#but whatever. did u notice? this is the first ever ink drawing I made where they have 5 fingers instead of 4

[soaked-ghost]

any excuse to draw ink again is a good excuse!

[soulwillower]

buttercup • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: Would you mind writing a Richie Tozier X reader soulmate AU where Richie is VERY self conscious and he finds out that the reader is his soulmate and the reader is well known and very pretty, so he’s just like djjdjfgjjcbvnfnf but once they actually meet she really likes him? :0 thanks if you consider!

warning: swearing, angst, richie being edgy and also a bit unstable (king shit), neuroatypical richie!!!, fluff, soulmate au!! <33 also sorry this may be rough, i havent edited it at all

[reader + losers are in college]

lmk what u guys think of this one,... idk LOL

4.1k words

♡

richie was about to be sick. yes, he really, really was going to vomit in approximately ten seconds and he didn’t know what he was going to do. the room, full of barely-adults chugging jungle juice was sweaty and bustling and the walls were closing in on him quick. those people who weren't in the main rooms were doing sniff in the bathrooms and blocking his pathway to heaven (the toilet) so he quickly stumbles towards the sliding-glass door.

he passes a guy who claps his shoulder and says in a deep voice, "you good, bro?"

no, no. he's not good, bro. thanks for asking, though.

as he finally breaks free of the plastic, out of the crusty balloon that was holding his body hostage, he takes a deep breath and sprawls himself on the back deck, staring up at the clouds in the nighttime sky. maybe he should go home and mull this over, before he crams it down his own throat and chokes to death, alone and broken on the back deck of a 22 year old business major's rental house.

he laughs to himself - an image which he's sure would be a full on maniacal scene to an onlooker - as he lights a cigarette with very shaky fingers. even if he chooses to give this situation some thought, he will end up being forced regardless because this is, quite literally, richard tozier's destiny.

y/n y/l/n is richie's destiny, and it makes him feel like complete shit.

you see - his whole life, richie knew about the fucking soulmate tattoos. of course he did, everybody did - it was, like, one of the first things you learn, ever. he knows that there's basically a soulmate for every person and often times the soulmate marks were different, the ways of finding your soulmate were wide and far.

for most of richie's life - actually, almost all of it up until the last month - he'd had a big, fat 0 tattooed on his arm and below it a humiliating phrase that was quite the epitome of richie himself.

yet it never changed, which led him, his friends, and his parents to determine that he'd gotten a time-counter soulmate mark, which he likes to pride himself on believing he did not give a single fuck about.

the number is supposed to count the amount of time that you've spent with your soulmate, and there's usually a sentence or phrase that's associated with your soulmate's first thoughts of you below it. and yeah, of course the first thing the lucky guy or gal thought of richie is 'wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.' pretty fucking on-brand, if richie says so himself.

so yeah, he never really paid attention to his soulmate mark - partly because the thought of emotionally opening up to someone enough for them to know his whole and true self was repulsive and terrifying enough to make him physically ill, enough for him to develop a crazy sense of humor as a less-than proficient coping mechanism for the insecurity and fear that lives in his mind rent-free, 24/7 365. but mostly he didn't pay attention to the mark because, you know, he thought it was lame.

that is, until it changed from the 0.

it happened on the first day of classes fall semester of this, his freshman year of college.

which, honestly, was a huge fucking bummer, because he literally came into contact with almost 800 new people that first day through classes, dorms, walking around campus, and the dining hall. and yet, as he got back to his dorm and smoked a bowl with bill, he'd noticed that his arm had said 00:51:26.

bill had been so excited he'd almost lifted richie through the roof, because 'holy sh-shit, rich, y-you did it!'

it was hard to believe someone was out there for him, though. and yeah, he didn't give a fuck about it, but he also kind of did.

richie, now thinking back on that day, groans a bit. if he'd just known, if he had just fucking looked at the thigh of the girl in front of him with the soft-looking grin and the alluring scent of orange creamsicle shampoo, who'd smiled a bit when he borrowed a pen - if he'd just known then that y/n was meant to spend the rest of her life with him, he could've... well, he's not really sure what he could have done.

he thinks to that moment in time, as he was blowing smoke out the dorm window with bill and giggling as he ate an entire bag of cheez-its, and how much he wanted to know who it was back then.

but tonight, it had become a nightmare when the information practically fell into his lap. he's at this house party in late september, and about five minutes ago it was just boring enough to warrant sitting on the rug in the living room and just fun enough to actually stay.

“-yeah, she said the first time you guys met was in microeconomics, right?” ben says, and richie huffs in agreement as he picks at the skin on his nails. ben was talking about her again, and richie's heart was beating stupidly hard. y/n, one of his closest friends that he'd made outside of the losers, never failed to make his heart run a goddamn marathon.

“-she told me the first thing she noticed was that you were wearing socks with sandals. and she thought that your socks were really ugly.” he finishes with a laugh and richie’s head snaps up at that. he feels chills spill over back as if he’d been doused with ice water and he gapes at ben. “wait, what?” richie shudders, the words escaping his lips quietly enough that his friends mistake it for a forceful exhale brought on by offense at the word 'ugly.'

“well she was right to think that.” stan says from behind his solo cup, carefree, as if richie’s life wasn’t crashing to an alarming and unbelievable halt. eddie giggles faintly somewhere from the floor where the losers are sitting, but richie’s mind is reeling too much for him to react to or even comprehend anything.

“rich, i th-thought i got you to st-stop wearing socks and sandals so long ago.” bill adds, laughing into his hand. but richie’s barely registering any other fucking information because he’s staring at ben, who is finally noticing his friend’s perplexed face. “you good, rich?” ben asks carefully.

“wh-er, wait. what exactly did she say?” richie asks, really not wanting to know the answer and yet wanting to know more than life itself. it can't be her. he’s getting odd looks from everyone now, but he's starting to breathe quickly and he thinks he might vomit. he kind of regrets never showing anybody but big bill his soulmate mark, because he's suffocating right now in embarrassment and bill is a little too drunk to assume what richie's assuming right now.

“wait, y/n y/l/n, right? from my dorm. she’s here tonight, she told me- oh, y/n!” stan calls, looking directly over richie’s shoulder. it happens so fast. y/n, in the flesh, walks past at just that moment, breaking out into a breath-taking, world-halting smile. richie's chest hurts worse than it ever has before as she waves and bustles over to plop herself next to richie. and holy shit, she's wearing shorts because even though it's cold out, the house is warm and richie can see dark ink on her thigh. a soulmate tattoo. he can't draw his eyes away even though his brain is screaming to knock it off because there's going to be something there he doesn't want to accept, but he then does it anyways.

he almost hyperventilates as he reads the words emblazoned on her thigh,

27:36:08 and right below it: "holy hell her hair smells like orange creamsicle"

he almost sobs right then and there as she greets him with a soft hand on his shoulder, completely unaware of their fate and richie has to stand up abruptly because he can literally feel the numbers changing on his arm as the seconds go by with y/n at his side.

and now, mere minutes later he's out here, laying in self pity as anxiety claws at every inch of his body and fear tingles on him like the slight presence of snowflakes falling on his skin - briefly he wonders if, as an older man, he'll wonder how he never got cold wearing nothing, vulnerable as he welcomes in that falling snow.

he would be totally daft not to wonder how he ended up with a soulmate like her, someone not only so fucking attractive but so kind and undeserving of a monstrosity of a human like him. she is, in every place he isn't, a complete and utter success of a person; he's a hurricane where she's whitecaps in the sea, he's loud and abrupt while she is kind and outgoing. maybe they do work well together, hell - they spend enough time on study dates outside of class for him to know that he does really like her. but richie also knows his standoffish, happy-go-lucky and untamed personality paired with his unwillingness to make himself appear vulnerable to most people will probably have a very large impact on... whatever it is that happens with y/n.

because that's really the point, isn't it?

she is stuck with him. bucky beaver, the trashmouth, mr. i-can't-keep-my-trap-shut-for-three-seconds. y/n, the most incredible person in this world, is the kind of person that was designed for richie to admire from afar, as he is so willing to suffer through. because as much as it hurts to watch her and to love her without loving her, it is a thousand times safer for both of them than the inevitable look of disappointment that will befall y/n’s angelic features when she discovers who her burden of a soulmate is.

the thought makes richie choke out a weak sob, sitting up and digging the heel of his palms into his sockets, trying to scrub out the image of himself from his brain. awful, awful, bad.

he takes a long drag from his cigarette and for a brief moment he wonders if, just maybe, she’ll love him back eventually. the thought makes him feel like crying all over again.

huge nose, big teeth, awkwardly skinny and too tall. maybe he's got nice hair, but he sometimes wakes up too late and can only brush his teeth and swipe on deodorant before he's sprinting out his dorm with his pickle socks and stan's old sandals, trudging to class and getting in the way of y/n's future.

but he is her future, after all - how can that be right?

he doesn't have enough time to take another drag from his cig as he hears the glass door open, the noise from the party bursting through the gap in the foundation of the house and sending him back to five minutes, ago, inside. he cranes his neck and can't bring himself to be surprised when he sees her, backlit from the party inside and figure in his mind standing like the only being in the world.

she thinks he looks devastatingly beautiful tonight. she loves the awkwardness in his bones, the way he carries himself with confidence although she's not sure he always really has it. he's wearing some dumb socks again as usual, though they're mostly covered by his black pants and red high-tops this time. it makes her smile softly.

she wants to know him, really know him, as more than just a classmate, a crush, a boy who's friends with stan uris from the floor above her own room. she wants to feel his large hands on her in more than just fleeting greetings, knucks to the shoulder or jaw. she wants the sharp taste of nicotine and mint from those life savers he was always sucking on in her own mouth as he holds her tightly against him, she wants to know everything about him and be with him, even if they aren't somehow destined to be forever. which, she thinks with an array of wild animals tumbling around her chest, they might be.

after all, someone at this party is her soulmate, and she's almost 99.8% sure it's richie. it gives her the most beautiful butterflies she's ever had, even when he stares at her from the deck with glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"what’s up, buttercup?” is all she says, in her mind because he's stunned her to near-silence once again by just existing, and in his mind because she is the most perfect being.

he doesn't respond despite being completely charmed by her, because he's breathing in the nicotine and its making his fingers twitch and even though he's sober by now, he thinks he may be tweaking a bit, mostly from the overwhelming set of information that just smacked into his face when y/n walked over into that room.

he watches as suddenly she's dropping herself so she's sat next to him, her legs swinging off the edge of the deck. she eyes his cigarette. "that's so unhealthy, rich." she says softly, teasing but with a lacing of truth behind it that really makes richie itch to never smoke ever again in his life. but he's a stubborn ass, so he instead takes a deeper drag, maintaining eye contact. he can feel one tear slip from his eye and he feels so fucking melodramatic as he does so, but he's at the lowest he's been in a while, so he gives himself a bit of credit.

she reaches out and pulls the cigarette directly from between his lips, sending him a pointed look as she presses it out on the finished wood of the deck. he wipes the tear away when she's not looking. and as she turns back he smirks, unsure what else to do, as he blows the smoke out of his mouth towards her face.

"hi, toots." he says in what he hopes is a normal tone, despite his blotchy and tear-trailed face. she blinks her eyes owlishly at him but just shrugs, "you left a little prematurely back there. what, do i smell that bad?" she jokes. no, he thinks, you smell like orange creamsicles.

it's bittersweet, the irony in her statement. because he knows that she probably knows what she smells like every day, as it's literally tattooed right on the meat of her leg, on display for her and whoever else lucky enough to find themselves being acquainted with the skin of her upper thigh. the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

maybe if he were feeling a little less in-the-dumps, a little less like a complete and utter disappointment and failure that ruined this sweet girl's life, he would have ribbed her back a bit. you know, grind her gears in typical tozier fashion.

but he's exhausted and so distraught that he can't bring himself to even look at her. "i'm not in the mood" he grumbles, his heart pounding. she frowns, tilting her head.

"okay, what's wrong, richie?" she asks, and it's in that caring voice that she uses that isn't pitying but simply solicitous in nature. her calming force on him is obvious and immediate and his teeth stop rattling around in his head

he wants to scream because she's burning warm and perfect while he's frigid cold inside his body; a wasteland full of broken slinkies and half-formulated 'your mom' jokes that are melded to the crust of him with the tar that's been sucked straight from those damn ciggies. for crying out loud, if he were to so much as touch her, she'd get corrupted.

she notices as he scoots a bit away from her, and her heart hurts. he's so upset, clearly, and yet it hurts her that he can't trust himself or her enough to open up; no fault of his own surely, but heartbreaking all the same. "i care about you, and i really want to be here for you." she says it like there's going to be more, but the words kind of die in her throat as she realizes the extend of her words.

holy shit, she thinks, i'd go to the ends of the earth for him. if richie asked me to, i think i'd probably kill the queen.

"i stubbed my toe, and it really hurts." he says then, and the absurdity of his excuse makes her laugh out loud, head tilting back towards the moon as the bubbly giggles tumble from her lips. she looks at him after and his face is a twisted mix of affection and utter pain, a combination that hurts her to her core but lights a fuel in her that makes her want to help him.

"it's true." he mutters, motioning to his shoe limply, and she looks at his foot, the tip of his converse scribbled in sharpie with the word 'half-brain' and then a bunch of hearts.

"i like your socks." she says absentmindedly, grinning at him as she says it, voice teasing. but the reaction she was hoping for was nowhere to be seen as richie suddenly heaves a hiccup-sob, one so upsetting and quiet that she thinks she misheard it.

but he's keeling over and clutching his face with his hands, shaking his head, and her heart breaks. "richie, honey please tell me what's going on. or i can just sit here, if you'd rather-"

her sentence is cut off with richies own rushed words, expelled from his mouth so quickly that it's almost as if they were trying to escape while his lips tried to hold them in.

"-you're going to have to spend the rest of your life trying to force yourself to love me, and that terrifies me.”

as he says it, his stomach twists itself inwards at his admission and he thinks he's going to be sick. he doesn't deserve you, you're going to resent him for it. she's silent for a few moments, and he doesn't dare look anywhere near her as tears trail down his solemn cheekbones and drop onto the black corduroy that wraps around his jittering legs.

"richie, please, what are you trying to say?" she says quietly, sounding scared, nervous, upset... richie did that. it's his fault. he tilts his head back, his brain buzzing in guilt. "fuck," he says, and it comes out broken, "you... i- you're my soulmate." he says, looking down to where his chest rises and falls almost unnaturally, a consequence of muscle memory being tampered with by the lethally college combination of nicotine, alcohol and marijuana on an empty stomach.

earlier he was afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide he would lose control of his tongue and then the words would come out without him wanting them to, but he knows he's basically sober by now, as sober as y/n is next to him - he's just neurotic, but he doesn't want her to know that, because oh god, what if she hated him for it?

she wouldn't, right? isn't she supposed to find a way to love him?

this was a really stupid idea, but in his mind it was one that had to be done. shutting his eyes, he tugs the sleeve of his left arm upwards, taking a shaky breath. again, it's silent as she reads the words written there. wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.

she stares at the words, and the number above it, then she looks at her own thigh, where the exact same number counts on in time with his.

he wastes no time, though: "-don't worry, doll. i've got it figured out, we can just- maybe we can get yours covered and you don't have to think about it anymore. fi-find someone better, like, oh, bill - he'd treat you nice i think. just- we don't have to think about it, i'm sorry." he says in one breath, not looking at her at all.

"richie, how can i be yours if you're not mine?" she says thickly because she's fighting off tears wondering how someone so incredible and full of life could feel so undeserving.

"you can't want me, you can't." he insists, not looking at her as she gapes at him because if he were to look at her expression he may lose it. it's quiet again in their own little world here, the air silent and numbing as y/n takes a breath.

"oh my god, wait richie how are we this stupid?" she asks, perking up and lightly slapping his arm. he looks at her in shock as she begins to laugh, "we've been alone together so many times. how did we not notice?" she asks, and he chuckles a bit, shrugging.

"maybe we're not the sharpest crayons in the drawer, toots. all i'm sayin' is that i figured it out first." he says cheekily, and secretly both of them are shocked to see how quickly they fell together, as if the knowledge that they were made for each other made all their insecurities fall away.

her face softens again. "you know, i saw my timer counting tonight and i was hoping more than anything that you'd be here. that we'd be-" she adds softly, a hand landing lightly on richie's thigh, sending licks of flames up his body. she takes a breath and restarts. "do you know how fucking bad i wanted it to be you?"

and just like that, y/n unintentionally provides a luscious mix of words and tricks that fill him with barely enough confidence to let him bet when he knows he should fold.

what's life without a little risk?

he meets her eyes for the first time in a few minutes and hers are large and hopeful as they wait patiently for him to give her something. but he still can't speak without running his mouth, so instead he cups her cheeks. her lips part slowly and he stares in awe at her raw beauty, unable to hold it in longer.

he presses his lips to her quickly and to her it feels like he is trying to prove something. it makes her heart soar as he comes alive against her, pressing as enthusiastically as she is into him. he tastes, as she'd guessed, like nicotine but mostly like a mint and it makes her grin as he pulls back.

"is this okay?" he's asking then, his thumb soothing over her cheek sweetly and giving her the same butterflies she gets when he smiles; the very same butterflies that release when he says anything to her, when he comes to her dorm for a study date with two red bulls in his hand, and when she realized their tattoos beat the same.

"yeah, of course." she whispers against his lips, the feeling of his teasing lightly making her sniffle. she presses their lips together again, this time warmer, more comfortably and his hands move to her hips and tug her closer, her hands winding to his neck as his own hands explore her body, caressing her sides gently. he pulls back and holds her softly.

"your hair smells nice." he says sheepishly, and she grins so widely she thinks she may split in two. her heart flutters as she looks into his eyes, finding nothing but love. "orange creamsicle, huh?" she asks with pink cheeks, and he laughs lightly, nodding his head. "best smell ever, babe."

"you make me happy." she says it onto his lips again, and the shiver that runs down his spine is a feeling he wouldn't mind feeling forever. his heart soars because he believes her, he trusts her. she wouldn't lie to him.

"we're so dramatic, aren't we?" richie jokes, his walls sliding back up a bit, but as y/n cuddles into his chest, head against his beating heart as she presses kisses to his neck, he realizes she accepts him.

"yeah, well. we're made for each other, aren't we rich?" she asks gently as his hand falls to brush over her thigh, right over the words. "that's right, toots." he says softly, looking down at her hairline softly, still in disbelief that it worked out for him. she turns to look at him, cheeks dusted a bit as she leans up to press a kiss on his lips.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings​ @stenbrozier​ @simplesammyx​ @dickology64​ @clownsloveyou​ @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby​ @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro​ @trashedfortozier​ @oceandog13​ @finnskindofwoman​  @kait-tozier​ @upamongthestarss​ @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs 

[vinylhazza]

since u wanted more gray… riding his thigh 🥴🤤

oh yummy 🤤🤤 he’s all buff and looking like a big fuck toy sitting in his chair looking over some notes he’s taking about some random ass table he wanted, but didn’t need, to build. his leg in pouncing and you’re just watching him so immersed, knowing he’s actually loving whatever it is he’s looking at even if he’s got an adorable pout settled on his lips.

his tattoos...fuck those damn thigh tattoos. they taunt you at the worst of times. all you wanted to do was eat your damn pancakes. it was 11am for God’s sake on a Sunday at that. but he just looked so...delicious. you loved when he built, there was something so sexy about him totally in his element and knowing exactly what to do and when to do it. there was only one other place he was that in tune, and you’re wanting to go back to that certain place right now in your mind.

“whatcha need pretty girl?” he mumbles as you patter over to his hunched frame at the dining room table, scribbling a measurement correction on the sheet in front of him. you had long forgotten about your pancakes, setting them on the counter before you lazily trotted to his tanned, toned body you could never get enough of, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and neck, leaning your chin on his shoulder to watch his hand move across the paper.

“you look good this morning,” you whisper with a grin, knowing he knows what you mean by “good”. he looks fuckable.

“hmm good huh?” he smirks up at you over his shoulder, tapping the eraser of his pencil against the white piece of paper, knowing where this is leading and having no qualms about it. he needed a little break. he got a little worked up when someone wasn’t working out the way he wanted it to.

“mhmm,” you hum, leaning forward to kiss at his neck, up and down, lower to his collarbone, and back up just below his ear. his goosebumps told you he loved the tender attention, “so good.”

he’s still now, eyes closed, relishing the smushy but lovely feeling of your lips pressed to so much of his over and over again. if they was one thing about grayson you know, it was that neck kisses were one of his greatest weaknesses. his thigh resumes it’s bouncing for just a moment, thinking of his next move. you let your arms fall from his shoulders just as he drops the wooden pencil to the table, forgotten already. he’s pushing the chair from the table and turning to you, grasping your hips, drawing you in to stand between his legs.

grayson more times than not, knew exactly what you wanted, what you felt, what you needed. with just a look he could tell you craved him - craved his hands, his touch that always satisfied all your desires on every occasion they were needed. 

“you look ravishing,” he mutters, licking his red stained lips - he was a fan of koolaid - something you thought was adorable. if you weren’t paying close enough attention, you would have missed it. the awestruck look that crossed his face was enough to make you shiver from your shoulders to your toes, bouncing once, twice, on your tiptoes to give him a little insight on the fact that you aren’t wearing a bra under his own white t-shirt. teasing him was your favorite pastime. his eyes caught notice quickly. you watch his hands closely, traveling from your hips, slowly upwards - gliding under your shirt to grip onto your tits possessively, a hunger rooted deep in his expression. he watched his own hands squeeze at your breasts, tweaking your nipples to watch you squirm and grab at his forearm - sensitive little one you were. 

“what do you need baby?” he asks you again, sultry voice buzzing at your nerves. your pussy clenches at his dominant tone, he wanted an answer, not an action but an answer. all you wanted was him. 

“need you s’bad,” you whimper, rubbing at his chest nervously. his muscles were clear through the fabric of his shirt, something you’ve always admired when you had the chance. but - he was busy and in the middle of something, meaning there wasn’t much time for anything too serious. but you just needed something, you didn’t care what. you would do all the work if you had to. 

“i don’t have much time,” he tells you, disappointment dripping from his voice. he had a lot to get done, not that he wanted to do any of those things over fucking your beautiful body, but he did need to get his tasks done for the day. he knew he would have you all to himself after, but it pained him to know he had to wait. but if there was one thing he’s sure of, it’s that he would never leave his girl hanging. if you needed him, you had him. 

“i know gray i just- need a little-” you’re fumbling, but are soon silenced with a kiss. it’s a soft, patient kiss. one that has you melting into a puddle. his lips moved at a languid pace, one hand wrapped around your neck to hold you in place, other hand still cupping your left breast, thumb playing with your sensitive nub. 

“how about a little ride yeah? wanna ride my thigh? get that pretty pussy off?” he murmured, smirking as you nodded your head quickly, eyes gazing up at him innocently. 

you loved riding grayson’s thigh. it was one of your biggest sexual desires...his tanned, muscular, tattooed thigh between your legs while you ground your cunt against his skin - for merely your pleasure. his hands...always guiding your hips to the right rhythm, gripping your skin tightly just to leave crescent shaped indentation behind. 

you’re nodding eagerly at his suggestion, blinking slowly at his hands hooking in the waistband of your panties, tugging them down the length of your wobbly legs to be discarded on the floor.  you’re drenched, arousal making the skin on the inside of your thighs to be slick and slippery - the perfect recipe for a good thigh ride. you couldn't wait for him to just sit down and let you have at it.  

his eyes never wavered, dark irises burning into your own that watch his every move close. you stood still under his stare, waiting for him to lean back and pat at his inked, chiseled thigh - the perfect canvas for your pussy. 

“c’mon baby, show me how much you need me.” he encouraged you forward with a tug on your shirt, dragging you to stand with your legs spread over his thigh - his shorts pushed up just enough to give you free reign, “gotta be fast, i have work to do.” 

with a quick peak over his shoulder at the paper he scribbled upon - grinning at the beautiful looking table he was probably creating in the backyard - you’re lowering yourself steadily to his thigh, sighing at the friction that’s already stimulating your core. 

“oh my god,” you breathe, a shaking hand on his shoulder, eyes closed, unmoving. you just needed...a minute. to breathe, to get yourself under control so you don’t fall apart within the first few minutes. he drove your crazy, especially with the view of his tool belt sitting on the table behind him. that fucker knew what he was doing. he’d fucked you with that tool belt on before. don’t ask. it was a one time deal and you couldn’t wait. it had also been one of the hardest orgasms of your life - in the backyard, the blazing sun of california warming your skin, his hands all over you, sweaty for building all day. fuck it made you tremble just thinking of it. 

he’s grabbing your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes, lips millimetres away, his breath fanning over your own, “i know it feels good baby, move for me, be my good girl.” oh fucking christ.

that’s all you needed to press yourself down onto him fully, intertwining your fingers with his for balance and support. it felt more intimate, riding him with your hands locked together - his thumbs rubbing against your skin, like he was the lifeline keeping you afloat for the time being. you hissed at the fine hairs on his thigh tickling at your folds - only causing that much more friction for you to shiver at.

“w-woah,” you gasp at the motion of his leg, bouncing on his toe just to give you more stimulation. your throwing your hips in a frantic forward-back motion, the fastest pace you’ve set in a long time, your clit seeming to scream from how good it felt to grind on it’s lovers leg - your hand coming to his neck, squeezing tight. he grins at that, a dark little “naughty girl” leaving his lips jsut before he’s slapping his hands down on your ass harshly, forcing you to run against him faster.

“fuck fuck fuck,” you’re whining, “that feels so- god that feels so good gray jesus,” head falling against his shoulder. your hand still wrapped firmly around his throat, you squeeze, his chuckle making you smile. such a dirty bitch, he thought with triumph. you’d always been the ‘sweet lover’ kind of girl before meeting grayson - he opened you up to a world of sin and you’d never be able to go back after.

“look at that eager cunt dripping all over my leg. mmmm yeah such a big mess baby, so good for me,” he nudges at your chin with his nose, wanting to feel your lips on his once again - kissing you was his drug. it always made him feel like a man, your little body so pliant in his hands, his lips the best you’ve ever felt.

you reach down to toy with graysons fingers, batting your eyelashes at him with your lip between your teeth, continuing the fluid motion of your hips. he knows what you want but you still give him a little, “please,” to be polite.

“mhmm need daddy’s fingers too huh? wanna suck on my fingers?” he chuckles, your neediness hilarious for some reason. you were so fucking hot, but so desperate for him all the time. it made his ego grow each and every day that you convinced him he was the only one for you. and he was. you couldn’t imagine needing, loving, wanting anyone else. you couldn’t imagine anyone else satisfying all your needs like grayson did. he was a one stop shop.

he’s raising his fingers to your mouth within seconds, your hand flying back up to grip around his throat once again, fingers digging into his skin desperately. his thigh felt so fucking good, hard and soft in all the right ways, his leg bouncing into your clit making it that much harder not to come undone right then and there. you wanted to go just a little bit longer if you couldn’t have all of him until tonight. just looking down at his massive dick straining through his pants, hard as can be, was driving you up the wall.

the memory of him pounding you against this very table a few weeks ago flashing through your mind - your lips wrapping firmly around two of his fingers to suck and swirl your tongue, truly putting on a show. you’re getting closer and closer, climbing up that beautiful hill of euphoria with each rock and sway of your hips.

“maybe if you’re a good girl and cum for me, i’ll fuck you on the new table i’m building,” grayson tells you softly, catching your gaze with a smirk. that fucker. you grind yourself down harder and harder, the faster your hips move - the harder you suck.

“fuck,” you attempt to scream around his fingers as you hit your peak, falling off the edge and into the blissful darkness of your climax - legs shaking around his thigh. you gasp at the burst of wetness coming from deep within you, spraying out onto the ink on his skin, dripping in small puddles onto the floor. well that’s new. your hand falls from around his neck where you had been squeezing tightest of all. you’d be worried, but grayson was a big boy and didn’t bat an eyelash. his own fingers are slipping from your mouth as well.

“god damn...didn’t know you could do that,” grayson chuckles, slapping your ass proudly, continuing to rock you through your orgasm, just a little dip to your hips to keep you moving, jolts shooting through your midsection.

with a little huff you’re leaning into him, wrapping your arms around his torso and tucking your face into his neck, trying to get as close to him as you could.

“holy shit,” you sigh finally, a tiny giggle bubbling up from your chest, hugging at him tighter as a thank you for taking some time out of his busy building day to help you find some relief. you’re always so hungry for him in the morning.

looking over at the clock hanging on the wall in the dining room, you notice that it’s been quite a while since you first noticed him sitting here all by his lonesome - the clock now reading 12:02pm.

“holy shit is right,” he jokes, fingers running up and down the expanse of your back, soothing you from the tiring high you just came down from. he knows how much it wears you out, doing all that work. you turn your head up just a bit to leave a fond kiss against his neck, pecking once, twice, three times against the reddened handprint you’d left behind. you had gotten a bit carried away, but you weren’t ashamed of it one bit.

your heart twinged just a big when he shifted under you after a while, lifting you up, turning around and setting you flat against the table. you watched him lean over to pick up your panties, shuffling them back up your legs and securely over your core for the time being. you would take a shower when he went back outside, so this would have to do for now. you didn’t want to let him go. you wanted to tumble back to the bedroom together and cuddle, maybe give him head in return for his own lovely favor. but you knew you would have to wait when he hooked his fingers around the pencil behind you once again, the rippling sound of the paper following after.

“duty calls,” he grins, leaning forward to peck your lips slowly, parting ways with a pout. he was going to have to deal with a boner for a good amount of time - that thought alone made you smile, “don’t forget what i said about the table either. i keep my word.”

he grabs a towel on his way to the back door, chuckling again at the mess you’d made. he didn’t have time to take a shower and he knew it as well as anyone, but he at least needed to get your juices from dripping down his leg. fuck you drove him crazy.

“i know you do gray,” you grin at him, voice gravely from moaning around his fingers.

with a wink he’s out the door, leaving you to your half eaten pancakes and drenched wooden floor. you’d be pleased to find that table in your bedroom later that evening - and as if the day couldn’t get any better - grayson did in fact deliver on his promise. he delivered over and over and over again.

[beni-draw-ikemen-please]

KINTSUGI - REPAIRING WITH GOLD CHAPTER 1

Ikemen Vampire Canon x OC

K I N T S U G I 

Chapter 1 - Don’t tell anyone. 

Word Count 2064

Pairing: Leonardo Da Vinci x Seiya Amanogawa x Comte Saint Germain

Tags/TW: Graphic Depictions of sex, intercourse, smut (you name it), angst, mentions of death and suicide. Please proceed with caution.

A/N: This is a work of fiction. 

If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

This is fan fiction for Ikemen Vampire, character designs are owned by Cybird. My story however, features my own OC/MC Seiya Amanogawa who is from Modern Japan/Europe, who travelled to the Louvre for inspiration.

Seiya is female so I will be using she/her as her pronouns. I will also be describing her accordingly. I designed Seiya and she is my Original Character. 

If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

This work is intended for mature readers. No minors please. Graphic Depictions of sex, intercourse, smut (you name it), angst, mentions of death and suicide. Please proceed with caution.

K I N T S U G I 

Chapter 1 - Don’t tell anyone. 

His golden locks fell beautifully in place, like a masterpiece set within the confines of an ornate golden frame. Right there, in the middle of the museum. The spotlight is carefully placed to highlight the gold that accentuated the piece. And there, in front of it all, with just the right amount of distance, is a lone bench. 

That’s how Seiya saw him. A figure to be admired from afar. A treasure, so valuable and so bright, she steps back, almost instinctively, it made her feel smaller and smaller. 

She would open her leather-bound book. And very carefully, she would write short letters. They weren’t really addressed to anyone in particular. Maybe they were addressed to her future self, who knows? But she wrote them, every single day. It wasn’t her journal either - no - it was far more complex than that. 

Seiya knew in her heart, she wouldn’t be able to bear it, if he ever found out. How much she loved sitting just by the balcony of Vincent’s room during afternoon tea time, so she has the perfect view of the his hands as he gracefully pours tea into the day’s chosen china. 

Viridian, with golden leaves and soft speckles of purple, almost white. She knew they were one of his favourites. Wedgewood. She took mental notes every time Sebastian gave her a pointer not to miss, especially when it came to afternoon tea. 

She would duck her head, ever so slightly, and she would catch a glimpse of his lips, almost looking like they were kissing the fine things and smiling, so perfectly, complimenting the blend Sebastian had carefully prepared. 

It was one of her guilty pleasures. And, it was only after she had shown Vincent what she really drew in her sketchbook that the angel allowed her to use his balcony. 

Vincent noticed her when she first arrived. She was this scared, trembling frail little creature, and he wanted to make her feel more at home. Which turned out easier than expected. She spoke modern Dutch, at the very least the sounds were similar to the older variant.. Sometimes she would hear him speak words that made her head tilt in confusion. 

But she enjoyed his company. And Vincent felt the same. 

They would often draw together. Vincent with his easel and brushes, and his apron that’s stubbornly stained with paint, and her ink and paper. 

She told him how she hated it when her hands stained of charcoal, or anything, so she stuck with inks. She would often grumble, how she missed modern pens and this thing called a brush pen. And Vincent wondered about it often. 

They threw the case towards the makers of the mansion, first, Isaac - who felt comfortable around her, enough to actually draw and fiddle with objects around so vulnerably. Isaac asked for more time, maybe even more materials to create different prototypes. Then, the trio approached Leonardo. And they were able to make something similar to the modern brush pen in about a week’s time. 

And so she drew more and more and more with the brush pen. Funny how she thought, she was using another man’s present to draw another man. And those two men happened to be best of friends. For over a century. Maybe, even more. 

Seiya kept her notebook to herself. The red leather stood out, so she would often wrap it with a soft lace handkerchief that was too big to be folded and tucked into her pocket. She would keep it in her tray whenever she assembled the residents’ meals or changed sheets. Her notebook never leaves her sight. Vincent grew curiouser and curiouser every time he would catch a glimpse of the red leather peeking through the black lace. For someone who looked like her, her choice of colour would almost be too bold for a maiden in 19th century Paris. Always black, she would say. Or, if black wasn’t an option, wine red. Or the darkest violet possible.

Vincent remembered the first time he accompanied her to shop for a new dress with Leonardo. They picked up a white dress, made from the finest leavers lace, that she wore with a frown on her face. She covered herself with her arms and asked to change immediately. 

“It’s too bright for me…” she said, and Vincent couldn’t make out if she softly cursed in Dutch, or in Japanese, or a mixture of the two. She would, however, hum in satisfaction whenever she saw black velvet chokers, or black leather gloves, and thinking of that contrast made him smile. 

He noticed how intently she would spend on each of her drawings. And Vincent would hear the silent flicks of her brush. It would be a long steady stroke for a while, and then flicks of texture. And then she would stop, and sigh, wait for the ink to dry and she would close her sketchbook ever so quietly. 

“What are you drawing, Seiya?” he wouldn’t be so bold as to peek over her shoulder as she worked, unlike how Arthur had attempted so many times. 

Seiya didn’t say much and it was rare to hear her raise her voice even just for a bit, but when it came to her sketchbook, she was vocal and protective. 

Arthur attempted many times to uncover the mystery of that book, but Seiya never let anyone, not even Vincent take a peek inside. 

Maybe it’s her diary? He thought about this many times. Maybe it’s some sort of visual diary where she draws her feelings instead of writing them down. Thinking about it like that, Vincent stopped asking her and instead, just enjoyed the tranquility and meditative togetherness of their afternoon painting sessions. 

The only person he thought knew about the notebook’s contents would be Leonardo. They spend an awful lot of time together, after all. 

Comte had assigned the man to be Seiya’s caretaker, and Leonardo took that duty to heart, sometimes too seriously. 

Sometimes, during their drawing afternoons, Leonardo would suddenly just pop out of nowhere, grab her notebook and throw it in the grass. The first time he did that, Vincent was so shocked his hands stopped painting, his paintbrush falling on the grass unnoticed. 

There was only the sound of the wind, and the shifting of fabric as Seiya smoothed her skirt and walked towards her notebook. She would have a pained expression on her face, and she would wipe her book clean with the hem of her skirt. And Leonardo would just stand there, puffing his cigarrillo in, and blowing it all out with a heavy sigh. 

“Fanculo…” she whispered. And Vincent froze. His neck slowly guided his eyes toward Leonardo, who now looked more annoyed than when he first walked in. 

Vincent usually did not know how to respond to situations like these. Their silence made it impossible for him to intervene. Leonardo was not violent, no, and he wasn’t the type to insult women. But Seiya didn’t like it when someone ordered her around. 

Dealing with Theo at first proved to be one of the hurdles she had to overcome before making the mansion her home too. Vincent would always remember the face she made when Theo called her a ‘hondje’. And the long road it took for them to actually make an effort to sit down, have an actual conversation and eventually get to know each other. 

But with Leonardo, it was something different. 

Seiya was composed, and usually calm - at least Vincent thought so - he always felt relaxed whenever they were together. Seiya would often say something and he would apologise for not listening carefully to what she had to say. In the end though, they both agreed that it was more that she spoke too softly, rather than him spacing out and not listening. 

Vincent knew that feeling too well. And maybe, it was one of the reasons why they enjoyed each other’s company. Soft souls, his little brother called them. 

But with Leonardo, it was different. 

Seiya acted more like a child around him. She would pout, call him names and he would let her. And then they would retreat to his room. Sometimes the library. Sometimes, her room, very late into the night. 

“I told you. You should stop these silly doodles.” When Leonardo finally spoke, it sounded more like a request than actual lecturing. Seiya would look away, and she would hold her dear treasure closer to her chest. 

Vincent, without a word, held out his hands to both of them, as if trying to stop the eruption that was about to happen. Seiya would whisper, that it was none of his business. That made Vincent realise that her notebook was something more valuable than they all deem it to be. And that it was very personal. And, for whatever reason and content it held, Leonardo was against it. 

He hated it. Vincent could see it. Enough for him to go out of his way to get it off her hands and into the dirt. 

This would happen every now and then, and oddly enough, Vincent knew he should get used to it. 

In the evening, Vincent brought her a pot of flowers. Hoping she would calm down. Vincent knew his friend did not like cut flowers so whenever he wanted to cheer her up, he would pick a small pot from their growing collection, and walk it to her room. 

That day, he could remember she argued with Leonardo again. She was upset that he did what he did during their “good days”. Vincent felt great earlier in the day and wanted to paint, and she too, felt inspiration course through her hands. And Leonardo just shattered that moment. 

Vincent frowned a bit as he leaned against the wall a little further away from the door of Seiya’s room. He could now understand why she was so upset and his heart ached for her. But what he didn’t understand was why Leonardo hated her notebook. Did he dislike that she drew? He couldn’t put his mind around it. 

Seiya stormed out, and ran to the opposite direction in tears. After a while, he found her behind the lush greens of the Gazebo. Almost how a little kid would hide themselves after a fight with a another kid after an afternoon at the sandbox. He remembered how quietly she cried. And how warm her hand was when he helped her out of the grass. 

They sat underneath the stars, just by a bench near the gate of the mansion. And there, she showed him. He didn’t really say anything, no, Vincent just sat with her. Hoping his presence would alleviate the stress and agitation she felt. Seiya felt like she needed to tell Vincent what was happening. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Her voice was always soft, like a silent prayer you hear inside a church. You should make out the words, but they would always sound like some foreign incantation made to sound familiar.

Vincent would often lean in and apologise. Asking her to repeat herself one more time, for his sake. Seiya would chuckle a bit and she would take a deep breath and would speak a little louder. 

“Do you dislike Leonardo?” He asked her one time. And she looked at him with the strangest expression on her face. It was as if it was obvious that she did, but she also looked like she was shocked to hear him ask this question. It was hard for Vincent to understand her, most of the time.

 Seiya did not say anything, but she gave him her notebook. Vincent’s eyes widened with interest and curiosity. He was excited and Seiya chuckled when she saw the eagerness in his blue eyes. 

“Are you sure?” He asked just to be sure. It was dark, but he could still see the pink on Seiya’s cheeks. Her hair looked like starlight illuminating her from the nipping dark of dusk. 

Vincent never felt like this before. The build up curiosity all stemming from the enigma that was her notebook, made the first look inside the pages of this mysterious book all the more exciting. He felt like a pirate, opening the treasure chest, seeing the valuable contents for the very first time. 

And then, he stopped. 

“You can’t tell anyone. Please?” 

To be continued. 

MORE A/N:

I’ve been wanting to write this for so so so so so so so long.  I’m currenlty writing a very self-indulgent longfic for Twisted Wonderland and my OC so I had no excuse not to write this one. The title came very naturally and I felt like that’s when the chapters really took off in my head. At first there were just notes, or screaming/typing I shared with friends. But I felt I needed to do baby Seiya right and write her story out. 

I hope you like my IkeVamp writing attempt! I also posted this on Ao3 (onibeni). In the days I can’t draw for Kinktober, I’ll write (at least I’ll try). So this will be good practice oho~ 

Thank you for reading! ♡

[ughthatimagineblog]

not that smart

draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader

requested: Hello! Um if you could, i would love a imagine where a ravenclaw girl, who actually isnt that smart and has to study all the time, catches the eye of draco. And draco is all rude and teases her continuously about not being smart even tho she really is until they have to do a project together and he is forced to work with her. And then he starts to really fall for her because of how hard she works to make the great grades she gets. I love all your stuff and thank you for your time and everything!

word count: 1597

warnings: idk tbh just be prepared for anything, OH WAIT, theres like mentions of a KiND OF smutty scene? like its just kissing but it paints an image of hot draco if u read it soooo

a/n: wowza this took 5 ever, now i can do my max v and hugh imagines! this was super fun to write tho. writing for harry potter always requires a lot of research for me lol

 Birds flew around your Herbology class outside. You were in the middle of a book when you heard your friend Draco Malfoy laugh along with his goons. “Of course I do. Do you really think I’d believe that the stupid sorting hat made the right decision? Sure, she’s in Ravenclaw but she isn’t that smart.” He laughed, sounding cocky. You rolled your eyes. He was always like this around people. Attractive bastard. You thought to yourself. “Yeah, Malfoy? Is Chinese Chomping Cabbage useful for potions or charms? Or neither?” You quizzed him, poking your head up from your book.

 He began to turn read as he looked at the two boys who were with him. C’mon, Malfoy, we’re in fifth year for God's sake. You thought to yourself. “Uh,” He stuttered out an a lightbulb went off in his head. He smirked and crossed his arms. “Neither.” He said confidently.

 “Incorrect.” Professor Sprout shrilled, appearing at the end of the greenhouse. “Used for potions.” You said with a sad smile and Professor Sprout confirmed.    Draco was as red as a tomato having just been proved wrong. “Speaking of knowledge,” Professor Sprout turned to the class.    “We will be doing a three week long project on the different plants in this greenhouse and their uses.” Professor Sprout told the class. “You will be paired with someone to do this in the time allotted. I will be choosing partners.” A collection of disappointed sighs was heard amongst the students.     Even you let out a small huff. You were hoping to be paired with Neville. You liked Draco and he was your friend and all, but Neville was the best at Herbology and you truly wanted to compare notes with him.

 “Draco, you seem like you could use some practice, so I will be pairing you with Y/N.” She told him and the other kids laughed and Draco was visibly upset. Not that the disappointment was real. Deep down, he knew you and had talked with you before. You were enjoyable company. But you were a halfblood and Draco couldn’t be seen with a half blood. Not in a friendly way. His family has bred him to believe all half-bloods were all stupid and dirty, almost on-level with mudbloods.

 You knew of the feelings Draco had towards you and, though you disagreed, you understood and respected his wishes.  In one of your small conversations he had even told you to be prepared. “I might say some mean things, but I might not mean them. Some of them.” He had said in a hushed tone.   You two were just friends and in reality, he didn’t know you too well. But you knew all about him. You liked the boy. If only he wasn’t so mean. But you know why he’s like this. It isn’t his fault. You told yourself.

 Once everyone was paired, Draco moved closer to you reluctantly. “Do you even know how to identify plants just by looks?” He asked with doubt. You held the book you were reading up. It was an illustrated guide to identifying all magical herbs and plants. “Oh.” Was all he said.  “I’ll start taking notes on the plants I can find. You need to read so you can help.” You told him and he rolled his eyes with a glare. You brushed him off and walked away.  Draco sat down and began to read.  While you were investigating a Screechsnap, you caught a glance at the boy you were paired with,only to find he was barely a boy anymore.  You had known Draco since you were eleven and here you both were, now sixteen and Draco’s baby fat had disappeared. His muscles were now more defined and his jawline clenched and unclenched as he turned the pages. You caught a glimpse at the way he sat and you noticed he had rolled up his sleeves to show his defined arms.  You felt your face heat up as you noticed how, almost manly, he looked and you quickly turned back to the task at hand, shaking off whatever thoughts roamed your mind.  Meanwhile, Draco was reading and he notice scribbles here and there on the pages. How could he not? They practically took up the margins that weren’t taken up with the book’s original text.  Things like ‘Do not use for. . .’ and ‘Works best at this temperature with this plant’. Some even had page numbers directing you to different plants. Draco looked up at you, surprised you had been this thorough in your studies. He noticed a small redness on your cheeks and his heart skipped.  She’s blushing. He thought to himself, quickly followed by, of course she is, you idiot, it’s bloody hot in here. His thoughts made his smile fade a bit and his head turn back to the book. Yet, no matter how many times that second voice spoke, he couldn’t help but listen more to the first one.  It had been Friday the day you and Draco were paired together and as you returned to class monday, Draco noticed a small pouch slung across your shoulder. “What’s that? Where you keep your teacher’s pet awards?” Draco teased and you rolled your eyes, opening the door to the greenhouse. “You’ll see, Malfoy.” You told him.  You got to your station and pulled out a small book and rolls of parchment paper that had writing all over it. “What’s this?” He asked.  “It’s all of my notes over every plant in this greenhouse. All I have to do is copy it down in this book and draw a few illustrations and then we can turn this in a few weeks early.” You said simply and Draco was at a loss for words. After two minutes, you counted, he spoke. “We?” He asked, watching you pull out a quill and some ink. “Yes. We.” You told him, not necessarily bothering to look up.  Draco’s stomach dropped. He was feeling. . . Guilty? “Why? Why would you turn it in if I didn’t do anything?” He asked quietly. You looked up, unaware of how close his face was to yours.You stopped moving abruptly but stayed in the same spot. You gulped and found your words.  “I’m surprised you care. Besides, I don’t mind.” You told him and you locked eyes with him, suddenly aware of his hot breath fanning your face.  “Well give me the book and I can do some of the illustrations.” He reached for the book but you placed a hand on his. “Truly, Draco, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”  But he did worry about it. He stayed up at night, thinking about why you would do that for him. The next couple days, you showed up to class with the same few things. The book, that began to grow with words and pictures everyday you showed up, the parchment paper that held all of your notes, a quill and some ink, and your original studies book. Draco, guiltily, walked around and pretended to take notes as you instructed him to do so Professor Sprout wouldn’t be suspicious.  On the third day, Thursday, you came to class with just the book and quill in your hands. You set it down in front of Draco and he looked up at you. “I figured you would want to look at it before I turn it in.” You said blandly but your heart was racing. I hope he likes it. Your mind seemed to scream. You hadn’t been able to get Draco out of your mind.  The image of him with his sleeves rolled, a couple buttons undone, hair a mess above you, stroking your face and kissing your lips, it simply just wouldn’t leave you alone.  “This,” his voice snapped you out of your daydream. “Is wonderful.” He looked up at you. “The work and art is so detailed, Y/N, this is magic.” He said in awe. He looked at you and felt the urge to kiss you. He was wrong about you not being intelligent enough for Ravenclaw. You could be smarter than Hermione Granger.  “It’s not, I promise.” You laughed at his words and he nearly swooned. Her laugh. . . Draco sighed in his mind. He closed the book and looked down at it.  His name was signed on the front next to yours and that pang of guilt flowed through him again. “Thank you, Y/N.” He said, honestly. Your station was towards the back and most of the students were outside. The ones that were inside were either out of earshot or they simply didn’t care.  “Anything for y- I mean anytime.” You caught your automatic response and changed the words quickly. But Draco caught it and his heart nearly lept out of his chest.  His hand reached up to cup your face and he leaned in. Just bloody kiss her, mate. The voice inside his mind screamed. His lips touched your cheek and stayed there for a few beats longer than a friendly kiss-on-the cheek.  He pulled away hesitantly to find that same blush he now adored on your cheeks. He then proceeded to take the quill from off the table and fix a misspelled letter on the cover. You had spelled Herbology ‘Herbalogy’. An early-morning mistake, the both of you knew.  Your blush grew to a red when you saw what you had done.

  “Thank you.” You stuttered out as Draco tucked his hands in his pockets. “Anything for you.” He said, deciding to leave his feelings to be announced later, and left the greenhouse.

hope you enjoyed!

[thatawesomenerdygirl]

Misjudgement

Requested by; Anon

“If request open, will u pls do some angst bruce x reader? Where they used to date for months but he doesnt take their relationship seriously. Its just a cover for public image to him. He thought the reader is a shallow person like the usual women he dated before. But reader is actually smart but choose to pretend to be shallow. Bruce broke up with her. Then years later they met n he learn who she is. He want to get to know her n pursue her but she still hurt with him. Thanks in advance.”

Warning; Angst (not really because I suck) and sudden change of POV. And off the prompt, just a little.

You had your arms around Bruce's, smile not leaving your lips as you went to your 12th date with him. You've dated for months with him, you love him with all your heart. You always at your best when you were with him, all dolled up so you wouldn't feel self-conscious and out of place when he brought you to a fancy looking place.

Tonight was the night he promised that he would spend his time with you, he brought you to a quite fancy restaurant. You thanked all the gods up there that you've made the right decisions to dress as fancy as you could even though your intention was only to spent the night with him, playing or whatever, but being a shy woman that you were you couldn't say it. The words were stuck in your throat.

So you gave up and just spent your night dining in a restaurant nearby until late. You didn't have any appointments or meeting with your manager and the other agencies tomorrow morning, being a model as a job was hard, you were treated like a barbie doll.

The both of you sat down on a table near the window, the view was so great you couldn't take your eyes off it. But when you did you spotted a tinge of uncomfortableness in Bruce's blue eyes, he somehow didn't look as happy as you did.

"Bruce?" You called to the billionaire softly, placing your much smaller hand on top of his. You could feel he tensed as he looked at you, "what's wrong?"

"Don't worry darling," he finally responded after a moment of awkward silence, he moved his hand from your gentle grip to put it into his pocket. "I'm okay." He assured.

You didn't believe any of his words but decided to let it drop because you knew he wouldn't like it if you pushed the topic too far. You also had this weird feeling, your chest tightened when you think about it. Why?

The foods came, the two of you had a little chit chat, you did most of the talk since Bruce had preferred to listen instead of talking. You asked him about his day he only answered with boring as usual with a chuckle.

It went on and on, it got worse each day. You were always the one who called him, asking him about his day, what is he doing, telling him that you missed him, saying goodnight even I love you. You missed him a lot. On Saturday night you decided not to contact him to see if he would do it.

You received no calls and no messages. No nothing.

It saddened you, it made your heart drop when you woke up to work. Your manager had warned you about him, telling you that he was just using you to which you answered with,

"Give him a break, he's a kind and generous man. He's sweet, all of you need to see past his walls, his barriers. I love him not for his money, I love him for...Him, nothing else matters."

You managed to smile for the entire day until someone came into your changing room. A mail woman, you greeted her with the widest smile on your face. She returned your smile and gave you a letter.

"Oh, from Bruce." You smiled softly after reading where it was from. Your smile dropped at what you saw next.

Let's end this. This won't ever work.

-B.

The mail woman saw your tears that slowly dripping down to the paper, they dropped right on Bruce's signature. The ink slowly faded because of your tears, the old woman you didn't know hugged you hoping it would bring you some comfort. You gladly accepted her little embrace as you cried.

Your manager who just came back from a coffee shop saw your state. She immediately put the coffee cups down and joined to embrace you. You kept on breaking down, everything was so blurry, so monochrome. All colors were gone from your eyes.

Since then you stopped being a model, your manager understands and she supported you. She even helped you looked for a new job, she knew how much of a smarty you were, she knew your abilities and skill because you were the one who helped her with everything that she couldn't handle. You became a scientist and your manager who also a lowkey smarty became your partner.

It took years for you to completely forgot about Bruce Wayne, about the good times you soon realized that you were the only one who enjoyed it, all the talks, everything. You even realized that he never took your relationship seriously, he used you. You were wrong... Or weren't you?

Soon your names were spread all over the news and cities, not because of your successful model career this time, instead, it was because of your brain. Your accomplishments, your ideas to make the city a better place, your works, your inventions. Not your body.

It was so satisfying, it felt good to be yourself and not the shallow woman everybody had come to know.

Everything you did reached Bruce's ears, he watched you from his TV in his office, he even watched every speech you made. He misjudged you, he made a wrong move. He looked down at a scarf you made for him on your first ever Valentine's day, he should've known that you weren't like any woman he had met and dated.

Those women never made something for him, they never even tried to. Bruce only could imagine how broken you were when he sent you that letter, that heartbreaking letter.

He ran his fingers through his raven hair, a sigh of frustration left his chapped lips. He had never felt like this before, why should he care? You were nothing. You were supposed to be nothing.

Then without him knowing 2 years had passed, Bruce couldn't get you off his mind. Karma is a bitch. He lived 2 more years of his life thinking about you, he now had fallen for you. He wanted to know you better, apologizes for what he did and even telling you the truth. Hours after hours he made up his mind.

He needs you.

2.31 PM, your work will be over in another 29 minutes. You didn't mind to stay longer in the lab since you enjoyed it, you enjoyed making things.

"(Y/N)! Someone is looking for you." Your colleague said, the blonde man brought in someone you hadn't met in years, you never expected to meet him here. You stared up at Bruce with wide eyes as soon as your gaze landed on him, you slowly gaining your composure back and looked at your male colleague.

"Thank you, I need some privacy."

He gave you a nod, a hint of worry was visible on his face. Of course, he knew your little scandal with the playboy, it reached everybody's ears.

"Please sit." You offered, he didn't budge and walked to where you were currently working on. It was a little device, a really small device. "What is it, Mr. Wayne?" You asked politely.

Bruce was taken aback upon hearing your voice, it was so different. It somehow had changed. When he first heard your voice it was so annoying he wanted to cover his ears every time you talked but now it sounded like a music. gentle, melodic and soothing were the only thing that could describe you right now.

Bruce didn't realize he had been silent the whole time until he heard your voice calling his name again.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"Oh, sorry." He quickly apologized.

"You should be." Your words made him tensed in his place, he looked at you still with his usual face but inside he felt his stomach churned and filled with an uncomfortable feeling.

"I shouldn't have done that." He finally responded.

"No, you shouldn't have."

More silence, you seemed so calm under the awkwardness. You couldn't help it, you were used to it. This awkwardness was the same thing you felt when you were still with him, still happy.

"Are you trying to get me back?"

Yes. He answered in his mind, I want to know you better I want to see you better from a different perspective.

"You're too dangerous for me Bruce." You continued, stopping your work and leaned your back against the seat. Eyes looking up at him sadly, "You turned me away like I begged for your money." You added.

Bruce didn't say anything, he couldn't say anything which you took as an opportunity to continue your speech. "I loved you, I did. I thought I saw through you but I was so naïve and stupid, so wrong."

You didn't notice Bruce had knelt down in front of you and gently took your smaller hand in his, it felt so warm now. The only thing you could feel when you dated him was coldness, it felt weird.

Bruce felt your fingers twitched in surprise but he didn't draw his hand back, he gave you a gentle squeeze.

"I was blind back then." He finally spoke up, "I didn't know it would hurt you that much. I thought you were like the other women and I was wrong I misjudged you. I'm just going to ask you once, I don't want to force you, will you give me another chance to get to know you better?"

You stared at his blue eyes, noticing that he didn't get enough sleep. Another silence filled the room once more before you stood up and drew your hand back from him.

"I don't know Bruce, I'm still scared." You grabbed your bag, walking towards the door before opening it open and stepped out. "I'll think about it."

[ END ]

Nope, not gonna continue this, I'm sorry!!!

Sorry for grammar errors hope you enjoyed!

-K!

Oh a little fun fact, I rewrote this like... 2 times. The other two has 2000 more words XD AND I DELETED THEM!