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literaila · 7 months

Text

cuddle time

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru's mood is disrupted by some quality family time

a/n: a little fluff for you all because i've been trolling too much

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year four.

you're working on a report from a mission last week when the two of them appear, simply out of thin air.

it's early sunday morning, light shining through the windows, the world beckoning you outside--even though you know you need to be in here, working. honestly, you shouldn't have put it off for this long.

but it's so easy in this house. with satoru lounging around, and both of the children to entertain you all of the time. honestly, if you never checked your phone again, you might forget that the rest of your world existed completely.

it's nice. easy.

but not this morning. this morning, just walking into the office felt like surging through a tub full of mud, disgusting and slow.

and you feel that way now when the kids show up.

they both peek their heads into the office, the door slightly cracked, and you don't dare look at the two of them--knowing that they'll distract you (and that you would very much like to be distracted, at the moment).

tsumiki creeps into the room, and you can feel her smile at you from ten feet away. her general aura of benevolence and good. she radiates happiness, your secret drug. megumi follows, not as bright but still pleasant enough, accidentally bumping into the desk, but you still don't look at either of them.

you can see them in your peripheral, though. you can't imagine what they need at the moment.

but neither of them says a thing, they simply stare at you, standing on opposite sides of the desk, their eyes darting from the computer screen to you with an obvious frequency.

you don't know what they want, but you've known the two of them long enough to know that it's something.

you still don't look at them, but you can't help the smile on your face.

“yes, children?" you ask, teasing, after a minute of this has ensued. when you just can't hold it in anymore. "am i bothering you?”

tsumiki leans her head on your shoulder, her face amazingly warm, frowning. “gojo won’t get out of bed.”

megumi is just standing there, still staring at you, with his arms crossed. clearly, this is a dire statement, and they all need your immediate attention. clearly, your presence is impertinent.

you check the clock. it’s only ten in the morning, and god knows with the children, that is not late. they both wake up with the sun, ready to start the day before you get the chance to blink.

you were up two hours ago, helping megumi get breakfast together, making sure that they both slept well and that no one broke into the house in the middle of the night and stole them. breakfast was a bleary-eyed, silent sort of thing. the three of you basking in each other's company, and not attention.

but you don't really mind waking up that early. because, unlike satoru, your fragile mind doesn't pause for a good night's rest. these days, you'll get a few hours at a time, at the best. a couple of minutes to yourself, at the worst.

caffeine is a wonderful thing.

so you don't blame the man for hiding in his room all morning. besides, he is the worst when he misses out on his precious beauty sleep.

“we all agreed,” you say, knowingly, resuming your typing. “satoru can sleep in as long as he’d like on sundays.”

“he’s not sleeping.”

megumi nods. “yeah, he’s just moaning in bed.”

you quirk a brow. “is he sick?”

“no, just a baby,” megumi answers. he says this with such an obvious attitude that you almost snort. where he got the sass, you're not sure.

(you're sure. it's your fault.)

knowing he has no good information for you, you turn around to tsumiki. “what’d he say?”

“that he wasn’t getting out of bed. ever.”

you roll your eyes, familiar with this act. “just give him a couple of hours. he’s probably pms-ing.”

they both give you confused looks. you make a mental note to pick up parenting books at the library.

“he’s fine, guys," you say, instead of explaining. "just dramatic.”

tsumiki shakes her head. “something’s wrong with him.”

“could’ve told you that,” megumi mutters, under his breath, and you attempt not to laugh. and fail.

you grin at him, nudging tsumiki's cheek, a bit fond of her concern. her sincerity. “just let him sleep.”

tsumiki leans on your arm, still pouting—you should’ve kicked satoru out three years ago. he’s rubbing off on her. “but he's sad."

"sad?"

"i think he's crying."

megumi snorts.

you blink at her. "are you serious?"

she nods, sullenly.

you sigh, looking back to the computer--where work and every terrible thing in the world (besides satoru) awaits you. you could sit here for the next four hours, doing stuff you should've done weeks ago, or you could deal with an emotional toddler.

there's really no winning here.

you sigh again and look back to tsumiki. her face is enough to break your composure completely. "fine," you say, "let's go see what's wrong with him."

tsumiki smiles at you, grateful, and megumi rolls his eyes but begins to trail out of the office. you shut your laptop, knowing that you won't be back for a while.

(or the rest of the day, if you have it your way).

the two of them follow you to satoru's room, where you don't knock--because the door is already partially open, and because you don't care.

the blinds are still shut, the entire room a stomping ground for candy wrappers and files that satoru definitely shouldn't leave lying around.

but this is nothing new, so you ignore it.

"hey, kid," you say, stepping over to the bed, leaning down to look at him.

or, rather, an expanse of grey sheets. all you can see is a lump of covers, and a pillow thrown on the floor. satoru sleeps like someone's trying to hold him down, failing all the while.

you nudge him with a hand, sighing again. you got lucky with tsumiki and megumi, who are notoriously easy to wake up in the morning, unlike someone else in the house...

there's no response.

fortunately, you can see a puff of breath from beneath his blanket, so at least he's not dead.

there's a tuff of white hair peeking out from the sheets, and you pull it, albeit gently. because you actually do really love his hair.

(it's irritatingly soft).

"i already know you're awake," you tell him, dryly. "are you crying? tsumiki said you were crying."

the covers are quick to move, two large hands pulling them down with surprising efficiency, and a red-eyed--though not teary--satoru glares at you. "i'm not crying."

"oh, great, then i don't have to comfort you. i don't think i have it in me today."

he pouts, naturally, and throws the covers back over his face. at least this is no different.

you turn around, looking at both of the children helplessly. see, you want to say to them, he's fine. but tsumiki waves you forward and megumi's got a little quirk in his lip, which is answer enough.

you nudge satoru again.

"c'mon, you're scaring the kids."

"they weren't scared when they poked me awake and tried to steal my socks."

you turn back with raised eyebrows. tsumiki looks away guilty, and megumi's smile widens. but your eyes gleam, because satoru deserves at least that. and because all of them are terribly amusing.

you roll your eyes when you turn around and there's a single blue eye looking into yours. "well, you're scaring them now. and obviously," you answer. "socks are criminal in bed."

satoru tries to pinch you from under the covers, and you smack his hand away. "leave me to die," he says.

"they're quivering, satoru," you say, trying not to laugh. "do you want them to cry? because they will. it's probably the bedhead. or maybe the morning breath. seriously, do you make out with your pillows when you sleep?"

the covers move once again, and satoru's glare is vicious. "i do not have bedhead. or morning breath."

"yeah, yeah, you're perfect." you pull the covers back down, even when he tries to initiate a brutal tug-of-war match, which you win, obviously. "grandpa, come on, it's almost ten-thirty."

"i thought we made a rule that none of you can wake me up in the morning."

"the rule was that we let you sleep in on sundays. and you're already awake. the kids want breakfast."

"i know they already ate," satoru's eyes are blinding, "tsumiki told me."

"well, i want to eat. get up."

"go cook."

"get up."

"can't you see that i need to rest?" he gestures to his face, which looks typical and annoyed. "don't i look sick?"

you pinch his arm. "i recall someone saying that they were impenetrable, and trivial illnesses wouldn't affect them."

"i was wrong."

"as usual," you give him a sweet smile.

tsumiki and megumi have both crept up on the two of you, watching as you poke his cheek, trying to get a rise out of him.

it's really not your fault that he looks cute with his hair smushed against his face, slightly sweaty.

you always have preferred a disheveled satoru. when he's forgotten to put all of the pieces together.

actually, grumpy, just-awake satoru might be your favorite. your teenage self certainly had a fondness for him.

though you choose to believe that your tastes in men have since improved (they haven't, nor have they changed).

"i just wanna sleep," he whines. "please?"

"no. get up, because i don't want to hear your moaning while i'm trying to work."

"you can't hear it from the office," satoru hisses, "and it's sunday. go take a nap."

"i'll be sure to do that, right after i shove a toothbrush in your mouth."

"go away," he moans, childishly, and turns on his side. "i feel like someone cut me in half. am i bleeding through the sheets? i don't think my organs are intact."

you make a face. "that's disgusting. please don't talk about your organs in public. i thought this was a safe space."

satoru huffs, but doesn't say anything back.

"aww," you coo, while tsumiki climbs up the other side of the bed, putting her face right next to his. megumi lingers at your side. "is our baby sick?"

"yes."

"what does a sick baby need, guys? i don't remember."

"a lobotomy," megumi whispers.

you turn to him, eyes wide. "who taught you--actually. i already know," you look pointedly back to satoru, who's frowning.

"i shared those thoughts with you in confidence," satoru hisses to megumi, and covers his face with a pillow this time.

"cuddles, right? that's what you do when we're sick."

you smile at tsumiki. "what a wonderful idea, miki. cuddles are exactly what baby needs."

and so, with the grace of a thousand kangaroos, you jump on satoru, your body molding to his as you come face to face with the man, legs over his side, arm wrapping around his neck.

satoru is very close, close enough that you almost can't tell that he's glaring at you.

he's pretty like this, with gleaming skin and dull eyes.

"was that supposed to hurt? because it didn't."

it doesn't escape your notice that you can finger his cheekbones while he says this, no space between the two of you, and neither does the slight twitch of his lips. oh, yeah, you know satoru like this. with his attitudes and his lies.

and you know, really, that this is exactly what he wants. attention, as per usual.

"oh, good." you tug at his hair a bit with your other hand. "we've still got room. come on, children, we have to help our baby."

tsumiki giggles, and she joins you, her face on your back as she lays on top of the two of you, barely a leaf in the pile. you can feel her smile against your muscles and you sigh out. "i think it's working."

you tilt your head to look at megumi, who's staring at the three of you with a look of distaste on his face. "c'mon, megs. we need you."

he gives you a 'really?' look, to which you respond with a nose scrunch, but eventually, he sighs. and then he promptly sits on satoru's feet, setting a hand on your legs so you know that he's there.

"how are you feeling now, baby?"

"smushed."

"good. exactly how we like you." you nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in. he actually smells quite nice--and not that you'll admit it, but he doesn't have morning breath, the bastard.

"are you sad?" tsumiki asks, softly, still concerned, but brighter now. she likes this almost as much as satoru.

"yes," he huffs, again.

but you all know he's lying, and when you dig your finger into his side, tickling him, the kids are quick to follow.

work will have to wait. this is much more important.

next part | series masterlist

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru fluff #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu satoru #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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theblueflower05 · 1 year

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Mi Ti’ong(In Bloom)

A/N: Usually I try to keep my readers pretty ambiguous so that everyone can envision themselves, but this ones gonna be a little more distinct. If that isnt your jam, please dont read! No use of Y/N. Reader nicknamed Flora. Based on the character from Winx Club! And this art!

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: Size difference kink.Mature Language. Smut. Overstimulation. Oral sex(female receiving) Neteyams a munch, it’s canon now.

Summary: Neteyam can have anyone and yet he only wants you. A small human who can usually be found among the flowers. Neteyam x Human! Reader

Sugar, honey, iced tea. Bumble bee on the scene.

Yeah I’d give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie, ugh!

-See You Again, Tyler the Creator.

The forest is alive, the beating heart of Eywa felt in each and every leaf among the trees.

Every glowing piece of flora and fauna, every creature whose calls echo through the vastness.

This time of year is special and it's as though it is known. Deeply and primitively by all. The rains had come and gone, nearly a month of bruised skies that had bogged down the village and its daily life.

But as they always do the skies cleared, and the sun made its reappearance. Glittering and glimmering- triple rainbows breaking out in kaleidoscope like figurations. Beaming down with all of it’s warmth and vitality.

The earth is well fed and fertile, the soil rich and blooming with new life.

It’s that new life that brings the talioang(water buffalo like beasts) back. The creatures return in great migrations to the lush pastures of sweet new grasses to have their babies. The fish swim upstream, battling the roaring rivers, to spawn. The fruit hangs heavy and ripe in the trees. All around there is nothing but full bellies and joy.

This period of abundance is the Great Mother’s gift to her children.

It had always been Neteyam’s favorite time of the year.

Everything lush and bursting with life, the excitement a low constant hum amongst the tribe. The Great Hunt is coming and his father had given him the okay to take lead.

In his nineteen years, he had never been appointed with so much responsibility.

Jake tells him it will all be fine, nothing but easy smiles. This will be good. A fantastic way to show the clan that he’s ready to take on the title of Olo’eyktan once his father steps down. Although he manages to keep is calm and cool demeanor in public, he’s so fucking nervous he can barley function.

It’s why he’s here, trudging through the branches.

The village is buzzing with excitement. Everyone wants a moment of his time, their voices overlap as they wish him good luck.

Question his competence as head of the hunt.

Subliminally hint that hunters twice his age have never gotten the chance to do what has been so freely handed to him.

Remind him that their daughters are pretty. Unmated. Makes the best steamed Teylu. Are fertile and willing to give him strong children-

Fuck.

The moment he could, he’d slipped away. Disappeared into the foliage and had booked it deep into the trees, desperate for a moment alone. For a moment of silence and the peace of being away from prying eyes.

He doesn't even really know where he’s going.

Only that he just needs to be away. If only for an hour. He needs to recharge his ever draining social battery, to get his head on straight before tomorrow's hunt.

Neteyam has always performed his best under pressure.

Things that made others balk and cower ignited something in him. A need to fight. To prove himself- it’s not the prospect of high adrenaline and stampeeding hooves that makes him squirm. It’s all of the attention its garnering.

He know’s fully well that being the next Olo’eyktan means that attention comes with the territory. But that doesnt mean the thought of everyones focus on him doesnt make his indigo skin crawl.

He’s leaping aimlessly between vines when he remembers his sisters earlier proposition.

“Come with me and Flora to the watering hole today! The waterfalls are so pretty during this season- We’re going to go swimming!”

It’d been tempting this morning, and now it is even more so. He could use a dip in the cool waters and Kiri was always an ear to vent to when he got overwhelmed. He’d clear head and then leave-

He wouldn't get stuck staring at you.

Again,

No.

He can't pinpoint exactly when this happened.

It was like one night you were just another human at the Outpost. Another familiar alien face he’d grown up around. Just like Spider you’d stuck close with the Sully children. Your cheeks always flushed beneath your exo-mask and your fingernails always dirty and caked with mud from the hours and hours you’d spend tending to any and all plants that came in your line of vision. You were always so soft. Too soft for his liking sometimes. You’d cry at just about anything whether it be one of those old Tawtute movies the scientists played at the lab or the sight of an injured shimmyfly.

And then suddenly gone was that snotty, teary little girl he’d always known. And in her place was…you. A woman grown. Beautiful and bold- and there was strength in your softness now. You’d proved him wrong so many times- made it clear that you weren't another responsibility he’d have to shoulder-

“I can take care of myself, Neteyam” you’d insisted, never letting him carry your heavy baskets or tend to your scraped knees.

It’s maddening, the way that you shrug off any and all of his advances drives him fucking insane.

Neteyam approaches the secluded bank of the watering hole that his family loves best slowly, keeping in the treeline. Just out of sight. Just like he’d expected he finds you and Kiri on the familiar sands. Kiri is lounging in the sun, eyes closed and humming a pleasant tune to herself-oblivious to anything around her. He’d have to chastise her about her complete lack of situational awareness later.

You’re knee deep in the lake- tending to the water lilies that grow close to shore. Your back is to him but he bets your nose is all scrunched up, just like it always is when you’re around anything green and growing. His eyes drink you in greedily. All of your sun kissed skin is on display in the tiny faded pink panties you don for swimming.

He’d never found humans particularly pretty before you. The intense differences in their bodies had never appealed to him-

But Eywa, are you something to look at.

Time had been kind to you, and as you’d grown your body had morphed into something goddess like. You’re a real looker, his father had claimed. Would’ve been a total knockout back on Earth.

You’re all plush curves. Your breasts are pert and sit like rip hanging fruit on your chest, your hips wide and thighs jiggly and thick. And your waist…he’s sure if he put his much larger hands around them, his fingers could touch. He could cage you in his hold.

That thought has him biting his tongue, hard enough to taste metallic. You turn a bit, your laughter chiming over the glittering water like soft wind at some dry joke Kiri made.

Your hair color is light, lighter than any Na’vi’s and falls down around your shoulders in thick waves. He can only make out the side of your face but your full lips are pulled into a coy smile and your light jade eyes sparkle and all hell. Neteyam is so gone on you.

You’re like nothing he’s seen and definitely nothing he’s had.

And since his Iknimaya he’s had his first pick of the women of the clan.

He’s tasted passionate huntresses and flexible dancers alike and none of them satiate his thirst. None of them are able to replicate what he can only imagine you might taste like. It’s almost pathetic how many women he’s had and how many times he’s almost called out your name as he emptied his seed.

Neteyam’s more discreet about his romps than his brother, that’s for sure- but still. It’s a known fact that he’s an unmated male at his prime and that comes with a certain appetite. He can have anyone he wants, any Omatikayan woman would be glad to spend a night with him.

Yet somehow he’s lurking, hiding in the bush. Watching you longingly. Simpering like a pre-teen and pining over the way that the sunlight plays in the strands of your hair.

He shakes himself from his embarrassing reverie.

No one would be able to tell that just moments before he’d been debating on stroking his cock to just the sight of you, lurking in the trees like a creep. No. As he approaches its with his head held high and a sharp smile on his handsome smile.

“Brother!” Kiri grins, sitting up once she clocks him.

“What are you girls up to?” Neteyam greets. Cool as a cucumber.

“Nothing much, just been here since dawn. The waters so high this year!” Kiri picks up a fruit from beside her, peeling at its tender meat “everyone’s been out here today-on the other side, but no one knows how to get to this spot so we’ve had the beach all to ourselves”

You’re coming in from the lapping shore, beaming at him “Look at all the paysul(waterlily) that’ve bloom! I’ve never seen this many- isn't it amazing?”

“They are very beautiful. The rains were hard this year. I’m surprised the flooding wasn't worse” Neteyam tries not to focus on how tiny your chest covering- the bra as you call it- is. He turns his attention to his sister instead.

“Where’s Tuk, I cant believe she’d miss a chance to swim with you guys”

“She’s with mom, stuck on weaving duty since she tore grandma’s favorite tapestry” Kiri snorts because her baby sister had thrown a complete fit when she had been told she couldn't come “What about you? I thought you we’re too busy to hang out with the likes of us”

“I was able to make a little time for my favorite girls” Neteyam jests, amused by your eye roll and Kiri’s scoff “Plus, Lo’ak told me you need some humbling. Seems you forgot who’s the best diver in the family”

“Oh, you’re on, Teylupil(penis face/dick head)”

After stripping down to only his cloth, his cumberband and com left on shore, he slips into the cool refreshing water with a pleased “Ah”. Enjoying the gentle current against his skin-only to be tacked under the surface by Kiri and all of her bony lanky limbs moments later.

The sun soaked afternoon is filled with laughter and splashing. It’s exactly what he needs.

The three of you play in the river like children. Neteyam and Kiri go at it like the always do- careful to be gentle with your smaller form as you join in. It’s easy to forget the looming pressure of the hunt while he’s jumping from the rushing waterfalls and racing his sister, discreetly preening when he wins and you cheer him on with little claps.

Eventually you all tire.

Kiri floats on the water and goes to that place in her head that she so often does. Completely at peace to be surrounded by nature. She claims it’s when she can best hear Eywa.

Neteyam keeps a bit of an eye on her to make sure she doesn't randomly fall asleep again. Hoping she’d have the sense to get back to the beach before that happened.

Water floods his face and goes right up his nose.

His head snaps to you, spluttering and wiping at his eyes, “What the hell?”

You just giggle innocently before disappearing beneath the surface.

Neteyam’s tail flicks with interest.

He decides to let you get your little head start. His heart speeds up with the promise of a hunt before he starts his chase.He might be bigger then you but you're quick and slippery. Your mask giving you the advantage of not having to come up for air like he does.

When he grabs your ankle, so sure he’s got you, you all but kick him in the face to get away.

You little shit.

Fine.

If you want to play dirty, then he’s game.

He allows you to think you have a chance. That you may be winning the little game. You’re heading for the waterfall, planning to hide behind it.

He’s bigger and more trained than you could ever hope to be.

It only takes one well planned move and you’re done.

He yanks a hold of you, secure. He holds you then, your back against his chest and his strong muscle corded arms wrapped around you from behind before propelling the both of you through the pounding waterfall and into the small, closed off cave behind it.

“Neteyam!” You whine, squirming in his hold like a fish and he just laughs because honestly. He can barely feel it. You’re trying to escape with all his might and he’s holding you the way he might hold a child throwing a tantrum.

He leans in close, burying his face in your wet hair, close to your ear “I win, Sylaung(flower)”

He feels you shiver in his arms and it just makes him hold you tighter. He could keep you like this forever, if you’d only let him. Instead he can feel without you even saying so how hesitant you feel about this

“I think I deserve a prize” he pushes on even further and you give him a confused, side ways look. He so graciously allows you to turn in his hold until your chests meet, face to face.

“Like what?” you wonder and you’re too cute. You’re looking up at him, struggling to treading water with your smaller legs- Neteyam lifts you higher, until you’re bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and he’s holding you above the current. Supporting you totally.

“Well what can you give?” His inquiry is almost condescending and you shrug.

“I’m fresh out of gold stars” you tease and he barks out a laugh. Do you think he can't tell? That he can't see the way your cheeks flush and your pulse hammers beneath the delicate skin of your throat?

“What about a kiss” he offers offhandedly and your face scrunches up in a glare automatically.

“You don't want to?...”

“Why do you make fun of me like this, Neteyam” It’s not often he hears your voice this hard, soured by embarrassment and self doubt.

“I’m not making fun of you” he insists with a sigh “I don't know why you always say that. When have I ever given you the impression that I’d do that?”

You won't meet his gaze. Your green eyes flick, anywhere but on him. Zeroing somewhere behind his back. All too interested on the rocky cave wall.

“If it wasn't for this damned mask” Neteyam husks, low and sincere “I’d kiss you right now”

Even still, you don't seem convinced. Won't look at him until he takes your face in his hand, his fingers gentle but insistent. They grip the mask at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Why don't you believe me?”

“I’m nothing like the Omatikaya women you’ve been with” you say plainly like it's so obvious. Like it's a problem.

“I know”

“You didn't even like me growing up. You thought I was annoying”

“That isn't true-”

“It is” you insist haughtily “you’d make fun of me for talking to my plants”

He doesn't mean to laugh, really he doesn't. It’s not the time for it and it just pisses you off even more. He doesn't let you out of his arms even when you swat at him. “Listen, I’m sorry. I think it’s very sweet the way you talk to your plants. I want you to talk to me just like that, please”

That earns him a little giggle and he feels very pleased with himself.

You play with his hair often, most times it's mindless. A way to distract yourself. Your small deft fingers twirl along his adorned braids. He craves the scritch of your manicured nails on his scalp.

“How do you want me to kiss you? If I have my mask on” The interest in your hair is only just veiled. Your attempt at being nonchalant fails.

“Hmm” Neteyam feigns thinking, face screwed up “I think I could come up with a few ideas”

A few thousand more like it. You were the star of all of his fantasies. You, twisted and contorted into positions that would surely make you blush. You, with your mouth hanging slack in pleasure. Screaming his name-

But you hadnt agreed to that. You only, just barely, agreed to let him kiss you.

When he leans in its slow. Slow enough to give you time to push him away.

The waterfall roars in the background, white noise, but even it can't drown out the thunderous beating of your frantic heart.

Then his lips are pressed against your throat, gulping in the sweet scent of you. He cant kiss your mouth, but he can kiss the sweet, smooth column of your neck. Your clavicle. Your quivering shoulders. The heavy flesh of your breast. His kisses are open mouthed, his rough textured tongue dragging over your skin, leaving saliva trails in their wake-

You gasp sharpley when drags the skimpy fabric of your bra down so he can get at your pebbled nipple. He’s just about to suckle, when the moment is broken.

“Guys! Where’d you go?!”

It’s Kiri. Obviously awake from her nap like meditation time.

Your eyes go comically wide and Neteyam reluctantly releases you. Not wanting to get caught with an armful of pretty, half naked human. He’s thankful for the cold water and the way that he can hide the hardness tenting his tweng.

He catches you by the wrist before you can dip beneath the falls-

“We’re not done here, Sylaung” the promise leaves his lips fevor laced and full of heat.

You can only gulp and nod dazed, “I still owe you a kiss” your sweet voice reminds, before you’re ducking back under the water.

Leaving him dazed and buzzing for a moment before he gets it together and follows.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Days later he still hasn't gotten his prize.

Although he’s celebrated by his clan, praised for his successful hunt, he feels like something is missing.

The Harvest Season and its celebrations are well underway. Every night there's dancing and singing around the large bonfires we’re fragrant spiced tailong meat roasts. Neteyam is highly decorated; feathers adorn his freshly braided hair and he's donned his most ornate cumberband. He’s hauntingly handsome

Spider and Lo’ak are sat near the main fire, laughing heartily and sharing a leather gourd full of liquor between themselves.

Spider’s obviously drunk and eyeing Kiri hungerly as she dances with Tuk- he’d never do that sober. Not with Neytiri so near. Lo’ak is lounged out, an attractive female in his lap. She giggles madly at whatever filth his little brother whispers in her twitching ear.

Jealousy bubbles acidicly in Neteyam’s belly and again, he wonders where you are. Why you arent here, in his lap. Letting him woo you.

He figures he’ll have to go to you then, if you won't come to him.

First thing to do is find you.

“Hey, Spider!” the human man is the best place to start. Spider’s eyes are glassy under his mask and still. His friend is excited to see him, greets him with a hand shake and a small hug.

“Neteyam, man! Where have you been all night?”

“Around, you know how it is” Neteyam shrugs, sitting sown on the log, accepting the gourd and taking a swig of the thick sticky sap inside. It burns all the way down.

“This partys essentially for him- I’m surprise you we’re able to get away from dad” Lo’ak shit-talks, like he always does. It’s good natured for the most part “I thought he might throw you a parade or something. Call in the clans-”

“Fuck you, man” Neteyam chuckles, shaking his head at Lo’aks theatrics. “Don't be jealous”

“Jealous of dad? Nah” Lo’ak “Now the women you’re getting? That I might be jealous of”

“Hey!” the girl in his lap, a weaver from a modest family, squrims, pinching at his shoulder “You’ve got all the woman you need for the night, sayrip”

She squeals when Lo’ak squeezes her tight around her middle and blows wet raspberry kisses into her neck.

Neteyam just rolls his eyes and shares a little look with Spider. By the next eclipse, Lo’ak wouldve moved on. He has a knack for loving and leaving.

“Why arent you out there, bro? I saw Amitsa giving you the eyes! She’s so hot and she doesnt ever give anyone the time of day” Spider juts his chin and sure enough. The woman is giving Neteyam longing looks from across the fire. She’s a pretty thing and her sultry voice is renowned in the tribe. He’d be lying if he said he wasnt attracted to her “You’re not gonna go try to get at that?”

No. He’s not.

“Uh” Neteyam scratches the back of his neck “I was actually looking for Flora, I havent been able to find her around lately”

Of course, that sets of a exactly what he knows it would.

His brothers are assholes and have teased his merciesly since discovering his obsessive crush. Spider knocks his much smaller shoulder against Neteyam’s and Lo’ak hoots with laughter.

“How someone can be pussy whipped for pussy they haven't even had is beyond me” Lo’ak snorts and Neteyam gives him a warning growl, his lips snarled up.

It’s nothing he hadn’t heard before.

Lo’ak finds it endlessly amusing that Neteyam had his eye on you, the tiny human he’d grown up so lukewarm about. It had always been his siblings; Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk that were close with you growing up. Neteyam had never shown a speck of interest until your figure had grown curvy and supple-

“Piss off, I wasn’t asking you” Neteyam gives his best big brother stare down. His golden eyes hard and unimpressed before looking to Spider, hairless brows raised “You know where I could find her?”

“Listen man, she said wasn’t interested in hanging out with anyone tonight” the human man starts with a sigh and Neteyam’s growl is low and warning “-but I’m sure you can find her where she always is”

Neteyam wracks his brain for a moment “The Greenhouses?”

“Bingo” Spider nods, an almost sympathetic look in his eye as he watches Neteyam jump to his feet and set off.

Lo’ak sniggers and the girl in his lap scoffs and mutters something about “shameful, being that twisted up about a tawtute” but Spider says nothing.

Instead his plixr hazed eyes focus on the figure dancing close to the firelight. Kiri lets out a twinkling laugh at something Tuk says and yeah. Spider understands Neteyam. He understands being completely obsessed with something you’ve never had.

Instead of taking a note from his much braver brother, he lifts his mask and takes another shot of the acidic syrup.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Neteyam could make the trek through the forest to Hells Gate in his sleep..

He’d spent a good chunk of his childhood retracing these exact steps, headeded for the familiar concrete fortress that made up the last human outpost on Pandora.

Neteyam had always been far too similar to his mother, for countless reasons. But his distaste for everything industrial was one of the main reasons. As he got older he spent less and less time here. Couldnt be found in the cold echoing hallways like Lo’ak and the girls coul

But even he could admit.

There’s something beautiful about the Greenhouses.

With their dome like structure, the big glass buildings are a fortress for the humans. Inside they’re as hot and humid as the Pandoran rainforests- but circulating Earth air so that the fruits and vegetables that are native to Terra Firme can grow, even on this alien planet.

Neteyam makes his way inside, plugging in the codes into the keypad and letting himself in through the pressurized doors that slide closed right behind him. His eyes are peeled, taking in all of the foreign greenery, hoping to catch a flash of tanned skin or light hair in the cracks between trees.

The Greenhouses are huge. There’s orchards of apples and oranges and long deep garden beds full of root vegetables. Enough to feed the Hell’s Gate settlement throughout the year, to trade with the People of the Omaticaya.

No matter, he’s a blooded hunter after all.

He hones in on that training as he tracks your path. Your footprints along the cement floor are light, and really you barely leave any trace of yourself at all. You float along with light steps and Neteyam truly thinks if you had been born one of the People you would’ve made a fine huntswoman-

He finds you in the shade of the orange trees. You’re up on a stool, gathering the plump fruit and humming a pleasant little tune.

You’re ethereal in artificial sunlight.

You’re something out of the books that Norm used to read to them when they were kids. His favorite had been the one about the boy who would never grow up and the island of Neverland. And the tiny golden dust covered pixi that flitted from page to page.

A fairy.

A being not quite real. Too gentle and feminine to exist.

He likes the tawtute clothes you wear. The small top that clings to your breasts like a second skin and the flowy patterned skirt. Of course if it was up to him you’d only ever wear the garments of the People- or even better, Nothing at all.

You reach too high, strained up on your tippy toes and Neteyam feels irrational fear at that. At all of your delicate skin and breakable neck-

He’s beside you in an instant and he doesn't need a ladder to reach the high hanging fruit you’d been struggling for. He grabs the fruit with one hand while the other stabilizes you, his big palm spread out across the small of your back.

You gasp at his warm touch. Your head snapping in his direction and legs going wobbly.

“Neteyam!”

“Flora” He sighs as he urges you down from the ladder, takes the heavy bucket of fruit from your hands “You really do need to be more careful”

You splutter for a moment, still shocked at his sudden arrival “I- ugh! I was fine!” you insist haughtily “It’s not like I don't do this all of the time. You didn't need to come help me, I can manage perfectly fine on my own”

“Need to help you?” Neteyam cocks his head a bit.

“Yeah…I mean. Why else would you be here?” you ask, scratching awkwardly at your arm for a moment “Tonight's the celebration. You really should be back with the clan-”

“As should you” He cuts you off firmly. Not liking the way that you’re trying to separate yourself from the tribe. From him “I have not seen you for days. Do you not want to feast with our people?”

You sigh, looking away from him. Biting at that plump ever pink bottom lip of yours. Always shy, he knows he needs to bring you out of your shell. You’ll find a way to run away from him again if he doesn't.

“I didnt come here to help you” Neteyam admits because he’s selfish and because you’re too beautiful. Even more so, since you’ve been hiding from him. Avoiding his attention.

“Oh really?” you’re not coy by nature but there's something in your eyes. In the way you’re looking up at him “Then what are you here for?”

“My kiss”

Your pupils expand, just the tiniest bit but he can see it. He can see it all. Every inch of your pretty face, unbridled by that cumbersome mask you usually are forced to don. He can see every freckle and blemish- and the way that a blush creeps across the apples of your cheeks.

“A deals a deal” Neteyam insists at the prolonged silence. At your nervous flicking gaze.

“Okay” is your sweet reply and he can only stare at your plump lips. A man with one thing and one thing only on his mind.

You don't protest when he reaches for you. When his big hands go around your waist and tug slowly until he’s enveloping you in his chest. You fit so perfectly, right under his sternum. Stare up at him with wide eyes that flutter closed the closer he inches his face towards yours.

The kiss is wet and electric and Neteyam wants to eat you whole.

Any awkwardness that comes from the size difference is soon overcome by the desire that simmers between you. You let him lead, always so willing to go with whatever flow he may give. Let him nip at your delicate bottom lip until he can almost taste the metallic twang of blood. Let him stick his much bigger tongue into your warm mouth, and then down your constricting throat.

As you make little gasping choking sounds, he imagines it's his huge pulsing cock stealing the air from your lungs instead.

You gasp for breath when he pulls away, as he trails kisses down your soft jaw. He cant stop, wants to taste you everywhere. Every inch of skin. He know it must be overwhelming- if your heaving breaths and mewls are anything to go by, he knows you’re feeling every inch of the mind spinning need that he is.

Still,

No matter how much he gropes at you with rough hands and drags spit soaked kisses over your neck and chest, youre so good for him. Such a good girl. Holding on for any ride he might take you on. Your fingers twined in his silky braids arent there to push him away, but to pull him closed.

When he grasps you by the back of your thighs and hoists- you wrap your legs around his slim waist, your ankles hooking at his lower back.

The helpless noise you make goes straight to his groin.

Neteyam lies you down on hard floor. He’d rather have you in the warmth of his Kelku, or under the stars, but at least here he can get at your maskless face. At your bare lips. Once he’s cradling your head safely and tucked in between your spread thighs he's at you again. Ravenously.

You’re so docile, so eager to let him take whatever he wants.

“Flora” he husks into your hair and you shiver.

“Yeah?”

“Flora” Neteyam brings your little body even closer.”You have no Idea. I have to have you. I need-”

You squeak needily “You can have whatever you need” and gasp when Neteyam kisses your cheek. Your lips. Your jaw. Your neck. Your nerves are on fire and your hips grind against his.

“I need this body. I need to see all of it, you drive me crazy” Neteyam armits as he tugs on your top and you help him pull it up over your head. You dont wear a bra, why would you? Your pretty rosy nipples are all on display for him. Pebbled and begging for attention, He laps slowly with his wide textured tongue at the puffy nub.

He suckles like a newborn until you’re chivalry and making hurt little sounds, until your pretty chest is covered in blooming bruises.

And then he’s dragging his wanting mouth down. Past your heaving ribs and over your soft belly. Neteyam hikes the flowy material of your skirt up high, until he can bend down and poke his head underneath.

“Oh!” you gasp, writhing a bit. Your thighs trying to close on instinct.

You’re so wet for him, the smell of it is thick and heady and he digs his nose into your inner thigh and snuffles. Its mouthwatering.

And it bit mortifying, from your end. Having the large man with his head buried under your skirt as he sniffs at your core-

When he licks a fat stripe over you, wetting up the thin material of your panties you cry out. No ones ever touched you like this and here he is, licking at your clothed pussy. Over and over until the fabric is translucent and sticky with your flowing juices.

“Please” you mewl, gathering the fabric, yanking until you can see him.

Its filthy and erotic. The sight of his hulking blue body between your trembling tanned thighs. So alien. So taboo-

“Please what, sylaung?” Neteyam taunts, his golden eyes meeting yours. They shine with mirth, and lust. So much lust. When he noses at your pink flowery panties you throw your head back, eyes squeezed closed. Unable to take the sight any longer “You want me to take care of you?”

“Yes” you sob because you’re pulsing and you can barley breathe you’re so horny “Please take care of me with your tongue”

Neteyam strips you then, out of your skirt and cute little panties and you’re lying under him. Naked and flushed and wanting.

He shoulders himself exactly back where he wants to be. Where he’s always wanted to be.

“Don't worry, I’ll take care of this sweet pussy for you”

Oh god. Your head is spinning.

You can barely think as he kisses on the jiggling fat of your thighs.

“I’m sorry” you gasp.

Neteyam hums right against your core and you can feel the vibrations throughout your entire body “What for?”

“I’m so messy” you whisper, that pink blush blooming all over your body.

Groaning, Neteyam can't wait any longer. Your flavor bursts along his taste buds. Tangy and earthy and decadently sweet. He’s had his fair share of cunt before, but he’s never tasted a humans and he’s shocked at how saccharine it is. It’s sticky and coats his mouth and throat. His lips and nose and chin as he digs in.

“Neteyam!” You wait.

“Fuck. Oh, Eywa. One Second” Neteyam sits up and adjusts himself where his painfully hard under his tweng and the ache in you deepens. You try to be good, try to be still as he leans in and licks at you again. Kisses your pussy in that same beautiful passionate way he kisses your lips.

He’s good. Too good at this. He’s had too much practice and you never had a chance againts that oversized mouth.

“Holy fuck” the words sound even more vulgar in your honeyed voice “Fucking hell, Nete. Nete. I’m almost there”

Neteyam grin is hidden between the lips of your pussy. He doubles down, letting you hump and soak his face. Then lapping back at inside of you in a repetitive and ceaseless rhythm, One that has you shaking, arching up off the ground. Your plush thighs closing, clamping around his head as you come.

Your orgasm cinches tight and rushes around you, inside of you, out of you with a gush of slick. It’s so deep. So strong, that it takes a moment for you to truly peak and it leaves you in a daze. Out side of your body as you fuck up againts Neteyams mouth like a wild animal.

You’d never come so hard in your life and it takes a while for you to recenter.

Once youre able to focus past the rushing in your ears, the first thing you notice is Neteyam’s face streaked with wet. Your blush blooms across your cheeks as you both breathe unevenly into the quiet.

“Did that feel good?” Nereyam knows it did, but still. He needs to ask. Needs to hear you say it.

You giggle, girlish and airy as your dainty hand releases his hair and cups at his cheek “So so good. I’ve never felt anything like that before”

His grin is all too feline and seeing those white canines gleam so close to the most sensitive part of you is a little alarming.

“There’s so much more to come, yawntutsyip” Neteyam promises, leading back down. His fingers play with the jiggle of your thigh- so different then any of the Omaticaya women he’s had You squirm a bit, clearly overstimulated, but keep your legs spread anyway.

Neteyams long digits prod gently at your pussy lips. You’re oddly pretty here. All red and rosy and inflamed, like that blush he loved so much on your cheeks. He spreads you with two fingers so that he can look at you inside. At your quivering pink folds and your tiny little hole that clenches when he runs his finger along it.

“You’re so small here” he whispers, completely hypnotized by it “So fucking tight. You’ll never be able to take me”

You whimper unhappily “Don’t say that. I want to- please just try”

“Shh,” Neteyam soothes your cries. Your dazed worries. He distracts you with his tongue, as it swirls over your throbbing clit. It feels a bit like sandpaper to your nerves, but you can get enough.

When his finger begins to breach you, you hold your breath.

Its big, but youre so loose from your first orgasm, so desperate to be filled that he sinks in until the hilt.

Its maddening after that and you grind the back of your head into the hard concrete under you- your eyes closed and your mouth hanging open. The sounds you make are feral and raw-

Neteyam fucks you open with one and then two fingers until its easy. Until the sweet stretch doesn't burn- instead its slippery and wet.horribly wet as Neteyam feasts on you as he fucks you with his fingers-

“Too much-Fuck” you weakly try to pull away from the assult of pleasure but he he’s too strong. Pins you down. Makes you take whatever he wants to give you.

When he lifts your hips up even higher to take a curious lick at your puckered asshole you white out.

This orgasm isnt like the first. You sink under the waves of this one. Your muscles cramp with the intensity. You cant come back to yourself, you can’t cling to anything but Neteyam. You cant even scream.

He’s everything, as he soothes you. As he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

“H-hurts” you whimper, eyes filling up with tears. Pussy aching.

“Just a little more baby” Neteyam huffs as he licks at you and stuffs the hand that's covered in your cum down his own tweng. It lubricates the fast and furious pumping of his fist along his rock hard cock.

He cant fuck you tonight, thats something the two of you will have to work up to. He’ll teach your tiny body to take him. To crave penetration.

But with his tongue buried in your pulsating pussy and your scent all around him its easy enough to pretend. Easy enough to imagine shoving himself into you slowly. Stretching you’re ruined. Your hole would never be the same. You’d forever gape because of him-

Neteyam comes with a roar and dirties his loincloth up like a teenager.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, after he’s cleaned you both up the best he can and gathered you to his chest. After he’s taken a sip from the breathing mask and nuzzled ar your wispy soft baby hairs that are plastered against the side of your sweaty head-

That he has the urge to read that book again. The one with the fairies. As he watches your slumbering face, your nose scrunching and lips pursing, he thinks the onlt thing missing is the gossamer wings,

His own little fairy.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

AAAAAAND we’re done.

First and foremost I want to give the wonderful @oakbuggy her accolades. Her Neteyam x Flora art inspired this fic 100%. A couple months ago I actually messaged her begging her to let me right this for her because I just couldn't get over this crackship of dreams. Thank you for being so patient with me. I hope you enjoy that overstimulation, baby!

PLEASE GO CHECK OUT HER ART. It’s sooooo delish.

This was a monster to write because I just had so many different ideas of what I wanted to do with the two of them and couldn't pinpoint where exactly I wanted the plot to go. Even now its a bit messy but still. I’m a fucking sucker for Neteyam x Flora and I would be more then happy to write more of them if thats something everyone would be into.

Please give me some feedback. What did we think about this writing style? Do we like the Y/N route more?

Until next time sweet honey bees!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x flora #neteyam x you

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rosenclaws · 29 days

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Pride & Prejudice || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

Summary: You're an actress auditioning for theatre production of Pride & Prejudice and Leopold finds you practicing your lines.

a/n: Okay so, I need more leopold being an actor and cute moments so this was born. Full confession. I have never watched or read Pride & Prejudice so I am very sorry if I messed up anything aksdfhl. Anyways i hope u like it!!!

The fire escape has to be Leopold's favorite place. He sits on the small chair and watches the bustling city below him. Overwhelming is an understatement when it comes to the last couple weeks.

Falling into the future sounds like a work of fiction, yet it was his reality. Adjusting hasn’t been the easiest but he’s lucky to have Kate and Charlie and well, you.

“Do you think I could have ever considered marrying the man who has ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of my beloved sister?” Leopold perks up at the sound of your voice.

You’re Kate's neighbor, kind of. You live below her. Leopold has seen you a few times, mostly when you lock yourself out of your apartment and need to climb through Kate's fire escape. He knows you’re an actor like Charlie but in the day time you work at a coffee shop.

You served him once or twice when he came to visit you. Your knowledge of theater is extensive and Leopold always had an interest in the stage so conversation came easy. You also loved movies, something he was completely unfamiliar with. He remembers your eyes lighting up at the very idea of showing him your favorite films. A soft smile across his face as he recalls your many movie nights. Though he didn’t quite understand every movie, he could care less when you were so passionate about each and every one of them.

“You arrogantly and unjustly maneuvered Mr. Bingley away from Jane. Can you deny it?” The dialogue catches his attention, you must be practicing for a show. He climbs down the fire escape to your apartment.

“Your manner…Ugh!” You fall back onto your couch as you throw the sides onto the coffee table.

“I’m never going to get this right.” You groan helplessly.

“I thought you sounded lovely.” You let out a small scream as you hear another voice. Turning your head you see Leopold sitting on your fire escape.

“Leo! What have I said about knocking?”

“My apologies.” He climbs through the window and walks over to you. He looks at the pieces of paper and reaches down to pick it up.

“Pride and Prejudice, I had no idea they turned this into a play.” He flips through some of the pages. He remembers reading the book and enjoying it quite a bit.

“Have you gotten the part?” You scrunch your face as you shake your head.

“No. Auditions are next week. I…” You hesitate to continue but he smiles softly and you cave instantly.

“I wanted to audition for Elizabeth but a couple friends told me I’d probably be a better Charlotte.”

Not that you had anything against the character and a part is a part no matter how small, but you wanted to play more than a side character. Leopold's brows furrow as he sets down the script.

“Nonsense, do not listen to them. I think you would make a perfect Elizabeth.” He compliments sincerely. Of course you would, he thinks. You’d be perfect in any role.

“Thanks.” Your eyes drift to the sides on the table. Leopold stands with his arms behind his back, even in casual clothing he radiates this aura unlike anything you’ve seen.

“You know Leo,” You smile as an idea pops into your head. “I think you should audition too.” Picturing him as Mr. Darcy is easy. After he did his butter commercial, you realized he was a natural for acting and with his background, he’d be perfect for period pieces. Not to mention how handsome he is. You’re sure the director would be tripping over himself to get Leopold a role. Leopold seems uncertain at your suggestion.

“Here,” You pick up the sides and hand him the one for Mr. Darcy. He skims over the lines and frowns.

“I do not recognize this.”

“Oh yeah, they’re from the movie. The director wanted to include his big monologue and the kiss.” You explain, making a mental note to show him the movie later.

“I understand wanting to take creative liberties and all but…” Maybe he’s a stickler for the classics but he isn’t exactly fond of changing such a well written book.

“Just give it a try.” He sighs and stands a bit taller.

“You are too generous to trifle with me. I believe you spoke with my Aunt last night, and it has taught me to hope as I had scarcely allowed myself before.” He looks up from the script and you give him an encouraging smile.

“If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me forever.” You want to melt under his gaze. It’s not fair how easily the words flow out of his mouth. How naturally charming he is.

‘“If, however, your feelings have changed…” To your surprise he sets down the paper and walks closer to you, holding out his hand to you. Hesitantly you take his hand, unsure of where he was going with this. He pulls you up, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I could, I would have to tell you, you have bewitched me body and soul,” His hand gently grabs your chin as he steps closer to you. You stand frozen in complete shock. The script is long forgotten, the pages having fallen from his hands.

“And I love and love and love you. And never wish to be parted from you from this day on.” He finishes his monologue as a whisper. You part your lips but no words come out, wanting to hold onto this moment for longer.

“I believe you mentioned a kiss,” He mumbles.

“It’s uh, towards the end…” He hums and without another word he gently kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His lips are so soft, so gentle yet so passionate. One of his hands snakes to your lower back, guiding you even closer to him. The kiss breaks and you’re left breathing heavily, smiles on both of your faces.

“You’re really good at this. Maybe you should become an actor.” You say jokingly. He chuckles and brushes his thumb along your cheek.

“I was not acting,” He admits.

“You are truly, utterly, bewitching and If you were to accept, I would die a happy man.” Jesus, he knows how to talk.

“I would be an idiot to say no to you.” You grab his face and crash your lips onto his. He steps back but quickly matches your fervor.

“Join me for dinner tonight, so I can court you properly.” He says breathlessly, his face slightly flushed.

“Properly? So you don’t normally kiss a girl before dinner?” You say teasingly.

“No, But for the sake of theater, perhaps I can make an exception.” That’s as forward as you’ve ever seen from Leopold, an innocent smile on his face but a clear spark in his eyes. Smirking, you glance at the scattered pages on the ground.

“Good, because I think we need to run the scene again and again.”

#kate and leopold #leopold x reader #leopold Mountbatten x reader #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader

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little-diable · 5 days

Text

Crimson River - Tyler Owens (smut)

This came to me while overthinking a situation I'm currently stuck in lol. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader and Tyler have been chatting online for months, and now it's time for them to finally meet in real life. Porn with some plot

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, some spitting, full on fluff

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (2.5k words)

“So, when will I get to share these songs with you face to face?” Her thumbs were hovering over her keyboard, eyes flickering from his text to her calendar. (Y/n)’s heart was pounding, beating in her chest while her teeth tugged on her lower lip.

It could be easy, too easy almost.

“How’s the weekend looking for you, you busy tornado wrangler?” Heat shot to her cheeks, leaving her to burn up while putting down her phone. This was crazy, and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to back down, not when she could finally meet him.

Him, the guy she had been texting for months now.

Him, the guy she had first bonded over music with, sharing a similar taste.

Him, the guy whose every storm chasing stream she had watched ever since he had shared more about himself with her.

“If it means I get to see you, I’ll hold it free, sweetheart.” A chuckle broke out of her. (Y/n) deeply exhaled before shaking her head at her screen. This was crazy, but the best kind of crazy, something she desperately needed to rip herself out of her daily routine.

“Count me in, I’ll book my flights now.”

……

Her thoughts were racing, just like her heart. (Y/n) moved with the big crowd, knowing that she was about to step out into the arrivals hall, where he was already waiting for her. She was unable to shake the heat sticking to her, still not fully realising that she was about to cross paths with the man she had been in touch with for months without ever meeting him.

And then she instantly saw him, eyes drawn to him like a moth to a flame, a gravitational field that left her buzzing in excitement. His strong arms found their way around her, pressing (y/n) against him while she sank into the hug.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” With a kiss pressed to her temple, Tyler let go of her to reach for her bag. She could only smile up at him, taking in the handsome face she had seen on her screen too many times to count.

“Thank you for picking me up.” (Y/n) tried to rip her gaze from him, eyes set on the crowd he directed her through with one hand placed on her lower back. Her mind picked apart every little detail, their height difference, the scent of his cologne she’d probably never forget again, the way his warm hand felt pressed against her back. All of it left her buzzing, tingling in excitement.

Only as she found herself sitting in his truck did she allow herself to relax and breathe. Tyler had instantly managed to lure her into a conversation, making her feel as if they had met up numerous times before today. And yet (y/n) still struggled to realise that this was really happening, that she was so close to the handsome man she had fostered a crush on for quite some time now.

“I thought tonight we could go for something slow, maybe watch a movie? And tomorrow you’ll get to meet the crew.” He shot her one of his signature smiles, hand finding her thigh for a second. The touch felt intimate, shooting heat straight to the spot while her mind hyper fixated on the way electricity kept pushing through her as if lighting kept hitting her over and over again.

“That sounds perfect, thank you.” She could already tell that a weekend was not nearly enough, parting again would hurt more than she could even imagine at that very moment.

……

The screen of his TV kept flickering on, casting shadows in the spacey living room. It had been a while since they had arrived at his place. Both had opted for some downtime first before they’d get to cooking and sharing a meal. Even though she was slowly adjusting to being around Tyler, it still felt somewhat surreal, like a dream she’d be ripped from too soon.

“Hey, are you okay?” She had her feet pressed against his thigh, eyes flickering to them as Tyler softly squeezed her skin. The touch made her sink further into the couch, hoping that the way he made her feel wasn’t all that obvious to Tyler. But the smirk slowly tugging on his lips told her that he was all too aware of the way she struggled to hold it together, unable to speak much.

Only a hum broke through (y/n), a sound that turned into a quiet gasp the second he tugged on her feet to place her legs over his thighs. One of his hands found space between her knees, grabbing her flesh while the other settled on top.

How in God's name was she supposed to survive this?

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” Tyler stopped the movie without taking his eyes off her features. She couldn’t help but wonder how he was already able to read her that well, how he managed to pick up on micro expressions even her closest friends would most likely miss.

“It’s just surreal, all of this, finally talking to you and being close to you. I knew we’d get along well, but,” the rest of her sentence was lost in the quietness of the room. Tyler’s thumb stroked along the fabric of her trousers, patiently watching her.

“But this is different.” He finally managed to finish her sentence, unable to bite down the smile both couldn’t shake now. “I know what you mean, I was hoping it’d work that well like it does when we text, but this is so much better.”

Another hum left (y/n), she pulled her legs from his grasp to shift around, finding confidence in the way he had just expressed what she had also been feeling. Slowly, carefully almost, (y/n) placed her head against his chest, instantly pulled closer by the arm finding its way around her. Tyler pressed a kiss to her hairline before he started the movie again, unable to see the bright smile she now wore, perfectly matching his.

……

(Y/n)’s legs were dangling off the kitchen counter, eyes following Tyler around as he cooked for them. Music was filling the kitchen, playing a playlist both had crafted over the past months, their own personal blend. Ever since their moment on the couch, both had been unable to shake their smiles, hearts racing in sync.

“Here, do you like that?” Tyler found himself settling between her thighs, looking at her while pushing the spoon past her parted lips. The moment had something awfully intimate to it, pushing heat through both of them. (Y/n) could only nod her head, not noticing how her legs had loosely found their way around his thighs, keeping him close.

Tyler’s thumb found her mouth, brushing away a bit of sauce clinging to her skin, a touch that made her breath hitch in her chest. She kept looking at him, getting lost in the piercing eyes that had seen more tragic glimpses of this life than (y/n) could ever imagine, and yet they were filled with a burning longing.

For a few more seconds they kept holding eye contact, torn apart by his phone timer going off. Tyler had to clear his throat before he could focus on finishing dinner, trying not to pay her intense gaze any of his attention. He knew all too well that he was close to snapping, close to crossing the last line between them to press his lips against hers.

But as much as Tyler wanted to kiss her, to taste her like he had done numerous times in his dreams, he knew that he should take things slow. He didn’t want to push things too far on their first night together, all Tyler was focused on was seeing her comfortable and happy.

“We could eat outside if you want, stars should be out by now.” Her heart was close to jumping out of her chest, freed by the heat his words made her feel. Months ago he had shared a picture of the starry sky he was fortunate enough to look at whenever he was home, a sight that had left her to confess that she desperately wanted to see them too.

“Thank you, Tyler.” (Y/n)’s words carried more meaning than he picked up on, not seeing through the adoration swimming in her pupils.

……

“Tyler.” (Y/n) mumbled his name, eyes set on his features. They were still sitting on the bench outside his home, sharing a blanket to keep them shielded from the cold night. His eyes flickered down to meet hers, patiently waiting for her to keep on speaking. “Will you finally kiss me?”

Her words drew a loud laugh from him, he shook his head at (y/n) who could only grin up at him. Tyler’s hand found her cheek, wordlessly asking her to keep on looking at him while his eyes wandered over her features, “And here I was trying to be a gentleman.”

(Y/n)’s reply was lost on the tip of her tongue as he dipped his head down. Tyler’s lips ghosted over her’s, drawing a soft whine out of (y/n) as he kept a small distance between them. Only as her hand found his jacket, tugging on the fabric to pull him closer, did he properly kiss her.

The kiss shot shudders down her spine, making hairs rise on her forearms while shuffling closer. Within moments she found herself straddling his lap, front pressed against his to cross any distance still lingering between them like two lonely ships crossing the sea to find back to one another, guided by nothing but their need to be close.

Their lips moved perfectly together, the kiss wasn't rushed, but it was fuelled by their longing which had grown stronger over the past months. Tyler’s hands settled on her waist, fingers toying with the hemline of her sweater, set on feeling her warm skin pressed against his. For a moment they broke apart, grasping onto new air to fill their burning lungs.

“Stop me anytime you want, sweetheart.” (Y/n) searched his lips again, not giving Tyler a chance to speak another word while his hands found her burning up skin. Her wandering fingers found his hairs, brushing through them to draw a moan from Tyler, a sound that vibrated on her lips and through her whole body.

He didn’t speak a warning as he suddenly stood up, holding onto (y/n) to carry her back inside. With her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist, she let him carry her inside and towards his bedroom. Both were heavily breathing after pulling apart, chests rising and falling while chuckles broke out of them.

(Y/n) let him pull her sweater over her head, exposing her bra to his wandering eyes. The groan rumbling through Tyler made her grin, letting her hands reach for his belt loops to pull him closer, expertedly undoing his belt, “I know we should take this slow, but I really need you to fuck me now after all these months.”

“You’re killing me, sweetheart.” Their eyes held contact as she freed his hardening cock, letting his trousers drop to the ground. Tyler’s moans spurred her on, allowing her to marvel at the handsome man while pumping his length a few times. But Tyler didn’t have the patience to drag this out long enough, he gave her a push back, tugged her trousers and panties down her legs while (y/n) undid her bra. “You’re the prettiest sight, fuck, I’m the luckiest man.”

“Says you, I mean look at you.” She could only stare at him as the rest of his clothing was dropped, exposing his abs and his muscular chest – all while his fingers began to wander up her legs. He pressed kisses to her soft skin, sucking on her flesh as his fingertips ghosted over her warm folds, feeling her arousal already sticking to her skin.

Tyler kept his gaze on her features as he spat down on her heat, spreading his saliva on her warm skin. He circled her pulsing bundle a few times to draw soft moans from (y/n), needing to hear them as if they were his favourite drug, high on her sounds. For a second, he parted from her to find a condom, to roll it down his cock, and to brush his tip through her folds.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” (Y/n) looked up at Tyler, feeling herself getting choked up from the way he looked at her. Something she’d only be able to describe as love swam in his pupils – a love so intense it only grew stronger as he pushed into her. Her eyes instantly fluttered shut at the sensation, fingernails scratching at his skin, walls fluttering around him. Tyler held still for a second, giving her time to adjust before he dipped his head down to kiss her.

Their bodies met with every thrust, allowing (y/n) to feel him deep inside of her, stretching her with every move. With every contact even more sinful sounds began to claw through them, reverberating through his bedroom like a song woven together from shared experiences and unspoken longings.

“You feel so good, fuck, Tyler.” Her words left him chuckling, he kissed his way down her throat, finding the spots that made her arch her back while she tightened the grasp of her legs around his waist. Tyler was fully focused on making her cum first, needing to watch her fall over the edge while knowing that he was the reason for the sweet sensation she was about to get tangled up in.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart, make yourself cum on my cock.” Tyler’s voice grew raspier and lower with every syllable he spoke. Both were staring at one another, wordlessly telling them that they were ready to let go any moment now. Her fingers moved fast, giving herself the needed push with his name bleeding from her lips.

Tyler found himself falling in love with (y/n) some more as she came, eyes taking in every inch of her pleasure drunken features. He gave it a few more thrusts before he came, letting go with a groan while (y/n) kept clinging to him.

“Christ, you’re perfect.” He pressed another kiss to her lips before pulling out. And at that moment, Tyler knew that he’d have to confess his feelings soon. Not tonight, perhaps not tomorrow morning, but the love bleeding from the tip of his tongue like a crimson river would pave the way for their following time together soon enough.

#Tyler Owens smut #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens imagine #twisters

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prongsiepotter · 5 months

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down bad | j. potter

summary: you're so in love with james potter but he's a little too good at giving you mixed signals that it might actually ruin you

pairing: james potter x reader

warnings: angst, a little fluff if u squint, and so much longing & yearning. omg so much of it

a/n: i am unfortunately completely obsessed with taylor swift's new album, so everything i'll write in the near future will be based on one of the ttpd songs (yey!) & this one's based on 'down bad.' feel free to send requests if u want pick the next song for me x

──────── 𑁍︎ ‧₊°

"So he just said no?" Mary all but hisses. Marlene shushes her, glancing around the classroom before leaning down from where she's sitting on your desk.

"Are you sure it didn't mean something else?" She rests her hand on yours. "Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. He wouldn't…he just wouldn't, right?" You smile weakly at her, then shake your head. She squeezes your hand.

"The note was pretty clear," you say with a soft sigh. The sentence rolls off your tongue with unhidden bitterness. "Sorry, can't. Need to catch up on some assignments."

You would show it to them, so they could see for themselves and maybe divert their sympathetic gazes from you. But you had set it on fire right after reading it, just like the other two notes friendly rejecting you. You still aren't sure why you did it. After all, you did just tell Mary and Marlene that you're fine. At least you will be. You should not be this devastated over some guy.

Even if that guy is James Potter.

James who is now strolling into the room with his mates, looking as invincible and full of life as he always has and always will.

Quickly, you force a smile at the girls and pull out the chair next to you. Marlene, bless her, gets the hint and lightly shoves Mary's shoulder to have her take the seat. You're going through your book bag, pulling out your inkwell when four bodies make their way past your desk.

"Ladies," comes Sirius cheerfully loud voice as he bows at the waist because, of course, he does. Peter and Remus aren't as dramatic with their greetings. The latter, however, does take the time to slow down in front of you until you look up and return his kind smile. Belatedly, you realise perhaps you shouldn't have done that. You lock eyes with James, who's right behind him.

He sends you an easy smile and a wink. Like he's letting you in on another one of his rare secrets. You're not sure if you're smiling back, but it's almost a given that you are.

He takes his seat behind you, laughing blithely at a joke Pete just told, and it's all so painfully charming that you want to die. You fear he will always make you feel like this. Like you're somehow the chosen one. It's such a sickening feeling, you can't help but whip around and look at Mary, pleadingly. Though, you're not sure what you're pleading for anymore.

She shoots you another unbearably sympathetic smile, looking like she's close to cooing at you. You sigh, hiding your face in the crook of your arms.

You can't help but think how easy it would be to just cry right here. It's embarrassing to admit, but you've done it plenty of times over the weekend after you had seen James out at Hogsmeade with the others. Miserably, you had realised that he was, in fact, not too busy working on his assignments. He just didn't want to spend time with you.

You almost let out a sob.

A hand rubs your back and you know it can only be Mary, but you let yourself believe that it's the universe consoling you, as if to say there, there because there's nothing fair about this and she knows it, but there's nothing she can do it about now, can she?

History of Magic passes in a blur. Before you know it, you're in the library, pouring all of yourself into an essay that you normally couldn't have cared less for. But you're willing to do whatever it takes to keep yourself busy. You know your thoughts will stray the moment you're lying quietly in bed anyway, awaiting another sleepless night.

You finish the sentence and look up, satisfied with your work. Apparently it's been a while since you've torn your gaze away from the parchment before you, seeing how stiff your neck is. You knead at the uncomfortable knot in your shoulder while looking around the library. It's relatively full today with every other seat being taken.

Which makes it all the more irritating when your gaze snatches on a figure sat at the other table right across from you. He's not even looking up, head bent over a book, but you would recognise that mop of unruly dark curls anywhere. James must've seen you when he came in, but that might have just been your hopeful self speaking.

Begrudgingly, you resume your writing and it takes everything in you not to look up every few minutes. To glimpse the slight furrow in his brows and the small pout of his lips as he's carefully reading every paragraph. You know he's likely looking for something to prepare for a prank. Normally, you would simply go over and ask him what he's up to. You know he'd happily tell you. But you're glad to have at least a little bit of pride and dignity left that keeps you rooted in your spot.

Seemingly not enough though since all you can think about is that there's no way he doesn't know that you're right there. It really does make you want to bang your head against the table. Maybe that would finally catch James' attention.

Pathetically, you glance at him only to notice that he's packing his things to leave. The tip of your feather goes back to the parchment so fast, it almost pierces it. You haven't got a clue what you're writing, too busy tracking James' movements from the corner of your eyes.

You watch him stand up, walking down the length of his table towards the door down the hall on his right. Then he stops. You hold your breath. James seemingly hesitates before fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He turns left and walks towards you. You're staring at your hand as it writes illegible words, completely out of your control, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey," James whispers when you look up, giving you a familiar grin and small wave. It's an innocent gesture, sweet, but there's almost something hostile about this encounter. Like you have no choice but to let him occupy every single one of your senses. You stare up at him, a matching smile sweeping over your lips before you can think better of it.

That's when you notice the scarf he's wearing and its frizzled ends. It's yours. You know it is.

Did he not give it back to you after one of your nights out together on the stands? After you had flown on your brooms, so close to the sea of stars that you could've dipped your fingertips in them? You could almost hear the echoes of your windblown laughters as the memory pushes itself into the foreground of your mind.

James is sitting still, rosy-cheeked, watching you with curious eyes while you babble on about the Leo constellation. He had just told you that you could do whatever you want to him—another quite maddening thing to casually say to someone—and now he's apparently keen on staying true to his word by letting you wrap your scarf around his neck.

It took some convincing before he'd finally accepted it from you. You promised that you wouldn't be cold with your high collared sweater, but James only gave in when you had accepted his wool hat in exchange.

He had carefully put it on you, smoothing down your hair and pulling out some loose strands to frame your face, mumbling something about how much lovelier his hat looked on you than on him. You told yourself that he surely must've known what it did to you when his knuckles brushed your cheeks. Right? Surely.

James pokes your side, chuckling, as if he sensed that your mind was drifting elsewhere. He cracks another joke, saying that if you were the one to teach him Astronomy, he might actually pay attention in class. He says it like it's a deal and you feel inclined to do whatever it takes to hold up your side of the bargain.

You laugh helplessly, feeling drunk on a little bit of everything; the stars above, James' gentle laughter, the familiar smell of broom wax and crisp winter air. This must be cosmic love, you think to yourself. Your breath clouds in front of you, becoming one with his. All the while, you're too aware of James' shoulder bumping into you, his leg pressed against yours. There's no one out here but you two.

You have all the room in the world, but James chose to sit this close to you. Probably close enough for him to hear your heart pounding. Did he do it for a reason? You'd love to know.

"You don't need me to pay attention in Astronomy," you find yourself saying in response, something daring laced in the drawl of your voice. His eyes flash, bright and a bit wild. It's the same look he gets after you challenge him to a race on your brooms. His grin grows wide, carefree, and oh so lovely.

"Please." His face comes impossibly closer and you lean in without another thought, eager to take whatever it is James will give you. You feel his breath on your lips.

"I will always need you, Y/N."

Somehow he makes it sound genuine.

Then he winks and leaves you a horrid, forsaken mess. Somehow he makes that feel like a nice gesture too.

Incredulously, you stare at him as he leans back, elbows resting on the seats behind him. James Potter, you think weakly, what are you doing to me? Not for the first time you ponder what you would do if you can't have him. You almost double over from the striking pain in your chest.

Then he points out another constellation and you nearly forget all about yourself. He's good at that. Never ceasing to show you that the world is bigger than the two of you. Making you forget and remember that you might be in love. Because what if you were in love?

James cups the back of his neck, then points towards the door of the library, almost shyly letting you know that he's leaving. You nod slowly, still dazed. A small smile crosses his lips before you watch him round the corner, his back disappearing from your sight.

You blink, letting out a ragged breath. You feel like you got the wind knocked out of you. Like you just lost your twin. Someone who knows you like no one else ever will. Someone who might just be your better half. Someone who sometimes makes you feel like they want nothing to do with you.

It's ridiculous, you think bleakly to yourself, you're so down bad.

And James Potter makes it feel like a curse and a blessing.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #marauders fanfiction #marauders #taylor swift #ttpd #the tortured poets department

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1427 · 7 months

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would you? (pt. 2)

Negan x Reader

Summary: Your mom died when you were 15, your Aunt Lucille was given custody even though she was battling cancer. When the world gets upended and Lucille dies, Negan is all you have, but he isn’t cut out to be a parent. When he becomes the leader of the Saviors and takes residence in the Sanctuary he’s almost a stranger. No one wants anything to do with you because you’re Negan’s “daughter”. So when you confront Negan about needing company, he obliges. You don’t realize that the feelings you’re developing are inappropriate, but Negan does.

Setting: Height of the Saviors era Sanctuary, Negan’s bedroom.

Warnings: SMUT, age-gap (reader is 18, Negan is early/mid 40’s), virgin!reader, manipulation, guardian!negan (technically it’s Uncle!Negan and it IS mentioned explicitly), oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, stocking!kink, innocence/corruption!kink, reader is described several times as a doll/toy, read at your own risk ok

Word count: 3.3k

A/n: uhm, my heart was racing the entire time I was writing this please read at your own risk fr

// Part 1 //

masterlist

18+ mdni

I was just bending over to grab my pencil, coach.

For a while, you don’t bring up what happened that night. Going to lunch like everything’s normal. Negan is even more disturbed by this than he was by your innocent flirting. You don’t bring it up, but you’re different. Reminding him of some of his former students. The girls with obvious crushes - ones they were trying to hide but actively weren’t. They’d do things that could easily be explained away.

Sorry, I only packed these shorts today. I didn’t realize they were against dress code.

It was easy to not look then, to hardly be affected by silly teenage girls who had no idea what they were doing. He could go to the teachers lounge and flirt with the TA’s if he was really looking for someone younger. But younger isn’t necessarily what Negan liked. ‘Innocent’ wasn’t something he thought he could get into. But with you? He had all control, every single aspect of your life was in his hands - and he knows he fucked up. He knows he fucked you up… but he’d gone and fucked himself up too. Finding himself wanting to teach you everything. So caught up in the knowledge of how bad you want him makes him feel like a king - moreso than any amount of wives. You only wanted him. You only knew him.

Oblivious to Negan’s dirty secret and because he’d threatened to stop seeing you if you continued this flirting behavior you stick with subtle stuff. Wearing even lower cut shirts, mini-skirts and stockings. And sure, the stockings had holes in them. But Negan liked that even more than if they hadn’t. It let him imagine you weren’t this pristine untouched thing. He wasn’t sure which was worse; fantasizing about you as this perfect little doll that’s never been held by anyone, that doesn’t know anything about a man’s body or as this thing he’d corrupted. Giving you romance novels? What an amateur mistake on a colossal scale.

When you started wearing skirts he could smell you. Your wet cunt, sweet and unmistakable, every single time you walked into his bedroom for lunch. He tries to ignore it, tells the kitchen to make more pungent food, wears cologne, but it doesn’t matter - he could pick your scent out of a line-up of the undead, having had weeks to memorize it.

Negan’s cologne only makes you more wet for him. You can barely make it through lunch anymore. Trying your best to keep up with the conversation that you’re almost positive he’s phoning in as well, but it’s not easy when all you can think about is him stuffing you full on the bed that sits a dozen feet away. You’re desperate to make a move and terrified that any move you make will disrupt everything.

You scour your books for some kind of clue on what to do next, how to make it impossible for him to say no - but there’s no obvious answer. With no experience to tell you that Negan was losing his goddamn mind waiting for you to make a move or proposition so that he could oblige it.

He gets sick of waiting. Sick of drinking down his disgust with himself. It only makes the fantasies more vivid. Almost tangible and right there. All he really had to do? Touch you. And he knows it.

He’d stopped getting you gifts and novels after that night, but today? Today he had something real fuckin’ special.

You’re sitting across from him eating… only desserts? Weird choice, but still delicious. “What’s the occasion?” You ask, taking a bite of the strawberry shortcake set out in front of you.

“Do I need a special occasion to treat my favorite girl?” He says it so casually, but he’s never said anything like that to you before.

“Okay,” you breathe out a chuckle, “who are you and what have you done with my uncle?”

“Woah now, ‘Uncle’?” The title made him visibly uncomfortable, but not because he didn’t like it. He was too far gone with you, and now anything that made it more taboo just spurred his hunger further.

You breathe in deeply, as if you’d just confessed to something. Simply put, you had. He knows how bad you want it. He can smell it on you, and you didn’t care he was your family. Not even just your almost supposed ‘guardian’, no. You saw him as your uncle and you still wanted it. Bad. “Yeah, you are my uncle, aren’t you?”

“That makes you my niece.” He says it like it’s news. Not understanding that he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

For some reason, it makes your heart pound. Your ears get hot, and that same smile you’d tried to will away that night he’d forced a confession out of you (in the form of a moan at his touch) blossoms on your face. Pink cheeked and starry eyed, “It does,” you nod, you really don’t know any better, “Anyway, what’s all this about?”

Negan scrambles for an answer that isn’t the one he can’t say out loud, “Missed your birthday, wanted to… make it up to you.” His voice is low, droning, and it makes you shift in your seat, crossing your legs. Negan notices and smirks at your body giving you away. You’re so easy.

“Oh… thanks.” You take another bite of the shortcake before moving your fork to his plate to take a bite of chocolate cake. He lets you, he’s been letting you get away with so much more disrespect than he’d ever allow from anyone else. Telling himself that no teenager shouldn’t be getting away with little stuff like that, but really it’s because he likes it. He wishes you would take more control, and just ask him already. He’d wished for weeks that you would press yourself up against him like you had before he’d made you aware of your own feelings for him. And he hates that he told you that you weren’t allowed. That it was wrong. Because it is, but he doesn’t care anymore.

He’s sick of waiting for you to understand how to make a move, “I got you a little something too.”

It’s almost unbelievable that he’d gotten this for you. One of the saviors had tried to smuggle it to keep for himself, and once Negan saw it… he couldn’t think of something better for you. “Now close your eyes,” he purrs.

You slam your eyes shut and put out your hands eager to receive another gift. Feeling a hard plastic case being slipped into your fingers, “Now open them.”

It was a… you had no idea. Looking up at him in confusion you’re met with a look of complete and total satisfaction from Negan. Smiling wide at your reaction. “What is it?” You whisper, smiling back.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll show you.” And he winks. He fucking winks. You’re a mess. You’re putty. You have no idea what this little pink egg shaped thing is, enclosed in the plastic balanced in your hands, but you know it’s something… different. He can tell you still have no clue what it is, what it’s for, but he sits and waits for your thanks.

You can feel it, your legs tremble as you’re about to stand up but you stop yourself. You’re not supposed to flirt with him. And he told you that that’s what hugging him is. At least when you do it. You look to him, chewing on your lip, you want to feel him pressed against you so bad it’s making your knee bounce in anxious anticipation. You think about the fact that if you were hugging him you’d be able to smell his cologne even stronger, maybe you could even get away with kissing him on the cheek. After all, you could just blame it on the gift again.

He’s just sitting there, leaned back in his chair, staring toward the window. It would be so easy to just… you get up and crash down into his lap. Draping your arms around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck like you always do. This time is different, like everything else has been different since that night. You can’t will yourself to move. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze travels upward. All you can see is his neck, his chin still pointed away like he’s trying to hold himself together. You feel a guilt creeping into your periphery but it’s drowned out by the heat between your legs. Without even realizing you’re doing it, you plant your lips on his neck.

He’s quick to react, his hand coming to grip your thigh just as instinctually as you had kissed him. Negan is sick of waiting, he was not built for this. “Do you want me to show you how to use your gift?”

You’re melting, all your senses dizzy with his hand so firmly on your leg. Feeling his calloused palm through the tears in your stockings, your skin prickles. He puts his one arm underneath your legs and the other under your arms and picks you up, placing you gently back down in his chair. The suspense courses through you, tightening and moving to your limbs. The personification and embodiment of an exclamation point, you’re trembling as he stalks around the room. Taking the still unopened gift off of the table, you hear the click of the knife from behind you as he paces. He’s cutting into it as he leans down and breathes in your ear, “If you want me to stop, you tell me to stop, okay?”

You nod in response, trying to swallow the knot in your throat. He keeps talking, walking around to face you again as he gets the small mysterious device free from its packaging. “I fucked up with you,” you can tell he’s going to start monologuing like he always does, building up the anticipation you already can’t take. Your hands pulling at the hem of your skirt because you don’t know what else to do with them. “I want you to know that I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve really really fucked up your pretty little head.” As he speaks he moves back around behind you. Cheeks flushing at the compliment. He’d called you pretty.

“But don’t worry, kid,” his voice in your ear feels like his stubble beneath your lips that you’ve imagined so many times, “I’m gonna fix you right up.”

His hand glides down your chest from above you and your body dramatically arches into his touch. Shivering as he moves his way down to one leg, pulling on your stocking to maneuver the limb onto the arm-rest. He does the same with the other, as if you’re some doll he’s positioning. You’re putty, not a single ounce of resistance inside of you. He moves his hand to lift up your skirt, letting it fall to your stomach. Unable to look at yourself in such a provocative position you close your eyes.

“Holy shit, girl.” Negan’s smile devours him as he takes it all in. You’re not wearing underwear underneath your stockings, something he was absolutely not expecting. Your pretty pussy all smashed up against the mesh, your juices seeping through. In the light it almost sparkles. He’s never seen a damn thing like it. He hadn’t even done anything yet, and you were a shaking mess in his chair. Waiting so patiently for him to fix you.

He had planned on putting the little vibrator against the fabric of your panties and stockings, and while he still could… he can’t stop himself from putting his warm hand between your legs instead. He doesn’t want to stop himself, he wasn’t built for that. Fuck the piece of shit vibrator and fuck all of his stupid fucking plans to take this slow. No, he knows what you really need. Him.

His big hand comes to rest on top of your mound, pressing his fingers flat against the wet fabric of your stockings hard. The pressure.. the warmth.. your hands immediately shoot up from your sides grabbing his forearm as you gasp at the feeling. Pulling yourself even more flush against him, any piece of him you can get.

You’re shaking, Negan can’t think straight. All plans out the window, that smell, he needs to taste you. He rubs his whole hand, all four warm fingers, against the sopping fabric in circles for only a few seconds before bringing his hand up to his nose and taking a deep breath in of your scent. (He won’t lick you from his fingers, that’s somehow beneath him.)

You whimper under his touch and whine when he pulls away, but you don’t move other than to put your arms flat against the armrests of the chair. He was going to fix you, right? So you submit, not really even understanding how to react to any of this.

His dick is so hard against the fabric of his pants that it hurts. He tries to readjust, but it only makes him groan. Your neck cranes at the noise, but before you can get a look he’s in front of you, pulling up on the mesh directly above your heat, taking the knife he’d still been holding and cutting into it. The sound of the stockings tearing only makes Negan’s dick harder, revealing your glistening cunt like unwrapping a fucking present. Just for him, all for him. He did this… all of it.

He rips the fabric more before pulling your hips closer to the edge of the chair and kneeling down on one knee. His face buries against you with a haste you weren’t expecting, your body shooting up at the feeling. So sharp and too much, you squirm against his tongue but he keeps you still. Growling into your cunt, “I said I’m going to take care of you, doll, so you have to let me. Stop. Moving. Just…” his tone softens, and he kisses you sweetly on your hood, “relax.”

Negan dives back in more gently this time, taking in the taste of you slowly. Drinking from you, he’s never tasted anything so sweet. So pristine. His tongue swathing in large laps against your lips, you’re trying your best to relax but your orgasm builds faster than you can tolerate. It felt like fucking magic, filling you with stars that buzzed all the colors of the rainbow. He flicks his tongue between your folds, directly onto that spot and your orgasm shoots through you like a bullet. From your core to the top of your head, no orgasm you’d ever had had felt like that. It left you wanting, it wasn’t enough. Your walls pulsate, gushing thick white perfect ecstasy into Negan’s mouth. He snickers against you, his nose resting gently on your still quivering clit.

He doesn’t want to wait - picking you up like you weigh absolutely nothing, bringing you and your dizzy head to lay gently on his satin sheets. Bliss; and yet, you yearned.

Inside.

Your whole body shouting, the personification and embodiment of a fucking exclamation point. His belt clacks against your sensitive folds as he races to get himself inside.

And then, all of a sudden and just like that - you’re whole. His lips smashing into yours in a desperate need to claim every part of you.

When he’d imagined it in his head you were naked, all skin and blush and like sweet honey coating his senses. It was all different, but he didn’t mind you like this. Clothing soaked with sweat and your own sweet nectar; he felt like he was in high school and he’s taking your virginity underneath the bleachers. All limbs and throbbing need and no time, no breath to waste.

He kisses you deep and rough until you can’t breathe and you pull away, still adjusting to his size which you imagine is large from the discomfort inside of you, snaring itself into your vision like white flashes of electricity.

His first few labored thrusts hurt like you imagined it would, though it’s not like anything you’ve felt before. The burn of your walls stretching over him makes your breath hitch sharply in your throat, “That’s a good girl,” he purrs in your ear as he pulls out and slams into you harder. Tears sting your eyes as you nod into his shoulder, silently willing him to keep going. Don’t stop. He couldn’t stop even if you’d asked him too, your pussy is too wet, too hungry and swallowing him whole. He knows what you need, he can tell, even if you couldn’t. You need this.

Negan is seeing fucking stars, your hole stretching so perfectly around him like it never needed anything more, “Fu-uck,” he’s not going to last 5 minutes. He leans back, taking your hips and pulling them off of the bed to stay attached to his while he fucks you like that. Your shoulders still down against the bed, you’d never read about a position like this and it hurts but you like it. Your eyes traveling down his body as he buries himself slowly into you. All the way to the hilt, and that’s when you see it.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, causing him to look down and see what was going on but he had already pulled back.

“Hm?” His tone is amused.

“Do it again,” you whine. He smirks a brilliant flash of white teeth, before his face completely falters at the sight when he presses himself all the way into you again. Both of your eyes wide as the outline of his cock protrudes from your belly.

“Jesus,” his voice is loud, it seems to vibrate your brain against your skull. He draws himself out of you and shoves back in - more unceremoniously than previous. He’d been trying his best to not hurt you, to take it as slow as he could manage; but seeing his hard length poke out of your body was too divine, way too fucking hot for him to not lose any semblance of control he’d had.

Negan drowns you out, your loud screams, your hands clawing at his forearms, as he rails into you. Eyes fixed on your stomach as he watches; he doesn’t even realize you’re cumming until your hips shake violently in his grip. Your walls clench so tight his cock is pushed out. Negan clicks his tongue, as if you’d done something wrong. Moving himself in position back on top of you, his elbows coming to rest above your shoulders, his whole being swallowing you up. Your arms and legs wrap around him to try and still your shaking body as he ruts up and into you like a wild animal, his breathing jagged, his movements much less languid. Rough and desperate and all consuming.

Using your body like a toy to get himself off, he’s hardly paying attention anymore. Grunting curses that you’re trying to memorize through a hazy veil of satisfaction.

He’s. Falling. Apart.

And it’s wet and hot and so deep inside you that you can feel it in your fucking throat. You scream, loud, as he empties himself inside you.

Quickly, too quickly, he pulls himself out. He wants to watch his seed spill out and onto the gray sheets. You’d said you fucking sucked at painting, but Negan thinks this is the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever fucking seen. His cum dripping out of your freshly and newly used pussy in soft glistening strings to pool underneath of you, the white in stark contrast to the dark fabric is something real fuckin’ special.

He’s smiling, kneeling above you with his hands on your stockinged knees as he watches between your legs. You’re in another world, on another planet and lost in your senses. It was everything you’d dreamed it’d be. Heaven.

Negan had every intention on this being a one time thing. After all, hysteria was curable - but as he lays back on the bed to catch his breath he’s already caught dreaming about you in every position, any way he can place you. His perfect little toy, all just for him. Only his.

#negan x reader #negan fanfiction #twd negan #negan smith #negan smut #negan x you #negan the walking dead #negan twd #jeffery dean morgan #jdm

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godsfavdarling · 2 months

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My guardian angel

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader words: 790 summary: You get sick but thankfully, your boyfriend, Spencer is there to take care of you! warnings: none! a/n: This was a request for a male!reader, but when I finished, the gender wasn't really specified anywhere, so I changed it to gn!reader. I hope that's okay <3

The BAU had been called out on a particularly challenging case, one that had taken you and the team to the outskirts of a small, remote town. The days were long and grueling, filled with interviews, searches, and endless paperwork. Throughout it all, you had been feeling off—more tired than usual, slightly achy, but you pushed through, not wanting to let the team down.

By the time the case wrapped up, you could barely keep your eyes open. Spencer noticed immediately. As the jet landed back in Quantico, he took your hand, his eyes filled with concern. "You don't look well," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "Let me take you home."

You tried to protest, insisting that you were fine, but a sudden wave of dizziness hit you, and Spencer had to catch you before you fell. That was the last thing you remembered before everything went black.

When you woke up, you were in Spencer's bed. The room was dimly lit, and you felt disoriented. Your body was drenched in sweat, and every muscle ached. You tried to sit up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Hey, hey, easy there," Spencer's soothing voice filled the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at you with worry etched on his face. "You're burning up. Just rest."

"Spence?" you mumbled, your voice hoarse. "What happened?"

"You fainted," he explained, brushing a cool cloth over your forehead. "You have a high fever. I'm taking care of you."

You tried to protest, but the fever had made you too weak to argue.

Spencer gently held out a glass of water and the medication, his eyes full of concern. "You need to take these, okay?" he said softly. "They'll help bring your fever down and make you feel better."

"Everything's spinning," you muttered, feeling the world tilt around you. "Like... like a carousel."

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes filled with sympathy. "I know. Just try to rest. I'll be right here."

For the next few hours, Spencer stayed by your side, never leaving you for more than a few minutes at a time. He read aloud from one of your favorite books, his voice a calming presence in the midst of your feverish haze.

At one point, you reached out and grasped his hand, holding it tightly. "Don't leave," you whispered, your eyes glassy with fever.

"I'm not going anywhere," Spencer assured you, squeezing your hand gently. "I'm right here."

As the night wore on, the fever slowly began to break. Your breathing steadied, and you drifted into a more restful sleep. Spencer stayed awake, watching over you, relieved to see the worst of it passing.

When you woke up again, the sun was just starting to rise. Your fever had significantly reduced, and you felt more coherent, though still weak. You turned to Spencer with a tired smile. "Thanks for taking care of me, Spence. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Spencer leaned in and kissed your forehead. "You don't have to thank me. I'd do anything for you." He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes filled with love and relief. "Just promise me you'll take it easy for a while, okay? No more running around getting sick on cases. And you tell me next time you’re not feeling well."

You chuckled softly, nodding. "I promise. As long as you promise to always be my guardian angel."

Spencer smiled, his heart full. "Deal."

Over the next few days, Spencer continued to take care of you, ensuring you were comfortable and had everything you needed. He brought you meals, kept you hydrated, and even managed to make you laugh with his quirky sense of humor.

One evening, as you were starting to feel more like yourself, you looked over at Spencer, who was sitting next to you, reading a book. "You know," you said, "I've always known you were smart and caring, but.. the way you take care of me… I love you."

Spencer looked up from his book, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I love you too. I'm just glad I could help. You mean the world to me, and seeing you like that... it was hard."

You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Spencer leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "You don't have to thank me. Just promise me you'll always let me take care of you when you need it."

"Promise," you whispered, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the fever.

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

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See No Evil, Hear No Evil {1}

Aemond One-Eye x deaf!fem!reader Summary: Love blossoms when you get to know the sweet man and not the cocky Prince. Warnings: fluff, Aegon being a predator, more fluff. I know lip reading is not easy or infallible but for this the reader is able to read lips almost perfectly. WC: 4.9k

Part One || Part Two || Part Three ||

Couples were dancing around the space that had earlier been occupied by long tables for the feast, their joyous smiles twisting your gut with jealousy. No one would ask you to join them, not when you could not hear the very music that set the pace.

Returning your attention to the table that you were seated at, you watched the men and women intently. Some glared at you when they caught your eyes on them, waving their hand as if it could blow you out of sight and out of mind. Moving on to the next, you found a single blue eye staring back.

Prince Aemond. He was another social outcast, though his personality was as much to blame as the jagged scar that ran through his left eye. There was always a taunting smirk on his lips and a cold gleam in his eye, it sent the courtiers vying for the hand of anyone but him. Not even the power hungry, attention seekers dared to subject themselves to his viperous nature.

His brother captured his attention and whatever spell had kept you enthralled with his stare broke. The two Targaryen princes leaned together and Aemond’s lips pursed as Aegon spoke with nervous mannerisms that warned you they would have been whispering, but you could read his lips.

“There is something desirable about a silent woman,” Aegon said as his eyes flickered your way. “But I would do anything to make her scream.”

Aemond’s lips pulled back with a sneer before he answered, “I can only imagine the depravities that fill your mind.”

“I do not think you have the creativity needed to imagine them, little brother.”

“Thank the gods for that blessing,” Aemond said as he leant back. “She is too intelligent for you anyhow.”

“Intelligent?” Aegon rocked back with a laugh that drew the others’ attention to him. “She cannot hear and does not speak.”

Aemond turned his eye back to you. “Then she must see a great deal, for there is definitely intelligence behind those eyes.”

“Then I would face her down when I bed her.”

You looked away and wrapped your fingers around the silver goblet so they were occupied and the trembling was hopefully unnoticeable. You had expected no better of the eldest son of the King, he was known to stick his fingers in many pies - though sometimes he didn’t stop at his fingers.

You might have been deaf to the tales the maids spoke of as they prepared you but you saw everything from the tears in their eyes to the bruises barely hidden by their uniforms. Just the thought of Aegon even noticing you had a knot twisting in your stomach.

Pushing the velvet-lined chair back, you rose from the table and nodded silently to the sickly Viserys. He gave a weak dismal wave of his hand that rested on the arm of his chair and you pressed your fingertips to your chin in return, thanking him for permitting your leave. After flattening the layers of skirts that had creased beneath the table, you laced your fingers together and ignored the two stares that watched your retreat from the dining room.

The feeling of spiders dancing down your spine didn’t ease, even after you had snaked your way through Red Keep to the atheneum. There would normally be a maester wandering the quiet halls full of books, organising the rows into alphabetical fashion and finding requested pieces for others, but with the late hour it was empty.

The scent of dust and beeswax greeted you as you closed the door behind you. Someone had been waxing a leather bound book cover and the yellow bar had been left beside a half shiny cover as if they might return at any moment. Walking over to the small table, you opened the cover to see what the book was and found it to be a personal journal of Aegon the Conqueror.

Warmth touched your nape and your lips parted with a sharp intake of breath as you spun around, your legs tangling in the skirts and your hip hitting the table with a sharp jolt of pain. Aemond stepped back with a smirk, his hands raised in innocence that was betrayed by the amusement in his eye.

“Apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to startle you.”

You rubbed your palm over the bruise that would no doubt be forming and narrowed your eyes at the blatant lie. “I shall rephrase, I did not mean for you to get hurt.” Aemond’s smirk grew until his lips parted and his shoulders bounced with a laugh. “I know you can understand me.”

He reached for you and you froze at the closeness, and his scent that washed over you as his hair nearly brushed your cheek. He smelt of the woods you had run through as a child, pine and earth, fresh and rich. Then there was the fruity yet tarty hint of wine that followed as he exhaled slowly, as if he had taken an equally long inhale of the floral perfume you wore.

As quick as he had come for you, he was gone, Aegon’s journal with him and you let out a shuddering breath as you realised you were not the object he had been reaching for. He seemed to take pleasure in the confusion on your face as he smirked once again and tucked the novel under his arm with a mocking bow.

His eye lingered on your hip as he straightened. “Take care, milady.”

You could not breathe again until the door sealed shut but you no longer felt the calm that you usually found in the athenium, the books no longer welcoming as the tall shelves towered above you with their dark shadows. Angered by the effect Aemond had in your place of sanctuary, you swiped a book from the closest shelf and made for your chambers and the thick lock bolt that you could hide behind.

The courtyard was busier than usual as you took a seat on a stool against the Keep walls. The airy space had become a favourite place to sit since you were not allowed to leave the high red brick walls without an escort. Since this was not your House territory you had to rely upon King Viserys’ white cloaked guards but you did not wish to make a fuss so you had not utilised the soldiers.

The sky was blue and the clouds that had blanketed the city at dawn were quickly evaporated by the heat and it enticed many others to step into the sunshine. Pulling your small bound notebook from the pocket in your skirt, you unwrapped a stick of coal and looked around for something to catch your eyes. The twin guards, Arryk and Erryk, were huddled close as they entered through the gates and your hand moved across the page.

E: She paid another maid to leave last night in the cover of darkness. That is the fourth this month. A: What did you expect? Bastards don’t belong in the Keep. E: Someone needs to stop him. A: Careful, brother, what you speak could be considered treason.

They disappeared deeper into the Keep and you read over the dialogue trying to understand what they had been talking of when a shadow passed over the page. You slammed the book closed and looked up, momentarily blinded by the bright sun reflecting off the head of long silvery white hair.

The stick of coal had fallen to the dirt in your rush to hide the page and Aemond crouched before you to gather it, holding it out in his palm. Your eyes lingered on the calluses from hours of training and the thin scars that littered the skin that peeked out from under his tunic.

You had not seen him since the incident in the atheneum and you had forgotten the connection that had seemed palpable in the days gone by but now you were once again caught by his eye. You had failed to notice the flecks of violet in the pale blue iris when you last saw them but that was in a dimly lit room, in the sun they were almost iridescent.

It wasn’t until he took your hand and unfurled your fingers that you realised how long you had stared, breaking away with embarrassment as he placed the coal into your palm. The hairs on your nape rose under the intensity of the moment and you curled your fingers around the coal gently so as not to crush your writing tool. You slipped the coal back into your pocket and pressed your fingers to your chin.

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a small smile. He reached for your face and your breath froze in your lungs as he ran his thumb softly across jaw. “Can’t have a smudge of coal hiding your beauty.”

You were certain you read his lips wrong but the flutter in your chest betrayed your common sense and a smile tugged at your lips. His eye followed the curve of your smile and he had to shake his head to clear his thoughts before rising to his feet.

“Care to walk with me, milady?”

You could feel eyes on you as the crowd snooped to see why the One Eyed Prince would be talking to you. You had long ago learned to ignore the stares but for some reason that seemed a harder task today. Tucking your notebook away, you accepted his offer with a nod and let him lead the way to the Royal gardens that were usually off limits.

“I must admit, you intrigue me,” Aemond said after stopping beneath the weirwood tree and facing you. “You and your notebook that you carry everywhere.”

You automatically pressed your hand to the reassuring weight and frowned, wondering where this was leading to.

“May I see it?”

Your fingers tightened around it and you shook your head adamantly. A heat flared across your skin at the thought of him reading your notes and looking at the drawings that you attempted. He appeared within the pages far too often for your own liking.

“As prince, I could demand it of you,” he said as he stepped closer. The wind changed and caught his hair, flicking wayward strands over his shoulder and the scent of lemon verbena shampoo drifted your way along with the purely masculine musk of sweat from training.

You walked away, needing to clear your senses that he overpowered much like his very presence in the garden. The notebook suddenly seemed like an anchor and each step was heavy as you took a seat on the edge of a long bench in the shade. From the corner of your vision you saw Aemond sit at the other end, the entire length separating him from you.

Tap, tap, tap.

Your fingers tingled with the vibrations as they rested atop the bench beside your legs.

Tap, tap, tap.

You turned to face Aemond and found his smirk growing as he used his fingernail to tap and scratch the wood.

“You can feel that, can’t you?”

You nodded your head and his smile grew, transforming his face and erasing the harsh lines that were usually shaped with a scowl. You startled with the realisation that you found him handsome and your palms grew warm as you wiped them on your dress that was suddenly too heavy for the spring weather.

Tap, tap, tap.

You were pulled from your thoughts and looked back at the prince, hoping he could not see the effect he had on you but the intensity to his stare made you feel naked, as if every thought you ever had was laid bare for him to read.

His lips parted with a sharp intake and he leant closer, though he was still far from reach as he mouthed the word, “Beautiful.”

There was something therapeutic in being around the horses and you often found yourself wandering into the stables. The servants and stableboys no longer sent you odd looks as they grew used to your presence most days and you were grateful to be left in solitude as you combed the black and grey haired stallion that had caught your eye.

You had just placed the comb back on the hook that hung beside the gate when you felt vibrations in the wood beneath your hand.

Tap, tap, tap.

Stunned, you turned to find Aemond resting against the gate with a lazy smile on his face.

“I hope you aren’t planning on stealing my horse, gorgeous.”

You rolled your eyes and didn't dignify him with an answer as you reached into your skirt pockets and found the carrot you had stolen from dinner the night before. Aemond’s shadow followed you as he opened the gate and stepped inside the stall, his hand landing gently on your shoulder so you were aware of where he was, as if you hadn’t been keeping track.

“No wonder Storm was slow to gallop,” Aemond said as he faced you from the other side of his horse, his hand petting down the long mane. “You have been spoiling him.”

You kept your palm flat as you Storm’s lips pulled back and he greedily took the carrot. The name suited the horse with his colourings of the turbulent stormy skies and you scratched his ear while he finished his snack.

“As much as I enjoy hearing my own voice, there must be another way for us to communicate.” Aemond stepped around the front of Storm and you frowned as you no longer felt the urge to back away from him as you had in the past. “Teach me the signs I have seen you do.”

You were shocked by his request even though you knew him to be an intellect and a scholar, the fact that he spent so many mornings training to be a warrior seemed to fill you with the idea that he was more brute than student. Your nursemaid had been the one to help you create the secret language but it had never really expanded past what a child might need to convey. You had relied upon written communication but that was only useful with the highborns who were educated, unfortunately most of the servants were illiterate.

Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the notebook you were never without and tore out a blank page before he could see what secrets the book held. He watched as your handwriting sprawled across the page and you could see his chest bouncing with a laugh before he took it from you.

He slipped the note into the folds of his cloak with an amused smile, not at all offended by the message you had given him. You smell. Bathe first, then I will teach you.

“I shall meet you in the library, milady, after bathing of course.” He bowed at the waist though his eye never left you and you didn’t see the mocking smile he had given you the last time he had made the gesture. The pale blue orb seemed to zero in on the pulse at your neck, as if he could see how rapidly it raced in his intense presence. “I shall see you soon.”

Three Months Later

You had seen neither hide nor hair of Aemond as you strolled the halls of the Keep, the tourney for his brother’s name day was about to begin and you did not wish to enter the highborn box alone. Giving up hope on finding him, you followed the few other ladies who were late and slipped into the back row in the hopes your presence would go unnoticed.

The bench seat kept shifting as ladies rose with their garlands, tossing the favours to the lords who asked in hopes they might win their challenge with the luck. Each time they moved you cursed inwardly and settled your heart that pounded erratically, wishing the entire event be over with.

You were tracing the embroidered floral design on your skirts when a hand waved in front of your face and you nearly fell back in fright. The only person you knew it wasn’t was Aemond, he knew to touch your shoulder to get your attention so as not to give you a heart attack. Peering up as you clutched your chest, you found Lady Reyne looking apologetic as she pointed to the front where the jousting course was set.

Aemond sat atop his horse, patiently waiting with a smile as he caught your eyes. A thousand questions ran through your head as you rose from the bench and clutched the favour of woven asters and budding chrysanthemums to your breast. You could feel the eyes of the entire crowd following your steps down to the front of the highborn box and past King Viserys, but there was only one that held you captive.

“May I ask for your favour, milady?”

You nodded with a smile, grateful that you had taken his advice to make the flower crown. When he said that someone may ask one of you, your head had fallen back with a silent laugh before you shook your head, but he had insisted and you could not deny him.

Casting the favour out, it twirled down the length of his jousting pole until it reached his hand. His smile was brighter than the sun as he pulled at the reins of his stallion and made his way to the lists. His mother caught your hand with a gentle smile as you passed by and she patted the space beside her in invitation.

You ringed your fingers nervously as you watched Aemond’s armour shimmer in the sunlight while his horse paced, awaiting the drop of the flag to begin the match. Alicent placed her hand over yours, unclenching them and lacing them with hers as she fretted over her son. You could tell she liked the idea of seeing her son facing a jousting opponent as much as you did. You had seen the heinous injuries one could get in the sport.

Alicent patted your hand and you tore your eyes away from Aemond to look at her as she said, “He will be fine, dear. Aemond is one of the best.”

You nodded and hoped it looked reassuring before you noticed the flag drop. Aemond kicked his boots in the stirrups and his horse took off, kicking a spray of sand up behind him. You barely breathed as he raced along the fence and levelled out his pole, his opponent doing the same. Time seemed to slow as the poles crossed each other and crashed wood against armour, shattering into splinters.

The air in your lungs exploded from you as you jumped to your feet and rushed to the rail to see Aemond still atop his horse. His opponent was sprawled across the sand but Aemond paid him no mind as he circled back to the rail where you waited and pulled his helmet from his head before shaking out his long hair that was mussed up.

“Is your heart still in your chest?” Aemond asked as he looked up at you, amusement teasing a smirk on his lips.

You pointed to yourself and curled your fingers over your face before pointing to him, his lips parting with a laugh that shook his shoulders.

“Why are you mad at me? I won.”

Waving him off, you noticed the next opponents were arriving to request their favours and he shot them a dirty look as they interrupted you.

“Meet me in the library.”

You nodded and moved away as two ladies reached the railing, missing the smile Alicent had after watching the interaction.

The tourney would continue all day so it was no surprise to find the athenium empty when you arrived and took a seat on the plush settee. The stained glass windows cast a colourful shadow across the stone floor and you reached into your pocket for your notebook and coal to capture the image.

You were just finishing with the shading and smudging the shadows onto the parchment with your fingertip when you felt the air shift around your face. A smile was already pulling on your lips when you looked up to find Aemond dressed once more in his finery and his hair still damp from bathing. The citrus tart of his soap teased your nose and you reached for him as you closed your book.

He let you pull him onto the cushioned seat beside you and chuckled to himself as you ran your hands over his fitted shirt before he caught your hands. “I am unharmed.”

You narrowed your eyes at him until he released your hands to continue to make their own assessment. When you were satisfied that he was not just trying to placate you, you shuffled closer and slipped under his arm that he opened for you in invitation.

While waiting for his arrival you had been wondering how you could return the gesture he had made for you in front of the entire city and he could sense your unrest as you shifted in your seat. Unable to look him in the eye, you grabbed your notebook and placed it on his lap.

His fingers traced your jaw and turned you to face him so you could see what he had to say. “Are you sure?”

You nodded before you lost your courage and he carefully opened the bound covering as if it were an invaluable, fragile piece of history. He treated it knowing how you cherished it.

You did not look to see what pages he perused, some drawings and some snippets of passing conversations, but instead watched his reactions. With each turn of the page you knew what he would find and your nervousness grew. The drawings of Red Keep and the Royal Gardens would soon change and he would see himself through your eyes.

It had not taken long for him to become your muse, in fact in the last few months it had become an addiction. There was not a day that passed where you didn’t want to capture his likeness, sometimes it was when the sunlight caught his hair or the smile that he reserved just for you.

His lips parted with surprise and you knew he had reached the moment you had first given in to your desire and drawn him content in the gardens. Your palms turned clammy and your heart threatened to beat right out of your chest as he turned each page until he reached the last and closed it.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as he turned to you and you saw his eye shimmering with unshed tears. Of all the reactions, that was not one that you could have expected. Aemond was always so collected and cool until you had peeled back the layers of his self-protection but this was the last mask to fall away.

You reached for his cheek, cupping the warm skin as you wiped away the single tear that escaped before he closed his eye and leaned into the touch.

“Thank you,” he said as he opened his eye again, blinking away the rest of the tears before they could fall. “No one draws my eyes.”

You frowned at the statement and he sighed from the heavy breath of air that brushed over your skin. “The artists who take our portraits do so from my right, this,” he tapped his leather eye patch, “makes them uncomfortable.”

Tears welled in your own eyes as you saw the pain he still felt though the wound had long healed. Though it was compromising, you rose to your knees and straddled his legs, shock flitting across his face before fear seeped in as you reached for the leather patch.

“It is not pretty, milady.”

You circled your palm over your chest and you thought he would deny your plea for permission as he pursed his lips but then he bowed his head with a nod.

His eye stared intently at you as you traced your finger over the leather that had been warmed by his body heat. The smooth material was softer than you thought it would be as you eased it from his head and bared his scar for the first time. Your breath rushed through your parted lips as you saw the crude line that had carved through his eyebrow, down his eye and across his cheek.

He turned away and your heart clenched as he hid himself from you but he had to know, it wasn’t the scar that caused your reaction, you were horrified at how he had been hurt so badly. Cradling his cheeks in your hands, you gently guided him back to you but still he refused eye contact.

There was only one way you could show him how you felt and your stomach fluttered at the thought as you pulled him closer and pressed your lips to his cheek, just below the scar. His breath warmed your shoulder as he shuddered beneath your touch and you kissed him a little higher, grazing the skin that changed from smooth to raised. The tension in his shoulders relaxed with each soft kiss and when you pulled back you were able to admire the sapphire that replaced his missing eye without him turning away.

“Are you not repulsed?”

Your brows knitted together in confusion as you shook your head and stood up, instantly missing the warmth of his hands where they had rested on your hips. He watched curiously as you grabbed your notebook from where he had placed it and fished your pockets for the coal. Though you wanted to sit close to him it was not the right place for what you wanted to do and so you took a seat on the settee opposite.

Not liking how far you were away either, he tried to stand and join you but the stern finger you pointed at him had him sinking back into the cushions while you found a blank page. He remained still as you captured his likeness on the page and the colourful shadows of the stained glass window reached his hair.

You knew of merchants that could recreate colours with ochre and malachite collected from Essos but even with your family’s wealth the rare minerals remained out of reach. You were left with the common sticks of coal and on your name day you often received the finer illustrator of graphite.

Satisfied by the portrayal, from the long strands of hair that were now dry to the strong jawline that had felt better than imagined in your hands, you rose from the chair. Aemond welcomed you back into his arms and eagerly looked at the page that was still open. His throat bounced with the swallow he took and you chewed on your bottom lip as you waited with bated breath.

He turned slowly so you could see his lips before he spoke, “This is how you see me?”

You looked at the picture and smiled at the face of a confident, handsome young man as he faced the world without having to hide. Looking back at Aemond, you placed your hand over his heart and nodded.

His arms pulled you closer as he dipped his head and your body trembled in anticipation. Every nerve ending flared to life when his lips caressed yours ever so softly and your hands tangled in his hair as you returned the kiss with more force. You could feel his smile against you before he gave you what you needed and deepened the kiss, stealing your breath until you broke away feeling lightheaded.

His thumb traced your tingling lips as you slipped back into the seat, tucked under his arm, and you saw his kiss-swollen lips. You imagined yours looked the same and heat flooded you with the thought of being caught in the compromising state. A sliver of panic grew in your chest, if rumours spread then you would be shamed from your family so you scampered from the chair and brushed your hands over your skirts.

Alarm erupted from Aemond at the sudden change and he watched you right yourself, hurt haunting his blue eye before he too rose. “Please do not regret what we shared.”

You froze, your jaw dropping at what he had mistaken your fear as and against your better judgement, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his narrow waist as you shook your head. He curled himself around you until you felt entirely enveloped by his arms and his scent as he buried his face in your neck.

Pulling away reluctantly, he took your hand and placed it on his chest so you could feel the thunderous beat of his heart as it raced. “This belongs to you and I am yours if you will have me.”

His face blurred as tears welled in your eyes, the fierce nod of your head sending them cascading down your cheeks until he wiped them away with a proud smile.

“I thought of another sign,” he said as he lifted his right hand up so his palm faced you before tucking his middle and ring finger back down. “When you see this, know that I love you.”

You raised your own hand and watched his tremble as you admitted what had been growing with each passing day since that first walk in the gardens. I love you.

Click here for part two.

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond fluff #deaf!reader #aemond fic #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic

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bingwriterxo · 1 year

Text

the shakespeare exhibit - part 7

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which tara accompanies you to a family party

warnings: homophobia/biphobia

word count: 4100+

author's note: longest thing i've ever posted. also, had to look up so many specific quotes for this one...

previous part | next part

"So, how many people did you say will be at this party?” Tara asked, looking out the window as you drove down another dirt road. Ever since the two of you had passed the city and made it off the highway, it had been all cornfields, farms, and forests. Tara knew one thing for sure: she would never live in the countryside of New York, even if you wanted to.

You shrugged behind the wheel, reaching out to lower the music a bit. One of Tara’s more ‘pop-y’ songs was on, and the bass was loud. “I’m not really sure,” you said, sparing her a glance before refocusing on the road ahead of you. “My parents know a lot of people, but I’m sure it won’t be more than…two hundred?”

Two hundred people?! Tara thought, her eyes widening. I have to meet two. hundred. people?!

“Don’t worry, though,” you continued quickly. “Only about fifty of that is family; the rest are family friends or work acquaintances, so you won’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to.”

Thank fucking god. “And can you give me a run down on the more immediate family again?”

“Well, there’s mom and dad, obviously.” You took a left, not bothering with your blinker because there was no one else around. However, rather than more dirt road, your tires were finally rolling against pavement. “Nathaniel and Edmund--but, you can’t call him ‘Edmund’; you have to say ‘Eddie’, or he’ll get upset.”

“And they’re identical, right?”

Trees were lining the pavement, perfectly spaced apart and shaped, and Tara readied herself to be met with your house. Except…it never came. You just kept driving and driving, and it seemed like there was no end in sight.

You nodded. “Yup--identical. You’ll be able to tell them apart, though. It’s easy.” You hummed as you thought. “Oh, baby Cordelia, of course, but only my father calls her by her full name.”

Your baby sister, Cordelia, or Lia, as she was called by most, was turning a year old that day, which was why you and Tara had made the drive up to your parents’ house. They were throwing a party for her, and an extravagant one at that.

“And then my father’s parents: Grandma Jane and Grandpa Thomas. They live in the house with everyone, but odds are you won’t meet them today. They like to spend their time in the wine cellar when we have guests.” You leaned toward her just slightly, like you were about to tell her a secret. “Grandpa Thomas has never been the biggest fan of…people. He’s a book guy, you know?”

Mom, dad, Nate, Eddie, Lia, Jane, Thomas. Tara nodded to herself as she made the mental note, determined not to get anyone’s name wrong. “Okay, and--”

Finally, your house started to show in the distance, and Tara’s jaw literally dropped. Even from where the two of you were, it was huge, and not just rich-person-huge but old-money-huge.

It was a large, shapely building made of blue brick; two large, white pillars stood near the front entrance and extended all the way up to the roof; windows upon windows were lined in white to match the rest of the house; vines flowed down from the roof, though they were neat and calculated, giving the house an old-vibe rather than a messy one.

Holy. Fucking. Shit, Tara thought as your house--if it could even be called a house--drew closer and closer. She stared in awe as you drove the two of you around the circular driveway, centered around a gorgeous fountain, and to the parking area, which was already overflowing with cars.

Once you parked, you turned to her, glancing down sheepishly. “I know it’s a lot,” you said, your voice soft. “The house, the party, the meeting everyone.” You inhaled deeply. “If you feel uncomfortable about anything at any time, just let me know and we can hide in my bedroom, okay? Or, if you need a moment alone, it’s up the stairs, to the right, fourth door on your left.”

She’s just too perfect. Tara grinned, that type of grin she only ever had when she was with you, and leaned across the center console, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I’m sure it’ll be great, baby.”

You flushed, the way you always did whenever she kissed you, even though she had kissed you a million times at that point; she never tired of the way the red painted your cheeks, or how you’d smile subconsciously.

“Okay.” You nodded and kissed her again for good measure. “Then let’s do this.”

You climbed out of the car, rounded the hood, and opened the door for Tara to step out. Always so chivalrous, she thought, grabbing the present that she had brought for your sister from the floor of your car. It was just a small toy, and she suddenly started to second-guess it as you led her toward the entrance.

As soon as she stepped into the house, marble flooring beneath her feet, she gulped. There were at least a hundred people there already, all having traveled to celebrate your baby sister, and they were scattered around, talking and laughing and drinking champagne. She was glad she had worn her nicest dress for the occasion, but even that didn’t seem nice enough.

I do not belong here, her mind whispered.

Before she could even utter a single word to you, all eyes turned, smiles and grins and furrowed eyebrows and tilted heads watching your every move. This is like a creepy cult movie. She glanced at you, somewhat surprised that you were relaxed as you waved.

“Hi, everybody!” you said, and there was a chorus of greetings in response.

Then, suddenly, there was pounding coming from upstairs, and two heads peeked over the banister, gleaming grins on each of their faces and identical in every way--except for their hair, Tara noticed quickly; one had his hair sticking out every which way while the other’s was combed down neatly.

“Y/N’s home!” the messy-haired one shouted. All eyes turned to them, fond smiles on everyone’s face as they stared up at the boys.

“‘A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers!’” the other yelled. Okay, well, that one’s Nate, Tara thought, and she watched as they bounded down opposite stairs, their legs carrying them quickly so they could be the first to truly greet you.

They rammed into your waist, making you stumble back as you held them close. “Hi, boys,” you giggled, and everyone--everyone--laughed at the joy that was radiated from the three of you before going back to their conversations.

You hugged your brothers tightly before pushing them away slightly. You took Tara’s hand in your own, and her heart fluttered at the feeling of your warmth against her skin. “Nate, Eddie, this is Tar--”

“The girlfriend!” Eddie cheered.

Nate followed up with, “She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed!”

Does this kid only speak in Shakespeare? Tara wondered. Is that even possible?

“Hi, guys,” Tara said, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

“To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods,” Nate replied.

“What this dork means,” Eddie started, elbowing his brother, “is that we can’t wait for you to become our sister-in-law!”

Sister-in-law?! She glanced at you, and you cleared your throat, unraveling your hand from hers and placing it on the small of her back. “Eddie, Nate, go find Nana and Pops.” You leaned down and whispered something to them, and both boys nodded fervently before rushing away.

“So, you talk about me to your brothers?” Tara teased, grinning at you.

You rolled your eyes lightly, carefully guiding her further into the house. “Don’t listen to a word they say. They’re--well, you met them.” A handful? she thought. Yes.

You passed by people, sparing short greetings or simple waves, until you stood with Tara in the kitchen. “And don’t mind Nate’s speech,” you said, chuckling. “He’s been in Shakespeare-mode ever since he got that part in the play. He only talks in quotes now, no matter what play they’re from.”

She hummed. “Reminds me of someone I know,” she said, leaning up to kiss you.

Just as you began to lean down, there was an excited squeal, and you pulled back quickly, eyes wide and landing on whoever had interrupted you.

“Mom!” you rushed out, blushing. Tara spun around, a nervous smile on her lips as she stared at your mother, who grinned right back.

“You must be Tara, sweetheart!” your mom said, pulling Tara into a hug. Okay! I guess this is a hugging family! She placed her hands on Tara’s shoulders, looking at her. “You’re even prettier than Y/N said!”

“Hi, ma’am--”

Your mother waved her off. “Oh, please. Just call me ‘mom’.” She grinned, and Tara realized that you had her smile. “I’m sure you’ll be in this family soon enough.” Tara felt herself pink at the words. I sure hope so.

“Mom!” you groaned from behind.

Your mom hummed. “Yes, well, I was just coming to grab another apple for your father. You know him,” she said. “Eats like he’s a horse,” she whispered to Tara.

You perked up at the mention of your dad. “Oh, Tara! Let’s go see him. I’m sure he has Lia, right, mom?”

“Yes, yes.” She was digging around the fridge. “I was so sure I bought more,” she muttered to herself.

You sidled up beside Tara and took her hand, leading her toward a different area of the house. There were even more people there, standing around one object and cooing. You squeezed past them all, offering ‘hello’s’ and ‘nice to see you’s’ as you did.

“Dad!” you exclaimed when your father came into view, Lia in his arms.

“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns,” your dad hummed. He wrapped an arm around you in a hug before handing you your sister. “Watch your hair,” he warned. “She’s in her pulling phase.”

As if on cue, Lia reached up and tugged at your ear, giggling when you groaned. “Lia! No pulling,” you mumbled. Tara grinned, butterflies stirring in her stomach at the sight. Talk about baby fever.

“And you’re Tara,” your father said, looking at her. He wasn’t an intimidating man at all, but Tara had heard how highly you spoke of him, and, needless to say, she was nervous.

Oh boy, she thought. Here we go.

“Hello, sir,” she said, sticking her hand out. I hope I’m not sweating. Please don’t be sweating.

He inspected her outstretched arm for a moment before laughing loudly and clapping a hand on her shoulder. “No handshakes for family, Tara!” He pulled her into a hug, just like your mother had. I have to become a part of this family. It’s a must. “And, gosh, don’t call me ‘sir’! That’s so formal! Just call me ‘dad’.” His voice was joyous, excited, and Tara understood immediately where you got your personality from.

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “...Dad…” It was weird, feeling the word slip from between her lips, but the man lit up upon hearing it.

“Tar, come here,” you called gently. She took a few steps until she was at your side, and grinned down at the baby in your arms. “Wanna hold her?”

“Oh!” Baby. Can’t drop it. That thing’s alive. “Sure.” It was a careful handoff as Lia settled into Tara’s arms, smiling up at her. She had the same eyes as you, who had the same eyes as your father, and Tara was immediately smitten. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing!”

And then, Lia was pulling at the ends of her hair, and Tara thought, Yeah. Maybe I don’t want a kid just yet.

“I’ll take her off your hands,” your father said, holding his arms out. Tara handed Lia back to him, watching as he stuck his tongue out, to which Lia laughed. “My little Cordelia,” your father sighed.

“She’s the favorite child now,” you whispered to Tara. “Come, let’s get something to drink.”

You took her not to the kitchen but to the bar, and Tara marveled the whole way as she caught sight of old paintings, framed poems, antiques that littered the walls. It wasn’t crowded in any way; it was all beautiful and exactly how she expected your house to look.

You ordered the two of you champagne, and the bartender didn’t say a word as he poured your drinks, handing them to you with a soft smile.

“So, that’s everyone. Like I said, my grandparents are probably hiding away in the wine cellar,” you said, taking a sip from your glass. “What’d you think?”

You’re the perfect mixture of your parents, she thought. Everything makes sense now. “They’re all lovely.”

You grinned. “I’m glad you like them. I can already tell they love you. Well, I could tell that from the moment I told them about you, but--”

Someone interrupted you.

“Y/N.” The voice was masculine, strong, stern, and Tara could sense a bit of pretentious asshole in his tone.

She spun around when you did and watched as your eyes landed on the man; you immediately straightened up, your shoulders tensing and your smiling fading into a tight-lipped greeting. She straightened up, too. I bet he’s a dick, she thought, eyeing him and internally scoffing at his stupid face.

“Connor,” you gritted out like it pained you.

Tara reached to take your hand, knowing that you sought touch in moments of stress, but, just barely, you moved away from her grasp. She felt her heart drop into her stomach. Who is this douche and why is he making her so…rigid?

You held your head a little higher and clenched your jaw. “Why are you here?”

He smiled, though Tara thought it looked more like a snarl. “Well, our parents are friends, so why wouldn’t we have been invited to Lia’s birthday party?”

That’s it, Tara promptly decided. I’m going to punch him by the end of the night.

“Right, of course.” You held your champagne glass a little tighter. “And how are you finding everything?”

“Oh, your parents throw lovely parties. Although, it’s not like I’m any stranger to them.” He took a sip of his wine and smacked his lips together. “I was surprised to find you here, actually.”

“It’s my baby sister’s birthday. Why wouldn’t I be here?” you asked.

He waved you off. “Your mother mentioned something about you having been busy--working a minimum wage job and whatnot.” The condescending nature of his words made Tara ball her hands into fists. If he doesn’t walk away in five seconds, I can’t be held responsible for what happens to his perfectly-straight, stupidly-white teeth. He turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “And this is…?”

Your worst fucking nightmare, douchebag, Tara thought, but she offered him the smallest of smiles instead, not yet knowing if she was allowed to make an enemy of him.

You startled, like you had just remembered that she was standing beside you, and slid your arm around her waist. Tara watched as Connor clenched his jaw at the action. Yeah, fuck you!

“Connor, this is Tara. My girlfriend.” He scoffed, loudly, and your hold on her tightened, your fingers digging into her hip. “Tara, this is Connor. He’s…a family friend.”

He hummed. “If that’s what you’d like to call us, then sure, Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue too comfortably for Tara’s liking, especially for how stand-offish you became around him. “So, still in your little…exploratory phase, then?” he asked in such a way that made your grip turn almost bruising and caused Tara’s stomach to turn unpleasantly.

“No, Connor,” you said. “I’m bisexual. There is no exploring.”

“Sure.” He chuckled like he didn’t believe you. “Perhaps the men at Blackmore are just less than satisfactory.”

“Okay, why don’t you--” Tara began, only to be cut off by you pulling her into you.

“Or perhaps Tara can just satisfy me more than you ever did,” you snapped.

Tara froze. What? Is he…did they date?

Connor furrowed his eyebrows in anger, his eyes turning dark as they set themselves on her. “Does she even come from money?” There was venom in his voice, the disgust in his expression not bothering to hide itself.

A shiver ran down Tara’s back, and she glanced at the floor, her skin suddenly feeling too small for her, the air seeming too thick to breathe in. From the moment she had stepped into your home, she had felt a little out of place, and now Connor was simply confirming that thought.

“Does that matter?” you seethed.

“Of course it does. When you come from families like ours, everything matters. I mean, if you’re serious about this whole…bisexual…thing, how could you know she’s not just using you?” His words were coming out fast, spit flying as he spoke, his cheeks flushing with rage. “At least with me, you knew there were no ill intentions.”

Using her? Tara thought, feeling herself shrink slightly. Ill intentions?

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Connor.” Your voice was sharp and threatening, holding a warning behind it.

“I take it, then, that she doesn’t come from a family of the arts.” His eyes flickered down before glancing back up again. “Or any family that matters.”

There was a beat of silence, a pause in which Tara could feel anger radiating from you and shame filling her every vein, and it was strange. She pulled herself from your grasp, mumbled out, “I have to use the bathroom,” and rushed away with teary eyes. Away from him, away from the party, away from you.

Faintly, she could hear you calling her name, and then a few angry shouts, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was focused on squeezing past people and slipping upstairs to your bedroom, her hand fumbling around in her purse for her inhaler.

Fuck, where is my inhaler? she thought as she tripped up the last step and stumbled down the hall, counting one, two, three, doors on her left until she found the fourth—your bedroom. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, rummaging through her purse in a panic as she tried to blink back her tears.

When she finally caught hold of her inhaler, she took two puffs and threw her head back, groaning. Stupid. Thinking I could fit in here. Thinking this was all normal. Stupid.

There was a knock on the other side of the door; then, a voice, soft and careful. “Tara?” She could hear some shuffling out in the hall. “Tara, dear?”

Tara straightened. Is that her mom? she wondered. What is her mom doing here right now?

“Could you let me in, Tara?”

Tara wiped beneath her eyes and, with a heaving sigh, turned around and opened the door, her shoulders slumping slightly at the sight of your mother’s worried face.

“I saw you run off, dear,” your mom started, taking a hesitant step forward, “and Y/N was nowhere in sight, so I thought I’d come check on you.”

This whole family is just too good. “I’m alright,” she lied through her teeth.

Your mother hummed and ventured further into the room, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs crossed over one another. “I saw you and Y/N speaking to Connor Harris.” Her face soured as she spoke his name, and Tara smiled softly at that. “I’ve never liked that boy, but Y/N’s father and his father have been friends since childhood.”

Tara swallowed. I need to know. I need to ask. “Were Y/N and Connor…were they together at some point?” she asked.

Your mom’s eyebrows furrowed and a frown pulled at her lips. “Dear, they were engaged. Has she not told you?”

It was like the world stopped for a moment. Engaged? Tara wanted to throw up. Her vision blurred immediately; a pit in her stomach formed; she could feel herself shaking. Engaged?! She was engaged?! To him?!

Your mother stood and, before Tara could say a word, wrapped her arms around her, holding her trembling body close. “Tara, honey. It is just a part of Y/N’s past, but she’s with you now, and that’s what matters.”

Oh my god, I’m being comforted by her mom right now, Tara thought. This is so embarrassing. She pulled away and sniffled, holding her head up. “Thank you, truly. I’m just…shocked that she never mentioned an engagement before.” How did she never tell me?

“Yes, well--”

“Tar?” your voice called from near the door. “You in here, bab--” You appeared in the doorway, stopping short at the sight of your mother and Tara in your bedroom together, with clear signs of Tara having cried. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” your mom said, squeezing your shoulder briefly as she exited.

You walked into the room, shut the door behind you, and stepped up to Tara, taking her cheeks in your hand. Your thumb rubbed beneath her eyes, wiping away any remnants of her tears. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” you asked, your voice gentle.

She clenched her jaw, her eyes flitting to the floor. “Your mom told me about…about you and Connor.”

You paled, your hands dropping slightly and your eyes widening. “Oh,” you muttered.

“You didn’t tell me you were engaged before,” she whispered. She took a step away, and you swallowed as your arms fell to your sides. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not a big deal,” you said, biting your lip.

“Not a big deal?!” Her eyebrows furrowed. How could she think this isn’t a big deal? “You were engaged--set to spend the rest of your life with someone.” She waved her hand. “Set to spend the rest of your life with him! And you think that’s not a big deal, or something that you shouldn’t tell your girlfriend?”

“Tar, let me explain,” you pleaded. “Just, let me explain, please.”

She inhaled sharply. “Fine.”

You sighed in relief, blinked hard, and began. “He proposed to me at our high school graduation, up on the stage, in front of everyone. I--I didn’t want to embarrass him, or our families, so I said yes, and, technically, yes, we were engaged.” You shook your head, slumping onto your bed and holding your face in your hands. “I should’ve never said yes. We went home that night, and I told him I didn’t actually want to get married. Obviously, he didn’t like that, so he broke up with me.”

Tara’s face softened, her anger simmering. “You were engaged for…what…only a few hours?”

You nodded, glancing at her. “Yeah. That’s why I didn’t tell you, because it really isn’t a big deal. I mean, honestly? I hardly liked Connor anyway. I was with him because I thought my parents wanted that, but they don’t care.” You shrugged. “They just want me to be happy.” You stood, crossed the room, and took Tara’s hands in your own. “And you make me happy.”

Tara grinned, then glanced away sheepishly. “I’m sorry I kind of overreacted.”

You shook your head and pulled her into you, your arms wrapping around her shoulders. “No, I should’ve told you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“It’s okay,” she mumbled into your chest, sliding her own arms around your waist and hugging you tightly. You kissed the top of her head, and she hummed before another thought popped into her head. “Do you think you should be with someone who…has a family like this?” She pulled back and gestured to your room. “Who could afford all of this?”

“Tara,” you said softly, frowning. “I don’t care that your family isn’t in the high arts, or that your parents aren’t business magnates, or that you didn’t grow up the way I did. I love you.” You leaned down and kissed her. “Don’t let what Connor said get to you, okay? He’s a pompous dirtbag.”

Tara chuckled. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Yes. The biggest pompous dirtbag I know.”

She grinned. “I love you, too, by the way.”

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you--is not that strange?” you quoted, smiling.

She rolled her eyes. Always such a dork, she thought. My dork, though. “Are you sure you don’t love Shakespeare more than me?”

You hummed, tilting your head like you were weighing your options, and she scoffed lightly. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. I’ll always love you more than I love Shakespeare, baby.”

“Good.” Tara bit back her smile. “Does that mean you’ll get a statue bust of me?”

“...I’ll think about it.”

bonus: “so, when you and our sister get married, will you take her last name?” eddie asked, swinging his feet from where he sat at the table in the ballroom.

“eddie--” tara began, only to be interrupted by nate, who sat on the other side of her.

“get thee a wife, get thee a wife!” he exclaimed.

“we’re only 19, guys,” she tried.

“okay, and?” eddie asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“do you not love my sister?” nate asked, and tara was thankful that, for once, his shakespeare quote sounded normal.

she glanced around, looking for you, but you were talking to one of your aunts on the other side of the room. she leaned down and gestured for both boys to come closer. “i’ll tell you guys a little secret. when we do get married, i plan to take her last name.”

they grinned at each other across tara.

“knew it!” eddie cheered.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna x reader #museum tara #scream 5 #scream 6

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kentopedia · 1 year

Text

easy living

FEATURING. nanami kento x f!reader — wc: 3.9k

SUMMARY: after many stressful weeks at work, nanami plans a relaxing beach vacation for the two of you.

CONTENTS: soft nanami <33, surprise beach trips, extra extra sweet, salaryman nanami era, sfw!!

note: so lol this was a request, but it took me so long to finish, and their account is no longer active :,) also i could tell you this is an au, but i won't & it isn't! i guess i love suffering so just know this takes place during nanami's canon salaryman era

Nanami had always been perceptive to the subtle changes in your mood, even when you tried to hide them from him. He could sense a slight downturn of your lips with his eyes closed, could feel any rueful air disseminating from you as you attempted to distract yourself from whatever gave you grief.

To others, Nanami could be indifferent, his naturally stoic expression causing him to appear uncaring. Though, you knew that was far from the truth—perhaps, he just saved all of his display of emotion for you.

That’s what made it so difficult to hide your worries from him.

When you returned to your apartment that evening, you were exhausted and worn down from too many hours spent at labor. Your feet were sore from uncomfortable shoes and your back ached along each notch of your spine. With a deep inhale, you scrubbed your hand over your face, hoping to dispel any obvious signs of trouble before opening the door to your bedroom.

Kento was sitting against the bedframe with a book resting in his lap, the lamp casting a warm glow over the otherwise darkened room.

Although you knew he wouldn’t be annoyed with your complaints, you didn’t want to bother him when you weren’t the only one who had been working hard recently. Nanami had logged more hours at the office in the past few weeks, and only now, was he finally getting a reprieve.

It seemed cruel to unload your burdens onto him when he had already settled in for the night. Besides, it was nothing you couldn’t handle.

As you stepped through the doorframe, Kento set the book down, eyes on you with that ever-patient, gentle smile of his. “You’re back late,” he said, and you couldn’t help but hear the hint of concern in his voice. He regretted taking a job that demanded so much of him, and naturally, he wanted to spare you from the same troubles.

Although, as much as you hated the job you were at, you’d been having trouble finding one that was better for you, both in an emotional and financial sense. Which, really, led you to feeling that there was no other choice but to tough it out, just as you always had.

“They gave me a last-minute project that needed to be done before tomorrow. I didn’t really have a choice.”

Kento opened his mouth, before he closed it and sighed instead. You could tell he wanted to argue, but you’d been through it too many times before. With the world you lived in, it was only natural to feel chained to your career from time to time—you were certain he knew that better than anyone. “Did you eat already?”

The feeling of tears was heavy against your eyelids as you turned away from him, shrugging off your stiff blouse. You knew that if you met his gaze, you might just melt into him, releasing the irrational wave of emotion that you’d been holding back all day.

“Not yet,” you said with as much optimism as you could manage, but with even the smallest change in your voice, Kento could see right through you.

He didn’t comment on the way your voice broke, the way that you were worn out, your features much less full of life than usual. His feet were quiet on the carpet as he padded over to you, his hands soft against your bare shoulder. “Okay. There’s plenty of leftovers in the fridge. I’ll warm them up for you.”

You smiled as he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, squeezing your hand comfortingly. Visibly, you relaxed, and you watched him make his way out the door to the next room.

“Kento?” You stopped him just as he was shutting the door with a click, the knob twisting into the hinges.

“Yes?” he hummed, sticking his head around the doorframe. His blonde hair was freshly washed, the delicate strands falling over his forehead softly. He looked so much younger without the corporate attire, the serious frown plastered on to his lips. Flannel pajama pants fell loose on his hips, and he wore a t-shirt that he’d probably had since he was nineteen.

Your heart felt warm and light in your chest.

“Thank you.”

Kento smiled, his eyes brightening as they always did. “You’re welcome, darling.”

With some renewed energy, you forced yourself into the shower, scrubbing your body until the grime from the morning felt like it’d been whisked away. While you were normally adamant about fulfilling every part of your nightly routine, you skipped a few steps, too tired to ignore the aches in your body.

Nanami had already set a plate of hot food on the table for you when you finally dried off and changed into clean clothes.

He sat comfortably, watching you with his head in his palm. You took a seat beside him, your eyes heavy, and you contemplated resting your head against his shoulder before deciding it’d be too difficult to eat that way.

“I’ve been thinking about taking some time off.”

After taking a bite, you smiled, envisioning it for just a moment. “I think that’s a great idea.” You swallowed, not even realizing how hungry you were, and regarded him with warmth as you observed all the signs of his fatigue. “You deserve a break.”

“At the beginning of June, I think. Maybe I’ll go outside the city for a day or two.” He paused, drumming his fingers against the table. “Would that be a bad time for you? I don’t want to waste my days off if you won’t be around.”

You pictured your crowded calendar, envisioning the blocks of color in your mind. It started to look a little less like a rainbow when summer came around. “No, it’ll probably be alright. All of my projects are due at the end of this month, so it shouldn’t be an issue.” You set down your utensils. “I think I can manage things around here by myself.”

Kento nodded, his smile innocent, and satisfied. “Alright, then. I’ll finalize it on Monday…” He seemed contemplative, studying you with a sort of intensity that you didn’t think too hard about. He always seemed like he was observing things much too deeply. “Think you’d be able to take off too? You’re working so hard. I hate seeing you not get a break.”

You sighed, knowing that he was right, but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t seem to get the workload decreased. Too many people had been quitting recently, and you’d grown to bear the weight of their responsibilities. “I probably can. Why, have you been missing me?”

Kento laughed, taking the dirty dishes from your place once you finished off the last bite. “Yeah, something like that.” He washed them off, and you watched him lazily from the table, too relaxed to bring yourself to your feet.

When he was finished, he held out a hand, dragging you up to him, before letting you rest most of your weight onto his side. “Come on.” He draped an arm around your shoulders and held you close, hugging you warmly. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” you said through a yawn, as if it wasn’t obvious, your eyes falling shut. You thought you heard him laugh, though it was stifled, like he was trying hard not to shake you.

Three days later, Nanami pulled out two airplane tickets and a reservation to a beach resort, showing them to you casually like he’d bought nothing more interesting than groceries.

The dates on the tickets were for the same dates that he’d suggested before.

You stared at him, then back at the tickets, knowing he’d probably spent way too much on something that seemed too frivolous for the frugal lifestyle he tended to lean towards. “Kento…”

He stopped you, rolling his eyes before snatching the tickets away, like he thought you might toss them into the fire. “That better be followed by a thank you,” he said, and while he sounded serious, you knew he was only teasing you.

You grinned, and drew yourself closer to him, peppering kisses all over his face as a senseless flash of emotion took over you.

For the weeks leading up to your vacation, you’d worked yourself to near collapse, making sure no loose ends were left, and no one could possibly need to contact you while you were away. Your boss seemed less than happy to grant you time off in the midst of the chaos, but you’d been a dutiful employee, and there was nothing he could do to prevent your leave.

The resort was a few hours train ride away, far enough to feel that you were in a different place entirely, but not too far that you needed to worry about passports. It was nice, to get away, and you felt free and unstifled from the bustling chaos of the city.

The train announced your stop, and you made to gather your things, tucking your phone in your brand-new beach bag, before reaching down for the backpack that you’d both shoved things into.

“Kento,” you said through a groan, as you picked up his bag from the floor, so much heavier than you’d anticipated. “What did you pack in here?” It felt loaded with bricks, nearly bringing you back down in your attempt to get off the train quickly.

“A few books,” he said, pulling his sunglasses from his pocket as you shuffled into the aisle with both of the bags. “I thought I’d have a lot of time to read.” You looked over your shoulder at him, and he made a face, defensive. “Why? Do you think we’ll be too busy?”

You weren’t sure why he was asking you—he’d done all the planning, barely letting you take a look at any of the information in order to surprise you. “Well, did you really need this many?” You struggled to swing it over your back as you balanced the other bag on your shoulder.

He sighed, holding out his hand. “I’ll carry it for you, honey.”

“No, I can get it.” You swatted his hand away stubbornly when he tried to take it from you. “My things are in here too.” Although, the more you thought about it, the more you wondered if maybe it was your toiletries weighing down the backpack, and not the paperbacks that Kento had shoved into the front pocket.

Your back grew sore. Eventually, you let him carry it.

The resort was about as crowded as you’d expected for an early summer vacation, and you struggled to stake your claim on a nice part of the beach, where there weren’t too many wandering eyes. The two of you laid your chairs down near the ocean, the sun beating down on you, hot, and warming your skin.

It was nice to be away from the clouds and the rain that had plagued your home for the past week, and you were grateful that the bad weather hadn’t followed you to your destination.

You closed your eyes, shuffling through your music as you propped your sunglasses on your nose. The music played at a softer volume, just quiet enough to hear the waves of the ocean, creating a peaceful ambience that lulled you into tranquility.

“Did you put on sunscreen?”

You popped open one eye, shifting your neck to face Kento, who wasn’t even looking at you, legs stretched out with one of his books in his hands.

“Yes, of course,” you said in an obvious tone, even though you appreciated him checking.

He nodded as he flipped the page, his attention more on the inked words than his surroundings. It made you smile. “Just wanted to make sure, in case you fell asleep.”

“I might,” a yawn left you, as if on cue as you settled onto your back, and Kento’s lips quirked up in a subtle grin. Though your face was shaded by the umbrella, the rest of your body laid out in the sun, heating you quickly as the bright rays sent healing vibrations through the fluffy clouds.

You’d spent so much of your time cooped up inside that you’d forgotten how calming it was to escape from the world for a moment, to pretend that that part of your life didn’t exist. It would be so nice to live like this forever, to bask in the sun without any responsibilities.

You felt warm from the thought of it and shifted onto your back, head resting on your arms as you stared at the man sunbathing beside you. His sunglasses had fallen down on the bridge of his nose as he bent down over the book. A thin sheen of sweat had started on his chest, making the skin glossy, like the picturesque muse of a magazine cover. His shorts had slipped down on his hips, revealing the beginnings of tan lines that you hadn’t noticed before.

Cheeks burning, you gazed helplessly, like you’d forgotten how beautiful he was, even though that was the only thought on your mind half of the time. For a moment, you were glad that you were secluded, away from the crowd, on a quiet part of the beach. You weren’t sure if you would be able to handle anyone else gawking at him the way you were.

You looked away before he could tease you about your staring. If you got too caught up in him, you would have no choice but to march over and plant yourself on the chair alongside him.

It didn’t take long before a sweat had also broken out on your forehead, and you took out your earbuds, throwing them back down on the chair. The waves had finally settled, and a few of the younger children had cleared out of the water with their parents, leaving the ocean much more peaceful than it had been before. “I’m going for a swim. Want to come?”

Kento looked up over his glasses, marking his place in the book carefully. His eyes roamed over you like he hadn’t already noticed you were in nothing but a swimsuit, leaving little to the imagination as every angle and curve of your body was on display. “Well, I certainly can’t say no to you.”

You smiled, pleased that his irises had blown a little wider, that he’d swallowed once before making his way to his feet.

Taking his hand, you dragged him towards the ocean, his larger palm hot in your own, the veins visible with each movement. The sand formed to the outline of your heel, sticking to your sweaty skin before saltwater swirled around your ankles.

The water was cooler than you expected, and you suppressed a shiver, smiling over your shoulder at Nanami, tugging him farther into the expansion of blue. When you were deep enough in the water that your body had cooled, you sunk your hips into the ocean, letting the waves drag around you.

With your head tilted back towards the sky, you closed your eyes, basking in the freeing energy that the ocean provided. Kento sifted through the water, already right beside you when you opened your eyes once more, staring at you with so much adoration that it was impossible to resist him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, uncaring about anyone that happened to look your way. Saltiness lingered on both of your lips, and Kento tasted of coconuts and the sea. He grinned against your mouth, resting his hand on the small of your back as he balanced you in the turbulent waves.

Before you could lose yourself in his indulgent touches, you pulled away, teasingly, and dipped yourself back into the ocean. Nearby, there was a collection of seashells, reminding you of how you’d loved mermaids as a child. You picked them up, studied them, and wondered where they came from.

Kento rested lazily in the ocean, watching as you pulled yourself onto a large rock, your skin sticky and water dripping down to your shoulders. While you dried off, he swam over to you, before bringing his head above the sea, brushing darkened blonde hair off his forehead messily.

There was a renewed life to him; he was so much more at ease than he’d been in weeks, and that fact alone filled you with more joy than you thought could be contained in your soul. His cheeks had a sun-kissed glow, his skin marked with tan lines. He was a statue carved perfectly from bronze, and you smiled widely to yourself, engulfed in an overwhelming sense of happiness at the palpable art before you.

Kento pushed his way through the water to stand between your knees, looking up at you with so much love that your heart constricted painfully in your chest. His forearms rested on your thighs, and he dropped his chin on top of them, squeezing your knee.

“I’m glad you came with me,” he said, like it had even been a choice, like you’d ever say no to spending time with him. “It’s nice seeing you relax.”

You could say the same about him, but it wouldn’t have had the same effect now that he’d stolen the words already. “It was such a hard decision to make,” you teased, running a finger through his wet hair, the blond strands twisting and bending into a mess on top of his head. “I sure do miss being at work.”

Kento laughed, and you felt a jolt of pleasure rush through you at the action, knowing that he’d never button himself up around you, and no one else would see him as carefree as you did.

“We should move here,” you said afterwards on a whim, full of excitement and fanciful images of the beautiful nature. “Don’t you think?”

Nanami kissed the inside of your thigh softly, knowing, just as you did, that that was the kind of dream you saved for the nights that you found living the hardest. “Maybe,” he smiled, amused, even though it’d be too hard to leave the city where your friends were, where your home was, and neither of you were fond of making thoughtless decisions. “Maybe when we’re both too old to do anything but sit with each other’s company.”

“That’d be nice,” you said, picturing it with ease, and while getting older had always scared you to some degree, it didn’t seem so frightening when you were doing it with him.

“Really. You want to be with me that long?” he teased, though there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes, wide and warm, and it was such a ridiculous question, because you’d told him over and over how much he meant to you, and for such a smart man, he’d never seemed to grasp it.

You leaned over, kissing both his cheeks, feeling very much like a teenager in love. “I’m yours forever, Kento Nanami. You already know that.”

His smile spread whiter, forming into a toothy grin that he rarely revealed to anyone else. Kento grazed your knee softly with his lips, a touch barely there, and you were certain he was trying to get a rise out of you, only to leave you cruelly alone on the edge of the rock. He looked up at you from under his soft lashes. “I’m a lucky man, then.”

You thought you were the lucky one, but you rolled your eyes playfully, climbing down from the rock into his waiting embrace. His arms were strong around your back, and you tried not to get too distracted by his hot breath on your cheeks.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of fond memories and blissful relaxation, and time went by much faster than you would’ve liked.

On your last night at the resort, you stood in front of the mirror, wiping any remaining sea salt from your legs as you dried off from your shower. Already, you missed the beautiful blue water, the spacious bed that had overlooked the sandy shores.

The bathroom door opened as you were ruminating, changing into a fresh pair of pajamas. It was late, and you’d grown tired from being in the sun all day, even though you remained relaxed and refreshed from the vacation.

Kento stared at you from the doorway, his brown eyes sparkling as he watched you moisturize your face evenly.

“Why are you staring?” You held his gaze in the mirror, amused, as you set the tube down and switched it for one of toothpaste.

“No reason.” He came up behind you slowly, extending his arms to wrap around your waist. You looked a mess with your hair undone and your eyes were tired without any makeup. Still, he kissed along your shoulders before burying his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tight.

You melted, squeezing his hand tightly back as you leaned into him. Kento didn’t release you as you brushed your teeth and finished up your routine, and occasionally bit the sensitive skin on your neck.

When you spit the toothpaste out, he held your hair up, then gently massaged the back of your neck to release all the aches and pains that slowly dissipated each day you stayed well-rested.

“I had fun this week,” you said, leaning up to kiss him, the glasses he wore only at night slipping down the bridge of his nose. You held his cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb against the sharp angles of his face. His cheeks were dusted pink, sun-kissed, and his hair was even blonder than usual. “We should go on vacation more often.” The lines from stress had smoothed on his skin and the dark shadows under his eyes had disappeared completely.

Kento snorted, kissing the top of your head before throwing an arm around you, dragging you back to the bed. “We’ll find a way to talk ourselves out of it. We usually do.”

“I’m serious, Kento.” You rested against him for just a moment, before shuffling with a yawn to the other side of the bed. With the sun-down, the room had grown cooler, even though the humidity was still stagnant in the air. You toppled on the mattress, twisting around to make sure that he was still meeting your eyes. “Neither of us should be working as much as we are. It’s exhausting.”

Kento’s expression darkened, his features dimming before his eyes crinkled again and he rested a heavy hand on your hip. “You’re right.” He squeezed you affectionately. “Maybe we’ll take a trip this winter. You can pick where we go next time.”

You grinned, closing your eyes to imagine the possibilities. It could’ve been the bliss of the vacation talking. The future might become full of empty promises like it always had. Though, something about this felt different. It felt like maybe you’d both decided that you needed to change something about your lives.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said, and hoped, fleetingly, that you’d die by the beach with Nanami Kento at your side.

#nanami kento #nanami jjk #nanami imagine #nanami x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami x reader #nanami x fem!reader #jjk fluff #nanami kento fluff #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#xoxo rylie 💌 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

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simplymarr · 6 months

Text

Chapter one.

summary: vincent renzi x fem!reader.

A young law student is navigating her last year in university, where she meets a misteryous french professor that is going to help her getting her thesis done. A strong chemistry and a love for books and hard work it's what gets them to work so well with each other. But how much are they going to resist when temptation arrives?

warnings: age gap (legal ofc) he's 43 and she's 26. Other that that, none (yet).

London. 8 am and a room full of people on a rainy day. Cold fingers on the desk, waiting for something to happen.

I looked over and the clock was still; maybe it was broken or maybe the time was way too slow in the morning. Even for me.

Today it was the last-first day i was going to have on that university. Five long years studying law, yet it felt like i was still a stranger in that big, cold classroom.

I was, finally, going to get my thesis done. No more wasting time, no more fear. I had to be strong.

How difficult could it be?

The world with its unique, hidden irony seemed to have answered my question when, all of a sudden, he walked through that old, wooden door.

Mature, maybe in his early forties. Tall but not too much; quite skinny. Long neck and serious countenance. Silver hair, some strands fell on his forehead as he walked across the room until he reached his desk. His polished clothes didn't look wet even though it was raining, and even for me to be so far away from him i could, somehow, sense that he smelled like cigarrettes and old fashioned, classic cologne.

Professor Vincent Renzi was his name.

He came from France. He said that he had recently won a case in the city, and that a colleague of his needed him to replace him for a few months at the university. A two-hour weekly class and, most importantly,

he was in charge of correcting some of the theses.

I hesitated the rest of the class, unsure of what was going to happen. Would he be easy on me? or would he be an idiot? After all, all male professors in law school seemed to treat women like they were not smart enough to be there. Or worse, like they fucked their way to the top.

Suddenly my feet stepped on earth again when i felt a deep voice making, in a strong french accent, a question that no one dared to answer.

"So, has anyone already started working on their thesis?"

Silence.

Then, for inertia or maybe an obscure, unconscious desire to be seen by his blue eyes i raised my hand.

He smiled at me; perhaps relieved that he hadn't been ignored. Little wrinkles formed on each side of his mouth as he spoke:

"Great, at least someone is doing their job. Now, enlighten me, please".

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

I tried to leave as soon as the class ended.

Maybe it was the shame, the blushed cheeks as i explained to him the central themes of the thesis. For the first time, i felt like my tongue wasn't mine as the words kept coming out of my mouth, but i felt grateful for that.

However, due to how far away i was from the exit, i was the last one to leave. I slid between each seat until i reached the door where, luckily for me, he was standing, waiting.

"That was good. Very good actually". He said as he reached out for a pack of cigarettes between his pockets.

I stuttered.

"Well, thank you. There's still some issues i need to fix, you know. References and stuff". I tried, without luck, to sound as calm as possible.

"That's why im here". He said, staid but in a soft tone.

As he left the building and got into his car, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and lighting a cigarette, i couldn't help but wonder

what the hell was i getting into.

next chapter soon

#vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi #swann arlaud #swann arlaud fanfic #anatomy of a fall

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amongemeraldclouds · 7 months

Text

better than revenge | chapter five: smash!

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader (ft. Ex!Mattheo Riddle)

Series trope: Fake dating

Chapter five summary: You and Enzo get to know each other and end up showing him how studying together can be fun. 1.8k words.

Warning: Cursing, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, slight suggestiveness.

♡ main masterlist

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“The best way to deal with your anger, aside from good ol’ revenge,” Enzo starts, “is to break shit.”

“When you said we were going to The Breaking Point, I didn’t think you meant it literally,” I say, looking at graffiti scrawled all over the building tucked neatly in an alley.

“Come on, it’s going to be fun,” he says holding my hand and leading me inside.

Once we’ve got our safety gear on, Enzo reaches for the dishes and consecutively throws three plates against the wall. The smashing of plates sounds almost melodic, like wind howling through chimes.

“Stressful week, huh?” I ask him.

“I’m getting my ass handed to me in Potions,” Enzo replies, throwing another plate for good measure.

He hands me a pile, “but never mind that. Your turn. Think of something that angers you, imagine they’re the plate and then throw it.”

I think of Mattheo’s annoying smile and take aim. Crash!

The sound of his laugh. Smash!

Seeing him kiss her. Crash!

I still love him. Smash!

I’m such an idiot. Crash!

I’m out of breath when the final pieces crash on the floor.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

“I haven’t felt this good in weeks!” I exclaim, twirling on the sidewalk as we make our way to dinner. I ignore the curious glances I attract and walk ahead, beaming.

Enzo laughs, “told you, I’ve got ways to help you release stress—”

“Without being a perv,” I finish his sentence.

“Not what I was going to say, but okay,” he muses.

“You winked at me! It’s your fault I assumed, Lorenzo Berkshire” I glare at him.

He raises his hands to concede. “Fine fine, but never call my by my full name again. You’re scary,” he shudders.

“Tell me more about Potions,” I say, tamping down my smile.

“I’ve been having a hard time memorizing the right ingredients. I keep mixing up horse hair and horseradish, or moondew and moonseed. Why do they have to sound so similar?” he explains, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“That sucks, I can see why it can be confusing,” I say, fixing his hair absentmindedly.

“I can help you study!” I offer.

He smirks, “you know, Mattheo and I compete with grades. He may be naturally smarter and doesn’t have to apply himself as much, I’ll give him that. But I work hard and even skipped a grade because of it. It’s how we’re in the same grade even though I’m younger and I’ve been lording it over him ever since. But Potions…”

I see where he’s going. “Potions is a nightmare. So by studying together, you’ll get better grades and outrank Mattheo again. Even more incentive to help, fake boyfriend. Let’s make that phase two of The Book.”

I grab his arm and see him smiling down at me. “Let’s study at your dorm next week, it’s gonna be fun!”

“Why not at the library so people can see us?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Because my ways are not allowed at the library, it’s loud but fun,” I say.

“Oh?” He asks with a devilish smile.

“I did not wink at you, Berkshire! I didn’t mean it that way,” I smack his arm.

He laughs, “I’ve never heard the term ‘fun’ and ‘studying’ in the same sentence, but if anyone can do it, it’s probably you.”

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

“Have you ever heard of mnemonics?” I ask Enzo.

“Stop making up words.”

“I’m not! Mnemonics is a way we can memorize things through key phrases and words. Okay, so look at this,” I open a Potions textbook to one of the instructions.

“Felix felicis, liquid luck. To create this, you need ashwinder egg, horseradish and heat. No horse hair here. To make it easy to remember, use the phrase “ashes take root in the heat.”

“How does that make it easier?”

“The key word you need to remember is ashes. What do they do? They take root in the heat. Ash is short for ashwinder egg and next time you’re confused between horse hair or horseradish, remember which one is the root vegetable?”

“Horseradish!” He exclaims. “Ashes take root in the heat. You make this so much easier! Why can’t you be our Potions professor instead?” “Snape would have your head if he hears you,” I say. “But wait, we haven’t got to the fun part yet. Once you have your phrase, you then have to turn it into a song.”

Enzo laughs indulgently, “like one of those children shows?”

“You laugh at my methods, Berkshire. But it won’t be so silly once you’re exceeding expectations in class. You gotta trust the process.”

“Does the process know we’re trusting it?” He quips.

“Isn’t it so much easier memorizing song lyrics than class notes?” I retort. He nods, considering me.

“Come on, Enzo. We can even sing it to the tune of your favorite song.” He gives me a pained look but gives in and hours go by, we have our key phrases and songs that go with potion ingredients and techniques.

Laughing, Enzo takes my hand and lifts me off the chair, spinning me around. “We’ve done the singing, now let’s dance.”

“But there’s no music,” I comment as my cheeks flush when I feel his hands on waist, inviting me to sway with him.

“Move with me,” he says, “we can use this as practice for when we attend a ball.”

I close my eyes and imagine music as I follow his steps, trying to avoid stepping on his foot. His hands feel strong and reassuring, guiding me as he hums a soft tune. We move in comfortable silence and I relax into the moment.

“You did well today,” I tell him as he spins me again and he bows, marking the end of the dance.

“Only because I had a fantastic teacher,” he remarks. “I’ll definitely outrank Mattheo with you by my side.”

“What’s the deal with you and Mattheo, anyway? Why are you rivals?” I ask.

“It’s therapy time, huh?” He says, settling in his bed and I sit beside him. He takes a moment, turning the question over in his mind. “It started when we were kids, our mother would have us play these games to see who bested each other. Did you know, we even competed to see who’d eat the most vegetables during dinner?”

“Well…” I say, bewildered. “That’s one way to get you to eat healthy, I guess?”

“We didn’t grow up in the same household, of course,” he continues. “So I only knew him through the occasional awkward family dinner. But our mother, if you scored better grades or won some contest, that’s when she would come visit and spend time with whoever won. We’ve been that way ever since,” he shrugs.

“You realize that’s not normal, right?” I ask.

“Is any family even normal?” He counters.

“No, family dynamics are weird. Mine isn’t any better,” I agree. “I just mean that you don’t have to compete for love. Someone can love you exactly as you are, you don’t have to earn it. That’s what my mother used to say” I explain.

He looks at my eyes, speechless and searching.

“You know that, right?” I try. Of course he doesn’t. “You don’t have to try hard to be loved.”

We sit in electric silence as he shifts his gaze down my mouth before meeting my eyes again. I want to hold this boy with sad eyes, so warm and full of life, but alone here in the privacy of his room it will be real.

“It’s getting late and Theo will be back soon from the party.” I clear my throat and brush off these feelings, whatever they are. I rise from his bed and take my things. “This was productive, let’s do it again tomorrow.”

He blinks, shaking off the moment. “Of course, yeah. Thank you.”

Enzo walks me to the door and bids me good night.

“Good night,” I reply, rising on my toes to kiss his cheek.

I walk back to my dorm and glance at my watch. It’s much later than I thought. I briefly pause when a voice interrupts my thoughts.

“If cuddling is the best part, he didn't do it right.” I look up and see Mattheo watching me come from the direction of Enzo’s dorm.

My annoyance flares, “Why hello to you too, Mattheo. Don’t you have some girl to disappoint?”

“Oh I never disappoint in bed,” he says with a smirk and I look at his dark eyes, remembering heated nights and all the ways I’ve come undone for him and with him. Memories of warm skin tangled in sheets, moaning messes, and the euphoric maze we lost and found ourselves in.

I shake my head and sigh, “do what you want, Riddle. It’s what you’re good at anyway.”

That shuts him up and I walk past him.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

The next few weeks go by and Enzo and I get into a comfortable rhythm studying together. We spend meal times together at the Great Hall and visit Hogsmeade on weekends in the name of fake dating.

I approach Enzo as students file out the room from Potions class.

“Look here,” he beams, showing me his grade.

“Exceeds expectations! You did it, Enzo!” I engulf him in a hug and laugh in surprise as he twirls me around before setting me down.

He looks at Mattheo making his way to the exit and calls out, “not that I need a number to prove I’m better than you, brother, but it seems the numbers have spoken again.”

Mattheo pauses and looks back, “is it really a win, brother, if you needed someone’s help to get there?” He looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

Enzo puts his arm around me. “You mean, I get to outrank you, after skipping a grade by the way. And I have an incredible girlfriend by my side? I don’t see what the problem is.”

I step in, “Well Enzo, not everyone knows what they have when they have it.” I shift my gaze to Mattheo, “Matheo wouldn’t understand, now would you?” I shake my head condescendingly.

“Come on, we have to celebrate!” I wink at Enzo and he grins at our inside joke as we walk out.

When we reach the hallway, he leans in to whisper, “you winked! Are we really going to celebrate?”

I smack his arm and whisper back, “that was just for The Book. Behave.”

“Okay, just checking. Because you know I wouldn’t mind at all if—” I glare at him and he holds his hands up in retreat.

I soften, “You can, however, get a congratulatory kiss.” I pull my arms around his shoulders and kiss him. He smiles against my lips.

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Author's note: I recently went to a similar place where I got to break stuff and I knew these characters had to do it too. I nearly named this chapter "break plates, not hearts" hahahaha.

Oh and Mattheo’s first line comes directly from an episode of Veronica Mars iykyk.

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz @ultramarinetovelvet @val-writes @lafrone @daisiesformylove @mildly-delulu @allebasi05 @enha-stan @skb4000 @nat1221 @s0urw00lf

#lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheoxreader #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #slytherin x reader #slytherin x slytherin #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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sentientgolfball · 15 days

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Devotion

Part 1/3 of how Rain and Dew got together and perhaps also their first time

Read here or on Ao3

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Before Dew could become fire he had to make sure the new water ghoul would fit the needs of the Ghost Project.

Behind heavy wooden doors decorated with golden sigils stands four beings dressed in uniform. They have been working all evening for the ritual to come. When the full moon is at its highest point, a ghoul will be summoned. Dew is not entirely sure he is ready for it. He has only been Topside for a little over a year yet once that water ghoul pops out of the circle, he will be a mentor. He swallows thickly, the mask and the cloud of incense making it hard to breathe. He cannot be getting nervous now, this is his idea after all.

He is the one who went to Sister Imperator proudly claiming he will be the fire ghoul they need. He is the one who twisted the Clergy's arm until they agreed to do the elemental transition, refusing to heed the warning of Delta. He is the one who agreed to wait, just long enough to make sure the new water ghoul is a good fit before he is burned down to his very core to be rebirthed. At the time it seemed like a great deal, he would get to become fire and thus be closer to the Morning Star and all he had to do was make sure the new water ghoul could pluck a few strings. Now that he is staring at the summoning circle though, he is starting to realize he may have bitten off more than he can chew.

He shifts on his feet, the tip of his finned tail twitching between his legs. He vaguely knows about summonings, he was present for Mountain’s after all, but this one feels different. It somehow feels more intimate, knowing whoever pops out of the Pits will be his replacement. Knowing that he alone is going to be responsible for deciding if they will fit the needs of the Ghost Project; if not the Clergy will proceed with a fire ghoul summoning. He is solely responsible for not just his fate, but the fate of someone he has not even met yet. It makes his stomach churn and he has to fight to keep his fins from flaring.

He tries to focus on what is happening around him. Anything to take his mind away from how in a few short moments everything is going to change. He watches Omega and the Sibling of Devotion converse as they prepare the necessary ingredients. Salt water, fresh water, rain water, and moon water all ready to be poured over the sigils painted on the floor. Knowing this is exactly how he was brought Topside is a weird feeling. He pictures Mist standing in his spot; was she just as nervous as he is now? Probably not. She was a Ministry ghoul long before she was involved with the Ghost Project. Who knows how many summonings she’s seen, how many water ghouls she’s helped adjust to a new world? Is she angry that he is here instead of her? He hopes not. If he messes this all up he will need her. He always needs her.

His attention is stolen when the sound of muttering fills his webbed ears. Dew glances to his left to see Cardinal Copia quickly flipping through a gigantic book that looks like it is ready to turn to dust. He looks about as nervous as Dew feels, eyes wide while he scans over the ancient passages. He huffs as he watches him nearly drop the tome. He may not have known Terzo for long, but he still cannot believe this is the best the Clergy has for a replacement.

Copia must feel Dew staring because he looks up from the book, catching his eyes behind the silver mask. Dew tenses when he closes the book and walks over to him. He offers Dew a weak smile.

“It is exciting, no?”

“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Dew says bluntly.

“Ahah well yes but ehh it is still exciting.” He fidgets with his hands as he talks.

“Didn’t you summon those air ghoulettes like last week?”

“Si. Yes I did.”

“Then why are you so?” Dew gestures to Copia.

Copia sighs, “the rituals are easy to ehh mess up. I do not think I could live with myself if I accidentally destroyed an innocent being.”

Dew scoffs at the word innocent, but he doesn’t say anything. There is a long moment of silence before Copia speaks again.

“Are you not afraid?”

“Afraid?”

“Si. I am well aware of your ehh deal with Sister.”

“Why would I be afraid? All I have to do is make sure the new guy is competent enough to hold a bass,” Dew says with more force than he intended. He does not understand why the Cardinal felt the need to approach him. The longer this conversation goes on the more Dew wants to yell at him to fuck off. He doesn’t need some sweaty human trying to be friendly when there is so much on his mind.

“Apologies I ehh I suppose you are right. Your task is much easier than mine.” Copia offers him a lopsided smile.

Dew glares at him through the mask. Easier? What a joke. All he has to do is provide a little blood and maybe say a few words. Dew has to do everything else. Of course he’s afraid. Who cares if the ritual is easy to screw up, it’s even easier to ruin a person. A faulty ritual can be blamed on a number of factors, but a person? Dew would be the only one to blame. Why did he think he was cut out for this? He should not have taken this deal. He should have demanded he be made into a fire ghoul so someone more experienced could be there for this new water ghoul.

He cannot back out now though. Omega takes a deep breath, the scent of ozone filling the air when he exhales. The moon is at Her peak. It is time. Dew shuffles back into a corner, staying out of the way so the others can work. He is only here for formality. Copia, Omega, and the Devotion will be doing the actual rites. He is thankful really, he has no idea how much help he would be with the moon calling out to his own water. He can feel it responding to Her presence, but he cannot give in. He has to be present. He cracks his neck, eyes following the bustle around the room.

The blinds that were previously drawn tight are thrown open, allowing the moonlight to stream in. Copia makes quick work of extinguishing the candles in the room so that it’s only Her light. The Devotion steps up to the circle of sigils. In one hand she has a leather bound book, in the other is one of the jars of water. As she begins to read the ancient passage Omega’s voice joins her. He repeats the same words only in Infernal instead of English. Dew’s ear twitches at the sound of the familiar language. It is different from what he spoke when he was in the Pits, yet close enough to make something in him twist. He wonders if this is some type of quintessence dialect of Infernal or perhaps some ancient form of the language.

As the Devotion finishes the passage she begins to pour the first jar of water. She starts at the first sigil, letting the contents spill counter clockwise to create a circle. She grabs the next jar from the stone altar, not pausing as she starts the next passage. Omega’s voice continues to drone along with her as sparks of quintessence begin to ripple over his body. She draws the first two lines of a pentagram with the next jar. The process repeats until every last drop of water has been used. Each time a new line is drawn Dew can feel something. It’s heavy. It’s strong. It sits in his gut like a stone at the bottom of a river. He doesn’t remember feeling like this when Mountain was summoned.

When the last jar is emptied Copia approaches the circle of water. Omega picks up the dagger that had been sitting on the altar. He holds it in both hands, giving it his infernal blessing before handing it over. Like a mirror of who he was moments ago, Copia takes it from him with steady hands. He removes the glove on his left hand. There’s already a cut on his palm, just barely healed over. He brings the dagger to his palm, the edge placed right over the mark. He mutters a prayer in Italian before drawing the blade quickly across his skin. Dew’s nostrils flare when the metallic scent of blood hits his nose. His fangs throb. Every fiber of his being is telling him to go drink his fill, until there’s nothing left. He has to dig his claws into his arm just to keep his head clear. He will not be the reason this ritual fails.

Copia turns his hand down, letting his blood drip into the center of the water pentagram. Omega and the Devotion finish the final passage as the ingredients combine. It's silent. The only sound is Dew’s breathing from under the mask. They wait. The tension is palpable as the seconds turn to minutes. Nobody moves.

Copia opens his mouth to speak right as a fat raindrop lands in his eye. He gasps and brings his non-bloodied hand up to wipe it away. He looks to the ceiling as more begin to fall. Everyone in the room begins to relax as the drops pick up in intensity. Everyone except for Dew. Something is wrong. He can feel it. There’s something in the water. Something that’s not supposed to be there. As the shower turns into a storm his stomach churns. He rips his mask off and rushes over to the circle.

“Close it!” He shouts over the pounding of raindrops.

“Stay back. An active circle is volatile.” Omega holds an arm against his chest.

Dew pushes on it, “You have to close it now!”

“Dewdrop why would we—“ Omega’s pupils dilate when it finally hits him. The taste of something else.

He turns back towards the circle fully prepared to force it closed. But he’s too late. The drops begin to swirl, the shape of a body begins to form. Dew watches with a mix of awe and horror as the ghoul fully materializes. The moment it happens the ghoul falls to the floor. Unconscious. His dark hair is wet and clinging to his face. The bioluminescent stripes on his shoulders and tail are pulsing with each breath. An oceanic variant. His gills are flared, they flutter each time a raindrop hits them. Dew stares at him. He can’t look away. He doesn’t want to look away. He wants to reach out and touch him. He’s so enraptured he doesn’t notice the black smoke spiral that’s formed in the circle.

He finally looks up when the sound of sizzling fills the air. A smoky hand has reached through, its claws digging into the wood of the floor. A head appears next. Most of its features are obscured by the thick cloud of smoke, but Dew can smell the fear. Omega scoops up the unconscious water ghoul as a torso starts to form. Dew is frozen in place. He doesn’t know what to do as this creature made of smoke takes form. He’s not even entirely sure it’s a ghoul.

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as the thing finally pulls itself all the way through the closing circle. His gills flare when its featureless face turns towards him. It takes a step forward, hand extended. Dew doesn’t know if he should try to fight it or run from it. He does know he needs to protect that water ghoul though. He lets the thing approach him, slowly backing away from it. If it keeps its attention on him then maybe the Devotion will have a chance to come up with a way to banish it.

It doesn’t work that way though. A sharp hiss cuts through the panicked silence. Dew whips his head towards the sound only to be met with a vicious sight. The water ghoul is awake and pissed. Omega is clutching his forearm. There’s blood staining the ghoul’s mouth, dripping down his chin. Copia tries to get to Omega’s side but the ghoul swipes at him when he moves. He snarls at both of them, showing off rows of serrated teeth.

The commotion captures the attention of the smoke creature. It slowly turns towards the water ghoul and Dew panics. He tries to get its focus back on him; hissing and calling out to it but to no avail. He looks towards the Devotion only to see her back turned. She has candles lit, pouring oil over a small silver plate and muttering something quickly. Dew curses and snaps his head back towards the creature just in time to see one of the residual raindrops drip onto its outstretched hand. It stops moving when it hits, a strangled sound emanating from it accompanied by the sound of sizzling. Dew’s eyebrows raise.

“You don’t like water do you?”

He looks up at the ceiling to see it’s still slick from the initial summoning, occasional drops falling. He swallows before closing his eyes, letting his element come to life. He focuses on what energy remains, tapping into it to recreate the downpour. He can feel the pull. He’s never been more thankful for a full moon in his entire existence. He’s not sure he’d be able to do it without Her. He furrows his brow, extending his hand towards the ceiling. When he’s sure he has a hold on the water that remains he quickly pulls his hand down almost as if he was pulling on a rope. All at once a sheen of water splashes down making a loud splat when it hits the floor.

The creature falls to the ground, the same strangled sound filling the air. It’s barely audible over the sound of crackling, like water poured on sun baked pavement. Dew opens his eyes to see steam rising from its body as it writhes on the ground. His brief moment of victory melts away when the strange sound begins to morph into something more familiar. A scream. Dew watches in horror as the smoke begins to dissipate, revealing the figure of a ghoul.

He’s not a water ghoul, that’s for sure. At first Dew assumes he’s quintessence, the grayish purple hue of his skin standing out. But then he notices the patches of shimmering gold all over his body. A hybrid maybe?

He takes a tentative step towards him. He’s still shaking, head tucked between his legs and forehead pressing against the floor. Dew doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but what else is new? He just knows he needs to do something. He crouches down next to his huddled up form. He hesitates for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. The ghoul stops shaking, slowly raising his head to look at him. Dew sucks in a breath. His eyes are black and white. He’s not a hybrid. He’s a multi ghoul.

Is it over? His raspy voice whispers in Infernal.

Dew doesn’t get the chance to respond because the next thing he knows Omega is yelling at him.

“Dewdrop move!”

He turns just in time to see the water ghoul struggle out of Omega’s hold. He launches himself at the multi ghoul, eyes wide and lips pulled back in a snarl. Dew is knocked back, landing hard on the floor. The water ghoul snaps his fangs dangerously close to the multi’s face. He’s only stopped by the firm hands pressing against his chest and shoulders. They struggle against each other for a moment before the multi makes a move. As quick as lightning, he traps one of the water ghoul’s arms against his side. He bridges his hips with a hiss, rolling them over in one smooth motion. He wraps his arms around the water ghoul, keeping him tight to his chest as he flails.

The multi ghoul’s eyes begin to shift; black and white melts away replaced by yellow and orange. The scent of cinnamon and campfire fills the room as the multi’s fire sparks to life. Dew feels sick. He jumps up, fully prepared to join the fight.

“Wait.” Omega comes to stand beside him.

Dew looks between him and the tangle of ghoul on the floor, “What do you mean wait? They’re going to kill each other!”

“No they are not. Look.” Omega motions with a flick of his tail, hand still tightly wrapped around his injured arm.

Dew turns to look at them again, stomach still churning. The water ghoul is still struggling, but slowly he begins to settle until eventually he stops all together. He visibly relaxes, resigning himself to the hold of the multi ghoul. The multi doesn’t make a move to retaliate any of the aggression. He just sits there keeping him in the warmth of his fire.

“What in the absolute fuck?” Dew narrows his eyes.

“You learn not to question the things that stop a scared ghoul.” Omega shrugs and takes a step forward. There’s a gleam of purple from the holes of his mask. He stares at the two new ghouls for a moment before a satisfied hum rumbles through his chest.

“Alright Cardinal Copia. They are your responsibility now.”

“Are you…are you positive?” He looks pale and his hands have a slight shake to them.

“Quite.”

He swallows, “Very well then…Dewdrop would you mind ehh…?”

Dew jumps a little when his name is called. With all the excitement he completely forgot he actually has to do something now. He shuffles over to the ghouls on the floor, staring down awkwardly at them. He offers the water ghoul a lopsided smile before sticking his hand out. The water ghoul sniffs it before taking it. Dew hoists him to his feet. He’s taller than him, more broad. His eyes never leave Dew. He looks at him with an intensity that makes him feel like he’s going to be eaten alive. But there’s also something else in his gaze, something Dew can’t quite place over the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. Curiosity maybe? He’s not sure. He tries to ignore it, he has to at least pretend he can handle his new task. He can’t freak out just because he’s being stared at.

Dew keeps his eyes trained on Copia as he tentatively approaches. The water ghoul doesn’t look away from Dew until Copia is right in front of him. He looks at the Cardinal with a blank expression, waiting to see what he does next. Dew just hopes whatever it is it doesn't involve more fang.

Copia clears his throat, “You gave us quite the scare there pesciolino.”

The water ghoul blinks at him.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Ehh heh right…well…I would like to be the one to formally introduce you to the Ministry. You will be joining us in the Ghost Project. Helping spread the Old One’s message, si.”

Silence.

Copia shifts, wringing his hands, “Si okay how about a name? A new name for your new life? You caused a rather big storm so…”

Dew holds his breath. His naming. Sure, he saw Mountain receive his name, but that doesn’t change the fact that this moment carries so much weight. This is a name that will echo through every hall in the Ministry, through every branch of the Church, to every corner of the globe. The Cardinal will offer him the name and he can choose to accept it or not. If not, he will receive a placeholder title until he finds the perfect thing that fits. Names hold power, after all. Dew still remembers how it felt to receive his. How everything just clicked into place when Terzo addressed him. He glances at the water ghoul from the corner of his eye.

“…we will call you Rain.”

Something in his gaze shifts when Copia speaks the name. It’s almost imperceptible the way his eyes soften, but Dew notices. He can’t help the little smile that spreads across his face. Rain. Rain. Dew likes it. Rain is unpredictable, it can be a torrential downpour or a soft shower. It’s fitting for the ghoul that lashed out at everything that moved only to be stopped by a hug. A rather violent, unorthodox hug but still.

“Welcome Topside Rain.” Dew finally turns to look at him.

“What about me? What are you going to do with me?” The multi ghoul chimes in. He’s still sitting on the floor, propped up on his hands.

There’s a beat of silence as everyone turns their attention towards him. It’s a unique situation, summoning multiple ghouls at the same time. Though the Cardinal seems to have a talent for it considering he somehow managed to get two air ghoulettes out of one circle. But that was different. Two of the same element can be useful. It’s not exactly difficult to get a second set of keys or find a job around the Ministry if one doesn’t make the cut. A multi ghoul though? It’s unheard of. The only other multi ghouls that exist within the Ministry are the Special and Cowbell. That Chimera is a freak of nature even by ghoul standards. Hiding in the walls, only coming out to roam the halls in the dead of night or when the Clergy needs its assistance. Cowbell is just an earth ghoul for all intents and purposes. He himself did not even realize he was a multi ghoul until he came Topside.

There is no procedure for multi ghouls. There is no standard. They are rare and unpredictable.

“I am fully prepared to do a banishment ritual,” the Devotion breaks the silence.

The multi ghoul’s eyes go wide and he tenses. Dew holds his breath. That decision is up to Copia. He alone can decide whether or not to keep him Topside or throw him back like a fish that is too small. Dew has no reason to be concerned for this stranger, but the Pit is not exactly a kind place. Maybe he did have a good life Down Below, but considering he risked destroying himself to claw through a summoning circle Dew is confident in assuming it was not.

Thankfully, Copia looks just as disturbed as the multi ghoul at the suggestion. He walks over to him and holds out his hand. The multi hesitates for a moment before taking it. Copia helps him to his feet. Dew stares a little dumbfounded at his size. He’s taller than Aether. Probably close to Mountain’s height when he’s glamoured. Suddenly he does not feel so small standing next to Rain.

Even when the multi is stable on his feet, Copia does not drop his hand. He looks up at him, a gentle smile on his face. He clasps his other hand overtop the multi’s.

“We are not going to just get rid of you. If you made it through then you are meant to be here. We will find a place for, si. I can promise you that,” Copia speaks earnestly.

The multi ghoul returns his smile, relief flooding his features.

“What do you say? Will you join us…Shadow?”

He freezes and purses his lips, “Shadow?”

“Si, a new name for—“

“Yeah yeah new name for my new life I heard that part, but I am nobody’s shadow.”

Dew has to bite his tongue to not laugh at the look of dread on Copia’s face. Rain raises an eyebrow at him. Omega nudges him when he walks past him.

“Don’t worry Cardinal Copia, this was bound to happen with the amount of ghouls you have been summoning. Not every name can be a winner.” Omega approaches the two.

“Since you rejected your summoning name you will be given a placeholder until you decide on something for yourself.”

He turns to look at Omega.

“You will be known by your element. You are Multi.”

“And I get to pick my own name?” He asks.

“Correct. This is just a formality.” Omega confirms.

He shrugs, “Alright I can live with that.”

“Welcome Topside Multi.” Omega nods at him.

With that the two new summons are given their ceremonial robes, a simple garment made of black silk, and the remains of the ritual are cleaned. Four becomes one as each group splits to take care of what comes next. Copia and Multi leave to visit with the Clergy. They need to be informed of the additional ghoul so they can figure out where he fits in. Omega leaves for the infirmary to get his arm patched up. As powerful as quintessence ghouls are, even they can’t fix themselves. The Devotion stays behind to oversee the cleaning. Dew and Rain make their way to the Papal ghoul den.

Dew speaks the entire time, the need to fill the silence evident with the way he points out every little statue or stained glass window they pass. At this point he has no idea what he is saying, but he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. He glances at Rain occasionally, trying to gauge his reaction to the world around him. His expression remains neutral and Dew takes it as a win, at least he didn’t seem unhappy or scared.

When they get back to the den it is empty, or at the very least no one is in the common room. Dew can smell one of the air ghoulettes nearby, the citrus and honey tells him it’s the shorter one. Cumulus he thinks is her name. He leads Rain into the hallway, turning down the right side. They walk past Aether’s door, stopping in front of the next one. Dew turns the knob and motions for Rain to follow him inside.

The room is furnished but devoid of any personality. There is a queen sized bed, desk, nightstand, and vanity dresser. This is the first time Dew has been in here since he cleaned everything out. This used to be his room. It is one of the only rooms in the ghoul den that has a bathtub designed for soaking. The other one is in Mountain’s room and he couldn’t exactly give his up, he doesn’t fit into regular tubs. When the decision to make Dew fire was finalized he had to move out so the new water ghoul would have the ability to soak without having to trek to the bathing pools. It feels weird giving his old space to a stranger, but he can’t complain. Soon enough he will have no use for hiding underwater.

“So…this is your room. I know it looks super boring right now, but once you start to find things you like you can do whatever you want to it.” Dew floats around the space.

Rain sits on the edge of the bed, a noise leaving his throat when he feels the plush mattress.

“Oh yeah, the beds are so nice. Beats sleeping on moss by a long shot. But if you think that’s cool you should check out the—“

“You can leave now.”

Dew snaps his mouth shut when Rain’s deep voice fills his ears. There is a beat of silence as Dew processes the words.

“What?”

“You can leave.”

Dew blinks. He wants him to leave. It’s barely been an hour of Rain being Topside and he already wants Dew to leave. Has he seriously fucked it up already? That has to be a record even for him. If Rain does not even want him around to settle in, then how is he supposed to figure out if he’s what the Ghost Project needs? He swallows thickly, mind racing with what he should do, with what Mist would do. The way Rain’s dark eyes look at him though tells him he should just listen.

“Uh yeah…well if you need anything I’m uh the door on the right.” Dew just nods and then walks out, closing the door behind him.

He stands outside of Rain’s room for a moment, letting what just happened wash over him. He sighs and walks to the common room. When he turns the corner he sees Mountain and Aether sitting on the couch. He forces a small smile when they notice him enter.

“So how’d it go?” Aether asks, scooting over and patting the space between him and Mountain. Dew can tell he’s tense just by the tone of his voice.

“You patched up Omega didn’t you?” Dew asks as he walks over and settles between the two bigger ghouls.

“Not like anyone else could,” Aether sighs, “Is he really that aggressive?”

“No I mean I hope not. He wasn’t as bad as the air ghoulettes, but well you saw Omega’s arm.”

“Where is he now?” Mountain asks, taking a sip from a steaming mug.

“He’s just…in his room. Hanging out I guess?” Dew shifts to slump against him.

“You guess?” Aether raises an eyebrow.

Dew groans, rubbing his hand over his face, “I dunno he kicked me out the moment he could!”

The two bigger ghouls look at each other. They stay silent, letting Dew continue.

“What did I do wrong? I mean his first words Topside were telling me to fuck off.”

“I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong Dewbug,” Mountain assures him.

“Yeah,” Aether runs a hand through Dew’s hair, “Summonings are rough and we have no idea what was happening to him before. He just needs to get used to everything. I mean Mountain didn’t even speak until we were halfway to our first show.”

Mountain rolls his eyes and takes another sip from his mug.

“So I should just what? Let him be alone?” Dew huffs. That doesn’t seem like something a good mentor is supposed to do.

“Not necessarily,” Mountain hums, “but at least give him time to settle.”

He sighs and closes his eyes as Aether’s fingers continue to rub against his scalp. They’re probably right, he just needs to let Rain come to him or anyone else for that matter. He can still recall his own summoning. He was always so on edge, didn’t trust a single person. He didn’t start to feel comfortable until Mist took him out to the lake and swam with him. He still thinks about what they talked about under the waves when he gets stressed. But Rain isn’t him. Maybe he does just need to be left alone and he’ll sort himself out? The thought alone makes something in Dew twists, but he shoves it down.

“What’s his name?” Mountain eventually asks.

“Rain,” Dew says, eyes still closed.

Mountain doesn’t get the chance to respond before the doors of the den swing open, amber and spice filling the air. Dew can feel Aether shift around to look at the sudden intrusion. Mountain wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer with a growl in his throat.

“And that’s Multi,” Dew supplies, completely unfazed.

“A pleasure.” He grins at the three ghouls on the couch.

“Who are you?” Aether rumbles.

“That little sprite there already answered that question.” He points at Dew.

Aether and Mountain both turn their attention towards Dew for answers. He shrugs.

“Copia has a knack for double catches.”

“He’s new too?” Mountain glances back up at him.

“Yes. He is.” Another voice rings out.

Cirrus enters the den, stopping just next to Multi.

“I cannot believe you let a new summon wander around in the middle of the night by himself,” she snaps.

Dew flinches, a sudden pang of guilt flaring.

“Sorry…” he mumbles. He feels like he should apologize. He was the only one of them who was present at the summonings. He just assumed Copia would take things over but it appears he was wrong.

Cirrus just shakes her head before making her way through the common room and turning down the left side of the hallway.

“You know I think I like her.” Multi’s eyes track her as she leaves.

The three ghouls stay silent. Dew thinks she’s intense, though he supposes that’s all she knows how to be. He doesn’t know much about her or Cumulus, but he does know that Cirrus used to be the leader of her flock. Up until a week ago she was responsible for the lives and safety of who knows how many ghouls and now she gets a memory foam mattress. He tries not to take it to heart when she snaps, just like Aether told him, but some days it feels personal. Maybe he has a talent for new summons hating him?

Mountain sighs and nuzzles his face into the top of Dew’s head, “It’s late. I’m going to turn in. Do you want me to show you to your room Multi?”

He shakes his head and plops down on the loveseat, “Nah. Think I’ll hang out here.”

“I’m gonna head out too,” Aether kisses Dew’s forehead, “Omega wants me to work the early shift tomorrow.”

Dew feels a stab of disappointment as both ghouls mumble their goodnights to him. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with Multi, it's just that he wants the comfort that only those two can provide. It has been a very long and exhausting day and he wants his packmates. Though Multi is his pack now he supposes. But he doesn’t know Multi. Not like how he knows Aether and Mountain. Sure he could follow one of them back to their nest, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’s too wired from everything that has happened. He would just be alone, replaying the last few hours over and over as the other slept soundly. So he stays put, stretched out on the couch while Multi stares at him.

“I never thanked you.” Multi is the first to break the silence.

“Thanked me?” Dew cracks his eyes open to look at him.

“Yeah back in that room when I was all…” he gestures vaguely at his body, “you saved me.”

This grabs Dew’s attention. He sits up, turning his body to face Multi.

“I was trying to kill you. How in the fuck did I save you?”

“Well I like to think it’s obvious what my strongest elements are.”

He’s not wrong. His grayish purple skin and the splotches of gold scream quintessence and fire. But that’s where multi ghouls are different from hybrids. They have every element flowing through their veins, not just two. Sure there are imbalances, one or two or even three elements can be more present than others, but still, they are all in there to some capacity.

“Uhhuh.” Dew nods.

“Can’t feel my earth and water for shit. Never could, probably never will.”

“And so you jumped into a summoning meant for a water ghoul?” Dew deadpans.

“Had nothing better to do.” He shrugs, fang filled grin still on his face.

“Oh so you’re stupid. That’s good to know.”

“I like to think of it more as willing to take new opportunities,” he laughs, “but it did hurt like nothing else. Could feel myself falling apart, that is until you dumped all that water on me.”

It’s silent for a moment as the revelation hangs in the air. Dew shifts in his seat. He’s never been good with praise or gratitude. It always makes him feel like he’s lying, like he somehow tricked whoever into believing he's a responsible and competent ghoul.

“Well it’s good to know at least one new summon doesn’t hate me.” Dew tries to joke.

“Who? Rain? Please, that little fishy was all by himself when The Light snatched him. Who knows how long it’s been since he's seen another ghoul?”

All by himself. Somehow knowing that doesn’t make Dew feel any better. Actually, it sort of makes him feel worse. Rain was presumably left alone in the Pits and even now that he’s Topside he’s alone. Dew has half a mind to knock on his door, just to see if maybe he has changed his mind in the last hour. He doesn’t though. Rain was the one who asked to be left alone. Maybe he prefers it that way? It’s not uncommon for oceanic water ghouls to live by themselves. That would be just great if they happened to summon a loner for a band position.

“So…how did things go with the Clergy?” Dew asks. He doesn’t want to think about possibilities anymore.

“You’re looking at an official member of the Ghost Project…whatever that means.”

“No shit they actually let you join? Just like that?”

“What? Didn’t think those humans would like me?”

“It took the Cardinal two days to convince them to let Cumulus actually in instead of just as backup. How the fuck did you manage that?”

“They offered me the spot and I said yes.” He shrugs, twining his hands behind his head.

Dew narrows his eyes. He may not know Multi well enough to see his tells, but scent is never wrong. He’s lying. Dew can smell the subtle shift in that amber and spice scent of his. It became muddled. Muted. Replaced with something bitter. But what part is he lying about? Is he not actually in the band? Did the Clergy not actually offer him anything? Dew can’t tell. He is curious though.

“So…what are you gonna be doing then?” Dew asks. He’ll find a way to pull the right thread.

“Guitar.”

Dew freezes. What the fuck does he mean guitar? Aether is already on rhythm and Dew is supposed to be lead. He’s supposed to be. That was the fucking deal. Lords Below he is quintessence and fire. He could be either. They wouldn’t get rid of Aether…would they? Multi must sense the shift in his demeanor because the corners of his mouth twitch up.

“And backing vocals. And whatever else little Cardi needs. Imperator’s words, not mine.”

Dew relaxes slightly, but he’s still tense. He may have only been here for a little over a year, but even he can tell the Clergy likes to play games. He was there when Terzo was ripped off stage after all. Forcibly removed from the position of Papa for reasons that still are not clear. He would not be surprised if Sister actually did give him a deal. One of the only times Special appears is when the Clergy needs it. Maybe Multi will be the new Special? Dew’s tail twitches at the thought. Dew suddenly does not feel like pulling anymore threads.

The two sit in silence for a long time, occasionally breaking it with conversations of Dew’s favorite things he has discovered since being Topside. He tries to not let his mind run wild and he begins to find Multi an interesting person to talk to. It’s comfortable. It’s easy. But eventually everything catches up to Dew. His eyes are dry and he swears he can hear his bones creak when he moves. He slowly stands from the couch after the next lull in their chat. He stretches and looks towards Multi.

“Think I’m gonna go sleep. You wanna be shown to your room now?”

“Nah I’m fine out here.”

Dew raises an eyebrow, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Dew can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but he doesn’t force him. Maybe he should, but his mind feels sluggish.

“Well you can pick any room that’s empty.” Dew murmurs before turning and heading down the right side of the hallway. He doesn’t get far though.

“Hey Dewdrop?”

He stops, turning around to look at Multi.

“For the record, this new summon doesn’t hate you.”

Dew blinks and turns back around. He ducks his head so that his hair falls over his face to hide the smile that creeps onto his face.

“Goodnight Multi,” he throws over his shoulder.

He barely has the mind peel himself out of his uniform when he gets back to his room. He does not even bother with braiding his hair like he normally does. He will be annoyed in the morning when he has to brush out knots and tangles, but right now all he cares about is crawling under his blankets and burying his head under a pillow. Once he’s out of his clothes he does just that, forgoing pajamas. Not a single patch of skin is visible in the mess of his nest. The only thing that shows he’s even there is the vaguely Dewdrop shaped lump curled up in the middle of the bed.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep does not come easy at first. He is almost hyper aware of the fact Rain is just on the other side of the wall. Talking with Multi nearly made him forget about his shortcomings with the new water ghoul, but now that he’s alone it’s all he can think about. He thinks about the possibility that Rain was a loner in the Pits. If that is true Dew is fucked to put it simply. There is no way a loner is going to fit the needs of the Ghost Project. Even if he ends up being a magical prodigy on bass, it completely ignores everything else that goes into it. He has to be constantly surrounded by other ghouls. Not even ghouls from his pack, but others that the Cardinal may interact with. He’s not just a band ghoul. He’s a ghoul that was summoned by a high ranking Clergy member. He has innate responsibility that goes beyond plucking a few strings and showing up to rehearsals. If he cannot perform the more social aspects there is no way the Clergy will let that fly. Dew will not be able to become fire. He hopes to any Lord that is listening that Rain is not a loner and he just does not like him. At least then he can get what he wants, who cares if he’s hated?

Sleep eventually claims Dew as his thoughts turn silent. For the first time in a long time, he dreams of the Pits. He dreams of what used to be his home. He dreams of the shining lake he was chased out of when he was deemed a hindrance to his school. He sinks down, down, down below the waves, unable to reach the surface no matter how hard he kicks. Just as the light disappears though he blinks and he is in Aether and Ifrit’s arms sitting on the dock of the Ministry’s lake. Both of them are whispering in his ears, but he cannot focus on them. He can only focus on his reflection in the water. It is not him. It is a silhouette with red glowing eyes, staring back at him. He reaches out to touch it. It feels almost familiar. He needs to see what happens. The moment he does the dock disappears and he’s thrown right back into the cold, dark depths.

He wakes up with a start, sitting up so fast the pillow over his head gets launched across his room. He blinks and shakes his head, brow furrowed as he looks around. He turns towards the window, early morning light filtering in through the blind before glancing at the clock on his nightstand.

“Figures,” he grumbles to himself.

Even when he is exhausted he cannot sleep past sunrise. He could try to roll over, burying himself back in the warmth of his blanket nest, but he knows he will not fall back asleep. Once he is up that is it, he cannot go back. He does not know why, maybe it is because he is a light sleeper who knows? All he knows is that it sucks. The only other people that get up this early are the Ministry fire ghouls, called awake by the sun Herself. He knows well enough that Ifrit would rather sit in bed and watch Zephyr sleep than do anything else. He would sooner cut off his own fins than hang out alone with Alpha, so he is used to spending mornings alone.

He sighs deeply, running his hands over his face before rolling out of bed. The chill of the room is the only thing that reminds him he did not bother with pajamas last night. He digs around in his dresser, pulling out a pair of black sweatpants to head to the kitchen. The den is quiet as he walks through the halls, though he is not complaining. Sometimes it is nice to simply exist in a space without having to make yourself known.

It is routine for him. He goes to the kitchen to grab a before breakfast snack to chew on in his room while he waits for everyone else to wake up. He could go down to the feast hall or figure out how the stove works, but why bother? He does not like to eat meals alone. He would much rather go hungry. The silence is nice at first, but the longer it stretches the more his skin starts to itch. So he grabs a bag of dried seaweed and turns right back around to curl up and scroll on his phone while he waits. He pauses when he sees Multi still sleeping on the loveseat. He looks uncomfortable. He is sweating and he reeks of fear. Part of him screams to go wake him up, but the part of him that is still half asleep wins. He makes a mental note to prod at him later and heads back to his room with his snack in hand.

When he gets to the hallway though, something makes him stop. It's faint, but he can hear commotion coming from Rain’s room. It does not sound just like he is waking up, it sounds like a struggle. He can hear the sound of his deep voice, though he cannot make out what he is saying. He stares at his door, chewing his lip. Mountain, Aether, and Multi’s voices all overlap in his head telling him the same thing.

Leave him alone. He asked you to leave him alone. He wants to be alone.

He should listen. He should just ignore it and walk right into his room. He makes it one step past Rain’s door before turning around and grabbing the handle. He is almost surprised when it pops right open. Thank the Lords Rain has yet to discover locks. The room is dark save for the dim light of the sunrise. At first, Rain is nowhere to be seen and Dew’s stomach flips, but he quickly notices the door to the bathroom is open. He walks over, flipping the light on when he steps through the threshold.

Rain is on the ground next to the bathtub clawing at his gills. He glares up at Dew, but he can see the panic in Rain’s eyes. Even if the mask was not slipping, Dew can smell the sharp scent of fear in the air. He drops to his knees, coming up beside him. Once he is closer he can see just how dry the skin around his gills are. He can see dots of blood where the skin is cracked. The sight makes him feel sick.

“Shit fuck okay hold on just hold on.” He reaches up to turn the faucet on.

The moment the water sprays out Rain practically leaps forward. He crawls into the tub, sticking his head under the running water so that it covers his gills. Dew can see them flare and pulse as he sucks in air. How could he be so stupid? Rain is an oceanic water ghoul. He has never existed out of water before. Dew did not even think to explain that he needs to soak. It is second nature to him as a freshwater ghoul. A ghoul designed to live on both land and water. He let something so important slip his mind and now Rain’s gills might be damaged. He really has fucked up in record time. He swallows. He needs to fix this. He needs to get out of his head and actually be there for this ghoul.

He sits up on his knees, reaching into the tub to plug the drain. Rain’s hand darts forward, grabbing his wrist. Neither of them move. He keeps his head down under the faucet and Dew just stares at him. He can feel his claws prickling against his skin. Dew cannot pull away even if he wants to lest he shreds his own wrist. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, pushing down every instinct he has. After what feels like an eternity, Rain slowly lets go of Dew. He still does not look at him though. When he fully drops his hand, Dew plugs the drain.

“Now you can soak,” Dew mumbles.

At the sound of his voice, Rain turns his head. Dark blue peeks out from behind wet strands of inky black. His eyes search Dew’s face and that feeling from the summoning room returns. He still cannot place it, the look he gives him. It makes him feel like the rabbit locking eyes with the wolf moments before the chase begins. He is not confident he will survive if Rain decides to spring. But he will not run. If this is what it takes to become fire then he will do it. He will prove his devotion.

When the water is high enough to lick against the gills on Rain’s abdomen, he turns his attention away from Dew with a noise of surprise. He leans back in the tub, resting against the cool porcelain with his knees to his chest. Dew does not think he has ever seen a ghoul so big look so small. They sit in silence, the only sound filling the room is running water. When it’s high enough Dew flips it off. He wants to talk to him but he has no idea what to say. He picks at the grout in between the tiles as a million things race through his head. Should he apologize? For what? Leaving when he was asked to? He cannot exactly ask how his first night was, it is pretty obvious given they are in this situation to begin with. Even he is not stupid enough to ask about his life in the Pits. That is a story he has to tell on his own, if he ever tells it.

He keeps tracing the lines of the tiles with his claws until something catches in the corner of his eye. The bag of dried seaweed. He completely forgot about it when he saw Rain’s condition. He flicks it with his tail, pushing it close enough to him that he can grab it. He can feel Rain’s eyes on him as he struggles to open it.

“Stupid fucking,” he mutters as he tries to pull it open, “forget it.”

He puts the corner of the bag into his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth. When he looks up again Rain is right at the edge of the tub peering at him with big eyes. Dew nearly jumps at the sudden proximity, Rain’s face about only a foot away from his. He can see his nose twitch as he scents the air. He looks between him and the bag before tentatively extending it to him.

“Want some?”

Rain mirrors him, looking between Dew and the bag a few times before hesitantly reaching forward. He takes a handful before pulling back, putting a bit more space between himself and Dew as if he would suddenly change his mind about sharing the food. He watches Dew stick some in his mouth before darting his tongue out to taste it. Dew has to fight back a smile when he sees his pupils dilate. Maybe he can coax him out of his self isolation with food? He’ll have to beg River and Lake to catch some fish for him. And then beg Mountain to cook it. He thinks it would be worth it just to see any expression on Rain’s face other than a snarl. He wants to know what he looks like when he smiles.

The thought catches Dew off guard, makes him pause. Who cares if he ever smiles as long as he can hold a bass? That is all Dew needs right? That is all he thinks he needs, but sitting here staring at Rain without his hair covering his face as he tries Topside food for the first time something else blooms. He does want to see him smile. He wants to see him laugh. He wants to see him comfortable. He does not just want him to be his replacement, he wants Rain to be his friend. Suddenly he cannot live with the idea that Rain hated him the moment he stepped out of the circle. Unfortunately Dew has never been great when it comes to his emotions so he ignores it. He has too many things to worry about and one of them does not need to be if Rain likes him or not.

He is pulled from his thoughts when a deep voice fills the silence, “Why did you help me?”

“Huh?” Dew blinks.

“Why did you come back here to help me? Why are you sharing your food with me?”

How the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“I…heard you struggling and I got concerned. What type of ghoul would I be if I let you die the first night you’re here?” He tries to keep it light, almost joking.

“A smart one.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not.” He pauses when he hears himself. Rain raises an eyebrow at him.

“That’s not what…nevermind. The point is you’re Topside. You don’t have to fight to survive anymore. You have a pack now.”

It’s subtle the way the corners of his eyes soften, but it is there. He still looks tense, but Dew does not expect him to magically adjust just because he was a decent person to him. As long as he does not try to claw or bite anyone anymore Dew will take it as a win.

“Can I have more of those things?” Rain eventually mutters.

“All yours.” Dew hands him the entire bag. Rain does not take it at first though. “Seriously, it's fine. The others should be getting up soon so that means breakfast.”

With the affirmation, Rain takes the bag from him. They sit in silence while Rain eats, but for once Dew does not mind. It gives him a chance to think. He needs to find the thing that will actually help Rain. Mist did that for him. He can do it for Rain. Maybe he should take him to the lake. Although River and Lake are usually out there and something tells him throwing him out there with more random ghouls probably is not the best idea. Why is this so hard? He taps his claws against the tiles, trying to come up with literally anything. All the while the scent of cooked meat slowly filters in. Mountain must be up. Maybe he can help.

Dew stands, stretching his back with a pop that makes Rain visibly cringe. He eyes Dew with that unfamiliar look, “You’re leaving?”

This takes him by surprise. Clearly Rain does not like other ghouls, and now he is concerned where Dew goes?

“Uhh yes? Was gonna go see what’s cooking.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Dew flexes his fingers. He might as well take a chance, what’s the worst that could happen?

He extends his hand, “You can come if you want.”

“The other ghouls will be there too won’t they?”

“Yeah. Well. It’s early still so it will probably just be Mountain for a bit.”

Silence.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No one is gonna make you.”

Rain nods, pulling his knees back up to his chest.

“I can…bring you a plate? If you want?”

He nods again.

Dew smiles a little, “I’ll be back.”

He leaves Rain’s room, shutting the door behind him before heading to the kitchen. Multi is awake now, no longer on the loveseat. Instead he is sitting at the table watching Mountain who is staring down at the pan in front of him with his arms crossed, spatula in hand.

“Hey little sprite,” Multi greets when he sees him.

Mountain blinks, looking up from the stove when he hears him, “Morning Dewbug.”

He hops up onto the counter, nuzzling against Mountain’s shoulder, “What’re you making?”

“Sausage and potatoes.” He replies as he presses the spatula down against the meat, sizzling growing louder as he does.

Dew hums, “Can you make me two plates?”

Mountain cocks an eyebrow, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

“What? Am I supposed to let the new summon starve?”

“Oh the little fishy let you back in?” Multi chimes in.

“Yeah…something like that.”

“Few more minutes and it’ll be done. I made extra so bring him as much as you want.”

Dew stays sitting on the counter, legs idly swinging while he zones out. Mountain and Multi are talking, but he does not pay attention to their conversation. He is not really paying attention to anything, letting his stream of thought flow. He is only snapped back into reality when Mountain nudges him. He blinks and shakes his head, eyes flicking up to meet Mountain’s.

“Foods ready.”

Dew can see four plates dished out and sitting on the table over his shoulder. Multi is already digging into his. Dew smiles.

“Thanks Mount.” He presses a kiss to his cheek and hops off the counter.

He takes the plates from the table, wincing a little at the heat. He carries them back to Rain’s room, using his tail to open the door. He is surprised to see Rain out of the bathtub. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, hair still wet. He looks tense when the door first opens, but he minutely relaxes when he realizes it is Dew.

“I know it’s not fish, but it’s meat. I know it’s weird but trust me it’s so fucking good.” Dew hands one of the plates off to Rain.

Dew takes a seat at the desk, turning the chair around so he can face Rain. He hopes he will eat it. He remembers when he was first summoned he refused to eat anything besides the bag of raw shrimp he found in the bottom of the fridge. It took Mist weeks to get him to try something else, something that was not seafood. He watches Rain eye the sausage, poking at it with his claws before picking it up and sniffing it. He takes a bite and visibly grimaces. Dew is sure he will spit it out, but he just chews it slowly.

“You don’t have to eat it. I can ask Mount to make you something else,” Dew assures him.

Rain shakes his head, “No it’s…fine. I can eat it.”

Almost as if to prove his point, he scoops up some of the potatoes and pops them into his mouth. Thankfully he does not seem to have as much of a visceral reaction to them as the sausage. Dew wants to say something, but he also does not want to push his luck. It is amazing Rain did not just kick him out once Dew turned on the tub for him, so he is not going to test his limits. As long as he does not get sick Dew is happy. He will ask Mountain to make something special for him when dinner rolls around. Maybe he will even ask him to make his favorite smoked salmon dish. He is sure that is something Rain will like.

“What happens to me now?” Rain eventually asks as they both eat.

“Uh well we have a week before you have to start rehearsal? I think? I didn’t really pay attention so in the meantime I guess you just…hang out?” Dew has the sudden realization that perhaps he needs to learn how to plan ahead.

“Rehearsal?” Rain cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah I mean that’s why you were summoned. To play bass for the Ghost Project.”

“I was summoned. To play human music. In a human band. Summoned from Hell itself to be in a band.”

“Well when you put it like that it sounds crazy.”

Rain blinks at him.

“It’s really not so bad,” Dew shrugs, “I think it’s really fucking fun.”

“You’re in it too?”

“Yeah I…used to play the bass.” Dew can feel the fins on his arms twitch. Technically he is not wrong. If Rain is deemed worthy then he will have no reason to ever pick up a bass again.

“Used to?”

Dew nods, “Can’t do it anymore so they uh they summoned you. I’m here to help you get used to it.”

It is that he doesn’t want to talk about his planned elemental transition, it is more so he does not want to burden the new summons. It is bad enough dealing with Mountain, Aether, Ifrit, and Zephyr, he does not need people he barely knows pitying and worrying about him too. If he just never mentions it then he will never know how they look when tears fill their eyes if something goes wrong. He knows he will be fine, but if his time with them is brief then he only wants to know them with smiles.

Rain hums, “So those other ghouls. They’re in the band too?”

“Yeah. Everyone in the den has played at some point or another. Mount and Aether are still in it,” he pauses, “and I guess those two air ghoulettes and that multi ghoul as well.”

“Him?”

Dew nods.

Rain scoffs but does not say anymore. Interesting. That is going to be something he digs at when he is not so afraid of being kicked out again.

The two talk for a while longer, empty plates long forgotten. Though, it is mostly Dew speaking with introjections from Rain every now and then. Dew ends up suggesting he meets the rest of the pack, but Rain is quick to shoot that down. Instead, they settle on something much simpler. A tour of the Ministry. They both get dressed after Dew steals some of Mountain’s clothes for Rain and they head out. He really cannot say if he is cut out for this whole mentoring thing, but watching Rain’s face fill with wonder as he shows him around makes something swell in his chest. He is more than happy to be the one Rain falls to.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #dew ghoul #raindrop ghost #rain x dewdrop #swiss ghoul #golfball writes

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teapartyprincess4two · 8 months

Note

Full Set is too damn good you write it sooo well. like I actually NEED more matt stories from you 🙏

Small Town Dreaming- M. Sturniolo

pairing: neighbor!reader x bestfriend!Matt

classification: fluff, best friends to lovers (kinda)

warnings: use of y/n, slow build up, small town au

summary: There’s not much to do in this small town but fall in love.

—

Your small town has been boring for as long as you can remember. The town was so small you could probably run down every street in less than an hour. There was one movie theater that played reruns of movies no one cared about, a bowling alley with 4 bowling balls in total, a park with a wooden termite infested playground, and a library with books so old they had mold. Everyone either had a flock of chickens or a herd of sheep, spending their free time tending to the livestock.

One of your favorite pastimes was to sneak up onto the old water tower and just people watch, occasionally pulling out your sketchbook to draw the familiar faces that passed by. No one ever left this town, it always seemed to suck people right back in and keep them here forever. So many people have tried leaving, packing their bags and driving down the main dirt road to freedom. For some reason or another they always turned back though, throwing their dreams out the window on the way.

“One day I’m moving to LA with my brothers,” Matt sighs dreamily, the both of you laying on the trunk of his car as you watch the stars. Without dreams this small, boring town would crush everyone’s spirits. “That’s a good idea,” you say, squinting your eyes as you pretend to squish the stars between your fingers. They looked like fireflies dancing in the sky.

You had a lot of dreams too, most of them involving running away and never turning back, but none of your dreams were written in stone yet. For some reason you felt like you’d end up like many others, too involved in your daily life to ever do something big. You’ve seen it happen to a lot people, your mom included. She was full of dreams and aspirations, but as soon as she got married and started having children it just felt easier to stay.

“What about you?” Matt asks, turning his head to look at you. “What about me?” You say in a teasing tone, hopping off the hood of the car. You were never the type to sit still, plus you didn’t have a definite answer to Matt’s question yet. “What are your dreams?” he asks again, formulating the question in a way that was much easier to answer. It was simple, you wanted to leave, but you were too scared to say it out loud. You felt like if you vocalized it, it wouldn’t come true. Maybe you’d follow Matt and his brothers, you didn’t know yet, but you didn’t want to stay here for the rest of your life.

You take a while to respond so he interjects again jokingly, “or are you staying here forever?” The idea of staying here forever was actually terrifying, but you’re only a junior in high school so it’s easy to push the thought to the back of your mind. “I am NOT staying here forever,” you reply, shivering at the idea of this town becoming your finally destination. “I won’t end up like my mom,” you whispered, shaking your head as you looked at the ground. Matt stays silent as he hops off the hood of the car, walking over to you and hugging you. “It’s okay. You can just come with me and my brothers,” he whispers against your hair as he rubs comforting circles into your back.

The sentiment was nice and it made you smile. “That could be fun,” you murmured, dreaming about a life that seemed so far away.

—

You’re 21 years old now and that conversation feels like a lifetime ago. You’re currently in the kitchen helping your mom prepare lunch for your dad and brothers. “Make sure you don’t cut the tomatoes too thick,” she instructs as she expertly cuts onions beside you. Over the years she managed to refine her kitchen skills, the onions having no affect on her whatsoever. You, on the other hand, are wiping away the involuntary tears with the back of your hand.

“I know how to cut tomatoes,” you reply, squinting so you can see through the tears. Her eyes are trained on you as she piles the onions into the pan. They sizzle loudly, steam rising from the hot pan. Sometimes you wonder why you even bothered helping her if she was going to be so bossy. “Then why are they so thick?” She retorts, grabbing one of the tomato slices from your cutting board and wiggling it around in her fingers. You laugh as you watch the tomato dance back in forth, “fine you do it then.”

She doesn’t second guess it, instead she grabs the knife from you and swiftly cuts the rest of the tomatoes. She’s done before you can even look away. You walk over to the sink to wash your hands before replying, “no one is gonna die from a thick tomato slice.” She sends you a glare as she grabs the cutting board and slides the tomatoes into the pan. “No, but you need to know how to do this stuff for when you get married. No one is gonna wanna marry a girl who can’t cook,” she responds with a tsk, mixing the vegetables in the pan so they become sautéed.

You don’t say anything, you just watch as she tastes a now translucent onion, checking the flavor. “Needs some garlic,” she mumbles, moving towards the cupboard to grab the seasoning. Talking about marriage and relationships with your mom was always awkward because she always found a way to push your buttons. “Speaking of marriage,” she says again, turning the stove off. Now she’s completely facing you, cleaning her hands on a kitchen towel as she continues, “what ever happened to that Matt boy you always used to hang out with?”

You groaned, she brought Matt up at least once a month. “I haven’t talked to Matt since high school, mom,” you reply, rolling your eyes at her inability to remember details you repeatedly told her. She nods her head almost like it’s the first time she’s hearing this as she whispers, “that’s a shame.” The last thing you want to talk about is an old friend who actually managed to leave this town behind, so you decide to wash the dishes in the sink to avoid any further conversation. Hopefully the sound of the running water would drown out your mom’s voice.

You let the hot water run over your hands as you reminisce over all your memories with Matt. There was homecoming, football games, prom night, nights at the bowling alley, sneaking into the theater for popcorn, and of course stargazing. A small smile adorns your face at the memories, you cherished those moments despite them feeling like forever ago.

“He would’ve been a good husband,” your mom says casually, dumping any remaining dirty dishes in the sink before walking out of the kitchen and into the living room.

She was right, he would’ve made a perfect husband.

—

“I’ll be back!” You call out to your mom as you tug your shoes on and grab your coat from the couch. November was always chilly, especially in a town like yours where there were no large buildings to block the wind. That wouldn’t stop you from sneaking up onto the old tower, instead it actually excited you. The rush of being so high up was the most exhilarating thing this town had to offer.

“Where are you going?” She calls back, peering her head into the living room from the kitchen. “I’m just gonna go hang out with a friend,” you comment, not wanting to admit your true destination. She always scolded you when you told her you were going to the water tower, claiming it was dangerous and reckless. “You better not be climbing that old tower,” she gave you a stern look before returning to her cooking.

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. If you weren’t allowed to do one dangerous and reckless thing, you’d go absolutely insane in this town. “Bye,” you finally say, dismissing yourself in a sing song tone as you walk out the front door.

The walk is short, the only hard part of your journey being the climb up the ladder. It creaks with every step, the rusty metal leaving your hands orange. Finally you arrive at the top, plopping your bag on the metal floor. You carefully take a seat, making yourself comfortable enough to begin people watching. Your legs swing back and forth as you look toward the ground, you were really high up.

People pass by, most of them by foot and you rest against the metal railing as you watch them. All these people were stuck doing mundane things like carrying their groceries home or walking to a friend’s house. So many familiar faces spark your creativity causing you to pull your sketchbook from your bag to begin drawing.

You see your brothers in the distance playing soccer on an old dirt road and you decide they’ll make the perfect warm-up sketch. So, you work diligently to replicate the figures in the distance, trying to capture their motions. The sketch is coming out good, but your pencil suddenly snaps, interrupting the flow you’d created. “Stupid cheap pencil,” you mumble to yourself, resting it in the crack of the sketch book that lays on your lap. You dig through your bag in search of a sharpener, finding it tucked between an old gum wrapper and a candy bar.

Just as you’re about to turn back to your sketchbook, the wind aggressively blows it off your lap. “No, no, no,” you yelp, trying to catch the book before it can slip away. One arm grabs a hold of the railing as the other reaches for the book that’s too far gone. You groan in annoyance, shoving the sharpener back into your bag and getting up slowly so you can make your way down and get your book.

“Ow! What the fuck?” someone exclaims from below, your book hitting them right on the head. ‘Great,’ you think, quickly slinging your bag over your shoulder and climbing down the stairs. Of course your book managed to hit one of the 200 people who populated this town. “I’m so sorry. I was drawing and then the stupid wind-“ you begin to apologize, climbing down the ladder as quickly as possible. You’re interrupted though, “Y/n?!” Everyone in your town knew everyone, who the hell was actually confused to see you?

“Yeah?” you reply, hopping off the ladder and turning towards the voice. Immediately your eyes go wide at the person in front of you. After 3 years of not seeing him, Matt stood right in front of you holding your sketchbook. He looked so much older than the last time you’d seen him. Small stubble scattered across his jaw, his arms adorned with tattoos, and he held a much more modernized look. “Matt?!” you ask in shock, rushing towards him excitedly. Seeing him after so long felt like a breath of fresh air.

“Oh my God! You look so different!” He exclaims, he’s equally as excited to see you. When you both were in high school you were inseparable. Sometimes you’d let your mind wander and dream about a life where the two of you were married, but that was then and this is now. “That’s what 3 years will do,” you chuckled, taking your sketchbook from him and putting it in your back. “Has it really been that long?” he asks, his eyes examining everything about you.

Since the last time he saw you, you’ve grown a little taller and your hair is much longer. You’ve got a woman-like essence about you that you didn’t have before, he’s sure that every guy in town is fighting for a chance with you. Last time he checked, you were the only girl worth looking at, let alone fighting for.

“Yes, dude! Where have you been?” you punch his arm playfully, earning a slight push from Matt. It felt like he never left, you two picked up exactly where you left off. “Chris, Nick, and I have been in L.A,” he responds, the two of you beginning to subconsciously walk away from the water tower. A gust of wind blows past you two causing you to pull your coat tightly around you.

“Aw, Chris and Nick! I haven’t seen them in so long,” you reply longingly, reminiscing briefly on all your memories with the other two. “Yeah we’re here visiting our parents for Thanksgiving. We should all hang out one day,” he says, the word ‘visiting’ leaving a bad taste in your mouth. It was a gentle reminder that they actually escaped this place and only came back as a favor to their parents while you were stuck here indefinitely.

“Yeah that could be fun,” you say halfheartedly. “Are you visiting too?” he asks, genuine curiosity leading him to push further into your personal life. You gulp, becoming scared to admit the truth to Matt. “Ugh no, not really,” you respond vaguely. “Oh, are you leaving soon?” he asks again, unable to stop himself from prying. He can’t help it, he hasn’t seen you in a long time and he’s curious. The two of you are now outside your house, the walk coming as second nature from all your walks home from school. “I never left,” you admit, an awkward cough following the sad statement.

Matt doesn’t know what to say, he finds it hard to believe that a girl like you never found her way out of this place. The only reason beautiful girls like you got stuck in this town was because of marriage, but Matt shook the thought from his head.

“It’s getting cold,” you say as you look back towards your house, breaking the silence that settled between you two. As excited as you were to see Matt, you needed to escape this awkward situation immediately. The wind was howling dramatically, shaking the surrounding trees and picking up the dirt from the roads. “Oh. Um, yeah. I’ll let you go. We’ll catch up another time, yeah?” he says sheepishly, feeling bad for embarrassing you. You hum in response, waving slightly at him before turning on your heel and hurriedly making your way inside.

“Was that Matt?” your mom asks enthusiastically as soon as you walk inside, leaning against the couch so she can get a better look out the window. Had she been watching the whole time? “Invite him inside!” she exclaims, not even giving you time to answer her previous question. “No, mom! He’s busy!” you lie, coming up with an excuse on the spot and watching from the window as Matt walks home.

“That boy is NOT busy. Marylou told me her boys were visiting,” she replies, rolling her eyes at your lame excuse of a lie. If she knew the triplets were in town, why did she ask if that was Matt? She clearly wanted to catch you flustered and annoyed. “Well he doesn’t want to come in,” you retort, shrugging your coat off and kicking your shoes off.

“You are never getting married, are you?” she asks sarcastically, giving you a blank look before disappearing into the kitchen.

—

Matt was home in a good 15 minutes, walking in to his house to find his brothers on the couch awaiting his arrival. “Did you bring it?” Chris asked, leaning against the backrest of the couch to look at Matt. Matt shrugs off his coat and kicks his shoes off, wondering what the hell Chris is on about. “Did I bring what?” Matt asks in confusion, walking over to the couch and sitting beside Chris.

Chris was now squished in between his two brothers, all three of them watching a random movie to pass the time. They had to resort to the old VCR their mom had because their phones didn’t get any service out in the country. Neither of them wanted to go through the hassle or rewinding the movies, so they were currently halfway through one without any context. It was hard to readjust to a slow paced lifestyle after being in L.A for so long and they couldn’t find anything to do. So, they sent Matt out in search of fireworks, but of course he got distracted along the way and came back empty handed.

“The fireworks, dumbass,” Nick chimes in, facepalming at Matt’s failure to complete the easiest task ever. “Oh, yeah, no. I couldn’t find any,” he lied, still thinking about his encounter with you. When your sketchbook fell on him, he flipped through a few pages and recognized so many of the people in the drawings. Some of the earlier pages were even filled with drawings of him and his brothers.

“Bullshit! We saw them yesterday at the corner store!” Chris shouts, getting up from the couch to go find the fireworks himself. “If I find even ONE firework, I’m beating your ass,” Chris says, pointing a menacing finger at Matt before slipping his shoes on and walking out the door, coat in hand. “Did you go to the right store?” Nick asks, watching mindlessly as the characters on screen converse. He has no idea what the plot of this movie even is.

“Well I tried, but I sort of got distracted,” Matt admits, shifting uncomfortable in the couch. He grabbed a pillow from beside him, hugging it closely to him. “How could you possibly get distracted? The store is 5 minutes from here!” Nick exclaims, looking suspiciously at his brother. Nick knew Matt was hiding something.

“I ran into an old friend,” Matt shrugged, sinking further into the couch and holding the pillow even closer to him. He knew that if he admitted to running into you, he’d never hear the end of it. He’d be bombarded with questions about you, how you’re doing, why he didn’t invite you over. Nick is looking at Matt expectantly, wanting him to spill the details on which ‘old friend’ he ran into, but Matt’s gaze is focused on the tv in front of him.

“Matt!” Nick says dramatically, pushing his brother by the shoulder to grab his attention. “Which friend?!” He finally asks once he’s successfully grabbed Matt’s attention. Matt debates whether or not he should just admit he ran into you, but before he can say anything he’s interrupted by Chris arriving from the store.

Throughout this entire conversation, Chris had managed to successfully find the fireworks and even ran into you on his way back home. You were reluctantly running an errand for your mom, but of course got distracted by Chris. He asked about you, inquiring about your personal life just like Matt had, and then insisted you come over. He said something along the lines of, “Nick and Matt would love to see you! Matt especially.” Chris was completely unaware of your encounter with Matt earlier that day, so in his mind this would be your first time seeing each other after years. So, as to not seem rude, you abandoned your errand and followed Chris to his house. He was carrying so many fireworks that he dropped a few along the way, but luckily you were there to pick them up.

“Guess who I brought?” Chris says dramatically in a sing-song tone, dropping all the fireworks at the front entrance. Nick and Matt look towards the front door, Matt’s mouth going agape slightly at the sight of you and Nick immediately jumping up from the couch. “Y/n?!” Nick exclaims, running over to you excitedly and embracing you in a hug. This was very uncommon for Nick, seeing as he wasn’t usually a hugger, but he hadn’t seen you in so long that he made an exception. “Hi Nick,” you greet awkwardly as he smothers you in his arms, hands still full of fireworks.

“Oh my God, girl. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long,” Nick let’s go of you, holding you by your arms so he can get a good look at you. He noticed all the same things as Matt and Chris, you looked like a woman. “Here,” you admit with a shrug, not embarrassed to admit it anymore. You’ve already gone through this round of questioning twice at this point with both Matt and Chris. “Oh,” he mumbles awkwardly, offering you an equally as awkward smile.

Matt was still watching in shock, what a coincidence that he ran into you earlier today and now you’re in his house. Well, in retrospect, the town is so small that you probably would’ve ended up here anyway. “How has life here been?” Nick asks again doing air quotes around ‘here’ before taking the fireworks from you and dumping them where Chris had dumped the rest. “It’s.. been” you laugh, rocking back and forth on your feet awkwardly.

Nick nods, deciding he’s had enough awkwardness for one day. “Wanna pop some fireworks with us?” he asks, hoping you’ll just say yes and break the awkward tension. You look between him and Matt, wondering if this was the right decision. Matt’s smiling at you, he wants you to say yes so bad. “Sure, why not,” you reply with a shrug, deciding this will be the most fun you’ve had in a while.

Chris appears from the kitchen, lighter in hand. He’s pretending to use it as flame thrower, waving it from side to side dramatically. “Get ready to burn!” He says evily, earning a laugh from the rest of you.

—

The fireworks left long sparks of color in the sky, the booming sound resonating throughout the entire town. It’s dark now and the wind has calmed down considerably, making it the perfect time for childish shenanigans. You and Matt were sat on a pair of lawn chairs, watching as Nick and Chris lit up firework after firework. They would light one, place it carefully on the ground, and then scurry away like excited children.

Matt is staring at the sky, mesmerized at the colorful sparks that flew by. The stars were faint, the light and smoke from the fireworks dulling their luminosity. You also watched the colorful explosions, but you held your fingers out in front of you to squish the stars. You created a game out of it, trying to squish the stars before the colorful sparks reached them.

Matt noticed this and chuckled slightly, reminiscing on the old habit you never seemed to let go. Upon hearing his laughter, you turn your attention to him quickly in confusion. “What?” you ask with a small pout. He smiles sincerely at you, examining your beautiful face as the colorful light from above decorated your face. The strobing lights seemed to only further accentuate your features.

In this moment Matt felt 18 again. He felt like he was seeing you for the first time and realizing he had a crush on you. “Nothing, you just always used to do that,” he replies sheepishly, pointing towards your hands briefly. It was a habit you never realized you had, you mostly did it to pass the time. You don’t say anything, but the silence isn’t awkward. You just smile at Matt before returning to your make-shift game, occupying your mind the only way you knew how.

You felt so comfortable right now. It felt like everything was the way it was supposed to be. It felt like old times, just you and your friends enjoying each other’s company. With each star you squish, you remember all your late nights under the stars with Matt. All the meaningful conversations and deep secrets you two exchanged, both of you becoming closer and closer each time. You always thought you’d end up following them and leaving this town, but life had other plans for you. Sometimes you even wondered what would’ve happened if you had confessed your feeling for Matt, would you two be married by now? It feels so wrong to think about, because you know that if you would’ve confessed he would’ve stayed and never fulfilled any of his dreams. He, like you, would’ve been stuck here.

Matt, on the other hand, can’t stop himself from smiling as he takes in more of your features. You looked so different, yet exactly the same. He still doesn’t understand why such a beautiful girl like you would stay in such a boring place like this. Of course he wondered if you were married, it was a common custom in your town for girls to get married young. Plus there was no a shortage of men waiting for the right moment to ask you on a date. Matt remembers it all too well, you’d always reject potential suitors in favor of spending time with him. He never understood why, but he always found himself feeling relieved when you did that. Maybe he internally wished you two would’ve started dating, but he never gained the courage to confess. He shook the thought of you being married out of his head, trying to focus on all the positive things tonight has to offer instead.

“Matt! Y/n! These are the last ones, come light one!” Chris calls out, waving the remaining fireworks in front of him, enticing you two to join in on the fun. The two of you are pulled from your thoughts, looking at Chris with smiles. Matt jumps up from his seat, jogging towards Chris and grabbing ahold of one of the fireworks. You get up a lot slower, taking in the moment in front of you. You really missed this.

“Girl! Hurry!” Nick rushes you, becoming impatient with your leisurely pace. You smile again, picking up the pace and grabbing a firework. “Ready?!” Chris asks excitedly, lighting everyone’s firework. You nod, excitement and adrenaline filling your body. As soon as he lights the fuse, you each place the fireworks carefully on the ground and run away in the opposite direction.

Lighting the fireworks was so much more exhilarating than just watching, your heart pumping rapidly as you try catching your breath. You’re standing next to Matt who wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, both of you looking up to watch the colorful explosion in the sky.

—

You don’t see the triplets again until a few days later, too busy helping your dad with the yard work to go anywhere. “Why can’t one of them help you?” You groan, looking at your brothers playing soccer in the field across the street. You always got stuck doing chores with your mom or dad while they got to have fun. “Can’t trust those guys to remember their own names, let alone help me,” your dad replies with a grunt, picking up two heavy buckets of water. You do the same, following behind him as he walks towards the pig enclosure.

It was so sunny today that you felt like you were melting. You were sweating underneath your overalls and the boots you were wearing were starting to rub against your ankles. “Fill that tank over there,” your dad instructs with a tilt of his chin, pointing in the direction he wanted you to go. You missed the tank as you tried pouring the water, some of it falling on the ground and creating mud. Your boots sank into the mud slightly causing you to groan in annoyance again. The pigs were oinking and squealing, almost like they were taunting you.

“Stupid fucking mud. Stupid dumbass pigs,” you grumbled, picking the other bucket up and dumping its remnants into the tank. “Language,” your dad warns sternly, only causing you to roll your eyes. He’s definitely said worse than fuck. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, adjusting your overalls in the process. “Are we almost done? It’s so hot,” you ask your dad, hoping he’ll have mercy on you and let you go inside. He doesn’t. “We still gotta shovel along the back to build that fence your mom asked for,” he informs you with no intention of letting you go early. You groan again, of course your mom wanted a fence. All you could do was prepare yourself for the long work day ahead.

Your arms feel like jelly, each pile of dirt you shovel sending you further into exhaustion. The sun was not letting up either, beaming brightly on the two of you. Your overalls were covered in dirt and your sweat mixed with the debris creating a gross mess all over your face and arms.

“You guys almost done?” Your mom asks as she walks over to you two. She’s holding a glass of water in each hand, working carefully not to spill any of it. The two of you stop digging and you’re silently thanking God for the small break. “We still have about 6 feet left that way and another 3 left this way,” your dad says, grabbing a glass of water and taking a few sips. Of course your side was missing the 6 feet, you were a much slower digger than your dad. You down the whole drink in one go, finally quenching your thirst after a hard days work.

“Well do you guys think you could wrap it up? We’ve got a visitor,” she says casually, taking the glasses back as she makes her way inside again. She was not going to stand in the hot sun for a second longer than necessary. ‘Visitor?!?’ you think, as you look down at your dirty overalls and muddy boots. If that’s how dirty your clothes were, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how dirty you were. “We’ll finish up tomorrow after breakfast, shouldn’t take us more than an hour,” your dad says, slapping your back as he follows behind your mom.

You jog behind him, trying to catch a glimpse of the visitors through the window. You can’t see anyone yet, so you just decide it’s probably one of your mom’s friends. If they saw you this messy it wouldn’t even matter. Both of you make your way inside, stomping the mud off on the grass before walking in.

“Y/n! Say hello to your friend, don’t be rude,” your mom immediately says once you walk in, referring to people waiting in the living room. Your mom considered everyone your friend, so you still weren’t too worried. “I’m going,” you call back, slowly walking over to the living room just in case it was someone you didn’t really know. If it was someone you didn’t know, you’d be able to excuse yourself with the excuse that you’re dirty or tired.

“Hi,” you greet plainly, peeking your head into the living room and waving at the unexpected company. “Hi,” Matt greets awkwardly, taking in your dirty appearance. You freeze at the sight of him, why didn’t your mom mention HE was the visitor? That was literally one of, if not the, most important detail of this story. “Excuse her, she’s been helping me out in the yard,” your dad chimes in, wiping his hands on an old kitchen towel before reaching a hand out towards Matt. “It’s nice to see you again, son,” your dad says, taking Matt’s hand into a firm handshake.

“It’s nice to see you too, sir,” Matt responds, getting up from the couch to properly greet your dad. He felt like he was your boyfriend, meeting your disapproving father for the first time. Your dad nods and exits the room, not interested in conversation. All he wanted was a cold shower and honestly that’s all you wanted too.

“I can come back another time?” Matt suggests, realizing he came unannounced and seemingly at a bad time “Nonsense! Y/n’s got time to chat, don’t you sweetheart?” Your mom interjects, listening to the whole interaction from the kitchen. She was whipping up a snack for you two in hopes that Matt would stay longer. She really liked Matt.

“Uh yeah, I got time,” you answered, too embarrassed to admit that you wanted him to leave so you could shower. “I can wait. If you wanna go get changed?” he says, sitting back down on the couch. You want to get on your knees and praise this man for being so considerate, but instead you give him a thumbs up and run to shower and change.

—

After freshening up you return to the living room where Matt is now talking with your mom. She made him a grilled cheese and cut up some strawberries for him, she even sprinkled sugar on them to make them extra sweet. They’re deep in conversation so you wait by the door to listen. “So, Matt, when are you planning to ask my daughter out?” your mom asks casually, unaware of the weight of her words. This sentence alone almost made you enter the room dancing just to have an excuse to shut her up.

“I’m sorry?” he asks, gulping nervously. “You heard me,” she replies, plopping a strawberry in her mouth and looking at him expectantly. “Oh- I- I thought y/n was married?” He says, unsure of what he’s even saying. Matt feels so awkward, he just takes another bite of the greasy cheese toast on his plate to give him an excuse not to talk.

When your mom hears this she laughs loudly, clearly amused with Matt’s assumption, “I wish!” Matt’s caught a little off guard by this comment, were you not married? Or at least spoken for? You wanted to slap your hand over your mom’s mouth before she said anything too embarrassing, but you decide to see where this conversation is going. You lean against the wall, getting comfortable for the eavesdropping you were about to do.

“I’ve been trying to get that girl to date, but no luck,” your mom continues, putting a smile on Matt’s face. He was both happy and relieved to hear that you weren’t taken. “She used to have a little crush on you in high school. And I’ve seen the way you look at her,” your mom won’t stop talking, she just keeps spilling your secrets. This is the first time Matt’s hearing of this, had you really liked him this whole time?

You decide you’ve heard enough, en entering the room with an awkward cough. “Thanks mom,” you say sarcastically, offering her a tight lipped smile. You look at Matt, trying to read his expression while also signaling to him that you want to leave. He gets the hint, dismissing himself politely from your mom. As the two of you are walking out you send a glare towards your mom and she returns it with a toothy smile and a wink.

“Sorry about that,” you chuckle awkwardly, shutting the door behind you. “No, I like your mom,” he replies, beginning to walk down the dirt road. “I know, but she can be a lot,” you apologize, becoming worried that she over shared and maybe scared Matt. “I can handle a lot,” he shrugs, the two of you now walking towards the old water tower. You smile at him, grateful that he’s not making it awkward. Your mom just confessed your crush to him like an old school girl and here he was being a gentleman about it.

When you two arrive to the water tower he signals for you to climb up first, holding your back securely until you’re high enough, then he follows behind you. You arrive at the top, sitting down carefully and patting the spot next to you so Matt will join. He gladly sits next to you, looking over the vast land in front of you. Miles and miles of green grass, crop fields, and only a few buildings and houses scattered in between.

The both of you talk about everything you’ve missed out on for the past 3 years, his stories being about his adventures in L.A and yours being about your life here. “I haven’t been up here in a long time,” he whispers in awe, taking in the scene in front of him as the sun begins to set. He had to admit that this was a beautiful town, despite it being so boring. “Well, you haven’t been here for a long time,” you reply, leaning against the metal railing as you join him in admiring the view.

“I was really surprised to see you that day. I thought I’d never see you again,” Matt says. After he and his brothers left they had zero contact with you and it always felt like a part of him was missing. “Yeah, it was nice catching up with you guys,” you reply, feeling like these past few days were the best you’ve had in a while. When they leave, you’ll just go back to your normal mundane life.

He can sense the sadness in your tone, feeling bad for leaving you here. “I’m glad you got out,” you admitted, resting your face on the arm that laid on the railing so you could look at Matt. “This town kills everyone’s dreams, I’m glad it didn’t kill yours,” you continued, offering Matt a small, genuine smile. If he was honest, he’d be happy staying here forever as long as it was with you.

“I don’t know. There’s one dream of mine that didn’t come true when I left,” he trails off, watching the as the sun disappears along the horizon. The sky goes from orange to purple as Matt feels the sudden urge to tell you something he’s been holding onto for a long time. “I doubt that,” you chuckle, looking up slightly to see the stars slowly come into view.

He laughs too, unsure if he should be admitting any of this to you right now. “I used to have a big crush on you too,” he admits quietly and casually, looking up at the stars too. Your neck almost snaps off as you turn to look at him, he notices this and laughs again. “It was back in high school… Getting a date with you, even just a kiss, was one of my biggest dreams,” he admits, remembering all those nights when he almost told you. “When your mom mentioned you used to have a crush on me it made me think of how different our lives would’ve been. If we ever acted on it, you know?” he continues, looking at you now.

You had a small, sad smile on your face because you weren’t sure if there was still a possibility at a future with Matt, but you were willing to try. “I mean, we can make the dream come true. If that’s okay?” you ask, leaning into him slowly.

“That could be fun,” he whispers, quoting what you told him that one night under the stars. He leans in and captures your lips in his, his last dream finally coming true.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Boop another Matt story for the girlies.

Thank you anon for the nice compliment 🩷🩷 I hope you enjoy this Matt story and that it was everything you hoped for haha.

This took me so long to write idk why. Anywaysss I mentioned im writing a Nick story WELL IM PROBS SCRAPPING IT AND STARTING OVER. I find it so easy to write Nick in my other fics but for some reason when he’s the main “character” i struggleeee.

Okay I’m done now, enjoy reading. k byeeee

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

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joshym · 1 year

Text

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 1

Paring: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

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

You thought you were prepared for everything.

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

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 8.8k+

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

The University of Michigan

515 East Jefferson St.

1220 Student Activities Building

Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1316

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

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

Congratulations, y/n!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where are the damn stairs?

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

Some progress.

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

Dammit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry about him, girl.”

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

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

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

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

You thank her again and quickly head in that direction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

What an ass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n,” you respond.

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

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

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

Poetic justice at its finest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gently wake her by carefully nudging her hand.

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

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

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

“Just alright?” she asks.

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

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

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

Hope is all you have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good. Keep walking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chest tightens and your face becomes flush with unease.

You know instantly that he’s talking about you.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

Please no.

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

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

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

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

He will ruin this for you, no fucking doubt.

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

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

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

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

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

Lennon’s got you there.

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

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

Lovely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t be serious,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

So much for him not noticing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

“I still have two days, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re closed, Jake.”

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

Of fucking course he waited until the literal last minute.

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

Son of a bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you fucking kidding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What in the hell had you just agreed to?

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love you all SO MUCH

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

Masterlist

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

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