#because I was like no you have to save the last of your vodka for nye | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forlix · 1 year ago

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‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways.

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it.

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him.

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can��t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige.

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter.

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds.

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—”

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.”

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year.

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen.

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia.

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt.

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds.

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds.

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds.

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through?

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills.

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.”

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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slashisms · 8 months ago

Text

𝓦𝓘𝓝𝓝𝓔𝓡 𝓣𝓐𝓚𝓔𝓢 𝓐𝓛𝓛;

ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧＳ: Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher

ＲＡＴＩＮＧ: E

ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ: MINORS DNI, all characters are 18+. dub-con, but not really, spanking, name-calling, overstimulation, (un)protected sex, anal, etc.

ＷＯＲＤＣＯＵＮＴ: 6k

ＳＵＭＭＡＲＹ: Billy and Stu have a disagreement regarding your sex life.

Ａ/Ｎ: special thanks to @blackterrae who sent me a lovely ask that pretty much motivated this fic.

Your relationship with Tatum and Sidney was cordial, for all its ambiguity. You challenge anyone to think of a fitting adjective for the person who unknowingly stole your boyfriend, but saved your life in the process because said boyfriend was planning to kill you gruesomely. None of the questions raised by Billy and Stu’s seemingly random decision to dump both their girlfriends one day mattered once the bodies started dropping.

You were supposed to be their first victim, a red herring before Casey Becker’s murder, but after a failed attempt neither of them will cop to– they decided to pursue you instead. The timeline had been notably suspicious and eventually led to your discovery of their ‘extracurricular’ activity.

With the amount of convincing it took to get them to direct their murderous intentions towards Billy’s adulterous father and stage the whole thing as a murder-suicide with Neil Prescott as the culprit, you figure that sort of makes up for your part in the breakup. When Sidney and Tatum got together some time later, you were hoping for an opportunity to move past any lingering awkwardness.

Mentioning it to Billy and Stu was probably a mistake. They could care less about maintaining boundaries with an ex and considering how Stu’s last relationship ended, they probably thought they were doing the girls a favor by giving them a chance to befriend you. It would move them to the bottom of Billy and Stu’s list of potential victims, at least for a while.

A few weeks after you bring it up, they suggest you go to Sidney’s place to hang out. Perhaps you had been a little naive in thinking the two of them would agree to spend time with their exes’ new girlfriend without any hidden motives. Taking one girl’s boyfriend is bad, but taking two is downright sleazy. You should have been more wary of payback, especially since they knew exactly what pushed your boyfriends’ buttons.

Honestly, it would have been less exhausting if they hazed you to hash things out.

It starts after the end of the gore fest Billy forced everyone to watch. You’re too wrapped up in their flirting to notice the way Sidney and Tatum glance at you before sharing a long look. Tatum yawns dramatically, reaching for the remote to pause the credits with a bored expression. “I think that’s enough sex and stabbing,” she says, rising from the couch and wandering to the kitchen. “Let’s do something fun!”

Sidney rolls her eyes as you try to get Billy and Stu to take their hands off of you long enough to pay attention to the blonde. The two finally settle down when you pinch them in the side, fixing them with a look that has them heeling like two trained dogs. She’s reluctantly impressed by your handling and becoming more convinced that you’ll be fine after they’re done stirring the pot. Tatum returns with a bottle of liquor, swinging it triumphantly as Sidney shakes her head in feigned disapproval. “It’s not a party without vodka!”

Before you can ask her what she means, the doorbell rings. Sidney gets up to answer it while Tatum silences your protests, tugging you out of Billy and Stu’s arms as voices begin echoing from the entrance way. Stu laughs and Billy smirks at the look of betrayal you give them as she pulls you towards the stairs. Your eyes widen at the crowd of people suddenly swarming the front door, catching a glimpse of Sidney speaking with a nervous looking Randy before handing him a twenty dollar bill.

The next thirty minutes is spent fending off Tatum’s attempts to ply you with vodka and put you in increasingly revealing outfits as she applies mascara and lip-gloss to you while lamenting not having any foundation in your shade.

You compromise on two shots and a tastefully revealing pleated skirt and crop top before she leaves you to arrange your hair to your liking. Billy and Stu are standing outside like two pathetic puppies when she opens the door and Tatum rolls her eyes. You were wasted on these idiots, she thinks before seeking out her girlfriend.

Stu wraps his arms around your waist while Billy approaches you, tilting your chin as you pout up at him. “Way to give me a heads up,” you gripe.

Billy tuts softly, moving your head back and forth as he peers at you. “And give you a chance to run? No way,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your glossy lips.

“Don’t worry, babe, we won’t leave your side,” Stu promises

Unbeknownst to you, Tatum and Sidney were counting on it.

They hover by your side like two gargoyles for the duration of the party, guarding your drink as you become progressively tipsier. By your third (and last) drink, you’re ripe for the picking when someone exclaims, “Let’s play truth of dare!”

You tug your reluctant boyfriends along, sitting on the couch with one of them on either side of you. The game is fairly innocuous for the first round, prepubescent memories or equally embarrassing dares before it delves into raunchier topics. Billy and Stu quickly become bored of torturing their classmates, a direct contrast to the lovey dovey way they treat you that Randy points out with accusatory gagging motions.

“I’ve got a truth for you Randy,” Billy says, a smug grin on his face. “Are you a nerd because you’re a virgin or a virgin because you’re a nerd?”

Stu snickers into your neck, kissing your skin in a pointedly mocking manner as you fight down the blush rushing to your face. Randy would usually slink away from this confrontation with his tail between his legs or backtrack with his belly up, but he stands his ground with an uncharacteristic confidence. “I’ve got one too, not for you kind sir, but for our Juliet here,” he says, setting you on edge. “Is there a ranking system to your Romeos or are you left twice as disappointed?”

When you consider Randy’s part in provoking Billy later, you really think he should have asked for more than twenty dollars to take the beating the two of them dole out. You try to stop him when he rises from the couch, but he shakes you off easily as Stu’s playful grin falls and he follows suit, stalking towards Randy. You sigh when Billy grips Randy’s collar and delivers two blows to his face with the back of his hand without a word, pushing him into Stu’s waiting arms. The party goes wild as the two heft him over their shoulders, tossing him into a rowdy crowd surf that ends with him crashing onto the coffee table.

Yet as the two slink back to your side, the seed has already been planted. You’re guiltily holding back laughter while they size the other up, oblivious to the signals that you should address the issue and drunk enough to believe that kicking Randy’s ass has resolved everything. You miss the silent communication that seals your fate: an annoyed quirk of Billy’s brow, an obnoxious grin from Stu and a glance at you and the exit. “C’mon, let’s ditch this snooze fest,” Stu insists, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Your protests are quelled by the look Billy gives you, though it doesn’t take long for you to realize something’s up as they silently escort you back to the car. Billy gets in the back with you, barely closing the door before he’s pushing you back onto the leather seat. Stu starts the car while Billy climbs on top of you, hands roaming over your body to grope at your curves. His voice is deceptively calm when he speaks. “Hey, babe,” he says, pressing a biting kiss to your neck. “What did you think about that loser’s question?”

You blink, brain crashing to a halt as Billy makes room for himself between your thighs. The two were definitely different, but they were plenty skilled at satisfying you that it never occurred to you to compare the two. From the way Billy stares at you, brown eyes glinting dangerously, he’s expecting an answer. “Uh, I think he was pretty stupid to ask something like that without wearing a cup,” you reply, trying to diffuse the thick tension in the air.

He smirks, tilting his head to the side as his hand moves to the edge of your skirt, slipping under it as he hums softly. “Well it’s started a debate that only you can solve,” he says. “Stuart here thinks he screws you better than I do.”

Your breath catches as he pinches the lace band of your panties, snapping it against your skin. His words ignite a fire in your gut kindled by the thumb he’s swiping back and forth over your pulsing core. He presses a kiss to your mouth before biting meanly on your earlobe. “He thinks he fucks this pussy better than I do,” he whispers in your ear, using two fingers to caress your slippery vulva.

You let out a weak cry when he parts your lips, rubbing tiny circles over your clit as he sucks a bruise into your neck. “I don’t think words are gonna get through to that type of delusion,” he says, ignoring Stu’s scoff. “So we’re gonna settle this tonight.”

You have a moment to cope with the dread his words dredge up, the idea of being chewed up like a toy to settle a score makes you wish Randy never opened his big mouth. Billy’s fingertip grazing your entrance distracts you from your thoughts as trails his lips over your chest. “Make sure to keep track, princess,” he orders. “I’ll be taking your first.”

Your hands grip at the seat as he continues kissing his way down your body before lifting your skirt. He pushes your knees apart, tugging off your panties and tossing them up in Stu’s direction. Billy rolls his eyes when he sees him bring the moist fabric to his face and inhale with a throaty groan. You feel the shift of tires on gravel under your head as the car swerves and Billy curses, striking the blond on the back of the head.

Despite his warning to pay attention, Billy cups both of your tits roughly in his palms and tugs on your top and bra to create an enticing image that threatens to divert Stu’s gaze from the road all over again. The drive to his place feels like it takes forever as Stu has to listen to Billy eat you out. He can picture the way the other is trailing kisses up your thighs—and bites, judging by your yelp, before lapping at your opening, swiping his tongue over your twitching hole.

He spits on your clit, sucking it into his mouth with a messy slurping sound and licking at you with exaggerated noises. Stu grips the steering wheel until his knuckles ache at your whiny moans and Billy’s encouragement, his cock painfully tight in his jeans as it throbs against his zipper. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he hears Billy murmur after dragging his tongue over your slit for the nth time, groaning at your taste. “Just relax and cum for me.”

Stu’s doing twenty-five over the speed limit and he’s ran the three last red lights, but it’s worth it when he finally pulls into his stupidly long driveway. Once the car’s in park, he whips his head around to see Billy’s hand moving under your skirt as he sinks his middle and pointer finger inside you to the knuckle. His fingers press into your quivering walls as he mouths lazily at your clit, scissoring you open.

You back arches, overwhelmed by the constant stimulation to your sensitive bundle as his ruthless fingers dig into your body. You thrash weakly underneath Billy as he brings you to orgasm with just his tongue and two fingers, trembling thighs wrapped around his head. Stu grinds his teeth when Billy pulls back, smirking at him triumphantly as he removes his fingers from your body and sucks them into his mouth. “That’s one for me,” he jeers.

“Fuck off,” Stu says, climbing over the seat and launching himself at him.

You’re too busy catching your breath to care about the ensuing scuffle, rolling over as they begin trading blows. They don’t pull any punches either, going at it like wild dogs. In the enclosed space, Stu has the advantage and he catches Billy off guard with a hand in his jeans and a biting kiss. He groans as Stu grips his erection, roughly thumbing the head as he pins him to the car door.

The brunet can only watch as Stu fumbles for the handle, nuzzling Billy’s chin with his own and grinning at the mix of fury and arousal in his brown eyes. “My turn,” he whispers, opening the door and shoving him out before locking the car.

“Uh, was that such a good idea?” You ask, glancing at Billy, who’s banging on the window and cursing profusely.

Stu turns to you, grin stretching across his face. “Focus on me, babe,” he orders. “I’m gonna make you cum so hard, that shit looked weak.”

Before you can raise any concerns, Stu’s tongue is in your mouth, filling it with the coppery taste of blood. He grips both of your knees and pulls them apart, gazing down at you like he couldn’t care less that you were ruining his seats. One of his hands reaches out to glide through the mess on your thighs, coating his fingers before pushing two inside you. “As if he’s better at making you cum,” he grumbles, hooking his fingers and scraping them along your walls. “Look at how your pussy is sucking me in, she clearly likes me best.”

You shudder, annoyed at how he manages to make his petulant whining sexy and Stu leans forward, smashing his lips to yours. “I’m gonna show you and him,” he growls. “Who owns this fucking pussy.”

You gasp into his mouth as he fucks his fingers deeper into your body, smirking when you tighten around him. He leers at your bouncing chest, biting harshly at your nipple and sucking it into his mouth. You dimly hear the sound of the car unlocking as he moves on to the other nipple, but Stu just snickers.

Luckily, Billy seems to have cooled off by the time he climbs in the front seat, opting to observe the way you fall apart under Stu. The man in question turns to him, pushing a third finger past your entrance with a satisfied grunt. He pounds into you with relentless force, licking his lips as he taunts, “I don’t even need to touch her clit to get her like this.”

Stu uses his other hand to pin your flailing body down, smirking at the sob you let out when he does graze your clit. “Watch closely and take notes,” he says, the words nearly drowned out by your moans.

If you didn’t look so debauched, there would definitely be another fight breaking out, but Billy just rolls his eyes, taking in your blissed out expression with an obsessive gleam in his eye. The spirit of competition was at its peak and you were in for a long night.

Convincing them not to completely wreck Stu’s car takes long enough that you’re able to regain some semblance of control. Not enough to stop Stu from tossing you over his shoulder and carrying you inside, but at least he takes you to his bedroom instead of the nearest flat surface in his house. There’s a temporary truce as your boyfriends strip away every article of clothing, leaving you and them bare.

Before they can start arguing about who’s next, you insist they cooperate before you dry up at their incessant bickering so they stick to alternating. Billy hovers over you, thick cock bobbing between his legs as the flushed tip leaks precum while Stu hovers in the back, stroking himself to relieve his tension. “He thinks he’s doing you a favor by ignoring your sweet spot, baby girl,” Billy sighs, giving you an apologetic kiss on your forehead. “Let me show him what that cute little clit’s for.”

Billy slides down your body, grabbing your ankles and placing them on his shoulders as he moves forward. His hands cup your thighs and your cunt throbs under his stare, legs quaking when his thumbs spread your folds, revealing your glistening bud. His tongue darts out, flicking over it with pointed swipes as you bite your lip to suppress a wanton moan.

It doesn’t take long for him to work you to your peak, the simmering fire in your gut from your two orgasms easily paving the way to a third as he slurps at your clit before nudging at your opening. You let out a moan when he pushes past your entrance, groaning at the way you tighten around his tongue. His fingers come to play sloppily with your clit, the sound echoing in the room as he scoops you open. He hums in approval when you scream his name, pinching your clit between his fingers to make you scream louder.

Billy grinds against the edge of the bed as he gulps down your slick, sealing his lips over your cunt as he inches his tongue deeper. Stu curses as you toss your head back, eyes rolling back to your skull as Billy stops pinching your clit to strike it with a loud ‘smack!’ You whine as he pulls his hand back, landing a wet slap directly to the over sensitive bud. He pulls you further into his face and buries his nose in your mound, watching your tits bounce as you rut your hips against him.

He loves watching you chase your pleasure, forgetting to be self-conscious about how you look the closer you get. Your orgasm catches you off guard, the coil in your gut snapping after Billy delivers three stinging swats to your pussy, heat bursting between your legs as you weep. “Fuck!” You shout, convulsing as you gush into Billy’s mouth.

Billy moans, slurping your cum into his mouth with his tongue as the rest drips down his face and onto the sheets. He reluctantly pulls away after a few more kisses to your throbbing clit and Stu approaches, staring down at your twitching body with a possessive gaze. Your heart pounds when they switch places, Stu prowling over you as his eyes dart over your face, breasts, and cunt. His fingers swipe over your puffy labia, hooking one inside to feel your walls ripple with the aftershocks.

Normally they would have been fucking you silly at this point, but Stu is determined to eat you out better than Billy, ignoring the painfully hard erection jutting against his belly. Though he can’t resist grabbing your ankles and pushing them towards your ears, lining his body up with yours to nudge his cock against your clit. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he sighs, tongue lolling out. “I’m gonna fucking destroy this pussy.”

You groan at his words, staring at him with bleary eyes as he pulls back, sliding his hands down to cup the meat of your thighs. He holds you in place as he bends down to press his lips to your vulva, kissing it the same way he does your mouth, forcefully and with too much tongue. It feels like you’re being roasted alive as your ankles tremble by your face, your nerves overloaded as he pays almost punishing attention to your clit.

After your third orgasm, the stimulation is almost too much. “Please, no more,” you plead. “Just fuck me already.”

Billy curses behind you, the sound of you begging for their cocks has always been a weakness of theirs. Stu clicks his tongue, squeezing your thighs until you whimper softly. “Just be quiet and cum,” he orders, nibbling at the engorged bud.

You have no choice but to obey, Stu’s iron grip on your thighs preventing you from moving an inch as he makes out with your clit, curling his lips around it and sucking as his thick tongue swats back and forth, making you squeal. One of your thighs falls onto his shoulder as he slides a hand to your entrance, poking and prodding before pushing three fingers in at once, smirking at the undignified howl you let out as he forces your body open.

He spreads his fingers, moaning at the feeling of your body giving way to his hand. You take in a shuddering breath as another orgasm builds, your clit pulsing against his tongue as he forces it out of you. Maybe that’s why it feels different and your brow furrows as you struggle to gather your wits to warn Stu. “W-wait, it-it feels like—”

You gasp as a hand covers your mouth, gaze flickering to where Billy is hovering over you, preventing any further arguments. You’re less than an active participant at the moment, they just want you to lay there and let them make you feel good. Your eyes squeeze shut as your climax crashes into you like an electric shock, leaving you jerking and squirming in Stu’s grip.

“Oh fuck, dude, she just squirted,” Stu says with a shit-eating grin, pulling away with your cum dripping down his chin. “Shouldn’t that count for two?”

“Fuck no!”

“C’mon, you scared you can’t make her do it?”

You’re. Fucked.

Stu cackles, swiping his tongue over the remnants of your cum on his face as Billy pushes him out of the way. “You’re gonna have to replace this shitty mattress,” he threatens as they swap spots.

Billy cups your cheek, glaring down at you like it's your fault they’ve reduced you to an overstimulated wreck. His other hand jerks himself off slowly, eyes moving from your face to your trembling body. “Look at you, cumming so easily after begging to stop,” he sneers. “I’m gonna pound this desperate little cunt until you’re begging for my cock.”

Despite his vicious words, he kisses you gently, pushing his tongue into your mouth until you taste yourself. He kisses down your neck and both of you groan when he braces his arms on either side of you, sliding his cock through your folds with slow rocking motions. “Motherfucker thinks I can’t make this pussy squirt,” he hisses, gripping his cock and pushing the bulbous tip inside you. “Just wait, you’re gonna be gushing around my cock.”

You’re speared open as Billy sheathes himself inside of you in a single motion, pushing past any resistance with a groan. He sucks in a breath at the feeling of your walls clinging to every ridge and vein of his cock, slipping in easily after Stu’s fucked you open. His fists grip the sheets as he pulls out, slamming back in with a grunt.

His pace is savage as his hips slap against yours, carving a space in your body as he kisses you to smother your screams. Your back arches and your hands slap at his chest, scratching your nails down his skin when he grinds against that spongy knot of your cervix. Billy’s hand comes up to your nape and tilts your head, tapping your cheek. Your eyes flutter open, meeting his piercing gaze. “Look. Look at this greedy fucking cunt,” he orders, until you’re both staring at where his cock is disappearing inside you. “She’s gripping me so fucking hard, this tight little pussy doesn’t want to let me go.”

His hips never falter as he pummels into your body, his thrusts rocking the mattress until it’s creaking obnoxiously in concord with the ‘shlickshlickshlick’ of his cock thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. It’s impossible to gather a coherent thought as you watch and listen to the symphony of your bodies, but you vaguely hear yourself telling him you love it, begging him to go harder, deeper, to cum inside you so you can feel it.

You’ll say anything as long as he keeps delivering blazing jolts of ecstasy to your cunt, rendering any chance you’ve got at higher order thinking futile. Billy laughs at the glassy, dazed expression on your face as you fall apart underneath him. “Fucking cock drunk already, huh?” He laughs. “I’ll give you every goddamn inch since you want it so bad.”

He nuzzles closer to you to stare into your eyes, pulling your legs around his waist and bringing you in to meet his hips. You shake your head when he brings his thumb to your swollen clit, moaning at the way you milk his cock when he applies the slightest pressure. He squeezes your lips into a pout, shaking you like a rag doll when your eyes start to shut. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, you fucking slut,” he hisses. “You’re gonna remember who’s making you cum like this.”

You can’t even remember your own name, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp as drool slides down your chin and tears pool in your eyes. They spill over onto your cheeks, dark tracks of mascara falling onto the sheets as Billy pinches and strokes your clit. “Aw, you’re such a crybaby,” he teases. “Beg me and I’ll stop.”

“Please, please, please stop,” you comply immediately. “I can’t–can’t take anymore, it hurts.”

“Good girl, you’re so pretty when you beg,” Billy coos with feigned sympathy before drawing in and out of you until it feels like you, or the bed frame. is going to break. You gasp, staring at him with wide eyes when he pulls out to the tip, tapping it against your clit before angling his cock back at your entrance. “Billy, you promised!” You whimper, glaring at him with tear stained lashes.

“I lied,” he says before slamming back in, listening to you cry out.

He fucks you hard and fast, ignoring your hiccuping pleas as his fingertips glide over your clit mercilessly. Billy grunts with every roll of his hips, covering your mouth as he plants his feet in the mattress and jackhammers against your g-spot, sparks shooting up your spine until your pussy undulates deliciously against every curve of his cock.

Billy curses when your teeth sink into his palm as you finally cum, eyes rolling back into your skull. His hips keep moving even as you clench around him, jaw aching as he fucks you through your orgasm. “C’mon, give it to me,” he growls, brutalizing your walls. “Soak my fucking cock, nasty girl.”

Your fifth orgasm is an out of body experience, your throat scraped raw as you yell against his palm, lower body exploding in a rush of slickness. “That’s it, baby,” he moans, balls tightening as he ruts his cock into your cervix before spilling inside you.

You shudder at the warmth of his cum, moaning into the kiss he gives you as you come down. Billy slips out of you, reluctantly allowing an impatient Stu to take your place. You blink at the sensation of his shadow falling over you, vision blurry with tears as you look up at his dark expression. “Shit, babe,” he breathes softly, pupils blown as he caresses your overwrought form. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

You would laugh at the idea of being sexy while laying there like a wet noodle if you could manage to gather any air in your lungs. Stu leans forward, nuzzling your chest before swiping his tongue over your nipple. He grabs your trembling thighs and pulls your limp body into his lap, tongue moving over your chest and collarbone, groaning at the taste of your sweat. He cups your face with both of his hands, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he grinds against your pussy.

Stu shivers at the feeling of cum dripping onto his cock, the wet glide of your bodies finally providing some relief to the ache in his balls. Watching Billy fucking you without joining in was torture and his patience is wearing thin. He gives you a moment to catch your breath then slides his hands down to your thighs, lifting you slightly in the air before dropping you straight onto his cock.

He laughs at the squeal you let out as your head knocks against his shoulder and your body curls into his chest, practically strangling his cock. He grips the globes of your ass, yanking you off and slamming you back down. Stu fucks into you like a rabid animal, teeth pulled back into a snarl as he bites and sucks at your neck.

He grins as you sob into his shoulder, impaling you on his cock with a loud squelching noise before jerking your hips up and down to meet his, shivering at the sensation of thrusting into your cum-filled hole. “Yeah, it’s good, huh?” He taunts. “Then take it, take it–take it all, you fucking bitch.”

He bounces you in his lap like a flesh-light, grinning at Billy as he spreads your cheeks wide enough to reveal your puckered asshole. The brunette’s gaze is drawn to the winking flesh as Stu inches one of his slender fingers towards it, pulling a nervous whine from you. “We should fuck you here too,” he purrs. “A whore like you isn’t satisfied until all your holes are filled.”

You moan softly and Stu smirks, smacking your ass and watching the flesh jiggle reverently. You let out an anguished cry of pleasure when he swipes his hands through the mess of cum dripping from your cunt to slick up a finger and slips it past the tight ring of muscle, curving his finger into your ass. You nearly bite down on your tongue when he sinks in a second finger, scissoring them using Billy’s cum as lube.

Stu groans as your entire body locks up, squeezing around him in a vice-like grip as you’re pushed to the edge from being penetrated at the same time. He hitches your hips into his, grinding deep into your gummy g-spot. You’d never thought you’d despair at the thought of your clit being touched but when he lets go of your hip to paw at the nub furiously, you think you start crying again.

“Billy was right. You are a crybaby,” Stu coos, swiping his tongue over your salty tears. “Too bad it only makes me wanna see you cry harder.”

You have to hold onto his shoulders or risk toppling over as he pounds into you, his thighs quaking as he propels his hips into yours. Your entire body is starting to feel like an exposed nerve, overloaded with a depth of sensory information that you can only process by crying out lewdly and drooling onto Stu’s skin.

“Oh fuck, here it comes,” Stu hisses, informing you of your orgasm before you even realize it’s approaching. “Such a selfish pussy, cumming all by yourself. I guess we’ll see if you break the record tonight.”

You claw at his shoulders, back bowed and cunt pulsing around his cock as you quiver in his lap, drenching his waist as stars erupt behind your eyelids. You barely register the sound of Stu and Billy’s voices, an imploring murmur from Stu and a warning hiss from Billy is your only warning before you feel Billy’s length poking at your asshole.

You let out a weak protest that Stu hushes. “Billy wants to feel how tight you are, sweetheart, just let him put the tip in,” he croons softly, slipping his fingers out so Billy can slide the mushroom head of his cock into your body.

“Fuck,” Billy sighs, tossing his head back at the heat enveloping him. “I love this slutty body, it’s still so tight even when we fuck you stupid.”

He pauses, a bruising grip on your hip and jaw clenched as Stu rocks your body back onto his. He gasps as you slowly sink onto him, moaning with every jerk of Stu’s length against the thin barrier of flesh separating them in your body. He swears, brows furrowing as you choke back a pitiful wail when another orgasm follows immediately, torn out of you almost involuntarily from their ruthless treatment. “Shit, she’s coming again,” Stu chuckles, pinching your clit as you whine. “I guess we’ll share credit for this one, but I’m still in the lead.”

Billy kisses his teeth, pushing you further down as his breath catches at the friction of their cocks fucking in and out of you. He kisses your nape before biting at your shoulder. “How many times is that, princess?” He questions, gripping your chin and turning your face towards him.

They both moan at the spaced out expression you’re wearing and Billy shakes your head to get your attention, waiting for your teary eyes to slide over to his face. “How many times did this filthy pussy cum, huh?” He repeats. “I told you to keep track, didn’t I, princess?”

You shake your head, burying your face in Billy’s palm, mumbling, “Don’t know, can’t remember, please, I can’t take anymore.”

Billy slaps your ass until his palm stings, cursing when you seize around him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing,” he snaps, relishing in your pained mewl. “Dumb whore can’t even count when we’re fucking her.”

Oh no. You’re starting to feel like a minor villain about to be conquered through the power of friendship, the preclude to your defeat stemming from the epiphany of two rivals that cooperation will yield better results.

Torturing others was a pastime that brought Stu and Billy together and you were no exception. If your tongue wasn’t heavy as lead in your mouth, you’d try to say something to dissuade them from doing so at any cost, but you can only hold pathetically onto Stu and hope for the best.

“The fuck does a virgin like Randy know?” Billy growls, gripping your waist and lifting you off of their cocks before slamming you back down. “You love fucking both of us, don’t you? You cum harder when we paint your insides together.”

Okay, maybe this was an opportunity for a quick resolution. You nod emphatically, eeking out breathless ‘uh huh’s and ‘mhmm’s that seem to satisfy Billy. You can only hope they’ll forget the competition and fuck you to completion together because you couldn’t take much more.

Stu’s breath trembles and his thighs tense as he covers Billy’s hands on your hips and shoves his cock into the hilt, sliding the hand on your clit to your stomach. “Fuck, you feel that, baby?” He moans. “I’m gonna cum here, right in this thirsty womb.”

You take a moment to be grateful for birth control as Stu buries himself in your cunt, pulsing one last time before shooting inside, moaning as Billy’s cock grinds into his from behind. You’re almost convinced that you succeeded in distracting them when they both slip out of you with a groan and Stu maneuvers you gently into Billy’s chest before getting off of the mattress.

Billy shifts your bodies off the undeniably soaked sheets to a dry spot and tangles your legs together. Stu grabs a water bottle from his mini fridge and your eyes open when you hear the twist of the cap. He holds the bottle to your lips until you gulp down half of it before setting it on the nightstand.

Your eyes widen as he pulls out a condom, glancing at Billy who takes it from him with a Cheshire grin. You watch as he tears the packet open with his teeth before sliding the condom over his throbbing cock, gripping it at the base. “We still have to settle this fair and square,” he says at your doe eyed gaze, lining himself up with your swollen pussy. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t lend each other a hand. Every magician needs an assistant, right babe?”

Okay, so you’ve been sufficiently fucked over by two scheming lesbians, but it’s nothing less than what you deserve.

#billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #slasher x reader #reader insert #black!reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #mine.txt #i need someone to give me a detailed review of my smut like i have no idea if it’s good or not LMAO #ty to everyone who voted and especially those who voted for stu bc i love matthew lillard so much #i rewatched the movie for this billy n stu beat each others ass on a daily basis ik this believe me

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hivemuthur · 1 month ago

Text

The Game of Spin The Bottle

viktorxfemale!reader and also viktorxjayce and viktorxeveryone and everyonexeveryone (mature? I guess)

word count: 2,6K

summary: Lol, the way I've lied to you. Upon an utterly unpopular demand (like, two people asked), I present to you a tiny spin-off of The Game of Teaching Body in which Hale kisses Jayce, and basically everyone kisses everyone. Because no reason.

author's note: I have nothing to justify this. I wrote this for shits and giggles. Please don't ask me to write part two :')

cross posted on AO3

—

Well, this was just severely unlucky. It looked like the entirety of Uni had decided to desert for the long weekend, and the last people standing were Mel, Jayce, Sue, Hale, Viktor, and you. Utterly bored, overstudied, and understimulated, with vast empty spaces of common rooms to occupy, you bothered yourself with card and board games.

Mel and Jayce were scrolling through their phones, showing each other where their classmates had dared to go on a trip and occasionally scoffing. Sue had left around twenty minutes ago after saying, “Ugh, I’ll be right back,” and Hale was splayed on a couch, reading a romance novel, giggling whenever a smut chapter appeared.

You didn’t mind that much, having beaten Viktor in beggar-my-neighbour three times already and counting.

"Alright, this anomaly is against all laws of statistics. You have to be cheating," he sighed when you snatched a stack of cards for yourself, leaving him with barely five in his hand. "We should play rummy. I would positively destroy you in rummy."

"Keep telling yourself that, love," you chirped, shuffling your victory pile. "There is no way to cheat in this game. What was I saying, thank God you’re pretty, right?"

"You will pay for this. Just you wait," he smirked, placing another losing card on the table. And you just sighed, shaking your head, knowing that another round of naked chess was imminent and that you were, in fact, going to pay for this.

"Oh, you are such a sore loser, Viktor. Just bow to my admirable war game tactics. Maybe you were not made for the battlefield, and that’s alright. Just as I said," you mused, covering his two with your four and swiping it off the table. "Thank God you are pretty."

"Guys, a hand?" came Sue’s voice from where she had gotten stuck in the swing door.

Jayce, ever the gentleman, scrambled up from between Mel’s knees on the armchair and rushed to hold it open for Sue.

"Sue, what is this?" he asked with a chuckle, seeing her trotting carefully through the room.

"Drinks. And a bottle. I’m fed up with this morbid time-wasting. We are playing a game," she announced in a tone that would meet no objections.

She placed a tray of six glasses, a bottle of vodka, Coke, and another bottle—an empty one—on the floor between the pieces of lounge set you were all occupying.

"Another game? I might just sit that one out," Viktor winced, having lost his fourth round of beggar-my-neighbour to you.

"Oh, poor Viktor, are you afraid you’re going to lose again?" Mel snickered, her attention caught by Sue’s determined expression. "What are we playing, Sue? Flanks?"

"No. Spin the bottle."

The whine that echoed across the room was deafening.

"Oh, come on, guys. I am so freakin’ bored I will bite my hand off. And"—she lifted her finger and lowered her eyes to the shot glasses—"I am touch-starved."

"Sue, I can give you a kiss if you miss Alice, you know?" you snorted, catching the terror in Viktor’s eyes.

He looked something between deep horror and exasperation, throwing you pleading glances as if to say, Please save me.

“Well, I’m already drunk, so I am obviously in,” Hale sang, waving around his flask. “Never pass the opportunity to kiss my lovely wife.” He rose from the couch and placed a loud peck on the top of your head. And even though he was an image of unwavering composure, you knew how Hale’s heart had jumped at this chaotic idea. Havoc wrecker.

“Eh, what the hell. Let’s do something stupid. But we need some ground rules for that, I think,” Mel shrugged, taking control of the situation. “Everyone gets to veto one person with no questions attached. If you veto twice, you’re out. We don’t tell anyone about it, and we don’t get upset if someone doesn’t want to kiss us. Cheeks don’t count, but a peck on the mouth does. All in favour?” She chanted, raising her hand to seal the vow.

Three hands shot up. Yours joined, timidly, accompanied by an apologetic smile you threw to Viktor.

He scrunched his brows, looked around, and, feeling five pairs of judgmental eyes on him, relented. “Fine. But I need more than one drink for that.”

Sue clapped her hands and opened the bottles. The group settled on the floor in a circle. Hale took over bartender duty while the rest just chuckled awkwardly at each other.

“Are you sure about this?” Viktor whispered, leaning into your ear, his hand searching yours for a reassuring squeeze.

“Since when are you a prude?” you smiled, but seeing his expression serious, you added, “Unless you don’t want to do it, or you don’t want me to do it, which is absolutely fine in both cases,” you muttered, suddenly unsure, only to be met with a cackle.

“Eh, I’ve done worse,” Viktor shot you an innocent look and laughed again upon seeing your feigned shocked face. “Just please, don’t kiss Jayce with a tongue if you get to it.”

“Oh, no worries,” you said, brushing hair away from his forehead and kissing his cheek. “Just please, do kiss Jayce with a tongue if you get to it,” you whispered into his ear and chuckled, watching a red blush rapidly creep up his neck.

One of the rules invented along the way was that everyone had to be at least two drinks deep to start. So the first part of the afternoon passed between jokes and snickering at each other, while Sue complained about Alice not being around. Come as it may, the initial originator was the last one to down her glass, and it only happened under Hale’s hastening comments.

“Alright, calm down! Jesus, and I thought I had a problem,” Sue rolled her eyes, drinking the remnants of a disgustingly warm cocktail of vodka and Coke. “The youngest starts?”

Met with shrugs, she sat up on her ankles and gave the first spin. Six held breaths and approximately two seconds later, the bottle neck pointed at Mel, and Jayce couldn’t help a quiet “yes” slipping from his mouth. He immediately covered it with his hand and let out an awkward cough, but Mel noticed.

“I hope you’re happy that I’m kissing your girlfriend—not because I’m not kissing you,” Sue deadpanned, giving him a bored glance. But Jayce was already nodding at the first part, so all was good.

“Alright, let’s break some ice.” Mel smiled at Sue, propped herself on one hand, the other reaching for Sue’s chin, and pressed a loud, affectionate peck to her lips. “Any notes?” she asked, still holding Sue by the jaw.

Sue blinked, gulped, and chuckled awkwardly. “No notes.”

The group laughed, and Jayce looked so overjoyed, Mel had to elbow his ribs to make him stop grinning. “Get a hold of yourself, we’re just starting.”

Jayce muttered a quiet apology but kept giggling all the way through—until Mel’s spin landed on Viktor. She gave him a questioning look, which bounced off him and landed on you.

“Uh, okay? I mean, no notes?” You were actually fascinated by how this was going to go, so you really had no objections. And Viktor seemed unbothered enough. Mel’s eyes turned to Jayce, who was clearly calculating something in his head.

“Honey?” Mel prompted, and Jayce shook his head.

“Are you kidding? Make him squirm, baby.” He patted her thigh and shot a dark, devilish grin toward Viktor, making him clasp a hand to his forehead.

Mel nodded and stood, her legs already a bit wobbly from the alcohol. She stepped through the middle of the cursed circle and crouched beside Viktor, who was leaning against the couch with his legs spread behind you. She cupped his face and pressed her mouth to his. Timid at first—but Viktor wouldn’t lose this duel. No hands involved on his side, he simply leaned into the kiss and swept his tongue across Mel’s lip, giving her a gentle nib. She gasped and withdrew, still holding his face.

“Not bad,” she said, trying to sound unbothered, but it came out too breathy.

Viktor smiled. “I know. And who’s squirming now, Jayce?” he shot back.

Jayce raised his hands in defeat. The only one squirming was him.

You watched the entire scene, utterly bewildered, and wondered if this was what it looked like when Viktor was kissing you. Not bad, indeed.

You didn’t have to wonder for long, because Viktor’s spin landed on you. The way his lips clashed against yours—complete with gross moans and smacking sounds—made Sue look away. His hands had already found your waist before you even glanced away from the bottle, pulling you in, making a clear point of how much he was going to be holding back with everyone else.

“Am I your favourite or something?” you grinned when he finally pulled away.

“Something like that,” he muttered, ignoring the outraged whines in the background. “Seems like it’s your turn?”

It was. And when you spun—reluctantly, because Viktor’s kiss had already made your evening—the neck pointed at Jayce.

“You’re lucky I’m not a vengeful prick,” Jayce smirked at Viktor before crawling toward you on all fours and planting three loud, innocent pecks on your mouth. You burst out laughing on the third one, and Jayce added another, this time on your nose, just for good measure.

Breaths were held again when Jayce’s spin landed on Hale, who tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind his ear, playing coy.

“Mr. Tallis. I thought you’d never ask,” he batted his eyelashes. “Unless… you still get to veto, I’ll remind you.”

“Bollocks, no way!” Jayce exclaimed, visibly offended, but he didn’t move from his spot. ��Mel, any objections?” He turned to his girlfriend, who just patted his cheek and sang, “I’d sooner die than veto this, honey.”

Jayce shrugged, waiting for Hale to make the next move. Hale shook his head and rose to his feet. “I see, you’ll make me do all the work,” he mused, stepping carefully between the mess of legs and glasses. He knelt next to Jayce, cupped his face, and hummed, “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with you,” earning himself wild howls from everyone and an obscene red blush on Jayce’s cheeks.

And when they finally kissed, the group fell silent. Hale took a deep breath and pressed Jayce’s face into his as if he were his long-lost lover—ever the showman. Jayce allowed himself to be kissed, Mel allowed her boyfriend to be kissed, and both you and Viktor watched with wide eyes, chins propped on your hands. Sue peeked through her fingers, holding back squeals.

It lasted for an eternity before Hale finally disconnected his mouth (and tongue) from Jayce’s, and Jayce whimpered—then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Mr. Tallis, you are delectable,” Hale declared, caressing Jayce’s cheek and glancing discreetly at Mel, just to check if she minded. She didn’t. He moved back to his spot gracefully, leaving Jayce stunned and red all the way from his neck to the tips of his ears.

“And who, I wonder, will be next?” he mused, twisting the bottle, clearly pleased with his performance.

You almost yelled an undignified “yes” when his spin pointed at Viktor. And Viktor’s breath hitched.

“Shit,” he muttered, scratching the nape of his neck. Jayce giggled, delighted that karma had arrived so swiftly.

“Veto?” Hale asked, his tone challenging.

That was enough for Viktor to recompose himself and smirk. “Never. Show me what you’ve got.”

With the same deliberate movement as before, Hale stood, crossed the circle, and knelt next to Viktor. This time, he brushed his thumb over Viktor’s lip instead of cupping his face. And Viktor waited.

Until Hale’s mouth touched his.

That was when Viktor cupped Hale’s face and pulled him closer. The kiss was slow, hot, with tongue and all. Their noses pressed together, mouths smacking, teeth grazing each other’s lips. And watching two of your favourite boys kiss as if they were alone in the room made you clench your thighs together. Ugh, that’s new.

Before Hale could pull away, Viktor bit his lip, earning a low, guttural chuckle.

Hale took a deep breath and glanced over at Mel. “I second Miss Medarda. Not bad.” He stood, brushing his hand against Viktor’s cheek. “Though if I were to pick… Jayce, you are my favourite.” He smiled with all of his teeth and sent a wink in Jayce’s direction.

Poor Jayce had just gotten rid of his blush, and it came rushing back.

You sat with your eyes glued to Viktor’s lips, your own mouth hanging open. When he noticed, he shot you a glance.

“What?”

“N-nothing,” you stuttered, blushing. Thank fucking God everyone was a deep shade of red—save for Mel, who somehow managed to keep her dignity intact, idly playing with Jayce’s hair, a happy smile dancing on her lips.

When Viktor spun again, it took all the remnants of your composure not to throw yourself back onto the floor screaming.

It fucking pointed at Jayce.

And it was both heaven and hell for you.

They both laughed, shoulders shaking, hands clasped to their foreheads.

“Should we veto?” Jayce asked. “I’m not sure the girls will survive this,” he wheezed, glancing at your pained expression.

Viktor seized the opportunity and pressed a small peck to your temple. “Don’t worry, lásko, you are my favourite,” he barely breathed in between laughs—right as you smacked his chest.

Then, without further ado, he just went ahead and kissed Jayce.

And it wasn’t as hot as either of them with Hale, but when your eyes met Mel’s across the room, you knew you were both thinking the exact same thing.

Viktor and Jayce kissed like people who had already kissed in the past.

And for some weird reason, it made your stomach flutter.

No introductions, no hesitation—just tongues dancing and chests pressed together. Jayce’s hands in Viktor’s hair. Viktor’s hands on Jayce’s waist. Hot.

After another round of unhinged chuckles and drinks, you were all drunk enough to just keep playing until everyone had been evenly kissed. Lucky Sue got to kiss everyone—sometimes more than once—so when Viktor, by now thoroughly intoxicated, asked if she had any special requests for him, she clamped a hand over his mouth and yelled, “Veto!”

By the time the alcohol had run dry, and everyone was kissed out, you helped Viktor scramble up from the floor and passed him his cane with a smirk. The group exchanged warm goodbyes, swearing on your lives never to speak of this night again before heading off in different directions.

You followed Viktor to his room without a word, trotting obediently behind him. Seeing your red face, he cast you a sideways glance.

“Haven’t you had enough for one evening?”

“Please, don’t tease me—I am barely holding it together,” you let out a breathy chuckle and wrapped your arms around Viktor’s waist, utterly defeated. “I think I like watching you kiss boys, Viktor,” you whispered into his ear, wincing at your own embarrassment.

“Oh? Well, I like watching you kiss girls, I must admit. But I generally like watching you… doing whatever,” he smirked, sweeping his tongue across your mouth. “Would you like to… explore the topic further?”

“Maybe. But ask me when I’m sober,” you quipped, covering your face with your hand. “For now, all I want to explore is you.”

Viktor didn’t need to be told twice. He jingled the keys to his room in front of your eyes and hastily unlocked the door.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x f!reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #viktor x jayce #viktor x mel #the game of teaching body #viktor fluff

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makismei · 9 months ago

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(18+ somewhere randomly near the end bc my pussy took over) it is currently 2:57am and while i was writing an upcoming fic, i suddenly thought of nanami, as your underclassman at jujutsu high... not proofread (possibly incoherent) i am sorry i finished at 5am

he's two years younger than you, but he's been enamoured by you since he spoke to you back when he was sixteen on your eighteenth birthday, hosted at gojo's condo.

almost everyone was drunk, courtesy of shoko managing to get her hands on bottles of tequila and vodka. you were barely tispy, finding a completely sober nanami stuck to a wall with his eyebrows pulled together. he doesn't like it here. he wants to go home. but this is what being a teenager is like... right?

through flashing lights and loud music, you told him that cherishing your youth goes beyond what he's seeing before his eyes.

with you being a third year, he rarely saw you at the school. up close, he realizes how beautiful you are and that your perfume suits you so well.

"being a child is just fine," you say, as if you aren't only two years older. "you have your whole life to experience partying."

you end up outside on the balcony, talking all night about anything and everything.

and nanami learns, at sixteen, what uncontrollably clammy hands feel like, stuttering over simple words and the desperation for more of your presence.

since that night, he looks for you on campus when you are between missions. in the beginning, he couldn't find the courage to start conversation, but slowly, it starts to come to him easy.

over the years, he's seen you introduce your older boyfriends to your friends. he's also seen you get your heartbroken because the men that you chose to love were straight up losers.

what is he to do? clearly, you have a type and it's not him. although, he is confident he can treat you far better.

you like dark hair and tattoos, "manly" looking men but they don't even hold the door for you. what the hell is wrong with you? nanami swears, if he was yours, you'd never look back.

nanami is freshly nineteen, listening to you talk to shoko and utahime about how relationships are no longer worth your time. something inside of him feels disgusting because you're pouring your heart out and god, he just thinks you're so beautiful.

when he confesses to you for the first time, he is twenty-one and it's winter. it's been three years since your last relationship and you haven't pursued another since. he knows it's a long shot, but he goes for it anyways.

you smile, hand on his arm, "you deserve better than me, kento. but thank you, truly. i'm flattered you think of me so highly."

nanami raises a brow, "who doesn't?"

you're halfway into your door, smiling sadly. "you'd be surprised."

six months later, you're in cahoots with a horrible man and nanami thinks he's going to go bald early. why do you do this to yourself????

since his confession, he's tried to be mindful so he doesn't make you uncomfortable. but in the most friendship way possible, he tries to show you there are men (meaning: him, he is best fit for you) that are willingly to love you the way you deserve (him).

you, on the other hand, are biting your nails as far as you can, you cannot be catching feelings for nanami kento? you've never seen him in a romantic light, even after he confessed, but recently there has to be something poisonous in the air.

you blocked that douchebag two days ago because talking to him makes you feel disgusting. but you think you might unblock him to save nanami.

nanami cannot be yours, sure he's younger than you and you swore you would never date a younger man because they're so "immature", but nanami is a good... mature person. he is honest and hardworking, growing into his features and in turn, becoming more handsome as the years go by.

you'd be lying if you weren't jealous thinking about the woman that he would call his one day.

you think it's for the better. nanami cannot get caught up with your antics. he's really only seen the good sides and the thought of him seeing your bad sides makes you nauseous. he'd hate you, for sure. then what would you do?

but it doesn't matter, you don't even like him like that! but he's such a good friend you can't fathom the thought of ruining your friendship.

but what if he gets a girlfriend? you're pacing back and forth in your living room, obviously you can't be close with him anymore because that is just so suspicious.

oh my god. you're spiralling.

what do you do? you call nanami.

you tell him everything and more, that you're sorry, that you might be confused but your gut is telling you otherwise. you cry on the phone to him because you're at a loss and you feel so guilty.

nanami does not say a word or make a sound.

until, you hear a knock on your door through the phone and in real life.

"will you let me see you?" he asks, desperate. "i need to see you."

"you had me waiting for so long." he mutters, hips swinging into yours. he has you in a mating press, forehead pressed against yours. "am i making you feel good, beautiful? tell me."

you nod, legs quivering at his sides. "you're so good—i.. i think i'm gonna cum again!"

he shushes you, kissing you so deeply your mind goes blank. he starts thrusting harder and your mind is so mushy you can't even kiss him back. nanami groans, this can't be real. you feel so good that he might get addicted.

he can't let you go now that he's had a taste. he's not letting you go.

you love him. you told him in a panic over the phone.

you love him.

he needs you wholeheartedly and even though he had to wait almost eight years, he would gladly wait another eight years because if it's not you, it's no one. over the years he's loved you one-sidedly, he did a lot of thinking.

a silly high school crush ended up swallowing him whole. he was searching for you in all the blind dates gojo made him go on because gojo was convinced he was cooked and that you would not like him back.

so to see gojo's jaw dropping when you kissed nanami on the lips in the jujutsu tech courtyard, made his heart swell.

he was always yours.

you think that maybe, you've loved nanami for longer than you've thought.

"thanks for waiting for me." you breathe, "i'll make you happy."

nanami smiles, "you will always make me happy."

#is this ooc? pls let me know if you like... i kind of want to start a mini series on this i have so many thoughts #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami imagines #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami smut

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inkdrinkerworld · 10 months ago

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Hi!!!! Love you btw

Could you maybe write a beefy!james where reader is also friends with the marauders and they’re all hanging out, and James and reader only recently became an official couple, and James is super affectionate with pda and pet names and reader is super flustered and shy which is totally unlike her normally (she’s very sarcastic and talkative normally but James has her a blubbering mess)

Being with James makes you feel that floaty, out of body feeling where you're not sure what to do with yourself. He's always smiling, and kissing some part of your face, or holding your hand or just holding you close, it makes your chest heat.

You're meeting his friends for drinks as he celebrates his team making it into the major leagues and you're dressed casually for the pub you're currently in-a pair of dark jean shorts and James' jersey.

James hasn't stopped touching your thighs or running his palm down your back since he's come in. He smells like turf and a bit of his usual cinnamon spiced cologne.

"I can't believe you're already wearing his shirt." Sirius says as he throws himself into the booth opposite you and James. His comment is followed up with Remus slotting himself into the booth beside him and rolling his eyes.

"She's had a jersey for years, Sirius."

You nod and go to chime in when James drops his hand to your thigh again and your breath hitches. His slighted rough palm squeezes, his thumb stroking the soft dough of your thighs with a distracted smile.

You feel your pulse pound in your throat at how casual he does it. Sparing a glance at him, you find James looking directly at his friends, not a lick of disguised teasing playing at his lips at all. That worsens the pounding in your chest.

"I think she looks lovely in it," He praises and you fluster even more, finding it more than a little difficult to make your mouth form words. Gods, you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

Sirius rolls his eyes, "Course you do, you perv." Sirius looks to you at his joke, ready for your agreement like he's accustomed to, but you're busy sucking down the last of your vodka soda.

Remus hides a smirk as he catches on. "How does it feel to be part of the big leagues now, Jamie?" he saves you from any awkward silence with his question which you're grateful for. rr

James doesn't seem to notice the effect he's having on you, not when his hand dips between your thighs and remains there as he responds to Remus easily. "It's good, exciting. I know it's going to be a lot more hours training and a bit of a graft, but it should be exciting more than anything else."

A waiter appears with the wings and chips you and James had ordered while waiting for his friends, "Plus I've got a pretty cute cheerleader to make happy at every game so it's good motivation." James kisses the corner of your mouth as you take a chip, your entire body shivering at the contact.

"Y'okay, lovie?" he whispers, and you swear you almost pass away just then. His cologne is all you can smell, and his hand is still between your thighs and he's pressed up against you and you're really going to die because of how effortlessly attractive your boyfriend is- you just know it.

"I'm okay, Jamie. Have something to eat, baby." you say and Sirius almost chokes on how soft and lovelorn you sound.

"God they're sick." he murmurs to Remus who is very inclined to agree, especially when James just eats the chip right out of your hands.

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frmisnow · 4 months ago

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summary. growing up with religious guilt had always made you rather avoidant of church, but a point comes where you feel like you have no one and must confess to well... anyone. you didn't expect to fall in love with the priest on the other side though !

warnings / includes. angst, alcoholism, themes of religious guilt, suggestive, inspired by fleabag

god loves you , just not enough to save you.

in the time where everything changes and you fuck up over and over, again and again — you yearn, crave thourly for patterns that remain alike. like the cigarettes you hold, that remind you of the burn marks on your skin or the alcohol, that turned you into a sort of alcoholic you promised yourself, you'd never become.

or would it be the cold cross that you haven't touched in years, which would finally save you out of your misery?

it cuts into your skin, leaves the same wounds it did once. you're weaker then you've ever been, so you let it. because at the same time, it's cooling against your heated skin. flush from the shots earlier, and the vodka bottle you just smashed onto the hard ground ahead of the church.

because damned be god for bringing you back to this place. you had promised, not just to yourself but him as well that you'd never enter it again. but who are you kidding? you were notourosly known for breaking promises.

the chapel is quiet, too quiet, and the echo of your footsteps sounds like the last word of a sinner's prayer. you can firmly feel your own shadow behind you, you want to ask it to reach it's black hands to the very you. end it once and for all, and let you burn in hell just to remind you of the fire that had once lingered in you, comforting and warm.

but you don't. you don't beg, instead sliding into the tiny, hollow space at the very back — the confessional.

"forgive me father, for what i have sinned.." you slur, leaning against the wall that seperates you and god knows who, because you need, you want to hear him breathe. not to see his face, because you couldn't bear looking at people anymore, but to hear him be there at least.

you don't await for a response, the alcohol in your system, just as always, making you speak before you think, "it's just- i feel like everything is going to shit. i have affectively pushed everyone and anyone out of my life, that i have even remotely cared about. and i- father, i- it's like i'm doing it on purpose, though i don't even want to."

you sigh, leaning against the wall even further, praying that hands would spawn out of the wood and embrace you, "i- fucking miss feeling," you pause, gulping, "loved."

"i want somebody to tell me what to do, exactly what for every aspect of my life. because," you groan, throwing your head back in frustration, "i don't want to make decisions anymore."

silence fills the wooden cabinet, deafening silence and you can feel something wet down your cheek.

"kneel."

you look up to the wooden wall once more ask you hear the request from the other side, your vision just a little blurry, as you croak, your voice just above an whisper, "what?"

“please, kneel,” he repeats, softer this time, yet firm. the authority in his tone makes you feel embraced because it's just what you asked for. please tell me what to do with myself, for eternity.

the creak of the cabinet door breaks through your thoughts, and before you can process it, he’s there, silhouetted in the dim light, casting a shadow that feels both holy and sinful.

he kneels to your level, close enough for you to inhale the heady scent of his cologne — rich, memorable, and everything you’ve been missing.

without thinking, you lean into him, your lips crashing against his in a desperate clash. it’s raw, fevered; every ounce of longing spills out in that one kiss. his hands find your face, grounding you, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re worthy of this sacred act, this moment.

when he pulls away, your eyes remain closed but you can feel the thumb of his tracing over your bottom lip. it's like baptization, just a second time. please make me feel loved, pick up the pieces of me like the glass shambles of the vodka bottle outside, put them back together. fix me. you're the only one who can.

but you remain quiet once more and when you open your eyes, he's gone.

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scary-grace · 7 months ago

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the crying game - a shigaraki x f!reader oneshot

You gave up on love a long time ago, but you keep getting invited to weddings, and after eleven receptions spent at the single's table, you're almost at the end of your rope -- until first-time wedding guest Shigaraki Tomura asks you to show him how it's done. (5.7k words, modern AU, no quirks.)

This fic is for @arslansenkai, who saw my milestone post and requested the prompts ‘holding hands’ + ‘listening to the other’s heartbeat’ + ‘whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin’ from this list. Thank you so much for the prompt! I really enjoyed writing it and I swear all three of your prompts made it in here or there.

You hate weddings. You don’t remember when you started hating them, but you know why you started – right around the time when you realized that you’d never have another one of your own, that you’d always be attending someone else’s, and doing that all by yourself, too. Add in the cost of a new dress and new shoes (God forbid you wear the same thing twice in one year) and travel accommodations and a wedding present, and weddings become a big, expensive, depressing waste of a weekend. No matter how much you like the people who are getting married.

And you do like them, this time, even though they’re the twelfth couple from your department at Ultra, Inc. to get married in the last three years. Ochako and Himiko are the kind of couple who shouldn’t make sense, but somehow do – the kind of against-all-odds couple who’d make you believe in love if you didn’t know better. You were rooting for them, you’re glad they’re together, and getting their save-the-date still made you want to drown yourself in the toilet. You opted to drown in vodka instead. You need help.

You need help, and you’re going to get it. After this wedding. So you can figure out how to say no the next time you get an invite. Because out of all the indignities about going single to a wedding, getting stuck at the same table at the wedding reception as the other people who couldn’t snare a date is possibly the worst.

Most couples have at least a few single friends, but Himiko and Ochako are the last of their respective circles to couple up. Or almost-last. The singles table at their wedding included exactly five people at the start of the reception. You, an older woman named Magne, a guy your age whose place-card says Todoroki Touya but insisted that he goes by Dabi, another guy your age whose place-card says Takami Keigo but insisted you call him Hawks, and one more guy your age whose place-card says Shigaraki Tomura and who barely looked up when you introduced yourself.

It wasn’t the worst singles table you’d ever sat at, at the start. Then Magne bailed to sit with somebody she knew at a different table, and Dabi and Hawks hit it off and then snuck off to God knows where, and then it was just you and Shigaraki sitting at your table in the far back corner of the reception hall. That’s how it’s been for an hour, and the only interaction the two of you have had is when you’ve passed the table’s bottle of champagne back and forth, filling your glasses and then draining them out of sync. It’s depressing. After going to eleven weddings in two years, you can hang in there with the best of them, but you’re pretty sure you’re about to crack.

Your glass is empty, and when you reach for the bottle, you find that it’s empty, too. You want to get more, but you’re not going to look like a lush in front of your weird tablemate. “Hey,” you say, and Shigaraki looks up from the screen of his Switch. “This is empty. I’ll go get more if you want it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shigaraki says. You raise your eyebrows. “This will suck just as bad whether I’m wasted or not.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “But then you’ll be able to pretend it sucks because you’re wasted, not because you’re stuck at the singles table yet again.”

“Yet again? Sounds like you’re projecting,” Shigaraki says. You shrug. It would hurt more if you hadn’t heard the same thing from at least one person at the last three weddings you went to – usually towards the end of the reception, usually when everybody’s getting weepy and ridiculous. You’re ahead of schedule this time. “Sure. I’ll take more.”

Two tables over, a group of happy couples have abandoned their champagne bucket in favor of the dance floor – or the photo booth, or something. You swap your empty bottle for their full one and come back over, hoping Shigaraki will have gone back to his game and forgotten you existed. No such luck. He’s sitting up, watching you, as you sit down, fill your glass, and slide the bottle back across the table to Shigaraki. “Yet again,” he repeats. You down half your glass in a single swallow. “I’m only halfway through the first one of these stupid things I’ve been to and I’m already done. How many times have you put yourself through it?”

“Eleven,” you say. Shigaraki’s red eyes widen. “No, that’s just people from work. If I count friends from school, it’s, uh – sixteen.”

“If you’re this miserable, stop going.”

“Is that what you do?” you challenge. “When your friends invite you to celebrate the happiest day of their lives, you just don’t go?”

“My friends know better than to invite me to shit like this.” Shigaraki copies you and drains half his glass in one go. “I wouldn’t have come to this one, except Toga critical-hit me with this guilt trip about how we’re her family and she needs her family to be here –”

You did notice a conspicuous lack of parents or relatives on Toga’s side of the aisle. “And I said I’d go if I didn’t have to go alone,” Shigaraki continues. “Dabi was supposed to be doing time with me. Figures he’d score a hookup and bolt.”

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” you say. They barely talked when Dabi was sitting here. “How do you know Himiko?”

“Juvie,” Shigaraki says, and you’re not sober enough to keep the surprise from showing all over your face. He snickers. “Not what you expected?”

You shake your head. “Is that where you know Dabi from?”

“And Spinner,” Shigaraki says, pointing out a purple-haired guy at a different table. “And Twice. Magne was a peer counselor or something. If I hadn’t met them I probably would have killed myself in there.”

You can’t stop your surprise from showing this time, either. Shigaraki grimaces. “Don’t read into that.”

“No promises,” you say. Shigaraki snorts and lifts his glass partway, then drains it. “So you’ve known each other for a while.”

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re friends with the girlfriend. Wife.” Shigaraki refills his glass again, but leaves it alone for the time being. “How long have you known her?”

“Work,” you say, then facepalm. You’re lucky you manage to do it with the hand not holding your glass of champagne. “Two years or so. I already worked there when she was hired. I kind of watched the whole thing with Himiko from the sidelines.”

That’s how you always watch relationships play out at work, or anywhere, really. Pretending to be happy, really being happy, and still feeling like you’re pulling a tarp over the sinkhole in your chest. “So the wife invited you and you showed up even though you knew you’d hate it,” Shigaraki concludes. “You’re crazier than me. I’m never going to another one of these things again.”

“Not even your own?”

“Do I look like the kind of person somebody marries?” Shigaraki finishes his whole glass in a single swallow. You were thinking about trying to keep up with him, but if you try that, you’ll throw up all over the dress you had to buy, which is probably dry-clean only or something worse. “I don’t get why anyone goes to these things.”

“They’re supposed to be fun,” you say. You feel bad picking on Ochako’s wedding. It’s not Ochako’s fault that you’re single, bitter about it, and this close to drunk on alcohol she paid for. “But they’re usually only fun if you go with someone.”

“I went with somebody. He ditched me to hook up with a guy who named himself after a bird.”

You snicker at that. “I meant a date,” you clarify. “If your date ditches you to hook up, then you’ve got bigger problems than whether you’re having fun at a wedding.”

“He’s not my date. I’m not gay.” Shigaraki looks up. “Did you think I was gay?”

“I really didn’t – think,” you admit. You didn’t come to the wedding looking for a hookup. If you had, you’d have tried to put a move on Hawks before Dabi could. “The activities are more fun with a date.”

“Activities?” Shigaraki asks. “Like games?”

“Uh, sometimes,” you say. You know Ochako set up lawn games outside, and the sun won’t set for a while. “Sometimes there’s an art project you’re supposed to do for the couple, as a keepsake or something. I went to one last year where you were supposed to write a good wish, fold it into a paper crane, and then hang it off a branch of this tree they’d bought.”

“Too much work. What else?”

“Dancing,” you say, although you felt like that was pretty obvious. “And Himiko and Ochako have a photo booth.”

Shigaraki’s nose wrinkles. “Why?”

“As a keepsake for the guests, I guess,” you say. “Again. More of a couple thing.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki pours half a glass this time but still finishes it in one swallow. Then he stands up. “Let’s do it.”

You freeze in the act of pouring yourself another glass. “What?”

“I’m never coming to another wedding. You’re bored and drunk –”

“I’m not the one who’s been treating glasses like shots.”

“So let’s do it,” Shigaraki says, like you didn’t say a word. “If this is the last one I go to, I want to get my money’s worth. Do you have something better to do?”

You were this close to taking out your phone and opening up Tinder. You shake your head. “Finish that,” Shigaraki says, and you finish the half-glass you just poured and get to your feet. “Where’s the stupid photo booth?”

You lead the way. Even in heels, you’re faster than Shigaraki – he’s meandering a little bit, possibly due to all the champagne. You reach out and grab his hand to pull him back on course. He jumps, stumbles into an empty table, and glares at you. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted the wedding date experience. Holding hands is included.” At least you think it should be. If you had a real date you’d want to hold hands with them. Shigaraki follows you a little more closely than before as you make your way up to the photo booth. “It looks like they have props. Should we use them?”

Shigaraki hasn’t let go of your hand. He picks up a fake mustache on a stick. “Who would use this?”

“Me, maybe?” If you had a wedding date, you’d want to be spontaneous and fun. You lift it out of his hand and hold it up to your face. “What do you think?”

“No.” Shigaraki takes it away, puts it back, and picks up a flower crown. “Here.”

“No, that’s for you,” you say. Shigaraki argues, but you pluck it out of his hand and settle it on his head anyway. “See? It looks great.”

“If Dabi sees me wearing this stupid thing –”

“He’ll be jealous,” you say. The crown would look stupid on Dabi’s spiky black hair, but the pastel shades of the flowers look nice with Shigaraki’s blue-grey hair. “Okay. Now you can pick one for me. I’ll even do the mustache.”

“No,” Shigaraki says again. He sorts through the props and comes up with a headband with bunny ears. “This one.”

You two are going to look ridiculous. It’s hard not to laugh, and you haven’t even seen the full effect yet. You put on the headband, thankful that you went for a low-effort hairstyle that’s easy to fix, then pull the curtain on the photo booth and wedge yourself into it. Shigaraki follows you in.

It’s a really tight fit. You were pretty sure the photo booth was a couple activity, but now you’re sure – you love your friends, but you wouldn’t want to end up most of the way into any of their laps. You have to stop holding hands to try to get situated, and while you’re still trying to figure yourselves out, the photo booth takes the first picture. Shigaraki grimaces. “Wait. That probably looked stupid. Where –”

The booth takes the second picture while he’s talking, and you snort. There’s about a ten-second interval to get positioned correctly. You manage to face front in time, but your elbow lands on Shigaraki’s thigh as you’re trying to steady yourself, and he flinches away. You drop out of the frame as the booth snaps the third photo, and it occurs to you that the only part of you visible in the picture will be the bunny ears. Based on the location of the ears in relation to Shigaraki’s body, it’s going to look pretty compromising. You hope no one sees that picture. Ever.

Shigaraki’s snickering as you sit up. “Nice one. I want a copy of – hey!”

You’ve elbowed him on purpose this time, just in time for the fourth photo. The fifth photo’s probably going to be blurry. You’re both lightly shoving each other, trying to get each other out of your personal space without pushing either of you out of the photo booth itself. The sixth photo’s probably the only one that’s worth anything, and it won’t be very good, either – Shigaraki’s flower crown is off-kilter, and you’re pretty sure your headband’s falling off. The printer begins to whir, and the two of you sit in silence as the booth prints out two sets of photos. You pick one up. Shigaraki takes the other. A second later, you’re both laughing.

The photos look even worse than you thought, and somehow that makes them better. The photo where it’s just your ears in the frame features Shigaraki staring down into his lap, looking all kinds of startled, while the photo where you’re pushing each other is blurry enough to be a still from a found-footage horror movie. In your opinion, the first photo is the funniest. “We look like that meme with the cat,” you wheeze. “The one with the loading circle over its head.”

“The last one looks like a mug shot,” Shigaraki says, his laughter so raspy that it borders on a witch’s cackle. “After a bar fight –”

The idea of getting in a bar fight in your wedding outfit sets you off. You slump sideways at an angle and end up with your head against his chest for a few seconds, surprised that you can hear his heartbeat and surprised at how fast it’s beating. “Which of us won?”

“We both lost,” Shigaraki says, and you laugh harder. The two of you look disheveled as hell, and not from anything fun. “Number two is the worst one. You look good and I look like a dumbass.”

“You just had your mouth open,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’re probably smearing your makeup, but who gives a shit. You didn’t do that good of a job on it anyway. “Anyway, that’s the wedding photo booth experience. What do you think?”

“I want to go again,” Shigaraki says. This time, you manage to turn to stare at him without throwing any elbows. “For good ones. No way do people’s girlfriends let them leave with just the stupid ones.”

You would, but then again, there’s not a big enough difference between how you look in bad photos and how you look in good ones for it to matter. “We can do one more,” you agree. “Let’s lose the props.”

Without the flower crown and bunny ears, the silliness factor drops significantly. Now you look less like a couple of drunk clowns pretending to be a couple and more like two people who could actually be together. It weirds you out, but you promised the whole wedding date experience. In the seconds before the first flash goes off, you tilt your head onto Shigaraki’s shoulder.

Shigaraki startles, and as soon as the flash goes off, he pushes you away – but only so he can tilt sideways. He’s taller than you, enough so his cheek rests against the top of your head. Four photos left. When you glances over at Shigaraki, you see that his tie’s crooked, so you fix it for him, burning another photo in the bargain. The fourth photo is Shigaraki shifting the neckline of your dress to cover your bra strap, which is weird but plausible for a couple’s photo booth experience. He has a birthmark just below the right corner of his mouth. You aim for it when you kiss his cheek quickly for the fifth photo.

Shigaraki startles again, and you sit back – but not too far. You’re still close enough that Shigaraki only has to lean forward a few inches for his lips to meet yours.

You weren’t planning to kiss him. It’s not much of a kiss, and it doesn’t last long, but your heart is still racing as the booth spits out your second sheet of photos. You’re almost scared to look. Shigaraki’s hesitant, too, and when you both flip the sheets over to check, he says exactly what you’re thinking. “Shit.”

The first set of photos were a joke. The second set – either you and Shigaraki are really good actors or you’re both really drunk, because they look way too plausible for comfort. The ones where you’re fussing over each other’s clothes are probably the worst offenders on that front, but you’re most alarmed by the last two. You’re smiling as you kiss his cheek. You can see the corner of your mouth turned up. And you didn’t see where Shigaraki’s hand was when he kissed you, but the photo’s preserved the evidence. It’s right by the side of your face, curved like he wants to cradle your jaw in his hand.

Exactly sixty seconds ago, the two of you were screwing around in here. Now it feels like there’s static running back and forth between you, and you scramble out of the booth in a hurry, almost tripping over your feet. Shigaraki gets out, too, leaning against the booth to steady himself. Without a word, he takes both of your sets of photos and tucks them into his suit jacket along with his sets, then fills your suddenly-empty hand with his own. “Now what?”

The static shock is between your hands now. “My hand is humming,” you say, like an idiot, and Shigaraki tightens his grip. “Um, I think there are some games outside.”

“Fine.”

It’s warm outside, but getting cooler as the sun begins to set. There are a lot of games, and most of them are being ignored in favor of a bunch of the goofiest guys from your office playing cornhole while their girlfriends/boyfriends watch. You determine instantly that you’re not coordinated enough for anything that involves throwing something, which leaves you exactly one option. “How about that one?”

“Jenga?”

“Jenga XL,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “My hand-eye coordination’s too bad right now for a throwing game. This will be safer.”

Whoever was playing the oversized Jenga last left the blocks in a heap. You and Shigaraki can’t hold hands while you stack them up, and as you do, your assumption that Jenga would be safer than something else gets tested in the most embarrassing way possible – and of course Shigaraki points it out. “You’re short. If this thing falls on you it’ll flatten you.”

“It won’t fall,” you say with more confidence than you feel. “I’m good at this.”

“Go first, then, if you’re so good at it.”

You get a block out without trouble, but you have to rely on Shigaraki to re-stack it for you, which he does, wearing a really frustrating smirk. “You should have worn taller shoes.”

“I can’t walk in taller shoes,” you say. “Or dance. Are you going to want to dance?”

“If it’s part of the wedding date experience, yeah.” Shigaraki carefully extracts his block and sets it on top of the tower. He’s not all that much taller than you. If the game goes on long enough, he’ll have trouble re-stacking. “They don’t exactly teach dance classes in juvie.”

“It’s not that kind of dancing,” you say. Shigaraki looks relieved. “If it’s going to be that kind of dancing, they warn you on the invitation. A friend of mine who got married last year only played swing music at her reception. She sent out a certificate for free lessons with her save-the-date.”

“Control issues?”

“I think she just wanted stuff her way,” you say. You ease another block out of the tower and hand it over to Shigaraki. “Hers was nice. Everything ran on time, and she sent out thank-you notes six weeks after the wedding.”

Shigaraki stacks your block, then pulls out one of his own. You realize with a jolt that he’s missing the index and middle fingers from his left hand. “What’s the worst one you’ve ever been to?”

“Um.” You don’t want to say this. You really don’t – but you drank too much, and you should be honest. “Mine.”

“You’re married?”

“Divorced,” you say. “Three months after the wedding. I didn’t have the ring on long enough to get a tan line.”

Shigaraki doesn’t say anything. The tower is getting unstable, so you’re careful as you wiggle out one of the side blocks on a row about halfway up. You keep an eye on Shigaraki’s shadow as you do it, bracing yourself for him to walk away. Would you walk away if he told you he was divorced? No, but you’re divorced, so it matters less to you. “Three months,” Shigaraki repeats. “How’d that happen?”

“You’re lucky you aren’t asking me that six years ago,” you say. “With how much I drank tonight, I’d have gone off.”

“Go off. I want to hear it.” Shigaraki actually looks interested. “Anyone who fucks this up deserves it.”

He’s gestures at you. You don’t know what to make of that, and you’ve got a block halfway out of the tower. You go back to work on it. “How do you know it wasn’t me?”

“I know,” Shigaraki says. “How’d it happen?”

“This is pathetic,” you warn. Shigaraki gestures for you to go on. You sigh. “We were together since high school. Midway through college I got a bad feeling that we were drifting apart and I couldn’t take the suspense, so I tried to end it. And he popped the question. We got married six months later and three months after that he knocked up my cousin.”

“Damn,” Shigaraki remarks.

“They’re still together,” you say. “The kid’s in primary school this year. And every year around the holidays my aunt and my cousin pick a fight with me about how I need to be nicer to him, because we’re all a family now.”

You finally manage to extract the block, and Shigaraki takes it from you before you can offer it to him. You can’t read his expression, and just like when you sensed things with your ex were falling apart, you can’t take the suspense. “Pathetic?” you prompt.

“Your ex is a loser.”

“You haven’t seen what my cousin looks like.”

“He’s still a loser,” Shigaraki says. He pulls out a block. “I get it, though.”

Your stomach clenches. “What do you mean?”

“If my girlfriend was leaving me because I was dicking around, I might do something like that, too.” Shigaraki sets his block on top of the tower. Your options for blocks to pull are getting slimmer by the turn. “Popping the question. Not knocking up your cousin.”

“I have other cousins,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “I thought you said you weren’t getting married.”

“I said nobody was going to marry me,” Shigaraki corrects. What’s the difference? “Your turn.”

You’re out of blocks at shoulder height. And chest height. And waist height. You crouch down instead, doing your best to balance in your heels, and start trying to wiggle a block loose on the fourth level up from the ground. Shigaraki’s voice follows you down. “If you were ready to ditch him, why did you say yes?”

Now you’re at a real risk of crying. Six years of intermittent only-when-you’ve-got-the-money counseling hasn’t made a dent in this one thing. You remind yourself that Shigaraki can’t see your face and work on keeping your voice steady. “I was the one who asked him out in the first place, back in high school. I always had this weird sense that we wouldn’t be together if I hadn’t. So when he proposed I thought it meant he was choosing me, like I chose him. Which was a stupid reason to say yes.”

You wanted to believe. You wanted to believe so badly that you were worth it, and now you’re divorced at twenty-eight, barely talking to the half of your family that took your cousin’s side, going on a grand total of one real date in the entire time since then that you got up and left partway through because you couldn’t fake hope or excitement for one second longer. The kiss you planted on Shigaraki in the photo both was the most action you’ve gotten in two years, and you’ve put more effort into the fake wedding-date experience than you have into even looking for a hookup. You’re pathetic. This is pathetic. You should be embarrassed, and you are.

But you got your stupid block out. You straighten up and hold it out to Shigaraki, who stacks it for you. You can’t read his expression, and you’re a little too dysregulated to be anything but blunt. “That’s my tragic backstory. What’s your damage?”

“What, going to juvie doesn’t count?” Shigaraki crouches down to pull a block from the opposite side of the same row you just weakened. He’s doing it right-handed; he’s waving his left with its missing fingers at you. “This doesn’t count? The fact that I don’t have eyebrows doesn’t count? Your problem is being a dumb kid with a shitty family and a shitty ex. My problem is that I exist. We’re not the same.”

He straightens up and drops his block on top of the tower. You can see that he’s tenser than before, and you can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound patronizing. “I didn’t notice about the eyebrows until you said something.”

“Great.” Shigaraki won’t look at you. “Your turn.”

You crouch down again. The row below the row Shigaraki just knocked down to one block seems like the safest bet. You start pulling at it, frustrated at the way it sticks. “Careful,” Shigaraki says after a second. “If you don’t watch out –”

The tower topples. You’re crouched down, with no chance of getting out of the way in time, and all you can do is sit there, stunned, while three dozen giant Jenga blocks crash down around your head. The corner of one catches your temple, digs in, and you flinch. But the blocks are light. You’re startled, and humiliated, and possibly bleeding a little bit, but you’re fine. “Are you okay?” Shigaraki asks. You give a thumbs-up, and he crouches down next to you. “I don’t believe you. You look – shit, your face is bleeding.”

“I’m good,” you say. “It’s a good thing we took pictures already. This is not part of the wedding-date experience.”

“I’m done with that,” Shigaraki says, and your heart sinks. Even though it shouldn’t. Even though none of this mattered to begin with, even though you know better, you hoped. You weren’t hoping for anything much – just to keep having fun, just to not spend the rest of the wedding alone. “You have a purse, right? Do you have napkins in there or something?”

“Your suit comes with a pocket square.” You pluck it out of his pocket and press it to your temple. “I’ll pay for cleaning it.”

“Don’t bother. It was my dad’s. He doesn’t have much use for it in solitary.”

Shigaraki helps you up while you’re still processing that one and tugs you away from the wreckage of the Jenga tower, onto a bench. The view of the sunset is really good from here. Further down the lawn, you can see Himiko and Ochako and their photographer doing a last round of pictures, and you slide your feet out of your shoes. It’s that point in the wedding. You’ll probably stay here for the rest of the night.

“Do you need ice?” Shigaraki asks. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe the fact that the sinkhole in your chest is eating the tarp you put over it just hurts more. “Do you still want to dance?”

“You said you were done with the wedding date thing.”

“Yeah. I’m done with the part where it’s fake.”

Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought you did. “What do you mean?”

“Seriously?” Shigaraki sounds annoyed. “I let you put a flower crown on me.”

“Is that some kind of mating ritual in juvie?” The instant you say it, you feel bad, but Shigaraki laughs. “If you’re trying to say something, say it. I don’t do very well with ambiguity on my best night and I’m still kind of drunk.”

“Same here. Otherwise I’d sit on this, and my friends would spend the rest of their lives listening to me bitch about how I didn’t ask out the girl from Toga’s wedding.” Shigaraki’s hand lifts from his lap, rises to his neck, then falls back. “I want to dance with you. Toga and her wife are having an after-party at their place, and I want you to come to it with me. And I want your number so we can hang out again sometime when we’re not wasted. Because I like you.”

You must have hit your head really hard. “We met three hours ago.”

“So? Toga said she knew she was going to marry the wife the first time they made eye contact,” Shigaraki says. That sounds like something Himiko would say. You’ve met her a few times at work parties and she’s always struck you as a little intense and a little off-the-wall. “Do you want to dance or not? Make up your mind.”

You want to say yes. What comes out is something really stupid, so stupid that you can’t look at him while you say it. “This is the kind of thing that happens to other people.”

“What, meeting somebody who asks you out?”

It sounds stupid when he says it like that. You keep his dad’s pocket square pressed to your temple and try to explain. “The whole thing where you meet somebody when you weren’t expecting to meet anybody and things click, at least on your end, and since you know it’s just on your end you try not to get your hopes up – but the other person tells you that it clicked for them, too –”

“That’s dumb.” Shigaraki doesn’t sound like he’s being mean. You could almost call it affectionate. “Forget who it happens to. I’m asking you out. Do you –”

Screw it. If this is some kind of hallucination, you want to enjoy it. If it’s real, you don’t want to miss out. You turn back to face Shigaraki. “Yes.”

He grins, and you notice a scar over his mouth, too. “Good. Now what?”

You think about kissing him. You decide to try hugging first, which involves getting at least as close to him as you did when you were in the photo booth, on purpose this time. Shigaraki isn’t particularly tall or bulky, but when you hug him, you’re surprised to notice that he’s hiding some muscle underneath his suit jacket. Kind of a lot of muscle. Huh. Shigaraki notices that you’re investigating a little bit. “What?” he asks, his mouth against your ear. “Did you think all I do is game?”

“I don’t know what you do all day,” you say. “We didn’t get to that part yet.”

“We will.” Shigaraki draws back from you, and you loosen your grip even as his hand rises to cradle your jaw. This time you see the kiss coming from a mile away, and this time, you lean in.

Everything’s different this time, except the thing that startles the two of you apart – the bright flash of a camera going off. “Tomura-kun!” Himiko squeals from somewhere nearby. “I told you you’d have fun at my wedding. Who is that? She’s so cute!”

For a second you’re worried Shigaraki doesn’t know your name, but he must have been paying more attention than you thought he was when you introduced yourself, because he introduces you to Toga without missing a beat. “She’s one of my coworkers,” Ochako explains, smiling at you. Even through the smile you can see the incredulity on her face, and you know you’ll be getting a lot of questions about this when she gets back from her honeymoon. “I’m so sorry we had to put you at that table. I wanted to put you with everybody from work, but they all had plus-ones –”

“It’s fine,” you say faintly. Himiko’s photographer takes another picture, this time of all four of you talking. “It worked out.”

“She’s coming to your party,” Shigaraki informs Himiko. “I invited her.”

“Oh, good!” Himiko turns her attention to you. “It’s going to be so fun! We have games and movies and we’re going to stay up all night.”

“You should come inside now,” Ochako says. “There are mosquitos out here, and we’re supposed to have cake soon –”

“And we’re going to do the Time Warp. I put that on the playlist for you special, Tomura-kun,” Himiko says. She glances at you. “It’s the only dance he knows.”

Shigaraki flushes, grimaces, but you tilt your head against his shoulder again, lacing his fingers with yours for the third time tonight. You don’t know what he does all day when he’s not at weddings he doesn’t want to go to. You don’t know if what he said about his dad being in solitary confinement was a joke or not. You don’t know what happened to his hand or where he got his scars, or even where his eyebrows went. But you know he likes you. You know you like him enough to give things a shot, at least for tonight, and that’s better than you’ve felt in a long time.

And you know he can dance, even if it’s only the Time Warp. For right now, you don’t need to know any more than that.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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ninyard · 4 months ago

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no but really. riko's "lessons" on grief crumbling the second kevin finds out about riko's death though!!!! all of that suppression, all of the buried feelings, all of the time spent avoiding and hiding and concealing left to rise to the surface the second riko is dead!!!

i am convinced kevin freaks out in a way he's never freaked out before, in a way that sincerely shocks anyone who witnesses it, once he finds out riko is gone. in a way that subtly begs the question about inpatient care and an extended leave of absence and rehab. in a way that nobody else really understands because it was riko of all people to trigger this meltdown, but in a way that is genuinely terrifying

that codependency, even if undercut by relief that the abuse is over, does not go away without a freak out!!

-childhood in the nest anon

oh that's such a good point. Especially if Riko was successful in not letting Kevin mourn, if Kevin never really grieved his mother because Riko said, "You have me."

Like, what if the whole basis of Kevin's avoidance of grieving his mom was based on Riko saying, "So long as I'm here, you don't have to worry about her." Imagine every time he almost cried, every time he almost said I miss my mom out loud, Riko would grip his arm or his hand or his face and say something to the effect of, "Your grief is a waste of time and the only thing that matters is me, is us, is exy."

And then Riko's dead? And oh, he remembers this feeling that he'd only felt in vague bursts before, buried so deep he couldn't even be sure he felt it at all. The words, "Riko is dead," sound like "Your mom is dead". They found her body this morning. They found his body last night. There's nothing they could've done to save her. He was dead when the ambulance arrived.

It's like this doubled grief, all the things he'd never been allowed to feel for his mom suddenly coming back up, and like, these are feelings that Kevin thought he was too young to have felt. He thought he was too young to remember, he thought he was too young to understand but now he's reminded that, no, you felt it. You understood. You just weren't allowed to feel the monumental loss that you'd faced. You weren't allowed to work through this gnawing icy pain in your heart. And now that Riko's dead, you're allowed. You're free.

But now Riko's dead. Now Riko is dead, and his mom is dead, and fuck Riko for making him feel both of their deaths at the same time because he shouldn't exist in the same world that his mother does. The pain he feels for them both should be incomparable.

I like to imagine that for just a few moments after Kevin is told, he goes into shock, completely and utterly unable to function with the knowledge that Riko is dead.

"Riko killed himself last night," David says, and Abby is by his side for backup, for protection, for Kevin's safety. Betsy is on speed dial. "They won't tell me much, but they think it happened fast."

Maybe Abby nudges him because nothing he says will be okay, or good enough, or soft enough so as to not destroy Kevin. And he hears the words. He knew they were coming. They had to come, this was always going to happen. This was always how it was going to end. But his brain goes quiet and his hands go numb and he smiles a weak smile. He doesn't feel those words at all.

"Okay," He nods, like he's just been told that it's raining outside or he's wearing odd socks. "Thank you, Coach."

"Kevin, did you..." Abby's voice is soft as she reaches out. "Did you hear what David said?"

His eyes are empty, someplace far away, but his voice does not shake as he says, "I did."

For a while, maybe, they don't let him leave the room. He's quiet, disassociating, but not yet crying. Not yet throwing things around the room like David expected. Not yet begging for a bottle of vodka.

Does Renee come to the door first, or Neil? Does Abby answer the door because David asked her to, and what snaps him out of it? Is it Renee saying, "I called Jean. I told him to avoid the news," or is it Neil saying, "Have you told him yet?" that snaps him back into the real world, back to reality, to Jean can't find out, to Jean is alone, to Neil knows, to oh my god to this is real to Riko's dead and Riko's dead and Riko's dead.

Everything is familiar and nothing is the same. His body tells him he’s allowed to mourn his mom now, but he can’t handle it, and he can’t handle Riko being dead and Jean not knowing and Riko being dead and his mom isn’t here and he just. can’t. get his head around it. It’s all of a sudden messy and loud and confusing. He can’t let himself think about how Riko probably didn’t kill himself, he can’t ask himself why Neil knew before he did. He can’t believe it. If he believes it then it’s real and it’s his fault and who has him now? That was Riko’s job. To stop him from mourning so he could keep his eye on the prize and now he has it; They won the season. He put all his focus on exy, and look where it got him. All those lessons, all that burying of his feelings and compartmentalising to deal with it later hits him at once like a fucking truck and I think Kevin had the breakdowns of all breakdowns that day.

I think whatever happened to Jean on his own in that dorm room would’ve happened to Kevin, and more. He’s lucky that he wasn’t alone, I suppose, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. He’s tall, and he’s strong, and his head isn’t in the room when he’s throwing shit at the walls and screaming like it’ll help make things make sense. He doesn’t see where the chair lands. He doesn’t see who the books are thrown at. There is a chance that not one person in that room has ever seen anyone lose their mind so quickly, and intensely before. Because it’s not just Riko, it’s his mom, it’s his childhood, it’s his future, it’s his abuser, it’s his brother, it’s his identity and purpose and fuck, it’s Riko. Who is he without Riko?

If I keep going this will just end up far too long but oh lordy lord I think you’re absolutely right

#regularly scheduled painful Kevin day thoughts #mine #ask #Kevin day #Riko Moriyama

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dirtyvulture · 2 years ago

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Alpha!Natasha Romanoff x Omega!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 2140

Requested by anon: Oh awesome! I'd like to request an abo fic then!

Can I ask for Alpha Natasha x Omega Reader

So, Natasha has always fancied Reader but due to how close Reader is with Steve(hes just a friend. His Alpha insticts just make him very protective for those he cares about) and Natashas inexperience in courting a mate due to that not being a Red Room lesson, she never makes a move.

That all changes at one of Tonys parties though. Steves away on a mission, so when a group of slimy Alphas corner Reader Nat swoops in to save her. They go back to the Alphas room where feelings get admitted and Natasha is able to claim her Omega

I'm sorry if thats too much, got a bit carried away. Hope you like this idea and thanks in advance. Love your work.

AN: Happy ABO April!

Natasha has to look away when Steve puts his arm around your shoulder in a side-hug and you lean into him and laugh at his joke. She can’t even name the things she would give up to take Steve’s place next to you, to have her arm around you and have you laughing at her joke instead. Even though Steve is a close friend of hers, she has always harbored a near-uncontrollable level of jealousy of him because of how close he was to you.

She knows you hardly look at her when she enters a room and the few moments the two of you have had alone, you’re always painfully professional and cordial with her. But at the end of the day, Natasha doesn’t blame you for it. Steve was a better alpha than her, anyway. She didn’t know the first thing about being someone’s alpha, let alone yours, and didn’t think she would be able to satisfy you with her inexperience and hesitancy.

Tony hosts a party that weekend, but Steve is called out last-minute on a mission. You come in alone, looking a little lost without your partner/alpha by your side. Natasha feels like this is her chance to make a move with you, but ultimately, her insecurities win out and she stays by the bar, miserably slamming vodka shots and wondering if she’ll ever be good enough for anyone.

You hadn’t expected to attend Tony’s party solo. Steve was your best friend, surprising you with how well you got along with someone who was old enough to be your grandpa, but he had been nothing but kind and respectful to you. You trusted him with your life and kept no secrets from him, but you didn’t see him as a romantic partner.

There was someone else you wanted, but they always seemed so shy around you, you were beginning to lose hope that anything could ever happen with them.

You find an empty corner in the table and sip a glass of wine, not interested in casual socialization with anyone tonight. You weren’t even sure why you still came when Steve texted you that he was being called to work, but you felt it would be rude to not show up with a legitimate excuse.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You look up as a man slides into the seat across from you. His hair is greasy with gel and his eyes tell you that he’s already a few drinks into the night. There are two friends that stand next to your table, effectively preventing you from just getting up and excusing yourself. You feel your heartbeat pound faster in your chest.

“Where’s your alpha?” the greasy-haired man asks.

“My what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with us now.” The man laughs, prompting his friends to do the same. You can’t remember ever seeing any of them before, but Tony invites anyone that knows his name, so you can’t narrow down where they might’ve come from at all.

“So you thought you’d come to Stark’s party in hopes that another alpha would come by and claim you?” the man snickers.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you assert, standing up as the man’s two friends step towards you menacingly.

“Not yet,” the man says. “But you know what would be better than being claimed by one alpha? How about three?” He smiles predatorily.

“Get away from me right now,” you say, your fingers closing tightly around the stem of your wine glass in case you need to smash it over one of their heads.

“Oh, we love a fighter,” the man says. “I hope it’s not just an act--”

“Hey.”

A familiar voice enters the conversation, and you almost melt with relief when you see Natasha Romanoff shove her way between the man’s two friends and offer you her hand.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Come on.”

You don’t question where she’s going to take you, just eager to get away from these three creepy alphas.

“Whoa, whoa, where are you taking--” the man interrupts.

“Shut it,” Natasha warns. “You’re all done here. Now get out before I have my friends escort you out.”

The man looks like he wants to protest, but when he sees Clint and Bruce eyeing them from the corner of the room, he grabs onto his buddies and pushes them towards the exit.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Natasha asks, taking you to the bar and ordering you a glass of water.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks for that. You didn’t have to,” you say, sipping your water with trembling hands.

“I wasn’t going to just stand there and watch them talk to you like that,” Natasha says, and you’re pretty sure this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had with her. The nerves of talking to your crush and what had just happened start to get to you and you feel yourself begin to sweat under your clothes.

Natasha looks at you with concern. “Y/N, are you--”

“Can we go back upstairs? If you’re okay leaving the party early, that is,” you ask.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

You don’t miss the way Natasha keeps her hand on your back as she follows you to the elevators and you both go up to the penthouse where the suites are located. But instead of going to your room, your feet take you to Natasha’s, and she doesn’t protest as you sit down on her bed and make yourself comfortable. Her scent, reminding you of the woods with a hint of vanilla, fills the entire room and you instinctively relax, like sinking into a hot tub.

Natasha sits next to you, her scent surrounding her like a cloud, and you can barely focus when she hands you a bottle of water.

“Thank you,” you finally say. “Not just for the water, but also what you did at the party.”

Natasha shrugs. “Steve wouldn’t have been happy if something happened to his omega.”

Her words catch you off guard. “Steve’s omega?” you repeat.

Natasha looks at you. “Wait, are you not--”

“Steve and I are just friends,” you clarify, your heart deflating at the thought that Natasha mistook your close friendship for an actual relationship.

“You two seem very close.”

“We are, but not like that,” you say.

“Oh.” Now Natasha feels dumb.

“I had my eye on another alpha for a while,” you admit, surprising yourself with your boldness. “But I’m not sure if they’d ever make a move on me.”

It takes Natasha a moment, but when she makes the realization, she gasps audibly and stares at you with wide eyes.

“M-Me?” she stammers, unable to believe that you actually want her.

You nod, biting your lip as you look at her. The overwhelming scent of her room is embarrassingly enough to get you going and you feel the wetness pooling between your legs uncomfortably.

“Do you want me?” you ask, leaning forward until your heads are inches apart. You feel her hot breath on your lips and the urge to dive forward and kiss her.

“Since the moment I saw you,” Natasha whispers, surprising herself by taking initiative and closing the distance between you two. Her lips are soft and her lip gloss tastes like coconut. Natasha presses towards you eagerly, her hands closing around your shoulders and gently pressing you to lie down on her bed. “Is this okay?” she asks, now hovering over you.

You swear you’re already gushing at the sight of Natasha on top of you like this. “It’s more than okay,” you assure, tangling your hands in her silky red hair and pulling her in for another kiss.

Natasha practically devours you and you feel yourself ache with an emptiness you know only she can fill. You open your legs to invite Natasha to lie between them and when you feel the heat of her clothed bulge against your center, you can’t even think anymore.

All you want is Natasha buried deep inside of you, filling with her cum, and claiming you as her omega.

You break away from the heavy kisses long enough to remove your clothing and Natasha watches you for a moment before scrambling to remove her own. You moan when you touch your panties and realize how soaked through they are and you know Natasha can smell it by the way her eyes widen.

“Look what you’ve done to me, baby,” you say. “I’m soaking for you.”

“So desperate for me, huh?” Natasha stumbles a little over the dirty talk, but you find it endearing. She pulls down her boxers, her hard cock springing out at an impressive length, the tip red and leaking pre-cum. “Lie back, baby,” she says. “I’ll take care of you.”

Natasha takes her place back on top of you, teasing you by running her cock through your slicked folds. She’s never claimed an omega before and is worried about releasing too early and not being able to satisfy you.

“Fuck, baby, just put it in already,” you beg, the emptiness between your legs almost painful now.

Natasha knows that she won’t be able to deny you much longer. Her cock is throbbing so hard she can’t think of anything else, and after taking your hips in her hands, she lines herself up with your entrance and pushes into you.

Both of you moan at the same time. Natasha is the biggest you’ve ever taken, and while the stretch burns at first, you feel so satisfyingly full you never want her to pull out. You feel complete with her inside of you and when she starts to rock her hips slowly, you claw down her back and hold onto her butt, guiding her to thrust harder.

“Yes, Nat, just like that,” you pant, a moan ripping out of your throat every time her cock rubs through your clenching walls.

“You feel amazing,” Natasha says, her voice tight as she tries not to explode just yet. The way your pussy grips onto her is unlike anything she’s ever experienced and it’s like your body was made just to fit her. “Fuck, you feel so good, Y/N.”

“You do, too. Don’t stop,” you say, listening to the headboard of the bed slam against the wall with every thrust.

Natasha lowers her head to kiss you passionately, looping her arms under yours to pull you into her so she can penetrate you even deeper. Your pussy spasms around her and she moans against your lips, pistoning her hips harder.

“Mine. You’re all mine,” she growls.

“All yours when you knot me,” you remind her, feeling the swelling at the base of her cock when she pushes her entire length into you. As full as you already feel, you can’t wait for her to knot you and pump her seed into you until your stomach swells.

“Are you sure?” Natasha pants, slowing her thrusts to control her release. "Are you sure you want this, Y/N?”

“It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted,” you admit.

It’s the only thing Natasha’s ever wanted, too. To claim you and to be able to call you her omega.

“Okay.” She knows she won’t last much longer and the base of her cock begins to swell. Her thrust become sloppier and you widen your legs so she has room to bury herself all the way. “Oh fuck, Y/N. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum...”

“Make me yours, Nat,” you beg, digging your nails into her shoulders until you’re sure you’ll draw blood.

With one final thrust that shakes your entire body, Natasha pushes her knot past your entrance and releases her load inside of you. The warmth that fills you is indescribable, and you throw your head back with a moan as Natasha’s cock continues to pulse, shooting ropes of cum deep into your womb. The pressure and fullness is too much and you find your own release at the same time, craning your neck up to clamp your teeth around Natasha’s collarbone and claiming her as she knots you.

Natasha howls at the sting and the delight at you marking her. When she finally stops cumming, she relaxes her weight on top of you and nuzzles your cheek gently. You purr in response, happy to be full of cum and claimed by your alpha.

The two of you lie like that for a long time, until Natasha’s knot deflates and she can pull out, spilling most of her seed onto the bedsheets. You cling to her, feeling the most satisfied and happy you had ever been in your life.

“Thank you, my alpha,” you whisper, kissing the bite mark on her chest.

“I love you, my omega.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #abo supremacy #g!p #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader

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chimivx · 6 months ago

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That one fucked you over last year, this one is fucking you over this year, you had no idea she was involved with him, someone over here has been lying to you, you didn't mean to end up in that ones bed, he told you he loved you... Does anyone even trust anyone anymore?

👫 -> college!teez x fem!reader/oc {frat/sorority} #️⃣ -> 10.5k (part EIGHT of ten) ‼️ -> 18+, sexual content, drugs/alcohol, college life, all the drama, heavy angst, infidelity adjacent moments, mean boys, mean girls, mentions of anxiety/depression… IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

{ there are names & faces in here that come from NMWID <3 }

october 4th ~ friday ~ 8:45 p.m.

A pop song from decades past hummed through the speakers, the sound at volume incredibly tolerable. You were thanking the girl behind the bar with your mind for not blaring it when there was barely anybody in the place. A couple older guys with baseball caps sat around the bar, the tv’s hanging up on the wall behind the curly blonde working hard played a baseball game. The playoffs had started for the season, these were important games now, there’d be a champion in a month or so.

DK’s team didn’t make it through, but they came close. Thinking of Isla while you watched the men in striped jerseys throw the ball around, guilt weighed on your chest. It’d been over a week and still, no one had heard from her. Not even Vernon.

Turning your glass in circles where it collected condensation on the wooden table you sat at, you leaned forward and took a sip, letting the vodka cool the pressure building within you from the inside out. It wasn’t too strong, not like the drinks at ATZ, but it was enough to ease the anxieties that had made their home within your nervous system.

For a week you’ve been a nauseous wreck.

Last Saturday, the recruitment dinner, where it felt like your life had crumbled overnight, haunted you. Everything you thought you knew, everybody you thought you could trust, it was all a lie. Not only a lie, but a lie that had been brewing for a year. Since last semester, since Yeji walked out of that bedroom with that smug grin on her face, since Wooyoung threw away what the two of you had, since Yunho became your saving grace… A lie. All of it.

Wooyoung and Yeji never slept together. Were you supposed to believe that? He was pretty convincing Saturday night, pulling you out of the house once the two groups of authorities dispersed, Yeji running off somewhere before you had a second to confront her.

And, oh lord, you longed to confront her.

ITZ had been paid off. Yeji gave them copious amounts of money so that she could be president. At least, that’s what Wooyoung had told you. It was your name, you were written down, Choi Aurora, you were supposed to be the president of ITZ for the last two years of your time here at Nasara, and you couldn’t figure out why.

Yeji has the money, Yeji has the face, Yeji has the fame. You have no money, you lived in a two bedroom rancher with your single, drug dealing father, and you have not the slightest idea what it takes to be a leader of a group of girls in dire need of somebody to look up to, somebody to place their blame on.

President Aurora? Yeah, okay.

Lighting up on the table, your phone took your attention from the TV though you longed to watch. The fans in the stands were on their feet, waving their rally towels in the air, shouting to their favorite players on the field. It was exciting, invigorating, no wonder Vernons dedicated his life to the sport. You’d have to get out to a game next season. Maybe if you could track down Isla, get them to make up somehow, you’d be able to go to games together.

You��d choose Tori first, always, but unfortunately you weren’t speaking at the moment.

She was the one lighting up your phone. Blowing it up, actually. Texts, phone calls, attempts to get through to you since she woke up on Sunday and you were nowhere to be found. Not answering her hurt you, because she was the only person you’d respond to straight away no matter the situation, no matter what you were doing. If you had a Tori notification, you were answering it. To go almost a week without speaking to her, it pained you. But, at this point, who knew what and didn’t tell you?

You needed time. You needed space. You still attended your classes for the week, ensuring your grades didn’t slip amidst this chaos, you just didn’t live at ITZ.

“I’ll buy you another if you need it, you don’t have to worry about nursing that one,” your father said, sitting beside you, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest. Sipping your drink again, taking a much longer sip than before, you shifted your eyes over to him and he laughed. “You get to relax this weekend, okay? We can turn off your phone and hang out, just me and you.”

Almost laughing at his use of hang out, you smirked and swallowed your drink. “What about Seulgi?”

Yeonjun smiled, shaking his head. “Just me and you.” Taking in his twisted brows, the most animated part of his face, something you wonder if you’ve acquired from him, you took a breath. The door to the bar swung open, your father laughing as the tall, short black haired, thirty years younger, beefier version of himself walked through the door. “And Keeho, apparently.”

His feline eyes scanned around the bar, not taking long to spot you and your father. When he did, his resting bitch face erupted into the warmest smile, one you’ve missed. Ignoring the girl at the bar who greeted him, he held out his arms and hurried toward the table, catching you as you jumped to your feet to get swallowed by his hug.

“Oh my god,” he sang, the twang of his voice comforting you tenfold. “What the hell are you doing home? I missed you.”

Squeezing him hard, you groaned. “I missed you, too.”

“We just saw each other last month.” Yeonjun snickered.

Keeho shot him a look over your head, one of his hands smoothing over your hair. “It was a month too long, Yeonjun.” Unraveling yourself from his grasp, you laughed and sat back down beside your father, pulling your feet up onto the chair.

Yeonjun closed his eyes for all of three seconds, took a deep breath and let it out with a headshake, turning his attention toward the TV. Keeho was the only person he’d allow to snap at him like that, it’s been that way for years. He’s one of your homegrown friends, the two of you growing up together in the forgotten parts of Tamoe, where the rich people didn’t linger. Your houses were on the same street, right along the town's border of Soro, the main reason why the rich people didn’t stray too far south.

Sharing an age with you, Keeho still lived at home with his parents and his younger brother. Attending all the same schools at the same time, not wanting to mess with the other kids who were tougher than you, the two of you linked up. Keeho, a bisexual muscle mass of pure boy, and you, the girl who wouldn’t see her dad for weeks at a time, but when she did it’s because she had to go to a random police station with her Uncle Yoongi to bail him out of his holding cell.

Yeonjun knew how to make a scene, he could draw a crowd, which made it really hard to keep friends, or make any for that matter. Keeho was the right amount of different, the right amount of crazy, the perfect amount of understanding all wrapped into a judgement free, couldn’t care less human being. Even when he met your father, at the ripe age of eleven years old, he wasn’t afraid. At the time Yeonjun towered over him, but now, Keeho was only an inch shorter. The difference unnoticeable.

Seated around the wooden slab, Keeho stretched his arms across it and watched you wide eyed as you told him how you've been living your week.

“Father of the year, Yeonjun,” he said to your dad, making him crack the smallest smile, his eyes not leaving the TV. All week he’d been driving you into Delo, onto Nasara’s campus, taking you to and from classes, waiting for you outside the buildings. He’d often mumble his disappointment toward the students who’d let their glares linger on you as you walked in and out. Most had a dirty look in their eye, but a few watched in sympathy.

“I don’t want her in that house anymore,” he mumbled, scoffing as something happened within the game. “Not unless those social media posting bitches grow up.”

Keeho furrowed his brows, turning to you. “You’re gonna drop out of the sorority?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, ignoring your dad as he shot you a look.

“Tell him what that girl did,” he said. “The president of that stupid hierarchy shit.”

“Wait, Yeji?” Keeho asked, sitting up. After you nodded, he laughed. “You’re kidding me, what the hell happened? I know we weren’t looking forward to her being head of this hierarchy shit, not after…” His eyes insinuated what your father didn’t know. “What’d she do?”

Sighing, you dropped your gaze to the table and shrugged. “It sounds literally crazy, Kee. Like, those movies we used to watch, where the shit that goes down is unfathomable.”

“Unfathomable,” he huffed a laugh, “You’re talking like Yunho.”

Letting your eyes close, the sting of your heart overwhelming, you glanced at your dad when he snatched his empty glass off the table.

“Fuck that dickwad, too,” he said, lifting the glass toward Keeho before he strutted toward the bar. He watched Yeonjun walk away, then whipped his head to look at you wide eyed and confused as hell.

“Fuck that dickwad too,” you whispered.

Scooting his chair somewhat closer, Keeho leaned toward you. “I thought we liked him,” he said quietly, keeping the words between you. “At least, I thought you liked him, I could see it, Aura. When we hung out with him this summer, good lord, the two of you were insufferable.”

Everyone could see it but you, apparently.

Tangling your fingers together over your knees, you smushed your lips together and blew a stream of air through them. “I don’t even know if he ever really liked me.”

Keeho threw his head backward. “What the fuck, start from the beginning, what the hell happened?”

So, you did.

Starting from the beginning, restating the story of Wooyoung, who Keeho had strong opinions about. From the Yeji hook up, to falling into Yunho, to the ATZ ban, to finding out about him and Mina, to hooking up with Seonghwa, to then hooking up with Yunho, to him telling you he loved you (where Keeho just about leapt out of his seat), to the Soul situation, to keeping it all a secret from the outside, to Isla disappearing, to the recruitment dinner…

“You said all of that to her?!” Keeho’s tone was harsh through his teeth, his whisper sharp. When you shrugged he cackled. “Aura, what?!”

“I don’t know if that’s really all of it, it’s blurry,” you said. “But, I think I went in on her. It just kept coming out. I think I was tired of keeping it all a secret.”

“You said she didn’t react?” Keeho asked, and took your nod for an answer. “Aura,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Looking at… all of that,” he spoke slowly, thinking at the same time, “Do you think there’s a chance she, like, knew about you guys already?”

The words should shock you, but they don't. You’ve thought about it already. The way they all huddled up together, aside from Tori and Yuna, making everything seem like one big ploy. Seonghwa sleeping with you, Yunho not getting rid of Mina when he should’ve the second he started harboring feelings for you… If he was even harboring feelings for you.

“And what about Mingi? If Tori knew, and she’s likely to tell her boyfriend everything, did Mingi spill shit to ATZ? But, if ATZ and ITZ were in cahoots this whole time it seems, and Mina already knew, it could’ve been her spilling shit to everyone?”

None of it made sense, even Keeho, who was smarter than Yunho, couldn’t figure it out. All week you’ve been trying to string it together, trying to understand why any of this had to happen. If Yeji wanted to be president so badly, and she had the money to do so, why in the world would she need to ruin your life in the process?

“Have you talked to Tori at all?”

Her name made your stomach start to hurt.

“No,” you said, taking in his understanding gaze full of sorrow. “I can’t talk to any of them, I’m so sick about it. Which makes me want to drop out of the house and run away. They’re… monsters. All of them. She looked at me like she had no idea, Kee, I can say that. It seemed like she and Yuna weren’t in on it, which I can only hope.” Mingi pops into your mind, the way he tried to reach out for Tori before you left, but she swatted him away, pushing him back. You had no reason to not trust Tori, even though she did get really close with Mina fast, and she was dating Mingi who seemed like he was in on it.

If Tori did know, if Tori was in on all of it, it would hurt the most out of everything that's happened to you thus far.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” you said, looking at your father who carried three glasses back to the table. “Dropping out of the house seems ideal, not having to be around all of those girls who don’t want me there anyway.”

“Exactly,” Yeonjun cheered, a smile making its way onto his face. Sliding the glasses onto the table, one for each of you, he sat down and let out a groan as he did. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard you say all week, Aura.” Keeho grabbed his glass and sipped it, thanking your father with a wink, one that Yeonjun returned.

“Yeah, well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Taking your second glass, you drink from it and screw your face up. It was stronger than the first. “Jesus, Dad, what’d you tell her to put in here?”

Yeonjun laughed, sitting backward like he was. “I asked for something that’ll make you feel better.”

“Haven doesn’t make drinks like this,” you said, coughing after another sip. “How much did you pay her?”

“Enough,” Yeonjun nodded once, then pointed his eyes at Keeho. “How’s life, Kee? You know, since I saw you last month?”

Laughing, Keeho sipped his drink. “A lot better now that I broke up with my boyfriend.”

Yeonjun’s lips parted in shock. “And this happened when?”

“Two months ago,” you said, looking at your dad who gaped back at you.

Keeho shrugged. “I didn’t want to talk about it when you asked me about him last time.”

Yeonjun moved his chair beneath the table and rested his elbows on the wood, leaning toward your friend who sat across from him. “Well,” your father bobbed his head, “Tell me now.”

The two fell into a deep discussion quickly, Yeonjuns focus on him completely, hanging onto every word of every story Keeho was telling him. He had broken up with his boyfriend of two years, a boy who was holding him back from being a better version of himself. A boy who wouldn’t speak nicely to him or others, a boy who snuck about and would beat around the bush whenever Keeho asked him about anything. It was toxic, and you’re surprised Keeho dealt with him for so long, but he was free now.

Fifteen minutes later, all three drinks gone, they were finally on the break up story when the door to Haven opened and slammed shut. Two boys walked in, possibly around your age, one taller than the other. The tallest had a curly brown mop on his head, the other with longer, shaggier hair tucked beneath a baseball cap. His face was hidden by the shadows, but his body told you that regardless of what his features were he was good looking.

In a black t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, three silver necklaces hung over his chest, one of them a dog tag. His shoulders were wide, his arms rippling with muscle as he walked and said hello to some of the men at the bar. The boy beside him, tall and lanky, had eyes as big as the moon and a smile so welcoming you couldn’t tear your eyes from it. Their energy was captivating, walking into the place like they owned it, the short one’s hips swaying in his walk, a confidence oozing out of his being.

They took to the end of the bar where no one sat, both of them situating themselves on the wooden stools, ordering drinks from the bartender who gave them a friendly smile. They clearly came here often, they spoke to her like they knew her, and when she walked away, they spoke to one another like they were closer than friends, like they knew each other better than that.

The taller one with the curls, he was familiar, that smile like one you’ve seen before, but couldn’t place from where.

It wasn’t until the shorter one took his hat off and pushed his hair back that it all made sense. Your heart skipped a beat. He was good looking, he was gorgeous. A jaw pointed and sharp was home to a charismatic smile living below the sweetest nose and the most beguiling eyes. A beautiful face. A face you and Tori had to zoom in on.

Chan.

Chan and his cousin, Minho, or so you believe. Tori had told you that.

They were closer than friends, they were family.

Mina’s family.

“Aura kinda convinced me that it was time,” Keeho said to your dad who nodded. “Even though I knew it, she gave me the confidence to finally let go of something I was holding onto that was hurting me.” He looked at you with a smile. “Right?”

Nodding, not taking your eyes off of Chan, you rubbed Keeho’s arms and stood up. “Yeah, I’m proud of you,” you mumbled. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go get another drink.”

“Can you get me a-”

You didn’t hear the rest of your fathers question, your feet were on a mission, they had a mind of their own. Bounding for the bar, keeping yourself as calm as possible, though your blood threatened to boil over, you perched yourself on the corner closest to Chan and Minho, the two speaking to one another like they were keeping a secret. The bartender returned, a girl with a name tag that read Hope. Her hair was hanging at her shoulders, naturally curly blonde hair that turned different colors when she walked beneath the different neon colored lights. Your father told you all about this place, the history, apparently it’s always looked the same.

A time capsule of sorts.

“What can I get you?” Hope asked after she brought drinks to the boys. “You’re with him, right?” Her nod toward your father made you smile.

“Yeah,” you said. “Can I have whatever he got me before? Tasted like vodka, I think? I don’t even know what it was.”

Hope laughed. “Of course, give me a minute, I’ll be right back.” She took your glass and whisked herself down the bar, getting to work. Glancing up to the TV, the ballgame nearly over now, you took a deep breath and watched as it cut to the announcers talking about other teams and players. DK appeared on the screen, a photo of him from this past season on the pitcher's mound, his eyes pointed and focused on the batter in front of him. The words along the bottom read like a news story, that he was disappointed his team didn’t make it into the playoffs, but that he was getting much needed family time now, so it was worthwhile.

“Worthwhile,” you muttered, looking away.

So it seemed Isla really was with DK. A part of you longed to stay angry at Yeji for not sharing it with the house, and part of you still felt insanely guilty for not speaking up after Yeji had told you, and apparently only you, that she was leaving.

It didn’t make sense, much like everything else.

But, if Isla was safe, if Isla was happy… it was worthwhile.

“Hey,” a voice so cheerful called out, to you, you think. Glancing to your left, toward the boys where the voice came from, you find them both looking at you.

Jesus, they were prettier than any of the boys in ATZ.

“You go there?” Chan asked, looking at your crewneck. Following his gaze, rolling your eyes at the big Nasara letters across your chest, you shot him a solemn glare and scoffed.

“Unfortunately,” you said, and he started to smile, the corners of his lips perking up into something that would easily persuade you to your knees. It was lazy, yet so effective. “You?” Even though you knew the answer, you asked anyway.

Chan swallowed his smile and shook his head. “Nah, but my sister does,” he said. His eyes you’ve seen before, he wore them like Yeji wore hers, trying to pierce through your own, trying to see through you. Chan’s were less confronting though, he just seemed like he was trying to figure you out. “She’s in a sorority or something.” The boys sipped their beers and acted like they weren’t honed into you, glancing away when neither was speaking.

“ITZ?” you asked, keeping your voice steady, and Chan nodded.

Minho scrunched his nose. “My sister went through them,” he said, and Chan elbowed his bicep. “What?” he snickered, elbowing him back.

“You make it sound like a bad thing, bro,” Chan said, flickering his eyes to you. “You know it? ITZ?”

Settling your lips into a smile, one that made Chan look away for a second, you nodded. “I know of it.” Turning to Minho, you asked, “Why’s it so bad?”

The boy shrugged. “I dunno, forget I said anything,” he mumbled. “I didn’t go to college, so what do I know?”

“Probably plenty,” you said, gaining his attention back. Shocked, his eyes were wide as he looked at you. “People make college out to be something that’s necessary, but I don't really think it is. If you wanna do it, you do it. If you don’t, who cares?”

Minho shared a snicker with Chan. “My mother,” he sneered, then dropped the smile when he turned back to you. “Excellent perspective for someone who’s able to go to Nasara.”

Chan elbowed his cousin again, this time tossing his hands out to the side. “Dude, my dad went to Nasara, what are you getting at?”

Minho simply smirked, then leaned toward you a bit. His eyes were captivating, galaxy filled. “How is it? ITZ?”

Raising a brow, you asked, “How’d you know I’m a part of them?”

Minho narrowed his eyes. “I do now.” Straightening out where you sat, Hope popped back around and brought you your drink. Giving her a small thank you, you peeked at Minho’s smug face and clenched your jaw. “How is it? A dream, I’m sure.”

Wrapping a hand around your cold glass, you found Chan studying you, every inch. “It’s a dream,” you muttered, taking the straw out of the cup, drinking straight from the glass.

“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” Minho said.

Chan waved a hand, confused. “Okay, I don’t get it,” he said, making both of you look at him and his twisted brows. “Mina’s having a great time there, what am I missing? Do I need to be worried?” Your stomach flipped. “Last time I spoke to her, she was fine.”

Minho shrugged, sipping his beer, pointing his attention to the TV.

Chan looked to you for help. “I’m not really good at picking subtle shit up, so you’re gonna have to give it to me straight.”

Taking another gulp from your glass, you set it down with a bang and ran your tongue over your teeth. “Listen, Ch-” His name almost tumbled from your lips, right as you realized that he never told you his name. These boys had no idea who you were, and you were to act like you had no idea who they were. “Mina’s your sister?” He nodded, waiting with an unhuman like patience.

You had two options.

Give it to him straight, like he said, which would out his sister, or you could lie to him, and make it seem like ITZ was a dream, when in reality it was a nightmare. With another gulp of your glass, the liquor seemed to decide for you.

No more lies.

“Okay,” you sighed, Minho now watching you, too. “I kinda lied to you both, in a way. I know you. Mina’s my Vice President.” Chan didn’t move. Minho, though, held back a smile. “Last year, when she was a freshman, she was really quiet. Super sweet, but quiet.” Minho shot his cousin a look and received another elbow to the bicep. “Even when this year started, she was so… nice.”

“Now you’re lying,” Chan muttered, breaking his eyes away to sip his beer. “Mina’s not nice.”

“Chan,” you said steadily, making him look at you with the surprise that you knew his name already. Minho’s smile grew. “No, she’s not. Mina’s not nice.”

“Here we go,” Minho whispered, taking his beer to his full, pink lips. Chan had frozen in place, and though it left you a little uncertain whether or not you should continue, not knowing what would happen, with knowing what you know about this boy…

You kept talking, and it wouldn’t stop.

The words kept coming, the information spewing faster and faster with each gulp of liquor. You left out details they didn’t need to know, details you told Keeho, but they got everything they needed to know.

Everything Chan needed to know.

And, after many, many minutes of him barely blinking as you told him all about his darling little sister and how she’d been acting, what she’d been a part of, you took a long, deep breath, feeling lighter than ever.

Minho nodded once you had finished, the tiniest smirk gracing his lips, like you had reiterated a story he’d heard plenty of times prior to tonight. He uttered the quietest, “Sounds like Mina.”

But, it wasn’t until Chan’s lips parted, to intake a breath, that you finally felt any sort of pure, euphoric satisfaction.

“Why would she lie about me?”

The last two weeks caught up to you, you could’ve broken down in tears, absolute joyful tears, but he spoke again, so you kept it together.

“You’re Aurora,” he said quietly, putting his own puzzle pieces together. “I’ve heard your name before. A few times actually. When she’d talk on the phone to her sorority girls, or whatever, and then when that boy would come over.”

That boy.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you said with a sheepish shrug.

“She hates you,” Chan said, filterless.

Rolling your eyes while Minho laughed, you couldn’t help but crack one yourself. “Figures, she’s an accomplice in trying to ruin my life.”

“Aside from the boy thing, I can’t see why she’d try so hard to ruin…” His voice trailed off as he stared at you. “Aurora,” he said, quieter this time. Squishing his brows in the center of his forehead he glances behind you, lifting his chin to peek at where you had come from, back toward Keeho, and your father.

“What?” you questioned, following his line of sight to Keeho and Yeonjun, your dad glancing over at the same time, catching a glimpse of the boys, then quickly turning away. He leaned forward on the table, placing his chin in his hand, hiding part of his face.

“Holy shit,” Chan mumbled. Minho looked back and forth, then landed on you with an unreadable pout of his lips. “That’s your dad, isn’t it?” Gulping, electricity buzzed beneath your skin. Anytime someone brought up your dad, you had to prepare for the worst.

“Yeah,” you said just above a whisper.

Chan tightened his jaw, then settled his gaze on you. “Do you… know who my parents are? I mean, Mina’s parents? I guess mine work too, but, hers make more sense, you’re dealing with her, but, I mean mine make more sense in this situation, ‘cause my dad kicked your dads ass, and-”

“What?” you gasped.

“Our parents know each other,” he said. “You’ve never heard of this before, have you?”

Sitting forward, leaning toward them, you shake your head wildly and laugh aloud. “Do I look I fucking know any of this?”

Minho averted his eyes to the bar. Chan stacked his arms on top of one another and rested them on the bar.

“I think, if I remember it right, your dad was a real jackass,” he said.

Making a face, you got a laugh out of Minho. “Tell me something I don’t know, Chan.” “My parents, Beomgyu and Faden, and his dad, Taehyun,” he paused, hoping a name would trigger something, but alas, you’ve never heard these names a day in your life. “They were all friends, your dad included. Yeonjun, right?” You answered with a meek nod. “Yeah, they were all really close, like through high school and all that, but one day when they were, like, twenty, your dad was an asshole to my mom, so they wrote him off.”

Taking a minute, processing what he’s told you, that you have more history than you think with these boys, with Mina, you rub your eyes and slide your hands down your cheeks with a groan. “So, she’s doing this to me because my dad was an asshole to your mom? What the hell did he do?”

Chan shrugged. “I wish I could tell you, I didn’t hear any details. I just know the vague version. Mina and our mom are pretty close though, you might be able to get it out of her.”

A harsh laugh came from your chest. “Yeah, okay,” you widened your eyes and shook your head. “That bitch won’t be hearing from me ever again.”

“Hey,” Chan lowered his brows. “That bitch is still my sister.”

With a breath, you asked, “You’re gonna tell her all this aren’t you? That I told you?”

“Probably,” he said immediately, and Minho laughed. “But, as much as she’s my sister, I stand by what I said, Mina’s not nice. And, since she had no problem using my disability for her own gain, I can tell you this, to help you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Minho whispered, the sneaky smile appearing on his lips again.

Chan raised his brows and shot his cousin a smirk. “Oh, I would.” He looked at you. “Plus, you’d find this out anyway if you looked for it yourself, but I could give you a headstart, Choi.”

“I don’t wanna hurt anyone, Chan,” you said, which was the whole truth. Revenge was cute, but you don’t think you could stomach anymore drama.

“It won’t hurt her, but I know somebody who’s really good at putting her in her place. Our mom can get so wishy-washy with her, ‘cause we’re girls,” he said in a silly voice, pretending to flip his hair, getting you and Minho to laugh, “But, her dad? Soobin? As much as he is wrapped around her finger, yanno, ‘cause that’s his daughter? He doesn’t let her get away with shit.”

Her dad. The tall one with the glasses in that photo from her high school graduation. The one she said reminded her of Yunho.

“Chan, that’s wonderful and all,” you said and he smiled. “But, in no way am I just going to be able to walk into his home and accuse his daughter of being shitty.”

He shared a look with Minho, then said, “He holds a lecture at Nasara every Monday.”

A chill ran down your spine. “You’re lying.”

He shook his head and cracked a laugh. “I’m so serious,” he said. “Every Monday, sometime in the afternoon, on the law side of the school. He has a friend on the board or something, so either way, no matter which one you go to, you’ll get something done.”

Sliding off the stool, a newfound energy in your veins, you grabbed your almost empty glass and smiled. “Thanks.”

Chan shrugged. “She deserves it after what she did. To you and me. Damn.” Your smile went crooked, and he shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Sorry you had to hear all about my fucked up brain.” Minho gave him a gentle elbow to the bicep as if to tell him the opposite.

“No, I’m sorry,” you said, and he attempted to smile. “You don’t deserve that. Your own sister should be there to support you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, twisting so he was in line with the bar. He looked away from you and you took that and Minho’s hand planting on his shoulder as a sign to part ways. Your eyes fell to the dog tag around his neck, like they had when they walked in.

Curious, you said, “Your tag,” and he looked over at you, “What’s it for?”

Chan took it between his fingers and held it up. It was covered in writing you couldn’t read from where you stood. “My dad,” he said, reading what was engraved on it. “He got them when he hit ten years of sobriety. It came with two. He gave one to me and my brother.”

You smiled, something soft. “That’s amazing.”

“It is,” Chan breathed, still studying the necklace. Dropping it to his chest, he looked at you. “He’s almost at twenty.” Then, he looked at his beer with only a few sips missing and pushed it away. Minho huffed a laugh and switched their cups, putting his empty one in front of Chan.

“You finished it,” he joked, then drank from his cousin's cup, focusing his eyes on the TV.

“Bye guys,” you said, and Minho gave you a wave with a couple fingers from the hand with the glass in it.

Chan watched you start to walk away, then shouted your name to make you turn. “I’m sorry, too. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” you said. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

He worked his face into a questionable smile. “How?”

Gesturing around the building, you shrugged. “I have my ways, Choi.”

october 5th ~ saturday ~ 12:15 a.m.

“He said, answer me, Rory, please, let me explain, I can explain,” Keeho read your messages out loud, laying on your bed with his long legs stretched out along your mattress. Using funny voices for each person, he had you laughing from the floor where you were digging through drawers looking for something to wear to bed since everything was in your drawers over at Nasara.

“I should just block him,” you said, and Keeho threw a fist in the air.

“I second that,” he said. “Let’s do that!”

Nearly breaking your neck to look at him, you threw out a hand. “No!”

The look he gave you made you giggle. “And, why not?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, “I wanna see how much he begs.”

Keeho’s eyes widened as he flipped to his stomach on your baby blue comforter. “Aura, you take your men submissive.”

With a huff you turned back to the beige drawers you’ve had since birth. “Not in the slightest.” It was give and take for you, unless you were with Seonghwa apparently, and mother of god, you’re lucky he didn’t ruin you for life.

Your beaten up white wooden door creaked open and Yeonjun poked his head inside. He glanced from Keeho on your bed pushed in the corner, to you on the floor a few feet away from him. The ceiling fan spun on a low speed, making the yellow light from the old bulbs flash in a way that would keep you busy as a baby as your dad would say.

“Yes?” you questioned, and he popped a smile on his face.

“You staying?” he asked Keeho.

“I think so,” he mumbled, looking up from your phone only once. “We’ve got a lot to work through here.”

“Okay,” Yeonjun said, making a face to signify his understanding, letting Keeho get back to your messages. Looking back at you he said, “No funny business in here.”

“Dad, it’s Keeho, he sleeps here all the time,” you deadpanned, and he laughed.

“I know, I know,” he said, stepping into the room for a moment. “Had to tease, I miss having you guys here.”

“I second that,” Keeho said, his tone flat, though you know he meant it with all of his being. Yeonjun glanced at him and laughed to himself. The boy didn’t even look up from your phone.

“Goodnight,” he said, then smiled at you. “I love you.”

A comfort washed over you. “I love you, too.” He went to pull the door shut, stepping out into the hall, but then you called him back. “Dad?”

“Yes, Aura,” he said, looking down at you.

Swallowing, suddenly feeling like your throat had closed and you wouldn’t be able to get the words out, you whispered, “Did you know those boys at the bar? Chan and Minho?” He was silent. Thinking. “Do you know who Beomgyu is?” A breath corrupted his lungs. “Taehyun?” Blinking a mile a minute, he averted his eyes to your carpeted floor. “Faden?”

It took him a second, but he managed to say, “Yes, I did. I knew them. Not the boys at the bar, but I assumed they… belonged to some of them, the names you said. They look just like them.” You wondered if it were true for you too, if you looked anything like your father. Or, your mother.

“Mina,” you said, and he looked at you, his eyes now wider than they normally would be. “She’s Faden’s daughter. Faden and Soobin’s daughter.” “Soobin,” he whispered. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

“When’s the last time you saw any of them?”

He stuttered a bit before he said, “It’s been a really long time, Aura.” Things went quiet for a second, then he asked, “The boys tonight, who do they belong to?”

“Chan, the one with dark hair, he’s Beomgyu and Faden’s son. He’s a twin,” you said, and Yeonjun tipped his chin upward, his lips curling into some type of smile, like he knew something you didn’t, and shouldn’t know. “Minho, the other one, some guy Taehyun is his dad.”

Your father met your eyes with a fierceness. “Who’s his mom?” he asked, and when you shrugged he laughed aloud.

“Holy shit,” he sighed, taking a long breath after his laughter subsided. “Those motherfuckers.” Letting him mumble to himself, you gave him another goodnight as he circled around and went to pull your door shut. “Those crazy ass motherfuckers.”

“Aura,” Keeho said, wanting your attention. Pulling sweatpants from high school out of your drawer, you stood up and took two steps to your bed, dropping the pants on Keeho’s lap. There was little space to put them elsewhere. “Who is ‘ignore this jerk’?”

Shimmying out of your jeans, you breathe through a laugh and jump into the sweats you brought over. “Wooyoung, why?” Reaching up a hand to pull on the string hanging from the light on your ceiling, the room falls dark. Climbing over Keeho, wedging yourself between him and the wall you pop your chin on his chest to look at your phone with him. “Guess I should change his name now, huh?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘hi’,” Keeho said, then gave you a funny look. Snatching the phone from him you groaned and started typing back to him. “Who says hi anymore? Who does he think he is?”

“We’ve been talking, Kee, since Saturday night,” you mumbled and Keeho flipped to his side dramatically, facing you. Tucking his hands beneath his cheek on your pillows he exhaled heavily.

“Enlighten me,” he said.

“There’s nothing,” you said, shrugging with your hands, the light from your phone screen bouncing off his sharp features. “We just check in on each other. I’ve seen him in passing. Nothing more. He’s been living with his cousin in Delo, I think.”

[ignore this jerk]: hi

[you]: hi

[ignore this jerk]: how was your day

[you]: it was alright, had something interesting happen, how was yours

[ignore this jerk]: same here, had something interesting happen

[ignore this jerk]: you go first

[you]: it’s a lot, are you sure

[ignore this jerk]: …

The bubbles vanished as quickly as they’d popped up. Then, ‘Incoming Call: ignore this jerk’ was lighting up your phone screen. Keeho almost screeched.

“Answer it, answer it, answer it.” He said it about seventy more times.

“I’m in bed,” you sneered.

Keeho rolled his eyes, “Yeah, with me, answer it.“

“No! I will not do this to myself right now, I can’t handle anymore-“

Keeho took it upon himself to slide his finger over the green answer button, cutting you right off. Your heart lodged up into your throat as Wooyoung appeared on the screen, lit up by warm, dim light. He wasn’t looking when you appeared, his side profile on display. His nose on display. Tanned skin, dark hair in waves exposing his forehead, he wore a black cutoff tee and silver studs in his ears.

“Oh my god,” Keeho muttered out of sheer gay panic. Slapping a hand over his mouth, Wooyoung turned to his phone and gave you a small smile.

“Who was that?” he asked, walking himself around whatever room he was in. Glaring at Keeho, you turned the phone to put your friend in the little box, and Wooyoung laughed. “Am I interrupting something?”

“God, no,” you said, and Keeho let out his own laugh. “This is Keeho, he lives down the street. We’ve known each other since we were eleven.”

“That’s cool,” Wooyoung said, looking at the screen, finally finding a spot to settle. “Hi, Keeho.” Your friend uttered the smallest hi, and you wanted to lose your shit. Who says hi anymore? “So, you’re home, then?”

“I am,” you said. “I haven’t been in the house since Sunday.”

Wooyoung popped his brows. “What’s Tori have to say about that?”

“No idea,” you mumbled. “Keeho’s been reading through my messages I haven’t opened all week. We haven’t gotten to Tori’s yet.”

“I’m sure it’ll be crazy when you do,” Wooyoung pushed his lips to the side.

You didn’t even want to think about it. “What’s so interesting that happened to you today?” Changing the subject, Wooyoung didn’t seem to care. He glanced up and around the space he was in, and smiled.

“I, uh, got an apartment,” he said, smiling at you.

“Holy shit?” you gasped, sitting up, leaving Keeho behind on your pillows. Pushing your hair from your face, you twisted so you could place your back against the dark blue wall. “Where at? Delo?”

Wooyoung nodded, looking around the room. “Yeah,” he said, proud as ever. “It’s ten minutes from school, a few blocks from my cousin. He helped me find it, we’ve been looking for a day or so, and this place just fell into my lap. He says I got lucky.” The smile that couldn’t leave his lips was triggering your own.

“You got lucky,” you said. “I’m happy for you, that’s really great. You deserve it after what’s happened.”

“Thanks, Ro,” he said. “You should come see it. I kinda wanna talk to you anyways. Just you.” Shifting your gaze to Keeho, he placed a hand playfully beneath his chin and smirked.

“I think we definitely need to talk,” you said, looking at the screen, trying to ease the way your heart was beating. “Sort this mess out.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

It was quiet for a few seconds, you and Wooyoung just gazing at one another through the phone screen until Keeho tapped his foot to your thigh, pulling you from your thoughtless daydream.

“I, uh, I gathered some, um, interesting information tonight,” you said, and Wooyoung adjusted himself in his seat like he pulled himself out of the same thoughtless daze at the sound of your voice.

“Yeah?” he questioned, glancing away for a moment. “Like what?”

You told him what you found out through Chan. Really, you rambled, the buzz still evident in your body, and it was like he could tell with the way he giggled at some of the things you would say, or the words you would use. You spilled it all, and by the end of it all, he was leaning into the screen, his eyes unable to look elsewhere.

“Keeho, you were here for all of this?” Wooyoung asked.

Turning the phone to show your friend, he shot the phone a thumbs up and Wooyoung sighed. “Don’t believe me, Wooyo?” You turned the phone back to your face and found him surprised. “What?”

“You… Uh, I haven’t heard you say that in a long time, that’s all,” he said, his volume dropping astronomically. You couldn’t remember the last time you called him that, the nickname rolled off your tongue with such ease you didn’t even see it coming yourself. “So, what are we gonna do? We gonna go talk to this Soobin dude, or what?”

“Do it!” Keeho shouted, making you and Wooyoung laugh.

“Ro?” Wooyoung asked, one of his brows perking up.

Glancing between Keeho and your phone, you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let’s do it.”

october 7th ~ monday ~ 8:03 a.m.

It happened like a movie, like the rest of your life had been apparently. One shoe on, you hopped on one foot toward the front door slipping the other on your foot, almost tripping and face planting onto the floor. He texted you that he was here, waiting outside in a car you’ve been in only a few times before when he’d driven you around for a date here or there. You weren’t sure why you were nervous, or why the feeling was so large within you.

It was Wooyoung. You’ve done this before. He wasn’t anything to you at the moment, if anything, he was a friend. Or, trying to be, you think.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder you grabbed onto the doorknob to the front door and yanked it open, spotting him down by the curb in the blacked out BMW. All four windows were tinted, you couldn’t see him in the driver's seat which only worsened the feeling in your gut. You felt like a teenager getting a ride from her high school crush, it was somewhat humiliating.

Even more so when your dad appeared around the corner by the kitchen.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you?” he asked, leaning against the edge of the wall where the kitchen met the hallway to the bedrooms. Turning toward him, you smushed your lips together and let out a sigh.

“I’m sure,” you whispered. “We’re going to go talk to Soobin today.”

Yeonjun curled his lip, pushing himself off the wall. Taking slow strides toward you, he folded his arms over his chest. “Enjoy him. Last I heard of him he’s a stuck up son of a bitch.”

You wanted to laugh, and you did a bit, but you frowned. “Dad, you don’t know him, don’t talk about him like that.”

Yeonjun furrowed his brows, looking you up and down. “His daughter is terrorizing my daughter.” He narrowed his eyes. “My very smart daughter who doesn’t let anybody treat her like this.”

With a breath, you said, “That’s why we’re going to talk to him.”

Darting his eyes to the glass door behind you, eyes gobbling up the BMW, Yeonjun looked back at you. “That’s Wooyoung? The guy who started this entire thing?”

“He didn’t start it,” you said. “Well, I mean, he kinda did, but he didn’t mean to. Yunho, remember?”

Yeonjun twisted his brows and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t keep track, Aura, what did I say about getting involved with the boys?”

Breathing through a laugh, you groaned soon after. “It’s over, all of it, I promise. No more boys.” Dropping his hands, he gave you a curious look, glanced to the car once more, then smirked.

“Sure,” he said. “Be careful.”

“I will,” you nodded. “We will.” Turning toward the door, you looked back over your shoulder at his smile. “Don’t get arrested again.”

“Aura!” he shouted while you laughed, following you out of the front door and onto the porch. “That was one time! You were ten!”

Walking down the lawn backwards, you held out your arms and grinned. “One time too many!”

Swatting your words away with his hand, he watched you as you spun around and yanked on the door handle, pulling the door open to the leather interior and a boy sitting in the driver's seat, waiting for you with a small smile. Looking past you, to your dad on the porch, Wooyoung held up a hand to wave, and thankfully, thankfully, Yeonjun gave him one back.

Saying your last goodbye, you pulled the door shut and sank down into your seat, feeling entirely out of place in the incredibly neat car. It smelled like cherries, and every crevice of the dash was sparkling. You knew the boy driving would look even better, you felt too nervous to even sneak a peek at him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked with a small laugh.

“Nothing,” you breathed. Your dad took himself back inside, leaving the two of you to go off on your endeavors. “I think I feel nervous to do this.”

Wooyoung settled his lips into a smile and faced the steering wheel, grasping the shifter with his right hand. “You’re allowed to be nervous. This stuff is wild.”

Pulling out of your neighborhood, one he’s definitely not used to though he wouldn’t show it, he took you out onto the main road and started for Nasara. From the southside of Tamoe to Delo, it took about an hour, and then once you were into Delo it took another half hour to get onto campus. Settling back in your seat, getting yourself comfortable, your lungs tighten in your chest at the realization that you were going to be stuck here with him for an hour and a half. The longest you’d have spent with him, sober, since last semester.

As if he could hear your thoughts, he looked over at you. “Ro, what’s up?”

Rubbing your hands over your thighs, you took a breath and shrugged, keeping your focus forward. “Nothing, just thinking about what I’m gonna tell him.”

Wooyoung curved his brows upward, focusing back on the road. When it got quiet, it was suffocating. He was here next to you. He drove an hour or so to your house, to pick you up, to bring you to school when your dad could’ve done it for you. The last time you’d seen him in person, maybe Thursday, in passing while walking to a business lecture where he told you he’d been passing you every Thursday since the semester started, you just never noticed. You’ve never had so much time to say so much, and it was overwhelming.

“Ro,” Wooyoung said again after a minute or so of silence aside from the radio.

“Fine,” you gritted your teeth and twisted in your seat, pulling your legs up onto the leather seat, fighting with the seatbelt in the process. Adjusting accordingly, frustratingly so, you tossed your hair backward once you were situated and groaned, finally looking at him and his amused little smile.

“Better?” he questioned with a subtle laugh.

Expressing your annoyance with an audible sigh, you clasped your hands together and placed them in your lap. “You want me to go off? I’ll go off.” With both hands, you shoved his shoulder and he gasped, grasping the wheel with both hands. “Fuck you. I cannot fucking believe that you’d do that to me. Do you know how embarrassing it was? Me and Tori walking into that bedroom to that?!” He shot you a confused look, bracing himself for impact again as he slowed at a red light.

“You and Yeji? After everything we shared all year, this is how you treat me? Sleeping with her? For what, Wooyoung, for what!” He hid his smile amidst your shouts, catching on quickly. Keeping quiet, he let you go off. “You piece of shit, you know everyone warned me, right? I should’ve fucking listened, that Jung Wooyoung doesn’t have a loyal bone in his body. I didn’t believe them, but guess who fucking does now?”

Taking a breath, a laugh threatened to sneak through, and it almost did. It wasn’t until Wooyoung laughed first that yours boiled over and you lost it. Leaning against the seat, covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound of relief and looked up at him, baring his teeth, his laugh echoing within the tight space.

“How- How long have you been waiting to say that?” Catching his breath, he calmed himself the best he could as the traffic in front of him pulled away.

“Too long,” you said, shaking your head. “Months. Can you tell I had it rehearsed?” Wooyoung laughed again, loud, bobbing his head. “You really hurt me, yanno?”

He looked at you for as long as could while he drove, his smile wiping away in an instant. “I know,” he said. “And, I’m sorry. I’ll always be sorry, I don’t even know what to do to fix it all, but I promise you I’m gonna try.”

Glancing at the road, then finally allowing yourself to take in his appearance, the boy dripping in black and silver, you solemnly smiled. “Last Saturday was a huge help.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “You can’t forgive me that fast, Ro. It was all so shitty, who the fuck does something like that?”

“Somebody who’s also hurting,” you said just above a whisper, shutting him up. He pulled his lips between his teeth and attempted to hide his sigh, but it was heard. “I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

“Whoa,” he said, screwing his face up. “No, don’t say that, are you kidding?” He met your eyes, another red light. The power within him was staggering. “I had the best. You understand that?” The small shake of your head could’ve physically pained him. “God, I could kill them all,” he muttered, facing the road to move with the other cars. “Ro, don’t let them make you feel like that. You used to be so carefree, you couldn’t give two shits about what someone said about you.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

Wooyoung glanced at you, his eyes pointed. “It’s you. That’s what made me fall for you in the first place, are you kidding? You’re so different from any of those girls in that house.”

“I’m not like other girls,” you said, and his laugh made you laugh.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Letting your eyes drag over his body, you said, “I don’t think I do. We never talked like this.”

“That’s the problem,” Wooyoung snapped a finger and let it fall onto the shifter. “We never talked like this, no one there does, we were doing what everyone else was doing, we were following a socially constructed system that does nothing for true connection.” Your silence made him look at you, and when he found your parted, surprised lips he smiled.

“You are smart,” you joked, and he shrugged, smug. “I knew you were smart, I hope you know that.”

“I do know,” he whispered, giving you a look.

“You sociology major, you,” you whispered back, smiling. He shared it with you for a second only.

“Ugh,” he groaned, looking at the road. “That’s also why I feel all the more shitty for doing what I did, because I knew what it would do to your brain, scientifically. And, I feel even worse for standing by, watching it happen. I could’ve ended it all so much faster, but I had faith that you’d figure it out, but it only got worse each time I saw you.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to laugh. “Yeah, I fell into Seonghwa.”

Wooyoung tried to laugh with you. “Shoulda stepped in then, that’s how you know it’s going downhill.” Reaching out a hand, you put it over his where he worked the shifter, changing gears as he drove through Soro now. His breath hitched in his chest at your touch. “Ro, I know I said something Saturday night, but you were drunk, and I don’t know how much of that night you fully processed.”

Dragging your thumb over his olive skin, you felt the corner of your lips prick up. “That I may have gotten over you, but you’re not over me?” He released a breath like he’d been holding it in since you sat down. “Wooyo,” you whispered, and he turned his chin quickly, his eyes full of hope. “I’m not over you.”

His hand beneath yours flipped over, his fingers lacing between yours as he took the slowest deep breath. The car came to a stop and he laid his head back on his seat, closing his eyes for a few seconds.

“I feel so silly,” he whispered. Giggling, he opened his eyes to shoot you a glare. “Don’t laugh at me.” Holding up your hand he was holding, you smiled behind your hands and got him to laugh. “You did this to me, I have never felt this, ever.”

“Like a teenager?” you offered, and his eyes went wide.

“Yes!” he shouted, throwing his head back with a groan. “Since I first saw you, Ro. When we were at the recruitment dinner, three years ago. We were freshmen.” He moved your hands toward you, “You were a pretty freshman,” he moved your hands toward himself, “I was a horny freshman.” Your giggle made him smirk. “We were at ATZ, somehow, and the moment I saw you in the group I just… You know which way my brain went first.”

“Of course,” you whispered, dancing your thumb over his skin. “I can tell you I was thinking the same things.”

He gave you that wide eyed look. “You were a horny freshman, too?!”

You laughed together. “‘Course I was, Wooyo, we were eighteen years old and let loose in a house full of boys like yourself, what do you think we’d be thinking about?”

Thinking to himself, he shrugged. “I dunno, innocent things, I guess.”

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, grinning wide. “What Tori and Mingi did that night was far from innocent.” The mention of your best friend pulled at your heart.

“I know, I know,” Wooyoung brushed it off. “That entire year though, I couldn’t figure it out. Girls don’t make me nervous, they make me the opposite, actually.”

“We know,” you whispered, and he tried to wiggle his fingers out of yours, but you held him captive.

“You,” he said through his teeth. “You scared me.” He glanced at you and cringed. “Still kinda do.” This time you did get your hand free, and you shoved him like you did that first time. “Stop! I’m on the road, Ro!” You both laughed. Taking your hands back to yourself, he placed his over the shifter and sighed. “Want me to pull over? Then you can beat me to your heart's content?”

“I wouldn’t ever do that,” you said, touching his hand again. “Keep talking.”

“It was easy to be your friend at first. You already knew Yunho and Seonghwa, so that made it easier to approach you, when you were already talking to them, or hanging around them. I had a buffer, I could bounce off of them.”

“And you bounced,” you scoffed, and a cocky look spread about his face. “Do you know how crazy you would act? Freshman year? Even into our sophomore year, until we were a thing?”

“It’s ‘cause I liked you,” he said, nodding. “I wanted to impress you, I guess. Wanted your attention.”

“Well, it worked.”

“It did,” he said. “For a little bit.” Your lips formed a pout, one he took his fingers to to mess it up, to make it go away. “Stop,” he whispered. “You didn’t even know.”

“That’s the thing, Wooyoung,” you said. “How did I not know? How did I not see… any of it. You, him, anything?”

The car came to a stop and he faced you. His hand slipped over your cheek, his thumb dragging along your cheekbone. “Socially constructed system. You were wound up in the fun of it all, you weren’t really paying attention, and that’s okay. I, unfortunately, have been blessed with a very emotionally intelligent mother, so I can… see it all. I’m aware.”

Your throat tightened. Begging yourself not to cry, not now, you gulped it away and asked, “How the hell do you have the reputation that you do?”

Blinking, he studied your face. “People see what they want to see. Look at San,” you both giggled, “Worlds biggest slut, and he knows it, but what do people see? The, probably hundreds now, body count? Or, the big, adorable, ditzy baby that is San?” He was right.

“I see the slut,” you whispered, and he smirked. “But, I get it, I also see the ditzy baby.”

You both realized he was touching you at the same time. Intaking a breath, you froze, and so did he. His fingers, soft, gentle on your skin, came to a stop. The air around you caved in, everything about this moment becoming so increasingly overwhelming, and heavy, like there was only one thing to do to get rid of that awful itch beneath your skin whenever he looked at you. You knew he could feel it too, you could see it in the way he clenched his jaw. God, you could jump on him, and you wanted to, and you knew he wanted you to.

A car behind you honked, pulling you both from that, now one thought, daze. Jumping a mile, you both twisted forward, Wooyoung moving along with the traffic around you. It took a couple seconds, but you both started to laugh.

After a few minutes of regaining your composures, Wooyoung asked, “Do you still believe them?”

Turning your chin, you looked at him and raised a brow. “What?”

“That I’m a piece of shit who doesn’t have a loyal bone in his body,” he whispered. “You said you believed them, then, I mean. What about now?” He gave you that hopeful look. “Do you still believe them?”

Reaching a hand over to mess with a few of his waves, smiling at the way it affected him, you toyed with his hoop earrings and shook your head. “I don’t,” you whispered, and his smile warmed your heart. “I believe you, I think, for now. Which is scaring me, just ‘cause of all that’s happened. So, please?”

He tilted his head. “Please?”

“Please be telling the truth.”

Taking your hand in his, he pressed his lips to the back of yours before he started to drive, whispering over your skin, “I promise.”

NU home ✧ nice for what masterlist ✧ talk to me ✧ thank you for reading <3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

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1800-page-not-found · 2 years ago

Text

Being drunk and complaining how you think your bf/gf is prettier than you (genshin men+women x fem reader) PART 3

ITS THE HARBINGERSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Not doing scaramouche cuz i already did in part 2

Dottore, Columbina, Sandrone x reader (seperate)

TW: implied unhealthy relationship (for dottore bc that man does not treat anyone like a human being, i have mixed feelings about that guy), and id like to state that i do NOT support toxic relationships.

Making another part for the other harbingers bc im really sleepy rn and I just wanna give you guys something because I havent posted in a long time.

The next part contains Pantalone, Tartaglia, Arlecchino x reader (seperate)

Maybe i'll do Signora, Pierro, and Capatino? but Capatino wears a mask??? wtv lol

Please note that you may not like "[name]"s personality, as it may differ from yours.

You had met Zandik when he was a scholar at the Akademiya, before he was expelled for his crimes and immoral acts. Fortunately, unlike the last girl who had fancied him, Sohreh, he did not mutilate your body, because somehow in that rather small and close to non existing heart of his, was you.

But unfortunately, you could not escape his unhinged mindset. You relied too much on the Akasha System. When he did get expelled, you followed with him. After all, thats what the Akasha showed which was best for you. Hundreds of years went by, and he became a powerful harbinger. He still gave you freedom, to some extent. So how did you wind up at his office, crying and drunk?

"Zandik" You cried.

You were ultimately weak in the mind due to your heavy dependency that Dottore had created for you. He smiled as you cried into his shoulder, dampening his clothes.

"Yes dear? What happened for you to come crying to me?" He was your white knight.

You quickly learned that somehow, dottore would always save you, relieving you of your agony. Like he did with the ruin machines when they found Sohreh's body.

"O-one of your clones said you didn't love me and you had another woman…" you hiccup in between your words.

"My dear, do not fret, there are no other women in my life besides you. Why would I require someone else? Those clones can be quite troublesome, and not all of them are friendly. I apologize for their behavior." He soothed you, patting your back. 'Yes, yes...let it all out,' he thought. His clones were doing well, their original sole purpose was to create insecurities and confusion in your mind.

"But-But, I'm not even that pretty, even you're prettier than me! Theres plenty of women who are better than me-what if you dont love me one day?" You mumble, your head still lying on his shoulder.

"Darling, I have to say, I am surprised by your irrational behavior. My affection for you is undeniable, and the fact that you would suggest otherwise is quite hurtful..." Your eyes widened.

Oh, how could you hurt him like that?! After everything he's done for you?...

"No-no! I'm sorry I didn't mean to hurt you, I-"

"Do you trust me [name]?" He cuts you off.

"Huh? Of course I do!"

"Good, now please can we move on? If we continue to talk about this, my heart will ache even more." He starts to make an expression that he knows will make you feel guilty. You've really fallen deeper into the rabbit hole now.

--------

Columbina had saved you at your lowest, and you had devoted your every fiber of yourself to her. You decided to get stronger, your sole motivation being paying back your benefactor. Well, that was until the angel-like harbinger said you could pay her back by forming a relationship with her.

You did start off as friends, but that slowly spiraled into a more intimate relationship. You promised to be there for her whenever and wherever, but really, does the harbinger who's ranked third really need protecting?... I mean, you're so much weaker than her, how can you protect her when she's in danger?

That thought slowly grew in your mind-you can't help but just let it all out when drunk on the fine vodka Columbina had brought back for you and her to enjoy...until well, you drank the whole bottle.

You stared at the empty bottle in your hand that once held the highest quality of vodka.

"[name], my dear, what's on your mind?" Columbina spoke softly, her voice sounding like a lovely melody in your ears.

"Mmmm...I don't wanna bother youuu..." You dragged out your words, slurring your speech.

Columbina stood up from the couch and took the bottle out from your hands and gently placed it on the glass coffee table, making a small 'kling' sound. She sat back down and held your hands, which were rather cold so she decided to warm them up.

It was strange how she always kept her eyes closed, but no matter what always aware of her surroundings. This only increased your insecurity, after all, only one with great strength could do such things...and you couldn't.

"[name]." She let go of your hands and placed hers on your cheek, and kissed you softly. "Your thoughts will never be a bother all right? I'll always be there to protect you and be by your side." She smiled at you warmly.

You started to cry, the alcohol heightening your emotions. "That's-that's the thing!" You let out a sob, wiping your tears. "I-I don't want to just rely on you, I want you to rely on me too! But, I'm so much weaker than you and, and you excel in everything! You're smart, strong, independent, and so, so much prettier than me and everyone, you deserve so much better than me I-" Your rant was cut short when Columbina kissed you again softly.

"Oh, [name], I never knew you felt this way, I want you to know that I rely on you every single day, there is not a single moment where I don't rely on you. I know you probably don't believe it, but you make me feel so happy. I don't care if you think that I outshine you, because in my eyes you're the most beautiful and amazing person in the entirety of Teyvat. You're perfect in my eyes just the way you are, and no one else can take that spot." Her voice really soothed you, and as she spoke, you stopped crying.

"R-really? You mean it?..." You sniffled, wiping your tears off your face.

"Yes, now please, there's no need to cry anymore alright?" she kissed your forehead and held you in a warm embrace on the couch.

"Mhm…alright, thank you, I love you…" You rubbed your eyes, tired from crying and fell asleep in Columbina's arms.

Once you were sound asleep, Columbina picked you up, carrying you in her arms bridal style and set you gently on the bed, making sure you're comfortable before crawling into the bed and cuddling with you.

The next day, you woke up, eyes puffy and not a single memory of last night. When you asked your lover, she just giggled and walked away, leaving you confused.

--------

Sandrone was an interesting character. When you first met, you had actually died. Well more like on the verge of death. Somehow, for some reason, she had saved you, as she had basically turned you into part automaton.

You were supposedly her 'puppet', but, puppets don't act this human. You were crazy for confessing your love to her, the harbinger who was known for only caring about her own works, and having a god awful personality to come with it.

Well, fortunately for you, you did count as one of her works, so perhaps that was the reason why she accepted your confession and you two started being in a relationship?...you still couldn't wrap your mind about this, you were really happy to say the least.

Today, you had practically begged her to come with you to have a picnic and stargaze. She was being quite stubborn. But of course, she couldn't outmatch your own stubbornness and you, thus she gave in.

You were so excited, yet here you were, sitting on the blanket, extremely drunk. You smiled at her, all giggly and bubbly as you wrapped yourself around her arm, hugging her.

Sandrone sighed and frowned, she stopped her work just for this? I mean, it was you... (She'd never admit to loving spending time with you, she's gotta keep her reputation up... but everyone knows, even you, that she has an extremely soft spot for you (and only you.))

"[name]...quit staring at me like that!" sandrone flicked your forehead, earning an 'owwww' from you.

After recovering from the ferocious attack, you laughed and smiled. "But you're just sooooo pretty! I can't keep my eyes off you, the prettiest girl in Teyvat!"

You lowered your voice to a whisper "I think you're prettier than me, all the other harbingers, and the Tsaritsa- Ow!"

She slapped the back of your head. "I will not allow you to speak of her majesty the Tsaritsa like that, [name]!"

She crossed her arms and turned her head away from you, looking angry.

Although, her words seemed to contradict her statement just now. She spoke quietly under her breath, "plus, youre the most prettiest girl in Teyvat, [name]..."

You perked up, perhaps having heightened senses was a good thing. "I heard that!" You shouted and smiled. "You really think that-"

"W-what?! No! You must be imagining things!" She yelled back at you. "Damn it, I shouldn't have heightened your sense of hearing too! Ugh!"

All you did was laugh teasingly at her frustration and embarrassment getting caught being nice, specifically to you. Until you blacked out from the alcohol. That reallllllllyyyy freaked her out, as she frantically carried you back home. (Well, the only reason she showed her 'nicer' side was really due to the only witness being her modified automaton.)

You had slept for a whole day before waking up at noon, with a god awful hangover, causing you to throw up.

(Sandrone ordered one of her machines to take care of you in secret and report to her every hour about your status.)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #il dottore #columbina x reader #columbina #sandrone #sandrone x reader #harbingers x reader #harbinger x reader #dottore

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atropinenightshade · 2 months ago

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@multifandom-carnage

Hi! This was originally for the gift exchange and while it isn't really Christmas anymore, I still wanted to give something.

This is incomplete and very much unedited. So I believe you may be the only person or one of the only people to ever see a whole lot of writing at my rawest. Even my experimental chapters were edited as usual. All the parts had a traditional holiday song in it that matched the theme or the vibe.

Secret Santa SGE Crackfic (Imcomplete)

Winter Wonderland–

Secret Santa shopping

Agatha sighed in annoyance as she walked inside the mall. She never should have participated. She wouldn’t have, if Tedros didn’t convince her. All she wanted was a peaceful holiday season spent with family. A Christmas with buttery turkey, hot chocolate, and sugary cookies, with nobody else to disturb her.

But now, after sticking her hand in that stupid black hat, she was stuck having to find a gift for an arrogant, entitled, and spoiled man that acted more like a child at times. And with being married to Tedros, that was saying a lot.

She scanned the photocopied list of everyone’s top five interests, and to her dismay, the man she had to play Santa Claus to was one of the vaguest there was.

Your Choice

Whatever you want

I don’t care

Whatever you have

Sophie’s list was cluttered with way more than five; Rufius’ simple but clear enough. Hester and Anadil openly declared they wouldn’t participate, and now Agatha saw it was with good reason.

“I’m not the only one,” Agatha grumbled under her breath as she saw a completely despondent acquaintance of hers exit a store empty-handed.

Midas had her draw’s brother for himself. Unfortunately, Midas hated said brother and may or may not be a teensy bit resentful of Agatha’s draw. He and another one of her draw’s friends, or acquaintances, or frenemies– whatever he considered them as– were about to perform for him. Agatha had a feeling it was more on the teasing side than a genuine act of gift-giving.

Agatha stepped aside from the crowds as she picked up her phone. It was Sophie calling, as usual.

“Hello?” Agatha snapped. “You know I’m pressed for time, trying to find something for that horrible man! Is this anything urgent?”

“Our party is tomorrow, Aggie, and Hort didn’t bring me the correct decorations! So, while you’re out, would you mind buying me some wreaths that have a better sense of festivity in them? Red is our dominant color, so some touches of berries would be lovely.”

“I am the last person to ask about this, Sophie, and you know it,” Agatha argued. “Can’t you find anyone else? Maybe Dot is willing to help, considering she and Rufius are doing so much already, aesthetically.”

“She’s making things like brownies, Agatha. Decorating cakes and a home are not the same things or skills. “

“Well, I can’t help you, because I’ll only end up getting something you don’t like. Besides, you have done much already, I don’t think the whole party will fall apart just because Hort made a couple of shopping mistakes. I’ve seen it and it looks perfect to me.”

“And this James man keeps playing that song on repeat!” Sophie whined, causing Agatha to flinch. “Not to mention, Aric will be there and Hester isn’t so happy about that, Japeth will infect the party with his presence, and Rhian and his sourpuss brother will attend as well. And I have Teddy as my draw for Secret Santa!”

“You aren’t the only one who has an unfortunate choice,” Agatha muttered. “What I can do is help out by buying some eggnog and some form of alcohol to go with that. For the game. By the way, you should remind people to either bring a sober driver with them to take them home or go in an Uber.”

“Pfft. I don’t think anyone will become intoxicated during the holidays! Let’s save that for a late night party at the club. Rhian– the father, not the son– says vodka should be there because his brother won’t drink anything else when it comes to alcohol. Which is silly because vodka seems a bit too strong for a stick-in-the-mud like Rafal.”

“He’s my person,” Agatha said. “Maybe I should buy him a bottle just so he can drink his assholery away. Maybe cirrhosis will make him more of one, though. You did get gifts for more than just Tedros, right? We have White Elephant and a regular gift exchange as well.”

“Aggie, why do you think I’m in need of financial assistance? I’ve obliterated my bank account for my generosity. Though, to be fair, most of the stuff I got were for my needs, and self-care is just as important as anyone else’s during the holidays. Rafal was one of the only people who couldn’t help me. He’s paying for Rhian’s credit card bill. But Rhian and I were on the same page. Such a pity his sons are loons! Though Rhian Jr. certainly inherited more of that charisma than his twin.”

“Yes, well, I have to get going,” Agatha said quickly, hanging up. She managed to buy several ugly sweaters, and even found one for cats. (Personally, they were cute rather than ugly.) She also purchased gift cards, chocolates, knick knacks and so forth. But it took her another couple of hours to finally find something for Rafal Mistral, and it wasn’t even in the same location.

As she fell asleep after she wrapped and bagged everything for the next day, she made a silent wish that everything would go well at the party. Things just did not seem right for her. So many people, with so many conflicts and differences, and so many pranks and jokes being planned did not sit right with her.

We Wish You a Merry Christmas and a Sappy New Year

At first, things seemed to take a normal course. Guests were greeted with a joyful “Merry Christmas!” and were assaulted with smells of melted marshmallows, buttery turkey, and freshly baked cookies. The more artistic kinds were whisked off to decorate plain sugar cookies– Rafal surprisingly included in the mix. Agatha noted he liked making little designs of swans on the cookies and some other birds. There was one where he did a holly plant, but that was due to Rhian’s insistence. He gave most to his nephews and he seemed more invested in them than their own father, who appeared as if he forgot they existed every five seconds.

Hester and Anadil looked more fit for a Halloween party, wearing sweaters that had belladonna berries instead of hollies. Aric had anything but holiday cheer, and Tedros was trying way too hard to get along with everybody, annoying more than one person. The only person who seemed really engaged for more than fifteen minutes was James, who was interested in developing more muscle.

Sophie did not follow the pajama theme, wearing heavy makeup, and a strapped black dress with a white fur coat. Her jewelry consisted of snowflake earrings and a candy cane choker. But then, the Mistral brothers were also not in theme.

“I have no reason to wear what I sleep in to a party,” Rafal hissed. “And no, Rhian, I am not dressing as Santa. May as well have Agatha be the Grinch.” This earned him a glare from Agatha. So much for spending money on him.

Hort knocked over some stockings that fell into the fire, earning screams and harsh reprimands from Sophie.

“And I paid good money for those!” Tedros said with regret.

“I helped,” Midas bit back. “I’m paying for half of these people’s debts.” He eyed Rhian. “He’s on his own, though. I don’t help creeps.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Rhian yelled.

“I think it’s a fair judgment. Aren’t your children from a relationship with your employee–”

“On other matters,” Rufius broke in, “why don’t we begin our gift exchange?”

“Gifts are for babies,” Aric mocked. “Why don’t we get to the drinks?” He turned to Rhian Jr. and Kei. "Unless some people are too baby for it?”

“They aren’t twenty one yet–” Rafal started. Rhian interrupted him, obviously eager for the alcohol. “Oh, I’m sure a few shots of something won’t hurt them. They’ve had my Stella Rosa wine before, after all. Didn’t do a thing to them.”

“Yeah!” Aric shouted. “Even your dad thinks it’s a good idea. Unless you’re all a bunch of crybabies? Wanna meet me outside? I didn’t like that little trick with the mistletoe by the way. Having Japeth and I kiss. We never kiss. That stuff is for softies.”

“We didn’t plan that out,” Rhian the younger replied hastily. “I don’t like you around my brother, and I think Kei would have the same opinion. Maybe Japeth planned it himself, since he’s so obsessed with you!”

Japeth got up. “That’s not a fair assessment to make! I don’t even want to be in this stupid party with songs and cookies and mushy gushy nonsense! I wanted to be alone with my best friend. I didn’t need mistletoe for that or anyone here. Besides, stop hating on Aric, because he’s more loyal to me than you ever have been to me!”

“That’s enough,” Rafal said. “Nobody here under twenty one will drink any drop of alcohol and I hope I made myself clear.”

“Gift exchanges sound really lovely,” Agatha broke in. “Who knows? Maybe we all find something we really enjoy? Tedros, why on earth are you constantly moving in and out of that room?”

He only grinned at her. Sophie rolled her eyes. “I peeked at his gift for James and already, I am despairing of his taste…”

“You wanna fight?” Aric threatened Rafal. Rafal didn't seem to care much. “I won't have the police over, catching me beating up a kid. Didn't go so well when you were trying to battle Hester, I heard.”

“I have a better alternative,” Tedros broke in.”Something that may appeal to their competitive spirit. Why not have us represent them in two teams and they bet who wins? Maybe they can use Christmas cookies or brownies instead of money.”

“I'm not participating,” Hort muttered. “Have a feeling I may have to take someone home.” He looked towards Sophie.

“God, I hope she doesn't drink to her death,” Agatha said under her breath. “While we are still sober, can we exchange gifts? Secret Santa at least?”

“And we haven't even watched Christmas movies with hot chocolate,” Dot added mournfully.

“Or sing Christmas carols and give some of our food to the poor children in the neighborhood,” Rufius said.

“Fine,” Tedros snapped. “Have it your way. My gift to you, Agatha, comes last.”

“And Midas and I have our own little present for a friend,” James said with a smile, Midas eyeing him knowingly. Rafal looked their way, suspicious. Agatha swallowed. Hester burst out laughing. Watching some man be publicly humiliated was one bonus for them today.

“Can I keep the Baby Jesus?” Dot asked as she turned to her friends. “He seems so cute and sweet in his manger…”

“Why am I not surprised she would ask that,” Anadil hissed. “Since it's the holidays, we'll let you as long as you keep it far away from us.”

Agatha smiled until she felt a bag smack her arm. “Ow!” she hissed, rubbing her arm. “What was that for?”

“I got you,” Rafal answered crisply. “For that little gift exchange thing Rhian dragged me into. Believe me, you are the last person I wanted. But I couldn't exactly back out.”

Agatha removed the gift paper from the bag only to find a $30 Amazon gift card inside. He didn't even try.

“To think I spent more than this for you,” Agatha whispered, trying to keep her voice down. “I'm sure everyone else gets the same. Am I correct?”

“Except in White Elephant. My old deck of cards. Some suits were missing so they are useless to me. And you got me?”

“Yes.” She walked to a table, tipping over someone's glass of eggnog in the process and brought out a wooden case with a pile of sketchbooks.

“I thought that you enjoyed drawing as a hobby. There's many different things for art inside. It was costly but I wanted my gift to mean something– even if we didn't necessarily start out on the right note.”

“What a waste,” he responded dryly. Suddenly, music started playing in the background, with James loudly dedicating it to him.

“Wham’s “Last Christmas”?” he hissed. “What on earth–”

“It’s supposed to match the way you’ve treated them,” Rufius said cheerfully. “Last Christamas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away…”

“Never pegged you as the heartbreaker type, but then again, it’s always the prudes,” Agatha whispered, grinning despite herself. “Merry Christmas, Rafal. Wish you luck for the game next!”

“What game?”

“You’ll see.”

#mara posts #rise of the school for good and evil #fall of the school for good and evil #sge #school for good and evil #fotsge #rotsge #the school for good and evil #gift exchange #2025 #imcomplete #won't add that much tags like characters

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alliskit · 2 months ago

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BG3 Headcanons Nobody Asked For.

Part 2: “Cheap” Alcohol.

As Astarion once asked, “But what would they taste like?”

Well, I don’t have the money to spend drinking brandy (sorry Gale), but there’s enough on the shelves I can buy that would describe them quite nicely.

A heads up that these are U.S. based, but I’ll make sure to describe them so you get the picture.

Gale:

He wants to be brandy, scotch, or a flavored liquor, but he’s not.

He’s a mid tier red wine — still a cab sav, but mid tier.

This is NOT a bad thing. This wine is your personal go-to especially if you’ve got no one coming over.

It’s flavorful enough on the palate but not too risky. It’s likely from a good brand that has more expensive options but this is good enough to buy repeatedly.

This is your wine you pair with your favorite dinner, a good book, watching tv, and after a stressful day. Your ride or die wine.

This wine is the kind of wine you can finish in one night and not feel guilty even when drunk. You can buy more later.

It’s dependable and delicious, makes you want to tell everyone about it.

It’s a favorite among many different kinds of palates.

Gale is always either the husband or male wife because he’s the easiest to commit to wholeheartedly, just like this wine.

Lae’zel:

She is Silver Patron Tequila. You will pay extra for this but the pain is worth it.

Githyanki are the definition of work hard play hard.

Once all the nonsense with the Elder brain and Orpheus is done, you will find her beachside on the Astral Sea, tatas out, a fresh squeezed lime house margarita in hand. Some Gith bard singing a rendition of Margaritaville they picked up passing through earths realm.

It’s the drink you deserve for all your hard work now that you’re in vacation mode.

It’s “exotic” but in safe way. Lae’zel may be from an asteroid but she’s your typical Gith fighter.

You don't put patron in every marg, but just the ones you want to hit fast and last.

Karlach:

Fireball Whiskey. The name itself just says it all.

You can get so many bottles of this for cheap in so many flavors.

It hits hard and fast and will make you ache by morning.

It’s not a party until someone pulls this out. Expect to get trashed.

It will coerce you into losing all filters and masks, learning to express who you really are.

It will burn going down and possibly coming back up, yet you will continue to wonder why you’re so willing to get burnt again.

She runs hot and so will you.

Wyll:

Craft beer. All craft beer.

He is ALL craft beer because he is the living embodiment of the dichotomy of an IPA made in someone’s garage that costs $14 a pint.

He is a man of his own making, gritty and self made, who can’t quite escape his silver spoon.

He has variety and many sides. Is he just your average guy or a sly devil? A little bit of both? A little sweet? A little sour?

Also he pairs well with all your favorite comfort foods.

He makes you want to dance a jig or sing a ballad at your local bar. He will lead it.

He’s of great taste, yet something in him longs to fit in. And with him, you can’t go wrong, even if it takes a minute to get past the initial bitterness.

Shadowheart:

Wine seltzer/vodka seltzer. Something really sweet and feels like a soda.

She’s the easiest crowd pleaser, even if it’s really watered down.

She not only tastes like this, this would be her drink of choice. Girl is tired and just wants a buzz while drinking something she can pound after a long day of saving lives.

You can enjoy this for near any occasion. Bring it to any event. (Someone at a funeral is craving a comfort drink and this will slap)

She, like Gale the red, is a comfort drink, but for a pick me up instead of a lay me down.

Astarion:

Prosecco and/or brut (poor man’s champagne because he’s not living the high noble life anymore)

He’s worthy of being celebrated, kicking your shackles off and stabbing your abuser warrants a celebratory kind of drink.

He’s not to everyone’s taste, but you’ll bear him for a good time.

If you get drunk on brut, you are a special kind of drinker. (Just like your fascination with vampires, some of us truly fear the feeling of death in the morning. If you’ve never had a Prosecco hangover, you’re better for it) I can hear him as he asks, “How are you feeling?” The morning after. LOL

He said he likes spicy food and spicy bubbles seem right up his palate. Also brut is great to pair with spicy!

Also drinking from a wine flute just makes you wanna say: “I’m fuckin posh” even if it’s plastic.

Minthara:

Our Spiced Rum mama. I’m talking Kraken spiced. The smooth rum followed by a heat like whiskey that makes you instinctively want to cough as it burns down your esophagus.

But oh how we love how it burns. Similar to Karlach but not nearly as in your face.

You will have a drunk existential crisis while dancing naked to Fleetwood Mac that will change how you see the world as you feel it burn deep in your soul.

You can drink this straight or in a cocktail and you will NEVER forget the experience. You will crave it.

It’s a smooth talker as it insults your inability to hold your alcohol. It will challenge your tolerance, making you think you really are a big baby. And I can hear her saying it. I’ll let her call me a cry baby whenever she wants.

Halsin:

Mead. I could just finish with just that, but I won’t.

Mead is honey wine if you didn’t know. Once again, it speaks for itself.

It’s comforting, it’s hearty, it’s sweet, it’s tasty, it warms the heart. Makes you want to lay back in the sun or sit warm by a fire.

Getting drunk on this is like getting drunk on sunshine and you will end up with the wine version of a sunburn but you’ll keep drinking.

Just like Halsin getting drunk and singing, dancing, and professing his love to strangers, you will too.

Honey wine will always treat you well and will make sweet love you “as nature intended”.

If you have more options you feel each of these guys embody, let me know! 👇🏻

#bg3 #bg3 headcanons #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 companions #astarion #minthara #halsin #karlach #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #lae'zel #gale dekarios #i would bite them all

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runningincircl3s · 3 months ago

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Nothing Ever After

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Vinny Mauro

Chapter Nineteen

chapter warnings: alcohol!

happy friday!! i edited this chapter last night and i didn't save it! :D also i just really wanted to post twice this week again because i’ve been so fixated on writing lately and i’ve been really enjoying it again but i don’t want to rush the ending at all so i will have to keep it to just monday posts (unless i’m feeling a friday chapter again!)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Welcome to my cave!” Angela grinned as she swung open the door to her apartment.

You stepped inside, gasping at how beautiful it was. It was even better than you’d imagined, it was so her.

As you walked into the apartment, you were in the kitchen, dimly lit by lights under the top cupboards. A vase with black roses sat on the black granite countertops which separated the kitchen from the living area, where coffin-shaped shelves were hung on the dark grey walls. Trinkets and ornaments decorated each shelf, along with random anime figures and scented candles.

“I love your home!” You said, your voice filled with awe. You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering around, admiring the details. A few framed pictures hung on the wall, along with VIP passes and other concert memorabilia.

“Thanks,” Angela replied with a smile, clearly proud. “I’ve lived here for four years now. Tried to make it feel like home, but I feel like by the time I'm finally happy with it I'll move again!”

You walked further in, eyes landing on a shelf filled with creepy clown figures, she explained how she had given each one a name.

“It’s so cool,” you grinned, “It puts my place to shame.”

“Don’t say that!” She chuckled, opening the fridge, “Do you want a drink? I have wine, coke, vodka…”

"It's been a long ass day, I think you know my answer to that." You smirked.

You both decided on sharing a bottle of wine, and after changing into comfy clothes and getting un-ready for the night, you sank onto the couch. The rom-com playing in the background faded into the background as you both talked.

The conversations you’d shared over the past couple of months had mostly been about love lives and surface-level things, but tonight felt different. You were really opening up, letting each other in on the things that bothered you, the things you never told anyone else, and anything else that came to your mind while you were at it.

“I just don’t know what I want from life.” You say, sighing as you looked up at the tv screen, your glass of wine in your hand, “When I was younger I never imagined I’d make it this far, I mean I could never imagine myself right now doing what I’m doing.”

“Me too,” she smiled softly, “But I guess that’s the fun of it, honey. You never know what’s around the corner. What is it they say? Life is what you make it?”

“Exactly,” you raise your glass, the glasses of wine had clearly gotten to you, “And I want to make it fun, I want to have fun! Why spend all this time stressing about everything when this is all temporary anyway, why give a shit?!”

“This is getting deep,” Angela chuckled, crossing her legs, “But you get it. I stopped giving a shit about what people think of me years ago and I’ve never looked back. If someone doesn’t like me for me then fuck them, I’m cool as shit!”

“You are! Your worth isn’t defined by guys or money, it’s about you as a person. And you're a lovely person, Ang.” You said, leaning on her shoulder.

The two of you had definitely had too much to drink by now, your words were slurring and you couldn’t help but giggle at each other when you spoke. The movie that was playing in the back had long finished, and as Angela came back from the kitchen area with two vodka and cokes, she gave you a smirk.

“Call Noah!” She motioned to your phone on the table.

“Why?” You laughed.

“‘Cause he’s cute! And he’s super into you, ask him what he’s up to?”

“Should I?” You ask, reaching for you phone with a devilish smile on your face.

“Do it.”

You quickly found Noah’s contact and pressed call, heart fluttering slightly as you waited for him to pick up.

“Hey, everything alright?” He answered after a couple rings, and you and Angela couldn’t help but giggle.

“Hi! Yeah! Uh... what are you up to?” You didn't think this far ahead, you called him but you had no idea what to say, Angela mouthing ‘put him on speaker’ as she snickered beside you.

“Me and Jolly are watching a movie on the bus, I think he’s fallen asleep though,” you heard him chuckle, “What about you? Who are you staying with again?”

“I’m at Angela’s-”

“That’s Motionless’ make up artist, right?” You saw Angela’s jaw drop, clearly offended he wasn't sure who she was.

"And occasional dancer." She added.

“Yeah,” you laughed, “That’s the one. Anyway… I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“It’s been three hours,” he laughed, “Have you been drinking?”

“How did you guess!” You gasped.

“I know you, y/n.” You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking, “Anyway I think I’m gonna wake Jolly up and get to bed, or I might just leave him there actually.”

“Noah!” You giggled, “I’ll let you get some sleep then, see you tomorrow?”

"Don't forget it's our day off, babe.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot... Anyways it was nice to talk to you... Goodnight.” You grinned, hanging up.

“Oh my god? Babe?!” Angela’s mouth was wide in surprise, “I don’t understand why you’re even interested in Vin when you have that?!”

“Stop!” You buried your face in your hands, “They’re both so different, I see different things in them that I don't see in the other.” You frown.

“Like what?”

“Well, Noah's more chilled and laid-back these days, then there's Vin who is chaos personified," you chuckled, "If I called Vin-”

“Do it!” She urged, practically shoving your phone back into your hand.

You hesitated for a second before finding his contact, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

Ring ring ring…

“Yello…” He answered.

“Hello?” You grinned as you saw Angela cracking up in the corner of your eye.

“...Hello?”

“Vinny.” You shook your head, and you saw Angela cracking up from the corner of your eye.

“Sorry," he chuckled, "What's up? Aren’t you at Ang’s tonight?”

“Yeah,” you say, “I just wondered what you were up to.”

“This isn’t some kind of trap? Like a dare or prank or anything-”

“No!” You chuckle.

“Well I was watching youtube, until you-”

“Vin I’m trying to sleep, who are you talking to?”

“It’s y/n, shut up!” He sighed, “Sorry that was Rick… Anyway, if this isn't a trap, what's up?”

You weren't listening to him as he spoke, you had other things on your mind. You suddenly remembered what Ricky told you was happening on the day of the next show. His parents! You needed to tell him, you needed to tell him now.

“Vinny there's something I need to tell you," your words were slightly slurred as you sat up straight, "It’s supposed to be a surprise but-”

“What the fuck! Don’t ruin it! I love surprises- Rick shut up! Okay fine... Ricky's told me to text you instead, he's trying to sleep.”

“Okay.” You sigh, saying goodbye.

You hung up, feeling a little deflated, which Angela didn't fail to pick up on.

“Should we talk about it?” She asks, her voice soft as she takes a sip of her drink.

“About what?” You try to brush it off.

“You told me Vin’s parents are coming to show. And they think you’re dating after you showed up at their party?”

“Yeah.” You press your lips together in frustration, “I don’t know whether to just come clean to them or avoid them and hope Vin can cover his own, but it's getting harder to keep this up, if he just told them in the first place-”

“He’s a grown man that’s lied to his parents about having a girlfriend, y/n. Let him deal with it! If he’s not being straight with his family, you don’t have to be a part of his lies. Let him take the heat!”

“Yeah but I played along, I went to their anniversary party! We even kissed in front of them, Ang!”

Angela’s eyes widened in realization.

“Oh… so they really think you two are dating?”

“Yes! What the hell do I do?!”

“Tell them the truth?”

“But then Vin will hate me!” You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “We’re finally on good terms again and I don't want to mess things up again, we spoke earlier and he basically confessed his feelings for me. It was weird because I think I feel the same, but I also feel that way about No-”

"He did what?!" Angela gasped, "And you didn't think to tell me this?!"

"It was before the show, I didn’t think to-"

"What did he say?"

You took a deep breath, hiding a smile as you told her.

“He said he thought about it and wanted to be friends with benefits basically…” You decided to leave the majority of the details out, not wanting to talk about it right now.

“He did?” She sounded even more surprised now.

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s nothing…”

“Angela,” you frowned, “Why did you say it like that?”

“It’s just… He said before that he didn’t want to do that. Isn’t it weird how he’s just switched up?”

“Well that might have something to do with this weekend.” You confessed.

“Oh…?”

“It didn’t feel like I was just pretending to be his girlfriend, Ang. It felt real, and I thought it was just me that felt something but he said he felt it too, and when we had sex I almost said it... I almost told him I loved him.”

“You did what?!” She almost screamed, “Girl, what about Noah? I overheard him talking to Bryan earlier and… I don’t know if I should tell you this.”

“What?”

“He was telling Bry how he said something stupid to you whilst you were drunk and he felt bad for it… I don’t know what he said exactly but I think it was something pretty important, you might want to ask Bryan.”

“I will.” You nodded, finishing your drink.

“I’m getting tired,” she yawned, “Maybe we should go to bed s- Oh my god, that guy on hinge texted me back!”

“Finally! What did he say?!” You gasped, leaning over to look at her phone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Hello Mrs Mauro! This is y/n, Ricky gave me your phone number, he told me you and your husband are coming to surprise Vinny at the show tonight. Do you know what time you’ll get here? I was thinking why don’t we all go out for lunch, I won’t tell Vin anything!

You sent the text, hoping the plan would work and you could get his parents to avoid the guys as much as possible.

"I hope I have everything this time," Angela's voice snapped you back to the present as she drove you both to tonight's venue, "I forgot half my shit for the last show." She chuckled, skipping through songs as she waited at a red light.

The two of you spent yesterday together, she showed you around her city, you went shopping and had dinner together, she even introduced you to another one of her friends who she bumped into whilst you were out. You stayed with her for one more night, and then had to rush to leave this morning as the two of you overslept.

It took just under an hour from Angela to drive to the next venue, even after stopping for coffee and snacks. She parked up as you checked the time, it was a miracle you two weren't late. Somehow, you were actually early!

As you lifted your bag over your shoulder, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, and you almost felt sick as you saw it was a reply from Vinny’s mother.

Hello, y/n. How are you darling? We got here last night so we’re about all day! That sounds like a lovely idea, just tell me when and where dear x

“What are you smiling at?” Noah’s voice cut through your thoughts, startling you slightly. You looked up, meeting his amused eyes, and he opened his arms wide. Without thinking, you stepped into them, letting him pull you into a warm hug.

“One of my old friends live in this city and she’s invited me for lunch. I haven’t seen her in years. I guess now I’m kinda working for you guys these things are going to start happening to me.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “Be careful though, y/n. People might try to take advantage of you, some people might be genuine, but you’ve got to learn to set boundaries.”

“I know,” you smiled, “Anyway, how’s everything going so far today?”

“Pretty good, yeah…” He nodded, stretching his arms above his head. Your eyes couldn’t help but notice the exposed trail of hair on his tattooed skin below his belly button as his shirt rose up, making you bite down on your lip, “I have something to ask you…”

“Okay…” You chuckle nervously, "What's up?"

“Sumerian are holding a joint party with some other labels for some of their upcoming bands and artists, it's all about networking and connecting with other bands… I wouldn’t have agreed to go but some of my friends will be there so I thought why not, it'll be nice to see them. I was wondering if you’d be my plus one? It’s on Friday so I know it’s quite short notice but...”

You blinked, taken aback for a second.

“Wait, really? I mean, sure! I’d love to. The others are coming too, right?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out as the invitation was only sent to me, but I guess since the band is only signed in my name it would make sense. I'm sure they are but I've got a call later so I'll make sure I ask.”

"Cool." You smiled, "I'll make sure I find something nice to wear."

Noah chuckled, a look in his eyes telling you he wanted to say something, but held himself back.

"Thanks," he smiled, "I thought it'd also give you a chance to talk to other bands and get your name out there, this is why they do it."

"Well thanks for inviting me," you met his eyes before exhaling a breath you didn't know you were holding, "I better get in there, I need to borrow Rick's laptop and get some work done."

"Why Rick's?" He chuckled, "What happened to your one?"

"I think I've overworked it," you sighed, "I've had it for a few years now so it's no surprise..."

"Oh," he frowned slightly, "Well if you ever need to borrow mine if Rick isn't about then don't hesitate to ask-"

"It's okay," you smiled, "Thanks, Noah."

"No problem..." He reached out, his fingers brushing your skin as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. You felt your cheeks heating up, holding yourself back from reaching up and pulling him down into a kiss, "You better go and find Rick, he was still setting up the last time I saw him."

You thanked Noah once more before making your way inside, following the distant sound of music until you found the guys.

"You're early." Jolly observed, glancing up as you set your things down beside him.

"We thought we we're gonna be late," you chuckled, "I stayed with Angela this weekend- y'know Motionless' makeup artist? We stopped like three times to get coffee and snacks and then she needed to pick up a new powder... It's been chaos this morning."

"For the both of us," Jolly said, "We've been all over the place, even if you were a little bit late I don't think anybody would've noticed."

"It's been like that?" You crossed your arms, your eyes straying as you watched Rick walk off.

"It's always like that," he laughs, setting his guitar aside, "Sometimes we're just sitting around and waiting for hours, bored out of our minds, and when we're not doing that everything's the opposite, we're rushing about and we don't get a moment to breathe." He chuckled.

"Do you ever get used to it?" You asked with a soft smile.

"Well you learn to deal with it." He sighs, "But I love it, the chaos, it's my job. I wouldn't want it any other way." He said with a smile, and you nodded your head.

"Speaking of our jobs, I need to go and chase up Rick and ask if I can borrow his laptop, can you watch my things?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." You smiled, before heading in the direction Ricky went.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You and Vin were both sat in the green room, using the venues wifi for completely different purposes. Whilst you sat editing some photos from the last few shows, he was streaming on his laptop, playing a game.

You sent Vinny's mother a text letting her know when and where to meet the two of you, but you hadn't yet told him what you were going to be doing.

"Vin, we should probably get lunch soon."

"Yeah, sounds good." He said, "When were you thinking of going?"

"Well, I told the guys I'd pick it up for 1 so they sent me their orders, if you want to come with me to pick it up we could leave soon?"

"Okay," he laughed as he read the chat, "Y/n, the chat's saying hello... They're also angry that the guys are making you pick up lunch"

You chuckled, setting Rick's laptop aside and getting up to see what was going on in his stream.

"Hey guys!" You smiled with a wave, "It's my choice to pick up lunch by the way, I like to stretch my legs... Unlike some people." You smirked.

"Fuck you." Vinny couldn't help but smile as he looked up at you.

"See you guys!"

Vinny thanked his viewers once more before ending the stream. You took a deep breath as you picked your phone up, sending Vin's mother another text.

We're on our way!

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and turned to Vinny, who was putting his laptop away.

"Ready?" You asked, hiding your nerves behind a smile.

------------------------------

@rumoured-whispers @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lma1986 @thisbicc @dominuslunae @miss570 @miamore0570 @jilliemiw86 @itsyaboinoah @kait16xo @discocowgirly @rainy-darling

#nothing ever after <3 #noah sebastian x reader #vinny mauro x reader #vinny mauro fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic #motionless in white fanfic

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