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shycoconutt · 5 months ago

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It seems when it comes to Nanami Kento, your body has a mind of its own.

Because here you are standing like an idiot, with a brown bag containing various warm pastries and a cup of black coffee, alone in his office in the early hours of the morning, feeling like you’ve fought and won many battles but are currently losing the war.

The war that was once your past and now, to your dismay, is your present too.

The sun has just barely peaked over the mountains, a warm orange glow cascading through the windows of Jujutsu Tech. Placing your offerings on his large wooden desk, you can’t help the exaggerated sigh that escapes your lips.

What has gotten into you.

The entire walk from your apartment, to the bakery, then to work at 8 o’clock in the morning was spent mumbling and grumbling to yourself.

Whatever happened to keeping your distance? Standing your ground? Huh? So what if today’s his birthday? So you happen to know his order at his favorite bakery across town, who cares? Huh? Hello? Are you listening to me—

You probably have a red mark on your forehead from how many times you slapped yourself on the way over here.

Truth is, you know it’s dumb, but the thought of not one person wishing Kento a happy birthday or giving him a gift today makes your stomach hurt. He only just reinstated himself as a sorcerer a couple months ago, and it’s highly likely that no one else but you remembers the importance of this summer day.

Your face warms slightly thinking about teenage Kento and that stupid party hat Satoru forced him to wear for the duration of your class singing him happy birthday. He stood there like an emotionless toothpick. It was hilarious.

Smiling to yourself, you grab a pen and a single sheet from his notepad laid out on his desk and scribble a few words before leaving it there and exiting his office.

“Ino,” you yell from your seat on a bench at the sparing field, “you gotta keep your fists close to your chest in a defensive position when fighting. The reason you keep getting knocked over is because you’re leaving yourself wide open.”

With your arms outstretched over the back of the bench, you lift up your head to feel the warm sun rays on your face. It is a hot one today, and you somewhat regret telling your students that you would be working on combat outside all day.

Your decision came mostly because they need the practice, but partly because you know it’s easier to avoid Kento this way.

Five hours into the day, however, you know you have to give your students a break.

“Okay everyone,” you say, clapping your hands together, “why don’t you all take an hour for lunch and then meet back here. When you get back, each of you will take turns sparing with yours truly.”

You giggle at the mix of excited gasps and disappointed groans from your students. They know you won’t go easy on them, and that only excites a select few.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Though, to make up for it, I stashed some goodies in the fridge for you guys in the rec room…”

You blinked and your students were gone, only leaving a small trail of dust in their path. Feeling content in your solitude, you go back to basking in the sun, the soft noise of running water and chirping birds lulling you into a state of relaxation.

You about jump out of your own shoes when you hear someone softly clearing their throat behind you.

Looking over your shoulder, your eyes trail up the stone steps before you lock on a broad figure standing at the top of them, slicked back honey blonde hair threatening to tousle in the strong breeze.

“May I join you?”

No. Nope. Get lost.

“Uh, sure!”

Damn it.

Scooting over to one side of the bench to make room, you nervously fidget with your hands, suddenly very interested in the state of your cuticles.

In your peripheral, you notice he’s dressed lighter than usual. Instead of the tan suit, blue long sleeve dress shirt combo, he has on a pair of brown slacks with a linen tan short sleeve dress shirt. He looks really good.

Then again, he always looks good. Ever since his return, it was no surprise to you that his everyday wear was so formal. Nanami always had an affinity towards proper aesthetics. He holds himself at a higher standard than most and always feels morally obligated to do the right thing.

But, sometimes there is no right or wrong, sometimes the right choice for you is the wrong one for someone else, sometimes the right choice is the easier choice, the one that hurts less.

As he moves to sit next to you, you feel yourself hold your breath.

“The kids flew by me on the way here practically foaming at the mouths,” Nanami muses.

“Yeah, well, I bought them some candy and snacks from 7/11 this morning cause I walked past and knew I would be putting them through the wringer today. It’s honestly the least I could do. They’ll be hurting pretty good later.”

Nanami hums all-knowingly, smirking to himself.

“If memory serves me right, there were plenty of nights back in the day where I would have to take hours-long episome salt baths just to be able to fall asleep that night after a training session with you.”

You can’t help but smile and hum in amusement.

“You never were the best at hand-to-hand. However, once you started bringing blades and shit into the mix, I did often fear for my life.”

“I would have never hurt you, you know that,” Nanami scoffs.

“Yeah,” you pause, “at least with your blade anyway.”

You feel the air still around you. Nanami now leans himself back on the bench, lifting his hands behind him to support his head.

“Hm, I suppose I deserve that.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“However, what I do not deserve is your kindness,” Nanami states, staring at the field in front of him.

“Hm?”

“You bought me my favorite breakfast today, isn’t that correct?”

You turn to him now, feeling a warm blush rise to your cheeks.

“Yes.”

“And this is the most we’ve talked in a long time.”

“I suppose.”

“I half expected you to yell at me to go away.”

“I thought about it.”

Nanami smiles at this, turning to look at you for the first time, amber eyes looking down softly into yours.

“Thank you, darling. I loved it.”

The genuineness of his words swallow the world around you. You feel your heart lurch, and it’s painful.

Sitting here, so close to his form, you feel like you are two magnets. You wish you could just let go—let yourself give in. You want so badly to fly across the seat and have him absorb you. All of the empty parts of your soul are vacant because of him, and he could fill those crevices so easily, right where he once was so long ago.

You give him a sad smile, reaching your arm out, you bring the palm of your hand gently to his face, letting your thumb graze the skin of his cheek.

“You’re welcome, Kento.”

You allow yourself to touch him like this, but this is as far as you can go, at least for right now. Something you know he understands.

“Hey! Nanami is here!” Ino’s voice brings you out of your trance. You look up to see your students gathered together with all of the snacks, candy and drinks you got them in their hands. You quickly pull your hand away from Nanami so they don’t see.

You beam up at them.

“What are you guys doing back so soon?”

“Well we saw all the stuff you got us and decided it wouldn’t be right to eat all of it and not share some with you. You’re out here working hard too!”

“Aw, thanks you guys,” you smile, “Actually, you know what? This is perfect!”

Leaping up from your spot, you grab Nanami’s hand and gesture for him to stand up with you. He complies reluctantly.

“We can all share our spoils with our BIRTHDAY BOOOOOY!”

Nanami glares at you like you just told them his deepest, darkest secret. You give his hand a small squeeze before letting go, smiling up at him devilishly.

The kids are a blur as they gather around him, practically suffocating him with their enthusiasm. You watch as he battles any signs of joy as they jostle him around.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!”

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sticky-sugar · 4 months ago

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ask you something. (iwaizumi hajime x reader) chapter two

>> you try to distance yourself from him for the sake of your friendship, leaving him extremely confused <<

tags/cw: idk if this counts as miscommunication???, IDIOTS in love, mutual pining gone wrong

chapter one || masterlist || chapter three

it takes all of twelve seconds in america to realize you still have feelings for iwaizumi hajime.

you’d realized it before, in the year that he was gone. you’d realized it in the spaces that used to be his, now empty beside you. in the way you’d scramble for your phone in the middle of the night, hearing him call on his way to class. in the way seijoh hadn’t felt the same, hollow without him and oikawa.

mattsun and makki had still been around for that year, slacking off at the convenience store down the road in between makki’s shifts and mattsun’s clinic hours. chatting your ear off whenever you’d come to say hi and looking at you knowingly when you’d mention iwa, because the man had kept up with all his friends since leaving, but mostly you.

you’d realized that you’d fallen for your best friend, and you’d done your damn best in the months leading to your own departure to get over it. you’d done your best to get past him, because two kisses and a handful of moments couldn’t possibly be enough to risk a friendship.

you should have realized it when you’d asked him to kiss you the first time, because, even that night, you could feel that you were asking for a different reason. it hadn’t been out of curiosity, although mattsun’s flirty remark had certainly triggered it. you weren’t just curious about kissing — you were curious about kissing him.

iwaizumi hajime.

he’d been sweet and careful and everything you love about him — everything that had ever made you trust him enough to ask all the things you knew you shouldn’t. because iwa would never let you down, never judge you or make you feel smaller than him for not knowing something.

you fell for him because those things weren’t guaranteed of other boys, but they were guaranteed of him. iwa was guaranteed.

but you had been able to recognize, on your own and over many long phone calls with oikawa, that it would be risky having feelings for iwa. that confessing to him may or may not work (oikawa was frustratingly elusive about this point), but that losing him would never be worth the confession at all.

so you’d pushed it down. you’d pushed the feelings away, forcing yourself to think about him less. to care a little less when he wasn’t able to call because of exams, to get a little less excited when he could. to date other boys and ignore when their kisses never felt right.

you thought you’d gotten it right. when you told iwa about your college acceptances and heard the overjoyed ‘fuck yes!’ he’d let out when you revealed you’d be joining him after all, you thought you’d gotten over him properly. because your heart hadn’t fluttered and your breath hadn’t gotten caught the way it used to. you’d just been happy, happy to have a friend like iwaizumi hajime.

you realize now, heart in your throat and breath sucked out of your lungs as you stare out the window of airport terminal at him, that you’d been lying to yourself.

he hasn’t seen you yet, typing away at his phone while he leans on the passenger’s side door of his car. he scowls at something, and your heart skips, because even that’s attractive. you stand just inside the automatic doors that lead out to the road, the hot california air smacking you in the face every time someone walks out to the street.

he looks up whenever the door opens, and your heart lurches when his eyes come close to where you’re hiding. but he always misses, just dropping his gaze back to his phone when he realizes it’s not you. you watch his brows crease deeper and deeper with every minute that passes without your appearance, and he eventually swipes out of whatever he’s doing and jabs aggressively into a different app on his screen.

you realize he’s calling when he lifts the phone to his ear. your phone vibrates angrily in your hand, and you have to steel yourself to answer it, your eyes on him when you pick up the call.

“hello?”

“hey.” his voice is rough and deep, and your body erupts in goosebumps, evidence that he’s still under your skin. “did you make it out okay?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “sorry. i’m here.”

his eyes lift, scanning the sidewalk quickly. “where?”

“just… here,” you say, feeling safe in the corner where you can see him, but he can’t see you. “you look different, haji.”

he straightens now, searching more earnestly. his mouth spreads in a bemused grin, and he humors you. “yeah? different how?”

a shiver runs down your spine when he talks to you like that — teasing, but not mocking.

“older.”

“i am older.”

“taller.”

“pretty sure i’m the same height.”

“californian.”

he laughs, sharp and short and just long enough to show you that playful crinkle in his eyes. your heart betrays you again.

“i doubt that, y/n.”

his gaze passes over you now, and then he realizes it’s you, his double-take visible from here. he stares at you through the glass, eyes scanning all of you and then finding yours. you’re both silent for a moment, long enough for someone to pass you on the way out. the glass doors slide open — there’s nothing to protect you from him now.

“you look different, too.”

you swallow hard, watching him lean back against the car again, one ankle crossing over the other while he examines you.

“different how?”

“older.”

“i am older.”

“‘s not what i meant.”

you wonder if he can see the sharp inhale you take in response.

not so innocent, is what he’d meant.

if he sees it, he doesn’t say anything about it. “parking’s by the hour, just so you know.”

you straighten. “right. sorry.”

he just smiles, more to himself than to you. “don’t be so scared,” he says, hearing everything that your ‘sorry’ had been about. “it’s just me.”

that doesn’t help, so you don’t respond. you just end the call and stuff your phone away, hauling your suitcases out of the airport and across the street to the parking lot.

when he hugs you, it’s not one of the friendly ones you’d prepared yourself for.

he wraps both arms around your waist and bends to your height, dragging your chest flush to his. you’re left with your arms hanging in shock around his neck.

“hi,” he says quietly in your ear, pressing one of his large hands against your spine to keep you close. his voice does more to your nerves in person than it did on the phone.

“hi,” you whisper back. you don’t trust your own voice not to crack.

you hadn’t gotten over iwaizumi hajime at all.

—

hajime thinks you might be avoiding him.

he’d noticed it the day you’d arrived — that you wouldn’t meet his eyes. you’d stared out the window while he’d driven you to your dorm, and you’d kept your eyes on your suitcases while he’d helped you unpack. and when he’d invited you to his apartment for dinner, you’d just mumbled that you wanted to wait – to meet your new roommate.

he’d left you to it, trying not to show how disappointed he’d been.

he’d missed you. he’d known that already, but seeing you standing there at the airport — the lost look in your face, your hoodie pulled all the way up over your head despite the summer weather — had kickstarted his heart. he’d missed you a lot.

he’d spent the year before trying not to think about you. to call you a normal amount and text you a normal amount and not think about the boys you could be seeing or the things you might be doing. those things were none of his business.

but he’d thought about them regardless, and he’d realized over the year that maybe he thought about you too much and in ways he shouldn’t.

he’d reacted to the revelation poorly. he’d slept around, throwing all his firsts to the wind without care because they didn’t matter if they weren’t with you. it had been unhealthy, the amount of partying he’d done, the number of girls he’d hooked up with.

he’d excused it as needing to get you out of his head, out of his system. he’d slept with girls that had looked nothing like you, girls who taught him things he’d never thought to learn. but there had always been a little piece of him that would think of you even then, your face flashing in his mind even when he was with another girl.

there had been a larger piece, appearing frequently and leaving him feeling terrible without fail, that had known he was learning these things with the hope that you’d ask him to teach them to you.

and he’s unable now to avoid acknowledging that it had all been in vain — all the unhealthy attempts to get over you. because the moment you’d appeared in his life again, all the partying and the sleeping around had stopped.

in the three weeks that follow your arrival to california, hajime’s urge to drink and go out and bring girls home reduces to nothing. he just follows you around, the same way you used to follow him.

he picks you up from your dorm every morning that first week, walking you to class and then showing you a new place on campus that he likes to frequent. this coffee shop has good espresso, but that shop is cheaper and still good for a quick stop. this library is closest to your dorm, but that one is quieter and open later. always go to this convenience store and never that one — they won’t have the snacks you like.

you absorb the information gratefully, smiling bright and giggling at his shitty jokes. you call him ‘haji’ with that child-like lilt you’d always had, and you give him your schedule for the next day when he asks for it every night. he feels that familiar tug of pleasure when he realizes he’s helping you, just like he always has. that he’s taken up his old post again as the boy you come to when you need help. it’s his favorite place to be. he’d missed it.

but still, those moments only last a few hours each day. you still find awkward ways to decline his invitations for dinner or coffee. you mention your new dorm friends when you thank him for showing you things, saying you can’t wait to show them, too. you mention events that those friends want to go to — parties, bars, places he knows all too well — but there’s an underlying implication that he’s not invited.

so, yes. hajime thinks you’re avoiding him. but he lets you, because he has no idea what else to do. you’ve never done this before, actively chosen the company of other people over his.

at the end of the second week, he tries something dangerous.

“i heard that you dated — last year.”

he says it in the awkward lull he’s starting to realize comes toward the end of a meetup with you, when you’re trying to figure out how to make your escape. the two of you are at a coffee shop — you seem to be getting a lot done, but hajime’s just spent two hours scrolling through already read emails and typing away at a blank word document.

you look up at him now, eyes wide and fingers wrapped around your empty coffee cup. “what?”

he almost loses his nerve. “last year,” he says roughly, and then he reels it in, unsure if he’s still too mean. you don’t seem to think so, still just looking at him in slight alarm. he doesn’t like that so much has changed. “oikawa told me. that you dated some guys.”

“yeah,” you say, looking over your shoulder toward the door. an animal trapped, locating all the exits. “i did. three guys.”

he has no interest in pretending to shame you for dating while he was gone. he can tell your guarded look is about that, but he has absolutely no room to judge. “was it okay?” he just asks, shifting in his seat. you’re tapping one nail on your cup nervously. the sound makes him feel like he’s on a ticking clock, close to exploding. “were they okay?”

“yeah, haji,” you say, glancing at the door again and then dropping your eyes to your laptop. “they were okay. always respectful, never kissed me on the first date.”

hajime’s face burns with humiliation, the memory of kissing you on your doorstep tearing a guilty hole in his chest. “okay,” he manages. “good.” he runs his fingers through his hair, searching for anything to say that’ll keep you here with him. “and they didn’t-they never-” the tapping stops, but your eyes are wary, and he doesn’t know which is worse. “-tried anything? that you wanna talk about, maybe?”

the world stops, the space between you screeching to a terrifying, silent halt. hajime watches you search his face, eyes wide and shocked, because you know exactly what he’s asking. he knows exactly what he’s asking — he just has no fucking clue why he’d asked.

he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. years later, he still doesn’t like feeling dumb around you.

he wants you to need him, but he’s doing it all wrong. he wants you to ask him something, but he’s never been the one to bring it up first, to prompt you into it. he wants you to stay here, to cling to him like you used to. but he’s getting incredibly good at pushing you away.

“no,” you whisper. “there’s nothing. they didn’t do anything.” and then you close your laptop. it sounds like a gunshot in his ears. “but, uhm, listen, i should go.” hajime turns his eyes away from you, disappointment seeping into his bones. “i told my friends i’d go to a party with them tonight…”

he nods, staring out the window. he’d normally scramble to walk you to your dorm, but he doesn’t have it in him today. he wants to rot in a corner and not be seen by you. he feels stupid.

“okay,” he says plainly. “have fun.”

he doesn’t look away from the window until you’re gone.

—

you only manage three weeks into the school year without falling back into him.

you’d done your very best to get past him, to get past these feelings that have started to break down every ounce of resolve you have. you start each day with a firm assertion in the bathroom mirror that you’ll resist him — that you’ll be strong enough to treat him like a friend, because that’s all he is.

and then it goes out the window upon seeing him, every single time.

every touch of his hand to your elbow, guiding you in a new direction. every press of his side against yours, the quad crowded with people. every brush of his mouth to the shell of your ear, explaining what he does and doesn’t like about the place he’s brought you to.

you crave every single one, and then you bully yourself, angry with guilt and the feeling that you shouldn’t be so eager for the next sliver of attention from him.

when he asks in that coffee shop if there’s anything you want to talk about — if there’s anything you want to ask him, you realize — you know that you’ve lost this game. that you’re lost, hopeless against him.

you give him some half-baked excuse about a party and run for your life, texting your roommate and begging her to find a frat party — any frat party — to take you to. you have one last weapon under your belt, one last-ditch effort to get olive green eyes and a rough voice out of your head.

—

this guy looks nothing like iwaizumi hajime. he’s got blond hair and a lip ring, blue eyes and a baby-faced smile. he’s using it to disarm you, you can tell — he’s flashing that smile to make you think he’s innocent, but you can see how his eyes have roamed your body all night. he’s lying through his teeth, quite literally, using his sweet face to trick you into thinking he’s a nice boy. he’s nothing like iwa.

he should be perfect.

but when he backs you into a corner and pushes his lips against yours, it feels wrong. he’s wrong. when he attaches his mouth to your throat and starts marking you like he means it, it doesn’t feel good. it hurts a little, because he’s using his teeth, and you don’t like how it feels.

iwa wouldn’t do it like that.

and when the blond starts getting a little pushy with his kisses, his lips messy and sloppy against yours, you feel that this isn’t how you want your night to go.

you want to let this blond take you home, you really do. he’s pretty and bad for you. he doesn’t have olive green eyes or a rough voice. he grabs you like you mean nothing to him.

but god, you don’t want to be here anymore. not with the way he’s sliding his tongue against your bottom lip, expectant in a way you don’t want to fulfill.

groaning, you push at his shoulders, putting distance between you. he furrows a brow at you, and you think you hear him say ‘you good?’ over the deep pulse of the frat house music. you give him a smile that you hope is apologetic, but it probably comes out as more of a grimace.

“sorry,” you say. “i think i’m gonna head home.”

when he lifts his brows and scoffs a little in annoyance, you really wish you would have been okay with him taking you home. he’s nothing like iwaizumi hajime.

instead, you find yourself stumbling down the street at two in the morning, in the opposite direction from your dorm. you text your roommate, letting her know where you’re going. she just sends you kissy faces and asks you to stay there tonight, because there’s a guy she has her eyes on.

you’re not sure he’ll be okay with you spending the night. not after the way you’ve been treating him. not with the hickey on your throat, warm and throbbing with the pain of bite marks.

but you show up at his door anyway, knocking quietly. there’s a part of you that hopes he’s asleep and won’t hear you.

the door opens a minute later.

iwa stares down at you, hair ruffled from sleep and a frown set deep in his face. he’s shirtless, sweats low on his hips and one finger scratching at the side of his neck.

when he realizes it’s you, his eyes open properly. “y/n?” his voice is groggy, and your veins set themselves on fire.

“hi,” you say quietly. “can i come in?”

he’s not looking you in the eye anymore. he’s got his gaze locked tight on the part of your neck that aches dully. when he looks at you again, it’s with an emotion you can’t place.

irritation, relief. hope and disappointment. back and forth, both swimming in his eyes and oscillating, the same way you’ve been feeling since you landed in america.

he opens the door without another word, and you step into his studio apartment.

“thank you,” you whisper, the outside world muted to nothing once he shuts you inside with him. just you and him, alone again for the first time in over a year. the last moment alone shared on the other side of your own front door, his mouth warm on yours.

“are you drunk?” is all he says in response.

“just tipsy,” you respond, the alcohol warming you but not doing much more than that anymore. he nods to the couch behind you and then moves to the little kitchen by the door.

“sit. i’ll make you coffee.”

you do as he says, comfortable in the reality where iwa tells you what to do and you follow it eagerly. because he’s always known best.

“what happened?” he asks, head bent as he spoons coffee grounds into the machine. you stare at his back, eyes tracing the lines of his muscles as you try not to think about his bed only five feet away. the blankets are rustled there, and the space radiates heat, because he’s always run a little hot at night.

“nothing. just didn’t have much fun.”

you hear the beep of the machine being turned on, but he doesn’t turn to face you.

“did he hurt you?”

he doesn’t ask who it was or how far you’d gone, and you wonder if he’s not facing you because he doesn’t want you to know that he cares about those details, too.

“no. i just didn’t have much fun.” and then you press your fists into your lap nervously, offering information that shouldn’t be shared between friends like you and him. “we just kissed. i didn’t let him do anything else.”

you wonder if his shoulders actually relax at that, or if you’re imagining it in the dark of his kitchen. in the dark of his apartment, with just one dim lamp sitting on his nightstand.

“so? what changed your mind?”

there’s an edge in his voice, you can hear that much. he’s going to be rough with you, but it won’t feel that way. it hasn’t felt that way since you were kids, when the slightest hint of frustration would make you cry. now, the jagged edges of his voice feel like a sweet drag of his lips across your skin, because you know that’s as far as his irritation will ever go.

he’s never been rough with you, not really. and you wonder, not for the first time, if you would mind that so much. being roughed up by the one man who’d never hurt you.

you swallow, deciding on brutal honesty. honesty, like the way things used to be. “he tried to put his tongue in my mouth.”

iwa snorts, shaking his head as he grabs two mugs from the cabinet. “well, yeah, y/n. it was a party — he was looking to make out or hook up. that’s what happens.”

you wonder how he knows that. how many parties he’s been to. how many times ‘that’s what happens’ has been true of him. “have you ever done that?”

he pours the coffee. you can see that he’s tense again, and the sharp blade of his voice confirms what you want to know. “which one? make out or hook up?”

“either.”

“yeah.”

“which one?”

“both.”

you breathe out through your nose, trying not to make it audible. it doesn’t upset you that he’s had his firsts — all of them, you’re assuming now — in his year away from you. it doesn’t bother you that he knows things, that he’d learned things from other girls. you’d dated, too. even if it hadn’t been nearly the same as what he’s saying to you, you’d still dated.

because you and iwaizumi hajime are just friends.

“oh. okay.”

your voice is bitter. you can hear it, and you know he can, too.

he doesn’t address it.

“you didn’t like that he tried to put his tongue in your mouth?”

you shake your head, watching him bring the two cups over to the table by the couch. you take one, thanking him softly. “he was too rough about it.”

iwa flicks his gaze to your throat again. “yeah, i can see that.” he lifts his mug to his lips and looks away.

“no one’s ever done that before,” you say. you’d resolved yourself not to tell him the specifics of your dating history, because you’d been trying to separate your friendship with him from the feelings that burn guilt into every cell in your body.

but you tell him this, anyway. you can’t remember your resolve anymore, not after coming to his apartment in the middle of the night. you can’t fight this anymore, even though you should.

he stares at you with wary eyes. “none of your boyfriends…?”

you laugh to yourself. “i told you — they never did anything.”

he grimaces. “i thought you were just trying to spare me the details.”

“i don’t hide things from you, haji.”

yes, you do.

he nods, staring down at his lap. “me, neither.”

you get the feeling, without evidence or proof, that he’s lying to you, too.

you can’t bring yourself to be upset about that. you just hope, pathetic and hopeless, that he’s lying about the same things you are.

“haji?” you say, setting your coffee cup down on the table. his eyes lock on that decision, trapped on the mug as you set your now-free hands in your lap.

“yeah?” he mutters, shifting his gaze to your hands. never meeting your eyes. your heart pounds in your chest, and you hope the dark of his apartment hides that from him somehow.

“can i ask you something?”

you’d missed that olive green in ways you shouldn’t.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi hajime

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dreameryfics · 8 days ago

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JJ MAYBANK x READER

Summary: You're new to the Cut and you catch a certain blue-eyed blonde-haired boy's attention

We had just moved to Outer Banks a month ago, specifically, the Cut, as I've found it's been called by the locals. The people who lived on the Cut were the poor/working class, whereas Figure 8 was for the rich people—the ones who didn't have to work to put a meal on the table. My mom had left my stepdad and thought we needed a new place to live too. It was just her and I now, in a new place.

I didn't mind living here so far, the people on the Cut are really nice and always willing to lend a helping hand. I was able to get a job at The Wreck as a waitress. Mom was still trying to find work, so I was working a lot more than I'd like to. I met my boss's daughter, Kiara, during one of my first shifts. She explained everything to me. How the island works, who to stay away from, and who the good people are around here.

I have had a few run-ins with some Kooks, and so far, I can see why Kie hates them. One night, there were a few that came in to order some food and they were assholes the entire night. One was hitting on me to the point where Mike told him to leave. It was some asshole named Rafe. Apparently, he hates Pogues the most, but yet he's over here hitting on one? Make it make sense.

It was just like any other night, I had worked a double shift and it was almost time to leave. I had about an hour left before my shift ended. Kie hadn't shown up, so it was just Mike and me. He tried his hardest to not show how he felt, but I could tell he was upset with his daughter. I didn't mind though because that meant more tips for me. I was helping a table out when I heard chatter behind me. I looked and saw Kie with three guys. These must be who she's told me about I thought. I quickly turned my attention back to the table I was serving knowing I'd talk to her later.

"Dad, I'm sorry, but I had to help John B-" I overheard Kie saying to her dad. "Kie, enough with these excuses," Mike said to his daughter with a hint of anger in his voice, "these damn boys." He looked over at the three, who happened to be sitting at a table now, "They're needy little assholes, and you missed your damn shift."

"I know Dad, it won't happen again," Kie said to him, trying to calm him down. He let out a long sigh before waving her off. She walked over to the boys and talked to them about something. I was too far away to overhear anything they were talking about. "Hey," Mike yelled over to me, "do you want to help Kie with those three? They probably haven't eaten anything today," he said pointing at the group. He may be angry at Kie, but you can't say he doesn't care. He looks out for the people on the Cut. I shook my head before heading over to them.

"Hey Kie," I said looking past the boys and to her. I quickly took out my pad so I could take their orders and when I looked up I was met with bright blue eyes. He was intriguing, to say the least, they all were, but him the most. "What can I get for you guys?" I ask, tearing my eyes away from him and looking to the rest of the table, ready to write down what they want.

"You haven't met these dumbasses yet," Kie says which gets her some angry looks her way. "This is Pope, John B, and JJ," she points to each one before continuing, "Can you just tell my dad we want the usual?" I nodded my head before walking away from them. I couldn't help myself and looked back. JJ had turned around and was already looking at me. I could feel the heat rise to my face, quickly turning around so he didn't see my face get red.

"No, not you too," Mike said as I was walking towards him. I gave him a puzzling look before he rolled his eyes at me. "Just be careful around him, he's-" Mike paused looking over to where his daughter was sitting, "troubled. He does stupid shit and I'd hate to see you get caught up in his stupid shit."

"Mike, I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, assuming he was talking about the blonde boy, but I wanted to make sure. "JJ," he replied bluntly, "just be careful not to get caught up in his stupid decisions." I nodded my head at Mike before looking behind me for another glance at JJ. They were all laughing at something, Kie throwing a crumpled-up napkin at JJ. "Thanks, Mike, but you don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself," I told him smiling at him. "I know hun, just be careful," Mike replied handing me food. I gave him a puzzling look and he just nodded over to the table holding the Kie and the three boys, "this is what they normally get."

I put the food on a tray and brought it over to them, setting the baskets down in front of JJ and Pope. I could feel eyes boring into the side of me. I knew it was JJ, but I fought the urge to look over at him. "Enjoy the food guys," I told them grabbing the now-empty tray and walking away from the table. "Kie, what's her story?" I heard one of them say and Kie responded, "JJ, she's new, don't scare her away."

I felt my stomach flutter and the thought of him asking about me. I know I just met him, but I'd heard so much about him from Kie and knew this was someone I wanted in my life. Not just wanted in my life, but needed in my life. Little did I know that night was the beginning of everything. The next day, hurricane Agatha hit and I was drug into a treasure hunt.

#masterlist #fanfic #request #requests open #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #obx #jj x reader #outerbanks jj #outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx x reader

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ronearoundblindly · 11 months ago

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Midnight Kiss

Steve Rogers x reader

Just a little ditty in honor of the upcoming holiday. Warnings for suggestive language and bad puns. It's just cute, awkward, and chivalrous...until it isn't. If you couldn't deduce it from the title: they kiss lol. WC 1.5k+

He's happy to see the team having fun, but this isn't exactly Steve's 'scene.' Granted, his 'scene' flew the coop long ago, when his generation aged out of large, raucous celebrations, or rather, Steve never had any true social scene because he never really lived .

He's still trying, he swears; it's just...

really. damn. loud.

The lights are somehow too dim and too bright all at once. Everyone is happy and blitzed and dressed to the nines and leaning on the closest stable object. Any minute now, he'll bow out and call it a--

There's an ear-piercing cackle from a woman in a '2024' gold-streamered headband not two yards to his right, and she tips backwards, shoving an innocent passerby straight into his solid side.

"Sorry," you squeak, rolling your eyes because the word wasn't loud enough to shame the drunk woman beside you, but you're facing him, too, unable to see she's about to make it worse.

The woman snorts and laughs harder, toppling over because her party of friends have the reaction time of sloths, their hands full of dainty champagne flutes and mini-snacks.

Steve instinctively pulls you out of the way, his broad, strong arm wrapping your waist and pinning you to him.

"Oof," you grunt in alarm, the woman's drink spilling over your shoulder.

Hors d'oeuvres, Steve thinks sullenly, that's what people call them these days.

The woman doesn't apologize, and neither do her friends.

He counts a full five seconds before anyone in the small group even raises a hand to help the woman still giggling on the floor. Mostly, Steve is now concerned with the glass shards near your feet.

He's all for having fun, he's all for letting off a little steam, but he is not a fan of sloppiness. That's not a generational trait; that's simple courtesy.

"Ok, 'nough of this," he mutters, an itchy irritation scurrying up his body while he tries not to take over care of the woman. Instead, he checks your legs with a glance, sees the open toes of your strappy sandals, and hoists you into his arms.

He walks away from the bar, sound of crunching fading with each step, and finds a tiny bench--the only spot not occupied--where he can set you down.

Steve can't hear your shock or protest because his blood races past his ears. That was the last straw. He's annoyed now.

"Stay there," he commands, putting up a finger that gets shockingly close to touching your lips since you leaned in to speak. "I'm getting some napkins."

The bartender is oblivious, and why should he not be? The man is one of two serving over a hundred guests, give or take, for hours and hours. Steve doesn't bother getting his attention. He stretches a long arm over the bar top and grabs a stack of cocktail napkins.

It might as well be toilet paper.

He dabs and dabs at the sleeve of your dress, but the napkins dissolve and turn to damp pills. In his day, those results would make excellent spitballs to pass the time in class. They aren't so trendy on your black velvet.

"I thought this would work." He doesn't know what else to do but keep dabbing, so he anxiously continues, not noticing the precarious proximity to your chest until you put a hand on his.

You have kind eyes, he thinks, even though he can't fully make out their color in the mood lighting.

"Please, don't--" finally one of the woman's group yells over a quick sorry "--don't bother with that," you finish. "It's just a dress. You can go back to your people, Captain."

He scrunches his brow. He sometimes wants to introduce himself; he wouldn't always use his rank, but he rarely gets that luxury. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." You nod. "Was heading out anyway. I'll just sit a sec and then leave."

Sounds like the highlight of my night--leaving.

Instead, Steve stands to his full height and scans the busy room for any of his team. He shrugs to himself since, who's he kidding, no one will miss him if he disappears early. He's put in the appearance. He's made enough small drunk talk. Yikes, does he wish alcohol still affected him...

"I'll walk you out," he offers, careful to modulating his volume when one song abruptly ends and another starts lower.

At first, you don't take his hand, and your first two steps seem sturdy.

Then your weight crumples after a deep hiss.

Steve has you back up and carried to the bathroom in a flash. It's lit so he can actually see and muffled so he can actually hear, thank goodness.

Glass did sneak into your shoe, and it easily poked through the ball of your foot. He's so quick to find it that not one whole drop of blood has even eased out of the wound by the time he's pulling the shard out. His bare hands pinch the sizable chunk.

He's careful, slow, and gentle. He's also a touch proud that you make very little fuss, only squirming in discomfort while he works.

"All better," he says, dropping the glass into the trash bin. "We'll just wash it and...you alright?"

You're already pushing yourself off the counter top.

"You shouldn't put weight on it yet." Steve gingerly lifts your leg at the knee to keep the foot from touching the bare tile floor.

"Yeah, but--" you make a face "--you set me down in water."

Steve's eyes bug out. "I--oh gosh--so sorry, I--let me--" there are no paper towels, only an air dryer "--shit."

Defeated by modernity again, he sighs. "I just...I can get more napkins and maybe a first aid kit from--"

The crowd outside is starting to yell. They're counting, backwards, and there's no way anyone will understand what he's asking for in that chaos.

"Ten!"

Steve meets your eyes.

"Nine!"

He can see their full color now and that your dress isn't black. It's a very, very dark maroon velvet. Wetness is easily visible though, since your sleeve seems fully black at the shoulder.

"Eight!"

He points to the door. "Somebody I can get for you?"

You shake your head.

Not that he was fishing for your relationships status, but he's encouraged nonetheless.

"Seven!"

"Only me," you shrug, "braving the party for a thrill..."

"Same."

"Six!"

"How was the year?" he cracks with a smile.

You tilt your head. He's distracted by the cute gesture.

"Five!"

He stares.

"Four!"

"Not great," you admit.

Steve thinks while he stares.

"Three!"

Actually, no, that's a lie. He doesn't think; he just acts.

"Tw--"

He swoops in, big palms cradling each side of your face, soft lips pressed to yours for just an instant, but only because he wants more.

Unless tortured, Steve Rogers will never admit that he didn't plan for one instant where his tongue was not involved. He absolutely wants to taste you. He absolutely wants to own you, just for these few seconds. He absolutely wants to hear you moan in encouragement, the sound crystal clear in isolation from the party.

The roar of the crowd is soft static compared to that racing blood of his.

He pushes himself closer, his bent arms getting in his way, so Steve props up with a palm on the--oh wow, that is wet--counter. His thumb touches the soggy velvet covering your hip and thigh.

He'll buy you a whole new dress if only you lace your fingers in his hair, if only you take his bottom lip between your teeth, if only you whine just like that again.

By 'again,' he means in a few seconds, and maybe tomorrow, and, for good measure, whenever after that.

A loud thud on the door knocks him out of his lip-lock trance. It's not a single restroom, so he suspects another overly inebriated patron since no one comes through the door.

But now some sense is knocked into him, too.

He chews on his swollen lips for a moment, nervous to look up. He hopes you don't regret it, and he hopes you know that he does not, can not, and will never regret that kiss.

Your sated sigh breaks the tension after a beat. "Starting this year off right," you mutter, "at least for me..."

"Yeah," Steve chuckles, glancing at the door before finally taking in your lounging form, "the gang is gonna love how I ended up in a ladies' bathroom at the stroke of midnight, necking a stranger."

You snort.

"Don't leave out the part where I was wet for you, head to toe, huh?"

Too bad the florescent lights are bright enough to show his raging red blush, but he clears his throat with a deep growl.

"They'll never believe me..."

Steve sweeps you up into his arms again.

"...unless I take you as proof...and to get a bandage, of course."

You snatch up your shoe and purse, but he won't let this Cinderella run off. You'll be right here against him all night.

"Well, go ahead and splash my other shoulder," you tease. "I can't be lop-sided."

Steve grins, already adding more and more things to list of what he'll do for you, to you, and with you. The list can include parties, too, if this is how wonderfully sweet and silly they can all be.

Happy New Year, indeed...

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp (My taglists are all jacked up again, so if you are missing from the list and/or want to be tagged, please let me know!)

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you

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azsazz · 5 months ago

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Brains and Bravado

Kinktober Day 12: Dorian x Reader [Hate-Fucking]

Summary: Anon Req: For kinktober I would like to see either Rowan or Dorian! Maybe reader doesn’t get along with him but they have hate sex a lot and secretly like each other, however, they’re too stubborn (their pride) to admit it. Thank you for writing so many amazing fics for us, I’m excited for kinktober!👻

Based off of the previous ask of Dark Academia!Dorian

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 3,944

Notes: You'll know the part I yearn for when you read it 😏 the rest is sort of meh

_________________________________________

You dislike Dorian Havilliard very much.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the son to the king or that his best friend is a lord-turned-captain-of-the-royal-guard. Here, he’s just Dorian, an annoying pain-in-the-ass know-it-all that you’ve sworn to demolish with your good grades.

Unfortunately, Dorian is as smart with his head as he is with that tongue.

It’s said tongue of his that always gets him out of trouble. The professors love him, eat up any excuse to fall into his good graces, whether it’s passing him with flying colors or allowing him extra special office hours whenever he should come calling.

It’s not only the teachers who fall for the boy who makes the ugly, pristinely-pressed uniform look way too good. Everyone laughs at his jokes, flounders over his words even when they have no meaning at all. Girls and boys alike fall to his feet at the charming ways he speaks to them, looks at them, flirtatious to the bone.

You aren’t like that. Intelligent, yes, but your lips don’t curve around your words like Dorian’s do. They are his long-time lover, held near and dear and are cared for. He speaks like an age-old poem, like he’d been an esteemed author in a past life, the way they flow so easily for him.

No, you can write beautiful sentences, transform letters into works of art, ones that bring tears to the eyes of the beholder, but it’s speaking eloquently that always trips you up. You lack the emotion, the confidence, to really make your words ring true.

The laughter and easiness of the hall seems to dwindle into a silence that only Dorian himself can evoke, and you turn from gathering the textbooks you’ll need for the afternoon to watch. You don’t want to, but for some reason you’re as drawn to him as the rest of the crowd is.

Dorian’s sapphire eyes stir something in your chest, even more so when they flicker down your body and that little smirk appears, the one he knows pisses you off to no end. Your stare turns into a molten glare at that look, and the feeling coursing through your veins must be a hot hatred for the boy striding down the damned halls like he owns the place.

Chaol trails Dorian down the hall like an esteemed purebred, waiting for a treat. He had the glare of a bloodhound too, but it doesn’t do much to ward off the flirtatious glares the prince is receiving. There hasn’t been a single time all year that you’ve seen them apart. They’re even in all of the same classes for Mother’s sake.

That look makes you want to squirm, to claw his eyes out. What a privilege it must be, to be the king’s son, you think, slamming your locker shut with a loud clang and spinning on your heel, stalking down the hall to your next class.

One of the ones that Dorian’s in.

Thankfully, he stops to ogle some girls who’ve hiked their uniform skirts up to their eyes at the appearance of the prince. Chaol, ever the mindful guard, stops with them.

You can feel those gemstone eyes following you down the hall. Of course, everything that Dorian sees in you is only surface level. He doesn’t know your background or the fact that you’d been kept at school over the summer because your parents couldn’t afford for you to come home, all while he was living it up in the lavish palace he calls home.

He doesn’t know that late at night you sneak out of your rooms and into the library. There’s a hidden door in there, tucked away within the vast stacks of a history so ancient, that it makes you shudder to even glance at. You haven’t found the courage to step foot down that particular aisle of books because the raw power in the air makes the hair on your arms stand tall. You had made it your mission to muster the confidence to see what’s behind that door before you graduate, and plan on spending any of your free time searching for other hidden passageways within this centuries old school.

Whilst lost in the thoughts of the door in the library, you almost miss out on the entire lecture. Your professor doesn’t seem to notice because Dorian is answering all the questions she asks, and she’s wooed by his boring responses that even the dunces of the class could explain with flying colors.

By the time you’re released from class, you’ve decided to explore more of the library for hidden doors or books that give off a harrowing aura, when you slam into a wall. Not a wall, but the chest of your rival, Dorian Havilliard.

“Where are you going?” He asks, blocking you from stepping out into the hall.

You haven’t realized that the class had cleared out so quickly, and you shuffle a step backwards, trying to ignore the heat of his body and the way it had felt pressed against yours for a fleeting moment. In a burst of betrayal, that warmth converges between your thighs, and your muscles jump as you try to clench them together without his notice.

“To the library.” You don’t know why you answer, maybe because you’re thrown off by his sudden presence and lack thereof his best friend. Where is Chaol, you wonder, swallowing harshly when Dorian leans against his arm in the doorframe. He’s tall, muscular, and the shape he’s in draws your gaze down his perfect frame.

Something in those sapphire eyes flash, his mouth flattening from his smirk. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” you argue. Who is he to tell you what you can and can’t do in your own free time? “I want to get started on the paper Professor Erawan assigned us,” you lie, thankfully remembering that tidbit from class while your mind strayed.

“Then I’ll come with you.” It’s not a suggestion.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, wondering what he could possibly want from you when there are plenty of people willing to give him the attention he’s craving. Dorian straightens and waves you out of the room with a flourish of his hand.

You stare for a long moment, brows furrowed as you try to figure him out. You’re not friends, and you don’t want to be. All you really want is to beat him at his game of wits, be the first in class, and solve the mystery of what’s behind the dark door in the library. None of which needs any involvement from him.

“Please,” you roll your eyes, giving him a wide berth as you step around him into the hall. He immediately steps into line with you, and you try to ignore the way that he’s slowing his gait to stride alongside you. “You’re only coming to flirt with the librarian.”

Dorian’s grin is wolfish, “Why would I flirt with the librarian, when you’re right next to me?”

You trip over your feet at his words. Dorian catches you with a hand around your arm, steadying you. His touch is hot on your skin, and the look in his eyes is hot.

Your heart races in your chest.

Of course, Dorian has an ethereal beauty to him that anyone would consider themselves lucky to be with, but the fact that he’s flirting with you of all people, when all you’ve done all year is argue and bicker like an old married couple confuses you almost as much as the idea of the hidden door in the library.

“I don’t know why you’d flirt with me at all, actually,” you reply when you can finally find your voice. You’re being snippy, but you want the irritatingly handsome boy beside you to go away. He can find a place to stuff his cock elsewhere—you’re nowhere near as easy as the rest of the students in this school. “We don’t like each other.”

“Awe,” Dorian croons. When you glance over at him, he’s wearing a taunting smile, one that fills you with as much warmth as a cup of tea. “Who said I didn’t like you?”

Turning down the corridor to the library, it’s surely unlikely that Dorian will leave your side. You make a show of glancing around as if you’re looking for something, ignoring the way that your heart stammers in your chest at the mention that there’s a possibility he might actually enjoy your presence.

“Where is your little lap dog?”

Dorian barks out a startling laugh. He looks shocked himself, placing a hand to his chest, his cheeks pinkening as his chuckle echoes through the halls. It being the weekend, students and professors alike have fled the school buildings, more than ready to start the fun of the weekend.

You’re pretty sure that you and Dorian are the only ones left in the school.

“Chaol is on errand,” he tells you, sapphire eyes sparkling with interest. “Would you rather have him join?”

He says it like it’s a proposition, like you’d be pressed tightly between both of their bodies, like you’re not walking in through the doors into the expansive library that has more secrets than books.

You shoot Dorian a sidelong glance, your brows furrowed in confusion. He’s acting nothing like the Dorian you’re used to. Well, sure, he’s still the cocky prince you know, but the flirting is new. He’s staring ahead, like what he’s said hasn’t just thrown you completely off axis.

“Here looks good,” you mutter, sliding your books onto one of the large wooden tables lining the walls. Anything to fill the silence. It’s eerie in a building like this, stacks upon stacks of books filled with puzzles you’ve yet to piece together.

“You’re actually studying?” Dorian sounds affronted, like he can’t believe that studying is something done in a library at all. Like it’s some sort of secret brothel or a place for his conquests.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

“I told you I was going to study,” you bite, “What did you think I was going to do?”

You regret the words almost as quickly as they leave your lips.

“I thought you invited me so that you could sneak your hands down my trousers. Wear my tie around your neck while I take you over the table, perhaps?”

“I didn’t invite you at all,” you fight, but your voice is as weak as the knees you’re pressing tightly together, trying to ignore the sudden interest your cunt has in his words.

You gasp when you’re suddenly turned around, Dorian pressing in close. He’s staring down at you like you’re his favorite treat, sapphire eyes dark with interest, want, and a tinge of…hate? Annoyance, maybe, because you’re putting up much more of a fight than he’s used to.

His cock twitches at that.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks, and the tenor of his voice rumbles deliciously against your chest. His scent is intoxicating, and you’re sure that his calloused fingers would feel just as good pressed against your skin as they are pinning your hips to the edge of the table.

Your brain must be on the fritz. Maybe you’ve stepped through that scary, looming, ancient door into another world because this cannot be happening. This isn’t Dorian.

“Why me?” you voice is quiet, a minute tremble to it that makes Dorian’s lashes flutter. He shifts on his feet, and you bite back the groan that crawls up your throat at the feeling of his hardening cock in his pants against your front. “Why now?”

He leans down to whisper in your ear, his long fingers tucking your hair tenderly behind your ear. The motion has your thighs clenching. His breath is a warm caress as he says, “Because I love it when you fight me. And I’ve had enough of keeping myself at bay. Hate me, if you must, but please let me fuck you.”

“Yes,” you sigh, and the word is barely out of your mouth before Dorian’s lips are against yours, hot and unyielding, ravaging you completely like a predator does it prey.

His fingers clutch at your clothes, curling into the fabric in a feral sort of need that has you gasping, has your cunt weeping and lightning zipping through your veins. You chase the feeling, rolling your hips against Dorian’s.

You don’t know what’s come over you. The taste of his lips is exquisite and much sweeter than the vitriol the both of you are usually spitting at each other. His scent invades your senses—ice, ocean, magic, and musk. It consumes you as much as his presence is right now, overwhelmed by not just the primal need for you in his life but because of the strange events that have led you from loathing the boy lying you back onto the wooden table.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he pants when you arch into his body. His breath is hot, mingling with your own as you gasp for air. Dorian’s cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, matching the color of his swollen lips that he darts his tongue across, chasing your taste. His sapphire eyes are all pupil, dark and consuming and hungry for more. “Spread those pretty legs for me.”

You follow his instruction like a person cursed, thighs spreading wide for Dorian as he stands to his full height. His eyes burn a thousand fires down your body as he takes his time drinking you in, the gentle caress of his hands following the same torturous path has shivers awakening across every inch of your body.

“Dorian,” you plead, but he’s too engrossed with taking his time. His fingers curl around the waistband of your pants, flicking the button open with ease and guiding them down your legs.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he admits, utterly distracted by the sight of your creamy thighs on display for him. He bites back the smirk that’s threatening to appear on his lips when you impatiently start kicking your pants down your legs with a frustrated and desperate keen. It makes his cock twitch, a bead of precum leak from the tip into the fabric of his underwear.

At the sight of your soaked panties calling to him like a siren, Dorian has to press his palm firmly against his aching cock, trying to keep himself from orgasming right now.

“How long?” you ask. Your fingers curl into the wood of the table because you need something to hold onto, and Dorian’s just out of reach. Your cheeks heat with arousal as those sapphire eyes zero in on your nipples where they’re tight and straining against your shirt. You don’t know why you feel the sudden urge to know how long he’s been thinking of you like this, why now is the time he’s finally decided to make his move, but you need to know his answer. “How long have you wanted me lying out for you like this, Dorian?”

His name sounds like heaven on your tongue, and he groans, releasing himself, his resolve snapping as he bends to take your mouth again.

You moan loudly, languidly. Dorian’s tongue brushes against yours and the feeling zips to your cunt as you imagine the feeling of his mouth sucking your clit, his tongue plunging inside of your dripping cunt like a starved male.

He hastily shoves up the fabric of your shirt, sneaking beneath the material of your bra to palm your breasts. You bury your fingers deeply into his hair, tugging on it when he tries to part from you. You didn’t know how desperately you’ve needed this—needed him—but now that his admission is out in the open and has you rethinking your dislike for the prince, you don’t want him to part from you.

“Since the first day we met,” Dorian breathes against your mouth. Your body goes slack with shock at the thought, fingers falling from his locks. Dorian doesn’t seem to notice, taking advantage of finally being free from you to mouth his way down your throat, burying his head beneath your shirt for a taste of your flesh.

You’d met Dorian years ago, on the first day of your time at school here. He was just as popular then as he is now, and just as cheeky, too. All you can recall from that day is the way how all of the other students were falling over their feet for a chance to befriend the prince. You’d wanted nothing to do with that, even when he’d stopped at your locker and tried to use his charm to get you to switch with him.

He had made a joke in poor taste, one that annoyed you enough to rebuttal with words not polite for someone of your status to say to a member of royalty, ever.

That was when you started to dislike Dorian Havilliard.

That sentiment is beginning to change, especially when he rolls one of your nipples gently between his teeth.

You cry out in pleasure, trying to grind your hips against his as you writhe beneath him on the table. Your arch, pressing your breasts into his mouth and he hums encouragingly, even more so when he hears the sound you make in response.

Dorian brushes his knuckles across your clothed cunt, reveling in how responsive you are for him when he’s barely done a thing. After this, he hopes that you won’t go back to hating him because he doesn’t think he can bear it, now that he has the taste of your engraved on his tongue.

He abandons post between your breasts, sliding his way down your body, kissing, licking, teasing every inch of skin that he can before he arrives at his desired destination. He settles himself between your legs, jerking your closer to him, your legs over his shoulders and ass leaning precariously on the edge of the table.

“Sweetheart?” he questions, and it takes effort for you to lift your head to look at him. Your body is burning with need, thighs trembling with anticipation. Your gaze is cloudy with lust and it takes you a few blinks to dispel it, giving Dorian your attention.

You scowl at the smirk gracing his lips. “What?”

“Do you still dislike me?”

Your heart thunders in your chest as you watch Dorian pull your panties to the side with long fingers that you know could hit every neglected spot inside of you. The cool air from the library breezes across your wetness along with the heat of his breath and it sends your mind into a dizziness of desire that forces you to take a moment to catch your breath.

“If I say yes?” you ask, biting your lip. Will he stop? Pretend that this was all some sort of game? A bet that he and Chaol had going on? Will he pop out from between bookshelves to laugh?

Before your mind can grasp onto one of those thoughts and overthink it, Dorian says with a twinkle to his sapphire eyes, “I’d say that you’re not going to after this.”

And then the prince feasts.

You fall back to the table with a cry of satisfaction. The thud of your head smacking the wood echoes throughout the library but you hardly feel a thing as Dorian licks a fat stripe up your clit. He doesn’t hesitate to bury himself in your cunt, fucking his tongue into you with fervor. Your thighs are already threatening to clamp shut around his head but his strong hold keeps them splayed wide as he devours you.

“Princeling,” you whine when you feel the tidal wave of orgasm building. You don’t know where the nickname comes from, somewhere buried as deeply inside of you as Dorain’s tongue is, but it has him growling against your cunt, trapping your clit between his teeth and flicking his tongue across it faster.

There’s nowhere for you to go, nowhere to squirm with the feeling that crashes over you because Dorian’s strength is pinning you to the table. Your fingers find his scalp, biting in, and Dorian welcomes the feeling, using that wicked tongue on you even when the wave crashes and you’re trying to shove him weakly away from your aching clit.

The reprieve of Dorian pulling away doesn’t last long. He straightens to his full height, keeping your legs hooked over his shoulders. It causes your body to slide even closer to him, your wet cunt butting right up against his cock that’s straining so hard in his pants that it’s painful.

“You’ll never call me anything else. Promise me,” he says, and with that harsh look in his eyes and the way that his lips glisten with your orgasm, you could never say no.

Dorian unsheathes himself, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down just enough that his cock springs free from its confines. He takes himself in hand, eyes wild with desire as he slides himself through your slickness.

Your breath is choked when you respond, “I promise.”

It’s pressed from your lungs completely with each inch his cock plunges into you. Your nails scrape against the wood of the table, the finishing catching beneath your nails. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling of him stretching you wide, Dorian’s low groan reflecting the one that your body is desperate to release but is unable to.

His curse is sinful when his hips finally meet yours. He’s staring down at you like you’re everything to him. Like you’re his queen.

“Dorian,” you gasp.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Move.”

Move he does. Dorian’s hands meet your hips and your fingers clamp down on his forearms as he thrusts his hips. He loves the marks you’re leaving on his skin, the way you’re branding him with your hot, wet cunt wrapped tightly around him. There’s a sheen to his eyes that shifts something in your soul. You can feel it splintering out of your chest, winding through your veins and into Dorian’s where you’re connected.

He seems to feel it too, with the way that he leans over you again to capture your mouth against his.

“You will be my ending,” Dorian breathes when he’s able to pull himself away from you. He doesn’t go far, his lips brushing yours with his confession. “I would give you my last breath if it meant keeping you alive, but I’m selfish enough to admit that I’d waste it because I cannot imagine a plane of existence where I am without you.”

“Dorian!” You shudder with his words, hiss because how can one male be so good with words? So good with his fingers, his tongue, his cock? The way that he’s hitting that spot again and again and again is driving you over the edge into an oblivion that he follows you into because he meant what he just said.

You revel in the weight of his body collapsing against yours while he paints the walls of your cunt with his cum. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him tucked deeply inside of you. Your hearts beat loudly against each other, a heady drum of confessions and more.

You peck Dorian once, twice when your mind clears, trying to pull him from the stupor your cunt has put him in. He’s never felt like this before, never had sex this good. Even when you’re spewing fire at him, he’s wanted this, wanted you from the moment he set those sapphire eyes on you.

And now he has you.

#azsazz #dorian havilliard #dorian x reader #dorian smut #azsazz kinktober 2023 #throne of glass #tog #dorian throne of glass #dorian/reader

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di-writes-stuff · 1 year ago

Text

The Very First Night

Derek Shepherd x fem!Reader

One Shot

TW: Literally nothing. I’m taking a quick break from Evermore because I am so in love with this man I need to write some fluffy shit for him. No use of Y/N

A/N: This is based around the whole prom episode. I needed some self indulgent fluffiness. Also yes I’m ignoring both Meredith and Addisons existence in relation to Derek. Fight me.

When the chief announced that Seattle Grace Hospital would be holding a prom, you would have thought he was kidding if he didn’t look so deadly serious.

You made a point not to look at a certain man when he announced it.

Derek Shepherd has made it his ultimate goal to get you on a date with him.

Under any other circumstance, you would have said yes in a heartbeat. Hell, you would have been praying for him to ask the second you met him.

He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s a neurosurgeon for God’s sake, not to mention that he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Derek Shepherd is perfect.

He’s also your boss.

The one and only reason you aren’t leaping at the prospect of a date with him.

The label of “slutty intern sleeping with her boss to get ahead” isn’t an appealing one.

But still, the man is very convincing.

You’re doing charts when he sidles up to you, that smile you always stare at a little too long plastered on his face.

He leans against the counter your working on, watching you while you work.

And desperately try to stay professional when you look at him.

“Do you need something, Dr. Shepherd?” You use his title pointedly, a reminder of the barrier between the two of you.

He couldn’t care less.

“Just some information.” He speaks casually, shrugging as he begins to walk, and you follow him without a second thought.

He’s whittling you down, and you both know it.

“About…?” You try to force a smile off your face, but it’s no use. He’s infectious. His flirting. His smile.

Him.

You’re not somebody who fails. You’re an incredible doctor, you’re going to be an incredible surgeon. You were always considered an academic weapon, acing almost every class you’ve taken.

You don’t fail.

But when it comes to resisting Derek?

You think you’re about to.

“You got any plans for prom?” He speaks smoothly, comfortably, like he’s not a grown man asking a grown woman to the prom.

Like he’s not praying you’ll say yes.

You laugh, looking down at the ground instead of his eyes.

His beautiful eyes.

“I guess I’m coming, but no, I don’t have plans.” You place a special emphasis on plans. You both know what plans means.

A date.

Derek smiles, brushing your side gently, getting you to look back up at him, your gaze softening when you see him.

“Great, I’ll pick you up at nine.” He grins at you, looking very pleased with himself.

You go to speak, and you plan on saying no before you do. Explaining for what feels like the millionth time that nothing can happen between the two of you.

And hating every second of it.

But instead, it’s like your brain does you a favor, and speaks before you can decide what to say.

“Okay.” Your voice is a little breathy, and obviously nervous.

Shock passes over his eyes for a second before the smile on his face grows wider, reaching his eyes and making them sparkle.

Really, how the hell were you supposed to say no to that?

Your hands brush for a moment, his fingers sweeping past yours, sending your heart rate up.

He says something before walking away, but you aren’t really paying attention, more panicking at what you just got yourself into.

You’re going to prom with Derek Shepherd.

You never planned on taking this very seriously. You were just gonna throw on your dress from senior year, slip into some heels, and head back to the hospital.

But now?

Needless to say, you’ll be spending more time getting ready.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Two hours.

You left work early, and spent two damn hours getting ready for the prom.

All because of Derek Shepherd.

He’s the bane of your existence.

You can’t think around him.

You can’t think about much besides him.

When you’re with him, your happier than you’ve ever been.

Everything about him just makes you adore him more. His personality, his talent, his skills, his smile, his laugh, everything.

He might just be the love of your life.

You brush out the carefully placed curls in your hair, watching as they fall over your shoulders in waves. Your old prom dress still fits you, thank God.

The satin fabric hugs your waist, thin straps showing off your collarbone and shoulders.

A slit runs up from the bottom of the flowing skirt of the dress, stopping around the middle of your thigh.

Even you have to admit you look good.

You slip on your heels when you hear a knock at the door, and you swear you feel your heart stop.

You look at the clock by your bed.

9:00 exactly.

He really might be perfect.

Meredith peeks her head into your room, you’re living with her for the time being.

She smiles when she sees you despite how uncomfortable you look.

You haven’t been on a date in months, and you don’t think you’ve been this gussied up in years.

“You look great. I’m sure Derek’s gonna agree.” She teases you, all your friends have known you have a thing for Derek since you started your internship at Seattle Grace.

And now that you finally caved and said yes to a date with him?

You’re gonna be hearing a lot of shit about it tomorrow.

You can’t help but feel like this’ll be worth it.

“Thank you, and shut up.” Meredith laughs at your attitude, heading downstairs to her boyfriend, Finn.

You follow behind her, exhaling nervously before opening the front door to find Derek standing in front of you.

Derek, decked out in a suit and tie.

His hair is perfect, as usual.

And in his hands, a bouquet.

A bouquet of your favorite flowers.

You mentioned it once. A simple, offhand comment. You can’t even remember how it came up. But he did.

He remembered. He cared.

He’s making it really hard for you not to fall in love with him.

For a second you recognized an expression on his face you’re not sure you’ve seen before. He looked nervous. That was before his classic McDreamy smile appeared on his face when he saw you.

“Did I get it right?” He asked, handing you the flowers.

You’re blushing like a schoolgirl, honestly a bit giddy. Here you are, getting flowers, being taken to prom by the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

You nod, taking them and stepping inside to let Derek in.

“Yeah, yeah you got it right.” You speak quieter than you usually would as you quickly place the flowers in the vase, smiling widely when you feel his eyes glued to your every move.

You turn around to find Derek watching you, a sweet smile on his face, a look in his eyes that means more than just simple attraction.

He admires you carefully, not as a painting, a still, lifeless thing meant for him to enjoy, to examine, to scrutinize.

No.

He admires you like a worshipper in church.

He adores you, and the look in his eyes might as well be a sign around his neck that reads ‘I’m in love with you.’

“You’re beautiful.” His voice is breathy when he speaks, and the words cause a vivid blush to rise on your face.

You utter your thanks shyly, stepping towards him and taking his hand when he offers it. He regains his composure quickly, slipping back into the flirty pattern you two follow.

Still, the basis of it, the reason why all of this is happening.

It’s not flirtation. Not attraction. Not even because you like each other.

It’s more than that.

It’s love.

He leads you to his car, you’ve been in it a couple times before, on the way to dinners you swore weren’t dates, nights spent with one another when you were still adamant on refusing to develop feelings for your boss.

Or, adamant on pretending not to, at least.

The car ride isn’t terribly long, but somewhere in the middle of it, your hand is on the middle console when Derek’s comes down from the wheel, landing on top of yours.

You don’t move, and he takes the opportunity to interlace your fingers, earning a smile from you that makes him wish he could freeze time and stay in this moment forever.

“Thank you, for asking me.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and you look over at him. His eyes stay glued to the road, but you watch as the corners of his mouth lift to a smile.

“Thank you for saying yes.” He quips back, looking over to you when you stop at a red light.

You laugh for a moment before responding. “It was about damn time.”

The moonlight glistens off his face as he laughs, every detail about him making you fall for him more.

He’s mesmerizing, and you can’t bring yourself to take your gaze off of him.

You’ve got it bad.

“Yeah, it was.” Theres still laughter lingering in his voice when he speaks, and you think you could melt right then and there at the sound of it.

It’s not long after that when you arrive at the hospital. You go to open your door before Derek does so for you, going to the effort of helping you out.

“What a gentlemen.” You say teasingly, letting your hand stay clasped in his as you walk into the hospital.

“I’ve been trying to land a date with you for months, I’m not gonna screw it up now.” He smiles down at you when he speaks, scanning your face. Pieces of hair fall to frame it, and he brings his free hand up to brush them away quickly, knowing the affect it has on you when you blush and look away quickly.

You’re honestly a bit shocked when you see how put together the whole event it, decorations are everywhere, and the lobby has been turned into a dance floor.

You already see a few people you know, the ones that came here with dates are already dancing, and the ones that are alone?

Well, they’re drinking the night away.

You don’t realize where Derek is taking you, too busy looking around, until his arm slips around your waist, and his other hand is holding yours as you’re pressed flush to his chest.

Derek Shepherd just asked you to dance, without saying a word.

“May I?” He’s good at this, and he knows it.

For a brief, insecure moment, you wonder why. You wonder if the reason this is so natural for him is because you’re not the only woman he does it for.

If you’re just a phase.

A tough one to crack.

You worry that he doesn’t feel the same way as you do.

But then, you look him in the eyes, and the softest, the gentle, loving, adoration in his gaze.

Your worries vanish like fog burning away on a summer morning.

“I’m not very good at this.” You warn, smiling sheepishly up at him as he begins to sway you, a grin on his lips.

You’re closer than you’ve ever been. Your free arm is thrown around his neck lazily, and you could melt into his embrace.

He leans down, whispering in your ear, his minty breath fanning over your neck. “I don’t mind.”

You smile when you hear him, laughing sweetly when he continues to dance with you. There’s a few people watching. You and Derek have become a topic of conversation around the hospital ever since he started pursuing you so strongly.

So, pretty much since your first day.

Neither of you seem to mind, to engrossed in each other to care. He hasn’t stopped looking at you this whole night. You’re always stunning, he usually can’t keep his eyes off you when you’re just in your scrubs.

But tonight?

You look like an angel came down to earth.

Derek lifts your arm above your head quickly and spins you, smiling brightly when the sound of your bubbly laughter reaches his ears.

It’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

When he pulls you back in your pressed close to him, touching his chest with yours, staring up into his cerulean eyes. Your breathe mingles as he looks down to you, his gaze flickering to your lips as he does.

Everything else feels like it just disappears. The only thing that matters, the only thing in your world, is the man standing in front of you.

You curse yourself for waiting so long. For always being so damn good. For not letting yourself have this sooner.

Have him sooner.

Every single time he asked you out, you wanted to say yes. But you didn’t, you were too focused on everything you shouldn’t have been.

Colleagues.

Expectations.

Assumptions.

Everything but him.

And now?

You’re done.

So when he leans forward, when his lips brush yours. You close your eyes and let him kiss you, and it makes your knees weak. It rips the air out of your lungs.

It flips your world upside down.

You could have repeated this moment forever and been happy.

You move against him, kissing back, running your hands through his hair. His hands slip further down your waist, coming to rest on the small of your back.

Your forced to pull away as you begin to run out of air, gasping a bit as you do. You press your forehead to Derek’s, smiling widely.

He pulls you in closer, and you bring your head to rest in the crook of his neck, and he sways you back and forth, abandoning any efforts of actually trying to dance.

“You got me.” You whisper, and you feel laughter rumbling in his chest when he hears you.

After all this time, all of the asking, all the flirting, everything.

You let go.

Let go of your worries.

And grabbed on to him.

And you are never, ever, letting go.

A/N: Soooo this is short and kinda cheesy ngl, but I hope y’all liked it.

edit: guys stop glazing we all know this doesn’t deserve over 600 likes

- di <3

#fanfic #fanfic writer #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #greys anatomy #derek shepherd #derek shepherd x reader #derek shepherd x you #derek shepherd x y/n #derek shepherd x yn #self insert #self insert fanfiction #fluff #confession

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lightwing-s · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

summary: when you're desperate for a quick shower, the last thing you expected was for it to last this too long, or for you to be accompained by a boy.

word count: 4,6k warnings: shower sex, oral sex (m receiving), handjob, language

a/n: it's 4am and I need to wake up for work at 6am, but I promised myself i'd finish it today (or yesterday) and so i did. not proofread, so i apologize for any mistakes. hope you enjoy, much love ♡.

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! ♡

⌜masterlist⌟ ⌜requests⌟

Throbbing pain consumed your frontal lobe

It was way past the usual time practice ended. Way past. All your teammates stood around the coach for a prolonged scolding session after the team had lost the past two matches in a not so nice —extremely bad—, manner.

The season had barely started and you could see in everyone’s eyes they were all already exhausted. And so were you.

Your legs burnt from all the exercise, feeling like your muscles were about to rip open at any moment. Your scalp itched, as the sweat settled on your hair, leaving it oily and stinky. Gosh, you needed a shower.

Time did not seem to pass. No, the coach did not seem to ever want to stop talking.

Taking a glimpse to your right, you catch sight of your best friend impatiently standing on the bleaches. One of her legs shaking and her arms crossed on her chest. “Shit” you whispered to yourself, as you knew another scolding was doomed the minute you stepped out of the court.

You didn’t know why you’d agreed to attend Johnson’s party with her. You’re upset over the team's recent performances, crowded with school work, and your parents had been bugging you about their holiday plans all week. Clear to say, your head was too full to attend a party tonight, and you were solely going for the unquestionable loyalty you had towards your friends.

Nessie had been annyong you the entire month about this party. Johnson was this frat guy she shared a few classes with, and she had been drooling over him since the semester started. So when he personally invited her to tonight’s party, it became the only thing she talked about for weeks and sealed the next steps into her imaginary relationship with the guy.

When the coach finally decided that he had enough of calling you all shitty athletes and dismissed you for the day, a swarm of players desperately headed out to the changing rooms in hopes of a well deserved shower.

You, on the other hand, were stopped in your way by your friend, who had rushed towards you as soon as she heard the coach say “See you tomorrow”.

“Let’s go?” she pouted, making you roll your eyes at her very evident desperation.

“I just need to take a shower.” you bemoaned, feeling disgusted by the sweat and the sticky sensation all over your body. You had been practicing for hours, rolling on the floor, running around. You just wanted to get rid of all traces of sweat and dirt from your body. Her pout, however, only grew larger. “Do you really want me to show up all stinky to this party?”

In all honesty, you didn’t really want to show up at all. But you had promised, and your damned loyalty wouldn’t allow you to back off now. She wanted you to go, or more so need you there for moral support, either if he came onto her and she didn’t know what to do, or the unspoken possibilities of him ignoring her or finding him with someone else.

“You do stink a little. Please, be quick” she moaned, hands together in a praying position, and you gave her an amused smile and a push towards the side, clearing your way out of where you stood.

Following in the direction the hoard of girls had just walked through, you jogged your way to the locker room in hopes of finally taking that well deserved shower. However, you hadn’t counted on the handball team also practicing till the late hours of the night, and now the locker room looked more like an electronics store on black friday than an university bathroom.

Each and everyone of the shower cabins were full, and ladies lined outside its doors waiting for the moment they’d be free. It would take you a lot longer than you had imagined, and you could already feel your best friend fuming outside if you had to make her wait any longer than you had promised.

Grabbing your bags, you walked out and in her direction. “Let’s go. I’ll change in your car.”

“But you haven’t showered?” she inquired.

“We’re never gonna make it in time. Locker rooms are full.” you stated, taking her hand and trying to walk away, to which she held her ground and refused to move.

“You’re not going like this,” her features softened, and she looked at you with kindness in her eyes. “You want to shower, so go.” she ordered, arms crossing over the deep cleavage of her bright red top, in sort of a motherly way. “I’ll wait.”

“Johnson is waiting for you” you tried to persuade, but she shook her head again.

“Party is not ending anytime soon. And looking on the brighter side, we’ll get him thinking of me all the time, wondering if we’re coming or not, you know.”

You gave her a smile, admiring how her little mind worked. Fixing the bag on your shoulder, you turned to go inside the room you once were, but seeing girls hanging around the entrance made you give up instantly. “But, there’s so many people. We could go home and shower there in the same amount of time.”

“And cross the city twice?” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up. “Isn’t there another place you can shower?”

“There’s the boys locker room.” you remembered.

“Are there any boys’ sports teams practicing today?”

“Not that I remember.” And holding your hand, she dragged you around the corridors towards the boys’ locker room.

The two of you sneaked around every corner, checking to see if anyone was around. Failing to meet anybody, you arrived at the room in no time. It was empty and you could hear your lone footsteps echoing on the gray walls.

“This smells so much of testosterone.” Nessie noted, looking around the room like a little kid in Disneyland, but face scrunched in disgust.

“It’s the boy’s locker room, Nessie. Of course it’d smell like that.” you laughed, stacking your clothes and a towel over the door of the stall you had chosen to shower in, on the far corner of the locker room. When you fish for your shampoo and conditioner from inside your bag, however, you’re met with the complete absence of both. “Nessie…?” you called, hearing a hum in response. “I forgot my shampoo and conditioner.”

“Are you serious!?” she screamed, and not daring to look at the side to see her, you could picture her standing there with her arms on her waist, and the biggest annoyed expression on her face. “I have some in the car, just wait right there.” she sighted, immediately running past you on her way to the door.

“It’s not like I can’t go anywhere.” you tried to lighten the mood as you heard her footsteps leaving your earshot. “Oh! And get me soap too! Nessie, I love you!”

You watched her disappear through the large double doors leading to the corridors, the rapid sounds of her footsteps bouncing off the walls and into your ears, a big contrast to the otherwise silent room you were left in once she was gone from earshot.

A deep exhale left your lungs. The silence and emptiness, somehow, a much more comfortable ambience. Still wrapped around a towel, you grabbed your bag from where it stood on one of the benches, leaving the locker area and making way to an empty shower stall.

Gladly, the university opted out of open showers and gave students individual stalls instead, thankful for the privacy and the chance to feel a bit like home while getting cleaned. Entering through the grey door, you lay your bag on a small shelf and hang your towel on a hook beside it. The humidity already making your skin sticky.

The warm water falling on your body feels like a pain reliever, as your muscles immediately relax and the temperature helps in keeping you cozy. Breathy, tired moans escaped your lips while you enjoyed the sensation, entering a bubble of solitude, warmth and peace.

With your eyes closed as you let water fall down your face, you almost didn’t notice the sounds around you. Your head was far away from that bathroom, thinking of a place where mean spirited, annoying coaches and teammates that loved to complain about your smallest mistakes did not exist, but the far sound of engines losing power broke you from dreamland.

Opening your eyes to complete darkness, you feel a pit form in your stomach and your heart skipped out of beat. It wasn’t like you were scared of the dark, but the thought of being alone in the dark exactly where you were, sure made you a tidy bit nervous.

Grabbing your towel from the hook, you loosely wrapped it around yourself. “Hello?” you called out, in hopes your friend would have already returned, but the echoing of your voice through the room was enough of a response: you were indeed alone. “Hello?” you called once more, head peeking out of the shower box to find nothing but darkness.

Stepping outside, your wet feet met the cold stone floors, leaving behind puddles as you ventured your way into the darkness. The sound of dripping water adding to the tension and the weird feeling you got on the base of your stomach. Shit. This could not get any worse.

A soft, barely audible, screech sounded from right in front of you, making you freeze in place. Your breath heavied, and you tried to focus on hearing every sound in that room, fight or flight instincts ready to act, only catching the sound of more dripping water from the same direction of the screeching sound.

The locker area seemed to be even darker than the space you were before. Extending your hands to guide you through the dimness, you finally felt the wooden touch of the lockers as you slowly turned the corner into the empty area.

However, arms still extended in front of you, you suddenly hit something standing in your way… It wasn’t hard like the concrete pillars or the wood of the lockers, it was rather soft, smooth, cold and slightly wet. Sliding your hand over it, you suddenly found a crack and…

“OH MY FUCKING GOD!” you screamed, stepping back swiftly and hitting your back against something hard, losing balance and falling ass first onto the floor. “Ugh”

“Are you alright?” you heard a deep masculine voice fill the room from where your arms had just reached, but you were too scared out of your mind to form any sort of coherent answer. If your scream a few moments earlier didn’t give away that you were not a boy, you wouldn’t be giving him anymore hints you were not the kind meant to be using this room. “Hello? Are you dead?” he called out one more time.

“No!” you replied and immediately covered your mouth. But what the hell kind of question was that?

“Good, I wouldn’t want someone’s cause of death to be touching my butt.”

For that, you were thankful all you could see was black, as whoever it was would not see your cheeks turning redder than they’d ever been. And then you realized, upon feeling the sticky coldness of the tiles on your butt, that you were ass naked on the floor. But not only ass naked, full naked, as your towel had fallen somewhere after your scare.

“Are you alright?” he asked again. “If you don’t know, I’m extending my hand to help you up.”

Closing your eyes shut, you mentally slapped yourself for getting into this situation, and mentally punched your friend for convincing you to get there in the first place.

Making sure to avoid his stretched arms, you pushed yourself forward on your knees, failing to stand up on the wet puddle you’d formed on the floor.

As if the universe was conspiring against you, though, the lights suddenly were turned on, and when you looked up, you were face to “face” with a large bulk hidden under a white towel. Looking further up, you met with deep blue eyes that made you lose balance once more.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, are you?” he questioned, one eyebrow popping up. But you never got a chance to reply, as both your eyes shifted to the coming sound from out the door.

Multiple voices screaming out incoherent words you were too nervous to decipher. “Oh shit.” you heard from above your head, and suddenly felt a hold on your upper arm, as the floor quickly moved further from you. “Here, take this.” the boy handed you his towel, exposing himself while he desperately dragged you from your frozen position.

Shoving you inside your shower booth, he disappeared for a second before joining you inside.

“What are you doing?” you asked exasperated, holding both your towel and your eyes for dear life.

“Saving your ass?” he replied, pushing your head down so you were sitting on the floor once more. “Get low or they’ll see you.”

The voices only got louder, as what you now suspected were the basketball team joined you in the changing rooms.

“Can’t you guys have the decency of not throwing your towels on the floor?” you heard someone scream from outside, finding out where your towel had made it to after slipping away from your grip.

A soft chuckle grabbed your attention, and you looked up from your place in the corner of the booth to find the boy who had just saved you from total embarrassment with a huge smirk glued on his lips.

“What are you laughing at?” you mouthed.

“You.” he mouthed back, dramatically accentuating his lip movements while pointing his finger at you as you only pouted in return. Throwing his head back in a silent laugh, you stopped to notice the white strand of hair bouncing along his head movements and hanging on his wet forehead. “What are you doing in the boys locker room anyways?”

“It thought it was empty.” you answered sharply, trying to speak as low as you could, but the boy grew his eyes at you, placing a finger on his lips to shut you up.

A shadow appeared from beneath the door, and soon someone tried to open the door to your stall. Freaked out, you instinctively hid further into your corner, while the boy rushed to hold the door closed.

“Kinda busy, mate.” he warned, resting his body weight on the door.

“Wha... Who is it?” asked the voice from outside.

“It’s Jason Todd. From weightlifting?”

Upon finally knowing the name of today’s savior, you tried to scan your memory to find any recollection of that name, perhaps hearing that it once, but Jason Todd was total news to you, not so much his naked body standing right in front of you.

“Jay! Did not see you come in!” the boy from outside exclaimed.

“Mikey, hey!” Jason replied awkwardly. “Yeah, hmm… I was here before you guys arrived.”

“In the darkness?” the voice pitch got higher.

“Vibes and shit.” he told, looking at you to find your wide eyes and a look that said what the fuck more than words itself could. “Kinda liked it.” he stuck his tongue out at you.

“Alright, man. Nice shower.” As Jason thanked the guy, Mikey, in return, you watched as the shadow dissipated into the noisy room outside your door. Exhaling a deep breath you didn’t notice you were holding, you allowed relief to consume your body for a brief second.

Jason seemed to relax too, as you watched his shoulder fall down as he turned back in your direction, turning on the shower and getting under the water.

You wanted to complain. You really did, as your towel grew wetter by the second. But finally paying attention to his hanging penis just inches from you took out of your courage to say anything back at him.

To say you were embarrassed was an understatement. Your face must have looked bright red, like a firemen’s truck, because god damn it, there was a naked man showering right beside you.

Holding your towel, now soaked in water, tighter to your chest, you promised yourself not to look, not to glimpse, not even peek at your side for as long as this torturous experience had to last. You knew soon Nessie would come back, and she would find a way to get you out of there. Or so you wished.

When a drop of white foam fell on your cheek, the strong smell of coconut filled your nostrils, forcing you to look up in exasperation. ”Are you fucking for real?!” you whisper-screamed, as you watched him wash the shampoo off his hair.

“Might as well make the most out of this situation.” he simply shrugged, leaving wide eyed and angry.

Shaking your head, you first caught a glimpse of that same colored water falling down his extremely toned calves, and followed their way up to where his legs met his torso, then the well molded line that led to his groin.

Your eyes fell once more, this time for longer, on his member, thick, flaccid but already extensive, and you swore your mouth watered. Swallowing dry, you daren't look up any further, promising yourself to keep your eyes glued at the door. But a scoff brought your attention higher up.

Jason’s eyes held yours for what felt like minutes, darked than you remembered, as his face was decorated with a devilish smirk that had your core feeling… things. He looked at you from under his lashes, trapping you, holding you down without even touching your body. Then, he shifted on his feet, moving his body just slightly in your direction.

You knew what he wanted. You also knew what you wanted, too.

Biting your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself and your thoughts, you wondered if that would even be a good idea. But you were already fucked anyways, might as well make the expression a reality.

With one more look at the gray door, you hoped, prayed, it kept you safe. Looking up to meet Jason’s darkened eyes, you made sure to hold your gaze on his, looking at him with feigned innocence, with dirt filled intentions, and an almost impatient hunger.

Letting your towel go from your hold, you get on your knees in front of him, not yet letting his eyes go.

He was not smiling anymore, eyes seemingly drowsy from just looking at yours, mouth almost hanging open, saved by the small part of his brain holding him together. And then your eyes dropped.

You noticed his dick had hardened a bit, just from looking at you, on your knees, ready to submit to him in the dirtiest place he could ever (or never) have imagined. Your breath was heavy, leaving your nose right into his member and teasing him even more.

You licked him, from the tip to the base, eyes trapped on his face and the way it contorted, head hanging back and lips trapped between his teeth. Taking a hold of him from the base, you moved your hand up and down his length, prepping him up, feeling the hardness forming in your palms before going in with your mouth.

His size quickly filled your cheeks, as you pushed him deep into your throat. He moaned loud, and your eyes warningly flashed up to meet his again, telling him to keep quiet just like he did with you before. You let him calm down before moving your head again, up and down his length, hands assisting on the parts that you couldn’t fill in your mouth.

He couldn’t moan, but his body was giving you the right answers to your touch, shaking feverishly, as you sucked him, licked him, devoured him. Oftentimes, you would feel his tip reaching your throat, making you gag and his body jolt from the sensation.

His hands wrapped around your hair, pushing you deeper, harder, as you had to let go of his member to keep yourself steady, holding his tights for support. He was fucking your throat like there was no tomorrow, your tears mixing with the water falling on your head, his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation, and soon you felt the bitter taste of him release hitting your tongue.

Swallowing all, you still hang your tongue out, waiting, begging for more, but he chose to paint your breast with the last few bits of his cum, reaching his hands to massage it all over, holding and picking at your nipple while doing so, the sensation already driving you wild.

Grabbing you by the arm, he pulled you up to your feet, mouth going straight to you boobs, licking his own cum off it, sucking and biting your nipples, drawing breathy moans from deep within your throat. His mouth engulfed your entire boob, or it felt like so, as your head rolled back and he had to hold your hips so you wouldn’t fall.

Pinning you against the wall, he licked his way up your breast to your mouth, tongue going in first and trapping you in a wet, desperate kiss, as you moaned against his lips. Going their way up from your hips, making sure to explore every bit of skin, every curve on your body, his hands came to rest on your neck.

At first, delicately holding your chin up, as he continued to make out with you, sucking your tongue, leaving you breathless. Then, choking you tight while his other played with your clit.

Your body squirmed, jolted, lost all control under his touch. Looking at you through his deep blue eyes, he smirked at you, drowned in ecstasy, in pleasure he was giving you. Inserting two fingers, he moved them quickly inside of you, gluing his mouth on your again before any noise could come out of it.

Quickly, you hit your high and came all over his fingers, as he continued to finger you through it all, slowing down just a little bit at a time.

Letting you ride out your high, he watched you carefully, the hand leaving your neck to hold you by the hips. Lifting his hand up to his lips, he licked them off your orgasm, going back to wet his fingers again, this time placing them on your lips. You sucked them off just like he had done before, and he groaned right before your face.

Pulling your legs around his hips, Jason looked back over his shoulder, staring at the door making sure it was still closed, before looking at you, hand moving up and down his member. He stared at you, eyes meeting each other for the billionth time, and he nodded, asking for permission.

You gave him your dirtiest smirk, arching your back to meet his groin with your pussy and he quickly inserted his tip in you. Slowing, as if trying to drive you crazy, he pushed inside. Once he was fully in, you could feel your walls stretching, trying to fit him all, getting used to the thickness. It hurt a bit, having grown unused to the sensation since the last time you had sex, but he was sweet, kissing you slowly till you gave him any indication to continue.

Wrapping your arms over his shoulder, you pulled him closer, speeding up your kiss and moving your hips around his cock. He let you lead the moment for as long as you could, assisting in holding you up, but when he felt your movements weakening he held you harder against the wall as he thrusted deep inside you.

You were glad for the water, and the many boys screaming and making noises outside, that your own sounds were ignored by everyone else but you two.

Jason’s fingers were printed on where he held you up, still sucking your tongue, as your hands marked his back in what you wish was forever.

His thrusts grew faster, needier, and he struggled to keep quiet. It didn’t take long till he creamed your walls, biting your lip to hold his moan. You felt the silvery taste of blood, but you didn’t want him to stop. And so he didn’t, searching for your release through sloppy thrust and a finger rubbing at your clit.

“J-jay… I’m gonna cum.” you desperately said, begging him for help in not screaming your high out to the entire locker room to hear. Licking and sucking at your throat, he had to quickly move back up and land his lips on yours, as you came all over his dick.

You two kissed for a while longer, bodies weak but a hunger to continue for even longer.

He let legs fall back to the floor with care, caressing the spot where his fingerprints were printed on. It was gonna be purple by the morning, but you didn’t care at all.

When his lips left yours, he let out a chuckle, enjoying every second of your neediness. Jason was going down, kissing the base of you torso, when a loud scream came from outside, stealing your attention from his warm lips.

“OH MY GOD, THERE’S AN NBA PLAYER AT THE FRONT OF THE COMPLEX?!” screamed a female voice, as like kids running after the ice cream truck, you heard footsteps, doors banging and questions of “who?” and “where?” being throwing around.

You pushed Jason aside, recognizing that scream even with a misty head. “Y/n?” you heard Nessie call. “Y/n, please tell me you’re alive!”

“Nessie, I’m here.” you replied, hearing she thank God and another 10 different entities altogether.

“Let’s go, before they realize no NBA player would find themselves in this hell hole.”

Turning back, you bumped into Jason’s chest, who wrapped his arms around your middle.

“Wouldn’t she let us finish?” he begged, mouth traveling above yours.

“Jay” you tried to form anything, any sentence, but his presence, his existence, making you drowsy. “I can’t risk it. I need to go.”

He couldn’t let you, crashing your lips once, twice, three times, before you had to push him away, with not much success.

“I’ll be here every practice, every…”

“Volleyball practice?” you completed, arching your eyebrows.

“Yeah, every fucking volleyball practice.” he said between kissing and marking your neck. “Waiting for you, in the ladies bathroom if you want.”

You gave him a chuckle, trying to untangle him from your body, although you desperately wanted to stay. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” His head bobbed up, looking sad all of a sudden. “You can meet anywhere else that you want, but let’s leave locker rooms behind.”

“I’ll hold you on that promise.” he said, eyebrowns up challengely. “Y/n.”

Your head rolled back at the mere way he pronounced your name, almost failing to leave, almost dropping yourself in his arms again, when Nessie called you once again.

“I need to go.” you told him, grabbing your bag and the rest of your stuff from the shelf.

“Y/n.” Jason called.

“Jay, I’m serious” you moaned, not holding your beaming smile.

“Y/n.” he repeated, as you opened the stall door.

“Ja…”

“Your towel.” he interrupted, holding you your damped towel as you noticed you didn’t have anything covering your body.

Taking it from his hands and wrapping them around your body, you didn’t even seem to notice its wetness, and neither did Jason, you two still immersed in the early moments to care about anything else.

“Thank you.” you whispered, running as fast as you could while leaving a pool of water on your way out.

“You’re soaking the floor!” Nessie pointed, pulling your hand as you ran in the opposite direction you had come from.

“Oh Nessie, this is the last thing you want me to talk about right now.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x yn #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood smut

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jwanniie · 10 months ago

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Hiii again!!

can I make a request about g!p minji x reader fcking in the library?

I got too excited with this idea😁

Secret crush.

You have been struggling in school for the past two months due to some family issues and just life has been exhausting and draining, you weren’t dumb you just needed a little break and someone who takes care of you. From the start of the school year you have been getting decent grades, they were good but if we compare it to the amount you study for you should definitely get better grades, that really did unmotivate you because what do you mean someone who didn’t even touch a book will get a better grade than someone who pulls all nighters, skips meal just to study and never skips a class?You are happy for them but still there is a little unpleasant feeling inside you that you can’t deny ,And on top of that your family starts complaining about you not trying hard and not getting full marks. So you thought about what is the point of trying hard but still not reaching?

The way your grades dropped made your teacher really unhappy because you definitely weren’t dumb in fact you were very intelligent so she decided to talk to you and try to convince you to get a tutor and maybe she can help you choose one.

“___can you stay a little after class, we need to discuss something?”

You were tired and wanted to go home, you wanted to deny but what if she has something important to say?

“Sure” you replied with tired eyes that anyone could literally notice that you hadn’t been getting proper sleep for days, and yeah you don’t even remember when you last had that 10 hour uninterrupted sleep.

Class ended faster than usual, once all of the students went out of the class the teacher sat you down and took a deep breath before starting to talk.

“___ has anything happened home or do you have something going on that is not very pleasant…since your grades been dropping and I’m wondering what’s the reason and if we could try to fix it?” She spat, she really didn’t want to express her thoughts in a hurtful or negative way so she tried to sound as kind as possible.

You took an exhale before speaking “miss everything is going fine at home it’s just that I’m very unmotivated towards school and my mental health overall is not really helping with school” you spoke trying to sound as ok as possible even tho tears are starting to well in your eyes, recalling everything that is happening and all of your family problems.

“I see, do you think if we could ask a student to tutor you so you could perhaps make friends at the same time while studying do you think that would help you a little? And ___ you are nowhere near stupid you just need a little push and that will get you started all over again and I care for you, you are one of my favorite students here, always kind and enthusiastic to learn new things so seeing you like this really does hurt me.” She uttered in the most comforting tone ever, you smiled at her request and nodded because maybe that will make your school life and mental health better “a tutor could work!” Your teacher smiled warmly at your answer “then I will look for a tutor” she said, she lastly bid you goodbye and you went home a little smile on your face knowing that you have a new start and could improve.

The next week the teacher gave you the name of the student who will tutor you and when will you meet, the first lesson would be in the library. Damn, you haven’t been there for a long time you thought to yourself. You checked the paper that the teacher gave you once more and you looked at the name again “Minji”. You have heard the name before but the image of the person didn’t really click. You decide to pick a place near the entrance of the library so as soon as minji steps inside she could see you, you dont think she even recognize you but let’s just hope for the best.

You waited silently for about seven minutes till you saw a girl with a school uniform, your school never restricted what the students wear but that’s what she is comfortable wearing, now the image clicked, She is minji! You have never interacted with her nor your friends did but she was known for having one of the best grades in school if not the best. She was quiet,didn’t really have much friends, a bookworm and kinda cold or perhaps a better word distant? You always saw her with a book in hand or had her head deep down writing something. She didn’t really put much effort in socializing but one thing undeniable about her was her beauty she was that handsome type of beauty. You waved your hands at her you were maybe too excited she just walked towards her expression hard to read, she always had a resting face.

“I was kinda late, sorry” she spoke a little cold it gave you chills, is she always this serious? You didn’t expect any type of laughter or giggling but a little smile wouldn’t hurt anyone!

The tutoring session went pretty smoothly she told you the basic stuff and you immediately got the hang of it, like the teacher said you weren’t stupid you just needed someone to take interest in you. It was very silent, yeah a library is supposed to be silent but this maybe was too silent. You looked around and saw no one near you or even far away from you. You looked at the entrance of the library and there was no one even the bored librarian wasn’t there you looked around a little more and there was literally no one. A panic immediately started to hit you, you can’t be stuck in here seriously. Minji saw how uncomfortable you were and decided to give you a little hug whispering “hey calm down, we are going to get out of here. Let’s call someone” minji maybe was too calm about this whole situation but deep inside she was having a little panic attack. Yeah she didn’t show much emotions but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about people’s feelings, she just couldn’t express with words but her actions did.

You called the school principal and he said that they will come get the both out while waiting you decide to make a little chit chat to burn some time and comfort you a little. “I know this might sound weird but have you had any crush” this was the basic middle school dudes question while playing truth or dare but in this situation you didn’t honestly care, If she wants to think your weird then so be it. “Yeah” she answered tone little softer now, as a nosy person you couldn’t help but ask who, “oooh do you mind telling me who?” You said to excited, she gave you a little smirk making a point below your stomach tingle “what about I will describe it and you should guess, I’m pretty sure you know them” she said in a seductive voice immediately shocking you seeing the new side of her, your not complaining tho it was pretty hot. “Why not, tell me” you said too excited. “Hmmm well she is a girl, she is very gorgeous and adorable, she has never interacted with me before but did now and Uhmm her mental health hasn’t been the best which was secretly hurting me. I have always admired her from a far” she uttered scooting closer to you. Her description definitely had some suspicion in you, deep inside you wanted it to be you but the chances of her licking you were very very slim. “Uhm I don’t…know, please tell me” you stated. She was so close to you now, “hmm sure why not” she brought her face near you inches a part. Your breath hitched and you closed your eyes, she brought her plush lips to your pair and soon you felt something kissing you softly, when she moved her lips from yours, you were shocked a good shocked tho. “Did this tell enough, princess or…?” She questioned looking deep into your eyes, intoxicating you with her pair of eyes almost like hypnotizing you and before you knew you grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into a deep kiss passionate and warm. She immediately kissed back, placing her hand on your upper back and gently laying you down. She took her skirt off revealing her erection, and damn, was she big? She was huge and her length being hard doubling it size. Without much of thinking you grabbed it touching it earning a groan from her, she was thick and had girth. You went on your knees and saw how her tip was filled with precum. Your tongue exploring her tip and length, her precum was very creamy but salty. Her hand found its way to your neck and squeezed it “don’t tease doll!” Her breath hitched. You tried to take her in one go but she was too big. She gave you a dark giggle full of lust “too big for you baby?” You tried to take her one more time but you gagged uncontrollably while coughing. But still you wanted to please her so you started sucking half of her length, bobbing your head around it. Soon after she started twitching inside your mouth, breath getting faster and moans getting louder. Without warning her thick white salty cum filled your mouth. She looked you in the eyes “swallow it, all of it” and as a good girl you obeyed her, swallowing her release. She was satisfied,way too satisfied. “On all fours baby, mommy is going to reward you for being so good” the excitement of her words flood your brain and your body immediately reacted to her, taking off your pants and panties leaving you with only an oversized shirt. And getting onto all fours, she groaned seeing how obedient you are for her. She couldn’t wait anymore and gave you her whole length, not even letting you adjust to her, immediately thrusting passionately hitting spots you never thought existed. Bumping into your g-spot and to spots people never even named. Her ruthless pace never cooled down if anything it only got rougher, with few more thrusts and few ass reddening spanks your release flood all over your thighs. Her relentless pace didn’t stop, the way you got now tighter made her eyes roll back and a hitched groan came from her “fuck baby so tight”. With how clenching you are around her length it didn’t take her long to feel her high close. Few seconds later she pulled out and white sperm got released on your back.

#new jeans x reader #new jeans x fem reader #new jeans minji #kim minji smut #kim minji x reader #kim minji x reader smut #new jeans minji x reader #minji smut

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tangibletechnomancy · 1 year ago

Text

The (Personal) Is (Political)

~7 hours, Dall-E 3 via Bing Image Creator, generated under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

Or, Dear Microsoft and OpenAI: Your Filters Can't Stop Me From Saying Things: An interactive exercise in why all art is political and game of Spot The Symbols

A rare piece I consider Fully Finished simply as a jpeg, though I may do something physical with it regardless. "Director commentary" below, but I strongly encourage you to go over this and analyze it yourself before clicking through, then see how much your reading aligns with my intent.

Elements I told the model to add and a brief (...or at least inexhaustive) overview of why:

Anime style and character figures - Frequently associated with commercial "low" art and consumer culture, in East Asia and the English-speaking world alike, albeit in different ways - justly or otherwise. There is frequently an element of racism to the denigration of anime styles in the west; nearly any American artist who has taken formal illustration classes can tell you a story of being told that anime style will only hinder them, that no one will hire them if they see anime, or even being graded more harshly and scrutinized for potential anime-esque elements if they like anime or imply that they may like anime - including just by being Asian and young. On the other hand, it is true that there is a commercial strategy of "slap an anime girl on it and it will sell". The passion fans feel for these characters is genuine - and it is very, very exploitable. In fact, this commercialization puts anime styles in particular in a very contentious position when it comes to AI discussions!

Dark-skinned boy with platinum and pink [and blue] hair - Racism and colorism! They're a thing, no matter how much the worst people in the world want you to think they're long over and "critical race theory" is the work of evil anti-American terrorists! I chose his appearance because I knew that unless I was incredibly lucky, I would have to fight with this model for multiple hours to get satisfactory results on this point in particular - and indeed I did. It was an interesting experience - what didn't surprise me was how much work it took me to get a skin color darker than medium-dark tan; what did surprise me was that the hair color was very difficult to get right. In anime art, for dark skin to be matched with light hair and eyes is common enough to be...pretty problematic. Bing Image Creator/Dall-E, on the other hand, swings completely in the opposite direction and struggles with the concept of giving dark-skinned characters any hair color OTHER than black, demanding pretty specific phrasing to get it right even 70% of the time. (I might cynically call this yet another illustration against the pervasive copy-paste myth...) There is also much to say about the hair texture and facial features - while I was pleased to see that more results than I expected gave me textured hair and/or box braids without me asking for it, those were still very much in the minority, and I never saw any deviation from the typical anime facial structures meant to illustrate Asian and white characters. Not even once!

Pink and blue color palette - Our subject is transgender. Bias self-check time: did you make that association as quickly as you would with a light-skinned character, or even Sylveon?

Long hair, cute clothes, lots of accessories - Styling while transmasc is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation, doubly so if you're not white. In many locations, the medical establishment and mainstream attitude demands total conformity to the dominant culture's standard conventional masculinity, or else "revoking your man card" isn't just a joke meant to uphold the idea that men are "better" than women, but a very real threat. In many queer communities, especially online, transmascs are expected to always be cute femboys who love pink (while transfems are frequently degraded and seen as threats for being butch), and being Just Some Guy is viewed as inherently a sign of assimilationism at best and abusiveness at worst. It is an eternal tug-of-war where "cuteness" and ornamentation are both demanded and banned at the same time. Black and brown people are often hypermasculinized and denied the opportunity to even be "cute" in the first place, regardless of gender. Long hair and how gender is read into it is extremely culture-dependent; no matter what it means to you, if anything, the dominant culture wherever you are will read it as it likes.

Trophies and medals - For one, the trans sports Disk Horse has set feminism back by nearly 50 years; I'm barely a Real History-Remembering Adult and yet I clearly remember a time when the feminist claim about gender in sports was predominantly "hey, it's pretty fucked up that sports are segregated by sex rather than weight class or similar measures, especially when women's sports are usually paid much less and given weirdly oversexualized uniforms," but then a few loud living embodiments of turds in the punch bowl realized that might mean treating trans people fairly and now it's super common for self-proclaimed feminists - mostly white ones - to claim that the strongest woman will still never measure up to the weakest man and this is totally a feminist statement because they totally want to PROTECT women (with invasive medical screenings on girls as young as 12 to prove they're Really Women if they perform too well, of course). For two, Black and brown people are stereotyped as being innately more sporty, physically strong, and, again, Masculine(TM) than others, which frequently intersects with item 1...and if you think it only affects trans women, I am sorry my friend but it is so much worse and more extensive than you think.

Hearts - They mean many things. Love. Happiness. Cuteness. Social media engagement?

TikTok - A platform widely known and hated around these parts for its arcane and deeply regressive algorithm; I felt it deserved to be name/layout/logodropped for reasons that, if they're not clear already, should become so in the final paragraph.

Computers, cameras and cell phones - My initial specification was that one of the phones should be on Instagram and another on TikTok, which the model instead chose to interpret as putting a TikTok sticker on the laptop, but sure, okay. They're ubiquitous in the modern day, for better and for worse. For all the debate over whether phones and social media are Good For Us or Bad For Us, the fact of the matter is, they seem to be a net positive-to-neutral, whose impacts depend on the person - but they do still have major drawbacks. The internet is a platform for conspiracy theories and pseudoscience and dangerous hoaxes to spread farther than ever before. Social media culture leaves many people feeling like we're always being watched and every waking moment of our lives must be Perfect - and in some senses, we are always being watched these days. Digital privacy is eroding by the day, already being used to enforce all the most unjust laws on the books, which leads to-

Pigs - I wrote the prompt with the intention that it would just be a sticker on the laptop, but instead it chose to put them everywhere, and given that I wanted to make a somewhat stealthy statement about surveillance, especially of the marginalized...thanks for that, Dall-E! ;)

Alligators - A counter to the pigs; a short-lived antifascist symbol after...this.

Details I did not intend but love anyway:

The blue in the hair - I only prompted for platinum and pink in the hair, but the overall color palette description "bled" over here anyway, completing the trans flag, making it even more blatant, and thus even more effective as a bias self-check.

The Macbook - I only specified a laptop. Hilariously ironic, to me, that a service provided through Bing interpreted "laptop" as "Macbook" nearly every time. In my recent history, 22 out of 24 attempts show, specifically, a Macbook. Microsoft v. OpenAI divorce arc when? ;) But also, let us not forget Apple's role in the ever-worsening sanitization of the internet. A Macbook with a TikTok sticker (or, well, a Tiikok sticker - recognizable enough) - I can think of little more emblematic of one of the main things I was complaining about, and it was a happy accident. Or perhaps an unhappy one, considering what it may imply about Apple's grip on culture and communications.

Which brings me to my process:

Generated over ~7 hours with Dall-E 3 through Bing Image Creator - The most powerful free tool out there for txt2img these days, as well as a nightmare of filters and what may be the most disgustingly, cloyingly impersonal toxic positivity I've ever witnessed from a tool. It wants to be Art(TM), yet it wants to ban Politics(TM); two things which are very much incompatible - and so, I wanted to make A Controversial Statement using only the most unflaggable, innocuous elements imaginable, no matter how long it took.

All art is political. All life is political. All our "defaults" are cultural, and therefore political. Anything whatsoever can be a symbol.

If you want all art to be a substance-free "look at the pretty picture :)" - it doesn't matter how much you filter, buddy, you've got a big storm coming.

#ai art #generated art #dall-e 3 #bing image creator

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starfall-spirit · 6 months ago

Text

Read on Ao3 // Chapter II

Summary: After one last screaming match and a good cry, Feyre is finally ready to move on from her lousy ex and rebuild the life he took her away from. She didn't imagine she'd be right back in the thick of it, reviving buried feelings for her best friend's cousin.

OR;

Feyre dumps Tamlin, moves back to big city life, and gets herself an alpha who will treat her right.

AN: Omegaverse!Feysand, as promised. A gift for @whatishowedyouinthedark. If you hadn't posted Too Sweet, I don't know that this would have left the drafts. This ended up being 4.3k, but there will be a morning after chapter as well.

CW: NSFW, mildly dubious consent/coercion

Chapter I

“You sure you’re alright, Feyre?” Another ounce of weight seemed to lift from her shoulders at the soft worry in Mor’s voice. “I know you don’t really want to talk about this yet, but I’m always here for you.”

“I know. And I’m okay, Mor. I’ll be even better in, oh—” She lifted her wrist enough to glance at the time. “—six hours when you meet me outside SFO.” Her friend stayed quiet a moment longer. “I’ve wasted so much time and energy on that guy. He doesn’t deserve my tears too.”

“Damn right. I can’t wait to see you. It’s been so long, Feyre.”

“I know.”

That’s what it had really come to. The lost time. The isolation. A year ago, Feyre had been at the center of it all, her art sales lucrative enough to keep her head above water, her friend circle close but full of life. When Tamlin’s work had taken him out of the big city and to someplace more remote, Feyre had imagined it would be temporary. Her “nest egg” from her art sales would only need to hold her for a few months before she could dive right back into dealing with her clientele face-to-face.

But whatever silver lining her situation came with was in short supply. Hopeful as she had been once upon a time, nothing could change the fact that this move halfway across the country was made with only the purpose of separating her from the life and people she knew. Feyre was just ashamed it had taken her so long to see it herself. She’d confronted him last night and the truth had all come to light. “So what if your account is running low? Do I not take care of you regardless? I thought this was what you wanted, Feyre. Isn’t this what all omegas want? Someone to depend on?”

It turned out Feyre and Tamlin’s views on designations were worlds apart.

After a devastating break up fight and a good long cry, Feyre had locked herself in the guest room and called Mor with the promise that she was scraping together what she had left and coming home the next afternoon. “Say no more, Feyre. I’ll get Rhysie to make that ticket first class for you.”

“Don’t you dare, Mor.” But for the first time in months there had been laughter beneath her words. For once she didn’t find herself rolling her eyes when Mor reminded her that her older cousin was rich and single, last she heard of it. Not that Feyre’s memory needed jogging on that point. Ever since Rhys had stepped into her first art showing, oozing raw confidence and control, she’d been no better than a school girl doodling hearts and initials in her journal margins. But he’d then flown out to manage his father’s New York business, his return to California only in the past few months, when Feyre was long gone herself.

She shook off the flush running through her body, trying to focus on Mor jabbering in her ear about events around the city. Served her right, lusting after an alpha so far out of her league. Rhys might be nice enough to buy her paintings or bump her flight ticket to first class, but she certainly had no illusions that he would be the male helping her through her next heat. Hell, by now he likely had an omega of his own, hand-selected by his prick of a father.

Not exactly fond of the flare of… something… that thought sent through her, Feyre stood, pacing the few feet she dared from her carry-on in the crowded terminal. “Hey, girl. We’ll be boarding any minute. Can I let you go for now?”

“Absolutely. Love you lots. I’ll see you tonight. Don’t eat anything huge. We’ve got dinner plans.”

~~~~~

Dinner plans amounted to a delivery of Feyre’s favorite chinese food not even five minutes after she was settled in from the car ride home. “You spoil me, Mor,” she said, setting down her chopsticks long enough to shrug into the oversized hoodie behind her that smelled absolutely delightful for some reason and debate the nearly identical bottles of red nail polish in front of her. Her friend certainly had a signature color.

“Someone has to,” Mor groused, starting an episode of a cop show they’d seen one too many times. “If you won’t spoil yourself, your bestie’s gonna do it for you.” She eyed Feyre’s newly acquired hoodie with a slight smirk. “Among a few others.”

“What? I was cold. And what do you mean, others?”

Mor just waved a hand in dismissal. “Rhys, Cass, and Az are around here all the time. Rhys lives a floor above me, for that matter. You know they’re all thrilled you’re back in town. Emerie is excited to meet you too. I think you guys will really hit it off.” Mor sighed, a wistful look in her eyes.

“You really like this one, don’t you?”

“She’s amazing. And she’s been so patient with me. You know how my family can be about my preferences. She hasn’t said much, but I think her family gives her a lot of the same shit about it. She gets it. Gets me.” Feyre’s heart just about melted at that and she reached across the couch to squeeze Mor’s hand. “I even asked—”

The front door opened then, to both their surprise, Cassian falling through the frame with a shit-eating grin on his face. “She’s back! Feyre Archeron, where have you been?! C’mere.” She squealed as he lifted her by the hips to spin her around

Mor shook her head, mumbling about how this was supposed to be girls’ night before everyone saw her at Rita’s the next evening. “Sorry, Mor,” another voice said from the door, warm, rich, and amused. “We saw you ladies pull in earlier from the window. I kept him there as long as I could. It’s good to see you, Feyre.”

Grinning ear to ear, Feyre braced a hand on Cassian’s chest until the vertigo faded. “Yeah, good to see you guys. I—What?” she asked, finally looking at Rhys.

He was just as she remembered. It had been fice years since he’d flown out to manage that east coast business after earning his business degree and he hadn’t changed one bit—still the most beautiful man she’d ever met. The only thing that truly caught her off guard was the odd glint in his eyes, focusing on the hoodie she was wearing—almost pleased, if she was reading him right. Another step into the room and his scent hit her, citrus and the sea, the same soothing fragrance that clung to the sweatshirt she’d thoughtlessly pulled on with the assumption it was one of Mor’s baggier favorites.

Fuck.

Rhys smirked then, every bit the smug alpha she knew he was. She wasn’t ready to analyze the response that inspired in her. The fluttering in her stomach that quickened as he approached, the heat that flushed her check when he stepped into her space, fingering the ratty sleeve that fell well past her fingertips. “I was wondering where that had wandered off to.”

“I—”

“Keep it, darling. It looks better on you anyway.”

She shuffled back a step, uncharacteristically flustered by his proximity. Omega or not, the flirtation of men didn’t usually affect her this way. Even in the early days between her and Tamlin she—She would not be comparing her ex to anyone. She came back to San Francisco to wash her hands of him, after all.

“I—” She sighed. “Thanks.”

Mor cleared her throat, though her shameless grin was a near mirror to her cousin’s. “If that’s all, boys.” She batted her eyes, looping her arm back through Feyre’s. “This was girls’ night, remember?”

Cassian chuckled, ignoring the dismissal and slumping into the couch. “So, how goes the move in?”

Feyre scoffed. “My plane touched down only an hour ago. Can I finish my dinner and wine before tackling my bags?” The other three exchanged a look, Mor seeming suddenly guilty. “What?”

“With how quickly this all came together, I suppose I never got around to mentioning I… I asked Emerie to move in. It doesn’t change the fact the extra room is yours,” she hurried to say. “You have a place here of course.”

“Or you could have one upstairs,” Rhys mumbled.

Feyre blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They get their privacy, you get a good night's sleep every night.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s just a room, Feyre. You know I’m a gentleman.”

“I wouldn’t suggest otherwise.” Eyeing his reaction, she sipped from her wine glass. “Out loud.”

Cassian cackled. “God, I’ve missed you. About time you traded the hills for skyscrapers again, little sister.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

~~~~~

“I told you,” Rhys sang as Feyre stepped out of the elevator and into his apartment. It had only taken two nights to change her mind about his proposal. She adored Mor and Emerie was a delight—a perfect match for her oldest friend. But that didn’t change the fact the walls were paper thin.

“Hush. Emerie is a wonderful woman. I could never begrudge them their happiness, even if it costs me my sleep.”

“Of course not. Anyways, welcome to my humble abode. The first door on the left down the hall is your room for as long as you want it. Just across from mine, if you need anything. I’ll let you get unpacked.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, heading down the short hall and into the room he directed her to, only to stop short in the doorway. “Rhys.”

“Yes?” he called back, presumably from the living space.

“What is all of this?”

He approached slowly, looking almost sheepish. “Too much?” She gaped. “I can return it if you don’t like it. I just happened to overhear you tell Mor you had left behind some of your favorite nesting things and… Here, I’ll just pack it up and—”

“No.” His brows rose as she shifted to block the doorway. “I—” She cleared her throat softly. “It was sweet of you to consider it. I’m not far from my next heat, actually. I really appreciate you letting me crash here and letting me nest.”

He scoffed. “Nesting is natural. It isn’t something I’d try to stop any omega from doing.”

“If only my ex had seen it that way.” She flinched. “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

He growled softly, eyes dark as he dropped his head to hold her gaze, one hand braced against the doorjamb she already leaned against. His scent washed over her once again and Feyre hoped her full body shutter wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Your ex was an alpha?” She nodded. “Not one with any honor, it seems. You are what you are, Feyre. If that bastard ever made you take shame in it, I hope you’ll soon change your way of thinking.”

“I’m not ashamed of anything,” she murmured.

The knuckles of his free hand brushed along her cheekbone. “Good. I’ll let you finish up here. As I said, if you need anything for the nest or otherwise, I’m here to help.”

“I’m not a charity case, Rhysand. I always manage to get back on my feet quickly enough.”

“I know that, darling. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy spoiling sweet little things like you rotten.”

A quiet, shocked sound escaped her, but her usually sharp wit had been neutralized, it seemed. And all by a few charming words. Sweet little things like you.

“No,” she muttered to herself, refusing to watch him walk away. Approaching heat or not, she was not getting tangled up with an entitled alpha ever again. And that vow would not be changing

~~~~~

The next few weeks were normal, all things considered. Rhys went to work in the morning and Feyre either arranged calls or set out to reopen contact with previous buyers interested in her art. In the evenings they alternated cooking meals and washing dishes, occasionally enjoying a movie or game together before returning to their separate rooms for the night.

Everything was perfectly platonic if you excused a few mildly flirtatious remarks. The only thing that left her unsteady was the surprise treats and little actions to take care of her, each one either frivolous or thoughtful. It was as frustrating as it was pleasing and she hoped Rhys couldn’t see how she truly felt about each little favor. She didn’t know what she’d do if he came to learn about the pure satisfaction she felt each time she saw that he had snuck into her room to switch out the sweatshirt she’d so carefully placed among the pillows and blankets in her nest the moment his scent faded from the fabric.

She had dared to ask him after the third time he’d replaced the garment why he was so attentive to that specific want.

“You may not be my chosen mate, but you are an omega under my care. Just as you follow your instincts to keep something with an alpha’s scent, I will follow my instinct to provide for you as long as you live with me. A missing sweatshirt is hardly a great sacrifice, Feyre.”

He’d stood from the dinner table with a smile, mumbling something along the lines of, “Such a pretty little blush you have, darling,” before loading his plate in the dishwasher and heading for his room. Any other remarks had been few and far between, but each one stuck with her for days afterwards.

She gave a sharp huff as she stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea, prepared to do nothing more than hole up in her room with a good book and a hot drink as the Saturday storm bathed the city. “Read my book and not think about this a second longer.”

If only she’d realized what a hopeless endeavor that would turn out to be.

She was only two chapters into her newest read when the first hot flash came. Her heat. And damn if she couldn’t already feel this was going to be a rough one without a partner. Jumping from her chair, she started to head for the bathroom, reaching for the tub’s faucet. Then, a cool bath wouldn’t do her any favors. As quickly as she felt her skin burn, she knew she’d be shivering in a matter of minutes, that first cycle of hot and cold lasting for a few hours before the endless heat became constant, especially without an alpha to soften the effects of her episode.

“Fuck.” She needed to get off the floor and back to her room. To her nest, whatever small comfort it could offer her. “Fuck,” she repeated.

“Eloquently put,” a too-familiar voice said. She didn’t bother peeling her eyes open, letting Rhys drop to a knee and slip his arms beneath her knees and behind her back. “Come on. To bed with you.”

“Put me down. I’m fine.” Never mind that her teeth were already chattering and a cramping had started low in her gut.

“I’m sure you are, darling.” Shifting his arm so her back remained supported, he pressed his palm to the back of her head, pressing lightly until she caved, letting him guide her nose to that special spot on his neck where his scent was strongest. The tension that had claimed her body vanished in an instant. “There, little one. Better, hm?”

She mumbled something equally proud and bitter that she could really only half understand herself with this fog stealing over her mind so quickly, then, “Hurts,” she whimpered.

He hummed, laying her down in the very center of the nest of bedding and clothes she’d so meticulously arranged and rearranged over the past few weeks. She should have realized she was days from her next cycle when the impulse to perfect the space became so prominent. Now she would be glued to it for days on end. The problem? “Why are you so far away?”

Rhys chuckled. “You said you wanted to work through your heat alone, little one. That you don’t need an alpha. Have you changed your mind?” Feyre bit her lip, contemplating her options. Endure this alone and maintain her pride, or welcome his help and pray she was only opening a physical connection, rather than an emotional one. “Feyre.” She blinked up at him. “Temper your pride. Invite me into your nest, little one. This doesn’t have to be so painful.” It only took a moment for her to grip his hand, tugging softly. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, settling in carefully, so as to not disturb her arrangement.

“Don’t need a knot,” Feyre told him petulantly. “Just…” Nose buried in his neck, hand tucked under his shirt, Feyre stopped protesting for the moment, the only sound leaving her a soft whimpering.

That’s when he began to purr, summoning a gush of slick, to her humiliation. “Rhys—”

“Hush, sweet girl. Let’s see what we can do about your little problem here.” She couldn’t help but squirm a bit as he peeled her leggings away inch by inch, face flushing hot when her slick clung to the fabric of her panties on their way down. “Settle now, pet. You just lay back and let your alpha take care of you.”

“You’re not my—I didn’t ask you to—” Feyre hadn’t realized her pants had been completely cast aside until his tongue was stroking up her slit. “Oh, god.” Another drag of it and her fingers were threaded in his hair, tugging sharply. He hummed. “Rhys.” She tried to lift her hips, only for Rhys to reach up and lay his arm over her waist, keeping her mostly still. She let out a groan of frustration.

“All in good time, little one. All in good time.” He looked all too pleased by the frustrated growl that passed her lips, her protest cut off the moment two thick fingers pushed inside of her, curling in a way that had her hurtling to the edge of her release. “That’s it, darling, he encouraged her, repeating the motion while twisting his hand enough that he could rub her clit with his thumb. “Come for me.” Considering the state she was already in and how it only seemed to worsen with time, it took nothing more than those few words for her to shatter, clenching around his fingers so tight he cursed—even as he stroked her through it. “Good girl.”

Feyre shuttered beneath him, She didn’t need to peel her heavy eyes open to know she would find him smirking down at her. There wasn’t a chance in hell a man as observant as Rhys would misread what his praise did to her. She felt the tip of his nose skate across her cheek before his soft mouth was pressed to the flesh of her throat, his fingers already beginning to curl inside of her once again. “Rhys, wait.”

“Darling, do you really think that little knotting toy you bought the other day is going to be enough to satisfy you in this? You know what you need and you know who can give it to you.”

That unbearable cramping began anew, and Feyre knew she had no hope of resisting.

~~~~~

Most days, Rhys would consider himself an honorable man. He was capable of detaching emotions from matters of business and handling what needed to be handled without causing a fuss. Taking losses he earned himself with grace. Regarding his personal life, he never stooped to pursue someone who’s capability of consent was so precarious. He’d certainly never attempted to coerce a hesitant partner.

But he’d walked into the house and her heat scent had hit him in full force. Finding her slumped on the bathroom floor and burning up had his protective instincts rearing their head. Now he was in her nest, had his fingers buried inside of her, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, addling his own mind.

He could reconsider the standing of his honor tomorrow.

He’d get rid of that last edge of nerves his little omega was facing, then he’d show her where she belonged. Right here in this apartment, in this nest, for him to come home every day and spoil senseless. He had already come to enjoy their evening bonding immensely, and could only imagine he’d be even more delighted to share those talks when Feyre had her studio up and running, resuming the work she cherished so dearly. And whatever her reservations about alphas may be at the moment, she’d come around to the thought as well, he was certain. Every omega needs an alpha to lean on.

“God,” she hissed, palm pressing low on her stomach. Eyes shut tight once again, Feyre let her nails bite into his wrist, spurring him into action. He stripped the shirt she wore, baring her entirely before bringing that hand back to her center, this time with the intention of preparing her to take his knot. At the rate her heat was progressing, her pride would fall away momentarily and she’d be begging for the relief she knew it would provide her, he was certain.

Her next groan morphed to something softer, her head falling back to the pillows when his mouth closed over her nipple. Once again, her fingers found a home in his hair, tugging just harshly enough he felt justified in nipping her breast. “Be nice, darling.”

Scowling, Feyre surged upwards, gripping his shirt front as her lips finally found his. “You know it’s really, really unfair that I’m the only one undressed here.” She didn’t give him the courtesy of unbuttoning the garment himself, yanking hard enough to send the buttons flying, lost to the fabrics of the nest. Her teeth sank into his bottom lip hard enough he groaned, his free hand sliding up around her throat. “Rhys.”

He couldn’t help but smile as her eyes fluttered shut, her body relaxed enough for him to manipulate, guiding her back down into the pillow and removing his hand from its home between her thighs. “Sweet thing,” he cooed when a little pout began to form. “So needy for your alpha.” Moving his hand from her throat to her waist, he pushed those two slick fingers past her swollen lips, swallowing the growl building in his throat at the stroke of her tongue, letting himself watch as she fell deeper into that haze of lust and need.

“Well done, sweet girl,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers.

“Alpha,” she whispered, one hand sliding down until it rested over the hard line showing through his jeans.

“You need your alpha’s cock, pet?” He began working his thumb over her clit, just letting his fingers graze the rest of her. “You think you’re ready for that? Think you can take my knot, Feyre?”

“Please.” The next down stroke was rougher and he knew she was close to coming again when her body bowed towards him. “Please give it to me. Need your knot.”

There it was. And how sweet it sounded.

Kissing her neck, he let himself enjoy that lilac and pear scent for a moment before peeling out of the last of his clothes. Feyre had a hand around him before he could reach down to stroke himself, painfully hard beneath her touch. The moment she grazed his knot he jolted, one hand closing over hers while the other fisted one of the pillows beneath them. “Fuck, Feyre.”

“I want to taste you.” He clenched his jaw tight. This woman would be the death of him.

“Soon, darling. But first I need to be inside of you.” She lifted her hips, bending them at the knees in invitation. “Soaked for me,” he purred, lining up to claim her. “You’re going to take me so well, Feyre. Every inch.”

She swallowed, but nodded. Pinning her hips to keep her from rushing to take him, he pushed the tip in, grunting softly as she clenched around him. At this rate he wasn’t going to last long. “More,” Feyre begged, heels digging into his back. “Need more.”

“Patience is a virtue, pet.” Still, he fed her another inch, rocking in and out, working into her until only his knot remained. Smirking at the blissed out look covering her face, Rhys leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So fucking beautiful, filled up like this. Open those eyes for me, Feyre.” She trembled, eyes remaining closed. A sharp flick to her clit and she cried out, eyes flying open and snapping to his. “Watch, Feyre. Watch me give you my knot.” Her eyes darted down. Her nails bit into his back the moment he bottomed out. “Hot little cunt, taking me so well.”

Rhys didn’t let her catch her breath before he started rolling his hips again, dragging in and out of her, animalistic pride beginning to build when he felt her thighs trembling around him and the hot little puffs of air against the shell of his ear, when each thrust was made easier by another gush of slick soaking his length. “So close,” she whined, writhing beneath him, his name falling from her lips in a constant chant.

His rhythm faltered, feeling his release within reach as well. “Come for me, Feyre.” She keened, needing that push over the edge. Flicking her clit, he slammed home, spilling into her the moment her teeth latched down on his shoulder, nails cutting into his back. A moment later she shuttered beneath him, her grip going lax. He couldn’t help but push her damp hair back from her sweaty face, kissing her brow. Not wanting to crush her, he turned on his back, repositioning her legs on either side of him.

“That was…” She sighed, eyes drooping. “Thank you.”

“Rest, Feyre. Before the next wave hits. I’ve got you."

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

#acotar #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #omegaverse #omegaverse!feysand #feysand fic #fanfiction #pure self indulgence #i hope you enjoy it too #omega nesting

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bambisnc · 9 months ago

Text

raspberry lip gloss

pairing : j.sc x fem!reader ish genre : angst !! (i promise its not as sad as the combo of pics i chose) cw/tw : reader is kinda confsuing (and confused) as hell + kisses + raspberry + swearing + not proofread wc : 0.8k

you were not having a great day.

with all the projects and schoolwork your teachers sadistically enjoyed piling over you, the only thing you had to look forward to was lunch. which was now taken up by some girl, jiwoo or jisu or something – you’re not really sure, and frankly, don’t really care.

she seems totally unaware of your annoyance, so you take it as a win; that one youtube video on how to pretend that you're not 10 seconds away from committing several criminal acts must have worked.

jisu (or jiwoo), finally speaks up, “so uh.. please don’t take this the wrong way.. but are you and sungchan um t-together?” … she was this hesitant and terrified to ask you that?

“no? we’re just friends; what even gave you the impressio-”

“oh thank goodness!” she interrupts, sighing with relief, “that was all and i’m sorry to have taken your lunch time..”

without waiting for an answer, you watch as she runs back towards someone who you assumed was a friend of hers. you hear the other one’s critical and harshly disapproving tone, “girl how delusional can you be.. have you seen him?? the guy’s obviously fucking mad about her!”

to that jisu/jiwoo easily provides an answer, “i’m going to be so real sweetheart - i don’t care if he is ‘cause like – have you seen him?? i’d be okay being the homewrecker for that, if you know what i mean~”

you’re not a huge fan of this conversation.

“... you’re mad.”

“ugh only for him~ like c’mon have you seen him. he’s just soo-” -

“sec c!”

“what.”

“the answer yn.. (1+sin c) divided by (cos c) would be secant c! god, i’m great at this trigonometry shit.” sungchan is rather delighted at having solved one of the easiest questions from the practice test papers you were both had been working on for the past few hours.

you let him ramble on about how he could literally solve all of these in minutes it’s just that he chose not to, allowing your mind to drift away with his soothing voice.

you think of that girl (jiwoo.. or jisu?) and how she was probably planning on confessing to your friend sometime in the future. which was probably why she asked if there was something going on between the two of you..

“oh right!” he suddenly announces, “jisu from your class confessed to me after school today.” you definitely can sense a hint of amusement by his tone; but also..

damn jiwoo worked fast huh?

“i’m assuming you turned her down?” you quip back playfully

“excuse me?? assuming?? what do you mean by that??” sungchan always takes your banter the right way – it’s one of the things you’re very fond of about the guy.

“just.. i don’t think you’d be here with me if you’d had a girlfriend by now~” ruffle his hair a bit to emphasize that this is friendly, you’re teasing him platonically.

his smile drops at that, “i would never leave you like that yn; not for anyone.” and there it is.

you opt to let his words sink in hang in the air for some time.

“heyy yn. what’s up with you you’ve been actin’ weird all dayy..” sungchan asks, snapping his fingers in a somewhat desperate attempt to break your haze.

choosing to stay silent again; you’re not really sure how to answer his question. follow it up by dropping your eyes down to his lips and back to his eyes, as if posing a question of your own.

and he knows the answer. he always does.

sungchan pulls himself closer to you, cupping your cheek with one hand. a brush of his lips to yours, as if testing the waters, before he completely closes the distance between you both.

the kiss is long, drawn out. but at the same time it’s .. soft. when you break apart for air, his lips have the slight sheen of your raspberry lip gloss. it looks pretty on him.

“this.” you blurt out, “this is wrong. we- friends don’t do shit like this.”

but he’s just as quick to fight back, “so let’s not be friends then. let’s be more.”

“sungchan.. i wouldn’t.. i couldn’t bear–” not being enough. not being perfect for him.

“couldn’t bear the idea of dating me. yeah okay i got it.” he’s slow to pack up his stuff, and all you can do is numbly try to process it all..,

“what are you trying to say.”

“i’m leaving. i- i can’t do this right now. i’ll see you later.” he leans to kiss your forehead lightly.

flinching slightly at his touch, you swallow the lump in your throat, to choke out an, “i think we should stop this. for good.”

your closeness makes you feel like you physically hear his heart shatter into a million pieces, or maybe that’s just yours.

“what happens to us then…?”

“sungchan.. that’s the thing. there was never an us.”

he leaves without another word.

at school the next day, you see him with his arm wrapped around jiwoo’s waist (shit no, you think it’s jisu). you can almost swear that there’s an ever so slight pink shimmer to his lips... and.. is that your lip gloss in his pocket?

notes : fell into a rabbit hole while doign chem idek </3 + [m.list]

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mysteriesmuse · 2 years ago

Text

Don’t Touch Anything

thinking abt Katsuki’s bae getting their nails done

you’ve had a long week and so you’ve decided to go treat yourself and go get your nails done. Katsuki thinks this is a good little get away and reprieve for you from your college classes. - he’s already thinking in the happy wife, happy life mindset.

being a new sidekick in the pro hero business he already makes a pretty decent salary, definitely way more than your little tutoring job through the uni.

so Bakugous decided to pay for your nails himself. he just wired it directly into your account. No asking, or anything. He. Just. Does. It. 👏 it’ll make you happy and it makes him feel good for doing that for you. ———

But Katsuki didn’t realize how hard it would be for you to do everything now. As soon as you get home it’s like your hands suddenly don’t work. I mean, yeah, he has to open up a jar of jelly for you. THATS NORMAL

but as the day goes on you’re struggling to do everything. you’re using him or Siri to type out messages to all your friends. and he’s just wondering HOW OFTEN DO YOU EARPHONES AND PONYTAIL TALK??!

Got him leaning into your shoulder, hair tickling your collarbone before his dandelion looking head pops up, staring at Jirou’s message in the group chat with wide eyes. “oi babe. Can I go to this concert with you?” “mhmm if you wanna. Text Jirou.” his tongues sticking out as he types out his own message to your friends dynamite fast.

—— that afternoon he notes that your studying is punctuated by lots of curses and the sound of a pen clattering to the floor every few minutes.

Katsuki keeps his fists in his pockets as he routinely walks past your room to glance at your fine ass leaning to grab your pen. But the way you’re careening off to the side about to topple to the floor, has his hero instincts itching and his hands twitching. Idiot, always making his damn heart race. —— Katsuki also can’t help but snicker as you walk around the house tapping your nails on everything. “ahem babe I’m on a meeting right now”

seriously you’re not even trying to resist the asmr

———— But there’s also PERKS

katsuki is enamored with your bright smile as you look down at your nails. AND your wild hand gestures have also only gotten more dramatic!! Katsuki Bakugou in love with a little lady doing jazz hands. . . . his family and friends would have Never thought it

He is also lovin’ the way you keep posing with your hands on your insta. you got him beaming down at your account on patrol and at work. The coffee cup photos, the touching the barrettes, the golden hour pics with the hand splayed on the exposed collarbones. (Which he takes for you.) The photos you drag him into: grabbing his chin to press a chin onto the apple of his cheek, linking pinkies, making those ridiculous heart hands 🫶 that you and every other girl on the planet is obsessed with.

Got him shocked at the new way you walk past him, tapping across the tables and countertops. and before you breeze past him you comb your fingers through his hair.

HE NEEDS MORE and when Katsuki gets what he wants he’ll inclines his head and let out a hum that vibrates through the air particles between y’all. makes him moan and groan. and all the tension in his muscles melt away as he sinks into you. The tip of his nose nuzzling the inside of your breast as a warm sigh fans over your skin.

. . . so yeah he’s definitely going to let you get your nails done again

#mha fanfiction #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou headcanons #katsuki imagine #bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #something about typing is impossible with acrylics 😩😭😂#sorry for the bad quality #I couldn’t bother to write coherently this time

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jamespottersmixtape · 1 year ago

Text

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway.

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

#ahhhh another microfic i missed them #this is silly and self indulgent but i love them sm #so soft i'm kinda dying #shoutout to evan's freckles for being the sole inspo #and myro's lovely lovely art ofc #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #barty x evan #evan x barty #rat's silly microfics

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