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gamesetart · 5 months ago

Text

sweet 'n easy

Art thought dating you would be enough. He's content to have your heart, wait until marriage to have your body, too. But it's proving really difficult when you look like that.

tags: art donaldson x fem! reader, open relationship, guided masterbation, reader's kind of messy in this one (corruption), religious themes/corruption of religious themes. nsfw. minors DNI.

a/n: this is part of what im referring to as the open relationship au and im more than expecting to write more about this dynamic! im also very open to suggestions about it

Art Donaldson is a Good Christian Boy. He's a good, smart young man. He wears his thin silver purity ring on his left ring finger. He wears a delicate silver cross on a chain around his neck. He used to sing in the church choir, and now he spends his Sundays volunteering with the children's sector and frequenting church picnics. If it wasn't for tennis, he'd probably be a priest.

You're not right for him, and he knows it. Guys like him aren't made to marry girls like you - girls with low-cut tops that show off the top hem of your lacy electric purple bra. Girls who wear low, low-cut jeans with your matching purple thong hanging out the back. Girls with butterfly-shaped tattoos hovering on your lower back. Girls who spend weekends drinking and clubbing and dancing with absolutely no room for Jesus.

But there's just something about you. Maybe it's your attitude, the way your hand flies up in class whenever you know the answer to a question, the way you speak, with such clarity, such conviction. Maybe it's the way you walk with your friends across campus, beautiful and assertive, a pack of wild hounds. You're terrifying to him. A force of nature, a thunderstorm. Art's managed to get caught up in your jet stream, but it doesn't mean he's any less scared of falling out. You and all your hot, brash, party-girl friends. You and the 'bitch pack', as some of his friends have taken to calling you and yours. The sorority girl, frat party, dim clubs, bitch pack. Girls like you don't give guys like him the time of day: you're too pretty, too powerful, far too high up on an entirely different social ladder.

But you're different. You're sweet. He's watched you stop to pet stray kittens. He's seen you volunteering to donate blood at the campus blood drives. He's seen you stop to help a girl pick up her books even though you were already late to class. He's seen your notes in his biology lecture, your cute, bubbled handwriting and your array of gel pens. He's seen you buy an extra coffee at the campus cafe for a friend. People contain multitudes, or whatever, right?

So maybe it's no surprise when you end up paired up on an assignment and you bring him back to your dorm room. Maybe he shouldn't have been so stunned by the boy band posters and the stacks of fantasy novels and the stuffed bear sitting on your bed. Maybe he shouldn't have been thrown off by your framed pictures - family, friends - and your collection of Beatles CDs. Just a girl. A normal, nice girl. Who lays out all her notes for him, glances up with a sweet smile, and asks,

"Where d'you wanna start?"

He didn't mean for it to go any further than that. For the study visits to start happening at night, after dinner. For you to start blowing off club nights to curl up on your plush blue shag carpet next to art, pointing out lines of text and highlighting things with a bright pink marker. For you to start eating with him at lunch, talking about your lecture, laughing over some stupid thing your professor said or did. For him to start seeing you, really seeing you, and liking that you saw him, too. It happened before he even registered it. Somewhere, somehow, Art Donaldson fell in love.

It's different than how he felt with Tashi. This isn't that painful, all-consuming desire to please, to have her notice him, the obsession with the idea of her and her tennis. This feels sweeter, kinder. This feels like what he used to read about: fireworks in his heartbeat, butterflies in his stomach, the giddy thrill of First Love. A slower, ennobling sort of love.

If he had it his way, he'd date you. Flowers. Expensive dinners by candlelight. Picnics. The works. Court you for the four years you were at Stanford together, then propose once you graduated. Spend a few years engaged so he could do his tennis, make a good amount of his own money. Save until he could plan a dream wedding. Honeymoon somewhere pretty and exotic, like Bali or Punta Cana. Then the country house and the kids, the white picket fence. Except, Art doesn't really ever get things his way, does he?

"I... I don't know," you say slowly, digging your heels into your carpet. You can't meet his sad blue eyes. You can't bear to. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. It feels alien, even in your head.

He stares at you, crestfallen. Your heart plummets and you race for an explanation, for some way to explain this without blaming him. Because it's not Art at fault, it's his Faith.

"It's not that I don't like you!" you scramble. "I do, really, Art, I do. I just... a girl has... needs, you know? There are things I'd want that I can't ask you to give me. Things I can't take from you."

You both know what it is. You'd never ask him to give up on or waver in his faith for you. Never. You like Art how he is. But you know you'd be wanting. You know you can't wait until your wedding night.

"I... I'm just not the dating type, Art," you explain mournfully. "And you don't want to date a girl like me, anyway, trust me. You deserve someone nice."

"But... you are nice," Art says, and he really does look like you've just torn his heart out and stomped on it. It's horrible. It's awful. And you feel like a monster for doing it, but what can you do?

He doesn't have a solution until a full week later. He pretends (to you, and himself) that he came up with it all on his own, when in reality it was Patrick's idea. Patrick's suggestion, murmured over the phone in cloying low tones, luring him in like sailor to siren, bee to honey, moth to flame. Art, for all his cleverness, for all his ability to read Patrick like a book, could not see it. He trusted Patrick. He should have, he's sent Patrick some of your pictures, talked about you endlessly. But Patrick was on tour, far, far away, where he could do no harm. And Patrick was taken, as he was so keen to remind Art all the time.

"She doesn't have to fuck you, man," Patrick muses. "Date her. Be her good boy, be her fuckin' sweetheart. She can get dicked down with someone else."

"You're suggesting my girlfriend cheat on me?" Art laughs, and even saying it, my girlfriend, even in hypothetical, makes his heart do a flip.

He can practically picture Patrick's face, screwed up with a mixture of pity and disdain. Poor Art. "Nah, man. I'm suggesting an open relationship, you know? Let her fuck who she wants, she's gonna come home to you."

The conviction in Patrick's voice makes Art's heart somersault. Because there's something about that idea that makes his pulse quicken. Patrick's right. You'll come home to him, your heart - the thing that really matters - will be his. He doesn't like the possessive thing that curls up in his chest and purrs at the idea. But he doesn't fight it.

"What if you didn't have to wait with me?" Art asks.

He's twirling a highlighter over his fingers. Cross-legged on your plush duvet, working at a piece of spearmint chewing gum. Gum you'd offered him, gum that you now kept a small stash of in your desk drawer for evenings just like this. The project you'd been paired up on was long over, the proud 96% sitting in your Stanford grading inbox. Now you're just regular homework buddies. Art sought you out for homework he missed because he was at practice and lecture notes he didn't get. You don't mind. You enjoy it, actually. You just wish you could give him more. Hate that you couldn't be what he deserved. It almost feels like leading him on, when he sits with you until the wee hours, sharing diagrams and passing your textbook back and forth. When he brings you your morning coffee before class, or you bring sandwiches and Gatorade to his practices.

Except now, apparently, he has a solution.

"What?" you ask, blinking at him. "What d'you mean?"

Art flushes. Soft pink. Mostly around the ears, you've noticed, red against the gentle gold of his curls. Evening rose.

"I mean, what if..." he looks away. "You know. You went out with me. Dated me. But you could... 'hook up' with other people when you needed to."

You stare at him. Dumbfounded. Art Donaldson. Is sitting on your bed, asking you for an open relationship? Are you dreaming? Has the world suddenly gone mad? Did you go to bed last night and wake up in an alternate dimesion?

"You... are you suggesting... what I think you're suggesting?" you ask faintly.

He nods, ears burning a truly impressive shade of crimson. You suppose you should be flattered, really, the lengths he's going to date you. Most guys would have given up by now, egos bruised, feelings hurt, hearts shattered. And with most guys, you would have been firmer, clearer, colder. Meaner. But Art isn't most guys. Art is sweet.

"I-- shit, Art, wouldn't you rather just date some other girl like you?" you say helplessly.

"I don't want another girl, I want you," he replies plainly. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like there's no other answer.

And that's all it takes for you to agree. It's impossible to say no to those baby doll eyes. The two of you set ground rules - you don't tell him who or where or how, just that it happened. He doesn't ask you any questions. No one leaves you any marks. Immediate friends, such as Art's tennis circle and his church friends, are off limits. And that's that. He's your boyfriend now.

Art thought it would suffice. He likes being with you. Holding your hand while you walk to class. Seeing you in the stands when he plays a match. Chaste little pecks here and there. But you're like a pit of quicksand, a hurricane. You draw him in quicker than he thought possible, and now he can't breathe, can't think, can't move. The corruption is slow, certain, and inescapable.

He starts to find himself wanting more.

A kiss in his dorm room that deepens instead of stops, one hand cupping your jaw, the other floating to rest on the small of your back, above the waist of your low jeans, on the warm, bare skin there. A glance that feels more than affectionate, his eyes roving over your collarbone, the glint of your skin in the sun, the line of your bra beneath your sheer, tight shirt. He sees you smile at another guy and a hot flash of jealousy surges through him as he wonders if this is one of the guys you're fucking, if that guy, that random piece of shit, gets to touch you, see you, feel you. He tamps it down, and it feels too little, too late.

You'd be a fool not to notice. Stupid, not to feel the press of his hard-on when he hugs you from behind. Not to sense the shift in the way he kisses you, tongue slipping past your lips, hands sliding down further than they usually do. He plays it off, always. An accident. The heat of the moment. But you know. And because you're weak, because you're a terrible person, because ruining Art Donaldson is the most beautiful thing to ever happen to you, you let him.

"Art, do you ever touch yourself?"

He falls off his chair in his hurry to spin around and look at you. From the floor of your dorm, he stares with wide blue eyes and pink cheeks. "Wha--"

You shrug. "You know. Do you ever..." you make a crude gesture with your hand, and he buries his face up to his nose in his collar.

"No," he says, muffled into his tee shirt. "It's sinful."

It takes every fibre of your being not to laugh. He's so precious, so pure, sometimes you wonder why a guy like him could ever be interested in you at all. Your looks are one thing - you know you're hot. But Art likes you. He likes you even when he can't fuck you. He liked you even when you told him you wouldn't date him. He likes you because you're you. Which makes you feel a little shitty about what you do next, but you can't help it.

"So, what, when you're hard, what do you do?" you press casually. "Send up a Hail Mary and wait?"

Art's ears, which peek out over his shirt collar, are so red they could have been on fire. He shakes his head, a little frantically. He flushes easily, you notice, blood flowing quickly whenever he's even mildly embarrassed. It conjures images of his cock, whatever it might look like, red and aching with need. And you feel a lot less bad, the mental image of Art's dick fuelling the way you lean over, sliding off your chair to join him on the floor. You kneel, hands resting on your knees, and you know he's getting an eyeful of your tits. You keep your eyes on his face.

"Show me," you murmur. "I won't touch you. I won't even touch myself. I just wanna see."

He stares at you like you've asked him for his social security number and all his credit card info. Which, honestly, he probably would have given up a little easier. And you're an awful person, because you know the effect you've had on him, especially these days, you know that Art will probably do anything you ask of him, just for the pleasure of pleasing you.

"Please?" you wheedle, cocking your head to one side lightly, staring up at him through your lashes.

And, really, how could he say no to that?

"I-- okay," he says, and he tries to pretend like he's relenting a lot more than he actually is. Pretends like he's doing you a huge favour, as if his cock isn't straining at the mere idea.

Art doesn't jerk off often. He's only ever used his hand once - the single time Patrick showed him. After that, he'd cried in the bathroom and washed his hands so many times he got a contact allergy. But he's figured out an alternative. One that doesn't involve him touching himself at all. So he slides off his sweats, all too aware of your steady eyes on him. You look at him like you've never seen legs before, as if you haven't seen him at a thousand practices. You look at him like you want to eat him.

He tries to tell himself that's not what's making his cock throb in his boxers. He keeps those on, more for his sake than yours.

"You can lie on my bed," you offer innocently.

Art almost moans. Because it's your bed. Because it's yours, and when he lies down it's almost like lying with you. When he buries his face in the pillow, he can smell you, your vanilla and roses body wash, and, beneath it, the gentle smell of you. It's your sheets he starts to cant into, hips rolling in a familiar motion as he starts to work away the desperate pressure in his cock. It's your pillow he bites in a futile attempt to muffle his moans. And when he looks up, eyes half-lidded, he can see you watching him. You're biting your lip, looking flustered, and it's the cutest he's ever seen you, and he moans your name without meaning you.

You keep your promise, hands folded neatly in you lap as you watch Art rut into your bed like a wild animal, like he's in fucking heat, like your sheets are a person and he's fucking it. Like your sheets are you, you realise, as his eyes meet yours and he whines your name. He's pretending he's fucking you. It's hard not to give up and shove one hand into your panties, but for his sake, you try. Art's moans are almost musical, and with a sharp slap of embarrassment, you're reminded of the sounds he makes when he hits the ball at practice. The same whining grunts of exertion, except now they're fuelled by pleasure, spurred on by the desperate grind of his hips into your sheets, not a fucking tennis ball.

"Oh, oh, fuck," Art's voice gets a little higher. "Oh, fuck, it's so good--"

You can feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you shift slightly. His movements grow a little more erratic, hands balling up into white-knuckled fists into the soft fabric of your sheets. You drink it all in while you can - his ears are red, his cheeks are pink. You follow the curve of his ass in his boxers. You stare at the muscles in his thighs. The bones of his hips.

Art gets breathy when he's about to cum. Breathy, very whiny, almost crying if you're being honest. You file that information away for later.

"Please, please, can I?" he gasps, staring up at you with pupils blown wide with lust. "Can I cum, please, fuck, need it, need it-- you-- fuck, please?"

It's surprising he can even string together a full sentence. "Of course, baby," you murmur, already resolved to not changing your sheets until after you've cum in them too.

Another nugget of information: Art favours a deep grind when he cums, like he's looking for a place to put it, to bury it, looking to breed, to mark, to keep. The sight of him pushing his hips as far into your mattress as he can before he cums, a cry of your name and a shuddering breath slipping from his lips, will probably fuel your nighttime ventures for the next few weeks. You'll use it when you find your next hook up, it'll probably send you right over the edge.

You don't know when you started thinking of Art while you fucked other guys. You just know that now, it's tricky to get off without it. It's hard enough biting your tongue so you avoid saying his name. Now, you'll have the image of his face when he cums locked in your brain forever.

"Shit," Art curses, still breathless, sitting up to examine the sticky mess soaking from the front of his gingham boxers, all the way into your sheets. "Sorry."

You just shake your head. "Don't worry about it. That was... really hot. That's actually how you get yourself off?"

He nods, embarrassed. When he shuffles off to shower, borrowing your shower caddy and a towel, you wait until your door click, and then you practically rip open your nightstand. It takes less than ten minutes with a vibrator and the memory of Art's voice moaning your name for you to add your cum to his. You imagine his hips fucking into you, not your sheets. You imagine pulling his stupid fucking purity ring off and wearing it like some fucked-up engagement ring. His hands are so big, you'd probably have to wear it on your thumb. His hands. You imagine them grabbing you, holding you, sliding up your skin. You wonder what it would be like to have him revere you, not his God. Worship you. You want him to, you think. The idea of him shattering every promise he's ever made, just to be inside you? It sends you over the edge with a muffled cry of his name.

It's that feeling, that messy need for him, that drives you to that frat party. You told him, obviously, and while he seemed sort of put-off when you mentioned you were probably going to sleep with someone, he told you it was okay. Told you to be safe.

You wish you could tell him, but you're worried it'll scare him off. Don't worry, Art, every guy I fuck, I pretend he's you. And now I'll have the knowledge of exactly what you look and sound like when you cum to help me out! Not exactly girlfriend material.

Still, you're thinking of Art when your eyes land on a boy playing beer pong. He's tall, all messy black curls and tanned skin. Handsome, too, if you're being honest, in a messy, frat boy-y kind of way. Hook up hot. You're thinking of Art when he waves you over, holding up a beer like it's a peace offering. You're thinking of Art when you give him your name and ask for his.

"Patrick," he tells you easily. "Patrick Zweig."

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem reader #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #kit.writes #open relationship au

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ckret2 · 3 months ago

Note

Do you think Bill Cipher is his real name? The book suggests it is since he used to be called Billy but he also tells Gideon that his true name would drive mortals insane. But maybe he was lying! About which we’ll never know.

I personally think it would be really dumb for

an alien

with bizarre alien biology that involves speaking through some organ that clearly isn't a mouth

because his mouth is also his EYE SOCKET and occupied by an EYEBALL

who's not only from a different planet but from a different UNIVERSE

which is so different from ours that the LAWS OF PHYSICS aren't even compatible

because they don't have a THIRD DIMENSION

and who was named ONE TRILLION YEARS before any humans existed

never mind human languages

never mind "common" human names like Bill

to have a normal human name made with normal human sounds.

So I buy the "my name is unintelligible to your species; Bill Cipher is just a dimensional pen name I use because you can pronounce it" explanation, due to the alternative offending my sci-fi worldbuilder sensibilities. The "if you heard my name you'd explode with an expression of ecstasy and agony on your face" part in the Bill Cipher AMA might be a boast to sound cool, but nevertheless I buy that his name can't be spelled, pronounced, or possibly even heard correctly by humans.

The most common explanation I've heard for why he would claim his REAL name is incomprehensible if his name is actually just "Bill" is that he thinks "Bill" is lame and wants people to think he has a cooler name. But, if that were the case... why wouldn't he just... y'know. Give himself a cooler name? Like, who's gonna call him out on it? Birth certificate's incinerated. Parents aren't gonna call him his deadname in front of his friends. The only reason he'd tell people his name is Bill Cipher would be if he wants to go by "Bill Cipher."

When he goes by "Bill" and refers to himself as a child as "Billy" I'm assuming that that's, like... the dub version of his name. Like how the main character of Pokémon is named サトシ but in the dub it's changed to "Ash" because surely American children can't pronounce that bizarre foreign name!! Bill's real name is [EERIE INCOMPREHENSIBLE SOUND] and as a kid sometimes his mom called him [A SIMILAR BUT SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT EERIE INCOMPREHENSIBLE SOUND THAT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING TO US BUT TO BILL'S SPECIES SOUNDS LIKE A CUTESY VERSION OF THE FIRST SOUND] and when talking to humans he translates those as "Bill" and "Billy."

#bill cipher #gravity falls #meta #(also when does he tell GIDEON his true name would drive him insane?? the only thing I remember is the quote in the Reddit AMA.)#anonymous #ask

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yutasbellybuttonpiercing · 1 year ago

Text

slowly, i'm going down

access full masterlist here!

pairing: song mingi x reader (no pronouns mentioned, reader has female anatomy)

au/genre: college!au, tutor!reader, mingi does not give a shit about studying, smut

word count: 4816 words

warnings: voice kink (AHHHHH), oral and fingering (reader receiving), reader is a little mean, kitchen sex, anime references, cringe, a joke about adhd, dirty talk... um..., oh right Mingi has a big dick (wbk), everyone's a little silly, unprotected sex (boo ‼️👎🏻), premature ejaculation almost, creampie, cum eating... (not reader...), i think that's it. NOT PROOF READ YET!!

synopsis: mingi hates studying, but what he hates way more than that is being perceived as stupid. what mingi loves on the other hand, are pretty people getting flustered about his voice

mingi shows you exactly what he hates and loves.

a/n: i was almost ready when i saw this tiktok and it completely blocked my mind because it's SO FUNNY, but at the same time, it's men being dudes, dudes being bros, and that kind of made it hard for me to continue. i apologize for the 24h delay 😞

taglist: @byuntrash101 @goquokka @ashwoodforest @choisansnotsolegalwife

Mingi is not one to sit there and look at books. Or papers. Or anything that doesn't move and feed his brain with bright colors and his ears with noises, really. He prefers to vibe, and studying is definitely not the vibe. Sadly, studying is a part of his life as a university student. Yes, he chose this path for himself and yes, he was aware that it would involve studying. Still, now that it's really happening and is not just an obstacle to overcome in the far, far future, Mingi kind of wishes he'd chosen something else to do with his life. It's just exhausting, why would he waste the precious time he has left on planet earth on something that doesn't get the serotonin floating? He's pretty sure he has some undiagnosed ADHD simmering up there, but who is he to judge that? He's certainly not studying to become a doctor or whatever.

Anyway, given the fact that Mingi doesn't like to study, he's not had much experience with it in the first place. He's barely gotten his way through school, but uni is a different level. Hence, he needs someone to 1) teach him how to study and 2) make him study, or rather: have a judging eye on him while he is supposed to study, so the fear of being called out on it may light a fire under his ass and force him to bury his nose between the stinky pages of an old library book (on that note: he also needed someone to show him how to check out books from the library).

And that's why you are here, every Thursday afternoon, sitting at the sad excuse of a kitchen counter slash dining table in Mingi's scandalously expensive apartment given its size, growling next to him every time you catch him analyzing the bumps on his wallpapers instead of the letters on the pages.

Mingi generally likes you, even though you are a bit scary, he has to admit, or maybe that's the appeal. You are polite, but you have a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he's getting mansplained by your eyes. Your taunting gaze on him makes him feel small, and he doesn't like that at all. It makes him feel like all these years of drinking milk to make him stand at the 1.84m he is at today were in vain. You always have that one expression on your face, and maybe that's just Mingi's subconsciousness telling him to STUDY HARD FOR GOD'S SAKE, but in the way your eyebrows would scrunch together just the tiniest bit, he reads: God, he is fucking stupid.

He doesn't know which (since he did not pay attention in biology class, nor is he even sure they teach that in biology class) chemical in his brain suffers an allergic reaction every time you look at him like that, but there has to be one. There is nothing that Mingi hates more than being called stupid. Well, except for studying, maybe.

Call him lazy, call him a scalawag, call him witty for being able to get through all of school without reading a single one of the set books if you must, but do not call him stupid.

The only problem is that you haven't, well, called him stupid per se. It's just how Mingi interprets your stares. Also, he desperately needs you because he doubts there will be many other contestants that are okay with getting paid as little as you are (which is all Mingi has left by the end of a month full of Pokémon trading cards). So Mingi just has to sit back and relax and simply take it because, apparently, that's what he gets for not studying his entire life.

A loud ringing wakes Mingi from his peaceful afternoon nap - one that he has really earned this time around, he managed to look through his study notes for a full 20 minutes during his lunch break!

Disoriented, Mingi raises his head to make out his location and what year he is in. It rings again. Slowly, Mingi recognizes the shrill sound as his door bell. He slowly gets up, a quick glance in the mirror tells him that his hair is an absolute mess (which is really a crowning achievement given his buzz cut length) and he has imprint marks from his blanket all over his right cheek, but his sleepy mind doesn't even take it in. Mingi furrows his brows and shakes his head. Who would dare to disturb his peaceful slumber at this ungodly hour (4pm)?

The answer, of course, stands right in front of his door. With your arms crossed and the tip of your shoe drumming a dent into Mingi's "come in if you're a silly baka"-door mat, you raise an unimpressed brow at the sleepy shell of Mingi that blinks one eye after the other.

A few seconds pass until Mingi finally realizes who you are, and his mouth forms an 'o'-shape. Immediately after, he furrows his brows once again, his body slumping forward a bit because: why on God's green earth are you here? Then, it hits him like a truck, the aftermath of the collision blowing the remaining sleep out of his eyes: it's Thursday afternoon!

"Sorry," he says and sheepishly scratches the back of his head, then steps aside to let you enter.

"It's fine, it's only freezing cold outside," you stare at him before stepping in, shudder as you kick your shoes off, slip into Mingi's guest slippers and hurry inside. Mingi's brain does not register the sarcasm drenching your words.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" You ask as Mingi finally manages to follow you into the kitchen. You sit, take out a few sheets of paper from your backpack, then look over questioningly as Mingi has not even moved a millimeter, but instead started yawning like his life depends on it. Your eyes drift down his body. "Or maybe after you've put on some pants?"

Mingi freezes, looks down to confirm that, indeed, he's not wearing pants, but Naruto boxer shorts, then covers his crotch with his hands and buzzes off into his room.

Minutes later, Mingi reenters the kitchen, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips that, yes, he checked twice if he's wearing them the right way around. As mentioned, he is generally unable to properly focus on his studies, but today, it's exceptionally bad. Of course, you'd notice.

"Mingi, are you okay?" There's worry in your eyes – a sight Mingi has not seen. Ever.

"I'm fine, just tired," he mumbles, eyes unfocusing as he stares ahead.

"Yeah, you are? Why?" Mingi's tired mind cannot question why you suddenly seem so interested in his well-being. He also doesn't put any meaning into why you're scooting closer to him, your forearm accidentally touching his.

"I studied during my lunch break," Mingi informs you, a little, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something tingles inside his chest as you carefully place your hand on his arm. As he looks over at you, you smile at him, and he notices your gaze flickering down to his lips for a second.

Hold on. Mingi's mind suddenly snaps out of its hazy state and works on overdrive. He might be the type to vibe, the type to just let things play out, but he'd be damned if he didn't notice when someone likes him like that. He suddenly notices the way you started creating skin-on-skin contact with him, the way you want to be closer to him, eyeing him even more than you ever did before. Just... why? Is it because you saw him in his Anime panties?

A few moments pass, and you sit back, then pat your pencil against the book to remind him of the reason why you're actually here. Mingi groans, admittedly a little dramatically and unreasonably erotic, brushing a hand through his hair to flex his biceps right in front of your face. You seem unimpressed.

"Well, fuck me," he chuckles deeply, the rasp in his voice more evident than usual due to his nap. It's then when you tense, he notices from the corner of his eye. Oh. Okay. So it's the voice?

"I'm really glad you're tutoring me, you know?" He purrs, throwing in a little praise to get you extra bothered, and you simply breathe out nervously.

"Heh, no worries," you brush him off. Mingi decides that, for now, he's made you suffer enough and keeps quiet. Instead, he focusses on his studies, although he's already planning his next step to terrorize you with the sultry rasp his vocal cords are gifted with.

"Mingi, focus-"

"No, I get what I have to do, the contents just won't stay in my head." Mingi reasons, his voice unusually, but not by chance, high pitched, eyebrows scrunched as to why the hell he has to do this before doing that only to do whatever next when it wasn't like this for the other exercise he had to do minutes prior. He is not stupid (!), he does understand how this works. It's just that it doesn't make sense, and that is surely not his fault.

"Are you stup-" you start, but shut your mouth before you're even able to call him the dumbest fucker you've ever crossed paths with. Mingi inhales sharply. Oh, oh, you're lucky he is patient, and you're lucky he knows that as soon as he growled a few dirty words into your ear, you'd slam your upper body on the counter without regards of caution, pushing your panties down under your skirt and begging him to take you right there - or at least, that's what he imagines.

Yes, Mingi is super patient, that's just what comes with the entire vibe-personality package, so he does not dump your cute sorry ass on his baka-door mat, but simply closes his pen, lays it on the table and looks at you. A fabulous idea plops into his mind.

"God," he groans as deeply as he can, stretching his arms over his head, "I guess I'm just a little" - he throws in a little moany sigh - "a little distracted today."

"A-are you?" You nod, biting your lip subconsciously. Mingi looks at you without moving his head. "Why?"

"Well, just stuff, you know?" Mingi enjoys how the rumble in his voice makes his throat and - obviously - you feel. "There's just a lot, going on. Like big... big stuff. Stuff that just keeps coming and coming, in and out, just like that. Ugh, I wish I could just let all this frustration out you know, all this pent up stuff." He watches for your reaction.

Unmistakably, your hand holding your own pen in a relaxed manner mere seconds ago now desperately grasps the poor objects until your knuckles turn white, your breathing is uneven and loud as if you'd just ran the entire way from Mingi's place to the next convenience store (seriously, why the fuck is he paying so much for this godforsaken apartment?). And - Mingi's favorite reaction to him ever: you're pressing your thighs together.

Oh, how Mingi loves himself a good reaction like this.

"Big stuff, huh?" Your voice trembles as your nervous eyes search for his. "H-how big?"

"Oh, really big. Just really fucking big," Mingi confirms with a slight smirk. He loves how you just fold easily like that. One second, you're over there feeling superior on your little throne of knowledge that Mingi lacks, and the next, you're making a little mess in your panties just because Mingi so much as spoke. Absolutely incredible. People should start calling him "the rizzler".

"I think-" you clear your throat, "I think I should head home then?"

Mingi smiles to himself as soon as you turn away to pack your stuff into your backpack. His hands automatically reach out to play with his pen, his long, slender fingers toying with the object, inevitably drawing your attention to the movements. "Already?"

"Mhm." You stare a second too long, gulp, then hastily stuff your belongings into the big compartment of the backpack, Mingi listens to the sweet melody of stressed breathing and papers crunching.

As amused as he is, he decides that it is time for the big reveal.

"Keep it in your pants, baby" he looks over, his eyebrow halfway raised, and stops rocking back and forth and fiddling with the pencil as you freeze in your tracks and stop packing. "What?"

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "So you know?" You manage to squeak.

Mingi smugly pushes his tongue into his cheek. He loves how you're basically vibrating out of nervousness. "Oh, I know."

You sigh, hands finally letting go of your stuff and motioning defeat. He wonders what's going on in your mind right now. Are you afraid he's going to call you out? That he's going to make fun of you? That he's going to call you a needy slut and send you home? Or are you wondering if he's going to give you what you want? Mingi loves this game.

That's why he decides to make your situation a little more miserable.

"I also know that you think I'm stupid," he explains calmly, trying his best to no longer show any excitement, smugness, or any emotion whatsoever on his sharp facial features to really confuse you. Well, that's what you're getting for (almost) calling The Song Mingi stupid. Just a little payback, is all. He's not going to go so far and make you cry. No, no, Mingi can't handle when people cry, much less so if it's because of him.

Nevertheless, your breath hitches. Oh, you're fully aware that he didn't like you calling him that at all. Oh, how the gears are turning behind your forehead as you're trying to figure out what's going on, and what's going to go on in the next minutes.

"Thought so," Mingi deadpans. Yeah, that's right. Look how smart he is now! Super smart! He's got you all figured out. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you feel - and, fuck, does this feel like redemption - stupid.

"I'm sorry-" you start, back facing Mingi's form, but Mingi is not here for it. Mingi has gotten what Mingi wants. Mingi feels as powerful as he imagines a lion to feel, like, every day.

"Dumb fucks good," he simply states, just putting it out there, throwing it into the room for you to do with that statement whatever you like. Mingi's mind is already satisfied, his ego stroked because he's just proven that he isn't dumb. Although... he wouldn't mind a little diddling because, if he's being honest, you're hot as fuck and seeing you react to him in this way- well, he's also just a man!

"What?" You probably think you must've terribly misheard him as you whip your head around to face the confident Mingi smugly leaned back in his chair. Your eyes meet his, and he is sure that you now realize that, no, you definitely did not mishear him. That was exactly what he said.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi feels your presence on his lap, a last final look into his eyes before he feels your lips against his, desperately chewing away the remaining air separating his spit from yours. It's messy, lips colliding, too much teeth and tongue, but it's all raw and desperate. Mingi gets the vibes that you may have had some pent up want for him, but that's honestly the last clear thought he can muster before you grind your hips against his.

A deep groan escapes Mingi's lips, inevitably echoing against your own quiet gasps that just turn louder with every movement of your hips, your hands frantically trying to touch him everywhere at once to the point where he has to grab your arms and pull you back. Your eyes, wide. And confused, but somehow lidded and hazy at the same time struggle to take in Mingi in front of you. Yes, Mingi is aware of the effect of his siren eyes.

For another moment, he simply enjoys seeing how destroyed you look already, but honestly, there is just one thing on his mind.

"I'm gonna eat you out," he informs, waiting for you to nod frantically, whine and scramble off his lap for him to keep his promise. And you do, allowing Mingi to grab your waist with his large hands and lift you onto the counter. Of course, he can't resist getting another taste of your lips, almost losing himself in the soft pillows that frame your pretty mouth, but the hardness creating a tent in his sweatpants reminds him that he should possible attend a little lower.

Hence, he kisses his way over your cheek towards your jaw, then over your neck and down your collarbones. Mingi is not sure what your opinions on love bites are, so he just hopes you can remember him being right here and here and here even without visual proof, he can save that for next time.

Okay, Mingi admittedly was not able to hold himself back completely, his teeth only gently nipping at your skin on his way down. He simply hopes for the best, but your sounds seem to imply that you do not mind him one bit. Instead, you sound as if you wouldn't mind him taking a few bites more.

Impatient as you are, you assist Mingi in pushing your shirt out of the way, the straps of your bra automatically falling down your shoulders to reveal more of you to his hungry eyes.

And as much as Mingi would like to spend hours playing with your chest, he keeps it down to a minimum, kissing the soft flesh while gently pushing the remaining material out of the way for better access. His lips wrap around a nipple, his hands meanwhile busy with massaging the other and carefully holding your waist. God, Mingi loves boobs. But he might love the way your fingers comb through his hair and gently pull on it a bit more even.

Finally, the time has come, and Mingi kneels down on the floor. Pushing your skirt up, hands caressing your thighs, he creates eye contact with your eyes glazed over by lust and want. It doesn't even faze him that he hasn't cleaned these floors in weeks, honestly, he is in so deep he probably wouldn't even realize if the stove was on, lighting his study notes on fire.

He wants to tease you more, make you wait, maybe make you beg even, but he just feels too hungry to keep waiting. His fingers hook into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs as quickly as possible before spreading your legs and groaning in anticipation.

Throwing your thighs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward a little further, chuckling as you almost lose balance and smile at him. Okay, maybe Mingi feels a little tingle, and maybe that is not a horny tingle, but that's something to worry about later, if ever. Right now, he has a mission: dive in.

So that's what he does, obviously, planting a careful kiss right on your clit to wait for your reaction. And you do not disappoint, gasping slightly at the first sensation before getting louder and bolder the more Mingi tastes you.

His tongue gently parts your folds, getting a first taste of your juices. You basically cry out as his tongue prods at your hole, carefully easing its way inside to caress your walls.

Automatically, your hands fly to his hair, gently pulling at the roots to find a way to ground yourself, the feeling assumingely overwhelming, Mingi thinks, not to brag, but-

Mingi's eyes roll back at a particularly hard tug at his hair, paired with the way your hips grind closer until you're basically riding his face. Fuck, how are you so hot? Mingi's fingers grab hard at your thighs, loving the way the soft flesh feels in his hands.

To experiment a little more and, first and foremost, to get more rewarding reactions out of you, Mingi lets his mouth wander back up to your clit, gently sucking the nub between his lips, his tongue carefully flicking as not to overwhelm you. At the same time, a fingers sneaks its way over to circle your entrance.

Your throat coughs out a broken moan at this, your eyes switching between looking at Mingi's eyes and his mouth, and closing completely. Mingi loves taking in the pleasure written all over your face. He might not admit it, but he loves this kind of praise much more than verbal praise because your body really can't lie. He can literally taste how good he is at this.

He finally pushes his finger inside, loving how the wetness and muscle contractions are basically pulling him deeper and deeper until past his second knuckle. He feels around a little, trying to find the spots that seem to appeal to you the most, watching carefully how you react to each and every flick of his wrist.

Although, he feels that one finger is not enough to prepare you for the rest of him, so he adds another, massaging them into the spot that seems to be making you see stars with the way you grip his hair even tighter and mutter something he interprets as a warning that you're about to cum.

Keeping his pace, he successfully sends you over the edge, letting you ride out your high on his tongue before removing his lips, only getting his fingers massage the last clenches out of you.

Looking up he realizes you look, respectfully, wrecked, with your chest heaving, your hair a little messy and your eyes hazy and glossy, parted lips asking for his. And who is he to deny them, as he leans in to allow you to taste yourself. You seem to like it.

Pulling back after a while, he looks at you. You look so happy and relaxed like he's never seen before. For some reason, it reminds him of the weight in his pants that he suddenly feels the need to inform you about.

"You make me so hard," Mingi says lowly, carefully taking your hand to prove it to you, "feel." It's more your hand guiding his with how fast you reach down to feel him, eager to touch the outline of him through the sweatpants. And as if you're getting paid to stroke Mingi's ego even more, you gasp at his size.

Mingi can't help but smirk, of course, who wouldn't?

"Big stuff, huh?" You repeat your words from earlier, but this time no longer nervous, but cheeky as you bite your lip playfully. Oh, how Mingi would love to make you choke on his dick right now, just a little, and in a loving matter, but he's honestly waited long enough and he really just needs to be in you right now. And besides, Mingi is more in his giving > receiving era.

Instead, he grins. And he feels like there is something more.

Impatiently, you tug at his pants, successfully moving them a millimeter. Mingi helps you push his pants further down until it pools around his ankles. You giggle.

Damnit, Mingi. Why couldn't you've changed your underwear? Mingi mentally scolds himself, a good amount of his previously earned smugness flying out the window. Instead, he gives you kind of a sheepish look.

"I don't mind," you assure, tugging at his anime boxers next, "it's actually relieving to be reminded that you're still the cute, dorky Mingi and are not possessed by a sex demon."

"Incubus," Mingi points out.

"I don't fucking care. Just get this hideous thing off and have sex with me!"

Mingi does not need to be told twice, although he makes a mental note to scold you later for calling the one and only Naruto printed on a piece of fabric shielding his balls from the outside world hideous.

"God, fuck," you let out, and Mingi chuckles at your reaction to his naked lower half, "come here. Please."

You pull him closer, wrap your legs around him and beg him with your eyes. Mingi wastes not another second, aligning himself with your hole and slowly pushing forwards. Your eyes roll back as he enters you, causing you to hold onto him for dear life as he inches inside, filling you completely.

God, must your walls hug him so perfectly? Must you be so unbelievably wet just for him? Must you make these sounds? Mingi feels like he doesn't want to be inside anyone else ever again.

"I feel like I don't want to inside anything else ever again."

How did that get out there?

You chuckle, and have the nerve to pinch his cheek, as if he wasn't balls deep buried inside you right now. "You're so cute."

Cute?!

Mingi will show you cute. He grabs your jaw, admittedly still gently, and makes you look at him as he pulls almost all the way out until his tip catches at your entrance. "Cute?" And he pushes in all the way all at once. You moan, the feeling too much, too intense for you to still keep your eyes open. Helplessly, you cling to Mingi's body as he repeats the action 4 more times before setting a steady rhythm, angling his hips in a way that should stimulate the spot you liked so much earlier.

With your mouth hanging open and your eyebrows scrunched, you look like the prettiest thing Mingi's ever seen. He wants to see you drool, watch you completely lose your mind over nothing else but his cock. At the same time, he is surprised how good it feels. Well, not surprised that it feels good, but that it feels abnormally good, like he's about to nut in the next minute or so. Hopefully, he's able to coax another high out of you before that.

"What was it that riled you up so much earlier? My voice?" He growls, and you as much as whimper in return. "Yeah, like it that my voice is so deep?" You nod pathetically. "Cute."

"Mingi- 's so good."

"Yeah, am I fucking you good?" Mingi grins and you nod weakly, struggling to keep your eyes open. Mingi really shouldn't be the one talking big because honestly, he feels like if u moan one more time, if ur walls clench around him one more time, he is going to lose it. Something about this entire situation is just super surreal to him, or maybe it's simply you that is the reason for his premature high that is coming for him with fast steps.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, kissing your cheek before whispering, "can I please cum inside?"

"Shit, y-yes," you confirm, nodding quickly as you fight your hardest battle to keep your eyes open, focused and on the man that's currently grinding his tip into your sweet spot. Mingi feels like he loves you.

Mingi also feels like he's loosing his grip on reality, which is why he grabs your hips harder than before, using his strength to really slam his hips into yours with force, drowning his thoughts with the sounds of your moans. There is nothing on his mind except for you, you, you, and the primal need to make you his.

"Please," he groans, not quite sure what he's begging for, but it doesn't really matter in the end, does it? All that matters is that Mingi's ears catch the way you're begging him to cum for you, to fill you up, to please, please finish inside. He is not going to deny you that wish.

His hips stutter, his mind goes numb as he feels his muscles tighten and contract, releasing deep inside you. The feeling spreads in his body, feeling high and happy with such a forceful orgasm like this one.

Everything after is just a blur in his mind, he just remembers realizing that you didn't cum a second time, and he wouldn't be Mingi if he kept it that way. That's why he found himself back on his knees seconds after pulling out, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tasting his own release that's threatening to drip out if it wasn't for his fast fingers pumping in and out of you to push you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until you do, orgasm fueled by the lewd action of Mingi eating his own cum out of you, he assumes. Somehow, you two end up in his bed after, mostly because Mingi is a cuddler, partly because Mingi is not able to let you go yet. Or ever. Who knows.

#mingi smut #ateez mingi smut #song mingi smut #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez song mingi #kpop #smut #kpop smut #fem reader #ateez x reader #mingi x reader

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 16 days ago

Note

one thing that I love about your eleutherophobia fics (among many many things) is that, despite being free of a Yeerk haunting his mind, Tom has now unwittingly replaced that with a reader listening to every thought and memory that he cares to share with us through the first person point of view. He’d be mortified if he ever broke the fourth wall ;)

thanks for your lovely writing and blog! definitely part of what’s keeping me going in these very weird times

Thank you! And yeah, I think a lot about the unique narration style in Animorphs, because I'm trying to imitate it. There's always an awareness that the characters are telling a story — the books open with the narrator going "I can't tell you my last name", and Marco especially will use imperatives like "don't tell anyone I said that." Clearly you is the reader, and each of the kids is meant to be aware that the reader is there.

There are some fascinating hints (handwaving Jake's line in #53) about who each narrator considers their audience. The Chronicles all state outright that each is an account of oneself (X) consciously crafted for one particular audience: Elfangor's talking to Tobias, Aldrea and Dak to Seerow Jr., Visser One to the Council (and Eva), and Toomin to Rachel. Ax says that he's narrating for his fellow andalites, so that they can better understand Earth (#8). Jake implies he's narrating for his great-grandkids: "I'll need to buy a footlocker" (#31). Tobias at one point implies he's talking to his imagined therapist (#23), but I also think you could argue that he's talking to the Ellimist (#13) or his dad (#33).

The others are a little trickier. Cassie seems to have Jake's same educational bent, but I'd argue she's trying to teach about the biology rather than the ethics of the war. Marco is probably talking to a kid his own age who thinks they're reading a sci fi novel. He's defensive ("call me Mr. Ruthless" as he feels empathy for baby seals), he's misdirecting ("now you know how I got a blowhole" instead of clarifying his role in the war), and he's desperate to impress ("I'm slightly not tall"). But he also references the reader "vegging out" and "watching TV." Rachel? I'd argue Rachel is talking to her own adult self. She doesn't care what others think of her, but she cares a lot about living with herself. She's trying to define who she is and who she wants to be, more than anyone else on the team.

#animorphs #animorphs spoilers #(oblique)#aximili esgarrouth isthill #jake berenson #tobias fangor #cassie animorphs #marco animorphs #rachel berenson #narration #giving an account of oneself #meta-fiction #character voice

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girlystories · 1 year ago

Text

Being the Bowers gang girl

*ೃ::Both platonic & romantic headcanon

– pairings: various x reader

addition warnings: swearing, bullying, very few depictions of sexism, few derogatory names, toxicity, abusive parenting.

words: 2.6k

this was entirely inspired by z0mbiekittyy, so please check them out!

Meeting/joining the gang

you were at first the quiet, loner girl who kept to herself, only having a few acquaintances, with very few friends.

it wasn't because you were a loser. only the opposite. everyone wanted to become friends with you or get to know you in some way but you never let anyone get close.

everyone had heard of you of course. when they realized you were different they stopped trying to read you or make their mind about you.

that was until greta keene couldn't get enough. she hated the attention you got. so one day she started spreading rumors about you.

it was relatively easy, since no one knew you enough to disprove them in any way. one word went to another and everyone in town now started talking shit about you.

despite that, you didn't care. you had your mind somewhere else. popularity and school drama weren't your thing.

you didn't mind hearing the remarks spat at you when you wandered the halls or when you were in class. you were completely and utterly unbothered.

word got fast that it even reached the all too feared bowers gang.

you were making your way to biology class when you were shoved against a locker, all your books falling one by one on the floor.

"well well well, if it isn't derry's most favored whore", henry was the first to indulge in the act.

he was followed by vic, or – as he liked to refer to him as his 'right-man', "hey, hank. why haven't we ever tried to mess with her before?"

you tried to back up slowly, but your back hit against another frame. when you looked up your eyes met with a pair of green ones, followed by an unsettling smile.

it seemed like no one noticed what was happening – or in better words, no one gave a shit about what was happening.

"dont worry, [name], we're not gonna kill you, jeez," belch revealed.

that made henry groan and turn his head towards his friend. "shut up."

patrick, still behind you, held onto your shoulders, which was very easy due to his height. "or we will, you will find out soon."

"both of you shut up," henry silenced them before it could escalate to something else. "so, how about you come with us for a ride? ya'know, get some air n' stuff."

"you mean like skipping school?", you asked.

"why? are you scared? I'm sure your reputation is as shitty as it can get. can't get any worse than that. even ours is better."

you shrugged, and just decided to follow them. just as you sat at your seat – between vic and patrick, you couldn't make out the read ahead of you, as they were driving recklessly. where you were, you hadn't the slightest clue.

they were laughing and howling, sometimes shouting at the drives passing by.

you? well, you were scared shitless. you clung onto your seat belt, and holding back the urge to start shrieking.

after a while you got used to it and had to admit deep down it was kinda fun.

when you stopped, you realized you were at a junkyard. they prepared a fire when the sun began to set down and opened some bottles of beer.

as you all circled around the fire you began to talk about whatever. you also found yourself to... tolerate them. or, better yet, even enjoy their company.

before you knew it, little by little you hang more and more with them, slowly becoming one of them. it was the first time you were a part of something. they felt like home and you could trust them, despite the hardships and more extreme emotional outbursts.

your reputation got even worse but you didn't care. you had found your people.

Activities

other than hanging out in the junkyard, you guys do other stuff (of course).

it's like you all live together, while you also don't. frequent sleepovers, meet-ups on each other houses take place, ect.

vic once convinced you all to go camping a few towns away. despite being the one who recommended the idea, he ended up despicing it. on the other hand, patrick who hated the idea ended up having the most fun. scaring vic by hiding bugs in his tent and pretending he was hearing bears or wolves. belch had enough and kept demanding they'd stop fighting, while you kept laughing at vic's reactions everytime. you never went camping again.

every morning belch picks everyone in order, first henry, then patrick, then you, and lastly – the sleeping queen himself: vic.

then, you make a stop at the local diner, everyone choosing their own specific order that the waitress had already memorized.

unless vic had a hangover from the party the day before, he wouldn't stop complaining about who-knows-what.

sometimes, when you were really bored, you'd go out of town in search of abandoned places, owning them for a while until someone else found them and ruined them almost immediately.

it was expected and common sense you'd show up at ever party. then you all would split for a while but meet up in order to leave. belch was in priority not to drink or get high until anyone else got a license. that's what you all agreed on but that possiblility seemed unlikely.

at school you avoided bullying anyone, but giving up on trying to stop them from terrosizing another kid since it was the only thing they ignored you on. the only time you fought back was to defend yourself. not that you needed to, but because you wanted them to know that you weren't as incompetent as you seemed.

when you had the change you'd shoot empty beer bottles with henry's dad's gun.

Henry Bowers

you and henry would share your deep wounds together. him about his alcoholic and insane old man, and you about your hard time fitting in, both in family and friends.

you would joke around, but to an extent. if you said the wrong thing he'd refuse to speak to you for days, weeks or maybe even months – depending how much it affected him. if he was too stubborn, vic would have to somehow find a way to talk him out of his bitchy attitude.

despite him trying to seem hard-shelled, deep down he was very sensitive. he knew you knew that, and he hated it. it was the only thing he hated about you except the fact that tend to be pushy sometimes.

he had never cried in front the guys, but one day he couldn't hold back when he was only with you. it happened only once, but he still feels humiliated about it and hopes you'd never bring it up. he made you swore to never tell anyone.

butch seemed to like you for a reason, only approving of you from the gang. he hated the rest. when you find yourself at their house, he'd warmly greet you.

at first he and patrick made a lot of sexist joke about you. later when he noticed you went silent you, he started using them less, only saying them once or twice.

always offers you cigarettes, and makes sure to buy your favorites.

sometimes (when he's not in a shitty mood) he pays for your food when you go at the diner without saying a word or giving you the chance to convince him otherwise.

all good things considered, let's be honest here cuz we all know he has more negative that good qualities.

for example; gets jealous super easily and gets mad at you for it, making you apologize for something that isn't your fault.

NEVER admits he's wrong. ever.

when you have a different opinion he tells you to shut up or straight up threatens you.

needs a lot of attention, while also can't have on his tail all the time, making him indecisive and confusing.

sometimes doesn't realize you need help and leaves you deal with your problems alone while you clearly do need some sort of hand.

still, you always have a way to be together again, unable to keep any distance between you both. on weekends you usually take the bus to his house, helping him with the choses around the farm.

Vic Criss

you and vic already knew each other from middle school. you were in the same class and he used to help you with homework.

then, when kids started growing up through that phase everybody did about that sort of rivalry against girls and boys. because of that, your 'friendship' fell apart.

you weren't really friends back then but you could've been.

he never admitted it but he always stared at you from away, wishing you would somehow start talking to each other again.

he was the one who convinced henry to approach you that day. the idea popped into his mind just as those rumors started going around.

he was glad henry agreed. even though he always did, he was anxious of saying no. later, he lied to you, saying it was henry's idea instead and that first interaction you had with him was henry's way of being kind (despite calling you a 'whore').

you and vic were close, in a different way you were with the others. he understood you better and he was very good at telling advice. he was also fun gossiping with. definitely the best when having a sleepover. the others found him annoying or bitchy about it, but with you he was himself.

he also was kinda subtle about his true personality, not showing his true small but intresting quirks only you knew.

speaking of gossiping, almost every weekend he crashed at your place, the excuse being his siblings giving him a headache, while his mom being 'a pain in the ass'.

everytime he had a problem with the others you would be the first to know. he was still henry's 'right-man', but sometimes henry was, well... henry.

at parties he'd get wasted and you'd be 100% sure he'd be found in the bathroom pucking his guts out.

you guys are so close he would be showering while you were doing your business at the toilet, gossiping about everything single detail.

still sometimes helps you with school after some persuation, but keeps reminding you that 'he is not your tutor'.

loves braiding your hair when you're hanging out, especially during class when it's something super boring (even for him).

Patrick Hockstetter

you were honestly pretty scared of patrick at first, and most definitely the only one from the gang who gave you the creepes.

the alligations weren't few, to say the least, and at first you kept your distance from him.

he also didn't try to make a move on you, which you found stange, yet grateful. maybe henry threatened him or something. either way you were considerably on good terms with patrick.

one day at school, while you were waiting for the other three to come at your usual spot during break, he offered you a cigarette. you received it with gratitude, since it was rare for an offer coming from patrick. he even stricked up a conversation, which was... maybe a bit thought provoking.

then he smirked – that one charismatic he wore when you would stop being able to read his mind. he was like a puzzle, but most pieces were missing or switched with incorrect ones. "are the rumors true?", he asked, closing his zippo with a 'click' after he light your cigarette.

"i dont think that you care if they're true or not," you answered back, the tobacco filling your lungs with nicotine.

clouds of smoke escaped his nostrils with each chuckle. "maybe."

on your ride home Black Sun Morning by Screaming Trees was playing from the radio and you found yourself singing alongside patrick. he rose his brows, "you know 'em?"

"duh, of course."

the next day on the ride to school, instead of gossiping with vic you ended up having a deep conversation with patrick about music. you never imagined that you'd be having a conversation about art with him of all people.

since then, you hit it off well. he stopped using sexist comments as well, and even attempted physical contact at the diner, brushing his fingers against your hair. when he realized you let him or try to stop him, he smiled to himself.

in the end you were usually seen together, you sitting on his lap during breaks or at the gym stands, in the car or diner. he would wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. it was making the others sick.

sometimes you attempted to help him with homework, but he only agreed so you could just hangout. he wasn't really interested in attending college. the thing he was good at was certainly playing the guitar. both bass and lead guitar. vic jokes about him making a band but it something told you he didn't view it as a light joke.

one day he invited you to his house to show you his vinyls and discs. that's when you met his mother and was pretty surprised to find out she was vietnamese. he made sure to never speak vietnamese around you or the others.

when meeting you he became less... interested at the fridge at the junkyard, viewing it less and less. maybe therapy was starting to work out? even for a tiny bit.

extremely protective of you, especially at parties. makes sure to keep an eye out even though you wouldn't know it.

Belch Huggins

belch was the most chill and the most independent one of the gang. aways making sure everything was in check and going smoothly. it was no surprise he was super welcome to you and tried to make you at ease the first few weeks, asking you if you were okay or needed a ride home.

is a gentleman, of course. doesn't tolerance any disrespect towards you, no matter how small it may seem to you.

offeres to pay for you when going out, no matter how many times you don't let him.

one time you both got so drunk you couldn't stop laughing; your bellys hurting and your eyes filled with tears while your faces were bright red. it made henry mad (as usual) but it's a memory you'd never forget. you had no way to get back home, though.

on fridays you watch him play basketball, sitting at the stands, and smoking and encouraging him. sometimes vic or patrick came too, but it was very rarely.

he offers you the ball but you immediately decline, being reminded of the day the ball hit you in the face after you missed your shot.

you requested him to teach you how to drive, which was a bad idea honestly. at first you didn't understand his instructions at all, but when he asked you if you had any questions you lied saying 'no'. after that instead of stepping on going forward you accidentally went backwards, almost crashing his beloved trams-am that he named 'daisy'. then you turned the wheel too far, almost falling at a ditch before he saved you two.

swore that you'd never get a license in your life and forbid you anywhere near the wheel, not even the passengers seat.

his dad owes a workshop, fixing cars. he helped too, supporting him in any way he could. you also helped him here and there while he taught you the basics and answered any questions you had.

he promised that he'd let you fix a car entirely on your own without his help. he said he'd also let you keep it for free.

you have a drawer contained only of belch's clothes. at first you'd ask him to try his sweatshirts on. then you'd complain you were cold and he'd sigh, saying you could give it back another day. but you never did.

you loved it when he gave you biggyback rides. his, especially. he could never refuse, despise how tired he was.

#:girlystories #:girlystoriess #[🦢]#it headcanons #it x reader #bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #henry bowers x reader #henry bowers #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #victor criss x reader #victor criss #belch huggins x reader #belch huggings #it fanfiction #it 2017 #it chapter one #headcanons

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hobisfavoritespritecan · 6 months ago

Note

Hey,

First of all, I absolutely adore your writing style and in general your stories (especially the Hannibal ones). Could you please write one, where Hannibal is overly possessive, because he thought his wife got too close to Chilton at one of his dinner parties? And to end it all of there is smut. (If you are comfortable with that).Thank you for considering

Close Call

Hannibal Lecter X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Over possessiveness on Hannibal's part, slight angst, swearing, mentions of blood and wounds, sociopathic and manipulative tendencies, uhh first time writing smut so hopefully it's okay (it's fairly light) ⚠️

I also didn't read through this again and edit it, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors!

Hannibal finds himself somewhat outraged at an overly confident Chilton getting too close to his wife. No matter, he'll just have to remind the two of you of what's his.

Dinner parties were nothing short of extravagant when it came to Hannibal Lecter's craft.

The wines were paired with the delicacies adorning the plates on the mahogany table; everything had its own respective place, down to the last spoon and fork on each intricately folded napkin. There was, of course, the smell wafting through the corridors of the Lecters' home, signifying the delicious meal being prepared in the kitchen and acting as bait to those mingling in the living room as they awaited the call to be seated. From your perspective, the table had to be crafted to perfection so that the party full of rich good-for-nothings had no complaints of the events of the night. Of course, you adored your husband's cooking, but less so you enjoyed the company he chose. Intelligence wasn't something that came from the accumulation of degrees and the bragging of doing so- in your opinion- but rather came from the passion associated with the understanding of others and their natural environments. In other words, conversations of nonsensical retellings of the rise to power and gathering of wealth that these particular guests had were of no interest to you. These people spoke of books on law and work projects as though they've forgotten entirely what it means to express humanity: experience.

But you were ever so careful to express your opinion on the subject of what it means to be human. Although you acknowledged your differing perspective, you didn't want to diminish the perspectives of those who might only know of the desires associated with "book smarts," and not what you referred to as "experience points." These two things could coexist, but it was often that a person leaned heavier towards either side. You still had more to learn about the balance of these, but alas, that is the human condition.

Hannibal loved you for this.

Being someone so intensely driven towards the path of psychology and law, it was refreshing being married to someone who expressed opposition to having that be the basis of every conversation. He loved a good conversation on written words and philosophers and mathematical expressions, but he loved even more to have someone in his life that kept him his understanding of biology and the preservation of his humanity. With his- er- hobby, as some would refer to it as- it became difficult to maintain this humanistic approach. These dinner parties served more as an obligatory social preservation to his image, so as not to be caught with his peculiar hobby.

And the culinary arts were his escape, anyways. A win-win except for the fact you'd be bored out of your mind talking to some of these people, he knew. Nevertheless, you had a polite smile etched onto your face wearing very presentable attire. You were a master at code-switching, it seemed, replacing your usually laid-back and outgoing personality with a more hoity-toity, reserved aura.

You had on a slightly more revealing outfit; a dress so navy it almost seemed black under any lighting that wasn't direct candlelight. This dress had been cut just above the knees with an off-shoulder neckline, exposing the very top of your chest and the beginning of your upper thighs. It was classily paired with silver earrings gifted to you by your husband, and a half up-do with your precariously crafted curls threatening to spill out of the fastened hairclip from behind. Hannibal had expressed just how lovely you'd looked as he helped you with your zipper earlier, placing a hemline of kisses to your collarbone.

He wasn't the only one who'd had this realization dawn on them during the night, however. A bright-eyed Dr. Chilton who'd received nothing short of a pity-invite, found himself drawing away from the conveniently placed appetizers to the lavish chairs facing the fireplace where you sat. He silently waited for your conversation to conclude before he decided to sweep in and take the woman's place on your right, finishing the glass of brandy in his hand before doing so.

"(Y/N)," He almost seemed exasperated, as if he were already slightly drunk, "A pleasure."

He reached out his hand to you in an attempt to get you to shake it as an overly friendly gesture, acknowledgement to his presence. You proceeded to smile at him instead, as you'd become familiar to his intentions.

"Hello, Dr. Chilton, how are you?"

His face flushed as he withdrew his hand from your space, opting to rest it against his leg as he sunk further into his chair, getting more comfortable. He was definitely drunk and if not drunk, then the far side of tipsy. You already didn't care for the guy much, so this chance encounter was a hinderance in your eyes before conversational topics even arose.

"You know, I never understood the drab curtains you chose for the interior of your living room, Mrs. Lecter. They block out all of the sunlight." He began, eyeing the bottle of scotch being poured out by another guest to the left of your chair. His eyes seemed to be glazed over as he spoke, however, the dimly lit fireplace seemed to cast some light back into them. His suit of choice was a corduroy one. The heavy material of the fabric already making him break out in a slight sweat.

Grimacing, you feign another smile as you fully acclimate yourself to the conversation at hand. You tell yourself to remember your polite flattery, but honestly with the way Dr. Chilton was, you knew he would take any sort of attention to his character the wrong way.

"Yes, that was the way we intended them to be, doctor. Have you ever been to our home during the daytime? It's not as drab as you may have perceived it to be."

Dr. Chilton had been coming onto you for quite some time now. Despite knowing you were wed and the many implications of your marriage you'd spoken about, he still managed to hold onto the hope that maybe one day something would spark between the two of you. It wouldn't. It hadn't. His blatantly disrespectful comments about yours and Hannibal's relationship were starting to burrow under your skin and take root in an uncomfortable fashion. Part of you felt bad for the man, another part wanted to sock him in the face.

Respectably, of course.

"Perhaps not. Maybe I spoke out of turn." He claimed, uneasily moving about in his chair despite his initial comfortability at the beginning of your dialogue. Maybe if you kept with the slight I-don't-like-you innuendos, then maybe he would be drunk enough to give it a rest and would return to his normal self come morrow.

"Maybe." You agree, taking a sip from your glass of Chardonnay. It was almost dinnertime. You could hold out until then, couldn't you?

"You know," Chilton began, staring deep into the fire and allowing a hushed sigh to escape your lips in anticipation of another redundant comment, "I used to set fires in Uni all the time. Its a miracle I graduated with any degree at all with the amount of trouble I used to get into as a boy."

Pause. Was there finally something worthwhile to discuss with this man?

"Really? And the occasion was...?" You asked, trying to direct the topic back to this small bombshell the Doctor had just dropped in your presence. Experience points were far more interesting to talk about than a poor understanding of the "48 Laws of Power," which was the last conversation you'd had.

He seemed to perk up in his chair realizing that you'd finally taken something that left his mouth with interest. "None, we were just playing with matches and grew bored. Only got caught because the wind carried the flames back to our dorm which almost set alight." He smiled and for a moment, you could see the memory replaying through those glossy eyes of his. You felt included, as if you'd been there yourself, watching the growing light of the flames dance around the edges of the matches you were playing with.

As if on cue, your husband's hand was gently but firmly placed on your shoulder from behind. You knew instantly it was him because of the wafting smell of his woodsy cologne and the wine he was drinking infiltrating your nose. His grip on you was polite but there was an edge to it, an unfamiliar one at that. Was something wrong?

Turning around, you see his darkened glare towards Chilton in the chair next to you. His matching dark navy suit making him look all the more professional and intimidating in this light; if you were Chilton you'd have run far far away from the glare Hannibal had. He seemed to pay no mind, however, eyes still focused on you until your husband broke the silence:

"Dinnertime."

It was at that moment that you noticed all the other guests had made their way to the kitchen and the three of you were the only ones in the living room. How long had you been talking to the doctor for? Hannibal's repressed anger suddenly made sense.

Walking to the kitchen, you were in awe at the sight before you. Hannibal had really put his all into tonight, and it showed. The plates were nothing short of art with the first course on display with accompanying sauces and garnish that turned them into something out of a museum painting. The entire get-up was something out of the Renaissance itself; everything in its perfect place. Hannibal stood at the head of the table, glass in hand as he prepared to make a toast to progress the night's dinner.

"I would like to thank you all for coming out tonight."

A collection of smiles and exchanged glances ensued, everyone pleased with their invite.

"Amongst this crowd are the most intellectual and inspiring people I've had the pleasure of getting to become familiar with. You're all of high accomplishments and achievements and I would like to thank each of you, individually, with a meal that encapsulates such dedication shown by you all."

Your husband then smiled at you and raised his glass.

"I would also like to thank my lovely wife, with whom I share this simple but joyous life with."

There was a hint of something there, something alongside the adoration he expressed for you on the daily. There was a twinge of that anger once more, but could it really be directed towards your conversation with Chilton? It seemed so clear to you that your husband surpassed the former in every way possible: intelligence and compassion, hell, down to the formal attire he adorned himself with daily. There was no way he would feel threatened by another man so unruly.

"Likewise." You said, tilting your glass up to the ceiling in acknowledgement of his kind and respectable words.

"Once more to reiterate, MY wife and I spent a long time on this meal so I hope you all enjoy it." He smiled a forced grin and directed his gaze towards Chilton. "And nothing on the menu for tonight is vegetarian."

...

The night was filled with more of the usual countless bantering between everyone in the room, trying to appeal more and more to everyone else. You were swept into what seemed like every conversation in the house and all of this sociability was starting to grow exhausting. The meal was phenomenal, to say the least, but did little to calm your worries with your husband's current expression of intolerance and dismay. You wanted nothing more than to head upstairs to your shared bedroom and to sort things out with him; to maybe end the night with a passionate kiss and to then retire to bed, finally. That desire, however, seemed like miles away because of the ongoing event that you were starting to despise more with every passing minute.

Not to mention, your dress was starting to get extremely uncomfortable, as if your skin were melting into the seams of the fabric.

As if on cue to make the night worse, Dr. Chilton was making his way towards you, undoubtedly much more drunk this time. He was stumbling over his own loafers and the floorboards were not his friend at the moment. He was making a fool of himself and you wanted so badly to just disappear.

Just then, the floorboard by the fireplace where you were sitting popped up in front of him. Everything from then went in slow-motion, the wood, the stumbling of Chilton's feet and the slow advancement towards the fire. Seeing how this would play out, you wanted to yell "Stop!" but you were frozen. Just as you had predicted, he had a horrid fall towards the open flame, his cufflinks connecting with the place stones and his right arm breaking the fall. His hand wasn't lucky enough to miss the fire, his scream instantly echoing throughout the room.

"Dr. Chilton!" Hannibal yelled, already to his feet with the pitcher of water from the charcuterie table. It was insane that his reflexes allowed him to respond instantaneously. Almost as if he had prepared for the doctor's fall. Springing the water onto Chilton, the fire was put out almost as quickly as it had started.

"Are you okay?" You asked the doctor, leaning down to his level on the floor, holding his now hurt hand.

"B-b-bandages." He was able to muster out.

The closer look you got to his hand, the closer you could see the wound. The flames didn't consume his flesh for very long, although there was now a coating of red on his skin alongside a few open gashes. Looking to your husband for help, you instead saw him standing above you, a scowl on his lips. He looked angrier than he'd ever before and the sight of it scared you. Had he been angry that the party was ruined? That one of his guests were hurt?

Chilton was then led to the kitchen where his wounds were properly addressed and tended to. The aid kit that had collected dust on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet had finally been put to use, and, upon further inspection, it had been decided for the doctor to call for an ambulance for a more professional treatment.

He left. Everyone followed suit. It was now only you and your husband.

"I'm sorry that had to happen the way it did." You said, reaching out to touch his shoulder and soothe him in my way you could. "Would you like me to help you clean up?"

He mumbled something under his breath before he made his way up the elongated glass stairs. It was unbelievably peculiar for him to retire to bed this early, especially before cleaning up from a party.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, voice coming out as nothing more than a feeble whisper. He stopped in his tracks, his blazer now resting atop his free arm opposite to the one holding the railing. His tie was loosened and from where you were standing, you couldn't see his face all that clearly.

He finally spoke up.

"What are your intentions with Chilton?" He asked.

You stopped in your initial tracks to follow your husband up the stairs. Was he accusing you of courtship? And with the doctor of all people?

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N)."

Your heart broke for a moment, there was no way he really thought that after years of marriage, after what you had come to learn about him and his... capabilities...that you would choose another man, albeit in front of his own eyes?

"I have no intentions with Chilton, Hanni. Not as an acquaintance, not as a friend, not as a lover." You continued to follow him up the stairs and to your shared bedroom where he placed the blazer and tie on the bedside table rather than hang it up as he usually did. He undid his cufflinks and unbuttoned the top his neckline.

"I only want you, Hannibal. You know that."

He pursed his lips and finally, from where he leant against the bed, looked up at you standing in the doorframe. Your expression was a worried one, not of someone who had underlying intentions. Hannibal knew what you wanted, knew who you wanted, but Chilton had gotten the better of him tonight. And besides, tormenting the two of you to remind both of you who you belong to was a much more satisfying game to play.

"Alright." Hannibal said, accepting your validation with his thick, Danish accent. "Show me."

"I- what?" You asked, being taken aback completely by surprise. His eyes were dark with thoughts you had grown to be all too familiar with from him. Despite clearly understanding his interpretation of the words, you still stood frozen at the door, waiting. There was something about this that wasn't going to be as sweet as the usual slow and sensual intimacy you'd had with your husband and you knew this fact.

Just then, as if taking your hesitance as permission, he stands and walks over to you, the height difference ever so apparent now that you were face to face. His gelled hair was now starting to come undone, as was yours, as he held your gaze. His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear and then trailed to your neck, your collarbone, your breast. He then allowed his hand to go further, down to your waist and then pulled you into him, holding you there as gently but firm as one could be. He was watching your face as he did so, never breaking eye contact even once.

Your breath hitched in your throat. A growing warmth developed in your midsection as your husband had you entranced with his every move. He was enjoying this, enjoying you, enjoying the situation he put you in. He had turned on his more sadistic side and it was becoming evident with the way he progressed down your body, replacing his hands with kisses and moving towards your thighs then back up, as if with haste, towards your mouth. You felt as though you were going to faint right then and there.

He suddenly stops his kisses and then goes to finish unbuttoning his shirt. His wide frame was revealed with every unfastened button popping off, slowly but surely. Every inch of his skin had been crafted to the likes of the gods, it was as if he were one of them himself. No imperfections in his skin as far as the eye could see. He was beautiful. He was the divine definition of beauty itself.

He swiftly moved his hands to your throat, fingers following suit as he held you there, against the bedroom wall, a juxtaposition to his masterfully divine beauty of feigned innocence. His breath was hot but not unpleasant as he whispered into the nape of your neck:

"You belong to me."

And that was all it took for you to fold entirely, becoming a puppet to his every command, desires of the flesh being the only thing on both your minds. You needed him and he needed you to need him. He wanted a full surrender, a full understanding that he was the only man you'd ever be able to fulfill these lustrous fantasies with.

"Do you understand?" He asked, not giving you a second to think any further before he moved you from the wall and to the bed, where he towered over you.

"Y-yes." You said, waiting to see what he would do next.

"Good. Now take it."

Confused, you looked up at him but he had already had other plans, flipping you into your stomach and forcing himself inside you, under your dress. The instant burn that you felt was replaced by immediate satisfaction as you saw stars. Through this position you could feel him inside you, hot and intense, pushing deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. He dug into you until he was all you could feel, hear, taste, see. He was owning every inch of your skin and forcing you to feel it.

And you loved it.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, anger laced in his voice.

"You." You tried your best to get out with the intense feeling between your thighs but it was next to impossible.

"What was that?" He asked once more, forcing you to say it louder.

Just as you were about to respond, he picks you up and turns you around to face him, taking in his expression. You were on your knees looking up at him, tears in your eyes at the intensity of what had just happened. Your dress was definitely ruined by this point but you couldn't care less.

"You." You said, waiting for him to say something, anything at all. He placed his finger on your lips and smiled down at you while he toyed with them. He then put himself inside of your mouth, your jaws stretching to be able to take him.

"Good." He said, quickening his original pace as he sighed with content. You allowed him to finish before the two of you fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.

He was holding you in his arms now, making sure you were alright as he kissed the top of your head and face, looking at the marks he'd left on your skin. He'd make sure those were more visible the next time someone tried to intrude on your guys' company. Especially on a pity invite.

He'd also make sure not to let Chilton off with a warning next time, making sure to purposely set his entire body on fire, not just his hand.

But you were asleep soundly in his arms, full of him and he had won.

...

A/N : Hello! This is my first time writing smut kinda so I hope this is up to par with some other fanfic writers. I really hope this fulfills your request! Lmk if anyone has any other requests, my ask box is open! 🫶

#hannibal x reader #hannigram #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkleson #fanfiction #fanfic writing #hobisfavoritespritecan

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magewritesstories · 1 year ago

Text

[ ᴊᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴀʀɪᴀɴᴏ ] ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

summary: Luke doesn’t understand where Jess’s sudden motivation to do well in school is coming from TW: none note: i love him sm, but it’s a pretty short fic

“I’m leaving!”

Luke looked up, astonished at the sight that greeted him. Jess stood in the doorway of the diner, with a book bag slung across his shoulder, headed towards the library.

This had been happening for about two weeks now. Every Wednesday at 15:45 on the dot his nephew— his school despising nephew— had been leaving to go to the Stars Hollow Library

The older brunet had made sure that he was actually going to the library and not off to Walmart to pick up some extra shifts.

Jess made his way across the townsquare towards the local library. Everyone who knew the boy in the slightest would know he had no business there— his habit of annotating books meant he couldn’t borrow any, and he despised the quiet— so why was Jess Mariano going to the Stars Hollow Library?

The answer was very simple; Jess had a crush.

You were always there. Sitting in a faraway corner, of the library, working on homework or reading for an assignment.

A few weeks ago he’d gathered the courage to walk up to you when you were reading Wuthering Heights. He was surprised when you remembered him from your english and biology classes (mostly because he was rarely there.)

You were sitting in your usual spot when Jess arrived. It was a small wooden desk, with enough place for two people. The edges of the table were worn, just like the fabric of the pillows on the chairs. There was small yellow-light over the table that blinked every now and then.

The black-haired boy made his way over to the table, letting his bag fall onto the floor with a loud thump.

The sudden sound made you look up from your math assignment, “Oh, Jess, hey,” You gave him a bright smile, “Didn’t think you were gonna make it today.”

“Oh please, I am nothing if not consistent,” He quipped as he tried to ignore the feeling of his heart hammering against his chest.

You rolled your eyes, “They only thing you’re consistent in is bailing, Mariano.” Jess shrugged, “Doesn’t really matter what it’s in, I am consistent.”

“I heard you missed the math quiz yesterday?” You asked, turning back to your homework, “And I missed you in english.”

The teen shrugged, grabbing his books, “I had some stuff to do.” You raised an eyebrow, “Stuff?”

“Yeah, stuff.”

“Well, you missed Ms Bledel handing out our assignment,” You continued. Another thing Jess loved about being around; you didn’t push too hard on things that weren’t your business.

You handed him a copy of your notes, “It’s a two person assignment, and since you weren’t there I made sure we were paired up— so you better not choose next week thursday to be consistent.”

Jess laughed, taking the papers, “I make no promises.”

It was a busy day in the diner when you stormed in. Jess was refilling Rory’s cup of coffee, when the bell rang and you shouted his name.

He looked up in surprise, along with Luke and Rory. “I got an A!” You shouted, running over to him. The black-haired boy wrapped his arms around you in surprise when you jumped towards him, “Thank you!”

You were referring to the fact that he’d helped you with the english assignment and you’d gotten an A for it— which was practically unachievable since Ms Bledel never gave A’s.

Jess rolled his eyes, hoping that the tinge of red on his cheeks wasn’t obvious, “It’s not a big deal,” He shrugged as you pulled away.

“It’s a huge deal,” You countered, “She never gives out A’s, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten an A for english in my life.”

Rory, who was watching the scene amusedly, nodded along, “Yeah, even I haven’t gotten an A in her class before.”

Having heard the commotion Luke walked over to the three teens, “I heard someone got an A?” You nodded, proudly holding up your’s and Jess’s copy of the assignment— bit with a red A on them.

“Oh this is so going on the fridge,” Luke smirked, which made the black-haired boy groan, “Please don’t...”

You giggled slightly at the scene in front of you, before realising you had other places to be. “I have to go,” You said, “But I’ll see you at the library tomorrow?”

That’s when it clicked in Luke’s head; the sudden motivation to do well in school had nothing to do with his threats of kicking Jess out if he failed, it was simple puppy love.

The brunet watched in amusement as his nephew’s eyes followed you all the way to the end of the street.

You had become Jess’s motivation.

word count → 782 words links → gilmore girls masterlist

#gilmore girls #jess mariano #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano fanfic #jess mariano headcanons #gilmore girls x reader #gilmore girls fanfic

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v6quewrlds · 27 days ago

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❝ bad liar, a. iosivas. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: midterm season at princeton is no joke. despite your commitment to academic success, your friends convince you to take just one night off to go out for halloween. andrei is a nice perk too.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: andrei fic bc that's my baby boy. i needed more andrei fics so i decided to make my own lmao. this will have at least one other part, part two here.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: suggestive, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. friends to lovers, andrei is a simp 🫵🏾, language, sexual references & innuendos, irresponsible decision making, college setting, presumably underaged drinking.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: andrei iosivas x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.4k.

Your eyes scanned the dense text of your biology book, your highlighter poised and ready to strike. You sat at your desk, the room's soft light reflecting off your round glasses, casting an orange halo on the pages in front of you. Your braids were pulled back into a tight bun, a few loose strands escaping to frame your focused expression. The only sound was the steady tick of the clock on the wall, marking the seconds that brought you closer to the dreaded physics midterm exam. Your mind was a mess of formulas and principles, your thoughts racing to keep up with the material you needed to commit to memory.

The door to your dorm room swung open, and in barged a flurry of energy—Kaia, your best friend, and fellow study buddy—her silk-pressed hair bouncing with every step.

"Girl, I know you're not still stuck on that same page," Kaia teased, tossing her bag onto the chair. Her voice had the melodic lilt of her Brooklyn upbringing, a stark contrast to the seriousness etched on your face. "You're gonna wear a hole in that book if you don't give it a rest."

You sighed and set the highlighter down, rubbing your eyes. "I can't help it. This stuff just won't stick."

"Well, maybe a little break would help," Kaia suggested, plopping down on the bed. She pulled out her phone and opened TikTok, the app's loud music completely cutting any remaining focus you might have had.

"Look at this one," she giggled, flipping the screen towards you as you simply looked at your best friend with a blank expression. "Fix your face, I'm trying to help you."

The group chat on Kaia's phone began to blow up with messages. It was your friends Andrei, Malik, and Javi, asking if they could crash the study session. You groaned internally, knowing that once they arrived, studying would take a complete backseat to their usual shenanigans. But you couldn't ignore the twinge of relief you felt at the thought of a distraction. "They want to come over," Kaia announced, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Tell them no," you responded, turning your attention to your phone that lay face down on your desk. You knew your friends' intentions were not to help you study, but you couldn't hide the smile that played at the corners of your mouth.

Kaia only smirked, sending a text into the group chat. "Nah, let's hear them out. Call Andrei."

You rolled your eyes as you turned to face your best friend once again. "Why do I have to call him?" You protested, knowing full well that Kaia had an ulterior motive.

"Because..." Kaia hummed, her eyes glinting with mischief, "You know he'll answer for you." She nudged you playfully. "Let's be real, dude’s in love with you. He'll pick up on the first ring."

You playfully slapped Kaia's leg. "Shut up, Kaia," you said, your cheeks suddenly hot with embarrassment.

Kaia simply rolled her eyes muttering, "Girl, just call him." With a dramatic sigh, you picked up your phone and dialed Andrei's number. Sure enough, he picked up on the first ring.

"Yo, what's good?" Andrei's voice boomed through the phone speaker, sounding way too cheerful for someone who should be studying for midterms.

You couldn't help but laugh. "We're trying to study for our Physics exam," you said, glancing at Kaia who was now lying on her front atop the bed. "What are you doing?"

Andrei's voice was filled with feigned innocence. "Just chilling, missing my favorite girls. Why are you guys still at it this late?"

You shot a look at Kaia, who was grinning ear to ear. "Well, some of us actually have to work for our grades," you quipped, "Not all of us can be student-athletes."

Andrei's sarcastic laugh echoed through the phone. "Ouch, that's low, bruh," he said, but the good-natured teasing was a familiar dance between the two of you.

Malik's voice interrupted, his deep chuckle audible in the background. "Why don't you just let us come over and bring some good vibes to this sad-ass study party?"

You rolled your eyes. "First of all, it’s not a party. Second, y'all are everything but good vibes. Why do you wanna come over so bad?" you challenged, a hint of curiosity in your voice despite your protests.

Malik's voice grew loud and dramatic. "I'm dying over here, bro. Andrei got no snacks, Javi got no weed, and I'm just here, starving and sober. We just need a little love from our favorite pre-med."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Who said I have snacks or weed?" you shot back. "Javi and Andrei are athletes who shouldn't be smoking anyway. Plus, I need my study space."

But the boys were persistent. Andrei's voice grew more persuasive. "Come on, dude. We're bored over here. You always have food."

You sighed, glancing at the well-stocked snack shelf. "Fine," you relented, "But only if you bring over something to replace what you're going to eat. And y'all can share one blunt, okay?"

The line went silent for a moment as the boys deliberated the terms before Andrei's voice broke through, "Deal, we're on our way." The call ended, and the room filled with the sound of Kaia's laughter. "You know you love the attention," she teased.

You couldn't argue, you did enjoy their company. The stress of your MCAT and midterms had been suffocating you, and a night of distraction sounded heavenly. You leaned back in your chair and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine, but we're going back to studying after this," you warned.

Kaia just winked. "We'll see."

Nearly 30 minutes later, just as the girls began to wonder where the boys were, the door to the dorm burst open, and in came Andrei, Malik, and Javi, a whirlwind of testosterone and laughter. They barged in, tossing their jackets and shoes onto the floor, and immediately made a beeline for the snacks. You sighed, watching them dig through your stash without as much as a greeting or acknowledgment of either one of you.

"Looks like they're not going anywhere for a while," Kaia murmured, her eyes on the chaos unfolding in front of you.

You couldn't help but laugh. "I guess not," you said, shaking your head as Malik pulled out a bag of chips. You leaned back in your chair, watching as your friends raided your snacks like a pack of hungry wolves. They had barely taken a breath before Andrei looked up at you with his round brown eyes, holding out a takeout box of fortune cookies from the Chinese restaurant across the street. "Thought you could use this," he said, his voice hopeful.

Your stomach rumbled in response, and you took the box gratefully, setting it on your desk. "Thanks," you murmured, popping open the lid to reveal a handful of the cookies. The scent of various snacks and the sound of popped soda tags filled the room. Suddenly the thought of studying was less appealing than it had been a few minutes ago.

Kaia sat up, your eyes lighting up. "You guys are the best," she said, snatching a bag of M&Ms from Malik’s Walmart bag. "But seriously, girl, take a break. You're gonna burn out."

You knew Kaia was right. You had been pushing yourself to the brink for weeks now, and maybe a little break was exactly what you needed. "Okay," you said with a sigh, "But just for a little bit. We still have that exam tomorrow."

The boys nodded, though their eyes remained glued to the TV that had been turned on without your permission. "Don't worry, we got you," Malik said, plopping down on the floor with his bag of chips.

"If you get crumbs on my carpet, Malik, I swear to god I'll end up on the news for your death," you warned, but the smirk on your face betrayed your true feelings. You couldn't stay mad at them for long. They were your chosen family here at Princeton, the ones who knew you inside out, who had seen you at your best and your worst, and who had your back through every exam and heartache.

As the group settled in, the TV's volume grew louder, and the energy in the room shifted from one of studious tension to easy conversation. You found yourself leaning back into your bed, a mouthful of sushi balanced on a chopstick, listening to Malik's latest conspiracy rant with a mix of amusement and admiration. Despite your initial protests, the break was just what you needed. Andrei sat beside you on the bed, his knee brushing against yours as he scrolled through his phone, occasionally chiming in with a joke that made you laugh. The warmth from his leg was oddly comforting, and you found yourself not minding his presence as much as you'd feigned earlier.

The conversation grew livelier as they discussed their upcoming Halloween plans. You had been contemplating skipping the festivities to focus on MCAT prep, but the enthusiasm of your friends was contagious. "Come on, dude," Kaia pleaded, her voice mirroring the exaggerated pout on her face, "It's our last fall together, you can't just study the whole semester." You sighed, you knew Kaia was right considering Javi was a year ahead of the rest of you and would be off to grad school this time next year.

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth twitching. "Fine," you conceded, "But I'm not going all out with costumes or anything."

Malik groaned obnoxiously, gaining a glare from you who reached over to pop him in the head. "Ow," he complained, "Why you gotta be like that? Halloween is the best night of the year."

"Because it's a distraction," you said, your eyes returning to your notes. "I need to focus on the MCAT."

"Dude, you're not going to learn anything if you don't take breaks," Andrei said, his voice gentle but firm. "Besides, it's Halloween. Live a little."

You sighed, knowing he had a point. You looked around at your friends, all of you in various states of relaxation and indulgence, and felt a pang of longing for the days when you could let loose like that. "Okay, okay," you said, holding up your hands in surrender. "But we're not staying out late."

"Pinky promise?" Andrei asked, his grin wide and mischievous.

You rolled your eyes, a small smile playing on your lips. "Pinky promise," you said, looping your pinky with his. Pinky promises in your friend group were serious business, obligations that could not be broken without severe repercussions. The warmth of his touch lingered as the two of you broke the promise, and you couldn't help the flutter of excitement in your stomach.

As the night grew darker outside, the group's energy grew more intense. The laughter grew louder, the music got bolder, and the jokes edgier. You found yourself getting lost in the moment, your worries about the MCAT and school momentarily forgotten. They decided on their costumes for the coming night, a group theme of Toy Story characters. Kaia proudly announced she would be a slutty Jessie, urging you to join in as a slutty Barbie from the second movie. Malik muttered that it wouldn't be too difficult under his breath, gaining another smack to the head from both girls this time.

The night of Halloween arrived, and the anticipation was palpable. Your dorm room was a chaotic mess of makeup and costume pieces as the trio of girls got ready. Kaia, ever the fashionista, had gone all out with a red-sequined corset, a cowboy hat, and thigh-high boots for her Jessie costume, while Faith, Javi's girlfriend, had chosen a Mrs. Potato Head look that perfectly complemented Javi's Mr. Potato Head ensemble. You, true to your promise, planned on wearing a blue catsuit with 80s leg warmers. You reluctantly accepted the "stripper heels" Faith brought over from her closet, reminding herself that it was just for one night.

As the three of you applied your makeup, the conversation was a mix of nervous laughter and playful banter about your costumes. "You're gonna break necks in those heels," Faith said, admiring your bare legs underneath the oversized Princeton shirt from freshman orientation. Kaia giggled, "And Andrei's gonna lose his mind when he sees you."

You playfully rolled your eyes, but the mention of Andrei had your heart beating faster. You had always felt a connection with him but never wanted to admit it. You had been friends for so long, that you didn't want to mess with your dynamic. Plus, you had your eyes on going to medical school, and dating was the last thing on your mind. But lately, you had caught yourself staring at his arms when he was brushing his dark hair back. His smile when he attempted to tell a joke. His big brown eyes thinking when he was trying to catch up to a reference.

The door to your dorm burst open, and the boys stumbled in, their laughter filling the room. Andrei was dressed as Buzz Lightyear, his tattoo sleeve on full display in a departure from his typical hoodies and sweatshirts. "Who's surprised that she's not ready yet?" He teased, turning his head dramatically from side to side as your friends kept silent.

You rolled your eyes as you pulled your braids into a high ponytail. "I'm almost done," you called out, your cheeks flushing slightly. You could feel the heat of Andrei's gaze on you, and you wondered if he could sense your nerves. "Give me a second to finish my makeup."

"Fuck that," Malik announced, approaching you with a hint of mischief in his eyes. Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him come closer, screaming in shock at his strength when he abruptly picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"You're not getting out of this."

True to his word, he caught the pieces of your costume tossed to him by an amused Kaia, carrying you to your bathroom before setting you down on the floor, and locking the door to leave you to change.

You slipped into the costume, your skin prickling with excitement. You looked yourself over in the mirror. The blue catsuit hugged your curves, the legwarmers adding a nostalgic flair to the look. Your makeup was simple but effective: bold winged eyeliner and a touch of blush on the cheeks, giving you the innocent yet seductive vibe of an 80s workout video instructor. You stepped out of the bathroom to the sound of whistles and applause from your friends.

"You guys are pigs," you said with a laugh, your cheeks burning as you took in their appreciative looks.

Andrei's gaze lingered on you longer than the others, his eyes traveling over your body in a way that made you feel both self-conscious and desired. "Pick your jaw up off the floor, Iosivas," Kaia whispered harshly, gaining a laugh from you and Faith.

Andrei's cheeks turned red, and he stumbled over his words, "You just... you look... good."

The two other girls exchanged glances, the air thickening with the unspoken tension between the two. You couldn't help but feel a thrill at his reaction. "Thanks, Andrei," you said, your voice softer than you had intended.

Snapping out of his daze, Andrei reached for one of the shot glasses Javi had filled with a questionable brand of tequila. He handed it to you with a sheepish smile. "No regrets," he said, raising his own glass. You took the shot into your hand as Javi spoke over the music, "Pa'rriba pa'bajo pa'l centro y pa dentro!", the group threw your shots back in a cheer. You held Andrei's gaze as the fiery liquid burned down your throat. The warmth of both the cheap alcohol and his heated eye contact spread through your body, loosening your nerves.

As you all left the dorm and made your way through the crowded streets of Princeton, the cool October air hit you with a chilly breeze. You shivered, but the warmth from the drinks you had been passing around kept you from feeling too cold. The town was alive with the energy of the night, students in various stages of inebriation stumbling from party to party, costumes ranging from the clever to the downright absurd.

The group decided to hit up your first club, the bass pounding from the speakers spilling onto the sidewalk and beckoning you like a siren's call. Kaia, ever the social butterfly, recognized the bouncer with a bounce in her step. Adjusting her corset, she floated over, whispering something in his ear that had him grinning like he'd just won the lottery. With a wink, she turned back to the group and gestured for you to follow her in. You felt a twinge of envy at Kaia's ease with men but brushed it aside as you were ushered into the pulsating heart of the party.

"How the fuck did you get us through that long ass line?" Malik shouted over the music as the group entered the club. The lights strobed wildly, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across your costumes. "I sucked his dick once like a year ago," Kaia responded simply, smiling sweetly at the bouncer as she sailed past. You couldn't help but laugh at your friend's audacity, the sound lost in the boom of the music.

Once inside, the group spread out a bit, each getting drinks and mingling with the sea of costumed partygoers. You found yourself drawn back to Andrei, his Buzz Lightyear costume making him stand out in the sea of prisoners and bananas. As the night went on, the drinks flowed, and the dancing grew more energetic. Andrei's hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you through the throng of bodies, and you didn't protest. The chemistry between you was palpable, a current that seemed to pulse in time with the bass of the music.

The friends danced inside the club for all of 45 minutes before Malik announced it was dead, and demanded you move to another club. You all agreed, eager for a change of scene and hoping the next place would be livelier. As you stepped into the cool night, the sound of your laughter and the throb of distant music filled the air. You felt a mix of excitement and exhaustion, but the alcohol made it easier to ignore the latter. Andrei wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you navigated the crowded street. His touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into him, feeling his strong presence against you.

The second club was a different world. The line was around the block, and the bass was so intense it made the sidewalk vibrate. You all groaned in your tipsy impatience, settling in a small circle at the back of the line behind the group in front of them.

"I can feel my common sense coming back to me," Javi complained, shooting a glare at Malik who demanded you leave the first club in the first place. "Why did we leave the last place?"

Malik shrugged, his eyes glazed over. "Because I said it was dead," he shouted back, his words losing their earlier slur.

"Luckily for you," Faith began with a smirk, "I stole this from your fridge." She lurched forward and pulled out a small, unopened bottle of Pink Whitney from her purse, a pale pink concoction that smelled faintly of sweet tea and vodka. "You're a lifesaver," Kaia said, snatching it from her hand. The others cheered as Faith playfully princess waved with a wide smile.

A twinge of annoyance flashed across your face as you watched your friends pass around your stolen Pink Whitney. "You guys are the worst," you called out over the thumping bass that echoed down the street, though the amusement in your voice was clear. "Stealing my shit like I didn't pay for it with my hard-earned work-study money."

Andrei leaned in close to whisper in your ear, a muscular arm resting on your shoulder to pull your body closer to his. His body heat sent a shiver down your spine. "But we're worth it, right?" He winked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You couldn't help but laugh shyly, nodding in agreement as you grabbed the bottle from Kaia for a quick swing. The sweetness of the drink mixed with the faint hint of vodka coated your tongue, the alcohol burning a pleasant path down your throat. The music grew louder as you approached the entrance, and you felt the vibrations through the soles of your heels.

When you finally made it inside, the club was packed. The air was hot and sticky with sweat and perfume, the lights strobing in a dizzying array of colors that painted the Princeton students in a sea of blue. Andrei didn't stray far from your side as you pushed your way through the crowd, his hand a comforting anchor amidst the chaos. You found a small space large enough for the six of you, the music so loud that conversation was almost impossible.

The beat dropped and the crowd went wild. Andrei leaned down, his mouth close to your ear. "You wanna dance?" He shouted, his breath warm against your neck. You nodded, a thrill racing through you as his hand slid around your waist, pulling you into the rhythm of the music. You moved together, your bodies syncing in a way that felt more intimate than any dance you'd shared before. His hands roamed over your hips, the fabric of his costume sticking to your skin as you danced. You felt a heat building in your chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the packed room or the cheap booze.

As the night went on, the lines between friendship and desire grew blurrier. Andrei's touches grew bolder, and you found yourself turning around to face him, your bodies pressed together as you danced. His hands slid down your back, resting on the curve of your ass, and you leaned into his touch, your heart racing. The music washed over you, the bass vibrating in your chests as your eyes locked. The chemistry was undeniable, a dance of push and pull that neither could ignore.

Kaia and Malik were already lost in their own worlds, dancing wildly with strangers, leaving you, Andrei, Javi, and Faith in your little bubbles. The air was electric with unspoken tension as Andrei leaned down to whisper innocent conversation in your ear, his breath hot against your neck as his words contrasted the tension building between your bodies. You couldn't help but close your eyes, savoring the moment. Javi and Faith were too busy making out against the wall to pay you any mind.

Suddenly, the music switched to a slow jam, and Andrei took the opportunity to pull you closer. His hands slid down to finally cup your ass, and you gasped softly. The alcohol had loosened your inhibitions, but you were still surprised by his boldness. Looking into his eyes, you saw a mix of excitement and nerves, mirroring your own feelings. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "I've wanted to do this all night," he murmured, and before you could respond, he captured your mouth in a kiss that was anything but innocent.

The kiss was deep and hungry, leaving your knees weak. Your hands found his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart as you melted into him. The crowd around you faded away, and it was just the two of you, lost in the moment. Andrei's hands roamed up your body, pulling you closer, his tongue teasing yours as you danced in a grind that was more intimate than any tango. You felt his erection pressing into you, and you couldn't help but grind back, your body responding to his touch.

The music shifted again, this time to a fast-paced rap song, snapping you out of your trance. You broke apart, both panting slightly and shared a knowing smile. The group gathered around you, Javi and Faith looking surprised at your sudden closeness. "Girl, what the fuck? When did this happen?" Faith yelled over the music, her voice playfully accusatory. You hid your face in your hands, your cheeks burning, while Andrei chuckled and gave a nonchalant shrug.

Malik, seemingly unfazed by his best friend's bold move, shouted over the music, "Y'all need to get a fucking room!" His words were met with a round of laughter and cheers from the group, effectively diffusing the tension. You danced together, the night's excitement fueling your moves. The club's strobe lights painted your sweaty bodies in a chaotic dance of color as you lost yourselves in the music and the moment.

"We're gonna go grab more shots," you announced to the group, reaching for Andrei's hand as you dragged him away to the bar. The thrill of the kiss still lingered between you. The bar was packed, but Andrei's height allowed him to navigate the crowd with ease. He moved to stand behind you, his hands on your hips, his body pressing into your backside as you waited for the bartender's attention. You leaned back into him, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the coldness of the bar top.

The bartender finally looked up, a coy smile playing on your lips as she took your order. Andrei leaned down to press light kisses to the side of your neck, a hand moving your ponytail to rest on your shoulder as the other squeezed at your waist. "You know I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time," he murmured, his breath hot and sweet with the scent of alcohol. Your heart skipped a beat, his admission sending a jolt of excitement through your body. You turned in his arms to look at him, your eyes searching his, and you felt your resolve to keep things platonic crumbling like a sandcastle against the tide of his desire.

"I know!" You giggled as your hands snaked from his chest to wrap around his neck. "I didn't think you'd ever do something about it though."

Andrei laughed with a roll of his eyes. "If you knew, why didn't you just tell me?" He leaned in closer, his mouth a whisper away from yours. With your sky-high heels, you were nearly eye level with the 6'4" athlete, though he still managed to hold a bit of height over you.

"I'm not chasing after a man, Andrei," you said, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned against the sticky bar. "But if you want to keep kissing me like that, who am I to stop you?" The bartender slammed down two shots of tequila in front of you, snapping you out of your heated conversation. You both downed the shots, the burn of the alcohol mixing with the desire simmering in your chests.

Andrei leaned in, his voice low and gruff with need. "I don't just want to kiss you." His hand slid up your thigh, reaching and finding the fat of your ass. You gasped, your eyes wide with surprise and lust. "Andrei," you scolded him, though your body was already begging for more.

"Later," he promised, pressing a kiss to your parted lips. "I'll take you out on a proper date. Just the two of us."

Your friends were scattered across the dance floor, lost in their own drunken revelry. Andrei's hand remained firmly on your ass, his thumb making small circles that had your core pulsing in time with the music. The tension between you was like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment.

"We should get back to the others," you murmured, though your body was screaming for more of Andrei's touch. Reluctantly, you broke apart and returned to the dance floor, weaving through the throngs of costumed bodies to rejoin Kaia and Malik. Javi and Faith were nowhere to be seen, likely having disappeared into one of the darkened corners for a more intimate rendezvous.

Malik's eyes were glazed over, his body swaying slightly as he attempted to keep up with the beat. Kaia was laughing, a drink in hand, watching him with a mix of amusement and concern.

"I think we should get him home before he passes out," Kaia shouted over the music, her hand on Malik's shoulder to steady him.

You nodded, your eyes flicking to Andrei. "I'll go tell Javi and Faith." You pushed through the crowd, finding the couple in a dimly lit corner, wrapped in a passionate embrace. Tapping them on the shoulder, you yelled over the music, "Guys, we're heading back to the dorm!"

Javi looked over, his eyes glazed with lust, and nodded. Faith, slightly more coherent, protested, "But we just got here!"

"Babygirl," you laughed, reaching for Faith's hand to drag her back to the group, her boyfriend following like a man possessed. "It's 1 in the morning, we've been here since 10."

Faith pouted but allowed herself to be led away from the darkened corner. "Fine, but you guys are boring," she whined, stumbling slightly in her high heels.

"We're not boring," Andrei shot back, a grin spreading across his face as he took your hand. "We're just responsible."

You couldn't hide the smile that tugged at your lips. The group stumbled out of the club, the cool October air a welcome relief from the stifling heat inside. You laughed and talked over each other as you made your way back to the dorm, the sidewalks still packed with costumed partygoers.

"My feet hurt," Faith complained, and without missing a beat, Javi swooped her into his arms, her giggles piercing the night air. Kaia and Malik stumbled alongside you, their laughter infectious. Andrei held onto your hand tightly, leading you through the maze of costumed students.

The walk to the dorm was a blur of laughter and teasing, with Andrei occasionally stopping to steal a kiss. You felt alive in a way you hadn't in weeks. The stress of your MCATs and exams seemed to evaporate under the influence of the alcohol and Andrei's touch. When you reached the dorm, Malik declared that he was taking the first shower, much to the protest of the others and the confusion on your face.

"Malik, you don't have clothes here!" You called out, trying to hide the amusement in your voice as you fumbled with your keys.

"That's what you think," Malik shot back, a knowing grin playing on his lips as he pushed open the door to your dorm. The room was a mess of discarded shot glasses and open makeup products. "I got clothes stashed everywhere," he said, winking at you before stumbling off to a corner of the room. Opening a drawer you never used, he produced a pile of neatly folded sweats. "Ta-da!"

Kaia and Andrei couldn't help but laugh at your stunned expression. "What did you expect?" Kaia teased, leaning against the wall. "You're the mom of the group, we all have clothes stashed around here."

Malik disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower echoing through the room. You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips, and turned to Andrei. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised," you said, your voice low enough that only he could hear. "You're all a bunch of freeloaders."

Andrei chuckled, his gaze dropping to your cleavage. "Only because you make it so easy to want to stay." He leaned in closer, his hand resting on the small of your back, and whispered, "I've had clothes here since freshman year."

You rolled your eyes playfully and turned to Kaia. "You too?"

"What, you didn't know?" Kaia smirked, holding up a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. "I practically live here when I don't feel like walking back to my own dorm."

You couldn't help but laugh, "You live down the hall, stupid." You playfully shoved Kaia, who stumbled into Andrei's arms, almost knocking him over. You all shared a laugh, the alcohol and exhaustion making you sloppier than usual.

"Alright, the shower's free," Malik announced, emerging from the bathroom with a trail of steam following him. You nodded towards Kaia, who disappeared into the bathroom next. Andrei took the opportunity to pull you closer, his hands running up and down your arms.

"So, about that date," he began, his voice thick with want. "I'm serious."

Your heart skipped a beat, the thrill of his words sending a shiver down your spine. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. "Yeah?" you replied, trying to play it cool despite the heat building in your core.

Andrei nodded, his expression earnest. "Yeah, I want to take you out. Just the two of us. No studying, no group hangs. Just us."

Your stomach flipped at his words. The idea of a date with Andrei was both thrilling and terrifying. "Okay," you whispered, your eyes dropping to his lips. Before you could say anything else, Kaia stumbled out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a shower cap, looking for her stashed clothes.

"Alright, I'm gonna crash," Malik said, already halfway to the floor. He laid down, using his jacket as a makeshift pillow, and was out cold in seconds. It was then that both you and Andrei realized that Javi and Faith were dead asleep, tangled up together at the foot of the bed.

Andrei looked down at you, his eyes dark with want. "I guess it's just us now," he murmured, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, the heat from his palm seeping into your skin.

Kaia emerged from the bathroom, now dressed in a pair of your oversized sweatpants and a hoodie. "Looks like love is in the air," she sang, waving her phone around as she snapped photos of the two of you. "It's about damn time." She muttered under her breath as she approached her friends for closer pictures.

"Knock it off," you said, trying to hide your hot cheeks as you gently pushed Kaia's phone away. But the playfulness in your voice betrayed you. Andrei took it as his cue to lean down and kiss you again, this time slower and more deliberate. You felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Breaking the kiss, you whispered, "We should probably shower before we end up like them." You nodded towards the bed where Faith was now snoring lightly.

Andrei chuckled, his brown eyes flickering with interest. "With me?"

You rolled your eyes with a laugh. "No, not with you. But you can use the shower after me."

You slipped away from him and into the bathroom, the sound of the shower turning on echoing through the quiet space. Andrei watched your retreating form before collapsing onto the bed next to the sleeping Javi and Faith, his hand reaching for the TV remote. He flicked through the channels, trying to find something to distract himself from the anticipation of finally having you all to himself.

When you emerged from the steamy bathroom, you found Andrei lying on the bed, observing a baseball game with a bored expression. You couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that your moment of passion had been interrupted by the realization that your friends had basically crashed at your place. But you pushed the feeling aside and whispered to Andrei that he could take the bathroom.

You slipped into a pair of oversized pajamas you had set aside for yourself. The warmth of the fabric was a comforting embrace after the chilly evening out. You looked up to find Andrei leaving the bathroom, a towel slung low on his waist, his bare chest glistening from the shower. Your eyes met and held for a beat too long before you turned away to grab a water bottle from your fridge, giving him some privacy to change into the clothes that he had apparently hidden in your room. The air was thick with unspoken tension as you both tried to ignore the electricity arcing between you.

Kaia and Malik were sprawled out on the floor, snoring in unison. Faith had managed to flip around, her body now perpendicular to Javi's. The sight was comical and heartwarming all at once.

Andrei, now dressed in a pair of sweatpants with the waistband of his briefs peeking out from underneath, sat down on the edge of the bed. His hand brushed against your skin as he reached for the water bottle you had set down. You couldn't help but feel the spark that shot through your body.

You turned to face him, the weight of the moment heavy between you. Andrei's eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he leaned in closer, his hand reaching out to cradle the side of your face. "So pretty," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

The group remained asleep around you, the only sound the occasional snore and the distant bass from the party still raging outside. Your heart pounded in your chest as Andrei's thumb traced the line of your jaw.

"Let's get some sleep," Andrei said, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet room. "We can talk more in the morning." He stood up and gestured for you to take the bed. "You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

You shyly spoke up to protest. "We've literally cuddled a million times before, Andrei. We can share the bed." You slid into the middle, leaving a space for him. He hesitated before joining you, his eyes never leaving yours. You lay side by side, the mattress dipping slightly under your combined weight. The silence grew heavier as your friends' snores grew louder. Your head found Andrei's chest as his arms wrapped around you.

The warmth of his embrace was a comfort you hadn't realized you'd been craving. Your hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. The TV played a late-night sitcom, the laugh track serving as a strange lullaby for your crowded dorm room. Your mind raced urged to race with thoughts of the impending MCAT and the unspoken promise of a date. But as you felt Andrei's chest rise and fall with his even breaths, you couldn't help but let your exhaustion win.

#&. cassie writes.#andrei iosivas x reader #andrei iosivas #andrei iosivas x fem!reader #andrei iosivas x oc #andrei iosivas fic #andrei iosivas imagine #andrei iosivas fluff #cincinnati bengals #bengals #x black fem reader #black!fem!reader #black!oc #x black reader #black!reader

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bookofthegear · 1 year ago

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Long, long ago, before Twitter descended into its end-stage hellscape, I ran a few iterations of a weird little choose-your-own-adventure game there, where I used the poll functions to offer options as we traversed a strange concrete labyrinth. I’d like to do that again. But as the shortest poll I can run is one day, this is more like a play-by-mail than a real-time on-the-fly. Fewer choices, but hey, you do get much longer descriptions!

The Rules

- Your choices are by majority poll (though if there are two identical options, they may be weighed together)

- If y’all choose to do something boneheaded, you WILL die, and the game will begin again with a new adventurer (who may someday find your corpse!)

- If y’all choose to retire and raise cabbages, by god, I will send you home to raise cabbages, which is sort of a happily ever after

- If you played on Twitter, please be kind and don’t spoiler too hard for the new players! Also, don’t assume the maze is still the same…

- Life being what it is, I cannot promise every update will land as soon as the poll closes—I love you guys, but y’know

Let’s begin, shall we?

You, friend, are the latest graduate of the Wentworth School Of Exploration and Adventure (Goooo Fighting Codfish!) the second-best explorer’s school in the city. You left behind your grandmother’s cabbage farm in pursuit of higher, better, possibly more fatal things.

It was at Wentworth that you first came across a reference to the works of Eland the Younger, that wandering naturalist, historian…okay, occasionally out-and-out liar…and his great fragmentary work, the Book of the Gear. It detailed his descent into a great clockwork labyrinth, filled with strange creatures and stone gears. Even for Eland, it’s a bit weird. Most scholars dismiss it outright as a fabrication, and the few professors who would talk to you about it strongly suggested that it was dangerous and you should ignore any rumors about its location and do something else. (Possibly on one of their projects! For course credit, obviously, not money.)

You didn’t listen. It was all just more academic cabbages as far as you’re concerned. It took a lot of research and guesswork and a lot of slogging, but after cutting your way through the overgrown woods, miles from any town, you find yourself standing before a stone wall with an immense crack in it. The edge of a stone gear taller than a man is just visible inside.

A small finch sits on a branch nearby, waiting.

Wentworth students are highly trained in the arts of adventuring, including Hiking, Skulking, Orienteering, and deciphering avian interpretive dance. Which brings us to the first question!

#choose your own adventure #gearworld #ursula vernon #t kingfisher

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iamthedukeofurl · 11 months ago

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One interesting thing that can happen in long running media is that the general cultural background can shift under the work, recontextualizing it as it is being written. I'm specifically thinking of the Order of the Stick, a Dungeons and Dragons themed webcomic that started in 2003 with the titular party of adventurers going through a dungeon.

From left to right, we have Belkar Bitterleaf the halfling ranger, Vaarsuvius the Elf Wizard, Elan the Human Bard, Haley Starshine the Human Rogue, Durkon Thundershield the Dwarf Cleric, and Roy Greenhilt the Human Fighter. The comic takes place in a fantasy setting that knowingly runs off the rules of Dungeons and Dragons third edition. Characters talk about rolls and bonuses and intentionally take levels in various classes. At the start, the comic was a pretty basic gag comic about the D&D rules, basic fantasy/adventure tropes, ect.

In the 20 years the comic has been running, it has updated about 1300 times, not counting bonus strips exclusively made for the printed version, and several print (or PDF) only side and prequel stories. It has also dramatically grown from it's roots, the art has improved while keeping the same general aesthetic, and the gag-a-day comic has become a sweeping fantasy epic. The characters have grown beyond their initial bits (Belkar is a Murderhobo, Elan is stupid, Haley is greedy, ect), and it's genuinely up there as one of my favorite stories. But anyway, let's talk about Vaarsuvius. If you look at the above art, You'll notice that the characters tend to have three types of body shapes: Rectangles for Roy, Belkar, and Elan, feminine curves for Haley, and Robes for Vaarsuvius. This presentation is a pretty consistent signifier of gender and/or somebody wearing robes. Early on, part of Vaarsuvius's running gag became their ambiguous gender. At the time, it was a fairly common joke in fantasy to talk about how Elven men had androgynous or "Girly" appearances, so V was part of that. Instead of a singular pronoun, characters would generally just abbreviate Vaarsuvius's name as "V", and whenever the narrative would have naturally provided some indication of gender one way or another, V would resolve the situation without providing any such indication. For example, an early gag has the characters seeking out a set of modern style bathrooms in the dungeon. When they find them, V says that their "More Efficient elven biology" means they don't have to go yet, so they wait outside while the boys go into the Men's room and Haley waits in the inevitable long line at the women's. When Vaarsuvius reveals that they are married, they use the term "Spouse" to refer to their partner, when we see their children, the children are clearly adopted (V and their partner both have pale skin, their children have darker skin) and refer to Vaarsuvius as "Parent". Vaarsuvius themselves seems to have trouble identifying other people by gender. Characters outside the central cast might refer to Vaarsuvius as "He" or "She", but doing so was always shedding light on that character's perspective, rather than saying anything about Vaarsuvius. The assumption behind the gag is that Vaarsuvius must be either male or female, and the joke is that the narrative/Vaarsuvius themselves keeps finding ways to avoid "Revealing" their gender. Fan wikis and official books list Vaarsuvius's gender as "Ambigious" and on the forum there used to be a regular, multi-part thread dedicated to debatings Vaarsuvius's gender, even after the author declared that it would "never be revealed".

Anyway, going back to the start, it's 2023, and something shifted at some point, both in the comic and in the general cultural background. The jokes about V's gender kind of fell off, not just because the gag got played out, but because the basic assumption behind it simply doesn't work anymore. Everybody knows that Nonbinary people exist. There's no point in the comic where Vaarsuvius switches from being "Ambigiously Gendered" to Nonbinary, in fact, the entire comic reads just fine if you read Vaarsuvius as male or female and just not caring enough to clarify their gender to anybody and at some point other characters just stop thinking about it. But it's interesting to see how a character trait that was once included in even the most basic character descriptions (Varsuvius: Elven Wizard. Arrogant, Intelligent. Ambigiously gendered) just kind of got washed away by a rising tide of cultural nuance towards gender. Also go read OOTS, it's pretty great.

#order of the stick #oots #webcomics #long running media #posts that have been swimming in my head until I let them out

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awxcoffeexno · 3 months ago

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the patient - part 4

toxic!loganhowlett x reader

cherry wine

<< part 3 | series masterlist | fic masterlist | part 5 >>

summary: you and bobby are doing great but logan makes amends (he tries his damned best)

content: bobby and reader are having a grand old time but logan is suffering terribly at the hands of jean and he cannot seem to catch a break. reader is also extremely delulu towards the end.

warnings: 18+, mdni, apology sex, piv, lots of endearments used during sex, angsty sex, gentle sex, you'll-want-to-scream-at-reader-sex, all mentions of jean are actually referring to the phoenix who is extremely mentally unstable.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this was initially going to be the last part but I think I have some ideas + if you have any pls let me know because this has potential, especially w bobby

the days that follow are thick with tension between you and logan.

you’ve put distance between yourselves, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

you spend more time with bobby, and it's so easy with him. bobby’s sweet and patient, his presence a balm for the wounds logan left behind.

often you have snow fights in the ground with bobby and his friends, other times you curl up and watch a silly nicholas sparks movie or two.

and,,, the sex is pretty good too. bobby might not have near two centuries of experience but if it's a good dicking down you need, he's happy to provide. plus he does this thing with ice… just thinking about it makes heat pool in your core.

"oi!" he says, finding you in the library on a particular chilly morning.

it's warm in here and emily brontë makes for great company.

you laugh as he scoops you up off the bean bag you're sitting on, pressing you against the wall and stealing a kiss. and then another. and then another.

"bobby!" you hiss. "what if one of the kids walk in?!"

"mmm…" he moans softly into your mouth, sliding his cool tongue against yours. "then it'll be a surprise biology lesson."

you smack his arm and he laughs, finally setting you down.

"emily brontë?" he asks, taking the book from you, careful to slide his finger into the pages so you don't lose your spot.

"ye, you like?"

"i love." he replies, flopping down next to you and opening the book, reading out loud from where you've left off.

yeah. it's so easy with bobby.

meanwhile, in the other wing of the mansion, logan’s world is crumbling. jean’s power over him is overwhelming, even the professor is struggling to reign her in, and in her attempts to bring logan closer, she’s slowly unraveling him.

she pushes him, tries to draw out the animal within, thinking she can control it, harness it. but logan isn’t a tool, and the strain of resisting her is breaking him apart.

you hear whispers from the other students, talk of how logan’s been snapping at everyone, his temper shorter than ever. even the mansion’s teachers, who are used to his rough edges, are keeping their distance. you’re not immune to the rumors, and each one is a reminder that despite everything, you still care about him deeply.

even so, during this time, logan tries to make it up to you, in his own way. he doesn’t apologize directly—he’s too proud, too stubborn for that—but you notice the small things he does. he leaves a cup of your favorite tea on your desk one morning, the steam still rising from the cup when you find it.

and the best part of it all is that he’s careful not to intrude on your time with bobby, even though you often catch him watching the two of you with a conflicted expression.

there’s even a day when you find a small bouquet of wildflowers left on your bed, the note simply reading, “you deserve better.”

it’s clear that he’s struggling with his emotions, trying to make amends in the only way he knows how. but you’re hurt, and you’re not ready to forgive him yet. you tuck away each gesture, each unspoken apology, knowing that it doesn’t erase the pain he caused.

the tension between you two remains, a storm waiting to break. the nights are the hardest for logan. jean’s attempts to mould him into something he’s not have pushed him to the edge, and he’s barely holding on.

he's begun spending his nights alone, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. he's too overwhelmed by jean and obviously, he can't have you anymore. the mansion feels like a cage, and he’s trapped within it, suffocating under the weight of his own thoughts.

night after night he takes this until it becomes too much.

you’re lying in bed, trying to distract yourself with a book, when there’s a soft knock at your door. you hesitate, knowing who it is before you even open it. you felt him decide several minutes ago and the nausea of the wait has you shaking.

when you open the door, logan is standing there, looking more broken than you’ve ever seen him. his eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles under them, and he’s trembling slightly, as if he’s barely holding himself together. and he's sopping wet. you hadn't even realised it was raining but by god, he's drenched.

“logan,” you breathe, your heart clenching at the sight of him. he smells awfully strongly of whiskey and tobacco.

“i can’t… i can’t do this anymore,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. there’s no pretense, no walls between you, just the man you’ve always known, stripped down to his most vulnerable self.

you let him in, closing the door softly behind him. logan’s presence fills the room, but it’s not the usual intensity you’re used to. tonight, he’s fragile, on the brink of breaking. he stands in the middle of your room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.

without a word, you step forward and take his hand. he flinches at the contact, but then he grips your hand tightly – too tightly – his eyes closing as if he’s drawing strength from you.

you lead him to your bed, and the two of you sit down side by side. logan’s head drops, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“i’m sorry,” he says quietly, the words so soft you almost don’t hear them. “i’m sorry for everything.”

your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice. this is what you’ve been waiting for — an acknowledgment of the pain he caused you, of the way he hurt you. but seeing him like this, so broken, makes it hard to hold onto your anger.

you don’t say anything, just carefully climb into his wet lap, letting him know that you’re here, that you haven’t given up on him. you can feel the water start to seep through your clothes but you cannot bring yourself to care.

logan leans his head against your shoulder, the weight of it comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. you can feel the tension slowly leaving his body as he relaxes against you, and for a moment, the world outside doesn’t exist. it’s just the two of you, sitting in the dark, finding solace in each other’s presence.

“been an ass,” he mutters, his voice rough. “didn’t mean what i said. never wanted to hurt you.”

you swallow the lump in your throat and nod, even though he can’t see it. “i know,” you whisper. “but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

logan sighs, his breath warm against your neck. “just don’t know how to fix this,” he admits. “but i want to try.”

the vulnerability in his voice tugs at something deep inside you, and you feel your resolve weakening. “logan… i don’t know if we can go back to how things were.”

you think back to bobby. and then you quickly wipe the thought away. if you dwell on it too much, you'll sabotage everything all at once.

“i’m not asking for that,” he says quickly, sitting up to look at you. his eyes are dark, filled with a mixture of regret and hope. “i just… i just want to be close to you again. i need you.”

it’s those last three words that break through your defenses. you’ve spent so long longing for logan to admit that he needs you, that he cares about you beyond the fights and the tension. hearing him say it now, when he’s at his lowest, feels like a lifeline – for both of you.

you take a deep breath, knowing full well you're probably making a mistake. “i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

something in his eyes shifts, and for the first time in days, you see the man you fell for. he leans in, hesitating for a moment, giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. when his lips meet yours, it’s gentle, almost tentative, as if he’s afraid of breaking you.

but you’re not broken. not anymore. and as you kiss him back, you let go of the anger, the hurt, and the frustration. all that’s left is the two of you, finding comfort in each other in the only way you know how.

the kiss deepens, becoming more desperate, more intense, as if both of you are trying to erase the pain with every touch. logan’s hands are on you, pulling you closer, his need for you palpable in every movement. there’s no hesitation now, no doubt—just the overwhelming need to be with each other, to find that familiar comfort in the only way that makes sense.

when you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, your hearts racing. logan looks at you, his expression torn between relief and fear. “i need you,” he repeats, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“i’m here,” you say again, and this time, you mean it in every possible way.

logan’s hands slide up your back, pulling you against him as he presses his forehead to yours. he slips them under your shirt and undoes your bra hook in a quick practiced movement.

"lo…" you whisper needily, pushing your fingers into his wet hair.

bobby was good— hell, bobby was great but with logan this is just something else. it always will be.

"i know, pretty girl. i'll take care of ya." he soothes, pulling your shirt and bra off you gently.

he lips are on your neck within a second, giant paws coming up to palm your breasts roughly. he groans when you rock your hips against his, squeezing your waist to still you.

"patience," he commands, only letting go when he's sure you'll listen.

carefully, he sinks his teeth into your neck again, perfectly in the spot that he knows makes you wild. you whine his name and it makes him smile against your skin.

"missed me, sugar?"

"so badly, lo! fuck…" you trail off as he moves his mouth down to suck a pink bruise into the soft flesh of your breast.

and then he's tugging on the waist of your jeans, pulling them over the swell of your butt, taking your panties with them.

"fuck, baby, look at you. making such a mess already." he runs his fingers through your lips and holds them up to show you, your sticky need webbing between his fingers.

he puts them in his mouth, sucking the nectar off and pulling them out with an obscene pop. it would make you blush but logan's said and done much worse with you.

"logan, please… been too long…"

"i know, sugar, i know. just wait."

his mouth is on yours then, and the mix of his tobacco and your need makes you moan as he eats your mouth out. sex with logan is always filthy, it's hot and messy and you're desperate for more.

he makes you sit up so that he can pop his belt off, the buckle hitting the floor with a clink as he shuffles his jeans off. his cock pops out, ramrod straight and red with need. how long has it been since he's found relief? you ache for him and with your need for him.

"c'mon, babygirl, sit," he directs, guiding you onto his cock. you're slick enough that your pussy starts swallowing him instantaneously.

"attagirl…" he groans, going back to suckling on your neck, making you mewl and whimper.

he tugs you further down, his grip on your waist bruising. lower and lower you sink down on him, walls fluttering around his girth as you moan his name helplessly. his cock is big, always too big, and it makes you bury your face in his neck. but his hold on you is unrelenting, holding you in place until he's balls deep in you.

"logan, please… please…" you beg, desperate to get him moving. having him like this, so fully in you, is overwhelming.

"look at me, angel," he encourages, voice uncharacteristically soft.

your eyes struggle to fix on his, but you manage with a shaky breath.

it takes him a moment to collect his own thoughts before it hits you what he's going to say next and it takes your breath away.

quickly, so he beats your vision to the point, he whispers, "i love you."

and fuck. the vision took your breath away but hearing him actually say it out loud makes you tear up and bury your face in his neck.

the moment is so raw, his furnace hot body making you sticky with sweat. his eyes burn holes into you with such genuine intensity, you get so desperately overwhelmed.

realising how much he's affected you, he gets you moving. he always knows what to do with you, even when you're crumbling. rolling your hips together, he kisses you deep and raw.

"let it go, baby, let it all go. i've got you." he encourages, making you pick up speed, his hands moving you steadily.

so you do. you finally, truly, let yourself go. you feel 19 again, letting logan take you like he did for the first time in that hotel room in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere.

it doesn't take him long, grunting in your ear, to get you to the edge. he feels the telltale squeezing of your walls and sees your eyes roll back into your head and knows right away.

"just like that, pretty girl… come for me, just like that."

you slump in his arms, falling over the edge and letting him help you ride your high. you pant into the crook of his neck, entirely spent, moaning happily when his climax follows yours.

he tips back carefully, holding you to his chest and pressing soft kisses into your hair.

"i'm sorry," he murmurs, rubbing your back soothingly. "i love you."

your eyes snap up to him, narrowing, but his are closed and he doesn't see you. you try to read his mind and see if he means every last word of it. it isn't for the lack of trying but logan's gotten awfully good at blocking you out in the last few weeks.

so you take a deep breath and just like that, you forget everything about bobby and believe him. you believe him.

helloooo, sorry about the delay on this one, i'd written it a week ago but wanted to make some edits (I never made them TT).

pls lmk if y'all have any requests for this one!!

love, d <3

<< part 3 part 5 >>

taglist: @beeingaflower, @uhnanix, @kokomixxk, @nighwingsdiscordkitten, @iluvloganhowlett, @reidsworld , @aleynaleia , @gboy2008 , @thegirlfromthemovies , @swthxrry , @mattymurderdocks , @malfoys-demigod , @angelcvts4u , @chxrrybomb22 , @coolio2195 , @fictionalmen-dilflover , @twinkleteaparty , @gracierae18, @brucebannerswifey , @evasmlp , @m1cky-y-y, @deaky-with-a-c, @capswife , @abarelyexistentbeing , @seasonofthenerd , @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @theoraekenslover , @starbuni , @fandomhopped , @techwrecker , @oakenshieldlover

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett xmen #xmen #xmen fanfiction #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #logan x reader smut #wolverine x reader smut #bobby drake #iceman x reader #bobby drake x reader

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