. A paradox, you know, but your relationship to your parent’s was an unsolved Rubik's cube, a labyrinth of missed opportunities. You grew up in a home made of kerosene and lit matches. What do you say to a child who grew up breathing smoke? And how can you expect them to live in the clean, fresh-air? You catch a snowflake on your thumb.

“Those notes could help someone,” he continues, gesturing, his voice growing more animated the more he spoke, “I glanced at them and I’m not saying I’m an expert, but they were thorough and they were--”

you cut in, “useless.”

“I know a guy--”

“I’m sure you do, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Spider-Man continues, unperturbed by your interruptions, “he’s continuing the Emily-May foundation on a much, much smaller scale. Maybe he could use the notes. Maybe it could help someone.”

“Or maybe it winds up in a drawer, or in a box somewhere, and is eaten by rats.”

Spider-Man huffs, “he doesn’t have rats!” A thoughtful pause, “at least, I don’t think so.”

“It’s New York,” you roll your eyes, “there are rats everywhere.”

The silence slips into the space between you, but it’s not uncomfortable or cold. It’s just there. Like the dusting of snowflakes coating the ledge. This is the longest you’ve ever spoken to him without trying to maul him. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, waiting for an attack, but his body language is relaxed. His elbows rest on his knees, his sinewy yet lanky arms, and supplicant bowed spine. You trace the curve of his throat with your eyes.

Kraven would tell you to strike. He’d say to take a tooth hanging from your necklace and ram it into his jugular. But Kraven is gone.

Why am I here?

Spider-Man stands, “can I show you something?” he extends his hand toward you and his long fingers curl slightly as they await your hand.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears; loud, and hot, and claustrophobic and begging you to say ‘no’. Toss the spider from the ledge. Reassert your status as his enemy. Remind him of the blood you’ve spilled from his body. Reignite the animosity between you. It would be so simple. Like lighting a match in a house of gasoline.

But, you’re so tired of inhaling smoke.

Your hand slides into his. It’s solid and warm. His fingers encase yours and bring you close.

It’s strange to touch each other without one of you dying, but maybe touch is also something for the living.

“Hang on,” he mutters before the space between your bodies vanishes.

You dig your fingertips into the strong sinew of his shoulder as cold wind whistles through your ears. The skyscrapers and snowfall dim into smears of chrome and white, the noise of the city deafens, and you feel Spider-Man’s heartbeat against your own.

Your feet hit solid ground. The air tastes colder, thinner.

“Just in time,” Spider-Man says.

You open your eyes. You’re standing in a sea of roiling clouds. You look below, seeking the maze of streets and honking taxi cabs, but fluffy, blue-gray cotton greets you instead. You’re above it all. Above the constant noise, the mesmerizing traffic lights, and warm bagel shops, and kitschy tourist stalls. It’s dizzying.

A spark hits the horizon. An orange light, a tiny flame, and illuminates the clouds into a pastel landscape of pink hues. Your breath catches. Your fingertips tighten on his shoulders. The sun pushes from the clouds like a seed emerging from soil and the clouds ignite. You can’t feel the warmth of the sun, but you see it in every stroke of color, against every bulbous mound of cloud.

Spider-Man’s arm hasn’t left your waist.

Maybe touch isn’t meant to always be sharp and serrated and bloody.

“Give me your friend’s number,” you don’t turn your face away from the sunrise.

“Sure, yeah, of course,” his voice is warm, “no problem.”

A gentle orange and pink hue bleeds out; like sliced grape fruit, or a flock of flamingo feathers, or a painting done by a child with an enthusiasm for warm-tones.

“Does that – I mean – are you staying?”

“Hmm,” you step out of his embrace, “catch me and I’ll stay.”

His lenses widen, “w-what?”

You drop sideways into the cotton-candy colored clouds with laughter bubbling up from your throat.

You place one hand on the grappling hook at your waist—just in case.

He catches you.

And you stay.

#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #insomniac spider man #insomniac peter parker x reader #insomniac peter parker x you #reader insert #fanfic #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #my fics #peter parker x fem!reader

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pixiemage · 2 months ago

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My Fate Is In Your Hands - Entry 8

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[A/N: This is a story entirely guided by you guys, by the readers. Be sure to vote at the end of each entry! ALSO, if you'd like to be added the tag list, please let me know and I'll be sure to add you next time!]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

➤ Watch Tango

Tango awakes slowly. It’s a fog, and a blur, and a static, and an ache. He registers the general soreness before he registers his surroundings, a weak and tired wince making his face tick for a fraction of a second.

Soft. Whatever he’s lying on, it’s soft. Bed, he thinks, as an abstract concept more than a word, even before his ears decide they want to work again. Bed, soft, comfortable. He’s sore, but he’s comfortable. And the air is warm. Sound reaches him a moment later, quiet and muffled from somewhere else. Distant murmuring voices, and the lowing of cattle, and a cicada making the air buzz.

One of his ears twitch.

…his head hurts.

Tango sucks down a sharp breath at the pulsing pressure he can feel behind his eyes, and he instantly regrets it, the dryness of his throat making him cough and making his head throb with pain. He winces and rolls onto his side, the blankets that he’s only now realizing are over him shifting with him as he moves. They pool in his lap as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. He tries to catch his breath and only struggles to do so the first two times before finally, finally, his lungs stop protesting against air.

He wheezes and takes a slower breath, licking his lips to wet them, and finally opens his eyes.

He doesn’t recognize the room he’s in. He’s lying on a bed in the center of a rustic-looking bedroom, wood walls and wooden floors and a homespun rug, a simple wooden dresser shoved up against one wall. There’s a chair nearby and a table beside the bed, all wooden, all looking like they might have been crafted by hand. There are potion bottles - some empty, some not - lined up on the table, and a hat straight out of a western movie is hanging on the back of the chair.

Sunlight is pouring in through a window, dust dancing through the rays, and there are other details in the room that Tango would be more interested in if he wasn’t so focused on the biggest questions beginning to spiral in his head.

Where is he? How did he even get here? The last thing he remembers…

“...to HASA, Tango Tek to HASA, do you read me? … Bdubs, you down there…?”

Feral creatures on the moon, disguised as something friendly but most certainly not. Sharp teeth, red eyes - an explosion–

“...is Tango Tek reaching out to Hermitheus, come in Hermitheus– … Doc? Do you copy? … Zedaph? Anyone?!”

Cold metal, stale oxygen, dark skies. The vast emptiness of space. And no time, running out of time. His own panicked breathing filtered back to his ears inside his helmet.

“...ship was damaged, but I’m making repairs. I’ve got an idea to get my bits off this rock, but I don’t know how long…”

(Desperate attempts to make it right.)

“...if I can time it right, I can still detonate, and we can deviate the moon’s trajectory…”

“...more damaged than I thought. The numbers Holsten is giving me aren’t great. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to take off if–”

Arguments with a snarky AI, and dread pooling in his veins. Fear. Panic.

“–got my ship up and running, but something’s up with the radar–”

“–Moon’s traveling at a higher velocity than expected. … Doc, I don’t know if my messages are reaching you, but our original ETD won’t cut it. You’ve gotta get everyone off the planet, pronto. If you don’t–”

He didn’t mean for it to go this way.

“–mayday, mayday! Tek to Hermitheus, Tango Tek to Hermitheus– … –going down– … –know if you made it out– … –let you down. I’m sorry, I should’ve–”

A knock at the door startles Tango from his thoughts and he snaps back to himself, suddenly very aware of his rapid breathing and the wheezing coming from his throat and the smoke and sulfur on his tongue. He’s wound tight as a spring, and when the bedroom door opens he scrambles back, nearly toppling over the far side of the bed in his rush to get away.

“Oh - gosh, I’m sorry!”

A startled voice cuts through his panic, a bright voice with an accent like Zedaph’s. There’s a man in the cracked doorway with blond hair and wide brown eyes, watching Tango with an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m so, so sorry,” the man says quickly, “I didn’t mean to–” He gestures to Tango, to the door, then jerks a thumb back over his shoulder, before awkwardly clutching at the edge of the door he’s half-hidden behind. “...are you alright?”

Tango blinks at him, his breathing slowly leveling out, not quite sure how to respond. Is he alright? It’s a complicated question. Silence hovers between them, and the man clears his throat.

“Er…do you speak common?” he asks, sounding awkward and unsure. “I mean Shelby said you might be an alien, which sounded a bit insane at the time, not gonna lie, but - well I did drag you out of a rocketship, so she might not be far off–” For the first time since waking up, Tango almost smiles. “But you look kind of human-ish, an’ the letters on your spacesuit look like ours, so…”

The stranger trails off, his face going a soft shade of pink, and Tango swallows past the dryness in his throat.

“Not an alien,” he mutters hoarsely, and the man at the door perks up. He opens the door just a little bit more, hiding behind it just a little bit less. Tango swallows again. “...blazeborn.” The man’s eyes light up in recognition. Tango clears his throat. Dry, so dry. “D’you have water?”

“Oh!” The man jumps slightly. “Right, o’ course! Sorry, I can–” He jerks a thumb back over his shoulder again. “Be right back.”

Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

…you could leave, a voice at the back of Tango’s head whispers to him. He’s gone. You could escape.

It’s a tempting thought, in some ways. He’s in an unknown situation, so getting out might be smart. Tango doesn’t know where he is, or who that man is…though he can imagine how he got here. “Well I did drag you out of a rocketship,” the man had said…meaning his ship must be somewhere around here.

Probably in pieces, he reminds himself, grimacing at the memory of his ship spiraling through the atmosphere of some mystery planet. This mystery planet. But a ship in pieces is still worth something. Holsten is on there somewhere, and his communications line, for all that it had been faulty even before the crash. Tango doesn’t know how long he’s been on this planet, but the sooner he reaches out to the Hermitheus and her Hermits, the better.

(He ignores that traitorous voice in the back of his mind reminding him that his warning never reached Hermitcraft, that his friends and family never knew they had to leave sooner, that they’re probably already–)

No.

Tango sucks down a dry, shuddering breath. He can’t think about that now. He should leave.

…or he can wait for his host, he ponders, even as he swings his legs off the bed. The man seemed friendly enough. Maybe he could help Tango get back to his ship, and get some proper clothes, seeing as he’s still in the jumpsuit he normally wears beneath his spacesuit. (His spacesuit that he’s only now realizing is piled in the corner of the room, and he’s a bit impressed that his host managed to get him out of it, as complicated a thing as it is to put on in the first place.)

So he could wait, and hope that his host is kind. He could. Or he could leave and find his ship himself.

[A/N: I'm still trying desperately to move, so I'm not going to promise that I'll have the next part posted next week, but I'm keeping this story going no matter what! It's too fun and I love having something easy to write and work on when I need it! Also I'm a sucker for the crossover man, it's just too good.]

[Tag List] @firefly124 @mellioops @beaversuenightly @aris-has-a-paracosm @sincerely-nines @changeling-ash @therain-lover

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

#Team Rancher #Solidaritek #ESMP S2 #Trafficshipping #TangoTek #Jimmy Solidarity #SolidarityGaming #Hermitcraft S8 #Moon Big #Pixiemage Writes #Fate Entries #MFIIYH #HASA Tango #Hermitheus #Hermitcraft #Hermpires

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hellohannie · 1 year ago

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Enchantress of the Forest (m) | ljh

“𝙅𝙞𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙣, 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚?”

after struggling to fall asleep one night, jihoon decides to try his luck at the campsite set up deeper in the forest, away from his drunk members filming content for "seventeen in the soop". what he didn't expect was to run into you. mysterious, enchanting, you. part of the enchantress of the forest series. read part two here!

♡ PLAYERS - lee jihoon x f.reader

♡ WORD COUNT - 7.0K

♡ TAGS - fantasy au, faerie!reader, fluff, minor angst, smut (MDNI): implied virgin!reader, unprotected sex

♡ NOTES - hi again :) so, this is not part of my taylor swift x seventeen collection, but i just couldn't get myself to sit and write for those stories. i was rewatching ITS season 1 and then inspiration struck so... i ended up writing this instead!

it's also my first time writing smut, so i apologize if it's not very good

also, i'm thinking about starting a permanent taglist, so if anyone wants to be on it, please drop a request in the ask box! thank you! I hope you enjoy!

It amazed Jihoon every time how loud his members could be, despite the size of the space they were in. It’s one thing to be able to hear Mingyu and Seungcheol bickering in the kitchen from his bedroom in their apartment, but how is it that he can hear Soonyoung screaming from the dining hall while he’s in the upper house? That’s a whole separate building. Not to mention they are in a literal forest, with so much vast space, yet that man’s voice still carries. Every door and window in the upper house was closed, for God’s sake. Jihoon even has on Hansol’s headphones with a pillow mashed to them, and he still can’t fall asleep. It’s just too loud.

Listen, Jihoon understands, ok? Karaoke, drunk karaoke at that, is meant to be loud and obnoxious. But, he’s been working as an unofficial workout trainer all day to his members who were worried they’d let their diets go too much on this trip. They only had two more days in the soop, and Jihoon wanted nothing more than to add as much sleep to his reservoir as he could since he knew it would be time to grind out in his studio the minute they returned to Seoul.

Jihoon kicked the blankets off his body with a loud groan before swinging his legs to the ground.

“Jihoonie,” Jeonghan cooed from the other side of the bed. “Can’t sleep?”

Jihoon shot his elder brother with a dry look. “What does it look like?”

“Oof, no need to be so snarky,” Jeonghan teased, turning his phone screen off and placing the device on his chest. “Where are you going?”

Jihoon roughly tugged on a hoodie, uncaring of how his hair was sticking up in clumps. “I’m gonna shove that microphone down Soonyoung’s throat,” he griped.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Jeonghan was sitting up by this point and digging around in the closet. “Here,” he chucked a duffel bag at Jihoon, who caught it with a grunt. “Take this and go down to the campsite by the stream. Joshua and I slept down there last night when the very intense foot volleyball match was happening. Very peaceful. No screaming K-idols. Highly recommend.”

Jihoon shot him a grossed out look. “You really expect me to believe you two snuck away to a secluded tent for peace and quiet to sleep?” The blush creeping up the blonde’s ears was enough of an answer for Jihoon. “Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.” He dropped the duffel bag with a thud.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous Ji,” Jeonghan scolded, arms crossed over his chest, half in embarrassment and half in annoyance. “We brought the soiled sleeping bag home. The one left behind is clean. That duffel bag has all the essentials: water, snacks, extra clothes. Everything you need for a good night’s sleep. Go, light a fire, enjoy nature. Maybe you’ll find some inspiration for our next album.” The wink he sent Jihoon seemed a bit suspicious, as if he knew something more than he was letting on.

Too exhausted to question him any further, Jihoon picked the duffel bag up off the floor and headed out the door.

The trek to the campsite was silent, and Jihoon was thankful. He couldn’t remember the last time he could hear himself just breathe. When he was in Seoul he was either rehearsing with the members or in his studio. When he was in his studio, he was always making music or listening to guides. Come to think of it, Jihoon rarely slept without noise. So what was he thinking wandering off into the forest in search of sleep? Maybe he should’ve put up with Sooonyoung’s drunk crooning.

Suddenly, the smell of burning wood and the sound of crackling fire overtook his senses. Is someone else here? Jihoon thought. It couldn’t be any of the members. They were all drinking or asleep. He started walking quicker, the campsite more visible the closer he got to it. There was definitely a bonfire lit by the tent, and Jihoon was pretty sure he could see the silhouette of a person sitting on the log near it, their back facing him with waist length hair that shimmered like glitter. Definitely not a member.

“Excuse me?” Jihoon called out, now merely feet from the campsite. The unknown woman turned to look over her shoulder and Jihoon felt his breath catch in his throat. Whoever this girl was, she was glowing, literally. Like a star, she had pure white light surrounding her body.

Big, doe eyes blinked at him. “Hello.” You only said one word, but your silvery voice left Jihoon in awe. There was silence for a few minutes before you cocked your head questioningly. “You are?”

Jihoon snapped out of his reverie, clearing his throat as he looked away, willing his face not to flush with color. “I’m Ji-” he stopped, appalled. He almost gave his identity away to a total stranger. You could be a sasaeng for all he knows and here he was ready to spew out his social security number if you asked, all because he thought you were beautiful. “I’m the owner of this camp,” he said, firmly, “and you are?”

“Liar,” you stood up, the white, satin dress adorning your body swishing delicately around your calves as you walked towards Jihoon. “The owners are the two men who were here the night before. You,” you came to a still directly in front of Jihoon, “are not either of them.”

Jihoon sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Those were my friends, we share this area. That doesn’t matter though because you obviously don’t own this area-”

“False,” you cut in, and Jihoon would’ve been irritated if he didn’t find your melodious voice so soothing. “While I may not own these objects,” you gracefully extended an arm towards the camp set-up, “this land does in fact belong to me.”

Jihoon raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You own the forest?”

“This part of it, yes,” you said, candidly.

“What? Do you work for the Korea Forest Service or something?” Jihoon laughed, disbelievingly. You simply gave him a confused look. Jihoon huffed, walking towards the tent so he could toss the duffel bag inside. “Listen, you can stop with the games now. I know you were probably hired by Jeonghan and Joshua to prank me or something so let’s just say you got me, ok? Ha ha, that was so funny, I totally fell for it, you can go home now.”

“I’m not quite sure who Jeonghan and Joshua are, but I can assure you this is not a joke. This part of the forest belongs to me,” you called out, eyes following Jihoon as he messed around at the entrance of the tent.

“God, why do you have to be so stubborn? Are you seriously not gonna leave until you’re done playing the part? Fine,” Jihoon turned to face you again, faking a surprised look. “Oh, you’re a government official? Please don’t arrest me.” He held his hands up by his head to really sell it.

You did not understand the joke. Instead, you simply straightened your posture and clasped your hands in front of you. “I am not a government official. I am Y/N, a forest nymph.”

There was a pause before Jihoon burst into laughter. He bent forward, clutching his stomach as he laughed and laughed, all while you stood there, watching him blankly.

“You do not believe me.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Wow,” Jihoon flicked a tear from his eye. “I don’t know if the hyungs told you to say that or if it was improv. Either way, bravo, you really got me there.” He started to walk towards you. “A forest nymph, now the all white outfit makes sense. How did they get this glow around you, do you have some sort of glow in the dark paint on?” Jihoon reached out as if to touch your forearm.

You stepped back, your right arm shooting out to your side, two fingers flicking upwards as if directing something towards Jihoon. At that very moment, a dark green vine shot up from the ground and wrapped around his wrist, preventing Jihoon’s hand from touching you.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, eyes wide in incredulity as he stared at the vines coiling around his arms and legs. Then he moved his glare to you. “What is going on?”

You brought your hands together in front of your body once more. “As I said, I am a forest nymph. You have not only trespassed on my land, but have also tried to touch me without my consent. In the land of Faerie, this offense is punishable by dismemberment of your arms and legs.” Jihoon began to trash, trying to break free of his binds. “But,” you proclaimed, louder this time. “As you are human, and seem to be unaware of my kind, I shall let you free. However, if you commit another offense towards me, I will not let you go so easily.”

You willed the vines to loosen from Jihoon’s body as he apologized to you. “I’m sorry, I had no idea you were telling the truth. I thought this was all part of a prank my members orchestrated. I didn’t mean to offend you, I mean it,” he rambled, clearly still shaken by what had just transpired.

“You are forgiven. I believe you, so do not fret Human,” you strode towards the logs arranged by the fire, dress fluttering around your ankles as you sat. You gestured to the log next to yours, “Please, sit.”

Jihoon sat, noticing the fire was starting to go down. He looked around for extra firewood, but couldn’t find any. He went to stand up, “Let me go find some more wood for the fire.”

“No need,” you held your hand out to the fire, palm facing up. Jihoon watched the fire grow as you curled your fingers into your hand, mesmerized. You noticed and giggled, your tinkling laughter drawing Jihoon’s attention to your eyes. “You behave as if you've never seen magic before.”

“I haven’t,” Jihoon responded. “I didn’t even know faeries were real. I live in Seoul, so unless there are city nymphs…”

You giggled again and shook your head. “There is no such thing as city nymphs. We faeries prefer to stay in our own land, which is in a dimension separate from the human world. Every once in a while, nymphs, such as myself, like to come to the human world to tend to your nature. Forest nymphs care for the trees, flora nymphs help flowers bloom in the spring, water nymphs keep the freshwater running. Of course, there are many other nymphs, but it would take me much too long to explain, and you would likely be bored after hearing me speak for so long.”

Jihoon, who had been entranced by your voice, shouted, “No!” You jumped, startled by the volume of his voice. “I mean, no, I could never get bored listening to you speak. Please, keep going.” A hand shot up to his mouth as Jihoon blushed. He couldn’t believe he’d said all of that. It was like the words just flowed out of his mouth before he could stop them.

You smiled, adored by this man beside you. “It’s a symptom of being exposed to Faerie magic, the candor. Now that my magic has touched you, you’ll find it a bit difficult to lie to me. It will wear off by morning, so do not worry Sweet Human.”

“It’s Jihoon.” You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows in question. “My name. It’s Jihoon. You can call me Jihoon instead of human.”

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding. “Alright then, Sweet Jihoon.” You gave him a blinding smile.

Jihoon was unsure whether you were flirting with him, or if it was simply faerie practice to use adjectives before people’s names, but either way, he was sure his cheeks were going to stay pink as long as he was around you. He wondered how Jeonghan and Joshua reacted to you. Suddenly, Jihoon felt his chest begin to tighten. The thought of you speaking, possibly flirting, with his brothers made Jihoon feel…jealous? The realization caught him off guard. He barely knew you, yet here he was, getting jealous at the thought of you interacting with someone that wasn’t him.

Stop it, Ji, he thought to himself, stop thinking like an incel and get over yourself.

Jihoon cleared his throat, catching your attention as you turned your face away from the night sky, from the stars you were gazing at. You had a pleasant smile on your face, and for the first time that night, Jihoon noticed you had dimples, as if you were kissed delicately on either cheek by an angel. He felt the sudden urge to do the same.

“You mentioned the two guys from yesterday, Jeonghan and Joshua. Did you…did you speak to them?”

Your eyes turned soft and your face filled with longing as you responded, “No. They were surrounded by an aura of love so strong I do not believe they would’ve noticed anyone else around them. I, too, did not have the heart to bother them, so I let them stay.” Jihoon nodded. That sounded like his hyungs, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to much else. It left Jihoon and the others feeling a bit envious of them and their relationship.

“Jihoon, have you ever been in love?”

Jihoon choked on his saliva, surprised by your sudden question. “C-Come again?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Your eyes glittered as you looked at him, wide and curious. Jihoon stared back, thinking about your question. “I’ve dated a few girls, I guess, but I wouldn’t say any of it was love. But…” But I might be in love with you, he thought.

You leaned in a bit, “But?”

You smelled clean, like the morning dew after a night of rain. Jihoon wanted it bottled into a perfume so he could smell it wherever he went.

“But,” his eyes flicked down to your lips, plush and pink with a perfect cupid’s bow and a slight dent in the middle of your bottom lip. He gulped, and forced himself to pull away, turning his gaze towards the fire. “But maybe someday…” he trailed off.

He could see you straighten as well from his periphery. A chance glance in your direction told him that you looked slightly disappointed, but he didn’t believe it. Why would you be disappointed by his answer? Why would you care if he was in love?

“What about you? Do faeries fall in love?” Jihoon asked, though he immediately regretted it when you left out a disappointed laugh. The light surrounding you dimmed as a physical indicator of your emotions.

“Faeries mate for life. We believe that Mother Nature has selected a partner for each of us, and we are destined to be together for as long as we live. I suppose humans would call them soulmates.” Your head was bent down, a curtain of shimmering hair hiding your face from Jihoon’s view. You picked at the flower bracelets around your wrists as you spoke. “Everyone in my cohort has met and bonded with their mates. I have not. They all believe the person fated for me does not exist, and I believe the same.” You sniffled, and the sound shattered Jihoon’s heart.

“Y/N,” he said, in an effort to comfort you.

“It’s alright, Jihoon,” you looked up at him with a smile despite the tears that brimmed your eyes. “I have nature, I have my forest. I have the trees and the birds and the insects and the deer. I do not need a faerie mate to be happy. I am alright, will be alright, without one.”

“Or maybe your fated mate isn’t a faerie,” Jihoon mumbled under his breath, hoping you hadn’t heard.

The slight shock on your face said otherwise. “What did you say?”

Jihoon turned to face you completely, looking you in the eyes. “Maybe you aren’t meant to be with a faerie. Look, I don’t know how faerie rules work when it comes to interracial, or I guess inter-species, relationships, but I know this pull I feel towards you isn’t something to be taken lightly. Ever since I saw you, I’ve felt this thrumming in my heart that I’ve never felt before, like it’s calling out to you. I want to hold you and touch you and kiss you. I want to stay up all night and keep talking with you because I’m afraid. Afraid that you won’t be there in the morning. Or worse. That I’ll wake up in the room at the upper house and find out I dreamt the whole thing. I-” Jihoon broke off with a smile, a small laugh escaping his lips when he saw the astonished look on your face. He reached a hand out, as if to touch your face, before dropping it back down to his lap. “You asked me if I’d ever been in love. I think I might be right now. I think I might be in love with you.”

The air around you was charged and silent. Even the plants and fauna were still, as if awaiting your answer with a bated breath. After about ten seconds had passed, Jihoon was a bit anxious. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Maybe this was all too much for you, finding out that a mere human was in love with you. What was he thinking, proclaiming his love to a faerie. You’re a whole otherworldly being, way out of his league! What if you were disgusted? Oh God, what if you decided to take him to Faerieland so he could be punished? What if-

Cool, soft hands cupped his cheeks, pulling him from his thoughts. All he got was a glimpse of glimmering eyes before he felt soft lips being pressed into his. He froze. You were kissing him. You were really kissing him. Your lips, soft as rose petals, were on his own. Until they weren’t.

You had pulled away, unsure of your actions considering Jihoon wasn’t kissing you back. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, hands still on his face. “Was I not supposed to do that?”

Jihoon couldn’t help but laugh, his right hand coming up to cup your cheek while the other tucked a lock of silky hair behind your ear. “It was perfect. Can we kiss again?”

You nodded, shyly, letting Jihoon pull you into another kiss. This time, he kissed back, the pressure giving you the courage to move your lips against his own. You gasped when Jihoon’s arms circled your waist, pulling you plush against his chest. You moved your hands to rest on his broad shoulders, your fingers playing with the tips of his hair that curled on the nape of his neck. Jihoon kissed you for what felt like hours before he pulled away, chest heaving as he took big breaths.

“How are you not out of breath?” Jihoon asked in bewilderment.

You simply shrugged, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb, awed by how those lips had made you feel more pleasure in a few minutes than you had in your entire lifetime. “I suppose it’s another faerie skill.”

You squealed in delight when Jihoon picked you up and twirled you around. “You are mind blowing, you know that?” He kissed your forehead after setting you down on your feet. “Amazing. Fuck, I think I really love you.”

You took a hold of Jihoon’s wrist, bringing his palm to your chest, above your heart. Then, you placed your own hand on his. You closed your eyes, concentrating on the beat of his heart. Jihoon watched you silently, his eyes flitting over your face as he committed your features to memory. The brush of your eyelashes against your cheekbones, the gentle slope of your nose, the freckles that dotted your skin. After a few seconds, your eyes shot open, a big grin on your face.

“Do you feel that?” you asked, in excitement.

“Your heartbeat?”

You nodded quickly, “Yes! It matches your own.”

Jihoon focused on your hand on his chest, trying to feel his own pulse as it tapped a rhythm against your palm. Each heart beat of his was identical to yours. As your heart picked up speed the more excited you got, his did the same.

“That’s so cool! What does that mean?” he was smiling widely, your elation contagious.

“It’s how we identify when two people belong to one another in Faerie. Their hearts beat as one. Jihoon,” you were bouncing on your feet now. “We are fated.”

Jihoon could do nothing but dive in to kiss you again. You were laughing as you kissed him, unable to hold back your glee. “I love you,” Jihoon mumbled against your lips. “I love you, I love you.”

“I love you,” you responded, with equal fervor. Faeries did not tell each other of their love. They found no use for words when their hearts proved it. Still, you told Jihoon you loved him in hopes that it would make him as happy to hear it as it did you.

“Jihoon, my sweet Jihoon,” you looked dazed, as if drunk on the kisses you shared. “Will you show me how much you love me?”

Jihoon, enraptured by the sound of my Jihoon, responded, “Of course, my love, I’ve been showing you all this time.” He bent to rest his head in the crook of your neck, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your back as he placed a kiss on your collarbone, exposed by the neckline of your dress.

“No,” you whispered, breath tickling the shell of Jihoon’s ear as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “I want you to show me the way the men from last night showed each other. Your friends. As the night went on, the aura around them grew stronger. I want to be loved like that, however they loved each other.”

Jihoon’s body stiffened, before he groaned into your neck. “Fuck, you can’t just say things like that Faerie.”

You pushed Jihoon’s body up so you could look at him. “Why not? What did I say wrong?” You held his hands in yours.

“Nothing, it’s just- well they-” Jihoon stumbled over his words, a bit embarrassed now that he has to have the birds and the bees talk with you. Unsure of how to broach the topic he decided to go right for it. “Do you know what intercourse is?” Jihoon’s face was flushed bright red, his hands turning clammy in your grip.

“Of course,” you affirmed with a nod.

“Well,” Jihoon gave you a look.

You stared for a second before recognition lit in your eyes. You smiled. “Oh!” Your smile dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon said, dumbly.

“But, I do not understand. Were your friends trying to have a child?”

Jihoon spluttered. “What?? No! Of course not!”

“Then why be intimate?” You asked him, innocently. Jihoon sighed. The cultural differences surrounding intimacy must be far more different than he anticipated.

“Here,” he tugged at your intertwined hands. The fire has almost completely died by now. “Let’s sit in the tent where it’s warmer and I’ll explain.”

Jihoon ushered you inside, zipping the tent closed before sitting down on the blankets opposite you. “What’s the traditional practice in Faerie, if you want to…procreate,” he cringed internally at his odd word choice.

You did not seem thrown off, however. “After faeries find their mates, they have a ceremony, similar to a human wedding ceremony. The faeries will combine their auras, which allows them to share their powers and essentially become one unified entity. Then, there will be a mating ritual, in which they are intimate. Their auras are most powerful immediately after the ceremony, so that one night is enough to create a child. Faeries do not have more than one.” You explained, methodically.

Jihoon nodded. “Ok, so Faeries aren’t intimate for pleasure?”

You shook your head, “I suppose not. Humans are, I presume?”

“Yes. Many humans see intercourse as a means of seeking pleasure first, and reproduction second. There are medical advancements that can prevent pregnancy, so humans can be intimate without worrying about children. The guys from last night…They are intimate because they love each other. Make sense?” Jihoon searched your face for a hint of confusion.

“I understand!” you chirped. “Are you someone who correlates intimacy to love, Jihoon?”

At this point Jihoon has no choice but to assume that you say things to make him blush on purpose. “I mean, yeah, I- I guess so,” he stuttered, a complete opposite to your eloquent way of speech.

“Then, I would like you to be intimate with me.”

His breath hitched. “My love,” Jihoon started, hesitantly. “Are you sure? There’s no rush, we can take things slowly-”

You moved closer to him, your knees pressed against his. “Sweet Jihoon,” you held his hands, stroking the backs of them with your thumbs. “I am unsure what will become of us tomorrow. I must return to Faerie in the morning, and you live in the city, so you will eventually leave as well. I do not want to wait in hopes of a day that may not come soon, if at all. I do not wish to dampen the mood, but it is the harsh truth. That is why I want to do this now. I want to love you completely. Tonight.”

Your eyes were blazing, the grip on his hands firm. You meant what you said. You would not let Jihoon go tonight, not like this.

“You have to know, I’d do anything for you Y/N. I’d leave Seoul, hell, I’d leave this dimension for you. I’d go to Faerie, go wherever you want,” Jihoon rambled.

You pressed a finger to his lips. “Hush. We can talk about it all later. Right now,” you leaned in, bumping the tip of his nose with your own, “I want you to…fuck me.”

Your yelp of surprise was swallowed by Jihoon when he surged forward to kiss you. The force pushed you back and you were laying flat on the blankets, Jihoon hovering over your body, his hands braced by your shoulders. You pushed him up with a press to his chest, unable to hold back giggles.

“What was that for?”

“Where did you learn to say that, you little minx?” Jihoon moved to press butterfly soft kisses to the slope of your neck, moving up towards your ear.

“I heard,” you gasped at a particularly biting kiss, “I heard the blonde man from yesterday tell his partner that. He seemed to like hearing it.” Your hands were now clasped against your chest as you were unsure what to do with them.

Jihoon teasingly bit your earlobe. “Ah, didn’t know my innocent forest nymph was actually a voyeur.”

“Jihoon,” you slapped at his shoulder, scandalized. Jihoon pulled away, sitting back on his heels as he laughed. “It was not as if I meant to intrude! I did not know about human customs of love.” There was a slight pout on your lips, as you turned your head to the side, pointedly looking away from Jihoon in embarrassment.

He couldn’t help but place a kiss on your reddening cheek. “Cute,” he mumbled. “I’m just teasing, Faerie.” He held your chin with two of his fingers and turned you back to face him. “I think you’re cute,” his voice dropped a few pitches, seductively. “Bet you sat up in those trees, listening, wishing it was you that they were touching, hm?” Jihoon ran his fingers up your right leg, tickling your calves. You whimpered. “My poor Faerie felt so lonely. Thought she’d never find someone. But I’m here now,” he pressed a kiss in the dip between your collarbones, “I’ll take care of you baby.”

By now, your dress was rucked up by your knees, Jihoon’s hand splayed out against your thigh. Your hands were tangled in his curls, the grip allowing you to tug him back to your lips. “Jihoon, please,” you whined.

Jihoon held you by your shoulders as he pulled you up to sit on his lap, your legs wrapping around his hips. “Can I take your dress off?” he asked as he toyed with the straps of your dress. You nodded, demurely. Jihoon slipped the cloth off your right shoulder, pressing a kiss to your skin before doing the same on the other side. Like water, the dress slid down your chest, bunching at your waist when the straps caught on your forearms. You pointedly kept your eyes trained on the neckline of Jihoon’s shirt, feeling a bit too self-conscious to look him in the eyes. Jihoon must’ve understood this.

“Breathtaking,” he said, trailing a finger along your face, down the side of your neck. “You’re absolutely breathtaking, my love.” His finger dipped into the valley of your breasts before twirling around your left nipple. You whimpered, the sound morphing into a moan when he took the other nipple into his mouth. Your body felt warm and the bottom of your feet were tingling. You’d never felt so good before. Had never imagined you could ever feel like this.

Jihoon moved to kiss you again as he laid you back down on the ground, helping slip your dress off your body. Even though it had only been a few hours, you were sure you’d never tire of kissing Jihoon.

You grew more and more impatient as Jihoon slipped his tongue into your mouths, pulling desperately at his clothes. “Why are you wearing so many layers?” Jihoon found your eagerness endearing, the way you wanted his clothes off his body but refused to let him part from your mouth. Somehow, after a few failed attempts and limbs getting awkwardly caught in fabric, you were both naked, bodies pressed tightly together.

Your arms were gripped like a vice around Jihoon’s neck, loudly whining as you bucked your hips up, trying to find some sort of friction.

“Desperate little thing, aren’t you,” Jihoon chuckled, tauntingly. “Looked so innocent when I first saw you, but you’re really just aching for cock.” Your mewl was indication enough that you liked the way Jihoon was speaking to you.

“Please, need it. Need you in me now!” you begged. It was too much for Jihoon. The way your hair was splayed around your head like a halo, the way your skin was glistening with a thin layer of sweat from the heat, the way your neck and chest were red from his ministrations. As his gaze slid down your body, he took note of your heaving chest, the smooth skin of your belly, the way your pussy was dripping wet. He couldn't take it anymore.

“Already so ready for me baby. Don’t even need my fingers or my mouth on you, do you? Bet I could slip right in.”

“Yes,” you wailed. “Please, put it in, please-” you broke off with a cry, hands shooting to grip at Jihoon’s biceps as he pushed into you with a single thrust.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Faerie, did I hurt you, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, felt good, don’t stop Jihoonie,” you babbled, desperate for more.

Slowly, he pulled out, moving until just the head of his cock was still in you before pushing back in. The strokes were gentle and languid. Your heat was so warm and tight, he felt like he was on cloud nine. Jihoon dropped his head to your neck, licking and kissing at the skin there as you dug your nails into his shoulder blades.

“Jihoon,” you moaned, feeling overstimulated by the feeling of his lips on your skin, his hands stroking your body, his cock inside you. “Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.”

“Never,” he said vehemently. He pressed his forehead to yours. “Wanna be with you forever. Wanna be inside you forever. Never letting you go after this.”

You cant your hips up to his, the feeling of your clit grazing his skin adding an extra level of pleasure.

“Jihoon, feel something, feel pressure,” you gasped.

Jihoon slipped a hand between your bodies, pressing delicate circles against your clit. “That’s it Faerie, let go. Come for me,” his voice was breathy and strained, as if trying to hold himself together.

You let out a loud, long-winded moan as you came, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Vivid colors splashed like fireworks against the back of your tightly shut eyes. You threw your head back, arching your body up as if chasing more, more, more.

You vaguely felt Jihoon pull away, and whined pathetically, too enveloped in this newfound sense of pleasure to do much else. Your chest heaved as you slowly regained awareness, prying your eyes open. The world was blurry, and you realized your eyes were filled with tears. You saw Jihoon begin to stand, and whined as he walked away.

“Not going anywhere, baby,” he chuckled. “Just gonna clean you up.” He grabbed a washcloth from his bag and wiped away the sweat and fluid on your body. He tossed the cloth to a corner of the tent, along with the blanket he was sitting on that seemed to be stained with something white.

Jihoon laid down beside you, gathering you in his arms. You whimpered a bit, your skin sensitive everywhere, as if every nerve ending was exposed to Jihoon’s touch. Your head rested against his heart as you traced silly patterns on his abdomen.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Jihoon said, the vibration of his chest tickling your cheek. “I want to stay with you. I don’t want to leave.”

You sighed. “I know, my sweet, but we must part. It is inevitable. We are from different worlds. However,” you lifted your head, “I have a plan. I will request an audience with the Queen come morning, and request to give up my powers, so that I may become human.”

Jihoon began to argue, “No, Y/N, I can’t ask you to do that.”

You shook your head firmly. “You are not asking me for anything. This is my decision. There is nothing waiting for me in Faerie, Jihoon. I do not have family, and anyone who I would consider a friend has a mate of their own. Here, in the human world, I have you.” You placed a hand gently to his heart, letting the steady beat relax you. “I want to be with you. Eat with you, sleep with you. I want to meet your friends and your family. I want to build a life with you here. That is all I desire.”

Jihoon still looked hesitant, worried that you may not completely understand the depth of what you were saying. “Y/N, to give up the only world, the only life, you’ve ever known…are you sure you want that? Are there no consequences?”

You cut him off with a kiss. “That is nothing for you to worry your beautiful head about. For now, let us sleep.”

Jihoon watched curiously as you placed a hand to the bottom of the tent. Suddenly, the ground beneath him started to feel soft, as if he was laying on a cloud, not solid ground. Through the white cloth, he could faintly see the yellow and green shades of moss and grass growing to create a makeshift bed. You laid back down, pressing one last kiss to his lips. “Good night, Sweet Jihoon.”

You awoke at the first sign of daybreak the next morning. It was time to return to Faerie, but you were in high spirits. You have a purpose this time: to fight for your freedom and return to Jihoon.

You gently brushed the strands of hair away from his forehead as you cooed his name to wake him. Jihoon’s eyes fluttered open, lips splitting into a wide grin when he caught sight of you.

“Morning beautiful,” his voice was raspy and deep. You felt the sudden urge to repeat last night’s events. You clambered to your feet, dusting off the skirt of your dress you had thrown on when you woke up. No, there was no time to fall back into the sheets with your lover. You had a job to do.

“It’s time for me to go,” you said, faintly, holding Jihoon’s hand as you led him out of the tent into the cool morning air. He then wrapped you up in his arms and kissed you, lips slightly chapped from the chilly night air.

“When can I see you again?” He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Give me one year. In exactly one year’s time, I will be here again, whether it be with good news or bad news. Should the Queen grant my wish, I shall return home with you. Should the Queen not grant my wish…” you looked away, “I will return for just an hour, to tell you goodbye.”

Jihoon nodded, knowing there was nothing he could say to change your mind. “One year then. I’ll be here, waiting.”

As you stared at the grass, something caught your eye. Quickly, you bent down to pluck a lone dandelion flower from the ground. After analyzing it for a while, you placed it in the palm of your hand, enveloping the flower with shimmering white light. Then, you twisted the stem into a ring, before taking Jihoon’s left hand, and sliding the flower ring onto his pinky finger, opposite the silver ring on his other hand. “This flower is enchanted, and will never wilt. I hope it will serve as a reminder of me, so you never forget this time we shared.”

Jihoon caught your hands, holding them tightly. “You know I will never forget you. But, thank you. I will treasure it forever.”

You nodded, eyes welling with tears as you leaned in to press one last kiss to Jihoon’s lips. “See you in one year, my Sweet Jihoon.”

You stepped back, fingers slipping from his hold.

“See you in a year.”

With that you turned to walk into the forest. Jihoon watched until your silhouette disappeared into thin air.

“Hyung!” Seungkwan called, shaking Jihoon out of his stupor. Somehow, he had walked all the way from the camp back to the main houses. He didn’t remember a single moment of the trek. “You’re back! Come on, we have to wrap up shooting!”

Oh, that’s right, the broadcast, Jihoon thought, desolately. We are going back to Seoul tonight.

Jihoon silently trudged into the upper house, all his members watching.

“What happened to him?” Seungcheol demanded, glaring at Jeonghan accusingly.

The blonde held his hands up defensively. “Me? Why do you assume I did something?”

“You’re the one who sent him to the tent last night! Now look, he came back more depressed than ever!”

Jeonghan glanced at Joshua, the two sharing a silent look of confusion. “We’ll go check on him,” the latter said to placate Seungcheol.

Together, the two boys went into the house, noticing Jihoon belly flopped onto the bed.

“Oh, Jihoonie, what’s wrong?” Jeonghan sat on the edge of the bed, patting the younger reassuringly on the back.

Jihoon mumbled something incoherent into the pillows.

The two older boys exchanged another glance, as if urging the other to say something. Finally, Joshua sighed. “We thought you would’ve enjoyed the company waiting at the campsite. That’s why Jeonghan sent you there last night. We are really sorry if that was the wrong call.”

Jihoon shot up straight, turning to level his members with a glare. “What do you mean by company? You two knew? About Y/N?!”

“Ah, so that’s her name,” Jeonghan said. “We noticed a girl sitting, well hiding, up in the trees when we first got there. She had this mystical air around her, we figured she was something nonhuman.” He turned to Joshua, who shrugged.

“Yeah and, I don’t know, she seemed so lonely. Reminded us of you, so we thought why not have you go the next night? If she returned, you’d meet. If not, then you’d get some good rest. So, win-win.” He then climbed onto the bed to take a seat by Jihoon, wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a side hug. “What happened last night Ji?”

Jihoon began to recount the story to the two men, starting from when he met you to when you left. All of it. By the end, Joshua was giving him a sympathetic hug, while Jeonghan had a determined look in his eyes.

“Well,” the blonde clapped his hands together. “Looks like we have no choice but to return next year then!” He shot Jihoon a wink. “Let me go tell the other boys!” He ran from the room.

Jihoon stared with his mouth wide open as Joshua sighed. “What he means to say is, we’ll set up a meeting with the producers. No matter what, we’ll get you back here in a year so you can see her Jihoon. It seems like Y/N is pretty optimistic that everything is going to work out, so you should be too.” With one final caring pat to the back of his head, Joshua too left the room.

As Jihoon sat alone, thinking about what his brothers had said, he heard raucous laughter and cheering coming from outside. It seemed like Jeonghan had told everyone else the news about them returning. Jihoon let out an endeared laugh. He knew that he would have to tell the rest of the boys about you, and that they would be nothing but supportive. Jihoon stood from the bed, his confidence in seeing you again growing.

In a year, he’d return here and bring you home with him. With a hopeful smile, he placed a kiss on his flower ring and headed out to meet his friends.

#seventeen #kpop #fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt fic #seventeen fic #lee jihoon #lee woozi #woozi #woozi x reader #seventeen woozi #jihoon x reader #jihoon fluff #jihoon smut #woozi fluff #woozi smut

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val-made-a-mistake · 2 years ago

Text

❝FIREWHISKEY.❞

(not my gif)

summary: liquid courage - that's firewhiskey. a drink you and george can both overindulge in, sometimes, but it always seems to bring you closer together.

warnings: fluff central, alcohol (obviously), underage drinking, hangovers, mentions of vomiting, just a disclaimer, it’s been several years since i last picked up the harry potter series, you can probably guess the reason why, so i SINCERELY doubt everything will perfectly follow the timeline. my friend asked me to write something for the twins for her birthday and gave me her blessing to post, please know i’m trying my best lol. this is set loosely during the summer where the weasleys and friends attend the world cup. (google confused me on the twins’ ages so they’re seventeen, not sixteen.)

word count: 1k

tag list: @mizu-soup

a/n: happy birthday fred and george! psst...when i first posted the sneak peek of this fic, i said i had written SCENES for george, not just this singular one you'll (hopefully) read after the "read more" line. i'm planning to post these scenes as a little ficlet series eventually and develop george and reader's relationship more (firewhiskey is the main theme in all of them, as you can probably guess) but my life is a total dumpster fire at the moment, so who knows how fast that'll happen. please enjoy for now :) i love you

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Up on the highest floor of the Burrow, the window was a thin, uncurtained rectangle stretching up to the roof, and early in the morning, if, say, you’d gotten so drunk on Firewhiskey the night before you’d blacked out and subsequently forgotten to hoist Ginny’s old mattress up against the wall to cover it, the sunrise nearly blinded you and every other occupant of the room come 7 AM.

Not the most pleasant awakening one could have in the early morning.

“Merlin,” Fred moaned, wincing at the stream of sunlight and shoving his face into the pillow. “Ron, get the bloody mattress.”

“Why does it have to be me?” Ron cried, bounding up from the misshapen heap of blankets on the floor.

“You’re closest, you moron!” George snapped back. “Dunno about Fred, but my head’s pounding, Y/N woke up with her head in the bucket…”

“I’m awake, George,” you bit out from the opposite side of the room, absentmindedly grabbing onto the rim of the bucket in case you were to throw up again: your mouth tasted like something had died and rotted in your throat, and your voice sounded rough and gravelly from the dehydration. “Fuck, that’s the last time I’m drinking Firewhiskey…”

“You lot okay?” Harry whispered from opposite Ron on the floor. You didn’t think anything of it at the time, but he was clutching his forehead, gently rubbing his scar. Regardless of what it may have meant, you felt pity for him: you, Fred, and George might have just turned seventeen, and had drank Firewhiskey plenty before you’d legally been able to, but Harry was fourteen, much too young for a hangover. God, he’d only wanted a sip, why’d you let it go this far?

“We’re alive, I think,” Fred groaned as Ron got up to block the window; his voice was still muffled from his head in the pillow. “Mum will have everything in the pantry for a Rejuvenation Potion, right?”

“Reckon we can nick the cauldron from Percy’s room?” you put in tiredly, rolling over onto your back to stare at him.

George snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, Y/N, that’s gonna be impossible.”

You’d opened your mouth to hit him with a snarky remark of your own, but too late: in a blink of an eye, George had vanished.

Before you could even roll your eyes at how abruptly he disappeared— and how clever he obviously thought he was as you’d failed your Apparition Test three times in a row and still couldn’t legally do it — he’d Apparated back into the room with a small rusty cauldron in his hands.

“Percy’s in the kitchen,” he told the room, his grin as smug as ever. “Go down and distract him for me, will you? Look alive, you lot.”

The sunlight no longer a threat to his wellbeing, Fred rose from the squashed, broken mess of a couch, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll see what Mum’s making for breakfast.”

He Disapparated, but not fast enough for you not to spot his identical grin. You had to glare at the wall. They loved teasing you, and no matter how much you may have loved them, you’d never hear the end of it.

There was an awkward silence as everyone seemed unwilling to move.

“Ron, get out,” George said, looking over at the misshapen heap of blankets that bore a wincing Ron.

“Fuck you,” he shot back immediately, and George grinned.

“You better not let Mum hear that sass. Harry, I love you mate, I don’t want to sound like I’m kicking you out, but can you leave me and Y/N alone for a moment? Potion’s gonna take, like, fifteen minutes to brew.”

“No problem,” Harry groaned, reaching for his glasses as he climbed to his feet. “Ron, c’mon.”

Much slower than either of the twins, Ron got up, wobbled to the door with his best friend’s aid, and with the loud CREAK of the door opening, they were gone. George was already taking the ingredients he’d gathered out of the cauldron: you saw several packets of herbs, tiny vials of juices, and a large stirring spoon.

Working deftly, he pointed his wand at the pan underneath the cauldron. “Incendio.”

A fire ignited immediately.

“Do you think you’re gonna vomit again?” he asked you as he ripped a packet of herbs open and dumped them into the cauldron. His voice was so gentle you almost didn’t register he was talking to.

You probably weren’t going to, so you finally let go of the bucket. “I don’t think so.”

“Last time she’s drinking Firewhiskey, she says,” he mocked you, wiggling his shoulders sarcastically. “That’s what you say literally ever morning after, you know.”

Slightly above him on the only bed of the room, you pinned him with the most searing death glare you could manage.

George grinned at you - his real grin, completely free of sarcasm or smugness. “Hang in there, love.”

A small silence fell as you watched him.

“I think if you had any ounce of ambition, you’d be a Healer at St Mungos,” you told him absentmindedly.

“St Mungos!” he gasped, his eyes jumping up to yours as he uncorked a small vial of a mysterious reddish juice. “How dare you, Y/N! You want to set me up with Snape for a few more years?”

You laughed, even though it upset your stomach, which was already growling incessantly. “No, I - I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Jesus, I need some of Molly’s scrambled eggs.”

“Go on without me,” he told you, eyeing a measurement of an equally mysterious brown powder that your Muggleborn background likened to hot cocoa mix. “Tell Mum I’m sleeping and am not to be disturbed. And tell Ron if he rats us out about what happens last night, he’ll wish he was never born.”

“I don’t think he will,” you said tiredly, rising. “But I’ll tell them nonetheless. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responded. “Stay alive for me.”

You smiled gently; your head was still pounding, and now that you were on your feet, your whole world was spinning. “I’ll try.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #harry potter #hp #hp fandom #hp fic #hp fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #fred weasley #james phelps #oliver phelps #ron weasley #ginny weasley

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eris-snow · 1 year ago

Text

5. 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, juxtaposition, angst, swearing, confusion,

The constant stream of thoughts is similar to the ringing of an old rotary phone. It’s a sharp, blaring, drawn-out noise. It comes again, and again, and again, and aga—

Quiet.

It’s too quiet.

No talking, no conversations, nobody.

Your fingers burn from playing the piano for so long. You don’t even want to go on anymore, but if you stop, the silence will return.

Why isn’t Katsuki here yet?

You reach into your bag, a last-ditched effort to find your earp. Just like the other 99 times you attempted, you come up with nothing. Of course you forgot to bring them with you today.

Quiet.

What are you doing here?

You draw your knees closer to yourself, slamming your hands against your ears. You know how it goes, but you pray, just this once, that it will drown out the noise.

Silence is loud.

Silence is so, so loud.

You’re so lonely.

Are you crying?

Pathetic.

Worthless.

Worthless—

“Didn’t I tell you to turn on the fan? What do you want, a heat stroke?”

Katsuki’s voice slices through your thoughts like a sharpened axe, and it grants you just enough time to exhale a shaky breath, pull your hands that are clamped on your ears off and fix your expression to a neutral one just in time for the curtains to be tugged aside to reveal ruby red eyes staring directly at you.

Part of you rejoices. It craves attention like a crazed, sugar-driven child and delights in the mere fact that Katsuki’s talking to me! Katsuki is looking at me!

The other part of you punches it in the face and flips yourself off mentally like any mature person would.

Your heart pounds in your ears and it takes little time for it to normalise as you smile sheepishly and tell him you forgot.

After an eye roll and another snarky remark, your hands stop trembling from behind the piano.

In less than a minute, the thoughts devouring you inside out are gone.

These spirals are nothing new for you, but they had eased off the moment Katsuki crashed back into your life. With each pull of the curtain signalled another day of bliss, another sigh of relief because it meant someone to talk to.

It meant that the silence would go away.

It meant that those voices, those calm, mocking, distorted voices would leave, even just a bit.

“You’re a good listener,” Katsuki had said once. “But this ain’t a therapy session. So spill. What is going on in your life? Unless being bad at math is your one personality trait.”

You laugh it off, and change the subject. Katsuki is on to you, and you know it. But you also know that he can read you well, so he won’t pry even if he’s on the edge of his seat.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell him about your day. You wish to tell him about that surprise test, or that weird philosophical essay question you have to do. You wish to tell him that you’d finished that question on circles, which ironically had more triangles than curves on it.

You wish you could tell him something that would stack up to his wild, exciting day, full of adventures you can never experience.

But you can’t, so you don’t.

Instead, you share little things: Your new assignment, your dead plant, those friends that are 5 years long gone.

It’s all to fish out the repressed chuckles and snorts because that is so, so much easier than poking holes at a fragile dam that’s bracing a lake of tears.

Worthless

Worthless.

Worthless—

Part of you is scared. Scared that one day you’d wait, and wait, and wait and nobody would look behind the thick drapes that conceal you to find you. Scared isn’t the right word.

Terrified is.

Before Katsuki, the silence was deafening. Thoughts were all-consuming, and you had panic attacks coming out at the most random instances. You wish you were busy enough to simply not have time for these lapses, but that’s what happens when you become a wallflower. No one means no care, and you’re trying to tightrope the line between insanity and lucidity.

I’m okay.

Earphones block out the noise.

The piano overwhelms the silence.

You wanted to be a performer, once, but that dream fizzled away the moment it came.

Do you really, though?

You were cruising along life like a small sail boat in a storm: coping, even if just barely. And then Katsuki opened that curtain, with his red eyes and gruff voice you’re no longer used to hearing. He came back.

Why did he come back?

Silence rings loud in the hall.

You stare bleakly at the curtains.

You can’t wait for Katsuki to come.

Author's notes:

This is my way of saying sorry. My posting schedule is scattershot and I'm running on 4 hours of sleep after 5 hours of getting my ass whipped playing badminton, but my stubborn ass refuses to give up this story.

#juxtaposition (Bakugou)#mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #angst #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst

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doublejango · 1 month ago

Note

Invitation to Blitz (Guest of Dishonor)

Hey Blitz, It’s that time of year again! You’re cordially (or should we say “reluctantly”) invited to be the guest of honor at the Annual Anti-Blitz Party on Earth. Yes, you read that right.

The event will be held on 31 October, and it’s going to be an absolute roast fest—literally. Your exes have RSVPed, and they’re ready to, um, "celebrate" all things Blitz. Expect lots of sarcasm, brutal jokes, and a few sharp-tongued jabs.

Body armor is strongly recommended, and maybe even a helmet this year. We don’t want you running away after the first burn!

Time: Whenever you stop avoiding us Location: Earth (The spot where your ego will be publicly fried)

So, bring your thickest skin, your snarky comebacks, and get ready to face the fire. Who knows? You might just survive the night!

Sincerely, Everyone who’s ever been annoyed by you

P.S. There will be cake—but it’s probably poisoned.

And just like that, the entire year of trying to heal since seeing Stolas at Verosika's last party evaporated. The months that had felt like fucking ages, the work he'd been so proud of himself for doing, it all went up in smoke as that same feeling returned--the dark, ugly reminder of what he really was to people, of all he was ever going to be to them.

Blitz was growling by the time he made it to the end of the invitation; anger felt safer than letting this keep on breaking him down. Before he could bite the paper though, a gentle hand touched his. Startled, Blitz blinked and looked up--Demetri had come out of the bedroom. A year ago, he'd been wearing that Better than Blitzo tee, and now here the two of them were, shacked up in a fucking hotel room like it hadn't happened... but only because it had. All of it had. Wordlessly, he handed Demetri the invitation, then went over to get a pot of coffee going.

The incubus wrapped a sheet around himself--loosely, prettily--and settled down onto the couch to read the card. When he tossed it aside and looked at Blitz again, he snuggled down into the corner of the couch, his eyes soft.

"How do you feel about being invited?"

"I don't--fuck, I don't know. Worse?" There were no filters. Of course there weren't any filters. Sulking, really not in the mood to chew his coffee, Blitz went to join him on the couch. He had only planned on sitting next to him, but when Demetri held the sheet open, Blitz sighed and crawled into it with him, letting himself be held. "Guessing you got yours."

"Yeah. There's a whole Fangbook group for it, and it's been a trending tag on HellTok for a few weeks now."

Blitz sighed and closed his eyes. I miss Stolas. Fuck, I miss him so bad. But that ship had sailed, and rightly so. Stolas deserved so much better--and for all Blitz knew, because he sure as fuck hadn't asked, Stolas had had better, probably with this guy right here.

"What the fuck do they want me to do? They're fucking stalkers. Yeah, great, they care, but that's the fucking thing--they think I owe them my caring back. They think I owe them my, what, my whole life? All of my fucking happiness? That they're all entitled to my fucking suffering or some shit, because they want me and I don't want them? Just because you can fucking stalk someone doesn't mean that person owes you shit. And yeah, maybe some of 'em... some of you," he amended, and could feel Demetri wince a bit at the word, but he didn't contradict it, "had a legit fucking grievance. But just wanting someone isn't... it's not reason enough to do all of this. Dennis is one of the bros because he's sulking he didn't get to fuck me when I couldn't have consented even if I wanted to. Half the people there, I never even shared a drink with or flirted with, I just... I'm fucking..." Anger abruptly dissipating, Blitz could hear the tears threatening in his own voice. A year of trying to heal, and what had he accomplished? Closing his eyes, he turned to press his face against Demetri's neck.

"I know, man. I've always known." Demetri sighed and rubbed his chin against Blitz's little head-spines, in between his horns, then closed his eyes and just settled in to hold him. "Can I give you some advice?"

Blitz didn't respond, but the little thwap of his spade splatting against Demetri's leg was answer enough.

Smiling sweetly, since Blitz couldn't see his face right now, he went on. "Don't go. Don't let them break you. They are stalkers. And they are obsessed. It's predatory. People like to feel justified--and there's no cheaper thrill than feeling justified in harassing someone they deem undesirable. It's a human impulse, one that unfortunately is pretty pervasive among our kind. I went... and until Stolas sang, I was hating being there. What you and I shared before--it was worth it," he said softly. "Or at least, I thought it was. I didn't realize how serious the party was going to be, or how many people were buying into the mob-mentality and the hate, or refusing to work on their own healing 'cause they thought, whatever, it's all his fault, and there's nothing I can do. And that's bullshit.

"I like Verosika. She's a lot of fun. But she's also an alcoholic. She's not over you and she never will be at this rate. She hasn't hit her rock bottom yet, and doesn't want to change. She stalks you. She whips this furor up every year... and yeah, some of her points? Are legit. You did fuck you. You've fucked up with a lot of people. But that doesn't mean you need to turn yourself over to them. if you go, these people aren't going to use that as healing. It's not going to help them. Even if you go and laugh and dance on the tables and it feels like everyone is having a good time--babe, I really don't think it's going to help anyone. And I know it's not going to help you, exposing yourself to all of that imagery and violence. If they wanted to heal, they'd be trying by now. They'll just get worked up all over again, and someone's going to get hurt. Physically hurt. Probably not you," he admitted, smiling fondly again, although a little sadly. "But you'll have every right to defend yourself.

"Don't go, Blitz. And don't talk to anyone who does--not unless they come to you, wanting to work on healing whatever rift is between you." Which was something he'd seen Blitz doing with people over recent months, and what had ultimately convinced Demetri that Blitz was safe to be with again. This idiotic imp was trying, he was hearing people, and being genuine with them, and Demetri felt good waking up next to him now, on the rare occasion he got to. "Yeah, it sucks. But you're allowed to live your life. Like you said. You don't owe them your suffering or entitlement. If people want to talk to you, they can reach out, right? I mean--I did," he added, laughing softly, but with a trace of pain in the sound. The last few months had been rocky for them--a lot of conversations that ached, not even because of their history, but just because of who they both were, where they were in their lives... Demetri sighed and nuzzled one of Blitz's horns, silently asking permission. When he felt a little nudge from it, he knew that was a yes, so he raised a hand and wrapped it around one of the horns, stroking in slow, soothing motions.

"Besides. If you go to that party, how are you going to go to the BDSM Club Crawl?"

That made Blitz laugh and sigh, his breath warm against Demetri's chest. After a moment, Blitz came out from the cuddle, moving both of them so he could sit on Demetri's lap and straddle him.

"You really don't think I should go? Let them get their fucking hits in? Cause, listen, just because they're assholes for the stalking and shit, doesn't mean they deserve to be like, completely written off."

"No. But the party is not the right way to engage with them, baby. I think that some people are... a little too impulsive these days," Demetri said, trying to soften his tone, feeling a little guilty for speaking badly of people, but believing it all the same. "Anger feels good. Being part of a club feels good, even if they have to hold on to their anger to stay in it. They like to believe that anyone imperfect is inherently evil and deserves to be harassed and shamed. It's their issue, man. It's not yours. You've been trying to do better with people, I know that. Just because someone decided to stalk you? Doesn't mean any of these people own you. Stalking does not magically give someone the right to own you."

Blitz cupped Demetri's face in both hands, studying his eyes. "You still in love with Stolas?"

Demetri laughed. "Yeah. A little. Or a lot. He's... pretty great. You?"

"Completely."

"You gonna tell him?" Demetri slid a hand up one of Blitz's thighs. It hurt a little whenever the two of them talked about Stolas, but it hurt in a good way, a way that felt right. Demetri considered Stolas his friend, he had ever since meeting him, and he wanted so badly for the idiots to get back together once they were both ready. His own love for Stolas was genuine, but it was something Demetri didn't necessarily need to follow through on--no matter what his heart claimed to want--because he knew he himself wasn't ready for anything serious yet. Besides, seeing two people who were maybe meant to be together? It felt kind of beautiful, kind of precious. He shipped the idiots.

"Yeah," Blitz promised. "Whenever he's ready to talk." Words that had felt easier to say last year--but a year of silence, a year of nothing? Holding onto hope was starting to fucking ache. And deep down, Blitz wasn't sure Stolas would ever... no. Fuck that. Those were thoughts for later. Right now, he had a beautiful guy in his arms, and Demetri needed love just as much as anyone else did.

He took Demetri's hand and looked at it, looked at his wrist. "You guys really never scar, do you?"

"Not on the outside," Demetri whispered, sudden anxiety making his stomach drop. "Blitz, that wasn't your--" but his words went quiet as the imp pressed a tender kiss to the place he'd used to need to keep bandaged. Sudden tears blurred his vision. "I know I can't keep you," he whispered, "but I'm happy to have you right now, Blitz... I'm..."

Blitz hugged him tightly, and when Demetri abruptly clung to him and burst into very quiet tears--quiet because the incubus had learned it was better never to sob aloud, because that was one of his traumas, something he hadn't yet overcome--he just held him, stroked his back, and let him cry it out.

"Come to the club crawl with me," Blitz suggested, when the crying ended.

"You sure? I don't--I'm not trying to get in the middle of--"

Blitz kissed him on the forehead, soft as could be, then kissed his lips, even if they tasted like tears. "I'm sure," he promised. "And you're not. Come with me... and I can show you pictures from my cult."

"Your what?"

"Yeah! I didn't tell you? Some sweet goat started a cult because I put the Mark of the Beast on him and chose him as my companion. I'm actually gonna stop by and check in on them all later today, if you want to--"

This time, it was Blitz who couldn't finish his statement. The incubus was laughing in delight as he practically flung Blitz down, kissing and kissing and kissing him, saying yes in between those kisses, laughing so freely that it left Blitz aching with delight.

Stolas might always be there with the two of them, in different ways and for different reasons, but it felt good, it felt so good, to have rebuilt their friendship, to have this.

Fuck Verosika indeed, and fuck her party. Blitz didn't want to live in their past. He wanted to live in his life--and right now, that life had wonderful company in it, wonderful friends, and family he adored more than anything.

It was a life worth living.

#blitzos inbox #blitzo x better than blitzo guy #this turned into an impromptu #helluva boss fanfiction #btw i loved how you wrote the invitation!!#it was delightful and felt so on brand #thank you for this <3 #and this is very mildly #nsft #completely unedited so this might be hot garbage #but ghjsfgfd here you go

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critter-genfic-events · 1 year ago

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Epistolary or Diegetic Fics!

This week we have eight fics that feature text that the characters could read themselves! Letters, abstracts, texts, and the occasional sending, they're all featured under the cut!

like coloured indigo inscribed with my name by KmacKatie (kmackatie) (30,648, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss, Shadowgast

Mighty Nein Group texts and Shadowgast slowburn

Reccer says: What I like about it: The formatting is so good, and the chat messages capture the different character voices so good. It has very cozy found family vibes with the usual M9 shenenigans. A feelgood read! Best read on a computer for the full experience of the format.

You'll Hear When I Do by Beauteousmajesty (1,273, General) Warnings: None Pairings: Mentions of Yeza/Veth

Felderwin residents gossip about alleged sightings of Veth Brenatto in town, years after she was supposed to have died.

Reccer says: This fic feels just like you'd expect small town gossip to feel. It's fun to see how the Nein's antics would look from the perspective of random townspeople who only see them from afar.

From the Mixed-Up Files of The J. Lavorre Catalogue Raisonné by renquise (2328, General) Warnings: none Pairings: none

A selection of commentary on Jester Lavorre's art

Reccer says: I love thinking about how the Mighty Nein would be remembered, hundreds of years on, and this is an amazing fic exploring what the art history world would make of Jester.

a book of light by vietbluecoeur (vietbluefic) (1558, Teen) Warnings: Pairings: Deirta Thelyss & Essek Thelyss

Snippets into the private writings of a saint, following the death of a heretic

Reccer says: I like delving into the complications of Essek and Deirta's relationship, especially from Deirta's point of view! This fic does so well

From the Case Files of the Corrington Scandal Investigation by Professor_Rye (2594, Mature) Warnings: SA/Rape (implied) Pairings: The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss, Ludinus Da'leth/Essek Thelyss

A case file about the kidnapping and subsequent rescue of a certain drow. Modern AU.

Reccer says: The attention to detail and wonderful execution of the epistolary format, the way the narrative slowly unravels, and of course, the angst.

last letter by bittersnake (1373,General) Warnings: None Pairings:

Irme's letter to Nydas Okiro, right before everything happened.

Reccer says: I liked it

The Number You Have Reached Is Not In Service by Killbothtwins (225,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Orym & Dorian Storm

Attempted sendings between Orym and Dorian after the Apogee Solstice

Reccer says: It's lovely and in character and I want to know how the other half of the Crownkeepers are doing, too

Descriptions of a River Flowing by Operafloozy (6427,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: None

Five known aliases of Essek Thelyss, and one that (perhaps) will be forgotten.

Reccer says: It's funny and snarky, and then gets contemplative

If you liked this rec list, follow along for more! We'll be posting a new list with a new theme each Monday. Want to make your own recs? Check out the rules, and then use the form to submit!

Next week, the theme is featuring neurodivergent characters! A number of different headcanons and canon readings are welcome.

If you're looking for some more, there's some good stuff in the critter genfic bingo tag! We added a new one this week! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!

#critical role #critter genfic rec lists #essek thelyss #Caleb Widogast #The Mighty Nein #Jester Lavorre #Orym of the Air Ashari #Dorian Storm #Nydas Okiro #Deirta Thelyss #Veth Brenatto #Yeza Brenatto

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buff1y · 5 months ago

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AM/ GN reader (cable chewing)

Guys I got this request to do "anything with biting AM's cables" on ao3 and had no clue what to do. I have no clue if this is what they wanted or what anyone wants but I had fun writing it. Anyway if you have any requests plz read my rules and feel free to ask! I'll make a master post tmmr when I feel like it. Also omg I suck at tagging posts. CW for blood.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

You were soaked from head to toe. AM currently had you separated from the others, hiking through a constant downpour of rain. You had been walking alone for days with no clue of what lay ahead. What you did know was that AM had recently found a new way to torture you. During your trek through the rain, AM would play snippets of your favorite songs faintly in the distance. They weren't the real songs, lyrics would be wrong, instrumentals missing, but the faint memory of what you enjoyed so much pulled you forward. You tried your best to follow these sounds, but in your current state, doing as little as standing was hard enough.

Eventually your hard work seemed to pay off. You could barely make it out, but it was the vague shape of a boom box. You began to pick up the pace, as you grew closer you were able to make out music. It grew louder and louder until you were faced with the machine itself. The simplicity of the device compared to AM made you smile. You knelt down to observe the object, gently popping open the cassette deck. You pull out the cassette to try and see what it was, but any label had been scratched off. You put the cassette back and try to play it again, but the only sound of static was playing back. You frantically try to make any other sound play, desperate for any kind of music to remind you of anything else.

In your desperation, you begin to beat on the box, but the only sound it begins to make is the all too familiar voice. “Awe, is someone's toy broken? That’s too bad really, you know I was looking into it and you had great music taste. Well, emphasis on had, pretty hard to listen to anything when I’m all you have.” Tears begin to form in your eyes, you set the boombox aside and begin searching for something to fix the issue. Eventually you noticed the cord attached to the boombox. You begin tugging at it, but you soon realize this isn’t a normal cord, it seemed to have no end, this was one of AM’s cables. It was nothing special, you had been surrounded by them for what felt like forever. But this felt different. It being directly connected to something projecting his voice, something you felt wronged you on a different level. Something must of possessed you in that moment, but you began to tug as hard as possible, wrapping segments of the cord around your hand for more traction.

“Oh? Is someone getting all fired up? Are ya angry at me babe? Keep on tuggin’, see how far that’ll get you.” That set you off more. You kept tugging until you fell back on your butt. Staring back down at the cord, you decided to do the last thing your tired body could. You pick the cord back up and place the cord in between your teeth.

“Wow, are you that hungry? I knew you were weird but this is a new one.” Before he could make another snarky remake, you begin to gnaw on the cord as hard as possible, quickly finding out that was exactly what he wanted. You felt a sharp jolt travel through your teeth and into your skull, making your vision shake. Your muscles began to tense up, causing you to drop the cord into your lap.

“Are you all full now? C’mon we just got started.” The cord begins to slither around your waist, quickly approaching your mouth. “Open wide for me now!” He forces your mouth open, unhinging your jaw almost completely. The cord begins to snake its way in your mouth, touching every crevice inside. The cord begins to slide down your throat, making you gag. You claw at the cord, attempting to remove it from your mouth, but more of the cord slithers its way inside, rendering your attempts futile. The cord continues its journey in your mouth, causing tears to fall down your cheeks and drool to drip from your chin. “Disgusting, truly a heinous display.”

After a short while longer, AM must have grown bored with this game. He stopped pulling your jaw open, giving you some slack to move around. Before you could get used to your new found freedom, he took control of your jaw again. With all of your strength and then some, he smashed your teeth into the cord, biting down as hard as possible. Harsh shocks were sent through your body once again, while your gums began to bleed from the force of the bite. He let the currents run through your body, just long enough for you to maybe think he was finished. He finally began again, forcing your mouth to chomp on the wires rapidly, too fast for you to count, too painful for you to ignore. Blood began to replace the drool on your chin.

Finally, once you started to choke on your blood, he stopped. The cord laid limp in your mouth and all around you. You lean over, coughing the cord and blood out of your mouth. The cord fell out in jagged pieces in front of you. AM’s voice returns from where you originally heard it. “That was real fun sweetheart, we should really go out to eat some other time. But maybe next time, my components won’t be the main course.” And with that, he was gone, or at least it felt like he was. There was nothing for you here any more, you stand up and continue your trek forward. The rain only growing harsher as you continued.

#i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims #am ihnmaims #AM/reader #fanfic request #fanfic #ihnmaims fanfic

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 years ago

Note

Hey so I read your Optronix & Orion twin AU where Orion killed his twin and took his place, idk if you have done a Part 2 or not but could you? I really enjoyed it, maybe Orion tells them(The team and probably the Humans too) exactly what he did and why, maybe Megatron also finds too because I really wanna see his reaction.

Also Big Fan of the Optimus son of Unicron stories, please tag me if you do start the fic.

Glad you like my writing! I will most certainly tag you if/when I start the fic. Although I would like to finish my current fic before I start another one *looking away from the two WIP's that have sat dormant in my Ao3 works*

Anyway, I tried a new format for this little bit, so tell me if you like it I guess.

Truth

The team had always thought that they had been serving under a reformed Optronix, the tyrant that once ravaged Cybertron. Ratchet was still bitter over Optronix's past actions, but the rest of the team loved their leader. Arcee accepted Optimus even with his 'past'. She understood that mecha could change and was just glad that he was a better mecha now that he was the Prime. Bulkhead was in a similar boat in that he did not care much for what Optronix had done in light of all the good and the sacrifices Optimus had made for the Autobots. Bumblebee was not even aware of the horrors of Optronix's reign beyond simple stories of cruelty and the pain others suffered under him. He could never hate his father, especially after Optimus had fought so hard and so valiantly for the Autobots.

The human children had known that Optimus had some sort of dark past based on the snarky remarks Ratchet threw at him every other day. But beyond that they were completely unaware of the truth of the matter or what Optronix did before he became Prime.

Not a spark knew that Optronix was dead or that Orion had taken his place, and that was just the way Optimus liked it. It hurt him to hide the truth from his old friend and to take on the many sins of his brother, but it was for the greater good. He bore the weight with stoic resolve and never faltered even on days where Ratchet threw things at him and would only follow orders if they were given by some other member of the team. He never allowed himself to cry or show weakness, not when his team needed him. He accepted every hit and insult from his old friend without flinching. It was the least he could do after everything Ratchet had suffered.

He was prepared to be assassinated once the war came to an end. In fact he would have gladly allowed Ratchet the final blow once he could be sure his family was safe and that Cybertron was on its way to recovery. He never expected his identity to be revealed until long after his death, if at all. He should have expected it... he should have known.

----

As Optimus sat up, his frame still aching and his processor pounding from the poison despite it having been drained, he gazed at his team with a frown. He reached up to touch his mask only to not find it present, causing his optics to blow wide in fear as he hurried to reach for it where it was placed on the edge of the berth.

However before he could his servo was grasped by the shaky ones of his medic and oldest friend. Looking up he could see Ratchet shaking, his plating flaring and relaxing in short succession in response to his emotional instability. His optics were wide and watery with unsplit coolant and his voice shifted in and and out static as he struggled to speak.

"Orion... its really you. Tell me its really you" The medic pleaded, his voice dipping and cracking as he choked out the words in shattered glyphs. From the corner of his optic, Optimus could see the rest of the team were in similar states of shock and confusion. Arcee and Bulkhead looked lost and conflicted and Bumblebee looked straight up confused. The human children leaned over their balcony railing to watch with interest as the scene played out.

"I am here old friend... I always have been" Optimus at last answered, his tone laced with grief, remorse, and relief all at once. The coolant in Ratchet's optics finally fell and dripped down his face as the medic charged into Optimus's arms, holding him tight.

"I thought you were dead Orion!" Ratchet sobbed against Optimus's chassis, and despite his weakness, Optimus could not find it in himself to pull away. It had been so long since anyone aside from Bumblebee had shown him so much affection. His spark sang at the contact, but the long ingrained instincts that pressured him to put back on his mask and put back up his persona were strong.

"Why?" After several long minutes of crying on Ratchet's part, the question the whole team wanted the answer to was finally uttered by the medic. Optimus considered the question with a sigh. There was no point hiding the truth now...

"Optronix needed to be stopped and the Autobots could not wait any longer for me to find a peaceful way to remove him from power" Optimus took a shuddering vent as he continued, his gaze firmly focused on the far wall of the base so he needn't meet anyone's optics.

"I killed him that cycle in front of Primus's core... after which Primus saw fit to make me the next Prime" Hushed gasps came from the team as Optimus continued. Bumblebee only knew a little of the details in regards to Optimus's rise to Prime, but he knew enough to know that the confession was great.

"It was a rash decision, one I hadn't fully thought through. I just knew he needed to die if we were to survive. But when all was said and done, the reality of my actions hit me and I realized that Optronix, while cruel, was vital to the war" Ratchet's gaze practically bore holes into Optimus with its intensity, but Optimus refused to look at him as he continued, now too far into his explanation to stop.

"If I had come out as Prime, there would have been civil war among the Autobots, and the Decepticons would have annihilated us even with my presence... So I took up Optronix's name and mantle and I did what needed to be done to keep our people unified" Optimus shuttered his optics as he finished, fearful of the response from the team. And as he expected, a harsh slap rang out in the base as Ratchet took a swing at Optimus's face, an act he did not fight against.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME! I WOULD HAVE SUPPORTED YOU!" Ratchet screamed, his relief having made way for grief and anger. The team took a few steps forward as if to stop the medic, but seeing as Optimus did nothing, they hesitated.

"Why Orion?! Did you not trust me?! Did you not believe I had the right to know?!" Ratchet's rant went on as he grabbed Optimus by his chassis plating and forced him to look him in the optics. Coolant ran freely down the medic's face as his frame heated and desperately tried to cool itself in response to Ratchet's emotional outburst.

Optimus could not answer.

"For millennia I believed you dead! I mourned for you! I-I spent countless recharge cycles awake trying to find a way to avenge you!" Optimus kept his expression controlled as Ratchet shook him, leaving dents in his chassis plating.

"I hurt you... and I didn't even know it was you" Exhausted, Ratchet pulled away and leaned on his console for support as he quietly cried. Optimus did not move from his place on the edge of the medical berth and focused on the string of his dented face and chassis plating.

He wished he had done better. He wished they had never found out. Maybe then Ratchet would have been spared such pain.

----

Arcee and Bulkhead did not change their behavior around Optimus much in response to the reveal. He was still their Prime, albeit without the sins they had associated with him previously. If anything they treated him with more respect than before. He had taken on and done everything in his power to rectify the damage his twin had done, and that put him in an even higher place of respect in their optics. Ratchet however locked himself up in his berthroom, drowning in mixed anger at Optimus and self-loathing for all the times he had hurt him over the vorns. Optimus could not bring himself to speak with him. He had forgotten how to.

The children and Bumblebee did not understand what was going on. They did not understand why the reveal was so important or what it entailed. And this in turn led Optimus to sit down with them a few days later once he was fully recovered to explain.

----

"I was forged with a spark-twin named Optronix. He was once a good mech, excellent with words and filled with conviction. We worked together to better Cybertron long before the war" Bumblebee leaned against Optimus's side like a sparkling as Optimus told his tale. The children rested on his shoulder plating and looked to him silently as he spoke.

"But as he began to receive recognition, the power got to his helm and corrupted his spark. He began abusing his authority to do as he wished, eventually selling out mine and Megatronus's revolution in order to make a deal with the council" Optimus gently rested a servo on Bumblebee's helm as he continued his tragic story. The action grounded him, it kept him from spiraling.

"I did everything to bring him back. Even when he hurt me and so many others with the power the council gave him. Even when he threw our planet into war... I still gave my very spark to attempt to show him the light" The children gently touched Optimus's face in a comforting manner as he shuttered his optics for a long moment in an attempt to compose himself. He appreciated the gesture.

"But he was a tyrant, one who regularly hurt me and our people. And eventually there was no other choice but to end him... even if it tore me apart to do so" Bumblebee made a noise of concern as Optimus wiped at his optics, stopping any coolant from leaking before it could even begin to well up in his optics.

"I gave away my name, my identity, and every connection I every had to take on Optronix's sins in order to keep the Autobots united under one banner" Another long pause followed Optimus's words. He had never spoken to anyone about his grievances, not since he took up the mantle. And now that he was finally doing so, it hurt more than he thought.

"You allowed yourself to suffer to fight for the freedom of Cybertron? That must have been very difficult" Rafael piped up after a moment, his expression the embodiment of pity and concern. Optimus didn't want to be pitied, but he did not reject the human child's kind touches.

<You did what you needed to do Optimus. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise> Bumblebee added in binary as he leaned further into Optimus's side and gave him a slightly awkward hug. Miko and Jack made similar comments, but by that point Optimus was hardly listening. He had feared that he would be hated, and it came as a bit of a shock to see that he was instead loved.

He didn't want it to end. He didn't want to be alone again.

----

Bumblebee and the children understood and did not begrudge Optimus anything once he had told them his story. How could they? He had given absolutely everything to the cause. And the longer Bumblebee thought on it, the more he respected his Sire.

He remembered many times when he was young when Optimus would spit up poison or calmly walk to the medical bay holding an injury after attempted assassinations. He recalled countless times when Optimus was called all sorts of slurs and thrown an infinite number of insults the moment his back was turned. Bumblebee remembered all this and how when he was young, he never understood why his Sire was hated by so many. But now he knew and he respected his Sire all the more for taking the abuse with silent grace and humility despite the sins not belonging to him.

He could only think that it took a special kind of spark to endure such torment for so long, especially when it came from old friends and comrades.

Of course with the truth out, Optimus struggled with himself. Once Ratchet came out of his solitude, he begged for forgiveness for his cruelty, something Optimus freely gave. From that point onward he did everything in his power to fix the mental wounds which Optimus kept so deeply buried. And that started by taking away his mask and having Optimus move around base and on the field without it.

This in turn meant that eventually the Decepticons figured things out as well.

----

"What foul trick is this Optronix?!" Megatron reared back in anger as Optimus met his last attack, his face on full display. The warlord was fuming, his plating flared and his optics blazing in fury. Optimus did not answer, he couldn't find it in himself to.

"You kill my brother and now you wear his face like a prize! I should tear your helm from your shoulders!" Megatron roared in outrage, his attacks becoming more erratic as he rage bubbled to the surface and overtook any logic or reason that he might have had. Optimus held his ground and met each attack with one of his own. He hated fighting against the mech he once saw as a brother. He hated this slagging war. But he had grown used to it.

"DIE FALSE PRIME!" Megatron launched one final attack before Optimus called the retreat, ordering his Autobots back in time to escape from the raging warlord.

----

Megatron raised hell on the nemesis and the battlefield for weeks afterwards, refusing to believe what he had seen. Others like Soundwave were unsure what to think, but without more information, they continued running on the assumption that it was a cruel trick on the Autobots part.

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #optimus prime #twin au #team prime #ratchet #decepticons #angst #I don't know about this new format but I will see how it goes #I just couldn't give a summary of such an emotional moment #I felt the need to write an actual scene so now yall have this #enjoy #this took forever

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navnae · 2 years ago

Text

Steddie Soulmate Au Part 5

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Prompt: a clock counts down until you meet your soulmate

Prompt from @phantypurple !!! ❤️

Additional tags: @mightbeasleep @lifealwayslearning @rhaenyyras @im-sam-fucking-winchester @gregre369 @fruitandbubbles @beckkthewreck @cherixxx69 @iwouldsail

Read on AO3

Steve had no idea what he’d just agreed to and the way Eddie started smiling at him made situation ten times worse, he couldn’t back out of it now. He knew that he could’ve told Eddie that he was mistaken and Robin’s clock stopped months ago but his mind was working overtime and he never got the chance to say any of it. Steve trying to match Eddie’s excitement felt like torture and when he put his hand in Steve’s shoulder he couldn’t stop himself from shivering slightly at the sudden feeling of physical contact. Steve caught himself when his frown started to fade away the more he thought about Eddie falling for Robin, once he realized that Eddie was watching him he managed to put back on the wide smile he had on his face previously hoping that Eddie would believe it. Steve felt his heart stop when Eddie started to look over to where Robin was and he just stared at her like she was the most beautiful thing on this planet, you could see his eyes twinkling as he took in her beauty. It really was a sight for sores eyes especially when Steve had to watch his soulmate basically drool at the sight of his best friend. He didn’t know what he was feeling but this hurts, it hurts really badly. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms before clearing his throat obnoxiously loud to snap Eddie out of his trance. When Eddie finally looked at him again he felt a little bit better.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer, Munson.” Steve said without even trying to hide his attitude. He didn’t even know why he was so pissed but he purposefully wanted to put an end to Eddie’s little show and pull him back into reality. Eddie raised a brow, picking up on the now hostile attitude that Steve was giving off. Steve kept a lot of comments to himself and he was on the verge of letting them out if Eddie continued stare like an idiot.

“My bad it’s just… she’s breathtaking. I kind of feel stupid for not realizing that.” Eddie admitted. Steve wanted to laugh, he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue to prevent any snarky comments from being said but he failed within a second.

“I think stupid would be putting it lightly.” Steve mumbled under his breath. He genuinely didn’t mean for Eddie to hear and when he snapped his head to look at Steve it was kind of shocking. He could feel his face getting red and he couldn’t control his facial expression’s. Steve wanted to scream, either at Eddie or the stupid fucking universe that thought this was a good idea.

“What did you say?” Eddie asked with a little bass in his voice. Steve didn’t even react to Eddie getting upset. He was so focused on his own thoughts and feelings that if Eddie were to take him out right now he would let him, fighting back would be so tiring.

“Nothing.“ Steve said waving his hand to dismiss the topic. Steve didn’t even feel like continuing on with this conversation with Eddie and honestly a small part of him wanted to back out just so Eddie could go in blindly then Robin would reject him. The idea of Eddie getting all embarrassed made Steve extremely happy, he would finally be able to move on with his life with the magnificent blonde babe he’s been driving of while Eddie sits alone thinking about who his soulmate could’ve been.

Steve liked that idea way more.

All of those thoughts that Steve had were interrupted by the sound of police sirens and all of them looked towards the window at the back of the boathouse. All of them ran to the window to see what was happening and Eddie ran in a different direction to hide in the boat he was just in. They looked through the glass in hopes that none of those sirens were coming near the boathouse or else all of them would be done for. A huge weight was lifted off their shoulders once the sirens died down slowly meant that they were going to a different location. As much as Steve couldn’t stand this whole situation with Eddie he didn’t actually want anything bad to happen to him which confused him even more, one minute he wanted to curse him out without any remorse and now he wanted to protect? Everything seemed stupid to Steve, every little thing.

“We should probably check that out.” Dustin said as he pointed towards the window, referring to the passing police cars. Everyone nodded their head except for Steve.

“And leave him here alone again?” Steve mentally facepalmed as the words left his mouth and he didn’t realize how worried he sounded. All three of them smirked at each other while Steve blushed which he desperately tried to hide but failed.

“Technically he doesn’t have to be. You can stay here with him if you want.” Robin teased before winking at him and that made him even more mad.

“I am not staying here with him!” Steve blurted out and crossing his arms while looking away. His face was on fire at this point, all of them looked at him like he was going insane.

“No one’s forcing you to stay here with him, geez. Calm down.” Max put her hands up as if she was surrounding. Steve’s never felt this embarrassed in his entire life. He wanted to drop this entire conversation.

“Guys we have to focus. Let’s see what’s going on before it’s too late.” Dustin said waving his arms quickly. Steve wished he could’ve thanked Dustin for changing the subject. Sadly, the subject was way worse then a soulmate problem.

All of them ran over to the boat that Eddie was hiding in and removed the tarp the he must’ve thrown over himself once he heard the sirens. Steve noticed his body relaxed as his eyes focused on all of their faces and was relieved that it was just them. When Eddie wasn’t running his mouth Steve could take a step back and get a good look at him, nothing about Eddie’s appearance was bad. In this light his big brown eyes stood out especially when he’s a little bit scared. In some ways it was kind of cute, Steve wasn’t interested but he could see how someone could be.

“Eddie, we’re going to leave for a little bit but we’ll come back here soon okay?” Dustin said in a hurry. Steve watched Eddie wander off in thought for a second before nodding his head. He wondered what could be going on in his head at a time like this, Steve knew it couldn’t have been good considering that everyone in Hawkins were out to get him.

“Make sure to keep these with you just in case.” Max chimed in quickly as she ran to the other side of the boathouse then running back to place the snacks that they got for him in the little space between him and the boat. He laughed softly before holding the snacks close to him. Steve’s heart skipped as he heard Eddie’s laugh, he heard it in the car earlier but hearing it in person was very different. His voice was disgustingly smooth in Steve’s opinion.

He thanked max for the snacks before turning his attention to Robin. She smiled at him out of being kind and he smiled back at her with pure love in his eyes. Steve let out a sigh which no one heard because Robin was talking to Eddie and reassuring him that they were coming back. Steve thought he was imagining things when Robin put her hand on top of Eddie’s before squeezing it. He turned away to save himself from throwing up at the sight of Eddie having that same look on his face that pissed him off earlier. Steve heard Eddie say Robin’s name and he sounded desperate to tell her whatever was on his mind, before that could happen the group heard more sirens coming from outside. Everyone was starting to run towards the door but Steve was stopped in is tracks by a hand grabbing his wrist tightly.

“Steve!” Eddie called out for him as he pulled him closer. Steve didn’t expect their faces to become that close in a short amount of time. He could feel Eddie’s breath tickle his nose when he leaned forward and the blush on his face was spreading like wild fire. Steve held his breath trying to calm himself down from the moment being so intense.

“Y-yeah?” Steve asked in a tone that he wished wasn’t panicky. When Eddie started to lean in close making the gap between them smaller Steve couldn’t help but swallow thickly. Eddie swerved his head to the side to get closer to Steve’s ear. Steve was more than relieved, maybe now Eddie would tell him something meaningful or maybe he finally caught on to that he was wrong this entire time.

“Make sure that Robin stays safe okay? I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.”

Nope. Nothing changed.

Steve leaned back to look at Eddie and his face told him everything. He wasn’t pleased with anything he just heard but he tried to understand Eddie’s point of view. To him, Robin was the only person that Eddie saw as a soulmate because the idea of it being Steve would probably make him sick. From now on Steve had to get it through his head that Eddie didn’t like him as a friend or anything that was more than that, he couldn’t really blame him because Steve wasn’t to thrilled about it either. He opened his mouth to tell Eddie something but he figured it was best to keep those comments to himself since they weren’t important. If anything Steve was going to play into Eddie’s fantasy even if it wasn’t true.

“Okay. I will.” Steve said softly and giving him somewhat of a smile. Guilt started to weigh heavy on Steve when he saw how happy Eddie was to hear him make that promise. Obviously Steve was going make sure Robin was going to be safe but with Eddie in the back of his mind added an extra layer of unwanted emotions that he didn’t have the time for.

Without another word Steve gave Eddie a nod before he ran outside to meet with the others. When Steve made it outside he was greeted with nothing but wide smiles and eyebrows repeatedly being raised to insinuate that something happened inside the boat house. Steve waved all three of them off because the last thing he wanted was to talk about Eddie once again. As they made their way to the car Steve couldn’t get over the quick glances that he was getting and little giggles from the others, what he hated more was how he blushed even though he knew that nothing happened between the two still the idea made him feel things. If felt like forever before one of them cracked and said something.

“So… you two dating or what?” Max asked casually. Steve almost tripped over a branch after hearing the question. All he could do was groan and roll his eyes in response which seemed like a valid answer in his opinion.

“He’s just moody because he didn’t get to kiss Eddie goodbye.” Robin joked while puckering up her lips and making loud kissing sounds. All of them laughed in unison while Steve kept getting hot in the face. One day he’ll have an answer to why his body was betraying him but right now he didn’t have anything.

“Gross, at least take him to dinner first Steve.” Dustin added to the jokes making the others laugh harder. He couldn’t take it anymore, Steve grabbed Dustin’s wrist and pulled him away from the girls so they could talk privately.

“Henderson, we need to talk. We’ll meet you guys back at the car!” Steve called out to Robin and Max in return earning an okay from both of them. Steve managed to get to an area that was private enough and he let go of Dustin’s wrist, he looked at Steve with a confused expression.

“What did you want to talk about?” Dustin asked as he put his hands in his pockets and he gave Steve all of his attention. Steve took a deep breath before speaking and he prepared himself for the lecture he was going to be hit with.

“It’s about the whole… Eddie thing. We did talk about soulmates-“

“That’s good! Was he shocked or excited, in between. What did he think?” Dustin asked eagerly. Steve let out a nervous laugh in the middle of Dustin’s theatrics. The longer he thought about this entire thing the more he felt like complete shit.

“Well he thinks that Robin is his soulmate and not me.” Steve said truthfully. Dustin’s eyes widened then he laughed which caught Steve off guard because he didn’t find anything about the situation funny in the slightest.

“That’s hilarious! But you told him that wasn’t true, right?” Dustin kept laughing thinking that Steve would start laughing to but remained silent as he looked at the ground with a frown. Dustin’s smile faded fast when Steve didn’t answer his question and he hit Steve in the shoulder. “You did tell him that he was wrong right Steve?”

“Okay not exactly but it doesn’t matter because while he’s focused on Robin and whenever the moment comes she’ll let him down easy then I get to find the girl of my dreams like I was planning on doing anyways, problem solved.” Steve shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal. He wasn’t going to chase someone that wasn’t interested. Let alone Eddie Munson, that was way out of Steve’s pick for partners anyways. Dustin shook his head and slapped Steve’s shoulder again this time it actually hurt. He looked like he wanted to kill Steve right on the spot.

“No! The problem isn’t solved and you’ve made things worse by not being honest with him,” Dustin paused halfway through his sentence and his face changed from angry to smug really fast as if he’s just discovered something. Steve didn’t like the way Dustin started to wave his finger at him while laughing like a maniac. “I know what’s going on here. You’re afraid.”

“What?” Steve looked at Dustin with squinted eyes. Dustin continued to wave his finger thinking he was on to something then shaking his head.

“You’re afraid that if you actually gave Eddie a chance that you will fall for him. That has to be the reason why you’re going through all these lengths to not even give the relationship between you two a try.” Dustin said letting his analysis come to a conclusion. Steve thought all of it was nonsense and he figured Dustin at times thought he could read humans like they were books on a shelf, this time his research was wrong.

“First of all, I’m not afraid of anything. Second of all even if I did give him a chance I wouldn’t fall for him because we just don’t click and maybe our clocks got it wrong.” Steve tried to look at this scenario as it was the clocks fault and something was wrong with it but in reality it was very rare for anyones clock to be wrong let alone lead you to someone that wasn’t truly yours. Dustin placed a hand in Steve’s shoulder and smiled at him softly.

“Whatever you do, just make sure it’s the right thing and you have to tell both of them the truth eventually. If you don’t care about Eddie’s feelings then at least care about Robin’s, she doesn’t deserve to get dragged in any of this.” Dustin said as he gave Steve a quick pay on his shoulder then walked towards the car leaving Steve with his thoughts.

Steve hates to admit it but Dustin was right. Robin should’ve been left out of all of this as soon as Eddie brought her up. He knew that he wasn’t going to be serious about getting them together and all he needed was a little more time to get things figured out. Steve had a plan that wasn’t set and stone yet, that didn’t mean that nothing was going to happen. On his way to the car he figured that he should start brainstorming, except all of his thoughts kept taking him to nowhere.

Great.

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