#condescending and shitty i just snapped

[bearsgrove]

ok what fucking year are we in that people are still like "if u play video games in your free time thats such a turn off :/" or simply "video games = bad, addictive, waste of time, what is wrong with you, get help"

[omgeto]

☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop. 

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours. 

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised.  ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer. 

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art. 

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know. 

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you. 

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force. 

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere. 

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.” 

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

[blockedbykei]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖

🏐— tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?

— warnings: swearing, a bit suggestive, enemies to lovers (although kind of enemies)

You slam your paper on his desk.

Tsukishima barely flinches. He removes his headphones and hangs them on his neck, unbothered by your looming presence as he stares blankly at your paper. 96

The corners of his lips tug down, seemingly unimpressed. "Eh."

"Eh? Aw, is little Tsukishima disappointed at himself?"

He looks up at you, stares deeply into your eyes. And for a moment you'd think his domineering gaze would soften as he was overawed by you. But then he smiles, that annoying little shitty, narcissistic smile.

"Actually, not at all (l/n)," his smile is bright, almost genuine, but his sarcasm is radiating. "I got a 98. Not bad, though!"

You swear steam was coming off your body.

"96 at modern Japanese." He says. "Understandable."

"Understandable?!"

"Don't beat yourself up, (l/n). Not everyone's perfect," he leans back. "Not even me. I mean, I'm just being humble. But yeah, not everyone."

"I hate you," you take your paper off his desk.

"Flattered. Really, really flattered. Thank you for hating me, actually. I feel so honored to be hated." He puts his headphones back on and places his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on his joint fists. Tsukishima smiles at you again.

God, his smile is infuriating.

Tsukishima was someone you'd go to great lengths to defeat. He never bothered for your existence when first year began. He didn't even know your name; Didn't even look at your direction. He'd only known it a month later when you were paired to be partners and he decided to be such a condescending brat when he pointed out your handwriting.

At first you ignored it, took it by heart and started organizing your writings on your notes. Then he decided to put all his self-hatred on you and started to discreetly judge you.

Maybe he wasn't even judging you. Maybe he was just staring at your paper, scoffed to himself, shook his head and laughed because you got a better score than him and he was berating himself. But no, he laughed because he thought you were a tryhard and he was a prodigy.

Obviously none of those were confirmed. But he's a man and a man hates it when a woman's happy.

When he smirks you have the urge to rip his lips to pieces.

You walk away from him and sit on your desk, which was actually beside him.

His scent follows your flaring nostrils as you carefully shove your paper between the notebooks in your bag. Tsukishima looks out the window, hiding his smirk, his foot tapping lightly but never making sound. So you put your own headphones over your ears, in hopes to drown out his deafening aura.

🏐 —

"Shit!"

Tsukishima's knees bends the wrong way and almost falls onto his back as he lands on the ground. The ball echoes across the court as it ricochets off the floor. You laugh loudly, and everyone looks at you.

"You're too advanced for the block, idiot!" You say loudly. Yamaguchi giggles.

He rolls his eyes at you as he chases for the ball. Kageyama sits beside you.

"You know he plays horribly when you're here."

"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Is he not used to a girl looking at her?"

Kageyama scratches his nose. "Probably 'cause he hates you."

You laugh lightly. "Kinda nice that I'm here. I get to see him fuck up."

Kageyama snorts. "He feels pressured 'cuz you're here."

"Oh? He said that?"

"No. But I can hear him think."

You laugh and wipe your sweat off. "I'd play with you guys, but his remarks could piss me off and I might, uh, shove that ball up his ass."

When Kageyama laughs again, quite loudly, Tsukishima's head snaps at the bench where you're sitting. Heat rises to his head, his stance losing its usual strength, his arms weakening as he watches you—

Laughing, at some joke you said or Tobio said. Laughing heartily like someone just made the best joke in the world. The way your lips almost reach the wrinkles beneath your eyes. Oh, that's so funny Tobio. You're so funny you should quit volleyball and be a stand up comedian!

He knows you're talking shit about him, too. Idiot. Brat. Showoff.

He had the right to show off. He was better than you.

He was the better thinker; the better scorer.

Tsukishima is better than you.

I'm better than you—

The ball hits the side of his face, his glasses flailing to the side.

The first thing that reaches his ears—your sickening laugh. That monstrous, sadistic guffaw. Tanaka yells from the other side of the court and dives beneath the net to take a look at his face. Nishinoya hovers, hands on his knees, laughing.

"Pay attention, dumbass!" You cuff your hands over your mouth. "Stop daydreaming! It's embarrassing."

He bends to pick his glasses up. Alive, no cracks, frame not broken. He puts it on the bridge of his nose so that he could see your face clearly.

Hideously alluring.

"Do you think of scheming as daydreaming, (l/n)?" his voice, full of disdain, though hidden through feigned sweetness. "Like a child as always. Go back to middle school?"

"Do better at volleyball?"

"I ought to kick the both of you out this court," Daichi says loudly. "Oh wait I can't speak to (l/n) like that. S-sorry!"

Tsukishima sneers, his lips frowning. He approaches the rolling ball, watching as it hits the wall and propells back towards his awaiting feet. When he picks it up, he steals another glance at you talking to Kageyama.

The King and the Brat. The most annoying combination in the entirety of Karasuno campus.

Somehow, seeing you next to Kageyama and being given the nickname as if the two of you were a pair sends a tight rope around his chest that causes it to ache a little. Tsukishima huffs it out, an unsettling in his bones.

Please don't look at me.

The ball flies into the air, and his palm raises just in time to make contact with the ball.

He sees you watch from the corner of his eye, a blurried silhouette, but your figure was familiar enough for him to recognize you. His heart beats a little louder.

🏐 —

No.

Shit. Fuck. No

God damnit. 74.

Tsukishima stares at his paper in horror. In his entire life, he has always gotten two digits on his scores. However, they had always been ninety onwards. Never in the line of sevens. He doesn't know if his horror is displayed across his face. He prays it doesn't—he would die if you saw his expression.

He leans sideways to the right, his eye darting towards the side to peak at your paper.

98.

The english language was something that was easy to learn but never easy in exams. This—despite boasting that english was the easiest subject—was his weakness.

You're too preoccupied to notice his existence. Good.

He turns around to look at the green haired boy.

"Yamaguchi." He whisper-yelled. "Tadashi."

Yamaguchi looks up. "Yes?"

This was it. Years of built up pride, intelligence, boosted ego— down the drain. As soon as he'd ask him the question, it would forever alter the image of himself towards his friend. Tsukishima was no longer the brainy four-eyes of the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

He would now be Tsukishima, the idiot four-eyes.

Maybe I'm overreacting.

He stands up and sits beside the empty chair next to Yamaguchi.

"How- What's your score?"

Yamaguchi looks puzzled as he glances at his paper. "E-eighty eight."

God, this is depressing.

"Um," Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck. "Could you help me with English?"

There it is. His face says it all.

"Don't you even—"

"You, Tsukishima Kei, asking for my help?" He laughs incredulously. "Are you sure? What's your score?"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"Aw, c'mon Tsukki." He pouts playfully like comforting a weeping baby. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Tsukishima tells him in a low voice. He never thought he could hate Yamaguchi's laugh. But he did, right after he laughed at his score. It wasn't even a failing grade.

"You know who should tutor you though?" He puts his paper in his bag. "(l/n). She's good, y'know. I heard her speak english once. I thought she was from, uh, some foreign country or something."

"She's not even that good." Tsukishima takes off his glasses and wipes it with the corner of his uniform. "She's good with memory but she forgets it right after the quiz like a ditz."

Yamaguchi snorts. "She's the one who got the best score out of all of us."

"Yeah, no thanks. I'd never let her teach me."

"I think you're forgetting I'm right here in front of you." You turn around, placing your elbow and forearm on the back of your chair and look at Tsukishima. "I can teach you."

Tsukishima scoffs. "No thanks. I'd rather repeat freshman year."

"Are you sure?" you pout, placing your chin on the back of your hand. "I can teach you, little Tsukishima."

"I'm not little."

"Yeah but your brain is."

"Yamaguchi, help me out here."

He can't ask for your help. Never ever. Never will he ever ask for your help. Tsukishima can study this himself. He's always studied by himself. He's never needed anyone, and certainly not you. He was independent, cunning as everyone says. Tsukishima does not need tutors.

Up until now.

"Please help Tsukishima study," Yamaguchi looks at you. "He's too prideful to ask but he really needs your help."

Tsukishima stammers. "T-that's not what I meant!"

"Aw, is this true?" You're taunting him. He feels like a child.

"I can study by myself. Fuck off."

You smile at him. In a way that he can't read. It was soft, almost kind, like you wanted to help him wholeheartedly and wanted his english to improve. Then he looked into your eyes and all the kindness in your smile had been washed away by this pity in your eyes that you enjoyed. Tsukishima huffs.

"No need to be shy about asking for help, little Tsukki," you coo. "We'll study in the locker room while everyone else plays. You're skipping practice today."

Tsukishima zips his bag and stands up. He towers over you, covering the sun that blinds you through the glass window. He looks down at your eyes—teasing, condescending eyes. His lips are turned to a frown, which makes you smile even more.

"I'm not skipping practice."

"Too bad. You are. You know, if you let me help you, you'd stop having that distraught face everytime you get your english paper." You take a step closer, neck bent backwards to look up at him. "Yeah, I saw your face."

Yamaguchi nudges his arm. "C'mon, Kei. Ask for her help. You know you need it. Don't be so prideful."

Tsukishima growls. He doesn't say anything yet, all the confidence in him washed away by a score that wasn't even a failing grade. His palm rubs the space between his eyebrows and mumbles:

"Help me."

You lean in, ear towards him. "Couldn't hear that. Sorry?"

"Help me study."

"Are you commanding me or asking?"

"Please help me study."

"Don't mumble, Tsukishima."

"Damn it!" He groans. "Please help me, dearest (l/n)." His voice drips in sarcasm, peering at you through his scratched lenses. "Help me get a better grade at english. Help me stop myself from strangling you! Idiot!"

You lean back, the bottom of your spine resting on your table as your left hand props you up. Tsukishima is almost seething, his eyes widened a little as his anger seethes through his nostrils. You hum, pretend to think, then slap his right cheek twice lightly.

"How kind of you to ask, little Tsukki." You wrinkle your nose at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you at the locker room."

When you leave, his head turns to Yamaguchi who smiles innocently. Tsukishima almost strangles him instead.

🏐—

The boys are thirty minutes late to practice. Including Daichi.

"It's the sequence of the words, Tsukishima," you point your pen at his test paper. "The spelling's no problem. You're good at it. It's just with how you've formed them together."

They all sit behind the two of you, watching silently. Tsukishima is red from embarrassment as he ignores them.

"What's so wrong about this sequence? It sounds correct."

"Just because it sounds correct doesn't mean that it is correct."

Hinata snorts. Tsukishima's head snaps at it. "Don't snort, dumbass. Last time I checked you got a twenty at your exam."

"You hit a nerve there, Shoyo," Kageyama giggles.

You sigh and slap your hands at your thighs. "Sawamura-san, why are you guys even here?"

He stammers, his back straightening as he fixes his bag on his left shoulder. "Jus–Just wanted to make sure you two will be fine. Let's go guys."

When they leave, Tsukishima relaxes in relief. He stares intensely at his notebook, figuring out the correct answer. You try not to laugh at him, but the sight was entertaining; seeing him suffer brought your heart at ease.

"Figured it out, moron?" You bring your own notebook out, flipping it to the last page you'd written on. "It's really not that hard."

"Shut up, (l/n.)" he says. You make a small sound, similar to "okay!" As you begin to write down on a blank page.

And you're like that for a few hours.

Tsukishima answers the questions you've written for him, and when he asks you for help, you cordially help him without telling him the answers. Then you both go back to formidable silence, doing your own perspective works.

He almost enjoys this newfound environment created with you. Somehow, his body is more tranquil, but at the same time his mind is racing, because you're here. Tutoring him. Tsukishima has always believed that he was one step ahead of you, making sure you were unable to catch up with him. But now he's slipped from that step and you've caught up and you're deriding him.

Nonetheless, you're his only hope right now.

He looks at you.

Your hair is tucked behind your ears and your teeth are currently creating dents at the eraser of your pencil. You're concentrating, seeming like you've forgotten that he's sitting in front of you. And Tsukishima's eyes are extremely blurred, but when he looks at you through the gap between his glasses and forehead, your face was somehow clearer.

"Are you a dog?" he raises a brow. "Don't chew on your pencil."

You huff like you're being scold and place your pencil down. But the chewing didn't last a second as your bottom lip is now tucked between your teeth. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

"Here," he flips his paper and shows it to you. "Did I do it correctly?"

You take the paper from him and read it. He hopes you're at least slightly impressed, that you're not arbitrating his answers nor think they're half-assed. When your red pen moves into a slant, the corner of his lip twitches upwards. But when you circle the number, he has this urge to shove that pen into your eye.

"Hm, not bad. But not enough." you flip the paper.

70.

Four points less.

"Damn it." You can tell he's disappointed at himself. "You suck at teaching."

"Excuse me?!" Your eyebrows furrow. "Hey, I've spent the past four hours teaching you here, stickhead. The sun's almost down!"

"Do you have to go home already?" He asks. You shrug. "Then we can stay here until they're done with practice."

"Tsukishima, I have freshly cooked doburi waiting for me at home. Do you know what donburi is? Do you know what it tastes like while it's still hot? Fucking donburi, Tsukishima." You whine. "Would you like to study at my place instead?"

You seem to not have processed what you've offered, but Tsukishima has. He's surprised at your comment, watching you look so desperate to get home and eat that "fucking donburi." He waits for a moment until you realize and you do, but it seemed like you didn't care when you lean back and raise a brow.

"Well?"

"Sure."

His quick, almost unhesitant compliance surprises you. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and brings his headphones out as you both head out the door. You lock it behind you, with Tsukishima already walking ahead.

You pass by the gym. "Sawamura, everyone, we're heading out!"

Tsukishima appears beside you. "We're going."

"To where?" Yamaguchi approaches you both. "Are you going to eat out? Ooh, can you bring food back here?"

"We're going to her place to study." He answers. "We can't come back."

The others seem to hear what he said, because Hinata yells: "What kind of studying are you going to do, Stingyshima?"

"Something that your tiny shit-for-brains can't comprehend." He retorts. "Focus on your receives, squirt!"

You wave to everyone and catch a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile. You roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue out.

🏐 —

The way home was quieter than you expected.

Mainly because Tsukishima had his headphones on and all you hear was your un synchronous footsteps on the stoned sidewalk. You take small looks at your peripherals to see what he's doing. And, well, he's walking... like every other normal person.

But you're walking side by side and there's this space between you that's so close but also so far away. You feel his heat touching the fabric of your shirt, his hand twitching and just barely grazing yours. Then he speaks:

"You walk like a penguin," he says. "Why are you like that?"

"Why are you so annoying?" you roll your eyes. "I don't point out how you walk."

"That's because there's nothing wrong with my walk," he puts his headphones down, hangs them around his neck. "What? Got a stick up your ass or something?"

"I'll stab you with that stick."

"Gross."

You turn a corner and he follows suit like it was normal for him to follow you around. When you stop in front of your gate and unlock it, he bore no unhestiance as he removed his shoes and entered your home.

There was no one else around. And as soon as Tsukishima entered, you disappeared in his vision. Although, he hears you yell from afar: "Set your bag wherever. Stay in the living room though!"

He assumes you're either changing your clothes, getting a bowl of donburi, or both. He obeys, sets his bag on the floor and sits cross legged on the carpet of your living room, taking his notes out. He sees the sun inching away behind the roofs of the houses near by, waiting for you patiently.

And then his eyes roam to picture frames.

Never would he think that a picture of you smiling would be so endearing. That smile of yours, painting you an angelic aura, like people would never expect that you'd be the devil's descendant. Nonetheless, you were still beautiful.

The picture was you in a ponytail, face doused in sweat; the background, although blurry and dark, looked familiar. But Tsukishima was more focused on your gleaming smile, the way your eyes are almost closed and your lips were pale and your teeth were shiny.

"Hey, douchebag," you sit beside him despite the free space on the opposite of the coffee table, setting down two bowls of donburi. And yes, you had changed your clothes into something comfier. "Let's eat and study."

He never expected that you'd get him a bowl, thought that he'd have to ask or drop hints of him wanting donburi. He takes it though, and it is freshly cooked. He now understood your eagerness to go home.

An hour passes by.

The bowls are empty and set aside. Tsukishima's notes are scattered, hair disheveled from him constantly running his fingers through them. That string of hatred between you has been put aside as you both seem to tolerate one another through this session.

"Tsukishima," you say, almost sternly, placing two cartons of strawberry milk on the table. "It's easy to determine an adverb in Japanese. It's no different in identifying it in English."

"I know that, dumbass. What are you, a consciousness?" He takes his box, taking the plastic off the straw and shoving it on the circular foil. "Gimme yours."

He takes your carton and shakes it before doing the same and handing it to you. You blush vehemently, murmuring your gratitude and wrapping your lips around the paper straw.

Tsukishima's eyes wander out of boredom, tracing every corner and every ridge of your home. Until his eyes land on the sliding door to your backyard and catch a glimpse of that familiar blue and yellow ball.

"You play volleyball?" he queries, both his eyebrows raising.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Back in middle school."

"Bet you were shit at it."

"I was a middle blocker."

Tsukishima's back straightens, staring at you in hidden surprise. "At that height?"

"I'm not that short! Asshole," you throw your pen at him. He catches it with ease, setting it beside his notebook.

"Why aren't you in the women's volleyball club, then?" his brow raises. "Too short? They didn't take you? Failed the tryouts?"

You look down at your fingers, covered in peeled up skin and charred fingernails. You feel embarrassed, avoiding his eager stare. You sense his want to know your reason, radiating off his eyes.

"Not saying," you push yourself up, now standing in front of him. Tsukishima's eyes follow you, trailing uo from your thighs up to your neck, his irises darkening until he meets your gaze. "Get up. Time to go home."

"Let's play."

You stammer. "W-what? It's late."

"And I want to see you play." Tsukishima stands, hovering over you. "It's only nine in the evening."

You purse your lips, arms going limp on either side of your tired body. Though despite being worn out, you walk towards the door and slide it open, being greeted by Miyagi's brumal air that raises the hairs on your body. Tsukishima tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, covering half of his fingers, before following you out.

Barefoot in the evening, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow on your enervated bodies, the thump of the leather ball is in sync with your beating heart; and at each thump, it seems to wake Tsukishima up more.

"Tell me why you're not in the women's volleyball club," he sets it towards your direction.

"No." Your wrists join, your right fingers placing themselves on top of your left fingers, both thumbs settled side by side as your wrist ricochet the ball towards him. "It's none of your business."

Tsukishima catches it with ease. "You're lame."

You scoff, returning the ball. "I am not."

The blue and yellow ball floats into the evening air, the bright colors darkened by the stygian sky, only luminated by the moon and the lights outside your backyard. Tsukishima sets it to you again. "Listen, I don't really care about whatever your reason is. I just want to know."

You huff. There's no harm in telling your enemy a secret of yours, right? It's not like he was popular enough to go on and tell people. And like he said, he didn't care.

The ball comes in contact with your wrists. "I got injured. Well, not seriously injured. I can still play but I'm not as good as I used to be." Tsukishima catches the ball and rests it on his hip, listening to you explain. "I actually got a surgery at my calf."

You lift your pajamas just below your knee, showing the healed scar at the back of your calf. "The bone got dislocated 'cause one of my teammates smashed onto my leg when she was trying to save the ball. She got injured too, actually."

"Obviously," he retorts, now staring at your calf. Something about Tsukishima staring at your scar seemed too intimate as it should be, staring at your bare skin. His blonde hair drapes over his forehead, glasses glinting in the moonlight. "So where do you struggle?"

"Blocking. I can't jump properly." You scratch the back of your neck. "I can set though. Just, it's not in my heart."

"It's just a club," he says. "Play whatever position you want." Tsukishima sets the ball to you again.

"Just a club, huh?" You smirk. "Why'd you fail your test?"

"Because I was thinking too much of what I was gonna do when I'm at court again."

"And it's just a club."

"What's it to you?" He snaps. "At least I'm in the Volleyball club. Have I taken your dream?"

"You're a child."

"Yeah yeah. Join the club or whatever. Don't care if you don't or you want to."

You set it back to him again. "I want to."

Tsukishima senses your melancholy longing for the sport, sees your disheartened look as you think about all the chances you've lost. His heart twinges just the slightest, holding the ball between his slender hands. He almost pities you.

"Tell you what," he sets it to you. "If I pass the retest tomorrow, I'll help you with your blocking. If not," he shrugs, catching your return, "good luck with your life."

"You sound like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." You roll your eyes.

Tsukishima hopes he passes the retest tomorrow.

Mainly because it was import to him to ace it. Partly because he wanted to see you on court.

🏐 —

100.

You read Tsukishima's answers. In the fluorescent lights, his neat handwriting presents to you all the knowledge he's obtained from your chaotic teachings. He scoffs proudly, resting his lower back on the edge of his table.

"Not bad, nerd." You hand his paper to him. "And you beat me by two points."

"That's because you're an idiot," he sits down on his chair, though still facing you. "See you at the gym later."

Your brows furrow. "The gym's closed. Coach Ukai said today's rest day."

"But I'm not Coach Ukai," he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's just for today. And only today."

"Fine," you agree. You act like you're forced to say yes, but deep inside the vessels of your heart and every part of your brain, they throb with excitement.

So you meet Tsukishima outside the gym after class in a white shirt and gym shorts. He meets you there, clad in the same outfit, heat radiating off his body that warms your always cold flesh. For a moment he admires observes you, your attire unfamiliar but nevertheless appealing hideous.

When you enter, the court seemed bigger without the boys rousing around the court. It was quieter, no shoes squeaking, no balls slammed, no eager yelling. You set your bag down on the floor and see your untied shoe laces.

"Fuck," you mutter.

But before you could bend down, Tsukishima has already knelt in front of you.

His knee rests on the tip of your shoe, fingers ribboning the laces of your rubber shoes. Your eyes widen, body stiffening, and it felt like forever as he tied it (it was actually only 10 seconds).

"You're a dumbass for leaving your shoelaces untied." He makes no comment as to why he's decided to tie your laces, but you swear you see his ears turn a twinge of pink.

Tsukishima takes a ball and goes to the other side of the court. When you stand opposite from him, he rolls the ball to your direction.

"How long has it been since you've played?" he asks, loudly, voice echoing across the empty gymnasium.

"Uh, a year and a half." The ball bounces between your palm and the squeaky floor. "I'm a little rusty."

"You are rusty. Your receives were shit last night."

You growl at his tease.

"We're not gonna start with the blockings. We have to start from the beginning." Tsukishima positions himself, knees bent and apart, his hands on his knees. "Serve it."

So you do. You toss the ball into the air, your hand striking as it meets the ball, and it flies across the net. It goes outside.

"Idiot." Tsukishima laughs. "First, don't try to aim it to me. You don't want your opponents to save it. You have to aim it at an open spot inside the line. Second, don't serve too hard it goes outside."

"Okay!" You yell. And you serve again.

The ball grazes the net, but the momentum deems the ball to be inside the line. Tsukishima catches it and receives it back to your side.

Shit.

You race after the ball, joined wrists hitting it back to him. He dives, the back of his hand coming contact with the ball and it goes back to your court.

And it's high in the air, so you take the chance to bend your knees and jump, spiking it to his court.

Tsukishima blocks it.

He laughs. "You're horrible at this."

"I don't exactly have a libero to save it, don't I?" You retort.

Tsukishima smiles a little, laughing at your loss point. "Give me the ball." You roll it to his side. "I want you to try and block me."

"The net is higher than it is for girls, you know." You approach the net. "I'll have a hard time."

"The higher you jump, the better you can block the ball. And you'll even have an advantage against your enemies since you're practicing with a higher net, (y/n)." He dribbles the ball.

Tsukishima called you by your first name.

Not your surname, not some insulting nickname. Your first name.

Your knees weaken at the sound of his voice dropping the phonemes of your name.

But when he flings the ball upwards, you feel your body go rigid. And just before his incoming ball passes through the net, you jump, fingers stopping the ball.

But the ball doesn't go to his side, instead it falls down below the net, at your side. You land clumsily on your feet, ankle bending but not painfully.

"See, you got it. You just have to jump higher."

"Shut up, you stilt walking clown." Your leg throbs, shaking. "Hit it again."

"See this?" Tsukishima brings his hands in the air, his arms and hands bent inward. "You block like this. Don't straighten your arms. It sets the ball upwards and they get the point since you're last touch. Block me again."

You kick the ball to his direction. Tsukishima springs the ball into the air once more, his arm flinging back when he jumps and strikes the ball towards you.

Filled with adrenaline, you jump as high as you could, your chest as high as the edge of the net, arms and hands bent inward as you block the ball and ricochet it towards him.

He doesn't do anything and watches the ball roll outside the court. Tsukishima's eyes shoot up and look at you, the corner of his lips bent downwards in amusement.

"Not bad. Try harder though."

You snarl at him.

Hours pass and you're both drenched in sweat. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair damp across his forehead. He's wiping his face with a towel and his glasses rest on top of his hair. You drink from your water bottle.

The sweat drips down the tip of his nose, golden eyes drowsy yet vigorous with adrenaline. His lips are parted to pant out tired breaths, his adam's apple bobbing, the veins of his arms protruding. And he's sitting at the same bench as yours.

You swallow the liquid in your mouth.

"One day of practice isn't enough to get me into the club, Tsukishima." you say, wiping your mouth. "Thanks for teaching me though."

Tsukishima sets his towel down. "It's whatever. Your receives are go-fine, anyway. And you're really not that tall enough to block. You're hopeless."

"I wish Hinata was here to say that so he could yell at you."

Hinata. Tsukishima feels something uncomfortable rise to his chest when you mention his name.

And it seems as though you have summoned that tiny tangerine devil.

"Oh, Kageyama! The lights are open, someone must be here," your head turns and see that Hinata's hair pokes out the door before his head fully goes in. His eyes roam around until they find you. "Oh! (y/l/n)-san!"

"Hinata," you smile kindly. "Why are you guys still here? There's no training today."

"Tanaka-san said we can train for as much as we want as long as we don't tell Sawamura." he hops inside, Kageyama following suit behind him, unzipping his jacket. "What are you doing here, Stingyshima?"

"None of your business." He replies, irritation dripping off his sharp tongue from the nickname. "What do you think we were doing? Playing kendama?"

"I wouldn't mind playing kendama," Hinata looks at Kageyama, who shrugs. "Can we join?"

"Hopeless child," Tsukishima rubs his face with his towel again. "It's getting late. We should go home."

His usage of plural rather than sigular denotes that his usual selfishness has been decreased due to your unwavering presence, having been spent multiple hours with you for the past two days than usual. Tsukishima has easily adapted to include you in whatever he was going to do next.

We should go home.

"Aw, well, can you leave us the keys?" Hinata asks you. Tsukishima shoves the keys in the small boy's hand. "Thank you, Stingyshima!"

Tsukishima slings his bag over his shoulder, approaching the exit. He looks at Kageyama. "Fix your sets, your Majesty. You wouldn't want to clip the wings of Karasuno now, would you?"

You can see the smirk formed in his face. Kageyama is fuming, his fists clenching. "You– I...– You piece of shi– Hnmgh– You dumbass! Hinata!"

"Why me?!"

Tsukishima walks away without waiting for you, although you follow suit behind him. And when you reach the school gates, he turns right rather than left—and his way home begins with him turning left.

Yours was to the right.

"You gonna walk me home?" You joke, finally catching up behind him. Your weary legs has made you walk slower, though enough to now keep up with Tsukishima's tired pace.

"Yes."

Tsukishima doesn't spare a glance at you. But you look at him in shock. Then you shoot him an upsidedown smile, humming.

"No longer Stingyshima, I see."

"I ought to leave you here and get kidnapped." He states bluntly, finally looking down at you through his peripherals.

"Why are you walking me home then?"

"Because I want to take a long walk."

"Yeah sure, whatever." Your hands meet behind you, hitting the top of your bottom at every step you take. "You wanted to take a long walk. Could've gone to the park, could've roamed around your street. But yeah, you're walking me home so you could have a long walk back to your home."

Tsukishima tuts, his arms crossing. "Are you implying something, (y/n)?"

Your first name. Again.

"Oh, I'm not implying anything!" Your eyebrows raise, looking fully at him. And Tsukishima turns his head and looks at you as he walks. "I'm just stating what I've observed, Tsukki."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay!" You turn to your gate. When you reach inside the small box and pull on the lever of your door, you sense that Tsukishima is still standing behind you wth his hands in his pockets, watching you intently. So you turn around when the gate unlocks. "Yes? Do you need to use my bathroom first? Want a carton of milk or something?"

"No." He says. "Get in already."

You rest your back at your gate. "Tell me the real reason why you walked me home."

"No."

"So you lied to me earlier?"

"N-no."

"So what is it?"

Tsukishima sighs. Then he takes a few steps, approaching you and bends down so that his face would be equal to yours.

His scent is sweet, like freshly picked strawberries. And his lips, though thin, was soft and pink. And the tip of his nose grazes just above yours. And his golden eyes narrow to gaze at every speck of your irises. The corner of his lip turns upwards.

"That shut you up." He says. You blush, and he seems to taunt you. "Still want to play volleyball?"

His breath is hot fanning over your cold face. You can't help but nod. You swallow thickly from the close proximity that Tsukishima has created.

"Okay. Well, I still need help with english. And you obviously still need help with volleyball. So you reap what you sow. We'll help each other."

Tsukishima says those words like they're a command. Like they're being read from sacred scriptures. An event waiting to be happened for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Tsukishima's tone was flat but his voice deemed importance.

"Okay," was all you managed to let out through a breath. "See you tomorrow?"

Tsukishima stands up, eyes you up and down. Then looks into your eyes again and you swear that his gaze softens.

"See you tomorrow."

🏐—

A few weeks pass by.

At mornings, Tsukishima has come to pick you up and you studied on the way to Karasuno. You spend your lunches together, along with Yamaguchi, as well as Hinata and Kageyama who—while also bickering like children—listen to whatever you teach Tsukishima.

After classes, you find yourself joining the boys at the volleyball club, with Tsukishima helping you practice your blocks and receives. Though you notice that the boys take their strengths down a notch, which you are somewhat grateful for — because they truly are strong, and you're not ready to catch up to their level yet.

And at nights, Tsukishima walks you home with a milk carton in hand and sharp remarks in his mouth.

There's still a thick smoke of hatred that covers the both of you, that string of annoyance wrapped around your fingers. Yet as days pass by, that smoke has been thinning at every civil interaction. Albeit that annoyance still lingered.

And until today, that smoke has turned into this very light fog, until you begin to question why you hated Tsukishima in the first place.

Your phone vibrates.

tsukishima. Where are you? 8:32am

you. almost there. forgot my bag at home. 8:33am

tsukishima. Hurry up. It's cold outside. 8:33am

you. will do. sorry :| Read at 8:34am

Tsukishima is standing outside the gates of Karasuno, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed as you quickened the pace of your walk.

"You're so slow it's annoying," his eyebrows furrow. "Why'd you forget your bag? Idiot."

"You pressure me, douchebag." You flick the bridge of his glasses. He yelps. "Hurry. I want to study already. We have a quiz at 9."

When you and Tsukishima sit on your respective seats, you quiz each other with lazily scribbled flash cards. He seems to have absorbed the passed on knowledge and had answered the questions with ease.

So after the quiz, he seemed content; confident.

"How well did you think you did, beanpole?" You zip your bag.

"Well enough to beat your ass," he replies. Then, he does something new.

He smiles at you.

It wasn't a bright smile. Not energetic, but radiates some kind of light happiness. Seemed like a smile of gratitude.

You feel your cheeks flare.

After classes, you meet outside the gym as always, both of you changed into training clothes. Then you spend hours and hours jumping and tiring your wrists out, squeaking your shoes off the floor.

By the time the sun has set, Tsukishima was waiting for you again.

"Let's study."

Your eyes widen and you look startled. Tsukishima looks bored. "I'm pretty sure you got yourself covered for the rest of the year, Tsukishima."

"And I don't think you can train by yourself in volleyball," he adjusts his bag. "Let's just study. Reap what you sow."

"You keep saying that."

He ignores you. "Let's study at my place."

"E-excuse me?"

Tsukishima begins to walk to his direction. And despite your reaction, you follow him either way. "Let's study at my place for a change. I'm sick of your living room."

He says it like he's spent years hanging out in your living room. Your feet runs on the cobblestone to catch up with him. "But- What else are we gonna study?"

"Whatever I want."

His house wasn't actually that far from the campus. When you've turned a corner, he opens the gate and lets you in. When you enter his home, it's warm and clean, so you set your shoes aside and walk in your socks.

No one's home.

Tsukishima could've led you to their living room. Instead, he goes directly to his bedroom. And when you don't move, he looks at you through the door with a raised brow, as if to say "well? why aren't you getting in?"

So you do.

You sit on the edge of his bed, watching him unzip his jacket and set it aside. You decide to stop acting so wary and let you back fall to his bed, taking your phone out.

"So when are your tryouts?"

You look at him, placing your phone on your chest. "Next week. Michimiya was nice enough to let me try this late into the school year."

"I'll be there." He sits down on the other side of his bed.

"Oh," you're stunned. "Okay. Um, what do you want to study?"

You pull yourself up until your whole body is on his bed, sitting up and resting your back at his headboard. Tsukishima brings his legs to the bed, resting them beside your socked feet.

"Chemistry." This is new. "Can you run me through it?"

And you do. You take your notebook our and run him by all the lessons discussed for the past week. Tsukishima's pretends to listen but he actually doesn't.

Instead he's staring at your scar at your leg, up and down your very exposed thigh, but mostly at your scar.

You notice this immediately. "Tsukishima, why are you staring at my scar?"

"It's Kei," he looks at you, his hand resting just beside your calf, index finger twitching to trace the ridges of your scar. "Call me Kei."

Kei.

"Okay, Kei."

Your voice, filled with dulcets, his name sounding mellifluous as it rolls of your tongue. Tsukishima's heart beats wildly, and has decided to come with the terms that he hates you— because he likes you.

"Your scar looks... cool..." his index finger finally sets on the soft skin of your healed wound. You shiver at his featherlight touch.

And he's so near you now. As near as that time he walked you home and bent down to your height. And gods, he was so handsome. Even with his scratched glasses. Your mouth gapes the slightest, shaking hands reaching to remove the spectacles off his nose.

Tsukishima lets you. You see sweetness of his stare, all that hatred you used to see seemed to have melted and dripped from his sweat. This kind of Tsukishima is new– foreign, yet seemed right. Seemed destined to happen.

"Kei," you murmur. "What are you doing?"

"Is your skull too thick to process your environment?" his laugh leaves him in a huff, smirking.

"You're so eager for me to teach you something you're already good at so you could keep training me," your brows meet in the middle the slightest, a crease on your forehead that Tsukishima wants to wipe away. "Why?"

"Because you're good, (y/n)." He declares. "Your injury isn't stopping you to perform your best. You're just scared."

"Then why not just train me without me having to tutor you?"

"Because I don't want to lose these kind of moments." he whispers. "Jesus, (y/n), I like you. It's why I brought you here, for fuck's sake."

His lips are warm compared to his cold hands.

You gasp, though eyes fluttering shut, and your eyelashes tickle his soft cheeks. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he holds your delicate face in the palm of his hands, careful not to hurt you as his lips remain planted on yours.

When Tsukishima pulls away, he's not far from you. His lips hover over yours, breathing your air, his forehead resting just slightly on yours. Your fingers come up to tangle themselves on his silky hair.

"Lose moments like what, make out with me?" you giggle. "If you wanted to make out, Kei, just tell me."

"You never shut up, do you?"

His lips meet yours again in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue unabashed to graze your shy muscle. You hum in surprise, feeling yourself fall backwards when he gently cradles your head to rest on his sweet-scented pillow.

Somehow, you did meet up with your end of the bargain, only with something better.

Something better– like his hips slanted against yours as his mouth spreads shameless ardor across your body.

Something better– like how he whispers your name against your lips like a sacred prayer before he kisses you again carefully.

Something better– like a newfound relationship with Tsukishima Kei, someone you swore was your enemy, but now was someone you could spend your days with in his bed getting warm in ways fire couldn't.

Tsukishima looks into your eyes, tells you his secrets through his dilating pupils. His calloused fingers push your hair behind your ears, and then he kisses your forehead, followed by silk petal kisses on the plump of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and then your lips.

His hands wander beneath your shirt, palms no longer cold as they're heated by the fervor of your body.

"You're so pretty."

"What a sap." you tease. "You're in love with me."

"I am." His nose rubs against yours lightly. "I so am. I'm in love with a dumbass. My ego has exploded."

You hit his face with a pillow.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

[twilightkitkat]

I can see like Scott and Jean tring to be like "he kills people" logan who had 100× the body count "he's using you" logan who's had wade care more about him then they ever did "he's....*insert thing here*" and logans just thinking he's never coming to the mashion again because wow, also *points to marry puppins* how would the x-men react to this sweet angle?

Pretty much any reason Jean and Scott use to try to get Logan to change his mind would result in him getting more and more pissed off. Do they think they know Wade more than he does? He's known him for way longer than they have, he's aware that Wade is a mercenary with a brutal streak... and he isn't stupid, he knows that Wade can be a dick. Especially to people he doesn't like.

The worst part is that Logan and Wade are so similar that almost any insult they come up with for Wade will also apply to Logan. They both are murderers, they're both morally grey, they both kill people for money, they're both assholes, they've both had shitty pasts. So anytime they bring something up it not only comes off as condescending but is a painful reminder that the X-men never bothered to truly get to know him as a person. They don't know or recognize his flaws, they only care about the version they had of him in their head and never took the time to differentiate the two.

The only thing they'd achieve by ostracizing Wade is pushing Logan further and further away. Because Logan can tolerate people judging and mistreating him, he's used to it, it's his baseline. But shit-talking Wade? The man he loves more than anything, who he goes out of his way to convince that he's worth something? He will not let that slide. (And Wade's the same toward him, hence him snapping at the X-men if they treat Logan as less than a capable, respected man with his own feelings and needs.)

The X-men's reaction to Mary Puppins would be hilarious. They'd see this deranged little sewer rat of a dog and assume it had to be some kind of stray. Only to watch Wade scoop her up and coo at her before handing her off to Logan, who holds her carefully like he's afraid to drop her. It's definitely a sight to see two fully grown muscled men doting on a tiny deformed dog.

It'd be uncomfortable for them to witness the domesticity of it all. It feels like they're intruding on something private when they watch Logan and Wade with their dog, smiling and leaning against each other. It consolidates what Logan had been saying all along: that he had a stable home now and wasn't planning to leave it.

It'd also clash with the image they have of Logan in their heads. They see him as this macho, aggressive, asshole who takes what he wants. He's the dangerous animal, the bad boy, someone that you stare at longingly but never get too close. He isn't the type to settle down and stay long enough to build a family.

And yet here was clear evidence to the contrary. That Logan was capable and willing to start a family, if someone asked. That they'd let their assumptions and biases dictate how they interact with him. Until Wade was finally able to see it through it all and finally ask Logan what he wanted.

[ominoose]

𝐏𝐫𝐨'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧'𝐬

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader Summary: You make a smash or pass spreadsheet with friends, Nathan finds his part. Warnings: Reader made fun of slightly but turns out well in the end, its just silly :) WC: 836

It was a silly, fun little game. A night to let loose with friends, not hold back, no thinking or worries. Just a light-hearted tease. Simple.

It was not supposed to lead to Nathan Bateman storming up to you like a man on a mission, pupils blown wide in fury behind gold frame glasses. Ordinarily he wasn’t a man to be trifled with, even on his best days (as far and few between as they were), and everyone that worked under him, no matter how distant their role, knew to tread lightly.

Nathan was not treading lightly. The crinkle of paper clutched and creasing in his fist was all that accompanied the stomps of his boots on the carpet until silence reigned as he stopped in front of you, nostrils flaring.

“'Arrogant, rich asshole'?!” You’d never heard his voice so angry, so loud from the get go, and if your blood didn’t go cold at the quote you would have had the good sense to be more scared.

"‘Chewtoy biceps’, ‘Condescending in a sexy way’, Sexier Elon Musk!". It wasn’t looking good for you.

The group Google Doc wasn’t even your idea, listing the singles in your lives with the pro’s and con’s of sleeping with them in a “Smash or Pass” group call also wasn't your usual friend-groups past time, but you didn’t need much persuading to join. Nathans name being added to the pool hardly came as a surprise, but you boldly stamping Smash next to his name was.

It was a night of giggles and gasps, losing self respect in the name of forging deeper bonds, like girls at their first high school sleepover. It was not meant to get back to him.

“Mansplaining snob?!” The sharp words snap you back into reality from where you’d rabidly been trying to recall the words you typed that would now serve as your death sentence.

“I-”

“It’s not mansplaining when I have to dumb down simple fucking concepts for you to understand, sweetheart.” Despite the pet name, the way he waves the printed out screenshot in your face made it clear he’d kill you by death of one thousand cuts if he could.

How could you get out of this? You couldn’t, there was no way you’d come out of this with a job or reputation intact. It was a miracle he didn’t wait until you were in the middle of the office cubicles or a meeting to humiliate you. Then again the fact that he was furious enough to come straight to you with fire at his heels was equally terrifying.

“Wanna know what’d I’d say about you, hm?” His weight shifted on his feet, shoulders squared as he used every inch of his height to leer over you.

“I-I didn’t say this to your face!” A pitiful attempt at reasoning, as if the word mercy wasn’t something Nathan Bateman boxed for his morning work-out. Technically it was his own fault, he didn’t own Google, he shouldn’t be snooping in his workers private documents.

“Oh, okay then.” A higher pitch, raised eyebrows, the ghost of a smile. God, you were absolutely fucked.

And then he walked away. No stomping, no clenched first. It was the strut of Nathan that had just had a breakthrough.

This was off script.

The next few days were absolute hell. It was paranoia akin to living under witness protection after whistleblowing a major government conspiracy. Every email that came, every task assigned had you tensing and assuming this was it, this was the deathly blow.

Turns out the deathly blow was even less exciting than an email. It was an A4 piece of paper left on the centre of your desk, perfectly straight and ivory white.

‘Cons: -Overly sensitive -Acne marks -Didn't go to Harvard -Needs validation -Buys shitty clothes, probably from Temu’

Maybe being simply fired when he first confronted you would’ve been the easier option, that or death by the thousand cuts.

Nathan was never a man to mince his words, if you had a weak point he’d punch it and blame you for having it in the first place. You also knew you weren’t perfect, this was a job you’d clawed your way to, losing several nails in the process. Half your mental capacity was spent simply trying to keep above water, who could blame you for wanting a little ‘Well done, good job!’ every once in a while. Clearly, Nathan could.

The paper became blurry, hot tears trembled in your eyes, threatening to spill right in the middle of the office buzz. And how would you explain? Getting fired while having every flaw listed by your incredibly wealthy, accomplished, genius boss?

Blinking back the tears, there’s only half the letter left to read and getting it over with sooner was better than later.

‘Pros: -Funny -Can keep up -Nice ass -Annoying smile -Not materialistic -Honest’

There was only one word left at the bottom, one line above a phone number.

'Smash.'

[summermoa-ns]

.・。.・゜✭・Smart Mouth・✫・゜・。.

NSFW (18+ ONLY) MDNI

academic rival!taehyun x fem!reader

content warnings: drinking, drunk sex, unprotected sex, pet names (pretty girl, baby), small mentions of smoking/weed, slightly condescending Taehyun, fucking until ur dumb lol, if i missed anything else pls lmk!!

author's note: i've been on-and-off working on this fic until i started hating it! just needed to get it out of my system so i can finally work on other stuff! also i didn't really edit this, so sorry for any typos or grammar errors

song inspos: You Lose! By Magdelena Bay; Cologne by beabadooobee

“Hey… Y/n? Maybe you should slow down a little bit?” Yeonjun furrows his brows in concern as he watches you down your third shot in the last 10 minutes. 

Yeonjun’s worries fall on deaf ears as you suck the lime between your teeth. You just need something to fog your mind, to haze the racing thoughts and anger that swarms inside you. Something to distract you from the shitty day you just had. The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to heed Yeonjun’s advice, but you’re not at this party to be smart and logical like you usually are. You are at this party to make bad decisions: to make up for the time you wasted chasing after something, and having it ripped away from you anyway. 

Usually, you’re not at these types of parties. Usually, you spend your free time in front of a laptop, coding for your lab. Or maybe burning your retinas as you stare holes through research journals, looking for articles to cite. Maybe even clocking in overtime hours, proctoring experiments that you were begged to cover last minute.  Day in and day out, you give everything to your lab, and yet they decide to go with him? After doing everything the PhD students and postdocs ask of you– for three fucking years– they give the head coordinator position to him? And now here you are fucking thinking about your lab even though the whole point of being at this dumb party is to not think about it and-

Yeonjun’s soju bottle hitting the table snaps you back into reality. 

After his swig, he waves a hand in front of your face, “Aye, you still here?” Yeonjun’s fingers blur and distort as they move in front of you. The blasting music and sounds of people socializing blend into a slurry. Shit, those shots are finally hitting.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” the words fumbling over themselves as they exit your mouth. You rub the palm of your hand into your forehead, turning to look as Beomgyu greets someone at the front door. 

Your stomach drops when you see who comes through the door. Everything seems to slow down and unravel as the tall figure entering the house does some stupid dude-bro handshake with Beomgyu. His chocolate brown hair, his lean figure, his twinkly eyes: you could recognize him from miles away. The heat rising in you is sobering; it blisters in your lungs as you stare at him from across the house. The last 24 hours come crashing down on your shoulders again.

Yeonjun looks over to what has captured your attention and his eyes widen. “Ah fuck!” 

“Jun,” you slowly turn towards your fox-eyed dumbass of a friend, “I thought you said you double-checked with Gyu to make sure he wasn’t coming tonight.”

“I did, Y/n! I swear on my life!”

“Then why are we staring at the Kang Taehyun in your living room?”

Yeonjun runs his hand through his hair, huffing out his answer, “I don’t know! Maybe he changed his mind?”

You look over at Taehyun’s direction again, and your eyes meet. Your heartbeat quickens. His eyes squint, not hiding how he has spotted you. Fuck. You don’t even have time to process and suddenly Taehyun is standing across the kitchen island from you and Yeonjun. 

He leans forward and whispers to you, “Wow, I didn’t expect to see you here~” 

It’s amazing how you could see straight after how hard you rolled your eyes at him. The chocolate-haired boy chuckles in response. Taehyun greets Yeonjun who makes it brief. He may be a little dense, but even Yeonjun knows not to get too chummy with the bastard you were talking shit about all evening. 

“I was just about to leave, actually!” You begin getting up when a firm pair of hands push your shoulders back into the stool.

You turn in shock and see Beomgyu pouting at you, “Y/n~ you never hang out with us anymore. Can you just stay a little longer?” He whines, but you hear a hint of mischief in his voice. 

You try to protest, but before you can utter a sound Beomgyu interrupts, “Plus, you still owe me from that time you promised to treat me out on my birthday… and NEVER did…”

Fuck. You totally forgot about that. You look at Beomgyu and he gives you the biggest, pleading puppy-dog eyes. An irritated sigh escapes your teeth. “Fine.”

Taehyun is already opening the soju bottle with ease. He smiles as he pours a shot for himself, “Uh oh, Beomgyu! You made the pretty girl mad!”

God, he pisses you off. 

Taehyun, the golden boy: good merits with all his peers and professors, at the top of everything he does. When you both joined your psychology lab, it honestly was nice at first. You grew pretty close being in the same cohort. You both seemed driven and, as first-years, shared a lot of interests and hobbies. The only difference between you being Taehyun’s natural ability to succeed. In the beginning, you didn’t notice. Every class, every test, every paper: Taehyun aced with flying colors, while you chased after him, just out of his reach. But it was fine because you were friends. Taehyun would smile, ruffle your hair, and say “maybe next time”. 

But there was never a next time. Even in the middle of your final year at uni, Taehyun has topped you every single time. Though the rest of the department sees your rivalry as light-hearted and playful, a darkness grew underneath it all. Frustration. Anxiety. Jealousy. As the gap between your abilities became more and more apparent,  his “kind” remarks began to sting more and more. The more he teased you, the more tired you became of his patronizing nature. Eventually, you pushed him away.  

No longer stuck in your ruminations, you catch yourself staring as Taehyun pours a giddy Yeonjun and Beomgyu a shot. He tilts the bottle towards you, “Do you want one?”

Yeonjun starts talking before you say anything, “I think it’s better if she sits this one ou-”. You place your shot glass in front of Taehyun before Yeonjun can finish.

“I can handle myself.”

Beomgyu giggles, wrapping an arm around you, “See, I missed you!! Still as bitchy and smart-mouthed as ever!”

Taehyun cocks his eyebrow at you, “I missed that too.” He pours the shot to the brim.

—

Due to spite, you feel extra pissy today. Or maybe it’s because Taehyun has made it a point to hover wherever you are in this damn house. You want to watch the beer pong tournament happening in the backyard? There’s Taehyun wanting to join suddenly. You want to take some mirror selfies with Sakura in the hallway mirror? Taehyun is posing in the background of some of your pics! You want to pass a joint with Heesung and chill on the upstairs balcony? Taehyun just decides he wants a couple of hits too! 

You finally get some peace and quiet by wandering to one of the empty rooms on the second floor. You sit down by the foot of the bed.

You feel defeated, for some odd reason. The whole goal of tonight was to get Taehyun off your mind, and yet he’s creeped into every crevice in your brain, invading every thought. How he downs shots exposes his pretty neck, how his eyes brighten when he smiles for pictures, how soft and big his hands are when you hand him a joint… Ugh. You mentally smack those images out of your head.

There’s a little secret you would take to your grave: the main thing that pisses you off about Taehyun is that he is drop dead gorgeous. It’s just all too unfair. A person can’t be insanely smart and look like an S-tier model. There really should be rules about that. But it’s evident God has favorites, and Taehyun is one of them. Being cross-faded also hasn’t helped with these thoughts. You feel floaty and a bit too…vulnerable. Like everything is threatening to burst from your chest.

The light from the hallway lights up the room for a second as the door opens. It’s the last person you want to see. 

“Taehyun, please. Just leave me alone,” you sigh, not bothering to hide your irritation.

He scoffs, “Happy to see you too,” He closes the door behind him and leans against it.

As you both soak in the silence you can’t help but grow confused by his persistence. How does he just keep popping up everywhere?

“Is there a reason you’ve been following me tonight?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking abou-“ You stand up and get in his face before Taehyun can finish his sentence: just close enough to smell the alcohol on his lips. 

“I’m not stupid, Tae. So please, just tell me what you want.”

He raises his arms up, “Okay, okay. You got me. I’ve just been trying to find a moment to talk: in private.” 

He takes a deep breath. He leans into the door harder, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose, “Why are you acting like this?”

Your eyebrows scrunch. “Huh?”

“Y/n, you never come to these types of things. I’ve invited you to them plenty of times,” he continues, “then out of the blue, you come with Jun of all people.”

“I know I’m a shut-in, but I’m allowed to have fun every once in a while.” God, how many times is he going to make you roll your eyes tonight?

His face grimaces with an emotion you’re not familiar with, “I’m not saying that. You just never want to…”

You impatiently cut off his sentence, getting closer to him by the doorway. “Want to what?!” 

“You never want to go out with me. You never want to hang out with me. You basically avoid me all the fucking time.”

Taehyun’s arms fall loosely to his sides, “I just don’t get why you hate me so much.” You look up at his face and are hit with a pang of guilt. Is he… actually sad right now?

“I never said I hated you.”

“I can’t help but feel that way. You never talk to me anymore.” 

In the quiet you realize how little space there is between you two. The atmosphere feels dangerous, heavy, and hot. You catch Taehyun sneaking a glance at your lips. You’re scared to see where this goes, scared of breaking the tension.

You bite down, wanting to flee from the guilt and shame bubbling in your stomach. You take Taehyun’s hand and try to pull him off the door to make your escape, but he flips you both. Now you’re pinned in between the door and Taehyun.

“Stop running from me, please.” 

His voice is warm and dark and weak like a dying bonfire. Your body shudders in response. His arm is slammed next to you, propping his body up so he can lean over you. “I’m so tired of chasing after you.” 

He says it so quietly into your ear, you almost convince yourself that you must have misheard him. The only thing that grounds your conviction that you heard correctly is how Taehyun’s free hand softly grips the hair on the back of your head, how his face finds solace in the crook of your neck, how gently his breath grazes that sensitive part of your skin. Suddenly your body feels like it’s on fire, and you’re not sure if you can handle it.

“Tae,” you breathe out softly. “Wait…,” but your objection is only met with the alcoholic heat of Taehyun’s lips. He tastes like the bitter aftertaste of lychee soju and mint chapstick and it knocks the air out of you. You buckle under his weight, instinctively gripping at his shirt for support. He is needy and gasping and crumbling in your hands: a complete 180 from the Taehyun you’re used to.

You manage to separate yourselves, both of your lips bruised and wet. “Tae, wait please!” To your surprise, he listens, but you can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s trying hard to restrain himself. 

“You’re drunk!” You push against him, trying to make more space between you two, but to no avail. “Y-you’re really fucking drunk, and not thinking straight. Let’s not do anything we’ll…” You swallow as you catch a glimpse of Taehyun’s lips, “... regret.”

Taehyun cups your face in his hands and looks at you with so much clarity despite all of the alcohol in his veins. The abrupt roughness of the earlier kiss is contrasted by how gently he holds you. The gravity of his stare lingers in the air for a second until he finally answers.

“I’ll only regret it if you end up regretting it. So tell me clearly that you want me to stop.”

“Wha–?”

“I want you to say it. As clear as day. I’ll give you until the count of three: just tell me you don’t want me and I’ll stop. Otherwise,” he puts his forehead against yours, “I’ll keep doing what I want.”

He starts. “One…”

The room is still and quiet except for your heart knocking against the door, drowning out the muffled music from outside. This should be easy, you think, you just need to tell Taehyun to stop. You say stop, Taehyun stops: simple, logical cause and effect. But despite those thoughts rolling into your brain, something primal in you holds your tongue. The way Taehyun’s woody cologne sticks to your clothes and the desperate way he’s panting after that first kiss makes you ache for more. The way his sculpted body feels under your palms and the way you can tell he’s undressing you with his eyes is all too intoxicating.

“... two…”

Your breathing is in sync with him. Taehyun is holding onto every little sound you make as he finds his way nuzzling back into your neck. He fully leans into you and you feel how hard he is. Your breath hitches and you feel him smile against your skin; his hot length twitches from inside his jeans. It excites you how he responds to your tiniest reactions. Curious to test the waters, you slightly grind against him which earns you a small, restrained groan from his lips. You want to hear him more, want to feel him more. It’s against your better judgment…. 

But remember? You’re not here to be smart: you’re here to make bad decisions.

Taehyun doesn’t even get to three before you crash your lips into his. You wrap your arms around his neck and he takes the opportunity to feel you up as you both blindly stumble to the edge of the bed, not daring to break the kiss as you straddle him. You feel Taehyun impatiently pull at the bottom of your blouse, you smile and untangle yourself from him in response, letting him take off your top. He also takes this time to rip his shirt off of him, and damn: built like a damn Greek statue, carved and polished to perfection. You could have stared at him all night if he didn’t flip you underneath him.

Hovering over you, Taehyun takes a moment to take in the view. His hand traces over the edge of your lace panties. “Wow, did you wear these just for me?” 

You prop yourself up to kiss Taehyun’s cheek. “No,” you playfully pout at him, “but I’m letting you take them off of me. So be thankful.”

He chuckles at your snide comment, “God, I love it when you talk like that.”

Taehyun starts leaving a blazing trail of kisses, saliva, and bites down your neck, taking some time to leave some blooming hickeys around your collarbone. He gets to your chest and while he marks his territory, he reaches underneath you and unclasps your bra. You have no time to marvel at his mastery when you gasp at his tongue swirling around your nipple. His hand makes quick work of your body, gripping and massaging your other breast, lightly pinching your other bud in between his index and thumb. 

You throw your head back in ecstasy, softly sighing. Taehyun takes his time; his mouth switching between your breasts indiscriminately and occasionally taking a break to kiss the valley in between them. While you squirm under his touch, you feel your wet core ache for more. 

“Taehyun…” you whine.

He looks up at you while swirling his tongue around one of your buds. He hums in a questioning tone, refusing to let his mouth leave your body. 

“Taehyun please…need more of you…”

He finally pauses and his smile wickedly spreads across his face, “Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

“Mouth… please. Can I have your mouth please?”

You feel the heat of Taehyun leave your chest as he gets up to quickly strip your panties off of you. You hold your breath when you feel the chill of the room hit you; everything, everywhere is aching. You just want him to touch you, to taste you. It isn’t until you feel the grip of Taehyun’s strong hands around your thighs and the plump soreness of his lips on your hot core that your breath hitches. 

You grip Taehyun's hair while he pulls you full force to his face. How his tongue laps into you, how he switches to intensely sucking on your clit, how he pants as he places the wettest kisses against your inner thighs. The rhythm of his tongue puts you in a trance as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Taehyun absolutely loves giving head. He has had his fair share of partners, so his palette is pretty… experienced. But something about you was so addicting. He thought you tasted like heaven; a flavor so delicious, he could imagine savoring it every night and morning. He could keep your thighs clamped around his face all night if you would let him. 

This entire time Taehyun has been pushing you further and further to your bliss. Your body threatens to unravel with every swirl from Taehyun’s tongue, but never quite reaching the tip. However, it all comes crashing down and the coil in your stomach finally snaps the minute he pushes two fingers deep in you. The sounds that escape you are unholy and all you see is white as Taehyun brings you past your orgasm, overstimulating you.

“God, baby, you’re so wet for me already. I was able to fit my fingers in so easily,” he smiles triumphantly at his soaked hand, “Where’s that smart mouth from earlier, huh?”

You whine, riding your drunken high as you grind on his hand. Your walls pulse around him as he thrusts his fingers rhythmically. Happily smiling to himself, he returns his lips to their rightful home: in between your legs, lightly lapping at your clit. Taehyun is having way too much fun now. Your reactions? Your sounds? Your body? Complete, utter perfection. It’s taking every bit of his self-control to not whip out his dick and slam it into your dripping cunt. Every whimper and moan that comes from you makes his cock throb like crazy. 

It’s certain everyone in the hallway knows the room is currently “occupied” even over the blaring music. You’re too lost in all the sensations running through your system to care about your volume. Then, you feel Taehyun’s fingers curl into that magic spot: the spot you can never quite reach by yourself. The spot that usually needs the help of toys and vibes. Still coming down from the crash of your previous orgasm, you instinctively push away from Taehyun’s hand, almost scared of feeling any more pleasure. But this reaction doesn’t escape the devious eyes of the boy in between your legs. 

Taehyun pauses his movements and asks from below, “Can’t take anymore, baby?” His stare softens a bit as he kisses around your thighs.

You’re conflicted; you don’t want this moment to stop, but feel like you might melt into the sheets if you continue. A small whisper leaves your lips, “I-I think I can, it’s… it’s just a lot all at once.”

“Oh baby,” he coos, “but you can take it for me, right?” Before you can answer, his fingers curl up and hit the spot once more. Again, you feel the heat in your lower stomach release and those aching waves envelope your body, even more powerful than last time. You blink away tears from your eyes, digging your nails into Taehyun’s shoulders as you scream out his name. 

Taehyun continues cleaning the honey dripping out of you with his tongue, his cock twitching every time you whimper out a plea for him to fuck you already. Now that you’re ready for him, Taehyun doesn't have to hold back anymore. He tries to hide how eagerly he is stripping off his pants, but you can still tell in your tipsy haze that he is brimming with enthusiasm. However, Taehyun stops as he hovers over you.

“Last chance to back out now, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, “You’re not fucking going anywhere.”

He rubs the tip of his cock along your entrance. He wets his lips, amused by your answer, “Fair enough.”

Even with proper preparation, the stretch is enough to make you arch your back. Taehyun grips the sheets– his knuckles turning white– until he bottoms out inside you. You grip into his back, pulling him flush against you. His brows are furrowed in complete concentration as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You both stay there for a second, steadying your breaths.

After what feels like an eternity, you adjust to Taehyun’s length and feel ready. However, Taehyun stays still, unmoving.

“Tae… you can move now,” You say, pushing your hips against to demonstrate your willingness.

Taehyun groans, “I know, baby… you just–,” he nearly whimpers, “you just feel really good. Give me a sec…”

A sense of pride swells in your chest. The usually measured, deliberate Kang Taehyun has become a mess just from slipping it in. A coy smile spreads across your face as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer.

“Aww, is someone struggling right now? Did I make you feel too good?”

Silence. You feel a slight shift in the air that makes you shiver. Silence. Until Taehyun lifts his chest off of you– pulling back his hips– and looks down at you. His stare makes your blood run cold. One of his hands grips onto the headboard, making him hover you. Taehyun snaps a hard thrust back into you, making you moan in surprise.

“I see that smart mouth I love so much is back,” he icily smiles down, “and I’m going to fuck it out of you.”

There’s no warning, no precaution, as Taehyun brutally begins fucking you into the mattress. He grips the headboard, causing it to knock against the wall in a frantic rhythm. Taehyun’s hips piston into you as you claw into the pillow you lay your head on. With every thrust, you feel yourself clamp around Taehyun’s cock, your mouth agape from the sheer pleasure coursing through you. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. Take all of me,” Taehyun breathes into your neck before taking a long lick along your throat. “How does it feel? Feels good?”

You can’t even form words, you feel like a mindless doll as you frantically nod at Taehyun’s question. You feel him pulse inside you as he flashes you a cocky smile. His hand leaves the headboard, moving so both hands grip into your hips, allowing for more leverage. 

“Bet it fucking does. Fucking you so dumb, you can’t even talk,” He punctuates each word by slamming his full length into you, making you see stars.

With Taehyun’s constant teasing and unruly speed, it doesn’t take long for you to feel your next orgasm peeking from behind the horizon. Your hands reach down, cupping over Taehyun’s on your hips.

You don’t even have to say anything, you look into Taehyun’s eyes and he just knows. Taehyun grabs your knees and pushes them down towards your chest, leaning into you for a searing kiss; it’s filthy and lustful and pushes you right over the edge towards your release. You let out a low moan into Taehyun’s mouth, your walls fluttering around his dick. With that, Taehyun’s force becomes more erratic as he chases his own high. He pulls away from your kiss and starts nipping at your ear. His breathing becomes more shallow and quick each time your hips meet, little sounds escaping his plump lips.

“Fuck, baby, gonna cum in this pretty pussy,” he growls.

A final push and Taehyun stills inside you, releasing a few hot pumps, until he begins to soften. When he pulls out, you can feel the mixture of your arousals spill out of your fucked-out pussy. Taehyun plops down next to you, both of you still coming down from your respective highs. The silence is broken by Taehyun chuckling, pulling you into his arms.

“Yeonjun is going to be so fucking pissed at me,” he laughed. 

You looked up at him in confusion, “Wait, what? Why?”

“Because this is definitely his room.”

Your eyes dart around the room: signed concert posters of bands you recognized on the wall, a closet full of stylish clothes, the bluetooth speaker he always brought to dance practice. Fuck. This was totally Yeonjun’s room.

Your hands shoot up to cover your face, groaning, thinking about how Yeonjun would scold you for getting his bed “dirty”. But your panic subsides as Taehyun presses his lips into your check, giving you a quick peck.

“Ehh, I’m sure it’ll be fine…,” Taehyun hums, flashing you that same cocky smile, “we can talk our way out of it.”

You snuggle into his chest, Taehyun’s smile no longer causing bitterness and resentment to flood your thoughts, but something much warmer… 

“...This is what he gets for not warning me about you coming to the party.”

“Okay… maybe don’t start running that smart mouth next time we see him. I’ll do all the talking, alright?”

[kissesandarsenic]

Day 13 - Hate Fucking

I know it’s you by the sound of your knocking. Fist battering against the wood like you wanna punch a hole through my door. Hey, maybe you do. Would pair nicely with the one you made in my bathroom wall last visit. Asshole. 

The second I open up, you’re crashing inside. Mouth on mine and forcing me down the hall towards my bedroom. If I close my eyes I can pretend the passion is romantic, but I feed off your loathing all the same. 

‘Such a needy thing,’ I say, gasping as my back slams into the bedroom door and we tumble inside. ‘Only three days this time, you must be desperate.’ 

‘Fuck you,’ you spit. ‘Just get on the damned bed. Let’s get this over with.’ 

My grin turns icy at the demand. I can appreciate a bit of roughness, but you’re not about to forget who holds the leash around here. 

‘Manners,’ I snap. ‘Or you can go back home and play with yourself.’ 

You scoff, grab my ass. Fire lights up inside me and I pull back and slap you right across that pretty face.

Your teeth grit. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. ‘Please.’

‘Please, what?’

I almost hope that you’ll hit me back. It’ll give me an excuse to beat the ever-loving shit out of you in retaliation. It was so much fucking fun last time after all. 

‘Please… Miss,’ you say, words coming out like they’re corroding your tongue. ‘Please lay back on the bed so I can… so I can worship your cunt.’ 

I wish I could get a recording of that. That reluctant submission has me so drunk on power I feel dizzy from it.

With a grin, I strip and fall onto the bed, letting you eat your fill of my pussy while my fingers lace and yank through your hair. 

Sure, you may hate my guts. Hate my condescending words, my shitty humour, my personality. I’ve heard it all before. 

But you fucking love my pussy, don’t you sweetheart? And that love outweighs any other feeling you have for me. You can ignore the hate so long as I’m making all the right noises and touching all the right places. You’re weak for me even if you love to pretend otherwise. 

Yes, I know, I know. This is the last time. Absolutely.

See you next week, okay?

Loretta and Salt's Kinktober Masterlist

[withahappyrefrain]

this one is so cute! 🍂🍁🍃

A stands in a queue when they notice a leaf stuck in the hair/on the clothes of the person in front of them. They offer to remove it for them.

for bob and maeve?

AHHHH so excited to start writing for these two! And of course I had to bring in Bradley and Birdie! ❤️❤️ Enjoy!

Fall in San Diego was different. By the time October started rolling, the average temperature had cooled down to a ‘crisp’ seventy degrees. Chunky sweaters were traded in for light cardigans. Sure, you could wear a scarf, but not a functional one. Gone were the days of needing gloves.

It was a stark difference from the east coast.

Gone was the scenic view of mountains and orchards. In its place were micro-breweries and overpriced wineries. But also gone was a shitty ex husband. In its place, the unknown.

At least the farmer markets here still sold apple butter.

It was a consolidation prize for Maeve. She was forever grateful that Nora wanted to show her around, but that also meant third wheeling for Nora and her fiancé. Worse, they were sickeningly in love. She had never been so happy for her best friend, but also so fucking jealous at the same time.

So she would enjoy these last few moments, while Nora was trying to find her partner amidst the crowd. They tried to not make her feel bad, but being around them reminded Maeve how alone she had become.

Wait, did that guy have a leaf on his back?

Upon squinting her hazel eyes, she saw that man standing in front of her did in fact, have a leaf on the back of his plaid shirt.

Should she- oh thank God, he was reaching for it. Now Maeve wouldn't have to look at it while standing in line.

Nope. Despite his long arms, the leaf had wedged itself in a place where he couldn't reach. Oh God, was she going to have to watch him struggle the whole time?

Wanting to save her sanity outweighed her dislike of talking to strangers.

"I can get it for you, the leaf. If you want?"

He turned around to reveal a face that made her heart flutter. Bright blue eyes, bluer than the ocean. Tortoiseshell glasses that framed his face. Sunkissed hair, tousled in waves. A button nose that brought a sense of sweetness to him. A smattering of faded freckles, no doubt from hours upon hours of being out in the sun.

"Could you? That would be great, otherwise it's gonna bother me all day?" His voice was smooth as whiskey, a rural upbringing lacing his words.

But what was most astounding was his smile. The way his thin pink lips contorted to form a small, slightly crooked smile. The creases that formed around his oceanic eyes, showing years of smiles and laughter.

God, he just looked kind. The type that Maeve always wondered what it would be like to have. To see first thing in the morning and the last thing when she closed her eyes at night.

"M'am?" It didn't come across as condescending, it was actually charming. It was also said in such a deep vibrato that Maeve to snap out of whatever the fuck those last two minutes was.

It's been three months, for fuck sake's Maeve.

Why would he even be interested in you?

This is why you're a twenty-eight year old divorceé.

Maeve nodded as she mentally scolded herself, "Absolutely, not a problem."

Bob turned around, despite not wanting to. He would rather focus on the umber curls that framed her face. Or the way shades of hickory and green swirled together in her eyes. His favorite had to be how her eyes squinted when she smiled. His mother would call that as having 'smiley eyes' when he was a child.

Jesus Christ, we're really desperate now.

It wouldn't end well for you anyways. Never does.

That's why you're thirty-four and still single, Robert.

So in a way, he was grateful to turn around, as it was a chance to get himself together.

That lasted for maybe ten seconds. Bob couldn't tell if touch was incredibly gentle or if she wasn't touching him. So he turned his head, catching her reaching out.

The eye contact made Maeve freeze for a beat or two. Once Bob flashed her that sweet smile, she found the strength to continue, internally marveling at how soft his shirt felt.

He must use fabric softener. Maybe he attends this market regularly. Maybe-

It's been three months.

Yes, three months since the document was signed and it was made official legally. But the acceptance of a unsustainable marriage had occured a year ago.

She held up the leaf for effect, "You want to keep it as memorabilia?"

Bob chuckled, making Maeve feel warm all over, as if she had just drank mulled cider, "No, no, I think I'm good. But I'd love to buy that for you as a way to say thanks."

This time it was her turn to shake her head, "Oh, it was nothing! Just a leaf." Bob noticed that when she shook her head, the curls that had fallen over his forehead shook slightly.

God, she was adorable. Absolutely, completely endearing.

"Yeah, but that would have bothered me the whole time I was with my friends. I wouldn't have been able to focus on anything else," he grinned, "Plus you had no issue talking to a complete stranger. That's gotta be commended."

A laugh escapes from her rosey lips, "I usually hate talking to strangers." Fuck, why would you even say that?

If he found it odd, the handsome stranger didn't visibly or vocally show it, "Yeah, I'm not a huge fan of that either. Again, gotta be commended."

She looked down at the jar of apple butter, "It would be faster if you paid for mine. I'm meeting some friends too."

"Happy to serve," the unintentional pun about his career was lost on her. At least he could bring it up to Mickey, who would get a good laugh out of it. And his wife Cielo too. And then they would probably do something sweet, like kiss while holding hands, unintentionally reminding Bob how utterly alone it felt coming home from work every day.

Their hands brushed against one another when Maeve transferred the jar to Bob. He turned around, partly to see if he needed to step forward, partly to hide the smile on his face.

Had he turned around, he would have seen the same smile on her face. One that was full of excitement, felt for the first time in years. Just like him.

Eventually, he looked back, this time mainly to see if his friends were amidst the crowd of shoppers.

He felt the need to explain, out of fear of coming across as creepy, "My friend went looking for his fiancé. She's bringing her best friend."

What a coincidence, Nora's fiancé was bringing a friend too.

Yeah, to help you feel less shitty about always being their third wheel.

"Well does your friend have any idea where his fiancé could be?" Maeve asked as Bob paid for the two jars of apple butter.

"Oh yeah, Birdie's first stop is always the Takyaki stand," Bob paused, "Birdie isn't her real name, it's just-"

"Do you mean Nora?" Maeve's voice was now timid. Blood rushing through her veins, wondering if it was too good to be true.

Bob stopped in his tracks, brows knitting together, "How do you know her name?"

Before Maeve could explain, two new voices interrupted.

"Bob?" "Maeve?"

Turning around revealed Nora (who many referred to as 'Birdie'), who was holding the hand of her fiancé, Bradley (who at work was referred to as 'Rooster').

Bob and Maeve turned their attention back to one another, realization hitting like a brick wall.

He's the kindest guy I know. You'll love him.

She's honestly just the sweetest. It's a damn shame what happened.

They're like you. They've been through similar shit.

"You're Maeve?" He had a long finger pointed at her (God his hands were huge) but it wasn't accusing.

Maeve felt at ease, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders as she nodded, her eyes creasing due to her smile.

There were those smiley eyes that made his knees weak.

"I am and you're Bob? Just Bob, right? No totally random, work nickname?" With anyone else, it would have been demeaning. A few years ago, Bob would have taken offense.

But his shoulders were feeling lighter these days thanks to the past actually staying in its namesake more often.

"Well, my full name is Robert. I have some family who call me Rob, some call me Robby but that's because I gave them explicit permission to do so, not everyone reaches that level. And then some of my friends call me Bobby. So in terms of work nickname, you're correct, it's not totally random." His eyes were so expressive, it was memorizing to watch.

Charming. He was actually charming.

"Well, I think having multiple nicknames that are based off of your actual name is better than having one and it's a children's game or bird," she turned her head to flash a smile, "No offense Bradley."

Bradley, who was used to her strong opinions on call signs and now only a foot away, simply rolled his eyes, "No offense taken Maeve. But we do call him Bagman, remember?"

A coy smile spread across her face, something Bob found so endearing.

"So you two....know each other?" Nora asked, raising an eyebrow. She swears she would have remembered her best friend meeting one of her fiancé's best work friends.

"We actually just met. Maeve saved me from an afternoon of trying to reach a spot on my back to get rid of a leaf," Bob explained, gently putting his hand on Maeve's shoulder. His touch was pleasant, considerate even.

"Bob got me some apple butter as a thank you," Maeve held up the jar while looking down, hoping no one would notice the rosy hue that was spreading across her face.

"Which, I assume is to make your famous cinnamon sugar apple butter pie?" Bob now turned to her, his eyes lit up with excitement.

Catching her confused expression, Bob jumped in, "When you left a pie after visiting Birdie, Bradley brought in leftovers. It was a huge hit, I still think about it."

Charlie always had an issue with whatever she cooked. Too salty. Not healthy babe. Why are you even making that?

But Charlie wasn't here. He was on the east coast, no doubt trying to find another gullible person to invest in one of his bullshit 'ideas'.

Instead there was Bob, who had a sparkle in his eyes. Who had not only heard about you, but remembered details too.

God, the bar was so fucking low.

Meanwhile, Bob hadn't thought about Cassie once since meeting the curly, raven haired woman with the most adorable smile he had ever seen.

"Well, given the lack of a paper bag in Nora's hand, I'd say it's time we head to the Hog Haven stand and get some breakfast sandwiches," Maeve suggested, hoping it would turn the attention away from her.

"Absolutely! I know Bob wanted to stop by the pickling stand for Sauerkraut and that's on the way!" Nora grabbed Bradley's hand, and walked forward, leaving Bob and Maeve to walk side by side.

Almost as if it was planned that way.

"What's the Sauerkraut for?" Maeve asked, secretly noticing how he slowed his stride to match hers.

"I'm making Bigos. It means 'Hunter Stew' in Polish. My mom made it for me and my siblings all the time growing up. She's back in Wisconsin, and since it's finally 'cooled down' here, figured it was a good time to make it."

Bob can't remember the last time he felt this talkative to someone new. Usually it takes hours, sometimes even multiple outings for him to warm up. And that was if he liked the person's company.

It took him two months to warm up to Jake.

But something about Maeve had him talking a mile a minute. Even Bradley had turned around to raise his eyebrows at how much Bob was talking. He had to be careful; the last thing he needed was to be in the same situation he was in six years ago.

"I'm not super familiar with Polish food- other than bagels and pierogi's- but I'd like to learn more about it," her voice was sweet, albeit slightly reserved. Not wanting to appear too eager, or insinuate anything.

"I have a whole box of recipes from my mom and Aunts and Grandma. I can bring it next time-" He paused. No, don't assume. Never assume. "I can pass it on to Bradley who can give it to Birdie. Whichever you prefer."

"We can leave y'all to talk to each other if you want!" Bradley called out before turning his attention back to Nora.

"I have a feeling this won't be the last time we see each other. Not if those two lovebirds have anything to say about it." Her comment brought out a laugh in Bob, which in turn caused a big smile to break out across Maeve's face.

"Glad I'm not the only one who calls them that. Everyone else says it's too cheesy." "Well, those people have no love or appreciation for puns. Luckily for you Robby, I do."

He didn't correct her. In fact, he liked how the name sounded coming from her pink lips.

"Maybe we can keep talking about puns and recipes while they," Bob pointed to Bradley and Nora, who were currently holding hands and exchanging (what they thought to be) sneaky kisses, "Are themselves."

"So they act this way around you too?" Maeve's eyes lit up, relieved she wasn't the only one who had to deal with the most sickeningly sweet couple on the planet, "Being a third wheel with them is rough."

The two had now stopped at the pickles goods stand, ignoring their friends who had invited them out.

"I think it's going well! I never saw her smile this much with Charlie," Nora whispered excitedly, unable to take her green eyes off of Maeve and Bob.

"I'd say so," Bradley looked at Nora, not needing to see that his friend was talking to Maeve with a gleam in his blue eyes, a rare sight, "You know it's not going to happen overnight, right?"

"I'm aware. But I think they're off to a good start," Nora grinned. The sight of her best friend, looking the happiest she's seen in the past year, kept her bounce on her toes.

Bob and Maeve were indeed, off to a good start.

[sturncrazy]

LIFE OF THE PARTY PART ONE:

( prt 2 )

- Chris Sturniolo x y/n (fem)

- warnings: mentioning of drinking, language, kissing, some making out

- authors note: this chpt is pretty pg nothing beyond a little heavy kissing….things don’t heat up until the next part. you gotta have some build up yk…

summary: you attended an end of year party for your school with your friends but run into chris who you don’t get along with. someone has the bright idea of starting a game of spin the bottle and your whole night changes…

word count: 2,224 w

—————————————————————————

It was one of the last friday nights of school before your summer vacation started and you were trying to make the most of it by dragging yourself out to a party with you friends. It was a small party, all things considered, with only about 25 other people there, but it was still enough bodies to make the basement setting a bit stuffy for your liking. The room buzzed with voices and shitty rap music from some of the boys being on aux. The dim orangey old lighting made the room feel extra hazy. You sat on a couch surveying the group and fussy with your skirt that was a little too short to sit safely. The group was full of familiar faces from your classes, some more than others. You noticed your friend Madi, who’d wanted you to come here in the first place, already stumbling and slurring a bit in the corner by some guys. Staring down at your lukewarm half empty white claw, you decided to go get something stronger…it would be an awfully long night if you ended up being the sober one. As you headed towards the table with the drinks you bumped into Matt.

“Hey y/n! You okay?”

he asked giving you a half hug. you and Matt had been friends for a couple years now after you’d gotten close to his brother nick. Matt was a sweetheart and always had a reassuring presence.

“Yeah! Hey Matt! Yeah no i’m good just need somethin else to drink”

“Gotcha. Well Chris is lurking over by the drinks so tell him i said to stop being a dick to everyone when you see him” He said letting out a small snort and then running off to catch up with his friend Nate.

Perfect…you’d have to interact with Chris. You couldn’t understand why, but you and Chris never clicked. It was strange since you were so close with both his brothers and Madi, who was basically his sister, was your best friend. But the two of you never got along. He was snarky and condescending. You didn’t like his whole superiority complex. And you knew it was a mutual issue. He always made underbreath remarks about you being a “tight ass.” Even though that wasn’t the case at all, you were just shy. Whatever, doesn’t matter what he thinks you thought to yourself as you built back up the will power to continue your mission to get another drink.

You tried to avoid looking at Chris as you scanned the half emptied bottles of various liquors, all probably snagged from oblivious parents collections, but you could feel his eyes drilling into your skull.

“Another drink already y/n?” Chris snarled at you.

“What? you expecting me to hand you a drink voucher or something?” you spat back still avoiding actually looking at him.

“No need to get all huffy. just thought you’d be shitting yourself after a sip of a claw is all” he snickered at his own comment.

“You know I can drink, Chris. You’ve seen me drink before” You said snagging a solo cup and pouring some juice in it.

“Oh no….do we need to have an intervention is it time for the AA meeting?” he teased, mocking you, as you started to unscrew a bottle of vodka. this made you snap.

“screw you you know what i meant. Don’t give me shit. at least i’m actually fun at parties” you said, finally looking up at him. He stood lazily leaning against the wall. he wore loose fit black jeans that sat on his body casually with air forces peaking out of the bottom paired with a simple white t shirt. a stupidly simple outfit that had no business looking that good. You felt a lump in your throat as you scanned his face. Wide blue eyes, slightly hazy from whatever was in his own red cup he’d been toying with, gazed at you with a sarcastic glint through a curtain of mussed brown hair. You hated the fact that for some reason actually looking a Chris always made your stomach do a little cartwheel.

“Like you weren’t just off in the corner just like me a few minutes ago” he retorted

“What’re you watching me?”

“Just observing my surroundings” he lifted his glass to you in a phony cheers before taking a sip, annoyingly unbothered by your attempted jab at him.

“Well it’s not my fault that the party’s been a little dull” you sulked and let a few too many glugs of vodka slam into your cup

“Don’t blame the party. we both know even if this was a rager you’d be clinging to a wall. You’re not capable of letting loose, but hey not everyone in this world is meant to have fun. it’s why we have like math and shit”

You knew he was doing whatever he could to just get under your skin and it was working. You hated how much you wanted to prove him wrong, but you knew another word out of you in protest would only make him cockier. You slammed your revolting concoction to try to suffocate the things you wanted to spit out at him. Shivering slightly, you made another cup full, aware of the fact that his eyes were still on you. Luckily, in that moment a plastered Madi came bounding over to you with Nick not far behind.

“Y/N cmon we’re gonna start a around of spin the bottle so I can try to kiss the boy from my biology class i was telling you about”

“But shhhhh donttell anyone cause it’s a secret” Nick added drunkly giggling and clinging to madi

“I dunno guys isn’t that game kinda childish” you said mostly fearing the idea of getting stuck kissing some gross slobbery drunk guy

“oh cmonnnnn y/n don’t be boring it’ll be funnnn it’s always fun to stir the pot at parties” Nick continued whining

“Yeah don’t be boring y/n” Chris chimed in, clearly listening in on this whole conversation.

“Chris come on you come too!” Madi said attempting to drag him in

“If i have to watch him kiss anyone i will puke on the spot” Nick said grimacing at the thought

“Yeah i’ll pass” Chris said pulling back

“Ugh whatever, you coming y/n?” Madi asked pleading with you. You hesitated. Chris let out a small chuckle

“What?” you asked him.

“Nothin. Just the day I see you play a game like that i’ll shit twice and die.”

“hmmm. your funeral. yeah madi, let’s go” you said taking your friends hand and shooting him a look. for a second you thought you saw a wave of actual surprise flash across his face.

“REALLY?! YAY!!!” Madi cheered doing a little dance and pulling you to follow nick who’d already darted off to collect other people to play. Chris stood there looking unsure of what to do, but unfortunately Madi saw this too. She grabbed him by the wrist with her other hand yanking him along too

“Cmon chris if you’re such a lady’s man u can’t back out of a little game”

The three of you joined a cluster forming on the floor of people surrounding an empty pink whitney bottle. Chris had managed to break off from Madis grasp, but hadn’t decided to leave the circle. Instead he headed towards a few of his lacrosse friends. You carefully sat on the floor beside Madi as Nick started the game.

The beginning part was boring— mostly suffering through watching other intoxicated teens smush spitty mouths together. you found yourself continually reaching for your little red cup to make the experience more tolerable. It had started to have its effects on you and you were sitting in a blissful bubble of your own fuzzy buzzed state when you became aware of madi poking at you.

“Cmon y/n go! it’s your turn to spin” she slurred as your face flushed hot with embarrassment from delaying the game. you heard chris and one of his friends snicker and you shot him daggers from across the room as you reached for the bottle. You gave it a solid spin and watched it rotating, making you dizzy. slowly it began to end its journey and pick your fate. it stopped. you heard an “oh shit” muttered from close by your side as your gaze followed the direction of the bottle cap…to a pair of white air forces sticking out of black denim. No fucking way. you thought to yourself as you were met by the same wide blue eyes from earlier looking at you. Annoyingly unfazed yet again. Chris.

“Puckerup Chrissy” one of his friends laughed shoving at him

Your body froze as he actually began to move forward towards you. He was close enough you could smell the exhilarating sent of his cologne. Your breath hitched as you realized maybe there was a part of you excited for this kiss.

“let’s just get this over with, yeah?” Chris said before leaning in and giving you a heartless peck on the lips. Your heart sank and you felt a flick of shame and rage heat the back of your neck.

This was only made worse when a few turns further in the game chris landed on a different girl and you watched in horror as they sloppily kissed far longer than a first land in the game was supposed to call for. As he pulled away from her you could’ve sworn you caught him look at you for a reaction. A desire to get back at him bubbled inside of you. When your next turn came you spun the bottle as hard as you could, trying to ignore the jittering mix of nerves and anger in your body. slowing slowing slowing…..stopped. You looked. on the other end of the bottle was Nate. Chris’s best friend. Bingo. The spin the bottle gods had been on your side.

Nate gave you a small smile as you two met in the middle of the circle. You leaned in for a heated kiss which was met by nate eagerly pushing into the early stages of a make out. A series of “oooooo”s let out across the room at your display. You pulled away and were pleasantly surprised to see a disgusted glance from chris. he slammed the rest of his drink and attempted to look distracted.

the rest of the game was taking far too long for your liking as people started having repeats which lead to make out sessions. but you knew the worst would be when the 7 minutes of heaven rounds started for the poor unfortunate suckers who got stuck with the same person 3 times. Your third turn came and you gave the bottle a pathetically weak spin…probably a result of your beverage. it gave a half-assed scooch.

“NO WAY” you heard madi chuckle and to your horror you saw it was Chris…again. But this time there’d be no escaping it with a peck. You’d be counted down for 10 seconds to make out. 10 whole seconds. you’d rather die.

“Cmon Chris don’t mail it in this time pussy” you heard his friend taunt.

If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve said he looked almost nervous as he approached you again. This gave you a strange sense of confidence and you wanted to embarrass him some more. You leaned in and gave him a passionate kiss. Charged by the rage and disgust for him and desire to prove him wrong…or so you told yourself…you felt him freeze on the other side of your lips as the group chanted “SIX FIVE FOUR” but in those last four seconds something shifted. Suddenly his lips relaxed and molded against yours. You felt a him take a small inhale before diving back in with force against your mouth. for a moment you forgot this was ever a game. The two of you pulled apart from one another and you scurried back and started at your shoes in a desperate attempt to avoid any eye contact with chris after that. What was that. Something had felt like it was on fire during that kiss. It felt hungry and desperate. Not like a drunk make out or any stupid game. Mulling over what had happened you lost track of the game until you heard someone say “ok chris your go”

your head shot up. chris’s eyes were on you as he reached for the bottle. you watched as he gave it an oddly light spin. it landed on you.

the room was met with a deafening amount of “whoops” and cheers at the first 3rd land.

the first 7 minutes in heaven land. you thought you would throw up on the spot as your entire body froze.

“Into the closet you two” one of the girls said as she rushed over to open up a door to a dusty looking pocket of a room across the basement. you watched chris stand up and casually saunter over towards the storage space. Hands on your back shoved you forward…probably madi. swallowing, you forced yourself to move your legs hesitantly.

“what’re you afraid i’ll bite you? just fuckin get in” Chris said irritability, causally leaning back with his arms folded in the closet. You headed to the opened door.

—————————————————————————

HERES THE LINK TO PART 2 :

[keeksandgigz]

roll for initiative (part two of lessons in alchemy)

barista!eddie munson x fem!barista!reader AU

summary: You venture into your new position at Eddie's cafe, but you seem to be having a hard time. Eddie gives you hell for refusing to be trained. The confrontation comes to a head after you say something you shouldn't have. A heated game of DnD leaves you wondering about the purpose of this place. Things heat up after you and Eddie close the store alone.

cw: 6.8k words, swearing, modern setting, Eddie and reader being mean to each other, shitty description of a DnD game, teeny bit of angst (sorry), horny sexual tension, smut, spanking, choking, not quite piv yet, fingering, denial this is 18+ minors dni!!

a/n: Surprise! One day early because I'm an impatient little shit. i dunno how to play DnD i'm going off whatever my boyfriend tells me. also kill em all IS the best metallica album, argue with the wall. Debated on making it a two- parter but i wanted to get to the smut <3 pls like and reblog! feedback always appreciated and my ask box is always open if u wanna talk!!!

baby taglist: @corrodedcoffincumslut, @sleepy-bunnie,, @crybabyddl (let me know if you want to be added!)

Eddie's right.

You're indeed crashing and burning as you make those stupidly named lattes, but the rest of the crew is nice enough to help you along the way. Virginia really is coming into her own, quickly mastering every drink that is thrown her way.

Yet you can't shake off the feeling of Eddie stalking towards you, his hot breath on your face. How it didn’t scare you, rather, it excited you. You enjoy picking fights with him, ripping him apart and him doing the same to you. It's not healthy, but it helps with your anger.

“Those were three pumps of elderflower. I believe you need four for a large, sweetheart. Crashing and burning so soon?” he comes up behind you, startling you. 

“Get the fuck off of me before I throw this scalding hot drink at you” not when you're working. You cannot take his taunts while working. 

“Just checking up on you” he shrugs “maybe you might have changed your mind about me training you. I know these are not the dumb little detox drinks you do at your cafe. Which is really what makes the store much more interesting and attractive, doesn’t it?” 

“Eddie I swear to God” it becomes more than taunts. He seriously wants to fuck with your brain. 

“Jeff” he snaps his fingers towards the guy “I’m gonna go take my lunch, you’re in charge ‘til I’m back” his attention diverts away from you for a second, then back to you. “Could you be a dear and make me an extra hot flat white with almond milk? Add a couple pumps of Irish cream syrup in there. I’m expecting a white dot, after all if you’re so perfect you don’t need training that’s gonna be a walk in the park for ya, huh?” he leans against the counter and he’s so condescending it makes your knees tremble. 

“Yeah, duh. I’ll spit in it for ya too. Sounds good?” you panic a bit. Flat whites are not your forte. 

“I knew you’ve been spitting in my drinks, sweetheart. Kinda hot, to be honest. But that’s a violation, wouldn’t wanna get Jim involved, do we?” he raises his eyebrows at you, looking down at you, making you feel like a coffee bean on the ground. Kinda hot. 

“I was just joking, dickhead” 

“Hm. Better be. Another filthy word from you and I’m sending you home.” he whispers. “Alright, going on my lunch. Virginia, you’re off you can go home, Chrissy, take your last break in thirty minutes” and with that, he disappears to one of the tables, watching you make his drink.

That should be a form of cruel and unusual punishment. Just him staring at you, making sure you get his drink right. Pull two ristretto shots.

You aren't buzzing anymore, rather, your brain begins shutting off, drained by all the tension that has been building between you and Eddie. Two pumps of Irish cream. Maybe you actually aren't good enough to be here. Froth the almond milk. Maybe he's right, maybe you are meant to work in a mediocre cafe, making shitty drinks. Espresso first, then milk. You aren't good enough for this level of mastery. 

Fuck. No white dot. 

You tremble as you walk towards Eddie, sitting at his table, watching you bring him a cup of mediocre coffee. 

“No white dot” he says, looking at you with displeasure. 

“I’m sorry, I-”he interrupts you.

“You wanna get trained or are you gonna be a little know-it-all and then deliver me this?” he sips on his flat white. 

“Ok, fine. Train me, whatever.”Embarrassment overtakes you, wanting a hole to form under your feet and engulf you. 

He's right, he has been right all along. Tears begin to prick at your eyes.

“You okay there? Y’know I was joking, right? It doesn’t matter I just-” a spark of guilt lights itself in his throat, you look like you're about to cry. 

“Can I take a second?” you say, the knot in your throat threatening to snap any second. 

“Yeah, um go- go take your break” he breathes. Fuck, he's made you cry. 

You run off towards the back, wanting to disappear. Everything that has happened within those past two days begin to wash over you.

Your cafe is gone, the project you had worked on with your dad before he got sick, gone for the next year. And he’d likely not see it reopen.

Eddie being an asshole, holding a grudge on you because you took his customers, making your life a living hell. 

You sit in the back as you wipe some tears that fell from your eyes. Across the room, there's a door that you have not seen before, and it's ajar.

Curiosity gets the best of you, as you walk into a small, secluded room. It's full of beakers and jars of ingredients, really selling the whole alchemist thing. You look through the ingredients elderflower, rose, peppermint, honey, basil. Basil syrup sounds disgusting. 

You turn towards the work bench, noticing a bottle full of clear liquid labeled lavender syrup. You open it and immediately smell the astringent flavor coming from the bottle. You pour some on your finger and take a taste. Ew.

He needs a better lavender syrup recipe.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” Eddie’s voice makes you drop the bottle to the floor, shattering and spilling the astringent liquid on the floor. 

“Oh- shit sorry! I was just- i just got curious” 

“You can’t just come in here and act like you own the place. Curious my ass, you were trying to steal” he accuses, and that hurts you.

“You know I won’t fucking do that, I take my work seriously. Also your lavender syrup tastes like ass, and basil syrup? That sounds foul” you wince, stepping over the broken glass, to make your way back to the front.

He grabs your arm and stops you. “Aren’t you gonna clean that up? Broom’s in the closet” he says, offering you a smug smile. 

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole” you reply, jerking away from his grip. 

“Alright that’s it” is all he says before he slams you against the wall.

He's close. He's so fucking close. 

Your back slams against the brick, hitting a random canvas panel. You can feel his breath on your face, the smell of coffee and cologne inundating your senses. 

“You have been a fucking pain in my ass since you opened your dumb little cafe. You’ve been rude, unruly, untidy and down right mean towards me, and I’m fucking over it” he seethes, he has you caged in between his tattooed arms and all you can think of is tracing every line of his tattoos with the tips of your fingers.

“It’s been four fucking hours, y’hear me? Four hours and I’m sick of you. Y’think you’re cute? You’re a fucking brat, sweetheart, and I don’t like dealing with brats like you.” Your stomach feels funny, like you're taking on a challenge rather than a scolding.

“Clean your shit up and go home, I don’t wanna see your fucking face today. Come back when you have gained some common sense in that empty fucking head” he lowers his arms, but you aren't done. 

“Or what? You think you’re so scary, Eddie, with your stupid tattoos, your fucking stupid hair and your stupid satanic shirts. I don’t give a shit who you are, I’m employed to work here and you can’t fucking send me home because you don’t like me. I’ll fucking report you, freak” 

Freak. His breath hitches at that, years of high school bullying getting under his skin again, making him swallow hard at the unwelcome memory of being slammed against a locker on Monday mornings before class. He stiffens up.

“Alright” he swallows “clean this up and get back to work, I don’t wanna see you right now” you notice that his demeanor has changed, you visibly hit a nerve. Guilt pools at your chest.

“But what about- about the training?” you ask, voice hitching.

“I’ll get Gareth to train you, Virginia should have gone home already. That way we’re both happy. Take tomorrow off, I’ll see you Tuesday” and with that he leaves.

He keeps himself buried in his office until the end of your shift. He can't bear to stand the sight of you, not after you had called him a freak. That stung more than whatever stupid insult you could have flung his way. 

When you turn up on Tuesday, Eddie is nowhere to be found. 

“He took the day off,” Steve says. And you feel real fucking bad. You're scheduled for a mid- shift from three to seven.

“Hey” Jeff says “we’re closing early today ‘cause we’re doing a DnD campaign after. Since Eddie’s not here, would you mind taking over for me so I can start setting up? We close at six-thirty, so after that you can, like, sweep, do dishes and then you can go home” 

You aren't in the mood for a snide remark or a witty comment, so you just agree. “Is Eddie gonna be here tonight?” you ask. You’ve been trying to hound him to apologize for whatever happened the day before, it's clear he's avoiding you. 

He was supposed to be on the schedule. 

“Yeah uh” he replies “he’s our DM, so we kinda need him” he shrugs. 

“DM?” you froth a cup of oatmilk, turning towards him while he's making his drinks.

“Yeah. Dungeon Master?” he gives you a Isn’t that obvious? expression and goes back to his iced hazelnut macchiato. 

“Kinky” you retort, he laughs a bit. 

At six-thirty you lock up the store and you confine yourself to the back for dishes. Keeping an ear out for Eddie’s voice, hoping he’d show up before 7. 

Colette left with Steve to work on the Halloween menu and “I don’t fuck with that nerd stuff” said Steve, fixing his glasses after putting his coat on. 

“…no Henderson you don’t get it “Kill ‘Em All” is definitely Metallica’s best album, are you shitting me? …No don’t come at me with that “Enter Sandman” bullshit you’re so basic for that, you fucking poser” your ears perk up at that. It's definitely Eddie. 

You peek your head out of the back door to see him set up a big table, followed by a bunch of what look like  high school students as they sit down, with their spiral notebooks and pens.

A bunch of small figurines scattered on the cardboard mat as Eddie sits at the head of the table, pulling out a leather bound folder covered in stickers and a cardboard screen. 

They're serious about this.

You're too busy staring at the crowded table to notice Eddie running towards you.

"Daddy didn't teach you it's rude to stare?"

You press yourself against the green tile wall to let him pass, words caught in your throat as you follow him into his office.

"Apparently daddy didn't teach you that stalking is bad either. What is it? Need somethin'?" he spits out and you can feel the venom in his words.

"Yeah, I just" you clear your throat. Talking was hard. He cocks an eyebrow at you as he begins rummaging through his desk drawers.

"Well?"

"I just wanted to apologize for-"

"For being a bitch the other day? Took you long enough" he scoffs as he retrieves a small tin box containing what you assume are dice.

"Um- yeah. I guess that" you shrug and turn your feet to leave the door.

"I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. It's not a real apology otherwise, is it?" he has this ability to make you feel so incredibly small with only the power of his words. Like he's talking to a toddler.

"I don't think that's necessary, Eddie, I mean um- I have to get back to work" you protest.

"You can go back to work when you give me a full apology" he's ticking you off, gloating in his victory of you admitting defeat. The white banner you're waving slowly turning red.

"You're being a cunt, take the apology and go play your stupid nerd game" you snap, and you can see his lips curling in a wicked grin. Challenge accepted.

"All this talk of me kicking you to the curb for your filthy mouth really isn't sticking huh? Sorry sweetheart, can't accept an apology you don't mean" he shrugs, heading out of his office, you follow him suit.

"Eddie what the fuck?! Are you actually mental?" you want to strangle him, shove those dice so far down his throat he chokes and dies.

"I'd recommend you scrub those dishes really hard, I can still see the grime on the blenders. If you'll excuse me, I gotta lead my party through the rivers of Bagodan" he winks and then he walks over to his table, leaving you mortified.

You do a once- over with the dishes, while hearing Eddie's shrill voice screech and laugh every time one of his players miss. What's so fucking funny about a couple kids rolling dice?

"Looks like you've made it to the last river" he narrates in a solemn voice, deeper, hotter "Oh, but what is that? You hear shrieking from a distance. It's a sphynx. To cross the river you have to behead the sphynx and bring it to the king of Bagodan. Only then he will grant you access to the wings of Saurion the Elder, and you... will be... free" he says in a whispered tone.

"What do you do, my brave adventurers?"

"Shit" you hear one of the kids swear, he's tall with black hair. "We don't have enough hit points to kill the sphynx AND get through the king's palace guards"

"You’re astute dipshit, congrats!" says another, a girl, looking much younger than the rest.

"We would have had enough points if Dustin here, hadn't fucking sold his to the market for a stupid cloak" says Gareth, shoving the kid who you assume is Dustin

"it was aN INVISIBILITY CLOAK" Dustin yells. The room booms in laughter at the kid's tantrum.

It makes you think. About how you've never had a group of friends like that. Someone to share a common interest with. Sure, you have Colette, but you've moved to town just fairly recently, and you have lived and breathed work for the first two years. No friends to make when you're cooped up home buried in projects among projects. No friends to make when your dad is sick and you have to take him to the hospital on Saturdays for his treatment. You sigh a bit at that. Maybe your cafe exploding is the catalyst that is gonna bring you a new life, a new perspective.

Coming to a store that has unity as a top value really makes you reflect on how lonely your life has been so far.

"Alright children, let's take a break and you can talk strategy. Anyone want a drink?" He stands up from his chair and walks towards the bar. Startled, you go back to the sink and begin scrubbing.

"Y'know you can join us, right?" he leans against the green tile wall, looking at you.

"Join in on that nerd shit? No, thanks. My shift is over" you say putting the last blender on the drying rack and heading to the back.

He follows you "Okay, whatever. I just wanted to tell you it's gonna be me and you tomorrow. Chrissy said she can't make it. Something about midterms" and you roll your eyes.

"Fucking perfect. Tell me in what world does this shit always happen to me" you say exasperated, taking off your apron, which allows your shirt to rise just enough that it gives Eddie a peek of your tummy. Enough to make him gulp a little. Enough to distract him for ten seconds.

He shakes his head. "Listen, I'm not happy about it either, but let's keep it civil, okay? I do my thing, you do yours, we're outta here by 9 pm" he offers, leaning over the metal lockers.

You're not sure if it was the Dungeon Master demeanor he keeps on for the sake of his game or what, but he feels so tall. The thought of it makes you shiver. You put on your jacket.

"How you gettin' home?" he asks.

"Driving" you lie, your car broke down the day before, but you don't want him offering you a ride.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow for closing, then" he says, giving you a tight smile.

"Yeah, bye" you respond hastily, heading out towards the bus stop. Eddie keeps an eye on you through the store window the whole time.

Wednesday night at the "Mad Alchemist" is busier than you expected. Steve left for the evening, leaving you and Eddie to man the fort by yourselves.

Meaning you have to watch him flirt with every fucking customer. Young, old, boy, girl. His self assured demeanor is like a magnet to those coffee- hungry teens, the older women just blush and deliver him a meek "aw, stop it, Eddie" swatting the air and giggling.

Because you both have been so busy, it has not given you time to run your mouth and deliver him some snarky comment.

By 8pm, the store is closed. You have an hour to sweep, clean the counters, mop and do the dishes while Eddie counts the money at the register.

There is a tense quietness in the cafe. Almost as if you know that if one opened their mouths the world would explode. Or you’d start fucking, whichever one comes first. There is no noise aside from the register opening, the broom dragging across the floor and Eddie whistling.

After a day of talking, listening, screaming, shouting, the last thing you want to do is hear Eddie whistle. You let him do it, one minute, two minutes, five minutes in hopes he would get tired.

“Eddie, please” you whine.

“Helps me count money better,” he shrugs, beginning his atrocious whistling again.

You wait one, two, five minutes again. The noise of the sweep and the whistling and the money become too much for you, so in an exasperated rage, you kick the chair in front of you.

“Eddie shUT THE FUCK UP!”

The noise of the chair is the only sound in the building. Eddie stops counting, and stops whistling.

He's just staring at you. At the fallen chair. At the broom next to your feet. You find the floor to be really interesting.

“Pick it up.” Eddie’s voice is distant. A few seconds go by, and your eyes are still on the floor.

The sound of paper being put down and the stomping of heavy boots follow, until his boots arrive in your line of sight. You can't help but raise your head.

“What part of ‘pick it up’ does not register in that head? Hm? Do you kick chairs at home?”

Defeated, you shake your head.

“Do you call your daddy names?”

Another head shake.

“Do you spit in your daddy’s coffee in the morning?” his voice becomes a whisper, so, so close to your face. So close to your lips.

“I didn’t-” he cuts you off.

“I don’t appreciate liars, sweetheart. Did you spit in my drink?” he's cornering you, making you feel small.

You nod. “Only once, though” you defend yourself.

“Only once” he mocks, chuckling to himself “sixteen.” he mutters.

“Sixteen is the number of times, from the first time i stepped foot in your goddamn cafe, I’ve seen you spit in my fuckin’ drink” he seethes, no, growls.

“Now you’re fucking lying” you interject, finding a small crumb of courage within you.

“Don’t act cute, I’ve seen you. Pick the chair up” he says, his chin tilting towards the chair on the floor.

“I can’t pick it up if your stupid arm’s in the way, can I?” he grunts and moves his arm. You bend over and picked the chair up, breathing through your teeth. You're furious.

“Watch your attitude, here we don’t-”

You snap your neck around “You’re a fucking control freak, that’s what you are” you mutter. There's that word again. Freak.

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that word again” he's furious.

You turn around to face him. It's your turn to be close “Or what? You gonna spank me?” it's barely a whisper, looking at him through your lashes. A challenge.

He exhales, crossing his arms “You know what? That’s the best idea you’ve had since you’ve stepped foot in this place. Bend over the table” He whispers, and you freeze.

If there is a definition to fuck around and find out, you're it.

“Seems you might be a bit hard of hearing, sweetheart. I said bend over.” he says, more gently, yet keeping that domineering aura to him. He nudges your arm.

You quietly follow through.

“Now you’re following orders. Before I start I need to know you’re okay with this” he whispers, caressing your back in an almost soothing manner.

You nod.

He tuts “None of that shit. I’m not doing anything until I have your green light. With words”

“I-” words suddenly become hard. You swallow and breathe through your nose “I’m- I’m okay with this”

There is no denying you're extremely turned on, in addition to being revved up by your previous fight. It feels like wildfire spreading itself from every tip of your body, finding a home right between your legs.

“Alright, good. If you want me to stop we can stop at any time, just say ‘chainmail’” he says, looking around to check if the blinds had been lowered. He has a safeword. He knows what he's doing.

“O-okay” you say with all the power you can muster.

“You wanna act like a toddler, sweetheart? I’ll treat ya like a fuckin’ toddler” he says, before delivering the first smack right on the meat of your left butt cheek.

You’ve tried spanking before, with previous partners, but this is different. The smacks are calculated, like he knows where to hit. A yelp escapes you.

“Need ya to count” he says, caressing the area he just hit.

“‘Kay, fuck. One” you exhale, still feeling his handprint on your ass. The red hot sting from the impact leaving tiny pinpricks through the fabric of your jeans. 

Smack. Two.

“How ‘bout this?” he stops, speaking to no one, really. “How ‘bout I give you one spank for every time you’ve spit in my coffee, hm?”

That makes you tremble a bit. Sixteen slaps. 

“I dunno if I can, I mean I-” 

“Then you know what to say if it gets too much, right? Say ‘Yes, Eddie, I do’” his voice makes your knees give out as his other hand, the one that isn't squeezing and groping your ass, makes its way into your hair and pulls. 

“Ow- Fuck, Jesus Christ Eddie!” you yell, but the pull at your scalp makes you wish he’d drop the antics, pull your pants down and fuck you immediately. 

“Not what I wanna hear, sweetheart. Try that again” He smacks your ass again, pulling his hand out of your hair to hold your back down from the waist. 

“Three, fuck. Yes, Eddie, I-I do” you exhale and prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“Good girl,” he says. Good girl. He could easily smack you in the face and that is would shock you less. Where the fuck did he learn all this shit?

By the time you’ve reached spank number ten you think you're ready to tap out. Tears welling in your eyes, making your vision go blurry. You're turned on, but Eddie’s heavy hand is becoming too painful.

He notices you trying to squirm away from him with every hit of his hand, all he says is “You know what to say, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

But you let him keep going. Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen.

The last slap feels like the roughest, leaving in its wake the phantom of a heavy hand. His hand rubbing circles on your ass, almost like he doesn't feel ready to stop touching you.

You turn your head around, so you're able to see his face.

“Mmmm, so what now?” you ask, still hazy “Gonna take me home, Eddie? Finish the job?”it's like your brain has forgotten who you are talking to.

“C’mere” he says, sitting you down on the table, your ass rough and sore under the fabric of your pants.

You can feel the slick feeling between your legs through the seam of your black jeans, hoping he’d move you to keep going, take you home, his office, his van, anywhere. 

His body settles between your legs as his hands run through the expanse of your stomach, your back. Your hands make their way to the buckle of his belt, trying to quickly undo his jeans. Eddie inhales as if to convince himself to stop you as he grabs your wrists and pushes them to your chest, his belt left unbuckled “Not tonight,” he murmurs.

You pout in protest.

“Aww, you’re pouting” he mocks, a dry laugh escapes his lips. It brings a twang of embarrassment "pouting 'cause I'm not letting you take my dick in your mouth, sweetheart?" he taunts. 

“I‘m not pouting” you mutter, looking at the floor. His hands grab your chin, lifting your eyes to make you look up at him. He looks so tall standing over you like that, eyes still glossed over, pupils blown from the spanking he’s just given you. 

“You look at me when I speak to you, yeah?” Oh fuck. You know better this time. 

“Yeah” you croak out, nodding your head in case he doesn't get the message. 

“Yeah? You liked getting spanked? Being put in your place?” his demeanor never fails in making you feel impossibly small.

The hand that holds your chin travels down your neck and you lean into his touch, in the way his hand wraps itself around your throat, warm and rough. Who are you to say he isn't gonna strangle you and kill you? 

But the feeling of his hand around the column of your neck, covering its whole surface area feels too intoxicating, like you want him to make you stop thinking. Your breath hitches. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t have my rings on. With the way you’ve been running your mouth you would’ve more than deserved it” his grip on your neck going from resting to actually applying pressure to the sides of your throat. You gasp. 

He just watches you, eyes glossy and desperate while you try to press your thighs together to relieve some pressure. Poor thing. He almost feels bad for you. The way he sees you keen into his touch, labored breath, watching your chest rise and fall slowly. 

“We can’t do this here, Eddie. The health violations” you say,  barely a whisper, mustering whatever breath and thought you can. Your brain feels foggy and fuzzy with the slight pressure of air being constricted. He chuckles. 

“Didn’t you go to UCLA or something? Aren’t you supposed to be really smart?” his tone is mocking, you swallow at the embarrassment, hand letting up on your throat to grab your hand. He isn't here to be soft with you. He is here to make a point.

“Me choking you got you actin’ all dumb already?’M impressed. C’mon get off the table, we can’t be here” he says, making you stand up. 

“Where- where are we going?” you feel winded, and you haven't even done anything. He leads you through the cafe, the bar, the back of house, where the drying dishes sit abandoned on the rack. Right at the threshold to his back office, the cold green tile arch pressing against your back.

“I don’t know, but I really wanna kiss you right now.” and you feel like your breath has just gotten knocked out of you. He wants to kiss you?

"You wanna- huh?" he slams you against the wall, just t prove a point "Shut the fuck up" he says as he puts his lips on yours. Famished, animalistic.

There is no room for gentleness. No room for sweet caresses and soft praises. His hands groping and feeling your hips, grinding into him. The friction against his tattered jeans make a whine escape you. Too much and not enough.

His teeth clash with yours as you both open your mouths, the way he tastes made you dizzy. His mint gum and cigarettes inundate your senses as you pull at the hair tie that is keeping Eddie's unruly hair in place.

Reaching under the mane of hair, you pull at his nape, where his curls are smaller, more defined. He groans.

His nose skims your jaw and licks at the hinge between the bone and your neck, making you yelp. A small oh escapes you when his hands work to untuck your shirt out of your jeans, his cold hands sneaking past the barrier of clothing to touch at the skin of your stomach, the sides of your breasts.

His mouth is warm against your neck, tracing every ridge, every line, every mole, 'til he reaches the juncture between your neck and your shoulder and he bites.

"Eddie, you fucking freak don't bite me" you hiss, head thrown back as he lifts your shirt up, leaving it completely abandoned on the floor.

He moves you off the wall and into his office, mouth not stopping his assault on your neck, stumbling towards his cluttered desk. With one move, a space big enough for you to sit is created. His shirt comes off in the process. His pale chest, skinny, but toned and littered with tattoos, is the only thing you are able to pay attention to.

"I hear that fucking word come outta your mouth again I'll-" he begins.

"You what? More spanking? Consider me terrified" you interrupt, all an evil plan to egg him on. Blinking your eyes up at him. He is seething.

"God, do you ever shut up?" he asks, a groan leaving his lips continuing to kiss you, teeth and tongue and spit, his hands coming out from under your shirt to grab your chin.

You look up at him, hair wild and unruly, eyes blown out, a wicked glint in his eye, almost like he's plotting something.

“Open your mouth” he says, and you looked at him, a puzzled look on your face. He squeezes your cheeks in response, forcing your mouth open. “You fucking brat” he mutters.

You keep your mouth open, expecting his finger, something. Instead, a glob of spit makes its way onto your tongue. He spit in your mouth. You throb.

“Eddie what the fuck-” you begin, but he interrupts you.

“You didn’t seem to mind spitting in my coffee, did you? Consider this a payback. Swallow it.” he smirks against your lips, lightly tapping his fingers on your cheek, not quite a slap. You obey immediately for the first time that night.

His hand travels down to the seam of your jeans, your breath becoming more labored with all the building tension from the night.

“Eddie…please” you whine, arching into his hand, not wanting to pull back anymore. You want release, brain hazy with the feeling of being under him, the way his rough hands are touching you, exploring you, grabbing and groping at the curves of your body as you arch into him.

His hand begins moving back and forth, the heel of his palm making direct contact with the seam of your pants, forcing a strangled whine out of you.

You grind your hips in sync with his hand, as the other sits on your cheek, cupping it, moaning in his mouth at the small amount of friction he's giving you. “Can I take your pants off?” he asks, soft against your mouth. You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He quickly makes work of taking your shoes and jeans off, pooled at his feet while his hands caress and grope their way up your thighs.

“You’re cute when you’re not being a cunt, you know that?” he whispers against your mouth, hand ghosting over your panties, practically feeling the heat radiating off of you.

“Fuck you, Eddie,” you say through gritted teeth, motioning to hit him in the chest. He stops you, grabbing your wrists with his hands.

“I suggest keeping that filthy mouth at bay if you really want me to do something about that big, wet patch on your panties, hm?” he whispers, licking your bottom lip, his hand still keeping an iron grip on your wrists.

“How ‘bout you stop being a cunt and fuck me?” you’ve had enough of his teasing and taunting.

“Who said anything about fucking?” he chuckles, his hand moving down to grope at your ass. “No, see, that would be improper, don’t you think? Fucking your boss in his office. You kinky bitch” he delivers a sharp smack down to your ass, reviving the dull sting from the spanking earlier.

“You’re not my fucking boss, Eddie. Stop talking and- ohmygod”

His other hand begins massaging over the crotch of your panties, making direct contact with your clit over the fabric. “Made you this wet from spanking you? Think you might have actually been the freak this whole time, sweetheart.” He hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties “Lift.” He taps your thigh, you immediately lift your hips to let him take your panties off.

He laughs when he sees the mess that he’s made of your pussy.

“Fuck stop- stop laughing” you whisper out while his hands begin to spread your legs further.

“I think you secretly love me laughing at you. You think you’re so tough, bein’ all mean, callin’ me a freak like it doesn’t turn you on just imagining how much of a fucking freak I really am, huh sweetheart?” he skims your jaw with his nose, his words making you shiver as you clench around nothing.

His free hand sneaking its way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you squeak.

Your hips lift off the desk, looking to find some kind of stimulation aside from Eddie’s cruel teasing touches.

He looks at you through his dark lashes “What is it, baby?” baby. baby. baby. The nickname makes your head spin.

“Eddie, I- fuck- please! I need-” your hips arch off the wooden surface as you feel his fingers prod your entrance.

“You need my fingers? Can you ask me nicely?” you want to kill him. He's reveling in the torture that he's putting you through.

“I f-ucking ah hate you” but you aren't really sure if you believe that yourself.

“You hate me sweetheart? I’m hurt. You won’t mind then if I just leave you here, do you?” he caresses over your inner thigh, the tips of his fingers coated in slick, clear arousal.

“No!” your hips lift once again “your fingers…please” His smile is pleased as one of his fingers enter you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” He's making your head spin, a choked noise leaves your lips as he pumps his finger in and out, finally getting the stimulation you need.

“More” you whisper, his other hand still on your throat.

“So greedy. Y’gonna thank me? Say ‘thank you, Eddie’”

At that point you can't even think about acting up. “F-fuck. Thank- thank you Eddie” and with that, he adds another finger.

God, you already feel so full and teetering the edge.

“Good girl. Now that I think about it, I believe you owe me an apology” he begins, his fingers working mercilessly inside you, while a string of breathy ah ah ahs are all the sounds you could muster.

“You were so mean to me the other day, I didn’t appreciate your tone while you were trying to apologize” he taunts, his fingers prodding deeper inside you. A small yelp escapes you.

“You were- you were ah” his fingers curl on your g-spot and your vision goes white.

“What was that? I was what, baby?” he begins to thumb at your clit, smiling like a maniac at the state he's reducing you in.

“Oh yes there” no idea how you're gonna finish your sentence.

“Feels good huh? Needa finish what you were saying, sweetheart, can’t have you going stupid on me just yet” his hand on your throat moves up to your cheek, delivering a couple light smacks to your face. You clench.

“Fuck, uh, you we-were being a oh god cunt” you say, mustering all the mental strength you can.

“Is that right? Funny how my fingers are in yours right now and you don’t seem to complain.” He laughs to himself, his thumb speeding up its assault on your clit.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I just need you to say ‘Sorry Eddie, I won’t be a bitch to you again.’ Can you say that or is your brain too fucking far gone to understand a single word i’m saying?” he teases, which briefly brings you back from the ecstasy of Eddie’s fingers working wonders on you.

“Fuck you, Eddie” you hiss through your teeth, immediately regretting it at the feeling of the coil in your belly beginning to tighten.

“Oh. It’s like that then. Alright” he simply says as he picks up his pace. Head thrown back as you revel in the feeling of nearing the edge of your release.

“Oh shit, get-getting close” you breathe.

“Apologize and I’ll let you cum” he smiles, a wicked show of bared teeth that only makes you both want to punch him and fuck him.

“Fuck n- Oh God- ‘m not apologizing for- for shit” you arch your back, trying to make yourself cum before he changes his mind.

“Fucking apologize” he insists.

“Fuck you” you say, followed by the unwelcome feeling of emptiness as he takes his fingers out. You really thought he was bluffing.

An empty ache grows in your stomach, feeling unfulfilled and disappointed. You sit there in disbelief, as he cleans his fingers off with a tissue.

“Pity” he shrugs “Get dressed, I’m taking you home” he turns around, heading towards the front.

You throw the box of kleenex at his head. You miss.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you jump off his desk, ignoring the dull throb between your legs as you put your panties and jeans back on, following the trail of your clothes he left in his wake.

“Could’ve said sorry” he just says, closing up the register, while you put on your shirt and shoes “C’mon my van is around the back” he offers, grabbing his keys.

“I’m not fucking getting in your car. I can drive” you protest.

“Yeah, uh huh, you and what car, you fucking liar? Saw you at the bus stop the other day, and your car isn’t in the parking lot. You either let me drive or you can sleep in here tonight.”

You let him drive you home. The sound of Judas Priest blaring through the speaker only makes the stubborn silence between you two louder.

The ten minute drive to your house feels like an hour, as you itch to get off the dingy van and take care of what he left unfinished.

He finally parks up in front of your house, you quickly book it towards your door as he shouts “You’re welcome sweetheart” before you fumble with the keys and enter inside. He stays there until you do.

Your dad was asleep already, so you crack his bedroom door to check up on him. You sigh. Everything seems to be alright.

Once all the lights are off, you run towards your room. Still in disbelief of what happened with Eddie, you strip off your coffee- smelling clothes, wincing at the thought of Eddie’s hands sneaking under your shirt, his fingers hooking on the sides of your panties.

The feeling of hatred and arousal battling each other off while you recall his stupid smiling face as he removed his fingers from inside you. The dull empty ache as you came down from the euphoria of his touch and words.

That night, you kick yourself for not saying sorry to him.

[smolandweirdwriter]

Hi I just think you're really cool so I have this suggestion for you

Adaine with POTS.

ok hear me out this isn't just "giving the character I'm obsessing over my chronic illness" I have a cool idea

adaine and ailwyn are fighting and adaine's feeling really shitty, like her hands are feeling limp and she knows shes gonna pass out, but she keeps fighting because she can't just give up and let her sister win.

she passes out, and wakes up laying on the floor, ailwyn gone. she reaches for the bottle of water and chips she keeps on her bedside table but she cant move enough to get them.

an unseen servant joins her in her room, and it looks different to the ones she normally has in her room. it gets the water for her, and helps her recover.

later when she goes into ailwyns room, she finds her book open to the chapter for summoning an unseen servant.

sorry if I phrased this really wrong I just don't really know how to get words onto a page

Adaine knows she passed out and wakes up with a jolt. She gasps, jarred; there are no hard tiles beneath her, no cold air against her body, she has not been left on the floor. She is... in her bed.

Alright, she reasons, she passed out and Aelwyn told Mother and Father who had Unseen Servants take care of her.

She blinks hard, expecting a headache, a bruise from having hit the floor. Nothing. There's no way Aelwyn could've summoned an Unseen Servant in time to catch her--and no way she would, either.

None of her family have healing magic.

It feels impossible, but she has the slightest sensation, maybe a flashing memory before she passed out, of Aelwyn lunging for her. Catching her. If she had the breath to do so, Adaine might have laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

Adaine's gaze catches on the clock across the room. Her mother has a conference and her father has meetings with the Council of Chosen. They won't be back until dinnertime.

That leaves...

An Unseen Servant slips into the room, holding a tray laden with a tall glass of water and pitcher, as well as salt tablets and some crisps. The servant is brusque, forces her to drink two glasses of water and take the tablets with sharp, condescending motions that Adaine recognizes so very well. The servant leaves the chips on her table and disappears.

Adaine wants to speak, but her blankets are comfortable, and she's tired, and, well... She fades back to sleep.

When she awakes hours later, she hears her family beginning down the stairs for dinner and rushes to join them.

She arrives in time to hear Aelwyn sneering, "--still asleep I think. She's been dawdling around in her room all day."

Adaine freezes on the landing.

Angwyn spots her and says, "Adaine. I hear you had a relaxing evening."

Adaine stammers, "No, I wasn't, I-I didn't, she- I'm- I'm not- I--"

"Very eloquent, little sister," Aelwyn purrs. "Truly, the benefits of being raised by a trained politician have not been wasted on you."

"First off, politicians aren't eloquent just because they lie convincingly," Adaine snaps.

"So you admit you're trying to lie?" Aelwyn raises a brow.

Bitch. Bitch, bitch, you fucking bitch, choruses in Adaine's head, drowning out any memory of her sister's Unseen Servant or kindness, squashing it down into nothing.

"No, I--"

"Girls," Arianwen breaks in from the table. "Sit and be civil. That means you, Adaine."

Adaine glowers at everything in her vicinity and slumps into her seat. Aelwyn does not look at her for the rest of the meal.

[autumnshighlady]

A Lesson in Language

Fëanor x female!reader

part of The Professor Series

summary: challenging your linguistics professor is your favourite past time, until he decides it's time for you to face consequences for it

warnings: smut, power dynamic, daddy kink (only a little bit at the end), rough oral sex (m receiving), hate sex, roughness, Fëanor is a raging asshole

word count: 4.4k

request: Professor Feanor x reader? With fiery smut and snarky student reader ;) I was thinking something like he’s a linguistics prof (since he did come up with a new system of writing) and he teaches this one course that reader needs to graduate but she’s annoyed that he teaches it’s either his way or nothing at all so she argues with him all the time in office hours for her marks and etc?

So since we seem to be imagining everybody as a professor: Feanor. He'd be mean, and condescending, and the gods may help you if you're not good in his class (wth is he even teaching, he's good at everything💀) But if you're his best student, and a bright mind beyond class assignments? You'll want the gods to help you for wholly different reasons.

a/n: Fëanor is a massive douche in this fic ladies pls never let a man treat u like this lmao

series playlist on Spotify here

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

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You rolled your eyes as you doodled in the margins of your notebook, trying to ignore Professor Fëanor’s arrogant voice echoing in the classroom. He was droning on about pragmatics, a topic you had mastered last year already. You hated this class – it was tedious at best, and like watching paint dry at its worst. The only reason you were begrudgingly taking it was because it was your last requirement for graduation, as the class involved drawing up your own research study instead of a final exam. Everyone who was in this class took it for one of two reasons – either they were the same as you and just needed it for graduation, or they were lovestruck morons enamoured with the professor.

Admittedly, he was an attractive male. His long, raven-black hair suited his sharp face, with grey blue eyes that surveyed the class like a hawk, picking on daydreaming students to answer difficult questions. He was always impeccably dressed, and spoke with more confidence than anyone you had ever met. Yet he was arrogant and stubborn, insisting his way was the only way to learn linguistics. He spoke to his students as if they were dumb, incapable of being anywhere near his level of knowledge. And it irritated you beyond belief.

You were well known amongst your peers for getting into arguments with the professor. Dr. Fëanor had a nasty temper that frightened most, but amused you. You were the only student who didn’t hesitate to challenge him and stick up for yourself when he decided he wanted to bully his students. You were confident in your linguistic skill set, marching to his office to argue your grades whenever he gave you a shitty mark. You could tell it infuriated him, how his best student didn’t kiss his ass like he had clearly expected you to.

“Am I interrupting your artistic time, (Y/N)?” Dr. Fëanor’s bored voice sounded a few feet away from you, snapping you back to reality. You looked up, and he was standing in front of your table, glaring down at you. The students beside you shrank back, afraid to be caught up in the professor’s wrath. But you didn’t back down, only sighing and looking up to meet his gaze.

“What was that, sir?” You asked, widening your eyes and faking innocence knowing damn well it would piss him off further.

“You haven’t been paying attention to a single thing I’ve said all week.” He snorted. “How you are my top student is beyond me, with such a short attention span.”

“I’ve been paying attention, sir.” You lied, bringing your elbows to rest on the table. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then you won’t mind a little pop quiz, just for you?”

You shrugged. “Fire away.”

“What are the three airstream mechanisms in phonetics?” His shoulders were tense, a sign of his visible annoyance towards you.

Your answer rolled off your tongue. “Pulmonic, glottalic, velaric.”

“Define a morpheme.”

“The smallest meaningful unit of language. It must have a meaning of its own, either lexical or a grammatical function, and it must be minimal, not containing any smaller units that have meanings of their own.”

“And what are the four maxims of conversation?”

“Quality, quantity, relation and manner.” You smiled, watching your professor’s face get redder as you answered his questions easily.

“Name the distinctive linguistic properties of Quenya that make it differ from Sindarin.” Dr. Fëanor smirked, cocking his head arrogantly. You knew he would ask this question, it was too predictable. He was the master of Quenya, having played a huge role in the development of the language and construction of the Tengwar alphabet. 

But as usual, he underestimated you. You took a breath, pretending to think for a moment before lifting your chin and meeting his gaze once again. “Where do I begin?” You said confidently. “Quenya is a more complex agglutinative language that strings morphemes together into long words using an inflectional system with a flexible syntax, while Sindarin has a much easier to follow language structure. Quenya uses 5 tenses to conjugate, Sindarin has 6 and words often begin with vowels whereas in Quenya, they typically end in vowels. They both use the structures SVO and OVS structures, but Sindarin uses VS and VO, although it lacks the OSV structure that Quenya has. Additionally, Quenya adopted case endings for nouns in nominative and genitive cases, using the dual plural to represent plural form since it lacks a definite article to mark the regular plural. Would you like me to go on, sir?”

The entire class was utterly silent. No one dared breathe in the moments following your monologue as you waited for your professor to reply. You expected him to yell at you, maybe throw a manuscript at your head. But he didn’t move. It began to make you uneasy, and you noticed a strange look cross his face for a half second before he finally spoke. 

“I’ve heard more than enough from you for one class.” Fëanor’s voice was leathally calm, sending goosebumps up your arm. “Keep your mouth shut for the remainder of the lecture, and pay attention.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your pen and sitting back in your chair as the professor continued his lecture. You crossed your legs, making your skirt hike up on your thighs, but you were too annoyed to fix it. Your professor was an arrogant bastard who couldn’t comprehend that not everyone around him was as dumb as rocks. But your skin flushed as you drifted off into one of your many daydream scenarios of Fëanor bending you over his desk and taking his anger out on you. You just knew he was rough and dominant in bed, having fantasised about being on the receiving end of that fire within him.

Your daydreaming was cut short as the professor began distributing last week’s quizzes back to the students. He didn’t acknowledge your presence as he ungracefully dropped yours in front of you. You noticed quickly a note was attached to it, that read:

Be in my office at 5pm tonight. We need to have a talk about your attitude.

You sucked in a breath. This was new. Not once had he invited you to his office – you were there of your own volition often enough to challenge him about your marks. You wouldn’t be surprised if he put up a sign on his door barring you specifically from entering. You knew he hated your visits to his office, so why invite you now? Talks with your professor about your attitude were done in public, specifically to try and humiliate you. 

You folded up the note and slid it into your pocket, nervousness beginning to churn in your gut. Was he going to fail you out of spite? You’d be unable to complete your degree if he did that. While Fëanor was an arrogant asshole, you didn’t think he was cruel. Or at least you hoped so.

Tears began to well in your eyes as the possibility of failing dawned on you. Perhaps there were consequences to mouthing off to your professor after all. 

*******************

A few hours later, you knocked at the elaborate wooden door to Fëanor’s office, then wiped your face one last time. You had spent an hour in the bathroom attempting to fix your makeup and conceal the evidence of your tears and failing, miserably. Your mascara was wet, giving you more of a smokey eye look than you had intended. Your smudged face was a stark contrast with your perfectly put together outfit – a short brown pencil skirt and tall boots, paired with a tight fitting, slightly cropped t-shirt. You felt ridiculous now, going to your professor’s office like this, but you had no other choice.

“Come in. And close the door behind you.” His deep voice echoed from inside the office, and you pushed the heavy door open. His office was its usual organised mess, manuscripts and books everywhere, laid out across every sitting space available save for the single chair in front of his desk. The room glowed orange from the roaring fireplace off to the side, making it look more like an ancient cave than an office.

You carefully walked over to the chair in front of the desk, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Sit.” Fëanor ordered, finally glancing up at you when you hesitated. “Unless you prefer to kneel on the floor?”

Your face burned bright red as you scrambled into the chair, ignoring the way his insinuation made your thighs tingle with need. He ignored you for a few minutes, continuing whatever he was translating on his desk. You shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do. None of your interactions had ever been like this – quiet, suspenseful, behind closed doors. No, it was always bickering arguments that turned heads in the hallways. Something was different about him.

“Do you know why I really called you in here today?” He asked, still not looking up. His long hair was tied back, except for a few loose strands that hung around his face as he wrote.

“To fail me.” You said quietly.

He barked a heartless laugh. “Gods, no. Failing you would mean I’d have to endure a whole extra semester of your arrogant attitude. I refuse to put myself through that.”

You felt all nervousness fade away, quickly replaced by that hot anger only he seemed to be able to get out of you. “I’m arrogant?” You snapped. “Take a look in the mirror.”

Fëanor’s writing ceased, and his grey blue eyes met yours and narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard what I said.” You fired back, unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. “You’re the arrogant one here, sir. You try to belittle me every time I prove myself to be smart because you can’t imagine that everyone around you isn’t a complete imbecile.”

You expected the male to snap back, to call you an idiot and ask how dare you say these things to him. Truthfully, you couldn’t believe you were saying these things either. All your arguments had been about the material so far, veiled insults hidden beneath your words. Never were you this open, this bold, about how you felt. 

“Anything else?” He said in a bored manner.

“Yeah, you’re a real prick.” You continued your angry rambling, sick of being looked down on by this male. “You know as well as I do that I’m your best student, yet you treat me like the problem kid at the back of the class. It’s ridiculous, and the only reason you do it is to feel better about yourself. Am I wrong, sir?”

A long pause followed, and you swallowed a lump in your throat. If you weren’t going to fail before, you definitely were now. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You simply sat there, eyes locked with your ill-tempered linguistics professor. After a few minutes, you couldn’t take it anymore, averting your gaze to inspect a loose thread on your skirt.

“Do you know why I’m such an arrogant… prick, did you say?” He stood up, walking around to the front of his desk and leaning against it, crossing his large arms. “Because I’ve earned it. I invented the Tengwar script and am the most knowledgeable person on the Quenya language there is. I have created and invented things that nobody else has, and nobody will ever come close to achieving what I have achieved. I have earned my arrogance, you have not. You’re just a little girl who’s in way over her head.”

You saw red, angrily pushing back the chair as you stood up to challenge him . Fëanor was a good foot taller than you, making you strain your neck to meet his gaze. “Call me a little girl one more time, I fucking dare you.” You hissed.

“Or what?” He smirked. “You’ll cry? Just like you did before you came in here?”

Your jaw went slack, “Wha–”

Fëanor scoffed, pleased with himself. “Oh, please, don’t even try. It was written all over your pretty face. I like it covered in tears, by the way. It’s a good look on you.”

WIthout thinking, your hand reached up and connected with his face, a dull slap echoing throughout the office. “Fuck you.” You spat, turning to storm out before you could face the consequences of hitting your professor.

But Fëanor was faster, his large hand firmly clasping around the hand you just slapped him with and yanking you back around to face him. His other hand grabbed your other wrist, and no matter how much you squirmed against it he didn’t budge. His eyes were dark as he pulled your hands up and across each other, pushing them into your chest as he stepped even closer to you. 

“You wish.” He purred mockingly. “Isn’t that right? Is that not one of the reasons why your attention drifts off in class? Because you’re fantasising about being bent over my desk and fucked until you can’t remember your own name?”

“You think way too highly of yourself–” You tried to defend yourself, but he cut you off as if you hadn’t even said anything.

“You think I’m blind? That I don’t notice how you always wear those revealing outfits on the days you have my class. Don’t play dumb, it’s not a good look on you.”

You thrashed in his grip, ignoring the effect his words had on you. “Let me go right now you self righteous, narcissistic–”

“Kneel.”

That made you freeze. “Excuse me?”

“You really need to learn how to shut up.” Feanor growled. “And that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve had enough of that mouth of yours, it’s time to make it useful for once. Now kneel.”

You were utterly dumbstruck, unable to do anything as your professor gave you a shove, making you fall to your knees on the ground in front of him. The wooden floor made your joints ache, but you knew better than to protest.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Fëanor began, the sound of his belt unbuckling distinct in the background. “Do you think you can follow simple instructions for once?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, throat dry with anticipation for what was about to happen.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He paused his movements, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at his towering form. “I’m going to stuff that smart mouth of yours with my cock, and you’re going to take it like the desperate little slut I know you are. If you please me enough, I will bend you over this desk and fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow. And you’ll have learned your lesson to keep your mouth shut when I tell you to, understood? Is that simple enough for you to understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You repeated, trying to keep the shake out of your voice. Your core throbbed at his words, exactly as dominant as you imagined him to be.

Fëanor finally unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to his feet along with his boxers, revealing the thickest cock you had ever seen. Your jaw dropped, but you didn’t even care that you had just boosted his ego. All you could think about was how it would possibly fit.

“What’s the matter?” He mocked. “Too big for you? Scared you won’t be able to take it? You’ll be able to take it because I’ve told you so. Now open.”

You parted your lips, letting your professor slide his cock between them. You sucked on the tip, earning a groan of pleasure from the male above. Forcing your jaw to relax, you took him deeper, aching with the stretch.

Without warning, Fëanor impatiently grabbed the back of your head and pushed you down further. Tears blotted your face as you gagged around him, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him. Clearly, he wasn’t concerned with having you come up for air, forcing you to breathe through your nose.

He set a rough pace, guiding your head up and down his cock as far as it would go without making you gag too much. Your mascara began to run down your face, and you made sure to keep eye contact with him despite the strain on your throat.

“There’s a good little slut,” Fëanor growled, tightening his grip on your hair as he thrusted faster. “I told you you looked better with tears running down your face.”

You couldn’t protest with his cock around your mouth, so you only whimpered, focusing on taking him deeper. You sucked hard with each stroke, letting your tongue run along the vein underneath his shaft as you bobbed your head. Your professor moaned shamelessly above you, a sound that set your nerves alight.

Mindlessly, your hand wandered between your legs, attempting to relieve some of the pressure building there. Your fingers hadn’t even grazed your panties when Fëanor halted his movements, holding your head down at the base of his cock. 

“Don’t even think of touching yourself.” He hissed angrily. “I didn’t give you permission to do so. Try it again, and I won’t let you cum. Got it?”

You nodded around the base of his cock, whimpering. Your jaw was in agony, stretched to the max to accommodate his length. When he finally moved your head once again, you doubled your efforts, determined to make your arrogant professor fall apart. You sat on your hands for good measure, trying to avoid the temptation to ignore his orders altogether.

Fëanor began thrusting his hips to meet your mouth a few minutes later, his pretty eyes screwing shut as he tilted his head back. “Fucking swallow every last drop.” He grunted between thrusts, his grip on your scalp tightening right before his cock twitched in your mouth. He came with a loud groan, shooting spurts of warm liquid down your throat. You kept bobbing your head, sucking up every last drop and letting it slide down your throat. He panted, hips sputtering as you sucked him dry before finally pulling your lips off him. Your jaw ached like never before, but you were strangely proud of yourself. The image of your high strung professor climaxing into your mouth would be forever burned into your mind.

“Looks like you’ve earned your reward after all.” Fëanor grabbed you by your shoulders and hoisted you up onto his desk with impressive strength. You didn’t have time to ask if you should move the papers on his desk before his mouth crashed into yours. His lips were hot and dominating, overwhelming your senses. You barely had time to kiss him back before he was pulling away, attaching his lips to your neck and biting down, making you cry out. He sucked and bit every inch of your throat in a manner you knew would leave dark bruises the next day, undoubtedly an intentional choice on his part.

You felt your shirt being yanked up, Fëanor quickly pulling it over your head along and ripping your bra off then tossing both items somewhere behind him. His calloused hands eagerly grabbed your breasts, squeezing hard. You squirmed under his touch, wanting to get away from the harshness of it but also needing more somehow. Fëanor’s mouth assaulted your breasts, biting the soft flesh firmly before taking your nipple in his teeth and flicking the bud with his tongue.

“Oh, fuck.” You couldn’t help but moan, tilting your head back.

“You like this?” Fëanor teased, lifting his mouth from your breast momentarily before hovering over the other one. “You like it when I’m rough, treating you like a dirty little whore? Leaving marks all over your body so you know that you’re my property, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir!” You cried out as he sucked at your other breast. It was overwhelming, his hands were everywhere except where you needed them most.

As if he read your mind, Fëanor pulled away, ripping his shirt over his head to reveal the most sculpted abs you’d ever seen. The bastard stood there for a moment, proudly watching you admire his form. Gods above, you’d never be able to focus in class again after seeing his muscles.

He reached down and roughly tugged your skirt and panties down, exposing your glistening cunt. Fëanor plunged a finger into you without warning, pressing a thumb to your clit and making you see stars. His mouth found your neck again as you squirmed under his touch, a hand reaching around your back and pressing you into his frame.

“You’re a fucking mess,” He growled into your neck, adding in a second finger and stretching your hole. “All for me, isn’t that right? I’m going to break you, my dear. Break you into a thousand pieces and put you back together so I can do it all over again and make you mine.”

You whined, feeling your muscles clench around him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were approaching your orgasm faster than you ever had in your life. “I’m close…” You mumbled through shallow breaths, legs beginning to twitch.

He smirked. “I know.” Was all he said before roughly pulling his fingers away, right before you could make the final stretch towards the edge.

“What the hell!” You exclaimed, angry. Before you could cuss him out, his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed.

“What did I tell you about keeping that pretty mouth shut?” Fëanor growled. “I would threaten to stuff it with my cock again, but you’d probably enjoy that too much. Guess I’m just going to have to fuck you so hard you scream and lose your voice.”

He roughly turned you around, pushing you by your neck so you were stomach first down on the desk with your feet still on the floor. You breathed heavily, grasping the edge with your fingertips as Fëanor lined his cock up to your entrance. You forced your body to relax, knowing it was going to hurt at first.

His hands found your hips and he slammed into you, almost knocking the wind right out of your lungs. You barely had time to catch your breath and acknowledge the stinging stretch between your legs before he pulled out and did it again, setting a brutal pace. You began to scream, fully screaming in pleasure and pain as Fëanor pounded into you relentlessly. You couldn’t even think straight, all logical thoughts about there possibly being people in the hallway that could hear you as you cried out over and over again.

Fëanor’s grip on your hips was almost bone shattering, his thick cock slamming into your g-spot faster than anyone had ever fucked you. He was right, your entire body would be sore tomorrow. In fact, you’d be lucky if you were able to walk to class. Fëanor’s thrusts were so powerful, you were sure he was going to split you in half.

And you fucking loved it.

You loved being bent over your professor’s desk, unable to think about anything else aside from how hard he was fucking you. The male you had had verbal sparring matches with for weeks was taking his frustration out on you, and you loved it. You enjoyed being at his mercy, feeling things nobody else had been able to make you feel.

Fëanor grunted, reaching one hand down and rubbing your clit. “You cum when I say you cum, got it?”

You nodded, whimpering as you felt your body try and pick up where it left off. You begged it to keep your orgasm at bay, knowing Fëanor would be less than happy if you came without his permission. So you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to think about anything else.

He thrusted into you for what seemed like hours, to the point where your legs had gone almost numb. You were a sobbing mess, fighting to stop yourself from climaxing all over his cock. The papers on his desk were stained with your tears, and your determination to not beg him for anything snapped.

“Please let me cum.” You sobbed pathetically.

Fëanor only increased his pace on your clit, smirking as he pounded you. “Aw, are you crying again? Poor little thing is so desperate to cum for daddy, isn’t she?”

Daddy. Your brain went haywire. Normally, you were not into the whole daddy kink, but the way Fëanor said it changed something in you. You whined, nodding. At this point, you’d say whatever to get him to let you cum. “Please, daddy, I need to cum,” You cried, body shaking. “I’ll do anything you want, please just let me finish.”

Fëanor groaned behind you, his cock twitching inside of you, evidence of his pleasure with your response. “That was pathetic,” He grunted. “But I’ll let it slide. Cum for me, slut. Cum now.”

Your body let go before he finished his sentence, the dam that had been holding your orgasm back bursting, letting the climax wash over your body. You cried out, voice breaking with hoarseness as your legs twitched violently, your grip on the desk and Fëanor’s hand on your hip being the only thing keeping you from sliding onto the floor.

The world spun around you, and at one point you were pretty sure you lost consciousness. As you came down from your high, Fëanor moaned loudly, pulling out and stroking his cock while jutting his hips forward. Thick spurts of cum landed on your back mixing with the sheen of sweat already there. His loud groan echoed throughout the office as you panted, your entire body feeling both completely wrecked and on cloud nine at the same time.

You tried to speak, but no words came out. Your vocal cords were shot, jaw aching with every movement. You didn’t even hear Fëanor retreat, but he returned with a towel, gently wiping the seed off your skin. You wanted to thank him, but couldn’t. In fact, you weren’t sure if you could even move. 

Fëanor chuckled, bundling up your clothes and setting them beside you. He placed a glass of water to your lips, tilting it back and letting you eagerly drink it up. “You’re excused from Thursday’s lesson,” He said smugly. “Only because I know you won’t be able to get out of bed to get to class. Let this be your lesson learned not to question me, or call me an arrogant prick. Got it?”

You nodded weakly, defenceless, and knowing your linguistics class with Dr. Fëanor would never be the same.

[ethansluvbot]

hi maylee! could you do something based on this dialogue from euphoria where ethan unmasks and the reader says this and it's just super heart breaky?

love you! <3

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME | E. LANDRY

warnings: gf!ethan, MAJOR SPOILERS!!!, mentions of blood and knives.

an: hey, yes of course i will do this. i actually love this idea and would cry if this was ever in the scream movies. inspired by “right where you left me” because i’ve been listening to it on repeat. this is lowkey shitty so like yeah!

❛YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE,

it was crazy to think that two hours ago you and ethan were hand and hand walking to your dorm. now, you couldn't find him anywhere. you began to worry about him greatly, even with sam, tara and chad reassuring you.

the images that were in your head didn't help one bit. it’s not that you didn’t trust ethan to protect himself, it’s just the ghost face now even more brutal. after what happened to anika you didn’t know what to believe anymore.

now you were standing there watching chad brutally be stabbed. blood gushed out of his mouth as he told you guys to go. you couldn’t believe this was happening to him it might’ve even happened to ethan already.

you felt a hand grab onto your arm as you stared blankly at chads body. hearing sam screaming snapped you back to reality as you smacked the ghost face with your bag. (yes we must keep this bag)

your legs quickly matched the pace of the two girls in front of you. since you were last it was pretty fair to believe that you were next. there’s a sudden stop causing you to collide into sam’s back.

“shit,” you look up to see a detective bailey. tarah was inches away from his chest as she let out a muffled scream.

“you have to help us! there almost here, please!”

to say you were terrified was a understatement. he motioned for you guys to get behind him, raising the gun the way they were running.

you were still worried for chad and ethan. yes, you saw chas had been stabbed multiple times, but he never died. you were only hoping that they both still lived, that you would live to see them again.

bailey stood up in front of the three of you with his gun aimed at their head. he began to lower his gun with a short laughter. he walked closer to then standing in the middle.

“great job both of you,” he chuckles pointing the gun in your face. closing your eyes you felt him still staring at you.

“look at me!”

you automatically flinched as you heard him yell at you. what did he want from you? you sure as hell didn’t want to die tonight, but if it was for your friends at least you would feel good about it.

“who are they?” you heard sam ask. bailey just cocked his head to the side waiting for one of them to unmask. you watched as one of them began to take their mask off.

“no don’t do this to me,” you feel a tear crawl down your face. it was ethan, he was the killer, he might’ve even killed your best friend. reaching up he wiped your tear. even after seeing you cry he was still smiling.

“mindy was right, it was really easy duking the roommate lottery, all i had to do to meet you was room with a conceited condescending alpha literally named chad. fuck, it felt good to kill him!the best part, my name’s not even ethan landry, isn’t that right dad?”

you couldn’t even recognize the “ethan” you were looking at right now. after months of dating this boy you would never expect him to behave like this. you almost felt like the whole thing was a big joke.

you look into his eyes to see nothing, he wasn’t the boy that you truly loved. no matter how much. you cared for him you didn’t want to talk to this monster.

“so that leaves one more…” you hear tara mutter.

“mindy?” sam ask, petrified that one of her best friends would ever do that. mindy was the one always trying to help the group. no one ever believed she could set us up for failure.

“hi roomies, didn’t see that coming did you?”

“yeah because you died,” you didn’t know quinn very well so seeing her there didn’t shock you much. the thing that shocked you was she never talked to ethan before.

“i kind of didn’t, needed to get myself off the suspect list, stabbing gale and mindy was kind of fun,” she giggled to herself jumping forward with the knife.

you flinched back in shock bumping into the two girls. after a while of them yelling at you, you began to zone out. you still couldn’t process that ethan would ever hurt you like this.

you could feel him staring at you almost like he felt bad. you felt a cold metal slide up your arm making you focus again. you knew better than to turn around and look at them.

you stared into ethan’s eyes with a great frown. there was still active tears forming and falling down your face. you feel the sharp object shove inside your stomach. 

screaming out in pain you fall to the floor. quinn pulls it out and shoves it back it, except this time she doesn’t pull it back out.

“quinn!” you hear ethan voice yell at her.

“you ruin all the fun.” she rolls her eyes at ethan, she always believed he was the weakest link. he was always the fool who got his heart broken, the one that didn’t want to hurt anymore, yet his dad still convinced him.

maybe he only did it because his dad forced him into it, but either way it was fucked up. killing people and lying about it was horrible. so why did you feel bad when you heard bailey talking about richie. you could see the tears forming in ethan’s eyes as he realized he wasn’t the priority.

you almost feel like they weren’t even there, most of the sound was drowned out and your eyes were blurry from crying. you watch as quinn, bailey and ethan all stand back together.

“go!” you yell to the two of them, if you died tonight you just wanted them to make it out alive. you watched as tara’s mascara smears around her eyes.

“i love you,” all she wants to think about is the group all surviving tonight, “we’ll come back for you!!”

you feel the knife stolen from your body as quinn runs after them, bailey runs the other way and ethan stands over you.

“i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not,” you couldn’t believe those words after you knew what he was capable of. he was a good liar you would give him that. you felt a year but your face but this time it wasn’t yours.

you felt a ripped piece of his cloth tie around your waist. you groaned in pain as he began to sit you up.

“get away from me you crazy bitch.”

he couldn’t lie and say those words didn’t hurt him. he deserved it and he knew that, but when he saw how terrified you were he couldn’t help but tear up.

“goodbye y/n,” you watch as he almost stands up, but you stop him. you play with the piece of glass in your hands, about to do something that ethan would’ve done.

“hey, ethan?”

he turns back at you, “yeah?”

“fuck you,” you lunge the piece of glass into his mouth. falling to the ground you watch as blood spills out of his mouth.

BUT TO STAY HERE FOREVER ❜



[hp-hcs]

Your fics are incredible! My friend wanted to know if you wrote for Pansy? If you do, a Pansy x gn reader would be amazing :D

absolutely i will write for my slytherin queen 😩🤌 and thank you so much!!

requests? 🥺🤲

paralyzer — pansy parkinson x gn! hufflepuff! reader

oh my godddd 😩🤌👑

underage alcohol consumption warning

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

‘I hold on so nervously to me and my drink/ I wish it was coolin' me/ But so far has not been good/ It's been shitty, and I feel awkward as I should/ This club has got to be the most pretentious thing/ Since I thought you and me’

“Heyyyy, Y/N! How’zit goin’?!”

“Wonderful,” you drawl. “Now go drink some water before you die of alcohol poisoning.”

Cedric clapped you on the shoulder, giggling, before wandering off after a pretty Ravenclaw.

You sigh, downing the last of your drink and pushing yourself off of the wall you’d been leaning against for the last half hour, fully intending to make your escape to your dorm.

You weave your way through the throng of people, almost taking an elbow to the face when you pass by a particularly rowdy bunch. Scowling at the group, you aren’t even paying attention when you run smack into someone.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” An angry voice snaps. You turn to apologize and are met with the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.

She rolls her eyes, her hands on her hips, and her pretty lips pursed in annoyance. “Of course it’d be a Puff. Pick your jaw up off the floor, sweetheart.”

She gives you a condescending pat on the shoulder and waltzes off, taking your entire heart with her.

‘Well, I am imagining a dark lit place/ Or your place or my place’

“Subtle, Panz,” Draco rolls his eyes.

“Oh Merlin, oh fucking Merlin, I fucked that up, didn’t I?”

Mattheo takes a puff from his cigarette, swinging his legs from where he sits on the edge of the bathroom sink. He watches Pansy pace anxiously around the empty second floor girl’s bathroom. “Yep, pretty much.”

“‘Pick your jaw up off the floor’? What was I thinking?!”

“You weren’t,” Draco supplies helpfully, leaning against the wall. “I mean, at least you called ‘em sweetheart. That’s gotta do something.”

Pansy groans and face palms. “Thanks a lot. Now how do I fix this?”

“Why are you asking us? This is your Puff-Stuff, not ours,” Mattheo says flippantly, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette.

“They don’t even know I exist!” Pansy whines.

“Well, they do now, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Oi. You better shut the fuck up.”

‘Well, I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you/ I wanna make you move because you're standin' still/ If your body matches what your eyes can do/ You'll probably move right through me on my way to you’

“Hey, Puff!”

You look up from your assignment, seeing, of all people, Pansy Parkinson leaning towards you from her desk. She smiles anxiously at you.

“Uh, hi…?” You ask slowly, quietly.

“I- uh- d-do you have a quill I could borrow?”

You hum, nodding. “Yeah, here.”

She grins widely. “Thanks.”

She takes the quill you hold out to her with utter reverence—much more respect than you would expect her to give to a five-sickle quill from a discount shop.

You nod, a bit baffled, and turn back to your work.

She waits, like she expects you to say something further. When you remain silent, she sighs, seemingly disappointed, and moves on to her assignment.

‘I hold out for one more drink, before I think/ I'm lookin' too desperately/ But so far has not been fun, I should just stay home/ If one thing really means one/ This club will hopefully be closed in three weeks/ That would be cool with me’

“I can’t believe it! I just sat there, like an utter dumbass-”

Cedric raises an eyebrow. “Here’s a wild thought: maybe she’s into you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ced,” you scoff. “She doesn’t even know I exist.”

‘Well, I'm still imagining a dark lit place/ Or your place or my place’

“We are not friends,” Draco warns. “This is just an alliance.”

“Just so they stop acting so lovesick over each other,” Cedric agreed.

‘Well, I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you/ I wanna make you move because you're standin' still/ If your body matches what your eyes can do/ You'll probably move right through me on my way to you’

“Hey, Panz,” Draco starts, interrupting his friend mid-tirade about they’re just so cute, and they loaned me a quill today in History when I couldn’t find mine. “Why don’t you just ask ‘em out?”

She stops her rant, speechless. “Are you insane?”

Draco shrugs. “Just like, send them a note, or whatever. What’s the worst that could happen? You said it yourself; they barely know you exist.”

‘Well, I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you/ I wanna make you move because you're standin' still/ If your body matches what your eyes can do/ You'll probably move right through me on my way to you’

Your eyes widen in surprise when one of the Owl Post owls drops an envelope onto the table in front of you. Plucking it up, you turn it around, finding no return address or name of any kind. Cedric leans over.

“Who’s it from?”

“Doesn’t say.”

“Well, open it!” Your friend, Hannah, exclaims. “You never get mail.”

You open the unmarked envelope, pulling out a piece of folded parchment. Scrawled on it, in Slytherin green ink, is a short poem.

I’m not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you. I wanna make you move, because you're standing still. If your body matches what your eyes can do, You'll probably move right through me on my way to you. - P. P.

Your eyes widen as you look at the initials, knowing immediately who it was. You look up, easily finding Pansy’s eyes from across the room. She looks startled, like she hadn’t been expecting to make such sudden eye contact.

You both blush and look away, smiling to yourselves.

‘You'll probably move right through me on my way to you’

“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that to actually work,” Cedric murmurs under his breath to Draco.

The pair watch as you and Pansy, paired together for a Potions assignment, laugh and mess around with each other on the other side of the room.

“Yeah. How long d’you think before Y/N realizes that Pansy only writes in black ink?” Draco muses with his infamous smirk, twirling his quill around and nearly knocking over his jar of Slytherin green ink.

‘You'll probably move right through me on my way to you’

[ktficworld]

The Cinderella Moment

Pairing: reader x (you choose)

Summary: You are a broke college student who works for a very stuck up, arrogant and rude rich family. They give you food and shelter and so you always accept their impossible orders with a nod. But their order to go to a ball, disguised as their daughter might just flip your world upside down.

Warnings: Riches being shitty, reader's broke, verbal abuse.

A/n: This is an experiment and I dunno how it's gonna turn out, but if you like it then please do reblog.

"8 weeks? Can't it heal faster? The ball is just around the corner." The shrill voice of madam Abigail pierced your ears as you discreetly rubbed them.

The doctor who was sitting at the injured Rose's side shook his head and said. "No, Mrs. Thompson. It takes 6 to 8 weeks for a broken arm to fully heal."

Madam Abigail fall down on one of the chairs dramatically and you rolled your eyes as you took in the scene from a secluded corner of the room.

You were a college student. Well, a broke college student to be exact. You did get into a prestigious college on scholarship but the other bills were crippling down on you. You didn't want to burden your parents as your financial background was not favorable. After working in cafes and fast food chains, living in crappy apartments and skipping breakfast everyday. When you saw the job posting for a house keeper with housing and food, you jumped on it like a cat jumping on a ball.

You were finally able to move out of your shitty apartment with not so nice company into a decent maid's room and the food was also better than the leftovers at your previous jobs.

However, not everything was rainbows and sunshines. Your employer was horrible, condescending, rude and overall the epitome of rich, stuck-up assholes. You now worked almost 24/7, having to be present on a whim and maintaining everything into perfection.

It was like retail job, just no off time with Karens screaming at you all the time. But you didn't give a fuck. Every insult hurled at you would fall on deaf ears because you learnt long time ago that detachment really annoyed people with superiority complex.

Mr. Thompson was rarely home so it was only Abigail and her ducklings following her around. The only person who was nice to you was laying on the bed with a broken arm. The only one eligible for the grand ball.

Oh, the grand ball? It was a masquerade party, the most hyped upcoming event, organized by one of the richest man in the country, so he could find someone to settle down with. People called him prince because he was the youngest in the bunch of old billionaires.

Of course it was nothing but arranged marriage and someone actually meeting the prince and catching his eyes would be like finding a needle in a haystack. But there would be many other wealthy suitors than just him. So, needless to say, the ball was a gold mine for potential catches.

Abigail and many of her tea time friends were so furious that only girls above 18 were allowed. They would send their nine year old if it meant snatching a good deal.

And so seeing the only candidate from their family injured and unattractive. Abigail was devasted to say the least.

"Is there really no way for a speedy recovery? Can she not wear her cast on the night of the ball? It's really important." She Shrieked.

The doctor was agitated but contained it well and answered in a balanced voice. "Unfortunately, no. We cannot dictate when the recovery would happen and she needs to wear the cast all the time for the arm to heal properly and effectively. You should take care of your daughter."

Abigail scoffed at that and sobbed into her handkerchief, not even sparing Rose a glance. She was visibly upset by it but probably did not want any drama as she whispered out. "Mom, it's going to be alright. It okay."

Abigail's head snapped towards Rose as she scowled at her daughter. "How is it going to be alright? You're going to miss such a great opportunity. And you're so stupid. How did you fall from the stairs? Do you not have eyes? I'm so unfortunate to have an useless child like you..." Abigail continued to berate her daughter and you sneakily went to the doctor to escort him out as the scene was about to turn ugly and he didn't sign up for a reality TV show.

The doctor thanked you and handed you a prescription. You nodded and went back. Sure enough, they were both shouting at each other now. Rose tried to shot back but since she was injured, she lacked her usual ferocity as Abigail managed to dominated her.

You shook your head in exasperation and opened your mouth to interrupt. You might get into trouble for this but you couldn't watch Abigail scold a sick and fragile Rose, when she did nothing to deserve it.

"Madam, I think you should let miss Rose rest and it might help with a quicker recovery." You said and braced yourself to get chewed out.

Abigail spun on her heels, her whale-like face flushed with rage as she pointed a harsh finger at you and started. "You don't need to meddle-" She cut herself off as a look of awe dawned on her face, like she had an epiphany.

She rushed towards you. Grabbing you by the arm and dragged you beside Rose. What is this woman doing? You didn't want to get yelled at so you remained there with a bewildered frown as Abigail's assessing gaze flicked between you and Rose, her smile widening with each gaze.

After the tenth gaze, Abigail clapped her hands in glee and exclaimed. "Perfect. You are perfect." And stared at you.

"I'm perfect for what?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You are perfect to go to the ball as Rose. Just look at you two both, look like pretty twins." Abigail gushed, her eyes twinkling with hope.

You gawked at her, applaud. "Are you shitting me?"

Abigail snapped her eyes at you and barked. "Mind your language, servant."

You put up your hand. "Ma'am, I won't. I have done everything you asked me to do. From cleaning the deepest corner of the mansion by myself to entertaining pervy men. I have done everything, but I won't do this. I won't go in place of Rose. I don't want to deceit anyone." You ranted.

This woman had asked you to do so many egregious things and you did them without any complaint. However, this is where you draw the line. It was alright when you were the only one taking the brunt of her deviousness but if she wants you to deceive other people, you wouldn't do it.

Considering you had just been lied to yourself. The man who claimed to love you, got engaged with someone else without a peep of protest. You were just his play thing.

Abigail looked like she wanted to slap you as her face flushed red and her eyes twitched. "You ungrateful, brat. I gave you a roof, food, safety and that's how you repay me? By counting all the bare minimum you have done? I thought that maybe you had some sense of integrity but I should have known better," She scoffed wryly and looked you dead in the eye. "Tell me, how much you want me to pay you to go to this ball?"

To all the insults you have been subjected to, this genuinely offended you. "Ma'am, you could sell your morals for money but I can't. Even if you give me a billion dollar I won't go. I don't want to trick someone into believing I'm somebody else. This is my boundary I won't cross."

Abigail sneered. "Just drop your act already-"

"Mom, let me talk to her." Rose interjected and you flashed her a determined look. You weren't going to budge on this one.

"What would you talk to her? You are just as dumb as her." Abigail yelled.

"If I didn't convince her then you can call me as many insults as you'd like. Now please, get out." She responded, softy but firmly.

Abigail huffed and whined but left the room nonetheless, the door clicking shut but you knew she was right outside the door, listening to everything and so did Rose as she beckoned you to the bed. You sighed and sat down beside her.

"Listen, you should go. Have fun, eat expensive food and rob my mother of as much money as you need to get out of here. And before you start about deceit and all that. You don't need to meet anyone, just imagine what are your chances of meeting the prince and catching his eye? Maybe one percent. Every women would be busy fawning over him, you won't even get an opportunity." Rose explained in a hushed voice.

When she put it like that it didn't sound bad but you were still apprehensive. "But I have already said no to the money, if I demand it now then she would be proven correct and what about the other suitors?" You countered.

"Who cares what my mother thinks of you? She already thinks you are inferior and nothing would change that, then why not use the opportunity and get out of her claws? And as for the other suitors, as I said you don't need to meet anyone there. My mother won't be there to make sure you are putting in the efforts or not." She argued.

"You sure you are Abigail's bio daughter? You doesn't seem to like her much." You half joked, half lamented. Now the idea of going to the ball wasn't looking bad or deceitful. Just a solace night in a pretty dress.

Rose let out a bitter laugh. "Unfortunately, I'm. And I don't like the way you are treated but that's the only thing I can do. Plus, the event may cheer you up, since you're going through a lot right now..." She trailed off, probably not wanting to open your fresh wound.

You hummed quietly and let the room get silent. After some hesitation, you whispered. "You did it intentionally." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Rose was far from being clumsy or reckless so for her to fall from the stairs she could navigate blindly. It was rather suspicious.

"I let my love go once y/n. I can't let it go again." She whispered back.

You gulped due to the tension. "So, shall I call your mother?" You asked to lighten the mood and it worked as Rose beamed at you and nodded her head.

"So, you'd go?" She asked hopefully.

"Yes, I'd go." You said with a grin, image be damned Rose was right. Scam Abigail and get the fuck out of there.

You opened the door and a very annoyed and impatient Abigail stomped inside. She glowered at you expectantly and you cleared your throat.

"After Rose's arguments, I have decided to go to the ball. If you give me my desired price." You said monotonously.

A look of smugness crossed her face as she scoffed and said. "I knew it. So much for morals. Now spit your price."

And so you did.

You asked for an amount that would keep you afloat for a year. You had initially asked for 4 years worth of money, yes greedy. But you knew it would not make a dent in their bank balance and you really wanted to get back for all the obnoxious and unreasonable things she had made you do it.

However, Abigail wasn't pleased with this offer as she shouted that she would only give you that amount if you managed to woo the prince. You had no plans for doing that so you let go of that notion.

It gave you the much needed vacation from your work but the practice that came afterwards almost made you take back your offer and go back to scrubbing the floors.

The process to become Rose was strenuous. From how you walked to how you talked, everything needed to be exactly like Rose. Cursing was thrown out the window. You had to walk slowly with small steps with a sway of your hips, no long strides were allowed. Heck, you couldn't even slouch. Although you didn't receive a scathing hit by wooden stick, Abigail's earbiting voice and insults were not any pleasant either.

You had to speak like you were talking to crickets, poised and low. Cracking Rose's accent and voice was the toughest task but you pulled it off. Everything was so meticulous, from clothing to manners to behavior. These effluent women had to be perfect, not human. But it was all useless as you wouldn't be behaving like the perfect little doll at the ball. Maybe it would help you further down the line to snatch a rich man if you turned out to be a failure.

Rose also got some relief from her banshee of a mother as she mostly helped you and took care of herself, her mother didn't give two fucks about her daughter's health.

That was how the days passed and here you were now, sitting ahead of Rose's vanity as Abigail dolled you up for the ball. She didn't hire any stylist or artist as it could risk her scheme getting out, no matter how much she paid them.

"You must secure a man for my daughter or you will not be getting any money." Abigail hissed as she zipped up your dress.

"That is not the terms we agreed on. You are paying me to go to the ball as Rose, not to woo a man. I'll try to do my best but you can't hold back my payment." You bit back. You weren't an idiot, you had made her sign a contract and this bit wasn't in it.

Abigail scowled at you and muttered under her breath. "Little wicked tramp." And stepped back as you were ready.

You rolled your eyes, the comment sliding off of your consciousness like butter as you glanced up to assess your reflection.

And you were awestruck to say the least.

Your makeup was minimal as it would get overshadowed by the dim lights and mask anyways. However, it brought out your features to the fullest, making you look like a princess.

The dress was even more mesmerizing. It was a dusty blue fluffy gown with a heart neckline and white embroidery shattered throughout. It flowed like ichor on your body, making you look ethereal.

You hummed in admiration and grabbed the same coloured mask from the vanity, you tied it behind your head as Rose came near you.

"You look so beautiful, even with the mask. I think you would have a hard time dodging men." She teased.

You swatted her forearm and whirled around to glare at her. "Don't say stuff like that, Rose. I'm already a nervous wreck inside." You whined. It was true, going or doing something for the first time always felt daunting but this time you felt like an intruder as you didn't belong in that party at all. Thankfully, the anonymity of the mask was a sigh of relief to you.

Rose chuckled and bobbed your nose. "No, I'm serious. You look really pretty-"

She was cut off by a yell from Abigail. "Come on, you'll be late. Do you want people to think that we are late arrivers?"

You sighed deeply as Rose shook her head. "Okay, have fun and stay away from boys. Bye." She said and hugged you.

You hugged her back and said hastily. "Okay, bye." And jogged out of the room and into the car as Abigail's insults played in the background.

👑👠💃

"Miss, we have arrived." The unassuming driver said and pulled open the car door.

The respect was peculiar as you gingerly stepped outside. Your dusty blue pumps stark against the grey pavement. Abigail wanted you to wear heels but you'd be damned if you risked blisters or a twisted ankle on your precious feet.

You smoothed down your dress and started walking forward, your breath catching in your throat upon gazing at the banquet. The venue appeared heavenly, with white gates and staircase like golden glass, leading to the paradise of the elite. It was bustling with people who had enough money to buy your soul. All hidden behind their customized mask and clothes, some were extravagant, some were elegant.

Their expensive scent mingled in the air, creating a tantalizing and mystical aura. It was amplified by the dim lights of the hall, leaving the mind tranquil and intrigued for the suitors behind the veils.

Although the low light made it hard to decipher the interior of the hall. It definitely was of Victorian style as it was opulent and eloquent at the same time.

You looked around like a curious child as you observed and admired the beauty, upper class deemed normal.

You rushed to the food first, eating every of those stupidly expensive yet tasty dishes from all around the world. They were a lot so you ate small portions but your favorite had to be the chocolate fountain where you may or may not have coated your fingers with chocolate and licked them clean. No, classy ladies like you didn't do such things.

You tried to talk to some other girls as well but they were more interested in finding their future husbands. Hence, all your conversations died shortly after some begrudging small talk.

Those also attracted unwanted male attention so you quickly noped out of there and began exploring the venue however it was way bigger than you expected. Though mostly consisting of bedrooms and suites, you had squealed in surprise when you had found a small library tucked away in the lounge. You wanted to read there so badly, but you had come here to mess around not hide in a corner and read Jane Austen like your usual self.

However your enthusiasm had mellowed down as you now stared out the large bay window, in a secluded corner, chewing on fruits and silently observing the party.

"How come there's no fountain in the garden?" You mused to yourself. You had even gone to the garden and found no fountain and now gazing at it again reminded you of that smidge of flaw again.

"Because it's in the balcony." A deep voice said from behind.

You gasped, one hand flying to your racing heart as the other clutched onto the fruit plate for dear life, your body slightly trembling from the unexpected adrenaline surging to your veins.

You whipped your head to look at the perpetrator as he gave you a sheepish and apologetic look. You couldn't clearly make out his face but the golden light coming from the oil lamp above you and the white moonlight casted an unique glow on his porcelain face, his stark blue eyes twinkling in the lights.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You looked lonely so I thought to give you some company." He said, his black suit and mask made him blend into the surroundings like the devil lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for an opportunity.

"So, you were stalking me?" You said sharply before you could even comprehend your words. You instantly regretted it as dread filled your stomach. Fuck, he wasn't some random man you could sass around. He was definitely a very powerful man, he dripped from it.

He chuckled, the sound soothing to your ears. "I was not stalking. I was... Observing." He said playfully.

You relaxed at his nonchalance and smirked at him. "So, you were definitely stalking." You teased back.

"Oh, come on. I'm trying to be romantic here. Plus, a little birdie like you, standing alone in a corner while everybody danced? You'd definitely stick out like a sore thumb." He said.

You snapped your gaze back to the main area and sure enough, everyone was twirling on the melody flowing in the air, while you stares out a window like a werido.

"I didn't know people were dancing." You whispered, more to yourself but he heard it.

"Since we are the only loners left, might you enjoy some company?" He suggested with a charming smirk and extended his hand for you, his sapphire blue eyes flickering towards the dance floor.

Rejection must be as clear as day on your face as he retrieved his hand with a pout and walked closer to you. You stepped backwards, your back hitting the window.

"Just one dance with you, pretty please?" He pleaded and gently brought his hand over his heart like it would get wounded by your denial.

It was so coy that it made you chuckle. "Hmmm, I'll dance with you but only on one condition. You'll have to show me the balcony." You offered and he nodded ecstatically.

He stretched out his hand once again and this time you took it. Your skirt twirled as he held your waist and whisked you to the dance floor. No one noticed your presence, too engrossed in their own world. However, you did.

You took notice how in the light of the chandelier, his face was more visible, how sharp his jaw was. You noticed how his muscular arms felt beneath your hands as you clutched onto them. How his body enveloped yours, a cocoon you never wanted to leave.

"You are so beautiful. " He murmured, close to your face. His gaze piercing as his voice sent shivers down your spine.

"But not as Beautiful as you. " You whispered and huffed out a breathy chuckle. You wanted to see him without his mask.

He beamed at you but swiftly grabbed your hand that was gliding behind his head, near his mask string. "Don't do that, darling." He husked out, bringing your hand to his lips, he kissed your palm. Heat rose to your cheeks as you looked away, making him chuckle. He was devilishly charming.

"Your palms are not, soft. Why?" He asked inquisitively. He was observant for sure or had kissed many women's palms.

"I-uh, like to do some manual labour. Some for fun, some for skills." You stuttered out, hoping it wouldn't blow your cover.

"That's nice. But I totally forgot to ask, what's your name?" He asked softly.

"What's your name?" You countered, anxiety brewing inside you.

He shook his head with a chuckle. "What's in the name?" And winked at you.

"Exactly." You gasped when he spun you around, your back hitting his muscular chest.

"So, what are you looking for?" He asked in your ear.

It took you a moment to process his question. "Fun." You replied.

"No, in terms of love. Don't you wanna love someone?"

You didn't like where this conversation was heading as you turned in his arms and wrapped your hands around his neck. 'Don't you?"

"I don't have time for love?" He said honestly.

"It's overrated anyways."

He let out a throaty laugh. "No, it's not overrated," He said and pulled you closer, his earthy scent hypnotizing you. "It's painfully sweet."

"Mhm, you're really poetic." You teased.

"So, you want to see the fountain?" He asked with a smirk.

"Yes, why not?" You instantly replied.

He chuckled and twirled you around, leading to the staircase parallel to the entrance. He led you up and gradually the lighting intensified as as you both left the main floor and entered into a stairway. It was illuminated by enormous chandeliers with wide bronze steps and Victorian style walls. You both stopped ahead of a golden door and he pushed it open.

Suddenly, the glow surrounding you changed as the ceiling was now replaced by the starry sky. You glanced at him as he smiled at you sweetly.

"You wanted to see the fountain and I'm a man of my word, darling." He said, intertwining your hand with his he guided you through the hallway, the balcony coming into your sight as you came to a halt.

You were stunned as you walked deeper into the balcony. The fountain was set in the middle of it, made with white marbles and on top was a skillfully crafted statue of cupid as water sprinkle down from his arrow. The water glinted in the moonlight as you rushed towards it and sat on the edge of the fountain. Looking to your side, the entire garden was in front of your eyes. The balcony was large, but deserted, no one was there beside you and him. You also weren't able to find it when you traversed the venue. It felt like a secret.

You glanced at him as he gazed at you with affection. "How do you know about this? It feels like something only the prince would know." Since it was one of many hotels the prince's family owned for generations.

"Because I'm the prince." He said and your heart stopped. No, that can't be. But to your absolute horror, he removed his mask and yes, it was him as he walked towards you. He sat beside you and covered your hands with his but you were frozen in place. The shock had paralyzed your body, mind and soul.

"I like you, I hosted a masquerade party to let people be themselves behind their mask. And you're the most authentic girl I've met this night. Your shyness didn't feel forced and your boldness wasn't fake. It's like you had no qualms for impressing anyone and that's what I wanted. You're witty, you seem hard working, you're beautiful. I know it's just one interaction but you are everything I was looking for and I promise to put effort into our relationship. So, will you marry me?"

His last words pounded in your ears. No, you couldn't do this. You couldn't trick someone but you couldn't refuse him either. What if he became angry and came after you? What if he came after Rose? You should have never danced with him.

"I-I need to go." You stumbled away from him, your hands trembling over the railing. You needed to get out of there, fast.

"But why?" He asked, bewildered and stood up.

The balcony was big enough that you could rush past him and he wouldn't be able to catch you. Hopefully, his size wouldn't ruin your escape plan. You took a deep breath and braced yourself for a run. "Because my mother told me to come before midnight and I think I'm already late. I should be get going. Thank you for the good time." You blabbered and marched past him and into the hallway.

"No, wait." He shouted and the thumping of his shoes reverberated in the hallway.

You gulped as you ran along the hallway. You breathed a sigh of relief when the golden door emerged ahead of you. You shoved it open and sprinted down the wide and umber colored stairs. The unusually well-lit staircase helped you skid down faster as your dress bellowed behind you.

However, he wasn't far away as his yells for you to stop made you heave in panic and he felt much closer than he actually was.

Thankfully, the lights reduced as you entered the main hall. You quickly darted into the crowd, making him loose you.

"Excuse me."

"please, let me go."

"I'm sorry, can you step aside?"

You said hundreds of times as you weaved through the crowd, checking your surroundings for him once in a while.

Soon, the crowd cleared out as the entrance door appeared in front of you. You dashed out the door and climbed down the golden steps. Your pace had slowed down, assuming you were out of danger when:

"Close the gates." His thunderous command boomed in your ears, making your blood ran cold.

Your eyes widened in fear as the guards began shutting the gates. You regained your ferocity and even pushed your body's limits as you scurried towards the exit, heart in your throat as the gates came inward by each passing second.

You yelped as you slide outside from a small spacing left before the gates fully closed. You stumbled forward as the gates thudded shut behind you just after a moment you got out.

You pulled open the car door and fall inside it. Your body shaking due to adrenaline as the driver wordlessly started the car and you sighed in relief.

However, just before the car sped off, you caught a glimpse of him staring at the recouping car.

He saw the car. He knows the name. He would come for Rose, thinking it was you. The exact thing you didn't want to happen. SHIT.

[tragedy-peanut-gallery]

any headcanons about daeron ii's and myriah's sons?

WAUGGHHH YEESSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! They’re probably gonna be a bit shorter than the girlies because…….. I hate men I guess /j

Baelor:

- Surprisingly the most normal of Daeron and Myriah’s kids even though the pressure placed on him since birth must’ve been I N S A N E. Probably would’ve snapped at some point if the brown haired gene didn’t come in clutch and neutralize the crazy in him

- And even tho canon tries to imply him having brown hair and a broken nose doesn’t make him as pretty as the other targs……… ignore them king, I KNOW there were probably hundreds of people writing some crazy rpf about this man!!1!1!!

- I also like to think he, Daemon and Daenerys were pretty close as kids. Like, yahhh ik their relationship probably rotted because Baelor was meant to feel inferior to Daemon and vice versa for differing reasons but…. Maybe I wanna make myself cry a bit. Maybe I wanna imagine them playing knights and dragons and stuff 🥲

- Definitely cared for Maekar a lot as his baby brother but also had a lot of trouble not seeing him as anything as his baby brother whichhhh….. probably made him come off as condescending a little okay he’s trying his best

Aerys:

- Asexual AND autistic, sorry I don’t make the rules and I’m not projecting onto him I swear don’t listen to what anyone else may tell you I-

- And the thing is, I’m sure he would’ve absolutely pulled a Vaegon if he could’ve, but honourably decided to stay behind for the sake of securing political allies for the throne (the citadel rejected his application because he cited his only strength as “reading”)

- Poor dude probably had some absolutely shitty sight due to eye strain, reading by candlelight in the dark is all fine and dandy until that becomes the only thing you do

- Ngl probably the biggest social outcast out of his brothers, I think the primary reason he trusted Brynden to handle everything when he became king was because he didn’t have that many friends/allies outside of Aelinor (not a big politics person), Shiera (witch girlie and also Brynden’s kinda gf) and Brynden himself so he was willing to go with whatever they wanted within reason

- Mans has no canonical death despite being a king so I’m personally gonna diagnose him with….. tetanus via iron throne in one of the few times he actually bothered to do king things

Rhaegel:

- I kinda like to think he was an artistic guy, really loved painting and drawing and probably would’ve tried out other mediums like pottery, embroidery and weaving if people didn’t stop him from doing so <3

- Probably dressed a lot more simply as an adult because he hated most fabric textures. Velvet and wool were his least favourites but tbh the only thing he could wear without getting fidgety in ten minutes would be cotton

- Also really hated when people touch his hair ngl! Dude has that really pretty targ men hair gene where it’s really long and flowy but that’s because he doesn’t like cutting it

- Okay tbh I like him but I don’t have that many thoughts on the guy 💀 I like to headcanon he drew a lot of dragons as kids and really liked telling his family what their dragons would look like and what he should name them and all that. His dragon would be light purple with red wings and gold horns and he’d call her Myrri after his mom :)))

Maekar:

- Absolutely the tallest and most athletic out of his brothers but absolutelyyyy suffering from an inferiority complex. No it doesn’t get any better when Baelor dies, if anything it gets much worse :(

- Had an unfortunate habit of getting people to dislike him, not completely his fault tho a lot of folks were just predisposed to thinking him to be kinda intimidating!!!

- Didn’t have a favourite with his kids, but Rhae was absolutely his baby because she was a lot like him when he was little in both looks and attitude lol

- Feeling a little angsty so I’m gonna say he had some memorabilia of Dyanna that he’d keep with him at all times. Like maybe a bit of her hair in a locket, or a portrait he’d keep in his room 🥲