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cybrasigilism · 2 days ago

Note

I would die if you wrote an nsfw fic about Namgyu x reader 😭😭😭 like what if he’s your toxic ex or you guys just hate each other and it grows into an attraction… I love your writing so much btw!!

IFHY (Player 124/Nam-gyu x Reader)

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: there needs to be a larger selection of GIFs for 124 man, i can’t find any ones of him NOT being in the background its unfortunate. hope y’all enjoy as always, i found this one sort of challenging to write, it’s definitely out of my comfort zone but i still had fun!

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, readers discretion is advised

• ─────────────── •

toleration.

that was the one thing keeping you going in these new, uncertain circumstances of yours. as long as you laid low, didn’t complain, and simply tolerated your new life then maybe, things wouldn’t be so bad.

that seems easy, except for the fact that there was one thing, rather one person, you just could not tolerate. and that was player 124.

sure, the crowd he stuck to was overall quite obnoxious, but for some reason 124 in particular really got under your skin. first off, you didn’t like how he and his purple-haired crackhead friend would always pick on that player 333. sure, he may have scammed lots of people out of their money, but surely those idiots had bigger things to focus on over being petty nuisances.

secondly? the way he would stare at you with such hate for no good reason. you assumed it was probably due to the fact that you constantly voted X, even though you both knew it didn’t make much of a difference. it didn’t bother you that he hated you, seeing as the feeling was more than mutual, but you just wish he would focus his stare somewhere else.

and lastly, every single thing about him and his mannerisms just pissed. you. off. his whole smug demeanour really made you want to land a punch square between his eyes, but you figured he might actually be into that since he clearly had a death wish, seeing as how he always picked the O side of the vote. you were convinced that had it not been for his tweaker of a leader, he would have died a long time ago. to be honest, you wished he had.

that’s why, when he grabbed you by the sleeve and yanked you into a room for the mingle game, you were completely stunned. you would have figured 124 would have left you for dead, hell, you would have expected him to purposely knock you to the ground. maybe it was the adrenaline that made him grab you, maybe it was that he actually… wanted to save you? no, couldn’t have been.

unless..?

“what the hell did you do that for?” you asked, out of breath. he furrowed his brows, looking down on you with that usual stare. “well?” you continued, louder this time. he let out a chuckle before taking a glance out at all the unlucky players who couldn’t find groups.

“what’s so funny?” you questioned, steadying yourself against the wall. he looked back at you, with that shit eating smirk that you hated so much. “i just didn’t realize that you wanted to die that badly.” his response took you aback, a sour expression appearing on your face.

“oh, i suppose i should thank you for yanking me by the arm like that then?” you huffed, rolling your shoulder as you adjusted your sleeve. he approached you, and you suddenly felt the urge to swallow the saliva you just became alarmingly aware of. “you don’t have to thank me now..” he started, looking you up and down in such a way that made your cheeks grow warmer. “you can just pay me back later.”

just then, the doors unlocked, and player 124 was more than happy to swing it open and head back to his little group, not without looking back at you with a sly wink. you stayed stood in the room for a brief moment, still leaned against the wall, trying to process why your cheeks felt so hot all of a sudden.

oh god, you weren’t… catching feelings for 124, were you?

———

it was lights out when you started thinking about your guys’s brief mingle room interaction. you still couldn’t wrap your mind around what you were feeling, but now you found yourself squeezing your legs together as you thought more and more about player 124. you couldn’t believe this, you didn’t even know this assholes name, and now he’s got you all hot and bothered like this?

you knew what you had to do, and you were not proud of it.

after about 5 solid minutes of convincing the circle-masked guard to allow you access to the bathroom, you quickly secured yourself in a stall. “i can’t believe i’m actually doing this right now.” was all you could think as you pulled your pants around your knees, along with your underwear, and slid your hand between your thighs. you had hoped no one could hear as you began to moan softly, just as your thoughts spiralled about player 124, and the tension between you two in the little mingle room; how much you wished he would have taken you right there, inside that cramped space. you felt yourself approaching the edge when you heard something that made your heart stop.

his voice. his voice?

something inside you prayed to god that somehow your imagination had just been that good, but you heard him again, calling out your number from just beyond the stall door. you were too petrified to say, think, even do anything. but of course, he pulled the door open and there you were, hand between your thighs with the single most horrified expression painted on your face.

“wow, couldn’t even wait for me, huh?” he mocked, his gaze fixated between your legs. “what the fuck are you looking at, pervert?!” you whisper-shouted, so as to not alert the guards. he laughed, and you don’t know how or why but that did something to you, as if your fingers currently on your clit were helping matters at all.

“pervert? i’d say you’re the perverse one, seeing how you were just jacking off in the public bathrooms. are you that much of a slut that you can’t keep your hands outta your pants for more than a night?” his degrading was not easing things, matter of fact it was only turning you on, and you were sure he knew that. you started to pull your hand away, and he shut the two of you inside the confined stall.

“what do you think you’re doing?” 124 asked, now on his knees so you had to meet his gaze. “i was just-“ you started, before being quickly interrupted by him grabbing your now exposed hand. “stopping?” he finished your sentence for you, cocking his head to the side with the same wide eyed faux-curious expression you’re sure you’ve seen him give others in the games. “don’t you dare stop on my account.” you tried to avoid eye contact, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “i can’t do it.. not in front of you.” your response felt totally out of character for yourself, and 124 totally called bullshit then and there. “fine, then i guess i’ll just have to help you then won’t i?” his boldness shouldn’t have shocked you, and you don’t think it did. you barely had tome to wrap your head around the fact that he now had slithered his own hand between your legs before-

“oh my god.” was drawn from your lips as he slid his fingers up your slick folds, brushing against your clit as he rubbed up at down your pussy. “holy shit, i’ve hardly done anything and you’re already soaked.” he exclaimed smuggly, earning an attempted glare from you. “oh please, don’t take all the credit.” you scoffed, using every bit of willpower you could muster to ensure you didn’t moan, god forbid. “i think i can,” he chuckled, continuing what would be the beginning of his assault on your nerves, “seeing as you know you got this fucking wet thinking of me.” when you least expected it, he pushed not one, but two fingers into your cunt. at this point you saw stars, feeling yourself clench around him so soon you felt as though you should be ashamed of yourself, but you didn’t care.

“shit, already so tight for me, huh?” you could tell through 124’s tone than he was totally turned on by this, by how horny he made you. “if i had known you’d be this easy, i would have done this a while ago.” normally you would be completely offended by his words, but when he started circling your clit with his thumb you really couldn’t bring yourself to mind at all. “p-please…i need to..” you could barely get your words out through your moans, you wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t understand you. “need ta’ cum, so bad-“

“oh yeah? you need it?” he taunted, only increasing his pace as he pumped his fingers knuckle-deep inside your throbbing pussy. “i don’t think you’ve earned it yet.” he stopped suddenly. you cried out at the abrupt loss of friction as he released his fingers from your firm grip. he took in the sight of how desperate you were as he lowered his pants, ordering you to free up your seat, to which you were shocked you could even stand at this point. “if you need to cum so bad, why don’t you show me that you deserve it.” he grabbed your arm and pulled you over to him. you couldn’t process what situation you were in just now. one minute you were convinced you hated the guy, and now your pussy was inches away from his dick? you can’t say you minded your predicament, you were just terribly shocked.

“why the hesitation? didn’t you say you needed to cum?” the return of the mocking tone was not lost on you, and you could feel yourself begin to shake. not out of fear, but out of pure anticipation. “i’m sorry, i just…” you began, before he grabbed you hips and pulled you down onto his lap, the both of you gasping at the abrupt feeling of pure ecstasy. “holy shit!” you cried out, gripping onto the walls of the stall as 124 began to bounce you on his cock. it’s almost as though he was setting the pace for what he wanted you to do, and you quickly caught on, sliding up and down his dick as his grip on your hips hardened.

“god you’re such a pathetic little whore,” he said through gritted teeth, slapping your ass while you rode him, earning a hearty moan from your lips. “oh, yeah? you like getting slapped like the little cockslut you are?” “y-es! oh fuck, oh fuck.” it was as if you were in a trance, telling him anything he wanted to hear. “yeah? imma need to hear you say it.” he teased, you could still feel him controlling your every move through the grasp he had on your hips. you tell him exactly what he wants. “i..i’m your..” you moan senselessly “your little cockslut-“

“fuck yeah, at least you know what you’re good for..” his words started to get a bit unsteady, maybe it was because of how tight you were clenching on him. “oh shit, are you close already?” he gasped, to which you responded something unintelligible. “fuck, i can barely understand you, babbling like a needy little whore.” you couldn’t take it, the way he made you feel was immeasurable to anything you’ve ever experienced. all you wanted in that moment was player 124, you never wanted him to stop pounding up into you with such tenacity.

with one final squeeze of your cunt, he held your hips down and a hot feeling quickly filled your insides. a slew of profanities were expelled from his lips and you felt your whole body shake. as soon as your breathing both steadied, he motioned you to get off his lap and he pulled his pants back up. you, however, could not possibly muster yourself to stand up at the moment, your legs still vibrating from the wild ride you just experienced.

“like i said,” he started, “if i had known you’d have been this easy.. woulda fucked you a lot sooner.” he turned and left the restroom, and you stayed slumped against the wall. now you could say one thing was for sure..

you definitely tolerated player 124.

• ─────────────── •

thanks so much for reading! i know it’s sort of different than what i usually write but i hope it’s satisfactory! as usual please, if you have any advice or constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing it’s greatly appreciated!

have a great day/night 💋

tags: @gabbystinks

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game smut #fanfiction #squid game x reader #player 124 #nam gyu #rough smut #x reader fanfiction #imagines #x reader smut

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makeitmakesomesense · 2 days ago

Text

The End of It

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: A/N: Day 6: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 6th of January, which is 'internet'.

‘It’ll be so nice.’ The babysitter said with a smile. ‘Having some time, just for the two of you.’

You kept a fake smile plastered to your face. You glanced at Natasha. Her fake smile was always so much better than yours.

‘You really deserve the break. You guys are like the nicest family.’ The babysitter said now. She was looking between you and your wife with an admiring smile.

You slipped your hand around Natasha’s waist and pretended not to feel her stiffen at the touch.

You offered to drive first and Natasha didn’t say anything. Five years of marriage and silence was easier than talking.

You reversed out of the driveway, taking the shortest route to the highway. As you merged onto the busier road, Natasha spoke beside you.

Her tone was flat.

‘Do you still want to get a divorce?’

You stared forward, your hand gripped the steering wheel. Somewhere far ahead, a car horn blared.

‘You know that I do.’

Natasha’s head turned back to lean against the car window.

You drove in silence to the hotel. It was thirty minutes away, Natasha’s choice. You hadn’t complained, given everything. You wondered if she was going for a kind of symmetry.

It was the same hotel chain as the one you’d visited on your honeymoon. It made you feel a bit sick.

Natasha went to the front desk and checked in. You stood a few feet back and waited with the two small suitcases. You stared at the luggage and realised that you could have shared one bigger bag. You tried to remember if you were ever in sync.

Natasha walked back to you, hotel keycard in hand. Her sunglasses were pushed up into her red hair. She’d cut it a few years ago. The new look had seemed severe at the time. Now, with her lips pressed tightly together, it suited her perfectly.

She didn’t look at you. She caught the handle of her wheeled suitcase and dragged it casually behind her.

You tried to ignore the sudden flare of annoyance as you were forced to follow behind. The lingering feeling of not being wanted.

When you reached your suite, you watched as Natasha threw her backpack onto the desk in the corner. She dragged her suitcase around to her side of the bed and slipped casually out of her heels.

You stared at the crumpled backpack. Everything else about Natasha’s life was always so put together. The backpack was the exception. She’d bought it when your first daughter was born. You stared at the backpack, suddenly frozen in place.

Memories demanded your attention. You'd used watched it swing casually from Natasha’s shoulders on every family day out. Your daughter had scribbled over the front of it after a particularly perfect day at the zoo. You’d waited for Natasha to lose her temper when she saw the scribbles. Instead, she’d just laughed.

‘I love giraffes.’ She’d cooed happily, lifting your daughter on her lap and giving her an eskimo kiss.

You’d wondered then. Why had you expected something else. Why her smiles were becoming surprising.

Natasha walked back over to the desk now.

She unzipped the backpack and started to rummage inside it. She hooked the leg of the chair with her ankle and dragged it out from underneath the desk.

She glanced back at you and nodded directively at the chair.

Simmering frustration was becoming your default. You tensed your jaw as you walked over to take the indicated seat.

You’d been the one to ask for the divorce but Natasha was the one who’d tersely demanded this. A weekend break away from the kids as a cover to get together and figure out the exact details.

At last, Natasha pulled out a notebook. She turned around and moved to sit on the desk beside you. Her legs swung back and forth as she opened the book to the right page. You tensed your jaw at the swinging motion, everything casual she did seemed to set you on edge. The implication that she didn't care. It was a pretence but it was a cruel one.

Natasha opened the notebook at a neatly filled out page. Even at the funny angle, you recognised a checklist of topics to cover.

Natasha cleared her throat, she clicked the pen in her hand decisively. Then, she looked up at you. Your gaze met her calm one.

Immediately, Natasha started to cry.

You got to your feet instantly.

A decades old instinct made you cup her face. Your fingers tangled in her hair. Natasha’s body curled forward as she shook with silent tears. Her hand gripped the front of your t-shirt.

The heaviness inside you was beyond words. Your bones were lead. You leaned forward to kiss her hair. Natasha pushed you away.

You stumbled back before regaining your balance. You watched Natasha cover her face and cry harder. Her sunglasses fell from her head, clattering to the ground.

You left the room and waited in the lobby. You connected your phone to the free internet access and stared at it blindly, willing yourself not to break down.

You gave it an hour before you returned to the room. Natasha was waiting for you. She was lying on her side of the bed on top of the pristine covers. She was wearing a white hotel robe. Her hair was damp and the ends were already curling. She glanced up at you as you walked in. Her eyes were rimmed red, but her expression was stony.

‘Are you ready to talk?’ You asked quietly.

Natasha folded her arms but she didn’t speak.

Five years of marriage and silence was easier than talking.

You couldn’t keep doing this.

‘Do you want to talk about custody?’ You tried, voice carefully passive. You knew it was the conversation that you were both dreading the most.

Natasha looked towards you but her gaze didn’t meet yours.

‘Fifty-fifty.’ She murmured, eyes trained an inch to the left of you. You nodded. It was a good place to start.

‘We can make it work around your schedule.’ You promised suddenly. It had kept you up at night. Weirdly, more than anything else. The idea of Natasha losing time with her kids because she was away saving the world. ‘We’ll adapt it so you really do get half the time.’

A lone tear rolled down Natasha’s cheek.

You tried to speak again, but your throat tightened unbearably. Instead, you left to take a shower.

You ordered takeout to the hotel that evening. You walked out to meet the delivery driver in the parking lot. He gave you a nonplussed look as he handed over the plastic bag with a single portion of food inside. You still felt self conscious. You hated people thinking you were lonely.

That’s why this had taken so long to unravel.

You returned to the hotel room. Natasha was sitting on the desk again. Her half eaten burger ordered from room service was next to her. She was still in her robe, but it was coming loose. She didn’t seem to care. Her bare legs swung back and forth, determined to annoy you.

You dragged the desk chair a few feet further away from her and took a seat. Once she had finished eating, Natasha watched you instead. You tried to ignore her. It was strange having this much attention on you. Life was so easily full of other things. Kids. Life. Work.

Just as you started to pack up the empty container and plastic cutlery, Natasha cleared her throat.

You looked over to her. She was playing with the end of the dressing gown cord, wrapped loosely around her waist. In another, less sad, lifetime it could have been flirting. Instead, you recognised the anxious gesture.

‘Why do you want a divorce?’ Natasha asked at last.

It had been three weeks since you’d first brought it up. Natasha had barely said a word since. She'd been avoiding this question. You realised now. You felt your heart breaking one last time.

‘You’re not happy.’ You said with simple sadness. ‘You haven’t been for a long time.’

‘I don’t think I make you happy.’ You admitted.

Your throat burned as you forced the final words out without tears.

‘I’d give you anything Natasha.’ Your face cracked into an automatic smile as you savoured the feel of her name on your tongue. It would never not be special. ‘Let me give you this.’

The silence was unbearable.

You stared down at the ground, you leaned forward in your chair as the hollowness in your chest became hard to bear.

Natasha’s hand brushed the back of your neck. It was a gesture so familiar, you felt like you’d known it your whole life.

‘I don't want anything else. I just want you.’

When you looked up, you met her green eyes and couldn't help but love her.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #natasha romanov

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burningembers91 · 2 days ago

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The Shape of You - Park Gyeong-Seok x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to

Loving You From Afar

Synopsis: When babysitting Na-Yeon, you discover one of Park Gyeong-Seok’s secrets.

You were looking after Na-Yeon when you found the drawings. One of her Barbie’s shoes had fallen down the side of the sofa, and as you leaned down to retrieve it, you felt the wads of paper stuff between the sofa and wall. Pulling them onto your lap, you were shocked to see at least a dozen drawings and paintings of you. There were ones of your whole body, ones of just your face, ones where you were laughing, and one where you were staring off into the distance. You had no idea Gyeong-Seok had been drawing you, had no idea why he’d kept these hidden. You’d never thought of yourself as particularly beautiful and yet he’d managed to capture you in the most stunning light. He was out until late evening, taking on some extra work as an art teacher in a local night school, but you needed to find out why he drawn you so many times and then hidden them away.

You fed Na-Yeon and read her to sleep, before settling back on the sofa with the pictures. Gyeong-Seok had captured you so perfectly, had painted you in a light you’d never seen yourself in. you couldn’t stop looking at the images in front of you, wondering if this was how he saw you. You so looked so confident, so sure of yourself and so naturally beautiful. You tried comparing your reflection to the drawing but somehow, Gyeong-Seok had managed to capture you better than a mirror ever could.

The TV was down low when he arrived home. He’d has such a great evening, and there had even been talk of giving him a more permanent position. It would mean more money for him and Na-Yeon, more money to maybe finally take you out on a date. He stopped dead when he saw you, still clutching the drawings he thought he’d hidden so carefully.

“I…” He stood dumbstruck as you held them up to him.

“These are really good,” you smiled. “I had no idea.”

“I…” Again, Gyeong-Seok seemed unable to form words, the embarrassment creeping up his face like a red-hot poker. You weren’t meant to see those drawings; he never should have made them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, “I look… you’ve made me look more beautiful than I’ve ever felt before.”

“I was just painting you how I see you,” he shrugged, shifting his bag from his shoulder to the rickety kitchen table.

“But I look so beautiful,” you whispered, still unable to believe that you were the person depicted on the pages.

“Well,” he said quietly, so quietly you barely heard him. “It’s because you are. You are beautiful.”

You both stood staring at each other, both wondering what came next. He wanted to kiss you so badly, to show you that you were so much more beautiful than you ever gave yourself credit for. You both slowly closed the gap between you, the air buzzing with the growing tension.

“Say it again,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on him.

“You are beautiful,” he replied. “And funny, and kind, and so good to me and Na-Yeon.”

You were mere inches apart now, your faces so close he could see the specks of colour dotted in your irises. “You are so beautiful,” he repeated, his hand coming to rest gingerly on your cheek.

His lips met yours, soft and sweet, both of you testing the water. This felt so good, so right, and neither of you could believe you’d denied yourselves this happiness for so long. His fingers caressed your neck, your arms entwining round his waist as you deepened the kiss, the tips of your tongues meeting as you explored one another. Gyeong-Seok wanted you, needed you. He needed to feel every inch of your skin, needed to hear you moan his name as he fucked you. He led you gently to his threadbare sofa, never once breaking your kiss. But it was you who gently pushed him down into the pillows. It was you who straddled him, removing his checkered shirt as your lips traced the sweet contours of his neck. You’d thought about fucking him right here on this very sofa more times that you could count. Gyeong-Seok had so much pent-up stress inside of him, and you were dying to release it. There would be time to explore each other properly; right now, you both just needed to quell the deep aches between your legs.

Pushing him down further into the cushions, you removed his faded grey t-shirt, giggling quietly as he helped remove your sweater. You looked so perfect in the dim light of the TV, your curves more perfect than he ever could have imagined. His torso was toned, his arms surprisingly strong as he manoeuvred your body on top of his. He heard the sound of his jeans unzipping, felt your hand dip into his underwear and gently grip his cock. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to supress the moan that fell from his lips. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, and he’d forgotten how good it felt. You bit back another giggle, hopping off the sofa to fully remove his jeans. As you pulled down your skirt and underwear, Gyeong-Seok looked up at you from his reclined position on the sofa. Reaching his hand up, his slid his fingers ever so gently through your slick folds. Now it was your turn to supress a moan as he slipped two fingers inside you. You were so wet, so perfect and he smiled as you shivered against his touch. You couldn’t bare it any longer; you needed each other.

You climbed on top of him, lowering yourself down on his hard cock, your lips meeting in a crashing kiss as you desperately sought to subdue your moans. You moved against each other, Gyeong-Seok’s hips thrusting into you in the sweetest of rhythms. His hands traced your stomach, your breasts, his fingers tracing delicate circles over your flushed skin. he felt you shudder against him as you reached your peak, your teeth grazing his lower lip in quiet ecstasy. He wasn’t far behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he spilled himself inside of you.

you stayed with him that night, cuddled up on the sofa bed with the threadbare fabric and the broken springs. Gyeong-Seok held you as you slept, the scent of your perfume already staining his sheets. Tomorrow, he would ask you out for that cup of coffee. Tomorrow, he would finally ask out the girl he’d fallen in love with.

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #squid game smut #park gyeong seok x you #park gyeong seok x reader #park gyeong seok #park gyeong seok smut #lee jin uk

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jessilynallendilla · 19 hours ago

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dear god we're steadily heading into Fahrenheit 451

“Picture it. Nineteenth-century man with his horses, dogs, carts, slow motion. Then, in the twentieth century, speed up your camera. Books cut shorter. Condensations. Digests, Tabloids. Everything boils down to the gag, the snap ending.” “Snap ending.” Mildred nodded. “Classics cut to fit fifteen-minute radio shows, then cut again to fill a two-minute book column, winding up at last as a ten- or twelve-line dictionary resume. I exaggerate, of course. The dictionaries were for reference. But many were those whose sole knowledge of Hamlet (you know the title certainly, Montag; it is probably only a faint rumor of a title to you, Mrs. Montag), whose sole knowledge, as I say, of Hamlet was a one-page digest in a book that claimed: now at last you can read all the classics; keep up with your neighbors. Do you see? Out of the nursery into the college and back to the nursery; there’s your intellectual pattern for the past five centuries or more.” Mildred arose and began to move around the room, picking things up and putting them down. Beatty ignored her and continued: “Speed up the film, Montag, quick. Click, Pic, Look, Eye, Now, Flick, Here, There, Swift, Pace, Up, Down, In, Out, Why, How, Who, What, Where, Eh? Uh! Bang! Smack! Wallop, Bing, Bong, Boom! Digest-digests, digest-digest-digests. Politics? One column, two sentences, a headline! Then, in mid-air, all vanishes! Whirl man’s mind around about so fast under the pumping hands of publishers, exploiters, broadcasters that the centrifuge flings off all unnecessary, time-wasting thought!” Mildred smoothed the bedclothes. Montag felt his heart jump and jump again as she patted his pillow. Right now she was pulling at his shoulder to try to get him to move so she could take the pillow out and fix it nicely and put it back. And perhaps cry out and stare or simply reach down her hand and say, “What’s this?” and hold up the hidden book with touching innocence. “School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, histories, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually gradually neglected, finally almost completely ignored. Life is immediate, the job counts, pleasure lies all about after work. Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches, fitting nuts and bolts?”

remember

“You don't have to burn books, do you, if the world starts to fill up with nonreaders, nonlearners, non-knowers?”

“The problem in our country isn't with books being banned, but with people no longer reading. You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.”

“Coloured people don't like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don't feel good about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Burn it. Someone's written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book.” (remember a few years ago when classic books were being "sensitivity read" for editing to a "modern audience")

keep in mind

“If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war. If the government is inefficient, top-heavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it. Peace, Montag. Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of noncombustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change.”

“A book is a loaded gun in the house next door...Who knows who might be the target of the well-read man?”

what is HAPPENING

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yourcutelittlegayfriend · 1 day ago

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✦✧✦ CHAPTER 5 ✦✧✦

Poor Goldilocks, Nothing Is Just Right

Warning this part contains: Mania, Self- Harm (wanting to remove your skin), Body Pain, Blood & Bleeding, Pain, Cursing, being held down, minor drugging (just to make you eepy) Dark Theme, becoming pwd , mentions of being crippled or disabled, manipulations/manipulative actions, platonic kisses(?), tons of typo, barely proofread and Evil Reader

Note: I forgot to mention but In the previous chapter MC is 8-9 and in this one MC is 10-11 years old, The scary part is only in the first part, second is me just giving you a Victor treatment and a very nice sort of closing for Bruce's part, also again forgive me if Bruce is OOC it's hard to see Bruce/Batman as a cold person when the batman I knew in my childhood is selfless and compassionate and yes batman cries he cried plenty of times before what do you mean?.

MASTERLIST pages ↻4 , 5.....➢

NOW PLAYING ↻◁ ||▷↺ 4ÆM - Grimes ılıılıılılılıılıılı

✦✧✦✧✦

My body aches, bones feels like they're breaking and healing again, my skin is so heavy and itched, it itches, it's itchy, I want it off, I want to rip it off, I GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF ME!!!!.

My eyes opened with a sharp jerk of my body I screeched out in disgust, jumping from where I was laying as I used my hand to scratch and scratch and scratch till my nails dug through my skin and let blood seep out from the wounds.

'EVERYTHING IS WRONG! RIP IT! RIP IT! RIP IT! WE DON'T WANT THIS! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF! OFF!' We scream and yell as the room reverberates from my voice and the pounding in my head. The shadows rush, bouncing off the walls, and it seems like there's a shift in reality as I feel my soul and body splitting up into many, many pieces.

I can feel my veins pumping too much blood, traveling around and not being received properly, my eyes almost pop off from how hot, searing, and boiling my new blood is inside of me.

'I DON'T WANT THIS! IT'S WRONG! WRONG! WRONG!' They yell out more as they use my hands to hit my head and try to pull the hair out of my scalp.

The room kept spinning and everything seemed to glitch out in my brain as I fell off from something high and landed smack on the floor their hand gripped the back of my head and pulled it back preparing to smash my head on the ground.

As my forehead nears the hard surface, a sudden force tackled me. I become aware of a pair of hands pinning my wrist on the floor making my legs kick out in the absence of my hands in retaliation and raging out trying to twist their hold as my spit mixed with blood foams on my mouth as I yell for them to not touch me.

Another pair then reached out to trap my legs down, hearing someone else voice whisper to me as I slowly became weary and groaned in the ache of the harm caused to my body, focusing up as my vision came back clearer, as air fills up in my lungs and settling my breathing again, my eyes make out the head of Bruce as he stares down at me while my vision gets better.

He was peering down at me wearing a look of fear and guilt on his face as I caught the movements of his mouth realizing that he was talking directly to me, I calmed down, and slowly my body slacks on fatigue as he let go before moving to scoop my body up.

He lays my head on his chest making sure it won't move before standing along with me in his arms and laying me back to something soft and cushiony under my form, I stare back at him with my eyes half-lidded and tired while he sits on the side from what I can discern as a bed.

'It's too fluffy and silky for my taste, this isn't my bed, it's not right' I thought as I watched Bruce study me with a look of sadness as someone was moving behind him, Alfred holding a tray of glass with a pitcher of water walk towards Bruce's side -noting the patchiness of my throat- and setting it down as I observe the two talk, the pounding of my head muffled their voices to the point it's the only the vibrations of my eardrums I can hear.

I kept eyeing them until Alfred moved, pouring the water, and reached out to tilt my head before slowly tipping the glass assisting me to drink and feeling my body weight like lead.

Bruce then leans down and lays a kiss on the top of my brows surprising me even when I'm deep on falling asleep as he holds my limp hand and holds it under his warmer one, gripping it and squeezing in broken rhythm with a thumb over the pulse on my wrist, either to count my heartbeats or maybe to make sure if I'm still alive? I couldn't care less.

'You aren't supposed to notice me, you're not a part of this, you shouldn't be anywhere near me, you don't belong in my new family'

✦✧✦✧✦

Staring at the beautiful wooden handcraft cane, I reach out and caress the squeaky clean polish to the head where soft leather wraps around its handle along with a cute carving of a tiny baby bat on top.

Picking it up from the opened box with the fancy brand name printed over the cover where it was situated on top of a black cushion, I held it on my lap and tested its weight on my palm.

A brand new cane made just for me he said, to help me walk around since after the dip in that pit only my right leg was the casualty in the accident, it was all new, and with no study from what it truly is, it's hard to know what really causes the damage on my leg.

Which was confusing since from my basic understanding and knowledge from before, The pit was filled by Lazarus and weirdly enough it's the Joker who found it, even more suspicious is the location of the pits are only a few and the one I was tied to was never near the original one here in Gotham before.

Not only that Lazarus was supposed to heal, to resurrect the dead even give someone powers or just the simple physical enhancements, so why did I become crippled instead? why did it become the opposite instead?!.

Gripping the cane tightly, I huffed and screamed as I threw it away from me proceeding to thrash everything on the table.

"This isn't supposed to happen!! I didn't want this! all I wanted was a normal life and I ended up becoming a handicap!" I punched the wooden surface before kicking myself off the chair.

As I try to get even just one step, My right leg completely fails to carry my weight causing me to fall and painfully drop on the carpeted floor ending me just curling down and wailing in anger.

In the corner of my eye, I pick out their form standing in the corner of the room just staring at me blankly before blending back in the shadows when Bruce entered the field of my vision and kneeled in front of me.

"Hey hey hey you're ok, everything we'll be fine". He lifts up my upper body and hold me close.

"I'll find away to fix this, ok?" He said as he tried to comfort me but I just snap at him and tried to push me away.

'Liar' they slither out behind him and sneer lowering their head on the side of his face and going back like the way they came out as my vision glitched before me.

"Fix? Fix me?!" I shout slapping his hand away. "How?! huh? Tell me how?! This wouldn't even happened if you just listened to me in the first place!".

"I never wanted to have a stupid debut! I never wanted to be kidnapped by that goddamn clown and this is what I get?! becoming a fucking limping idiot for the rest of my life?!"

"Because of you! It's because of you I ended up having my leg practically useless! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!". I spitted out as I balled up my fist and started hitting him anywhere my hands could land.

As I holler and shriek at his face, he just closes his eyes and takes my hits head on not even trying to defend himself.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I wish I never stayed here! I wish I never met you! I wish you just left me in that orphanage and let me rot ther-".

"That's enough! I know it's my fault that I was too late to save you and I shouldn't have forced you to do anything". He cut me off by grabbing my hands and stopping me as he looked me in the eye.

"But I promise to do anything I can to make sure you live a better life, you're my child and I am your father, you are my responsibility and my only priority from now on". He declares as he lowers his head and lays his forehead on my small knuckles.

They sneak in there and put their hands on top of his as they shake their head 'no' to me before moving out of my sight.

"Don't hate me for only doing what's right for you, I only want to do what's best for you because I am your father, so give me one more chance to make things right". He pleads as I feel small droplets drip on my skin and I see him quietly crying.

I watch him in disbelief, listening to his words and seeing him cry in front of me, for me. He never did that before, not ever Ha! Not even once in any of my resets! this is different, everything about this is different.

'Somethings not right'

✦✧✦✧✦

Bruce was acting more and more strange these couple of days, He kept checking up on me, staying or lingering around me and where I went, and even smiled more often when he went out as Batman.

Not the typical Brucie shit smile but a genuine one, a simple soft looking one, and the scariest part it's always on his face when I'm anywhere near him.

'You can't stay here anymore' I hear their voice again in the back of my head but I barely see them anymore.

What's more weird is that the voice keeps getting quieter each time I hear them, the little drawings and the hallucinations start appearing less and less.

I don't know what's happening and I don't have any idea what to do, I lived through many lives before and nothing like this ever happened, What the fuck?

✦✧✦✧✦

Staring dumbfoundedly at him and then back at the wrapped present in his hand, I blinked in bewilderment at his words.

"W-what? A portrait? For what?". I asked him as he gently placed the box on my lap as I sat on the leathered couch located in the more private living room in the mansion, A family room I think?.

"An official portrait of just the two of us since the old one with your grandparents looks a little bit lonely by being on that wall alone," He says as he sits on the other cushy armchair next to me.

I follow where he is looking and see the large portrait of a younger him wearing the equivalent of a boy's suit and a big boyish smile on his face in the tapestry with him was his mother, Martha Wayne wearing a simple yet fashionable creamy white dress as she wears her iconic pearl necklace around her neck and lastly was a man behind them, Thomas Wayne who just like Bruce was wearing an expensive black suit and an award-winning smile even for a doctor.

The three look so much like how a happy family should be, all smiles and comfortable just being together and complete.

"As for your present, you can take a look now if you want," He said as he leaned over to look at my reaction I carefully opened the box but not before sending him a weird look.

"It's something for you to wear for the portrait next week" He stated before standing up and standing next to the end of the couch near me.

"I know I might be asking a lot but a portrait is one of the things that comes in tradition for this family" Kneeling down as he lays a hand on top of my head.

"Something that lasts longer, to remember the memories again and I want you to be a part of it, a memory we can always look back on, something nice and has a great sentimental value for us". He disclosed to me before leaning down and pecking the top of my head before ruffling it, walking away, and leaving the room afterward.

Looking down at the clothing on my lap I rub the fabric together and deduce that it's an expensive one based on the silky feel then back at the painting again and study the old portrait on top of the fireplace, the fire's light illuminating the brush strokes and their still faces.

"How funny, I never was in any of your portraits before, was I?" I whisper a smirk curling on my lips as make the decision in my head.

"Well then, maybe this won't be so bad". Grabbing my cane, I get off the couch and slowly walk till I'm standing directly under the painting in front of the fireplace.

"After all a family needs a father right?"

"I'll just have to make sure you become the perfect one first, my new family, my rules". I smile looking at the younger version of Bruce before walking out as well.

"You're not the only one good at manipulating, Bruce".

✦✧✦✧✦

Patting out any dust or wrinkle on my clothes I stare at my reflection on the new dresser in my new room that Bruce renovated near his -do I have to call him Father or maybe Dad now?.

Observing my appearance as Alfred was fixing or checking anything on my clothes, I noticed a sudden change in my look, I was the same as always between from before but healthier and less drained, upon inspecting closer I caught a brief glow of something green under the real color of my irises.

'Lazarus Green'. I hear their voice making me smile as I spy them in the mirror, they stand just behind the large bed curtain over my new bed peeking their head over then vanishing in the blink of my eye.

After that, Alfred handed over my cane and led me to a studio-like room a little bit further inside the mansion we entered and saw Bruce talking with someone who I guess might be the painter seeing a large canvas along with some paints and brushes beside them.

Smiling I headed towards Bruce as he introduced me to the painter who greeted me with a hello and a nice compliment in their French accent, I looked at Bruce with a raise of my brow as he just chuckled and smiled down at me.

"What? I wanted the best painter to make our family portrait". He remarked before sitting on a fancy armchair with a red cushion back and cushioned seating fixed on it.

He then pats a stool with a similar design and red cushion seat that perfectly partnered with his chair and helps me sit on it, an exception for me since I can't stand for too long, The painter then walks forward and fixes our poses as we talk.

"And there are many incredible painters here in Gotham as well-" I countered before hesitating and gripping my cane when the painter positioned in over my lap to hold.

"F-......Father, if you wanted to start making Gotham a better place, maybe you should look into the lives of the people as well, it's only fair after all" I convey what I meant then look into his reaction.

There he sat with his eyes widened in fascination and surprise before changing it with a large smile and reaching out to caress my cheek.

"Smart thinking kiddo". He then held my small hand in his as the painter asked for us to look at him to start with the painting.

A perfect Father looks out for his Family, Batman looks out for Gotham and this city is my first family, won't be too selfish of me to use you right, Father?

I'm just making sure everything is just right

✦✧✦✧✦

yeesh the plot is leaving my head but yes this is the end of Bruce and MC finally now we can head to the rest of the fam.

I don't like some yandere fics out there that straights up just let's MC be captured or under control of yandere's I want to have something different for a change, No hate to the other yandere writers out there y'all are amazing because I know yandere genre is all about that I just want a little twist in mine.

In the end, Y/N will be using what the fam did to them and use it against them to get what they want, Like I said I wanted Y/N to be mature, and calculative and use people to their advantage, their old and hopeful version is no longer with us.

Taglist are still open my peps.

#No More Chances #Yandere Batfam #yandere batfam x reader #batfam x reader #x reader #yandere #yandere batfam x neglected reader #neglected reader #yandere dc #platonic batfam #yandere batfamily #Yandere Bruce Wayne #Yandere Batman #platonic batfamily #yandere platonic batfamily

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deansbeer · 2 days ago

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★ in his arms, the world fades // clark kent.

synopsis. feeling unwell and overwhelmed, you seek comfort in clark's arms. his warmth, soothing touch, and sweet words make the ache in your stomach—and your heart—feel bearable.

kari yaps. last night, i had horrible stomach pains and wrote this <333 + a lil disclaimer! i'm on ep 5 of smallville (the ads on hulu r mad annoying) so i only know a little about clark. but don't worry i will get to know all ab pookie soon !!! trust <33

it starts with the ache. sharp and twisting, like someone's wringing your stomach out like a wet rag. it's been days now—days of barely keeping food down, of your appetite wavering between nothing and everything, only for nausea to win every time. eating has become a battle, and losing feels inevitable. but you haven't told anyone, not really. maybe it's pride. maybe it's not wanting to worry anyone. maybe you're just hoping it'll go away on its own.

still, it lingers, and today's no different. you pull up to the kent farm, the gravel crunching under your tires, the sight of the red barn and yellow farmhouse somehow grounding you. you're supposed to be here to study. algebra—not exactly something you're excited about, but clark's always been good at making the hard stuff easier. it's one of the many things you love about him: his patience, his steadiness, the way he seems to know when you need a little extra reassurance. and maybe you need that today more than ever.

"hey, pretty girl," clark greets you at the door, his smile soft and familiar, like it's meant just for you. "you okay? you look…" he trails off, squinting at you in that way he does when he's trying to figure you out. "…tired."

you force a smile, shrugging it off. "just didn't sleep much last night."

it's not a lie, exactly. the ache had kept you up most of the night, twisting and turning beneath the covers, unable to find a position that didn't make it worse. but clark doesn't need to know that. not right now.

he nods, stepping aside to let you in. "i made us some lemonade," he says as you follow him up the stairs to his room. "my mom said it's good for focus or something. i don't know, but it tastes good."

you hum in response, though the thought of drinking anything right now makes your stomach churn. you'll figure out a way to avoid it later.

when you get to his room, it's the same as always—neat but lived-in, the bed made but the desk cluttered with papers and books, a small stack of cds next to his stereo. it smells faintly of pine and something distinctly clark, like sun-warmed hay and fresh laundry. it's comforting in a way you didn't realize you needed.

you settle on the floor with him, textbooks and notebooks spread out between you. he's already flipping through his algebra book, pen tapping idly against his knee as he scans the pages.

"okay," he says, glancing at you with a smile. "where should we start? graphing inequalities or quadratic equations?"

you groan, letting your head fall back against the bed. "do we have to start?"

he chuckles. "the exam's next week. i don't think mr. phillips is gonna let us wing it."

"worth a shot," you mutter, but you sit up anyway, flipping open your notebook to a blank page. you try to focus, really, but the ache is still there, dull and persistent, and it's hard to think about numbers and graphs when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.

half an hour in, you're staring at your notebook, pen tapping against the paper. clark's voice is distant as he explains something about parabolas, the words blurring together in your head. you're not even sure when you stopped listening. all you know is that your chest feels tight, your stomach twists again, and suddenly, you just can't anymore.

"hey," clark says, his voice soft with concern. "what's wrong?"

you don't answer, don't even look at him. instead, you set your notebook aside, shifting closer to him until you're wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of it. his skin is warm against your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering there. you don't say anything, and neither does he, not at first. he just sits there, still and quiet, letting you hold on like he's been expecting this all along.

then, slowly, he moves. his arms come around you, strong and steady, and he shifts your things aside before effortlessly pulling you up with him onto the bed. his back hits the mattress, and you're lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest. his hands find your back, warm and soothing as they rub up and down in slow, gentle strokes.

you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. his touch is enough to warm you, enough to quiet the ache in your stomach, at least for now. you don't know how he does it—how he makes everything feel a little less heavy just by being there.

your hands move to rest on his collarbone, fingers brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt. the side of your head presses against his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

he doesn't say anything at first, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to calm you down. but then he starts murmuring soft, sweet things in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

"you're okay," he says, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "whatever it is, you're okay. i've got you."

his hand moves to rest on the side of your head, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hair. he presses another kiss to your temple, then another, each one softer than the last.

"you don't have to say anything," he whispers. "just let me hold you."

and you do. you let yourself relax against him, let yourself melt into his warmth. his chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and strong, and you match your breathing to his without even realizing it. the ache in your stomach is still there, but it feels distant now, muted by the way his hands move against your back, by the way his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

"you know," he starts after a while, his voice still soft, "i'm not great at algebra either. but i'm pretty sure lying here with you is a way better use of my time."

you let out a quiet laugh, your breath fanning against his chest. "you're supposed to be the responsible one."

"yeah, well," he murmurs, his fingers threading through your hair, "even superheroes need a break sometimes."

you tilt your head to look up at him, catching the small smile playing on his lips. "superhero, huh?"

"what? you didn't know?" his grin widens, teasing. "i'm kind of a big deal."

you roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "you're ridiculous."

"maybe," he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "but i made you laugh, didn't i?"

you hum in response, letting your head fall back against his chest. the silence that follows is comfortable, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. his hand moves back to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns against your spine.

"i mean it, though," he says after a while, his voice quieter now. "whatever's going on, you don't have to go through it alone. you can tell me."

"i know," you whisper, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "i just… i don't know. i've been feeling off lately. stomach stuff. it's probably nothing."

he frowns, his hand pausing mid-stroke. "how long?"

"a few days," you admit. "it's not a big deal. it'll pass."

"you don't know that," he says gently. "have you eaten today?"

you hesitate, and that's enough of an answer for him. he sighs, his hand resuming its slow movements against your back.

"you're stubborn, you know that?" he murmurs, but there's no heat behind it. just concern, soft and steady, like everything else about him.

"takes one to know one," you shoot back, your voice muffled against his chest.

he chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath you. "fair enough. but promise me you'll let me know if it gets worse, okay?"

"okay," you say, and you mean it. because if anyone can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, it's clark.

you stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. the algebra books are forgotten, but neither of you seems to care. right now, this is enough. he's enough.

and for the first time in days, the ache in your stomach feels bearable.

⎯⎯ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @st4rfckerz @jasvtsc . . . ୨୧

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seasprincess · 3 days ago

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nerd!rafe x popular!reader

mdni

warnings: smut-handjob, pathetic sub!rafe, this is not cannon Rafe AT ALL

Rafe Cameron is a quiet nerdy boy with about no friends. Where as you, you’re loud and popular, friends with everyone.

Ever since you had joined the school Rafe’s eyes have been on you. Watching you laugh and smile with the people that flocked to you like moths to a flame.

He couldn’t help admire you in a way. But mainly he was admiring your beauty.

He has never spoken to you of course. God no he wouldn’t dream of it. Well that’s not entirely true.

He’s dreamt of it, thought of it, imagined it while his hand was around his length. But not in a perv way of course. No no. Not in the way the other boys do it. In a sweet way. Right?

But no, he couldn’t talk to you. In the world of high school. Rafe isn’t allowed to talk to you. He’s too ‘low’ for you. Which he thinks is stupid but he can’t rewrite the social laws of the school.

So he’ll just sit in class staring at you instead of doing his work. Not like he needs to do more work in class. He’s smart enough to pass a test with just a glance. So here he’ll sit waiting for his chance to talk to you properly. Instead of that couple times you were sweet to him, sticking up for him and that one time he said thank you for you holding open the door. And god did that thought make his heart beat.

But soon enough, here’s his lucky day.

“Rafe, you’ll be working with y/n.” The teachers words ring in his head as his eyes are pulled up from the desk. He turns to face you and sees that you’re looking at him. And he c-wait-you’re looking at him.

He does a double take before seeing you wave at him. A small gesture that means so much to him you don’t even know. So he does a wave back. But he’s shy and awkward so now he’s stressing that he looked weird and seeing your friends giggling and whispering doesn’t help the feeling he’s embarrassed himself.

So quickly he turns away, back to the page on his desk. Drawing random lines on it to make it appear he’s doing something. Doing anything other than looking at you and gawking.

Why does he have to be so shy and embarrassing? Why can’t he be like the popular people like Bryce and Zach? They can just talk to everyone and just be confident all the time. He hates himself for his anxiety that is in the bottom of his stomach everytime anyone even breathes to close to him. He hates it so much th-

“Hey partner.” Rafe’s brought out of his spiral of thoughts when you speak to him. He’s frozen looking up at you, is this real? Or is he dreaming?

“H-hey.” He says, pushing up his glasses on his face as he adjust in his chair.

“So when we doing this project?”

“Anytime. Anytime that’s good for you, I’m free. Like all the time. I’m not doing…anything.” Rafe decides to stop himself from babbling and making himself look like a complete and utter loser.

But all you’re doing is smiling at him. Not pulling the disgusted face he’s use to.

“Tomorrow night? My place?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Cool, don’t have snap so I can send you the info?” You say as you pull out your phone. Waiting for him to respond to you.

Rafe rubs the back of his neck as he thinks how to reply to this. He couldn’t say that his mom doesn’t allow him to have social media and even if he was to have it he wouldn’t have enough friends anyway.

“No. I don’t use snap anymore.” He lies.

“Oh right okay. Insta? Tiktok?”

Rafe just shakes his head.

“I can give you my number?”

“Yeah sure okay.”

Rafe gets out his phone, a tiny phone that was probably made eight years ago that his mom told him was ‘cool and trendy’. She’s so wrong it almost hurts.

Rafe had been waiting and waiting for this day. Yes the plans were arranged yesterday but he’s just so excited it’s almost sad really.

But after making his way to your house and you giving him a tour of the mansion you live in. You’re now both sat on your bed.

He’s in your room.

On your bed.

“No you’ll have to tutor me.” You say as you smile before looking back at the work that’s in front of you. You’re laying on the bed as Rafe is sat stiff.

“Tutor you?” Rafe asks, adjusting his glasses again for the second time this minute.

“Well we’re doing this project and I don’t get what it’s about so you’ll have to help me.”

Earlier when Rafe started talking about the project he had presumed that he’d been doing it all himself like he’d usually do with other people. But you insisted you’d actually help. Even if you have been distracted a couple times.

“Yeah sure.” Rafe replies as he smiles, looking down at you. He’s rather close to you it’s making his heart beat so fast. If it beats any faster it’ll pop out his chest like in those cartoons. His eyes might also pop out his head too. We’re just waiting for that.

God he’s so close to you he can smell that perfume you wear every day to school. It hasn’t changed since the first time he met you.

He’s just watching you lay on your stomach on the bed, writing down some things. He just can’t seem to pull his eyes away from you. You just look so beautiful and calm. Of course he has to go and ruin it.

He’s just staring, and before he thinks he leans in and kisses you. His soft lips pressing against yours until he realises what’s happened and pulls back.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He says as he starts panicking. Of course he’s ruining things like he always does. He may be smart when it comes to academics but he’s so stupid when it comes to social situations.

But all you do is smile. Just smile at him before pushing up and climbing onto his lap.

“Oh, oh. Okay…” He says as he holds his breath and looks anywhere but you. His hands don’t touch you. Just in the air, frozen in place by this very unexpected action from you.

So you place his hands on yours hips looking at him before your hands are placed on his cheeks. Gently rubbing them as you look down at him.

“You have a crush on me Rafe?”

Rafe nods as he stares into your eyes. He’s too shy to say anything, and also incredibly aroused by having you here. On his lap. His hand sneaks as he brings it close to his face to adjust his glasses. He look looks up at you like a puppy.

He’s so cute and shy it makes him all the more attractive to you. Some people think he’s all these things but unknown to him you’ve always had some feelings for him. Even if you did try and stop them.

Your hand travels downs Rafe’s body until it reaches his zipper. His dick twitching in his pants as he lets out a low whine. He’s so pathetic it’s so hot to you.

“You want me to touch you Rafe?”

This has escalated very quickly, and as scary it is to Rafe. It’s very exciting for Rafe too. He’s never even held hands with a girl. Or spoken to one for longer than thirty minutes. Twenty minutes. Ten minutes at best.

“Yes please.” He whines out as he wriggles lightly underneath you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He has thought about thus situation before but this is not how he was expecting at all.

You smile as you start to kiss him, lips pressing softly against Rafe’s. His lips are soft, different to what you’ve kissed before. Your tongue slips into his mouth which is met by more whines from the boy underneath you.

Your hand slips into Rafe’s pants and before he can say a word you start to stroke him. His dick hard and leaking with precum. He feels slightly embarrassed but that’s quickly stopped as you begin to go faster. And all he can think about is how good it feels and how much better it is than his own hand.

The moans and whimper from this man is heavenly. Making those panties you chose to wear just for him wet.

“Please, please can I cum?” Rafe is begging for this. Begging for this release from you. His whole body is practically shaking. He knows he’s acting needy and pathetic. But he can’t help it. He’s practically brainwashed by you.

He’s a man who could genuinely have any job he’s ever wanted but here he is whining for you. Whinging and moaning and begging. A possible future president is begging to cum.

“Yeah baby. Cum for me.”

You will definitely be doing this again.

a/n: don’t know how to feel about this one and i am still upset over bae’s eyebrows.

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kaisaerinlover · 3 days ago

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dark content

tw: abuse

laying in bed with kaiser after an extra rough day, a day where he was so much worse than usual. a day where your whole body is left aching in pain. kaiser doesn’t offer you any help or care other than picking you up where you lay limp on the floor to toss you onto the bed so he can feel your warmth next to him.

you’re laid on the pillow trying your hardest not to move, every time you move it feels like a thousand bricks are being tossed at you nonstop. feels like hammers are beating at you. you’re so broken right now it hurts. but that’s what you get for dating someone like kaiser; you shouldn’t play angel with a guy like him. shouldn’t play the “i can fix him” game with someone who is more than just sad inside. someone who’s pain and hurt from the precious years of childhood manifested into a terrifying amalgamation of twisted morals and sick behaviour. you shouldn’t play those types of games with a man like kaiser, because he’s not like anyone you will meet or have ever met in your life. any therapist would truly have a field day with this boy because the amount of times he would have to be in their office is more than infinite, if it’s even possible. it’s impossible, but not for him. fitting for him. he could get better, but his mindset doesn’t allow this. he won’t change it anytime soon, that’s why you’re laid in complete and utter agony trying to bite back the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes. even breathing is painful.

he’s next to you, looking like nothing even happened at all. he looks beautiful, hair tied up into a neat little bun at the back, glasses on, face illuminated by the awfully expensive antique lamp you insisted he buy the other month. he’s reading something, your vision is too blurry to see what he’s reading. the sound of him flipping the pages every so often is soothing, you could almost forget about the burning pain you have all over your body. almost forget how he looked as he punched you over and over; screamed at you again. how terrifying it is to be beneath him as he gets so violent with you.

it’s not fair, it’s really not. it’s not fair how he treats you when you are so kind to him; so gentle. sometimes he treats you with the same sweetness you taught him, but it’s not common. but you are different; you would never react back to him with the same brutality his actions teach you. you are a good person, your heart is big and your compassion swells for him even after he treats you like this. you couldn’t explain why even if you wanted to, human nature of this degree is wordless, unexplainable and weird. it’s illogical, but that’s one of the most beautiful things about humans.

that’s kaiser’s opinion anyway, he has you wrapped around his pinky finger. he can hear your shaky breathing next to him; he smirks to himself.

you look at him when you hear him fold the corner of the page of his book so he can find it easier later, and place his book down on the bedside table. you’re waiting for him to turn off the lamp, but he doesn’t yet. your boyfriend clears his throat and looks forwards into the rest of the very luxurious bedroom you both share. “hey, engel” he doesn’t even bother looking at you as he talks. he obviously lacks respect for you. and you acknowledged this long ago. and you stay. you stay with him. you wait silently for him to continue. silence is the best answer after a day like this - he’s impossible to predict. whatever is inside of him follows no logical pattern, if you say the wrong thing you’ll anger him more. “do you know why i hurt humans?” he still isn’t looking at you. you don’t talk still, you don’t bother looking at him anymore. the bruise on your neck that’s darkening even now, hours after the beating, is hurting too much. you stare at the ceiling as you listen to him talk.

he’s smirking as he talks, looking out into the bedroom with his hands behind his head. he carries on again, his voice never lacks confidence “it makes me feel alive.” you never quite understood that about him, you’re still quiet, listening to him, but you extend your arm anyway and lay it awkwardly on his chest despite the pain that shoot’s up the entirety of your arm from doing so. he acknowledges your smaller hand messily splayed across his chest by bringing his own bigger hand to squeeze it tightly, painfully even. he bent your fingers back today a lot, they still ache.

he doesn’t look you in the eye still as he talks. and you don’t want to look him in the eye either. you just both stare into the dimly lit surroundings as you maintain some semblance of skin to skin contact. “i’ve hurt a lot of humans before” he laughs a little. you gasp a bit and jump as he squeezes your hand painfully tight, obviously intending to hurt you. “but hurting you makes me feel the most alive.” your chest is hurting and your hand is crushed so immensely between his much bigger one. you heard the sickening crack of your fingers. you sort of wish he wouldn’t let go, you don’t want to see the damage. purple is a pretty colour, but not when it’s on your fragile skin.

kaiser squeezes hard, he can’t feel alive in any other way than this. than checking his heart rate in a morning. than looking in the mirror and seeing himself standing there, seeing himself in the flesh and knowing he’s alive. he loosens his grip on your hand though and turns to lay on his side to face you. he looks pretty like this, you’re looking at him as well; head propped on his free hand, the other reaching out to caress your battered cheek. he likes seeing what he did to you earlier, likes when he can assess the damage himself. it makes him feel so alive. and even though you won’t admit it his battery makes you feel equally as alive as he does. “you know, prinzessin, i’ve never been hurt before though.” blatant lie, he knows it is, you’ll believe it. he chooses to push his childhood far far behind him. he doesn’t associate with that time of his life, any memory of it that replays will only be viewed in a third person point of view. he doesn’t know that weak child anymore. “wanna know why?” and you give him a response for the first time. you nod and look up at him with your big glassy eyes. you’re like a broken toy, but you know that someone like kaiser can appreciate a broken toy. poor kids who grow up with nothing will accept anything. wealthless kids, abused kids who grow up and enter society as sickeningly ill in the head adults will stop accepting anything, they’ll only accept the familiar brokenness they know best. and if it’s not there in the person they want, they’ll make it themselves.

“it’s because i’m not human.” kaiser doesn’t see himself as human, the opposite actually. having a superiority complex is fun, but it’s less fun when it’s to cover up the hideous truth beneath. he’s caressing your beaten face so tenderly right now, as you deserve. for once he’s treating you kindly. he’s subhuman. but he’s also something better, he’s above everyone else. his intellect is a mean feat in any terms of human endeavour. his talent is unrivalled. he can do things no one else can. michael kaiser can make the impossible into a reality. michael kaiser can give hope to those who thought they could never dream again. he looks at the tattoo on his hand instead of your eyes, the tattooed hand that’s caressing your face; the face he’s grown to both love and despise over the years. the face he wants to destroy beneath his rough fists. the face he wants to hold gently and leave a kiss on. his tattoo is a reminder he’s above everyone else, but also that he’s a piece of shit. he has narcissistic tendencies but it’s mostly a cover up. even he doesn’t believe in his delusions sometimes.

poor you has to bear the brunt of that, but whilst he’s caressing your face you can forget about all the burden you’re forced to carry because of the emotional baggage your boyfriend brings to the relationship. he sighs. he can’t even look you in the eye. he stares off into the window, the one that rain is trickling against now. the city is beautiful at night, but you’re more beautiful. you’re pretty. so cute. süsser prinzessin. but he can’t bring himself to look at you right now. “i’m not like the rest of you, and i never will be.” you can’t tell what he’s thinking when he says that; but you’ve always been an empath. your hand finds its way back to his and you push it from your cheek and intertwine it between the fingers he hurt so much.

you make him feel so alive, hurting you is the best thrill he could get in life. bringing any harm to you is also the most saddening thing. you’re so nice to him even now, someone like him doesn’t deserve it. he’s a subhuman piece of shit and you love him. he’s also a god, renowned by many. he’s a subhuman who needs to be loved and he’s a cruel cold hearted god who needs to be taught gentleness and kindness. he just rubs his thumb over the back of your smaller hand and sighs. he’s a confident guy, no doubt about it, but maybe you won’t be around forever. maybe you will pack up and leave one day - he’s tried every trick in the book to ensure you stay, not that he even has to do that, because you would undoubtedly, but he can’t help but be worried.

it’s shameful to admit that maybe an emperor does need a princess sometimes. he rubs your hand in circle motions and presses a kiss to your forehead. he’s sorry, he’s so fucking sorry for doing this to you. he doesn’t know why he’s like this; you deserve so much more than this. infinity times infinity more. you’re really his princess, he’s sorry. sorry that he treats you like this. sorry that instead of affection all you get most of the time is his fists bearing into you over and over, a barrage of attacks until he’s finally decided you learned your lesson.

you don’t have anything to learn. kaiser loathes you because you’re a perfect human. you’re beautiful and you’re compassionate. you have a big heart and a big personality and he likes your stupid jokes you tell. and he hates that you stay with him. you’re so perfect, you really are. you notice his eyes are glossy. he hates to cry; kaiser fucking hates crying. you also know your boyfriend hates crying, so you open your mouth for the first time tonight. “i love you, micha.” a sweet whisper of love. he feels your other hand, your other thumb wiping up the small amount of wetness beginning to form on his lashes. only you could notice that, god he fucking hates you. “i love you too” he confesses in a rare moment of vulnerability.

you fall asleep in his arms, and he falls asleep too. he’s squeezing you so tightly, he’s holding you so close like you’re something so precious; like a thief of the night might come and steal you from him. every inch of your body aches from his earlier barbarity, but you didn’t care whilst falling asleep and you won’t care when you wake up. your heart is so pure that you simply don’t have the capacity to care about anything other than your boyfriends wellbeing and happiness.

kaiser is thankful he gets to even lay next to you. you’re not one of the same at all. but sometimes he debates your humanity as much as his own; you’re an angel.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #dark content #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader

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marauder-misprint · 2 days ago

Note

hiii I was wondering if I could get a sirius black x reader where reader is slytherin except she's a relatively decent person and just kinda ignores everyone and keeps to herself and like a singular friend (who could be a guy maybe for the sake of jealousy induced tension even though it isn't romantic between her and the friend) but like sirius is still a flirt except he's into reader and just crazy in denial about it because he's trying to distance himself from everything even remotely reminiscent of his family including house slytherin + him and the marauders all just kinda assume her and her friend are bad people because of their house- and reader maybe has always admired sirius because he's funny and brave and hot and just a goof and it's just this bundle of misunderstanding and angsty teens and 'reluctant' pining and inner turmoil and then they finally get together or at least on the same page at the end (whether that be due to the aforementioned jealousy induced tension or not)

oh goodness, I got carried away with this one. Regrets? None. Thank you so much for this request ❤︎

Tutoring

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

5k words

cw: fluff, Y/N, some angst

Days like today made you glad that your best friend, Lucas, was your partner in Herbology. Professor Sprout had given you a work day to tend to your plants. Lucas’ green thumb ensured that you weren’t doing any of the work beyond writing down the occasional note that he dictated to you as he pruned the various plants in front of you. He hadn’t said anything in a while and you were absentmindedly stroking your quill. The heat of the greenhouse half-lulled you into a daydream as you stared into the distance. As much as you’ve liked to say you weren’t looking at anything, or anyone, in particular, it would’ve been a lie. Sirius was being less helpful than you were on the other side of the greenhouse. He was flirting with some Ravenclaw girl while Remus took care of their plants by himself. Every so often, especially when the girl let out a shrill giggle, Remus sent the two of them a harsh look.

“Staring at him’s not gonna get you anywhere,” Lucas said, clapping his gloves together to get some of the extra dirt off of them before removing them.

“I don’t need to get anywhere,” you replied halfheartedly. “He’s just… pretty.”

Lucas sighed. “You’ve told me. But don’t forget how he’s funny and captivating and cool and brave and silly and a goofball and loyal and, oh, the list goes on!” he teased you, his voice having switched into a falsetto the moment he started listing off all the characteristics you had mentioned to him at one point or another.

“Shut up,” you said with no bite to your words. “How’re the plants? Growing as expected?”

“Better than expected. As long as you can handle some of the written part, we are getting O’s for sure.”

You smiled as you threw your arms around him. “This is why we’re best friends!”

“Because I don’t let you kill our plants?”

“Well, it’s certainly not for your potion making skills.”

Lucas laughed. You had figured out years ago that Lucas was superior in Herbology and you in Potions and then proceeded to make a pact to carry the other in their lesser subject. Lucas, however, had the good sense to not carry on with N.E.W.T. level Potions while you were stuck in N.E.W.T. level Herbology because it was required for your desired profession.

You slid some parchment toward Lucas to look over and give his approval too. Once he did, you got up to hand it to Professor Sprout. By the time you got back to your station, Lucas had packed up both of your things and you were free to leave class early. Lucas casually threw an arm over your shoulder as you exited the greenhouse together.

From across the greenhouse, Sirius watched you and Lucas leave. He kept his eyes on you until the door closed behind you, and even then, he continued to stare at where you had been. The Ravenclaw in front of him realized that she lost his attention and turned back to her partner looking a bit deflated. Once Sirius came back to the present and noticed the Ravenclaw wasn’t batting her eyelashes at him anymore, he turned back to Remus to see if he could help.

Remus waited until the Ravenclaws next to them left before asking Sirius about what had happened.

“Earlier, something distracted you. What was it?”

“Huh?” Sirius replied, looking up from the leaf that Remus had just removed from the plant closest to him.

“You were flirting with Marie and then you trailed off and ignored her for like a solid minute. What caught your eye?”

“Oh… Nothing. Just saw someone leaving and wondered why we were still working.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at Sirius; he was sure the darker haired boy was lying to him.

“Maybe we’d be done if you actually helped me instead of recounting your latest duel to every girl who looks at you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Of all the girls who had managed to catch Sirius’ eye, you were the one he didn’t talk about with the boys. Part of it was because he didn’t know much about you, but he did know two things: you had a boyfriend and you were a Slytherin. Both of those told him to stay away from you. Boyfriends, especially ones as clingy as yours appeared to be, didn’t like when he flirted with their girls. And you were a damned Slytherin. The house’s reputation was enough to make him wary, but he avoided anything that could connect him with his family and he was the first Black to not be sorted into Slytherin. So he decided that you were just a pretty girl and that’s all you were.

---

The weekend brought warm weather, sending students out to the school’s grounds. You and Lucas picked a shady spot a little ways from the Black Lake. Unfortunately, some of the boys from your year decided that you had picked a great spot and came over to talk to Lucas. He was friendly with them. You tolerated them during times like these; you didn’t really have any other friends to spend time with.

The boys made cruel jokes and discussed some of the curses they had read about in books from the restricted section. You didn’t care for the conversation. You leaned deeper into Lucas’ side. His hand found yours and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He knew you’d rather they not be there.

The Marauders were sprawled out closer to the lake. Other Gryffindors relaxed within a stone’s throw of them. They were a magnet for the other students in their house and then some.

Every once in a while, one of the Slytherins’ voices would carry and everyone would hear the horrid things they were talking about. This confirmed what Sirius thought of the house, and consequently, you. You were over there after all, listening and not saying anything. From the distance, Sirius couldn’t see you giving pleading looks to Lucas, silently asking him if you could move and go somewhere else. And even if he could see that, it would only confirm his belief that you were dating the boy.

Mulciber and Wilkes started discussing which curses they’d like to use on the muggleborns. Their descriptions got increasingly graphic and you had enough. Using Lucas’s shoulder to steady yourself, you stood up and began to walk away toward the castle. You rather waste the beautiful day alone and inside instead listening to that filth.

“Y/N! Don’t go, the conversation is just getting interesting!” Avery shouted at you. When you didn’t acknowledge him, he continued, “Why, you little bi-”

You turned around in a flash, wand out.

“Stupify!”

You weren’t dumb. You knew he was reaching for his wand and you’d be damned if you didn’t protect yourself. You shot a warning glance around the group, lingering longer on Lucas where he still sat against the tree. You sighed and continued on your way. You knew you had more eyes on you than you preferred; casting a spell in the middle of the grounds drew attention, especially when the spell was aimed at the likes of Avery.

Sirius was one of those who watched the whole thing go down. He hadn’t heard what the final straw was for you but you had his entire attention from the moment you stood up. He was rather impressed with how far Avery had flown backwards.

After you doubled your distance from the group of Slytherins, Lucas got up and jogged to catch up to you. He didn’t throw arm around you like he usually did, instead opting to shove his hands into his pockets and keep his head down.

Once again, Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off of you until you disappeared out of his sight. The whole area had gone silent and Sirius wasn’t the only one watching you go. Others were watching the Slytherins compose themselves.

“One helluva stupify,” James mumbled as the conversations around them resumed.

“Also not something you see every day,” Remus added. “Slytherin against Slytherin.”

Sirius just stared in the direction you had walked. You were just a pretty girl. A pretty girl who didn’t hesitate to stun your peer. And James was right, it was an impressive Stupify.

---

“I’ve yet to meet a nice Slytherin,” Peter complained from the boys’ potion station in the back of the classroom. “Lily and Marlene say they aren’t all that bad, but there’s no bloody proof.”

“Meadowes is… cool,” James said, choosing his words carefully.

“Cool! Not nice,” Peter said, pointing an accusing finger at James as if he only furthered Peter’s point.

“I don’t think anyone is describing Meadowes as nice,” Sirius said. For a reason he didn’t want to name, he felt himself looking in your direction, where you were diligently working alone. ‘No boyfriend in this class,’ he thought.

“Describing any of your cousins as nice, Padfoot?” James asked with a teasing voice.

Sirius just rolled his eyes. Maybe Andromeda, but he didn’t know her all that well. He was convinced that any relative that might’ve been actually worth meeting never showed up to family gatherings.

“Vicious. That’s what they are,” Peter said firmly, tracing a finger down the instructions of the potion they were supposed to be concocting. “Meadowes can be described as that.”

“Whatsername too,” Sirius said, still looking at you. “The one who stupified Avery the other week.”

“Doesn’t matter who’s on the receiving end,” Peter sighed.

At the end of the lesson, Sirius went to give a vial of the group’s potion to Slughorn while the other two cleaned up and returned the extra ingredients to the communal store.

“Ah, Mister Black, might I have a word?” Professor Slughorn asked as Sirius handed him the vial.

“Uh, yes, sir. As long as it doesn’t take too long. Transfiguration next.”

The professor nodded. “I’ve asked Miss Y/L/N if she’d be willing to… ah, tutor you.”

Sirius’ face soured. “Tutor me?”

“Your latest exam results are a tad disappointing to say the least, Mister Black. I asked Miss Evans first but she has prefect duties, as you know. And I’d be ignorant to ask Mister Snape. Miss Y/L/N has accepted and I expect you to treat her… kindly. If you wish to pass this class, take these sessions seriously.”

Professor Slughorn handed Sirius a piece of parchment with a series of dates, times and topics on it. It didn’t seem like he had any say in the matter. Sirius groaned but nodded before he turned to gather his things and hurry to Transfiguration. James and Peter hadn’t waited for him.

Sirius was reduced to grumbling to himself by the time he fell into his chair next to James; Remus and Peter sitting at the desk in front of them turned around to look at him.

“What took you so long?” Peter asked.

“Sluggy assigned me a tutor.”

“It’s not Snivellus, is it?” Remus grimaced.

“Godric, no, thank Merlin,” Sirius groaned. “Still a Slytherin though…”

“What’s Evans up to? Why can’t she?” James asked quickly, glancing toward the redhead a couple seats away.

“Prefect duties,” Sirius moaned.

“So,” Remus started slowly, “who is it? What Slytherin does Slughorn think you won’t murder?”

“Her,” Sirius said with a jerk of his head. “Y/L/N.”

As usual, you were sitting with Lucas. Your back was to the boys, but Lucas saw all of them turn to look at you.

“Why are those Gryffindors staring at you?” he whispered, as if the Marauders could somehow hear him from halfway across the room.

“Slughorn is having me help Black with Potions. Said something like if I could manage to get you an acceptable for your O.W.L.s, I should have no problem with Black,” you sighed, giving Lucas a teasing nudge.

“Huh,” was all Lucas said, but his lack of words were replaced with a death glare that he continuously sent towards Sirius, like he requested you personally to tutor him

---

You were waiting for Sirius in the Potions classroom for the first session. He was late, but you expected as much. You readied everything you thought you might need, which was a lot given how little Slughorn told you about where Sirius was struggling. Now, you waited, twirling your wand around in your hand.

“Sorry, ‘m late.”

You sat up straighter as footsteps approached you. There was a thud of a bag on the floor. Then Sirius slid onto the bench next to you, carefully looking at everything you had laid out.

“How many potions we brewing today?” he asked as he took it all in.

“Probably just the one… Laughing Potion. It’s what Slughorn had down for today.”

Sirius nodded. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been this close to you, or if he ever had been. Being right next to you reaffirmed his belief that you were pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. Angelic. And you smelled it too. It engulfed his senses for a moment.

“Your boyfriend doesn’t mind you tutoring me?” he blurted out. ‘Smooth, Sirius, smooth.’

You gave him a sideways glance as he immediately bent down to take out his advanced potion making book.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you said, your voice level but confused.

“What about that boy you’re always around?”

“Lucas?” you asked with an arched brow. You wanted to laugh. “No. He’s just my friend.”

“Sure do spend a lot of time with him.”

“So, potion making!” Slughorn didn’t really specify where you needed help, so-”

“I’ve literally seen you under his arm, holding hands, the works. Certainly seems a bit more than friendly to me.”

“I don’t see how that is of any concern right now, Black. Do you want to fail Potions?” you snapped at him. You weren’t sure why he was so focused on Lucas when he wasn’t even there and you were supposed to be working on Potions.

“No, I don’t want to fail. But I’m not failing right now.”

“You’re on your way to it. Now, tell me what Slughorn has docked points for.”

Reluctantly, Sirius pulled out a singed feedback sheet that Slughorn handed out for any potion receiving an A or less. Sirius had obviously tried to burn it in frustration.

The rest of the tutoring session went by with no mention of Lucas or boyfriends or any sign of flirting. Just how to properly brew a proper Laughing Potion. Sirius leaves the session believing that you are cold, just like every other Slytherin and all of his family. But he can’t help admiring how smart you are and how easy it was to fix his mistakes when you pointed them out. How you tucked your hair behind your ear when it fell into your face. How your laughter filled the whole room when you tested the finished product. He knew he shouldn’t but he wanted to make you laugh like that without the help of a potion.

On the other hand, you went back to the Slytherin Dungeon feeling dejected. You didn’t mind that Slughorn asked you to tutor Sirius. You were delighted. You’d get to spend time with him, alone, and hopefully catch his attention. But besides asking intently about Lucas at the beginning of the session, he didn’t flirt with you at all. He showed no interest.

---

After a few more sessions with you, Sirius decided to ask Dorcas about you. He could play it off as simple curiosity about his Potions tutor. Dorcas was probably the only Slytherin he could trust and she was always in Gryffindor Tower with Marlene so he wouldn’t have to seek her out.

“Meadowes!” he called from across the common room. “Can I have a word?

The Slytherin gave her girlfriend a confused look before rising from the couch.

“Black,” she said shortly, leaning against the wall.

“What can you tell me about Y/N?”

Dorcas’ brows bunched at the question.

“Uh, not much. Keeps to herself. Doesn’t voluntarily talk to anyone besides Lucas. I think he’s her only friend.”

She watched Sirius’ face for any clue as to why he was asking about you. The only thing going through his mind was how you called Lucas just your friend and Dorcas said he was your only friend. Just and only made quite the difference.

“Why?” she asked when Sirius didn’t say anything.

“Oh, Sluggy is having her help me in Potions. Just wondering if she’s that cold to everyone.”

Dorcas laughed. “Everyone but Lucas. Pandora and I have bets about if they’ll ever actually get together. I say they have to by the end of seventh year, but she says otherwise.”

“Huh. Alright. Thanks.”

Sirius went up to his dorm thinking about what Dorcas had said. You didn’t even talk to your roommates? That was certainly something. He kept coming back to Dorcas saying that you had one friend. Only one. As someone with plenty of friends, he didn’t understand it.

At the other end of the castle, you were sitting with Lucas in his dorm.

“There must be something wrong with me, Lucas. Why else wouldn’t he be flirting with me?” you asked from where you sat on the floor, leaning back against his bed.

Lucas sighed and you felt like you could hear his eyes roll. He was tired of the conversation before it even really began.

“Maybe because he’s a prat? I know you like him, but come on. You should be glad he doesn’t flirt with you. We both know he’d just break your heart and leave like it was nothing. Just like he does with every other girl.”

You turned to look up at Lucas so that he could see the irritated face you made.

“Okay, tell me how you really feel about him.”

“Just saying, Y/N, you could have better taste in guys.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know.”

You were glad he didn’t say ‘like me.’ Part of you wondered if he even thought it. If you weren’t good enough for Sirius to flirt with, maybe you weren’t good enough for your best friend to set you with anyone. Not that you actually liked any of his other friends, but the suggestion of one of them would’ve been nice.

The next session started off like usual, an air of coldness with you getting straight to the point. Dorcas’ words sit in Sirius’ mind so he can’t focus. First, he stirred the potion clockwise instead of counterclockwise. Then, he added fluxweed leaves instead of fluxweed stems. Finally, he was about to add essence of dittany when you reached out to grab his hand to stop him.

“Okay, are you actively trying to blow up this classroom?”

Sirius stared blankly at where your hand was gripping his wrist. You slowly moved it away from the cauldron before extinguishing the fire below it.

“Black, what’s on your mind? You’re not usually this… careless.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

He couldn’t very well just say ‘I asked my friend about you and she said you have no friends and you seem okay with that.’

“I don’t think it’s nothing if it almost had you kill us,” you stated before turning your whole body to face him on the bench. “And I don’t fancy dying today so either we talk about it or we end the session here and try again later.”

Sirius waited a beat before saying anything. He didn’t want to leave.

“I know you’re just my tutor, but I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”

You tilted your head to the side. The surprise of him saying that is evident on your face. Of all the things to be on his mind, that wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Oh. Um, okay. We can fix that. What do you want to know?”

“How come I only see you around that boy?” Sirius asked quickly before his eyes went wide with embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to ask you that right away. He knew he should’ve started with your favorite color or how you’re so good at Potions. “Shit, I didn’t mean-”

You laughed brightly. It makes Sirius relax a little.

“I thought I told you he’s my friend. Just my friend.”

“But…” he takes a breath, “is he your only friend?”

You bit your lip as you thought for a moment. The fact that you had to think about it practically answered the question for you.

“He’s my best friend. Has been since we started here. Guess I never really needed, wanted anyone else.”

“Not even your roommates? Other girls in our year?” Sirius asked, sounding slightly concerned.

You tried not to laugh again. “Are you worried I’m lonely?” you replied mirthfully. “Trust me, Black. I’m content.”

“Are you against new friends?”

“No, but it’s not like anyone is rushing to befriend me.”

Sirius hummed and looked back at the cauldron. “I think I’m okay to try again.”

This time he brewed it perfectly.

The tutoring sessions began to change from then on out. Sirius would start each one by asking you a question about yourself. He learned your favorite color and favorite food, what your wand core was, a bit about your family, how you were so good at Potions, how you felt about flying on a broom, what pet you would have if you could have any pet, why you continued in Herbology even though you sucked at it and hated it. The loner pretty Slytherin was more than she appeared.

You were caught off guard when Sirius continued to ask questions after that tutoring session. You couldn’t believe how genuinely curious and intrigued he seemed by you. Since he was doing better with each session, you humored him and told him about yourself. You started to consider him your friend. You would say hi to him in between classes or wave to him from across the Great Hall if you caught his eye. Lucas rolled his eyes at this.

Professor Slughorn was handing back a practical assignment’s grading sheet. You didn’t receive a feedback card, like usual, just the note that said O. Slughorn paused by Sirius and James’ table longer than you expected. Both boys only received the grade sheet. Sirius’ face shone brightly as he sprung up and sprinted to the front of the classroom where you were. He pulled you into a bearhug.

“I got an E!” he exclaimed.

“You deserve it, Sirius. Celebrate it!” you said with a giggle.

“I’m thinking butterbeers in Hogsmeade? We can go after dinner!”

You nodded, grinning widely. Butterbeers with Sirius? How could you say no?

Only it wasn’t just you and Sirius as you had expected. It was practically all of his Gryffindor friends plus Dorcas. From the moment you stepped foot outside of the castle with the group, you felt out of place. Sirius and James led the group with a boisterous conversation between just them filling the evening air. You somewhat anchored yourself to Dorcas. She was your roommate after all. Dorcas was paying more attention to Marlene and Lily, which you didn’t mind. Behind you, you could hear a more mellow conversation happening between Peter, Remus and Mary. Everyone in the group was chatting amiably except you.

It didn’t stay that way. After you had all been sat around a large table in the Three Broomsticks, Lily turned to you.

“You’re the one who’s been tutoring him? And he’s listened?” she asked, gobsmacked.

“Yeah. Surprised?” There was that Slytherin coldness.

“A little, actually.” Your face hardened and Lily clocked it immediately. “More impressed. If he doesn’t want to learn something, he usually doesn’t. Figured he’d just drop Potions at the end of term or something.”

“Oh,” you said softly. You looked down the table at Sirius who was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes. “He just needed a bit of guidance. You know how Slughorn eased off on his hovering.”

“Maybe he’s stopping hovering you two because you know what you’re doing,” Marlene said.

“You’re not even in Potions anymore, Marls, what are you talking about?” Lily asked with a laugh.

“No, he’s definitely stopped hovering as much. He grades essays while we work,” you said.

“You know who needs to stop hovering so much? Flitwick!” Mary added with a groan. “He’s always right next to you, watching you cast the spell. Like sorry, I get a bit nervous when I have a teacher at my elbow.”

All of the girls laughed and you didn’t feel so out of place. Maybe this was why Sirius was concerned with Lucas being your only friend? The girls were definitely a change of pace. It was nice. You turned to look at Sirius again, only to find him already looking at you with a knowing smile.

“Let’s not forget the whole reason why we’re here!” Sirius announced, raising his glass. “Y/N, thank you for raising my grade!”

“Here, here!” James called as the rest of the table raised their glasses in a toast to you.

You were blushing furiously. But then the conversations returned and the rest of the night passed far too quickly for your liking. Before you knew it, Madam Rosmerta was kicking the group out so she could close up shop for the night.

“I think that was the most I’ve heard you voluntarily talk to someone other than Lucas,” Dorcas mused as the group started to walk back to the castle.

You didn’t know how to respond. Marlene unknowingly came to your rescue as she pulled Dorcas toward the front of the group. This time, you ended up in the back of the group, keeping a slower pace. You loved evening walks, even if they were a bit chilly, so you prolonged this one ever so slightly.

“I hope that wasn’t too much attention for you,” Sirius said, falling into step with you, letting the rest of the group continue on ahead.

“No, it was fine. It’s fine.” You felt yourself start to blush again. “But you shouldn’t sell yourself short. You’re the one who brewed the potion.

“Yeah, only after you taught me some of your tricks,” he said, giving your shoulder a gentle bump.

---

You continued your tutoring sessions with Sirius even after his grades improved and maintained the preferred level. You both looked forward to the sessions, and Sirius continued to ask you about yourself at the start of each one. You sometimes would ask him to answer the question as well, saying that it was only fair.

You also found yourself sitting with the Gryffindors every once in a while, but it was always only if Sirius was there. You could sense that Lucas was a little miffed when you chose to sit with them over him during a study hall, but it didn’t bother you. He had friends that you didn’t like. So what if you had friends that he didn’t like?

Everything was going well. You were happy with your new friendships, although you still hung back while they stole the spotlight and made trouble.

Then you walked into Potions class and Professor Slughorn had written ‘Amortentia’ on the blackboard. He gave a lengthy lecture on the dangers of the potion before going over how to brew it. Then he released the students to give it a go. Your hands shook the entire time. You didn’t know why you were so nervous about it. Maybe because you knew what you would smell. When your potion is complete, your face burns.

You called it. You smelled Sirius. His leather jacket, smoke, sandalwood. It’s so undeniably Sirius. Because of your blush, those around you asked what you smell, but don’t say a word. You’re not going to tell anyone.

Sirius, on the other hand, is convinced there’s something wrong with his potion. He’s also a blushing mess, but he can’t accept what he smells. Sure, you were pretty and smart and able to help in potions, and you were powerful and beautiful and funny and had the most wonderful laugh. And you didn’t have a boyfriend and you got along with his friends well enough. But you were in Slytherin. You could be cold. How could he smell you in the most powerful love potion?

After the lesson, you gathered your things and hurried to talk to Sirius before your next lesson.

“Hey, I can’t do tutoring today. We’ll need to reschedule.”

He gave you a confused look.

“You scheduled something over tutoring?” he asked in disbelief. He tried not to look hurt; at least you were offering to reschedule instead of straight cancelling.

“No, no, not like that. Something just… came up?” You knew your excuse didn’t sound believable. Your voice gave it away.

Sirius grabbed your shoulder and pulled you away from his friends and out of the walk path.

“If we’re rescheduling, I’d like to know why.”

You took a shaky breath. “I… I don’t think I can be around you tonight.”

Sirius blinked slowly. The confusion on his face slowly melted away and was replaced by a mix of curiosity and hope.

“What did you smell in the potion?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Y/N, what did you smell?”

He had both hands on your shoulders now. If you didn’t answer him, you were sure that he’d start shaking you.

“You.”

Your answer was barely audible. It wasn’t even a whisper. But Sirius heard it. He closed his eyes and for a moment, all emotion left his face.

“I smelled you too.”

“Oh.” That came out as a squeak. Great.

“Yeah… Oh…” He opened his eyes. “I was really hoping we could meet tonight.”

“Well, uh, my schedule just cleared, so, yeah, we can meet up.”

Without thinking, Sirius placed a chaste kiss on the side of your forehead and turned back to his friends.

As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, “Can’t wait!”

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #slytherin!reader #request

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oscinhaslandito · 2 days ago

Text

COFFEE AND CHEMISTRY

The First Encounter:

Y/N sighed as she entered the university library, clutching her laptop and a half-drunk iced coffee. She spotted Oscar Piastri, her senior and brother’s best friend, sitting at a corner table, engrossed in his code. Lando had texted her earlier: "Go find Osc, he's at the library. Tell him to eat or something."

She hesitated before approaching, feeling a bit awkward interrupting him. "Hey, Oscar. Lando sent me to... check on you?"

Oscar looked up, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Classic Lando. You’re his messenger now?"

"Apparently. Also, can I sit here? The Wi-Fi is awful everywhere else," she asked, already pulling out her chair, though her voice held a slight edge of hesitation.

"Go ahead," he said with a shrug, sliding his notes aside to make space.

She noticed the assortment of neatly arranged notes and the faint smell of coffee around him. Settling down, she opened her laptop and glanced at him, realizing this might not be as awkward as she thought. Over the next hour, they worked in parallel, occasionally exchanging a word or two, and by the time Y/N packed up, she was surprised at how comfortable she felt.

Study Sessions:

Their study sessions became a routine. Every other day, Y/N would find herself at the same table with Oscar, their laptops open and the occasional sound of typing filling the air. He would guide her through complex algorithms, his calm explanations cutting through her frustration.

"Wait, so if I just refactor this part of the code, it works?" she asked, her eyes wide with realization. She clicked a few keys, and the once-buggy program finally ran smoothly.

"Exactly," Oscar said, his tone patient. "It’s just cleaner and more efficient this way."

Y/N threw her hands up in mock surrender. "I owe you my GPA," she said dramatically, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

"You’re figuring it out yourself. I’m just nudging you in the right direction," he replied, but there was a hint of pride in his voice. "Wow, you're like my guardian mentor."

Oscar looked at her with a confused raise of brow. "Guardian mentor?"

She looked way too proud of her words, "Yeah, like a Guardian Angel who helps me study. That's a Guardian Mentor."

Over time, her confidence grew. She started solving problems faster, but still turned to him when she hit a wall. Those moments became less about solving the problem and more about the comfort of knowing someone had her back. Sometimes, they’d take short breaks, sharing stories about classes or laughing over ridiculous memes Y/N found. Each session felt less like a chore and more like a shared ritual.

The Comfortable Silences:

Not every session was filled with conversation. Sometimes, they’d sit in companionable silence, the only sounds being the tapping of keys and the occasional flip of a page. It was oddly comforting. Y/N found herself appreciating Oscar’s quiet focus and the subtle way he’d glance at her screen, checking on her progress without saying a word.

On one of those silent nights, she looked up and found him staring at the ceiling, his pen tapping lightly against his notebook. "Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, offering her a small smile. "Just wondering if I’ll survive my final project."

"If you don’t, who’s going to help me with mine?" she teased, earning a chuckle.

Occasionally, the silence was punctuated by shared snacks or the soft sound of Oscar humming absentmindedly. It was in these moments that Y/N realized how much she enjoyed his company, even without words.

The Breakthrough:

When Y/N finally completed a particularly tricky assignment, she nearly jumped out of her seat, earning a glare from the librarian.

"It works! Oscar, look!" she whispered excitedly, pointing at her screen.

He leaned over, his shoulder brushing hers as he checked her work. A proud smile spread across his face. "Told you you’d get it."

"Team effort," she said, grinning. "You’re like my coding guardian angel."

Lando, who had just arrived with snacks, raised his hands in mock celebration. "Hallelujah, the nerds have triumphed! Let’s commemorate this moment with pizza."

"Deal," Y/N said, laughing.

"You know," Lando added, "I feel like I deserve some credit for this too. I’m the one who made you two start studying together."

"Sure, Lando," Y/N said, rolling her eyes. "Your contribution was invaluable."

Oscar smirked. "The moral support was life-changing."

Lando grinned. "Exactly. Glad you both finally see it."

Later that night, as they walked back to their dorms, Y/N turned to Oscar. "Thanks for always helping me. I don’t think I would’ve gotten through this semester without you."

"Anytime," he replied softly, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than usual.

The Late Nights:

Their study sessions often stretched into the late evenings. The library’s quiet hum became their soundtrack as they worked under the soft glow of desk lamps. On one particularly late night, Y/N’s head started to droop, her notes blurring before her eyes.

Oscar noticed, nudging her gently with his elbow. "You’re falling asleep," he said softly.

"Am not," she mumbled, her eyes half-closed.

"Come on," he said, packing up her things. "I’ll walk you back to your dorm."

"You’re too nice," she murmured, already half-asleep as they walked through the empty campus.

"Someone’s gotta look out for you," he replied, his voice low but warm. The quiet night air seemed to hold something unspoken between them.

The Little Gestures and Moments:

One evening, Y/N’s iced coffee was running low, and Oscar excused himself for a break. He returned with a fresh cup for her, setting it down without a word.

"Thought you’d need it," he said simply, his tone casual.

She blinked up at him, touched by the gesture. "Thanks, Osc."

Before she could say more, Lando sauntered over, smirking. "Well, aren’t you thoughtful?" he said, plopping into a seat.

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Don’t make it weird."

"Too late," Lando quipped, winking at Y/N.

The next day, Lando’s teasing escalated. "So, Osc, is this your secret way of wooing her? Coffee runs and all?"

"It’s called being polite," Oscar replied, though his ears turned slightly red.

Y/N groaned. "Lando, stop embarrassing him—and me!"

"Never," Lando said, grinning. "It’s my brotherly duty."

Later, as Oscar handed her a printout she needed, Lando chimed in, "Oh, a printout too? What’s next, love letters?"

Y/N threw a pen at him. "Out. Now."

Lando left, laughing, but not before saying, "I’m just saying—romance isn’t dead!"

Oscar started leaving small sticky notes with helpful tips or encouraging words on her desk when she wasn’t looking. One read, "You’ve got this! - OP." Y/N couldn’t help but smile, saving the notes in her notebook.

Between the teasing and late-night sessions, it was the small moments that stood out. The way Oscar would share his notes without hesitation, or how Y/N would save him a seat during crowded study hours. The way their hands would occasionally brush when reaching for a pen, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

It was in those fleeting touches and quiet smiles that an unspoken bond began to grow. Neither of them said anything, but both felt it. One evening, as Y/N leaned over to grab her bag, Oscar absentmindedly tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She froze for a moment, their eyes meeting, before he quickly pulled back, his cheeks tinged with pink.

The Lando Fiasco:

Lando occasionally joined them, his presence like a whirlwind that disrupted their serene environment. He would sprawl out in a chair, his arms crossed behind his head and a bag of snacks on the table.

"You two look like an ad for academic excellence," he teased, tossing a gummy bear at Y/N. "Do you ever do normal things, or is it all code and coffee?"

"Yeah yeah, we get it we're nerdy. Blah blah blah," Y/N rolled her eyes, catching the gummy bear and popping it into her mouth.

He chuckled, looking amused, "But seriously, don’t let Oscar turn you into a full-blown nerd," Lando added, smirking at his best friend.

Oscar smirked back, his tone deadpan. "She’s already better at debugging than you ever were."

"Rude," Lando replied, pretending to be offended. "I was just giving her the opportunity to shine. You’re welcome, Y/N."

Another time, Lando leaned over to peer at Y/N’s screen. "What are you even doing? That looks like an alien language."

"It’s called programming, Lando," she replied dryly.

"Yeah, and it’s definitely not for humans," he quipped. "Osc, how do you even understand this stuff?"

Oscar shrugged. "It’s just practice. You could learn it if you tried."

Lando snorted. "I’ll stick to spreadsheets, thanks."

Sometimes, his interruptions turned into rambling monologues about business strategies or bizarre hypotheticals. One evening, he sprawled across the table dramatically. "If I get a friend to create an app for matchmaking nerds, would you two be my test subjects?"

Y/N groaned. "Lando, we’re trying to focus."

Oscar, without looking up, replied just so Lando wouldn't bug them further, "Only if you promise to never bring this up again."

Lando grinned. "Deal. But you’d owe me royalties if it works."

He also had a knack for sneaking pictures of them studying. "Just documenting the nerd life," he’d say, showing them a candid shot of Oscar leaning over to help Y/N with a problem. "For the memories."

"So, when are you two gonna start dating?" Lando asked one day, casually leaning against the table.

Y/N choked on her coffee, and Oscar’s ears turned red.

"What? We’re just studying," Y/N protested, her voice a mix of embarrassment and disbelief.

"Sure, and I love pescatarians," Lando said, grinning. "Seriously, Osc, you’re basically already part of the family. Just make it official."

Oscar cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. "You’re unbelievable."

"And you’re avoiding the question," Lando shot back, his teasing grin widening.

Later, when Y/N had stepped away to go to class, Lando leaned closer to Oscar. "Just so you know, if you hurt her, you’ll have to deal with me."

Oscar’s expression softened. "I’d never do that."

Lando nodded, his usual playful demeanor giving way to sincerity for a moment. "Good."

On another day, Lando orchestrated a "random" movie night, conveniently inviting just the two of them. "Oops, looks like I’m busy tonight," he said, feigning regret. "Guess it’s just you two."

Y/N glared at him. "You’re the least subtle person ever."

"You’re welcome," Lando said, unabashed.

His meddling didn’t stop there. He started dropping hints to their mutual friends, ensuring they’d all conveniently "notice" how close Oscar and Y/N were. "Don’t you think they’d make a cute couple?" he’d say, grinning mischievously.

Lando’s teasing, it was clear to everyone—especially Lando—that there was something special about their dynamic. Whether it was the way Oscar’s gaze softened when Y/N talked about her goals, or how Y/N instinctively turned to Oscar for reassurance, their connection spoke volumes.

"You’re good for each other," Lando said one evening, his tone unusually sincere.

Oscar glanced at Y/N, who was too busy typing to notice. "Yeah," he said quietly, a small smile playing on his lips. "I guess we are."

The Confession:

It wasn’t a grand confession, but rather a culmination of Lando’s relentless teasing and their own shared moments. One evening, as they packed up from another late study session, Oscar sighed, his gaze shifting from the desk to Y/N.

"Can I ask you something?" he began, his tone a little more serious than usual.

She looked up, her expression curious. "What’s up?"

"Do you... ever get tired of Lando pushing us together?"

Y/N laughed softly. "Constantly. He’s relentless."

Oscar hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "The thing is... he’s not entirely wrong. About us, I mean."

Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of surprise. "Oscar..."

"I just think," he continued, his voice steady but earnest, "that maybe we’re wasting time pretending he’s off-base. Because he’s not. At least, not for me. What about you?"

She stared at him for a moment, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Then, a small, shy smile spread across her face. "He’s not wrong for me either."

Relief washed over Oscar’s face, and his lips curved into a genuine smile. "So, what do you say? Dinner? Just us?"

"Are you asking me out, Piastri?"

#f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri #formula 1 #lando norris #fluff #one shot #jjk fluff #oscar piastri x reader

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milkbobatyun · 13 hours ago

Text

des fleurs pour vous — some flowers for you

pairing: neuvillette x reader

genre: fluff

summary: with a little bit of help, maybe neuvillette can win your heart

word count: 812

a/n: first post of the new year! hope everything goes well for everyone this year :D just an fyi that i might be posting less this year cus i'm in my final year of school ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! (it's gone by so fast oml) and i need to prepare for the exams ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ )

neuvillette who doesn’t understand why he feels so nervous when he sees you. to this ancient dragon of old, he cannot fathom the reason why his mouth dries up and his palms become sweaty. every time he catches sight of you, the corners of his mouth twitch up involuntarily. butterflies brew a storm in his stomach as his heart dances erratically in his chest.

neuvillette who confides in the melusines about the foreign illness that has befallen him. in front of neuvillette, the melusines assure him, promising to do their best to cure him of this sickness that leaves his face burning and his ears flushed with red.

the moment his intimidating figure leaves the room, the melusines are huddling with their heads close together, whispering and brainstorming ideas.

“monseiur neuvillette has fallen in love!” menthe gasps dramatically, her tiny paws covering. the other melusines fawn over the notion, covering their mouths with their little paws, swooning over the fantasies their imagination has created. they’re overjoyed that the impartial iudex has found his other half, but without their help, this romance was heading nowhere.

after countless brainstorms and head whacks later, the melusines have a fool-proof plan. operation fleurs, they called it.

neuvillette who begins to think that he is losing his mind or getting too old for the job when he finds leaflets of local florist shops hidden between the legal files. when he’s pulling out books to consult, torn pages of various romance novels fall out, all citing love confessions, with one book on his desk even being swapped to “how to confess your love 101”.

neuvillette who after much coaxing from the melusines, decides to sit down at his desk, face impassive as he struggles to write a letter to convey his feelings. the melusines are ready to slam their heads on the table as they painfully watch the chief justice, who can hand down sanctions and orders without a moment of hesitation, is now terrified as he hopelessly stares at the blank pages, praying to the archons that he can express his feelings properly.

neuvillette who writes you such a formal letter stating that he wishes to meet you, that when you received it, you feared for the worst. as you stand beside the fontaine of lucine, anxiety gnaws at your stomach. did you do something wrong? were you about to lose your lawyer license? such thoughts chased each other in your mind, a silent mantra of your worst nightmares.

neuvillette who is so nervous about talking to you that he’s secretly mapping out 476 different escape routes and praying to the hydro archon that maybe today, at this exact moment, furina needs him for an urgent meeting.

your stomach drops when you see what could be described as neuvillette marching towards you, face set and stern, his arms held behind his back. somewhere in the back of your mind, your humour tries to throw light on the moment, silently commenting on how he looks like an old man eith his stance.

neuvillette, whose throat has dried up in fear and from the nerves that he has to awkwardly cough, but you’re so wound up by what is going on and end up jumping to conclusions, so you immediately begin bowing profusely and muttering apologies for some phantom mistake that you made.

neuvillette who gets so flustered he doesn't know what to respond and is reassuring you that you’re not in trouble. the melusines, who are very well hidden behind some bushes, are about to resort violence after hearing the both of you apologise to each other for the 500th time that day.

the melusines end up so frustrated with neuvillette’s lack of courage that they pop out from behind the bush and expose him to the whole of fontaine (there was only two other people there at the time)

a loud shout pierces through the tranquil barble of the fountain.

“OH MY ARCHONS, HES SO STUPIDLY IN LOVE WITH YOU HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO FUNCTION WHEN HE SEES YOU!”

the outburst from the usually softly spoken and quiet melusines leaves the two of you in stunned silence. your face is one of confusion as you point to yourself, as though trying to confirm what your ears heard.

when you look from the melusines to neuvillette to double check, scarlet red has coated his ears, warmth exploding over his face. hiding his face behind in embarrassment, neuvillette clears his throat before unveiling the bouquet of flowers he had hidden behind his back.

“well, it seems we started off with the wrong impressions, i sincerely wish that you forgive me for this. human emotion is…so difficult to grasp, but i believe this human tradition of giving flowers is meant to express… love? thus, i do hope that you may present me with the chance to court you?”

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) © curated with love by milkbobayun 2025 / づ ♡

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvillete x reader #neuvillete smut #neuvillette x you #x reader #genshin x you

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w1w2 · 19 hours ago

Text

The Art of Confessing

Karina x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

Synopsis: Y/N finds herself inspired by her friend Karina. As their bond deepens, Y/N faces the ultimate decision to reveal her heart through her work.

Notes: Here's a little something I promised to celebrate 100 followers! Thank you so, so much for all the support babes! Also, I might have a thing for rooftops and balconies since I'm using these places quite often. Oops.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The soft hum of a vinyl record filled the air, its crackling warmth wrapping the room like a comforting blanket. Y/N sat cross legged on the floor of her cozy apartment, a cup of chamomile tea steaming beside her. Around her, the space was a kaleidoscope of creativity, canvases leaned against the walls, some finished, others abandoned midway, each capturing fleeting glimpses of her innermost thoughts. Sketchbooks lay stacked haphazardly on the low wooden table, their pages bursting with pencil strokes, splashes of paint, and smudges that told the story of countless late-night bursts of inspiration.

Few knew about this side of her. As an idol, Y/N’s life was on constant display, each moment scrutinized by adoring fans and media alike. Yet this, the smell of paint, the quiet shuffle of brushes, was hers alone. It was her escape, her sanctuary.

That evening, the world outside her window shimmered with a thousand city lights, each one a tiny story flickering in the dark. Y/N traced her finger along the rim of her mug, her thoughts trailing back to the night before.

“Y/N, look at that!” Karina’s voice had been filled with awe as she pointed toward the horizon. They had sneaked away to a rooftop in the heart of the city, a rare pocket of freedom in their otherwise hectic schedules. The air had been crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming jasmine from a garden below.

Y/N turned her gaze to Karina, the lights casting a soft glow over her features. She looked breathtaking, like a dream painted in strokes of moonlight and stardust. Karina’s long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her profile serene yet commanding as she gazed at the cityscape.

“You’re staring,” Karina had teased, her lips curling into that faint, knowing smile that never failed to make Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“I was just… appreciating the view,” Y/N replied, her voice faltering slightly.

Karina chuckled, nudging her playfully. “You’re impossible.”

Yet in that moment, Y/N couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have Karina in her life. Karina, with her grounded warmth and quiet strength, was a constant source of inspiration. She had an aura that drew people in, and yet, it was the quiet moments, like the one on the rooftop, that Y/N cherished most.

Now, back in her apartment, Y/N’s fingers hovered over her sketchbook, hesitant. The image of Karina bathed in city lights lingered vividly in her mind, and for the first time in a long while, she felt the urge to create something deeply personal.

She picked up a pencil and began to draw, her hand moving almost instinctively. The curve of Karina’s jaw, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the way her eyes seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words, it all flowed onto the page. But as the sketch took form, Y/N’s heart raced with uncertainty.

Would Karina ever see this? Should she?

The doorbell rang, jolting Y/N from her thoughts. Her heart skipped as she glanced at the sketch in front of her, a delicate, unfinished portrait of Karina. Hastily, she grabbed a loose sheet of paper and slid it over the drawing, her cheeks flushing at the thought of someone, especially Karina, seeing it before she was ready.

Taking a calming breath, she headed to the door and swung it open. “Jimin!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and delight.

Karina stood there, casually radiant in an oversized hoodie and faded jeans. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her face. The understated look only made her more striking, as if she didn’t need to try to shine. In one hand, she held a bag of takeout, and in the other, two bottles of sparkling water.

“Thought you might need a break,” Karina said, flashing a grin that sent a familiar flutter through Y/N’s chest. Without waiting for an invitation, Karina stepped inside, her presence immediately lighting up the room.

“You’re the best,” Y/N said, closing the door behind her.

Karina placed the bag on the coffee table and glanced around, her sharp eyes taking in the colorful clutter of Y/N’s apartment. Canvases leaned against walls, brushes sat soaking in jars, and scattered pencils seemed to tell the story of an artist’s whirlwind evening.

“You’ve been busy,” Karina remarked, gesturing toward the organized chaos with a tilt of her chin.

“Oh, that?” Y/N waved a hand, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just… messing around.” She prayed her nervousness wasn’t obvious.

Karina arched a brow, her expression both amused and curious. “Messing around, huh? You’ve got a whole gallery in here. You’re so talented, you know.” Her tone was sincere, her gaze lingering on Y/N as if trying to decipher a hidden secret. “I wish you’d share your work more often.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at the compliment, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe someday,” she murmured, her voice quiet.

They settled on the couch, the soft glow of the overhead light casting a warm ambiance over the room. As Karina unpacked the takeout, steaming boxes of stir-fry and dumplings, she filled the air with easy conversation. She talked about practice, the antics of her fellow members, and a particularly chaotic video shoot that had them all laughing until their stomachs hurt.

Y/N listened intently, her laughter joining Karina’s at the funny parts, her heart swelling at the sound of Karina’s melodic voice. Despite the chaos of their lives as idols, Karina always managed to bring a sense of calm and grounding, as if she were an anchor in the storm.

At one point, Karina reached for a napkin and accidentally knocked over a small box of charcoal pencils on the coffee table. They spilled onto the floor with a clatter.

“Oops!” Karina laughed, bending down to gather them.

“No, no, it’s fine!” Y/N said quickly, diving forward and snatching up the sheet of paper that concealed her sketch before Karina could notice.

Karina’s gaze flickered to the movement, her brows furrowing slightly. “What’s that?”

“Nothing!” Y/N blurted, clutching the paper against her chest. Realizing how suspicious she looked, she forced a chuckle. “Just some random doodles. You know, practice stuff.”

Karina studied her for a moment, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re acting weird, Y/N.”

“I’m not weird,” Y/N countered, her voice slightly higher than usual.

“Sure you’re not,” Karina said, her tone light but her eyes narrowing playfully. She reached out and lightly poked Y/N’s cheek. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

The exchange left Y/N flustered but relieved. Karina didn’t press further, though her curiosity lingered in the air like an unspoken question.

The evening continued, filled with shared laughter and moments of comfortable silence as they enjoyed their meal. Y/N found herself stealing glances at Karina, her mind racing with thoughts of the sketch hidden beneath her stack of papers.

When the clock struck eleven, Karina stretched and reached for her jacket. “I should head back. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I won’t,” Y/N lied, already knowing she’d be awake for hours.

Karina smiled and leaned down, her face just inches from Y/N’s as she tied her sneakers. “You better not overwork yourself, miss artist,” she said, her voice soft but teasing.

Y/N’s breath caught, and she could only nod, her throat too tight to respond.

When the door clicked shut behind Karina, the apartment felt strangely empty, the warmth of her presence lingering in the air.

Y/N walked back to her desk and uncovered the sketch, her heart pounding as she studied the lines she’d drawn. This time, she didn’t hold back.

With each stroke of her pencil, she poured her admiration and feelings into the image, the way Karina’s eyes crinkled when she laughed, the softness in her expression when she was deep in thought, the strength she exuded even in her most relaxed moments. It all came alive on the page, vibrant and real.

As the first rays of dawn seeped through the curtains, Y/N set down her pencil, her fingers smudged with charcoal. She stared at the finished sketch, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and vulnerability.

It wasn’t just a drawing. It was a love letter, a silent confession written in graphite and paper.

Karina was her muse.

The days following that late-night sketch session felt like a whirlwind for Y/N. Her schedule was packed with rehearsals, performances, and photoshoots, leaving little time for anything else. Yet, despite the chaos, her mind kept drifting back to her secret project.

Every spare moment was stolen to work on it. Between practice breaks and after long days of filming, Y/N found herself sketching Karina again and again, her laughter, her focused expressions during dance practice, the softness in her eyes when she let her guard down.

But translating her emotions into her art proved to be more difficult than she’d imagined. Y/N wanted the portrait to capture more than just Karina’s beauty. She wanted it to hold the warmth of Karina’s laugh, the steadiness of her presence, and the way she made Y/N feel. Safe, inspired, and completely seen.

One evening, while sitting in the corner of her bedroom, Y/N stared at the half finished painting on the easel in front of her. The initial sketch had evolved into a vivid portrait, the details slowly coming to life under layers of paint. But something was missing.

She sighed, setting her brush down. “Why is this so hard?” she whispered to herself.

Her phone buzzed on the table beside her, pulling her attention away. It was Jimin. "Don’t forget, we’re rehearsing the collab choreography tomorrow morning.”

Y/N smiled, her frustration melting slightly. She typed back a quick confirmation before leaning back against the wall, her thoughts drifting.

The next day, the two groups gathered in a spacious practice studio, the mirrored walls reflecting their every movement. As the choreographer explained the sequence, Y/N found her attention slipping. Her gaze kept flickering toward Karina, who was listening intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.

When they began dancing, Karina moved like water, smooth and effortless. There was a quiet intensity in her every step, a confidence that made her impossible to look away from.

“Y/N, are you spacing out?” Ryujin’s voice cut through her thoughts, accompanied by a playful nudge.

Y/N blinked, realizing she had completely missed her cue. “Ah, sorry! Let’s go again.”

As they reset, Y/N noticed Karina watching her from the corner of her eye. Karina’s lips curved into a small, amused smile before she turned back to her position.

Y/N’s heart stuttered, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks burning.

Throughout the rest of the rehearsal, Y/N tried to focus, but Karina’s presence was like a gravitational pull. Every time they danced side by side or shared a fleeting glance, Y/N’s thoughts grew more tangled. By the time practice ended, she was thoroughly exhausted, not from the choreography, but from the effort of keeping her feelings in check.

Late that night, Y/N sat at her desk, sketching furiously. Karina’s focused expression from their joint practice earlier filled her mind. She could still see the determination in Karina’s eyes, the effortless grace in her movements. Y/N tried to capture that feeling on paper, but her hand faltered.

Letting out a groan, Y/N leaned back in her chair. “Why is this so hard?” she muttered, her voice cutting through the quiet room.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, and she glanced at the screen.

“Still awake?” Karina’s message read.

Y/N smiled, her frustration easing slightly. She typed back quickly, “Yeah, just working on some stuff. What about you?”

A few moments later, her phone buzzed again. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check in.”

She laughed softly to herself, imagining Karina typing the message with her usual casual ease. Y/N replied, “You should rest. We’ve got another long rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Only if you rest too,” Karina shot back.

Y/N placed her phone face down on the table, the ghost of a smile still playing on her lips. Even through a screen, Karina had a way of making her feel warm and cared for.

The next day, the two groups gathered in the studio, the polished floors gleaming under the bright overhead lights. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the rhythmic beat of the backing track filled the air. The collaboration stage was shaping up to be something spectacular, but the pressure to make it flawless was mounting with each practice session.

Y/N stood in formation, her body moving instinctively to the choreography she had drilled into muscle memory. Yet her mind wandered, drawn to the figure a few feet away.

Karina’s intensity was captivating. Y/N found herself watching the way the light caught Karina’s profile, accentuating the curve of her jaw and the focused set of her lips. Her heart skipped as Karina tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and reset her position, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

“Y/N, focus!” Ryujin’s voice snapped her back to reality.

Startled, Y/N realized she had completely missed her cue. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she mumbled, “Sorry!” She quickly stepped back into position, her face burning with embarrassment.

The choreographer paused the track, clapping his hands together. “Reset from the top! Let’s clean up that transition.”

As everyone moved to their starting positions, Y/N felt a pair of eyes on her. She glanced up, and there was Karina, her lips curled into a faint smile. It wasn’t teasing or judgmental, just soft, almost amused, as if Karina could read the flustered jumble of thoughts in Y/N’s mind.

Y/N’s heart stuttered, and she quickly averted her gaze, willing herself to concentrate. She couldn’t afford to mess up again, especially not with Karina watching.

The music started again, and Y/N threw herself into the choreography with renewed determination. Yet, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t shake the image of Karina’s knowing smile, a lingering echo that stayed with her long after practice ended.

That evening, back in her apartment, Y/N stood in front of her half-finished painting. The day’s events replayed in her mind, the way Karina moved, the way she smiled, the way her presence seemed to fill every corner of the rehearsal studio.

The painting stared back at her, the lines bold yet incomplete, as if waiting for her to find the missing piece. The form was taking shape, the details slowly emerging under her brushstrokes, but it still felt unfinished. Y/N didn’t just want to capture Karina’s beauty, she wanted to capture everything that made Karina who she was. Her strength. Her warmth. Her quiet, vulnerable moments.

She picked up her brush, dipping it into a soft shade of brown, and began adding more detail to Karina’s eyes. But the more she painted, the more her thoughts spiraled. Was she even capable of doing this? Could she truly convey everything she felt without ruining it?

Doubt crept in, tightening her chest. Y/N sighed, setting the brush down for a moment. Her phone buzzed on the table, the sound breaking through the quiet hum of her apartment.

She picked it up and smiled at the message on the screen.

“Did you eat yet?”

Y/N laughed softly to herself, imagining Karina sitting in her dorm, texting her between her own bouts of exhaustion. She quickly typed back, “Not yet. Thinking of ordering something soon. You?”

The reply came almost instantly. “Same. Want to order together?”

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her heart racing slightly. This was her chance to see Karina again outside of practice, to share a moment that was just theirs.

“Sure. Come over?” she finally wrote, her pulse quickening as she hit send.

Moments later, her phone lit up with Karina’s response. “On my way.”

Y/N exhaled, her heart still pounding. She looked around her apartment, suddenly self-conscious about the mess of paint brushes and canvases scattered everywhere. She quickly tidied up, covering the easel with a cloth and stacking her sketchbooks into a neat pile on her desk.

By the time the doorbell rang, she was ready, though her nerves still buzzed under the surface.

When Karina arrived, she was dressed casually in a hoodie and sweatpants, her face free of makeup but still radiant. She carried a bag of takeout in one hand and a playful grin on her face.

“Thought I’d save you the trouble of deciding,” Karina said, stepping inside.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Y/N replied, her nervousness masked by a wide smile.

They settled on the couch, the warm scent of food filling the apartment as they dug in. Conversation flowed easily, as it always did between them.

Karina glanced around the room between bites. Her eyes landed on the corner where Y/N’s easel stood, partially covered by a cloth. “You’ve been busy,” she remarked, gesturing toward the scattered art supplies.

“Just… experimenting,” Y/N said quickly, hoping her voice sounded casual.

Karina raised an eyebrow. “You’re so secretive about it. Can I see?”

“Nope!” Y/N blurted, perhaps too forcefully. “It’s not ready yet.”

Karina tilted her head, her teasing smile making a return. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know.”

Y/N felt her cheeks burn. “You’ll see it eventually. Just… not yet.”

Karina didn’t push further, though the curiosity lingered in her expression. “Fine. But now I’m intrigued.”

Later that night, after Karina left, Y/N stood in front of the painting. The interaction had left her more determined than ever to finish it. Every brushstroke felt like a piece of her heart being poured onto the canvas.

But as the painting neared completion, so did Y/N’s anxiety. What if Karina didn’t understand? What if this changed everything?

Desperate for advice, she called Ryujin, one of the few people she trusted with the truth.

“I’m painting Karina,” Y/N admitted, her voice trembling.

Ryujin’s reaction was immediate. “Oh my god, like painting painting? The romantic kind?”

“Yes,” Y/N whispered.

“Y/N, that’s huge.”

“I don’t know if I can tell her,” Y/N said. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if it ruins everything?”

As Y/N stared at the nearly finished piece later that night, her heart swelled with a mix of hope and fear. The time to reveal it was drawing near.

The days after Y/N’s confession to Ryujin felt heavier. Each time she looked at the painting, a wave of doubt rolled through her. The details were all there, the delicate curve of Karina’s smile, the warmth in her eyes, the quiet strength she carried in every movement. It was a masterpiece in Y/N’s eyes, but also a fragile piece of her heart.

Would Karina see it for what it was? Or would she feel uncomfortable, pressured by the unspoken feelings woven into every stroke?

Y/N shook her head, trying to brush the thoughts away as she flipped open her sketchbook. She wanted to clear her mind by sketching something simple, but her hand moved instinctively, and once again, she began to draw Karina.

The lines flowed easily, forming the familiar tilt of Karina’s head, the soft curve of her lips when she smiled. She was so lost in her work that she didn’t hear the door open.

“Y/N?”

Karina’s voice startled her, and she fumbled with the sketchbook, nearly dropping it.

“Oh, hey!” Y/N said, her voice a little too bright.

Karina raised an eyebrow as she walked further into the room, her expression curious. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing important,” Y/N replied quickly, snapping the sketchbook shut.

Karina wasn’t so easily deterred. With a playful grin, she reached out and gently tugged the book from Y/N’s hands. “Come on. You’ve never let me see anything.”

“Jimin, wait!” Y/N’s protests fell on deaf ears as Karina flipped to the page she’d been working on.

For a moment, Karina didn’t say anything, her eyes scanning the unfinished sketch. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her palms clammy as she waited for Karina’s reaction.

“This is…” Karina started, her voice soft. She glanced up at Y/N, her expression unreadable. “Is this me?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for an explanation. “It’s just a practice piece,” she said, her voice strained. “I was messing around.”

Karina’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “You’re really good at this, you know. I didn’t realize you were so obsessed with my face.”

“I’m not!” Y/N’s cheeks burned as she snatched the sketchbook back.

Karina laughed, a sound that was warm and light, filling the room. “Relax, Y/N. It’s flattering, really. You’ve got talent.”

Y/N forced a shaky laugh, her stomach twisting in knots. “Thanks,” she murmured, clutching the sketchbook to her chest.

As Karina turned to grab her water bottle, Y/N exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. That was too close.

Later that night, Y/N sat on her bed, staring at the closed sketchbook in her lap. The encounter replayed over and over in her mind, each moment gnawing at her resolve.

What if the painting was too much? The sketch had been casual, yet even that felt vulnerable. How could she show Karina the painting when it held everything she couldn’t say out loud?

Her phone buzzed, and she saw a message from Minjeong.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Without thinking too much about it, Y/N replied, “Can we talk?”

An hour later, Y/N found herself sitting in a café with Minjeong and Ryujin. The small booth felt cozy, and the low murmur of other patrons provided a comforting backdrop. Still, Y/N couldn’t shake her nerves.

“So,” Ryujin said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “You called us here to spill some tea?”

Minjeong sipped her iced coffee, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “What’s going on?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Finally, she sighed. “I’ve been working on something… for Karina.”

Ryujin raised an eyebrow. “You mean the painting? You didn’t chicken out on finishing it, did you?”

“No, it’s done,” Y/N admitted. “Mostly, anyway.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Minjeong asked.

Y/N hesitated, her voice dropping. “She almost saw it. I mean, she saw a sketch of her, and even that felt so… exposed. I don’t know if I can show her the real thing. What if it’s too much? What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Ryujin exchanged a glance with Minjeong before leaning back in her seat. “Okay, first of all, you’re overthinking this. It’s a painting, not a marriage proposal.”

Minjeong gave Ryujin a pointed look before turning to Y/N. “What she means is, you’re letting fear stop you from sharing something beautiful. Karina’s not the type to make you feel bad about your feelings. She’ll see the effort you put into it and appreciate it.”

Y/N sighed, still unconvinced. “But what if it changes things between us? What if it makes things… awkward?”

Ryujin leaned forward again, her tone gentler this time. “Listen, Y/N. You’ve already poured your heart into that painting. Keeping it hidden isn’t going to make those feelings go away. Karina deserves to see it. And you deserve to let her know how you feel, even if it’s scary.”

Minjeong nodded in agreement. “Think of it this way. The worst that can happen is a little awkwardness. But the best that can happen? That’s worth the risk.”

Y/N looked between her two friends, their words sinking in. Deep down, she knew they were right.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll do it. I’ll show her.”

Ryujin grinned, raising her cup of coffee in a mock toast. “That’s the spirit.”

As Y/N walked home, the city lights twinkled like scattered diamonds against the velvety darkness. The crisp evening air carried a faint chill, brushing against her cheeks and filling her lungs with a sharp clarity that mirrored the resolve forming in her chest. Each step felt lighter, as if the weight of her fear was slowly being replaced by a flicker of courage. It wasn’t overwhelming or all-consuming, but it was there, a small, steady flame burning quietly within her. She wasn’t entirely ready, but she was getting there.

Her thoughts swirled as she reached her apartment building and climbed the familiar stairs. Every moment with Karina flashed vividly in her mind, the way her laughter lit up a room, the quiet strength in her gaze, the unguarded moments when she let her softer side show. Y/N’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile as she unlocked her door and stepped inside.

The apartment greeted her with its usual stillness, the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. She set her bag down and crossed the room to where the painting rested on its easel, waiting like a secret she wasn’t sure she could keep much longer.

Standing before it, Y/N reached out and let her fingers trace the edges of the canvas. The surface was smooth under her touch, but the emotions it held felt raw and vulnerable. The colors were vibrant yet soft, carefully chosen to bring life to Karina’s essence. Her gaze lingered on the delicate details, the gentle curve of Karina’s lips, the light in her eyes, the quiet strength radiating from her expression.

It was more than a painting. It was a confession, a love letter written in brushstrokes and hues. Every inch of it held a piece of Y/N’s heart, a reflection of feelings she had carried silently for so long.

Her breath hitched as a wave of emotion washed over her, an ache of longing, a surge of fear, and a spark of hope all tangled together. Could she really do this? Could she lay her heart bare and trust that Karina would understand?

She took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself as she stared at the painting. The vulnerability was terrifying, but the thought of keeping it hidden felt even worse. This was her truth, and no matter how afraid she was, she knew it deserved to be seen.

Y/N took a deep breath, letting it fill her chest and steady her trembling hands.

The days that followed were a blur of anticipation and nerves. Every glance at the painting made Y/N’s heart race, her emotions swinging between fear and hope. She spent hours in her studio, touching up the smallest details, ensuring every stroke was perfect.

When she finally set her brush down, she knew it was time.

Y/N paced her apartment that evening, her mind racing as she rehearsed the words she wanted to say. None of them seemed quite right. What could she say to explain the depth of her feelings? How could she capture in words what she had spent weeks pouring into the painting?

Her phone buzzed on the table, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. She reached for it with slightly trembling hands, her breath catching when she saw the name on the screen. Jimin.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

The message was simple, casual, but it sent Y/N’s heart racing. She stared at the screen for a long moment, her thoughts spinning. This was it. The moment she’d been building toward.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed back, “Yeah. Want to come over?”

The reply came almost instantly.

“Sure. Be there in an hour.”

Y/N stared at the screen, her pulse quickening. Her mind buzzed with a mix of excitement and nerves. She stood up, the chair scraping softly against the floor, and looked around the room.

The painting stood on its easel in the corner, draped in a soft white cloth like a secret waiting to be uncovered. Y/N adjusted the drape, making sure it covered the painting completely, then stepped back to take in the room.

The lighting was warm and dim, the soft glow of the overhead light complemented by a small lamp near her desk. Shadows danced faintly on the walls, giving the space an intimate, cozy feel. It was exactly what she wanted for this moment, a place where she could share something deeply personal, without the chaos of the outside world intruding.

But as the minutes ticked by, Y/N felt her nerves growing. What if this didn’t go as she hoped? What if Karina didn’t understand what the painting meant? She shook her head, trying to push the doubts away.

By the time the doorbell rang, her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears.

Y/N took a deep breath, smoothing her hands over her sweater before crossing the room. She paused for a moment in front of the door, steadying herself, then opened it.

Karina stood there, her usual casual elegance effortlessly on display. She wore a simple black sweater and jeans, the fabric hugging her frame in a way that was both understated and stunning. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light from the hallway.

“Hey,” Karina said, her smile as radiant as ever. “You okay? You look a little…” She tilted her head, studying Y/N’s face. “Nervous.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, stepping aside to let her in. “Just… been working on something.”

Karina raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Oh? Another secret project?”

Y/N led her to the studio, her heart pounding as she gestured toward the covered easel. “It’s finished now. And I… I want you to see it.”

Karina’s eyes softened, her smile turning gentle. “You’ve been so mysterious about this. I’ve been dying to know what you’ve been working on.”

Y/N hesitated, her hands trembling as she reached for the edge of the cloth. She paused, glancing at Karina. “Before I show you… just know that this is really personal. It’s not just a painting. It’s…” She trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Karina stepped closer, her expression reassuring. “Hey. It’s okay. Show me.”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N reached for the cloth, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the soft fabric. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering to Karina. The warmth in Karina’s gaze was reassuring, steady, and it gave Y/N the courage she needed.

With a single, fluid motion, Y/N pulled the cloth away, revealing the painting.

The room fell silent.

Karina’s breath caught audibly as her eyes locked on the canvas. Her lips parted slightly, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. She took a small step closer, her gaze moving slowly over the intricate details of the piece.

The painting was a masterpiece, a vivid and breathtaking portrayal of Karina that went beyond simple likeness. It captured not just her beauty but the very essence of who she was. Her eyes sparkled with a soft light that seemed alive, brimming with both strength and vulnerability. Her posture exuded quiet confidence, a testament to her resilience, while the warmth radiating from her expression seemed to fill the room itself.

“Y/N…” Karina’s voice was barely a whisper, the sound delicate and almost fragile. She stepped closer, her hand lifting instinctively. Her fingers hovered near the canvas, trembling slightly, as if she were afraid touching it might break the spell it had cast. “This is… me?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight as she nodded. “It’s you.”

Karina’s gaze remained on the painting, her eyes tracing every detail, every brushstroke. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of wonder and something deeper, something Y/N couldn’t quite name. Slowly, Karina turned her head to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“Why?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine curiosity and an undercurrent of something heavier.

The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Y/N’s heart raced, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she struggled to find the right words. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke. “Because… you inspire me,” she began, her gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again to meet Karina’s. “Every time I see you, every time we talk, I feel… something I can’t put into words. So I put it here.”

She gestured toward the painting, her hands shaking slightly. “You’ve become my muse, Jimin. Not just for my art, but… for everything.”

Karina’s breath hitched, the sound almost imperceptible in the quiet room. She turned fully toward Y/N, her eyes glistening under the soft studio lights. “You feel that way about me?”

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “I do,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I know this might change things, but… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You mean so much to me, and I needed you to know.”

The silence that followed felt endless. Every second stretched into an eternity, each beat of Y/N’s heart pounding in her ears. Doubt began to creep in, clawing at her as she stood frozen, her vulnerability laid bare.

Then Karina smiled.

It was small at first, a soft curve of her lips that grew into something tender and luminous. It was the kind of smile that melted every ounce of Y/N’s doubt, that quieted the storm of fear in her chest.

“Y/N,” Karina said gently, her voice steady despite the emotion thickening it. “This is… the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Y/N felt tears prick at her eyes, her breath catching as she searched Karina’s expression for reassurance.

“You mean so much to me too,” Karina continued, her smile deepening. She stepped closer, closing the space between them. “More than I think I’ve ever been able to say. And now, looking at this… it’s like you’ve said everything I’ve ever felt but didn’t know how to put into words.”

Y/N’s lips parted, but no sound came out. The weight of Karina’s words, the depth of her gaze, left her speechless.

Karina’s hand reached out, hesitant at first, before gently brushing against Y/N’s. “You didn’t just paint me. You saw me.” Her voice was soft, her tone reverent. “And no one’s ever done that before.”

Y/N’s heart swelled, a warmth spreading through her that made her feel as if she might float. “I couldn’t help it,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “You’ve always been so much more than what people see. I just… I wanted to show you what I see.”

Karina’s smile turned wistful as she stepped even closer, their hands brushing again, this time lingering. “You’ve always seen me, Y/N,” she murmured. “I just didn’t realize how much it meant until now.”

In one fluid motion, Karina lifted her hand to Y/N’s cheek, her touch featherlight. Her gaze dropped to Y/N’s lips for a fleeting moment before meeting her eyes again, and in that shared look, the world seemed to fall away.

“Can I?” Karina whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/N’s nod was almost imperceptible, but it was all Karina needed.

When their lips met, it was tentative at first, a gentle brush that held the weight of every unspoken word, every lingering glance, and every stolen moment they had shared. The softness of the kiss was electric, sending a shiver through Y/N that started at her lips and spread outward, warming every part of her.

For a fleeting second, the world seemed to hold its breath. Time slowed, the only sound in the room, the faint hum of the overhead lights and the quiet rush of Y/N’s heartbeat in her ears. Her hands hovered uncertainly by her sides before she found the courage to let them rest lightly on Karina’s waist, her touch tentative but steadying.

Karina responded with equal care, tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss. Her fingers, which had been resting delicately on Y/N’s cheek, slipped into her hair, threading gently through the strands as if anchoring herself in the moment. There was a deliberateness in her movements, as though she wanted to savor every second, every sensation.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, a dance of emotion that spoke louder than any words ever could. It wasn’t rushed or fleeting, it was grounding, a moment where they both poured out everything they had held back for so long. Y/N’s mind swirled, her senses overwhelmed by the softness of Karina’s lips, the faint scent of her perfume, the warmth radiating from her touch.

Y/N could feel Karina’s breath hitch slightly, a soft, almost inaudible sound that sent a jolt of vulnerability and affection straight to her chest. She tightened her grip just a fraction, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Karina’s sweater. It was as if she needed something tangible to hold onto, to remind herself that this wasn’t a dream.

Karina shifted closer, their bodies brushing in a way that felt both grounding and electrifying. The space between them disappeared entirely, leaving nothing but the shared warmth of their connection. Y/N could feel the faint, rapid rhythm of Karina’s heartbeat against her own, a quiet reminder that they were both equally affected by this moment.

When they pulled apart, Karina rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her smile soft and full of quiet joy. “I guess I really am your muse now,” she said, her voice laced with a playful warmth.

“You always have been,” Y/N replied, her own smile mirroring Karina’s.

They stayed like that for a moment, the glow of the studio lights wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. The painting stood behind them, a testament to everything they had finally found the courage to share.

The days that followed felt like stepping into a dream, one that was warm, steady, and more real than anything Y/N could have imagined. After the quiet confessions and the kiss that left their hearts irrevocably intertwined, Y/N and Karina slipped into a rhythm that felt natural, as though they had always been meant to find this harmony.

They were cautious at first, navigating the unspoken boundaries of their new relationship with soft touches and knowing smiles. Y/N found herself drawn to Karina in ways she hadn’t allowed herself before, letting her fingers linger when they brushed against Karina’s, leaning into her when they sat together, and allowing her gaze to linger openly now, no longer afraid of being caught.

Karina, for her part, seemed equally at ease. She’d taken to slipping into Y/N’s studio whenever she had free time, lounging on the couch as Y/N worked. She would sometimes glance at the painting on the wall, the one that started it all, with an expression that was a mix of pride and tenderness.

“It still feels surreal, you know,” Karina said one evening, her voice soft as she leaned her head back against the couch.

Y/N glanced up from her sketchbook, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “What does?”

“That someone could see me the way you do,” Karina replied, her eyes drifting to the painting again.

Y/N set her sketchbook down, crossing the room to sit beside her. “You make it easy,” she murmured, her fingers brushing lightly against Karina’s. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to capture. And now…” She hesitated, her cheeks warming slightly. “Now you’re mine to keep.”

Karina smiled, lacing her fingers with Y/N’s. “And you’re mine.”

The painting remained in its place on the studio wall, a symbol of their love and the moment their hearts had become one. It wasn’t just art anymore, it was a shared memory, a piece of their story. Y/N often caught Karina looking at it, her expression soft with nostalgia, as though reliving the moment she first saw it.

Months later, Y/N stood in her studio, a fresh canvas stretched across her easel. The room was bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, the warmth spilling through the windows and casting soft shadows on the walls.

She stared at the blank canvas, her fingers lightly gripping a brush as she mulled over her next creation. Beside her, Karina was perched on a stool, flipping through one of Y/N’s sketchbooks.

“Starting something new?” Karina asked, her tone curious.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, glancing at her with a playful smile. “And guess what? You’re still the muse.”

Karina laughed, setting the sketchbook down. “I feel like I’ve been promoted. What’s this one about?”

Y/N hesitated, a smile tugging at her lips. “Us,” she said simply.

Karina tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Us?”

Y/N nodded, dipping her brush into a soft, rosy hue and making the first, tentative strokes on the canvas. “I want to paint us together,” she said, her voice soft. “Not just me looking at you, or you being the focus, but us, together, as equals. As…” She paused, glancing at Karina. “As lovers.”

Karina’s cheeks flushed slightly, but her smile was radiant. “That sounds perfect,” she murmured, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple.

The studio was quiet except for the gentle rustle of brushes and the faint hum of the city outside. Y/N worked steadily, the strokes of her brush deliberate and filled with love. Beside her, Karina stayed close, occasionally reaching out to steady the easel or tease Y/N with playful comments about her artistic process.

As the first outlines of the painting took shape, Y/N felt a deep sense of peace settle over her. The canvas would take time to complete, but that was okay. They had all the time in the world now, together.

The painting, when finished, would hang beside the first, a continuation of their story. Where the first painting was a confession, this one would be a celebration: two hearts, two souls, and a love that had grown stronger with each passing day.

For now, Y/N smiled as she worked, Karina’s laughter filling the space beside her.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader

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ere-the-sun-rises · 3 days ago

Text

I've got a story about this exact situation.

| | |

I had to read "The Stone Angel" by Margaret Laurence in Grade 12 English. It's hard to describe - a kind of day-in-the-life-of/character study/old-woman-tells-you-her-life-story kind of book. It's not about anything, necessarily - just a run through of one woman's version of the human experience. She tells her story as it happened, occasionally interjecting regrets or observations from her vantage point in the future. An interesting narrative design, and a compelling one.

I hated every fucking moment of reading that book. I bitched and moaned and resented it for taking up my life.

The worst part was, ironically, the protaganist. She was the most bitter, vile, wretched and judgmental shrew I'd ever had the misfortune to read about. I loathed her and being forced to see through her eyes. She would say and think unhinged and cruel things to people who loved her and cared for her. Had she been real before me, I would have slapped her so hard she'd get whiplash. She was repulsive, and even the really shitty things that happened to her - like two abusive husbands who left her broke and shamed - could not summon my pity or empathy. I didn't think she deserved what they put her through, but by god, she certainly didn't deserve to be happy.

And then ... the ending happened.

She skips back and forth between describing her past and narrating her present, where's she's an 80-something living with her second son and his wife. She tells you early on that she's doing this mental exercise because she's been diagnosed with dementia, so she wants to remember everything as it happened.

She decides to wander the neighbourhood and gets lost for three days. She finds and makes friends with a homeless man who lets her share his cardboard and newspaper bedding. They swap some stories about their lives. She thinks about her life on a park bench during the day, sitting in the sun and enjoying the warmth after a cold night. She finally admits she's been ungrateful (and unrepentantly evil) to a lot of people in her life (especially her second son and especially especially his wife). Then, in the middle of a thought, the sentence stops short and the rest of the page is empty. It took me a moment to register what had just happened. I re-read the last few sentences a few times before it clicked.

She died.

An elderly woman, riddled with dementia, lost and unable to find her way home, died out in a public park, alone.

Except I was there.

I'd been there with her the whole time. I left the house with her, followed her through the little city she lived in, listened as she told me her whole life story. I had been with her to her final breath and thought - the only one who was. Someone random. A stranger who, until this very moment, had reviled her and sought only to escape her miserable fucking life - I was who she died with. Not her son who loved her so much or her daughter-in-law who spent years looking after this frigid bitch, not anyone from her past - me. Just ... me.

I was shattered. I sat on my bedroom floor, staring at and rereading her last, unfinished words. I knew she had more to say and only now, once she was gone, did I want to know them. All the resentment drained out of me and I was left by myself for the first time in weeks, hollowed out and sad. Sad for all of it - the misery her husbands put her through, the elitist pride she saddled herself with, the disdain she showed everyone around her, the heartbreak of her son when he inevitably found her body. So much time and energy ... all wasted by her. She couldn't realize much she had until she's elderly and lost, and through a confluence of chance and her own high-handed sins, she dies here. With nothing by ghosts and no one but a distant stranger who never talks back.

I closed that book and stared blankly at the cover art. I just watched that woman die. And this transcript of her thoughts is all that's left of her now - sitting on the floor between my legs and staring silently back at me.

| | |

I only read this book once, and I'm unlikely to ever read it again. I hated her, and I'd probably hate her even more now that I'm an adult with more adult perspectives on the things in her life.

I think everyone should read it.

It's a miserable slog with a repugnant protaganist and it broke my heart so thoroughly that I still remember it a decade later. I've never had a book - before or since - strip me bare with all the things it didn't say. The pathos is extraordinary and devastating. The absence of her words, the unfinished thoughts in her mind ... haunting.

I said that this book isn't about anything, because it isn't. But "The Stone Angel" is something ... her tombstone. It's simultaneously what it is to die and to watch someone die. To feel loss, even for someone you might hate. She's dead, and her death doesn't take her wrongs with her or undo her own suffering - it's just silence. Loss. Maybe even grief.

But that's the point, isn't it? To feel grief, one must have empathy, sympathy; feel affection or pity or both. This book made me feel grief for a fundamentally unpleasant fictional woman simply by letting me experience her life with her.

You'll hate reading this book, and I think you should.

I straight up do not trust you if you did not enjoy a single book you had to read for English class. I know they assigned some real stuffy stinkers and the curriculum varies across districts but not one? Not The Outsiders? Not The Picture of Dorian Gray? Not Fahrenheit 451? Not even Frankenstein? Damn. That’s crazy.

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alewritesfics · 3 days ago

Text

Bridging Realities

ℑ𝔙. 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤..... 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

The morning sun streamed through the windows of the Featherington estate, casting a golden glow over the lively preparations for the day ahead. You were seated at your vanity, Varley fussing over your hair with more vigor than necessary, muttering about how even a race required proper presentation. You nodded absently, your mind far from the conversation—or even the impending event.

You were dressed already, the soft, pastel blue gown fitting you comfortably as you stood and moved toward the window. You still wonder how on earth you got port- mama, to agree to buy new dresses and with different colors this time, although you think it mostly has to do with the arrival of the new featherington lord and how it meant that they no longer needed to worry about money much.

The bustle of the household faded as you leaned against the frame, gazing out at the beautiful house across the street, in which you could swear you see movement in.

It should’ve been a simple day—a moment to enjoy the festivities, the thrill of the race, and the chatter of the crowd. And yet, the weight of your thoughts anchored you in place.

The question swirled relentlessly in your mind. What do you do next?

The story you knew so well—the love story of Kate and Anthony—was already beginning to take shape. You’d seen the tension between them last night, the sharp glances, the lingering stares. You knew the moments that were meant to happen next.

But at what cost? Edwina’s heartbreak? Anthony’s stubbornness that was the whole reason people got hurt in the first place? Was it even your place to intervene? A few days ago you didn’t even exist in this world, so how could you?

Your gaze drifted to the bright sky, searching for clarity. And yet, another thought began to creep in, unbidden but persistent.

What if you didn’t step aside?

What if you let yourself want something—long for someone—for once? Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t just a name on a page, or a face in a show anymore. He was a man, flesh and blood, with flaws and feelings. And you… you weren’t just a bystander that dreamed to be in a love story like his. Not anymore.

Your fingers tightened on the windowsill as your heart warred with itself. To let the story unfold as it always had or to take a leap into the unknown, to risk selfishness for the chance at something real.

And then again, maybe you were meant to change things? Why on earth would the universe transport you into the world you’ve always dreamed of if you weren’t meant to?

“Miss Y/N?” Varley’s voice broke through your reverie, startling you. “The carriage will be ready soon. We mustn’t keep the others waiting.”

You straightened, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you turned back to the room. “Of course, Varley,” you said, your tone steady even as your thoughts churned.

As you left the room, you resolved one thing: Today, at the races, you would make a choice. Whether to follow the script you knew so well or to write a story of your own.

“Why did I have to accompany you?” you asked as you walked behind Penelope as she entered the drawing room of the Bridgerton house

She ignored your words, approaching Eloise from behind “Is that a copy of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope asked

“It is” Eloise answered, putting down the paper

“I thought we were done with her” Penelope said

“Do not discourage her, Penelope” Lady Bridgerton said “If she has taken an interest in Lady Whistledown again, perhaps it means she’s interested in what she has to say about the season’s available gentlemen too” She turned towards her daughter

You chuckled, swallowing down your nerves as you approached her mother “If Eloise has anything to say about it, Lady Bridgerton, then no” You said

“See, even Y/n gets me” Eloise huffed, turning to face Penelope

You smiled, looking at what you hope will be your future mother in law “Lady Bridgerton,” you greeted

She stopped her embroidery, looking up at you with a smile “Y/n, dear, it has been a long time since you’ve visited” Violet said

You blinked before you realized that perhaps you had or well, the past Y/n Featherington had visited the Bridgerton home before with Penelope.

“Yes, it has been” you nodded before sitting on the chair next to her “artist Bridgerton brother,” you greeted Benedict with a smile

He chuckled “still calling me by that, poet Featherington sister?” He teased back

You looked at him lost “Poet?” you said confused

“yeah,” he brought down his sketchbook “Don’t you remember when you recited on and on about the color of Anthony’s hair, his mesmerizing eyes?”

What?

“Oh, yes, I remember that as well” Lady Bridgerton chuckled “It was sweet seeing how enamored you were with Anthony when you were little, of course, it never went far as you were only three and ten years old when you decided you wanted to marry Anthony and he was well off into adulthood”

Your face froze as Lady Beidgerton’s words sank in, your heart skipping a beat. What?! You laughed nervously, trying to mask your shock. “I—well, I suppose teenage girls are prone to fanciful ideas, are they not?”

“Fanciful indeed,” Violet said, smiling warmly. “Though, I must admit, it was endearing. You followed him about during those visits, asking the most peculiar questions about the responsibilities of a viscount. You were so earnest, poor Anthony didn’t know what to do with you!”

Benedict smirked. “Oh, he certainly knew what to do—run off to the study and hide.”

“Benedict!” Violet scolded lightly, though her tone was still amused.

You felt your cheeks heat, and for a moment, you were lost for words. Of course, the past you would have been a lovestruck teenager, completely unaware of what that might mean for your interactions now.

You cleared your throat, your mind racing as you tried to compose yourself. “I assure you, I’ve outgrown such girlish infatuations. Besides, Anthony and I have hardly spoken more than a few words to each other recently.”

“Oh, but that could change,” Violet said, her tone light but laden with meaning. “Anthony needs a steady hand, someone with wit and charm to keep him grounded.”

Benedict leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at you knowingly. “And who better to manage his chaos than someone who once planned her entire future around him?”

You shot him a pointed look, though your lips twitched upward in a small, reluctant smile. “I believe we’re getting far ahead of ourselves.”

“Perhaps,” Violet said with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, “but it’s always nice to see old friends rekindle a connection.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of their playful remarks mingling with your own uncertainty. You had come here prepared to make a choice, but now it seemed as though fate—or the Bridgertons—was nudging you toward one particular path.

“I believe we were never friends, Lady Bridgerton, it was just a childish infatuation on my part,” you say “I believe Anthony has his eyes set elsewhere right now”

Violet raised an eyebrow at your comment, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps, but you’d be surprised how easily one’s eyes can be redirected when the right person is in view.”

Benedict chuckled, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Oh, this is far more entertaining than I anticipated. Please, do carry on.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart was beating faster than ever. “I assure you, Benedict, there is nothing to carry on about. Anthony and I barely speak, and whatever childish notions I had are long gone.”

“C-colin!” you heard Penelope exclaim, You stood up as the rest of the bridgertons embraced the newly arrived Colin, watching with a smile as they greeted him

“And where, may I ask, is our intrepid viscount?” Colin asked looking around his family

“He is-“ Anthony stepped into view as Lady Bridgerton spoke “back from courting already”

“Colin, you are back, even better” Anthony said as he saw Colin “Family, I would like you all to-“ his eyes met yours, making him go silent

“Y/n…” he spoke “i-I did not know you were here”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, Anthony cleared his throat, his eyes leaving yours “i-I would like you all to ready yourselves for the races today, we will be attending united as one” He finished saying to his family

You stayed next to him as his family went off to get ready “I’ll be there in a bit” you say to Pen as she looked at you expecting to leave, she nodded before she left the room

Your eyes flickered back towards Anthony, finding him looking at you, you smirked “You’ll escort me to the races, won’t you?” you say boldly, having decided to not step aside and instead make your own choices.

Anthony’s eyebrows furrowed at your boldness, his usual composed demeanor slipping ever so slightly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly weighing his response.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched thin, and you could see the flicker of hesitation in his dark eyes. His gaze shifted briefly toward the door, as though calculating his options.

“I… had intended to accompany my family today as a united front,” he said carefully, his voice measured. “There are certain… expectations that must be upheld.”

You raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Expectations?” you repeated. “Anthony, are you saying that escorting me would somehow disrupt your plans?”

His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his reluctance palpable. “Not disrupt,” he clarified, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. “It’s simply that…” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Ah. So this was about Edwina. You felt the pieces fall into place with startling clarity. Kate’s refusal to let him court her sister must have spurred Anthony into finding another way to gain the Sharma family’s favor—an approach steeped in duty and strategy, as expected of a viscount.

But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Especially not after what you had decided and you’d be damned if you were losing without a fight.

“Anthony,” you said, stepping closer so that he couldn’t avoid your gaze. “If your goal is to show yourself as a responsible, family-oriented man, what better way than to escort an old family friend?” You let your tone turn teasing, though your eyes stayed sharp.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse outright. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned back to you. “You do have a way of making things sound entirely reasonable,” he admitted, though his tone lacked its usual confidence.

You smiled triumphantly, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. “Then it’s settled,” you said brightly. “We’ll make quite the impression, won’t we?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering briefly toward the door again, as though still calculating his options. But then, he nodded, his movements stiff but resigned. “It would seem so,” he said finally.

As you walked together toward the carriages, you could feel the weight of his hesitation lingering between you. Anthony Bridgerton was a man bound by duty and logic, but there was something else simmering beneath the surface—a conflict he hadn’t yet resolved.

But that was fine. You weren’t looking for perfection. You were looking for an opportunity to remind him that life didn’t always need to be dictated by duty and expectations. If you were rewriting this story, you weren’t afraid to challenge the characters along the way.

Even if one of those characters was the man you’d been dreaming of for years.

You smiled, satisfied with his answer—for now. Today was only the beginning, after all. If you were going to rewrite the story, you intended to do so on your own terms. And Anthony Bridgerton? Well, he would simply have to keep up.

You looked around the field filled with people with a smile, the sound of horses galloping resounding nearby. Your eyes searched for any familiar face nearby but hard to see with so many people around.

You turned back to look at the man beside you, his eyes searching as well. You held back a scoff as you knew why, “Whatever plan you had for today, it would have only ended up hurting people” You stated, looking back at the field.

Anthony turned to look at you, your arm intertwined between his “What do you mean?” he feigned innocence

You looked at him once again “You mean to tell me you didn’t plan on elaborating a grand scheme so the eldest Sharma would leave you alone with Miss Edwina?”

Anthony’s gaze narrowed slightly, though there was no malice in it. “And what, pray tell, do you think I’m planning?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” you said, glancing toward the arriving carriages. “You intend to use today to make a grand show of your family’s unity and charm, all to prove to the Sharmas that you’re the perfect match for Edwina. Am I close?” You didn’t want to mention his plan to get Thomas Dorset to woo Kate.

His silence was answer enough.

You sighed, releasing his arm as you turned to face him fully. “Anthony, I know you mean well, but this… performance? It’s not going to end the way you hope it will.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re not being honest with yourself,” you said simply. “About what you want.”

His expression darkened, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I am entirely aware of what I want,” he said stiffly.

“Are you?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because it seems to me you’re more concerned with what you think you should want. There’s a difference, Anthony, and if you don’t figure it out soon, you’re going to hurt a lot of people—including yourself.”

The words hung heavy in the air between you, his gaze locked on yours as if trying to decipher your meaning. For a moment, you thought he might push you away, dismiss you like he did everyone who dared to question him.

But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You make it sound so simple,” he said quietly.

“It’s not,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “But it’s worth it.”

Anthony’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. Then, with a subtle nod, he extended his arm to you once more. “Shall we?”

You smiled, slipping your arm back into his. “Lead the way, Lord Bridgerton.”

As you walked toward the crowd, the weight of your words seemed to settle on him, though he said nothing more. But you could feel it in the way he held himself, in the quiet moments of hesitation that punctuated his otherwise confident demeanor.

“You should let things flow the way they’re supposed to,” you pat his arm “If there are things impeding you to court Miss Edwina…..perhaps you should give up” you say selfishly

Anthony glanced at you, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. “Give up?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You would have me surrender so easily?”

You met his gaze steadily, though your heart raced at your boldness. “Not easily, Anthony. But if you’re only pursuing her because you think it’s the right thing to do, rather than what you truly want, then yes. Why waste your time—and hers—on something that isn’t real?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, the tension in his features softening ever so slightly. “You speak as though you know my heart better than I do.”

“Perhaps I do,” you said, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Or perhaps I just see things more clearly because I’m not the one caught in the middle of it.”

Anthony didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting to the lively crowd ahead of you. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional cheer for a victorious horse filled the air. You could see his family mingling in the distance, their bright smiles a sharp contrast to the weight of the conversation between you.

“And what about you?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now. “You speak of honesty, yet you remain shrouded in mystery. What is it that you truly want?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you faltered. How could you explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had brought you to this point? How could you tell him that you weren’t just another Featherington, but someone who had seen his story unfold in ways he couldn’t possibly understand?

“I…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I want to live a life that feels real. Not one dictated by expectations or duty, but one where I can make my own choices. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

Anthony studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint smile, he shook his head. “You’re a peculiar woman, Y/N Featherington.”

You laughed softly, the sound tinged with relief. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” You looked at him “Besides…. I’m already fighting for what I want” there was something unreadable in your eyes as you looked at him

Anthony’s smile faltered ever so slightly as your words hung in the air, their weight settling between you like an unspoken challenge. His dark eyes flickered over your face, searching for something—clarity, perhaps, or reassurance—but all he found was a quiet determination that seemed to unnerve him.

“Fighting for what you want?” he repeated, his voice careful, measured. “And what is it, exactly, that you want, Miss Featherington?”

You tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk gracing your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The teasing lilt in your voice did little to ease the tension that had crept into the conversation. Anthony’s hand shifted subtly where it rested on yours, as though he were considering letting go. His usual air of control seemed to waver, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something unfamiliar in his expression—unease, perhaps, or uncertainty.

“Miss Featherington,” he began, his tone carrying the weight of a man accustomed to steering conversations in his favor, “it is not often I find myself at a loss for words, but you seem intent on ensuring I remain so today.”

You chuckled softly, though your gaze remained steady on his. “Perhaps that’s because you’re not used to being challenged, my lord.”

Anthony’s brows furrowed, and he looked away briefly, his gaze scanning the crowd as if seeking an escape. When he looked back at you, his composure was intact once more, though there was a faint crease in his brow that betrayed his lingering nervousness.

“You speak with remarkable confidence,” he said, his voice cooler now, as though attempting to regain the upper hand. “But confidence can be a dangerous thing when wielded carelessly.”

“Only to those unprepared to face it,” you countered smoothly, the edge in your tone softened by a smile. “But don’t worry, Lord Bridgerton. I have no intention of unsettling you—too much, at least.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground before meeting yours again. “You have an uncanny ability to make a man question himself,” he admitted, his voice low. “I wonder if that is your intention.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “And if it were?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions neither of you dared to name. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh.

“Then I suppose I must brace myself,” he said, his tone laced with reluctant amusement.

You smiled, your grip on his arm tightening ever so slightly. “Good. You’ll need it.” You say “Just like you’ll need it when I say that High Flyer will be the winner today and the horse you bet on, Nectar, will not” you smirk

Anthony stopped in his tracks, turning his head to look at you with an expression of mild disbelief. His brows arched, and for a moment, his usual composed demeanor gave way to something closer to exasperation.

“You’re challenging my judgment on horses now?” he asked, his tone laced with incredulity.

“Perhaps,” you replied breezily, your smirk widening. “High Flyer has a higher chance to win, the track is soft and hot thus Nectar will have a great disadvantage as he’s not as swifter and lighter as High Flyer. A rather unfortunate trait for a racehorse, wouldn’t you agree?” you use your knowledge of this episode

Anthony blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as he processed your words. “You’ve been studying the horses?”

“Is that so surprising?” you teased, tilting your head. “I’m merely preparing for the inevitable moment when you’ll have to admit I was right.”

His gaze narrowed, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. “You’re rather confident for someone who has yet to see the race.”

“Confidence, as you’ve pointed out, can be a dangerous thing,” you said, echoing his earlier words with a mischievous glint in your eye. “But I’m willing to take my chances.”

Anthony shook his head, though he couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Very well, Miss Featherington. If you’re so certain of your prediction, perhaps we should make this more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you proposing a wager, Lord Bridgerton?”

“I am,” he said, his voice gaining a touch of his usual commanding confidence. “If High Flyer wins, I will publicly admit my error—and you may choose a forfeit for me, within reason.”

“And if Nectar wins?” you asked, folding your arms as you regarded him with playful suspicion.

He looked in thought for a minute “Then you will meet me tomorrow morning when you come to my home with your sister” he said smoothly, his gaze steady on yours. “Just the two of us. No Penelope. No excuses.”

The boldness of his proposal took you by surprise, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words, feeling your breath catch in your throat. But then you smiled, the thrill of the challenge sparking in your chest.

“Very well, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, extending your hand to him. “You have yourself a wager.”

He clasped your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Then may the best horse—and the best gambler—win.”

As the two of you continued toward the racetrack, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. This wasn’t just a wager; it was a game, a dance, a challenge—and neither of you intended to back down.

“You were saying?” you turned to look at the viscount smug as High Flyer won first place in the race

Anthony’s expression was unreadable at first, his gaze fixed on the racetrack where High Flyer had just thundered across the finish line. The crowd erupted into cheers, but the Viscount’s focus remained solely on you.

“I believe I was saying something about confidence,” he murmured, though there was a faint edge of resignation in his voice. His eyes flicked back to yours, narrowing slightly at the smug smile that curved your lips.

“You were,” you said, tilting your head. “Something about it being dangerous, wasn’t it? It seems my confidence wasn’t misplaced after all.”

Anthony exhaled sharply, though you couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sigh of defeat. “It seems not,” he conceded, his tone reluctant. “I suppose I owe you my public admission of error.”

“Oh, there’s no need for dramatics, my lord,” you said, feigning modesty. “A simple acknowledgment that I was right will suffice.”

He arched a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he were fighting a smile. “Very well,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Miss Featherington, you were right. High Flyer was indeed the better horse today.”

Your grin widened, your victory made all the sweeter by his reluctant but good-natured capitulation. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering so that only you could hear. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with something deeper, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a glint of mischief. “But don’t forget—this means you’ll have to endure my chosen forfeit.”

Anthony’s smile finally broke free, a rare and genuine thing that made your heart skip a beat. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “And I’ll face it with as much grace as I can muster.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the lively crowd around you fading into the background. There was a spark between you, unspoken but undeniable, a sense that this was more than just a game.

“Well then,” you said, breaking the spell. “I look forward to seeing how well you handle it, my lord.”

Anthony chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “And I, Miss Featherington, look forward to our morning meeting—when Nectar’s loss will no longer matter.”

His words left you breathless, your retort caught in your throat as he offered you his arm once more. “Uh, you lost, how is the meeting still in place when I won?” you asked

Anthony smirked, his expression that of a man who had been waiting for this exact question. “Ah,” he said, his tone deceptively casual, “but the terms of our wager never explicitly stated that the meeting would be void if High Flyer won. I simply said I would admit my error. And I did.”

Your eyes narrowed, your hand tightening slightly on his arm. “That’s not how wagers work, Lord Bridgerton,” you countered, though there was a flicker of amusement in your tone. “You can’t twist the terms to suit your convenience.”

“Twisting?” he echoed, his smirk growing. “Not at all. I am merely exercising the same cleverness you demonstrated in predicting the race. Surely, you wouldn’t begrudge me that?”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the urge to smile.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking to yours with a glint of challenge.

You let out a soft huff, trying to suppress the fluttering sensation in your chest. “Fine,” you relented. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for losing.”

Anthony chuckled, his voice low and warm. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Featherington. I’ll accept whatever forfeit you impose. But I do hope you’ll keep it… reasonable.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said with mock seriousness, pretending to consider all the humiliating possibilities.

As you walked together, the playful banter between you was laced with an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. You might have won the wager, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Anthony had been the winner in the end.

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

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elysianightsss · 3 days ago

Text

WHERE THE LONELY ONES ROAM | PART ONE

You don’t remember much. Flashes here and there. A man with you, you’re happy. A fight. Running. Driving. Then the crash. Glass and metal flying everywhere. You’re upside down but still strapped into your seat. Warm blood dripping up your head. Footsteps. A light being shone in your eyes. The hospital. Beeping. Shouting in the distance. A big bang. Silence.

Then your eyes are fluttering open, vision blurry but slowly becoming clearer. Blue eyes and…you jolt, your hands feel burnt from the hot water they’re in. It makes you move quickly to rinse them under the cold tap and dry them.

You feel the metal around your finger through the towel and frown, pulling your hand up to look it’s a rectangular diamond with a silver band and a silver wedding ring after it. It was gorgeous but one problem, they weren’t yours. You never got engaged and you certainly weren’t married.

The tendrils of panic start to wrap around your limbs, tightening as you turn around running straight into a wall. You wince grabbing hold of your arm, but the pain is quickly forgotten when you spot the pictures. Photo frames you’d find in warm loving family homes, decorate the living room holding pictures of you and a man you don’t recognise.

“What the fuck.” You shudder, feeling like the ground is shaking beneath you. It’s like a dark cloud falls over your eyes as a ringing begins in your ears. Walls colliding in your head, you’re scrambling to understand, pulling open every file that’s been shut away in the far corners of your mind for this man, for this house, for this life.

For you.

It’s too much with too little information, you can’t do it. You don’t understand. Your brain trying too hard until everything goes black. Once again you hear the beeping of a machine, the fuses of a doctor M something. You hear a concerned voice you don’t recognise….

“Sweetheart?”

You startle because you don’t know who that is calling you a sweet little pet name, you flinch because you’re not in the hospital like you were two seconds ago. You feel a scream build and bubble in your throat because how the fuck did you get here in this gorgeous mid century modern kitchen with a ruggedly handsome man stood in front of you looking at you expectantly as if you had the answer to the question he was asking.

Staring into his hypnotising blue eyes you couldn’t help but think, did it really matter? Your conscience needed to shut it because of course it mattered. He was a stranger no matter how good looking.

“Honey is everything okay?” You blink at him too in shock to form words.

The man moved towards you and as much as you want to flinch away, to run, you’re rooted to your spot. He’s so close you’re breathing the same air, he lifts his large, silver wedding ring wrapped around his fourth finger, hand and presses it to your forehead bringing his other hand to press it to your cheek.

“You don’t look so good love.” He’s probably right, “you’re burning up.” You did feel like you could throw up, “let’s get you to bed, ignore what I said. I’ll do the dishes. C’mon now easy does it.” He breathes and picks you up, your eyes glance over his shoulder as he opens the fridge grabbing a cold bottle of water.

You manage to glance over an open recipe book on the kitchen counter. It’s not yours. It’s your handwriting on the pages but not yours. You don’t own a recipe book and never have, you like to wing it. Yet you can see when you’ve noted ‘needs more cinnamon’ on one of the pages. The curves and winds of the letters, it’s your handwriting.

You get carried up the stairs and into a bedroom, placed carefully on a big bed that felt like a cloud. “I’m gonna grab a cold flannel for your head, be right back sweetheart.” He leaves and despite the wooziness that begins to seep into you, you manage to look around.

The room looks well organised, a bathroom just opposite the bed where he went, soft bed sheets, photos everywhere, one that catches your attention the most is a photo by the side of the bed with a picture of a women and the man that’s in the bathroom both smiling and looking happy. The photo frame says ‘My John’ on it.

“John.” You mutter just as you read it.

“Yeah love?” The man that carried you upstairs comes back with a flannel in his hand. He looks at you expectantly just like he had downstairs, when you appeared.

“I-I’m tired?” You choke out sheepishly.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” He grins cheekily before coming over to you and pressing the flannel against your burning head, “You had another episode honey. Asking or telling, I think it’s best you sleep.”

“Episode?” You don’t understand. The twinges of panic started to explode into something more, you feel like you need air and you can’t get it. Your hands ball into fists, squeezing around nothing. Your shoulders are ridged the way your brain is, it feels like it’s not longer working that you’ve short circuited. It’s not right. Something is not right.

You’re pulled out of your frenzy by a bark, it’s makes you freeze eyes flitting to the perpetrator. A dog. But you don’t own a dog. “Easy Bear mums okay.” John soothes him, but the dog Bear, tilts his head as he sits in the doorway to the bedroom with a frown. A gurgled grumble comes out from him as he stares at you.

You turn slightly to look at John who’s already looking at you, his ocean eyes swirl with emotion. You recognise them, you remember them. They must be safe, he must be safe. Out of everything that doesn’t sit right that doesn’t seem right that’s out of place, he seems right. He’s what you remember. He must be safe.

“Okay sweetheart, you know I don’t like it but it’s probably best for you to take the medication Dr MacTavish prescribed you.” You watch almost as if it’s in slow motion as he grabs a small white cardboard box with blue and yellow strips on it. He opens it and pulled out the familiar plastic tray with foil covering the top. He pops one of the bumps and pulls out a light blue pill that looks tiny in the palm of his hand.

“I don’t condone this.” He mutters to himself but it’s loud enough that you hear it though you don’t say anything. “But maybe it is what’s best for right now like he said and who am I to argue with a Doctor.” He scoffs but smiles at you from where he’s sat next to you on the edge of the bed.

If he couldn’t argue with a Doctor, then you couldn’t either you suppose. You look into his eyes again. You remember them, you should trust what you remember. Nodding a little you take the pill and pop it in your mouth. It’s bitter and the chalky residue it leaves on your tongue makes your face scrunch up with disgust. John passes you a bottle of water and you move quickly opening the lid and chugging some of it.

“Good girl. I know that wasn’t nice but you did good honey. You need to lay down now, Doctor MacTavish said you’ll feel dizzy and most likely sleep straight away.” He explains, his voice soft despite the perpetual gravely undertone to it.

“Okay.” You snuggle down into bed, gripping the soft covers. A dizziness sweeps over you like alcohol suddenly hitting you all at once and then you’re out like a light. John’s smile disappears from his face the moment he knows you’re asleep. He chucks the pills haphazardly onto the bedside table before getting up.

“Watch her.” He commanded as he walked past Bear, the dog staying in place as John walks out of the room and down the stairs starting on the dishes you’d been arguing about minutes ago.

As he scrubs it feels like meditation to him, scrubbing and scrubbing the dishes clean. He wants to do this to your mind, wants to scrub all your memories clean and start over but he knows getting Johnny to perform a lobotomy on you like he suggested would only hurt him to see you in pain. Not worth it.

He can make this work, he planned it down to the last minute detail. And so far it’s working perfectly. No lobotomy needed. Hopefully it should never have to go that far.

John finishes the dishes, does the laundry, ignores the text from Simon, hoovers the living room and puts dinner in the slow cooker before going to check on you. Bear hasn’t moved from his spot, something John praises him for with a pat to the head. You’d turned in your drug induced sleep, the duvet pulled up under your chin while you lay on your side looking so peaceful.

He stares down at you. It feel wrong when it’s like this, when you’re not awake and distracting him. When he can hear the all the thoughts swirling, he can hear the voices, the screams, the gunshots… it’s all too much.

You quite the noise.

“I hope one day you understand…” he sniffs, eyes stinging, wiping a tear from his cheek, “and I pray you forgive me.”

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