#but like what's the point in dwelling in that feeling? that time is passed. it happened already. i can't insert myself into it now

[holyguardian]

The flow of conversation danced around what had happened and the aftermath. Aerith and Somnus seemed to have a silent agreement, such topics weren't for the open air. Instead they filled in their silences with other things, ranging between etiquette when they arrived to how many of the chocobos would stray in their caravan line to snap at overhanging fruit.

With every curious observation, she had a small story to tell. When Alba was reaching the top of a large hill overlooking her home, she pointed to some peculiar white trees without any leaves in the distance. She explained that was their ancient forest, and where her family communed with the Lifestream.

Their conversation became more and more like that. Aerith pointed out landmarks to him whether he asked about them first or not. It only felt right, given this would be their last opportunity for such a conversation. The next time they marched it would be for a war...

... though it was tough to let her mind sink down with such thoughts. Somehow people could still pick her out from the crowd, even though she wore a simple dress in the same style as her maids, and her hair was braided back simply, there was nothing elaborate on her person whatsoever.

She smiled and she waved, ever a friendly face. Though that scream drew out a laugh from her and she nodded 'yes'. It was better that people thought she was riding with her bodyguard for now. It stuck in the back of her mind that not all the faces they would come across would be friendly. Some meant them harm.

That was likely why her father fell back to ride alongside her and Somnus. Shielding that side, while Gilgamesh silently moved to shield the other.

Soon the curious eyes and waving gave way to rows and rows of tents lining the outer perimeter of the castle walls. Their assembling army was so great, the numbers couldn't be contained solely within the barracks. There were rows upon rows of soldiers who stood to attention as the caravan made its slow procession.

The cobblestone streets were lined three rows deep either side with more soldiers who waited for their arrival. The crowds of townsfolk were kept at bay, an order from the Queen, the barricade wasn't usually so widened.

Once they passed under the massive gate, one that divided the castle from the rest of the capital, Aerith cast a look to Somnus. "Follow dad, we will show you the chocobo stables. My family will receive us in the inner-palace, so we have a little time to make sure everyone else is being settled where they need to go." Alba especially. Though she was a brave soul, even her cheeks were puffed out a little curious, eyeing the new surroundings. She must have been able to smell the stables before they even arrived.

No doubt Somnus had a similar feeling stirring. His home? It was open, rolling hills, wide-spread out lands with single storied dwellings. Their castle on the other hand was a massive storied structure, of multiple floors, the spawled out spaces were kept on the outer walls.

"Here we are. Alba can have this stall," Aerith gestured, "It's one that connects to the chocoboyard, she can be cozy in here in the nighttime, but during the day she can stretch her legs in the royal paddock. The gate over there," she pointed, "ride her through that one and you'll come out on the west wall, there's a worn-in dirt path that will lead through the outer fields to Queenswoods. It's one of the best spots for chocobos to scratch around in the dirt and forage, the stablehands often take out our flock for some good old mischief and dirt baths."

Aerith eased down from Alba's saddle with a helping hand. She took her time to explain where everything was kept for Somnus to care for his feathered companion, though perhaps the more exciting part was the varied selection of chocobo feed. Roots, buds, fruits and vegetables, a long-running joke was how 'the chocobos ate better than some of the Kinglands'.

"I think that's about everything. I hope this is okay for you, sweetpea?" she asked as if Alba could speak back to her, offering her fingers to gently scratch the soft fluff of one of her cheeks.

Somnus was a bad liar most of the times. He was simply lucky no one called him out on the looks he gave Aerith after they had been practically dragged from the comfortable spot on the cot by her father.

She was… decisive. She made choices and led by them. She gave ideas and orders.

It was utterly attractive and Somnus was more than happy to just stay back and watch this. Only once did he get a small glare from her father over this. The older man surely knew the way the younger looked at his daughter. But this time Somnus simply had a small smirk and crossed arms left for the king before he readied Alba.

And whatever Aerith had done, it must have broken her father’s grim strictness. At least for now. Because she was allowed to ride on Alba alongside Somnus. The prince was more than happy to accommodate that command. Somehow… this was the best outcome they could have hoped for. He had feared that Aerith would be left with marks on her body and mind from this attack. And yet she seemed to overcome this quite well. Of course… maybe it was a mask, but Somnus intended to keep an eye on that.

And he did. With them both riding on Alba, it was easy to have a current of conversation. Serious topics. Less serious ones. And soon enough, comments from Somnus on tehri surroundings. They had passed the borders to the farmlands. It was obvious. Somehow… the grass was greener. The fields larger. And though autumn was coming, the fruit still seemed so countless on the trees that Somnus was wondering whether they had forgotten to harvest.

He was curious. And a little intimidated. This would be his new home. Only witnessing farmlanders from afar at first – as soon as the capital came into view and the first huts and farms surrounding it passed them by. And thus people noticed and came running to watch the caravan. And catch sight of the princess! As rarely as Aerith had been allowed outside, the same in turn was true for the people: they looked, guessed and little children pointed excitedly to Aerith. Giggling and standing on fences and crates, waving to her. Enough so that Somnus tilted his head a little to hide half his face in his shawl. Maybe they would not notice him. He thought. Until a little girl screamed at the top of her lungs, asking her mother whether that was Princess Aerith's bodyguard - much to her mother's panicked dismay.

[thelordofgifs]

the fairest stars: post viii

New year, new post for the "Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils" AU! Masterpost with links to all previous parts here.

Part 39: the crisis.

(Content warning for discussion of attempted suicide.)

When the first of the clamour is passed, and Fingon can at last make his escape to the privacy of his own chambers, Maglor is waiting for him.

His cousin’s eyes are wild. “Finno,” he chokes out, “Finno.”

“I know,” Fingon breathes, tugging Maglor inside and sinking down onto a couch, for his legs will support his weight no longer.

Maglor’s clothes are still splattered with the blood of the wretched dead thrall. He does not seem to have noticed, standing shaking before Fingon. “What had your lords to say?”

“You heard most of it already,” Fingon says dully. “That should I so much think about leaving I might consider myself unkinged, and they shall take it upon themselves to appoint a successor who cares more for his people’s welfare than for—” He manages to break off in time. Maglor has no need to hear those cruel words repeated. “A pack of cowards and traitors, every last one of them.”

Maglor does not seem to be listening, anyway. He has taken to pacing, in tight, controlled circles that make Fingon dizzy to look at him.

Fingon swallows his nausea and speaks the question burning on his tongue. “Do you believe it?”

Maglor meets his eyes and then laughs, despairingly. “Do not ask me of all people that, Finno!” he says. “I who left my brother to his misery, believing him dead! I am bound to believe it either way. But – he would have done it. You know that.”

“I don’t,” says Fingon, and the words are like needles in his chest. “I don’t know it. I don’t think I knew him at all, now.”

“He promised me,” Maglor says dully, “that he would not leave.”

Fingon closes his eyes. “You do not know – he may not have chosen this,” he says. “Perhaps in his journey he was set upon and captured—”

“Then why was his mind closed to us from the first?” Maglor points out. “It all makes sense, you cannot deny it – this was his plan all alone, he left Barad Eithel almost as soon as he had confirmation that Sauron dwelled in Dorthonion. He went to seek him out.”

“It makes no sense!” Fingon cries out, realising with some surprise that he is weeping. “Why could he – how could he choose that, knowing what it would mean, what must become of him? Do not look at me that way, Makalaurë! You are thinking it too: you know that this is my fault, that I drove him to it – oh, was what I did to him truly so cruel, that Sauron seemed the kinder option?”

But Maglor shakes his head. “It is not that,” he says, “it is just – we were not enough, you see. Whatever we did, we could not – I could not be enough to hold him.” A spasming sob runs through his body. “We were never going to hold him, and now—”

“He loved you,” says Fingon, wondering when he began to speak of Maedhros in the past tense. But the words feel hollow.

Maglor says, “I need to – I need to be alone, I need to think, I need”—he takes a ragged, gulping breath—“oh, Manwë and Varda, will it never just end?”

That sends a chill through Fingon. He gets to his feet and takes his cousin by the shoulders, thinking once again of Sauron’s poor thrall. “Makalaurë,” he says, “promise me you will not—” He has only ever seen a look like that in Maedhros’ eyes before.

“Turn a blade upon myself, or cast my body from the battlements, or hold my own head under the surface of the pool until I stop breathing?” Maglor offers. He laughs harshly. “Don’t worry, Finno. I’m the sane brother, remember?”

Then he is gone.

Fingon has no time to weep, or pace, or even set his thoughts in order, before there is another knock on the door. 

It is Maeglin, his face grave and solicitous. “I came to offer you my sympathies, uncle,” he says. “The news is a grievous blow.”

Maeglin, alone of all Fingon’s counsellors, spoke no word during the debate that followed the messenger’s announcement. 

“A blow to me, you mean,” Fingon says, “for certainly none other than Maglor and myself seem very distressed by it.”

“No, indeed!” Maeglin says with feeling. “Even I who met Maedhros so very briefly can speak to his valour and high-heartedness. He does not deserve any of the torment he must be suffering.”

Fingon shudders. “Do not speak of it, I beg you.”

“Of course,” Maeglin says immediately. “But for what it is worth, uncle, I think the other lords callous indeed. And selfish, moreover, to insist you attend to your duties when your very heart calls you so strongly away.”

Fingon glances swiftly at him. “You do?”

Maeglin shrugs. “Long before ever I met you, my mother raised me on tales of your courage. What use is there in praising a hero-King and then forbidding him any chance at heroism? Why do they insist upon imprisoning you upon the pedestal that they made for you? They know as well as you do that you will go after Maedhros – and succeed, too, if you will permit me to say so. I know not why they insist on denying who they know you to be.”

“Well,” says Fingon, rather taken aback, “I thank you.”

It is the first time he has heard the words spoken as unquestioned fact, and they calm his racing heart a little.

Of course he is going after Maedhros. That is the way the story goes.

“You need not thank me, uncle,” says Maeglin. “I meant only to reassure you that not all your lords think as do the most vocal. In truth I do believe they are loyal to you! But their resentment has been growing since the battle; they do not understand you as well as they thought they did. Still there is no excuse for them to speak to their High King as they did today.”

Fingon nods, a little absently. He does not particularly care for Maeglin’s political assessments right now, especially when they will shortly be of so little importance to him.

“But perhaps,” Maeglin continues, “once you have chosen an – an interim leader – to take care of your duties while you are gone – they can be brought into line.”

Oh, hasty, over-eager princeling! Fingon might have fallen for all his honeyed words, had he proceeded with only a little more delicacy.

He stares now at his nephew, and then says, “Well, you need not worry, for the choice is made already. It would be Maglor my cousin, who has led the Noldor once before already, and knows the work well.”

Maeglin’s face is impassive. “I see,” he says. “A wise choice, I am sure, for all that the lords of the Noldor will balk to be commanded by a son of Fëanor.”

“Thank you, Maeglin,” says Fingon, trying to keep his temper. “You can go.”

Alone at last, he sets to pacing, but these chambers are too claustrophobic to keep that up for long; then he tries to fling himself upon the couch and weep stormily, but his throat is too tight and close to let the sobs through; then he hides his face in his hands and does his best to think, but that is no good either, for whenever he closes his eyes the image of the thrall’s puppet-like smile comes before him again.

Maedhros is suffering so this very moment. Maedhros chose this, because of what Fingon did to him.

And is he waiting even now for Fingon to come for him, and end his torment? Will he shudder away from Fingon’s touch, or let himself be saved?

Surely – surely that ought not to matter. Fingon loves Maedhros, more than anything. He will go after him: he must do.

He will lose his crown, should he go. Maeglin has made that clear, intentionally or no.

Does that matter – does he care? He never wanted this! He has set enough of his father’s legacy afire already; now of all times no one could fault him for turning his back on it entirely, and doing as his heart commands.

But if the last stronghold of the Noldor in the north falls—

Oh, he cannot think any of this through, with his muddled head and aching heart – he wants Maedhros to be here, absurd as it is, and look over all his possible paths with his clear commanding gaze, and find a path through the mist to the right answer.

“Think of it logically, Finno,” he might say, and Fingon can almost see him, reclining on the couch with his lashes half-lowered and a thoughtful, assessing look upon his fair features. “What is the worst that could happen, should you go?”

“My lords fall to quarrelling and infighting,” says Fingon, “and Maeglin tries to take command of them, and fails – or worse yet, he succeeds, and leads them all to some ruinous fate, or else Morgoth hears of our new weakness and marches against Barad Eithel once more, and this time it crumbles for good.”

The dream-Maedhros nods. “And the worst that could happen if you do not go?” he prompts, still in that mild, even tone.

“You die,” Fingon says instantly, his throat closing up as he speaks, “or – or worse, and I never see you again.”

“But I am already dead, Finno,” Maedhros says reasonably, “or at least you must think of me so – you have thought of me so, deny it as you might.”

Fingon manages a bitter laugh. “Certainly Sauron would have me believe the opposite.”

“Because he wants you,” Maedhros says; “he has laid a trap for you with me as the bait, his thrall all but admitted it himself. It’s clever, I must say. All Beleriand knows the lengths to which you will go for my sake.”

“And did you not?” Fingon demands, a crack of anger opening in his racing heart. “For all your cleverness and strategy, did this never occur to you when you went to him – when you chose him?”

But the dream-Maedhros seems unwilling to defend himself. He smiles and looks away.

“If all Beleriand knows what I will do for your sake,” says Fingon, once it becomes obvious that Maedhros is not going to answer him, “that only makes it more pressing that I go to you. Will I stand by as they name me a false hero, and strike my name out of their songs?”

“Better that,” says Maedhros, “than naming you a failure as a King.”

“Who cares?” Fingon snaps. “I am that already. My lords are on the brink of revolt as we speak! Let them cast down all we have worked for in all these years of peace, should they desire. I cannot keep pretending to put them first, not when—”

“But you have to, Finno,” Maedhros says, a little sadly, “or it will all collapse, and everything we bled for will have been for naught.” He tilts his head to one side and fixes Fingon with another too-thoughtful look, his eyes bright and clear. “Besides, in truth you do not want to go.”

Fingon stares at him, incredulous. “Of course I do! There is nothing I want more – how can you even – know you not how I have missed you?”

“You want an adventure,” Maedhros says, “a chance to prove yourself – especially because it was I and not you who drove Sauron away after the battle. That is why you threw yourself into that foolish skirmish with the orcs, too. But you are tired, too, of having to save me over and over again.”

“That isn’t true,” Fingon protests. “How can you say that?”

But the Maedhros-who-is-not-Maedhros merely looks at him, and says nothing.

How desperately, heart-piercingly lovely he is, all porcelain-fair cheeks and star-bright eyes and ruddy, shining hair.

He is not real. Fingon does not know if the image he held of Maedhros was ever real.

He bends anyway to press a kiss to that warm sweet mouth; but his lips pass through nothing but air, and the illusion is broken.

Meanwhile Maglor is also pacing around his own chambers.

He shared these rooms with Maedhros once – here it was that Maedhros first laid him half-conscious on the bed after the long hard ride from the ruins of Himring to Barad Eithel, and sat by his side through all the months of recovery that followed, and here too that Maedhros kissed him goodbye and set out, alone, into the dark.

Is Maglor really so shocked, now? Has a part of him not always known how bent his brother was on his own destruction?

The thrall met Maglor’s eyes, before he slew himself. He drove his hidden blade deep into his body and it was as though the old scar on Maglor’s side burned in response—

The news must be true. How else could Sauron have learned that well-kept secret?

But then that leads him down paths he does not wish to traverse, Maedhros with his eyes screwed shut and blood running down his face, incoherent with pain and begging—

When first Thorondor landed beside Mithrim, and Fingon slid sobbing from his back with Maedhros in his arms, Maglor made himself follow. He forced himself to watch as the healers pulled the bloodstained cloak away from Maedhros’ body to reveal the ruin beneath it, threw himself, in the weeks that followed, to learning by heart every detail of Maedhros’ care, memorised the litany of scars on his brother’s body and recited it to himself each night before he slept; but all that effort could not quite erase the first flash of terror that swept over him, realising what it was Fingon bore.

It is that same terror that threatens to overcome him now, at the thought of Maedhros suffering. Cowardly – but then Maglor has always been a coward.

Sauron knows that too, has known it of old, since Morgoth’s messenger first came to treat with Maglor with his hollow crown upon his head, and Maglor turned shamefacedly away.

No wonder his message was addressed to Fingon, for all that the thrall’s knife was directed at Maglor alone.

Fingon is the prize Sauron desires: how fine a gift will the High King of the Noldor in chains make for his estranged master, how simple and elegant the trap he has laid for him! He knows Fingon will come for Maedhros, that fearless warrior, that hero-prince, the one who loves Maedhros best of all; it is the same story over and over again, and its ending was written long ago, and everyone knows it.

And Maglor – what is his role, then? He supposes he will take over Fingon’s duties while he is away, and hold together his pack of quarrelling lords, and keep a closer eye on Maeglin than Fingon has been doing. When Fingon is returned – if he does return, for Sauron is canny, and will have laid his trap well – Maglor will make a great song in praise of him.

Or else a lament, for Maedhros: but Maglor thinks sometimes that every song he has ever made on these shores is a lament for Maedhros.

Oh, but he is so tired of the Noldolantë! So very tired of recounting his failures to himself again and again, and seeing them reflected back at him from every angle – Sauron’s message and the Silmaril in Doriath and Maedhros, Maedhros, Maedhros who did not care enough to stay—

“Enough,” Maglor says aloud, and his voice sounds suddenly like his own again, ringing in his ears with some of its old clarity.

He comes to his decision.

Fingon answers his door as soon as Maglor knocks at it, his face grey with strain.

For a long moment they only look at each other, and everything is understood.

“You cannot go,” says Maglor.

“I know,” Fingon says dully. “I know. I have been trying and trying to find a way—”

“He will take you captive,” Maglor says, “and send your head to Morgoth to win back his favour, and then—”

“Yes, yes,” Fingon says, “Maeglin will scheme his way to the throne, and Barad Eithel will fall, and so on.”

“More than that, Finno,” Maglor says quietly. “You are the hope of all the Noldor. As long as you live, there is yet a chance that we might triumph.”

“Do you really believe that now?” Fingon demands.

“I think I must,” Maglor breathes.

Fingon looks away from him and says nothing.

Maglor stands before him and waits.

At last Fingon says, his voice heavy, “So you are going in my place?”

“I think it is my turn, Finno,” Maglor says softly. “I cannot fail him again.”

“He will not welcome the sight of you,” Fingon warns, “if he even lives.”

“I know,” says Maglor.

Fingon manages a smile, a false and garish thing. “Well, I suppose kingship is about delegating, is it not? Makalaurë, in truth I cannot think of a better person to go.”

Maglor is not sure he believes that. But he says, “Do I take this to mean I go with the goodwill of my King?”

“More than that,” Fingon breathes, sincere in an instant. He takes both of Maglor’s hands in his. “Say rather with the blessings of a brother.”

Maglor squeezes his fingers, a little convulsively. “I thought I might ask your advice before I go, then,” he says. “After all, you know something about – saving people.”

“So everyone says,” Fingon murmurs. “But do you really think I saved him, Makalaurë?”

Maglor will not, cannot weep.

“He begged to die,” Fingon says, his voice matter-of-fact. “The first time I could think of no other way to free him. I bent my bow and took aim and all the songs say Thorondor arrived just in time – just in time, as if it were a good thing, as if it were a gift he had given me! Better that he had come earlier, I think, before I had made the choice. Better still he had come even five minutes later, and I had taken the shot, and not have to live forever knowing that I could have done it and did not.”

Maglor does not know if he can bear to listen for a moment longer. But he says, “Do you regret it?”

“I don’t know,” Fingon says. “Isn’t that absurd, that even now I don’t know? The Eagle bore me up to the iron shackle and again he begged for death, but by then I could not bear to consider it. I was going to save him, you see.”

“You need not speak so, Finno,” Maglor says. “You did a great thing that day on Thangorodrim. What happened after does not lessen it.”

“Did I?” Fingon asks. “I was selfish, Makalaurë. And I still do not know which was worse: that I was ready to slay him whom I loved best, or that I could not do it after all. I will always know that about myself, cousin. Do you think that poor shrivelled hand is the only thing we left behind on the mountain? No, in truth to save a person means to give up a part of yourself in doing so. I will never get it back.”

Maglor wonders if that is true. But what more has he to lose, with Maedhros gone? What does he have to give, without Maedhros beside him?

“I have to go,” is all he says.

Fingon smiles at him. “I know,” he says. “I have grown very tired of hoping lately – but still I hope that you will bring him back to me.”

Rising to the tips of his toes, he presses a kiss to Maglor’s forehead with every bit of Maedhros’ old gentleness.

Maglor’s eyes are burning, suddenly. Knowing himself dismissed, he embraces his cousin briefly and then departs.

He packs lightly: a sword, yet lighter than the one he bore before the old injuries. A hand-harp, for all the good that music has done him in recent days.

He deliberates a little longer over the Silmaril-circlet in its innocuous black box. He is not Maedhros, after all, to drive Sauron away with the blaze of the jewel. But perhaps it will provide some light in the dark and hidden paths that lie ahead of him; and besides, he is Oathbound to keep it with him.

Hooded and cloaked, in the dead of night, he slips out of Barad Eithel on foot, and begins to retrace the route his brother must have taken weeks ago.

He is not far from the fortress when the pre-dawn quiet is disrupted by hoofbeats: a single rider, slender and lithe, bent low with urgency.

She comes to a swift halt beside him and pushes back her hood: Lúthien, of course, her eyes wide with concern as she scans his face.

She seems at once to understand his purpose, for she only says, "You fool. You were not really planning to go alone, were you?"

For the first time since Sauron's messenger arrived, Maglor smiles.

(to be continued)

[cepheusgalaxy]

That episode wouldve been perfect if the pacing was a liiiitle bit slower

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent misc pictures

[leveebreak-s]

rambling in the tags. this is about led zeppelin sort of but only tangentially

[aemondsbabe]

Stick it Out to the End

summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance

pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 12.7k

a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🩷 my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Michael

Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing. 

Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day. 

The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129. 

Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this. 

Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs. 

He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end. 

Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid. 

He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him. 

“What the –”

Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –

Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed. 

His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness. 

Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises. 

“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”

Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy. 

Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael. 

“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”

Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation. 

“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”

The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”

“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.

The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”

Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively. 

“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”

“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.

“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.

“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”

A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line. 

“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?” 

“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head. 

After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.” 

The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.

Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet. 

“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”

The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”

“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”

Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.

“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”

“Look, I’m –” 

Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.

“Problem over here, lads?”

“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.” 

Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.

“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room. 

Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.

“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.

As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command. 

His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.

“Oi!”

“W-What?” 

“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.

He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”

The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.

“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”

“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.

“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!” 

The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.

“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”

“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”

Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door. 

Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind. 

Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?

This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots. 

You

A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term. 

“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night. 

You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet. 

The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached. 

You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from. 

Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles. 

Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.

“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint. 

She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”

Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants. 

“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear. 

“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”

You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub. 

Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you. 

Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.

Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else. 

“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”

His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.

“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.

“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”

“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin. 

“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. 

You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”

“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”

Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”

“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”

“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”

He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”

You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling. 

“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator. 

“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.” 

Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”

“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.

You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub. 

“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.

“W-What?”

“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”

He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy. 

True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms. 

The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile. 

“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.  

Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly. 

“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud. 

“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk. 

“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink. 

His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad. 

“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes. 

“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away. 

You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously. 

“A normal amount?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”

“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”

You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”

His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”

Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.

“I –” 

“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.

“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”

He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”

His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” 

“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”

“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.

“How do –”

“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.

“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”

“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.

“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”

“N-No, I really don’t think –”

“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.

Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.

“Oh, really?”

“I… I have to fuck you –”

“Mhm?”

“And prove I did somehow.”

“How interesting!”

He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.

“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist. 

He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”

Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”

He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”

“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”

“Well, I –”

“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”

“I… I suppose.”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”

“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more. 

You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”

He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”

You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him. 

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.

You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced. 

You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.

Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch. 

“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher. 

“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair. 

You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.

He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand. 

Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily. 

You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length. 

He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”

“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.” 

“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear. 

“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.

He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper. 

You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”

He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs. 

“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly. 

“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise. 

“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees. 

Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck. 

“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast. 

“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.” 

His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head. 

“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.

Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more. 

You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?” 

He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?” 

He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny. 

“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out. 

Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head. 

“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit. 

“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions. 

Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!” 

Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit. 

“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips. 

Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop. 

“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin. 

“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving. 

He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin. 

“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him. 

“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down. 

You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.

You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit. 

He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock. 

Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest. 

Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. 

You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you. 

“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters. 

“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.” 

He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips. 

You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy. 

Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”

“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle. 

“W-What?” 

“You have a phone, yeah?” 

“…Yeah?”

“One that can, like, take video?” 

“Yes?” 

“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers. 

“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly. 

“Film me.” 

“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased. 

“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?” 

“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“

“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?” 

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.” 

“Yeah? You wanna?” 

“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.” 

Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips. 

He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again. 

“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans. 

“You don’t want to anymore?” 

“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.” 

“‘N what would that be?” 

“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest. 

He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest. 

Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.” 

He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home. 

“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.” 

“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.” 

He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly. 

As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you. 

You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster. 

“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.

“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot. 

“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones. 

The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him. 

The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours. 

That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer. 

The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath. 

Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk. 

“Something funny?” 

“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest. 

“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss. 

“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk. 

He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush. 

Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs. 

“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile. 

Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?” 

“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…” 

You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?” 

“W-Well, yeah, but —“

“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.” 

His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. 

He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?” 

He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.” 

Michael

Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly. 

He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time. 

11:47 AM. 

He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor. 

“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look. 

“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!” 

“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame. 

Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly. 

He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more. 

He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.” 

Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!” 

It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud. 

Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort. 

The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime. 

Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.

Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath. 

“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.” 

The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up. 

“So, initiates, what’ve you got?” 

The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.” 

The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for. 

“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.” 

The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall. 

“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?” 

Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.” 

The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him. 

“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”

“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown. 

“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”

“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”

“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”

Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video. 

The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again. 

The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open. 

The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system. 

Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.

After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard. 

“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Welcome to Bullingdon.”

Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned. 

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers. 

Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings. 

Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.

“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.

“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”

Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”

“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”

“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 

“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up. 

Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. 

Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory. 

He has the real thing now.

taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Husband + Monster Reader

[18+, Talk of Nsfw but no outright smut, Spit Kink, Oral, Light Body Horror, Mentions of past Cannibalism, Reader is implied to be taller than Yan]

There are three things your husband would never ask for. Divorce. A homemade birthday cake. And, lastly, anything that would jeopardize his or your health. The rearmost point had its grey areas what with him sacrificing pieces of himself to accommodate your limited palate.

For him to request something from you loosely implies his assurance of its safety for you both-

"I've been thinking lately... It's actually been on my mind since the first time we did... things with each other."

Your husband bites at his lower lip, the thick panels of his glasses failing to hide his shame at even suggesting his mind's tempations to you.

"If it's not too trouble... Would it be out of the realm of possibility for you to... spit on it tonight?"

"Evan-"

Your husband is quick to cut you off, physically shrinking as he interrupts you. Your voice is the last he'd ever want to silence, but he needed to get through to you before the obvious concerns did.

"Hun, I know you're worried. No telling where I'd be now if I didn't have you to keep me safe. And that care you have for me is exactly why I want this."

He couldn't say he needed it. This had to be your choice above anything. Telling you the truth would only persuade you one way or another, and it'd kill him to be that selfish.

"I want you, Honey. All of you." A rising hand encourages you to accommodate your husband's smaller stature, leaning forward as he strokes a thumb over the barely visible line across your neck - the tongue that bleeds everything it touches of its essence hiding just beyond that slit.

Your throat bulges as it stirs, signifying your unease. Evan swiftly averts his eyes, clutching his this thighs together.

"If..." He chokes out, thoughts dwelling on that dense, inciting saliva of yours dripping off his most imitate areas. "If I wear a condom, it should be okay- It's just like when I used to wear gloves while I helped you brush your teeth."

He has a point- Far as either of you are aware, your saliva can only break down organic materials. That doesn't put him in the clear yet.

"What if it tears?"

"If I feel anything out of the ordinary I'll tell you immediately, and we stop to cuddle and watch tv."

"And how much spit do you want from me?"

Evan feigns a coughing fit. He was all for indulging in his twisted fantasies if you were on board with him, but saying them aloud is where things became tricky. "I was thinking you could to lay it on as thick as you can. Make sure I can feel the warmth and the... wetness through the protection. It'd be great if you could use your t-tongue a little too. I've always dreamt of what it'd feel like to have it wrapped around me."

"....You are a perverted man, Evan."

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he utters a small. "I know, but it's why you love me, right?"

Hope beaming from his lovestruck eyes, you squeeze his shoulder as you pass by. "I'll be upstairs when you're ready."

[ssahotchnerr]

hellooo, i hope you’re doing well! would you want to write a fic where at some point aaron steals readers gum out of her mouth? this is such a random thought and i’m so sorry if this sounds weird (now that i’ve written it down and not only thought about it, it seems very weird, sorry!!!!!!), but i kind of feel like this is something he’d do when making out lol and it obviously catches her off guard the first time he does it 😁

according to plan

omg i'm putting a jealous!aaron take on this 🤭 cw; suggestiveness, established relationship, bau!reader, detective being a creep, heavy on the kissing, possessive/jealous!aaron 🦋

aaron's just about had it.

it started out as lingering stares, beginning at your face before sweeping all along your form. next, the insistent eagerness to partner up with you. and now the detective, who's name wasn't worth remembering, was at your backside, itching to get as close to you as he possibly could. any closer, he would have you pressed against the bulletin board in front of the two of you.

you were politely trying to explain the physical, common characteristics between the victims, how unsubs sometimes had a specific type and that's why they chose to acquire them. naturally he had asked you the most stupid, simplest question; just another excuse to speak to you.

all day, aaron had been silently seething, a mere bystander. but as he joined and saw the sight before him, his fists clenched so tightly his fingernails were digging into the palms of his hands. enough was enough.

"do you understand now?" you naively asked, a pleased expression forming on your face when the detective nodded in confirmation. unlike aaron, you had been unaware of his ongoing actions.

"is there any way i can repay you?" he questioned smoothly, his eyes yet again dropping. this time, the attentiveness is drawn to your lips.

"no," you shake your head, your focus already directed on readjusting one of the displayed photos, the gum in your mouth producing a pop. "i'm just glad i could be of some assistance."

it's a bad habit of yours, snapping your gum too loudly. it's hard to not notice it. but fortunately, the brought focus is about to work completely in aaron's favor.

aaron calls your name, tipping his head to the side as a signal for you to come. you abide, leaving the detective right where he is and as a result, he subtly glares at aaron for interrupting his time with you and his advances. aaron steps aside to let you pass, and as soon as you do, he shoots daggers right back.

truthfully, he's extremely lucky that's all aaron did.

you follow him to one of the empty interrogation rooms, a small trek away from everyone else. once inside, aaron swiftly shuts the door behind you.

"what's-"

aaron's lips are on yours before you can finish your sentence, causing you to gasp slightly in surprise, throwing your arms around his neck and instantly kissing him back.

it's all too easy to submit to aaron, allowing him to guide you and push you back against the door. he crowds you against it, his breath hot and heavy in your mouth, his hands exploring every curve of your body and more. every inch of you, is consumed by him.

the kiss is heated, desperate, and in the back of your mind, you distantly wonder why the suddenness - what has gotten into him? but with the pure vigor he's kissing you with, your brain had gone fuzzy; you were too consumed by the kiss to dwell on the potential reason why, or did you care.

aaron's large hands slide down your back, landing on and promptly squeezing your ass - hard. you gasp again, and aaron uses the sudden part of your lips to push his tongue into your mouth, sliding against your own. he can taste it - the flavor of your gum - and it only encourages him further, deepening the kiss.

you can't help let out a small moan, which aaron immediately swallows up from you, mindful of your volume within the current setting. your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving and gripping onto his hair tight.

the kiss itself is wet and sloppy - all according to plan. and once the mint flavor fully invades his mouth, aaron forces himself to pull away.

and before it becomes impossible not to.

your eyes are wide as you look up at him. your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. you let out a breathless laugh, chest heaving up and down. "wow. i..."

you trail off, your tone leading into more or less a question. aaron leans in once more, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your lips this time. "just missed you."

you take instant note of the slight, new shift of his jaw, which prompts you to realize something from your mouth is missing.

you gape at him, jaw dropping a bit in astonishment. "wait, did you take my gum?"

aaron's way of a response is opening the door, a small nudge of his head gesturing for you to exit. "after you."

you give him a confused look, yet your eyes are still dark and lined with arousal, before heading back to the others. a deep exhale leaves you as you walk away, an attempt to cool down before facing anyone else.

this time, when the detective's stare returns to you both, aaron's the one loudly snapping the gum.

[kyeomofhearts]

Back For More | J.WW

+ summary: while adjusting to your new life in college, you couldn't help but attract the attention of wonwoo, someone you happened to share a history with.

+ pairing: badboy!wonwoo x fem!reader

+ word count: 4.5k

+ content: badboy!wonwoo, college au, mature language, jealousy, angst, suggestive, possessive wonwoo (yum), teasing, a lot of dialogue for sure, fluff?, please lmk if i missed anything tyyyy!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

[ᝰ.ᐟ] glad you guys enjoyed part one!!! 🥹 i really appreciate the lovely comments you all left <333 i know this took forever for me to post but i swear i didn't mean to. currently writing part three as we speak so it will definitely come out within these following months or so... anyways, this wasn't proofread so please excuse any mistakes i may have made! as always, don't be scared to comment because i quite literally thrive on your guys' comments and reblogs! :)

Two weeks. Two full weeks of your torture.

Wonwoo was pretty shocked, to say the least. He wasn’t aware of the lengths you would take to ignore him. Sure, it was his fault for going off on you but he was sorry. He knew what he had said to you that day upset you, but he didn't know it was going to end up like this. And now he was at a loss, he wasn’t sure on how to navigate this 'predicament' between the two of you.

Wonwoo obviously knew that he had to apologize to you but he also knew that you needed space. Which is exactly what he did for those first few days after the ‘fight’ had occurred. He gave you space for a day or two but then, those two days turned into five... and before he knew it, two weeks had passed.

Of course, it’s not like Wonwoo didn’t try to talk to you but it was kind of difficult when you would run away at the mere sight of him. It also didn't help that any of his attempts for forgiveness were typically greeted with your indifference, it was as if you had walled yourself off completely.

To make matters worse, anytime that Wonwoo was able to see you, Hyunwoo was right by your side. It was troubling, to say the least. He couldn't quite put his finger on why the sight of you with Hyunwoo stirred such unease within him but it did and he hated it.

Out of everyone on this campus, you were giving Hyunwoo your time and attention? It just didn't make sense to Wonwoo. You barely knew the guy!

Not that he was jealous or anything but… there was something about Hyunwoo that he didn't trust. His easy 'charm' and 'magnetic' personality seemed almost too good to be true, and Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. He was definitely hiding something.

And so, Wonwoo found himself in limbo, caught between the regret of his past actions and the uncertainty of what would happen between him and you. He hoped for the chance to set things right, to close the gap that had formed between the two of you, but he couldn't help but wonder if it was already too late.

Until then, all he could do was wait for another opportunity.

[...]

To say that you were bored was an understatement. Ignoring Wonwoo for two weeks was beginning to take its toll on you. Life had suddenly become only about your job and classes which was... exhausting.

Granted, you did make it your life mission to ignore him any chance you were given but there was no point in dwelling on that. It was quite easy going no-contact with him considering that you didn't share any socials with him. A small part of you did occasionally miss when you would get randomly bothered by Wonwoo, it was a nice distraction from whatever you were thinking about at that moment.

Other than that...

Life was pretty uneventful if you were being honest with yourself. Your days were usually filled with school assignments and work so there wasn't anything that could help you keep your mind away from Wonwoo. And it didn't help that your friends had gone radio silent on you either.

Some might say that you were taking your pettiness too far but you couldn't help yourself! Sure, you and Wonwoo were not at the level where you could practically share everything with each other but how else were you supposed to react to his obvious injuries? Like... did he want you to just ignore his bruised face and act like everything was fine and dandy? You despised how much this whole situation still bothered you even after a few weeks had passed since it occurred.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to hear Wonwoo out-

"Hellooo? Yn!"

Your head snapped towards the direction where you heard your name come from. Of course, it was Hyunwoo.

"I've been calling your name like crazy! Are you deaf or something?" His voice was laced with annoyance but you could tell that he was trying to play it cool.

You don't know if it was because you were always sleep-deprived but recently, Hyunwoo had been getting on your nerves. Hyunwoo was just too clingy for your liking, always feeling the need to be around you any chance he could. It was bothersome if anything.

“Sorry I was distracted, what did you need?” You tried to sound nice but couldn't help the irritation from slipping into your tone.

Hyunwoo scoffed. "Well, I just wanted to invite you to this party on Friday." He stepped closer to you, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He continued, "I know parties aren't really your thing but... please think about it at least?"

You hesitated, your mind automatically going through your schedule. You were definitely open on Friday, but the thought of going to a party wasn't exactly appealing to you. Especially not with the current state of your social life.

You mulled over his proposition for a few seconds.

"Uh, thanks for the invite, but I think I'll pass," you replied, trying to sound casual.

Hyunwoo raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor turning into one of disbelief. "Pass? Come on, yn, when was the last time you actually went out and had some fun?"

Ugh. His words hit a little too close to home. You knew he was right, but the idea of going out without knowing anyone felt daunting. You knew that there was surely something better you could do on a Friday night but a small part of you was curious about the party. Maybe you should at least check it out, that wouldn't hurt, right?

You looked at Hyunwoo and exhaled.

"Okay fine, I'll go with you," you playfully nudged his arm before continuing, "under the condition that I can leave whenever I want."

Hyunwoo couldn't help but roll his eyes and scoff at your 'terms and conditions', but he accepted it either way.

"Sure, oh and trust me, you won't want to leave, I'll make sure of that," Hyunwoo said as he looked at the time on his phone noting that he had a few minutes left. He patted your back before bidding you goodbye to attend his next class.

You weren't sure if it was you but there was something off about his reply. But before you could dwell on it further, your phone suddenly buzzed with a notification, forcing you back to reality.

[www.onwoo requested to follow you.]

Oh.

Okay, now you have a lot of questions. How did he even find you? Was it through one of your friends? Why now? God you knew this was going to eat you up for the next few hours or maybe even days.

Nevertheless, you accepted his friend request and even went as far as to add him as a friend. That should be okay, right?

You slipped your phone back into your pocket as you got closer to your class. Surely your lecture would at least help you take him off your mind.

Wrong.

When you entered the classroom you noticed that the seating arrangement had been changed. There were a few students still standing at the front who looked just as confused as you. After a few more students came to the class the professor eventually got up to address the situation.

"For those that are coming in, I have changed your assigned seats for the rest of the semester! If you look at the board you will also see that I have grouped you into pairs, and to make it convenient I have sat you with your partner so you do not have to struggle with finding them. If you have any questions please do not hesitate to ask me!"

Okay, this was different but not necessarily bad. You looked towards the board to see who you had been paired with and you felt your stomach drop down to the pits of Hell.

[yn | wonwoo]

If you were going to be honest you completely forgot Wonwoo was even in this class in the first place.

If there was a God out there, then they for sure failed you today. This was very unfortunate for you, but there wasn't anything that could be done about it. So you begrudgingly made your way to your assigned seat, right next to Wonwoo.

You took a quick glance over his figure noting his dark attire. There wasn't anything special about it but just seeing him in a simple black shirt and sweats was doing a lot of things to you. Why was the room hot all of a sudden?

After getting yourself situated in your seat, you felt his eyes surveying your figure. Part of you wanted to turn to see if he was actually looking at you but that would just be another win for him so you decided to keep your gaze on the board. Just focus on the lecture.

"yn." Wonwoo said in a somewhat muted tone, tapping a finger on your arm.

Well, that didn't last long.

You hated how much of an effect his voice still had on you, that deep tone always giving you goosebumps. Surprisingly, you still managed to keep your eyes on the lecture, you wanted to see how far he would go to get your attention.

Though your silence didn't amuse Wonwoo, in fact, it annoyed him. He hated not being able to annoy you, maybe even going as far as to say that he missed talking to you. Of course, he wouldn't have been in this situation had he not snapped at you that day but he was really trying to earn your forgiveness. He was willing to do anything at this point. So he leaned towards you, his cologne invading your senses. God, why did he have to smell so good?

"Can you stop ignoring me? I gave you enough space already," he said in a hushed, irritated tone.

You looked at him, trying your best to not laugh at how desperate he was beginning to sound. His usually calm and collected persona was beginning to crumble down into a hopeless mess. Feeling playful, you decided to torture him just a little bit.

"I don't think I want to, it's been kind of fun not having you around," You whispered back, turning your gaze at the board so you wouldn't have to see his reaction. Just for the fun of it, you decided to egg him on a little further, "Maybe try again later."

As you focused on the board, you could practically feel the tension radiating from Wonwoo beside you. His irritation was palpable, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his frustration.

But despite your playful defiance, a small part of you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Maybe you were being too harsh on him, too stubborn to admit that you missed whatever you had going on with him. Deep down, you knew that ignoring Wonwoo wasn't going to solve anything, that it was only prolonging the inevitable confrontation you both needed to have.

As the lecture droned on in the background, the weight of Wonwoo's presence beside you grew heavier with each passing minute. You could sense him fidgeting in his seat, his frustration simmering beneath the surface as he grappled with your stubborn silence.

Maybe it was time that you stopped pushing him away.

Finally unable to bear the tension any longer, you cleared your throat.

"Okay fine, I'll stop ignoring you but don't think that I have forgiven you yet." Your eyes lingered on his face, his cuts and bruises had noticeably healed but they were still evident.

Wonwoo's tense figure visibly relaxed at your words. Even though it was only a small step, Wonwoo felt as if he had already won the lottery.

After another hour had passed, the lecture had finally come to an end. You didn't have any plans after this so you were excited to just spend the day doing whatever. But just as you were about to slip out of your seat, Wonwoo's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Wait for me," he said, his voice softer than before.

Seeing Wonwoo like this was quite... weird. His demeanor towards you was a complete contrast to his usual confident self. It was kind of unnerving.

After that, Wonwoo began to gather his belongings, even going as far as gently taking your bag from your hand. He slid the bag onto his shoulder, not caring about the fact that he looked ridiculous wearing his regular backpack with your tote.

"I can carry my bag," you said as you tried reaching for it.

Wonwoo quickly moved away before you could even land a finger on your tote. "Let me carry it for you, please." His tone was sincere this time, almost pleading if anything.

With a reluctant sigh, you began to make your way out of the classroom, allowing Wonwoo to fall into step beside you as you made your way out of the lecture hall. The hallway was relatively quiet, the sounds of footsteps echoing against the tiled floor as you passed by other students.

As you walked side by side with Wonwoo, you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a physical barrier. As you rounded the corner, you stole a glance at Wonwoo, taking in the uncertainty etched into his features. It was strange to see him like this, vulnerable and unsure, but there was also something oddly endearing about it.

"What's going on? You're acting really weird right now," you finally blurted out, unable to contain your curiosity any longer.

Wonwoo's steps faltered slightly at your question, his gaze flickering away before returning to meet yours. "Can't I do something nice for my friend?" he replied, his voice tinged with a tiny hint of defensiveness.

You blinked, taken aback by Wonwoo's response. "Friend?" you echoed, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. It had been weeks since you and Wonwoo had exchanged more than a few words with each other, but even before that, you weren't necessarily sure you could call him a friend. Sure you've known him for the majority of your life but that was really it, growing up your friend groups rarely interacted so it's not like you actually knew anything about him. He just always happened to be there.

Did he seriously consider you as a friend?

Wonwoo's steps came to an abrupt stop, he shifted uncomfortably beside you, his gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet yours. "Well, yeah. I mean, aren't we?" he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken implications and unresolved tension. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, searching for the right words to express the swirling thoughts and emotions that churned within you.

"I don't know, Wonwoo," you finally admitted, your voice quiet but resolute. "I get that we've known each other for a long time but... I wouldn't exactly call us friends."

His face flashed a hint of hurt before he looked away from you. The silence following between the two of you was almost suffocating.

"That's fair I guess." His voice returned to that stoic tone that you had grown accustomed to.

Wonwoo's response hung in the air for a second, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. You could feel the weight of his disappointment pressing down on you, mingling with your own sense of unease.

"I didn't mean it like that," you interjected hastily, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It's just... weird you know? We've been around each other for so long but I don't know anything about you and you don't know anything about me."

His gaze remained fixed on the ground, his expression unreadable. "I know," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the footsteps of the people passing by. "But we can always change that." Wonwoo was now completely looking at you, his gaze filled with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

He continued, "Look, I'm sorry I spoke to you that way. I was really irritated by what had happened but I figured that being with you would put me in a better mood," he paused for a second, "I know that it was unfair of me to do that to you and I'll make sure that it won't happen again." Wonwoo's eyes were soft and sincere as he spoke to you.

It was shocking in a way, seeing how vulnerable he was being with you. For someone who usually displayed himself on the 'cooler' side, he really did know how to be genuine with you.

It was also overwhelming. Everything about this felt too intimate for you. From the way Wonwoo was looking at you to the way he voiced out his apology; it was just too much for you.

You had to do something.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to accept his apology, it was about time anyway.

"Okay, fine. I get it, we all have our off days," turning to face his side, you made a playful jab into his ribs, "but if you ever do anything like that again I will kill you." You tried your best to maintain a somewhat serious face but couldn't help but let out a giggle as soon as you saw Wonwoo squirm from your touch.

And just like that, the tension that had once felt suffocating was now gone, as if it had never been there in the first place; or at least so you thought.

What you didn't know was that Wonwoo was completely aware of your little diversion tactic. He noticed the subtle shift in your eyes while he was apologizing to you, he just chose not to say anything. But he'll play along at least for now.

“So…are we officially back to being besties?” Wonwoo decided to say teasingly, his eyes looking at you expectantly.

You stare at him momentarily with an unimpressed look before breaking into a smile. Although you've known Wonwoo for a while, you would have never thought he could joke around like this, especially with you.

And well... it wouldn't hurt if you played with him a little more.

“I’ll say yes if you buy me a smoothie from the stand over there.” You pointed toward the barely visible smoothie stand that was parked a bit farther from the window where you and Wonwoo stood.

It was the same smoothie spot from a few weeks ago only this time they were in a small cart. Although they did have their own shop near the area, the owners would occasionally bring a little cart around the campus to help bring more people in.

Wonwoo let out a low chuckle before asking you, "Do you want the same thing from last time?”

Last time? There was absolutely no way that he was talking about your order from two weeks ago.

You quirked your eyebrow up at him, "…And just how sure are you that you remember my order?"

Okay, to be fair, it's not like you had a complicated order, but it would be surprising if Wonwoo was able to remember it considering that he only heard you order that smoothie once.

Wonwoo looked over to you once again, a small smirk taking over his features. "I'll have you know that it also happens to be my favorite so don't get too excited now," he said in a provocative tone.

Ugh, he was so annoying.

Before you could give his response any more thought Wonwoo had wordlessly started walking toward the smoothie stand, effectively leaving you behind. But rather than following him all the way to the stand you decided to find seating, preferably under the shade. It's been getting hot, you noticed it's especially true when Wonwoo is around.

After finding a spot under the shade you begin to mindlessly scroll on your phone. It wasn't too long after you sat down that a notification got a hold of your attention.

[www.onwoo wants to send you a message.]

Oh god. What did he possibly want now?

[www.onwoo] why didn't you come with me? :(

Before accepting his message request you glanced over to the smoothie stand, the line was pretty long now but Wonwoo had made it just in time to get his order in before the rush. As you were looking at him, he turned his gaze toward you making you immediately look back down on your phone.

[you] it's only a one-man job. also you look ridiculous with my bag.

Wonwoo softly scoffed at your message and looked in your direction. You weren't looking at him anymore but he was still able to see a small smile on your face.

[www.onwoo] i'll have you know that i already had 3 girls compliment me on the bag 😼

You rolled your eyes before shooting back a reply.

[you] i have immaculate taste that's why.

A few chat bubbles popped in and out before they eventually disappeared altogether. It wasn't long after that you heard footsteps quickly making their way toward you.

Just as you lifted your head upwards you heard Wonwoo's confident voice announce his arrival.

“One large smoothie for my little birdy.” He smiled as he spoke, knowing that you absolutely despised that nickname.

You squinted at him in disapproval, “And here I thought that nickname was officially gone for good.”

Wonwoo chuckled at that. He then proceeded to take a sip of your smoothie before officially handing it off to you.

You stayed frozen for a second before grabbing the smoothie and wiping the straw with your shirt.

Absolutely no indirect kisses will be occurring today.

Getting up from your spot, you begin to mindlessly walk toward the closest pathway near you, the weather is pretty nice today. After a few steps, you turned around to see a rather puzzled Wonwoo looking back at you but he still followed nonetheless.

“You’re a little too chirpy today… what happened to the oh-so-serious biker? Hmm?” You playfully poked at him as you said it, enjoying the sweet flavor of the smoothie he had gotten for you.

Wonwoo scoffed softly, holding back his laugh, “He’s still here, he just happens to be in a good mood now that his little birdy is talking to him again.”

But before you can even think of a snarky response Wonwoo continued.

“But if that’s what you’re into then I can always play the part for you,” he said with a smirk, his words smothered in arrogance.

You scoffed, amused by the implication he made. “Ew it’s definitely not like that.”

“Oh, but it can be.” Wonwoo moved closer to you, effectively closing the space between you both. His cologne invaded your senses once again; this time, it was proving much more difficult for you to escape from his grasp. His gaze was unwavering as he looked at your face or to be more exact, your lips.

After what felt like an eternity, Wonwoo finally pulled himself away from you. He smirked at the very flustered state that he had just left you in. It was clear that there was a mutual attraction between the two of you, an attraction you were trying to reject.

It was a challenge that Wonwoo was more than ready to handle.

You cleared your throat, "As fun as it was hanging out after class... I think that it's about time for me to head back home," you said as you recomposed yourself.

Technically speaking, there wasn't anything waiting for you back at your place but you felt that if you stayed a second longer things would definitely escalate between the two of you.

And again, your little stunt didn't go unnoticed by Wonwoo but he also wasn't surprised, if anything, he expected you to pull away like this. That was one of the first things he had noticed when he initially started talking to you, always leaving before things could really develop. It was cute in a way, but he was eventually going to get you out of your shell, it was only a matter of when.

Wonwoo faintly smiled to himself, “Okay but before I let you go, we should come up with a day to start our project together.”

Fuck. You forgot about that.

He continued, “How about this Friday? I have nothing going on that day.” Wonwoo's eyes landed on your figure as you went on your phone to check your work schedule for the upcoming week.

“Ugh, I have to go out with Hyunwoo that day,” you said just as your eyes landed on Sunday, it was completely open.

“…but how about this Sunday? I don’t work that day.” You looked up toward Wonwoo's eyes, hopeful that it could work out.

A million thoughts raced through Wonwoo's head. You're going out with Hyunwoo? Like as in a date or...? No, he has to stay composed.

“That works for me,” he mumbled, his gaze went toward the ground, kicking a few pebbles before looking at you once again, “but what’s going on with you and Hyunwoo?”

You couldn't help but laugh at Wonwoo's question which earned you a scowl from him. God, you were going to have so much fun with this.

“Why do you ask?” This was the perfect opportunity to get back at Wonwoo for teasing you earlier so like the tease that you are, you decided to play dumb with him. “Are you perhaps… jealous?” You said with a loud gasp as a way to rile him up, your hands flying to your mouth for dramatic effect.

You continued, "Don't worry Hyunwoo is just a boy who also happens to be my friend." Wonwoo's face physically hardened at the idea of Hyunwoo being your boyfriend. He knew that you saw him on a regular basis but he had yet to see any real signs that you were actually dating him.

Patting his back in a comforting manner you then explained, "Relax, don't get your panties in a twist. If you have to know, Hyunwoo is just a friend." While it was fun teasing him you most certainly did not want him to get the wrong idea about you and Hyunwoo.

"But if I'm being honest it was kind of fun bullying you, I should do that more often." It couldn't be helped! You just had to add that last part.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Oh wow, who knew you were a sadist.” His tone was playful, an evil grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he played along with your banter.

Your jaw dropped at his comment, huffing out a loud, “Wonwoo!”

He raised his hands up in a surrender, “I'm kidding! I'm kidding… or maybe not.” Which then earned him a slap on his bicep.

“You truly are shameless,” you muttered out loud for him to hear.

By this point, Wonwoo had taken the lead as the two of you walked away from the courtyard. It was only until you were at the school's parking lot that you realized that he had purposely taken you here.

There was a beat of silence before Wonwoo let out a soft sigh. "Would you look at that... my bike happens to be over there..." He nudged you in the direction of where he had parked his bike a few hours prior.

Wonwoo let out another pathetic sigh, "It would be rude of me to just let you walk back home you know?" This time he grabbed a hold of your hand as he led you directly in front of his bike.

Your eyes almost bulged out of your head at the implication that he just made. There's absolutely no way that you are getting on his bike.

"Uh... I'm not so sure this is a good idea Won-"

Wonwoo shushes you and hands you a spare helmet, a shit-eating grin plastered over his stupidly handsome face.

"Just trust me," he says as he slides your tote inside his backpack, "that should hold everything in place." Wonwoo then handed the backpack to you, waiting for you to put it on, his eyes landing on your terrified figure.

This was going to be fun.

Part Three: Coming Soon…

[sylusplushie]

summary: you're going through a stressful time and you surrender yourself to sylus

𖹭𖹭𖹭

you were going through a stressful time. your mind was too full, you couldn't think clearly. your depressive mood was eating and draining you from the inside. maybe stress was normal, but you couldn't control it. at some point you couldn't even tolerate yourself. you wanted to do nothing, literally nothing.

you sat on the bed, wearing a thin nightgown that reached down to your knees. you pulled your legs up to your chest, put your chin between your knees and just stayed like that for a while. times like these came and went, yes, but it didn't make you feel good at that moment. besides, you didn't want to talk to anyone. yes, not even to him. you didn't want to overwhelm sylus with your problems, you didn't want him to have to deal with your problems when he already had enough of his own. you pretended that everything was fine, forgetting how well he knew you.

sylus opened the door slowly and walked in. he knew something was wrong, of course he did. he sighed when he saw you curled up in a ball on the bed. seeing you upset made him even more upset, you kind of set the mood for him. he approached you slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed. ''sweetie…'' he gently brushed your hair out of your face, he wanted to look at you. he grabbed your chin and turned your face towards him, he could read everything in your eyes. ''i'm fine.'' you mumbled, but he didn't believe a word you said. ''don't expect me to believe you.''

he put his hand on your cheek, his thumb stroked under your eye. “if you don't want to tell me what happened, then don't.” he whispered. he took you in his arms and sat you on his lap, made you rest your head on his chest. “but let me keep you company. let me share your silence, your pain.“ his words brought tears to your eyes. all the emotions you had repressed were coming out. you were unable to speak, as if someone was squeezing your throat. ”sshh…” he stroked your hair, massaged your scalp. it was killing him to see you like that. he closed his eyes, lowered his head and inhaled the scent of her hair. ''you don't need to hold yourself back. let your emotions come out. you want to cry? cry.'' you felt his breath in your hair, his presence reassured you. you wrapped your arms tightly around him, you needed him, more than anything. you rubbed your nose against his neck and finally tears started to stream down your cheeks.

sylus held you tightly, rubbing soft circles on your back, stroking your hair. ''everything will pass. everything will be fine.'' he held you close to him, feeling your tears on his skin. you trembled like a wounded bird in his arms, and his heart trembled to see you like that. ''this won't last forever, my love. no pain is permanent.'' he continued to tell you what was in his heart. you were crying as you listened to him, but you felt yourself relaxing. it was as if tons of weight were slowly lifting off you. ''sometimes i feel so helpless.'' you murmured through your tears. ''i feel hopeless, a failure. i… i can't help myself.''

sylus listened to you carefully, pressing soft kisses into your hair. ''you're so strong.'' he whispered in your ear, you could feel his voice deep in your soul. ''you can't imagine what you've been through. you'll get through this, you'll overcome everything. but…'' he held your chin and lifted your head, looked into your eyes for a while. he stroked your lower lip with his thumb as he looked into your eyes, swollen and red from crying. ''…but you don't have to go through it alone. you're not alone. i'm here.''

he took your cheeks in his hands and wiped away your tears. ”i can't take your pain away from you, but i can make you share it with me. i don't want to see those beautiful eyes of yours crying with sadness anymore. haven't you cried enough already?”

you didn't understand his last sentence very well, you weren't sure what he meant, but you couldn't dwell on it. ''i will always hold your hand, no matter what.” he said, smiling softly. he took your hand and brought it to his lips, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand. you felt your heart soften as you looked at him, you were glad you had him.

“get some rest. sleep will do you good.” sylus was about to put you to bed when you stopped him, you had other plans. “sylus… can i sleep on your lap?”

sylus' curious expression was replaced by a smile, his eyes softened. ''of course, of course, my darling. come here.'' he took you in his arms, held you like a baby and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. ''I'll be here when you wake up, right next to you.'' he hummed a soothing melody to help you fall asleep easily, stroking your hair. you felt your eyelids feel heavy, your eyes were already hurting from crying. there was an indescribable pleasure in sleeping after crying. soon your body relaxed and you fell asleep in sylus' arms.

he kissed you from your cheek to your chin, his eyes never leaving you for a moment. “my most precious treasure. from now on i will be with you every moment, i promise.”

[captain-hawks]

LET ME SEE THE HEAT GET TO YOU.

rintarou suna x f!reader

wc: 2.1k tags: 18+ only, and they were roommates, the complete and utter objectification of rintarou suna's hands, hand kink, oral fixation, finger sucking, fingering -> requested

“What?”

Suna’s voice startles you from your drifting train of thought, and the back of your neck heats up in embarrassment as you peel your gaze away from the sight of his fingertips drumming against his mouth, turning your focus back to the television. 

It was accidental—the birth of this oddly distracting fixation. 

Suna’s been your roommate for nearly six months, an arrangement of convenience when your prior roommate bailed with hardly a week’s notice and left you scrambling for someone to take over the second bedroom. Given that he was in between apartments and had been crashing on Atsumu’s couch for nearly a month at that point, it worked out in both your favor and his.

You even managed to convince yourself that the slightly inconvenient attraction you felt for your friend was negligible in the face of the prospect of trying to carry the bills for the apartment solo—that, or the inevitable stress of finding a complete stranger to move in instead. 

And it was fine, for a little while.

Between work and cramming for finals, you hardly had time to dwell over things like how unfairly attractive he looks with his mussed bedhead and tired eyes when he makes his way out into the kitchen in the morning, or your newfound burden of knowledge of a tattoo that exists on the curve of his hip (courtesy of your single bathroom dwelling and a conveniently low-slung towel). 

But three weeks and four days ago on an unsuspecting Wednesday afternoon, Suna unknowingly smashed every single precarious eggshell you’d been tiptoeing over with what you’d mistakenly thought was practiced ease. 

Suna leans forward now, elbows resting on his knees as he watches the movie that you’ve hardly been paying attention to, and he idly drags the side of his thumb against his bottom lip. 

Warmth stirs in your gut. You think back to that day, the slice of cake sitting atop a small white plate in the middle of the kitchen. The easy way your fork cut through the icing and down its soft center. The gentle mirth in Suna’s eyes as he stood on the other side of the island and listened to you recount a silly story from work.

The even easier way he’d reached across the expanse of marble countertop, wordlessly swiping away a rogue bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, leaving you to flounder for your words mid-sentence as he casually licked it off after.

To Suna, it was clearly nothing, given the way he’s carried on since like it never even happened.

For you, it’s become a Problem™. 

Because now you can’t stop thinking about his stupid goddamn hands.

His large hands with those long, slender fingers and neatly kept nails. 

It really doesn’t help that you’ve spent enough time watching him play volleyball to know the extent of their power, the quick dexterity with which he effortlessly blocks and serves, the impressive amount of control he can leverage with his digits curled around the ball’s surface.

Logically, they’re just hands.

This is what you try to tell yourself when you’re free from the stifling, one-sided terrarium of unrequited pining that you’ve turned your cozy third floor apartment into. You let your eyes sweep downward when you’re at work, when you’re in class, while you’re walking the aisles at the grocery store—and there’s not a goddamn single hand that passes through your line of sight that sets your heart racing like the ones that belong to your roommate. 

Now you can hardly catch his eye in the bathroom mirror when you reach across the counter while he’s brushing his teeth without feeling warm all over at the sight of his fingers wrapped around his toothbrush. 

Just last week, you nearly choked on your own dinner when you glanced up across the kitchen table to find him pressing his mouth to a piece of rice clinging to his knuckle. 

The loose, uninhibited state your thoughts pile into at night doesn’t help your current predicament in the slightest, as you’ve begun to find yourself restless as you dwell on other things—other places Suna’s hands could slide and cup and grasp. 

You’ve imagined how they’d feel pressed down on your tongue or molded against your breasts. Wrapped around your hips. Lodged deep in the slick of your cunt.

Spread, curled, grasping and thrusting until you’re coming so hard on nothing but the precise stretch of his digits that you can barely breathe.

It’s a date with someone who isn’t Suna, of all things, that brings it all crashing to a head. 

Glancing down at your phone as it lights up on the bathroom counter, you groan when the time flashes across the screen. You’re running late.

“Wow, where are you headed?” Suna curiously pokes his head into the bathroom, and his eyes widen a fraction when he notices your outfit. 

“Shit,” you gasp, jumping at the sudden sound of his voice and smearing a line of lipstick beyond the corner of your mouth in the process. The applicator clatters into the sink. 

Whipping around, you inhale, clutching the edges of the counter with both hands as you blink at your roommate in surprise. 

“Sorry,” he says, wincing.

“I have a date,” you tell him, words coming out in a rush. 

Suna blinks, and while he’s in no way the most talkative person you’ve ever met, you’ve also yet to see him at a loss for words like he seems to be now. You don’t bother adding that the date in question is for the express purpose of giving you reprieve from the pathetically Pavlovian response you’ve developed to the mere sight of his hands.

“There’s—” he belatedly motions toward your face, where you can feel the smudged trail of lipstick. 

You should probably turn around and start digging around under the sink for makeup remover, but predictably, you’re too focused on…yes…his hands. 

When you make no move to clean yourself up, Suna takes a step forward, the toes of his socks brushing against your bare feet. He reaches out, eyes focused on the corner of your mouth, and swipes two fingers over the mess. 

You stand there, rooted to the spot, the dizzying rush of blood in your ears hindering your ability to tell him that wiping it with his bare hands isn’t going to do anything.

And then his fingertips softly feather over the upper edges of your mouth.

You meet his gaze, your ribcage shuddering at the intensity of it, and before you’re fully aware of what you’re doing, your head tips back just enough to let his fingers slip to the plush center of your bottom lip. 

Suna stares at you, unblinking, and he applies just enough pressure to part your lips.

Hot, insistent sparks of arousal flood your nervous system, setting alight the trail of desire that’s been steadily coating your better judgment like sticky, rich honey. 

You lean forward, your hips and thighs brushing against his, and take Suna’s fingers into your mouth.

Whatever you were feeling before, whatever petty fantasies you’ve imagined in the quiet beneath your sheets, they pale in comparison to this—to the feeling of your tongue wrapped around Suna’s slender digits. The pressure of them against your tongue as the saliva pools in your mouth. The molten path that blazes through your gut when he pushes in further, from the second knuckle to the third.

A moan crawls up your throat, drool slipping out past your lips and down your chin as you suck, and you’d be embarrassed—if not for the hitch of his breath, the appreciative, answering groan that leaves Suna as he cups the side of your neck with his free hand.

The counter presses into your backside as Suna’s body presses more firmly into yours, his thumb scraping beneath your chin as he watches you come untethered. 

“Fuck,” he mutters as you shudder at the friction he draws between your legs, desperately trying to take his fingers even deeper into the wet recesses of your warm mouth.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know the errant swipe of your lipstick is likely nothing compared to the state of your lips as a whole right now.

And Suna seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, because without warning, he turns you around to face the mirror.

He’s hard, you can feel him pressing into your backside as the bite of the counter meets your hips. 

“You’re a mess,” he murmurs softly against the shell of your ear, eyes dark as he finds yours in the mirror.

He’s not wrong—you are a mess. Lipstick is smeared well past the boundary of your mouth, and his fingers are stained red and slick with your saliva. Your chest heaves.

Suna slides his fingers back into your mouth, and this time, he watches you watch yourself as you suck on them, observes the none-too-subtle shudder that wracks down your spine at the depraved sight before you. 

He smooths out the wrinkles in your dress, hand trailing down your front. 

Your cunt aches.

“Suna…,” you gasp out.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he mouths at the curve of your jaw. 

“…please…”

He adds a third finger as you continue to suck, and teeth drag down the side of your neck, his lips a hot brand as he presses them to your nape. 

“Rin—”

The fingers in your mouth curl, and you place a hand over his, slowly tugging up the skirt of your dress.

“I thought you had a date,” he rasps, your phone vibrating beside you as a text message flashes across the screen.

“Change of plans,” you gasp as his hand slips out of your grip, rucking up the skirt of your dress to reveal the pretty, lacy panties beneath. 

“You sure?” he asks, eyes finding yours in the mirror again, fingertips toying with the waistband of your underwear. His fingers leave your mouth, slipping down your front to caress your collarbone. 

You nod.

Suna’s hand slips lower, gliding into your underwear, and he exhales when his fingers find the full extent of what a mess he’s made of you.

“And I thought your mouth was wet.” He sounds amused, but his tone is rougher now, the hard press of his erection against the globes of your ass more insistent as he begins to finger your slit.

You gasp at the sensation, your legs sliding further apart as your entire body relaxes into his, your head tipping back against his shoulder. His free hand finds a home loosely splayed across the throat that you’ve bared to him. 

A slender finger slips easily into your wet hole, and the pleasure from that alone has your entire spine arching, hips eagerly rocking into his touch.

“Sensitive,” he observes, curling the digit against your plush, slick inner walls. 

You whimper. 

It’d be so much easier to stumble into his bedroom or yours, to be splayed wide across the sheets, hips arching up off of the mattress as he sinks three fingers deep. But it’s the filthy sight of yourself in the mirror that keeps you firmly rooted to the spot, body wholly overheated with arousal and desire. 

Your legs spread a bit wider of their own accord, your balance going slightly askew, and Suna holds you fast as you writhe when one finger becomes two. Arousal drips from your folds, coating his hand and soaking into your underwear. The tightness of your hole relents around the stretch, and your throbbing clit aches as his palm firmly rocks against it. 

An unhinged laugh threatens to burst out of you as you think about the last time a guy fingered you—the abysmal way you’d had to fake an orgasm out of pity just to get him to give up as your enjoyment petered out further with each overenthusiastic stroke.

You think about now, how your entire body’s been reduced to a livewire of heady pleasure, ready to burst on a hair trigger. Suna could probably stop moving his hand altogether and you’d still end up trembling and moaning and gushing all over his fingers before long anyway. 

And it’s the sensation of his fingers sliding back into your mouth that finally sends you over the edge. The bright line of bulbs across the top of the mirror merge into one as your vision goes white, your climax rocking through you with reckless abandon. Suna’s nose slides against your cheek and he exhales roughly, his own muscles taut as his fingers guide you through it.

Your phone vibrates again on the counter.

“I can’t believe you’re standing up your date,” he murmurs, teasing, teeth nipping at your earlobe. 

He’s still hard.

“I mean, I guess I can go looking like this,” you reply, making a circular gesture at yourself while you turn to face him.

Suna catches your chin in his hand, gently.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

You dart your tongue out, letting it poke against the tip of his thumb.

The corner of his mouth curves upward as he leans in to kiss you. 

[delulujuls]

loverboy | ln4

hi, i finally wrote second part for tinder buddies! im not sure if i like it though, i've got an idea but i dont know how it went.

anyway please enjoy and lets cross our fingers for japan win for this loverboy!

i will let myself tag everyone who wanted to be tagged in part 2: @mickslover @formula-1-04 @petitefaeries @bayleewatts67 @xjval @kapsylia @teamnovalak @slutforln4 @shimmermotorsport @myownwritings @maydiamondsinthenightsky @mikadojohnny

summary: when it turned out that Lando is more of a loverboy than a fuckboy and there is no point in trusting appearances because they tend to be misleading

warnings: none

pairing: fem!journalist!reader x lando norris

Y/N looked as if she had seen a ghost. She clenched her phone in her hand and glanced at the spot where Lando had been just a moment ago. Yes, that Lando, with whom she had a brief interview a few seconds ago, Lando Norris, who drives for McLaren, her Tinder buddy with whom she's been exchanging explicit messages for over a month now, and who knows more about her body seen through the camera than any guy she's had the chance to flirt with in person.

The girl only snapped out of it when the camera operator she had been filming with nudged her shoulder.

"The team bosses' interview is about to start, I saved us seats."

She quickly nodded and tucked the microphone into her bag, throwing it over her shoulder. She glanced at the McLaren garage one last time before heading to the conference. After all, she was here because she had duties.

As she took her place among the crowd of other journalists, instead of focusing on coming up with questions, she picked up her phone again. It immediately unlocked to her conversation with Lando, and she hastily replied to his latest, unambiguous proposition.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment. If you want, we can meet later in the evening."

Lando was scrolling through Instagram when a new message popped up in his notifications. He smiled and swiped it open, reading and replying quickly.

"i'd be honored. give me the address of the hotel you're at. and be ready by 9."

The girl smiled and sent him the address along with a note that she couldn't wait, wishing him good luck in qualifying.

Lando felt his cheeks hurting from smiling. However, he locked his phone and set it aside. He knew that if he didn't restrain himself, he would bombard the girl with messages. He was so excited about the whole situation, the overflow of emotions building up in him could easily secure him pole position that day, which he sincerely hoped for. He wanted to present himself in the best possible way, knowing that on that day, one special pair of eyes would be watching him.

Y/N was also excited, but as time passed, she began to feel stressed. Not because she was going on a date with Lando Norris, but because she was about to confront someone whom she may have known inside out but in reality had no idea who he truly was. She was slightly apprehensive about whether Lando would turn out to be as he portrayed himself on his Tinder profile. There, she dealt with a confident guy who knew how to flirt, who knew how to make a girl's heart beat faster. With a guy who focused only on fun and ultimately only on it. Someone who knew what he wanted and sooner or later would get it, one way or another. Now, knowing her conversation partner's identity, Y/N was certain that their online acquaintance might only exist in that dimension. And just as she had realized before, somewhere in the back of her mind lived a lonely spark, nourished by the hope that something more serious might come out of this online acquaintance. Lando was out of her reach, that was more than certain. However, she didn't plan to dwell on negative thoughts because she had a chance for a pleasant evening ahead of her. She had no intention of ruining it.

Qualifying didn't come as a surprise to anyone, as Max was to start the race from pole position the next day, with Charles in second place. But to everyone's positive surprise, Lando closed the top three, giving McLaren the opportunity to start from third position. Y/N planned to text him and congratulate him on his excellent performance, but she decided to wait until evening with her congratulations. She didn't want to come off as pushy or, worse, as a psycho.

Lando, indeed, was pleased with himself, but not as much as if he had managed to secure pole position. Y/N could notice this on one of the monitors, where post-qualifying interviews with drivers conducted by David Coulthard were taking place.

"Great performance, Lando, you were on Ferrari's heels today!"

"We did well today, not just me, but Oscar and the whole team as well. I hoped for more, but you know, the appetite comes with eating," he replied, but despite the smile on his flushed face, he actually seemed not very pleased with the result. Y/N was packing her things when she observed post-qualifying talks out of the corner of her eye. "I wanted to perform particularly well today, but unfortunately it didn't work out. I hope tomorrow will be better."

The girl sighed and glanced at the contents of her bag, looking at her phone lying at the bottom. She took it out and unlocked it, entering their conversation. She wanted to send him a selfie, smiling and holding up four fingers with a note congratulating him on the result, but she thought it might be a bit silly. So, she quickly wrote an alternative.

"Speaking of appetite, I hope you're looking forward to dinner more positively than to your third starting place. In my opinion, you did great today x"

When Lando finally had the chance to reach for his phone and saw the message from the girl, he sincerely hoped to see her face again. He hovwever, was pleased with her congratulations.

"i can't wait for tonight. and I hope tomorrow we'll have better reasons to celebrate"

Y/N smiled to herself, throwing her bag over her shoulder and heading with the cameraman to the media zone to have the opportunity to talk to some of the drivers or team principals. She replied quickly.

"We?"

"tomorrow I'd also like to invite you to dinner. because i'm afraid tonight may not be enough for us"

The girl felt herself blushing, so she quickly put her phone in her pocket. She didn't manage to run into Lando in the media zone again, but she had the opportunity to gather some more good material. As the drivers began to return to their garages and the paddock slowly began to empty, Y/N and the cameraman also decided to return to the hotel. The girl was absolutely not in the mood to deal with the footage recorded that day, so she was immensely grateful when her coworker offered to spend the rest of the day on preliminary editing and assured her that she didn't have to worry about anything. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief, as in her current pre-date euphoria, she wouldn't be able to create anything suitable for publication. When the girl returned to her hotel room, she decided to take a long bath. Sitting in the tub, her phone lying nearby vibrated again.

"actually, would you mind if i pick you up at 8?"

Y/N smiled when she read his message. She glanced at her watch. She still had 3 hours before leaving, so she should manage without any trouble.

"Why, have you already missed me?"

Lando snorted to himself as he read her message. He would be lying if he said he hadn't. He wanted to see her again as soon as possible.

"if i'm being honest, i would like to be sitting with you at dinner already"

Y/N also smiled. It was cute and completely unlike the image Lando had built and which she had in her head.

"I guess I shouldn't torture you that much. I'll try to be ready by 7."

Lando smiled and squeezed his phone in his hand. Now he couldn't wait for the meeting even more.

"see you then, darling"

The girl blushed when he affectionately called her that. She set aside her phone and immersed herself in the hot water, but even that couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

At the agreed time, both of them were ready. When the girl stepped out of the hotel, she didn't even need to look around, as she easily noticed Lando leaning against his impressive car. He held a bouquet of white flowers in his hand and smiled as soon as he saw her. He walked a little towards her, but he had no idea how to greet her. Offer her his hand? Hug her? What would be most appropriate? He didn't want to make a fool of himself.

"Hi, good to see you," he said, unable to take his eyes off her. He bit his lip, but still couldn't stop smiling. "You look stunning."

"You too, but I'm sure you already know that," she replied, looking into his eyes. They were sparkling, brightening up his already joyful face. Even though he was wearing a dark shirt and dark jeans, his hair was slightly disheveled, and she could already smell his cologne almost on the stairs, Lando at that moment looked adorable, like an elated child.

"Maybe so, but it's always nice to hear it from someone like you," he replied, extending the flowers towards her. "Here, these are for you. And I hope I didn't make a mistake and accidentally buy you flowers you hate."

The girl chuckled softly and shook her head, taking the flowers from him and smelling them.

"No, absolutely not. I love white flowers, and these are beautiful. Thank you."

"Phew, thank god," he theatrically let out a sigh of relief "Glad I started off on the right foot."

"I rather doubt you don't know how to behave around girls," she retorted, following him as he opened the car door for her.

"Well, I'm afraid you might be surprised," he replied, helping her into the car and closing the door behind her.

Lando chose a very pleasant restaurant, located not far from the hotel where the girl was staying. The place was cozy and seemed expensive, but it manifested in a modest way, without any tackiness or artificial wealth. He reserved a table in the corner of the room, so they could expect a bit of privacy. Before taking his seat at the table, he pulled out the chair for the girl. She tried her best to remain composed, but the smile never left her face. This meeting and this whole situation was more than crazy.

"I hope I picked a good place," he said, sitting across from her. "I've never been to these restaurants before, so today's choice was largely based on Google reviews."

He admitted, glancing at her uncertainly. But seeing her smile, he smiled too.

"It's very nice here. Your choice didn't disappoint."

"Second victory in twenty minutes, going better than I expected," he joked, eliciting a quiet laugh from the girl. He then thought it was a good sign that she laughed at his jokes. It meant that this whole situation had potential.

Lando was genuinely stressed about this meeting. He knew well how people perceived him and what kind of guy girls thought he was, but the truth was entirely different. His hands were sweating with nerves in the car, and he prayed that the steering wheel wouldn't slip from his hands and cause some idiotic accident. Upon returning to the hotel, he spent over two hours searching for the right place to take the girl for dinner and did about twenty quizzes on what flowers he should buy her for their first date. Since he met her at the paddock, they had the opportunity to talk, and he managed to connect all the facts. He felt like either his heart would jump out of his chest or his cheeks would fall off from smiling. In reality, Lando was absolutely not who he portrayed himself to be and how he was perceived. And Y/N was slowly starting to realize that.

When the couple placed their orders and the waiter brought the vase for flowers that Lando had requested earlier, there was a moment of silence. Both were equally embarrassed, not knowing if it was because of each other or the whole situation.

"So," Lando started, rubbing his hands on his pants, "oh god, I don't even know where to begin. Should we pretend we don't know each other and this is our first meeting? Or perhaps the opposite?"

"I honestly have no idea, but I'm glad we both don't know how to behave," Y/N laughed. "But we can start over. Like it's our first date."

She smiled warmly at him. He reciprocated the smile and reached out his hand towards her.

"Lando, nice to meet you."

"Y/N, and it's also a pleasure for me, Lando."

She shook his hand. From that moment on, everything started to go smoothly. The conversation flowed smoothly, and there wasn't a single moment when there wasn't something to talk about. Lando turned out to be the complete opposite of the person she met on Tinder. He was also different from the Lando she sometimes observed in the media. He turned out to be a funny and very intelligent guy with interesting hobbies, not just those revolving around Formula 1. His big heart and incredible modesty also made it impossible not to feel sympathy towards him. Lando, on the other hand, wasn't really up for this meeting, he honestly had no idea what to expect. As it turned out, he met not only an attractive but also hardworking girl, for whom motorsport was not just a job but also a hobby. It also turned out that they had a lot in common, so after a while, the remnants of stress and uncertainty disappeared, and they began to feel in each other's company as if they had known each other for ages.

Their conversation was only interrupted by the waiter, who apologized and said that the restaurant was closing in fifteen minutes. Y/N and Lando both looked at their watches at the same time and were shocked to find that it was just before midnight, and the past five hours had flown by like fifteen minutes.

"Sure, of course, we'll ask for the check," Lando replied to the waiter, who went to tally their dinner. As soon as the girl reached for her purse, Lando looked at her meaningfully. "I hope you don't think I brought you here for you to have to pay."

"We can split the bill," she replied, looking at him and clutching her wallet. "People usually do that on first dates, right?"

"It would be a pleasure if you honored me to be a gentleman and let me pay."

Y/N laughed and shook her head.

"As you wish, Mr. Gentleman."

When he paid for their dinner, they left the restaurant together. Lando once again opened the car door for her, and their eyes met when their faces were inches apart as she passed him to take the passenger seat. When they were back at her hotel, the girl reluctantly glanced towards the entrance. She would have loved to spend time with him until the early morning.

She sighed and smiled sadly, looking at him.

"I know, me too," he replied, easily reading her thoughts. "But we'll probably bump into each other in the paddock in the morning. Purely by chance, of course, not like I'll intentionally run into you, absolutely not."

Y/N chuckled at his words.

"It was very nice spending the evening with you, Lando."

"The pleasure was all mine," he replied, smiling at her.

They sat in silence for a moment, exchanging silent glances.

"Would it be inappropriate if I kissed you now? Since we agreed that today we're starting with a clean slate?"

He asked, his gaze moving from her eyes to her lips.

"People don't usually kiss on first dates, but I feel like I've seen these lips somewhere before, and they've told me a lot of different, indecent things, so I think we can make an exception."

She replied, biting her lip. She surprised herself with her boldness, not to mention Lando, who just saw the same girl who he sometimes saw on the screen of his phone in the evenings. As soon as he got her consent, he touched her cheek without hesitation and pulled her into a long, passionate kiss.

Y/N returned the kiss, smiling into his lips.

"Have a good race tomorrow, and after tomorrow's dinner, I'll invite you for dessert."

She whispered, still centimeters away from him, when they separated after a moment. Lando unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, circling around it, opening her door, and offering her his hand.

"I think I can fit in dessert tonight too," he replied, biting his lip and looking into her eyes. She returned the smile and handed him her hand without hesitation. It seemed that the evening was not ending for these two, on the contrary, it was just about to begin.

[mqriuss]

written in lucky stars

synopsis 。。。rindou doesn't know what to do with all the origami stars you give him. he doesn't have the heart to throw them away, so he buys a jar to hold them when the stars—and memories—start piling up.

contents: rindou x fem!reader, childhood friends, perceived unrequited love, death & grief, unnamed illness, non-linear

playlist

note: girl i don't even know if rindou is still in character throughout the story, i just started vomiting words. hope you guys will still like this tho lol

𖤐 "hi rindou! i wonder if you'll even read this. if you see this, say 'star' tomorrow when we meet."

"what's this?" rindou gave you a puzzled look, eyes darting between you and the small origami lucky star in your palm.

"a star," you answered him innocently, making him deadpan at you.

"obviously, i know that." he rolled his eyes. "i just meant... what's it for?"

"it's not for anything," you trailed off, his words making you think. you couldn't let him find out you wrote something on the inner parts of the folded paper star. it'd be more fun if he found out himself, you thought. "i just made it and wanted to give it to someone. you're the only person i can think of."

rindou's gaze returned to the star. he's definitely seen them before—probably in kindergarten or elementary school, but he's never actually received one. you were gifting it to him, he understood that much. so he took it from you, albeit hesitantly.

not because he didn't want it, he just didn't know what to do with it.

"you can throw it away later if you want," you said, as if hearing his thoughts.

there's no way rindou could do that though.

rindou kept the star in his pocket. when he returned home that day, he pursed his lips at the sight of the now flattened star. he was just glad it didn't tear. he placed the star on his desk, not sparing it another thought.

the next day came, and rindou never said the word "star."

—

𖤐 "so you didn't open the star to read it? aw. i wonder what would happen if i said i liked you."

a week passed since the first star you handed him. you had accepted that he either threw it away or just didn't read it. you supposed rindou wouldn't be the type to think, "i wonder if anything is written in this tiny origami star. i should unfold it and find out." so really, what were you expecting?

perhaps giving him another star would get him curious?

"here." you pushed your hand towards him when you met him by the school gates.

"another one?" he raised an eyebrow at you, taking out one of his earphones.

you chuckled, "get used to it. i'll give you one when..." you trailed off, and rindou looked at you expectantly. "whenever i feel like it!"

he sighed, taking the star from you wordlessly before heading to class. every now and then, he'd glance over his shoulder—just to make sure you were still walking with him.

nothing interesting happened the next day. you gave him another few days, and there was still nothing. it seemed he didn't know about what you wrote... or did he find out, but he was just purposely ignoring it?

oh well, there was no point in dwelling on it. the world kept spinning.

—

𖤐 "third time's the charm. i'm getting bullied again by takeo and his friends lately."

you, in fact, were not getting bullied by takeo and his friends.

the last time it happened was years ago. it wasn't as if you were lying for rindou's attention, but you wanted confirmation that he absolutely never opens these paper stars. you knew for sure he'd give some kind of reaction if you mentioned takeo.

the memory was almost clear as crystal. origami papers on your desk, takeo sitting in front of you, lunch break, a half-empty classroom, and no teachers around.

throughout elementary school, takeo had always been a bully and a tease to whoever he felt like targeting. you weren't a special case to him, he just didn't like the way you always sat quietly, playing with the toys you made out of origami papers.

takeo tore your origami papers because he felt like doing it. he crushed your paper cranes because he felt like doing it. he crumpled them and threw them in your contorted face because he felt like doing it. he laughed at the tears you tried to hold back because he just felt like doing it.

unfortunately for him, rindou pushed him to the ground because, well, he felt like doing it.

you didn't even know who rindou was at the time. he was in the same year but different class, though you've heard about his brother, haitani ran—your senior. not long after rindou had pushed takeo to the floor and stomped on his hand, ran came strolling in to your class.

"nice, rindou." he grinned widely at his younger brother before they both turned to you. "takeo's so lame, isn't he?" ran said, picking up the paper crane takeo crushed earlier.

you were unresponsive, which was fine—they weren't really expecting anything. while ran didn't think to do any more for you than give you a tissue to wipe your tears with, rindou couldn't help eyeing your torn origami papers.

"let's go, rindou. you'll be late for your next class," ran reminded him, making his way out. he stopped in his tracks when he noticed rindou wasn't budging.

"your papers..." rindou muttered under his breath, but it was coherent enough for you to hear. ran watched for a moment before he decided to head out first.

"it's okay. i can still use them." you sniffled, rubbing your nose a little before taking a torn piece of origami paper.

"how? you can't make birds with that, right?" he tilted his head. "it's way too thin."

he watched as you grabbed a pair of scissors from your pencil case. when you started cutting the strip of paper to make it slightly thinner, rindou tilted his head in confusion. but before he can say anything, you had began folding. you made a knot and created a small pentagon shape, wrapping it over and over until there was not enough paper left to fold. the real magic happened when you used your fingers to pinch at the points of the pentagon, puffing up its shape to create a star.

that day after classes came to an end, rindou had used some of his pocket money to buy you a new set of origami paper.

—

𖤐 "i always thought you looked cool playing basketball, y'know? i'm just too shy to tell you. i also like when you sit next to me after you're done playing."

rindou noticed the star is a lot... puffier than usual. unbeknownst to him, it was just because you had more words to write at the time.

sweat trickled down rindou's forehead as he gulped down half of the water from his bottle. the puppy sticker you had pasted on it a long time ago was still there, it's a little faded—probably from all the washing it's been through. seeing it always warmed your heart, and you couldn't help but tease him about it sometimes.

"why don't you just scrub it off? it's hanging by a thread at this point," you questioned him. rindou exhaled deeply as he put down the bottle, panting slightly.

"i don't know. it's just there." he shrugged and you huffed at his dry response.

"seriously? i thought you didn't like that sticker."

"i never said that," rindou denied almost immediately. "did it... seem that way?" he added, his hesitance made you laugh.

"so you like the sticker? is that why you kept it?"

"no."

"then why do you keep it?"

rindou sighed, almost groaning at your questions. "i dunno, okay? it just won't come off," he claimed as he stuffed his towel and water bottle into his bag. "now, get up. i'm walking you home."

you followed him suit in silence for a while, a small smile lingering on your face. "i saw you finally scored a three-pointer, by the way."

rindou flashed you a cocky grin. "yeah? looked cool, right?"

"hm, i think you looked cooler when i saw you missing three shots in a row in your backyard."

"oh, shut up. why were you even at my place yesterday?"

"i wanted to try your mom's cookies."

—

𖤐 "it's getting a little hard to breathe, rin. i don't maybe it's 'cause you're so breathtaking!"

rindou never really liked it when you walked tailing behind him. he felt more at ease when you were beside him instead, even better if you were on the inner part of the sidewalk.

at times, he'd find you walking slow—too slow for his liking. there were normally two reactions to this. the first, he would grab your wrist and pull you with him. rindou didn't need to do it too hard, he just wanted to make sure you were still with him. the second, he would simply let you, but not without looking back to check every now and then. it usually happens when you were strolling around the neighbourhood. he hid it well whenever he worried about you, but why he felt that way to begin with was a question mark to even himself.

he always tried to convince himself that it's just because you were a klutz, but it didn't feel entirely right.

as time went on, you grew close enough for him to tease and play around with you more. in a friendly way, of course. he was always careful not to take things too far. after all, he didn't want to be one of the reasons for your tears.

so when you were walking particularly slow one day—your three steps equating to his one single step, rindou purposely walked faster. you were just in the neighbourhood, so he wasn't worried about anything bad happening.

"bet you can't catch me!" he called out, a cocky grin stretching from ear to ear.

and you really did try.

you could still run. you could still run fast enough to catch up to rindou's speed-walking, but his speed-walking turned to running. you knew you couldn't be as fast as him, but you didn't think you'd have to stop so soon to catch your breath.

your hands had found your knees as you bent, head pounding slightly. concern flashed across rindou's face when he could no longer hear your footsteps. when he came rushing back to you, you gave him a grin.

"i know better than to try you in a race, rindou. you'd surely win!" you laughed. you laughed, but rindou felt unsettled.

he blinked at you, handing you his water bottle. "here," he said, and you blinked at him too. rindou urged you to take it as he nodded.

you took the half-empty bottle in your hand, eyeing it hesitantly. twisting the cap open, you tilted it for a sip, pressing your lips against the spot where his had just been. the thought immediately spread warmth across your cheeks, contrasting the cool liquid traveling down your throat.

he was blushing too, but you wouldn't know with his back turned to you. "don't stay up too late. you need the energy if you wanna keep up with me."

rindou held your hand for the first time that day, and he didn't let go until you returned home.

—

𖤐 "i told myself i'd confess after we graduated junior high, but i guess i haven't changed. i'm still a coward."

by the end of junior high, rindou's jar was starting to pile up with all the paper stars you gave him. he had bought it when he received his tenth star. it wasn't a big jar so it didn't take long to fill—it was almost full and rindou had lost count of how many you'd made.

you were also spending an awful lot more time at his place than usual, and even started getting along with ran better.

by the end of junior high, you made a decision to tell him. tell him that you like him, straight to his face. it's clear that he never unraveled any of the stars to read the tiny letters written on them, so you thought, it's about time you told him soon.

and yet, the words never came out.

"i..." you said, trying to ignore his expectant look. "i hope we do well in high school together," you blurted out instead of your confession, preparing yourself for rindou's laughing fit over how corny you were being. his laughs never came out.

instead, he nodded. he simply nodded.

"you gonna give me another star?" he asked. he began to expect it now, the origami lucky stars.

you broke into a fond, gentle smile at his words. your right hand went down to your blazer's pocket, fishing out a paper star. slightly bigger than the ones you usually gave him.

"the strip of paper was thicker for this one. it's a special day after all." you chuckled, placing the star on rindou's already outstretched hand.

—

𖤐 "i miss you a lot, rindou. but you shouldn't miss me too much, okay? hehe <3"

rindou had no idea he'd be going to high school without you.

he remembered you clearly telling him you'd go to the same school as him. well, you more so implied it. your idle chatter with rindou normally took place at school during break, or after school when you're sitting on the bleachers before heading home together, but also on his rooftop whenever the weather was good enough to stargaze under.

"i'm not so excited for high school," rindou had said one time, making you tear your gaze away from the sparkling night sky.

"why?" you questioned and he deadpanned at you.

"maths will be harder, obviously." his response elicited a laugh from you.

"you'll be fine! i'll pay extra attention in class and take notes for us to go over together," you reassured him.

but here you were, nowhere to be seen.

he only got the news about you transferring schools after the semester started. admittedly, he was a little bit pissed. could you not have told him beforehand?

rindou couldn't be upset for too long though. you still visited his house every week and as usual, you gave him a star.

and as usual, he'd never unfold them. as usual, they went straight to his jar.

every week turned to every day—you were always with him, always coming over to his place after his classes ended. even rindou didn't have all that free time, but you were okay with it. most days, you preferred to lie in his bed and do nothing, maybe fall asleep for a while. you rarely wanted to go out and do anything now, claiming that you just wanted to hang around here.

when he asked you why, your answer was something along the lines of, "i like it better here." and it never failed to alarm him.

you always refused to tell him any more than that.

—

the last time you came over to his place, there were plenty of moments when rindou thought you were acting weird.

the first instance was when he was in the bathroom, you were inside his mom's bedroom while she was cooking in the kitchen. he would know, because just as he was coming out, you came out of the room at the same time. rindou always thought it was an unspoken rule to not go into each other's parents' bedrooms because it was... odd, yet you were acting like you did nothing of the sort.

the second weird thing you did was hug his brother. even ran didn't have the slightest idea of what was going on, but he played along smoothly, teasing you for "preferring him over rindou."

rindou couldn't even bring himself to be jealous. he couldn't bother himself with asking why ran got to hug you first and not him. he especially couldn't when you immediately retreated to his room after eating dinner with him and his family at the table. you've been in his room before though, so that wasn't the weirdest part.

the weird part was when you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down onto the bed with you.

you were laughing the hardest he's ever heard you laugh in the past few months. "look at your face, it's so red!" you may have laughed too hard though, and you started coughing a little bit.

"quit it, what the hell are you doing?" rindou exclaimed, flustered. he meant for his words to come out lightheartedly, but fell silent when he realized his tone was a bit too harsh for his liking.

despite that, the smile you wore remained unwavering.

you nuzzled your head into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. "can we stay like this for a while?" you asked, and instead of an answer, he wordlessly draped a blanket over both of your bodies before snuggling a little closer.

"what's up with you today, hm?" rindou questioned, his eyes becoming droopy and his words a little slurred.

"nothing. just missed you," you answered, closing your eyes.

"you saw me yesterday."

"i wish i could see you every day though."

rindou raised an eyebrow. "but you have been coming over every day," he said, and you chuckled at his words.

"i might not get to do this all the time, y'know? what if i make plans or have other places to be in?"

that much is obvious, rindou thought as he pursed his lips. your words had sent him deep into thought, and he found himself imagining things he didn't want to think about. his pounding heart took over his senses for a moment.

rindou is a teenager after all, so the thought had finally crossed his mind that day—is this what it was like to have someone special to you? to hold them close, walk with them hand-in-hand, and feel the need to shield them from anything that would harm them? to want them to stay in your life forever?

you both had fallen silent, it remained that way for a few minutes. the only thing you could hear was the sound of each other's soft breathing. rindou had wondered if you were thinking of him too, the way he thought of you.

"you didn't give me a star today."

your eyes fluttered open at his words to look up at him. he had a neutral expression on, but in your mind, he kind of resembled a wet puppy.

"did you want one?" you teased, a grin appearing on your face when he rolled his eyes.

"you started giving me one every day these past few weeks," he said, jogging your memory. "and you haven't given me one today, so i was just wondering."

"aw, so you noticed." your hand found its way to his cheek. rindou visibly froze and reddened at your gesture, and his eyes widened when your gaze travelled down to his lips. "i might have... something better than a paper star," you whispered, leaning closer to softly press your lips against his.

he was wide-eyed when you kissed him, your hand slightly cold against his cheek. but rindou quickly melted into the kiss once he'd processed what you were doing. tilting his head and placing a hand behind your head, he deepened the kiss and let out a sigh of contentment.

you were acting weird again, he thought. but maybe you really were better than paper stars.

perhaps it was the thrill of having his first kiss, but he found himself looking forward to seeing you again after you left.

much to his dismay, rindou wouldn't hear from you again since that day.

—

everything feels blurry now.

rindou doesn't respond when spoken to, not even when people tell him that they're "sorry for his loss." even when your mother had gasped earlier upon finding out that he had no idea about your illness, all rindou could do was nod or shake his head, as though words had abandoned him completely. his expression so lifeless, you'd think the funeral was for him.

the words are barely coherent as your mother explains what happened to you. again, all he could do was nod. wordlessly. absentmindedly. he's in another world, forcing ran to do all the talking and responding for him.

rindou hates seeing the way you look right now. laying in the cramped casket when you should be lying next to him on his bed. your hands placed on your stomach when they should be cupping his cheeks. and your eyes closed when they should be looking into his, letting him admire the way they glimmer. the thought that they would look hollow if pried open now sends a chill down his spine.

he's known for most of his life that everyone's time would come eventually, inevitably. to be human means to be impermanent. to have life, death needed to coexist. he knows all of that already, but why? why did your time have to come so quickly? why couldn't he know about this sooner?

did you disappear for a week to prepare him for this exact moment? to prepare him for a life without you? he wonders hopelessly.

just when things start to become clearer, just when he figures out that you're the person he wants in his life, everything becomes muddy again. what was he supposed to do now? the thought of moving on felt impossible at this moment, couldn't he just go with you?

your mother approaches him with a small drawstring pouch in her hands. she doesn't say anything at first as she simply opens the pouch, and rindou feels slightly more grounded upon seeing its contents.

more origami stars.

"rindou," your mother speaks up. "y/n wanted me to give these to you, and she wanted you to do something with them."

—

rindou fishes out the pouch from his pocket before taking his blazer off in a hurry, discarding it somewhere in his room. he sits down at his desk, opens the pouch, and dumps all of the paper stars out in front of him. he goes over them for a while, recalling your mother's instructions.

"save the purple star for last."

picking out the purple-coloured star, he sets it to the side. rindou takes a random star and begins unraveling the origami.

he's met with words you had written with a black pen. though your handwriting was legible enough to read, he couldn't understand the message. his eyebrows furrow as he mumbles the words to himself.

𖤐 "doesn't she sound cute? she loved to stargaze like we did!"

rindou frantically opens another star, but is careful not to rip it.

𖤐 "i saw that lucky stars are usually gifts to symbolize good luck, love, and support."

he grows even more confused. were you seriously leaving him behind with a puzzle to solve?

𖤐 "did you know? the origins of lucky stars began with a tale of a girl named hoshi."

he opens another. the message written is far more alarming, causing him to tense up.

𖤐 "but no matter how many stars i fold, i can't seem to save myself."

it didn't take him long to react, he was immediately unraveling every single star. except for the purple one.

his eyes lit up when he found a message that seemed to match one of those he previously opened.

seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to at least two hours. rindou has never found himself cooped up in his room for this long that even ran began to notice his brother's absence.

"not having dinner? mom's gonna be mad that you ignored her calling you downstairs." ran leans against the door frame with his arms crossed, watching his brother go through every strip of paper, mixing and matching them.

"i'll eat later."

ran raises an eyebrow, uncrossing his arms as he entered the room. he looks over rindou's shoulder for a few moments and his mind begins to process what he's doing.

"this one goes here, no?" ran points to a strip of paper, making rindou pause. the latter blinks and tries his brother's suggestion.

the next few minutes go by faster with ran's help. rindou feels confident about the order now and sits back, going over the entire message.

𖤐 "hi, rindou! if you're reading this, you probably already know what happened to me."

𖤐 "i wonder how much you'll miss me. if you see your basketball moving on its own, just know it's my ghost! hehe."

𖤐 "anyway, i saw that lucky stars are usually gifts to symbolize good luck, love, and support."

𖤐 "so if you wondered why i gave you so much of them, i guess i just wanted to show how much i cherished you."

𖤐 "i don't think you ever opened them to read the messages though, but i'm not hurt by it!"

𖤐 "i'm mostly glad 'cause i know you never wanted to ruin them."

𖤐 "did you know? the origins of lucky stars began with a tale of a girl named hoshi."

𖤐 "doesn't she sound cute? she loved to stargaze like we did!"

𖤐 "one night, she saw the stars began to fall during a meteor shower and she was sad about the stars falling."

𖤐 "so she started folding paper stars because she believed it would save each star that fell."

𖤐 "but the stars kept falling so she got the help of other children in the village and they folded stars together."

𖤐 "they folded thousands of paper stars and soon, the night sky began to shine with stars again."

𖤐 "i really liked the story, it was the thing that kept me going besides our friendship."

𖤐 "i wanted to believe i could live a little longer and be saved, just like the stars in the story."

𖤐 "and i like to think that we're both stars. you always shined so bright to me, rindou."

𖤐 "your glow was quite contagious too, but i think my light is slowly dimming."

𖤐 "no matter how many stars i fold, i can't seem to save myself."

𖤐 "i lo you can open the final star now!"

rindou reaches out for the purple lucky star to unfold it, but not without squinting at the scribbled letters on the last star.

𖤐 "go to your mom's bedroom. look under the cushion of her window seat."

rindou only realizes now that ran had left his room a while ago, but he pays it no mind. he rushes to his mother's room, entering without knocking. "rindou?" she says, startled. he doesn't respond as he makes his way to the window seat, pushing the pillows to the side and lifting up the cushion. nothing.

he lifts the other side of the cushion and finds a usb flash drive hidden underneath it.

rindou takes it and places the pillows back in their original spot before dashing out of the room. "close the door!" his mom reminds him, and he does just that before going back to his room.

he immediately plugs the usb to his pc to find just one file. it seems to be a voice recording titled, "to rindou." he wastes no time clicking on it.

"hey... i didn't want to write this one down, because i really wished i could have told you in person." the sound of your voice plays on his computer, and his heart twists upon hearing you again. "i love you, rindou—and i don't just mean it as a friend. i'm sure you know that already but i had to reassure you just in case."

"it's okay if you don't feel the same, but if you do..." he doesn't miss the subtle way your voice cracked, and you paused before shakily continuing. "i'll be really happy. i'll be leaving with many regrets, but you'll never be one of them. i lived a good life knowing i had you."

as your voice recording comes to end, his room is silent. it's silent until he hears the faint sound of something dripping on his table. it was only then he became aware of the saltiness on the corner of his cracked lip, and the tears staining his cheeks.

—

everyday, rindou would unfold one star.

it's become a routine now, and he was nearly halfway through the jar. he'd wake up and the first thing he does is walk to his desk and read a message you left behind. he'd check the time on his phone after doing so. he didn't care if he was running late for something—you're a priority even though you're no longer with him.

ran notices this new routine as well at some point. perhaps it was rindou's way of grieving, he thought.

everyday, rindou would make a lucky star. writing your name and the date on the strip of paper before folding it into a star. despite knowing you couldn't be saved with lucky stars like in the tale, he hoped that you could be more at peace, knowing that he still thought about you, still loved you, and that it would never change.

occasionally, he'd write other things on them the way you used to. words he never got to say to you in person.

𖤐 "i actually really liked the sticker you put on my bottle back in junior high. so i never took it off."

every year, rindou visits you at least twice. on your birthday and your death anniversary. every time he did, he'd sit in front of your tombstone and fold ten lucky stars for you. he doesn't know why he makes ten of them either, it just felt right. it felt like a number you'd choose.

at some point, rindou thought he'd give you all the stars in the night sky one day, but you beat him to it.

sometimes, he still wished you could've come back that day when you left him with an abundance of stars. real or paper, it didn't matter. you didn't need to come back with thousands of stars. there was only one you, and that would've been enough.

but as long as he had the jar of stars you gave him, and strips of origami paper to make more, your light could never dim. you were brighter than any star he's ever seen.

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | y. jeongin <3

a/n: oh gosh, don't even get me started on how much i love jeongin :,-((( he has such a special place in my heart, so i hope my fellow innie girls appreciate this au as much as i do <333 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 2k  | warnings: none really! | pairing: soulmate!jeongin x gn!reader | requests: open

♡ chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin ♡

a soulmate mark appears on your body the first time you and your soulmate touch.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

jeongin wasn’t one to dwell much on when he’d meet his soulmate. he was happy with his life exactly as it was, and, unlike a lot of people, he lacked anything that hinted to when, where, or how he would meet his person. jeongin decided, that rather than falling into an existential crisis, he’d keep his thoughts glued to the present moment. everything would fall into place eventually. jeongin trusted that.

you, on the other hand, weren’t always so secure in the ambiguity of it all. lately, it seemed as though all of your friends were meeting their soulmates. you were happy for them, but the question of when is it my turn? nagged the back of your mind more often than you’d like to admit. you confided in your best friend one night about all of this, and, despite their lovestruck state after just meeting their person, they understood your feelings perfectly. everyone who knew you knew that you had a lot to offer, and they all wanted you to find someone who would tend to your heart like you deserved.

“i know there’s no way to force this kind of thing, but maybe…” your best friend trailed off, clearly considering their suggestion again before vocalizing it.

“at this point, i don’t think any idea is a bad idea,” you sighed.”

“what if you tried going on blind dates?”

“okay, i think we managed to find the one bad idea.”

your best friend laughed at your scowl, “i know, i know. no one wants to go on a blind date when we’re itching to be with our soulmate. but, if you didn’t want to feel like you’re twiddling your thumbs, maybe meeting new people could increase your chances of meeting your person sooner?”

you had to give it to them. their logic checked out. logic did not equal appeal though, so you gave them a “maybe” and a promise to let them set up the first blind date if it came to that. understanding the shift in tone, your friend changed the subject to your current content obsession. you let out a deep breath, happy to focus on something other than your incessant, endless longing to know who you were destined to be with.

a few days passed before you gave proper thought to the whole blind date suggestion. during your break, you sat in a plaza outside your office building, mind wandering with the background buzz of businesspeople. 

going on a string of blind dates seemed like a cinematic nightmare, with no guarantee that you’d meet your soulmate that way. then, there was the chance that this could expedite the process. you had to admit that, if going on some bad blind dates ultimately led to discovering who your soulmate was, then the risk could outweigh the benefits. were you really that desperate though? it didn’t feel great to be one of the few people you knew without your soulmate, but wouldn’t it feel worse to be the only one dating?

“excuse me, do you have a pen i could borrow?”

you frowned slightly at a stranger’s voice breaking your train of thought. that frown melted away, however, when you saw arguably the most attractive person standing in front of you. their golden hair fell in soft waves, accentuating the sharp features of their face. when you were caught in the gaze of their bubbly, brown eyes, you couldn’t fight the butterflies in your stomach.

“oh…i think i have one in my bag,” you answered, turning your face away from the beautiful stranger.

“it’s okay if you don’t!”

their voice was like wind chimes on a perfect spring day, so you prayed that you had a pen. that was a surefire way to hear them speak again.

“ah, here it is!” you smiled and held the pen out.

they grinned, “thank you! i–AH!”

the pen bounced between both of their hands several times before landing on the ground between you two. you laughed at both the comical scene and the frustrated scream they let out.

you leaned forward to grab the pen, jumping slightly when their hand brushed against yours. inhaling, you willed the bolts of lightning in your veins to fade quickly. you couldn’t handle embarrassing yourself in front of someone this cute.

with a sheepish chuckle, they picked up the pen, “i’ll bring this right back to you.”

you shook your head, still trying to regulate your heartbeat, “no, it’s okay! you can keep it.”

their eyes went wide, and you swore you saw them sparkle in the sunlight, “oh! thank you!”

you giggled at their response and again when they offered an awkward goodbye wave at the same time you did. once they turned their back, you bit your lip in a failed attempt to hide the huge smile on your face. that smile faded once you realized you had given away your favorite pen.

by the time your break was over, you made peace with the fact you’d never see that pen again. it was almost out of ink anyway, so maybe this was a sign you should finally buy a new one. you entered your office, sighing for a multitude of reasons.

the rest of the workday passed, and you grew excited at the prospect of returning home. perhaps you would stop at a stationery store on your way back to replace the pen you lost. while you mentally ran through the list of store options, your coworker leaned over your desk.

“hey, y/n! since when do you have a soulmate mark?”

you blinked a few times in confusion, “a what?”

your coworker pointed to the side of your hand, “that, right there! it’s a soulmate mark, isn’t it?”

you lifted your hand to your face, unsure of what to expect. somehow, you had failed to notice the bluish-purple blotch on the side of your hand. 

“i don’t know. maybe it’s just a bruise?”

you glanced up at your coworker, hoping they could provide some insight into the discovery they made. they shook their head vehemently.

“my cousin got one of those on her shoulder last year. it turns out the woman who bumped into her on the train was her soulmate. i swear, yours looks almost exactly like hers. just smaller,” they focused their eyes on your hand again, making you feel a little self-conscious, “yeah, that’s definitely a soulmate mark. how exciting!”

you ran your fingers over the discolored area, “huh, yeah, i guess so…”

not wanting to continue the conversation, you offered them a polite smile. when they asked you to keep them updated, you promised to, even though you had no idea when that mark appeared on your hand, much less who had touched you to cause it. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“wait…so why did you end up running three blocks to get a pen?” jisung furrowed his brow.

jeongin huffed after taking a big bite of food. it always amazed him how many times he’d have to explain stories like this.

“hyunjin’s pen broke,” jeongin pointed to hyunjin with his spoon, “he was having a breakdown because he was feeling so inspired at the café and was going to ‘lose the vision’ if he couldn’t finish his sketches. i wanted to have my drink in peace, so i offered to find a pen. it turns out, in this day and age, someone having a pen on them is rarer than a conversation without changbin flirting.”

hyunjin wrapped his arms around jeongin, “innie, you’re my hero!”

jeongin pushed him away, but hyunjin kept at it, “you saved the drawing. i don’t know how you did it, but you found the perfect pen.”

“that’s our innie! perfect as always!” jisung added in a baby voice.

jeongin groaned, swatting hyunjin away while reaching for more food. when seungmin started talking about a new game, he thought he was finally free from the attention. that dream was shattered when felix spoke.

“jeongin? what happened to your hand?”

jeongin lifted both hands to his face, unable to see anything at first. then, he saw a blue and purple mark on the side of his right hand. 

“i guessed i bruised it,” he shrugged.

“no way!” chan squealed, “that’s a soulmate mark! our innie met his soulmate!”

everyone cheered about how he grew up so fast! and jeongin reassured them that it wasn’t possible. the only people who touched him today were his members, who, thankfully, were not his romantic soulmates.

hunger took over, so everyone returned to their food. in the quiet, something clicked inside jeongin’s head.

“ah! i know who it is!”

his seven members whipped their heads in his direction, perfectly synchronized. 

“it was the pen person!”

hyunjin gasped, “oh my god! this is amazing! were they pretty?”

“why is that your first question?”

minho laughed, “they must be gorgeous. look at how red jeongin’s ears are.”

jeongin waved his hand in the air to dispel the subject. deep down, he appreciated their excitement–they never ceased to amuse him–but their energy didn’t exactly help him figure out how he was going to find you again.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

the fresh air that hit you the second you stepped out of the office building instantly refreshed you. you stretched your arms, gazing around the area to find the perfect spot to enjoy your break. you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the gorgeous pen person sitting exactly where you sat yesterday.

it had to be a dream, right? what’re the chances that you’d see them again? 

you only realized what the chances were when you caught yourself unconsciously rubbing the bruise-like mark on the side of your hand.

the way you saw it, you had two options. one, you could avoid that spot because you didn’t feel prepared to interact with a person who is downright statuesque during your break today. or, two, you could be brave and meet your soulmate, for real this time.

you took a deep breath and walked forward. the risk of being awkward in the presence of a beautiful person now was way lower than the risk of awkward blind dates, and you had almost convinced yourself to do the latter.

jeongin, twirling the fateful pen and staring off into space, almost missed you walking by. at the last second, he looked up, thrilled to see you again. he felt his heart pound as he spoke. 

“hi! excuse me?” jeongin offered you a smile and a small wave, “i don’t know if you remember, but you gave me your pen yesterday. i think we might be soulmates, so i wanted to see you again to confirm it. if we’re not soulmates, i wanted to compliment your taste in pens.”

how you stayed standing at that moment was beyond you. everything from his gaze, his smile, to his voice had you out of breath and knees weak. his confidence was astounding. while this was a bold move, you respected that he wasn’t going to waste any time waiting and wondering.

“hi! yes, i remember you,” you returned his smile, feeling butterflies when you noticed him blush, “i’m glad you like the pen. i’m y/n.”

unsure of how the soulmate mark thing worked, you offered your hand, which he naturally took into his for a handshake.

“i’m jeongin.” 

you two looked down at your hands. like magic, the bruises faded away into flowers. on your hand was the outline of a violet. you understood the meaning once you saw that jeongin’s hand held an etching of your birth flower.

“well,” jeongin chuckled, “i guess that confirms things then.”

“yeah, i guess so,” you agreed, still holding onto his hand.

before the silence turned awkward, jeongin adjusted your hands from their handshake position so they were comfortably intertwined, “are you on a break right now? i’d love to buy you a replacement pen if you have the time.”

you nodded, not fighting the way your smile beamed when you looked at jeongin, “for a new pen, i have all the time in the world.”

with a charmed laugh, jeongin led you to his preferred stationery store around the corner, tracing the flower on your skin with his pinky finger. it used to feel like you were waiting an eternity to meet your soulmate, but now, with jeongin by your side, you understood forever better than you ever had before.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[springwitch8]

venus, are you there? (agatha harkness x fem!witch!reader)

💜 reupload sorry i fucked up and i'm really sad about it 💜

summary: your patron goddess, venus, has been distant lately. you don't know what you did to upset her, but your life and your powers have been suffering in her absence. you visit the local mage, agatha harkness, about your problem. as you come to find out, it takes a special kind of ritual to provoke the goddess of love.

warnings: lesbian sex duh (18+), DUBCON (innocent!reader is really into agatha's "counsel" but oblivious to her sexual intentions until they're doing the deed), historic westview AU (before it was a suburb, it was a magical village), agatha's improv skills, no beta we die like lilia

notes: after much rumination on the AAA finale, i've decided that being a lifelong liar and diabolical villain can only make a lesbian hotter. centuries is a long time to live, and my brain has gone wild thinking of all the messed-up ways agatha must have passed the time. i imagine she had some fun with the women around her—giving them the attention and stimulation they needed, regardless of whether they knew it or not. gotta keep the bed warm between all the power-stealing and mass murder, am i right ladies?

"agatha harkness, mother of witches, watches over westview from her dwelling on the hill. any spell you can't cast, she will."

so the story went, passed around among the women of the village. if they were to be believed, agatha ran an apothecary out of her home, a one-stop shop of sorts for witches in dire need of guidance. the locals spoke about her with admiration, and the tales of her magical miracles were legend.

hardly a day went by without some talk of agatha's feats: how she unbound someone's great-aunt after the woman had been powerless for decades, or how she rescued a friend of a friend from certain death after a nasty broomstick accident.

---

venus, goddess of love and beauty, had been guiding you all your life. when you were little, you saw her sometimes in the flower-dotted meadow behind your house—a spectral angel, wrapped in pink silk with her hand outstretched to you.

now, though, venus had been silent for nearly a month. her altar was covered in offerings, none of which seemed to please her. you tried every trick under the moon to lure your patron goddess out of hiding, but nothing stuck.

with every failure, things felt increasingly... off. out of the blue, your jewelry degraded to the point that it looked cheap and rusty. you felt tired more often; your skin grew cold and dry. then, you started to feel venus's absence in your relationships. when you got into a huge fight with your best friend over a random misunderstanding, you knew you had to do something.

---

bouncing anxiously on your heels, you waited for agatha to answer the knocks at her door. there was something foreboding about her house in all its gothic glory.

the intricately carved door swung open and there she was, the fabled mother of witches. long brown waves cascaded over her purple-clad shoulders, wild tresses gliding over a silken cloak. you hadn't expected her to be so gorgeous. you'd always pictured the local legend as a crone.

"can i help you, sweetheart?" her voice was warm and lilting. you were almost too staggered by her darkly striking looks to reply, and agatha seemed to know it. her eyes sparkled with amusement, and the corners of her mouth tilted upward.

"um, i hope so," you finally managed before steadying yourself with a deep breath. "venus is my guide, but she's been ignoring me lately. all my gifts and devotions have been worthless; i still can't find her."

"hmmm..." agatha hummed in contemplation, her brows furrowed and fingernails tapping rhythmically against the doorframe. moments later, she ushered you inside and closed the door behind you. "what have you offered her? do you have a proper altar at home?"

"yes, and i've tried everything: fresh roses and myrtle, sea shells, wine, honey, chocolate..." you trailed off as you noticed the scenery around you.

agatha's walls were covered from floor to ceiling in magical materials and aids. she had jars upon jars of herbs, petals and extracts; woven tapestries of pagan deities and common incantations; various crystals suspended in place, arranged to form rune-like symbols; and a massive "death" tarot card in a frame lined with wilted flowers.

as you looked around her home, awestruck, agatha gently nudged you toward her couch. you sunk into the black leather and surveyed the coffee table in front of you, similarly cluttered with witchy items like candles, incense, and a cauldron. agatha stayed on her feet, pacing back and forth while she pondered your situation.

"how long has it been since you last sensed her?" agatha asked. you felt your face heat up when she turned her intense blue gaze to you. you could practically feel the power radiating off of her.

"about a month," you answered sheepishly, wringing your hands in your lap. a look of intrigue flashed across the witch's face and she stalked toward you. soon, she was standing behind the couch where you were sat, her hands firm on your shoulders.

"you're a pretty girl..." she thought out loud, and you squirmed subtly in place at the compliment. "servant of venus, and it shows..." her fingernails traced barely-there spirals on either side of your neck, and goosebumps spread across your skin. satisfied, agatha pulled away to resume her pacing. "got anyone special in your life?"

"i-i'm close with some of the other witches in town, and my grandma lives in the next village over—"

"not what i meant, honey," agatha purred and perched herself on the couch next to you. "who looks after your needs?" you didn't reply, staring at her quizzically. she tried again. "cute thing like you must have a gentleman caller or two, no?"

"not at the moment," you shook your head. "although there was a man who passed through westview a while back, a traveler. he courted me."

"and were you intimate with this nomad?"

"he only kissed me once, right before he left town. said he'd be back for me."

"how did it feel?"

"p-pardon?" you stammered, not expecting to be grilled on your romantic history today—let alone by agatha harkness, who grinned like a cheshire cat at your shyness.

"magic-wise, i mean. acts of affection can trigger power surges, especially for witches who follow venus... if she approves."

"i don't remember sensing anything out of the ordinary," you shrugged. "i wasn't expecting to feel a spark right away; it was just nice to be admired."

"i'm sure, but you're a disciple of venus. do keep in mind: she rules over love, not self-esteem," agatha took hold of your hand while she advised you, sending a chill up your arm. "i have a theory. when did you meet this man?"

"five or six weeks ago, i'd say."

"then it sounds like your goddess was displeased with your choice of lover."

"what, so she's just gone? i kissed the wrong guy and she gave up on me?"

"oh no, sweetpea, you just have to get her attention again."

"how can i do that?" agatha paused at the question, surveying the room in all its magical madness.

"do you still have power?"

"yes," you said, extending your palm toward her—only your magic wouldn't spark. it fizzled, emitting blots of pale pink, but you couldn't get your powers flowing fully.

"oh dear! looks like your magic's not flowing right. it's still there, promise."

"how can you tell?"

agatha narrowed her eyes and gave you a smirk that made you clench your thighs together. then she surged forward, cupping your face and kissing you deeply before you even knew what was happening.

agatha's kiss was hungry, purposeful. her tongue lapped at yours while her fingers sent purple caresses along your jawline. she took your breath away and set your body on fire all at once. to your disappointment, she subsequently pulled away.

"see, lovebug?" she beamed at the sight of you with hooded eyes and kiss-swollen lips. then, she held your open palm up to your light of sight. "you've still got it."

sure enough, the glow of your magic was there. it was weak, but it was there, swirling in the center of your hand.

"why don't you try lifting that spell jar over there?" agatha gestured to a small object on a wall shelf. "the one with the pink wax seal."

you aimed your palm at the spell jar and focused your energy, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't harness the telekinetic power to make it budge. you huffed in frustration.

"don't lose hope, angel," agatha rubbed your thigh comfortingly. "i know a ritual."

"you can bring venus back to my side? really?" you perked up in near-disbelief.

"would you be here if you doubted me?" she quipped back, forcing a conciliatory head shake out of you. "didn't think so. now take your clothes off."

"what?" your eyes almost bulged out of your head, but your thighs clenched together involuntarily at the thought of the older witch seeing your body. one predatory smile from agatha, and your mind was officially at war with your body. she stroked your cheek in mock sympathy, but you could see the amusement in her eyes. she gestured to the wall opposite you both, plastered with photos and illustrations of nude witches dancing under the moon and wading into the sea.

"precious few magical rites involve fabric, darling," agatha soothed. "it's an unnecessary barrier between your energy and the earth."

reluctant yet hanging on her every word, you relented and stripped for her. there was a pleased glint in her eye while she watched your body intently. you peeled off your clothes, giving her occasional anxious looks while you bared yourself.

"good girl," she cooed, watching you shift uneasily from foot to foot. your nipples hardened at a chill, and you could swear her eyes darkened in response. you blinked, and she was in front of you, her robes mere inches from your naked body. after another blink and a rush of purple, you found yourself in another room in the sprawling house—what seemed, at a cursory glance, like agatha's bedroom. "pardon the change of scenery; this is the most magically protected place in the house. now," she gestured to a king-sized, plush purple bed. "on your back, gorgeous. get nice and comfy so we can draw out your power."

"are you gonna have me meditate? or, ummm, astral project?" you asked in arousal and disbelief.

"sure, more or less," she chuckled darkly. impatient, she sent you floating to the center of the mattress with a purple mist. standing at the foot of the bed, she stared at you like you were her last meal. you heard a faint, sparkling whoosh and looked up to see tendrils of violet flying from her palms, a knowing grin on her face. when her magic latched onto your skin and began to stroke its way up your thighs, she piped up again. "can you feel that, sweet girl?"

before you could respond, agatha pounced. she caged your body with hers and dove for a sensitive spot on your neck. she suckled, and you gave a breathy moan that seemed to excite her.

she made her way down to your sternum with sloppy kisses, then turned her attention to your breasts—squeezing and caressing them while you both sighed in pleasure. her hands were rough and greedy and felt so good.

"is this, ahhh, part of the—" agatha cut you off by pinching your nipple between her fingers, rolling it while threads of her magic danced around the sensitive bud. when she closed her mouth around your other nipple, your back arched off the bed, and the three candles on agatha's nightstand spontaneously lit. you gaped at the witch above you in shock. "did i do that?"

"sure did, superstar. i told you this ritual would draw out your power," the older witch said with a smugly victorious smile. she gave each of your tits a kiss farewell before reluctantly parting with them. then, she planted a meandering path of energy-infused smooches from your chest all the way down to your lower belly. even the gentlest touches of her magic electrified your nerve endings, making you writhe under agatha in a silent plea for more, more, more. "oh dear, aren't you needy?"

"yes, yes please agatha, i need you to..." you trailed off upon seeing the expectant, self-satisfied look on the woman's face. the clouds of your desire parted momentarily, and you finally realized what exactly you were asking the mother of witches to do for you (to you). agatha had seduced you into her lair, reduced you to a begging mess. you decided right then and there not to hold it against her. "finish the ritual."

"how could i deny such a polite request from such a pretty girl?" agatha cooed before snapping her fingers, pinning your legs open with her magic. your ankles were bound to opposite corners of the bed by shimmering purple cuffs of energy. agatha grinned wolfishly as she situated herself between your spread legs. "alright, baby, just relax. let yourself feel."

you released a shaky breath and closed your eyes in preparation for agatha's touch. at the first stroke of her fingers through your folds, you felt magic crackling in your veins. you tried to stay on top of the wave of power that threatened to overwhelm you.

"goddess, you're dripping. that's a good sign," agatha drawled, her eyes fixed on her fingers as they lightly stroked up and down your pussy. with no warning, her pointer finger found your clit and pressed down, eliciting a yelp from you. when she began to draw firm circles on the bundle of nerves, you cried out, and the candles on agatha's bedside table rumbled like they were about to tip over. "that's my girl. feels nice when i rub you there, hmmm?"

"s'good, agatha, please don't stop..." you babbled breathlessly, your hips bucking toward her hand. agatha made a low growling sound and laid her free arm across your abdomen, pinning your lower body to the mattress. then, while you were still reeling from her manhandling, she slipped two slender fingers inside you. "oh!" you squealed at the foreign sensation, the sudden fullness. her digits probed your pussy, searching for something. you squirmed as her long fingers combed your fluttering walls. "ag—ahhh, i feel funny."

"i know, sweetie, just bear with me for a second here. you're taking it so well," agatha's free hand twitched and sent a bolt of tingling purple warmth to your clit, rewarding your patience. you gasped and bit your lip to keep from screaming. agatha wasn't even touching your bundle of nerves, yet you could feel her playing with it all the same. while agatha chuckled at your barely-restrained desire, her fingers found your g-spot. this time, you couldn't suppress a keening moan. "oooh, i like that sound. stay loud, lovely girl; let venus hear you."

she emphasized her words with a hard stroke of her fingertips against your special spot, and you shrieked. your hands scrambled for purchase somewhere, anywhere, and ultimately clung to two threads tied to the bedframe above your head. you didn't remember them being there before, but you figured it was one of agatha's tricks. had you opened your eyes, you would have seen the rosy color of the glowing strings and realized that you, not agatha, conjured them.

"are you close, baby girl? i can feel your magic pulsing and flowing," agatha whispered with a sultry wink. you clenched around her fingers and she cackled, pressing her violet-charged thumb to your clit and doubling the energetic stimulation there. you yanked at the pink restraints above your head and writhed pathetically at her touch. "if the ritual is true, you're about to experience pure ecstasy. say my name when you do."

it was all too much. her fingers twisted inside you and brushed your g-spot while her thumb rubbed vibrating, sparkling circles on your clit. a wave of white-hot bliss crested over you, and you cried out: "agatha!"

"princess," the older witch soothed as she continued her ruthless strokes. she looked around in awe as the room was bathed in blushing light, your just-recovered power shining in the afterglow of your orgasm. but agatha didn't let up. she wanted a replay of your precious, pleasured face. when you tried to wiggle out of her grasp, she scoffed. "don't pretend you can't give me another because you're going to, little witch."

she then ducked down to mouth at your clit while sneaking a third finger into you, curling to hit your most sensitive spots with vibrating energy. she took your button into her mouth and sucked vigorously, which sent you floating over the edge once more. again you screamed her name, but this time you also reached for her free hand where it rested on your chest. her fingers eagerly intertwined with yours, and your magic reached out for hers—a pink orb yearning for a touch of purple, charged hands held together by attraction.

"come back to me, superstar," the older woman coaxed as your orgasm faded. she smiled and guided your palm into your field of view. there it was, as if it had never dimmed: your power. agatha had fulfilled her promise. "told you so. i could have stopped after one, so that second round was just for me—you're stunning when you come."

"you... you did it. you got her back," you whispered in disbelief and gratitude. "thank you, agatha. i don't know how to repay you for this."

"oh, i can think of a few ways," she laughed, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "how about you show me what you can do with all that power, honey?"

you sat up and stared at her, confused. she took your glowing hand and dragged it over her upper thigh, exposed by a slit in her dress. you took the hint, swiftly using your magic to vanish her clothes just as she'd done for you. you waved her legs apart and teased your way through her folds, savoring the feeling of her arousal on your fingers. agatha huffed.

"that all you got, daughter of venus? not even gonna touch me witch-style?" agatha provoked. you sighed but gave in, your index finger sending a beam of pink stimulation to explore her from the inside. she gasped and bucked her hips at you frantically. smirking, you lowered your face down to her pussy and started worshipping her clit. while you sucked the bundle of nerves into your mouth, your hands snuck up to agatha's chest. you tweaked her nipples with magic-tinged fingers, and the triple stimulation made the older witch fall apart. "such a good, sweet girl... don't stop, angel..."

you kept working diligently until the witch groaned and pushed you away with a wall of violet. you sat back on your knees and gazed at her, dazedly waiting for any sign of approval. as soon as agatha recovered from her high, she caught you by surprise with a deep, heated kiss.

"you, my darling, are full of surprises," agatha booped your nose as she pulled away. "and look at you!" she cradled your hand and pressed her finger into the center of your swirling, rosy magic. "got your groove back. i told you i'd fix ya right up, and the ritual wasn't so bad, was it?"

"n-no, it was... thank you," you stammered, still reacting to the ritual. "how much do i owe you?"

"don't be silly, toots," agatha said melodically while she wrapped her arms around you and lay back. "i believe in karma. you'll pay me back in kind someday, sugar; don't sweat it today."

"what if she leaves again?" you whispered, feeling agatha's shallow breathing against the crown of your head as she snuggled you. she shook her head, and you felt her nose moving from side to side.

"shhh, sweetheart," she cooed, running her fingers up and down the exposed side of your torso. "that's what i'm here for. any more problems, you come to me. i'd happily make you feel good as new."

satisfied, you burrowed into agatha's hold and drifted off to sleep. with the object of her desire finally at her mercy, agatha was pleased too. she thought about her next move; she'd need to possess another man to pursue you and throw off your powers again. you'd probably get wise to it after the third or fourth guy, but what could you do about it? try to kill her? agatha smiled at the day's work and breathed in your scent, lulling herself to sleep.

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt iii

Pairing: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader, more ships/love triangles to come, though, so stay tuned.

Summary: the deciver has decided he must get rid of you until a stranger reignites his curiosity in an unexpected way.

Word count: 2k

Notes: let me know if you wanna be tagged. I was not expecting this many people to like this fic. Thank you so much for the feed back, I read every comment and reblog multiple times. Keep any and all feedback coming. I'm super invested in this series and have so many plans that I'm so excited to write.

Tags/warning: male masturbation, nothing super explicit but sauron has some pretty unhealthy kinks, slow burn, saurons post nut clarity is murder plotting, sauron being sauron. galadriel finally shows up, cliffhanger

Series Masterlist

“She does nothing but sit there, day in and day out. Our rations are wasted on her!” 

“All of us sit and do nothing because there is fucking nothing to do.”

Halbrand and the older man were fighting again. Halbrand had become annoyed that the other had declared himself the de facto leader of the raft, and his anger exploded when it was proclaimed you had not 'earned' your rations. He had obviously found it absolutely insane and when you made no sound or protest, he took it upon himself to make it known how insane it was. 

“I am the leader here. I have organized the rations, I have kept order, and I have directed where we go.” The other man seemed offended. He had proven himself to be rather arrogant, and you held no surprise that he would suggest such a thing or believe that he was the leader of the raft.

“Oh great Lord of the Raft. How difficult your job must be. Deciding if we die a little to the west or a little to the east.” Halbrand rolled his eyes as he spoke. 

“Be sarcastic all you want. She's lucky we don't throw her in.” 

The air stilled and a dark shadow passed over Halbrands face, his jaw clenched and in a moment he had grabbed the other by their shirt, “The moment you do that is the moment I feed you and every single person on this raft to the wyrm.” Their faces merely inches apart,  Halbrands voice was cold, full of hatred, and it sent a chill over everyone on the raft. The older man stared up at him with fear, a fear so palpable and intense that it was as if he was looking into the eyes of the great foe himself. 

“Halbrand,” you spoke softly, fingers gently wrapping around his wrist and moving him away. “This is not what I wish.”

He turned to look at you and his gaze softened,tongue peaking out to wet his lips. The air flowed again, and the darkness lifted, “You wish to starve? Because that's his wish, that's his plan. He wants to make our supply of food last longer by taking the very little portion you have. He knows you would never say anything to him, and you can not ask me to sit back and watch you starve, sweet one.” His eyes searched your face as he spoke with such earnest conviction. 

“I do not wish for you to murder in my name,” you replied in a passionate whisper. 

Halbrand nodded, sighing softly, “Then I will not,” he leaned closer to you, so his lips were next to your ear, and you could feel his hot breath on your skin. Your breath caught in your voice as he whispered softly, “Know that I would, though. If you only asked, I would burn this raft and everyone on it to keep you safe.” 

He pulled away and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head as you stood speechless. The butterflies in your stomach exploded. This was new. Your interactions had been purely platonic until this point. He never presented himself as someone more than a friend, and you had been content with that. Yet you enjoyed the feeling of his lips on your forehead and greatly missed them when they were gone. 

The talk of murdering everyone else was one you didn't wish to dwell on. Perhaps it was hyperbolic. Perhaps said in anger. Either way, those were thoughts for another time. Now, you would embrace the shivers and butterflies. 

“Well, your highness, she will be eating today and I will ensure it,” Halbrand gave the man a pointed look and the other simply nodded, his eyes still swimming as if he'd seen some great horror but you were too fixated on the ghost of Halbrands kiss that lingered on your forehead to pay it much mind. 

~

He'd taken the deception too far when he placed that kiss upon your head. He regretted it the moment he did it. The taste of your skin stained his lips, and it was all he could think of. Your skin felt unbelievably soft and he could just imagine what your lips would taste like, your tongue, your cunt. 

Your cunt. The thought of it had been all consuming. Warm and wet. Soft and velvety. He ached to feel it, to taste it, to take it. The thoughts had led to his current position, standing at the edge of the raft with his cock in his fist. This act felt below him but the thoughts wouldn't leave his mind and he needed some relief from them. From the thoughts of you. 

Thoughts of your cunt. 

Warm and wet. Soft and velvet. 

His eyes fluttered, and his breath caught in his throat. He hated every second of this. He had no control. Ever since you looked up at him with those eyes of yours, eyes he wanted to make weep as you choked on his cock. He breathed a soft curse as he imagined your sweet, innocent eyes looking up at him with your lips wrapped around his cock. His thumb collected the precum from his tip and worked it around his shaft, the soft wet sounds filling the night. 

Would you be inexperienced?  Had someone claimed you before? You were his and his alone, his precious sweet one. The thought of someone else having you first filled him with such rage. He would drench his hands in their blood and paint your body with it as he fucked you. His hands around your neck, squeezing enough to feel your life thrumming underneath his fingers. 

You were his and his alone. No one else could touch you, no other lips taste you, no other cock take you. He'd burn all of Middle Earth to ensure it, torture any man who dared look at you. He'd carve his name into your flesh, lick the blood off your skin. A growl escaped his lips, the thought of his name scared into your soft skin. His hand tightened around his cock and his movements increased in speed. 

His breathing got more ragged as he got closer to his peak,  your name tumbling past his lips in a choked whisper. He could almost imagine you whining and whimpering his name, his real name.  That was what sent him over, the visual of you impaled on his cock and desperately calling his name. He groaned loudly, his seed shooting into the water. 

Breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Almost immediately, the cacophony of thoughts entered his mind. That had been a brief reprieve, but now his existential crisis continued. What was his purpose? Who was he now that his master was dead? Power and control, how could he have both without sacrificing the other?  

And then your smiling face flashed through his mind, the sound of your laugh...-

This couldn't continue. No amount of curiosity was worth this loss of control. He was a god, but his mind as of late had been reminiscent of a teenage boy. Thoughts may plague him, but he would forget you within the age. He needed you gone, dead. The longer you stayed alive, the longer these damn lustful thoughts would plague him and be his undoing. He was slowly losing his sanity because of you. 

The problem was he couldn't do it. He tried mere minutes before giving into these urges, but as he looked at your sleeping face, he couldn't bring himself to push you in and under the waves. In thousands of years, no one had been able to still his blade or stay his hand with such ease. He couldn't look at you and take your life. He could not be the one to do it, that thought alone proving to be more a reason for your death. Weakness was not something he would tolerate. 

His mind called out to wyrm, calling it to their location. If he couldn't do it, he'd give the task to something else. By nightfall tomorrow, you'd be gone. You'd be at the bottom of the sea or in the belly of the beast. By nightfall, he'd have his mind back. 

Why did the thought of your death fill him with such dread?

~

He wouldn't even look at you. You'd greeted him in the morning, and he ignored you. You sat next to him, and he moved to the other side of the raft. You watched as his eyes bore into planks of the raft. You wet your lips and pulled it between your teeth. He was your first friend in a very long time, and now you had lost him for reasons that escaped you.  You were utterly alone, lost at sea, and you struggled to find hope here. All you could do is close your eyes and remind yourself that falling into despair would do nothing more than make the situation worse and more hopeless.

You watched the clouds pass in the sky, counting them, and your fingers tapped away at the wood. Every few moments, you had to blink away the tears that had started welling in your eyes as you thought of losing another person you cared for. Suddenly, you sat up as you heard what you thought was a voice in the air. You squinted as your eyes examined the fog.

“There's a voice on the water.” You spoke quietly. 

Almost instantly, bickering broke amongst the others. To save her or not. You shook your head, “We're not leaving her to starve and die!” 

One of the others pulled her up and gave her water as you grabbed her a chunk of bread and looked for a piece of cloth or something that could bring the stranger some warmth. The bickering continued as you searched and returned with a piece of bread.

“Suppose you'll be sharing your rations?” the old man asked. 

You couldn't help the roll of your eyes, “Damn the rations,” you kneeled and handed the stranger the bread. “It's not much, but it's something. Are you hurt?” 

Before she could answer, one of the others asked, “What are you doing out here?”  

The stranger took the bread, “I was separated from my ship.” 

You looked at her with empathy. Of course, you could understand. She looked over at you as if to answer your question next, but she stopped, her eyes examining your face as if she knew you but was unable to place how. It made you uncomfortable, made your heart still. Has your past caught up with you all the way out here? 

“She doesn't look dangerous,” the other woman spoke.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Halbrand spoke, and you were about to protest when you saw the point to her ears. Your blood ran cold, and you moved back from her. 

“Remove your hand from me, sir,” the stranger spoke, her attention returning to you. “I know your face.”

You quickly stood up and stepped back. This could not be happening. Not here. Not now. Perhaps the elf could save you, or perhaps she would convince the others to throw you into the sea. The sins of your father would never stop chasing you, it seemed. 

~

“I know your face."

His head snapped your direction at this revelation. What did that mean? How would an elf know you? He watched your reaction, the fear and shame passing over your face confirming that there was a story there. He cursed silently.

All day, he avoided looking at you. All day, he had convinced himself that you were nothing more than a naive human, that the warmth he felt had to be in relation to this new form getting used to the world around him. There was nothing special about you. Nothing at all. He repeated it over and over, though he never really believed it. He could sense the darkness and calamity swimming through the ocean towards them, the beast he had called, and he had convinced himself that your death would solve his internal struggle. 

But now, this damn elf had reignited the curiosity with vigor. It felt as if an inferno burnt through him. He had to know more. He knew when the wyrm came, he would be unable to leave you to death. You were the most curious thing, and it was infuriating. 

Who were you? 

previous next